#id like to draw attention to like. WHY you had this belief before. its the wording of some of these things

[pigswithwings]

kind of interesting to me how people are only now figuring out (?) rediscovering (?) finally understanding (?) that chinese people are actual? people? like its really fun to see more chinese stuff come across my dash but some of the comments keep reminding me of what people were doing before this happened. "people are learning chinese and figuring out that chinese people are actually funny" thats great dude we were always funny. because we are also humans who have the capacity to joke around. quick question what did u think of chinese people before u downloaded 小红书 im so so curious

[hyunjilicious]

The safest white - harry styles

Summary: When things with your abusive boyfriend reach a new level, Harry comes to the rescue. 5.7k Warnings: mentions of abuse. I hope you enjoy this! Please tell me what you thought! Your words make my day ❤

Never in your life had you thought you’d end up in a situation like this. Growing up, you got used to the idea of an ideal relationship, and for whatever reason, fell for the glamourized Hollywood look of the downs people went through as they fought for their partner. Real life hit you like a ton of bricks, put a cloth over your mouth and cut your legs from the knees down. Knowing you have to fight for what you want and know is right, even if faced with facts that contradicted your beliefs, you found yourself alone, screaming at nothing in the middle of a sea of darkness. Your own house. And you were screaming internally, because once again, you feared the man you used to call ‘love’. Droplets of sweat tickled your skin as they rushed down your sides, and your hands and feet, although cold, were damp too. You stood in the middle of the bedroom, facing the door. In some twisted way, you knew there was no chance for you to hide, so you stood there, ready take no more hits without hitting back. And harder. After pampering yourself with a pep talk, you ended up feeling quite confident. Confident that you’d get the fuck out of there with your head held fucking high, but it was a confidence that dissipated once the sound of your own phone ringing reached your ears. “Fuck” you mumbled to yourself, after you jumped out of fright. “No, no, no! Y/n. Get. Yourself. Together” You muttered these words through gritted teeth, repeating them over and over again, until the layer of unshed tears in your eyes became too thick and rushed down your cheeks, forcing you to fall to the ground. The impact made your knees sting, but the pain in your heart had already numbed every nerve ending in your entire body. You were at the edge of collapse, and you phone was still ringing. Wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, you crawled over to the bed and picked up your cell, only to see Harry’s smiling face on his ID photo along with the pouting emoji you added to his name. It didn’t even take a moment’s worth of consideration before you pressed the red button and declined the call. Not that you had any power left in your body to communicate with another human right now, but you also knew that if it was something important, he’d also send a text, letting you know the matter was indeed urgent. And it came. The text came about 15 seconds later in real time, but for you, it was all a haze. Again, you didn’t think about it. If you declined his call and he still insisted, something must’ve been up. 'Love, I’m stuck at the studio for at least another hour and my mum is coming over’ 'She’ll be at my house in about 20 minutes’ 'If I leave rn I’ll have to come back tomorrow and I want to spend the day with her’ 'Can you go over there’ 'Let her in and hang out or something’ 'Or if you’re busy can she come to you and wait for me there?’

No, way. There was no way you could face his mother right now. She always saw right through your bullshit. Starting with when you and Harry were 18 and started denied your feelings for one another and up until this year, when she sensed something was off with you. When you saw her 2 months ago, it took you about 3 hours to convince her nothing is wrong with you for the sole purpose of keeping Harry out of your relationship. All it took for her to notice you weren’t comfortable with your boyfriend was the way you answered a question about his whereabouts. After that, you had to make up a whole story to prove to her she didn’t need to worry. And they say actors are good liars. You felt you were going to choke with every lie to told her, and frankly, you were surprised she believed you in the end. Maybe it was just how much she trusted you. Nevertheless, you weren’t the person for the job.

You stared at the messages on your phone, and breathed out from the deepest depths of your lungs. You hated that you couldn’t help him right now, but knowing at least 3 other friends of Harry's should be available, you locked your phone and fell back down, leaning against the side of the bed. The mere thought of Harry and Anne calmed you down a bit, but when you went back to reality, another wave of misery hit you. You still had to get out of there, but opening the door to your bedroom was probably the most frightening thing on your mind. There was not much time for you to gather your thoughts and plan your next move before your phone buzzed again. 'You hung up on me. I know u can see these. Everything ok??’ Instantly, you palm connected to your forehead as you rolled your eyes in disbelief. “How did he-” you muttered, unlocking your phone, to assure him you were ok. As it turned out, your text wasn’t enough to convince him you were good, so he called. But for this, you didn’t have the power. This time you didn’t bother to hang up, you turned off your phone completely and fell down onto the carpet. The minutes that followed were excruciating. That is if there was even a matter of minutes, your sense of time wasn’t even hazy anymore, it was gone altogether. The cries you tried to muffle out of fear Jack would hear you from the other room, created an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. If up until now it was all psychological, the spasming of your abdominal muscles were sure to force out everything you hadn’t eaten in the past two days. Just gastric acid was threatening to come up, but this feeling alone wasn’t enough to get you to stand up. By now, leaving the house wasn’t the problem anymore. It was the part of you that allowed yourself to be treated like trash that you didn’t know how to get rid of. At this point, the only thing you felt like doing was cracking your own chest open to rip out your heart and pick apart the broken parts. And not even that was good enough, you were afraid you’d be left with nothing. Since there was nothing you could do right now, you slowly stood up, and decided to head to the bathroom and clean yourself up in order to sneak out of the house. Messy hair and running mascara would draw attention to yourself on the street, and that was not something you could risk. As you walked across the bedroom, when you moved past the window, your eyes landed on Jack’s frame. He was sitting at the table in the back garden, drinking straight out of a bottle of Jack Daniels that was more empty than full. As messed up as that was, this sight gave you a rush of confidence. In this state, it was highly unlikely he’d hear you leave the house, and even if he did, you were positive you’d be able to outrun him. Once in the bathroom, the woman you saw in the mirror was not you. You refused to accept that you were in this state. It was a momentary lapse of character, from which you’d bounce back. You had to. In the shower, although feeling like you could break down all over again, you forced yourself to remain on track, and about 20 minutes later, you were back in your bedroom, putting on whatever clothes you found first. You checked the window. Jack was still there, scrolling on his phone. If you played your cards right, you could leave without your eyes landing on him again. You gathered your essentials - phone, charger, wallet, keys and whatever else you found completely necessary and walked over to the door, where you stopped. “I’ll take you less than three minutes to get to your car, Y/n” you whispered to yourself. “You can do this” You mumbled these words to yourself a few times, and when you raised your hand to open the door, the knob turned by itself and your heart fell two stories down. Already in overdrive, your adrenaline kicked in, sweating out of every pore as you instinctively looked for an object to use to defend yourself. All these defence mechanisms crumbled to the ground when you heard his voice. “Y/n?” because it was Harry, “Are yeh in here? Please, answer me!” You breathed out in relief, something you didn’t know you could feel again. You rushed to unlock the door, and he hurried inside at ungodly speed. “It’s Jack, ain’t it!?” he questioned with anger filled words, “I just got off with the phone with my mum, why didn’t yeh two say anything?” “I told her it was nothing” you mumbled, trying to avoid his eyes, but the way he held onto your cheeks made it impossible for you to look at anything else. “You did, yeah.” Harry nodded with despair, “And she believed yeh and now she’s blaming herself. Tell me. What happened? Where is he?” “God” you cried out and tried to lean your head back, but Harry stopped you and prompted you to look at him again. It worsened gradually, but by now, you barely managed to breathe properly as tears cascaded down your cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey” he breathed out, “Look at me, love. I’m here, ok? It’s over. I’m here. I got yeh” You tried to nod, but all you did was choke a sob and collapse into yourself, Harry barely managing to catch you. Holding you tight to his chest, he rocked you in his arms and rubbed the back of your head, “Its me, love. Its Harry”. He tried to chuckle, but pain was audible in his voice too. “Nothing will happen to yeh, ok? I swear on anything that I am, yeh're safe, yeah?” You wanted to nod, but when he moved his fingers up a bit across your scalp, you winced in pain, and he caught sight of it in an instant. “Did he hit you, Y/n?” he asked, pulling away to look into your eyes. You nodded no. For whatever reason, that was what you considered was the right answer. “Don’t lie to me, angel. Yeh don’ ever have to lie to me, ok?” “Ok” you muttered. “So did he?” “Yes..” And that was then the light in his eyes died. They started shining a particular type of darkness that terrified you to your bones. You froze. Your mind was too numb to act on your emotion, but when he brought you to his chest again, you finally realised your fear was unrooted. “Where is he?” Harry groaned in a deep tone. “Please, don’t” “I just want to talk to him” he fibbed. “Harry, I’m serious-” you cried, “Don’t do anything, I don’t want this anymore. I want it to be over. What if he tries to-” “Listen t' me, angel” he said sternly, looking straight into your eyes, “You’re crying. Shaking. I’ve never seen yeh like this. Ever. Not even close. Yer whole body shivered when I touched you. That man, hurt you. I don’t even want to think about what he actually did to you right now. Yeh’re the happiest, strongest woman I met in my entire life and he managed to bring you in this state. I won’t have that, ok? I won’t sleep again if doesn’t pay for this.” “Please, Harry” you whimpered, wiping some of your tears away. You placed your hands of top of his, and grabbed them tightly, “What if he does something to you, what if-” “Think about the girl that will come after you, hm? What about her? He’ll go on with his life thinking he doesn’t need to pay for his fucking demented behaviour, and she’ll walk straight into the lions den” “What if he hurts you?” “It won’t get to that, love. I’ll just talk to him. But I have to do this. I can’t not do it, you understand that, right?” After you reluctantly agreed, mostly because he wasn’t showing signs of giving up and you didn’t have it in you to fight him at that moment, you headed downstairs and he walked you to his car. Harry opened the door for you to climb in, but before that, you pressed yourself against him again, craving his touch and the feeling of safety it provided. “Oh, love” he sighed, rubbing your back. “I got yeh” You didn’t want to let him go, but you knew you had to. Eventually, you got into his car, but turned to him before closing the door. “You’re just gonna talk to him, alright?” you sniffled, “And then you’ll be right back, yeah?” “Yes, darlin’” Harry nodded and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “I’ll be right back” And with that, he left. You watched him walk into the house, your eyes remaining trained on his back until he was out of sight. Not knowing what was going on was driving you insane. Your phone was surely not going to provide any kind of distraction, you felt out of place, like you were sitting on a pile of nails as a train was approaching you at full speed. But there was nothing for you to do about it. Going in and joining the conversation was sure to make things worse, for all of you. It hurt that the right thing to do was sit and wait, you hated it, but you had to be patient. In need of something you keep your mind busy, you opened the glove compartment, and started rummaging through the junk that had pilled up there over the past few months. Mostly napkins, candy wrappers, McDonald’s straws, and seemingly, irrelevant stuff. Eventually, you came across some other things, like your old phone case, which you ended up discarding after you bought a new one while you were shopping with Harry for a birthday gift. There was also there a bottle of perfume, the kind you’ve been wearing for years, and in this one, there was barely anything left. Jumping jacks were taking place inside your heart. You knew Harry was the kind of guy every girl deserved in her life, but you wanted him for yourself only. It was mostly junk, and useless little things anyone would have forgotten existed, but he kept them. It didn’t take long before you got lost in thought again, but in the end, you decided to ignore any rush feelings you might be having, taking into consideration the emotional break down you have just been through. “Hey, love” Harry’s voice filled the air inside his car, as he flung the door open and climbed in in one swift motion. “Did you talk to him?” “Yeah” he said distraught and nodded, before turning around in his seat to check if it was safe to pull out. “With my fists” Your eyes snapped to his knuckles. Skin cracked and little droplets of blood peaking to the surface. However, he gripped the steering wheel as if it was nothing, and kept his smile on. What was most surprising, but actually not quite, was that he looked genuinely relieved. You sighed, “H, what happened?” “Nothing, love. I got there fuming ready to beat the guy to the pulp. But he was drunk outta his mind. I stopped then, I promise. I told him what I had to say but I doubt he understood a word I said” he confessed, grabbing your forearm and giving it a squeeze. “You said you were only gonna talk to him…” “That’s what I was planning on, I don’t- I don’t know what- anyway-” he mumbled, in between ragged breaths, “We’ll deal with it, ok? You won’t ever have to see him again. And he’s fine. He deserved so much worse, but I’m- I’m uh, I’m not-” “Thank you” you whispered, looking down at your hands, knowing any moment now the tears would come back. “Yeh don’t need to thank me, angel. I should have known sooner, this should never have happened” “I know… I’m sorry” “What’re yeh sorry about?” Harry asked, eyes trained on the road ahead, “None of this is your fault” “Then whose is it?” you exclaimed, “Hm?” “Fucking his!!” You tried to change the subject, but all you managed to do was drop this one. Nothing else held. Nothing was of interest, and even if it was, the timing was wrong. There was no way you could have started talking about what movie you just saw, and Harry clearly didn’t feel like boasting to you about what a great time he’s been having with his friends and family. Needless to say, for about 10 minutes, it was you, Harry and the sacred uncomfortable silence. “Can you drop me off at a hotel please” you asked, cringing a bit at your own words. “No, why?” He was clearly surprised, if not offended. “I- uh” you mumbled, too ashamed to use a normal tone of voice. “It’s your mum, H. I can’t see her right now. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, nor do I want someone else to worry about me. I promise I’ll be better tomorrow, and I’ll come hang out. Get a coffee or something” “Is that the only reason you want to go to a hotel?” “Yeah…” “Perfect” Harry nodded, “She’s not at my place. Didn’t expect you to be in the mood for company. But you shouldn’t be by yourself. I can drop you off wherever ya want, but not if you’re gonna be alone”. He took your silence for an answer. “My place it is, then” And you got to his house, and even if you had been there millions of times before, you felt out of place. You were afraid he bought you here out of mercy or sympathy, despite what he had just said. The atmosphere was different, and for whatever reason, you didn’t feel like home. For years, his house and anywhere near him, you felt your safest, yet today, you were afraid anything you’d say or do would be out of place. “Yeh know how this works” Harry said, walking into the kitchen, “It’s your home too, don’t shy away” “I know” you chuckled, and it did sound fake and it was obvious he noticed, but none of you pointed it out. “Are you hungry? Want something to drink? Tea? We can order something-” “I’m fine, thanks though” you sighed, slowly advancing towards him. You leaned your hip against one of the counters, silently awaiting his next move. But he didn’t quite do anything, except change his expression into one of maybe confusion. This must have been hard for him too, you didn’t know what you needed to hear, how could he have possibly known what to say? “Do you wanna watch something?” you asked, wanting to relieve some of the pressure. To be fair, you were not in the mood to watch any movie, but you figured laying down next to him would be calming and an easy way to avoid unwanted conversation. “Yeah, 'course” Harry nodded. “Actually... Got any wine?” He seemed completely taken aback, but soon enough, he came back to reality, offering to get the alcohol while you picked something you wanted to watch. It wasn’t a difficult choice. Seinfeld was a sure option, since you both liked it and it required almost no concentration at all. Just as you laid down on his couch, Harry came back into the living room, two tall glasses in his hands, and a bottle of while under his arm. “Figured white wine was safer, dunno how much we’re gonna drink, and nothing is worse than a red wine hangover” “Just how drunk do you think I wanna get?” you laughed, taking the glasses from him. “As drunk as yeh want, love” Harry smiled, pulling out a corkscrew, “The choice is yours” “Just don’t let me start ranting or anything” “Yeah…” he cringed, sucking in a deep breath as he squinted his eyes, “Can’t promise yeh that. Ya know I’m a sucker fo’ yer drunken ramblings” “Oh shut up” you scoffed. “And why did you bring these?” you questioned, pointing to the glasses, “Don’t you know me at all? Or are you suddenly grossed out by my germs?” “When you put it like that, it sounds gross, yes” Harry laughed out loud, before clutching the corkscrew tight into his hand and opening up the bottle, “But still, I’d be happy to exchange germs with you” “Oh wow” “Wha'?” Harry belted, playfully offended, “Yeh started it!” “Well, it sounds so much worse when some else says it” None of you could ever win this. He came over to the couch and motioned for you to scoot over. During the first episode, you kept your distance, but as the minutes passed and as the level of wine slowly lowered, so did the space between your bodies. By the third episode, Harry was laying down on his back with his knees bent, as you leaned back against his calves. That was when you opened up the second bottle. Still white wine, still safe. Harry's words. Every now and then one of you would chuckle, and in case too much time would pass without one of you making a sound, the other would gently ask an “You asleep?” even though both your minds were way too busy to be able to relax enough to drift off. When you almost finished this bottle too, Elaine was throwing a fuss, in the middle of Jerry’s living groom over some guy she went to gym with. “He wiped his hand on the top of the bottle when I offered him water” she said offended through the TV screen, making you stand up and turn to Harry. “This is the universe, love” he laughed but instantly you shushed him, knowing what line was next. “Are you kidding?” Elaine said again, “He should be craving my germs!” And at that, you both burst into laughter. “I had no idea this was the episode” you barely managed to say in between your crazy giggles. “Is it a coincidence?” Harry smirked, “Think not!” “You’re drunk” “So are yeh!” he defended himself, as if it would change anything. “You know what else I am?” “What?” You picked up the bottle and finished whatever was left in it, and then turned to him with a proud smile on your face, “Ready for the third one” “Stand up” Harry commanded and pointed to the space right in front of the couch. “Why?” “Do three pirouettes and if yeh don’t stumble I’ll open another one” “Buzz kill” you pouted and slapped his legs, “No” “I’ll do it with you” he laughed, and when he stood up, you reluctantly did too. When he motioned for you to do the pirouettes, another smile crept up your lips, “At least put some music on if you want to see my moves” “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” he laughed, walking over to his phone on the table, “Are we gonna dance in the living room like the crazy people in those sappy chick movies we used to watch?” “Why do you have to be an asshole?” you joked, leaning your head to the side. “Because-” was all he managed to say before the music turned on, making him stop talking as he silently laughed. “Why-” you exclaimed, “On Earth, were you listening to My Heart Will Go On? Is Harold in love?” “I have a good explanation!” Harry jumped to defend himself, pointing a finger at you, “I tried to learn it” “On guitar I hope” you teased. “Ha, very funny” “Oh my god, Harry!” you burst into laughter, “I’m assuming you nailed it on the first try” “Yess!” he threw his head back, cheeks all red, “Celine stand back, I’m coming for yer money” “What would it take to convince you to sing it to me?” “Sing it with me” Harry responded in an instant, and it might have been the alcohol, but it didn’t even take a second before you agreed. You both grabbed one of the empty bottles as microphones, and sang your hearts out. Even though Harry had the vocal capability to reach some of those notes and sing full verses correctly, nothing that came out of his mouth sounded right. And if you were to carefully listen to the atrocities that came out of yours, you’d feel the need to hide for a week to finally get rid of the embarrassment. But you didn’t care. And neither did he. Harry only got like this if he was in a truly good mood. He wasn't always bubbly and childish, especially not today after everything that happened, and you knew a bottle of wine wasn’t enough to awaken this side of him, but still, he danced his hips into exhaustion, providing you with all the good energy you didn’t think you could possibly get. Your performance ended when some Creedence song started, and you walked over and pressed yourself against Harry’s chest. Since you got to his house, you gradually started to feel better, but it all came so naturally, you literally had to stop and check in order to actually realize it. “Thank you” you mumbled into his shirt. “Don’t need to thank me, love” Harry said softly, rubbing your back, “Seeing you loosen up and smile makes me feel better too” His words warmed up your heart from the inside, and it was probably the amount of emotions that you felt in the last 12 hours that caused you to have so little self control, but your eyes watered. At that point, thinking someone’s happiness relied on yours, was too much for your mind to process. Especially considering that for the last few weeks, it had been quite the opposite. A lot of things came to mind. There were a lot of things you felt like saying to him. Somehow, you couldn’t escape the need to thank him again and again, you wanted to tell him how amazing he was, how much of a blessing he was. Right then and there you got emotional you wanted to rant your heart out, but in the end, you lacked the courage. For some reason, even though you had nothing but good things to say, you were afraid to do so, embarrassed even. “Still-” you said softly as you pulled away from his chest. Your eyes rose up to meet his, and he welcomed you with the same warmth he had been showing all day, “I don’t know how to exactly say this, but I know that there’s no one in my life who would have dropped everything and came to check up on me, but you did. And I know you don’t want to hear me thanking you again, but I’m so so grateful you’re in my life” you confessed, breaking into a light sob. The change of atmosphere was too sudden. He didn’t see this coming, and you didn’t know you wouldn’t be able to finish your statement without a cascade of tears streaming down your cheeks again. “Love” Harry cooed, grabbing your cheeks and wiping your tears away with his thumbs. The heat from his palms gave you a newfound sense of reality, forcing your thoughts to spiral again. “Y/n, I love yeh. So much. Yeh need to realize that someone taking care of you isn’t out of the ordinary” “It is for me, Harry” “I’ll fix yeh” he chuckled, and it was so weak, and his eyes cried because he had to do so. “And we can talk about it, or you can talk and I can listen, tonight, tomorrow, three weeks from now at 3am. Whenever yeh’re ready, I’m here for you, ok? I fucking love yeh so much, Y/n. Don’t push me away, because I’m here for you no matter what, ok? I want to be” His words, his tone of voice, calm but also disturbed and with traces of pain audible in it, the way his hooded eyes bore into yours, the way his chest rose and fell with every breath he took, was all too much. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now because I’m afraid I might say things I shouldn’t” “If you mean it, you have the right to say it. It’s that simple, love” he smiled reassuringly. You contemplated telling him how much you loved him and how it has been him all the time, but you were afraid he would put it on account of everything that had happened during the day, and that he would brush it off. The last thing you wanted was for Harry to believe your feelings for him weren’t solid. And on top of it all, up until a few hours ago you were in a relationship, and it felt wrong to admit that all this time you have been thinking of another man. “Maybe some other time” you finally said, pushing aside the topic and putting some distance between the two of you. “Whenever that may be” he nodded, “I’m here, yeah?” A whole pile of tangled emotions filled up your chest, and you needed an escape. A chance to put your thoughts in order before you said something you’d later regret. The wine was threatening to force out some confessions, and you decided a shower would be the perfect opportunity to delay them. You stayed in the bathroom for a questionable long time, but when you walked out, wrapped in a towel, Harry was still awake, watching the TV. He had laid on the bed some clothes of his for you to wear, and you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself when you finally understood why there were two shirts. The first one was neatly folded, but you didn’t really pay attention to it. The second one, a bit to the side, was obviously recently worn, so you didn’t think twice when you chose this one, the scent of his cologne tickling your senses. After putting the pair of sweatpants on too, you headed back to the living room, where Harry was comfortably laying down on the couch. He signaled for you with his arms open to join him, and you did so in an instant, cuddling into his chest. “There’s only a bit left of the game. 10 minutes tops. Mind if we watch this? I can put Seinfeld back on if you want to” “Oh, no. It’s ok.” you shook your head, “Just tell me who we’re rooting for” “The blue ones, love” Harry laughed kissing the top of your head. After you both shuffled a bit and settled back down in a more comfortable position, with his arms wrapped around you and your head buried into his neck, you only managed to comment on a few moments of the game before falling asleep. Next thing you knew, Harry was rubbing your arm up and down and whispering softly to get your attention. “Let’s go to sleep, Y/n” “No” you mumbled, turning your head so he couldn’t see your face. “Its much more comfortable, angel, I promise” he laughed. “I said no” you giggled back. “I’ll let yeh sleep here then” When he tried to pull away, you tightened your hold around his middle, “No” “Do you know any words other than no?” Harry laughed out loud. “No” His chest shook as he chuckled at your antics, “We’ll sleep here then” “Yess” you smiled and turned to face him again. He seemed amused, but even so, he looked down at you with awe in his eyes. After taking his shirt and his watch off, you both resumed your position on the couch, but this time, you had your back pressed against his chest. “I knew you were gonna chose this shirt” Harry spoke up a second after you closed your eyes, “But it’s weird because you smell like me now” “Harry?” you questioned, playing with his fingers, “Are there things you want to say, but you’re too afraid to?” It took a while before he answered, but you waited patiently. “Yeh mean in general?” “No” you said and squeezed your eyes shut, cringing in anticipation. “I mean now” This time he didn’t answer. Maybe he would have, but when you figured enough time passed, you turned around in his hold. If the answer was no, there would have been no reason for him to hesitate, so you took his silence for a yes. It was a risk you were willing to take. “Good night, Ni” you said and pressed your lips against his; it was hurried, it barely lasted for two short seconds but you put your soul into this kiss and it sent your heart into overdrive. After you pulled away, you turned around immediately and settled back into your spot. He was silent, not one of his muscles flinched. Maybe it was the wine. You shouldn’t have done that. You wanted to move. Not touch him anymore, never see him again. It felt like you ruined the best thing that ever happened to you, all because you couldn’t control yourself. And you were so close. You should have just laughed at his remark about the smell of his shirt and then go to sleep. Why wasn’t he saying anything? This was wrong, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. “Would yeh have done that if things with Jack happened differently? If they ended on good terms? Or if we weren’t drunk?” “Yes” you whispered, your voice cracking, “I wanted to do that for a long long time. But I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, forget it” “Will never” he said, and then brought you closer to kiss your neck, “And don’t be sorry” “I love you, Harry” “I love yeh”. He kissed your scalp and spoke into your hair, “The most”

-

Hey, guys! In case you read this far and thought this sounds similar (or maybe exactly the same) to another fic posted on here, it’s because I had previously uploaded it to another blog. It was a Niall imagine at first but then i was like hm... Harry! Anywayyyy i hope you liked this! Please don’t hesitate to tell me what you thought!

[addicted-to-dc]

Red Hood’s Little Monster (Part 6)- Red Hood/Jason Todd X Gender fluid!Reader

Welp, I’m actually posting something! Hopefully you all will enjoy this VERY long fic. Also, I currently do not have my tag list on me, so I cannot tag anyone for a while, not until I can find my list.

Warnings: Anger issues? Flirting?

"Come on, man, you gotta help me out," you begged, barely suppressing the urge to roll your eyes at your own words. "I just need one identity, I don't care who, but I need one now."

Norm shook his head, pacing around the room while biting his nail, "You know that I can't do it in less than a day! I need at least a week in advance to do it, to make sure it is prepared properly and won't get any red flags! You know if you get caught while using a passport and documents from me, that could damage my reputation!"

"Oh come on! You gave me one in three days," you spat, trying to keep your emotions in control, "and I'm offering double the pay that I gave you that time! I don't give a shit what gender, race, hell, I don't care what age, just give me a goddamn passport and a picture of the poor bastard. You know that I can handle situations like these, can you?"

He pointed at you, shaking his hand as he muttered a few curses. Wiping his face, he scratched his beard as he thought up for some type of solution, something that could save him from being killed by you. As soon as he thought of something, he ran into the back room and dug through his things, searching for the one type of person that would guarantee her a way to escape. Grasping onto the documents, he walked back into the room and handed you what you requested.

Looking over the documents, you scanned over the man in the photo. He had a handsome face, but his face would definitely blend in. His dark skin glowed in the sunlight of the photo, making his dark brown eyes look like honey.

"What happened to him?" you asked Norm, pocketing the documents.

"Disappeared without a trace," he replied solemnly. "He had no family, friends, or next of kin, so you will not deal with any unwanted attention."

"Did you know him?" you questioned, watching his eyes shift to the floor. "If this is too personal I will not take-"

"No, take it," Norm stated, waving you off. "He was a... a good guy, a loving one, too, but his kindness got him killed. It's somewhat comforting that a little bit of him will be back, y' know?"

You nodded, "Thank you, Norm. The money will be transferred to you tomorrow, I just need to get a head start before drawing attention to your bank account."

"I know the drill by now," he chuckled, patting you on the shoulder. "Stay safe out there."

"You, too," you replied, adjusting your jacket before leaving the building.

Stepping out into the sun, you pulled your sunglasses onto your face and continued forward, determined to slink back into the shadows like you always did. You had the upper hand now, but for how long? They had more resources than you by far, but it would take time for them to get everything. Your father's quarrel with Bruce Wayne would spark arguments if he requested help from him, but there was the possibility that his familial instincts will suspend the fighting.

Huffing, you moved forward on your path, heading to the nearest alley to shift. It wasn't the most inconspicuous, but it was better than going into a populated area and having questions arise. Leaning against the wall, you breathed heavily as you looked at the picture of the man, absorbing his image into your head as your body started to burn. Gritting your teeth, you felt as your muscles, bones, and other insides shift and grow, creating an exact copy of him. The shift was oddly less painful than your last ones, but you couldn't focus on that now. Pulling your hood up, you stretched out before walking out the other end of the alley, quickly getting used to the height difference of this body.

Opening your wallet, you pulled out the ID of your previous form, folding it in half and snapping it before throwing it into the nearest dumpster. Digging into your pocket, you slid the new one in, staring and memorizing all of the information. He had a California license, had a height of 5'11" and weighed 194 pounds. His birth date was August 20th, 1995, and his address was Norm's. You would read the documents containing more information on the way to your destination, but now you needed to sell the look of someone traveling. Looks like you were going to blow a lot of cash.

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

Walking through the airport, you pulled your cheap carry on suitcase, which was filled with clothes and other useless items, as you continued forward. You made sure not to look at the cameras, knowing that it would draw attention to you. Sighing, you glanced around and rubbed your eye, your exhaustion getting the better of you. Your contact had assured you that you wouldn't have to deal with security, especially when you still had your suit on. As advanced as it was, it wouldn't make it past the metal detectors that nearly all were required to pass through.

Clutching the handle, you looked around for your contact, searching for her obnoxious bright red hair. Before you could notice someone running behind you, you felt an impact against your back. It nearly made you throw a punch, but you were able to see her head notched into your neck before you made the mistake. Smiling, you laughed and turned around, hugging her to keep the act going. Her honey-colored eyes stared into yours as the both of you pulled away, but kept close physical contact.

"It's been a while since we've seen each other," she smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist, "and I must add that's one delicious form you've taken."

You chuckled at the redhead, remembering how much you hated her personality, "Might I remind you that I am a minor."

"A minor that can shapeshift into a very scrumptious adult," she smirked, removing her hand from your waist, "but I know my boundaries."

She led you through a corridor away from the TSA infested area of the airport. The sound of your footsteps reverberated through the hall, making you scan the area cautiously. From what you memorized of the blueprints of the airport, you were heading back to the loading dock, and your plan did not include going there.

"Is there a bathroom somewhere I can go before we leave?" you asked, looking around. "The coffee is kicking in."

"Don't worry, assassin, they think you're taking a private jet in the opposite direction," she stated, continuing forward. "Your plan worked, but we needed to take a more subtle route to our flight."

You didn't like the change in your plans, but even you knew that she was telling the truth. The Mya you knew wouldn't sell a customer out, especially if the customer could snap her neck before she could realize it, but that didn't mean that this was Mya.

"How's your brother and sister?" you asked, remaining behind her.

"They're okay, Gram is still in college and Grace dropped out, she's focusing on the family business currently," she replied, turning around. "Why the sudden curiosity?"

You shrugged, glaring down at her, "Because Grace is dead, you were the one who asked me to kill her, remember?"

Before she could react, you had her pinned against the wall, using your weight to keep her there. One hand held her own down while the other had her neck in its grip, squeezing just enough to make sure she wouldn't try anything.

"Who's helping my father, telepath?" you questioned her, squeezing tighter.

She dropped her disguise, revealing herself to be Miss Martian and telling you everything you needed. Without hesitation, you released her and let her fall to the ground. You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated beyond belief.

"How did they find me?" you asked yourself pacing around, completely ignoring the incapacitated Martian beneath you. "This chase needs to end right now, I can't stand this frustrating goose chase."

Rubbing your face, you sighed and glanced at the Martian, examining her while she tried to recover her breath. She was a white Martian, which was rather odd all things considering. You couldn't remember if they were outcasts of Mars or something else, but you didn't care at the moment.

"Are they waiting for me at the exit?" you asked, watching as she nodded 'yes'. "Well, I better go greet them."

Continuing down the corridor, you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what was about to occur. There had to be more than one hero helping them out, there definitely had to be. You had to admit you were slightly surprised that heroes would help the Outlaws, but who were you to judge the heroes' choices. They're always going off about 'discovering your better self' and 'forgiveness is always an option if you mean it' or however it's phrased.

You didn't believe in that crap, and you knew that if someone was trying to kill you, you wouldn't be given those options. You were too dangerous to be kept alive, too dangerous to be around potential loved ones when all you had to hear was a few code words to make you lose control and kill those around you. You couldn't risk that, especially when Talia al-Ghul has a thing for your father's family, your adoptive grandfather if you can even call him that.

You resisted the urge to pull out your weapon as you got closer the exit, making it more difficult to keep your nerves on edge. As soon as you rounded the corner, the three Outlaws could be clearly seen blocking the doorway.

"Unpleasant to see you three again," you stated calmly, examining your surroundings. "Where are the other junior heroes?"

"Somewhere around," your father replied coolly. "Now, are you going to come with us consciously or unconsciously?"

"I was expecting to explain everything before you'd make that decision for me," you answered, remaining vigilant. "If I come with you, death will follow. The League of Assassins will see it as an opportunity to weaken its enemies, and I will not be able to stop them from doing so. So, if you value your lives and the ones around you, I suggest you let me disappear and let go whatever semblance of fatherly instinct you developed. I'm not yours, I wasn't raised by you, I wasn't taught to love or look up to you, we just share a genetic code."

You waited for a response, some sort of reaction from your father, but you couldn't identify anything from his body language. His red helmet obscured his face, which gave him the upper hand in this current situation.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, your frustration grew exponentially as his silence continued, "Are you going to just stand there, or actually respond to me?"

He stepped forward, making your hand instinctively go for your weapon, "The League can't touch you, (Y/N), we'll make sure of it."

"You can't be serious," you said, nearly laughing at his statement. "They are everywhere, no matter how secure it is. If they aren't affiliated with them, they are being blackmailed or have their families on a watch. They know how to break anyone, hell, they broke the great Batman many times."

"I am not Batman," he nearly growled, "and the League will have to go through me to get to you."

"This is exactly what they want," you sighed, knowing what would transpire in the future if you went with them.

Arsenal stepped forward, patting your father on the shoulder before looking in your direction, "Listen, kid, we'll make some precautions if that will ease your conscience. Even if it happens, we'll be able to deal with it."

Gritting your teeth, you punched the wall beside you, punching through to the next room. You retracted your hand and sighed, your anger contained for the moment. Thinking about your other options, you could escape them once again, but they would find you again and again. Dusting off your hand, you stomped toward the three adults and walked past them.

"Let's go before I change my mind," you huffed, hoping that you would not regret your decision in the future.

[edogawatranslations]

Danganronpa Kirigiri (3) - Chapter 3, Part 1

Table of Contents | Previous: Chapter 2, Part 4

Chapter 3 - The Palace of Twelve Locked Rooms

Dusk had already fallen by the time we made it back to my dorm around six in the evening.

While walking to my room, we passed by one of my hallmates. The sight of Kyoko sleeping on my back and the boy in the vest tagging along behind us caused her eyes to shoot wide open.

“Yui...” she said with a look of concern. “You’ve been hanging out with a strange crowd recently.”

“You saw nothing.”

After entering my room, I lay Kyoko down onto my bed and let her sleep. Those ghastly marks remained visible on her white neck, a painful reminder she had been moments removed from death. I felt sorry for her.

Lico took a curious glance around.

“Huh... I’ve never been in a girl’s dorm room before.”

“Don’t let your eyes wander.” I quickly kicked some clothes and underwear that had been scattered on the floor under my bed. “Take a seat.”

“Okay.” With a smile, Lico sat down on his knees.

“There are a bajillion things I wanna ask you once Kyoko wakes up... But I gotta know: are you really Rei Mikagami?”

“If by that, you’re asking if there are people in this world who refer to me by that name, then the answer is yes. I do not recall my actual name. I mentioned earlier that both of my parents died when I was young; my earliest memories were at an orphanage.”

“Then what about the Rei Mikagami registered with the Detective Library?”

“That would be me.”

“So you’re really a triple-zero class detective? That’s incredible, you know. Are you aware of that?”

“Of course. That’s why the whole world is hunting me down, after all.”

“How old are you?”

“Twelve, I think?”

“Huh? Something doesn’t add up... When did you first register with the Detective Library?”

“Probably when I was around seven or so. There was a case I couldn’t solve without a Detective Library ID card, so I registered.”

“A seven-year-old kid managed to rank up to a triple-zero class detective in the span of only five years?”

“Technically speaking, I reached that status when I was maybe around nine.”

Sitting before me was the quintessential genius. His skill was far beyond that of other detectives who might languish for three years before ranking up for the first time, not to mention those who perpetrated and solved their own crimes to rank up six times.

Since Rei Mikagami was promoted to triple-zero class in such a short period after registering with the Library, the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee likely didn’t have enough time to determine his identity. It also didn’t hurt that he seemed to excel at laying low, thwarting the attempts of those who sought to track his movements.

“Every single one of the cases I’ve solved under the name Rei Mikagami has been archived into my file at the Library. I wonder, who has been watching me, and from where?”

“I bet Committee members keep a close eye on you at their watch parties.”

“The Committee has nothing to do with it.”

“Huh? But aren’t the Detective Library and the Committee secretly connected?”

“Nope. Not in the slightest.”

“No way, that can’t be true. No matter how you think about it...”

“The Detective Library has strictly adhered to its founding ideals—to serve as a database with no will of its own. By eschewing the influence of any and all organizations, it guarantees its status as a neutral institution for all registered detectives.”

“I’m saying, what if all of that is just lip service?”

“...I wonder.” Lico flashed a smile and tilted his head.

“Hmph. You don’t care one bit about this, do you? It’s written all over your face.”

“Heh. I’m sorry, but the Detective Library doesn’t interest me,” Lico said with a childish smile. “However, I can say with the utmost confidence that no reciprocal relationship exists between the Committee and the Library. If anything, the Committee has unilaterally been using the Library.”

“...Really?”

“Consider this. If the same group controlled both the Committee and the Library, isn’t it odd that the file of their leader, Mikado Shinsen, was deleted from the archive? No other detective received the same treatment.”[3]

“Isn’t that because they don’t want his file to be available for everyone to access? If I were leading a criminal organization, I wouldn’t want my info out in the open; it’d be detrimental.”

“I think differently. If they could freely adjust their ranks and falsify their files however they desired, why would they intentionally draw attention to their leader by only deleting his file?”

“You have a point there...”

“The evidence suggests the Committee has no influence over detectives’ ranks or anything listed in individual files. In fact, I don’t think the Committee ever even considered trying to reign over the Library. Duel Noirs are considered fair gambles, so it is essential for the summoned detective to be ranked by a neutral organization. With that in mind, you could say that the activities of the Committee necessitate the complete neutrality of the Library. I doubt their audience would approve of match fixing.”

The audience for Duel Noirs likely took pleasure in witnessing real crimes unfold before their very eyes. Of course, however, some of the theatrics had to be prepared in advance.

“But, they specifically summoned me as the detective for the current challenge. How is that fair?”

“It’s not exactly unfair to designate a specific detective, as long as their rank is commensurate with the cost range.”

“I’m still not convinced; just look at these!”

I slapped the twelve challenge cards onto the floor.

“If Ryuuzouji is betting his retirement over this game, it’s a cheap price,” Lico commented. “His worth as a detective far outweighs being determined by these twelve scraps of paper.”

“...So you support him.”

“I hold him in high esteem.”

“Whose side are you on? The Committee’s? Or mine?”

“That sounds like something you’d ask a date,” Lico blushed, likely imagining being in a relationship. But I was fully aware of the deadly poison lurking beneath his smile. I was fearful of the fact that it was so easy to be entranced by his projected innocence.

“Well, I trust you’re not an enemy.”

“I’m glad to have your trust,” Lico replied with a genuine-looking smile.

Despite being a triple-zero class detective, he didn’t boast of his achievements, instead devoting his time to solving mysteries that interested him. But that begged the question: Why choose to work as an assistant to Ryuuzouji in the place most closely connected with the Committee? There was so much about him I found puzzling, and to get to the bottom of it, I thought of countless things I wanted to ask.

As I pondered where to begin my interrogation, Kyoko awoke with a groan and sat up in my bed. A painful-sounding cough followed.

“Kyoko, are you okay?” I asked. “Here, drink some water. Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I’m fine... I’ll be okay,” Kyoko answered with a raspy voice, before chugging a bottle of water. It wasn’t just her throat; her entire body had taken a beating. Even so, she tried to pretend like nothing was wrong.

I worried that continuing to express my concern for her would hurt her pride, so I decided to move on with the conversation.

“You woke up at the right time; I’ve just started to question this kid,” I said, pointing at the boy sitting straight up on the floor. “You won’t believe it, but he’s Rei Mikagami.”

“Indeed,” Kyoko said nonchalantly, scratching her throat.

“What, you knew?”

“I had a sneaking suspicion. You only introduced me to him as a friend, but he somehow knew my name without it being mentioned.”

“I could have learned about you at Ryuuzouji’s place, you know?” Lico shot back with a smile.

“Then you should’ve been more surprised to see me. Ryuuzouji and the Committee have been trying their hardest to locate me, so my appearance at the station would've come as a shock. Regardless, any notion of you being a normal kid vanished after seeing how you handled those assassins.”

“With the way things were headed, I couldn’t keep things a secret. It may sound like an excuse, but I had every intention of revealing my identity to you after dealing with the assassins, I swear.”

“Uh huh.” I eyed Lico suspiciously. “Why are you even working at Ryuuzouji’s place?”

“Unless I constantly surround myself with the mysterious, I’ll shrivel up into ash and die,” Lico said with a soft smile.

But behind that smile, there was a certain earnestness that couldn’t be laughed off.

“That is why I decided to infiltrate Ryuuzouji’s castle, in pursuit of the world’s greatest mysteries. While I have solved many mysteries up until now, the quality of them has been suffocatingly low.”

“You sure have a taste for luxury.”

“I have come to realize that a lifestyle journeying around the world suits me better than one lingering in a fixed place. I’m certain that somewhere on this earth, the ‘something mysterious’ I’m seeking is awaiting me.”

Lico sounded like a boy with great aspirations for summer vacation.

He belonged to a different breed of detective, one made up of those who wholeheartedly devoted themselves to chasing after mysteries. Unlike detectives who served to protect something or save others, he was free to move and act without restraint.

“Does Ryuuzouji know you’re Rei Mikagami?”

“I don’t think he knew when he first hired me. He might have had faint suspicions about my identity up until yesterday, but following today’s events, I’m sure his beliefs have cemented into certainty.”

“Why? Was Ryuuzouji watching you from somewhere?”

“No. I suspect at least one of the assassins was hired by Ryuuzouji himself,” Lico said with a straight face.

“R-Really? Why would he do that?”

“To kill me—just kidding. More likely to confirm my identity as Rei Mikagami. Since all of the assassins survived, they will inevitably report back to Ryuuzouji.”

“Then Ryuuzouji must have been the one who leaked the information that Rei Mikagami was going to appear at Meyura Station,” Kyoko said, adjusting her posture on the edge of the bed.

“W-Wait a sec. What’s the big deal? Why would Ryuuzouji go to such lengths?”

Kyoko stared coldly at my frantic expression, before beginning to explain. “All of it was planned out from the very start. First, Ryuuzouji leaked false information to send his hired assassins to Meyura Station, keeping the truth hidden from them. At the same time, he challenged you to an unfair Duel Noir, engineering a situation where you would have no choice but to head to the station. In doing so, he gained a reason to send Lico—your assistant in the game—to the station as well. Naturally, Lico and the assassins would encounter each other there.”

“You lost me. So you’re saying these twelve challenges were designed as a trap to expose Rei Mikagami’s identity?”

With that understanding, the decision game Ryuuzouji forced me to play took on a new meaning. It was a test to confirm that I was someone who would never dirty my hands: someone who would stop Rei Mikagami from silencing the assassins when the time came.

“I realize why he kept me so close to him as a trusted assistant, despite only having worked for him for half a year. He wanted me by his side so he could uncover my identity,” Lico reasoned.

“Geez, we’ve all been played because of you. I can’t believe all of this was just a ploy to flush out Rei Mikagami. Well, at least I can rest easy knowing that these Duel Noir cards are all phonies,” I sighed in relief.

“On the contrary, the fact that they are not is evident of Ryuuzouji’s true, frightening nature,” Lico shrugged. “The cards aren’t phonies—they’re real. That’s one reason why Ryuuzouji is known as a genius of parallel thinking and multitasking; he can seamlessly weave multiple plans into one.”

“Wait, so the Duel Noir is actually going on right now?”

“Yep.”

It was impossible to wrap my head around it all.

How many different plots did Ryuuzouji have planned out? He didn’t have to move an inch from his headquarters; the press of a button was enough to set everything into motion. This was how daunting it felt to be facing off against an armchair detective.

“The Duel Noir has only just begun. There’s plenty of time,” Lico said with a smile.

161 hours remained. That seemed like a lot, but it also felt severely lacking.

“On that note, are you aware of the contents of the Duel Noir this time?” Kyoko asked Lico with a piercing look.

Lico shook his head. “Normally, Ryuuzouji forbade me from entering his room. Hypothetically speaking, even if I did get the chance to watch him work, since he always multitasked on many different tasks at once, I wouldn’t be able to identify what, if anything, was related to a Duel Noir—”

“You would.”

“Hmm?”

“Someone like you is more than capable of identifying such a thing.”

“...You think so?” Lico tilted his head, playing dumb.

“Tell us the truth,” I pressed. “Whose side are you on?”

“I don’t know myself,” Lico shrugged, throwing his hands up.

“What don’t you know? Is there even anything in this world that you don’t know?”

“Left or right, A or B, friend or foe—I cannot understand why humans are always so obsessed with dichotomizing everything, nor why they seek to define themselves as being tied to one side or the other. Wouldn’t either side be fine? Think about how many conflicts throughout history could have been prevented if the issues hadn’t been framed as black and white...”

“Sorry to interrupt, but there’s no time for your philosophical ramblings. Lico, I need your help. You understand that much, don’t you?”

“You need me?”

“Yeah. Please, lend us your skills.”

“On one condition.”

“One condition...? Fine, what is it?”

“Kiss me.”

[3] (TN: At the end of Volume 1, Yui and Kyoko visit the Detective Library, where Yui tells Kyoko the rumors about there being a fourth triple-zero class detective whose file was erased. At the end of Volume 2, Yui and Kyoko receive a call from Kyoko’s grandfather, who reveals to them that Mikado Shinsen was a former triple-zero class detective. Lico confirms this information here.)

Next: Chapter 3, Part 2

[agustdef]

Here & Now - Chapter 7

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Fluff; Chill romance

Word Count: 1,758

Warning: None.

Banner Marker: @dee-ehn​

A lunchtime excursion is what I needed after a jam-packed morning. I’d been in New York for a week because of my other job and I was half excited and half drained. I’d come for a book convention of sorts, but I’d been attending other book-related things the entire time too. Meeting my agent, meeting with other authors, meeting with editors and just going to mixers. It was a lot.

I loved every solitary second of it though.

On day two of the con, my book friends and I had snuck away to have lunch at a rooftop bar we liked. Food and drinks were spread across the table as we ate and relaxed.

Some drank and some didn’t, me being part of the later even though I craved one glass of wine. It helped my mind decompress faster without getting me even slightly tipsy. But I’d put myself on a ban until later.

“Kendall, you’ve been eyeing the rosé for like ten minutes. Just get a glass already,” Sol, an editor friend, said.

I blinked rapidly and shook my head. Looking down at my orange juice I frowned but drank it anyway.

She huffed, probably over my nonsense. “Why not?”

I’d known her longer than anyone and she’d seen me drunk many times, so she knew why. “I can’t risk me turning sleepy instead of energetic. You know I have that panel.”

In the afternoon I’d agreed to do a panel on diversity in fantasy, that was by some miracle filled with POC whose identities were intersectional. We’d be having an actual conversation about how we built our worlds. And hopefully, it wouldn’t get derailed by an audience member.

After that I planned to drink, because I enjoyed it in a not getting wasted capacity and I hadn’t had a sip in over a month.

“So, about that Medusa retelling…” Sara, another author, trailed off, leaving the remark open-ended.

“No.”

“Okay, so how about that adult fantasy?”

“No,” I said again, shoving a fry into my mouth.

Sara rolled her eyes for a second but quickly went into puppy dog mode. “Why not? Why won’t you let me read what you have?”

Narrowing my eyes I shook my head at her. She’d been on me about it all weekend, which was more intense than her texts or Discord messages about it.

“Because they both need major and I mean major rewrites. Plus they aren’t my main focus right now. I don’t have time for them to be.”

“But Kennie, we won’t judge past you, we just want to see what you have.” My agent said, joining in on the harassment.

Soon the entire table was pouting at me. It was unfair, but I had to remain strong. Both stories were not things I would want to see. They were due for some major changes and made me cringe beyond belief. It was like some of my earlier music in that regards. Couldn’t really listen to it without shivering in disgust.

“No. You will wait.” I made sure to look them all in the eyes before turning to Ara. “And aren’t you supposed to be the one discouraging my wandering eye. I have a whole sequel to work on in like two weeks.”

Ara just took a sip of her tea and shrugged. Her unabashedness didn’t surprise me, she could be the worst when it came to me thinking about writing other things.

“Not like you aren’t ahead of schedule with it anyway.”

I was ready to respond sarcastically, but she wasn’t wrong.

We all quickly dissolved from trying to get me to show them my shame to talking about how con was so far. We all enjoyed it, but some were more drained than others. It was great to see people who liked books or liked out books, but after some much interaction with others, it would be hard to keep going.

It’s why we spent a lot of our non-con related meet-ups in a relaxed environment where no one was forced to say a word.

“So, any new music?” Ara instigated.

“None of ya business, ma’am.” I turned and glared at her, which made her glance away.

Rolling my eyes I continued eating in silence, listening to the conversations but making no effort to join in unless I was spoken directly to. I was so not present that I almost didn’t hear my phone ring and when I noticed it I was prepared to let it go to voicemail until I realized the voicemail.

Before anyone could say anything I snatched it up from the table where all the phones were. Everyone’s attention moved to me, but thankfully none appeared to have seen the caller ID or picture.

“That better not be work,” Sara warned.

“It’s not.”

Leaning away from her I cleared my throat and answered the phone in Korean. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Yoongi said.

“Hi.”

There was an awkward pause as usual when he called me, which always made me laugh. “What’s up Yoon?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

My laughter increased and drew the attention of the table, which I brushed off as I collected myself.

“Nothing? You’re up at 1:00 a.m and nothing is up? If I recall you knocked out the last five nights before midnight.”

There was silence and then a scoff. “How would you know? You didn’t answer one of those nights.”

My mouth dropped open for a second in surprise, but I had no clue why. He’d been holding that over me for three days, whining about him having something important to ask me then. Yet he couldn’t recall what said important thing was.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

On the other end, I could hear him chuckle. He didn’t even bother to muffle it like he’d done the first few times we’d talked and he’d even slightly sassed me.

The jerk was trying to get a rise out of me.

“I will hang up on you.”

“Wait. Wait. Okay. I was working on untitled three and it inspired something else, so I wanted your thoughts,” he said.

My interest was beyond piqued. He never let me listen to things, no matter how much I begged. “Something else? Something else like what?”

“None of your business something else.”

“Well, how am I supposed to give my honest, professional opinion if I don’t know what I’m giving…”

He cut me off, “Not going to work. I can hang up instead.”

“Fine. Fine,” I said in English by accident. Again the group's eyes were on me, but I waved them off.

“Okay.”

For seconds after nothing was said and I could barely hear the clicking of what I assumed was his mouse. The more time passed the more excited I became until there was a soft melody playing.

“Shit,” he said before it stopped. “Wrong one.”

Again I was left to wait until a much more intense sound slipped through the phone. It was a much harder beat, something that felt very on brand with your typical rap song but was straddling line into metal music. I’d never assumed he’d be one for the sound.

Pushing past my shock I listened closely as he played it a second time unprompted. When it was over I played it over in my head, trying my best to pick it apart of something.

“So?” he asked.

“It’s good, pleasing to the ears. But were you trying to venture into metal music? And were you going for something so drum heavy? If yes, then maybe take away some of that cello. I think that’s a cello. Why the hell is there a cello piece in there?” The more I thought the more confused I got.

Instead of answering me he laughed. It sounded like one of his head throwing laughs too.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“Maybe,” he answered, still laughing.

“I’m hanging up!”

“No, wait. Here. This is the real thing.”

The track started the same, bass drum doing its thing and I almost hung up, but instead of the bass continuing with the cello like before it faded a little into the background. Everything that made it weird and metal was gone, replaced by a hip hop style beat that was more his style.

Once it played twice I spoke up. “I actually like this one and it’s still pleasing to the ears. Is there was a specific thing you were going for? I could be of more use if I knew.”

“No. Just wanted to see if it sounded okay.”

“Yoon, tell me. I hate the mystery,” I whined.

“No.”

Arguing with him would get me nowhere and I knew it. “Okay, then what was that other one?”

“Nope. Bye Kendall,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“No. Yoongi, tell me.”

“Bye.”

“Fine, bye.”

With a groan, I hung up and placed my phone back at the center of the table. The urge to pout and try to get him to tell me was strong, but I also couldn’t help the smile that formed.

Sara cleared her throat as I felt my cheeks begin to burn, drawing me from whatever weirdly happy place I was going. When I glanced her way her eyes were narrowed. “You said it wasn’t for work.”

As I cursed I blamed myself for not remembering that she one of the two Korean American’s at the table spoke it fluently, but that wasn’t the case. I’d simply assumed nothing I’d be embarrassed about would be said. Not like she didn’t know I knew him after I’d had her check a text for me without thinking it would be him days before.

I shrugged. “It wasn’t.”

“Sounded like it.”

“It was a friend asking for an opinion.” Grabbing my glass I hoped she’d drop it as I took a swig.

“Yup, totally. Min Yoongi just called for an opinion and that totally wasn’t adorable flirting.”

“No,” I practically shouted. Clearing my throat I tried again, “No, that’s not what happened at all. And you could only hear my side, so you wouldn’t know anyway.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and nudged my shoulder a little. “ You’re smiling way too hard for it not to have been.”

In response, my hand went to cover my mouth as I tried to push down the smile.

It’s cute. You’re both cute.”

Before I could respond someone asked her a question. As her attention diverted elsewhere I chewed the inside of my cheek and fought down the flustered feeling inside of me.

[perry-the-deer]

I watched Sun on the tauros, my bow and arrows ready at hand, i stared at the UB for a second, knowing well that it would avoid me. I glanced back at Sun, gesturing for him to get farther away before aiming an arrow at the pile of wires that Anabel called UB-03 Lightning. 

I saw a bolt shoot out from it towards Sun and saw the Tauros skillfully dodge it at the boys wish. I shot the arrow, seeing it pierce through some of the wire. I heard it turn towards me and watched its head seem to whirl around on its ‘neck’.

I saw a bolt of lightning shoot towards me and froze up, before darting to move out of the way. I was a second too late and my arm got hit. I screamed out in pain and flinched, realizing after a moment that i couldnt move, besides my knees shaking.

It shot another bolt at me and i just stared as i watched it come towards me. I closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath and trying to move out of the way.

My legs didn’t move, but it didnt hit me. I heard a choking sound infront of me and i opened my eyes quickly, seeing the Courier infront of me, his body shaking from the force of the blast and the electricity coursing through him. “...Miss? you ok?”

I stared for a few more seconds, before my vision misted up and i saw a more blurry version of the Courier fall to the ground. I stared at Lightning for a second and struggled to draw another arrow, before watching a flash of white light hit and engulph the Ultra beast. 

I glanced up to see Lillie riding Lunala- or Nebby as we called it. The legendary darted forward towards the UB, creating one of  its portals and knocking it through, much to the UBs surprise and anger.

Lillie got off Lunala and ran to Suns side, throwing something at me. i didnt catch it but just let myself fall to my knees, looking down at it. Paralysis heal. I grabbed it as fast as i could and used it on myself, before crawling over to join Lillie next to the Courier.

Lillie had rolled him over and used a paralysis heal on him as well. The Courier was softly whining at the moment. I threw my bag and quiver off my back and started searching through my stuff, grabbing my pharmacist equipment and pulling it out. “Hey Miss.. take care of- y-your arm first, im.. im fine” Sun coughed after a few seconds of me searching through my stuff. 

“You got shot with a lightning bolt in the torso, likely around the- the lung area. you are not fine.” I spoke with as monotone a voice i could, not wanting to alert him to the fear i had. I thought i would be ready to lose him when the time came i had been shoving him in the way of danger myself for the past two years i-.

I shoved those thoughts down. I was not going to lose the courier. I started working on the wound, Lillie focusing on trying to keep Sun awake and talking, which was difficult as it was today, him having been in one of his episodes.

“I love you miss” I ignored him, continuing to work on his wound, trying to stop my hands from shaking. “i-im really dizzy miss. t-there like.. f-four of you and Lillie.” “focus on me right now Sun” Lillie tried to grab his attention, and i thanked her silently for it. “Which one of you?” I heard Lillies giggle follow that question, and mist clouded my eyes again.

“Miss, a-are you- okay??” I blinked open my eyes, glancing at Sun. The courier had such a concerned look on his face for being as weak as he was, blood was leaking out of his mouth and seemed to stain his lips. I shook my head a bit and wiped my face with my arm, feeling the wetness of tears on my cheeks. Ah. Well, so much for looking calm.

I kept trying to fix his wound, and after a few minutes i felt Lillie shake me. I glanced up. The girl had tears running down her cheeks “Moon, he-” I shook my head violently and looked down at the wound again, working faster on it “Moon. Moon!” Lillies voice raised a bit and i looked up again, tears falling from my eyes. “i cant- hes okay hes gonna be okay-” “Moon please-” “hes fine hes okay hes gonna wake up he p-probably just fell asleep-”

“Moon.” She grabbed my wrists. I stared at her for another second, before looking at Suns face. His eyes were still open they were still-. They were clouded over.

I gave a tiny sob, that broke into a wail, i grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a few times, yelling for him to stop playing around like that. Lillie tried to grab me again and i shoved her away, before just hugging Sun tightly, sobbing weakly into his shoulder, whining loudly, and ongoing “nooonono-” mixed with “tellme youre still here please--”

After about an hour i was calmer, though i still had refused to move. Lillie was just quietly rubbing my back as i held Sun. “Moonie. honey its getting dark, we’ve gotta go home and- bring him back to Kukui” her voice was soft, a loving tone in it. I shook my head softly, but stood up, picking the boy up with me “its just... im gonna wake up soon...” i muttered to myself, getting led to Lunala by Lillie.

Once we got back i was quiet, Kukui took Suns body from me and i just stared down at the blood staining my shirt and arms. “Moonie, go take a shower sweetie, ill be here when-” I shoved Lillie back “go home” She frowned a bit, sighing “...alright, but im gonna come back tomorrow, i love you, alright?” I nodded a bit, before heading upstairs.

I had made the decision to wear one of Suns shirts, surprisingly it fit well, but then again most of the shirts i wore were either over or undersized, so either way i wouldnt have cared. I sat quietly in his room, Dollar having decided to sit near me, likely because he learnt what had happened.

I stared down at the floor, quietly humming to myself, lightly rocking back and forth. I told myself id be ready for it, i told myself id be okay. I would shove him into danger dammit why wasnt i ready- I sobbed softly, burying my face in my hands.

I woke up later with my head being pet, I quickly turned around to stare at the person, seeing Lillie sitting next to me. “Hey- hey its just me.” “i wish it wasnt” “i know.” She lightly pulled me up, hugging me close “youre gonna make it through this, alright Moonie?” “he didnt” “youll see him again” “hah.” “you will, really, maybe not in this life” I lightly shoved her off “Lil. i dont believe in that stuff, you know that” She frowned a bit “Moon im trying to make you feel better-” “its not working” “Moon” “can you just leave me alone?”

We stared at eachother for a few seconds, before Lillie sighed and stood up. “ill be in the living room” and she walked out of the room. I looked down again, curling up a bit again. Stupid fucking people, stupid beliefs, stupid everything- i just wanted Sun back, i wasnt ready to let go yet.

[clarenecessities]

Queerquiggle/Cybunnypoop

Subtitle: This Again

It’s been around two years since the shit hit the proverbial fan, but seeing as the individual in question has since deleted & remade, some of you may not be aware of whom you’re interacting with.

Queerquiggle & queerneopets are the latest installments in a series of urls belonging to one person, hereafter referred to as the original url, cybunnypoop. Other former urls for his neoblog include (but are not limited to): gaygelatin, shewhoneopetswiththee, neobloq, and candypaintbrush.

I should tell you all off the bat that he’s a Trump supporter, a “recovering” transphobe, and extremely Islamophobic, so this post may contain some upsetting information. There are some instances of misogyny, antisemitism, homophobia, and racism, as well. Oh, and ableism. Honestly, pick an -ism.

None of the information in this post should be a repeat of my first post regarding the matter. Warning: this post is even longer.

As before, I’d be remiss if I didn’t lay out my bias: I don’t like him. He’s been downgraded from “nemesis” to “nuisance,” as he’s no longer harassing minors (as far as I’m aware), but we’re never going to be best buddies.

We’ve spoken several times, though never to any resolution, and with each interaction it became increasingly obvious that it was futile. I ultimately blocked him following repeated propositioning and an unwillingness to engage beyond casting any disagreement as bullying and telling the kids to go back to their safe spaces.

Cybunnypoop is now 25 years old, and he hasn’t started anything major in a while. His posts remain fairly unpopular, though whether that’s the result of the quarantine or simple bad content, I couldn’t say. You’re under no obligation to take my word for any of this. Though I’ve provided links and screenshots where I can, what you make of that evidence is up to you.

TRANSPHOBIA

As it so happens, Cybunnypoop has recently tried listening to another human being, and has been educated about trans issues in a way that ~100 people on the internet offering resources apparently couldn’t accomplish.

What this means is that Cybunnypoop is now IDing with various names (itself nothing new, pseudonyms are an old hat here), gender identities, and pronouns, depending on the platform. I’m sticking with he/him for this post, as those were the last requested on his neopets blog. His description says shey/shem but unfortunately I have no idea how current that is, and his about says “whatever”–so if I’m misgendering here, I apologize; it is not intentional.

I, Clare, Author of This Post, am cis. So it’s not my place to gatekeep or say whether or not he’s ““really trans””. And, as he has expressly admitted to being transphobic in the past, none of this section is really up for debate. I’m just going to provide the information, including his apologies and the redaction thereof. I don’t know that he truly understands everything he did wrong, but he’s explicitly stated he thinks transphobia is bad, so hey, maybe we can all learn something.

I’m gonna try to keep this chronological, so here we go:

A fun little addition to a post via an anonymous terf, “You are still males, you have male privilege, you KNOW NOTHING & NEEVER [sic] WILL KNOW of our goddamn struggles.“ which Cybunnypoop began with “So much agree!”

When asked about the “trans bathroom debacle,” he stated he was, “just afraid it’ll result in sacrificing handicap-accesible bathrooms.” which is only tangentially transphobic but bears addressing: Why would it ever mean that?

Cybunnypoop has something of a preoccupation with the potential negative impact equity would have upon him, and ableism is a convenient vehicle for this–lord knows this country is appalling in terms of accessibility. However, no proposed version of “trans bathroom”s leads to the dissolution of ADA-compliant spaces. Whether it’s allowing trans people to use the bathroom they identify with, or installing/redesignating gender neutral spaces, it remains an issue of improved accessibility, not diminished. A disabled trans person has as much a right to use a bathroom as an able-bodied one.

When he graduated he was questioned on his political beliefs, specifically how he could support Trump and remaining uneducated about trans issues while claiming to be an LGBT ally–and congratulated on graduating. Rather than answering the questions, or thanking them for the congrats and ignoring the rest, Cybunnypoop declared it “harassment”. This is about the standard for what he deems harassment/bullying: Anything that disagrees with him.

Reposted a quote from Dixon Diaz, the alt right guy you may remember him quoting in several citations from my last post, which read, “Liberal: a person who tells you that you’re a bigot if you’re afraid of having weird men in the ladies room, but becomes traumatized if they see “Trump 2016” written in chalk.“ [sic]

trans people bad, diversity bad, children bad & trauma fake

An ongoing problem with fetishizing trans people, dating back long before his identification as trans, and indeed, during the period in which he was a self-avowed transphobe. (Warning: link contains slur!)

This grew more pronounced as he came to understand what it means to be trans, and zeroed in on transwomen in particular. This is itself a complex issue: When is a kink flattering and when is it dehumanizing? Are immutable adjectives inappropriate to fetishize, or is it positive representation?

Again, as a cis person, it isn’t my place to say–I’m just letting y’all know what he’s said, and you can determine how you feel about it. This post isn’t a thinkpiece on my opinions.

Select quotes from The Apology:

“I was transphobic. I was resistant to that term because I felt it was a misnomer. I was more…trans-ignorant, I felt, than “transphobic.” […] I couldn’t see what I was doing because I was too busy, I felt, being attacked.”

“I had a warped view of trans people, and I was too ignorant and stubborn to acknowledge it–to see it, even.”

“[…] it’s hard not to let a jerk taint your view of a minority, especially when that jerk was your introduction to the minority.“

I’ll be honest, my problem with this apology is in how it’s structured, not in its content. It seems to convey genuine remorse, but focuses the bulk of the message on excuses, including that last point, which… isn’t relatable.

Even this I could forgive (after all, he’s new to apologies) if it had heralded a change in attitude–but nothing changed. He continued on as before, and continued to refuse discussions of other issues (which we’re getting to soon).

Which brings us to The Second Apology:

Posted some day and a half after the first, it opens with the artfully passive aggressive line, “I thought this could be over but it’s obviously going to stick around.” And it’s all downhill from there, folks!

“What do you want? What more can I say? There isn’t anything left to say. Nothing will satisfy some people.”

“I never bullied anyone like some do to me.“

“If you don’t want to believe I am different,[…] then the problem is not mine. In these cases, it is a good idea for you to stop talking about me and lying about me“

Here is a glimpse, perhaps, into what he expected. He was waiting for accolades. Commendation. He’d just apologized–and unlike earlier attempts, it was genuine! I don’t know that he anticipated forgiveness, but the outright rejection of that apology by several individuals drove him almost immediately into a bitter tirade, once again foisting the blame onto the people he had hurt or offended.

Aaaand a redaction of former apologies. Unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be a date on this one, so it may be referring to the older apologies, but its content bears addressing:

“Yeah, I apologised like a year ago […], and they refused it, so I’m done apologizing–not that I even have anything to apologise for.

“I’ll sooner die than acknowledge and apologise for their demented reconstructions of my words.“

Which, if this is about the older apologies–oops!

“I won’t deny I said some things that people found offensive, […] but they just took everything and ran apedoodie with it. It amazes me that, for all they claim to hate me, they have this obsession with everything I do and say.”

This is actually fairly emblematic of my own interactions with Cybunnypoop: Specifically, the characterization of all attention as both positive, and obsessive.

What is it about being held responsible for his actions that leads him to cry wolf? Historically, an unwillingness to debate his political beliefs. Oh, he’ll espouse Trump’s “virtues” for paragraphs and paragraphs, but anyone who criticizes him is obviously a liberal idiot who just loves to hate him, and I’ll bet they say “lame,” right? It’s these assumptions about other people that lead him so often to tilt at windmills, rather than addressing the subject at hand.

RACISM

“Obama spending $21 million to put refugees to work…why not spend that money in the inner cities to put young blacks to work… once again Obama and the Democrats have proved the black community is their who’re [sic] because we always come back to them after they screw us” a quote he posted from a Facebook page I won’t even name, because it’s literally got the N-word in it! But he’s definitely not a racist, right?

Obama being (literally) booted out of office, by a Confederate battle flag, symbol of white supremacy since the 1960s. (There’s been some suggestion it’s in the classic minstrel show style. Though he forwent the traditional depiction of red/pink lips in favor of purple, there remains the possibility that he just can’t draw caricatures).

I’m going to address this post more in the ableism section, but it’s worth noticing how often, and how readily, he uses the word c*lored unprompted. This is not the first occasion.

More lambasting of whitewashing as a concept, sarcastically proposing we paint a black person white and mutilate them to better portray Michael Jackson (whom he refers to as ‘Wacko Jacko’, an ableist and derogatory nickname) apparently under the impression that there are no other black men with vitiligo.

I think it’s important to cover this, as from Cybunnypoop’s posts suggesting we be outraged at the “yellow-washing” of Joan Watson (see my previous post) it’s clear that he has no idea what whitewashing means.

It is not literally painting POC white.

The term whitewashing is derived from cheap white paint of chalked lime, used for a long time to refer to a specific means of censorship, “to gloss over or cover up vices, crimes or scandals or to exonerate by means of a perfunctory investigation or through biased presentation of data”. Simply put, it’s revisionist history, and the methods used to maintain that illusory timeline.

It isn’t difficult to see how the term came to be applied to the representative censorship in Hollywood.

Shared a Facebook graphic, “Black people who were never slaves are fighting white people who were never Nazis over a confederate statue erected by democrats, and why, because democrats can’t stand their own history anymore and somehow it’s Trumps Fault? [sic]“

“Also, you see Blacks everywhere, but they’re still considered a minority.” (He appended some context but frankly it’s even more damning.)

The term “spirit animal” is annoying but not because it’s racist, I guess

ISLAMOPHOBIA

Cybunnypoop’s Islamophobia is tied in pretty heavily with his support of Trump, so I’ll be citing a few of those posts in this section as well.

“Ban seven countries’ worth of ideology which promotes violence against women, LGBT people, animals, and nonworshippers? Sounds good to me!”

The cognitive dissonance of a self-avowed Catholic posting this is… incredible.

“Sorry to inform you, but the terrorists who attacked New York, Boston, Orlando, our embassies, and others weren’t Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Jews, or atheists. They were Muslims.

“It’s not Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, or atheism which oppresses women, slaughters animals, kills gays, and calls for the conversion or beheading of nonbelievers. It’s Islam.

“Until the ideology evolves to be as peaceful and tolerant as it claims, it doesn’t belong in America.”

There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s begin by refuting Trump’s claims that “the vast majority of individuals convicted of terrorism and terrorism-related offenses since 9/11 came here from outside of our country.” Plain old xenophobia, not even in the ballpark of truth. Over the past 15 years, none of the self-described Muslim terrorists committing crime have come from the countries on Trump’s ban list. Zero. The country producing the most successful attacks against the USA is the USA itself.

A basic look at the data further reveals that white supremacist, self-described Christian terrorists actually lead the rate of attack and death toll by about 2:1. Yet, bizarrely, nothing from Cybunnypoop about the ‘violence and intolerance’ of Christianity, or even white supremacy… Who saw that coming?

It speaks to Cybunnypoop’s prejudice that he would believe such a blatantly false piece of information with no investigation or critical thought whatsoever. Although, it may speak more to his unwillingness/inability to use Google. We have had some problems with that in the past. 

“Dear Liberals: [sic] You claim to protect women. You claim to protect LGBT. [sic] You claim to protect animals. You claim to protect people who don’t ascribe to the dominant faith. But you’re protecting a violently misogynistic, homophobic, intolerant ideology which still slaughters animals in the name of their god and beheads people who worship otherwise. What the *** is wrong with you?”

Man, for derailing conversations so often to complain about perfectly valid modal grammar he sure loves breaking the English language.

When asked how he could still support Trump, he replied, “Because he hasn’t actually said or done anything wrong. The only thing with which I disagree was the transgender military ban, and that has been shot down, so it’s hardly relevant.”

Particularly in conjunction with his condemnation of liberals on the basis of not like, banning Islam, this is an explicit endorsement of everything from repealing the Alternative Tax Minimum to his sexual misconduct. Everything, except the one thing that directly affects one of Cybunnypoop’s demographics, was right.

HOMOPHOBIA

“I’m not like others in the LGBT spectrum. [bolding mine]

“I hadn’t cared for gay marriage nor had I especially cared to support the cause. […] I’ll fight for the welfare of the many before I’ll fight for the wishes of the few.”

(Well, historically, no, he won’t). Even without the implication that all the gay people who want to get married are selfish, this ignores the reason behind the push for the legalization of gay marriage: The AIDS crisis. Terminally ill gay men were forcibly evicted from their homes after watching their partners die, horribly, because they couldn’t inherit the lease/property. Their partners’ remains were the custody of parents who often wouldn’t allow the survivor to attend the funeral.

Up until gay marriage was legalized on a federal level, these incidents still occurred. One Indiana woman had to pay over $300,000 in taxes upon the death of her wife, and was told by the funeral home she could not arrange for her wife’s cremation as she was an “unrelated third party,” despite having the power of attorney. This is a significant concern.

“I don’t care for "pride.” I’ve actually started to loathe the undertones of the pride movement. […] is it truly worthy of a month and a gold star? […] I think it’s losing relevancy. Can we really celebrate something that’s no longer legally unique? Can we really have pride for… wait, what is it we’re proud of, anyway? We’re legally equal now; we’re socially equal, for the most part.” [bolding mine]

I don’t know if he forgot the homophobia he’s experienced, or if it just doesn’t matter unless it happened it to him.

“The next time someone asks you why LGBT Pride marches exist or why Gay Pride Month is June tell them ‘A bisexual woman named Brenda Howard thought it should be.’“ -Tom Limoncelli

“Another thing–and the most loathsome part–about the “pride movement” concerns the very word itself. “Pride” …be proud of who you are, and be proud of not caring what others think of you. Fine. Sure. It’s fun to wildly flaunt your differences. But what’s the opposite of “pride”? “Shame.” So, if gays are to have pride, does that mean straights are to have shame?”

So why are we to be entitled to pride–why are we allowed to feel good about ourselves and they are not? […] The majority are not oppressive, and even if they wanted to be, they legally couldn’t. 

Good news guys, homophobia is dead and definitely super illegal.

“(Never mind the fact that pride is a negative, narcissistic trait and one of the Seven Deadly Sins.)” [bolding mine]

(We interrupt this post to bring you his “Antipridist Pride”)

“While it seems most of the LGB world makes their sexuality their entire identity, I leave it as just one facet of many.“ Once again, he’s not like Those Other Gays.

“ I’ll bet I pissed off a lot of gays with this post, but I don’t care, and I’m proud of not caring.“ (proceeds to describe the LGBT community as loud, angry, straight-bashing, etc. for a good paragraph or so, obviously very much caring)

That’s enough of that post, huh? Let’s move on.

“I know that a lot of the LGBT community is hypocritical–and intolerantly, angrily so. They scream about others giving them tolerance and respect while they don’t give others such basic rights.

“If there’s Black Pride, why couldn’t there be Caucasian Pride? Gay Pride, Straight Pride.“

As I broke down in my last post, Caucasian≠white, and was first misapplied by white supremacists and popularized by actual, literal Nazis. He evidently doesn’t care, and claims I “created” it. (I can assure you, I haven’t been alive since 1785).

“Is it me, or are there actually very few good gay celebrities?”

Doesn’t like the term “lesbian” because its “image is too pornified”. As I understand it this is fairly common among those who were raised in more conservative or religious families, so it’s not an issue per se; it just becomes weird in conjunction with his wanting to be called a dyke at one point (though I can’t find the post where he said that explicitly, only ones where he describes himself as such).

Said he’d expected Ted Cruz to be a “gay prostitute” because he gave off untrustworthy vibes.

MISOGYNY

As I’m sure most of you are aware, Cybunnypoop is pro-life. From certain parties, that can be motivated by misinformation rather than misogyny (though certainly the misogyny drives that misinformation). In his case? Well, actually only about 75% misogyny. The other 25% is empathizing with fetuses just until they’re born. Idk if it’s because of his parental situation or his existential dread or what, but we’re not here to psychoanalyze him; we’re here to review.

“It’s a point which I make constantly. It’s not hard to not get pregnant. You have a variety of options. There’s birth control. There’s getting your man snipped […]. And there is one absolutely fool-proof, sperm-proof way: ABSTINENCE. It’s stupidly simple, but there are self-righteous women and men out there who say–if you’ll pardon my pun–screw that. Free sex, rah rah. But if you don’t want to “risk” a baby, don’t do the do. There are plenty more things to do in life.”

Yeah, it may be “stupidly simple” for an “asexual homosexual” but other people do, in fact, get horny. “There’s birth control.” Where? You gonna pay for it? You gonna talk their “man” into getting a vasectomy? Pay for that?

I want you all to keep in mind that this is the same person who waxed poetic about his addiction to porn. And hentai. Which he downloaded in a public library, because he was just that addicted. But if someone (god forbid) “does the do,” and their birth control fails? Well, too bad. You should have been able to control your libido.

When Trump was elected he had the following to say:

“This is a time for healing.” No, this is a time for you to suck it up. You may not have wanted this result, but I and half of the country did. So, instead of bitching and moaning and trying to undo what I and half of the country have been working hard for, you need to shut the fuck up, go to school, work, or volunteer, and stop being an intolerant, selfish, hypocritical asshole.

Frankly this could go in a lot of sections but it’s using bitch pejoratively so…

Honestly there are more instances but I feel like you get the picture and this thing is already absurdly long, so we’re going to move along.

ANTI-SEMITISM

On screenshots of a neoboard discussing the origins of the ichthys symbol (the Jesus fish), Cybunnypoop added, apropos of nothing, “Hey, how about the fact that Christianity was originally illegal while Judaism was lawful, and the early Christians had to hold some Jewish mores so they wouldn’t be arrested and executed? Interesting, isn’t it…” and tagged it “two can play at that game”.

Christians weren’t being persecuted for not being Jewish; they were being persecuted for refusing to participate in state events from which the Jews were exempt via religious tradition. Christians were too new to be considered traditional, and were therefore considered in contempt of the state when they refused to, say, make a sacrifice on behalf of the Emperor. Also, we called each other brother & sister but still got married, and spoke weekly about eating a man alive, so people were kind of concerned.

Also, like, it was an explicitly socialist religion in an empire. That was never going to end well. The “mores” they had to hold were “don’t be anti-fascist” and “stop meeting in secret, we don’t know who you are and it’s freaking us out,” neither of which is explicitly Jewish and neither of which you can blame the Jews for.

Pretty minor, but in a poorly executed attempt to be inclusive, he wished everyone a happy Easter & Passover at the same time, only to be informed that Passover wouldn’t be happening for a month. So more about the assumption that Jews are lesser Christians again than any direct hostility. Perhaps better evidence of his ignorance of Jewish customs/how to hit “search” on Google.

 ABLEISM

Here there be slurs!

Alright. We’re going to begin this with a breakdown of the “lame” issue. Here’s the thing: Cybunnypoop hates it. He compares it (ceaselessly) to the r slur, which he uses liberally in his own defense.

I’m certainly not saying it isn’t a slur, or that you should use it, but to be frank, he’s wrong.

In both severity and time in which it’s been part of the English vernacular, lame is far more akin to other ableist slurs like “dumb,” “stupid,” “moron,” “idiot,”–all words which Cybunnypoop uses on the regular. The closest comparison we have to the r slur would be “cr*ppled”–which Cybunnypoop quotes on the regular.

Dumb is the closest analogue, as those middle three weren’t really popular until the American Eugenics Movement kicked in, but hey. If it bothers him so much, why say any of them?

Simply because, it only bothers him when it affects him directly and is said by his enemy.

For example, no problem whatsoever quoting Trump’s book, Cr*ppled America.

Here he calls someone ableist scum for calling him the r slur, yet here he mocks another’s offense at the term by comparing it to modern medical jargon.

Atheists and Liberals [sic] are “dumb”

“entirely okay” with the R slur

This post, which was also in the racism section, littered with fun slurs and what’s either blatant hypocrisy (see: his regular use of words like dumb/stupid) or one of the most incredible point-dodges I’ve ever seen.

Now we get into a recurring theme, with a recurring character. The problem with most of Cybunnypoop’s legitimate criticisms (e.g. lame is a slur, accessibility is bullshit) is that they’re never even googled, let alone researched, and that they come, 9 times out of 10, at the expense of another minority. Or, through sheer ignorance, one of his own.

“Trans people get [famous trans people]. Gay people get [famous gay people]. Black people get [famous black people]. Who do I get? I get Joe Swanson.”

“While everyone’s battling over how to bend backwards and make others comfortable, I’m just sitting here, cursing out the ungrateful bastards because there are places I can’t even ACCESS. […] And never mind the fact that there is no good disabled representation out there. You know who I get to look up to? Joe frickin’ Swanson. It’s so nice to be a forgotten minority. [bolding his]

Joe Swanson, for those of you who (like me) have no idea who that is, is a character on Family Guy in a wheelchair. This begs the question: Why do you need to shit on other groups and their representation to acknowledge how bad you have it?

There are dozens of famous disabled people I can name off the top of my head. Stephen Hawking, Hellen Keller, Beethoven, Lord Byron, FDR, Frida Kahlo, Sudha Chandran, John Milton–a cursory Google search reveals even more. Saying there are no famous disabled people is a shitty fucking thing to do, both because you’re erasing their accomplishments and you’re depriving other disabled people of that representation by pretending it doesn’t exist. Spreading misinformation so you can complain that everyone else is better off than you specifically is just plain cruel.

“I’m so sick and tired of society catering to race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, but never giving a thought to people with disabilities. We don’t get a slice of the “diversity” pie.“

Catering to. … Catering to.

“Until our society can grow to acknowledge, accept, and represent the diverse world of disabilities, then we don’t have true equality and diversity.”

Like… he could have just made a post saying this. I mean, we have diversity regardless of equality, but that’s semantics. We don’t have to tear down other minorities to be heard. There’s enough “pie” for everyone.

Society: You should accept everyone regardless of sex, culture, gender, sexuality, race, class, ethnicity, economic status Person: What about disabled people? Society: Huh?

I’m not a big fan of his little infographics, primarily because he uses them exclusively as a platform to strawman himself, but this one in particular is uh, frustrating. If he’s speaking about popular society, very few people accept all the groups he listed, particularly class/economic status. If he’s speaking about our country….

Federal protected classes include: Race, color, religion/creed, national origin/ancestry, sex, age, physical or mental disability, veteran status, genetic information, citizenship. 

It’s the same story.

WHAT YOU CAN DO:

BLOCK HIM. Do not reblog his content. Stop him preemptively from reblogging yours. Do not engage with him. 

If you try to debate him, he will probably call you a bully, and you will probably get some not-so-mysterious anons. You will definitely be unable to reach a resolution. I know of at least one individual who’s attempting to “rehabilitate” him, so I guess we’ll see how that goes? I’d be genuinely delighted.

Reblog this post if you can, to spread the word.

Educate yourself about the issues addressed in this post. If you have questions, my inbox is always open.

I am not infallible, and I will also make mistakes. Please bring these to my attention immediately and they will be addressed.

This is a much less urgent situation than the previous post, as he’s (mostly) stopped harassing people, but you have a right to be aware of whom you’re interacting with. Whether you block him or befriend him or whatever is up to you, and I hope whatever choice you make is the right choice for you.

[zayrickyear2jh]

13/12/19 BA2a Research: Session 4 The nightmare city and the urban laboratory

Plot Summary: Chapter 3

We meet Dr Jekyll at last. A large, well made smooth-faced man of fifty, although

In this chapter - Jekyll reassures Utterson he can be free of Mr Hyde whenever he wants. He says it’s a private matter and he asks Utterson to let is sleep. He calls Dr Lanyon hide bound, meaning narrow minded.

Plot summary:The Carew Murder Case Chapter 4

Nearly a year passes peacefully.

The Hyde commits murder. HIs victim is Sir Danvers Carew, a respected member of parliament.

The events witnessed and somewhat strongly described

Consider the careful setup

Before the coming of the ever-present fog, the night was cloudless and brilliant lit by a full moon. Why might the full moon be important to mention?

Stevenson writes in rapturous terms:

The maid servant sat at her window and fell into a dream of musing.

Carew appears to her as an aged and beautiful gentleman with white hair and a very pretty manner of politeness

The moon shone on his face as he spoke

Such an innocent and old world

Hyde

A great flame of anger

Broke out of all bounds

Ape like fury

Why do you think Stevenson sets up the murder scene in such a romantic way? Its the contrast between the elements of good but evil. The scene represents tduality in action.

The association of Carew with innocent and beauty makes the violence more shocking by contrast.

It has the effect of turning Carew into a martyr-like figure. His death can be seen as symbolic.

Utterson exhibits his usual self-control (ego; reality principle)

He is ever the gentleman: refusing to draw hasty conclusions.

Uttterson travels through the chocolate-coloured fog towers Soho, accompanied by the police, to Mr Hyde’s lodgings the witness has identified him. It seems to Utterson like some city in a nightmare.

Mt Hyde has done a runner but the policeman is optimistic. Several thousand pound are found in Hyde’s bank account: surely the man will call to collect  it. All they have to do is lie in wait for him.

So the chapter ends on a cliff-hanger with a clear hook to chapter 5.

Carew ‘accosts’ Hyde with ‘a very pretty manner of politeness’

What might Stevenson be hinting at here?

Elaine Showalter calls the novella a fable of findesiecle homosexual panic. She notes that working class men of the ear were sometimes seen as erotic object by their aristatic superiors.

Hyde is classless rather than working class this itself would have been disturbing and bewildering.

‘Blackmaile’s Charter’

-Known as the Blackmailer’s Charter’s this was the piece of legislation that led to arrest of Oscar Wilde in 1895.

Urannian- The word homosexual wasn’t used in English til 1892 in a translation of a German sexology manual Psychopathia Sexualis. Victorian mainly used the word Uranian for them, this actually meant having a female psyche in a male body. Ironically the 1885 act helped create the concept of a homosexual identity.

The duality of Rober Louis Stevenson

Stevenson himself was a man of contradiction

Effeminate but straight

Wealthy but dressed down )stuffy with bad teeth)

Born to strictly religious parents but lived a bohemian life as an adult.

Played at being lower class but exploited upper class connection.

Not conventionally handsome, he was said to have mesmirizing eyes and drew many male admirers including folklorist Andrew Lang and novelist Henry James. Stevenson appeared to enjoy the attention of his male admirers. And, whether he intended it or not, Uranian men of the era did find sympathetic undertones in his work. To use mourned parlance, could this be a type of queer baiting?

There is no biographical evidence that Stevenson himself experienced any same sex attraction, but Claire Harman suggest.

Social Taboos in Gothic horror

Jekyll and Hyde: The Gothic revival.

Stiles notes the Gothic conventions of Stevenson’s novella: the nocturnal settling, the theme.

The birth of Gothic horror

Horace Walpole’s dream Castel of Qtranto

Place and time

Power/Sexual power

Note how Walple’s The castle of otranto was also inspired by dream.

Key features of the Gothic

Wild landscapes vs improsonment. The re-emergece of the past within the rest.

Fascination with obscene patriarchal figures figures

Explores the limits of what is is to be human: internal desires or forces outside your control.

full of perverse weird and dangerous kinds of sexuality.

The vulnerability of women in the 19th century

The Gothic genre had scope to explore the lives of the 19th century woman.

The genre often depicts the triumph of young women over seemingly impossible forces.

If you’ve your story female protagonist you may like to explore the tropes of Gothic horror in your critical analysis.

The Uncanny

Gothic horror is all od uncanny moments.

Figures that are not quite human such as dolls, waxworks, automat

Strange, mysterious, unsettling, unnerving, unearthy

Meaning Un heimlich means un-homely

Therefore we don’t feet at home with the uncanny or the home is somehow transformed or changed.

No one can ever quite describe Mr Hyde. A prolonged state of uncertainty.

J and H was fascinated with clockwork autumata. Could be a potential

Tip: If you’re writing a horror film, try making it personal: use your own fears and phobias to make the terror.

And harness the power of the uncanny by focusing on dread and apprehension rather than outright horror.

main it unhomely: unsettle the viewer with sinister hints a radio that turns on by itself a child’s toy that is not where you left it, a writhing maggot in a piece of fruit.

Make it un-secret: show us something that shouldn’t be shown.

Give the view time to feel the fear: You have to allow the sense of underlying unease to intensify over time.

Birth of the city/the urban Gothic

Jekyll and Hyde is seen as the first Urban Gothic novel.

In the mid 1800s huge numbers of people left the country for an excited new life in the city. But many had to live in slums with no sanitation. Disease was rife. Young children worked in factories or cleaning chimneys.

London was the largest city in the world, totalling 4 million inhabitants in the 1880s’. Stevenson chose it as the setting for his ‘urban gothic’ tale but some critics argue it’s real settling is Edinburgh, where Stevenson grew up.

The evil within..

In the tale 19thC Gothic novel the threat is no longer some external force. Instead the evil is sinuously curled around the very heart of the respectable middle-class norm’ This made it more frightening because it made the evil inescapable.

Middle-Class Victorian had a great fear that sexual depravity and other kinds of moral decay would pass from the nocturnal world to the safe space of the home.

Like a district id time city in a night mare ( The Carew Murder Case)

They grew less interested in the wild landscapes of traditional Gothic, and focused instead on the new landscape of the city: an equally appropriate source of desolation and menace.

By identifying and exploring that obsession through art and literature, they sought to control and contain it.

This fear is made visual in Jekyll and Hyde through symbolic use darkness and fog.

The urban labaratory and the strange science of the mind.

The primary figure at the heart of most Victorian fin de siecle texts is the scientist and during the fin de siecle what the scientist tends more and more to dabble.

Questioning boundaries: science, pseudo-science, and the occult.

The greatest pace of advance and change in the fields of science and medicine led Victorians to necessarily suspend disbelief: unlikely things might easily turn out to be true.

As a result the gap between science and the occult was much narrower in Victorian Britain than today.

The dual brain

we’ve already seen that hypnosis suggested the possibility of a hidden self. This concept was reinforced by the victorian theory.

Left brain is seat of logic and reason

Right brain is emotions

Women and savages were strong in the right brain. Hyde is describe as ape-like

Sergeant F: the uncanny quality of the double

In 1875 the Cornhill magazine published the case study of a brain damaged French soldier Soldier F.

Sergeant F was male, and his condition was caused by a wound the battlefield. But the dual or multiple personality was almost overwhelmingly a female condition and still is today its known as Dissociative Identity.

Stles theories that small, puny, right brained Hyde has something of the victorian feminine about him: emotionally unstable.

Victorians also believed that your personality could be read in the shape of your skull.

The Victorian era saw a huge divide between rich and poor, and in essence these types of belief enabled upper class Victorians to feel okay about their unequal wealth.

Phrenology

Developed by Franz Joseph Gall in 1796, this pseudo-science made the claim that your personality and character could be recognised by the shape of your skull.

The Profession Sickist

In letter he described himself as a professional sickest. As a result, much of his work was written in bed.

Strange case of Jekyll and Hyde

The Lancet = medical journal

Jekyll is both physician and patient, call into question the legitimacy and objectivity of scaentific case studies.

As a professional sickest its likely the Steenson experienced it.

Film to watch - The burke and Hare murders

[caredogstips]

Leaving heart and dwelling: when your mansion of memories becomes someone else’s | Paul Daley

Its nearly time to go now from this cocoon thats been ours for almost two decades: an archive of elation and observance, of weep and disappointment

My father was never much paid attention to feeling , nostalgia, spiritualism or superstition.

He was practical and banal in belief and taste. In his last years he continued to attend faith principally because he had always had said and done and, I believe, to have done otherwise wouldve compelled an explanation to my excessively churchy mother.

Im not sure he believed in saints or even the Holy spirit. He allows one to scoff at what he regarded the oddness of nuns, especially at the traffic lights if they were behind the wheel of the next car. He certainly never believed in ghosts.

Which is why I was flummoxed when he told me hed once checked his mother wandering around his old category residence. It might have been on the working day she died or, perhaps, where reference is locked up the age-old neighbourhood for the last time upon selling it years later. I cant quite remember. And its too late to ask him now.

Grief will do strange things to ones envisages, for certain. Perhaps hed simply fantasy his mother. I dont know. But I do know that I dream of my parents often. I know they are dead. But in my dreams they are always alive and inside or around my house. My subconscious wants to keep them here, in my home.

Its virtually time to go now from the members of this house thats been my cocoon for almost two decades. An archive of lightnes and gala, of anguish and disappointment, extremely, its the place where Ive written six volumes and a million other words, many of them cruel but all of them from the very heart of home.

Its where we produced our newborns. And its where we still, at certain times of the year, mourn one who never reached it.

Our dead mothers are here, very, and in more than only our dreamings. Yes, their personas are on the walls, just as they will be wherever we go next. But their day lived in this house, the working day and weeks and months when they marvelled at “their childrens” primarily just for their plateau ordinariness( everyone, especially on Facebook, boasts that their teenagers are extraordinary, right ?) is simply remain here.

In some directions its my mother-in-law whose proximity I still feel and miss most acutely around this plaza. She ever managed to crowd the seam, such was her capacity to simultaneously solve any maths difficulty, recite the words to an obscure hymn, administer piano rehearsal, sew a button, iron a shirt, change a nappy and feed the dogs, all while nuking my favourite Le Creuset, before settling in at the kitchen bench while we talked about anything and drank wine-colored as I cooked for the both adults and chiselled the charcoal-gray from the pot.

The dead parents are fixed in my recognitions, in my experiences, merely here, within these walls. Those who live here next, perhaps having abandoned their own souls, wont know any of that of course.

And, so, I think: “whats happening in” all of that life lived, ours and that of the departed, all of that human era expended here, when we move?

One of my Indigenous mates anticipates you should have a meagre smoking formality when you leave a house and another at the other goal when you settle into a new plaza. That draws sense to me: a smoking rite( by which I signify some smouldering gum needles and jasmine in a recipe, with no deliberate breath) to signal to ancestors that youre leaving and to please follow, and another in the new lieu to assure incumbent tones you make no harm.

We havent moved yet. But already I feel like Im chiselling with all of this eyeing off of pretty residences by the water where I might mash my( by necessary brand-new, smaller) writing desk, pack our books and hang our prowes, where the dogs( and kids; not quite a secondary circumstance) might cavort merrily. A plaza in which to live brand-new know-hows, accrue more remembrances, promote people and bird-dogs, change veggies and blooms and books.

Theres so much material we cant take.

Like the majestic golden ash out the back, the possum ladder to our roof, whose buds clog our troughs each autumn.

We carved our initials, the three of us, in the stem when we moved in back in 1997: our older daughter, EM , and us adults leaner, darker-haired, little battered by lifes vagaries and chagrins: PD 4 LT .

Soon originated the JD of the son , now nearly 18. We didnt couldnt engrave the initials of the babe who didnt make it, into the golden ash. It was, perhaps, a year later when we observed the boy had taken it upon himself to write of our loss by engraving heartbreak into the stem for all of us: 4 JD 4 ED …. Years subsequently another living little girl, lastly, at last, became the tree: … 4 CJ .

When our son was born we started on what we called the 21 -year project. The theory was that, like Michael Apteds Up series, we would chronicle on cinema, through interviews and footage, his life to age 21. Life constant pas, juggling same, though often uncomplementary, occupations, corroborating ailing parents and other children went in accordance with the rules. We gave up when he was about three. But we did observe his proliferation with ways of pen and appointments on the side of a bookcase that is fixed to one of the walls. Over the years all sorts of random tourists sidekicks, rellos, tradies were recognized off on the side of that bookcase.

It was our visitors notebook. It has to stay, I suppose.

Im not at all handy. But I wonder if a mallet and chisel would do the trick.

Im not much of a gardener, either. Our front is often the unruliest in what is, even by Canberras criteria, a preferably ruly street. But our magnolia, which briefly buds in a prosper of aubergine and white yearly, is the most magnificent in the neighbourhood. Every year the teenagers from when they first sounded as bulges in their fathers belly have been photographed beneath that blooming tree with their mum.

For years Ive waged crusade on the possums who sit in the tree from late wintertime and heckle the dogs while fattening on my magnolia buds. Theyre protected, so you cant kill them, but theyre startled of bright sun. By photo time in early September, only about half the tree blooms. But its enough for the annual photograph.

And as fate or life or occasion or something would have it, the woman from the Australian Bureau of Statistics whos been leaving little memoranda for me for weeks, pushing me to complete the ill-fated census, only knocked on the door again to ask if Id done it hitherto. No. Sorry. Not yet.

I love your home, she said.

I always reckon it seems so messy from wall street, I replied.

No. It gazes interesting and loved.

Its photo time No 18 this weekend. God, it comes around rapidly. It will be our last-place here. Soon well leave.

And our house, our vessel of occasion, of remembrances and beings, will be coming someone elses.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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