#i hope someone burns your american flag

[riot-bleach]

Yaknow what, Luigi has inspired me. I should do something great for society and fucking assassinate Lana del Rey

[weirdestbooks]

A Dead Man's Flag (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bolded words are Swedish (unless it’s a Finnish word; I didn’t want the formatting to look weird). A little gift for @lost-islands

Delaware wasn’t expecting a package from Tornedalians. While his great uncle and him talked, it was often through letters, and it wasn’t super personal. He was a distant family member Delaware had been estranged from for hundreds of years after all. Letters were one thing. Packages were another.

Delaware shifted his coffee into his other hand, reaching down to scoop the package off the porch. It was light, the kind of package that clothes typically come in. Delaware walked inside, setting the package on his dining room table and stopping to pat Reed on the head.

Delaware then sat down at his table, taking great care in opening the package. Normally, he ripped them open with wild abandon, but Tornedalians wouldn’t have sent him something for no reason, so Delaware took great care in opening the package, worried he might break something important.

Once the package was open, Delaware pulled out its contents, including a letter and a flag he hadn’t seen before. The flag was in a similar design to a Nordic Cross, with the center of the cross itself being defaced by a black rhombus that the stripes of the cross went around. It was a lovely flag, but it did nothing to alleviate Delaware’s confusion.

“What? Did he get a new flag?” Delaware questioned, staring at it in confusion. Why would Tornedalians have sent him a flag? Sighing, he stood up to go for his letter opener, hoping the letter itself would have some answers. As he did so, Reed attempted to jump up on him, ever the attention hog. Delaware laughed.

“Hey, boy, I love you too, but I have to find the letter opener. Uncle Tornedalians has sent me a package,” Delaware said, walking over to his cabinet of nicknacks, pulling open a drawer, and searching through it. After pushing past old medals and so, so many spare buttons, Delaware found it, closing the drawer with a bump of his hip.

Delaware walked back to the table, opening the letter with the quick precision of someone who had been doing it for hundreds of years. He was eager to see what the letter had to say. He pulled out a letter, his mouth quirking into a slight grin at the neat and familiar handwriting.

Hyvä Ilta Pekka, 

I know it must come as a surprise to see a package from me. But I needed to send it to you. You might be an American now and feel disconnected from your heritage over here (aside from your insistence on calling Ruotsi your cousin), but you are also the only child of Otso, and you deserve to have this. 

This is the newly created flag of Metsäsuomalaiset.

Delaware gasped, dropping the letter in shock as he looked back at the flag. That was…that was his isä’s flag—a flag created for his long-dead father. Delaware picked up the flag again, carefully, as if it was made of the finest silk. Tears were beginning to trace their way down his face as he imagined the blurry mental image he had of his father with the new flag. 

Then Delaware pulled the flag close to his chest, hugging it as more tears came down. 

People still remembered his Isä. They remembered and cared enough to make him a flag of his very own, a flag he would never get to see or wear.

“Isä, would you have loved this flag?” Delaware asked in his isä’s language, placing it back down and wiping the tears from his face as he went to read the rest of his uncle’s letter.

It surprised me to hear they were making a flag for Otso. The stubborn man never had one of his own. I’m unsure what he would have thought of it, but Muuna believes he would have liked it. 

You should also know the meaning behind the flag. The green represents the forest's importance to slash-and-burn culture. The red represents fire and the Rowan tree, just like the one Otso had on his face until the day he died. I wonder if that’s part of why they added it on there. The yellow represents the rye from slash-and-burn farming, and the black represents the soot of it. The color scheme is also meant to match the flags of the regions of Savonia and Tavastia, where Otso and his people were from.

Delaware smiled, looking back at the flag, a new appreciation growing in his chest. They didn’t just half-ass a flag for his Isä. They put effort into giving it meaning, and now Delaware was crying again.

It was just so sweet, and it reminded him…it reminded him…

“Isä! You promised!” New Sweden pleaded. Isä’s mouth quirked into a small little smile.

“Did I?” he asked, sounding slightly amused.

“Isä!” New Sweden exclaimed, causing his isä to laugh.

“Okay, okay. I know, Karl.” Isä said, sitting down at the chair by the fire as New Sweden went to sit at his feet. New Sweden opened his mouth, but then…but then…

Delaware snapped out of the memory, realizing that he had managed to drop to the floor, Reed licking the tears off his face.

“Reed, off,” Delaware said, looking back down at the letter still gripped in his hand. He didn’t remember that before. It had been a long time since something triggered a new memory of him and his isä. Since he had gotten any of his memories back.

It was nice to have another hole in his life’s story be filled, small as it might be. Fragmented memories were better than no memories. Enough fragments helped him track down his uncle, and helped him know his isä better, and helped him give Sverige some insight on their father. 

Delaware was happy with fragments.

Looking back down at the letter, Delaware read the last paragraph, smiling.

It’s nice to see people care about Otso so much. They flew the flag at the Oslo City Hall recently as well. Otso never thought he would be more than a footnote in anyone’s history book. It’s nice to see that he was wrong, that more than just us care about his existence and passing. 

I hope this provides some comfort to you.

Sincerely,

Arttu

Delaware then stood up, placed the letter back on the table, and grabbed his isä’s flag. He walked outside to the flagpole he had hand hanging off his porch. Right now, it had his flag on it, but Delaware quickly took down his flag, throwing it over the porch railing before hanging up his father’s flag. 

Looking up at the flag hanging there, Delaware felt an overwhelming swarm of emotion. Laughing wetly, he wiped his eyes. Maybe no one else would ever know the flag's meaning or even recognize it, but that was okay with him.

Delaware still got to have a tangible peace of his isä, proof that he really did exist.

No flag could have a more important purpose.

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

Im Australian and I want to start by saying that our own political system is by no means perfect in fact far from it so this isn’t coming from a place of “we are better” but I’ve noticed a key difference and just interested in your point of view. From the outside in it seems like most Americans idolise your President like really put a lot of faith in them and view them as a saviour almost? Which seems insane because America is a big ass country and soooo complex with soooo many states and walks of life and to put it all on one person seems crazy. I look at Trump and Kamala and wouldn’t trust either of them so would never idolise or put all of my hopes and dreams in their hands. It also seems so divided like blue vs red and no in between. Over here we definitely have different parties and beliefs and policies but we kind of view the government and our leadership as working for or with us like, we are all in it together you know? Obviously not all of the time for example a big stuff up by the Victorian leader during Covid and what happened there. But we look at them as normal ass people who are (hopefully) trying to help us. The US Presidents are like big celebs who are untouchable and seems impossible to get close to or relate to, yet people absolute worship them. Why do you think that is? Please understand I’m not having a go or trying to offend. 🫶🏻

you’re not offensive at all! i would hope people can understand that there are some fundamental differences as to how politics are handled and viewed across countries. and yes, i do understand where you’re coming from, and i actually believe this is precisely why donald trump is president. i’m putting my rant/explanation under a page break because it’s long lol

the american people have, at least in modern times, frequently assessed a candidate’s electability based on the average person’s likelihood of wanting to “have a beer” with them. relatability to the average joe has been a huge metric in american politics, to the point that candidates who are incredibly out of touch get caught in “gotcha” moments trying to seem regular when they are clearly unable to relate to any middle class or impoverished person. donald trump is a mega-wealthy, pompous asshole who has had everything handed to him, but he speaks in a way directly to the american people that appeals to working class americans who sadly are on his communication level. there is a reason he has said he “loves the poorly educated”. there’s a huge identity crisis happening in american politics right now; democrats are not appealing to working class, blue-collar workers the way they are supposed to, considering a primary liberal value is supposed to be uplifting the poor and middle class, protecting union workers, etc. there is no reason poor people in midwestern states should be shifting to donald trump, except democrats have fucked up their messaging and started to hang their hats on trying to control people socially and police/cancel/disappear anyone with dissenting opinion, which has polarized and radicalized folks who were otherwise moderate or even once considered progressive. a great example of this is PA senator john fetterman who outright stated he no longer considers himself such, and it’s because progressives have moved the goal post too far for many average folks whose motivations don’t center around identity politics.

whether my counterparts can accept and admit it or not, america has fully rejected this at every level with this election; donald trump has won the popular vote decidedly. vast majority of people don’t want to argue about pronouns and men in women’s sports or burning flags/shouting death to america at protests, they want someone to help them get ahead and be able to pay their rent/mortgage, buy groceries, be able to afford to visit their doctor and enjoy literally any luxuries beyond just surviving. the average american is not politically engaged enough to do a deep dive on why trump is never going to do that, they just know that it isn’t happening under the current administration and they’re angry and desperate. to the average american, the optics are that trump represents the every man who cannot articulate all that well, is a bit crass and uncouth, and is laughed at by liberal elites who want to cancel them for saying something they perhaps didn’t even realize was offensive. and this country is not ready for a woman president, much less a black one. sadly we have a long, long way to go. i sincerely hope the party i support gets their shit together so this country has a chance to move forward from this chapter, eventually.

[katzkinder]

I have never done this before, swore to myself I never would, but I feel obligated after my initial encounter with tumblr user @nurul-cerise led to a friendship based on lies and culminated in the most painful discovery I could have made, and I want to spare others the kind of hurt that comes with learning someone you thought was your friend is actually a violent queerphobe who wants you and all your friends dead, and only played pretend because she liked the things you wrote and drew, and then has the fucking NERVE to claim that your and others anger is only because you're """islamophobic"""

I apologize for the length, but I will not be putting this under readmore because I believe it is that important.

Cerise is a part of a lot of fandoms with strong LGBTQ presence, and it doesn't sit right with me to ignore that, especially given how american cartoon fandoms like ROTMNT and Ben 10 have a much more saturated number of young and vulnerable viewers.

This is her Instagram account, and her tumblr URL is listed above.

On this account she has made reels featuring videos from Jordan Peterson, a well known anti trans activist who has called being trans a "contagion" and made multiple appearances on the podcast of Joe Rogan, another well known extreme conservative who holds about every bigoted feeling towards a minority you could think of. The third video from him she shared is especially telling because she isn't even american. The only reason she has to share it is to be hateful and cruel.

She also shared this video of Ben Shapiro mocking trans identities in the classic style of “if you identify as x i can identify as y”. In this case, it’s claiming he should be allowed to identify as 60 years old.

This is proof of her supporting and being friends with other homophobes, with the first screenshot including OP being blatantly proud of their hatred. Be warned, the third screenshot is very upsetting.

This last set of screenshots is mostly from her tumblr. She claims to be a "peaceful" non-supporter. We all know that isn't possible, as no such thing exists. You are either helping to protect us or you are helping to murder us.

And even IF that were a possible stance to take, the above reels on instagram, along with this video she shared of a woman burning a rainbow flag, prove that she is lying through her damn, hateful, hypocritical teeth.

When I personally confronted her after a friend found some concerning things on her instagram and shared them with me, initially I only spoke to a few others in a discord server for a very tiny fandom, Servamp, about it, and warned them to stay away for their own safety. I regret not bringing that to tumblr immediately now, because not only did it not prevent people harassing her like I had hoped to (I'm soft, sue me), she has since that incident gotten even more bold in her disgusting behavior. Completely mask off in how much she hates those of us who literally make every single bit of content for these fandoms she claims to "love" so much.

Block her, don't talk to her, get rid of her. Don't tolerate this kind of person in our safe spaces. I don't want all of you to be hurt the way I and others were.

[madsmilfelsen]

Helloooooo its me who’s reread all ur true detective and killer Joe fics. I think my favourite is High Speed, Low Drag. I love the insight into Rust’s time as Crash,(even if it is in a fic) and I love how you wrote the struggle between him wanting to do the right thing, but also needing to keep his cover, AND how he’s still reeling after his daughters death and divorce and is deep in his nihilism but begrudgingly still cares about Sig.

AND on top of that, the sex is hot. The line in part two when he’s like “Sigourney please don’t tell me to stop,” I wanted to run around in circles for an hour like a rabid dog 😵‍💫

I was so nervous about posting that series too because I thought there was no way in hell I could pull off a virginity auction. Better writers can do natural narratives of meeting in a regular way, at work or a bar etc, in an escalation of attraction (I’m thinking specially of The Creeping Woods, Dead Flag Blues, and The Idler Wheel) which wait I guess technically I did use both of those settings? but I hate slow burns and find my idea of Rust so divorced from his own libido that it would take something extreme to catch his attention and hold his interest (I didn’t even know what Sugar did to do so until I was typing up how he said she shot someone six times and I was like damn she did??).

Okay so I totally invented Sig to be gross but also because I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed for him to care for something other than The Work— not that I think she distracted him from, ya know, the death of his daughter and divorce from Claire, but might’ve eased that ache by going through the motions again. I don’t think Rust could stomach watching her be neglected even while he’d mentally shout at himself that he has a Job To Do, a Cover To Keep, and suddenly he’s setting fires to sabotage a puppy mill operation apart of an overly complicated plot to steal Canik for her. Something @glitterslag mentioned was how he grew up isolated and on the fringes of everything so he’d be captivated by this Blonde Americana Cheerleader but I think he’d recognize how that creates its own kind of danger for Sig, too, and becomes even more protective once she made the squad (he’d be unbearable after she got to varsity— booster club president fr, I so wanted to write him getting mistaken as her father and just going with it but thought I can be more subtle about my weirdness)

Ten Seventy Three likely has the most tender smut I’ve written this year and so different from the intimacy I tried to establish between ‘12 Rust and Sugar. I was rusty with writing loss of virginity but the biggest challenge I had to work around was convincing myself ‘95 Rust would even be good in bed lmao

some goofy behind the scenes: I fashioned the efficiency apartment Crash brought Sig to after the first place I lived with my husband (it was that dark and dreary and we were so broke lmao), I cheered a bit in high school and still think bases should get more rep— we hold entire! girls! above our heads, Sig’s name was because I was so hoping Alien was released the year she was born (it was a few years later) because I could see her mother going for Sigourney after the horror of motherhood she depicted on screen and Ginger would be like ya lets name our daughter after a gun (Sig Sauer or just “Sour” when she’s being a brat— Rust does Not Ever call her that), Canik is also a gun manufacturer, “Riders in the Sky” is sung by Johnny Cash but I like Peggy Lee’s version more— if you want to save your soul from hell a’ ridin’ on our range / then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride

try reading American Wasteland by @sparklingmineraltequila the one chapter I’ve gotten to read between writing is so so so spot on in how the essence of the Crash era is captured— I love Cassandra!

[paktderpakte]

Last Flight

The moonlit sea slid by beneath the two Meteors. It felt to Collins like they hadn't seen anyone for hours, but they didn't have that kind of flight time. Every so often the crippled engine sputtered, he felt the plane slow, watched the altimeter bleed the height he was trying to save for the glide, precious feet slipping into the sea like his fuel.

He and Davies had gamed it out on their channel together in the first few minutes after they escaped the blockade, trying to weigh their options and what might have happened on the Island, what might have happened to the relief fleet, where they might go now. Even on a full tank they'd never make it to Papua. Illustrious had to be somewhere in the Philippine Sea, that was certain, far out of reach dueling with Kaga-- or else she and her escort were simply sunk. Flying to her, they would run out of fuel somewhere south of Taiwan and get shot down by Japanese patrols.

The only thing for it, they had decided, was the Philippines. The Americans might throw them in jail, might hand them over to the Japanese, but then they might not. Assuming no leaks, they would run out of fuel a few kilometers north of Luzon, and then they could drift in, make a belly landing on some beach or even land on an airstrip if they could make contact with someone.

It was about the best plan they were going to get.

Speaking of making contact, he decided to try again, flicking his comms to the distress channel for ships. He took a moment to steady himself, then spoke.

"Mayday, mayday, emergency. Survivors from the siege of Hong Kong flying southeast, bearing 1-3-0 toward Luzon. Insufficient fuel to reach land; engines damaged. If any League of Nations or friendly ships are receiving this transmission, please respond. Repeat, emergency, crippled RAF fighters request assistance, en route from Hong Kong to Manila, running out of fuel. Please."

Tenser than ever, he listened for a response. Static. Listened some more, hoping to catch some semblance of speech in the static, and nearly jumped with excitement to hear a human voice until he realized it was Badger. "We might get some shipping traffic, but that's it," he commented, not chastising his friend so much as commiserating. "And it'll probably be Japs."

"I know. Right now-- if I spoke it well enough I might ask them for help too."

"They'd shoot us."

"Maybe." They flew on.

The comment stuck in Collins' mind more than he liked. He thought of Campbell, stumbling back to the Island…the rest of the squadron, left behind, surrendering to the IJA. Would they be shot? Sent off to a prison camp in the interior?

"We wouldn't have to worry about it if Control had done its job." Badger broke his despairing reverie, and anger flared to replace it. This was all down to command incompetence-- incompetence or malice. His fist clenched against the lever thinking of it for the first time since they'd fled. Shattered wrecks strewn on the airstrip at Von Seeckt with his comrades still inside, James' plane blossoming into a ball of fire, Parker sinking under the waves.

He hated that bitch in the red planes. Sylvie Dorn. He had read her file over and over in the brig, burned her face into his memory. He didn't care what Jaeger was like, that he seemed to have a shred of honor-- he had a murderer in his command staff, as far as Collins was concerned, and she would pay for it.

But she only killed James, didn't she.

Adlai. He'd made them stick it out over Guangzhou, he'd refused to send them more fighters over Hong Kong, kept the ceasefire from them too.

He'd killed them all.

He'd pay for it too.

Not that Collins told Badger any of that. His wingman would never rat on him intentionally, but they'd probably be questioned, and having murderous intent toward your former air controller would raise red flags. He just took a breath, tried to calm himself, let the death grip release. "Yeah," he finally radioed back. "They really fucked up bad."

"…anyway. How's your fuel?" Better to get back on survival.

"Little more'n forty. I don't think my fuel lines got hit-- the black squadron's commander, I charged him and it spooked'em. I'll probably make it over land."

Though he couldn't see it, Collins shook his head. "Yeah, you're doing better than me. And that wasn't their commander. It was a stand-in. Whoever it was probably wasn't used to leading so many planes."

"Eh? 'ow you know? Maybe he was just off 'is game."

"Because the black squadron is the first of their wing. Schwarze," he muttered it like a curse. "Their commander was the thief who stole my plane."

Davies whistled. "One 'ell of a trophy. Pilots are a mess without a commander, they teach the Russians that, they say. Kill the head of the snake and the rest falls apart."

"…I hope Temple is having a better time of it than that," Collins finally said, after a long silence. They could see the island at this point, black against the black sky, and yet-- Badger was doing much better than him. Twenty gallons in his tank would be generous, and as Collins stared at the fuel gauge it seemed to drop visibly, ticking away his life, ticking away the time Temple Squadron had a deserter for a commander instead of a dead commander.

The broken engine sputtered again, the airframe shook around him, he sank a few dozen more feet. "I might make it with the glide, but I might have to ditch in the water. We'll see."

"Right."

He made another distress call, but the two pilots didn't say much more to each other. Even when the engine 'ran,' now, it didn't want to put out the same kind of thrust. The speed indicator kept dropping, the altitude indicator, the fuel indicator, all ticking down, grains of sand in an hourglass as Luzon crawled closer.

Maybe thirty klicks out, the pierced engine stopped for good, then the other a few moments later, as the last of the fuel burned up or dripped into the sea. "Fucker. I'm out. I think there's a beach…a little south of our bearing?"

Badger took a deep breath on comms, steeling himself. "I see it. Are you going to try and ditch there?"

"No better options, are there?"

"No." The second pilot hesitated. "I'll bring help back. I still have a ways left to go."

"Yeah. You've been gimping your speed to stay with me too."

The less-damaged plane and its pilot separated from Collins, and started to accelerate, banking away to the south where the lights of a city gleamed. "I'll be back. Really. Even if you're dead I'll be back."

Collins didn't respond. And now he was alone. No men to protect, just his own skin.

They'd practiced engine-out landings, but this wasn't that, there was no runway. He was just falling out of the sky. He pulled the plane into a glide configuration, didn't bother but to glance at the altimeter now, just watched the sea and the strip of sand loom up to meet him. He wasn't going to make it. There would be no leaving a trail screaming onto the beach, he was going to skip across the water like a rock and his plane would shatter and sink and none of them would know what happened to him. God.

An instant before his borrowed Meteor hit the waves, Collins wondered if Davies would make it to an airstrip. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the canopy splintering from the impact.

[bbcstdb]

Bill You know I have an uncle who works in putting tribal people back in their land in Mexico. I hung out with his daughter who is younger but somehow still my aunt only maybe once as a kid. When she was of a "ladies" age she had a black and white party and didn't invite my fam. (Blonde, white looking, yo no sabo mexican mutt.)

When I turned 15, I made sure to invite her to participate in my court. (I, too, am a mutt. Sadly, I got the genes of the oppressed in history.)

Btw you don't think what white people did to Natives was savagery? The GENOCIDE of people in their land was not of Primitive cannibalistic barbarianism? Does violence only matter when it comes from a background you don't like? A color you don't like? If someone told me you believe in god, I'd say no.

If you are homophobic, congrats you're also racist, or colonized of mind. Not of sound mind at all. You live in a first world country Bill. The Natives gave you Maize and taught you to take care of crops before you backstabbed them as any retarded man typically does. You have the internet you have history at your fingertips. Homophobes= racist.

Hope that helps.

Decolonize yourself you old nazi fuck.

Head ass elon butt muncher. Such a sell out. Not surprised by the ignorant erasure of history by another straight white fucktard male. Not respectable at all. You get children killed, and you hurt them into hiding, getting kicked out by their boomer parents that watch your trash ass show. Some just commit suicide because stinky fucking odious men like you push hate.

Men like you make me happy to burn the AMERICAN flag, no questions asked.

Bill be like SEPARATE, but equal.

At least Natives and some African cultures respected a person's energies for what they were. Women hunted, or men did what women did. One of these days I have to talk about an Alien theory that could be translated into other layers of different parts of this grand fucking onion male dominated hell hole humanity is. Sometimes I get so hateful that I start talking like A MAN.

[jasondeansgothwife]

Answer All of Them

Portrait of an American Family:

My Monkey: Preferred name or pseudonym?

kitty katastrophe-berkowitz

Dope Hat: Pronouns?

she/her/hers

Lunchbox: Birthday/Zodiac?

december 21st/teh one that’s a long word and starts with s!! i can’t spell it lmao

Get Your Gunn: How do you feel right now?

good, thank you!!

Cake and Sodomy: Something that makes you happy? (other than Manson)

gingerbread men!! they’re a long-standing hyperfixation/comfort thing for me

Smells Like Children:

Diary of a Dope Fiend: Do you have any addictions or obsessions? (does not have to be drugs, could be sweets, social media, a certain band ;), etc)

marilyn manson ahahah

I Put a Spell on You: What do you look for in a friend/partner?

for both a friend and a boyfriend, sweet and kind and someone who enjoys hanging out with me and who i enjoy hanging out with as well

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This): Biggest dream or goal you have?

i have quite a few!! being in a band, being a mom someday in teh far future, owning a parrot!!

Scabs, Guns, and Peanut Butter: Do you have any piercings or tattoos?

one ear (other ear has a rip in it and so it can’t be pierced), eyebrow piercing, septum piercing!l. more incoming

Shitty Chicken Gangbang: Something that pisses you off?

hmmm i’m not sure!! i’m not very angry usually

Antichrist Superstar:

Irresponsible Hate Anthem: What is something you are passionate about/would fight for?

ableism and disability accomodations

The Beautiful People: Talk about someone you love? (platonic, romantic, family, etc)

meh mommy!! she and i are extremely close <33

Antichrist Superstar: What do you like most about yourself?

i think i’m very loving and have a lot of love to give

The Reflecting God: Are you religious?

yeah, i definitely believe in god and heaven. i would consider myself catholic

Angel With the Scabbed Wings: Biggest fear? Or just a fear that you have?

dogs!!

Wormboy: Do you play any instruments or sing?

i sing and i’m trying to teach myself keyboard

Tourniquet: Ever broken any bones? Which ones and how?

nope!

Mechanical Animals:

Great Big White World: Any place you want to visit or your favorite place you have visited?

i’d like to go to new york city!!!

The Dope Show: Favorite movie/TV show/book?

fight club, pokémon anime, also fight club

Rock is Dead: How did you find Marilyn Manson and/or become a fan?

picked up a random cd at a store when i was 11, and it turned out to be gaog!!

I Don't Like the Drugs (But the Drugs Like Me): Are you closed off to new people or more outgoing?

i’m super shy until you know me, and then i am Not lmao

Last Day on Earth: Do you have a bucket list? If so, what's on it?

i don’t exactly, but i just want to live life to teh fullest in general <33 there are things i want to do, certqinly

Coma White: Have you ever lost someone important to you?

yes.

Holy Wood:

The Love Song: Relationship status?

single

The Fight Song: Outlet of choice? (writing, exercise, social media, substances, etc)

music listening and drawing

Disposable Teens: What music did you listen to in your teens? Was it embarrassing?

i’m currently 17!

The Nobodies: What helps you feel better when you are depressed and/or lonely?

meh family

The Death Song: Thoughts on death? Do you fear it?

i do fear it and have anxiety about it sometimes, but i do believe in heaven which is a comfort

Burning Flag: Do you hold grudges?

i try not to!!

The Golden Age of Grotesque:

This is the New Shit: Define your music taste?

goth rock and metal are meh favorite genres!! i really like industrial and emo as well.

mOBSCENE: Where do you feel most at home?

meh house!

(S)aint: Do you think you're a good person?

i hope so!!!

EAT ME, DRINK ME:

If I Was Your Vampire: Favorite mythical/fantasy creature and/or cryptid/monster?

vampires, actually!!

Heart Shaped Glasses (When the Heart Guides the Hand): Describe your personal style?

mall goth <333

You and Me and the Devil Makes 3: Why do you love music?

it’s a medium of both comfort and expression for me

Putting Holes in Happiness: Biggest insecurity you have? (about yourself or otherwise)

ooh lol that’s a hard one! i have a lot of them unfortunately haha

EAT ME, DRINK ME: Favorite food and drink?

chicken sandwiches with pickles and nothing else, and monster energy drinks!!!

The High End of the Low:

Devour: What drains you, mentally or physically?

school

Arma-goddamn-motherfuckin-geddon: You're going to die tomorrow, what do you do today?

spend time with meh loved ones

Running to the Edge of the World: Something you wish you could leave behind?

meh trauma from being bullied

I Want To Kill You Like They Do In the Movies: Are you interested in serial killers or horror?

not serial killers in real life, NEVER anything true crime. but yes horror!!

Born Villain:

No Reflection: If you could change one thing about your appearance what would you choose?

more piercings without me having to set up teh appointments and wait and feel teh pain haha, just like magic instant piercings :PP

Pistol Whipped: Sexuality?

straight

Slo-Mo-Tion: Song you could have on repeat for hours? (Manson or otherwise)

spade by marilyn manson

You're so Vain: Last person you said "I love you" to?

meh daddy

The Pale Emperor:

Killing Strangers: Favorite Marilyn Manson album or era?

mechanical animals album wise, but era wise spooky kids

Deep Six: Is Marilyn Manson important to you for reasons other than being an amazing band?

yes <3

Third Day of a Seven Day Binge: Ever been to a Marilyn Manson concert before? How was it?

i have!!! twins of evil tour :3 it was awesomeeeee, so good!!!

The Mephistopheles of Los Angeles: Favorite music video?

long hard road out of hell!

Cupid Carries a Gun: What do you consider Manson's genre?

gothic industrial rock

Heaven Upside Down:

Tattooed in Reverse: Favorite song? + Favorite Marilyn song?

user-friendly + user-friendly ahahahah

SAY10: Most underrated song?

red in meh head

KILL4ME: Favorite member or member you most admire and why?

daisy berkowitz!! founding member who is very little acknowledged, seems like he was a total sweetheart by all accounts, extremely talented, adorable

Saturnalia: Are you attracted to any member (past or present) of Marilyn Manson?

literally so many of them 😭😭😭

JE$U$ CRI$I$: Which past member (if any) do you wish stayed in the band?

daisy berkowitz

Blood Honey: Most underrated/underappreciated member?

…also daisy berkowitz

You're so Vain: Last person you said «I love you" to?

meh daddy

Heaven Upside Down: Do you think Marilyn's a good person?

no.

Singles:

God's Gonna Cut You Down: Has his music gotten "worse" over time in your opinion?

nope!

WE ARE CHAOS: Did you like WE ARE CHAOS and/or thoughts on the new album?

i liked it very much!

[mischiefmanaged71]

Bad Romance - Joaquin Torres X Reader

Song: Bad Romance - (961) lady gaga - bad romance ( s l o w e d ) - YouTube

Summary: The reader is an enhanced individual with the ability to replicate other people’s abilities. A member of the Avengers, she has been working alongside Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes to investigate the Flag Smashers but the man calling himself the next Captain America poses an obstacle when he takes interest in her abilities. 

Author’s Note: Hello! So this is my first time posting a fic I've written. I’ve been writing since 2018 but never had the courage to post anything so I hope you all enjoy my story. Torres has only been in ‘The Falcon and The Winter Soldier’ for like five minutes but I’m in love with him. There obviously isn’t enough fiction out there about him so I took it upon myself to write one. This is an idea I came up with in my head, aside from the plot of the show. Listen to the song for added effect. I’ve inserted timings as well :)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS, Canon-level Violence, blood, romance

Word count: 2.5K

Darkness is all you’ve known these past hours.

It’s been almost twenty-four hours since you’ve last had contact with anyone. Sam would usually check in with you about now, but that didn’t seem a likely possibility. 

Your right eye is almost swollen shut and you’re pretty confident that you have a few broken ribs from how difficult breathing is. The sound of metal creaking echoes in the empty room as you rattle your restraints. 

You’ve been quite literally chained to the wall. 

They weren’t taking any precautions.

Especially after witnessing the dozen agents you could take down all by yourself. 

Leaning against the wall, you try to reach some semblance of comfort, laying some of your weight against the hard-rock. Your neck burns from the collar they attached when you caught you off-guard. 

It was during a recon mission, you were chasing a lead about the Flag Smashers’ next meet up when they showed. Half a dozen armed men in tactical gear. 

They snagged a collar on you, disabling your powers.

You didn’t anticipate this.

All you heard was a piercing noise and then you blacked out.

You couldn’t access your powers as soon as that light buzzed. Trying to summon fire warranted a little electric shock to your system. Little, meaning severe enough to take down an elephant. 

Yeah, so getting out of here would be tricky.

Isn’t it always?

Five guards have remained in the room for the past two days, monitoring, watching. 

For what? 

You have only the slightest idea why.

The double doors which have remained close for the past two days creak open. The blue uniform is familiar to you but the face donning the outfit is not. He’s an imposter wearing a costume, a mock of the real thing. John Walker, along with his so-called ‘American squadron’, had grabbed you as a statement. Sam and Bucky certainly weren’t going to stay out of it because someone told them to. You all followed a code, to protect those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

“Hello, Y/N, it's been a while since we met last...I’m sorry for the way you were handled on the way here but it was the only way I could get to talk to you.”, he said, looking at the bruises beginning to form.

He talked nonchalantly as if this were a normal conversation. Your wrists were raw from pulling away from the cuffs, clothes covered in dirt and dried blood. He strode up to you, pulling his helmet off and placing it carefully on a metal crate.

“Now, I know Bucky and Sam had a lot to say about me, but you, you were always silent. I thought we had an understanding.”

‘An understanding?’

You refuse to look at him.

“You talk big words for someone who couldn’t begin to understand the legacy of that uniform.”

“I earned this! I put in the work. All they want is someone to look up to. To show them that justice still exists.”, he paces in front of you.

“Justice. Is it?”, your eyes narrow.

He pauses in thought, seething with internalised spite. Pacing the floor, he turns his back to you.

“Have you had time to think about my question?”

You remain silent, glaring at his mockery of Steve’s uniform.

“No? Okay. That’s fine,”, he whispered.

Walker signalled for a guard to open the doors once more and two more men entered, dragging someone along. You squint your eyes to identify the person as they dump them in front of you. 

“No”, you whispered desperately, your breath caught in your throat.

You spot Joaquin’s dark hair and tan complexion, more so, the blood staining his clothes. The men dragged Joaquin next to Walker, letting him slump to the floor. From what you could see, he had been beaten pretty badly, the bruises already beginning to form on his face. His hands are cuffed behind him and he’s unable to hold his own weight. 

Panic fills Torres as he notices the chains securing you to the wall. The last he heard over the coms was a struggle. He and Sam had been surveilling to get anything they could on your kidnappers.

You could only hear the rapid beating of your heart in your throat as blood rushed to your face. Your breathing quickens as you don’t quite know what will happen next. 

John broke the silence,

“I’m going to ask you again.”

“Then, I'm going to count from three.”, he said, pulling a silencer out from his waistband and cocking it at Joaquin who rested on his knees.

“What are you?”

You stare at him incredulously, unresponsive. 

You look down at Joaquin as he gazes up at you, helpless to move with guns trained on you. He’s telling you to stop, to lie, to do anything but give yourself up.

“What answer do you want?”, you asked, using all your strength to lift your head up.

“You want me to say I’m a freak? A mutant? An experiment? What good does that do you? Everyone knows it.”, you huff, sharpening your glare.

He stares down at Joaquin and kicks his foot out against the ground, clicking his tongue. Walker threw his foot into Joaquin’s back, pushing him into the floor.

“Not that.”

You watch as he points the gun harder.

“Tell me. What. You. Are.”, he grits out.

You clench your jaw hard, shutting your eyes tightly. A burning sensation fights in your chest, spreading to your arms. You suck in a breath desperately, a whimper tearing from your throat as your head drops.

The click of the safety echoes loudly.

(1:26s of the song)

Your eyes shoot open, blazing red and as the chains snap free from the wall. The metal clangs loudly against the floor, triggering the five weapons now pointed at your chest. A surge of fire ignites as you swipe your leg, knocking the agents back. The two standing closest raise their guns as you tilt your head and launch a blast of fire from your hand. The next agent replaces him, firing his gun consecutively, but you strut towards him, swiping them away with blasts omitting from your hands. You send a roundhouse kick with a wall of fire, propelling him through the exit. The remaining three encircle you with their weapons, clicking the safety off.

Your hands burn, glowing red with the heightening energy,

“Okay, you got me.”

You raise your hands in surrender as one of them steps towards. Faltering a step, you inhale deeply as he grabs your arm. Once he sets a hand on you, you exhale, breathing out a stream of fire. You twirl in a circle, the fire pushing them back and blocking their sight of you as they flinch from the heat. Dropping to the floor, you strike the cement and crack the surface. The building’s structure shakes as a cloud of energy dissipates from the contact, incapacitating the last of the soldiers.

Walker fixes his gun on Joaquin but you focus your glare on him. You wait as he stares at you, knowing he has the advantage.

"I'd stop right now, if I were you."

You silently stare at him with blazing fire burning in your orbs. The clicking of the safety reverberates in your mind as all movement stops. The muzzle of the gun is inches away from Joaquin's head.

“Alright, you’ve had your show now.”

You've got mere seconds to make a decision here.

He remains still, as Joaquin’s eyes meet yours and you nod your head slightly. 

It’ll be okay because you’d never let anything happen to each other.

"Walker, you've made your point. Look, it's me you really want, not Torres.", You snipped, grabbing his attention. 

Joaquin’s heart raced faster, 

What were you doing?

You could see the gears turning in Walker’s head, his eyebrows perk up.

"C'mon, this whole thing was to get to me, right? To weaponize me. It's my power. So take it. Just let him go." 

Walker pauses in thought,

"I don't think I will." 

You knew that'd be his answer but he was too busy looking at you to notice anything else. Joaquin threw his leg out, kicking Walker’s shin to knock him off his centre.

Moving quickly, you roundhouse, knocking the gun from his hand and driving your foot into his knee. He lets out a pained yell, ducking your elbow jab and rolling behind you. You roll forwards, swooping your flames across the floor to knock Walker on his back. He rolls to the side, standing again to flick open a compact switch from his pocket. He struggles for a moment as you strut over, but he presses the button down with conviction. 

You falter in your steps as a loud piercing sound breaches your cranium and hearing. It’s overwhelming, threatening to shatter your skull. A whimper falls from your mouth as both hands grasp your head. You can faintly hear Joaquin yelling your name from behind. The pain is unbearable. Joaquin bangs the cuffs on a metal crate behind him, forcing them to break. 

Your vision blurs as you clumsily move towards Walker. Once you’re close enough to him, you throw an uncoordinated right hook but he catches it and returns with a kick to your chest, knocking you to the floor. The pain continues, eliciting a moan from you as it grows worse with each second. Joaquin watches as you scream in agony, sprinting towards Walker and tackling him to the floor. Walker loses the switch from his hand, punching Joaquin in the jaw to get him off. Joaquin hisses as his head hits the floor, but he’s quickly grappling for the switch before Walker can get his hands on it. Scanning the floor, he sights it inches away from where you’re curled up in a ball. He’s crawling over to make it but a grip on his shoulder halts him, flipping him over and punching him repeatedly. 

Over the intense clanging, you see black dots form in your sight as you want to pass out. You hear grunts nearby and the sound of a fist making contact with skin. You flicker your eyes upward to see Walker’s figure looming over someone. 

‘Joaquin...where’s Joaquin?’

You close your eyes and force yourself up, struggling to gain your bearings. Upon opening your eyes, you notice something within your reach. Crawling forward, your fingers barely touch it. You try again and again before you feel the metal beneath your fingertips. Finally, you have it in your hands and crush it. The metal crunches and the ringing ceases. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you push yourself off the floor.

More coherent now, you angrily send a blast of energy to knock Walker off of Joaquin. Scrambling off the floor, he brings his fists in front of him, but you've already there, standing in front of him.

"I’m going to count from three.”, you said.

Striking a wave in his direction, you blast fire into his chest, your eyes imbuing fluttering embers.

‘Three’

You continue your onslaught, attacking him with multiple blows of rage. 

Your figure looms over Walker, blocking Joaquin from his sight.  

‘Two’

Your hands emit a fiery glow as you project flames, igniting a huge blast which sends Walker crashing through the window and down below.

‘One’

Gazing down the terrace, you saw Walker’s unconscious body laying on the crushed roof of a car. The authorities would show up eventually. 

Looking back inside, you finally start to feel the adrenaline rush declining. You move away from the window to find Torres leaning against a crate. Joaquin's face is bruised and cut-up as he holds his side with a grimace. 

"Joaquin, are you okay?!", 

You rush over to hold his other arm, scanning him for serious injuries. 

He stops your moving hands to grip them,

"(Y/N), I'm okay, I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about. You almost died. How did you do that?", Joaquin asked, concern lingering in his eyes at the magnitude of your powers.

"I-I don't know. I guess my powers have always been linked to my emotions and then you were in danger. It was kind of instinctive, you know?"

"I could never let anything happen to you. Never.", She whispered silently, not noticing if he had caught it.

Joaquin moved to grasp her chin in his hand, pulling her head up so he could look into her eyes.

"You saved me."

You glanced over his face and the clear pain he was hiding from his injuries. 

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay. I-I was afraid...It shouldn't have been you.", You said to Joaquin, tears glinting in your sight.

"I'm not going anywhere. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.", he said, moving closer as your eyes meet his deep and endearing gaze.

"We should call Sam.", You suggested.

"I'll call him later."

Yours eyes met as he leaned his forehead on yours. You inhaled deeply as he gripped your hands tightly as if you would fall out of his grasp. Joaquin's arms encircle your waist and pull you in his embrace. Your arms rest around his neck, nestling your head against his shoulder.

You hold each other tightly in a moment of calm, seeking comfort from that person. The one person you would always seek out. 

You pull away, but his arms remain around your waist.

"You're so beautiful.", He whispers.

Your breathing shudders for a second before you decide to go for it,

"I-I love you, Joaquin."

You gauge his reaction as his eyes widen slightly. He leans in and guides his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly and passionately, his hands still gripping your waist. You sigh and stand on your tip-toes, tugging the hairs on the back of Joaquin's neck to bring him closer. You both pause, gasping for air for a moment. Kisses linger in between breaths as you both wind down from the intense 24 hours you've had, emotionally and physically.

"For the record, I love you too.", He grins, laughing at your eye roll.

"I didn't quite catch that, why don't you show me again?", You winked, biting your lip as his arms swooped around you again and tugged you closer. 

Barely brushing your lips, he looks between your eyes and then your lips.

"I think we can arrange that."

Your breath catches as your lips brush his. You smiled, closing your eyes, as does Joaquin. You swayed in his arms as his lips encased yours once more. 

Suddenly, red and blue flashing lights breach your vision from below. Sirens surrounded you both. You separated, glancing outside the broken window. 

Police cars surrounded the building. Reinforcements had arrived. His hand still grips yours and you motion to help him take some of his weight, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

"We should get of here.", You pushed open the door to exit down a flight of stairs. 

"Yeah.", Joaquin replied, grinning down at you as you walked out together.

Reblog, like, comment if you liked it and any thoughts xx

[96thdayofrage]

What is Critical Race Theory?

Basically, Critical Race Theory is a way of using race as a lens through which one can critically examine social structures. While initially used to study law, like most critical theory, it emerged as a lens through which one could understand and change politics, economics and society as a whole. Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic’s book, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction, describes the movement as: “a collection of activists and scholars engaged in studying and transforming the relationship among race, racism, and power.”

Kimberlé Crenshaw, one of the founding members of the movement, says Critical Race Theory is more than just a collective group. She calls it: “a practice—a way of seeing how the fiction of race has been transformed into concrete racial inequities.”

It’s much more complex than that, which is why there’s an entire book about it.

Can you put it in layman’s terms?

Sure.

Former economics professor (he prefers the term “wypipologist”) Michael Harriot, who used Critical Race Theory to teach “Race as an Economic Construct,” explained it this way:

Race is just some shit white people made up.

Nearly all biologists, geneticists and social scientists agree that there is no biological, genetic or scientific foundation for race. But, just because we recognize the lack of a scientific basis for race doesn’t mean that it is not real. Most societies are organized around agreed-upon principles and values that smart people call “social constructs.” It’s why Queen Elizabeth gets to live in a castle and why gold is more valuable than iron pyrite. Constitutions, laws, political parties, and even the value of currency are all real and they’re shit people made up.

To effectively understand anything we have to understand its history and what necessitated its existence. Becoming a lawyer requires learning about legal theory and “Constitutional Law.” A complete understanding of economics include the laws of supply and demand, why certain metals are considered “precious,” or why paper money has value. But we can’t do that without critically interrogating who made these constructs and who benefitted from them.

One can’t understand the political, economic and social structure of America without understanding the Constitution. And it is impossible to understand the Constitution without acknowledging that it was devised by 39 white men, 25 of whom were slave owners. Therefore, any reasonable understanding of America begins with the critical examination of the impact of race and slavery on the political, economic and social structure of this country.

That’s what Critical Race Theory does.

How does CRT do that?

It begins with the acknowledgment that the American society’s foundational structure serves the needs of the dominant society. Because this structure benefits the members of the dominant society, they are resistant to eradicating or changing it, and this resistance makes this structural inequality.

Critical Race Theory also insists that a neutral, “color-blind” policy is not the way to eliminate America’s racial caste system. And, unlike many other social theories, CRT is an activist movement, which means it doesn’t just seek to understand racial hierarchies, it also seeks to eliminate them.

How would CRT eliminate that? By blaming white people?

This is the crazy part. It’s not about blaming anyone.

Instead of the idiotic concept of colorblindness, CRT says that a comprehensive understanding of any aspect of American society requires an appreciation of the complex and intricate consequences of systemic inequality. And, according to CRT, this approach should inform policy decisions, legislation and every other element in society.

Take something as simple as college admission, for instance. People who “don’t see color” insist that we should only use neutral, merit-based metrics such as SAT scores and grades. However, Critical Race Theory acknowledges that SAT scores are influenced by socioeconomic status, access to resources and school quality. It suggests that colleges can’t accurately judge a student’s ability to succeed unless they consider the effects of the racial wealth gap, redlining, and race-based school inequality. Without this kind of holistic approach, admissions assessments will always favor white people.

CRT doesn’t just say this is racist, it explains why these kinds of race-neutral assessments are bad at assessing things.

What’s wrong with that?

Remember all that stuff I said the “material needs of the dominant society?” Well, “dominant society” means “white people.” And when I talked about “racial hierarchies,” that meant “racism.” So, according to Critical Race Theory, not only is racism an ordinary social construct that benefits white people, but it is so ordinary that white people can easily pretend it doesn’t exist. Furthermore, white people who refuse to acknowledge and dismantle this unremarkable, racist status quo are complicit in racism because, again, they are the beneficiaries of racism.

But, because white people believe racism means screaming the n-word or burning crosses on lawns, the idea that someone can be racist by doing absolutely nothing is very triggering. Let’s use our previous example of the college admissions system.

White people’s kids are more likely to get into college using a racist admissions system. But the system has been around so long that it has become ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that we actually think SAT scores mean shit. And white people uphold the racist college admissions system—not because they don’t want Black kids to go to college—because they don’t want to change admission policies that benefit white kids.

Is that why they hate Critical Race Theory?

Nah. They don’t know what it is.

Whenever words “white people” or “racism” are even whispered, Caucasian Americans lose their ability to hear anything else. If America is indeed the greatest country in the world, then any criticism of their beloved nation is considered a personal attack—especially if the criticism comes from someone who is not white.

They are fine with moving toward a “more perfect union” or the charge to “make America great again.” But an entire field of Black scholarship based on the idea that their sweet land of liberty is inherently racist is too much for them to handle.

However, if someone is complicit in upholding a racist policy—for whatever reason—then they are complicit in racism. And if an entire country’s resistance to change—for whatever reason —creates more racism, then “racist” is the only way to accurately describe that society.

If they don’t know what it is, then how can they criticize it?

Have you met white people?

When has not knowing stuff ever stopped them from criticizing anything? They still think Colin Kaepernick was protesting the anthem, the military and the flag. They believe Black Lives Matter means white lives don’t. There aren’t any relevant criticisms other than they don’t like the word “racism” and “white people” anywhere near each other.

People like Ron DeSantis and Tom Cotton call it “cultural Marxism,” which is a historical dog whistle thrown at the civil rights movement, the Black Power movement and even the anti-lynching movement after World War I. They also criticize CRT’s basic use of personal narratives, insisting that a real academic analysis can’t be based on individually subjective stories.

Why wouldn’t that be a valid criticism?

Well, aren’t most social constructs centered in narrative structures? In law school, they refer to these individual stories as “legal precedent.” In psychology, examining a personal story is called “psychoanalysis.” In history, they call it...well, history. Narratives are the basis for every religious, political or social institution.

I wish there was a better example of an institution or document built around a singular narrative. It would change the entire constitution of this argument—but sadly, I can’t do it.

Jesus Christ, I wish I could think of one! That would be biblical!

Why do they say Critical Race Theory is not what Martin Luther King Jr. would have wanted?

You mean the Martin Luther King Jr. who conservatives also called divisive, race-baiting, anti-American and Marxist? The one whose work CRT is partially built upon? The King whose words the founders of Critical Race Theory warned would be “co-opted by rampant, in-your-face conservatism?” The MLK whose “content of their character” white people love to quote?

Martin Luther King Jr. literally encapsulated CRT by saying:

In their relations with Negroes, white people discovered that they had rejected the very center of their own ethical professions. They could not face the triumph of their lesser instincts and simultaneously have peace within. And so, to gain it, they rationalized—insisting that the unfortunate Negro, being less than human, deserved and even enjoyed second class status.

They argued that his inferior social, economic and political position was good for him. He was incapable of advancing beyond a fixed position and would therefore be happier if encouraged not to attempt the impossible. He is subjugated by a superior people with an advanced way of life. The “master race” will be able to civilize him to a limited degree, if only he will be true to his inferior nature and stay in his place.

White men soon came to forget that the Southern social culture and all its institutions had been organized to perpetuate this rationalization. They observed a caste system and quickly were conditioned to believe that its social results, which they had created, actually reflected the Negro’s innate and true nature.

That guy?

I have no idea.

Will white people ever accept Critical Race Theory?

Yes, one day I hope that Critical Race Theory will be totally disproven.

Wait...why?

Well, history cannot be erased. Truth can never become fiction. But there is a way for white people to disprove this notion.

Derrick Bell, who is considered to be the father of Critical Race Theory, notes that the people who benefit from racism have little incentive to eradicate it. Or, as Martin Luther King Jr. said: “We must also realize that privileged groups never give up their privileges voluntarily.”

So, if white people stopped being racist, then the whole thing falls apart!

From your lips to God’s ears.

[circumstellars]

Re: recent anti/fandom violence

In light of last weekends’ events that happened in the greater fandom environment, I realise how patient and tolerant I’ve been to antis and those who may quietly support anti behaviour, in hopes that knowing me (a neutral casual), and some of the amazing people I’ve met along the way, would change their minds and show them everything is okay. I can see now we don’t have that kind of luxury, and I’m wasting time. The word on the street is that the bullying, harassment and anti-shipper violence and book burning has gotten so prolific and dangerous, inescapable, that some adults have been doxxed and lost their livelihoods, or had their family and children harassed, and a MINOR, a 15 year old shipper in another fandom may have actually succumbed to the death threats sent to them (yes, possible suicide).

because it was never about protecting real people, real children, or real CSA survivors, many among our ranks who use fiction as a form of therapy and escapism, no - it’s always about fictional people first and their sick and twisted Christian extremist faux morality.

not to mention, one of the most incredible gifts to fandom in the last 50 years, AO3, is getting attacked left and right, from antis trying to crash the servers and bully the volunteers out of their jobs.

-

I know you (anti shippers) hate shipping, and villains, and having fun with imagination and reading comprehension, because you’re most likely a white, American, repressed and mentally ill kid or young adult who wasn’t taught what fiction is and how it operates in your flagging school system and that no matter what you say it’s right, but I’m done trying to reach across the aisle, educate, bring people over to a happier, more wholesome fandom.  I mean we will still have that, but hateful people will simply have to rot outside our spaces. im not risking the life, comfort, safety and enjoyment of myself, or any of the good people and friends who exist near me, around me just so i can be the bigger person. I don’t even know how to process that yet another life may have been lost to sick and twisted extremists who can’t mind their business and their own spaces. Real kids are getting hurt, and real adults too. You don’t care about trauma survivors - WE ARE TRAUMA SURVIVORS.

Anyone who is an anti, has anti leanings, has supported or harassed anyone over their fictional proclivities (whatever ship that is in whatever fandom, i don’t care for what), is NOT WELCOME ON MY BLOG. You are not welcome to our server, or to speak with me either. Anti shipping propaganda is extremely homophobic, racist and sexist at its core, and if that’s how you want to live, so be it, but stay the hell away from me and my community.

this is not to say you have to like any ships or certain ships, or dynamics that make you uncomfortable to be welcome - I am specifically speaking to those who hate and spew hatred to the real people who like things they don’t. real people, with lives, loves, families and jobs - the real people getting hurt or worse.

-

Sorry for the long post but I needed to reaffirm what I’m about, because I do have a slow but steady growth of followers as I continue on doing my otherwise quiet giffing and reblogging, but I’m clearly too tolerant. I’m not going to continue being patient with people who would laugh on twitter or tumblr about someone in the fandom committing suicide, let alone a baby, a child. fuck you.

I’m sorry this is such a dreadful and dreary topic, but it has to be spoken about. pretending it isn’t happening will make it worse. I want people who follow me to know I will defend your right to enjoy whatever the hell you want, whether I like it or not. your life is not mine to dictate, or take.

thank you all.

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything is now ruined.

Chapter 22: Then It Ended

As soon as we came, Annabeth ang Grover tackled me. We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so of course everybody treated us as if we'd won some reality-TV contest. According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honor, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence.

Annabeth's shroud was so beautiful—gray silk with embroidered owls— Percy told her it seemed a shame not to bury her in it. She punched him and told him to shut up. Percy being the son of Poseidon, he didn't have any cabin mates, so the Ares cabin had volunteered to make his shroud. They'd taken an old bedsheet and painted smiley faces with X'ed-out eyes around the border, and the word LOSER painted really big in the middle.

As I was still unclaimed, Hermes cabin had made me one. (Just... IDK go crazy with your shroud IG) It was fun to burn. As Apollo's cabin led the sing-along and passed out s'mores, Percy and I was surrounded by my Hermes cabinmates, Annabeth's friends from Athena, and Grover's satyr buddies, who were admiring the brand-new searcher's license he'd received from the Council of Cloven Elders. The council had called Grover's performance on the quest "Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past." The only ones not in a party mood were Clarisse and her cabinmates, whose poisonous looks told me they'd never forgive us for disgracing their dad. That was okay with me. Even Dionysus's welcome-home speech wasn't enough to dampen my spirits. "Yes, yes, so the little brats didn't get themselves killed and now they'll have an even bigger head. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday...." Going back to the cabin I finally had time to talk to Luke. Who just expressed his relief of me being fine, and how he was scared when Annabeth told everyone about me. No wonder everyone was so shocked seeing me come back with Percy. On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of hundred-foot-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colors. As Annabeth, Percy and I were spreading a picnic blanket, Grover showed up to tell us good-bye. He was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakers, but in the last few weeks he'd started to look older, almost high-school age. His goatee had gotten thicker. He'd put on weight. His horns had grown at least an inch, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human. "I'm off," he said. "I just came to say ... well, you know." I tried to feel happy for him. After all, it wasn't every day a satyr got permission to go look for the great god Pan. But it was hard saying good-bye. I'd only known Grover a year, yet he was my oldest friend. Annabeth and I gave him a hug. She told him to keep his fake feet on. I asked him where he was going to search first. "Kind of a secret," he said, looking embarrassed. "I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan ..." "We understand," Annabeth said. "You got enough tin cans for the trip?" "Yeah." "And you remembered your reed pipes?" "Jeez, Annabeth," he grumbled. "You're like an old mama goat." But he didn't really sound annoyed. He gripped his walking stick and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like any hitchhiker you might see on an American highway. "Well," he said, "wish me luck." He gave Annabeth and I another hug. He clapped Percy on the shoulder, then headed back through the dunes. Fireworks exploded to life overhead: Hercules killing the Nemean lion, Artemis chasing the boar, George Washington (who, by the way, was a son of Athena) crossing the Delaware. "Hey, Grover," Percy called. He turned at the edge of the woods. "Wherever you're going—I hope they make good enchiladas." Grover grinned, and then he was gone, the trees closing around him. "We'll see him again," Annabeth said. July passed. I spent my daysplanning out strategies with Luke for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares's hands. I got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava. From time to time, Percy and I would walk past the Big House, he'd glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle.

I tried to convince him that its prophecy had come to completion. "You shall go west, and face the god who has turned." "Been there, done that—even though the traitor god had turned out to be Ares rather than Hades." "You shall find what was stolen, and see it safe returned." "Check. One master bolt delivered. One helm of darkness back on Hades." "You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend." Percy recited. "Ares had pretended to be our friend, then betrayed us. That must be what the Oracle meant.... Or maybe Nereid?"

"And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end." He sighed. "I had failed to save my mom and lost you..."

"So why are you still uneasy?" The last night of the summer session came all too quickly. The campers had one last meal together. We burned part of our dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads. Percy and I got our own leather necklace, and when I saw the bead for my first summer. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.

"This is so beautiful..." I smiled to Percy. "The choice was unanimous," Luke announced. "This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!" The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares's cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena's cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause. I'm not sure I'd ever felt as happy or sad as I did at that moment. I'd finally found a family, people who cared about me and thought I'd done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year. * * * The next morning, Luke called me. He gave me a paper, telling me to fill it out, and asked me to meet him as soon as I could. I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: Dear (WRONG NAME) , If you intend to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit. Have a nice day! Mr. D (Dionysus) Camp Director, Olympian Council #12 That's another thing about ADHD. Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face. Summer was over, and I still don't know what to do. I had no where to go to. The only option I had was Percy's or maybe Hades was not joking about inviting me back to the Underworld. Sighing I decided to just meet Luke before filling it for second opinions. The campgrounds were mostly deserted, shimmering in the August heat. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspection. Argus was helping some of the Aphrodite kids haul their Gucci suitcases and makeup kits over the hill, where the camp's shuttle bus would be waiting to take them to the airport. I was walking around looking for Luke. I jumped when I felt someone tap me from behind. I instinctively unsheathed my knife and turned only to see Luke with his hands raised.

"Whoa! Calm down just me." He laughed.

"Kinda weird seeing someone laugh at a knife pointed at them." I smirked sheathing my knife.

"I only laugh since its you." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Are you done with everything?"

"Not really. I don't know whether to leave or not yet. That's why I came. Help me?" I asked him.

He turned to me and to the forest. "How about you hear me out about something... important and private... then decide?" He gestured towards the forest.

"Not planning on killing me are you?" I squinted at him.

He gasped. "Not you. Never. I would never hurt you."

I let him lead me to a shrouded area of the forest.

"How serious is this thing that you can't let anyone see? I am blindly trusting you here Luke." I laughed nervously. But when he didn't reply I felt something was off. "Luke, okay this isn't cool. How deep into the forest do we have to go?"

"Y/N remember when you said... You want to be the person I trust...? How you promised to help me?"

"Luke?" He took my hand and pulled me sharply. I winced at how hard he pulled me. "That hurts! Let me go!"

He snapped back and let go of my wrist. "I-I'm sorry... Y/N..."

As much as I knew I had to leave, I couldn't I was worried about him. I reluctantly placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's happening?"

"I did it..." I said and sat on the ground. "I swear I didn't mean to get you hurt. But, I confess to everything. I  stole bolt and helm, I summoned the hound, I gave Percy the cursed shoes... And just now, I tried to kill Percy Jackson." He looked at me with empty eyes.

I shot up and looked at him in emotions I couldn't put in words. "W-Wh---" I wanted to leave and check on Percy. But once again, seeing him right now... I need to stay with him. "Why are you telling me this...?"

"Join me... please?" his voice was weak. He sounded vulnerable. "Let's serve my Lord together..."

"L-Luke... no. I-I can't do that!" I took his shoulder, "Y-You should stay with me instead. How about that, huh? L-Let's explain to Chiron and the others... come on please. I could help you!"

Nothing was working.

"Come with me..." He muttered.

"Luke, I won't join you. You have to change your mind. You can't do this."

"I can't change my mind."

"I can help you with that? How about you go with me huh? I could spend all my time doing this and that. Please, just change your mind."

He didn't reply for a while until he whispered, "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"You'll stay with me."

"What? Luke I wo--"

"You won't join... Just...don't stay here for the year... and stay with me."

"I-If I stay with you... what would that mean?"

"Yo-You... might change my mind."

"I'll go." I replied with no hesitation. "I'll leave camp for the year. And I'll find my parent to prove to you that Gods and Goddess aren't all bad. We'll find my parent together."

"I do my lord's bidding--"

"You can still do it. If you want to. But whatever happens... stays only between us. I'll stay with you until I change your mind. And I'll bring you back to camp."

"I would never do anything to ruin your trust in me." He knelt down. It was kinda awkward but hey... "I need you."

Worry not hero. We shall stay.

"Please..."

We'll meet again. Wait for us, we shall join you soon. Now leave.

I had no idea what happened since when I came to Luke was gone and there was no sign of him anywhere. How were we going to st---

We will meet him once we leave. Now go as our hero needs us.

I suddenly remembered Percy's state that Luke had told me about. So I ran. I ran to the Big House

***

Percy finally opened his eyes. He was propped up in bed in the sickroom of the Big House, his right hand bandaged like a club. Argus stood guard in the corner. Annabeth and I sat next to Percy, I was holding his nectar glass and she was dabbing a washcloth on his forehead.

"Here we are again," Percy said. "You idiot," Annabeth said, "You were green and turning gray when we found you. If it weren't for Chiron's healing..." "Now, now," Chiron's voice said. "Percy's constitution deserves some of the credit." He was sitting near the foot of the bed in human form. His lower half was magically compacted into the wheelchair, his upper half dressed in a coat and tie. He smiled, but his face looked weary and pale, the way it did when he'd been up all night grading Latin papers. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Like my insides have been frozen, then microwaved." "Apt, considering that was pit scorpion venom. Now you must tell me, if you can, exactly what happened." Between sips of nectar, he told them the story.

I bit my lip trying to keep what happened between Luke and I private. It was a risky move that would not be approved by anyone after all. The room was quiet for a long time. "I can't believe that Luke..." Annabeth's voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and sad. "Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him.... He was never the same after his quest."

Percy was looking at me as if checking what was my reaction to his story. "This must be reported to Olympus," Chiron murmured. "I will go at once." "Luke is out there right now," Percy said. "I have to go after him." Chiron shook his head. "No, Percy. The gods—" "Won't even talk about Kronos," Percy snapped. "Zeus declared the matter closed!" "Percy, I know this is hard. But you must not rush out for vengeance. You aren't ready." "Chiron... your prophecy from the Oracle... it was about Kronos, wasn't it? Was I in it? Y/N? And Annabeth?" Chiron glanced nervously at the ceiling. "Percy, it isn't my place—" "You've been ordered not to talk to me about it, haven't you?" His eyes were sympathetic, but sad. "You will be a great hero, child. I will do my best to prepare you. But if I'm right about the path ahead of you..." Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the windows. "All right!" Chiron shouted. "Fine!" He sighed in frustration. "The gods have their reasons, Percy. Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing." "We can't just sit back and do nothing," He said. "We will not sit back," Chiron promised. "But you must be careful. Kronos wants you to come unraveled. He wants your life disrupted, your thoughts clouded with fear and anger. Do not give him what he wants. Train patiently. Your time will come." "Assuming I live that long." Chiron put his hand on Percy's ankle. "You'll have to trust me, Percy. You will live. But first you must decide your path for the coming year. I cannot tell you the right choice...." I got the feeling that he had a very definite opinion, and it was taking all his willpower not to advise me. "But you must decide whether to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, or return to the mortal world for seventh grade and be a summer camper. Think on that. When I get back from Olympus, you must tell me your decision." "I'll be back as soon as I can," Chiron promised. "Argus will watch over you." He glanced at Annabeth. "Oh, and, my dear... whenever you're ready, they're here." "Who's here?" Percy asked. Nobody answered. Chiron rolled himself out of the room. I heard the wheels of his chair clunk carefully down the front steps, two at a time. Annabeth studied the floor. "What's wrong?" Percy asked her. "Nothing. I ... just took your advice about something. You ... um ... need anything?" "Yeah. Help me up. I want to go outside." "Percy, that isn't a good idea." Percy slid his legs out of bed. Annabeth and I caught him before he could crumple to the floor.

I said, "I told you ..." "I'm fine," He insisted.

He managed a step forward. Then another, still leaning heavily on me. Argus followed us outside, but he kept his distance. By the time we reached the porch, his face was beaded with sweat. But we had managed to make it all the way to the railing. It was dusk. The camp looked completely deserted. The cabins were dark and the volleyball pit silent. No canoes cut the surface of the lake. Beyond the woods and the strawberry fields, the Long Island Sound glittered in the last light of the sun. "What are you going to do?" Annabeth asked us. "I don't know." Percy replied. "I got the feeling Chiron wanted me to stay year-round, to put in more individual training time, but I'm not sure that's what I want. I also don't want to leave you both with Clarisse only." Annabeth pursed her lips, then said quietly, "I'm going home for the year, Percy." He stared at her. "You mean, to your dad's?" She pointed toward the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Next to Thalia's pine tree, at the very edge of the camp's magical boundaries, a family stood silhouetted—two little children, a woman, and a tall man with blond hair. They seemed to be waiting. The man was holding a backpack that looked like the one Annabeth had gotten from Waterland in Denver. "I wrote him a letter when we got back," Annabeth said. "Just like you suggested. I told him... I was sorry. I'd come home for the school year if he still wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided... we'd give it another try." "That took guts." She pursed her lips. "You won't try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least ... not without sending me an Iris-message? Both of you?" Percy managed a smile. "I won't go looking for trouble. I usually don't have to."

"You already know my plans."

"When I get back next summer," she said, "we'll hunt down Luke. We'll ask for a quest, but if we don't get approval, we'll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?" "Sounds like a plan worthy of Athena."

She held out her hand. Percy shook it. She gave me a hug. "Take care, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth told Percy. "Keep your eyes open."

"You too, Wise Girl."

Then turned to me, "Good luck on your own quest Droopy."

"Of course Peabody." We watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia's pine tree, then allowed herself to be lead over the crest and into the mortal world. "I made my decision." Percy said. "What's yours?"

"I'll be leaving camp... I'm going to look for my parent..." He looked at me in shock. "I'll be back next summer," I promised him. "I'll survive until then."

"Alone?"

I smiled at him.

"Don't you want to stay with us? Mom said---"

"I want to find my parent. I need to. I'll be fine Percy."

I helped Percy to his cabin so he could pack and went to mine. To my surprise I see a middle-aged man with an athletic figure slim and fit with salt-and-pepper hair, and a very familiar sly grin. He had bags at his foot.

"Delivery for Y/N L/N."

"Uhm..."

"Hermes." He said.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Personally packed. As a thank you for what you're about to do." He smiled softly and handed me the bags.

"H-Huh...?"

"For helping Luke."

"I..."

Don't forget her mail!

Ooh! And tell her to bring us snacks next time we meet since it'll be often now!

No it wouldn't be often! She'll be with Luke!

"Both of you keep quiet." Pulling out a mail he handed it to me. "Luke... prayed to me telling me about your plan. He asked me to help you. I don't know what or why he did it. But I know he'll change thanks to you. So do guide him."

"Sorry you lost me at the talking air..." I blinked.

Hermes laughed and showed a caduceus. "It's just George and Martha."

"Hi?"

Hello!

Hi

"I just wanted to let you know. No god or goddess could see you. No matter how hard they tried. So your secrets.. are really secrets. Good luck on your travel."

Next time we meet you should have snacks.

Then he vanished.

Staring at the letter on my hand, I was stunned seeing it was from... my mom and dad.

Sweetie,

You've made quite a friend here.

-Mom and Dad.

I immediately knew where to look. I hurriedly took my bags not bothering to check the contents. I ran to Percy's cabin and helped him out so we could leave.

Percy got a cab and looked at me worriedly.

"I'll write you. Stay safe Arthur Curry." I ruffled his hair and watched him go.

I didn't know where to go so I just went to the first secluded area I saw.

"You have more stuffs than when you arrived." I heard someone behind me.

"You prayed to your dad. I hope he knows how to pack." I sighed turning to him. Turning around I barely made out Luke from the few days I last saw him. "You okay?"

"Do you know where to look first?"

Call upon our hound.

I whistled, I don't know why. But when I did, D/N came out of the blue. Luke looked at me and my dear dog, who was probably bigger than the hound he'd summon back then. "How do feel about L.A?" I said riding on D/N and making space behind me for Luke.

~~~END OF BOOK 1~~~

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END OF BOOK ONE!!! THANK YOU FOR READING YLATHB I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! I'LL PUBLISH BOOK 2 WHEN I'M DONE OR EVEN AT LEAST HAVE WRITTEN 5 CHAPTERS OF THE BOOK 2 ;))

I HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT TIME!!!

Taglist?

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[wenellyb]

hey! every now and then i've seen random posts about sebastian's comment/s on colin kap kneeling among other things, but i've never seen any source material or hard facts. do you have any posts about this or deconstruction of your own? i'd be very interested, ty!

Hey yourself😉!

So I've found the screenshot of the post (at the bottom) and just so you know he also posted an apolology but that one I couldn't find a screenshot of.

There are plenty of posts talking about this but I think most of them are old so it would take some time for me to find them.

If you want my opinion. The whole thing was f*cked up and I remember being extremely surprised and unfollowing him after that post.

And he did apologize, which is good and I do think he understands that that post was not great, but it wasn't my main issue.

When the whole story with Kaepernick happened it was a real eye opener and exposed a lot of racists even among celebrities. I'm looking at you Christopher Meloni. But not only him.

So Colin Kaepernick was to kneeling to protest against police violence and racism.

And a lot of people reacted like a lot of White people react when the topic of racism arise: deny everything and get defensive "How dare he protest blablabala" "He's so rich and he's saying White people are priviledged..." "How dare he say there is racism in this country". You know the usual.

But the thing is to me, the way he protested was the most respectful, and most peaceful way to protest and also so impactful. And some people had still a problem with it...I don't understand how ANYBODY could have a problem with it ... unless they were racist in one way or the other. That was the bar for me... I could not have respect ANYBODY who had a problem with him kneeling, because their message was clear “just sh*t up and play football”.

To me, anybody who had a problem with Colin Kaepernick taking a knee... was automatically problematic and the worst.

For other forms of protests there can always be arguments against it, lousy arguments, but arguements nevertheless: "They're blocking the streets" "There was violence during the protest",... etc... But what is your argument with having a man kneel during the National Anthem, to call out something as serious as police brutality.

To me it was clear that they just wanted Black Americans to shut up, and stay in their lane. "Sports have nothing to do with politics blablabla"

And unfortunately history proved Colin Kaepernick right, and I don't think anybody could voice bad opinions about him today, but at the time, a lot of people were criticizing him, calling him names, insulting him, and even some celebrities were talking about how disrespectful he was.

They cared more about the way he was voicing his protest, than the fact that racism was a real issue.

And because of the protests last year, I think a lot of people tend to forget about that time, but Kaepernick faced A LOT of backlash, A LOT and for what....??? Absolutely no justification. With the way some people reacted you would have thought he burned the American flag on a daily basis, or used it as toilet paper.

So having that in mind, it was really disheartening to see an actor you respect take part in that...

And just to be clear, this is my personal opinion, but I don't think Sebastian had any bad intention with that post (not like other celebrities who were outright criticizing Kaepernick, for some reason I only remember Chris Meloni lol). But the timing, and the content, even as a joke, even as a promotion tool for his movie was extremely bad. You also have to understand the context, and how there were a lot of people rooting against Kap.

Worst case scenerio Seb’s post was racist and best case scenario it was tone deaf.

I can only assume Sebastian watches the news in the US, so he must have known what the caption "take a knee" meant and still decided to post it... So maybe he wasn't ill-intentioned, but to him the topic was light enough that he could post it on his social media...

My main problem isn't even with Seb's post, it was a weird way to promote his movie, or a joke I don’t know. Artists do problematic stuff all the time, and it's up to the fans who support them to decide if they keep doing supporting him or not.

My main problem was and still is the reaction of the fandom, where White Seb stans think they know and understand racism better than anyone else. And honestly this is not me saying that Seb is racist, this is me saying that we should be allowed to voiced our opinions without being silenced or accused of trying to villainize him or cancel him blablabla .

But the Seb stans don't understand that and prefer to turn a blind eye.

I make difference between stans and fans. The Seb fans are the ones who are willing to listen, understand why some people might be offended and admit that their fav f*cked up. The stans are the annoying ones who yould rather keep their head in the sand.

And nobody is even asking to stop supporting Seb... If I cancel an actor, I will stop consuming his content, supporting him, paying to see his movies etc... But I'm not forcing anybody else to do it... But I would like to be free to voice my dislikes especially if that actor was being problematic... without the stans complaining about how "I don't know their fave"

I haven't cancelled Seb btw, I just don't feel like finding him excuses and glossing over the words and if I think that something he did was racist, I will say that it was racist, not "problematic" or "tactless" or "clumsy"...

I think that a lot of people are confused about what racism is, and think it is only White Supremacists who want to harm all non White people.

But it's not only that and in my opinion, there are many layers to racism. If you have "nothing against Blacl people" but there is a part of you that believes you or White people are better than Black people, well you are racist... If not hiw would you describe it? I have already told this story, but I have a friend who swore she wasn't racist and we even had a big debate about racism, and a few weeks later, her boyfriend told me that during a family dinner, she had talked about a common Black friend of theirs saying "She is pretty for a Black girl"... But if you ask my friend, she will say she isn't racist.

If you try to silence people calling out racism, you are contributing to it instead of fighting it.

Another example, I received a lot of "problematic" comments at work from coworkers on my hair, my origins etc, but when I talked about it to my friends and said those comments were racists.. they said that I was "overeacting" that those comments were harmless or just my colleagues being "ignorant". But one time, I was done with it and I wrote to HR about it losting all the comments I had received and the HR director called me and told me that those comments were racist full stop, he didn't try to minimize it or act like I was exagerrating.

And that's how I see the reactions of Seb stans whenever something from him re-sufaces, like my friends who just act like it is nothing.

Just so you know you are not helping when you do that.

They act as if we're suppoosed to accept that because "it's not that big of a deal". Who told you that? How do you determine what is a big deal or not? Especially when you have never dealt with racism?

Fandom behaves as if people who were hurt or offended by that post were overracting. "It was a joke" "It was a long time ago" "He would never do somthing racist"

How hard is it to say " I can see that my fave did something problematic, or that what he did was racist, and I would still like to support him but I understand that people were hirt"??? How hard is it to continue to stan your fave WITHOUT trying to silence people who call out the behavior.

And also the way they refuse to use the words is annoying... it's always "I'm sorry if anybody was offended", never "What I did/wrote was racist and I know better now". If no one wants to admit it when they do racist stuff... nobody will never get anywhere... Like my friend who is convinced that she isn't racist but goes around thinking that White Women are more beautiful than Black Women, and even says it when surrounded by her family. 

And people act like the people who were hurt have no reason to be hurt because he apologized, but I hope those people realize that it doesn’t work that way. An apology is great of course, but it doesn’t take out the hurt, or the feeling that if he was comfortable enough sharing this on social media, what is he comfortable doing in the safety of his close circle?, or remove the idea that maybe an actor you adored, and respected doesn’t view Black people struggles as a serious matter.

I personally don't hate Seb, far from it. And the reason why I have so many posts about him, calling him out or not, is that he is one of the very few White actors I'm interested in. I don't know him personally, but I enjoy his interviews with Anthony and enjoy his movies. But I'm not about to act like he is perfect like some of his stan do and also I have absolutely no issue with people who have "cancelled" him because of his past behavior, because I understand them and it's their choice, it's what works best for them... I don't want to force them to root for someone who maybe wouldn't root for us.

Last point, that I won't elaborate because I have already written way to much. There's a difference between people actively trying to be racist, and people who are racist and maybe don't realize it, or people who have prejudice but are working on it...

I hate it when White people act like the worst thing in the world is being accused of racism when the actual worst thing in the world is being racist. Because it shifts the conversation from... "Oh how can I improve myself and stop this racist thing I'm doing, or how can I work on this prejudice I have?" to "How dare you call me racist!!! I would never" all the while they continue doing the racist thing they do.

TL:DR: His Instagram post was f*cked up, and he apologized. And it's up to each person to decide if they still want to support him or not, but it would be great if thise who still support him stopped pretending that those whose don't are overreacting or had no reason of being offended.

[interstellarflare]

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART TWO-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. Gif by @voughtgifs​

|PART ONE|

Homelander was keeping you on edge. It had been a week since his abrupt appearance at your apartment, and you knew that the fucker was watching you every hour of every day. And you knew that he was contemplating the best way to scare the shit out of you. It was only a matter of time.

The bruise on your forearm remained. It had turned a darkish purple, almost black, which you assumed wasn’t a good sign. But you didn’t care. It still hurt like hell, and it annoyed you to have to wear long sleeve shirts everywhere, but what could you do other than hang out at your apartment wondering when the bastard would show up?

Well, get drunk of course.

Pissed beyond comprehension at a nightclub downtown, you were happy to be somewhere else for the night, escaping the fucked up reality that you now lived in. Downing another shot of vodka, you cringed at the now disgusting taste. The room was swaying, the music was too loud, and the sound of people cheering and laughing happily irked you to no end. But you loved it. It was something different, and you were too drunk to care. “Another round~” You slurred, slamming the small glass onto the bar top with a slight hiccup. The bartender winced, approaching you with a calm expression. “I’m sorry Ma’am, but we can’t serve you anymore, you’ve had too much to drink” he explained, shouting to be heard over the loud music. As you opened your mouth to respond, the crowd behind you began to cheer ecstatically. You sluggishly turned to see what all the commotion was about, feeling your buzz suddenly disappear, slamming you back into a state of mild sobriety as the crowd chanted a chorus of ‘Homelander! Homelander! Homelander!’.

You turned to face the bartender, leaning against the bar top as you slurred “Please, please just one more. I won’t tell anyone”. Hesitantly, the bartender obliged. He handed you one last shot glass, and cringed as you downed the vodka greedily. Just you placed the glass down before you, a shadow loomed over you to your right, the stupid blue suit and American flag cape obscuring your view. “Out of all the places I could find you, I find you here” Homelander shouted, leaning on his elbow against the bar with a taunting smirk. “Fuck off, I was having fun” You snapped in return, feeling a surge of happiness swell inside your chest as Homelander’s expression contorted into one of pure bewilderment. This was only your second meeting, and you had a horrifying feeling that drunk you would likely get you killed. But that small sober part of you was glad that drunk you would say what sober you couldn’t.

Homelander’s eyes narrowed, watching on in annoyance as you abruptly stood up from your seat from the bar. Tipping the bartender for his amazing service, you left the superhero behind and disappeared into the crowd, silently hoping that you would lose him as you left the nightclub. As you stepped outside into the cool night air, you sighed heavily in a mixture of frustration and content. A few moments of silence was all you could savour, as the door to the nightclub opened once more for Homelander to step out onto the street. You could hear his footsteps close behind you as you did your best to put some distance between the two fo you, though it didn’t help that you stumbled occasionally on raised parts of the pavement. “I have to ask, what are you doing here?” Homelander questioned, suddenly appearing in front of you and standing tall with his hands braced on his hips. You groaned, pushing past him as you could see your car down the street “When one has their life threatened by a supposedly beloved superhero, and their life has completely gone to shit, then I think I have a right to have a few moments of self loathing don’t you think?” you retorted, ignoring his scoff as you managed to fish your car keys out of the pocket of your jacket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Homelander questioned, his tone of voice suddenly changing from cocky and sarcastic to concerned. You rolled your eyes, spinning clumsily to face him whilst throwing your arms out in exasperation “I’m going home, do you have any objections?”. Homelander’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering between you, your car, and the keys in your hands. As he stepped towards you, you stepped back, challenging him with a lopsided smirk. You could tell he was growing frustrated with your behaviour, and you enjoyed pissing him off so much. “You’re too drunk to drive-” “My buzz died when you entered the nightclub, so I think I’m sober enough to drive home....” you interrupted, bracing your hands on your hips and mocking his so-called heroic stance “and if I happen to die whilst driving home, it’s not your problem right?”.

Homelander’s expression changed into a deadly glare, his eyes glowing a faint red in anger. He stepped towards you, so close now that you stumbled back against the side of your car with a small yelp. His jaw clenched as he spoke “It is my problem, because you are the only chance I have to find Butcher. If you die, I have to start all over again, and I’d rather not to that”. “Oh, that’s such an inconvenience...” You responded sarcastically, lightly pushing the bastard away from you and turning back to face your car “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m done talking to you and I just want to go home”. Before you could even manage to unlock you vehicle, the keys were snatched from your hand, and you were suddenly lifted up into the supposed hero’s arms. You screamed, thrashing around in his grip. “Put me down you fucking arsehole!” You cried, hitting your hands against his chest whilst completely oblivious to your surroundings.

Homelander stared down at you with a cocky grin, tilting his head to the side with a small shrug of his shoulders before responding “Very well, if you insist”. And then suddenly, you were falling. You barely had enough time to scream, as Homelander’s form in the sky grew smaller and smaller. The wind blew your hair in all directions, and all you could do was gasp as the ground rushed up to meet you. You closed your eyes, bracing for the painful impact before you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around your form. You shrieked, opening your eyes to loud and obnoxious laughter as your found yourself in Homelander’s arms again. Hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held yourself closer to him, out of fear that he would drop you again. You buried your head into his chest, not wanting to watch the world fly by as Homelander flew to your apartment. If you weren’t sober before, you definitely were now. Your heart thundered in your chest, and as Homelander gently set you down on the rooftop of your apartment complex, you leapt from his arms and collapsed to your knees. Your stomach churned angrily, the sick feeling growing more intense, and the alcohol didn’t help.

You could feel Homelander’s stare boring into your skull as you grovelled on the ground, as you tried to stop the world from spinning. Eventually, you managed to stand to you feet, bracing your hands on your knees as you swallowed thickly. You could feel the hero’s presence behind you, “There, that wasn’t so hard was-”

Crack!

Homelander stumbled backward as your clenched fist connected with his jaw. His mouth fell agape in shock, his eyes wide in stupor. As his gaze met yours, you stepped forward and pointed an accusing finger at his chest. Your eyes narrowed, practically seething with rage as you growled “Don’t you ever fucking do that again, ever”. Time suddenly slowed down as you realised what had just happened. You had punched him. You had punched Homelander, The World’s Greatest Superhero. “Oh fuck...” you mumbled, ignoring the throbbing pain coursing through your hand. You stood in horrified silence, as the man before you rubbed his jaw in surprise whilst an amused chuckle. If he said anything, you didn’t hear it, as you fled inside the complex and down to your apartment. Once you got inside, you locked the door, not that it would help much, and made a beeline for the small kitchen. You found a bottle of bourbon, half of its contents already gone, but you drank from it anyway. The amber liquid left a pleasant burning sensation at the back of your throat, but your true aim was to get your buzz back. It was better to be numb to everything if Homelander followed you downstairs. 

Whilst punching him in the face seemed like a good idea and an impressive feat, you were certainly regretting it. You downed the rest of the alcohol that remained and turned back to face your living room, a shocked scream leaving your lips. Homelander stood in the centre of the room, his arms folded across his chest as his expression formed a dangerous scowl. “How the fuck did you get in here!?” You exclaimed loudly, your eyes narrowing harshly whilst your grip tightened around the neck of the empty bourbon bottle. The bastard’s expression didn’t change as he responded “Your window is unlocked, you should probably fix that-” “Who the fuck is going to climb down the fire escape to the fifth floor to kill me!? You can fly, so you cheated”. The room fell into a heavy silence as you ran a stressed hand through your hair, your (eye/colour) eyes never leaving his own blue hues. You took a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart as the blue-clad tyrant approached, but it did you no good.

“Look, I’m sorry I punched you. Actually, no I’m not, you deserved it. But if you’ve decided to kill me now then go ahead and do it. But I’m letting you know that I have done everything you’ve asked. No one knows that you’re here, I haven’t told anyone that you’re practically using me as a hostage. The Boys don’t know anything about your random unscheduled visits, so do whatever you want-”

You froze mid-sentence as Homelander’s eyes began to glow, the red hue increasing in brightness. For a brief second, you thought that this was it. That The World’s Greatest Superhero was going to lazer you into oblivion. You tried not flinch as his gaze moved away from you at the last second, instead directed towards the kitchen island bench. You watched on in dread as your phone completely melted into nothing, the intense heat of his heat vision obliterating the metal mass into nothing. As Homelander approached, you didn’t meet his gaze. You could tell that the fucker was revelling in your fear, as he stood only inches away from you. “Next time, that will be you. Maybe you’ll think twice about punching The World’s Greatest Superhero, hm?” he taunted, before disappearing from your view. When you looked up, he was gone. The window to the fire escape was open, the only sign that Homelander had been here aside from the smouldering hole in your island bench.

You sighed heavily, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you trudged into you bedroom. All you wanted to do now was sleep, and forget about everything that had happened. There would be one hell of a hangover in the morning, but you hoped that it would give you something else to worry about than a mad superhero tyrant. 

[qqueenofhades]

*respectfully* another request for Russian Revolution fivan? 👉👈😶

That winter is the worst that Fedyor can possibly imagine. It turns out that for a band of idealist socialist revolutionaries, overthrowing the old system and planting your flag in fiery triumph is a hell of a lot easier than building a functioning alternative in its place, and in the meantime, everyone is going to suffer. The Bolsheviks are victorious, yes, but now they're fighting with fellow socialists, the White Russian counter-revolutionaries, other militants, and the entirety of capitalist imperialist Western Europe, who view their success with horror and are desperate to stop the Red plague from infecting their own war-weary, restless-minded populations. There is famine and cold and death at every turn, and Fedyor sees things that he will never be able to forget. Russia is a war within a war within the Great War, which itself is still raging, though the new Bolshevik government has promised to get them out of it as fast as possible; the country's ruinous losses have fueled their support. The capital, for that matter, isn't even Petrograd anymore. It's Moscow. Everything has changed.

Fedyor battles to get home to Nizhny Novgorod, where he finds his family alive but deeply shaken. They have never been wealthy, but they're comfortable, and the first time he has to see his father stand in a bread line, it rattles Fedyor too. The idea of trying to just keep their heads down and hope this nonsense blows over seems ludicrous. But now his older sister Katya is sick, can't stop coughing, and it's that, if nothing else, that galvanizes Fedyor to return to the civil war and the racked-apart world that awaits him out there. "I have... a friend," he says to his worried parents. "In the Red Guard. If I can find him again, he might be able to help."

This is, of course, a lie in almost every imaginable way. Ivan Sakharov isn't his friend, just a man who didn't kill him in the Winter Palace and sheltered him from the immediate aftermath of the sack. Fedyor has no way of knowing if Ivan is still alive, if he is in any position to procure medicine for Katya, or anything else. But everyone is desperate, and the Kaminskys are in the same boat as everyone else. His parents give in, hug Fedyor tightly, and wish him Godspeed.

Finding Ivan is the next challenge. All Fedyor knows is his name and that he is (probably) from Siberia, so he travels to the headquarters of the newly-formed Siberian Army in Yekaterinburg and asks there. This is a mistake, because the Siberian Army, while originally founded in sympathy with the Bolsheviks, has now fallen out with them, and Fedyor barely gets out with his skin. But he boards the Trans-Siberian Railway, rides aimlessly east, has a chance conversation with a fellow passenger, and is told to ask in Krasnoyarsk.

Krasnoyarsk is a beautiful city in southern Siberia, and if Fedyor was here under other circumstances, he would like to look around. But he confirms that there is indeed an Ivan Sakharov from around here, who is a member of the Red Guard, and who might be posted to the Bolshevik regional headquarters in Chelyabinsk. It's worth a try. It's advancing spring, the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk has been signed (ceding a sizeable chunk of Russia to the Central Powers, but Lenin views it as an acceptable compromise en route to worldwide socialist revolution) and Russia is technically out of the Great War. If this is true, Fedyor can't see it.

He arrives in Chelyabinsk in March 1918, a fortnight after the treaty. Travels to the Bolshevik headquarters, asks, and --

"Fedyor Mikhailovich," the voice says, sounding genuinely stunned. "Is that you?"

Fedyor's heart skips a beat. He wasn't sure that the other man would remember him, that he would find him at all, but it's Ivan Ivanovich, looking grimmer and grumpier and more hard-edged than ever. He stares at Fedyor, who stares back at him. They move convulsively, clasp each other's hands, draw into an embrace like old trenchmates stumbling on each other unexpectedly. Ivan says, "What are you -- "

"If you ask me what I am doing here one more time," Fedyor interrupts, "I will smack you."

Ivan stops short. He looks like he might not object to that, and something hot and shameful and sweet curls warm in Fedyor's stomach. There's something else in their eyes, distinctively so, when they look at each other. Then Ivan says, "Why are you here, then?"

"My... sister." It sounds foolish, flimsy, when he utters it aloud, but no matter. "Katya. She's sick."

Ivan frowns. "With that Spanish influenza? They're saying it's particularly bad this year."

"No, I don't think so. I was just hoping... someone like you, that you might be able to find medicine for her. Or a hospital."

Ivan's eyes flicker. Then he says, "Are your family sympathizers to the cause? That would make a difference in what I was able to find."

"We're desperate," Fedyor says roughly. "We can be Reds, Whites, Greens, whatever you want. After your lot have come in and shot everything straight to hell -- "

"And is it better for the Americans, the British, the Japanese, the French, all interfering in Russia and trying to overthrow the will of the people?" Ivan snaps back. "The capitalists are terrified their own people will do the same to them as the Russians, so -- "

"It's not important." Fedyor has not come here to have a political argument. He has come to save his sister. "Can you help?"

"I don't know." Ivan spins restlessly on his heel. "Maybe."

"Please," Fedyor begs. "I will do anything."

For a moment, their eyes catch, hearing a certain and unmistakable subtext in that, that he does mean anything, and might not object. Then Ivan says, "No. I will not take that."

Are you sure? They both know what he's referring to, plain as day, without another word exchanged. Fedyor takes a step. "Ivan Ivanovich," he says. "I am... at your disposal. If you help her."

Their eyes continue to lock. Fedyor is burning from head to toe, and with something he can barely articulate. Then, brusquely, Ivan shakes his head. "No," he says. "No, I will not do that. Goodbye, Fedyor Mikhailovich. I hope you find arrangements elsewhere."

"Ivan -- please -- "

It's too late.

The door closes.

Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov, once again, is gone.

[imagineaworlds]

Rules & Roses

“are you following me?”

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex. Pretty sure that’s it.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Non-binary!Reader x Emily Prentiss (poly triad)

Word Count: 2073

Paranoia was starting to kick in. After days of running that same path without seeing another trace of that woman who reminded me of Lauren, I was genuinely starting to worry about just how fucking insane I was. I mean, think about it this way: I dedicated six years of my life to loving Lauren Reynolds so passionately that nothing else in the world mattered. As long as I had her, I was content. Then, one day, without warning, she was gone, and I was left to pick up the pieces. After those six years loving someone to the point that my life became theirs, it was hard to move on. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever did. There I was, thirteen years later, and my whole life was still about Lauren. For all I knew, she disappeared of her own free will. She woke up on that Wednesday morning, decided that she had enough of me, so she made it seem like she was going to the market, but she was really getting as far away from me as possible. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised. I mean, I thought she loved me… but Lauren liked to keep moving, and she didn’t like to get close with anyone— hence why I hardly knew anything about her— so it was possible that she just got bored of me. If that were the case, then I was definitely insane for still being head over heels in love with her.

Not knowing what happened with her, or with us, made it impossible for me to gauge if it was okay for me to actually still be strung on her or not. The good news was, however, that I could run it out every morning at the park. Since it was slowly getting colder, the tourists were spending more of their time in the city where there was artificial heating. As for the usual faces I saw on the path, they were still there. The older couples that liked to walk the path on the warm, sunny days so that they could stare at all of the different flowers in the huge garden all day were already long gone, probably cooped up in their homes to stay warm with each other. I envied that life. It was the life I wanted with— Stop. The point of running was to just focus on the burn in my lungs and legs. Playing my music as loud as I could in my ear was also to help deter any wandering thoughts. If anything, I could just focus on the lyrics and pretend that I was elsewhere in the world with her— No.

Thirteen fucking years and I still couldn’t shake Lauren Reynolds.

As I reached the top of the U-turn, I decided to sit down on the bench there for once. Usually, it was taken up by one of the older couples or a lazy tourist; but, since they were all gone— and no one else was going to dare to sit on the cold metal— I got to stretch out for a moment as I caught my breath and tried to end this tug-of-war in my mind. People continued to pass. As they made their way around the U-turn, they each sent me a glance, all for different reasons. Some were confused, others were curious, and others had just accidentally looked over at me. There was confusion because it was way too cold to just be sitting on a metal bench in the park, and curiosity because they wanted to make sure I was alright. With every glance that came, however, I tried to see if I could spot that woman who looked like Lauren. I really wanted to see her again. Not because I wanted to talk to her or something, but because I just needed that reassurance that it wasn’t her. I needed to move on. Despite the fact that I hadn’t seen her again since that first glance, I was holding out hope that at some point I would get to prove to myself that I wasn’t cray.

“How are you not freezing?” his muffled voice passed through the music playing in my headphones just enough to catch my attention.

I looked up at him. It was the man from the other day, the one who bumped into me— the six foot Nordic God that I had ignored. I gulped. “I’m used to it.”

“Ah. So, you can say more than ‘sorry’.” He laughed. My eyes raked down his figure, taking in every detail of him. Since it was so cold out, his hair wasn’t all sweaty and sticking to his forehead this time around. His brown eyes were just as dark and endless this time as they were the first time, though, and I felt myself getting lost for a second before I caught myself on the detail of how his nose flared to stop himself from smiling when he saw me staring. “I’m Aaron,” he said when he realized that I didn’t know how to respond.

I smiled up at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“What’s your name?”

I stayed silent, my headphones still in my ears. I thought that it was common knowledge that you weren’t supposed to bother someone when they had headphones in. Then again, Aaron looked older, so it was possible that it was a generation rule, not a societal one. I stood from the cold bench to show that I wasn’t going to answer him. His eyes followed mine. As I jumped on my toes to try and warm myself up, my gaze continued to search his body. He was wearing a tight grey Under Armor shirt that showed off his loose abs that he was working on, and his biceps… Again, a six foot Nordic God. As for his pants, he was wearing knee-length black sports shorts over black tights to keep his legs warm. My eyes snapped back up to meet his face when I heard him chuckle.

“You’re shy,” he said to me.

“Not really.”

“So, then, what’s your name?”

This guy wasn’t going to give up— but, again, Americans were normally people that kept to themselves. If they didn’t, it was a huge red flag. The fact that this guy bumped into me the other day, and now he was trying to use that brief interaction as an excuse to talk to me again was unnerving. Stranger danger, right? That was an American concept, for the most part, but I supposed it was a valid thing to be concerned about. At this point, I had learned that they were onto something with their “stranger danger” concept. Despite the fact that this man was very attractive, looks could be deceiving. I wasn’t going to give him my name or any other attention, really. The less the better. I shouldn’t have stopped on that bench. I shouldn’t have stopped on the path the other day when he bumped into me, and I shouldn’t have stopped on the bench this time. I needed to learn to just keep moving. Just because I had all the time in the world to do what I want in the mornings now, that didn’t mean I should lolligag.

“I should go,” I said.

This time, he didn’t stop me with any kind of protest or hold on my hips. I wasn’t sure why, but that one detail from that morning stuck out the most— well, besides the fact that I thought I saw Lauren. He had knocked into me because of my sudden halt, and in order to save me from falling flat on my face, he caught my hips and held me until he was sure that I was okay. Even then, I had to pull from his touch. With all of the caution I had been proceeding with, it was irking me that I couldn’t forget how he held me. Maybe it was just the fact that he was attractive. I was easily blinded by love and sexuality— use Lauren Reynolds as the prime example— so, I couldn’t trust even myself when it came to attractive strangers like the six foot Nordic God who was following me around.

When I arrived at my car after my run, I sat down in the driver’s seat, the door still open so that I could knock the dirt off my running shoes and change into something more comfortable. As the sun was coming up for the rest of the morning, it started to warm up, but only slightly, I missed being warm all the time. Even with the constant traveling Lauren and I did, we managed to catch everywhere when it was warm. We never ran into snow unless it was on purpose. Like, this one time, Lauren took me to Poland so that we could stay in a cabin where the snow could trap us in, giving us all the time in the world to just be together and not be interrupted by anything. I hated the snow without her. I hated the cold without her. She used to keep me warm, no matter what. Now, I had no one to keep me warm, which made the cold— especially the D.C. cold— unbearable.

“I didn’t mean to scare you off earlier,” he said.

I rolled my eyes before looking up at him. “Are you following me? Do I need to call the cops?”

He laughed. “No. I just wanted to apologize. I’ll leave you alone—”

“Good. ‘Cause I will call the police—” My threat fell short when he dug into his pocket, pulling out a black wallet, then flipped it open so that I could see the inside. My jaw dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I scanned every line of the I.D. laminated next to the bright gold FBI badge. “So, your name really is Aaron.” That was a relief, I supposed.

He laughed again. “Yeah.” He pocketed his badge. “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just on a run the other day with my friend, and we were racing, so I was trying to keep up after she passed you; but I wasn’t looking where I was going, so I ran into you.”

“Did she win?”

“What?”

“Your friend. Did she win your race because of me?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from widening his smile. “Yeah, she did. She would have won anyways. She’s fast.”

“You’ll have to challenge her to a rematch, that way I can bump into her next time so that you can win.”

I shivered suddenly. I tried to pass it off like I was cold, but, in reality, it was because I had just realized that I was flirting with him, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with a stranger. It was just that he pulled out that badge, and it suddenly gave me a sense of security with him— even though it could have been a fake badge, or the fact that he was still a stranger with a badge. I shouldn’t have been warming up to him as quickly as I was. I knew it was wrong. I knew that it was dangerous. Yes, neither of us could stop smiling. After not smiling for so long, I thought I forgot how to laugh. Then he came along, and it seemed easy to smile and laugh. It was natural. Unlike the other day, this wasn’t forced or awkward. We were just two people who happened to keep running into each other on the path, and because of that, we felt the need to create polite conversation. Still, it was wrong— It didn’t have to be wrong. No. It was. A badge didn’t mean he wasn’t still a stranger to me.

Aaron seemed to notice the truth behind my shiver, though, so he backed down. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then.”

“Yeah.”

 “Okay…” He turned on his heels to make his way to his car.

“Y/N,” I said urgently.

He stopped. “What?” he asked while turning back around.

I swallowed hard. “My name’s Y/N. I figure, if you’re in the FBI, you’d find out sooner than later.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“It’s okay.”

Aaron bit his lip nervously. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Aaron. See you tomorrow.”

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

criminal minds family: @peggy1999​ @gorgeousdarkangel​ @alex--awesome--22​ @oceaneblu​ @brithedemonspawn​ @absolutemarveltrash​ @bshelley322​