#i get into that fucking race argument with that piece of shit on twitter

[bottomlouisficfest]

We hope you’ve enjoyed the first couple of weeks of fics from the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2023! Every two weeks, we’re compiling all of the fics from that period into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

love is pain, pain is pleasure

A fic by louixamor on AO3 | @louixamor on Tumblr | @louixamor on Twitter

25k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

After a series of disturbing events threaten his safety, Louis has no choice but to hire a new bodyguard. Enter Harry, an incredibly attractive, judgmental asshole who hates Louis’ guts.

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Good and Bad and Right and Wrong

A fic by TeamLouis on AO3 | @teamlouis2023 on Tumblr

5k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis angrily threw a pillow at his head, but Harry avoided it, laughing loudly as he slammed the door behind him. Louis bit his lip, grumpy and flushed and hard again, tension and arguments like this with his dear husband always a huge turn on. He knew it was his toxic trait, but at the same time, it was so good to let the tension build until it exploded under the sheets. So instead of pouting and groaning in bed, waiting for Harry to leave the house without him like he first intended to do, Louis kicked the sheets of his legs, stripped off his boxers –and gave his cock a few nice quick strokes, before getting dressed for the gym. Harry smiled widely when he joined him in the kitchen. Louis flipped him off. He promised himself he would have his revenge. Or the one where Louis doesn't want to go to the gym

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The Wild Night to Memory Loss to Soul Mates Pipeline

A fic by thecheshirepussycat on AO3 | @the-cheshire-pussy-cat on Tumblr | @Bee_With_Mee on Twitter

18k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“What the fuck are you on—holy shit,” Louis gasps, looking down at his own hand to see a white gold band wrapped his left ring finger. “Wh-what is going on?” “Sure is a conundrum,” the man muses, realization flashing in his green eyes. “I-I’m not married, I can’t be married,” Louis mumbles to himself, staring wide-eyed at the ring, heart racing a mile a minute. AKA: Harry and Louis get drunkenly married in Las Vegas, as one does.

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Smile for the Camera for It Knows Everything, Hollywood Star

A fic by daydreamlwts on AO3 | @daydreamlwts on Twitter

7k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 132- The story of Nancy Reagan being called the blowjob queen of Hollywood but it's Louis.

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Three Men and a Baby

A fic by sun_flowr on AO3 | @escapades28 on Twitter

123k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis' life had been going along just fine. Until one morning when his entire world changes when he steps on a piece of lego belonging to a young boy who has randomly appeared in his flat. And with that boy comes his gorgeous father. His flatmate Zayn has some explaining to do but he's definitely not complaining, instantly feeling connected to these new additions. Over the span of a year, life gets crazy, frustrating, surprising and most importantly...filled with love. Prompt 548: For as long as Louis can remember, it has only been him and his best friend Zayn in their little flat, but when Zayn comes home telling Louis about his friend with nowhere to stay after a bad breakup, Louis suddenly finds himself sharing his flat with a gorgeous green-eyed man called Harry along with his adorable toddler son.

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always an angel, never a god

A fic by outropeace on AO3 | @outropeace on Tumblr | @outropeaces on Twitter

40k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

To understand the level of deep water Louis was in, one first needed to know he has had the same best friend since he was five. Ethan Astor was family to him—a friend who he loved deeply despite their differences. A friend he would do almost anything for. So when Ethan came to him with the plan, no matter how he felt about it, Louis accepted it. At first, it was simple, he just had to flutter his eyelashes at any of the boys that showed interest in Ethan, and if they fell for it, he just dumped them without telling them the reason. Somehow, the rumors spread around campus that Ethan had an insufferable friend they had to somehow win over to reach him. Like a final monster before getting the princess. Or: Harry likes Louis’ best friend and there's a rumor that in order to get a chance with him, he should woo Louis first.

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I (Don't) Really Care For You

A fic by crochetsunsets on AO3 | @crochetsunsets on Tumblr | @crochetsunsets on Twitter

11k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“There’s always the worst case scenario,” Zayn said while the subway pulled to a stop. “Get your heart broken. Then you can write through experience.” “Yeah, right,” Louis called after him while Zayn hopped off of the train. “You try falling in love in New York City.” or Louis' a writer who needs to learn heartbreak. Harry's a graduate student who doesn't want to break his heart. What happens when they come together--the inevitable, or something more?

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The wounds that scarred our souls

A fic by Hazzaslittle28 on AO3 | @hazzaslittle28 on Tumblr | @hazzaslittle28 on Twitter

36k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Forever was nothing but a lie, Forever was just a ruse for the human heart, it gave you hope and then killed you. Forever was just a myth. Or Where Louis decides to leave everything behind, including his heart.

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Cold Spring

A fic by nouies on AO3 | @nouies on Tumblr | @_nouies on Twitter

8k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Life went on as normal at Cold Spring Café. Sam’s scribbles remained indiscernible, Jake persisted on his idea of getting more pots for the shop, and Pedro…Pedro continued coming to drink his moderately-caffeinated americano, to write furiously in that notebook of his, and to captivate Louis to no end. or…Louis is a coffee shop owner and Pedro is his newest customer.

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Love Me If You Dare

A fic by BoosBabycakes on AO3 | @boosbabycakes28 on Tumblr | @Boosbabycakes28 on Twitter

55k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry and Louis’ friendship starts with a game, after a simple dare. The two little boys quickly become the best of friends and referees of their own game. Unfortunately, as they grow up, they sometimes become the victims of it too. With them, everything is possible. They are capable of daring each other to do anything. But will they dare confess their feelings for each other?

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Remember to give these fics kudos and comments, and spread their fic posts!

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All roundups will be linked here:

Weeks 1-2 Roundup

Weeks 3-4 Roundup

Weeks 5-6 Roundup

Weeks 7-8 Roundup

Weeks 9-10 Roundup

Week 11 Roundup

[tsukiihime]

Heartbreak (Bakugo x Reader, Shinsou x Reader)

Hey everyone! This is my first BNHA piece, something I wrote when I was bored and thought what the hey, I’ll post it! Feedback is appreciated!

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairings: Bakugo x Reader, Shinsou x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of cyberbulling, swearing, breakup, angst, just kind of a sad piece overall?

Next Chapter

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When you started dating the Explosion Hero Dynamight, you knew that you were throwing yourself to the wolves. The media is cruel and the fans even crueller - if they deem you unworthy for their Hero then you’re in for a hell of a time - and not in a good way. But you loved Bakugo - you’ve loved him more than you’ve ever loved anyone, and for two years of your life you’ve been by his side as he  climbs through the Hero charts. 

But recently, the media has been sniffing a little too close to home. Someone has tipped the tabloids off to your existence and ravenous fans have been finding your social media day after day. Your selfies on Instagram are being bombarded with hateful comments on everything ranging from your weight to your skin color to your fashion sense, while your Twitter messages are flooded with paragraph after paragraph full of venom and vitriol. You can no longer take the headlines, the hate, the disgust being dished out at you day and day out. You beg your boyfriend to do something, anything to make the media leave you alone. Which brings you to tonight - in a heated argument with the Hero Dynamight.

“All I’m saying is that if you address the media, if you tell them that I’m your girlfriend, they might back off. I can’t do this anymore Katsuki, I can’t keep waking up and seeing this shit on my feed!” You’re so angry you’re shaking, and it’s pissing you off even more that Bakugo stares at you, unblinking and unfazed, arms crossed in indifference.

“You know I can’t do that. I do that, and my ratings plunge.” Your eyes widen in disbelief as soon as those words leave his mouth, you can’t believe he even said that. 

“Are you serious Katsuki? Is beating Deku and becoming the number one hero really worth more to you than us? Than me?” Tears threatened to spill over at any moment, your fists clenching until your nails left tiny red crescents in your skin. You stared at vermilion eyes refusing to back down, waiting with trembling lips for his answer.

“You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me. I don’t know why you need so much fuckin’ reassurance that you’re different from all those other damn extras.” That sentence sends you from angry to fuckin’ pissed in less than a second. 

You jab at his chest, practically screaming: “Excuse me? When we started dating, I was promised that you’d protect me from everything, including the media. Do you see the shit they say about me Katsuki? What they say about my body, my family, my upbringing? How they call me a slut and a whore because my Instagram has ‘Toshi on it and now I’ve been spotted with you? I can’t even visit my parents because I’m afraid they’ll follow me. I can’t go and see “Toshi because they’ll shit talk me even more! And you sit there and do nothing. Say nothing. All I want is for you to tell them the truth, that we are dating and that we are a couple.” 

Now, it’s Bakugo’s turn to bite back. “And I’m sayin’ my hands are tied. They know I’m with someone, and I lose  fans. Which means, I ain’t gonna beat that damn Deku at the rankings next month.”

“Fuck the rankings Bakugo! Can you get your head out of your ass for a second?! How in the world,” you turn to go to grab your phone, pulling up the latest headline about you on the tabloid’s website, “can you let them say this about me? Don’t you at least care that I’m being attacked on the daily?” Tears fall freely from your eyes now, and Bakugo flinches for a second, but only a second. You laugh in anger, turning away from him. “I already know the answer, Katsuki. You care more about the rankings than me. I’m in the way of your dream if you say I’m with you, so let me remove myself from the equation.” You grab a jacket, an umbrella and your phone, and put on your shoes. “It’s over Katsuki. I’m done. If you won’t say that we’re together, then we shouldn’t be together.” 

You turn to leave, and a part of you hopes that he’ll follow - that he’ll grab you and hold you tight and tell you that he loves you, loves you more than the stupid rankings and that he’ll stand by you no matter what the media says.

But he doesn’t. 

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You walk a couple of blocks to another apartment building, ring the doorbell and wait for the response to come from the other side. A deep voice responds, belonging to someone who had obviously been sleeping. “Who the hell is it?”

“‘Toshi, it’s me.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? It’s raining idiot, get in here.” The doors unlock and you make your way inside. You know this building like the back of your hand, it’s the home of your best friend and your second home. You make your way to his apartment and he’s waiting for you in the hallway - purple hair tousled and messy, body heavy with sleep and dark undereye circles accentuating violet eyes as he scratches the back of his neck. It’s a tic of his, one you know well - he’s nervous.

“A fight huh?” 

“Worse. I broke it off.” Shinsou immediately tenses at the mention of this, and if you weren’t so pissed and hurt by Bakugo you would’ve laughed. 

“Shit...I’m sorry. Come in, tell me all about it.” He steps aside and lets you into his apartment, closing the door as he prepares himself to listen to you complain until the sun rises. He agrees to help you get your things when you’re ready to return, and says you can crash at his place until you find somewhere else to stay.

You return two days later, punching in the code to the apartment you and Bakugo share - well, you supposed shared was the better word. It felt so foreign, being here after everything. Memories of the last two years flooded into your mind - lazy days where you spent all day with Katsuki on the couch doing nothing but watching horrible horror flicks and laughing the night away, those early mornings that had you waking up at five o’clock in the morning to cook pancakes while the sleepy blonde wraps his arms around your waist while teasing your culinary skills. Even the late nights when schoolwork kept you awake well into the twilight hours and your exhausted body dragged itself to the bed you and he shared, breathing in the caramel scent of the man you loved as your head hits the plush pillows and you drift off to sleep. But now, all of those memories have disappeared into the wind, replaced with the fight you and Bakugo had before you had stormed out of the house that night. He’s been texting you like mad, calling you like there is no tomorrow, but you ignore his calls. He never leaves a voicemail, so you don’t know what’s on his mind.  

As the beige door swung open, you breathed a sigh of relief that Katsuki wasn’t home. You had neither the heart nor the energy to see him after all that had happened and instead resolved yourself to get all of your things before his shift ended at his agency. You spent the next hour rounding up everything you owned - books, pictures, everything that you had room to take and that you knew you wouldn’t miss if you left it behind. When you had a breather you sent a quick text to Shinsou to let him know you were almost ready to go - and took a deep breath as you entered your bedroom. No, your former bedroom now. “That’s all it is now.” you remind yourself.

You start dumping all your clothes into trash bags and gather up pictures and toiletries that belong to you as you clean up the bedroom from one end to the other. As you grab a pile and place it on the bed, an article of clothing falls that you don’t recognize. You bend over and pick it up to inspect it closer. 

You know your clothes, all of them. But this lacy lingerie set that is discarded on the floor isn’t yours, hell, it isn’t even your size. Your throat feels like sandpaper and your nose crinkles as you drop the clothes as if burned by a flame. You can’t help but stare at it as a million things run through your mind at once: whose is it? How long has it been here? Was this before or after you and Katsuki broke up? Did he already move on? The last thought is something you know you shouldn’t dwell on, it isn’t your business what he does after you’re the one that ended the relationship. You know this and yet the tears come anyways, endless and stinging without end. Your legs give out and you fall to your knees clutching your heart as sobs fall from your lips, as your emotions bounce all over the place. The molten hot anger you felt at first is now transforming into deep sadness, all the bittersweet memories racing through your mind now replaced by images of Katsuki holding another woman, another lover just like he held you. You can’t stop as your brain formulates these what if situations - what if he was waiting for you to end it so he could be with her? You start to imagine him kissing another with the same passion he held for you. You see another in your place, eating the food that he insists on making to spoil you after a long night of homework, running their fingers through his hair as he falls asleep on their lap, and seeing another wrapped in his arms as they fall asleep together under the moonlit sky.

“I can’t stay here” you whisper to yourself, desperate to stop the tears that won’t end - desperate to feel anything but this pit of agony. You’ll take numbness over this endless heartbreak, this disappointment, this feeling of self-deprecation that tells you over and over that you weren’t good enough. “I-”

The door opens and you hear Shinsou’s voice behind you, calling your name and making his way through the hallway at the front of the apartment. “You didn’t answer my texts so I came up to check on you and-” The purple haired man freezes when he sees you, sitting on the floor with your head in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears spill from your eyes dripping onto your fingers. You can no longer hold back your sobs as everything comes to a head - your insecurities, the hateful comments left on your social media, Katsuki’s own dismissal of your feelings as you two fought that night two days ago. Shinsou immediately drops to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your frame and holding you close. “It’s okay...let it out.” You peer up at him from tear filled eyes, lunging at him to wrap your arms around his neck as you bury your face in his chest. 

“Hitoshi…” is all you’re able to say before another sob wracks your body, tears staining your cheeks and dampening Shinsou’s hoodie. You try desperately to explain why you’re crying, and why you’re so upset but you can’t find the words as your tongue feels heavy like a bunch of bricks. Indigo eyes drift to the underwear discarded behind you, anger seething in his veins as he puts two and two together. 

“Bakugo, you fucking tool.” He thinks to himself as he holds you, letting you cry out what you can’t tell him but he knows. He knows you better than anyone, just as you know him better than anyone. He remembers the vibrant little girl he met on the playground all those years ago, who spoke to him without a care even with his “villainous” quirk. He remembers your ecstatic scream as he calls you to let you know that he was able to get into the Hero Course at U.A, and he remembers you celebrating his acceptance at getting into a Hero Agency by getting blackout drunk and waking up with you in snuggled in his arms as you wear his favorite hoodie. He remembers being the one to introduce you to Bakugo at a Hero Ranking after party when you accompanied him as his plus one. He remembers how breathtaking you looked that night - an obsidian dress that hugged your figure closely, long legs accentuated by black stilettos and your plush lips painted in a ruby red hue. He remembers being the man of the hour, the hero Mindjack accompanied by a beauty on his arm, the envy of the venue. He remembers dancing with you, his most beloved childhood friend, his most precious person. He remembers watching you stride to the bar, smiling as you greet the bartender with glee and and he remembers watching you bump into Bakugo as you apologize quickly to the blonde before making your way back to him. He also remembers Bakugo following you to him, prompting him to introduce you to the man who would eventually become your boyfriend.

“If only you hadn’t bumped into him that night”, Shinsou thinks to himself, “Katsuki Bakugo, I’m going to give you a piece of my mind when I see you next.” How helpless he feels watching you cry as your heart shatters into a million pieces, how powerless he feels as he holds you tighter than he’s ever held anyone before. “C’mon, let’s get you home. I’ll take what I can and I’ll get the rest another day.” he smiles as he looks at you, giving you a small grin that he hopes makes you feel a bit better. “Don’t worry, I grabbed your Switch and your laptop, so the lazy girl hours can still happen” you punch him in the shoulder playfully as you wipe tears away on your sleeve, pouting as you roll your eyes at his lazy jokes before he continues, “and I’ll send Bakugo a text on what’s happening. You won’t have to deal with him. I promise.” It doesn’t escape his notice how you tense up when he says Bakugo, but the small smile you give at his joke makes him feel just a bit better. You stand up and press your lips to his forehead, tippy toeing to reach. “Thanks ‘Toshi. I really appreciate it, truly.” 

“Anything for my Animal Crossing buddy.” You cross your arms and give him a questioning look, eliciting a chuckle from the taller male. “I’m jus’ kiddin’. You know I’d do anything for you. And your Switch.” You laugh as you turn to grab your boxes and make your way to the front of the apartment, the lingerie that had shattered your world moments ago momentarily forgotten in the corner of you and Bakugo’s bedroom. “It’s only Bakugo’s now” you remind yourself as you walk out into the living room, “this place belongs to Bakugo only.” You take one last look at your home for the last ten months, and quickly turn on your heels to make your way to the elevator with your entire life packed into a few boxes. A small sense of regret lingers in you, but you quickly shove that aside to stop yourself from crying some more. Shinsou grabs the rest of the boxes left on the table, and places your key to the apartment on the counter next to a picture frame with the glass faced down. He then turns and follows you out the door to his car.

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The next few nights are the hardest - Shinsou’s apartment only has one bedroom, one bathroom and the living room which means you’re on the couch until you find your own place. You’ve known Shinsou since childhood and you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed but you’re so distraught from your discovery in Bakugo’s room that you want to be alone to cry it out if you need to - you already feel like a burden to Shinsou despite his protests against the idea. He’s not home tonight - on patrol around the city as you sit in the living room wrapped in a blanket and wearing his favorite hoodie. You flip through the channels and stumble across the Hero Rankings red carpet. It’s been ages since Hitoshi attended one, becoming more of an “underground hero” and avoiding the spotlight if possible. In fact, the only time he attended one was with you around the time you met Bakugo. You cringe at the thought of him, trying quickly to remove him from your mind. The rational part of your mind wants to change the channel, to watch those documentaries you love so much and wait until Shinsou gets back home but you don’t. Instead, you decide to remain on this channel, watching as heroes come and go on the red carpet with their dates and hear the host gush about each one’s accomplishments. This is torture, you know Bakugo will appear since he’s the number four Hero, you know he’ll be there and yet like a train wreck, you can’t look away. Maybe you’re curious as to what he’s up to, or maybe you want to see if he looks as miserable as you know you do. In any case, you wait with baited breath to see a pair of scarlet eyes and ash blonde hair to satiate your curiosity. A flash of green catches your attention and you see Izuku Midoriya appear on screen in front of you. Deku is the number three Hero and on his arm is his girlfriend Uraraka, another Hero ranked at number seven. You’ve met the both of them at parties you attend with Bakugo - they both received a lot of hate from “fans'' when they announced they were dating, but the love they exuded for each other made the media change their tune really fast. They truly adored one another and didn’t care if their ratings took a dive. You had wished Bakugo would do that for you, but you weren’t a Hero and you didn’t have an impressive quirk, so his agency decided that it would be better for his ratings if he kept you a secret and he agreed. At first, you didn’t mind but the comments on social media and the tabloids made you feel as if he wasn’t yours at all - instead all you felt was that he was ashamed of you. 

Then you see him. You grip the remote so hard it almost hurts, but you keep on looking anyway. There stands the number four Hero Katsuki Bakugo, wearing a red and black suit and looking as he always does - confident to the point of arrogance, a grumpy face that makes him unapproachable, arms crossed in annoyance. The cameras go off flash after flash, and the announcer goes over his stats - how many people he’s saved, his amount of solved cases, so on and so forth. You smile at his ranking, he’s gone from eleven to four in such a short amount of time, and you know he has his determination to thank for that. He works hard, that you can’t deny. 

Then you see her. You recognize her, from the tabloids and the makeup commercials. The Illusion Hero, Maboromicamie. She’s tall, beautiful, and has a gorgeous figure as well as a comfy place ranked as the number ten Hero. Her arm is linked with Bakugo’s, and he has an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close for the photoshoot. The announcer raises their voice in excitement, as a headline appears on your TV: “Dynamight and Maboromicamie an item? Seen together getting close at the awards ceremony!”

You shut off the TV and close your eyes. What were you expecting? Why did you do that? You can’t help the tears that escape, but they do. There you sit, alone in the apartment with the image of those two stuck in your head, burned into your memory. When Shinsou gets home, he says nothing and you’re grateful for it - you know he’s seen the ceremony and he knows you well enough to know that you’ve seen it too. Instead, he showers, lays down next to you, and holds you close as you cry quietly into his arms.

[witches-in-caravans]

My thoughts on a commonly used term when discussing kids cartoons.

One thing that often frustrates me about the argument "it's a kids show" when discussing the contents of a children show is that they don't think about why that term exists. Most kids shows back then got a somewhat fair amount of slack on criticism for a reason. A lot of it was because of the shows goals on what it wanted to be in service of.

Shows in the 80s had the purpose of action and fun, simple characters in order to sell merchandise (transformers, mlp g1). More shows back in the 90s/early 2000s had the goal on making its audience laugh or entertain if anything. Shows like dexters lab, Kim possible, spongebob or my life as a teenage robot were selling themselves on their gags or action rather than complex themes or drama. It might be fun to joke that spongebob was about communism and workers rights and shit, but we know that wasn't the creators or writers goals. So audiences tend to be gentler on criticism. And it's not like people never critic anything these shows produce. A lot of shows here dabbled or even went hogwild with homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic and sometimes even racist jokes.

If there were shows to teach lessons, they were relatively simple like ("sharing is a good thing", "don't make fun of children with 'weird habits'", ect..) in shows like Recess or Hey Arnold. Even then a lot of the "lesson" shows were set in world's with very low stakes, which was the real world in 90% of them. Many of the more dramatic kids shows weren't really high stakes, big action pieces. They were mostly mellow if anything. And they did get criticised as well.

This was probably what made avatar the last airbender so unforgettable to its young audience. It mainly had the premise and characters of your typical Saturday kids action series. Protagonist with a superpower, lots of fighting, a team of underdog kids fighting a big bad empire. It's premise was pretty trite and already flooded the cartoon market. But it was special at the time for exploring topics such as war, trauma and abuse in a way that was fun, respectful and most of all, easy for a younger audience to understand without being too overbearing with the topic. What made avatar work well for itself is that it treated the severity of most of these topics differently than the simple lesson programs at the time. Forgiving the person who personally bullied you in 1st grade is not the same as forgiving the man who caused you to see your mothers murdered corpse actually!!! The writers in avatar realised that if your gonna explore these kinds of themes in a world with larger stakes which include severe child abuse, war, trauma and mass genocide, you can't treat the people causing this as some cartoonist henchman or shitty little kid in the playground. You can give some of these characters sympathetic moments or explain the circumstances of how they were like this (azula, zuko), but you can't forget about what happened. At least you can't immediately as soon as they become the "good guy". Sadly the writers in atla seem to forget a lot of this information judging by their other shows such as lok or the dragon Prince.

I mention all this to explain why the "it's a kids show" doesn't apply as well to certain modern kids shows. Some of these shows are trying to cover pretty heavy topics such as abuse, imperialism and coloniasm, war, human experimentation and a whole list of rather dark concepts. And more so they are trying to teach lessons about them. But the creators want to have a "dark, angsty scene where the characters cry at the hands/actions of their colonizers/abusers" scene, but they don't want to actually think about how these atrocities affect the decision making of our horribly traumatised protagonists. Or how it would affect their feelings towards the antagonist. Writers usually only care about how the villain is going to get their redemption arc. And it's not like its inheritably bad that you give your antagonist a redemption story (though there's a limit to how far you can go depending on what they did). But when you give your antagonist 2 hours screentime about whatever angsty backstory you slapped onto them, and then you either completely ignore the pain and psychological state of your protagonists friends and even harshly criticise them for being angry and unforgiving at the antagonist for the miniscule actions of... Psychological or physical torture of you or loved ones, repeated attempted murder, mass genocide.... What I'm trying to say is that your message of empathising with the people around you falls a little flat in its face.

Subject matter and tone will heavily change how your audience perceives your theme.

This is why nobody complained about Dr Doofenshmirtz' rehabilitation. He was in a pure comedy show mainly focused on humour in which his eeevvviiiilllll plans includes ludicrous shit like ridding the world of mustaches cause he can't grow one. Absurd stuff. He ain't ozai or even azula. He didn't genocide a race of people, mutilate his kid and waged war against the world. He didn't travel around universes, pillaging cities or attempted to destroy the whole universe cause they were mad at one person. Stuff like that changes audience perception. He was so harmless for that his "arch nemises" often took his sweet time stopping and even indulged his ridiculous schemes.

This is why I don't criticise shows like she ra the same way I criticise kids programs like miraculous ladybug or the fucking winx club. The winx club has the rare emotional scene, but it's mostly a show about 6 fairy friends defeating a dully coloured comic book supervillain. It's conflicts are mostly simple and straightforward and it's purpose is to entertain children (and sell cheaply made plastic dolls). She ra as shown in its tone within the cartoon and by the creators intentions on twitter is different. It's clearly trying hard to explore themes of child abuse, war and imperialism. Its the font line topic of the show. And when exploring heavy themes such as this for a audience of children, you have to be careful. Because handling them poorly might have a chance of sending a wrong or muddled message to kids.

This is why the term "it's a kids show" isn't universal.

[burgers-and-french-fries]

Taking Chances: Chapter Twenty.

Note: This is on the shorter side because this is leading up to some drama but before that said drama, I wanted just add a filler in. I really hope that you like this.

Enjoy!

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Over the course of the next few weeks, Nicola concentrated on moving to the new house. Tina and Guy had been more than helpful by looking after Jasmine while she ran around town doing errands and trying to get the house organized so that the transition for Jasmine would be a lot easier. Eventually the time came for Nicola and Jasmine to move in and thankfully Jasmine transitioned really well. Tina being the sweetest human known to man, picked Jasmine up from school on Friday afternoon and took her home as well as groceries she had bought for Nicola and freshly made freezer meals for them for a couple weeks. 

"Thank you so much for everything Tina. You have no idea how easy you've made this move for me." Nicola said as she and the older woman stood in the kitchen putting things away.

"No need to thank me, we are happy to help and Jasmine is such a good kid." Tina replied, waving her hand. Nicola smiled and felt the happiest she had in a few weeks.

You see, things between Nicola and Taron were pretty much over. He had been trying to get her to talk to him but after he sent her a text telling her that her reaction was a stupid one, she decided that she had had enough. In her eyes, he was calling her stupid and that was the last thing she needed right now.

"No Mikey, not there." Jasmine said. She and Mikey were decorating for the new playroom that Nicola said she could have.

"Why?" Mikey asked as his slightly chubby hands came up beside his face in a shrug.

"That's where the baby goes." Jasmine answered a matter-of-factly. Mikey decided that he wasn't happy with the answer, thus ensued a little argument. Tina and Nicola rolled their eyes and walked over to where the little monkeys were.

"What's with the fighting?" Nicola asked, leaning on the door frame.

"I want the baby here like yours." Jasmine said, making Nicola's breath hitch in her throat. She could only hope that Tina hadn't heard Jasmine's answer.

"I don't." Mikey added, trying to snatch the calendar away from the little girl.

"No!" Jasmine screeched. 

"Everybody stop right now." Tina said. Even Nicola stopped and looked at her.

"Michael, you have to remember that you are the guest here. Jasmine, why do you want the sad face there?" Tina asked. Mikey crossed his arms and frowned at Tina in a typical toddler tantrum.

"Nacause Lina let me put one on hers." Jasmine answered. 

"That seems fair." Tina replied. Mikey grunted in response.

"That's enough out of you young man. Let Jasmine put the sad face there if she wants." Tina warned the little boy.

"But she said that we have to have a baby then." Mikey grumbled, taking Tina back.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Lina told me that the baby goes there nacause she is late." Jasmine explained. Nicola mentally facepalmed herself.

“I see. Well, why don’t you two come into the kitchen for a snack and once you have calmed down, you can go back to playing.” Tina suggested. Mikey and Jasmine jumped up and ran to the kitchen, racing each other and giggling as they went.

Tina and Nicola got them set up with crackers and hummus. Mikey and Jasmine quickly got over their little tiff and came up with another idea for the calendar but that didn’t stop Tina from wanting to talk to Nicola about Jasmine’s answers earlier.

“All done!” Both kids cheered when their plates were cleared. Nicola took the dishes to the sink while Tina wiped their hands. Once deemed ok, the little ones ran back to where they were previously playing in.

“So, do you have anything you want to tell me?” Tina asked, stepping into the kitchen. Nicola shrugged.

“Not that I can think of.” Nicola answered. 

“You know you can tell me anything right?” Tina told her gently. Nicola smiled and nodded. She wanted to tell her but she was so scared of what Tina would think of her and then there was the fact that Nicola still didn’t know what to do about the baby. She was still toying with the idea of getting rid of the baby.

“I won’t force you to tell me anything but please keep in mind that I am here for you whenever you want to talk.” Tina said as she pulled Nicola into a hug. Nicola returned the hug and tried not to cry. This is all she ever wanted and it’s something that she was so scared of losing.

=

A few days later while she was out doing food shopping, Nicola ran into the woman from Halloween.

“Well, well, well.” She snarked. Nicola simply gave her a small smile, already feeling nauseous. The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I can see why Taron likes you. You’re just like him.” She continued. At this, Nicola stopped in her tracks and looked at the woman.

“I’m nothing like him.” Nicola replied coldly. The woman's face dropped when she recognized the hidden pain in Nicola’s eyes. It was the same hurt that she once knew. A pain that only Taron could cause.

“He did it to you too.” The woman said somewhat nicer.

“What are you talking about?” Nicola asked.

“Didn’t tell you he was leaving until the last minute.” The woman said. Nicola tried not to look shocked.

“Brenna.” The woman introduced, holding out her hand for Nicola to shake.

“Nicola.” Nicola said, accepting the handshake.

“You up the duff too?” Brenna asked. The lack of Nicola’s reaction gave her away.

“I was when he did the same thing to me. I ended up losing mine and then he met and married Kate.” Brenna explained, unknowingly shattering Nicola’s heart and making her stomach churn even more.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, I promise I’m not always a bitch.” Brenna said, handing Nicola a business card. Nicola took it and before she looked up again, Brenna was gone.

“Prick.” Nicola muttered to herself as she thought of the man that had hurt her so deeply.

Nicola finished her shopping promptly and went straight home to unpack everything before she had to collect Jasmine from nursery.

=

For the rest of the day, Nicola thought about everything Brenna had said to her and she was beginning to wonder if Taron would truly do something that horrible to a person. When she first met Taron, she would have definitely believed it but now that she had gotten to know him, she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to believe it. However, just after tucking her sister in for the night, Nicola’s phone buzzed with a notification from twitter. She ignored at first but then when the device kept buzzing, she had no choice but to look and what she saw absolutely shattered her beyond repair. Pictures of Taron with a leggy brunette on his arm, both of them clearly drunk and clearly lusting after each other were everywhere. At that moment, Nicola wanted to hear everything that Brenna had to say.

“I take it that you saw the pictures.” Brenna said after listening to Nicola’s tangent on what she really thought of Taron.

“Who the fuck does he think he is, the queen of Sheba?” Nicola seethed, trying to calm herself down but the more she thought about him fucking another woman, the more angry she got.

“It’s just who he is. If you want to know more, why don’t you join me for lunch tomorrow.” Brenna said. Nicola nodded.

“Brilliant.” Nicola answered simply, really wanting stories of who this man really was and what he’d done in the past. She wanted the full truth and something told her that Brenna was just the person to befriend.

Both Nicola and Brenna hung up and Nicola went to bed that night feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted from her. Everything that had happened between her and Taron only solidified the fact that he was truly a piece of shit.

===

Tag List: @sarahegerton96 @dangerouslcve @dogmom2014 @fuseburner @dragonstarre @jobanan23 @jolovesfandoms @lovefortaron89 @aberystwythboy @stronglyobsessed @hauntedflamingo @superthiccthighssavelives @cilldaracailin @hitmeonmytspot @rocknrollmadden

[ferrethyun]

He’s my soulmate, unfortunately | Chapter 3

{Requests are open!}

Summary | Previous | You are here | Next

The sun was strong against Y/n’s eyelids, he didn’t want to get up but his alarm begged the difference. He knew he had to get up, check his phone and get on with his day; he sat up in his bed and let out a groan as he rubbed at his sleep-filled eyes. His vision slightly lagged as he looked around for his phone, eventually finding the piece of metal and glass face down on his bedside table. After turning his alarm off, Y/n scrolled through all of his notifications, twitter, Instagram and text messages formed a chaotic image on his screen. His heart now racing in alarm, the idol quickly unplugged his phone from where it was charging and unlocked it while scrambling out of bed. 

Y/n stood there as his stomach dropped deep when he spotted a notification from his manager. He was quick to navigate to his messages with sweaty hands and opened the dreaded conversation; on his screen sat the message “There better be a good explanation for this.” alongside two screenshots of articles. Said articles presented the theory that he and Yoongi were potential soulmates. While they weren’t wrong, Y/n knew that there was only going to be repercussions from this, for him and his soulmate “Shit…” Y/n growled out slightly, a hand going to grip at his hair, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

It took him all his strength to not throw his phone across the room in anger, anger that questioned how stupid he really could be to let this one thing that seemed small, but was huge, slip. The leader quickly changed into some cleaner clothing, shoved his phone in his pocket,  washed his face and brushed his teeth before heading downstairs as fast as his feet would carry him. He rushed through the doorway of the kitchen, barely having time to greet his fellow members with nothing more than “Mornin’” before his phone went off again. This time it wasn’t a text message but the anxiety-inducing sounds of a phone call coming through; he knew it was his manager by the song that played out, their debut song. Y/ns hands started sweating once again as he pulled his phone out, pressed the answer call button and raised it to his ear “Hello manager-nim…” Y/ns tone was hesitant and anxiety-ridden.

“I’m going to save the majority of what I would like to say for the car journey, but….” Came the voice of his manager through the line, “I am on my way to you, you are to be out here in one minute. We are going to Bighit’s HQ now to get this mess sorted out.”

Y/n couldn’t help but gulp at the older males tone, knowing exactly why they were going to the building mentioned: “I’m sorry manager-nim…”

“You should be!” Came a gruff response, heard by all the members due to the volume of their manager's voice, “You’re so lucky that I managed to get an appointment set out so soon. Tell the others that they are still to go to practice today, no excuses.”

And with that, the call was cut. Y/n lowered his phone and looked at it baffled; after relaying the message to his group mates, the leader rushed off to put his face mask and shoes on to their respective body parts, his heart leaping when he receives another text from his manager. Ignoring it, he rushed out of the apartment and down the building stairs, the apartment wasn’t that many floors up anyways. Y/n clambered into the van that sat in front of the building and quickly strapped himself in, avoiding all eye contact possible with the other male in the car.

 Not even one second after setting off did their manager speak up “What the hell have you done Y/n?” His tone was irritated, “First the radio interview, which spiked enough interest as it is, then you argue with your brothers and now this?! I told you not to do anything idiotic on your vlive and what do you go and do? This!”

Y/n wanted to cry but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, that would just set the older male in the car off even more.

The younger male hung his head, his hands clasped together in his lap “I didn’t mean to start an argument... If you could even call it an argument. I’m sorry, I genuinely am. I didn’t mean to snap at them or create such a mess…” Y/n barely managed out, still avoiding all eye contact. He could hear his manager let out an angered huff of air as he typed away at his phone. Before anything else could happen, the car came to a stop.

The idol looked out the window to see hundreds of paparazzi and reporters waiting outside of the Bighit building. He glanced at his manager and only received a look that read “I’m pissed off at you but brace yourself”. Y/n nodded and adjusted his face mask as his manager opened the van door; then all hell broke loose. As the two abandoned the safety of the van, thousands upon thousands of camera flashes surrounded them alongside inaudible questions from reporters and screaming words of antis. The two males barely manage to escape the narrow path and into the foyer of the building with no scrapes or scratches; once in the foyer, Y/n followed his manager to the desk where they exchanged quick, hushed greetings. The female informed the two that Bang would see them now and to head up to the fourth floor and into the first door on their right.

Both males thanked the lady and headed into a nearby lift and up to the fourth floor. Once on their floor, they headed out and to the first door that was on their right-hand side. As they approached the door, Y/n could hear a male behind the door talking about something, what it was he couldn’t make out but he didn’t sound happy at all. As his manager knocked on the wooden door, the angry voice fell silent.

“Come in please!” Came a different voice, much older by the sound of it.

The leader followed behind his manager, who entered first, bowing respectfully as he entered the room. Y/n lifted himself into an upright position and let his eyes explore the visuals of the room, it was your standard meeting room with some plants here and there, a long table with chairs and Min Yoongi. 

‘Wait…’ Y/n thought, ‘Min Yoongi?!” 

His eyes ventured further to meet the eyes of the one and only Bang Sihyuk and again to his manager. As the reality of the situation came crashing down on Y/n, he couldn’t help but let the one word that ran through his mind slip past his lips; 

“Fuck.”

[artificialqueens]

Withstanding The Test Of Time Ch6 - Shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - Yes it has been a long time and yes, I’m still writing all my fics! Hang in there, any old fans, I haven’t given up on you.

Last time: Sharon and Alaska had a fight on the way home from the party, and Sharon was given an opportunity to express her views.

This time: Wait and see…

When a society is on the precipice, moments away from falling off the edge, it is nearly impossible to tell. Any act of defiance - any protest, any argument, any kind of resistance against the social norms - any of them could be the proverbial straw on the camel’s back, the tipping point that throws everything into chaos. Sometimes it can be a call for change, a new leader, a shift in the ways of thinking. 

Sometimes, it can be something as innocuous as an article, written by a newly-promoted journalist, desperate to use her degree and have her voice heard all at once. Sometimes, it can be as little as one woman’s fury to send the media into a frenzy.

That’s right. I didn’t want to get married. In fact, I was pretty much dragged to the registry office kicking and screaming, for all I didn’t want to be there. My childhood plan, to run away with my best friend and live as a fugitive for as long as possible, never came into fruition. I kept tape over the accusing numbers on my arm, and when the name appeared and I had to face facts, I did so with my own mortality at the very back of my mind. When a car wasn’t enough to finish me off, I knew a marriage to someone I didn’t even know definitely would be.

Alaska had gone to work before Sharon left the house, as usual. She had a habit of eating a disgustingly healthy breakfast and then going for a run before changing at the office, so the two had very little interaction within their shared home. It was better that way, Sharon mused. To live like distant flatmates, rather than actual married women. 

It had been a very slow morning after the whirlwind of Alaska disappeared through the front door. Sharon dragged herself up for a sleepy shower, did her best to make her face presentable if nothing else, and had left for work after possibly the slowest bowl of cereal she’d ever eaten.

Even the lingering grey clouds above her were dull. The world seemed to move in slow-motion, everything listless and unimportant. Despite the dreary weather, it was a little too warm for the long sleeves Sharon had opted for, but she shrugged her shoulders and tried to pretend that she wasn’t overheating on the way to the office. It was always freezing in there anyway, and she much preferred to sit and be too warm than to advertise the name of her wife to the world around her.

Just as she got to the lift, praying for a somewhat quiet morning, a familiar face appeared. Sharon reminded herself at the very least that it wasn’t one of the bitches, so she couldn’t be rude.

“Morning, superstar!” Sasha greeted, her mane of hair fluffed and curled messily around her shoulders. Her eyes were glittering with excitement, and she seemed to bounce as though she couldn’t keep all her energy in. 

“Uh, morning, Sash.” Sharon replied, still half-asleep. She was sure that at some point that morning, in an attempt to keep from falling back asleep, she had blinked too hard and smudged mascara everywhere. Hoping that wasn’t the case, she rubbed gingerly beneath her eyes and tried to muster a little more enthusiasm to match her friend’s, at the very least.

Sasha didn’t seem perturbed. “How are you feeling this morning, huh?”

“Tired?” Sharon suggested, growing confused. “I don’t get what the purpose of this interrogation is.”

All of a sudden, Sasha’s eyes grew wide and, if possible, even brighter. She seemed to be completely unsure of what to do with herself. Shrugging, Sharon walked a nearly-speechless Sasha to their desks. Her friend didn’t regain the ability to speak until she had thrown herself into her chair with a loud sigh.

“Have you… you haven’t been online this morning, have you?” Sasha’s tone was leading into something, but Sharon had no idea what it was. She shook her head. “Okay, um… Go on Twitter, I guess that’s probably the best place to go. I’m surprised your phone hasn’t blown up yet.”

Still baffled but choosing to trust Sasha’s judgement, Sharon pulled out her phone and tapped impatiently, waiting for it to respond to her touch. Before she could even reach for the Twitter app, however, she had accidentally tapped on one of the rapidfire notifications that were appearing at a seizure-inducing rate at the top of her screen. As it materialised and grew large on her screen, she did a double-take.

‘Stupid fucking liberal cunt, doesn’t know what the fuck she’s saying DO YOU @sharon_needles!! People like you who claim that soulmate love isn’t real should be EXECUTED! DISGUSTING!’

She blanched, not at all hurt by the bizarre statement but completely dumbfounded at its existence. As far as she was aware, Sharon didn’t know a @BillDewinski1956, let alone tweet anything that would catch his attention. At her expression, Sasha grabbed her phone and then gasped.

“Jesus! Some people are so charming, aren’t they… But I mean this! This is what you need to see.”

She handed the phone back on the list of trending news. The list was as she expected; something about the President’s latest fuck up, some viral tweet about girly movies, a singer making an apology for something dumb. But the banner at the very top was what caught her eye - a photograph of herself.

Media  .  16 hours ago

Controversial ‘timers’ article divides the internet with an unheard perspective on the law

97k people are tweeting about this

As soon as the words registered in her mind, Sharon’s stomach twisted into knots. She wasn’t sure if it was a pleasant sensation or not; all she knew was that her heart was hammering in her chest, her mind was racing, and she didn’t have a single idea what she was supposed to think.

Did this mean she was successful? Did this mean she was going to get fired? As disgusting as some of the replies to the article were, people were definitely interested. At least half of the responses seemed somewhat supportive of her - Sharon scrolled through replies of people who said they had cried when realising they weren’t the only ones, or explained how they’d managed to get past it, or simply commented that she had opened their minds to something they hadn’t considered before.

For the first time in her life, Sharon’s anger was powerful. For the first time, she had the power to influence how people thought and how people felt, and it was a very strange power to possess.

“Well?” Sasha prompted, pulling Sharon out of her introspective silence.

“Well…” Sharon answered, not nearly as eloquent in person as she was in writing. “Shit. That’s all I have to say.”

Sasha was practically beaming, and despite all the confusion and conflicting emotions Sharon felt about the whole situation, her friend’s glowing pride made her feel incredibly uplifted. It was rare that Sharon ever felt so supported and cared for.

“I always knew you would take the world by storm once they let you.” She praised, Sharon waving her off so that she didn’t end up blushing unattractively. “The website is down this morning so there’s not much we can do until maintenance fix it. Too much traffic from everyone trying all at once to read your article. You really swept everyone off their feet.”

Sharon shook her head, unable to accept the compliments. Sure, she’d caused a stir, but controversy always did. It wasn’t like they were praising how it was written, or the language and composition of the piece… no, had it been the usual lovey-dovey drip of an article about timers, no one would bat an eyelid. It was controversy, not skill, that had brought her notoriety.

“Trinity isn’t in this morning, but Peppermint wants to see you.” Sasha finished gently, noticing the slight embarrassment she’d caused. “No doubt to assign you another task to blow out of the water.”

For the first time since entering her job as an underpaid intern, nobody yelled, clicked at, or insulted Sharon as she walked through the office. No one demanded a coffee, or sent a scathing look in her direction. In fact, not a single head turned in her direction at all - possibly the closest thing she could get to a success.

Peppermint, or Agnes, as Sharon supposed she should call her, was the more forgiving of her two bosses, and as she made her way towards her office she prayed that nothing bad was going to happen. After all, she knew they couldn’t fire her for how the article was written, as she had taken the time to ensure it all made sense, but that didn’t mean her audacity couldn’t be the reason she got fired. As much as was her own thoughts, the content was a little outrageous given how few companies were willing to give platforms to voices like hers.

Thankfully, she was greeted with a smile. “Ah! Morning, Sharon. Just thought we could have a chat about that little article of yours.”

Oh god. Here it came. The pointed smile, the cold eyes, the flat tone of voice as she was told that they had taken a gamble on promoting her and it was clearly the wrong decision to make, and that she would need to be fired completely to avoid the humiliation of a demotion and for the good of the company overall, and she would have to rescind her article along with a grovelling apology for daring to be so forthright with her opinions in a society that didn’t want to hear them-

Agnes leaned forwards. “I loved it.”

Sharon was so taken aback, she nearly fell right off her chair. “I- What?”

“Look, Sharon…” She admitted, her voice low. “I’m a trans woman, I know all about causing a stir. There’s bigoted people out there who say I don’t deserve everything I have, simply because I transitioned. So even if we disagree, I want you to do more of this. Share your voice. Angry women change the world, and I can see you have some fire in you.”

Never in her life had Sharon expected to be praised for her boldness. It was something that people in her life had always endeavoured to change about her; the conviction with which she held her beliefs was dangerous. But someone, for the first time in what felt like forever, was encouraging her. Someone, even if it was Agnes alone, believed that what Sharon had to say was valuable, and wasn’t trying to silence her voice.

It was a strange feeling.

She wandered back to her desk in a daze, baffled enough by the meeting and sudden influx of attention that she felt slightly light-headed. Ignoring the swathe of notifications still flooding her phone from all apps, she opened her Twitter once more and decidedly, absently, to briefly address it and then move on. After all, she had more controversy to cause.

Sharon Needles - @sharon_needles

Angry women change the world ..

“She wants more.”

Sasha blinked. “Huh?”

Sharon shook her head, trying to mentally pull herself together and wrench her mind away from the absolute chaos she had somehow managed to cause. She switched her phone off, overwhelmed by the constant notifications, and wheeled her chair around to properly look at Sasha with a little more clarity.

“Peppermint… Agnes… whatever… She wants more from me. She wants me to keep doing what I’m doing, and not issue an apology, and I’m not fired, I don’t have to clear my things…” Sharon muttered, mostly to herself. “She- She wants to keep me here?”

Practically squealing, Sasha kicked the desk and propelled herself backwards in her chair, spinning gleefully. Her enthusiasm was strangely contagious, and within a couple of seconds, Sharon felt the same unbridled happiness bubbling up inside her. It was utterly euphoric.

“I didn’t get fired!”

“You didn’t get fucking fired!” Sasha repeated, her eyes squeezed shut in excitement. She had shuffled her way over to Sharon, and begun spinning her chair so that the both of them were racing round in circles, giddy and giggling.

Sharon laughed at the absurdity of it all - spinning around in her desk chair at work, rapidly promoted, a sudden success in a short amount of time. It was as if her luck was finally beginning to balance out, the bad making way for the good to start shining through.

“Okay, I… I need to start my next one. Or plan it. Or do something, I don’t know.” She babbled, skidding to a halt back at her desk and fumbling with the keyboard. “There’s so much I could touch on… God. I finally get to use my degree, huh?”

Sasha winked at her, the pride emanating from her bright eyes. “Get writing, bitch. Go and knock ‘em dead now that they’re all listening. I know you can do it.”

Now that was something she’d never tire of hearing, something new to her ears and like music every single time. People - a select few, but a rapidly increasing amount - believed in her.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of writing, planning and numbing excitement. It was no secret that Sharon had a lot to say, and she had been trying for years to get people to listen to her. All the protests, the arrests, the candid photographs of a young teenager with a sign in her hands, desperate for some kind of change to protect her from the uncertain future that gave her nightmares… they had to be worth something. Sharon had a voice now, and she couldn’t throw it away.

Time seemed to escape her, each second sliced away by the rapid clicking of keys beneath her fingers. There was so much to be said, so much to do, and before long, Sasha’s hand was gently shaking Sharon’s shoulder, wrenching her from her writing-induced stupor. It was beginning to darken outside, and the majority of the office were leaving or had already left.

“Fuck,” Sharon hissed, stretching and wincing slightly at the cracking of her bones. “I’m gonna go blind if I look at that screen for any longer. Thanks, Sash.”

Sasha smiled kindly. “Anytime. You’re doing great, just make sure you don’t burn yourself out. Try to relax tonight, yeah? Just take it easy, chill a little. I’d invite you over for drinks to celebrate, but I can imagine you’re exhausted.”

Her mood lifted from such a productive, surprising day, Sharon found herself in higher spirits than she expected. “Aww, maybe I’ll come see you and Shea tomorrow. You’re right, though, I think I need a night in to just relax and be by myself. And maybe mute my Twitter, seeing how crazy it was earlier.”

Her friend laughed appreciatively. “I’ll get some red wine in for the weekend, you’re welcome to come over anytime. Now get out of here, freak. Go home.”

Absent-mindedly, Sharon wondered if her slightly later-than-usual exit from work meant that she could claim for a little bit of overtime, or if it would affect which bus she got home on. The elevator music provided the perfect mindless background music for her thoughts, her brain having checked out of work-mode the moment she logged off her computer. As it dinged, the little noise always sounding before Sharon expected it to and making her jump, she walked out into the car park and started towards the bus station. Then she stopped.

Alaska’s car was parked next to Sasha’s, which was quickly pulling away. She was sitting behind the wheel, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes staring straight forward. When she spotted Sharon, her gaze only lingered for half a second before she turned away again, her expression completely, eerily blank. Somewhat apprehensive, Sharon approached.

The car window rolled down. “Alaska?”

“Thought you might want picking up. The buses around here aren’t very safe.”

Sharon lingered awkwardly. On the one hand, she didn’t really feel like spending time with Alaska, given the tension between them that seemed as though it would never go away. A fucking soulmate marriage counsellor, after all, and a fierce anti-timer law advocate, were hardly a match made in Heaven. On the other hand, Sharon had witnessed her fair share of bloody fights and drunk, leery men on her bus rides home.

Reluctantly, she opened the door and got into the passenger seat, glancing furtively at Alaska before lowering her gaze. This was weird - everything about all of their interactions was weird. At least this time, she supposed, Alaska wasn’t begging Sharon to like her. She just started the car without a word.

They drove in silence for a few excruciating minutes. Sharon didn’t usually mind awkward silences - she was usually the cause of them, after all, and would relish in the suffocating misery and discomfort that followed. But this silence wasn’t her own doing, and all of it sudden it wasn’t so nice to get a taste of her own medicine. She flexed her hands, unsure of what to do with herself, as Alaska sat rigid and drove seemingly without blinking. In a last-ditch attempt to break the tension, Sharon reached out toward the radio.

“It doesn’t work.” Alaska told her. “Don’t bother.”

“Oh.” Sharon stopped in her tracks, slowly retracting her hand. “Okay. Sorry.”

Alaska shrugged, barely. “It’s fine.”

They lapsed into silence again. This wasn’t right; Sharon was the one to sit and make others feel weird and strange, not Alaska. Her wife was supposed to be the one who wanted approval, not Sharon. The loss of power was unsettling.

When they came across a queue at a traffic light, Alaska huffed out a breath, as though she was irritated about something. “Want to get something to eat before we go home?” She asked, rather curtly. 

Her tone of voice knocked Sharon for six. It took a few moments for her to register the words, let alone come up with a response. “Uhh, no. Let’s just go.”

It seemed Alaska wasn’t having it. “Well, I think we should celebrate. There’s a good Thai place down this street, it has lots of vegan options too.”

Out of everything, the weirdest part was Alaska’s cold exterior. Sharon had to admit, begrudgingly, that as much as she didn’t like Alaska, she was always inviting and kind and willing to give a second (or third, or fourth, or fifth, or sixth) chance. She always offered little acts of kindness that Sharon turned down, her good intentions clear all the time. But this… whilst her words seemed kind, the chilling voice with which she spoke them were anything but.

“I don’t want anything, I just want to go home.” Sharon shot back.

“Or there’s a good pizza place, too.” Alaska ignored her. “Pretty cheap, but the garlic bread is super good. Special occasions call for special dinners, I think. We should celebrate your success at the very least. It’s only a ten minute drive extra from home.”

Sharon scowled, growing more annoyed by the second. “Why the fuck are you being nice? Shut up, fucking hell.”

Alaska snorted derisively. “The question is, why aren’t you being nice? You don’t have to be a cunt all the time, you know that, right?”

“I didn’t ask for you to fucking pick me up and start trying to buy dinner when all I want to do is get home and be on my own!” Sharon exploded. “Like fuck, girl, take a fucking hint! I can make my own goddamn way home!”

Alaska slammed on her brakes as the traffic came to yet another stop, jolting them both forward. “Why don’t you then, huh? Get out of my fucking car and walk home if you hate it so much. Go on, hurry up.”

Sharon recoiled, as though she’d been slapped. “What the fuck?”

“You heard me!” Alaska seethed. “Get out now while it’s not moving, or else I’ll fucking push you out whilst I’m driving. I’m sick of you, I’m fucking sick of you, and I don’t want to deal with your ass anymore. Get out of my car.”

The light turned amber.

“Gladly.” Sharon opened the door and slammed it shut, just in time. Alaska sped off as the light turned green, leaving Sharon in her dust.

It took a minute for everything to connect in Sharon’s head. What the fuck had just happened? Alaska had snapped. Everything that Sharon had done to torment her and make her life difficult had worked, and it had culminated in a burst of anger, which was exactly what she wanted - tangible proof that the soulmate business was a load of shit, and they just weren’t meant to be.

And yet… why did it feel so awful? Sharon walked faster than she thought she ever had before, her furious strides rivalling that of a yoga mom in a park. A mixture of rage and… was that guilt? wrestled in the pit of her stomach, festering and bubbling in a way that made her nauseous. This was exactly what she wanted, after all, for Alaska to stop fucking trying and accept that, no matter what, Sharon was never going to love her.

It seemed that her anger and hurt weren’t quite linked, and she couldn’t work out where they were coming from.

It was surprisingly cathartic to walk home in the brisk cold, the weather cooling off her angry heat as she walked the rest of the journey home. She had almost gotten over it completely when Alaska’s home came into view - and everything seemed to reignite at just the sight of it. No doubt Alaska had slammed the front door and stormed inside, judging by her haphazard parking job.

She pounded on the front door and waited. Of course, today had to be the day she forgot her key.

It swung open almost violently, revealing a pissed-off Alaska. “Oh, it’s you. I was hoping it was going to be a door-to-door serial killer. I should be so fucking lucky.”

Sharon shook her head in disbelief. “Okay, what the fuck is your problem? 

“My problem?” Alaska asked indignantly. “No, this isn’t my problem, Sharon, this is yours.” She all but yanked Sharon inside, shutting the door with an almighty bang and beginning to pace up and down the corridor. “You’re the one with the issues, and I’m tired of being nice to you only to get treated like shit in response. Willam told me to be patient with you, and fuck, I’ve tried, but you’re giving me nothing and I’ve had enough. So what, please tell me, did I fucking to do you?!”

Fuming again, Sharon shrugged off her coat and stormed into the kitchen, Alaska hot on her heels. She could practically see the steam coming out of her reddened ears.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Alaska? I don’t have time for your stupid games.”

Alaska almost growled. “You! I’m talking about you, Sharon, and how you seem to have no fucking regard for other people. I don’t care if you don’t like the laws about timers because fuck, tons of people don’t, and they’re fucking excessive and I understand that. Hate the system all you fucking want, but don’t take your anger out on me when I did nothing to you. I’ve done everything I can to make you comfortable here and then you- you-”

Sharon stood still and seethed, listening to Alaska’s rant with her jaw clenched. “Communication is key for a healthy marriage, you of all people should know that. Get to the fucking point.”

“I’M GETTING THERE!” Alaska screamed, and the force of her shout shocked Sharon into silence. Her face was distraught, pulled tight with fury and rage that seemed entirely uncharacteristic for someone like her. She was rational, collected, measured - someone who was pragmatic and logical. She didn’t just explode in emotional outbursts, or at least, Sharon had never thought she would.

“All I want to know,” She breathed, her tone dangerously calm, “Is what I did to make you hate me, and what I can do to make you like me. Because this- this-”

She held up her phone, the screen flashing in Sharon’s face - a screenshot of her newly-viral article. 

“I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve this, okay?!”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Oh please. I had the freedom to write about what I wanted, and so I wrote about what no one gets to hear, because sycophantic bitches like you who love the taste of government boots sit here all day and tell us how wonderful it is that we’re forced into marriages! Well, fucking newsflash, I don’t think that!”

“And you’ve made it quite fucking clear, from the day I met you!” Alaska cut in. “But for one fucking second, did you think about how this would affect me? How this would humiliate me?”

Tears were beginning to gather in the corners of Alaska’s eyes - hot, angry tears, threatening to spill over her scarlet cheeks and flared nostrils. In the midst of their blazing argument, seemingly a battle of attrition with hurled insults as their ammunition, Sharon started to feel… bad.

“What do you mean? It’s not like I fucking named you. You don’t need to be so sensitive.” She cursed.

Alaska shook her head, and Sharon sensed that if she pushed her any further, she would explode like a grenade. “I have been ridiculed all day - by my co-workers, even by my fucking clients. I walked into work with your name visible on my arm, so everyone knows that the Sharon Needles who wrote the scathing article is the same one that I’m married to.”

As she ranted, tears spilling over, Alaska kicked off her heels, ignoring how they flew across the room and likely damaged something of hers. The resulting clatter seemed to only exacerbate her fury.

“I’m a marriage counsellor, Sharon.” She stressed, leaning over the worktop. “My entire livelihood is helping people come to terms with their relationships and live out long, happy lives together in whatever way suits them best. All fucking day, I’ve had people laughing and sneering in my face, my own fucking clients telling me that if I can’t fix my own marriage, how the hell am I supposed to fix theirs?”

She swiped away her tears in a vicious motion. “Humiliated and ridiculed, all fucking day, because you made your goddamn think-piece into more of an attack on me than you did an attack on the system that you’re actually mad at. I just- I can’t take this anymore, Sharon.”

With mounting guilt, Sharon mustered as much disdain into her voice as she could. “Can’t take what? Enlighten me.”

“You!” Alaska’s eyes were shining, her chest heaving with the effort of yelling and crying all at once. “You’re spiteful, you’re mean, you’re bitter and nasty and cruel and I have noidea why that is, but I wish I fucking knew so I could something, anything! I’m not asking you to love me, Sharon, because I don’t think you have it in you to love. I’m just - fuck, I’m asking you to try and not be a cunt all the time because maybe if we could be respectful to each other, something could grow out of that. We could be friends. But you’re just fucking horrible.”

A thousand insults sprang to the forefront of Sharon’s mind, her brain working overtime to provide her with harsh, cutting remarks that could stop Alaska in her tracks and effectively win the argument. Each and every one of them halted at her tongue, disappeared, and Sharon deflated.

“I know.”

Alaska faltered. “You- what?”

“I’m a horrible, terrible person, Alaska. I don’t think about anyone else because the only person I can rely on is me, I don’t fucking want anybody else. A soulmate goes against absolutely everything that I stand for as a person.” Sharon found herself suddenly bearing her soul in front of her furious wife, more vulnerable than she had felt in a long time. “I should’ve thought about what this would all mean for you. But I don’t think about others, ever. I get hurt when I think about others.”

Little tear droplets clung to Alaska’s eyelashes, clumping them together as she regarded Sharon with a gaze far gentler than her previously stony glare. All at once, her anger seemed to dissipate.

“I’m never gonna hurt you, Sharon. At the end of all of this fucked up shit, I’ve got your back. I’m your soulmate.”

Sharon shook her head, faster than she meant to. “There’s no such thing.”

Alaska softened. “I read that true hatred can only come from something you once loved. I don’t know if that’s true, but-”

“I don’t want to get into it.” Sharon answered, quietly. “Can I just apologise and try and be better?”

Biting her lip, Alaska nodded infinitesimally and sighed. “Yeah… But if something’s hurting you, and I can help-”

“I can’t talk about it.” Sharon replied curtly, then apologised. “Sorry. I just… I can’t.”

“That’s okay.” Alaska promised, her teary eyes suddenly holding tender sadness in the place of her former rage. “Do you… Can I give you a hug? Just to… consolidate a truce, I guess, and give you a little bit of comfort.”

The words got stuck in Sharon’s throat, but it didn’t end up mattering. At the slightest inclination of her head, Alaska rushed forwards and wrapped her arms around Sharon, the both of them melting against one another in a moment of sheer exhaustion and weakness. There were tears beginning to well up in Sharon’s eyes, too, but she did her best to blink them away, determined not to cry in Alaska’s embrace.

It was nice… nicer than she’d expected. Alaska was warm, and welcoming, and at heart she was a good, loving person. Sharon was selfish and rude and petulant and she didn’t deserve the love, let alone the friendship, of someone like Alaska. But something about the tightness with which Alaska held onto Sharon told her that, somehow, this was someone who would give her infinite chances. Alaska had never waited for Sharon to fuck up, not like everyone else. She had gotten angry, and then her angry had been pushed aside completely in favour of a sweet embrace.

It felt so good to be held by someone. Sharon lifted her own arms to squeeze Alaska and buried her face, hoping that her wife couldn’t tell that she had started sobbing.

[robynkassisracist]

Sorry this is gonna be a train of thought essay but I just have a lot to say about the race issues that have been going on this season so if this is all over the place I apologize.

I feel like this summer has really made me lose all hope in Big Brother. There’s always been a lack of diversity in the casting, and we’ve had plenty of racists in the past. And a part of me has always asked myself why I and many others haven’t given up on the show yet? It’s such a key part of my summer and I have such a love for the show - as do many others - but it’s dwindling.

In light of what Audrey posted to Twitter earlier about how BB just doesn’t care about their casting and only cares about money, I feel like this is something we’ve all be cognizant of but still put up with. And I don’t want to put up with it anymore. Why should any of us put up with it? Something that has really struck me in this season in particular is how the feeds will cut when a houseguest starts to talk about the racial implications of what’s been going on in the house.

Kemi talks about casting diversity and the feeds cut.

David talks about the buyback being all people of color the feeds cut.

What the actual fuck is all of that about? I think this summer has been more telling than ever that BB really doesn’t care. They will continue to put POCs in an environment not suited for them socially where they will be ostracized and given hell by other houseguests. Casting doesn’t care. Production doesn’t care. They’ll continue to edit things favorably for houseguests who are actually pieces of shit - like Audrey said - because that fits the best narrative. One of the only times they ever let it fit the narrative was when Aaryn and co. were being terrible in BB15. But that’s just that. BB showed that they “cared” once. It’s a one and done for them. 

When a dialogue on race - especially started BY PEOPLE OF COLOR - in the house cannot be brought to light without the feeds changing, that is appalling, deplorable, and disgusting. Fuck that. Even last year with the n-word situation between Bay and JC, production and editing didn’t care. The feeds were cut for what, over an hour while Bay and JC had their argument? The hell is that? But we can see just about see anything else get shown on the feeds?

At this point, I’ve just about entirely stopped watching like many others on social media have. But enough people will probably never stop watching enough for production and casting to change their ways. They’ll cast the same shitty racist people every year, and they will continue to censor most if not all dialogue that the houseguests may want to have on the matter of race when it comes to how the other houseguests are both behaving and playing. It’s fucking sad, but I don’t know if anything can even be done about it when all BB wants is money. I don’t know if we should be surprised they’re just in it for money? But at the same time I guess I would have thought that maybe they gave a shit about the viewers can ACTUALLY see what’s going on.

Anyway if you read this all the way through, thanks. Just needed to vent.

[tessatechaitea]

Teen Titans Spotlight #1: Starfire

Comics in 1986: "Let's begin our new series with Starfire battling Apartheid!" Asshole Fans in 2019: "Comics should go back to the good old days when they weren't political!"

Really, M&M's? Everyone? Haven't you heard about Apartheid?!

So far the craziest thing about this comic book to modern audiences is how boring M&M colors were in 1986. I suspect I don't have the maturity to comment on a story about Apartheid. Oh well! Let's do this! The story is called "Black and White" because, you see, Apartheid was about how whites and blacks experienced two disparate South Africas. It's also a play on how "black and white" is a way to describe issues that have easily recognizable positive and negative sides. It's probably racist that we automatically assume the black side is the negative side. Maybe that also plays into the title! Chess pieces are black and white too so maybe the title alludes to chess. Maybe something about pawns versus the gentry. Marv might even work in some bits about The Beatles seeing as how they're using that zebra crossing on the cover of Abbey Road. Starfire has just returned from Tamaran where she married that dweeby Prince Karras guy. He was Tamaran's version of Terry Long. I'm surprised more panels didn't show Starfire and Donna in the background giggling and holding their index fingers and thumb a teeny, tiny distance apart. Starfire didn't spend eighth grade on Earth so she never learned Earth geography. So instead of flying in from space and looking at Earth and going, "Okay, that's New York right there!", she winds up in South Africa. I bet she came at Earth upside down and got confused. It's easy to get confused in space where up and down don't exist in any objective way. Starfire descends upon a group of black people chanting "Informer" at a woman they eventually soak in gasoline and light on fire. Holy fuck! This comic book just got more real than all 114 issues of New Titans I just recently reread! Except maybe that part where Raven raped Starfire during Starfire's wedding. That was pretty heavy. The white police arrive to commit some justice. Unless I meant "racism" instead of "justice." Sometimes, living in America, it's hard to see the difference.

I bet this guy has a MAGA Twitter account.

How many of your racist family members often bring up black on black crime when discussing gun control or cops shooting unarmed black men? How many of those idiots don't think they're being racist when they bring up that argument and just think they're being logical? It's fucking racism, dudes. Cops killing unarmed black men has nothing to do with black men being killed by criminals who happen to share their same skin color. Nobody ever talks about "white on white" crime. That's just crime perpetuated by criminals against innocent people! But somehow a black person shooting another black person belongs in some kind of special category? Of course a black person is probably going to be the victim of a black criminal because America had this thing called white flight. It caused places to become poor black neighborhoods because white people couldn't handle having even one black neighbor. So people and businesses moved out, local governments ignored infrastructure of those areas (or purposefully simply just built freeways straight through them), and constantly sent the police in to hassle innocent people just trying to live their fucking lives. Systemic racism (and racists!) segregated the races in a fairly efficient manner. So when a black criminal looks for a victim in their neighborhood, of course they're going to almost certainly find a black victim! That's simply crime, not black on black crime. Maybe I would think differently if anybody ever at any time in any of these debates brought up white on white crime. Y'all realize that's the most prevalent crime there is, right? Which means whites are the biggest criminals of all. If you're, you know, going to argue that way, you stupid racist asshole. Plus saying black on black crime is just a way for people to intimate that most crime is caused by black people. "Even though they keep criming us whites, they still have time to crime up their own people!" This comic book taught me that South African police would use purple dye in water cannons to stain people during protests so that they can be identified later as people who participated in the riot that totally didn't erupt later due to the police being overly aggressive and also racist. Wolfman says people "affectionately" called it Purple Rain which led me down a rabbit hole to figure out which came first, the racist ploy to arrest as many people as possible or the Prince album. Apparently the dyed water was named after the Prince album. That's probably why it was an "affectionate" sobriquet.

I'm a little bit worried that Wolfman is about to "both sides" Apartheid.

Starfire winds up with the South African police who tell her all about how terrible South African blacks are and how she's going to get a medal for helping quell the protest. They also call the woman who burned to death a bitch so I'm getting the feeling that they're not really interested in any kind of justice or peace. It's quite possible that — hear me out on this — they just want to oppress the black citizens and make sure they know their place. But I don't want to jump to conclusions! I should wait until I hear their arguments in a frank and logical debate. "Please, white South Africans, explain to me how South Africa needs your violent tactics and racist attitudes to maintain peace and order. Also explain how peace and order aren't different from justice for everybody. I might be convinced to stop calling you racist if you debate well!"

This guy doesn't realize how true it is that he's teaching these black South Africans how to behave.

It would have been easy to read this, at one time, from a privileged position as a citizen of America and think that the white South Africans in this story were caricatures of racist monsters, playing up their terrible qualities to get the reader to sympathize with the plight of the black South Africans. But these caricatures of despicable and horrible systemic racism using tactics to dehumanize a segment of the population are absolute mirrors of Trump and his deplorables. "They're animals." "They're not like us." "They do not think." "They are like children." "They fight amongst themselves." "We are just securing the peace." "This is God's country." "They need to be taught how to behave." "Their flagrant disregard for the law must be stopped." And all of these statements are simply excuses to treat certain people as less than human. "They get what they deserve." I'm so fucking disappointed in so many Americans right now. Starfire is completely confused by everything she's seeing. In her confusion, some journalists get her to sort of say she's for Apartheid. Uh oh! The Teen Titans are going to get worse press than when they destroyed New York City while arguing with their parents about their curfew.

Starfire's response is me on Twitter every fucking day.

The South African leader, Racist McRacisthole, tells Starfire not to worry about the journalists because they're always asking terrible questions and lying about how awful everything is. But Starfire is all, "Just because I have big hair and big tits and my ass is hanging out, don't think I'm a fucking idiot! Not that I'm trying to say people who look like that are idiots! But I know terrible people like you, Mr. Racisthole, think like that! So I just want you to know that I see you! I see what you're doing and how you're trying to snow me with all this fucking dehumanizing garbage! You remind me of the Gordanians!" Then Starfire gets so angry and delivers such a passionate speech that her nose falls off.

"I'b not gobing do libben do yub liebs aby lobber!"

Starfire declares she never cared for politics and tells Governor Racisthole that she's leaving. But instead of going, "Good! Stop interfering with our terrible government!", he says, "I won't let you leave which will probably cause you to stay and help the oppressed!" Starfire hears a prisoner screaming in pain before she leaves and decides to stick around to help him. While doing so, she realizes that maybe she show these government officials real power! No, I don't mean she's going to flash her tits. Jesus. Some of you comic book nerds just don't stop, do you?! Sure, DC panders to your boners by putting Starfire in her underwear. But you do have the choice to stop being such creepy little fucks, you know?

Imagine reading this and instead of thinking, "You tell 'em, Starfire! Way to go!", you think, "Virtue signaler."

Starfire has some more thoughts from 1986 for us here in 2019. She just won't stop!

Virtue signaler!

I swear the rest of this commentary can just be scans of Starfire saying important shit.

I mean, if this 1986 comic book is an example of older comics that Comicsgaters want to go back to, I'm fucking up for that shit.

In the next panel that I'm not going to scan because I'll never finish reading this comic book if I scan every fucking panel, Starfire says, "Unwittingly, my father helped ruin our world by caving in to our enemies rather than fighting for what was right. I won't do that here on Earth. I've got to care." I should probably send that panel to Nancy Pelosi. Starfire frees all of the political prisoners and escorts them back to where they're forced to live outside the city. She tries to figure out what Apartheid means and Father Nelson Mandutu, the rebel leader the police have been searching for, tells her, "Ah, I see — you are trying to make sense of madness." It's as good a reason to dismiss people always pressing you to debate their terrible ideas and worthless topics. How can you win a debate against twisted logic and racist madness? Just ignore them when they call you a coward or an elitist when you refuse to debate. I was always taught that the best way to get shit off of your shoe is to scrape it off, not to get in an argument with it. Starfire follows Mandutu around for the day except for the one moment when he's kidnapped. When she goes to rescue him, she destroys an armory and discovers that Father Mandutu has been killed. BY HER! And there are cameras rolling! Totally not suspicious or anything! I bet we discover she was framed next issue! That's the kind of intelligent speculation you get from a Grandmaster Comic Book Reader like me. I can't be fooled even by the most subtle of plot twists! Teen Titans Spotlight #1: Starfire Rating: A. I should probably apologize to Marv Wolfman for all the insults I've made about his Teen Titans books. This was a well-written infotainment issue putting precisely the right character at the heart of an international travesty. And I thought a story about Apartheid was going to be boring! It's almost as if I forgot that every panel would have tons of side boob! Oh no! I just realized I'm one of those creepy little fucks!

[zaineashe]

i want to fucking die

[maryofone]

Good Advice

We live in an age of inspirational quotes. Social media is polluted with them. It seems like every other second we’re scrolling past another motivational adage with a beach in the background. I guess it’s kind of nice that we have so many messages of positivity floating around, especially given how many messages of negativity are on the internet, but there is a downside to this overdose of life inspiration: there’s just too damned much of it. We’re all drowning in bite-sized life advice and because there’s so much of it, it’s hard to feel genuinely inspired by any of it.

Seeing all of this disposable life advice on Instagram and Twitter makes me think about the real advice people have given me over the years. Before we were all being force-fed affirmative quotes every day of our lives, what words of wisdom really stuck with me?

I cried when I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet. Apparently this quote originated from some Persian poet, but I just remember my dad saying it to me. Pretty straightforward shit. People always have it worse than you, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. Not sure if it was the poignancy of the shoe/foot image or the influence of my father or what, but I never forgot that one and I do honestly try to bitch about as little as possible in my life.

Worrying means you suffer twice. Apparently a couple of people are known to have said this but I can’t determine the originator, and I can’t recall where I heard it from as a kid. I just remember thinking that was one of the smartest ways of looking at life. It was a powerful enough phrase that I never forgot it, but evidently it wasn’t powerful enough to curb my near-constant worrying.

Make every sentence count. I had a boss tell me this. Not only did he tell me this, he systematically drilled it into my mind over the course of two years. He taught me to respect the time people give me when they read my words, and to not waste any of that time with fluff. He might be lightly horrified by some of the rambling on this blog, but regardless his advice never left me.  And to be honest, my real goal is to apply this advice to how I speak too. That said, filtering the fluff out of my spoken words is a way bigger challenge. 

When in doubt, help other people. This advice I can thank my mother for. Sometimes shit can get reeeally fuckin bad in life, and almost crush you on the inside. In these moments of utter helplessness, when you literally can’t think about anything in your life without wanting to cry or scream or curl up into a ball on the floor… go help some people. Doesn’t matter who. Old people, sick people, people who feel sad just like you. Doesn’t have to be super intense relief work or anything. Even just doing something kind for someone. Even though you’re technically doing something for someone else, it does something for you. Easing someone else’s pain eases your pain too, somehow. A bit of a mystery, but a hopeful one. And good advice to remember when life as you know it feels like complete and total garbage.

Change your ways while you’re young. For some reason back in 2003 there was a single lyric from a fucking Killers song that went into my ears and into my brain and soul and has never fucking left. The song was Smile Like You Mean It and the verse in particular was: Save some face, you know you’ve only got one; change your ways, while you’re young. I was 20 when I first heard that song and even though I had no intention of changing my ways anytime soon, something in me knew it was good advice. I was already familiar with the notion that bad habits are harder to kick as you get older, but I found something really beautiful about the idea of ‘saving face’ with respect to your life as a whole. I want to save face in my life, so I have to change my ways while I’m young. Good call, Brandon Flowers. I’ve always had an eye on the ways that need changing in my life, and I’ve got an eye on the time too.

Slow and steady wins the race. Good ol tortoise and hare. I didn’t particularly care about this story when I was a kid, although I did appreciate the argument for consistency, and planning for the long game. I always remembered this advice but I never really noticed how true it was until recently. When I look around at my life and all of the things I’m most proud of, I see that they’re all the fruits of a loooong labour. My career, my home, my writing, myself. Everything I love about my life I got the slow and steady way. Patience is fucking everything. Consistency is fucking everything. I am a fucking tortoise.

Get a good sleep. My parents were probably first to impart this advice but I’ve certainly heard it from a countless number of people since. It might be my favourite piece of advice of all time. First off, the actual sentence itself has a calming effect; “Get a good sleep, okay?” And secondly, while it may just be a casual phrase you toss at your loved ones before bed, it’s also the most crucial piece of advice you can give to someone who’s coping with something horrible. Whether it’s a traumatic event or a tragedy or an illness, when we have no advice left to give a person who’s suffering, sometimes all you can say to them is “get a good sleep.” As far as following this advice, I’ve been pretty faithful about it most nights of my life. I often get razzed for my farmer-style sleep schedule, but it’s definitely responsible for a shitload of my quality of life. It honestly might be the best life advice there is.

Long before Instagram and Twitter and the river of inspirational quotes, these were the pieces of advice that informed my life. Just stuff from parents and fables and Killers songs. A mixed bag, but some good nuggets if you ask me.

[theliterateape]

The Power of Selective Care: How to Survive the Wave Pool of Everyone Else's Causes

by Don Hall

He's on the sidewalk just out in front of the Smith's grocery store, gesticulating and having an argument with someone no one else can see.

I approach him. He seems to be having an argument about the number of cars in the parking lot and how they aren't from America. He's really worked up about it.

"Excuse me? Can I take a second of your time to ask a question?"

He stops and looks both at and through me with a sense of malevolence and hostility usually reserved for family members on the wrong side of the Thanksgiving conversation.

I smile. It has no reactive response. "I'm just curious how you feel about whether the new MCU Ms. Marvel will be more like a CW show or more like the current shows on Disney+?"

He stares at me as if I had slowly grown a baby's foot out of the side of my neck.

"I'm a huge MCU fan," I continue. "So far, I pretty much love everything they've put out—I grew up reading the comics so seeing them come to life as it were is a real blast—but I wonder if, in order to capture a youth market, they're going to start making the shows more kid-centered?"

He stares for a beat and then barks "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! I DON'T CARE! I. DO. NOT. CARE!"

For the past few years, I've been trying to understand why Donald Trump is considered such a danger to democracy, a blight upon our crops, a monster who occupied the Oval Office. People on my side of the political fence don't just despise him as I did Bush Jr. and his disfigured Emperor Cheney—they HATE him with the white-hot hatred of a child grown up to avenge her mother who was killed by the local rancher and now she has a pistol.

I'm not suggesting the man was anything but a wholly incompetent head of state but the hatred is so palpable. I try to figure out why he is so hated when all he did was pack the SCOTUS with zealots and completely fuck the COVID response (although, seeing how half the country won't get vaccinated anyway indicates that he was just the tip of the COVID-denial iceberg). He did foment a riot against Congress, so there’s certainly that.

He was (and continues to be) a complete narcissistic asshole but that can be said for 78.98% of everyone with a Twitter account of Instagram and we don't collectively hate them, right?

I believe our horror over Trump has more to do with his active apathy to anything we think is important and that he answered so much of what We the People decided required serious thought with a simple "So...?"

"Mr. President, you're a racist!"

"So...?"

"Mr. President, you're a rapist!"

"So...?"

"Mr. President, you're a crook!"

"So...?"

He didn't even pretend to care.

And it infuriated us. What a complete dick. An amazing fucker. How dare he brush off our concerns and accusations? We have just realized the power of our collective Tweets to influence society and this asshat comes in and does it better than us? WTF?

I remember having arguments on Faceborg (back when I gave a shit about that non-discourse vacuous wormhole) and being told (amongst insults) that people could care about more than one issue at a time. Wrong. It takes so much energy to solely get up in the morning, read the news of ongoing impending disasters on all fronts, and prevent yourself from blasting a 9 millimeter hole out the back of your head. To assume that with all that you can then devote attention and action to solving more than one big problem with any hope of forward traction is absurd.

I imagine that issues in the world are like writing tasks. Do I spend time today working on marketing copy for the company that employs me? Blog posts for them? Going over notes for the casino book I'm writing? Researching some philosophy for a Literate Ape piece on the absence of evil in the world? FUCK. If I don't practice some selectivity, some prioritization, some discrimination on which thing I focus on, I'm going to sit in the stew of my own inactivity and do absolutely nothing.

Hell, maybe I go on social media and bitch about the trauma all of it causes me instead of doing any of it?

I do and am assaulted by causes: #BLM, #METoo, #StoptheSteal, #VoterRights, #COVIDVaccines. There are people angry about mask mandates, police reform, the attempt to hold accountable Republicans for the January 6th insurrection, DaBaby's homophobic comments (who the fuck is DaBaby?), reproductive rights, transgender issues, cancel culture, whether Simone Biles was brave or simply choked, and I suddenly understand my friend in front of the Smith's screaming "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! I DON'T CARE! I. DO. NOT. CARE!"

Ever since Trump came into office in 2017, I've felt that those on the left side of the national parking lot decided to adopt his strategy and become the biggest cunts in the party, insulting, yelling, over-simplifying complex issues, and embracing their inner bullies. My reaction has been to eschew any tactic used by that shithead.

I was wrong.

The strategy I believe can be mimicked to our advantage is that practice of Selective Care. Decide which issues matter, which solutions are feasible, and ignore everything else.

Choose the thing you want to zero in on—say, income inequality.

"You believe in biology? You're transphobic!" "So...?" "You believe that looting is not legitimate protest? You're racist!" "So...?" "Biden is a Chinese agent put into power by the Chinese!" "So...?" "The government can't tell me that I have to get vaccinated! It's my right to refuse!" "Huh? Were you talking?"

"The minimum wage has been stagnant for decades!" "Yeah! Right? Let's talk about that."

Refuse to be distracted by anyone else's bullshit and spend your time and energy running one race at a time. If your issue is important enough to you, everyone else's cause can slide into the background.

This is not about self-care nor is it about avoiding important issues in the world. It is about recognizing how effective you can be during your tiny, insignificant presence on the planet. Funny that, in earlier days in America, most people did not feel they were terribly important or that their opinion mattered so much as their support of the unity of society and today 7 out of 10 believe they are very important and their opinions are essential.

Most of us are not important to many more than a handful of others and your Faceborg friends are mostly not your friends.

Pick and choose those issues you deem important because that issue is more interesting than you are.

[ts1989fanatic]

How Taylor Swift Inspired A Movie About Battle Rap

Bodied is the new film from Joseph Kahn, a music video director who's become almost as famous for his outspoken Twitter presence as for his work. But there's plenty of thought behind all his online button-pushing.

Last week, Joseph Kahn summoned the wrath of the Beyhive down upon himself — and not just once but repeatedly. For the average person online, drawing the enraged attention of one of the internet's most devoted and formidable fandoms is something to be feared and avoided at all costs. But the 44-year-old Korean-American filmmaker didn't just goad Beyoncé stans into attack with taunts about their inability to do real damage and quips to the press destined to immediately be taken out of context, he greeted the influx of bee emojis and tweeted insults like Lieutenant Dan howling defiance at a hurricane.

Or maybe just like a director with a new movie to promote. "To be honest, I did it on purpose," Kahn admitted over coffee in Toronto, referring to his campaign of strategic hive-poking and the resulting media coverage. And, he pointed out, it worked. "Everyone knows Bodied now. You can make a good film, but if you throw it out into a vacuum, the air does not get in there. The only thing people care about these days is celebrity. My movie has no stars. So all you have to do is know how to rattle the internet cage."

Bodied, which was the opening night pick of the Toronto International Film Festival's beloved Midnight Madness program, is Kahn's first film in six years, one he wrote with battle rapper Alex Larsen, aka Kid Twist. Altogether, Kahn's made three films, including 2004's self-aware Fast and the Furious-but-with-motorcycles riff Torque, and the 2011 teen-comedy-slasher genre mashup Detention, which, like Bodied, he funded himself. But the reason he's so well-acquainted with the world of dedicated pop fandoms is because it's the entity in which he spends most of his time. He's best known as a prominent, prolific, perpetually outspoken music video director who, since launching his career in the early ’90s, has worked with everyone from Muse to Destiny's Child, Britney Spears to Dr. Dre. And, of course, with Taylor Swift.

Since 2015, Swift has been the music artist with whom Kahn's career has been most closely linked. It's a connection boosted, in part, by Kahn's willingness to wade into the online fray in defense of the seemingly eternally embattled pop star (it's in talking about Swift that Kahn is most careful with his words, describing her as an "excellent target"). Kahn has directed five music videos for Swift, including the monster that is "Blank Space" (2.16 billion views and counting) and late August's internet-breaker "Look What You Made Me Do." He was still slugging it out on behalf of the latter, an intensely parsed and much-discussed video in which Swift contends with her past personas, in the days leading up to the Bodied premiere.

Kahn obviously isn't afraid of controversy or a fight. At a time when people working in Hollywood have gotten increasingly cautious about their online presences, he's maintained one of most markedly salty, trolly Twitter feeds of any filmmaker working today. (Illustrative sample: "I just gotta remind everyone that my twitter has only one message. Fuck you.") These facts are even more crystal clear when watching Bodied, which stars former Disney Channel actor Calum Worthy and actual battle rappers like Dumbfoundead and Dizaster, and is a button-pushing comedy that uses the underground hip-hop scene as a way to tackle language wars, cultural appropriation, and freedom of speech.

But if that pitch sounds like the ramp-up to the kind of potential nightmare 4chan apologia you'd want to run away from, screaming, the reality of Bodied is a lot more conflicted, considered, overstuffed with ideas, and yes, sometimes, even sensitive. It’s a film that argues on behalf of the right to say anything while simultaneously emphasizing how much words can wound. "This film has a lot of issues in it, and I'm not dismissing any of them," Kahn said. "In fact, one of the things we're trying to figure out is, in the world of absolute free speech, is there a limit? Is there a consequence to going too far? I wanted to explore the furthest reach of that."

Bodied was produced by Eminem, another artist Kahn's directed videos for, and a man who famously got his start in the freestyle rap battle scene. But while Eight Mile gets name-checked in Bodied, the film primarily owes its existence to a Swift controversy. More specifically, it was born out of the one kicked up by the video Kahn did for "Wildest Dreams," shot in part in the Serengeti and meant to evoke a location shoot for an old Hollywood production à la The African Queen, with Swift and Scott Eastwood playing actors whose onscreen romance bleeds into real life.

Kahn was aware there were, to use his word, "complexities" to this concept from the start — plenty of shit in which to step. These included concerns as to whether the video would accidentally make it look like Swift was out to shoot lions instead of a film, and whether she'd be accused of "whitewashing history and ignoring segregation" if Kahn cast a black actor to play the director of the fictional feature, as was his original impulse. These considerations failed to dampen the firestorm of arguments the video set off about whether Swift was romanticizing colonization and erasing Africans from the African setting. Kahn wasn't having it.

"I started making jokes about it. I had one joke where I said, 'Asians can't be racists. Black or white, all dogs taste the same to us.' Paper magazine wrote an entire hit piece on me talking about how I don't do videos for minorities, which is absurd, because I've done 30 years of music videos and half of them are hip-hop." Eventually, he said, the furor became an inspiration. "I thought, this is insane — no matter what I write or what I say, they just want to be social media bullies. And the nature of even talking about race is so constricted behind the accusation, and not over the analysis, and I thought, Wow, there's a movie."

Which is where battle rap came in. "There's an anger in me, and it only seemed to be expressed by a world where a white guy and a black guy could make completely racist jokes against each other, worse than anything I've ever written, and then they go get a beer together," Kahn explained. But in addition to its particular hip-hop scene, Bodied also keeps one foot on campus, where woker-than-thou characters are shown trying to one-up each other in circular conversations about race, gender, class, and privilege. One of the most provocative ideas the film floats is that the vocabulary of social justice has been co-opted for verbal one-upmanship just as competitive as battle rap.

"I feel sometimes like when people who can't outsmart me online, they'll just go back to my old tweets and say, 'Look, he's racist, don't listen to him.' It's dirty play," Kahn says. "They don't know me. They're just taking jokes, and saying that all stereotyped jokes are racist, which I genuinely do not believe. A joke is a contradiction you agree with. Just because the contradiction is dangerous doesn't mean you don't agree with it." Kahn sees Bodied as embracing that sense of danger, while acknowledging that the intersection he's been occupying between an incendiary indie movie and young music fandom can be "messy and ugly."

But also, maybe, advantageous? Bodied, which was well-received at TIFF, has yet to cement a distributor, but Kahn's been tweeting about getting multiple offers. And certainly, for Kahn, all the attention didn't hurt in getting to this place, even if so much of it was angry. "I don't think it really means much," he said of the online uproar. "I think, on one level, it's just blowing up the pop stan world," which then becomes a conduit to draw more promotion of his film work, especially when it comes to his already infamous LA Times interview in which he joked, "Beyoncé copied 'Bad Blood.'" "How many indie films get linked hundreds of times in an interview with a filmmaker talking about race?" he pointed out. Then, not one to resist, he added, "Thank you, Beyhive."

ts1989fanatic love this description of Joseph Kahn’s Twitter Feed:

Kahn obviously isn't afraid of controversy or a fight. At a time when people working in Hollywood have gotten increasingly cautious about their online presences, he's maintained one of most markedly salty, trolly Twitter feeds of any filmmaker working today. (Illustrative sample: "I just gotta remind everyone that my twitter has only one message. Fuck you.")

[sarcasticmudkip]

CALL OUT POST TO ME: because, news flash, less that 24 hours of engagement without a lick of research doesn’t give me the right to assume that people don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about!

So apparently, the problematic aspects of the show are not on it’s takes on abuse and redemption like I originally thought, but because of its harmful uses of stereotypes, and past actions that point to the creator engaging in P*dophillia/be*stiality/supporting racism. I was up on my high horse thinking people just didn’t know how themes worked, when really, I just didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about, so I apologize for that and I apologize if it makes me look like I was sweeping these issues under the rug 

I’m just gonna copy and paste what someone sent me 

Things Viziepop has done: 

-Drawn literal child porn -drawn beastiality (this one I’m not sure if she’s apologized for) -apropriated and stereotyped other cultures, specifically by using voodoo dolls and other “witchy and devilish” imagery in her work 

-supports a creator that did black face and is openly racist -is openly enbyphobic -treats her only ace and lesbian characters like shit 

-had a rape victim sleep with their abuser,, like i get it’s a dark show but if you’re glorifying it there’s something seriously wrong with you -transmysoginy

Homophobia: Angel Dust embodies the “overly feminine gay man” stereotype. He also is VERY poor representation, because he’s downright trashy and sexually harasses everyone. I believe there’s also stereotypes surrounding that.

- Transmisogyny: Angel Dust very much resembles the “man in a dress” stereotype commonly perpetuated by transphobes. He is also overly sexual and harasses people, which is an uncomfortable reminder of how many people see femininity in AMAB people as a fetish and only a fetish.

 - Transphobia @ trans guys: He ALSO heavily resembles those caricatures of feminine or nondysphoric trans men often created and praised by transmedicalists (who Vivienne follows and praises). What’s with the dobonhonkeros, Viv?

- Other transphobia: After Vivziepop began to watch transphobic Youtubers, Angel Dust’s original genderfluid identity was scrapped in favor of making him a cis man. - Drug addict that doesn’t even get help stereotype - Sex worker making everything about sex, being a trashy drug addict and sexually harasses people, more bad stereotyping

the only gay character is shown as a sex and drug addict, and violent person, and he’s also drawn to look transphobic. the only latina character in the show is shown as stereotypically angry and snappy, and she’s also “protective over the white girl” ( AND she’s a lesbian with a name similar to “vagina”

Ok so obviously all that shit is bad, but from what I’ve come across based on this twitter thread, some of it holds merit and some of it has less merit. Because I don’t like cancel culture and that shit, have a link:

https://twitter.com/NotDeezy/status/1189570171050057729 [twitter thread]

https://www.reddit.com/r/HazbinHotel/comments/dpe9zm/vivziepop_controversy_debunked/ [reddit with clarification of certain stuff in the comments]

Just gonna copy and paste what I already typed and discussed with someone else cause I am too tired:

I DON’T agree with this person’s take that the be*stiality/p*dophillic art is excusable because you can’t prove their ages…because obviously it’s irresponsible to make something without taking into account how characters are perceived by the majority of people, however I do believe the creator’s sentiments about how they completely regret making those pieces of art/no longer support and reject what those youtubers support. Perhaps I’m an over empath for accepting it so quickly, not sure :/ But also…the sterotype thing,,,,yeah that’s not good….I’ve seen some arguments that’s its ok for the characters to be like that since it’s literal hell, but also…playing into stereotypes just to uphold that atmosphere ain’t the *best* idea to say the least. Also fuck me and my blindness, huh…I didn’t see how Vaggie was latino coded, didn’t even know they had a race tbh, and I genuinely thought Angel Dust was just a take on gender/identity because it’s ~Hell~ so, perhaps I fell into that trap of “cis-man confident in dress!!! this is good!!” But given I am not Latino or Trans, I can definitely understand now why they’re offended and see now how that can be/is harmful. 

the transmisogy and black face i think i already touched upon but I can blatantly see the use off voodoo in her work yeah. I *think* the show very openly shows how bad the whole abuser sleeping with the rape victim is and doesn’t glorify it at all, because I’m pretty sure the character in question and their friend like���.blow up their house and shit while also realistically showing the gaslighting victims go through. So I think that’s just the choices for the purposes of writing. BUT then for the enbyphobic and ace and lesbian stuff [I do not have linked evidence for this but going off a trusted person’s word that it exists]….yeah not good and I have yet to see an apology for it so yikes

So uh TL;DR: the sterotypes used in Hazbin Hotel are absolutely bad and I don’t support them, but I also believe the creator’s sentiments about their regrets from the stuff they made in 2012, and given that (from what I have seen. Please absolutely prove me wrong if that is not the case!) they haven’t repeated any actions that go to support racism/p*dophillia/b*astiality and condemned the past, they’re from that perspective, a better person for it. [And again if the ace/lesbian/enby stuff is true and she hasn’t apologized for it then yeah, triple fuck her, but I don’t think I can give a valid comment on it based on what I know alone]

 And I t h i n k this is all mainly from Hotel Hazbin? So luckily the show I enjoyed much more, Helluva Boss, seems to be an improvement (Although Stolas is definitely problomatic…I hope his flaws are going to be traits that are actually called out and addressed, and not just played for sterotype laughs…would be so easy to fix it just tone it down a few notches like in episode 2 :/ fuck man)

guh dancing around this show and its shitty creator are making me tired. I think it’s safe to call death of the author yeah? or like whatever the fuck we did to jk rowling. 

Again, sorry for my shitty assumptions that people didn’t know what they were talking about when throwing around the word “problematic,” I’ll take full shit for that. Maybe that was deprived of me seeing people call Zuko ATLA problomatic… Today’s lesson: don’t assume you can know whats up about a show based on your seven hour binge and 4am thoughts. 

Just a quick tip: Since the creator of helluva boss is the same as hazbin hotel, people will probably come into your notes and complain about how offensive, bad and discriminatory the series is.

Obviously thats all bs, this weird new definition of whats "problematic" is nonsensical anyways, but I just wanted to give you a quick heads up in case you didnt know how absolutely outraged people may become over this fictional show.

Hmm, I guess I can get the idea where people might find the show offensive, since it deals with more *cough* mature topics. Art style aside, it’s definitely something that’s for a bit of an older audience than, say, thirteen year olds, but I doubt that stops anyone :p lol. 

I think the show handles its topics and themes really really well, it’s definitely not half-assed!! So I think (take me with a grain of salt as you will as my analysis and soaking in of all the content hasn’t settled for more than 24 hours) that if people found it “problematic,” it was “problematic” because of the presence of those themes and topics itself, and not out of mis-representation or romanticism or something. (Well, maybe Stolas’ obsessives hots for Blitz is a bit over romanticized, I could see that argument. But overall show’s good in Kip’s book) Kind of an on-going pattern in fandom....if you talk about a topic like abuse or gender identity, you’re automatically problematic :/ Ah well. Should probably be fine overall, I’m just dipping into fanart and writing analysis, not too much into deep fandom 

Also it’s 4am so hopefully this is coherent and I didn’t accidentally say something stupid 

[itswhatcouldhappen]

Cultural Appropriation Rant

If this cultural appropriation shit keeps up, soon enough we should just all divide ourselves into mini countries and keep our cultures hidden from each other. We keep fucking dividing ourselves by race and culture. The more we keep doing this, the more our country weakens. I’m sorry! But isn’t this America?!?! Land of the free. A so called melting pot where we can all learn from each other and share in everyone’s culture! We need to handle extremists on both sides which are: 1) the assholes that thinks its funny to dress up and mock cultures and do it to fuck around and 2) the people that refuse to allow even a piece of jewelry to be worn because its somehow misplacing meaning and shit. I’m sorry but I am a person of color (I hate that fucking term by the way but for the sake of this) and JESUS CHRIST! THE CONSTANT NITPICKING AND ATTENTION SEEKING! Look if someone is going to intentionally make fun of my culture then yeah I will be fucking pissed and I have every right to stand up for what it is. But if someone genuinely likes the kind of clothes my culture has brought to the table then by all means. If you think it’s beautiful and want to incorporate it then I think you’re beautiful for thinking my culture is beautiful. If you have respect for it then I have respect for you. Simple as that. I feel this day and age everyone wants to get mad at every little fucking thing and just craves attention. Let’s respect each other because we are human not because of the color of our skin. Race isn’t even a scientific concept. It is a man made sociological concept. Let’s begin to change that by learning about each other’s culture rather than “race.” You know how we deal with extremists and prevent this bullshit in the future? This is just my opinion. WE EDUCATE!!! And I’m not saying stopping someone and yelling at them that it’s cultural appropriation or going on someone’s YouTube or Twitter feed and cussing them out. No. That just lessens your argument and gets everyone to roll their eyes. We go to the classrooms and we teach our kids and the future generation about EVERY CULTURE. Not just black and white. ALL CULTURES. We focus on white history. We focus on black history. We focus on Hispanic history. We focus on Asian history. We focus on Pacific Islanders. EVERYTHING!!! We are so restricted by what we learn and on top of that people want to remove history. This is why we have so many issues because our education system FUCKING SUCKS! THAT IS THE FUCKING TRUTH!!! We need to fight for our education reform because if not, we are going to be following blindly and making it easier for our government to manipulate us. Not in a dictatorship kind of way. No (but hey maybe lol). No I’m saying like look at how much control the media has over people. MOST OF IT IS EXAGGERATED STORIES AND THINGS THAT JUST ARENT TRUE! They get a rise out of people by reporting SOME stories and exaggerating the shit out of them with stupid titles and shit like that. Social media has found a way to connect us but also a way to divide us. If we educate ourselves we can avoid disrespecting other cultures and just each other as human beings! I think that we need to balance our extremes and just come to an ACADEMIC mutual decision/discussion/agreement. We all are never going to agree with each other. That’s not who we are as humans. BUT! We can try to UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER! That is the key. This is all just my opinion and what I’ve seen in my day to day life. Please educate yourself about everyone! Not just your own culture and the mass popular opinion. The popular opinion is not always the right opinion, especially when it is hypocritical and doesn’t take the time to listen to a different side of the story. Educate yourselves and your children. It will save us from the direction we are going. Much love!

-E. Truths

[artificialqueens]

Wake up (Branjie) - TheDane

Authors Note: Hey everyone. Thank you so much for your comments on my last fic. I’m extremely grateful and happy for everyones attention! I’ve gone fully abroad the Branjie train, and I’m having so much fun so please come talk to me om @ArtificialDane

A massive thank you to PinkGrapeFruit and VeronicaSanders for keeping my pronunces straight, catching my mistakes as well as a special shoutout to V for surviving in spite of the mouthwatering treats 

//

Vanjie ran a finger over Brookes’ cheek, following the bone, tracing it in the dim light. Vanjie dug the heel of his foot in, forcing Brooke so close he swore he could feel every inch of the other’s dick against his stomach.

-

“Huh?”

Vanjie woke up, something was wrong. Definitely wrong. The bus was moving, the engine humming. The soft snores from their fellow queens and the quiet voices coming from what the promoters pretended was a living room told him he was where he was supposed to be. Vanjie laid still, listening to the sounds, America rolling by outside, as he tried to figure out what was going on. He was warm and comfortable, safely tucked in Brooke’s embrace. One arm was under his head and the other, draped over his waist, holding him close. The duvet covering them both left Brooke’s dumb twinkle toes sticking out the end. Vanjie moved around, slinging his leg over Brooke’s body and ready to go back to sleep clinging to the other when he realised why he had woken up. Brooke’s cock was pressing against his stomach, his pants straining to keep in the mouth-watering treat that was begging for Vanjie’s attention.

“Hey.”

Vanjie tried to keep quiet, his voice as low as it could go. The bunk was way too small for two people, but they made it work, their relationship still so new that Vanjie couldn’t imagine not spending every second glued to Brooke’s side when he had the chance.

Brooke had pulled him into his bed on their first night on the road, Vanjie ready to pretend to sleep in his own cot, but Brooke had shut it down with a single please, his blue eyes filled with something that almost looked like fear. Vanjie didn’t really understand it. In his eyes Brooke was almost flawless, poised and professional, never scared of buckling down when it needed to be done, willing to take on any challenge if he believed in the end goal. On Drag Race he had come in with his stupid little flag, declaring himself the queen of the north before he had even properly stepped into the workroom - but in this, in their relationship, Brooke always waited for Vanjie’s cue. He waited willingly for him to tell him where they were going and what they were doing, and Vanjie had felt his heart melt. Brooke so rarely outright requested anything, so how could he say no, even less so when the sound of Brooke’s heartbeat rocked him to sleep better than anything else ever had.

Vanjie had honestly expected it to be more of an issue, sharing such a small space. His willowy tree trunk of a man barely fitting the tiny ass bunks to begin with, but so far on the tour the only real problem had been Yvie ‘calling it like it is’ when he had loudly told them to keep their shit on Brooke’s side, which had made Vanjie yell right back that Yvie could suck his dick and get his own damn boyfriend if he had a problem with him using his bunk for storage. It hadn’t gotten anywhere near their argument on Drag Race, but Vanjie could still feel Brooke in the background, watching them, the man without a doubt ready to swoop in and pick his ass up if they got into it, Brooke breathlessly telling Vanjie he had been genuinely scared that he would have gotten himself disqualified once he had sobered up if Silky hadn’t grabbed his arm.

“Brooke.”

Vanjie watched Brooke, his strong nose, his mouth hanging slightly open,  high cheekbones and that blonde hair, still shaved at the sides. The bushy brows he so often heard Brooke swear over when he had to de-drag with the glue sticking to them like a whore to a rich widower. His chest was naked with his pyjamas bottoms low on his hips.

Vanjie ran a finger over Brookes’ cheek, following the bone, tracing it in the dim light. Vanjie dug the heel of his foot in, forcing Brooke so close he swore he could feel every inch of the other’s dick against his stomach. Brooke’s cock a piece of art, a mouthful of perfection that Vanjie would write poems about if he had been gifted with any talent in that department besides making dirty innu, innoendi, innoendiucions on Twitter.

“Wake up.”

Brooke scrunched his nose, his hips stuttering, and Vanjie held his breath, one of Brooke’s eyes opening slowly.

“What?”

Vanjie smiled, the other’s voice gruff with sleep, an annoyed expression on his face like he wasn’t the one that had originally risen Vanjie from his slumber.

“Hi, Papi.”

“Why did you-”

Vanjie pulled his leg, forcing Brooke against his body, the other man’s mouth falling open in a surprised moan, and Vanjie laughed, pulling the curtain that surrounded their bunk completely shut before he caught Brooke’s lips in a kiss. He was sure both of them had morning breath, but that was another thing about new relationships. It didn’t matter, at least not yet.

“Ssh.” Vanjie smirked, their noses almost touching. “Be quiet.”

Brooke was staring at him, Vanjies skin prickling with the intensity he knew was there. Their curtain was thin enough that the orange light still shone through, illuminating their faces. Vanjie ran a hand over Brooke’s chest, the other gasping again, and Vanjie laughed. This was exciting, Vanjie was grateful for Silky’s snoring on the other side so loud, he was sure no one could hear them, but Brooke didn’t know that. He had no idea who was awake and who was asleep, how much privacy they had, and Vanjie had every intention of taking advantage of that.

“Pleas-”

“No.” Vanjie kissed Brooke again, his lips softer than anyone who wore as much lipstick as they did should be allowed to be, his hand pushing Brooke’s pyjamas down, his dick springing free. “I got this, ho.”

Brooke groaned, Vanjie barely capturing the sound as he closed his hand around Brooke, a hot flash of arousal rushing through his body when his fingers almost didn’t meet. Brooke was pulsating in his fist, the other man clearly getting his game as he bit into his own lip, teeth white in the dim light. Vanjie moved once, his hand gliding from tip to root, Brooke slick and perfect. His thumb dancing over the head on every upward stroke, the thick foreskin like butter.

“Get these cookies.”

Brooke laughed, the voice cut off by a moan as Vanjie twisted his hand.

“You’re, fuck- you’re insane.”

Vanjie smiled, Brooke’s broken whisper filling his chest with pride. Vanjie spit in his hand, tightening his grip. Brooke moved even closer, his hand sneaking into Vanjie’s hair, holding it tight, their bunk almost creaking but Vanjie couldn’t find it in himself to care. Brooke was a delight to touch, so responsive and fun to play with. Vanjie could tell he was going to come, Brooke already wound up so tight from whatever he had been dreaming about, though Vanjie hoped it was him.

“Come on hot stuff. Gimme what I want.”

Brooke kissed him, a broken sound swallowed between them as he came, Vanjie’s hand getting painted in warm spurts of cum, thick and heavy, Brooke shuddering apart as Vanjie pushed him past his limit, the moans turning to whimpers as Brooke grew too sensitive.

“Thank you.”

Vanjie released Brooke, a satisfied smile on his lips. He wiped his hand on his shirt, pushing at Brooke’s arm, the other removing it from his waist, Vanjie pulling his shirt over his head so he could dry them both off, Brooke hissing when Vanjie touched his dick. Vanjie threw the shirt to the bottom of their bunk, kicking it into the corner before he moved Brooke around, He easily rolled onto his back so that Vanjie could splay out on his chest, Brookes breath still returning to normal as Vanjie settled, spread on top of his boyfriend like a king.

“What about-” Vanjie knew what was playing in Brooke’s mind, Vanjie’s cock half hard between them, Vanjie loving the torture of pushing against Brooke every once in a while, the other almost moving away with sensitivity.

“Just sleep lover boy.” Vanjie kissed Brooke’s chest, the sound of his heart exactly where Vanjie wanted it, his hand spread out, thumb slowly tracing circles on the skin of Brooke’s chest. ”I’ll cash in later.”

[isozyme]

The Once And Future Queer: What’s Up With These Identity Conflicts?

There is always a border war going on somewhere in the queer community.  Who gets to be a fag? Who is only a diet fag?  (Do diet fags get to use the word fag?)  Line up to put your think pieces in the box!

What is the point of this endless squabbling about how far the queer umbrella reaches?  Is there some magic moral set of criteria that, once agreed upon, will create a perfectly inclusive-yet-cohesive queer community?  No.  Of course there isn’t a solution; and what’s more, I don’t think that the people engaging in these arguments think there’s a solution either.

So if the problem is insoluble, and clearly no amount of argument will produce a binary yes/no answer on queerness, why do we keep having this fucking argument?  I think for two reasons: 1) a lot of queer people are afraid that straight people will hurt them, and 2) a lot of queer people are afraid that they might secretly be straight.  Until we address these two sources of anxiety, we can’t ever solve the gatekeeping problem.

Straight people (cisgender heterosexuals) are often perfectly nice people and I am friends with some of them, but if they want an honorary queer badge they can sit on my dick and wait for it.  Straight people are not allowed in my community.  I am not a lesbian fantasy for heterosexual male consumption, and I am not a cool ego boost or hipster fashion resource for straight female consumption either.  Our Vice President is Mike “Religious Freedom” Pence, who thinks that gay wedding cakes are sweeties for satan. I get to be a mean bitch about this.  If you’re straight, get the fuck out of my club.

If you are not straight, but you felt a deep terror reading that paragraph, as if you were a spy in a smoky room with dark wood panelling and a very dangerous man just looked you in the eye and said, regretfully, “I was hoping that tonight, I wouldn’t have to kill any spies,” I have good news for you: you are not a spy.  You are experiencing one of the definitional queer emotions: being afraid that you are secretly one of the hated straights and soon all of your cool gay friends will abandon you and you will end up in the suburbs with a subscription to Cooking Lite and your life will be over.  Lots of queer people feel this way.  I am marrying a woman in a few months and yet: the terror of heterosexuality persists.

Let’s imagine a simple logical progression: if queer people hate straights, and I am afraid that I am a straight, then by the transitive property queer people hate me and I need to defend myself.  And lo, we’re off to the Twitter Discourse races.

Defending one’s queerness seems like it should be easy!  After all, it’s not like there’s extensive prerequisites for being queer.  All you need to be queer is some feelings.  Got gender feelings?  Sexuality feelings?  Grab a label, and lo: basic requirements fulfilled.  

But, surprise!  Turns out feelings are fickle, useless bastards.  Building a permanent, born-this-way, out-and-proud identity out of refined self-awareness is a daunting task.  Comparing notes with other queer people is complicated by our emotions being trapped in our own skulls.  If we want to put them into someone else’s skull the best we can do is translate those feelings into flappy mouth sounds and pray the message gets turned back into feelings in their head without too much signal degradation.

Robbed of the ability to verify everyone’s queer feelings, we latch onto actually quantifiable stuff, like how funky their haircut is or how long it takes cashiers to decide on sir or ma’am or how many genitals they’ve touched on purpose, and what sorts.  And this, I think, factors into our straightness anxieties.

Using the first, feelings-y framework to show that everybody is all the same amount of queer causes cognitive dissonance when obviously some people do more openly queer shit per day than others.  We don’t have good vocabulary to differentiate between describing queer actions (different from person to person, and some people do more of them) and describing queer identity (you are or you aren’t, it’s opt in and what you do with it is up to you).  All the platitudes in the world about how “we’re all the same amount of queer” will not stop our community from feeling like it’s separated into TruGays and HomoLite when “queer" describes both a suite of identities and a suite of actions.

This puts everyone’s backs against a wall.  On one side, queers who are tired of tiptoeing around their anger at straight culture invading their space.  On the other, queers who feel like that anger attacks the lack of obvious queer actions supporting their queer identity.  Before we can stop spending energy on this fight, we need to squash the fallacy that all queer identities being valid means that all queer identities should have an equal impact on your daily life.  

If your reaction to this post is to angrily list all the impacts that your queer identity has on your life because you are being attacked by a gatekeeper, perhaps take a moment to re-assess: are queer actions required for queer identity?  What are the costs of maintaining the fiction that all queer people have the same amount of quantifiable queer stuff in their lives when, by definition, we are a diverse group of people with incredibly diverse experiences that don’t invalidate our identities?  And if we spent more time addressing the hostile world that destabilizes all queer identities, and less time pissing a line around the perimeter of queerness, wouldn’t that be nice for everyone?

We build our queer identities using many facets of our lives: our bodies, our spaces, our relationships, our actions, our desires, our connections to queer history.  Constructing a stable identity is work.  We can all be at different points in shaping ourselves, working towards different end goals, while still deserving a place within the community.