#this is one of the artists from that article i sent you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

azzifudd · 7 months ago

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we just sort of get each other

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: insp by an article an anon sent me that said paige was with azzi the whole day before her senior prom

rated: teen

1.3k words

disclaimer: many made up events obviously

Paige sits on the couch, leg propped up on a pillow, hands fidgeting with her phone. She opens Tiktok for a moment, but closes it after a few quick swipes, jiggling her healthy leg as she waits for Azzi to emerge from her bedroom.

She had been in there about an hour earlier, watching as the makeup artist worked on Azzi’s face. In her opinion, Azzi didn’t even need all that, but she had been clearly enjoying the full day of pampering.

But when the makeup artist had complained for the third time that Azzi would not stop laughing at Paige’s antics, Katie had sent Paige out and shut the door behind her.

Jose and Jon are playing Mario Kart, pushing at each other as their characters race around the track.

“You wanna play, Paige?” Jose holds out one of the spare controllers to her.

“Nah, man, I’m good.” She stands up, grabbing her crutches and limping into the kitchen to grab a drink. She’s walking back into the living room when Azzi’s door finally opens.

Paige turns eagerly at the sound of heels on the wooden floor and drops her bottle of Gatorade at the sight that greets her.

The bottle thunks heavily against the floor.

Azzi smiles shyly at her, one dimple peeking out.

“How do I look?”

Azzi looks…

Paige has no words. Paige has a million words. She can’t seem to pick her jaw up from where it has hit the floor.

Paige is nearly breathless as she runs her eyes up and down Azzi’s body.

She’s wearing a floor length dress, a silver shimmery thing with pink and blue tones throughout it that bares the skin of her chest and arms. A slit runs up one leg, exposing what appears to be miles of tan skin and toned muscle.

Paige clears her throat, hoping she isn’t blushing as hard as it seems as her cheeks heat up.

“You look..” She hesitates, unsure if anything she says can even measure up to the emotions that swell in her chest as she looks at Azzi.

She’s saved from speaking as Azzi’s parents round the corner. Tim has his phone in outstretched hand as he approaches.

“Baby, you look amazing!” He snaps a few photos as Azzi poses.

Paige stands back and watches as Azzi’s parents direct her in an impromptu photoshoot. Soon her little brothers are roped in to take photos with her, and before she knows it, Tim is gesturing for Paige to stand beside Azzi.

“Aw, no I don’t want my crummy outfit to make her look bad.” She’s in a wrinkled AZ35 t-shirt and a pair of Nike pants, boot heavy around her ankle. At least she brushed her hair earlier instead of just throwing it into a messy ponytail.

“Paige, please?” Azzi holds out a hand.

Paige is at her left side before she even realizes it, hand wrapping around her waist as Azzi leans into her.

Soon, Azzi has to leave to go take photos with her date James at the National Mall. The family all load into the car, but Paige stays behind because it’s a little too much walking for her ankle.

But before Azzi can head out, Paige grabs her hand, holding her back until they’re alone in the house. Paige leans her crutches against the wall, and grasps Azzi by the hips, pulling her until their foreheads touch.

“I wish I was the one taking you.” Paige says, her voice a whisper against Azzi’s lips. For a moment, Paige wishes things were different, that she was just a normal girl who got to take the girl she liked to prom.

But if she was just a normal girl, she never would have met Azzi, and that’s not a world that Paige can bear to imagine.

“You look beautiful.”

Azzi’s responding kiss feels like a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I’m sorry' all at once. They are interrupted by a loud honk from outside and Jon’s voice yelling for Azzi to hurry up. Paige’s lips are sticky with gloss.

“Have the best night,” Paige says, and then Azzi’s out the door.

***

Azzi has a good night. She does. She spends the night dancing and talking with friends and just having a normal high school experience, something that has become more and more rare as her high school career has developed. The pandemic had ruined so much of what she had hoped would be a perfect senior year, so she is grateful that prom at least has gone off without a hitch.

But as the night wears on, she can’t help but think of what was missing. James is handsome and charming; a dream prom date for so many girls. But he isn’t who Azzi wants. She wants the annoying, sweet, beautiful girl who is waiting for her at home.

Surprisingly, none of her friends question her when she tells them she will be heading straight home after the dance, rather than hitting up the after party that nearly everyone else is going to.

When she gets home, she finds her family finishing up a movie in the living room. Strangely, Paige is nowhere to be found.

“Did you have a good night, honey?”

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun.” She doesn’t elaborate. “Where’s Paige? Did she go back to her dad’s?”

Her mom looks unsurprised at her question, smiling as she tilts her head toward their basement door. “She’s downstairs, waiting for you. Don’t change out of your dress yet.”

Azzi is a bit confused, but she heads downstairs anyway. She takes her time going down the stairs in her heels, watching her feet, and as she hits the last step, she realizes there is soft music playing. She looks up and finds the room lit only by what seems like dozens of candles interspersed throughout the room.

All the furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room, and standing at the center of the room is Paige. She is wearing a button up that looks just a bit too tight around her shoulders and a pair of black pants. A baby blue tie is loose around her neck, and Azzi knows when she gets close enough that she’ll be able to see how it brings out the color in Paige’s eyes.

“I know it’s not the same as if we’d gotten to go together, but I got us these.

When she gets within arms reach, Azzi notices that Paige is holding a plastic box. She pops it open to reveal a beautiful corsage, pink and vibrant with a matching boutonniere.

Azzi can’t stop herself from reaching out to hold Paige’s face in her hands and kissing her. Paige smiles against her lips.

“You like it?” She asks, laughing when Azzi nods and kisses her again.

With gentle hands, Paige slides the flower onto Azzi’s wrist and she stands still as Azzi returns the favor, pinning hers to her chest with shaky fingers.

“Can I have this dance?” Paige loops her arms around Azzi’s waist, pulling her even closer.

“Will your ankle be okay?” Azzi asks, bringing her arms up around Paige’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Paige shrugs. “I asked during PT this morning, and they said swaying was okay.”

“Then let’s sway.” Azzi giggles, pressing their foreheads together as they move gently to the music.

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“Mmhm.” Azzi nods. “I missed you though. I always miss you.”

“Just a few more months and we’ll be together all the time.”

“You won’t get tired of me?” Azzi scratches at the back of Paige’s neck, smiling as Paige’s eyes flutter and she leans into the touch.

“Never.” Paige makes sure to look Azzi right in the eyes, her own piercing and honest.

Azzi twists a hand into Paige’s tie, pulls her in, and kisses her and kisses her.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi

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heyftinally · 7 months ago

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Y'all are going to like this one.

SWIFTIES DON'T TOUCH THIS POST WITH A TEN FOOT POLE, I SWEAR TO FUCKING HELL-

So my friend sent me this article, and I'm going to tell you why I think it's complete bullshit.

1) wishing us a happy Pride month is the BARE MINIMUM. As someone with her presence in the media and social influence, she could - and should - be doing SO much more than just wishing us a happy pride four days in.

2) "the singer has been an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community" not a good one. She seems to only remember us when it's convenient or benefits her in some way. Case in point:

2018 - "When it comes to feelings and when it comes to love and searching for someone to spend your whole life with. It's all just really really delicate. You know?" Taylor then performed her song "Delicate."

2023 - It’s painful for everyone, every ally, every loved one, every person in these communities.

In the first example, the intentional song reference comes off as extremely tacky. This is people's LIVES you're talking about. People are MURDERED for who they are and who they love (or don't love). This isn't an appropriate time to pull out the "oh-so-quirky" act and be cutesy.

In the second, the fact that she can't even center queer people in their own experience is so, SO telling. I promise, however painful it is for allies, it's 1000x worse for us to LIVE it. Allies don't have to wonder "am I going to get hate crimed wearing this?" before they leave the house - we frequently do. To not acknowledge that shows me that everything she says is performative at best.

3) I wouldn't call what she does "advocacy". She mentions us every now and then when it's convenient for her, profits off of us when we fit her marketing plan, and I've yet to find where she actually apologized for the homophobia in the original version of Picture to Burn. Also, she's real good friends with Travis Kelce's dad, who is a raging transphobe (and I bet his kids are, too). You don't get to call yourself an ally if you willingly allow the people around you to be violent bigots.

4) "always" is a strong word for someone who seems to show her support situationally at best. The full quote was "The way for that to happen is for us to continue to keep pushing governments to put protections in place for members of the LGBTQ community. And I promise to always advocate for that." Yet she doesn't do that.

5) what she speaks out, I've noticed that it's nearly always in the states that primarily agree with her. We don't see a whole lot of her "inspiring ally" speeches in places like Texas or Florida. But I've seen plenty of them come out of already notoriously queer-friendly places. If you aren't willing to face the heat of the difficult places along with the comfort of the easy ones, you don't get to call yourself an ally. Allyship is not easy. Anyone remember when Lady Gaga advocated for us in Russia, under threat of arrest, and her response was "arrest me, Russia! I don't give a fuck!"? Yeah, I've never seen even half that level of true commitment from Taylor.

6) STOP. MAKING. STRAIGHT GIRL SONGS. "GAY ANTHEMS"!!!! FFS it's such a slap in the fucking face of REAL, ACTUALLY QUEER ARTISTS that y'all keep calling these piss pathetic straight girl over produced crap songs "anthems". Fucking stop it. If they aren't queer, they don't qualify to be a queer anthem or icon. Start supporting ACTUAL queer artists with ⅛ this energy, for the love of FUCK. This bullshit pisses me off. Do you need a list of queer artists? I'll make you one by hand if you promise to stop trying to label Raylor Swift's straight girl shit songs as "gay anthems".

7) rainbows and gender subversion are not exclusively nor inherently queer. If that's our bar for "gay anthems", the bar is so low Lucifer himself needs a damn Webb Telescope to just barely see it from hell.

#anti taylor swift #taylor swift critical #anti swifties #swifties dni #SWIFTIES I SWEAR DO NOT TOUCH MY DAMN POST

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hayleythesugarbowl · 6 months ago

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I crave more Ian Hecox!! Maybe one of him and reader being the “mom and dad” of Smosh. Like the cast being silly and Ian joining dad style while reader is laughing and keeping Angela from getting hurt or something. Just something 150% fluff! Thank you 💕💕

Historical Figure’s Mario Kart || Ian Hecox x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: imagine dating ian and being the mom + dad of smosh as you all hang out

word count: 1k

warnings: none at all, this has no plot it’s just vibes

a/n: this is super short but I loved this idea—i adore writing abt the smosh characters just hanging out. this is just 1,037 words of smosh cast being stupid (affectionate). fem!reader. enjoy! 🎀

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do I—in theory—look like Leonardo DaVinci?”

Amanda petted the fake beard she wore on her chin. Her, Angela, Chanse, Courtney, and Spencer all sat on a couch, staring at the TV screen in front of them, controllers in hand.

You had just walked into the room, followed by your boyfriend, Ian, who was sizing up Amanda’s costume.

“Close,” Ian said, “but you’re missing the 19-24 year old girl.”

Ian walked towards a chair near the couch the rest of the cast sat on. He sat down and you joined him, taking your spot on his lap, watching the scene in front of you.

“DiCaprio wishes he had a beard like this,” Amanda winked, twirling the hair around her finger

“Look, mom and dad are here!” Spencer joked, looking up from the game at you and Ian.

You rolled your eyes at him, turning to Ian and kissing him dramatically.

“Ew, mom and dad are kissing!” Angela added. “I don’t want to see that”

You weren’t that much older than any of the Smosh cast. But since you were dating Ian, one of the dads of Smosh, you supposed mom kind of came with the title.

That, and, according to them, you acted like their mother.

“What’re you guys playing?” You asked them as Ian flipped off Angela. She stuck her tongue out back at him.

“An epic game of Mario Kart,” Courtney informed you. “If you get hit by a turtle shell, you have to add a piece to your historical-themed costume. Which is why Amanda—”

“—is a 15th century renaissance artist,” Ian nodded. “Who, by the way, died in the arms of King Francis. Little fruity if you ask me.”

“He walked so we could run,” Chanse said, never taking his eyes off the screen.

“Or, in your case, slip on all of the banana peels in sight,” Spencer teased.

“Oh it is so on, Elvis.”

You took in Spencer’s black wig and white jumpsuit.

You then looked around at the others. Courtney wore what could only have been a Bob Ross wig and Chase had on a Marilyn Monroe dress, red lipstick and all. And Angela…

“Who are you supposed to be anyway?” You asked Angela.

“I’m Dr. Mike,” she gestured to her scrubs as if it was obvious.

“You heard historical and thought Dr. Mike?” Ian asked.

“You’re speaking to Miss Another Plane Has Hit the Food Pyramid, remember?” Chanse said.

“It was an honest mistake anyone could make!” Angela shouted. “And what do you know, you’re dead.”

“We don’t know that!” Chanse yelled, focused in on the race. “She could still be out there.”

“Tell me about it,” Spencer added. “You think they spelled Elvis’s middle name wrong on his tombstone on accident? It’s all part of the conspiracy.”

“A conversation about conspiracy theories and you didn’t start it?” You turned to Ian. “What has this world come to?”

“Got him,” Courtney said, turning her controller sharply.

“Oh he sent me the article,” Spencer informed you. “And gave me the brochure for the Elvis Sightings club.”

“We talked about this,” you turned to Ian. “No spreading your propaganda.”

“Challenge: impossible,” Angela laughed, spinning the scissors she held around on one finger.

“What are the scissors for?” You pointed to what Angela was holding in the hand that didn’t have her remote.

“The supply of surgical tools here is lower than you might think,” she said sarcastically. “This is as good as it gets.”

“Well, from the looks of all of your detailed costumes—and Angela’s—you all suck.” Ian said. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He stood up, stretching his back. You got up with him and walked behind the couch so you could see the screen.

“Don’t break anything, grandpa,” Spencer joked.

“Ian, do you even know how to play this game?” Courtney asked. “It was made after 1975.”

“Roasted,” Amanda said, before leaning back to whisper to you, “I’m so lost—do I want to kill those things or use them?”

“Neither, that’s the final lap turtle,” you told her.

Everyone looked at you. “What? I’m around you yahoos 24/7–you’re bound to pick up a thing or two here and there.”

“Here Ian, try and win me one,” Amanda handed Ian her controller, letting him race for her. “I keep trying to collect all of the sparkly red boxes, but I don’t think it’s working for me.”

“Amanda, for the last time—” Chanse began, before cutting off. “You know what, never mind.”

Ian took it from Amanda as the race began, already driving his car off the edge of a a cliff.

You giggled.

“I’m going to get some paint for my costume,” Amanda said, sighing as she accepted her defeat. “Angela, I hope you already ate.”

“Very funny, Angela eats paint, screw you,” Angela said.

You stood back as you watched Ian and the rest of your friends play. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the fun they were having, shouting and laughing and cheering—a cool dad playing a video game with all of his kids.

Ian looked over at you. “What?”

“Nothing,” you grinned, looking at your watch. “But don’t you guys have a shoot in, like, 10 minutes?”

“Buzzkill,” Spencer mumbled.

“Aren’t you the director of this channel?” You asked Spencer.

He ignored you.

“Yeah,” Ian pouted, “One more game?”

“Don’t encourage them,” you joked, grabbing the controller out of Ian’s hand and pulling him towards you, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Geez, who died and made her president of the company,” Angela looked to the rest of the cast, pointing the scissors at you. “When did she start getting to boss us around?”

“When I started dating the president of the company, doctor” you shot back, grabbing the scissors out of Angela’s hand before she could do any damage with them.

Ian laughed, grabbing your other hand—the one that wasn’t occupied with Angela’s scissors, and linking his fingers with yours.

Amanda walked back in the room then.

“I couldn’t find any paint, but I found a pilot’s hat—Angela, you wanna take this one?”

“For the last time, 2001 and 2011 look really similar on paper!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this little imagine. have a lovely day filled with thoughts abt ian 🤭

#ian hecox x reader #ian hecox #smosh imagine #smosh #smosh fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader #imagine

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myung-jaes · 3 months ago

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hi! i just wanted to come on here again to encourage everyone to please please participate in the boycott against sm! this doesn’t just help in getting justice for seunghan, but also helps in addressing and advocating the fan parasocial relationships & bullying/mistreatment issues in the industry! please unfollow all official accounts on all platforms and avoid streaming any official content and music— here is a link of someone who made mp3 files of riize music for the boycott & for spotify users, there are podcasts with the boycotted music so that we won’t give any streams to sm! also please sign this petition if you haven’t already, and encourage other people to participate in the boycott as well!

as much as it may seem like sm had no intentions of bringing him back w the szn greetings announcement & removing him from under the riize list on their website, there is so so much progress being made with this boycott!:

- our efforts have reached many kpop stores internationally, all of which have decided to halt restocking riize merch! this also include subk which is huge considering that they have collaborated with sm artists before!

- constant trends between the hashtags on twt

- we’ve gotten the support of plenty of non-briize kpop fandoms & non-kpop fandoms (arianators, harries, swifties, beliebers, etc.)

- plenty of large influencers and creators on youtube and tiktok speaking on the situation! there is also the spread in recognition of the situation overall across social media with many videos (such as evidence of the bullying) going viral!

- we’ve reached the recognition of others in the industry, such as a tweet that was retweeted by leeteuk (an artist under sm) & a tweet by jae (former day6 member) talking about the situation!

- i believe pineapple manager also liked an ot7 post on insta?? but pls correct me if i’m wrong!

- drop of riize twt followers from 809k to 730k & riize insta from 4.2m to 3.9m

- the petition has over 260k signatures

- we’ve gotten many big and well-known news sources writing articles on the boycott and the bullying situation with seunghan as well as regarding sm and their treatment of their artists

- tons of korean news sources have released articles on the situation as well as the boycott and updates on it!

- the naver article that covered seunghan’s departure was taken down!

- recent events of ot7 k-briize joining the effort (lots of have tweeted about the hope they have for this!) and organizing a protest outside of sm on friday, the 18th!

- i believe there have also been accounts of people on twt seeing some knetz/ot6s attempting to delete evidence and/or admitting to what they did which shows that our efforts are reaching them! (PLEASE correct me if this is misinformation bc my sources are a few accts on twt!)

please let me know if i am missing any other points of progress and i will add it!

if you would like to continue to make a change beyond unfollowing official accounts:

- if you have twitter (x), please please continue to share the ongoing hashtags we have for seunghan, it is important that we don’t let them drop!

- ALSO!! do not engage with any official accounts regardless of what they post, it will defeat the purpose of the boycott!

- regarding ot6 comments, especially on wv, do NOT interact with them, ignore them! ignoring will help prevent any traction towards their comments, and help increase our efforts!

- helping with funding for ongoing fan projects! one that i’ve seen recently is the sunflowers for seunghan project! this tweet has all the info on it if you’re interested!

— MAJOR UPDATE on the flower project here pls click the link and help in any way!

- some other projects that i’ve heard of but will update more on are the airships (this link includes funding for day 2 of the flowers as well!) & there are ongoing trucks being sent that you can help support!

- there is also the protest happening on the 18th, so if you are or will be in korea during that time, please participate!

- emailing other big accounts that you may know, news sources, or those who write articles on this, or stores that still supply riize merch! (templates & links below):

— template for emailing stores who supply merch!

— template for emailing news sources!

— template for emailing journalists!

— template for other contacts within the media!

— there is also the kwangya project, here is the template!

— template for emailing sm ent!

- there are also tons of updates on the boycott on this account as well as their linktree which has so much info on what you can do for the boycott, such as plenty of email templates as i mentioned above, which i suggest everyone to look at!

again please let me know if there is anything i’m missing on any ongoing projects or updates!

#myung-jaes #riize

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twopoppies · 26 days ago

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What does it mean when people say that Louis is ‘black listed’? Sorry I don’t know much about the music industry…

Hi darling. Being blacklisted isn’t a term specific to the music industry.

It’s just pretty suspicious that even with all the contacts Louis has made over the years, with how many people seem to be on his side, personally, and even with how strong his built-in fan base is, his music still never makes it on to the radio.

We’ve seen evidence of his music being pulled off the radio as soon as it started to climb the charts (Back to You). And evidence that his singles aren’t even sent to radio stations to play (pretty sure that one was Miss You). And even the fact that a show like Late, Late which was run by people he was close to, didn’t have him on to promote Walls was super suspicious.

All of that happened when he was still tied to Syco/Sony and it seemed pretty obvious there was a personal vendetta of sorts coming from Simon (and possibly Sony) most likely because Louis was the fly in the ointment when it came to being able to manipulate both 1D and Harry, specifically.

A label can put pressure on outlets about running articles/playing music/featuring certain artists by using the threat of not allowing those outlets access to other artists if the don’t do as the label wishes. It’s underhanded and I don’t know that it’s even a threat that’s spoken out loud so much as implied, but it happens.

But blacklisting isn’t the only reason Louis isn’t on the radio, on the cover of Rolling Stone etc. Labels have a fixed amount of money they want to spend on promotion across all of their artists. They make a determination about who they think is going to have the biggest return. There has to be more than just a personal vendetta against him that had Sony putting him lower down on their list than fans think he deserved. TV shows, magazines etc. have the same thought process—what’s going to give us the biggest return?

And now that Louis isn’t signed to a label, and Syco is gone and Simon is barely even in the music industry, how much does what they wanted even affect Louis’ career? That’s hard to say. But while promoting FITF, Louis did allude to still not being played on the radio. And since getting placed on streaming playlists costs money and since he no longer has a label’s money to do that with, does that holds him back? How much of it is affected by all the years of sabotage Simon/Sony wreaked on his confidence, reputation, and career?

I do think there’s a level of blacklisting, but I think there’s more to it. There are plenty of artists who are never played on the radio who still grow their audiences and win awards and continue to put out music and tour successfully. Too many fans use the idea of him being blacklisted as the sole reason he’s not a household name instead of considering the idea that there are likely quite a few reasons (some of which have to do with the way he’s marketed and the genre he’s in).

Anyway… that’s a really long answer to your simple question and it’s still a pretty open ended answer. Sorry about that.

#Louis’ career #blacklisting

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fashionteahouse · 2 months ago

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out of your league - paul x reader

AN: Seriously, I can’t thank you guys enough for showing so much love and support to fifteen parts of this story ! kisses to all you xoxo <<prev >>next

Picking up the wooden present that was now dry, eyes swam around the picture. Usually, you were a tough critic on what you create.

“This is actually good.” you thought to yourself with confidence.

Looking around the home that you and Paul shared, you found an empty moving box in the storage space and slid the canvas in it to prevent it from getting messed up.

Peeking through a window, you noticed the pattering had stopped and saw that the dampness from the rain was still prevalent. Drops of rain had stopped falling from the sky.

Checking the time, it was early afternoon. Making a small note for Paul, you grab your jacket. You decided to take a bus to Port Angeles. You didn’t want to be the one to drive.

You gladly take in the worldly scenery. Taking everything in, you wanted to be as inspired as possible. Your upcoming trip excited you and made you thankful for sticking to your dream.

Thankfully, the traffic on the sidewalks weren’t crowded.

However, a record store caught your attention. Wanting to check it out, you made your way in. The hard plastic covers of nostalgic artists that you used to listen to, were staring right back you. You had thoughts about enjoying physical media and even had your eye on a cd player that was on sale.

Impulse buying both the cd player and cd, you leave the store ready to use it. You walk with a stroll in your steps as you tear open the box that the purchase was in, throwing the box away in the shopping bag. Peeling the stickers off, you were able to pop open the case and you carefully placed the cd in. As you untangled the headphones that was suitable for it your fingers fumbled the cd player and your face grimaced as you tried your best to save the drop.

Being unsuccessful on your side, pale hands startled you as it caught it expeditiously. Holding it with ease.

Looking at their shoes and seeing the music player in their hands, you slowly look up and see those familiar eyes that you so badly tried to forget, staring back at you. He stood there frozen in front of you as you take it back.

“Thanks.” you say quietly and he pierced his gaze onto you.

“What’s in it?” he asked with inquisitiveness.

You don’t say anything, holding up the newly purchased cd.

A corner of his lip lifts a bit, “I don’t think I’m familiar with that one.”

The artist was someone you held dearly to your heart. People that you knew or were close to you, never really heard of them and you grew to love that. Their sounds were unique but also calming in a way on your pallet.

You stand up, “Thanks again.”

Turning to walk away, you jerk a bit from the cool hand being placed on the arm of your jacket, “Wait.” you hear him say.

Hearing what he has to say, his mouth opens then closes it with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you messing with me or something?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

He looks surprised a bit at such accusation and shakes his head, “No.” He squares his shoulders and then goes on, “My sister has sent you an email. You haven’t responded to it. It’s for Bella’s birthday party that she wants to throw.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. Plus, Bella told me wants us to do something small.”

He nods a little.

“How did…Alice.. Get my email address?” you ask out as you did your best to remember the name of the sender.

A small smile goes back to his lips, “That was easy. She found your article of when you won that art contest a while back. It had your email there.” You didn’t expect to see the small look of being impressed in his eyes.

You look to the ground as the cd player you had was tight in your hands.

“Will you come?” Edward asks you and his hard eyes struck at you.

“Uh, no offense but…No way.” you say, your eyes growing out at such suggestion. You were a bit surprised at the shock that he displayed, he actually thought you were going to say yes.

“And why?” he asks.

You take a shaky breath in as you watch your surroundings, “I’m sure you’re smart. How many…Vampires will be in attendance?” you ask in a hushed tone.

His eyes shifted nervously a bit but he quickly recoups himself and you felt lucky that you didn’t miss catching it.

”You’re not afraid of wolves, but you’re afraid of vampires who don’t feed from humans.” he says in a joking tone, him having a kick out of your response.

This makes you scoff but then huff out a small laugh, “That’s a good one. A vampire that doesn’t feed from humans.”

“It’s true.” he says as his smile starts to fade, wanting you to believe him.

Placing a hand on your chin, “Hm. I guess you suck air instead.”

“I’m serious.” he says with hardness, wanting you to stop joking on such manner but the amused smile from your joke never leave your face. Your finger does fall from your chin.

He looks around a bit before leaning a bit, “Would you like to know?”

“I’ll just have Paul tell me.” you say.

“I’m afraid Paul doesn’t know everything.” he says, almost cringing at speaking Paul’s name.

You shrug.

“Where were you headed?” he asks.

“Why? Where’s Bella?” you ask.

“She’s with her friend Jake at the reservation.” he answers.

“So, you got bored and decided to come to Port Angeles?” you say without interest.

“I came to see you.” he says but has a look of concentration before resuming, “Look, I can answer your questions. I’m sure Paul already told you about the treaty me and my family have with the quileutes.”

“The treaty doesn’t mean anything. You and your family still caused him to leave his normal life and shift.” you tell him.

He showcased a crooked, amused smile, “Are you sure it was my family or is it the new threats coming in throughout Washington? The constant “animal attacks?”, he pauses to shake his head, “Me and my family have been coming in and out for over 70 years and have you noticed there’s no elder werewolves that you know of? If you did, you’d met them, especially by now.” he says in a tone only you could hear as the sidewalks started to have more and more people walking.

He held the door open for you as you walked through the library that wasn’t crowded. Sitting in a plush study chair in a corner, you notice he feels more comfortable. His back is to the wall as you sit diagonal but close.

“I didn’t forget what you said about me.” you tell him in a hushed tone. His eyes look to you as he encourages you to go on. They still took time to get used to.

You look down as you bounce your leg a bit to bring the words out, “You said, hypothetically, and I quote, ‘you have something about yourself that’s unusual.’ What did you mean by that?” You then rise your eyes to look at him look down at the table. He’s relaxed against the chair with a nonchalant expression.

“If I tell you, will you promise to think about coming?” he asks.

“Why would I promise you anything?”

“You’ve figured a lot out. What’s being said needs to stay in this library and at this table. I know you told Bella to promise not to tell me that you know what I am.”

“How?” you challenge, she told you that he left. He just gives you a look.

You huff a bit in frustration, as you look around the library. Only trickles of people were walking around, but nowhere near close to where you both were.

Under the table you cross your two fingers, “I’ll try to think about it.”

He seems satisfied enough as he then thinks for a moment.

“Which would you like to know first? How I knew or what I find unusual?”

“You pick.” you say jerking your head a bit.

He leans forward a bit before speaking out and that same look of focus was back on his stone face, “I just see colors. Like…a whirlwind of colors. It’s strange.”

You look around in confusion. Sure there were posters that had splashes of colors but his chuckle brings your eyes back to yours. He waits a bit before turning serious.

“I mean in your mind.” he clarifies.

“In my mind?” you ask to see if he’s serious.

“Yes.” he answers flatly.

Silence falls as you look at dust that’s floating in the distant light of the window.

“You don’t see words? What I’m thinking?”

He shakes his head as he looks down at the table to concentrate, “No. If the emotion from you is strong enough…They form into..” he shakes his head, he doesn’t know how to describe it. It was unusual for him.

“I don’t know..It’s like the colors try to come together to create something.” he finishes, hoping it’s the best way to describe it. It was challenging to bring what he sees in your head, into words.

“So, what about me and Bella’s talk?”

“I had left out but I was still in earshot. That’s all.” he says.

You roll your eyes, “Of course.”

You then look to him as he still stares at you with one look, “Your eyes aren’t red like the one that I saw.”

This peaks his interest. “You saw one?”

“Yeah. Not to get too into details-” you start but he cuts you off.

“No, please. Do tell.” he says politely but the look on his face showed great zeal for the topic. The energy surrounding this statement brought you in to speak on what you saw.

You then explain the situation of the first time going to the cliffs by yourself, to prove that it wasn’t you willingly walking to danger. How on the way there, the inhuman figure got ready to attack you. Paul and the others came to your defense, killing and dismembering it and setting it to fire. Not an ounce of boredom was on Edward’s face. Your mind brought him into the world of the story, he saw the colors of red vicious eyes, the bluish fire, and he even saw a hint of the picture you drew of the experience when you had trouble sleeping. It all flowed together on accord. He wished you hadn’t changed the image of the picture in your mind so fast, he wanted to look at it longer. It was a clear picture and he could almost feel being there.

“The cliffs are in La Push land, right?” he asks inquisitively.

You nod.

“You and Bella being friends make more sense. Both being danger magnets.” he says with humor.

You shake your head being serious, “I feel like I’m in danger now. I know about the incident which landed her in the hospital. I know that the story was bogus. What really happened?”

“Pushy are we? You better think long and hard about coming to this party.” Edward says with his cheek resting on his hand.

“Why do you want me to come so bad?” you ask.

He takes an intake of breath through his nose, as he stared ahead with his arm resting on the table. “That I can’t tell you.”

You nudge his arm feeling annoyed, “Why not? You’re going to lure me in so your family can feast on me?”

He looks down at the spot that you touched him and back at you with a look of innocent amusement that you haven’t seen from him before.

“Me and my family don’t feast from humans. That’s why our eyes aren’t red.” he says trying to smoothly change the subject.

You cross your arms as you leaned back a bit in your chair, giving him a stone cold look.

“We’re vegetarians.”

This brings out a laugh from you, “You cannot be serious.”

He shrugs, not taking offense to your laughter, even sporting a small grin of his own, “It’s what we call it. Instead of human blood, it’s animal blood.”

You nod with understanding but you didn’t think it was possible. It must’ve explained the amber color. As you take in the color of his eyes, he looks to you with intensity but you shift your eyes somewhere else not wanting to hold that gaze.

“And with Bella, a nomad attacked her and..We had to save her. We used the story that we used to not bring light to the real truth.” he explains.

You look at him with skepticism, “A bite mark?”

“He bit her.” He says, knowing that you were blaming him.

“Make it all make sense.”

“I sucked the venom out. If I didn’t get there in time..” he says as he remembers but you say, “No doctors have noticed?”

“Carlisle is one. He knew the doctor in Phoenix. Pulling some strings, Carlisle was able to treat what he wanted.” he says casually but you don’t even know who that person is.

He doesn’t give you the opportunity to ask.

“So.” he says as he shifts a bit in his seat.

“So.” you answer back.

“Going to New York?” he asks with a polite smile. Of course, she told him.

“It’s for business and no you can’t come.” you say not being friendly in your response.

This brings out a small laugh from him and he then shakes his head a bit, “I don’t get why you stay here. Especially in La Push.” he says with his brows knitted. He just didn’t understand it. He found himself wishing he could be able to understand it.

“My soulmate.” you tell him defensively.

His look is bored when you tell him this, “You sure will miss out on a lot.”

“How old are you?” you ask to change the subject.

He catches this but chooses not to circle back and has a grin, “109.”

“You should be in a nursing home instead of a high school. And how are you 109 and you haven’t heard of-“ you say and hold up the hard copy cd.

He shrugs.

“Get it together old man.” you say in a disappointed tone.

Smiling a bit, he slides the cd player to himself as he just holds one headphone a bit close to his ear, he pressed play. He did it in a smooth manner to where the music flowed out before you knew it.

He actually listened to the entire song that was on the first track as you read the back on the cd. You popped it open as you pulled out the lyric sheet.

“Not bad.” he says, pleased that the somewhat new gen music wasn’t horrible, sliding your items back to you.

”Exactly.” you quietly say as you folded the lyric sheet back up and put it back in its place.

“Are you into classical music?” He asks.

“I had a lengthy period timeline of listening to it while I would study.” you say as you thought back to the era. You even thought about buying a keyboard to play. But, you knew where your heart resided.

“Do you have a favorite song?” he asks, surprised but at the same time not surprised, he figured you’re deep into the arts.

You tilt your head to the sky with your arms crossed as you thought about it. Edward caught glimpses of the colors of the covers that you mentally searched through, that you remember putting in your playlist.

“It’s like…Something that starts with a D, et Chloe: part lll. I remember the part because of the tallies.” You say, still in thought.

He had a look of thought as well, “Ravel?”

“I think. Don’t quote me on it.” you say as you then watch him interrupt what he was going to say to your response and says, “I gotta go.”

Before any form of a processed state of mind could be made, he wasn’t there. All that was left was remembrance of him being there. You look beside you to see both Kim and Emily. Kim held the door for Emily as you knew for a fact that Kim suggested this place. It was you two that found this hidden gem together years back.

Emily was the one who spotted you. She wasn’t vocal about it but she rushed to where you were. You both hugged as she then says, “Went shopping without me?” She circles around you as you both gush about what you had purchased.

Kim doesn’t say anything as she sits down in a seat where a certain somebody sat in.

“Getting a book?” you ask her.

“Yes. Now, come with me.” she says and pulls your arm.

You both idly walk in the aisle where the genre she’s looking for is located.

You let your eyes run across the spines of the books as Emily picks one up and reads the back of one.

“Did you get one?” she asks.

“Nope. I just got here.” you tell her.

She then lights up with her eyes, “Guess what?”

You return with a smile, “What.”

“With you leaving, I figured I should visit home.” she says excitedly as your eyes land on the book that she had interest in. It was a recipe book.

“Really? I mean…You could’ve came out of town with me.” you offer, thinking of the fun you both could have exploring the city together if you had free time.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re going to be there more than one time.” she says with certainty.

“You give me too much credit.” you say quietly as you at other books that were around.

“You’ve been invited out of town and someone paid your way. I have a feeling this won’t be the last time you experience this.” Emily says with a knowing look.

“Plus, since I’ve moved in with Sam, I haven’t seen my mom in person. I took this as a sign to spend some type of time with her.” she adds on as she tucks the book under her arms and sees if something else catches her attention.

Kim ends up joining you two as you stand next to Emily as she checks out a book. You felt a nudge before looking to see Kim giving you all of your stuff from the table.

“Thanks.” you say.

Walking out, you feel the air as the dampness has somewhat dried up. Emily suggests you all grab a treat at a nearby bakery.

Sitting with the paid for treat, Kim says she has to use the bathroom. It was just you and Emily at the table.

“How have things been?” you ask her.

“Things with me have been great!” she says and then chews while she looks at you, “What about you? Besides your achievements.” she says.

“So far, so good.” you say.

“I know you don’t see eye to eye with Kim, but man do I feel bad for her right now.” she says quietly.

“I’m sure things will be okay.” you say, “She finally got the man of her dreams and Paul isn’t as bad as she made him out to be.”

“I don’t know.” Emily drags out. You give her a quizzical look.

“Jared and Kim have been fighting. A lot. Jared’s not that kind of person so it’s worrisome.”

“Do you know why?” you say, feeling yourself fall into the pits of gossip.

“I really don’t. That’s why I just hope things do turn out better, you know?” Emily says. You nod.

Kim later sits down, with peaks at her, you notice her face was a bit red.

“Everything alright?” Emily asks. Kim just nods. She’s been quiet.

You all close car doors as you all get out of Emily’s car.

Unlocking the door, Emily puts her keys up as you all take off the jackets that you had on.

Barely getting your shoes off, Paul comes to you and bends down to give you a kiss but makes a disagreeing noise as he retracts from you, “Ugh.”

“I took a shower.” you tell him, but deep down you knew why.

“And you need another one.” he says and the look on his face showed that he was serious. He kept an eye on you, as he tried to figure you out. You move further into the house.

“Want to see what I bought?” you ask. He doesn’t say anything but looks at what you’re holding.

“Where’s Jared.” Kim asks Paul.

“I don’t know. Go find him.” Paul speaks to her irritated but returns his attention to you.

Seeing Sam come out from the hallway and into the front of the home, you notice Emily gone and walk closer to him.

“Where did Emily go?” you ask.

“She’s in the shower. She smelled…Strange.” he says but takes a sniff as he moves a bit closer to where you were and wrinkles his nose, “No offense, but you smell worse.”

You look down and you hear the door close and find Jared looking tired as he comes in, “What’s that smell?”

“Y/N, come outside with me.” Paul says as he opens the door. Just from the force of the door opening, you knew it wasn’t for a good reason. Sighing, you ask in a small voice, “Why?”

He doesn’t even bother to answer your question as he looks at you with expectancy.

You slowly walk and grab your jacket.

Moving away from the front door, you both walk to the side front of Emily’s home.

“Did you lie to me?” Paul asks with narrowed eyes.

“About what?” you ask with a shrug.

“Anything. About where you were going or what?” he asks and as you open your mouth he says, “Don’t lie.”

“I told you I was going to Port Angeles and that’s where I was.” you tell him.

“There’s no way you were there with Emily and Kim the entire time. You’re fucking soaked in a leech’s scent.” he says and he’s trying his best to keep his soft trembles in control but he’s pacing a bit in order to do so.

“After I went to the record store, I did go to the library. Emily and Kim came and it was a total surprise. I didn’t even know they were going to be there.” you explain.

He gives you a long look, making you uncomfortable under such gaze. He knew you for some time to pick up on your behavior and body language. Something deep told him you were hiding something from him.

“Whose painting is in the cardboard box at home.” he asks with assertiveness.

“I-it’s.. Does it even matter?” Your heart was beating so hard it was pounding in your ears.

“Yes it does fucking matter.” he hissed and he then shakes his head, “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re lying to me now-”

“I didn’t lie!” you cry out.

“You’re telling me half truths! You think I don’t fucking know you?” He says. You do nothing but stare at the tree in front of you as you take in a shaky breath.

Jared comes out of the house next, walking right near where Paul was, close to the woods.

Not caring a person was outside with the both of you, he pressed on, “So whose is it?”

Jared awkwardly walked a bit, Sam was the one who sent Jared outside to tell Paul to come in.

When you don’t answer, Jared then moved beside Paul as he quickly says, “Sam wanted me to get you.”

Turning his face the side to face him, “Tell him to fucking wait.” Paul tells him coldly. He then turns back and look at you as your hands are stuffed in your pockets. You weren’t going to tell him in front of Jared.

Paul displays a sardonic expression as he then says, “It’s like that?”

He stomps past you but you call for him still, “Paul, just wait.” you say but he completely ignores you as he slapped the door closed behind himself.

You look down as you walk slowly to the porch steps and sit down.

“Why didn’t you just tell him?” Jared asks quietly in disbelief to you, he was one of the people who had faith in the relationship that you shared.

You shake your head as you stare ahead, “I don’t know.” you whisper to him. You genuinely didn’t.

Jared sits next to you on the steps but doesn’t say anything.

You both sat in silence until you hear the door close again but this time it was Kim.

You watch as she leaves from away from the house.

“You’re leaving?” he asks her.

She nods half heartedly, barely meeting his gaze. She then turns back around and walk in the direction of her home. Jared sucks in his teeth and you watch him as he looks to the sky, as of the sky would give him answers.

“I’m not the only one with problems after all.” you say quietly to him, trying to poke a joke at him.

Although he’s a bit glad that you’re trying to lighten up, he just couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

“It’s been like this for I don’t know how long.” Jared says.

“I don’t get it. She’s finally with you, what’s the problem?”

“She just keeps bringing up how…She feels trapped here. She did have plans to go to college but it’s not like I asked for this. She knew what it was when she accepted everything.”

“She blames you for not being able to leave?” you ask surprised.

“Pretty much. She even says shit that tear me down and…” he says and shakes his head, “I guess seeing people start their fall classes must’ve made her feel some type of way. I don’t know.”

You look down as you felt bad for such things being done to him. You then knit your eyebrows together, “She can just do online.”

“I told her that. At least when you two were friends you would've talked some sense into her. I don’t know what’s going on with that chick.” he says and a moment later, he opens the door back up. You decide to get up and follow him in the house as he held the door open.

You catch a bit of what Sam is saying cautiously to Paul, “-You sure?”

You see a seething Paul sitting at the table with his arms crossed, carrying a heavy look at you as you entered in.

He rises, but you touch his arm with both hands as he doesn’t slow down from walking out.

He was moving faster than you as you clambered down the steps trying to keep up with him.

“Paul, I will tell you. I don’t know why I didn’t.” you say.

He stops but turns around.

“I know who it’s for. I want you to say it.” he says.

You felt nervous again but you still open your mouth to say, “Bella.”

He sighs and turns back around before you call him again. He stops but doesn’t turn around.

“I couldn’t just not give her anything.” you say.

“Just like how you couldn’t just leave her ass alone.” he says but turns around before taking small steps to you, “You don’t even smell like a regular leech running around here. You smell like a fucking Cullen.”

You blink and he shakes his head in such disappointment and walks towards the woods.

Leaving you there with that to sit on your brain, he doesn’t even bother to strip, phasing and ripping out of his clothes. Before you could blink, the silver wolf disappears into the trees.

Not even going back inside, you walk home. You hand touch your forehead as you walk and look down.

You felt so angry with yourself. Then again, you didn’t go to Port Angeles to see Edward. He told you that he came to see you out. You then thought about how that wouldn’t have been a possibility had you not agreed to Bella’s invitation to go over her house. But then, she would’ve figured out where you lived and you felt that was even worse.

You scrubbed your entire body head to toe in the shower before even thinking about doing anything else.

With a fan by the window, you blew out your troubles with the help of cannabis. You even sat after, just staring out the window into the night sky.

Laying in bed alone, you stay up as the birds chirped, waking up to start their day. You move to the other side and pull the covers over your head.

You woke up late, but woke up with a slight jump. The covers come from off of your head as you search the room. You remember what happened and you check to see if Paul came home. He didn’t.

A knock surprised you as the tv glowed to you and rise up to open it. Jared had the things that you bought from yesterday that you had left over Emily’s in his hands.

Taking it from him, you thank him.

“Did you see him?” you ask Jared as he turns to walk away.

“Nope. I’m heading to Sam’s though.”

“Wait, I’m coming with you.”

Throwing something quick on, you both walk to Sam and Emily’s.

Emily was out running errands but that didn’t stop Jared from helping himself make a meaty sandwich.

Sam was lounging on the sofa, you sit down in the loveseat. He turns the volume of the television down as you enter. He looks to you and you look to him.

“Where’s Paul.”

“He won’t phase back.” he says as if he’s been waiting to tell you this.

You softly sigh as you drop your head a bit.

“Y/N, I have to side with him on this one. I don’t know what you were thinking. Hanging with the Cullens? We told you about them.” Sam says.

“That’s the thing..I didn’t go out of my way to hang with them.” you say and shake your head.

“What happened?” he asks trying to get a clear understanding.

“I told the truth. I did go to Port Angeles, but Edward was there. He caught my cd player from dropping and we talked. We were close and his scent must’ve rubbed off on me.” you tell him.

“Why did he talk to you?” he then asked.

“His sister wanted to throw Bella a birthday party and she extended an invitation to me. I didn’t agree to go. Edward came to pass the message along. He then told me…Things.”

“What things?” Sam asks with all focus. Jared by then joins the room with the sandwich almost gone from his hands.

“He told me not to say anything.” you whisper as you put your hands on your face.

“Did he threaten you?” Sam says getting a bit worked up.

“No, no. It wasn’t in a threatening manner.” you say as you wring your fingers, “He told me about his family’s diet, what really happened to Bella in Phoenix…” you say as you tried to think back.

Both Sam and Jared share a look.

Jared suggested to Sam that you should see Old Quil.

“Why?” you question.

“You know a lot. He keeps track of everything. That’s how we know what we know now.” Sam says.

They both walk you to the home that belonged to him. The cane he had in his hand was gripped as he held the door open and looked at all three of you.

“Who’s this.” he asks as he looks at you.

“Y/N. Paul’s imprint.”

“Ohhh okay. How are you doing dear?” he asks in an ancient voice and his stoic expression turns friendly.

“Good..I guess.” you say quietly and Old Quil takes his eyes away from you and nod to both Sam and Jared.

“Tell him everything. Don’t be afraid.” Jared coaches and encourages you.

You watch as they both leave, Old Quil tells you that you can have a seat. He offers something to drink but you decline. The wisdom he carried oozes from his aura as he sits in the recliner across the sofa that you sat in.

He keeps a pipe in his mouth as he softly rocked as you tell him blow by blow, starting from the moment you met Bella Swan. You add that Edward didn’t want you to say anything and to keep it in the library.

“Well I’ll be damned. Vampires with abilities and all.” he says.

Paul did come home, dirty and naked. He found you not home and decided to pay a visit to Sam’s after he took a shower. Old Quil yells a come in as you both sat at a kitchen table with a pen and pad. He wanted to get word for word, not missing any details.

Paul slowly walks in as he takes in the sight.

You still light up when you see that it’s Paul. You get up and cautiously walk towards him but all is forgotten when he pulls you close and tightly hold you to him with his arms.

Sitting in Paul’s lap, you watch as Old Quil flipped through the inked soaked pages, satisfied with how much he was able to document.

“I think you should go.” The older man decided to you as he pulls off his reading glasses and fold them.

“Don’t piss me off.” Paul says, after he got a recap of everything.

“Watch your mouth.” he says sternly then says, “I’m serious. He willingly told her all of this just by one conversation. Imagine how much she could come back with from an entire family.”

“She dies, then what? She gets hurt then what?” Paul says, not even believing this person that he was taught to respect since a child, would suggest such a thing.

“They drink animal’s blood. He can’t even read her mind so he won’t know she told us. It’s helpful to know rather than be surprised. Don’t you have questions? There’s holes that need to be filled and they’ve been around longer than we have. Could the gene be intertwined with puberty to have boys change so young?” Old Quil inquires as he strokes his chin a bit.

Moving you off of his lap, he gets up and paced the small home as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Did you agree?” Paul says to you.

“I’m just finding out this suggestion now.”

“Do you agree?” he then asks, titling his head down at you, holding his gaze in yours.

You shrug and say, “I don’t know.” He scoffs and look away.

“We can play this smart you know. Find out what other abilities they have.” Old Quil cuts in with his thin tenor voice.

“Who gives a fuck? As long as they stay off of our land, they can fuck off for all we care!” Paul hisses.

“Your mouth is so disgusting.” the older man says as he shakes his head. He takes a blow from his pipe, “Just think about it, Y/N.”

That’s what Edward said.

“No!” Paul roars, putting his foot down. He then moves over to you, taking both cheeks in his hands as he jerks you a bit to get you to look at him. You do.

“You’re not going. You hear me?” he makes it clear to you. You say nothing as you look at his almost desperate face. He then calls your name with force when you don’t say anything. Trying not to let your face crumble, you swallowed the lump in your throat. You wanted to do what you could do to help but his expression spoke volumes.

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soon-palestine · 1 month ago

Text

Can you recognize these faces? All these leaders made profound sacrifices for their people, and the artist who created this powerful drawing must be considered one of them. Kevin “Rashid” Johnson, who is extensively quoted in this shocking article, is one of them, one of the men being tortured 24/7 at Red Onion State Prison. Next to Mumia Abu Jamal, Rashid is the most read and respected prisoner in the U.S. Red Onion is a super-maximum security prison designed and built to be torturous in every way, just like Pelican Bay State Prison in California, where prisoners surmounted impossible odds in 2011-2013 to stage a series of three mass hunger strikes joined by 30,000 prisoners at their peak. To offer your help and support to the prisoners at Red Onion, use the contact information at the end of this article. – Art: Kevin “Rashid” Johnson

by Phil Wilayto

Just how bad are things at Virginia’s Red Onion supermax prison?

On May 24, 2023, DeAndre Gordon deliberately started a fire in his cell that caused a third-degree burn on his leg. Gordon, who is Black, said he had been badly beaten by guards at the prison and feared for his life.

“I didn’t know any other way that I could get out of their custody besides to set myself on fire,” Gordon told a reporter with Radio IQ. “Because they don’t have a burn center in Southwest Virginia, I knew that I would be going to Richmond.”

According to the American Burn Association, Virginia has just three facilities capable of dealing with severe burns. Two are in Richmond: the Evans-Haynes Burn Center at VCU Health, a state institution, and the Wound Healing Center at Doctors Hospital, a private hospital. The third is at the Eastern Virginia Medical School in Norfolk.

Red Onion, in Wise County, is about 375 miles west of Richmond.

On Aug. 23 of this year, Demetrius Wallace, 27, also Black, says he set fire to his leg to force a transfer out of Red Onion.

The Defender spoke with Wallace on Nov. 1.

“I did actually set my foot on fire,” Wallace said. “I got the charge that shows it. They came to my cell door and saw the flames on the side of my leg. They took me to medical, they assessed me right there that night, told me they don’t deal with burns, they would have to talk with the nurse practitioner, and that I would have to be taken off the mountain.

“That was Friday, Aug. 23 … so Monday around 2 in the afternoon, they drove me seven hours away to the VCU burn unit. As soon as the doctor sees me, he said, ‘When did this happen?’ I said, ‘Friday.’ He said, ‘Why haven’t you been here?’ I said, ‘I’m not trying to be funny, but I can’t drive myself from the prison.’

“He said to the COs [correction officers], ‘You see this foot? You tell your major I can’t treat him immediately, I have to put him on antibiotics’ to treat the infection.

“I stayed in the hospital for 14 days. They had to do an allograft [a temporary graft using skin from a skin bank] and a skin graft. After 14 days I was sent back to Red Onion state prison. Harassed me, everything is still the same, stuck me in the hole, still being denied access to my JPay [a commercial email service for prisoners] or my actual phone.”

Asked why he had set himself on fire, Wallace said, “I got a lawsuit in because I was assaulted and sprayed by the COs twice while I was handcuffed. So as soon as I filed the lawsuit, they started retaliation. They denied my fiance access to the prison, for no reason; you had COs and a lieutenant looking at her Facebook; they messaged her … She has screenshots.”

Wallace also said he wasn’t the only prisoner who has recently set himself on fire.

“I was in medical, and I witnessed five other offenders who came back there. They had burned their legs or arms. There are still two or three there now.”

On or about Sept. 15, Ekong Eshiet, a 28-year-old African-born prisoner at Red Onion, says he also set fire to his leg.

On Oct. 25, he gave an interview to Prison Riot Radio, a Philadelphia-based online program that provides a platform for prisoners to speak out about prison conditions and other issues.

In the interview, Eshiet said that, two days before, on Oct. 23, he had begun a hunger strike.

“I’m trying to get off of here. I’m doing my best, I’m going about this the right way, I guess, with the hunger strike way. But if I have to, I don’t mind setting myself on fire again, and this time I’ll set my whole body on fire.

“Before I have to stay up here and do the rest of my time up here, I would rather die before I stay up here, because every day I’m dealing with discrimination, whether it’s behind my race, my last name or my religion.”

The Defender has been in touch with Kevin Rashid Johnson, a longtime prisoner activist and author who last December went on a 71-day hunger strike, demanding to be transferred from Red Onion because he said there were no medical facilities in that area equipped to deal with his several severe medical issues. He eventually was sent to VCU Health, then transferred to Greensville Correctional Center, and is now back at Red Onion.

Rashid wrote the Defender that he was in the medical unit at the prison when Eshiet was brought in for treatment, and Rashid said he saw for himself the severe burns on the man’s leg.

“He had been placed in a cell next to me in the prison’s medical department, where I overheard him talking with others about a series of prisoners including himself setting fire to themselves. I could not help asking him what was going on.

“He told me simply that the racism, the horrid and inhumane conditions at the prison, were so intolerable that he and others were setting themselves on fire in desperate attempts to get transferred. These were not protests, he made clear, but acts of desperation hoping to get out of an insufferable situation.”

Rashid, at great risk to himself, wrote a report that he sent to outside news media and support groups. The report was picked up by Prison Riot Radio, the Arlington-based Interfaith Action for Human Rights and The Virginia Defender, among others.

On Oct. 25, this reporter called Red Onion and spoke with the warden, David Anderson. I explained that we had received a report that as many as a dozen prisoners at Red Onion had recently set themselves on fire, and asked if the report was correct.

“No, it’s not true,” Anderson said.

After a pause, he added, “I really shouldn’t be commenting on this.”

“So you’re saying that no one has set themselves on fire?” I asked.

“I can’t speak any further about that,” Anderson answered.

I told Anderson I would send him an email, with further questions. He said he would forward the email to the proper department for a response.

These are the questions sent on Oct. 25:

Over the last two months, did one or more prisoners at Red Onion set themselves on fire, as claimed by the letter writer?

If so, what are the names and prison ID numbers of the men?

What is now the location of each of the men?

What is the medical condition of each of the men?

Have any of the men been charged with institutional or criminal offenses as a result of these alleged actions?

As of this writing, on Nov. 4, there has been no response.

Meanwhile, we have been trying to find corroboration on the reports. undefined

In addition to speaking directly with Demetrius Wallace, we called Marsha Prichett, Eshiet’s mother, on Oct. 25. She said her son has had a very hard time since being sent to Red Onion in June.

“There’s been name calling, they call him Eat-Shit, they spit in his food. After he hurt himself, they treated him for minor burn wounds. “Then the hospital called us to let us know Ekong was in the hospital, but they said we couldn’t visit with him or talk to him because the warden said he was a danger to himself or others. So we couldn’t visit because of what the warden said.”

On Nov. 1, a Friday, the Defender reached out to VCU Health to ask if any Red Onion prisoners had been treated there recently for severe burns. At first we were told the hospital was not allowed to give us that information because of the issue of patient privacy. We hadn’t asked about any particular patient.

On Nov. 4, a Monday, we received a call from Danielle Pierce with VCU Public Relations. We asked if, from Aug. 1 until the present, any Red Onion prisoners had been brought to VCU Health for treatment for severe burns.

“I’m happy to look into it for you,” Pierce said.

Since our press deadline was the next morning, we didn’t expect to receive an answer in time for this story, but we will post any response on this newspaper’s website: virginiadefender.org. [Post-press update: As of Friday, Nov. 8, there has been no response.]

On Nov. 1, the Defender also called and left messages at the offices of Virginia General Assembly Delegate Don Scott, a former prisoner who is now Speaker of the House. We will report any response we get on our website.

We also have been trying to get various Virginia media to cover this story. What is Red Onion? red-onion-supermax-in-isolated-wise-county-va-by-google-earth, Conditions so bad that prisoners set themselves on fire: Crisis and cover-up at Red Onion super-max , Featured World News & Views This Google Earth map gives some idea of how isolated the Red Onion super-max prison is, situated on top of Red Onion Mountain in rural Wise County, far from the famiies of most of the men confined there.

The Justice Policy Center of the Urban Institute describes a supermaximum prison, or “super-max,” as “designed to hold the putatively most violent and disruptive inmates in single cell confinement for 23 hours per day, often for an indefinite period of time.”

Red Onion is a super-max prison. It opened in 1998 in the midst of a big right-wing and media scare about a new crime wave that supposedly was coming, but somehow never did.

Red Onion was supposed to house around 800 of “the worst of the worst” Virginia prisoners. As it turned out, there weren’t enough “worst” prisoners to fill the cells, so Virginia began taking in prisoners from other states – for a price. Further, many of the Virginia prisoners who wound up there were transferred from lower-level security prisons simply for breaking rules, not for committing violent crimes.

Red Onion quickly gained a reputation for extreme repression, cruelty and racism.

A 1999 report by Human Rights Watch stated that the “Virginia Department of Corrections has failed to embrace basic tenets of sound correctional practice and laws protecting inmates from abusive, degrading or cruel treatment” and claimed that “racism, excessive violence and inhumane conditions reign inside.”

In 2001, Amnesty International released a report citing human rights violations at the prison.

The 2016 HBO documentary film “Solitary: Inside Red Onion State Prison” focused on the use and effects of solitary confinement.

In one particularly notorious case, Nicolas Reyes, a Salvadoran immigrant, was kept in solitary confinement for 13 years because he couldn’t complete the mostly English-language Step-Down Program required to be released.

Reyes only spoke Spanish and couldn’t read or write in any language.

With support from the ACLU and other organizations, Reyes was finally released and received a monetary award of $115,000 – which works out to about a dollar for every day he suffered in extreme physical, social, cultural and linguistic isolation.

This is what Rashid has recently written about the prison:

“Red Onion and its sister supermax Wallens Ridge State Prison, are both located in the mountains of the far southwestern corner of Virginia in rural, segregated white communities, while their prisoner populations are near totally Brown and Black.

“Since opening in 1998 and 1999, respectively, both prisons have operated without oversight in regions where the local populations are culturally conditioned to secrecy and hostility to outside scrutiny. Which makes for prisons shielded by a curtain of secrecy, inhumane abuse and racism.

“And while Virginia has been closing down many of its predominantly Black staffed prisons across the state, it has shifted resources and focused new prison construction projects in favor of opening and operating prisons in remote, racially segregated regions of the state like where Red Onion and Wallens Ridge are located.

“The strongest public exposure and protest needs to be directed at these expensive, inhumane and unneeded human warehouses. They must be opened up to broad public scrutiny and accountability, and closed down.

“This exposure and protest should be continually directed against the Virginia governor, Virginia Department of Corrections Director Chadwick Dotson and the state’s General Assembly.

“Every effort must be made to share this information and increase public awareness about these places, their inhumane conditions and the desperate extremes they are driving fellow humans to in their pleas for relief.

“Dare to Struggle Dare to Win!

“All Power to the People!”

Interfaith Action for Human Rights has started an online petition urging change at Red Onion. To sign, log onto change.org and search for “Investigate Self-Harm Episodes and Improve Inhumane Conditions at Red Onion Prison.”

As we go to press, Kevin Rashid Johnson, Ekong Eshiet and Demetrius Wallace are all being held in solitary confinement – what the prison calls “restrictive housing.” All three men have reason to fear for their lives.

Rashid, who has been targeted because of his outspoken condemnation of the whole Virginia prison system, has outside attorneys working to try to get him transferred out of Red Onion.

Note: Both Rashid and Demetrius Wallace have given the Defender permission to quote them for this story. We haven’t spoken directly with Ekong Eshiet.

Conclusion

At this point, we are confident in reporting that at least two men held at the Red Onion State Prison – Demetrius Wallace and Ekong Eshiet, and possibly others, have taken the desperate step of setting themselves on fire to try to force the prison officials to transfer them out of that notorious hellhole.

And the prison system is not only denying that these events ever happened, but have taken steps to isolate the men involved in order to keep the public from knowing about it.

The Virginia Defenders are calling for an immediate, independent, impartial, outside investigation of the conditions of these three men, as well as the general conditions at Red Onion. We will be sending copies of this story to Gov. Glenn Youngkin, Virginia Attorney General Jason Miyares, all members of the Virginia General Assembly, U.S. Senators Tim Kaine and Mark Warner, Virginia Department of Corrections Director Chadwick Dotson and all our contacts in the Virginia media.

#Red Onion State Prison #Human Rights

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bcacstuff · 2 months ago

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Don't you think Sam should defend her

Well, I can imagine people would think as a first reaction he should, or should say something about it. But then again, if he does, I'm sure the fans who do these stupid things, would immediately see it as him confirming some sort of relationship or something. You know how this fandom, or better said the deranged ones in it are.

He can't do right in this case, he's between a rock and a hard place. We're talking about 2 women, should he address the entire fandom for this? And with that give it perhaps unwanted and more attention then it deserves? What will be the result of that, you might ask yourself. Of course we know there's much more going on in this fandom, but it isn't reserved solely for this fandom:

I've received a link a while back, and still have this article open on one of my tabs in the browser. I had the intention to answer the Anon that sent it to me a few weeks ago, but as there were so many things going on, I didn't want it to get buried by the many other posts.

It's this article:

There are some really good parts in it that can be translated one on one for this fandom, even though the artists in this article are musicians. Already in the first paragraphs you can read:

This summer, norms of pop flipped when musicians started telling off their fans. Leading the pack was Chappell Roan, the 26-year-old breakout star of 2024. In a statement on Instagram, she outlined the “too many nonconsensual physical and social interactions” she had had with fans, including people hassling her family and friends.

An expert view on it:

“The relationship between fans and artists is a power balance,” says Dr Lucy Bennett, a lecturer in journalism, media and culture at Cardiff University. “Sometimes the power can tip back and forth.” Fandom, she explains, is a deeply emotional thing where people can feel a sense of home and belonging. It can lead to an intense connection to the music, something only heightened by the access to artists provided by social media. “But the problem that we have is how fans can forge a direct connection when they’re one among potentially millions that follow the artist. Those artists can’t reach out to every fan online. But to those who aren’t noticed, how does this make them feel? And what lengths may some fans go to get noticed?”

A former deranged fan's experience

Someone who has grappled with this themselves is Emily, a 26-year-old Taylor Swift fan from Idaho. Emily, who asked to be referred to under a pseudonym for fear of being doxed, was once a dedicated Swiftie, spending thousands of dollars on merchandise and concert tickets. During the Lover era of 2019, however, she began to see contradictions in Swift’s image and found her sudden embrace of politics inauthentic and calculated. “I was upset because it seemed the person I thought she was wasn’t real,” she says. She was also put off by the growing toxicity among a fandom that no longer felt like a community. Prior to Swift’s hit album 1989, “Taylor had said that she wasn’t going to interact with fans on social media because one fan might feel more important than the other,” she says. But Swift began doing secret live sessions for fans, found via fan accounts online. “It did exactly what she thought that might,” Emily says. “Fans were suddenly fighting with each other saying, ‘You’re not good enough because you don’t obsess with her on the level I do, or ‘You don’t have as much merch as I do and you don’t know every song like I do.’ It was kind of gross.” Emily became so distraught that she would vent to her friends about her disappointment. “When I look back it now,” she says, “it’s like, wow. I was really deranged. Taylor Swift doesn’t know who the hell I am. She doesn’t care what I think. This is actually a me problem. I needed to step back and realise that.” She cites social media and the 24/7 access to information about Swift as one reason why she became so obsessed with the singer’s life. “I had to get some hobbies outside of discussing Taylor Alison Swift.”

And again the expert's view as an end conclusion

To realign the relationship between fans and artists, Bennett believes that musicians may need to step away from sharing so much of their lives on social media. “But it’s really important that they speak up if they feel that they’re experiencing unacceptable behaviour from the fans,” she adds.

It's a really good read, so if you're interested and have a bit of time, I'd recommend reading the whole article. There is no easy answer to this phenomena or to your question Anon.

PS. To Anon sending me the link a few weeks ago, thank you 🧡. You were right, I found this interesting. I'm sorry it took so long to post it, but it deserves all the attention.

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

Text

Cerulean

Here it is! Indigo part 2… even years later lol. after literal years... we are continuing with it. If you're unfamiliar, here is part one.

I hope you enjoy our new(ish) babies.

Check out our Patreon!

warnings- mention of anxiety, tattoos, tooth rotting fluffy babies, miscommunication

WC- 4.2k

----

Y/N stared nervously at her phone. Harry’s contact was up in the bubble, her first message to him sitting unsent on the screen.

He had actually given her his number. He said that he would talk to her about his tattoos and his shop and he had said she could call him H, which- Gah! She wanted to squeal when she had woken up and remembered it all. The headache had been gnarly, but she recalled most of the night very vividly. How Harry had taken charge and told the man bothering her off, how he had admitted that she intimidated her somehow because he thought she was pretty and his glaring wasn’t because of hatred- it was nerves, anxiety and trying to figure out how to talk to her.

He’d placed her number into his phone under a simple letter, H, and promised to text him later.

Did the next day qualify as later?

It was almost noon and she had sent off a few emails to her publisher that was working with her on one of her fashion articles, trying to waste time to not seem overly eager. Washing the dishes, switching her laundry, even taking her cat for a walk(unconventional but Nibbles had been a street kitten, he liked to go outside), even taking a full body shower with the shaving and the deep hair mask. Her headache had faded to an dull throb with the help of a tylenol, and she was now ready to bite the bullet.

Y/N: Hiiii :D It’s Y/N.

Y/N: Hope I’m not bugging you but I was thinking about finally getting a tattoo. I had some questions and I figured you’d be perfect to ask.

It wasn’t a lie. Y/N really had been considering a tattoo and asking Harry, though she had been planning on going to him anyway out of courtesy before she had gotten the whole ‘i think he hates me’ thing cleared up. She’d never go to a different artist if she could support someone in the friend group. Now it was an exciting thing for her, a giddiness in her stomach rising when she saw the three dots in the texting bubble showing that he was replying.

Hm. He didn’t have his read receipts on. Interesting.

A response popped up quite quickly after sending her message.

H: Hi. You aren’t bugging. Come down to the shop, it’s slow today.

Y/N nearly choked on her lemonade. He wanted her to come? Today?! Her bare foot tapped anxiously against the carpet as she blinked at her phone screen, trying to find the right words to respond. She didn’t want to bother him or annoy him, even though he had said she wasn't’ bugging', the girl was still a bit nervous. Last night she had called him super cool and said she wanted to spend time with him alone but she had to wonder if she was brave enough to do it so soon.

Y/N: Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a bother or anything.

His response came just as fast as the last. Did he have his phone screen open or something?

H: You aren’t. I’m doing paperwork so I don’t mind.

H: Can you bring me a coffee? I’ll venmo you.

She felt a laugh bubble from her throat as she looked at the messages. She hadn’t said yes but he was most definitely telling her to get her ass over there if she read between the lines. Considering it was a weekend, she had no excuse not to. Besides her nerves, she didn’t have one either. She liked Harry. She thought he was really cute and mysterious and he was polite when he spoke last night and something about him had her so intrigued. The girl knew she would kick herself if she didn’t go, so that’s how the decision was made.

Y/N: Sugar or cream? Do you do a latte or something fancy? Frappichino?

H: Black, please. Cold foam on top. Thanks xx

—-

Harry knew he was being awfully presumptuous but he also knew himself.

It was now or never.

Last night he had finally found his balls and spoken to the cute little thing. Granted, it took him standing up for her against a creep, but he had still done it. Y/N was coming to the nearly empty shop to talk about a tattoo, what he knew would be her very fucking first, and he was so nervous he could probably vomit if he thought about it too long.

He had always been known to be an intimidating man. He was littered with dark swirls of ink on his skin, piercings on his nose and eyebrow-and some other not so visible places-, he was pretty tall and broad shouldered and he was said to have what Niall loved to call a ‘bitch face’. His hair was longer, needing a cut as it was falling into his face, and he had his moody demeanor which tended to scare people off. Even as a teenager, pre tats and everything, he had sat quietly behind his friends while he observed and was able to keep prying people away with a simple quirk of the brow.

While that intimidating air worked wonders for getting annoyingly nosy people to fuck off and to get laid every once in a while by a girl who wanted a night with a ‘bad boy’, -words said by 2 of them, not himself- he sure as fuck didn’t want Y/N to think of him that way.

Y/N was just… She was his opposite in every way and he really, really liked it. Soft curved features as opposed to his own hard ones, a gentle glow to the eyes instead of his hardened glimmer. She had a sweet, bubbly voice that made him hang off her every damn word when he got the privilege to go out when she was there. She had called herself a fucking cinnamon roll, and she had been right. Sweet and fluffy and coated in sugar. Something he’d fucking love to taste, given the chance.

That would be a bit down the line considering Y/N wasn’t the type of girl he’d want to hook up with. She was the girl that he’d want his Mum to meet. She was the breakfast in bed, flowers every week, buy pretty dresses for type of girl. Every woman deserves that, but for him? Y/N was that exact type. He hooked up with girls that he knew he wouldn’t get attached to. Quick fucks at their place, bar bathrooms, cars. He didn’t let them inside his world because he knew what he wanted.

He’d dated before, had his heart broken a small handful of times to know what he wanted and what he didn’t. Hopefully he’d be able to sniff out some more about Y/N that he hadn’t found out through the social gatherings, grapevines and checking out her social media. She made cute little videos of her outfits almost every day on her instagram story that he watched when he had the chance. She had a cat as well. She liked pastel colors and drank a lot of tea and lemonade. She liked the pink starbursts best- he knew just from the exposure he’d gotten. The itch to gather more information had hit him hard.

Thankfully she was coming to see him today and he could stop being such a pussy. Face her alone and talk to her face to face. She was too nice to judge him if he stuttered or said the wrong thing, at least not outwardly.

He’d hoped she would text today, hoped he’d have an excuse to see her. His outfit had a bit more effort than his other ones. Sticking with all black because spilled ink was an absolute bitch to get out, if not impossible, he chose his favorite black jeans with the holes in the knees, frayed strings something to pick at when he was bored. On top he wore a black button up with little roses as buttons, left open down to his mid chest. Maybe it was slutty, but he liked to show off the ink he had. It was something he was proud of. His necklaces hung down mid chest, the silver chains and pendants slightly tangled now that he had taken a look, but it sort of worked.

He had been mid inspection when he heard the door bell jingle and the receptionist greet Y/N.

Y/N was a bit shocked at just how nice it was when she walked in. Outside she had seen the neon light in the window and the sign up above, already impressed, but it got better when she walked inside. The red and black tattoo shop had an edgy vibe. As she stepped inside, she was greeted by the checkered floors that give off a retro feel. On the left-hand side, there was a flash wall littered with a plethora of designs, featuring different what she assumed were the tattoo styles of each artist who worked out of the shop.

As she walked towards the reception desk, Y/N noticed it was made of thick dark wood and had a glossy finish and a smiling dark haired receptionist sitting behind the desk. Black frames on the side wall showed off their business license and framed newspaper articles about the shop. Obviously it had raving reviews. Y/N felt a bit guilty for not knowing, but proud of him. Obviously it was a well respected show.. Behind the desk, there was a glass cabinet displaying various jewelry for piercings and shop merchandise. She wondered if she could buy one of the hoodies or tee shirts to support him? Oh, maybe a tote bag. That was definitely something she would use. She’d always liked the little logo. It was a bit of a surprise to her that she’d never seen him wear any of it before, only on his instagram.

Maybe he didn’t want random people talking to him about tattoos when he was out?

Greeting the receptionist, she let her eyes wander around. There seemed to be rooms for tattooing and piercings down a long hallway, some thick black, crushed velvet curtains that can be drawn closed for privacy. Convenient. At least they cared about that. Some of the ones she had looked at online pre-Harry had the bare minimum.

“Hi! Did you have an appointment?” The girl behind the counter was dressed in what she could tell was retro clothing, a slightly off the shoulder red top and a string of chunky pearls around her neck. Her hair was done up so neatly that Y/N had been instantly jealous. She had never been good at doing updos, nor did she look good with that sort of poof, but she wished she did. Her bright red lipstick would be a lot during the day for someone else, but on her? It worked. Y/N was a little intimidated already. She seemed really cool just by looking at her.

“N-No, uh, Harry told me to come-”

“She’s here for me, Liz.” Harry’s voice interrupted her own. Y/N turned around, tray of coffee in hand and a brown paper bag in the other. “This is Y/N. She’s cool.”

Cool? He thought she was cool too. Y/N felt herself flush under her clothes, swallowing thickly as he sauntered over and took the tray from her hands. “Thanks for this, gorgeous. Forgot to get new coffee for the machine.”

Y/N felt like she was having a bit of an episode. Gorgeous? He had called her gorgeous and walked over to her so confidently, as if his nerves that had gotten him to make her think he hated her had disappeared. Perhaps it was because he was in his own domain, his element. Thankfully, Liz had kept her from having to respond right away.

“Oh, sick.” She smiled up at her from her swivel chair. “Harry never has his friends here. Besides the ones who work here and Niall, but he always leaves a mess in the break room. It’s nice to see a new face. You’re really pretty.”

Y/N had to admire the confidence she carried. She was so pretty and could easily talk to people, joking with her already as if they were friends for years. “Thank you, you are as well.” She replied, the compliment making her feel even more flustered. “Niall is very good at leaving messes, I’m afraid.” That’s something she knew first hand. “I don’t have any tattoos yet so uh, Harry offered to talk to me about it.”

“Virgin skin! How exciting.” Liz chirped, twirling her straw around. “Honestly, Harry’s a great artist, perfect for a first timer if you can ignore the mean mugging. He’s super gentle and has the best lines I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N had to smile. Of course he was good. A glance at him had her observing the slight pink in his cheeks as he narrowed his eyes at Liz, who to her credit, didn’t seem phased. He was slightly embarrassed at the attention on him but still happy that she had talked him up.

Harry would be heartbroken if he scared her off of tattoos, but he tried to be a good artist with everyone. Perhaps he wasn’t super talkative but most of his clients were veteran ink people with loads already on their skin. They knew to sit quietly or listen to the music, or bring a friend to chat with so he could do his damn job.

“Anyways.” Harry cleared his throat. “Mitch’s appointment just pulled into the lot. Y/N and I are going into the office, scream if you need me.” His nod to follow her was brief, Y/N holding on to her handbag for dear life as his long legs carried him down the hallway at a much faster pace that she usually did. Thankfully she was able to hide how winded the quickness of the long hallway had made her once he opened his office door.

The floors were hardwood in his office. He had his own black desk, a black leather couch with a red acrylic coffee table and a shelf full of books. Windows from behind the desk gave it decent lighting. It was clean in here, cleaner than Y/N had ever kept her own office.

“Sorry about that.” He murmured to her, setting the coffee down on the smooth red table. “She’s really overly friendly. Great for customers but a bit nosy.” He walked towards his desk to grab his iPad and stylus, slightly flustered when the white thing fell back on the desk. His nerves were most definitely showing. Turning around he was ready to keep talking, but he was met by her body halfway across the room to look at some of his old framed flash sheets he had on the far wall.

“These are so cool, Harry.” She said quietly, eyes scanning the designs. “And you just thought of all these off the top of your head?” Turning herself to face him, she watched as he gave her a tiny bit of a smile. Still pink in the cheeks, which soothed her own nerves a little. His confidence at first had made her a tad bit scared that she was the only one stressing out about it, but he was obviously affected just as much.

“Erm… some of them. I use some reference pictures, get inspired by other works and change it so it’s my own. A lot of it is things I randomly get ideas for, though.” He rubbed his knuckle over his chin. “I work with a lot of clients who already have ideas and wants so the perimeters are more strict, so with flash it’s more of what I want to do. People who get them have a say in color and size but usually it’s a pre-printed stencil.” He explained, crossing his arms as he approached her.

She smelled really good. Was that a weird thing to think? Maybe. But it was true. He was hyperaware of everything right now, trying his best to not put his leather boot into his mouth and fuck up. There was genuine approval on her face, getting closer to the frames to scope out details and truly admiring each one. “Are these the retired ones, your favorites? Why are they stuck back here instead of with the ones out front?” Inquisitive eyes met his own.

“These are ones I’ve already done. I don’t do a ton of flash anymore because I’m usually booked for customs.” His own eyes took in the old flash sheets. Each design was something he had loved creating, but the time for them had passed. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to remember them, though. “But all of these were claimed by people when we had flash events. I don’t think it’s bad to have similar tattoos as other people but I tend to not do the same thing twice. I had gotten really sick of doing the same infinity signs and hearts and roses when I was an apprentice at the first shop.” God, he was glad that trend was over. Mostly. “There’s nothing inherently wrong with hearts or roses, s’just repetitive and I like to do stuff that challenges me. Y’know?” He turned to look at her, finding her already staring up at him. That stupid flutter moved around his stomach again.

“Oh, I can imagine. I’m really glad I didn’t get the tattoos I had on my pinterest board. I had it growing from like… 2013 to 2017 and all of them now seem very…” She rolled her lips together as she tried to politely find the word for cringe. “Not me. It’s actually why I haven't gotten anything yet.” Arms wrapped around herself, feeling a bit insecure about it. Here was this beautiful tattoo artist, in talent and looks, and she was telling him about her pinterest board of tattoos. He must be internally rolling his eyes because he did a good job of keeping a soft smile on his lips. Was it even legal for men to have lips that pretty and deep pink? Maybe it was just unfair. “I wanted to wait until I felt ready.”

“That’s a really good thing to do.” Harry was proud of her for that. Smart girl. Leaning against the side of his desk, he kept his arms crossed as he continued to talk. “You don't know how many people get impulsive tattoos as their first and regret it later. Now.. m’not one to judge because I’m fuckin’ littered in dumb ones, but I always think of it as a memory. Even if its’ a memory of being a dumbass.” His heart fluttered when he got a giggle out of her. Fucks sake, he was pathetic. “Removal is possible but not at all fun. Got a few mates and some clients who got their old ink taken off and it isn’t pleasant. Waiting is the smartest thing to do if you’re someone who thinks you could possibly regret it.”

Y/N didn’t strike him as an impulsive person. Every time he had seen her, she had seemed pretty put together. Though she could seem a little chaotic, it was an organized chaos that he had always liked. Harry, despite his impulse with tattoos when he was young and tipsy in his partying stage, liked to be a controlled person. Sometimes it was too much, which led to the anxiety he had. It was part of the reason he had such a hard time talking to Y/N at first.

She was so cute and so sweet and Harry wanted their conversations to be perfect. He had a track record of saying dumb things or at the very least, not saying them how they were meant when he was nervous. Usually his anxiety was hidden very well. He didn’t get it when it came to clients or tattoos or anything work related, but in his personal and social life? It was rampant. That was part of the reason he had quit drinking. That was a story for a different time, though.

“Yeah, I really don’t want removal.” Her nose scrunched a bit like a bunny, making his heart stutter in his chest. Cute little thing, she was. “That’s why I wanted to come to you.” There was a slight pause. “I was going to come to you even when I thought you hated me. I’d never want to support a different shop when someone in my circle is talented and has their own business.”

That hurt him a little. Even when she was under the impression that she hated him and was glaring at her, that he had made her uncomfortable, she had planned on supporting him anyways? What sort of fucking angel was she? He winced visibly at the reminder of her original thoughts. He had massively fucked up with that. What an idiot he had been. His nerves had gotten the best of him yet again.

“Y/N, I truly am sorry that I came across that way. It’s not the case, nor has it even been.” He swallowed, looking down at her hands that were clasped together. She was rocking on her heels and he could tell she had probably not wanted to bring that up, but he was glad she did because it did need to be properly addressed while she was 100% sober. “What I said last night is the truth. You just… y’make me a little nervous and I don’t like that I had no idea what to say to you.” She had come into their little friend group and been so fucking adorable, so kind and ready to take someone home if they needed, buy them a drink, talk about her little fashion brand deals. Y/N listened to everything people said, she would find the eyes of a person who had been drowned out by other conversation and encourage them. The best sort of person. “I don’t do well with people I think are pretty, people I think are sweet. S’a little intimidating for me.”

Y/N still didn’t know how that worked, but she could imagine that it must have been weird for him. She couldn’t see how she of all people could be considered intimidating but it made her a little giddy that Harry had found her to be pretty and sweet. It had been the complete opposite of what she expected to be the reason. “Well, thank you. For thinking I’m pretty and sweet, that’s- that’s really nice.” Her eyes fell down while she couldn't keep the smile off her face. “I thought maybe I’d done something like… I dunno, I get kinda touchy and gooey when I’m drunk. I asked everyone if I had accidentally said something or hung on you the first night and didn’t remember meeting you but they’d said no.” That was one of the downfalls of Y/N drunk. She loved to spread love and give cuddles and hugs. Sometimes she didn’t think twice and that had caused her friends to keep her wrangled in their grasp.

“No, no. I wouldn’t have minded any of that.” Harry realized what he had said but continued talking. “It was just me being nervous. I just wanted to apologize again cause I hate to think that you were upset about it at all… n’then…” He rolled his head back to look at the ceiling for a moment. “I feel shitty that you were going to come to me for a tattoo even after I was a dick. Even if I didn’t realize it then. You’re just a really good person.” He looked back down to see Y/N giving him a tiny smile, stepping closer to him. “Fuck, I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“No! No, it’s okay. I uh..” Another pause was paired with a pink tongue peeking out to lick her lips that Harry paid a bit too much attention to for his own good. “It’s just nice to hear you talk. You’re always so quiet but you’ve got a nice speaking voice. I like it.”

Harry wanted to scream, actually. He wanted to groan and drop his head into her sweet smelling neck and do god knows what, because that compliment made him feel really flattered and flustered. Y/N just had that fucking thing about her, this weird trait that he couldn’t quite describe that made him feeling like he was a schoolboy all over again being paired up with his crush for an assignment. How lucky was he? She had wanted his art on her forever.

“Thanks.” His response was slightly shy, looking back up at her with the pink tint still on his cheeks. He knew the back of his neck was probably flushed too.

“No problem.” Another slight pause where neither of them knew how to proceed followed but, this time neither seemed to particularly mind. Deciding to move it on so he didn’t have to look uncomfortable anymore, Y/N shot him another one of those smiles before moving back towards the coffee table, grabbing her cup from the cardboard tray. “So. Let’s talk about designs.”

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chrollogy · 5 months ago

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ii. HIS NAME? MIYA ATSUMU

miya atsumu x f!reader

── next: iii. A meeting | series masterlist

synopsis: Somehow, your little drunken one night stand with Atsumu has turned into a big mess overnight after the media discovers it. Now, you’re accused of cheating on Semi Eita, and his fans aren’t too happy about all this.

chapter content warning: pop artist!reader, slight angst, implied alcohol use, semi mention, reader is hungover and a mess, brief mentions of bile, reader is accused of cheating, online hate, atsumu is kinda stupid, not beta read.

word count: 3.2k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. sorry for the wait !! i got caught up in other things cough iwaizumi series cough. hehe but can u tell i had a bit of fun w this chap? :3

A sharp pain abruptly awakened your drunken slumber, as though pulled violently from the serene depths of sleep, a whirlwind of reckless inebriated events rushed to your mind first thing. How cruel, you weren’t even fully sober yet your brain clearly had no qualms reminding you of your stupidity.

Upon peeling your eyes open, you were greeted with darkness, the hazy ceiling spun uncontrollably, and your body ached from head to toe. The low hum of Paris’ streets spilled from the opened window; occasional vehicles, and drunken people navigating through the warmly lit night. The cool, night breeze kissed up your bare body leaving trails of goosebumps behind—now, this really had you sobered up.

The bar. Atsumu. His hotel room.

Oh god. Now, you’ve really done it. You tried to keep a hold of yourself, and scoured your hazy mind to think of what to do next—sleep through it, and deal with it in the morning? Or escape now, and don’t look back? Sure, you weren’t heartless but you were more than confident that Atsumu was on the same page as you regarding this arrangement; in short, this whole thing was just a one night stand, nothing else. So, if you were to leave now, you’d probably never see him again whatsoever—that's that.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a low wince as your head pounded in the rhythm of your heart beat. You slowly sat up, prying yourself off of Atsumu’s weighty arm that rested atop your stomach before rolling off the bed to find your discarded clothes, and hastily put them on without waking up Atsumu.

As you faced the crimson carpet beneath, you heard a faint chime coming from somewhere in the room; you instantly knew it was yours from the familiar tone. After a few minutes of trying to navigate through the carpeted floors on your hands, and knees, you finally found your purse, its leather material cool against your palm. Atsumu’s low snores filled the silence of the room as you opened your bag, and took your phone out.

A surge of bright light blinded your eyes for a split second, making the pounding in your head ten times worse. You cursed under your breath, fingers hastily scrambling to lower down its brightness. Blinking a few times, your eyes finally adjusted to your phone screen, zeroing in on the endless strings of notifications stacked on top of another; your heart picked up its pace.

Oh, this cannot be good.

A lot of it were text messages from your manager, and publicist—a clear sign that something was indeed very, very wrong especially with the amount of missed calls, and pilling messages. Though, the one that caught your eye was a message from Semi which was sent ten minutes ago.

It was as though all blood had been drained from your body, limbs tingling with fear, and chest heaving as you let out heavy pants. You were panicking—well, who wouldn’t be? You could already tell how much of a mess this whole situation was going to be. God, you just wanted to shove yourself under the covers, and leave all this for later but if you were being honest, there wasn’t an ounce of sleep in your body anymore.

With a bated breath, you opened the link Semi sent you, pupils hastily scanning each typed word of the article,

No way. No fucking way. Not only was the article completely incorrect in every aspect but it also accused you of cheating on Semi—you may be stupid at times but never in a million years would you cheat on someone, let alone a person which the media portrayed was your supposed boyfriend.

You’d never even do this to anyone! Why was the media so quick to jump to scandalous conclusions? What benefit did they get for trying to stain your image?

As if it was second nature, you quickly swiped through your homescreen, and opened Twitter which greeted you with a flurry of notifications regarding the scandal. The first tweet to pop up in your timeline was one from Entertainment News captioned with the words you’ve already seen more than enough for the past ten minutes—you, Atsumu, Semi, and cheating. With a shaky thumb, you scrolled down, eyes carefully reading each, and every comment there was under the tweet.

You stared at your screen despite its brightness burning your eyes, gaze locked onto the hate comments meant for you as though your mind was trying to sear it into the very walls of your brain. As expected, most of them were from Semi’s fans since he was made out to be the victim in all this—you couldn’t really blame them for looking out for him but it was just all wrong.

Sure, having a one night stand with a stranger you just met in a Parisian luxury bar wasn’t the smartest thing to do but at the end of the day, celebrity or not, you were just a human after all. Though, the media was never known for its kindness in these situations because you knew this scandal wasn’t only going to affect your future projects but also your present ones—not to mention the image you’ve worked so hard to build over the course of years you’ve been in the industry.

If you were going to be completely honest, you felt absolutely pathetic. The state you were in right now screamed so—sat on the carpeted floors of Atsumu’s hotel room, clothes unruly, head violently pounding, and tears welling in your eyes; not the usual image your fans saw nor anyone else. At this moment, you weren’t Japan’s treasured artist, no, you were just plain old you; the normal human being everyone forgot existed behind the flashing cameras, and fabricated smiles.

Your nails dug into the plush material beneath you, every fibre in your body tingling with pure panic; your mind screamed at you do something, anything just to put an end to this nightmare you’ve started deep down, you knew there was nothing you could really do but take all the bitter jabs, and unnecessary hateful comments.

A million things ran through your mind, it mirrored a storm’s eye—chaotic, swirling with violent winds, and raging azure waters yet not one idea on how to deal with all this formulated.

Calm breaths turned into shallow, rapid ones, heartbeat quickening with every short inhale, and exhale through your parted lips. The early Parisian morning was tranquil yet it felt unnerving, as though everyone was lurking in the shadows, stalking their prey—you—and waiting to pounce at the first sign of fragility.

The silence was deafening. You needed to get out of here as soon as possible—away from Atsumu, away from this damned hotel room; away, away, away as though you were a wanted convict fleeing from a crimson-painted crime scene.

And without looking back, you ran.

You ran, and ran, and ran, articles of clothing messily draped over your sticky body, and hair dancing against the cool morning breeze as your legs carried you through the deserted Parisian streets. Everything was a messy blur, shadowed hues of shops, and buildings alike whirled past with every heavy step taken, ignoring the tight pinch on the apex of your legs. Damn you, Miya Atsumu.

God, you felt absolutely sick, saliva pooled your tongue, all the consumed alcohol from last night nauseatingly making its way back up, and was already leaving an unpleasant taste in your throat—it burned like straight, hot acid, clawing at the lining of your oesophagus hard enough to make you slow down.

In, and out, in, and out, you took several deep breaths to reset yourself; to calm the violent nerves, to push down the bitter bile that lingered in your throat. A light sheen of sweat covered your skin, your mouth felt dry, and your head violently spun. It was funny, the daring contrast between the pleasures of last night, and the horrors of today—a few hours ago, your body felt like it was on cloud nine, now, it was rapidly on its way to rock bottom. Maybe even deeper.

A few more deep breaths, and you were staggering away again until you reached the familiar grandeur building of your booked hotel. The security guard at the entrance warily eyed your inebriated state as you unceremoniously climbed the crimson carpeted steps. With a dip of his chin, he pulled the door open, you could only muster a slurred ‘thank you’ before hastily heading for the elevators.

You closed your eyes, and leaned on the cool metallic wall as it ascended to your floor; somehow, the elevator made you even more nauseous than you already were. It didn’t help how the lights inside were practically bright enough to blind someone. The sound of heavy breaths filled your ears, each inhale, and exhale getting shakier by the minute as the situation dawned on you.

Sure, it didn’t look that bad but for an artist that had led an unproblematic life ‘til now, it was scary; not to mention how some of Semi’s fans quickly saw you as a target with the bull’s eye located right at your heart.

Being a celebrity didn’t necessarily mean all sunshine, and rainbows, you’ve had a fair share of hate, and unsolicited opinions directed your way but those weren’t something you couldn’t handle, being the attention of a heated scandal on the other hand was a different story, especially when the narrative was nowhere near accurate.

Deemed as your country’s pride, this scandal was sure to leave a nasty stain unless you played your cards right. What a headache.

The faint chime of the elevator reached your ears, revealing the long hallway of your floor. Forcing yourself off the wall, you slowly made your way to your room while mindlessly poking around your purse for the keycard.

“Where have you been?! We’ve been trying to get a hold of you!”

Ah. Your manager.

Just the person you wanted to see right now. Not. Her shrill voice echoed throughout the outstretched hallway, it pierced right through your temples, taking your headache up another notch. You really didn’t want to deal with this right now, all you needed was a nice, warm shower, and a much needed sleep, though, the look on her face already hinted that you were in for one hell of a morning.

She looked at your state, dark brown eyes raked your messy figure with a sigh, her shoulders dropping with pity. “Let’s get you inside, yeah? I’ll let you freshen up but we’re going to have to talk this all out.” This was typical of her, firm yet gentle, and caring, something you’ve grown to appreciate in this unforgiving industry.

The least you could do right now was to take as much time as needed to wash up, and look presentable—so you did. You stayed beneath the running water, rethinking your actions, and the whole situation. Despite your innocence in all this, regret settled deep inside your bones, so many what if’s crossed your mind.

If anything, the soft patter of water droplets hitting the ivory tiled shower floor soothed you, heavy steam that fogged up the glass door acted as a barrier from the outside world, leaving you in your own safe space—all bare, and vulnerable. A side no one has seen, no, a side no one needed to see.

After freshening up, you sat on the crimson loveseat with your manager pacing the living room back, and forth, not knowing where she should even start; you bit your lip, patiently waiting for the stern scolding coming your way.

“We—your publicist, and I—have been trying to contact you for hours,” She started. “I know you’re an adult but these kinds of situations always have consequences, and they’re never good ones.”

Before she could continue, you spoke up, “Wait—can you tell me more about him?”

Your manager sighed, hands coming up to massage her temples but nodding nonetheless. “You’re probably already aware that his name is Miya Atsumu. He’s a professional volleyball player signed with MSBY Black Jackals, and plays as their official starting setter—how did you not know about him?!”

“I don’t—I’m not interested in volleyball.” You shrugged.

God, how foolish could you be? A one night stand with a professional volleyball player was certainly not what you expected from this situation. Ah, you knew the physique he donned was for something.

“As I was saying, you still have a reputation to uphold! I’m not going to say I’m disappointed because it’s your own life, and you can do what you want but remember you’re a celebrity—wherever you are, all eyes will be on you whether you like it or not. Now, your publicist has been drafting up an official statement regarding this, so all you have to do right now is lie low, and wait for it to die down.”

Wait for it to die down.

Those were the exact same words they told you months prior during the height of rumours about your supposed relationship with Semi, and look where it got you—up until now, people still believed that you two were in a romantic relationship. In short, waiting for it all to die down was the most foolish thing you’ve heard. It’d work for other instances but not this one, you were determined to clear your name.

But for now, staying inside your hotel room seemed like an excellent idea. You couldn’t really sleep after your manager left, instead, you opted to stay away through the morning to read the official statement. Surprisingly, Atsumu’s statement shortly followed yours (you definitely did not stalk his social media.).

Despite being granted a few more days to tour around the city of love before flying home, the scandal had you confined to your hotel room. Earlier today, your manager had advised you to stay inside via text due to the amount of paparazzis surrounding the area, especially after Atsumu was spotted yesterday leaving his hotel for the airport. You had seen the photos, he donned a pair of sunnies while actively avoiding the cameras, one video even showed the volleyball star being bombarded with a ton of questions.

Doomscrolling. That’s what you were doing instead of exploring the foreign country. It lived up to its name after seeing certain posts that screamed your tarnished reputation,

You could handle a song falling off the charts but for fans to demand a ‘Semi version’ from your duet song with him stung a tad bit—you, and Semi worked on that single day, and night only for certain fans to disregard your hard work, and ask for a version without you. Whatever. Shutting off your phone, you tossed it somewhere on the bed before reaching for the remote, maybe watching some TV would help.

After mindlessly surfing a few channels here, and there, you came across a familiar face—flaxen strands, and honeyed eyes, the same ones you met two days ago. Miya Atsumu. He sat behind a long table decorated with MSBY’s logo which mirrored the raven backdrop behind him, a serious expression painted on his face. You turned up the volume, and sat up from your bed, ivory sheets rustling with your movement; even though you’ve had enough of the whole situation, you were curious as to what Atsumu had to say in all this.

Him being caught up in this heated scandal was something you still have to apologise for, personally.

Atsumu surveyed the crowd of journalists, and photographers before him, they all donned the same hungry, and eager look in their eyes—starving, and impatient for juicy information regarding the scandal. He could already predict the kind of questions they were going to throw his way, after all, he got a fair share of them via social media.

To think Atsumu was getting this much attention might have had him worried for you; he was a man of sports, and was only involved with the media for certain aspects of his career but with you, the media watched your every move.

It gave an icy shiver down his spine.

Clearing his throat, he leaned into the microphone to speak, and as if on cue, the cameras began to flash. “Thank y’all for coming ta this press conference despite a late notice. ‘M here ta formally apologise ta everyone for my reckless acts. On the flight back, I’ve done alotta self reflectin’, and realised how I acted was not a good image for myself, and the team,”

“As mentioned in the official statement released prior, I hope my individual actions don’t reflect the team’s image. Once again, I’m sincerely apologisin’ for tarnishin’ my image.”

A low murmur filled the room as Atsumu finished his formal apology with a dip of his chin. A second passed before the first question of the press conference was thrown his way, “So, you confirm that it was you, and her in those pictures?”

He nodded, not wanting to waste his breath on such a stupid question. If official statements were already released from both parties, wasn’t that enough confirmation that you, and Atsumu were the ones involved? Clearly, some people lacked reading comprehension.

“Were you aware of her relationship with Semi Eita?”

Didn’t your statement also state that there was never a romantic relationship to begin with? Seriously, if these were how dumb Atsumu’s questions were, he could only imagine your end of the stick. It baffled him how the media pushed this narrative so much just so they could shape it into juicy gossip for mere entertainment, though said entertainment also cost your reputation as an artist.

Nonetheless, Atsumu answered with a shake of his head, “No, I wasn’t aware but as far as I’m concerned, there was never a relationship ta begin with.”

“Look, she, and I had a fun night together in Paris. I’m sure if she was in a relationship, she wouldn’t have entertained a conversation with me.”

Atsumu wasn’t going to lie, this was starting to annoy him real bad, he already saw the questions coming but he just couldn’t see why they’re so adamant on your private life, Atsumu even felt bad for this Semi Eita guy, and he didn’t even know who he was. It was clear that these journalists were trying to milk everything out of this situation, especially with a clean-slated artist like you, their articles would surely blow up.

“A fun night as in . . ?” The journalist asked.

Atsumu tilted his head, a small smile painted on his rosy lips, it was anything but innocent, “I’m sure ya, and I know exactly what that means, yeah?” This caused a small chatter amongst the press

His very words spilled from the TV speakers of your hotel room. Speechless. You were absolutely speechless to the point where your jaw unceremoniously hung open for a few seconds. How stupid could he get?! Where the fuck was his PR team? You facepalmed, he practically just added more fuel to the fire after telling the media you two slept with one another. How great.

Miya Atsumu you stupid fucking volleyball player. —

taglist (open)

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year ago

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Editor’s note: This hypothetically open letter was originally posted by its anonymous author on Medium and was rapidly removed as “hate speech.” We found it to be a refreshing dose of honesty, a charming and relatable open letter from one parent to other parents (not to the child, obviously!) about dealing with a challenging and dangerous moment in raising children, especially “weird” adolescents who search for their identities harder than others and risk making life-damaging mistakes in a way never before possible. We are reposting it here on New Discourses with the permission of the author.

By: Donna M.

Published: Mar 5, 2021

My dear, sweet, son,

I’ve got to break it to you: you’re not trans, you’re just weird.

This seems like a cruel thing to point out right now. Clearly, you are struggling and feeling pretty awful about things. I can see that you are in a rough patch, and one of the first rules of parenting is to not pile on. The world is pretty heavy on your shoulders. You’re fifteen. There’s a pandemic going on. But here I come anyway. I’m about to throw more on you.

When you were two – a happy, chubby, little tyke in pull-ups, you watched the world with wary eyes behind the thumb in your mouth. You leapt with joy in the rhythm of the toddle music classes. You chattered and shared stories about your stuffed animals. You loved your little sister. Enjoyed cookies and finger painting. That was all pretty normal.

But you also started to count to one thousand on our walks. And you started to call out the store names as we drove around. And you preferred reading books rather than playing with the other two-year-olds at preschool. And you hated sitting in the circle when instructed. And you hated the feel of blue jeans. And you threw big tantrums when you lost any kind of game. In other words, you started to show signs that you were… weird.

The grandparents were the first to notice. They said gentle things like “You oughta keep an eye on that one,” and sent us links to Wall Street Journal articles about child prodigies. And then the other parents in the play groups started to comment; “He’s pretty intense, huh?” And the teachers were on to it pretty quickly. They started to use fancy terms like “asynchronous development.”

By third grade, we realized you were different, but we still didn’t realize you were weird. Truthfully, we’re used to people like you. Our family is full of engineers, artists, musicians, computer programmers, and a lot of “free-thinkers.” Family gatherings always have chess, political debates, and quartets around the piano. That’s just us.

And besides, you had a small but solid group of friends. There was Pokémon, then Minecraft, then Magic, then Dungeons and Dragons, then Catan. You were never in the center of things, but you weren’t alone.

But then, in middle school, things started to change. By 7th grade, school finally started to require some effort, and it turned out you were pretty disorganized. People kept calling you smart, but the teachers were annoyed at your humor, and frustrated that you wouldn’t or couldn’t follow the guidelines for assignments. Classmates didn’t appreciate your frank (if accurate) descriptions of their efforts. I’ll admit, we got pretty frustrated with you, too.

And then puberty arrived, with its triple curse of acne, braces, and bizarre growth. The girls appeared to have it all together (I know they don’t, but they do appear that way). And the popular boys seemed to know exactly what to do. They can talk sports to each other, they brag about their romantic exploits. They never get in trouble for stupid reasons like forgetting an assignment three times in a row. Your anxiety started to kick in, and it seemed like you got smaller. And some of your guy friends moved on.

So you drifted over to the weird-o crowd. Well — I’m not sure what you call yourselves, but that’s what we would have called you back when I was in school. At different schools these are the geeks, or the theater kids, the math team kids, or the artsy-fartsy kids. This used to be where the gay kids ended up, but I think they’re more dispersed now. You get some kids whose parents are going through some rough times. Some girls with anorexia. A few boys who are edgy and angry. Kids with a great sense of humor and big hearts.

And some of these kids are really passionate. Just full of righteous anger about the injustices of the world. And some of them are dramatic. And truthfully, that looks pretty attractive to you. Because you share some of that confusion and anger about the world. And though you may not be sure what you think or what you feel, you are certain you don’t want to be on the bad side. You certainly aren’t like those popular boys with their suave charm and dominating manners. You’re not like them at all.

You’re actually more like those vibrant girls who can speak for hours about their ideas. Well, you would be if you could find the words to speak. And there is something so fascinating about those girls, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You’d never think about talking to those girls anyway, because that’d be weird. Because you are weird. You’ve never been good at chit-chat, or eye contact. Or girls. And besides, you wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression. You understand that your peers are starting to date, but you really don’t see the point. Sex is still gross and weird to you. It’s better to just call yourself “asexual” or “pansexual.” It’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card that helps you avoid the whole mess. And your group of friends tell you that you are super cool and brave for being able to say that about yourself.

But you’ve fallen into a funk. Anyone can see that. But computer games help. And there’s always trying to beat the speed record for that one game you’re kinda good at. And that one guy on reddit always has good tricks. And the people on that message board seem to get your humor.

So when one of them posts a meme about trans rights, it makes sense that you’d check it out. You’re curious! You’re a free thinker! You’re not like the normies. And the web quiz hits home. You do feel discomfort with your body. You don’t like sports. You do wonder what it would be like to be a girl. You’ve always felt like something was different about you.

You’re right. There is something different about you.

But you’re not trans, you’re just weird.

So we’re right here for you. We’ll always be here for you. But those online folks who urge you to “crack your trans egg” and rush to hormones and surgeries don’t know you at all. They don’t know that gifted kids and ADHD kids and Autism kids and Asperger’s kids are slower to develop emotionally and sexually. They don’t know that sexuality takes time and experience to figure out, and that the majority of trans teens seeking medical treatment haven’t even masturbated or kissed someone yet. They don’t know that 80% of trans children end up becoming comfortable with their birth sex if you just give them time. They don’t know that there are increasing numbers of desisting and de-transitioning people in their twenties. They don’t realize that hormones permanently stunt your growth, decrease your IQ, and can cause sterility. They don’t know that these hormones are prescribed off-label and there’s no research on the long-term outcomes. They don’t even know that the most recent research shows that short-term outcomes are clearly worse.

They don’t realize that you’re weird. But I do. You’re weird, kiddo. You’ll figure that out in a year or two. But that’s okay. We are all weird. And I love you anyway. You’re going to be just fine.

You always hear stories and justifications like, "she never liked wearing a dress," or "he always hated having his hair cut." This is post-hoc confirmation bias. Not only does this confirm everything critics say about this being a movement based on gross stereotypes, but they always leave out things like, "she refused to eat anything yellow," and "he was obsessed with elevator and crossing buttons and would cry if he wasn't the one to light it up."

It's okay to be weird.

#Donna M #gender identity #gender ideology #queer theory #genderwang #trans egg #it's okay to be weird #it's ok to be weird #normalize weird #religion is a mental illness

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srbachchan · 8 months ago

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DAY 5919

StWork, Mumbai May 2, 2024 Thu 12:49 PM

Birthday - EF - Elena Iankova Friday, 3 May .. and all our wishes for a happy birthday

🌹

Yo !

here before time for a very big change .. haha ..

but at work and got a bit of time and BOOM !

got to say the travel from Juhu home to work Marine Drive in 30 mins .. amazing Coastal Road and the Tunnel emerging on Marine Drive , just before its flyover and simply amazing .. !

Super constructed roads, tunnel, neat clean construct .. no traffic jams .. and done ..

Ok just to change the topic .. here is something to know :

Know what is a "mondegreen?'

MONDEGREENS

If you’ve been listening to rock music, you know it’s often hard to make out the lyrics. They sing it their way and we hear it our way.

Jimi Hendrix famously sang the phrase “While I kiss the sky” which was heard by thousands as “While I kissed this guy.”

CCR’s popular song originally said, “There’s a bad moon on the rise.” Many heard it as “There’s a bathroom on the right.”

Deep Purple’s still-popular chorus (known for its timeless guitar riff) “Smoke on the water/Fire in the sky” was misheard as “Smoke on the water/Fire engine guy.”

Nirvana’s anthem “Smells like Teen Spirit” had the lines, “Here we are now/Entertain us.” They were misheard as, “Here we are now/In containers.”

When Elvis Presley sang, “Everybody in the whole cell block”, many heard it as” Everybody in a wholesale frock”

There’s actually a word for misheard lyrics like these.

Mondegreen.

Some mondegreens became so famous that even artistes like Hendrix and CCR sang the misheard versions in their live concerts in a spirit of fun and tease.

It’s not just in pop songs that mondegreens occur. The US national anthem begins with the lofty words, “Oh say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light.’ Some heard them as “José, can you see…”

Occasionally, mondegreens had an interesting side-effect. Joe Cocker sang of a ‘lovely planet’ which was misheard as ‘lonely planet.’ The latter became the name of a well-known travel guide series of books.

No one knows why we hear the wrong thing although there are theories. It’s akin to the game of Chinese Whispers where the original line gets progressively distorted into some hilarious garbage by the time it reaches the last guy.

Mondegreens are not restricted to English alone. South Indians, with limited knowledge of Hindi, were taught patriotic songs in Hindi by zealous teachers. A popular one had the repeating phrase, “Bara tamata.” School students sang it with great gusto. Years later, some of them realized the actual words were “Bharat Mata.”

A popular line from Qurbani song, “Aap jaisa koi meri/zindagee mein aaye/ toh baat bun jaaye” was understood as “Aap jaisa koi…toh baap bun jaaye.” The defective version made sense to many who saw Zeenat Aman gyrating on those lyrics while gaping at Feroz Khan.

Many who weren’t familiar with the hill station between Bombay and Pune heard the Gulaami song as “Haathi ka andaa la” until they realized it was “Aati kya Khandala”.

I have a friend, her name is Geeta. Her family called her Gitu. Throughout her childhood and youth, she thought Rajesh Khanna was singing for her, when he said, ”Mere sapnon ki raani kab aaye Gitu”.

'Mondegreen' sounds French but isn't. In 1954, a writer at Harper’s Magazine remembered how as a little girl she misheard an old English ballad. The actual words, saluting a dead war hero, were:

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘭 𝘰' 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯.

She heard them as:

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘭 𝘰' 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯.

And thus was born the word ‘mondegreen’ to signify all misheard lyrics from that moment on.

Turns out, mondegreen itself started life as a mondegreen.

sent to me by a friend .. 🤣🤣

More perhaps later .. or perhaps not ..

Amitabh Bachchan

and some more .. a very pertinent article in TOI ..

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hellishattempt · 1 year ago

Text

𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 - false positive

cr 101strk on twitter, src from pin

🢥 summary : celebrity!au jjk men and rumours swirling around your established relationship, wc 2.4k 🢥 series includes : choso, fushiguro toji, geto suguru, gojo satoru and nanami kento, part two of five 🢥 content : celebrity!au, female reader, mostly angst, some fluff, married, body dysphoria, pregnancy, photoshopping / body editing, miscarriage, sickness, blood, fake newspaper used, paps being an ass, lying, use of pet names, suggestive content if you squint so hard your eyes are almost closed, i hate winter so this is set in like summer, jasper simping for nanami the entire time, the ending is what it is, not proofread we die like robins /ref

. . . BEING MARRIED TO AN AUTHOR has its perks, especially when you're a reader yourself. you always got to read the first drafts, and the second, and the final drafts before anyone else, including your husband's editors. nanami claimed that if it wasn't good enough for his wife, then it wasn't good enough to be published. you always thought that was a bit extreme, but you loved his writings either way. however, sometimes it was hard to find the time to read the latest chapter he sent you, because your job drained you. you were an influencer, and had currently signed a promotional deal with koh gen do, a popular japanese makeup brand. recently, you were barely home, busy with photoshoots and videos for koh gen do, on top of the content you had to make yourself.

neither of you really liked the limelight, nanami especially. you were young and naive when you joined social media, rising quickly to popularity. it was something you enjoyed, and you still do enjoy it, but it felt more like a tiring obligation than an aspiring career. you blame the paparazzi, nanami blames societal expectations, although he's not the paparazzi's biggest fan either. throughout your dating, and going on six year marriage, you and nanami have had your fair share of scandals. this one had to take the cake, however.

you were out, doing one of the last rounds of photoshoots for your endorsement deal. nanami was home, trying to churn out the latest chapter on his to-do list. he wasn't very successful. the mostly blank document had two words on it: CHAPTER THIRTY in the fancy font you had selected to be chapter headers. any attempt to write after that failed. every paragraph had been written, rewritten and deleted. so the buzz of his phone was a welcomed distraction.

it was an article post from red sun times, a relatively newer newspaper company in japan. nanami preferred them because they were quieter, at least compared to japan newsline or tokyoto sistership news. but the article title cause a deep frown to wrinkle nanami's sculpted face.

. . . "IS NANAMI KENTO'S WIFE PREGNANT?" was in big bold print on your phone screen. you didn't see it right away, but your makeup artist did. she got your hairstylist's attention, who read it just before your phone shut off. they both began to pepper you with compliments.

"congratulations, nanami okaa-san!" aki, your makeup artist beamed. your eyes widened at the term. 'okaa-san' literally translated to 'mother' of which, you were not. she should've used 'oka-san', which meant wife literally, and ma'am respectfully. "you look so skinny, i couldn't even tell!"

"yes, congratulations! how did nanami-san respond?" your hairstylist added, smile wide on his face. "better yet, how did your families react? oh, i bet they were overjoyed."

you sat there confused, racking your brain over what the two were referring to. "wh-what? what are you talking about?"

they stared at you with blank faces, their excitement slowly fading into a confused expression that matched yours.

"y-your pregnancy," aki stuttered out, as though it was obvious.

"pregnancy? i'm... i'm not pregnant," you stated, getting out of your chair. "who told you i was pregnant?"

"we just saw the news flash on your phone," your hairstylist defended, gesturing to your phone. "there was an article from red sun times and the title read: is nanami kento's wife pregnant?"

"i'm not pregnant," you repeated, growing in frustration. the fucking nerve. "do i look pregnant?" you snapped, causing the pair to furiously shake their heads and protest the article. you scoffed, grabbing your phone and your bag, storming out of the dressing room. the directory of photography called after you as you exited the studio, but you paid no attention to him.

safe inside your car, you opened the article. you also had a slew of texts and missed calls from your husband, but you didn't have the patience for him right now. the article was crudely written, at best. red sun times had been losing subscribers and readers lately, and this seemed like a last ditch effort to get their subscriptions up again. it didn't make sense to you, however. neither you nor nanami were a-lister names in the celebrity world. nanami didn't even consider himself a celebrity. sure, you both had a hefty fan base, but it was nothing compared to some of the other celebrities of japan, like the model gojo satoru or the mma fighter fushiguro toji.

it didn't matter, anyways. it wasn't the words of the article that hurt. it was the pictures. all them were of you with nanami on your latest outing. your anniversary was coming up, and nanami always got really sweet around that time, taking you out on dates on the days leading up to your anniversary. your anniversary was in three days, and a couple of days ago, nanami had taken you to a strawberry farm where you each filled a bucket's worth of strawberries, that were then all eaten on the picnic following the farm. the picnic spot was the riverside where he had proposed about seven years ago. you had an amazing time, and fell a little bit more in love with your caring husband. his sensible attention to detail, his doting words, his thoughtful actions, all of it made the date, and your relationship, perfect. now this article and its malicious pictures tainted that saccharine memory.

. . . THE IMAGES HAD CLEARLY BEEN EDITED. that's what your logical brain was trying to scream at you, but your emotions weren't listening. a small bump had been added to your stomach in each photo, your hips had been wider, and in a couple, your breasts had even been adjusted, as though they were full with milk. you felt sick. it was so hard to tell the difference between what was edited and what wasn't. did you really look like that? did red sun times even have to adjust these photos? "you look so skinny, i couldn't even tell!" the words of your makeup artist bounced around your pounding head. if you were so skinny, why did she still assume you were pregnant?

you had tried so hard that day to look pretty for your husband, wearing his favorite yellow sundress of yours, with the sweetheart neckline and puffy sleeves. nanami always said he preferred your natural look, but you had still glossed your lips, tinted your cheeks a faint pink and dusted your nose with highlighter. you had tied your hair up with a soft yellow ribbon, curling the loose strands. you had checked your reflection at least fifteen times before deeming yourself fit for the day. you had looked good in the mirror, so why didn't you look like that in these photos?

tears threatened at your eyes, but you swallowed them with the lump in your throat. you were almost home now, and you were sure that nanami had seen the article. he loved the red sun times because they didn't do stupid stuff like this. guess they just lost another reader.

"darling?" nanami's voice rang out as you entered your home. he walked into your vision, looking worried. you hadn't answered your phone at all, hadn't even read any of his texts. "oh, koibito..." his voice softened as you raised your head to meet his gaze.

you look so despondent with your watery eyes, and sullen posture. you hadn't even removed your shoes before he had scooped you into his arms and you were sobbing into his shoulder. you don't know how long you stood there in the foyer of your home, everything silent except for your choked breathing. there was a dark blemish on his wool sweater now, but nanami waved it off when you tried to apologize.

he guided you to the living room, helping you sit on the grey sofa that you had bought together six years ago. nanami worked wordlessly as he removed your shoes and coat; he took your phone and bag, placing them on the stand by the front door. a high pitched whistle echoed from the kitchen, and moments later he returned with a cup of steaming sencha, your favorite kind of tea. you felt so pathetic, sitting there sniffling while your husband tended to you.

when he returned for the final time, nanami had changed into a black t-shirt, and sat on the leather ottoman opposite from you. his elbows rested on his knees as nanami watched you sip the tea he had made you. he didn't speak, but only because he couldn't find the right words.

nanami prided himself on his syntax and vocabulary. he was the type of person who always said the right thing at the right time, it's why being an author was the only career option he cared for. but here, you sat in a stifled silence. he knew he should say something, but what? what were you were supposed to say in a situation like this? you were clearly distressed, and it was nanami's role as your husband to offer you words of encouragement, but his tongue was dry.

if nanami was honest, he almost wanted there to be some truth to the article. you hadn't exactly been trying for kids, but you hadn't not been trying. kids was something you both knew you wanted, but you hadn't discussed it in further detail. reading further into the article and viewing the photos made it clear that it wasn't true, at all. nanami knew almost immediately that when you saw this, you were going to breakdown, and he would be there to pick you up. so he ordered your favorite ramen, made your favorite tea and held you in his arms until you had calmed down.

nanami knew that you would believe the edits, that you would see yourself like that. despite how much he praised your body, you hated it, and he hated that. anytime you made some side comment about your stomach or thighs, it almost started a fight. he loathed the way you saw yourself, and nothing he argued stuck with you.

in the last few months, however, nanami was starting to see some progress. you stared less in the mirror with your meticulous eyes, pinching flaps of your skin between your fingers. you began to buy less healthier foods, and stopped mentioning the stupid diet you had placed yourself on. you wore clothes that you specifically avoided unless you had nothing else to wear, because of the way they displayed your figure. he knew that this article had erased all of that progress.

"i'm sorry, nani" you croaked, curling your knees into your chest.

"shh, no, koibito," nanami disregarded your apology. "you don't ever have to apologize about your emotions, especially not to me." he moved from the ottoman to take the spot next to you, pulling your small frame into his. one hand held yours while the other stroked your hair amorously. "the article was cruel, and any person with a heart would be reacting the same as you. don't worry, i've already called their editor and he said he doesn't know why the piece was published when it wasn't supposed to. it's being removed as we speak."

your heart welled at his words. he was so patient and understanding. moments like these made you love nanami more. and it gave you the confidence to tell him the truth.

"kento," you began, pulling away from him slowly. you used his given name over your nickname, nani, for him. you only used it during fights or confessions. he immediately perked up. "i..." you sighed. words were always nanami's thing, not yours. "i'm not upset about the photos."

"oh?"

"okay, well, i am, but for a different reason than you think."

"and what reason is that, koibito?" his tone was emotionless, as if he hadn't decided how to respond yet.

"i know you think it's because i'm always stressing about my body and the way it looks, and you're worried because i haven't been fretting over how i look as much, right? well, that's because i was pregnant, and i decided i couldn't care about that when i had bigger concerns, like the tiny life in my stomach." it became harder to speak, your sentences broken by tears and sobs.

"...was?" nanami's voice cracked, and his misty eyes matched yours.

you nodded, "was. i... i had a miscarriage."

"w-when?"

"about a week ago. i was about a month and a half along."

"you mean that time you canceled girl's night because you were sick? you told me that it was just your period, and you sent me out to get you stuff from the store." nanami's brows furrowed.

"yeah, that's.. that's right." you took a breath to steady yourself. "there was just blood everywhere, and i was a wreck and i didn't have the courage to tell you. i know how badly you want kids of our own, and i just didn't want to hurt you."

"hurt me? baby, you were the one hurting, and i just played it off like it was normal. i feel terrible."

"you couldn't have known," you reassured him. "but that article, and those photos, it just tore me apart all over again. that's how i should look, that's how i want to look, but i lost that part of me, that part of us."

nanami didn't respond at first, just reached back out for you. you both sat there, quiet sniffles and crying the only sound in your home. he continued to comfort you, even though you felt like you should be offering him comfort. after all, nanami is learning that you were pregnant and now no longer pregnant all at once.

"koibito," he murmured after a while. "i want you to know that i love you no matter what. i don't care how you look or how you don't look. you're my wife, and i didn't marry you because of your body and figure. i married you because i fell in love with your laugh, your smile, your unpredictable personality, and all the other beautiful things about you. i'm always going to support you and love you. and if you want to be pregnant, then i'm happy to oblige."

you laughed despite your sadness, swatting at him playfully, which elicited a "what? i'm serious!" from nanami.

"shut up," you muttered, still chuckling. he smiled, happy to see that you were laughing along with him. nanami pressed a kiss to your temple, humming an "i love you" against your skin.

you snuggled deeper into him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. "i wanna be a mom, nani."

he wrapped both arms around you, meeting your gaze. "then a mom you shall be, my koibito."

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