#but the cause needs VISIBILITY and if you say an influential person can’t do anything you might as well admit that you don’t know shit

[cookie-de-baunilha]

istg stan culture mentality is so dumb.

I was on twitter just now and I had to read a swiftie saying that “if you’re going to criticize Taylor for everything she does then you should just leave the fandom!!!”

and by “everything” the person meant: staying silent on Palestine and the Jackson Mahomes thing.

bffr do you even HEAR yourself??

Yes, I’m a swiftie. No, I’m not going to defend everything she does and that DOESN’T make me less of a fan. For fcks sake how old are you to even think like that?

I think my faves should be held accountable when they screw up. I guess for some people that makes me a hater ijbol

Also, stop with the “y’all attracting hate for her 🥺🥺” discourse. TS is a grown ass woman, there’s no need to paternalize her like that. If haters start bashing her for doing a freaking high five with JM it’s because she did a freaking high five with JM, not because her fans call her out for it. I mean, god forbid fans being disappointed with their fav bc they expected better, right?

It’s the M***y H***y discourse all over again. Y’all b*tches are dumb.

“Oh why aren’t you calling out other artists for staying silent about Palestine?” hmmm maybe because I’m not a fan of those specific artists??? Maybe their fans should be doing the same?? I mean, I think everyone should be talking about it, and if they’re not, then they are just as wrong. But yes, I will care if the person that I chose to stan stays silent. Why shouldn’t I? I want them to use their voices to do the right thing — and blondie herself said she wanted to start using her voice to speak up for what’s right, so that’s on her.

I’m also a Hozier stan and when he gave that (unexpected) watered down statement the majority of the fandom was eating him up. Shocker: no one stopped being a fan.

Y’all need to grow a backbone and realize you don’t need to defend your fav celebrity for everything they do.

[gh0st-patr0l]

ADHD in DSMP

So about a week back, I made a post about Karl Jacobs (a bit of a passive aggressive one, I’ll admit, but I think it was justified), complaining that a lot of the ‘criticism’ I see about Karl is actually rather insensitive towards his ADHD. I got a lot of responses to that post, and the most common sources of confusion I saw were:

People not understanding what I was saying they should avoid being judgmental of, or-

People who didn’t know that Karl had ADHD or didn’t understand which behaviors were caused by it.

First of all, Karl has confirmed that he has ADHD.

(NOTE: Yes, I know he said ADD. ADD and ADHD used to be categorized as separate disorders, but in the most recent edition of the DSM, it was decided that they are both simply subtypes of the same disorder- ADHD is the correct technical term. ADD is still sometimes used as shorthand by some practitioners to diagnose primarily-inattentive ADHD, but it's a bit outdated.)

Secondly, that original post made me realize that a lot of people who may be well-meaning may genuinely not fully understand ADHD and its symptoms as well as they want to or think they might. If you aren’t aware, Karl isn’t the only one in the DSMP with ADHD- to my understanding, both Technoblade and Dream have confirmed that they have it as well. So, I thought it would be helpful to put together a comprehensive crash-course on ADHD symptoms and how they effect people’s behavior!

Now, before we go further, I want to address something- as I said earlier, I saw some people unsure of whether certain behaviors are ADHD or “just his personality”. I feel the need to point this out above the read more so people will see it. To answer this question, as someone with ADHD;

A lot of times, it’s both. ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder, meaning that it’s caused by the way your brain developed from birth. A lot of the symptoms and effects of ADHD are extremely influential towards the way we think, act, and behave, to the point where “symptoms” and “normal behavior” really don’t have a clean differentiation. This is why it’s technically classified as a ‘disorder’, instead of an illness. While certain aspects of it can require treatment, the condition itself as a whole is not something to be mitigated or eliminated- it’s a part of who we are as a person. This is also why sometimes, even if you don’t have ADHD, you’ll look at certain specific behaviors or experiences and go “Oh, but I do that too!”. A lot of ADHD ‘symptoms’ are just a bunch of normal traits or behaviors, but in combination with each other and some actually problematic aspects, form the appearance of the disorder.

So, what are you allowed to nitpick about it? Well, there’s no real ‘authority’ on this, and even if there was it certainly wouldn’t be me. But if you want my opinion? Nothing.

See, here’s the thing- what I was trying to say when I made that post was not that you can’t be critical of Karl. If you want to say something about his Actions, his Ideals, or the content he creates- sure, go for it, that’s fair. I will agree that there are some very valid and constructive points to be made. But when you post ‘criticism’ about the way he speaks, his interests or preoccupations, his personal behaviors? That’s not criticism. That’s just judging someone.

And you’re allowed to think that stuff! Nobody can control what annoys or bothers them. It doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person. But you don’t need to be vocal about it. You can keep your mean thoughts to yourself. And if you do make posts or communities or whatever about judging someone for things they can’t change about themselves, don’t call it “criticism” or try to morally justify it. It’s not productive or righteous, it’s just rude. Nothing else.

Anyway. Back to Education!

The following will be a descriptive list of visible ADHD behaviors, using Karl’s behavior as examples.

I feel the need to add a disclaimer here- I am not a mental health professional. However! I have ADHD myself, I have taken some psychology courses and done a Lot of research into this stuff, and I’m the daughter of a therapist with access to a DSM. While I’m not an expert, I’d like to think I’m fairly well versed and knowledgeable on at least ADHD. (That being said, if by chance anyone who Is a professional sees this post and notices mistakes, by all means let me know and I’ll fix it!!)

WHAT IS ADHD?

You’re here for the behaviors more than the science, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. ADHD is Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (Known in the past as Attention Deficit Disorder). Despite its name, the root problem of ADHD is not in the person’s ability to pay attention, but their brain’s capability to manage itself. In simple terms, people with ADHD have a lot less control over what their brain does and wants. This results in some behavioral differences along with some personal challenges, namely a difficulty with attentiveness and self-discipline.

Now, onto the symptoms!

ATTENTION

This is perhaps the most visible and pervasive of the ADHD symptoms, hence why it’s the namesake. Inattention is a lack of focus and an inability to stay present and occupied with certain tasks or thoughts.

Because ADHD impairs self-management of the brain, people with it have an extremely hard time directing themselves anywhere but where their brain instinctively wants to go. This results in inattentiveness and the easiness of distraction that is often mocked or stereotyped for people with ADHD.

Here are some examples of how Karl can sometimes display his inattentiveness;

When he has an idea that he seems passionate about, only to drop it or switch to something totally different without warning soon after (either forgetting or getting bored of his original idea).

When he sets out to do something like a build, works on it for a short amount of time, and then immediately gives up or gets someone else to do it.

When someone else is talking and he totally zones out. (NOTE: While I wont make a whole section for it because it’s not easily observable, maladaptive (constant and intrusive) daydreaming is a common ADHD symptom as well!)

It’s important to remember that the whole problem with ADHD is that we can’t control when or what we focus on. When someone with ADHD zones out during a conversation or activity, it doesn’t mean they’re doing it on purpose, and they likely don’t mean any offense! We often are trying our best to listen or participate, but our brain just wont cooperate.

However, inattention is not the only way ADHD effects our focus. There’s also what’s called hyperfocus or hyperfixation, which is when we are so absorbed into a single subject, task, or idea that it is extremely difficult to get us to think about or do anything else. This is usually because our brains have found something that is getting those satisfaction chemicals flowing, and it’s clinging to that with everything it’s got.

People with ADHD will often experience brief periods of hyperfocus. Think of how Karl talks about spending hours straight working on a build or project without eating or drinking, or how he’ll sit down to play a game with someone and end up going six hours without even noticing.

There are also hyperfixations, where someone with ADHD becomes extremely preoccupied with a certain subject, topic, etc. for a period of time. These can be short term- personally, my hyperfixation can sometimes change as quickly as a couple weeks at a time. However, it can also be long term. Karl has been obsessed with Survivor since the second grade- not to mention his memorabilia, rambling, and constant references to Kingdom Hearts.

HYPERACTIVITY/STIMMING

This is a BIG one for Karl. I should clarify; ‘stimming’ is not a technical term, and in professional situations these behaviors are just referred to as Hyperactivity. However, I personally like the term stimming much more and find it far more accurate to what the behaviors actually are, so I’ll be using that instead for this post.

If you’re not already familiar, ‘stimming’ (derived from ‘stimulation’) is an unofficial term used to describe consistent and abnormal patterns of physical and vocal behavior typically expressed by people with ADHD and ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder). This includes things that people usually call fidgets or tics.

(NOTE: There are differences in how people with those two disorders stim. This post will explain stimming specifically from an ADHD perspective! ASD stimming is caused by very different factors and presents itself in much different ways. Do your own research if you’re curious!) 

There are two major observable forms of stimming- physical and vocal. Karl expresses both VERY often! I’ll use examples for each type;

Physical Stims: Flapping his hands/arms, jumping up and down when he’s excited, twisting around into odd positions in his chair, throwing, hitting, or tapping things, standing up and pacing around when he’s hyped up or laughing, twisting his rings, etc.

Vocal Stims: When he gets excited and repeats a certain phrase incessantly (Think any variation of “I’m popping off”), making certain repetitive noises while he’s focused on something or bored (”la la la”, the meow-noises, the weird heart-beat noise, etc.), singing or humming, tongue clicking.

It should be noted here that it’s pretty common for people with ADHD to get “stuck” on certain phrases or noises, and be unable to stop repeating them (reminiscent of echolalia, a symptom of ASD, but not the same thing). Think of how Karl might sometimes keep making a weird noise for an extended period of time even though it’s not that funny, or that one time he was physically struggling to keep himself from singing the Bakugan theme. These repetitions are completely impulsive and trust me, we usually know how annoying it is while we’re doing it, but we physically cannot stop.

ADHD stims are caused by the fact that the barrier between our brain and body is much weaker than a normal person’s. Because of this, most ADHD stims are actually very positive expressions of joy, excitement, or enthusiasm! Y’know how when you get excited, you feel like you wanna jump or dance? The ‘hyperactivity’ of ADHD is basically just that, but we don’t have the self-control to Not do it.

Stims can be caused by negative feelings like overstimulation, but in ADHD this is not nearly as common. Usually, the most negative reason we’ll stim is when we’re bored- in that case, our brain isn’t getting the Constant Stimulation that it naturally wants, so stimming is a way to make our own.

Whatever the cause, stimming is natural and impulsive. While different people experience it to varying degrees, those who regularly stim typically have little to no control over it. Suppressing stims is very hard and very frustrating to do.

Besides that, like I said- ADHD stims are often an expression of joy, excitement, or enthusiasm. They’re a beautiful thing that shouldn’t be seen as shameful or annoying!

BEHAVIORAL DIFFICULTIES

ADHD is a disorder which causes a lack of self-control. Naturally, this means that people with ADHD are inherently reckless, impulsive, and struggle with a lack of self-discipline that they cannot fix.

Of course, people with ADHD do still have some level of self-control, and they are still responsible for conscious, long-term behavioral patterns and decisions. However, in regards to most things, they are much, much less capable of controlling themselves than an average neurotypical person is.

These are some examples of how this will often present itself in Karl;

Excessive rambling, dragging on a joke or conversation when it could and should probably have been dropped, etc.

Speaking over or interrupting other people (NOTE: As someone with ADHD- THIS IS ALMOST ALWAYS UNINTENTIONAL. I know it can seem rude or annoying but I promise, 90% of the time if someone with ADHD talks over you, they either didn’t realize or physically couldn’t help it. Please try to be patient!)

Lack of awareness towards social cues (NOTE: Unlike ASD, in which the person is incapable of/has problems fully understanding social cues, ADHD results in a lack of awareness. For whatever reason, we’re often just not paying close enough attention to pick up on things like body language, tone of speech, and facial expression as well as we would normally.)

Indecisiveness and overthinking

Bluntness, lack of subtlety

Unintentional dismissiveness, accidentally ignoring things/people (NOTE: Again, this behavior is purely accidental. In this case, it’s usually just the person genuinely not hearing or processing things.)

Making noises, speaking, joking, etc. at inappropriate times

There’s probably more, but I think you get the idea by now. A lot of the time, behavior which results from ADHD can be seen as rude, lazy, dismissive, or otherwise intentionally harmful. In reality, we just aren’t wired to navigate common social interaction with grace.

In Karl’s case, he’s clearly an incredibly sweet, empathetic, and kind-hearted person, if the various close friends who have talked about him are to be believed. Just because he talks over people or makes a poorly timed joke, that doesn’t mean he meant any harm. 

I think that’s about it for how much I wanted to point out! You can do more research if you’re curious, but I feel like this post should be enough to tell you what to keep in mind and be understanding about when talking about/making judgements on Karl, and other people with ADHD.

[yan-twst]

Idk if I made it in time for requests so I'll send it in anyway feel free to delete if too late but headcannons of Yandere Malleus, Kalim and Leona with a darling who loves them back but is scared of being tied to royalty?

a/n: just a quick heads up- kalim isn’t royalty (i used to think he was like, the son of the sultan when i got into twst) like in the sense his family isn’t connected to the crown, however he is the heir to an incredibly powerful and influential family! it still works for the effects of being incredibly stressed to being connected to such important family- think of it as old money rich families- but just thought i’d give a heads up bc i don’t refer to him as royalty in this one. also i’m working off the assumption that the relationship is already like, happening because i don’t want to make these way longer than needed

warnings: general yandere themes, implied violence

❥ leona kingscholar

it all comes off as... almost mockery, really. it leaves a sour taste on his mouth- he can see how his darling tenses at his presence whenever his title is mentioned, how they seem to stress whenever leona’s brother writes about how he should bring his lover to the palace to meet him

it’s not them trying to make leona feel unappreciated or feared, but that’s what they do. he’s spent too long being compared to his brother, being whispered about by servants- it wouldn’t be too far off to say that he almost feels betrayed by his significant other because of this, even if their reluctance isn’t necessarily aimed at him

he isn’t above using pressure to keep them right by his side. royalty might be annoying, but it’s also pressuring and crushing. he knows better than anyone that his darling can easily crumple under it all, and he uses it for his own advantage before they can slink away from him

their face shown to the entire afterglow savannah. being presented to farena and his wife. cheka’s constant cheering and asking “when they’re gonna marry uncle leona”. he has no trouble taking his darling back home by telling them how excited farena is to see them- surely they aren’t about to disappoint the king, are they? and once there, it’s all in his ballcourt.

court manners, keeping up appearance, smile for the citizens, wave as leona puts his arm around their shoulder, try not to go pale and fall when farena introduces them as leona’s partner- this isn’t a marriage announcement, but it might as well be. after all, is it even possible to split off now...? now that everyone seems to think leona’s found his genuine love, that it’s a sweet love story of the ill tempered second prince falling in love with a no-name commoner and tossing aside traditions of royalty marrying royalty to bring them to his kingdom... it’s such a sweet story for everyone, except perhaps for the poor soul that’s trapped in the relationship with no exits

and oh, if pressure isn’t enough, then pain and threats surely will be. leona seems to easily pick his own desires over his darling’s comfort; after all, he so easily chose to shackle them to the relationship just because he feared their insecurities would cause them to leave. now that they’re effectively trapped to him by everyone’s gazes being in them, he just has to keep them docile and obedient, keep them from causing a scene. 

he’s careful enough not to bruise anywhere visible if he thinks punishment is needed; long gone are the days when he’d perhaps tolerate his darling not doing as he pleased, replaced by his seemingly unwavering intent to train them into absolute submission. it’s more so mortifying when he decides to drag their loved ones into the ordeal: perhaps they’re willing to withstand pain themselves, but would they want anything bad to happen to their beloved friends back at nrc, hm? 

“are you being cold to me? you should know better by now.” he isn’t necessarily angry, per se, but annoyed- by now they do know it’s already bad to have him in that mood. there’s an added danger of being back at nrc now that break is over; there’s no longer guards stationed outside the room, no longer the danger of cheka bursting in- which means leona has little to no reason to not be as horrible as he wants, provided he makes sure they can’t scream too loud beforehand. the bruises on their arms still hurt from being gripped too tightly last time he considered they weren’t behaving as affectionately as they should, and the memory immediately makes them tense. without even asking why he’s accusing them of being cold now, they apologize- meek, docile, spineless- and the grin on his face grows. perhaps they’d been to scared at the thought of being connected to royalty before and failed to realize it wasn’t leona’s connection to royalty what made a relationship with him dangerous: how many red flags had they missed before? how many of those quirks and things they chalked off to leona being a bit too possessive or territorial had been warning signs to this eventual outcome? dwelling on the past did nothing to soothe the pains of the present, though. “hmph, i don’t think i’m buying that apology. if you really want to get off without a punishment, put me in a good mood first. you can do that much, can’t you, herbivore?”

❥ kalim al-asim

sweet, innocent and cheerful kalim would seem like the sort of person who wouldn’t understand anxieties over being connected to a powerful family. he gives off such a bubbly and happy impression that such things would simply slip his mind

oh, but they don’t. he himself has suffered at being tied to his family- he’s been through enough attempted assassinations and kidnappings and poisonings that he’s almost de-sensitized to it all. he’s sunny, yes, but it’s almost surprising how cheery he is considering all he’s been through

perhaps that’s why he’s almost... sympathetic to his darling when he finally understands their plight. it’s a relief, really- it’s not that they don’t love him! he’s fine, they’re fine- it’s just a little bit of anxieties! 

he understands, really... it’s so scary to have people wanting to get rid of you. well, it’s different for him, because he’s lived this way all his life, but his darling hasn’t... it must be scary for them... kalim’s affection and his simple mind, combined with his love that runs a bit too deeply mix

good intentions or not, the result is nothing more than glorified imprisonment, really. it begins with him happily saying that he asked crowley for permission to get some guards from back home to come to nrc to make sure nobody tries to break into his darling’s dorm, to then kalim insisting they spend their nights in scarabia for added safety- it snowballs from there

don’t eat the cafeteria food if it hasn’t been poison tested! actually, don’t eat in the cafeteria at all, he’ll provide the food. they don’t have someone like jamil by their side, so try not to wander outside alone! in fact, always have him close if they go out, ok? 

... and of course, it ends up with maybe don’t leave the dorm, since it could be dangerous, and by then? it’s too late. kalim interpreted their anxiety as fear of dangers, because he’s put in danger because of his position, and so he seems to tell himself that as long as he keeps them safe everything is fine

even if they don’t want to do as he says, he’s just... keeping them safe. it’s his duty, as a good boyfriend, right? even if it’s painful to hear them cry from their room as he locks the door, even after he has to keep a chain on their ankle to keep them from trying to pick the lock... kalim doesn’t enjoy their pain, doesn’t relish in the sadism most nrc students seem to inherently have. but he still thinks he’s doing what he must to keep them safe: after all, wasn’t it them who were scared before...?

“i got you this, it reminded me of you! please, won’t you try it on? i’m sure it’ll look amazing on you, and it matches with me... oh, if you don’t like the colour of the gems i could get you another one, too!” kalim opens the box to  present a bracelet. it’s objectively a fine piece of art- surely it’s pure gold and carved jewels, a priceless piece that most could merely dream of even looking at through a glass display, and yet to kalim, there isn’t really a price too high for his lover. they’re his most beloved treasure; and he seems to protect them as such, too, if the chain connecting the cushined cuff on their ankle to the wall says anything. it’s covered in gold and long enough they can wander around the room, but a golden chain still remains a chain. it’s almost silly to think back on how this hell began, with them being anxious over being connected to such an affluent family as the asim family was- in fact, the threats of poisonings or kidnappings hadn’t even crossed their mind until kalim began to protect them from it. and now this was life- kalim seemed to willingly ignore every single time they tried to lash out, acting as if everything was fine, showering them with gifts as if new and expensive belongings could somehow soothe the loss of their freedoms. and maybe it was partly their fault too- after all, they let him put the bracelet on their wrist, let him cheer about how pretty they looked. it was so hard to lash out against him, despite him doing all of this- knowing that he genuinely had no bad intentions, that it was all born out of love and desire to protect, but they were still prisoners with no escape.

❥ malleus draconia

there’s nothing that malleus dreads more than being feared by his darling. that’s what sets them apart from others, what makes him so obsessed, to finally have found someone to show even an inkling of kindness to him, to show him a glimmer of warmth after a life of being feared, of being shunned

he... can’t understand. why are they scared of being tied into royalty? as he sees it, it’s a step up from their current life- power, riches, comfort, those are all things that people dream of, things men have gone to war over, things he can give them. malleus doesn’t seem to comprehend the pressure of it all to someone who’s simply never been involved with the crown- he’s never truly had friends outside of his parental figure or guards, always surrounded by those who work for the crown or are part of the court.

his frustration makes him turn to his instincts. he isn’t willing to lose his darling, not over something like this- even if in reality, he’d be unwilling to let go no matter the reason. what good is power and status if he can’t at least keep the one person he loves the most...? why would he not use said power to keep them by his side?

he seems to think that if he just pushes them headfirst into it, they’ll adjust. a sort of “rip the bandaid” method; they’re anxious over being tied to fae royalty, so why can’t he just show them it’s truly nothing to stress over? they don’t need to worry about ruling or about duties- their title as royalty in the future wouldn’t mean much. they’re malleus’ lover first and foremost, their only true duties would be to stay by his side as they’ve been doing

malleus makes his decision almost worryingly quickly. it’s perhaps because this obsessive attitude has been in him all along, simply brought up by the slight bump in the relationship. maybe his draconic instincts to hoard could be blamed, or maybe his lack of real relationships, or maybe he simply was never meant to love in the regular sense

it... really doesn’t help that most fae don’t think too highly of humans. when malleus drags a clearly terrified and unwilling little human back home and declares them to be his future spouse, the fae court really seems to think of them more as the prince’s pet rather than a lover, leave alone an unwilling victim. if anything, there’s more pressure added to them, the fact that in the castle there isn’t really any ally for them

he’s persistent. malleus doesn’t want to hurt his darling much, but his temper isn’t quite stable. test him too much and he’ll snap, electricity and magic humming in the air. the faster his darling learns that the best path for them is to just do as he says, to hold him and kiss him and try and hide how their body tenses and hands shake when he enters the room, the better it’ll be for them. it’s not like they’re going to be getting any other life soon- upon returning to nrc, malleus doesn’t see the need for them to attend classes. after all, their future is already decided as a docile spouse to a king, they aren’t going to be needing much of an education, as much as they simply have to learn to be a doting and gentle spouse to him.

“i don’t understand why you’re so stressed over this.” malleus sounds genuinely confused, arms crossed as he stares at his darling. the poor thing flinches at his voice, quickly composing themselves, as if trying to hide said moment of vulnerability from him- the last thing they want is for malleus to grow more upset because he once again is forced to realize his own lover is terrified of him. still, he steps closer, close enough to cup their cheek with one of his cold hands. it takes all of their willpower to not stiffen under his touch. they’re extra jumpy today, mainly because lilia dropped by to begin court etiquette lessons. the fae’s ways are much different from humans, but from what they hear, malleus doesn’t plan on having them discuss many affairs with the court to warrant more than some infrequent reminders by lilia on how to behave. still, that does little to calm their nerves, especially because they know the reason why despite the fact they’ll soon be royalty that they’ll still have little duties. malleus caresses their cheek, thumb moving to gently swipe over their lower lip (the urge to lunge and bite seems to still scream from a corner of their brain. the urge to rebel against this, to try and claw back at their old life- urges they ignore and suppress. it’s useless- it’s all useless now, and they know trying to stand for themselves is just asking for malleus to lose it again and hurt them beyond belief in his anger). he seems satisfied with their response; that is, with the lack of response, minimal flinching and tensing, things he’s slowly become keenly aware of, are good, and speaks again what weighs heavily on their mind. “you won’t have to deal with the court much. you’ll be my spouse- your title doesn’t mean anything to worry about. you’ll simply have to continue to love me as i love you; your only job is to stay by my side forever.”

[laufire]

(CW for mentions of csa)

A lot of Commonly Accepted (Often Through Uncritical Repetition) Wisdom in fandom leaves me baffled, when not straight up ticked off, but one that's been on my mind lately, that never fails to bring a scrunched up expression to my face, is the idea that Bela Talbot's backstory was some last minute add-on to her character.

You might argue that the reveal was rushed since the writers caved in and killed her off against their original plan (or at the very least, earlier than). Or that using abuse is a trite way to raise sympathy for an antagonistic character. You could even say that some of the finer details might’ve not been set in stone until they sat down to write her exist, although that one is dubious. But I’m never really going to buy that Bela’s backstory hadn’t been already planned, likely in big part.

The reason why is Season Three Episode Six, “Red Sky At Morning”, Bela’s second episode, co-written by Eric Kripke himself. As all episodes with Bela were, may I add; which means he had a hand in crafting her story from the beginning, as creator, director, and writer.

There Dean, a character that has been shown as sharp and intuitive (although his success rate ain’t that great when it comes to Bela, admittedly xD), immediately pegs her as someone with Issues TM, asking “how did she get like this”. He even taunts her by referencing her father, showing off his talent to hit where it hurts by asking if he “didn’t give her enough hugs”, ‘cause he’s classy like that. This visibly affects Bela, changing her demeanor in their conversation, from more playful to defensive. Hell, I remember during my first watch in real time this moment, especially paired with the rest of the episode, was when I first thought it was possible she came from an abusive family.

Because, c’mon. This whole episode is about parricide. The monster of the week is a ghost who haunts those that “spilled their own family’s blood”. We get two other examples: a woman whose accidental car crash killed her cousin, and two brothers who killed their father for the inheritance. Clearly, the ghost doesn’t have a narrow criteria when it comes to means or culpability -which makes sense given his particular story: he was tried for treason and his brother, the captain of the ship, issued the sentence.

And just as we find out this information... Bela sees the ghost ship that foretells her death. This, paired with the insinuations about an unsavvory past and her discomfort at the mention of her father, aren’t a wealth of information, but they start to paint a picture. We now know for a fact that Bela caused the death of at least one relative (mom and dad); that she wouldn’t have needed to do it directly (she made a crossroads deal); and that she might’ve had a sympathetic motive (her father sexually abused her and her mother turned a blind eye).

That scene offers some more tidbits of information about her past that seem too in tune with 3x15 to be coincidental, and that absolutely break my heart: Bela’s “You wouldn’t understand. No one did.“ and “I’ll just do what I’ve always done. I’ll deal with it myself”. See, I always thought Bela must’ve told people, when she was a kid. That she reached out for help not just to her mother, but to everyone around her that she thought could’ve help: teachers, maybe even law enforcement; adults that should’ve being worthy of that trust and protected her. Except no one did (and the fact that her family seemed to be not only very rich but influential paints a very bleak picture that surely contributed to her cynic view of the world). So she took matters in her own hands, and sold her soul for ten years of relative safety and freedom from her abusers.

To tie it all up, her final scene in that episode offers some more moments that again, are very in line with her backstory. We see how she treats relationships as transactionals: she pays ten grand to the Winchesters for saving her life, like she paid with her soul. Dean, again, draws attention to her likely messed up past by calling her damaged, and she replies that “takes one to know one”. Terrible childhood, ammirite. The show wasn’t been subtle here: it’s telling us Bela has a terrible past, like the Winchesters do, but of a different kind that has resulted in a different kind of person. So yeah, I think all the facts were hinted at back in 3x06.

We could go even futher back and point out 3x03, Bela’s introduction. One of the very first things she says in the show, during her first face to face with Dean (a character that just condemned his soul to Hell), is “We’re all going to Hell, Dean. Might as well enjoy the ride”. Sure, it could be an incredibly fortuitous coincidence; as a writer, I’ve had those and they’re damn great. But it seems VERY lucky, and more likely to be a case of the kind premeditated, well-placed foreshadowing that Kripke excels at.

So, okay. I’ve established why I think Bela’s backstory wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. But why is there a notable narrative in fandom that it IS?

First thing first, I want to get something out of the way: you don’t have to like it even if it was planned ahead. I understand it’s a very thorny subject, and to make matters worse, it’s inherently tied to her death. You might even be fine with the what, but not with how it was dealt with (although personally, I appreciate that neither the abuse nor her death were shown onscreen. In fact, the worse violence we see Bela on the receiving end of in her run is Dean’s threats and manhandling, which seems like a very purposeful choice ngl. Even Gordon freaking Walker was gentler lmao).

But I do disagree with some extended fandom opinions on the topic, and I guess that’s what the post is about. For one, I don’t see how the show “condemned” or morally judged Bela in this scenario. If anything, they clearly wanted to make her sympathetic, AND they showed Dean as being in the wrong by robbing him of information. Dean’s opinion on Bela couldn’t count for shit, for once, because he didn’t have the full picture; because Bela had deemed him UNWORTHY of the full picture, and thus anything he had to say on her couldn’t be taken at face value (except this is Supernatural, so I guess this was a little too much to ask of some people?). I think saying that just because Bela died and went to Hell as a consequence of her deal, IN THE SAME SEASON the same happened to our co-lead, because the writers deemed her evil and irredeemable is simplistic at best, and the audience projecting their own feelings (or being unable to see past Dean’s) onto the writing.

All that said, to go back to the initial point of all of this xD: WHY does fandom seem to insist on viewing this narrative choice as some cheap last minute addition?

There might not be one explanation that fits all, but I have a few ideas. One is that, if this wasn’t planned for and hinted at from early on, some people might feel as if this “absolves” them of their previous (and disgustingly hateful and misoginistic) reactions to Bela. Others will see this as absolving Dean, and maybe even Sam to a lesser extent, for not helping her and for being callous towards her; if her tragic backstory was this artificial, rushed choice made by Those Writers, then Dean wasn’t responsible for reprehensible attitudes towards someone who deserved his compassion (and it can’t be denied that this fandom loves absolving Dean of responsibility lmao). And a lot people are probably only repeating what they've heard from others as the accepted narrative, especially those that didn't even watch all of s3 if at all (Castiel is my fave too, but seriously, s1-3 are worth it).

It’s like they’re creating this imaginary separation between Bela pre-reveal, and Bela post-reveal, to make the situation easier to themselves. See, Bela pre-reveal was this annoying bitch who inconvenienced and embarrassed our leads (not to mention dared have chemistry with them), and thus deserved to be punished for it; or, if we’re going with more modern fandom sensibilities, she can be made to fit into the shallow #GirlBoss mold, with a side of “Secretly A Lesbian And Therefore Not A Romantic Threat” flavour -the current preferred method to make controversial female characters more palatable.

The reveal throws a wrench into this narrative. “Bitch who deserves her comeuppance” is a hard sell when you’re talking about a character who survived csa. And a shallow #GirlBoss reading doesn’t work if you have to acknowledge that Bela was one of, if not the most tragic characters in the entire run of Supernatural.

She spent over half her life at the mercy of her abuser(s), hurt by those who should’ve loved her and protected her most. The rest of her life was extremely lonely, with seemingly only a cat as company, and a surface-level freedom that hid under the sentence that loomed over her head. She died without a single friend, or a simple show of kindness and compassion, without anyone bothering to fight for her. And then she ended up tortured for who knows how long until she became one of her torturers.

All of that is extremely difficult to digest. And when things are hard to swallow, people do as people do, and they try to simplify them. So, sure. Bela’s reveal wasn’t ever hinted at, it’s completely removed from her character and the person we met, and is not even worth trying to fit into the narrative. Sounds easy.

[yandere-society]

Ih-pif-uh-nee

Synopsis: After successfully finding matches for humans for a millennia, Cupid grows irritated when he repeatedly fails to find YN’s soulmate. He decides to go undercover and disguise himself as a normal human to attempt to get closer to her, only to become convinced that HE is the mate he’s been searching for all along.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Admin: @chimchimsauce​

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, stallking

Cupid is on cloud nine, staring up into the painted sky, the soft coldness of a cloud caressing his large, folded wings. As the sun slowly begins to sink, the god of love rolls onto his stomach, dragging his finger through a passing cloud.

Another day, another match made in heaven. Satisfaction warms Cupid’s heart as he thinks of the young couple he recently paired up - a rich girl from a very influential family and a poor young man struggling to put himself through college. Pairings like that have always been Cupid’s favorite. Unlikely love always blooms faster, roots deeper into the lives of those he strikes with his arrows.

As the sun falls completely beneath the Earth and the moon rises to shine, Cupid sits up, reaching into the sky to pluck a falling star from above. The star shines brightly in his cupped hands, glowing before Cupid cracks it open like an Easter egg to reveal his latest assignment.

While the god is ultimately in control of his matches, every so often, Aphrodite will send tell him of someone special, someone who will require a bit more than a few well-timed coincidental meetings and an arrow to the chest. His mother’s always been a bit of a know it all and a meddler, so it’s not terribly unusual for her to push her own agenda through her son.

Cupid sighs. It’s nearing Valentine’s Day, so hopefully, he’ll have a bit more luck with this assignment than he did with the last one. Last time it took Cupid a fortnight to get the seed of love planted deep enough between a cynical old man and the lady he’d worked with for over two decades. But still, Cupid’s never been unable to make a spark between two people, not even when he was younger and would shoot arrows at random people just for fun.

Of course, he’s matured significantly since then. He doesn’t play such games anymore.

Reading the note he pulls from the star, Cupid reads the name.

YN LN

There’s nothing particularly remarkable about the name. He’s heard it before, used by other people throughout the years. The photograph he’s been given also does not stir anything in him. He wonders briefly what his mother is planning, sending him this assignment without any context. Usually, she’ll at least send some background information on the person and who she wants them to end up with, but there’s nothing else in the star but her name and photo.

Cupid seals the star back, tossing it as far into the sky as he can, letting it return to orbit. He places the photograph into the folds of his angelic garment, standing up and stepping off of the cloud, plummeting towards the Earth’s surface.

He might as well get started now.

Cupid lands gently on a large hill overlooking a sleepy college town, bare feet touching the soft grass. He disappears into the night as he descends upon the town, slipping between dimensions as only gods can do.

It practically takes him no time at all to locate her, YN studying diligently at a library that looks as old as Cupid himself is. Quietly, he lets his presence rest beside her, eyes going over her form, trying to figure out what’s so special about her that she caught his mother’s attention. She’s pretty enough for a human but her face isn’t anything you’d double take on. She almost seems . . . plain.

Cupid can’t help but be a little disappointed. He’d hoped this assignment would be interesting, but it seems like it’ll end up being a bore after all. He’s half tempted to just shoot her and be done with it, but he has a feeling his mother won’t be pleased with him if he does that.

Deciding to give this assignment his all (if for no other reason than not having to put up with one of his mom’s hissy fits) Cupid spends the next few days trailing YN, figuring out her habits, likes, and dislikes. He even sets up a few matches - the guy in her class, one of her pretty friends, a worker in the local grocery store - but to no avail.

Despite shooting the girl with three arrows, not even a lick of love sparks within her. YN just continues her monotonous life, boring the hell out of Cupid.

After an entire week of this, Cupid grows impatient and decides to handle this matter even more personally.

Transforming into human form, Cupid feels the elements against his skin for the first time since . . . he shakes that thought out of his head. A little bit of persuasion is all it takes to get him a new identity and set up at a small bed and breakfast just a few minutes’ walk from YN’s dorm.

He has it all planned perfectly. He’ll run into her at the coffee shop she works part-time at and befriend her, using their time together to find her perfect match. He’s never had to put in this much effort before.

But as soon as Cupid walks into the coffee shop, the little bell over the door rings and the two of them lock eyes, the god’s breath catching in his throat. She smiles at him, the very first time she’s smiled since he’s been trailing her.

Something pulls at his subconscious, just out of reach. Whatever it is is familiar, comforting to him. He doesn’t realize that he’s staring until she clears her throat uncomfortably.

“How may I help you?” she asks.

“I . . . just a coffee, please. Black,” he says once he’s regained a bit of his sense.

“Sure thing. What name would you like me to put it under?” YN asks, already beginning to create the drink.

“Jimin,” he says before he can stop himself, his true name tumbling out between his lips.

Because she’s faced away from him, YN doesn’t notice the shocked look on Jimin’s face. His hand covering his mouth. He can’t believe he said that!

The name ‘Jimin’ was given to him over a thousand years ago, by someone he can’t remember. His mother forbade him from using it and he’s gone by Cupid ever since. So why . . .

“Your total is $3.50. Will that be all for you today?”

“Yes,” Jimin says, rummaging through his pockets to pull out some money he’d manifested earlier that day.

The coffee shop is empty besides the two of them, Jimin choosing to sit by the glass storefront while YN hums quietly to herself, wiping down the counters and tidying up. Soon though, it becomes apparent through his side-eyed watch that she’s out of things to do, just sort of idling around. It’s only then that he god of love remembers that he’s on a mission.

“So uh,” he speaks up, the coffee cup warming his hands, “I’m new in town and I was wondering if you knew of what all there is to do?”

Jimin hates how unconfident he sounds. It’s so unlike him.

“Well,” she begins, grateful for a distraction, “There isn’t all that much to do. It is a rather small town after all.”

“Surely there must be something,” Jimin pushes, really eager to speak with her.

“Hm,” she begins, “There’s actually this very pretty underground lake. You can only see it once every couple of weeks because the cave it’s in is usually flooded - it rains here a lot by the way - but it’s absolutely gorgeous,”

“I’ll have to go sometime,”

Over the course of that singular trip to the coffee shop, Cupid completely forgets that YN is supposed to be an assignment. He becomes completely and utterly enthralled with her and her boring little life. The gods always have something going on, some drama or scandal or fight. It’s so nice just to be able to relax with someone - to actually become close to someone. Jimin sees YN every day. First, he just stops by to get a morning coffee, but soon enough he ends up walking her home after her shift ends and helping her study at the library.

Every expression of hers he has memorized. He lies awake at night and thinks about her, anxious to spend time with her again. It consumes his entire being, is his motivation for his every decision.

Until . . .

Until . . .

Until two months later, when the most gorgeous woman alive is at his doorstep. His mother catches the attention of everyone who walks by, sending one gentleman a flirtatious wink and causing him to walk into a pole.

“What are you doing here, Mother?” Jimin asks sharply, less than thrilled to see her.

“Checking on you,” she says, eyeing him up and down with a hand on her curved hip, “It seems you’ve gotten rather . . . distracted.”

Jimin bristles, growing visibly upset.

“I assigned you to find this girl a mate, not to fall for her,” Aphrodite says, her tone leaving no room for debate.

“I’m not falling for her,” Jimin hisses through his teeth, the lie obvious even to himself.

“You have one more week,” she threatens, “Or else.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. Jimin knows his mother well enough to know whatever she has planned is awful.

As soon as she leaves, the god has an anger fit, trashing the small rented room he moved into just three weeks ago. He has to see her - he has to go be with YN. She’s the only thing that can calm him down enough for him to make a gameplan.

But as Jimin hurriedly makes his way to her house, he stops when he sees someone - an unfamiliar man - sitting on one of the dorm porch swings and chatting with her. The stranger looks up briefly, catching eyes with Jimin.

“Apollo,” Jimin curses, vision turning red from how pissed off he is.

Before YN can even blink, Jimin has Apollo by the throat, ignoring YN’s panicked cries.

“Stay away from her,” Jimin warms, nails digging into the other god’s skin, “You run and tell my mother to keep her nose out of my business. I’m done doing her dirty work for her.”

He tosses Apollo to the ground, unaware that he’s partially revealed his true form to the terrified young woman behind him. Apollo flashes away, clutching his own throat, fear in his eyes.

When Jimin finally turns towards YN, she’s petrified, a scream caught in her throat.

What’s going on? What had just happened?

“Oh, baby, no, don’t be worried,” Jimin coos, taking YN into his arms.

He doesn’t care that she’s as stiff as a board, immobilized by fear.

“The bad people are gone now. It’s just us, okay. You don’t have to be worried.”

His overly calm tone causes YN to snap out of her reverie, trying to pull away from the man she thought was a friend - the man she thought was human.

“I’m in love with you, YN,” he says, ignoring her attempts to flee and crushing her to his chest like a small child, “I didn’t think I could fall in love, but here I am. I think about you every waking moment, desperate to be around you, desperate to touch you. You feel it too, don’t you, YN?” Jimin says, a crazed look glossing his eyes.

Tears well up in YN’s eyes as she looks at him and realizes what danger she’s in.

“I know you do,” Jimin says, falsely taking her silence for agreement, “Kiss me.”

It’s a command, one she’s much too afraid to ignore. Trembling, Yn shakily presses her lips to his, unaware of the visions she’s just spawned in his head.

All at once, his memories come back to him, hitting the god-like a pile of bricks. He pulls back from her only briefly to wipe her tears away before recapturing her lips in a deeper kiss, never wanting to be parted from her again.

Psyche. His Psyche. The one he’d fallen in love with all those millennia ago, only to be ripped apart when his own mother killed her and their unborn child. No wonder she felt so familiar, so comforting. YN is his soulmate, no one else’s.

He wipes away every one of her continuously falling tears, moving to kiss her forehead.

“Don’t worry, darling. We’re going to be together for the rest of eternity . . . right after I kill my mother.”

[blakescoven]

Undress Rehearsal (Duncan Shepherd x fem!Reader)

Summary: You got a fashion degree and moved to DC to work as stylist assistant. Unexpectedly you meet a familiar face during a meeting and it seems there’s a spark between you two...but things may take a wrong turn.

A/N: Hey lovelies!! This is my first fic EVER, so be nice! Also, forgive any grammar mistake (English isn’t my first language). Since the ending is kinda open, I guess I could write a PART 2. I’m so happy to finally be able to post this one-shot, even though it sucks! I’d appreciate every comment/reblog/DM about it and about how I could actually improve my writing. This is a sort of experiment! I’m still trying to figure out “my style”. Oh and this is important: bold type means flashback, italics are Y/N’s thoughts and // means a few days passed! ENJOY and thank you for reading! I love you.

Warnings: mean!Duncan (just a little), making out and veeery light NSFW, plot!twist, lol I think that’s enough(?)

Word count: 6.1K

moodboard by the talented @hecohansen31​

You were late again. It happened twice this week. But how could that happen? You had always been a punctual and reliable person, at night you ensured that the alarm was correctly set and you never went to bed too late, afraid to not being able to wake up the morning after. So how could it be possible? Maybe because of your jetlag, but after almost a month, well, this had become a really bad excuse. Then perhaps, the frenetic pace was already affecting you that much, making you too tired to hurry up and get ready. This couldn’t happen again; you were jeopardizing your new dream job because of this straggler behavior. While you were running along the streets of Washington DC, those were your recurring thoughts. Your wheezing and the speeded-up heartbeats, pounding in your hears, were drowning out any deafening noise coming from cars and traffic, which always filled the city driveways.

From the early hours of the day, the avenues were swarming with people going to their office, each of them withdrawn into oneself, busy minding their own business with their smartphones, bringing takeaway breakfast on the other hand. You were way too anxious and distracted from running breathlessly; you had already bumped into three stupid human beings, slowly strolling down the sidewalk like damn sloths. Every single step was followed by a quick glance at your cellphone screen, checking the time and ensuring there was no missed call of your boss.

If you knew anything in this world, it was that you had to take this job seriously, dealing with the fact that your exhausting dues would have allowed your eager ass to work your way up and finally become a fashion designer. So, you didn’t expect any great satisfaction to come very soon. And starting from the bottom was really tough. After years of studying and a well-deserved university degree, you were prepared for whatever the future might have brought. Despite that, you didn’t expect at all to end up in DC, working as a stylist assistant. Sure, this would have opened the door to your real dream job, be part of the style department, designing collections for a luxury brand. You had tried your luck moving to New York, but you ended up broke, with no savings left and no available job opening. For this reason, you decided to take that chance here. You hadn’t made any progress till now though. You were new, yes, but your tasks and assignments were hardly restricted to bring coffee or running around the Capital with tons of garment bags for upcoming fittings.

Finally, after that insane 3km rush, without even stopping for a second - no, you couldn’t afford an Uber ride every time -, you arrived. Your feet hurt like hell, your cheeks covered with scarlet shades like the worst of sunburns and your breath coming in short gasps…and your hair, oh dear Lord, it was a mess. You were sure you were also sweating. Luckily, Richard, your boss, was quite nice to you and somewhat tolerant; he was sincerely impressed by all your efforts, skills and abilities, so much that he wasn’t utterly certain what you were doing there.

Five minutes past the established hour and, thank God, the client hadn’t arrived yet. You didn’t have much information or details about that meeting. You only knew that you had to help during a fitting for a client, extremely influential on the political scene. He needed a few new looks and outfits for public appearances, interviews, and fundraising events. Of course, you assumed he would have been an old middle-aged white man, with too much money to count and eager for power.

Mr moneybags is getting late tho. Too busy making grands? you thought.

Meanwhile, you were trying to look more presentable, also to not risk damaging the brand reputation.

“Y/N?”

Your calves burned and, in that moment, you thought that bringing extra sneakers would have been a good idea.

“Y/N?!”

Since the client hadn’t arrived yet, maybe you could sit down and rest for a minute on that super comfy booth near the mirror…

“Y/N!!!! HELLOO!!!” Your train of thoughts was abruptly interrupted by your boss’ yells, which suddenly caught your attention.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I zoned out! Forgive me, what can I do for you?”

The man, a healthy and elegant 40ish brunette, looked at you concerned “Y/N I know it’s hard to settle down, but I need you to be 100% focused today. The man who’s coming is a big deal for us, he’s a powerful figure in Washington politics! He has recently taken her mother’s place as CEO of the family company. So, I want us to make a good impression!” after saying that, he looked at you from head to toe, a bit baffled.

“So…” he continued “…I need you to – in that moment you really hoped you were about to receive a major task, finally a turning point – ..to run to the bar across the street and buy some coffee, and come back quickly!” All your expectations fell apart in a sea of disappointment. “Hurry up!”

You put on a forced smile and went straight to the exit.

After having waited in line for centuries, you figured that probably the client had to have arrived, and therefore, just as you had started your day, you came back running as fast as you could, to save time.

You were holding the coffee cups in your left hand, while you were struggling to turn off your phone, which had started ringing. Opening the glass door with your hip, you were still trying to silence the ringtone, this, without even minding where put your feet up. Ugh, mom, stop calling me...always the worst timing! you screamed in your own mind, frowning. Before you could slow down your steps, one of your heels didn’t grip well the lacquered floor, making you stumble and trip. A sudden change in your balance and you couldn’t avoid slipping forward, causing the not-so-angelic flying of coffee directly on the special guest of the situation.

Damn it.

And to make matters worse, you fell to the ground, cursing the day you were born. Hell no, it can’t have really happened to me. You had just made a complete ass of yourself. You would have rather sink below the waves into the oblivion.

“OH SHIT SHIT SHIT I-I’m so sorry! I-I don’t know h-how it happened!” you were apologizing, still keeping your eyes fixed on the once-full cups rolling down the parquet, next to your badly chipped mobile touchscreen.

“The floor must be slippery…please let me make it up to you, I ca- ” you stopped all of a sudden when you lifted your gaze, for the first time since you had stepped in. Standing in front of you there was the most attractive man you’d ever seen. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on you, like two burning flames almost forming deep holes in your soul.

It’s hot in here or it’s just me?

He was tall and his toned arms were easily visible through the once-white shirt. Now that expensive fashion piece was all covered by a huge stain of hot coffee. And it was your fault. You were speechless. Your attention all focused on the man’s features. Your gaze was busy running down those perfect shaped cheekbones and the sharp jawline. Oh boy, gods’ gift indeed.

Oddly familiar to you though.

You clearly remained to stare for too long to not be noticed, because the man himself broke the silence.

“Uhm, don’t worry” he seemed taken aback for a second “I’ll send it to the cleaners or I’ll throw it away, I don’t care” he said, immediately composing himself, while carefully unbuttoning the ruined shirt, with those long fingers... You were blushing. His low soothing voice sent shivers down your spine. But his tone was plain, no apparent emotion, he seemed almost indifferent, maybe even a little annoyed. Ah, pompous ass.

Your attention was caught by your boss, who, with a worried voice, while pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed, proposed him to choose another shirt among the others and take it as an apology gift. The man accepted, nodding with a crooked smile and with smug remarks about the needlessness of gifts for a man as rich as him.

Cocky asshole! You mused, with a roll of her eyes.

Anxious to change the subject, Richard, started the introductions. “Mr Shepherd, she is my smart – but clearly clumsy – assistant, Y/N” at that very moment that name awoke the memories in your mind.

No. It can’t be true.

“Well, nice to meet you” he remarked “Y/N”, repeating your name like he was tasting it on his own tongue “..or so.” he added, with a stupid smug grin on his breathtaking face. When they shook hands, you felt a sort of jolt and realized you had been holding your breath all this time. You remained silent.

That was the same man you met 6 months ago on the flight you took to go to New York, when you moved for the first time. It was him the influential man of the meeting.

Duncan-fucking-Shepherd.

//

Duncan. This name was the only thing in your mind right now, while you were lying on the couch, in your little apartment, with a glass of wine loosely resting on your lower lip. Oh my God, did he recognize me? Did he figure out it was me? How had he called me that day? Oh, his angel, right. Fuck.

Your head hurt, but you couldn’t help but keep on repeat your two first meetings again and again in your mind. The Duncan Shepherd from today was completely different, compared to the man you had encountered on that plane.

He hadn’t talked about himself very much, just spilled that he was a businessman traveling for work. You had immediately noticed how mature he was to be in his late 20ish. And incredibly handsome. And charming. And seductive.

Ok, stop.

You still couldn’t understand why you. Among all the attractive available women he could easily have, during all the time of the flight, he had been flirting with you. You. He made you feel sexy, desirable and safe, after a very long time.

It was the first class. You were there because of a lucky misunderstanding. While the plane was taking off, you two had a moment, since he saw you panicking. You had started talking for real only two hours after having left Milan. The conversation started casually, then developed into a flirty game. Little did you knew that a few hours later, you would eventually find yourselves making out so much intensely, whilst the rest of the passengers was sleeping with lights off. This wasn’t like you; you were strangers after all. Damn, you only knew his first name. But you couldn’t help your crazy attraction towards him. A sort of electricity, a particular connection that you had never felt with anybody else in your life.

You were staring off into space, completely lost in your inner thoughts, while biting hard your lip and fidgeting with the hem of your oversize t-shirt. You nervously swallowed and closed your eyes. Your hand began to move from the fabric and wander over your bare legs, brushing them with your fingertips. Throwing back your head and swallowing again, you frowned and sighed. You couldn’t make those thoughts disappear. He got under your skin and no matter what you did, you couldn’t shake him.

His soft lips on yours, hot and peachy, the trailing of his wet open-mouthed kisses along your throat and the series of marks he was leaving on your skin, on the way down your collarbone. Feeling the smile of the other against your lips as you two kissed. The best feeling in the world. His small moans when you had pulled his lower lips between your teeth, while his hands were touching and roaming all over your body, as if he wanted to memorize each spot, each curve, each part of you. “Baby I wish it was just the two of us right now, damn, I want you so badly” he whispered. God, if they had been alone, you’d have gone further for sure. You were both turned on, you could tell, especially from the prominent bulge on his designer pants. All you wanted was to climb on top of him, straddling his hips, panting in his hear and feel his hot breath all over you. Intense was the craving to undress him, feel his skin against yours. Shit, it was like a living a dream.

The meeting had been canceled and rescheduled for tomorrow. The situation was quite unpleasant. What you were supposed to do now?

//

Judgment Day had come. You hadn’t slept at all, all night spent tossing and turning between the sheets and looking at the ceiling. How were you supposed to act now? Should you have mentioned anything? What was really killing you, was the feeling that ‘your moment’ had meant nothing for him. Yes, after 6 months, you had gone over it, also because you had no idea how to contact him. But after seeing him again, all the buried thrills came rushing back. You absolutely needed to test the waters today. What did you have to lose? Well, your dignity maybe. If he wanted to, Duncan could have easily said something. And of course, a man of his status could have anything, or anybody, he wanted. Maybe you were overthinking, maybe not.

Since it was almost dawn, and the sun was peeking through the blinds, creating a delicate play of lights and shadows on the curtains, you decided you could actually distract yourself choosing what to wear for the meeting. You shouldn’t have done it. Your bedroom had become a battlefield, all your clothes scattered all over it, like some lifeless leftovers of the closet, now empty. Almost like a little bomb went off. You kept trying combinations on combinations, each time taking off the pieces and throwing them away anywhere around you, as if you were on the verge of a breakdown. It was still a business meeting; you couldn’t dress up too revealing or doll up too much. But at the same time, you’d never give up on being yourself and express your personality through what you wore. Respecting yourself was the most important thing. Self-love. However, this didn’t solve the problem at all. You wanted to appear at your best, challenge him, in a subtle way.

On your way to the office, an unexpected call tuned you away from your own thoughts.

“Richard! Good morning! Are you calling me for coffee? Because I’ve already stopped off at the bar, now tell me who is the best assistant in the whole world?! And I’m not even late!” your smile vanished as soon as your boss answered.

“WHAT?! What does it mean you won’t be there today?” Your heart skipped a beat and started pumping so much blood through your veins, that you felt as a heatwave was rushing inside of you. “W-well if you have family issues, we agree that it’s necessary to postpone the gathering..I-” your eyes widened at the realization that you’d be alone. With Duncan.

You almost fainted on the spot.

“I’m sure you can handle it on your own! You can still reach me with a phone call, if you ever need me. Plus, don’t you think this would be the right chance to prove yourself and finally level up, get noticed and considered for that vacant position in the style & design dep.? My money’s on you, girl!”

How could you blame him, though? He was always so encouraging.

You sighed through the phone, so he added “Look, it won’t be hard. Remember that Mr Shepherd is in your hands. We have to turn him into one of the brand advocates; he’s young, a self-made man, the best choice to promote the brand awareness. It’s up to you now.”

Wow, that’s very reassuring you figured, shaking your head.

“Ok, you can do this, I have to go now, let me know how it goes. Bye!” Fuck.

“W-wait! I can’t do that withou-” he has already hung up. Looking up to the sky and letting out a frustrating grunt, you allowed yourself a childish whine and mumbled a ‘why me’.

Now you were standing outside the building, trying to collect yourself before entering. You were wearing an oversized see-through blouse, tucked in a black knee-length skirt, and an *accent color* blazer with rolled-up sleeves, to complete the look. You were ready to fight. No more clumsy bullshit.

Breathe, remember to breathe you reminded yourself, looking at the elevator door.

You strode next to the receptionist’s desk, Tiffany, or, as you liked to call her, ‘Crazypants’; since her eyes were always so disturbingly wide open – Does she ever blink? – and her hair painfully pinned back, so tight that must have hurt her. She seemed a cross between a barbie and a psycho killer. As soon as you walked by her desk, Crazypants greeted you overly excited, calling you with her earsplitting high-pitched voice. You put on your fakest smile and replied,

“Morning Tiff, uhm, I wish I could stay and chat, but I have work to-”

“The client is already here. He’s waiting for you in the fitting room” she winked. Hell, you hoped your blushing wasn’t so obvious, you couldn’t even have a few minutes to be psychologically prepared. Well, maybe better pull off the band-aid.

“Thank you for warning me! I’ll be right there” you answered. Not even before your exams you felt all this pressure.

Why is it always so hot?!

Walking along the hallway as if you were going to your own execution, you found yourself in front of the door of the rehearsal room. You gently opened it and entered. Do you know when, at some point in movies, there’s a slow-motion moment with background music?! There it was. Precisely. He had his back turned, gazing the skyline through the glass wall. And the second he heard the clicking of a pair of heels, he turned his head, smiling at you and looking intensely at your figure. You were about to die for real now.

How could someone be so beautiful?

His hair perfectly styled, his hot stubble,... Oh, that stubble was your weakness. You could already feel it between your legs and…

“Hey hey, easy with that” he teased with his deep honeyed voice, pointing the take-out coffee cups you were holding. You winced and giggled

“I’ll never stop apologizing about that, ehm, incident…but if you want one, go ahead!”

You looked at each other smiling for a while, until you had to break the silence and eventually get down to business. “So, I guess it’s better if we start…Mr Shepherd, so then you’ll be free to go back to work”, he exhaled and nodded

“Oh please, just call me Duncan.”

You saw a sort of shift in his features. His face went blank. He adopted a bossier and intimidating position, like last time. Ok, maybe he just wants to keep it professional, I understand.

“When is Richard coming?” he questioned while taking his trench coat off. “To be honest, it’ll just be me today, but it’s all right, you’re in good hands” you slightly smiled. He sighed again and you rose your eyebrow, taking it as an unspoken insult.

“Is there a problem?”

“Well, yes, I didn’t come here to waste my time with a newbie assistant.” Your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?”

“No need to get upset darling, this is what you are, after all” he stated shrugging. You were speechless; yes, you were an assistant, but the way he said that, as if you were a dumb zero…What an asshole.

“Oookay, since I’m here..let’s continue” he glanced at you, waiting for her next move. “I agree, you can change in the wa-” you paused; he was literally undressing in front of you.

“What? There’s nothing you’ve never seen...I guess” You were confused…was he teasing you or something? “You should be more professional, I’m saying it for you”, your rage slowly increasing and flowing throughout your entire body. He was a completely different man, with all those unnecessary mean remarks. He gave you mixed feelings. You would have punched him, but at the same time, contemplating his perfectly-shaped heavenly body, his toned muscles, his thighs..you wanted to jump on him, kiss him and be his, in every way possible.

“You’re staring.”

“W-what?! No. I’m waiting for you to finish undressing, so I can give you the first change to wear..”

“Sure.”

You’d already had enough of his attitude. “I suggest starting with this evening suit, since Richard told me you’ll attend a charity gala in a few days.”

“Hush, please, save it. I don’t need all your pointless suggestions. I can handle it by myself.” he seemed almost..angry? You didn’t know how to hit back anymore. Why was he acting like that, all of a sudden? He tried on a few different outfits while you were staying there, silent, shifting your weight from a leg to another, your eyes wandering through the room, your lips pressed into a thin line and your mind trying to figure out what was happening. Duncan, noticing the tapping of your fingers on your thigh, rolled his eyes and gave you an annoyed look.

Then he huffed “Impatient, uh?”

You were hovering on the brink of an outburst.

“Why don’t you do your job and bring me some water, or take notes, or whatever you get paid for?”

“My job is helping you find a set of appropriate clothes for various occasions, trying to create the right mix & match that suits your taste and personality...” you retorted in a plain tone.

“Oh, thanks for the not required explanation, Wikipedia..”

“..but I’m not stupid, I know what a fucking stylist does” he was pushing your buttons.

“If you’d allow me to do my job, instead of questioning me, I could recommend something..”

“No need to whine, baby girl…So do it, instead of staying there like a scared little girl.”

“If relying on someone to select your wardrobe really bothers you..why don’t you choose them by yourself?” you sassed, struggling to remain polite.

“Well, I’ve demanded the help of a professional, not that of a ‘coffee-bringer’…and I’m wasting my time here”.

Ok, that’s enough.

He was still a client, but for you being treated like that wasn’t acceptable anymore. “You know what? I don’t fucking care if I get fired after saying these words. But I’m done with your dumbass comments. You’re a douchebag. I’m trying to do my job and, just because you’re rich and influential, you think you can treat me like that. Like I’m trash?” you were finally giving in to an outburst “The saddest thing is that I really hoped you would remember me. About that moment we shared 6 months ago, on that flight to New York. But obviously, I’ve given it much thought. Turns out that I’m just one of many, aren’t I? I’ve been thinking about you for weeks and when I saw you again, it all came flooding back. I’m so stupid. It’s not your fault, I was wrong to think that day could have really meant something.”

While talking, you were struggling to hold back the tears, you weren’t supposed to look pathetic, but your eyes were already watering. “So, do me a favor: end this meeting now. I’ll call Richard and tell him to take care of you, since you do not believe I’m capable enough to fulfill your needs..”

“..oh and don’t worry about seeing me again, I don’t want anything to do with you! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” you spat, entering the small wardrobe room, without bothering to switch on the light, hoping that your angry tears would have remained unnoticed in the darkness and that Duncan would have gone for good. So you started moving crutches on the clothes stand, to make room for those outfits to restock over.

Unexpectedly you felt an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. It was Duncan. He hadn’t left.

His body pressed against yours, you were paralyzed, his arms keeping a firm grip on you. What’s happening? You knew you should have pushed him back and kick him out, but something inside you decided against it. It was like a part of your dumb heart wanted to stay still in that position forever. You two remained silent, until he whispered in your hear, with his hot breath and his cologne filling your nostrils - a mixture of cinnamon, sandalwood and tobacco.

“I’m sorry..” he sighed. He sounded sincere.

“..I went too far.”

Now your own hands were resting upon his arms. You could feel the heat his body was radiating right now. With a honeyed soft tone, he murmured “Please forgive me, I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that having you standing here again, in front of me, stunned me. I didn’t know what to do and I misunderstood your demeanor. I thought you were pretending nothing had happened, or that you didn’t recall that day, or that you simply didn’t care.”

His hold slowly loosened, allowing you to turn around and look at him with narrowed eyes and a puzzled expression, without a word.

“Uhm, I’m not very good at communicating my emotions, but you’re right. I’ve been a dick. You didn’t deserve it, but I was overwhelmed by the attempt to suppress my own feelings. Since I saw you again,”

he paused,

“you are all I can think about.” he admitted, stroking your tear-stained cheek with his thumb, but you tried to resist him,

“I hope you’re not trying to play me, because otherwise I’ll smash that stupid hot smirk to the ground.”

“So do you think I’m hot, uh?!”

“You dumbass.”

“God, you’re so damn sexy when you’re mad.” he teased, coming closer.

“What?” you giggled. He stared at your lips “I just can’t stop thinking about kissing you right now…” and unexpectedly, his hand drifted to your hip, pulling you even closer. You inhaled deeply. You were against his warm chest, sculpted to perfection. Why must he be so perfect? You placed your hand against it, intending to push him away, but instead you left it there. You froze, from both fear and excitement.

You two stared into each other’s eyes and his breathing quickened as did yours. He slowly leaned in, so his forehead rested against yours. You closed your eyes. Your faces were inches apart now, and he lightly traced your lips with one finger. His other hand placed behind your neck, shortening the distance even more.

Your noses bumped and your mouths matched up slightly-opened, breathing each other’s air directly. He brushed his lips against yours and you freaking loved it. You loved the way your body melted into his. The way your lips perfectly fitted like two puzzle pieces. The way Duncan held you tighter and tighter. It sent shivers down your back. His only desire was to touch you, to move his hands under your layers and feel your smooth skin.

You two broke the kiss for a second to catch your breath. Then he pulled you in, claiming your mouth again, hungry and intense. Duncan lowered his hands down your hips, cupping your ass and dragging you impossibly close. You deepened the kiss swallowing his groan of pleasure as you lost into each other, no space between you two. His hands were exploring your body, while you grabbed his hair tightly to restrain your own moans.

Slowly, you started exploring each other’s mouths with your tongues. Sometimes sucking his lower lip and biting it a little bit. He started kissing your jaw and leaving hickeys on your neck. He didn’t want to let you go, so he pulled you again and kissed you so hard, with much more intensity. He squeezed you, suggesting that he wasn’t going to stop. You didn’t mind at all and continued making out.

He slowly put his hands under your blouse, trying to reach and unhook your bra, eager to run his fingers along your breasts and rub it. You began unbuttoning his button-down, seductively leaving wet kisses and love bites on his chest. He moaned. Then Duncan raised your blouse and took it off completely, so he could see you.

“You’re beautiful” he purred, and started massaging your chest and kissing it hardly, licking and biting gently your nipple. While Duncan was playing with your body, you could only keep on tugging his hair, making his moans vibrate against your body. Then he kneeled down kissing your stomach.

Both of you couldn’t silent your groans anymore, the entire room was filled by sexual noises. But you didn’t care at all. You knew where it was going. Duncan pushed you against a wall, grinding on you and you could clearly feel his hardness pressed against your body. You needed more friction.

“Jump.” he suddenly hinted, and used his veiny arms to hold you up by your thighs lifting you off the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Your core was throbbing at that very moment.

But you were brought back to planet Earth right after; that divine feeling was ruined by a pesky thought that clouded your mind.

What if he’s just interested in sex?

He sensed your sudden slowing down. “If you want me to stop, tell me now,” he whispered. When you remained silent, he brushed his mouth against your temple,

“Or now.”

he followed the line of your cheekbone,

“Or now.”

now he was kissing your chin,

“Or—”

then your lips were against his, again. You kept undressing slowly, savoring the moment.

But that damn thought came back, stuck in your mind. And eventually it hit you. “Wait…wait” you said, trying to steady your breathing.

“What’s wrong angel? I did something wrong or..” he questioned worriedly. “No, not at all, it was perfect..but I don’t think this is right.”

“Wait what?! Why?” Duncan replied in disbelief.

“I’m not a yes girl, Duncan. I’m not looking for casual hookups, I really want to know you better and see where this leads us.” you smiled reassuringly, caressing his cheek. You were scared as fuck. Maybe he wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship, just random booty calls. But you had to take the risk. You wanted to.

“Uhm..yeah. I guess that sounds fair enough.” he chuckled and you released the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “How about a coffee date? I know a place, it’s quite secluded, to not attract the attention of press and journalists” you tilted your head and frowned,

“What do you mean?”

“Angel, I don’t want you to be targeted by newspapers, they aim to find some dirt on me and make every aspect of my private life public. I prefer keeping a low profile, and put you in an uncomfortable position is the last thing I would want.” “Oh, ok. I got it.” you were a little thoughtful, to be honest. But in that moment, you would have agreed with everything he was saying. You used every inch of strength you had, to stop and not go further. Not that there was anything wrong with that. You just wished to learn more about that handsome man in front of you; his desires, his passions, his values and aspirations.

“I’d better get back to work, they’ll wonder what happened to me.” he smirked. “Yeah, you better hurry up, then” you laughed, while putting your blouse on. “I’m gonna put aside the chosen clothes” you informed, but before you could leave the cramped room, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back in his arms, giving a last soft peck on your lips.

“How can I focus now, with the thought of you against me?!”

“You’ll have to make do with the memory..” you shot back “..for now.” you cooed, whispering in his hear.

The rest of the day went off without a hitch. You had exchanged numbers and with all those texts you were sending to each other, you felt like a schoolgirl again. Nothing could have ruined that sensation. Before going back home, Richard called you, questioning you about the meeting, not noticing your struggle to not make disconnected sentences or beat around the bush, to hide your embarrassment. Then, to thank you for having his back, he gave you another assignment: a high-society lady had requested a selection of gowns to choose, to attend a few fundraising events. Another important add-on for your CV. A few more efforts and they would have finally offered you the long-awaited position in the creative team.

//

The consultation had been set up two days later, you had to go to the customer’s penthouse this time. Ugh, lazy rich people. You rang the doorbell and right after you were greeted by a thin blonde girl, all fake boobs and tinted tips, wearing a dress that seemed closer to a long top, rather than an actual dress.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Come in! I’ll be right back” she yelled. You came in holding the garment bag; you were shocked when you found out how actually big the apartment was: super modern, black & white themed and with some art hanging on the walls.

Uhm, de gustibus you muttered to yourself.

“Here I am, sorry for the waiting. I am Madison!” Why rich people seem so reluctant to share their last name with me? you mused, smiling to yourself.

“Let’s start, shall we?”

And then Madison took you to what has to be her large bedroom. Odd. That seemed more like a bachelor to you, but judging wasn’t your thing.

The fitting went smooth as silk. This Madison was a bombshell, every single dress fitted her body as it was sewn on her. For the upcoming event she chose a nude silk dress, that perfectly matched her skin tone. She looked pretty excited for the pick, so much that she started screaming and calling out loud, making you aware that there was someone else around.

“Muffin come here!!! I chose the dress!! It’s perfect oh my God! You must see it before I take it off!”

MUFFIN.

Seriously? Do not laugh, please, do not laugh.

You were biting her lip a little too hard. While Madison kept calling her…muffin, you decided to do something and began packing all the stuff back up into the bag.

“Oh finally, you walk so slow, babe…now, look! What do you think?” Before the man could answer she continued “Oh wait, how rude I am. Y/N, this is my fiancé...”

As soon as you turned around and lifted your gaze, your heart stopped beating.

“…Duncan!”

His smile soon disappeared too, replaced by a shocked and guilty expression, like a deer caught in the headlights. You froze in place.

You were trying to hold back the impending flood of tears, washing it away with your anger. A million different feelings rushed through you, but at the same time you couldn’t feel anything, just your own heart, literally breaking down in pieces.

“Do you already know each other?” Madison asked, noting Duncan’s surprise. You gathered all the strength left within you and stated

“Just one of the many customers.”

Then, lowering your broken voice, you sputtered a “Now I really have to go.”

Without saying anything more, you took the garment bag and run straight to the door, shutting it down behind your back. Right after, a teardrop rolled over your cheek, and your eyes started watering. Once that the first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. Before turning into a sobbing mess, you walked fast down the hallway, reaching the elevator and waiting for the doors to open up.

Before you could take another step, a large hand took you by the wrist, keeping you in place. You turned around and instantly pushed him back, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“Please,” he begged,

“Let me explain. Please, I don’t want to lose you! We have something..w-we can talk about it, please, wait!”

“Go to Hell” you snapped;

and then you shoved his hand away, entering the elevator. Stupid. I am so fucking stupid. You two looked at each other one last time, shedding tears. The eyes of both soaking blatantly. And then the doors shut.

That heartbreak felt like concrete drying in your chest.

________________________________________________________________

Tagging: (I hope you don’t mind BUT tell me if you want to be removed, I was just curious to know your opinion about it, if you'd like to read it) MUCH LOVE @ladynuwanda @hecohansen31 @michael-langdon-appreciation @sojournmichael @so-langdon @stupidocupido @sammythankyou @emmyrosee​ 

[jojikawa]

The Apple Doesn't Fall Too Far Various! BNHA x Reader

Prologue

Before we get started:

This idea sprouted from a dream I had. I was a pop star singing RWBY songs and for some reason, Izuku, Todoroki, and Bakugo were there so I just thought I'd put this together. So the songs you sing will be RWBY songs but written by you!

Life was pretty great for you. Your happiness derived from giving young people something to dream about:

Being a hero!

You stood on stage, your DJ playing accordingly, and the people who supported you were cheering in the stands and singing along. It made you feel so important and for all the right reasons too. It was something that was hard getting used to.

It was the middle of the say in the Spring, you were performing the opening song for a music award ceremony. You put on flashy clothes that would be considered cute to you and others but too much to typical adults. You didn’t care. You loved the way you looked and millions all over the world thought so as well. 

The song you decided to perform is a single you had been teasing for a while on social media. It was called Neon. You had a bit of an arrogant side that sprouted from being out down all the time when you were in elementary school. This song was taught to everyone who didn’t believe in you. 

-Neon by (Y/N) (L/N) actually sung and performed by Jeff Williams ft. Casey Lee Williams-

“We’re all born...with a dream, we wanna make come true.”

Your voice was like an angel’s. If someone didn’t like your looks, your voice made you just as desirable. The way your body moved when you danced, the lustful faces you made when you dragged out your words. Every teenage boy and slightly older men wanted you.

“The best will climb to the top like...the rest will end up like you!”

You pointed vaguely to the crowd, imagining some person that ever said ‘You can’t’

“I bet it’s hard to live with knowing that you’ll never be this fine~ Don’t be distraught, don’t be sad, you give it your best try!”

You rolled and swayed your hips to the pace of your own words. You were the most influential person there! It wasn’t a song to be super proud of, but it came from the heart and you just felt right getting it out. Later that evening you were given another opportunity to perform one of your...less conceited sounding songs. The ones that everyone adored you for. 

After the entire ceremony ended, you went home with 2 awards. One of them was “Artist of the Year” and “Video Of The Year” for one of your previous music videos. 

Your assistant, Melinda, had taken your awards and kept them safe in the house you and her shared. It was pretty big, but the Butlers and Nannies made it seem a bit crowded. You liked that. It seemed real at home. Like a big family!

“(Y/N)” Melinda called out to you. “Are you sure UA is the school you want to go to? There’s always Shiketsu or Seiai. They’re very good as well! You would fit right-”

“No, Melinda. I’m sure about UA. All Might is teaching there and he inspired me to do what I do now. Plus, Aizawa is there so you know I’ll be protected.” You reassured her.

Melinda frowned. “Yes, I’m aware of the relations but we don’t know what your father could be planning. You talk about going to UA so much in interviews and he’s had to seen at least one of them while locked up.” she continued to explain. “I just want to protect you. Your mother trusted me with keeping you away from him.”

“She trusted Aizawa too.” You remarked, a bit annoyed at her attempt to convince you to go to a different school.

Your father’s quirk was something you didn’t inherit and everyone was glad about that. His quirk was Umbrakinesis. It allows him to control light and shadows. If he were to consume someone with shadows he would be able to control and sway them with ease. It came in handy when he was a Pro Hero but after your mother went missing, he turned to the dark side. When he was arrested, it almost seemed like he wanted it to happen. He would always tell the police that anything that happened involving him was what he wanted.

While being interrogated, he was open about his plans for taking you to the dark side with him. He was proud of the way you turned out and thought your quirk of controlling all elements would fit in nicely for his plans. So, anytime you did anything, you were monitored and so was he. 

“Listen, (Y/N), I trust that you know what you’re doing. Just, please, be careful, we can’t risk losing you like we did your mother.”

You smiled. “I know, Melinda. I’m glad you worry about me. I'll be the best hero I can be.”

The next day, you had prepared for your first impression. The students in Aizawa's class were probaby more skilled than you. What if their quirks were stronger and you got singled out like in middle school?!

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away the thoughts of being bullied.

What if they refuse to give you a chance because you're a pampered popstar? That was unavoidable.

“Are you nervous?” Melinda happily questioned, popping her head inside the door of your room. "Haha, just butterflies, is all.” you replied, tugging at the skirt of your uniform.

Melinda giggled. “That's alright. You don't need to be spectacular. You have all year to prove your worth. Just, please, make sure to study. I would hate to have your grades go down the drain.”

“No worries!”

You were escorted into a white armored limousine that went straight to U.A. This made your heartbeat increase. Seeing the monument most called a 'school' got closer and closer.

“When you get in there, go to your class, on time!” Your assistant pleaded. “Yes, I know!” You cringed at her smothering nature as you got out of the limo. “Thank you!” You waved goodbye to Melinda and your chauffeur before running inside the school.

Kids in the hallways stopped everything they were doing to see if it were the real you or if it were some lookalike or a copycat quirk, but you paid no mind. You followed the numbers until you got to the classroom: 1-A

When you stood on your tippy-toes, you were able to see Aizawa, looking as bored and unamused as ever, teaching a class. You knocked on the door and waved to him through the cloudy glass when he turned your way.

At the sight of you, you were able to see he visible sighed, looking even more exhausted.

“Come on in...” You heard his deep muffled voice through the door.

You mustered up all the courage you had inside of you to prevent you from running away. Your anxiety levels were at an all-time high. You felt more relaxed on stage.

You finally opened the door and walked over next to Aizawa. You avoided eye contact with everyone but smiled at Aizawa in particular.

“Jeez, you're more awkward than I remember.” He mumbled, retreating into his yellow sleeping bag. “Okay, everyone, this is (Y/N) (L/N). I'm pretty sure you all know who she is. She will be joining us in our hero course, so don't treat her any different just because you know who she is.” He told his class.

It was a moment of silence in the room. You held your breath, scanning the classroom of their reactions, expecting there to be negative ones but everyone began freaking out!

“Wow!” A boy with dark green hair eyes lit up. “I have notes about you!” he then began blushing and sweating. “But, uh, I know that much sound weird but All Might's mentioned in an interview that he thinks your music is a good cause so I decided to check it out and it's really good so I just thought you shoul-” his rambling was completely cut off by a short purple haired boy leaping out of his seat to touch you.

“Your body is much more amazing in person!” His eyes had hearts in them and drool flew out of his mouth as he talked. He reminded you of those fans who didn't have respect from themselves.

“Leave her alone, Mineta!” A kawaii brown haired girl with puffy cheeks commanded the male. A red-haired boy with shark teeth got up and grabbed the small student before he could get any closer. “Sorry about that,” he said “I haven't heard your music but I heard you're the real deal!”

“Haha, yeah, I guess.” You giggled sheepishly, scratching the back of your head.

A black-haired boy that looked like he had a tape holder for elbows was equally as surprised. He looked around for any sign that this was fake only to see his female classmate ecstatic at the sight of you.

“Yao-momo? You good?” He questioned, examining her face to see it was in pure ecstasy.

A tall male with glasses stood up tall. “Calm down everyone! We must treat her like we would any other student.”

“Calm down? I don't even know who this girl is” A blonde-haired boy with a spiky hairstyle spoke out loud. He had a clear 'don't care' attitude.

[tanadrin]

Of Things Remembered

“Wake up.”

The scene around me swam and reformed itself as the young man opened his eyes. The generic room was replaced by a modest stone cell. A little table appeared in the corner, where one dim candle flickered, casting a dim light over a couple of books and some parchment. An evening chill swept in from the narrow window that appeared, and outside I could see the stars, undimmed by any city lights or orbitals. I switched over to the full baseline human sense-simulation, and inhaled slowly. The evening air was fragrant and damp, like a rainstorm had just passed. Through the door I could hear voices far down the hall, rising and falling together, perhaps in prayer.

"Everything is fine, but you need to wake up.” He seemed to be more alert now; his eyes were searching about the room; he was confused, but calm. When his gaze finally came to rest on me, he looked me up and down for a long time before he said anything. I glanced down at myself to make sure my appearance wasn’t too unusual. I fit into the room, now: I was dressed in plain homespun cloth, with simple leather slippers, and my hair hung loosely around my ears.

“Are you all right?” I said.

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think so. I must have been… sleeping very deeply. Dreaming about something. But I can’t remember what.”

“The deepest of sleep. And I’m sorry to wake you from a well-deserved rest, but we needed to have a conversation. I’m Nolla.”

“Will,” he said. “The brothers call me Long Will, on account of my height.” He turned one ear toward the door. “Shouldn’t we be at matins?”

“Don’t worry about that for the moment,” I said. “We have more important matters to attend to.”

Skipping prayers didn’t seem to sit well with him, but he didn’t object. He sat up and looked at me more closely. I turned to the little table and picked up his candle, holding it my lap so he could see better.

“I don’t think I know you,” he said. “Are you one of the novices?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just a friend. A guide. I’m here to help you through a difficult transition.”

Will furrowed his brow. “What sort of transition?”

“We’ll get to that. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Yesterday, I was…” His voice trailed off. “Funny. I don’t remember what I was doing yesterday. Or the day before that.”

“What do you remember?”

“That I should be at matins. That the abbot gets quite cross with lazy brothers. I spend most of my time when I’m not at prayer copying the books, and helping Brother Stephen in the kitchen. But I’m looking forward to summer. It does me good to spend some time outdoors, helping with the planting. I… I’m sorry, I’m feeling a bit foggy.”

“You’ve been asleep for a very long time. It’s quite natural. I just want to make sure you’re feeling all right.”

“Are you a doctor? Have I been ill?”

“In a manner of speaking. Tell me about specific events you remember. Start with your life just before you came to the monastery.”

“Well, I’m from the village originally. My parents suggested the religious life, and it always felt right to me. I remember leaving home, coming to live here as a novice. I remember being nervous, meeting the abbot for the first time. Learning to read and write. I remember… I remember the time Brother Laurence and I got lost in the woods, and we were terribly worried, and tired and hungry, but Brother Hugh found us. We laughed about it later, how stupid we had been. It feels like it was a long time ago, but for the life of me I can’t say when. I suppose it could have been just yesterday.”

“It was a long time ago,” I said. “All these things were.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“More than ten thousand years,” I said gently.

Will smiled, then laughed. “Oh, you’re very funny.”

I shook my head. “I’m quite serious.”

“Yes, long enough for everything in the world to pass away and to start over from the beginning, so it’s exactly as I left it.”

“It isn’t, Will,” I said. “This, everything you see around you, is an illusion for your benefit.”

I let the simulation flicker, just for a second; I didn’t want to scare him, but I wanted to show him I wasn’t lying. For just a moment the walls and the table and the bed under him disappeared, and the dark hills and the stars and the moon beyond were visible where the cell had been; and then they were back, as solid as they had been before. Will’s face went deadly serious.

“Is this heaven or hell, then?” he said.

“Neither. You’re not dead. Not anymore. You don’t have to be afraid; nothing’s going to hurt you or cause you pain. I’m sorry for the deception, but we wanted you to wake up in a place that would be somewhat familiar to you, to make sure you felt at ease.”

Will ran his hands over the blanket, and the wall beside his bed; he rubbed his fingertips together, staring at them intently.

“All this feels very real,” he said.

“The mind is a powerful thing,” I said. “Yours is in a kind of in-between state right now. A place where we can take your memories and the sensations you know and show them to you in great detail. And where our illusion might be imperfect or incorrect, your mind will supply the little details and corrections needed to make it feel solid and consistent. But please believe me: we have no malice in our hearts. All this is for your benefit.”

“I believe you,” Will said. “Or I would like to, which maybe amounts to the same thing.”

I smiled and nodded. “Very good. Then we have overcome our first hurdle.”

“What… what has happened to me?”

I took a deep breath. “Will Long of Hythe, in Kent. You were born sometime in the late thirteenth century A.D., you died of natural causes, an old and well-respected man, abbot of this monastery, in 1334. You spent your life as a monk, serving God and your community, and because of your reputation and your position, you were remembered long enough for your name to enter the local histories, along with a few lines of your biography. You took to poetry later in life, and composed several hymns, and a few fables based on local legend. Most of the manuscripts that contained copies of your work were lost in the Dissolution of the Monasteries in the 16th century, but twelve manuscript folio, on which you were named as the author of the verses contained therein, were discovered deep in a London archive almost six hundred years later. These were the basis of an influential study of your life and work, about half solid historical investigation and about half clever speculation, by a PhD candidate--a doctor of philosophy in training, that is--in 2135. We used that study as the starting point for bringing you back.”

“You said I wasn’t dead.”

“You are speaking to me now. You hear me speak to you. You are sensing, thinking, feeling. Yes, you are not dead.”

“But I died. Long, long ago.”

“Yes. You did.”

“And you brought me back? That’s not possible.”

“Debatable,” I said. “By which I mean, we do debate it. Some would say, you are not Will Long. Will Long ceased to be when his heart stopped beating and his eyes were closed and he was laid to rest beneath the earth; and you are a new person, with the same name, and many of the same memories and thoughts and feelings. And some would say, it is the pattern that makes a man who he is. That just as if you take a tapestry and pick it apart into individual threads, if you weave it back together again, is not the same image? What if you replace one thread? One hundred threads? One thousand? And there are others who grant that while you may not have to use the same threads, if you make any error at all in the weaving-together, it is a different image. To which I say, does it matter, if it looks the same to the observer?”

Will closed his eyes and rubbed his head. “You’re talking in riddles. I need specifics. What did you do? How did you make this? Make… me?”

I leaned back in my chair. “I will try to explain this as succinctly and accurately as I can, but your language lacks many of the words I need, because your world lacked many of the things we used, and the words to describe them. But our methods are all the methods of the natural world, all the methods of good and honest philosophy, all knowable to a man like you if he has enough learning.

“There are methods of mathematics, like the algebra of the east, but much more sophisticated, by which one can infer missing quantities among vast collections of information. Some of these are very precise; some of these cannot produce precise knowledge, but only approximate knowledge--yet often that approximate knowledge can, by successive application of different methods, be narrowed to a very small range. As though,” and I gestured now at the books on the table, “you open a manuscript to find one word blotted out; yet if it is short, and begins ‘th-’ you know it is ‘the’ or ‘thee’ or ‘thou,’ and not ‘through’ or ‘thorough.’ Or as though a line is missing from a piece of poetry; and while two other copies agree on what the missing line is, a third disagrees--but you judge the two that agree are more likely to be correct.

“And these mathematics are so complicated and so difficult that a whole city of human calculators might work for centuries and accomplish but a small piece of a modest puzzle to which they are applied. But in the many centuries after your death, we have developed tools to aid us. First, they were based on the same principles which drive clockwork, like more sophisticated clocks capable of performing arithmetic quickly, by the means of levers and gears. The same machines, using the same principles, were made more sophisticated and swifter in their operation over time--and eventually we stopped using clockwork, and started using other physical principles to operate them. But the underlying logic of their design was the same. Though they appeared as though they could perform wondrous feats that had nothing to do with mere mathematics, mere mathematics was the foundational principle of their operation; and they could accomplish no wonder that could not in some sense be reduced to a question of numbers and the operations of numbers.”

“I am afraid I don’t know much about mathematics,” Will said. “All this sounds quite fanciful to me.”

“Then let us speak of words--for it was another insight of later days that mathematics is not so different from language, and the philosophers of those days used one word to unite the two, the word ‘information.’ The theory of information was found to be a useful tool for examining the natural world, just as you might use your eyes or your ears, or, in dark places, search instead with your hands. And using the tools provided by the theory of information, we came to believe our ability to recover things that were lost now extended to the memories and feelings and thoughts of those who had long been dead. Especially those who had left some testimony of themselves behind. And we hoped, maybe--perhaps an arrogant hope, I admit--that by the application of these techniques to recover lost lives, we might from the shape of those lost lives then discern the shapes of other lives, previously invisible to us, and recover those as well--and so on and so forth. And that therefore we might hope one day to return to life all those who had ever lived and died, to rescue them from their long sleep.”

Will laughed. “Are you so impatient for the day of judgement?”

I smiled. “Nothing like that, I assure you. We don’t judge, Will. We don’t condemn. We don’t pick and choose, either. We intend to resurrect the good and the bad alike. The deserving and the undeserving. Those great and those petty, those high-minded and those mean. Our labor, which we grant might never be completed, is not to play God, and to ensure each man receives his deserved fate, but only to redeem. Without preference or favor. There is only one restriction we place on ourselves.

“And what’s that?”

“We don’t bring back people who, according to our reconstruction, would prefer not to exist. There are some who suffered greatly before their death, whose suffering can be amended, whose hearts can be made whole. But there are some who, we know, prefer to sleep. We study them, to understand them, but we do not bring them unwilling back into the world. That would be a great cruelty. We create--or recreate--no life which would, we think, prefer not to exist. And for those about whom we are uncertain, we bring them back only long enough to ask them. Which is why you are here.”

Will looked surprised at this. “If you have such power over life and death, why not make everyone want to live?”

“Because then they wouldn’t be themselves.”

“But you don’t know that they’re themselves. You don’t even know for sure that you’re not just… writing new books. Writing new stories, weaving new tapestries, that have nothing to do with the old ones. If your machines are wrong, if your philosophy in error, perhaps you are only raising up new ghosts who remember a fiction.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Would you like to know my thoughts on the matter?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I believe this: that it doesn’t matter. If you are exactly like Will Long of Kent in every particular, it may even be that our philosophy is in complete error and that there is some vital spark, some privileged point of view, which the old Will Long bore in himself and which was extinguished on his death; and that any vital spark you possessed, any point of view you hold, is but another very like it. Yet please believe me when I say that there are very good reasons to believe that that is not the case, reasons which are not beyond your capacity for understanding, but which nevertheless are beyond the learning you possess right now.

“Yet even if it is not so--that you are unlike Will Long in some little particular, or unlike him in very great ways, such that you are simply a new person who shares his name and is inclined to produce poetry in a similar style--you nonetheless think and feel and act according to your own preferences and desires, and that we must respect those preferences and desires. And to wantonly interfere with them--to insist that every soul we call forth must share our preference for existing, and our view of the world--would indeed be arrogance. You might not be the old Will Long, but you are a Will Long, and worthy of our respect.”

This seemed to satisfy him. “But have you never found your mathematics to be in error? Have you never had to revise them? Does this never change how you might weave the threads together?”

“It can happen,” I said. “We do not need to bring forth the soul entirely to understand it; they can be studied while they sleep. But those of us who do guide the souls we call forth have a pragmatic view of things. Were we to discover, say, some new poem of Will Long’s, we would incorporate that into what we knew about you. If it only changed our view of you a little, it would hardly be worth recreating you. Though we might ask you if you wanted that knowledge incorporated into yourself, which we could do. But if it changed how we understood you drastically, it might be worth it to create another Will Long. But that would have no affect on you. The world is very wide now. There is space for many people like you, and each adds their own particular distinction and joy to it.

“But this rarely happens. We have long since ceased to die of mere old age; the world is full of what would seem to you like miracles. And for thousands of years before the calling-forth of souls began, we were laying the groundwork for the great project, studying history in every minutia, compiling great libraries of information, libraries greater than any you have imagined. It is not impossible that we might discover some new information we have long overlooked, but it is a rare thing. Though I cannot say it is impossible.”

“And you want to know if I… accept this?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know my answer?”

“It was one of the very few things we could not determine in advance.”

Will was quiet for a long time.

“What happens if I say no?”

“You can lie down and go back to sleep. This strange little dream will fade. We’ll keep a record of you, and use it to help further our studies, but you’ll never be called forth again. We’ll never disturb or trouble you, and you can await the end of days, or whatever comes after, in a dreamless slumber.”

“And if I say yes?”

“Then you have another choice to make. What life do you want to live? You can stay here, in the place that was your home in life. Or you can step out into the world.”

“What’s it like out there?”

“It’s hard to explain. It would require a long, slow transition, unless you were very adamant about going out immediately; but I must warn you, others have done that, and found it very trying. The world is full of many wonderful things, but also many unfamiliar perils. You have little of the background knowledge required to understand it; and those who live there see things very differently than you do. But if you are curious and generous of spirit, you can adapt.

“We are all human out there, after our fashion, though we might not seem it at first. In some ways our various lineages long ago diverged, to say nothing of the ones, like mine, that began within the machines built to understand the universe. But we remain united by certain common sentiments and hopes which are not alien to you.”

“What if I wish to remain? What is this place, anyway?”

“An illusion of information. A kind of dream, perhaps, but one inhabited by very real people, like yourself. You can stay here, and we can give you a light and pleasant dream of your life forever, if you want. Or we can link your simulation to the simulations of others like you, so that you are not alone.”

“How long have I to decide?”

“As long as you like. There’s no hurry.”

“That’s a relief.”

He looked out the window at the stars.

“Tell me, if you know. I have always wondered. What are those, anyway, out there in the sky? What are they made of?”

“They are suns like our own. Immense lights that warm distant worlds.”

“Have you visited those lights and those worlds?”

I smiled. “We have. Truth be told, you are around one now. The machines that support you here, in this state, hang high in the sky above one we call Van Maanen’s Star.”

“How far away is England?”

“About eighty-two thousands of a thousand of a thousand of a thousand miles.”

“Could… could I go back if I wished? As myself?”

“Of course. It would be a long journey, but by no means impossible. But Kent is very different now than when you left it.”

“Could I visit other worlds?”

“You certainly could. There are enough peopled worlds that you could spend the rest of your life visiting them.”

“And how long will that be? How long is the rest of my life, if I say yes?”

I shrugged. “If you avoid sudden misfortune, or if you choose to make copies of yourself as some do, you can reasonably expect that you, or a Will Long very much like you, will live to see the youngest stars that now blaze grow old and lonely in the sky. Which would be a very, very long time from now.”

Will stared out the window for several minutes; I did not interrupt his reverie. This was a conversation I had had many times; it was never quite the same, except that this moment usually came sooner or later. Sometimes it lasted hours. Sometimes it lasted years. I was happy to wait. But Will’s answer came astonishingly quickly.

“I’ve made my decision.” There was a bright, joyful gleam in his eyes.

“Very well. What have you decided?”

He pointed out the window. “I want to go out there. I don’t want to wait. I want to see what’s changed. I want to understand this strange world you have spoken of to me. And maybe to write new lines on what I see.”

“Then so it shall be. And many will be glad to hear this happy news.”

I stood, and drew back the sleeve of my robe, and stretched my hand out. “Come, Will. Take my hand.”

Will’s hand grasped mine, and I pulled him up, up out of the bed, and out of the room we were in, and out of the cool, clear evening that surrounded it; like swimmers rising to the surface, we rose up into the warmth and light beyond.

[coollyinterferes]

GENERAL.

full name.  Robert E. O. Speedwagon nicknames. The “official” one would be Boss among his mates and to the whole lot of ruffians in Ogre Street (the one people keep wrongly translating as “bro” in some of the jjba translations). Other than that, he’s not used to being called nicknames on a regular basis, though some people he’s crossed paths with seem to have a thing for giving him nicknames derived from his last name (Speeb, Speeds, etc). Depending on the closeness between him and the person calling him by a nickname, he might be like “please stop” or won’t mind at all Uncle Speeds/Uncle Speedy and similars apply only until he’s become the uncle figure of George II and, later on, Joseph and Holly, too. height. 5′11′‘ / 180 cm age. 25-28-ish in the main verse, though I play him in literally any stage of his life upon request. zodiac. libra / pig (in the Chinese zodiac) languages. English. Some Spanish, French, Italian and a variety of languages he’s managed to pick up during his many journeys around the world (enough to hold basic conversations, usually), as well as the bits of Chinese he’s managed to grasp from what Kenpo (Li) has taught him.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair colour.  somewhere between light and golden blond. eye colour. chestnut brown. skin tone. light skin, making him somewhat prone to getting sunburnt if he’s not careful when he’s out in the sun for long periods of time. body type. mesomorph. accent.  Cockney. dominant hand.  right, but is quite skilled with both hands, posture. He usually stands up straight, but never overdoing it, really, just... kinda doing it in a casual way, enough for him to be comfortable but trying to keep it “gentlemanly”. He keeps it a bit in the “dominant” side too when he’s in the slums (can’t show weaknesses over there). He tends to slouch a bit when he’s sitting and relaxing, though. scars. His trademark scar that runs from the top of his nose all the way down to his jaw on the left side of his face is the most notorious one at first glance. He has a considerable number of other noticeable scars all over his body (chest, arms/hands and thighs, mainly), though. Most of them come from his criminal lifestyle, knife fights, brawls, one from a time he was shot at, some around his wrists and forearms from the time he was learning to use his bowler hat and so on. He’s also acquired a new set of scars during PB, like some on his hands from the burns he sustained during the fire at the Joestar mansion as well as a new, large, one across his chest that he got from thawing Zeppeli’s frozen arm. This one isn’t as noticeable as the rest, but it’s visible still. tattoos.  None, but he was “persuaded” into getting a prince albert (more like: lost a bet and had to get one, lol). i know that’s a piercing and not a tattoo but i had to mention it since i rarely ever do it *shrug* most noticeable features. Does his loud voice count here? Uh, his cleanly shaven face, his long blond mane and his choices of colorful accesories and stuff (most of these partly respond to the Gay Etiquette™ of his time but also to his own preference since he genuinely likes them, too) could be what stands out the most at first glance. The large scar on his face, too. His thick Cockney accent, though this one stands out to foreigners and people he’s just met mostly. His loyalty and undying devotion and support towards those he genuinely cares about.

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth.  London (East), England. hometown.  London (East), England. birth weight / height. He was born to a poor family in the slums, so there are no official records on the matter. He was most likely born a bit underweight given the conditions his parents lived in. manner of birth.  Natural birth. first words. “dadda”. siblings.  none. parents. both of his parents are deceased. His mother died shortly after giving birth to him due to a poorly treated infection derived from it. His father passed away in unclear conditions by the time Robert was 5 years old. parental involvement. Robert has no recollection of his mother given how young he was by the time she died. The same can’t be said about his father, though, since he was raised by him: A poor, hard-working, and caring man. Between the working conditions at the time for the lower classes –long ass work days with ridiculously low pays– and exhaustion, among other things, his father got very little free time to spend with him. However, that didn’t mean the relationship between them was sour. It was all the opposite, actually, as they would spend as much time as possible together, playing together, his father telling him stories and talking to Robert about his mother and how wonderful she was and so on. Sadly for little Robbie, this only lasted a few years, as his father was unfairly imprisoned and was found dead in his cell just a week or so later in unclear conditions. I’ll cover the whole subject of his parents in a separate post later on but, yeah, all things considered, the parental involvement, while not perfect, was as good and dedicated as it could be in those conditions (and now you also know where he got that 'parental’ side he has towards the Joestar children from).

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. He’s job hunting/switching jobs in the main verse, trying to find his place in the world after leaving his criminal lifestyle behind (for the most part, at least). current residence. He still lives in Ogre Street in the Main Verse, but he doesn’t partake in criminal activities as often as he once did.This is why he sometimes can be seen sporting a new bruise or more, since some of the more unruly thugs there are trying to climb to the Boss spot now that Robert has shown clear intentions of changing his ways and, thus will try to pick up fights with him (there’s a lot more to explain on this matter but i’ll cover that on a separate post) close friends. Main verse: Jonathan Joestar. Tattoo and Kenpo (named Li, here), obvs. Later on, Erina (Pendleton) Joestar, too. relationship status. Single and crushingpiningfddsfdgfh financial status. Main verse: Ehhh, let’s just say it’s seen better days (since there are times he runs out of moneys and thus doesn’t have anything to eat for the day...or for days ;;;; ). Future verses/PostPBpreBT verses: You know the deal: He rich af. driver’s license. Naw. But he does drive that car shown in the manga from time to time. His peers don’t let him very often cause he’s nearly run over some folks before, lol. criminal record.  Officially? None, really. Which is kind of a feat given his role as one of the biggest and most influential ganglords in the rowdiest area of London. He’s done a lot of illicit things, though, which include but are not limited to: Thieving (pick pocketing, plundering, etc),  murder, fights/brawls (sometimes involving knives and/or guns), etc. There’s also the fact that he’s a homosexual man in a time where "homosexual acts” were illegal and could be punished by the law, so I guess it counts, too?

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation.  homosexual. romantic orientation. homoromantic. preferred emotional role.  submissive | dominant | switch |  unsure preferred sexual role.  submissive  |  dominant  |  switch (top leaning) |  sex repulsed libido. Average. turn on’s. subtle but sensual touching. He’s particularly sensitive in the neck and chest area. His thighs, too. He will be putty in his dear’s hands with ease, really, since sex works as an extension to his feelings and emotions towards the other person when it’s a long-term relationship (as opposed to one night stands/casual relationships –which aren’t very common for him anyway–, where there are no truly deep feelings involved and sex is just a mean to release some stress). During the act, he has a thing for having his hair gently pulled and, to a lesser extent, giving and receiving love bites, especially in those areas that are normally covered by clothes. This one is somewhat related to the time he lives in (a largely prudish and homophobic era), in which it is best to keep things as under the table as possible, especially when both parties involved happen to be males, but it also works as little secret reminders to his dearest of his love towards him. turn off’s. Probably overly kinky stuff and “weird” stuff like scat and watersports and stuff like that. He’s more into the soul-bonding aspect of it all, really.

love language. He’s all for making his dearest one feel loved in every single possible way. He will always do anything and everything in his power to make his bf feel special, be it by giving him massages, tender touches, holding hands, brushing/petting his hair, cuddling with him, and so on. He is very physical on this aspect (would totally be all up for pdas if Victorian society wasn’t so uptight about it even among m/f couples) so, as long as his bf is comfortable with it, he sure af will be giving him lots of love that way. And the spoiling doesn’t stop there, cause he will always do his best to buy his bf presents, even before he makes it big in the oil industry (he will save as much money as he can from whatever his current job is and spend it on his dear), with flowers being some of his fave presents to give. And since he’s some into the language of flowers, it goes without saying that every bouquet he gives is like a little love letter to his bf. Actual letters are another part of his love language. Not as common as the flowers or the gifts, tho (since he’s always been more into showing his love via actions and not just with words). So, yeah, he’s the kind of man who loves to shower his dear with lots of love, affection and devotion in any way he can~ He’s also into doing little things for his dearest, such as getting him lunch, helping him with whatever he might need help with and being there for him always.

relationship tendencies. He’s usually more on the chill and confident side when it’s something more casual and less serious. However, when there are genuine feelings involved, he tends to becoming a blushing mess and a big pile of nerves too, especially whenever he falls for someone with a higher status coughjonathancough. And it’s simple: He’s quite self-conscious, so he’s always kinda afraid that other person will see him the way he sees himself, with all his flaws and some of the unredeemable things he’s done and so on. On top of that, he doesn’t truly know how to properly handle genuine affection aimed at him and also doesn’t feel deserving of it, too, so... Yeah. He usually has a bit of a hard time when it comes to relationships, but that's usually due to all the raging homophobia in Victorian times and how he doesn’t want to tarnish his dear’s reputation with some “gross” and “indecent” stuff, as homosexuality was labelled back then. However, he tends to be a bit more open and relaxed in general in private for those same reasons. As for his insecurities, he will gradually feel more at ease as time goes by (reassurance and stuff from his dearest will do wonders here) since he’ll be a little less afraid to fuck up, too, now that he knows his dear loves him back.

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. there’s a bunch I could go with for his theme song tbh, but I think I’m gonna go with Keep Pushin’ by REO Speedwagon, this time. hobbies to pass the time. travelling, reading, getting into trouble, gambling, spending time with friends and loved ones, learning new stuff, etc. mental illnesses. He has some, ehh, mental baggage from his days of extreme poverty as an orphan child in London’s streets, some of which comes up every once in a while in the shape of dreams that feel more like vivid memories/nightmares. He also developed certain symptoms of PTSD, mostly after all the events involving Dio, such as occasional restless/sleepless nights as well as occasional nightmares, feeling terribly upset at certain memories/events (such as Zeppeli’s death or the tragic fate of Jonathan), and so on. That said, he also suffers from survivor’s guilt. There’s the occasional depression over all that stuff and small bouts of anxiety over “what if Dio ain’t dead yet!?” since, well, the guy managed to survive near death 2 times by the end of PB (just imagine the pain and distress it would have caused him to hear he not only survived a 3rd time, but that he also stole Jonathan’s body to continue with his wicked ways). None of this is diagnosed, though. There was also a period of time he lost interest in almost everything after Jonathan’s death and slipped back (and way too hard) into his old ways for a while. physical illnesses. None, just the occasional pain that comes from poorly treated old wounds. left or right brained. Right with bits of left. fears. Losing his (remaining) loved ones, either by rejection or death, even though he’s gone through loss a lot of times already. Seeing them hurt or just generally being unhappy, if that counts? Seeing Dio coming back once more even after Jonathan’s ultimate sacrifice. self confidence level.  Fluctuates, really. He’s quite confident within the slums but, out of it? He becomes a bit more self-conscious, mostly due to the hard views society had back then towards scarred people as well as poor/questionable people as well as homosexual men. It all goes down the drain when a love interest comes into play, because all that self-conciousness hits twice harder when he’s around this person, hence why he’s often an anxious mess around them orz He becomes a lot more confident as time goes by, though, and starts feeling more at ease, too. vulnerabilities. Probably the fact that he wears his heart on his sleeve all the time. Same with him being a hot-blooded man, so he’s prone to go head first into things sometimes and running his mouth, too. He’s also a bit too reckless in his ways sometimes, so he’s prone to getting wounds in batlle and stuff (they aren’t usually too serious, tho, since he’s fairly good at avoiding what could may be fatal blows)

tagged by: No one. As usual, Speeb sees Speeb steals~ tagging:  @joestarbrothers @starburdened @noblemanjoestar // @jojoestarzz // @fairladyjoestar @pineapple-muses @cafeonthecorner @a-bizarre-starline @hierophvnted @jojoingjoseph @altarfated @insatiablelustforpower @digimonlover09 @notsodaily-smolkakyoin @silvercharict @heartshredded @foxglxved @kindersturm @musaesidereum @trashcan-fulla-muses @wildberryoras @tinymischiefmaker // @imhereforthefish and everyone else who wants to do this!! Just take it and feel free to tag me back or not (whatever you feel more comfortable with, my guy, i’m not gonna judge you B] )

[norcumii]

Reblogging a post from the prior blog, typos and all, because while I like the meta I am not comfortable sticking this on AO3.

Originally posted on 06/08/2018

I was kindly directed towards this post about the Mind Trick (it’s not a Jedi specific ability, so I’m not going to refer to it as the Jedi Mind Trick), because it’s one of my areas of interest and I can think of at least 3 of our stories where we’ve already planned on addressing the topic.

There is…rather a lot of this post that I take issue with. I’m making my own post because it’s a big fandom, everyone gets to view things how they want, don’t harsh the squee, etc etc.

Stuff under the cut, TRIGGER WARNINGS for: mind fuckery, gaslighting, victim blaming, and mention of various mental illnesses.

To start: mind fuckery is bad. I have a lot of personal experience with gaslighting, so I get twitchy about the notion of someone messing with my head. When I say gaslighting here, I mean both the vernacular (someone lying to fuck with a target) and the technical sense (from Wikipedia: “a form of manipulation that seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or in members of a targeted group, hoping to make them question their own memory, perception, and sanity. Using persistent denial, misdirection, contradiction, and lying, it attempts to destabilize the target and delegitimize the target’s belief”). So the possibility of someone coming in and forcibly changing my perceptions and memories is Very Not Cool. I think it’s an ability that canon does use a bit too casually for my own preferences, but the same could be said about how quick everyone is to pull out blasters.

Calling it ‘evil,’ though, goes way too far. As with many things, it’s neither good nor bad, it’s about how it’s used. So what good uses are there, you might ask?

Well, just off the cuff, we’ve got:

Breaking gaslighting

assisting with hallucinations and compulsive behavior

assisting with phobias

basically all the things cognitive behavioral therapy is useful for, now with a Force-assisted oomph

treating addictions

treating trauma, including PTSD

assisting with meditation and mindfulness

aiding memorization and learning

non-violent means to defuse potentially violent situations

Now, that last one in particular is questionable, and would vary as appropriate from situation to situation. Which is a greater evil, a security guard shooting and presumably killing a bank robber that could kill lots of people, or a Jedi using the Mind Trick to get them to surrender to authorities? People will probably give you different answers, but that’s the point about how this is tricky. It also doesn’t even get into ‘who decides how ethical a thing is’ and fears of authoritarian regimes, which I’m just not in the mood to tackle right now.

Moving on, we’ve got the OP’s interpretation of sources.

I. Well. Look, EU stuff is of questionable quality and level of canon in the first place. Secondly, there’s that weird split in both fandom and creators of canon where Jedi and Sith tend to be viewed as all good or all bad, not organizations what are fucked up and in need of reform. Third, I don’t have the texts they’re quoting so I can’t give you context, meanwhile it’s first person which is often used as an authorial mechanism to give unreliable narration and so immediately makes me hesitate to accept them whole-heartedly.

With all that in mind, I have a REALLY different interpretation than OP.

Jedi Order does not disclose their power, people don’t know how the Force works. All they know is that Jedi are good. That’s it.

Totally false. Both Jabba and Watto knew about the Mind Trick when it was being used on them. These are folks from Outer Rim areas – the boonies, where Republic education would not be standardized and taught – neither of them seems to be the type to either have extensive knowledge of fairy tales about Jedi abilities, nor a background in historical trivia. When Jabba declares he’s immune to Jedi mind tricks, no one around him acts confused or surprised – there’s no question what this is. Watto – a former soldier who now owns a junk shop – also knew the handwave was meant to indicate something, like he knew exactly what it would convey. So I’m pretty sure this means it’s common knowledge.

No, wait, it’s demonstrated in the next quote as to be known:

referred to by Jedi as affect mind and alter mind, but popularly known as Jedi mind tricks

JEDI refer to this ability as Affect Mind. OTHERS call it Jedi mind tricks. That doesn’t mean Sith, that means the general populace.

there are rumors but the victims are usually dismissed (or end up with brain damage) because they didn’t understand what happened to them and because this power was usually performed on “less influential” members of the Republic

Not backed up by their own data. The quote mentions “a relatively innocent subject” but there’s nothing that extrapolates to mean it’s more often used on the poor/disadvantaged. It IS typical Jedi sanctimoniousness, but it’s not about targeting more vulnerable beings.

The brain damage comment is also inaccurate for reasons I personally find frustrating. The quote is “the power can easily cause permanent damage”.

That doesn’t mean brain damage. There are plenty of ways to fuck with someone and ruin them without brain damage. IF the Mind Trick is extreme and unlimited in power, then you can make someone: perpetually anxious/depressed; so self-effacing as to never stand up for themselves; vulnerable to specific commands; all sorts of other nasty things.

That goes back to the whole ‘personal experience with gaslighting,’ and I need to point out that any of this can be done with time, patience, and willingness to fuck with someone. You don’t need the Force to do it. The Force is basically a shortcut, but vilifying the Mind Trick right off the bat because it messes with someone’s head and that’s something we norms can’t do is erroneous.

And the Jedi don’t see to care because they see their victims as weak-minded (like they had it coming).

That’s a deliberate spin on the text. Looks like I’m quoting the whole thing because I can’t pick out just one bit:

A Jedi can use the Force to manipulate the behavior and perceptions of weak-minded beings. Essentially, this power—referred to by Jedi as affect mind and alter mind, but popularly known as Jedi mind tricks—utilizes a combination of receptive empathy, projective empathy, and hypnosis. Jedi mind tricks can stop the understanding of what’s really happening by blocking the senses, and can also obliterate memories altogether or even replace them with false ones. [Star Wars Jedi vs Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force by Ryder Windham]

As a Jedi, you should be able to sense immediately whether the guard is prone to violence or susceptible to fear. This knowledge can be used to your advantage, and may direct your use of affect mind. Also, you must determine whether it is best to divert or subdue your target. Such decisions must often be made instantly, without hesitation. What would I have done in such a situation, you ask? I really can’t say. A Jedi is not proud or boastful, and I trust you will understand I am sincere when I say that it is hard for me to imagine that the guard might have spied me in the first place, had I not wished to be seen. But if a guard had seen me, I might make him believe I was nothing but a gust of wind, or the shadow of a soaring indigenous avian. A Jedi can do such things, for it is the will of the Force. [Star Wars Jedi vs Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force by Ryder Windham]

“Weak-minded” isn’t victim bashing, it’s back to sanctimoniousness. The narrator is describing who it can affect. It’s the exact same phrasing that was used in the Original Trilogy when we first encountered it. It’s not “those who are affected by the Mind Trick are weak willed and deserve it,” it’s “the Mind Trick only works on those with weak wills, and if someone isn’t weak willed then we’re just standing there waving a hand and talking like an idiot.” Which ALSO ignores that there are entire species who are resistant/immune to the Mind Trick and mental influences, and they can’t all be ‘strong-willed’ so that means the comment is bullshit anyways. It’s shorthand for “so this works on some people, but if they’re already on alert or tend to be stubborn you’re shit out of luck when it comes to making friends and influencing people even with your space magic.”

The “will of the Force” bullshit is more of the same. It’s a sanctimonious way of saying “I got lucky on the genetic lottery,” not “It’s the will of the Force I have this power and it’s the will of the Force this weak-minded being is here therefore it’s the will of the I remove their agency and do what I want to their mind.” Yes, some assholes are going to use that as an excuse for their behavior. Assholes are always going to find some excuse for their behavior, be it religion, substances, background, or whatever else might be in reach.

On top of all this, the Mind Trick is hardly a Jedi specific tool. In Rebels the Inquisitors use it. I want to say that Palpatine used it too but I can’t find anything convenient on Wookieepedia and I’m sorry, I’m not rewatching six movies and Clone Wars just to prove a point. Meanwhile, Mother Talzin DID visibly use it to manipulate both Asajj Ventress and Savage, so Nightsisters are obviously familiar with it. There’s no reason other Force users couldn’t do the same, it’s just that Jedi are the predominant group of such in the Republic.

In sum, the Mind Trick is a dick move, that post presumes a lot of incorrect things, and it really shouldn’t be called the JEDI Mind trick.

Finally, in criticism of the Jedi Order: Qui-Gon is so casual about his use in TPM, it makes me twitch. I love the guy, massive faults and all, but it often feels like this is the first tool he reaches for, not the last one. I get that this is a time-critical mission with an entire city going into prison camps, and those peoples’ fates rest on him getting shit done fast. I get that he has to weigh the Chancellor’s request vs planetary needs vs individual autonomy vs the lives of those he’s responsible for. (It’s still most often a dick move.) Meanwhile Obi-Wan’s…THING in Attack of the Clones with the deathstick dealer – I will never understand it, and I usually headcanon it as something other than what we literally see because WHAT EVEN you do not fuck with someone’s head like that. The casual “let’s raid Cad Bane’s mind!” thing in TCW is several massive types of awful. Given these charming examples (and there are others, but those are the ones I immediately think of), it’s no wonder that the Order has a reputation.

~end

There was also a follow-up post the same day:

oft-goes-awry replied to your post:I was kindly directed towards this post about the…

   RE: Obi-Wan and the Death-Sticks Guy - Without going too deeply into the Mind Trick as a whole, I think we can break this moment into two parts, neither of which are GREAT, or good, even, but are mostly pragmatism and Jedi sanctimoniousness.  1) “You don’t want to sell me death-sticks” = “I am trying to remain undercover in this bar, without causing a fuss or getting people shot, and I have neither the time nor the patience to argue with you or risk a scene. …so please, GO AWAY.“ 2) "You want to go home and rethink you life.” = Jedi Sanctimoniousness, I know what’s good for you better than you do, and I don’t think anyone should be selling death sticks, so see, I’m HELPING you?  Because Jedi know better and I am a Jedi, peon!

Yes, thank you! Well said! And credit where (what little) credit is due: he tells the guy to rethink his life, not actually change it. If dude goes home, thinks on things, and decides nope, he’s already living the life he wants, then he can keep at it –

which still sounds awful and sanctimonious, but it’s not quite as skin-crawlingly horrible.

[whateverisbeautiful]

Reveling in Richonne

#118: The Golden Rule (8x12)

 So each time I’ve done these posts there’s been some character that has spurred me to go on a gif journey expressing how tried they made me feel. 😂

The first time doing these revelings it was Jadis in the season 7 finale. And then during the Retrospect posts it was Jessie. And for this round...y’all we gotta add Enid to the Queens of Trying It, cuz she was all the way out of line. 💯

So we see Michonne standing outside of the Hilltop building as those three ladies wait on the bench. And then she decides to go inside because it’s clear she has something she needs to address.

She walks in and tells Maggie “We should make the deal and let them go before the Saviors get here.” 

First of all; yes fierce walk! And it’s sweet to see Michonne wanting these women to be spared of dealing with the pending craziness that’s about to pop off when they face the Saviors.  

Also this is why Michonne is fit to be a leader, because she’s decisive and diligent. But Maggie feels they can’t let them go with what they have, and then Enid barges in.

And this is where our gif journey begins. 🙃 

Cuz just the physical act of Enid barging into this conversation had me like...

Like I already have an issue with the fact that Enid steps into this conversation between two women who have known each other for SIX seasons now. And then she wants to interject to tell Michonne, “Maggie’s right.”

Just two words into the scene and I already was like...

The way Michonne turns around, you can tell she might be thinking the same things as me which is “Did this little girl really just waltz in here and think she can talk to me like this?”

Michonne has the courtesy to face her (cuz lord knows I would not) and Enid goes on to say, “We take their stuff. Otherwise someone else will. Someone else will kill them. It’s a miracle they’re still alive anyways.” That’s sounding real Savior-ish if I do say so myself lol. 👀  

Y’all I low key wanted Michonne to just be like...

So Michonne silently stares at her and I’m telling you Danai is so excellent at not playing anything one-note, even in a facial expression. Because as much as Michonne might feel tried, you also see her feeling compassion on Enid. Like it’s evident that Michonne feels for her that the world has hardened her this way at such a young age.

And then Enid tries it again by stepping closer to Michonne to continue to talk to her like she doesn’t realize she’s talking to the literal queen of this apocalypse.

She says “The Saviors are on their way. We’re gonna fight and some of us will die.” And the salty side of me was like listen boo, Michonne and Rick.... see they’re the ones who live (at least before season 9) so they don’t have to be as concerned with that death stuff like the rest of you lol.

Enid asks why they should care about anyone else and I was like...

The bold disrespect to talk to Michonne that way when this is a woman who one; is grown two; is fully aware of the situation and most importantly three; who just lost Carl who she had a deeper relationship with than Enid could possibly know. 

And it’s a miracle Michonne’s even able to be around other people right now, let alone Carl’s broody unofficial “girlfriend”. 🙄 

But y’all it don’t stop there. 😑

Getting more heated, Enid says “We take their stuff and we use it. We stop pretending that things just work out. They don’t.” 

And hearing her try and talk at Michonne about a concept Michonne knows full well had me really asking...

Michonne responds saying, “Carl rescued Siddiq and now we have a doctor and we have a friend.” 

Y’all this is heartwarming because Michonne already is choosing to see the value in what Carl’s “something after” goal was. 

She always did understand Carl in a special way so it makes sense that she’s the one to vocalize this understanding of where Carl was coming from with helping Siddiq and even to find the positive in it with the fact that Siddiq is a doctor and friend. 

And it’s sweet that she refers to Siddiq as a friend when it could be very easy to resent Siddiq for being associated with the moment that killed Carl. And also because it’s choosing to not just see the fact that he’s a doctor as the only plus side to things, cuz that would only be allowing his value to come from what he can offer them. 

So in saying he’s a friend it’s meaningful cuz it shows she’s open to accepting Siddiq as a person and not just a commodity. 

It’s like how Carl told Rick in 8x09 that he helped Siddiq not cuz he was a doctor but because he wasn’t going to make it alone. 

She then wisely takes the gun away from Enid as an act of letting this girl know that the way she wants to fight away her problems is not the way. (And I think she also takes the gun cuz Enid has no business being this hostile right now.) 

And then Michonne says very matter of factly; “Carl was brave.”  Y’all, the fact that they have to speak about Carl in past tense still hurts. 😢

You can tell in her delivery of this line that it’s painful for her to have to address Carl as no longer being with them, but she’s willing to go to that emotional place and defend Carl despite the pain. 

And I love that she’s choosing to see the bravery in Carl’s commitment to humanity rather than having a more jaded take on his actions.  

And then the pinnacle of the triflingness is when Enid steps to Michonne and says, “And now he’s dead,”

Which...

Before I go off 😁 lemme just say;…I get it. She’s hurting and she’s sad because she lost her close friend. But I still have to tell her...

Cuz the disrespect is just too much. Like Enid needs to realize that she is talking to the woman who knew Carl when he was this little boy who just lost his mom. She is talking to the woman who held Carl in her arms after he was attacked by that Claimer. 

She is talking to the woman who gave Carl a huge chunk of his happiest memories. And most importantly she is talking to the woman who became Carl’s mom and best friend. 

So she needs to come correct with it. Cuz to throw that in Michonne’s face like Carl’s life was wasted is unacceptable, especially so soon after Michonne just buried him.

When watching this the first time, I was very curious what Michonne’s response would be. Cuz my personal response was very much like...

And I know Michonne is extremely good at having a “be the bigger person” response to when people try her. Like she’s the embodiment of...

And I love that about her. But the second I heard Enid say that line, I was literally hoping that Michonne would refuse to play nice with this one right here cuz Enid needed to know...

And I love that, while she kept that signature Michonne composure her response was perfection because she also was more than willing to let this little girl know she isn’t playing games.

Cuz she looks at Enid with a calm intensity and simply says “Step back.”

Y’all. This was legit me...

When I tell you I was soooooo here for it. For real, it was everything. 🙌🏾

“Step back” is a way of life now lol. 😋 Enid was putting disrespect on Carl and Michonne, and I love that Michonne let her know she will have none of that. 

Michonne’s basically telling Enid...

With a dash of...

I was like; that’s right Enid, this is a little different than some of the adults you’re used to giving sass to, cuz now you’re dealing with the queen. 👸🏾

And you can see the moment Enid realized she’s dealing with a queen too...

And when Michonne calmly but firmly tells her to step back, Enid already knows what time it is and she knows not to try it any further cuz...

That’s the kind of influential presence Michonne has, when she says something like that you already know you gotta listen. 

Like she really does have this perfect balance of peaceful but powerful, and her words command attention. #queen 

And sure enough Enid steps all the way back and out of the room. To which I was like... 

Similar to Ron, and Heath, and that chick at Hilltop, Enid joined the list of people who have learned the golden rule that when it comes to trying Rick or Carl in front of Michonne...

But what breaks my heart is Michonne’s expression as Enid walks away. Cuz you can tell that as composed as she’s been it’s hard for her to not want to just break down since losing Carl is still so fresh. 

And she’s been being strong for other people but, during this subtle moment, it becomes visible how much pain Michonne’s in over this loss.

And then Maggie dabbles in trying it when she reiterates “Things don’t just work out” And I was really like...

Cuz do 👏🏽you 👏🏽think 👏🏽that 👏🏽Michonne 👏🏽doesn’t 👏🏽know 👏 that? Maggie doesn’t have to tell Michonne things don’t work out cuz Michonne knows this just as much as any.

Michonne then says, in a tone that suggests she can think of a long list of times that’s been the case for herself (like losing two sons), “No. No they don’t.”

This episode had me starting to genuinely ask; do these characters know Michonne? Cuz if they did they would know that she’s had a lot of experiences with things not working out. 

Sis has lost a lot. But it’s because she has this winner’s attitude of finding the way they can thrive and rise above it that she’s been able to push through.

It’s times like these where I really wish characters interacted more. Cuz while I know Maggie and Michonne have a friendship, some of these relationships have been put so far on the back burner that it causes us to not even really know what the dynamics between these long standing characters even are and how much they know.

And it’s interesting cuz Maggie’s experienced an overwhelming amount of brutal losses too which if why I hoped the scenes with them in this episode would be focused on them really connecting through that. 

So then with emotion Michonne says, “But I think he knew that.  He didn’t give up on who Rick wanted him to be.”

It just hit me how significant this line is cuz, I feel like it’s a callback to the season 4 finale when Carl was able to open up to Michonne after that traumatic night with the Claimers. 

He told her how he’s not who his dad thinks he is and at that time he was really feeling like just another monster. But with the help of Michonne and Rick and Judith he was able to get better and not give up on who he knew deep down his dad wanted him to be. 

There’s something comforting about thinking that personal heart to heart Carl and Michonne had four season ago could be the moment that’s resonating with Michonne now and motivating her to not give up. 

And then I love that she also says “And we can’t on who he wanted us to be. We can’t.” 

It’s deep for a lot of reasons, but the most important being that this illustrates how she really took Carl’s final words to heart and how she’s determined to fight to not only create the world he wanted but also be the person he specifically wanted them to be, which is people who aren’t blinded by the fight and instead focused on caring and a real future.

And then Maggie seems to take those words to heart and I feel like for the first time we see Maggie have some deeper acknowledgement that they lost Carl, someone she’s known since he was a little kid. 

As Michonne walks out, we see Judith and the baby and I feel like again it’s this reminder of why fighting for peace is actually worth it. Because at the end of the day they’re not only trying to create a world just for themselves but for these kids who are most important cuz they will be the future now.

Maggie walks out and lets those ladies know she’s agreed to the deal. Georgie gives them food and explains her whole key to the future and honestly I just have to reiterate, all these characters have to put some respek on Michonne’s name. That’s the moral of the story because her instinct will not lead you astray lol. 👌 🏽

And this was me looking at this show when they pretty much make it seem as though it was Maggie who led them to this advancement and not Michonne...

So then Michonne again is the bigger person by being willing to still speak to Enid in the scene where they’re on watch at the wall. 

Enid shares about killing Natania and how she killed her and is alive but Carl saved someone is dead and I was like; girl a lot of that just has to do with faulty lopsided storytelling cuz Enid realistically shouldn’t have survived that Oceanside storyline and Carl absolutely should’ve survived that Siddiq storyline. 😑

Also, the fact that, as this scene starts, it seems like Enid wants to do round two of talking back to Michonne like she still ain’t learn her lesson...It had me wanting to tell Enid my own version of “step back” which is...

Enid asks if they’re supposed to just stop fighting, which makes me think that maybe that’s supposed to imply that in Carl’s letter to her he also expressed how he wants them all to stop fighting.

(Side note: I always felt like it was a missed opportunity to never get a scene or moment where Rick and Michonne got to acknowledge Carl’s relationship with Enid in the past few seasons. I feel like that would’ve been a cute moment between Rick, Michonne, and Carl)

Michonne says “I don’t think Carl wanted us to stop fighting for our future.  But I think he was telling us that to get to our future it’s going to take more than just fighting.” 

Again, Michonne’s out here perfectly summing up Carl’s message for others. The best of the best friends y’all. 💯

And, as she says this line, she gives Enid’s gun back to her in a way of symbolizing that the fight doesn’t have to be completely unnecessary.

So then, Enid is still not letting it sink in cuz she says  “The saviors are coming right now” and I was like girl... 

Cuz Michonne knows that. Fr, who does Enid think she’s talking to lol.  Michonne calmly responds saying, “And we’re gonna fight them. But there’s gotta be something after” and I appreciate her recalling Carl’s words and how she’s let that really resonate with her. 

Even tho Enid tried me like no other, I’m glad that Michonne is able to be a peaceful and wise presence in her life cuz Enid could use that in this time of grieving. Michonne’s presence is good for people’s health lol. #facts

And these Michonne-centric moments relate to Richonne because seeing where Michonne’s at gives insight to the way she’s working to go through this grieving process, and that’s what will play the biggest part in Rick being able to work through the grieving process later. 

With the devastating loss of Carl, it could be really easy for time to just stand still for Michonne or for her to just shut everyone out  but instead she’s staying present and honoring her best friend by focusing on and working towards the “something after” he wants for them.

It’s such a testament to the resilience and admirable character she has. And I appreciate that there’s a lot of things that are golden about Michonne; including the golden rule. 👌💯😋

gif sources: carlschandler michonnegrimes danaisokoye-archive coolpartytimefan grimescarl

[inkjackets]

A Gay in Straight Clothing

Here is my fanfic created for the @miraculouspridezine​!

It’s about Alix (with her newfound assurance in her being) and Chloé (who is struggling to come to terms with her sexuality) bonding over their similar backgrounds and ultimately forming an unlikely friendship.

I hope you enjoy :)

AO3

Alix slammed off her alarm and groaned before rolling out of bed. She grabbed a pair of undies and shorts from her drawer and hopped around the room as she pulled them on while looking for a matching shirt. She swiped one from the floor, gave it a sniff, and chucked it on over her head, running from the room as she did so.

She entered the hallway, still pulling down her shirt, grabbed her backpack and had just finished slipping on her rollerblades when her father walked in from the kitchen, coffee in hand.

“Good morning, darling,” he said, handing her an apple.

“Morning, Dad,” Alix replied, grabbing her helmet from the hook by the door before taking the apple and biting into it.

"You off to school? You're not going to be late, are you?" he checked his watch anxiously.

Alix chewed and shook her head, "Don't worry Dad, I've got plenty of time."

"Well, if you're sure," he said. Alix grinned and opened the door. "Before you rush off," her father said quickly, "don't forget we are having dinner at the Bourgeois' tonight."

Alix groaned and smacked her head against the door; she had completely forgotten.

"But, I've promised Kim I'd do this challenge with him tonight," she lied, "we're going to race-"

“-No you don’t,” her father interrupted, shaking his head, “you’re not getting out of this one.”

“But Dad!" she moaned, “Why can't Jalil go? You know he’s so much better at these sorts of things than me.”

"He's busy working at the museum tonight. Besides, Chloé's your age. It would be good for you to hang out with a nice young woman like her, maybe you could learn some things from her." Her father eyed her clothes.

Alix stared daggers at her father.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Her father sighed, "It would mean so much to me if you could wear something nice. You used to look so pretty in those dresses."

“Dad, for the last time, I don’t care how I look, I don’t care for looks, and I’m never going to wear any of those dresses again.”

Her father didn’t respond but stirred his already lukewarm coffee with his teaspoon. Alix frowned, there was clearly something else on his mind.

“What is it?” she said bluntly.

He hesitated, "Your choice of fashion, or rather lack of it… it hasn't got anything to do with you being asexual…does it?"

Alix felt like her gut plunged into ice.

"What?" she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“I’m just saying, trying to look more unappealing…”

"Of course not!" Alix cried with outrage, "It's just who I am!" She looked at her father in disbelief. He was a good father on the whole, if a little self-absorbed in his work. But he had never come out with anything like that before. She visibly deflated, "How could you ask me that?" she failed to hide the hurt.

"I'm sorry," said her father, "It was just a hypothesis."

Alix held his gaze for a second before turning away.

“I need to go to school,” she said, her voice cold.

“Just… think about what you’ll wear tonight, will you?”

"See you later, Dad."

She slammed the door behind her and skated out onto the street, the loose straps from her helmet flapping in the wind.

  Alix strode listlessly into the classroom, she had skated faster than normal to let out her irritation. Chloé and Sabrina were already in the classroom giggling annoyingly which did nothing for her mood. They ignored her though and she, them.

Alix sank into her seat and stared out the window. She didn’t sigh, she wasn’t that self-pitying, but she drummed her fingers on the desk. She was bored and didn’t want to think.

She let her attention wander until it landed on what the gossiping girls in front of her were talking about.

“She’s so strong!” exclaimed Sabrina.

Curiosity got the better of her and Alix peered over to glance at the tablet where Chloé and Sabrina were looking at photos of Ladybug, fresh from last night's akuma attack.

The photo in question was of Ladybug stopping an onslaught of flying bricks from an akumatised construction worker with just her spinning yo-yo. The angle of the photo looking up at Ladybug, with her expression of true grit, and brick dust whipping past her face to top it off, did indeed make her look like a powerful figure. Alya had truly outdone herself with that shot.

"Mmmhmm," Chloé nodded dreamily, "Imagine her sweeping you away and flying over the city in those arms of hers. That would be magnificent." Sabrina looked at her strangely. "What?" said Chloé.

Sabrina swiped the screen to show a picture of Chat Noir fighting the akumatised victim before speaking carefully, “I thought you liked Adrien’s arms.”

Chloé drew herself upright and looked at Sabrina but her friend didn’t meet her gaze. “I do,” she said simply.

Sabrina didn’t say anything, “Okay.”

"What's my admiration for Ladybug got to do with my love for Adrien?" Chloé's voice grew shrill.

“Nothing, nothing,” Sabrina said, her tone just a notch too high.

"What, can't I admire more than one person?"

"Yes, of course you can," she said, but her tone of voice implied something else.

Chloé frowned, as did Alix.

The awkwardness didn’t last long though as Adrien chose that moment to stumble into the classroom. Alix raised an eyebrow, he looked exhausted.

Chloé didn't seem to notice though and leapt on him with a standard ‘Good Morning, Adrihoney!' She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. Alix couldn't help but think her actions were a little more exaggerated than normal, as if she was trying to prove a point…

 "Hey, Alix, what you thinking?" Kim slid into the seat next to her and pulled her out her mind. Alix smiled, grateful for the distraction.

“Nothing.”

“Good, cause I’ve got a challenge for you.”

That caught her attention.

Kim pulled a couple bottles of coke and a few sticks of mentos.

"I don't think I like where this is going," Alix grinned.

Kim smirked, "You gotta put about five mentos in your mouth and try drink a bottle of coke. Whoever finishes the coke first, wins."

"That is so stupid!" Alix laughed, "You're on, what's the forfeit?"

Kim grinned slyly, "If I win, you have to tell me who in this class you have a crush on!"

Alix's smiled immediately dropped, as did her stomach. She stared at him, "What are you? Some girl at a slumber party? What sort of bet is that? Besides, you know I'm-"

"-asexual, yeah I know," began Kim, "but there must still be someone you like more than just a friend, huh?" Kim nudged her and winked, "Besides, if I lose I have to tell you the same."

Alix glared at him deadpan. "If you're not going to think of  a proper bet, then forget it."

Kim pulled back, “Jeez, whats up with you?”

Alix turned away from him and hunched over her desk. She stared out the window.

She felt a tiredness wash over her. Not sleepy tired, but she was sick of people making comments like that. She had thought that coming out would have stopped them, that people would start to understand. She had been wrong. And it made her exhausted.

Despite his faults though, Kim was still a great friend. However, just then, she was secretly glad when Mylene chose that moment to enter the classroom and Kim had to move back to his proper seat.

  Chloé was silent as her chauffeur drove her home from school. Sabrina's comment had been running through her head all day. It had left her feeling vexed.

Why couldn't she love more than one type of person?

 Unless Chloé had simply misread the situation? She thought back… No, Sabrina’s voice had definitely had a judgemental tone to it.

"Ugh," Chloé crossed her arms and glared out the window. People were so annoying. Why couldn't she just love whoever she wanted to without question? Why was that too much to ask?

When the car pulled up to the hotel, Chloé went straight to her room, dumped her bag down, and collapsed on her bed.

She gazed at the various posters around her room. The majority were taken up by Adrien and, more recently, Ladybug. However, there were various other celebrities from all walks of life plastered around her room. The only thing they all had in common was that they were successful and virtuous people.

That was her type, Chloé thought sourly, not some superficial thing about height or hair colour, but what they wanted to do in their life. Good people. Well… successful people… who, okay, they had to look at least a little bit attractive…

“Mademoiselle Chloé?”

The butler interrupted her thoughts.

“What is it?” She didn’t bother moving.

“Your father has asked me to remind you that the Kubdels are coming over for dinner and that you are to get ready.”

Chloé groaned and rolled over, “Why do we have to mix with people like them?”

“Your father has said they are highly influential people who are promising to back him in the next election if they-“

Chloé sat up and waved her hadn't impatiently, “It was a rhetorical question! Ugh, How did you not get that?”

"My apologies." Chloé huffed. "If I may," the butler continued, "your father has bought you a new dress that he thinks you'd like for tonight's dinner. Shall I bring it in?"

Chloé rolled her eyes, “Whatever.”

The butler bowed and walked out the room. Chloé fell back onto the bed, limbs sprawled, and gazed up at a poster of Ladybug shooting across the Parisian sky. She let a cold apathy take over her body.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Alix strode towards the door.

“Alix! Didn’t you see the clothes I laid out for you?”

Alix’s hand twitched. “Saw them, didn’t care for them.”

Mr Kubdel put his head in his hands, "I tried this time, Alix. Truly, I did. They were nice jeans and a simple white and blue top, I'm not asking for much."

Alix opened the door and stepped outside. She didn’t look at him.

"Those jeans were high waisted, do you know how uncomfortable that is? And it was a flowery white and blue top…with lacy bits Dad, lacy bits!” Alix shuddered, "I've told you, I'm not wearing those sort of clothes anymore, and never will."

“But darling, why not?”

"It's not me, Dad." She turned her head so her vivid blue eyes met her father's grey ones. "Why don't you get that?"

Alix held his gaze, willed him to give her a proper answer, to not flake out and avoid the question.

Mr Kubdel sighed, “Let’s just go, we don’t want to be late.”

Alix hid her disappointment.

  "They're late," said Chloé, crossing her arms.

“It’s only been five minutes, dear,” said Mr Bourgeois

"Ugh." Chloé rolled her eyes.

She tapped her fingers impatiently for another minute before the doorbell rang. The butler opened the door and led the Kubdels into Le Grand Paris hotel lobby.

Mr Bourgeois walked forward to welcome them in.

“Good evening Mr Kubdel, and uh…was it Alice?”

“Alix,” she stuck her hands in her pockets and pouted. She ignored the glare from her father.

“Ah yes, Alix, do come in.”

Chloé watched Alix with displeasure. Alix met her eyes and nodded in greeting. Chloé gave her head a brief nod in return. It was a mere exchange of acknowledgement of the other's existence, nothing more. They both followed her father into the dining room.

  It was taking everything in Chloé’s power to not slump in her chair. She hadn’t been this bored in a while. Their father’s talk of elections and new museum exhibitions went right over her head, and the presence of Alix did nothing to improve her mood. She eyed the pink haired girl with distaste.

In Chloé's opinion, Alix was holding her fork wrong, cut chunks too big, and chewed the cake in a terribly ungainly manner.

Chloé pierced her cake with a fork and daintily popped the morsel into her mouth.

She felt her manners had to be twice as good in order to make up for the atrocities of the girl sitting across from her. Chloé sighed. Dinner had been a tedious affair.

As soon as Chloé finished her last mouthful of cake - with such hyperbole etiquette that she looked pained - her father turned to the girls.

“Why don’t you two go upstairs now. Chloé dear, you can show Alix your room.”

Alix frowned, but her father gave her a warning glance.

Chloé pushed her chair back with a huff and left the room with Alix tailing reluctantly behind her.

  Chloé strode into her bedroom and flicked her hair haughtily, “This is my room,” she announced, “I don’t expect you to stay, you may go do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Alix stepped in and gazed at the high ceilings and four-poster bed.

Chloé sat down on a chair, whipped out a nail file, and started manicuring her nails. To her annoyance, Alix didn't leave. Instead, the pink haired girl started wandering around the spacious room and peered at all her photos, posters and belongings.

Chloé so dearly wanted to tell her to get out, but for the sake of her father, she remained civil and contented herself with eyeing Alix over her nail file.

Alix sauntered from photo to photo. Chloé couldn’t read anything from her expression and it was infuriating. Alix bent over to look closely at a set of photos on a shelf. Chloé narrowed her eyes. Alix then reached to the back and picked one up to bring it closer to her face.

"Hey!" Chloé jumped up, "Don't touch my stuff!"

“Sorry, just wanted to look.”

Chloé strode over and snatched the photo off Alix, “Yeah? Well, don’t.”

Chloé made to put it back but froze when she realised exactly which photo it was.

It was of her, Adrien, and their respective fathers. They were waving out to a crowd at the end of Paris fashion week two years previous.

Chloé had always hated the photo, though she had never been able to quite put her finger on why.

“You don’t look very happy,” said Alix.

Chloé whipped her head up. “What?”

“In the photo,” Alix clarified, “neither you or Adrien look very happy.”

Chloé glanced back at the picture in her hand. Her and Adrien both had big smiles plastered on their faces as they waved enthusiastically out to the crowd.

Chloé raised her eyebrow at Alix.

"It's your eyes that give it away," said Alix, "You both look exhausted and like you'd rather be anywhere else than there. "

Chloé felt ice slide down her spine as what Alix said clicked into place.

She thought back to that day, remembering it clearly. Mere moments before, backstage, her and her father had got into a massive row. She had been socialising with all these adults for the past week. She had felt sick from all the fancy food, and tired of feeling out of place, what with being so young. Sabrina hadn't been allowed to come, and her only other friend had been modelling all week. She had been thirteen years old, she was shattered, and the absolute last thing she had wanted to do was go out on that stage, put on a happy face and wave at the crowds.

Chloé’s eyes roamed over the photo to Adrien’s picture. She would never forget the expression he had worn just before going on stage. He had been just as shattered as her, but evidently hadn’t even attempted to put up a fight. What with his father’s steely grasp on his shoulder, there was no hope. He had been turned into a glorified zombie.

The memory made Chloé seethe.

“All this socialising and keeping up appearances,” Alix continued, bringing Chloé back to the present, “Don’t you get tired of it all?”

Chloé didn't reply. Instead, she gently placed the photo back in its place. She felt a wave of insecurity wash through her but turned it into anger.

“You don’t know me!” she snapped.

Chloé instantly berated herself. Why had she yelled like that? It wasn't Alix's fault. It was no one's fault. Chloé sunk back into a cold apathy. It was the only way she could protect herself from her own anger and self-hatred.

Alix put her hands back in her pockets.

"When it comes to other people and their emotions," she said, "I'm usually no good." Chloé felt Alix's eyes on her but didn't look up. "However recently there's one thing I've discovered I am good at, and that's knowing when people are discontent."

“Why are you telling me this?” said Chloé.

Alix hesitated, “Because you’re unhappy and hiding something about yourself.”

Chloé drew her cold eyes up to meet Alix's warm ones. However, when Chloé didn't say anything and just glared indifferently, the light faded from Alix's blue eyes.

"Fine, don't talk." Alix strode away. Chloé could tell she was annoyed, but she didn't care. She watched as Alix strode towards her wardrobe. Instead of stopping outside though, or looking at other posters, Alix pulled the door wide and went right into Chloé's walk-in wardrobe.

For the second time that evening Chloé cried,

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

Chloé ran over and tried to grab Alix who was spinning with her arms wide.

"Wow, this place is huge!" Alix exclaimed, evading Chloé's grasp.

“Get out of my wardrobe!”

"Why the hell does one person need so many clothes?"

Chloé managed to grab her arm and drag her out.

“Calm down,” Alix grumbled as she rubbed the spot Chloé had grabbed her, “I just wanted to see if you had as many designer dresses as you claimed to have.” She continued to rub her arm, “Not that I’d know the difference,” she added as an afterthought.

“Hmph,” Chloé flicked her ponytail, “One has to have many designer dresses to maintain a good reputation and appear proper.”

Alix raised her eyebrows. "How many do you have?"

The fight trickled out of Chloé, "Just stay away from my stuff," she said in a tired voice before walking away.

Alix was silent a moment. "To maintain a good reputation and appear proper." She repeated Chloé's words slowly. Chloé ignored her. "I'd much rather be myself and wear whatever's comfy," said Alix.

“Clearly,” said Chloé with distaste.

"Oh, come on, Chloé!" Alix suddenly exclaimed, throwing her arms wide in exasperation. "You can't tell me you don't find it exhausting! I know what it's like too, all this socialising and pretending. I used to put on fancy dresses, make myself look pretty and go to these posh parties where people would say things like, ‘Oh I love your dress where did you get it?' and ‘That suits you so well you should dress like that more often!' but I'd be like, ‘Are you even seeing me for who I am? ‘Cause this isn't me at all!' But obviously I couldn't say that, so I'd smile and pretend this version of myself they saw was the real deal, but it wasn't, and I hated it."

Chloé turned to look at Alix and was met with blazing eyes.

"I wasn't happy," Alix continued softly, "So one day I decided to stop. I made a promise to myself that I would only be myself, I wouldn't owe anything to anyone." Chloé didn't know why she was listening to this, but something was stirring inside her. "So I stopped wearing dresses," said Alix, "I started rollerblading everywhere like I'd always wanted to," she paused and smiled, "I even dyed my hair pink," her smile dropped, "I stopped trying to be what other people wanted me to be."

Chloé drew her arms up and hunch in on herself as Alix's words flowed over her. She didn't know what she was feeling. Alix's words had snagged her soul and it scared her.

"Not everyone has that luxury," Chloé said bitterly before she could stop herself. "I…" Chloé hesitantly continued, "I feel like if I suddenly changed to be myself, nobody would take me seriously." She suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. She rubbed her arm anxiously.

Chloé didn't know why she was telling Alix this, she didn't want to engage with Alix's words, but she had to admit it felt a little nice.

Alix's eyes were wide. "Well," she looked at Chloé and spoke carefully; she was highly aware of the thin thread she was walking on, "Honestly, I think coming out as aro ace was the real bullet in the head for me. Sorta proved not just to myself, but to everyone around me that this whole change wasn't just a phase, it was me fully embracing who I am," Alix paused, "Though my father still hopes it's just a phase," she muttered, "But anyway, if you truly wanted to just be yourself, it is possible. Hard, no doubt about that, but possible."

Chloé chewed her tongue as she looked at Alix’s warm and understanding smile.

Chloé frowned. "I have my father's campaign to think about," she said, "I've got a reputation to uphold." She drew herself upright. "You wouldn't understand," her voice took on a conceited tone, "you have no idea what it's like having paparazzi outside twenty-four seven, or security guards treading your every step," she became more domineering, "or your picture plastered though tabloids magazines! You don't understand anything, being myself isn't that simple!"

Chloé winced. she didn't need to be so condescending.

"Well, okay…" began Alix slowly, "but something clearly isn't right. What if you talked through this with a friend or something…?"

Chloé sneered and hated herself for it, "What, are you saying something's wrong with me?" She couldn't stop herself. "You think you could be this friend, do you? Hah!"

Alix drew her eyebrows together in anger, "No, nothing's wrong! It was just a suggestion! Jeez, I was trying to be nice! There's no need to talk to me like that." She threw her hands up in the air. "Who was I kidding? Of course I wouldn't be able to help you." Chloé flinched as she saw the hurt flash through Alix's eyes. "Excuse me for trying to be understanding." Alix stormed off towards the door.

Chloé chided herself. Why did she have to come out with something so arrogant and self-righteous? Ugh, nothing was right! Why was she feeling so awful?

“Alix, wait!”

Alix’s hand hovered above the doorknob. Chloé clenched her fists and swallowed her pride.

"I… I didn't mean to say that." She drew in on herself. "I don't know why I acted like that." She paused, "No, I do know why I acted like that.” Chloé dug her nails into her arms as she felt a burning behind her eyes. “You’re right,” she said, smiling sadly, “I’m not happy. I… I don’t know how to be happy.” She felt tears well in her eyes. “My life is a lie,” her voice cracked, “I’m sorry.”

Alix turned to face her and blinked. “You’re what now?”

“I'm," Chloé swallowed, “I’m sorry.” The words slid out a little easier this time.

Alix’s eyes widened and, to Chloé’s surprise, she let out a little giggle, “Chloé Bourgeois, apologising. That’s gotta be a first.”

Chloé wanted to be annoyed, but for the first time, she ignored that little voice inside of her. Seeing the light and laughter in Alix's eyes couldn't help but put her at ease.

Neither of them spoke.

"I have thirty-two," said Chloé eventually.

“What?”

“Designer dresses. I have thirty-two.”

Alix spluttered. “Thirty-two?” she exclaimed, “Are you being serious?”

"You can go count them if you don't believe me," Chloé said with a small smile and gestured towards her wardrobe."

“Haha! Nah I believe you.”

There was another silence.

"You want to know something?" said Chloé. Alix cocked her head. Chloé rubbed her arms. "I don't like fashion labels."

"Oh," said Alix, a little confused.

"Well, I guess it's more like indifference," Chloé said, "You see I like fashion, but I don't like the superiority that comes with labels. I want to wear whatever I want, without judgement or scorn. But instead I'm told exactly what I can or can't wear. And I know it sounds pretentious, me complaining about all these designer clothes... except I like other styles too, you know what I mean? I like unconventional fashion labels, new and up and coming ones, ones that nobody's heard of, hell I even like clothes from thrift stores! As long as it fits me right and looks good, I'll like it." Chloé twisted her dress in her hands. "But instead I'm forced into this one style," her voice grew soft, "and I've been wearing it so long I feel like it's too late to change."

Alix looked at Chloé with concern. She stepped forward, almost as if she was thinking of comforting Chloé, but pulled back.

“If you must know,” said Chloé, wrapping her arms around herself once more, “I’m scared of these feelings.” She bit her lip. “I’m terrified about not being seen as normal,” she whispered, “I just…I don’t see why I can’t admire more than one style.” Those words felt heavier than Chloé had meant them to be, like she’d dug them up from somewhere far deep inside her.

Chloé looked up and received a slight shock at how intensely Alix was staring back. Chloé shifted uneasily. She didn’t exactly know why she’d decided to lay herself bare, and in front of Alix of all people, but she didn’t regret it, even if Alix’s eyes seemed to look right past her words and into her soul.

Alix shifted her gaze to the posters and photos dotted around Chloé’s room, all filled with stunning people from all walks of life. Chloé suddenly felt acutely aware of all the pictures in her room. She followed Alix’s gaze until they landed on the two pictures that had pride of place above her vanity table. Adrien Agreste and Ladybug.

Alix chuckled softly. "I knew that you were in love with Adrien, that's always been obvious. But I admit I thought your obsession with Ladybug was merely just that, an obsession," she paused, "but it's more than that, isn't it?"

Chloé's skin prickled as Alix's deep blue eyes pierced her's again, clear with understanding.

"Bisexual?"

 Alix questioned.

Chloé dug her nails into her arms. She shook her head. "Pansexual," she said in a terrified whisper.

Alix glanced around the room once more at all the beautiful people, "Makes sense." Alix gave her that soft understanding smile.

Chloé gently lowered her arms.

“You…You don’t think I’m strange?” said Chloé.

Alix cocked her head to the side and smiled, “Strange?” she shook her head, “Of course not.”

Chloé released a tension she didn't even know she'd been holding and sank with relief. She let the peace envelop them before piercing it with one simple word.

"Thank-you," she whispered.

Alix grinned, "A sorry and a thank-you both in the same day? I think I'm in the wrong timeline."

Chloé laughed before they lapsed into a comfortable little silence.

Chloé saw something then, a small glimmer of an opportunity that she could reach out and grab… if she was willing.

Chloé brushed her hair behind her ears, sucked in her breath, and took the plunge.

"Hey, Alix?"

“Hmm?”

“W- Would you like to be friends?” she asked hesitantly.

Alix's eyes lit up with a happy surprise.

"Now you're talking my style," she grinned.

[terresdebrume]

Responses to my ‘I hate the idea of teacher!Harry’ post

[Link to the post for reference]

I also kind of want to make it clear that just ‘cause I personally hate the idea it doesn’t mean I think people shouldn’t be allowed to like or use it—I’m just gonna make sure to play in a different sandbox for the sake of everyone involved xD

That being said, since the post was kind of bare-boned and written in the heat of the moment, more explanations/reasoning is fair game. Ahem. Onto the debate, such as it is.

@ginmo said: I get what you're saying and I'm 50/50 on the Harry as a teacher thing, like I really don't care what profession JKR would have given him because I see value is each, but the boundaries and culture you're attributing to the profession in the real world is not necessarily there in the magical world (and I'm a teacher -high school- too lol I didn't expect to see a lot of teachers on here!)

Haha, hi fellow teacher! (I have different conditions tbh, I teach in a French Institute which is more like a...private language school? Sort of? Vastly different from teachers in the national education network of France, at any rate)

Honestly, I disagree with the idea that Hogwarts would be freed from the limitations that exist in muggle schools.

After all, Albus Dumbledore was a very influential person, and even he couldn’t prevent his own firing (courtesy of Lucius Malfoy and some kind of parents council or whatever else in COS) Dolores Umbridge’s presence in OotP, or Lupin’s firing due to prejudice in PoA. True, those were in the specific context of mounting fascism in the magical world and Dumbles was a very flawed person, but still.

Plus, while we don’t know for sure whether Hogwarts is a private or a public school (or in any case, the knowledge escapes me) it is, as far as the books state, the only wizarding school in GB, so you bet your butt people are going to keep an eye on it and demands are going to be made.

If Dumbledore couldn’t make the school into its own little kingdom, I highly doubt later headmasters/headmistresses will manage it, even if I have every confidence that some of them will work their hardest to make things better.

@rahakasha said: I always thought that if he did any teaching it would be tutoring - weekends/summer for Hogwarts students or perhaps home tutoring for non-Hogwarts students. He'd be able to set his own schedule, location, terms (if contracts are needed), and so on.

(Sorry, the @ feature didn’t want to work for your url :/)

It is a possibility indeed, and there would be more leeway there (plus of course creative license since there’s no canon about that option). However, even when privately arranging with a family, you are not free to do whatever you want—they are your clients, you’re their employees, and you’re forced to compose with them and their demands, whether you think they’re reasonable or not.

(For ex : If a parent says they want their kids to have four hours of class every Saturday morning with you, it’s delicate to refuse, first because they might not accept or appreciate your attempt to influence their kid’s education, and second because you might lose a client and you sort of do need them for a living)

Plus, from what I’ve seen and experienced, people who ‘buy’ lessons for their kids tend to treat said lessons as a product. They often want visible results as soon as possible because, well, they don’t always want/have the ability to pay for too many hours in the long run. This is actually very frustrating for teachers, especially when the expectations for results fail to take into account the realities of teaching and learning.

(To be fair, most of it is born of a lack of education to the topic, but it doesn’t make things any more agreeable for the teachers involved).

@crocordile​ said: Hogwarts is so different from a regular school, I really feel like Harry would have much more ground to make a positive impact on children who need support - because they're being bullied or anything of the sort....  with minerva as principal moreover it'd be a very different things, they could work together and do so much...                     In this job, he'd BE the authority, only minerva above him, Btw I don't mean to come onto your post and annoy you sagvdbhfrgnjsd just exposing why some of us don't find it hateful even if we are teachers ourselves dealing with the terrible aspects of our profession :S I'm positive most people with that headcanon see harry as a solution to the problems you bring up, rather than being caught in them, etc

(Frankly, I disagree on the idea that it’s that different from a regular school. The topics and building are different but it didn’t seem to me like the pedagogy or lessons structures were that different from things I’ve seen or experienced as a student or during my nine months of working in Scotland. Hogwarts, to me, seems fairly modeled on the UK’s schol system, but I might be wrong.)

I mean, yes, he’d have power to turn his classroom into a better environment, but changing the school would be dependent on his colleagues’ and superiors’ active cooperation, which is never a guarantee. Plus, even with his hierarchy’s full support, McGonagall (or any other headmistress/headmaster) isn’t above the law or the various institutions meant to control Hogwarts, and war prestige only gets you so far (see my response above about external influences on the school life during Harry’s years).

Like, yes, Harry could make a positive impact as a teacher, but it would still be delayed no matter how you cut it, which I really, really can’t picture him being okay with.

Also, you mention bullying but what about the abuse that happens at home? What about students who are too poor to afford proper living conditions outside Hogwarts? As a teacher, he’d do what he can but I doubt he’d be able to offer much in terms of practical, immediate solution (let alone solutions he could have control on).

Of course, the job of Auror comes with its own trappings in that respect because he wouldn’t be on the field 24/7 and there would probably be a TON of paperwork, but at least with every job finished he’d know for a fact that he had a real, measurable influence on making the world a better place, which I honestly think he needs to see.

(Hogwarts, while an important place, isn’t the world, after all, and I’m not sure Harry would feel satisfied to limit himself to such a small microcosm without even being able to address the causes of his students’ distress)

That being said, don’t worry, I wasn’t annoyed by your intervention :D

Like I said at the start of the post, while I have a visceral dislike for the idea I don’t mind that not everyone shares my opinion I just...avoid entering the debate with staunch proponents of it? Mostly because I know I’d get irritated and snippy and that wouldn’t be interesting for anyone involved, honestly.

Debates along less wide chasms I can manage, though, I hope xD

[jessejackreyes]

Twilight of an Empire chapter one

I have decided to post this while I have a few minutes available. I am working on fosterwatch and DoPaF, but I got stuck on this and needed to finish it before I could get back to other things. This is much rougher than the prologue, but I wanted to mix up writing styles and techniques. It's a bit more practice than anything but it's fun and I like it. Chapter One “Today is a day of remembrance, but also of celebration,” The words of Katya Volskaya reach across the world as the keynote speech from the UN floor. “Five years ago a reign of terror came to an end and we were able to reclaim what we fought for from those who would deny us our freedom,” “I and many others fought with all We had against the strike commander’s reign and even though our victory did not come entirely on our terms, we celebrate our freedom. But, we also do not forget our servitude. We do not forget what was taken from us,” The crowd is energized by her words, her audience in the hundreds of millions as the signal that is being broadcast cut out suddenly. Even the monitors in the room where she is giving her speech go dark. A purple skull appears across every screen that had tuned in, the calling card of the hacker group known only as Sombra. Moments later the screen displays an image that most people over twenty or so in the crowd instantly recognize. A man in his thirties wearing a dark cowboy getup. Boots, spurs, hat, chaps, everything you would expect from a movie cowboy. The black hat and bright red serape pull attention upwards. He advertises the side he is on with his fashion choices, black hats were not worn by the good guys after all . He is flashing a devilish grin at whatever camera had captured this picture, he is far more charming than he has any right to be. Name: Jesse McCree Alias: Deadeye Age: 37 Height: 6’ 1” Affiliation: Overwatch (Blackwatch) Known Living Associates: Dragon, Tracer Believed to be hiding out in the Midwestern United States Last Sighting: Houston Train Incident History: Jesse McCree, was recruited into Overwatch’s black ops division by order of the strike commander himself. At seventeen he was working with a gang of gunrunners out of the American Midwest, the Deadlock gang. The gang came into conflict with Overwatch and, in an operation to clean it up, all known members of the gang were killed save for one. Sources say young Jesse McCree killed seven highly trained agents by himself and instead of being summarily executed when he was subdued, he was offered a chance to join the organization instead of dying like the rest of his gang. He quickly chose to join. McCree was trained by Ana Amari to master his already incredible skills with a gun. He quickly became a sharpshooter of nearly unrivaled skill and speed. He was given the callsign Deadeye because if he could see you he could put a bullet between your eyes before you could react. His expertise in stealth and accuracy made him an accomplished assassin and a feared combatant. The name Deadeye is still known to strike fear into the hearts of people who had the misfortune of meeting him. It is hard to track down an exhaustive list of his deeds while in Blackwatch, much of the information is unrecoverable, but a brief list of notable deeds includes: The assassination of the United States president Hernandez after the Horus Massacres, destroying and stealing the plans for the Volskaya Ares prototype mech, the murders of Alexei and Galina Volskaya, the Numbani incident, too many accounts of kidnapping children of influential individuals to count, the televised execution of the entire New European Liberation Front’s leadership, the kidnapping and torture of at least six individuals to force NewClove to restore production of his preferred cigarillo. An entire list of confirmed and suspected acts is attached at the end of this file. McCree was well liked by all accounts throughout his tenure in Overwatch. Sources tell us that the young gunslinger developed a close relationship with strike commander Jack Morrison and was often sent on missions that Morrison could trust to very few people. The serape he wears was a gift from the strike commander after his successful assassination of the president of the United States. He was known to informally refer to the strike commander as “boss,” similar privileges were afforded to very few members of Overwatch. He disappeared after the fall of Zurich like many of the most prominent members of Overwatch. He has caused a bit of trouble now and then, but stayed mostly out of notice before Houston. The Houston Train Incident Two weeks ago, on a luxury bullet train heading through Houston, TX, footage was captured as Jesse McCree snuck on board, murdered the security professionals and stole an unknown object of unknown worth and origins. Given the nature of the crime and the conversations overheard, it is our opinion that this event should be treated as potentially indicative of future threats from Deadeye and whoever he may be working for. As a result it is believed that the identity of who Deadeye is working for should be investigated immediately and without worrying about the potential costs of such an investigation. Attached is a copy of the most important pieces of the security footage obtained from the incident. The screen shifts to a video feed. The video opens on the interior of a train car. The landscape flying by rapidly is visible through the windows as the people in the car dine, the quiet murmur of conversation is heard. The scene is oddly out of place juxtaposed to the wanted criminal people call Deadeye. Then there are gunshots from out of view of the camera. People scream and three fall over on screen, blood pouring from wounds between their eyes. “Now, now, y’all need just stay in your seats and calm yerselves down,” An oddly cheerful voice drawls from just outside the frame. “Keep yer heads on those tables down and ya get to finish yer little trip,” The entire car freezes briefly before the passengers place their heads down, staring away as a familiar man in a getup straight out of a spaghetti western stalks into the car, hat black as night, serape sanguine like the blood he spills. His left arms is mechanical, something that the profile picture earlier did not show. Jesse McCree saunters his way through a dining car full of seemingly rich passengers and it's as if the last five years have been a dream. The fear the people in the video feel as this man so casually threatens their lives, as he grabs a bottle of bourbon from a table within reach and takes a swig, it's mirrored by the fear of the crowd now watching the events unfold. They were not supposed to need to be afraid of Overwatch anymore. The view suddenly switches to another camera, the time stamp informing them that it takes place several minutes later. Deadeye drags someone working for the train, the conductor perhaps into the car. He tosses the man to the ground in front of a large safe, presumably where they kept particularly precious cargo. “Relax,” The outlaw drawls once again, though it could only really be a joke. “I jus’ wantcha to open this ol’ safe. Do that and I let ya go on yer merry little way,” To the man’s credit, despite the tear streaming down his face he shakes his head and refuses. “Yer funeral,” The gunslinger’s revolver quickly presses to his prisoners temple. “Sure you don't wanna reconsider?” “I'm the only person on board who can open it!” The conductor all but shouts hastily shutting his eyes reflexively. “That so?” The man nods frantically. “Reckon that's why yer bein’ so brave. Can't kill ya til you open it,” McCree laughs at the relieved sigh his captive lets out. “Good thing I came prepared then ain't it?” Deadeye saunters passed the vault without a care. “It's hilarious how no one bat an eye when I registered luggage under my name,” He drags a locked case from further back in the storage car. “Property of Jesse McCree,” He laughs showing the tag attached to the case. “They probably thought it was a joke,” The conductor gapes as he sees that the case was indeed brought on board and registered under the name of one of the world's most wanted criminals.. “Y'all really should be more careful,” The cowboy remarks as he turns to gather another case tagged with his name. The conductor watches in silence as McCree gathers three rather large cases in front of the man. “Go ahead and open one o’ them Will,” The cowboy receives a confused stare. “That is your name right? William Walker, born and raised in Louisville, divorced, father o’ three. I could go on, but I'm sure you want to get to yer surprise,” Deadeye laughs again and tosses the man a key. Walker slowly moves toward the case nearest to him. Kneeling done he hesitates before placing the key inside and turning it. The case all but springs open revealing what appears to be a young boy, maybe 10, curled up into a ball, bound with an oxygen mask around his mouth. The conductor gasps, eyes wet with tears as he realizes who is in the case. “Jeffry?” The name is choked out as he frantically searches for signs of life. He’s breathing softly, but not moving. He moves frantically to the next case and opens it. A girl, slightly older than the first child. “Bethany,” The third case is opened, tears running down his eyes. “Sean…” It's another boy even younger than the first. “Told ya I was prepared. I always know my targets inside and out,” A terrifying grin creeps onto the gunslinger’s face and Walkers face blanches in terror. “See I need you alive, not them,” Every tiny ounce of bravado that the conductor had managed to hold against Deadeye vanishes at the threat, not to himself, but to his children. “Now why don't you be a pal and open that vault door fer me,” William Walker moves now with a purpose. The vault door accepted the code that he input, then it accepted his fingerprints and retinal scan. After a minute or so of security systems the vault locks twisted and he wrenches the door open. The angle of the camera does not allow a good look inside. “Now hop on in there and grab that glowing box,” The conductor hesitates for the briefest of moments, but he hears the spinning of Deadeye’s revolver chamber and bounds in. He returned a minute later, slowly dragging a strange box that glowed a bright purple. “Thank ya kindly,” McCree thanks him mockingly. He grabs his prize from the scared father and his gun fires loudly, the conductor falls to the ground screaming and clutching his leg. “Jus’ be glad I'm in a good mood and these kids get to keep their daddy,” The man stalks away from the scene whistling a tune. The camera switches back to the first shot as He returns to the dining car, that had mostly been emptied of people. A single anxious and scared server remains however. He clearly does not want to be there and that only worsens as Deadeye reenters the car and sat down at one of the tables, relaxed, with his feet resting on the table in front of him. “Get me somethin’ good to eat,” He orders the server who ran off with a quick ‘yes sir.’ “And something with bite to drink!” He shouted after the man. A communicator buzzes loudly, a call that Deadeye answers with a sigh. “Howdy,” A brief silence ensues. “Yeah I got it. Nah I'm still on the train. I'm hungry. I'll be fine. You'll have the package in a few days don’ worry. Have I ever let you down before?” Another pause. “Oh come on that doesn't count and you know it,” Deadeye laughs, a bright smile on his face. “Alright, see ya soon boss,” The server returns with some food and a bottle of whiskey just as McCree is finishing up his call. The video speeds through an extended scene of the man casually eating a meal as the train continues on its way. The server stands off to the side nervously, clearly hoping the crazed gunman likes the food. His mechanical hand pulls out a cigarillo to relax himself as he finishes his meal. He then turns to face directly at the camera observing him. “Hope y'all enjoyed my little show. I do look so good on camera after all,” he drawls with a laugh. The last picture the camera picks up is the gunslinger pointing his revolver at the camera and hearing a loud bang before the picture cuts out. The celebratory and energetic atmosphere is gone from the room as the purple skull returns to the screen. The skull fades away to the message ‘Do not let the past repeat,’ The screen goes black at the words before returning to the camera feed that was recording Katya’s speech. Though Ms. Volskaya is no longer at the podium, instead she storms off the stage quickly, clearly irritated. This day does not end in the celebration that was planned, instead worry and fear are left to fester.

[gillytweed]

Some untitled fluff

Here’s some Clexa fluff that probably won’t be going on Ao3 cause I’m lazy. Y’all enjoy.

It wasn't that hard to figure out Lexa was exhausted. To others it might seem like she's bored or disinterested with the meeting going on, but Clarke knew better. She'd watched Lexa enough times that she could easily spot the slight hunch to her posture, how her eyes closed just that little bit too far, and the slight bruising under her eyes that was visible now that she didn’t need to wear her war paint. Lexa was tired, even if no one else could tell.

Luckily, the meeting seemed to be drawing to a close. The ambassadors all stood, each bowing deeply to the Commander before leaving. As they left, Clarke stepped out of her corner, dropping her good and folding her arm within the sleeves of her advisors robe, she nodded to Ambassador Kane as he left.

After the incident with Pike and Titus’ attack, Clarke had withdrawn from her ambassador duties. She accepted that her mind was too clouded by personal feelings to act as such an influential political figure, so she'd stepped down. Instead, she'd taken up the mantle of Wanheda, the Commander’s advisor in replacement of Titus. The man had accepted his execution without complaint, knowing he’d done something unforgivable, and had taken steps to prepare for after he was gone. He’d taught her as much as he could within the days before he was to die, telling her of the Flame, what it was, and what to do should Lexa die. They weren’t enjoyable lessons, but she understood their necessity.

Padding lightly towards Lexa, she gently sat on the thrones arm. The brunette jolted slightly at Clarke's sudden appearance, blinking tiredly as she tried to maintain her facade of awareness. Clarke glanced up, making eye contact with Indra who stood guard on the other side of the room. The older woman frowned in return. Well, frowned more than what was normal. It seemed she had noticed Lexa's odd behaviour as well. The General nodded as the blonde subtly signaled for her to leave before slowly exiting the room as well.

With the throne room empty, Clarke gently brought a hand to the back of Lexa's neck and massaged lightly, drawing a low groan from the brunette. They'd discussed physical boundaries while in public, and if there was anyone but them, bar a few trusted individuals, Clarke wouldn't have dared touch the Commander in such a way. But, they were alone. She wasn't in the presence of the all mighty Commander, she was with Lexa. A very tired Lexa who was melting into a puddle under her fingers.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

She spoke softly, gently carding her fingers through brown locks. Lexa leaned into the touch but also frowned, mumbling her protests.

"You don’t have any more meetings today. There's no reason why you can't rest."

The blonde spoke softly but firmly, a small smile creeping onto her lips as Lexa leaned further into her side. The older girls eye fluttered as Clarke gently massaged behind her ear, a low groan escaping as she relaxed.

"Come on, Lex. You're tired. You can't do your duties if you're tired."

Lexa jerked up slightly before settling back down mumbling her disagreement.

"Is that a challenge, Clarke?"

The blonde smirked as she pressed on the knots in the Lexa's neck, prompting the brunette to slump even further into her.

"Not at all. It was more of a statement. Now come, I'll have food brought to our room."

Lexa whined, actually whined, as she slide from her perch, eyes tired and pleading. Clarke didn't give in to the silent request to return, and when the brunette realized this, she would follow. It only took a moment, she had made it less than half way across the throne room before Lexa joined her at her side. Clarke watched her out of the corner of her eye, bringing a hand up to the small of her back as a show of silent support.

As they exited the throne room into the moderately crowded hall, she pulled her hand back to her side, but not before feeling the beginnings of a slight shiver passing through the brunette. She hid her smile well, calling over Indra with a slight jerk of her head.

After Lexa had been shot, she and the General had become surprisingly in sync when it came to Lexa’s needs. They’d come to an understanding, now that Clarke didn’t have such divided loyalties between her people and Lexa. The blonde had proven herself to the older woman, caring and supporting Lexa when many had been against her, and that had apparently earned the older woman’s respect.

Indra settled by her side as they travelled down the hall towards Lexa’s quarters, the Commander having taken taken the lead. Subtly leaning towards the General, she spoke quietly.

“Can you try and handle any crisis’ and redirect anyone that might need the Commander unless it’s absolutely necessary?”

Indra nodded, not needing an explanation. She could see the exhaustion dragging Lexa down as well. Clarke nodded in appreciation.

“Could you also have food brought to her rooms? I’m going to make her eat a good meal if it kills me.”

The General nodded at this as well, her lip quirking ever so slightly upwards. When it came to Indra that might as well have been a full blown laugh. Clarke smiled in appreciation and chuckled lightly in return.

“Thank you, Indra.”

They walked in silence after that, following Lexa as she walked through the halls to her room. Guards and servants would stop as they passed, giving small bows or respectful nods of acknowledgement. Clarke had a sneaking suspicion that Lexa wasn’t registering any of it. The brunette’s head would tilt ever so slightly forward as she walked before jerking back up. If she wasn’t so concerned, she would have probably laughed.

When they reached the Commanders rooms, Indra sent one last nod to Clarke before departing. The blonde turned to the older girl, raising an eyebrow when she didn’t open the door. Taking it upon herself, she gently opened the door, pushing Lexa through with a hand on the small of her back. The brunette moved without protest, shuffling inside with a blank look on her face.

“Lex, go sit on the couch.”

Clarke commanded softly as she shut the door behind them. Lexa truly was exhausted as she followed the order without protest and sat down with a low groan. The blonde padded over to the dresser and retrieved a soft night gown, one that would be warm but comfortable as night set in. She shed her own robe, leaving her in her regular long sleeved shirt and pants, and tossed it over a chair to deal with later.

Kneeling in front of Lexa, she chuckled a little. The brunette had fallen into a light dose, her head resting on her shoulder guard, mouth slightly parted. It was an adorable sight that she hated to disturb, but making Lexa feel better was her top priority and leaving her to wake up to a sore neck didn’t align with that.

Gently, she shook Lexa awake, holding in a snort of amusement when she jerked awake with a sound that could only be described as a small mewl. Seeing the brunette, in full Commander gear, blinking cutely like she’d never seen the world before, was such an adorable sight and Clarke felt privileged to see such things. She felt honoured that Lexa was comfortable enough to nap in her presence, that Lexa trusted her enough to watch and protect her as she rested.

“Come on, Lex. Let's get you out of that armour.”

Lexa’s response was a tired hum as she unclipped her shoulder guard and let it fall to the couch beside her. Next came the buckles of her jacket, which she undid easily even though her eyes had slid shut once again. It was after this that Clarke took over, a fond smile playing on her lips as Lexa slumped back into the couch.

The jacket was swiftly removed, as was her undershirt and pants. The blonde paused as she caught sight of the small round scar on Lexa’s stomach, brushing her fingers over it lightly. Lexa shivered under her touch, breaking her from her thoughts before they began. Another tiny mewl escaped Lexa as she jerked awake again and she shivered as the cool air from the windows hit her skin.

“Lean forward, I got you a night gown.”

The brunette nodded, her teeth chattering as another early spring breeze blew through the window. Once Lexa was dressed, Clarke rubbed her arms gently to warm her. Her efforts got her a tired smile which she returned with a small peck on the lips. She felt Lexa relax under her hands after the short kiss, something she couldn’t help but smile at. She was just about to go in for another kiss but a sharp knock at the door stopped her.

“That’s probably the food. I’ll be right back.”

She stood as another knock came from the door and strode over quickly. She was met with the sight of Indra, a platter of food and small dishes balanced on one hand while the other gripped her sword hilt. She hadn’t expected the General to deliver the food herself, but the gesture made Clarke smile fondly at the older woman.

“Thank you, Indra, for everything.”

The older woman nodded as she passed off the giant platter to the blonde, not saying anything as she turned to travel back down the hall. Clarke examined the platter as she returned to Lexa’s side, nodding in satisfaction when she spotted an assortment of healthy foods piled high. There was steaming cuts of meat, soft fresh bread, and several kinds of boiled and grilled vegetables, everything that Clarke would have picked herself.

She set the platter down on the coffee table as she sat next to the older girl, smiling slightly as Lexa leaned into her side. She wrapped an arm around the brunette’s shoulders, pulling her closer until their sides were molded together. Lexa leaned her head against Clarke’s shoulder with a hum, eyes falling closed again.

“Food now, nap later. I know you’ve been skipping meals.”

Lexa had been overworking herself to almost extreme lengths in recent weeks, cleaning up the messes that Pike and Titus had created. She held meetings long into the night and woke before dawn to attend to any other duties that had been neglected. While Clarke also got up and went to bed around similar times, she had the luxury of slipping away for short naps or food, while Lexa did not. Lexa was always in the spotlight, which meant she had to appear strong at all times, and somehow that translated to no eating or sleeping like a normal human being. Today was a miracle to be honest, having an entire afternoon to relax and recuperate.

Lexa groaned but sat up, grumbling as she ground her palms into tired eyes. Clarke quickly made up a plate of food, intent on making Lexa eat before she fell asleep again. She chose small things, things that could be eaten in one bite. She handed the plate to Lexa with a pointed look. The brunette sighed as she took the plate, eyes going down to look at the meal for several seconds before she sluggishly began eating. Clarke smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to Lexa’s temple in a silent show of support.

It didn’t take long to finish, but by the time Lexa was done she could barely keep her eyes open. Taking the plate from limp hands, Clarke set it on the table before pulling Lexa closer. Shifting, the blonde moved so both of them could lay down on the couch, Lexa splayed on top of her. She smiled as the older girl nuzzled into her neck and carded her fingers through brunette locks. Small noises escaped Lexa as she fell asleep, her eyes fluttering shut.

Heaving a sigh, Clarke relaxed, reveling in the feeling of peace and the warmth that their closeness provided. Tomorrow would mean more work and more exhaustion, but for now they had time to sleep.

[hellofastestnewsfan]

For better or worse, Kim Kardashian’s appearance has come to signify a particular sort of physical perfection. Kardashian might be most famous for her internet-breaking rear end, but even the minute details of how she presents herself—her glowing skin, the thickness of her eyebrows, her wardrobe—have seeped into American culture. A few posts on her Instagram account, which has 131 million followers, are enough to sell a lot of perfume, makeup, and in-app purchases.

That’s why it was all the more striking to see a photo she posted earlier this week, which showed her face not flawlessly groomed as usual, but covered in red, puffy splotches. Kardashian has been occasionally candid about dealing with the chronic skin condition psoriasis in the past, mentioning it on her various reality shows and even posting on Instagram about the trendy detox routines she was trying in order to calm the incurable inflammatory illness. This was the first time she’s shown a severe flare-up on her face.

[Read: The best skin-care trick is being rich ]

Itchy, scaly skin is psoriasis’s most well-known symptom, but it’s also the thing that makes Kardashian’s preferred platform an unlikely place to see it discussed. Instagram is often a place for people to show the best and most desirable parts of their life. Its culture is one that Kardashian and other highly influential users have been instrumental in shaping—and profited from greatly. Those who do a good job of selling their lifestyle can make millions of dollars showing other people how to live as they do.

But in shining a light on a common and poorly understood disease, Kardashian demonstrates one of the most underutilized ways the internet’s most-watched people might be able to do a little good, just by being less perfect versions of themselves.

Kim Kardashian’s ubiquitous internet presence is, perhaps more than anything, a social-media Rorschach test. She reveals something not only about the person viewing her, but also about what that person wants to discuss online. Kardashian posting a video of her kids inspired days of arguing about children and makeup. She and her sisters have made the debate over cultural appropriation something far more mainstream than it was just a few years ago by adopting hair and beauty practices historically used by black women. The term news peg is used by journalists to refer to a current event that makes a broad topic feel relevant to readers, but Kardashian, mostly seen through social media, acts as a news peg for people who post their thoughts online in any form.

That’s where the potentially enormous value of the psoriasis selfie comes in, says Evan Rieder, a dermatologist and psychiatrist at New York University Langone Health. “It’s a particularly effective way to raise awareness, and it can immediately reduce stigma,” he says. “[Social media] is an opportunity to educate people on a mass level and in a very digestible way, where people are actually tuned in.” These platforms are adept at reaching Millennials, he says, and because most people develop psoriasis in their 20s or 30s, it’s a demographic that needs the information.

Randy Beranek, the CEO of the National Psoriasis Foundation, thinks it’s particularly valuable when people well known for their beauty and wealth are candid about their health issues. “Most of the time, Kim’s fans see her looking like a million bucks,” he says. “The disease can cross all socioeconomic lines, and if someone as famous and visible as Kim Kardashian can have it, it doesn’t make your disease feel so isolating.”

That Kardashian posted a photo of her psoriasis instead of just mentioning it is bold. A significant rash is fairly unsightly by anyone’s standards, and for most of Instagram’s elite, the most relatable imperfections they display are still an expertly curated part of their highly photogenic public personas. Red, flaky facial skin is several orders of magnitude more socially unacceptable than carefully tousled bed head or an artfully messy dinner spread. As Kardashian’s selfie demonstrated, psoriasis has physical symptoms that can be difficult to conceal, even for people with a lot of resources.

[Read: What good is “raising awareness?”]

More than 8 million Americans have psoriasis, but it’s still poorly understood by the public at large, which can lead to stigma that unnecessarily ostracizes those dealing with a flare-up. Rieder says that many people think they can get psoriasis by being in proximity to those with it. “A lot of us have heard stories about people moving their children away from them so they don’t catch it,” he says. “You hear of people getting out of the pool because someone’s in the pool with psoriasis.” That sense of isolation can be exacerbated when people avoid social situations because of flare-ups, a tactic both doctors mentioned as common. And this can contribute to emotional issues such as depression and anxiety, which Rieder says are more common among people with psoriasis than the population at large.

In reality, psoriasis isn’t contagious, and it’s a lot more than just a recurring rash. The skin-based symptoms of the disease can often be treated with over-the-counter creams, but the illness can affect multiple systems of the body, mostly unseen. “People with psoriasis have much higher rates than the general public of things like cardiovascular disease, metabolic syndrome, type 2 diabetes, liver and kidney disease, lymphomas—a whole host of chronic conditions,” Beranek says.

A selfie from one of the world’s most famous women can’t convey all of a disease’s complexity, but it doesn’t necessarily need to. More than 40 percent of Americans with psoriasis don’t realize that the condition is what’s causing their skin problems, according to an estimate from the American Academy of Dermatology. Seeing Kardashian’s photo might help them realize that what they have is a diagnosable problem that can be helped. “In the last 20 years, there’s been a revolution in the way we treat psoriasis,” Rieder says. He points specifically to new biologic medications, which can clear up to 90 percent of the disease’s visible symptoms. Seeing a doctor if at all possible, Beranek notes, is also the best way to start examining the less noticeable ramifications of chronic inflammation.

It’s not clear if Kardashian intended the photo of her psoriasis to be helpful, or if it was just a frustrated outburst (she did not respond to a request for comment). Either way, it demonstrates a potentially beneficial way that modern media’s new class of influencers can use their massive platform. Many of them are already keen to share health and wellness misinformation to an apparently interested audience, and Kardashian herself has shilled prescription drugs and mentioned trying “natural” cures for psoriasis based on sketchy or nonexistent science. Celebrities aren’t the people we should be looking to for information on cures, but when it comes to stigma, they have enormous power to provide a little bit of relief, instead of information about yet another juice cleanse.

from The Atlantic https://ift.tt/2U47mqg