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inky-duchess · 4 years

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21 History Ancedotes for my 21st Birthday

So today I celebrate my 21st birthday and I have decided to gift you all with 21 of my favourite historical Ancedotes. Some are funny, some are sad and some are plain bizarre but I hope the make your day 💜

Mary Maloney, an Irish-born suffragette in England followed Winston Churchill around while he was campaigning for a seat in Parliament, drowning out everything he said with a very large bell and calls for him to apologise for his comments on women's rights and suffrage movements.

Clodius Pulcher was a well born Roman noble during the last day's of the Republic. He gave up his Patrician status to become Tribune of the Plebs (an office in which one had to be a Pleb) by being adopted by a much younger Plebian man who became his "father". Clodius was a bit of a riot, sneaking into religious festivals dressed like a woman to sleep with Caesar's wife, building a shrine to Liberty in the ruins of the Conservative Cicero, vetoed the last speech of one of the Consuls (who basically did nothing all year and was apparently going to roast Caesar) and burned down the Senate House with his funeral pyre (the Plebs who loved him literally tearing up the furniture to build his pyre). He was honestly the best fun.

When laying on her deathbed, Queen Caroline of Ansbach turned to her husband George II of England and told him he should marry again. George refused to ever wed again... But added he would have mistresses. Caroline said , likely with a roll of her eyes, "oh my god that doesn't matter."

Florence was a pretty cool city in the Renaissance until Savanorola came to town. He disliked the loose living artists that crowded the city, with their naked pagan gods and rampant homosexuality. He expelled them all with help of the French hoping to make Florence Holy Again. When the Borgia Pope excommunicated him and sentenced him to death, one man in the crowd was reported to have said. "thank God, niw we can return to sodomy." One Floretine man in the 1490s said Gay Rights.

So this list couldn't be complete without an entry of the only American politician I love, Alexander Hamilton who was just a walking entity of sass. I could go on about his sharp sarcasm or his disaster bi vibes with John Lauren's but my all time favourite Alexander Hamilton ancedote has to be this exchange with Thomas Jefferson "There are approximately 1010300 words in the English language, but I could never string enough words together to properly explain how much I want to hit you with a chair."

Caterina Sforza was an Italian noble woman during the Renaissance. She was apart of the powerful Sforza family, which drew many enemies to her. One fateful day at Forli, Caterina's children were snatched as hostages. The besiegers threatened to kill her children if she did not cede the castle. Caterina refused, lifting her skirts and shouted to the besiegers that she had the means to make more children.

Hannibal Lecter's creator Thomas Harris was happy to end his great character's story with the original trilogy. However his publishers forced him to write an unneeded prequel explaining why Hannibal became Hannibal. Thomas Harris agreed lest he lose the rights to his character so he wrote Hannibal Rising, where Hannibal as a young man hunts down the Nazis who ate his sister with a katana.

Nell Gwyn is my favourite mistress of Charles II, mainly because of her sass. Once while trapped in the middle of a riot where Londoners swamped her carriage thinking she was Charles's Catholic mistress. She popped her head out the carriage and told the people "Pray good people be civil. I am the Protestant whore." She also dosed her rival Moll Davis with laxatives in order to free up some of Charles's time and she once flashed her underwear at the French ambassador after asking him why the Franch King did not pay her to spy on Charles because she was with him every night. A true Queen.

Emperor Ai of the Han Dynasty of China once rose from his bed to go do some ruling when he realised his lover, Dong Xian was sleeping on his sleeve. Rather than disturb his lover, the Emperor cut his sleeve off at the wrist to leave Dong Xian nap. Nothing has ever been more romantic than that. Y'all could never.

Princess Margaret the sister of current Queen Elizabeth II was a socialable Princess and often tasked to visit the up and coming music stars of the day on behalf of the Crown. When meeting the Beatles one evening, she noticed George Harrison was acting a little odd. When she asked what was the matter, he replied "We arent allowed eat until you go." Princess Margaret laughed and promptly left so the Beatles could get some dinner.

During the Siege of Jadotsville, Irish soldiers under the flag of the UN were attacked and besieged by local insurgents allied with the Katanga Regime. The insurgents numbered thousands while the Irish only had 158 soldiers, all who were lightly armed. They radioed to their allies assuring them that "we will hold out until our last bullet is spent. Could use some whiskey though".

Napoleon was famous for writing raunchy letters to his wife, the Empress Josephine while he was away. She used to reply with really mundane letters or not at all. She really just could not be bothered with him.

Josip Broz Tito was so fed up with Joseph Stalin sending assassins to kill him, he wrote to Stalin personally to say "If you don't stop sending assassins to kill me. I will send one to Moscow and I won't have to send another." It didn't work but Big Dick Energy.

Successful Roman soldiers returning from war often got to march along in parades known as Triumphs. During this, it was customary for them to sing bawdy songs about their commander. One surviving one about Caesar goes like this "Romans, lock up your wives. Here comes the bald adulterous whore. We pissed away your gold in Gaul and come to borrow more."

Matilda, Lady of the English was a woman so badass that history cannot handle her. She was the daughter of Henry I who left his throne to her after the death of her brother. She was away in France when her father died and her throne was snatched by her cousin Stephen. They battled back and forth for years with neither side ceding any ground. Matilda was once besieged in a castle during a snow storm, with Stephen's men all around her. Instead of fighting her way out. She simply donned a white cloak and walked out of the castle. Just walked out without any of Stephen's men seeing her.

Pedro of Portugal once fell in love with a beautiful lady in waiting called Inez de Castro. For years, they lived as man and mistress, popping out a few kinds. Pedro's dad really did not like Inez and wanted Pedro to find a legitimate wife so he had her killed. Pedro returned home to find the mother of his children dead. Pedro went a little crazy. He had all his father's assassins killed, ripping out their hearts as they had done to him. When Pedro ascended the throne, he demanded the Pope legitimize his children by Inez. The Pope not wanting to upset the King, said he couldn't because Inez was never crowned Queen. Pedro dug Inez up and crowned her as Queen, having all the nobility swear loyalty to her corpse. The Pope had no choice but to agree to his request.

A famously clever general once saved an entire city with an ingenious stragety to sit outside the city waiting for the attacking army to come. The attack had come to fast for the city to ready themselves for a Siege so, the general had to move quickly. He evacuated the city and took his place waiting for the army to come. The enemy forces stopped and took one look at him and bolted, thinking he meant to lure them in one of his famous traps.

Michaelangelo was really badly treated by the Vatican when he was painting the Sistine Chapel. He constantly fought with the Popes over the design and his work, which he was paid peanuts for. Michaelangelo got his revenge in his work, painting the gates of Hell behind the Papal Throne and an angel flipping the ol' fig (the Renaissance version of the bird) toward the Pope's chair.

Peter the Great was not a perfect guy. He kept serfdom as a practise in his kingdom, he had his son tortured to death and he could be an unpleasant guy. But Peter was a dreamer. He wanted nothing more to build a fleet for Russia and bring Russia beyond its borders. Peter took a gap year from ruling Russia to wander around Europe. When he stopped in England, he was granted Leicester House to chill in while he did his shipwright studies. It was here that Peter found a new passion. The wheelbarrow. Cue Peter and his new found English buddies drinking in Leicester House, punching the artwork and rolling each other around in barrels across the house's Great gardens.

Diogenes is hands down a walking shit post. He was a great thinker in Greece during the reign of Alexander but a rather dry, sarcastic wit. He lived in a pithos/a jar because he shunned all vanities and values of society. He trolled other philosophers, attending their debates to heckle them and eat loud foods through them. When Alexander the Great came to fan boy over him, saying that if he were not Alexander he would like to be Diogenes to which Diogenes just said "yeah me too, now get out of my sunlight."

Cosimo de Medici was the son of a Floretine banker with a great knowledge and love of art. Cosimo wished for Florence to release its potentially and join the Renaissance. He hired Filippo Brunelleschi to finsh the Great Dome of Santa Maria del Fiore which had láin unfinished for over a century, a symbol of a failure of ambition. The builders had lost the knowledge of creating a dome so large so it remained unfinished. Despite much opposition from the other nobility and denouncers of the Renaissance, Cosimo's dream of the completion of the dome was completed, making it the largest brick dome in creation at that time. There is nothing like achieving your dreams and certainly nothing like leaving a lasting reminder that screams 'I was right and you were wrong' to stand for centuries.

#Instead of doing shots I decided to give you all a gift #History is our greatest gift #And it's filled with dick jokes and idiots #Anyway happy birthday to me #Go forth and enjoy this great gift #history dump #History Ancedotes #History bites: kinda?

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muckrakerhq · 3 years

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PRESENTING … FONDUE FOR TWO, HOSTED BY JOEY HUMMEL-ANDERSON.

featuring… this week’s guests, @giannastone & @angel-alexanderr

fondue for two is a weekly internet talk show hosted by joey hummel-anderson. fondue for two, joey, and the muckraker team strive to get all the steaming gossip while he interviews guests of his choice over a steaming pot of cheese.

[JOEY'S ROOM, SAME SET AS BEFORE]

JOEY: Hello everyone and welcome back to Fondue for Two! We're doing a Glee Club edition this month, which means that I will invite the captains of each glee club that actually matter around here... Today we have the captain of the Warblers, also known as my boyfriend, Xan Puckerman! And we have a very good friend of mine, Gigi Stone! She's not captain of the Canaries, but after the so called slushie incident, Aubrey won't talk to me... Either way, are you guys excited to be here?

XAN : Always excited to be in your bedroom, Joseph.

GIGI: Can we keep the flirting to a minimum today, boys? But yeah, I’m excited to be here. You clearly made the best decision by inviting the most talented Canary.

JOEY: Don't worry Gigi, we'll try. Okay, first question is for Xan... Is it true that everyone at Dalton is gay? Or is that a rumor that was created many years ago?

XAN : While I personally believe that everyone is at least a little gay. The number of out and proud homosexuals at Dalton Academy is lower than you might think. So yeah...definitely a rumor. Possibly a little bit of a problematic one while we're at it.(edited)

JOEY: Well... That's interesting to know. But I'm pretty sure that most people will still think that. Gigi, next question is for you! Do you have a date for Candyland? And if you do, who is it?

GIGI: Duh. Of course I do. I’m going with your brother, actually. Trace asked me the other day.

XAN : Love that for you two.

GIGI: He’s so cute, right? I’m excited.

JOEY: He didn't tell me that! That's cute... Why did you say yes? You know what, that's not important... Since we're talking about Valentine's Day, the next question is for you two: if we weren't all going to Breadstix, what would your perfect Valentine's Day be like? JOEY: Let's stop talking about my brother...

XAN : honestly? i'm not a big holiday person. being born on a holiday kinda ruined all holidays for me i think. but for sake of not looking like an asshole on the internet, i'll say i would be doing something cute with my boyfriend

GIGI: That’s... cute. In a sad sort of way. My perfect Valentine’s Day is being pampered from start to finish. Flowers, jewelry, chocolate. The whole nine yards. GIGI: Trace, if you’re watching this.. Play your cards right and you might be promoted from bench warmer to MVP.

JOEY: 4th of July is a holiday? I thought people just liked to throw fireworks on that day because it's fun, I don't know... But all of those are good answers. Okay, next question, what is the hottest piece of gossip going on at your schools right now? And this is an important one.

XAN : i'm simply not a messy bitch so i have no clue.

JOEY: C'mon, there's gotta be something going on at Dalton!

GIGI: Margot’s dad like literally paid off our coach so she could have a solo at Regionals. Embarrassing, right? Couldn’t be me.

XAN: i will not tolerate Margot slander in my presence. XAN: she's my favorite canary.

JOEY: Wait, did she really do that? Who told you that? I need to know if this is real. Sorry Xanny!

GIGI: It’s literally all anyone can talk about at Crawford? Which is annoying because there’s a lot more interesting things to talk about, but regardless, let’s just say it’s not the first time it’s happened.

JOEY: You heard it here first, people! It won't be a problem though, since you guys lost either way... So sorry about that. But at least the Warblers won! Moving on, who do you guys think will win at Nationals?

XAN : i might be biased. but this is the most competitive warblers year of recent years. i think we could go all the way.

GIGI: Obviously Vocal Adrenaline. No offense to either of you. GIGI: Well, I guess that’ll only happen if they finally kick Giardi off the team.

XAN : i will say...i've heard some rumors about vocal adrenaline's regionals set and i'm a little....terrified for lack of a better word.

GIGI: Say more.

JOEY: Say more right now!

XAN : not to incriminate myself, but i produce rap tracks for this freshman in the warblers. In exchange, he keeps tabs on some of the other show choirs in ohio. let's just say....vocal adrenaline is tributing one of the best vocalists of all time. XAN : expect to cry if you have tickets this weekend.

JOEY: Dua Lipa?

XAN: Not Dua Lipa babes.

GIGI: Interesting. Thanks for the tip, Puckerman.

JOEY: Well, that's kind of scary then... But to answer my own question, I'm sure that the New Directions have a chance too, but we'll see... JOEY: Next question, while we're talking about the show choir world, am I the only one who thinks there's some sexual tension between Julien and Gooby?

XAN : who the hell is gooby?

JOEY: Davis!

XAN: I don't know. That guy gives off heavy asexual vibes to me. Like the definition of soulless automaton. I should know I shared a room with him on the ski trip.

GIGI: (laughs) Davis is the farthest thing from asexual. Soulless? You might be onto something there.

XAN: have you copulated with the enemy???

JOEY: Yeah, have you Gigi? Because that's kind of weird and I can only imagine having sex with Gooby is like sleeping next to a loud breather...

XAN: Or a very unsexy android

JOEY: Or even an emotionless Henry Cavill!

GIGI: Do you two seriously live under a rock? Davis and I have been on and off for the past year and a half or so.

XAN: i don't really pay attention to heterosexual mating patterns...

JOEY: Wait... I thought people from Vocal Adrenaline weren't supposed to sleep with people from other schools... Isn't that why Ivy broke up with Julien?

XAN: i thought Ivy broke up with Julien because he's a cabbage patch kid in a high schooler's body

GIGI: I don’t know why Ivy broke up with Julien, and quite frankly, I don’t care. And to answer your question, they can’t date people from opposing teams during competition season.

JOEY: (chuckles at Xan's comment) Xan, don't be mean! JOEY: Well, yeah, but... Haven't you guys been hooking up for the past year? How does that work?

GIGI: Next question. I didn’t come on here to talk about Davis.

XAN: You heard the lady, stinky.

JOEY: Fine... Who do you think is going to be the most shocking couple at Candyland?

GIGI: Some of these losers actually landing dates is shocking in itself, but I, for one, am interested to see who shows up with the belle of the ball.

XAN: i don’t know about shocking, but I watched Chad texting Bri while we were eating at breastix....and if those two end up back together it would be the LEAST shocking thing in recent history. XAN: actually no...the canaries losing with an all country set would be the least shocking thing in recent history

GIGI: Interesting jab from someone who sang songs from a children’s movie. All I have to say on that front is that the Canaries will never be singing another country song again. You can bet on it.

JOEY: Chad and Bri dated? I had no idea about that... JOEY: But I have to agree with Xan, it was kind of lame... And Trolls isn't a kids' movie! It's a movie for all ages! I love that movie... I'm kind of curious to see who Leo McCarthy is going with, I feel like I haven't seen him in a long time. JOEY: What do you mean about the Canaries though? I thought Aubrey was captain still...

GIGI: And I thought Ivy would never let Julien out of her clutches, but here we are.

XAN: (laughs) not clutches!

JOEY: Okay... Well, that's all the time we have! Before you go, you have to say one nice thing about Gil the Fish... I feel like we haven't been giving him enough attention lately. [points at his fish bowl]

GIGI: I think it’s SO sweet that you bought a fish that looks like Kenna Giardi.

XAN: gil don't listen to her she didn't mean that. you're much sexier than kenna giardi!

JOEY: And that's it! Thank you for being here and for everyone else, don't forget to tune in for Fondue for Two some other time! Bye!

[ THE END ]

#Fondue For Two #fft: episode vi #gianna stone #xan puckerman #joey hummel-anderson

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leeknow-bestboy · 4 years

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If You Close One Eye - Chapter One

Ships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, If you really squint you can notice Lix is into Binnie, Hyunjin was into everyone once

Characters: All the kids, The ex kid isn't here I edited him out, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Trigger warnings: panic attack, ptsd, original character death, homophobia, original character cheating, descriptive imagery.

Word count: 5277

Chapter: 1/?

Next chapter

Tags: Murder Mystery, amateur detective minho, Soulmates, not your typical soulmate AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Slow Burn, Slow Build, good things take time let it slowburn, minho is singlehandedly responsible for the slow burn so blame him, no soulmates in this universe only they are, criminology student minho, art student jisung, POV Third Person, chan deserves better and he does indeed get better don't worry, art references please look stuff up, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, best sibling bond ever.

"If you close one eye, you can see what your soulmate sees"

Born with one eye an unnatural golden color, Minho and Jisung have been forced to cover them up with colored lenses in order to blend into society.

The magic to their eyes? Even they still didn't know.

This is the story of how criminology major and dance minor Lee Minho found himself hopelessly in love with the serial killer, local artist Han.

[Alternatively, let's see how long I can make these two dumbasses pine without one of them snapping. Edit: they finally did]

[Also WARNING: a HUGE amount of Jeongchan ahead, it's not subtle at all! So much fluff--]

As per usual, the playground was packed; children of all ages ran wild, squalling and laughing like the little menaces they were- all of them avoiding a short kid who couldn't be older than five, seated at the very end of the sandbox and holding back tears of offense and loneliness.

It's not that he got bullied, he wasn't. His mom raised a tough kid who'd bite back when he's bit, but no one would play with him now. Not with how he looks, they'd rather scream and run.

Five year olds shouldn't worry about that.

Rubbing his left eye- the good one, he could see a woman's shoulder and hair. Her smile, bright and comforting, wording out a song with no sound.

"Jisung!" His mother's voice rang aloud, recognizable and warm in the hostile environment.

"Baby," She called again, finding him and wrapping her son in her arms. For the moment, there was no strange woman- only his own mother.

Jisung sniffled. "I hate people." -These words that shouldn't be said by a child flowed so easily from his lips, as if it was the only reasonable conclusion.

"We need to talk about something" his mother's voice, once excited and lively sounded utterly defeated. Little did he know, it was the last time. Years of telling him he's perfect just the way he is, special and unique in a good way, definitely- have ended up making no difference in the end.

That day, he learned to put on contact lenses.

"I know you're upset about the divorce, but you have to accept that it happened."

The woman's voice, high pitched and unpleasant, drove Minho ever so slightly closer to the edge. By now he knew no adult in the world would ever take him seriously, so what was the point in sitting here and listening to her talk?

The woman pursed her lips, plump and telling of the many times they went under the scalpel. Tapping her foot, she hazily reminded Minho of his own mother when scolding was due.

"If you don't talk to me, that's fine. Nothing's going to change. I get paid by the hour you know, I can do this all day."

That being said, she was probably stressed- no therapist had ever gotten Minho to talk, he's been changing doctors since his hallucinations began, which adds to a little over three years now.

"Minho, I can't help you like this. Tell your mother I give up."

A sense of dread spread over the eight years old. Again, another adult doesn't get it. Another one giving up on him, leaving, and suddenly he wanted her to stay. Pretty badly he did, at the time.

"I don't care that my parents broke up, I've been seeing monsters all day"

The woman blinked, stunned into silence. At the tinge of tears he rubbed his right eye- and there it was, certain as ever; drawn with a sharpie, people with horns. In a moment, a pair of hands that weren't his took the drawing away and pulled out a new one, drawing harshly a sad smiley face.

Although he was a big boy, he cried right then, scared out of his mind and very confused. He cried so hard it almost slipped off- the contact lens hiding his mother's disgrace.

Looking up, the woman made no effort to comfort or dissolve his fright. Rather, she was scribbling down the whole ordeal. Taking notes, furiously assessing and picking him apart, she finished her analysis smugly and said,

"It's time we get you a prescription, my dear"

And that was definitely not the last of it.

"Oppa"

Minho groaned lowly, alerting the speaker to the fact he's been woken from sleep.

"Minho oppa!" the voice persisted. Fully intent on hanging up, Minho side glanced at the caller id to make sure it wasn't important.

"Motherfucker!" the voice on the other end rose. From the corner of the bed Doongie meowed, alarmed.

"Freaking shrimp, what do you think you're calling your oppa?" He blurted. This isn't a call he should skip.

"Egg laying bastard! Answer me when I call you!" His sister's comforting voice trickled out.

"Gremlin twarp!"

"ballerina!"

"Whiny child!"

"Prune old man!"

"spoiled princess!"

"Mean hoe!"

"-!" Wheeze.

"I got you, you horrible gay bitch"

"We're both gay, Ryu" He threw back.

It's been a while since she last called.

"Well, you live alone, so I assume you're doing much gayer things than I can do at home."

Minho started, failing to hold back his horrified gasp. "Ryujin, you're eighteen!" He exclaimed. It seemed like yesterday she was still following him around, like some baby duckling.

"She's being mean Doongie, like you three don't count." He added, Ryujin electing to ignore his comment.

"How's dance going?" her tone changed, turning softer. For all their differences, dance for sure has always been something both loved and loved together. From copying idols on TV, to taking ballet and hiphop together, Jazz too.

"I'm not in college for dance and you know it" He groaned, immediately softening as well.

"I miss it a lot. I wish I could do more than minor in it.." On the other side of the call Ryujin hummed, understanding. She has always known his passion best.

"You're good at what you do too. You'd make a kickass detective." She claimed.

"I'm not taking criminology to be a detective." Why she had to be reminded was beyond him. If anything he aimed to be an officer, someone to tell kids off if they mess with the neighborhood cats.

"I'm just saying you could be!" She defended- which wasn't wrong, if he played job openings right. He did have a knack for picking apart mystery books too, but that was nothing out of the usual.

"How's grad life?" He asked with genuine interest. Nothing could ever matter to him more.

"I asked Chelle out, finally." She said, and Minho couldn't help but notice the edge evident in her voice.

"What happened? Did she let you down? Should I come over?" The questions left his lips before he could consider them, worry clouding over him.

"No, it's nothing like that. She said yes, but.. Yeah, oppa, I really wish you were here. I need to talk to you, face to face. Mom misses you too." She ended lamely. It was so unlike her, Minho couldn't find it in him to correct the fact that it was only Ryu's mom and not his.

"Tell her I'll be visiting tonight then, I'll go get ready." He said, fully intent on making the sudden drive over. It was only a two hour ride over to his father's, where Ryujin and his step mother lived too. If he headed out now, he could make it before dinner.

"Really? You don't have to, I know you hate it here-" Her attempts of taking it back wouldn't work once he set his mind to do something.

"Really really. I miss my stinky troll sister too," He insisted. No way was he leaving her be. The moment something felt off with her, he knew he had to go make sure she's fine; there aren't many things as precious in his life as she is.

"Dumbass," she relented, voice worryingly relieved. "I'll go tell mom."

He smiled, tapping his nail on the headboard, now sitting up at his bed. "Bye"

She huffed, pausing for a moment before giving her last reply. "Goodbye, oppa. I love you."

Minho sighed, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.

For what little time he spent at his father's place, a surprising amount of bad memories were made. Up until his teen years he wouldn't even enter, and every time after that made for a rich history; first panic attack, first time breaking a leg falling down the stairs, coming out, taking Ryu to junior prom- door shut in his face that time, claiming she was grounded for beating up the neighbor's son. First time stung by a bee, and that weekend when his father's doberman puppy bit him in play, tore open his front lip and got sent to a dog pound despite his protest.

'Come on,' he thought. 'You can do this. Count to three-' and at three he did, opened his car door and walked up through the front gate.

"Minho! How lovely to see you." Smiled his step mom, a warm, if not a tad unnerving woman.

"Nice to so see you too. How have you been?" He asked, clean-cut manners kicking in. Dal and Byul had meanwhile made their way running over to the door, immediately rubbing against him with some level of desperation. He leaned down, rubbing Dal's small head.

"I've been well, your father too- that's right! Honey, come say hi to Minho." The short, lean woman called, still blocking the entrance to the oversized house and keeping Minho at the door. Whether this was on purpose shall forever remain a mystery- she did it every time.

"That brat has nothing to do in this house" His father's voice warmed over.

"Hi dad." He tried still, calling over the woman's shoulder. "Can I come in?"

Said obstacle smiled, moving aside at last. "Of course sweetie, Ryujin will be right over."

Taking that exchange for what it was, he made fast pace towards the kitchen. Avoiding his father has become a praised skill by now, a crucial one by all means.

"Dallie, Byulie, psps" he tried, pleased when both ran on over towards his outstretched hand. Two more allies at the ready.

Light steps cleared the remaining discomfort sullying his mood in short moments. "You!" A pair of arms tightened around his shoulders, prompting Minho to lift his little sister in a piggyback.

"You too!" He answered, relieved at feeling welcomed at last.

"I can't believe you actually came. Did you tell your mother you're over?" She asked, tactless as ever. He loves her a whole lot for that, too.

"She's not the boss of me, I'm twenty one" He announced, eyes closed in a content smile as his sister gently pet his hair like a cat.

"What about me? I'm almost nineteen, I wish I was free like you, Lino!" Exclaimed Ryujin, but really she didn't. There was a certain freedom gained from nobody caring about you that no one should be jealous of.

Letting her hop back onto the ground, Minho kept the smile on his face. She seemed fine, but he could tell better. Still, they couldn't talk before dinner- the pots and pans at the stovetop smelled just about ready, after all.

Instead he turned to face her, petting her head lovingly like she had his. "What's this? This tiny Ryuddaeng's nineteen? No way."

"Almost!" she growled. "Next month I'll be."

"Where have the times gone?" he questioned, shoving her playfully at the comments of "old man".

Dinner went as uncomfortably as expected, his father and he had behaved remarkably well- hadn't spoken a word to each other throughout. Minho ate neatly, made sure to compliment his step mother for every dish, and Ryujin helped by washing them after. All in all, it was successful unlike many dinners before.

Making way to the guest bedroom, Minho paused at the sight of his sister's door left slightly open. Right, yes- this would be a good time.

Knocking quietly, he waited for permission before entering and closing the door, waiting for Byul to enter alongside him. "Are you alright?"

Ryujin nodded, glancing up at him and back to the floor. He took that as a sign to take a seat down on her fancy dragon themed carpet.

"Are you really alright? Ryujin, I know we're not great communicators, but I'm still very worried. Is it dad?" At that his sister shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"Don't get mad, but I have a huge favor. You know Chelle, I swore I'll ask her out when I graduate and I did, but she…" Minho crossed and uncrossed his legs, chin finding its place resting on a knee. Byul purred, rubbing against it.

"She's missing. She's been missing for two weeks now, no one knows where she is." She explained, voice stern.

"I don't think she ran away, but her parents keep saying she did. She said nothing to me." She added, hoping he'd fill in the rest on his own.

"They're not filling in for missing person?" He asked, worry making his back stress and ace.

Ryujin nodded. "I know she's the bad girl type, but she wasn't into drugs and her friends seem fine. I keep trying to ask around but I can't, what if something serious happened?"

Minho nodded, realizing where he comes in. "You want me to investigate? See where that takes us?" He asked. For sure, that should be the police's job- but with her parents saying she ran away, would they even bother?

Ryujin kept quiet, eyes burning holes into Minho's. This was her crush, a big one- he's never liked Chelle, but now? If Ryujin cares that much… sure. It's not something he should be messing with legally, and a new project to be added atop his ever growing college work, but he'd do it for her. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ryujin asked back, relieved.

"Yes. I'll do it." He assured.

Ryujin's features softened farther, mouth breaking into a smile. "You're my new favorite person."

Minho smiled lightly, mind running full speed. "I need details. When and where she was last seen, and about her; exes, Instagram, friends and hangouts."

Ryujin's smile faded. Nonetheless she turned, pulling a notebook out of her bedside drawer.

Scribbling away the details he requested, she paused to ask a couple questions before turning back to her chore. "I know less than I thought." She admitted.

"That's fine, but I have a few more. How was her mental state, where did she study, was she on meds and did she mention any places?"

This kept on for a few hours, ending after they let an annoyed Byul out of the room - with Ryujin tiredly announcing that her brain is fried and he can ask the rest over chat when he's back in college. On his end, Minho learned one important thing:

This girl was not who she seemed to be.

Back at his apartment, Minho re-read all eleven papers of info they've gathered. On the way he's prepared a list of places to visit, only two of which stemmed from the info Ryujin herself had given him. Other than the school and family bistro down the street, it seemed the two have never gone out together, although Chelle was one to do so.

Good, he thought.

Scrolling through her Instagram, he noted which followers seemed to comment more, and who would show most often on highlights. Her latest post have been boring- it was landscape art of what he assumed to be a tall grass field on the outskirts of seoul. Around three months back he found a picture of some guy at the beach, shirt off and abs in clear view. Seeing as he looked nothing like Chelle, it would seem they weren't related.

Sorting through the packed comment section, someone's request to take it down stood out. Tapping on the person's icon, he realized that was probably the guy in the picture, although the account was made private. An ex? That would make a good trail.

Not having an account himself, by now Minho has used Ryujin's, but to follow guys it would seem he needs his own account.

Setting up all the necessities, he took a nice picture of Dori and made it his profile, sending the guy a follow request right away.

Now we wait.

"Oppa, if you have no photos or description and no followers, and he doesn't know you, did you really expect he'd approve your request?" Ryujin's laughter trickled through the speakers, as if it's been obvious. "You're going to have to find him." She pointed, before hesitantly adding, "Or I can-"

"No." Minho said, stern. "This guy could be Chelle's ex, he might be really dangerous! You don't get to follow his Instagram."

Ryujin sighed, and Minho got the sudden mental image of her rubbing the bridge of her nose as she did. "You have friends right? Ask one of them." She advised.

"I need to go, dad said I can't go out unless I finish these applications." She explained, hanging up after a round of goodbyes.

Right. He did! He has friends.

Picking his phone back up, Minho scrolled his contacts looking for either Felix or Hyunjin. The two weren't in his major, but they shared a dance class. Out of the student body, they were closest to his definition of friends.

A couple rings went by before the line picked up. "Hyung? Hello!" Felix's cheerful voice calmed the older's nerves ever so slightly.

"Felix, hi." He answered, trying to seem casual. "How are you?"

Felix took a moment before responding. "I'm great! I'm actually out with Chan hyung, is something up?"

"Who?" Minho asked, confused.

Felix took another moment. "Bang Chan. He's a fourth year in sociology, I don't think you'll know him."

Minho came close to a sob right then. "Can you pass him the phone?"

"Yeah sure." Felix agreed immediately, followed by ruttling sounds.

"Hello?" A voice sounded, accent similar to Felix's own.

"Hi! My name is Minho, I followed you on Instagram a couple days ago."

A short silence. "Oh my god." Chan exclaimed.

"No, never mind that, I need to talk to you." He rephrased.

"I have no idea who you are." Chan replied, confused.

"It's about Chelle." Minho added, hoping to learn anything from the other's reply.

"Oh." Was all he got. "Okay, I guess we should meet sometime then. How is she?"

The question caught Minho off guard.

"I, I'll tell you more when we meet. When are you free?" he asked, quickly seeking out a pen and scribbling the time and date on his wrist, phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder.

"Yeah, sounds great! See you then." He concluded, getting passed back to Felix and thanking him profoundly before hanging up.

"In my own college." He muttered after the phone found its place back on the table.

"Unbelievable."

Not many people occupied the café, despite its convenient location not far off the olympic park. For that reason Minho concluded, the coffee there probably sucked.

It wasn't his intention to show fifteen minutes early, but his nerves got the best of him, taking shape in miserable pacing until he deemed it late enough to leave his apartment already. Worst case scenarios running through his mind, he wasn't expecting it as someone took seat in the chair opposite of his.

"Hello. It's Minho, right?" Asked the stranger, dimples forming in an awkward smile.

"Ah." Minho voiced dumbly before quickly picking himself up adding,

"You're Chan?"

In the short time that passed between first learning of Chan's existence and actually seeing him, Minho's mind managed to fill with expectations and fears, all of which shattered right in that moment.

First of all, the guy in the picture had very defined abs and arm muscles, making it seem as if he'd be your average muscle-head, someone who could pull apart limbs off boys like Minho- a description that apparently had nothing in common with the hesitant and awkward person in front of him. Rather, he found that this Chan was a tad shorter than him, barely filling the light gray sweater he threw on.

Secondly, while the photo showed a man with straight dark brown hair, the man in front of him had soft blond curls that seemed so, so fluffy- invoking a primal urge to pet them in, Minho assumed, not only himself, but also every innocent bystander.

Lastly, by the amount of english in his Instagram description, one would expect an obvious accent, but that had been proven false on the phone call anyway. Regardless, Minho imagined a foreigner, so seeing his face up close had been a surprise on its own, especially considering the smile… he was, how would he put it? Cute.

"Yeah! Nice to meet you. I was worrying I'd be early, but it's good to see you are too." Minho could only half process the words, a glance at his phone telling him they both still had around ten minutes before the planned meetup time.

"Right! Right, I wanted to talk to you." Minho started, forcibly clearing his mind of any strange thoughts.

"You said it was about Chelle? I assume you're her new boyfriend?" Chan asked, voice a bit strained.

"No, It's not like that. I wanted to know if you've heard from her for the last couple weeks." Minho replied, quick to correct him so to not make things needlessly awkward. Right, he thought- Chan still might have had something to do with this girl's disappearance.

"Oh, well, I actually hadn't, I try not to do that anymore. We didn't end things on good terms." Chan confessed, picking Minho's interest.

"What happened?" He asked, worries picking back up.

Chan paused. "Are you her friend? This kind of thing is a little personal, I don't want it to affect your friendship."

Minho blinked, thinking up a smaller scale storm. "I live in her neighborhood. We're not very close, but some things happened that made me look for you."

Chan hesitated, saved by the waiter's interruption asking which drinks the two would have. Still suspicious, Minho only ordered a small iced americano, Chan matching with a small iced tea.

"You probably know we dated for around two months, it ended after I found she was cheating for a long time."

Minho's breath hitched, dangerously close to choking on his coffee. "She cheated on you?"

Chan's expression fluttered before he nodded, sheepish smile back on. "Kind of pathetic, isn't it? I couldn't hold her attention. At least, the others didn't know."

Minho gaped, unsure how to handle the new information. Chelle, the girl Ryujin asked him to look for. Was that her true nature? "What do you mean others?"

Chan's embarrassment grew, yet he didn't look away. "We were around.. five, I think.. that I know of. I followed her for a bit."

The awkwardness settled, leaving both speechless.

"Okay, I'm really sorry but I still need to ask you a couple more things." Minho was the first to break the silence.

"Go ahead." Chan smiled in relief.

"Were you mad? Wait, no- Can you think of anyone who could have held a grudge against her? More than, I guess, this."

Chan shook his head. "She's a really nice girl! She has some serious issues, but I liked her a lot at the time."

Minho bit his lip, ready to push on. "Chan, I'm going to be honest with you.. Chelle's been missing for over two weeks now."

If Chan was drinking at the moment, it would have been his turn to choke. "What?" he asked, voice steady.

"I got in touch with you because right now, nobody knows where she is. Or someone does know, but I don't" Minho explained, hoping his message went through alright.

"Are you sure she's not ghosting you? She might be." Chan offered. Minho stiffened. If Chelle was fine, if she was ghosting his sister- there will be hell to pay.

"I don't think so?" he continued anyway.

"I can't remember a specific person who would want to hurt her, but.. God, I'm worried. Chelle's gone? Like, kidnapped or.." Chan paused, taking deep breaths.

"If you have any information on where she could be, it would help a lot. I don't know her well, I'm not sure who else to ask either." Minho added.

"What do you want to know?" Chan asked, worry clouding his face in an unpleasant way. Minho almost felt, scratch that- he did feel really bad for the guy.

"Hangouts, friends, habits, names of other exes- mental state too, it's a little invasive but I can't find her otherwise." Chan stared, eye contact with Minho intensifying as neither averted their gaze.

"Okay." Chan replied after a while. "I don't really know you, but I guess it suits her. If anything happened, I wouldn't expect an officer anyway."

Slightly disturbed, Minho pulled his notes from his bag, offering Chan a big sheet of paper. Just like that, the two had begun- Just as Minho had with Ryujin before.

"I can't help with other Exes, I don't know any of their names. I do know where she hangs out usually." Chan supplied helpfully.

"Chelle, she's very into art. She thinks her art, only hers, is the best of the best. She considers herself an undiscovered gem, that kind of mentality. She'll do anything for exposure, and she likes compliments a lot." Chan bit his lip, pausing in his writing.

"She's not on good terms with her parents, and sometimes I remember, she said she wanted to run away. She has horrible mood swings, but when she's happy she can be the sweetest, most considerate person in the world. I think she had too much love in her, that's why…" Chan trailed off, sighing before shaking his head and writing down some more details.

"I'm not okay with that, you know? It's the worst kind of betrayal, but I'm still so worried. I never wanted anything to happen to her, I don't wish that for anyone." Minho hummed, recalling back on his previous suspicion, how ridiculous it seemed now to think that of this person.

So it went on, the two of them coming up with important details and question marks to jot down. Before they knew it the sky turned dark, an impatient barista politely asking them to leave.

"You have my number, right?" Chan asked.

"I don't." Minho replied, glad Chan remembered. The two exchanged phones, filling in their details with some hesitation.

"Call me if you need anything, or if you find her." Chan added, eyes glinting under the streetlights.

"You too, call me if you remember anything important." Minho replied, parting with a wave goodbye and heading towards the bus station.

It was only on his way back that he recalled their first exchange through the phone, and how stupid it had been to expect anything else from a friend of Felix's, of all people.

Groaning lowly, Minho moved his bag up, staring at the paper pile stuffed inside it neatly. Ahead was, he expected, a night full of reading- all 38 new pages of details about this girl, who he found himself liking less and less with every passing statement.

Over an extended time period Minho had found himself visiting many different places to no avail. He tried asking around, dropping Chelle's name here and there for good measures, but it seemed that the girl had vanished into thin air. Her only legacy had been the outrageous rumors surrounding her name, such as dating kids much younger than herself and having sex to get her way in the art world. Really, Minho should have stopped there- he wanted nothing to do with this girl anymore, was happy even; happy that she didn't get to lay her hands on his sister. Yet he couldn't stop thinking, this girl.. She was missing, it was real, and not one soul other than him have made a single attempt to locate her. How could he give up now?

It had been a long day- visiting a bar from the list in the morning before moving to a café nearby and finishing one of his assignments, Minho decided to follow up on Chelle's tracks. Twelve days have passed since his meeting with Chan, and although his anxiety kept getting worse, the list of things to check kept getting shorter with every lead he crossed out.

This one had honestly been a lame lead, but he wanted to make the most out of it- a short trip out of seoul, to a grass patch stretching a couple miles that was similar to the one he saw on her Instagram. If he couldn't find her with anyone's help, he thought- maybe he should try to think like her more. This girl, where would she go? Who would she meet? What would she do? And for that this practice was important, too.

The land stretched, tall grass for as far as the eye could see. He roamed around, looking at the tall buildings that made his home from afar. From here, definitely- he recognized the scenery as the one she drew that time. Stepping back through the grass, it didn't make much of a difference from how far he's already been, but the moment felt special somehow.

Minho breathed in, a strong breeze blowing from the front and carrying the dust and pollution of the city with it. Bad air, even this far back. At least it was silent, no cars, no birds either- it felt peaceful. Minho stepped back again, pulling out his phone, intending to take a photo. A couple more steps back, and he tripped- landing on his butt in the grass.

It was there that he found her.

Jisung stretched, back aching after sleeping in so late.

"Good morning, and good luck falling back asleep at a normal hour." Seungmin commented. True that, Jisung managed to mess his sleep schedule pretty badly. Good thing it was friday.

Standing up, he considered responding before giving up and making his way to the kitchen.

"Ji," Seungmin spoke up once more,

"At least brush your teeth. I'm your roommate, not your mom- I shouldn't have to tell you this!" His voice, although annoyed, remained calm. He did have a point.

"Okay mom." Jisung replied, deadpan. Without another word he turned, entering the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush to do as instructed.

Life as an art major was hard- he had so much work to do in little time, and the pressure made it feel a little like a job. Nowadays his minor in music made for the only stress reliever he could put time into without guilt, and he wondered if maybe he should have chosen it for major instead. Useless thinking about it now, anyway.

Jisung went on brushing, releasing a small whine at the thought of his next assignment. Whatever- he rolled his eyes, raising a hand to rub the remains of sleep away.

Tall grass, the clear view of seoul from afar- blurring, moving, fast as if he was struck by lightning.

The toothbrush clinked loudly against the sink as it dropped, leaving Jisung with the reflection of himself in the mirror, left hand raised. He made quick way, spitting the paste and powerwalking back to their room, brushing against Seungmin on his way there.

"Jisung? Jisung, you can't just leave this here." Seungmin bristled, pausing at the sight of Jisung pulling out his sketchbook with the craze of someone going through a revelation.

He sighed, recognizing the scene in front of him. "Inspiration struck?"

Jisung hummed, wiping his mouth and beginning to sketch. This happened every once in a while, it was one of the things that made Jisung… well, Jisung.

"I'll clean up. Should I order takeout?" Seungmin asked, affection sneaking into his voice. He's a bit weird, but sometimes he was cute too.

"Thank you, please." Jisung replied absentmindedly, focused on the paper.

"I will. Okay." Seungmin concluded, fishing his phone out to call his favorite fast food handler.

To them, after all, it was nothing more than an average friday night.

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weaselbeaselpants · 4 years

Text

That Krispy Cat: A Warning, part 3

The last of the images cause I don’t want this bitch on my computer anymore.

Knowing tumblr I kept the images hidden JUUUUST in case no one reads the fine print and can’t tell I’m being critical of this and gets me in trouble.

VVV ((Just in case you thought the JewishGriffon piece assured everyone that Crispy couldn’t POSSIBLY hate people of color, some of her earliest Nazi art had her character Klaus beating up Amigo Bear. She also made Amigo into a liberal strawman. )) VVV

((Dialogue to one of her TROLLARIOUS pictures that featured Amigo:

Amigo Bear: *muttering* "Your leader was a !@#$% little #@%^!@$^*!, you fascist feather duster..." General Klaus: "Fräulein, Ich vant you to cover your ears und shut your eyes as tight as you can." Crispy: "How come, General?" General Klaus: "Klaus ist about to say und do very bad sings zhat he does not vant his little Edelweiß to see or hear." Crispy: "Alrighty!" General Klaus: "WHO SAID ZHAT ABOUT DER FÜHRER? WER DIE FICK GESAGT? WHO'S ZUH SCHLEIMIG LITTLE COMMUNIST-SCHEISS SCHWANZLUTSCHER DOWN ZHERE, WHO JUST SIGNED HIS OWN DEATH VARRANT? NIEMAND?! GOTTVERDAMMT STALIN SAID IT! HERVORRAGEND! VHICH VUN OF YOU VANTS TO BE ZUH FIRST TO FIND OUT ZUH HARD VAY VHY MEIN FEINDE CALLED MIR DER BUTCHER BIRD?" ))

^^^ ((BUTOPHERARTISGOODSOYOUCAN’TCOMPLAIN

also the disc. for this pic before it was deleted had a ‘joke’ about cooking Jews in ovens. Oh and yes, that IS Hitler she’s giving that ugly ass cupcake too.))

^^^ (( - Thanks dA I never would have known I had a notifications unless eclipse blah -

This is one of her rants about how #Triggered she is that Starlight be compared to the Nazis when she runs a communist cult. Because A) that’s the real problem here and B) I too get upset when people say my OC is based on Jeffrey Dahmer when he’s so CLEARLY based on Ed Gein, Bwwwaaaah D> D> D> !)) ^^^

VVV ((Ugly art of her friend’s awful OCs.)) ^^^

VVV ((Crispy showing off why no one wants to be a patriot in our country.)) VVV

((FYI, Crisp, that attitude will make the Hamilton fans stronger so just keep that SJW-flinging coming you little SJW.

WHAT?! Social Justice is a broad term and as Crispy’s plainly demonstrated, you can circle it around and make a majority-class sound like the real underprivledged if you have enough fancy frou frou know-how and furries. Also, if a Social Justice Warrior constitutes someone who takes their cause soooo seriously that they’re annoying/petting/cruel/stupid about it....idk I think Crispy qualified.))

^^^ ((Crispy and her friend muse about what other races occupy the world of MLP in her headcanon. This, more than any other dA disc. and picture shows you her brand of “Segregationist-Nationalism is OKAY” thinking, cuz the art of these different races isn’t super offensive or cruel and neither are the characters. BUT if you scratch under the surface you’ll find that Crispy really likes these different people staying in their place and not in “someone else’s” country.

THEN, this same kind of thinking is used to convince you any mix of cultures is just cultural appropriation, again acting like she and her Nazi-stans are the only ones standing up to actual bigotry.)) VVV

^^^ ((Crispy makes the world a worse place by bringing up actual decent points; like how Americans dress Thanksgiving up as progressive and for the natives when we all know that’s not true...all to better her worldview.

fyi, GET OUT whenever you see a selfproclaimed Nazi fawn over Native Americans, because: Nazi Germany had a deep fascination with American Indians and used their struggles about their land being taken away from them to justify their eugenic genocide.)) ^^^

^^^ (( Crispy laughing it up on Furaffinity how she couldn’t be banned from her Furaffinity and then mysteriously never using her site there wowie.)) ^^^

^^^ (( Crispy complaining about SOPA cause her freedom of speech and blahblahblah.

Freedom of Speech is important. Unfortunately what people like Crispy don’t understand or care for is there’s no freedom of consequence. )) vvv

VVV ((LOL Joseph Mengele was such a stinkah let’s tell blithe jokes about him. At least WE AREN’T LIKE HIM!!!)) VVVV

VVV ((Early onset eugenic BS from her Spyro stuff that would be easy to miss if you didn’t know what this woman was talking about)) VVV

((Crispy admitting she thinks gays are pointless cuz they don’t reproduce but apparently loves them anyway. Also big shock Crispy’s seen Hetalia.)) VVV

VVV ((Crispy probably wanting Weeaboos to attack her cuz aren’t Japan’s animations so laaaaaaazy?!!?!? GUUdd think’ I’m a naziaboo! Germany’s never made any shitty animation evah. You know what, I lied. She doesn’t deserve Hetalia. She just doesn’t.)) VVVV

VVV ((Crispy dragging Brazil down with her as the apparent “Best South American Country”. Yikes.)) VVV

VVV ((More “it’s trolling ergo it’s not harmful” shit. Bulgarians probably do deserve their own Care Bears, but they certainly don’t want yours Crispy.)) VVV

VVV ((Disc. for her Richard Spencer bear art)) VVV

------

I know, I know...this isn’t what you wanted to read today, guys. I know it’s offensive and I’m sorry if it made you ill. I also know I��m putting my own blog under fire by showing these images here but I think that should say something about dA’s bad policies that this art gets a filter slapped on it and nothing more when the artist is blatantly pro-fascist.

Crispy resonates with me so much - and no it’s not cause I DARED to be “triggered”.

It’s because, for one, she was talented. I MEAN I HAVE EYES! That’s some nicely drawn digital stuff I’m not gonna deny. She had some cool rewrites and sequel ideas that, had it come from someone else I would have eaten up and faved to hell and back onceupona2012. But I didn’t, where a ton of MLP and furry fans did because they undervalued their own talents and would say “well it’s pretty who cares about the message?”

Unlike so many commercial+published artists, it’s REALLY hard to separate the art from the artist here because the artist is so connected and a part of her art and storytelling. If you fav her art, even if you didn’t like her, that was telling Crispy she’d won. It’s so defeating to have other artists say their gonna ignore their gut for the sake of prettypretty-Don-Bluth style art. And yes, that stigma DOES affect my view on 2D purists btw.

Crispy was so holier than thou’, and that attitude also was appealing to dA folks, not to mention her knowledge of art history by the time she dropped off the radar. Crispy was the kind of person who’d make long, detailed, justified rants against the design and color choices in Hazbin Hotel and then a bunch of antis would eat her redesigns up only to learn the awful truth later and embarrass themselves cuz they were so taken up by the craft they didn’t know they were reblogging a fucking Nazi.

Not to underplay Viv’s wrongdoings of course, but I’m sorry; the two aren’t comparable on the problematic artist meter. THAT’S HOW BAD CRISPY WAS.

If this somehow was just a faze and she’s come to her senses or doesn’t really think this shite she preaches...I don’t care. She said some vile shit and fuck no I’m not forgiving her. It’s like KenDraw or Shadman. You’ve changed your life around and realized you’ve done/drawn nasty shit that’s done real harm? Cool....I’m still not talking or ever promoting you, ya dingbat. You ain’t no Roman Polanski or Doug Tennaple. You’re a singular internet artist and any support of the project has to go to you - and you suck!

ThisCrispyKat was a wakeup call that showed me these people not only still exist but will be allowed to get away with it. I was very touchy bout this kind of thing back in the day. Fuck, I STILL AM TOUCHY. The rabbit holes I found thanks to Crispy opened up to reveal communities where people think my hair color’s going extinct. People would detail how much they wanted to rape me - a natural blonde - and kill my friends and family for not looking like me. That they want to jerk off in my naturally curly hair and see me in glowy German princess gowns preparing them dinner.

Crispy and other Nazistans would look at me; a blond-haired blue eyed Polish/German American woman and think I need to be “fixed” because I DARE to repeat propaganda that the Nazis were bad. They’d call me a traitor for thinking that celebrating the Nazi party ISN’T German pride.

HOW DARE YOU TELL ME THAT’S GERMAN PRIDE! I’LL SHOW YOU GERMAN PRIDE YOU EGOSTROKING-LIMPDICKED ATTENTION WHORES.

People like Crispy make it 1000x harder to actually show interest in German things. Because I AM interested in German shit btw.

Like for real: it’s a country I’d love to visit one day (at least the black forest, which is where my mom’s fam comes from). I love German art and German fairytales slap. I really do want to explore my heritage through art and stuff.

But guess what? Much as Crispy would argue to the contrary I DO know my WWII history and beyond and FUCK YOU if you honestly think jerking it to cuddly Nazi-furs is empowering or just “showing your interest in history”. Take your own advice and read a god-damn book.

TL;DR: I DO NOT have to be proud of Nazis to enjoy German culture and if you think otherwise, FUCK YOU. It’s a slap in the face to everyone even if you are ‘just trolling’ and it in no way values actual German’s feeling on the matter. It’s annoying how people undervalue real people just for the sake of fan art.

The Nazis were evil. They were racist, eugenic-genocidal idiots who killed over six million Jewish people, Romani, Slavs, Jehovahs Witnesses, disabled people, Poles, homosexuals and prisoners of war. They would have killed my dad’s side of the family if they were in Poland at the time. They made bullshit tanks that killed the people making them and didn’t work on the battlefield. Their leader was a fat, farting one-testicaled bastard who preferred animals to people.

They ruined everything for everyone and then took the easy way out, leaving the Germans that were left in the hands of the also-genocidal Soviets and Americans. Germany is still paying their war debts and now, 70-80 years later everyone else wants to laugh off this dark period of history with memes and forget what they did, and as such, are forgetting the victims of the genocide.

I have 0 tolerance for Nazi things for the sake of HUMANITY, let alone the individual groups they target. I don’t have to have German ancestry or know a single Jewish person to tell you any of this. It’s fucking history.

Eat shit.

#tw: nazi #tw: neonazi #tw: swastika #tw: antisemitism #cultural appropriation #kimba the white lion #thiscrispykat #altright #classic spyro #My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic #balto #animals of farthing wood

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snowhwing · 4 years

Text

Been Us

[SF9 Youngbin X Reader AU]

Genre: angst Warning: grammar inaccuracies; I am not going to write another angst for a long time after this :D Words: 7.1k

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2lrbKFX2KELIR5bFqqYIld

“I do not understand why braiding my hair is fun for you.”

Youngbin frowned when all he got from you was a slight tug on the locks that you are holding to braid his hair. Both of you are in the comfort of his family’s living room, watching the anime series that you both wanted to see so much but had to wait until school is over before taking the time to watch it. It was a Saturday afternoon. As usual, the two of you opted to spend both your time in Youngbin’s house. It has been that way since the first year of junior high school. Now, both of you are in the last remaining months of your final year.

You are sitting on the sofa while Youngbin is lounging in front of you, his back against your knees as you continue braiding his hair. You love his hair. Not that you will ever tell Youngbin that. From afar, it does not look soft at all. And worse, Youngbin sometimes style it in a messy way. But people have no idea how soft it is to the touch.

He said he will do anything for you that day because it will be your birthday on Wednesday and you took that as an opportunity to play with his hair. To run your fingers through the soft strands on the pretense that you are braiding it. Even if his hair is really not that long. Alright, fine. You have a crush on Youngbin - since that second year in junior high school when you had the worst haircut in the history of your life and got teased by your classmates to no end because who could blame them? It was really bad. Youngbin must have had enough of it then because he bought a wide handkerchief, formed it into a headband and put it on you. He told you that all the teasing annoyed him and since the two of you are always together, he might as well just do something to shut the people up. He did all those in front of all your classmates. It did silence everybody. Youngbin was the class president, then. The undisputed leader because people in class saw him as someone that is really dependable. He is. When he made that move to shut the raucous caused by your hair, the entire class closed their mouths as your heart started a new type of chaos on it’s own.

So, there’s that. But you never told Youngbin. Nor did anything to show him how you feel. Because telling him might mean losing him. You two have been inseparable for so long now and you have grown accustomed to being with him all the time that you cannot imagine what it would be like without him. Friendship is constant. And so, you will remain as a friend - his best friend.

“Any plans for Wednesday, Y/N?”

You gasped when Youngbin moved and looked up to you. His head resting on your knees. Your face inches away from his. You felt your pulse quicken and your heart thundered yet, you keep your expression impassive. How you manage to keep reins with your emotions whenever Youngbin does things still amazes you to no end. You scoffed and covered his eyes with your hand.

“I don’t know. Eat ice cream, maybe. Mom and Dad said we’ll have lunch before they depart again for Japan.”

Youngbin took your hand that’s covering his eyes and held it. “They’re leaving again, huh? No exceptions even if it’s your birthday?”

You shrugged. It’s not that you are not used to it yet. One of the reasons why you are also spending most of your time with Youngbin and his family than your own.

“Spend the night with me,” Youngbin blurted out. You only look at him like he has grown some antenna. “What I mean is… let’s go out for dinner on Wednesday. For your birthday.”

You couldn't help but smile as you gripped Youngbin’s hand tight. “Alright, then.”

As if you could even say no to Kim Youngbin.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Wednesday; 12:00 AM KST

“Sent!”

Youngbin felt a sense of happiness wash over him as he stared at the text message that he just sent over to you.

Happy birthday, Y/N. I wish that you would smile more this year. You always wear that frown of yours. You are prettier when you smile. See you later!

For the past four years, Youngbin has never failed to wish you a happy birthday at exactly twelve midnight. He does all sorts of things - played computer games, studied for tests that are not bound to happen, worked out in the middle of the night - just so he can manage to stay awake until midnight. He considers this a small effort. Small - considering all the things that you have done for him.

Youngbin relaxed on his bed as his mind drifted back to those moments he has spent with you. He is a few months older than you but being the class leader and student council president, he always has a lot on his plate and more often than not, he gets buried in things that he has to do and finish. In all those times, you stood beside him. You stayed beside him when he got crazy mad after that major event under the supervision of the students’ council went into haywire because of the organization’s miscalculation. Back then, nobody ever dared to go near him because one wrong word and he became a troll. He was so embarrassed how something like that happened under his leadership that he kept blaming himself. Then, you came, armed with a bottle of banana milk, amidst the growing tension between the members of the students’ council. He can still remember how you slammed the poor banana milk on his table, making his fellow student leaders tremble. You leaned closer to him, touched his forehead to clear away his hair and flicked his forehead three times, all the while telling him to snap out of it. He did. Of course, he did. He snapped out of his anger and laughed out loud then that his fellow student leaders got even more scared of him.

Youngbin could not imagine his life without you. He is so used to having you around. You have always been his solace. Always his calm and comfort. Sure, you get crazy sometimes and your mood swings are the worst in the world but those are nothing compared to how you have spurred Youngbin until now.

You cheered for him through his triumphs and losses. You believed in him when he doubted himself. You kept to his side and because of that, Youngbin feels like he can take on anything. He can take on anything because you are and will always be there for him. Like that time when he left home because, contrary to what people believe, being the youngest among his siblings was burdensome. He felt that he needed to catch up and be at par with what his elder siblings had achieved. It pained him and so he left home. His parents panicked and the first person they reached out to, back then, was you. Just like them, you had no idea where he went. But you joined the search party, spent sleepless nights and skipped attending school. The day you and the rest found him inside a sauna, you punched him in the face and collapsed because of exhaustion. He was beside you when you woke up. He received the biggest lecture of his life, not from his parents, but from you. You told him that feeling insecure and running away would not take him anywhere. That he can do amazing things, great things if he would stop being a ninny and start taking charge of his life. That him being the students’ body president, for two years, was proof enough that he’s amazing at what he does. From then on, Youngbin gained confidence. All because of you.

His walk down memory lane got interrupted when his phone vibrated. He looked at the caller ID and saw it’s Inseong - the vice president of the students’ council and one of his closest friends.

“Inseong-ah.”

“Man, you should know that my talent fee is really expensive. And the fact that I stayed up all night for your mushy stuff, that’s double the price.” He heard Inseong yawn. “Everything is ready. Jaeyoon and Taeyang helped out, too. You’ll be broke after this.”

Youngbin chuckled. “Alright. Alright. I will treat you guys with beef. I promise. Thank you so much for all your help, Inseong-ah. You’ve worked hard. When you get a girlfriend, I will make sure to help you, too.”

“Stop the cringe-worthy lines, Youngbin. She’s not even your girlfriend.” Inseong suddenly sounded smug. “We helped out because Y/N always saves us from your long lectures. We love her because of that.”

He shook his head. He should have known. After a few more banter with Inseong, Youngbin ended the call. He should get some sleep now. Everything is set. He vowed that he will give you the best birthday and he will make it happen.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“You have something that you need to tell me, right?”

Youngbin looked up from the slice of cake on his plate and saw you staring intently at him.

The two of you were having dinner on the rooftop that he and the rest of his friends transformed for your birthday. Youngbin prepared everything. They decorated the rooftop with fairy lights and turned it into something from a dream. Sweet music immediately surrounded you when the two of you reached the top and everything looked so perfect. The perfection that would have brought you to your knees because you have always wanted to spend your birthday with Youngbin. Sure, you have spent almost all your birthdays with him ever since the two of you became friends but those were always with yours and his family. This is the first time that you were able to spend it alone with Youngbin. The first time that there is only the two of you.

You love every single moment of it. You truly do. Earlier that morning, you arrived at school and immediately saw Inseong holding a bouquet of pink roses for you. Pink roses are your favorite flowers. During your break after your third class for the day, Jaeyoon intercepted you in the hallway and gave you a lunch box with fried chicken, kimchi dumplings, kimbap and seaweed soup in it. Those were your favorite food to eat during lunch. Halfway through your afternoon classes, Taeyang appeared outside your classroom to hand you three bottles of banana milk, all the while telling you “happy birthday”. Banana milk is your go-to drink. Therefore, you are already having the best day. The surprises did not end there, though. When you stepped out of the classroom after your last class for the day, Youngbin was already outside waiting for you. He held out his hand and you took it; ready to go anywhere Youngbin would lead you to.

However, something has been nagging you for weeks now. Something that you really have no concrete basis as to why it is making you feel on the edge and scared.

You first noticed it when Youngbin started to spend time with you more often than usual. He started picking you up at home so that both of you can go to school together; even going through the lengths of walking you to your classroom. Then, he would once again be there after every class. He has asked you to spend your free time in the students’ council office but you turned him down on that because you are not a student leader and you think that your schoolmates will finally think there is really something going on between you and the students’ organization president if you do that. Plainly said, Youngbin has been unusually clingy and as much as you love spending time with him, it bothered you because you think something is really going on. Something he is not telling you.

He gave you a slight smile that only made your heart thundered. Something is really going on. “You really know me, huh? I can never hide anything from you.”

You put your fork down and held his gaze. “I thought there is no secret between the two of us.”

He shook his head. “This is no secret, Y/N. I am just waiting for the perfect timing.”

Perfect timing? You swallowed; feeling your heart on your throat.

Then, Youngbin gave you his brightest smile. The smile that could light up an entire place. Your favorite smile. “Y/N! This is it! I am going to start training as an idol next month! Inseong, Jaeyoon and Taeyang got accepted, too!”

At that moment, all you wanted was to erase his smile.

Youngbin has always been a talented dancer. His moves were both fierce and graceful. In addition, he has a knack in writing songs and spitting lyrics after lyrics when he is rapping. Aside from being a student leader, Youngbin and his friends are all active in the school’s performing arts. Girls swoon over him whenever he is on stage during school events. Though it annoys you to no end, you understand how those girls feel about him. How can he not be a remarkable sight when he is the president of the council and at the same time, an amazing dancer?

He often told you, mostly through jokes and amidst nonsense talks, that he wanted to go to Seoul in the future. He would become an idol, get famous and, when he will have enough money, he will take you to travel to any parts of the world that you wish to see. It was a beautiful dream that he has shared with you. A beautiful dream yet, now that it is finally taking shape, you cannot bring yourself to rejoice.

Because you know that once Youngbin leaves for Seoul, your lives will never be the same again.

Youngbin saw the myriad of emotions that went through your face that day. At first, it was disbelief, shock and finally, pain. Your smile lackluster and your words robotic when you congratulated him. He felt his world collapsing.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“I think that was not the reaction that you expected to get from me, huh?”

Both of you are already sitting on the front porch of your house. Your head on Youngbin’s shoulder.

“Well, I thought you would be as happy as I am.”

There are no secrets between you and Youngbin. Well, except for how you truly feel about him. How you are so in love but you are just pretending because you do not want to lose him. Telling each other how you feel is second nature to both of you now. Both of you agreed that you are most comfortable with each other when you both let the other know how you really feel.

You sighed as you felt Youngbin’s head rests on yours. You wish you could stay like this, with him, forever.

“I am happy. I am so happy for you. I am just scared.”

“Scared of what?

“That everything will change. Your life will change for sure. Our friendship will change. Our proximity will no longer be like this. Our bond. Everything.”

He draped his arm on your shoulder as he pulled you to a hug. “Nothing will change. We are not even sure if I am going to make it on the first week of training. There will be others who are exceptional.”

“You will make it. I know you will. You are already amazing as you are now. Imagine what you will become after a proper training.”

“None of these will change, Y/N. I promise you. You will still have me, your best friend.”

The two of you did not say another word after that. You stayed inside Youngbin’s arms; afraid that if you let go of him now, you will never get the chance to hold him again. You will not hold him on that promise because you know, even now, that he will not be able to fulfill it. You just have to learn how to brace yourself when that time comes. To accept the drastic change, may it be painful or not.

For now, you vow to yourself that you would spend as much time as you can with Youngbin. You will make memories with him. Share moments with him. So that when he leaves you for his dream, you will have memories that you can keep.

Two weeks after that night, you were waving your hands to the departing train that took Youngbin to Seoul.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Few months after…

Today is one of those days when Youngbin just wants to go home. His clothes are already inside his bag. All he has to do now is storm outside, head to the train station and he will be on his way to see you.

He is thankful that there are still a few things stopping him from doing so.

Every time his body moves for a dance, the music enveloping him, he felt so much freedom. Rapping makes him feel like he can express everything, anything, and the world will know of all the emotions he keeps inside of himself. His dream is more than just getting famous. He doesn't care if he gets famous as long as he can touch hearts through his dance. The idea of starting a career in the entertainment industry soon is daunting him to no end but he wants to push through and try it out. Whether he gets to debut or not after, he will not think about that now. He wants to do it because he does not want to live a life with regrets and with so many questions as to why he did not try.

Training is hell, to say the least. Youngbin, Taeyang, Inseong and Jaeyoon started their training together. They were part of the members who would form the first boy dance group of the agency. That was enough pressure as it already is. However, the agency has another plan for them. They decided to put them through a survival program. They will battle against another group and the winning team will get the chance to debut first.

The pressure was so overwhelming. On top of that, the group decided to make him as the leader. He feels proud and honored. However, it was taking a toll on him. Now that they are close to the final battle, Youngbin is on the verge of finally calling it quits.

Apparently, his patience is something that he needs to work on whenever you are not around. A week ago, he snapped at Hwiyoung – one of their youngest members – during practice that made the younger one cry. Youngbin is one hell of a perfectionist and the pressure getting on to him was not helping at all. He was able to patch things up with Hwiyoung, though. It tears him apart that he has no choice but to be adamant on his members’ training. It pains him how they put so much trust and respect on him when he feels that he is just as lacking.

Amidst all these, Youngbin only wants to be with you.

He badly missed those times when he was tired after a long day in the council, planning for an event, and he would go straight to you. He missed sitting beside you after the exams. He missed drinking banana milk and eating kimbap with you. He missed being productive with you. He missed procrastinating with you.

You always seem to know the right words to say to him whenever he feels like snapping. How you manage to rein in his storms is still beyond him. You can temper down his flames. You can fire up his coldness.

After a few months away from you, Youngbin finally admitted to himself that he is in love with you. He needs to be near you, not because you calm him down, but because he wants to be with you. He wants to be near where his heart is. Funny how he kept on denying how he feels even to himself when Inseong nagged him to no end about it. His friend is too observant for his own good. Inseong even told him to confess to you before leaving for Seoul. Youngbin did not, though. Back then, he knew you are important to him. He knew that he could not imagine life without you but it was not enough to name it “love”. However, when he arrived in Seoul, no longer feeling your presence beside him, everything fell into place. He is in love with you.

And so, that was what spurred Youngbin until now. He vowed to continue working hard on training despite the gnawing feeling that your absence has brought him. Once everything is over, he will finally make his way back to you.

You will still be there, right?

-0-0-0-0-0-

[Y/N’s] Three years after…

You lost your best friend and the man you love.

That day when Youngbin left for Seoul, you told yourself that you would accept anything that will happen with a light heart. However, it was so difficult, painful, almost crippling.

A month or so in training, you and Youngbin were still able to catch up through phone calls at midnight or in the wee hours of the morning. You have sacrificed sleep because talking to Youngbin became more essential than sleep. He kept updating you on the ins and outs of his training life. You have memorized his training schedule like the back of your hands. When they started competing on that survival show for a chance to debut, the phone calls and messages from Youngbin became lesser. You understood, though. The fact that you can still see him on television and somehow still get updates about him got you by. Seeing him healthy made you happy. When his group won the survival battle, you had to restrain yourself not to host a victory party in your hometown. Even though you missed him badly, his triumph was a win for you, too. It made you happy that his dream is finally coming true.

Your heart got badly broken a week after their debut when you saw that all your pictures and those pictures with you and Youngbin in it are no longer in his SNS profiles. You sent him a message about it. It took him a week to get back to you. He informed you that your presence in his SNS profiles caused a stir and he has no choice but to delete all your photos together. He told you it was also for your own good. That he did that to protect you. You tried to understand him but it did not lessen the brunt of what happened. Few weeks after that, Youngbin deactivated all his SNS accounts.

You could never forget that one summer when Youngbin’s father got ill. He did not inform you that he will be visiting his family but you got a call from his mom. She told you that Youngbin is home. You were out for a business trip but you immediately took the ride going back home because you miss him badly and you just have to see him. You have not even reached the gate when his manager told you that it is not wise for people, even those who know the two of you, to see you together. Therefore, you did not get the chance to see Youngbin that day.

The change that you feared so much before was happening inevitably.

The daily conversation and phone calls between the two of you lessen and lessen until those became close to non-existent. It took a year of waiting before both of you got the chance to spend time together again. Well, you cannot really call it “spending time” but at least you got the chance to talk. Youngbin was home for Chuseok, then.

“Y/N, are you home now?” He said in a phone call. “Can we perhaps see each other?”

You reined in the loud beating of your heart. “I just got home from the temple. You can drop by if you want.”

“Okay, I will see you, then.”

You did not have to wait long because Youngbin immediately made his way to your house. It took a while before the two of you were left alone to talk because your family congratulated him and his group’s rise to popularity. All the time, you were just looking at them. When they finally let the two of you be, you led Youngbin to the back garden of your house.

“How are you, Y/N?”

It pains you how awkward he sounded. He is your best friend. He is not supposed to be this awkward around you. The distance has really left a gaping hole between the two of you.

“I told you everything will change.” You saw how Youngbin turned to look at you. “I told you nothing will be the same again.”

Youngbin took your hands, like he always did. Strange how it did not do anything to comfort you now. “Y/N, I am sorry. This distance – I know this is all my fault. The company has restrictions. I know that should not stop me but, Y/N, I am so close.” He was looking at you with so much desperation and longing. Your stomach was in tight knot when he continued. “Do you want me to give this all up and return to you, Y/N?”

Your eyes widen. He would give up everything for you? He can’t be serious now, can he?

You reached out to touch his face - like you usually do whenever you feel that Youngbin is going through a lot. Just like before, Youngbin moved closer and leaned in to your touch. “Your dream is my dream, too, Youngbin-a. How can I let you give that up?”

He reached out and cocooned you in his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “But I want to dream with you, Y/N. I want to share this with you because you matter to me more than this dream does. Despite all that I did, would you believe me if I tell you that I am in love with you? Because I am, Y/N. I am in love with you. Can we stop pretending now? Can we just tell each other that we missed being together because we love each other - not as friends but more than that? You feel the same way for me, right? If you tell me to give these all up, Y/N, I will do it. I will do it without batting an eye.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you stroke Youngbin’s back to comfort him. “Like what I said, your dream is also my dream. How can I let the man I love give up his passion for his craft? I admit that this is hard. Really hard. But I will be with you through all these, Youngbin-a. So go back there and make me proud. Make us all proud.”

Youngbin left the next day - leaving a chaste kiss on your lips. A promise that no matter what happens, the two of you will see this through. Despite the brief reunion, your heart gained strength to continue loving him in distance. After all, Youngbin loves you, too.

It has been two years since that day. Two years since you promised Youngbin that you will stay with him no matter what. It was a futile promise. You should have known by then. Considering the separate lives that both you and Youngbin are living, the separation was something you should have expected.

It did not take long before your relationship with Youngbin surfaced on paparazzi sites and articles. His group’s fans are the nicest but most members of the media are not. Old pictures of you and Youngbin went viral online and it took a lot of effort from his agency to put those all down. It even reached a point when your father has to take you to and from work just to make sure that you arrive and leave home safely. In one of the boys’ press conferences, Youngbin was not able to escape the question thrown at him by the media about you. To not cause further uproar, his manager went down to your hometown that night and told you that the best thing you can do to support Youngbin is to let him go. So you did.

That same day after you spoke with his manager, you called Youngbin and asked him to just end things between the two of you. He did not asked you why. His tone blank. As if he was expecting it to happen. What you did tore you to pieces. It was so painful but it has to be done. You can never destroy something that he has worked hard for.

Your phone vibrated with a notification from one of your SNS account, taking you back to the present. Upon checking the notification, you saw it was from the boys’ fan club account. The schedule for 빈,us is now up. You could not help the sad smile that appeared on your lips. This has been your life for the past two years. For the past two years after you remove yourself from Youngbin’s life. You spent most of your time as his fan - as a Fantasy. You went to fan meetings, concerts and any fan events - always situating yourself where you can see him, but where he cannot see you. Fan meetings gave you the chance to meet Youngbin but you just went and never go up where he’s sitting with the members. Even all those, your all time favourite were the Monday evenings when Youngbin usually schedules his weekly segment of 빈,us - his very own show where he broadcasts himself while reading Fantasy’s concerns and giving his thoughts and advice about those. You always feel proud seeing how he connects with his fans. You feel elated whenever you see articles and posts about him being a charismatic leader. Because he is. Despite the screen and time zones separating him from his fans in Korea and around the globe, nobody can deny the fact that Youngbin emanates so much love for them. Seeing how he is now and what he has become somehow lessen the regret that you have been feeling when you let him go.

When you open your phone, Youngbin’s broadcast was about to start. You could not help but smile when you saw the number of hearts - 3 million - even before the broadcast started. Fantasy are really the best.

As if you lost all faculty of senses, your hand reached to clutch the front of your shirt when Youngbin sat in front of the camera and greeted everybody. After a week of so much stress because of work and because of the never-ending turmoil of your own emotions, you felt yourself relax and lulled by his voice. 빈,us is your weekly dose of healing; a day and time where you feel most close to him.

“Fantasy, really. You are all amazing. Thank you so much! Manager-nim told us that the tickets for Seoul concert are all sold out. We are preparing well for you so that we can give you the best stages so please wait for us and let’s all meet soon.”

You glanced at the ticket on your bedside table. When you bought that a few weeks ago, your best friend told you that you are nothing but a masochist; that you are suicidal. But since that day in junior high school, when you stood beside Kim Youngbin, you vowed that you will support him on everything and anything that he will do. And so you have and will always do. You picked up the ticket - the concert ticket for UNIXERSE Seoul.

-0-0-0-0-0-

[Youngbin’s] 3 years after… UNIXERSE Seoul D-DAY

The world would take someone precious away from you, almost making it impossible for you to survive. The world, also, lets people into your life and they would eventually become your world.

Youngbin had that bittersweet realization when he lost you but found Fantasy at the same time. He lost a big part of himself yet, he found people who would fill in a part of him that would never be filled by anybody else.

From the dressing room where he is now, he could hear the loud cheer of his beloved Fantasy from the outside. One by one, they started filling in the venue, taking their places with smiles plastered on their faces. He and the members prepared a lot for this concert since this is the kick-off for their Asia Tour. Despite all those preparations, Youngbin’s nerves are getting the best of him. He wants to give nothing but the best to Fantasy who have been loving and supporting them since day one.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Jaeyoon tapped his shoulder.

“Hyung, someone is here for you.” The younger one gestured towards the dressing room door. “She is waiting for you outside.”

“Huh? Who is it?”

Jaeyoon gave him a sad smile which confused him even more. “It’s best if you would just go and meet her, hyung.”

Her? He had already met his family earlier today when they dropped by the dressing room to cheer and congratulate him and the members. Could it be that his nuna forgot something?

On his way outside, Youngbin saw Hwiyoung untangling the wires of his in-ear piece. His little brother looked so out of it that he almost stop to check on him before heading outside. It pains Youngbin that he could not do anything for Hwiyoung’s broken heart. Brave of him to assume that he can help Hwiyoung out when his own heart breaks everytime he remembers you. Ironic how Hwiyoung is in the same boat as he has been few years ago.

Reaching the door, Youngbin looked up and froze in his place. How could he not when you are there, standing in front of him?

His eyes must be playing tricks on him. It has been years since he last saw you; years since he last spoke with you. The only reminder that you once existed in his life were the constant ache in his heart whenever he remembers your name. His best friend. His beloved. So how come you are here now, standing in front of him? He is too afraid to move. Too afraid that he is seeing a mirage, that you are standing there because his mind conjured you. He misses you like hell, that’s for sure.

You are holding a fan slogan with his name on it, their group’s official light stick and a bouquet of pink and white roses. Youngbin could really swear that he is just imagining you.

“Hello, Youngbin-a.”

A painful sound tore from his throat as he took large steps towards you and immediately took you in his arms. He felt you wrapped your arms around him. At that moment, he could swear that he is finally, finally home. Everything faded into the background. All sounds became muted. He could only feel your warmth, he is only aware of your scent, constricting his heart to the point of pain.

He no longer cared about the time and place. He will not let you go. Not anymore and not this time. If it was not for Jaeyoon who must have stepped out to check on him, Youngbin would not have let you go.

“Hyung, if you need more time to talk with Y/N, do it now. We still have an hour and thirty minutes before the concert will start.” He pointed to the open door leading to the stairwell. “Go there. I will keep watch. Manager-nim went out to buy food for us.”

He was about to grab your hand when you stepped back, one hand out to stop him.

You smiled. One that did not reach your eyes. Yes, Youngbin notice that. He fucking noticed that so he does not understand why you are doing this.

“I… I just want to congratulate you and the rest.” You gave him the flowers. He did not made any move to accept it so Jaeyoon stepped in and took the bouquet from you. Your smile faltered even more. Good. It is good to know that this is painful for you as much as it is for him.

“Jaeyoon, leave us.”

“But hyung…”

“Go and see to it that the members are ready.”

He could feel that Jaeyoon still wants to protest. The only thing that must have stopped him from doing so is the tone of Youngbin’s voice. It was the voice of their leader. The voice that he rarely uses. The last time he did was few months ago when he delivered the news about the rumor that stirred up because of Hwiyoung’s closeness to one of their staff. After that day, his little brother opted to keep things to himself and ended up in seclusion inside his music studio. Youngbin hates it when he is left with no choice but to use that tone of voice to his members. But he needs to be alone with you. He needs to set things straight with you. It has been long overdue.

“Why did you come here, Y/N?”

He saw you took a deep breath. Under the slogan that you are holding, you took out a white envelope. “I hope this will explain everything.”

He took the letter with so much resentment in his heart. “You think this would explain everything? These pieces of paper, Y/N?”

“Your manager did not leave to buy food for everybody, Youngbin. He is just on the other side of this hallway. I asked him to give me time to talk to you but I know it will not be enough.”

You stepped closer to him and reached out to place his hand on your cheek. He felt you leaned into his touch as tears swelled from your eyes. “Youngbin-a, despite everything that happened, I want you to know that I have regretted every single day that I am not with you. I made a mistake and I am so sorry for hurting you. You do not deserve the pain that I have caused you. I am so sorry.”

Youngbin held your hand when you stepped back. Not yet. You would not leave him with just that, would you? His heart breaking on the sight of you clutching the light stick to your chest as if your life depends on it. As if it is the only thing that is anchoring you to this world. “That letter contains all the things I could not tell you now. The things I should have told you before. I am not asking you to forgive me. I know this is shameless of me but I want you to please read the letter.”

Both of you looked up when you heard someone cleared his throat - manager-nim. Your time is up.

It took all his willpower for him not to drop on his knees when you took his hand and kissed it. Without looking back at him, you run outside, away from the backstage, away from him.

Youngbin-a~

I love you.

I think I should let you know that before anything else. I have been given thousands of chances for me to say those words to you but I have foolishly let those go. I should have told you that time when you saved me and my bad hair. I should have told you those afternoons we spent in you family room while watching movies. I should have told you that I am in love with you that’s why I asked to braid your hair that day before my birthday. I should have kiss you and confess to you that night when you took my hands and waltzed me for my birthday dance. I should have told you that I love you and the thought that you will leave for Seoul to become an idol that day scared me like no other.

Now, I regret every single bit of those moments that I wasted. It was bold and foolish of me to assume that you will be with me forever - that you will stay even if I would not make any move for you to do so. Because I know that if I told you how I really feel, you would have stayed. You would have given up your dream for me.

Your dreams are one of those things that I could not... would not want to take away from you. I told you they are my dreams too, remember? But, that does not give me an excuse of why I hurt you. I should have done better. You mean the world to me, Youngbin-a. Knowing that, all these time, I have been hurting the man I love is something that I have and will always regret.

I wish life would give you all the beautiful things that you deserve. I pray that you will never lose your genuine laugh. I pray that the people you are with now will stay with you forever. I know they will because it is impossible not to love you.

I will keep on supporting you from afar. Do not think of me anymore. Do not think of the girl who did not fight for you. I gave you up too easily, Youngbin. I am so sorry.

Goodbye.

An hour after, Youngbin and the rest of the boys set the stage on fire with their performances and solo stages. He bared himself and poured his heart out during the encore - to Fantasy, to you. This will be the last time that he will think of you. He swears it. His entire being just refused to accept the words that you put in that letter. It did not make any sense. None of it does. It did not make any sense when you let him go. It did not make any sense when you did not do anything to fight for him when all he wants is to fight with you. You stepped up without considering how he feels. No amount of words, nor any written or uttered apologies, would make him understand why you have easily let him go.

#sf9 #youngbin #kim youngbin #inseong #jaeyoon #dawon #rowoon #zuho #taeyang #hwiyoung #chani #youngbin x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #angst fanfiction

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getoutofthisplace · 4 years

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Dear Gus,

I turned 38 years old today. I’ll post the detailed account I posted to Facebook of how I spent the day below, but I left out the part about how after talking to Nene, I kept standing out on the patio at Yiayia’s house. I watched you and Mom through the window. You sat in her lap, laughing at whatever she was doing. I’m so happy you and me and Mom all have each other. And that we have everyone else. I’m so happy you are happy.

Dad

North Little Rock, Arkansas. 1.8.2020 - 6.23pm.

PLAY BY PLAY:

I don’t know what time it is when I wake up. The room is still dark. I can just make out enough of the bedsheets to notice that Liz is already gone. She had to be at the hospital by 6:30am for work. I lift my phone off the bedside table. It’s nearly 7am. Gus calls for his mother from his crib, but he doesn’t complain when I open his door, turn off his space heater and his sound machine.

“I want Mama,” he says. His pacifier muffles his words.

“Mama’s at work,” I say, opening the wooden blinds.

“No, she’s not,” he says.

“Where is she?”

“She’s in there,” he says, pointing down the dimly lit hallway.

“Okay,” I say, picking him up. “Do you want some breakfast?”

“I need a fig bar and a banana and a vitamin,” he says. He says it every morning.

He tosses his pacifier into the kitchen sink while I peel him a whole banana, careful not to break it, and put it into the Ziploc bowl with a leftover fig bar. His teeth marks are left from a bite he took yesterday. I add the gummy purple vitamin and hand him the bowl. We walk into the living room and I use the remote to turn the television on.

“I want to watch Dino the Dinosaur,” he says. The show features Dino and his friend Dina, dinosaurs of the triceratops variety, who learn about colors or numbers or shapes in every super-short episode. Neither character talks, but a woman with a soothing voice narrates everything. He loves it. Liz and I can’t stand to watch the show, but it’s better than when he got hooked on Trolls, which has no educational value. Or any redeeming qualities whatsoever.

As I leave the room, Gus erupts into a scream. I know immediately that he has noticed I’ve given him yesterday’s fig bar. He cries and says something unintelligible about it.

“Do you want a new fig bar?”

He says something else unintelligible about it.

“Do you want a blueberry or a raspberry fig bar?” I ask.

He stops crying and says he wants raspberry.

I put the new fig bar in his bowl and take out the fig bar with the missing bite. I start to throw it in my mouth, but remember I haven’t weighed yet. I record my weight every day into a Google spreadsheet I share with my cousin John. We have compared weights for years, but got serious about it in 2018 when we began recording our weights every day in the document, the title of which is “Fat Boys.”

When my grandfather was alive, he must’ve thought his grandsons were all a bunch of lanky, weak kids because he offered $100 to the first of us who could get to 180 pounds. He wanted a grandson that could help him contend with livestock. Zachary earned the money, but now that our grandfather’s gone, we’re all on the other side of 180, trying to get back.

I step onto the scale. It reads 187.8. Down a pound from yesterday. A win. I pop the half-eaten fig bar in my mouth and walk to the back bathroom to take a shower.

I see Gus’s blurry shape through the frosted glass of the shower. I stand on my tiptoes to look at him from over the door.

“I need my milk,” he tells me. We call it milk, but it’s really rice milk. He’s allergic to dairy, so we’ve cycled through all the milk alternatives for the last couple of years. His doctors thought he might also be allergic to soy, so we gave up on soy milk, then we discovered he probably had a tree nut allergy, so we quit almond milk. He wouldn’t drink oat milk, so here we are. For now. Our gastroenterology specialist has asked us to bring in another stool sample for testing. He scolded Liz this week for rescheduling Gus’s scope recently, even though his staff told us to reschedule because of a cold. It was an unnecessary risk, they said. The abnormal results from the lab tests weren’t that big of a deal, the doctor himself said. But when Liz sat in front of him this week, he felt differently. He felt we weren’t taking Gus’s health seriously. He threatened to not reschedule if we were just going to cancel. When she recounted the conversation with me over the phone, I could feel my blood boil. There was a time when I believed in the authority of doctors and could stand to be talked down to within reason, but that time is no longer. Now I need them to recognize the importance of customer service. My instinct was to drive to Children’s Hospital and kick his office door down, but instead I told Liz to write down everything that he told her and the tone in which he said it because as soon as we no longer need him to tell us what is wrong with our boy’s digestive system, I will make sure everyone within earshot understands what an arrogant prick he is. (Stay tuned.)

“Did you poop?” I ask Gus.

“No, I didn’t poop,” he says.

“I think you pooped,” I say, hoisting him onto the changing table. I am late and don’t really have time to take the stool sample now, but I want to get it as quickly as possibly so we can get back the lab results.

I strip his pajamas off him and check his diaper. He wasn’t lying. There is no poop.

“Where are we going today?” Gus asks me.

“I’m going to work and you’re going to school.”

“Oh no, school’s closed today, Daddy.”

I glare at him, but he’s committed to the lie—he doesn’t smirk.

At work, my coworkers have hung a couple of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” banners in my office, which I share with Derek, though he isn’t in yet. They hand me the birthday sombrero to wear and we stand around the small conference room singing happy birthday. My brother-in-law has sent two breakfast casseroles and a large mixing bowl full of fresh fruit. We eat and catch up. We are a closely knit team, but it feels like we haven’t talked as a group since before Christmas, with everyone coming and going. A child has started at daycare. A spouse has gotten a dog. I express my growing anger toward the doctor. A 9:30 meeting breaks up our reunion and we all go back to work.

Derek and I debate where to go to lunch. I pull out my Excel sheet and begin reading off the names of local restaurants. We discuss a future study in which we spend each week only eating one dish, comparing one restaurant to another. We will find the city’s best ramen, the best pizza, the best cobb salad. But for now, we just need lunch. It’s already after noon. We go to Senor Tequila because it’s closer than anywhere else. We each get the special of the day: Bean burrito, cheese enchilada, Mexican rice for $6. We’re both amazed at how cheap that is. Derek quickly does some math on how much money he would save for the rest of his life if he only ate a $6 lunch. The figure is relatively astronomical. But then he surprises me by buying me lunch for my birthday, which would throw his number off, probably.

This morning, Liz tasked me with deciding what I’d like to do for my birthday dinner. She is unsatisfied when I tell her I don’t know. She tells me we can go somewhere, or she can make me something, or her mother has offered to order take-out at her house. I tell Liz I will decide later and text her before she gets off work at 3pm.

As that hour approaches, I am overwhelmed with the mountain of work I am facing at the office. I need the mental boost that comes with being able to scratch anything off my to-do list. Something easy, something quick. I text Liz that I want to go to her mother’s house and eat what we refer to as Korean tacos—chopped salmon and rice wrapped in seaweed. Accomplishing that simple task and being decisive gives me confidence to also ask her to make me a cherry pie, though I tell her it doesn’t have to be today. Just soon.

When she gets off work, she calls to say she’ll make the pie tonight if I’ll go get Gus from daycare.

In my truck I’m listening to Dani Shapiro read her memoir, HOURGLASS. I’ve mostly read fiction lately and Shapiro has reminded me how much I love memoir done right. So right that I feel like I’ve known her, personally, for a long time. Like we have a history that would warrant me picking up my phone and texting her to say, “I’m finally getting around to reading your book, old friend, and it is beautiful.” I wonder if my mother would like the book. I think she would.

I race across town to get to Gus’s daycare in Hillcrest before 5:30pm, but when I get there, I have time to spare. There are only five minutes left in my book, so I turn my truck’s engine off and watch the other parents wrangle their children into their respective cars while I listen to the very end—“This audiobook has been a production…”

I meet eyes with a mother I don’t recognize coming out of the school, and I realize just how creepy I may look, sitting there outside a daycare in my nondescript pick-up truck, no sense of urgency to get out and retrieve my child.

“Daddy!” Gus says, running into my arms when I finally go in and stand in the doorway where he and his friend Luna are the last two children.

“Does someone at your house have a birthday today?” Ms. Cathy asks Gus. “It’s Daddy’s birthday!” Gus says. And I feel incredibly loved by my son. He doesn’t have to love me, I think, but he does.

On the way home, I explain to Gus how the red lights and the green lights dictate when we stop and when we go. He is fascinated. He applies the rule to all the lights he sees.

“What is that yellow light?” he asks.

“That’s a controversial subject, son.” I say. “Some people think it means slow down, but I’m in the camp that just thinks it means it’s time to commit.”

“Oooohhhh…” he says. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I want to go see diggers,” he says. We are in a construction equipment phase.

“We’ll have to keep an eye out for some on the way to Yiayia & Papou’s.”

“Are we going to Yiayia & Papou’s?”

“Yiayia & Papou, we’re coming for you…” I say. It’s a game we’ve played for probably a year. I say the names of the people whose house we are going to and he will say what it is he wants from them.

“We’re coming for you and your toys and your Paw Patrol,” he responds.

When we get there, he runs into the living room for the toys and the Paw Patrol, which are also toys.

“Happy birthday,” Zill says.

Athena hugs me. Liz kisses me. I can tell she is eager for me to see that she is making my cherry pie.

“I didn’t have time to make Nana’s crust, but look at those cherries,” she says.

They are the red of earthy roses, a color not found from a can of cherry pie filling.

Athena pulls two beers from the refrigerator. “They’re both Birthday Bomb! beers, but one is aged in a whiskey barrel!” she tells me.

Liz and I are on a diet that only allows us to drink once a week and this week has already been spoken for.

“It’s a special occasion,” she says. “You should drink them.”

Athena pulls a frozen mug from the freezer and I pour the stout into the glass. I sit with Zill in the living room. We toast that our country has somehow managed to not initiate World War III yet. Athena brings in a plate of large, chilled shrimp, which grabs Gus’s attention.

“What are those things?” he asks.

“Those are shrimp,” I say. “You love shrimp.”

“I need to have them,” he says.

I hold one by the tail as he eagerly bites into it. He wants to take another bite before he finishes the first. He’s ready to move on to the next shrimp entirely, but I regain his attention and show him the meat that is still in the tail. He devours one shrimp after the other. So much so that I look around to see if anyone else thinks I should stop him. Liz is happy he’s eating protein and not carbs, so I let him continue.

My mother calls me and I step out onto the back patio. She wishes me a happy birthday and we talk about my day. We talk about the extended family getting together Sunday maybe to celebrate everyone who has a birthday in January—me, my sister, my grandmother, my aunt and uncle and oldest niece, Caroline, who came within hours of being a February birthday that night in 2008 when we all waited so long in the waiting room at the hospital in Memphis.

“Stop by so we can give you your birthday gift,” my sister texts me. They live less than a mile from us.

By the time Liz gets Gus bathed and I insist on waiting around to see the Final Jeopardy question, which I initially answered partially correct, but then second-guess myself enough to ultimately miss entirely, our family is tired. I drive Liz and Gus home so she can put him to bed, then I double back.

I look through the window and see Laura and Chris sitting in their living room, which is halfway through a remodel and in a state of disarray. I walk in without knocking. The lights are mostly out, but there is a lamp over the new keyboard my mother got her granddaughters for Christmas this year.

“Where’s Liz?” they ask. They prefer their aunt to their uncle.

“She had to go put Gus down,” I say, noticing the paper taped to two chairs facing the keyboard. On each paper is our names—“Guy” and “Liz”—our assigned seats.

Caroline casually walks out of the hallway onto the makeshift staging area in front of me. She holds a cardboard beard to her face and delivers lines she has written and rehearsed, but that don’t quite steer a clear narrative. Her younger sister emerges from the hallway with a similar prop and a less confident set of lines. They ramp up the drama by throwing their cardboard disguises away quickly and each donning a man’s necktie with the tags still on. They go back into the hallway and return with a gift bag for me. Inside, I find a vintage tie rack on which I will be able to hang the ties they have gotten me.

When things settle down, Cate sits at the keyboard. “I tried to learn ‘Happy Birthday,’ but I couldn’t,” she says to me, before playing the first notes of another simple tune from the songbook in front of her. We all clap when she finishes. I hug both my nieces and their parents.

“Did you ever take piano lessons, Gunkel?” Cate asks me.

“I did, but not for very long,” I say. “I could never coordinate my left hand while I was also using my right.”

Like I always do when I am in front of piano keys, I play the recognizable right hand to the melody of Beethoven’s Fur Elise.

“Can you teach me how to read those notes?” I ask Cate, nodding toward her songbook.

She shows me which notes correspond and together we try to play something. I enjoy the time with her, and I enjoy reading the music, even if it’s in such a simplistic form.

Again, I thank them for my gifts, then say goodbye. As I back out of their driveway, I notice a text from the woman who was married to my father when he died. They were married for nearly two decades. She has already wished me a happy birthday and so before I open it, I think hard about what information she might have to give me, but come up with nothing.

“Abbey passed tonight,” her text reads.

My father’s dog. A Jack Russell terrier he got when I lived with them. She was nuts, but also cute and loyal and absolutely fearless. Every time Dad introduced her to someone, he would say, “She’d fight a bear,” and he would tell of the time she came wandering home after fighting a wild animal, her insides dragging behind her.

Now, when I think of Abbey, I think of my father in his hospital bed at home in White County, depressed and ready to die, and in the corner, guarding the window, there is Abbey, standing guard for him, happy to wait as long as she needs to. I will always love her for the happiness she gave him.

When I get home, the lights are out. Liz and Gus are asleep. Suki and I walk to the backyard and I throw the tennis ball for her over and over until she no longer brings it back. I wash my hands and see our family cookbook on the counter. It lies open to the page listing my Nana’s pie crust recipe. I imagine Liz pulling the cookbook out this afternoon. And I feel incredibly loved by my wife. She doesn’t have to love me, but she does.

This is my wonderful life at 38 years old: cherry pies, tie racks, and memories of my father and his dog.

#happy birthday #gus choate #family #38 #liz choate

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alindakb · 4 years

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Letters to my Parents - Wednesday 6 November 1991 - by Alinda

Wednesday 6 November 1991

Dear mom and dad,

Sorry, it’s been a while since I wrote to you. Malfoy keeps staring at me while I’m in our dormitory, making it hard to take out my notebook and write to you. I don’t want them to know about this. I’m afraid they will read it or steal it and burn it, or something. But I have to tell you about the troll that was in the school around Halloween, so I’m hoping they will stay away for a little longer.

The staring started after our fourth flying lesson. I was just spinning around on my broom, it was good fun. I teased Hermione a little, who still struggles to stay upright in the air. I don’t think she likes flying that much. She’s much better in charms and transfiguration. Oh and she’s brilliant when it comes to history of magic, she seems to know all the names and dates and she really is a big help with my essays. It’s a shame the others have started teasing her as well. It’s not as bad as with me, but they keep asking her if she likes being the poof’s girlfriend. And with the poof they mean me. And the Gryffindor’s aren’t much better. Ron just glares at her every time she knows the right answers in class or when she’s the first one to master a spell or charm. She’s the best in every class, except for potions, where Malfoy beats her every time.

But, like I was saying, I was just flying around, spinning upside down and enjoying myself when Malfoy started staring at me. And he didn’t stop. He just kept staring at me all day. And when he was lying in bed he didn’t close his curtains all the way, so he could still stare at me. I closed mine as soon as I was ready for bed. Ever since then, he stares at me a lot, but only when the others aren’t around or aren’t looking at us. I don’t know what to think of it. It isn’t like anything else changed. He still makes fun of my inabilities whenever he gets a change and still insists on sitting next to me in most of our classes so he can bump his arm against mine when we’re taking notes.

And I still have to work with him during potions. Well, he still does all the work and I just make notes. And somehow that’s better than the other classes because during potions he’s not making my life miserable. I wish Nott and Crabbe would also get the memo that says I should be left alone during potions. But they still manage to point out I’m a horrible wizard, not capable of doing my own potion because I would make poison instead of potions.

On the morning of Halloween, we had Charms and Hermione was partnered with Ron for that lesson. I was stuck with Malfoy as for usual. And we both suck at charms; we’ve both been unable to make our feather fly. It only flies off the table when Draco pushes it away. Hermione is the only one that has been able to make it fly until now. And I’m not sure what happened during class on Halloween, but I know that Hermione was trying to tell Ron how to pronounce the incantation and showing him how it’s done, and Professor Flitwick was clapping and praising her for her good work. Malfoy snorted next to me, calling Hermione a know-it-all mudblood. He turned around and told Nott they should do something about her attitude. I don’t want to know what they are planning to do to her, but I’m going to make sure I’ll find out so I can warn her or help her stop them. It’s fine if they want to go after me, but they should leave Hermione alone. I hate it that they are picking on her as well now just because she’s my friend.

After class I walked out with Hermione, she was very quiet. Ron walked in front of us and was complaining to Neville about her. He said it was no wonder no one can stand her, that she was a nightmare. Hermione took off after that. She was crying and I ran after her.

Hermione had gone to the girls’ bathroom and was crying in one of the stalls. I didn’t follow her in at first, because it was the girls’ bathroom and I’m not supposed to go in there. It just made me feel like a bad friend, waiting for her in the corridor. Another Gryffindor girl went in and I asked her to check on Hermione. She reluctantly agreed and when she came back out she told me that Hermione was crying. She said nobody else was in there and that I should go in to help my friend since Hermione had no-one else but me. I thanked Patil and sneaked into the bathroom. Hermione had locked herself inside one of the stalls and I just sat down in front of it, telling her I’m sorry that they are mean to her. I felt really bad because I felt like it was my fault she hasn’t any other friends but me and on the other side, I was glad that she is my friend because I’ve no one else. I started to cry to and then Hermione unlocked the stall and came out. We sat there together on the floor, crying and telling each other we will stick together no matter what. I’m really fortunate to have a friend like her.

We stopped crying after a while and just sat there talking; we both didn’t feel like going to the Halloween banquet. It was already too late to go to any of our other classes of that day. Sorry about that, but Hermione needed me more than that I needed to sit to more boring classes. And I’m not sorry I missed DADA, really professor Quirrell is horrible. We don’t learn anything in that class at all. If we ever face a monster we will be lost.

And we kind of were when it happened. It was just when Hermione asked me if there was any truth in the other boys saying that I’m bent. And I was kind of glad I didn’t have to answer that because I’m not really sure. I’ve never liked any girl, but I’ve also never felt anything for a boy, so I just don’t know what I like. Maybe I don’t like any of them. And that’s fine too, right?

So Hermione asked me that and then the most foul smelling monster walked into the bathroom. It was twelve feet tall and very lumpy. Its head was bald and looked like a coconut on top of its granite grey body. The smell was really horrible, it was a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean. And it was holding a huge wooden club, which he dragged along the floor, because of its long arms. It spotted us on the floor and started making its way towards us. We jumped up and tried to move around it to get to the door, but it got slammed shot before we could get past the troll. And then it swung its club at us. We both jump out of its way and Hermione screamed. It was a high, petrified scream that took me and the troll by surprise. She scrambled to the wall opposite the door and she looked like she was about to faint. The troll moved towards her and smashed up the sinks on his way. I threw a part of a broken sink at the troll trying to stop it. And then the door opened again, Ron and Neville walked into the room and I felt relieved we didn’t have to fight the troll alone. I threw some more things at the troll and Ron joined me from the other side. It confused the troll, he looked around and then he came for me. Ron yelled ‘Oy, pea-brain’ at it and threw a metal pipe at it. But the troll didn’t seem to notice and just kept advancing on me. I yelled at Ron and Neville to go get Hermione. Ron ran around the troll and grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her on her feet. But Hermione wouldn’t move, she just stood there, back against the wall and her mouth was open with terror. Neville was still throwing things at the troll, making it turn again and go for him. Neville yelled in fear and then Ron kept yelling at Hermione to move. I had to do something to stop it, so I did something that’s very brave but also very stupid. I jumped on the troll’s neck from behind, accidentally sliding my wand into its nose. It made the troll howl in pain. It started twisting around and moving its club up in the air looking for something to hit. And what Ron did next was amazing. He shouted Wingardium Leviosa and the troll's club flew into the air, turned over and dropped on the trolls head. The troll went down, falling on his face and I jumped to my feet, just in time to see Hermione throw her arms around Ron and kissing him on his lips. Ron his face turned almost as red as his hair. I laughed and Neville asked with a shaking voice if the troll was death. He wasn’t surprised at all that Hermione just kissed Ron. I pulled my wand out of the troll’s nose and wiped it on the troll’s trousers. It was then that Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell came running into the bathroom. Quirrell almost fainted and Snape inspected the troll. McGonagall looked very angry and she shouted at all of us, that we could have been killed and she wondered why we weren’t in our dormitories.

I was surprised to hear Hermione take the blame for it all, saying that she went out to look for the troll and that we had all come to save her. I had never heard her tell a lie in all the time I had known her. And then professor McGonagall took five points from Gryffindor, but she awarded the rest of us each five points for defeating the troll. I was proud that I had finally won my house some points. And then she told us to go to our dormitories, where the rest of the students were finishing their feast. It was hard walking to the dungeons by myself, knowing my friends were going up together to the Gryffindor common room to celebrate.

Things got better after that. Ron and Neville started joining us in the library after classes, or we would spend time in the great hall with them. Ron and Hermione started holding hands a lot and smiling at each other. And on one afternoon I told Ron and Neville about the three-headed dog and the trapdoor it’s guarding. Ron was fascinated and felt bad that he hadn’t been there. First of all he would have kicked Nott’s ass for threatening a girl, he said, and secondly, he is just as curious as me about the possibility what is underneath it. I told them I think it’s the package that Hagrid has collected from Gringotts, and we spend some time speculating what it might be. But we have no idea, only that it must be really valuable or really dangerous, needing protection like that. Hermione and Neville both think we should forget about it, Neville because he’s scared of the dog and Hermione because she’s afraid it will get us killed or worse, expelled. I don’t think she knows that getting killed also means she won’t be able to go to school anymore, but I haven’t told her that, it will only upset her. And then Ron told me, that he and Neville saw professor Snape go up the stairs to the third floor when all the other teachers were on their way to the dungeons to fight the troll. And that made me think of why Snape would go to the trapdoor? Was he after the package? And if he was, why?

I’m eating most of my meals now at the Gryffindor table, so I can finally enjoy the food. Dean and Seamus have even given me a Gryffindor tie, saying I’m one of them now. The only problem is that I still have to go down to the dungeons to sleep. I always sneak in now, hoping no one will see me, but somehow Malfoy always seems to sense when I come in. He looks very angry when I do, I don’t know why. And Nott has managed to beat me twice since I started hanging out with the Gryffindor’s again. First last Saturday, when I came back after dinner. He hit me in the stomach while Crabbe held me in place. And today, in between classes in an empty hallway, he pushed me over and kicked my head with his feet. I had to go to the hospital wing to make sure I was okay. But I am, and I can deal with it. I won’t let them scare me away from my friends any longer, even if the bullying gets worse. I can handle it. I survived ten years with Dudley, I can survive this.

I have to go now and get ready for astronomy at midnight. I promise to write sooner again.

Love Harry James Potter.

(find the entire story at https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351042/chapters/35620452)

#Harry Potter #harry in slytherin #bullied harry #fanfic #letters #Draco Malfoy #drarry #hermione granger #hermione x ron #AlindasStories

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lighthouseroleplay · 5 years

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JUDE CARTER

( 23 , cis man , he/him )

♪♫ currently listening ⧸⧸ 10 am, gare du nord by keaton henson

paint under fingernails, big mugs filled with green tea, hair tied up and out of the way, impatient, tapping feet. bunches of lavender tied up with string, denim jackets covered with patches, binging netflix with subtitles on, ivy crawling up stone. waking up every morning just to see the sun rise in all its red-gold glory, a favorite color that changes every day. margins covered in sprawling sketches, hummingbirds at a window, a furrowed, concerned brow.

• lind-carter was an addition to your family that you’d never expected. you and your father were fine on your own, you always had been, and this sudden youngest sister was never something you'd wanted. it was odd, to be suddenly thrown into a family like that, and while she'd seemed fine, you had little interest in the role of an older sibling. it was andrea who talked you into befriending her, in the end, and the rest is history: a sister you'd die for, and a pretty great one at that. she's more driven than you are, though, and sometimes you think she'll do far better than you ever could. most days, you're excited at the prospect of it.

• ramirez had a passion for music that rivaled your own passion for art. it was an inspiration to you, and it drew you two closer together over the years. with them, there was no sneers or laughter, no comments about wasting your life on art. there was only constant support from them. one of your doodles were inked permanently on their body, and you listened to every new song that was quickly scribbled on a napkin or in the middle of notes for class. you were glad that someone understood your need to create, and you were happy that they had fallen into your life.

taken by katie ⧸⧸ nick robinson .

cw: death, car accident

one.

Nowadays, his childhood bedroom is practically a shrine to every dream he’d ever had. There’s doodles across post-it-notes and the margins of old, wide ruled notebooks he can’t bring himself to discard. There’s the clay pot he made in second grade ceramics, decorated with gold paint and glitter. From middle school, there’s imitations of paintings by all of the well-knowns; his use of color has improved, though his lines are still shaky. Up on the bookshelf, there are graphic novels he illustrated for his friends; he was actually popular among them for making their superhero and goblin and troll fantasies come to life. Beside them, there are Ramirez’s albums, album art done up by him, and the few others by artists associated with Ramirez who wanted covers done by him too. The portraits he did in his senior year, some black and white, most painted, are tucked away in a corner (though Andy Clare’s remains hidden under his bed). There are figurines from when he tried his hand at sculpturing, a box or two from when he considered woodworking. The mailbox outside is painted by him, and there’s a few of the neighbors too, who requested a Jude Carter original on their front lawn when they saw his handiwork. Up on his wall are designs for murals sketched onto copy paper, plans that seemed all too important at one point; half of them haven’t moved an inch in years.

It is all of him, and yet, it is none of him too.

two.

His mother died on her way home from work when Jude was five years old. He remembers the waiting in the living room for her to come home, hours later than he ever had before, his father pacing in the room behind him on the phone with every relative and friend they knew. When the news finally came, he cried, a mix of anger and grief and confusion. His parents had gotten into a fight over how safe their cars were. How could she have died in one?

His mother was an artist too, or so he deduced in the years before his father was ready to tell him about it. There were sketches all over the house, handmade quilts on all the beds, and in a box that never quite got unpacked after they move, there’s handmade jewelry, all dainty metal and twisting wires. He was thirteen years old and decided she must have had a dream; she must have given it up to settle for a boring life in Olympia, Washington. She must have died with regrets.

When his father found him in the attic, crying over a box of wire jewelry, he rang a different tune. She was happy. She chose to move to a small house in a cul-de-sac and have Jude. She didn’t sacrifice anything she didn’t want to.

He wore his favorite piece out of the box around his neck for the years that followed, and gave his second favorite to Andrea for Valentine’s Day. Hadley had a few too, and it made his heart swell every time he saw her wearing one. If she died with any regrets, Jude decided, he wouldn’t let her rest with them. Her art should be as loved as she was.

three.

George Carter grew up in Tenebrin, and he was certain that it was the place to raise his son and heal. They moved at the end of Jude’s first grade year into an old house just up the road from where his father lived for twenty years. It didn’t feel like home at first, just a rickety wooden house with furniture and pictures in smiling faces he hardly recognized. But, slowly they dusted off the surfaces and old wounds, and it grew into something. His father bought the movie theater he worked at in high school from the owner with his mother’s life insurance money, and Jude spent entire summers running around and pestering customers in the years before he was old enough for his father to put him to work. By the time he was in middle school, though pieces still feel missing, Tenebrin finally might’ve been the comfortable spot home was supposed to be.

four.

In the most confusing parts of his life, art is the only thing that makes sense in his world. It became clear early on that any bit of creativity brought him more joy than any accomplishment through traditional means. Studying books bores him; he’d rather spend hours creating something, even if it turns out terrible and unfinished. Art becomes his sole passion before he can help it, and before long, it defines every bit of the way he is. His style and tastes may change over time and he may not know what he loves most, but most days he figures it doesn’t matter.

He wants to be an artist, but why does that mean he has to pick just one kind of artist to be?

five.

He’d never been the kind that fit in easily. In elementary school, it was easy to just call him shy, but by high school it was clear that there was just not a clique with whom he really belonged.

He was no athlete or jock. Popular kids didn’t give him a second glance in the hall, and he couldn’t blame them. A B-student on a good day, he wasn’t smart enough for the nerds; he appreciated the creativity of the artists, but he’ was not nearly wild enough a spirit to keep up with them.

But, eventually, he found a peace in not belonging.

The geeks appreciated his creative mind and invited him to D&D games, and when they saw his doodles, they managed to get him to illustrate graphic novels they pen. They helped Jude with his homework without complaint in the meantime, and those among them in the AV club spent hours picking Jude’s brain with all his knowledge of ancient movie equipment.

In the artists, he found those who appreciate and rival his creative spirit, and though they all weren’t so compatible, there were some who appreciate his nature. With them, he had opportunities to spread and pursue art, and places to go after dark if he ever so chose.

six.

The first time Jude’s father brought up the woman who owned the bakery, Jude laughed. His father’s stern disappointment and rare anger that day told him that a day he thought would never come was upon them: his dad was moving on from his mother.

And he hated it.

But, before he could blink, it seemed like Gen and her daughter, Hadley, were moving into their house. Pictures of his mother were taken down to put up pictures of them; his mother’s decorations removed to make place for the decorating style of a woman he was to call step-mother. The anger at her, the resentment at his father for doing this to him when they were fine and happy and didn’t need them, was difficult to ignore or hide.

But, it wasn’t his father’s attempts to warm him up to the idea of their new family with gifts and father-son fishing trips that finally convinced him of wonderful they could be as a family, but rather Gen herself.

She’d invited him to the bakery one morning, forcing him in a room full of baking cookies and flour-dusted surfaces to have the conversation that he’d managed to dodge until now. Jude must have said awful things to her then, accusing of her trying to replace his mother, of destroying the family he’d been perfectly content with. But, she didn’t get angry in return, and when he started to cry, she held him until he stopped.

The next morning, she made him chocolate chips waffles with a smile, and somehow, they were family.

The very concept of a sister, though, was more difficult for him to grasp. He’d gone from the only person in a house to having to share his space and a bathroom with a teenage girl. Maybe she was fine, but for most of those first few years, he wasn’t interested in getting to know her. That was until Andrea Clare entered (and reentered) their lives at the same time, and somehow in her ever charming ways, made him fall in love with the idea of having a sister.

By the time Jude had graduated high school, he called Gen “mom” regularly, and it felt like Hadley was a sister that had been around his entire life. They were family, just as much as his father and just as important too.

seven.

After graduation, the community college in Olympia seemed like the best and only option. Unlike so many of his peers, he didn’t have a grand plan figured out. All he knew was what he liked and didn’t like; beyond that he’d decided he needed time to decipher what the universe was telling him. Or something.

With every passing class though, Jude got no closer to the answers he sought. The world seemed just as, no, more complicated than before. All he wanted to do was draw and watch movies and bask in the art of the world he surrounded himself with.

Art it was. He wanted to be an artist. For real.

There were small chances here and there to consider it a realistic pursuit. Still, he didn’t know how to define the art that he wanted to do, and he had no idea how to make that a reality.

So, he kept going through the motions, and he kept making that hour drive three days a week to school.

eight.

The September after Andy disappeared, he returned to school as if nothing ever happened. He made it a month pretending like that might be world he actually lived in before he found himself back at home full-time, officially a community college dropout with no real life plan. His parents did their best, he supposed, assuring him that that didn’t need to be the path he took.

(There were a few shouting matches in the early days. He insisted that they just wanted labor for their businesses, a diligent, dutiful son to wake up early and frost cookies and stay late to kick bums out of the theater. They insisted that they wanted him to be happy; they even pushed him to pursue art. It always ended with them asking what he wanted It always ended with him crying about Andy.)

Eventually a rhythm was found, sound and comfortable: opening the bakery with Gen, working the theater through the afternoon, going out to draw and live at night. At some point, his father helped him move into the attic above the movie theater as a makeshift studio, and the place grew from dusty to clean to littered with paper and paints. For, eventually, only when he was at peace, did he dare to dream again. He painted murals across the city, decorated banners for town holidays, commissioned portraits for extra cash, made a drive occasionally to sell art at markets and festivals.

Still, the scariest question lingers, one he can’t push himself to answer. It is the same one his parents pushed on him time and time again after he moved back home. What do you want, Jude? He’s been saving up for years to leave Tenbrin and be a real artist, but truth be told, he still hardly knows what means. He doesn’t really know what he’d do if he moved away; he doesn’t know who he’d be as an artist out in the real world.

Something keeps him in place, and often it feels as if the town itself isn’t allowing him to move away and move on. Part of him seems to belong to the city now, to the waves that crash upon its shores. Sometimes, if he puts his ears to the water and listens, it sounds too much like the way Andy Clare used to say his name.

#carter: skel #skel: all #carter #skel: taken

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dontcallmecarrie · 7 years

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Fic Idea: WtNV/Twilight crossover

Wherein Bella hails not from Phoenix, Arizona, but from a friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead on a regular basis.

And dogs are not allowed in the Dog Park.

Fandoms: Twilight (books, probably movies too? Haven’t seen them), Welcome to Night Vale (podcast)

Warnings: everything Welcome to Night Vale-related. [So, cosmic horror, Librarian-caliber violence and gore, etc.] On the other hand, at least there’s semi-healthy relationships, here? Semi-unreliable narrator, because growing up in Night Vale makes for a skewed reference frame re: what is and is not sane and/or impossible.

Under the cut because of reasons. [You know why.]

Bella's mother and stepfather were a bit whimsical about where they'd end up living, and chose the classic 'throw a dart on a map'.

In one life, the dart might've landed near Phoenix, and the rest would have been history.

In this one, however…Renee's (I think that's what her name is, it's been years since I last touched the books) aim was slightly off when she threw the dart.

Bella still visits her father regularly, of course.

So she knows some things are slightly off, but thinks it’s Forks that’s pretty weird. She only visits for a few months out of every year, though, so she shrugs it off.

The older she gets, the more she realizes some things are lost in translation; it's her father that recommends she join the Girl Scouts, but seems to think she's joking when she talks about earning her Controlling Plants with Minds patch., and by the time she's gotten her Radiation Immunity patch she's given up telling him just what her troop gets up to.

The camping trips, where she befriends Jacob Black and shows off her Surviving in Nature badge skills, merely net her some weird glances, but…eh. Could be worse, though explaining just where she'd gotten her machete from had left everyone involved with more questions than answers.

Not to mention the Summer Reading Program—the first time Bella survived it, she'd left for Forks not a week later. Charlie had congratulated her for her reading chart, and left it at that.

So she doesn’t really talk about it. Or her Unmodified Sumerian classes, or the bloodstone circles, or…

Time goes on, and Bella's visiting for less and less time, because the older she gets the more things pile up, and by the time she's reached high school her internship at the radio station means she's busier than ever, running errands for Station Management and Cecil, and simply surviving.

It's not until StrexCorp shows up, however, that Bella deems it a good idea to visit Charlie again.

Well…it's less her idea, and more 'StrexCorp bought their neighborhood and is working on shutting down Night Vale High and instating their own charter schools in time for her class to graduate and fuck that noise'.

Plus, it's not like she had much cause to stick around, not when Phil and Renee had been planning on doing something for his job prospects [which, incidentally enough, had been something StrexCorp could slightly respect. Go figure].

So, really, between the choice of attending a Desert Bluff school [ugh], or Forks High, it was really a no-brainer for Bella.

Even if Forks was a kind of weird place.

…it's been a while, actually.

Turns out, distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder, it just makes things less weirder.

[Seriously, just how did younger her not notice some things?]

It's been years, but Bella's still vaguely terrified by how green everything is. The Whispering Forest was five minutes from her house, after all. She wholeheartedly approves of the rain and the various clouds [even if none of them glow here. Weird].

Fork's high school isn't that bad, but Bella sorely misses her Unmodified Sumerian credits.

And she's vaguely confused by everyone's complaining about PE. [It had some very good real-world applications, what was the big deal? Dodging fireballs invoked by black magic was easy, compared to Chad Steinbeck's throwing arm.]

Kinda weird how nonchalant everyone was about their librarians, though by now she's almost used to how everyone laughs whenever she talked about the killer Summer Reading Program. [Younger her had merited a few curious glances when she'd clung to her backpack, as if carrying duct tape and several days' worth of food and water wasn't a perfectly rational thing to have in a library. Weird.]

And her dad's Police Department must be having severe budget cuts, if his patrol car can't fly and he doesn't even have a balaclava. [So, very, weird.]

She's still fascinated by the Cullens, of course. That's a fundamental constant.

Except here, Bella's not infatuated, or obsessed-- or, at least, not in a "love at first sight" sort of way.

No, here, Bella still sees the predatory gleam in the Cullen's eyes, and their ethereal beauty. But instead of growing warily curious, she instead feels a pang of homesickness, and resolves to befriend them. [That blonde in particular really reminds her of Jessica Simmons in fifth grade, back before she forgot to check her harness when their Girl Scout troop was earning their Paragliding and Divebombing patches.]

That Edward guy was more of an afterthought than anything else, actually. Though it was also a new record, too: not even five minutes and he hated her guts, when her personal best was four hours and thirty-seven minutes for a budding blood feud.

The Cullens, meanwhile, don't know what to think of this new arrival.

Bella Swan had, in the span of five school days, gone from "flavor of the week" to "what the fuck is she on, or is she just trolling?" with alarming speed.

Her father had made it well known she had an eccentric sense of humor, but that still didn't quite prepare everyone for her incredible deadpan, or her reactions to the most random things. [Like her incredulity about wheat-based products: what kind of weird diet was she on?]

They’re seeing this eccentric newcomer who smells of sand and mesquite and desert wind [though Edward doesn't know why it's so enticing to him], and are even more confused. Because of their enhanced senses, they can tell Bella's confusion is genuine, and why was she so terrified when Valentine's Day was brought up?

Alice's the one that puts them on alert: trying to see Bella's future gives her a migraine, and flashes of something great and terrible that she can't quantify, a black abyss and yet not and what was she?!

So, of course, Jasper's equally alarmed, because for something to unnerve his was-committed-to-an-asylum-as-a-human girlfriend…plus her emotions when someone talked about Homecoming should not have been that extreme...

Edward's fascinated, but also questions his self-control as time passes and Bella's slowly smelling less and less like her former hometown, and more and more appealing to him. On the plus side, at least she's not…overly interested in him? She doesn't smell like it, at least. Huh. [That he can't read her mind is but secondary, at this point.]

Rosalind is so, very befuddled with Bella's fearlessness: she's tried to scare her away, but each time she tries, Bella just springs up and mentions something about scouts and patches and what the hell?!

Emmett's the one in the parking lot, when the accident nearly happens. He's very amused by it all, and has a running bet as to why this new chick's gravitating towards them so much, when he sees Edward gear up to save— holy shit did the new girl just backflip away from the SUV? She did. And talked about summer reading programs being good practice. [What even.]

Carlisle's also highly interested in the mystery that is Bella Swan. Even ignoring what his family's been saying, he took her vitals after the almost-accident, and the machine broke. Or, at least, that's the only logical explanation as to why the readouts say her blood's irradiated AND poisonous, and carrying trace elements of...something he'd never seen before. [Bella, meanwhile, thinks the orange juice just doesn't taste the same. What was this sugary swill? Orange juice was supposed to be imaginary, with an acrid tang and a sharp aftertaste. Forks was so weird.]

The Port Angeles thing had Edward very confused, because the would-be rapists' thoughts went from 'easy target' to 'WHERE THE HELL DID SHE GET THAT MACHETE FROM?!' and 'am I seeing things, or is she really throwing textbooks with a slingshot?!' with almost-alarming speed.

And when he pulled up, he couldn’t see it, nor where she could even make that fit.

Huh.

Bella and the Cullens become friends, and when the vampire thing comes up, she doesn't so much as bat an eye.

"Hey, Old Woman Josie's got a houseful of Angels. Even if the hierarchy's classified by the City Council. Not to mention Hiram McDaniels, he's literally a five-headed dragon. At least you're not from Desert Bluffs, right?"

…that's a new one.

Bella's more than happy to answer their questions, too, and that's how the Cullens learn that somehow her cooking was bad enough to get her banned from Desert Bluffs [though why that last one was said with a distinct note of pride, they still didn't quite get].

Her questions, in turn, aren't quite like the ones they'd answered in the past. Carlisle doesn't want to know where Bella got the term Lizard Kings from, or why she thinks he knows where Franchia is [which…what?], or…the list goes on.

Overall, Bella's slightly strange, but perfectly friendly.

[Alice has yet to decide what she makes of Bella's talks about the Monolith, though.]

Edward is actually getting slightly interested in her, but Bella doesn’t exactly have romance at the forefront; she's more than happy to talk about her efforts in helping Night Vale's local Children's Militia[?! Wow was the town creative with names], though, and the first time she touched an oven in their household was also the last. [How the hell she'd managed to recreate Greek fire was something to ask at a later date.]

Plus, her strange smell wasn't the least of it, not after what Carlisle had ascertained. Bella's apparent confusion about regrowing appendages aside, turns out her inoculations included stuff for 'Blood-Space War botulism' and 'Librarian-based diphtheria' as well as the usual chicken pox and tetanus.

Time passes, and things are going well.

Sure, she smells slightly weird as time goes by, but that's probably because of her unique upbringing, plus it's a gradual thing so the Cullens get used to it fairly easily. Even if the scent of something scorching was slightly off-putting, but then, there was a reason nobody let Bella cook.

Bella's pretty weird, but she's also pretty cool, so it balances out in the end.

Some things just get lost in translation, though. Even now.

The baseball game was…interesting.

Bella's comments about Night Vale's annual Sheriff's Secret Police vs. Firefighters game left everyone looking at her in horror, but it was the nonchalance with which she caught the 120 miles-per-hour baseball that let her into the game.

When the new vampires rock up…hmm. I can't decide.

Option A:

Bella smelled not only of mesquite and desert wind, but also an underlying tang of something Other, something not of this world. She was the only one alive to have earned the Blood-Space War patch in her troop, and when they tried to attack she smiled and let the tang of dark magic sear the air warningly.

Option B:

Bella smelled of something Other, and since these newcomers hadn't been there when her smell had gradually changed, the Cullens are wondering why they're freaking out.

“She smells of monster!"

"What the hell are you talking about?”

Option C:

She smells more like a local than not; a year out of Night Vale, in a rainy place, meant its distinct aroma had gradually faded. They try to attack, and Bella's ready to go to bat, but no dice.

“I could've taken them!" She mutters petulantly. Bah. Overprotective vampires. Just when she'd been having fun, too.

They're insistent that she flee. Eh, it's been a while, might as well check up on how Renee’s been doing, or if they managed to evict StrexCorp. It's adorable how Edward's so concerned for her health, but really.

Their first hint Something's Up is when she pulls out the bloodstone circles.

Specifically, "What the hell are bloodstone circles."

Bella returns to her hometown, at the Cullen's insistence, she might add. It's been a while, and… oh, shit.

"What's the big deal about—mmph!" Edward manages before Bella claps a hand over his mouth.

“Watch your words, it's Street Cleaning Day tomorrow! C'mon, I think I remember a bunker we can hide out in."

"What."

They glimpse the vampires trying to get to them, but then…

"Fuck it, time for the big guns. Let's go the library."

"What."

"Bring a machete, orange juice, and I hope you remember at least some Jane Austen, it might very well save our lives Mr. I Lived A Hundred Years."

"What?!"

"We have no time, just run!"

Hiding out by the Dog Park is also an acceptable one; the scent means the poor fools try to take on the Hooded Figures, which yeah.

After a crash course as to everything Night Vale, Bella's slightly reluctant to go back to Forks, meanwhile Edward's more than a little freaked out, while the rest of the Cullens are in no better shape. The trip back is in almost complete silence. Bella's asleep, because the library always required a lot of energy, meanwhile the rest of the car's eying her a lot more warily than a few days ago.

She's nursing a sprained wrist from staving off a Librarian, a broken leg from landing the wrong way after sticking an illegal pen on one vampire and a loaf of bread on the other [and thus siccing the Sheriff's Secret Police on both], and a concussion on top of that. Still intimidating anyway; just where had that assault rifle even come from?!

Ah, the joys of having earned her Concealed Weaponry patch during seventh grade…

And that's the end of the events of Twilight.

During New Moon, Bella's not desperately seeking death once the Cullens go MIA.

Either she goes 'welp, getting kind of bored here, oh hey, Jacob! Want to cliff dive?...okay this is actually kind of tame, but at least I'm not as homesick now, thanks!'

Or, she'd go 'my only friends are gone, StrexCorp fucked off from Night Vale, screw it I'm coming home'.

If she were to meet the Volturi, she'd immediately light up and go 'oh hey do you have any relation to the Large Brotherhood of the Small Chamber? Or Night Vale's City Council?' which, in turn, would cause some…interesting reactions. [A facepalm here, a 'oh god I thought we were done with you guys' groan from there, etc. The Cullens are both curious but also don't want to know.]

At some point, an ancient vampire shows up, and Bella’s practicing her Unmodified Sumerian and ignoring everyone’s stares when they realize it’s the human who’s just blasé and talking to this guy in his mother tongue. She’s not fluent, but it’s enough.

Where did this idea even come from? Who knows? [Dammit brain]

#fic idea #fic ideas #it's probably a bit dorky but meh #Welcome to Night Vale #Twilight #crossover #Naught rambles

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njawaidofficial · 6 years

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The "Roseanne" Reboot Is More Than The Politics Of Its Star

https://styleveryday.com/2018/03/23/the-roseanne-reboot-is-more-than-the-politics-of-its-star/

The "Roseanne" Reboot Is More Than The Politics Of Its Star

Darlene (Sara Gilbert), Roseanne (Roseanne Barr), and Dan (John Goodman) in the rebooted Roseanne.

Adam Rose / ABC

When you reenter the world of ABC’s Roseanne reboot, the first 10 minutes are discombobulating. Part of it is the laugh track, which, if you’re no longer a regular consumer of primetime sitcoms, can take you out of the narrative. Though the cadence and patter soon normalize, something else threatens to pull viewers of the original out of the narrative: The Conners look good. Aunt Jackie (Laurie Metcalf) seems to have entirely avoided sun damage. Dan (John Goodman) looks svelte. Eldest daughter Becky (Lecy Goranson) has had solid health care. Middle daughter Darlene (Sara Gilbert) has a fantastic haircut. And Roseanne looks amazing for a woman with grandchildren in high school.

In the final season of the original show, which completed its nine-season run in 1996, the Conners won the lottery, hypothetically removing them from the very struggles that shaped its narrative. When we rejoin them, however, it’s as if that storyline — and Dan’s death — never happened. The deductible on Dan and Roseanne’s health insurance is too high for her to get knee surgery; Darlene lost her job and moved back home with her two kids; Becky is making ends meet as a waitress; DJ joined the Army and is home from a tour in Syria. Still, their bodies and skin and hair care belie their working-class status. Before, Roseanne was “believable” as a working-class mom because she’d not only lived that life, but had the body and hair and makeup intended to read, at least to critics and audiences, as “realistic.” Now, the woman who’s spent the last decade on her Hawaiian macadamia nut farm is believable in her own iconic role only because, well, she’s still Roseanne Barr.

But in the 20 years since the original series’ end, the “real” Roseanne has also become a mix of emboldened Zionist, conspiracy theorist, and online troll — the type of person who would vote for Donald Trump in part because he was going to mix up politics, but also just to be contrary, to be the type of person who voted for Trump. The show’s reboot thus poses a difficult set of questions: What happens when your brash, unruly, feminist hero returns to her progressive, universally-lauded television show…as someone who voted for a well-known misogynist? And can Roseanne still be Roseanne, even when the politics of its namesake star threaten to eclipse the rest of the show?

Via http://

Over the last two decades, Roseanne has taken on a sort of mythic importance as the show that “got” middle America, the show that dared show the working class, the show that dealt with issues like labor unions — and did it well, without hyperbole or excessive melodrama. It was even funny.

Of course, this fetishization of Roseanne ignores history (especially Norman Lear–produced shows like Maude, Good Times, All in the Family, and Sanford and Son), as well as some of its contemporaries (Family Matters, Married… with Children, The Simpsons, Roc, The Torkelsons, and Grace Under Fire) and more recent shows like Malcolm in the Middle, Teen Mom, Fresh Off the Boat, The Middle, Friday Night Lights, Shameless, Atlanta, and Superstore. But Roseanne stands out with fairly good reason: It was created by and centered on a woman; it was the #1 show in the U.S.; its star became a massive cultural figure whose actions offscreen (including wresting control of the show away from its original showrunner, Matt Williams) only confirmed and amplified her image as a profoundly unruly woman.

Roseanne had verve; it was audacious; it steered straight into controversial issues but rarely sensationalized them; it managed to be unsentimental but still deeply felt. It was that rare thing that’s only become rarer: a massive hit that was also beloved by critics.

In the two decades since the show’s cancellation, much has been made of the fact that the Conner house was cluttered, the couch was lived-in, the characters weren’t always nice to each other — all of which points to the more precise claim about the show: its depiction of a working-class family felt the realest, the most authentic. “This is living,” Tom Shales wrote in the Washington Post in 1988, describing the first episode of the show. “This is a six-pack and a hammock and the fft-fft of the lawn sprinkler on a summer afternoon.”

Roseanne makes a turkey in “We Gather Together,” a Thanksgiving episode from Season 2 that aired Nov. 21, 1989.

Abc Photo Archives / Getty Images

Much was also made of Roseanne’s weight, which made her, in the words of the Wall Street Journal, “earthy” or, as the New York Times put it, realistically “flawed,” unlike all the immaculate TV moms who came before. “For one thing, you know she has stretch marks, not cover-girl looks,” Joy Horowitz wrote. The realism, at least in terms of working-class life, was a matter of design. As producer Gayle Maffeo put it, “The sets are designed and dressed to look as though the audience has just walked into someone’s home. The washer and dryer are actually running when we shoot in the laundry room. The children in the series grow out of their clothes when money is tight, and everything’s not beautiful in the Conner house all the time.”

Yet as Maffeo pointed out, “We do fall into a bit of a trap because everybody always wants to look good,” she said. “But we try to stick with realism the best we can.” Vanity on the part of the individual actors, in other words, would get in the way of the larger ideological project of the show.

That’s part of what’s happened with Barr. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what changed her over the last 20 years. It’s not as if the Roseanne of 1988 deferred to others, or deferred to others’ idea of who she was and what her show should be. Her magnetism arose from her willingness to lean fully into her unruliness — to cackle louder, to get bigger, to fight more. From the beginning, Roseanne was considered brazen because its heroine didn’t always like her children and said mean things to men: “Will a Fat Woman Who Ridicules Men Be TV’s Next Hero?” asked a disbelieving 1988 review in the Wall Street Journal.

But Roseanne’s “meanness” (or, to reframe it slightly, her refusal to always be nice) was also considered part of the program’s larger realist project — a recognition of the frustration of a whole generation of women who’d been told, both implicitly and explicitly, that feminism was no longer necessary. “The producers hope to strike a chord in millions of working women,” the Wall Street Journal averred, “frustrated that their new role as breadwinners hasn’t relieved them as their old one as homemakers.”

That was one of the revelations of Roseanne: that family was not the warm, nurturing institution depicted so seamlessly on the vast majority of television. As cultural critic Barbara Ehrenreich explained in the New Republic in 1990:

It is Roseanne’s narrow-eyed cynicism about the family, even more than her class consciousness, that gives Roseanne its special frisson. Archie Bunker got our attention by telling us that we (blacks, Jews, ‘ethnics,’ WASPs, etc.) don’t really like each other. Roseanne’s message is that even within the family we don’t much like each other. We love each other (what else do we have?); but The Family, with its lopsided division of labor and its ancient system of age-graded humiliations, just doesn’t work. Or rather, it doesn’t work unless the contradictions are smoothed out with irony and the hostilities are periodically blown off as humor. Coming from Mom, rather than from a jaded teenager or a bystander dad, this is scary news indeed.

Speaking the unspeakable, questioning the dark shadow of both feminism and the family ideal, reasserting the particular concerns of working-class women — that, too, made Barr (and, by extension, Roseanne Conner) compelling. But being unruly is not necessarily, or consistently, aligned with being “progressive.” Those who making a living pushing other people’s boundaries often, with time, seek new boundaries to push. Barr was rewarded for her honesty, but everyone’s honesty needs a certain level of bullshit moderation: not a filter, necessarily, but an ability to reflect, and an understanding that too much power, combined with too little self-censorship, can curdle even the most progressive of worldviews.

Roseanne Barr on the set of the rebooted Roseanne.

Adam Rose / ABC

In the ‘80s and ‘90s, Barr self-identified as a feminist at a time when most prominent women did not; she called bullshit on the women who’d come to represent the movement’s (white, middle-class, palatable) representatives. Her insistence that a woman like her should be the center of attention felt incendiary, breathtaking. Today, it just feels tired — not because she’s aged, but because her ideas have devolved. And while that development is regrettable, it should not be altogether surprising; the fuel that makes a firebrand is unpredictable in its ideological spread.

But Roseanne Barr is not Roseanne Conner. Conner was based on Roseanne’s stand-up, which was based on Barr’s life, but the character’s trajectory has never been wedded to the actor’s. The Conners of 2018 did vote for Trump — a development that is plausible, although voting for Hillary, or Bernie, seems equally so — but the rebooted Roseanne is not a forum for Barr’s ideologies. In fact, the three episodes made available to critics (the first, third, and seventh) decenter Roseanne in a slight but remarkable way, ceding the emotional heart of the story to Darlene: unemployed, single-parenting two kids, and trying to figure out how best to raise them in her parents’ house.

The shift makes sense: It was Sara Gilbert, who plays Darlene, who orchestrated the reunion and serves as the show’s executive producer. But Darlene’s centrality doesn’t feel like a matter of vanity so much as a reoccupation of the central questions posed by the original Roseanne: What does it mean to be a feminist mother — and outgrow your own mother’s sense of what a “strong woman” might look like? How do you value your labor when the world does not? How do you deal with recalcitrant, stubborn parents who nonetheless love you? How do you parent one child who wants to fit in and another who doesn’t? Can you pretend that money doesn’t matter when it does? What if your dreams for yourself dwindle before your eyes?

Becky (Lecy Goranson), Roseanne (Roseanne Barr), and Darlene (Sara Gilbert) in “Dan’s Birthday Bash,” an episode from Season 1 that aired Jan. 3, 1989.

Abc Photo Archives / Getty Images

In the original Roseanne, those questions were what made its head-on handling of capital-I Issues — labor disputes, sexual harassment, partner abuse, coming out, and teen sexuality, to name just a few — feel realistic, even when handled over the course of a 22-minute episode punctuated with punchlines. When Roseanne is forced to take a job sweeping the floor in a beauty parlor in Season 2, for example, it’s an opportunity for her to crack jokes about her new, bizarre boss — but it’s also an opportunity to think about larger questions of labor, and the mechanisms that trigger shame or pride in the work that you do. Roseanne admits to her family, who’d been making fun of her for shampooing other women’s hair, that she actually liked her new job: The women there were kind and valued her work. The only people who made her feel ashamed to work there were her family.

Roseanne’s vulnerability was always there, just beneath the surface of the joke. It manifested clearly in her face, which always seemed equally inclined to break into her devilish grin or her eyes-down disappointment. Roseanne Conner was stubborn but tender, tenacious yet swayable. She was filled with contradictions but never seemed careless with how she wielded them or the power that flowed from her general magnetism.

Today, Roseanne Conner’s politics have become largely intractable. She lives in pain because her insurance premiums are too high, but she thinks the Affordable Care Act is a scam; she recoils from the idea of Becky serving as a surrogate mother; she refuses to speak to Jackie for a year because she didn’t vote for Trump.

Some of the vintage, progressive Roseanne returns, albeit gradually, in her eventual handling of her grandson’s wardrobe decisions. But it’s largely up to Darlene — and, to a lesser extent, Jackie — to fill her previous role. Part of that role is calling Roseanne on her bullshit, or admitting, as Jackie does in the first episode, that Roseanne’s political commentary has come to feel like bullying. But another part of that role is commanding the gravity of the narrative. The camera still starts and stops on Roseanne in the iconic opening credit sequence, but she has effectively ceded the moral center of the show.

Darlene was always the most independent of the Conner children. But she was also the most like Roseanne: irreverent, acerbic, thrilled by her capacity to undercut others’ expectations of her, yet blessed with a seemingly innate ethical clarity. She wasn’t scared to wound others, and yet, like her mother, she was secretly sensitive. Roseanne used those qualities to school her children and prepare them to be better people in the world. And what makes the new Roseanne work — despite its star, and what’s become of her — is the show’s willingness to let Darlene use the same strategies on her own parents. Roseanne remains committed to a certain sort of realism. But this time, part of that realist project is allowing a feminist daughter to reject the cynicism of her mother and forge her own path forward. ●

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caredogstips · 7 years

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6 Foreign Words So Dark There Are No English Equivalents

Here at Cracked, we frequently examine through foreign dictionaries to find the most kickass statements that we wish we had in English. Nonetheless, there are a handful of mottoes from around the world that are shorthand for common situations that are so horrible, we’re overjoyed we’ve never needed to adopt them into Americaspeak. For instance …

# 6. Geisterfahrer / Falschfahrer ( German)

Means: a person who deliberately drives into oncoming traffic.

Literally restated, geisterfahrer necessitates “ghost driver.” That’s vaguely unsettling in a Nicolas Cage movie sort of way, but that’s not why we’ve chosen it for this list. No, to memorize why this statement did the piece for “things we’re glad we, as Americans, never have to say”, you must consider a few acts: A) The parole is German, so automatically you get the sense of something ominous loiter just beneath the surface, like a troll in the basement of that delightful clock-making house in the Black Forest; B) This is a common enough appearance in Germany to authorize its own statement specially designed to warn natives; and C) Germany is the home of the autobahn, which is the closest any of us will get to Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior in our lifetimes TAGEND To be fair, our dad drove like this on American roadways each and every summer vacation .

Now picture this madness, but with someone driving in the opposite attitude into oncoming traffic. On role. That’s a geisterfahrer.

Why would anyone do something so objectively lunatic? Well, some haunt moves do it for nothing more than the lulz, bruh. Others are straight-up suicidal, such as the specter driver who very nearly vehicularly manslaughtered the superintendent of Bavaria. In all franknes, this was a extremely Bavarian event to do.

Of course, the German authority couldn’t officially have the world thinking that their roads are haunted by a knot of foolhardy ghost motorists, so they decided to try and come up with a different mention: falschfahrer , or “wrong drivers.” This is admittedly a much less startling word, but when you’re trying to convey to sightseers that your supersonic road is rarely blighted by madman trying to effect head-on conflicts at hundreds of miles an hour, perhaps startling is what you want.

Or at least fearing enough so that they are able to don’t laugh at your signalings .

# 5. Korova ( Russian)

Means: It literally translates to moo-cow, but given this context it’s “a guy you take along on a prison snap so you can eat him later.”

The Russian Gulag system is one of the greatest examples of both governments succeeding in exactly what they hoped to achieve — a place where prisoners could literally labour themselves to extinction rendering free labor for the Motherland, because continuing prisons where the goals and targets is to keep captives alive is expensive, and executings cost money, more. Why not kill two birds with one rationed potato?

Scattered all across the country, these forced labor camps were not only where the Soviet Union stashed away their most violent convicts, but also those imprisoned of things as petty as fraud or malcontent( the legal expression for pronouncing ill of Joseph Stalin’s mustache ). At the system’s flower in the mid-2 0th century, millions of beings were interned in the work camp. Predicaments there were so subhuman that the only conclude the Gulag’s cliques takes a historical backseat to the Nazis’ concentration camps is that the Soviet Union helped demolish Hitler.

“Didn’t you guys round-up like a billion Japanese people? Glass lives, comrade.”

The point is, anyone stuck in these camps was perhaps thinking about escape more than half of the time. The trouble with flee, beyond somehow getting past all the armed protects, was the fact that most of these cliques were located out in the middle of frozen fucking nowhere. So even if you didn’t get shot by snipers or torn apart by hounds as we seek to flee, you would still wind up dying of revelation or starvation somewhere in the Siberian tundra like Jack Nicholson in The Shining .

Resourceful prisoners soon had a splendid solution for this, however. While they couldn’t precisely parcels a boxed lunch for their escape, they could pack something even more nourishing that — best of all! — didn’t even need to be carried. We’re pertaining, of course, to a korova : some simple-hearted, trusting( and preferably chubby) friend inmate who you are invited to join your escape. Then, formerly you both manufactured it out and into the icy wastelands, this sorry dupe became an unwitting slaughter swine, much like an actual cow.

“So how are the spices and sauces you brought supposed to help get past this? “ “Shut up and continue whittle! ”

And in case you’re not already sounding out a horrified gasp through a barely contained sip of puking, keep in mind that trudging across a frozen desert clears starting a fervour damn near impossible. Therefore, the parts of a korova that were eaten were only those that is able depleted raw( like the kidneys ), and cleansed down with a generous swig of heated blood from his gouting arteries. And all of this just so you can flee back to your life in Soviet Russia .

# 4. Rhaphanidosis ( Greek)

Means: jostle a horseradish beginning up an adulterer’s ass.

Throughout history, governments have tried like hell to legislate the decency of their citizens, because if there’s one thing that incantations doom for any society, it’s consenting adults having copulation with one another in the privacy of their own dwellings. As such, historical judicial systems notoriously devised extreme measures of sanction “thats been” every bit as colorful as the alleged crime, if not more so. For example, the ancient Greeks — founders of such lauded achievements as democracy and the God of War dealership — devised a figure of being subjected to torture known as rhaphanidosis , which consisted of pantsing an adulterer and planting a horseradish spring in the offender’s anus. Please note that this practice does not result in the growth of a health new horseradish plant.

Now, in addition to looking like a merciless monster dick, horseradish root is famously spicy. The oils in the vegetable would react violently with the delicate layers of the rectum, ensuing in the convict having to sit and think about what he’d done while his asshole was being torn apart by flaming beetles. We suppose it was only marginally preferable to being slaughtered by your paramour’s partner, which he would have been totally within his rights to do.

“You know what? Go ahead and kill me. Here’s a knife.”

Here at Cracked, we frequently search through foreign glossaries to find the most kickass words that there is a desire we had in English. However, there are a handful of phrases from around the world that are shorthand for common situations that are so horrific, we’re overjoyed we’ve never needed to adopt them into Americaspeak. For speciman …

# 6. Geisterfahrer / Falschfahrer ( German)

Means: a person who deliberately drives into oncoming traffic.

Literally translated, geisterfahrer necessitates “ghost driver.” That’s vaguely unsettling in a Nicolas Cage movie sort of way, but that’s not why we’ve chosen it for this list. No, to learn why this word induced the slashed for “things we’re glad we, as Americans, never have to say”, you must consider a few occasions: A) The parole is German, so automatically you get the sense of something sinister lurking exactly beneath the surface, like a troll in the cellar of that entertaining clock-making house in the Black Forest; B) This is a common enough occurrence in Germany to authorize its own text specially designed to warn immigrants; and C) Germany is the home of the autobahn, which is the closest any of us will get to Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior in our lifetimes TAGEND To be fair, our papa drove like this on American highways each and every summer vacation .

Now picture this madness, but with person driving in the opposite guidance into oncoming transaction. On purpose. That’s a geisterfahrer.

Why would anyone do something so objectively lunatic? Well, some specter operators do it for nothing more than the lulz, bruh. Others are straight-up suicidal, such as the specter driver who very nearly vehicularly manslaughtered the minister of Bavaria. In all franknes, this was a very Bavarian circumstance to do.

Of course, the German government couldn’t officially have the world thinking that their routes are recurred by a bunch of reckless haunt motorists, so they decided to try and come up with a different refer: falschfahrer , or “wrong drivers.” This is admittedly a much less startling word, but when you’re trying to convey to tourists that your supersonic road is occasionally plagued by madman trying to stimulate head-on collisions at hundreds of miles an hour, perhaps startling is what you want.

Or at least fearing enough so that they are able to don’t laugh at your signalings .

# 5. Korova ( Russian)

Means: It literally translates to moo-cow, but given this context it’s “a guy you take along on a prison crack so you can eat him later.”

The Russian Gulag system is one of the greatest a few examples of a government been successful at exactly what they hoped to achieve — a place where prisoners could literally drive themselves to demise generating free strive for the Motherland, because retaining prisons where the goals and targets is to keep hostages alive is expensive, and executions cost money, very. Why not kill two birds with one rationed potato?

Scattered all across the country, these forced labor camps were not only where the Soviet Union stashed away their more violent sinners, but likewise those convicted of things as petty as crime or malcontent( the law word for communicating affliction of Joseph Stalin’s mustache ). At the system’s peak in the mid-2 0th century, millions of parties were interned in the internment camp. Plights there were so subhuman that the only rationale the Gulag’s cliques takes a historical backseat to the Nazis’ concentration camps is that the Soviet Union facilitated defeat Hitler.

“Didn’t you guys round-up like a billion Japanese parties? Glass residences, comrade.”

The point is, anyone stuck in these cliques was perhaps thinking about flee more than half of the time. The problem with escape, beyond somehow going past all the forearmed patrols, was the fact that most of these cliques were located out in the middle of frozen fucking nowhere. So even if you didn’t get shot by snipers or torn apart by bird-dogs while trying to escape, you are able to still wind up dying of exposure or famine somewhere in the Siberian tundra like Jack Nicholson in The Shining .

Resourceful inmates soon had a splendid solution for this, nonetheless. While they couldn’t exactly pack a boxed lunch for their flee, they could pack something even more nourishing that — excellent of all! — didn’t even need to be carried. We’re citing, of course, to a korova : some simple-hearted, relying( and preferably chubby) companion inpatient whom you invited to join your flee. Then, formerly you both cleared it out and into the icy barrens, this sorry dupe became an unwitting carnage animal, much like an actual cow.

“So how are the spices and sauces you brought supposed to help get past this? “ “Shut up and stop cutback! ”

And in case you’re have not yet been gurgling out a horrified gasp through a scarcely contained mouthful of vomiting, keep in mind that trudging across a frozen desert induces starting a ardor damn nearly impossible. Hence, the parts of a korova that were eaten were only those that could be exhausted raw( like the kidneys ), and soaked down with a generous swig of warm blood from his gouting veins. And all of this just so you can flee back to your life in Soviet Russia .

# 4. Rhaphanidosis ( Greek)

Means: jostle a horseradish root up an adulterer’s ass.

Throughout history, governments have tried like hell to legislate the ethic of their citizens, because if there’s one thing that spells fate for any society, it’s consenting adults having sex with one another in the privacy of their own homes. As such, historic judicial systems notoriously bequeathed extreme measures of penalty that were every bit as colorful as the alleged crime, if not more so. For instance, the ancient Greeks — authors of such lauded achievements as democracy and the God of War dealership — devised a kind of torture known as rhaphanidosis , which consisted of pantsing an adulterer and planting a horseradish spring in the offender’s anus. Please note that this practice does not result in the growth of a health brand-new horseradish plant.

Now, in addition to looking like a relentless monster dick, horseradish root is famously spicy. The petroleums in the vegetable would react violently with the fragile layers of the rectum, developing in the sinner having to sit and think about what he’d done while his asshole was being torn apart by flaring beetles. We believe it was only marginally preferable to being slaughtered by your paramour’s husband, which he would have been totally within his rights to do.

“You know what? Go onward and kill me. Here’s a knife.”