#when we first met i told him about my poems and i gave him some free copies of this small local literary magazine they're published in

[britneyshakespeare]

I don’t think he ever read any of my poems now that I think about it

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[rroseselavyyy]

lavender moon - ksj

pairing: seokjin x female reader

warnings: angst with a touch of smut, shitty ending (the ending is kind of rushed :( sorry about that)

He nestled your head on his shoulder like he was helping a kitten finding a comfortable position in his embrace as you sat between his legs in the steaming bath. He nuzzled his nose to your exposed neck, planting soft kisses that made you mewl contentedly under his touch.

"Why were you crying all alone, baby?" He stroked your wet hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing your back against his firm chest as if you were the only thing keeping him safe in the middle of a thunderstorm.

You pressed your lips together in a thin line as you shook your head to make it clear that you weren't going to give him the answer he wanted to hear, his lips eliciting a chuckle just behind your ear at your childish manner.

"I think I have an idea of what's going on." You let yourself sink further into his embrace, feeling all the stress you carried on your shoulders melt away with the scent of lavender, his thumb tracing a path across your skin to dry the drops of water that adorned all the way your arm like freshwater pearls. "You're protecting my mother again, aren't you?"

You twitched in his arms, turned in his embrace to see his expression and the moment you looked into his eyes you found yourself lost in them as they bored into yours, the love he had for you was there like concrete evidence. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"She told me you should have left me a long time ago." You attempted to cover your mouth when you realized you had said more than was necessary. Even you were amazed at how easily the words slipped out of your mouth, you blamed it on the fact that you were completely relaxed in his arms, he had that special power that made your worries go away. "I don't think she's wrong, Jinnie. I've been nothing but trouble since the first day we met."

"How on earth can she be right?-" He kissed the bridge of your nose, the gesture making you blink innocently as the touch of his plump lips sent blood rushing to your cheeks. "I love you, that's all that matters."

"Do you want to know why she hates you so much?" A thousand stars had burst open in your swelling chest as he gave you a quick kiss on the lips. "Because I married the love of my life and not some other girl she wanted me to marry."

"Maybe it's because my brother beat you up so badly? Not the best first impression, obviously." You chuckled nervously as you breathed the same air as him, his fingers now intertwined with yours. "Isn't it funny that you happened to be there? Maybe we might never have met if you hadn't been there to help your brother with his wounds. Did you know that I fell in love with you the moment I laid my eyes on you?"

You rolled your eyes as he looked at you with a sense of adoration, ready to tell you for the thousandth time how beautiful you were that day like a poem he recited by heart.

"I think I have lost the count of how many times you have told me this story."

His mother's never-ending insults no longer saddened you, instead Jin and your shared giggles replaced your muffled sobs in one of the sacred places blessed by your marriage, where you would make happy memories with him until the end of time.

"You looked so pretty that day that I offered to pay your brother to beat me so I could see you again. Understandably, he didn't accept the money-" Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to face him. He giggled sweetly in your ears like a song, his hands making soothing circles on your thighs. "However, still, he beat me to death anyway. He said he did it just because he thought I was a jerk. God, you should have seen his face when I told him I wanted to marry you."

"I don't want to believe you. It doesn't even make sense." You cringed at the thought, but since nothing was impossible when it came to your husband, you could easily imagine the scenario, even with details.

"Oh love, I still have the scars on my chest to prove it." He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, causing you to slap his chest lightly in return as you smiled with your eyes closed. "Maybe you'd like to kiss them better, hmm? Mrs. Kim?"

He was just an example of how maturity was not about age. Sometimes he was so sweet that he didn't even have to try to get what he wanted.

Including getting kisses from his baby.

"Only because you asked me nicely." Your lips curled into a smirk as you wasted no time in placing your hands on his abdomen, kissing a path down his neck to his chest. "I can't see anything-" You were halfway to his collarbone when he grabbed you by the hair, and even though his hands were some of the roughest you'd ever known, knowing he wouldn't put any pressure on his grip, you let him take control.

He guided you with his hands on your waist as you shifted in his embrace to find a better position on his lap. He tasted the drops of water on your lips like a man finding water in the middle of a dessert, your foreheads touching as you enjoyed the comforting silence.

"You're the only good thing in my life-" He whispered in your ear as you allowed him to help you straddle him with his expert hands. He watched your expression intently as you grabbed his hair at the back of his neck, using it as leverage to your face. "I'm not willing to give up on you ever."

"You are mine." Feeling your hips roughly lifted by the same hands that gently stroked your hair, you let out a soft whimper against his lips, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as he guided it into your welcoming walls. "I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again. She has no right to make you sad."

"Jinnie- don't you ever get mad at your mother-" You brushed his wet hair from his forehead as you finally settled into his lap. You were both still, clinging to each other as if you wanted to be moulded into one. "You know that I can take care of myself. Your mother's just being protective, there is no harm in that."

It was Jin who broke the silence as he couldn't help but thrust his hips into you, his breath catching in his throat.

"We'll get through this." You reassured him with a kiss on his lips. "Nothing scares me when you're by my side."

He tried to hide a giggle as he bit down on his lips with ultimate force, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass as he took control of you, moving you to his liking. He was too consumed with pleasure to even form words, but he promised you in a velvety voice.

"Good thing, angel. Because even when the sky falls down, even when the earth crumbles around our feet, I'll always be here by your side."

[ghostybat00]

"OUR CUTE HACKER 👾..." KÖNIG YANDERE AND HORANGI YANDERE

(I need more Horangi content, but I also need more König yandere content, so I said fuck it, both of them as yanderes for a hacker reader, and here we are lol)

Reader gender neutral.

👾:Imagine being a hacker at the Kortac base of operation, you are someone who wants to go unnoticed. It's a shame that these two soldiers won't allow you to be alone anymore.

👾:You met the two quickly after you were hired as a hacker operator, specialized in stealing data from enemy bases and extracting important information on missions.

👾:First you met Horangi, he was a quite energetic man, a good soldier of Korean nationality, you caught his attention from the beginning, was it your cute little face? How your beautiful hands move around the keyboard and mouse, extracting data while you look so irresistible?He didn't know it, whenever you were around he would make jokes and sarcastic comments, he camouflaged himself that it was to break the tension with the team, But it was only to have even a minimal chance of seeing a nice smile or laugh from you.

👾:Horangi quickly told König, König hadn't really met you, but if he was a little tired of Horangi never shutting up talking about you, of course, he didn't know what he was missing when had the opportunity to meet you on a mission, you helped them and the others to open a database and finish the mission easier.

👾:Then he saw you physically...he swore he thought he saw a "Engel", You were so cute, so intelligent, the blood rushed to his face that fortunately for him, his piece of cloth on his face covered, from that moment on he understood why Horangi never kept quiet about you.

👾:They both tried to be friends with you, but it was a bit difficult since you were a bit quiet. They always tried to get you to spend time alone with them, inviting you to eat with them during breaks. Protecting you a lot when you had missions with them.

👾:Horangi used to use his humor to get the better of you, more than once making a cute laugh or small smile escape you, god how he loved that.Also, in his free time he used to write poems, so what's better than making some for yourself and leaving them in your locker or room?, The poems were very beautiful and always came with nicknames, but in the Korean language, he liked to see how you tried to decipher what meant each new nickname he gave you, such as "내 꽃" (My flower) "내 아기" (My baby) "나의 별" (My Star).

👾:It was obvious that König was more reserved, he wasn't shy, but he definitely wasn't very talkative, at least when it came to you if he usually made the effort to strike up conversations outside of the professional. Also, one of his favorite things was to help you train, of course, you were military too, but you were a hacker, so you were not in the same physical condition as them, So he helped you exercise more, taking the opportunity to touch you more, like helping you use a gym machine, putting his big hands on your hips for much longer.

👾:This was the nice part that you knew about them, not the obsessive and possessive part of these two.

👾:The two used to work together to eliminate any man or woman who would try to take you away from them. Did a rookie soldier try to flirt with you? Oh! You never saw that rookie again, he magically decided to quit after being brutally beaten!, Did an enemy even give you a mini cut? He died in the most brutal way possible, leaving his body unrecognizable!

👾:Another thing about them is that, worshiping it was a daily requirement for them. They see you as a god/goddess, you are so cute and unreal that sometimes they wonder if you are real or the both fell into a beautiful fantasy.They love you so much, that even the smallest thing about you drives them crazy,so much so that they keep them as if they were sacred objects simply because they were with you.Things like a ring that you dropped that was on your pretty finger? You never found it, and the plastic water bottle you just threw away a few seconds ago?, is magically no longer in the trash can.

👾:Speaking of item collection, yeah, they share a fucking sanctuary of you, hidden in the closet in König's room. Mundane things you used, even intimate things like a toothbrush you no longer needed, underwear you wore etc.

👾:They continue to act as your "just friends", although of course in the future they plan to make you their wife/husband, They are also very protective, thanks to König's status as a Colonel, they can keep you safe better, such as ordering soldiers not to get too close to you, excluding you from the others unless it is necessary for a mission, after all you already have them, what else would you need?.

👾:And they are very intelligent, especially Horangi who is a better manipulator than König, they know strategies so that you don't discover them and if you ever suspect them they cover it up as a coincidence.

👾:They really like "friends" nights, where during your free time at work you are squeezed between their muscular bodies in a comfortable bed,while watching some movie or series, you definitely have them around your finger, with the disadvantage that now you had 2 huge soldiers obsessed with you, and who will never let you escape.

[soleilceirinen]

Renaissance | teacher!Cillian Murphy x fem!Reader - Part 8

Summary: you are an Art History student in your last year at university. Cillian is your teacher. A/N: in this story Cillian is about 20 years older than the reader. Everything happens in an alternative universe where he is not an actor or famous, he doesn't have a wife or kids like in real life. Warning: this is my first attempt at writing smut, so read with that in mind. It is at the end, if you are a minor I don't think you should read it. Also, English is not my first language, sorry if there are mistakes. Part 7 - Cillian Murphy Masterlist

After your talk with Cillian, things turned back to normal. At the end of the week you finally found some free time to spend rummaging through the different stalls at the charity book market. It was a little overwhelming due to the number of other people who, like you, were looking for the perfect book added to the lack of order in how the books were distributed. You could find a recipe book next to an out of print edition of the Punic War history. 

After going around several times, you finally found what you were looking for. You delicately held the copy, it was an old dictionary of artistic terms. 

“I’m ready,” you commented, “have you found anything?”

Cillian had been by your side the entire time, watching in admiration as your face lit up every time you saw a book that caught your eye, or how you ran your finger over the covers while reading the titles. 

He held up a small collection of poems for you to see. You did the same with your dictionary. 

“May I take a look at it?”, he asked.

As you were giving him the book you felt a strong push and saw a man stand between you and Cillian. Ready to reproach him for his lack of manners, you were left speechless when you realised that he was Brad, your roommate. “Hi, Brad.”

“Are you going home now? Let's go together,” he grabbed your arm, making you wince in pain. 

“Wait Brad, I’m not done yet.”

“Y/N,” called Cillian staring at Brad, “is everything alright here?”

Brad looked him over from head to toe before turning his attention back to you. He rolled his eyes scoffing at Cillian. A wave of disgust washed over you, you met Cillian's gaze over Brad's shoulder, silently begging him to get you out of there. 

“We should go back to the office, we still have a chapter to review in your project,” he said, stepping closer to you. 

You nodded. “It’s true, I had forgotten. Sorry, Brad. I have to go.”

“It’s okay, I’ll wait for you.”

“Afterwards I will meet up with Valerie so I don’t know when I’ll finish, you can go now.” 

Valerie couldn't stand Brad, the advantage was that the feeling was mutual. He gave you and Cillian one last annoyed look and let you go. You took the opportunity to run towards the office building with Cillian following you under the gaze of your roommate. Once inside his office, Cillian locked the door and sat on the edge of his desk. You stared out the window, from where you could see Brad looking up, probably trying to figure out which unit you were in. 

“He looks at you like you are a piece of meat, I don’t like it.”

You turned around to look at Cillian, who extended his arm to give you the dictionary.  When you picked up the book, he took the opportunity to gently pull you until you were in the space between his legs. 

“My friend Valerie thinks the same,” you told him. He wrapped you in a hug, tracing different shapes on your back with his fingertips.

“Are you really going to see her?” he wondered, tilting his head to the side. 

“No,” you shook your head against his shoulder, smelling his scent. “I totally made that up. Why?”

Being practically leaning against his chest, you could feel his heart beating rapidly. “We could go on a date, tomorrow is Saturday so if you want, you can stay at my house.” 

"Okay, sounds good." You said, caressing his cheek. You noticed that he hadn't shaved that day since his face was a bit rough, you scratched it with your fingernails before giving him a peck on the lips. 

Cillian had his eyes closed, he was focused on your touch. Slowly, he opened them and cleared his throat. “We should go now, I have to stop at the grocery store to get some things before it closes.”

-

At the grocery store, you pushed the shopping cart through the aisles, following Cillian, who from time to time stopped to pick up ingredients for dinner and placed them in the cart. Everything was going well until you got distracted. You didn't realise that Cillian had stopped so you continued pushing the cart until you crashed into him.

“Oh my… Sorry! Did I hurt you?”

He pursed his lips and gripped the edge of the car, looking at you with wide eyes.

“It’s fine, Y/N. Why don’t you go and choose some ice cream that you like? I’ll be in charge of the shopping cart, alright?”

Reluctantly, you let go of the cart and walked to the frozen food aisle, looking for the ice cream. Luckily, your favourite flavour wasn't sold out so you grabbed a tub and headed back to Cillian. He was already at the checkout putting the groceries in bags. After adding the ice cream and paying, he tried to carry all the bags by himself.

“Wait, old man. I’ll help you.”

He chuckled and pointed to one of the bags. “You can carry that one.” 

You already felt bad for almost leaving him crippled with the shopping cart, but at least he didn’t refuse you helping him. 

-

“I think you’re going to get a bruise,” you stated while taking the grocery out of the bags. 

Cillian had disappeared somewhere in his house, leaving you in the kitchen with a very excited Scout. He reappeared in the kitchen, having changed his clothes into something more comfortable.

“I left some clothes for you on the bed in the guest room in case you want to change, they shrunk the last time I put them in the dryer so they may not be too big for you,” he told you. Then, he pulled down the waistband of his pants to show you an incipient bruise. “Already here.”

“I feel terrible, but I must admit it was funny.”

He rolled his eyes, though he wasn't really upset. You giggled and went to change as he had suggested. 

He left you a basic black t-shirt and some gym shorts. Although they seemed to have been shrunk for him to wear them, they looked huge on you. You decided to discard the pants since the shirt covered enough, like a short dress.

You returned to the kitchen. Cillian was making a homemade pizza, when he saw you he pointed to one of the glasses on the counter. “Do you fancy some wine?”

“Always,” you took a sip, enjoying the fruity flavour. Cillian smiled and gave you a piece of carrot. You looked at it and then back at Cillian. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You can eat it if you want but better if you give it to Scout. Tell him to sit down and give you the paw.”

So you played with Scout and talked to Cillian until the pizza was ready to come out of the oven. After dinner, you and Cillian sat on the couch to watch a movie. You chose it so it was one of your favourite ones, despite having seen it too many times, you would never get tired of it. The leading actor was a very young Alain Delon, whose blue eyes could only be compared to those of the man sitting next to you. 

After several minutes, you realised that Cillian wasn't watching the movie. Even though the living room was illuminated only by the light coming from the television, out of the corner of your eye you noticed him staring at you.

You looked back at him and whispered. “You’re missing the film.”

“I’m truly not seeing it,” he responded with a hoarse voice. He caressed your cheek and placed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You rested your cheek against the palm of his hand and moved closer to him. 

In seconds, the film became background noise. All your attention was on Cillian, on his hands running over your body and his lips on yours. 

You kissed slowly but intensely, enjoying every bit of it. Cillian leaned over you without breaking the kiss, his breathing getting faster. You held his face with your hands, slowly scratching his stubble with your nails. You moved your hips trying to get some friction against his crotch, he tentatively put a hand under your shirt, stopping when it brushed against your bare belly.

“Why do you stop?” you groaned. 

“Are you sure of it, Y/N?” 

Cillian was giving you the chance to stop in case you were uncomfortable, and at that moment his thoughtfulness filled your chest with love. No one had ever cared about you in that way before. 

“Yeah, I haven't been so sure about something before.”

You placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer to you, crashing your lips once more. His hand continued its way up until he grabbed your tit, squeezing it a couple of times before brushing the nipple. You let out a moan against his mouth.

“Let me make you feel good, okay?” his voice wasn’t louder than a whisper, you nodded eagerly. 

Cillian slid his hands down your waist until he touched the hem of your underwear. He gently moved the fabric aside and with the tip of his fingers, he brushed your clit with quick movements making you let out a gasp. It was much better than when you did it yourself. 

“More?”

“Yes, Cillian, yes. I need…”

He kissed your exposed neck and parted your folds to access your inside, first with one finger until you were stretched enough to introduce another one. He moved them in and out several times, continuing to rub your clit in circles with the pad of his thumb. You were starting to feel the pressure building in your lower belly, so you grabbed onto his shoulders and moved your hips in an attempt to accentuate the feeling.

Cillian caught the signals and at that moment he bent his fingers to press on the exact spot while rubbing your clit faster. You arched your back, feeling the orgasm spread throughout your body, until you lay limp on the couch with Cillian on top of you.

He leaned on his forearms so as not to crush you with his weight and gently brushed his lips against your collarbone. You grabbed onto him panting, even though he was trying not to lean on you too much, you noticed that he was hard.

“Now it’s your turn, Cill,” you said softly, caressing his hair. 

He shook his head. “Another time. Promised. Plus, I wanted you to feel good.” 

You kissed him tenderly, feeling like a fucking goddess with soaked panties and the warmth of his body against yours reminding you that it was real, that your teacher had made you cum with barely no effort. You needed nothing else to know that you loved him with every bit of your soul. 

Hugging him tightly, you whispered three words in his ear.

[outsidethebeautybox]

How It Started (Part 3): The Bengali Boy

I have come to terms with the fact that I am not easy to work with.

Okay, I’m trying really really hard to come to terms with it.

“Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day” is one of my favorite poems and, in the words of Nikki Giovanni, “I know I’m not an easy girl to love.” (Technically, the poem says “woman” but I don’t want to get in trouble for copyright mumbo-jumbo.)

‘I’m very opinionated,’ is what I’m trying to say. I’m passionate, and sometimes that passion means that I have to stand my ground, even when it makes me less popular.

Ya’ll remember that I tried to make a comic with a pinoy artist last year?

Well, a few months after our ugly business-partner break up (might go more into how that whole mess ended later) an Indian artist hit me up asking if I wanted to work together on a project. I’d grown a bit less enthusiastic about partnerships thanks to my previous experience, but I still agreed to give it a shot.

This new artist had a lot of suggestions/preferences for the project. No problem. In my opinion a good partnership means meshing everyone’s ideas into something both parties can be happy with, so I tried really hard to adapt to my new partner without sacrificing my artistic integrity.

She wanted to write a story that would draw a lot of fans and make us money. I try my best to write for the sake of artistic expression, rather than profit, but I agreed we could try to write a story in a more popular genre to increase our likelihood of gaining supporters.

At first the artist was thinking “dark romance,” but dark romance isn’t really my jam.

So, still in the interest of business and “what sells,” she asked if I could do a romance-fantasy story. 

I agreed. 

I love speculative fiction. I write romances. I hadn’t written a fantasy romance since I was 13, but it would be fine.

Or…that’s what I told myself anyway.

The artist's second request was that I make part of the cast Indian, because she was Indian and wanted to see more Indian characters in the media. Again, I agreed. No problem.

I love mixing ethnicities in my fictional casts and have already put numerous Indian characters in my other stories. Adding a few Indian characters would have been easy, but just to lean into her request, I decided to set the story in a modern fantasy world where everyone was either Indian or Dominican. 

It was whimsical and leaned into my quirkiness. I also thought it could make our story more of a “blue ocean” because I don’t know of ANY other stories that have mixed those cultures together.

But then she wanted some changes.

For one thing, she asked me to change the male lead's surname. She didn’t like the way the surname ‘Sarkar’ sounded. I liked the name Sarkar, but she asked me to change it insisting “Trust me, I’m Indian. I know how it sounds.” To be honest, that felt condescending, like the decision to give him the surname ‘Sarkar’ was somehow wrong or silly, rather than a matter of preference.

She strongly suggested that I give him the surname ‘Roy.’ I didn’t care for the name, so compromised, changing his name from ‘Sarkar’ but not to ‘Roy.’

Then she asked me to change the plot I had written. She wanted the male lead to have secretly fallen in love with the female lead before she fell in love with him, though she didn’t know he was in love with her.

I agreed to keep the idea in mind, but as it didn’t really make sense with the rest of the plot, and was kind of tropey, I didn’t think I would be adding that suggestion. Maybe it was unreasonable, but by that point, I was starting to get a bit frustrated.

Then she commented on the fact that all the main characters had dark hair and dark eyes. 

In my mind that made sense, because most Dominicans have dark hair and eyes and every Indian I’ve ever met did too, but again, I compromised. No problem.

I gave the Dominican female lead silvery-blue eyes. It’s a rare trait, but thanks to the fact that most Dominicans are part European, some of us do naturally have light colored eyes and even blonde or reddish hair. I’d recently read a book by Madhur Jaffrey which mentioned that some Indians have naturally red hair and green eyes, so I decided to make the female lead’s Indian bff a ginger with green eyes.

Finally, I thought, we could move forward. I made reference image folders on Pinterest and got to drawing character design sheets for the artist to use as a reference.

I successfully completed three. 

We hit a sticking point when I drew the male lead.

We’d agreed toward the beginning of the process that we would make the male lead Bengali and the female lead Dominican.

While the different Dominican characters had varying features (slanted eyes, round eyes, blue eyes, dark eyes) and complexions (from dark brown sugar to cashew), they all fell under the umbrella term of “Dominican” because we don’t have different distinct cultural groups and languages. 

The Indian characters, however, would be from different cultures, primarily Bengali and Rajasthani, and I was pretty proud of the diversity of features and complexions I had given them all. One had medium brown skin, one had a caramel-brown complexion, and the male lead was dark, chocolate brown.

Up until that point, most of my ethnic male leads had light or medium brown skin tones, though some of my female leads had very dark, or even (literally) black skin tones (I’m looking at you, Essence Walker and Mora Glas.)

I personally think dark skinned people need more representation in the media, so when this character appeared in my mind with a beautiful ‘dark brown sugar’ complexion, I rolled with it instantly.

But…the artist didn’t want him to have dark skin. 

In fact, she wanted to give him light brown skin and hazel eyes, saying that dark hair and dark eyes aren’t actually that common in India, and north Indians usually don’t have very dark skin.

“He doesn’t look Bengali.”

Even after all I’d read about colorism in the Indian subcontinent, I didn’t really know how to respond to that statement.

I realize I’ve never been to India or Bangladesh, so I didn’t want to disregard her opinion, but I also know it’s foolish to accept any one person’s statements as fact without getting cross-references.

Doing a little research, I found that 98-99% of the population of Bangladesh is Bengali by ethnicity (though their nationality is “Bangladeshi.”) 

Then I looked up some articles from Bengali newspapers and surprise-surprise, most of the people in the crowds had medium to dark brown skin, as opposed to the medium to light brown complexions which the Indian artist had told me were most common.

I sent the artist these images for reference, but still she insisted that Bengalis don’t look like “these dark-skinned people.”

So who was I supposed to agree with?

I don’t want to disregard anyone’s opinion, especially when it comes to subjects where I KNOW I am ignorant.

But the articles I’ve read by Indian and Bangladeshi people keep insisting that there are dark-skinned people in India. The videos filming ordinary citizens in Bangladesh and West Bengal all show footage of dark or dusky skinned people.

So I couldn’t in good conscience lighten my male lead’s complexion.

Especially not when the artist praised the characters having rare European features but was opposed to giving the male lead dark skin, which she also claimed was ‘rare,’ though possible.

Red is the rarest hair color in the world but the artist liked it when I gave one of the Indian characters red hair and green eyes -

Just not when I give the Bengali boy dark skin. 

It really really rubbed me the wrong way, so I ended the collaboration before things could go down hill any further.

Even after my other failed partnership, it still wasn’t a fun or easy decision.

I don’t WANT to be a pain. I don’t want to be difficult to work with. I’d already changed names, hair and eye colors to suit her preferences, but there are some places where I need to put my foot down. 

As our argument over the male lead’s skin continued, she’d shared her plans to make all the Indian character’s light-skinned, and I simply couldn’t agree with that.

For too long, the whole world has scorned dark skin and refused to give dark-skinned characters a turn in the spotlight. India is no exception. Skin-lightening creams have been renamed (yes, I learned about “Glow and Lovely” because of this situation) but the problems still remain. 

Dark/dusky skin is scorned. People refuse to acknowledge it as beautiful. I refuse to work on a project that perpetuates this disparagement and mistreatment.

This bigotry needs to end now.

Dusky skin is beautiful. It doesn’t make you any less Indian. 

My male lead will have dark skin, even if I have to wait years to find another artist who is willing to draw him in all his glory.

[handeaux]

In Cincinnati, Everybody Who Was Anybody Got The Scoop At Grandpa Hawley’s

The year before he assassinated President Abraham Lincoln, the actor John Wilkes Booth was in Cincinnati, performing at Wood’s Theater in Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice” and “The Taming of the Shrew.” Throughout the run, Booth was a frequent visitor to Grandpa Hawley’s newsstand, just two blocks south at Vine and Fourth. Years later, Hawley told the Cincinnati Post about Booth’s visits [28 April 1903]:

“He was in my store while here and I remember a conversation with him. I do not remember what we talked about in particular, but there was nothing to indicate that he had the least thought of perpetrating the dark crime with which his name is stained.”

By coincidence, James R. “Grandpa” Hawley also had a connection to Lincoln. Hawley first opened his business on Tuesday, 12 February 1861, and watched from the shop door as President-Elect Lincoln, on his way to Washington, was paraded down Vine Street to the Burnet House. Throughout the Civil War, Grandpa Hawley was the place to go for news of the conflict. Hawley told the Times-Star [10 January 1891]:

“That was in the war time, you know, and then the illustrated periodicals monopolized the sale, for in them were pictures of the generals and battles and the printed material dealt with the doings of the army.”

In fact, Hawley’s patrons often included those very generals themselves, picking up the latest weekly to read what was being said about the war. Generals Ulysses Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman famously mapped out the strategy to ensure a Confederate defeat in Parlor A of the Burnet House and gathered a lot of their information from Grandpa Hawley’s newsstand. He told the Post:

“I do not believe I ever saw them in uniform. Grant was not very talkative, but Sherman frequently started a conversation.”

Another regular military visitor to Hawley’s was Philip Henry Sheridan, whose triumph at the Battle of Cedar Creek was memorialized in Thomas Buchanan Read’s poem, “Sheridan’s Ride.” That poem was required reading for generations of American school children and the author, a Cincinnati resident, was also a frequent customer of Grandpa Hawley’s. It is not recorded whether poet and subject ever met at the Vine Street newsstand, but they might well have.

Vice President Andrew Johnson spent so much time at Hawley’s that the news vendor took to calling him “Andy.”

In addition to generals, politicians and poets, Grandpa Hawley’s shop was also a gathering place for the actors who trod the boards at Cincinnati’s theaters throughout the Nineteenth Century. Edwin Forrest was among the first Americans to gain distinction as a Shakespearian star. He frequently performed in Cincinnati and always stopped by to see Hawley, who recalled:

“In my mind I can see him now with his tragedy stride and hear his deep rumbling voice.”

In almost every interview he gave, Hawley mentioned Adelaide Neilson, whose fame as an actress almost equaled her fame as a great beauty.

“Neilson, the actress, has been here many times, and always used to pat the little newsboys on the head and give them an encouraging word.”

Hawley himself was something of a Cincinnati celebrity, mostly because of his enormous beard, which ran from his chin almost to his belt buckle. Most of the Cincinnati papers remarked about the “biblical” dimensions of his whiskers, rivaled only by those of Vine Street saloonist Andy Gilligan.

Many folks stopped by just to chat with Hawley, who was an especially entertaining raconteur, but most came for the news. In those pre-electric days, when “the media” meant print publications, Grandpa Hawley moved a lot of paper. He told the Times-Star that New York daily newspapers sold the most in his shop, followed by dailies from Chicago, St. Louis and Louisville. Among the weeklies, Harper’s and Leslie’s ran neck-and-neck, followed by the London Illustrated News. Some readers were quite dedicated to their favorite publication:

“One lady used to walk down from Walnut Hills every week to get the New York Ledger, because it would not be delivered to her until the morning following its arrival here. One day a Walnut Hills man who was a regular customer of mine asked me if I knew why he always took two copies of the New York Ledger. I told him I supposed he got one for a neighbor, but he said it was because he had two daughters and they were always squabbling about which should read it first, until, to keep peace in the family, he decided to give both a chance.”

Those were the days when multiple magazines appealed to every specialized interest. Hawley sold dozens of sports magazines, humor magazines, fashion magazines, science magazines and literary journals of contemporary thought like Atlantic Monthly and the North American Review – both of which are still published today. He carried most of the major periodicals published in German and French.

After 40 years in business, Grandpa Hawley found himself evicted from his landmark shop to make way for the construction of the Ingalls Building, the first reinforced concrete skyscraper in the world. Railroad magnate Melville E. Ingalls spent so much effort convincing city officials to allow him to build his revolutionary building that he gave little thought to the businesses he displaced.

Grandpa Hawley ended up relocating to the nearby Emery Arcade on the other side of Vine, but years of generosity caught up with him and bankruptcy was a real possibility. According to the Post:

“Everybody’s word goes with ‘Grandpa’ Hawley and were his customers so disposed they could carry away in overcoat pockets or under their arms several times as much as they paid for.”

At this dark moment, Hawley’s theatrical friends, accumulated over the decades, sprang into action and staged a benefit extravaganza for him at the Grand Opera House on 1 May 1903, raising more than $650 and saving the old man’s finances. It was a short-lived victory. Not quite a year later, Grandpa Hawley was dead. As he was laid to rest in Covington’s Linden Grove Cemetery, the Post [20 February 1904] eulogized:

“’Grandpa’ Hawley did not have an enemy in the world. For a lifetime he jogged along in an even, quiet way. He was honest and fair. He was never too busy to clasp hands warmly and talk entertainingly. He possessed a smile that was born of the natural kindness in his soul.”

[stardancingchild]

Weirdly enough, this is one of my comfort songs.

(turn the music on before reading, you'll get me better)

I listen to it as i imagine him singing it to me.

Holding me carefully, not too little or i might fall apart, not too much or i might break. We sway slowly side to side, in each other's arms, just for a moment passing by, as i shed all my unseen tears. I imagine that he cares, he cares that he never cared for me like i did for him. I imagine him singing this to my poor soul, telling me that he'd only make me cry, because it would make more sense than my idea of "us". We sway with the wind brushing our sorrows away, somehow my sorrow held onto my heart for him and took it away as well. So as long as this song fills the room, we're the only two that exist, only two that matter. And as long as this plays, it matters to him that i never mattered to him as he did to me. He knows, he shows, he sees, he's sorry.

But the song ends, and so does this pitiful fantasy. Reality comes rushing in...

I had him on my mind , ingrained in my brain. I made playlists for him in hopes the melodies might convey a fraction of my affection. I saved posts that i would send him if he was ever mine. I wrote him poems, which were some of my best works. I had a whole digital diary of him, secret albums of pictures of him, especially of ones which i took, if he could see himself through my eyes, him smiling wide with glistening eyes, maybe he would also want to capture and safeguard every nuisance of his beauty; and also, there is that folder of pictures my friends took of us together in one frame, accidentally of course.

I thought of being near him all the time, i thought of his wellbeing, i wished for him to know how perfect he was. Is. And he doesn't know any of this. I had him written all over my life for about an year, and he will have no idea how deep it goes.

He never led me on, he never did anything that would "make" me feel something about him nor did he drop hints that he felt something, he didn't have to, i guess, because i was never delusional, just utterly smitten...

(but then, what business did those eyes have, meeting mine??)

One day, i gave in to this agony and said to him that i liked him, and he said it was ok, i was his friend, this won't change anything. He was the nicest about it. But I still wonder, what if I would have said so much more, only if he could hear so much more... if he could, I'd tell him,

how like is something i did to a stranger at the airport who i talked to for a few minutes,

how like doesn't do justice to the gravity with which i was falling,

how like is what my mouth says, while my heart goes on to describe his beautiful piscine eyes, as the deepest ocean I'd drown in,

how like is what i wished it was, because it wasn't love of course, something less, something very one sided, but something so true.

If only i could tell him, i missed him when he was out of sight or even when he was right in front of my eyes, i fell for his laugh and his smile and his eyes and his lips and his hair and his hands and how he treated everyone respectfully, and his brain, and how he was so in love with his family, and how he was just a beautiful human being...

If i told him, i felt the familiarity of falling the first day i met him, if i told him i never wanted to be just friends, if i told him i would cherish him in every way he deserves...

Would it have made a difference? Would our story have a different ending?

I like to think

no.

I still don't know how to be that for someone else what he was to me.

Was? .... Is?....

no.

For the sake of my damn heart and the amount of love overflowing from it, it should not be an "is".

Was.

"Was" is where it should belong.

So I'll listen to "cry" again and imagine him singing again as we sway back and forth and I'll imagine i cry my unseen tears and pretend that

this is what my closure is.

[sharp-silver4795]

Could we know more about Jessie? :)

I loved that character!! Poor Liu boy needs smth good in his sh!tty life </3

Jessie Vahns (OC)

Ofc!! I love talking about my OCs!! And Liu 🤭

Jessie Vahns, an inmate Liu met in prison.

The Story of Jessie & Why he was arrested

CW!! ⚠️ Abuse, murder, SA, sexual abuse, child molestation, physical abuse.

His father literally beat his mother to death.

Because she died, he started to take it out on Jessie.

Meanwhile, his little sister, Samantha, was being sexually abused by their brother.

One day, Jessie decided to fight back against his dad. He then tried to stab his own son. It was turned against him and Jessie stabbed his dad 19 times.

When he went upstairs, his sister was crying in the aftermath of her assault. Jessie decided that, he already killed one person and he’s probably going to prison for it, might as well finish it here and now.

So, he found his brother and stabbed him until he stopped moving- it was 27 times.

Obviously, Jessie was arrested and sentenced to 20 years in prison. He was 19 at the time, the same age which Liu would kill himself.

Liu and Jessie

Jessie was 36- he had 3 or 4 years left in his sentence- when Liu came in.

He caught the older man’s attention because of how kept down he was. Someone who had committed a crime wouldn’t be in a ball on the floor, nearly crying, with his head on his knees.

When Liu told him his story, Jessie was livid.

It reminded him of his own injustices, so he would fight tooth and nail to get him outta there.

Liu’s Release

CW!! ⚠️ Implied physical abuse

Once Jessie helped him get out early, he wrote the man letters.

The letters told of all the shit he went through, but there were also casual ones as well.

He sent him drawings of his favorite things: sunflowers, butterflies, drawings that encapsulated songs he liked, etc.

Jessie always loved these letters, and sent some back to him. He complimented Liu’s drawings and some of his poems that he sent as well. Jessie disclosed that he wanted to be an author as a kid, and sent Liu the main concepts of the stories he made up. Liu loved all of them and even drew cover art for them.

One day, a woman came to the Woods’ house looking for Liu. Peter was angry when he called Liu down, assuming he was in trouble.

The woman merely gave him a scarf. It had gray and black stripes and was so so soft.

“It was my brother’s. I think you know him. His name is Jessie.”

Liu was near tears at the gesture. Peter was instantly calm, but they didn’t save Liu from the pain that would ensue…

Liu’s First Death

CW!! ⚠️ Suicide

Jessie was the first one to know about it. He had a half year left in his sentence.

Liu sent the letter before he did it, so it would get to him on time.

Once released, Jessie put together every single one of his letters and drawings, sobbing over the loss while he put them in a box and marched down to the police station.

He slammed down the box and said:

“He didn’t fucking deserve this. Make it right!”

Then he left.

He paid for Liu’s cremation, but gave him a headstone in the graveyard. He left sunflowers on the grave every weekend. They were his favorite, after all.

Keith’s & Liu’s Second Death

Cw!! ⚠️ Murder, rape

When Liu (23) had killed Keith, the first person he ran to was Jessie (41).

His hands were covered in blood as he sobbed into the older man’s shirt.

Jessie had told him this, and he meant it too:

“It’s alright kid… it’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore… you did good… I’m so proud of you…”

He was 44 at the time, out of prison for nearly 9 years. Liu was 27, and off to the electric chair.

Jessie was well aware of what Liu had been up to. He knew who he was killing, and why.

Rapists, abusers, and people who fucked with his brother and friends.

Jessie couldn’t bring himself to justify it. But that didn’t stop him from loving the kid as if he were his own.

He went to visit Liu before he went off, and asked one simple question. And Liu gave a simple answer.

“You coming back again? Like ya did before?”

“I plan on it.”

And he did. He did come back.

Jessie’s Death

He died at 62 years old in the hospital. He was a smoker, and it caught up to him. Liu was 42, and left Hydra to visit him in his dying moments.

It was a sweet moment: Liu sitting on the side of the bed, holding Jessie’s hand. The two had one last conversation:

“Kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Look at how big ya got. Damn.”

“You need to get tough or die, right?”

“You were tough to begin with, kid. You took so much pain and suffering, and ya still held on for so long… I’m proud of you.”

Liu started to tear up, the words that he needed his whole life being said to him. Jessie was the only person who would say it. Granted, this wasn’t the first time, but it would be the last.

“You know, kid. I started calling you ma son.”

Liu was speechless. Jessie considered him his son? It shook him that someone, a parent figure, would want him. Would call him their son… and be proud of it…

“Thank you… so much..”

“C’mere”

Jessie stretched out his arms as best he could, and Liu cried into his chest once more. Jessie, his only father figure since his dad’s death, was leaving him.

He died in the hospital.

This time, it was Liu who paid for the cremation and headstone. No one came to the funeral except him and Samantha, Jessie’s sister.

He stood with her as she mourned the loss of her brother who saved her so many years ago. She cried into Liu’s arms, the only other person who would care.

When her eyes were dry from the crying, she looked up at Liu and noticed he was still wearing that scarf…

Divider & Header Creds: Sister-Lucifer

[tinywitchgoblin]

Hey wassup, I’m delusional (and insane) and I saw your past posts, so which bad batch member would you ship me with?

Im Hispanic (Dunno if that’s important lol). Brown curly hair and brown eyes. Tan skin but I have low iron so I kinda look pale but not too pale. I got two little moles on my chin that I’m insecure about but sometimes I’m confident about them. I’m 5’5. I struggle with anxiety but I’m coping with my depression, I occasionally have really bad depressive episodes. I’m bipolar. Sometimes I act so confident in myself and other times I get insecure and try to hide my stomach.

Some things about me is that I love to write and make poetic shit, like I will sound like a insane hopeless romantic. I like to use cheesy pick up lines when I get comfortable enough. Music is my life and savior. Will legit make a whole playlist or CD dedicated to someone. I LOVE to dance to literally anything, usually if I try to get someone to dance with me is because I just wanna have fun with someone and be able to laugh and feel alive. Dancing is just a way to express myself and have someone alongside me. I love painting, cooking and reading. I adore romantic poetry. My friends consider me as the mom of the group. I’m loyal and I’ll always put other before me ( it’s a curse). If you need anything, honey I’m right here like a genie. I hopelessly devote myself to others. I LOVE taking care of others though, maybe it’s because that’s what I’ve been doing for majority of my life.

I Love cinema. Like deeply love cinema. I’m always up for a night or day full of movies and shows and being lazy on the couch or bed. My definition of Netflix and chill is to literally Netflix and chill, we are watching movies only! Will use quotes from movies on a daily basis and expect someone to get it and finish the quote. Kind of a introverted but I can be social if I know enough people in one space. I’m always up for adventure and thrill in life, like wanna go on a roller coaster? Heck yeah. Wanna dance? Aint gotta ask me twice. Try new things? Might be nervous but I’m up for it.

My standards for love and a relationship can be described as Melanie Martínez’s song High School Sweethearts.

Alright that’s it. Thank you and have a blessed day! <3

Thanks, you too 💚

I ship you with...

Wrecker!

You'd actually met Omega first, but once she introduced you to her brother Wrecker, the two of you were inseparable. You would write him love letters and make playlists for him, and he would shower you with compliments and support you in every aspect of your life. Once, he tried to write you a romantic poem back because he loved the ones you gave him, but it... didn't go as well as he wanted. When you asked him about it, he told you he wanted to make you feel the happiness he got when you gave him a poem or a playlist, but nothing was working. You reassured him that you felt his love in other ways, that his love was as unique as him.

One of Wrecker's many love languages is quality time, and he wants to spend it all with you. Sometiems you'll end up in the kitchen, attempting a new recipe (or maybe just dancing while some pasta is boiling away in the background). Other times, you're just relaxing on the couch, watching something on Netflix. If you're into it, he'll pull you into his lap and keep you close especially if you're watching a horror movie. Both you and he get super frustrated when Hunter has to drag Wrecker away because he needs help with something, but there's always the promise of hanging out again later.

Wrecker doesn't know much about mental illnesses in the clinical sense like Tech does, but he's really good at not only telling when you're not feeling well, but sussing out what the underlying issue is. He's very in touch with emotions (both his and yours), so he's usually able to tell if you're anxious, depressed, insecure, or any of the above. Wrecker doesn't like seeing you in any type of pain, so he will do anything he can to make you feel better. He'll sit with you, talk with you, make you some good, make sure you take your meds and/or get appointments scheduled (if applicable), etc. He isn't someone who does things halfway, and that includes loving you; making sure you feel your best is only a small fraction of that.

-

Thanks for reading! If you want a ship request like this one, drop it in my ask box, and don't forget to reblog 💚 it may take a little bit, but I'll get to it eventually!

[wtf-a-psychoanalysis]

Calm, Cool and Collected 7

…Was what Leo-kun and Yuichi wished to be after such an exhausting revelation. They had left the conversation yesterday only exposing half the truth being that their older counterparts were not their fathers as they were too exhausted with knowing the half truth about Sensei Leonardo and Miyamoto Usagi, they had forgotten to tell each other how they were related to their older counterparts...

The normally nocturnal Leo-Kun went to bed early last night, dreaming of the date he had the week before. This floating feeling is replaced with a more solid memory from the past weeks. The memory of him and Yuichi texting each other late at night solidifies.

Leo scrolled through the bubbles jumbled up letters his brain interpreted as love poems and the blurs of colors as videos that Yuichi told Miyamoto to take of him training. Leo laughs at the idea of Yuichi trying to teach his dad how to use a phone. 

“He’s more hopeless than I was when Hueso tried to teach me,” Yuichi said over the phone. Leo was on solo patrol that night so the speaker phone was ok. He finds himself a nice rooftop to give a response to his boyfriend.

“Why don’t you leave your old man with Hueso, maybe he’ll get a crush on him and we’ll be able to uhm…” Leo let that thought slip out, he could hear the silence on the other side of the line.

“Hueso-san doesn’t like him that much…” Yuichi continues. “It's ok, and besides, it doesn't look like love’s on Jiji’s mind. Maybe we can go out without hiding. In the meantime let's practice.”

“What?”

“Practice going on a date openly. We can go to Hueso’s.”

Leo paused for a moment, looking out at the blinding imitation of the new york city skyline. “Sure” he spoke into the phone.

Now in the Hidden City, Leo and Yuichi move swiftly through the crowded streets. Leo took the lead slithering past the repeating yokai faces. Leo was letting his anxiety slip out for once, losing a bit of cool as they walked to their destination.

It was their first “fancy” date together and Yuchi had an employee discount, so Leo agreed to the date at Huesos pizzeria, Run up the Mill Pizza. Not without the occasional complaint breaking through.

“Usagi, what if they find us?”

“They won’t suspect a thing, I work here and you eat here all the time.” said Yuchi who was keeping up with Leo’s fast pace.”Whoa,I know that ninja are fast but wow. I would ask Kurasa-tengu to teach me how but its best to ask your sensei, is your dad open to accepting new students?”

“Uh,yeah but my ‘dad’ didn’t train me,” Leo said . He tried to get some ninja tips from Leonardo-Sensei but the old turtle wouldn’t budge, something about waking up from a coma, collapsed lungs and a concussion that they both knew couldn't be walked off. Leo still is feeling the effects of the Krang beat down he received a month ago, his knee was causing him the most pain, but he can’t slow down now.

“Oh… I understand” Yuichi stopped talking till they reached their destination.

There they were, the place the first time the red string was at its shortest. Leo held his breath, Yuichi gave a sigh, as a reminder for Leo to breathe.

"Hueso won't tell either, He will only speak Spanish around dear old 'dad', so he won't use anything against him."

"Hueso is a man of many secrets that I happen to know all of. Did you know that Hueso used to be the most swashbuckling pirate ever!"

"Whoa that's so cool! I met Piel-san but I didn't know they both were pirates." 

"You met Piel, ok but what about Hueso Jr?"

"Kept an eye on him once before Josefina picked him up." Recalled Yuichi.

"Who's Josefina?" Gasped Leo, shocked that Hueso didn't introduce him to the mystery woman already. The scene seems to melt into geometric pieces from outside to Leo's least favorite booth.

Yuichi continued, "She's Hueso's ex-wife."

The words coming out of Leo's mouth became muffed and scrambled as if the following conversation was irrelevant or censored. Yet it was perfectly understood, basically how Señor Hueso hid more from Leo than he realized, or how dull Leo-kun was to his surroundings the first month after the Kraang. 

"A lot of people seemed to just see me as that rabbit samurai wannabe with a short attention span. It's true it's hard for me to focus sometimes, but I'm getting better. Jiji said that my meditation sessions last a minute longer, I only got distracted by daifuku twice." The young rabbit chuckled. Leo took a moment to admire such a smile Yuichi had. His buck teeth, white and sharp, freshly worn down. His lips framing it like a plush pillow.

"Is it true that you kappa steal soul gems from peoples butts?" Asked Yuichi out of seemingly out of nowhere.

"Eh!? What?" Was the only thing that came out of Leo's mouth.

"I read a lot about yokai, I recite facts about them when I pretend to meditate sometimes, and i remember that I once fell asleep and had a dream that a kappa stole my red bean daifuku, which turned out had soul stone in it, which was kinda gross once you think about it, but now since I have a kappa as a boyfriend, I can get more accurate answers." Yuichi

“I’m sorry to tell you this but…um, I’m not exactly a kappa, well um…” said Leo-kun awkwardly. He had asked Draxum once how much human he is and it became a long winded spiel on what percentage of yokai DNA was used. Turns out that all of the turtles have kappa DNA to bridge the gap between Splinter’s, yokai and the turtle DNA however Leo had the highest percentage of Kappa. The scene switched to the memory of that conversation.

“How come Raph got the Zylla genes?” Leo said pacing Draxums apartment

“Honengyo, Leonardo, you said you wanted to learn what yokai each of you are in order to give more proper medical treatment, at least use the correct terms.” Draxum said, pinching the bridge of his sheep-like snout.

“Mikey, a turtle god”

“Honengame, and Minogame to be exact.”

“And Donnie gets a fucking dragon! While I get to be more of a boring river turtle”

“Genbu, and besides all of you got dragon DNA, I wasn’t an idiot. Leonardo, there's nothing wrong with being more Kappa, it actually gives you an advantage when healing as you can locate the mitamas and har….” Draxum’s smooth and deep voice full knowledge began to fade into the syllabically divided cadence, of Yuchi’s voice, as english is his second language. 

“...ness their powers, though they might be more susceptible to its effects” Yuichi said. 

“Oh yeah.”

“And you're saying you're not a kappa?! While the head shape is different, the other qualities of the kappa, I can clearly see in you.”

“Really?” Leo’s unenthusiasm in being more kappa begins to fade as the rabbit goes on. 

“Yeah, Kappa are known to be proud and honorable creatures, with a keen sense of what’s going on around them and vast knowledge of medicine. They also have a taste for mischief and know when it's time to play.”

“Really!?”

“Yeah! I bet you inherited all of those Kappa qualities from your parents, though I would never have guessed that the nezumi yokai was your actual grandpa, guess your grandma and mom were both Kappa.”

This comment, realled Leo back into the shell of his lie, well his future self’s lie, “Why didn’t he tell the truth?” He thought to himself. But now it was back to the shadow of reality. 

As they waited for the waiter then for the pizza they ordered, the occasional yokai stopped by to say “Hi” to Usagi. A rokurokubi mother and child thanking Usagi for assistance last week. Her neck is getting longer with each kind word. Then a spider yokai who had a really bad case of pink eye in a trashy wife beater passed by, gave Yuichi the worst stink eye with the good three out of his eight eyes. Yuichi returned the favor with his red eyes, startling his aggressor into backing away.

Instead of the waiter that had taken their order, the one to place their pizza on the table was the one and only Senor Hueso himself, “I’m sorry conejito, you lost your employee discount privileges.”

“What did he do?” asked Leo

“I, um, spilt some pizza…”Yuich fibbed

“He slammed a whole pie into a customer's face at full force, I have to add.” glowered Senor Hueso.

“H-he had it coming, the tsuchigumo…” Yuchi began to shakily defend himself 

“Insulting your eyes is not a valid reason!” The skeleton scolded the young rabbit, now remembering that Leo was also there, he compromised, “All right, 25% off, only for Pepino. Take care of him ok” He took his leave, fading back into the scenery of his pizzeria.

Then as groups of gruesome yokai stood by their table, consisting of a scrawny oni, a slacker type eel yokai and sharply dressed rat. Lumbering a few feet behind them was a behemoth of a yokai with great red crests and right arm slung, pause as well. There was an unspoken conversation between the oni and the behemoth, and with a heavy sigh, the oni signaled the others to pass along.

“Looks like the mud dogs have their tails between their legs, What did you do to them?” Leo-kun chuckled before taking a bite of the tasty pepperoni pizza. Though the memory of the taste had faded to just taste.

“I beat them in the battle Nexus.” Yuichi bites his piece of pizza, then speaking with his mouth full he continued, “They tried to jump me after the tournament Luckily a Jorogumo intervened, she was nice. She said I could call her “Okaasan” She gave me this charm on one of my swords.” Yuichi said, showing off his now two swords he had beside him, the new one had a red gem that contrasted with its green wrapped hilt.

Were Yuichi's eyes always that red? His pupils yes but the sclera. Red as the gems on the pizza cutter he held in his hand. The red gem…

He was knock out of this slumber by a soft yet weighted lump that landed on his face, opening his eyes he saw the gingham blue of the day before 

“Ew!!” the younger shrieked as the blanket landed next to him

“So you do recognize this blanket, don’t fuss I washed it but now I caught you red handed.” said Sensei Leonardo, laundry basket in hand and a look of disappointment on his aged green face.

First

Previous

[mariacallous]

After returning from the war in Ukraine, many Russian soldiers are invited to speak about their experiences at schools and patriotic events for children. Among them is Nikita Semyanov, a 35-year-old from Novosibirsk, who was recruited to fight in the war while serving a nine-year prison sentence for murder. Multiple women have also accused Semyanov sexually abusing minors and of physical assault. Nevertheless, he’s continued to make appearances at various patriotic gatherings for children since his return from the front in February 2024. The independent outlet Holod dug into Semyanov’s past and learned why local groups organizing the events are still turning a blind eye to the allegations against him. Meduza shares an abridged version in English.

In February 2024, Novosibirsk’s Garin-Mikhailovsky Library posted about a recent recitation competition for schoolchildren called “Dedicated to the Defenders of the Fatherland.” Among the judges evaluating the children’s performance of patriotic poems was Nikita Semyanov, a veteran of the war in Ukraine. The post refers to him as a “special military operation” participant and reconnaissance group commander.

Shortly after, Semyanov visited a local school and spoke with the children there. Heroes of Russia – Novosibirsk, the local chapter of Russia’s Association of Heroes, published photos from the meeting on social media. The next day, Semyanov’s ex-wife, Polina, wrote a post revealing that Semyanov had killed her father.

Nikita Semyanov strangled his father-in-law in April 2021, after the two got into an argument. Alexander Makarenko was listed as missing for over a month. His body was found in May, and police quickly closed in on Semyanov and arrested him. Semyanov confessed to the murder, saying that the pair had started arguing while working together in the garage. As Makarenko was leaving, Semyanov grabbed him by the neck, put a plastic bag over his head, and strangled him with a wire. He then loaded the body into a car, took it to a plot of land he owned, and buried it in a pit.

In May 2022, a court found Semyanov guilty of murder and sentenced him to nine years in a strict regime prison colony. However, a few months after the verdict, he volunteered to fight in the war. After Semyanov was wounded, he returned to Novosibirsk a free man.

‘A sexual predator’

In early March, an acquaintance of Semyanov’s named Ulyana published a thread on X (formerly Twitter) in which she called him a pedophile and a murderer. “Now this animal is going around schools and blowing up smoke up your children’s asses,” she wrote.

According to her, Semyanov used to teach guitar to teenagers, and he coerced some of his students, girls aged 12–15, into having sex with him. Semyanov’s ex-wife Polina, seven years his junior, was also a minor when the two first got involved. “I met Nikita when I was 10,” she told Holod. “He worked at my school. We slept together when I was 13, and I moved in with him at 15. I gave birth at 17, and then when I was 18, we divorced.”

Ulyana said Semyanov tried to coerce her into having sex with him when she was around 14, and then again, about a year later:

On my boyfriend’s birthday, I ended up at his place again. There were a lot of us, my friends were there and in general, everyone was having fun. When my drunk boyfriend passed out, Nikita called me outside to talk. There, he shoved me into the dog kennel and started threatening me: either I give him a blowjob, or he’d strangle me and bury me, and no one would ever find me since the house was his. I was depressed, and I told him just to kill me. He got angry and dragged Polina over, made her suck him off in front of me.

Semyanov taught guitar at a local school in the 2010s, Ulyana told Holod. According to her, he’d let underage female students come stay with him if they’d gotten into fights with their parents:

I heard him say there’s a price for this, and if you weren’t willing to pay, you could pack up your things and get out. They didn’t complain about it, or maybe he hushed them up. In general, at that time, a lot of awful things were just a normal part of reality. He himself always said that his parents would help and cover for him and that he wouldn’t suffer any consequences.

Semyanov’s ex-wife Polina told Holod that while she was living with him, he constantly humiliated her, sexually assaulted her, and beat her: once he even broke her nose. She claimed that after the divorce, he used threats to force her to relinquish her parental rights in court. “I ran away from him with almost nothing,” she said. “I left everything. I had nowhere to go. I was afraid of being judged by my parents and afraid for myself. He made it very clear that I couldn’t see my child, and that if I tried to, he’d ruin my life.”

After the divorce, Polina went to prison on drug possession charges. Friends say that her daughter currently lives with Semyanov’s parents and that he likely sees her. Semyanov later remarried, and then again divorced. A family friend, Oksana (name changed), said that he regularly drank in front of the children and brutally beat his second wife, Irina (name changed). According to Semyanov’s acquaintances, he would make violent statements about his ex-wife Polina, saying she should be “chained in the basement and left to die there.”

“He’d scold his daughter, yell at her, and hit her,” Oksana added. “He justified it by saying her looks reminded him of his ex-wife, Polina. That she was just as nasty and vile and therefore deserved to be beaten and screamed at.” Oksana also told Holod that Irina found child pornography on Semyanov’s computer, which he later claimed to have deleted.

‘An exemplary father’

Not everyone believes that Nikita Semyanov killed his father-in-law and raped underage girls. Under posts accusing him of crimes, people started leaving comments in his defense. “Who’s writing this? Information has to be verified; you can’t just write a post based on what one person said. He’s an exemplary father, raised his daughter on his own. You can see how much she loves her dad. And as for what happened, you have to know the family’s situation and all the details,” wrote a user named Vera Osipova.

Osipova told Holod that her child was in some classes with Semyanov’s daughter. She described him as a “good father” and a “positive and friendly young man.”

The Association of Heroes, which organized Semyanov’s school appearance, told Holod that it doesn’t do its own background checks on members of the Russian military:

The Defenders of the Fatherland Foundation sends us the soldiers’ contact information. […] As for the horrors and accusations, apparently there is some tragic family history that the Association of Heroes has nothing to do with. We organize meetings with lots of soldiers.

Holod was unable to get in touch with Nikita Semyanov. He told Novosibirsk journalists that he wasn’t going to comment on the situation and that he didn’t recommend publishing anything on him. He blamed his ex-wife Polina for allegedly “abandoning a five-month-old child and disappearing for 10 years.” The Association of Heroes confirmed that Semyanov refuses to talk to the press. A representative there told local journalists that he is an active volunteer in patriotic organizations and, therefore, “from a moral standpoint, everything is fine.”

[bansheemilktales]

R.I.P. Big Dog

     I won't miss the big dog but I am sorry he died.

      Without naming him many of you will know who I'm speaking of. He and I had a few very pleasant moments like when we realized we both fell in love with Bjork on the same day (when The Sugarcubes hosted SNL on October 18th, 1988).  We shared some drinks, some laughs, a love of comic books and our politics were very close to being identical.      But the first time I met him I was 23 years old at a poetry reading and I accidentally bumped into a table loudly while someone was reading. The Big Dog gave me a look that said "Die, you piece of shit."      I immediately apologized and took responsibility as I sat down quietly.       Soon I began began reading my poems to audiences which resulted in him talking shit and saying "Comedy Is Easy" (of course it isn't as proven by the amount of serious actor, poets, writers vs comedians....we have a lot more people in the De Niro camp than we do in the Jack Black camp.) You can't just say "Chinchilla Hips" and be a funny guy. It takes a little more.      Then out of nowhere in 2003 I entered a championship for shits and giggles and to my suprise I won. I was the Albuquerque City Champ in poetry  that year with The Big Dog coming in 2nd which made him really mad. He told loads of people in our shared community that I only won cuz I was good looking (debatable) and that my poetry was cliched. I told him since I beat him his poems must be "Less Than Cliche" which really angered him. But I didn't give a shit. He started it and had picked on me the last 6 years for no reason and I wasn't having it.      At the risk of sounding cocky I kept winning. It was something like 3 city championships in a row plus 2 Haiku city championships. I can't rmember details but this was not the accomplishment it sounds like. It quickly stopped being fun as my competitors would not grow or challenge themselves creatively. It was like beating Pauly Shore in acting competitions. To his credit he admitted he found me frustrating because while he was far more recognized nationally he could rarely if ever beat me.      After 20 years he continued to fuck with me right here on FB (as recently as a few months ago calling my friends racist when none of them had even discussed race) and now that he died loads of people are remembering him fondly. Many of them are just doing it to be a part of something. This behavior grosses me out even though I am sort of doing it right now. But I don't want to be a part of that world anymore as proven by the fact I have not read a poem in public or attended a show since 2008 (even when offered money to do so).      Of course some of the love being spouted for The Big Dog is 100% genuine for some and I am glad that they had a healthy relationship with him. Sadly this was not my experience.      When we met he was a middle aged man who was picking on a young man. Plain & simple. 20 years later and I had become the middle aged man and he, an old man, continued to harass me on here (but not in DMs cuz he was a master at Virtue Signaling and wanted "to be seen being the ultimate ally")      That's what I hated about Slam Poetry. Even though I am a stone cold liberal and about as far left as a human can be, it was not about poetry at all. If it had been there would be a variety of stuff. Evil right wing poems would be welcomed (technically it would be possible for an asshole to be a good writer). So it was about agreeing which means it was a social circle, not an art community.      I've been happier since I went back to my first loves of comedy & art. But it always hurt that this guy who I went out of my way to be friends with for years wouldn't stop fucking with me.       That said, I never ever wanted him dead. And now he is. And it sucks. #BansheeMilkFACTS     

[for-narnia-and-the-north]

Remembering a Pen-pal... And Honoring a Friend.

When I joined Tumblr roughly a year ago, I stumbled upon a blog that was owned by a lovely man (whom we'll call Kevin for the sake of privacy) who was a father of several children, and married to a loving wife. He had a way with words, managing to make the complex experiences of life boil down to simple concepts. He was humble, and yet comfortable with his talents; he was accepting, and yet unashamed of his faith; and he had big dreams and yet the centered on serving others.

Fairly soon after I began following his blog, he posted a request for a penpal to swap stories and life experiences with. I thought it was a lovely take on the concept, given our modern era and the slow death of snail mail as a form of communication. Soon after, we were writing back and forth every few days, talking about everything from life, to our writing journeys, to our beliefs, to our individual hopes and dreams.

Barely a month after we'd first introduced ourselves, I received some rather bad news.

He'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer, it was predicted he would have no more than two months to live, and his life would be cut short at the age of 35.

What struck me about this man was that through it all, from the first message to his last, he never lost sight of his gratitude towards life, and he never abandoned his faith in his God. Even as he had to come to terms with the fact his daughters would lose their father before they'd even finished high-school, he would talk about how thankful he was for the time he'd had, and the life he'd lived.

The final message I received from Kevin was one that touched me in a way that not many things had. He told me he would no longer be writing as he wanted to spend as much of the time he had left as he could with his family. He also told me he was compiling a collection of poems and letters for his wife and kids to read after he was gone.

He also apologized for how short our time writing to each other had been.

Kevin was a man who somehow managed to put others first, even as his body was dying. He was a man who's faith gave him hope that this was not the end. He was a man who taught me to take time for the things that really matter to you. And he was a man that will always hold a place in my mind as a role model for how serving others was meant to look like.

So even though I know you're gone, I want you to know: I am thankful for the time we had to write to each other, I am thankful for the encouragement you gave me to pursue my dreams and goals, and I am thankful for the friendship we had, even as short as it was. I may not have ever met you face to face, but Kevin, I am thankful for you.

Perhaps we will meet again on the other side of this life. May your family find peace, and may you find rest,

In memory of Kevin.

-Nate 2k25

[tin-tweezers]

This fits so well into the series’ ongoing critique of empire.

Imagine: You’re a poor kid in a backwater region. You have no money, you have no opportunities, you’re told you’re a burden to society, the clothes on your back and the food you eat have been resentfully bestowed by your social betters.

How do you get out? You join the military.

Hiding the rest beneath the cut, because this got long.

In America, joining the military means you get money, healthcare for you and your family, assistance buying a house, a subsidy for a college education, a chance to see the world. When you ship out, your town installs banners on the street lights with your face, name and an American flag in the backdrop. And if you live in an American territorial holding (Samoa, Guam, the US Virgin Islands, all the others) the military is by far the best pathway to citizenship. You don’t even need to be a permanent resident. If you want to vote for the president who sends you off to war, you have to join the war. Your body is the collateral that jumps you to the front of the line.

(Here’s a poem about it by afakasi Samoan poet William Nu’utupu Giles.)

The thing is, you might not survive to reap the military’s benefits. You might die - and even if you do make it back alive, you might be different. There was a guy in my high school, we’ll call him Prince. He was an asshole - he bullied smaller kids, skipped class, homophobic comments. I lost track of him after graduation - I had shit to do and also wanted to get as far away from that place as possible.

Five years later, I see Prince on the MetroNorth commuter train platform, and almost don’t recognize him. His hair was short, because he seemed smaller, held himself more still than the aggressive kid I graduated with. I called his name, because I was far enough away from high school now that it didn’t hurt as much. When he turned and walked over, he had a limp. A really bad one. I asked him what he’d been doing since graduation and he told me he’d joined the Marines.

I, queer artist and budding socialist, neutrally asked him how that was going. First, he shrugged and showed me his leg. I awkwardly nodded and asked, “How did that happen?”

“It was shrapnel. It killed my best friend.” No preamble. He was on convalescent leave, visiting his family.

We got on the train together and he showed me some videos of the chopper he and his division manned on his phone. I told him a bit about my life, how I’d been to art school and how I was freelancing in the film industry. In my memory, he listens politely but we don’t really have much to say to one another because our lives are different now. And we weren’t friends in high school, so we didn’t have the good old days to fall back on. But, I don’t actually remember how we acted after that initial surprise. Maybe it was awkward, or it could very well be me projecting in hindsight.

We arrived in Grand Central and parted ways at the clock. I gave him a hug, and headed off towards the subway downtown (I had a gallery opening to go to.)

I realized later that my awkwardness stemmed from the fact that I had no military family members, or friends, or colleagues. Not even acquaintances. My long-dead grandfather had been an engineer in WW2 - after that, he got a full time at Bell Labs and helped design communications satellites. Never left, and never spoke about the war around me when I was little.

I mentioned that disconnect to a friend later, who grew up in rural Wisconsin. “Well, of course you didn’t have any friends in the military. Your family’s rich.” I didn’t think of us as rich, but I suppose we were rich enough that no one we knew enlisted. While I had never noticed, it was quite obvious to her.

I don’t know what happened to Prince after we met on the train. I’ve met other veterans since then, of course. Some of them had very nice houses paid for the GI bill, one became a playwright I worked with on a project, one lived in public housing and begged for food on the street in a wheelchair. (I never talked to that last guy, Ed, until my working class Trinidadian friend brought him coffee on one of our walks. After that, I said hello whenever I went by, and he talked about losing his legs in Vietnam.) As for the others, the ex-Navy Seal with the big GI Bill house in Florida flinched at loud noises, and the playwright writes about PTSD.

Anyway. That idea in The Locked Tomb, of sending your kid off to war so they escape the cycle of abuse/disenfranchisement/poverty? And having them come back different? Dead, even? And of course, Aiglamene herself has a wartime injury. Permanently disabled, invalided home. She still knows the Cohort is the only way out for Gideon Nav.

Sure makes you think.

thinking about Aiglamene. Like, so

a child crash lands in town. mystery where she came from. the mother is dead. this tiny redheaded thing has no one in the world. the town takes her in because what else are you supposed to do with a orphan dropped on your doorstep, but they don’t love her. the reverend family needs an heir, so they kill every single child on the planet- wait, scratch that, all but one. this one kid is alive, she’s alive, against all odds. so naturally, everyone’s scared of her. everyone hates her. out of all the children to survive why was it the one no one cared about. but they move on, everyone does, and the kid grows. and she starts asking questions. you start answering them. you start telling her stories, and it’s nice to be listened to, even if the kid is just a twerp. you start teaching her, she’s a natural with a sword, but you don’t tell her because it’ll go to her head. you’ve never had a maternal bone in your body, you aren’t mothering her… but she’s got nobody. and neither do you. you train her, you teach her, you tell her she can get out, get free from this place, if she works hard enough, fights good enough. she works hard. she fights well, better than you ever did at her age. she tries to get out. she gets caught. she tries again. and again. and again. and eventually, there’s a chance, a real chance. you’re the only person in the world who could get through this kid’s thick skull, and you tell her: this is your chance, this is it, you’re getting out, you’re leaving me, you’re never coming back, you’ve going to live, you have to get out now. and she goes. she goes, and she doesn’t come back. she doesn’t come back, and then she does… and she’s dead. she’s dead, and she’s back, the two things you prayed wouldn’t happen. she’s back and she’s dead and this is your child, you raised her, and you sent her off, promising a bright future, and it killed her.

[starielluvsplay1ngdnd]

Session 2(/1.5) of Speak No Harm Summary:

We entered the ant hill where the party was sent to the dungeon. Kingsley’s characters tried to resist by initiating combat but Sting gave up on that pretty fast. A highlight is when Bob (Faragrim) and Fennel (both tied together) climbed onto the back of one of the ants and used it as a mount (Nel even grappling it while using her Rabbit Hop to get over a [fake] wall [for cover in the training area]) which I gave them inspiration for.

When the party got sent to the dungeons Kings hatched an amazing plan using an arrangement of spells (which I will beg him to explain in the comments or a reblog) and since Sting had spent all week talking about how he wanted there to be a lake nearby to cause a flood with discovered the river which was the showers water source (which had to totally been there the whole time). The party met some NPCs I’m quite proud of (like an ant who was sent to jail for trying to join the bees, 2 ants who didn’t speak common, an angry ant who responded to everything with “IS IT MY FAULT THAT X?!” and dangerous praying mantis in solitary [who told them a piece of a prophecy I wrote]) and took a bunch of rests before breaking free.

We’re at the escape now and it’s dinner so we’ll probably continue tomorrow. The 1st part of the poem is written below (as it’s the first law drop in the campaign it’s VERY vague but I’m still happy with it);

Bells will ring

Birds will fly

And the grass will sing

At the arrival of Spring