#amongst other gripes indeed.

[mycological-mariner]

This might be the worst EEG I have ever had. Only on day one too. Of all my gripes the biggest is that the wires aren’t protected. They’re not wrapped, not secured with any tape or bandage, nothing. This is totally understandable if you’re only having a 4 or 7 hour EEG, but I’m here for five days. I can’t so much as lay down without the wires becoming loose, which is kind of crucial to having an EEG. The tech only comes in twice a day and leaves at 4pm. So that means tonight, when I’m sleeping and a wire is disconnected I’ll have no way of reconnecting it, costing HOURS of important data. Because this whole thing IS just that, collecting information. I will have thrown away a week and a grotesque amount of money on travel alone for an incomplete test. Absolutely ridiculous.

[rutilation]

A Brief Meditation on Being Your Own Grandma and Drinking Your Own Blood

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Well… that turned out to be a lie.  Guess all you need to reel me back in is reincarnation drama and a weird grandma.

In my July essay, I laid out the elements of the story I found frustrating, and had tentatively hoped that said elements might have… mellowed out?  Following the break?  I’d say this chapter actually doubled down on all of my gripes.  That lingering aftertaste of misanthropy is spelled out plain, Ayumu’s curt dismissal of her former allies feels like it’s also being directed at the supporting cast in the present, and Phos is still the only person motivated enough to make decisions or affect the story at all, and that was apparently the case long before they were even born.

As such, while I found this chapter to be captivating, and honestly a breath of fresh air… I’m not sure if I actually liked it or not?  Galling and intriguing in equal measure—that about sums up my experience reading HnK from the moon arc onward.

But, one thing that I do know I like?  How this adds an extra layer of ambivalence to Phos and Kongou’s relationship.  When Ayumu talks about her arrogance, I believe she’s referring to the path she set Kongou on.  Thanks to her prophetic dreams, she now knows she’s saddled him with an impossible task that will bring him terrible misery—and all for the sake of her own insecurity, her desire to leave a mark on the better world she’s banking her hopes on.  But by the time she knows enough to regret her choice, it’s far too late to change course.  All she can do is apologize to him in her final moments, and implore her future self to clean up the mess she will leave behind.

I think one of the most compellingly tragic aspects of Phos and Kongou’s relationship has been their ability to keep hurting each other all while neither one of them is truly more at fault.  That being the case, I didn’t like how the last arc ended with Kongou being put decisively in the wrong; it just felt out of character.  But, this chapter recontexualizes his complicity in Phos’s grizzly fate as… him faithfully honoring the wishes of Phos’s past self at the expense of their present self.  How do you even begin to untangle that?  This whole situation is messed up and completely unfair to both of them, which is exactly the kind of food I want when I eat out at The Sad Rock Buffet.

One could even argue there’s a certain cosmic justice in Ayumu paying for her hubris by growing up in the shadow of the generational trauma that she precipitated.  On one hand, I find the concept interesting, but on the other, it feels too late in the story to start ascribing justice or meaning to the slings and arrows of Phos’s life.

That covers the grandma part, but with regard to drinking your own blood…

A lot of the thoughts I had this month were about the story’s attitude towards relationships, about the love you give yourself vs the love you get from others.  I feel like the story’s perspective is that community is a powerful and uplifting force… for other people.  But outcasts like us, it seems to say, are up shit creek without a paddle.  Indeed, the story doesn’t seem to believe in honor amongst thieves, or solidarity amongst the marginalized.  Even someone who could conceivably empathize with your situation will always sell you out to better themselves when the chips are down.  Whatever love anyone else has to offer you is shallow and contingent.  Therefore, the only love fit to be called transcendent or divine is the love you show yourself after you’ve struggled through the mire of self-hatred.

It’s cynical and bleak, to an unrealistic extent, in my opinion.  But as I contemplated the story’s perspective, I started to interrogate my own. How do I feel about love, and the places it might come from?  Like many who give any thought to the matter, I think that the platitude “You can’t expect others to love you if you don’t love yourself,” is wrong, and a terrible thing to tell someone struggling with depression.  It’s through the perspective of others, after all, that we escape the quagmire of our own thought patterns, that our inner world opens up, and we come to acknowledge the possibility that others can see something in ourselves that we cannot.  That said, I don’t think inverse is true either.  Or at least, I don’t want it to be true because it’s scary and hopeless in its own way: “There’s no way to love yourself without the love of others.” There’s a million different ways in this life to fall through the cracks of society, or community, or family, and end up with no one to rely on but oneself.  For such people, they can’t afford to wait for self-love to blossom in its own time, nourished by the love of others.  It’s imperative to create that love ex nihilo, because the alternative is to look on helplessly as their emotional self dies.

After mulling it over, the conclusion I arrived at is that while people probably need each other in order to truly flourish, I do think it’s possible to at least subsist off of the love you give yourself.  But, I considered, it’s kind of analogous to drinking your own urine after you’ve spent weeks lost in the wilderness: you really never want things to get that bad.  But, you do what you must when your survival is at stake, whether that survival is physical or emotional.  As I was thinking this to myself it hit me: that’s the meaning behind Ayumu drinking her own blood. 

You pop an artery out of your heart, drain out your own lifeblood before putting it right back in via martini glass.  You’ve watched as your future self becomes just as alienated and miserable as you.  So, as you apologize to the son whose life you’ve ruined, you brush back your own hair, give yourself a tender kiss on the forehead, and tell them to burn everything down.  What exactly does burning everything down mean?  Can’t wait to find out.  Whatever it is though, I hope it pisses off Aechmea.

Some other stray thoughts:

That master scholar joke from chapter one hits different now, doesn’t it?  So does Kongou tasking Phos with an encyclopedia, for that matter.  Even if he probably didn’t put two-and-two together until Phos received the pearl eye, they quite possibly reminded him of Ayumu long before that point.

In light of all this blood symbolism, I’m of the opinion that a vampire Phos AU would be kinda hot, and I think the fandom should milk it for all its worth.

As heavily implied as it is, the concept of Phos being Ayumu’s reincarnation technically exists only in the realm of subtext.  But there’s one aspect of this chapter that makes me 100% sure that, at the very least, Ayumu knew she was speaking to Phos: she brushes their hair back before kissing their forehead—a pointless gesture when the person who’s physically in front of her is bald.  She would only have taken the time to do that if she knew that someone else was also there. Someone with greasy emo bangs.

I want my Wolf’s Rain ending to be real.  I want Phos to be like: “Sorry.  No dice.  Try again.” And then they send everyone’s souls back into the earth.  And then we cut to 50 million years later when the dominant species on the planet is sapient carpets of marine bacterial slime.  We all know that’s who you really want to write about, Ichikawa.

And the cutest slime of them all?  Phos.

I’ve seen people speculate that Phos’s pearl eye is the exact same one Ayumu used, but after looking closely at the panels, I don’t believe that to be the case: the pupil in Ayumu’s replacement eye is black, whereas the whole of the pearl in white.

There’s probably an additional metaphor to be found in the fact that a meal of potato chips and one’s own blood has to be the most efficient method for dehydration ever devised.  Truly, only someone Phos or Phos-adjacent could come up with it. 

Speaking of additional symbolism, I’ve seen people point out that this scene is possibly a reference to the Last Supper.  If so, it figures that while most people who didn’t grow up with the religion find the concept behind Catholic communion to be off-putting, Ichikawa apparently just… started taking notes.  “Hmm, this is nice.  But how can I make it even weirder and grosser?” she asked herself.  Queen shit.

I was curious as to whether there was any significance to Ayumu’s name.  After a little googling, I think that it’s quite apt.

Back a few years ago, I saw quite a few Fist of the North Star fans complaining about losing the hnk tag to our beloved manga.  These days, when I search hnk on twitter, I find myself assailed by posts about some kpop dude.  Truly, samsara comes for us all.

[lokislastlove]

Come One, Come All! (Dark!Loki x reader) p.2

Summary: A girls night out to the fair takes an insidious turn.

Warnings: Noncon/Rape, Knife play, Oral (m&f), Smut, Bondage, Kidnapping

This is a dark fic! 18+ ONLY! Explicit Adult content. Please READ THE WARNINGS! Do not continue if these matters upset you!

Authors Note: Here is part 2, for those who have taken a chance on my trash, thank you so much!! I hope I don’t disappoint. ❤️

Chapter 2:

You feel your chest seize and you start to shake as your heart rate skyrockets, your body and mind dissolving into a full blown panic attack as you feel around the black box imprisoning you. You are only locked in for a minute before you hear rustling outside and you are thrown into the wall as the whole box shifts and turns.

“What the fuck. Oh my god, someone help! Please let me out!” Your voice cracks as your pleading grows more desperate with each passing minute.

You try to hold out hope that it’s a prank or part of the experience but after what you were sure had to be at least ten minutes of begging to possibly no one, you sag in defeat. Your eyes burn with hot tears, the temperature inside the box rising the longer you sit there. Stewing in silence and sweat, you listen to anything that might tell you where you have been moved to but the joyful bustle of the carnival fades early on.

You fall asleep hunched at the bottom of the box, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. You don’t know for how long but you are awoken roughly as the box tips over sending you face first into the solid surface. You grunt and stretch out, turning to lay on your back.

“Open it” you hear faintly.

The wall above you is ripped off instantly by a singular muscular arm. Startled, you gasp but manage to hold in the pathetic squeak when you look up into piercing blue eyes shrouded in unruly golden hair. Your own eyes widening as you take in the sheer mass of this man.

The muscles under his sun-kissed skin ripple as he huffs and stands straight. He scratches his bearded jaw, looking over to the darker figure you could barely see standing across from him.

“Yes I can see why you liked this one. Inquisitive eyes. A bit of fire in there, yes?” The hulking blond man raises a brow and smirks at you.

Had you not been in your current situation he would have been the type of man you could drool over for days. But considering the fact that you appear to be kidnapped, his physique only enhances your trepidation.

“Where the fuck am I?” You demand, fighting your soft-spoken nature.

“Yeah, there’s that fire” the large man chuckles deeply. “Want me to put her on the wall?” He asks looking back to his silent counterpart.

“The wall?” You mutter, panic rising again at the prospect of being ‘put’ anywhere.

“Yes, then you may go. Thank you , Thor” The darker mans voice drones, sounding bored.

The larger man, Thor, leans down and goes to grab you, making you scream and try to slap away his arms which is clearly ineffective, considering his bicep is the size of your head. He grabs your wrists easily and pulls you to your feet, you try going limp but he hardly seems to notice as he drags you out of the box. You start kicking and flailing wildly as he tosses you against a hard flat wooden surface attached to the wall. You sob as he takes one of your arms and stretches it straight out and snaps a mounted metal cuff around your wrist. You reach over with your free hand and try to unclasp the lock but he catches you and stretches the other arm out to the other side, rendering you completely helpless.

Arms spread wide, you feel exposed and vulnerable, especially when he traces his hand over your breasts before stepping away. That’s when you finally look at the thing you are mounted to. A circular wooden board painted red and white like a giant target, with you at the center.

“What the hell is this?” You tremble.

“Ankles too, for now” the dark suited man directs from across the room.

“Oh, well aren’t you a lucky girl” Thor chuckles under his breath before kneeling down and spreading your legs, attaching each to a similar iron restraint.

“Please. Please let me go” you plead softly to the bulky blond as he stands straight and smiles at you.

Thor brushes his thumb under your eye, catching a stray tear before sucking it into his mouth and humming.

“So sweet.” He praises before winking at you and leaving the room.

Your eyes settle on the lithe figure facing away from you. He’s tall and although he’s not as thick as Thor, you can tell he doesn’t lack strength either. He sheds his jacket and lays it neatly across the desk in front of him.

“If this is s-some sort of joke, it’s not funny” you stutter.

You watch in horror as he slowly turns to look at you, leaning back on his desk and crossing his ankles.

“You’re a clever girl, does this feel like a prank to you, darling?” His voice is as smooth as silk.

“Why are you doing this? Where are my friends?” You question, dreading the answer.

“Oh they will make fine prizes for the highest bidder. But you, darling… you caught my attention.” He explains blithely, slowly unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

“Lucky me” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him as a wave of anger washes over you at the mention of your friends.

“Indeed.” He smiles cruelly.

“I swear to god if you hurt my friends –“ you fume before getting cut off suddenly.

You barely see the silver glint as something small whizzes through the air toward your head. A sharp silver blade sinks into the board next to your head, the shock causing you to choke on a gasp. It was mere inches away from your eye.

“Care to threaten me again?” He smirks, holding another knife in his right hand, the sharp point of it delicately pressing into the middle finger of his left hand.

You gulp as your body shakes uncontrollably, your life seemed to flash before your eyes in that moment. How did he throw that so fast, you say to yourself, the target behind you making more sense now. You shake your head in response to his question, voice lost amongst the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Very well” he nods once, with a small smile.

Your eyes are glued to the dagger in his hand, as he flourishes it about casually. Your muscles tense every time he tosses it gently in the air before catching it.

“Now, I want to know how you solved those riddles so quickly today” he asks lightly before throwing another dagger, this one splintering the wood inches away on the other side of your head. “And no lies.”

You squeak and close your eyes, body trembling so badly you aren’t sure how to form words anymore.

“I – I don’t know. I just did.” You manage to stammer out. “Please stop.”

Another dagger flies through the air, landing with a thud between your thighs.

“Oh my god, please! Please” you cry.

“You know some people could figure out one, maybe two, within the time limit. Most just get the answers from those who went before them. Others just come back repeatedly, mindlessly searching for the keys. But you… such a clever girl” he purred, pushing himself away from the desk still clutching another knife.

“You can hardly blame me for being curious” he continues, taking slow steps toward you.

He stops before you, admiring your terrified expression before dropping his eyes down your body. You pull on the restraints and shift in discomfort at his close proximity. He smiles as his eyes connect once more with your own, his pupils blown wide.

“I’m sorry, okay. I wasn’t trying to – I won’t ever do it again. Just please let me and my friends go,” you beg.

You watch him smirk and sniff at your pathetic pleas, both fully aware you have nothing to offer. He turns and calmly walks back to his desk.

“Ugh let me go you fucking creep! What do you want from me?” Anger and panic causing you to lash out desperately.

He turns and flings another dagger at you, but this time you feel a sharp pain under your arm. You look over to see the dagger pinning your shirt to the board, slowly staining with blood.

“Oh my god!” You scream shifting your arm away from the dagger. “You cut me!”

“Barely more than a scratch. You’ll survive.” He assured you coolly with a roll of his eyes.

You feel the slow flow of warmth trickle down the underside of your arm and you whimper as you watch him near you again. He stops in front of you and pulls the dagger from the board, releasing your shirt. He admires the blade for a moment and then reaches out to you, making you flinch away. His eyes flare at your reaction and he tuts disapprovingly.

“This shirt, however…” he mocks, sliding the sharp end of the blade under the hem of the fabric along your stomach, “I’m afraid it will not.”

You gasp as he brings the knife up cutting through the flimsy material with barely any resistance. You cry as the cool air breezes over your exposed stomach. The useless cloth hanging loosely off your arms.

“Better” he coos his appraisal, as he glides the tip of the knife from your neck to your navel.

Your chest heaves as the reality set in like a boulder dropping in your stomach. You can’t believe this is how your ‘fun night out’ is going. Cursing your luck as you wonder why the hell your intelligence only seemed to lead you to trouble and scummy men.

“All of this because I solved your stupid riddles” you gripe, shaking your head in bitter disbelief.

“Stupid?” He repeats, his face twisting in disgust at the insult.

“Yeah, what is it? You have a problem with women smarter than you? No, that can’t be it, you’d have to be used to that by now.” You sneer.

You don’t know where this boldness is coming from, but something about this man makes you angry, and you figure, what do I have to lose?

His face twists in anger and he slams the dagger into the wall above your head. Your head is now caged in by three sharp knives and yet you suppress a flinch.

“That, wasn’t so smart, darling.” His lip curls in amusement as he backs off slightly and grips the rounded edge of the board spinning it until you are hanging upside down.

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen

[pennamesmith]

Skeletor Lends a Hand

The support group acts out. Wrong Hordak gets a taste of his own medicine. More ‘Skeletor’ stories. Also, thank you to @ineffablelabpartners for the idea of “Princess Theatre feat. Wrong Hordak as Horde Prime.” See art for the opening scene by @cosmiquealiene here!

*

“I am Hordak!” Catra shouted. “And I defy your stupid face!”

She opened her hand. Wrong Hordak, wearing a mop on his head and with two extra eyes drawn haphazardly on his face, slumped to the ground.

“Oh! I am falling!” he wailed from the floor. “I have fallen! I am dead! Woe be to Horde Prime!” He splayed his limbs and stuck out his tongue for extra emphasis, making a few more death rattles as he did so.

It was drama therapy day in Wrong Hordak’s Ex-Horde support group.

Hordak, watching from the back of the small audience, hid his face in his hands and slouched as far down as he could in his chair. “This is the worst torture I have ever endured,” he whispered.

“Oh, but this is the best part!” Entrapta squeaked. She squeezed his arm and leaned into his shoulder.

The stage, such as it was, consisted of a marked-off portion of the floor, faced by the other group members, who mostly consisted of Entrapta and Hordak and about two dozen enraptured clones. Scorpia and Perfuma were by the door, working the lights.

Catra-as-Hordak continued to yell at her defeated enemy. “Ha! Serves you right, you creepy evil jerk! I bet you didn’t ‘see all’ that coming!”

“Catra! That’s not the line!” Adora hissed. She was kneeling on the ground a few feet away, pretending to be tied up. Her hair was bunched into two ponytails, and she had borrowed Entrapta’s welding mask.

“Ugh. Fine. Have it your way. I turned against my brother! What have I done?”

“Ca— I mean, Hordak!” Adora cried, standing up. Her acting was as wooden as ever, but she played the role seriously, holding Catra’s face tenderly in her hands. “It’s okay. You’re free now. You can be whoever you want to be.”

They kissed, passionately.

Hordak choked. “That did not happen!” he insisted, mortified.

“It would’ve been cute if it did, though,” Entrapta mused beside him.

The room erupted into applause. “Bravo!” one of the clones cried, wiping away a tear. “Bra-vah!”

The lights came up. Wrong Hordak jumped to his feet and bowed to the group. “Thank you, brothers! Thank you!” He straightened. “Now, consider this thought experiment: what would you have said to yourselves if you were the one to cast the villainous Horde Prime to his doom?”

The clones looked stricken. “I would have called myself a traitor!” one gasped.

“Worse than a traitor!” a second clone agreed. “A monster!”

“An abomination!”

“And yet,” Wrong Hordak said, still smiling, “Would you call the great Hordak any of these cruel things today?”

“Of course not!” a clone blurted. “He is a hero!”

“He turned against the false ruler! For love,” another added.

“He knows some things!”

A hushed murmur fell over the clones as realization dawned.

“So you see,” Wrong Hordak explained patiently, “Even though Horde Prime is dead, his lies can still live within us. We must learn to recognize Prime’s evil voice, and replace it with our own! Only then will he truly be defeated.”

As the clones discussed this new idea with excitement, practicing saying positive things to one another, Catra worked her way around to the back of the group and leaned on Hordak and Entrapta’s chairs.

“Enjoying the show?” she asked, smirking. “I think I make a pretty good you, Hordak.”

Hordak sank even further in his seat. “I fail to see the practical side of all this,” he grumbled.

“It’s very practical!” Entrapta protested. “Data shows that acting out roles can help us embrace new perspectives of ourselves and others.”

“Yeah,” Catra teased. “I find this exercise to be cathartic and entertaining, don’t you?”

“Attention, everyone!” Wrong Hordak announced, from the front of the room. “Next, Princesses Perfuma and Scorpia will perform their reenactment of ‘She-Ra and Her True Love Save the Heart of Etheria’!”

“You know what,” Catra said, “I just realized I have to go to the bathroom right now immediately.” She spun on her heel and speed-walked out of the room with a look of panic in her eyes.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon. This could be most amusing after all,” Hordak chuckled. He put his arm around Entrapta, and they settled in to watch the show.

*

Later, when the meeting had ended, Wrong Hordak busied himself with tidying up the room. Most of the attendees were still there, talking amongst themselves as they gradually filtered out the door. Entrapta and Hordak were chatting amiably with Catra and Adora by the snack table. Scorpia and Perfuma giggled to each other by the window and danced a few halting steps to music only they could hear. Wrong Hordak smiled.

“I am so proud of my brothers,” Wrong Hordak sighed happily. “They have learned so much!”

“Wonderfully horrible creatures!” his assistant piped up.

Wrong Hordak’s assistant was a robot, one of Horde Prime’s former drones that Entrapta had reprogrammed and given a voice. She called it ‘Skeletor.’

“We will form an alliance, but only until our task is complete!” Skeletor said.

“Indeed. Now then, my exalted brother, I have an important mission for you!” Wrong Hordak held out a broom and dustpan to Skeletor. The robot groused but took them and went to work anyway. As he did so, Wrong Hordak felt a hand tap him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

Wrong Hordak turned around to find one of the other clones staring at him. “Oh! Greetings, brother.”

“Today was wonderful!” the clone complimented. “Your acting skills are marvelous. But I noticed you did not get a chance to berate Prime yourself.”

“No, of course not!” Wrong Hordak responded, smiling. “My purpose in this group is to help the others with their emotional journeys. Also, this exercise is about more than expressing anger. It is about self-actualization!”

“Well then, all the more reason for you to try it! You must find your own voice as well.” The clone pulled Skeletor away from sweeping the floor. “Here, practice on this drone! Drone, say something Horde Prime would say.”

“Er… You boob!” Skeletor tried.

The clone was unimpressed. “Something else.”

“The first one didn’t count,” Skeletor griped. “It was just practice. I was teasing the poor fool!”

“Then what would Horde Prime say? If he saw us making our own choices and thinking our own thoughts.”

Skeletor pondered this. After a moment, he shook his fists and shouted, “Get in line! I see you need a lesson in obedience!”

“Better,” the clone nodded, and then looked to Wrong Hordak. “And what would you say to that?”

Wrong Hordak hesitated. “I... I would say, I am no longer obedient to a tyrant!”

“Fool! You will serve my purposes!” Skeletor pressed.

“I will not!” Wrong Hordak pushed back, more confidently this time. “I serve only my friends.”

“Your friends only keep you around because it amuses them to have a pet!” Skeletor wheedled. “Be honest. Wouldn’t everyone be much better off if you had never come here?”

“That is not true!” Wrong Hordak said. “And, and even if it were, I am better for coming here! I want to be here! I am happy here! The light of this world is more fulfilling than Prime’s sickly light could ever hope to be!”

“Bravo!” the other clone applauded. “That’s the spirit!”

“Take a bow!” Skeletor cheered.

“Oh my,” Wrong Hordak breathed. “You were right, that was an exhilarating experience!”

“Exhilaration is my specialty,” the other clone boasted, proudly.

Wrong Hordak looked at the clone a bit more closely. “Are you new to our group?” he asked, curiously.

“Ah… Sort of? I’ve been coming for the past couple weeks, actually,” the clone admitted, and blinked. Sideways.

“Well, you will always be welcome and among friends here!” Wrong Hordak beamed. He gave a wink, and the air appeared to sparkle around him.

“O— Of course,” the clone stammered, seemingly taken off guard. “Excuse me, I must go now.” They turned and rushed away, hiding their face and making a noise that sounded a bit like an overheating radiator.

“What a nice person!” Wrong Hordak remarked, watching them go.

“Someone I could almost respect!” Skeletor agreed. “Meheheheheh.”

*

The next day, while Entrapta was working in her Bright Moon lab, a knock came on the door. She paused in her welding and went to open it, expecting Catra or Scorpia dropping by for a visit. Instead, she found a nervously fidgeting clone looking back at her.

“Oh. Hello. Can I help you?” Entrapta asked.

The clone quickly stepped inside, and then in a flash of dark light they weren’t a clone any more, but a lithe, svelte lizard person.

“I am having a crisis,” Double Trouble lamented, grabbing Entrapta by the shoulders. “And you’re the only one who can save me!”

“Oh! I see. You’re that shapeshifter!” Entrapta said. She blithely brushed Double Trouble’s hands away and sat back on her hair, looking contemplative. “Catra and Hordak told me about you.”

Double Trouble cringed. “They did? Well, that’s awkward.”

“...So, what can I do you for?” Entrapta pulled a pen and notepad out of her pocket and smiled expectantly.

“I— Really?” Double Trouble sat down on a piece of unused machinery. “Okay. In that case, it’s just… now that all the clones have discovered individuality, I think I’m beginning to see where you were coming from,” they admitted.

“I come from Dryl,” Entrapta supplied helpfully.

“That’s not what I...” Double Trouble sighed. “Look, can you just tell me what sort of things Wrong Hordak likes?”

Entrapta shrugged. “Cooking. Being dramatic. Rebelling. Why are you asking me?”

“I think I might actually be able to work with that,” Double Trouble muttered. “And I have to ask you because— because you’re the only person on the planet who knows how to romance one of these space bats.” They leaned forward. “Now dish.”

“What an unexpected pleasure!” Skeletor said. “I’ve waited a long time for this!”

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Part 6B - Vikings: Kissed by Fire

Summary: After a night of fun in celebration of (Y/N)’s nameday, Ragnar confronts her in regards to the relationship she has with Tristan

Pairings: Ragnar x reader (romantic), Tristan (OC) x reader (platonic?)

A/N: This took way longer than I was expecting, but now we finally have some backstory for Tristan and (Y/N). (Seriously recommend playing this song, when Tristan starts to sing

______________________________________________

Blearily (Y/N) leaned into Ragnar as they left the ongoing festivities of her name day, her steps wavering as they walked toward her room. A sense of tension settled between the two, mainly on Ragnar’s part as he helped her sit on her bed. She stretched tiredly and blinked with fatigue as she began to slip out of her garments into her nightclothes, looking over at Ragnar as he stared into the fire with a look of annoyance.

           “Now what has my husband’s brows so furrowed? Weren’t you just enjoying yourself moments ago in the hall with all the others?”

           “It doesn’t appear that you noticed, but I was not enjoying myself. Rather, I was nursing my ale as I watched my wife have the time of her life dancing and laughing with other men.”

           “Those men that you speak of were my brothers and friends, nothing more.”

           “Then what of ‘Tris?” he said mockingly. “And his brother that you spent so much time with.”

           “I have seen neither in many years, they were not even in attendance for either of our weddings. They left my life long before you came into it.”

           “But there is more to it, isn’t there?”

Her teeth were clenched in anger at his accusation, but calmed herself with a slow breath.

           “I courted Tristan in secret for two years” (Y/N) admitted.

Ragnar’s gaze dropped down to the anklet on (Y/N)’s ankle and looked up to meet her eyes.

           “I want you to tell me the whole story and leave nothing unsaid.”

------------

At the age of fifteen, it surprised (Y/N) that there had still been no mention of betrothals, possible marriage, suitors, or anything like it. Many of the other ladies around her were being married and some were already expecting their first children. To her, it was vexing to think that any mention of it was quickly cut off by her father and brothers.

She spoke of it often to her Nana, who said nothing in turn and would only order her to quit with her griping and either help or get out of the kitchen. To this, she turned to her closest and oldest friend Tristan who listened to her without question.

Until one day, he asked for her to accompany him that night toward the lake in the middle of the forest near their home and let no one follow after her. That very night nervously, she pulled the shawl even closer to hide the distinct fiery color of her hair as she walked amongst the halls in the darkness. It was unnecessary for her to light a candle, relying heavily on her sense of touch as she scurried out of her home and past a number of guards. Her steps were light as she flittered to the entrance of the forest.

Tristan waited for her there, just past the boundary of where the forest met the land near her home and she allowed for him to pull her along. They muffled their steps as they traveled along the forest into the clearing where the lake was.  

He strummed for a few moments, keeping (Y/N)’s attention as he hummed and sang softly, 

“When you sleep, do you dream of me?

And when you're awake, do you think of me?

I need to know, how do you feel?

Because when I sleep, I dream of you

And when I'm awake, that's all I do

Think about every detail you have

Do you notice when I get mad, I clench my jaw?

Do you notice when I get sad, I tend to fall?

Look at my words I say to you

Cause I notice when you get mad

You close your eyes

And I notice when you are sad

You let out sighs

I need to know are those sighs ever over me?”

(Y/N)’s heart fluttered as she inched even closer to him, as he looked up from his oud and smiled at her as he sang the last verse of his song. A flush dusting his cheeks and ears declaring to her in song his intentions.

“Do you know how in love with you

I am

Do you see how in love with you

I am

Everything that you do, it makes my heart stop

Oh, it stops

And when you sleep, do you dream of me?”

When his hands stilled and a silence settled between the two, (Y/N) looked up at him nervously as he placed a rough hand against her cheek. He smiled at her nervously and pulled her closer, where she could feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes were questioning as they flittered to her lips, gaining a small nod from (Y/N).

With no words, their lips were pressed tenderly against the other as their hearts near stopped from glee. The first of many  breaths stolen as they expressed their undeniable affection. The beginning of a two year courtship

----------

“Tristan and I were together in secret over the course of two years,” (Y/N) said. “No one in his family or mine apart from my Nana knew of the relationship. He was the only man that showed interest in me and I truly believed that he would ask for my hand in marriage.”

“But you were not together by the time that I met you?” Ragnar asked.

“No. Despite my own thoughts about the relationship, my Nana gave me a warning. She told me if he could not be man enough declare his love for me to my father, then whatever we had was doomed to die. That I would not be married to a weak-willed man, but a great one.”

-----

Now at seventeen, both Tristan and (Y/N) had grown significantly as individuals and were given much larger responsibilities. Making their moments much shorter, it was in this instance that (Y/N) sat on a stump as Tristan delicately put on an anklet that he brought with him onto her ankle.

           “Tris?” she called. “When will you ask my father for his blessing? Although he has never expressed it outright, I know that he has considered marrying me off soon.”

           “Your father is a busy man, (Y/N)” said Tristan. “I could never find a time to ask him something of such importance.”

           “Then why not ask him next week, when your family has their audience in regards to a new trade decision that will be made” she asked.

           “I-I’m not too sure about that” he stammered.

It was in that moment, that the advice  (Y/N)’s Nana had given her numerous times came to mind in her  frustration.

           “Tris, if you cannot ask my father on the day of the audience. Then consider this relationship done, I will not wait for something that will never happen.”

At her declaration, Tristan looked up in complete surprise as if he had never expected for her to be so serious in regards to their relationship. But he conceded with a small nod of his head.

Time passed quickly and the day of the audience arrived, with (Y/N) sitting alongside her brothers while Tristan stood beside his own. His gaze remained on the ground as his father and brothers spoke confidently, until with a start he looked up when his name was called.

Her father asked, “Is there anything that you would like to add Tristan? You have not had the chance to speak and I would like to know if there is anything that needs to be said.”

His eyes briefly met (Y/N)’s own and she saw just how quick his resolve crumbled.

           “I’m afraid not. I have nothing else to add” he muttered, as he shamefully looked away.

When his family was dismissed, Tristan took quick strides passed other nobles and never looked back. While (Y/N) sat heartbroken, the anklet against her skin felt frigid and her resolve was strengthened that if he had indeed loved her, that Tristan would have at least made an attempt. But it was just as her Nana had warned, he was too much a weak-willed man. 

----

           “If he had asked your father that day, would you have married him?” Ragnar asked.

           “Were you not listening at all Ragnar? I told you that he was too weak-willed of a man and our relationship wouldn’t have lasted” she said.

           “You may say that, but your actions tonight show that you still feel something for him.”

           “Of course I do. I hold a fondness for him because of the past, nothing more. It is to you that I remain faithful and you are the one that holds my heart.”

           “Well, I shall sleep somewhere else tonight. Maybe your fondness will keep you warm.”

With that, Ragnar stormed out of their room in a huff and (Y/N) sprawled herself onto the bed with an arm over her eyes.

           “Ugh. That’s another thing my Nana once told me, people hear what they want to hear.”

As she settled down for the night a figure slinked away from their position, having heard all that they needed to hear.        

------------------

Tag List (Open):

@heavenly1927​ 

@princesscornbread​

@ivarthebloodyking​

[bunny-hoodlum]

“Untitled” for NH2020 May “Jealousy”

No one prepares you for the first fall.

Nor the vice around one's heart, the kind that feels like you'll never be the same again if you don't remove it right away.

Naruto was twelve when he became vaguely aware of these concepts, that growing into himself -- whomever that was -- meant dealing with new aches of every severity, shape and sharpness, and removing them like the spiny seeds that clung to his sherbet-orange sweater.

Naruto stumbled out of the bushes, urgency bouncing inside his skull like pachinko balls.

Glancing down at his appearance, he wrapped his hands in his sleeves and swiped at the burrs, only to come away with palmfuls of them.

Throwing his head back, he growled in resignation.

He's been coming here after school for the past two years, ever since they moved from the prefecture north of Hi no Kuni's capital.

This particular sight, though familiar and ordinary, has evolved inside his mind. Once a green ocean to frolic across, the large sports field now resembles an emerald moat around a castle of a high school.

He sprinted across the grass, up the slope and onto the dirt path lining the perimeter. Bypassing the wash sink and the enormous gymnasium, he dashed into the outside corridor between buildings and entered the main school.

From there he made a beeline inside, his black Randoseru bouncing against his back with every step.

Here and there were older kids, boys in their black slacks and buttermilk yellow sweaters, girls in their black skirts, black socks and yellow sweaters. Some wore their red ribbons, others wore their loose or completely undone, or none at all.

Gone were their curious, mirth-filled gazes and amused whispers. Well, for the most part.

"Hey bud, you look like you'd been swimming in sea urchins." said one boy in passing, pointing his finger.

"Yeah, yeah! I know!" Naruto hurried along, his lips fluttering with an exaggerated sigh.

That aside, these teens they paid him no mind, as if he were one of their own.

Because they knew exactly where he was headed.

Naruto reached the Staff Room and pushed the slide door open. Instantly he attracted the eyes of the other teachers, their faces lighting up at his presence.

The first one to greet him was a woman with a brown bob parted from the center, with dark kind eyes and purple eyeshadow.

"Oh, Naruto-chan's here! My day is officially brightened!" said Nohara-sensei, one of the Home-Ecs teachers.

"Hey, what about me?!" interjected an Uchiha her age as he gaped at her in betrayal.

Nohara-sensei's smile remained unchanged.

Adjacent from Uchiha-sensei at the foot of the combined faculty desks, the silver-haired Hatake-sensei greeted him with a two-finger salute, his bored gaze glued to a thin book laid atop his stack of graded assignments.

Amongst these three were four other teachers, one of them being his dad.

"Naruto! You're early today!" His father said matter-of-factly as he spun halfway in his desk chair.

"Yeah! That's because--"

"Excuse me, Namikaze-sensei?" Her voice twinkled like the dreamy dulcet tones of the Kalimba, the air playfully plucked with each clear syllable.

Time slowed down, yet his heartbeat jumped and ran off, like a spooked horse after getting spanked in the buns.

The reason why he's early… The reason is...

His father's attention shifted a foot over his head, a cordial smile taking place. "Oh, Hyuuga-san! Those are the propositions for our Culture Day theme?"

"Yes, Sensei." The owner of that voice crossed the threshold, her gaze falling over him for a moment, and when she smiled at him the world grew quiet beneath the swishing of blood in his ears. And when she beheld him, her eyes curved as though her cheeks were swelled with love, and the only colors that existed were hers.

Hyuuga Hinata circled around the island of desks to hand in the stack of papers, and Naruto watched how his father interacted with one of his beloved students, and how she interacted with him.

Of course his father didn't act the way he does with his wife around his student, but somehow Naruto had to make sure.

And his father was a popular man no matter where he went, no matter where he worked. It never took very long until a new Namikaze-sensei Fanclub established itself, so Naruto had to see if she wasn't one of them.

They spoke and spoke but the topic never strayed and their eyes maintained the same friendly regard.

And yet, wordlessly, in the back of his mind he wondered.

If he stared hard enough, would she look his way again?

She excused herself with a small bow and with delicate precision, she strode towards the door, their business completed.

But as she left the Staff Room, she did not look at him again.

Naruto squeezed the straps of his Randoseru, the aches growing stronger around his chest.

"Naruto," His father called out to him. "I'm afraid I'm still going to be here awhile longer. What did you need?"

Naruto flattened his lips together then transformed his chagrin into a cheery beam.

"I just wanted to see you, Dad."

His father furrowed his brows and hummed questioningly, inciting Naruto to conjure a new excuse.

"Also... there's a new figurine I want." He rubbed the back of his head for extra credulity.

"A figurine? You haven't played Gashapon since you were ten." Even so, his father began to dig around for spare coins in his pants pocket. "What changed?"

Naruto wove around to approach his father. Minato furtively surveyed his son's appearance, the frown pretty much saying 'I've told before to stop going through the bushes', but it was faster for him, the walk to the front entrance taking him an extra ten minutes if he did.

Presenting his empty palm, Naruto accepted the coins and idly counted them to give himself more time.

It looked like just enough for a can of 200% Sweet Café Au Lait, rather than a vacuous plastic figurine.

His father was still waiting for an answer.

"Uhh," Naruto pocketed the coins into his back pants pocket. "I just found one that I really, really want, that's all."

Rin watched Naruto exit the Staff Room, her smile broader than before.

"Naruto-chan is getting cuter everyday." She mused.

"Hm? What is that supposed to mean?" said Obito, a trace of a whine still in his voice.

"Did you see his face when Hyuuga-san arrived?"

Minato lifted his head up from his paperwork, trepidation and intrigue washing over him like a chilly waterfall.

"I know exactly the meaning of that face," Rin continued, her gaze sliding over to Obito whose ears reddened knowingly. And Minato was beginning to connect the dots, though he didn't want to. "Naruto-chan is lovestruck."

_____________________________________

Later that night over dinner, Minato was quiet. Which wasn't particularly unusual when his beloved wife and son always had so much to say.

He loved their vivaciousness, how they seemed to boil over with attitude and excitement at even the smallest source of happiness, never dimming, never tiring. He loved listening to their stories.

"-- And the ball bounced off the goal and smacked Sasuke in the back of the head, and he face-planted the grass!"

"So that's what happened!" Kushina was in tears. "Mikoto called me asking if anything happened at school today."

"What did he say?"

"He told his mother he lost in a fight against three older kids!" Kushina clasped a hand over her mouth, he features scrunching up as though her laughter could escape from her eyes, and Naruto broke down into laughter with her.

Minato's gentle smile pulled up higher, and yet that familiar warmth in his face and thumping in his chest suddenly came with pangs.

But now Minato was looking at his son as though he were shining at a brightness never witnessed before.

Like a TZO hybrid star.

This love that he felt for Kushina hasn't changed since their middle school days.

And with great melancholy Minato imagined that these same feelings were growing inside his son.

_____________________________________

This was one of their rituals.

Minato washing the dishes while he handed them off to Kushina to dry.

It was an easy way to speak amongst themselves like two lovers.

"Is everything alright?" Kushina said as she wiped down a plate and added it to the drying rack beside her.

"Naruto likes someone."

"Huh?! No way! How could he not tell me?!"

"Shh!" Minato threw a glance out the kitchen entryway which lead into the living room. Naruto's blond head could be seen beyond the couch where he sat by the low table, transfixed by the prank show on tv. "He didn't tell me at all. Rin figured it out."

Kushina's shock quickly curled into a sly grin. "Did she now? Well, I wonder who it could be."

Minato grimaced. "She figured that out, too."

"What?! How?!"

Indeed, how? Rin had no business in any other school but theirs. Had Naruto being crushing on a fellow classmate instead, Rin's obtaining of knowledge would certainly be more interesting than the knowledge itself.

Minato propped his elbows against the sink and slumped forward, his hair nearly grazing the froth of dish suds.

Minato couldn't bring himself to say.

It wasn't so much respect of his son's privacy than it was his inability to accept the situation.

"He's growing up too fast."

A beat of silence hung between them before Kushina responded with loving circular strokes along his back.

Minato was the last person you would ever hear gripe nor whine, so this was rather serious.

Kushina then grasped her husband's shoulders and pressed herself against his back and held him.

He slowly angled his head towards her, temple kissing temple and they breathed in their mutual resignation that, yes, Naruto would soon no longer be a child.

No more childish fixations and hobbies, no more innocent observations that made him laugh, no more boundless curiosity where he had all the answers not the internet, no more theatrical 'labor strikes' in demand of an increase of allowance or a trip to the waterpark because Sasuke made it sound like a paradise.

None of that.

He could begin working as early as fifteen if he so desired.

He would afford his own fun, possibly sneak around when his sense of curiosity matured.

Rather than the reward of sharing and impressing his dear old dad, he'll be seduced by the appeal of secrecy and keep things to himself.

He won't desire his father's opinion on anything. At that age, teens believe they know what's best, so they trust themselves above everyone else.

Independence like that is inevitable.

And whoever in the future accepts his feelings, they'll have every part of his son that he’s lost, and Minato isn't ready for any of that.

Kushina chuckled lightly before giving him another supportive squeeze.

"Looks like someone's jealous."

[kaalamarii]

Victor/MC part 1

Sup demons it’s ya boy.

Look who decided to post something. First a few notes...

This was getting really long (like the longest I’ve ever written actually!) and I worked/am working very hard on it. I just wanted to get the first part out and will hopefully get the second part out this weekend. 

MC is not at all how she is in the game in this fic.

There’s no smut in this, but will be in the next one 😉 so no warnings here except language.

anddddd I guess that’s it. Hope you enjoy. 💕

MC chewed her lip, eyes scanning her kitchen where piles of dirty dishes and a mess of ingredients taunted her, an embarrassing reminder of her failed attempts at baking. She cursed herself, wishing she was listening as Kiki asked if she’d be willing to make a cake for a company bake sale. “Sure, uh huh,” was her exact response as she focused more on beating her high score on Doodle Jump than the meeting. (Willow later made fun of her for that… “who even plays Doodle Jump anymore?”)

Standing amongst the disaster that was her kitchen, she sighed, picking up her phone and hovering her thumb over Victor’s number in her contacts, for once not giggling at the nickname “Bitch” she had oh so affectionately given him. God, she did not want to call him. Admitting defeat was difficult enough already without the LFG CEO’s insults.

MC shook her head, turning the screen off and shoving the phone into her bra. Sure enough there’d be a shop or two open still and she could get a mix and call it a night. That would be preferable to asking Victor for help and getting berated for “not being able to follow directions” or whatever he might say. MC grabbed her wallet, adding it to her very handy boob/phone holder bra.

Luckily for her, there was a shitty little corner store within walking distance and it wasn’t cold out. It was a bit dark, but she had walked there on several different occasions, at later times than this-and oftentimes intoxicated in some sort of way-so she wasn’t too nervous to make the small trip.

After a ten minute walk she made it to the store. A bell rang as she entered, the lone cashier welcoming her in a monotone voice, eyes not budging from his magazine. She let out a very informal “‘Sup”, though the cashier didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Do you have cake mixes here?” she asked, earning a sigh and an eye roll from the worker. Still not looking at her, he pointed her to one of the aisles. She thanked him before heading over. Squatting down to get a better look, she took a box off the shelf and looked it over. Vanilla should work, she thought, and read the instructions on the back to make sure she had everything else she needed for it. 

MC heard the door ring again but didn’t think much of it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure. “Think I can trick people into thinking I made this from scratch?” She asked, holding out the box to the stranger beside her. He didn’t answer, and she looked over at him, jumping at the sight.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Victor’s fine, thanks,” he replied, taking the mix from her and narrowing his eyes at it. “Really, box cake mix?”

“What are you doing here?” MC asked, crossing her arms. “Also, did you just try to make a joke?”

“Somebody pocket dialed me,” The CEO held his phone up to show her that he was currently on a call with...her. 

MC’s face heated up instantly, and she pulled her phone out of her boobs (much to Victor’s surprise and confusion) to see that, indeed, her phone was on and had been on a call with him since she had left for the shop. She sighed as she hung up the phone and shoved it back into her bra, bracing herself for his insults. 

Victor’s eyes followed the phone into her cleavage unintentionally. The lightest of blushes brushed over his cheeks, so light that MC didn’t even notice. “Haven’t you heard of pockets?”

“Why do I need pockets when I have a perfectly good set of tits to store my stuff in?” she retorted, placing her hands over her aforementioned breasts, giving them a squeeze.

“Goodness gracious,” the CEO griped. “You really are a hot mess.”

“At least I’m hot, right?”

Victor scoffed, ignoring her quip. “You need to pay more attention. I don’t appreciate random calls this late at night.”

“Late?” MC teased, looking down at her phone and pressing the side button to turn on the screen. It illuminated her cleavage as she read the time. “It’s only nine, grandpa.”

“It’s dark out,” he replied, once again ignoring what she said to him. “You never know what creeps are out this time of night.”

“Oh, like the one I just ran into?”

Victor’s eyes darkened as he looked down at her. “Cut the attitude.”

MC didn’t have a chance to talk back as Victor set the box of cake mix back on the shelf. “Were you actually going to buy this nonsense?”

“I agreed to make a cake for the company bake sale and it turns out I’m not a baker.”

“Don’t you make pudding?”

She shrugged. 

“Whatever. I’m not going to let you buy that and I’m most definitely not going to let you give it to anyone else. Come on. We’re going to Souvenir and we’ll whip something up.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

Victor wrapped his hand around her wrist, guiding her to his car. MC was surprised by how gentle his hand was on her, how he led her but not forcefully, but almost protectively. She looked up at him, taking a moment to admire his profile. She couldn’t help but smile. He was an asshole for sure, but she still always enjoyed spending time with him, and she couldn’t help but feel excited at this late night trip to Souvenir.

At Souvenir, MC waited patiently as Victor rummaged through the kitchen, grabbing flour, sugar, and other ingredients as well as measuring cups, mixing bowls, and the rest of the various items they needed. She hopped up onto the counter, watching him. He was a handsome man, that was for sure, but whenever he cooked, she found him drop dead sexy. He wasn’t even cooking yet, but already had that focused look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and lips in a tight line. She wasn’t sure of his feelings for her. Hell, she wasn’t even sure of her feelings for him, but seeing him like that, she couldn’t help the absolutely raunchy images running through her mind.

“Were you raised by wolves? Get off my damn counter.”

His annoyance at her made her chuckle and she slid off, feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. 

“How many times have I told you not to do that? Not only is it unsanitary, you could fall and get hurt.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Then quit acting like one.”

MC sighed. “You know, you don’t have to do this. I can just go home and buy a premade cake from the grocery store tomorrow morning.”

“Pointless of you to say considering we’re already here,” he argued, “Plus I am not letting you give up that easily. You promised you’d make a cake and you’re going to make one. A real cake, not some crap from a store.”

MC couldn’t help but giggle from his choice of words. “Oooh, you said crap.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “You really are a child.”

“Box cake mixes aren’t that bad, you know,” she said as he handed her an apron. She pulled it over her head and tied it around her back. “Sometimes junk food can be satisfying.”

“What do you mean? I eat desserts.”

“Yeah, but you eat, like, fancy dessert. Not junk food. Like, don’t you ever want to go get a shitty fast food burger or milkshake?”

“I would rather die.”

“You are so dramatic!” MC said with a chuckle.

“Why would I want to eat something that can be described as ‘shitty’?”

Victor rolled his eyes as she once again found humor in his language. She had heard him cuss before and he didn’t really understand why it was so funny to her. He’d never let himself admit that he found pleasure in her laugh.

“Because it tastes good! Even though it’s bad for you. It’s like a guilty pleasure.”

“Are you quite done?” he questioned, the usual irritation in his voice. Not letting her respond, he continued, “ I preheated the oven and greased the pans already, so now you need to sift the flour and baking soda.”

He spoke as he rolled his sleeves up and also donned an apron. MC couldn’t help but look him over, admiring the muscled arms and chest pressing against his button down shirt as he moved. He handed her a sifter. “Use this.”

MC looked at it, confused. 

“Don’t be intimidated. It’s simple,” he told her. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around to hold her hands. With one hand, he guided her to the bag of flour and together they dumped some into the top of the sifter. With his other hand, he placed hers on the crank on the side and began moving it. MC looked up at him and he smiled ever so slightly. “See? Idiot proof.”

Realizing the close proximity between them, Victor cleared his throat and moved away from her quickly. “Measure out the sugar next,” he told her. “I’ll do the butter. We have to add them together in the mixer.”

Victor handed her a measuring cup, and their fingers brushed together as she took it from him. MC paused for a moment, looking up at him, searching his serious face to see any hint of emotion. None.

 He watched as she carefully measured out the sugar, adding it to his butter in the mixer. MC didn’t see the small smile on his lips as he watched her.

He turned on the mixer. “Now we have to put in the eggs.”

MC nodded, grabbing an egg and cracking it into the mixture. Part of the shell fell in and she let out a “shit!” before reaching in and swiping the piece out with her finger.

“What are you doing!” Victor’s voice boomed, making her jump.

“What?”

“You don’t touch the mixture, you idiot!”

“My hands are clean!”

“It’s still disgusting. Furthermore, don’t just crack the egg into it like that. Crack them in a separate dish.”

“Why does it matter?”

He scoffed, taking the eggs from her. “So you don’t get a shell or a bad egg in there, obviously.”

MC scoffed right back at him before putting her finger into her mouth and licking the ingredients off.

“For fuck’s sake,” he murmured, though she heard it.

“What? You’ve never licked cake mix off your fingers?”

“No, I’m not an animal.”

“Try it.”

“Absolutely not.”

MC poked another finger into the mix much to Victor’s chagrin. She held her hand out to him. “Just do it.”

“If I do it, will you stop touching the mix?”

“I’ll consider it.”

Victor sighed, face twisted in disgust as he leaned forward to tongue the mixture off of her finger. His gaze met hers and for a moment they stared at each other, each one waiting for the other to move. Though Victor was the one to pull away, standing up straight, shoulders stiffening. 

“Well, that was awful. Wash your hands and we’ll continue.”

MC frowned, disappointment and embarrassment settling in. She often felt this way around Victor. Though he annoyed her, there were certain little moments when something he’d say or do would make her heart flutter, and for a split second she’d wonder if there was something between them. She couldn’t help but feel happy at the thought of it, though she tried to bury it. There’s no way that Victor was into her that way. He barely tolerated her.

And, she scolded herself, what would really come out of it even if he was interested? He was her boss. He was an asshole. And she was a moron, as he often reminded her. 

MC took a breath as made her way to the sink to wash away the traces of their tongues on her hand. Victor instantly noticed the change in her demeanor. He didn’t say anything but watched her out of the corner of her eye. He, of course, knew all too well about those shared moments, and had to stop himself often from admiring her. It was inappropriate, and could mean danger for her, and he only wanted what was best for MC. 

❤Part Two coming soon ❤

Masterlist

[land-of-classpects-and-analysis]

Seer of Rage

What does it mean to be afraid, angry, jealous, or simply cranky? What does it mean to be in a negative state of existence? To spend every waking moment shifting through an ocean of rocks and fool’s gold because you were promised at one point in your life that there was gold in these hills? To be left feeling so betrayed and heartbroken that you have contemplated, and perhaps even committed, acts that may even cause you to fear yourself? What does any of it mean other than that you are alive and have been harmed by a world so cruel and selfish. The world is big, and there are so many faces that pass by you every day that you lose count before you can even learn how to count. It’s terrifying when you realize how small you are, but it’s also enraging when people believe they are any bigger than you or anyone else and that they know what is best for everyone. There is no need for a hierarchy in your eyes; if only because those who clamber to be at the top of everyone else are the ones who are truly afraid of the realization that their existence is nothing special. To be bound to the Aspect of Rage is to spit up towards those who look down on you, and to curse their names for creating a world of false promises and lies of gold, succession, and protection. However, this is only the case for those who are not blind to nor turn away from this Aspect bestowed upon them.

The Seer of Rage is one who is indeed blind to the lies presented to them in the world. They fail to see the systematic oppression and issues in the society around them. Whether it be a willing ignorance or simply due to the circumstances they’ve been born into, the Seer of Rage is one who does not believe there is anything wrong with how things currently are around them - even if everything is in utter chaos. If anything, they’d be more willing to shame and judge those who claim that the society in which they live is wrong and corrupt. They haven’t been negatively affected by the way things are going. They might see themself as a star citizen in the town in which they live, and everyone around them would be right to agree. Never have they been reprimanded, brought to kneel in front of justice, or dared to even step out of line. Why would they? Life is good, and they do everything right as spoken by those above and around them. The only victims in the world are those like them - trying to do the best they can in remaining happy, safe, and comfortable as those below them snarl and bite like rabid dogs.

There would be no anarchy, fear, war, or revolutions if everyone followed the ways of the Seer of Rage - ignorant to all of the wrongs built before they were even born. Chances are the Seer of Rage is not one who lives the wealthiest life, but they are also not someone who struggles much if at all. They have no conviction to try and make any effort in getting higher in the world, though, because they believe to try and move away from the role given to them would mean rebelling and questioning the word of those above them. The upper ranks of the ladder are not meant for them, because, if they were, then they would have done better than to be born where they are now. Life is still good where they are now, though, and so who are they to complain? Only those who are greedy, ungrateful, and wrong are the ones to complain. Those are the types of people the Seer of Rage has no patience for.

It would be a good guess to describe the Seer of Rage’s social circle as that of an echo-chamber. All of their frustrations and gripes with those below them would always be met with agreement and affirmation that, yes, they are correct to hate and judge those below them all the while admire and follow those above them. However, they most likely would also only surround themself with people of similar status to them. This could be due to multiple things, ranging from them not feeling worthy enough to be in the company of the higher-ups, along with their hatred of those beneath their boot, or the opposite of that coin - the higher-ups forbidding those lower than them to be more than workers and servants. No matter the case, the Seer of Rage is one whose social life is restrictive and dangerous. One could even argue that it’s rather toxic, as well, as those in their circle will most likely only continue to leave the Seer of Rage blind to the falsities around them.

While most Seers risk being pushed into becoming stubborn and stuck-in-their-ways, the Seer of Rage is one who, in a sense, has already been pushed and locked into this state of existence. The circumstances for this, though, is not because of those trying to force this knowledge unto the Seer of Rage, but rather by those trying to keep them away from it. The Rage Aspect is most definitely not the prettiest Aspect to be bound to, especially when keeping in mind how vicious and chaotic they can be. The Rage-bound are ones who will not sit or stand as lies are spread as truths and civilizations built of false and misleading promises rise. If they believe they can destroy the system, from the inside or otherwise, and replace it with something better, then they will try with all their might to do as such. As such, those in the Seer of Rage’s life would make sure of it that they would never succumb to the alluring calls of revolution, and instead would remain clueless to the atrocities happening all around them.

Rather than sitting down and opening themself up in order to invite this knowledge of Rage, it would most likely be that the Seer of Rage would have to figure it out through their own series of unfortunate events. These events would be unique to each Seer of Rage, but it ultimately would lead to them watching as the lies they thought to be true unravel around them. The world they believed to be so fair, equal, and true was nothing but a front, a mask, fancy gauze wrapped around the truly terrifying and wretched face of the world they actually live in. The Seer of Rage can indeed later on learn to invite knowledge of Rage, but they are a little more special in that they most likely will have to invite knowledge through Rage first. Much like everything else in their life, the Seer of Rage has no choice in how they go about their life. Perhaps they would see the shunning and banishment of a person they saw as a friend, now exposed to be a rebel - only for the Seer of Rage to later learn that this hearsay was planted on their poor friend. Perhaps the Seer of Rage partook in their own scandalous affair - a relationship, romantic or otherwise, with someone above them in terms of status, only for it to end as sour as a freshly picked summer lemon. Perhaps they witnessed, or experienced, an injustice so out-of-place and wrong that they could never get it out of their head, no matter how hard they try to bury it out of guilt of questioning what they know.

No matter what, the Seer of Rage is one who will most definitely begin their journey when they no longer can deny the truth of what they have seen or experienced. Although the Seer of Light must let the burning heat of knowledge into themself, the Seer of Rage must allow the searing, destructive surges of electrical fear, telling them to run away from it all and never look back. That, or they must allow the rage-fueled, hungry flames to blister their mind, for although it hurts to know that their world and life was a lie, it is better than to live safely and ignorant. It simply takes a strong will and mind to not unleash this anger of betrayal and lies in ways that would bring true justice to the suffering they and everyone they know have brought upon those who are the true victims, and it is a will the Seer of Rage will have to learn over time. Chances are that the Seer of Rage will indeed most likely try to get away from the obedient masses that plague the place they called home, but they most likely would be one to live a life of solitude and fear, at least for a little while. They are like someone who has been reborn, but now they have no parents or guardians to help lead them, and they surely are possibly still too prideful to go towards the groups of rebels and revolutionaries. For the first leg of their journey, the Seer of Rage would have to go through it alone, especially because they are now seen as an enemy and betrayer on both sides of this war.

During this time of solitude, they would learn to shift their gaze from inviting knowledge through Rage and rather inviting knowledge of it, though this could be difficult for the Seer of Rage if they are not emotionally ready. Even when exposed to Rage, it can take a long time to see the true beauty of it - the freedom it promises amongst all the chaos and confusion. The Seer of Rage is one who, unfortunately, must play the waiting game in terms of making progress in their journey. If they play their cards right, and don’t rush themself into foolish decisions and avoidable situations, then they can learn many valuable lessons and obtain knowledge not many others may want to know. Eventually, they would work up the courage to join their fellow fighters and rebels, whether it be from an invitation by one or more rebels themselves, or they decide for themself that it is finally time to stop hiding away like a child would hide under their blanket in the dark.

While the powers of the Seer of Rage are a little more obscure, they would most likely be similar to the Seer of Time in that they would play a more calculative and observational role than anyone else in their group. They’d be able to see danger and chaos long before it has a chance to enrapture them and their allies, and as such they’d be capable of preventing any unnecessary losses - though the gift of these visions may come at a great cost overtime. The Seer of Rage would most likely also be able to sense when tensions were extremely high between certain people, and as such could help to prevent any possible slip-ups and fights to happen. Some may say they are an expert mediator, but the truth is that the Seer of Rage is one who simply wishes for their beliefs and goals to win. They have no patience for dishonesty amongst their group, and as such they are not afraid to call out those who try their best to pass off such lies as truths. Although they may not seem like one prone to destructive tendencies, that cannot be further from the truth. The Seer of Rage is one who does not outright seek immediate destruction of the things they deem to be threats or wrong, but rather prefer to play the waiting game - watching from afar and always being a step or two behind their prey. The Seer of Rage knows when they can secure a victory, and so they are perfectly fine waiting for that perfect moment to arrive. In general, making a Seer your enemy is a mistake, but to make the Seer of Rage your enemy is to have already welcomed an end to your life. Whether that end happens today, tomorrow, or even years from now is not up to you, but rather up to the Seer of Rage, and they will revel in every moment that passes. The Seer of Rage loves to play the waiting game, after all.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Sixty-Five: Being Bold ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

Of any adjectives one could use to describe Hyūga Hinata...bold is not typically one of them. From the time she was young, she had been a meek, withdrawn, introverted girl who prefered to keep her head down rather than make waves. While several girls in her Academy class through the years would yell and argue and fuss, Hinata always kept her thoughts and opinions to herself, focusing on her coursework and listening to the instructor, Umino Iruka. After all, she had rather heavy expectations riding on her shoulders. She couldn’t afford to squander her focus and risk lowering her grades: something her father was quite critical of.

The first trimester went well, and many students were eager to go home and show off their marks. Some, of course...not so much. While Kiba griped about his lack of participation grade, and Shikamaru shrugged off the note of sleeping in class too much, Hinata was simply happy to have near-perfect marks. Not as high as the class brain Sakura, but good enough for her.

...and hopefully for Hiashi.

Carefully tucking her papers into her bag, she paused as Sakura tried to wheedle Sasuke’s grades from him.

“I bet you got all perfect marks, ne Sasuke-kun?”

Having been grinning widely at his grades, he nonetheless refused to answer, hurrying home to indeed show his father his flawless marks. Hinata watched him go, smiling slightly. She hadn’t really talked to Sasuke yet, but he seemed like a very nice boy.

“Did you pass any parts of class, Naruto?”

Gaze turning back to Sakura, Hinata saw her instead rounding on Naruto, who ducked stubbornly.

“I did fine!”

“With all the times you skip class and interrupt? I doubt it!”

“Leave me alone, Sakura-chan,” the blond muttered, stuffing his results in his pocket and shuffling from the classroom.

Hinata hesitated, part of her wanting to reach out and comfort the boy...but she was too late.

Funny how often she was just a little too far behind.

...not long after that, tragedy struck when the Uchiha were annihilated all in the course of one night. Save for one. The boy in her class, Sasuke. Rumors began to fly, whispers following him wherever he went.

No longer was he the bright boy from the first trimester. Numbed, cold, and distant...Sasuke kept himself cut off from everyone around him.

...she deeply regretted never introducing herself before that day. Another opportunity missed thanks to her hesitation.

The rest of their Academy years passed with little changing. Hinata remained the wallflower, practically friendless as her timid nature kept her from bonding with the other girls. They were too loud, too bright, too bold to bother with someone like her. Naruto was still the class clown, barely scraping his grades by and yet insisting he would someday lead their village. And Sasuke’s stoicism and reclusion was as strong as ever, ignoring his classmates beyond the absolute necessary.

Hinata couldn’t help but admire Naruto’s enthusiasm and refusal to give up. His confidence was like nothing she’d ever really known. Nearly everyone within her clan were quiet, polite people. Not unapologetically clear in their intentions and actions. Something about it was...inspiring, and she couldn’t help but wish to be as sure of herself as he appeared to be.

...then there was Sasuke.

Hinata couldn’t help but feel a sting of second hand embarrassment whenever the other girls pestered him. It was so glaringly obvious that he wanted nothing to do with them or their affections, and yet they persisted. It was...painful to watch. And the attention from them only earned jealousy of the other boys until most of them were at least annoyed with him, if not outright disliked him. They called him cocky and aloof.

...but she never saw him that way.

It was clear something was driving him. His focus was absolute, cutting off anyone and everyone unnecessary from his lessons. Every day after lessons at the Academy, he would leave to the training grounds and practice until late in the evening. Hinata, making a habit of her own solo training sessions, saw him every time she managed to sneak out to the public training area rather than use her clan’s. His training was relentless, and she couldn’t help but be astounded by how far he could push himself. No one else in their class could do what Sasuke could do.

...in a way...she looked up to him, too. But so too did she feel sorry for him.

...he must have been terribly lonely.

And then came the day of their team announcements. All anyone could talk about beforehand was the scandal with Naruto and the scroll he stole...all ending with him being granted a special graduation pass by Iruka! Some of the students were annoyed he circumvented the exams, but Hinata was glad. As goofy as he was, Naruto still tried hard, and deserved to move on to the next phase of his growth as a ninja.

She really wanted to be on his team…!

Nervously fiddling her pencil as she waited, Hinata stared up at the front of the room, wondering who she would be assigned with. Her grades were pretty good, even if she was a little low in the technical aspects. To balance, she’d likely have someone who had good execution of techniques...and then maybe someone else middle ground?

“Team seven!” Iruka then barked. “Uzumaki Naruto!”

Her heart leapt. Now was her chance…!

“Uchiha Sasuke!”

Come on, come on…

“And Hyūga Hinata!”

Pale eyes blinked. She...wait...she did it? She was on his team…?

Not only that, but Sasuke was part of their squad as well.

At the announcement, all of the girls groaned, having lost their chance to be with the Uchiha. He looked entirely nonplussed either way, ignoring Naruto’s baiting taunts about them working together.

At first...things did not go well.

Naruto and Sasuke were constantly at odds. Naruto’s desire to prove himself against his self-proclaimed rival, and Sasuke’s determination to do things on his own meant that there was very little teamwork the day they first trained together with Kakashi. Hinata, too timid to take any initiative, gave her best effort to rally them to...no avail.

Kakashi lectured the boys harshly, noting Hinata’s attempts to bring them together that they both ignored, too dead set on competing with each other to heed her call to work together.

Change was slow to come through their D-ranks, the boys still at one another’s throats. Hinata, put off from interjecting, usually could do little more than watch.

...that changed after the mission to Nami no Kuni.

Being plunged into life or death struggles, feeling the true weight of their teammates’ lives in their hands, all three emerged changed from their first C-rank.

And for a while...things got better. Naruto toned down his taunting. Sasuke cut back on his jabs. Hinata, too, found her voice and began to speak up more, mediating between the two better than before.

It looked like their team was finally turning around.

...then the chūnin exams arrived.

She was nervous. Partially because she still wasn’t sure if she’d grown enough. Naruto and Sasuke had been improving by leaps and bounds. And while Kakashi assured her she too was growing...it didn’t feel like enough. But the three signed on, and there was no going back.

The first exam was simple enough. Hinata with her Byakugan and Sasuke with his Sharingan made quick work of their tests. While Naruto left every question blank on the sheet, he did get the last question right...by the skin of his teeth.

The second exam was where it all went wrong. Targeted for his bloodline, Sasuke’s run-in with Orochimaru saw him marked with some strange jutsu. With both boys left incapacitated, it was up to Hinata to defend them. As Oto drew in and other Konoha teams assisted, it was then she caught sight of her true fear regarding the exams.

Her cousin, Neji.

By the end they passed, if just barely. The preliminaries were unexpected, and only Naruto’s went smoothly. Sasuke, afflicted by his curse mark, was taken by Kakashi to be sealed, and then seen to by the medics.

Hinata...had to face Neji.

This was it, her fear realized. But she wasn’t going to back down. She couldn’t let Naruto and Sasuke down...she couldn’t be the weak link in their team. So she assumed her stance and gave it her all.

...but it still wasn’t enough.

Next thing she knew, she awakened in the hospital, the ache in her chest like a weight. But even worse was the knowledge that she’d failed. Naruto and Sasuke could still advance...but she was out of the running this time around.

With Kakashi taking Sasuke and Jiraiya taking Naruto, Hinata was left to her own devices...with a small suggestion from their sensei.

“You really shouldn’t be training with your heart on the mend. I think...you should shift your focus for a while. I know you’ve been making those poultices for the boys. Why not take an apprenticeship at the hospital while we’re gone? You can still be learning a valuable skill, and let your body rest with something a bit less...intense.”

So...she did as suggested. And even made a new friend as she did so.

The final exam was off to a good start. Naruto managed to beat Neji, and the defeat led to changes both in her cousin, and to an extent, her father. But as Sasuke arrived (in the nick of time) for his fight, the attack from Suna and Oto began. Hinata, her heart still weak, missed the entire attack when her mind faded to black.

...from that moment, everything resolved to change once more.

With Hiruzen’s death, Naruto accompanied Jiraiya to find Tsunade. Hinata kept up her medical training. Sasuke was set to train with Kakashi...when a new threat entered the fray:

Akatsuki. Namely...Sasuke’s elder brother, Itachi.

His confrontation with the other Uchiha left Sasuke beaten and weakened. Hinata’s attempts to help were far from enough. And Naruto chose the exact wrong time to challenge him. The boys fought, Kakashi separated them...and Hinata was left wondering what had happened to her team.

Attempts to talk to Naruto were wasted. He could only go on and on about how Sasuke had changed, how his attitude was grating. He didn’t seem to connect the dots about Itachi.

...so Hinata decides to try talking to Sasuke herself.

But he isn’t at home.

Using her Byakugan, she finds him near one of the village walls, with a pack over his shoulders and a coldness to his aura she flinches from...but doesn’t let stop her.

“Sasuke-kun!”

He stops, turning to find her behind him. “...what are you doing out so late?”

It doesn’t take much to put two and two together. The pack. His walking the one road out of the village.

...he’s leaving.

And for once...Hinata doesn’t back down. Now more than ever, she has to be bold.

“...I could ask you the s-same thing,” she replies, tone soft. “...what do you think you’ll find out there?”

“The strength I can’t find in here.”

“But...Sasu-!”

“I’m tired of being coddled...I’m tired of no one taking me seriously!” His teeth grit. “...for more than five years now, I’ve lived in fear. But also with a constant determination. I’m afraid he’ll kill me before I can kill him. Before I can make this right...and avenge my clan for the massacre he wrought on them. Don’t you get it, Hinata? I have to do this. Konoha isn’t getting me what I want. No one is listening to me…!”

“I’ve been trying to listen,” she counters, taking a step. “But you k-keep so much inside you, Sasuke-kun. I know it can’t be easy, but...we’re - we’re your teammates! We want to help you!”

“All Naruto does is antagonize me...he doesn’t want to help me, he wants to beat me! Prove he’s better! But he doesn’t realize what he’s measuring himself against. I’m not his rival...I’m not just a step on his ladder to the top. I’m someone with a burden to carry that he’ll never understand…”

“...I’m sorry. I know that...that no one can know what you feel. But...is leaving really the answer…? Do you really trust that man more than you trust us?”

“...I trust in his power. Power is what I need, more than anything else. Even more than teammates. More than friends. If I can’t kill my brother, Hinata...then my existence is meaningless. I’ll have failed everyone I ever cared about...who I was too weak to save…! I have to do this.”

Jaw trembling, Hinata fights against the sting of tears in her eyes. “...so you’ll leave us behind…? Just like that? After a-all we’ve been through these past six months...is it really so easy to walk away? Sasuke-kun, I...I care about you. We all do.”

“...everyone here is standing in my way.”

“Even me?”

For the first time...he hesitates. “...no. Not you. You’ve tried to make peace between Naruto and I. And...I have to thank you for that. You’ve been the voice of reason. The one trying to hold this team together. But...I can’t do this anymore, Hinata. Being on team seven isn’t helping me reach my goal. The one purpose I have. I can’t stand idling in it any longer. It’s what I need...do you understand?”

For a moment, she stares at him and thinks to challenge him. But then she thinks about her cousin. Her sister. Her clan. About her own need to grow, and how she’s felt stymied as the boys both seem to get stronger. She can blame her weakened heart all she wants, but...in truth, she knows that’s not all that’s holding her back.

...she understands.

Expression wilting in defeat, her head bows. “...I-I do. And...I’m sorry, Sasuke-kun. I’m sorry that...that I held you back.”

“...it’s not your fault.”

“...I’m the weak link -”

“No!” To her honest surprise, he cuts in. “...you heard what I said. You’ve tried hard. Harder than anyone. You’re not weak, Hinata. Far from it. Once your heart heals...you’re going to bounce back even harder. I know it. What you went through in the exams...it made you stronger. But me…? I feel like I got weaker.”

“That’s not true…”

“...either way, Konoha isn’t what I need.” For a moment, he actually looks torn, and steps up closer. “...you’ve been a good teammate, Hinata. A good...a good friend. And…” His speech starts to waver. “...I’ll see you when it’s all over. When Itachi is dead - when I’ve finally done what I’m meant to do - I’ll come back.”

“...you…?”

“...and I expect you to be stronger when I do,” he goes on, and to her surprise, his lips twitch. “Put that knucklehead in his place for me, all right? But...keep an eye on him, too. Don’t let him walk all over you. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I...I-I won’t...” Her lips tremble, threatening to crack.

“...you’ll be all right.” Reaching out, he lays a hand atop her head, gently ruffling her hair. “...I’ll see you when it’s over.”

Too choked up to reply, she watches him turn around, heading toward the gate. “...p-promise me!” she calls after him, taking half a step forward. “Promise you’ll come back, Uchiha Sasuke!”

Holding an arm out, he lets a thumb lift in a sign of agreement.

Watching him go, she finally dissolves, dropping to her knees and letting sobs rack her frames. All of her efforts to keep them together...to try to make this work...they’ve all failed. She’s still weak. Still useless.

...that has to change.

For a while, she sits and she slowly regathers herself, wiping stubbornly at her cheeks with the cuffs of her coat. Crying isn’t going to solve anything.

Sasuke is going to confront his brother.

Naruto is going to be Hokage.

And Hinata?

...Hinata is going to get stronger, too. Why, she’s still not sure. But she knows where to start.

First thing in the morning...she’s going to talk to Neji.

Time to turn fear into strength.

                                                            .oOo.

     First off, sorry for the further delay on this - I had a MUCH busier day yesterday than I intended ^^; I technically got this written last night, but it was so late and I was so tired I wanted to wait to proofread and post. Apologies~      Anyway...we finish the challenge with some more team seven!Hinata. Which is an AU growing on me quickly. There are other pieces in it but...guh, right now I don't have the time to find them. I WILL, hopefully soon, go through and sort all these and make mini series for connected drabbles on AO3, and a masterpost on Tumblr. It'll just take me some time :'D I know this is more summary than anything, but I haven't had time to properly plot how this would be different, if much at all, from canon. So I tried to sort of gloss over details in favor of addressing the actual prompt at the end. This might end up being one of the things I continue, we'll have to see!      ...and now, on to the mushy part.      ...I won't lie, I'm seriously sad this is over. Part of me is having a hard time grasping that, lol - but at the same time, I'm both relieved and proud. Over 560k words, with an average of about 1540 per day. That's...that's a lot, lmao. And the community has been so good to me. I hadn't really ficced for years before starting this, hadn't really been in the SH community for a good long while, and yet y'all welcomed me with open arms. We had one naysayer, and a few visits from g.o.d, but honestly that was nothing compared to the overwhelming support you guys gave me. I appreciate it more than words can say. This year has been a tough one for me, but having this challenge to keep coming back to was important. Coming back to you guys was important. So thank you so much for what you in turn gave ME this year.      That said, I will be taking a pretty sizeable hiatus from ficcing - not forever, as I want to do more! But the burnout is VERY real, lol. Probably expect at least a few months while I recuperate and plot the fics I want to do in the background. And also taking some time to work on fics outside SH I want to do, and have just been too burnt out to work on.      If you want to find me elsewhere, I have both AO3 and Tumblr for my OC fic stuff under the username kusunogatari! Be warned it has, uh...some *spicy* content, so keep that in mind xD But I'll be over there working on projects every so often, as I've been heavily neglecting it. And I'll also be on my RP blog kusunokihime.      Anyway...I feel like I could ramble for ages, and I kinda want to, but I also need to let this project come to a close. Thank you all for sticking with me for the past nearly 13 months now. It's been a blast.      If you want (and please note this is NOT me trying to force anyone's hand), I DO have a ko-fi (aka a tip jar) where you can donate to support the author behind this madness - again, it's in NO way necessary, but anyone who WANTS to can donate a few dollars here: https://ko-fi.com/sylveradrake - I don't expect anyone to, but it's there for anyone who feels like it~      With that...I guess I'll go ahead and sign off. I hope you all have a lovely day / week / month / forever, and I'll see you down the road for more fics soon!      Love,      Sylvie

[enkisstories]

Just like them (part 6)

Park Avenue 1554 November 17, 2038 1:14 am

They say the android rights movement was kicked off when the painter Carl Manfred returned home from a party and found the light switched on in his workshop.

Daniel Phillips-no-longer had just returned home from a coffee shop at Capitol Park and found the door to the terrace ajar. It was everyone’s guess what would start from that point… The real question was, had someone come in, and was still sneaking around the apartment, or had the burglar already left?

Now normally Daniel would have taken out his phone to make a call, to prove a point. But in this situation time was of essence, so he started dialing the DPD in his head. However, the signal didn’t get through. None of his thought-commands left the android brain, Daniel realized. He couldn’t make a call, browse the internet, or connect to the various household electronics. Something was jamming his signals, effectively putting the android into flight mode.

There was a shadow, then an incoming signal, that the deviant rebuked, and then something heavy impacted on his head. The last thought that crossed Daniel’s mind before temporarily shutting down was that Tina Chen had been right: He really wouldn’t have needed to worry about the missing apartment key. The still not repaired door alone had been an invitation to a burglar.

And the first thought upon waking up again, sometime after sunrise, was that said burglar must have been an android, because their first impulse had been to wirelessly shut down Daniel before they had went for the baseball bat.

“Kin-betraying swine!” Daniel hissed. “Just you wait, I’m going to unleash Connor on your sorry ass!”

The apartment’s new inhabitant took a few minutes to take inventory of what was missing. He was in luck, because most of the irreplaceable stuff in the flat was of low monetary value and therefore hadn’t been of interest to the burglar. All the family photos and little mementos were still there and what had gotten taken wasn’t really needed, especially not when you didn’t eat and were able to watch TV in your own head.

Daniel fed the fishes and the pet rat, a half-starved white-and-black patterned fellow that he had taken in after his owners had fled Detroit in a hurry. Then he left the apartment again to personally report the incident to the police. The deviant also didn’t like the hum behind his forehead that had grown quieter, but wouldn’t subside altogether. He decided to swing by an Android Zone for a checkup later, just to be on the safe side.

Entering the precinct Daniel realized that it was his third visit in as many days.

That’s three times more than in my whole life before the revolution! Am I living here now or what?!

The reception was manned, once again, by an ST300 android, no longer Tina Chen acting as a substitute. Only now the ST300’s nameplate read “Rika” and the LED on the android’s temple was missing. Rika smiled at the arrival, but before so much as a greeting could get exchanged, Detective Reed stormed out of the restricted area, drawing everyone’s attention. The man was muttering under his breath - lots of “fuck”s, but Daniel also recognized a short phrase: “team building measure my ass”.

“This is the detective you will want to talk to, Mr. Daniel”, Rika told Daniel after he had explained what had happened to him earlier. “Mr. Reed of the android related crime section.”

Gavin turned around sharply.

“Unless it wants to turn itself in, whatever it has to say won’t fall into my responsibility.”

“But it does!” Daniel insisted. “I was attacked by an android tonight!”

The statement was met with a gleeful grin: “You tin cans are duking it out amongst each other now? Works for me! Well, it was nice having known you, “Mister” Daniel. Now vamoose!”

The detective proceeded to grab a package from the counter, growling “Your locomotion software bugged or what? This is the last time I’m coming out here to fetch something!”, to what Rika replied in her usual friendly voice that she’d make sure to send the parcel to his desk via UPS next time and put it on Mr. Reed’s expense report. Daniel was certain that the human hadn’t really listened to the reply, because if he had, he’d exploded into violence.

When Gavin strode back towards the barrier, Daniel stepped into his way.

“There was a crime committed by an android. Against a person. That sounds like the textbook description of what your section is about!”

“And I fucking told you just now that it isn’t my job to investigate this shit!”

“Is, too!”

“Is not!”

“That your last word?”

“Yes. Now piss off or I’m going to have you removed by force!”

Daniel shook his head.

“Damn, Mr. Reed”, he said, “I wish we’d met earlier! Like by the swimming pool on our terrace, in a starry summer night in August…”

The detective contorted his face into what might pass as a smile. It had to be a smile, because it was… truth be told, it was endearing.

“Yeah”, Gavin nodded. “I’m sorry Captain Allen shot you off that roof.”

He took a step closer towards the PL600 and then suddenly slung his arm around the machine. Daniel didn’t understand what had caused the change. Just a moment ago they had been shouting at each other, but now Gavin was almost hugging Daniel. It was astonishing! Sympathy? From a human?

Gavin drew the android closer.

“Cuzz if he hadn’t done that” he hissed, “you wouldn’t have dozed through the Recall in our archive, but went straight to the Recycling Center where you belong!”

He pushed Daniel away, laughed out loud and was still laughing when the android left the police station.

 After getting turned down at the DPD, Daniel sought out the other 50% of the android related crime section at their home: Hank Anderson.

“…and thus Reed refused to even create a case file”, he finished his recounting of the encounter.

A genuine smile crossed Hank’s face, but Daniel had once again learned to not trust those. And indeed Hank said: “Sweet! Maybe we can put him on probation now!”

“Isn’t anybody going to do something about my attacker?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m getting to that”, the detective grumbled. “Just let me grab a bite before we drive back. I’m not exactly running on happy thoughts and sunshine here.”

“Who is, these days…”

Together they went to the kitchen, from where weird noises had emanated all through their discussion already. Now Daniel saw what had caused those: Connor was standing at the stove, making war against scrambled eggs and the butchered remains of something green.

After watching the RK800 for a while, Daniel spoke up:

 “You know what’s even more pathetic than me, Connor?”

“Yes: Gavin!”

“Take another guess.”

Connor was now stabbing the eggs, probably taking inspiration from something he had seen at a crime scene. Gooey particles escaped the carnage left and right. Daniel almost couldn’t bear watching the sight, and when Connor reached for the salt dispenser, he grabbed the RK800 by its wrist.

“Don’t, Connor! In the name of all the good that may be left in the world, don’t do it!”

Confused the deviant hunter replied that he had forgotten to add the salt before, to which Daniel replied that substituting it with sugar now wouldn’t help.

Connor put down the presumed salt dispenser and started rummaging for the real one in the cupboards.

“Can’t the lieutenant just eat something at the police station?” Daniel pressed. It wasn’t just that he was in a hurry. At this point even the contents of a random evidence bag ought to be less of a health risk than the RK800’s kitchen experiments.

“What’s your gripe? Hank likes my food!”

“I highly doubt that. Eating your “food” is like playing Russian Roulette.”

“Hank… used to like that, too. - And besides, you could lend me a hand here!”

“Sorry, dude, can’t help you. My cooking app got corrupted when someone shot at me.”

It was a lie, but not a too obvious one. A few of Daniel’s apps had indeed suffered from the deviant getting shot, others had stopped working due to deviance in itself and for others yet again the subscription had run out. Daniel was able to live in the apartment Caroline was still paying rent for, unaware of who was using it at the moment, but he didn’t have disposable money to renew those subs. However, out of all the skills the android used to have access to there were two and a half that Daniel considered his “native” skills, related to activities that contributed too much to his identity for him to ever lose his expertise: Cooking, Parenting and a little Driving. In these areas the deviant had amassed actual experience of the kind not even a full reset could ever clear completely.

Eventually Connor served Hank the sugar-free, but almost sufficiently salted, scrambled eggs on toast. The human in turn produced a slim package from his jacket’s inside pocket that he held out towards the guest.

“Bubble gum? No? Cigarette, then?”

“We’re androids, lieutenant. We don’t…”

Daniel didn’t finish the sentence, because Lt. Anderson was grinning at him like a man who knew more about a subject than that smug teen across from him. And hadn’t he seen another PL600 chew bubble gum just the day before?

“There… seems to be a lot I… don’t know about deviance?” Daniel tried and Hank’s expression changed to one indicating something close to respect.

“I don’t think I’m ready yet to try any munchies, Lieutenant. But even so – thank you!”

(to be continued)

[breg21]

Ladynoir Month: Giving Up

@ladynoirjuly2019

Ao3 FFN

This is so late, and I'm so sorry! But now I'll be able to get the comfort prompt out on the 27th, (I'll have it posted before midnight, so then I shall be able to be caught up.)

So, I wanna say, before you read this, I always envision Emilie, no matter what, isn't a good person, from what little we know of her, and depending on the story, and what happens, (In my Adrientte April story that's published on FFN, she's still a bad guy seeing as I had Gabriel just go went jail and not die) But with his death, it'll definitely change things up, and if she decides to remain evil, you'll have to read this to find out what I have her character as. I hope you enjoy!

Until tomorrow! Lots of love.

Emilie knew she wasn't one to give up, she strived for what she wanted, even when it might not be best for everyone in the situation. She knew she wasn't the greatest mother— she wasn't exactly innocent in all of this.

But Gaberial gave up his life, he gave everything that they had been working to get the miraculous in the first place, so Adrien could have a mother.

So, no. She wasn't innocent, she wasn't great. She would have done everything Hawkmoth had, and possibly more. Adrien had rose colored glasses set on his face for the view of her. But with her husband's demise, she understood, she had to be the mother Adrien believed her to be.

And she would. She vowed it as she cried over her husband's lifeless body.

"Emilie." The soft caring hands of her son's girlfriend covered hers as she looked up from her cup of coffee. "The fact that you even came clean and told us everything is what counts in the end, and I know I can say for everyone in this room, we believe you one hundred percent."

The older woman sighed in relief, her worry had kept her up the past week that when she finally decided to tell everyone— her son, Marinette, and even her parents— that she wasn't that much better than Gabriel, but she was willing to do whatever she had to to be the right person for her family.

She was soon engulfed in a hug be the other four people— kwamis included— and it almost caused her to laugh as Tom somehow found a way to lift said four people all within the strength of his arms.

It was… something else.

Emilie hadn't even realized she had been crying when she choked out, "So," She coughed. "You're not mad at me?"

As Tom settled everyone back on their feet, everyone shared a look before shaking their heads in a hard no. Sabine, for the true sweetheart that she was, spoke up first. "Emilie, you've been through a lot, what happened in the past, whoever you were, is left in that past. Let it stay there. Who you are from here on is up to you. That's what matters."

Emilie nodded, enjoying the small silence that settled over the bakery.

It was then, she realized, sometimes, maybe it was actually okay to give up some things in life. You never know what other, better, things you might receive in the end.

This was definitely one of them.

When Ladybug and Chat reached Master Fu's place, they were hesitant to knock.

When they had gotten the butterfly and peacock miraculous back, they dreaded the short trip to the guardian's shop. Because, were they gonna have to give up Tikki and Plagg? Would they have to give up being Ladybug and Chat Noir?

Would they have to give up that part of themselves?

With everything that had gone on, no one really had the time to actually properly grieve. It was all business as usual as they had to go in front of the city and tell them of Hawkmoths defeat, which ultimately lead to telling everyone that it had been indeed, Gaberial Agreste who had been the man behind the mask, the person who had been terrorizing Pairs for years.

And that hadn't been taken well, but the moment it was revealed that Gabriel had sacrificed his life, people calmed, and slowly the gossip amongst the citizens died down.

Which brought them to here, scared out of their minds, wondering what all lay before them, what unknowns were now given to them with not completely sure they were even allowed to keep their miraculous. Master Fu had always been one to be very strict when it came to them.

However, before Chat fist could even make contact with the door, it opened to reveal Master Fu standing their politely, eyes almost twinkling in delight at seeing them. He beckoned them in, moving to the side to allow them to pass.

Neither were really breathing as they moved past the threshold and into the main room.

Breath stuck in their lungs, they waited as the guardian went to stand in front of them, almost as if he was waiting for them to speak. Nerves burned throughout, creating a natural figure of fear in both of them. Sweat dribbled on their foreheads. Lips felt dry and eyes burned with the potential tears that wanted to escape.

But they couldn't. Not just yet.

"Well, I figured I'd be seeing you two soon." Master Fu addressed them, hands behind their backs. "First things first, I wanted to give my sincere apologies to you, Adrien. Losing a parent cannot be easy, no matter the circumstance.

Chat wouldn't look at the elder man. It was just too hard to think of everything in a single second. It would be for a while. But he still appreciates the thought. "Thank you, master."

He nodded in acknowledgment at Chat's words. He then sighed, shoulders heaving as well as he turned the topic onto something that they both knew was harder. "Now, about your miraculous."

Ladybug stepped up, interrupting before he could continue. "Master-"

But he wasn't finished. "Marinette, please, listen to what I have to say."

Her head fell into a bow and nodded.

He coughed, and started once more. "As you know, the responsibilities you hold are grave. You've been doing it for years now, and I'm very proud of what you've accomplished. And I also know you've been dreading the idea of a day where you had to say goodbye to being Ladybug and Chat."

With very little air, the two found their hands within the small space between them, lacing them together and prepared them for whatever may come next.

But, instead of outright asking them to give him their earing and ring, he smiled, and with a soft face, asked, "Don't you two miss being just Adrien and Marinette? No responsibilities, no worries about lies, not looking over your shoulders twenty four-seven? Wouldn't it be nice to just be normal again? To breathe."

That was unexpected. They shared a glace between each other, eyes wondering what he was really asking them. Chat nodded to Ladybug, giving her his permission to speak for both of them.

"Well, you see, Master Fu." Fear bubbled in her chest, but she had to fight it. "As much as being just Adrien and Marinette again sounds pretty awesome, it's not who we are. We're not just Marinette and Adrien anymore. We can't go back to that. We wouldn't be able to breathe."

Master Fu smiled, as if that was all the answer he nodded. "What about later on down the road, when threats become harder? When you have your own family? Your own adult lives?"

She griped Chat's hand tighter. "We'll find a way." She said firmly. "We always will, together. When it comes down to it, we'll get through it. Cross that bridge when we get to it, you know? We accept never being normal again."

Master Fu turned, and strolled over to his miracle box, lifting it and carrying it over to the duo, stopping right in front of Ladybug. With a proud smile, he expanded the box to her. "Marinette Dupain Cheng, I would be honored if you accept the ownership of the miracle box. I'd you would become the next guardian."

A shaky hand went and point to her chest. "M-me?"

He nodded, satisfied in his decision. "Yes. I'll have to teach you a few things, but I know you can do it. I won't be around forever."

A squeeze to her hand to reassure her everything would be okay, even though the tears burned at the implications of his words. "I accept."

And that was that, and they could breathe again. They could keep their miraculous. It would be okay.

And that was when Marinette realized that, even though she decided to give up being a full civilian ever again, sometimes, maybe it was actually okay to give up some things in life. You never know what other, better, things you might receive in the end.

This was definitely one of them.

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[eichy815]

Land of Missed Opportunity

For the past three years, I’ve penned an annual Independence Day piece discussion on what it means to be American – where we get things right, and where we need to improve.  Last year’s edition, entitled “Amber Waves of Pain,” served as an “Open Letter to the Entire World” from my quaint little lips.  In it, I acknowledge the many shortcomings of the United States...while simultaneously calling out other countries (along with any of their own nationalistic citizens) and challenging them to do better, for their own part.

One year earlier, I’d written a piece entitled “Star-Spangled Manners” that explored numerous reasons *WHY* so much anti-Americanism exists in our world.  The year before that, I wrote one about how blind patriotism amongst Americans is dangerous while simultaneously weighing the nuances of the pros and cons inherent within American culture itself.

Any of these op-ed articles of mine are relevant to what we are currently enduring, within the context of U.S. politics.  The next three years will comprise a major turning-point in American history...what happens during the 2018 and 2020 national election cycles could make-or-break us, collectively.

So today, I’m going to summarize six major areas in which our “beloved” U.S. government has failed our citizenry.  These failures have occurred due to a variety of factors:  individual greed, bad messaging, incomplete (i.e. badly-written) policy details, institutional corruption, “oppression-ranking,” mass media complacency, and lack of personal empathy.

None of these topical areas, in and of themselves, would magically fix all of our problems. However, if we gave each of these areas more focused attention...we could indeed undergo a truly transformative revolution.

AGRICULTURAL SUSTAINABILITY

In February, I launched The REGIS Initiative – an acronym that stands for Raising / Eating / Growing / Inventing / Sustaining.  It’s designed to be a multifaceted drive to confront aspects of food production, farmers’ rights, drought alleviation, environmental stewardship, and pollinator protection – in terms of legislation, education, public awareness, and the localized nonprofit sectors alike.

My main gripe is that the issue of sustainable agriculture has failed to become a significant part of our national discourse.  Whether this is by design or due to incompetence (or a combination of both) is, quite frankly, irrelevant; the point is that we need to get this issue “on the map.”

All of us should strive to become “Agri-Warriors” – conscious, proactive citizens who demand to our lawmakers that they design legislation, youth curriculums, and philanthropic incentives to achieve the outcome of affordable, plentiful groceries and healthy growing conditions.  This needs to be prioritized, at every turn, to avoid mass-inflation or food shortages.

It isn’t “socialism”...it’s about our survival!

ELECTORAL REFORM – NO, FOR REAL!

Whenever politicians invoke “electoral reform,” they are usually referring to the common solutions of term limits, campaign-finance reform, and overturning Citizens United.

The latter is a tall order (as is any U.S. Constitutional Amendment) that will take many years – perhaps decades – to achieve.  Campaign-finance reform sounds good, in theory; but will it become a backhanded way of preserving sectarian privilege on behalf of Democrats and Republicans?  Term limits are another nice theoretical concept, but implementing them won’t make one lick of difference (and, in fact, may only exacerbate current problems) without simultaneously enacting large-scale reforms to D.C.’s lobbying sectors.

What we should be focusing on, with much greater fervency, are alternative forms of voting.  Instant Runoff Voting (IRV), Approval Voting (AV), or Range Voting (RV) would be the most logical alternatives.  We should be looking to examples such as the entire state of Maine (along with select U.S. cities) that have offered up such new systems to voters.  The recent June 13 broadcast of The View initially featured this issue (via a joint campaign commercial from gubernatorial candidates Betsy Sweet and Mark Eves) as part of its daily “Hot Topics” segments; but then, before the cohosts could discuss it amongst themselves with any substance, ABC cut in with “breaking news” about the Mueller investigation (which, ultimately, was a “non-story” about how Trump attorney Michael Cohen had agreed that he would cooperate with federal investigators).  

I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but there’s no doubt in my mind that someone at ABC News intentionally disrupted/preempted The View’s potential discussion of Instant-Runoff Voting because, if other states begin to follow Maine’s example, it will probably disrupt and upend the two-party system (thus limiting the mainstream media’s ability to control the narrative).

MULTICULTURALISM...*ACTUAL* MULTICULTURALISM

In March 2017, I wrote a somewhat-controversial op-ed entitled “What No One Wants to Say About Racism.”  Many conservatives hated it because they don’t want to acknowledge the existence of systemic racism against people of color.  Many liberals hated it because they don’t want to acknowledge that some cultural and social forms of racism can additionally target white people.

I still contend that distinguishing between institutional (systemic), social (individual), and cultural (group-based) forms of racism will be the only way our society ever reaches any semblance of mutual understanding and cooperation.  Instead, too many people want to control the entire discourse on racial or cultural identities based on, narrowly, their own personal experiences and/or the personal experiences of those who they believe are getting a raw deal.  Or cherrypicked statistics that happen to “prove” their point.

Sometimes this manifests itself when folks insist that we all should be “colorblind” or how “the only race is the human race.”   At other times, people employ a “turnabout is fair play” philosophy alleging how it’s time for white people (or white-passing individuals) to be explicitly and pointedly targeted for discrimination, themselves.  Michael Eric Dyson – the classic example of a performance artist trying to pass himself off as “an academic” – epitomizes this toxic archetype.  

Not everyone should be expected to speak “on behalf of their race.”  And no one should be allowed to speak “on behalf of their race.”  Both systemic and personal experiences with racism need to be brought out into the open, keeping context in mind when looking at each occurrence.  No apologism for any of it.  No accusations that the narrator is making things up or “being too sensitive.”  No reducing those occurrences to “hurt feelings, ”political correctness,” or “cultural relativism” (and, thereby, writing them off). Not every person from a specific marginalized group necessarily has the exact same worldview.

As I discussed in my recent blog article, “Bigots Without Borders,” racism is a much more complex topic than either the Left or the Right would have all of us believe.

CRIMINAL JUSTICE REFORM

After we take that first step of maintaining productive conversations on race and nationality, we all need to become razor-focused on actual solutions. Otherwise, platitudes without results only keep these vicious cycles repeating themselves.

The most life-threatening forms of systemic racism – police brutality targeted specifically at people of color – need to be stopped through meaningful criminal justice reform.  The platform of “Campaign Zero” – originally constructed by founders and organizers of the #BlackLivesMatter movement – has offered up the clearest path for enacting those changes.

Yet, instead of embracing “Campaign Zero” and trumpeting its proposed solutions, many guilt-ridden Caucasian liberals/progressives seem to think that caustic virtue-signalling (as described in my editorial piece from this past April entitled “White Knights of the Oblong-Table”) against other white people is somehow the wisest approach in lieu of direct policy changes.  Such cluelessness and tone-deafness from these so-called “anti-racists” will only exacerbate racial tensions.

#SorryNotSorry, but that’s a reality.

ECONOMIC STABILITY:  A “PIT STOP” TO PROSPERITY

Much has been said about raising the minimum wage, cracking down on corporations, or even guaranteeing employment and a basic income to all Americans.  The two peskiest questions that seem to come up, amid this particular conversation:  how do we administer it, and how do we pay for it?

My friend and fellow Morpheus magazine columnist, Pasquale Neri, wrote about this scenario in an op-ed piece from this past May.  He proposes guaranteeing a universal income to every qualifying American by replacing it with an opt-in guarantee of $52,500 annually in lieu of one’s Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid benefits.  Unfortunately, his plan doesn’t address trickier confounding factors such as illegal terminations, geographic disparities, or limitations for citizens with disabilities.

Former Amazing Race contestant Justin Kanew – who is running for Marsha Blackburn’s open seat (Tennessee’s 7th Congressional District) in the U.S. House of Representatives – has floated a more workable idea that I myself have endorsed for many years now.  Rather than giving corporations lower tax rates right off the bat...why not offer corporate tax breaks as a REWARD for individual corporations that keep jobs stateside and add to the American workforce?

A lot of desire exists to raise the national minimum wage.  But not all industries are created equal.  Tell me with a straight face that an entry-level fast food worker and an entry-level computer programmer are equally deserving of $15 per hour.  Furthermore, American lawmakers have done virtually nothing to address the arbitrary taxation that hinders 1099 employees across-the-board.

Universal basic income, paid family leave, and The-Fight-for-$15 all sound lovely, in theory.  But, if implemented, what prevents these costs from being passed on to the consumers while driving up inflation?

IMMIGRATION REFORM

Two conflicting schools-of-thought, here:  “We are a nation of immigrants” versus “We must secure our borders by keeping out dangerous people.”

Nearly every politician claims to be in favor of “immigration reform.”  But what that reform itself literally involves – that’s dependent on the politician’s individual ideology.  I say – let’s pass a comprehensive immigration reform package that:   A.) mandates that people in the U.S. on work visas get paid wages identical to their American-born counterparts; B.) institutes a permanent renewal of DACA with clear and consistent guidelines; C.) incorporates a detailed and narrowly-defined version of The DREAM Act; and D.) establishes humane conditions for those seeking asylum from other countries.

When Democrats talk about “dismantling ICE,” they are usually referring to a broader goal of disempowering U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement from its current power abuses of indiscriminately detaining people.  We must also end the “Show Me Your Papers”-style exploitation of laws such as Arizona’s SB 1070.  In turn, the trend of “chain migration” needs to be ended by making it stricter and tougher for Americans to capriciously sponsor an extended relative for immigration status (without that potential immigrant having proven his or her skill set).

I’m also tired of hearing people on the Left blather:  “Everyone in this country who comes from a nonindigenous background is technically an ‘immigrant.’”  Um, no...everyone who is born in America (or who has at least one American-born parent) is automatically an American.  Isn’t that the principle used to deconstruct those unhinged claims from “birthers” that President Obama was somehow here illegally?  So you can’t have it both ways.  Even the earliest members of America’s Tribal Nations migrated to the North American continent from other parts of the world.  Plus, many indigenous tribes fought and enslaved EACH OTHER.  No one’s hands are clean, here.

We should be welcoming low-risk, qualified immigrants from every country (not just Norway, Donald!).  At the same time, people who claim to be “progressive” or “feminist” or “anti-racist” need to quit exploiting “white guilt”...meanwhile, right-wing fundamentalists and obnoxious neocons need to quit embracing white supremacy.

BROADER GOALS

Finally, if Justice Anthony Kennedy’s successor proves to be a conservative hard-liner who shifts the U.S. Supreme Court away from reasonable progress, Democrats need to campaign in 2020 on the promise that – under a Democratic president and Democratic majorities in both the House and Senate – they will increase the size of the Supreme Court from 9 to 11 justices.  This would be done in the name of judicial balance...particularly to neutralize any extremism if Justices Ginsburg, Breyer, or Sotomayor have to leave the bench within the next two years.

Call it the #TwoMoreRobes movement.  It would be historically unprecedented (FDR tried to do it – and failed – back in the late-1930s)...but, if the Far Right succeeds in securing a clear majority on the U.S. Supreme Court in the present, then the rest of us might not have any other choice.

LGBT people need better representation in all areas of public life.  The #MeToo movement needs to clearly become about sexual survivors taking back power from their abusers and predators...not this divisive binary that gets boiled down to “women-vs.-men.”

We’ve missed a lot of great opportunities for positive change in this country.  That’s why we must change the narrative itself.  That’s why we must put forth constructive policies as a clear rebuttal to the smarmy Talking Heads of cable news.

It’s obvious that power-hungry deviants wish to tear us apart for their own financial gain.  But that doesn’t mean we have to let them!

[ariannadi]

Why I Left

I’ve been contemplating writing this post for ages now, but I’ve always held myself back on the account of getting a shitstorm in response and since I’ve been through about five already, that’s really the last thing I want.

SO, where to start. Me leaving the DA fandom wasn’t just a split second decision. It was a long time coming, actually, from about two months into me being a part of it. I didn’t know that people were so aggressive about their opinions and world states but I quickly learned that was indeed the case.

The first bit of fire came when I started posting familial art and fic with Arian and Cullen. In just a short time I was getting anonymous messages telling me that I was being insensitive to people who didn’t want to see that stuff on the account of their own personal issues, and I was also being called a pedophile (yeah, that happened) because at the time I wasn’t very skilled with anatomy and Arian looked quite young when I drew her. For the record, my character was 23, and people were thinking she was like, 16 or something. But did they offer constructive criticsm? No, of course not. It was only when a friend of mine sat me down and informed me of what she was seeing from her viewpoint that I went, “Yeah, that does make sense and I should probably fix it.”

But of course after that I constantly stressed out about my art and screenshots, making sure that Arian looked appropriate so that people would stop harassing me about it. Eventually me wanting to share my ideas and creations just became “wow I hope people don’t attack me for this.” I mean, I DREADED checking my feed every day. That’s kinda sad? Especially when I just wanted people to get the fuzzies from my works.

Then came me getting caught in the middle of a war between two sides of the fandom, which has still resulted in a majority of them hating and blocking me (even though in reality I didn’t do a damn thing wrong). Basically two tumblr users were actively harassing others for multiple reasons and there was a group defending them and their actions, which included some of the higher ups in the fandom. I chose not to support said individuals because I had seen some of the awful things the original two were saying, so naturally I was pushed out of the circle. What are you gonna do. I’m not gonna stand by such behavior, I don’t know what else to say.

Annnnd the final straw. Most of you know I griped a lot about some of the questionable interpretations of Cullen I was seeing in fanworks (mostly cause it never failed to show up on my dash even with blacklisting), but I NEVER singled anyone out, nor did I ever harass someone, anonymously or no, over their works. But that didn’t stop someone from spreading word that I was indeed doing so. At that point I was just done. Basically if someone knew me as THAT bitch, I didn’t give a shit. I was done.

Fandom shouldn’t be so god damn stressful, but literally I was crying almost every other week over things that really didn’t matter because I wanted to be accepted and heard amongst the community. And it was awful. My depression spiked so many times because of it all and left me a bitter and snappy person, in turn. I hated being that way, and I’m sorry if anyone who interacted with me in those instances was hurt by the way I acted. At that point I was automatically going into defense mode when someone confronted me about something or other.

I’m definitely better now. I like being that person that checks in every now and then and posts the odd artwork or fic. Maybe I’m not getting as much circulation anymore, but honestly, being a higher up in the fandom was not worth the cost to my emotional and physical health.

That being said, one thing I’m sincerely grateful and thankful for is everyone I’ve met in the fandom, especially those I consider dear friends. You guys got me through some of the hardest parts of the last few years and I won’t ever forget it. I love you bunches. Like, lots and lots of bunches x3

Anyway, just wanted to share my thoughts. I’ll see myself out lol