#but i fear my words will be taken out of context and used to escalate further drama

[witsserviceablesubstitute]

I blocked a lot of blogs in the 911 tags, which was the right choice because now most everything I see are people enjoying themselves theorizing about the characters, relationships, and story they love. (Instead of constantly creating strawfans, burying themselves in confirmation bias, and riling each other up).

But I do think the 50ish people I blocked, when compared to the 1000s of 911 Tumblr blogs that surely exist, supports my theory that aggressive antagonism in fandoms are instigated by a loud minority.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Had a thought: reader has a hand-print bruise on their arm — like they stumbled and were caught or pulled out of the way of a curse or smth and the helper accidentally left a bruise when they grabbed reader. Jjk men see it b4 reader can / thinks to tell them so they just see a clearly-handprint bruise with zero context 🙃

Hand Print

Tags: Drabble, Fluff, JJK men getting angry, JJK men getting protective 🫦, smut (Suguru’s, Choso’s, and kinda Sukuna’s), dark content on Mahito’s, mdni

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna, Mahito

SATORU

You had forgotten it even happened. Silly, clumsy you — nearly falling while exiting the subway onto the station platform. Thankfully, that good samaritan was right behind you.

His hand clasped onto your upper arm tightly as he pulled you back up to your feet to find your balance. You didn’t even give it much thought-! You thanked him and went on about your day.

Satoru’s six eyes can immediately spot the bruise before you’ve even taken off your coat after getting home.

“Baby —“ Satoru’s voice was bone chilling when he spoke. He’s normally got such a happy tone, but when he uses that baritone that comes out during fights, you’re frozen out of fear.

“Wha..?” You weren’t even able to get your words out before Satoru has your arm up in the air. His eyes wandering over the bruise that was wrapped around your upper arm.

“Who the fuck touched you?” His heart is slamming into his ribcage. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knew enough. You were hurt, and he wasn’t there to protect you.

He wishes he could extend his infinity out to you at all times, but even he has limits unfortunately.

“Satoru- My arm-“ You whine while your lofty boyfriend with his abnormally long limbs is nearly holding you up by your wrist. You looked pitiful — dangling from his grip.

“Who.” He demands again, and those stormy blue eyes meet yours. His mind is racing — thinking of who he’s going to kill. Will he snuff them out like a cigarette with his infinity? Or maybe he blow a whole in them with hollow purple. Maybe he could figure out a new technique to rip them in half on an atomic level.

“It was an accident!” You cry as you try to pull your arm aways from his unrelenting grip. “I was about to fall off the subway, and this guy grabbed me so I didn’t fall and break my neck.”

Satoru’s face stays cold, and his eyes look back at the obvious handprint bruise on your arm. Judging by the way it’s awkwardly positioned, he knows you’re telling the truth.

“Oh! Well baby, why didn’t you just say that?” Your entirely too happy boyfriend is immediately back with a coy grin as if he wasn’t just fantasizing about murder. “You got to be more careful when getting off the subway, silly goose.” His finger lightly thump you on the forehead.

SUGURU

You’ve always been so clumsy your entire life: tripping over your own feet, bumping into the corners of tables and walls, accidentally stubbing your toe, the list goes on…

You were racing down the broken escalator at the mall to try to get to your favorite store before it closed for the day. You were just so focused on getting to your destination that you weren’t paying attention to ahead of you.

You barrel straight into this guy who miraculously grabs onto you and the railing before both of you take a nasty fall. The two of you pant in each other’s arms for just a moment before you’re backing away — professing your deepest apologies for not being more careful. The guy just awkwardly smiles and waves you on, knowing you were probably trying to get to a specific store.

You didn’t even think about the little incident afterwards. You have so many “near misses” in a day that you just completely black them out.

Suguru’s lips are clasped to your neck, giving you sloppy kisses right on the sweet spot of your neck.

“Fuuuck, pretty girl… can never get tired of this pussy.” He groans softly into your ear. Both of you are so lost in each other, feeling your essences mix with each time his massive cock slips into your clammy entrance. You’re practically sucking him in at this point — greedyyy.

“Sugu- Ah~!” You’re breathy as your hand reaches up to clasp the pillow behind you. The way your pussy flutters around him as you’re nth orgasm is about to take over has him nearly seeing stars.

Nearly.

His eyes normally focus on you while he fucks you until you’re nothing more than a puddle in his arms, but right now, that damn bruise has his attention.

“What fucking monkey touched you?” He asks in a low growl before he’s pinning both your arms above your head. He slips his cock out of you — eliciting a frustrated whine from edging you.

His eyes are too busy scoping out the rest of your body. How did he miss the fresh bruise that was so blatantly displayed on your arm.

“Sugu..” You whine — still mindless and cockdrunk. Your thighs part as you try to seduce him back between your legs.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes. “I need my girlfriend right now — not my slut. Who touched you?”

“What are you talkin’ about?” You lazily whine as you look over towards your arm, and you think for a moment of how the bruise must’ve gotten there..

“Which fucking monkey touched you?” He grits again. His temper is only building. How were you unable to remember who touched you?

“Hmm.. oh! I was running down those broken escalators at the mall, and I nearly sent me and this guy down the entire flight. Thankfully, he was able to grab us both.” You’re finally able to recount the memory to Geto.

Your poor stressed boyfriend pinches the bridge of his nose. He instantly knows that you’re telling the truth because this is just so damn like you.

“What have I told you about being aware of your surroundings? Now you’re going to make me have to punish you.”

Great! Now you’re not getting to finish at all tonight! :(

NANAMI

It was another normal Sunday evening in your home. The lights were turned down low, and the curtains were drawn so the golden hour sun could pool into the kitchen and dining room. You and Ken were listening to your playlist while cooking dinner together.

Cooking dinner with Nanami wasn’t like some normal, ordinary task. Cooking with him was almost as intimate as having sex with him — the way his hands so carefully massaged into your hips. Your back was pressed flush against his toned chest, and his chin was either resting on yours or resting on your shoulder.

He wasn’t dead weight either. Nanami could cook his ass off. You were the one who needed the extra help, so right now, Nanami was guiding your hands on how to perfectly and evenly chop zucchini.

His eyes grazed over your hands, taking in your form to see if he needed to correct you in any way. That’s when he saw the bruise peaking out from underneath your shirt sleeve.

Nanami’s hand is quick, and he swiftly disarms you so you don’t accidentally cut yourself before he tugs your arm sleeve. His usually calm face slowly twisted into a scowl.

“Who did that to you?” He asks lowly with an intimidating glare. Of course, he’s not mad at you, but he is mad that someone touched his wife.

“What…?” You ask with a small pout, not knowing what he was talking about in the slightest. You had clearly forgotten about that nice stranger who pulled you back onto the sidewalk when a car decided to ignore the pedestrian walking symbol. They had saved your life.

“The name of the person who grabbed you.” Nanami demands as he gestures to your marked up wrist. “Now.”

“I- wait, Ken… That’s not what it looks like…” You try to explain with a small frown.

“Then please, do tell me what it is before I go find them for myself.”

When you explained to him that the person who grabbed you actually saved you from severe injury, Nanami let out a sigh — partially of relief and partially of stress.

He brings your wrist up to his mouth before he places light kisses around the bruise. “You have to be more careful, darling… I need you here with me.”

CHOSO

Yuji was the one to grab you harshly and pull you back, creating that nasty bruise on your arm. He really didn’t mean to grab you so hard!! He just forgets his superhuman strength sometimes.

You were about to run into someone while at the school. Yuji was just trying to be a good brother-in-law and protect you. He was nearly in tears when he saw the huge handprint on your arm.

“Please don’t tell Choso. He’ll kill me if he finds out! Please! Say you swear!” He pleads as he clasps his hands together and grovels at your feet.

You tried reassuring him that his brother wasn’t going to kill him, but Yuji wouldn’t rest until you promised not to tell.

“Hi baby.” Choso greets you as usual, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple as he casually strolls towards the bathroom to shower. He’s glistening with sweat from training with Yuki and Todo all day.

“Mm! Wait for me!” You call out, trailing behind him like a horny dog (it’s okay girl me too). Choso happily waits for you in the shower. His dark hair comes down to his shoulders as he lets his hair down and steps into the hot water, immediately rinsing his body of the filth and grime.

“Missed you, baby.” He hums as he slowly corners you against the shower wall. His hand gently cups your chin to press a passionate kiss to your lips.

You softly giggle as you feel something already poking at your leg. “So sensitive~” You tease as you go to wrap your hand around his length.

Choso quickly grabs your arm, going to pin it above your head. He wanted to touch you first. You’re always taking care of him. He wanted to return the favor.

When you softly hiss in response due to him pressing on your bruise, he freezes. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No- no, you did nothing.” You try to reassure him with a wave of your hands. Your bruise catches his eye.

“Did I- Did I do that?” He immediately asks as he takes your arm and cradles it gently into his oversized hands. His face slowly shifts to a guilty pout.

Your eyes widen as you realize your poor boyfriend doesn’t understand the concept of human bruising. He truly thinks he grabbed you so hard that your skin immediately started to bruise.

“No, nonono, baby, you didn’t do that. ‘s okay.” You go to reassure him, gently holding your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb over the small tattoos under his eyes.

“Then… who did?” His voice shifts to a less panicked one, and his gaze hardens slightly.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize just how quickly he can turn on that more dominant, powerful side of him. “Uh.. well.. it was an accident.. We shouldn’t go on a witch hunt or anything like that…”

“Right. Who grabbed you so hard that they left a mark on you?” He doesn’t relent, towering over you with such an unamused gaze. His eyes are angry while staring at you.

“You have to promise me you won’t hurt him, Cho. It was really an accident. He was trying to save me.”

Choso stays quiet. He’s learned not to make promises that he can’t keep, and all of his thoughts are about how he was going to hurt this mysterious guy who laid a hand on you.

“Choso… It was Yuji. He was trying to keep me from running into somebody! He didn’t mean to hurt me-“

Your boyfriend’s face shifts to one of surprise. He didn’t expect Yuji to be the culprit of the bruise on your arm. His eyes flick over to the bruise, and he lets out a hefty sigh.

“Sometimes… older brothers have to be the one to teach hard lessons…”

“Choso, it was an accident.”

TOJI

“Mmm.. shit…” Toji hums before he goes in for another bite. You watch him with a playful gaze. He always gets so hungry after a completed hit, and when the job takes more than one day, he misses your cooking almost as much as he misses you.

“Toji, slow down. No one’s going to take your food from you.” You gently chide with a laugh. Little three-year-old Megumi is in his high chair, eating like an animal because he’s mimicking daddy.

You’re happy that your husband appreciates your cooking because you did nearly die while trying to get the ingredients to make this stupid dinner.

You were in the parking lot of the grocery store with Megumi in your arms, and while walking towards the store’s entrance, a car nearly backed over you and the small child in your arms.

Thankfully, a stranger was behind you, and he was fast enough to yank you and Megumi back away from the car. It was honestly a miracle that you and Megumi made it completely unscathed.

Well, almost unscathed. You did have a pretty nasty bruise on your hip where the stranger grabbed you with such strength.

“Look at what kind of table manners you’re teaching your son.” You continue on while wiping Megumi’s face clean with a baby wipe. The small child whines and tries to break free from your grasp.

“Can’t help it, doll. Your cooking’s too good.” Toji finally lifts his head up from his plate, and with almost lazer focus, he immediately notices the bruise on your hip due to your shirt hiking up a bit since you’re bent over dealing with Megumi.

“What the fuck happened?” He immediately asks, gesturing his fork towards the bruise on your hip. “Did some fuck touch you?”

You look at him with a hint of confusion for a second, but as soon as you look down and see the bruise, you immediately remember the event that transpired earlier today.

“I-“

You don’t even get the next word out before Toji’s on you, lifting your shirt up to see the perfectly drawn out handprint bruised into your pretty skin. The scar on his lips twitch in frustration, and your heart begins to stutter — understanding exactly what it looks like.

“Toji-“

“What the fuck happened?” His voice is a low grumble as he eyes you closely. He’s itching to hear a name — someone to kill for touching you like that. Only he gets to touch you there.

Your words are choked up in your throat, misunderstanding Toji’s possessiveness for anger towards you. You can’t even think of what to say before your son speaks up for you.

“Mama and I saved by a man!” Megumi shouts, looking up at his dad, even your toddler understood the gravity of the situation.

“Saved?” Toji questions as he shifts his gaze over to Megumi with a raised eyebrow — still angry but albeit a little amused.

“Yeah! Car almost hit mama and me! The man grabbed us to save us.” Your toddler explains it as if it’s a fond memory for him.

Your eyes meet Toji’s, and you nod your head slightly, agreeing with your son. “I was going into the market, and a car nearly backed over Megumi and I. The guy grabbed us up before it completely hit us.”

Toji takes a big breath, and his large palm finds the back of your head, guiding you to lie on his chest for moment. He just needs to he close to you after the gymnastics his brain just did.

“Christ, mama. Don’t worry me like that.” He mumbles lowly before pressing a kiss onto your forehead.

“Daddy, ew! Gross!”

SUKUNA

It was time for nightly worship for you and the other concubines, except here recently, it’s only been you attending nightly worship. The concubines had been dropping like flies recently… like actually dropping dead.

Why would Sukuna need concubines when you were already his most devout follower? Not to mention, he immediately made up his mind once he felt your precious cunt for the first time — so fucking tight and wet, begging to be bred by him — he didn’t need anyone else. You were the solution to all of his problems. Hell, he might even give you his heir one day.

He was sat in his throne with a mere red and black silk robe covering his monstrous body. One of his hands was occupied with a chalice of… well, you don’t really want to know what he was sipping on.

His other oversized hand was tenderly resting on your head. His palm was as big as your head, covering the crown completely, while you had your chin propped up on his thigh — on your knees in front of him. This was his favorite sight. He could really appreciate your beauty when the other concubines weren’t making so much racket. It was the right decision to have them disposed of.

You’re so pliant with your head in his lap. He finds it amusing how comfortable you look before him — as if he isn’t the literal incarnate of evil. He almost finds you adorable like a small kitten.

“What are you thinking about, woman?” He asks, surprisingly breaking the silence between you two. He’s the type of man to value the quiet, and he hates small talk, but he can’t help but want to hear your voice.

“Hm?” You hum lazily, being broken out of your daydream. Your eyes meet his as you look up at him. “I’m just thinking about bedtime… It’s been an eventful day.” You answer softly before a yawn escapes you, earning a small snicker from Sukuna.

“You shall retire in my chambers tonight. Go dispose of your clothes and slip between the sheets. I’ll be in there in just a moment.” He pats your head, signaling you may get up now.

Scurrying off to Sukuna’s chambers, the King of Curses narrows his eyes. He could’ve swore he just saw a bruise on you, and it’s definitely not one that he left…

Once he was inside his chambers, his eyes rested upon your small, frail body. You looked so cute, curled up in his massive bed. He slips his robe off, revealing his sculpted body. He looks like more than a king. He’s no less than a god.

Slipping between the sheets so he can finally feel your flesh against his, Sukuna can’t help but check. One of his hands captures your arm, and he looks at it. A deep scowl forms on his face as he sees the mark of another on you.

“What fool dared to touch you?” He demands, blood pressure already rising.

“What-?” You ask a bit confused, but you’re quickly reminded when Sukuna presses down on the bruise, making it worse. He’s sick in the head, thinking that if he can’t remove the bruise from you, he’ll just make his own mark right on top of it-

“Ow-! Kuna-!” You whine as his thumb presses down firmer. “Why are you- oww! please! I’m sorry, my lord! The gardener was just trying to save me from tripping and falling-“

His hand releases. “The gardener, huh?” He muses before making a few hand symbols. You’ll never see that gardener again. He should’ve known better than you touch you. You watch Sukuna with a slightly fearful look, and Sukuna feels his stomach twist with detest.

“Don’t look at me like that. It displeases me.” He frowns when he notes your fear does not simply vanish. Releasing a tense breath, he carefully brings your arm up to his mouth, and he presses a gentle kiss to the darkening bruise on your arm. “I had to make my own mark. I forget how fragile you mortals are… I… apologize.”

MAHITO

His eyes were wide and filled with utter rage as he saw the bruise displayed on your arm. He didn’t know how to cope with these new… emotions. Mahito didn’t believe he could feel a thing such as jealousy until you came around, his pretty pet. you just didn’t know it yet.

His foot was tapping violently against the ground as he tried to think of a way to bring it up casually in front of the others. He didn’t need Kenjaku on his case again for “falling for you”… whatever that fucking meant.

“Did you have a run in with the sorcerers, pet?” He finally asks as you and Jogo are playing Mahjong.

You look down at your arm at the blue and purple bruise that was welping up on your skin, and you nod your head at Mahito’s question.

“One of them got me good… He barely touched me though, so it caught me off guard.” You finally respond, and Mahito feels his very soul light on fire. Another man dared to touch you? You? His pet?? Even worse, it was a sorcerer.

“Did you kill him?” Mahito asks as he has to place his hands underneath his thighs to keep from reaching out to grab you up. Last time he did that, Kenjaku threatened to swallow him up like an uzumaki, but he can’t help it. He constantly feels an overwhelming urge to just touch you. If he could, he’d merge your soul with his so you’d be bound to him for life.

“No… he got away before I could finish the job.” You pout as you place your next tile down on the playing board.

“What did he look like?” Mahito’s heart starts to race. The thought of killing the guy who dared to touch you is intoxicating. He wants to hear the man cry and beg for mercy. He wants to coat himself in the man’s blood then fuck you until you cry.

“Oh, um, he had pink fluffy hair, and a jujutsu tech uniform on with red sneakers.”

“You ran into Sukuna’s vessel, Yuji Itadori???” Kenjaku perks up from the newspaper he was reading, and he immediately stomps over to you, needing more information.

“Yuji Itadori…. I’ll kill him.” Mahito mumbles to himself before breaking out in a small laugh. The thought of it— it’s so euphoric.

[kevin-the-bruyne]

PLEASE write something cute and fluffy for Kunessi (doesn’t have to be long) where despite Kun’s retirement Leo jokes about now having Kun all to himself

MY DEAREST ANON YOU HAVE SENT THIS TO ME ALMOST A YEAR AGO AND LET ME TELL YOU I WROTE SOMETHING ALMOST IMMEDIATELY BUT WHEN I SAY I CANNOT WRITE CUTE AND FLUFFY KUNESSI FORGIVE ME.

Anyhow here is what I actually wrote and i thought it was appropriate to unleash this upon the kunessi girlies going through it during the WC

-----

Title: Things may end

Pairing: Kunessi

Paris is noisy. Well technically he’s still in the airport because there is some delay in getting his car rental. But the airport is noisy and there’s 5 pages of French gibberish between him and his car. There’s an English copy but it’s barely any more helpful. He still clicks a few photos of the pages and texts it to Joe Hart with no more context than a ‘?’ after – it’s a habit he’d picked up in Manchester, when they were both in Manchester and the English were a constant source of conundrum in Kun’s life.

Finally, an out of breath airline hostess rushes into the tiny little office he’s sitting in with the hateful scraps of papers in his hands. She introduces herself and says the magic words, ‘I can translate.’

***

Paris is still noisy when Leo texts him.

‘mi amor,’ it says, ‘how do you get stuck in an airport 🤣’

Kun ignores it, mood souring even more. He should have just taken a taxi then and revealed Leo’s residence to the no doubt curious driver. Information like that will fetch a good price even. And he could even use the income. He doesn’t really understand the investment and dividends that Masche’s broker keeps sending him e-mails about but something about selling Leo’s private data feels like an honest, tangible barter.

Besides, it would serve that smug bastard right. Kun can fund his trip and take revenge in one fell swoop.

But if he would allow himself some honesty, he’s annoyed because he’s ruined his own surprise. Surprised delight is a good look on Leo, for a man who has so much, it’s endearing the way Leo lights up with even the littlest thing Kun does. And if he’s being really honest, he’s here in this foreign land he doesn’t know very well, in search of the one place he can call home. To flood the darkness growing inside him, stall it for the few days that Leo has to spare.

His phone buzzes.

Vehicle you booked out of order. Refund will be in your bank acc in 3-5 business days

Too late, he thinks. It’s too late.

The hostess already told him.

He knows there’s no car waiting for him.

He bounces his leg idly. He’d always thought it would be that. His leg. Everyone fears for their legs or even shoulders, head even. Every injury is an abyss that one must cross blind, not knowing what form you’ll emerge with on the other side. And people have held his hand through them, till he’s emerged on that other side, changed but adapting, compensating for a weak right ankle, a creaky knee, speed with strength, strength with instinct.

There’s a tight feeling in his chest.

His heart.

There are hands clutched in his but there’s no shoreline in sight.

So how long can he hope for them to hold him.

His phone buzzes.

‘I’m in the garage near terminal B’

Is it selfish? To need a spotlight. To need a beacon to guide him home?

He swings the not-a-gym bag overnighter over his shoulder and starts walking. Bitterly, he thinks it doesn’t matter. Lights aren’t always bright in the way signs aren’t always clear and airline translators have more customers than just him to serve.

Turns twists escalators, the chill of the airport. The sheen of a car belonging to a rich asshole.

The windows roll down to reveal the smile of a dear friend.

‘It’s good to see you carino.’ Leo says as he emerges from the car, pulls him in for a hug. And when they finally separate, Leo stretches out a hand, waiting for him to put his bag in them.

The tightness in Kun’s chest unfurls.

And in his chest - a little worse for the wear though it may be - his heart beats.

[puttingherinhistory]

“Covid has unleashed the most severe setback to women’s liberation in my lifetime. While watching this happen, I have started to think we are witnessing an outbreak of disaster patriarchy.

Naomi Klein was the first to identify “disaster capitalism”, when capitalists use a disaster to impose measures they couldn’t possibly get away with in normal times, generating more profit for themselves. Disaster patriarchy is a parallel and complementary process, where men exploit a crisis to reassert control and dominance, and rapidly erase hard-earned women’s rights. (The term “racialized disaster patriarchy” was used by Rachel E Luft in writing about an intersectional model for understanding disaster 10 years after Hurricane Katrina.) All over the world, patriarchy has taken full advantage of the virus to reclaim power – on the one hand, escalating the danger and violence to women, and on the other, stepping in as their supposed controller and protector.

I have spent months interviewing activists and grassroots leaders around the world, from Kenya to France to India, to find out how this process is affecting them, and how they are fighting back. In very different contexts, five key factors come up again and again. In disaster patriarchy, women lose their safety, their economic power, their autonomy, their education, and they are pushed on to the frontlines, unprotected, to be sacrificed. 

Part of me hesitates to use the word “patriarchy”, because some people feel confused by it, and others feel it’s archaic. I have tried to imagine a newer, more contemporary phrase for it, but I have watched how we keep changing language, updating and modernising our descriptions in an attempt to meet the horror of the moment. I think, for example, of all the names we have given to the act of women being beaten by their partner. First, it was battery, then domestic violence, then intimate partner violence, and most recently intimate terrorism. We are forever doing the painstaking work of refining and illuminating, rather than insisting the patriarchs work harder to deepen their understanding of a system that is eviscerating the planet. So, I’m sticking with the word. 

In this devastating time of Covid we have seen an explosion of violence towards women, whether they are cisgender or gender-diverse. Intimate terrorism in lockdown has turned the home into a kind of torture chamber for millions of women. We have seen the spread of revenge porn as lockdown has pushed the world online; such digital sexual abuse is now central to domestic violence as intimate partners threaten to share sexually explicit images without victims’ consent. 

The conditions of lockdown – confinement, economic insecurity, fear of illness, excess of alcohol – were a perfect storm for abuse. It is hard to determine what is more disturbing: the fact that in 2021 thousands of men still feel willing and entitled to control, torture and beat their wives, girlfriends and children, or that no government appears to have thought about this in their planning for lockdown. 

In Peru, hundreds of women and girls have gone missing since lockdown was imposed, and are feared dead. According to official figures reported by Al Jazeera, 606 girls and 309 women went missing between 16 March and 30 June last year. Worldwide, the closure of schools has increased the likelihood of various forms of violence. The US Rape Abuse and Incest National Network says its helpline for survivors of sexual assault has never been in such demand in its 26-year history, as children are locked in with abusers with no ability to alert their teachers or friends. In Italy, calls to the national anti-violence toll-free number increased by 73% between 1 March and 16 April 2020, according to the activist Luisa Rizzitelli. In Mexico, emergency call handlers received the highest number of calls in the country’s history, and the number of women who sought domestic violence shelters quadrupled. 

To add outrage to outrage, many governments reduced funding for these shelters at the exact moment they were most needed. This seems to be true throughout Europe. In the UK, providers told Human Rights Watch that the Covid-19 crisis has exacerbated a lack of access to services for migrant and Black, Asian and minority ethnic women. The organisations working with these communities say that persistent inequality leads to additional difficulties in accessing services such as education, healthcare and disaster relief remotely. 

In the US, more than 5 million women’s jobs were lost between the start of the pandemic and November 2020. Because much of women’s work requires physical contact with the public – restaurants, stores, childcare, healthcare settings – theirs were some of the first to go. Those who were able to keep their jobs were often frontline workers whose positions have put them in great danger; some 77% of hospital workers and 74% percent of school staff are women. Even then, the lack of childcare options left many women unable to return to their jobs. Having children does not have this effect for men. The rate of unemployment for Black and Latina women was higher before the virus, and now it is even worse. 

The situation is more severe for women in other parts of the world. Shabnam Hashmi, a leading women’s activist from India, tells me that by April 2020 a staggering 39.5% of women there had lost their jobs. “Work from home is very taxing on women as their personal space has disappeared, and workload increased threefold,” Hashmi says. In Italy, existing inequalities have been amplified by the health emergency. Rizzitelli points out that women already face lower employment, poorer salaries and more precarious contracts, and are rarely employed in “safe” corporate roles; they have been the first to suffer the effects of the crisis. “Pre-existing economic, social, racial and gender inequalities have been accentuated, and all of this risks having longer-term consequences than the virus itself,” Rizzitelli says. 

When women are put under greater financial pressure, their rights rapidly erode. With the economic crisis created by Covid, sex- and labour-trafficking are again on the rise. Young women who struggle to pay their rent are being preyed on by landlords, in a process known as “sextortion”. 

I don’t think we can overstate the level of exhaustion, anxiety and fear that women are suffering from taking care of families, with no break or time for themselves. It’s a subtle form of madness. As women take care of the sick, the needy and the dying, who takes care of them? Colani Hlatjwako, an activist leader from the Kingdom of Eswatini, sums it up: “Social norms that put a heavy caregiving burden on women and girls remain likely to make their physical and mental health suffer.” These structures also impede access to education, damage livelihoods, and strip away sources of support.

Unesco estimates that upward of 11 million girls may not return to school once the Covid pandemic subsides. The Malala Fund estimates an even bigger number: 20 million. Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, from UN Women, says her organisation has been fighting for girls’ education since the Beijing UN women’s summit in 1995. “Girls make up the majority of the schoolchildren who are not going back,” she says. “We had been making progress – not perfect, but we were keeping them at school for longer. And now, to have these girls just dropping out in one year, is quite devastating.” 

Of all these setbacks, this will be the most significant. When girls are educated, they know their rights, and what to demand. They have the possibility of getting jobs and taking care of their families. When they can’t access education, they become a financial strain to their families and are often forced into early marriages. 

This has particular implications for female genital mutilation (FGM). Often, fathers will accept not subjecting their daughters to this process because their daughters can become breadwinners through being educated. If there is no education, then the traditional practices resume, so that daughters can be sold for dowries. As Agnes Pareyio, chairwoman of the Kenyan Anti-Female Genital Mutilation Board, tells me: “Covid closed our schools and brought our girls back home. No one knew what was going on in the houses. We know that if you educate a girl, FGM will not happen. And now, sadly the reverse is true.” 

In the early months of the pandemic, I had a front-row seat to the situation of nurses in the US, most of whom are women. I worked with National Nurses United, the biggest and most radical nurses’ union, and interviewed many nurses working on the frontline. I watched as for months they worked gruelling 12-hour shifts filled with agonising choices and trauma, acting as midwives to death. On their short lunch breaks, they had to protest over their own lack of personal protective equipment, which put them in even greater danger. In the same way that no one thought what it would mean to lock women and children in houses with abusers, no one thought what it would be like to send nurses into an extremely contagious pandemic without proper PPE. In some US hospitals, nurses were wearing garbage bags instead of gowns, and reusing single-use masks many times. They were being forced to stay on the job even if they had fevers.

The treatment of nurses who were risking their lives to save ours was a shocking kind of violence and disrespect. But there are many other areas of work where women have been left unprotected, from the warehouse workers who are packing and shipping our goods, to women who work in poultry and meat plants who are crammed together in dangerous proximity and forced to stay on the job even when they are sick. One of the more stunning developments has been with “tipped” restaurant workers in the US, already allowed to be paid the shockingly low wage of $2.13 (£1.50) an hour, which has remained the same for the past 22 years. Not only has work declined, tips have also declined greatly for those women, and now a new degradation called “maskular harassment” has emerged, where male customers insist waitresses take off their masks so they can determine if and how much to tip them based on their looks. 

Women farm workers in the US have seen their protections diminished while no one was looking. Mily Treviño-Sauceda, executive director of Alianza Nacional de Campesinas, tells me how pressures have increased on campesinas, or female farm workers: “There have been more incidents of pesticides poisonings, sexual abuse and heat stress issues, and there is less monitoring from governmental agencies or law enforcement due to Covid-19.” 

Covid has revealed the fact that we live with two incompatible ideas when it comes to women. The first is that women are essential to every aspect of life and our survival as a species. The second is that women can easily be violated, sacrificed and erased. This is the duality that patriarchy has slashed into the fabric of existence, and that Covid has laid bare. If we are to continue as a species, this contradiction needs to be healed and made whole. 

To be clear, the problem is not the lockdowns, but what the lockdowns, and the pandemic that required them, have made clear. Covid has revealed that patriarchy is alive and well; that it will reassert itself in times of crisis because it has never been truly deconstructed, and like an untreated virus it will return with a vengeance when the conditions are ripe. 

The truth is that unless the culture changes, unless patriarchy is dismantled, we will forever be spinning our wheels. Coming out of Covid, we need to be bold, daring, outrageous and to imagine a more radical way of existing on the Earth. We need to continue to build and spread activist movements. We need progressive grassroots women and women of colour in positions of power. We need a global initiative on the scale of a Marshall Plan or larger, to deconstruct and exorcise patriarchy – which is the root of so many other forms of oppression, from imperialism to racism, from transphobia to the denigration of the Earth. 

There would first be a public acknowledgment, and education, about the nature of patriarchy and an understanding that it is driving us to our end. There would be ongoing education, public forums and processes studying how patriarchy leads to various forms of oppression. Art would help expunge trauma, grief, aggression, sorrow and anger in the culture and help heal and make people whole. We would understand that a culture that has diabolical amnesia and refuses to address its past can only repeat its misfortunes and abuses. Community and religious centres would help members deal with trauma. We would study the high arts of listening and empathy. Reparations and apologies would be done in public forums and in private meetings. Learning the art of apology would be as important as prayer.

The feminist author Gerda Lerner wrote in 1986: “The system of patriarchy in a historic construct has a beginning and it will have an end. Its time seems to have nearly run its course. It no longer serves the needs of men and women, and its intractable linkage to militarism, hierarchy and racism has threatened the very existence of life on Earth.”

As powerful as patriarchy is, it’s just a story. As the post-pandemic era unfolds, can we imagine another system, one that is not based on hierarchy, violence, domination, colonialisation and occupation? Do we see the connection between the devaluing, harming and oppression of all women and the destruction of the Earth itself? What if we lived as if we were kin? What if we treated each person as sacred and essential to the unfolding story of humanity? 

What if rather than exploiting, dominating and hurting women and girls during a crisis, we designed a world that valued them, educated them, paid them, listened to them, cared for them and centred them?“

[saintbleeding]

tagged by the delightful @princess-of-purple-prose !

i had to find the words “flame”, “mumble”, and “sweet” in my wips!

this was surprisingly tricky actually! turns out i didn’t have the word “flame” anywhere :0 but i was able to find “fire” (and it’s even a fear entity pun! fave!) so i hope that will suffice,,, also the excerpt im using for this is Very Long but it’s from a somewhat beloved archivist!sasha wip and i liked it so (and no before you ask sasha is not a more put-together archivist than jon in this context. but jon is more webby than canon. so gertrude’s warning tape falls into his possession, then the squad manage to listen to it together in michael’s tunnels, then this happens):

“How the hell did you get this?” Tim snaps, turning to Jon with fire in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jon replies, his eyes fixed on the swirling pattern of the carpet. 

“Bullshit you don’t know.”

“Tim,” Sasha says, aiming for a warning, but the tape has made her feel just as faint this time as it did the first.

“I’m serious,” Jon says.

“Why was it you then? Why didn’t Martin find it in the tunnels or, or why wasn’t it in Sasha’s desk?”

Jon’s scrambling to his feet, his expression just as dark. “I told you I don’t fucking know.”

“Guys,” Sasha and Martin say at the same time. Tim and Jon don’t move.

next i found mumble in the utterly self-indulgent and as-yet-nameless jmart coffeeshop au wip. (plot what plot but in the sense that it’s short, uncomplicated, and tooth-rotting) so:

“It’s fine,” Jon mumbles through his smile. “You had me a bit worried, but… being implicated in someone’s sudden death is… most of the reason.”

Martin raises an eyebrow as they get into the escalator and he presses the button for the third floor. “Ah. Of course. Just a professional interest.”

Jon looks at his shoes. “Hmm.”

“And an interest in keeping my downstairs neighbours from having to deal with corpse soup in their ceiling.”

and sweet is from “to render again and receive” which, in essence, is like. a somewhere else fic where jon does a melanie and the newfound peace results in much character study/trauma processing. i kinda love this fic but haven’t touched it in a while, alas. anyway:

While Jon’s never dressed in finery, he’s always had overcoats and shoes and scarves that have the structure to suggest they were investments, not cheaply-acquired necessities. 

The first time they took this trip, Jon had taken them into a shoe shop and spent two hundred pounds on a pair of boots for him. He’d had this soft, sweet look in his eyes and said something about Martin having felt quite enough of the cold already.

i am gonna tag @tired-beholding-bitch, @taniushka12, @pinehutch, @shinyopals, @three-magpies-in-a-trenchcoat and @saltbright (sorry was i only supposed to tag five? welp i couldn’t pick <3) to find the words “light”, “wrong”, and “sun” in their wips! <3

[dr-southernerd]

I think a lot about what it is to be a woman in science, but I have the inherent privilege that comes with being a white woman to shield me from the worst of it. I had an absolutely eye opening conversation with classmate of mine last year, and I’d like to share it with y’all.

This other lab member of mine became a great friend of mine around the time I decided to switch labs. She had a different PI and was a year ahead of me, so I was comfortable bringing my concerns to her. Her support was instrumental in my decision and my current happiness in my new lab. She presented in a lab meeting the day I went to the director of our grad school and requested a change in PIs, so I missed it. I knew she had been nervous (it was meant to prepare her for for her preliminary exam) so I asked her the next day how it had gone.

Now. To put this in context, I need to explain my old PI. He was an almost eighty year old white man, and if it wasn’t his opinion, it was wrong. He was very, very bad at being a PI. He was also probably worse at being a co-worker. I recall at least three lab meetings that devolved into him yelling with another PI, and several student presentations that he was terribly mean and unnecessarily fixated on insignificant details. So it comes as no shock that he went after my friend.

My old PI (who was not involved in bacteria research AT ALL) had taken some issue with the strain of bacteria she was using, one that was selected based on clinical relevancy. This had resulted in a dissolving of my friends presentation into him interrogating her about this strain, interrupting her explanations and generally getting louder and louder and louder until her PI stepped in. Upon hearing all of this, I apologized profusely for his behavior and asked how she was doing now. She expressed to me how she had struggled to remain calm, and how she was ultimately grateful to her PI for de-escalating the situation.

Now here’s the part that hit me hard: my friend explained to me that she was grateful mostly because she wasn’t sure how much longer she would have been able to withstand his nonsense without raising her voice, to which I responded, “he would have deserved it. You were right and he was wrong, and it’s beyond time he was put in his place. He’s not your PI, and he’s not on your committee, so I think you would have been wholly justified in standing up for yourself.”

“If I’d had raised my voice at him, even a little, I would have been labeled an angry black woman, and everyone in that room would have written me off as a stereotype of my race.”

Oh. Ohhhhh. OH that hit me in the heart and the brain and the soul and I’m shocked I didn’t get a bruise. My sweet, strong, smart friend, who was a mom and a wife and a brilliant student and a kind soul, had to weigh every word out of her mouth with a gravity I couldn’t understand, and had never considered until that moment. And it probably says a lot about my white privilege and my bubble I’ve grown up in that I was 24 years old before this came across to me. But this conversation has lived in my head ever since, and my perspective of the world shifted because of it. I think what made this particular incidence so eye opening to me was that being interrogated by this man over stupid details was something that happened to me regularly, and had just pushed me over the edge. Realizing some level of privilege had protected me all along from it being worse was enlightening.

I’ve benefitted my whole life from white privilege (a thing my family doesn’t think exists). I’m nowhere near perfect as an ally or a friend or a person, but I want to be better at standing up for and alongside those who need the protection my privilege offers. I share this now in case it resonates with someone else the way it did with me.

Black lives matter. Black people matter. Your hearts matter and your ideas matter and your feelings and your dignity and hurt and anger and fear. It shouldn’t require stating but it does, and I am so so sorry for your pain, for every situation I wouldn’t think twice in that you have to navigate carefully. I’m sorry, and I stand with you.

[aimeelouart]

I’m stress writing again, but this time I got a little distracted from 7C9S.

From @im-totally-not-an-alien ‘s  Final Fantasy 7 prompts # 45:

8. Time traveler Cloud casually curing Angeal and Genesis's degradation with vials of Aeriths holy water.

He feels betrayed when they try to drag him to Shinra, despite their benevolent intentions.

“Hey, Asshole!” - 1368 words, pairings open to interpretation

“Hey, asshole!”

Genesis turned instinctively at the shout, Angeal pausing along with him. Verbal abuse from the public wasn’t exactly unknown to him⁠—no one with significant notoriety will ever be without their detractors, deserved or not⁠—but he was a little startled to have someone shouting at him so brazenly, in broad daylight, in one of the more affluent sectors, while he and Angeal made their way back to the Tower after having lunch.

He opened his mouth to respond, zeroing in on an approaching blond man. A very quickly approaching blond man. “Wh⁠—”

Genesis never had a chance to finish the question. With the speed only an enhanced person can have, the blond seized a fistful of his hair, yanked his head back, and poured a small vial of water into his mouth. He swallowed out of sheer surprise.

Angeal made an alarmed noise, immediately lashing out to get the blond off of Genesis, and was deftly flipped into a headlock for his troubles. Genesis was still regaining his balance as the blond man tipped a second vial down Angeal’s throat.

Then the man unceremoniously released him and left.

The whole thing had taken place in the span of maybe ten seconds. Angeal touched a hand to his mouth as he straightened, bewildered. Genesis ran his tongue over his teeth. If there had been anything but water in that vial, he would have been able to taste it. But why in the Goddess’s name would someone assault two SOLDIERs to…, what, hydrate them? Why would someone enhanced⁠—

Someone enhanced.

Genesis looked at Angeal. Angeal looked back. Without a single word, they both took off after the blond man. 

He’d managed to get a fair distance away, but he also seemed fairly unconcerned with any kind of escape. He was just... leaving. Fortunately for them, his shock of bright gold hair was unmistakable (and about as ridiculous as the wild mane of Angeal’s student, thought Genesis).

“Excuse me!” Angeal called, his tone somewhere between bewildered and angry. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Genesis was a little surprised when the blond man actually turned toward them, even if he did keep walking backward. He had a preternatural ability to dodge oncoming pedestrians without actually looking back. “What?” asked the man, seeming genuinely shocked to be questioned in such a way. “I’m solving problems before they escalate. Can’t you feel the difference?”

Then he pointed to Genesis’s shoulder⁠—the shoulder that wasn’t healing, which he hadn’t told anyone about yet, though he had decided to go to Hollander tomorrow. The Commander barely kept himself from bristling defensively, which was absurd because how could this random whelp off the street know something he’d never even told Ange⁠—

Wait. 

His shoulder.

His shoulder. 

It wasn’t hurting. One hand shot up to grab it while the other gripped Angeal’s bicep, just for something to anchor him as he reeled in shock. Had the little blond actually healed him? How? It was impossible for some stranger to even have known there was a problem, much less how to solve it!

The blond cracked a grin, apparently following Genesis’s train of thought perfectly. “Yeah, see? ‘S all good now. Bye.” Then he offered a sloppy two-finger salute and turned back around, apparently intent on continuing his departure to parts unknown.

Genesis dropped his hands and closed the distance in three long strides, seizing the blond’s arm without a thought. “My friend, do you fly away now?” he quoted breathlessly. It wasn’t quite the proper context, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He needed the man to come with him, back to ShinRa, just so he would have enough time to wrap his head around the whole thing and offer an appropriate response. “Please, hold for a moment, stranger.”

“Genesis?” Angeal asked cautiously. 

But the blond frowned at him, slowing to a stop. The crowd flowed around them like a river around and boulder, though the three hardly paid them any mind. “Why? Take it and go. I’ve got important things to do.” This close, Genesis could see the gleaming mako blue of the man⁠’s eyes. There were even unmistakable strands of green threading his limbal ring.

“I don’t recognize you, but you must be a SOLDIER,” Genesis said contemplatively, keeping his grip firm. “Who are you? What rank? I suppose you must be one of the ones who are overly fond of those ridiculous helmets.”

The blond looked at him strangely, and as Genesis became less distracted he started to notice how wild and unkempt the man looked: dirt-smudged, hazy-eyed, and standing still Genesis could pick up the faint tang of blood, both dried and fresh. Honestly, he looked like he’d just returned to Midgar from a month-long solo extermination mission in the wilderness. The circles beneath his eyes were deep and dark. 

“I’m not a SOLDIER,” the blond said, as if such a suggestion was absurd on its face.

Genesis frowned at him. “There’s no use in lying, dear. I can see the mako in your eyes. I know my reputation likely precedes me, but I swear to you I’m not angry. I don’t know how you...well, suffice it to say, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Angeal shot Genesis a very pointed look⁠—the one that said we’re going to be talking about this later⁠—but he turned his attention on the blond and seemed to see exactly what Genesis did. “Are you alright, SOLDIER?” he asked, putting his hand on the arm opposite to the one Genesis was still holding. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

The blond blinked slowly, glancing down at the hand on his arm. He seemed to know exactly what Genesis did: that it was there both as reassurance and in preparation for restraint. He was certainly a SOLDIER if he knew Angeal that well, most likely one of the SOLDIERs in Angeal’s section.

“Oh,” he said after a second’s delay, sounding oddly surprised. “Sleep. I knew I was forgetting something.”

Genesis and Angeal exchanged another glance. “Ooookay,” said Angeal, drawing the word out. “I’m still not entirely sure what’s happening here, but why don’t we all go back to the Tower and get you seen to?”

“No thanks,” said the blond. “Let me go, please. I’m busy.”

How precious. He thought they were going to let it slide.

Genesis smiled charmingly. Anyone who worked with him for any length of time knew to be afraid of that smile. It meant, quite plainly, that Genesis had decided on something and there was not a thing anyone could do to dissuade him. “I’m sure you are, dear, but believe me when I say that you’ll feel much more capable once you’ve had a chance to rest. Why, you may even accomplish your...tasks...more efficiently!”

With Angeal’s help, he started to drag the squirming man back toward the Tower. SOLDIER strength or not, it turns out to be quite difficult to run away when your feet aren’t touching the ground. Who knew?

“Put me down!” the man demanded, though he sounded far more offended than truly angry. “I’m busy, you assholes!”

“Of course,” Genesis agreed pleasantly, his grip like iron. The man was very sturdy for someone of his stature and build, but keeping him from getting any leverage to squirm free took only a fraction of the Commander’s strength. He really was quite small. Come to think of it, Genesis didn’t know of any SOLDIERs who were quite so...fun sized. “We won’t take up much of your time, I promise.”

“This is what I get for doing Zack a favor,” the blond muttered irritably. Angeal shot him a sharp look. Genesis made a mental note. One of the puppy’s many friends, perhaps? But a favor? How had Zack known? Had Zack known?

Genesis shook his head to dismiss the thoughts for now. He didn’t care if he had to let the mysterious blond crash on his couch and use his personal shower. Hell, he didn’t care if the had to cook the man a meal himself⁠—one way or another, Genesis wasn’t letting the man who’d miraculously healed him out of his sight until he got answers.

[neat-crows]

Unsaid Emily Analyses

“First things first

We start the scene in reverse

All of the lines rehearsed

Disappeared from my mind”

Luke starts off by telling us the “scene” is reversed, therefore showing us it’s a moment he replayed in his mind many times, or even an argument he’s used to having. He then talks about how all the “lines rehearsed” disappeared from his mind, this clearly indicates that this argument or conversation has happened several times, and that he has certain responses already set up in defense that he can spit out in order to protect himself from hurtful words. Seeing as on this occasion those lines left and he ended up running away, we can assume all of those are meant to de-escalate conflict, such as agreements to whatever his mom is saying, or anything else to calm her down.

“When things got loud

One of us running out

I should've turned around

But I had too much pride”

These lyrics are pretty self explanatory, things got loud in terms of their argument, they started yelling, he ran out and left, and because of his “pride” he didn’t turn around, which he now regrets. It’s interesting that he blames all of this on his “pride” and puts himself down for the entire situation, when his mother being unsupportive is just as big of a factor. At the point when he was writing it, he had the ability to go back, and he clearly wanted to, and he wasn’t too prideful to admit it, he may be trying to hide his fear of rejection and guilt behind a guise of “pride”, when in reality he just fears his parents not wanting him back, so he’d rather reject them first.

“No time for goodbyes

Didn't get to apologize

Pieces of a clock that lies broken”

These lyrics have an interesting double meaning, in the context of the show (seeing as this was written before his death) he’s talking about how when he was running away he didn’t get the chance to say goodbye or apologize, the clock might mean a literal clock that was broken during the fight, or it could be a metaphor for losing time with each other that does irreparable damage. In the narrative of the show, these lyrics take a different meaning, “no time for goodbyes” and “didn’t get to apologize” can now be taken to mean that because he died far away from his parents with no warning, he never got the chance to say goodbye to the people he loves, and because of his untimely death, he never got to apologize or make up for it. The clock lyric, when read through this lens, could be talking about how he literally fractured through time, and now his parents are older and  can’t see him, and he’ll never be able to put that time back together.

“If I could take us back, if I could just do that

And write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace

Then maybe time would not erase me”

Luke is wishing that he could go back to the night he ran away, whether before or after he died, this is his greatest regret. While he wrote the lyrics he thought that he would one day might be able to rectify the situation, although his insistance on taking them “back” in time may mean that he feels as if what was said and done was so harsh that it can no longer be fixed. As we saw earlier he didn’t turn around because of his pride, and his pride and guilt is partially what stopped him from going back sooner, and after his death, he wishes he could go back and fix the situation, because while he was alive he used his pride as an excuse to stay away from his family. Then we move on to the next line, where he tells us that if he could go back he’d replace “every empty space” with “the words ‘I love you’”. This shows that there was a lot of silence in his home between him and his mother, whether that be tense silence where they’re purposefully ignoring each other, or just a lack of communication and trust to share their thoughts and days with each other. It’s also interesting that he doesn’t want to replace cruel or mean words with “I love you”, just the silences, which may indicate that there were more silences than fights, and also that he doesn’t necessarily disagree with what he’s said. Luke clearly regrets not showing his parents how much he loves them, but perhaps he also believes that if his mom knew he loved her, she would have been more supportive, and that if he had just shown his appreciation a little more, then he and his friends wouldn’t have died. 

This Segway's into the next line, “then maybe time would not erase me”. Within the show the line probably means that he feels that if he had shown his love to his parents, then time wouldn’t have erased him from their lives and hearts, or perhaps if he proves himself and his love to them, he can avoid being erased from his family. This also may show a deeper fear due to the phrasing of the line, he doesn’t want time to erase him, he fears not being noteworthy, and being forgotten by time, because if he’s forgotten by time, then he can’t prove his parents wrong, and he can’t show that his dream was worth chasing. Ironically because of this fight, he did end up getting “erased” by time, as he died young and then Bobby/Trevor stole all his songs and didn’t give him credit. This may play a role in why he’s so adamant that he and the boys get their second chance, and their revenge on Trevor/Bobby for essentially erasing him and his work. But within the meta narrative, this line may explain even more. 

If any of the boys had had more supportive or engaged parents, they most likely wouldn't have died. If (in Luke's perspective) Luke had shown his love more, or his appreciation for his parents, then the phantoms would have been celebrating before the show with Emily and Mitch, rather than eating those tainted street dogs, so this line is showing Luke’s guilt because he feels that because of his pride and lack of communication he caused him and his friends to be erased by history and to those they love.

“If you could only know I'd never let you go

And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave

Unsaid Emily”

Luke wishes that his parents knew he loved them, because then he would never had had to let them go, or run away, showing he feels a lot of guilt and blame for what happened between them, then he goes on to say that what he regrets most are the words he left unsaid, he regrets not showing his love and appreciation when he got the chance, which must hurt so much more after his death.

“Silent days, mysteries and mistakes

Who'd be the first to break?

Guess we're alike that way”

He starts off talking about silent days, this seems to be referencing times when he and his mother would purposefully ignore each other out of anger or hurt, over “mysteries and mistakes” meaning their communication skills were so bad, that sometimes he wouldn’t even know what she was angry about, and the mistakes” part may point to Luke’s habit of speaking before thinking thighs through, as well as the fact that their relationship was so strained that even a small misstep could cause a fight, which connects back to the silences between them, where Luke most likely figured that keeping his mouth shut was the easiest way to navigate his home life. Luke goes on to talk about who would “break” first, this seems to mean which one of them would break the silence and presumably start a fight, he then says that they are alike this way, he and his mother are both very strong willed people, that can hold on to a lot of hurt and anger, and when they break they are equally as passionate as each other. And in the context of this line, they are both angry at each other and just as stubborn in their conflict resolution.

“He said, she said

Conversations in my head

And that's just where they're gonna stay forever”

Luke starts off by making it clear that after arguments and especially when he ran away, he would replay their fights over and over, and think up better comebacks, or reasoning for his actions, maybe even apologies, but they’re only going to be in his head, because again he’s to prideful, ashamed, and guilty to actually talk this out with his parents, and in the meta narrative we know, he died far before he even started making amends.

“If you could only know I'd never let you go”

This last line is a bit of a play on words, it means “if only you knew I loved you, then I’d never have to let you go” but it also means he wishes desperately that they knew he would never willingly leave them. All Luke wants is to make it up to his parents, but he and his parents will never be able to go back and fix their past mistakes, all they can do is move on, and hope that one day they can see each other again.

[morningflames]

a word of warning

well here’s a post i never thought i’d be making

it’s come to my attention that a Certain Someone is planning on making a comeback to WrA soon and it fills me with nothing short of dread. i spent the day yesterday warning people he terrorized and manipulated that this was happening. you know it’s bad when there’s a literal network of people who share an abuser that have remained in contact for years in the event this happened again.

i am not going to lie and say that making this post does not terrify me but i cannot in good conscience sit back and let him worm his way into the rp scene again and do what he did to me and at least half a dozen others all over again.

to summarize: tarcanus aka tarcanus frostborne is a manipulative, emotionally abusive and predatory individual that should be avoided at all costs.

i am the player behind lyrinel, a former officer of his and someone who was on the receiving end of nearly a years worth of abuse and manipulation. my experiences pale in comparison to those of others who dealt with him and came forward to me after i left his guild, and i cannot speak for anyone who does not feel comfortable coming forward. if you do want to let your voice be heard, feel free to reblog and add your own anecdotes.

my story below the cut.

tw: manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, coercion, grooming

i first joined coram populo in early 2014 after my best friend and fellow survivor (i will refer to her by her character’s name of thradia from here on out) joined the raid team in december of the previous year. we were both just looking for a social place to park our characters and maybe start role playing again, as we hadn’t had a guild or dedicated rp group in a while. things were fine and friendly for the first couple of months, though it’s worth noting that a large part of the office corps had just left or was in the process of leaving when thradia and i joined. we were both 18 at the time.

i made the mistake of reaching out to tarc in the spring, when i noticed him posting to his tumblr about how busy he was. i offered to be an IC assistant of sorts to his character and he was more than happy to toss me into an absolute whirlwind. we still didn’t know much about each other, but in the span of a couple weeks we went from casual contact in guild chat to immensely long (sometimes between 10 and 12 hours) skype calls, constant DMing, and an almost uninterrupted stream of conversation. i was struggling to finish high school at this time (spoiler: i failed to graduate) and found myself suddenly caught in an all-consuming relationship with this man and his guild. from the moment i woke up to the moment i finally hung up and crawled into bed, my time was taken up by tarc and the guild and the game.

i was promoted to officer less than five months after joining the guild. this was overwhelming for a number of reasons, chief among them being the fact that i had never been an officer in a guild like this before and i was very quickly escalated to tarc’s “inner circle.” this was a circle that he evidently didn’t even include his most senior officers in, as he didn’t seem to communicate with them to the extent or abundance that he did with me - and later, when she was ALSO promoted to officer, thradia. 

within a few weeks i found myself at the center of dozens of micro-confrontations and venting from tarc about other members of the guild, raid team, and even fellow officers. every time, i would tell him he needed to take it to his co-gm and talk it through with her. she, like him, was a grown woman with a lot more experience and better people skills than me, a teenager barely out of high school, but tarc insisted on beating me over the head with his frustrations and then proceeding to guilt me and tell me i was a terrible friend when i didn’t agree with him or expressed i was uncomfortable being in the center of a vent session that i felt was unwarranted. 

tarc was never wrong. he did not apologize. the words “i’m sorry” did not exist in his vocabulary, and if they did, they were almost always followed up with the word “but.” constantly he would be sending multiple messages to me or thradia while we were running events and raids for the guild, ranting about a few particular members that he disliked at the time regardless of how we felt about said members. thradia and i would both be reduced to tears and/or anxiety attacks by his outbursts that all but demanded we take his side even if we didn’t. his feelings and circumstances were paramount. everyone else’s were just inconveniences. 

tarc was always the victim. no matter what was going on, no matter who had instigated whatever vein of conversation we were on that had gone awry, he had a way of making you feel like utter shit until you grovelled for his forgiveness, which he rarely gave. instead he would move on without giving any closure or allowing you to discuss your feelings at length. if you tried, you were the insensitive one who he couldn’t go to with his “unfiltered emotions,” which was the entire purpose of his inner circle to hear him say it. i was not allowed to just be his friend or just be an officer, i had to be both and neither at the same time, and it still was not the right course of action. nothing ever was.

tarc was openly manipulative and antagonistic, always citing it as an “inside joke” when called on it. i opened up to him once about my father’s alcoholism and how i was uncomfortable with alcohol culture and being around drunk people. regardless, he would constantly call while drunk (or maybe he was pretending to be to get a rise out of me, i honestly do not know what was genuine and what was put on with him) and make me stay on the call with him for hours. when he was (allegedly) diagnosed with an inability to process certain alcohols that could be life threatening, he continued to drink (or claimed he was drinking) dangerous amounts, which lead to me begging him to stop as i feared for his life. one of the worst anxiety attacks i have ever had was over him endangering his health and me believing i was going to see a friend die. he knew how much this upset me and he did not stop. he held me as a captive audience to his self destruction (or the playacting of it) and let me cry and beg and plead with him to take care of himself.

tarc loves to promote a clean, “family friendly” persona online. he will go on and on about the positive atmosphere his guild provides and how progress and accepting he and his “safe spaces” are. as soon as you are inducted to his inner circle, however, you learn otherwise. he will gladly engage in sexually charged conversation with you, even if you are ten years younger than him as thradia and i were. we were both legal adults, yes, but just barely. i can’t count the inappropriate remarks and jokes made about us, our friends, and even minors all in the spirit of joking “what if” conversation. he has a history of making young LGBT+ people uncomfortable, making their sexualities and identities about him and how he can relate to them. 

tarc was the most two-faced and divisive guild leader i’ve ever seen. he would rant to me mercilessly about wanting to kick one of the junior officers and raid team members in private while never saying a word to their face or bringing it up with the co-gm. he would start schisms between people, telling each what they wanted to hear and encouraging both parties not to confront each other about it, allowing the resentment and distrust to grow as he fanned the flames on both sides. he wanted people to stay in the guild and continue to basically work for him while also putting him above anyone else in their friend circles. he told straight up lies to thradia and i, claiming one of us had said things about the other that we never did, driving a wedge and distrust between us.

tarc treats his guild(s) like a business. he is entirely capitalist-minded even in an MMORPG that people play for fun, churning out “content” and keeping up appearances like a machine. he treats his officers and guild members like employees, not people. any time irl would demand attention away from the game, forcing someone to miss or cancel an event, he would subtly guilt them about it until they apologized, even if it was a dire situation or a family emergency. 

when tarc wanted to start a wow roleplaying podcast, he approached me about cohosting. he wanted a female voice, and since i was out of school and had no job lined up due to not graduating i was the perfect candidate. i came on to narrate and research the lore segment of the looking for roleplay podcast, which was little more than me paraphrasing a wowwiki article, but i was held to a “professional” standard. i had to have my research done by a certain day, my recording done in advance, etc. 

the podcast was a spot of contention for several reasons, one being the mysterious emails tarc would allegedly receive about it. the podcast had a shared email account that all three of us could access and look at, but tarc claimed that people sent emails directly to him since “everything’s under his email.” he would use these strawman emails as indirect criticism of turwinkle and i, reading them aloud or typing up what they supposedly said but NEVER producing a real screenshot or address to verify them. i’m convinced he only did this as a way to make turwinkle and i feel badly and work harder “for the listeners” to appease things tarc didn’t like about our segments. he also insinuated he got inappropriate emails about me specifically at this account but, again, i was never allowed to see them with my own eyes, just hear about them secondhand, which is why i believe they did not exist.

around this time, tarc began recording conversations without mine or thradias consent. he would start recording random sections of calls and taunt us, playing back out-of-context lines and joking that he would make “podcast commercials” out of them. they were often embarrassing, personal, or just wildly out of context lines that we didn’t want played to the public, and i heard only a fraction of what he possibly recorded of me. i have no idea what kind of material he has of me and thradia that was recorded without us knowing or consenting. it felt like blackmail. it still does.

i internalized all of this. i thought this was normal. i thought he was an excellent guild leader and a role model for leadership. i had begun to treat world of fucking warcraft like a goddamn job and i thought that was fine. my life revolved around coddling and entertaining him, socializing and promoting and recruiting for the guild, raiding, running pvp entirely on my own, keeping up IC connections and attending events, recording for the podcast, all of it. i ate, breathed, and slept wow and coram. it was insane. i had been talked into having no boundaries for myself and my time, and any time i tried to correct that and build a boundary i was attacked for it until i backed down. i have never felt worse about myself than i did while i was in this guild. i trusted no one. i was worn thin.

i finally had enough early 2015. at this point this man was trying to get me to come live with him hundreds of miles from my family so that i could attend a technical school in his area. i am still 18. he was 28. i had been trying to step down from my position as an officer, citing if i was going to be LIVING WITH HIM that it was going to give me an unfair bias in my standing in the guild. this set him all the way off. he was planning a trip to atlantic city for me, himself, and thradia, who i had a ticket to visit for my birthday. he was getting frantic because he had been pursuing thradia for months, and i was no longer cooperating. 

when i threw this wrench in everything, our relationship devolved in the span of a few hours. within the day i left the guild on all of my characters and pulled myself out of all of his projects. within the month i had frantically faction changed several characters and eventually unsubscribed from the game for two years because i lived in fear of him. he had always alluded to “knowing people” who could hack and track IP addresses and kept tabs on everyone who visited his blogs and websites. i didn’t know what i thought he was going to do - all i knew was his thinly veiled brags and threats were at the forefront of my mind. i have played this game since 2006, but for the first time in my life i couldn’t enjoy it out of fear and exhaustion caused by him. he had ruined my favorite game in less than a year and made me paranoid about my entire online presence, to the point where this blog was abandoned for months before i turned it into what it is today. 

and the thing is, tarc’s not a creepy or abrasive guy when you first meet him. he’s funny and charismatic and outgoing. he loves to tell you about his world travels and show you pictures of him petting baby tigers at rescues in southeast asia and go on about these crazy winnings he would have in vegas. he’s larger than life - at least online. he came to visit me twice in the year that we knew each other. the first time was also the first time i had ever met thradia in person, and we had been friends for six years at that point. he has met my family, and that of several other members (both my age and older). no one ever questions why he’s there. no one ever thought it was odd that for a week he hung out with three teenage girls exclusively. 

this horrifies me to this day. 

thradia and i are still best friends. we compared notes and were sickened at how we were played against each other. slowly, i returned to the game. i reached out to people who had left or been on their way out when i first joined the guild, curious to see if there was a common thread. there was. everyone i spoke with had similar stories: being made to feel like shit, nothing they ever did for the guild was enough, they weren’t allowed to miss events or raids no matter what the reason, they were questioned and joked about inappropriately and made to feel uncomfortable and preyed upon, etc. i was not the only one. thradia was not the only one. at least half a dozen other former members and/or officers had these stories, and tarc just kept getting away with it.

he cannot keep getting away with it.

i am being open with this for the first time in six years because i don’t want to see it happen again. because i don’t want to know that, had i said something sooner, more people could have been protected. i was 18 when this was going on. i had no real world experience. i had no standard for how i should be treated, much less by someone almost ten years my senior and who claimed to be my friend. but he knew better. he should have had boundaries and space and lines he refused to cross. he did not. he crippled my trust in people for a very long time. i have only become comfortable playing wow on horde side again in the past year or so. i finally stopped looking over my shoulder, /who’ing him and his guild, avoiding rp hubs. but now i feel like i can’t do that anymore. the safety i have worked so hard to achieve for myself is now threatened.

i understand my experiences are mild in comparison to what some offenders on this server have done. but at the end of the day, this year was the worst year of my life. to this day, the skype ringtone literally triggers me because i associated it with him and his endless calls that i never knew what to expect from or how to get out of. i can’t look at certain parts of the game without feeling fear. for months i held my breath going online or logging into wow because i was waiting for him to pop up and start accusing me of things or trying to guilt me into coming back.

tarc ran coram populo, a guild that, as far as i know, still staggers along with a few members who can’t be bothered to leave. whether or not he’s planning to return there, i don’t know. he organizes and runs (from what i can tell) the azerothian trade federation (whatever the fuck that is). i don’t know what his plans are. i don’t know what his online presence looks or will look like when he comes crawling back. but i beseech you, do not give him the time of day. do not give him a platform, no matter how nice and “woke” he makes himself out to be. he lures you in with humanist ideals and then sucks the absolute life out of you- and that’s if he doesn’t want to pressure you into a relationship on top of it.

to tarc: if somehow you’re reading this, stay away from me. keep my name out of your mouth. i do not want an apology and a string of half-assed, gaslighting excuses. i have records of past conversations. i have screenshots. i know what you fucking did to me and to my friends. i do not want you back. i do not want you here. i do not want to share space with you. i want you to go away and never come back. 

you alone made it so hard to trust myself and other people. thradia and i both have had to seek therapy due to you. and now, you have the audacity to come riding back into the scene on a white horse, being self righteous about abuse and predatory behavior online, and have the utter gall to condemn behaviors you yourself emulated without apology or second thought. i know you think you’re a good guy. that’s what makes you so fucking dangerous. you genuinely don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, and if you do, you’ve buried it and squirreled it away and have covered it up to the point where you can turn any accusation back on the claimant. 

do not attempt to contact me. do not try to threaten or appease me. go back where you were. i am finally at home again, and you will not take that from me. go. away.

[fusonzai]

I think I'm talking about confidence, I'm not too sure.

I was fifteen when I first saw Great Teacher Onizuka. My friend had lent me the DVD set (as you did when it was 2008) and I was about to spend the day watching it, feigning some illness to get out of school for the day. I needed some time alone, to process everything that had been going on around me.

For context, my parents were in the middle of a divorce. My mum, the most amazing person in the world to me, was not having a good time and I was not at all possessed with the skills to help her cope. Processing the concept of divorce, while trying to mediate the two adults going through it, wasn’t something I could handle. I didn’t know what I was doing. I needed a whole day away from friends and away from parents. While everyone was at their day job, I could think about everything and nothing, uninterrupted.

My attempt at getting out of school worked, however it came with a caveat. Mum had decided she’d take the day off with me. Feeling defeated but still stubborn, I insisted that if she was going to stay home too that we were watching GTO. I really had no idea what I was getting myself into.

GTO begins with our protagonist, Eikuchi Onizuka, squatting down by a payphone, trying to stare up the skirts of some high school girls coming down the nearby escalator. That’s a bold open. Two delinquents notice this and attempt to then extort him for cash. He promptly beats them up, forcing them to use all the money they have to buy him some food from the nearby convenience store. This scene establishes a few things straight off the bat: Onizuka is, first and foremost, a pervert and he’s physically strong but not to the point of unfairly asserting dominance over others. Onizuka dreams of being a teacher of all things. He wants to be the teacher he never had, being there for students outside the classroom as well as in. The series showcases Onizuka using his ex-biker gang leader skills and sheer determination to change the attitude of the antagonist students in his class. Each week he solves the reason behind their resistance toward him and they join his team until eventually he really is the Great Teacher, Onizuka.

The first delinquent problem Onizuka solves is that of Mizuki Nanako. Her parents aren’t divorced but they’re not exactly doing well. Ever since her father’s company started doing well and they moved into a mansion, she feels as though her parents just aren’t seeing eye to eye anymore. She blames it on a simple wall separating her parents’ private rooms. Before it got put up, her parents would talk and laugh together, sharing in their joys but also their defeats. Then before she knew it, they put a wall up and stopped sharing anything at all.

So, Onizuka arrives at her house. He’s got a bandana tied around his head, his abs gleaming as he’s smoking a cigarette. More importantly, he’s holding a sledgehammer, ready to demolish that wall. With her parents yelling at him threatening to call the police, Onizuka ascends the staircase and begins to take down that wall. Every powerful swing, shaking the wall and cracking the foundation.

(What a man what a man what a man what a might good man)

It felt cruel watching this scene with my mum. Here we were, two people still trying to process a big life event, opting to spend the day away from the problem. Here Onizuka was, just smashing through the problem with nothing but conviction, stupidity and sheer confidence. I couldn’t quite conceptualise the thought just yet but I think I envied that confidence. I wanted to be able to take a sledgehammer to this invisible problem and fix it. I didn’t know what an actual sledgehammer would solve nor was I even able to figure out what my situational sledgehammer would be, I just knew I wanted to be more like that. I wanted that confidence; I just didn’t know what it was yet.

Confidence. A complete assuredness in your actions. You may not have any idea of the outcome of said actions but you’re certain in the choice you made taking them. Maybe that’s just one definition. I struggle to this day with how to define confidence, I’ve been confident at different times in my life for different reasons. Mainly it’s been something I’ve found as I’ve gotten older though.

I struggled a lot with it when I was younger. I’d struggle to find it and when I did there was someone there trying to take it from me almost immediately. Pink polos were gay, skinny jeans were gay, being interested in anything outside the norm was gay as well. I wasn’t bullied by any means but there was always somebody around to tell you what they thought. I’d fold under that kind of pressure. I remember when I was 10 and we were in music class, I sang a little too loud and the popular girls behind me started pointing and laughing, clipping me before I got too sure of myself.

I got older and I thought I’d found confidence through weight training, but it was just arrogance. I genuinely thought I was better than other people in my creative writing class because I picked heavy things up and put them down. Of course, this had a drawback, whenever I’d meet someone bigger than me, I’d feel pathetic, jealous and inferior. I thought I’d rid myself of this arrogance when I started studying Japanese. My initial study was diligent and excessive. I’d have two Japanese classes a week and spend the rest of my time after work revising. Looking back now it was necessarily efficient studying, but in terms of time put in the hours were there. I believed I was working hard, which led to this arrogance in my abilities. An arrogance that was swiftly cut down whenever I met somebody better than me.

So, I always arrived at this juncture where I’d learn a new skill or hobby and wonder how to be confident in myself without comparing myself to others. I didn’t quite know how to praise myself for doing well at the gym or learning something new in Japanese without immediately comparing myself to others. It meant that I’d occasionally have these emotional highs when I achieved something only to be brought down to earth when I saw that somebody could do it better. I didn’t know how to make my achievements my own. The confidence I had was too fickle, it didn’t come from within and it often led to feeling superior to others based off of a single quantifier.

I was still uncomfortable with myself. I wanted outside validation which led to comparison, boasting and arrogance. I didn’t realise that I couldn’t get any of that from anyone else, it all had to come from within.

It’s taken me 14 years, but Onizuka finally made sense to me. I was watching the incredibly famous (in Japan) live action version of GTO one night, which turned into a nostalgia trip as all the episodes were almost identical to their anime equivalent. As I was watching I was wondering why I still hold this fictional character in such high regard, of all the powerful charismatic anime protagonists I watched in my teenage years, why does Onizuka persevere?

It’s because he’s kind of a dork.

(Get you a man that can do both)

Along with the confidence and strength that being a protagonist in a medium geared towards young boys affords you, Onizuka also has some very human flaws and vulnerabilities. The intense scenes like surprise renovating Nanako’s house or rescuing a whole bunch of kids from a gang are always juxtaposed with him being absolutely wayward in so many other aspects of life. He lives at the school because he can’t afford rent, he’s 26 and never had a girlfriend and his only friends are his students. We are always shown that his confidence isn’t intrinsically linked to how well his life is going, it’s just his feeling and determination in the moment. For all that bravado we see, we’re also shown the more human, relatable aspects. He’s amazing, brave and confident, but at the same time he’s still vulnerable and human.

Yet here’s the thing, I thought confidence meant a lack of vulnerability. I thought one couldn’t be both confident and vulnerable. This isn’t some segue into Boys Don’t Cry or a delve into masculinity. I didn’t believe that vulnerability wasn’t masculine, I just thought that vulnerability meant you had a long way to go before you were allowed to be confident.

(These lines go from bravado to insecurity in an instant, but I still think Tyler is confident as fuck)

I show what I feel to be the pretty vulnerable content on this blog. I write about my doubts and insecurities, the events that shaped me and the times in my life where I really felt at my lowest. I document the struggle I find myself in now, trying to carve something for myself and come to terms with the changes that keep happening around me. I don’t think anybody reading this would have an image of me as an outgoing, confident person. There’s rays of positivity sprinkled in occasionally but it’s generally content that I struggle to tell people in person.

Before starting this blog, I would have imagined that if I wanted to become this confident idealised version of myself, I’d need to erase any form of vulnerability. Delete the Instagram posts with moody lyrics, delete the couple shots and stop caring. I’d need to kill part of myself to become someone different. I couldn’t consciously accept that they were two signs of the same coin, even if I knew it in the back of my mind. The more I’ve been writing the better I’ve been feeling. These fears and insecurities being out in the open don’t make me any weaker, they actually feel like progress. My weaknesses will exist regardless of whether or not I tell people about them, my insecurities won’t disappear overnight. I’ll never be someone I’m not. What I can do is take these things that used to terrify me and put them out in the open. In my last piece I waxed on about making my words my own, by verbalising and bringing these thoughts into the open I feel like they become my own. They’re not completely stripped of power but they don’t hold the same sway over me that they once did.

So that leaves me with confidence. I can air my vulnerabilities and doubts but then where does my confidence come from? How do I then stop it from becoming arrogance?

Let me tell you about Charisma Man.

You know how when Superman goes back to Krypton he’s just a regular person, but on Earth he’s basically a God? Charisma Man is a joke (turned comic) about how Western Men often believe themselves to be Superman on Earth when they move to Japan. Why? You’re basically bombarded with compliments from the get-go. You get told your Japanese is amazing (when it’s not), that you’re so tall (when you’re short back home) and that you’re such a handsome man (when all experiences up until now have led you to believe the opposite). Thus, you create a kind of false confidence for yourself. Or do the people around you do it for you? You yourself haven’t changed but the people around you have, and they’re whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

(Honestly didn't know it was a comic, initially heard of it on a subreddit making fun of other expats in Japan)

Hell, maybe I am good looking? I studied Japanese for a year back home, maybe I am just really good at it? Maybe those people around me back home were just obnoxiously tall and mean. Maybe I am the shit. You begin to formulate this new identity for yourself. You are Charisma Man now. You’ll be making heaps of money, have girls on standby and be loved by everybody in no time.

Except that never happens.

The reality of Charisma Man isn’t so bright. You’re probably an English teacher living somewhere far away from the big city. Your apartment is probably small and old and your salary is half as much as you were making back home. Despite being told about how good your Japanese is, you still can’t turn on the TV and watch a program. You still can’t go to the bank and open an account with your bilingual Japanese friend. You’re still single and you’re probably getting fatter off convenience store fried chicken, if anything.

It’s fake confidence with no merit, built on nothing. You haven’t put yourself out there or done anything to earn that confidence so it always feels foreign to you. There isn’t some feat you perform or some hurdle you cross to get that kind of confidence. You’re not smashing walls with your sledgehammer or confronting your fears and growing. You just get fed compliments until your confidence balloon bursts.

I felt like I was Charisma Man for a hot minute. Separated from everyone I knew, out drinking every night, being complimented left right and centre. I kept trying and failing to keep my feet on the ground. Back then I thought it was new-found confidence, but I wasn’t really coming out of my shell; I was just being obnoxious. After long the facade faded and I realised I was the exact same Elliot I was back in Australia, just with less money and a nicer haircut.

I began to think about my experience. Why was I so confident? Why did it dissipate so quickly? Why was I not the only one that experienced this little phenomenon?

I came to the conclusion that confidence can come from many places. It can come from other people, but then it’s reliant on the praise of others. It’s shallow, fickle and bound to dissipate sooner rather than later. You’re constantly reliant on the praise of others to affirm who you are as a person, you can fool people into giving you praise but that goes away before you know it as well.

It’s a big enough of a struggle to understand yourself, it’s near impossible to understand strangers. Relying on such an unstable form of validation is essentially just inviting mental trauma in the long run.

On the other hand, confidence can also come from within.

After I distanced myself from all that charisma, I began to realise that I felt my best and my most confident when I actually put the work in. I started properly studying, eating well, and writing down my thoughts. It didn’t matter as much if people didn’t say anything, because I went to bed every night knowing that I put in enough work. Nobody said anything about the change, but I felt like I was becoming my own biggest supporter.

It’s both rewarding and daunting when you switch dopamine suppliers. I used past tense in those last few sentences because that particular fountain hasn’t been flowing so well lately. The flip side of not letting other people’s compliments fuel you anymore is that when you’re not doing right by yourself, that confidence tend to dry up pretty quickly.

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon Rise: Chapter 52

"Swiftcloud!" The voice called again, sounding like an echo in her ears. Swiftcloud hardly reacted, remaining as stiff as an icicle. Was it her mind? Was it a Starclan warrior yowling at her to stop?

"Swiftcloud!" The third time the voice sounded, Swiftcloud broke from her rage. The world, once blurry and distant, came rushing back into her vision in vibrant color. Blinking, the patched she-cat turned her head. She took notice of her clanmates surrounding her now, wide eyed and bristling. Whitestar stood closest of all, a paw raised to her chest in shock. Instantly Swiftcloud's blood ran cold, fear tightening her chest. It had been the leader's voice which had been calling her name. The situation must look bad. Swiftcloud was standing on top of Grassclan's eldest medicine cat, ready to strike her without mercy. Without proper context it must look like she was trying to kill Snowfrost in cold blood. Like she was the clan's murderer all along. When the opposite was true. Oh how Swiftcloud knew it was true. I'm in trouble...

What would happen now, Swiftcloud wondered. Harming a medicine cat was an incredibly serious offense. Surely Grassclan would not want to keep her among their ranks. They'd never believe that she only attacked Snowfrost to avenge their fallen deputy; after all, what proof did she have? I'm probably about to be exiled; stripped of my warriorship and sent running back to Twolegplace. Or worse...I'll be executed!

"I can't believe you've done this..." Whitestar hissed, voice barely above a whisper. Her pale blue eyes shone with fury, a layer of grief masked behind her expression. Swiftcloud shrank in place, but did not dare to step off of Snowfrost. "It took so long for the clan to trust you. Yet you've betrayed us, after everything we've done for you."

Swiftcloud gulped, wanting to disappear. She tried her best to keep her trembling at bay but she knew the clan could probably tell how scared she was by scent alone. This is it...

"I knew we shouldn't have accepted you. And I knew...I knew I should have trusted Swiftcloud more."

Huh?!

"Guards, seize Snowfrost."

Rabbitstorm and Beetlepatch came marching forward at once, expressions stone cold and serious.

"Step aside," Rabbitstorm commanded his friend softly. Swiftcloud remained still, unsure if she could even move at all. Slowly she tested her limbs, making each take a couple of pawsteps back until she realized that she had moved completely off of Snowfrost. Rabbitstorm seized the medicine cat by the scruff while Beetlepatch gripped her carefully on the other side.

"Bring Snowfrost back to camp so we may hold a trial to decide her fate. Sheeptail and Tigerfang, carry Chicorynose home with us. Cricketsong, Quailbelly, Swiftcloud, please join me at the head of the patrol."

At once, cats moved into formation, standing behind Whitestar as she waited for her sisters and Swiftcloud to stand beside her.

"Let go of me you rabbit-brains!" Snowfrost demanded with a snarl, trying to wiggle out of the guards' grasp. Rabbitstorm and Beetlepatch gripped harder, tugging her in the direction of home. After another heartbeat of hesitation, Swiftcloud scurried over to Whitestar, still on edge. Whitestar glanced at her with a sad smile as they stood side by side, waving her tail and marching forward. The clan followed, soft chatter rippling through the patrol. On the opposite side of their leader, Swiftcloud could hear the heartbroken sobs of Cricketsong and Quailbelly, who pressed into one another as they traveled. Whitestar leaned into Cricketsong for support, and Swiftcloud found herself pressing her flank in the siamese molly's other side.

"Whitestar..?" Swiftcloud piped quietly. Whitestar glanced at her, humming in response. "You..believe I wasn't attacking Snowfrost maliciously?"

"Yes. For the most part, the clan and I saw what happened."

"H-how?"

"We heard you yowl and came over to see what had happened. Cricketsong was the first to notice the blood covering Snowfrost. And I knew you would never attack a cat without purpose."

Swiftcloud gave a small nod, turning her sights forward. The tremble had not left her body but relief came with Whitestar's words.

"I'm sorry that I did not believe you before. I did not want to mistrust a medicine cat. And I did not want to make an accusation without proper evidence."

"It's ok, Whitestar. I'm just grateful that you finally understand."

"As am I. Though I wish I had, before things had escalated to this point. All the destruction Snowfrost has caused...I wonder what other horrible things she's done over the moons."

The remainder of the clan who'd been left in the camp-the kits, Tabitha and Ashwhisker- were awaiting the patrol as they entered the clearing. They seemed eager to find out what the outcome of the battle had been. But when they caught a glimpse of the three distraught sisters, their expressions turned with worry.

"Have we lost?" Ashwhisker asked, voice flat and defeated. Swiftcloud straightened up to speak.

"No. Grassclan won the war, and we've marked the new border along the Thunder Path."

"But..?" Ashwhisker already knew there had to be more news.

"....We lost Chicorynose."

Ashwhisker's eyes widened, ears lowering. "To whom?"

Just as the question passed his lips, Rabbitstorm entered the camp, dragging Snowfrost along with him. Swiftcloud nodded towards the guilty she-cat, eyes darkening at the sight of her. Ashwhisker let out a growl, the fur along his spine rising.

"I knew we could never trust that fox-heart."

Swiftcloud was surprised by the Den Mother's words. Why did he feel that way? What part of Snowfrost's past had led so many in the clan to dislike her? Swiftcloud was tempted to ask, but held back her tongue. Perhaps she'd find out during the trial. If not, she'd be free to ask afterwards.

Swiftcloud brought herself over to the gathering crowd by Tall Stone. She sat herself near the center of her clan, settling into Shadowfang's side. Shadowfang gave her a loud reassuring purr, licking some of the blood off of the top of her muzzle while they waited for Whitestar to arrive.

Whitestar scaled slowly to the top of Tall Stone, her movements sluggish from fatigue and grief. A heavy weight set itself upon her shoulders. Though the clan gained it's full claim on the Forest Patch, they had lost something greater than territory.

"Today, Grassclan has achieved it's greatest accomplishment in years. After many hard battles, and a long bloody war, our clan has won the right to the Forest Patch up to the Thunder Path! This means a bright future for generations of our clan to come. But today is not all victorious. For this evening we have lost a very important and beloved member of our clan."

As Whitestar spoke these words, Goldensong and Mistyleaf brought Chicorynose out from the medicine den. Her body had been decorated with mint leaves to mask her death scent, her fur neatly groomed and fixed of any visible battle wounds.

"Chicorynose fought bravely in today's battle. And though I'd like to announce she died with the honor of a warrior, I'm saddened and sickened to say she has been taken from us for unjust means. Chicorynose has been slain in cold blood, and I shall see to it that her murderer faces justice. However, my focus cannot remain on that for this moment."

Whitestar stepped forward onto the edge of the Tall Stone, her eyes scanning the crowd as she continued with her speech. "As moon high approaches, it is time that I choose a new deputy. Chicorynose served us well for many seasons; from the moment I earned my nine lives. I have never thought of ruling without her by my side.... But I know that the cat who I shall choose will lead with me just as faithfully, and will make a fine leader of this clan in the future."

Cats among the crowd murmured to each other softly, everyone wondering who Whitestar may choose as her heir.

"I say these words before the body of Chicorynose, so that her spirit may hear and approve my choice..."

The clan drew just a bit closer to the leader, waiting with baited breath as she thought for a heartbeat more about her decision.

"Swiftcloud. Will you accept the position of deputy?"

Me..? Swiftcloud's fur bristled at the sound of her name, her skin lighting ablaze with heat. She had been the one chosen as the clan's next deputy? She was shocked to say the least. Nervous, excited, apprehensive, bewildered. But honored, surely and purely. Swiftcloud was more than happy to serve Grassclan as it's second in command, leading them and protecting them with every breath in her body. But was she really the right choice? Surely there were many cats who were more worthy of the position. Swiftcloud could name several off the top of her head. What made her so special that she could even compare to anyone else?

Swiftcloud stared up at Whitestar with wide eyes, unable to find the words she needed to give a proper answer to the leader's proposal.

As she looked on, the moon reached it's peak in the sky, casting it's light straight upon Tall Stone. The moon made Whitestar's creamy siamese fur glow with divinity, her essence seeming to radiate the energy Starclan had granted her for the ceremony.

For a heartbeat, in the moonlight, Swiftcloud could make out the shimmering transparent shape of a cat standing beside Whitestar on her perch. The spirit wrapped its tail around the front of the leader, hugging her to it's body as it's starry green eyes locked themselves upon Swiftcloud. Swiftcloud would recognize that figure anywhere. Chicorynose! Had she come back as a sign of her approval?

Swiftcloud blinked. No sooner she had taken notice of the fallen warrior, she was gone, leaving Swiftcloud alone with the decision she had made.

"Yes, Whitestar," she finally spoke as the crowd parted to let her step forward. Swiftcloud dipped her head respectfully then raised it once again as she settled in front of clanmates. She could feel the moonlight cast upon form, placing her right into the spotlight. In this moment she felt all of her anxiety leave her body. Starclan's will granted her courage. "I humbly accept this offer. It will be an honor to serve as Grassclan's deputy."

"Swiftcloud!" Shadowfang caterwauled with brightest smile on his face.

"Swiftcloud! Swiftcloud! Swiftcloud!" The clan began to cheer along. Swiftcloud's pelt grew warmer with every chant and cheer Grassclan raised in her honor, the purr in her chest unlike any that had come from her before. But her moment of joy was cut short as Snowfrost's furious caterwauls split through the camp. Rabbitstorm and Beetlepatch looked as though they were struggling to contain her.

Whitestar glared over into the prisoner's direction, her fur standing on end. Saying she looked displeased at the interruption would be an understatement.

"I suppose now we should move onto our next order of business." Whitestar sounded bitter, her voice dripping with venom. Snowfrost was dragged to the front of the crowd, making cats step aside to allow the guilty medicine cat some space.

Dewstone padded over afterwards, settling herself in front of Grassclan's prisoner. Her expression was dark, riddled with the betrayal she must feel in the face of her kin.

"Snowfrost. Tonight, you are on trial for crimes against the Land's Star." Whitestar began. She sounded as if she'd gone through this process before, the words passing her lips with a trained ease. "Dewstone, address the charges of which she is being held accountable for."

Dewstone lifted her muzzle. "The cat you see before you has committed a crime that is not only against both the Warrior Code and Medicine Cat's Code, but against what should be one's moral code. She has acted upon selfish whims, and has murdered a cat in cold blood. And not just any cat; but Grassclan's deputy."

"Do you have any explanations for what you have done?" Whitestar asked Snowfrost. "Do you have a justified reason for killing Chicorynose?"

"No, Whitestar," Snowfrost muttered coldly through gritted teeth. "I do not."

Whitestar nodded to Dewstone. Her tail lashed, as if she were trying to get out some of her anguish with this movement alone. "Please, continue."

Dewstone nodded back before returning her attention to the crowd. "Furthermore, evidence has been brought forward that perhaps, this may not have been Snowfrost's first offense. Thanks to one of our brave warriors, and confirmation from our medicine cat, Goldensong; we now have suspicion that Snowfrost may have poisoned several of our recently deceased. Waspwing, Butterflytail, Ambereye, and Dovekit. As well as the attempted murder of our new deputy, Swiftcloud, just a quarter moon ago."

Swiftcloud's eyes grew wide with shock. So Whitestar had taken her accusations seriously? Swiftcloud wasn't previously aware that the leader had discussed her theory with Dewstone. She honestly hadn't thought Whitestar believed her at all, by the way she had been acting. Or perhaps she made it look that way. Maybe Whitestar was suspicious too, and that's why she'd shared the information with the Code Keeper. Regardless, Swiftcloud was glad to see that Snowfrost would be rightfully punished if it came to light that she really had been poisoning cats.

"Snowfrost, do you have anything to say in defense of yourself? If these accusations of are false, then this is the time to speak up," Whitestar prompted. She looked down at the medicine cat, the smallest twinkle of hope gleaming in her blue eyes. Perhaps Grassclan's leader still held the slightest bit of faith in Snowfrost. Whether it was foolish to or not. Swiftcloud couldn't blame Whitestar for that. Medicine cats were the highest authority in a clan, with their special connection to their ancestors. A leader was meant to hold a strong bond with their healers for that very reason.

"Unfortunately, I've no way to prove my innocence. Nor do I want to. I have no shame in what I have done," Snowfrost responded, voice eerily calm.

Gasps flitted around the clearing. Angry clanmates whispered among themselves while some tucked their bodies into kin for support. The clan was collectively in shock. How could Snowfrost remain so poised, despite basically confessing to a multitude of murders?

Whitestar shut her eyes, turning her head away in shame. If one looked hard enough, they may be able to catch the slightest glints of tears at the corners of the leader's eyes. Whitestar took a deep breath to regain her composure. She placed her focus back onto Dewstone before speaking once again.

"All the evidence has been laid upon us. Now it is time to cast judgement. Dewstone, what is your conclusion?"

Dewstone stood tall, posture straight and head raised as she announced her verdict. "On the multiple charges of murder, this Code Keeper finds the accused to be guilty. Snowfrost's crime is an unacceptable offense. She deserves the harshest of punishments, such as name stripping, exile, or even execution." Dewstone looked up at Whitestar. "She has broken our Codes before, it would be what is best for the clan."

"Very well." Whitestar stepped onto the edge of the Tall Stone. "This cat has disgraced our clan by breaking the Codes of the Land's Star, using the name of a medicine cat to get away with these crime. Starclan has spoken their disapproval and have granted me the power to take this rank away, just as easily as it had been given to you before. Snowfrost, you are no longer to be known by this name, but simply as Snow. You have forsaken us, and no longer deserve to be a medicine cat of Grassclan. I say these words before the spirits of our ancestors, so that they may hear and approve of my decision." Whitestar yowled, "I hereby sentence the cat you see before us into exile!"

[dreamcatcherfication]

Welcome to the Murder House - Lights Up on Hampton High

Fuck it. I wasn’t going to post anything today, mush less this, but I thought I’d surprise you all. The only person who really knows about this is @theatergirl06 who read half of the first chapter way back during our ask war (it’s been over a month since then, I think!). I have the whole plot written out already, but I realized I would never finish this unless I started posting and pushed myself to work on it.

A little context! This is my high school/murder mystery AU that’s been in my google drive for a while now (no, it’s not based on WATT - not majorly, at least). PSA: I’m using American style high schools because I’m not British and I don’t want to mess something simple up. I’m cruel, and let’s just say there are going to be many, many plot twists. Also Parrlyn is in there. But enough rambling - it’s time I welcome you... Welcome to the Murder House, please enjoy your stay.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

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Trigger Warnings: Talk of death, the typical amount of swearing/insults you’d expect from high schoolers, brief slut shaming/sexual harassment, high school bullying, mentions of parental abuse

Anne Boleyn was the most popular girl in school, and it was obvious to anyone just why. She was the prettiest girl around with the most desirable figure. She had a sharp wit, ready to cut anyone who got too close for comfort, yet at the same time drew everyone in. Everyone at Hampton High bowed down at the feet of Anne Boleyn, worshipping her very existence. Any newcomer to the school would immediately be enlightened on her legendary rise to fame.

The only thing Anne Boleyn was more infamous for than her rise to power was her fierce protectiveness over her cousin, Katherine Howard. Katherine was only a sophomore but she had quickly climbed the ranks at Hampton due to Anne keeping her close at all times. It was rare to see the cousins separated outside of their classes. 

Kitty Howard was an innocent lamb compared to the predator that Anne was among the student body. Anne sheltered her from any boy wishing her harm and attacked anyone who even looked at Kitty wrong. Unaware to Anne, this backfired on Kit, keeping her from making any friends of her own other than the seniors Anne deemed acceptable to be around Kitty.

This included Anna von Cleves and Cathy Parr, two of Anne’s classmates whom she had the most faith in. Anna was vulgar and unafraid to fight someone bold enough to challenge her, a butch senior with a history of disciplnary trouble. Anne had known Anna since elementary school when their teachers thought it would be fun to pair the two together due to their names. On the other hand, Cathy was quiet and supportive, but also a talented writer with distinct opinions and uncontrollable stubbornness. She had transferred to Hampton in junior year and Anne had taken her under her wing, hurling her up the social standings. The four of them were the golden quartet of Hampton High and no one dared mess with them.

Not when they were together at least.

Henry Tudor was a popular, brutish jock with as many brain cells as inches on his dick. In his time at Hampton, he had dated six girls, including all of the four aforementioned girls. His first girlfriend, Catherine de Aragon, had dated him for the entirety of freshman year and half of sophomore year. It was in their second year when Catherine found out that Henry had been cheating on her with Anne Boleyn, some popular queen at school. Catherine tried to confront Anne but was instead humiliated and kicked down the social ladder. Anne was boosted to the most popular girl after getting together with Henry.

But karma always came back, and Anne found out her idiotic boyfriend was cheating on her as well. Jane Seymour, the sweet student council member had been seeing Henry before he broke up with Anne. She refused to back off Henry, leading to Henry breaking up with Anne so the two of them could be together. But Anne wouldn’t let herself be pushed out of the light like Catherine, so she fired back at Henry, stepping on him to secure her spot at the top of the social ladder.

After a pregnancy scare, Jane broke up with Henry, too frightened to stay with someone like him. So Henry moved on and tried online dating, meeting HotAC and taking a liking to her. Too bad that when he tried to hook up with her, he found out that she was one of Anne Boleyn’s friends. Too embarrassed to admit that he was scared of getting on Anne’s bad side again, Henry accused Anna von Cleves of being an ugly horse and turned half the student body against Anna and the others.

Thus began the ongoing feud between Henry Tudor and his jocks with Anne Boleyn and her Golden Quartet.

Henry’s final girlfriend was Cathy Parr, if only briefly. When she first got to Hampton, Henry latched onto her and essentially peer pressured her into dating him. Barely a month into the two of them being together, Anne pushed her way into the relationship and saved Cathy from an unsavory high school experience with Henry.

The bad blood between Anne and Catherine and Jane kept the three from interacting, but Anne was fiercely protective of all the other previous girlfriends of Henry Tudor. Senior year, finally the drama with Henry had cooled down and the school seemed to be at a standstill, waiting for the next bombshell to drop. No one dared to talk about Henry’s fifth girlfriend to Anne’s face for fear of what she would do at the mention of his actions...

Like any other day, Anne was sitting at the quartet’s lunch table while Anna was on top of the table itself. Anna had one hand leaning against the table as well as one foot up while the other dangled off the edge. “It said some pretty nasty stuff, are you sure you want to know?” Anna asked hesitantly, her eyes on Anne’s clenched fists.

“Yes, I want to know what they’re saying about my cousin,” Anne gritted out through her teeth.

Nervously scratching her nose, Anna relented. “It was on her locker, thank God she didn’t notice. There was some cheap photo from a porno with the words ‘Slutty Kitty’ written under it.”

“Those dickwads!” Anne slammed her hands against the table.

Rushing to calm Anne down, Anna assured her, “Hey, Cathy and I cleaned it off before Kit could see it.” It was a miracle she managed to calm Anne down, even if only by a little bit. The popular girl was known for having a temper, and it had been a long time goal of Anna’s to balance her out.

What neither of the girls noticed was Kitty herself approaching the table, her backpack pulled tight around her body. She had overheard the conversation, but put on a perky attitude to make it seem like she was oblivious. Anne didn’t like when Kitty was sad, so she tried to avoid being sad around Anne. No need to worry her cousin about something stupid like high school bullying. “Hi Anna, Hi Annie!”

The two girls turned to face Kit and smiled. “Hey Kit,” Anna said, sliding off the table to sit on the bench across from Anne.

“How’s my favorite cousin?” Anne asked, scooting to the side so there was room for Kitty.

Shrugging, Kitty put her backpack on the floor. “I’m fine. Science was boring, as usual. But in history we started talking about the French Revolution, and I told my partner about the time you built a guillotine -”

Gasping in playful shock, Anne covered her cousin’s mouth. “I thought I told you never to talk about that incident!” Anna leaned forward dramatically, even though she had already heard the story multiple times.

“You tried to chop my head off for treason!��

“It was out of love -”

“How do you chop someone’s head off out of love?”

Before the conversation could escalate, Cathy entered the cafeteria and made her way over to the table, catching the trio’s attention. “Hey Cathyyyy,” Anne said, batting her eyelashes at the other girl.

Ignoring Anne, Cathy sat down on the other side of the table with Anna. “Are you still working on that article for the newspaper?” Anna asked before taking a bite of her rice and chicken (yes, she was the stereotypical black girl. She knew and was proud of it).

Nodding in confirmation, Cathy sighed and banged her head on the table. A moment later she lifted her head again and gave the others a tired smile. “Yeah, and it’s kicking my ass. I was just interviewing Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon about -”

“Woah woah woah, you were talking to Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon?” Anne gaped at Cathy.

“Well yeah, it’s for -”

“Why would you talk to them?” Anne exploded. “They’re massive bitches and you know our history. They’re the reason behind all the rumors at school and you entertained their bullshit?”

Giving Anne an incredulous glare, Cathy shot back, “Okay first, I was only talking to them because they’re both in charge of the student community service branch of council and I needed their interviews for the paper. And two, even if I did want to talk to them, who are you to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with? You’re popular Anne, but you’re not our dictator.” All the girls were open mouthed at Cathy’s tirade, but the girl in question only sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry Anne, but let me make my own decisions.”

Swallowing thickly, Anne nodded. “Right, I’m sorry Cathy. Just… the three of us don’t have a good history.”

Laughing lightly, Cathy made eye contact with Anne. “Yeah, I know.”

“More like the whole school knows,” Anna mumbled, giving Anne a fake smile when her head shot to the side to glare at her friend. But when Kitty giggled, Anne let Anna off the hook and laughed with her cousin.

“Hey Anna, you’re still good to walk Kit home, right?”

Shooting Kitty a cheeky grin, Anna confirmed with Anne. “Yeah, I’ll make sure no wild kidnappers jump out to catch her while you’re not there.” They all joked about it, but everyone knew how protective Anne was over her cousin. 

“And Cathy, you and I are still -”

“Still going to infiltrate the cafeteria in order to prove there is malpractice going on, yes.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne complained, “Come on, you make it sound so boring. We’re going to break into the school and cause chaos in the cafeteria.”

“That sounds like fun!” Kit agreed, bumping shoulders with Anne.

Resting her chin on her hand, Cathy exhaled loudly. “It is not fun, it’s important. If we can prove the food isn’t up to health standards, then we can finally take some steps towards proper changes around here,” the writer explained.

“Wait, does that mean they’ll get rid of the pizza?” Anna asked.

“NOT THE PIZZA!” Anne cried, far louder than she should have. Kitty shushed her when some of the nearby tables looked over. Protectively, Anne hunched over the last slice of pizza still on her plate. It was far from healthy but Anne was addicted to the grease.

The only ones at the table who didn’t have lunch were Cathy and Kit. Cathy tended to sleep or work during lunch, so she trained her body to run only on two meals and a plethora of snacks throughout the day. And although Kit wouldn’t admit it, her father never gave her any lunch money or provided her with lunch foods. If she asked, he would give her lunch but then refuse to serve her dinner, so Kitty learned to stop asking. “Look Anne, if you want to break into the cafeteria with me, you’re going to have to forfeit your pizza rights.”

In an almost comical moment, Anne actually contemplated whether to choose pizza or breaking and entering, but eventually she gave in. “Alright, I’m sorry pizza, my second love!” And then Anne devoured the slice.

The other three girls rolled their eyes. Whenever Anne made a comment about “my second love” it was almost always followed up with something like - “As much as I love you pizza, you never stood a chance against Cathy Parr, the apple of my eye.”

For as long as the quartet had been friends, Anne had been flirting with Cathy. None of them questioned it anymore, and even Cathy had become accustomed to the constant shows of affection. Both girls were obviously attracted to each other, but Cathy made it very clear she didn’t want to date anybody anytime soon. So instead, Anne kept serenading her with proclamations of love.

Later that day, Anna and Kit were talking home together, comfortably chatting with each other. “She built the guillotine to threaten Mary, but Mary scares Anne way too much - even though she’ll never admit it - for her to actually attempt it.” Anna nodded along to the story, even though this was probably the fourth time Kit was telling it. “So when I told Anne that the guillotine idea was stupid - which it was! - she accused me of treason.”

“How dare she,” Anna spoke in mock horror, playing along with Kitty.

“Right! Ugh,” Kit groaned, “so of course George was on board with it because he’s always on board with Anne’s shi-” 

Anna shushed Kit aggressively before she could curse. “I may not be your cousin but I don’t want my head chopped off if she gets wind I let you curse.”

Kit frowned but then continued her story. “So they got the guillotine which looked so scary, because I was only ten, and carried me to it execution style. George held me down and everything while Anne tied a blindfold around my eyes. By now I’m freaking out because no one’s stopping them - I didn’t actually think they were gonna kill me,” Kit scoffed in the self assured voice of someone who was most definitely lying. “And whoosh! The blade comes down and I don’t scream, and the two of them are laughing at me!” Kit pouted and stomped her foot in frustration. “The blade was fake, it was only styrofoam.”

Lightly punching Kit’s shoulder, Anna commented, “Must’ve been traumatising.”

“It was embarrassing,” Kit groaned.

“Well it’s your fault for hanging out with them.”

Perking up at those words, Kit ran ahead and spun around so she was walking backwards and facing Anna. “On the topic of hanging out with people…”

Quirking up an eyebrow, Anna invited, “Yes?”

“Do you think Anne would be mad if I hung out with other people?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Anna shrugged. “I don’t know, Anne’s pretty unpredictable. But it’s like Cathy says, she can’t control who you hang out with.”

“So…” Kit waited for confirmation. “Does that mean it’s okay to be friends with other people?”

“Of course Kit, you can be friends with whoever you want,” Anna told the sophomore. The two of them had known each other practically their whole lives, Anna remembering Kit from when she was a toddler. It gave her a lot of teasing material, but usually she left that to Anne. If Kit wanted to branch out and meet new people, Anna would support her without hesitation.

Unbeknownst to Anna, Kit already had an idea of who she wanted to befriend. In her mind, it made perfect sense. Together, the six of them all shared the misfortune of dating Henry, so why shouldn’t they be friends? Or at least acquaintances. She had never told Anne, but Kit found her rivalry with Jane and Catherine stupid. They had so much they could relate to, why let past bad blood govern their relationships?

Anna waved Kit goodbye when they reached her door. “I’ll see you tomorrow Kit,” Anne called, watching to make sure Kitty got inside safely.

“Bye Anna!” she replied, unlocking the door and moving inside. Once the door was closed, Kit let her backpack slide off her back as a smirk grew on her face. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Anne kept turning around in her seat to watch the cafeteria doors, completely ignoring her lunch. Whatever Cathy and Anna were talking about faded into white noise as she peered through waves of students passing through the doors. She couldn’t focus on anything, frantically searching for any sign of her cousin. “You alright Anne?” Anna asked, breaking her conversation with Cathy.

Removing her gaze from the crowds, Anne faced her confused friends. “Have either of you seen Kitty today?”

“I saw her during passing period,” Cathy commented, twirling a pen in her hand.

“Right,” Anne mumbled, shooting another glance at the door. “She’s late for lunch.”

“Maybe a teacher’s holding her up,” Anna offered, 

Still, Anne was unconvinced. “You think something’s wrong?”

“No,” Cathy waved her hand. “Kit can take care of herself, Anne.”

“But what if -”

“But what if nothing,” Cathy cut her off. “She’s not eating lunch with us for one day. It’s not a big deal. You’ll see her after school Anne, and everything will be fine.”

Sighing, Anne shook her head, glancing at the empty seat next to her. “Everything will be fine,” she told herself.

As for Kit, she was on a mission. Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon tended to stay away from others, not interacting all that much with the student body. They were both reserved, so Kit didn’t expect to be able to confront them easily. It was pure dumb luck she ended up where she did.

While leaving her classroom for lunch, Kit had been swarmed by a bunch of juniors who knocked her over without apologizing. All her books went sprawling across the floor, stepped on by her inconsiderate peers. Scrambling around, Kit tried to pick up her papers before they could be ripped or further damaged.

A hand came into view, holding her history textbook. Looking up, Kit was stunned into silence at the kind face of Jane Seymour. “You dropped this,” she prompted, holding out the book.

Hesitantly taking it, Kit murmured, “Thank you.”

Her eyes sweeping across the floor, Jane offered an apologetic glance at the mess of papers. “Do you need some help with this?”

“Uh,” Kit blanked. “That would be great!” she accepted a little too enthusiastically. Jane only chuckled and bent down to help grab the papers.

It occurred to Kit for a moment that Jane might not know who she is. But when Jane handed her the last of the papers and said, “There you go Katherine,” that thought went flying out the window. Biting her lip, Kit awkwardly shifted on her feet. She could leave right now and go have lunch with her friends or… Jane seemed to catch on to what Kit was waiting for. “Would you like to eat lunch with me?” she asked.

Without a second of hesitation, Kit nodded her head. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Well okay then,” Jane grinned, leading Kit away from the cafeteria. “Catherine and I - Catherine de Aragon,” she clarified as if Kit didn’t already know, “we sit outside. It’s peaceful and not many people come to bother us.”

“Sounds nice,” Kit replied, her voice still soft. Jane noticed but decided not to comment on it. She wasn’t one to judge people.

When the two of them made it out of the building, Jane was flagged over by Catherine de Aragon who was sitting on a blanket under a tree. It seemed like she had set up for a picnic, even though they were still on school grounds in the middle of a school day. “You brought a guest today?” Catherine raised her eyebrows at Jane, her lips tugging upwards.

“Sure did,” Jane replied, plopping down next to her. “You can sit down wherever you like Katherine.”

Awkwardly shuffling to the opposite side of the blanket, Kit sat down and hugged her backpack to her chest. She didn’t have any lunch, as per usual, so she used her backpack as a barrier between her and the other two girls. Suddenly, she cursed herself for wanting to make new friends. Where had this social anxiety been before she got here?

Catherine and Jane seemed to notice her awkwardness (who wouldn’t?), so they attempted to get rid of it. “So Katherine…” the other Catherine started. “Why’d you want to have lunch with us today?”

Mumbling lightly, Kit felt a small blush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. “What?” Jane prodded, unable to hear Kit’s answer. 

“I wanted to make new friends,” she told them, burying her head in her arms.

The two seniors shared a glance before turning their attention back to Kit. “Of course you can be our friend,” Jane assured her.

“Really?” Kit peeked her head up.

“Sure, why not,” Catherine answered. “You seem nice enough, and there’s no reason for us not to be friends.”

Frowning, Kit picked at her fingernails. “But Anne.”

Visibly, Jane flinched and Catherine’s face morphed into a snarl. “You’re not her,” Jane spoke calmly, putting a hand on Catherine’s arm. “If you want to be our friend, we’re not going to let that come between us.”

For a moment, Kit almost ran away. This is what she wanted, but now that it was being presented to her, she was terrified. She had never had friends that weren’t also Annie’s. She didn’t know how to start her new friendships other than with, “Okay.”

Catherine and Jane shared a glance. “Okay.”

“Well this is going to be awfully confusing for me,” Jane laughed, “Two C/Katherines!”

“Oh!” Kit perked up, “You can call me Kat. Or Kit. Or Kitty. Any of them work.” Then to herself, “Wow, I have a lot of nicknames.”

Chuckling, Catherine stuck out her hand. “Kat’ll do. Well Kat Howard, I’m your new friend Catherine.”

“And I’m your new friend Jane. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

At the end of the day, Kit almost screamed in surprise when Anne practically rugby tackled her to the ground. “Where were you!” Anne demanded, hugging Kit tightly. “I was so worried.”

“I’m fine Annie,” Kit assured her cousin. 

“Then where were you?” Anna stood beside Anne, watching the scene unfurl. Anne was huffing, her face red, a cross between relief, fear, and anger. The Boleyn girl cared so much about her cousin, but sometimes she became overbearing.

Hugging Anne back, Kit explained, “With my new friends.”

“You have new friends!” Anne brightened, pulled Kit closer. “That’s amazing! Do I know them?”

Letting out an awkward laugh, Kit prepared for the worst. “Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon,” she admitted.

Freezing, Anne slowly pulled away from Kit. “What?” she asked, her face as hard as stone.

“Jane Seymour and Catherine de -”

“I heard what you said!” Anne screeched. “You of all people, Kit!” Turning around and stomping a few feet away, Anne screamed into her hands. She spun back around to face Kit and marched up to her. “Those girls aren’t worthwhile friends. They don’t actually care about your wellbeing -”

“How do you know that!” Kit fired back in frustration. “You’re blinded by this stupid fued that’s been going on for years. They were nice to me and we didn’t even have to talk about Henry or any of that.”

Clenching her fists, Anne tried to stay calm. “I don’t trust them Kit. I don’t feel comfortable letting you hang around them.”

“Good thing it’s not your choice then,” Kit stood up for herself. Anna continued watching to the side, frantically texting Cathy for backup. She wasn’t getting any response.

Yelling through her teeth, Anne pulled at her hair. “Kitty, my dearest cousin,” she spoke in a sweet voice. “You know I love you.”

“Don’t you dare and try and guilt me.”

There was a moment where Anne almost continued, but her conscience kicked in. She knew Kit’s history with guilt tripping, and that was a line she would never cross. Before either of them could make another comment, Cathy came bursting out the school doors, sprinting towards them faster than she had ever run in her life. Anna looked up from her phone which she had been repeatedly texting Cathy on. “Cathy? What’s wrong?” Anna called.

Gasping for air as she slid to a stop in front of them, Cathy’s face was ghostly white. “Christina Denmark is missing. The police think she’s been murdered.”

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

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thenicestnonbinary @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom @frogs-in-clogs @timetoriseabove

[coffeeonfire]

Poland and LGBT+

A letter to fellow readers,

    The last few days have become increasingly hot with emotions. Red hot, because all I feel is outrage, anger, dissapointment and fear.  Why? Several reasons. I saw in the last few years how my country was filled to the brim with white men, a term I decided to use in it’s derogatory meaning, who are so affraid of their own imagination and gossip. Who prefer to believe an uneducated priest over a scientific statement. Who live in a bubble of “One true Polish Nation of Christians” at the same time giving the rest of normal believers a really bad name. They are all affraid of an enemy that doesn’t even exist. 

It started with continued burning of the rainbow made of flowers on one of squares in Warsaw. At least five or seven times.

It continued in the internet, spreading lies, misinformation and hundreds of things taken out of context. 

It escalated when Gazeta Polska (Polish Newspaper) included in their issue an “LGBT ideology-free zone” stickers. Then it escalated even more when some cities actually started making their space an LGBT free zone (you can read about it just by typing these words).

It concluded when a paceful pride parade in one of the smaller cities in Białystok, people where attacked, thrown stones at, spit at and called all kind of names I won’t repeat here. That was the most obvious sign that something was very wrong.

A few days ago, our president, who is a collosal fallus, has claimed that LGBT are not people but an ideology. Some say he didn’t mean to indicate that we are not humans, but I’d say that’s just semantics. 

He signed a “Family Card”, which sure, brings many social benefits to families but it also vehemently denies basic rights to marry, or adopt children by LGBT people, or even talk about them at school. He and his followers showed usa middle finger.

I’m done. This country can go fuck itself and go back to licking Russia’s balls for all I care. 

I’m planning on moving to UK or Scotland in the next year. There is no future here for me.

[queenjanai]

⭐- I'm interested in your thought processes on any of your stories!

thank you anon! well i am going to talk about my most recent fic, the cop au (i feel like i should find a different name for it). i’m putting it under a read more because it became longer then i expected.

it was a very fun, self-satisfying thing to write, but also challenging. why? except from the fact that i forced myself to stay awake until i finished it, it was very dialog heavy, and action within dialog heavy, which is not my strong suit. i’m very good with descriptions and emotions, thoughts and wondering, but when it comes to conversations, i always fear like they’re not interesting enough or sounding just bland

one of my favorite method (that can get kind of confusing when i’m using past tense) is recalling through action. it’s when i start the fic with a scene and the character thinks back about what led them to this certain point. in this fic, janai is going down the escalator in the katolis airport. it’s another thing i like doing, start with action to get the reader’s attention, and roll from there

so janai is on the airport for one paragraph and then i switch it back to the reason why she came to katolis, which is her sister’s death, and i describe a little what happened

Janai had been just outside the building when it happened. She was about to enter five minutes late with the cup of coffee that delayed her to proudly listen to her older sister give her speech when the explosion came. Some people might say the worst part was the fire, consuming the glass panels of the towers, burning so harshly one couldn’t look at the blinding light directly, but it wasn’t the truth. The worst part was the sound, louder than anything Janai ever heard, like infinite thunders striking at once. The aftershock was bad too, and it ripped Janai twenty feet back before she hit the hard floor, and the world went dark.

i realllllly love that part. tried to paint the image of the explosion, the sound and the aftershock. i’m not really fond of writing “some people might say/agree/disagree” because “people” are outside of the world i’m writing from, but it seems good in this context, and i got to have some character input during a traumatic moment. nice.

When she regained her consciousness- five seconds, ten minutes, an hour, it didn’t matter-  […] black smoke swirling up the sky into a cloud that blocked the sun’s light.

another thing i really like doing is repetition, especially when trying to showcase speed or in this case, unimportance. and the smoke blocking the light was a little reference to the light disappearing from lux aurea after aaravos corrupts the sunfire staff

okay let’s move on!

It was just another regular day at the station, to the very least. Amaya took the last sip of her coffee while Gren and Corvus chatted from her left and right, over an opened plastic box full of cookies Corvus baked last night. Amaya reached over for another cookie and watched them converse over how many strawberries in Gren’s favorite strawberry cake are too many strawberries. In her opinion, Corvus had the upper hand. He was the one making it, after all.

this starting paragraph is special. why? because i hate starting scenes with dull actions like taking a sip from your coffee. it was about to be my opener before i put in the regular day sentence. like, any coffee shop au that starts with “x sipped their coffee” can drive me crazy. another way i broke my rules is the filler detail of the conversation over strawberries. my rule is if you don’t have anything else to add, don’t add it, because fillers are just here to be fillers, and sometimes you can drop them. but i liked that. a little humor

“Yeah, sure,” Gren nodded and pushed his chair, grabbing his own cup.

Amaya stood after him and shifted her gaze at Corvus before dropping it to his cup. “Yes, thank you,” he outstretched his glass to her.

remember when i said i’m not good at dialogs? this was just the beginning. a rule of thumb i learned: i could’ve written “gren got up” but show, don’t tell. so gren doesn’t get up, he pushes his chair. and he doesn’t take his cup, he grabs it. also i really don’t like repeating actions so close to one another, so amaya stood up because i didn’t write it for gren. 

something you’ll see in my writing A Lot: glance, gaze, eyes, stare. shifted, moved, dropped, lingered. i got a thing for looking. so i also space between nouns: amaya first shifts her glace before dropping it. and i am droping my mic

“I’d like to report a murder,” she said, and Amaya didn’t need her hearing to sense the venom in her words.

The receptionist seemed to be taken back too. “Who’s the victim?” She asked, voice tight.

For the first time, Amaya questioned her lips-reading skills. “My sister. Your Lieutenant Viren murdered her.”

okayy. here’s the thing. i really don’t like- physically unable- to write a dialog without having something before or after it. i really needed to dig to find the sentences before the receptionist and amaya’s lines.

Gren was quicker to respond than her. He rushed to the woman’s side, who scanned him from head to heel with a single bat of her eyes and a distasteful curl in her lips. “Hey, may you please come with us?” He asked and grabbed her by the arm before she could react.

Amaya was by his side then. “What? Let go of me,” the woman began to pull away, and spun to Amaya’s direction when she gently closed her hand around her arm. Up this close, Amaya saw her eyes were dark as coal.

my goal in here was to get these fast actions in a very limited time, but still make them all flow. so gren walks to janai, she realizes he’s walking to her, he grabs her, and by that time amaya grabs her too, and janai looks at her when she goes. added the last line to emphasize how close they are

“Who are you?” Amaya signed.

The woman turned her head to them at Gren’s voice, looking rather puzzled trying to understand which one of them asked the question. She settled on Amaya eventually.

“Who am  I ?” She leaned forward, and the crease across her forehead deepened the more she frowned. “Who are you?” She shot Amaya a look that was as sharp as needles.

“The bomb in Lux Aurea,” Gren cut in, sadness masking his face. “She’s the governor’s sister.”

Amaya’s gaze went to him at the same time as the woman’s. She certainly didn’t hear about any governor, nor about her sister. How much did Gren withhold from her?

“I’m Detective Gren, and this is Sergeant Amaya,” he continued. “And you are Janai, right?”

one of my favorite tricks! spacing between dialog to create the feeling there’s a pause. everything that is bolded is there to create a pause between all the dialog, because they are all trying to understand as they go. (imagine the bolded parts weren’t there, i’d be a lot faster)

Gren’s eyes went wide. “Are you seriously admitting to planning a murder in a police station?”

Amaya lifted her head, sighing, and dropped her hands on his shoulders so he would listen. “I believe Viren could do it-” she began.

“Wait, what?”

“But maybe let’s not do that here.”

i hope gren came out as sarcastic rather than shocked in the beginning. also, nothing before or after his line. it killed me, but i had to do it

Janai was just passing the counter when Amaya caught her hand. She immediately spun around and tore her arm away, that furious look on her face. Amaya didn’t let that rattle her, and she reached out for her notepad and a pen from her back pocket.

Don’t do something you’ll regret. I understand your pain,  she wrote and tore off the page.

Janai lingered on the paper, as if reading the note over and over again, before she lifted her face to Amaya.

“You don’t understand anything,” she shoved the page back at her and broke off.

the writing police called, that ending is too dramatic! but really, i love this part. i think it’s my favorite part. we got actions like running back and grabbing janai’s hand and janai moving away and amaya tear the paper and janai shoving it back at her. and of course, how could i not include the good old fashioned “i understand you, really” “no you don’t” “no you idiot i REALLY understand”

it’s just so good

thank you!!

[blapisblogs]

Oh god... Yeah, right after the in-video ad break, we’re hit with this: Doug Walker dressed like a Nazi with a smudged dotted line around his face and the words “person you hate” written on his forehead in sharpie. Dude, if this moment didn’t make you stop and wonder what the fuck happened with your life to bring you to this moment, then it damn well should’ve been.

Before you ask if this was based on something from the film or album, yes, but as usual there’s context for it. It’s difficult for me to explain, but in short the idea is that Pink’s attempt to build a metaphorical wall between himself and everyone else is making him more and more mentally unsound, right up to the point where after he’s forced to be drugged up for one of his shows he hallucinates himself as a fascist (the very thing his father died fighting against), the fans his zealous followers, and his concerts rallies where he encourages violence against marginalized groups. This goes on for a few songs with the violence and threats escalating in each one, and by the end of the last one he’s ranting and raving incoherently on a megaphone until the hallucination ends as he shouts for it all to stop, finally realizing how dangerous the things he’s been doing to himself are. It’s disturbing, and intentionally so. That’s what I got out of both the album and the film anyway. I have no clue what Doug Walker got out of this part of the film, though, because these next two parody songs have almost nothing to do with it. The first one mentions it so people will know that it’s a parody of something from the film, but that’s about it, and the second one doesn’t mention anything about the film or album at all.

The next two parodies are of “In the Flesh” (the reprise), and “Waiting for the Worms”, neither of which I will post links to based on what I explained earlier, but if you want to look them up yourself I will warn you that there are things said there that are identical to things the Nazis have said and done, and use words like “queers” and others that I dare not say nor want to. (Also, yeah, they didn’t include “Run Like Hell”, presumably because Doug couldn’t think of another full parody’s worth of “fuck you, haters” for it.) In the parody of the former, Doug addresses his crowd of followers, which are the same five people copy-pasted onto the screens of multiple devices (I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be intentional commentary or Doug didn’t have enough people willing to work with him to pull off what he wanted for this), in a place called the “Echo Chamber”.

Yes, really.

It’s supposed to be commentary on how bad callout/outrage/cancel/purity/whatever-we’re-calling-it-this-month culture can be, but considering who this is coming from, what his own fans are like, and the rest of the presentation in this “review” it comes off more like “technology bad” and “social media bad”. Worse than that, the latter parody song is still about callout/outrage/cancel/etc. culture, only now it’s even more apparent that this is his way of commenting on the Change the Channel movement. This isn’t just me saying this either, other people have taken note on it as well, including people who didn’t even completely hate Doug Walker after the Change the Channel thing happened. I’ve seen one person try to (rather weakly) argue that it wasn’t trying to mock the Change the Channel movement, but even if one were to give them the benefit of the doubt and they weren’t making fun of that, then 1: they still should’ve known that doing something like this was going to get people to draw comparisons to said movement whether it was intended or not, and 2: it’s still absurdly over-the-top and out of touch with why “outrage/cancel/callout/whatever culture” has become a thing. It’s about as subtle as, well, a hammer to the face. (Speaking of which, the hammers for this parody are used to make hashtags instead of an ‘x’ and instead of chanting “Pink Floyd” or “Hammers” the fans chant “hashtag”. I’ve been sitting here for five minutes trying to think of how to comment on this, but all I can do is put a hand up to my face like Captain Picard in those memes, I think that says it all.)

This message of “technology and social media bad” is so ridiculously passé at this point that it’s laughable, and yet it seems like Doug Walker is under the impression that he’s saying something new and brilliant. This is also a truly bizarre message to be hearing from a guy who had so much success with his internet career that he quit his previous job to pursue it full-time. You know, that career that’s dependent on technology. (Also, Doug, social media itself didn’t cause those problems with said internet career: that was all you.)

The sad part is that for this sequence we get some brief scenes with actually good CGI of things like marching smartphones (identical to the original’s marching hammers) and a decently-animated 2-D(-ish?) sequence of a six-fingered hand coming up from the ground and forming into a hammer much like something that happened during part of the film (not this part specifically, but a part). It’s weird in context, but these animated parts look far better than any of the other effects that were used earlier. I’m guessing the guest person who made the effects I’ll talk about later also animated this (at least the CGI bits; as I said earlier, the 2-D-ish parts look so suspiciously close to the original that I have to wonder if they were traced over for this). While it is good, that just makes me wonder that if they were hired to make the animation in this part then why didn’t Doug let them animate the black eagle scene for the “Goodbye Blue Sky” parody section too? He clearly had the time and budget to get a talented animator to do this stuff for him, so why not fully use them?

Also, I swear one of the visuals looks more like a mashup between something from the opening of Phantom of the Paradise and The Wall than anything actually from The Wall alone. Maybe Doug and/or the person animating this got their rock operas momentarily mixed. Maybe they did this on purpose to mess with people. Maybe my brain’s making up this shit because a Phantom of the Paradise/The Wall double feature sounds infinitely better than this “review”. Maybe the headache I’ve gotten while watching this dumpster fire is fucking with me. I don’t know.

[Lyrics (and snark) below the cut]

Oh yeah, I’m the P-Person you all think you know That sucks up all your angst and confusion I’m that nameless foe, huh!

[Oh, so you are trying to do an impression of Bob Geldof. ...It shouldn’t take me over half-way into the “review” to figure out for sure that’s what you’re doing. Or did you choose to only actually do an impression of him for just this one part? I can’t even fathom almost any of Doug’s thought process for this “review” anymore.]

I’ve got some weird news for ya, sunshine, This was dissin’ Thatcher’s administration

[So I have seen Wikipedia mention that at least some people have either interpreted or used this part as commentary on Margaret Thatcher, and I don’t know enough about UK politics to dispute whether it was intentional or not. What bothers me is that if this was intentional, then how did Doug pick up on this? That would mean that he either caught this but somehow didn’t pick up on any of the other, more obvious things in this film that doesn’t have “the slightest bit of subtlety”, or he researched this and only this. Or it was a random guess he made that happens to coincide with what some others have interpreted from this part. Who knows.]

But it’s vague enough to put anyone you fear - Politician, showman - just put their face here!

[Uh... Are you talking about how someone edited this part of The Wall so that it was Drumpf in there because of how much he talks about his stupid wall? ...You are aware that the entire point of the film and album is that those kind of walls aren’t good and should be broken down, right? You know that Roger Waters himself openly despises Drumpf, right? ...Right?]

Are there any authority figures in the crowd tonight? Well put them in The Wall! (Get. Them. All.) That one’s looking stressed, he wants to feel oppressed Put him in The Wall! (Post. His. Balls!)

[Oh yes, The Wall - a film about the cycle of abuse and the effects it has on people and how taking self-isolation to its most extreme is unhealthy for the health of one’s self as well as those around them, among many other things - is something that adults don’t take seriously, not like this web video that has lines talking about people posting some dude’s balls on social media for shits and giggles. (In case you couldn’t tell that was sarcasm.)]

And that one looks sheltered, like she never leaves her room I’ll be that friend that you can blame for all your gloom That one looks like he really wants to be outraged! Now with social media, you have the stage!

[...You know, as awful as the previous songs in this “review” were, at least they were about the film and album. This, however... What even is this?]

(This is the part where the five-person audience starts chanting “hashtag” which goes on until Doug and his two goons run outside, run back inside due to it being too bright out, and then start the next parody. There’s not much to comment on for that, it’s just stupid.)

[End “In the Flesh” parody, begin “Waiting for the Worms” parody]

(One, two, three, post it!) Ooh, you can’t convince me now Ooh, I’m too far on my side Goodbye, nuance I never will abide

[You are not one to talk about nuance, not regarding this film or album, and certainly not about the Change the Channel movement, which this parody is pretty transparently about as we’ll see soon enough.]

It’s us vs. them, I don’t even know who us or them are

[“Us and them, and after all we're only ordinary men.” Come on, man, I know it’s not from The Wall, but the opportunity was right there. Actually, since Rob Walker is there as the Charts Guy (a recurring character in Doug’s reviews), you could’ve even thrown in a “Have a Cigar” reference if you wanted (also not from The Wall, but still). I know at this point I’m nitpicking, but I’m forcing myself to watch a “review” where a guy dressed himself like a Nazi to make a blatant “take that” statement against his “haters” without understanding and/or caring why the Nazi comparisons were there in the original; if Doug Walker doesn’t give a shit about those kind of details, then why should I.]

I just wanna be angry so I can be (Tweeting) About those who hate me (Tweeting) I need their attention (Tweeting) Love me or hate me, just look at me more

[Sadly one can’t say that this train wreck of a “review” didn’t make at least some people look at Doug Walker again even after they didn’t want to.]

(Tweeting) Whatever side you choose, just don’t ever wane (Tweeting) Waiting for the point

[I’d joke about how that’s how most people felt about the video at this point, but everyone has made that joke already. Everyone.]

Don’t fear that you’re wrong Just fight until the end, my friend

[At this point I could just say “Okay, Boomer” at every line in these two parody songs and it’d be about as meaningful as all of Doug’s comments about the actual film. Remember, the film he’s parodying here and supposed to be reviewing (allegedly)? The film he’s not mentioned once in this particular parody?]

All you need to do is fight off something Don’t worry! As long as you don’t see me as human, You can hate me all you want! Because remember, this can never happen to you! I’m bad! You’re good! The more extreme you can get the more happy you’ll become! They’ll put that person whose face you hate here, and tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet!

[...Doug, please tell me you didn’t have these parody songs in mind first as a sort of rebuttal against your detractors and then used it as an excuse to make a “review” for the actual film in this style as well as a whole parody album of it...

Also, this may be another nitpick, but towards the end the guys aren’t even “marching” in time to the music. Because of course they’re not.]

[myriadimagines]

We Are, Unfortunately, Family

Gotham One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Jerome Valeska

Other Characters: Jeremiah Valeska, Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle, Alfred Pennyworth

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence

Request: “I don’t know if you write for them but if so could you do a one shot where the reader is Jerome and Jeremiah Valeskas younger sister and she gets kidnapped by someone who wants to get back at them for something and they rescue her, take her home, help her calm down and coo over her despite not really getting along? thx.” — anonymous

Word Count: 1,779

A/N: I kinda thought about doing something like Jim brings the reader into the precinct but then thought that was too mild, then I thought about getting the uncle from the diner to kidnap the reader but it didn’t fit in, and then I ended up doing a plotline with Bruce. Sorry it’s not exactly kidnapping but I hope it’s still okay!! And I feel like this turned out a lot better than I thought it would.

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!!

Your name: submit What is this?

From the very beginning, your family had always been chaotic. Having the Valeska name attached to your identity had always been somewhat troublesome for you, and no matter how far you tried to stray from your family, it seemed embedded in your genes that you were a Valeska through and through. It had started with your mother, who spent most of her days nestled in the influence of alcohol instead of being sober. Eventually, your older brother, Jerome, developed into a bit of a menace himself, constantly harassing his twin, Jeremiah. You’d watch from the back of your trailer as Jerome would torture Jeremiah. You even watched, silently clutching your blanket in fear, as Jerome lit a match before tossing it under Jeremiah’s bed, breaking into maniacal laughter as he did so. Eventually, Jeremiah was taken away, hidden and sheltered from Jerome’s insanity, and you never saw Jeremiah again.

The peak of the escalation seemed to be when Jerome had killed your mother. You had always suspected Jerome was capable of such a horrifying act, but when he was finally incarcerated for the crime, you felt as if something had been taken away from you, ripped from your core as it left an empty, gaping hole. You had already lost one brother, and now you had lost your mother and other brother in one fell swoop. Despite the insanity bubbling within your family, they were still your family, your blood, and now they were all gone.

You had considered searching for Jeremiah, yet he was so well hidden to the point where it seemed like he had vanished. You visited Jerome once in Arkham, and while he was delighted to see you, you couldn’t bring yourself to see him again. The only person you seemed to visit your mother, kneeling by her gravestone as you imagined yourself talking to her ghost.  

You were forced to continue, make a living for yourself. You jumped between small jobs, waitressing job after waitressing job, holed up in a tiny apartment crammed between the drab buildings of Gotham. You dropped your last name, hoping to forget the traumatic events within your family. No longer y/n Valeska but just y/n. No longer the sister of a deranged psychopath, but simply a girl trying to survive.

When you heard Jerome had broken out of Arkham, you lived in fear that he would find you, try and drag you into his mad schemes, or worse. You’d watch the news of Jerome wreaking havoc on the streets, making Gotham city as crazy as he was before he was stabbed. Somehow, he was brought back to life, only to eventually be sent back to Arkham again. You barely had time to finally breathe easy when he escaped again, and this time, somewhere in your gut, you knew he was coming for you.

—

The knock at your door made your heart jump into your throat. You looked up, already scrambling to find anything in your apartment you could use as a weapon, as you called out, “Who is it?”

“Bruce Wayne.” the voice responded, and you froze. It certainly didn’t sound like Jerome, but why would Bruce Wayne be visiting you? Frowning, you cracked the door open slightly, where you could see Bruce standing in your doorway. He offered you a small smile as he leaned closer and asked, “May I come in?”

Still on the defensive side, you asked, “What do you want with me?”

Bruce straightened. “I have some questions about your brother, Jerome.”

You gulped at the mention of your brother. Quickly, you denied, “I don’t know anything, Mr. Wayne. Jerome isn’t-”

“I know you’re trying to hide from him.” Bruce interjected, and you pressed your lips together. “I was doing some digging, and I found out you’re his sister. I’m trying to stop him, but I need your help.”

“Look, I don’t wanna be dragged into any business involving Jerome.” you shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

You tried to slam the door, but Bruce was quick to stop it, keeping it slightly open as he pleaded, “Please, y/n.”

Deciding there was no way you’d be able to convince Bruce to let it go, you turned around and sprinted, heading for your window. Bruce rushed after you as you yanked your window open, quickly climbing down the rusty fire escape ladder. You could hear Bruce yell your name as you managed to jump down into the alleyway. You sprinted for the street, but as you rounded the corner, you felt a striking pain at the back of your head, knocking you unconscious.

Bruce jogged up, his eyes widening when he saw you on the floor. Looking up, he scolded, “Really, Selina?”

“What?” Selina replied defensively, chucking the remnants of the glass bottle she had used to hit you aside. “We need her to stop her freak of a brother, and her running away isn’t helping us.”

“Whatever.” Bruce waved his hand, digging his car keys out of his pocket. “Let’s just get her into the car and get out of here, before someone sees us.”

—

You startled awake, gasping for breath as you looked around at your unfamiliar surroundings. You were in an expensive looking room, with old paintings hung up around the walls where there weren’t shelves filled with various books. Your eyes finally focused to see Selina perched on the armrest of the couch in front of you, her head tilted as she ran her hands over her whip. You could see Bruce by the fireplace, talking to someone with hushed whispers.

“We need her to give us information on Jerome, Alfred.” Bruce insisted.

“But did you really have bloody kidnap the poor girl?” Alfred responded, his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced over at you. “She’s probably scared out of her mind-”

“Or maybe she’s just as crazy as her brother.” Selina interjected, looking over her shoulder at Bruce and Alfred. Shrugging, she added, “You never know.”

“Please, just let me go.” you begged once you realised you had been tied to your chair. “I don’t know anything about Jerome, and that’s the truth. I visited him once in Arkham after he killed our mom, but that’s it!”

Bruce and Alfred exchanged uncertain looks as Selina narrowed her eyes. She suddenly got to her feet, cracking her whip against the floor as she loomed closer to her. Bruce was quick to rush in front of her, grabbing her arm as he silently stared at her, warning her to back down. Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly flopped onto the couch.

“Now what, Bruce?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “If she’s telling the truth, then our lead has gone cold.”

Still determined, Bruce brought up another chair in front of you as he asked, “Do you know anything about St. Ignatius?”

The name seemed to resonate within you, a whisper you had heard from a private conversation, but the context was missing. You closed your eyes, trying your best to remember, before letting out a defeated sigh.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know.” you responded. “It sounds familiar, but I just… I can’t remember.”

Bruce searched your face, his eyes scanning over your own before he finally nodded, deciding you were telling the truth. He reached forward to untie you when he heard the sound of a loading shotgun, as well as a voice that was all too familiar to everyone in the room.

“Oh, Brucie!” Jerome yelled, before appearing in the doorway of the room, Jeremiah at his side. You gasped upon seeing Jeremiah, a face you hadn’t seen in years, and you could see his eyes widen when he realised you were tied down. Something in Jerome’s eyes darkened as his smile stretched wider, his voice low as he growled, “Kidnapping my little sister is a bit dark, even for you, don’t you think?”

Selina and Alfred lunged into action, rushing to fend off Jerome as Jeremiah quickly sneaked away from the action towards you. Bruce stared at Jeremiah in confusion as he stammered, “What-”

“Jeremiah!” you exclaimed. “Help me, please, get me out of here!”

“Sorry about this.” Jeremiah looked apologetically at Bruce, and confusion washed over Bruce’s face before Jeremiah hit Bruce across the face, hard, with a gun he had kept concealed, knocking Bruce unconscious. Jeremiah stared in shock at Bruce’s fallen body, before he scrambled to untie you, his fingers clumsily undoing the knots as you watched Jerome fire his shotgun in various places, causing Alfred and Selina to duck to avoid the gunfire. Once Jeremiah had untied you and you had gotten to your feet, Jerome fired a bullet through the nearest window, causing it to shatter.

“Well, this has been fun.” Jerome grinned as you and Jeremiah made a beeline for the opened window. “I’ll show you mercy, just this once, after you guys saved me from my uncle.”

Before Alfred or Selina could react, Jerome waved goodbye before running after you and Jeremiah. The two of you had jumped into a stolen van, and Jerome jumped into the passenger seat as Jeremiah stepped on the accelerator, driving you far away from Wayne Manor.

—

You silently followed Jeremiah as he led you through a complicated maze of grey walls, trying your best not to flinch as Jerome danced behind you, occasionally spinning his shotgun around as he hummed to himself. Jeremiah finally let you into a room, and you threw your arms around him as you gasped, “I’m so happy to see you again.”

Jeremiah awkwardly hugged you back, a smile settling on his face to finally be with his sister again. Behind you, Jerome cleared his throat, as he grumbled, “Well, aren’t you happy to see me too?”

Slowly turned around, you forced yourself to look upon the face you had been so scared of for most of your life. However, tonight, you didn’t see the face of a psychopath, which the news constantly painted him as. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, you just saw your brother.

Throwing your arms around Jerome to hug him too, you said, “Thank you guys for saving me. Together.”

“Well of course!” Jerome chuckled, pulling away and squishing your face in his hands. “Anything for our little sis!”

“We are, unfortunately, family.” Jeremiah added, casting a quick, disappointed glance at Jerome before turning back to you. “And despite me and Jerome’s differences, you will always have us to protect you.”

“Aw, look at us!” Jerome threw his arms around you and Jeremiah, squeezing the two of you uncomfortably close to him. “One big happy family! It’s like my dream come true!”

tags: @purityimagines  / @bohemian-nygma / @myfriendmagislit / @thefirst-galaxy ↳ want to be added to the tag list?