#imagine fighting with mentally ill teenagers youre meant to take care of

[mirror-vicit-omnia]

Ya know what? F*ck it. DMC Heathers!AU where Dante is Jason Dean but never tries to blow up the school or murder anybody and the reader is Veronica.

Dante has an adoptive jackass dad, Big Blood Dean. Sparda is in hell and Eva is dead. Vergil is a missing person's case no one can solve. Big Blood Dean adopted him for the money and drags Dante all across the map with his shady deconstruction company.

The reader is in the same situation as veronica, it goes to canon. They get an in with the Heathers, there's probably a Martha involved.

Fight For Me. Just imagine Dante kicking ass. Those jocks wouldn't stand a chance in a million years.

I like the West End performance for all this.

Dante doesn't quote Baudelaire (if this was Vergil instead of Dante, yes he would have)

Reader: "Okay, don't just drop a snappy one-liner and then walk away! Excuse me? I didn't catch your name?"

Dante, all devil-may-care swagger: "Well, I didn't throw it."

If you think Jason Dean was a good fighter, you should see dante. He's always finding places to train with his sword and picking fights to keep sharp. Yep, he still has demonic powers and demonic heritage and a demonic sword.

He's been dragged to 10 different high schools. Now, Dante is the kind of guy who can just drop everything, pick up and go, if it weren't for the fact that he's adoptive dad sucks. Yeah, he's asking himself these days why he didn't just bail sooner.

He probably tried to run away when he was younger and the cops found him. Even young little Dante knew not to let anyone know about his demon heritage I guess. I don't know.

Anyway, enough logic!

The reader and Dante do not cause the death of Heather chandler. Maybe they think they did, cuz Dante still made the joke of poisoning Heather, and the mugs still got switched up, but later on after the entire world thinks Heather Chandler died a saint, the reader tells Dante that she doesn't think whatever Heather drank was what killed her.

Of course, the body is gone and so is any evidence that could have told them otherwise.

Meanwhile, Heather Duke rises in red and Kurt and Ram insist that they slept with the reader and did drugs.

Dante picks the reader up when they fall apart crying. He does set up the plan of baiting the jocks to the cemetery at dawn. But he's actually planning to knock them out and do some crazy embarrassing stuff with them, the kind of immature terror that only Young men can conceive of and inflict on one another.

Chloroform is involved. Dante packs his gun for safety. He's not a demon Hunter yet, but he knows what's out there, and there's no way he's walking into a cemetery without one weapon at least.

So, the jocks were probably going to wake up naked and tied up on a monument in the Town square or a landmark for everyone to see. It might even make the papers, since this town is so small. Dante would fleece them for their money, and encourage the reader to do the same.

"Hey, how about we divvy it up? One for you, one for me. One for you, and one, two for me- Ow! Fine, whatever, take what you want!"

But what was meant to be a life ruining prank goes horribly wrong. They got Ram, but Kurt's streaking through the graveyard in his skivvies.

Dante sprints after him. "Don't worry, I'll get him back!"

Funny. Kurt should be here. Dante knows how fast a human can run. He checks behind the tombstones, but the jock simply isn't here. Like he just disappeared.

There's a shift in the air. Dante stands still. Even for a cemetery, it's too quiet. Not peaceful. Tents. Restless. Dante's just trotting back when he knows. The reader feels something, too, that pricking in the hind brain that sets the hairs standing. Dante flicks back the red tails of his duster and pulls out his gun.

Reader: "Woah! Are those guns real?!"

Dante flexes his bicep: "'Course they are, babe!"

Reader: "No! I mean th-!"

Bang! A murder of crows take to the air. The only thing more unnerving than the mist and the gunshot is the cold hard gleam in Dante's eye.

And something in the tombstones growls.

Basically, there's probably some small hellgate in the area. Weak demons are leaking through.

The plot turns away from Heather's and fake suicides and mental illness into an '80s horror slasher flick in which Dante and the reader survive and work together to break the hell gate. Dante's dad might end up dead in the process, not by his hands but just because. Alternatively, Dante decides that he's turning 18 in a couple of months and soon the law won't be able to chase after him. He doesn't know what he's going to do with his life, but he sure as hell isn't letting big blood Dean drag him anywhere anymore.

Either way, it's implied that Dante finds his calling through this story.

And becomes a demon hunter.

Demons might have been possessing people or killing people and making it look like suicides so they can drain the humans of their blood when they're brought to the morgue. A bunch of lesser demons serving a relatively stronger demon.

It serves a similar effect as the sensationalization of fake suicides in the musical's plot. Only now the reader forged the suicide notes and set up the fake suicides in order to protect them both. There's no way the law was going to buy the truth.

The reader still has to deal with Heather duke, Heather mcnamara, the horrors of the hierarchy of the high school. They deal with Miss Fleming and the assembly. Is Heather McNamara from actually committing suicide, but then there's still a demon attack that they have to somehow protect both of them from. And this is taking place in the '80s, so there are no cell phones and the landline is cut.

The hellgate was dormant under the boiler room in the high school.

If Dante got possessed, we could still have some Dead Girl Walking (Reprise) and the reader shoots him but it's Dante so he survives!

Whatever was possessing him was nowhere near as good at fighting as a human.

Cherry flavored slushies. Dante drinks cherry flavored slushies, and when he sings I thought emotional part where he accidentally reveals thoughts of suicide, he tries to brush it off with humor, as always.

Still our favorite chaotic half demon.

Cherry flavored slurpees and pizza and teenage detective work that dpuble as dates. Dante doesn't give a s*** and just wants to be pointed in the direction of the fight. The reader is actually doing research and carefully trying to piece together what is going on. Dante provides whatever he knows on demons. And hell.

Dante: "Yeah, my dad is the legendary demon Sparda. My mom and brother died in a demon attack on our house and that's why I'm in foster care."

Reader: "Okay... Sounds fake, but okay..."

Dante gets shot right in the chest. Reader freaks out, but still manages to blow up the hell gate with a bomb and thermals. To collapse the whole gymnasium, which is empty.

They crawl out of the dust. Shaking, a lot to process all at once.

Then there's a whistle. And impressed whistle. The reader looks up. It's Dante, standing strong and straight and waving at dust like he's not squirting blood out of the hole in his chest. "Now, that was some fireworks! Remind me to invite you to my next birthday party."

And that was when the reader believed that he was actually half demon.

Plot twist a faculty member opened the hell gate and it's Miss Fleming the hippie.

I wanted to feel more 80s than it sounds here, and other than that that's all I've got.

Edit 8/20/21

The reader wears the blue Heathers uniform. Short grey skirt and all.

Or if you don't like skirts, then trousers. Tight, flattering trousers. Dante loves to watch how they pull in all the right places.

The two of you are hanging out upstairs in his room, talking about the deaths. The read is worried, fretting over the mystery, flipping through pages in their notebook; Dante sprawls next to them, half hanging off the bed, head in their lap, yawning. The front door opens and bangs shut. Dante springs out of his seat. Suddenly, he wants to get out if the house.

"Hey, do you want some ice cream? Dairy Queen, strawberry sundae, you and me. C'mon!"

Big Blood Dean stomps upstairs. "Dante! Get yer worthless ass in gear! We gotta a job, you gotta go on a supply run-"

Dean barges right on in. Looks at Dante. Looks at the reader. "You got company."

"S'there a problem?" Dante sounds cool. Too cool. He's on his feet and wandering about the room, like he's bored. The reader tenses. Dean is huge, but he somehow looms beyond his size.

Dante does his careless waltz. The reader can't take their eyes off Dean. Like a frightened animal. How can Dante expose his back like that?!

But by getting up, he's put himself between you and his adoptive parent.

"Get rid of them," orders Dean.

Shrugging, Dante pats your knee. "Alright, c'mon, babe." He leads you by the elbow to the window. You still keep an eye on Dean. He's glaring.

Dante throws open the window and bows. "After you!"

"Um, the front door is...?"

He's not serious.

"Go on!"

He's serious.

Hesitant, you stick a leg through and let him push you the rest of the way out. Then he slips out, too

"You come back here, boy-!"

"See ya, old man!" Dante slams the window shut.

"Is he going to lock you out?" You ask as you shimmy down the drain pipe.

"He can't. You broke my window lock."

Dante buys two Sundaes because he doesn't want to share; after he polishes off his, he's snatching bites of yours.

He used the "Nevada account."

(Update 9-20-21)

And this whole story would be even better with JD!Virgil instead.

Virgil didn't have time yet to harden from the demon attack before Big Blood Dean adopted him.

This is all much the same as with JD!Dante, except that Virgil gets darker (not that Veronica!Reader knows how bad it is; they didn't accidentally murder Heather together) carries a gun and everything.

In the big final fight, Virgil runs out of ammo. Demons have cornered him. It's the house, his Mom, Dante, all over again.

One blink later, the demons are all dead, slashed open. Virgil shakes as he yanks on the handle in his grip, and pulls out the blade from a soft belly.

Yamato. How did it get here? These demons are unrecognizable, like dead carrion at a butchers. Did I do this? He thinks, distant and fuzzy, as he watches his hands like watching a film as they flip his sword.

Humans are weak. Humans are wretched.

The reader's smile passes through his mind.

... Perhaps not all humans are... Deserving of death.

They're just weak. Virgil flicks gore off the sword, and heads to his house, looking for Big Blood Dean.

He didn't like the way Dean had scared you with the "Norwegian in the Boiler Room" talk, anyway.

(Spoilers: Dean doesn't live. And Virgil loves you, but this was mostly for him. It's the tipping point, and afterwards he chooses his demonic heritage over humanity. But less "kill them all" and more "purge those who dare cross our path- but don't tell Reader, they get upset easily." What they don't know can't hurt them- and you have Virgil to thank.)

You two definitely run away together at the end. Off to explore knowledge of demons and Hell and whatever else.

You want to seal off the Hellgates that are being all over the world.

Virgil wants to level-grind.

It's couples-time, really.

#DMC x Heathers #heathers au #dmc #dante dmc #dante x reader #dmc dante #dmc dante x reader #my post #my writing

[fleckcmscott]

Homemaking

Summary: In the middle of the night, Arthur finds comfort in routine. When Y/N follows, he doesn't mind at all.

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Words: 4,640

A/N: This request came from @jokerownsmysoul​! She asked me to expand on a paragraph in Ch. 25 of Watch What Happens. Thank you so much! I hope this meets your expectations!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Changing the sheets and pillowcase on the couch at regular intervals. Emptying the ashtrays littered around the apartment. Taking the trash to the dumpster in the alley next to the building. Dusting, dusting, dusting. There'd always been a chore to do in 8J.

Outside of therapy, Arthur rarely mulled over the past, instead putting to use the skills he'd been learning to make the present worthwhile. But when he did, he could recall the moment keeping house had become important to him. More than a task to be completed.

Dinner had been freezer burned chicken nuggets and rice mixed with ketchup. Milk had served as an additional side. His mother had pecked the top of his head and told him to be a good boy. "Happy, I'll see you in the morning."

The length of her upcoming absence had registered once the door was shut. While she'd not been an attentive parent, she normally hadn't left him alone for more than three or four hours, plunked in front the television with a blanket, a cup of juice, and a toy. What had he done to make her leave for an entire night? Had she been mad at him for laughing during a presentation on the school's dress code? Was it because he hadn't finished his food? Then he'd feared the neighbors would start fighting, and he'd have to listen to their yelling again. Ickiness had built in his tiny body. He'd had to do something.

He'd dragged the step stool to the front of the sink. Squeezed too much yellow detergent in it. Turned on the water and tested the temperature with his wrist, the way he'd seen Penny do it when he'd dried dishes. Once his old stuffed giraffe sat on the counter next to him, he'd carefully scrubbed the swirls of dried tomato off the plates. Washed the stuck-on crumbs from the forks. Wiped the streaks off each glass. He'd felt calm when he was done. Grown-up. Accomplished. It hadn't taken him long to grab a rag and get started on the breakfast bar.

As he'd grown, housework continued to help him maintain his composure on days he'd needed distraction from his intrusive thoughts. The stresses of survival. But he also liked the sense of control it imparted. A mentally ill, disabled, put-upon caretaker who also worked fifty to sixty hours a week didn't have many choices. The lack of options left him feeling unmoored. As if the wind would blow and he would have no alternative but to go along with it.

Buying the good sponges, the ones with the green, abrasive side, was a decision in his hands. Doing the laundry on Saturday was the schedule he set. Serving dinner at seven (unless he had a late job) was the hour he picked. Small victories in a life of losses.

But now the days were filled with fewer defeats. His paradigm was shifting, albeit incrementally. Chores were no longer only a soothing necessity. Having a girlfriend meant they were also shared activities. Indications of partnership done together. (Except for cleaning the toilet, which Y/N, bless her, continued to do.)

She moved the floor lamp when he vacuumed. He put away their clothes after she folded them. With her at the office full time while he gigged and tried to break into comedy, he liked doing extra. Taking care of her. Contributing to the household they were building. He'd been the man of the house since he was fifteen; it was a role he continued to take pride in. Especially with all the "thank yous" and "I'm happy to be home with yous" she gave him.

Dishes had quickly become his favorite errand. They took turns washing and drying. He'd splash her lightly and she'd whack him with the towel. Random kisses abounded. Frequently, he'd reminisce about her coming to his apartment unannounced last November.

Surprises made him nervous. But it had been nice to see her a whole two days sooner than planned. He hadn't been certain of what to do. His intuition was to hang onto the doorknob to remain grounded and not err. When she'd said she'd missed him, however, some of his anxiousness had dissipated. Without that, he wasn't sure he would have gotten the nerve to invite her in, no matter how badly he wanted to.

The visit had gone well, their conversation sparse but kind. Even though she'd spotted his medication, she'd let him kiss her. Pin her against the counter and embrace her. Inhale the strawberry scent of her shampoo and thank whoever might have been listening that she existed. God, he'd felt like a teenager.

At that point, he'd imagined being intimate with her countless times. The evening after she'd introduced herself, he'd tuned into a variety show, tried to enjoy the music. Penny was already in bed. He'd been alone, laying on his beige and brown sofa, blanket strewn across him, cigarette smoke floating in the air. Y/N's pleasant visage had taken shape before his eyes. Their handshake lingered in his senses, making his fingers twitch.

He'd tried to ignore the hunger it'd caused. The acute ache. It struck him as wrong, somehow - he'd just learned her name. But his arousal had overcome any residual guilt.

The warmth of her cuddling his side as they watched TV had permeated his skin. He'd entwined their fingers. Put his arm around her shoulders. During a particularly slow song, her touch drifted to his thigh. He'd twisted to admire her lips, full and smiling at him. She'd been beautiful. Happy. His. As he'd lowered her to the cushions, his hand had sneaked into his briefs. It was the first of many occasions that he'd had to muffle himself so his mother wouldn't hear him moan Y/N's name.

It had been years since he'd felt a morsel of hope. But one had welled in him. Like the fool he was, he'd kept it. And for once, hope hadn't cheated him.

~~~~~

They'd gone to bed a couple hours prior, after the news and the late show. The normal five or six minutes of cuddling had ensued. With a soft "sleep well," Y/N had rolled onto her left side and turned out the light. He'd drifted off within a few minutes, ignoring the blare of a passing siren.

But then he woke to faint giggling. Drowsy bafflement fogged his brain as he peered in her direction. Whispering her name and pulling on the cover didn't quiet her. He shushed her gently, chuckling. She laughed harder. He wondered what she was dreaming, if she was amused by him or one of his jokes. Following a messy kiss to her cheek, he left to putter about the apartment.

Goosebumps rose in response to the breeze, but Arthur, sitting on a metal step on the fire escape, enjoyed the drags from his cigarette regardless. The nights were getting cooler as autumn approached. Y/N had told him the climate was much hotter in her part of Missouri. Did the leaves change there, too? They'd have to go to Gotham Park so he could show her the bright colors, so different from the city's usual grays.

He decided to keep himself busy - it was better than getting frustrated because he wasn't tired. But he didn't feel like journaling more. He checked the kitchen. Dishes had already been put in the cabinet. The counters were clean. She'd swept the linoleum and he'd wiped the table. There wasn't much left to do. Hm. Maybe the shower door could use a good scrub. It had been a while since either of them had tended to it.

As he worked, his circular movements on the pane of glass slowed, his stare glazing. They'd last been in there together a couple weeks ago. Though he'd acted spontaneous, he'd planned the whole thing. The radio was tuned to the station with Dr. Sally's show (which had been set to start in twenty minutes). He'd measured out a capful of Y/N's bubble bath, which he'd never seen her use. Facing each other, they'd lain in the tub, talking and trying to fit comfortably.

The faucet was quite low, though, and he'd bumped his head on it when he'd leaned back. Not too hard but loud enough to startle Y/N. She'd speedily washed and climbed out to give him more room, despite his insistence he was fine. "We'll listen together another night," she'd said with a smooch, kneeling next to the bath with her towel under her armpits. "When we're not so squished." Once she was out of the room, he'd submerged himself completely with a sigh.

Arthur had learned of Dr. Sally about four years ago. She was controversial, according to Murray Franklin, but ended up becoming a reoccurring guest. The frankness and positivity with which she'd spoken about sexuality had shocked him. (And made him wish Penny had gone to bed early, so he wouldn't have to watch it in front of her.) Outside of the handful of adult films he'd seen or magazines he'd gotten, he hadn't heard anyone talk about it without making dirty jokes or being evasive.

Sitting at the corner table in his living room and listening to her pleasant voice as she doled out advice became a habit. He'd made notes here and there. One thing she'd said stuck with him, though he couldn't recall the exact wording. The meaning had been clear - and what he wanted. Sex was the closest two people could be physically. It was important to connect mentally, too. To communicate.

He'd been tempted to call in. To ask how the hell he could meet or attract a woman. He had cologne. He wore pinstripe pants. What else could he do? It would have been nice to no longer have to deal with his circumstances and illnesses alone. But he'd abandoned that idea. He hadn't wanted to reveal himself as pathetic to the whole of Gotham. Weakness put women off. By his early thirties, he'd known discovering that part of himself would nev-

"If you wait until the alarm, I'll be happy to help you." Arthur turned and found Y/N standing in the doorway. Their floral comforter was wrapped around her shoulders, only partially covering her short nightdress. He noticed the deep V-neck its straps formed as she took a step towards him. "Was I snoring that loudly?" she asked, smiling wryly.

His cheeks burned and he stepped to the sink to rinse out the sponge. "I'm almost done. And you were laughing." The confused expression she wore as he studied her in the mirror prompted a slight smirk. "What was so funny?

She hugged him around the waist, and the heat of her caused his eyelids to flutter. "I don't know. But I didn't mean to wake you," she said, tone apologetic. Her fingers splayed on his stomach, and she pressed her lips between his shoulder blades.

A huff left him as he shrugged, patting her hand. "I don't mind," he rasped. Whenever he felt the tenderness of her touch, minding wasn't possible.

"Good," she said, her hold on him tightening. The promise of her next words sent an arc of electricity up his spine. "Because I'm not tired."

~~~~~

"And so my teacher, Mr. Howard, took me in the hallway, and told me I'd tucked my blouse into my sanitary belt." Snorting, Y/N adjusted the bed cover on her lap and crossed her legs "I fixed it and got back in there to take my algebra test." After a long sip of the chamomile Arthur had made her, she poked him. "All right. It's your turn. Tell me something embarrassing."

It was nearing three o'clock, but the time had flown by, sitting with her there on the couch. Neither had bothered to turn on a lamp. Instead, they enjoyed the intimacy provided by the faded, orange streetlights coming in through the windows. He liked how the play of shadows accentuated the girlish curve of the apple of her cheek, quite dissimilar from his own sculpted features.

The escalating game of twenty questions had started off easy, the information shared tame. She'd confirmed her favorite color was lilac, and when she'd asked for his preferred subject in school, he'd merely stated, "I hated school." She'd left it alone. He'd inched closer as she said he was funniest when he didn't try. And he'd admitted her divorce puzzled him, casually saying, "Why would anyone want to be without you?" A soft sound had caught in her throat and she'd leaned into him.

But she was challenging him now - the glint in her eye was obvious, sparkling even in the dark. It was his own fault, really. He'd been the one to take the game to another level by getting personal. Resisting the chance to learn about her was not an option.  

Fiddling with the handle of his mug of decaf, he furrowed his brow. "Um." He'd fucked up around people a lot. Whenever his condition had made an appearance during a meeting at work, he'd wanted to sink into the floor. Sophie's conversation with him after he'd trailed her had been distressing, notwithstanding her kindness. It was difficult to pick a safe answer.

But after some deliberation, he found one that would fit the mood. "I used to- Used to dance in my living room." He scoffed at himself. Put his arm on the back of the sofa and brushed his hair back. "And pretend women - a woman - noticed me." He pulled at a loose thread in the cushion.

Y/N didn't miss a beat. "Was it me?"

"No," he said with a shake of the head. "I didn't really know you. Not yet." Her nod was slight, her stare going to her lap. A few seconds later she chuckled, covering her face. "What?" he asked.

The flush rising through her shoulders, to her neck, to the top of her ears intrigued him. While he was proficient at making her blush (a fact that tickled him), she never seemed to be shy about anything. She put her cup on the table, ran her hand along her forearm. "I was just remembering when you left after our dinner."

His eyebrows shot up and held there. "What happened?"

She waved dismissively. "I was swooning like a woman half my age." Her gaze flicked to his and his pulse flipped. "I'd intended to change so I could start putting everything away. But..." The corner of her mouth lifted. "I ended up on my bed. Wishing you were with me."

He exhaled sharply. "Oh." Had the details in her imaginings been similar to his? He wondered if candles were lit. If they'd gone slowly. If she'd told him she loved him. How close had it been to what he'd yearned for after spilling his heart all over his journal?

He surveyed her. Took in how she massaged where her neck met her shoulder. The way she opened her legs further as she shifted in her seat, the bed cover falling away. The desire in her half-lidded eyes made his mouth go dry. "I wished for you a lot, too," he said quietly, glancing at the carpet.

Given what he sometimes sketched in his notebook, painful things he didn't understand the impetus of, he'd worried his impulses would be freakish. That they'd be off-putting, like the rest of him was. But Y/N assured him they weren't and told him not to worry with her. That him getting up and telling her to never hit him when she'd slapped his ass in the heat of the moment hadn't offended her. That it was normal to like it when she nibbled his collarbone or the tendons of his neck. That her not being able to come sometimes had nothing to do with him.

The hesitation currently churning in his gut was ridiculous. While he was getting better at initiating, having built up some confidence (and feigning it when necessary), it wasn't yet second nature to him. He needed to now, though. And there was no reason for caution with her. Her sensitivity and consideration had borne that out.

It was that thought which finally spurred him to scoot closer to her, cradle her cheek, and kiss her firmly.

Her response was swift, as though she'd been waiting for him. The insistence of her tongue prompted the parting of his lips. She carded through his hair, tugged at his curls as she curved into him. Her nipples grazed his front through the chiffon of her nightgown, and he savored the fire stoking in him at the contact.

His fingers whispered lower, wandering between her legs to caress her through her underwear. The cotton was soaked through. She met his touch insistently, sighing his name. He couldn't recall hearing anything sweeter. Blood was rushing to his cock, lending him some daring. "I want you," he rasped, compelling himself to be assertive. And relishing the hint of power it evoked in him.

He focused on the front of his blue pajamas being untied. The slide of them and his briefs past his narrow hips. They gathered about his knees as she curled her fingers around his erection. "Shit..." He thrust into her grasp with a grunt. The swipe of her palm across the head felt like he was burning, and he twitched in her hand. She was smearing his slick over him, along his rigid length.

Demand was already building in his abdomen. Needing to last longer than three minutes, he withdrew to stand. The bedroom was too far to go. He moved the coffee table back, towards the television, and grabbed the comforter. "You really are in a hurry," she teased, stripping off her nightshirt while he clumsily arranged the thick cover on the carpet. Their eyes locked and he offered his hand. She took it eagerly.

With a soft grin, he guided her to lay beside him. He ran his palm down her back and cupped her bottom, adoring being immersed in her. He pressed her into the soft fabric beneath them as he settled on top. When he rutted against her heat, she hissed and sealed their lips.

A low groan left him. Would the sensation of her supple mouth ever become mundane? His former co-workers had often complained about their wives. Had become bored with them. Fed up. He couldn't fathom ever tiring of the taste of Y/N's smile. Or the excitement of having her feminine form so close to his.

He kissed her neck, stopping only when he reached the swell of her chest. Nuzzling her cleavage, he pushed her breasts together before taking a dusky peak between his teeth. She moaned and clasped his biceps. The increasing canter of her pelvis, how she asked him to enter her without words, was driving his fervor higher and higher.

But he was enjoying himself. The playfulness from their earlier game hadn't yet left. After pecking a line down her stomach, he boosted himself up. She was panting raggedly, clearly fighting to keep her eyes open as she ground into the air. "Please..." she breathed.

Voice thick with arousal, he asked, "Please what?"

She bucked against the grip he had on her hips. "Put your mouth on me."

He laughed lightly, grateful to be at ease rather than flustered. "You mean here?" His soft lips met her navel. "Or here?" A smooch to the top of her thigh. Backing away, he kissed her knee. "Maybe here."

Halting his retreat, her calf caught him by the shoulder. "You're such a tease," she said. Wantonly, she arched towards him, and he grasped the waistline of her panties. The tang of her scent hit him as he pulled them off. He shivered, then threw her thighs over his shoulders. He was ready to give into her, to give into what they both desired. But she shoved a couch cushion at him. "Here."

After a pause, he took it with a murmured "okay," the last syllable elongated. She propped herself on her elbow, helped him get it under the swell of her bottom and lower back. When he asked what it was for, she explained he could strain his neck. He pushed his face into her leg, snorting. That had happened last time, after a long day at work. He didn't think it would happen again. It was sweet of her, though, to consider him, so he didn't argue.

His gaze flitted to her vulva. While he couldn't see much in the low light, he was well acquainted with her body. The first time he'd really seen her, he'd been a little surprised. She wasn't like the models he'd seen in photographs. Her inner lips were visible, extended past her labia, especially when she was turned-on. Her clitoris was easy to find, thank god. Once, she'd told him she used to be self-conscious about it, the result of a doctor making a disparaging remark when she got her first IUD. She claimed it no longer bothered her, but Arthur knew the lasting sting of unkindness. And wanted her to know she was beautiful.

"Mm," he breathed, kissing her pubic bone gently. Then he dipped lower to press his tongue to her plump folds. She rolled up to meet him with a sharp cry. "I love your taste."

She giggled and his eyes darted to hers. Thankfully, it had become easier to watch her while he did this. Her pleasure at his compliment was obvious, what with the flirtatiousness of her gaze. He thought he could make out a growing ruddiness in her cheeks, and admired the round shape her lips formed.

It was impossible to lay still. His nose brushed her as he nestled in her short curls, gripping her thigh and skimming the soft skin. Her bud was engorged, jutting out slightly from its hood. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick at it, and her hand flew to his curls as she called his name.

He altered his angle, tilted his head to the side while he stroked her labia. She was getting wetter, her arousal more abundant under his attention. Knowing he satisfied her filled him with pride. Those lonely nights listening to the radio had been good for something.

As his fore- and middle fingers traced her entrance, slipped inside her, she whined and bore down on him. Groaning, his thin lips enclosed her clitoral hood. He concentrated on getting the rhythm right, coordinating the movement of his hand with the passes of his tongue. The clutch to his locks grew stronger as she rocked, pulling him harder to her flesh. One of her legs wrapped about his upper back, the other braced on her foot by his side. His thrusts quickened and he bent his knuckle, her increasing cries emboldening him further.

At her short wail, he lifted himself to look at her. Observe her frame as she bowed backwards. The rise and fall of her breasts with the exertion of her punctuated gasps. The way she blindly reached for purchase. He yanked the cushion out from under her. Unable to wait any longer, he crawled over her until they were face to face, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and lined himself up with her opening.

His eyes screwed shut as he sunk into her searing, snug walls. He let out ragged breaths, tinged with low rasps. "I love you," he blurted.

She grasped his sides. "I love you, too."

Hips snapping into hers, he gritted his teeth. "Fuck, I love you."  

"Fill me up," she whispered, her heels at his ass. "Fill me up."

Quickly, he reached between them to toy with her nub, wanting his actions to match the urgency of her pleas. But she took hold of his wrist, ran her thumb along it as she pecked his chin. "I'm good so enjoy yourself," she laughed. Then she pressed her forehead his. "I just need to have you."

Her hands cherishing his back, caressing and holding him close, elated him. She always managed to do that, to make him feel esteemed, even on days he didn't value himself. Sometimes he pined for their coupling to be endless. Being a part of her felt like home.

But he couldn't stop. She was gazing at him unblinkingly, adulation clear in the flecks of her irises. Begging him to come inside her. Saying she needed him. The scorch of her was potent, the friction staggering. Somehow, the undulations of her pelvis managed to meet his pace...

The tempo of his rushed movements became uneven. His brain suddenly went white, only aware of her surrounding him. Cock throbbing with pleasure, his hips stuttered involuntarily while he emptied into her, a gravelly moan on his lips. After those too few, exquisite seconds, he fell onto her, gasping and thoroughly spent.

Y/N's calf left his waist, and she let out a long breath. "I need a cigarette and I don't even smoke."

Arthur grinned, mind awash with dreamy stupor. "You're not gonna start. 'It's a nasty habit,'" he said wryly, quoting her. He rolled off and lay on his back by her side. Stretching the loose part of the comforter over his middle, he chuckled. "You know, of the few things I thought I'd be okay at, this wasn't one of them."

The smile she gave him let him know what she was thinking. She'd said she wanted to hear him compliment himself more, that he deserved it and didn't do it enough. When she nibbled his earlobe he jerked slightly, a tickle in his neck. "Gotham has no idea what it's been missing." Her tone turned serious. "But you can make it about yourself, too. I'd enjoy that."

Brows pinching, he frowned slightly. She'd appeared pleased just a minute ago. Had he done something wrong? Or was he misreading her now? He gaped, about to ask what she meant.

But she started again, smoothing her hand across his stomach. "Hey, I'm not complaining. I'm here for you, though. If you need to fuck a bad mood away, it's fine. If I don't want to, I'll tell you."

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the stray couch cushion. "You never don't want to." He put it under his head, adjusted his neck until he was a version of comfortable. While it has true he had bad days, he tried to shield her from them. He'd be lying to himself if he pretended her suggestion hadn't crossed his mind. It'd never stuck, though - he couldn't bear the thought of using her. With her permission, maybe it would be all right. He pressed his lips together. "But I'll keep it in mind."

Eventually, Y/N sat and stretched, placed her palms on her back as she popped it. "I'm going to drift off at my desk if I don't go to bed." She stood shakily, grasping the arm of the sofa. "And I'll need a hot water bottle if I stay on the floor." After she gathered her clothes, she turned to him. "Are you coming with me?"

He pulled on his briefs with a shake of his head. "I can't sleep now."

There was a pause, then she gave a small shrug. "Keep me company until I do?"

Stilling, he looked up at her, a smile spreading across his cheeks. "Yeah," he said warmly, his heart in his throat at the request. A request couldn't deny. "I'll be right there." She bent and pecked his forehead, then scurried off into the bedroom, comforter in hand. He watched as she retreated, listened as she flopped down on the mattress. Hurriedly, he put the cushion back in its place and followed, already impatient to have her in his arms again.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @howdylilflower​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @64-crayon​

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

[alightwhendarknessfell]

Dear Andy,

I have debated posting this for a while, mostly because I wanted to get it right. With the WSTW re-record release approaching and things coming to light about the actions of a former member I feel that now is as good a time as ever. I don’t know if you’ll read this, but it is something that over the past year I have wanted to do. I have been unfair and overcritical and at times, downright mean. I was judging you and your actions based on my own interpretations. The events of the past few weeks have shown me that those interpretations were wrong. So here it goes…

I have been a fan of not only Black Veil, but of you going back to 2008-2009, when everything was still on Myspace. I vividly remember eagerly awaiting the release of WSTW and making my mom drive me to the local Hot Topic to pick it up the day it came out. I remember going to my first show in a small little bar in Raleigh, NC that sadly is no more, and I remember being dressed in war paint along with my best friends. I know that it may not seem like it, but I to this day consider myself a fan. The band that you created was pivotal for my teenage years and to this day the community you helped build means the world to me.

I will admit that it was my passion and love for that community that was the root of my criticism. Despite what you or others reading this may think, I do not hate you, not at all. There have been times that I felt let down, cheated, and disappointed as a fan, but the events of the past few weeks have really opened my eyes. I will get that to that point, but I did not and do not hate you. As a person I speak up, at times when I probably shouldn’t, but I do when I feel strongly about something. I have certainly made the mistake too many times of speaking before I had all the information or trusting my own judgement on things, I knew nothing about. I am trying to get better at not doing that.

I can see how some of the things I have said, condoned, or even given a platform to were mean, uncalled for, hurtful, and regrettably untrue at times. I have had this blog and been in this fandom for over a decade. I was 13-14 years old when I first made this blog, and I am almost 25 now. I look back on some of the things I said, and I deeply regret them. In 2015 this blog was accidentally deleted, and honestly it was probably for the best that some of my earlier posts are gone. Regardless, I have let myself get carried away or swept up in drama perpetuated by others (and sometimes myself). I have said things, even in the past few years that I shouldn’t have, things that could be hurtful. While my intention was never to hurt you, I think it’s safe to say that myself and others lose sight of the impact of our words when they are said behind a screen, to people we think will never read them. As a teenager or even in my early 20’s I didn’t think that someone ‘famous’ would see what I wrote, surely it would all get lost in the sea of tweets, posts and comments.

That does not make saying those things right.

I would like to personally apologize to you for not considering the fact that you might see some of those words. That you are a person with emotions just like everyone else, that could be hurt by them. I am sorry for letting others get away with saying cruel things, even if I pushed back on them or didn’t directly comment. I would be lying if I said that the fame (or infamy), status and notoriety I got for my words didn’t affect my actions. It’s sad, but true that often times more attention comes out of negativity than kindness.

As someone who has been bullied and suffers from mental illnesses, I should have left some things unsaid. I do not know you personally, I only know what you have shared. Seeing you speak about your own struggles with mental illness over the recent years has really given me a much-needed reality check. I have related to some of the things you’ve talked about more than you know. Some of the things that others and I have been critical of were clearly not the result of malicious intent but of your own hardships that we were blind to. 

I think people forget, and I know I did, that when this band took off you were just a teenager yourself. To think that at 18 or 19 someone in your situation would act ‘right’ all of the time and never make mistakes is ridiculous. Not only were you a kid trying to figure the world out, but I think it has become clear that you were dealing with people who used you for their own selfish gains. That would be hard for anyone, regardless of their age. 

I have never dealt with addiction on a personal level, but I emphasize with whatever pain you had to endure in your own struggles with it. You are right when you said that no one sees themselves becoming an alcoholic at twenty years old, and I am sorry for not being more sympatric in the past. One of my biggest regrets in all of this was hearing that during the time that I was probably the harshest to you (around 2016) was when you were struggling the most with trying to be sober. 

I am happy that you are sober, I am glad that you were able to make it out of that cycle that consumes so many people. I hope that others who are struggling are inspired by your dedication to living a healthier life. In an industry where it is too easy to fall back into toxic behaviors and coping mechanisms, I am glad you have found strength.  

I would like to speak on why I have been so negative in the past (and at times hateful). As I said, what you created in Black Veil meant a lot to me and so many others. This band has been a part of my life for so long and I have met some of the most amazing people through it. I have met people that I can honestly say I love because of this community. This fan base gave me a home when I felt alone and gave me something to identify with as a kid. That’s why I started cosplaying as you, sure it’s a hobby of mine and aesthetically I am a fan of 80’s glam metal, but it was mostly to pay tribute. I am not a ‘traditional’ artist in the sense of paintings and drawings, my media is makeup and costume. The WSTW/STWOF era is what I consider my era as a fan, the one that I identified with the most. 

I admit, I was upset when it ended. That’s a stupid reason to be upset, obviously all bands change and there’s nothing wrong with that, but that’s how I felt. The source of my jadedness was not the adoption of a new look, it was deeper than that. Around 2016 was when I had the most animosity because I saw what I thought at the time was you ‘giving up’ on Black Veil. I felt like the ‘old’ fans weren’t wanted anymore and like most people, I felt the need to protect and defend what I loved.

With the introduction of your solo act, it felt like the community I cared so much about was being destroyed and I couldn’t understand why you were doing that. I was blinded by my own judgements. What came off as hate was really just hurt. I know I am not the only ‘OG’ fan who felt that way, and I took that to mean I was justified. In hindsight it is clear, none of us had any idea what was really going on with the band and certain individuals who were bringing it down. At various times it seemed like you hated the old era and as a fan who stood there from the beginning that felt like a gut punch.  I let my own feelings make me bitter, and that was wrong. I let others fuel that bitterness, including ones who were actively stabbing you in the back. 

I remember around 2012 I made a very critical post of an article you did in Kerrang talking about your struggles with alcohol. I criticized you for not saying more and even said that what you shared was nothing in comparison to a former member’s struggles with addiction. When I received this DM from that individual saying that they approved of my words and that I was ‘spot on’ I felt embolden. I deeply, deeply regret letting such a toxic and horrible person influence me. That post I wrote was wrong, ignorant and immature. That post was one that got deleted in 2015, but I still regret having written something so heartless. 

(screen shot is from 2012, this was a Twitter DM from said individual. I did not share that post with them, they found it on their own and contacted me. ) 

I see now that you were not turning your back on Black Veil, you were trying to save it. The interview you did with Ryan Downey brought me to tears. I cannot imagine what it feels like to have something you spent your whole life fighting for be taken over by an abusive, evil, and selfish person. I feel like I have gained a better perspective of where you and the band were at over the past three weeks and I am sorry you are not free to say more. I am sorry for defending this person because they did not deserve a single fan.

Some who takes advantage of another’s passion and youth because they lack the creativity and ability to do it on their own is stealing, plain and simple. I am sorry that you have been tethered to such a horrible person for so long. I deeply admire your perseverance, strength and determination in taking back what that person tried to take. To be willing to destroy something you love and care about to keep it from the hands of evil is an incredible act of dedication to it. 

I would like to end this with a few more things. I know I have been critical of people that you love. I do admit I have taken those criticisms too far at times where they crossed into bullying. I am sorry to Juliet for being unfairly harsh, I am not a hateful person, but I have allowed myself to act that way. There are certainly things that I have said that I stand by, and there are things that I may not agree with or understand, but I think there are ways that I can voice my own opinions respectfully, without being mean. 

In an ideal world I would love to sit down with you, or anyone else I may have hurt and have a discussion about it, but hopefully this gets my point across well enough. I do not intend to delete my blog or stop accepting posts (although I will try and make an effort to get rid of toxic posts. It will just take a while to sort through them all). While I can’t promise to never say anything critical again, I can promise to stop the hatefulness. I am promising to make a real effort to clean up some of the toxicity towards you that is unfair and unwarranted. To facilitate a more respectful, yet still honest and open dialogue. I do take pride in my blog being one of the last places of discussion and community for fans, but perhaps without the cruelty that been allowed to fester. If you are someone reading this who comes here to be mean and hateful, I’m sorry but it has to stop. This was never intended to be a ‘hate blog’, but I will openly admit I understand why people thought it was.  

If you take anything away from this, or if you even read this, please let it be this. I consider myself a supporter of you and what you have created. I want nothing more than to see you succeed and be happy. I hope that you are able to overcome the struggles in your life and that you are able to find meaning and true happiness if you have not already. Although it may not appear so, I have always routed for you. It may seem like nothing you do is ever good enough for the fans (or at least some of them) but for me at least that is not true. You have been given an impossible task of trying to please thousands of people, of never being allowed to fuck up, and having past transgressions brought up again and again. For that I am sorry, and I am sorry for having played a part in that. 

You deserve to be treated as a person, not as an object or persona. I whole heartedly believe you are a decent person, who maybe has flaws and room for improvement, but so do I and so does everyone else. I do believe there are fundamentally bad people out there, people who deserve the karma they have coming. Those are the people that purposefully hurt, lie, manipulate, cheat and deceive others for personal gain. I think especially in the past few weeks we have been shown who those people are. Yet, I don’t believe you are one of those people. 

To everyone out there who is reading this, please give people the chance to change. Be okay with admitting when you are wrong. Allow people to grow and become better. Over the past year my mentality and perspective on the world has shifted dramatically. Two years ago I couldn’t have written this post, but as I enter my mid-twenties I am able to look back and say ‘this is not the person I want to be, this is not the person I want people to think I am’. So all I can do is admit my shortcomings, apologize, and be better. 

Andy, if you read this and made it to the end, thank you. You are in no way obligated to respond to or accept any of what I said. I just wanted to put this out there with the hopes that it in some way, or that some part of this, lessened some of the hurt I regrettably have caused. 

- Ren <3 

P.S the banner of my blog is not calling you or the band trash. It’s a fan term for when someone is really into something. Saying “I am ______ trash” means you love that thing. I know it’s weird, but it’s supposed to be an inside joke for other fans, it’s a positive thing. So, when I say “I am 100% 2010 Black Veil trash” I am talking about myself being a massive fan of that era. I don’t think you or the band is trashy, if I did, I wouldn’t be spending money on tickets, merch and shoving blue contacts into my eyes for 10+ years. 

#Andy Biersack #Andy Black #Black Veil Brides #BVB #alightwhendarknessfell

[ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa]

You can’t possibly come in a T-rex costume to your own wedding

crackfic taken very seriously, pairing: saiouma, words: 1813

from orginal tags: Wedding Planing, how did it spiral down to that, Slice of Life, I should not have taken the wedding prompt, The Author Regrets Everything, except for the “do you ever wonder about...” but this is the part that you will hate

I don’t even know for what event I’ve made the T-rex trilogy anymore, but enjoy

No. No way. This is not an option. No. Stupid. He can't possibly be actually considering that. Momota must have been trying to prank him and he will not fall for that. His relationship with Shuichi is the one thing he can't afford to fuck up. This includes their wedding day, it has to be perfect, no foolishery that could destroy that, definitely not a T-rex costume. Not in a thousand years, even if he already had one and maybe deep down would want to wear it on big occasions instead of a boring suit, not on the wedding.

He had to admit it at least to himself. All of his life he's been a clown, never a serious person, there was a lot of dumb and irresponsible things he did just for the hell of it. That's the part of him that Momota knew, but there was more. Something he definitely wouldn't show in front of others. That is - he cared about Shuichi. A lot. It wasn't just some sort of fascination, they wouldn't be getting married if it was about curiosity or the looks, that could have been what initially brought them together. Now he couldn't imagine life without the other.

The years they spend together, it was already eight that they knew each other and five of dating. So much time is bound to change a person. Their beginings were... shaky, both of them had issues and they were still in high school at the time, so nobody believed they would last. But they learned from all the misunderstandings, fights and especially that one time when they techinically broke up, but made up soon after, if nothing else, then that incident surely taught them to communicate with each other. Therefore, what Momota was trying to tell him really didn't make sense. He was not only telling him that Shuichi was into dressing up as a dinosaur, he was telling him that he accidentaly discovered something Shuichi was hiding even from him and that it would be a good idea to use this knowledge to make a "nice" surprise for Shuichi and wear said costume to their wedding.

He took in a deep breath, whether Momota was serious or trying to prank him or whatever, he didn't have the strenght to think deeper into it, but at the same time he had to hold in the urge to punch that idiot. He thought that by know they were over their conflicts from school years or at least that Momota valued his friendship with Saihara enough to respect his relationship with Ouma, but apparently not. Doing something like this would obviously make him look like he wasn't serious about the marriage and most likely tear them apart and yet the astronaut had the gall to suggest him doing that. It was disrespectful to Shuichi's privacy (if it was true), too.

Masking his anger with a fake smile he promised to himself that he's going to hold on to that grudge, perhaps trash the guy's wedding when the time comes, assuming that he ends up having the balls to propose... it's more likely that Harukawa will, it was clear who's wearing pants in that relationship. For now, he told him that he'll "think about it" and that "it could be fun". Which, little did the spaceman know, was a code for "I'm gonna talk about it with Shuichi as soon as I can and avoid any and all unnecessary drama you could cause with this ploy."

Feeling mentally exhausted after Momota left he sat dawn on the couch and sighed. How was he going to approach the subject?

It could be said that Momota was always there, technically they all knew each other since the beginning of high school, but Kokichi was distant for the first two years while the other two became friends right away. It was obvious that Shuichi considered him a dear friend, it would be wrong to start with accusing the guy of having ill intent. It would be just cruel and unnecessery, they already had arguments about Ouma not mixing well with his boyfriend's friend group in the past, it resolved with an agreement that they don't have to like each other's friends, it's enough if they don't fight over them.

They both have their own judgement and free will, it's a part of trusting your partner to let them be and don't be forceful about who they should hang out with. Controlling behavior is such a big red flag and they were above that. Yeah, jealousy on his part and wanting people he cared about to get along on Shuichi's side started the argument, but what they did was talk it out. So yeah, implying that perhaps Momota wanted to sabotage their wedding was not an option. It would make him the asshole who made Shuichi choose between who's side to take.

He didn't want to accept that, but he knew what he had to do. Looks like his plans for the evening just got interesting.

Busy as a bee,it was usual for Saihara to come back late, but recently he was trying to come back home earlier, but the part that worried his soon to be husband that it was not to rest, did he ever? He was coming home to do more work related to wedding preparations or he was sneaking his real job in, Kokoichi was doing his best trying to stop the latter, knowing that this workaholic habit has to stop and made sure he had equal share of the first one. Actually, they tried to do most things together, when it came to the wedding it was of great importance to them for everything to be mutually agreed upon. They mastered the art of compromising a long time ago and knew their preferences well enough, which could cause people to wrongly assume it would be a piece of cake.

Bad wording. The thought of cake made him slightly nauseus. How many cakes you have to try before you pick one? How many places you have to see before you know which is the right one? How many designs of an invitation do you have to look throug before they make you choose between two nearly identical? What about decorations? Music? Having to learn the first dance? Panicking in the dressing room while trying on a suit, because you've seen the price and you don't deserve to wear it just as much as you don't deserve the love of your partner, but you can't stain this shit with tears and you start to doubt if the last five years was just a dream and you're gonna wake up being a teenager with nobody who'd care and acne again?

Do you ever wonder about those things?

Anyway. Shuichi coming home meant he had to get moving, today they had plans, they were going to visit his uncle to personally hand him the invitation. Good thing, that he lived close, but even better that not next door. Coming over for dinner was not a problem, but they had their privacy, it was perfect.

First though, he had to prepare a relaxing bath for Shuichi, he needs a break before continuing the day and won't give it to himself, so somebody else has. If the whole purpose wasn't for his fiance to rest, he'd gladly join him in it too, but maybe some other time.

Meeting partner's family seems to be the thing that always make people nervous, but reality is that after a while it becomes normal, it depends on how confident a person is, some people relax after making the first impression or maybe that just happens in books he read and it's normal to need more time like he did, but nonetheless it fades and eventually there's nothing to be nervous about, because at this point they'd either openly disapprove or started to treat you as a part of the family. For reasons unknown to him he got accepted and got called "son"which felt weird.

Today wasn't a typical visit, though, so a shred of familiar nervousness appeared. With how much of a big deal they did out of engagment everyone knew about them getting married, so technically it wasn't like they were breaking the news. Hell, he consulted with and asked for approval of Shuichi's uncle as the closest family he got before proposing. And yet it felt as if he was doing it for the second time. This time, thankfully there was Shuichi with him, it was always easier to face situations that challenged their insecurities together. Especially situations that stressed them both out, it boosted their protectiveness of each other and with the mutual support built they could face anything, even Shuichi's parents when they visited once. Speaking about them, they weren't invited.

He quickly realized that his worries were baseless, the man happily accepted the invitation and congratulated them, deep down he knew that he shouldn't expect any diffrent, but he still was relieved.

The rest of the evening passed in more relaxed atmosphere. They talked a bit more about details of the wedding and plans for the honeymoon - they were going to spend two weeks by the sea before coming back to the mundane life. During that conversation he managed to bring up the subject of costumes in a subtle way.

Casually, after taking a sip of his tea, he looked at Shuichi to see his reaction and dropped the bomb. "We could indulge in some untraditional aspects, for example apply a theme, some people pull that off pretty well, I've seen a couple get married on a boat with a Love Live theme or some others had everyone wear costumes and it was just stellar. Our is going to be rather small, roughly thirty people, so that would be doable."

He din't have to say that it's because there would be no one to come from his side as he's an orphan, it hung heavy in the air anyway, so he kept speaking to chase it away. It was impossible to tell if Shuichi's eyes widened because of the mention of costumes or at what his last sentence implied.

"It's just a random thought, since everything's decided by now and we kept it pretty simple, but it's such a special occasion that I understand wanting to have an extravagant wedding and even take said extravagance to another level, why not, it is once in a lifetime."

Shuichi didn't have any strong reaction to that and only asked if he's pointing at something in a tone that suggested nothing, it wasn't nervous at all and Shuichi sucked at hiding his emotions. The only possible conclusion was that he had no idea about the whole thing.

"Silly Shumai, I said it was a random thought, didn't I?"

#ndrv3 #danganronpa #saiouma #kokichi oma #shuichi saihara #crack taken seriously #made by me

[cthacker82]

When I was just a Little Girl

When I was born, I was the baby child and therefore, my parents were ill prepared for my arrival.  They lived in a small two-bedroom house with a front porch and big yard with my big brother.  They did, however, close in the front porch, leaving it windowless, and created a nursery for me.  Growing up, I never really cared that I had the smallest and only windowless room in the house.  However, when I got older, it would have been nice to slam a door in teenage angst, unfortunately, my door was only a curtain.  Said curtain, alas, did not allow for any angst, much less any privacy.  Lack of a door also allowed me to hear my parents’ fights and to see the destruction that was my mother’s anguish manifested as hording.  

The fact that my mother was a horder, yes I mean like the ones on T.V., did not allow for any guests, much less slumber parties as a young adult and teenager.  It meant keeping the world out and burying ourselves in filth and clutter.  Needless to say, I spent a lot of time outside growing up and created endless stories and games within my own imagination.  I was a diving girl like Sonora Webster, I rode horses with Wyatt Earp, and my Barbies had beautiful and clean homes where they threw dinner and pool parties with all their friends.

My mom’s hording extended to the car when I was in elementary school.  This particular fact mortified me because my parents refused to let me ride the bus and insisted that my mother take me to school every morning.  The fact that the principal opened my door and saw the mess was bad enough, it was only made worse when things would fall out of the car as other children were entering the building.  Therefore, it should not be surprising, I didn’t have many friends growing up.  Back then, like today, most of being friends involves spend the night parties and birthday parties and things of that nature.  When your parents instill the fear of DFCS in you from an early age, you knew never to invite anybody over.  

Maybe the stars aligned just right or maybe the heavens decided to take pity on this poor little skinny girl who just wanted a friend.  However it happened, I am still eternally grateful for Grace, the pretty little lonely blond headed girl who befriended me when I was in the third grade.  We are still friends today and I cannot imagine my life without her in it.  You see, we and our families were polar opposites.  Her house was lived in but always clean and everything had a place.  Her dad woke up early every Sunday morning and made a full breakfast (I’m talking pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, chocolate milk) and we went out to eat together and ate dinner at their house together and I spent most of my formative childhood years in their house.  The biggest difference in our families is that where my parents never wanted anybody to spend the night, Grace’s parents never wanted her to spend the night away from home.  I mean how perfect is that?  

I only made it where I am today because of those years spent at her house.  My house is not always spotless, but it is always clean and devoid of clutter.  I almost lose my mind when things start piling up and have nowhere to go.  My mom and dad divorced after 32 years of marriage and each has their own home, two states apart, that is clean and devoid of clutter.  We have all come a long way and my mom has sought and received treatment for her mental illness.  Although we are all so far apart now, my mom and I one state and my dad and brother in another, we are actually better than I think we have ever been.  

#childhood #hording wheniwasjustalittlegirl memoir shortstories

[name-me-regret]

If The World Was Ending 8/?

If The World Was Ending Chapter Eight: Til The Morning

Read on AO3.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Take me home, take me home I'll be yours till the morning Then leave without warning So take me home

Call me please, call me please Oh I can't wait forever You know better So call me please

Leave me be, leave me be You had your chance already Someone else, I go steady So leave me be…”

~Til The Morning - Bahamas

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Tony groaned as his eyes opened, frowning as he tried to remember when he’d gone to sleep. The last thing he recalled was frantically looking—

He shot up in the bed he was laying in as he suddenly remembered Evan, looking around frenetically for the man. The room was dark but sunlight was starting to come in through the partially closed curtains. Where the hell was he anyways?

The billionaire decided that was something for later as he swung his legs out of the bed, fumbling with the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed he was in. When the semi-dark room was bathed in light, he was met with the room that could only belong to a teenage boy. Well, what he imagined it would look like for a normal teenage boy, since his room had looked nothing like this. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been normal. Besides, by the time he was fifteen, he was living in the MIT dorms with Rhodey as his roommate.

He quickly spotted his phone on the same nightstand as the lamp, as well as his Bluetooth. Tony quickly shoved it into his ear. “JARVIS, you up?” He wasn’t sure if it still had any battery, since it had been a terribly long day yesterday. At least, he hoped it was yesterday, since there was no telling how long he’d been out.

‘For you, sir, always,’ the AI’s familiar voice spoke in his ear.

He sighed as some of his panic subsided, but there was still the matter of Evan’s whereabouts. He’d be worried about Maddie, but she’d been perfectly unharmed, and wondered if she’d been at a hospital away from the affected zone. Tony was ashamed to admit that he’d never thought to ask Evan about what she was doing, he’d just sensed that it was something Evan had been hesitant to mention. Although he knew why she was in L.A. without Doug, whom was dead.

“How long have I been out, J? Where’s the suit, and where the hell am I?” he stood and stretched, feeling sort of rested, but not much. Well, he was use to it, since even after the Mandarin incident, he didn’t sleep too well. Even if he’d told Pepper that he would do better, that didn’t stop the nightmares, the panic attacks, and he knew it was PTSD. After all, if it walked like a duck and all that, well...

He’d just never been one to do the normal thing when one had trauma, which was go to therapy. Tony could just see his business slashed all over the newspapers. It had always been like that, even as a kid and now being Iron Man, it was ten times worse. At times he wished he’d just done what Colson (and Fury) had wanted and kept his identity as Iron Man a secret, since things would have been so much easier. Then he’d thought of the destruction that had happened, the fighter jet he’d destroyed, the vehicles that had been damaged in his fight with Iron Monger, and knew he couldn’t hide. He had to take responsibility, be held accountable for his actions; both in and out of the suit.

‘It is currently 5:25am Pacific Time, and you’ve been asleep for three hours, sir. The Mark 33 is stationed in the backyard in sentry mode and every other suit besides Peacekeeper which is still helping the police, have been charged and helping rescue workers mostly recover the dead at this point. Also, you are located in Robert Grant Nash’s residence.’

Tony paused as he was looking for his shoes, stopping as he’d bent down to search under the bed. “I’m at Cap’s house?” he asked incredulously. He bet there was a story there, but he had more pressing matters. “J, where’s Evan?”

‘Mr. Buckley is asleep at this very moment in the room next to this one.’

Tony forwent looking for his shoes and padded out of the room in his socks and headed into the room next to the one he’d woken up in. If he was at Bobby’s house, that meant the beds belonged to his kids. He hoped he hadn’t taken anyone’s bed from them.

For now he walked to the door next to the one he was in, knocking lightly in case Evan was asleep. When there was no response, he cracked open the door and peeked inside. He knew it was a huge invasion of privacy, but he just wanted to see that Evan was there and unharmed and then he would go. Whether that was back to the room he’d woken up in or not, well, he hadn’t decided yet.

He saw the man’s 6’2 frame on a bed and what he could see of the sheets and the rest of it room, this was a teenaged girl’s bedroom. From here he could tell he was sleeping peacefully and he sighed in relief. He knew about nightmares after a traumatic experience and it was good that Evan didn’t appear to be having any.

Tony quietly closed the door and moved away from the room, and finally decided that he wanted some coffee. He realized that this was because he could smell it, and it was gourmet too. Oh, someone in this house knew what good coffee was and wasn’t afraid to spend the money for it. Apparently some people were satisfied with that cheap instant kind, the uncultured fools.

He hoped he didn’t look too ragged or smell rank after spending the all yesterday and last night in the same clothes. Tony told JARVIS to order him some simple clothes to be delivered to Bobby’s residence. His AI told him that it, as well as some toiletries would be delivered within the hour. Hopefully he’d be able to get a cup or two of that coffee and perhaps beg off their hospitality for a piece of toast and some eggs.

Tony came into the kitchen to find Bobby Nash leaning against the counter, looking exhausted in his grubby LAFD uniform. There was a cup of coffee in his hand and his eyes were closed, and Tony wondered if he’d fallen asleep like that. Poor guy was likely ready to collapse, especially if he’d just gotten in.

“As much as I hate to wake you up, because you look bone weary, but I refuse to let you waste good coffee,” he told him, since the cup looked moments away from slipping out of his hand.

Bobby jerked awake as his fingers tightened on the coffee cup, and it was either not too full or already halfway drunk, but none of it thankfully sloshed over the side to spill on the man’s hand. “Tony,” the man greeted, but was interrupted by a face cracking yawn before he could say more.

“You look how I feel most mornings after a forty-eight hour binge in the lab working on a deadline for SI,” he chuckled. The man sighed as he ran a hand through his short hair, and was, as always, reminded a little bit of Howard. This man exuded the sternness the man had possessed, but none of the coldness. There was a softness that tempered the steel underneath, and Tony found himself liking Bobby more and more.

“You shouldn’t be awake,” he told Tony. He waved him on when he asked if he could have a cup of coffee. “It’s only been three hours since you collapsed.” He could feel the man’s eyes on him as he found a cup with his instructions and then poured himself some much needed coffee.

“Yeah, well, one learns to live on little to no sleep when we’re in this line of work,” he said, taking a large gulp of the coffee and not caring as it burned his tongue. That was definitely some great coffee. “What about you? You look like something the cat dragged in, chewed up, threw up, and then chewed up again.”

Bobby chuckled as he nodded. “I feel like it too,” he admitted. He took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, and Tony wondered how long he’d been leaning against that counter, battling his eyelids that kept trying to close.

“Well, is there any particular reason you’re not heading up for a shower and some much deserved rest?” He lifted the cup and took a more measured sip. “Or is it the unexpected guests in your home that’s preventing you from getting some rest?”

He knew some people would likely not feel comfortable sleeping while there was a stranger in their house. Tony would happily leave if that was the case, with no hard feelings. Bobby Nash was a man Tony could learn to respect, did respect after seeing him in action last night, so wouldn’t hold it against him if Tony was making him uncomfortable. The man had likely not intended for some strange billionaire to take up one of his kid’s beds.

Bobby blinked at him confused for a moment until his sluggish brain caught on to what he was saying. “No, that’s not it,” he said firmly. “I offered my home in the first place, and it would be pretty hypocritical to then have a problem with it.” He paused to yawn once again. “I’m actually waiting for my wife to get off her shift before turning in,” he admitted. “I told her that you were sleeping in Harry’s bed, but I’m not sure she quite believed me. So, I’m glad you’re up and she can see you with her own eyes.”

“Or, we can take a selfie together and send it to her?” Tony said with a mischievous grin.

Bobby straighten and stretched with a groan as he checked his watch. “No, she should be home in the next few minutes,” he said. As he grabbed his phone, it gave a tweet and Tony gave it a curious look.

“Is that her?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being nosy.

“No... it’s... a reminder,” he mumbled. “But I don’t know if I’ll still be expected to go. The hospital was in the flooding zone.”

“The hospital? Are you sick or something, Cap?” The thought of a man like Bobby Nash could be sick, who risked his life every day for the people of this city didn’t sit well with him. He quickly typed out a message to JARVIS to make a new fund for service women and men that were battling cancer, as well as other physical and mental illnesses.

“Oh no, I uh,” he paused and looked down like he was embarrassed by something. “I donate blood once every three weeks. I’m, um, part of the rare donors program.”

Tony blinked in surprise, since he was expecting anything except that. “Oh yeah? Like, you’re O negative or something?”

Bobby shook his head from side to side. “Uh no, rare type of blood that has the ability to cure rhesus disease, actually,” he murmured.

Tony had a few doctorates but none of them were in medicine. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

The older man shook his head. “It isn’t. I read up on it and... it’s, well, not many fetuses that are affected survive.”

Tony leaned against the counter with his cup in hand with a bit of a crooked smile. “So, your blood has the ability to save babies? And you’re a firefighter?” He shook his head and drank the rest of his coffee and reached for the pot again. “You’re full of surprises, Cap.”

“If you say so,” he told him, grunting in affirmative when Tony offered to top off his cup once again. “But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go with the hospital being in the flood zone, and after the shift I’ve had, I’m likely to sleep for a whole day I think.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can help you with, let me know. It’s the least I can do for the hospitality you’ve shown me.”

They drank their coffees in a comfortable silence, and maybe Tony was too tired to ramble as he usually did. It could be that he just felt at ease in the man’s presence, which would be something unheard of for him when it came to someone he’d just met the other day.

“I meant to ask,” Tony said, remembering one of their meetings. “Did you ever find that Captain... Cooper?” He hoped he got the name right, since last night had been one long hour after another for him to be able to remember everyone’s names.

Bobby sighed and once more ran a hand through his short hair and Tony feared the worst, regretting having brought it up. “Yeah, they found him,” he said, voice sounding weary. “He was brought in before either of us got there... minus one of his arms, unfortunately.”

Tony grimaced and looked down at his coffee, wishing he had his sunglasses with him. One of the reasons he always wore them was that he’d been told that his eyes were very expressive. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused as he remembered the female firefighter that had been rescuing people at the Ferris wheel. “The woman that was with you at the peer where we first met, she’s from his firehouse, isn’t she?”

He couldn’t remember the station number at the moment, but he did remember that it had been a different one from the ones Bobby and Diaz had. Bobby nodded. “Lena Bosko, a firefighter of station 136.” His lips lifted a bit in slight amusement. “A stubborn but very capable firefighter.”

The shorter man’s eyebrow lifted in question. “I could tell she was pretty capable from the little I saw her work, but why stubborn?”

“She had two broken ribs, and still wanted to keep on going.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, continuing to enjoy the coffee. “Yeah, I know about continuing on with broken ribs... it’s not an experience I hope to repeat.”

There was what he could be shock, or maybe horror, on his face and he opened his mouth to say something. However, before Bobby could respond, they heard the door open and then footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Bobby?” Tony heard a woman’s voice. “What’s this about Tony Stark sleeping in Harry’s bed?” He heard the amusement in her voice, but then saw that same amusement fade from her face as she came around the corner and caught sight of Tony, who gave her a cheeky little wave with his fingers.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “Sadly, that is true. I’m the terrible person that took poor Harry’s bed.” He took another sip of the coffee, resisting the urge to moan, since it wouldn’t be proper. It was just that he loved good coffee. “You already know who I am, but I don’t know your name.”

“Ah... Athena Grant,” she said, and saw as she and Bobby shared a look. “Well, Nash now.” Tony sensed there was a story there, but knew it wasn’t one he was entitled to, so he didn’t ask.

“Well, I am very charmed to meet you, Mrs. Nash,” he said.

“Please, call me Athena.”

“If you call me Tony.”

Bobby looked between them. “Should I be worried? I remember Buck saying you flirt with anyone.”

Tony nodded with a bit of a smile curving his lips. “Well, Evan is right,” he supplied easily. “I see attractive people and I just... flirt.” He looked like he wanted to shrug, aborted the movement half way and cleared his throat. “I can admit it’s gotten me into a fair share of... altercations.”

“How is their 80-year-old grandmother attractive to you?”

Tony snorted a laugh, having forgotten that Evan had brought it up... or had that been Maddie? He was a bit fussy about what had happened after he arrived at the field hospital and assured himself of Evan’s safety. “Their grandmother was a nurse during World War 2 and knew my dad. He was like eighteen at the time, and it was nice to hear about him being that young.” He refrained from saying that he wanted to hear about a time when he wasn’t such a cold human being. The stern, unforgiving man he’d grown up with.

His head titled as he looked at the woman. “You’re a police sergeant, right?” he asked the dark skinned woman. The short hair style she had suited her face very well.

The woman eyed him carefully, her stance changing to wariness. “Has my husband been talking about me?” she asked him instead of likely demanding how he knew that.

Tony shook his head negatively. “Uh no, Evan told me, actually. He mentioned you during the incident where Maddie was... kidnapped by that abusive asshole. He actually called me just before he went off in search of her with you and kept me updated through text messages.”

“So that’s who that boy kept texting during that time. I’d always assumed it was Eddie,” she chuckled.

Tony gave that aborted shrug with his shoulders as he lifted his cup to his mouth. “Well, he could have been texting us both,” he suggested, not voicing how much that thought bothered him. Tony didn’t have the right to be bothered, since what he and Evan had at one point was over. Besides, at the time of this, he’d been dating Pepper, so he had no right to feel... well, whatever he was feeling, it certainly wasn’t jealousy.

Not at all.-

#Tony Stark #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #Bobby Nash #Athena Grant #If the World Was Ending #Crossing The Divide series #9-1-1 Fox #9-1-1 #regret writes #myfanfiction #fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #Crossover fanfiction

[ardenttheories]

And onto that odd little meta piece I was talking about. It’s really more of a fandom observation.

Despite not knowing what Bro looks like, the entire fandom seemed to gravitate towards two ideas: Twunk, or Hunk. Every piece of fanart I’ve seen usually has him thickly built, trim down the waist but broad shouldered and coiled with muscle, or at the very least with some sort of defined musculature that usually isn’t present on other characters. E.g. x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x

You’ll also typically find a theme with the artist’s choice of expression or facial features; strong jaw, sharp nose, often frowning. 

And this all comes from...

This sprite. A sprite, mind you, that’s exactly the same as this:

And yet the expression of this character is wholly different. 

He’s often drawn slimmer, with slanted shoulders and either a thin dorito-waistline or a relatively similar shoulder to hip ratio. He often has more curved features - his jawline, his nose - and his expression almost always determined or soft. E.g. x, x, x, x, x, x

And for emphasis: this is how two artists chose to draw them side by side. E.g. x, x

It’s also very rare to see people draw Alpha Dave the same height as Bro. From memory - and I got into Homestuck roughly during the height of the Alpha kids’ popularity - most of the fanart I saw with any instance of Bro and A!Dave in the same image had a pretty fair height difference. 

Again: this comes from the exact same sprite. When you layer Bro’s sprite over A!Dave’s, you’ll be able to fit them together pixel to pixel (except, of course, the arm - A!Dave’s got his arm up holding the sword, unlike Bro - and the jawline - which is much more curved than Bro’s, but when we actually see Alpha Dave’s sprite in canon, it isn’t really long enough to focus on this tiny feature [especially when you consider that Grandpa Harley has the same face shape, but people still draw him with a defined jawline]). 

So, why so different? Why would people draw these two characters so wildly different when, for instance... 

Both Moms are drawn almost exactly the same. 

It’s pretty obvious when you think about it, but it’s also an incredibly important thing to note if you ever plan on creating your own characters. 

Character interactions define how we view characters that have yet to be introduced or do not have a wholly set image. 

When we think of Bro, we have to be realistic: we know absolutely nothing about who he is as a person, or what he looks like, besides the information that we get from Dave. So, when we get the information that he’s physically abusive, that he has cameras around the entire apartment, partakes in puppet snuff for the sake of a pornographic website, leaves such pornographic paraphenalia around the apartment for a young Dave to see, and that he’s emotionally closed off and distant, we immediately start to form an image of him in our minds that’s based on what we can define as an amalgamation of toxic masculinity and male abusers. 

It’s not exactly hard to imagine why the most common fanart of him circulates as a tall, imposing, broad figure who barely smiles and would be incredibly hard to get around in a small, dark alley. 

We also need to remember, of course, that Dave is a child while he describes Bro. An adult is almost always going to be tall and imposing to a child - is always going to be stronger and physically more capable than a child. 

Bro could be the most average joe you’ve ever met, but because we learn about him from the viewpoint of a child who quite literally cannot fight back, the image of him becomes tilted to the buff end of the spectrum. 

He becomes someone we would fear seeing. Someone who could overpower us, and not just a child under his care. He is big and strong because that is how Dave sees him, and that is how we come to understand him as a character.

Big, strong, violent, with sexual overtness and a lack of emotion. It’s pretty much the only way you can imagine him, even when his sprite is incredibly lacking in detail. 

So, why the softness for Alpha Dave? 

Pretty simply, because we already know who Dave is by the time Alpha Dave is introduced. People already had an idea of what Dave looked like, who he’d be when he grew up. People had already decided that Dave, being so different from Bro, being such a hero, would never be able to achieve the same sort of toxic masculinity that Bro did - would never have the same shape, the same musculature, that comes with that toxic imagery. 

 We also got told about him by a young teen who absolutely idolised him. Who emphasised his good traits and spoke about how absolutely badass he was. 

The connotations with Alpha Dave are so much more positive than with Bro. That in and of itself would have changed how people drew him. But when you combine him with the concept that he’s Dave, the Dave that went through all that abuse and came out the other side hating everything that Bro stood for, it’s hard not to draw him as Bro’s nigh complete opposite. 

So, he’s smaller. He’s got less of that musculature that people associate with toxic masculinity (the ability to overpower someone smaller), and he has a much closer shoulder-to-hip ratio (something that makes him take up less space, and come across as less imposing). He smiles more, he emotes more, he’s much more emotionally open - and even when he’s meant to be “cool”, it’s often with some sort of smug or determined look, not the ever-present blankness or snarl that we see from Bro. 

He loses all of the traits that we’d associate with an abuser. Instead, he becomes a pretty ordinary hero - someone who can stand up and fight back, but isn’t overly heroic or powerful. Someone who might still struggle, but can handle things. 

This is despite the fact, of course, that we know nothing about Alpha Dave’s upbringing or life besides what Dirk tells us - and Brain Ghost Dirk, at that. Unreliable narrators are not a good place to find valuable information, and, once again, the in-comic sprite is literally the exact same as Bro’s.

Fandom perception is an incredibly powerful thing. 

So, what about Dirk? How does he fare in all of this?

Dirk’s actually a weird figure in everything, and this comes down to a very simple yet paradoxical concept:

We already had ideas on who Bro was, yet we actively get to see who Dirk is. 

It’s very hard to go into something expecting one person and getting another. We can see all those notes in Dirk that we saw in Bro - the toxic tendencies, the hyper masculinity, the divorced note from people and emotions - but we see them within the specific framework of a teenager with mental illness. 

This isn’t just an asshole, abusive adult. This is that adult’s younger self in a better mindset to try and do good by the people he loves. We see this time and time again - when he says how much he cares about Roxy, when he expresses his guilt that he couldn’t be romantically invested in her, when he shares the fears he holds of his splinters, when he admits that Bro is exactly what he could be and is genuinely scared of being - that he is the foundation of Bro, but not Bro in a very important way. 

It’s also needless to say that people connected with Dirk in the exact same way that people connected with Dave. When you look at a lot of vent art involving him, it’s almost always about mental illness - anxiety, impulsive or intrusive thoughts, a desperate need for control in life, self harm or a dislike for oneself - and a fair bit of generic art revolving around Dirk includes some sort of deeper mental struggle. 

He’s a victim, in a similar way that Dave is, but he’s also just far enough that he could be a villain. 

You find that a lot of fanart therefore shows this paradoxical nature. 

In some, he’s softer. The ratio between his hips and his shoulders is narrower, his jawline is more curved. E.g. x, x, x, x

In others, he’s sharper. He’s drawn with more defined muscle, with a stronger jawline and broader shoulders, and though he’s definitely slim you can definitely see just how close he is to becoming the same figure as Bro. E.g. x, x, x, x, x 

And in others, he’s an odd mix of both. A brooding figure with a softer jawline, but still imposing and sharp in his own right - or even the complete opposite, with sharp features and defined shapes, but slimmer and smaller, much less imposing. E.g. x, x, x, x, x, 

So, I think we can make a pretty firm observation that the way Dirk is drawn reflects how the artist views his journey and his struggles. Whether he’s his own person, closer to Bro, or somewhere stuck in between. 

As you can see from most of this art, there’s a few ways that people draw Dirk; raring to fight and smug/confident, fairly sombre and down, almost tired, or standoffish and closed off. Even this is somewhere in between the way people view Bro and Alpha Dave. 

So, it’s then interesting to take a look at the Epilogues. 

New art of Dirk was produced in line with the Meat Epilogue. And while I really only know of one piece that catches my eye every time I see it, I think it’s important to point out that, in almost all of these images, one of two body types appear for Dirk:

1) Broad, muscular, tall. He takes up space and commands attention. Sharp features, wider shoulders.

2) Smaller, less imposing, yet somehow intimidating in just the expressions he makes and the way he holds himself. If you can imagine any fuckboy you’d be scared of being cornered by at a party, you’ve got a good idea of this style of fanart. 

In other words, either tipped way more to looking like Bro, or so close to looking like something you’d be scared of IRL - which perfectly reflects how uncomfortable he feels within the narration of the Epilogue, and some of the more questionable things he has happen in it. 

I also want to just add in as a side note: almost all of the links I added about Dirk go to Pinterest for sake of ease for people to find other images for reference, since I’m really just collecting the art I like most. On most of the Dirk ones, scrolling down will reveal the aforementioned vent art; on most of the Dave ones, scrolling down will reveal much softer, sweeter pieces of art involving him and people he’s loved throughout the comic. Just something interesting to add into this discussion - think about what that means for how people view either Strider.

So, what was all of this about?

Honestly, it’s me just pointing out how important character opinions and preconceived ideas are to the way people view other characters. So much of the way we see Bro is influenced by how Dave sees him and our cultural understanding of what toxic, hypermasculine male abusers look like. So much of the way we see Alpha Dave is based around our understanding of Dave, and what little we can fill in from Brain Ghost Dirk, rather than on who he actually is as a person (and we could be wrong; we could be very, very wrong). So much of the way of the way we see Dirk is influenced by Bro, and yet by what we see in canon. 

If we had different ideas and different opinions from different characters, we might draw each of them wildly different. But it is this specific combination of lack of physical description and cultural association/character perception that ensures we draw them the way they are. 

#ardenttheories #long post// #homestuck meta #character analysis #homestuck

[she-is-tim]

I love hating you | Elu enemies to lovers AU | Ch. 12

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6.5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Lucas is an angry, closeted and frustrated gay teenager, while Eliott is the handsome, smart and popular guy in school. They hate each other… but not forever.

Long time no see

Eliott heard the front door open, but he wasn’t going to pay any sort of attention to it. It was probably Lucille coming home from grocery shopping, She will probably yell at him again for smoking, but it’s the only thing that helps him through this shit. He blew out a large cloud of smoke, tearing his eyes from the drawings on the coffee table. Countless scetches of sad and scared hedgehogs. He wanted to rip out his own heart and throw it into the trash, so it wouldn’t be so damn difficult. Tears started to roll down on his cheeks and he kicked into the table, making some of the papers fall on the floor. 

“Looks like someone’s grumpy.” he heard a voice from the entrance of the living room. He lazily turned his head, just to face with Sofiane. He could feel another knife stabbing right into his heart, spreading guilt all around his body. He haven’t talked to his best friend since days, he couldn’t even tell what day it was today. 

“Hey.” that was all he could say, closing his eyes and leaning back on the couch, taking another drag from his joint. 

“Long time no see, huh?” the boy walked in and coughed a little, inhaling some of the smoke that was floating around. “Jesus, how can you stay alive in here?”

“What do you want, Sofiane?” he asked now a bit more irritated than he actually planned, but he needed no babysitter to look out for him. 

“I came to talk.” he explained and tried to took a deep breath which ended up in coughing again. He went to the window, opening it just enough to let the smoke leave the room. Eliott made an unpleasant noise, but didn’t get up to close the door. He was too tired and high to move from the couch. He liked to imagine that Lucas was there next to him, saying stupid stuff and complaining about the music he was playing. There was no music of course, but Eliott had a wild imagination, especially when it came to his beloved boy. 

“So you’re not gonna talk to me now?” Sofiane asked and flopped down to the armchair across from Eliott. He looked at the ceiling and putting the blunt in the ashtray. 

“Talk about what?” he asked, voice hoarse from all the smoking, eyes just slightly burning. “About how I fucked up? About how I scared the only person I love the most?” he was almost yelling now, feeling the tears building up, but he couldn’t let them overflow. Sofiane’s face turned into a painful grimace, seeing his friend like this made him worried and sad.

“You didn’t fuck it up, Eliott.” he sighed after a few minutes of silence, looking at the drawings on the table. “You have to talk to him.” he said seriously.

“No, I can’t.” he shook his head and pulled up his legs, wrapping his arms around his knees. “What I have to do is staying away from him.” 

“Are you serious right now?” he raised his eyebrows, looking concerned. 

Eliott rolled his eyes at his reaction. He can’t understand, he doesn’t know how it feels when you have no control over your actions, when things happen and you snap out, hurting the people you love in the process. He can’t let Lucas deal with all of that. He already had a mentally ill mother, he shouldn’t be dealing with another one. They are both young, their life just started, Lucas will be able to move on, maybe even fall in love with a guy that deserves him, a guy he deserves. Someone he could count on, he could rely on. Someone he doesn’t have to worry about every single day. Someone who is not gonna leave the hotel room in the middle of the night, completely naked. 

“I talked to him, you know.” Sofiane said after realizing that his friend won’t be answering his question. This catched the boy’s attention and snapped his head up from the drawings, looking straight at Sofiane. His eyes were red, traced of dried tears showing on his face, his pupils were so wide the blue was barely visible around it.

“To Lucas?” he asked, barely noticing his own voice, it was distant and different.

“Yeah, to Lucas.” Sofiane sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers now. His friend gave him a headache sometimes, but he knew that it wasn’t completely his fault, so he just let it slide. “He is not well...”

“You say that, but I saw the stuff on instagram.” Eliott cut him off quickly, grabbing his joint again, lighting with a match, because he couldn’t find his lighter. “He will be fine. He is already fine without me.” he explained, exhaling in the smoke, letting it fill his lungs and burning his throat. He closed his eyes as he let it out, enjoying the little numbness tht already started to take over his body.

“Come on, Eliott! You are going to judge someone’s mood by their insta updates?” he asked, leaning forward and placing his forearms on his knees. “I spoke to him, okay? And he is not okay. It was a dick move to block him everywhere.” 

“You don’t get to tell me what is a dick move, okay?” he raised his voice now, his fingers closing around the still lit up joint, not caring that it was burning his palm. “I am not gonna risk everything! I’m not falling into the rabbit hole!” he continued and slammed his fist on the table. Sofiane looked at him, not even startling to his sudden violence.

“Yeah? I think you’re pretty late with that falling, Eliott.” Sofiane said on a serious tone. “I know you since a long time now, I’ve seen how you and Sophie got together, how you were acting around her...” he started and waved his hands to hush the other one when he tried to say something. “I saw you falling apart after what she did. Then you got back up, it took you a long time, but then I noticed the sparks in your eyes. It was similar to how you looked when you dated Sophie, but not the same. You were truly happy. And the way you talked to us about Lucas... That was something new.” he said, a soft smile appearing on his face. “I was glad, because you two seemed to be a perfect match and I still haven’t changed my mind about that. You are stubborn, not able to let go the past and move on completely. Not able to accept that there are people out there who are not going to leave you just because you’re bipolar.” 

Silence fell on them as Sofiane finished his monologue. Eliott closed his eyes and dropped the ruined joint into the ashtray, now slightly feeling the pain where it burned his palm. He wanted to believe his friend so badly, but his brain kept screaming at him, that he have to stay away from Lucas, that he will just ruin his life. Everything he felt for him couldn’t protect the boy from what he is, a mess, a burden to everyone. He could see on their faces. His parents, Lucille, Sofiane. All of them were tired, worried, scared. Even after weeks passed since his last episode, they were still watching over him, like he would cut his veins open anytime. He can’t let Lucas turn into someone like that. Not when he had other options in his life. 

Eliott was both happy and devastated when he saw the post Lucas made. He obviously blocked the boy on insta, but he wasn’t logged in on his laptop, which meant that he could check his profile without any problems. And he did that since he got out of his bed somewhere around tuesday evening. Since then he didn’t go back to his room, no matter how many times Lucille begged him to. He was staying on the couch, curled up, smoking and crying. Sometimes he grabbed a paper, pencils and drew another hedgehog, throwing on the table alongside the others. But he always checked Lucas’ instagram, until he saw his new picture with Yann. He felt both relief and a knife going deep into his heart, twisting a couple times to hurt even more. He smacked his laptop shut and tossed it to one of the armchairs, not touching it since. 

He looked at his friend, who was just sitting there in silence, hands resting on his lap and his eyes gazing at the window. It was both endearing and annoying how Sofiane just didn’t leave right after that damned speech. He wanted to kick him out, but deep inside he liked to have someone around. Someone that wasn’t his overprotective sister. 

His best friend’s presence was always filling his mind with calmness and he felt safe with him. Sofiane always made sure that Eliott has anything he needs to be better. When they were younger and they were fighting over something, it was always him taking the first move to make peace. And it was always Eliott who felt the worst, because how could he be mad at such a sunshine like Sofiane. Maybe that’s why he was so jealous when Lucas was alone with him in the Youth Center. He was afraid that the boy would see that there are much more better guys are out there, guys way better than Eliott. But Lucas chose him, multiple times and he really wanted to believe that things will be working, he was in love so much, he didn’t realize that he was slipping. Then shit happened and he ruined everything. 

He groaned and grabbed his hair, pulling it as hard as he could, screaming his lungs out as he slipped from the couch down to the floor. Tears rolling down his cheeks uncontrollably. He closes his eyes, not wanting to deal with anything, fingers still holding onto his locks. His lungs are burning, but he can’t stop screaming. Not even when a warm body gets down to him, scooping him up into a tight hug. He lets his hair go and instead he grabs Sofiane’s shirt, burying his face into the crook of his neck, screaming and crying at the same time. 

It took him hours to calm down, but Sofiane didn’t leave him for one second, he kept his arms around Eliott’s slim body, protecting him. His panic started to ease slowly, but his fingers were still gripping into his best friend’s shirt, not wanting to let go anytime soon. He sobbed into his chest, trying to speak, but he couldn’t, his throat was so sore and his lungs were burning so bad that he couldn’t force out a single word. Instead he just made quiet noises, closing his eyes. Sofiane let out a soft sigh and moved his hand up and down on Eliott’s back, rubbing it gently, which was actually really calming. 

Another thirty minutes later Eliott was fully calm, just resting his head on Sofiane’s shoulder, breathing slowly. His hands slipped off of his shirt now just hanging by his sides. They were still sitting on the floor.

“Do you need anything?” Sofiane asked now softly, hoping to get an answer. The boy cleared his throat, swallowing a couple times.

“Some water.” he whispered, his voice was still kinda gone, so that was the best he could force out. His friend nodded, picking him up from the ground now and putting him down on the couch like he was a porcelain doll. Eliott both hated and liked to be handle like that. 

“I’ll be right back.” he said with a soft smile, walking to the kitchen now. 

Eliott tried to find a comfortable position, his legs were hanging over the armrest of the couch, so his head can be placed on the other armrest. He both hated and loved this couch. This was his safe place when he couldn’t stand staying in his room anymore. And it was filled with so much memories. Lucas sitting at the piano, playing silly songs, Lucas sitting on his lap and kissing his face everywhere, Lucas sleeping in the armchair with a textbook on his chest. Lucas snorring loudly after that horrible party, looking like a real dumbass while sleeping and Eliott still thought that he was the most beautiful human being he had ever seen in his life. 

Sofiane came back with a bottle of water and a bright smile on his face. It was annoying how much of a fucking sunshine he could be within second. His face lit up even to the slightest of good things. It could be helpful when Eliott felt sad, being around such a positive person, but on his depressed periods, he could hate having him around. Right now he felt neutral. Just grabbing the water and chugging up half the bottle. Feeling already refreshed thanks to it. 

“Feeling better?” Sofiane asked, sitting down in the armchair again.

“Can you put on some music?” Eliott asked now, ignoring the question completely and pointed at the bluetooth speaker on the bookshelf. 

“Sure thing.” he said smiling and looked for a spotify playlist to start. It had some soft songs, instrumental, light rock, pop, anything that was chill. Eliott kinda liked it, so he just put down the water bottle and closed his eyes, letting himself drift off into the darkness, falling asleep slowly.

Eliott was staring at the picture for almost ten minutes now and honestly, he wanted to bash his head into the keyboard of his laptop. Seeing how fine Lucas was already made his heart hurt even more. He knew that this was the best for the boy and that he was the one who pushed Lucas away, but he still had any rights to be upset, especially cause he missed everyone from the flat. He missed his evening games with Mika, their movie nights with everyone, Lisa’s soft complains when he and Lucas was making out on the couch. But he missed Lucas more than anything. His soft touches, his voice, his hugs and just being around him. Eliott felt like he is drowning, dark clouds surrounding him, trying to suffocate him. 

He sighed and closed his laptop angrily, grabbing a scetchbook and starting to draw. This time he wasn’t going to make another hedgehog doodle, but one with a raccoon. He had to put his feelings on paper, to get rid of them. It was his way to express himself and to help coping with the burning pain that was eating up his heart. He tried a lot of times, but somehow he couldn’t grab into the feeling that surrounded him. It was hard to describe and even harder to draw. He tried to put on some music, smoking a cigarette, but it didn’t really help. He got mad and threw the scetchbook across the room, letting it land on the floor. 

He hated how tidy everything was. Lucille kept cleaning up, throwing out the crumpled papers, beer bottles, emptying the ashtray and shit like that. At least he was glad that she wasn’t being nosy and trying to hide his cigarettes this time. She learned her lessons and Eliott wasn’t a kid anymore, he was already 18. 

An hour later, like a lightning struck he knew what he had to draw, so he fetched another scetchbook, hence the other one was still lying on the floor too far from him to even try to get to it and he started to draw. When he was done, he was struggling whether he should put it on instagram or not, but his depressed mind wanted to shout at the world that it’s their fault he’s feeling bad. He took a deep breath, taking a photo of the drawing, editing it a little and then uploading it to his insta with no caption. 

He couldn’t remember when he fell back asleep again, but he woke up to a nice melody. First it was like it’s coming from far away, like a distant sound, but as he got more conscious, the melody got louder and louder. He could recognize that it was piano music and he wanted to kill the person that dared to put that on while he was so depressed. Both Lucille and Sofiane knew how much he wanted to avoid listening to piano, since it only reminded him of Lucas. Another few agonizing minutes he wanted to just get up and turn off the music, but as he opened his eyes and looked to the side, he saw someone sitting at the piano.

First he didn’t believe his eyes, he thought that this is just a dream, so he let himself enjoy the view. He could notice that beautiful, messy hair anytime, even from behind. Lucas was wearing dark jeans and a dark grey shirt. He didn’t look at Eliott, he was busy playing a beautiful melody which made the tall boy’s heart beat faster. He could feel all the emotions the boy was trying to show with his play. It was so passionate, slow but somehow still fast, romantic and endearing. It was just full of love and Eliott couldn’t believe that this was reality. 

He slowly sat on up the couch, watching his beloved boy running his fingers on the piano keys, making beautiful sounds with it. His heart was beating faster. He haven’t seen Lucas since that doomed saturday and it was so unreal. He was still so beautiful, his hair seemed soft like always, the veins popped through his skin as he played and Eliott was stunned by them. He had a sudden urge to reach out and touch them, but he got startled when the boy finished playing and turned around. He was just a little surprised to see that Eliott was awake, then a soft smile appeared on his face.

“You know what this music is called?” he asked softly, without greeting, just into the middle. Eliott liked that a lot, he had to admit. 

“No.” he mumbled and rubbed his eyes a little, making sure that this is, in fact the reality. “Could you tell me?” he asked on a surprisingly soft tone. That’s why he didn’t wanted to meet him, because he couldn’t push him away when he was basically melting in his presence. A playful smirk appeared on the short boy’s face, hitting Eliott right in the heart. 

“It’s called I love you.” he said proudly, turning his whole body towards Eliott and he seemed a bit more shy, some redness appearing on his cheeks. “You know why I played this piece?” he asked and Eliott swallowed, trying to control his fast breathing and wiping his sweaty hands in his black sweatpants. He couldn’t force out a word, so he just decided to shook his head. Lucas sighed and looked down at his hands that were resting in his lap, then he looked at Eliott. “Because I love you.” he said seriously now, his blue eyes full of determination and something else. Eliott’s heart skipped a beat, or even two, he didn’t know, but tears started to build up in his eyes.

“I love you too.” he whispered, which made the other boy smile at him brightly.

Guys! I can’t tell you enough how much I love all of you and appreciate all the nice messages, all the likes and comments I get from you because of this story. Sadly this one is getting to its end, but I hope you guys will bear with me in the future. I have some ideas and I really hope you will love them. Bisous

#Skam France #I love hating you #Elu enemies to lovers au #Eliott Demaury #Lucas Lallemant #Sofiane Alaoui #Eliott x Lucas

[jsml-universe]

The Story of Xanxus

After re-watching episodes 64 and 65, my opinion of the Ninth has dropped. Significantly. Good job Timoteo. A+ parenting right there. I dislike you more than Iemitsu right now. I hope your recovery is long and hard. 

There are just some things that don’t quite add up in the Varia arc so I did some digging and paid closer attention to the in between pieces of dialogue throughout the anime and manga. After lots of pondering, I’ve decided that this is basically how the REAL story behind how the battle against the Varia came to be...

Xanxus is a young child. He was born in and grows up in one of the poorest slums in Italy. His primary caretaker and only family member is a single mother who is so mentally ill that she’s delusional. Literally. Sane people have difficulty in poverty enough as it is. Can you just imagine the kind of damage that background alone can have on a person’s psych?

Xanxus was born with the orb flame/flame of wrath, but he didn’t manifest it until he was an older kid. When he shows his mother, she’s convinced that she had a love affair with the boss of the Vongola and that Xanxus is their child. Like, WTF?! She renames her kid (because his first name might not have even been Xanxus with the whole ‘I named him Xanxus because the two X’s prove he’s meant to be Vongola Decimo’ logic) and then just gives him away to an old man, a stranger she claims is his father. 

Then what does Timoteo do? He lies. He backs the poor delusional woman’s logic up. Big Mistake #1. He tells Xanxus not only that he's his biological son but lets him think that he can one day succeed him as the Vongola boss. Where is the logic in that? Answer: It must have been for manipulative purposes because there is absolutely NO purely charitable reason why you must adopt a random child on the street that just happens to be endowed with a very powerful flame and fool him into believing a lie about his lineage so that he'll dedicate his life to Vongola. 

At this point, Timoteo could have rectified his mistake and taken Xanxus aside as soon as he’s adopted into the Vongola famiglia and explained the true situation to him. Sure, it would have hurt Xanxus a little but Xanxus is very mold-able and impressionable at this age. I can only assume that Xanxus must have been about 9 or 10 years old when he was adopted by the Ninth because Fuuta is also 9 and child Xanxus certainly didn't look younger than Fuuta. 

When telling Xanxus’ backstory, Squalo immediately jumps to Xanxus’ time growing up in Vongola and says that he took to the mafia like slipping a hand in a well-fit glove. He was selfish, ruthless, easily angered, and powerful. I’d say, that’s only logical. Growing up in extreme poverty means being in a constant ‘survival-mode’ and ‘got to take care of myself’ state of mind. Food, shelter, and safety means being creative and assertive. I think it’s safe to assume that Xanxus had little to no education while growing up. If he did receive any, it was definitely sub-par. He was thrust into a foreign culture and had to adapt quickly. He had to change the way he talked, his body language, learn social etiquette, master his flame powers. His mother is no longer mentioned so I assume that he never had contact with her again. Despite his willingness to leave his mother, I’d think that, that would also have some impact on his psych as well. A significant adult figure in his life had just left him. She was completely cut out of his life as quick as the snap of his fingers. With the additional lack of a biological father, I’d say that this qualifies Xanxus for psychological issues regarding child abandonment (which is defined by the loss of one or more parent). 

Problems that arise from kids who’ve experienced this include:

-low self-esteem

-anxiety and/or anger management issues

-problems regarding attachment...either difficulties forming attachment, or over attaching oneself with fear of being abandoned again

Now, on first glance, Xanxus doesn’t appear to exhibit any of these symptoms with exception to the anger problems. I respectfully disagree.

Xanxus fully embraced his adopted family. He’s busied himself with making himself useful and important in the family. He quickly established his place in the mafia and made every point he could to loudly declare that he was the Ninth’s son, as if needing to constantly reaffirm to everyone and also to himself that he belongs. 

He has approximately 7 years to not only catch up but surpass his brothers and peers in education, fighting skills, and leadership skills. That kind of jump only happens through diligence and hard work, no matter how much talent one has. And speaking of talent, Xanxus is a genius. He really puts all of his skills, talents, and energy into helping the famiglia who raised him and saved him from the "trash" of society. Xanxus was raised, having an unhealthy and incomplete understanding of people’s “worth.” His idea is that a person is “worth” more based on social status and achievement. Being the “bastard son of the Ninth” was okay for him because he worked to prove himself as the best of the best and he believed he had the right to the “throne of Vongola” so to speak. 

So, now we’ve got a checklist:

-Grew up in slums

-Raised in the mafia...the world of crime...and participates in the darker side of it too (ex: assassinations)

-No trustworthy adults in life...absent biological father, crazy and unreliable mother, mafia boss adopted father who also happened to tell some pretty major lies

-Has abandonment issues

...Yeah, you can bet that Xanxus has serious difficulty in trust and dealing with betrayal. So when he finds out that the truth, how does he react?

Exactly as expected. Everything has crumbled. His entire worldview shattered. He believes he’s worth nothing, that he’s back to being trash again. And his “father.” whom he trusted, lied about his identity, past, and future plans.

Xanxus's anger here is completely understandable. Now a coup? Going a bit overboard for most normal people. The Vongola and especially Xanxus are NOT normal people. If you look at it from the perspective of a 16-year-old teen with a rough past and massive anger management and fear of abandonment issues who's just been betrayed by his "father" and lied to about his place in the mafia family who raised him...yeah. Coup doesn't sound so far fetched after all.

Then when he finally confronts the Ninth face to face, his so-called father tells him that he's going to kill him for his rebellion. Xanxus’ isn’t surprised, angry, or dismayed by that statement at all. Timoteo has just validated how Xanxus perceives the Ninth views him: not as a real son but as a tool to be used and manipulated because he has a powerful flame and then disposed of when the cost of keeping him around is too high.  Then the Ninth freezes him in ice for 8 years. Timoteo likes to tell everyone that Xanxus was just "asleep" for eight years. Are you kidding me?! Your "sleeping" technique damaged your adopted son so much it left permanent scars covering his entire body. You think that didn't hurt like hell? Tsuna encased him in ice for only a few minutes and when the ice melted, Xanxus collapsed to the ground. His strength was so gone that his Varia guardians had to physically put the ring on his finger. All this after only a few minutes in that Zero Point Breakthrough technique and this hasn't even touched on the psychological damage that Xanxus has been through. I’m pretty sure that  seeing Tsuna's Zero Point Breakthrough technique, so soon after he was JUST freed, was really traumatizing for Xanxus. It was the technique that got him infuriated and lashing out at the teen when both were already exhausted from fighting.

Think the story can’t get much worse? Think again. After 8 years of being frozen and locked away in the dark basement, the ice is melted and Xanxus is released. There’s ongoing debate between fans about Xanxus’ age. Was he 16 or 24 when he was frozen? I’m going with 16. Yes, I know that Squalo says that he “grew into adulthood” but this is the same story where Tsuna and his guardians call a 15-year-old Lambo, Adult Lambo, too. The term “adult” is rather loosely applied in the KHR universe.

Moving on! This is the part where I got ticked off because I made some additional connections. Mammon says there were 7 dark spots in a circle and that he/she had no idea who actually released Xanxus. The first time watching this series through, I wasn't really paying attention and thought that the Varia members had stolen the rings and freed their boss. Turns out that's not the case. It's even worse. It's never explicitly revealed in the anime and manga who released Xanxus but my bet is that it was the Ninth. As the current boss of the Vongola, it's only safe to assume that he and his guardians inherited the complete Vongola rings from their predecessors and therefore he'd still have the full set. Plus, he knows all about the Zero Point Breakthrough technique so it's also safe to assume that he's the only one who knows how to counter it. So now we have the Ninth melting the ice after nearly a decade and what do you know? He tells Xanxus that he needs to do something to redeem himself. He needs to reunite with his Varia officers and go to Japan to challenge the REAL Decimo canidate. They can't kill them and they can't be too harsh on them because otherwise the battles will end before they can get to the Sky ring battle, which is the most important one that MUST happen for it all to work. Come on, you don't really think that the Varia DIDN'T hold back on their strength when fighting some talented but newbie civilian teenagers? Xanxus, probably still mentally a teenager, having been freed from an ice prison, and desperate at a chance for one last shot to become Decimo, accepts the deal. Unbeknownst to Xanxus, there was never a chance for him. Timoteo sets this whole rings battle up knowing exactly how it's going to end. He knowingly created the battles knowing that the outcome would be his adopted son, collapsed on the ground with more scars and spewing blood from his mouth and nose whilst Tsuna and the rest of his guardians would be exhausted and on the brink of death. After the battle and it's clear that Xanxus has no chance at being Vongola Decimo because the ring rejects him, he gives up the rights and the Cervello have a private conversation with Xanxus lying on the ground in defeat. The Cervello the sole supervisors of the entire battles...from an Agency which serves only directly under the Ninth! It's a really brief scene but this interaction with the Cervello had always puzzled me previously. With the light that the Ninth is the one who freed Xanxus and set up this whole Varia battle fight to manipulate Xanxus into thinking he might still have one last chance at leadership and creating a driving force to make Tsuna to accept his role as the future Decimo, this makes so much more sense: Xanxus: It's...gone...according to...your wishes...you were...right...are you...happy now? Cervello: You say that, but...we do not have wishes nor do we predict anything. Everything was already decided. Your role in this is over. Xanxus: ... ...that cunning old man... Cervello: Thank you for doing your part. With this, the ring contest battle has now ended. And to think that the Ninth had the gall to play the victim here. And you know what's sad? He does actually see himself as the one who is burdened with heavy choices that must be made for the "good of the family." Timoteo, I hate your guts, you manipulative old coot. Go retire already!

#xanxus #character analysis #behind the cradle affair #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #timoteo #cervello #zero point breakthrough: first edition #psychology #the real story

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Jessi you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Molly Weasley!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

We’re so excited to have a Molly again! She’s an important part to the RP and we’re very excited to see a tough, young Molly on our dash!  *your faceclaim change to Christina Hendricks has been accepted

application beneath the cut 

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Jessi, 23, She/Her

ACTIVITY

I currently work M-F, sometimes weekends, but it’s a part time job and I have enough time most days to get to replies, so a solid 8 or 9.

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

The Molly Weasley tag!!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I def connected with Molly Weasley. Seeing her take in Harry without any preconceived ideas of who Harry Potter is and understanding that he never signed up for everyone gaping at him.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Is it okay if I RP Molly as pregnant with Ron? :D

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Molly Olivia Weasley.

Molly’s mom wanted to keep the family tradition of naming their first daughter with a name beginning with M and the middle name of Olivia.

FACE CLAIM

Christina Hendricks who’s facial expressions are very expressive and very Molly Weasley like. She also has a very Molly Weasley figure.

Isla Fisher, like Christina, has very expressive and very Molly Weasley facial expressions.

Elaborate on why you would like to play this character. Just tell us, what made you pick this character and what made you fall in love with them. This can be as long or as short as you want to, though showing your love for the character is encouraged as it is something we look at when we can’t decide between applications.

Like I mentioned earlier, I was very drawn to Molly because she took in Harry without the intention of getting close to him because he’s Harry Potter. She recognized that he didn’t have the family unit he deserved - that while she had no evidence, they were physically abusive, and without a doubt mentally abusive. She also has Ginny’s fiery personality. Where else would she get it from? She took the job of full-time mother as a Fuck You™ to patriarchy, to prove that yes, some women take on the role of a mother because it’s their choice, despite getting the extra needed schooling to become a social worker (and yes, she did get all the certifications to be a social worker, but by that time she was ready to go on maternity leave had she gotten a job and she made the decision to be a mother).

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Molly is a firm believer in romance, evident in the fact that she brewed a love potion during her fifth year at Hogwarts. Getting married and having children was always Molly’s plan and she couldn’t imagine her life without her husband. After experimentation before getting together with Arthur, she identifies as a female and heterosexual, and uses the pronouns she/her.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-A MOODBOARD: https://savedthosefeelingsforyou.tumblr.com/post/174550145591/molly-weasley-moodboard

-AESTHETICS: Stevie Nicks, laughing babies, Firewhiskey infused tea, freshly baked cookies, morning sex, a crackling fire, a record player

-A FEW HEADCANONS:

If there’s one thing that always surprises people, it’s that Molly Weasley is very competitive.

If there’s one thing that always surprises people, it’s that Molly Weasley is very competitive.

At only 5′2″, Molly is quite petite. Despite this, she often gets a lot of unwanted attention for her breasts. She especially got it during her time at Hogwarts. Now she’s perfectly comfortable with her body, but during her teenage years, she hated the attention she got (girls at that age aren’t particularly nice when it comes to body image).

Molly has considerable back problems because of her breast size. Five pregnancies certainly hasn’t helped either.

Her favorite thing to add to food is hot sauce. She will put it on anything and everything.

If there’s one thing Molly loves to do more then knitting when she’s stressed (or angry), it’s cleaning things the muggle way. Something about hand washing dishes really takes away the emotions of stress/anger.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

The following section should be looked at like a survey for your character. Answer them in character and feel free to use gifs. Or, if you’d rather, answer them in third person or OOC without gifs. Answers do not have to be extremely lengthy.

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“A potion that instantly cures any kind of sickness in children. Not only is it rough watching them suffer, losing sleep because your child is coughing, vomitting, or crying because their throat is sore is rough. It’s already hard enough getting enough sleep as it is and adding sickness is not ideal.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“I initially thought of bringing Arthur, but the boys need their father in case something were to happen to the two of us. I would bring my father. He’s one of the smartest, loving, and reliable person I’ve ever known. He reminds me so much of Arthur and I know I would be safe with him at my side. I would bring a first aid kit - something basic with all the needed potions and material one needs in case of an emergency. I would also bring extra potions like a warming potion, a calming drought, and extra water.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“This one is surprising considering how many children I have, but picking out names for said children. Arthur and I had prechosen names for all five of our boys and Bill’s name is the only one that stuck. When Charlie, Percy, and the twins were born, it was very evident that they weren’t meant to be named the names we had chosen for them.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I’m not fit to be a mother or that I’m not a good mother. I would also hate someone saying I’m not a good friend and wife because without Arthur or my friends, I wouldn’t be half the woman I am today. They’re my support system.”

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Molly instantly jumps into action - her ability to make any house a home one of the many things she takes pride in. She takes pride in being the Mother Figure™ in the Order. She has made it her personal mission to allow anyone and everyone take refuge at The Burrow if they need a shoulder to cry on, a warm bed, or a hot meal. But what’s more, she takes her responsibilities of taking care of the wounded and ill very seriously. She instantly goes into Mother Mode™, pushing her limited Healer’s knowledge to make sure everyone’s cared for.

WRITING SAMPLE

Having five older kids, all very much like their father, and being pregnant with another kid (Nicholas Bilius if you were to ask if she had a named picked out yet), Molly needed to get out of the house. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take of her kids fighting with each other, or the screaming and running around. Even going outside seemed to have lost her kids interest, as they were constantly fighting about who could fly which broom. Even Percy was getting cabin fever, a feat not often achieved as he was usually happy when he was at home reading his books.

So Molly decided to take them to the all wizarding town of Hogsmeade. She wasn’t entirely sure what they would do once they got there, but she needed the time out of the house as much as her kids did. For once, since she had found out she was pregnant, she was up to the task of taking five boys. Morning sickness was proving to be difficult at this point in the pregnancy. Granted, it wasn’t as bad as her previous pregnancy (her pregnancy with the twins had proven to be her most difficult yet).

Packing the essentials and making sure she brought extra jackets just in case her boys got cold (which she knew they probably wouldn’t because they were always running around), Molly flooed herself and her five kids into The Three Broomsticks. Had she not been pregnant, she would have apparated, but she found apparition made her nauseous (again, morning sickness was proving to be harder with each pregnancy - especially now that she was older) and that was the last thing she deal with to be outside of the comfort of her own home while she had to wrangle five kids.

They quickly walked out of the crowded pub and Molly found a table outside in the sun and sat herself down, her kids running around and looking into the shops aligning the cobblestoned street. Being their nap time, George was the first of the two to claim his spot on Molly’s lap, cuddling himself into her already swollen belly. Fred was the more active one of the two, so he ran after his brothers, not realizing his twin wasn’t there with him. George cuddled closely into his mother and let a thumb wonder to his mouth as he rested his head on her swollen chest.

#Accepted App #hp rp #Molly Weasley #lsrpg #skeleton rp

[welshwoman1988]

A Thread In The Tapestry: What Was Once Shadows And Ash...

(Quick note: I was blown away by the love that this has received and am so very happy people want to see more! I must once again thank @thisdiscontentedwinter for coming up with the idea and letting me run away with it! *HUGS!!*

Please note that this is unbetaed and merely me trying to get it out before it gets swept away by something else. I will have it betaed before I place it up on AO3 at a later date!)

Part One is here, for those that missed it!

The night gets even weirder when John is escorted to the Hale House and is thrown by the sight of a beautiful Victorian mansion instead of the burnt husk that he had met Derek and Deaton at earlier that day.

(And why is it that Derek’s ruined home the meet-up spot whenever the lot of them need to get together? John really needs to talk to the city council about either rebuilding the house as a town-wide apology for thinking Derek was a murderer, or tearing it down to make some sort of memorial to the Hale family instead…

Not that he can right now, considering that the building is standing firm and hearty-although missing a few things, like the deck that wraps around the house, for some reason…-and who’s going to believe him if he says that this whole area will be nothing but blackened ruins in a decade or more’s time?)

“You’ve been awfully quiet, dear, are you sure you’re alright?”

John wants to laugh at the gentle way that Julia is treating him, at the way Peter seems torn between wanting to act as if he’s above all of this and like John is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. John can only imagine what he smells like to the pair of them…

Granted, they’ve been really subtle about scenting him and if John hadn’t been spending the past couple of months trying to softly prod Derek into taking a position at the police station, he’d probably miss it altogether.

As it is, John knows exactly what that certain tilt of the head that Julia is making means and he tries to pull himself together, despite not really knowing how he’s supposed to feel; he’s the poster child for ‘a far way from home’ and he’s been seeing things alive and healthy that are nothing but ash and ruin in his time…

“Dear?”

“I’m fine.” John tries a smile, but it just makes Julia’s frown deepen and Peter finally move from his ‘unaffected’ slouch against a tree to stand beside his mother, clearly on the defensive now. It makes John curse before he tries again, “I’m sorry, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing here and… I don’t know what I should say.”

That eases the frowning a bit, but Julia still seems somewhat ill at ease as she nods toward the house, stating, “Well, there’s a landline in the living room; you can call someone to come pick you up and hope everything clears up in the morn-”

A duet of cries interrupts her as a pair of toddlers burst out of the front door, running straight for their mother and slamming so hard into her legs that they nearly bowl her over.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Luke took my doll, Mommy! Make him give it back!”

“I did not! She’s lying! I wasn’t anywhere near her dumb doll!”

“Were too! I could smell-”

“Children!” Julia cuts off the fighting with a low growl that John can barely hear, but still stops the argument in its tracks as both kids immediately drop their gazes to the forest floor. “Ignoring that I distinctly remember putting both of you to bed hours ago, we don’t fight in front of guests, now do we?”

“No, Mom.” The pair chorus, eyes darting over to John before snapping back to looking at the ground. There’s a moment of silence before the girl whispers, or at least, does so in that voice that little kids think is whispering, “He smells kinda funny, Mommy. Is he like Uncle Deaton?”

John immediately leans over when he sees the way that both Julia and Peter tense, adding his own ‘whisper’ to the conversation. “You didn’t tell me I smelled! Oh no, did I step in something on the way here? Does Uncle Deaton step in things a lot too? He really should watch where he’s going…”

Julia stance loosens as her children giggle at John’s exaggerated tone, but Peter simply narrows his eyes and frowns at him, making John mentally curse as he tries to find some way to salvage the situation.

The last thing that he needs is for someone to think he’s some kind of hunter or anything like that…

“Hey, you two! I told you that you could wait up for Mom if you stayed inside the house! Get back here!”

Swallowing hard, John turns toward the voice and has to brace himself at the sight of a young Talia Hale, Derek’s eyes staring back at him from her face as her gaze darts from her mother, her siblings, and John like she isn’t sure who she should focus on.

“Well, that explains what they’re still doing up.” Julia sighs, the twins giggling and clinging to their mother as Talia hops down past the stairs leading up to the house, making her way toward them with a playful growl.

“Talia…” John’s voice comes out as a shocked gasp, but still everyone freezes as if he had just pulled a gun on the poor girl.

It’s another kick to the heart when she pulls Derek’s usual defensive move after a few moments of silence; arms crossed in front of the chest, head tilted in challenge before demanding, “Do I know you?”

Unable to hold it back anymore, John finally gives into the hysterical laughter that had been bubbling at the back of his mind ever since he first saw Julia Hale, dead for nearly two decades, walk through a clearing as if she had just stepped away for those years and had decided it was time to come back home…

When John finally comes back to himself, the twins are gone and he’s surrounded by tense werewolves, fingers twitching as if they were just barely keeping themselves from sprouting claws.

It goes without saying that it might be a good idea for him to keep from making any sudden movements for the time being.

Looking up, John meets Talia’s gaze, unable to keep from cataloging all the similarities he can see between her and Derek; same eyes, same facial structure, same way of frowning with mostly her eyebrows…

Laughing once more at the direction his thoughts have gone, no doubt influenced by his recent talks with Stiles, John is suddenly sobered by the realization that this is a time where Derek’s mother is alive, that his family is still living! He might just have a chance at stopping a tragedy from happening… something that he can’t do if the Hales think he’s some sort of nutjob or an Eichen House escapee.

“No, I didn’t know you all that well, you were a pretty private person.” John can see that he’s only confusing them further, so he keeps as still as possible as he continues, “I do know your son, though. Arrested him for a crime he didn’t commit once, so sorry about that.”

“I don’t have a son.” Talia sounds more intrigued than defensive, so John counts that as a win even as Peter growls as he finally pushes himself to his feet.

“That’s right, you don’t have one… yet, but you will, and he turns out to be a pretty decent Alpha once he learns to ask for help.”

That’s as far as John gets before there’s a sudden snarling and he’s slammed against a tree with a hand tightening around his throat, a furrowed brow and more teeth then there should be in a human’s mouth in his face, and oh God, he’s going to die in the past without a way to let Stiles know-

Oh, God! Stiles isn’t even going to be born-!

“PETER! Let him go!” The demand has that extra snarl in it that means someone is using their ‘wolf voice’ to give the command, but all John can focus on is the fingers loosening their grip, the teeth moving away from his face, and he breathes in deep to thank Julia…

…only to see her staring unblinkingly at Talia, whose own eyes were slowly fading back into their kaleidoscope hue, looking at John with an expression of bewildered fear.

John is also fighting off his own confusion; weren’t Alphas the only ones that had red eyes…?

“Peter,” Julia’s voice cuts through his musings and she moves forward to place a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, seeming to break her out of her own head as well. “Go call Deaton and let him know that we need to make an emergency appointment. I don’t care how you do it, but we need to see him tonight.”

Peter makes a grunt of begrudging acknowledgement, like only a teenager can, and lopes towards the house as if he didn’t just have his claws digging into John’s shoulders not a minute ago… John, however, is too busy watching the other two to pay enough attention to feel offended.

Talia had slightly tipped her head when her brother left, something that John has seen the kids do around Derek once or twice-usually after a big argument-so he’s not that surprised when Julia’s hand shifts up further on her throat as she mutters something too low for John to hear.

He knows what Talia is doing anyway:

Submitting. Reestablishing her position in the Pack. Acknowledging her mother as her Alpha.

John fights off a shiver at the thought that he might already be changing things, and not all for the better; because the fact that there even needed to be a reestablishment in the first place meant that it hadn’t been Julia that had told Peter to back off…

It had been Talia.

#fic: a thread in the tapestry #john stilinski #talia hale #peter hale #alive hale family #time travel #original characters: hale family members #pre-teen wolf #Victoria Writes #Victoria Writes Fanfiction

[shesthelightoftheworld]

Now I’m punching myself in the throat, I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough. For you I  tried to explain It But you wouldn’t listen These scars from our love war Just from betraying Since I can’t tell you directly I’ll tell you through music I  lack self love a piece of me is missing I made a few mistakes but my arms were always open i wish i could have helped you in the way that you needed and the battlefield we stood on playing games and more you stabbed me over 50 times but i still put you first I’m sorry I hurt you, Even more so for my lies Tears mean nothing drowning in this sea of sadness but I still cry You didn’t give me much But what you gave me was enough to get through the day And it’s crazy that our gun fights are enough attention from you to feel satisfied. In and out of hospitals through my sophomore year, nobody understood me because my head wasn’t clear I remember when I was in the ER after an attempt to end my life, it was you who i texted, and i didn’t get a reply i didn’t lay in that hospital bed to make you feel bad i laid in that hospital bed because it was the only option i felt like i had a depressed, 15 year old anxious mind looks like a paradise masked in disguise Truthfully, it was horrifying. i needed you more than ever i looked left and right and you were nowhere by my side Your name never came up on my phone until i texted you months later I don’t know if you ever realized that was something I could never get over Someone who i cared so much for, Someone i knew like the back of my hand. he doesn’t care if i die? and he doesn’t care what i did I considered you someone who knew me too well to just leave me when i got crazy but you hid in a shell You were scared of me, As if I was an evil monster battling suicide and battling borderline personality disorder. the worst part about it, that you never explored, is that I looked up to you like my own mentor I can claim you as a sociopath , for not replying to me in the hospital, i was minutes away from death and just wanted to feel loved. but sitting here now and thinking on the past it’s not that you don’t feel emotion, its that you didn’t care about that. I depended on you, With my entire being, And it was not easy battling PTSD. Being a Sophomore was a time of my life, Where I almost got kidnapped, and I tried to die. Not once, nothing less, more than twice. Three times the charm, But I stayed alive. Imagine being 15, discovering weed and alcohol, Dealing with teenage depression, But also battling an attempt abduction. Most 15 year olds like going out to break innocence, Of course i liked all of those things, But I was struggling with multiple life changing situations. I wanted my life to fit the definition of normalcy, But there was no way normal could be a word in Sissy Mascari’s vocabulary. Being the center of attention in every room, With my small stomach and thick thighs, I lived to impress, But my happiness was in the sky. I tried reaching for the stars, Pulling down positivity, But all i could reach was the trace of your memory. I was SO infatuated and i have no idea why It seems like a mental illness in disguise. I tried to put a smile on, And make everybody laugh. But in a room full of people, My life was still black. You expected too much from me, By thinking i could be sane. I wasn’t enough for myself, Not even close, not a piece of me was sane. Silly you- it was your mistake, 2014 was a time in my life, Of repression and being emotionally drained. I didn’t live the life of a normal teenager, I dealt with a traumatizing experience that put me in hospital beds. I’m sorry you couldn’t save me, And I’m even more sorry that you didn’t even try. I admit, I was out of my mind. I’m sorry again, Would you have preferred me to die? you impressed me more and more every single day and you didn’t know why because you were so mentally drained exhaustion from school, its your senior year you’re doing everything you can to keep your head clear. a month of being in a psych ward, the breeze on my finger tips i hadn’t felt the sun rays in weeks, nor the cold or the wind. its my first day back at school, what will people say do they know i was gone? it only felt like a couple of days.. as i walk to my first class, the first face i see, i recognize these bright blue eyes, that were winking at me. its crazy how fast i forgot about being minutes away from death just by seeing your energy an angelic sociopath the pain i felt when you didn’t reply made me drown deeper to the bottom of the ocean and reminded me of why i wanted to die. theres never an easy way to explain it. especially if you dont have an out. no fix, no numbing, there was no easy route. freshly being 16, i started to drink until i started consuming excessive amounts, i started to struggle to think.. i only found happiness at the end of the bottle drinking 1 shot, to 14, before you knew it i was gone. it numbed my feelings it made me forget the problems it made me forget you ghosting me and it was a temporary out. just please know if you read this, my heart dropped to the ground because you didn’t text me back not a second went by where i wasn’t reflecting on that. what if you never saw me again, and the only time you saw my name was while standing in front of a plaque. When that ran through my head, it turned my soft spot in my heart for you black. I don’t know why i was crazy, I’m not sure why I cared. I am speaking for a girl that I don’t know anymore, And apologizing for her. She has acted like a psycho, To kill for your attention, All she ever wanted, Was to simply be your friend. It wasn’t out of love what she did for you, It was out of care. You confuse sugar with salt, And I confused salt with sugar. I watched you over-dose on sadness As I cried on your weightless body breathing to the rhythm of my tears It felt like you shot me You needed my love, Way more than i did- for that matter I feel as if I gave you more than i had to offer, Everything handed to you on a golden platter. You have a tendency to push people away, The people who care the most, And you make me feel crazy As if you just saw a ghost. There’s a difference between Fighting for love And fighting for someone to love you. It took me years to realize, I had been fighting for you to tighten my loose screws. It wasn’t your responsibility, And being that young, I should’ve taken initiative myself, And picked myself up. feeling worthless and dead i woke every day dreaming of seeing hell before seeing your face   spending hours drowning in my tears wishing i wouldn’t wake up because when i told you i loved you i wasn’t good enough i wish i was skinny i wish i was blonde i wish i was the girl with blue eyes i wish we fell in love so much time spent on tryna make you smile giving you warmth and sunlight because you lacked it for awhile knowing there wasn’t a second that went by not a minute a day or a week that id spend thinking of you where you were thinking of me but it was you the whole time, who didn’t want me to be happy you masked your feelings with anger and you preyed on hurting me the love i gave you was imitation of what i deserved you deserve the best baby but i deserve more When you left me on read It hurt so much Because all I wanted to do Was give you love whats it like being an empath holding both of our feelings falling for a sociopath who’s eyes were to gleaming they told stories and i knew them from centuries ago this works in mysterious ways you told me so you felt nothing, because i felt it for you thats why we worked so well you didn’t have to speak i just knew but i started to realize i had this fake image in my head of who you really were verses the old you i knew being dead i tried to bring you back to life i tried to revive you but i soon understood that i couldn’t save you i needed to save myself i was dealing with illness battling these demons that i met under my bed i was always a dreamer, i had the sparkle in my eye everyday i showed you that i was so full of life we were in a knife fight and you pulled out a gun life flashed before my eyes and the innocent dreamer in me was gone before i knew it, i was smoking every day because you gave me so much just to take it away when i said i was a dreamer, i meant that i dreamed of you i talked about you like you put stars in my sky that was just a reflection of me in you the you i knew, the guy i remember wanted to accomplish so much but the white powder in the zip block bag stopped you from being the person i dreamed of maybe my mind tricked me and mistook salt with sugar because the past 2 years you have been nothing but a bummer it’s when i wear my red satin dress its when my eyes are drained with no sparkle left just mascara stains the sleepless nights where id stay up and type id write not pages but bibles explaining my side theres two sides to every story and mine i will never know how can i understand when the real you is unknown you dont love yourself you can’t give me anything but i never asked for that i just wanted you to receive from me my heart ached for months and i finally stopped thinking you’d come around because you loved drugs more than me. soon after, my name was replaced with xanax these 5mg pills replaced me, and he was putting his life in the hands of an addict. breaks were always fun to have you around. we laughed, smiled and you acted like a clown. but something wasn’t the same, you not only laughed differently, but your  pupils were small, your eyes were always blood shot and i knew something was wrong. after a year of you coming and going as you please, i spent my 17th birthday, in tears but immediately happy once you wished me a happy birthday. that night, after trying to understand your addiction, i discovered what you felt i took a xanax and entered a new world it was a dark paradise in hell I am 18 years old now, Living the life i have always dreamed of, On top of the world on the other side of the country. I like being solo, Without you, living for me. The dreamer in me came back awhile ago, She sings, dances, and cries. She loves videography, Astrology, stars, and cheese fries. The me you knew, will forever be gone. She was one toxic mother fucker, And waited too long. To fix her head, She put her life in everyone’s hands, You had to tiptoe around her, Worrying you’d get caught in quicksand. The quick reactions, and pointed fingers, She was always “ too much “. That girl is somebody that i could never trust. I had this alter ego, Half of me i loved, The other half being my own worst enemy, A ticking time bomb. She lived her life with the adrenaline rush of doing bad things, Whether it was stealing alcohol, Or  on sundays being a hypocrite and singing church music at willow creek. My parents would hear a phone ring and worry that it would be someone telling them I killed myself, I yelled at them every day at the top of my lungs, I now talk to them and tell them when I have  a problem. I let the most important people to me in my life Live in pain, Worry, And heart ache. i have this over filled heart with so much love it was after i fell you didn’t catch me that i told myself to jump my hands reached the railing and my feet were stepping high onto the red pole in between the sea and  the end of my life something hit me hard and told me not to give up because a person isn’t worth my happiness and that’s what i learned to love. as i say goodbye to you this is the final time the last chance i get to tell u the impact you had on my life i no longer fear the thought of being alone and i never would’ve learned that if you hadn’t come along one day you will realize i had good intentions i never meant to hurt you i just felt so much affection It’s crazy that i will never know If i ever cross your mind, If you ever think about me And our past that has died It’s sad where we have to leave off, Because you will look back and remember me for the bad, And for the person I’m not. You won’t remember me for my nonchalant goofiness making you laugh, You won’t remember my smile when I’d see you for the first time since the last time, You will remember me for my cracks. You won’t remember the heart I have, You will remember me for my mistakes. You won’t remember me by my love for art, You will remember me for my crazy mental-state. it wasn’t about being in love, because trust me I wasn’t. it was having someone that i shared Irreplaceable and unforgettable memories with. from trauma, to depression, to seasons changing to months , and suddenly three years i stood around waiting my best friend, my first “love”, whatever you want to call it i just want you to know you made me who i am, and i can’t thank you enough. I hope you’re happy, I wish nothing more. If you aren’t with me, I hope you are with her. You should never settle, For anything less than the world. Because even though i couldn’t give it to you, I know somebody else will. If she doesn’t adore Your round blue eyes, She doesn’t love you enough, So move onto to next in line. If she doesn’t start to act like you, Even though i know that sets you off, She does not love you enough, my dear, And it’ll be time to move on. These are my last words to you, I could write to you forever, But it’s time to let go. Happy 21st birthday, I love and care for you more than you will ever know.       Always and forever

Dear Asshole

[trueraretalent]

A WALT QUESTIONAIRE

1. Describe the character’s height and build. Is he heavyset, thin, short, rangy?

“I’m skinny or lean or whatever and I think I’m about 5′9? I don’t know.”

shut up alex, you’re 5′8 and you know it.

2. How old is he?

“Nineteen.”

3. Describe his posture. Does he/she carry himself well or does he/she slouch?

“It could probably be better, but I don't slouch too much. Depends on my mood really.”

4. How is his health? Is he fit or out of shape? Any illnesses or conditions? Any physical disabilities?

“Obviously I’m nowhere near as fit as Jordan, but - and this is hard to believe, I know - I’m actually a fairly decent runner and did track for a few years. Take after my mum in that aspect, I guess.”

5. How does he move? Is he clumsy, graceful, tense, fluid?

“There’s…there’s more than one way to move? Fluid, I don’t fucking know.”

he moves with ease and usually looks comfortable or casual or whatever. idk. 

6. How attractive is this character physically? How does he perceive himself in the mirror?

“Why don’t you tell me? Attraction is more of a perception thing based on personal preference so… but I’m not looking at myself and nitpicking, anyway, I know I’m pretty ace.”

was that a fucking pun you little shit.

7. Describe his complexion. Dark, light, clear, scarred?

“I’m pale. I’m a white-ass white boy and I’ve got a bunch of tiny freckles all over the place because I’m incapable of tanning.”

8. Describe his hair: color, texture, style.

“My hair is about as straight as I am, and if you’re a sucker for brown hair with shaved sides, boy do I have news for you.”

he doesn’t do much to style it or anything. usually just rolls out of bed and brushes with his fingers. (x)(x)

9. What color are his/her eyes?

“Fuck if I know.”

they’re brown alex. they’re brown.

10. Does the character have any other noteworthy features?

“Dimples deeper than the Pacific ocean.”

11. What are his/her chief tension centers?

“…Shoulders, I guess.”

his first instinct was to say farrah. tf alex.

12. What is the character’s wardrobe like? Casual, dressy, utilitarian? Bright colors, pastels, neutrals? Is it varied, or does he/she have six of the same suit?

“I don’t even know. I’ve got ripped jeans and a whole range of graphic tees and also some random big name shit. My fashion policy is basically just if it looks cool, I wear it. Pretty casual, ridiculously varied. I don’t really have a colour scheme at all, but hey! If I can throw together a half decent outfit then who cares?”

wardrobe tag: (x)

13. Do his/her clothes fit well? Does he/she seem comfortable in them?

“That’s basically my only criteria, so yeah. That, and if the clothes match whatever the hell my acethetic is.”

that's pun number two, people.

14. Does he/she dress the same on the job as he/she does in his free time? If not, what are the differences?

“If I had a job, I’m sure I’d make myself look professional as fuck.”

i doubt that.

15. You knew it was coming: Boxers, briefs or commando?

“Boxers.”

Speech

1. What does this character’s voice sound like? High-pitched, deep, hoarse?

“…Am I meant to know this? Middle-range, I guess. A teacher once described my voice as ‘warm’ which was weird but might answer the question?”

imma be honest with you fam, half the time i imagine him with a british accent like his fc, one daniel howell. idk?? dan howell without the accent?? idk???? pretty even and clear, no cracking when he speaks. idk.

2. How does he/she normally speak? Loud, soft, fast, evenly? Does he/she talk easily, or does he/she hesitate?

“Okay - well - right. I just interrupted myself several times so sorry about that but let me give you the run down. I speak pretty easily, but speed varies depending on who I’m talking to or how I’m feeling and all that shit. The more nervous or worried I am, the more I ramble and I speed up a bit, but when I’m angry I’ve got a very even and calm tone somehow and when I’m talking to someone new I try and avoid talking quickly.”

3. Does the character have a distinct accent or dialect? Any individual quirks of pronunciation? Any, like, you know, verbal tics?

“Not really.”

when he rambles he does a lot more ‘you know’ and ‘i mean’ without noticing.

4. What language/s does he/she speak, and with how much fluency?

“English. And I know some French from school but that’s about it.”

5. Does he/she switch languages or dialects in certain situations?

“Uhh, no. Breaking out in French at random times would be super fucking weird, considering I know roughly five words.”

…yeah…who would…do that…

i apologise for my son penelope

6. Is he/she a good impromptu speaker, or does he/she have to think about his words?

“I’m a very good impromptu speaker. That’s basically the only speaking I do.”

literally the only time he stops and fully thinks his words through is when he’s full on angry. like legitimately furious. so, not talking to any one in particular here nope not at all i’m sure this will never be relevant at all ever haha, if alex is taking his sweet sweet time to answer, you know you’ve fucked up big time.

7. Is he/she eloquent or inarticulate? Under what circumstances might this change?

“A mix of both, I think. It depends on the subject, but talking is one of my strong suits so it’s not like I can’t convey an opinion.”

he’s probably more eloquent when he’s angry. also sarcastic. it's wild, he really gets his anger from vidia.

Mental and Emotional

1. How intelligent is this character? Is he/she book-smart or street-smart?

“Well, I’m not stupid. I ace most tests. My problem is more just figuring out where to ‘apply myself’. I know a lot about things I actually like and certain social issues like the feminist movement and sexuality stuff. And the only reason I passed maths as a sophomore was because I managed to get the teacher to like me after he’d decided that he hated the class with a passion. He wasn’t even subtle about that, actually. He literally announced it in our second week of classes. Yeah, he didn't fuck around. We had that in common. Anyway, befriending people is the closest I’ve got to street smarts.”

alex’s pun count so far: 4, i think.

2. Does he/she think on his feet, or does he/she need time to deliberate?

“I think a lot more on my feet than I probably should.”

3. Describe the character’s thought process. Is he/she more logical, or more intuitive? Idealistic or practical?

“I’d say more idealistic. I’m an optimist. Apparently those are in short supply nowadays so I’m basically a unicorn. But yeah, probably more intuitive than logical, I’m led by my emotions rather than my head.”

for anyone curious, his mbti is enfp. take that as you will.

4. What kind of education has the character had?

“Imagine a series of private schools full of a mix of the kids of both shockingly successful strippers and the classic pretentious rich assholes. It was a weird juxtaposition. But I’ve gone through all the regular tiers to university.”

5. What are his/her areas of expertise? What, if anything, is he/she interested in learning more about?

“Social issues, probably. I was pretty good at drama. Also I did violin for like 3 years. I still suck but at least I can be rhythmic about it. I don't know what I want to know more about, just a whole bunch of things in general. Biology has always been interesting.”

it hasn't really, he’s just taking any opportunity for a pun.

6. Is he/she an introvert or an extrovert?

“Take a wild guess.”

extrovert, in case it wasn’t clear.

7. Describe the character’s temperament. Is he/she even-tempered or does he/she have mood swings? Cheerful or melancholy? Laid-back or driven?

“I’m pretty even-tempered and cheerful. I’ve got energy but I wouldn’t say I’m driven. My focus can be pretty sporadic sometimes.”

8. How does he/she respond to new people or situations? Is he/she suspicious, relaxed, timid, enthusiastic?

“New people are great. Love ‘em. I’m pretty comfortable with most people, really.”

9. Is he/she more likely to act, or to react?

”Umm… react…?”

10. Which is his/her default: fight or flight?

“I see your fight and flight and raise you; freeze.”

probably fight tbh.

11. Describe the character’s sense of humor. Does he/she appreciate jokes? Puns? Gallows humor? Bathroom humor? Pranks?

“Most humour, really. I can get bi with jokes, but I really ace sexuality puns - and you know that thing that happens where you create some ridiculously elaborate scenario and get really into? Yeah, I love doing that. I also have a compulsive need to make sarcastic comments. I think it’s a genetic thing.”

12. Does the character have any diagnosable mental disorders? If yes, how does he/she deal with them?

“Nope.”

13. What moments in this character’s life have defined him/her as a person?

“Being born was pretty significant. Meeting Jordan, definitely. Learning to embrace my sexuality. I don’t know, a bunch of little things. A bunch of people. Fucking Tyler, unfortunately.” 

fucking tyler page - this boy’s first serious relationship. listen up fam: it was a mess and fucked him up a little for a while there and basically made him doubt himself and his identity. it was toxic af because i have a compulsive need to give my characters unnecessary angst.

14. What does he/she fear?

“Spiders can fuck right off. And I’ve probably got a crippling fear of rejection or not being good enough, like any true teenager or young adult.”

for an optimist you sound pretty cynical there buddy. 

but for real that not being good enough thing.

15. What are his/her hopes or aspirations?

“Good question. I’ll get back to you when I know.”

he has no idea wtf he wants to do with his life he’s gonna be a social worker i guess i just want him to squirm for a bit but probably just having everyone he cares about happy?? what a dork.

16. What is something he/she doesn’t want anyone to find out about him/her?

“Well, it’s not that I don’t want people to know, but half the time I forgot to tell people I’m ace. Not that it’s something you have to tell people at all, but I at this point I have no idea who I’ve told and who I’ve just thought to myself - ‘oh, I should probably let them know at some point’. Other than that, Tyler. It’s just not fun to talk about.” 

fucking tyler. basically the whole deal with tyler he likes to keep under wraps and if he does tell someone who doesn’t know he’s definitely never going to mention that the breaking point of the relationship was tyler hitting him.

but yeah, that asexual thing. pull yourself together alex seriously.

Relationships

1. Describe this character’s relationship with his/her parents.

“Mum’s great. We’re close, and we’ve got each other’s back. Usually that just means her intimidating teachers, or us making comments to each other under our breath at events we have to go to or me pretending to be sick to get her out of meetings, but it’s fun. She’s pretty casual, really. Her coworkers probably think I have cancer or something, which is also fun. Wait - they might actually. Oh man, this explains why they were so weird and excessively understanding when they found out that we were fostering kids. They totally thought it was so Mum could find a replacement kid in case I died. Oh man, this explains so much. That’s why they looked so concerned when we adopted Jordan - they totally thought I was going to die. I need to text Mum and see if she can confirm it. Ooh, we could fake my death - actually a coma would be better, that way we can still mess with them and no one will have a heart attack when they see me.”

they have fun.

2. Does the character have any siblings? What is/was their relationship like?

“Jordan. I love her, she’s amazing. We’re definitely close, and it took a while to get to that point. She was the angriest 12 year old I’d ever met and I swear, I swear, it took months before I even saw her smile. That was such an achievement for me. We’ve got a pretty normal sibling relationship - we tease each other, we take care of each other, she threatens to punch people in the face, it’s a riot. I’d be glad to be replaced by her if I died of cancer.”

3. Are there other blood relatives to whom he/she is close? Are there ones he/she can’t stand?

“We don’t see them that much, but I have grandparents. Grandma’s got a whole bunch of interesting stories about interesting people and jesus fucking christ, was their marriage nonexistent. I don’t know about Grandpa. I think he might actually be dead. Mum doesn’t really like either very much regardless.”

you think he’s dead?? alex wtf????

4. Are there other, unrelated people whom he/she considers part of his family? What are his/her relationships with them?

“Well, mum’s friends are all practically my aunts and I grew up with their kids, so there’s that. Birdie in particular. She’s basically my little sister and she’s the literal embodiment of sunshine, I swear. I take care of her and Farrah whenever I can, even if the latter makes it difficult sometimes. And all the kids that have stayed with us - except for one or two that were legitimately assholes - are just automatically part of the family.”

don’t mind me just making assumptions about the pixie hollow fam.

5. Who is/was the character’s best friend? How did they meet?

“Jordan, probably.”

6. Does he/she have other close friends?

“Birdie, Farrah, Kennedy, the Belle’s - hey, if I say Scarlett, how annoyed do you think Noah would get? Because Scarlett Blake is fucking adorable and I’d be honoured to consider her a close friend.”

more assumptions don’t mind me.

also why do you need to mess with noah come on now alex.

7. Does he/she make friends easily, or does he/she have trouble getting along with people?

“I’m decent at making new friends, probably because I’m pretty friendly and trustworthy. I make a point of not fucking with people.”

you can't see but he's doing finger guns bc he's a dork.

8. Which does he/she consider more important: family or friends?

“Family, if I have to choose.”

9. Is the character single, married, divorced, widowed? Has he/she been married more than once?

“Single, I’m all bi myself. And yes, at nineteen I have been definitely been married not once but twice.”

10. Is he/she currently in a romantic relationship with someone other than a spouse?

“Oh no, you totally got me!”

alex please.

11. Who was his/her first crush? Who is his/her latest?

“Some girl called Alesha when I was five. I’m not sure where she is now but I remember that she always had freakishly intricate braids. Lately? I don’t know if you’d call it a ‘crush’, it’s more of an, I don’t know, mutual attraction?”

lol whatever you say alex. you're looking very casual there with your fond smile and lack of eye contact.

12. What does he/she look for in a romantic partner?

“Okay, first off - nice hair. Not saying it’s necessary but, you know, always a bonus. Secondly - can survive without sex. Don't think that one needs much explaining. And, I don’t know, just being comfortable with them. Being able to feel like there isn’t any pressure and like I can talk and they won't get annoyed and like they actually really care. Someone I can have stupid inside jokes with and just have fun with. Someone that makes me happy and that I can make happy.”

alex that's sweet and all but what is your deal with the hair like seriously.

13. Does the character have children? Grandchildren? If yes, how does he/she relate to them? If no, does he/she want any?

“Shockingly, I am not a father. But, one day, I want kids. Maybe not any time soon, but yeah, I definitely see it in the future for me.”

if you don't want kids you do not have a chance with alex in the long term.

14. Does he/she have any rivals or enemies?

“Not that I know of. If I do I don't give a fuck. Literally.”

15. What is the character’s sexual orientation? Where does he/she fall on the Kinsey scale?

“I guess you could say I’m pretty ace.”

also biromantic without any real preference.

16. How does he/she feel about sex? How important is it to him/her?

he literally just snorted. he's literally trying not to laugh.

“Okay, seriously, though, what’s the big deal with sticking parts of yourself inside another person? Who looked at the process of making babies and went ah, yes, this will be a big deal for society, the act of sex. And that’s not even mentioning the concept of virginity which was fucking made up to make people feel bad about not having banged someone yet. Oh, and don’t even get me started with the double standards for girls, I mean -”

and that’s enough social justice ranting, thank you alex.

17. What are his/her turn-ons? Turn-offs? Weird bedroom habits?

“Actually - you know what? I’d probably - reluctantly, mind you - sleep with someone if they went all out. Neither of us would enjoy it, but if someone, like, took me to a super expensive restaurant and hired out a theme park and did that sky writing thing and did the whole rose petals leading to the bedroom and some scented candles - actually, that’s a fire hazard, I don’t need the candles - but if someone went all out, you kind of have to give it a go, you know? Good thing the people I’m attracted to aren’t billionaire hopeless romantics, because it would be pretty uncomfortable for everyone involved. But if you want weird bedroom habits, I’ve been told I talk in my sleep.”

okay thanks for that, nice to know you’re taking this seriously alex. for those wanting some semblance of a proper answer (admittedly to a slightly different question), alex is definitely a kiss-me-hard-and-push-me-up-against-a-wall (or other flat surface) kind of guy. likes biting, cool with hickeys, not that into tongue. go wild kids, this is literally the only character that i can give an answer for this question.

Beliefs

1. Do you know your character’s astrological (zodiac of choice) sign? How well does he/she fit type?

“Birthday’s June 10th, which makes me a Gemini. It fits well enough - good communicators, witty, indecisive, energetic. It works.”

2. Is this character religious, spiritual, both, or neither? How important are these elements in his/her life?

“Yeah, the bible has had a great impact on my life.”

no, they aren't very important to him. 

3. Does this character have a personal code of morals or ethics? If so, how did that begin? What would it take to compromise it?

“Doesn't everyone? It's just the normal stuff to be honest; don't be an asshole for no reason, let people do whatever the fuck they want as long as they aren't hurting anyone, don't treat people like objects. That one really annoys the hell out of me.”

4. How does he/she regard beliefs that differ from his? Is he/she tolerant, intolerant, curious, indifferent?

“All for it unless they're disrespecting someone’s existence, then they can fuck off. And people who like pineapple on pizza, what is wrong with you?”

5. What prejudices does he/she hold? Are they irrational or does he/she have a good reason for them?

“You know, there's probably some that society has planted in my subconscious but I try to avoid being consciously prejudiced. Unless you're into that pineapple on pizza bullshit.”

Daily Life

1. What is the character’s financial situation? Is he/she rich, poor, comfortable, in debt?

“We're fairly wealthy. Yay for us, I guess.”

2. What is his/her social status? Has this changed over time, and if so, how has the change affected him/her?

“I don't know, I don't think it's changed much. Pretty upper class.”

3. Where does he/she live? House, apartment, trailer? Is his/her home his/her castle or just a place to crash? What condition is it in? Does he/she share it with others?

“Condo in Vegas. Sounds exciting, right? It's not bad, everything is open 24 hours and always a ton of tourists so that's good for people watching. The condo’s kind of big, especially for three people, but pretty comfortable. We all get our own rooms - even if Jordan barges into mine whenever she wants. Also the wifi is really good, which is the most important thing.”

4. Besides the basic necessities, what does he/she spend his/her money on?

“Food. Clothes, I guess. Going out to the movies or exploring the city. There's this place down the road that does the best bubble tea, and it's right next to this phenomenal Chinese restaurant so I always end up spending money whenever I go down that street.”

5. What does he/she do for a living? Is he/she good at it? Does he/she enjoy it, or would he/she rather be doing something else?

“Don't have a job, so...”

6. What are his/her interests or hobbies? How does he/she spend his/her free time?

“Hanging out with friends, reading up on something so I don't have to do homework, I’ll go to a party or a club or something if it sounds like it’ll be fun, stuff like that.”

7. What are his/her eating habits? Does he/she skip meals, eat out, drink alcohol, avoid certain foods?

“I don't skip meals, or try not to. Mum’s cooking is pretty hit and miss so we eat at restaurants and get take out a bit more than we probably should, especially if no one can be bothered cooking. I don't drink that much - thank Jordan for that, she actively despises the stuff. Not that she doesn't have good reason to, though.”

Associations

Which of the following do you associate with the character, or which is his/her favorite:

1. Color? 


like summer day sky blue. also yellow, tbh.

2. Smell? 


chocolate cake.

3. Time of day? 


late morning.

4. Season? 


spring.

5. Book?

think john green.


6. Music? 


think fun., walk the moon, paramore.

7. Place? 


sitting around a bonfire, talking and laughing with people.

8. Substance? 


does sarcasm count?

9. Plant? 


sunflower.

10. Animal?

probably like a dog or something. which is ironic bc he’s a cat person.

#if you like puns boy are you in for a fun time #watask #about: a #questionaire: a #this is super late but the others are coming soon fam

[sadiesavestheday]

How to help Black Lives Matter - Breonna Taylor Watercolor Portrait

This is Breanna Taylor

Transcript

What can Black people do to help?

What can non-Black people do to help?

What can we all do to help?

What if you can’t protest?

What if you do not have money to donate?

Resources

References

Transcript

This is Breonna Taylor1. She would have been 27 on June 5th, but she was killed by unidentified police in her own bed on March 13. Officers came to her home to investigate a nonviolent crime she had no part in. When they rammed down her door without identifying themselves or even knocking, her boyfriend, Kenneth Walker, assumed that their home was being invaded. It was.

Kenneth fired at the invaders with his legally owned firearm, and shot an officer in the leg. In retaliation, the police blindly shot into Breonna’s home with so many bullets that they flew through the walls: hitting clocks, pots, and chairs2. Eight of those bullets hit Breonna, murdering her while she was sleeping in her own bed.

Breonna was an emergency medical technician who was planning on becoming a nurse and a mother. She worked at two hospitals, putting herself on the frontlines during the COVID–19 pandemic. Breonna said that one of the things that gave her happiness in life was being able to help others.

For me, painting a portrait is a really meditative and intimate experience. I’m staring at a person for hours, looking at every detail of their face, describing it over and over in thin layers of watercolor. So I look at her and I’m struck by how cute she is. I see how laid her edges are and that cheeky smile. How proud she looks. How she seems like she would’ve been the life of the party and would have been able to make anyone burst out laughing.

If she had lived, she would have had a Corona birthday party. Maybe it would have been at home. Socially distanced. Calling her loved ones through Zoom and eating a little cake. Then back to work, to saving lives and risking her own.

But instead, on her birthday, her family was in mourning.

Why?

I want to say her name because I am a Black woman, and Black women are often forgotten in movements like these. I do not want her to be forgotten, and I will not forget her.

When I first heard about the death – the recorded lynching – of Ahmad Arbery3, all I could think was, “They can’t stop killing us? Not even in a pandemic?”

It felt somehow particularly cruel to murder someone with such glee at time in which we are all afraid for our lives. Not only that, but when Black lives are already at a higher risk for being lost during this pandemic.

I ask again, why?

Because he was running. Taking up public space. Saying, I’m allowed to be here, to exist, to be healthy. Some men saw that and made sure to correct him of his misunderstanding.

So now, people are in the streets, taking up space, saying “This is my space too, I belong here. I claim it.”

They chant. “Whose streets? Our streets! 4”

One of the topics of my master’s thesis was the need for Black people to reclaim public spaces 5 6 and how minority populations throughout the world used the same tools to create spaces for themselves. The spaces are hard-won and often short-lived. The tools that they use are nearly always declared illegal. These are spaces that they are not really allowed to have. They are not allowed to loiter. They’re not allowed to stroll. They are most certainly not allowed to run.

A Black person like me, lingering in a garden, is suspect. They should not be there. Staring at petals. Observing the light falling through leaves. Taking mental painting notes. No, they are thieves. They are robbers. They are most certainly up to no good.

For how many Black people, like me, is PokémonGo not simply about pocket monsters7. How many of them are scared to wander because they know that there will be eyes that stare and ask, “Why are you here?” Because there will be people who suddenly rush outside to make sure that this tiny Black woman is not going to ….

Not going to what?

How many Black students, like a younger me, have to justify their existence on their own campuses? The very campuses that they managed to claw their way into, despite all the barriers trying to keep them out? And still, it doesn’t end. A Black body in any space is up to no good. Playing Frisbee. Eating lunch8. Studying in the library. Napping in the common area9. In case you forgot, this is not where you belong, and someone will be sure to remind you.

At Princeton white women (yes, it was always white women) clutched their purses as I walked by. It was like watching a cartoon. Can you explain to me the threat that they saw? The danger they perceived in the face of a teenage girl who didn’t even weigh 100 pounds? A girl who was barely over 5 feet, who had asthma, and who could barely see? But who they saw walking in their direction was not that girl. For them, I could not be a young girl whose shoulders hurt from the weight of books in French and Japanese, just hoping to pass another semester. But I could, of course, be a threat.

The act of having dark skin is violence enough for a racist.

And from there, well anything goes.

From there you can attack peaceful protesters10, because they can never be peaceful once they have committed the high crime of being Black. From there, it makes sense to have police surrounding the protest area in riot gear “just in case.” From there there is always, always a justification for why there is a boot on your neck. For why another mother’s child did not make it home. For why another child grows up parentless. 

“Well, they should have…”

“They shouldn’t have…” 

But really there is never, ever anything you can do to erase the original sin of having dark skin.

Do you know what it is to live knowing that, for some people, your very existence is violence?

So, holding this knowledge, I worry for the protesters. I worry for their safety. I worry that they will get sick. But why worry about potentially catching a disease that may kill you when you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that your fellow man has been killing you for centuries? When you know that so many of them want to fight to continue killing you? If you will die anyway, why not at least do something?

The problems are one and the same anyway. Racism is a public health crisis11. Why do Black and brown people die from diseases in general12 and COVID 19 in particular13 more often than white people?

There are a few explanations that you can choose.

The first is that brown and Black people are poor and do not take care of themselves. I hope that you do not need me to tell you that this is racist. Even if you control for wealth, the disparity still stands. If you control for education, the disparity still stands. Even amongst Black people who are proactive about their health, the disparity still stands.

So ask you for the third time, why?

There is another answer that is so steeped in racism that it feels as if it has walked straight off of the plantation. That is that Black bodies are simply deficient. They are just more prone to disease. There is nothing that we can do about it. 

This is the same argument that excused the death of slaves. It could not be because of the inhuman treatment they received from the very moment that they were born. No, of course not. It was because their bodies were simply weak.

So if we put that argument aside, we have another. That of the unjust treatment of Black and brown bodies within the medical system. To this day, many doctors believe that Black people experience pain differently than white people14. They believe that we require fewer pain relievers15. They believe that our bodies are somehow stronger, more able to deal with pain and suffering than others. This is a convenient thing to believe when so much of modern medicine - including the entire field of gynecology16 –  is based on the unwilling exploitation of 17 and experimentation on18 19Black bodies.

So we receive less medication, and less treatment, and less care. How many Black people die because of this? How many die because of doctors’ maltreatment? How many die because they fear the maltreatment more than they fear the disease?

How many Black people die not from cops, but from asthma, saying, “I can’t breathe?”

Did you know that Black people are more likely to have and die of asthma20? Did you know that, despite that, it is more difficult for a Black person to receive an asthma diagnosis and treatment? Even the tool that is used to measure lung function is designed specifically to make it harder to diagnose nonwhite people with asthma21. It assumes that it is simply normal and natural for nonwhite people to have reduced lung function. Then, even if you manage to get a diagnosis, the medicines are not designed for you. Black people are often excluded from medical trials, so the very medicines that are meant to save you, like albuterol, are more likely to be ineffective or actively harm your body22.

So imagine this cruelty: spraying teargas on a population that is more likely to die from asthma, during a pandemic caused by respiratory illness, when they are protesting the unjust murder of a man whose last words were, “I can’t breathe.”

When we say we can’t breathe, we really can’t breathe.

I have had asthma since I was a very young child, and yet doctors still question my diagnosis. They will sit in front of me with decades of tests showing that I have reduced lung function on their desk and my inhaler that I carry every day in my hand and they will ask me, “But do you really have asthma?” They will smile at me, “Are you sure it isn’t just hay-fever?”

The idea that Black people are somehow superhuman23 is still too strong in the medical establishment. It is a terrible problem when you happen, in fact, not to be a superhuman but simply a regular human who is sick and seeking help.

I am thankful to my mother for many things, but I am thankful in particular because, even as an immigrant, she worked hard to find a pediatrician who would see her little children as they were, small, sick, and unable to breathe.

Now as an often sick adult, and an immigrant myself, I have to find my own doctors. Each time, I worry. When I go to a new doctor, I worry, will they be racist? Will they, like one doctor, hear me screaming in pain and say that I am faking it? When I go to a doctor that I know, I worry, is this the day that I will find out that they are the type of racist who smiles in my face? Like the doctor who told me, when I had a simply diagnosable and treatable condition that, "Perhaps the pain that you feel is actually, your internalized self hatred resulting from what you ‘perceive’ as racism?”

Or perhaps like the woman who called the police on Christian Cooper24. She was upper-class, educated, liberal, and even voted for Obama. Yet the moment a Black man stepped out of his place in a public space she had an immediate response.

By the way, let us not forget that this public space was once private. They stood on the land that was once Seneca Village, a Black community that was destroyed so that Central Park could be built into beautiful space for white people to promenade25. Because of course nothing is really yours when you are Black.

So, the moment that Christian Cooper this gay, Harvard educated, member of the Board of Directors for the NYC Audubon Society assumed that he had a right to that space and perhaps she was the one in the wrong, she was quick to remind him that none of those things matter. She expected the police, just like those ladies who clutched their bags away from me, to see him as nothing more than a threat.

She didn’t use the n-word, but she didn’t have to. She says, “African-American man," and the words are poison in her mouth.

I am sure that I am not the only Black person who thought it was a small miracle that Christian Cooper did not end up yet another hashtag on our ever growing list.

Now, in this world that I have described to you, what are we supposed to do?

What can Black people do to help?

First, to Black folks:

I see you. I love you. I’m praying for you

Be gentle with yourself. Now, more than ever. It can be so hard these days, and the events are constantly re-traumatizing us. Showing up is important, but so is getting rest and taking care of yourself. The battle is long.

This is the time of anger and sadness. These are tools. Use them. Use them to work, to paint, to write, to speak, to care for others, to care for yourself.

Again – I see you. I love you. I’m praying for you.

What can non-Black people do to help?

To non-Black folks:

We see you. We see your silence. We see your action. We see your indifference, and we see your speech. 

I am sure that I am not the only one who has noticed the dearth of commentary on this topic amongst watercolor channels on YouTube. I have also noticed those of you who have spoken up and I’ve been so thankful for it. 

Think twice before sharing another video of the abuse or public lynching of a Black person. What point does it serve? How does it help? Does it simply spread outrage? Is it worth traumatizing your Black brothers and sisters over? How many times have you seen Black death appear on your screen? For us, this has been a decade of recorded Black murders. We see these images over and over again, and each time it is a fresh new horror. Every time I see George Floyd, I see my father. These videos often desensitize viewers to Black death and violence to Black bodies. How often do you see gruesome videos of white bodies dying come through your feed? I ask you again, think carefully.

Educate yourself. The Internet is vast and wide. So many things are searchable. Learn your history. Make an effort to work against the racism that you have  learned, because we all have internalized racism from living in this society. Fight against the urge to deny that it is within you too.

Sit with your discomfort. If it is not something that you have tried before, this will be uncomfortable. It will probably still be uncomfortable even if it is already a practice of yours. That’s ok. Racism wants you to prefer comfort over the safety of your Black brothers and sisters. Don���t let it win.

Listen to Black people when they tell you things. Believe them.

Show up for black people. If you see what that looks like a strange confrontation between a non-black person and a black person, do not leave the black person alone. Often times, your simple presence and letting the other non-black person know that you are watching is enough to de-escalate the situation. If need be, step in and raise your voice.

If you see a black person being interrogated or arrested by the cops, do not leave them alone. Watch the interaction. If need be, take a video recording. Calmly narrate the situation, specifying what you are actually seeing. Say things like, “They are not resisting. They are complying with the officer’s orders,” so that there is a record in case it is needed in the future. Share this video with the person involved if possible. Do not put this video up on the Internet without the permission of the person being filmed and delete the video if it is not needed.

Think twice, three times, four times, about calling the police. Do you really need the police in this situation? Is this simply a minor inconvenience? Or do you fear for your life? Remember that for the black people around you, even calling the police to get help can lead to a death sentence.

Take responsibility for your own education. Do not press Black people for unpaid labor. Some people will freely teach you, but demanding it from anyone is neglecting your duty to educate yourself. There are lots of amazing resources out there right now, take advantage of them.

Lift up Black people. Do not let yourself be in the room with no Black people in it. What does that mean? It could be as simple as making an effort to always name a Black person when asked, “Who would you recommend we reach out to next?” So often Black people are left out of these chains of recommendations and miss out on many opportunities as a result. Or, if you have a platform, you can do a collaboration with a Black person in your field. If you are in the position of hiring, you can make sure that Black and brown faces are present not only at the lowest level, but at higher levels in your company. Advocate for wage transparency. If your Black coworkers are getting paid less, demand equal pay.

Cite Black people26. Normally this is something that you would hear in an academic setting, but it is necessary outside of academia as well. The knowledge and work of Black people, and particularly Black woman, is somehow treated as if it is public knowledge. People will take their creations and never mention their names. You see it on Tik-Tok27, you see it with slang 28, and I even see it here on art YouTube. If a Black person has inspired you, say their name. Let other people know who they are. Let them inspire other people too. 

Talk to your people. Talk to your friends. Talk to your family. Talk to your coworkers. There are so many spaces that you will be in that Black people cannot enter, and it is up to you to be the voice that protects your Black brothers and sisters in those situations. Racism begins in these small private spaces and it grows until it erupts in public.

International folks. I have been so happy to see the widespread international support of the American protests throughout the world. It really is amazing.

But as a Black woman who has lived the majority of her adult life abroad, I take pause when I see international audiences highlighting racism in America. So often America is used as a scapegoat to say, “See, look how terrible they are over there. We would never be like that.”

When I speak to people here in Germany about my experiences, they often tell me, “but at least things here are not as bad as in America.” They tell me this in the country in which I am screamed at in the street. In which I have been pushed and shoved. In the country where it is a part of every day life for me to see racist caricatures on the packaging of products. Where people excitedly explain that a word for a certain chocolate is n-word kisses 29. Where it took until 2018 for the heads of some of those who were killed during the genocide of the Herero and Namaqua people 30.by the German Empire to be returned to their homes.31

In this country where, for a decade, brown people were shot in broad daylight by a terrorist organization and police refused to investigate it.32 Instead, they were blamed for their own murders.

People have told me, “We cannot be racist, because we learned after World War II.” This, in the country where hundreds of thousands of Sinti and Roma people were killed in a genocide33 that was not even formally recognized until the 80’s34. Yet, you can still go and buy sauce the refers to Sinti and Roma with the same derogatory term that was used on the documents that sent them to their deaths. Please, continue to tell me how you cannot be racist.

I say all of this to mean, know your own history. I’m not just speaking to Germans, but everyone outside of the USA. Racism is not an exclusively American problem. How has your country treated Black people? How does it treat them today? What are the minorities in your country? Are they well represented? Are they safe? Are you marching for them? Are you protecting them? Do you know their names?

I studied prejudice towards minorities in Japan as part of my Master’s and the response I got when I explained this was always the same. "Eh? But we do not have minorities35 36,” or , “There is no racism in Japan.”37

But of course, this isn’t true. So imagine my shock when I saw people marching in the streets in Tokyo to protest the xenophobic and racist behavior of their own police.38 I’m so happy to see it, and I hope that it continues and goes even deeper, and I hope the same for minorities all over the world.

It is important for America to know that the eyes of the world are watching.It is also important for your own people to know that you are watching the leaders of your own nations too.

What can we all do to help?

Okay, now to everyone, what can we do?

Of course you can protest. There are protests happening in every single state in the United States and all over the world. If there is not a protest near you, you can start one. I have seen more than one one-person protest in the past couple of days.

What if you can’t protest?

This is an especially important thing to consider for people who are high risk groups for COVID–19, as well as disabled and chronically ill people. There are still things that you can do.

Donate. If you cannot be on the frontlines, you can help those who are supporting those who are. Donate to Bill funds. Donate to the National Lawyer League. I will have a list of places to donate in the description and also in a linked blog post.

Support Black businesses. There are so many things that we consume every single day. Can you get your hairspray from a Black-owned business? What about your clothing? Your makeup? Your food? Your software? Every purchase will help lift up a Black entrepreneur. Black capitalism will not end racism, but we do currently live in a capitalist society.

What if you do not have money to donate?

There are several things that you can do that cost no money at all.

Contact your representatives. Tell them that you want them to implement legislation that protects Black people from police violence.

Sign petitions. There are petitions calling for justice for so many victims of police brutality. You can add your name to the list.

Volunteer. If you have skills, there is an organization that needs them. Perhaps you know graphic design. Perhaps you know how to build websites. Perhaps you can paint. Perhaps you can garden. Perhaps you can knit. Perhaps you can sew. Perhaps you just have able hands and want to help. There is a place for you. This movement requires a community of people willing to share their talents.

Stop consuming from people and organizations that promote hate and do not support Black people. There are some times where we have no choice about the things that we consume. If your medication is only made by one company, you cannot stop buying it because of the racism of the manufacturer. But most products are not like that. Do not give your money to organizations that have shown themselves to be against Black and brown people. Don’t support hate.

Use your platform. If you have a following on any social media, raising your voice can spread the message to an even wider audience. Use your space to educate others. Use your space to  fundraise for supporting causes. Make sure that your space is a safe space for Black people and do not allow racism in your comments. Let racists know they are not welcome.

Watch fundraising YouTube videos. You are on YouTube right now, and there are many videos that have been created that will donate all of their ad-revenue to different organizations supporting black lives matter. Go watch them!

Do not support companies that use prison labor.39 The modern prison system is an extension of slavery.40 Many companies, like Victoria’s Secret41 and Starbucks42, use prison labor. It is extremely profitable to them because prisoners are either paid extremely low wages or none at all. Educate yourself about them, and refuse to purchase from them. I will have a link to some of these companies in the description and on my blog.

Work towards the abolition of the prison industrial complex.43 Police are just one step in maintaining the prison industrial complex. The United States imprisons more people than any nation in the world.44 These prisons do not have the goal of rehabilitation, but instead are run with the goal of exploiting the labor of prisoners. Despite earning almost no money, prisoners are often required to pay for things like medical treatment45, speaking to their families over voice chat46 47, and even reading books48. This is inhumane.

Do not show the faces of protesters in videos or photos that you share. This can lead to them being arrested or targeted in the future. For your own safety and for the safety of others, remove any metadata as well, including location information. There are applications that you can use that will do this for you. 49 50

Support Black creators. If you are into something, there is probably a Black creator making content about it. There are Black creators talking about books, movies, video games, and of course art. Watch their videos. Read their blogs. Subscribe, follow, all that stuff that we always tell you. One important thing here is don’t follow someone just for the sake of following a Black person, if you do not actually read or watch what they put out, they will be negatively impacted by you following or subscribing to them.

Educate yourself.  Dedicate yourself to being antiracist.51 Continue that work throughout your life. All of this work begins here, inside of you.

Thank you for watching this video and listening to me. I hope that you all stay safe and healthy.

I will have links to how you can help in the description. I will also have a blog post with even more links, a transcript of this video, citations for the things that I spoke about, and Black creators that you can support.

All of the proceeds from this painting will go to support the Loveland foundation and bail funds throughout America. I will also be making prints of this painting, and a portion of those proceeds will also go to organizations that require funding to support the movement. I plan on painting portraits of George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery with the profits being donated in a similar fashion.

From now on a portion of all of my sales will be donated, including the money that I receive from Patreon. So thank you to my Patrons for supporting a Black artist and these organizations.

Thank you again so much for watching. See you guys next time. And I always mean it, but I mean it more than ever now, Be gentle with yourself.

Resources

References

Oppel, Richard. “Here’s What You Need to Know About Breonna Taylor’s Death.” NYTimes, 5 June 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/article/breonna-taylor-police.html. ↩︎

Costello, Darcy. “Breonna Taylor’s Pregnant Neighbor Is Suing Police Officers, Saying They ‘Blindly Fired.’” Louisville Courier Journal, 11 June 2020, https://www.courier-journal.com/story/news/local/2020/06/04/breonna-taylors-neighbor-sues-louisville-police-after-shooting/3148434001/. ↩︎

Fausset, Richard. “What We Know About the Shooting Death of Ahmaud Arbery.” NYTimes, 5 June 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/article/ahmaud-arbery-shooting-georgia.html. ↩︎

Mania, Conspiracy. “Seattle Protesters Push Back the National Guard While Chanting WHOSE STREET?! OUR STREET!” YouTube, 7 June 2020, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFjrE7CLnlw. ↩︎

A similar topic. (W)Rapped Space: The Architecture of Hip Hop. https://www.jstor.org/stable/1425643. Accessed 6 Nov. 2020. ↩︎

Chapter 6: Counter Public Spaces of Resistance. https://www.jstor.org/stable/42981568. Accessed 6 Nov. 2020. ↩︎

Crockett, Emily. “Pokemon Go Is Augmented Reality. Too Bad Reality Is Still Racist.” Vox, 11 July 2016, https://www.vox.com/2016/7/11/12149664/pokemon-go-augmented-reality-racist. ↩︎

Oumou Kanoute, Sophomore. “A Smith College Employee Called the Police on Me for Eating Lunch While Black.” American Civil Liberties Union, 11 June 2020, https://www.aclu.org/blog/racial-justice/race-and-criminal-justice/smith-college-employee-called-police-me-eating-lunch. ↩︎

Griggs, Brandon. “A Black Yale Graduate Student Took a Nap in Her Dorm’s Common Room. So a White Student Called Police.” CNN, 9 May 2018, https://www.cnn.com/2018/05/09/us/yale-student-napping-black-trnd/index.html. ↩︎

Gabbatt, Adam. “Protests about Police Brutality Are Met with Wave of Police Brutality across US.” The Guardian, 6 June 2020, http://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2020/jun/06/police-violence-protests-us-george-floyd. ↩︎

“Op-Ed: ‘Racism Is a Public Health Crisis.’” News, 8 June 2020, https://www.hsph.harvard.edu/news/hsph-in-the-news/racism-is-a-public-health-crisis/. ↩︎

Hostetter, Martha. “In Focus: Reducing Racial Disparities in Health Care by Confronting Racism | Commonwealth Fund.” Commonwealthfund, 1 Jan. 2000, https://www.commonwealthfund.org/publications/newsletter-article/2018/sep/focus-reducing-racial-disparities-health-care-confronting. ↩︎

Booth, Robert. “Black People Four Times More Likely to Die from Covid–19, ONS Finds.” The Guardian, 7 May 2020, http://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/may/07/black-people-four-times-more-likely-to-die-from-covid–19-ons-finds. ↩︎

Branswell, Helen. “Some Medical Students Still Think Black Patients Feel Less Pain.” STAT, 4 Apr. 2016, https://www.statnews.com/2016/04/04/medical-students-beliefs-race-pain/. ↩︎

Holpuch, Amanda. “Black Patients Half as Likely to Receive Pain Medication as White Patients, Study Finds.” The Guardian, 10 Aug. 2016, http://www.theguardian.com/science/2016/aug/10/black-patients-bias-prescriptions-pain-management-medicine-opioids. ↩︎

Holland, Brynn. “The ‘Father of Modern Gynecology’ Performed Shocking Experiments on Slaves.” HISTORY, 29 Aug. 2017, https://www.history.com/news/the-father-of-modern-gynecology-performed-shocking-experiments-on-slaves. ↩︎

Kenny, Stephen. “How Black Slaves Were Routinely Sold as ‘Specimens’ to Ambitious White Doctors.” The Conversation, 11 June 2015, http://theconversation.com/how-black-slaves-were-routinely-sold-as-specimens-to-ambitious-white-doctors–43074. ↩︎

Newkirk, Vann. “An Unethical Medical Study Took a Year Off the Lives of Black Men.” The Atlantic, 17 June 2016, https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2016/06/tuskegee-study-medical-distrust-research/487439/. ↩︎

Rothman, Lily. “History of African-Americans and Medical Research Goes Beyond Henrietta Lacks.” Time, 21 Apr. 2017, https://time.com/4746297/henrietta-lacks-movie-history-research-oprah/. ↩︎

Asthma and African Americans - The Office of Minority Health ↩︎

Shaban, Hamza. “How Racism Creeps Into Medicine.” The Atlantic, 29 Aug. 2014, https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/08/how-racism-creeps-into-medicine/378618/. ↩︎

Weiler, Nicholas. “Genomic Analysis Reveals Why Asthma Inhalers Fail Minority Children.” Genomic Analysis Reveals Why Asthma Inhalers Fail Minority Children | UC San Francisco, 14 Mar. 2018, https://www.ucsf.edu/news/2018/03/410041/genomic-analysis-reveals-why-asthma-inhalers-fail-minority-children. ↩︎

Hutson, Matthew. “Whites See Blacks as Superhuman.” Slate, 14 Nov. 2014, https://slate.com/technology/2014/11/whites-see-blacks-as-superhuman-strength-speed-pain-tolerance-and-the-magical-negro.html. ↩︎

Finney, Carolyn. “The Perils of Being Black in Public: We Are All Christian Cooper and George Floyd | Carolyn Finney.” The Guardian, 3 June 2020, http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/jun/03/being-black-public-spaces-outdoors-perils-christian-cooper. ↩︎

Speed, Barbara. “New York Destroyed a Village Full of African-American Landowners to Create Central Park | CityMetric.” New Statesman, 30 Mar. 2015, https://www.citymetric.com/skylines/new-york-destroyed-village-full-african-american-landowners-create-central-park–893. ↩︎

Cite Black Women. - HOME ↩︎

Ogbogu, Stephanie. “Social Media Rallies Behind Black Teen Who Did Not Receive Credit For Viral TikTok Dance - AfroTech.” AfroTech, 7 Feb. 2020, https://afrotech.com/social-media-rallies-teen-credit-tiktok-dance. ↩︎

Ellis, Emma. “Want to Profit Off Your Meme? Good Luck If You Aren’t White.” WIRED, 1 Mar. 1711, https://www.wired.com/2017/03/on-fleek-meme-monetization-gap/. ↩︎

Rassismus in der Kantine: “Negerkuss” bestellt - gekündigt - n-tv.de ↩︎

“Genocide: Namibia Still Waiting for a German Apology | DW | 16.09.2019.” DW.COM, https://www.dw.com/en/genocide-namibia-still-waiting-for-a-german-apology/a–50445209. Accessed 13 June 2020 ↩︎

Editorial, Reuters. “Germany Returns Skulls from Colonial-Era Massacre to Namibia.” Reuters, 29 Aug. 2018, https://af.reuters.com/article/topNews/idAFKCN1LE1XR-OZATP. ↩︎

“The Victims of the Neo-Nazi NSU Murder Spree | DW | 10.07.2018.” DW.COM, https://www.dw.com/en/the-victims-of-the-neo-nazi-nsu-murder-spree/g–44606301. Accessed 13 June 2020. ↩︎

The Fate of European Roma and Sinti during the Holocaust ↩︎

Gress, Daniela. Sinti and Roma in the Federal Republic of Germany - RomArchive. https://www.romarchive.eu/en/roma-civil-rights-movement/sinti-and-roma-federal-republic-germany/. Accessed 13 June 2020. ↩︎

Steger, Isabella. “Who Are the Indigenous Ainu People of Japan?” Quartz, 18 Feb. 2019, https://qz.com/1551496/who-are-the-indigenous-ainu-people-of-japan/. ↩︎

Ethnic Microaggressions: The Experiences of Zainichi Korean Students in Japan ↩︎

The (not so) hidden face of racism in Japan – ICC Blog ↩︎

Takahashi, Ryusei. “Protesters Hit Tokyo and Osaka Streets with Rallies against Racism and Police Brutality | The Japan Times.” The Japan Times, 7 June 2020, https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2020/06/07/national/protests-rallies-race-police-brutality-tokyo-japan/. ↩︎

Prison Labor: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjqaNQ018zU ↩︎

Johnson, Kevin. “Prison Labor Is Modern Slavery. I’ve Been Sent to Solitary for Speaking out | Kevin Rashid Johnson.” The Guardian, 23 Aug. 2018, http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/aug/23/prisoner-speak-out-american-slave-labor-strike. ↩︎

Paton, Elizabeth. “Made on the Inside, Worn on the Outside.” NYTimes, 21 Feb. 2019, https://www.nytimes.com/2019/02/21/fashion/prison-labor-fashion-brands.html. ↩︎

Canning, Anna. “Starbucks Has a Slave Labor Problem.” Fair World Project, 17 June 2019, https://fairworldproject.org/starbucks-has-a-slave-labor-problem/. ↩︎

“What Is the Prison Industrial Complex? | Empty Cages Collective.” Empty Cages Collective, 1 Jan. 2020, http://www.prisonabolition.org/what-is-the-prison-industrial-complex/. ↩︎

Lee, Michelle. “Yes, U.S. Locks People up at a Higher Rate than Any Other Country.” The Washington Post, 7 July 2015, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/fact-checker/wp/2015/07/07/yes-u-s-locks-people-up-at-a-higher-rate-than-any-other-country/. ↩︎

The steep cost of medical co-pays in prison puts health at risk | Prison Policy Initiative ↩︎

Sims, Shannon. “The End of American Prison Visits: Jails End Face-to-Face Contact – and Families Suffer.” The Guardian, 9 Dec. 2017, http://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2017/dec/09/skype-for-jailed-video-calls-prisons-replace-in-person-visits. ↩︎

“Prisons Are Replacing Visitation with Expensive, Grainy Video Calls.” The Byte, https://futurism.com/the-byte/prisons-replacing-visitation-expensive-grainy-video-calls. Accessed 13 June 2020. ↩︎

Rankovic, Didi. “Prisoners Are Being Charged up to $25 to Read Free Public Domain Ebooks.” Prison Legal News, 21 Nov. 2019, https://www.prisonlegalnews.org/in-the-news/2019/pln-tweet-mentioned-re-prisoners-paying-read-e-books/. ↩︎

Joel, William. “How to Hide Faces and Scrub Metadata When You Photograph a Protest.” The Verge, 5 June 2020, https://www.theverge.com/21281897/how-to-hide-faces-scrub-metadata-photograph-video-protest. ↩︎

Vincent, James. “Anonymous Camera Is a New App That Uses AI to Quickly Anonymize Photos and Videos.” The Verge, 11 June 2020, https://www.theverge.com/2020/6/11/21280293/anonymize-blur-faces-photos-videos-camera-app-ios. ↩︎

“Anti-Racism Defined — Alberta Civil Liberties Research Centre.” Alberta Civil Liberties Research Centre, 1 May 2020, http://www.aclrc.com/antiracism-defined. ↩︎

#Black lives matter #blm #breonna taylor #george floyd #ahmaud arbery #racism #police brutality #human rights #protest #activism #donate #how to #resource #watercolor #portrait #painting #speedpain #art #timelapse

[nursinganemptybottle]

I feel like the air is closing in around me and I can’t understand why everyone wants to hurt me. Maybe this is my karma for stringing along someone I didn’t love for four years but in my defence, he made me so miserable and afraid to be alone because I believed no one would ever love me if it wasn’t him. He was right. No one did. I’ve tried so hard to fall in love, and find someone who loves me in return. I do believe that if I stop trying, love may find me instead of me trying to force it, but when you set your heart on something you should fight for it if you think about it every moment of every day.

My heart has hurt like this once before. I was seventeen and I would come home from school and lie in the dark watching movies like Bridget Jones’ Diary imagining my life in the future being alone, fat and unloved. Maybe that’s why I latched onto James, I never found him attractive, but he showed me attention when Michael was leaving. I felt so proud the day Michael saw me with James, an older man who had a job and a house. Michael asked Alison why I didn’t speak to him anymore, she told him how I was with someone else, he seemed sad. I was always holding a flaming for him in my heart that whole four-year relationship, every time I lay with James I imagined it was Michael. After about a month James told me he loved me, that’s when I began owing him. He would tell me no one would love me like he did, he meant it endearingly, like he loved me more than anyone could anyone love anyone. But I know now, he was right. I am ugly, I am fat and I am miserable. Nothing is working out for me because of how I look, I feel sometimes I should have stayed with James because he accepted my ugliness. But he controlled every aspect of my life, he made me unhappy to the point where I became obese, he took away my university experience when I was young and made me think it was normal to not have friends. Harry did me a favour kissing me in the taxi that night. I felt alive, I hadn’t had attention for years. Those four years with James, I hated kissing, I hated anything sexual. I would have an excuse prepared every night but attention from someone else made me feel wanted. I jumped out the taxi still half drunk, and broke James’ heart. To this day, he still thinks it’s because I was unhappy and didn’t love him anymore, and of course that is the truth, he ruined my life and made me miserable. I don’t even think it was that he was seven years older than me that made him like that, but Harry was only two years younger than James, he didn’t behave like James, he didn’t control people or emotional manipulate them like James did. James and his mom had this weird fucked up relationship, kind of Norma and Norman Bates-esque, they only ever had each other. Harry gave me the push I needed to break up with James, but in no-way did I ever have feelings for Harry. The holiday with James after we broke up was the hardest, I did make him believe he wasn’t going to be cut out of my life forever, but the truth was I was counting down every minute to getting off the plane so I’d never have to see him again. The month after the break up was hard, I thought I was heart-broken but the truth was I was finding it hard to come to terms with my newly found single life and my shiny new mental illness he’d left me with. Of course, I don’t blame James for the mental illness, but it played a big part in my acceptance of it, I’d always knew there was something wrong but he escalated it. Two months later I went on my first ever date, in my life, not just after breaking up with James. Justin was gorgeous and had a little nose piercing. He was skinny, yet muscular, tall as fuck and had tattoos. He’d travelled, he had an apartment in the city and a nice London accent. He was calm, and just wanted to live life. That was my first acceptance of me being too ugly for anyone, most of the people in my tale of heartbreak I’d met online, now I have to tell everyone how I don’t look like my photos and that I’m ugly before meeting them. It seals the deal instantly, I never believed Benji would leave because of the way he looked. He was the next guy, Justin never messaged me back after the date despite saying he wanted to see me again. It hurt because it knocked my confidence, of course I didn’t even have time to develop feelings for Justin but I was so desperate to feel attention. He didn’t even try to hug me as I departed from our date, he didn’t even want to be there, but my needy, clingy mentality bullied him into it. It’s a horrible side effect of my mental illness, something I wasn’t telling men about at this point. Benji superliked me on Tinder, I felt so special. He wasn’t even my type, he was a kind of nerdy lad, which I didn’t think went hand in hand. He played football, drank pints, but also did an accounting degree and worked as a poker dealer. He was clever, funny and sweet, we had unreal banter and he wanted to call me all hours of the night after his shifts at the casino. We’d talk on the phone for hours until 5am, I felt like a teenager again. He was two years younger and I liked that, I thought younger boys could work better because they wouldn’t be psychotic like James. I had to work so hard for our date, but I was feeling positive because he’d say things like “I don’t know how I can like someone so much who I’d never even met”, and he saw some really gross pictures and videos of me on snapchat and still said he thought I was gorgeous. We kissed in the same place Justin neglected to kiss me that night I left. I can remember holding onto his sleeves, he was about six foot, I was on my tip toes. He had his hand on the back of my head and was brushing my hair out my face. I genuinely believed it was time for me. But after still not hearing back from him, I knew it was because he thought I was ugly. I tell people it didn’t work because we were going to university in different cities, but I know it wasn’t that. It was me. I’d never seen anyone like Jackson before. He worked in the local supermarket and I couldn’t miss him. He had blue hair, facial piercings, had that body that just looked like it was big enough to wrap you in tight. Not super muscular but his would have been a great cuddler. I matched him on Tinder and couldn’t believe it because I ogled him every time I went to buy bread and milk, I played it cool but he knew my friend and suddenly I was obsessed. But I made the mistake of telling him about Benji, and that sealed it. I do genuinely believe even if Benji had got in contact, I’d have chosen Jackson. I knew my type now, I didn’t want another boring guy like James, I wanted someone like me, expressive. Jackson was ill too though, and I pushed him. I pushed him so hard to see me when he wasn’t ready, although a few days before he begged to walked me to work. I met him one afternoon, we both were in our work uniforms, it wasn’t great. But we sat outside my place of work, with his bright blue hair and my bright red hair, I knew I was only taking him there to show him off and show off how much we suited. The next night was supposed to be magical, and to begin with it was. I’d only been speaking to this guy for a few days but God, I was obsessed. He put his hand on my leg in the car, he pulled me in for kisses and I reassured him I did not give a shit about Benji, and right now I didn’t. We walked for miles as he smoked weed, then sat me down and told me he wasn’t ready, and that he just wanted to be friends. I felt like my heart was ripped out my chest. I cried the whole way home in the Uber, I’d been texting my mom all night about how perfect he was and now I was calling her to tell her he’d changed his mind. A few days later was my birthday, he waited until then to tell me he felt nothing to me and I was guilt tripping him with my illness and making his worse. I got over him the only way I knew how, with another boy. I met another boy called Michael, we’ll call him Michael #2. We’d messaged a little, he was coming around for movies the day after my birthday, he assured me that’s all it was and he wasn’t going to use me or lead me on, I told him I’d been lead on a few times and I didn’t want it to happen again. We were laying in my bed kissing, and he was saying how he wants to have sex all the time. I never really had sex that I enjoyed, because I wasn’t attracted to, and didn’t even really like James my body just tensed and it hurt so we never had sex. Me and Michael #2 got down to it and I really enjoyed it, I couldn’t believe I was finally having sex and enjoying it, I finally felt somewhat normal. Michael #2 left to go to work, I messaged him about when we’d see each other again. He said he didn’t want to use me or lead me on, but for his mental health he didn’t want to start anything up yet. Great, what about my fucking mental health?! I didn’t care that much because a little over two weeks later I woke up in Harry’s bed. My body count had become 3 and everyone found out about it. Fast forward 2 months and we’d had sex after every night out we’d been on, everyone knew about it and both of us only ever went out to end up at my shiny new flat away from parents and people who could say anything. The shameful thing is though, Harry and I had no feelings for each other, and I was slowly falling in love with a guy named Alex. For two months, me and Alex got to know each other over text. He was hot, from another city, had a great car, had his life together. I’d tell him all the time about my weight and how I dislike myself, but he ensured he didn’t even care about that, that he thought I was beautiful and he liked me so much it didn’t matter anymore, I’d text him every moment of every day to tell him stupid stuff that didn’t even matter. Even though he wasn’t here physically, I felt like I had someone. I never believed you could love someone you’d never met, but after Alex, I believe it so hard. But I was still sleeping with Harry, because for some reason Alex just wouldn’t see me. Even though he only lived 10 minutes away, he said he wasn’t ready to see me in case he’d get attached and I’d leave. He’d get jealous of me using Tinder, or dancing with gay guy friends, so he’d never speak to me again if he knew I’d slept with Harry. Me and Alex had had a massive row, he told me to never speak to him again. I met a guy on Tinder called Josh, and we ended up fucking that night. I was becoming a bit of a slut, and I was hating myself but it’s 2017 and sexual freedom is okay. Me and Alex had discussed all the things I wanted to do when we eventually met up and had sex, even though we both knew it wasn’t about the sex. But there was so much chemistry we knew it was going to happen soon, but Alex had told me it was over and Josh was so sweet and said he was looking for someone to travel the world with. The moment Josh left my bed, I had a text from Alex apologising and begging me to come back to him. So, I did, Josh was just a blip. Even though he was gorgeous, and Alex kept hurting me, I had to choose between my head and heart, if I went with my head, Josh was the right option, but in my heart, I knew I was falling for Alex. I ignored Josh for three weeks, as me and Alex patched things up and it was going well, but Alex still wouldn’t see me. I thought, ‘what’s the harm in speaking to Josh?’, because if I could make it work with Josh I’d have the courage to tell Alex he was hurting me and I couldn’t do it anymore. Josh hit me with the famous ‘I’m not sure what I want’ line, and asked if no strings attached was okay, because you know, that’s all I’m worth. Alex and I took our final blow, he told me I had nothing to be depressed about and I obviously didn’t care about him because I was cutting myself. I tried to explain it’s hard that I both have him, and don’t have him, because he won’t be with me. I can honestly say I have never felt like this for anyone, maybe this heartbreak is my karma because I slept with guys behind his back, but in reality, he couldn’t even see me. He couldn’t commit to be and he couldn’t be there to hold me when I had a cigarette in one hand a razor blade in the other. I’d been attracted to Danny from my building for a few weeks, he was good looking and kind, and fun. But four years younger than me, so I knew it wasn’t going to be full on, but it could be fun and nice. Every time I had a party, he came and our friend would try to set us up. Alex has crushed my heart into little pieces and Danny has hugged me when I cried about it, and then I ended up sleeping with Danny. I tried to convince myself I liked Danny and me and Danny could be together, but he has so much living to do, and I don’t think I like him in that way. The way I know I don’t like Danny in a way more than just someone to fuck, is it’s not awkward around friends, the same way it wasn’t for Harry and I. I really tried hard to make myself like Danny so I could get over Alex, but it’s not happening, and it’s for the best because Danny won’t want to be in a relationship. Maybe we’ll never even have sex again, I don’t feel ashamed for having sex with 4 guys in the 6 months I’ve been single, but I do hate myself for doing it while in love with someone else, because what right do I have to have my heartbroken when I’m doing this? I love Alex with everything I have, but it’s destroying me. I want the fairytale ending, I want to love and be loved in return. James believes that’s what we had, but it wasn’t. He was a rebound from Michael that got too comfortable and then controlled my life to the point where I was scared to leave. Now I just want to lie in bed and watch movies with someone, I want to have regular sex and enjoy it. I want to take photos and post them online with my beautiful boyfriend, I did say if I were to ever have a boyfriend again it would be someone I was obsessed with, but that’s hard because I’m too ugly for the guys I like. It’s a shame, because Jackson, who knows how ill I am, told me I was beautiful in my work uniform with no make-up on. After ruining my birthday, he took it upon himself to text me to tell me how ugly I was. I was heartbroken, because in my heart of hearts, even over Alex I’d choose Jackson, but he would never love me. Alex believes destiny will bring us back together, but you have to fight for what you want. The problem is now, I’m fighting someone that isn’t there and it’s draining every bit of energy I have and I don’t know where to go from here. He says it’s okay for us to still talk, then loses his temper when I beg him to take me back. Writing this has made me realise I have been a disgusting person, on the inside and out. I am truly unattractive, but I have told Alex he is the only one for me despite having meaningless flings with other boys, and had the audacity to be hurt when he left me over my mental illness. It’s no excuse, but if Alex had have just seen me, I’d have never had these sexual encounters with others. Despite the kiss in the taxi with Harry, I’m not a cheat, that was the push I needed to leave James who emotionally abused me. I just want for once in my life to be happy and be loved. I wish I could just be prettier so Justin would have wanted another date with me, then this never would have happened.

#blog #writing #heartbreak #story #story time

[genesiskrps-blog]

KIWI MUSIC NEWS: IDOL PROFILE SERIES !

[+ 500, -15] Wow! Jiyeon is my favorite soloist in CEL ! [+ 243,  - 5] CEL is lucky to have her, aren’t they?! [+ 225,  - 9] I can’t wait to see more of them - fighting!!

PROFILE !

FACECLAIM: im jinah CHARACTER NAME: han jiyeon STAGE NAME: n/a CHARACTER AGE: 25 COMPANY: CEL POSITION: solo (taeyeon) TIME WITH COMPANY: 12 years STRENGTHS: Perhaps even moreso than any outright talent, Jiyeon’s greatest strength lies in her experience, preparation, and ability to lead - her own career or others. Though her previous group has disbanded in dramatic fashion, there is very little that either CEL or her own internal coachings have not readied her for after over a decade of training. Calm, collected, eloquent, and dogged, when it comes to anything from choreography to accepting awards, Jiyeon never falters. Though Jiyeon’s voice should not be discounted, and is a genuine gem: originally scouted for the impressive nature of it as a young teenager, she has a talent that has always left every hard-nosed critic and teacher wanting to bottle and sell it. But while her voice may appeal to the critic, it’s her looks that appeal to the public, and that’s what matters to CEL – that the masses want to break off and take home a piece of her. WEAKNESSES: Her commitment to hard work can hinge on compulsive and unrealistic; her expectations for herself are perpetually too high, and she’s made herself sick on more than one occasion pushing her body too hard. Particularly with the stigma surrounding mental illness and medication in the country, Jiyeon’s careful managing of her OCD and anxiety over the years has grown harder. While in her younger years her anxiety was minimal, the more her obsessive-compulsive disorder demands of her, the worse her anxiety becomes. Though she is earnestly still young, even her age is a weakness in the ever-youthful industry that is KPOP. She has entirely no skill in rapping, and will try to refuse even attempting it on variety shows for the sake of embarrassment. Her variety appearances themselves are moderate but nothing exceptional; high ratings will arise simply from her name attached to any particular show, but she struggles with becoming goofy enough for many audiences.

BIOGRAPHY !

This is how you begin, like a start to a fairytale that should never be told, the ones with knights that never arrive and princesses that sheath their own hair with the tooth of the dragon keeping them.

i. she could claim a birth of immaculate conception because for all that her father is not there, it’s imaginable that jiyeon’s birth came from her mother and something she dreamed up. maybe in that story she would be a girl born from a peony mid-winter, shaking white limbs unfurling like petals - in that tale, jina might have come out fully formed, dressed in  long raven hair, singing a sweet tune to welcome herself into the world. but in this one, the one we have now, she is as raw and young as the rest of the babes that take their first breath screaming.

ii. her mother loves her enough for two, and that’s good, because some nights they survived on love alone - she parceled out pieces of her heart when there was not enough food, serving it out  on a silver platter to her only daughter and wiping her mouth when she done. when jiyeon is old enough she offers her soul in return, breaking it in half and half and half to hand back, and in this way she is also holy. this is the body and the spirit, the bread and the wine.

iii. it’s not as bad as it might seem. their house is full of laughter and love and the magic that comes from one night onlys, but in this home every night is one night for someone, so this is what jiyeon is weaned on. her mother’s business is a success because she knows how to make a home, even if it means sharing her own: so here, the young girl meets honeymooners and old lovers and older souls, and like a ritual they turn to her mother every night, drunk on good food and warmth to say: what a beautiful girl. what a serious child.

and when she plays, they say nothing at all.

(they are too busy listening).

iv. it’s starts as much a duty as anything else: changing the sheets, putting new flowers on the table, bringing breakfast in bed to the new lovers with a late checkout – and then performance. her delicate frame on the bench in the morning and at night, fingers fluttering across black and white keys like they never learned how not to fly. her voice comes with it.

like so many other things, jiyeon’s mother had been the first one to teach it to her, cupping her tiny hands beneath hers as she held her child in her lap and played melodies. jiyeon loves it, and so she sacrifices. like every great queen, she bows her head and picks up the weight of a kingdom so that her kin can have more; lessons on tuesdays and thursdays, a shining black thing sitting in the living room by next christmas.

she loves it, it’s true; jiyeon does it for herself. but she also do it for her. because even while she is young, young lady is only a term of convenience.  she was always a lady first, young only by circumstance.

v. everything happens at once. that’s the way it is with genuine surprises, the swing of one act to the next, the gate of destiny’s door vaulting open and knocking over objects in the room with its sudden wind. he’s only another customer when he comes in the door, albeit he is fixed with a soju-eyed stare and half a suit (no more, no less) that could buy and sell the roof and walls around them. a funny man, unsure of where he is before he sleeps and unhappy with the location when he awakes – he grumbles into his coffee and wears his sunglasses inside, rubbing his temples as he makes phone calls at the breakfast table.

she plays for him, like any other day.

he breaks his glasses when she start to sing. they fall right off his nose, and jiyeon stops to pick them up. she says sorry as your fingers smudge the lenses.

he only smiles.

then makes another phone call.

vi. he’s a mouthful, that’s what han jiyeon learns. he’s got a too-important job at a too-big place with too-famous people, and shae can barely get her jaw around it all. but she does, because she has always been a sensible girl, and she’s got strong bones, teeth, stomach. he brings her into the center of the room with a hand on your shoulder, ready to exchange her for her weight in gold in front of a room of god-men hidden behind their desks.

they place her on the scales, pull of the veil and open her mouth -

        and rejoice when she tips the whole thing over.

v. but they deal in the glory, she is still left to the grit and gore. in the first year, she is younger than most of the lot, and they look for a reason to hate her. they whisper about favouritism - they see the man with the half-suit and broken glasses smile at the girl with ivory-etched features and take her high head and upright chin as a sign that she hasn’t been forced to work to the marrow with them.

when that is over, she grows too beautiful for her own good. it is not her fault; none of it is. but if jiyeon were to live this life over again luckier, she would do well not to be so lovely. perhaps then he never would have seen her. men come for the girl in packs, their tails hidden up their jackets and their fangs tucked away as they try to paw at her. no one tells her beware of men, no one hands out a red cape to get through the woods unharmed, and so this is a lesson she learns the hard way, heart-first. he is the king of the country and he reaches down to pluck jiyeon from the crowd like he is a god. she thinks he might be. at the same time, they start to call her royalty, and with this man pressing to her back, she think she might just be a princess. she is ready for it, but too young for him.

everything breaks apart at the same time.

vi. it takes almost half jiyeon’s life to finally have one.

she hides her mind away and swallows her pain in the name of perfection. it makes her ache from the inside out, and she is starting to twitch.

some men mistake her beauty as consumability, and they try to lick the salt off her neck without permission.

there is more of jiyeon in this building than anyone else: she has left more behind, shed more skin and sweat, turned these rooms into walls that spit out her dna. it’s a decade of uncertainty, hard work that feels like a snake eating its own tail.

she is still young when she makes the cut for the group of the generation, the collaboration of luck and talent that brings her to the forefront of a nation, but it doesn’t feel like it.

it’s a chemical madness, what arises, though like all things chemical the brewing takes time. a year of the average, and then the spectacular bursts across the sky: beautiful multicolour fireworks: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

it’s all flash, flash, flash, cameras rolling, people screaming. the charts are topped and then toppled over. the critics are harsh and the crowds are adoring. they’re legends, these girls. they remake the music scene, but by the law of the world it remakes them also. and after years, after a meteoric rise, it comes to pass that jiyeon is the star that’s meant to post itself the highest in the night sky.

her time comes.

vii. it’s the best fucking thing she’ll ever do.

#gs:app #gs:cel #gs:solo #gs:rxyclty