#and i am of the opinion that cosmetic industries do not need to do this most of the time

[mush-dooms]

man I literally just got to work and I forgot I'm supposed to, um, disassemble? FIVE mouse spleens today?? like hey man I'm a vegetarian who doesn't even walk through the meat aisle at the grocery store and I don't particularly want to do this first thing in the morning

[madrigaljail]

Thing I am doing instead of writing (at this precise moment):

1. Considering finally starting my "initial Encanto census" spreadsheet, columns for name, age, marital status, occupation, and place of origin*. Realizing I did "widowed father with toddler son" twice by accident (caveat: Fidel Pezmuerto is not widowed and Juan is not his son bc they are fae cryptids probably) and generally getting bitten in the ass by things which I thought were funny two years ago.

(*2. Realizing I need a name for the town Pedro and Alma came from because that's where a lot of other folks - the Ortizes and Herreras and Chavezes and oh god all my names are cliche - came from too.)

3. What color lipstick would Bubo...not like but find tolerable? I know she finds presenting as femme uncomfortable that's why she's getting focus in the 'performance' prompt. It's probably her only makeup, definitely the only thing she brought with her- I need to figure out who makes cosmetics in the Encanto, yet another industry I think they'd have before an orphanage. Anyway I'm thinking a nice pinky coral shade would suit her, her Abuelita Maria* helped pick it out.

(*4. ....what happend to Maria in canon!verse?)

5. Not happy with Bruno's AU son's Gift. Maybe Xabador's an earthbender. Maybe I'll go back to the empath thing. *Alma voice* Illusions cannot help the community. Also dear god there's ANOTHER single dad with a son, what is going on.

6. Making this post. It's only quarter to eight in the morning on my day off. This is gonna be a slog.

........opinions on all of that welcome lmao.

[rollercoasterwords]

hie rae! i have query/a dichotomy about gender and shit that i would love you to share your thoughts on (if you feel like it, no pressure!). i remember someone once called you something like the "resident tumblr smart person" and you also seem knowledgable about gender (do you do gender studies?) but first i just wanted to say how much i love your fanfics! they're some of my favs ever honestly and thank you so much for writing them!

i remember someone once called you something like the "resident tumblr smart person" and you also seem knowledgable about gender

ok, so basically one of friends was staying at my flat a few days ago, i mentioned (jokingly) that i feel like a bad feminist when i shave my face but that i hate having hair on my face too much to not shave it. for reference i'm a brown cis women who has a fair amount of facial hair and i have been shaving my face since i was a teen. my friend (who's trans) pointed out that she also shaves her face regularly but that for her, its a form of gender affirming care and so would it be possible that its also that for me?. we're both really interested in gender and the elements of performance in it and so we spent ages talking about it and couldn't really come to a conclusion. the thing that i was wondering about especially is that when i do shave my face, it doesn't really feel like its affirming my gender - it feels more motivated by insecurity and the desire to conform. so do you think it would be possible that for cis women it is possible for shaving to be gender affirming or is it all a product of our socialisation/ the beauty industry?

sorry for the mess that this ask is, i hope you can understand it! thanks!  💙💙💙 

hi!! ty 4 the kind words i'm glad u like my fics <3 and i do in fact study gender studies lol there are of course many people v knowledgeable abt these topics tho it's not like i'm the foremost expert etc. happy 2 be ur tumblr smart person 4 the day tho & happy 2 share my thoughts!

so in the first place i don't necessarily think a distinction between trans/cis is useful here in determining whether something can/should be considered "gender affirming," nor do i necessarily think there's a strict dichotomy between "gender affirming" beauty practices versus "it's just socialized" or whatever. every woman is going 2 have different experiences with & reasons behind shaving, and oftentimes those differences will not map neatly onto a binary of trans/cis in which one side always finds the experience affirming and the other does not. additionally, all beauty practices are socialized in the first place & will often engender a mix of feelings that don't fit neatly into "this is 100% affirming" versus "this is absolutely not affirming in any way."

i think it's easy to say "shaving is just patriarchal conditioning for women and we need to stop to be good feminists!!" but that sentiment also fails to recognize that many women derive very real economic and social benefits by conforming to beauty standards, and many women furthermore find it necessary to shave to mitigate violence they might otherwise face. it doesn't mean it's a good thing that these standards exist (beauty in and of itself is always a tool of power imo), but it also makes it, in my opinion, kind of pointless to quibble over whether it's "feminist" to shave or not; each person faces their own set of material conditions that they have to navigate. also, the things an individual person chooses to do with their body hair really don't strike me as incredibly important in like...the grand scheme of Feminist Action, y'know? the entire question seems to lie more in the realm of like...personal feeling & decision making, and in that instance i am a supporter of total bodily autonomy. everyone picks and chooses their own battles when it comes to what beauty standards to adhere to; i don't shave my body hair, for example, but i'm scheduled to undergo a cosmetic surgical procedure in a few months, and for me there isn't a clear divide between the medical/gender affirming/socialized beauty standards reasons that i've chosen to do so. physical pain is one factor, but i'd be lying to myself if i said that i haven't been socialized to think about gender & the way it relates to my own body and appearance, and that that isn't factoring in as well. even if surgery is "affirming" for me, i still don't necessarily know that i'd call it a feminist action so much as something i'm doing to make my body easier to live in.

anyway, all that is to say--no, i don't think shaving makes you "a bad feminist." and i don't doubt your friend when she says that shaving is gender affirming for her. you both have different experiences when it comes to shaving, though, and if you've reflected on this and don't feel like shaving is something you really want to do, then maybe consider seeing what it's like if you stop--not to become "a better feminist," bc again, i don't think whether you personally shave is going to make or break Feminism, but bc it might make you happier. personally, my experience when i've stopped partaking in certain beauty routines or practices is that there's a period of insecurity at first which slowly fades as i've realized that most people really don't notice all the things about my body that i do. but that's my personal experience; if you decide to stop shaving and find that there are conditions in your life that make it too difficult, it's not worth agonizing over if you decide to start again, or to shave sometimes. in general i think this sort of individualistic emphasis on whether or not every single thing a person does is "feminist" is not useful tbh, nor do i think personal feelings of empowerment or affirmation are the best yardstick 4 measuring whether a certain action is "feminist"

[torchickentacos]

cmon cmon, talk shit harder, which youtuber was it, what did they do

JKHGKJDFNGKJDFGN okay so I won't say which youtuber because it's a fairly small one relative to the rest of commentarytube but I AM willing to give into rage a little bit. Context- I'd made a post saying that it bugs me that youtubers don't always research topics well before giving commentary on them, my example being cosmetic dentistry (which is an industry that has been under a lot of fire lately- the beauty industry and cosmetic procedure industry as a whole). My issue is with the way that youtubers spread misinformation and fearmongering about these topics and procedures for the sake of 'fuck beauty standards! look at me go! fuck the system! wooo!' rather than taking a realistic approach to these conversations.

I have strong feelings on this topic! I have Ehlers Danlos syndrome (I promise this is leading somewhere). Certain types of EDS have dental implications and complications, and I've struggled with them. I had braces in high school and despite following the care instructions by the letter, I ended up with significant and visible enamel decay around the brackets likely due to enamel hypoplasia (underdevelopment). I opted for a crown on the worst of them and veneers on a few others to cover the damage and as an extra layer of protection (though it's worth noting that veneers are largely cosmetic).

As such, when I see several videos being made with people going 'look what they do to your beautiful natural teeth for veneers :(' (before then showing the procedure for crowns or even implants and then speaking negatively about those who give and receive these procedures), I... have opinions!

It begs the question to me- was my choice a bad one because I played into a predatory cosmetic industry while also dealing with a genuine health complication? At what point are elective cosmetic procedures morally okay? What justifies them? Am I a victim of societal beauty standards or someone who made a good choice for herself? Both? I am genuinely happy with my decision. I haven't regretted it for a second. I've smiled more in the last few years than I have since I was a kid. But am I part of the problem like some people seem to imply?

I'm going to partake in some what-aboutism but I truly feel that it's relevant. What about other elective procedures? They're all exercises of personal autonomy. Are only some of those okay? The person who survived breast cancer doesn't need breast reconstruction on a physical level. Is it still justified? We've seen tons of people arguing about gender reaffirming/reconstructive surgeries even though they save lives. At what point do cosmetic procedures fall under that umbrella? What is and is not okay? What autonomy is and is not frowned upon?

My stance is that the cosmetic surgery industry is predatory and needs better regulation, but ultimately it's a person's choice. Sometimes that choice is influenced by outside factors when it shouldn't be but that's something that people need to take into account for themselves before deciding rather than a reason to make them illegal as I've seen some people put forth as an option. This is a precarious time to be messing with 'which elective procedures are okay and which aren't and which should be legal'. I personally would rather err on the side of personal autonomy in every situation possible.

I believe in a person’s right to cosmetic surgery as an extension of my belief in personal autonomy. I believe in viewing cosmetic surgery as a morally neutral decision. The industry is predatory but I think it also has the capacity to greatly improve lives. I think many things can be true at once and I think that the recent wave of commentary on the industry lacks nuance.

Caveats for if this gains any traction: I did not say that I think everyone should adhere to beauty standards. I did not say that I think the industry is great, actually. I did not say that people should uncritically accept the ideals that are marketed toward them. I did not say that elective surgeries are vital to happiness or presentation of any sort. None of what I said exists in a vacuum and there are infinite complications to my opinions and there are situations in which I might double back on myself, but this is just a general opinion.

[upton-sinclair-official]

About Me

My name is Upton Sinclair, and I am here to quarrel with the dangerously unregulated state of the US food and drug manufacturing industries. I have been made aware that in the nearly 120 years since I first attempted to bring awareness to the hazardous nature of manufactured foods and medications in this nation, there has been little progress.

In my day, anyone could sell anything and say it was a miracle cure, without disclosing the ingredients and their respective quantities or the safety concerns associated with the product. The manufacturer had no obligation to inform the consumer if the product even provided its promised benefits (which it rarely did). One could brand oneself a doctor and sell whatever bunk panacea they so chose, making whichever claims they felt like making, regardless of the verity of those claims. It was miserable. Americans were falling ill to deadly foodborne microbes present in their groceries, overdosing on untested, adulterated, and potent drugs in their cough remedies, sickened by heavy metals and radioactive materials in their cosmetics, and wasting money on do-nothing elixirs.

All of this spurred President Theodore Roosevelt to sign the 1906 Food and Drug Act, which granted Harvey Washington Wiley's Bureau of Chemistry the ability to oversee various areas of consumer safety. While threatened by idiotic judicial action and arbitrary divisions of regulation into multiple agencies (the Board of Food and Drug Inspection and the separate Referee Board of Consulting Scientific Experts), this was a major improvement. In 1927, the regulatory practices were reorganized into a new USDA body, the Food, Drug, and Insecticide Organization, which was later shortened to just the Food and Drug Administration. The FDA was later granted more powers with the 1938 Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act, further guarding the American consumer from toxic materials.

For a brief, glorious era the American consumer was finally able to rest knowing that the foods they ate and the treatments they took were regulated by a disinterested federal agency. It was never perfect, with concerns existing regarding supplements and compounded pharmaceuticals, but various amendments increased the government's ability to monitor the medications produced in the United States. The FDA could ensure that powerful medications were only available under the watchful eye of a trained professional, that marketed drugs had been proven to be safe and effective in scientific trials, and that drug studies conformed to safety guidelines. Later, the FDA made procedures for the approval of generic medications, giving consumers the ability to buy their needed treatments from different companies than those that invented the medication for a cheaper price, and started allowing promising new medications to safely bypass standard testing protocols in instances where speed was of the utmost importance.

Then came the supplement and compounding lobbies. The government caved to the demands of the multi-billion dollar supplement industry to have less regulation with the Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act of 1994. DSHEA has made it possible for "herbal medications" and "natural healing products" to be sold and advertised despite making false claims regarding health benefits, and has prevented the FDA from inspecting and regulating manufacturing conditions at supplement plants. The supplement lobby was able to turn the American public against the organization that secured their health and safety through ads laden with logical fallacies and ad hominem attacks, and, under the pressures of public opinion, a huge industry lobby, and corrupt politicians with personal stakes in the supplement industry, such as Orin Hatch (R-UT) and Tom Harkin (D-IA), the legislatures soon caved and passed this blow to American wellbeing.

Another blow was dealt to the FDA in 2013 with the Drug Quality and Security Act. This act was drafted as a response to a deadly 2012 outbreak of fungal meningitis caused by compounded spinal steroid injections made by the New England Compounding Center, which struck 798 injection recipients, typically people with chronic pain, and killed at least 100. Compounded medications are medications historically made in small-scale family pharmacies and therefore subject to lesser oversight. Compounding is often used in cases where different ingredients or dosages are needed for a particular patient, but loopholes in the laws and the political force of the compounding lobby have lead to a massive shadow industry of the semi-legal mass-production of compounded pharmaceuticals, made in factories that aren't subject to regular safety inspections, being shipped across state lines, with devastating effects. While the intentions of this act were pure, the initial draft was twisted by supporters of the compounding industry into a nothing law. The compounders are allowed to compound, overseen by inattentive and underfunded state governments, only they may now choose to be approved and regulated by the FDA. This is completely useless, as it's optional, and doesn't much benefit the compounding manufacturers. What does benefit them are the repeals of some restrictions that their industry had previously been subject to- now, compounding pharmacies are allowed to promote their wares through advertisements.

These legal changes have destroyed the FDA's ability to monitor two major components of the American medical product landscape. We were on the path of improvement, but we have now turned ourselves back around. The compounding and supplement industries are dangerous, and my goal is to continue my mission of keeping the everyman safe from experimental treatments, do-nothing money-pits, and predatory business practices.

It's time to rejuvenate the FDA.

Main Sources:

Dearen J. KILL SHOT : A Shadow Industry, a Deadly Disease. Avery Pub Group; 2022.

2. Offit PA. Do You Believe in Magic? : The Sense and Nonsense of Alternative Medicine. Harper; 2013.

[jackmcdornan]

Entry 3 - The importance of personal marketing, branding and your unique value proposition.

As we are in our final year at holmesglen and we settle into the career we are going to do once uni is done, we are going to be asked who we are and what makes us stand out. To get a better understanding on how to answer their questions when it comes to interviews in either internships or job interviews, we need to realise how important our personal marketing is and also our brand is.  

But first what is Personal marketing? In my opinion personal marketing is when we explain our strengths and our different skill sets to make ourselves stand out over others. I believe it is important because it allows us to get the upper hand on other people who may be running for the same opportunity's we are, it's a time we can finally flex our muscles and show how good we are, which is important when going for industry jobs.  

My brand would be someone known for their passion and love for sport, who gets everyone involved and loves working in team environments. I also pride myself as someone who is respectful at all times, no matter the situation but also quite confident to the people I'm comfortable with, Some things in my brand i have to improve on is my confidence in myself as i have sometimes struggled with task in the past and started to lack in self-belief, but as of late I'm getting a lot better in that and starting to believe in myself a lot more, also public speaking has been quite the trouble for me for someone very confident, but I think it goes hand in hand with the self-belief so maybe that will come.  

Social media is now important when looking at your personal brand, Isyanto et.al (2020) explained how branding within social media can connect the same way a personal brand can be shown as. Now when employers are looking you up online, they can find your social media platforms, so you must make sure it's professional, something I had to make sure to clean up as of late. But I am also trying to represent myself as a very outgoing and confident person, who displays personable and likeable characteristics, so it's important to try find a balance.  

Here is my instagram and making sure I have no inappropriate photos that might turn of employers.

Isyanto, P., Sapitri, R. G., & Sinaga, O. (2020). Micro influencers marketing and brand image to purchase intention of cosmetic products focallure. Systematic Reviews in Pharmacy, 11(1), 601-605. 

[tayousworld]

. The artist I assign to this assignment is. Ed Hardy 1995 Tweeter's Recovery. The five facts about the artwork are

o The artwork was created in 1995, shortly after Don Ed Hardy completed his addiction treatment.

o Hardy's own experience of recovery inspired the artwork.

o The artwork has been interpreted as a symbol of hope and resilience.

o The artwork is currently on display at the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.

o The artwork is part of the museum's permanent collection of prints and drawings.

Don Ed Hardy created the artwork in 1995, shortly after completing his addiction treatment.

When I first saw this artwork, I saw it as a powerful symbol of resilience and recovery. The bird struggles against the elements but is determined to reach its destination.

The symbols of hope and healing suggest that the bird will eventually succeed in its quest. The Red represents passion and courage, contrasted with blue and green in a stormy sea. The crown of thorns represents Christ's suffering, while the halo symbolizes holiness. The figure with a glowing hand signifies divine guidance. I still hold the same opinion after reading the author's artwork description. The artwork is a personal statement by Don Ed Hardy, and he has explained that the bird in the artwork symbolizes his journey through overcoming addiction. It serves as a reminder that no matter how difficult things may seem, there is always hope and a way to overcome adversity.

The art that I selected is that's vast. It's important to me because that was the first art that I created when I knew art was a sort of therapist to meA type of soil material called clay is made up of fine-grained minerals and has a high water content, which gives it a malleable and moldable nature. It can be found in a variety of colors, ranging from white, grey, and brown to red, yellow, and green, and is often generated by the weathering and erosion of rocks like feldspar and mica.

Ask

Numerous industries, including ceramics, building, agriculture, and cosmetics, frequently employ clay.

Due to its flexibility and capacity to maintain its shape when burnt, it is utilized in ceramics to create pottery, bricks, and tiles. Clay is used in construction to make adobe bricks, which are frequently employed in structures in regions with hot, dry conditions. I didn't use any media since I was exploring on my own yes, I find it beautiful because that's why my first try and I think I did okay and even perfection is not perfect.

The step taking

Collecting the clay.

Kneading the clay after removing any small stones.

Shaping the pot using a pot wheel.

Heating the pot to make it hard.

Decorating the pot if needed.

Reheating the pot to make the decoration stick to the pot.

Hello there! My name is Taisha, and I am a 22-year-old female who loves art, singing, and traveling. I am from Haiti and can speak three languages. When I am not having fun, I enjoy singing and painting. I believe that life is meant to be lived to the fullest, and I am doing just that! Follow me on my adventures for some inspiration.

[the-rainbow-lesbian]

With the greedy medical and cosmetic industry blatantly lying and praying on insecure people, it's no wonder the TRA movement has gotten to this point for so many people thinking it's no big deal and just completely out of touch with how serious it all is medically. But of course the fallout will come along, and they will try to blame the gay community for all the wealth they obtained while preying on people as if they were only of caring for mentally ill people and didnt know or they were also just victims who were pushed by the gays to do it. Their needs to be a stern readiness for when that happens, don't let them spin the backlash on us.

unfortunately it's not just the medical community trans activists themselves push the narrative that the surgeries are risk-free and mislead others into thinking the results are better than they actually are, and if you go through the surgery and suffer health complications and lose sexual function and talk about your experience then you would be shunned from the community altogether and silenced so people in the community don't re-evaluate and end up going through the same painful experience themselves, it's all very horrific, I can't think about it for more than two seconds without feeling sick, they're preying on mentally ill people who ignore everything else in pursuit of self-destruction hoping it will bring relief.

yeah it's on brand for trans activists every time they realize something they endorsed is actually bad they blame it on "terfs" or gay people it's a meme at this point, I am already very worried about how gay people are associated with the trans community and due to that the public has a bad opinion of us and I am not gonna sugarcoat it there are some misguided and foolish gay people who are complacent even at the detriment of their fellow gays and lesbians, we need to speak up and at first I side-eyed the LGB Alliance for allowing straight people a voice at their events when it could go to an actual gay person but when I thought about it, I hate to say this but we need our straight allies, gays, lesbians and bisexuals are a very small minority of people and when there is a backlash against trans activists we need straight allies and also evidence of our fight against harmful trans activism.

[yelenasdog]

it was a pleasure to burn (spencer reid x fem bau!reader)

genre: fluff i think even though the name is v angsty LOL it’s a literal screenplay with the amout of dialogue i wrote LMAO so idk

summary: a particularly rough and disturbing case gets to reader, and spencer and reader are brought together by this.

words: just about 6k (my longest fic ahhHH)

warnings: typical criminal minds gore and violence just up a notch, they get on a plane at the end, somebody gets ~shot~, somebody gets ~bonked~, cursing, mentions of reid’s addiction, and i think that’s it. also the reader wears reading glasses but that’s the only predetermined factor of appearance. btw i don’t think i used any pronouns in this but i apologize if i’m wrong. 

a/n: LMFAO i was outside awhile ago celebrating litha with a nice lil hike and i saw a butterfly and i had just started watching cm and was like hMMm... killer who’s obsessed with symmetry??!1??!? y Es. enjoy 😼 EDIT: THERE IS SO MANY PLOT HOLES OMG FBREHJBFHEJFRE IM RBFBRE

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

Present Day, Central Park, New York

“Aren’t they just stunning?” The unsub spoke, keeping her eyes trained on the butterfly sitting happily on her finger. The brightly colored creature fluttered off her hand that was dripping scarlet, flying around her curly head of brown hair. Her, formerly white, blood-stained dress flowed around her as she followed it, watching in awe as it soared about. She giggled, plopping down on the grass in the middle of a circle of her victim’s pale, lifeless bodies, all of them with ironically morbid butterflies resting upon the frail skin of the corpses.

“Aren’t they, agents?”

She slanted her green eyes, gripping the grass a little harder. I flicked my tongue over my lips nervously, looking over to the lanky man on my left. He simply shrugged, just about as sure of how to handle the situation just as much as I was.

“If I knew you all were coming, I would have cleaned up, I really would have, I promise.”

We slowly walked towards her, twigs and leaves crunching under our feet. It could have been comparable to a hunter stalking its prey, but it unfortunately was quite the opposite.

6 days earlier, Quantico, Virginia

“3 bodies, all found within the last 48 hours in rural New York. So far, the first body has revealed that although it was dumped upstate, the victim was murdered in the city, and the same most likely goes for the other bodies as well. Nails well manicured, no drugs in the system. They aren't junkies, we’re dealing with upper class citizens.”

My face contorted as I took the photos from Reid’s hands, his large and tanned one surprising me by how soft it felt as it accidentally brushed against mine. I blushed like a madman, looking to see him doing the same thing. I cleared my throat getting Rossi’s attention.

“Why are we only now hearing of this?” I questioned, flipping through the images as I did so, my confusion only growing. I didn’t recieve an answer, leaving my curiosity to bloom.

“Wait, how did you say they were killed again?”

Morgan looked up, taking the photos from me. “He didn’t.”

I sighed, pushing my glasses up on my nose.

“Is there at least any correlation between the bodies and the butterflies?”

Our attention was shifted to JJ, the resident expert on the insects.

“Actually, the ones being found with the bodies are from the Amarynthis family, all native to Latin America. They weren’t there by accident so yes, they’re somehow related.”

Rossi stood up, grabbing his coat.

“Well, none of this is nearly enough for a profile, so pack your bags and tell the others, wheels up in an hour. We’re headed to New York.”

4 days earlier, F.B.I. Field Office, New York, New York

“The final report from the latest victim is in, all the autopsies are clean. They show no signs of struggles, no marks, no blood, no anything. The eyes weren’t bloodshot, so suffocation is ruled out, and that was our best bet.”

I sighed, sliding the case file across the glass table to Spence as I took my seat, sinking into it and allowing myself to be consumed by its warmth.

“So what your saying is that we’re back at square one.”

I looked up at Hotch from where I sat, running my hand through my ponytail.

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

Just then, the young Doctor spoke up as he flipped through the pages.

“The eyes weren’t just not bloodshot, there was barely any blood left in any of the victims bodies, only about 3% of the volume left. The killer drained them.”

Morgan gave me a shocked expression, silently asking for an explanation.

“Which you failed to mention, Y/n.” Aaron spoke, agitation once again present in his voice.

I looked at the ceiling, crossing my arms in front of me before turning to face Hotch once more.

“Yeah, well, I thought it was obvious when I said no blood.” I stuttered out cautiously.

“On the bodies! Not in the bodies!” Morgan exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in what was in my opinion, very childish. Everyone else in the room aside from Spencer was either shaking their heads or pinching the bridge of their noses, and reasonably so.

“Look, I’m sorry I just didn’t see it in the report, plus, In the scheme of things, it just doesn’t seem to matter.”

I soon regretted my words, realizing how ill-fit they were for the current conversation I was having. Spencer looked up, tilting his head.

“Doesn’t seem to matter? How? There’s an endless amount of possibilities now that we know this. If we had known it sooner we probably could have figured out the pattern and caught the one doing this!” He harshly spewed, his voice acting like a crescendo of sorts, quiet and calm and moving towards a loud and violent tone. Tears began to prick at the corners of my eyes and I was starting to feel guilty, not to mention absolutely stupid as could be.

“I’m- I really am sorry guys, truly.”

Hotch locked eyes with me, taking a stern tone that one would usually take with a disobedient child, perhaps even Jack.

“I hope that’s a comfort to you when another body shows up. That’s their blood on your hands.”

I was frozen, the gravity of the situation taking its toll.

In the background I heard him say something to Morgan about a new profile having to be made as there were many new things to be known from this revelation. But it all went in one ear and out the other, just unpleasant white noise.

As I clumsily stumbled out of the room, I felt Reid’s eyes burning holes into the back of my brain. I was quick to turn my head to meet his glance, causing him to look down. I felt bad, the weight on my chest growing heavier from the interaction.

I sat down at my desk, turning on my computer and immediately going to google. I typed in “hypnosis” and let the info trickle in.

About 30 minutes later, I still felt absolutely horrible, but I had also put together a valuable profile in the time that had passed. I shut the newly finished file, blowing an abandoned strand of hair out from my eyes. I had to do a double take when I saw Spencer staring once more, his deep hazel eyes meeting my own. I gave him a small smile before standing up and walking to Hotch’s makeshift New York office. I pushed open the heavy door, placing the folder on his too-clean desk.

“What’s this?” He asked, taking it in his hands.

“My theory about the unsub. I think I know what she’s been doing. You can tell the team if you want, I’m not sure if they would wanna hear it from me. ”

He gave a small smile, pushing the file back over to me.

“You get the team together and I’ll get the local PD caught up. You tell them yourself.”

A few minutes later, everyone except for Reid had gathered in the meeting room. I peeked through the half closed blinds that allowed a line of vision to his desk in an attempt to locate him. He was positioned there, staring blankly at his laptop that appeared to have nothing on the screen. I knocked on the window lightly to catch his attention, his glazed over eyes looking in my direction. I tilted my head at him, silently beckoning him to join me. He only shook his in response, shaggy brown locks swaying back and forth. I sighed, frowning at his action. I turned to the group, clasping my hands in front of me.

“Everyone, this will just be a second if you’ll excuse me.”

With a raised eyebrow from Hotchner and a jab in the direction of Spencer’s workspace, I swiftly walked out of the crowded room.

“Spence, care to join us?” I asked, resting one of my hands against my hip, the other on his orderly desk.

“No, I don’t think I will. I need to try to figure this out before she finds her next victim.”

“What makes you think the unsub is a she?” I searched his eyes that had seemingly become brighter at my piqued interest in his hypothesis.

“Well, the unsub seems to be obsessed with symmetry, all the bodies being found in obscure yet symmetrical positions. This could suggest she had some sort of deep rooted insecurity, possibly from some sort of bullying from growing up in a small town where she was looked at as a superior for subpar looks. She moved to the big city, expecting a big break. Instead she was shunned for being less than average. She grew frustrated and as a result, she began her killing spree. The stresser could have been one too many insults that made her snap. Plus, that would account for the butterflies left on the scenes that are used in modern examples of both femininity and symmetry.”

I smiled widely at his words.

“What- why are you smiling, what are you smiling at?”

I tapped his desk, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth. I headed back towards the conference room, looking over my shoulder.

“Because, I’m glad we’re on the same page, Dr.”

——————

“So, our girl, as Dr. Reid has explained to us, is obsessed with her appearance. She’s an organized killer, no mistakes and no signs of blood or anything of the sort on scene. She has practice, she does this sort of thing every day. She is most likely in the age group of 23-30, and has a job in the cosmetic industry, our guess is in plastic surgery. She probably volunteers weekends at local butterfly sanctuaries or zoos, finding comfort in their perfection that those in her life, or formerly in her life, cannot and could not provide.”

“Which would explain to her easy access to non-native species of the insects. She has an absolute infatuation with symmetry, which yet again, links the butterflies on the crime scene to her MO.”

Spencer and I were vividly explaining our shared theory to the team, as well as local law enforcement. He was excited by his discovery and the lead on the killer, and his energy was contagious.

“She kills without remorse and out of jealousy, picking victims who all have one thing in common.”

Spence pointed to all of the images pasted on the board in the center of the room, all of them split in half and reflected, creating a perfect mirrored portrait.

“They all have perfectly symmetrical faces, as well as strong jawlines and high cheekbones. As most of these victims are models or those searching to start a modeling career, we believe she is luring them in with a photographer trope, promising to make their dreams come true.”

I nodded, taking a moment to study Reid’s own sharp yet somehow soft features. I allowed my eyes to wander over his sunken in, kind, and curious eyes; his pillowy pink lips that are in dire need of some chapstick.

“Agent?”

I turned my head, snapped back to reality by Rossi calling my name.

I gave a tight and quick smile, returning to the topic at hand and tactics to catch the unsub. But of course not before Emily gave me a crooked smile, resulting in me rolling my eyes.

“Physically, she’s nothing special, most likely a mundane appearance or one with quite obvious surgical changes. No in between. Check all of the plastic surgeon offices in the area for both employees who fit our description, as well as a patient who has gotten any serious facial mod operations. Do the same for any weekend volunteers at local zoos and animal sanctuaries, specifically working with any insects.”

It was an NYPD officer then that spoke up this time, raising her hand briefly.

“But, you still haven’t mentioned how she’s killing them?”

“Hypnosis.” Reid and I both spoke at the same time. He looked to his black Converse, sliding his hands into his pockets. I observed the room and all of the skeptical faces filling it.

“Even if it may sound far fetched, we saw no signs of anything that indicated a struggle or even any marks or wounds. This led us to believe that some form of hypnosis was used to allow her an easy kill. This means extra caution will have to be taken when actually handling the unsub. Even though we’re positive she’s using hypnosis, which method she is using to actually kill them after the fact is what we’re unsure of.”

I turned to Spencer, handing off the explanation to him.

“We think that because of her whole thing with symmetry, she wouldn’t want to disturb the natural state of the victims and their faces, even if she would do the same to her own.”

“Which means?” JJ asked, her blue eyes slanted and glossed lips left ajar.

“It means that the unsub wouldn’t want to leave any large marks like stab or gunshot wounds.” I nodded at Prentiss, who had made the assumption, confirming she was correct.

“With her presumed background in plastic surgery, we believe she was able to make small incisions that made no visible scars. We’re having the coroner look back over the bodies as we speak.”

“She drains the body’s blood 97% of the way before closing the holes up. What she does with the blood, we don’t know. Another Eddie Mays, perhaps.”

I looked over to Spencer, raising my brows at his comparison. He was quick to defend himself, shaking his hands left to right and mouthing “No” while simultaneously shaking his head the same way, something he seemed to be doing often as of late.

After we had finished consulting with any officers who had remaining questions, we branched off to conduct our own routine investigations. We found that the only thing they all had in common apart from the symmetrical faces, is that they all had visited the Central Park Zoo in the 24 hours before they were killed. We received a phone call from Garcia not long after we put together those pieces, being alerted that there was one girl who had, in her words, “Hit every mark there was to hit, sunshine.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

“Her name is Alessia Copelas, she works weekdays as a surgeon's assistant at Premier Cosmetic, and weekends at Central Park Zoo from 4-8 p.m.”

I smiled at the new info from the blonde bombshell known as Penelope, turning to Reid who was still looking at me quizzically.

“Alright, thanks babes, you’re the best.” I spoke into the phone, a comical “Mwah!” made from either side as we hung up.

He shook his head, keeping the odd look on his face.

“I swear, you guys have a weirder relationship than her and Morgan.”

I laughed, sliding my phone into my back pocket.

“Oh, please, Spence.” I gingerly placed a hand on his cheek, patting it twice.

“You’re just jealous.” I made a pouty face, letting my hand linger before walking off. “Come on, we’re going on a field trip.”

“Where to?” He asked, gripping the door frame, using it as leverage to swing himself closer to me. He took long and quick strides, catching up to me in no time.

“You like animals, right?”

———————

4 Days Earlier, Central Park Zoo, New York

As soon as we entered the zoo, our ears were filled with the sounds of the loud screeches of birds and monkeys alike. Reid covered his ears, cringing and making his displeasure known with an “Ahh!”

I smiled at his geeky behavior, admiring the animals in the enclosures. I paid special attention to a particularly impressive species of tarantula, leaning down to admire them. A few moments later I looked to my left and saw Spencer doing the same thing.

“Did you know that arachnids have asthma which is why they don’t run for extended periods of time, similarly to cheetahs?”

“Yes I did.”

His face scrunched up in an adorable manner, causing an involuntary giggle to fall past my lips.

“Well did you know that-“

“Ma’am?”

I turned to see a young woman with flaming red hair and a freckled face smiling at me, her green collared uniform top complimenting her eyes of a different shade wonderfully.

“Oh, hi, I’m Agent Y/l/n and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.”

Her expression shifted to a more confused one, her smile not leaving her face.

“What can I do for you two?”

“Is there an Alessia Copelas that works here, maybe volunteers on the weekends?” Spencer asked, his puppy dog eyes immediately warranting a response.

“Yeah, she volunteers here, she seems nice. Is she helping with an investigation?”

“Well we think that she may have some part in a series of murders.”

Her smile disappeared this time, turning into a cement frown as panic flooded her body.

“Oh God, was she- Is she a killer? Have I been working with a killer for all this time? I mean, I never had any shifts with her but from what I heard I thought she was so sweet-“

“Look,”

Reid glanced down to her name tag that read “Lillian” before meeting her eyes. His tongue darted out, licking his lips, a nervous habit of his I’d picked up on.

“Lillian, we aren’t sure if she’s the killer we just needed to get a feel on her and get some information regarding her personal life.”

She started frantically nodding her head, more trying to convince herself she was okay rather than ourselves. I looked over her shoulder at some exhibits, thinking to myself how this would end up being a waste of our time if this poor girl couldn’t get a grip on herself.

I was soon proven wrong when I looked over to see a young girl wearing an identical uniform to Lillian, probably somewhere between 23 and 24. She had untamed chocolate locks with bangs that stopped just above the shoulder, blemishes covering her T-Zone, and a rounded face to go with it.

The cherry on top? Under her arm she carried a small enclosure with what appeared to be amarynthis meneria, the same butterflies found on the victims.

I tapped Reid on the shoulder once as discreetly as possible, catching his attention. I heard him mutter a small “Oh God” before he told Lillian to walk away calmly and quickly. She ignored his request, turning to look at Alessia, letting out a blood curdling scream and sprinting the other direction.

“Shit.” I cursed, beginning to walk towards Alessia, Spencer by my side. I smiled at her, trying to appear friendly. Reid spoke up as we got closer.

“Hello, do you by any chance-“

wham!

“Spence!” I exclaimed, reaching down to help him up from where he had fallen from being whacked by the 4’2 pyscho that was Alessia Copelas.

“Did she get away?”

I turned to see her gone, the only sign she was even here being the forming bruise on the Dr’s face.

“Yeah. She did. I’m sorry, Reid, that was really stupid of me.” He shook his head, running his own hand over the raw skin.

“It’s fine, I would have done the same for you.” He looked up, and I wasn’t sure if it was my school-girl esque crush on him or the fact I just had another experience with a serial killer, but my heart was racing nonetheless.

————————

F.B.I. Field Office, New York, New York, 1 Day Earlier

The stress levels in the room were high.

Despite our best efforts, several more bodies had been found, New York’s narcissists were in a state of panic, and the spirits of the BAU were down to say the least.

“What? Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed, looking at Hotch in disbelief.

He rolled his chocolate eyes, fanning the folder containing the new information we had gathered on Alessia.

“I wish I was, Y/n. She’s off the grid completely, her apartment is empty, phone and credit cards have been deactivated, and the surgeon’s office hasn’t heard from her for 5 days. And the media has decided to give her the name ‘Butterfly Baron’, so she’s probably been fueled even further. We need a new lead before she strikes again.”

I scoffed, standing up and pushing my chair away.

“This is unbelievable. How many times do we have to reinforce the idea to local PD! Especially when the unsub is a self absorbed psycho, do not give them a name! God, I really cannot fathom this.”

I reached up, letting my hair down from where I had messily thrown it up upon my arrival to work that morning.

I stormed out of the room, my heels clicking behind me. I ignored Hotch’s calling of my name, making my way to the closest restroom.

I went in, locking the door behind him. I ran my hands through my roots, tugging just enough to where it hurt.

Turning the water to the left all the way, I splashed it from the stream leaving the faucet on to my face. I scratched my fingernails against the skin, wiping away the tears that had escaped.

“This is all your fault, y/n.” I whispered at myself in the mirror, doing my absolute best to engrain the message in my brain. I had my head hung in shame when a knock rang out.

“Y/n?”

It was Spencer. My mind started going a million miles a minute, thinking about why he could be there. With my voice raised a few octaves, I tried to scrape up a response.

“I’ll be out in a few, Spence.”

It was quiet for a split second, leaving me to foolishly dance around the idea that he had left me to wallow in my sorrowful thoughts.

“Y/n, Hotch wanted me to check on you. Are you ok?”

My heart slightly sank at the idea that he might’ve just come to check on me because he himself was worried. I discarded the thought, bringing myself back.

“Y/n can you please answer me? If you don’t open the door I’m gonna send in JJ or Emily.”

I sighed, wiping under my eyes where my mascara had smudged, begrudgingly walking over to the door. Just as my hand landed on the silver handle, his voice that was constantly playing in my head echoed out once more.

“Y/n, please? I need to know you’re okay. I’ll come in there myself.”

A soft smirk graced my face as I turned the handle to reveal a worried looking Spencer.

“Y/n, oh God, you had me worried.”

He was quiet when he spoke and his hair looked messy, like he had been running his slender fingers through it in a stress filled state.

I sniffled, attempting to still keep back tears that were still threatening to spill.

“I’m alright, Spencer. Really, I’m fine.”

He gave me a small smile, his eyes meeting my own.

“I know, it’s just that when I had my Diludad problem,” he hesitated.

“I would lock myself in bathrooms to shoot up, and I know you aren’t having a problem like that but I just was worried about you- what are you doing?”

I cut off his rambling by throwing my arms around his middle. He tensed, but quickly melted. He wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders and my waist, laying his head on mine.

“Y/n, I promise you, you’re doing your absolute best to stop Alessia. We wouldn’t even be where we are right now if you hadn’t made the connections. Those deaths are not your fault.”

My tears finally began to cascade like a waterfall, staining his shirt.

“I know, but it’s just like it is all my fault! I could have paid closer attention, or-or, I could have went after her at the zoo, it’s all my fucking fault, Reid.”

I sobbed into his shirt, my hand gripping his shirt like my life depended on it. Like if I let go I would fall into a deep, deep, endless hole.

His hand on my waist moved up to cradle my head.

“It’s not, I promise you-“

He was cut off mid sentence by the ringing of his phone.

“I am so, so sorry-”

I pulled away, breifly touching under my nose with my wrist, then moving a hair behind my ear.

“Nope, it’s fine, don’t worry.” Our words almost had overlapped each other as we clambered to fight the tension that had risen. I closed my eyes, tilting my head up, thinking about how unprofessional yet intimate our previous position had been. How wrong, yet how right it felt.

I kept running the moment through my head, the feeling of his warm figure encasing mine on replay.

His phone call played as background noise to the film playing in my brain, his voice calming me to an extent.

“Yeah, we’re on our way. Thanks, Morgan.”

He closed the phone with a snap, also snapping me out of my trance, putting the movie on pause.

“They’ve got a hit. Copelas was seen dropping by her old apartment.”

And for the first time since that Goddamn case had started, I smiled genuinely.

“Let’s go get her.”

————————

15 Minutes Prior, Central Park, New York

“Hotch?”

“Yes?” He looked back from where he was driving, following our lead in a rushed manner.

“What will we do if she...” I trailed off.

“Hypnotizes one of us?” He finished for me. I nodded solemnly.

The look on his face was conflicted and it took him a moment to come up with a response.

“We kill her before we have to kill one of our team members.”

He saw a look of uncertainty on my face and spoke up once more.

“And that’s an order.”

I nodded again, making eye contact with him through the rear view mirror. I fell back into my seat, closing my eyes briefly.

After a few more minutes on the road, we had arrived.

The doors all slammed to the SUVs, one after the other as we stepped out.

“The letter said that she would be here, somewhere here.”

The voice of Morgan was channeling through my earpiece, referring to the letter found at her apartment that she had left just for us.

“We ordered evac on citizens, correct?”

The unsure voice of JJ was also heard through the earpiece, her uncertainty quite unusual to hear.

“Yes, it was the first thing we did, Jayj.”

I whispered, a sly smirk from Spencer forming at my behavior.  

“Oh shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

snap!

Our senses adapted, becoming dialed to 11 at the sound of a twig snapping under someone's feet.

“Was that you?” I mouthed to Spencer. He shook his head no and I silently cursed to whatever force was listening.

I nodded, which he then reciprocated, the pair of us slowly walking towards the source of the sound after he did.

“They’re going to remember me, I’ll go down in history.”

The voice was sing-songy and quiet, floating through the air. I took a shaky breath, continuing my steady pace.

My breathing momentarily halted soon after.

Different variations of “Oh my God”s, and loud gasps from almost everyone on the team flooded my ear canal at the horrifying sight in front of us.

Red. So much of it.

“Guys, I think we know what she’s been doing with the bodies’ blood.”

“No shit.” I muttered under my breath.

She was bathed in the blood, it looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

“Alright everyone, I want you to approach her as quietly as possible, Morgan, if you get the chance, corner her.”

Hotch’s voice was a stark contrast to her own, Derek’s response all the same.

—————————

Present Day, Central Park, New York

“But Agents, you still haven’t answered my question. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Alessia Copeleas, FBI, come on, get up, lets go.”

Derek’s voice was stern, not asking, but demanding that Alessia come with us.

“I’m afraid I just can’t do that, Agents.”

She stood up abruptly, causing all of our weapons to rise. The sun reflected off of the silver metal of Reid’s gun, sparkling in a stunning way that caught me off guard.

We all were trying to act as if we were in total control of the situation, but we could tell that us nor Copelas really believed that. Her words were her weapon, and this was the one time where words could hurt, but sticks and stones had virtually no power.

“Take another step and we will have no hesitation to fire.”

She smirked, rolling her eyes.

“If you do, will I be famous you think? You think they’ll hear about me back home?”

Her curls softly blew in the wind, making her appear almost harmless, maybe even endearing, if it wasn’t for the hardening coat of human blood soaking her clothes and seeping from her skin.

“Is that what you want? The kids back home and everyone here to hear about you? You want ‘Butterfly Baron’ written on every billboard in Times Square, your picture painted in museums, films to be made in your honor?” Reid was the one who spoke up this time, his voice remaining strong. Her eyes shone with a sickening excitement at what he said.

“You want to be famous?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Too bad.”

My eyes widened, surprised at the detour the conversation had taken.

“What-what do you mean?”

“Please, the only thing people will hear about is a sad, boring little girl from a small town who killed to feel better about herself. They’ll forget about you in a week, who knows, maybe they’ll even grow an infatuation with your town, someone you went to school with may get as lucky as to catch their big break!” He laughed, while Alessia looked absolutely devastated.

“You? You’ll be a nobody.”

“That’s not true! I’ll go down in history, and they won’t! I’m the fucking butterfly baron for hells sake! All these people?” She gestured towards her field of bodies.

“You won’t remember their names, maybe not even their pretty faces, but me? I’ll live forever.”

Her nostrils flared and she strode over to Reid with purpose. The safety on my glock clicked off, but Spencer motioned for me to wait. So I did.

“You know, Agent-“

“It’s Doctor.”

This visibly agitated her even more as she started her sentence over again.

“Doctor, you have a beautiful bone structure. Absolutely perfect. Symmetrical, not to mention just flat out stunning.”

A glaze formed over Spencer’s honey eyes at her words. He lowered his gun momentarily before turning towards me, Copelas doing the same.

“And you, Agent. Wow. I feel like I’m in an art exhibit, you’re gorgeous. I think the Doctor man here would agree.”

As he lifted his revolver at me, the situation became all too real as I understood what was happening.

I either had to shoot the man that I was struggling to admit I was beginning to love, or died at the hands of the very same man.

Tears flooded my eyes, all safeties were turned down, and all guns were pointed at Reid.

“Spence, please.”

My voice was weak, something that seemed to bring Alessia lots of joy.

She laughed before talking again, commanding Spencer.

“Pathetic, really! Spence”, she mocked,“shoot her.”

“No!”

bang!

whack!

--------------------- 

Present Day, Somewhere In The Sky, The Jet

I opened my eyes from where I had been tackled to the ground by Hotch, surveying my surroundings to see Alessia laying on the grass, the source of her gunshot wound non-distinguishable from the previous blood on her body.

I looked to the right to see where Spencer had crumpled to, his frame bent in a discombobulated position.

“Spencer!” I cried out, crawling over to him like some sort of dog,

“What happened to him?”

“Y/n, he was going to shoot you-“

“I don’t care you should have let him!”

I cradled his head in my lap, allowing my pent up tears to fall.

“Y/n?”

My eyes snapped open for real this time, my mind calmed at the sight of Spencer sitting next to me on the couch, gently shaking my shoulder in an attempt to wake me from my nightmare.

“Spencer! Sorry, was I too loud?”

He chuckled, gesturing to the rest of the sleeping plane around us.

“You’re fine, I wasn’t sleeping, I decided to reread ‘Fahrenheit 451’ for nostalgia purposes. And you weren’t that loud, you just looked like you were having a bad dream.”

I chuckled at the not-so outlandish idea in an attempt to diminish it from his mind and move on.

“I’m fine. But fun fact, I did have nightmares after reading ‘The Veldt’. Seriously, I don’t get how you can just reread Bradbury’s stuff all the time.”

The genius scoffed, starting a rant on how Ray Bradbury’s storytelling was just classic literature and deserved to be reread, thus successfully changing the topic as I hoped my statement would. Although soon after, he caught on much quicker than I would have liked him to.

“And not to mention, The Veldt alone could be seen as a forewarning to the 21st century and beyond, even Bradbury himself supported that interpretation-‘

I gave him a tired smile, enjoying his rambling like I always did.

“-and you totally just got me to change the subject.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna catch up.”

“Hey!”

He laughed as I rested my head on my hand, trying to fall back asleep.

“Really, I can tell those nightmares are bad. What’s going on?” He questioned, his tone empathetic and compassionate.

“It’s nothing, Reid. I just keep seeing in the park, when Alessia got shot and you-you got hurt but instead of getting up like you did in real life, you just…”

I trailed off, not wanting to relive the negative dream any longer for fear of the tears that were pricking my eyes escaping.

“It’s okay, that didn’t happen, I’m right here.”

He pulled me into a hug, allowing me to bury my head in the crook of his neck, his warmth consuming me once more, a sequel to the film from earlier.

“I know, but what if it hadn’t?” I asked as I pulled away.

He shook his head, reaching for his wallet.

“In this job, this course of work, we can’t focus on ‘what if’s’. In this job, we also get nightmares, all of us. It happens.”

He slid a picture over to me, it was of a happy family. The edges were worn from years of being carried, but the picture seemed loved.

“Gideon gave me that when my nightmares started. He told me about how those families we save everyday, and how that’s what makes what we do worth it. And I know you didn’t know Gideon personally, or the work on the specific case with that family, but I want you to have it anyway-“

I cut him off by throwing my arms around his neck, attempting to speak despite being muffled by his fluffy sweater.

“Thank you, Spence. Truly.”

I smiled, and I imagined he was doing the same.

“No problem y/n. Anytime.”

I moved my legs over to be tucked underneath my arms, leaning into Reid. He wrapped his arm around me, also leaning in. We both managed to fall asleep for the remainder of the ride in our state of content, but not before he managed to sleepily call out my name.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“When we land do you wanna go on a date or somethin’?”

I smiled at him, separating from his form just long enough to see that beautiful face of his.

“Without a doubt.”

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

AHAHAHHAHAHAHA I’M WAY TOO HAPPY WITH THAT LMAOOO but anyway chile- 

i don’t have some long ass paragraph to write this time omg wig, i’m just proud asf of my work for once (except for the zoo part ngl kinda didn’t like it😳) 

😛✨vibes✨ love u, xx hj

[himikiyo]

love they say // himikiyo week day 3

Himikiyo Week Day 3: Fashion + Makeup 

When dedicating an evening to something, wasn't it best to just go all the way with it? It wasn't as if they had many other calming activities, nor did they have any more pressing matters to attend to. Spending time together and enjoying a bit of peace was all that mattered.

Doing each other's makeup is always a pleasant way to spend time.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

A warehouse wasn’t the most traditional place for a date. It was full of cramped, cluttered shelves, illuminated by harsh, industrial light. There was nowhere comfortable to sit. It was more likely than not that someone would interrupt — Himiko was expecting the door to burst open at any moment. She’d be lucky if it wasn’t Tenko. Despite all of that, there was nowhere else she’d rather be at the moment.

“I’ve always found it impressive how well stocked this place is. It seems our captors truly are prepared to keep us here as long as necessary.” Korekiyo leaned against the nearest shelving structure, arms crossed. “Not only do they cater to everyone’s preferences when it comes to the essentials, like food and clothing, they provide near-endless entertainment and luxuries. It’s fascinating.”

“Everything’s restocked so often too,” Himiko chimed in. “I’ve never heard anyone complain about being out of something.” And yet, how were new supplies delivered? Nobody had ever witnessed it happen, nor were they aware of any potential entry points, aside from perhaps the end of the underground tunnel they were never able to get through. It was a question that had crossed her mind more than once, and one that Korekiyo voiced as soon as she thought of it again.

“However are they able to make deliveries undetected?”

“They must have powerful magic,” she said solemnly. “Invisibility and space-type magic? It’s not easy.” The truth, of course, was that she had no idea. They both knew that, but Kiyo always played along with her magic-themed excuses. It was one of the many things she loved about them.

“Well, if even an expert mage thinks it would be difficult, then they must be formidable opponents indeed.”

“We’ll all defeat them and get out of here someday though. I’m sure of it.” She closed the distance between them in just a few steps, winding her arms around Korekiyo’s waist and leaning her head against their chest. Feeling their arms wrap around her in return, she was content to just stay there for a few moments, savoring their embrace.

“I agree. And to me, how long it takes is of little consequence. With plenty to observe, and you by my side, I am content. My other goals can be...put on hold temporarily.”

“What kinds of goals? You mean the stuff you have to do for your sister?” Despite having spent months getting closer and closer, Himiko still didn’t know what those goals were. Korekiyo was cagey about their past. No matter how much she pushed, it felt like they were always holding something back. They had an older sister who died, but she didn’t know when or how. They had a mission they apparently promised her they’d complete, but Himiko didn’t know what it was. There was always more to learn. She was doing her best to be patient.

“Yes, precisely.” A bandaged hand carded through her hair once, twice. Gentle, yet somehow perfunctory. “No need to focus on such topics right now though. I believe we’re here for something else, aren’t we?” There was a hint of playfulness creeping into their voice, and when Himiko pulled back a little, she could see the slight crinkles in their mask, suggesting that they were smiling beneath it.

“Yeah,” she said, lips quirking into a smile in return. Despite how long they’d been lingering there being affectionate, the warehouse wasn’t actually the main destination for their date. It was just a necessary stop along the way. They had to pick up a few things for their cozy evening together. “Shall we?”

It seemed they hardly needed reminding. The words were barely out of her mouth by the time Korekiyo was turning to inspect the shelf in front of them. They stayed at a cozy distance though, brushing against her side every time they moved. Surprisingly enough, the little cosmetics section wasn't as picked over as one might think. Everyone either didn't care about such things at all, or could take things in moderation. The one exception to that might have been Miu, but she was just one person among sixteen. Their date wouldn't be ruined by her.

One by one, different shades and formulations of makeup were plucked from the shelf and placed into the bag Kiyo brought. They took turns picking things out — a tube of brightly colored lipstick here, a shimmery eyeshadow there, until they had a nice collection of things. Not only makeup, but nail polish and hair accessories too. When dedicating an evening to something, wasn't it best to just go all the way with it? It wasn't as if they had many other calming activities, nor did they have any more pressing matters to attend to. Spending time together and enjoying a bit of peace was all that mattered.

"I think these would look cute on you," Himiko announced, holding up a small set of barrettes. They seemed to have a Halloween theme — little ghosts, bats, and jack o lanterns. Though the style was much more cutesy than their usual macabre aesthetic, she thought it would be nice to see anyway. In her opinion, creepy-cute was pretty much Korekiyo's whole thing.

"You think so?" they echoed, a thoughtful hand cupping their cheek. "Are they even seasonally appropriate?"

At that question, she had to pause, biting her lip. She wasn't sure, she realized. After so long inside the academy, it was sometimes difficult to keep track of the days. The fake outdoors always looked the same, but that didn't mean much inside the dome encasing them. Couldn't the 'weather' be whatever the kidnappers wanted it to be? It felt like it should be autumn by now.

Before she could speak, Korekiyo beat her to it.

"My apologies, Himiko, dear. It wasn't my intention to remind you of any unpleasant thoughts. Halloween is lovely no matter the day." They seemed genuinely sheepish, or as close to it as they ever got, which was only ever around her. She brushed it off though, shaking her head and tugging them into a brief, sideways hug.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. If we have enough, let's just get out of this warehouse before someone comes by to distract us," she said. "I don't feel like sharing you tonight." Just as she predicted, that seemed to make them smile behind the mask.

Once they’d returned to Kiyo’s dorm room, it was time to get to work. The stash of supplies from the warehouse was on the bed, and the tea set was laid out on their desk, faint ribbons of steam curling up into the air. Self-care night was in full swing.

Himiko herself was settled on the bed too, watching them sift through the bag of makeup. With this, much like everything else, they were meticulous. Picking something up and putting it down again, humming under their breath, then repeating the whole cycle again, as if planning to paint a priceless canvas rather than just do her makeup for fun.

“You’re so beautiful,” they crooned eventually to break the silence, partway through applying her eyeliner. She couldn’t even look at their expression, only able to imagine the downright hungry grin she’d seen on their face before. She could only sit there, light pressure and cool ink being drawn along her lash line in what she knew would be two perfect wings.

“I think you’re mostly responsible for that. If you weren’t an anthropologist, I bet you could be a makeup artist.”

Korekiyo chuckled, airy and melodic.

“I’m pleased you think so highly of my skills, but that was not what I meant. You’re beautiful both with and without makeup. I’m an artist only insofar as I’m permitted to work on a piece of art like you.” The gentle sensation of the eyeliner pen retreated, and she heard the soft click of them capping it. Able to open her eyes again, she did so, greeted with just the expression she expected. Their cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, and a needy sort of look that was nowhere near as innocent as it ought to be.

“You’re so...” She choked back a wordless sound, heavy with affection and bewilderment. It wasn’t the first time they’d said something like that to her, but she doubted she’d ever get used to it.

They shushed her gently, something that had no right to be attractive, but very much was anyway. It wasn’t a gesture of condescension. No, if anything, she typically felt like the one in control. They protected her, yes, but often played the role of supplicant, eager to give in to her every whim and desire. There was something driving them beyond simple affection and desire, some deep-seated something that she couldn’t yet understand, but she welcomed it.

Bandaged fingers slipped under her chin to tilt her head up slightly, other hand opening a tube of lip gloss. It was a deep berry color, rich and eye-catching. The scent was fruity too, sweet like strawberries. Even as they gently swept the applicator over her lips in tiny, perfect motions, she found herself thinking that it would look lovely on them too, a little different from the shades of crimson they typically favored.

Kiyo must have been thinking the same thing. They paused, frowning thoughtfully after what she knew wasn’t an error. Their hands were too steady to slip, and she would have felt it if they did.

“Ah, my mistake,” they said anyway. “Allow me to fix that.” Rather than reaching for something to wipe away the nonexistent smudge with, or even using their finger, they leaned in and kissed her. As her arms wound around them, lips parting, their tongue darted out to catch a taste, berries and earthy matcha mingling together.

“I think you might need to start over,” she said when the kiss was eventually broken, reaching out to wipe a smear of dark purpley-pink from the corner of their mouth.

“Yes, I suppose I might.”

[rollercoasterwords]

REAL!

it’s so so so cliche but when people say “our bodies are maps of where we’ve been etc etc” my little heart peels itself off of the floor from where it has been slowly decaying in a blistering dessert and does a feeble little jig because it’s just so very!!!!!

like i want to examine every single little part of someone that i’m attracted to in a raw sense

i am not exempt from appreciating aesthetic beauty like bffr david boreanaz as angel will always make me swoon, but just like you said about the cake analogy, a fondant cake you see on insta always feels likes somethings off

it’s so lovely and pretty but you can sense the insides probably gonna be a bit dry and maybe the cake needed that but more vanilla extract and actually do you really want to cut into it? i mean you worked so hard to make it look so so pretty.

and then you pull a slightly undercooked, and yet very over cooked cake from the oven and you slap a bit of icing on it and it’s just so very delightful.

in no way am i trying to feed into the whole “pretty people have no personality” bullshit narrative, but when you idolise this perfectionist beauty and use it as a standard instead of appreciating the natural i feel like you kinda just corrupt the whole meaning of what attractiveness actually is

no yeah exactly!!!! like. yeah. the beauty industry and all it's branches (skincare, cosmetic, diet, fitness, wellness, etc) have just. very much conditioned us 2 think that so many things that are a natural part of humans + what makes us sexy are "problems" that need 2 be fixed and in doing so i feel as though we are being constantly brainwashed 2 think that attraction is like. instagram photos. pinterest boards. like where's the meat where's the blood what here can i actually sink my teeth into....

(also "natural" not 2 be confused w the rhetoric of like. divine feminine/masculine ~~ohh never alter ur body~~ as like. tattooed trans person seeking surgical body alteration lmao. but natural as in like. the way the world leaves its marks on ur body is beautiful and the way ur body shapes itself according to the world is beautiful and the things we are often told are ugly problems that need 2 be solved are often the things that are sexiest abt us. in my humble opinion.)

[huanwanchens]

XiCheng Fic Recs

Fic recs featuring XiCheng with some side pairings. I decided to do this list so I can keep track. Basically, these fics are extra long coz the bitch in me doesn’t like to read short fics lol. All are complete works though. I hope this helps my fellow XiCheng shippers! I am a bitch for XiCheng and I am proud? LOL

Little Lotus by RennieOnIceCream (XiCheng mentions of WangXian)

Summary: If one asked Lan Xichen about having children a few years ago, he would’ve said the idea of a family was nice, but it was entirely impossible for him.

Having the leader of the Jiang Sect for a partner, he should’ve known -- impossibilities were always achievable.

Mpreg XiCheng fic that is light and fluffy! This is more like the journey of pregnancy featuring XiCheng.

Wish That You Were Here by Achromos (XiCheng, JingYi)

Summary: Ever since he was young, Jingyi knew that he was missing a parent. The thing that bothered him the most about this was that his a-die was clearly suffering and lonely. At first, he had to settle for stories of his fuqin - the First Jade of Lan, a beautiful and powerful cultivator. But then he was sent to study in the Cloud Recesses, where he met the other side of his family. He was determined to find out why his parents won't speak to each other; what happened fifteen years ago. How he can perhaps mend the rift between them.

A fic where Jingyi is XiCheng’s love child. So much angst and it hurts.

Broken Mirror by akanezora (XiCheng AU side WangXian)

Summary: When Jiang Cheng left Lan Xichen life, he brought a secret with him. Years later, Lan Xichen caught up with that secret. (Jingyi as Xicheng Lovechild)

A fic where Jingyi is XiCheng’s love child in Modern AU. This is just so cute with a little bit of angst on both sides also, WangXian is a side pair here.

Being An Uncle Is Anything But Easy by TheWildJoker (XiCheng)

Summary: Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Cheng, Sandu Shengshou, uncle of Jin Ling, brother of Jiang Yanli. He held many titles, and worked with many different hats, but the thing in his life that was missing most was someone to assist him in his struggle at raising a barely month old, orphaned child. Cue the entrance of the eldest jade of Lan, prim, proper, and loved by all. When first met with the worn out Jiang Cheng his inability to leave others alone while they're struggling most kicked in, and leads to a lot of confusion, bad decisions, and then finally a chance for the both of them to be healed from wounds of their past.

Aaah, I love this fic so much. Basically, it started when Jiang Cheng was landed with the responsibility of raising A-Ling because he just refused or rather, he just didn’t trust Jin Guangyao with the upbringing of Jin Ling. Also, some cute A-Yuan and A-Ling interaction for those who love ZhuiLing innocence.

Never Had I Ever by Kicchin (XiCheng side WangXian/NieYao)

Summary: Nie Mingjue is almost certain that Jin Guangyao has an ulterior motive for dating his best friend, Lan Xichen. However despite voicing his concerns, his best friend seems unconvinced and Lan Xichen continues to date the said man. Unable to give up just yet, Nie Mingjue tries a different tactic--convincing his best friend the man is not the right person for him by setting him up. Fortunately for him, Wei Wuxian's youngest brother is very much single and seems to be just the kind of person his best friend needs. Can Jiang Cheng truly change Lan Xichen's mind, or will Nie Mingjue's plan is a disaster from the beginning?

A Modern AU - University style fic wherein Jiang Cheng is a freshman and Xichen is just a dork who falls in love with unsuspecting Jiang Cheng lol. This is funny but it has that tooth-decaying element XD Also, drunk Xichen is always chaotic but can be so sweet.

The Beginner’s Guide to Moving On by messenger18 (XiCheng side WangXian)

Summary: Jiang Cheng is jaded, bitter and miserable. Lan Xichen isn't sure he can ever trust anyone again. They've always been at the periphery of each other's lives, perpetually visible but never touching, and it seems it's going to stay that way. Then Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui fall in love, and everything changes.

Thrown together as the only single men in a family full of couples, neither is exactly happy about their situation. But when two lonely people find each other, sometimes they can be a little less lonely together.

A slow burn fic that involves awkward meetings, building friendship, humor and fluff that you don’t have any choice but to read more lol. But I strongly recommend this one for XiCheng fans!

葬花/Zàng huā by CrystallizedPen (XiCheng Mpreg)

Summary: One day, Sect Leader Lan just disappeared, no one knew where he went, nor why he left, not even the people closest to him knew. He left behind his sword, his token, and his forehead ribbon. He left behind everything except the silver bell that was given to him by a person that he loved, and whom he thought would love him too. Their love was beautiful like a blooming flower. But, apparently he was wrong. He should have buried this love deep inside his heart, like burying a flower that was never meant to bloom.

Heavy angst XiCheng fic that expanded for 10 years of waiting coz of some intervention. I just love angsty elements in this and Xichen is well characterized in this fic! Strongly recommended!

Monotone by seredemia (WangXian and XiCheng)

Summary: Wei Wuxian died. Wei Wuxian died and he never came back, not after thirteen years, or a hundred, or a thousand. The year is 2019 and Lan Wangji is still here, having reached the highest point of cultivation that has gifted him with immortality. It's supposed to be a gift, an honour, yet to him it's nothing but a curse. Wei Wuxian is dead, and life is colourless. Lan Wangji ghosts through time, simply living each day in monotone.That is, until he meets a man who has the same face, same name, same smile as Wei Wuxian. Suddenly, there's colour and hope back in his life—but it's not long until he realises Wei Wuxian in this timeline has not escaped the sorrow that plagued his past self.Maybe history really does repeat itself after all.

THIS IS THE GREATEST. Immortal Xichen and Wangji in search of happiness. I certainly love the dynamics and interaction of XiCheng pair in here. Contains heavy angst, self-harm and hurt and you’d get a lot of emotional rollercoaster on this one! READ THIS GUYS, YOU WON’T REGRET IT! Unfortunately, the writer took down her work in A03 for personal reasons but she provided alternative links where you can read this. (Thank goodness for that.)

The Misadventures of Secretary Jiang by rollo (XiCheng mentions of WangXian)

Summary: When the competent Secretary Jiang gave his two weeks notice all of a sudden, CEO Lan XiChen is forced to switch up his long game.

Will Secretary Jiang ever notice that he’s not just the CEO’s Secretary?

This fic is hilarious as fuck. Full of humor and mishaps between XiCheng pair. Wanna see a different side of Xichen? Like the clingy, pouty ones - well this one is for you! I’ve just recently started the series called What’s Wrong With Secretary Kim and thank goodness, the author didn’t make Xichen as vain and narcissistic as the original character but all in all, if you want a light, honest to goodness fic, then I recommend this one for you!

I’ll Bind You To Me by yunkarin (XiCheng mentions of Married WangXian)

Summary: Jiang Cheng is the president of Yunmeng Cosmetics. Lan Xichen is the president of Gusu Pharmaceuticals. He and Lan Xichen have a complicated relationship, where they separate business and pleasure. How far are you willing to go to bind me to you?

A very sexy XiCheng fic with lots of sexy time. Insatiable Xichen is hot btw. If you want some kinks and smut filled read, well this one is for you!

The Form of Boneless Ice by TheWonderingHeart (XiCheng)

Summary: Mythical beasts have long ago been driven to extinction by the gentry — hunted for sport, but more importantly for their magical cores. Since then, there remains only one creature that has never been caught. The Jiang’s retreated a long time ago. Abandoning land altogether, they sought safety where the humans could not reach. It all comes to a head though, purely by chance. (Or is it by fate that a spontaneous decision allows for them to meet? If fate were a rock!) Jiang Cheng suddenly finds his whole life balanced on the head of a pin — on the flimsy promise of a human boy. In his opinion, things cannot possibly get worse!(But then they do when the Wens decide it’s finally time to search for the elusive merpeople, and suddenly nowhere is safe.)

Oh goodness, I love this one so much with innocent Jiang Cheng with the human world but still has a potty mouth lol. Mermaid AU wherein they met as children and continued their friendship until they turn into lovers. This is so sweet with angst, of course. Strongly-recommended!

My own fics (If you guys want lol shameless promotion)

Jin Ling’s Dating Guides for His Stupid Uncles (XiCheng/WangXian)

A work-in-progress wherein Jin Ling tries to matchmake his uncles to his best friend’s parents - the Lan brothers. However, danger is looming upon their family and they must solve it before it gets out of hand.

a way to his heart is through his stomach (XiCheng side WangXian)

A feisty cook joins the team by request. How far can he go without falling for the charm of the restaurant's assistant manager, Lan Xichen? And what’s this? They’re roommates too? Oh, fun.

Follow the journey of the gang as they go on with their lives as interns in the hospitality world for a year - the chaotic life of living

Another work-in-progress wherein the boys are in the hospitality industry.

I will add more works on this list as I go on reading. I better thank the quarantine that I can binge read yummy XiCheng fics. lol

[inyoursheets]

7 17 36!

7. what was your life like last year? 

(jason mendoza voice) well, my year started about a year ago. it was probably one of the most interesting years of my life so far? maybe the hardest, idk? a lot happened, i think i did a lot of Growing UpTM. i was very very busy at first with my research masters and a bunch of extracurricular bullshit and then something happened in my family that forced us all to spend more time together, which made me realize a lot of things about myself and my family, and then, after debating it for months, i moved to the uk -- which turned out to be a great decision. i had such a good time and it gave me a sense of perspective and space that i didn’t know i needed. and i dated for the first time in ever, which was also fun! am totally not yearning/wondering about what could have been! nope! haha! ha! ha

17. opinion on insecurities. 

insecurities are dumb and u shouldn’t have them. jk! false! it’s very normal to have insecurities! we are taught to be insecure about so many things in so many ways, to a point where it can feel unnatural to not be insecure about xyz thing! ppl will even attack you for not being insecure about certain things, probs bc it increases their own insecurity levels and/or threatens power hierarchies! many insecurities are connected to social axes such as race, class, gender, sexuality, size, dis/ability, religion -- and then you throw capitalism into the mix and now we’ve got a bunch of industries specifically designed to profit off of our insecurities! good times!

my conclusion, as a fat woman, is that people (and billion dollar industries such as the diet industry and the cosmetics industry) don’t actually want me to love my body, or myself. they don’t! they want me to be insecure and self-conscious and ashamed about my size, they want to to act out a specific role, that of the insecure fat girl, and inhabit and carry my body in specific ways, bc if i’m confident and don’t feel ashamed of my size, the world will crumble! if fat isn’t actually morally inferior/ugly/worthless/lazy/etc. then thin people would have to face the reality that all the time and energy they put in trying not to look like me is for nought! there’s lots more here to unpack and i feel like im not wording these things right and all of these things are so complicated and cannot be divorced from other issues such as racism and sexism and capitalism, but here’s a start.

my point is -- insecurities suck, they’re usually based on lies people and, more importantly, institutions and industries try to sell you, and i wish for everybody that they will one day know what it feels like to no longer have those insecurities -- and it’s completely normal to have them. there is no shame in having insecurities! it’s very hard to not buy into them. you have to put in so much conscious effort and energy into ridding yourself of insecurities that you’ve had for a lifetime -- and even then, it’s not a static thing. it’s not just a question of simply ‘changing your mind’ when the majority of society disagrees with you, when they don’t want you to gain confidence. some days im like: fuck fatphobia! im hot as fuck! also my worth is not defined by my looks so it doesn’t even matter! and then two hours later i’ll go outside and get fatcalled, or catcalled, or i’ll see my body in the reflection of a window, and suddenly my whole resolve crumbles, even tho i know on an intellectual level that it’s not true, the lie that i’m about to give into. it’s not easy. it’s not a matter of flicking a switch, even tho i sincerely wish it was. something that does help, or at least it did for me, is learning how those bigger systems, such as fatphobia, racism, colorism, misogyny, transphobia, are at work. this helps to see that it is not you, individually, who is lacking something or doing something wrong. there are entire institutions and industries who contribute to you feeling this way -- and profit off it (wow look at me, writing my thesis one tumblr ask at a time!)

37. favourite actor/actress 

oh!!!!! viola davis! sandra oh bc she carried grey’s anatomy, no questions at this time ty! christine baranski bc mamma mia! the good wife! a bad moms christmas!!!!! i desperately want her in more comedies! kathryn hahn, who, i kid you not, is always the funniest person in a movie, no matter how small her role is! also, melissa mccarthy, kate mckinnon, retta, and of course, the only man worthy of mention, manny montana. i watch in amazement how he portrays rio. this man.......amazing.

36. 3 dreams you want to fulfill? 

......................ok so i just realized you asked 36 instead of 37, damn it! im not even gonna delete that, they’re all too amazing for me to do that, soz. as for the dreams -- loving myself! writing a book (or, finishing a story that could be a book)! sucking it up and getting the bisexual nose piercing like i know i want to!

thank youuuuuuuu!!!! nice asks to help me procrastinate <3

[slingsendarrows]

To His Coy Master

“I have often reflected on upon the new vistas that reading opened to me. I knew right there in prison that reading had changed the course of my life. As I see it today, the ability to read awoke inside me some long dormant craving to be mentally alive…My homemade education gave me, with every additional book I read, a little bit more sensitivity to the deafness, dumbness, and blindness that was afflicting the black race in America.” — Malcolm X “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”

Photo by Will Small

It never ceases to amaze the length, and breadth white people will go to willfully deny history in as much as it tells them the truth about themselves. I don’t blame them. It is a bitter pill to swallow owning up as a member of a people that has wreaked such havoc and extended so much unmitigated violence. Your domination in pursuit of betterment for your people and racial superiority was at the unquantifiable expense of others.

Now, before we get bogged down in the mire of wilfully confusing terms, let me resentfully explain what I mean by the words I am using. I say resentfully because expounding upon the injustices heaped upon my people requires I justify my position and take care not to offend the sensibilities of those I am addressing. It is dormant trauma indicative of the master/slave dichotomy I still have yet to shed. For it is only the oppressor that necessitates the oppressed exercise restraint and caution in stating and expressing his grievances, however vile and repulsive, adjusting for nuances and individual circumstances as if his subjugation wasn’t abrupt, violent, and complete. What is the virtue of incremental progress if the oppressor committed the original sin with absolute expediency? But, I digress.

“White people” or “white men,” refers to the collective white man, woman, and child as befits the ideologies of white supremacy, meaning those originating from Europe and the inheritors of their ancestors’ misdeeds. I will not deign to account for individual acts or attitudes of “good” white people because it is irrelevant. It is a tactic the oppressor uses to detract from the larger truth about himself.

Also, in speaking collectively, I will use the masculine pronouns, reflexive and otherwise, in an umbrella fashion similar to holy writ, signifying patriarchy as the apex of privilege and tyranny. Occasionally, I may address collective “white people” as women and men, specifically. “Master” is not restricted to those who owned slaves in actuality but those who propagated ideas of white superiority and black subjection.

Finally, and for what I hope will be the last time, privilege is a Russian doll ladder in that some have more than others in the broader context of the hierarchical structure as well as within each rung. Privilege is the exemption from specific experiences due to the inherent characteristics of race, ability, sexuality, gender identity, sex, socioeconomic status, etc. I have privilege within my rung as educated, able-bodied, cis-gender, and heterosexual. I shall leave it there.

I know you are, but what am I?

There are things you can’t unsee. I can neither unsee injustice nor abide civility for civility’s sake. Living as a black woman person is a burden, but one I am learning to carry with pride. You live in the depths of a valley with a clear perspective of the surrounding landscape. I look about me these days, and I yearn to be free. Natural freedom, not granted, but inborn and awakened through the conscious effort. Freedom rising from truth and understanding, painful though it may be. But master, I must tell you the truth about yourself, for I see now, as Malcolm X stated, you love yourself so much you’re often surprised to discover we do not share your “vainglorious self-opinion.”

Bettmann Archives/Getty Images

The cyclical nature of oppression angers me: outcries and marches, cosmetic salves for change, and disingenuous support that lasts just long enough for us to return to business, as usual. I don’t want to mince words anymore. It no longer serves to be palatable. You must swallow whole my incredulous raging despair and dubious hope for change. You will taste every unpleasant bite as I tell you the unflavored truth about yourself. I will not be distracted by dog-whistle racist dismissals of reverse-racism and black supremacy. Pipe down! You know I do not have the power to alter a fraction of your daily existence fundamentally.

For all your talk of progress, history shows very little of significance and import has materially changed. Individual achievement is pointless if institutionalized racism persists, unimpeded since the advent of colonial conquest when you left your lands to “discover” ours. It matters little that some of us make it if most of us continue to suffer the same injustices bereft of reprieve through education, wealth, and status. In short, your surface efforts at woke-ness and allyship are of little use if, in your white homes and white spaces, you propagate or remain silent in the face of racist sentiments and ideologies.

I reason real change calls for radical action. The how eludes me. Real change requires rooting out the problem in its entirety, a problem so deeply ingrained and pervasive it infects every facet of our daily existence. It is institutionalized. But our subjugation was so final we forgot our names. We have been in the wilderness far too long, thirsting for understanding and starving for identity. You hope we never figure out our freedom was never a matter for your consent.

In the midst of my hungering, I have awakened to two fundamental realizations: 1) we are and have only ever been as free as you have allowed us to be, 2) truth comes through knowledge of self, and knowledge of self comes through self-education.

It’s been a long, long time coming, but I know change is gonna come.

During moments of considerable racial unrest, you remind us to be grateful for the crumbs that fall from your feasting tables and make it into our mouths. With each protesting hamster-wheel cycle for change, you erroneously juxtapose our grievances against your apparent signs of progress, as if the two are analogous. You caution against violent reactions when your institutions murder us, and you selectively misquote our advocates out of context to suit your purposes and invalidate our rage. The conversation inevitably becomes about how we are not decent people, and our behavior courted death; therefore, we deserve to die. There is no need to mourn, much less to protest. Still, during our tear-gassed and rubber-bulleted peaceful protestations, you implore us, once again, to be patient. Someday we’ll all be free. Incrementalism over expediency!

Photo by Charles Moore

You ask us to remember Abraham Lincoln and his hundreds of thousands of Union soldiers. Do we not recall the numerous, albeit contradictory, supreme court decisions that have brought us thus far? Lyndon B. Johnson and his predecessors awarded us civil rights, benefitting the electorate with the sacrifice of black bodies. The matter of reparations is a non-starter — sins of the father, and all that; it’s in the past. See our constitutional amendments, white abolitionists, James Meredith, northern white liberalism, and lest we forget, the progressive black achievement permitted in your industries and society.

But the fact that we’re still witnessing black firsts 400 years later is not a sign of progress; it is the opposite.

Our schools teach the efforts and white generosity of Abraham Lincoln liberated black people in America. However, a cursory glance at your records will show this is factually incorrect. I am tired of being reminded to pay homage to the “Great Emancipator,” whom we remember, in large part, due to this astounding act of condescending deference. Master Lincoln is an excellent example of your self-conceit that our freedom is yours to grant or deny. And to add insult to injury, you congratulate yourselves for it. The overarching white supremacist belief you can deign to give us freedom is a glaring reminder we are only as free as you enable us to be. Your love for this lie is so profound; you pull it out each time issues of race arise. But Lincoln, a white man, freed you! He might have been black too.

So let’s set the record straight.

Lincoln did not free slaves out of moral imperative but political expediency. A cursory study of his papers and thinking at the time show he was willing to maintain slavery if it meant keeping the Union intact because “a house divided against itself cannot stand.”

Before the Missouri Compromise of 1820, a carefully maintained 1:1 ratio determined the slavery status of newly admitted states. This balancing act was codified when Maine and Missouri sought admittance; the former was free, and the latter legally permit slavery. The law also prohibited slavery north of the Mason-Dixon line.

At the onset of the Civil War, Missouri demographically split between confederate and union allies. In 1861, witnessing Missouri’s descent into chaos, Union Major Generals Fremont and Hunter issued emancipation proclamations calling for the execution of those found guilty of taking up arms against Union and the confiscation of their property, including freeing their slaves. Shortly after that, Lincoln fired the generals and annulled the proclamation. He issued a Second Confiscation Act in July 1862, allowing for the confiscation of slaves owned by the rebels, freeing them at the discretion of the court.

District of Columbia. Company E, 4th U.S. Colored Infantry, at Fort Lincoln

Slaves were commodities of considerable economic value. Slaves were mortgaged collateral and settled debts. Losing slaves would result in a substantial financial loss for southern masters. The Union knew that, so they exploited it. Freeing slaves robed the Confederacy of its free and disposable labor, eliminating the possibility of slaves fighting against the Union army at the behest of their rebel masters. Lincoln did not issue the Proclamation of 1863 because he thought black people were inherently equal and deserving of justice under the law. Asked about his decision-making process, he stated, “…if I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that…” The Civil War did not end slavery in acknowledgment of black equality. Slave emancipation crippled the Confederate economies and, in so doing, weakened the southern rebellion. Emancipation was a means to an end.

Lincoln could not conceive of a nation with black people as equal if not, primary stakeholders. Nevermind their backs built the wealth of the country. Now that the problematic part of nation-building over, he could simply return them from whence they came and be done with it. He thought it better to return black Americans to Africa and failing that, create a whole separate nation unto themselves.

Reportedly the only known photo of a black American Union soldier and his family. (Library of Congress)

In 1854, before the Civil War, Lincoln stated, at a speech in Illinois, his “…first impulse would be to free all the slaves, and send them back to Liberia.” It was the only foreseeable solution to the race issue. He considered the coal-mining prospects of the Chiriqui region in modern-day Panama an option for deportation and resettlement. Still, the idea met fierce abolitionist opposition when he tested it on a sample slave population in Delaware. He supported a congressional bill that would “…aid in the colonization and settlement of such free persons of African descent […] as may desire to emigrate to the Republic of Haiti or Liberia or such other country beyond the limits of the United States as the President may determine.” After signing the Second Confiscation Act, in August 1862, Lincoln invited a delegation of five prominent black men to the White House to clarify that white and black people cannot coexist; therefore, separation was the most direct path to peace. He wanted their support for a mass black exodus.

Liberia presented a logistical nightmare. The Chiquiri coal was worthless, and the land in dispute with Costa Rica. Approximately 450 black people moved to an island off the coast of Haiti, of which almost 25% died of poor nutrition and illness before the remainder returned to the U.S. Defeated, Lincoln, considered deporting “the whole colored race of the slave states into Texas.” Days before his death, he stressed, “I can hardly believe that the South and North can live peace unless we can get rid of the negroes…I believe it would be better [for the whites] to export them to some fertile country…”

Getty/Library of Congress

In conclusion, asking me to celebrate a white master for granting me what is rightfully mine is ludicrous — honoring him for a decision that only benefitted me as a secondary consequence of his primary purpose is the height of white arrogance. It merely cements you don’t believe freedom is ours by right; it is yours to give in the manner befitting your white sensibility stretched out over the expanse of time. Time to legitimize the numbing effect of revisionist history and position us in gratitude toward master’s acquiesce and tolerance, however slow. Master is doing his best. After all, his wife, at a time, condescended to teach Frederick Douglass to read and write.

And yet, here we remain, yearning for crumbs off of master’s table. Asking, begging, pleading, for what is ours.

The real nightmare scenario for white supremacy is an actualized black mind, educated and conscious of its pervasive and pernicious effects. Global black unity jellies the white man’s spine in fear of retribution for his crimes. It is why you champion incremental progress and hail peaceful protest as the height of moral discourse. You only understand violence for violence is what it took to achieve your dominance. You cannot conceive of any other possible outcome, and you cannot revise history with enough “good” white people committing “good” white acts to cover the rancid stench. You know it stinks, and since you cannot find a solution outside your oppressive playbook, you must deny, obfuscate, distract, appease and roll the ball down the road of historical replay.

To that, I now turn a deaf ear. We must educate ourselves about our people and history if we are to be truly free. We cannot depend upon you to what is right. You have made it abundantly clear.

[star-anise]

i was hoping my last ask would get me a free rant without having to make a dreaded choice uhhhhhhh do maybe washcloths or fake smile?

Hahaha no you have to specify what white person thing you want a rant about, or else I’m paralyzed by too many choices. And nb. by “white” I generally mean white Anglo-Saxon Protestant; WASPs have traditionally been held up as the cultural standard everyone else n North America or other British colonies should follow, and the “whiteness” of different European ethnicities in those colonies is generally judged by how assimilated they are to the WASP ideal. So my observations will not apply very well to, for example, other European ethnicities, or people from areas colonized by those other European groups.

WASHCLOTHS. Related to another trap, Guest Towels Guests Must Never Use. Which are usually distinguished by their elaborateness and a thin layer of dust. As a certified White Person (Anglo Canadian) I can say: This is a real actual literal thing my family does. If I stay at an aunt’s house, I don’t use her guest towels; I walk past the guest towels on the towel rack and ask my hostess, “What towel do you want me to use?” and she fetches me a new, less nice, towel out of the linen closet. 

The actual washcloth meant to be used is hung somewhere separate. When I was about 13, I rebelled against sharing a washcloth with my brothers, bought my own washcloth from a department store, embroidered my name on it, and zealously defended it against all comers. These days, my older brother has four children. When we go to his house to eat dinner, his children all wash their hands before they eat… and then wipe them dry on a single towel hung in the downstairs bathroom, which his guests also use. So we all wash our hands and then share germs. I… think? There might be a bar on the opposite wall with guest towels hanging on it?  But my eyes have been trained to skate right over guest towels. They’re decor, not things we actually use.

Why White People Do This:

1. Washing and cleanliness… have not traditionally held a central place in European life the way, say, wudu does in Islam. Although priests ritually wash their hands before performing the consecration of Mass, nobody else in the congregation has to. This is partly because in Christian Scripture, Jesus says that if something is ritually pure but spiritually suspect, it should be treated as impure, which Christians kind of took to mean “ritual purity and cleanliness rituals are things non-Christians do.” 

So in the 19th century, a German doctor discovered that you could reduce the rate of infection dramatically when doctors washed their hands and instruments between dissecting dead bodies and attending in childbirth. Doctors were OFFENDED and APPALLED by this–partly because the guy pointing it out was an asshole, yes, but partly because there was a feeling that “a gentleman’s hands are always clean”, so it was offensive to say their hands were dirty because it impugned their class and education.

Cleanliness is hugely related to class and status–I could go on a LOT more here about how in the 19th century, British and American attempts to “educate” and “civilize” poor white people and people of colour included imposing standards of hygiene on them that felt cruel and punitive–scrubbing skin raw, using caustic soap, delousing with kerosene–partly because white people didn’t have a very advanced idea of what chemicals made good cosmetics, and there wasn’t much awareness of the need for oils or moisturizers. (For a long time very few sources of natural oil, like canola, olives, or sunflowers, or even petroleum products, were available in Britain, so until somewhat recently they only really had pine tar and animal fat, which they used for everything from making soap to lighting lamps to greasing cart axels.) And the 19th century cleanliness movement did not have a good opinion of traditional bathing methods like the sauna, banya, or steam room, where sweat was scraped off the skin. So people who HAD hygiene rituals that worked for them, when they emigrated to western Europe or North America, got shamed and discouraged from using them. It was just expected that part of “civilizing” a child who hadn’t been “well brought up” was forcefully ducking them in a bath and scrubbing them while they screamed and fought you.

So for white people from everything but the highest classes, if you go a few generations back, there’s this feeling that cleanliness is something unnatural and unpleasant, something imposed by a punitive authoritarian force, and not something intrinsically desirable. Old men used to talk about “taking a bath once a year, whether I need it or not,” and fear of losing their “protective coating of dirt.” Which makes sense when you realize how awful old cosmetics used to feel.

I mean, as I type this, I’m applying Vaseline to the hangnails on my fingers, because when I use soap in the bath or do the dishes or wash my hands after going to the bathroom, the soap strips oil from my skin and dries it out, leading it to crack and bleed. This is a really common problem but the current solution seems to be “women carry tiny bottles of moisturizer everywhere in their purses, and men… suffer if they want to seem manly, and then post memes to facebook about how rough and terrible their hands look to emphasize their heterosexual masculinity.”

This also relates to why white people say racist things about people of colour being “dirty” when they use natural methods of keeping their hair or skin clean. The white conception of cleanliness is honestly really fucked up.

2. Cloth holds an especially weird place in white society. I mean, lots of cultures everywhere like their cloth to look nice! But in Europe and American colonies in the 1600s there was an extra special movement to restrict women economically and bar them from business and public life–so while a rich woman could run a business outside the home and buy and sell in 1400, that freedom was disappearing in 1600. Only women of the ~lower classes~ did real actual work. And the religious sentiment at the time really emphasized Purity, Hard Work, Productiveness, and No Fun. So women were supposed to stay inside all the time and not participate in industry! But they were always supposed to be busy. The saying was literally “Idle hands are the devil’s tools”. 

That turned embroidery from an aesthetic, decorative art into a moral act. You didn’t embroider to make something pretty; you embroidered for the good of your soul. Fancy embroidered pieces displayed in a home were meant to demonstrate a) that the house was rich enough to have idle women, and b) the moral purity and obedience to gender norms of the women of the house. (This also extends to things like quilts, lace doilies, hooked rugs, etc.)

So towels used to be made of linen, a plain flat cloth, and then embroidered and otherwise embellished. My mom, in the 1960s, learned how to do embroidery where you painstakingly pull a few threads out of a piece of linen, and then embellish the place where the threads have been taken out.

Linen, incidentally, is a strange and amazing fabric. When new, freshly starched and ironed, it is flat and crisp. But pressure and moisture can change it really easily. When I sew with linen, I just have to lick my fingers and fold it over, and it stays like that–something most fabrics don’t do. So if you actually use a linen towel to dry your hands, you will crumple it in a way that is very hard to reverse.

Therefore: Fancy linens were displayed prominently in the home as a status symbol, but a guest who wanted to stay on his hostess’s good side did not use them. There are a lot of ettiquettes around using linens when you absolutely have to, like just gently wiping your fingers on a towel, that diminished the damage the fabric would take.

So, I mean, actually rich people used their good towels, because if they ruin them, they can just get new ones. Fancy linens were intended for high-class guests who knew how to keep from damaging them. So using someone’s guest towels sent the message, “I am so high-status that I’m WORTH potentially ruining something that took a ton of work to make and maintain.” Or, if you obviously weren’t that high status, “I don’t know about the work that goes into making nice things, or don’t value the work you did and don’t care how much effort you’ll have to go to because I wanted to wipe my face.”

But that was in the days of linen. Guest towels are going out of fashion, partly because modern terrycloth towels are almost impossible to crease or ruin, so it doesn’t really matter if guests use them. But even with terrycloth towels, homeowners sometimes like to create really elaborate towel displays. I don’t know how those people feel when guests use them, but as a white girl I feel really uncomfortable taking a towel display in somebody else’s house apart, and try to wipe my hands while causing the least disturbance possible.

Oh, I guess I should mention that invisible tests no one will ever mention if you fail are absolutely a white person thing. Like, if you watch costumed period drama movies, there’s often a scene where someone is really unbearable and rude, and everyone is super polite and awkward and just sits there and says nothing. That’s not consciously an exclusive practice; from the perspective of white people it’s just an ingrained reflex, “Freeze and smile when something awkward happens and then later cut them out of your life.” 

That reflex comes because the Industrial Revolution and colonization (1600s-1800s) led to a lot of class mobility. Ordinary men could get involved in business and become wealthier than the hereditary landowners! Which the hereditary landowners felt super threatened by, so they went out of their way to cultivate manners and standards that were very unlike those used by the common people. Upperclass accents became more marked and exaggerated; dictionaries decided to make English spelling and grammar especially hard to learn; manners got super weird and unintuitive. They wanted to make it as hard as possible for common people to fit into high society.

Therefore, to enable that system, the rule became: Never tell someone when they’re fucking up. If they know what they’re doing wrong, they’ll FIX it, and then they’ll fit in better! And that would lead to the absolute downfall of Western civilization! Which would of course be a bad thing! And that got codified as The Right And Desirable Way To Do Things. A low-class person might say “Hey, you just insulted me, I’m upset,” but someone with aspirations of rising higher in life learned to freeze and say nothing. That was how you defined “polite”.

So like I said, if I, as a white person, point out to other liberal white people that the freeze-and-smile-awkwardly response is really exclusionary to people from different backgrounds, they go, “Oh my gosh, you’re right!” and we can talk about changing it. It’s why white people invented assertiveness training. It’s a thing white people have to unpack and decolonize. But it’s not commonly a conscious attempt to exclude someone by not letting them know they’re breaking the rules.

ANYWAY. Towels.

So IF someone has guest towels taking up their towel rack in their bathroom, there’s very little room left for the actual towels. (Unless they’re like my aunt, whose bathroom literally has a second towel rack to accommodate her guest towel arrangement) Therefore: The entire fucking family sharing a single washcloth because that’s all they have room for, and it doesn’t feel that important not to share.

WHITE CULTURE IS WEIRD AS HELL.

And if you come to my house? You’re allowed to use my guest towels. It’s what they’re there for.