#but i'll be gone the first two weeks in june so nothing then

[sebdoeswords]

All of His Colours - Chapter 20/45

[This fic was originally posted on ao3, but will now be finished on my ko-fi. Access is completely free and possible even without a ko-fi account. Tips are neither required nor expected, but comments on the actual post or tumblr updates are welcome.]

***Proshippers do not read or interact***

[halfagone]

So here’s a unique twist of a common prompt. Danny is the son of Bruce Wayne, whoever his mother is is up to you. However, Danny wants nothing to do with Bruce or his family for whatever reason, whether it’s because Damian treated him badly as a child or maybe he just doesn’t like how Bruce operates. Either way, they meet and the meeting ends badly. What do you think?

There are actually a lot of reasons why Danny might not want to stay with Bruce or stay away from Bruce. There is, of course, the usual "Danny has billionaire trauma" route that works for some arguments (although not all (but I'll leave that ramble for another time)). You could always go with Danny and Damian didn't get along (if we're doing a Demon Siblings AU). But I think the route that goes best is just that... Danny has a lot of Trauma™ and he's not ready to join another family.

Unfortunately those kinds of AUs would probably be the sadder ones because that can mean that he has problems and/or is cut off from Jazz too. Because as much as I love Jazz, she was never the bastion of perfection and older sisterhood that we sometimes like to paint her as. She tried, just like her parents did, and sometimes she failed. ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ

In those AUs Danny is probably trying to live on his own. Maybe he's emancipated, maybe he's turned 18 already (I do have a fic idea where Danny moves out of the house after turning 18 despite not graduating yet, which is a thing you can do. Plenty of kids' birthdays pass before June graduation in the U.S., after all.) He's just started to stand on his own two feet and probably move past the neglect, both physical and emotional, that came with living with the Fentons.

Enter Bruce. Bruce, who has abandonment issues and is one paranoid motherclucker (and yes, that was intentional), who has just found out he has an unknown son from either a past relationship or one-night stand. Of course he's going to want to know more about Danny and catch up on all the time he lost with Danny. And the thing about Bruce is that sometimes he acts like a bad father purely because he doesn't know how to communicate his feelings and does all these things that come off as insensitive and/or overbearing.

Sometimes Danny might be able to make it work. But depending on the downturn his life might have taken... sometimes he can't. And for a Danny that might have just gotten that hard-earned independence... it likely won't be pretty.

---

Danny doesn't know what to make of Bruce Wayne. The man seems nice... enough. He's a bit too excitable, tries a little too hard. It's clear as day that he's trying, much more than Danny's adoptive parents could ever bother to sometimes, but it's... Danny would appreciate it more if Bruce just gave up.

He's happy to see that Bruce didn't willingly give Danny up. No word yet on Danny's bio mom, but at least he's got that going for him. He could do without Bruce's meaningful attempts to introduce him to the rest of the family or find out more about him.

Danny absentmindedly tugs at his collar. He really wishes he'd just turned Sam down when he had the chance. Tucker had balked when she extended the invitation out to him. Usually Danny would be her first choice, since he had some semblance of High Society Table Manners™ which usually Sam wouldn't give a shit about, but well, Tucker had gone once, got embarrassed to hell and back, and pretty much sworn off against it ever since.

He'd only moved out from Fenton Works three weeks ago. Danny could understand why she didn't want to ask him while he got settled in.

But well, she was his friend. And with the risk of her parents trying to openly marry her off to some rich guy (as opposed to subtly trying to marry her off, like they were doing now), Danny had taken one for the team and agreed.

If he knew this was going to happen, he would have just stayed home and figured out how to cook scrambled fucking eggs.

"I'm not very comfortable with this conversation right now, Mr. Wayne," Danny said plainly to the man. They were off in a side room at this point, tucked away from the rest of the crowd that would usually gawk at them otherwise. Already he'd turned heads when people recognized him as familiar.

To be honest though, even if they hadn't gone to a more secluded room, Danny still would have told it to the man straight.

"Oh, is it because your friend isn't here? I told you you're more than welcome to-" Bruce started again but Danny cut him off with a sigh.

"That's not the problem here, Mr. Wayne," Danny deadpanned. "I don't know why you're expecting me to be on board so quickly but I- I just turned eighteen. I have an apartment, I have a job. I know I'm still a kid in your eyes but I haven't been your kid in- ever. No matter what any paternity test ends up saying, which I still haven't agreed to by the way-"

"You're not even willing to try?" Bruce asked in return, like he'd been struck across the face.

It seemed genuine enough, like he was sincerely hurt by Danny's standoffish attitude. And Danny would feel guilty if he weren't so tired right now. He'd been tired for the past four years and he didn't need this on top of it all as some twisted cherry on top of the shitty whipped cream that was his life.

"No, I'm not," Danny told the man, straightforward. People had said no to Bruce before, right? Surely, someone had.

He began to doubt when Bruce just stared at him, dumbfounded. Danny didn't let the silence linger because he didn't linger, just moved on and left the side room. He could feel Bruce's eyes on him as he went, and then some of the other Waynes' eyes on him when he came into view. He ignored all of them and tried to find Sam.

Maybe her parents would even be willing to let him go back to the hotel room, after the huge 'scene' he'd just caused.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 1: June I

{{ Chapter 2: July I }} Chapter Directory

I'm so excited to finally publish this jdkflsjd. I'll get this chapter up on AO3 later this weekend or on Monday since my parents are in town, so I'm not sure how much I'll be able to be on! If you're interested in getting tagged for updates, fill out this new form here: x :3

EDIT: this is now up on AO3 as well!

✧ pairing ➼ levi ackermann x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au ✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence. ✧ content/warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers (sorta), strangers to lovers, fem!reader, eventual smut, ex was originally porco but i accidentally made him too much of a dick so i replaced his name with zack, no it is not a reference to zeke i'd rather puke, only adding tags/content warnings that are applicable to each chapter so people can skip around if need be!, will continue to add as more stuff comes up ✧ word count ➼ ~3.9k

College was difficult enough without having to worry about money, housing, and relationship issues. Unfortunately, you were not one of the few lucky students that could just get through those four years in isolation. In addition to worrying about school, you also had to deal with a last minute housing change after some recent bullshit regarding your now ex-boyfriend. Your dynamic had gotten to the point that you couldn’t afford to wait for another two months as leases began expiring and apartments would open up for prospective renters again. You’d rather live on the streets when compared to having to live with him for another day. 

Given the fact that it was June and your only remaining family was out of the country, you were left with no choice but to desperately try to find a sublease that wasn’t ridiculously expensive. That, plus the fact that you didn’t have a car and would be forced to live near campus, meant that you were ready to rip your hair out by the time that you finally found a sublease.

You knew it was due to nothing other than pure luck when you found an apartment complex that was a ten-minute walk to campus, close to a bus stop, relatively cheap, and had a tenant that moved out the week prior.

Unfortunately, your luck ran out when you found that you'd have to take a 2-hour bus ride from your ex-boyfriend's house to your new apartment. It wasn't that far from the two destinations, but the bus routes looped around the town multiple times, making your commute much longer than if you had gone by car.

As a result, you found yourself leaning your head back against the glass window at the rear end of the bus.

This really is Zack's last "fuck you" to me, isn't it?

You anxiously tapped your foot against the floor as you pulled out your phone for the millionth time. The previous tenant that set up the sublease had given you the contact information for your new roommate to set up the exchange of keys along with getting everything set up regarding who's paying for what utilities and how rent would be split. You already knew this was going to be a pain in the ass to handle. What you weren't prepared for was the lack of a hasty response when you sent a text to the number that Miche had given you.

> [you (12:35pm)]: hey, miche said you'd be free this afternoon so i can get your keys? does 3:00 work

You had sent that text message to your mysterious roommate roughly an hour ago when you had boarded your first bus back towards campus. You were now about half-way through your trip and had boarded your third bus, which was finally your last one before getting dropped off roughly a block away from your new apartment. 

You shot a frown towards your phone. Your roommate had still not answered. Frustrated, you began typing again, in case the urgency in your first text was missed.

> [you (1:45pm)]: im on the bus ride over. i don't have a car, so would we be able to handle this so i'm not stranded outside?

By the time you arrived, your roommate had still not answered. You had spent the entire two-hour ride anxiously bouncing your leg up and down, checking your phone every 5-10 minutes to see if you would ever get an answer. 

You didn't.

When the bus driver finally announced your stop, you found yourself more anxious than you were relieved at finishing your annoyingly long bus ride. You stepped off the bus in a dejected manner, with your right hand holding onto your phone and your left hand holding onto your backpack strap that was a bit too tight on your shoulders. Your back ached from lugging it around all day. It was packed with the basic necessities that you would need to survive the week, with your ex-boyfriend, Zack, promising to drop off the rest of your stuff next week—although you knew that translated to "shit he didn't want". That's just how your dynamic was. 

You unlocked your phone and typed in the address for your new apartment complex again, navigating your way through the fairly empty streets. It was a residential area and given the fact that it was near a college campus—and therefore primarily made up of university students—and it was in the middle of June, most of the tenants had gone home for the summer.

The new apartment complex wasn't bad. It certainly couldn't compare to a house, but it had an indoor lobby with mailboxes on one side and a recreation room on the other with some vending machines, and even a small kitchenette. 

No wonder the rent was so expensive.

You stepped inside, a relieved exhale escaping your lips as you felt the cool air from the air conditioning unit wash over you. Although you were definitely still irritated, seeing the lobby and escaping the heat brought up your mood slightly.

Your resolve renewed, you began to climb up the stairs, trying to figure out the best way to greet your new roommate without being overly frustrated. 

Maybe their phone was off. Maybe they took a nap and couldn't see the texts. Maybe you got the wrong number from Miche. 

You thought of all the reasons as to why they wouldn't respond. You shook your head, knowing that you should just brush it under the rug. As long as your roommate was home to let you in and give you your keys, there shouldn't be any more issues—for now. 

"Unit 217," you mumbled to yourself as you walked down the hallway, looking up at the door numbers.

Once you appeared in front of Unit 217, you frowned, noticing that the lights inside were off. That wasn't good news.

Maybe there's enough lighting from the windows that they don't need lights.

You gently knocked on the door.

There wasn't a sound—no movement, no noise, no talking, nothing.

You knocked again a bit harder. 

Nothing.

You knocked again.

They're not home. Of course they're not home. What a wonderful start to this already shitty situation.

You rested your forehead against the door, tempted to smash your head against it out of frustration. Your eyes finally shot open when you heard a door open. You glanced over to the side and saw a tall blonde man with a beard and glasses walk out.

"Locked out?" he asked as you made eye contact.

"You could say that," you mumbled with a frown. "You wouldn't happen to know of anywhere within walking distance that has wi-fi?"

If you couldn't get ahold of your roommate, you might as well get some writing done until you can return later in the evening when your roommate has to be home. 

"There's a café roughly a block down, if you were wanting to hang out there, although I'm not sure when Ackermann will be home. His schedule's been all over the place recently."

"Hmm," you muttered, indicating the lack of interest in learning about your roommate's backstory, although you now at least had a name.

Ackermann, huh? What a pretentious sounding last name.

~~~~~

These damn undergrads...

Levi Ackermann currently stood behind the doorway that led from the breakroom and into the main seating area of the small, local café that he currently held a part-time position as a barista at. 

He wasn't supposed to be here. He had purposefully given himself the week off so he could catch up on some lab work, yet he still found himself here. One of the new hires—a sophomore named Marlo—called out roughly 20 minutes ago when Levi was headed home from his immunology lab after spending the entire morning chatting with his mentor about whether he'd be able to graduate with his PhD on time.

To make things worse, since he was new, Marlo's shift meant that Levi was stuck working at the registers to take orders, which he easily considered the worst part of the job. If his shift just consisted of making the specialty brews that came his way, he'd be significantly less grumpy. That way, he could just tuck away in his corner and do the one aspect of the job that he enjoyed—making tea—instead of having to deal with the irritation that came with dealing with the undergrads that frequently visited.

"For fuck's sake," he whispered underneath his breath as he shut the door to his locker, ignoring his phone that kept on lighting up. He had it on silent for everyone except for the two people that mattered in his life—Farlan and Isabel—and they wouldn't contact him unless it was an emergency. 

The fact that coming into this shift was one of the smaller annoyances in Levi's life simply poured more salt onto his wound. He wasn't even supposed to be working this much since it took away from his school time to do his research, but the graduate program's financial aid office fucked up his stipend and he was left to fend for himself. It was only for this month, so it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but then his housing situation got all fucked up.

He had been living with Miche for roughly a year and they had a decent partnership as roommates, until Miche left to live closer to the city after freshly finishing a Master's program. Miche had moved out about two weeks ago, telling him that his new roommate would be reaching out soon. Levi's stipend situation couldn't come at a worse time, as Miche moving out meant he had to cover this month's rent on his own unless his new roommate magically showed up within the next day and was willing to cover rent when they hadn't even really started living there yet. 

After shooting a death glare at the front register for a few more minutes, he finally decided to step up to the counter, hoping that it was at least a slow day so he could get home and pretend the grievances in his life weren't as bothersome for a few hours.

His shift had just started, so he was more than a little annoyed when he already heard the door open. The semester had just ended, which roughly translated to all the undergrads leaving for summer break. Other than the few stragglers and the unfortunate PhD students that were forced to work through the summer, everyone should have gone home. He glanced up as he saw someone walk inside. 

An immediate frown appeared on his face. He could immediately tell that they were an undergraduate student, and likely an oblivious one at that.

Levi watched as you stumbled in through the door, dragging in a backpack that was slightly too large and overpacked. You looked like you had been running around with no sense of direction or purpose. You were all disheveled, as shown by how chaotic your hair looked and through how much you struggled stepping away from the door frame and towards the coffee bar.

He felt his eyes begin to roll before seeing you approach him.

Taking over Marlo's shift means I'm working the registers and have to talk with the undergrads. What a pain in the ass.

He stared at you with a neutral expression on his face as you plopped down at the coffee bar in front of him.

"Can I get you something?" he finally said, in a tone that indicated that customer service was not one of his skills in this profession.

You looked past him at the menu that was hung up behind him. Although you had passed this café a bunch whenever you found the time to travel off-campus and explore the town that surrounded the outskirts of Paradis University, this was the first time you actually found yourself in Chosahei Café. You squinted at the menu, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion at some of the options.

"Why are the specialty coffee drinks unavailable?"

"Ah?" mumbled Levi before turning around to glance at where you were looking. "The barista that specializes in those stepped out. I can get you one of the standard ones or I can get you one of the specialty teas."

You blinked at him for a few seconds as if you were struggling to process what he was saying.

"You're a barista and you can't make coffee?"

"Tch," he muttered, already beyond irritated as he frowned at you. He knew that he was likely biased against your presence and simply lumped you in with the rest of the undergrads that constantly drove him up the wall with their obsession with cheap iced lattes that he couldn't be bothered to care about making. "Did you not hear what I just said? I can get you a standard one or—if you were really wanting one of the house specialty drinks—one of the teas."

"You must get top remarks for your customer service skills," you said with a monotonous tone.

Levi placed his hands on the counter, leaning against it as he stared at you.

"This isn't some retail café like Starbucks—which is down the street, by the way," he said, pointing towards the door as a gesture to indicate that you could leave if you weren't satisfied. "The house drinks were all created by the employees and the barista that made the specialty coffees stepped out. Now are you going to order or not? I have other customers to attend to."

His eyes raised off of you and towards the back of the café, where a line of about 3-4 people gathered as they impatiently waited for you to order.

"Hmph," you said, letting out an irritated exhale. "Get me a matcha."

Levi raised an eyebrow at you.

"Out of all the specialty ones here, you go with something as basic as that?"

You were beyond confused over why this random barista in a small, local café was giving you this much grief.

"Oh what the hell? Just get me the damned matcha, you asshole," you snapped at him as you tossed your card towards him.

He quickly grabbed your card and put in the order with an unamused look on his face.

You kept your gaze on him as he begrudgingly prepared your drink. After about a minute, you glanced towards the door that opened as a tall gentleman that also wore the barista apron stepped inside. He was average height, but seemed much taller, likely due to the fact that the barista in front of you that decided to chastise you for ordering a matcha barely rose above you in terms of height—and you were not a tall person.

The new barista went behind the counter and started taking the other customers that had gathered behind you, removing the "unavailable" sign that covered up the specialty coffees. You frowned as he smoothly chatted with the customers, with your expression quickly turning into a scowl as you saw him remove the sign.

"I'm guessing he's the barista that actually knows how to make coffee?" you said, shooting another unamused look towards Levi as he walked back with your cup of matcha. 

You heard a quiet grunt from the grumpy barista you had the misfortune of being served by and you sighed as you picked up the cup and took a sip of the matcha that he reluctantly made you.

You paused, a little taken aback by the taste.

It was pretty damn good—much better than any you've ever gotten at Starbucks, anyhow. 

"Onyankopon brought over some specialty recipes that he apparently grew up making over at Marley," Levi grumbled to you. "That is why I couldn't make the specialty coffees."

After he said that, he subtly scowled at himself. Why he was even explaining himself to you was beyond him. You were just some random undergrad that stopped by and said annoying undergrad things. He had literally no reason to explain himself or justify his actions.

"So what brought you in? You're undergrad, right?" Levi asked, prompting you to look up at him. "Didn't classes just end? Most of you are back at your parents by now."

You sighed and pursed your lips, with a dark look entering your eyes. Levi was able to tell that you were biting your tongue on some information that was relevant, but that you didn't feel like divulging.

"Yes," you finally said. "I had some shit come up and had to move last minute, so I'm stuck on campus for now."

You took another sip of your matcha as a frown grew on your face.

"But at this point, I'm pretty sure it was a fucking mistake."

"Oh?" Levi asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

"I had to take a two-hour bus ride here since my asshole of an ex just happened to be busy on the day I need his car, but as luck would have it, my roommate also happens to be out, so I can't even get my damn keys from them, hence why I'm here getting chastised by you because I ordered a damned matcha instead of being in my new apartment and getting settled in."

You looked up at Levi upon hearing his silence.

"How unfortunate," he finally responded in an uninterested tone.

You rolled your eyes at his response.

"God, talking to you is a pain in the ass," you spat before quickly finishing the rest of the matcha and throwing a spare dollar onto the counter as a tip before getting up.

You paused before walking away, turning slightly towards the grumpy barista.

"You should probably consider the fact that people don't order your teas because they don't want to order from you."

"Ah?" Levi muttered as he took the dollar off the counter.

"People generally don't like interacting with someone that acts like a dick right off the bat."

~~~~~

Levi frowned to himself as he kicked off his shoes upon walking in the front door, placing them neatly upside down on the shoe rack next to the door. He sighed as he flipped on the light switch to his empty apartment. He didn't particularly mind living on his own, but Miche was a good roommate and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little on edge over who his new roommate was going to be.

He walked over to his bedroom, pushing the door open as he lifted his barista apron over his head to put away for the night. Seeing the apron reminded him of the café, and in particular, the conversation he had with a certain undergraduate student that he was forced to serve and insulted him right before they left.

Tch, he thought as he recalled the comment you made.

I'm not a dick. What the fuck.

He shut his closet after he put the apron away, his mood soured by the recollection of your conversation, although he wasn't in a great mood to begin with in the first place. He looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw that he had a few hours before he was supposed to "go to bed". Being a notorious insomniac, "going to bed" basically meant laying down and staring at the ceiling for a few hours. He rarely ever got to actually sleep, but the few minutes he can occasionally catch were enough to keep him going.

He walked over to his desk, turning the switch on his small desk lamp and pulling out a folder from his backpack that was hung up against the side of his desk. He pulled out a stack of paper and neatly placed them at the center of his desk. He took a seat in his chair and flipped through the packets, frowning at the sheer number he had yet to go through. His original plan for the day was to get home and read through some of these papers that Erwin had assigned him to read before he went back to lab on Monday—it was currently a Friday. He knew Erwin had high expectations for him. Erwin would even occasionally say that Levi was the best student he's ever had, which made Levi immediately want to shrivel up in discomfort.

He glanced up from the papers in his hand. His room was "empty". Miche had commonly made fun of him and said that Levi always made his space look like no one actually lived there. The top of his desk was always empty, his bed was always made, and not a single article of clothing was in plain sight. Levi Ackermann was just that type of person. It heavily contributed to why he was so on edge over who his new roommate would be and if they would even be compatible in terms of living style.

He turned on his phone to check the time, having ignored it for the entire latter half of the day.

7:30pm. That meant he had time to get at least a few papers reviewed. 

He frowned as he looked through his notifications and saw an unknown number appear. The texts were from this afternoon, so he knew it was long past an appropriate time to respond.

> [unknown number (12:35pm)]: hey, miche said you'd be free this afternoon so i can get your keys? does 3:00 work > [unknown number (1:45pm)]: im on the bus ride over. i don't have a car, so would we be able to handle this so i'm not stranded outside?

He sighed as he locked his phone and placed it onto his desk. It was just his luck that he went into a last-minute shift right as his new roommate contacted him. He knew that this new roommate was going to be irate with him since it's been around 6 hours since they sent that text. This just added more things onto Levi's plate that he really didn't need right now.

Before he could move to pick up his phone to shoot a reply at this unknown number, he heard not-so-gentle knocking on the door. Knowing that this was likely his new roommate that he had unintentionally ignored all day, he internally groaned to himself before forcing himself out of his chair.

He heard another knock as he made his way from his bedroom to the front door, bracing himself as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

A frown appeared on his face as he looked at the person in front of him in confusion. 

"What the hell?" he muttered as he saw an equally confused expression appear on your face. 

That annoying undergrad from this afternoon?

"Did you follow me home?" 

You raised an eyebrow at him. The last person you had expected to be greeted with was the grumpy barista that you had the misfortune of interacting with earlier in the day.

"Did you?" you retorted.

Levi scoffed.

"How the hell would I have followed you home if I was here first?"

He cursed to himself as he recalled the monologue you gave him earlier on in the day.

You had said that you had to suffer on a bus ride and couldn't get in contact with your new roommate to get keys to the unit. Now that you were standing in front of the door to his apartment, his frown only grew.

Your eyes widened as you finally put together the pieces.

"Wait," you asked, shaking your head slightly. "Are you-?"

"I guess so," Levi responded with an unamused sigh.

"Fuck."

#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17

[fiercynn]

former otw board candidate's attempted take-down of a volunteer of color is cruel. and racist!

so if you’ve been following along with the discussions about racism in the organization for transformative works (otw) and everything that’s gone on just this week, you may have seen that @yishaqeni (he/they) - a former otw board candidate who withdrew from the election in late june (not audrey r, the republican) - wrote a post two days ago saying that the actions of dhobikikutti (not sure of pronouns), a volunteer of color who has been calling out racism in the otw, are a large part of what led yishaqeni to withdraw from the election and the organization. you can read yishaqeni’s full post here.

i'm going to go ahead and try to address yishaqeni’s accusations towards kutti here as i understand them. (i'm choosing not to respond to yishaqeni’s follow-up post on this topic because kutti has said that yishaqeni has confused kutti with another volunteer of color in at least one of his accusations in that second post, and i do not know which accusation that is, so i am not engaging with that post for now.)

firstly, some context on my perspective: i am not an otw volunteer, nor do i have any other inside perspective on otw as an organization. i do not personally know dhobikikutti, yishaqeni, alex tischer, azarias, nor any of the other board members or committee chairs who have been in leadership between 2020 and now. all of my understanding of these situations comes from what has been shared publicly by people who do have inside knowledge. 

as an outsider, i have read and reread all of the public posts that kutti has made multiple times. i’ve also read all of the discussions documented by synonymous, including stuff that happened on fail_fandomanon (ffa). i obviously may be missing stuff that happened internally, but going off of what i’ve seen all of these folks say, including yishaqeni, here are my reactions to yishaqeni’s accusations.

yishaqeni's accusation #1: “dhobi ki kutti herself had began posting internal information to her personal dreamwidth and sending this information to other DW users without considering if the people she was posting about were identifiable” and “dhobi ki kutti has made it clear that she does not care about the privacy of other volunteers so long as she can use statements to discuss structural racism in the org”

firstly, let’s be clear: until kutti received their first warning for constructive corrective action procedure (ccap) from the otw tag wrangling chairs and board, what kutti posted publicly were the emails and comments that kutti themselves sent to otw leadership. kutti also notes that the only quotes kutti includes are from official statements made by the board and chairs to all volunteers, nothing from private conversations:

I reject a cultist confidentiality policy that denies volunteers any opportunity to provide citations to back up claims of abusive organisational practises. The only quotes I have publicly posted are from official statements made by the Board and Chairs to all volunteers, and I shared them in response to a post where the official organisation statement was denying an accusation of insufficiently protecting its volunteer base. As a member of said volunteer base, I have the right to provide proof of my own experience. [x]

i'll go even further and say that except for one circumstance that i'll talk about below, kutti’s comments do not include information specific enough to people or events that could identify them or violate people’s privacy. perhaps if you are an otw volunteer who saw these conversations go on internally, they seem like they give identifiable information, but as someone from the outside, they do not.

the one exception is the question that kutti asked in the july 3 board meeting about documented racism by board member alex tischer (pronouns listed as "IDGAF"). i attended that board meeting, and at the time i had already seen discussion of alex on fail_fandomanon, where alex’s racist actions have been documented. this matters because alex has held multiple leadership positions at otw: alex was a board member from 2016-2018 and again from 2020-2023 until their resignation three days ago on july 27, 2023; and as far as we know, alex is still the chair of the webs committee [here's an archived link on july 30, 2023 in case that changes soon].

i'll emphasize kutti’s point here about volunteers needing to be able to provide citations of abusive organizational practices. when people like alex with this level of power have been allowed to get away with blatant racism and anti-blackness over years within the organization, there is often no other recourse than the name them publicly to decry their actions – especially when other information about those people has already been leaked on ffa! targeting kutti for this is ridiculous and racist, especially when yishaqeni themselves admits that volunteers of color who were asking for answers were being stonewalled by the board and leadership.

after kutti received the ccap email, kutti did also post that publicly, because the ccap email itself is such a blatantly racist threat on otw leadership’s part that it, in my opinion, absolutely needed to be shared, for the same reasons as above.

yishaqeni's accusation #2: “dhobi ki kutti began posting her questions a few weeks before i left. these were questions we were already asking - progress on the 2020 pledge, the treatment of azarias, PAC, POCvols and cvols, etc. however, this also included posts that were deliberately inflammatory, where she would refer to actions she disagreed with with provocative descriptors such as  'disgusting'…” 

i, personally, think it’s perfectly legitimate to talk about any of otw’s horrible actions listed here as “disgusting”, including to talk about racism, but kutti has revealed that that’s not actually where kutti even used this term. kutti used it to talk about the way former otw volunteer azarias was treated in the CSEM work azarias had to do: 

And @ board? On a personal level - finding out what you took the responsibility to ask azarias to do, that the board and the Legal advisors of the board told her it was her job to not delete the content that a CSEM distributing user had created, but that she was supposed to comb through it all to only remove the bits that were illegal - that disgusts me. The fact that you all think this is an acceptable thing to ask of anyone disgusts me. What is it going to take to shake you out of your inaction here? [x]

still think it’s provocative to use the word “disgusts” in that context? yishaqeni, you should be ashamed of how you’ve characterized this.

yishaqeni's accusation #3: “[kutti] was deliberately antagonizing and intimidating to others in the internal chat, particularly when she felt other vols weren't engaging with what she was posting”

having been in many, many situations where calling out racism is met by silence, i can’t tell you how frustrating and demoralizing it is to see people continue to engage with “easier” topics in other channels but deliberately choose not to respond about racism, especially when you know that having more allies in the room could potentially help demand answers from leadership. it’s horrible to feel like you’re shouting in to the void about a topic as important as racism and harassment.

so if you’re going to give the volunteers who didn’t respond grace and understanding for not knowing what to say, you should also give that grace and understanding to kutti for being frustrated at having to tackle these topics alone. racism and mistreatment of volunteers are the things that should cause discomfort, not the person calling them out.

yishaqeni's accusation #4: “dhobi ki kutti mocked those who were stressed and uncomfortable by how she was posting in her ccap responsa”

let's take a look at what kutti actually said in that ccap response:

Because, as the CCAP makes a point to reiterate, this is cumulative action being taken for everything I have said over the past month. That my comments have made the atmosphere ‘tense’ and ‘unpleasant’. That I have made multiple volunteers feel ‘stressed,’‘disconcerted and unsafe’, to the extent that I have affected their mental well-being. I am not ‘considerate and respectful’ enough to be welcome as a volunteer. I do not plan to invest the energy in theorising this for you, because abusers who file complaints to silence criticism know fully well what patterns of hierarchy and power they are wielding. And here, I will make it clear that I hold the chairs and Board responsible for this CCAP, not any individual volunteers who chose to complain against me. A healthy organisation would have resources to support volunteers feeling threatened by my challenges of the structural whiteness in this organisation without using their discomfort to browbeat me. [x, emphasis mine]

i've bolded the last part of kutti’s statement because kutti makes it clear that this is an organizational failure. kutti explicitly says that kutti does not blame the individuals who felt threatened or uncomfortable, even those who reported kutti for this, which is far more generous than i would be in that circumstance. so how exactly is that “mocking” people who were stressed and uncomfortable? ridiculous.

now i'm going to make some accusations of my own, based on what i've seen here:

deepa’s accusation #1: yishaqeni choosing to focus on kutti in this post is both targeted and racist.

yishaqeni names that there are many reasons he decided to leave the otw and withdraw as a board candidate, including “the constant leaking of internal discussions and comments to FFA and DW, the lack of response from board on the ongoing trashfire, the inability of the board to address structural racism”, as well as kutti’s alleged behavior. yishaqeni then adds that they choose to focus on kutti’s behavior because they think racism in the org has been “analysed to death” already.

that's kind of a wild statement to make, because even if these issues have been analyzed and discussed, those critiques of otw’s dysfunction have clearly not gained enough traction or power for change to have been made within the organization yet. if that is truly a concern of yishaqeni’s, and one so powerful that it led them to leave the org, surely they can still do work to talk about that? since ultimately that is much more impactful than the actions of a single volunteer?

then there’s the ffa leaks. from what i've seen, those are more likely to have been “privacy violations” than anything that kutti has posted, because they often quote directly from otw chats, and they cover topic even more wide-ranging than the racism that kutti has posted about. but kutti is still the person targeted in this post.

i get that with everything going on right now, it can feel unsafe to be an otw volunteer, and to feel like you can’t speak freely in otw channels. but to ascribe that lack of safety to kutti is ridiculous. and given that the main thing kutti’s been talking about publicly is racism, it is racist to target kutti this way.

yishaqeni could have written a post about how organizational culture at otw – including a lack of transparency and action from otw leadership – have contributed to an atmosphere so toxic that it has both led people to feel like they need to leak stuff (and again, not just stuff related to racism), and that volunteers have been made to feel unsafe because of some of those leaks. that’s a valid critique that covers both sides of why this is all really fucked up. 

but yishaqeni chose instead to focus disproportionately on the actions of a single volunteer of color calling out racism, whose “leaks” did not include identifiable information about individuals except for what had been shared with all board and volunteers. wild.

deepa’s accusation #2: yishaqeni is engaging in tone policing, which is also �� surprise! – racist.

firstly, let’s look at the language yishaqeni uses to describe how kutti talks about racism: “intentionally inflammatory”, “provocative”, “antagonizing”, “intimidating”, “aggressive[e]”, “incendiary”, and “outside the bounds of normal discourse”. 

i think i just got bingo on a tone policing bingo card. “aggressive” and “intimidating”, in particular, are words that are frequently used to demonize people of color for their justifiable anger about racism, and to make them out to be threats. (i'll be clear too here that this kind of language is not only racist but anti-black, and that black people face disproportionate levels of tone policing, but non-black people of color can still be targeted with this rhetoric.) 

this is all especially ridiculous because yishaqeni acknowledges that no one who was making these critiques was gaining any traction from otw leadership! and yet, yishaqeni also claims that “this could've been campaigned on without the leaking of internal discussions and making vols feel unsafe and stressed”. how, exactly? kutti has been talking about racism within the otw, including going through the “proper channels”, since 2020. people outside of the organization have been talking about this publicly for even longer. how long do those efforts have to fail for people to understand that those “proper channels” are not getting us there?

people of color are allowed to be angry about racism. in fact, everyone should be angry about racism! and the fact is that there is simply no way to talk about racism that will be “acceptable”, because white supremacist culture puts forward that racism itself is what’s acceptable. so saying “kutti should have talked about this differently” is super fucked up. and racist.

deepa’s accusation #3: in their second post, yishaqeni accuses kutti of actions that were done by another volunteer of color. which is racist.

pretty self-explanatory tbh.

deepa's accusation #4: yishaqeni implies that kutti does not understand the risks for volunteers of being subjected to violence for their work in the otw, while not acknowledging that kutti is at high risk for that kind of violence.

for context, kutti is a volunteer from india, which kutti has said publicly.

to quote yishaqeni in full about this topic: 

“the privacy policy is in place to protect vols and she was being incredibly cavalier with what and how she was posting. it’s to protect vols like me who live in countries with a living memory of sectarian and homophobic violence, it’s to protect cvols who live in a country where they can be prosecuted for accessing certain OTW projects, it’s to protect people who could be at risk of harm for engaging with what is widely perceived as queer explicit content.” [x]

as a queer indian-american, i find this extremely condescending and belittling. india has more than a memory of sectarian and homophobic violence; it is a daily reality for many, many marginalized communities there. india's central government, and many of its states, are run by hindu supremacist political parties that actively promote violence towards minorities, including lgbtqia+ folks, women, muslims, dalits and other caste-oppressed communities, adivasis and indigenous communities, disabled people, black people, kashmiris, bengalis, sikhs, other ethnic and religious minorities, and more. india only de-criminalized homosexuality five years ago. 

then there’s also the fact that simply talking about racism in fandom online as a person of color opens you up to harassment, threats, and potentially more, regardless of where you live! 

since i do not know kutti personally, i do not know what kutti specifically has had to face, and i very much hope kutti has been spared from all of what i've talked about above. but there’s absolutely no guarantee of that. and lecturing kutti – who, again, has not violated anyone’s privacy! – of this while not understanding kutti’s own risk as an otw volunteer is also ridiculous.

deepa’s accusation #5: yishaqeni does not himself seem to do much work publicly to speak up about racism in the otw.

as i mentioned above, yishaqeni's post barely pays lip service to the larger issues of racism in the organization. so i looked to see if yishaqeni has been speaking out more broadly to advance anti-racism on his public platforms.

first, i looked at yishaqeni's otw candidate bio and platform from before they withdrew from the race. it does not include any mention of race or racism. so then i scrolled through yishaqeni’s tumblr posts in the past week, and also went ahead and searched his blog for as many relevant terms relevant to fandom racism as i could think of, including "racism", "race", “antiracism" and "anti racism”, “anti-blackness” and “antiblackness”, “sinophobia”, “otw” and "organization for transformative works", “ao3”, “cvols”, and “weibo”.

apart from the posts about kutti, the only posts related to fandom racism are a few different posts where yishaqeni names the sinophobia that 2022 otw board candidate tiffany g faced. which i absolutely agree with, but is not at all related to the issues of otw’s internal racism and org culture that has been raised in the past few months, which yishaqeni blithely says has already been “analysed to death” - despite yishaqeni not having used the public platform where he's accusing kutti to uplift any of that analysis or critique.

how can you say that you “i stand 100% in solidarity with OTW volunteers, particularly the PAC team, cvols and POC vols who have quite frankly been done dirty by the board” when kutti is one of those people, and when you don’t actually do the hard work (at least publicly) to uplift them and stand by them on the shit that has come out this year? why is one of your few posts on the topic of racism at all your screed against a poc who is combating racism?

to be clear, yishaqeni’s targeting of kutti would be unconscionable even if they had uplifted other people talking about racism, for all the reasons i named in my first four points. but in this context it is even worse.

deepa's accusation #6: by targeting kutti in this post, yishaqeni is harming not only kutti, but also the larger movement to hold otw accountable for racism.

anyone who has actually taken the time to understand issues of racism in fandom should be aware that this kind of unfounded, targeted attack on a fan of color calling out racism won't only impact that fan, but also the larger fight against racism. in fact, targeting individuals like this is a very successful tactic to stymie anti-racism.

i don't know if yishaqeni's attack of kutti is intended to shut kutti up on racism. but even if unintentional, it is clear that yishaqeni either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care about how his words will in fact be used to support the existing culture of whiteness, racism, and organizational abuse at the otw. 

i just can’t get over how irresponsible and cruel it is to target kutti this way, to tone police them, to take the their statements out of context, and to undermine their work fighting racism within the organization. kutti was already under threat before yishaqeni’s post, both from the ccap itself and from their position calling out racism in a hostile organization, but yishaqeni has undoubtedly made it worse.

and this was a choice. a racist choice. yishaqeni did not have to say anything at all. or they could have made the kind of post that i mentioned earlier, once that spent most of its time decrying the culture at otw that led to things being this way rather than singling out a person of color trying to whisteblow. 

even though yishaqeni has quit the otw, others will undoubtedly use his accusations to undercut those who are fighting racism in the organization, whether inside or out. this is just one of myriad ways that racism is allowed to thrive in the otw. and, to use one of the words that yishaqeni finds so disagreeable, i think it’s absolutely disgusting. 

[throwaway-yandere]

I want to be honest (no this has nothing to do with fics lmao youll get it as scheduled)

This post is an explanation as to why I consider myself as "retired". I know I've said it's because of studies, but that'll be 1/3 of the truth. I want to talk about the true three real reasons why, and I'll do my best to be straight to the point. This isn't a cry for help (I swear to the heavens it is NOT). This is just to clear out assumptions.

Here's the other two reasons:

Grief & Mental Health

Writing itself & interactions

Grief & Mental Health:

I'll pour my heart out, so I'm sorry if it's long. As I said, I'll be straight to the point, so: my grandfather around the first week of June. I remember how I received the news so vividly. I was listening to Two Birds while washing the dishes at 12 AM. My mom went down the stairs with my father, crying as they tell me the news that he's gone. We drove half an hour to the hospital where I get to pat his head one last time. I remember mindlessly wandering the hospital halls— I remember mindlessly using the free alcohol attached to a wall. I remember breaking down as I realized I just cleansed away the hand that last had contact with him. I remember every detail, from the ride home where I messaged my good college friend to tell her that she needs to be a good nurse because the public healthcare system in the country is awful. I remember silently hating everyone and everything. I remember thinking about how cruel it was that life took away the one relative who genuinely cared about me and I was sure was related to me by blood. I remember thinking how much I'm distant to everyone else on my mother's side except him. I remember feeling so empty. I remember not sleeping for two days straight.

But let's back track for a bit. Before his death, I did have one final conversation with him. He was sedated and tubed miserably. Deep down, I knew his time was coming. So, I just made jokes about how grandma was growing senile and mistook me for a nurse for ten whole minutes. Then, I thanked him for everything he's done, and told him I'll become an engineer. Just like him.

And now here I am, dorming 3 hours away from home. I dormed because I had nearly decided my life meant nothing after lack of sleep through daily commutes and workloads. But I am lonely and unwell. I don't know what I want in life. I don't know what I actually want to be, but I already shifted courses as a chemical engineering student. I was so stressed to the point I've accidentally cried to my chem professor in a phone call. I don't know what I'm doing with my scholarship and education if it's for no one. And I am scared that I'm draining my parents' already limited resource for nothing. That I'm wasting the scholarship my country had given me nothing. That I am wasting my people's taxes for nothing.

It was only when another friend told me that I seem to live my life based on other's decisions and opinions did I notice just why I'm incredibly miserable.

I know I don't have dreams for myself. And even if I did, how the hell will writing and drawing feed me in the future when the industry in this 3rd world country is absolute garbage?

I guess Asians really do the things they hate so they can get what they love. Okay, I'll stop making jokes.

I miss my long-time friends, Phitre and Frost. I also miss my old blockmates when I was a BSEd-Math student. I am too used to eating alone, studying alone, walking alone. I am too used to being an outsider. But I'm not used to silence. I'm not too used to hearing actual silence.

All I have is Discord and Messenger.

And even then, it's quiet.

Writing itself & Interactions

I love writing and drawing. I just hate posting it at this point, which is why I made another account that's purely interaction-based.

I love writing a lot— my happiness is turning shtposts into something terrifying. I don't like writing romances, I like the thrill instead. I like laughing like I'm Hubert from FE:TH after thinking of an evil plot twist.

But I hate posting it. Because I know, no matter how much effort I put it, it's not enough. No matter how long it is— no matter if you learned basic coding for it— drew art— made interactive google forms— it's just not enough. I literally made two long separate fics with different endings depending on your choices and it just performs less on something I didn't actually put anything on.

Lord.

Lord I hate Creative Differences for that. I finally understood why bands hate their hit songs because of that lol.

Don't comment something like "oh, you content creators are just whining—" I am whining. Why? Because we don't treat artists and writers like they're human enough. Like we're just uploading content and that we don't want to hear what the others have to say. I remember there was one ask telling me how they're gonna miss traumatizing their friend— and I'm just sitting there wondering "why didn't YOU tell me their reactions? Why are you making me feel like I'm talking to a brick wall for 2k words and more?" It's not their fault. I am not mad at this anon. They've done nothing wrong, but lord do I hate feeling like this.

I could follow "part 2???" requests, finish all my drafts for the events. But I know. I know the chances of the person who requested them won't actually answer after all the effort.

[insert Berkut's "all that effort, what is it all for?!" voice line from FE:Echoes here to lighten the mood]

But that aside.

It's just silence. Just notes, when I feel like comments are what matters more. I'm used to being alone, but I really hate silence. I hate it so much. That's why I'm always so grateful to the people who do interact often, and don't say that's not true because I can prove it. You can see me make content just for them, dedicate fics, art, everything. I love them, I love the "noise".

I know we all have lives, I know we're all busy, I know. I respect your time, I respect you.

And I think it's just time I respect myself as well.

So that's why I'm retired. No pressure on events (idol and letters), no pressure on anything. I'm actually taking my time in End Of Year Blues. It's nice.

Edit: I forgot to mention

My father hates that I write. He constantly tells me to stop it, to prioritize my academics, when writing is my only way of coping.

So.

Haha, what the hell do I even do anymore, right?

[callsigns-haze]

Another announcement yet again

Two this week huh?! Probs not the best thing ever but yet here we are.

Tbh I don't think I have left too many things lying out unfinished I might delete one of my series and you know I was only one part in and not much attention either so no big deal.

I did post like a little peak of one but it's fine. That can wait or just never happen.

I have exams coming up soon and won't have any time to post anything but in fairness I feel like I'll be around here till the end of this month then I'll probably pull what I did from April to June but this time I'll probably be gone most of the time for possible 6 months maybe?!

I'll still be posting some fics if I have time. I'm about to close my requests because I won't have time. My exams are in January and then again in June and these go on my cert so this matters a lot to me.

Tbh some of my things don't even get acknowledged around here anymore so let me be honest this will be a small change to your blogging life.

I go back to sports in two weeks so then I'll be busy 24/7 and studying matters to me this year, a lot.

I've also been feeling really sick recently so this is not making anything better. I'm out of my hand brace and finger splints but still don't feel all nice and fuzzy.

Here's the real shit.

I have really bad anxiety. Like absolutely shit.

Over the period of my whole life I have ended up in hospital due to severe panic attacks and other issues.

It sucks how these things come back huh?

I was talking today with one of my friends Maria that last year was the worst year for me with my attacks but this year they seemed to calm down. In the month of September I would say I only had like 3.

I spoke about this to my doctor and she said maybe it's because I can do sports so I'm calm or maybe I found a better routine. Then why do I feel so shit on my day off?

I just had a conversation with a mutual and currently I'm legit on the edge like all this trauma and shit just flooded back and is sitting on my chest and yet I can't do shit about it.

Last year on the third of October someone passed away that was somewhat involved with me but that's nothing relevant to me or what I feel.

People on this very app ruined my experience at the end of last year and I was close to another attempt.

But right now out of September I only had 3 panic attacks that month I had 4 today and it's the first of fucking October.

Am I sobbing currently yes. I can't control it anymore. I don't want to have to keep on writing more as right now it doesn't please me.

My writing isn't so great in the first place. My first language was polish and I only started to get English properly by 8 so I see where my fics do not have the best range.

I really wanted to reach 1k followers by the end of this year but there's nothing to go off on anymore.

I will be online for a bit and I will be DM people I like to text but mostly don't be surprised if I don't answer too much. I'm not in a good space at all.

I'll probably be doing a bunch of rants on my blog and if you don't want to see it just don't read or just ignore.

I need the trauma to fucking go away but I'm shit at talking.

[glasskey]

Justice THT Style - Part 1

When is Justice not actually justice? When it’s the wrong type. There are several types of justice: Procedural, Distributive, Retributive and Restorative. Each one of these will feel reasonable and justified depending solely on their context. Characters also by their nature will tend to have a taste per se for one or the other and it takes a definitive catalyst to change it. Over the next week I'll be taking a look at which ones our favorites prefer and what that means for them. I'm doing this in parts - Today its June and Luke, but coming up we have Nick, Serena and Tuello. Stay tuned. First up June.

JUNE

Vengeance, thy name is June. “Before embarking on the journey of revenge, first dig two graves”- Confucius. Season 4 and 5 made me think that either June hadn’t read a lot of Confucius or by that point just didn’t give a fuck about his wise, ancient musings. I’d like to think that it had taken quite some time before June turned into someone capable of the brutal salvaging of Fred, but then I remember that she did exactly that in Season 1 when she learnt of Moira’s supposed demise. At the end of season 4 June chased Fred down and tore him apart and in season 5 we saw her kneeling before a grave like mound. Laurence had tempted her with the offer of Nick and Hannah and in response she’d furiously ripped up the garden that symbolized the burgeoning home she was trying to nurture. 5 10 is drenched in an aura of darkness and horror, something has died but as June lies wounded, ironically she only gathers more power. She is becoming a leader and Nick even FINALLY crosses the border to pledge his allegiance (and didn’t we all cheer our brains out over that one?). It struck me that as she lay in that hospital bed, she was metaphorically buried until Nick came to kiss her forehead handsome prince style, figuratively raising her from the dead. Like the phoenix she is reborn just in time for season 6 to rain down the pain.... It’s worth remembering that June chose to ignore a blatant warning about the nature of retributive justice, but honestly who could blame her? “It will never be enough for you” Lawrence says when she bargains Fred for a group of female POWs. Love him or hate him, Lawrence seems to be able to make observations of her character with pinpoint accuracy.

I find it interesting that this bloody act of retribution comes the episode directly after she meets with Nick, she’s absolutely devastated that their family is being separated and someone is going to pay. Fred’s more than earnt her vengeance by now and Canada has failed to deliver. She’s fucking angry and no one except Nick and a bunch of fellow handmaids will ever understand why the only fit ending for him is a brutal salvaging. At the end of the day the scales of justice in this scenario were never going to be fully balanced by Fred enduring some sort comparatively cushy Canadian procedural justice. However it’s still necessary in the majority of story lines that conventional justice avenues be cut off to allow the protagonist to “take the law into their own hands” and exact old fashioned retribution. Writers were so clever ultimately giving Fred a double dose, he was involved in an official prisoner exchange for women no less (an act of procedural justice), and hand delivered to June to pay for his crimes Gilead style. Luke is horrified when she gleefully boasts about her murderous act of retribution. Dear me what possessed his sweet loving wife to do such a thing? Time to wake up Lukey, June pre Gilead is gone, welcome to June 2.0.

LUKE

Luke wants to believe in a procedural sense of justice but nothing’s ever that simple or fair. When societal systems begin to crumble we see June’s access to money and freedom slowly stripped but Luke feels somewhat empowered as it means he now holds the reins. Luke believes in the system so long as it serves him, but later when he actually loses something valuable and attempts to seek justice for June and Hannah, he can’t believe it actually fails him. Fred’s a wealthy, powerful, educated, white man. He’s just who the justice system is designed for and he gives Luke a small taste of utter helplessness in the face of a prejudiced system, much like what June endured. When first given the opportunity to get some answers out of Fred and some well-deserved vengeance, Luke chooses to show up with a binder expecting reason and logic from an extremist. When Fred manipulates Canada’s justice system, he is naïve enough to believe that Fred will be given a trial and then jailed in Gilead. I’m still not quite sure how Luke would have come to this conclusion, having witnessed an entire church full of hanging bodies. As of season 5 Luke seems somewhat ignorant to the brutality of the Gilead justice system and the savagery of what his wife was subjected to at its hands, even after witnessing her testimony. He can’t believe his wife would tear apart a man with her bare hands and cut his finger off as a trophy, meanwhile Nick didn’t bat an eyelid and Tuello wished her well. Goes to show there’s a difference between actually witnessing Gilead and hearing about it 2nd hand. S5 Ep10 shows us Luke's finally about to get a taste. Luke can be emotional when things don’t quite go his way, he screams at his ex, he punches Fred in the face, he shoves Nick when he approaches him with news about June and he yells at June when he learns about Fred. He’s a guy who wants to make rational decisions, he wants to follow the system but quickly bottoms out and becomes erratic when he doesn’t get his way. He’s a character study in casual misogyny and part of this is the undercurrent for the potential for violence in even the “nicest guy”. Luke is often dismissed as “boring” but this deeply underestimates how skillfully he’s been crafted and the amount of subtext his character contains. Throughout season 5 I witnessed Luke becoming increasing violent. Baited by Serena he warns her “next time I see you I’ll fucking kill you myself” his eyes filling with tears, his hands trembling with barely contained rage. In ep 10 he beats a man to death and is shown carrying a gun in their home, dismissing Junes concerns about having a gun near Nicole. In S 5 we also saw Luke attempting to secure his wife’s love with an act of ill-conceived vengeance: arranging for Serena’s baby to be taken from her, gloating with satisfaction while instead his wife looks on in horror. Throughout the seasons we’ve seen him be fairly even tempered, but in S5 there seemed to be increasing incidences of overt alpha physical violence that spoke loudly of outdated societal expectations of male roles and his personal insecurities. I believe Luke has had enough of procedural justice, he’s now blatantly dabbling in retribution and all these incidences are revving up to create a much more vengeful Luke.

Stay tuned. Tomorrow we have Nick Blaine....

[heylittlestellbird]

♡

Got the idea from @nats-comet

Untied at last

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Summary: Mischa and Talia Meet in person for the first time

୨୧ Talia's POV ୨୧

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

How did I end up in Uranium City, Saskatchewan? Well, It's complicated at most. Due to the damned war in my home country of Ukraine, I had to flee. I had to leave behind everything I knew to start my life in Warsaw, Poland. and I don't even know an ounce of Polish! But luckily I knew that my internet fiancé, Mischa was living in Canada. About a week ago I texted him asking if I could come live with him, and surprisingly he said yes! I was over the moon! As soon as I heard him give me the green light, Immediately started packing, I was going to meet my the love of my life in person in two days!

The day finally came, June 19th. I was in the Warsaw Chopin Airport, checking all of my information like my passport, boarding pass, ID, and just making sure that I didn't leave anything back at my hotel. I texted Mischa that Saturday morning

Моя любов, я в аеропорту. До зустрічі! (My love, i'm at the airport. see you soon!)

My phone dinged with a notification, it was from Mischa. I read the text, and that simple message put butterflies into my stomach

Я люблю тебе Талія, до скорої зустрічі (I love you talia, see you soon)

In my mind I was basically jumping up and down, I just can't believe i'm going to see him in person! I'm so happy! after one last text, I hopped on the plane. I had already gone through TSA, bag checking, and I even bought some cologne for Mischa at Warsaw's duty free.

The flight felt like an eternity, I was just so anxious and so excited to see Mischa. I mean we had face timed before, but that was nothing compared to being able to hug, kiss and embrace him. To kill time I just closed my eyes and I just fell asleep, dreaming of him.

A plane announcement woke me up "Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to Uranium City Saskatchewan, the current time is 3:15 AM." I was shocked, I had slept the whole time!? No way! but i was overjoyed that the hard part was already over! After we all hopped off of the plane, I was a little annoyed. I couldn't see Mischa yet because I had to go through customs, damnit! how much longer do I have to wait to see mischa!? Luckily for me, I didn't have to wait long, the officer looked at me and he began to ask me questions.

"What's your name?"

"Natalia Muruska Bolinska."

"Why are you visiting Canada?"

"Because my boyfriend lives here and i'm moving in with him"

Where will you be staying?

"my boyfriend's apartment."

Who will you be visiting?

"My boyfriend, Mischa Bachinski."

Because of my honesty, the officer gave me a VISA on my passport. Finally, it was done. when I got out of customs and into the main hall, I saw a familiar face. It was him! I lost my composure and I ran, throwing myself into his arms. Mischa smiled at me wiping my tears of joy away with his thumb.

"MISCHA!" I exclaimed, smiling as I felt truly happy for the first time since fleeing Ukraine. I kissed his cheek, giggling.

"TALIA!" He said in a truly happy tone, as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. "You're real, you're really here!" He said, crying tears of Joy

Finally after ages, his dark green eyes looked into my almond brown eyes, I smiled, hugging him tightly like I didn't wanna let go.

"You're just as beautiful as I thought you were." Mischa said, putting a strand of my brown hair behind my ear.

I smiled, feeling this warm, fuzzy, feeling inside. And that was just what I thought it was, just pure, and honest love for him.

"oh yeah, I got you these." Mischa smiled, handing me a bouquet of gorgeous red roses, my favorite flowers.

"My love, you didn't have to get me anything!" I giggled, smiling at him

"But I just had too!! Talia You deserve the world, princess and i'm going to make sure you get the proper trearment

"c'mon Talia, let's go get your bags and then i'll take you home." Mischa smirked, taking my hand"

"Let's go, loverboy." I smirked back and I felt happy knowing that we were finally together as I started walking to the garage, suitcase handles in my hands.

He paused, turning me around to face him I was confused, but then I knew damn well what he was gonna do.

" я тебе люблю (I love you), Talia.."

"я тебе теж люблю (I love you too), Mischa..."

Something just came over me and I gave him the most passionate kiss ever, we were finally united for good.

[stein-is-sleepy]

stay strong for me, okay? (wc. 1k)

you and nanami have been in a healthy relationship for three years now. some fights here and there but nothing too bad. it was april 7th, 12:34 am. you have been waiting for nanami in his office, being his secretary after all. you needed him to sign some documents for a couple clients. the phone by his desk rang, the sound was annoying so you picked it up. to your surprise, it was for you. "hello? is this Y/N?" the caller spoke, in a slightly worried tone. "yes, this is Y/N speaking." you wondered why the tone of the caller was like that. gloomy and down. "you're dating nanami kento, correct?" "yes, I am his girlfriend." you were starting to get worried, the caller taking a deep breath before speaking again. "he's in a car accident. at the hospital right now. he's breathing but he hasn't woken up in around 3 hours since the crash. I'm his nurse, he's in room 17-A, third floor at the 'Tokyo Saiseikai Central Hospital'." "okay, thank you." you hung up the phone, quickly gathering your things as you headed down into the parking lot. once you got inside, a few thoughts wondered into your head. 'is he okay?' 'will he be okay?' 'stupid fucking nurse, telling me almost three hours later.' ' how did she know what number to call and who his girlfriend was?' it was like a waterfall of stress and emotions.

april 7th, 12:52 am.

you had arrived at the hospital around 10 minutes ago, in the exact room nanami was in. you sat next to him on a table, holding his hand as you watch his chest rize and fall. the nurse you had talked to came in the door. "hello, ms. Y/N. i'm nurse yumi. nanami's alright, his blood signals are fine but--" once she said but too many thoughts went into your head. a mix of emotions and anxiety drowned you. 'but?' 'why but?' 'i thought he was fine?' 'why?', 'why?, 'why?'. "--he has a brain tumor. possibly fatal. it's only minor for now, we're going to have a surgery later, around 4:30. only close family can watch or stay." you didn't even realize it but tears were running down your cheek. your grip on nanami's hand only tightened. no words came out of your mouth. no thoughts came into your head. nothing. just the pure thought of the man you loved, dying.

june 29th, 2:05 pm.

it had been two months since you first came into this hospital. the first few weeks of being there, you slept beside him, wrapping his arms around you to stimulate the times he held you close. most of the time he was unconscious but when he was, the two of you always talked about what you wanted to do once he was okay again. how he wanted you to carry his child, how he wanted to marry you in, how he'd propose, how he'd break the news to his family, your family. today, you were in a chair, sitting beside him. that was how you spent most of your days. you never left him. no, never. his birthday was less than a week from now so you wanted to ask him what he wanted to do for his birthday. "nanami, what do you want to do for your birthday? any wishes?" you asked, your eyes as soft as clouds, your voice like honey. "i want all the curses in the world yo be gone." god, his voice and the way he looked at you was like heaven. heaven in a man. heaven in a person. "another wish. one that's possible." "well, i don't know. i'm already with the best thing a man could ever ask for so i'll think about it." "think about it long and hard for me, okay?" "anything for you." the way he spoke to you made you get butterflies in your stomach even though you've been with him for such a long time.

july 2nd, 11:37 pm.

you were with nanami again. his brain tumor just getting worse. tomorrow would be his birthday. the day he would hopefully be granted out of the stupid hospital. you decided to ask him what his wish was again. "nanami, what's your wish for your birthday? your doctor said you could probably get out tomorrow." "i want to marry you. i want you to have our kids. to be the greatest mother in the world. the best wife anyone could ask for." "i promise we'll get married as soon as you get out." "you better keep that promise." "i will." nanami had a letter on his night stand. you wondered if it was even a letter. i might've just been some random letter the doctors left. "you need some sleep. i'll stay with you." nanami pressed the back of your head against his chest. pressing a small kiss on your forehead. he nodded then closed his eyes. his hand was intertwined with yours, slowly falling asleep. you were still awake though. just staying with him for the most. then, he squeezed your hand three times before his grip suddenly went away on your hand. that was when you fell asleep.

july 3rd, 3:04 pm.

nanami kento died on july 3rd, 4:56 am. a day before his 28th birthday. it was his around an hour after his funeral, you were just sitting by his grave, the tears slowly falling down on your cheek. then, his nurse gave you the letter on his nightstand. it was for you. you opened it, finding out was his last wish was.

'my dearest, Y/N,'

'i'm sorry left you alone. i'm sorry we never got married. the truth is, i want you to be happy. to love even when i'm gone. i want to see your pretty smile looking up at me. don't cry at my funeral, okay? i know it's hard not to but stay strong for me, okay? i won't be here anymore but i want you to know i'll always love you. i love you.'

(an: this is heavily inspired by oikawa's last wish on ao3. this is also my first angst work so im sorry if it seemed rushed or bad. i hope you had a good cry!)

[daddycinnabun]

I...used to be a surgeon. I still am I guess, but not officially. I know that sounds, well, sketchy as all hell, but I promise it's much, MUCH worse than you think.

Listen. I never claimed to be a good person alright? But the bullshit about 'gross incompetence' that got my license stripped was infuriating. I'm a good surgeon, I'm a fucking fantastic surgeon, my boss was just a whore who wanted to do anything he could to drive my career into the ground just because I didn't want to suck his dick, in an EXTREMELY literal sense.

That's not what I'm here to talk about though. Sorry, it's only been a year, it still...just thinking about it... I'm sorry.

Right. Regardless of how it happened, I don't officially do surgeries anymore. But. Last year, on June 4th, exactly a month after the decision to have my license revoked went through, I was contacted by someone. Well, I thought it was a someone. I'm not so sure anymore.

There was a knock on my door. I was intoxicated in the living room, a vague term for a state induced by a substance I'm going to keep vague. All you need to know is that I was extremely out of it. I don't even know how I got to the door. I...don't actually remember opening it either, or reaching out to the handle. It was just suddenly open. And the second the door revealed what was on the other side, I instantly sobered up. Not because she - it, whatever - scared me. I was a field medic in Iraq, I've saved friends and killed people 3 times it's size with nothing more than a scalpel. No, I was just all of a sudden sober.

Completely. Stone cold. Sober.

I'm emphasizing this because I want you to understand that I did not hallucinate what happened. I was in sound mind at the time. Which in of itself is fucking weird, I had enough of those 'substances' in my veins to keep me out of it for at least the next week.

What was on the other side of the door was a woman. Tiny, ancient, barely came up to my stomach, but with an energy about her that was frankly disturbing. It felt like she could've ran a marathon, even if looks would have you believe the task would've killed her. She had two figures standing behind her, but I was so bewildered by the woman that I didn't even really register them, let alone look at them closely.

Maybe all this wouldn't have happened if I had.

I'll never forget the first words that came out of that woman's mouth. I'd never seen her before in my entire life, and yet her she was on my front door step, and the first thing she says to me was -

"Have you played with dolls?"

I don't know how long I stood there, staring at her, just trying to process what was happening, before I snapped out of it. I curtly answered her, telling her that if I had played with dolls growing up my parents would've beaten me so hard that I wouldn't be standing here talking with her about it.

Then she asked if I'd like to.

I was just about to slam the door in this fucking weirdos face, tell her that I didn't want whatever the hell she was selling, but then she continued with something that made my blood freeze. My boss's name.

She talked about how unfair what happened to me was, how tragic it was that such skilled hands were going to waste, and that she'd like to offer me a job. Despite knowing that it was a stupid fucking decision, that this was clearly some insane old stalker and that I should just call the police, I was also running low on funds, and when she handed me an envelope stuffed with well over twenty grand in it...well. My interest was peaked, so to say. I asked what she wanted me to do, but she just responded with a smile, before simply saying-

"Play with dolls."

And then she was gone. The envelope and the money were still there, but she just completely vanished. If it weren't for the money, I'd have written the whole thing off as a bad trip and moved on with my life. But it was there, rent was due, and I needed the cash.

About two weeks later, I got another knock on the door. This time though, there was a massive guy, almost too large to fit into the door way. The kinda guy I'd go for after a few shots and a really, really rough day, looking for an even rougher night...ahem. Not that...you need to know that...

Anyways, uh, yeah. Big guy, wearing a black and white suit, and carrying two bags over each shoulder. Without saying anything or answering any questions, he barged into my living room and started setting up. I nearly choked when I saw what was in the first bag. A brand new stainless steel operating table with built in drainage and sanitation station, as well as a grotesquely expansive set of tools. There were things in that kit that at the time I had no idea what were even for, and I'd been doing surgeries for over 20 years. I...I know what they're used for now though. I know what all of them are for, what all their specific uses are in the operations she wanted me to do. Because it was surgery, what she wanted me to do.

Can you guess what was in the second bag?

White male, about 5'11, early 20's. Not dead, but heavily sedated.

That's when I should've called the police. That's when I should've ran as far away from all of this as humanly possible. But I didn't. As I said, I never claimed to be a good person, and the prospect of getting to operate again was too much.

The second envelope stuffed with thousands of dollars certainly helped too.

And so instead of acting like a sane, responsible individual, I donned the provided scrubs and other gear, grabbed a scalpel, put the scalpel down, closed all the blinds in my apartment, and then had to resanitize my hands, picked up the scalpel again, and THEN asked what needed to be done.

Instead of verbally answering, as the man must've been mute or something, he handed me a list. A list of operations that needed to be done. I grew a little uneasy looking at it. All of his limbs needed to be amputated, a..."pacemaker" attached to his heart, and something planted in his frontal lobe. These were extremely intense surgeries, each were going to take hours, and there was a good chance something was going to go wrong, especially with the brain implant. It was supposed to go in a baffling spot, an area I'd never worked on before, and was extremely sensitive. I relayed all that to my mute companion, but he just handed me a slip of paper. It simply read "Do not worry. It knew what it was signing up for."

I knew damn well I had no idea what the hell I'd signed up for, but as I glanced at the body laid out before me, I realized it was referring to it. That's when I stopped...thinking of them as human, I think. I started thinking of them as...things. Full, human sized...dolls. It became much easier to justify then. Maybe it was my way of coping with what I was doing. Maybe not.

Either way, I did what I was asked to do. It was...near ecstasy, operating again. Cutting deep into someone, peeling back the layers of what makes them human always fascinated me, and getting to do it again made me happy. But there was an extra layer to it. There wasn't any pressure, any of the maddening weight of trying to save a life. There was just a body in front of me, one guy watching, and a set of things to do. I don't think I'd ever been sad to end a 14 hour surgery, but I felt a twang of disappointment when I was done.

Speaking of my observer, he was actually extremely useful. Hands down, the best nurse I've ever had. He worked quickly, efficiently, and most importantly, quietly. Things got to my hand barely later than I even thought of them, and we worked as a seamless team. The things we could've done if we were operating somewhere other than my apartment...

And let me tell you, doing surgeries in the comfort of my own home was surreal. Instead of the grueling test of endurance it usually was, I had everything I could possibly want at just a call to my nurse. And passing out straight into my bed just moments after getting out of my scrubs was pure bliss. The next day, I woke up to expect it to be a dream. It almost seemed like it - the table, the body, the scrubs, the nurse, were all gone. There was only 3 pieces of evidence that it had really happened - the aching in my wrists and legs, the fat envelope left on my counter, and strangest of all, the fact that my apartment had been tidied up. Cleaned to sparkling perfection, and let me tell you, with how distraught I had been the month before, it had been a god awful mess.

But...I was happy. I paid my rent, which was definitely a massive concern of mine as I live in an extremely nice, very large flat. Costs nearly 10k a month. Surgeon money. And, well, I guess "playing with doll" money.

The next week, my nurse came back. Two bags, just as before, same equipment, different body. Black woman, 5'4, early 20's, same state as the last one. Slightly different set of instructions though, some facial modification. I hadn't done much in the way of cosmetic surgery before, but I was laid out extremely precise, professional instructions that a toddler could've followed.........if a toddler could perform invasive surgery, I guess. My point is that I could follow them very well and there weren't any complications.

And that was the routine for about three years. Or...was it two? Hmm.

Regardless. Every week or so, my neatly dressed nurse would arrive with my tools and a new body, and increasingly complex surgeries to complete. Looking back, I should've realized what I was doing was odd. After about a year of increasingly difficult tasks, I was practically stripping them down to the bone, peeling back skin and muscles until all that was left on my table were limbless, bloody masses of flesh. And then...well...

I don't know if you're going to believe me. I know it sounds impossible, I know I sound like a deranged serial killer, but they were still alive. It had become so routine at that point that I didn't even think about it, but they shouldn't have been. But they still bled, their hearts still pumped, their vitals never stopped. I was working miracles and it was exhilarating. And what was even more satisfying was what came next.

I remember the first prosthetics I were brought. Before then they'd always be taken away with just...their nubs, for lack of better words. The prosthetics were...gorgeous. Beautifully crafted limbs, articulate down to the fingers, I'd never seen anything like it before. And attaching them was extremely precise, as I had to place them such that the nerves could grow into them. Supposedly they were were fully functional replacement limbs and I fully believe they are. Especially now.

As things got more complicated, so did the prosthetics I was brought. Until I was essentially breaking the bodies down as much as physically possible, and then building them back up with the replacements. And...they did end up looking like dolls. No matter what state they entered my apartment, they always left looking like beautiful, human sized dolls.

I've gotten good at it too! I can strip a human body down to it's essentials in 8 hours, and build them back up in another 8. Complete transformation in just over half a day. It's really satisfying work too, so long as you're capable of looking past the horrific morally grey nature of it. And I stand by it being grey and not black, they could very well have chosen to be there.

Not...that I know for sure. Not that I lost much sleep over it either. Again. Not trying to argue I'm a good person, but maybe also trying to convince you that I'm not a bad one either. Or maybe I'm just trying to convince myself. I don't know.

It did go too far for me though. Something different did happen that I wasn't comfortable with, and that's why I'm here. Last week, my nurse didn't come with two bags. It came with one. The person I was to operate on walked into my apartment. You'd think that would be a source of relief, confirmation that this has all been voluntary but...well you'll see.

She was a little thing. About 5 foot even, thin but not unhealthily so. Dark black hair, green eyes, and despite looking fairly young, she had this feeling about her like she'd seen a lot. More than she should've for her age. She stood there quietly, as I asked what was going on.

My nurse handed me a paper, stating an apology for the irregularity in our routine, but that "this one had insisted that they Change while they could witness the gorgeous miracle with their own eyes". That last part made me shutter. One of the more...grotesque parts of what I've been doing for the last four years has been taking out the body's eyes and replacing them. It's not overly pleasant to be the one doing it, and I can't imagine having it done to me, especially conscious.

I explained to her that there was absolutely no way I could possibly do this process while she was awake, that just the act alone of removing her limbs would be enough to send her into shock and potentially kill her.

And it is - I've seen it happen. I saw a lot of things during the war I wish I could forget. None, and I mean NONE,  of it unsettled me as much as her reaction did.

She smiled.

This broad, ecstatic smile. I...I tried to scare her, I described the process in depth, cutting through her bones, slicing off her skin, getting more and more disturbingly in depth and grotesque, describing my craft as if it was butchery, trying to instill some sense of fear in her, but the more bloody and gorey I described it the happier she looked. By the end I could've sworn she was rubbing her thighs together, and a wet spot had clearly formed on her crotch.

I...I don't know. Maybe it'd all been building up inside of me, maybe I'm just insane. But I just...I wanted to wipe the smile off her face.

So I hit her.

She dropped to her knees and looked up at me. Despite the bruise already swelling on her cheek, she smiled at me. And then opened her mouth. She sat there, expectantly, tongue out, slowly drooling on my floor. It sparked rage in me like I'd never felt before, as I grabbed her by the hair. If she wanted to be a horrifying, masochistic slut, I was going to give her what she wanted.

There's no good way to say this. It wasn't rape per say, she never dissented...but she also never consented. Verbally at least - she was downright enthusiastic otherwise. Even when I finally pulled my cock out of her throat, having brutally face fucked her, not letting her breathe all the while, and then dragged her by the hair to the operating table. I thought maybe she was just a whore in over her head, but she didn't even flinch at the cold metal. Not even as I started marking out my incision. Not even as I pulled out a scalpel, handed to me by my ever diligent nurse who had just been watching.

Before I started cutting though, she...well. She spread her legs. I could see a trickle of her cum leaking down onto the table. Her holes were clenching and winking at me, and I knew what she wanted.

My nurse did too, apparently, as he immediately adjusted the height of the table to match up perfectly with my hips.

I don't know what possessed me to do it. Any of it. But raping her against that table, all the while cutting and stripping her of skin, pulling and tearing, all while trusting into her impossibly tight holes...I had never felt more alive. And she kept smiling. Even as I took out the bone saw and pressed it against her shoulder. I was on her, in her, looking into those emerald eyes as I dragged the saw across her flesh. Back and forth, blood and gore spraying with each thrust and pull, matching the pace of me fucking her. She came when it hit bone. She came with each push and pull, as the saw ripped through marrow and bone. She came even harder when I took off the second arm.

Then I moved onto her legs. It'd been well over an hour and I'd cum twice, but the smell of her blood and that fucking smile just...kept me going. I took them off right at the hip, and my cum leaked from both her holes, pooling and mixing with her blood. Then,  I placed my scalpel against her collar bone, and dragged it all the way down to her pussy. I cut around it for the time being, wanting to keep the hole intact.

I...I skinned her then. I cut off her skin. All of it, except her pussy. I hardly missed a beat either, my rhythm was impeccable.

...I'm sorry. I'm sure this isn't easy to listen to, but I have tell someone. It won't feel real until I do. It'll just be some blood soaked dream unless someone else knows. I'm sorry.

Then...well, there she was. A hunk of meat, naught to her name but the muscles I'd left on her intact bones and her organs laying out. She was crying by then, but they were happy tears, as she looked on not in horror, but in bliss. Then it was time to move onto the part that made me the most uncomfortable usually, working on the face. But...this time...I had been looking forward to it.

We kissed. We voraciously tried to devour each other at every opportunity as I worked, making incisions, moving bone, filling in parts. I wasn't following what I'd been told to alter this time - I was doing it for me. I was turning her into my perfect, beautiful doll.

Then came the eyes. Her old ones bulged as I got the equipment for the removal and her new ones, and I thought maybe she'd finally gotten her fill. Her squirming in excitement proved otherwise. The splashing and squishing of her organs and raw muscles as she squirmed was...adorable, I'll admit. I whispered in her ear that I'd be quick, so that she could see me adding the rest of her new body, and she came on my dick harder than she did at any other point. I could feel her gushing, soaking both of us in her excitement, as I scooped out her eyes.

Then I began her rebirth. I connected the nerves to the prosthetics, and as I held it in my hand, the optical nerve only just barely connected, she looked at me. The glossy eye moved in my hand. To look at me.

It sounds like something out of a fucking horror film. And...and you know what I did? You know what I did? I kissed it. I kissed her new eye, as it hung out of her bloody socket, and said in a high sweet voice "Hello again! Miss me?". And she blushed. Her new, perfectly proportioned cheeks were a rose red, as I was coated in our mixed cum and blood, and her discarded limbs sat in a bucket next to us, with most of her skin next to them.

It felt...right to put her back together. I did it lovingly. I did it sweetly. I glided her back into place, I rebuilt her from a wriggling mess of blood and gore into a staggeringly perfect thing. Too pristine. Too perfect.

I took a bloodied scalpel and...wrote my name across its porcelain chest. I claimed it. I marked it. I made it flawed, and mine. And with my work done, I collapsed.

I don't know how long I...worked. I don't know how long I slept. But when I woke up it was evening, and my flat was once again pristine. I had requested a long time ago that the money be wired directly to my bank account instead of being handed wads of cash - I do my taxes and as far as the IRS is concerned I'm a very, very successful "consultant" to a bunch of medical facilities across Sweden, as that's where the money is sent to me from. I mention this, because there was an envelope left this time. Not the bulging, cash stuffed one from years past, but a letter.

I was wired triple what I usually was. Apparently I'd "done such a good job with this one that the others want to witness their creation with their own eyes as well, even those who were afraid before." Although I was warned not to add any more personal modifications, or they'd become to attached and not want to leave.

Not only did I get away with this...this...objectively horrific act, I'm being rewarded for it. And I feel like I might lose myself in it. Lose myself and...become something else. Not a doll. I don't know what though. I don't know if I want help, but I think I need help.

So. Can you? Can you help me?

...sir this is a Wendy's.

[jedusaur]

I don't talk about covid a whole lot on social media these days, because it is exhausting and I'm exhausted and nothing I say seems to change anything ever. but as I'm considering whether or not to fly to NYC for the awards gala in June, I just want to say one thing about risk management.

when you decide whether to take an exposure risk, you're making two decisions: how much risk you're taking on yourself, which is a personal decision, and how much risk you're putting onto other people, which is an ethical decision.

when I attended the Seattle Kraken home opener in 2021, I chose to put myself at risk by being in a crowded indoor space with tens of thousands of people, not all of whom were respecting the masking rules. but I fully isolated for two weeks before and after the event, so I did not put anyone else at risk. the personal risk was worth it to me, because I'd been waiting over a decade for this team and it was important to me to be there. but if someone had interrupted my isolation and coughed in my face 3 days beforehand, I would not have gone, because to me a hockey game is not worth putting other people at risk.

if I go to the Lammy ceremony, I will be putting myself at risk by taking two cross-country flights and being in a crowded indoor space with a lot of people, many of whom I anticipate will be unmasked. but if I do this, I will isolate before and after, and schedule the trip to last well under 48 hours, so if I get covid on the first flight I'll be back home before I'm contagious. this award nomination is huge for me, and it might be worth the personal risk of the trip, but it is not worth putting others at risk.

I am not perfect; I have made decisions that did expose others to risk, on a smaller scale. but when I take major risks like attending crowded events or getting on a plane, I am not compromising my ethical stance on covid precautions.

[hartshorn-and-isinglass]

LOL I am never going to have the willpower to grow my hair back out. I'm back to the standard-issue Queer Undercut because it's easy and I didn't want to think too hard when I'm learning to use a new clipper set. My haircuts-for-dummies clipper that I bought during the height of the home haircut rush of the pandemic (because it was the last one I could still find for under $75 at that point) gave up the ghost and I decided to buy a decent Wahl kit for basically the same price I paid for the crap one LOL. It's a proper beast, heavy and less ergonomic than the previous one, but I hope it will last a lot longer.

I'm so amused that the local news has a fall foliage report as part of the weather during the autumn. I cannot believe how serious people are about autumn out here. A few of the more-exposed maple trees in the neighborhood have gone dark red and there's a yellowish cast to some of the other trees in the shade, so I guess I'll get to see a real fall for the first time ever soon.

California doesn't do this four-seasons business; how many seasons you have depends entirely on where in the state you live, but you almost never have exactly four of them. Where I last lived, August-September was the Dormant Hot season where nothing grew until the weather cooled back down, and then you'd have Second Spring in October to December. Then there's Winter in January to February, First Spring in March to May, Active Hot for June-July where the plants are putting out fruit and seeds before they die back for Dormant Hot again. And our native maples turn yellow instead of red; bright red in the forest during autumn is something I specifically associate with poison oak, LOL.

Conversely, in San Francisco where I grew up, there are three seasons: Cool (Dec-Apr), Fog (May-Aug), and Warm (Sept-Nov). And way down in the Mojave it's just two seasons: Fry and Freeze, with a three-week amnesty window in April-ish for flowers to frantically reproduce. So yeah, completely different from the archetypal New England four seasons.

[brella-boi]

I can't believe the year has already gone. It went by so fast...

As per our tradition let's do a quick recap!

January: It was immediate work on new merch for a new years february update. This time it was focus on wooden charms.

February: I was ending my job contract that month, and didn't do much other than start listening to Lemon Demon and go a little insane.

March: Start of Merch and end of February I was doing donation commissions for helping Ukraine. Who knew this would be going on so long...

April: A month where I did NOTHING and I was a happy camper about that. Just straight up chillin

May: First time I decided to get out of my shell and start doing something fun with my life. I got my first car that month, and joined a local art group that sells art every saturday at a local park. The nicest people I hung around all summer, and this was the month where I worked on new prints to sell!

June: Preparations for artfight.... ref sheet hell.

July: Artfight

August: This was my holiday month!!! I barely drew because I also had a day job while on holiday. I was a wreck.

September: Back from holiday and out of a job again, I got to work on some new shop stuff in the meantime.

October: This month was a blur. I did some sketches here and there and worked a good bit on cosplay.

November: Everything Is On Fucking Fire. I may have skipped out on inktober and huevember this year, but I I did something so much worse instead. I was working day in day out this month without a moment break. I think I took maybe like 5 days off that entire month. It was neck breaking create new items for tabling at a con, neck breaking finishing kenku cosplay, and neck breaking family visit. Speedrun of everything. Im exhausted just thinking about it.

December: Month of strangling myself to do NOTHING. I travelled to america by myself. It's a tale and a half. I came home yesterday. I'm tired, I'm upset, I'm missing my luggage which has the kenku and other things I needed for christmas, I'm sick and my brain immediately wants to get back to work. Lord help me, two weeks was not enough with my friend to wind down

Here's to hoping that 2023 will be a better year. I've a lot of travel plans already, and I think art wise I just want to relax again. This year I've been breaking my neck over expanding my shop, and while I'll still like to make some new things, I'll be focusing on having fun like going to cons and tabling and meeting my friends. And have some time to relax and play games. I overwork myself way too much when given the time to do so.

Thank you everyone who have stuck around this year and hello to all the new people coming in!! I achieved my goal of drawing more bug themed stuff and will continue to do so! So here's to a whole new year in a week <3

[princepestilence]

NYR: June in review.

Post-June horoscope: "Performance without rehearsal. Body without alterations. Head without premeditation. I know nothing of the role I play. I only know it’s mine. I can’t exchange it. I have to guess on the spot just what this play’s all about. Ill-prepared for the privilege of living, I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands. I improvise, although I loathe improvisation. ... I’m standing on the set and I see how strong it is. The props are surprisingly precise. The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer. The farthest galaxies have been turned on. Oh no, there’s no question, this must be the premiere. And whatever I do will become forever what I’ve done.”

A little late to it this month. This year is disappearing very fast. I don't think any other year has gone quite so quickly? But I suppose a lot is happening all the time, so maybe that's part of it. For example:

Decorate room. I've put a lot of art up above my desk now, which I love so much. It's made it such a bright spot in my room when I wake up, or when I'm doing things (such as this right now) at my desk, and I look up and see all this that I love. There's still space for more, so I will keep adding to it. .

Thesis work. I've gotten a lot done, which feels good. Especially since I spent a week totally out of it from a cold. That was time down the drain, and very annoying, but I can still catch up and stay on track so it's fine. .

Go on a day trip. A fun little break in routine! I saw a handsome tree-kangaroo up close and the devils decided to be active while I was there, which was an unexpected delight. .

See family + friends. Always more to see, but it's nice to see the ones I can when we get the chance. .

Played Dread for the first time. The game unfortunately did not go great (the friend GMing it was inexperienced, didn't really read / understand the rules and mechanics, and I think is maybe too much into D&D in a way didn't mesh with the goals of Dread) -- but the whole time it reminded me how much I love GMing for the game and how badly I would like to do that again, so I'm going to do that as soon as I can once the dissertation is submitted. .

See some live music. The band played mum's funeral song as their finale, which in my heart I always knew they would. She would have loved it. .

Second work anniversary. Time goes on! It's been two years since I started at my "new" job, so now it is just my job, and I've found my feet with it and started making it fit me instead of the other way around. I am very very happy here.

In July, I will:

Complete the full final draft of my thesis. I'll be sending this draft to my supervisor on Sunday 21 July -- so pretty much two weeks from now. I still feel so far from where it needs to be, but I am electing to be energised by this anxiety instead of paralysed. I am also so so excited to be so close to really and truly finished. The video-games call to me. The time with my friends calls to me. The fiction manuscripts I want to write call to me. They are all calling to me and I am yelling back I know! I know! I'm trying, god, why don't you do this and see how long it takes you. But alas. I am to blame for all of it, all of the time. .

Facilitate the writers festival panel. Speaking of things that take up my time which I am to be blamed for: in a week, I'll be hosting a fun panel at a writing festival and talking to some authors about fairytales. No-one made me do this. I was asked to do it and I said yes, and so have effectively wiped a valuable day of thesis work off the calendar. On the bright side, I like to be paid to do things I already want to do. .

Doing right by my health. Sort of, anyway. I have a general check-up booked for later this month, and yesterday had my first meeting with someone to talk about grief and all that. More to do on this front, of course, but when isn't that true.

[theghostpinesmusic]

Well, for all of June Goose has been on summer tour. And because of the miracle(s) that is modern technology, I got to watch the first three shows (two from The Factory in St. Louis and the first of two shows at Fiddler's Green in Denver) live from my couch. I had to miss watching the second Fiddler's show live because I wanted to spend time with, you know, my actual friends instead, but the first three shows were fantastic and the fourth and fifth, which I've watched non-live since, were just as good. I'll get around to watching the rest of the tour sometime this summer, of course. And recapping the highlight-iest of highlight jams here before long.

Before switching over to a June and July (and August and September and probably most of the fall) that will be chock-full of Goose content, though, I want to talk about 2/22's "A Wave Of Hope" and how 2/22 as a whole might be the best Phish show I've ever heard.

Yeah, that's a thing I just wrote.

I've gone through all this before, sure, but to just drill the point home for a moment: I've been listening to this band fairly obsessively since the year 2000. I've listened to hundreds of their shows, seen them fifty times in person, and likely watched the same number of concerts via webcast since 2021. Though I tend to focus on the shows they've played since 2009, since that was the first year I was actually able to afford tickets and travel to see them play, I'm also pretty well-versed in at least the landmark shows of every touring year from 1992 onward.

In short, among terminally online Phish fans, I'd be seen as a n00b, but by the lights of anyone else in the actual world, I have a pretty encyclopedic knowledge of the music these guys have made together. So I don't say shit like "2/22/24 is the best Phish show I've ever heard" lightly.

After a few years on the wagon, I got back into the band in a big way earlier this year after watching the first show of their 2023 New Year's Eve run. From there, I dove into their seven-night Madison Square Garden residency from last summer before tuning in live for all four of their shows from Sphere in Las Vegas. All of these runs displayed to me a band that was playing at a level above even the seven shows I'd seen in person in 2021, which had been far and away my favorite Phish shows I'd ever been in attendance for. There was still a piece missing, though, from the twelve-show run from 12/28/23 to 4/21/24, the piece that Trey Anastasio himself pointed to as evidence that the band is "just entering [its] prime": Mexico '24.

A few weeks ago, I watched the first show of this heralded run, a single-set "welcome" show and the kind of thing that fans tend to approach with low expectations. I approached it with equally low expectations, which were met: I already shared the video and some words of the band's take on "If I Could" from that show, a gorgeous, seven-minute ballad that nonetheless also tells you all you need to know about the rest of the show by standing out as the clear highlight.

I hadn't expected the Anastasio-advertised highs during this "welcome" set, and I didn't get them. But then I put on night two and, while trying to avoid being too hyperbolic, it was quite possibly the best show I've ever heard the band play as well as a show I feel like I couldn't have truly appreciated without having already listened to the previous twenty-four years' worth of Phish that I've put into my ears.

It felt like such a peak moment that I actually avoided listening to nights three and four before Goose tour started, simply because it felt impossible that they wouldn't pale in comparison. I'm reminded of the (in)famous moment at the end of the band's defining end-of-the-millennium performance when Trey puzzled out loud about whether or not the band should just hang it up that very morning, having reached the top of the proverbial mountain with nothing left to prove.

To be clear, I'm not going to stop listening to Phish: I have tickets to the four-night run at Dick's in Colorado this summer and I also fully intend to finish watching this Mexico run eventually. I'm just trying to make clear how much this particular show shocked me and captured my imagination as a twenty-four year fan. It was that good.

Which is funny, because it didn't actually start that way. If I was a purist, I could easily grump about how this wasn't "a perfect show" because the first quarter or so of it is just...Phish playing some songs, and some not even that well. "First Tube" is a fun show opener since it's usually used as a set closer, but this is probably the roughest take on the tune I've heard in a long time. "Free" and "Roggae" follow, and are both beautifully played, but neither does anything I haven't heard before. It's fun to hear the rarity "Driver" and the new-ish "hey stranger," but neither of those leave the box either. An old-school sequence of "Gumbo" > "My Soul" comes next, and though Page crushes "Gumbo" and Trey annihilates "My Soul," it's all still within the realm of first-set-opening music that you sit on the lawn eating food cart nachos half-listening to until they get to the real meat of the set.

Don't get me wrong; I love the song choices here and with the exception of "First Tube" everything is played well...it's just, well, pretty normally good Phish. But then, during "Birds Of A Feather," Something Happens. I'm not going to go on and on in detail about the jam sound the band conjures here, as it factors into the "A Wave Of Hope" I'm ostensibly writing about here (and will get to eventually). But it's amazing, and they just sort of...ride it for the next two hours? "Birds" and a definitively evil take on "Axila (Pt. II)" close out the first set with sister-monster jams, and then the second set is just unbelievable. "A Song I Heard The Ocean Sing" -> "A Wave Of Hope" -> "Oblivion" > "Tweezer" is maybe the most amazingly consistent and creative sequence I've ever heard the band play, and the only way this second set might have been better would have been if they'd closed with yet one more monster jam...but that almost feels like asking for too much! Presumably even the band needed a break from the insane space jams after "Tweezer" and I feel like I kind of did, too! So instead, they close with a relatively pedestrian but in-any-other-context-amazing "Tube" -> "Runaway Jim" > "Tube." An encore that's my all-time favorite Phish ballad "Bug" into the expected and cathartic "Tweezer Reprise" is the icing on the proverbial cake.

Had I somehow been in control of the Phish YouTube page, I might have picked the "Tweezer" from the second set to share, or maybe even the "ASIHTOS," but I'm not. "A Wave Of Hope" is easily the longest jam of the night, though, and likely the most representative/best microcosm of everything that happens from "Birds" through "Tweezer." So. Now that I've already written a longer-than-average post, let's actually start talking about this thirty-five minute jam!

Whew.

The noise that "A Wave Of Hope" emerges from at the beginning of the video here is the tail end of the preceding "A Song I Heard The Ocean Sing" jam: perhaps equally worthy of scrutiny and praise, but not part of this video beyond the first few seconds.

I really dig "A Wave Of Hope" as a song, as it melds the catchiness of Trey's recent (and often unfairly maligned, in my opinion) "love and light" songs with the obscure and apocalyptic imagery of heavier, even newer songs like "Oblivion" and "...And Flew Away." That said, this version is pretty straightforward before the jam: it's hooky and fun, and does its thing, briefly.

It's not necessarily a song you might instantly peg as a huge jam vehicle, but it's certainly become one lately, and (I think?) 2/22 is the longest version yet. I feel like we get an inkling of what's coming at 3:52, when Trey starts singing the vocal refrain outro to the song and Page suddenly starts up a synth siren over top of it, like he just can't wait to get weird.

They launch into the jam proper at 4:11, and initially at least it's a pretty standard Phish affair, with a Trey guitar solo leading the way and the siren eventually giving way to more standard piano chords from Page. It may not be an exceptional sound, but everyone is locked in from the beginning here, and, as usual, even during the "normal" parts of the jam, Fishman is just going absolutely nuts.

There are a few neat melodic runs here where Trey is chasing Page or vice versa.

At 6:45, Trey goes from soloing to chording, which changes the tenor of the jam a bit. Mike takes the melodic lead for a moment around 7:00, and Trey moves back to make some Undersea Monster Guitar Sounds. I really dig what Page is playing here, even though he's kind of buried in the mix. The piano sounds a lot like something he'd play during "ASIHTOS," which might be intentional considering they'd just finished it earlier in the set?

Around 8:30, Trey starts playing melody again, and he and Mike and Page all converge on a sound together almost immediately. It's the brain-meld thing that Phish does better than anyone else out there and I love it. Fishman, to my ears, is actually just laying back with a pretty standard backbeat pattern at this point, but feel free to laugh at me for being incredibly wrong if you're a drummer.

By 9:30, the cacophony is both unhinged and somehow totally synced up, and the lights reflect the sort of chaos-in-unity feel of the music.

Starting at 10:20, Trey suggests something a bit more major-key and less chaotic, and Fishman shifts up his beat a bit, but we don't actually move in a new direction decisively until around 11:00, when Trey starts playing a solo with a super weird and cool tone, and Mike starts riffing off of him. This section is like a sister to the previous section, but with more melodic purpose. I dig. Eventually, Mike goes off to do his own thing here, and Page (on electric piano) and Trey toss the descending riff that Trey initiated back and forth for a bit. I know I said it once already, but I really like this bit and am happy they stick with it a bit longer than they usually might.

At 13:32, Trey starts playing the kind of ascending riff that I associate with him signaling to the rest of the band that it's Phish Bliss Jam Time. That kind of doesn't happen, though? They continue to sit in this midtempo jam zone for awhile, though Trey's playing certainly gets a bit more assertive and brighter: we don't exactly leap to a huge peak right away, and in fact by 14:45 we've descended into delay-loop chaos. Page leans on an evil synth sound at 14:50, Fishman slows down the beat, and suddenly we've moved in the complete opposite direction. It's time to GO TO HELL

The synths and the echo on Trey's guitar really make this section of the jam for me. It's both angrily metal but also ethereal, like you're listening to Metallica in a submersible in the Marianas Trench. Appropriate for a show being played on the ocean, I suppose.

At 16:50, Trey wrangles some dark-sounding rock from his guitar, while the lights reflect the abyssal sound the band is conjuring.

Around 17:30, Fishman switches to a tom-heavy beat, an exceptionally intense sound for him, and I love it. Don't worry: he's back to the cymbals shortly afterward.

The stuff that Trey is doing with his octave shifter around 18:50 paired with the weird laser lights and Page's synth is fucking ridiculous. You think you're safe to just go hang out on the beach for a night, do some drugs and watch some Phish, and then the band fucking teleports you to E2M6 of Doom and doesn't let you leave.

This is my third time watching this jam, and still at 21:23, when the camera pulls back to show the flickering murder-lights above the stage while Trey wails Satanic chords on his guitar, I started laughing out loud at how bonkers it all is. At this point in the jam, I'm convinced that Page has a key on his synths somewhere just labelled "GHOSTS" and he's just leaning on it with his whole body weight.

The section starting at 23:00 sounds like if the Talking Heads were actually also the band of demons from "Devil Went Down To Georgia."

The band sits in this two-chord groove for awhile, and actually starts to inject a bit of levity back into the sound (Page does first, and then Trey briefly uses and then abandons his octave shifter), but then returns to the heavier sound for a bit longer. This section is a little melodically repetitive, but Fishman is really driving through here.

The band brings the tempo down a bit at 26:00, and Trey returns yet again to the octave shifter (he's a bit fan during this jam). Initially, this section feels almost like a reprise of the previous two-chord jam, but then things diversify melodically a bit. Mike seems to essentially be playing a drone for a bit, which suits the jam, actually. Meanwhile, Page and Trey take turns making sounds that are both Bizarre and Soothing at the same time.

By the 28:00 mark, it's wild to remember where we were sonically ten minutes ago: we were in hell, and now we're playing Psilocybin Plinko. This jam eventually morphs into an almost-reggae groove, which is just crazy, and we ride along on that for awhile. I really dig the small touches that Page is adding to the sound here.

Jon Fishman takes his Space Reggae very seriously, fortunately, and his playing is fantastic here.

There's a moment around 31:50 when it feels like a -> "Slave To The Traffic Light" or -> "Harry Hood" or even a -> "Meatstick" is coming, but it fades away into a gentler, cool-down moment that showcases Mike instead.

Trey starts playing something a little dissonant at 33:30, and for a moment it feels like maybe they're going to head off in yet another direction, but we're actually nearing the end here. Instead, they stay in this slow, contemplative space, but Trey throws a few more big guitar lines into what has up to now been a section focused on Mike and Fishman.

At the very end, you can hear Trey adjusting a bit to launch into "Oblivion" next, but the video wraps up before blasting our brains with any more of this amazing set.

Holy crap, that was fun to watch again!

[blindrapture]

SUNDAY JUNE 12TH, 2011 (Donnie Goes to London)

3:12 AM My mouth’s starting to bleed. Mistress says it’s time to tell me the news. "It's Donnivan's turn to go and convert some bitches. I want her to go to London." Handing me a list. It has two names on it. Donnie's not here; she's upstairs. "I know. I want you to tell her." okay. ._. "And one stipulation: If she goes in any rabbit holes, I'll have her hung from a pole and lowered into the sea. Her trip should take her six days, and I want my six days." ..okay… "I'll leave you to it. She'd better be done by 6 AM!" …fuck.

4:29 AM Donnie’s not taking the news very lightly. I’m trying to explain to her that London’s fine, London’s easy, she can make it. But at the same time, I’m kinda just saying that. I have no idea how easy or hard it’ll be, and she’s not even allowed to enter any rabbit holes. What if she goes in one accidentally? Judging from Lloret, they can be hard to predict. I’m also trying to assure her that things will be better when she returns. That one’s the hardest to convince her of. Myself of.

5:45 AM Well.. I promised her, when she gets back, I’d make love to her. I was all out of ideas, and I just.. god. I wanted her to go; I didn’t want her to die. I might die while she’s gone, that’s fine. But I want her to have a fighting chance. And if that means promising I’ll fuck her in a special way somehow, then so be it. I gotta admit, as much as I’m tired of sex with Mistress, I like the idea of it with Donnie. She’s agreed to go. It was that promise that did it. I don’t know if I’m taking advantage of her or if she’s taking advantage of me at this rate, but I think what’s important is, it made her smile.

5:54 AM I’m walking her to the edge of town.

6:01 AM She held my hand the rest of the way. We said our farewells, and as she left, she turned and said “Keep your promise. That’s an order.” With a wink and a smile. I love orders, journal, but I loved that smile so much more. :D It was nothing like Mistress’ permanent smile, smudged on with lipstick and grinning from ear to ear. It was warm, it was temporary, and it was real. I miss her already.

6:40 AM As I got home, Mistress was standing by our front door, watching me arrive. She said nothing, only waved, turned, and left. Donnie’s gone now. This is gonna be a long week. I’m going to bed.

3:21 PM When I first woke up, I expected to see Donnie next to me in bed, like usual. A second later, I realized what was going on, and fully expected to see Mistress watching me sleep. Neither person was there.

5:41 PM Music, take me away, distract me. Please.

10:39 PM Someone’s at the door.

(The next several pages have been ripped out. A piece of paper is attached to the tears: “He taught the Harlequin everything he knew about pain, and he put in her mind the idea that the only way to come to terms with it is to teach it to everyone you love.”)

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