#if that doesn’t give you a glimpse of the state of my mental health

[manspreadercallumturner]

Can someone explain the science behind why I feel so desperately unhinged and insane about Dua and Callum in a way I don’t feel about any other couple, celebrity or otherwise, on planet earth? This sounds like a joke but I’m so serious.

[justdonotaskmewhy]

long post incoming

Why i think Spencer is the best film about princess Diana

Let’s start from the very beginning. Spencer doesn’t mislead people. They stated it is a fable based on the real tragedy and it really is. It doesn’t promise to show us real events and it’s amazing because we, as an audience, don’t have false expectations.

They depicted Diana’s eating disorder and mental health issues with class and dignity. First of all, you can predict when a triggering scene will follow, and for me as a former bulimic it is awesome. Secondly, Diana is not portrayed as a crazy person but rather as a troubled woman who desperately needed help. And what’s more she overcomes her eating disorder by the end of the film and finds her peace. It gives hope for everyone struggling with all kinds of mental illnesses.

It is beautifully filmed. Each frame is a painting. Each scene is wonderfully staged. The costumes that reference the real life ones are gorgeous.

The film tries to plunge its audience into the mind of a person with mental illness. Even if you have never had any mental health related problems you will feel uneasiness and anxiety. It is highlighted by the staging. Sometimes the frame is very large and empty and Diana seems very little as to indicate her lack of confidence.

The music was great. The choice to make the whole soundtrack have classical music vibe is a good idea. And the final scene has an 80s song for the soundtrack, which is a great switch of tone and a glimpse of hope for Diana.

Overall, I adore Spencer and I encourage you to give it a chance and try to draw your own conclusions. It is fine if you hate Kristen Stewart or the whole idea in general, you have your right to have your opinion, I just want to say that in my opinion Spencer is totally worth it.

[burstanddecay]

petals in a storm

And if you asked me to, if you asked me, I would lose it all.

Pairing: Benny Miller x (OC) F!Reader Summary: Benny tries to tell you something by sharing a ritual that's a daily occurance for him. If that doesn't work, he's got another trick up his sleeve. Wordcount: 3.2K Contains/Warning: Angst, (passive) suicide ideations, existential dread/crisis talk, mental health issues. A/N: I'm not a boxer, nor am I into MMA. I tried to do as much research as was needed, but things might've slipped through the cracks or been stretched to fit the narrative. Part three of Cold Is The Night

The fluorescent lights make a slight humming noise as they flicker to life, speckles of dust floating through the air as Benny holds the door open for you. You cautiously enter, hesitant as you wait for him to take the lead, not sure what to make of the situation or what to do with yourself.

“C’mon,” he gently says as he places a hand in the middle of your back, putting pressure there as he guides you forward. “We gotta grab some stuff, and I’m gonna find you a shirt. You’ll get hot in the sweater.”

You look down at the sweater you’re wearing, at your jeans and the boots, shuffling your feet across the vinyl floor. He sees you look and gives a soft smile.

“The jeans are fine for what we’re gonna do. We’ll take off our shoes, it’s better to feel the floor.”

His voice is firm, not giving you any room for questions or protests, but is kind beneath it. You haven’t heard him use it before, but immediately know where to place it: he started teaching a self defence class for women a while ago. A big shift from his usual crowd of personal training and beating the lights out of fully grown men, but it seems to suit him, the way he lights up when he talks about it speaking volumes.

His hand disappears from your back as he walks past you, around a corner, disappearing out of sight. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to follow or not, so you take two small steps forward, looking around you as you do.

You’ve heard him talk about this place before, but for some reason you never had a reason to be here. He never explicitly stated he didn’t want you here, it just never happened, causing a wave of guilt to crash against you as you take in your surroundings.

“I just realised you’ve never been here before,” he calls out, his voice somewhat muffled by distance and faint rummaging. “Which y’know. Kinda weird.” His voice becomes clearer as he turns back around the corner, a shirt in his hands. “Since you’ve been in most places in my life. Here.”

You take the shirt from his hands, immediately recognising it when you catch a glimpse of the print on the front. You’ve seen him wear it before—just not in a while. He mostly stopped wearing it after he came back from South America, favouring other shirts and button ups over this one.

He rarely speaks of the trip. None of them do, the haunted looks and lack of Tom in their midst speaking volumes. It’s gotten better over time, but time heals all wounds is a fucking lie. You know that, Benny knows that, Will, Frankie, Santiago all know that.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time is a trickster god and you better pray it’s on your side during your lifetime.

“Thank you,” you say. “I was just thinking the same, actually.”

 “Just need to grab some other stuff and I’ll show you where we’re going. Put the shirt on, I’ll be right back.”

He turns around and disappears around a corner, leaving you alone with the shirt in your hands. You carefully place it on a nearby table, peeling your sweater off before pulling the shirt over your head. It’s littered with holes along the hemline, the fabric softened and faded by time. The corners of your mouth tick up as you gently run your hands over the fabric, chest full of something you can’t quite place.

“Looking good,” Benny pipes up behind you. “That shirt always looked better on you than it ever did on me.”

You roll your eyes at the statement. It’s a very Benny thing to throw compliments around: it comes as naturally as breathing to him, something you envy at times. You turn around to face him, finding him leaned against a support beam, arms crossed as he watches you with a half smile.

“C’mon. I’ll show you around another time.” He jerks his head to the side, to a room just outside your view. “We’ve got stuff to do.”   

Anxiety gnaws at you as you follow him across the room, through the door he holds open for you. You look around as you enter, taking in the wall-to-wall mirrors on one side, the wooden bar stretching across its length, the loose bits of equipment placed in various nooks and corners.

“This used to be a ballet studio,” Benny explains from behind you, closing the door behind him and pulling his boots off. “They moved into a bigger space, so we put the mats down, but left the mirrors.” He shifts his weight on his socked feet, looking at you in the mirror. He seems anxious, which in turn makes you anxious. A part of you revels in the sensation: where most feelings no longer really seem to exist, this is something you can feel.

“C’mere,” he says, lowering himself into a kneeling position, patting the mat in front of him. “Come sit with me.”

You take a breath, kicking your boots off and leaving them next to Benny’s before sinking down to the floor in front of him.

It’s intimate in a way that’s both familiar and unfamiliar: it’s not like you haven’t been this close to him before, but at the same time, you really haven’t.

You haven’t let him close in ways that mattered.

“We said five minutes at a time,” he says. “We’ve made it through…” he moves his hand where it rests on his knee, looking at the watch on his left wrist. “At least ten of those since we left the bar.”

You want to tell him it’s easier to make it through those minutes when you’re not alone, when there’s other people’s voices to fill the growing void, other people’s joy, giddiness, frustrations. You want to say it feels as if something is flooding your bloodstream and slowly numbing your senses, leaving you to navigate the world by depending on others.

You want to say that the only thing making you feel even slightly alive is him, but you can’t do that to him. You can’t burden him with that, with keeping another person upright.

He fought his battles. The mental ones, the physical ones and everything in between: he already fought his war.

He doesn’t deserve to fight someone else’s, too. Not again.

So, you say nothing.

Instead, you pick at your cuticles, ignoring the sting as you pull at the already raw skin with your fingernails.

“So,” Benny starts, producing a handful of fabric from his pocket, letting it slide through his hands. “Normally when you box, you wrap your hands.” He reaches out, holding an upturned palm stretched out in front you. “Or you wear gloves, but I prefer wrapping. May I?”

You nod silently and place your hand in his, the callouses on his palm oddly comforting against your soft skin. He turns your hand, so that your palm faces up, the movement gentle, as if he’d break something if he wasn’t careful enough.

“Our hands are made up of dozens of tiny bones, essentially just held together by some flesh and tendons,” he continues, placing the strap in your palm before he starts wrapping it around your hand. “And sure, you can just throw a punch, but it puts a lot of stress on those bones. When you don’t know better, you’d think that the wrapping is there to protect your knuckles, right? Because that’s what we see in media. Bloody knuckles, held up in front of our faces.”

“I can do this all day,” you mumble under your breath, the imagine of pre-serum Steve Rogers immediately jumping to mind.

“Right,” he smiles. “The truth is, we have to protect our hands by allowing the impact of that punch to be better distributed,” he explains, wrapping the fabric back and forth between your fingers, essentially creating a glove out of a single strap of fabric. “That single punch puts a lot of stress on just the top bones, the ones that stick out the most,” his fingers lightly tap your knuckles. “Which we don’t want. That causes tears in the bone at the first punch, if you throw it hard enough.”

His touch is featherlight as he continuous to wrap the fabric around your hand, weaving it through your fingers with ease. It goes automatically, as if it’s as easy as brushing your teeth. You suppose it is, to him. It’s something he does most days, after all.

He finishes up the first hand and opens and closes his fingers as a way of saying to hand over your other hand, which you wordlessly do.

You know better than to just see this as wrapping your hands. You know damn well what he’s trying to say.

“We don’t just want to protect the knuckles, we want to protect the full hand, all those little bones. We want to make sure we don’t wreck ourselves trying to come out on top. So instead, we make sure there is something keeping those loose things tightly together and allow them to weather the circumstances they’re being put through. Because when the knuckles are bloody, when that surface is cracked, you already know you’ve done damage that beyond a quick fix. When in reality, it’s… mostly preventable.”

He finishes wrapping your second hand, and motions for your other hand, turning both of them back and forth to check his work.

“Do you do this every game?” you ask softly, admiring how quick and efficient he was with something that you would’ve redone at least three times.

He nods in reply. “Every game, most practises.”

“But…” you start, letting the sentence die off when you don’t know how to word your thoughts.

“But?” he asks, letting go of your hands.

“Isn’t a thing that by continuously breaking the bone, you strengthen it?”

He lets out a low sigh, leaning back on his heels. “Well, no. You just… stop feeling it eventually. There’s debates of whether or not breaking bones repeatedly improves bone density, but I think it’s bullshit, personally.” He smirks, the first time since leaving the bar that there isn’t a hint of sadness woven into his features.

The sight of it breaks your heart, echoing the sentiment that seems to engrain itself deeper and deeper into your heart with each passing moment: Ben Miller doesn’t deserve your mess.

“I don’t think we should have to continuously break ourselves to come out better in the end.”

And there it is. Laid out in front you, word for word. He doesn’t look at you, instead leaving the words to float in the air as he wraps his own hands, the movement much faster and less deliberate.

He doesn’t push, not for an answer, not for a reaction, but instead finished up his own wraps and shifts in his position.

“Copy me.”

You don’t question him, not sure if you’re afraid of what will follow if you do or if you just don’t have the mental capacity to do so. He continues to stretch, the movements reminiscent of yoga poses, almost cat-like in their fluidity.

The silence between you is neither here nor there, and the minutes pass evenly as your muscles protest slightly at the stretches they’re being exposed to. Across from you, Benny seems to be wrapping up the warm-up, and he returns to his initial position, sat on his knees, before rising completely off the ground and reaching his hand out towards you.

You take it and let him pull you off the ground, resisting the urge to dust down your jeans, and shift on your feet as you wait for him to make the next move. This is his territory: you’re not sure what’s expected of you.

The answer catches you off guard.

“Hit me.”

“Wha— I… No?” you frown, eyeing the blond stood a mere two steps away from you. The light in this room is bright and unkind, the kind that reminds you of frustrated tears over jeans that wouldn’t come up over your thighs even though they’re a size bigger than you’d normally wear. You’ve avoiding looking at the mirrors because of it, but looking at Benny, it highlights all the things that burrowed their way into your heart. The golden hue of his hair, the way his moustache never quite fills in above his cupid’s bow, the fact that his lashes are two tints darker than his hair.

“C’mon,” he urges. He holds up one hand, tapping it with the other. “Right there. With all you’ve got.”

“I’m not going to hit you!” you whisper-shout in return, as if it was the most outrageous thing he could’ve suggested. It was, in a way. You just expected a punching bag. The unalive, hanging-from-the-ceiling-on-a-chain kind. Not a living, breathing one.

He cracks a smile, and lowers his hands, taking a step forward and grabbing your wrists. You eye him with suspicion but let him move your arms until they’re in the position he wanted them. Elbows tucked to your sides, knuckles facing the sky. His hands move to your hips, and you fight the kneejerk reaction of shying away from his hands there, instead biting your cheek as he puts pressure to get you to move.

It takes him a few seconds to position you, but he seems content when he takes a step back.

“Thumbs go over your knuckles, never tucked inside.”

“I know. I’m—” You bite back the I’m not stupid that’s threatening to come out, not wanting to be rude. “I know,” you repeat quietly.

“Good. Now hit me.”

You drop your hands. “I’m not going to hit you!”

“Hit me.”

“No.”

“Hit me.”

Your jaw ticks as you meet his unfaltering gaze. “I don’t want to hit you.”

He shrugs. “Don’t care. Hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you, Benny.”

“Why not? It’s not like I don’t get punched on a weekly basis.”

“Because I don’t want to.” Hurt you, your brain finishes. Too bad it’s too late for that.  

“You won’t.”

You stiffen. Did you say that out loud?

“You won’t say it, but I know you’re thinking it. You won’t hurt me.”

You feel the corners of your mouth turn downwards, in a way that got you the comparison to Florence Pugh more than once already. You hate it when that happens: not so much the comparison, but rather what followed when you actually felt that movement on your face when it wasn’t on purpose. It meant the stinging feeling in your nose wasn’t far off, the tightening of your jaw and wet feeling of tears threatening to fall lurking not far behind it.

At that point, it takes a mild breeze for the dam to fully burst.

“You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“No.” The word comes out tight, already a brisk sound on its own but now amplified by the fight going on in your head. You stagger a step backwards, your chest rising and falling faster than it should. “I don’t—I’m not—”

“Look at me.”

You feverishly shake your head, avoiding his gaze at all costs as you roughly paw at your face, getting rid of the tears that made their way down without your permission.

“Peach, look at me.”

You take another step back backwards, putting distance between yourself and Benny, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. It ends up rattling through your chest, shaky in a way that reminds you of how it felt to cry when you were a kid.

You vaguely hear him call your name again, but it gets drowned out by the feeling crowding your chest. You both feel infinitely small and like you could burst out of your skin at the same time.

“Maisie.”

It’s like your struck by lightning, tearstained eyes immediately snapping to the man stood a few feet away.

He hasn’t called you by your actual name in years. Not even in letters you exchanged when he was deployed, or when he introduced you to Santi, Frankie, or even Will. Not even the one year he took you home to celebrate Christmas with his family.

He hasn’t used your name, your actual name in at least seven years, and by doing so, it feels like he shattered the windows, blew straight through the walls you put up.

By using your name, he took away the one barrier you had managed to maintain when everything else crumbled apart around you.

As you’re bolted to the floor, he closes the distance between you, his movements slow and deliberate as if you’re a deer he’s trying not to startle.

“I know,” he says, the calluses on his palm rough against your cheek as he holds your head between his hands, forcing you to look at him. “I know you think this is yours to bear, but I am here.” It comes out fierce, heated without any anger behind it. “I am here, and I want to carry it with you.”

You open your mouth to protest, shaking your head as much as his grip allows it, but he gives a gentle squeeze.

“I have the space to carry some of that burden, and I will do anything, and I mean anything, so you won’t buckle under it.” His jaw is tense and his eyes glisten in the fluorescent light. “Anything.”

“I can’t ask that,” you whisper, wrapping your fingers around his wrists.

“You’re not asking. And even if you were, I’d—I’d run into a fucking burning building. I’d run through a wildfire, I would sit with you through the night, I would hold you when it all becomes too much. I’d fight your inner demons with my bare fucking hands, I just need you to let me.”

For a moment, just a moment, time stops.

“Please.”

The word comes out broken, small, as if this was the most pain he has ever been exposed to.

You don’t have it in you to fight it anymore. It tumbles out before you can stop yourself.

“I’m not scared of dying, and that scares me so much I don’t know how to breathe some days. It just seems like an option that’s there, like getting a coffee or reading a book, and it terrifies me. There are days that’s all I feel like is waiting in the future, but I can’t put you through that, because I love you. I can’t make you give a eulogy at yet another funeral, and the reason why is wholly selfish, too, because I love you, and I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you. I know you don’t—”

“You don’t get to decide for me.”

You open and close your mouth, panic flooding your system as you realise what you just said.

“You’re right. I don’t want to bury you, I don’t want to give a eulogy at your funeral. I don’t want to do those things, because I want to live a life with you. I don’t want that to end before it even got a chance to start. So for the love of fucking god, Maisie, let me hold it. Let me carry that burden with you.”

[deanisridingapolarbear-blog]

The issue with Teddy’s personality

I’ve come across claims that Teddy especially does not have a personality outside his relationship with Billy and that he’s just portrayed as the boyfriend/hubby. Another claim is that he has lost all his traits in the recent years. I’d like to disagree and you are in for a long post (once again). Starting with little things, in Emperor Hulkling we see the glimpses of Teddy’s ”nerdy” side you know with the console and comics laying around, taking selfies with Spidey, think it’s a bit similar hint as in the Drag Brunch where he stays in eating his cereal and watching cartoons (as the lord intended, which could also be seen as a joke towards his religious school background). He is still being bit snarky and witty too as he always has been.

Then comparing Billy and Teddy, people say that they don’t have personality outside each other or that Teddy just doesn’t have one but I do disagree. He has and it is there just as it has been in the first issues. Teddy has always been pictured as the ultimate kind soft boy with a sharp with right? I’m not going to say the boys are complete opposite as they are not but their traits just come out differently. Billy is just as kind I’d say but more anxious and tends to be a bit self-absorbed. Now I don’t mean he is selfish just that he has tendency to stress and lose the bigger picture while worrying over how his actions affect others or if he can control his powers etc. Teddy is more optimistic he has faced a lot, just as much as Billy I’d say, he just has a different approach to deal with the trauma. He looks for support and help and ways to solve it instead of piling it up. This optimistic personality, kindness and way he approaches problems (inner or outer) is clearly part of him being an emperor. Taking the pacifist and diplomatic approaches.

Another difference between these two is connected with the problem solving part. To me Billy is pretty intuitive and quick on his feet type of person. His approach is bit more impulse based. Going to Doom’s fortress on his own in the middle of the night anyone? Hiding robots under the mattress? Vol. 2.? I’m not saying he can’t follow or come up with well drafted plans he just has more tendency for think plan b after plan a fails. Teddy then is more of a planner and plotter in my eyes. During the first run he disguised twice as someone else first as Ironlad and then as Super-Skrull, both plans probably drafted quite quickly but still they follow maybe a bit more careful and tactical thinking than Billy’s. Similarly ”Don’t keep brain in your head” in New Avengers. He just has a bit more long term planner in him, which is also visible in Death’s Head when he and Kate talk about the wedding. It gives a vibe that Teddy does give a bit more thought to future than Billy does. He does the long term planning for them maybe because with Billy’s mental health it can be hard for him to plan ahead too much without getting anxious. Which is why I think the Vegas wedding is just reflection of Teddy’s nature.

He clearly has had this plan ready probably for a while now, knowing that ”proper” wedding planning might not work with Billy. What he was waiting was the perfect timing to execute the plan, when Billy seems ready and in right state of mind to go through the wedding. When it came he took it and you can see he had thought of Billy and the fact that the situation might be such that it is sudden and not possible for everyone without super-powers to attend -> streaming for Billy’s parents as Billy would want his parents present somehow (as would Teddy). So again it’s not about being complete opposite and not being able to make fast decisions or commit for long term plans just that they have different strengths.

Teddy also shows signs of having a bit more willingness to take upon responsibilities and be responsible for others. He might not been ready to become emperor of two massive alien races or is he yet fully moulded leader but he felt the pressure to take on that responsibility to save lives. Putting others needs before his own a bit, just like he sometimes does a bit with Billy. We also see a bit of his growth to that task. Think it’s natural continuum to Teddy’s story arc as he has faced a lot losing his mother, supporting Billy and having to take responsibility for himself. Like yes Kaplans have surely taken good care of him but Teddy is type that doesn’t want to be a burden and clearly has held back some of his own battles to let Billy get enough support (Vol.2). I’m not saying Billy hasn’t matured or anything just that there is ought to be a small gap on this area between them. It is also reflected in King in Black (yes I disliked the issue just as much as any but hear me out). In Teddy’s part it was done well whereas Billy just had been taken to an extreme length of contrast to make them appear clearly different in nature.

Empyre in general showed great growth of Teddy starting with Emperor Hulkling and going on through-out the run. Like the boy who usually has just been kind of quiet member of a team is standing up to what he believes in and taking his ground when he really believes in what he is doing. Even if it’s against F4 and Avengers that he has fanboyed in the past.

I also think that lot of Teddy’s growth and personality is being skipped by the fandom as Billy tends to be the more popular part of the pair. I admit Teddy’s personality and growth have been shown to us more delicately and with a bit less drama/tragedy at the end of the day that it can go amiss and probably for some his arc can thus be a bit boring even because the telling goes along with Teddy’s calm and pretty stable personality.

All in all his original traits are still there they’ve just grown up with him.

[hualianff]

Vampire/Human AU

(Slight NSFW, angst)

Thinking about vampire HC who owns a vampire-friendly bar with humans who apply as donors to supply fresh blood for vampires willing to pay the expensive prices. When a human with beautiful amber eyes, soft facial features, and blood that smells absolutely delectable, walks in, every vampire whips their heads towards the door. The human approaches one of the staff, YY, to inquire about becoming a donor. HC watches as the enticing morsel follows YY into a room to finalize his application.

Right after the human leaves thirty minutes later–YY probably having said it would take a few days to find him a match–HC pulls YY aside, demanding to have a look over the papers the new donor filled out. After a quick scan, HC shoves the papers back to YY with a click of his tongue,

“No need to find him a match. He’s mine.”

A human whose blood smells heavenly, who has never been bitten or even nipped by a vampire. HC wants to corrupt him. Ruin him.

The next night, HC has the human, XL, meet him in his personal feeding room. There’s a luxurious velvet couch to the side, a pristine glass table with fancy wine and glasses, and a king-sized bed with crimson silk laid upon the mattress.

HC, like most vampires, typically feeds while stimulating their donors. This can be done with something as simple as kissing or full-on intercourse. Not only does this relax the human’s nerves so they won’t tense up before being bitten, but the toxins injected into their system after being bitten feels incredibly euphoric, serving as a kind of aphrodisiac. Many humans donate their blood in this way for the sole reason of attaining this heightened sense of pleasure.

But as soon as XL enters the room in front of HC, his mind freezes as he sees the bed.

“I’m a virgin,” he blurts out, wide eyes panicked as he looks at the vampire. HC raises his eyebrow, unperturbed.

“We can work with that.”

XL gulps.

“I’ve also never kissed anyone.”

HC runs a tongue along his sharp fangs.

“Do you want to change that?” The vampire asks, walking up behind the human, pressing his chest against XL’s back. HC hears XL’s heart rate pick up at the proposition. It’s an unspoken yes, though XL also imperceptibly nods his head. He does not see HC’s lips spread into a vicious grin. However, XL does feel lips brush against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“Use your words, precious. Do you want to be kissed? Want to be touched, experience pleasure beyond comprehension?” HC murmurs, skimming his lips across XL’s nape. “I can fuck you too. Push into your little body as I sink my fangs into your neck. I’d place them right here-“ HC taps XL’s jugular, the human jerking to the side with a gasp. “-oh? So sensitive. All the better. I can make you feel so good.”

XL’s breath quickens, ever so slightly leaning back into HC’s tall frame. HC leans forward to catch a glimpse of those doe eyes regarding him with caution. Oh, how he wants to eat this human alive. HC turns XL around by his shoulders. He lowers his head to bump foreheads with XL, forcing the human to look into his red-tinged eyes.

“Is that a yes?”

XL blinks those doe eyes once, then twice.

“Yes.”

HC brings his hand up to brush a hair away from the human’s head.

“Wonderful.”

***

XL is at the point in his life when he lost everything. He chose to pursue a career outside of his parents’ embroidery business despite being expected to take over the shop after college. Abandoning college altogether, XL went off on his own to chase his dream to become a singer.

A few years later, where XL was provinces away from home, XL’s parents’ business had gone under, devastating them as they could no longer pay for their medical bills. Upon hearing the news, XL rushed back home to take care of them. It seemed they had kept their declining health conditions under wraps. They were too prideful to admit their weakening physical states; they also did not want to guilt XL into giving up on his ambitions to take care of them.

XL’s parents lasted one year before passing away, his father first due to prostate cancer, his mother one month later after succumbing to exhaustion and grief. XL lost their home along with the shop merely a week later, unable to pay off the debt. His parents had used up their savings for their medical expenses and XL had been scraping by as a musician for years. Additionally, there was no one he could confide in. He had lost contact with his friends as he moved from city to city, busking on streets, attempting to catch the attention of music labels.

XL was utterly alone. There were days when not even music could bring an ounce of comfort. However, music was the thing that kept him sane between the various side jobs he managed to pick up to keep him off the streets.

As if the fates decided XL had had enough bad luck for a lifetime, a CEO of a fairly well-known label offered him a business card after a busking session. It was JW of Capital Records who gave XL hope of achieving his dream. XL spent most of his late 20s under the label, training and practicing and producing. He had the chance to record a couple of singles and one mini-album–which he didn’t get to participate much in the production side–but other than that, XL didn’t make it far. He was tremendously overworked and yet, still discarded to the side.

Wondering why he wasn’t provided the opportunities other artists received to further their careers, XL scheduled a one-on-one meeting with the CEO to ask what he was lacking. JW had insisted he could give XL more opportunities if XL could offer something more than just his serene vocals and pretty face.

The unspoken suggestion that XL offer up his body pierced his heart with yet another stake. Overwhelming disappointment and betrayal crashed into XL, but perhaps he should have known better that the whole situation was too good to be true. XL vehemently rejected this idea, angering JW who eventually tore XL down to the point of a medical emergency that allowed him to leave the agency without repercussions.

At age thirty-two, XL was left with no family, mental and physical trauma, and a dying will. Ironically enough, the song lyrics he’d written after experiencing so much loss were the closest thing to making music he’d gotten. But in the end, XL still felt like a failure.

Now in Xi’an, XL was left with limited options to earn money for rent. He already worked two part-time jobs in addition to writing music—though even time set aside for this has dwindled.

One night, as XL was walking home after closing up the convenience store, he saw the neon lights of the sign “Ghost City.” He’s heard many things about this club and is no stranger to the existence of nonhuman creatures roaming amongst human society. After hours of research, XL decided to apply to become a blood donor. It’s not like he had a better option that paid more anyway.

XL’s hope to somehow redeem his past actions has all but fizzled out. He doesn’t expect a vampire like HC to care about his comfort or consent when feeding, though HC still prioritizes these things for some reason.

XL has never looked at his body and thought about the best ways to pleasure himself. HC shows him how. HC caresses and kisses XL like he’s worth being handled with care; HC also invades XL’s body as a threat to break it, broadcasting a vampire’s strength, speed, and endurance in the bedroom.

XL can go as far as to say he even looks forward to his time with HC. In between a busy work life and dealing with people who would rather look the other way than give him the time of day, XL’s mind and body steadily weaken.

It starts with memory loss, where XL can’t clearly remember the conversations he’d had the day before. One of the reasons this develops is because he goes through many days without having anyone to tell about his day. It’s like the life XL lives is so insignificant, nothing about it is worth remembering.

Then, it’s the lack of eating. Most of XL’s money goes towards rent, essentials, and groceries. But he’s not a great cook. And he’s already drained by the time he gets home after working both jobs and visiting Ghost City. XL’s stress doesn’t help, adding to the fatigue that gradually shuts his body down.

While HC might not be able to taste a difference in XL’s blood, he does notice how frail the human moves around. How delayed XL responds, more so than he should be–even as a human. XL has scheduled more visits: three times a week this time. However, his words become less. He stops telling the little stories that brought a small smile to his face. XL doesn’t even mention the songs he’s been working on lately.

HC forces himself to ask about them after an especially rough coupling.

“How’s the songwriting going, darling?” HC asks quietly. He props his elbow upon his pillow, resting his cheek on his hand as he intently observes the human struggling to catch his breath, eyelids fluttering.

“I haven’t written anything new,” XL breathily answers. HC purses his lips. He ducks down to affectionately tongue at the skin his fangs pierced.

“No? In how long?” HC asks. XL sighs heavily.

“Maybe three weeks.”

HC doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s not one to console anybody. No one had afforded him that luxury, and naturally, he did not grant anyone else his concern. The silence that follows is unbearable.

***

The next time XL visits, he’s the one to initiate their first kiss. HC growls happily against his human’s lips, pinning him against the closed door of his private room. XL moans obscenely as HC languidly licks into his mouth. His arms desperately wrap around HC’s neck to bring him closer.

“Someone’s eager,” HC says with a chuckle as he pulls back. XL instantly attaches his lips to the vampire’s jaw, peppering light kisses along the pale skin. HC can’t help but think he’s taught his little human well. XL hums while trailing his lips back to HC’s, capturing them in a kiss that’s the sweetest one yet.

HC should’ve noticed how unstable XL’s legs seemed, how dreadful the bags under his eyes looked before indulging in their bedroom activities. He should’ve kept track all along of how thin XL is, how much more skin and bone he had become. HC is certainly not one to intrude on someone else’s life and scrutinize all their choices. But he should’ve said something sooner.

Maybe then, XL’s heart wouldn’t have stuttered so violently, or completely stopped beating for five counts.

HC watches in horror as XL’s eyes roll into the back of his head. His human’s body goes limp in his arms, collapsing into HC’s chest. When XL’s heart beat starts up again, it’s very weak. There’s a noticeable abnormality in its rhythm.

HC quickly gathers XL in his arms and speeds to the bed. He sits back against the pillow, placing XL to recline against his front. HC hooks his arms around XL’s middle from behind, anxiously listening to XL’s irregular heartbeat that seems like it takes all of his human’s energy to pump. Luckily, XL awakens a few minutes later. He registers a cold embrace and warm puffs of breath lingering near his ear.

“Did I pass out?” XL wheezes out, unconsciously melting into the body behind him.

“Yes,” HC says tightly. “Your heartbeat is uneven. Something is wrong.”

XL can’t tell if he’s imagining it but that sounded like worry in the vampire’s tone.

“Oh.”

HC inhales sharply.

“You just fainted, Xie Lian. Hell, your heart just stopped for a few seconds, and all you have to say is ‘oh?’” HC grinds out.

So he is upset. XL swallows thickly, not wanting to escalate things and further upset the vampire.

“It’s okay,” XL says. “I’m okay-“

“No. You’re not,” HC interrupts.

XL takes a deep breath, wincing slightly as HC tightens his arms around his hips. He’s more sensitive than normal, XL realizes. Before XL can defend himself further, HC grasps XL’s chin and turns his head to face the vampire.

“You’re hiding something from me,” he states. He hears XL’s heart speed up. “There’s no use in lying. I can tell you’ve grown weaker since you first came.”

“Well, I have been donating my blood to a certain vampire for a few months now. I’m bound to be a bit weak in my legs,” XL replies as a matter of factly. He means to poke fun at the situation rather than acknowledge the severity of it. HC knows this because he’s done it numerous times himself. But when XL does it, it makes HC’s blood boil.

“Are you saying I am causing this- this deterioration in your health?” HC asks tensely. XL lets out a gasp, whirling around in HC’s arms, immediately backpedaling.

“No! No, not at all.”

HC’s eyes assess his human who trembles slightly in his arms. He cradles XL in between his legs, hands shifting XL further up his body so he can rest his head on HC’s chest. HC gently pets XL’s hair, an action that was uncharacteristic of him months ago, before XL had walked through the entrance of his bar.

XL gently smiles in an attempt to placate the vampire.

HC’s eyes flash a frightening scarlet.

“I don’t believe you.”

XL’s face crumples.

“It’s true! I’ve just been really busy is all. Work has been hectic and- and-“ gone is the innocence that HC once saw in XL’s doe eyes, instead replaced by stress and utter brokenness that alarms the vampire to no end. A voice in the back of HC’s head snarls that those emotions had always been behind XL’s eyes; they were simply better hidden, and HC had been too lust-driven to notice.

XL continues his rambling, frantically shaking his head. “-I took some extra shifts because I needed the money to pay for some water damage that flooded half my apartment. I’m fine—truly.“

If HC had a beating heart, it would have dropped down to his stomach at the sudden realization. His fingers dig into the paper-thin skin of XL’s hips, then trace up the bony knobs of his spine.

“You’re not eating right.”

“Wait- S-san Lang-“

The nickname HC had asked XL to call him is hurdled back into his face like a stone aimed to shatter. It sounds like a cry for help.

“And you’re not getting enough sleep,” HC concludes with a disapproving frown. His eyes now glow a deep crimson, matching the silken sheets that HC ensures are in perfect condition every time XL visits.

“Fuck, XIE LIAN, you know you need proper nutrition and rest to recover from each night you spend with me!” HC is nearly shouting now, voice wavering out of his control. Who knew another creature could make him feel so strongly?

“I-I am!”

“I SAID NOT TO LIE TO ME. I CAN TELL WHEN YOU’RE NOT BEING HONEST,” HC explodes, spatting those words with a poison that he often uses with uncooperative subordinates, but never directed at XL before.

Tears glisten in XL’s eyes as he’s cornered with no way out, no relief from the building pressure that suffocates him. Right now, after everything XL has been through, this seems to be his tipping point. He never expected HC to care this much. Or perhaps HC is just concerned his reliable supply of blood is flaking out on him, just when he’s had a feasible taste.

XL is sure HC has plenty of other donors to feed on. It’s not like XL is particularly special in that way. Frankly speaking, XL had time and time again asked the universe to give him one last sign that his life mattered in some capacity. But if he couldn’t see the value in his own life, who else could?

XL scrambles off from HC’s lap, allowing himself to speak with the deep-seated spite that has grown in his heart like an untamable weed.

“THERE��S NO NEED TO GET SO WORKED UP OVER MY HEALTH!! I’LL BE GONE SOON ANYWAY! THE DOCTOR GAVE ME THREE MORE MONTHS,” XL screams, having to catch his breath after exerting so much power into his voice. “So there. You have my answer. I’m not lying this time. Just one a couple more months and then- then you won’t have to deal with my shit anymore, okay?”

HC can’t move. He can’t speak either. The shock taking over his system renders his mind and body completely useless. He can only stare blankly at XL whose tears now cascade down his cheeks.  

No, this cannot be happening-

XL’s whimpers pull HC out of his head. The human hugs his own frail body, shivering from a coldness that does not exist in the room.

How did HC let it get so bad?

“I’m sick, San Lang. Very, very sick. Not just physically,” XL whispers defeatedly, letting out a small hiccup.

HC doesn’t hesitate to surge forward to throw his arms around XL, hugging him once more. It’s a habit now—to hold XL whenever he could. Now, HC wonders how many more times he would get this chance before it was inevitably the last.

“Xie Lian…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I-I just can’t eat. Sometimes from stress, other times I completely forget. And I want to rest, but I end up laying in bed awake for hours a-and my mind just won’t let me sleep-”

For the first time in over a decade, there is someone else to hear XL’s agonized wails.

“Please believe me, San Lang. Please."

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: L - Language 

Summary: Jason doesn’t hesitate to drag his brothers down with him when Bruce starts reprimanding him about the type of language he uses on a daily basis. 

Enjoy! :D 

“Well this is just a load of bullshit! Why do they have to intervene? We’re perfectly capable of handling this.” Jason huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. He can’t believe what he's hearing.

On the opposite side of the table Bruce levels him with a hard look. “Watch your language Jason.”

Jason blinks before sitting up straight. “What, it’s not like the kid is currently around to overhear."

“Jason!”

Glaring at the man, Jason scowls. This seems to be a regular topic of conversation between them recently because according to Bruce Jason swears too much, especially when he’s around Damian. The man, for whatever reason, wants Jason to be a good role model for the kid and apparently that includes him not swearing.

So now anytime he swears, Bruce points it out with a matching scolding tone and expression.

It’s a ridiculous notion because Jason being who he is was brought up with swearing, living on the streets for so many years exposed him to all kinds of things, one of which being the language people use. Swearing is just part of his vocabulary, half of the time he isn’t even aware he is doing it. As long as he’s not swearing at someone, then surely there should be some leniency.

“Oh come on!” He exclaims with a wave of his hands. “He’s been raised as an assassin, he was already tainted before we even met. Me saying a few words isn’t doing any harm.”

Before Bruce could respond a new voice joins the conversation. “To be fair you do swear a lot. Maybe you should try and tone it down.”

Jason turns to his right to glare at his older brother who’s lounging comfortably next to him. “Oh fuck off, Dick, no one asked for your opinion.”

Dick stares back unimpressed, he raises both eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

Jason recalls what he said and grits his teeth.

He points menacingly at Dick. “That doesn’t prove anything. Quite frankly I grew up in Crime Alley, of course I’m gonna swear, you hear it every minute in that place and typically as a kid you’re gonna pick up the habit. You know what they say old habits die hard.”

“Just like you did?” A different voice retorts with a snort.

Jason switches his gaze to Tim, who is opposite him next to Bruce currently playing with his phone, and blinks at him in surprise. “Uh, excuse me? I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud by that.”

It’s usually only him who makes death jokes so it’s come as a surprise to find Tim making one, a well-timed one too. Jason shakes his head, he’ll deal with those emotions at another time.

“Anyway, if we’re talking about who swears too much then why aren’t you giving Tim a lecture? He swears like a bloody sailor. If anyone needs reprimanding on his language it’s him!”

Tim abruptly stops fiddling with his phone and looks up, he rolls his eyes and glowers at him. “Jesus Christ that’s so immature Jason. How old are you, 10? I’m no way near as bad as you.”

His response gets a gleeful chuckle out of Jason. He knows exactly how the next few minutes are about to play out and he can’t wait. While the focus of the conversation had been on him, he’s glad for the opportunity to move it onto someone else and Tim happens to be perfect for the new spotlight.

Without any hesitation Jason digs into his pocket and grabs his phone. Once he has the device in hand he starts searching for the video he has saved for this very purpose. Call him petty, but he knew it would be good blackmail material one day.

“Oh really?” He drawls out, finally finding the video he had been looking for, “then what do I have here…” Jason clicks play and puts it on speaker so everyone in the room would be able to hear the audio.

After a second the sound of Tim’s voice could be heard. The teenager was clearly angry about something and certainly wasn’t holding back from letting his anger be known through his choice of words.

“You bloody bastard, why won’t you work you piece of shit. By god this is pissing me off now, I’ve been at this all fucking day and you’re still not fucking working. I am going to kill…”

The recording lasts for about a minute and is filled with Tim swearing his head off, cursing at everything and everyone and making empty threats. Once it’s finished Jason turns his phone off, puts it back in his pocket and leans back in his chair feeling smug about the situation.

“I rest my case.”

His words are met with a stunned silence in the room. Tim is blushing hard with his head buried in his hands. Next to him Bruce looks concerned, probably for Tim’s mental health and wellbeing. Dick’s staring at Tim with shock spread across his features.

After a few beats Tim lifts his head from his hands but keeps his eyes down staring at the table so he could avoid everyone’s eyes. “Okay in my defence the technology was really piss–annoying me. It wouldn’t work and I couldn’t work out why so I got frustrated and that happened.”

His response makes Jason snort and causes Dick to shake his head in disbelief. He knew Tim could be feisty but until that moment he never realised how bad his temper could get. Jason’s honestly impressed. However that doesn’t mean he’s letting Tim get away with it, especially when he’s getting blamed for something Tim does just as much of as him.

If he's going down then he’s dragging Tim down with him. It’s just unfortunate that he doesn’t have anything on Dick.

Jason’s broken out of his thoughts on ways he could get blackmail material on Dick when Tim speaks up again. He’s finally looking up at everyone though his still flushed face shows his prior embarrassment.

“Let’s be honest, is swearing really all that bad? As long as we’re not swearing at people then I think it’s fine. We’re not harming anyone. Who cares if we swear a little too much. And anyway, doesn’t everyone swear at some point?”

“Clark doesn’t.” Dick pipes up next to him.

Jason snorts. “That’s because big blue is a boy scout, of course he isn’t going to swear. He doesn’t count. Plus we’re from Gotham after all, it’s not like this is the most impeccable place in the world.”

Dick becomes thoughtful, humming his response. “Yeah that’s true I guess.”

“Boys.”

The three brother’s all turn and look at Bruce who had called for their attention. Jason had forgotten the man was even there, he had surprisingly been quiet until now. Maybe it’s because Clark was brought into the conversation, it must have peaked his interest. Jason files that information away for later.

“It doesn’t matter how much any of you swear, you shouldn’t do it at all. Damian is still young, he doesn’t need to grow up listening to that sort of language despite his initial upbringing.” Bruce firmly says, looking at each of them in turn. “You all know better and have good manners, going forward I expect you to use them.”

As Bruce rattles on about proper manners and the importance of them, Jason finds himself resisting the urge to smile. With every second that passes, it threatens to break out on his face. What makes matters worse is that he knows he shouldn’t smile, this isn’t a smiling matter considering how serious Bruce is being but the man is making it difficult to concentrate and to take the topic seriously.

Jason glances to the right to find Dick staring at Bruce with a hand covering the lower part of his face and Jason can tell that his brother is in the exact same boat as he is.

Apparently all it takes for him to break is Dick to glance at him and for them to make eye contact.

After that Jason couldn’t help himself but to burst out laughing, next to him Dick also breaks out into a fit of giggles. They laugh for a good while until they’re able to start calming down, by that point Jason’s cheeks are hurting and he even had tears forming in his eyes. As he takes a deep breath to compose himself he makes the mistake of looking over at Dick again, Dick looks back at him too and just like that they fall into another uncontrollable laughing fit.

While laughing Jason gets a glimpse of a confused looking Tim and a disappointed Bruce, but it’s Bruce’s scowling expression that triggers off another wave of giggles.

It takes even longer for the two of them to calm down. As he sits there Jason repeatedly takes deep breaths in order to collect himself. Once he’s calmed down a little, now able to breathe somewhat normally, he could feel how his sides are aching, how his cheeks hurt from the wide smiling and the tears coming from his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard that it hurt, and over something so trivial nonetheless.

When it feels like he’s finally composed himself he risks a glance at Dick to find his brother also in the state of calming down though there’s still a wide grin on face. He then looks at Bruce who is still staring at the two of them with his disappointed look. That’s almost enough to set himself off again. Almost.

“If you’re both quite done, we have important business to discuss, may I remind you that being the reason we’re meeting to begin with.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started on the whole language topic that derailed us in the beginning.” Jason defends himself and his brother’s. All Bruce does is huff at that, knowing Jason is right and can’t defend himself against it otherwise. Jason smirks victoriously.

Opposite him, Tim sighs loudly and makes a show to sitting up straight and sorting out some of the paperwork between them all on table. “Enough already, can we just go over the details and the police reports again and get to the end of this. I have better things to do than hear everyone bicker about language and manners.”

Dick gives the youngest a side look. “What you got planned? Is that who you were messaging just now? Is it your boyfriend?”

“What? No. Just friends. I ain’t telling you.” Tim snaps glaring at Dick.

Jason whistles. “Timmy’s getting some tonight then eh? Make sure to stay safe and use protection.”

“Jason!”

“Well he’s not wrong Tim, but where are you going? We need to know so if something happens we know where to look first.” Dick’s looking more concerned by the minute and Jason could see the flip switch from carefree older brother to over-bearing mother hen.

Tim blinks at them before turning his gaze to Bruce. In a whining voice he pleads the man, “Bruce, get them to stop!”

To begin with all Bruce does is run a hand over his face like he’s regretting every life choice he’s made and how he would rather be anywhere else but here. After a moment he sends exasperated looks at his eldest sons.

“Not much more to go, then we should be all caught up and ready to proceed with the case further tomorrow. Is it too much to ask for your full attention for the remaining hour?”

Jason sighs and sits up straighter, knowing play time is over and it’s time to be serious. One more hour won’t hurt, then afterwards there’s nothing stopping him from having a little fun is there. He nods at Bruce and picks up the piece of paper closet to him to examine the page. Dick does the same and finally Bruce proceeds with their meeting.

[kayxleeee]

Bucky Barnes: Anywhere (Bucky x Reader )

Bucky Barnes: Anywhere 

Warning: Kinda sad, but not really. You can handle it lol.  Slight Mental Health nod. Overall just sweet reader caring for Bucky’s wellbeing

A/N: HAPPY FRIDAY !If you are reading this and supporting me I really love you🥺. Loosely edited.

Summary: Like usual, Bucky can’t sleep after a mission. You have a discussion with him about a place Steve told you about. This place has all of the advances that may help Bucky free himself from the emotional prison that is his mind. 

Word Count: 1k+

*NOT MY GIF* Don’t copy my work !

After what felt like the long  night would be internal, it felt incredible to finally wake up laying in a cozy bed. With the covers warm, the birds chirping, and a little bit of the early morning su rays beaming on your face, it felt like a good morning. But even better than that, was knowing the man you loved was laying right beside you, safe and finally at home; Except for the fact that he was not laying in bed beside you. His absents caused you to remember the events of last night, the struggles he had with possibly trying to fall asleep. You let out a heavy sigh feeling the empty space next to you. As excited as you were yesterday to finally be reunited with him, you knew things were complicated for him, and  the night was not as amazing as you hoped. In fact as much as you wanted your homecoming to be perfect everything seemed different, his cries out for help seemed more urgent. 

Only a year and a few months ago did you and Steve find Bucky, which led to the breaking free from the reigns, being a wanted man, and coming to terms with the damages with Hydra’s brainwashing. It was all a lot, and he had still been adjusting, even when you two began to get close. And as much as he’d like you to believe he was okay, you knew he was still adjusting months later. Adjusting to what exactly? You could only assume it was everything, but you mostly knew it was the task of being able to think for himself, being stuck in his own head.

With his thinking, came one track obsessions. Bucky had this overwhelming, and I mean OVERWHELMING, infatuation with taking down hydra and getting justice for what they did to him. You and Steve had many conversations about how unhealthy it had to be for him to constantly be face to face with the people who caused him so much pain. These long missions he’d gone on, probably involved him sitting and waiting to do unimaginable things. This wasn’t the best for him at his fragile state and you all had to remember that; Otherwise you wouldn't be on your toes constantly worried about him and his mental states . 

Prior to waking up to an empty bed, you had spent almost two months without him. Fast forward to last night when he came home, he was extremely tired coming in, but could never fall asleep. It killed you that his first night back in his own home, safe, in his own bed, with you in his arms, was still not as peaceful for him. It was hard to sit with the thoughts of these bounty hunts, only being that, and not being beneficial for him, whatsoever. It had always been hard to get him to open up about the “missions.”, or what he has done or even seen, for that matter. In fact it was damn near impossible, he was so stubborn. His brain was running 24/7, thinking of ways he could feel better about himself, thinking of ways he could redeem himself. And that is what you hated the most, the times where he was stuck in his own head, overthinking, driving himself insane, trying to find a reason to the madness. This hurt you tremendously , because you really hoped it would all eventually be better for him, that this last “mission” would be the problem solver, you prayed it would be, but it just seemed to never get better, there was always another goon who needed to pay him repercussions.

You stretch your arms above your head letting out a sleepy yawn as you throw back the duvet, preparing to find the dark haired man in your cozy Brooklyn apartment. You grab the throw blanket at the end of your bed wrapping it around your shoulders, heading out of the bedroom. Right as you exit out of the door, you see a glimpse of him on the brown couch in your living room. He’s laying on his back staring up at the ceiling. Silence and isolation were never his friends and, all you could do was just hope he was not laying there beating himself up over something that he either had no control of or something he could not change.

“Good morning.” You say softly walking to the end of the couch closest to you, where his feet were. “Missed you in there. Everything alright?” 

He looks over at you and smiles slightly. He looked exhausted, which led you to believe he definitely did not fall asleep.

“Sorry, yeah, everything is okay.” His voice sounded tired and raspy. “I guess it wasn’t a good night.”

He wasn’t always restless, battered, and bruised, and your relationship was not always based on saving him from himself, but it was always hard knowing what you were doing for him wasn’t enough. That the simple kisses you shared on days were he was upset, or on the long nights where you’d rub his back reassuring him that he was so much more than this unspoken pain, weren’t enough.

“Can I do anything to help?” You ask, coming closer to his spot on the couch.

“No,” He pauses for a second reaching out for your hand. “I’d like you to just come cuddle with me though.” He says opening his arms. You smile and walk over to where he was on the couch. 

“I don’t mind keeping you company.” You say with a smile as you climb on top of him, settling in and getting comfortable.

He immediately wraps his arms around you pulling you into a warm embrace. Your head is tucked underneath his chin, his slow breaths matching your own. The two of you have your fingers intertwined as his metal hand rests on the small of your back over the blanket you had brought with you. You lay there in silence, just feeling the rises and falls of each others chest. But then the silence worried you since that meant his mind could possibly be somewhere else.

“Bucky?” 

“Mmh?”

“If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?” You ask randomly, wanting to fill the silence with anything.

“Right here.” He says softly rubbing your back. “Right here with you.”

You smile at his sweet words, but just couldn’t believe them, not because he has ever lied to you, but simply because there was always a hunt, there was always a mission, there was always a reason to be anywhere, but at home...

“Out of all the places you could be, just here would be okay?”

He pauses for a minute then nods. “Not just here, anywhere with you is alright with me. I’d always choose that over anything in the whole world.”

“If I asked you to leave with me tonight would you go?” “Yes.”

“Even to get away, —stop doing these hunts…” 

He doesn’t say anything, so you continue.

“To get away from whatever it is that’s hurting you.”

“Yes of course, in a heart beat.” He finally says, kissing the top of your head. 

Silence falls over both of you as you cuddle on the couch in your small apartment. You think for a second remembering a conversation that you had with Steve a few days ago. 

“Then let’s go somewhere, just you and me.” You speak again, testing the theory. “Steve said he knew a safe place, a place called Wakanda.” You begin to play with his fleshed fingers.

“Wakanda?” He repeated back.

“Yes, a place where you can just step away from all the madness of bringing down Hydra, just for a little bit, to get your headspace together.” 

You begin to explain how you hated to see him in these different states every time he came home from a mission and how it’s is all consuming in both of your lives. He nods at your words and sighs.

“Like I said, I’d go anywhere… as long as you’re there too.” He lets out a yawn and you nod in contentment.

Those words now put you at ease. You bring his hand to your mouth giving it a kiss, before saying, “Alright then Buck, it’s time for you to finally get some rest.” You encourage beginning to get up.

“Can we just lay here until I do?” He asked as he realized you were about to leave him, his grip tightened softly around you.

“Of course.” You say settling back into his arms.

“I know it hasn’t been easy, but I am trying, and I am willing to try anything.” He says softly.

Moments later you could hear his soft snores pick up as he finally drifted off to sleep. You hoped it was peaceful as you began drifting off too, imagining what Wakanda was like and how life changing it could possibly be for him.

-

Comments, Questions, Opinions :)

See more of what I have written so far: Masterlist

[strong-as-a-tree]

LEVI X HANDMAID!READER (THE HANDMAID’S TALE X SNK - CROSSOVER) // PART. 7

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader (also Erwin but not romantically)

Disclaimers: Considering what the Handmaid’s Tale is talking about, expect to have some shocking scenes in this. If you are not sure, please look out for a summary of the show on the internet before reading. This story will contain sensible topics if you are not comfortable with the followings, please don’t read this story ♡

Also, yeah the characters will be slightly OOC, because of the nature of the story I couldn’t do it differently, I know Canon Erwin would never endorse Gilead, it literally hurts me to write him as this disgusting Commander… Sorry in advance for any Erwin’s simps !

TW: Emotional Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Female Oppression, mention of executional death, childbirth

Minors DNI

Word count: 1,852 words MASTERLIST

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4 // PART 5 // PART 6

"Ofdaniel is in labour!"

Ruth had woken you up with this amazing news, the older woman immediately helped you get dressed, as the minivan was on its way to pick you up. You had never witnessed a birth yet, of course you knew what you would have to do, they prepared every handmaids for those kind of events back at the Red Center. Despite knowing what was to come, you couldn't help but feel a little nervous at the prospect of witnessing the birth of a child.

The red mini van picked you up, it was raining outside, you could hear the rain hitting the van from inside. As usual, the handmaids weren't allowed to talk in the vehicle, but you could all feel the excitement filling the air.

You were the last handmaids to arrive at the house, and Aunt Olga greeted you with a large grin on her face. She made you all walk in single file along the long corridor leading you to Ofdaniel. You spotted the wives on your way there, all dressed in their regular blue dresses, crowded around Ofdaniel's Commander's wife, who was on the floor, acting as though she was having contractions. Childbirth, like the Ceremony, had a strict protocol to follow, one of which was that the wife must act as if she is in labor herself, allegedly to strengthen the bond between the future mother and the baby.

When you entered the master bedroom, Ofdaniel was panting and her contractions were getting harder and stronger, and the image of the wives soon faded from your mind. The majority of the handmaids had already gathered around her, doing the breathing exercise with her, you joined them. When it was time to push, all the handmaids assisted Ofdaniel to sit in the wooden birthing chair, 'breath in, breath out'. 'Breath in, breath out', the wives entered and helped the Commander's wife to sit on the chair too, right behind Ofdaniel, you didn't even laid an eyes on them, you were sorely focused on Ofdaniel. She was amazing, breathing at the right times, pushing like they taught you at the Red Center.

There were so many people in the room, but still, you thought Ofdaniel was the epitome of dignity, you were awestruck by her strength. Meanwhile, the Commander's wife was also letting out small whimpers, acting as she was pushing along with Ofdaniel. As Aunt Olga announced that the baby's head was out, you patted Ofdaniel's back, 'breath in, breath out,' and the baby was eventually out after a few pushes. Silence fell in the room, when a cry finally escaped the infant's mouth, everyone let out a cry of relief. "There is no greater miracle than the miracle of life." said Aunt Olga with a smile on her face. Ofdaniel was glowing, already putting her arms towards the baby, but Aunt Olga ignored her and gave the baby to the Commander's wife.

One of the handmaid took Ofdaniel's hands so the wives wouldn't notice her previous gesture, you could see that Ofdaniel eyes were glued to her baby, the wives were already leaving the room. You noticed Ofdaniel's face contort in a desperate state, tears streaming down her cheeks, and you knew she was about to explode; you weren't the only one who realised it, and all the handmaids gathered around her and hugged her, preventing the woman from doing anything that would result in her punishment. Her muffled cries could be heard, and silent tears welled up in your eyes as well.

Most of the other handmaids had left, the other that stayed were helping the Martha of the house with the buffet for the Commanders and the wives. You were still in the master bedroom, Aunt Olga had asked you to stay with Ofdaniel, the older woman was surely with the Commander's wife, examining the baby, it was also part of an Aunt's job after all. You were sitting on the bed, next to you was Ofdaniel, she was laying under the covers, you had helped her get cleaned with Ofgrisha earlier. She was silent, her eyes were wide open, looking at the ceiling above you. You were holding her hand that was resting on her still swollen stomach, "It's funny, y'know", Ofdaniel's voice was so faint that at first you thought you had imagined it. The woman didn't wait for you to ask her what was funny as she continued, "Every month they desperately tried to put a child in me here, in this bedroom, and today they placed me in this bedroom again, but this time, I had to give them back this child..."

You pinched your lips, unsure what to say; although Gilead taught you that your whole life should revolve around having a baby, you had a nagging feeling that if life had been different for you, if Gilead hadn't existed, if they hadn't taken you away from your parents when you were still a teenager, you wouldn't have wanted children. Maybe Gilead simply ruined the idea of motherhood for you, and you were lying to yourself, 'there is no use to think about that, it's not like you would ever be a mother anyway', you thought as you tried to push the mental image of a baby in your arms out of your mind.

Having a baby would entail, like Ofdaniel, having to give it up and immediately go to another 'family' to give them another child. You knew it was your fate, Gilead frequently tested their handmaids, and you knew for a fact that you were very much able to get pregnant. As Aunt Olga would say, that meant you'd never be transferred to the colonies; you'd been blessed. Still, after every Ceremonies, you couldn't help but pray that your Commander was sterile, every month without getting pregnant, were days of semblance of 'freedom'. Not being pregnant, not being under a man's body, not having to take care of another person's child, was the maximum freedom a woman could get in Gilead.

"Ah, my girls!", your thoughts got interrupted as Aunt Olga entered the room, she was beaming! Ofdaniel looked at her with an absent look on her face, you recognized that look, you had worn it before, she had given up. You immediately thought of Levi's words; 'If you continue to shield your mind like this, [...] you'll lose yourself'. You tried to catch her attention by shaking her hand a little, but it was in vain, she didn't acknowledge your gesture. "Oh! Ofdaniel, you did such a good job!" exclaimed the older woman as she sat on the opposite side of the bed, taking Ofdaniel's other hand, "Your Commander is so happy! And his wife too!", Olga was overjoyed, you couldn't help but think she must be even more happy that the parents, you had seen the look on her face when she handed the infant to the wife, there was a tinge of envy, if not outright jealously, beneath her plastered smile. It was not the first time you had seen that look on her face, on your way to the your Commander's house, you also had that thought about the older woman.

"The baby is an healthy little boy, five fingers and five toes on each hand and foot!", said the woman with a laugh, at that statement Ofdaniel's eyes shot up, "C-can I see him?", Aunt Olga sighed, her palm resting on Ofdaniel's cheek, "Oh my dear..." she whispered, "I wish I could say yes for the sake of the baby's health! But the Commander's wife doesn't want you to breastfeed the baby", she said with a disappointed voice. Ofdaniel looked at the ceiling again, a single tear streaming down her cheek, as Olga continued blabbering about how it was a shame that the baby will be fed with formula instead of breast milk. The older woman was known for always saying how much she cared and loved her 'girls', what a lie you thought, right now her only worry was on the infant, not on Ofdaniel.

"I think Ofdaniel needs some rest, Aunt Olga," you finally murmured, interrupting the woman's outpouring, "Oh, you are right Oferwin, how lucky you are Ofdaniel to have such a caring friend beside you!" You cringed at her words; 'lucky' was not the word you had in mind right now. Suddenly Ofdaniel sat up and grabbed Olga's hand, stopping the older woman as she was about to get up, "What's his name?". Olga hesitated a second, studying Ofdaniel's face, "They named him Armin."

You spent the entire day with Ofdaniel, Ofgrisha had come at some point to keep you company, but it was very silent. As the day progressed, Ofdaniel's sadness worsened, and she was forced to return to her chamber. The new parents no longer needed her, therefore she will return to the Red Center tomorrow to rest before being assigned to a new family.

It was late at night and all the other handmaids had left, Aunt Olga had called for Levi to bring you back home, you kissed Ofdaniel's forehead, "I'm sorry" you whispered. You weren't quite sure why you were apologizing, maybe you said sorry because you knew no one would apologize to her; her Commander would never apologize for the Ceremonies, his wife would never apologize for taking her baby away, Aunt Olga would never apologize for not defending her right to see little Armin, Gilead would never apologize.

As you were leaving, you passed by the living room, you caught a glimpse of the baby, he was in a little bassinet, his eyes were closed, but you saw some light almost white hair sticking out of his bonnet. Levi was waiting for you in front of the black Range Rover, he opened the door for you, after making sure you were comfortable, the driver took a seat behind the wheel. You were in the back, you felt tired, all of the emotions of the day took a toll on you. "It's a boy" you suddenly said, you didn't know why you said it, you were sure Levi couldn't care less about the child, but you felt the need to talk. The man didn't react at your words, his eyes were focused on the road, "I think he'll have blond hair, like Ofdaniel", you said, smiling at that thought, neither the Commander nor his wife had blond hair, so the child would at least get something from his mother.

Levi looked at you in the rearview mirror, "Hopefully he won't inherit the Commander's nose", you snorted, he said it with such a nonchalant voice. You continued to tell him how the day went, not forgetting to mention every little detail that you thought were important, like how amazed you were at Ofdaniel's strength or how ridiculous the wife looked when she faked having contractions. Levi didn't speak much, only nodding or giving a witty remark here and there. It was relaxing, it was strangely normal. Normality was such a foreign feeling since you arrived at Gilead, so you embraced the moment.

lovely people: @rapsgoddess​ @a--nonymousse​ @gothiccii @omlbarnes​ @hybrid-huntress​

PART 8

[doctorofmagic]

My thoughts on Stephen and Carol

That was... unexpected, to say the least. Now I have this task to elaborate my feelings and opinions in a way that is paradoxically personal and rational at the same time.

Let’s begin.

Background

Carol and Stephen know each other for a very, very long time. Their first team-up happened in Marvel Team-Up v1 #76 (1978), when Silver Dagger captured Clea (again - and yes, I’ll talk about her later). Both Spider-Man and Ms. Marvel decided to offer a helping hand to Stephen.

Stephen also assisted Carol in a mystic issue, combining their powers in Ms. Marvel v2 #4-5 (2006). It’s from this very run I suspect Kelly Thompson pictured the idea of a relationship between them. Nothing official, but all it takes to assume there’s something else going on is a mere look.

It’s true they were on opposite sides post Civil War, but Carol decided to join the New Avengers later on, which also gives this relationship one more layer.

Lastly, Aaron’s Avengers also featured them on the same team for a while, in addition to the previous Captain Marvel v10 #6-7, in which they swapped bodies and Carol had a taste of Stephen’s pain. We’re also considering Captain Marvel v10 #19 because, at this point, it’s clear that Thompson had plans for them since 2019.

Captain Marvel #27

Since this a blog dedicated to Stephen, it’s hard for me not to look through his perspective. I know the story is about Carol and how she’s struggling to mourn. But you’re all here for him. So this is my very detailed yet not-so-reliable review about their moment together.

....

Stephen is so sweet, wtf.

First, he confesses that he lost a patient on the table, WHICH MEANS that Thompson is following the events of Surgeon Supreme. Honestly? It’s the first comic book to do so. But fine. I can live with that.

Man is not having a good day. In fact, it’s a terrible day, which probably justifies the end. Here we another glimpse that Stephen still can’t deal with loss. Life is so important to him precisely because he has lost so much. In addition, for a moment, he forgets that Carol isn’t supposed to be drinking. So he turns the whiskey into Seltzer. In the meantime, Carol can’t help but relate to him. I know, Carol, I’VE BEEN THERE.

There’s another moment that warmed my heart (in a sense because it’s quite sad when you think about it). Stephen asked Carol if he was bothering her. Do you have any idea how insecure Stephen is? BECAUSE HE IS. He’s always afraid of bothering people and that’s why he isolates himself. That’s why he’s always pushing people away. That’s why he’s so miserable and lonely.

Stephen is the sweetest, I can’t. He doesn’t even know his own favorite color. COME ON, STEPHEN.

I admit, though. They know how to flirt. Stephen is the kind of person who flirts through self-loathing, which is only natural given his mental health. And Carol... Well, she’s a girlboss. It’s perfect. Also he’s sassy. And do I love my sassy boi? Very much.

But here’s another sad thing. Stephen is not seen as a “good addiction”. He’s simply not the worse one. And he’s aware of that. Do you know how I know? I mean, despite all the countless articles I wrote about his self-loathing?

Because of this:

Yet again Stephen is aware that he used someone else to fill his void. And yet again, he was used. I can’t remember the last time Stephen had a healthy relationship. In fact, I can. It was with Linda, the Night Nurse. And that was a loooong time ago. I can’t even begin to comprehend how lonely he feels. And how miserable he feels whenever he fails to create a solid bond. Not only romantic ones, but also platonic relationships and friendships as well. I want him to be happy, it’s not too much. So why am I on the verge of tears?

Fine. I dissected the issue panel by panel, such is my commitment. But how I truly feel about them? Before answering that...

Things to be considered

Hear me out. There’s a very famous forbidden OTP party in Secret Wars: Secret Love #1. I can’t remember the author of the post but here, on this very hellsite, they confirmed some of those OTPs were ships that Marvel would never allow to happen because they’re, well, LGBTQIA ships. Cherik? Yes. Stony? Yes. Kate Bishop and America Chavez? Yes. CarolJess? YES. It’s the closest we’ll ever get to Marvel’s main characters to be queer.

I’m quite open to shipping Stephen with any character. However, I cannot look away when I’ve always rooted for Carol to be an LGBTQIA character. So, much to my surprise, as I was checking the spoilers on the hopes that Jess and Carol would finally have a revelation... STEPHEN HAPPENED. Trust me, Carol stans, this was as much unexpected to me as it was to you.

Truth be told, as a Stephen stan, I get tons of hate, because people mostly know him for his Illuminati era and how patronizing he behaves sometimes. But this is the reason why I made this blog. I want more people to know Stephen as deeply as I do. I know it’s frustrating. But I’m not the enemy. You have no idea how hard I try to find subtle words and clues that Stephen is not straight (because he isn’t, please).

So, after all is said and done... I still think they’re cute. And please, do not hand me down a guilty verdict yet.

I think of Stephen a lot on a daily basis, so it’s only natural to headcanon which heroes he has hooked up with throughout the years. And I swear to Vishanti, Carol crossed my mind a few times. I only figured it would never happen. But it did and now I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. But it’s okay. Because it’s not going to last - and I’ll explain why.

The future

Despite the fact that CarolJess should be a thing™, when it comes to canon, she’s deeply connected to Rhodes. Their relationship is so important to Carol that she sacrificed it out of love. She’s mourning. There’s this feeling of emptiness in her heart, pretty much similar to what Stephen experienced when Clea left him the first time.

They’ve met in a very delicate and frail state of mind and spirit. Some (most?) people do it, as an attempt to fill the void with anything or anyone that resembles affection. They’re aware of that.

That’s why I don’t think it will last. It’s not a relationship born through mutual growth, it’s a relationship born in mourning and sorrow.

You know me, mates. I’d do anything for Stephen’s happiness. But that’s not it. His happiness lies on a powerful sorceress from the Dark Dimension. You know her name. And Carol? Well, if not on Jess because Marvel desires to keep selling comic books to homophobes, then on Rhodes.

It feels just like my hook up list headcanon, only better because there’s angst. And boi, do I love angst?

That said... We have more issues coming, in addition to that beautiful cover for #29. Let’s wait and see. I do think Carol and Stephen share an angsty a beautiful background and that’s why I’d rather have them instead of Elektra. No offense, Elektra and Stephen are HOT. But I believe Carol and Stephen offer deeper layers. And this is why I made such a long post about them and didn’t do the same to Savage Avengers. No matter how hard I try to be rational, when it comes to Stephen, it’s just stronger than me.

PS: forgive me if I missed something, I’m truly exhausted but my mind wouldn’t allow me to rest until I made this post. Thank you for your support.

[the-darklings]

coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective. 

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part. 

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that. 

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing. 

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager. 

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now. 

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash. 

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But. 

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts. 

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed. 

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm. 

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received. 

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy. 

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely. 

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem. 

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself. 

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too. 

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.  

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020. 

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call. 

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind. 

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.  

So I didn’t.  

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest. 

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back. 

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either. 

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that. 

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited. 

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly. 

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you. 

Love,

- Kat.   

[camilieroart]

Testimony of a French person during the pandemic.

I’m the french person. This testimony is featuring my school’s pressure and a lowering mental state.

I have been quarantined at home since March 2020. I have gone out maximum 20 times, always being really careful. For me and others.

I have a constant source of informations on what is going on in France and the world, and this causes a big flow of anxiety. I spent the entire summer vacation in my house, working on my project and being really productive. I didn’t see anyone, didn’t go anywhere. Just me, my parents and our two cats.

My classmates, however, aren’t as worried nor careful as me, and most importantly not as informed or free to act as they wish. So, they have gone out, and been to beaches and seen people, like the government said. Because yes, as soon as the summer vacation started, the French government declared that the virus was gone and that everyone had to go out and pay for stuffs, and spend money, to “keep the economy rolling”. Of course the Covid was still there.

As the start of the school year was closing in and that people in France had been getting sicker and sicker due to the craziness of the summer holiday, we thought that they would cancel, or at least push back the day. But no.

Around that time, I had also lost my uncle and my grand-mother (not due to the coronavirus), and the pressure of staying home this long, and having constant awful news about outside and how there wasn’t a glimpse of hope was having terrible effect to my mental state.

As back to school day arrived, we had made the decision to not send me back, although the government had said it was “mandatory”. However, I have worked hard all my life to get a diploma and go to a good college and have a degree, and I wasn’t giving up yet. So, we lied. Well, not really. We said we had to bury my grandmother and it was true. So I didn’t come the first week. The second, I catched a cold, and couldn’t make it due to the coughing. The third, I had a stomach ache...

My mother hates lying. She loathes it. It was incredibly hard for her to do so. But she did because if I went, I would probably kill my other grandma and maybe kill my parents. And have scars for life. And contaminate strangers.

What about my classmates, you ask ? They all went. I was the only one, of my whole class, to not have gone back. And boy, was I glad I did. I kept talking to my friends, and I heard how the teachers didn’t respect the safety distances nor put the masks correctly. I heard how in the cafeteria they were all sitting at the same table, pressed against eachothers without a mask. At that time, I already had heard horrible things and how poorly it was handled.

One week, as she had one of the CPE (head of the supervisors) on the phone, my mom had the first breakdown I have seen her have in years. She started crying and explained everything. She cried, and argumented and I was so shocked to see her like this. The truth was out ! I didn’t go to school because the safety stuffs the government put in place was bullshit.

We expected me to be kicked out in the following minutes. But, they couldn’t. I had been giving back all the homeworks and assignments I could, showing I wasn’t quitting. So, they couldn’t kick me out for being a quitter, and they couldn’t kick me out for trying to keep myself, my family and them safe. So they didn’t. Instead, they tried to push me into resigning.

At that point, it had been 5 months since I had really gotten out for something else than groceries. I hadn’t seen anyone, friends or even acquaintances for months. The school and news had been horribly stressing me out, and I had my first breakdown. Around a day after, we had a call from the school’s nurse. She asked me if I was okay, how I was doing, if I was sick... And that I should really go back to school. It’s senior year after all. I told her I heard they handled it badly. She called nonsense and stupid rumors, telling me lies that I immediatly understood were lies, selling bullshit and trying to force me to come back. I was very polite, made her understand that I would be trying if the situation got better, and hung up. It took us a minute to understand that she was trying to get evidence of me being kept home against my will and called social services. She didn’t call for my health at all. Thankfully, I handled it very well and we never heard back from her.

Not long after that incident, I heard of something that happened in my school that made me mad beyond understanding. Since the interns at the boarding school were forbidden from going out, the school decided to put a movie for them Wednesday afternoon. They said they asked students about what they would like to see but I highly doubt it. So, that Wednesday afternoon, when my classmates, seniors in highschool, with TONS of homework they had been working on where called in the auditorium for “informations” they had no choice but to go. The informations were given, and they were about to leave to resume working when the CPE and the deputy director stopped them.

They said my classmates HAD to see this movie, it was mandatory. Let me insist on the fact that they were around a hundred, all in a closed space, in the middle of a pandemic. Yes ? Great. So, my friends protested, saying that they had to work and didn’t want to stay. The deputy director started cutting them off to keep repeating some bullshit like “we made that for you” “we listenned and gave you this” “we worked hard on this”, like 5th graders. Until they said “I’m your superior and I order you to stay. Now shut up and take a sit”. My friends were astonished but did as asked. Which was incredibly unsafe and even dangerous (closed space, no safety distances...). And that movie that was “for the students” and “they worked hard on” was a goddamn movie about the Shoah. And I SWEAR TO GOD, there was panic attacks in the room, breakdowns, terrible reactions, and they didn’t give two shit about it.

And a day or so before, the nursed called to say I had to go back because it was “safe and everything was ok”. I was boiling.

After that incident, one of my teachers requested a call with me to talk about the class I had been missing. Very aware of the manipulative state of my school at that time, we were really careful, and a bit worried about it. Turned out it was a call of a genuine teacher that actually wanted to talk about the classes I had been missing and the homeworks I had been giving ! Of course he quickly tried to get convince me to come back, but I handled it well, once again. It was the highlight of my day.

At that point it had been 8 months since I had last been really out.

I had severals other breakdowns, mostly due to the ungodly stress I had been under because of school and news. I had been stressed out for 8 months now, and what had to happen, happened.

I had a burn out.

My mental state was so low I couldn’t even do what I love. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t draw. All I could do was watch shows and movies, or stare at the ceiling for hours. This was incredibly frustrating and scary. I couldn’t do my homeworks, and we feared I might get kicked out.

Then a miracle happened. Which is sad it got to that, but it was one. My teacher got quarantined, and started online classes. I had my first class of the year on November 14th. And I was there ! I answered tons of questions, and it kind of shocked everyone in class to realize I existed and was still trying to follow the classes.

It allowed to get better, and keep a very small following of school.

A week ago I have been able to do my Spanish homework. I am slowly getting better, trying to avoid stress and work as much as I can.

What I haven’t been able to talk about but did happen :

-One of my classmates caught the virus and she realized it a week later. The school said it was useless to quarantine her now and let her go back to class. The first thing she did was take off her mask and lean in everyone she was talking to. -I haven’t got any of my art classes since the beginning of the year. My teachers made the class believe they were giving it to me when they didn’t. I am specialized in art. -One of my classmates have been diagnosticated with depression. We’re 17. Several others have depression tendencies. -The school is trying to ignore us by not responding to anything we send, hoping we’ll resign. The pressure is still there. -We learned recently that many other parents and students had done the same thing and the schools have put pressure on them too. Some threatened the family. We hadn’t hear about it until now because schools are covering it up -Schools are covering numbers even inside. Most teachers doesn’t even know if a kid has Covid or not. If the teachers get sick, they are forced to immediatly go back to school.

This has been written the 22 november of 2020, in France.

Linked to this post

[casey-v]

Trauma

Ethan x Casey

Here’s a one shot of chapter 13. The scene in the on call room didn’t feel like fluff, so this is mostly drama. This time it’s only Casey’s POV because for me it was too difficult to find out what was going on in Ethan’s head.

Disclaimer: characters owned by PB

Words: 2,3K

Casey stared at the door of the on call room that had just been slammed in her face. Hoping Ethan would come back, she just sat there and waited, not really able to capture what had just happened. But, of course, he didn't reappear. So, she left frustrated and wandered through the halls of Edenbrook, deeply immersed in her thoughts.

Why was fate messing with her like this? They had just started a wonderful relationship in which Ethan had finally opened up to her. Since Danny’s funeral, she had spent three nights at his apartment and every second of it was pure bliss. Being alone, outside the hospital, he was so relaxed and happy, it made her heart melt. Sometimes they had a wordless understanding that was amazing. When he was relaxed it was so easy to talk to him about nearly everything and they laughed together endlessly. And of course, they had......mmmmmh…..God, he felt so great.

And now a few minutes with his mother seemed to have ruined everything. That man in the on call room was a stranger to her. No, in fact, it reminded her of the Dr. Ramsey in the days of her early internship, when he was sometimes acting like a jerk and being rude and moody. She had thought that this man was long gone. But unfortunately, the encounter today brought him back and all the walls around him were back up again.

 Her feet had brought her to a certain office door. She didn’t know that this was, what she needed, until she was there. She hesitated and knocked. “Come in,” a friendly voice was heard from inside the office. When Casey opened the door, she saw Naveen’s face brighten up. Instantly she felt a little better. There was just something about him, that lifted your spirits. He was always good humored and positive, even last year, on his supposed deathbed. Ever since, they had a special bond and although they didn’t meet a lot, they were very fond of each other.

“Casey! So, rumors are true. You didn’t stay at home like I told you. But it’s good to see you.” He came over and hugged her.

“Good to see you too, Naveen. My landlord needed medical help this morning, so I brought him here and then I just stayed. It’s so boring at home and I like to keep myself distracted.” She smiled at him, trying to hide her current state. But he knew her to well.

“Well, if I may say it, you don’t look too good. Are you sure, this isn’t too soon?” He took her gently by her arm and led her to the couch to sit down. “Oh, it’s not work that is bothering me right now” She couldn’t keep her eyes from getting wet. Naveen sighed and rolled his eyes. “What has he done now?”

Through her tears she laughed. “Why do you think this is about Ethan?” Naveen had a sparkle in his eyes. “I know you and, most importantly, I know him, so this was easy to figure out. What happened?”

Casey’s expression darkened. “How much has he told you about his family background?” “A lot, I guess. Are you referring to his mom leaving?” She nodded and just spilled the whole story.

“She’s here. Came in this morning as a patient, unconscious on an opioid overdose. Ethan and I were in the ER at that moment. He was shocked. We gave her naloxone, then he just said something like ‘Nurse, take care of her’ and ran off. I found him later in an on call room, yelling angrily. He wouldn’t let me talk to him, just slammed the door in my face and left.” Naveen had listened closely, his gaze concerned. “I’m so sorry, Casey. I know he can be difficult at times. Ethan has this anger buried deep down inside of him, ever since his mother left him. Growing up with his father he never learnt to express his feelings or even worse, he never allowed himself feelings. He thinks he needs to be tough all the time. And then, when all those bad memories come rolling over him, he can’t deal with it.”

Casey thought a long moment about these words. Of course, it was perfectly clear, that Ethan had trouble talking about his feelings. But the last days had proven that he damn well was able to show his affection for her. “The thing is: Since my night in isolation a lot has changed between us.”

Casey blushed and didn’t dare to say more, but Naveen smiled and put his warm hand on hers. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me anything. Even if I’m chief of medicine I’m also your friend and you know that I always wanted to see the two of you together. Ethan has changed so much since you came here and I’m really happy for you. He almost lost his mind that night of the assault.”

“It was terrible for all of us, but for what it’s worth it also brought us even closer together. Despite all the aftermath of the attack the past days have been great. Today though, it feels that all of this has vanished.”

“It’s a lot to ask from you in your current condition, Casey, but he needs you right now. He probably hasn’t said it yet, but I can see that he loves you with all his heart. Please don’t give up on him.” Naveen squeezed Casey’s hand tightly.

“I won’t, I couldn’t. But the question is: will he let me help him?””

***

Later Casey went to check on Louise. She was stable but not yet in a good condition. Talking to her felt odd, so she kept the conversation short. “Mrs. Ramsey, do you want me to call anybody?” It took Louise some time to answer. “I suppose you could call my ex-husband, Alan Ramsey. He lives in Providence, though.” “Sure, I’ll try to reach him. Ahm, a psychologist will stop by later. And if there is anything else you need, just tell the nurses.”

***

The rest of the day Casey tried to avoid meeting Ethan, but talking to Naveen had given her confidence, that everything would work out for the best. She didn’t want to confront the attending during working hours, so she planned to talk to him at night. The more she thought about it, the more she realized, that she may have overreacted after his outburst and that he probably would be much better by now anyway. How wrong she was became obvious the moment she stepped out of the elevator and saw Ethan and Alan standing in the hallway, involved in a heated discussion. “That’s all there is to say, dad. And now I have work to do.” Ethan’s face was red with rage. As he turned around to enter his office, he directly looked at Casey. “Dr. Valentine, in my office now.”

At first Casey was too shocked to move. Alan took some steps backwards, deeply embarrassed by his son’s behavior. “Hello Mr. Ramsey,” was all Casey could muster before she followed Ethan.

 The door wasn’t even closed behind her when he was at her. “How dare you call my dad!”

“Excuse me! How dare you talk to me like this. This has nothing to do with you. Louise asked me to call him and that’s what I did. That’s how we take care of our patients. You taught me, that every patient is worth any treatment. How can you deny her visitors?” Ethan was silenced for a moment and rubbed his neck. He seemed to calm down a little. “You could have asked me to call him or at least warn me.” In contrast to him, Casey was just getting heated up. “Really? After your outburst this morning? You said, you had more important patients and didn’t want to deal with her. Get a grip, Ethan, you’re being totally unreasonable. You say she’s nothing but a stranger to you, but never on earth would a stranger affect you the way she does. You tell me not to run away from my PTSD while you've been carrying around your own trauma for 26 years. This has to stop now!”

Ethan was pacing up and down, yelling back at her. “Don’t you think I know that. Do you think I like what she’s doing to me? But I will never forgive that she left, just like that, without a word, not caring about me anymore.”

Casey inhaled deeply to get her voice under control. “You don’t have to forgive her; you just have to understand what happened. Now is the chance for closure. Talk to her. Not for her sake but for your own. Hear her story. You need to hear the reason for her leaving. It's not your fault that she left and probably also not your father’s fault either. Maybe she already had mental health problems back then, who knows. Everybody is a victim here. Maybe she just couldn't stand herself, couldn’t handle her life. That doesn't mean that she didn't love you. If you don't talk to her now, you'll maybe never get another chance.”

Ethan was sitting on the couch now, his face in his hands and mumbled. “Ok, I’ll think about it.” Then he glanced back at Casey, forcing a smile. “Do you want me to cook dinner tonight?”

She shook her head frustrated, her arms dangling loose by her sides. “That`s it? You just change the subject? I don’t believe it. No, I don’t want to be with you tonight. This day has been exhausting enough, I need to relax, watch a senseless movie, go to bed early, whatever.” She turned around and opened the door to leave when she heard his tight voice. “Only tonight?”

As she glimpsed back at him over her shoulder, she felt so sorry for him how he sat there, slumped down, observing her insecurely. In the past they had argued a lot about work related issues and she always stood her ground, but so far, she had never stood up for herself when it came to their personal relationship. Being patient and accepting his wishes was all she had ever done. But for once, she knew, she had to put herself first, although the urge to take him in her arms was almost unbearable.

“For someone so intelligent you can be so stupid sometimes. Of course, only tonight. Do you really think I’ve been waiting all this time only to run away after the first argument? I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, because the problem is, I love you, however bad you treat me. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You're not the only one who is able to slam some doors. “

With that she turned and slammed the door as predicted. She knew this was a bit ridiculous, but it felt really good. Only then did she realize what she had just said to him. Her hand flew over her mouth. That's not at all how she imagined saying those three words for the first time. She lingered a while in front of his door, unsure what to do, before she went home.

***

Instead of watching a movie Casey ended up playing video games with Elijah. Killing dark creatures helped her let off some steam and she enjoyed spending time with Elijah. They had just freed themselves out of a dungeon when her phone rang. There was only one person who would call her at that hour.

“Sorry Elijah, I have to take this.” She grabbed her phone and went into her room.

“Hey!” – “Casey!?” Ethan’s desperate voice made her cringe. “Can I come up?” – “Where are you?” – “Right outside.” A few seconds there was silence. Casey had told him, that she wanted to be alone, but it meant so much to her, that he came to her.

“What do you want?”

“To be with you.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Ok, I’ll open the door for you.”

As he entered the apartment, she quickly pulled him past the grinning Elijah into her room and immediately found herself tightly wrapped in Ethan’s embrace. She smelled a mixture of his cologne and scotch. They clung to each other as if they had to shield themselves against a heavy storm. Casey felt his tears running down her neck. Soothingly her hand travelled up and down his spine. An eternity later he loosened his grip and touched her forehead with his.

“I’m so sorry, Casey. What kind of asshole pushes away the one person, that is always there no matter what?”

She lifted her hand and touched his cheek very softly. “Come on, let’s just go to bed.” Quietly they got undressed and crawled into the covers, her back against his chest, arms wrapped, fingers laced. Words weren’t necessary right now, the only thing they needed was to feel the presence of the other one.

As Casey was half asleep already, she felt Ethan’s whisper against her ear. “If I …, I don’t know yet, but just in case, …I mean …if I talk to her, would you come with me?”

“Is this a rhetorical question or are you really unsure of my answer?” She turned to look at him, their noses almost touching, and waited. He seemed to weigh his answer before he spoke again. “You know I’d hate to presume anything.”

Casey moved closer to put a sweet kiss on his lips. Then she sent him a warm smile and lost herself in his blue eyes, only lit by the moonlight. 

“Regarding me and you, Ethan, you always can presume.”

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

Thanks for reading. Please comment and share if you liked it.

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[cannibalisticapple]

Okay, so I have some thoughts on Kurikuri’s decision to delete a large number of her fan fics, and on fan fiction as a whole.

For those who don’t know, Kurikuri (@letaizawarest) is a popular fan fiction author with numerous popular Erasermic fics, along with other fandoms. Around the end of May/start of June she deleted a large number of her stories, specifically those that featured either police, or those set in the My Hero Academia universe where they work as Pro Heroes.

To quote her post:

as you may have noticed, roughly half of the fics on my ao3 have been deleted.

i’ve deleted all my fics about police officers. also, after some thought, i also deleted my non-AU bnha fics, because although they might not be “cops” in name, they are law enforcement. i do not want to be a part of the system that glorifies the police. 


at the moment i haven’t deleted other profession AUs and high school era fics, but i will continue to reflect on their relation to the source material. even if you enjoyed the deleted fics, please do not circulate them in other formats (PDFs, EPUBs, etc). 


i also encourage other writers to think about cop fic they’ve written. while it may be fun and escapist for you, it still encourages the idea that antiblack and killer cops are just “bad apples” and that good cops exist. let’s dismantle that system of thought.

I have some very, very mixed feelings on this.

To start: I respect her reasoning, but I don’t agree with it. I fully agree that it’s not just a bunch of “bad apples”, there’s a serious issue with the system and how the police operate in the United States. I’ve always been bothered by how the police let other officers get away with horrible BS, even as a kid, and that rage has only grown as I’ve grown older and found out more about how screwed up it is on every single level.

But the way that last paragraph is written rubs me the wrong way because you can’t paint every single person in an entire career field as unequivocally corrupt, bigoted and all around callous murderers. Good cops DO exist. Plenty of people go into the career hoping to fix things, or just genuinely want to help their community in whatever way they can. But the thing is, they’re fighting a losing battle because the system is working against them. When they DO speak up against the corruption, bigotry, violence and other issues, they tend to get fired and blacklisted from the field. Or sometimes, they get outright murdered and it’s treated as a “suicide.”

A shitty fact of life: sometimes, the people who are more willing to resort to underhanded tactics and willing to turn a blind eye to corruption are the ones who climb up the career ladder furthest. And in the case of the police, it’s deep-rooted enough that it can’t be fixed internally anymore. But that doesn’t make literally every police officer corrupt.

I’m not posting this to make some political point or argument though. I obviously disagree with Kurikuri’s opinion, but I respect it. I can even respect her decision to remove the stories featuring the police, or even the ones heavily focusing on the characters’ jobs as pro heroes. I can see how heroes are just another version of law enforcement, because honestly, they are.

As a writer and a reader, I fully respect that it’s ultimately her choice to delete her stories. It’s not my place to make demands. She’s the one who created it, and as a writer I know the hard work and time that goes into crafting stories, so I believe she has a right in how it’s used and shared. The fact she shared it in the first place was something she didn’t have to do.

But the thing is, she DID share it, which is why I have this conflict.

As a writer, I’ve always believed that fiction can be more powerful than fact.

Fiction can give readers a window into mindsets you’d never imagine before, because you can connect more easily with fictional characters than real people on the news. That’s why Uncle Tom’s Cabin was so critical in the battle against slavery: it didn’t just gave a face to slavery, it let readers experience the characters’ lives directly. People got to see the struggles and suffering firsthand, feel the rising crescendo of hope each time freedom is in reach, and the soul-crushing despair every time that hope gets dashed by outside forces.

Fiction may not always be “true” or even “accurate,” but it can help us understand other people, see them as fellow humans, in ways that nonfiction just can’t. It can evoke emotions, empathy and familiarity in a reader that a news story or biography can’t capture because it draws you directly into their world.

And it’s that part—the part where readers enter this fictional world to connect to characters they’ll never meet—that leads to the other power of fiction that many people overlook:

Fiction has the ability to help readers persevere.

How many people reading this have used books to get away from trouble in their lives? To take a breather from all their anxieties and stress, and dive head-first into this other world for just a moment, where nothing else matters? How many people reading this had their whole lives changed by reading a story where a character’s words resonated with them? Where it helped them come to an epiphany about how to do better, how to be better.

Sometimes, the world is too overwhelming and we need to escape it. That’s the beauty of fiction. It lets us go to a world where our problems just don’t matter. Even if the world in question is worse than our own, it can still be a relief and give us hope because hey, at least we’re not living in 1984 or the Hunger Games, right? Stories are what keeps many people going through the hardest time, what gives them hope that life isn’t utterly hopeless.

And even after a story is finished, whether it’s fan fiction, a book, a show, or any other medium, that story will have a special place in people’s hearts. Many people will go back to those stories years later when they’re faced with immense stress and need a break from the real world, so that they can dive into the world that helped them persevere the last time they felt so bad. Just having a copy of it on hand can be a source of comfort even if you never read it again.

I want to highlight one phrase Kurikuri used in her post to describe how people feel writing stories about police and heroes: "fun and escapist”. That’s honestly so accurate, those stories are escapist, and that is why I’m so conflicted.

Stories about superheroes, while technically revolving around themes of law enforcement, are a form of escapism FROM police corruption.

There’s a reason that superhero comics are so popular in America. Superheroes appeal to a natural desire for justice because as so aptly pointed out, the real world doesn’t always HAVE that justice. It gives an ideal for people to aspire to, a glimpse of what could be, what should be. (Come to think of it, that’s probably why I hate the DC cinematic universe so much, it’s skewed way too much to favor the villains/antagonists and maximize suffering for the good guys.)

Right now, the world is full of more injustice than ever before. I can’t turn on the news without feeling my rage and stress boil over. Every day it gets worse and worse somehow, and I (and many others) genuinely fear that the United States may be heading towards a civil war this November. Donald Trump’s voice alone is enough to make my blood boil at this point.

I, and many others, turn to fan fiction so I can break away from reality because that amount of rage and fear just isn’t healthy.

I don’t have depression, or anxiety, or an abusive family, or a chronic illness. I’m not at risk of being made homeless anytime soon, nor do I need to worry about bills right now or going hungry. I’m a privileged white girl who has barely anything to worry about. What I’m saying is I’m fucking lucky and I know it, but I STILL can’t stand thinking about the state of the world and need to get the fuck away from it to take a breather for my own mental health.

And I also know that many people don’t have that option because their situation is so bad, they NEED to be aware of it at all times.

In the past when writing for other fandoms, I’ve had people tell me my fan fiction was the reason they did not commit suicide.

In my early college years I fell into the creepypasta community and was pretty active in it, especially on deviantArt. I don’t know if that particular fandom’s subject and focus makes it more appealing to teenagers going through rough times or what, but I swear, more than half the people I spoke to suffered from some form of mental illness, abusive or broken family and home situations, bullying, and every other way the world can screw someone over through means beyond their control.

During that time, a few readers left comments that waiting for my stories to update were what kept them going. They didn’t explicitly say that it was the only reason they didn’t kill themselves. It was more just remarks like, “Your writing is the only thing keeping me going.”

I’m not vain enough to believe my stories are so good, it made people decide to continue living JUST to see what happens next. Suicidal thoughts and urges are much more complex than that. But it’s still not something you expect to hear on something you write for fun.

I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it probably wasn’t because my stories were "just that good.” I think it was because they needed something to cling to in bleak times. That sometimes at the lowest point where all seems lost, people need just one little thought, just the smallest thing to push away those dark urges before they could fully overwhelm them. Something like, “If I die now, I won’t get to see how that story ends.” It’s such a small thing, but having something to look forward to can be so powerful in fighting off impulsive decisions.

It’s made me hyper-aware of just how powerful writing is.

To me, I see writing as a way of helping others. I give people that option for escape. It’s a large part of why I update on a regular, weekly schedule, and why I published extra chapters when the pandemic got announced and when the riots started. People need that comfort, that little break from reality to just sit and breathe so they can get through the rest of the day. I can’t do much to fix the world, but I can at least give people that.

Right now, people need that escape more than ever.

And deleting the stories is taking that escape away and causing MORE stress.

In times like this, people often turn to the stories they know will help most, and plenty of people in fandoms will first search up their favorite ships. They look for fluff, smut, angst... It helps people feel better to focus on these two people who are obviously in love as they work through their troubles.

Many times, readers will be more drawn to stories in the canon universe than radical AUs set in other universes. That’s how they were introduced to those characters. I myself can enjoy no-power and fantasy AUs sometimes, but what I really crave are how they interact in the canon world because that’s the world and versions of them I want to see the most. By deleting EVERY SINGLE STORY IN THE CANON UNIVERSE, that option was removed.

In many of the stories that were deleted, the characters’ careers were honestly a minor facet of the story. Some used it to establish the setting, such as treating injuries after a patrol. Some just simply used it to explain they work at UA, a school for teaching kids with superpowers. Some just had them work as heroes because it’s set in the canon universe, and never directly show ANTTHING about the work.

I’m not always looking for a story about how being a hero shapes and impacts their lives, and most of those stories that got deleted AREN’T about being a hero. That’s just one piece of their character, it’s far from the focal point. It could honestly be removed from several of them without changing the rest of the story.

I can get wanting to make a political point and I respect that, but by deleting those stories, you’ve taken away a key source of comfort from hundreds, thousands of people. By deleting the stories, you’re making the stress worse.

On Saturday night, I realized several of my favorite stories are suddenly gone. I knew Kurikuri had deleted a bunch of her stories, but I hadn’t realized just how many of them I liked. Some of them I’ve specifically sought out to reread multiple times in the past, never really paying attention to the author. Realizing they’re just gone caused me heavy stress because it made me paranoid about all these other stories I like to reread. I don’t expect those stories to be around forever, but I still didn’t expect them to vanish so suddenly. I never thought I’d need to download them to make sure I’d still be able to read them while the site is still up.

I spent hours searching out specific stories to see if they were written by her, and make sure they’re not gone forever. I have no way of knowing which ones she’d written and deleted because there’s not exactly a list out there anymore. My desperate search for those stories and one in particular (which I still haven’t found) contributed to the lack of sleep I got that night.

And I need to reiterate: I am mentally healthy and have no major stresses in my immediate life. And that’s why I’m hyper-aware of how this stress will affect people who AREN’T as lucky as I am.

If an author decides to delete their stories because they feel the stories themselves push harmful values or themes, fine. If they’re getting harassed, or it reminds them of a bad time in the lives, or they just don’t like that story anymore, okay. I can respect that and accept it.

But these stories were deleted for the EXACT reasons that people will be looking for them now more than ever, and that’s where I draw the line.

This applies to ALL fandoms.

If you as a fan fiction writer have more than, say, 100 kudos on a completed story or one-shot, there’s a good chance people will read and reread your story in stressful times. If you have a reasonably popular story that updates on a regular or even semi-regular basis, there is a chance that someone is using it as a lifeline to have something to look forward to while the rest of their lives go to hell. Maybe not because they specifically love it, but because it gives them something routine.

I want to make it clear that it’s not our job to care for other people’s mental health. Fan fiction writers don’t have an obligation to people, we’re doing it for fun first and foremost. We’re not some sort of saviors, and we shouldn’t think of ourselves that way or we can honestly screw people up worse. We’re not obligated to write these stories JUST for our fans.

At most, our stories are sources of support and comfort for readers. A little break from reality. If writing a story is causing you more stress than enjoyment, stop. Fan fiction, and all other fan media and stories in general, is ultimately created for the creator’s enjoyment more than anything.

Your own mental health comes first. Don’t set yourself on fire to keep other people warm.

But with how utterly fucked and unfair the world is right now, people need those stories now more than ever. So if you’ve got a story out there that’s fairly popular, please, please, PLEASE be mindful of your readers before deciding to delete it. Now is the absolute last time people need more stress trying to find a single story. And if you’re going to delete it, maybe give readers a heads up so that those who need it or have some powerful attachment to it for all the reasons I’ve discussed here can download a copy for their own personal use.

Don’t hurt your readers to make a point.

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 1

serial killer!han jisung au

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

genre: angst, thriller, romance

pairing: han jisung ( stray kids) x reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: mild language, mature themes + violence

description: when your best friend Felix sets you up on a blind date with adorable medical student Han Jisung, you find yourself falling for his sweet words and dark eyes, and the even darker secrets he hides behind his charming, angelic smile.

watch the trailer here!

1 | blind date

You were beginning to wonder if you’d been stood up.

Mia’s Diner was usually busy, bustling with students and townspeople alike, but today it was nearly deserted: just you, two students studying in a booth across the room, and an old man reading what seemed to be a newspaper upside-down in the corner. A lone waitress was stacking clean milkshake glasses behind the counter.

It was raining hard outside, the drops sounding like impatient fingers tapping at the window beside you. As you peered through the glass, you caught a glimpse of a boy on a rusty bike, waiting to cross the street. Yang Jeongin, you recognized -- the delivery boy. A silver Walkman was tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, his lips mouthing the words to a song, a halo of dripping blonde hair sticking out from underneath his hood. He was smiling, despite the fact that it was pouring buckets, and he’d likely been up doing deliveries since 6 in the morning. Yang Jeongin was always smiling.

The light flashed red, traffic halted, and the delivery boy sped away. 

Turning your attention back to the empty seat in front of you, you sighed.

Your date was thirty minutes late.

Your mind was running over all the ways you were going to give Felix hell when you saw him in class tomorrow; how you were going to explain to him that you’d been stood up on the blind date he’d arranged for you. 

“You know what they call me? The Matchmaker of Miroh Heights. Has a nice ring to it, huh?”

You’d groaned as your best friend wiggled his eyebrows. Felix loved playing wingman. As the school photographer and a talented journalism major, he was the one who came up with the “Cutest Couples” section in the campus newspaper -- photoshoots and candid shots of pairings, most of which he’d set up. Still, you’d never thought that his...work...would extend to you.

It had been a while since you’d entertained the notion of love. You’d had your fair share of unrequited crushes and relationships that had not-so-pleasant endings, so the moment you’d enrolled into college and the workload had swept up your entire schedule, you’d left love on the backburner. You kept telling yourself that the right person would come at the right time -- but Felix seemed to have other ideas.

“Let’s see...Hyojong? Ah, no, I forgot -- he’s taken by that pretty senior. Lucky bastard.” He huffed. “Or...Seungcheol? Nah, doesn’t seem your type. Ah!” He snapped his fingers, making you jump. “I know!”

“Felix, for the last damn time -- I don’t need a boyfriend right now.”

“Just one date? Please?” The blond boy hung up the last photo, a mischievous glint in his eyes visible even in the dark room. “I know a great guy -- health sciences major and everything. You two are practically made for each other.”

“I’m a psychology major, ‘Lix. I don’t know -- you know I’m no good at blind dates--” you caught sight of his puppy-dog expression, and sighed in defeat. “Fine! Fine. What’s his name, then?”

The school journalist flashed an impish grin. “Han Jisung.”

Han Jisung.

He was the reason why you were here, sat in a near-empty diner on a rainy Sunday afternoon, waiting for a date to show up while a pile of psychology coursework waited for you back at home. 

Maybe he couldn’t make it, you told yourself -- it was pouring buckets outside. Maybe it was better to swallow your hopes and head back. Biting your lip, you pulled out your phone, tapping on Jisung’s contact (courtesy of Felix) and typing. 

New Message

Hey, I’m y/n! I’m really sorry, but I had to leave.

Your finger hovered over the Send button, hesitating. What if he was on his way? Or got caught in traffic? Still, it had been over thirty minutes…

You were so caught up in your dilemma that you barely registered the sound of the diner door swinging open, and the sound of wet footsteps squeaking until they stopped at your booth.

“Hello!”

You nearly threw your phone into the face of the boy who had spoken, his hand shooting out to catch it before it fell to the floor. Drenched from head to toe from the rain -- cheeks flushed and breathing hard as if he’d been running, dark hair falling in his wide eyes, lips spread in a breathless smile -- was your date. 

His other hand was hidden behind his back as he handed your phone back to you, cool fingers grazing yours as your eyes met. 

Well, shit.

He was absolutely, devastatingly, adorable.

“O-oh, hi!” You stammered. “You’re…”

“Jisung,” he finished for you. “Han Jisung.” He glanced at the empty seat in front of you. “May I…”

“Yeah, of course!” Your heart rate was steadily increasing, and you wanted to slap yourself. It’s just a blind date, y/n, stop getting your hopes up--

Your gaze fell on the hand he was still hiding behind his back as he slid into the booth. Noticing your stare, Jisung slowly and sheepishly pulled out a small bouquet of roses.They were an unusual colour -- a faint, peachy pink rather than the conventional ruby red. 

They were also falling apart, clusters of wrinkled petals dripping and blown askew from the wind and rain, no doubt. 

“They’re for you. I mean, I completely understand if you don’t want them, it’s just--I passed a florist’s on the way here, but it started raining, and--”

“I love them,” you blurted, and, seeing Jisung raise an eyebrow, you giggled. “I really do.” 

You gingerly took the misshapen bouquet from his hands, bringing the flowers to your face and breathing in softly. They smelled pleasantly of petrichor, and something else faint yet sweet.

Jisung watched you, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re -- really pretty.”

You felt the blood rush to your face, your tongue tying into knots and betraying you oncemore. “O-oh,” you squeaked, “th-thank you?”

He chuckled as the waitress came to take your orders for drinks and food.

As she left, Jisung’s gaze wandered around the vintage movie posters, records, and other retro paraphernalia that decorated the diner’s interior. “This place is something else.” 

“Right? Every time I come here, I think I’ve stepped into a movie. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Dirty Dancing--” you blushed. “Sorry. I probably sound like a nerd.” 

Jisung turned back to you. “Don’t apologize. What’s your favourite kind of movie? Rom-coms?”

“Psychological thrillers, actually,” you admitted shyly. Good gosh, that intense stare in Han Jisung’s eyes was making your heart do somersaults in your chest. “But romcoms are not far behind.”

He hummed in approval, an odd glint in his eyes. “So you’re into psychology?”

“Well, I’m majoring in psychology, so I kind of have to be -- although it’s been pretty hard on me as of late.” You sighed, suddenly remembering the mountain of final assignments weighing on your shoulders.

Jisung leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hands. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just--my final project.They’re testing our ability to communicate with and analyze a patient,” you explained. “Kind of like a therapist simulation. We’re supposed to find someone and, like, apply psychological concepts by giving them mock counselling over the course of a few months. And by the end of it, we have to write a conclusive report on their mental state. I can’t find anyone who’s willing to be my patient, which honestly makes sense -- it’s such an invasive topic.”

Jisung was silent for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable. Finally, he sat up a little straighter, cocking his head to the side. “I could be your patient.”

You blinked, mouth falling open. “Wha--are you sure? I mean, you really don’t have to--and it might take up a lot of your time--”

“I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you,” he replied, eyes glinting, and your heart skipped a beat. 

“R-really?” You could already feel an incredulous, relieved smile spreading on your blushing face.

Jisung chuckled. “Just to see you smile like that, trust me -- I’d do anything.”

You were infinitely grateful that at that moment, the waitress arrived with your food. You weren’t sure your face could get any redder. You knew you were a hopeless romantic at heart, and had told yourself time and time again not to be swayed by sweet talk, but this was...different. There was something genuinely sweet in Jisung’s words -- he said them so honestly, with an almost childlike simplicity. 

You sipped your drink in a feeble attempt to regain composure. “My turn to ask the questions. What’s your favourite food?”

“Cheesecake,” Jisung replied instinctively. You watched him bite into his burger and giggled at the way his round eyes widened even more before he practically inhaled the rest.

“Favourite season?”

“Winter.”

“Least favourite colour?”

Jisung froze, a weighted silence falling over the table. He swallowed, hard, before replying quietly, “Red.”

When you peered at his face, you felt an icy chill trickle down your spine. His warm brown eyes had darkened and grown impossibly wide, and the colour had drained from his cheeks. Had you said something wrong? You looked down at your clothes -- a soft, oversized beige cardigan and light blue jeans.

“W-well, it’s a good thing I’m not wearing red, then, huh?”

“No.” Jisung shook his head slowly, and his shaky gaze met yours. You felt your mouth go dry at how lost his eyes seemed -- bottomless pools of pitch black. “No, I’m sure you would still look pretty in red.”

As if on cue, your cheeks turned a bright cherry hue.

Deciding to change the topic, you cleared your throat. “What about dogs? Do you like dogs?”

Almost as quickly as it had come, the dark look vanished from his face. “I love dogs!”

By the time the waitress brought the bill, Jisung had you in stitches over a joke he’d made, and you’d long forgotten about the whole ordeal.

The rain had stopped when you two stepped outside. Behind the knitted clouds, the sun was setting, its rays of light seeping through the stormy sky like veins in marble. Jisung’s features were painted a soft gold, warm eyes sparkling as he turned around to face you. His hair was a strange colour, you noted -- under the dim lights of the diner, it had appeared a light brown, but now that you were in the sunlight, it looked more blond. It had also been dripping wet, soaked from sweat or rain or both after running all the way to you, but it had dried off now, the ends curling in his eyes.

Maybe you’d had one dose of sugar too many in your drink, because you suddenly found yourself wanting to touch it. So you did just that, fingers reaching for the soft, fluffy golden locks and ruffling them playfully. Jisung’s eyes held yours the entire time, his gaze questioning. 

You huffed. “You’re cute, okay?”

He broke into a smile that made your heart flutter. “Okay.” 

Cheeks blazing at your own sudden boldness, you quickly pulled your hand away, fingers lightly grazing the side of his cheek before you stepped back. “I--I’m gonna get going now. Thanks for a great time!”

“Of course. See you next time?” Jisung winked, handing you the bouquet of peach roses.

“S-see you!” With that, you turned and practically ran across the street, heart still threatening to leap out of your chest as you fought the butterflies in your stomach and the smile sneaking onto your face.

Behind you, Jisung’s face darkened, smile slipping from his lips as you disappeared from his sight.

[datenightfright]

Hey, I hope this is ok, and you can totally turn it down if you'd prefer not to write it, I'll completely understand, but could you do slashers reacting to their s/o needing to check in to a mental hospital? I'm going to be going to one in a few days and I'm really nervous, and I'm hoping for some slasher comfort ^^

As someone who’s been institutionalized, stay strong my friend. Let me know when you get back, ok? If you want any other slashers let me know. 

*

Michael Myers: He’s worried. As a ward of the state, deemed purely evil by his psychiatrist, he’s spent his entire life in the mental hospital. It’s awful there. He tries his best to convince you not to go, but in the end, he knows you’ll leave, and he knows you should be better once you get out. He’ll worry the entire time you’re there, but he’ll be there for you when you get back. More affectionate than ever. 

Thomas Hewitt: He doesn’t understand why you’re going, but it the why doesn’t much matter to him. He’ll support you as best he can. He’ll be there every day for visiting hours, with little gifts from home. Mostly sweets. He’ll hug and cuddle you for as long as you need, kidding you for all you’re worth. And when you get back home to him, he’ll give you a big welcome home party. 

Bubba Sawyer: Bubba doesn’t understand a damn thing about what’s going on, he just sense your nerves. He tells himself to be strong for you, and he manages to do so. He won’t let you see him shed a single tear in the days leading up to your hospitalization. He even manages to keep himself together on the big day. He knows you’ll come back to him, and he’ll be waiting for you on the other side. 

Jason Voorhees: Jason is another slasher that doesn’t understand what’s happening, but if it’s going to happen, then who is he to stop it? He can’t visit you like some of the others can, but he’ll leave Crystal Lake to follow you to the hospital. From your window you catch glimpses of his hockey masked face, and that always makes you feel a little better. 

Brahms Heelshire: Brahms tries his best to convince you not to go. You don’t need to go, you have him, you can’t leave him. When he finally understands that it’s for your health, he stops trying to convince you and starts being supportive. You’ll come back to him right? This isn’t a trick? He makes sure to make your last day with him as fun as possible. 

Hannibal Lecter: Hannibal understands why you need to go, of course, he peaked at all your records. He’ll explain to you that the doctors are only there to try and help, and to try and keep strong on the inside. He’s there for every visiting hours, and actually manages to pull some strings for you, and gets to see you for longer periods of time. He’s there with a small party for you when you get back. 

[allthebest20]

Butter Honey Pig Bread by Francesca Ekwuyasi

8/10.  A joy to read and a great debut novel. I think the author has even better work ahead of her.  The characters are complex and unique, and the book explores modernity, pain, and generational spirituality in a very readable style.  I couldn’t help but make assumptions about the author as I read the book: definitely Nigerian, definitely a cook, definitely spent time in London and Canada, definitely queer, definitely raised in the Church, but also definitely spiritual.  The authenticity with which she writes, especially in regards to being queer in the modern world and the cultures of different places, is what makes this book great.  The story dances between the gruesome details of reality in the twenty-first century and romanticized views of youth and love. It raises a lot of questions in me about the international class system, wealth, and privilege.  

The only real complaint that I have is around one of the main plot points: the rape of Kehinde when she is 12.  While this is a turning point in all their lives, I feel as though it is also simultaneously underappreciated, as if the author choose this event simply because it was one of the worst things she could think of.  I think this is a common pit fall for authors.  A lot of traumatic things happen to this family: Kambi, the mother, is very mental ill, Banji, the twin’s beloved father, is murdered, Taiye, the queer twin, struggles with her own mental health.  Yet, the rape is regarded as the primary Bad Thing and all the other traumatic events are hardly discussed.  I appreciate how the author takes some time, maybe 1 chapter, to discuss Kehinde’s relationship to sex and her body.  Yet, Kehinde’s life seems to be mostly unaffected by this event, except in the way she punishes her family with her silence.  She is in a healthy relationship.  She does not abuse alcohol or drugs.  She has a successful career.  Ultimately, it’s not a book about overcoming childhood sexual abuse.  It’s a book about mending a family after years of pain, resentment, distance, and silence.  I almost feel as though the book could have been stronger if it focused more on the effects of Banji’s death and Kambi’s violence and depression on the twins.  Ultimately, though, sexual abuse is just a thing that happens to a lot of kids, and perhaps it serves a purpose to write a book where it happens, it’s horrible, but it doesn’t need to be put under a magnifying glass.  It just reverberates.

This book could have been about a lot of things.  When I picked it off the shelf at the library, I barely read the entire description, immediately caught by the spiritual nature of Kambi’s being and the brief mention of “reckless hedonism.”  I was pleasantly surprised to find out that Taiye was a lesbian, and I saw a lot of myself in her: the serial string of intense relationships, always slated to go nowhere, the indulgence in food and weed and dancing and occasionally other drugs, the loneliness and missing family but not being able to connect with them, the exploration of religion and spirituality and non-monogamy, seeing and feeling things you don’t know are real.  I feel like a lot of modern young adults live like Taiye does, unsure what to look for except comfort.  I love how the author mentioned the chaotic draw of dating apps.  I love how Taiye is a stoner.  I love how Taiye loves organic butter and fair trade chocolate and cooking extravagant meals for anyone who will eat it.  I LOVE how the author includes recipes for what Taiye is cooking.  Although I probably won’t use those recipes, I did want to cook what Taiye was cooking, and it reads just like my brain reads when I am absorbed in a culinary project.  This book could have been more about what it means to be a lesbian, but it only barely describes her formative romantic and sexual experiences.  The author details the first time Taiye calls her self gay out loud and has queer sex, but this is long after she has had gay feelings and gay experiences.  The author does not explore Taiye’s inner turmoil, and it is unclear if Taiye struggles at all with her sexuality in the long term.

I also like how the book explores mental illness.  It doesn’t shy away from both the good and the bad parts.  It doesn’t shame medication use.  It explores the spiritual powers of those who’s brains work differently.  Kambi’s voice explores suicide in an interesting way: both from the frequent pull of the voices, asking Kambi to escape the pain of living, and Kambi’s own knowledge that she wants to remain here with her family.  Although I have perhaps 0 hard examples of mental illness being spiritual, I still want to believe that those who hear voices, who see things, who feel things, are connected to the spiritual in a way that those who live entirely in reality are not.  This book explores one such case.  I also found it interesting how Taiye inherits some of Kambi’s crazy (struggles to speak as a young child, depressed, sleep walks) and some of Kambi’s magic (draws people to her, sees and hears beyond).  This make Taiye feel closer to her mom as she ages, while Kehinde remains unsure.  This book could have been more about generational mental illness and the pain and distance it causes, but instead the author focuses on the magic of it all.  It asks, quietly, if the girls should be mad at their mother, can they be mad at her?  From the outside, Kehinde knows that Kambi is respoinsible for the scar on Taiye’s face, but yet we, the audience, know that Kambi had to do this to prevent Taiye from killing the rapist, Uncle Earnest.  Does Kehinde know this?  How can she understand?  In a family, we have no choice but to forgive and let live if we cannot understand, or else remain alienated.  This is the underlying message of the book.

The book has a complicated timeline: the main story line follows the events of a six month period in which the three main characters are united again in Lagos, after over a decade apart.  Slowly, in tangents, the three characters’ backstory is explained.

The book features a few key locations:

Nigeria (specifically Abeokuta, where Kambirinachi is born, Ife, where she spends her youth, and Lagos, where she raises her family),

London (where the twins were born and where Taiye lived for 9 years during and after university),

and Canada (Kehinde lives in Montreal since attending university there and Taiye lives in Halifax after London). 

I’ve never been to Nigeria or London, but I love the way the author writes the dialogue and the characters from each place.  I cannot say if they are accurate, but they have a clear and unique voice, not homogeneous but also representative of those place-based qualities that unite an area.  The characters give me a glimpse into what it feels like to be Nigerian abroad vs. Nigerian at home.  She rarely writes about interpersonal incidents of racism: the characters are mostly well liked, treated nicely by the people in their life, given opportunities.  I think that contributes to the feeling of romanticism in the story.  Racism is discussed on a more systematic level: they have problems at the airport, Taiye learns about the history of racism in Canada. As someone who has been to Canada, knows about the history of Canada, and lives very close to Canada, I enjoyed hearing about Taiye learning about Canada’s dark side, something that is so rarely discussed by the general public.  However, for those of us who are interested, the evidence is everywhere.  The history is just waiting to be explored by anyone who is interested in looking just slightly beyond the state-issued textbooks.  I thought the way the author wrote about Canada was really authentic, which convinces me that the way she writes about London and Nigeria must also be accurate.  What it must be like to be Ekwuyasi, so intimately familiar with places so far apart.

There was one line in the book that really stuck with me: as Taiye is traveling home, she passes through the busy streets of Lagos, crowded with street children, and she is reminded of her privilege in a very visual way, something she doesn’t get in Canada or London.  This is the view the West wants us to have of Africa: a whole continent made of dirty huts and begging children on busy urban roads.  Yes, poverty looks different in Nigeria than it does in Canada, but that doesn’t mean that everyone in Nigeria is somehow poorer.  In fact, this family has a beautiful compound and a trust fund.  Despite having a trust fund, Taiye still makes decisions on a strict budget and denies herself luxuries to save money, the way I do.  I don’t really know a lot of people with trust funds, so I can’t tell if this is an international thing or if there are American kids who act like this.  It kind of annoyed me when Taiye wrote to the culinary program saying she didn’t have enough to pay for the program, when in reality she just didn’t want to dip into her trust fund.  I don’t know if there were limited spots/funds available for people who couldn’t afford to pay full price, but I hate when rich people forget what it means to actually not have money.  Being cheap and being poor are two different things, often way more opposing than people think.  Rich people are often the ones who know how to exploit the system to get what they want for less, while the poor are left with less connections and less time to work it.

Still, I refrain from delivering too harsh judgement on Taiye. I do not know the size of the trust fund.  I know their family home was a gift, so perhaps the fund is to be saved for medical emergencies and property taxes.  I’m not sure how insurance or taxes work in Nigeria, although I know the government is very unstable.  How did they pay for international university?  Did that come from the trust fund?  The whole plot line has me thinking a lot about wealth and class on  an international level.  While I grew up comfortably, I often felt like my family was poor because of how rich everyone in our town was.  I wonder what it would have been like to grow up in a compound and see homeless children often, but also ingest international media that cast your entire country as poor and to know your government is unstable.

All in all, the book touches on many of the central issues of modern life  While it only brushes the surfaces of these topics, it had me thinking for days and wanting to know more.  Perhaps I will search out an some Nigerian autobiographies / memoirs in the future.