#We must watch our communication.

[wecanbeperfect]

[scoriarose]

Hi!! I’ve never had a pet snake so this might be a dumb question but is it harder for snakes to see when they’re in blue?

It's not dumb, snake eyesight is different from our own so we can't assume they see exactly how or what we do. For the longest time people believed they couldn't see red, and used red lights to light their enclosures at night- that's bad for them. Please do not light your snake like a rotisserie chicken, they can see it.  Red light can be detrimental to reptiles because it can make it difficult for them to perceive depth, which can lead to mental distress. Red light bulbs can mess with your pet's ability to tell if it is day or night, since a light is always on, and that can cause stress and health and long term sight issues too.

But back to your original question, yes, snakes have difficulty seeing when they are in blue. Many will stay buried and hidden, not even eating until they've completely shed. That is the norm, and if a snake wants to be left alone, they should be. Sakura will hide most of the time, but I'll sometimes see the tip of her nose near a burrow hole, and I'll dangle something tasty in front of it and she'll eat it- but I won't dig her up if she's having alone time. Scoria will hide unless I'm around- they both know my voice and scent, and Scoria has complete trust in me so much that even when blind she knows I'll keep her safe.

She allowed me to take her out and feed her today, and then asked for pets. This behavior is unique to her, and if she were not specifically asking to be pet I would not do it after feeding (any other snake might throw up). I'd stop petting her and she'd ask again and again like, "Nope! Need more, come back and pet me." I really don't mind, she's found a way to tell me she enjoys being pet, and that's amazing- and also makes me happy. After many many pets (I guess we had a few days to make up for, I've been leaving her alone for the most part, only saw she was in blue, and then it was food day and saw her looking at me from her mossy hide) she buried herself underground in her bioactive area.

Perhaps some day Sakura will trust me to touch her while she's in blue too- but if not that's just fine. Sometimes we all need a few days to ourselves.

Oh, and don't feel bad asking snake blogs questions. It makes us happy when we get nonbot or spam asks! I imagine most of us love sharing about our snakes! And if sharing what I've learned helps lead a snake and their caretaker to a better life or bond then they would have had before, that's such a win for everyone!

[biblicalhorror]

The most frustrating part of engaging in any of this discourse with pro-Israel people is that they claim there's just something ineffable about "seeing and understanding" how supporting Palestinian liberation is directly calling for the eradication of Jewish people (as if that type of rhetoric isn't exactly how actual antisemitism often manifests in online spaces but that's a topic for another day)

They get through people debunking the "the land belongs to the people of Israel anyway" argument and the "LGBTQ Palestinians are safe in Israel" argument and the "Genocide isn't what's happening here so you should educate yourself" argument and when all of those points are meticulously disproven over and over they still stand with "Well, myself and your Jewish friends see the hate you have in your heart for us" and it truly doesn't matter what you say at that point because even if you yourself are Jewish they will claim that refusing to support the state, government and military of Israel is inherently hateful and bigoted, as if a religious ethnostate is some inherent human right that is being taken away from them. I know many of them are blinded by the relentless propaganda that's been around their whole lives and how hard it is to break free from a belief system that is so tied to your core identity as a human being but it is so frustrating watching people being led straight to the point over and over again and just turning around and refusing to see it.

It's also so frustrating to see people using the momentum of this movement to casually tack on actual antisemitism to these discussions, as if having Jewish people in positions of power is why the US bends over backwards to excuse the actions of Israel and not, yknow, the fact that our government directly benefits from having a military stronghold in the middle east. I've talked to some well-meaning pro-Palestine friends irl who casually use antisemetic talking points because they've ALSO bought into the narrative that Israeli = Jewish and so they blame the actions of Israel and the IDF on Jewish people's "religious values" and ignore the fact that this conflict really has almost nothing to do with religion itself and everything to do with capitalism, imperialism and maintaining the US's status as a so-called "global power".

[utaite-mun]

i will hold in my heart the reason why i personally think the hetalia fandom as of 2012-2016 is less insane than my current fandoms and fandoms i witness vicariously through people is because 

im fairly certain a lot of the hetalia fans that got into discourse or ship wars or even just general content all accepted that we were either 1. assholes 2. absolutely not at all liked by anyone except your fellow fandom enjoyers on the basis of the cringe gijinka anime

[aqpippin]

idk who at the abc went ‘let’s make a musical drama series about aids in 1980’s australia’ but i love them for it

[twinsfawn]

this is by no means some kind of profound realization but the reason people can still stick their heads in the sand and pretend that palestinians aren’t actively facing complete genocide despite countless pieces of photo and video evidence is that arab people (and those who are assumed to be arab) are assumed to be inherently barbaric, untrustworthy, conniving, and violent. the world is okay with an entire civilization and culture being wiped out because “they must have deserved it” for fighting against colonizers. we have libraries worth of evidence that the iof is perfectly comfortable with murdering innocent civilians, but this evidence is immediately deemed as falsified or exaggerated because all arabs are liars in the mind of the genocide denier. or they must have done something to provoke having their people completely wiped out. ask yourself why you immediately determine that evidence of arab suffering is fake or justified. ask yourself why you can look at scorched, mutilated, decapitated arab bodies or watch bombs rain down on arab communities with such flippancy. no religious or ethnic group has a monopoly on suffering. unforgivable violence can be enacted by those who view themselves as perpetual victims. i genuinely implore you to take time to examine your biases and the racism that has been engrained into our culture.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

This is my cat.

His name is Eddie Potato.

Eddie Potato came home with us from the animal shelter in January (so about 9 months ago, now). He was around five years old, and had been living on the street before he was picked up by the cops and brought to the state run shelter (my boy was arrested for loitering). When we met him, he was sick, mite-infested, and covered in matted fur, scratches, and bites: but he was also very sweet, and very friendly, and he was already fixed, so we knew he must have once had a home with some loving humans.

[Eddie at his first vet appointment, trying to hide behind a paper towel.]

We'll never know what Eddie's first family was like, of course: but within a couple of weeks of adopting him, we were able to make a few guesses. He was happy to be pet, and calm about being picked up: but the only way he had to let us know that he'd like us to stop petting him was to swat our hands away, claws out. He'd then watch us, very closely, a little tense; like he was either expecting to be scolded for scratching, or expecting us to try to touch him again.

This told us that he had an affectionate family, but maybe not one that respected his boundaries. Maybe it was a family with kids, or maybe just a loving but pushy owner.

He's a medium-to-long haired cat, so he needs a bit of grooming to stay hygienic around his, let's say, pants area. I bought some quality clippers and a pet grooming electric razor. The clippers he was completely calm about: he let me trim the mats out of his fur very calmly, even the ones behind his ears.

The razor terrified him. I mean, he knew what it was on sight. He was sitting next to me on the couch when I took it out of the box, and the moment he saw it, his ears went back; he crouched low and fearful; and then jumped down and ran out of the room.

Okay; so his first family groomed him, or took him to a groomer, that was obvious: and it was probably a 'hold him down and get it over with' kind of experience, given how frightened he was.

He was very sweet, and very gentle - except when he wanted you to stop petting him. This was a cat who expected kindness, who believed that the humans around him were his friends: but he'd learned that his friends wouldn't listen to him when he told them to stop unless he drew a little bit of blood.

We just thought: wow, this cat is a really good communicator. He is being, like, so clear.

Eddie Potato is a very stupid boy - uncommonly stupid, even for a cat - so we prepared ourselves for it to take a while for him to learn that things had changed. We paid very close attention to him while we were petting him for the signs leading up to that swat, and we got better and better at stopping before the swat ever came.

I let him get used to the razor very slowly: for the first week, I just set it next to his food bowl at dinner time, about a foot away, so he could see it while he was at his happiest. For the next week, I'd pick up the razor, and move it around while he ate. The week after that, I turned it on for a few seconds, so he could start to get used to the noise. The week after that, it went on for most of his meal time, and I moved it around his body while I pet him: so he could start to associate the razor sound with nice touching.

Then I groomed him. And he was - fine. A little bit antsy, but fine. Happily munching away at his dinner while I neatened up his pantaloons. I usually only had about a minute before he made it clear that he wanted it to stop, but that was okay: I just groomed him for a minute or so for two or three days in a row, until the job was done.

After four months, Eddie Potato wasn't scared of the razor at all anymore.

And it broke my heart a little bit, because his first family had clearly loved him. And Eddie is a cat who needs to be groomed! And it had obviously always been a scary and stressful experience for him. But it didn't have to be! He just needed patience! Surely, if the people he had lived with before had known that he could learn to not be afraid in just a few months, they would have tried.

Teaching him that he didn't need to swat didn't take much longer. It was so clear that this was not a cat who wanted to hurt us. Once we got the hang of stopping before he got tired or stressed out by petting, the swatting went away completely.

What was so sweet was what he learned to do instead: when he was done with being pet, he started placing his big paws on my hand, and gently but firmly pushing it away.

"Oh, okay!" I'd say. "We're done!" and take my hand away. And he'd watch me, for two or three seconds: and then he'd start to purr like crazy, and push under my hand again.

He wanted to be pet. He just wanted to know that he could make it stop if he wanted to!

It's been months now since the last time Eddie swiped at either of us. Sometimes, he likes to play his little push-away game for ten or twenty minutes at a time! He rolls onto his back for a belly rub, and I do for a few minutes; then he pushes my hand away, and watches to make sure I listened; then he rolls onto his back again for more belly rubs. The whole time purring, purring, purring. Eddie loves his belly rubs, and he loves being listened to just as much.

I'm just so proud of him! He's had such a hard and scary year: losing his family, living on the street, ending up in a kill shelter, going to a strange new home with strange new people. And he still extended his friendship and trust to us, and let us show him that he doesn't need to be scared anymore, of razors or hands or thunderstorms or the sound of traffic. He's so dumb and so small and he's had so much happen to him, and now he gets exactly as much petting as he likes, and he isn't afraid to get his pantaloons trimmed.

Like. That's my little guy. I get to make sure he'll be okay from now on.

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[ddejavvu]

I can't get the thought of marking Hotch up with lipstick marks out of my head. Like imagine leaving a trail of kisses down from his neck to his dick. And if the lipstick is starting to fade, he'd reapply it for her so she could continue marking him

Hotch is typically more-than-professional during round table sessions, the grim atmosphere of the room setting the tone for his no-nonsense behavior. However, he can't stop himself from itching at a persistent stinging against his collarbone- probably something to do with the mark you'd sucked into his skin only hours earlier.

it's such an intense sensation that he slips a hand beneath his collar to itch it skin-on-skin, something probably unprofessional considering his environment, but one of those base human things that must be done even if it shouldn't be. A few wandering eyes note his movements, observant but neutral as a profiler should be.

It isn't until he withdraws his hand, fingers stained a crimson red, that anyone reacts.

JJ shifts in her seat, eyes blowing wide as Prentiss leans forwards, "Hotch, is that blood?"

Aaron's already grasped the edge of his manila folder with his lipstick-stained fingers, turning the yellow paper a sinful shade. He frowns, glancing down at his pristinely pressed suit, but there's nothing red against his chest.

"Your hand," Reid urges, his brows knitted in concern, but it's Derek- of course - who recognizes the red for what it really is.

"Hold on," He laughs incredulously, a great gust of air that comes out like a bark, "Hold on, hold on, hold on, that came off'a your chest?"

Caught red-handed, Hotch composes himself, which is a very stark difference to the way that his team dissolves into teasing giggles. Penelope has clapped a hand over her mouth, perhaps the only way she can hold herself back from opening it.

"Settle down." Hotch attempts, but Rossi undermines him with an exasperated groan. Once the oldest of the team proves unreachable Hotch knows he's lost the room, and sits in stony silence while he waits for his coworkers to finish getting their fill.

"My man." Morgan declares, clapping Hotch on the shoulder with a strong hand he's lucky not to lose, "She got you in the doorway this morning, didn't she?"

"We're talking about dead teenagers, here." Hotch reminds them, raising a brow as Emily, Penelope, and JJ collapse into girlish giggles, "Can we please focus on the case?"

"This is on you, Hotch." Rossi levels him with what's supposed to be an unimpressed glare, and what really comes off as a smirk, "It's not their fault you come to work with lipstick under your clothes."

"I have to ask Y/N for that shade," Penelope gushes, but at Hotch's warning glare she grabs her remote and retakes her place beside the viewing screen, "But-! But our trusty boss is right, there are lives on the line here. So- um, incriminating lipstick stains pushed to the back of the mind, we'll start up again on our case."

Hotch's shoulders relax as the team sinks back into careful contemplation of the case details. He thinks he's escaped scrutiny altogether thanks to the shocking violence of this particular unsub, but it's three days later when he hears about the lipstick stains again.

Surprisingly, it's Reid that comes to torture him, and the slick comment comes when Hotch is forced into sharing a motel room with him. Communal bathrooms are in the middle of the complex, but it's easier to change in their rooms. He unbuckles his belt facing the corner of the small room, giving Reid space to change himself, and giving both of them as much privacy as possible.

"Careful, Hotch," Reid calls, voice misleadingly kind-hearted which lures Aaron into a sense of security, "There's a gap in the curtains behind where you're standing. You wouldn't want any onlookers to see any more lipstick Y/N left behind."

Hotch decides that Reid is worse than Morgan. Morgan is expected to be crass, so it's not a shock when it's delivered. Reid, however, is one to watch out for.

"Reid," Hotch responds, hearing Spencer's breathy laughter already bubbling from his throat, "I'm sticking you on desk duty for a month when we get back."

[prefrontal-bastard]

I’m not sure if this is permitted in other countries, but here in the US, advertisers are allowed to use any kind of malignant psychology they want in their ads so long as those ads fit within the allotted time-frame.

Back in high school, my class watched a video on how a certain Coca-Cola advertisement was made. You may have seen it, but for those who haven’t: The ad featured a cinematic montage of a crowded beach with smiling thin white people enjoying their leisure time and drinking Coca-Cola out of a common plastic bottle.

The big takeaway from this video was that the ad wasn’t actually advertising Coca-Cola. It was advertising a lifestyle. By associating Coca-Cola with a desirable lifestyle (as well as qualities associated with desirability) it plants the association of “Coca-Cola” with “happiness” in people’s subconscious minds.

This becomes clear when you consider who the ad was meant for. The target audience wasn’t the smiling thin white people that the ad featured, but instead it was people who wanted to be smiling thin white people. This was an ad for the Gen X mom of three kids who worked full-time, who relied on shelf-stable foods to keep everyone fed, and whose nervous system was chronically fried from the stress of never having adequate time for herself.

If she was at the grocery store, and saw the very same bottle of Coca-Cola featured in that ad, she’d be far more likely to pick it up than she was before watching it. If she didn’t anticipate finding relief for her stress, then she could at least drink up the idea of it.

Of course, the thing about ads is that they stop working. Eventually, people’s minds grow wise to the fact buying a certain product doesn’t actually grant them the lifestyle associated with them.

But there’s a lot of other tricks ads employ beyond this.

The reason why Geico is the first company you consider when thinking about buying car insurance is because of the calm, consistent nature of their ads and the fact they’re ubiquitous enough to be familiar. Their mascot forms a kind of parasocial rapport with the audience, so Geico already feels familiar to you by the time you’re looking to buy insurance.

Cereal brands use cartoon-character-like mascots to make their product memorable to kids who can’t read. The reason why so many cereal mascots exhibit such frenetic, possessive behavior is to teach kids to emulate that behavior to compel parents into buying them the cereal, especially if they saw that behavior rewarded in the ad (with the cereal).

You only really see ads for apps on an app-based devices for a reason.

Then there are the ads that don’t look like ads, but look like people on TikTok sharing a new secret product with their audience using the only communication format we regularly trust: word-of-mouth.

And let’s not forget the sheer magnitude of ads that exist. I can’t go outside without seeing them. I can’t watch videos online without exposing myself to ads that wants to skewer my emotions within 10 seconds.

There’s no reprieve from it unless I wall myself off from our culture entirely.

Ads are parasites to both culture and to cognition, and they must be regulated.

[actual-changeling]

we do not talk enough about the moment right before crowley puts his sunglasses back on. the "nothing lasts forever" is devastating and if you're like me your eyes were so full of tears you couldn't see the screen the first time you watched it (just like crowley, look at us all twinning in sadness!).

there is a shift that happens in his eyes and i think it is absolutely fascinating and heartbreaking at the same time.

we begin with crowley averting his gaze from aziraphale's face and staring off into the distance instead, and you can see his spirit break. that crowley just lost the one thing in the world he cannot live without and we can see it written across his face like a neon sign.

then, as you'd expect, he gives into the need to cover up his pain, to try and make himself less vulnerable, and even before he lifts his glasses he looks down so aziraphale can no longer see his eyes.

now, the next part is what would not let me out of its grasp all day. we know it happens because of his demeanour afterwards and up until the kiss, but you can actually watch as crowley makes himself numb to the world.

i am intimately familiar with dissociation as a trauma and stress response, and while you can never fully control it, you do eventually find the switch in your mind that makes you snap back into the haze. crowley has had six thousand years to get really, really good at leaving reality behind when he needs and/or wants to.

that's exactly what he does.

he still looks sad, and yet there's just something distinctly distant in his eyes, the shift from openly heartbroken to "i don't want to feel any of this let me leave".

glasses? on

emotions? off

hotel? trivago

i have stared at those four frames more than any person probably should and i don't know if it's the light, if i am going insane, or if there is a single tear sliding out of his right (our left) eye. i'm probably insane and the light is a bitch so if anyone has some high resolution shots or anything that could answer that question without a doubt PLEASE do add it.

by now you are probably ready to threaten me with a knife in a dark alley but before you do that or drive your car off a cliff, let me tell you the best part:

aziraphale notices.

they might be communicating on two different frequencies but aziraphale knows crowley. he knows and loves him, and, most importantly, over the last few years he has gotten used to seeing crowley without his glasses. aziraphale could probably write a book on the expressions in his eyes alone and watches that shift happen and is devastated.

look.

he tries to make himself hope the same second, tries to convince himself crowley is putting on his glasses so they can leave together, but he knows.

aziraphale sees the light leave crowley's eyes, sees crowley leave, knowing that he is quite literally running away from him. you and me against the world, angel, but in that moment crowley firmly pushes him back to "the world" (or tries to, anyway).

the entire season we see crowley take off his glasses whenever he enters the bookshop to the point where he's running around without them on in broad daylight with jimbriel right there.

can you imagine how hurt and confused aziraphale must be?

because what crowley is telling him, if we really, really break it down, is that aziraphale is no longer a safe person for him. and repairing that trust is going to take time and work, no matter how much crowley loves him, how badly they love and need each other.

anyway to seal this off and really rub in the pain - how it started vs. how it ended. <3

oh one last thing: now crowley no longer has a single person he can be himself around, no one that knows him, no one he trusts. no one in whose presence he can take his glasses off.

and outside of the bentley and his own flat, he no longer has a place to do so either. the bookshop was theirs. with aziraphale gone, is it really a safe place anymore? is it somewhere he can just let himself be knowing he will be looked after and protected?

easy answer: no.

alright, off i go. see y'all on the next angst post or in the tags.

[glazecake]

Palestine فلسطين

x / x / x | x / x / x | x / x / x

My goal with making this post is to use my platform to raise awareness and encourage solidarity and action for the people of Palestine. Over the past few weeks, I have felt powerless to watch the destruction of Gaza before the world's eyes. However, I realized that I still have a large platform despite this blog's inactivity. With this, I would like to share information about Palestine and what you can do to help.

In the above post, I have sought out videos of Palestinian food, culture, art, architecture, and nature to share. Israeli propaganda is trying adamantly to dehumanize the population of Palestine in order to further justify their genocide. Regardless, no matter where you are in the world, humans recognize and understand what it is to be human. What it is to make art, to share food with your loved ones, to travel, and laugh, and sing. To experience heartbreak and hardship, and to experience joy. To dream about the future. To stand up for what we believe in, to fight in the face of injustice.

If you are an American citizen, use your voice to stand up for what's right. Contact your representatives. Demand a ceasefire in Gaza. Boycott companies and celebrities who voice their support of the Israeli settler state. Protest. Donate. Organize. Fight. We are strongest when in community with each other. Our US tax dollars directly fund the murder of Gazan civilians. Make it known that we will not stand idly by while news outlets and propagandists lie to our faces about the atrocities enacted by the IDF and the Knesset.

Here are some links for information on Palestine, as well as places to donate:

decolonizepalestine - A website aiming to educate and dispel myths about the Palestinian people, ran by two Ramallah residents.

US Campaign for Palestinian Rights - You can use this website to find groups organizing near you.

Palestine Action US - The US branch of a directive aiming to dismantle the Israeli military regime, directly funded by the US.

Hirbawi Kufiya - The last and only Kufiya factory in Palestine, as featured in the gif above. You can pre-order a kufiya which will be shipped once the blockade has been lifted.

Let Gaza Live: Ceasefire NOW - An easy way to send letters to your representatives to demand ceasefire in Gaza.

The Palestinians: From Peasants to Revolutionaries by Rosemary Sayigh - A good introduction to the ongoing Israeli occupation of Palestine.

Click to Help - One click a day can help raise donations for the UNRWA.

baitulmaal - Donate to fund relief.

anera - Donate to provide hygiene kits for displaced Gazans.

As of October 27th, 2023, Gazans are losing access to the internet. It is imperative for us to share their stories, to continue to remain active and aware of their martyrdom. The IDF will utilize this information blackout to their advantage. We must do all we can. Do not forget the plight of the Palestinian people. Do not allow their voices to go unheard.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free. 🇵🇸

[spacelazarwolf]

a year ago, i was celebrating simchat torah when my rabbi interrupted the services to let us know there had been an attack on israel. we didn’t know how bad yet, but we prayed everything would be alright. the rest of the service went on as planned, but there was a chill in the air, like we knew something had changed. something big. but we didn’t quite understand it yet.

a year ago, i watched people i’d followed for years celebrate a gruesome massacre of over a thousand human beings before we even really knew what had happened. i watched anons pour into my inbox, demanding i condemn israel even though israel hadn’t even retaliated yet.

a year ago, i talked to my nonna on facetime for her birthday. she was in her 90s and wasn’t as present anymore, and i could barely focus because my thoughts were thousands of miles away. i promised her i’d call her the next day but my next day became scrolling past horrific photos and videos i didn’t want to see, posts celebrating the attacks, posts telling people that if they didn’t celebrate the attacks that they were bad people. she died two weeks later and the same people sharing the posts celebrating the massacre sent me messages telling me it was good my nonna was dead, or extremely crude and disgusting messages about what they wanted to do to her dead body because she was “probably a zionist.”

a year ago, i worked at a synagogue that started getting dozens of calls and emails from people, across the spectrum from neo nazis to evangelical christians to radical leftists saying the most horrific things, telling us it was our fault, that we had to do something, that it was on us. we were responsible. an anon told me i was a zionist because i had a zionist language on my blog (hebrew) and worked at a zionist institution (synagogue).

a year ago, i started losing friends one by one after many of them started to share posts justifying or celebrating the massacre or memes created by neo nazis, some of which didn’t even bother to sub out “jews” for “zionists” but they shared them anyway. i was pushed out of an activist group after months of begging them to stop using antisemitic language because i had the audacity to tell a white gentile in the group not to say racist things about a black indigenous jew behind her back, and said gentile told me he didn’t have to listen to me and that he could “claim” the holocaust too because his ancestors were from eastern europe.

a year ago, i watched in real time as the world i thought i knew, the world in which jews had a future and safety in the united states, crumbled day after day. people that previously went out of their way to take care of me and support me decided that because i didn’t feel comfortable marching alongside pictures of hitler i must be a zionist and therefore no longer belonged. the person processing my government aid didn’t want to approve me because i worked for a synagogue part time and argued that the synagogue should just pay me more because “they can afford it.” my synagogue, which has been involved in social justice since its founding several decades ago, along with its rabbis who have been just as involved, were abandoned by the communities they had put their blood, sweat, and tears into advocating for when they had the audacity to grieve for the dead of october 7th.

a year ago, i learned the hard way that we are not special in this time. antisemitism is a river that has ebbed and flowed for thousands of years, and i felt like a fool for thinking a dam could be built overnight.

a lot of people say that every day of this year for them has been october 7th, but for me every day has been october 8th. the day after the initial shock, when reality started to sink in. the realization that all the people who had shared “happy rosh hashanah” posts or complimented my kippah or pretended to care about harry potter goblins were quickly dropping the facade. that my token minority card had expired and now having a jew in their group didn’t look diverse, it looked “sympathetic toward israel.” every day has been a painful reminder that no one else is grieving like we are, and a large number of those people are angry that we are grieving. they don’t understand that we’re not just grieving the lives lost and the hostages. we’re grieving for the world we thought we knew, a world where we might have a chance to thrive like we did in the golden age of spain. but those golden years are ending. and that is one of the things we are grieving.

a lot of people also say that they wish they could go back to who they were on october 6th, but i don’t. i’m glad the illusion was shattered, that i can see more clearly who will stand with jews even if they face backlash, who will challenge their antisemitic biases and do the hard work to unlearn them, and who did not have to be asked twice to share literal nazi rhetoric if it meant feeling like a hero. i’m glad the masks are coming off because it means you can’t gaslight us anymore and tell us it’s all in our heads. we can see you for exactly who you are now. and we will not let you break us.

i don’t want to be living forever in october. i don’t want the blissful ignorance of october 6th, but i also don’t want the bitter anger of october 8th. i want to stand up for what i believe in, to celebrate my culture and my people, and no amount of intimidation or harassment will keep me from loving my jewishness. you have shown me i can no longer live in october 6th, but i refuse to let you keep me in october 8th.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes (to go on a date with a dead guy)

Chapter 1

The expectant smiles froze on his siblings’ faces.

Jason blinked, still shaking off the disorientation of the green twisting blur that always came when he took his turn with tHe RitUaL. “What?” he said. It came out defensive. Usually they were all laughing by this point.

Dick reached out and took the post-it off his forehead. “We may have misunderstood this sacrificial thing.” He frowned at the note.

Jason tore it away and flipped it around to read it.

“...Please stop the bridal sacrifices,” he read, voice instantly trembling with the need to laugh. Holy shit. “Proposal is kinda forward. But if you really want, I’d totally go on a date with you. Check yes or no. Danny.” There were two smiley faces after the name and a scribbled drawing of a human looking guy with tall hair.

The batcave was in total, mortified silence. The ritual that had become their pre-patrol goof-off activity of choice had maybe… maybe been a mistake?

“I’m kinda hurt,” Dick broke the silence. “I’m marriageable. I’m a catch, even.” He was joking, but Jason was pretty sure that it wasn’t totally baseless. Who would look at Dick and then choose Jason, of all the people?

Stephanie snorted. “It’s probably your reputation as Ritchie Rich,” she soothed. “I’m sure if this… is it the same guy every time?” She blinked, clearly distracted from her original thought. “Have we all been proposing to Danny day after day?” She wondered. She started counting on her fingers.

“Twice last week,” Tim said thoughtfully. “I proposed to him twice last week.” A line formed between his brows. “I should probably tell Bernard, huh?”

“We must communicate with whoever this Danny is,” Damian said immediately. “If this realm possesses both animal life that resembles our fauna and sentient beings capable of the bad judgment necessary to select Todd as a suitor over Richard, we must know more.”

Jason made a face at Damian and flipped him off, but didn’t disagree. “How is this supposed to work?” He waved the post-it. That did imply some modernity, at least. They were communicating with someone who had stationary. “If I was going to check it, would he know what I picked? Or would I have to– should be bride sacrifice a notebook back and forth?”

“A notebook,” Tim said scathingly. “We can do better than that. A communicator, a phone.”

“Who says Danny has signal, dingbat,” Jason shot back. “He’s probably out of the service area.”

Cass took the paper out of his hand and peered at it. “Yes or no,” she asked, cutting off the disagreement before it could get heated.

He didn’t have to think about it. “Yes,” Jason said, mischief in every line of his body. “I gotta see where this is going. We should at least meet the guy.”

“He said you were tempting!” Dick gasped. He grabbed Jason by the arm and clung on. “Remember? The first time? You’re his type!”

Damian made a ‘gross’ face, features scrunched up like an unhappy cat. Stephanie ‘ooooed’ like she was watching a wrestling match. Cass merely looked thoughtful.

Jason shook his annoying brother off and kept him at a distance with a palm on Dick’s forehead.

“Oooh, the void boy has a crush on you,” Stephanie teased. “You’d be such a beautiful bride, Jason.” She didn’t react to Cass reaching into her hip pouch and withdrawing a sparkly purple pen. Jason loftily ignored Stephanie and watched Cass carefully check YES.

The note disappeared. Cass looked at her empty hand. She flicked the pen between her fingers. Her brow scrunched up.

“Shit!” Jason cursed. “Did-”

The group broke out into an explosion of excited sound.

A throat cleared from the stairs. “Kids?”

Batman stood there, wearing wary suspicion and most of his patrol outfit. He was under the impression that they had agreed to stop sacrificing each other to the green void.

“She took my pen,” Stephanie wailed, instantly switching tracks. Cass backflipped away three times and then leapt directly upwards into the rafters, waiving the purple pen tauntingly. Stephanie chased after her.

“What-”

“Jason won’t let me hug him,” Dick tattletailed. He lunged to grab at Jason. Jason dodged on reflex and threw himself into the scuffle.

“I need to call Bernard.” Tim turned and outright left the Batcave. “I’ll be about five minutes late for patrol, B.”

Bruce watched this chaos with bewildered eyes. “...We leave in ten,” he said, and visibly gave up.

…

The date, when it came, was a fuckin surprise to Jason. He was minding his own business compiling a report on everything the Two-Facers had done last week. (There was a surprising amount of bureaucratic process involved in making yourself the judge, jury, and executioner of people who sucked.)

And then there was a violently green hole in his wall. “Huh,” Jason said, leaning back in his chair. He pulled the handgun out of his desk drawer and cocked it at the portal. “Not sure I care for that.”

“Thanks, wolf,” came a warbled and nonsensical reply. Jason turned off the safety.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

The portal flashed white and it closed. He was lifting his gun to point at the man now standing in his apartment before he’d actually processed that someone had come through. This guy moved fast.

“This is where you live?” The other man was peering around Jason’s apartment. He seemed politely interested at best, and, Jason felt, much less concerned by the gun than he should have been. “I heard bats before. I thought there would be more bats.” His tone was disappointed. He looked at Jason and then flinched his palms out and up, as if he thought he might have come off rude. “Not that you need bats! Or that I’m disappointed by the lack of bats in your decor. In fact you have wonderful, uh, curtains.” He very obviously named the first thing that he saw. He pretended to be fascinated by them. “The red sure is a choice.”

Jason snorted.

“A great choice! I’m not criticizing your home. It’s great.”

Jason realized that if he didn’t say anything to save him, Danny was going to ramble himself into a verbal corner and slink out of the dimension to escape his obvious embarrassment.

“...You hair looks just like in the picture you drew,” Jason said. He put the safety back on. “Hello, Danny.” The name tasted odd in his mouth. It twas just a little pedestrian for the other man– no, teenager, the other teenager.

Danny looked young. No wonder he’d thrown Dic back like the wrong fish.

Jason felt a little less smug about having been the one chosen. Maybe he was just the most age appropriate candidate, not Danny’s type. Timmers was only two years younger, sure, but he was petite enough that it was a little ambiguous.

Danny turned away from Jason’s window and beamed up at him like that was the greated compliment he could have ever received. “I don’t actually have your name! Which is funny, since you kept manifesting in my house.”

God help him, Danny was cute. Jason reached out a hand. “Jason.”

Danny looked at his outstretched hand and then back to his eyes. He blinked. “Are- oh!” He flushed green and his hand shot out to meet Jason’s in what was very clearly the first handshake of his life.

It was a struggle not to laugh. He didn’t wanna make Danny feel bad so he held it in. There was a helpful distraction in that Danny was fascinating to the touch. It didn’t feel like he was touching a human hand. First off, the hand was about the temperature of butter straight from the fridge. Secondly, somehow the physical contact made Jason taste mint in his mouth.

But really, it just… it didn’t feel like human skin. It was too smooth. There was a raised line from a scar, but the texture was as if all the wrinkles and pores of human skin had been polished off. Like if you held the hand of a marble statue and it was somehow also soft.

Jason pulled his hand away before he could wonder too much if that supernatural smoothness extended elsewhere. Ah. Too late. He flushed a little red, even though the only exposed skin was Danny’s hands and face. “So you’re here to uh, set up a date?” he offered.

Danny blinked at him. “Are you busy now? I was thinking now.”

…He was sort of busy. Jason closed his notebooks, only now concerned that Danny might have seen extremely sensitive information. “Nope,” he lied, attention catching on Danny’s freckles. Something about them was pinging as relevant. Was there a pattern? They weren’t symmetrical or anything. Were they fake?

Danny beamed and - he floated up a few inches in his excitement. Holy hell that was cute. “Great!” he enthused. “Should we go to your place or to mine?”

Uh.

Jason turned violently red. “We are already in my place.” His voice came out tight. He- he hadn’t meant that. That was not a first date activity for him.

It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. “Go out in your city or go to the Ghost Zone!” Danny waved his hands frantically. “I’m not being a creep I swear! I mean, we are kind of spiritually engaged but I’m also engaged to– are those people your friends and family?” He was outright horrified. “Oh my GOD, I’m-”

“I would love to take you out around town, but you’ll stand out,” Jason interrupted. He couldn’t hold back the smile. “We can make it work, though. Thoughts on hats and glowing less?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Danny twitched his hands outward in a motion he probably didn’t even know he was doing. There was another flash of white light that crawled up and down his body.

And Danny one was gone. Danny two stood in Jason’s apartment with dark hair, patched jeans, and a loose t-shirt that hid the musculature his jumpsuit had displayed. He had a full palette switch of his eyes and skin tone as well.

He was obviously the same guy. He just felt more down to earth now.

“Useful,” Jason said, and tugged at his snow-white forelock. “Think you could teach me to change my hair like that?” He was only half joking. It was the bane of his existence when he needed to go undercover. It was too distinctive.

“No, but Doctor Frostbite might be able to sort that out for you,” Danny replied absently.

Jason grimaced instinctively. He knew way too many gimmicky villains to want to do to someone called Doctor Frostbite. “That sounds like the name of a B-tier villain with blue hair.”

Danny paused and clearly contemplated it. “That’s Ember, actually,” which made no branding sense because the word ember evoked warm colors. “Lead the way!” He bounced on his heels, which Jason guessed was his human form equivalent to floating up.

Jason cleared his throat. “I, uh, am gonna want to change.”

For the first time, Danny really looked him up and down and realized that he was wearing a white sleeveless undershirt and black boxers. Jason waited patiently as Danny went through all the stages of grief and social mortification. That didn’t stop Danny’s eyes from followed Jason’s bare arms when he casually lifted one and flexed a little, rubbing at the back of his head. Ha. Eat that, Dick.

“I’m going to go drown myself,” Danny said, now violently pink. Huh, even blushing for a color change. “Can I use your restroom?”

“Stay alive enough to pick between Korean or Mexican,” Jason advised. “I’ll be right back. Should I find you a coat?” He didn’t wait for an answer, frowning at Danny’s bare arms. “I’m gonna find you a coat.” He was already on the way to his bedroom. “It’s freezing out.”

…

[wagconts]

Senna's Legacy | Charles Leclerc

summary :: where you're Senna's daughter and carry on your father's legacy through your institute

word count :: 2.320 words.

The atmosphere in the paddock during the Brazilian GP was unmistakable. Maybe it was the tropical breeze, the green and yellow flags swaying in the wind, or the unmatched passion of Brazilian fans that always made history. For you, though, this weekend had an even deeper meaning.

As Ayrton Senna’s daughter, your name carried a weight you bore with both pride and responsibility. For years, you had been at the helm of the Ayrton Senna Racing Dreams Institute, a project dedicated to supporting children with dreams of becoming Formula 1 drivers by providing education, infrastructure, and opportunities in such a selective sport.

The Brazilian GP was always a golden opportunity to promote the institute’s work. This time, however, Formula 1 had organized a special visit to the project for some of the drivers. They would pay tribute to your father and see firsthand the impact the institute had on these kids’ lives.

It was Thursday morning, the perfect day for the visit since it aligned with the institute’s busy class schedule and fit the drivers’ agendas before the race weekend. You stood in front of the building, waiting anxiously for your guests. A large panel featuring Ayrton’s face and the phrase Dreams Start Here welcomed visitors. As the black cars began to arrive, you adjusted your blazer and took a deep breath.

The first to step out were Verstappen, Norris, and Hamilton, all enthusiastic and friendly. Leclerc followed shortly after. Dressed in his Ferrari gear and wearing sunglasses that accentuated his sharp features, he smiled as he saw you.

─ You must be the mastermind behind all of this ─ said Lewis, shaking your hand firmly but kindly. ─ It’s an honor to be here.

─ Thank you all for coming ─ you replied with a warm smile. ─ I’m sure the kids are even more excited than I am to meet you.

Charles chuckled, removing his sunglasses and hooking them onto his shirt.

─ Well, I hope I don’t disappoint.

As you guided them through the institute, you explained every detail, from the racing simulators to the classrooms where kids learned English, math, and engineering concepts. The drivers listened attentively, but Charles seemed particularly interested.

─ How many kids does the program support each year? ─ he asked, watching a group using the simulators.

─ Around 200 directly ─ you answered. ─ But with our partnerships, we reach thousands in underserved communities.

Charles nodded, clearly impressed.

─ That’s incredible. Your father would be so proud.

A lump formed in your throat. Hearing such words from someone who genuinely admired Ayrton always stirred deep emotions.

After the tour, the children had their moment with the drivers. Photos, autographs, and simulator challenges turned the day into pure joy, as if everyone had reverted to childhood. Yet, Charles seemed to stick close to you the entire time.

─ Can I ask you something personal? ─ he began as you both watched the kids play.

─ Of course ─ you said, curious.

─ What’s it like carrying Ayrton’s name? It must be amazing, but also overwhelming.

You smiled softly, taking a moment to gather your thoughts.

─ It’s a mix of both. The pride is immense, but so is the constant expectation. It feels like I always have to live up to his legacy. That’s why I pour so much of myself into this institute.

Charles nodded, his gaze locked onto yours.

─ Well, from what I’ve seen today, you’re doing just that. He would be immensely proud.

The sincerity in his eyes made you look away briefly, your cheeks flushing as a smile crept across your lips.

That afternoon, Formula 1 held a tribute to your father. A float shaped like Ayrton’s iconic helmet made its way around, and Vettel led a walk with the drivers along the circuit. Watching these heartfelt gestures left you in awe, proud of everything being done to honor him.

Later, a professional filming team arrived to record a special segment where each driver would give a speech about Ayrton. Since you had been invited to observe, you stayed close enough to hear every word.

Max Verstappen spoke of how Ayrton had inspired his generation. Lewis Hamilton, visibly moved, shared how watching Senna race had ignited his passion for the sport.

When it was Charles’s turn, your heartbeat quickened.

─ I grew up hearing stories about Ayrton Senna ─ he began, holding the microphone with confidence. ─ To me, he was more than just a driver. He was the embodiment of determination, courage, and passion. Today, I had the privilege of visiting the institute led by his daughter. What she’s doing is nothing short of continuing his legacy, but in a way that touches lives on an even greater scale.

He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found yours.

─ Ayrton inspired generations to dream, and his daughter is ensuring those dreams have a chance to become reality. It’s an honor to be here and witness this.

The cameraman lowered his equipment as murmurs of praise for Charles’s speech filled the room. Your heart raced, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions his words evoked—not only for being a Senna but for the way Charles had mentioned you so personally.

On Sunday, the stands at Interlagos were packed. The Brazilian fans were electric, and the energy was contagious. Before the race, Charles found you in the paddock, where you stood with some of the institute’s kids.

─ Ready to cheer me on? ─ he asked the kids in broken Portuguese he had hastily learned from a translator.

─ Yes! ─ they shouted in unison, laughing as they hugged the driver.

He straightened and turned to you.

─ I hope I can live up to the hype today.

─ Good luck, Charles. We’ll be rooting for you.

Later, at the post-race celebration, you were chatting with other guests when you felt a light touch on your arm. You didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was—the familiar scent of Charles’s cologne gave him away.

─ Can we talk? ─ he asked, his smile slightly shy.

─ Of course! ─ you replied, following him to a quieter corner.

─ I just wanted to thank you for this weekend ─ he began. ─ Visiting the institute and meeting the kids gave me a new perspective on racing.

─ I’m glad you enjoyed it ─ you said sincerely.

Charles hesitated, running a hand through his hair, clearly nervous.

─ Actually, there’s something else I wanted to say. Or, rather, ask.

─ Go ahead ─ you encouraged him.

─ Would you let me take you out to dinner? Not now, of course. But after the season ends.

His question caught you off guard, but the smile that spread across your face was answer enough.

─ I’d love that ─ you replied.

Charles’s grin widened.

─ Great. I promise it’ll be special—you won’t regret it.

─ I’ll be looking forward to it, Charles ─ you said, meeting his eyes as your heart raced.

[theautisticwriter]

Love Letters: Yandere! Hazbin Hotel characters X G/N Reader

Characters- Charlie Morningstar, Vaggie, Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty, Sir Pentious, Lucifer Morningstar, Vox

Show- Hazbin Hotel

Genre- yandere, romantic

Summary- Mini love letters from your not so secret stalkers admirers!

Warnings- yandere themes, swearing, stalking, virtual stalking, threats, unwanted attention, delusional characters, mentions of planned kidnapping, pet names

Word count- 1.7k

Extra notes- Alastor’s part is platonic, he’s platonically in love with you!

key: n/n = nickname, y/n = your name, g/n = gender neutral

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Hi N/n!

Oh my gosh, it’s been so long since i’ve sent you a letter! I’m so sorry! The hotel has been sooooooooo busy! But don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you, how could I? You’re all I think about!

I’m excited to tell you i’ve been decorating your room at the hotel! Of course, when you come here you can redecorate if you wish to! Whatever makes you the happiest sweetie! Or, you could even share my room!

I can’t wait to come get you, I really do think you’ll like it here. We’ve all worked so hard to make this place as welcoming as possible, and you’ll warm up to the other residents and staff after a little bit of time! They can be a bit much at the beginning, but don’t worry your pretty little head, I wouldn’t put you in danger. The hotel is super safe, especially now that my dad is helping too!

Please write back, at least once? You haven’t responded to any of my letters, and Razzle told me you kept throwing them out ☹. Unless you use your trash can as extra storage, I’m not sure why all my letters keep ending up there!

Nevertheless, I’ll retrieve all the letters when you move in, and we can look through them together and reminisce about our adorable beginnings.

Yours truly,

Charlie Morningstar!! ༘⋆-ˋˏ

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Dear Y/n,

I understand that these letters started to freak you out, and that’s why I haven’t sent any in a while, but I felt like I needed to continue writing to you. It’s our only way of communication right now, so until you move into the hotel, this will have to do.

It’s hard to write down my feelings for you, I can’t ever seem to find the right words which must be why you didn’t understand that these are love letters. I’m not some creepy guy trying to kidnap you, I love you and want to finally bring you home as soon as possible.

Charlie is still working out the details of your stay, but she’ll be finished soon, I promise. Would you like your own room or to share mine? If you write back, we could discuss your personal preference towards the rooming situation?

You’ll get used to this, to us, soon enough. I have no ill intent towards you, I’m the only person in this shithole that actually cares about you and your safety. I can keep you safe, I can, I will.

I’ll see you soon, y/n.

Stay safe,

Vaggie

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Salutations, Dearest!

Aren’t letters just marvellous? Texting and calling is merely a phase, the “old fashioned way” as sinners call it, is the only correct way. It shows effort, thought and has a charm to it that this technology nonsense lacks immensely.

You’ll be with me soon, and once you are we’ll get rid of all your electronic devices. Radio will be enough to keep you entertained, I assure you my dear. It would be such a treat if you tuned into one of my broadcasts, since you are the only viewer I wish to listen. You could listen to me, whilst I watch you, how splendid!

As much as this hazbin hotel is doomed to fail, I do believe it is a safe residency for us to stay at for the time being. Your current accommodation is far too lacking in the security department, from personal experience, I can confirm it is quite easy to get inside. Of course, I can get anywhere you are no matter what you or anyone else tries to do, but I didn’t even have to try! That’s no good, now is it?

Don’t fret, my dear. All will be well once you’re under my official protection and guidance. Nothing will get in our way, you have my word.

The radio demon,

A̰̠̼͚̗̫̳ͥ͐̆̃̄͑̊̈̕͝l̳̤̲͗͆ą̺̝̺͚̔̔̄ş̴̠͓̞̹̀͋ͯ̀ͣͫ_̧̩t̺͈ͩ̎͒͒ͅơ̵̢̧̫͇̦̫͇̟̰̯̞̝̻͇͍̯̩͕̌ͪ̀͋ͧ͗̏ͥͥ̇ͦͯ͗̀ͫ̏̽̈̚͡͞r

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Hey, n/n!

You deleted all your socials, what gives?? You’re making me write letters now? I mean, i’m not against letters, they’re real romantic and shit, but dming you was so much easier babe. Was some fucker harassing you? I’ll torture the shit out of them, just give me a name toots.

Anyways, it’s not like it really matters, letters and texting, we’ll be SPEAKING in person pretty soon ;) I can’t wait to see that gorgeous face right in front of my (equally gorgeous) face. This face makes money baby, money that I can drown you in. Whatever you want, i’ve got you covered. Isn’t that exciting? Something to look forward to for you, besides living with me, which is a huge upgrade from your shitty house right now

Fat nuggets (our pet pig btw) can’t wait to meet you! He’s real cuddly, as am I, so don’t ever worry about feeling lonely with us here. Our room is filled with soft fluffy crap, all yours for the taking!

I’ll see you soon cutie,

Your Angel Dust 𓆩♡𓆪

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To Y/n,

This is a fucking hassle, writing letters, you know that? You need to quit whining and come down to this shitty hotel before I come bring you here myself. It’s not so bad here, once you get used to it. And the people are fucking annoying, but they mean well. Unlike those dicks you hang around with, I don’t trust them, and trust me, I can spot a prick with my eyes closed.

I’ve rented you a room in the hotel, next door to mine. I paid with my own fucking money, which I earned at this stupid bar, so be grateful. I could of bought a lot of booze with that cash, but I saved it up for you. Niffty cleaned it real nice for you, so stop taking so long. You have two more days before I start moving your shit.

Hate me all you want, it’s for your own good. People don’t often realise what they need, but I’m a bartender, I know people more than they think. And I know you more than anyone else.

Two days, y/n.

Regards,

Husker 𑁤

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Hihi!!!!!!!!

It’s Niffty! You know that though, right? Nobody else is sending you letters right y/n??!?!! Tell me they aren’t, tell me i’m the only girl in hell who’s sending you love letters!! Alastor said it’s the most romantic thing to do for someone sweet like you, so if anyone else is that means they like you! >:(((

I like you n/n! I like you more than anyone else does, I pinky swear it!!

Your house needs a clean, I came in last night through your window and did your kitchen real good, but then you woke up and I had to go :(( Your room at the hotel is sooo super clean, because I clean it every 3 hours to make sure there’s no bugs. I eat them for you, don’t worry n/n.

It’s gonna be sooo fun when you move in with me, we’re gonna do so much together! I’ve made you a crown too!!

Niffty :DDD

P.S, I hope you like the ant I stuck to the envelope, I picked him just for you!

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My beloved Y/n,

It has been far too long since we last corresponded, my sincerest apologises. How are you? I hope the answer is well, but how could you be without your prince beside you? I am restless without you as i’m sure you are without me. I’ll fix this little problem, not to worry! I am worthy of your affections, I’ll prove it to you til the end of my afterlife. Which is infinite! Because I am very brave, and incredibly powerful!

My attempts to join the overlords are not going as planned, but once again, do not fear my love! In a few years we shall rule side by side! My minions are excited to meet you, they will guard you with their pathetic little lives and answer your every call! Unless you asked to leave, they won’t let you do that, but you wouldn’t ask that! You’ll be happy with me, right?

Right?

Please I needyouineedyouineedyou

Haha, ignore that scribble! The eggs pushed my arm whilst I was writing.

I’ll see you soon my dearest,

Yours forever,

Sir Pentious (your future husband and future overlord)

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My Y/n,

How are you doing sweetheart? I’m doing great, yes, totally, I’m always great! I’m the king of hell! What’s there to be depressed about? Everything Nothing at all, everything’s perfect my end! It would be much better with you by my side however, what do you think? I think so.

I can give you anything you want, do anything you want, be anything you want! I can give you everything, and you can give me, well, you! Your hand in unholy marriage, your smile. Anything you want to give me, I’ll adore.

Sorry, that’s awfully sappy isn’t it? Do you like that sort of thing? I hope so, I hope you’re feeling valued by my words and my letters. I haven’t gotten one back yet, which is totally okay! You’re probables super busy, and that’s okay! You can tell me everything you want to when I bring you to my palace (that’s where we will live, it’s big, and very expensive, i’m rich by the way)

Anywho, my daughter needs my help today at her little hotel, so I’ll send this to you before I go. Charlie will love you, and you’ll love her. And me

Forever and always yours,

Lucifer (I’m a king by the way :P)

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N/n,

This letter in itself is a sign of how much I care about you, because I do not write letters to people. Throwing out all your electronics and the cameras I put in your house hasn’t helped your little rebellion. I’ll just have to get you sooner than planned, which isn’t a problem for me. I was hoping to court you for longer, but you’ve pressed my buttons sweetheart.

You were very thorougher with your search for all the tech in your house, you got everything. Which i’ll give you credit babe, is impressive considering how much I put in there. Who knew you were so smart? It’s almost cute, if it wasn’t so hopeless.

I’m not sorry for what’s to come, my methods aren’t moral but, hey, who the fuck is moral down here? I am sorry for the emotional distress you’ll endure, but it must be done. You’ll get over it, i’ll make sure of it.

By the time this reaches you, I’ll be outside. Make sure you answer the door for me, kay?

𝕍𝕠𝕩

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