#Black solidarity until its time to listen to any Black person who lives at an axis of oppression that you don't then its fuck em right?

[thottybrucewayne]

When I say "I'm rooting for everybody Black," I mean I'm including Black people who are usually overlooked outside and within the community. Black people whose Blackness becomes conditional the second they confront other Black people about bigotry within our community (Transmisogynoir, Transphobia, homophobia, ableism, sanism, etc.) not abusers and coons...

#thotty speaks #thotty rants #its solidarity this and solidarity that until a Black person who has delusions tells you that saying shit like 'delulu' hurts them #Black solidarity until its time to make a joke about famous abuse survivors #Black solidarity until its time to discuss ableist language being taken as aave #Black solidarity until its time to listen to any Black person who lives at an axis of oppression that you don't then its fuck em right? #Then if they criticize you they cease to be Black right? #Its funny cause I never see yall take this same stance of conditional Blackness when it comes to abusers and predators #Yall can say 'they always trying to take down a strong Black brother a leader in the community' and the nigga you pointing has done nothing #but use his power and influence to harm people further marginalized than him and doing it all under the image of a 'Good Christian Brother' #I'm tired of yall I swear to God

[orikoaurora]

Can Palestinian Lives Matter?

“Palestinians don’t exist,” they said. With time this moment would blur, but not fade, mingling with innumerable interactions in which strangers would likewise inform me of my nonexistence. In that moment, though, it was a wholly new experience. I felt the brief flicker of a laugh before the sick sense of outrage landed in my gut. Before I could find the words to respond, the accuser was gone.

How strange, to tell a living, breathing human being, to their face, that they are “unreal.” And what would be the proper defense? How does one reply to a delusion?

Because something happens at the mention of that word Palestinian. In the moment it is uttered.

Palestinians as a people, are visible but rarely seen. We do not “exist” as others do; we have neither a formal country nor any economic or military power to speak of. We have a history and culture, but these are eroded and appropriated more with every passing year. Mostly, we are collectively obscured by what people think they know, what they think we are: threats, troublemakers, terrorists.

This is how we can be in so many headlines and yet die such endless deaths. We die, in part, because that is what the world expects of us. Our name is invoked only in connection to brutality and strife, which are presented as inevitable, our natural state. Reports read like weather reports: The “climate” “heats up” then “boils over” into “another wave of violence.” Our casualties are like the seasons — a crop of dead every few years, usually in Gaza.

All this because we are among the world’s disposable people. What kills us is not only Israeli state violence but the international community’s collective failure to imagine us as human beings. It is the same failure that has allowed so many Black bodies to be murdered in the broad daylight of viral videos, with so little systemic change. As Elizabeth Alexander has written, “Black bodies in pain for public consumption have been an American national spectacle for centuries.” With such a violent collective memory, it’s no wonder white Americans have been so egregiously slow and equivocal in responding to anti-Black violence. For who is more visible in the U.S. than a Black person? Yet who is the most seldom seen?

This is the lethal contradiction that generations of Black intellectuals and activists have worked to dismantle. The “problem of the color line,” as W.E.B. DuBois called it, will only be solved when the U.S., as a whole, grasps the full humanity of Black people, who have been systematically dehumanized. There can be no going forward, in short, until the U.S. internalizes the most basic truth that Black Lives Matter.

In this way, the U.S. and Israel confront a similar moral failing: Years of intentional disenfranchisement, abuse of and theft from a people in the name of another group’s supremacy — in one case, under the banner of whiteness, and in the other, Zionism. Both have gambled on their ability to suppress these peoples’ efforts to resist their oppression, through the means of mass incarceration, state violence, and legal discrimination. And both have seen that even the most brutal crackdowns cannot squelch the human spirit forever.

Black Americans has shown us, again and again, that they will not allow themselves to be made unreal — and this last year, many more people seemed to listen. For Black Americans who routinely face state violence, the murder of George Floyd was tragically unsurprising. Yet this particular death seemed to penetrate the larger American imagination, managing, somehow, to puncture the gloss of indifference with its sheer visceral force, its specificity. Floyd was seen as an individual, a human being, and his name became a movement. “Black Lives Matter” had a resurgence, thanks in part to the sudden recognition by white Americans of a particular Black life, and death.

Palestinians were quick to respond to the George Floyd movement, protesting in solidarity, drawing parallels between their own experiences of mass incarceration, militarized law enforcement, legal discrimination, knees on civilian necks. Floyd’s face decorated stretches of the Israeli barrier wall, alongside murals of Palestinians killed by Israeli police and soldiers, including Iyad Hallaq, an unarmed man with autism, shot on his way home from school. Floyd’s death also prompted discussions in the Palestinian and wider Arab communities about their own anti-Blackness. This internationalism is not new: For years, Palestinian activists have looked to the American civil rights movement, the South African struggle against apartheid, and others for inspiration. They have also offered their solidarity and support to movements abroad, including the Standing Rock protests and other efforts for Indigenous rights.

Perhaps something, this time, will be different. With the newfound skepticism of law enforcement and incarceration wrought by the George Floyd movement, many in the “woke” world seem to have found resonance with the scenes of Palestinian civilian protests throughout the territories and Israel, launching marches of their own around the globe. Perhaps, after a year in which the words “decolonization” and “intersectionality” have become memes, in which social media has become a streamlined highway for outrage and mobilization, this “clash” will be recognized at last for what it is: a fight for the Palestinian right to be human.

Such a shift would be a breakthrough: Just as the U.S. will remain haunted until Black lives are fully, truly, and equally valued, there can be no peace in Israel-Palestine until all the lives involved are reckoned with as human. Such a reckoning is understandably terrifying for nations built on the systematic denial of certain humanities, but there is no other way. And if the last year has taught us anything, it is that no odds can outmatch the individual’s need for dignity.

“The myths of self-defense” — Israel’s — “and both sides are becoming more and more penetrable,” Mohammed el-Kurd, whose family is facing forced displacement from their home in Sheikh Jarrah, said in a CNN interview this week. “People are being able to see through these myths and call an occupation for what it is and an aggressor for what it is.”

And perhaps, too, they will begin to see us.

#free palestine #gazaunderattack #palestinian lives matter #savesheikhjarrah #free gaza #save palestine #plm #black lives still matter #palestine #freepalestine

[dabilove27]

How Far We've Come

Paring: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Smut (female-receiving oral), A Cocky Dabi, Cussing, A lot of Pet Names

Word Count: 7.8K

A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile Apocalypse Collab! If you have the time check out some of the other amazing pieces! Everyone has worked so hard to make some beautiful fics!

Thank you so much to my wife @lady-lunaaa for reading, encouraging, brainstorming, and helping me the whole way from start to finish. I have said it before but I will say it again. You are absolutely amazing and this fic wouldn't exist without you! 💜 Also thank you @/deathcab4daddy (not sure if you want to be tagged) for taking the time to read through and for your advice!

You've seen all those movies, the decaying zombie hoards, the massive explosions that wipe out nations, or an unexpected illness that mysteriously kills off the population. But you had never really expected for any of those apocalyptic things to become true in your own world.  They were just fiction, never something that could actually occur. Yet here you are faced with the reality of a hoard of rotting zombies. Like you have been thrown into one of the many movies or TV shows yourself.

People aren't even sure how it happened, especially in a world full of quirks where this should be somewhat controlled, right? Wrong, whatever caused this zombie apocalypse also seemed to nullify quirks over time. There was so much speculation whether it came into the water supply or passed through the air. But none of that really seems to matter anymore when you are fighting for your life every day.

And as the mass of decaying, walking corpses steps closer and closer to you, it seems like your end is near too. The smell of organs exposed to the air and sun stink up the room.  You can see the blank, milky white eyes of the undead that somehow can still find you even though they can't really see.  You've had a partner, at least—the man who has stood with you during this entire shit show.

He stands close to you, a single rusted knife covered in stagnant blood, not nearly enough even combined with whatever you could find for fighting off the seemingly endless mindless bodies coming your way. He's covered in burn scars and rusted staples that pull at his healthy skin. People used to jab at him for looking like the walking dead before all this went down.  His firepower from before would have solved this problem in an instant. This rotting mob wouldn't have stood a chance.

But instead, it looks like it's the conclusion for the two of you. Memories flash through your mind. A memory of escaping the daily struggle of your mundane life by sharing take-out on your old couch.  Or how his kisses always felt like burning flames against your lips.  Your regular life consisted of trying to numb the pain of the past with alcohol or working endless hours.  Even though you didn’t have a traditional relationship where you could go on public dates, being in a relationship with a well-known villain was worlds better than this. But if you were going to die, at least it was together. Solidarity in times like this seems to help the never-ending dread that the Reaper looming around every corner ready to take you.  Every moment in this new hell had you wished you had more time to develop your romance with him instead of the tragedy that was about to befall you. You wished you had more time with this romance and that it wouldn't end in tragedy. It's hard to believe that there was ever a time when you couldn't stand this man, but even now, that's a fond memory for you.  You would give anything to return to that old bar where the two of you met and relive all of these memories.

It really isn't a surprise that you met Dabi in a dark, run-down bar near Kamino.  No, not the "bar" run by Kurogiri; everyone who lived in this area knew that it was just a setup. This bar is a tiny little hole in the wall with paint chipping off the walls and where the seats were hardly held together anymore, but that didn't really matter to people who lived in this area. You didn't come to this bar for a luxury experience.

The main reason people came to this bar was its location.  It sat deep in a seedy area which meant no police patrolling nearby so you wouldn’t need to look over your shoulder constantly.  Plus, the cheap liquor was enticing enough.

Every Friday night, you were perched on one of the worn-out bar stools as you nursed your gin and tonic.  This was your place to unwind after another hellish week of your mundane job.  It was still early enough in the evening that the bar wasn't thoroughly packed with bodies trying to get their drink.  The music was still soft,  later it would blare whatever song was currently sitting at the top of the Billboard charts. You were able to turn your brain off and listen to other patrons' mindless chatter in the background.  You could just sip your drink, maybe take a shot or two if you felt like, and then head home to pass out.

You relished this little getaway, an oasis in the slums that made up your small world.  The bartender and regular patrons didn't bother you, so you could have your own peace.  But your Eden got interrupted by a cocky, fire-wielding asshole who had set his sights on you.

You didn't stir when said asshole plopped himself down in the barstool next to you with a thump.  It wasn't until the jerk actually spoke to you that you were brought out of your mindless daydreaming.

"Hey, pretty girl, what are you doing in a place like this?"  He said with a smooth tone.  You didn't even have to look at him to know he had an arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

Who the fuck does this asshole think he is? The irritated thought instantly pops into your head.  Anyone who frequented this bar knew you were from around here.  You weren't some soft, delicate flower that wasn't supposed to be "on this side of town."  Preparing yourself by putting on your best "I'm not interested face," you maneuvered your body to face him, ready to tell him off.

Your words caught in your throat as your eyes met his two endless pools of cerulean.  Your gaze shifted to take in the burnt skin clinging onto the shining staples that were rooted in his healthy skin. A familiar black coat spread across his frame that was even more recognizable than those eyes, and the patronizing smile that you wanted to slap off his face. As much as you wanted to throw up your middle finger at him and tell him off, you knew who this was. Hell, everyone knew who this was.

The League of Villains didn't necessarily keep quiet around here. They didn't have to. This is the area where they recruited people to join them. You didn't just flick off and ignore a LOV member. Especially the infamous Dabi, who wasn't really known for his kindness or compassion. More for his ability to burn anyone who defied The League to a crumbling crisp.

But still, who did this asshole think he is? Waltzing in here like he owned it and saddling down into your escape from the world only to tell you that you don't look like you should be here?  Fuck that nonsense, League member or not.

You swallow down a bit of the initial anger as your eyes narrow into a glare at the cocky asshole.  "Thanks but no thanks, I'm not interested in being involved with the League. So if you don't mind going somewhere else to scout, that would be great." You try to say without a tremble in your voice as you wave your hand in a "shoo" motion.

You aren't sure what you expect Dabi to do next., burn down the whole bar you included? Tell you that you have no choice but to join, and you're coming with him? Rip you out of your seat and reprimand you for disrespecting The League? But instead, none of those things happen.  Instead, he does something you don't expect, and his grin grows a little wider as the staples begin to pull more at his healthy flesh.

You can feel your anxiety rising. Get out, get out, get out, this asshole will kill you, leave NOW, your mind is practically sending off every warning signal it can.

Your chest tightens when Dabi lets out a low chuckle. "Oh no, sweetheart, you've got it all wrong."  He says with a dark tone. "I'm not recruiting you for work. My interest in you is personal."  Dabi points at you and then at himself and finishes with an infuriating smirk that seems to be mocking you.  He's moved his hand and placed it on your forearm that was resting on the smooth bar top.

A shiver runs through you as the mismatched textures of his skin and the cool metal of the staples.  You feel your anger bubbling up again.  How dare this jerk think that you will just fall for him like a desperate fangirl.  You are livid at this point, frustration coursing through your veins, fuck the niceties and preservation. He needed to be put in his place.

"I know you think you are some big shot because The League is doing so well right now but fuck off asshole.  I'm not a League groupie that will just kneel down and suck your dick just because you want it." You spit out at him while shrugging off his hand and moving your body to face the way you were initially sitting. Grasping your drink and lifting it to your lips, you try and down what was left so you could leave immediately, any extra moment around Dabi was a moment you didn't want to have.

You were sure Dabi would have given up or at least killed you by now. You can't imagine that he is used to being rejected by women.  He's handsome in a way that doesn't fit with the norm.  He fills in that bad boy check-list like it's his job, which it practically is given his profession.  Again though, Dabi surprises you with his response. He doesn't yell, he doesn't use his quirk, and he doesn't kill you. He lets out another dark chuckle like he's enjoying this and continues the conversation you had tried to cut off.

"I didn't say anything about sucking dick, but if you're offering, who am I to turn down a gift?"  That smooth tone is back as he moves his hand to your hair and runs it through his fingers.

Bewilderment overcomes you, and you can't even stop yourself before you are turned towards him again, glass in your hand, ready to throw what's left of your drink on him.

As if he anticipated the response, Dabi moves quickly and grabs your wrist in a tight grip.  "Now, why would you want to waste what you have left, doll? That's not a very smart choice." His grip tightens a little more around your wrist, and you can feel the staples begin to dig into your skin as he lets out a deep chuckle. He moves your hand back down to the bar but doesn't let go even after your glass has left your hand.  "There we go, good girl.  Now let's talk just a bit." He says sweetly, loosening his grip just a bit, but not enough for you to move your hand.

If looks could kill, Dabi would have died a cruel death by now. You are seething at this point.  But instead, you're stuck there as he continues to do whatever it is that he’s trying to accomplish.  "What were you drinking?  I'll buy you another one and then leave, okay doll?"  He says playfully and with a cunning grin on his face as you mumble out your drink order.  You just want him to leave, and you really hope he plans on keeping his word.

Dabi motions for the bartender's attention, gives your drink order and plops a few bills on the bartop. He still hasn't let go of your wrist, and each and every moment he is even touching you, you can feel your annoyance continuing to build.  You want to ask him if he's done yet and will kindly get the fuck out, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he likes the cat and mouse game, which would just lengthen the amount of time he sticks around.

The bartender finally delivers your drink, and it takes everything in you not to rip your wrist out of his grasp and grab the new glass to pour over Dabi's head.  "Okay, one last question, and then I'll leave."  He drawls out as you put all your focus into the condensation forming on your glass.  You stay silent, waiting for his stupid question so you can move on and never see him again.  Dabi continues with that condesending tone that is starting to cause your head to ache, "How often do you come here? I'd love to see you again."

Your heartbeat picks up, and little shots of adrenaline start to flow through you as you contemplate how to respond. Of course, you don't want this asshole to know when you come here. This is your escape from the world. You never want to even see Dabi again,  but something from this interaction tells you Dabi isn't going to give up easily. So you tell him your regular time that you show up at the bar every Friday.

Dabi squeezes your wrist a little bit before letting out another "Good girl, sounds like a date.  I'll see you then." You never want him to know how those few words send a shiver down your spine. He saunters out of the bar without having a single drink himself. Patrons stare dumbfounded between you and the doorway that Dabi just exited, trying to comprehend what just happened.

You let out an exasperated sigh before leaning your head down into your folded arms.  The bar top isn't necessarily the cleanest of places to lay your head, but it’s pounding and racing with thoughts, and you can't really bring yourself to care right now.  You try to formulate a plan so you won't ever see him. You'll just move your regular day to Saturday instead of Fridays.  But then that stubborn anger flares inside of you again, and you sit up straight, glancing at your newly unwanted drink as the ice slowly melts, lifting the remaining liquid in the cup.  No, I'm not going to let that asshole ruin my spot for me.  He can come around here every Friday, but I'll turn that jerk down a million times. You think a little smugly to yourself.  We will see how the big bad Dabi feels being turned down over and over.  Maybe that will sting his ego.

And so you and Dabi play this game of cat and mouse. He comes every Friday when you are there without fail, buying you a drink, chatting to you with sentences filled with pet names, and planning another "date" each time.  And every time you tell him you aren't interested or to go away, or really anything to try and get that stupid fucking smirk off his face.  But it always remains cemented there as he watches you get fired up.  And what you don't realize is the two of you are getting to know each other.  Dabi adds in little questions, "what's your favorite food, least favorite, what do you do for work?"  And the questions go on and on.  You don't realize your walls coming down as the two of you find similarities in each other.  And if there is one thing anyone who sees these frequent interactions between the two of you can say, it is that Dabi is determined.

You are so used to Dabi's Friday visits that they don't bring headaches anymore, and you realize something more has developed when he doesn't show up one week.  A mixture of feelings rests in you, anxiety, confusion, anger.  You wonder if he's okay, or has he finally given up.  And then anger if he has.  You don't want to admit it, but you miss his company, and you don't even have a number to reach out to him.  You feel a sense of loss in your chest.  How could he just give up?  He's been trying for months!  You think as tears begin to sting for a moment in your eyes.

You leave the bar that night not feeling uplifted or relaxed but sad and angry.  And you aren't necessarily looking forward to returning the week after, but you do come back to your regular spot and hope Dabi will show.  Your heart almost stops in your chest when you see him walk through the entrance of the bar, and before you can contain the words, they tumble out in a frantic sound, "where were you last week?"  You are standing in front of him now, looking up at that little grin he always has on his face whenever you get annoyed with him.  You cross your arms over your chest and exclaim, "Well? I'm waiting."

"Aw, did you miss me, baby girl?"  His poker face never falls, but his grin grows a tiny bit wider as he stares into your fiery eyes.  And without warning, he wraps one of his long arms around you, pulling you into a tight side hug.

A small eep escapes you at the movement, and you move to push him off.  "What the hell are you doing? Answer my question, you jerk!" You practically yell as you push away from him.  He doesn't let go and just pulls you tighter to him, and you find yourself not struggling anymore as you take in the weathered texture of his coat pressed against your arm and the smell of cigarettes on him.  You feel your walls starting to fall entirely, "I was really concerned about you." You let out in a whisper, not really wanting to admit it to him, but you weren't sure how you would feel if something like this happened again.

"Aw, babe, you did miss me."  The delight in his voice makes you shiver a little.  He gestures you over to your regular spot at the bar, and the two of you sit down in the weathered chairs.  He puts a calloused finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his.  You stare into his cerulean depths that you used to hate and find yourself softening a bit.  "I had to do something for The League, but I don't have your number, love.  So I couldn't call and let you know I wouldn't make our date."  His face relaxes a bit as he watches your frown turn into a bit of pout.

"Okay, well fine, I'll give you my number.  But don't just text me randomly, okay?"  You huff as you lay your palm flat and motion for his phone.  Dabi chuckles and shakes his head before handing you the phone without another word.  Lifting the phone, you type your number into the cracked screen and hand it back to him.  "Okay, now text me, so I have yours. " You say, moving to grab your phone to wait for his upcoming text.

"Hmmm, I don't think so, doll,"  Dabi says, taking in your furrowed brow and then relishing in the way you roll your eyes at his taunting.

"Fine, whatever, Dabi.  Just text me next time you can't make it."  You say sourly while searching for the bartender to order your drink.  You don't want Dabi to see the slight sting of hurt in your eyes because he won't give you his.  The rest of the night goes as expected, drinking and talking, and you find yourself laughing more, not realizing how much you truly enjoyed this time with him.

The two of you depart with another hug, this one much shorter than the first, but you find yourself leaning into the warmth that radiates from him instead of wanting to push him off.  As you begin walking down the street home, you feel a buzz in your pocket.  Pulling out your phone, you unlock it to the message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Hey babe, see you same time next week - D

A small smile comes to your face as you type a response back.

The following year you grow in your relationship with Dabi.  There are never really any titles between the two of you.  Just that the two of you are together.  You never meet The League. Dabi is insistent you aren't involved with them in case things go awry.  But you spend a lot of time together when work or villain work doesn't take up the time.

Your relationship together comes to a head at the very start of the apocalypse.  The two of you sit snuggled together on your worn-out couch watching the news as a young reporter stands in front of a local research building in town and goes through the facts of citizens becoming "mindless and violent in a matter of hours."  And how they have people under lockdown who are experiencing symptoms of this "mysterious illness."

A slight shiver goes through you as the reporter goes on.  "That's really scary. No one knows what's causing it,"  you reflect aloud while you lean in closer into Dabi's outstretched arm that is resting around your shoulders.

"Aw, babe, don't be scared.  Those mindless fools wouldn't stand a chance if they tried to lay a hand on you while I'm there,"  Dabi says with a glint of amusement in his voice.  He always sounds so condescending, but you know it's the truth.  Remembering a time at the bar when a guy wouldn't take no for an answer-not that Dabi really followed that either- but Dabi didn't hesitate to let the guy know you were already taken.  He flirts and likes to jab a lot, but there’s a complete shift in the atmosphere when he's serious.

"Ugh, Dabi, you know I don't mean them attacking us. It's whatever is causing it that worries me. What happens if one of us gets it?  There's no cure right now,"  You say and worry your lower lip between your teeth.

Dabi picks up on your anxious state, and his cocky facade fades.  He pulls you on his lap so that you are fully facing him with legs pressed on either side of his.  Dabi holds one large hand on your waist, and the other he presses to your cheek.  Leaning your cheek further into his hand, Dabi moves his thumb to trace over the slight marks in your lip where your teeth were just placed.  "Hey, listen to me, nothing is going to happen, okay?  I won't let any of these maniacs hurt you, and we won't catch whatever they have,"  Dabi says tenderly as he gives you a small smile.

It's nice to see him like this- when his mask of superiority disappears, and he's focused on encouraging you.  It doesn't happen often because you like to keep walls.  Comfort from Dabi doesn’t need to happen often but you can’t say you don’t like it when he does.  You enjoy these softer moments with him that only you get to see.

You pull Dabi into a light kiss.  The gentle pressure of his mismatched lips fit seamlessly against yours.  You pull away after a moment to look into his deep blue eyes that now captivate you.  Dabi has that coy smile still on his face, and as his eyes meet your in that moment, it's like the horrible events of the world aren't happening anymore.  All that seems to exist is the two of you, not the TV still prattling in the background or even the noises outside your city window.

Dabi lightly caresses your cheek down to the length of your neck and finally ending near where your collarbones sit.  Everywhere he touches leaves behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin.  Even with these simple touches, you can feel yourself starting moving against him, trying to create a bit of friction.  Dabi knew how easily he could rile you up with simple touches.  It was frustrating at times, and you wished you could have the same effect on him.

"I love you, babe.  And no matter what, I won't let anything hurt you,"  Dabi tells you, and you swear his voice seems to be cracking, but the moment is gone before you can think about it.  Dabi lives on being mysterious most of the time, and you rarely get to see this vulnerable side of him.  Even if he doesn't say it behind that mask of cockiness, you can feel that there is fear of what's happening right now.  Or at least that's what you think the fear is from, but Dabi will never admit the fear is from losing you to whatever this is.  He isn't sure he could survive this hell of a life he's been given without you.

Your heart aches at his sincere words from earlier, and you whisper back, "I love you too, Dabi."  Drawing him into a more intense kiss.  Dabi begins to run his fingers along the hem of your t-shirt and delicately brushes the skin right under with his fingertips.  You feel a moan bubble up inside of you, but his mouth moving against yours swallows the sound.

"I want you so bad, doll.  Let's just forget what's going on right now, let the world fall away,"  he says in a husky voice after breaking away from the kiss.

You nod to him before letting out a content sigh and letting your eyes fall shut while Dabi continues to trace his hands over your body.  Dabi trails his massive heated hands under the thin shirt you are wearing and down to your hips.  You can feel the bulge of his cock through his jeans as it begins to press against your clothed core.

Opening your eyes, you meet Dabi's half-lidded lustful eyes and bite your bottom lip and allow yourself to give into Dabi taking over you.

You can feel your heart beating a little faster, watching Dabi drink in every ounce of you.  Dabi is one of the only men you have ever trusted like this.  To have you so totally vulnerable.  It's strange how someone you didn't want anything to do with for months has become someone you rely on for everything- love, comfort, pleasure.

Dabi places open-mouthed kisses along your neck that leave you breathless.  "Fuck, I'm obsessed with every inch of you,"  Dabi growls out before returning to kissing and sucking your neck and exposed collar bone.

You grip Dabi's shoulder to ground you back from floating away into complete bliss and tip your head out to give him more access to your neck.  Dabi's mouth is like a flame that licks at your sensitive skin as he continues to trail his mouth all over.  You could be trapped in this pleasure forever.

Dabi grasps the back of your head and roughly brings your lips back to his.  With your mouths slotted against each other, you moan as Dabi finesses you to where you are lying on your back on the old couch, and he is hovering over you.

You break the kiss to quickly pull off his jacket and expose Dabi's scarred arms.  And just as you have only trusted Dabi fully with yourself, he has done the same.  Of course, the two of you have had sex with other people, mostly with lights off clothing still left on to hide the imperfections.  But with each other, there is no more hiding.

Heat begins to pool in your belly as you watch Dabi pull off your shorts and slide his warm hands all the way back up your leg and massage the plush skin of your thighs.  Once your shorts are removed, Dabi brings himself back to your face and, with a lustful sigh, traces kisses on your jaw and neck.

"Just relax and let me take you away from all of this, love.  I want to hear every sound you make." He growls as he moves down towards your pussy and lays himself between your spread legs.  Dabi lifts your thighs to rest on his shoulder as you let out a little gasp.  You can feel the excitement and heat rising in you.

Dabi kisses down the inside of your soft thighs and stops to suck at certain spots, leaving minor marks in their place.  He stops for a moment until you are looking directly into his captivating gaze, and then he licks a stripe up your pussy over the cotton of your underwear.  You let out a breathy moan at the sensation.   That jerk knows precisely what he's doing.

Dabi then grabs the thin material of your underwear and rips them away from your body with a tear. Groaning, you are about to curse at him for ruining another pair but are cut short when he sleekly licks up your folds. A delicate, playful moan leaves your separated lips.  Your eyes close, and you cling onto his white shirt to ground yourself.

"Baby girl, you're soaking wet," Dabi teases as if you weren't aware but cuts off any retort again with a quick suck to your aching clit. You can't hold back the loud moan that bubbles up in your throat.

Dabi smiles against your lower lips and continues his ministrations.   His mouth is open wide, so he can move back and forth from quickly licking up and down your sensitive pussy as well as suck softly on your clit.   You feel light-headed at the extended sensations, little whimpers and moans falling through your lips.  Dabi has always been able to leave you speechless with just his mouth.

"Dabi please," Your breathing hitches, and you moan out as he flicks his tongue repeatedly over your small bud. You can feel that hot pressure building in your stomach as Dabi continues. He laps at you like you are holding the only source of liquid left in this world, his tongue working wonders on your dripping hole.

Dabi pulls back and looks up at you as you eagerly meet his blue eyes, begging him to continue.  He smirks before lowering his mouth back down and laps at your sopping core teasingly.  Fucking bastard.  Always a tease from day one.

Dabi licks his lips before returning to eating you out even faster as a series of cries and obscenities continue to fall out of your mouth.  You can't hold them back.  His mouth is so hot and wet against your core.

With another curse, you tell him you are close. A sigh escapes your lips, and your head tosses back onto the cushy arm of the couch.  Dabi pulls away but inserts two fingers inside of you in place of his mouth.

"Fuck, sweetheart, as much as I want to hear you beg and plead for me,  I want to taste you right now."  Dabi lets out with a rough voice filled with desire.  You whimper as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.  He smirks at your blissed-out face and then returns his mouth to your pussy.  His tongue flicks over your clit repeatedly as whines and cries continue to be let out of your mouth.  Back arching, you bite at your lip, barely able to even process the words that came out of Dabi just a moment ago.

"Oh, fuck, Dabi, please. Please, I'm gonna cum soon." The words fall from your lips, and your mind feels numb to everything except the feeling of Dabi's tongue on your pussy.

Dabi grunts and gives another hard suck to your clit before pulling away just a bit.  "Hell yeah, babe, come all over my face."

Your eyes roll back, and your mouth opens with another cry as your legs begin to tremble as the tension starts to rise in your stomach. One more lick, and you know you'd come. Dabi's continued suckling of your clit sends you careening over the edge. Your cries fill the room, and your back arches as your legs try to squeeze around his head.  Dabi continues to suck and lick as you orgasm.  Panting and with your eyes twisted shut, you cling to his shirt as you start to come down.  A final curse gently leaves your mouth as you wait for your legs to stop shaking.  Dabi takes one last long slow lick before sitting back and wiping his face with the back of his hand.  You can't bring yourself to move from the couch, still panting and weak.

Your mind starts slowly coming back to you as the bliss begins to leave.  The realization of everything happening in the world washes over you.  But you were thankful Dabi took the time to distract you from the horrors of what's going on.  You move over so Dabi can cuddle with you on the couch.  It isn't much room, but it feels good to be this close with him, wrapped in each other's arms.  You both slowly start to drift off to sleep, but you don't miss Dabi's final words mumbled into your hair, "I'll never let anything happen to you."

Shortly after that, the world seems to descend into madness.  The illness grows more and more rampant.  People are getting infected every day.  Whether it's through the original source of contamination or by those contaminated biting or scratching someone.  Panic spreads throughout the country.  But through all of it, you and Dabi stick together.

From the moment it was declared an emergency Dabi was banging at your door, insisting the two of you find somewhere safer than your run-down apartment.  Because while the two of you needed sleep, whatever these things are could go non-stop, and your apartment was not fortified.

You and Dabi lost your quirks a month after the emergency declaration, along with the rest of the population. People couldn't fight these zombie-like creatures off anymore.  Like all the movies and TV shows, the bodies became more zombies than actual living people.

After a while of jumping around from a destroyed place to another, the two of you found yourself in an apartment building that had a sturdy enough entrance that the zombies couldn't break through.  The daily struggles were still hard, though. Finding food and water to survive became a daily task for the two of you.  Through all of this, he never left your side. He always insisted the two of you stay together.  And so you did.  Fighting the living dead, but sometimes the living too when things got even more terrible, and scavenging was your everyday routine now.

You lost track of time and could only follow when the seasons changed.  But Dabi was really the only thing getting you through this.  Seeing people destroy one another for food or shelter destroyed you inside.  Never knowing if these zombies you were killing were someone you had known at one point, or just another faceless dead person tore at every corner of your brain.  Dabi stayed strong for the two of you.  Holding you every night on the ripped blankets, you could gather for the strange bed the two of you slept in.  You would sob into his muscled chest about how you couldn't live in this world anymore, how you couldn't kill another person, alive or dead.

But Dabi would never let go.  He would hold you close and let your never-ending tears stain the only shirt he had now.  He would rub your back with his warm hands; even though his rusting staples would catch on your shirt and rip from his skin, he still did it.  He would hold you until you fell asleep, whispering how strong you were and how he could never do this without you.  And after all the tears, you were thankful too.  Because without him, you'd be dead or alone.  You knew that without Dabi, you would have never survived this long.

But you could see Dabi was hurting too.  You couldn't find supplies to treat his decaying skin.  He hid his daily pain from you, but when Dabi thought you weren't looking or listening, he would hiss at the pain of another staple pulling at his burnt skin or let out a huge sigh when he would try to put it back together, but it wouldn't cooperate.

The only hope the two of you held onto was each other and that possibly a cure would come soon.  Not that either you could really access that information with no electricity; there wasn't any way to get information other than hearsay.  You survived the best you could in this world.

And as much as this wasn't what you would have picked for either of you, at least you had each other.  You tried not to think of a time when you wouldn't be together, even though the chances of that happening were high- it hurt too much. To survive in this world without Dabi would be too fucking much.

It's almost as if fate chose to play a cruel game with the two of you.  It seemed like a "normal" trip out to scavenge for food and water.  The two of you had to expand your search area since places closer were mainly empty.

This time you found yourself outside of a convenience store, a reasonable distance away from your home.  It hadn't been completely destroyed by some miracle and was not overrun by the zombified people.  Still, in a state of decay, though, Dabi was quickly able to kick his heavy boots through the door and get the two of you in.

Sauntering through the gas station, you quickly begin to pick up canned food and stale bags of chips and shove them in your worn backpack.  Dabi is doing the same on other aisles until he lets out a chuckle.  "Hey babe, look what I found."  He says with a cocky voice holding up a few boxes of wrapped condoms above the aisle for you to see.

You roll your eyes.  "Thanks, Dabi. Is sex really what we want to be thinking about right now? Let's just get this shit and get out."  You let out with an annoyed huff and continue to push the limits of how much your bag can hold.

Dabi comes over to your aisle and snakes his arms around your waist with your back pressed to his chest.  He places his chin on your shoulder and whispers in your ear.  "Yes, all I can think about is getting your beautiful body back home and finally being able to finish in you, and with these, I can."  He lets out a dark chuckle as he pulls you closer against him and bucks  his hips playfully.

"Okay, horn dog, let's get this shit done, and then we can do whatever you want back home."  You let out with an eye roll.  It's hard to stay mad at him. You know he's trying to keep things light for you, to keep you happy because he can see how hard this is.  And his regular teasing is one way he knows will bring a smile to your face.

As you are finishing up trying to take inventory of anything else in the store that you can take back, you spot the clear plastic that holds the cartons of cigarettes behind the cashier counter.  While you didn't necessarily want Dabi smoking, you knew he missed the vice. Cigarettes were just as hard to find as medicine in this new world.  Smiling to yourself, you move behind the counter and reach for the plastic flap to lift it up.

As you try to lift the latch, it doesn't budge. You look around for what might be blocking it before seeing the tiny silver keyhole to one side of the compartment.  Crap, of course, it's locked.    You really wanted to surprise Dabi with this.  Maybe you still could. The key had to be here somewhere, right? You think while scanning around the counter.  You try searching through the counters for a hidden key but no luck.  Letting out a heavy sigh, you call Dabi over.

Dabi wanders over to your annoyed face and can't help but smile at your slight pout.  "I wanted to surprise you! But I can't open it. Can you get it, please?"  It comes out almost like a whine as you gesture to the cigarettes.

Dabi's smirk turns into a genuine smile, and he pats the top of your head before saying, "My sweet doll.  Thank you for thinking of me. Let me help you out."  You could smack him, but instead, you watch as he hastily rips the plastic covering away and slips his hand below it to grab one of the wrapped cartons.

At that moment, everything changes.  The fun times the two of you were having shatters as a loud alarm rings through the store.  Panic floods your system as you stare at Dabi wide-eyed.  "There is no electricity. What's happening? There shouldn't be an alarm."  Horror is laced in your voice as words spill out of you.  Every walking corpse within miles will be here soon with the sound.

"Fuck, must have had a battery attachment. Come on, let's go."  Dabi's usual playfulness is gone as he abandons the cigarettes and grabs your hand.  He's grave now.  Getting the two of you out of here safely is his only goal.

You follow Dabi quickly, a hand grasped tightly in his as he runs towards the broken-down front door.   And that's when even more terror settles into you.  Zombies are pushing their way through the open door.  Their rotting bodies and white eyes focused on the area where the alarm is coming from.  There weren't many around when you broke in, but now it seems like they are multiplying by the moment.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Dabi curses under his breath, quickly turning around and pulling you towards the building's back exit.  You follow behind adrenaline surging through your veins fueled by your flight response.  Dabi grasps at the metal handle to the back door and shakes it only to find it locked.  "Damnit!"  he shouts before kicking the door violently.

Your heart is pounding, and you feel helpless as you stare at Dabi while he continues to slam himself at the door.  While the front door was glass and flimsier, this door was only budging slightly.  With all your focus on the door, you don't notice the continuously growing herd filtering into the gas station.  Not until you feel one brush against your shoulder.

Your eyes widen as you feel a scream bubbling in your throat.  This is it.   This is where the two of you die and either become fodder for a herd of living dead or turn into one yourself.   Your brain is pure panic as thoughts fly through faster than you can catch them.  You don't even realize you have screamed out Dabi's name until you see his face turn towards yours.

His typically blue eyes are almost entirely covered by his dark pupils as he takes in the monstrosities behind you.  But unlike you, he doesn't hesitate. He pulls out a knife he keeps in one of his pockets and slams it into the decaying skull of the zombie that is right behind you.  Splurts of dark blood hit your cheek as he pulls out the knife, and the creature behind you crumples to the floor.

"Keep trying the door! I'll keep them off you."  Dabi shouts, pulling you into the spot he previously stood.  Your heartbeat is so loud you can feel it in your head, and you can't even make a coherent response as you begin to slam your body against the solid surface.  You can feel it give a little more with each push of your body, and everything in you is screaming not to give up.  Doing your best not to glance at Dabi's grunting and movements as he continues to try and put down zombie after zombie.

You can't give up; this can't be the end . Desperately your brain is screaming as you continue to feel the door give more and more.  Your shoulder hurts from the continued impact, but you aren't letting it slow you down.  You can feel it; it's almost there.

Suddenly the door gives, and you can see the sun shining through on the other side.  You cry out in  relief and turn back to tell Dabi to come with you.  But as your eyes meet, fear fills every ounce of you.

He's still fighting them off, but there is a gaping bite wound on his right arm— rows of teeth marks embedded in his skin.  You feel like you're going to be sick. There is no coming back from this; there's no known cure.  At any point within the next twenty-four hours, he would be another one of the walking dead, no sense, no logic, and looking to consume others. This can't be happening, this can't be happening.  Your heart is sinking with every second that ticks by.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Get out! Get out!"  Dabi screams at you as he embeds his knife in another zombie.

"No, no, I can't leave without you!  I-we can find something.  I'll find something, please! Come on, Dabi, I can't do this without you!"  You are sobbing now, hot tears streaming through the dirt and blood mixed on your face.  An ache in your heart starts to form.  You know you don't know how to help him, but you'll do anything to not leave him behind.

Dabi lets out a grin despite the feral dead people closing in on him.  And gives you a wink before saying in a voice that seems too calm for the situation, "Come on, doll, you are the most intelligent person I know.  You have to go.  Live for us, babe.  Look at how far we've come.  Go show this world that it won't ever break you down. I love you, and I'll come to find you wherever you are in the afterlife and annoy the shit out of you.  Now go!"

It's like your heart is being ripped into a thousand pieces. Your breath comes out in short huffs, moving towards hyperventilating.  You want to go back to Dabi and cling on for dear life, but you won't let him die in vain.  Not after that speech.  That would be an insult to everything the two of you have overcome.  So with all your strength, you give your lover, the man who has come so far with you, the last look before letting out a final "I love you too" and burst out the door.

You don't look back, aching feet propelling you forward as tears continue to stream and fall off your face.  When you first met Dabi, you would have never thought you'd miss him.  But you will , you'll miss every snarky comment, every flirty glance, and the tender way only he has loved you.  The man that you were sure was just some asshole trying to get laid became the love of your life and sacrificed himself so you could live.  And you could never let that go to waste.

#smut pile collab #Dabi x reader #Dabi smut #tw: character death #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #Dabi fanfiction #my fic #how far we've come

[donnies--jacket]

infodumping about my rottmnt self insert

hello,,,, i wanted to talk about my s/i,,,,,,,,, now im making you listen to me about it. enjoy my self insert nonsense, i love you mwah mwah

also it took way longer than it should have to write all this oh god

with my self inserts, they tend to fall into two categories. either "very complex and has a well thought out story and character arc" or "wdym i was just there"

my rottmnt insert is a bit of a mix of the two. which means i've thought about the personality and backstory and character dynamics a lot, but i dont know what the actual shit i'm doing during the events of the story GHSDGHGF-

but anyways

my insert is just. a bimbo. like i'm very, very sweet and surprisingly strong, but am also just fucking dumb. i'm like if a dog were a person, like, theres absolutely nothing going on up in that head of mine but by god am i full of love. i also may or may not have fleas, who knows.

i'm really chaotic too, usually by complete accident. i crave anarchy, but i hardly ever mean to actually cause it. most often times it's just me being my stupid bitchass adhd kid self and accidentally wreaking havoc.

when i ever actually try to be a menace, it doesnt really work out as well as i want it to. itll just come off as more cute than anything, like a little kid trying to be one of the adults.

speaking of cute, im actively the cutest person in the room. both in real life and in self inserts. you dont need any more elaboration than that, you know i'm right.

but yeah im just a feral, very cute bimbo and that's valid.

moving onto backstory, i've got a very big, but unfortunately not all too close family. and none of them really ever seem to acknowledge my existence, or any one else's for that matter. legit, my parents couldn't tell you how many kids they had (its 12) or what their names or ages are, and honestly none of us could do it either. we're all so disconnected from one another, and its unlikely that we will ever be close in the future.

(fun fact: i actually wrote it like this to directly contrast my tmnt 2012 s/i, who has a small but very tight-knit family. might talk about my 2012 insert sometime, who knows 👀.)

this is where april comes in. we met when we were little, and her family took me in and showed me what it meant to be a family. i mean, they didn't adopt me or anything like that, but honestly they may as well have. i practically live with them at this point, and actively call april my sister and her moms my parents.

this only gets more prominent when we meet the guys, and especially so with splinter, who takes on the role of a father figure to me.

imagine going all your life without a real family, and then finding two of them, both of which are three times the family you originally had.

can you tell found family is my favorite trope

ANYWAYS

character dynamic time

starting with april, i've already said that she's honestly just my feral older sister, which means that we're very, very close and love each other dearly, but also would gladly take the opportunity to hit the other with a bus. like, we'd give the other our kidney without a second thought, but would never let each other borrow our phone chargers.

but DEADASS, we're best friends. like we probably bought those cheesy matching bff necklaces when we were little and still have then now.

lowkey april and i can ninja mind meld, but its more like we intensely stare at each other from across the room and make over the top gestures until our brain waves finally link and we get what the other is trying to say.

leo and i are bimbo/himbo solidarity.

one of us is supposed to be the anchor for the other's chaos, but neither of us knows who it is. it changes pretty much every day.

tbh, leo and i are like. the type of friends who stay up until 4am playing sonic and the black knight while having in depth conversations about life. which i feel like paints a pretty clear picture of what our friendship is like; we love and understand each other very deeply, but are also just the dumbest bitches on earth.

(this is the part that took me like two days to bring myself to write haha oopsies)

mikey and i are like. bootleg april and donnie.

FHGDFHGDHFGD I KNOW THAT DOESNT MAKE MUCH SENSE BUT ITS THE BEST WAY I CAN EXPLAIN IT-

Like, we're immensely supportive of one another and are arguably bffs. We honestly are really just vibing a lot of the time. There's basically never any conflict between us, because we're both very understanding of one another and pretty down to earth.

basically we're april and donnie if you took out all the conflict.

raph and i are borderline also bimbo/himbo solidarity, but what sets us apart from leo and i is that he actually knows when to put a stop to our nonsense, similar to how he is with his brothers.

raph tends to parent me around a lot and can sometimes be very protective, but honestly i probably need it, i'm very dumb and very soft.

he is very slightly sick of my bullshit, but he also often joins in on my dumbassery so hdfhdfhfhfh.

no but really, he's vv sweet and caring with me and actually has taught me a lot of coping mechanisms for my anxiety. we help each other out with a lot of stuff, actually-- although him a bit more so than me, since he has a lot of difficulty letting others take care if him. we're working on it though, dont worry.

okay. time for the big one.

if you know my blog, you probably know that i'm the local donnieromantic. i cant go a day without talking about him i stg.

but yes we are,,, in love 🥺. to point where it's almost comical. i've compared us to gomez and morticia addams several times in the past, because yeah, we are honestly just them. maybe toned down, but only a little. if they're a 10 on the "overly in love" scale, we're an 8.

we're highly affectionate with each other, with is surprising, considering how adverse donnie typically is to that sort of thing. i was actually large part of the reason he got to be so comfortable about it, helping him come out of his metaphoric, emotional shell. and now we're pretty much always doing something affectionate-- whether it be cuddling and smooching on the couch, or something smaller like holding hands or saying cute things to each other.

we're extremely understanding of one another, and have honestly grown so much because of it. both in our relationship and as people. we've had so many moments where we've really had to approach situations from a different angle or try to understand each other's problems and insecurities. it wasnt always easy, but it made as stronger as a relationship and as individuals.

if we're talking about, like, basic, non-romantic interactions, then we have a similar dynamic to him and mikey-- in that we're very much opposites but get along very, very well despite having little to nothing in common.

he's honestly quite patient and gentle with me, especially when compared to how he is with his brothers. he hasnt much tolerance for their nonsense and stupidity, but with me-- the dumbest in all the land-- he's all "take your time" and "don't worry, you'll get it :))."

he's pretty much never upset with me, nor am i with him. there's been a handful of disagreements and fights in the past, but nothing we werent able to work out.

genuinely, we're just very good friends and extremely close, so transitioning into a romantic relationship, although a bit confusing for us at first, wasnt actually all too difficult.

i could keep going but i literally feel like ive gone on too long already. but if you wanna hear more about any of my self insert stupidity, then you can just slide into my inbox and send in an ask. i also have a donnie gush tag, which is fun.

okay bye im love you lots mwah!!!! 💖💞💝💕💖💞💝💕💓💕💖💝

#self ship time™ #donnie daydreams #if i ever do this again i'll probably talk about minor characters like the mud dogz and draxum and blah blah blah #OH and splinter #i got so excited to write abt donnie that i forgot him haha oops #i would go back and add him but i dont have the energy for that #but anyways yes i'll talk more about my s/i stuff if u ask nicely <333 #/lh #also i got so shy abt posting this hfsdgjsdgjjgsdjgjsg

[kickingstonesandbones]

ADA: Songs the BSD characters remind me of (even though no one asked)

I’ve recently watched all 3 seasons of the Anime, the movie and the OVA and have started reading the Manga from the beginning. Right now I am only at chapter 40 because I started reading like 2 days ago, so idk stuff that would happen after the Anime storyline (if it goes that much further than season 3 ending, I wouldn’t know). I based this off on either specific lyrics that made me think it would fit the character or a certain vibe I was getting from a character. For some characters it was easier, for some not so much lol It is why some characters have multiple songs that make me think of them while others only have one (if they even do have one, that is – but the ADA does, except for Katai). So please do not rip into me because you think a song might not fit them as well as I do, because I just have not gotten to the latest chapter of the Manga yet, so there are some characters I do not know that well yet but I wanted to do this for fun. Other than that, I hope you enjoy this list~ Also, feel free to add to my list if you have songs that I haven’t mentioned but think would fit the characters, if you want to~

My taste in music is also pretty broad and not limited to certain languages or genres (though I do have my preferences), so I will provide translations of the lyrics in different languages from English. The German ones (like Kontra K, Elif, etc.) were translated by myself (on the spot), for other languages like Romanian or Korean, etc. I had to look up translations on the internet.

Disclaimer: For the songs for Dazai, one might want to consider a TW, for one of his songs has extremely open-no-room-for-speculation suicidal lyrics. If this affects you, please skip that one, I will put that song last on his list.

And, well, because this is 12 pages long in the document, I will be making a cut here…

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𝔸𝔻𝔸 𝕚𝕟 𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝

💙 Wölfe (Wolves) by Kontra K 💙

It’s about so much more than just strength, it’s about solidarity and virtue / It runs so much deeper than your wounds could ever get / We’re walking through the fire together until the day we die […] /

And we are so infinitely far away from being perfect / But what doesn’t kill us will make us stronger / And hope dies last / It dies last /

A lot of the members have been through quite some shit, but they hold it together all the time and always pull through and manage to keep moving forward sooo (some random arsehole I talked to spoilered me about Yosano and Mori  -_-)

💙 Born For This by The Score 💙

A force that they can’t stop / They just don’t get it, I think they forget / I’m not done until I’m on top / I know I was born for this / I know I was born for this […] /

We are the warriors, who learned to love the pain / We come from different places but have the same name / ‘Cause we were born for this / We are the broken ones, who chose to spark a flame / Watch as our fire rages, our hearts are never tame /

.

ℕ𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕛𝕚𝕞𝕒 𝔸𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚

💙 Believe by Hollywood Undead 💙

I can’t believe / That when I breathe / That there’s something good inside of me / Just one good thing inside of me / So close to me / That memory / Of that one good thing inside of me / Just one good thing inside of me /

If I went out the back door, nobody would stop me / But, where would I go? / ‘Cause I ain’t never had a real home / So, what do I know? / So, I could keep runnin’, hide until they find me / But, what would that do? /

That he really hates himself that much and how insecure he is in his right to be alive not just simply because he is a living being really hurts to see.

💙 Face it by NF 💙

Don’t know how to face it / Let’s go back to basics / Yes, say what you mean, do what you say, but man I hate this / I just don’t know what I’m chasing, don’t know what I’m chasing / Yes, somebody told me / Life is something you don’t wanna play with / But I just keep on playing like life is just a playground […] / I look at myself and I ask what the goal is / Yeah, tell me what your goal is / I’m just so lost in emotions, I don’t even notice / I just slip into a place and I don’t think straight / Devil in my ear tryna tell me everything’s great / And in a year realize I’m in the same place / Running in the same race, same pace […] /

Get that sickness out my mouth / I feel like my train is derailing / I can feel it / Yo these words are only words until they actions / Words until they actions, strive on empty satisfactions / Yeah, the fact is I don’t know, fact is I don’t know /

💙 월식  (My Tragedy) by Taeyeon 💙

At the end of an empty day / Everyone busily returns from somewhere / In the red night sky / I disappear into the darkness little by litte / These many sparkling lights / There isn’t a single light that’s mine / Under the cold shade by myself / Like it wasn’t there from the start /

💙 Oceans by Jacob Lee 💙

I learnt to let go when I was younger / Scared of growing old / I would swim far into the ocean / And try to stay afloat / Until my lungs would cough up water […] /

I don't want love no more / Though it's the one thing I've been searching for / Though it's the one thing that I miss the most / Now I'm afraid to be alone / I learnt to grow old when I was younger / Scared of staying young / Afraid of the thoughts that I had conjured / That sat atop my tongue / Knowing I'd change the worlds opinion / If they would just, listen up / But they won't, now /

I feel worthless / Maybe I should open the drawer / Burn the pages / Write poems with the ash on the floor / Pour the ink, into the sink / And watch it drain from the shore /

.

𝔻𝕒𝕫𝕒𝕚 𝕆𝕤𝕒𝕞𝕦

I know Dazai has a looooot of songs, but tbh I could’ve added at least another 15 because. There. Were. Just.  S O .  M A N Y .  T H A T  F I T  H I M  S O  W E L L ‼‼ (Well, at least the ones I could think of off of the top of my head right away.)

💙 Believe by Hollywood Undead 💙

Don’t you know, little boy, they’ll lay you to waste, man / Little do they know, every song is a lifespan / Yeah, they’ve taken one, but I’m takin’ my last chance / To hold all we know and let go with both hands / Though, don’t you know that plots are made from concrete / Right through the stone, can you hear my heart beat? / Beats through my bone, like no memory left me / Not for a second or a minute when I dream […] / My heart beats heavy in an open chest / And, I wanna say goodbye, but there’s nobody left /

I broke it all, and I put to the test / Put your hands in mine, and feel this emptiness / There’s no beat in my chest / ‘Cause there’s nothin’ left / No, it ain’t goodbye, its a last caress  / What’s another dream? / You could hardly sleep /

Makes me think of Oda aka the bond they had aka the admiration Dazai had for him.

💙 Face it by NF 💙

I ain’t sleeping lately / I ain’t sleeping lately / Yes, I know that I’m the only person that can change me / Maybe, that’s why I ain’t changing / That’s why I ain’t changing / I got too much on my mind, I guess I don’t know how to face it /

He obviously has a lot of issues, and I bet he still doesn’t think of himself as a good person. It strikes me as if he’s thinking that Agency Dazai is not much different from Mafia Dazai. “Your hands are black. Mafia black,” as Higuchi said. I think he did not deny it when she said that, so he doesn’t disagree with her.

💙 Rain by Hollywood Undead 💙

I don’t mind, no I don’t mind, I don’t mind the rain / Simple things and subtleties, they always stay the same / I don’t mind, that I don’t mind, no I don’t mind the rain / Like a widow’s heart, we fall apart, but never fade away (fade away) /

Run like a child, do you know where I came from? / No, I don’t, but I’m singing all the same songs / I’m alone, and you’re looking for your anyone / Does it hurt just to know that it’s all gone? / I can feel the pain in the words that you say / Hidden in the letters that were written to no name […] / Buried in red, white, and a side of some blue / Some will die too late, and somebody too soon / If he could come back, we’ll see what it cost him / We had to lose it all, just to know that we lost one /

💙 Lass mich lieber allein (better just leave me alone) by Kontra K 💙

Man, don’t explain the world to me, it isn’t perfect / And just as imperfect are also you, her and me / All of that isn’t a problem to me / But tell me, since when does hatred laugh so audaciously into my face? / But it’s somehow alright for me […] / Man, I wish for a minuscule part of naivety back / But it seems it’s somehow too late for me / Somehow already too late for me […] /

Already been wandering for so long, you forget / Who is worthy of sacrificing yourself for and for whom you better not do it / You run along the street of success without any luck (on your side) / But she walks out of hell into heaven only once and then right back / If you end up where you started then where is the meaning? /

Because I also have my baggage to carry all on my own / Just like all of the fuckers that think I’m living in heaven all by myself / But the fire and the flames in which I’ve been standing in for so long already / Man, they refuse to see them / But it’s somehow alright for me /

You better just leave me alone / Because when they carry you on their hands, they will (eventually) let you drop / I’d rather fall alone/by myself / Rather alone/by myself /

💙 Lies by Will Jay 💙

I'd rather tell myself if I ignore / These thoughts they'll go away / And my toxic friends have changed / Truth is I hate confrontation / Deal with it tomorrow / 'Cause there's nothing I can do / That's my favourite excuse / Feeding my procrastination […] /

And I think I just realised I would do anything / To keep hiding the pain I've been burying / That's why I tell / Lie-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie-lies /

💙 Du willst es (You want it) by Kontra K 💙

Only the good ones die young, and not long after the best ones follow / No idea, ask death why he thinks that I am so damn bad / Still here, we’re almost not worthy of heaven / Working day for day, only the hatred kills the pain / Life will shoot you in the chest but only ever hit your heart / Thank God that place in my chest has been emptied a long time ago […] /

We asked God, “why” / But the devil said, “doesn’t matter” / We’re swimming in a pool full of misery / But bring us another glass of it /

💙 Wie gemacht dafür (like we were made for it) by Kontra K 💙

Pretty normal, normal / Because you can’t get me, get me further down (the hole/ditch) / Than I’ve already been, you get it? […] / I’m going one-on-one with my inner demons, and I’ve been doing that for the past 13 years / I’ve been there, no matter what happened / Ask your gangsters, they know my voice / Have respect, respect for the realness / But fucking piss me off, and I’ll be sending you to heaven […] /

What pressure are you talking about, I inhale this city deep into my lungs / Put it on the beat and I’ll be giving you a new reason for your hatred /

Like we were made for it, we’re running through hell barefooted / We’re living rent-free in their heads, with the real ones, with the real ones / Like we were made for it, always loyal to my people / Swapping none of my friends for money, for the real ones, for the real ones […] /

If you’re my enemy, I’ll give you lead (bullets) / If you’re my friend, I’ll give you love / Because a wolf stays fucking loyal only to his family /

💙 Lonely by Nathan Wagner 💙

Is everybody lonely? / Is everybody scared? / Is everybody worried / That no one really cares? / See I'm afraid to love, but afraid to be alone / Still I wonder why my heart is always broke / What a way to live, let the fear take all control / Oh, this ain't life, no / I'm not alive […] /

'Cause I'm afraid to show the people who I am / I'm not special, I'm just a simple broken man / So I will hide my face with my picture perfect mask / Oh, this ain't life, no / It's just a lie […] /

If I looked you in the eye / And showed the broken things inside / Would you run away? / Would you run away? / If you saw my darkest parts / The wicked things inside my heart / Would you run away? / Or are you the same? /

The following one makes me think of Mafia Dazai

💙 Body Count by Grey ft. Thutmose 💙

I got a hunger, I got a fever / And it just won't quit / I got a temper, I got a bullet / With your name on it / Everybody wonders what it's like on top / I don't gotta wonder 'cause I call the shots […] /

My blood runs cold and my feet run faster / I still got heart, I hear a heart don't matter / Say what you want and it'll be your last words / It ain't a secret, I got a hit list / And baby, you're up next /

Stack 'em up, stack 'em up / Teach 'em not to fuck with me / Bag 'em up, bag 'em up / Let 'em know who runs these streets / Take 'em down, take 'em down / Count 'em out like one, two, three / Add a-na-na-na-na-na-na-nother one  / To the body count /

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T r i g g e r   W a r n i n g  !

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💙 Bullet by Hollywood Undead 💙

Gone too far and yeah I'm gone again / It's gone on too long, tell you how it ends / I'm sitting on the edge with my two best friends / One’s a bottle of pills, one’s a bottle of Gin / I'm twenty stories up, yeah I'm up at the top / I'll polish off this bottle, now it's pushing me off / Asphalt to me has never looked so soft / I bet my momma found my letter, now she’s calling the cops / I gotta take this opportunity before I miss it / 'Cause now I hear the sirens and they're off in the distance / Believe me when I tell you that I've been persistent / 'Cause I'm more scarred, more scarred than my wrist is / I've been trying too long, with too dull of a knife / But tonight I made sure that I sharpened it twice / I never bought a suit before in my life / But when you go to meet god, you know you wanna look nice /

We hit the sky, there goes the light / No more sun, why's it always night / When you can't sleep, well, you can't dream / When you can't dream, well, what’s life mean? / We feel a little pity, but don't empathize / The old are getting older, watch a young man die […] /

When you were young, you never thought you'd die / Found that you could but too scared to try / You looked in the mirror and you said goodbye / Climb to the roof to see if you could fly /

So if I survive, then I'll see you tomorrow / Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow

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𝕐𝕠𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕠 𝔸𝕜𝕚𝕜𝕠

💙 Brunette Ambition by Qveen Herby 💙

'Cause it's been three weeks and four days / No days off, just runways / I’m fucked up, I'll throw shade / Outwork you on a bad day […] /

On a mission, got no competition / It's hard to sleep with brunette ambition / Revenge is sweet, pussy: my religion / They say slow down, but I never listen /

Old me forsaken, these rules are for breaking / I get lonely with no new friends / Associate, but they can't relate / When you want the world, they’re uncomfortable /

This one is 50% lyrics, 50% overall energy of the song. Yosano is a bad bitch, and I love her.

💙 STFD by TeZATalks 💙    [Flash Warning for epilepsy]

I'm not here to take no names or reservations / I'm the devil telling Satan I'm just wild / Sit the fuck down / Imma kill it let me live just how I'm livin' / Ghetto heart with good intentions / I'm just wild / Sit the fuck down /

I'm chasing freedom for the fearless / I gotta do it 'cause I can't chase fear myself / I'm 'bout as broken as I confess / But better than most that lay cower / Proud of who they crowd / You don't know me / Coming to take your crown / Bow down / You know that I can do better, better / I don't need you to come in and show me how / Settle down / Cause you know that I can do better, better /

This song is mostly just the vibe for me. Quite…. unapologetic. Like the badass bitch vibe Yosano gives off, despite (or probably especially because of) her past.

💙 Nur mir (only to myself) by Elif 💙

Can’t believe what’s happening to me / Your words have manipulated me / I shouldn’t lose the connection to myself / Because otherwise your words will always stay with me / At first, you were there for me / But then you wanted me as your property […] / This city is big enough for the two of us / I have to share it with 4 million others anyway / I get onto the same train, stand on the same platform / Oh, everything’s profit (to you), everything’s yours /

But I only belong to myself, only to myself / Belong to myself, only to myself / Not to her, not to him, not to you /

💙 Disease by Hollywood Undead 💙

Our words are broken but they’re spoken aloud / So come together, come together again / The time is now, let Armageddon begin / They say beginnings always start with the ends / I say forever and forever, Amen /

Forget what you are / Forget what you feel / We stand apart but fall together / Nothing ever lasts forever /

We’re born to live, we’re born to die / We’re forced to swallow these pills and to never ask why / What I’ve become, why can’t you see / That everybody, everybody, everybody’s got this disease? /

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𝔼𝕕𝕠𝕘𝕒𝕨𝕒 ℝ𝕒𝕟𝕡𝕠

💙 The Wolf by SIAMÉS 💙

Each and every day / Hiding from the sunshine / Wandering in the shade / Not too old, not too young / Every night again / Dancing with the moonlight / Somewhere far away / I can hear your call […] / Ain’t no fairytale / What I see in your eyes / Awaiting your mistake / Not too close, not too far /

Honestly, finding a song for Ranpo somehow was harder than it should’ve been lmao Originally, this song is about addiction, but if you read them in the sense of it being about a criminal, whom Ranpo is about to catch, it makes more sense. I am sorry I can’t provide a better song for him right now djhfksjlhdfujhhgkfc

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𝕂𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕒 𝔻𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕠

💙 Fuck You by Silent Child 💙

Am I wasting my breath on you / Feels like my words are never getting through, yeah / I never said I hate you to someone so much before / I'm light headed when we talk and then you shut the door, god damn / Like what are we still talking for, yeah /

I really hope you don’t see tomorrow  / I tried to play nice with you / 'Cause all you ever do is try to fuck up my day / And you were successful / (But I know the truth) / No you don't have anything better to do / Everything you ever loved has tried to escape you / So why would I want anything to do with you /

Fuck you /

Don’t lie, he would blast this at full volume when Dazai fucks up his schedule again HAHAHA (I love their dynamic)

💙 Waiting by Zhavia Ward 💙

The truth is you don't even / Know what the hell you believe / But you should believe / Lions don't lose sleep / Over the opinions of sheep /

So if you're waitin' / To watch me fall / Watch me fall / Watch me fall / I'ma keep you waitin' / To watch me fall / Watch me fall / Watch me fall / I'ma keep you waitin' /

Empire State kinda view / And I'm up here with the crew / I got the feelin' that you wishin' / You could be up here too / Maybe I should feel bad for you / Be a little sentimental / But I don't, no I won't / Make excuses for you to hide behind /

This one makes me think of the time Fyodor tried to break him mentally by making that little girl sacrifice herself (Season 3), but he got back up pretty quickly again after having his ideals get shaken like that.

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𝔽𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒 𝕐𝕦𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕚

💙 S.C.A.V.A. by Hollywood Undead 💙

Here's the massacre, a mausoleum fit for me / Lived a hundred years, a hundred years I didn't see / Gave all my hope away, isn't any left for me? / Bombs are splitting atoms, what can the future bring? / We can fill a million choirs and wait till children sing / We can walk a million miles and end up in the sea / And our lungs just keep filling and lying when we breathe / The world's filled with liars, liars like me / And I look at my child, it's finite, this feeling / Eyes blue like the sky, I see all of this meaning / I reach up to God and I ask if I'm dreaming […] /

Everybody says greetings and goodbyes / Everybody pays, no one knows the price / We know the price of sin, the sin of sacrifice / I know I'll sin again, but who can save me twice? / How much can we ask? You'll get the answer first / How much can we kneel with the air that chills the earth? / The air keeps getting colder, my knees keep hitting dirt / The innocent can cry without the guilty getting hurt / You ask who you love and you don't know, no, do you? / The spirit of God just passes right through you / You gave away heaven, handed right to you / And I can see it all, tell me, is it true? /

Fukuzawa is that anime character that’s visibly been through a lot of shit (and has done a lot of shit as well, even morally grey or black), which could be why he’s so stern and not a man of many words. Marked by life, if you will. He also gives off a very “wise man” kinda vibe right from the beginning, so I think that this song somewhat fits him because it is wondering about the state of the world and human nature.

💙 Courtesy Call by Thousand Foot Krutch 💙

This is your last warning / A courtesy call / I am not afraid / Of the storm that comes my way / When it hits it shakes me to the core / And makes me stronger than before / It’s not a question about trust / But will you stand with us? […] /

There’s a rumble in the floor / So get prepared for war / When it hits it’ll knock you to the ground / When it shakes up everything around / But survivial is a must / So will you stand with us? /  

This song just has that badass vibe. And no one can deny that Fukuzawa has a badass and intimidating vibe as well as he seems so stern and stoic most of the time.

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𝕋𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕜𝕚 𝕁𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕠𝕦

💙 Nesimtit by Mark Stam 💙

I don't have lots of cash / But enough for me to buy you an ice cream / For us to go on a walk / And for you to whisper to me in the waves of the ocean / I've taken some days from the border / And I put some behind the door, on ice / For cloudy weather / So that we can have them when the movie of life passes […] /

Let me be your lifeline / When your world is in the process of demolition / Let your dreams fly / I promise, we'll catch them somewhere around the sun /

Oddly enough, the Tanizaki siblings were just as hard for me as Ranpo… There aren’t really that many songs that would make me think of them. But this Romanian one made me (partly) think of him, I also think it’s cute and would probably fit him lol Especially the last four lines make me think of him and Naomi. After all, he’d even burn down the whole world if it was for her sake. All in all, this just sounds like him in the sense of a really supporting person/friend/brother.

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𝕋𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕜𝕚 ℕ𝕒𝕠𝕞𝕚

💙 You Should See Me In A Crown by Billie Eilish 💙

You say, "Come over, baby / I think you're pretty" / I'm okay, I'm not your baby / If you think I'm pretty /

You should see me in a crown / I'm gonna run this nothing town / Watch me make 'em bow / One by one by one / One by one by / You should see me in a crown / Your silence is my favorite sound / Watch me make 'em bow / One by one by one / One by one by one /

Naomi isn’t giving me the same “badass bitch” vibe as Yosano does, but she does have that “badass princess” vibe. Is that making any kind of sense? Like, she does not have an ability, but she is neither dumb nor completely helpless in all situations. So, there is a slight badass vibe, but not the “I can and I. W i l l . Kick your stupid. Bitch. Ass.” – so a…. “badass princess”? Because she also has that elegant aura about her. I hope I am making sense…?

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ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕠 𝕂𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕜𝕠

💙 2! 3! by BTS 💙

We know that you are happy right now / That you're slaying right now / You have all what you deserve / And we are so damn proud / But you're people, like us / You have spars, you get hurt / You get tired of the pressure / You get tired of the rush / God, thank you so much! / For giving us the chance / To tell you that we're here for you / And this will never change /

Lay on us / When dark times come and surround you / Our light will help you to get through / Our love is gonna heal you / Lay on us / The ones who would go to space to / Steal some stars just to give you 'cause it would make you feel good / We're gonna stay with you forever, until the end / We swear that we're not going anywhere / Yeah we're not going anywhere / We know the road can be so tough / But with holding hands / Together we take a nice deep breath /

Haruno strikes me as the kind of person, who’d be a really supportive friend, so I thought this might fit her. I have not seen much of her and her character neither in the anime nor in the manga yet, so I don’t really know whether this is any good or if it does her any justice.

On the other hand, I feel this song would also fit the Tanizaki siblings well.

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𝕄𝕚𝕪𝕒𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒 𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕛𝕚

💙 Puste sie weg (blow them away) by Kontra K 💙

Love in the air – blow it away / 9mm on the chest – then blow it away / 3g on the mirror – better blow it away / And the wind will do the rest / Hate in the air – blow it away / Pressure on the chest again – then blow it away / Seven sins in my head – better blow it away / And the wind will do the rest […] /

Because everyone’s talking, talking, talking too much / But unfortunately never do it, do it, do it / And I don’t hate, hate, hate the player / But I’d rather kill a whole team by myself /

I���d rather have three, four warriors than one thousand “brothers” / I’d rather pick up cents from the ground than break bread with liars / I’d rather be broke like I used to be than be a part time dealer / I’d rather have a heart of gold than sharing with no one at all (no one) /

Hatred in the air – blow it away / Pressure on the chest again – then blow it away / Seven sins in my head – better blow it away / And the wind will do the rest /

Take the lyrics quite literally, “blow them away”. The feeling of this song fits him, I think, because of his sheer strength. He just blows away hatred, malice, etc. and is unaffected by any of it as his heart and his head stay innocent and pure, even if naive.

I have to say though, it can be a pun, especially the part of “9mm (gun) on the chest” would be most obvious for it (especially considering that the “on the chest” part does not specify in German whether it’s your own chest or you are holding a gun to someone’s else’s chest lol). In general “puste xy weg” means to blow it away with the air out of your mouth, but colloquially it can also mean gunning down something or someone. And if you apply that meaning to every single line with “blow it away”, the meaning turns around from not letting it bother you to killing it, which I find interesting with this character. (Because he definitely has great potential to actually kill someone with his ability alone.) Though what I thought when I heard this song was that it might fit him with the meaning of him letting nothing bother him.

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𝕀𝕫𝕦𝕞𝕚 𝕂𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕜𝕒

💙 Alaska by Elif 💙

Sometimes I’m thinking, I’m going insane like everyone else / They said I’d be going nuts and yeah, I’m starting to believe them / -7°C, I’m walking through the city park by myself / The down jacket is keeping me warm, but in my heart, there’s Alaska /

I don’t know what love is / No matter how much of it I get, I need more of it / It’s tearing me apart on the inside / When I, once again, don’t know where I’ll be getting it from / Even my therapist says, he doesn’t know any further / My dark side, it’s stronger than the good one / My youth was poisened, the future is uncertain / It is how it is yeah, it is how it is /

💙 Godsent by Smash Into Pieces 💙

I used to share, I used to care / The good in me is gone I'm bad / I used to give, I used to feel / The things you did will never heal / Take a look at me now / See what I've become / I will no longer feed the machine / Can't control the monster in me, no / The way that I feel / Makes it harder to breathe / When I'm thinking about you / The monster is real /

This makes me think of her in the Port Mafia.

💙 Boomerang by Smash Into Pieces 💙

I've been gone for a while now / But only to gain my power / I've been fighting my demons / And I'm back up on my feet (and now) / The harder you fall down / The stronger you come back later / Now I feel like an army / And I've only just begun /

This one in turn makes me think of her in the Agency.

💙 Circles (제자리) by G.Soul 💙

Oh, we know the ending / No matter how you escape / Here again / Always come back to me / Back again / Eventually / Here again / Why is it so hard to leave? / Here again / We always stay here […] / Answer me, I don’t know, no / Just don’t know / You’re getting stuck / Forever / Oh, we know the ending / No matter how you escape / Here again /

This makes me think of what Kouyou (I hope I am remembering her name correctly) was saying about her as a flower of darkness, as she was kind of turning in circles (no pun intended)–between wanting to be in the light and “accepting” that she only belongs into the darkness–at the beginning before she finally joined the Agency.

💙 Excuses (변명) by G.Soul 💙

I told you not to be too good to me / That it would make it too hard on you / No matter what you say now / I don’t hear a word of it […] / Even though I may be making a mistake / Even though I may regret this as time goes on / Baby, I think that we should just end it here now /

Even though the song in total has a different vibe (and story lmao), these parts of the lyrics makes me think of Kyouka telling Atsushi that there is no saving her, and that the light is no place for her (directly after saving her from the Port Mafia). It kinda makes me think of the part, specifically, where Atsushi suggests going on a “date” and at the end of it, Kyouka wants the last place they go to to be the police station.

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𝔻𝕒𝕫𝕒𝕚 & 𝔸𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚

💙 Sing To Me by Missio 💙

Somehow I got nominated as a king of sadness / Got so much I know that I could even feed the birds / And that's why / I prayed, I prayed, God sent me right to voicemail / It's like, all day my vanity is for sale / Take it away, my head is in my own hell /

Sing to me, I am not doing well / Getting tired of my own words / Sing to me 'cause I can't hear myself / Through the loudness of my own hurts / Call me selfish when I say this, say this / I'm kinda helpless, and I need you / Sing to me 'cause I'm not doing well /

Somebody told me that there's two sides to this life / I think I might've chosen darkness over light /

These two are two sides of the same coin, but no side is brighter than the other. I feel like they are kind of mirroring each other in the way they feel about themselves, which is why these lyrics mirror both of them towards each other as both are in need of salvation as they’re drowning in their own minds. Dazai is just better at hiding it from Atsushi.

💙 Namae wo yobu yo (Call A Name) by Luck Life (Season 1 Ending) 💙

I was searching / For the reason I’m able to remain as myself / If there’s a version of me / That exists within your heart / That even amid the darkness on this long, hilly road / I feel I can become a new me / Able to make my way through / So that each of us, walking our individual moments, can keep on smiling / So that we can keep moving forward, exploring the meaning of life together / I’ll call out a name / Your name / So that you can remain who you are /

Technically, lyrically it’s the entirety of the song, but I will not write down all of it lmao And it’s the Atsushi and Dazai parallels here again. It’s not just the ending with the animation that shows it for me, but the lyrics reflect both of them in them as well. I absolutely loved this ending. I never ship characters as I do not care about that, but I really love these two (separately)~ (What they mean for each other aka what they might mean for each other in the future [peace of mind/finding worth for Atsushi, and a reason to live for Dazai, etc.], how they’re already helping each other [Dazai helping Atsushi with feeling worthless, and Dazai finding a bit of piece of mind], etc. etc. etc.) I haven’t loved 2 characters in an anime as much as this in quite a long time (The last time was Kougami and Akane in Psycho Pass) as I find making up characters as complex as them and make them fit together as well as them/make them complement each other/balance each other out is actually pretty hard to do really well.

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Making up this list took waaaaay longer than it should’ve. (I did not include Katai because I couldn’t think of a single song for him, sorry.)

#bungou stray dogs #bungou sd #bsd #bsd atsushi #bsd dazai #bsd izumi kyouka #bsd imagines #bsd junichiro #bsd kyouka #bsd kenji #bsd memes #bsd ada #bsd ranpo #bsd tanizaki #bsd thoughts #bsd textpost #bsd yosano #bsd yukichi #bsd fukuzawa #bsd naomi #yosano akiko #fukuzawa yukichi #dazai osamu #nakajima atsushi #bungou stray dogs kyouka #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungou stray dogs hcs #bungou stray dogs headcanons #armed detective agency #bsd headcanons

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 1

EDIT (6/10/2020): I know this is unprofessional as hell, but I added more because the ending didn’t sit right with me. Was too excited too hurry up and post and forgot there was a reason I plotted things out in a certain way. Hope you all can forgive me.

Finally! Chapter 1! I hope you guys enjoy it. I loved reading your comments and every kudos made me more excited to keep writing. Also, I apologize for the weird spacing throughout the post. I had to copy it from scrivener to AO3 to here and it just made things messy, but it’s 1AM rn and I’m tired.

Read on AO3 or Fanfiction.net! 

click here for: Prologue |

Emily shifted in her seat, head rebelling after spending a week in the dim light of candles which cast everything in an orange hue and made the shadows dance on the walls. Even her large circular glasses did nothing to ease her sight… it was a wonder she wasn’t already legally blind. Either way, she had the mother of all headaches. 

 The constant fires always left E uncomfortably hot and the layers upon layers they were forced to dress didn’t help. First thing the wardens did when they arrived was strip her down and burn every shred of fabric… her favorite shirt nothing but ash. Clothing standards were non-negotiable. Evening wear on the left side of the armoire. Don’t mistake it for your daily clothes or you won’t receive dinner. Cocktails before-hand at 6:30 sharp. Lucky for Emily, she was always early for everything and had yet to find out what the punishment was for that particular faux-pas. She wished nothing but to grab the t-shirt and shorts she had arrived in just to find some relief.

  “Be careful what you wish for,”  Her mother had always told her. 

 At first, she had been relieved when the others arrived. Now she had to wonder if she would have been better off on her own… the supplies she had counted in storage would certainly have lasted longer. Small little cubes with all the nutrients they needed. They probably would have been better with non-perishables, but she doubted the wardens would risk a venture outside to hunt for some… not like they would be able to eat it, anyway.

 Another stabbing pain pulsed at her temples, hands going to smooth it out as she listened to the chattering around her that sounded more like white noise than coherent sentences. Waiting out the apocalypse in solidarity would have driven her insane, humans being the social creatures they were. However, she doubted any of them would survive the end of the world with their sanity intact. 

 Not that one could guess it was the end of the world by the conversations of her fellow residents, most of them rich and most of the snobby. Gallant and Coco were thick as thieves… their personalities almost comically matching that of Regina George from Mean Girls. Evie, Gallant’s washed-up film star of a grandmother was almost repulsively republican — so homophobic and racist that most of the residents hoped she’d have a heart attack and die. The Stevens, a mother and son pair along with the son’s boyfriend, were tolerable. Andre liked to throw shade, but he was balanced by his witty counterpart, Stu. 

 She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she thought of their earlier conversation.

   “It’s like Satan’s Spotify playlist,” Stu had joked in response to Gallants endless complaining, making Andre nearly choke on the water he had been drinking. 

  “For the amount of times I’ve been told I’m in league with the devil, I’d have expected him to have better taste.” Emily had joked in return. 

Stu laughed and Andre only sighed, “don’t even get me started on the clothes.”

  “Well at least you don’t have to wear a corset,” Coco had snipped, hand going up to pat at her hair in an attempt to keep it in place.

  Emily tugged at her own, something poking her in her stomach, “These are not historically accurate.”

  “Let me guess,” Stu said, gesturing to her glasses, “history major?”

  “Insomniac.”

  The pounding returned to her head and she leaned on the table, pressing at her temples with the hope of some relief. Maybe she could ask a Grey to get her some ice… she doubted Venable had a stash of ibuprofen in the reserves. 

 It had been 14 days since they had gotten here. 3 of which she had spent on her own, wandering the halls with a candelabra like a damsel from a Victorian novel. She tugged at the high collar of her shirt. Whoever designed this hole in the ground was determined to have them living in a corset-laced wet dream. 

 “Are you okay?” The girl beside her asked, a gentle hand placed on Emily’s arm. She had just arrived at the outpost, 2 weeks after the bombs dropped, with a boy around the same age. They had barely been able to introduce themselves before Venable cut in, ringing a bell obnoxiously to usher them to dinner. 

 The few words the pair had said still haunted her. 

   “It’s all gone,” The brown-haired boy had told them at Gallant’s insistence, lips pressed into a thin line as he tried not the let the emotions that came with those words to overwhelm him.

  “Everything,” The girl echoed, voice hollow.

  Gallant fell back as if he had been shot, panic threatening to overtake his lungs after it was done squeezing the life out of his heart.

  “What…” Emily had stuttered out, trying to calm herself, “What did it look like?”

  Andre’s voice had cracked and spat out like venom, “who cares about what it looks like?”

  Stu had placed a hand on his lover's shoulder. His brows were furrowed and there was a slight shake that came over his body. Andre curled into him, Stu wrapping his arms around him as if he could somehow shield the man from the world. 

  Her anxiety spread through her like a wildfire, the attempted facade of strength cracking, “It matters because it could tell us how fucked we are!” 

  “We’re well past fucked!” Coco had snapped.

  The girl with ebony hair focused on Emily, eyes welling with emotion she all too well understood. 

  “No sun…” She said, forcing the words from her mouth, “just green… smog.”

  “Does that mean anything to you?” Stu had asked her, eyes betraying his own fears.

  “Hiroshima happened in the… 50s? Chernobyl happened in the 80s,” Emily began to say, too in her thoughts to notice the side-eyed stares of her companions, “and that was still radioactive before it was radioactive… again.”

  The comment seemed to stir something in the new girl’s head, “I heard about that… people were able to take trips last year… once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  Coco scoffed, “so is dying.”

  “Wait, so like… this can go away?” Gallant asked.

  The girl looked to Emily, “People were living on Hiroshima before all this.”

  “Possibly,” Emily mused, “Then again, we’d have to multiply that incident by… well, a lot.”

  “We’d have to find out where and how many bombs were dropped.” The girl added, “as well as the area affected by it.”

  Coco frowned, still more focused on her hair than the literal end of the world, “could you stop talking like that? You’re seriously freaking me out.”

  “We’re all freaking out,” Dinah snipped.

  “Just tired,” Emily reassured the girl, leaning back in her chair. She realized she had yet to ask the girl her name, but the Grey’s entered with their meal before she could — one Grey for each purple at the table. The large black plates were almost amusingly large in comparison to the singular small cube that sat at its center. 

 A full table-set was spread out before them, silver soup spoons, teaspoons, knives, and a salad fork mocking them every day. They stood out against the dark wood and reminded them that they were doomed to a life of tasteless jello for the rest of their lives. Emily finally understood how her pets felt, fed the same food day in and day out… at least she had bothered to change up the flavor. Her body rebelled against her after the third day, gagging whenever she brought the cube anywhere near her mouth. A few days of starvation quickly rectified the situation and greatly amused her jailer who was all too happy to put the food back from whence it came.

 Venable chose the seating arrangements, naturally. Emily was sat beside the two new arrivals, positioned as far from the woman as possible. It was an arrangement neither of them minded. Emily didn’t hold her tongue in moments such as these and she didn’t like placing her wellbeing in the hands of another. Venable expected complete and total control over her residents, enforcing strict standards of order that were almost as tight as her hair, tightly pulled together in a double french twist at the back of her head. Emily was the stray hair that wouldn’t lay flat no matter what she did. 

 The new arrivals stared at their plates as the Greys placed the cubes before them, sending each other confused glances and waiting to see what the rest of them did. It hardly looked appetizing, brown and having a texture reminiscent of a health-nut’s chia-seed protein bar.

Emily poked at her own food for good measure, feeling her throat clench at the mere thought of eating again. It didn’t listen no matter how many times she tried to reason with it. You’d think the body would behave and finally realize that this was as good as things would get.

 Gallant turned towards the girl to his left, “Don’t be too disappointed.”

 “Darling,” Evie sighed from the other side of the table, spreading a napkin across her lap, “You don’t know what disappointment is until you’ve slept with Yul Brynner.”

 The mere thought of the old woman having sex was enough to make Emily’s lips curl in disgust… maybe she didn’t need to eat after all. For once Dinah was amused by the old crone, chuckling as she cut apart her cube like it was a five-course meal instead of the science project of Elon Musk. 

 “I want to die,” She could hear Gallant mutter a few seats over, head in his hands as he contemplated his decision to bring his nana along on whatever this adventure was. 

 Dinah was quick to explain the cubes to the new pair, “The cube on your plate contains every vitamin our body needs…”

 Across from Emily, Coco ungracefully shoved the entire cube into her mouth with one fell swoop, cheeks puffing out. Dinah continued to speak, pretending to have not seen Coco, words coming out rushed, “…or so they tell us.”

 “Whether or not it aids in our caloric intake is up in the air,” Emily added, following the woman’s lead and gently cutting into the cube. 

 “The fewer calories the better!” Evie proclaimed from down the table, waving her fork in the air to accentuate her statement.

 “Until you become a skeleton.”

 Emily had learned from Dinah’s example to take small bites, savor it. She hoped it would fool her body into thinking it was eating more. Either way, her stomach still growled and she was grateful to her handler for taking her to Chick-Fil-A on their way to the Outpost. The mere thought of that last meal made her mouth water.

 Coco’s silverware clattered onto her plate as she closed her eyes and whined, “I’m still hungry… I am so tired of the hunger.”

 A fist to the table made Emily jump, dropping her own silverware in turn. The girl next to her looked to the other residents as Coco stood up abruptly, letting her chair screech against the floor as it was thrown back. She looked to Emily and all she could do was offer a half-hearted shrug that said,  “same shit as usual.”

 … God, she missed John Mulaney. 

 “Fuck! This! Bullshit!” Coco continued, “With all the thought that went into this they don’t have a  single  bag of  Pirate’s Booty  in the pantry?”

 Evie sat back as if watching a soap opera while the rest of the residents braced themselves for another tantrum. Coco raved on, unaware of the sudden looming figures coming up behind her, “For a hundred  million   dollars a ticket, I expect goddamn Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen cooking us   real  food!”

 Then she stopped, a tap of a cane on the floor signaling the arrival of Venable, Miss Mead on her heels like an obedient dog. They braced themselves for another, self riotous lecture on appreciating what they had as if none of them mourned for what was. Slowly, head bowed and aware of her impending doom, Coco turned. 

 The slap rang in everyone’s ears, causing a collective gasp to fill the room. The brown-haired boy beside Coco caught her as she fell back, her hand going instantly to her cheek. As she stood once more she took it away and examined it. Emily could see the barest hint of blood on the blonde’s fingers. A growl threatened to rise in her throat and her lips curled in a disgusted snarl.

 It was hard to keep calm as she addressed the woman donned in black, “we’re all adults here. We can use our words… I hope. At least  some  of us have mastered that much.”

 Venable turned to her. The black-haired girl beside her shifted uncomfortably. One could cut the tension between the two women with a knife. 

 Finally, Venable pulled her eyes away and turned her focus to the spoiled girl before her, her hand resting back on the cane she always carried, “Let me be very clear so there will be no misunderstanding. We have enough nutrition to last for the next   18 months  and if our situation doesn’t improve, you can count on less and less.”

 Slowly, Coco sat. Shaking hands pulled away from her cheek as she reached for the chair. She was so scared that her movements were stiff. Yes, she had been yelled at before. God knows she was a stubborn woman with a temper, but no one had ever slapped her before.

 Venable retreated into the only exit of the room, slithering back into the shadows. Venable’s tone bordered on the overly-theatric, playing the part of a woman burdened by knowledge she dare not speak lest it disrupts the peace. 

 “You could have told us that from the very beginning.” Emily blurted out.

 The woman didn’t even bother to look at her as her lips curled into a mocking smile. When she finally turned to Emily, her tone was thick with condescension, “and cause  unnecessary  panic?”

 “You know what they say about communication and relationships.” 

 “ Situation ?” Gallant asked, waving a hand to get their attention, “What is our   situation ?”

 Miss Mead looked to her boss whose face glimmered with uncertainty and surprise, but only for a moment. Venable was debating whether or not to tell the truth or keep them in the constant state of unknowing, easy to control. If she were still in college, Emily could have written an essay on the ways Venable reminded her of the worst sort of people in their history books. 

 “We had a perimeter alert this morning,” She finally told them, less than pleased with the fact the words were leaving her mouth at all, “Something penetrated the grounds. It was a carrier pigeon delivering a message from our benefactors.”

 Coco gasped, “Wait! A pigeon! Can we eat it?”

 Emily sighed and leaned on the table, resisting the urge to hand her head in her hands. This place was going to be migraine city the moment she tapered off her medication.

 Miss Mead’s tone echoed her feelings, brows scrunching at the pure idiocy of the question.

 “It was  contaminated   by the   fallout .”

 Her response didn’t phase Evie, who made it abundantly clear she had never made a meal for herself in her entire life, “Can we  boil  it?”

 Venable reached into her pockets and pulled out a small sliver of paper and began to read, “There are no more governments. Only rotting mounds of corpses, too many to bury.”

 Emily’s hands fell to her lap and curled into fists until she could feel her fingernails embed themselves into the flesh of her palms. All she could hear were the voice-mails, each and every last plead for life. She could still hear her brother’s voice, cracking in a way she hadn’t heard since their grandmother’s funeral. It was etched into her brain to the last breath. To his last breath, he took his role as an older sibling seriously, trying to soothe her fears instead of his own.

   “I don’t want to die. God, I don’t want to—”

  Venable continued reading, “Starving people kill for a piece of bread.”

   “I love you… I… You were… are a good sister.”

  “Three outposts have been overrun.” Venable’s voice droned on, voice cracking ever slightly as she reached the end of the letter, “We are the last vestiges of civilized life on the planet.”

   “I… I know you would have made a difference… I wish I could have seen the life you would have created.”

  Venable looked to them all as she read the last line, “be vigilant.”

 Emily was pulled from her thoughts by a squeeze to her hand, instinctively pulling it back until she realized a hand covering her own. When Emily met the ebony-haired girl’s gaze she offered a reassuring smile, Emily nodded in a small message of thanks before brushing away the single tear which had begun to roll down her cheeks. 

 “Everything we know is gone,” Mead summarized, eyes blank. It was nice to see that even the Warden and Venable felt fear. Made them feel… human.

 “In  two     weeks ?”, Andre shook his head, staring blankly at his hands, “That’s all it took?”

 In a rare show of empathy, Gallant reached out and squeezed the man’s hands. Emily noted the way Stu watched the interaction, eyes watching the hands as if it were a snake slithering in his direction.

 “They made you think the system was a rock,” Mead explained, standing at attention with her hands locked together in front of her, “It was a water balloon. One prick of the needle and —”

 She made a popping noise, “that’s all it took.”

 It wasn’t as if Emily was surprised. One of the first things she learned in a college psychology class was that the only reason the world didn’t fall into chaos was due to people putting faith in a system that would protect them… conventional. The bombs had scattered them, left them weak to the chaos that ensued. It reminded her of the way roaches scattered when sprayed with Raid. Lawlessness was the antithesis of reason, mob mentality was evidence enough of that. It was textbook horror.

 “We will only survive if we follow the rules,” Venable emphasized.

 Emily scoffed. Some of Venable’s rules she understood while others were a blatant overreaching of power. She could understand the “no sex” rule to a degree. Copulation could result in the creation of new life which they had no means to sustain, but even the Victorians had condoms and you couldn’t walk into a 7-Eleven without finding a rack of Plan B. Not to mention half the residents were gay which made her rules pointless. 

 “Rules are the basis of order,” Venable said, clearly addressing her despite staring at the wall above them, “unless you find yourself to be above the rules? Too   special  for them to apply?”

 She hadn’t a moment to voice her thoughts, quickly distracted by the army of wardens that quickly began to fill the room. They all watched with bated breath as The Fist bent down to whisper in Mead’s ear, her lip twitching and eyes flitting to the ground as she gave the other woman her full attention.

 “There’s a problem.”

 Those 3 words were enough to break Venable’s gloating, head snapping to the side like Coco’s had a moment ago. They all watched the pair, unsure of who to keep a better watch on — Venable or Mead.

 “We’ve detected a spike in the background radiation, centered in this room,” Mead informed her boss.

 Gallant was quick to point fingers to the new pair, whatever empathy he had shown with Andre gone like the wind as he moved from them as if they had the plague, “It’s them! They just came from the outside!”

 “No!” The girl exclaimed, shaking her head vigorously and sitting forward in her chair, knuckles white around the wooden arms, “No! We were checked when we got here! We’re clean!”

 She looked to Emily for aid, brown eyes wide and pupils dilated. Her eyes glimmered with confusion and panic, searching for an unspoken question. Emily’s brows knitted and she bit her lip, eyes flickering between the girl before her and the wardens preparing a device that looked like a microphone attached to a larger box.

 “No,” the boy echoed, “we went through decontamination.”

 His eyes also went to Emily as he continued to speak, begging for her to understand, “we were cleared.”

 Emily opened her mouth but could find nothing to reassure them. Mead addressed the room before Emily could utter a word. “Place your hands on the table… and don’t.  Move .”

 Shaking her head at the girl, Emily did as she was told. This hadn’t happened before. She didn’t know what to expect. As the device clicked from her left, she edged her pinky towards her knife. It wasn’t sharp. It didn’t have to be sharp to cut through jello. With enough pressure, it could cut through skin. The rest of the room faded away as she kept her eyes on The Fists' hands, a second device in her hands as well. Emily’s heart hammered with each step closer.

 “Radioactive contamination,” Mead spoke, devices crinkling like static as they hovered over each person, “is a grave risk to our  entire  community.”

 The Fist, a giant of a woman with blonde hair pulled back from her face, towered above Emily when she was standing. Sitting down made her feel like a child in the presence of a giant. She held her breath as she felt the device get closer, clicking sounds falling silent as soon as it came above her hand. The Fist repeated the motion a few times more, making Emily’s heart go haywire in her chest, before moving on to the new arrival next to her, the clicking resuming once more.

 “The clean rule is there to protect all of us,” Mead continued, now going over the boy who sat stiff as a board, eyes following the woman’s every move, “A  single stray gamma particle can cause skin lesions. Your DNA breaks apart, your body disintegrates. You’ll   wish  you died in the blast.”

 The residents weren’t sure what to make of her speech. It wasn’t as if any of them graduated with a degree in radiology. They had learned it in high-school, sure, but that was ages ago… before there was colored TV for some of them. 

 “But someone here decided,” Mead went on, circling the table for a second round of testing, “that their  individual needs  were more important.”

 Emily tensed once more as the stick was waved around her, Mead pausing momentarily to look down at the box she held in her hand to see if it had somehow turned off. Finding nothing, she continued. “Someone went outside. Touched something  dirty .”

 The room was holding their breaths. They all knew they were innocent, but didn’t trust their companions as far as they could throw them. Their gaze followed the device, then to the person next to them, then to the person in front of them. They searched for a sign of guilt. It was easier to point fingers when someone looked shifty. 

 “Makes me sick to think that this person,” Mead spit as she made it to gallant, “to risk contaminating all—”

 A wild crackling filled the room. They all jumped in their seats, eyes focusing on the hairdresser. Emily’s heart leapt into her throat, paralyzed as the vultures began circling, donned in leather and stronger than any of them could hope to be.

 “No,” The man said after a moment, shaking his finger as he looked to the Wardens, “nononono. That’s a mistake because the  only  thing I’ve touched is Coco’s hair.”

 The Fist stood over Coco and shook her head. Mead gave the final order, voice lacking any pity, “she’s clean. You’re dirty.

 The wardens grabbed at Gallant, claws latching onto him as he began to struggle.

 “No!” He cried, “this is impossible! That machine is wrong!”

 Fingers dug into his shoulder and Gallant cried out in pain, dragged to his feet and across the floor. The warden closest to him placed him in a choke-hold, Gallant letting out a fearful sob as he clawed at the man’s arm. Evie stood, chair screeching across the floor as she reached out towards her grandson with trembling hands.

 “This is outrageous! Stop! Please, stop! Bring him back!”

 Coco gasped and let out a cry, hands moving to cover her face as her eyes welled with tears. The girl beside Emily looked between herself and the boy in front of her, chest rising and falling rapidly as she began to hyperventilate.

 Gallant scream pierced the air, “Evie!”

 The crackling filled the room once more. In their panic, they had failed to realize Mead making her way towards Andre and Stu. The couple could only stare at each other, the seconds dragging on like hours.

 “No way!” Stu chanted, refusing to look away from Andre, “No! No way!”

 “No,” Andre sobbed, reaching out towards the man and trying to pry him from the grasp of the warden pulling him away. He was thrown away with a shove.

 “Get your hands off me!” Stu screamed, another warden now going to carry him by his feet.

 Mead’s voice rang out from the chaos, followed swiftly by the marching of footsteps.

 “Take them to the decontamination room!”

 They could hear the groans of their fellow residents echoing down the hall. The sounds resonated long after the steel doors had closed.

Emily reached out for the hand of the girl next to her. Her face was frozen in a gasp, eyes wide with terror. Her hand rested on hers which still sat on the table. She squeezed back and held on for dear life.

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

  For once the saloon was quiet. Evie had gone to bed. Emily currently sat next to a crying Andre, Dinah opposite her. He hadn’t been able to stop crying since dinner, now unable to do more than hiccup.

 “How could he have been contaminated,” He sobbed, a horrible epiphany crossing his mind as he turned to Emily, “do you think they—?

 Emily gave him a look, “Did you forget Gallant’s little hand-squeeze during dinner? He was coming on to you, not Stu.”

 Andre had a fleeting smile before anxiety overtook him once more.

 “What we need to do now,” Dinah said, running a hand up and down her son’s back, “is make sure Stu comes back safe.”

 Her words were less than comforting, Andre shoving away her arm and staring at her with an emotion Emily couldn’t quite place… somewhere between distress and anger.

 “Why wouldn’t he be safe?” he demanded, looking to the brunette when his mother offered no response. Emily opened her mouth, hoping something would pop into her head, but she was at a loss for words. She couldn’t reassure him of anything. It would be a lie.

 The man scoffed, stepping back and shaking his head, “I can’t believe you.”

 He turned on his heels, breath hitching once more as another fit of sobs threatened to take over him. Why Stu? Why not them? Of all the residents Stu was the least deserving of—

 Emily rose, hand held out to stop him, “Andre—”

 A gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. Dinah took a step around her, hand trailing down her purple-clothed arm until she held her hand, the other coming to rest on top of it.

 “Let me talk to him,” the woman tried to reassure, the events clearly have shaken her as much as Stu. 

 Emily pressed her lips together and nodded, pulling back and watching the woman hurry towards her son, heels clicking down the hall. The door clanged shut behind her and silence filled the room.

 … but only for a moment.

 “What’s going to happen to me if they find out Gallant is —” Coco started to ramble, “I mean I  was  the only reason he was here in the first place.”

 “You were clean,” The brown-haired boy pointed out, face twisting in confusion.

 “Well, I know that!” Coco exclaimed, turning on the couch to face him, “but who’s to say there won’t be a  second investigation. I mean there had to be a   reason   they were tainted.”

 She went quiet for a moment, hands held out in front of her as if she was having a revelation, “oh my gosh! If they kill Gallant who’s going to do my hair?”

 Emily sighed and sat next to the new girl who was wringing her hands and staring into the fire. 

 “I never did ask your names,” Emily noted, looking to the girl and the boy.

 “Timothy,” He said with a nod of his head.

 The girl was pulled from her thoughts, turning from the fire and to the people behind her, “Emily.”

 Emily chuckled, “You’re joking.”

 “What?”

 “It’s the end of the world and I can’ escape the fate of having a basic girl name.”

 A smile curled at the other Emily’s lips, then a laugh, “really?”

 Emily extended a hand, “Hi, Emily. I’m Emily.”

 “There’s two of you now?” Coco groaned.

 “I was named after my grandmother,” The other Emily said, taking her hand and giving it a shake, “you?”

 “My parents looked in a baby book and picked a ‘less common’ girl name. 21 years later and there’s at least three Emily’s in each one of my classes.” 

 “God, this is going to be confusing,” Coco sighed, pressing her fingers to her nose in a praying motion, “Oh! I know! Emily 1 and Emily 2… no... That’s too wordy.”

 “Middle names?” Timothy asked.

 “No way in hell,” The two replied.

 “I can always go by ‘Em’,” she said, “god knows I’m used to it by now.”

 “M?” Coco asked, “that’s original.”

 “Well, we can’t all be named after a brand of cereal.”

 “I was named after Coco Chanel!” she snapped, turning to Timothy with crocodile tears, “You get it, right?”

 “…yeah?” he answered, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion, “The clothing brand.”

 He looked to the two Emily’s as he spoke like he was part of some hidden camera show. The two could only laugh and shake their heads as he was quickly rounded into another one of Coco’s monologues.

 “My parents named me Coco because they knew I was destined to make it big. So it was only natural that I…”

 Timothy looked ready to face nuclear winter. His guilt over the previous dinner altercations made him feel guilty for wanting to run away, but the boy always had a hard time saying, “no.” The Emily’s watched on, sparing him pity-filled glances when he looked to them for help.

 “So did you pay your way in here or are you here for your  superior  genetics?” Emily asked. 

 “Genetics,” Emily… Em replied, “I was supposed to be on the east coast but someone paid for me to be transported all the way out here.”

 “Who?”

 She shrugged, “no idea. Some rich snob wanted their dog to go with them… at least that’s what Venable tells me.”

 “I’d hardly call her a  trustful  resource.”

 Em laughed, “That we can agree on.”

 “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

 “More than we have rations for,” Em sighed, reaching for a glass of water, “Fallout could last up to five years and we’ve talked about Chernobyl… but nothing on this scale has ever been recorded.”

 Emily stared blankly ahead and nodded, trying to recall all she had learned about the matter in school, “we could be here for 30 years… maybe more.”

 “Sorry,” Em offered, “anyone here can tell you — I’m not one to speak to for optimism or reassurance.”

 “No,” The other girl shook her head, “I’d rather blatant honestly than pretty lies.”

 “If we had anything more than water I’d toast to that.”

 Emily laughed and shook her head. She reached for a glass of her own and held it up.

 “Let’s toast anyway.”

 Em smiled and leaned her glass forward, a dull clinking sound filling the air. 

 “What were you doing?” Em asked, leaning back and taking a sip of water, “before the bombs hit?”

 “Protesting. It sounds minuscule now… climate change, minimum wage.”

 “Everything is minuscule in the presence of death.”

 “Poetic.”

 “I sure hope so,” Em jested, “or all the money I wasted on an English Major was worthless.”

 Emily laughed, “Is that what you were doing before the bomb’s dropped?”

 “Nah… I was at home… enjoying summer. I was working on our campus’ literary magazine and selling art prints online as a side-hustle.”

 Em shook her head, silence sitting for a moment before Emily spoke.

 “I don’t know what to do with myself now.”

 “I don’t think any of us do, but at least we’re not alone.”

 “I wouldn’t call this particularly good company,” Emily admitted.

 “It’s not,” Em blatantly admitted, earning a short laugh from her companion, “but you and timothy seem alright.”

 “And you?”

 “Well…” Em said, side eying Coco who was still avidly speaking without a sign of ever stopping, “I’m no influencer.”

 Emily snorted and shook her head, “that may be for the best.”

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

“All I’m saying is Stu was boring and using up our food, and that lesions won’t work with my complexion.”

Em rolled her eyes and looked to Emily who once again sat beside her as Coco’s tirade went on. The blond-haired woman once again was patting at her hair like she was on the red carpet. They looked to Timothy across from them who just sat looking blankly ahead of him. Em smiled at shook her head, not able to blame the man for pretending he was anywhere else but here. If not for the mandatory cocktail hour and communal meals, Em would have stayed as far away from the others as possible.

Days had passed since Gallant and Stu had been forced into decontamination. Gallant refused to speak of the incident and… well… they knew where it got Stu. One would have liked to have said that Coco had shown some respect for the deceased, but the farthest she got was initial shock followed by contempt towards their fallen comrade.

“Fuck you,” Andre spat, murder in his eyes, “I hope they come for you next.”

“If they don’t,” Em noted, Coco’s eyes glaring into her own, “I will.”

She gaped at her, nose curling as her expression turned into one of disgust, “Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

Emily gave her a look like a mother trying to get their child to behave among strangers.

It’s not worth it!” She hissed under her breath. Em was far too annoyed to pay her any mind. She could forgive selfishness and vanity, but her complete lack of sympathy for those in pain? It didn’t matter if it was genuine. All she had to do was shut up, give Andre space to grieve. 

Lucky for Coco, their jail-keepers arrived at the table before Em could follow out her threat. Venable’s cane sounded like the tik of a clock with each step she took, reminding the brunette of a horror story her friends and herself would tell around Halloween. 

“Nobody is coming for anyone,” Mead told them as they both rounded the table to their respective seats at the head of the table, “unless you break the rules.”

She looked to Em, “which includes murder.”

Em paused as she took a sip of water, raising a brow at Coco, “I never said anything about murder.”

The older woman looked into her lap and shook her head, trying to hide the amused smile threatening to show on her face. Coco scoffed.

“This is harassment!”

“This is a difficult time for everyone,” Venable spoke, failing to address Coco’s claims, “as a small consolation, we have a special treat.”

Em could smell the food before she could see it, the salt and the meat, she could taste it in her mouth without even touching it. She felt like a dog, smelling things with such detail she had never been able to notice before. It was incredible what desperation could do to the body. The whole table buzzed with excitement, grins brightening faces and hands going to silverware before the food could be set on the table.

Emily was unable to hide her shock, “no cubes tonight?”

Venable’s lips curled into a smile, the expression doing nothing to ease the woman’s continuously angry expression, “enjoy the bonne bouche.”

Bowls clinked together, the Greys hurrying to place food on the table. 

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Yes,” Emily sighed beside her, looking over to Em with an expression of relieved joy. 

The brunette didn’t care. If she was being honest, she hadn’t exactly paid much attention to the woman’s words after she saw the soup on the food trolley. It was much like a cat seeing a bird at the window, green eyes widening and pupils dilating as if Em had found her true love. While her companions were much more graceful, at least attempting some decorum, Em quickly dug into the meal.

Her mother used to chide her for this as a child, sitting next to her brother at the dinner table and seeing who could finish first. She couldn't explain to the woman that she had to eat fast or else her brother would steal her dessert. Such things didn’t make sense to an adult, but a child’s reasoning was elaborate and honest. For a life so short, every little detail mattered.

Usually, she wasn’t a fan of stew. Something about the floating meat and murky broth didn’t sit right with her. Now she wondered why she didn’t enjoy the delicacy more often. The meat fell apart like well-buttered bread in her mouth, the broth warmed her from the inside out. She could feel it burning down her throat like a shot of Bourbon, somewhat painful but none the less satisfying. 

“You think bribing us with a hot meal’s just gonna’ to make everything okay?” Andre asked, voice sore with grief. A white handkerchief flourished with the wave of his hand. It had been somewhere on his person since Stu was pronounced dead. Em was too caught up in her hunger to realize the weight of his words or the sudden stillness of the girl beside her, an unspoken conversation between herself and Timothy. She would take the bribe happily if it meant being spared from the tasteless cube she had become accustomed to. It wouldn’t win her over, but only a fool refused something readily given with no strings attached.

By the time Emily swatted at Em’s arm the brunette had already finished most of the stew, the bottom of her bowl visible through the broth. She sent Emily an irritated glare, gesturing with her hands as she swallowed her last bite.

“What?” she hissed.

Emily only rose her brows and sent a pointed glance towards Timothy. Turning towards him she was meant with an equally suspicious gaze and a shake of the head. With a sigh, she sat back in her chair, looking between the two and waiting for an explanation. 

“I think my mouth just had an orgasm,” Coco moaned with a full mouth, quickly shoving more food into her mouth in fear it would turn out to be a cruel mirage. Em looked at her and embarrassment made her flush a pale pink. Is that what she had looked like?

“Andre,” Venable sighed, settling in her seat and arranging her silverware before she took a single bite, “We’re not trying to bribe anyone, but there is something we all need to understand.”

With a thud of her cane on the floor, the residents turned to her like raccoons being caught in a garbage can. Em prepared herself for a show of saintly-hood the uptight woman so adored.

“There is no ‘us’ and ‘them,’ We are in this together,” Venable proclaimed, “No individual is greater than the group. We did what we had to do. This is, quite simply, a tragedy.”

Em held her tongue for once. While Stu and herself hadn’t been close, she respected him more than she respected most of her fellow purples. The old world may have died, but the power games still presided — a strongman was still a strongman even when draped in fine clothes and laced in a corset. 

It wasn’t as if any of them were paying her any mind, too enthralled in the smell of salt and meat like Hansel and Gretal in the witch’s house. Dinah sighed as she took another bite.

“Where have you been hiding the meat?” 

Venable’s pause waved over Em like a bucket of cold water, the slight twitch of her lip as she looked down at her plate louder and more illuminating than any sermon she had given them. “We have resources… for special occasions.”

Em could only stare at her as she ate, trying to work at the puzzle which was Miss Venable. There were moments where she swore the woman showed regret or perhaps anxiety, but they were small and fleeting. Everyone had a tell, even the most stoic of society. Em just couldn’t figure it out and it drove her up a wall. It felt like she was staring at a brick wall, waiting for it to crumble.

Gallant pulled something out from his mouth, cringing as his teeth dig into something hard. It was white and square, but he couldn’t tell what it was? Gristle? Bone? 

“I’ve never tasted anything like it.” He murmured, examining the object further as he twisted it in the light.

“It’s chicken,” Mead told him a bit too insistently. 

“That’s not a chicken bone,” Timothy spoke, looking from his untouched bowl to the object the hairdresser was holding. His lips pressed into a thin line. Venable took a spoonful to her lips, then another, and then another.

Andre spoke from the other end of the table, voice wavering as he stared at yet another hard piece which had made his teeth hurt, “tell me this doesn’t look like a finger.”

Em looked to her plate, stomach twisting as she poked at the remains of her meal. A piece of white glimmered to the surface. Damning polite behavior, she reached in with her hand and pulled it out. Her mind went blank as she stared at it, rectangular with two prongs reaching outward from the body. It was a tooth. There was no doubt. Chicken didn’t have teeth. A frog gathered at the back of her throat, threatening to leap from her mouth.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Andre sputtered out, breath coming out in wheezing gasps as he flew back from the table shrieking, “The stew is Stu!”

The table erupted in panic. Gallant spit out whatever was in his mouth, leaving a dripping dark stain on the tablecloth. Andre wailed and Coco shrieked to a Grey named Mallory to make her throw up. Em could only stare at the near-empty bowl in front of her, the reality not quite sitting with her. Morbid questions filled her mind. It had tasted like… she didn’t know what it tasted like other than meat. Salty, maybe? Sweet? 

A firm hand squeezed her own, Emily once again there to pull her from a spiral. 

“You didn’t know.”

Amongst the screaming, the gagging, and the retching Venable sat, unmoved by the fires of fear rising around her. She didn’t smile, didn’t frown, didn’t show any reaction at all.

“For heaven’s sake,” she spoke with the same amount of annoyance she always addressed them with, a touch of boredom in her tone “Don’t be ridiculous. There are lines which can never be crossed.”

Something was glinting in Venable’s eyes, something that Em had seen many times before but could never properly place. The woman looked to Mead, “not eating people is off the first rank.”

Em’s voice sounded hollow as it left her, “Yet it is always the first taboo to be broken among the desperate.”

The thought of cannibalism wasn’t what alarmed Em. Cannibalism was deeply ingrained in human history — from burial rituals to a final stand against starvation. No. What frightened her was realizing she would do it again in an instant if it meant her survival. A fire burned in her as she looked to Venable, sitting there with a smug glow of victory. She had hated Venable before, but this made her blood boil at the sight of her. A revelation she did not want had been forced upon her and Venable’s eyes glinted as they met her own. 

Her message was clear: Don’t rebel or you’ll be next.

#ahs fanfic #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc

[andrewisdoing]

Melanin In Blue

I’m trying to stay positive in the midst of so much hatred and constant immense reporting of black men and women who have died.

I have so many feelings although I’m on a constant search for truth and facts. While I raise my fist high in solidarity, I still am listening and trying to hold on to my values.

It’s not always easy. Sometimes I feel like I should be feeling more angry. More militantly black and maybe even resort to shouting how much I hate racist white people. Then there are the times when I have to reach down deep in my heart and just resort to my default which is to try to love and be understanding.

Being black and person is not ever easy. From being stopped by the cops; stared at for rocking my hair in a fro or box braids, hell, just exuding blackness in any capacity garners stares. The attempts at hair touching, the ridiculous amount of people attempting or trying to prove their well meant wokeness while stepping on eggshells, the constant micro aggressive attitudes from other races because of their own experiences with certain individuals in our community, which can sometimes, for them, define our entire existence.Truly, the whole ordeal takes a toll on a person. 

All the while, my own community has work to do.

For me, it’s double duty. Being black and gay is a constant uphill battle that seemingly never ends. My sexuality, for everyone, is a problem. There have been times when my “brothas” have called me a fag, my “sistahs” make snipe judgement calls on how I “became that way.”  Worse than that, I’m not “black enough” for some because of where I’m from and who I kick it with. Because I’m not out here portraying a certain version of what a black male is thought or portrayed to be, I’m not man enough. Those ideals made it hard to grow up and just be a man. It’s a personal war because while I love my people, my culture, my skin, the past that has been tacked to my person since birth, my community still has bruised me too.

Furthermore, seeing how our community hurts our women bothers me. From colorist attitudes to somehow having a say in how a black women should rock their hair, rep their culture and how they should be portrayed is appalling. It seeps into our daughters minds that they need to be a walking in this “thirst trap” ideal instead of walking with confidence and radiance in EVERY shade. I have two sisters and I had a hand in raising them both. I tried to teach them that they don’t have to be anything other than what they are. They were always told that they were beautiful and wise. I always made sure they knew that they could accomplish anything, in spite of what this ugly world will tell them. That said, we as black men, need to love, protect and lift our women. I don’t care if you are out here trying to protect your tough exterior image  (I’m looking at you hip hop culture). If you were raised by  a black woman, protected by black woman and loved by black woman, speak the fuck up and stand by them. Period. 

That said, I could say more, I choose to find joy in the culture while learning other perspectives. I choose to remain grounded while my mind gets blown with new information coming from writers, philosophers, some politicos and thinkers. Even from just everyday people. I’m constantly trying to be a better Andrew. I’m trying to break the ideas of what these identities should be and live according to my own rules. To put it plainly, just be a good, complex and kick ass individual, while being proud of my cultural identities. Not putting others down because I don’t understand their culture or individuality. Fighting for injustice because it’s my right to do so. Standing up on my own two so I can make a life for me and love who I see in the mirror.

We, as human beings, have to do better to make a better life for those coming behind us. We have to grow up. We have to fucking read a book, talk and get to know our brethren while still holding our own ideals and politics.

We have to accept the fact that we are not God. We will stumble and fall short and make mistakes, particularly when it comes to educating ourselves on race and not hurt others for making those mistakes in spite of our justified anger. We have to recognize those mistakes and educate one another, in love and patience. 

We are still healing from wounds while we’ve neglected for centuries and maybe in a way, this is humanity, in some form, finally paying its bill. In a way, race and America is like, how my pastor put it, “a relationship that needs to be fixed” but in no way can be fixed until our intention is the same.  

In short, we have work to do. 

#vents #andrewisdoing #black lives matter #commentary #black men #black women #wokeness #racisim #opinion #me #gay #lgbtqia #black man #black woman #writing #unity #intention #personal #essay #words #black and proud #blue #box braids #hair #micro aggression #black culture

[penzyroamin]

Hi I know it’s been a bit but I’m the confused bi anon. I really really appreciated your response and it wasn’t too long. You made me feel a lot better. I was wondering if you could maybe suggest some books, tv, movies with bi female characters. Thanks soo much for the entire last response . You are absolutely incredible and so sweet. This means more to me than you could ever know❤️

of course!! i’m glad that my first response helped <3

disclaimer of course: i’m not bi! so i’m not an Authoritative Source on bi rep and what people want to see more of. i do actively seek out stuff about lgbtq+ characters, specifically girls and women, so i have some recs! however, i’ll also be adding some things that some bi folks i know have recommended because while lesbians and bi women have a lot in common, these are at the end of the day representing them, not me :)

extra-super favorites will be bolded! i’m putting this under a read more because... i read a lot of books. and recommended a lot of them.

books:

her royal highness by rachel hawkins-- this book is a pretty easy read-- don’t expect any massive revelations about life from it, and you’ll have a good time!!! essentially, a bi texan girl named millie, after having her heart broken by her friend-turned-sort-of-gf, goes to boarding school in scotland and ends up rooming with the princess, flora. if this sounds outrageous and sappy, that’s because it is! and i love it! sexuality isn’t a BIG part of this book, but it’s discussed, and it’s just a generally fun enemies-to-lovers story about a bi aspiring geologist and a no-fucks-to-give lesbian princess and them falling in love!

fried green tomatoes at the whistle stop cafe by fannie flagg-- hello this is actually my favorite book! unlike hrh it is... a LOT to read. it essentially follows 2 stories-- one about a housewife named evelyn and her friendship with an old woman named ninny threadgoode who she meets at the old folks home her mother-in-law stays at, and the other about the stories ninny tells her about her sister-in-law idgie and her partner, ruth. the book was published in 1987, and ruth and idgie’s story is set during the great depression, so they aren’t actively labeled as lesbian or bi, but it’s made obvious enough through coding and the fact that ruth has relationships with men prior to idgie while idgie spends her entire childhood pining after ruth. both storylines are fantastic-- they have a lot to say about the lives of southern women in the 30s and 80s, and about race relations at both periods. i’ll warn you that there are depictions of extreme racism and of abuse, but it handles both delicately. it’s a critical piece of southern literature, and a landmark for lgbtq+ storytelling. as a bonus, my copy has a bunch of great recipes in the back, so if you read it you might chance upon an edition with those in it. if you like poignant period pieces about wlw relationships, women losing their damn minds, and abusive men getting what they deserve, this is the book for you! you will sob. this is a fair warning.

you should see me in a crown by leah johnson-- i haven’t personally read this one, but i’ve heard great things about it from everyone i know who has! an anxious black bi girl in indiana has to win prom queen at her mostly-white school in order to get enough scholarship money to go to the college of her dreams, but ends up falling for mack, another girl running for queen. 

@landlessbud wanted me to shout out red, white, and royal blue by casey mcquinston-- you’ve almost definitely heard about it before (first son and prince of wales, enemies-to-lovers with a side dish of political drama), and it is primarily about a mlm romance, but nora is a fabulously fun bi girl side character and there’s a lot of great stuff about figuring out your sexuality in it.

leah on the offbeat by becky albertalli-- i’ve read a lot of complex thoughts on this book, and mine are... i like it! it’s flawed, sure, and i wish it had handled a few things a little better, but you know what? it’s cute as fuck! leah is a fat bi drummer, and she’s super cool! abby is a great love interest, and she goes through a whole bi realization throughout the book. all in all, it’s just a fun wlw high school romcom with a couple solid dramatic beats and a lot of goofball shenanigans. also, if you were an american girl kid??? one scene in this book will make the entire experience worth it for you.

harley quinn: breaking glass by mariko tamaki and steve pugh-- hey, we’re in graphic novel territory now! this book is RAD. a really neat look at gentrification, community solidarity, giving people what they deserve, and fantastic lgbtq+ found families. teenage harleen quinzel is taken in by a group of drag queens, and is caught between two sort-of love interests-- mysterious vigilante the joker and classmate and community activist ivy-- and the different forms of protest and resistance they represent. the art here is STUNNING, and it’s a great read!

laura dean keeps breaking up with me, by the great mariko tamaki with art by rosemary valero-o’connell-- the vast majority of the characters are lgbt, with a lesbian main character, and the supporting cast including a bi nonbinary character, a bi girl character, and two mlm characters! this is mostly a piece about modern lgbtq+ teenagers and the way toxic relationships take over our lives. it’s one of the most cathartic things i’ve read in a LONG time, and especially if you’re at a point where your sexuality feels kind of vague, this is a great read because it embraces that vagueness by not needing to clearly label the characters and celebrates whatever point of clarity the characters are at. probably some of the most gorgeous art i’ve ever seen in a book, with a beautiful black-white-and-pink color scheme and a really neat approach to visual storytelling.

movies:

i don’t watch many movies, because i get bored really quickly hskdhskhds. but the movies i DO watch are usually gay!

wowie zowie its fried green tomatoes again!-- fannie flagg came back to adapt this into a film and HOT DAMN is it just as good. the plot is primarily the same, with some stuff obviously cut or trimmed to make it a two hour movie instead of a 450 page books fhsjdhsjhds. mary-louise parker plays ruth!!! it got a GLAAD award and an oscar nomination, and god it’s good. there are a couple scenes in here that i think are going to be in my mind until the day i die. the level of pure butch energy that idgie radiates in this film is a one-hit k.o. and it KILLS me.

birds of prey-- listen. this is not a profound movie. harley’s bisexuality isn’t emphasized, and romance is basically nonexistent in this movie. there is some... quite graphic violence. that said, this movie is so fucking fun. it’s mostly just a bunch of women fucking up everyone who crosses them while margot robbie gives a gleeful performance that you can just TELL she enjoyed the fuck out of. the last 20-30 minutes of this movie are the absolute best part, with a long sequence that kind of reinvented what an action/superhero movie could be for me. again, bisexuality isn’t a massive part of this-- it’s mentioned, and then harley just continues on in her gloriously campy outfits and breaks peoples’ knees. again, i CANNOT overemphasize just how fucking good the last 20-30 minutes are. this movie knows what it is and it embraces it. also, women beating people up in costumes that don’t horrifyingly objectify them is always a plus!

imagine me & you-- i’d be remiss if i didn’t mention this one, considering it’s probably one of the most iconic wlw romcoms. a woman named rachel, while at her own wedding, meets a florist named luce, and they fall in love. it’s a very sweet look at questioning your sexuality when you were already secure in it, and rachel’s husband wins “most genuinely understanding guy in a wlw movie” award. it has a lovely happy ending, and articles have been written about the importance of rachel being a bi character who a) gets a happy ending and b) isn’t shamed for figuring out her sexuality later on or slutshamed. this is just... a sweet movie. it’s the romcom a lot of us need in our lives. also, a LOT of floral imagery.

tv shows:

ok, i’ve got a confession. i reaaaaaaally don’t watch much tv. seriously, the only shows i’ve watched a substantial amount of recently have been parks and rec, schitt’s creek, the good place, and gilmore girls. i have a really REALLY short attention span.

that said, eleanor from the good place is bisexual!! the good place is a really wild ride, it’s half afterlife comedy half philosophical musing, and it will almost certainly make you gasp, laugh, think, and also probably cry. also, eleanor is just buckets of fun and she, like many of us, is often blown away by tahani (jameela jamil) and her beauty.

ummm shows i haven’t watched entirely or at all but that have bi women in them and seem pretty good: black lightning, sex education, jane the virgin, arrow. 

if you haven’t already watched it, do not believe what people are going to tell you about watching glee. it will drag you into a pit of despair and white men rapping, and it’s quite biphobic to top it all off.

i hope you enjoy at least some of these!! i tried to include some of my own favs and some that were pointed out to me, so i hope that at least a couple connect with you and make you feel better. again, the bolded ones are my 100% favorites. i love you and i’m glad you reached out again!!! feel free to send some more asks later on <3

#asks #anon #bi anon #ily <3 <3 i hope these help #if anyone wants to add please do!! specifically bi women of color since theres a shortage of them in fiction and media #dont talk abt b/9/9 though id like to not praise diversity in a show glorifying cops

[blackkudos]

Diane Nash

Diane Judith Nash (born May 15, 1938) is an American civil rights activist, and a leader and strategist of the student wing of the Civil Rights Movement.

Nash's campaigns were among the most successful of the era. Her efforts included the first successful civil rights campaign to integrate lunch counters (Nashville); the Freedom Riders, who desegregated interstate travel; co-founding the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC); and co-initiating the Alabama Voting Rights Project and working on the Selma Voting Rights Movement. This helped gain Congressional passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, which authorized the federal government to oversee and enforce state practices to ensure that African Americans and other minorities were not prevented from registering and voting.

Early life

Nash was born in 1938 and raised in Chicago by her father Leon Nash and her mother Dorothy Bolton Nash in a middle-class Catholic area. Her father was a veteran of World War II. Her mother worked as a keypunch operator during the war, leaving Nash in the care of her grandmother, Carrie Bolton, until age 7. Bolton was a cultured woman, known for her refinement and manners.

After the war, Nash's parents' marriage ended. Dorothy married again to John Baker, a waiter on the railroad dining cars owned by the Pullman Company. Baker was a member of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, one of the most powerful black unions in the nation. As Dorothy no longer worked outside the house, Diane saw less of her grandmother Carrie Bolton, but she continued as an important influence in Nash's life. Bolton was committed to making sure her granddaughter understood her worth and value, and didn't discuss race often, believing that racial prejudice was something that was taught to younger generations by their elders. Her grandmother's words and actions instilled Diane with confidence and a strong sense of self-worth, while also creating a bit of a sheltered environment that left her vulnerable to the severity of racism in the outside world as she grew older.

Education

Nash attended Catholic schools,. She also was the runner-up in a regional beauty pageant leading to the competition for Miss Illinois.

After finishing Hyde Park High School in Chicago, Diane Nash went to Washington, D.C., to attend Howard University, a historically black college (HBCU). After a year, she transferred to Fisk University in Nashville, Tennessee, where she majored in English. Nash acknowledged that she looked forward to personal growth during her time in college and wanted to explore the challenging issues of the time. In Nashville, she was first exposed to the full force of Jim Crow laws and customs and their effect on the lives of Blacks. Nash recounted her experience at the Tennessee State Fair when she had to use the "Colored Women" restroom, signifying the first time she had ever seen and been impacted by segregation signage. Outraged by the realities of segregation, Nash began to show signs of leadership and soon became a full-time activist.

Nash's family members were surprised when she joined the Civil Rights Movement. Her grandmother was quoted as saying, "Diane, you've gotten in with the wrong bunch;" she did not know that Diane was the chairwoman of organizing the nonviolent protests at her university. Her family was not familiar with the idea of working for civil rights, and it took her family time to fully recognize her position as a key player in the Civil Rights Movement. Eventually, her mother fundraised for the Freedom Riders. Nash said in a PBS Tavis Smiley interview, "My mother ended up going to fundraisers in Chicago that were raising money to send to the students in the South and actually, over years, she went to an elevated train bus station one day at 6:00 a.m. to hand out leaflets protesting the war." Her mother was influenced by Nash's sense of empowerment.

Nashville Student Movement

At Fisk, Nash searched for a way to challenge segregation. Nash began attending nonviolent civil disobedience workshops led by James Lawson. While in India, James Lawson had studied Mahatma Gandhi's techniques of nonviolent direct action and passive resistance used in his political movement. By the end of her first semester at Fisk, Nash had become one of Lawson's most devoted disciples. Although originally a reluctant participant in nonviolence, Nash emerged as a leader due to her well-spoken, composed manner when speaking to the authorities and to the press. In 1960 at age 22, she became the leader of the Nashville sit-ins, which lasted from February to May. Lawson's workshops included simulations in order to prepare the students to handle verbal and physical harassment that they would ultimately face during the sit-ins. In preparation, the students would venture out to segregated stores and restaurants, doing nothing more than speaking with the manager when they were refused service. Lawson graded their interactions in each simulation and sit-in, reminding them to have love and compassion for their harassers. This movement was unique for the time in that it was led by and composed primarily of college students and young people. The Nashville sit-ins spread to 69 cities across the United States.

Though protests would continue in Nashville and across the South, Diane Nash and three other students were first successfully served at the Post House Restaurant on March 17, 1960. Students continued the sit-ins at segregated lunch counters for months, accepting arrest in line with nonviolent principles. Nash, with John Lewis, led the protesters in a policy of refusing to pay bail. In February 1961, Nash served jail time in solidarity with the "Rock Hill Nine" — nine students imprisoned after a lunch counter sit-in. They were all sentenced to pay a $50 fine for sitting at a whites-only lunch counter. Chosen as spokesperson, Nash said to the judge, "We feel that if we pay these fines we would be contributing to and supporting the injustice and immoral practices that have been performed in the arrest and conviction of the defendants."

When Nash asked Nashville's mayor, Ben West, on the steps of City Hall, "Do you feel it is wrong to discriminate against a person solely on the basis of their race or color?", the mayor admitted that he did. Three weeks later, the lunch counters of Nashville were serving blacks. Reflecting on this event, Nash said, "I have a lot of respect for the way he responded. He didn't have to respond the way he did. He said that he felt it was wrong for citizens of Nashville to be discriminated against at the lunch counters solely on the basis of the color of their skin. That was the turning point. That day was very important."

While participating in the Nashville sit-in, Diane Nash first met fellow protester James Bevel, whom she would later marry. They had two children together, a son and a daughter. The couple divorced after seven years of marriage and Nash never remarried.

In August 1961, Diane Nash participated in a picket line to protest a local supermarket's refusal to hire blacks. When local white youths started egging the picket line and punching various people, police intervened. They arrested 15 people, only five of whom were the white attackers. All but one of the blacks who were jailed accepted the $5 bail and were freed. But Nash stayed. The 21-year-old activist had insisted on her arrest with the other blacks, and once in jail, refused bail.

SNCC and SCLC

In spring 1960, nearly two hundred students involved with the nationwide sit-in movement arrived in Raleigh, North Carolina, for an organizing conference. There, the SCLC (Southern Christian Leadership Conference), at Ella Baker's request, sponsored the students' meeting on April 15. Martin Luther King envisioned a simple SCLC student league, but Baker herself advised the youth to remain autonomous and follow their own principles. Accordingly, in April 1960 Nash was one of the leading founders of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC - pronounced "snick"), independent of any adult organizations, and quit school to lead its direct action wing. In the coming years, organizations such as CORE and SCLC would try to recruit SNCC as their own student wing, with SNCC always resisting the invitations. The Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee would go on to be involved with some of the most important campaigns of the civil rights era, adding a fresh and active youth voice to the movement.

In early 1961, Nash and ten fellow students were put under arrest in Rock Hill, South Carolina, for protesting segregation. Once jailed, they would not accept the chance for bail. These dramatic events began to bring light to the fight for racial justice that was beginning to emerge. It also highlighted the idea of "jail, no bail", which was utilized by many other civil rights activists as the fight for rights progressed.

Originally fearful of jail, Nash was arrested dozens of times for her activities. She spent 30 days in a South Carolina jail after protesting segregation in Rock Hill, in February 1961. In 1962, although she was four months pregnant with her daughter Sherri, she faced a two-year prison sentence in Mississippi for contributing to the delinquency of minors whom she had encouraged to become Freedom Riders and ride on the buses. Despite her pregnancy, she was ready to serve her time with the possibility of her daughter's being born in jail. Nash took the weight of this possibility seriously, spending two days praying and meditating before coming to a decision and penning an open letter. "I believe that if I go to jail now, it may help hasten that day when my child and all children will be free — not only on the day of their birth but for all their lives." She was sentenced to 10 days in jail in Jackson, Mississippi, "where she spent her time there washing her only set of clothing in the sink during the day and listening to cockroaches skitter overhead at night".

Nash would go on to serve many roles for the SCLC from 1961 through 1965 while it was under Martin Luther King Jr. Though years later, Nash is clear about how she saw herself in relation to King, stating "I never considered Dr. King my leader. I always considered myself at his side and I considered him at my side. I was going to do what the spirit told me to do. So If I had a leader, that was my leader." She later cut ties with the SCLC, questioning their leadership structure, including their male- and clergy-dominated ranks. She would also split from SNCC in 1965 when their directives changed under Stokley Carmichael's leadership, taking particular issue with the organization's departure from the founding pillar of nonviolence.

Freedom Riders

"We will not stop. There is only one outcome," stated Diane Nash, referring to the 1961 CORE Freedom Riders. Designed to challenge state segregation of interstate buses and facilities, the project was suspended by CORE after a bus was firebombed and several riders were severely injured in attacks by a mob in Birmingham, Alabama. Nash called on Fisk University and other college students to fill buses to keep the Freedom Rides going. They traveled to the South to challenge the states. The Nashville students, encouraged by Nash, promptly decided to finish the trip that had been suspended at Birmingham. New Orleans Congress of Racial Equality, the Nashville students, and Nash were committed, ready, and willing. "It was clear to me that if we allowed the Freedom Ride to stop at that point, just after so much violence had been inflicted, the message would have been sent that all you have to do to stop a nonviolent campaign is inflict massive violence," says Nash. Nash took over responsibility for the Freedom Rides and worked to recruit Riders, act as media spokesperson, and garner the support of the government and other Movement leaders. Coordinating from Nashville, she led the Freedom Riders from Birmingham, Alabama to Jackson, Mississippi, where CORE Field Secretary Tom Gaither coordinated a massive program on the ground.

After the severe attacks, CORE's Executive Director James Farmer Jr. a veteran of CORE's original 1947 Freedom Rides, was hesitant to continue them. Nash talked with the students of the Nashville Student Movement and argued that, "We can't let them stop us with violence. If we do, the movement is dead." Nash remained adamant that they not send a message to the public that civil rights efforts could be stopped with violence. As the violence escalated and bus drivers began to refuse service to the Riders due to the dangers, Attorney General Robert Kennedy became involved and worked to keep the Rides going. Kennedy called the Alabama governor and the Greyhound bus company to implore them to allow the Rides to continue. Kennedy insisted that his special assistant John Seigenthaler travel to Alabama to get directly involved in the matter. Seigenthaler informed the reluctant Alabama governor that it was the government's duty to protect these citizens during the Freedom Rides. Nash spoke with Seigenthaler on the phone, and Seigenthaler warned her that the Freedom Rides could result in death and violence for participants. She responded, "We know someone will be killed, but we cannot let violence overcome nonviolence." Nash explained to Seigenthaler that she and other students had already signed their wills. John Lewis, who had just returned from the Freedom Ride, agreed to continue it, as did other students. A contingent of activists from New Orleans CORE also participated. They continued the action to a successful conclusion six months later.

When Nash was bringing a batch of students to Birmingham to continue the Ride, she telephoned Birmingham activist Fred Shuttlesworth to inform him. He responded to her sternly: "Young lady, do you know that the Freedom Riders were almost killed here?" Nash assured him that she did and that that would not stop her from continuing the ride. After gathering the final list of Riders, she placed a phone call to Shuttlesworth. They knew their phone line had been tapped by local police, so they worked out a set of coded messages related to, of all things, poultry. For instance, "roosters" were substituted for male Freedom Riders, "hens" for female Riders and so on. When Nash called Shuttlesworth again on Wednesday morning to tell him "The chickens are boxed," he knew that the Freedom Riders were on their way.

On May 20, 1961, the Riders left Birmingham for Montgomery with the promise of protection from the federal government, including police escorts and planes flying overhead. After about 40 miles, all signs of protection disappeared, and the Riders were subjected to a violent, angry mob armed with makeshift weapons such as pipes and bricks. Both white and black Riders were injured by the mob, including special assistant John Seigenthaler who exited his car to help one of the female Riders who was being beaten. When all the other Riders had left the bus terminal, five of the female Riders phoned Shuttlesworth, who relayed their whereabouts to Nash. Others called Nash directly, to inform her of the chaotic situation that had occurred. Fearing that all the riders were subject to arrest, Nash advised them to stay out of sight from the police, but this was compromised by Wilbur and Hermann, who had called the police after fleeing from the terminal area.

On May 21, 1961, Martin Luther King Jr. arrived at the First Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama. King had caused tension between himself and the Freedom Riders, Nash included, due to his refusal to participate in the Rides. Diane Nash was present at the First Baptist Church that night and is credited with playing a key role in getting King to come and speak in support of the Freedom Riders. More than 1,500 citizens were trapped inside the church overnight as violence raged outside. Martial law had to be declared by Alabama Governor John Patterson to finally bring an end to the mob. Gov. Patterson had been highly criticized by many within the movement for his unwillingness to support and protect the Riders. This was the first time he and the state of Alabama had moved to protect the movement. King preached to the crowd inside the church while teargas seeped in from outside, telling them that they would "remain calm" and "continue to stand up for what we know is right."

In 1963 President John F. Kennedy appointed Nash to a national committee to promote civil rights legislation. Eventually his proposed bill was passed as the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

Alabama Project and the Selma Voting Rights Movement

Shocked by the 1963 church bombing in Birmingham that killed four young girls, Nash and James Bevel committed to raising a nonviolent army in Alabama. Their goal was the vote for every black adult in Alabama, a radical proposition at the time. Alabama and other southern states had effectively excluded blacks from the political system since disenfranchising them at the turn of the century. After funerals for the girls in Birmingham, Nash confronted SCLC leadership with their proposal. She was rebuffed, but continued to advocate this "revolutionary" nonviolent blueprint.

Together with SCLC, Nash and Bevel eventually implemented the Selma to Montgomery marches, a series of protests for voting rights in Alabama in early 1965. They were initiated and organized by James Bevel, who was running SCLC's Selma Voting Rights Movement. Marchers crossed the Pettus Bridge on their way to the state capital of Montgomery, but after they left the city limits, they were attacked by county police and Alabama state troopers armed with clubs and tear gas, determined to break up the peaceful march. John Lewis, who had knelt to pray, had his skull fractured. The images were broadcast over national television, shocking the nation. Soon after this, President Lyndon Johnson publicly announced that it was "wrong--deadly wrong--to deny any of your fellow Americans the right to vote in this country." The initiative culminated in passage by Congress of the 1965 Voting Rights Act, which authorized the federal government to oversee and enforce the constitutional right to vote, with mechanisms to assess state compliance and require changes to enable registration and voting.

In 1965, SCLC gave its highest award, the Rosa Parks Award, to Diane Nash and James Bevel for their leadership in initiating and organizing the Alabama Project and the Selma Voting Rights Movement.

Later recognition

During the civil rights era and shortly after, many of the male leaders received most of the recognition for its successes. As the civil rights era has been studied by historians, Nash's contributions have been more fully recognized.

In 1995 historian David Halberstam described Nash as "…bright, focused, utterly fearless, with an unerring instinct for the correct tactical move at each increment of the crisis; as a leader, her instincts had been flawless, and she was the kind of person who pushed those around her to be at their best, or be gone from the movement."

Nash is featured in the award-winning documentary film series Eyes on the Prize (1987) and the 2000 series A Force More Powerful about the history of nonviolent conflict. She is also featured in the PBS American Experience documentary on the Freedom Riders, based on the history of the same name. Nash is also credited with her work in David Halberstam's book about the Nashville Student Movement, The Children, as well as Diane Nash: The Fire of the Civil Rights Movement.

In addition, she has received the Distinguished American Award from the John F. Kennedy Library and Foundation (2003), the LBJ Award for Leadership in Civil Rights from the Lyndon Baines Johnson Library and Museum (2004),

Nash has continued to believe in the power of nonviolent action to solve conflicts. In an interview with Theresa Anderson she said,

Violence needs to be addressed. I think the Civil Rights Movement has demonstrated how to resolve human conflicts. I think it's crazy when two countries have problems with each other and one says 'Let's bomb them, kill them, go fight.' If we have a problem with another country I would like to see consideration instead of an automatic tendency to go to war. Let's hear their side, consider our side, and look at what is logical and reasonable. Let's look at what serves the best interests of the people and see if we can negotiate solutions, more sane solutions.

Later life

After the Civil Rights Movement, Nash moved back to Chicago where she worked in the fields of education and real estate, continuing as an advocate and championing causes such as fair housing and anti-war efforts. She still lives in Chicago, only a few miles away from her son Douglass Bevel, with whom she remains very close.

In 2013, Nash expressed her support for Barack Obama, while also sharing her reluctance for his continuing involvement in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. While encouraged by the positive implications associated with electing the first Black President of the United States, Nash still believes that the true changes in American society will come from its citizens, not government officials.

Although she attended the Selma 50th anniversary celebrations in March 2015, Nash was noticeably absent from the re-staging of the 1965 Selma march. When asked about her refusal to participate in the historic event, Nash cited the attendance of former president George W. Bush. Nash, who has dedicated her life to pursuits of peace and nonviolence, declared that Bush "stands for just the opposite: For violence and war and stolen elections, and his administration…had people tortured."

Decades after she played a critical role in the Civil Rights Movement, Diane Nash remains committed to the principles of nonviolence that have guided her throughout her life. Although she was a key architect in many of the Movement's most successful efforts, she remains humble upon reflection. "It took many thousands of people to make the changes that we made, people whose names we'll never know. They'll never get credit for the sacrifices they've made, but I remember them."

In popular culture

Nash is portrayed by Tessa Thompson in the 2014 film Selma.

Nash is also portrayed in The Boondocks episode "Freedom Ride or Die".

#05/15

[saruma-aki]

Well, I would like to say I thought this through before dragging this post back up after having posted it way back when ST2 was new and fresh out of the proverbial womb, but, the harsh truth is, I did not. Honestly, I have been ignoring the existence of this post since its conception because the amount of popularity it garnered was mainly negative (no shock there; this is, after all, tumblr) and I had more important things to stress over than what someone interpreted from a line in a show that will fade into obscurity in a couple of years. However, the most recent reblog caught my eye because someone actually wrote something under it—and not just under someone else’s words, but the original post, which I had not seen in a while.

Obviously, what they said did not make me very happy. Otherwise, what is the actual point of making this post?

Here is the thing, the “tea” or however you want to call it—everything they said is way out of line.

I will be the first, the very first (no one is beating me to that spot) to admit that the original post was just a little bit tone deaf. It did not really discuss the topic or why it is that I felt like I did or Dacre’s own opinion. It was just a couple of screenshots from an article that made me feel better about where I stood on the whole debate—and I wanted to share it. I don’t know why. Maybe to just not feel crazy in the midst of that drama? Who can say? However, I will be the first to say that the post is wholly inadequate in explaining anything of note.

I was not exactly surprised when people took to it with raised hackles, even if I really never conceived it would reach close to five hundred notes by the time I got the guts to address it again (and I know that five hundred, 5-0-0, doesn’t really seem like a lot, but considering that I thought maybe one person would pay attention to it, it’s basically the equivalent of a million in my eyes).

But, you know what? I’m tired. I’m stressed. I’m slowly dying. Let’s finally addres this. Because this reblog, this most recent reblog, really bothered me. And I know, trust me when I say I know, that it seems simple and of no need for concern, and I’m sure the few people who are actually bothering to read through this are thinking, “Why on earth did they not just talk to this person instead of making a long post?” But, here’s the thing with this whole shebang: I’m tired, and this person isn’t alone in their opinion. What made this one stand out is how they phrased their belief.

I’ve had to listen to people gripe about how this post “proves there’s no such thing as POC solidarity”, and they’re absolutely right because Native American woman are being slaughtered and raped and abused every day, and Native Americans are represented less that one percent of the time (<1%) ) in film and media (and the few, very rare, times they are it is with an abundance of racism and stereotypes piled onto them), and yet I don’t see black people, with their sixteen percent (16%) representation score raising much of a fuss. (This is not a call out or something. I get it. Get your own representation and rights before helping out anyone else. It makes sense, in a way—I’m not judging. But maybe don’t come at people with that when you’re part of the issue.) I have had to listen to people assume my race, ethnicity, political leaning because of this post, and, honestly, I’m just a wee bit tired of it.

I have four things I really want to say with this post, in response to everyone, but especially in response to this one reblog:

1) I am a proud person of color. I am a proud descendant of African slaves. I am a proud descendant of Taino natives. I am a proud member of the Latino community. I am a proud non-white individual who experiences racism on a daily basis.

I experience racism meant for black people. I experience racism meant for Latinos. I experience xenophobia meant for Middle Easterners and Asians. I experience racism meant for Middle Easterners. I experience racism meant for Indians. I experience Islamophobia meant for Muslims. I have been told they should “build a wall” to keep me out. I have been told that the KKK should pay me a visit. I have been called a terrorist. I have had people dance in crude imitations of Indian traditional dance to my face while laughing. I have experienced all of this and more.

I have been a victim of racism, classism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, etc., from both POCs and white people, straight and gays, natives and immigrants.

Do not presume to know my race and my experiences just because my opinion does not coincide with yours. Quite frankly, don’t do that to anyone. You do not know anyone’s life story, especially over the Internet. Do not assume otherwise. Do not delude yourself into a false confidence and assurance of your own moral superiority when you know nothing of the people you are attacking. It is easy to hide behind a screen, and I am not here to tell you to not talk about what you wish and what you can and cannot talk about and direct at people. I merely suggest you stick to the information readily accessible, not mere assumptions based on your own prejudices. It reveals more about you than the person you are belittling.

2) Billy never saw Max and Dustin together like he did Max and Lucas. Billy never saw Dustin upsetting Max like he did Lucas. Billy never sees Max and Dustin in any capacity like he does Max and Lucas.

This is not a justification. This is not an excuse. This is a mere statement of fact. Whether or not you believe Billy is racist or abusive or whatever, the bottom line is the same. Billy doesn’t witness Max with Dustin like he does Lucas. Honestly, I’m fairly certain Billy never even sees Dustin and Max together at all. Think Billy is racist or don’t, but it doesn’t change this very basic fact. It’s not a situation of “why didn’t he” when every iteration can be debunked by simply understanding that this wasn’t information he was privy to ever. “Why didn’t he?” Because he didn’t know.

3) I don’t take the word of the Duffers on anything. Let’s make that perfectly clear. And this is not some personal dislike or something. This is born from experience. I have sat in the writer’s chair; I have sat in the director’s chair; I have sat in the actor’s chair. You know what I have learned? The writer provides the skeleton, the director gives it movement, the actor gives it life. The job of an actor is solely to understand the character. That, ladies and gentlemen and the general populace, is the secret of acting.

What the writers provide is just the guidelines for the actor. The understanding the actor develops can evolve into a different interpretation than the writer or director had, and it has the potential to be more profound.

The other two reasons I don’t take the word of the Duffers on this is: A) had it not been for Dacre, the Duffers would have been subject to critique on lazy writing moreso than they are already because Billy’s depth and complexity, especially the jarring scene we all remember, came from Dacre—Dacre wanted a villain with a reason if he was going to play Billy and he pushed for it (which says a lot about him and how skilled of an actor he is—understanding that experience and trauma shapes us and forms us into what we are and that we are not static beings, so there should be no such thing as a static character) and that makes Dacre’s opinion a lot heftier than the Duffers’ already——B) Dacre originally did think Billy was racist. Isn’t that a kicker? Dacre remarks in interviews that when he read the script at first, he thought, “Oh, no, gosh, he’s racist on top of all of this?” And he stayed with that mentality for a bit. It was only as he delved deeper into the character and understood Billy more as a person instead of the two dimensional villain he’s set up as that he changed his mind and came to the conclusion that he doesn’t think Billy’s racist.

He put in the work.

The Duffers went in with a throwaway line and labeled the character as racist. They wanted a human villain, someone for people to hate, someone to pit against our heroes, against Steve. They wanted to make him awful and static and to have him do what Steve’s character couldn’t and stay the asshole the audience could hate.

Dacre didn’t fall prey to that mentality. He searched for the human in the label “human villain” that the Duffers wanted and found a much more complex character than the Duffers even considered. Because of this, Dacre’s opinion carries far more weight than the Duffer Brothers’.

And, ultimately, most importantly—the main reason I wanted to make this post, to defend the original post this is born from even though I’ve stated my stance on this issue in a separate post in much clearer terms—the real reason I made the original post to begin with even if I never talked about it:

4) People who immediately assume racism instead of ignorance, racist instead of ignorant, are part of the problem, not the solution.

This really bears no explanation. You cannot change what you believe is irreversible. You cannot educate what you believe is closed off. You cannot help that which you’ve condemned.

I do my utmost to live my life by this. Ignorance before condemnation, always, always, always. The majority of the time it is a lack of education on the subject and a lack of personal experience that leads to such grave misunderstandings. Give a person the chance to learn and to be taught and to redeem themselves, and most of them will. It takes time and patience and a boatload of energy and perseverance, but you get there through understanding and the willingness to help out—by giving them the chance everyone else is denying them.

You cannot help those which you’ve condemned. In life and in fiction, until proven repeatedly over and over again when intervention is applied, I like to adopt the philosophy that people are ignorant before they are racist, before they are a sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, etc., etc.

I’m not saying it’s a popular philosophy (because it’s not), and I’m not saying it’s right (because maybe it isn’t), but it’s my philosophy. And knowing where Billy comes from, what he’s been through, who his father is, what his home life is like, I elect to believe in my philosophy and in my understanding of the human mind, and I don’t think he’s racist. I can definitely see how he might be construed as such, and I don’t belittle those who see it that way, but I stand by my original observation (however ineloquently stated) that I, in my own personal opinion, don’t believe Billy is racist.

And, ultimately, I just want people to accept that. I’m not denying the possibility. I’m not uninformed. I’m not some white, cisgender, hesterosexual man sitting behind his computer screen agreeing with a white actor because it makes me feel more comfortable in myself and my own experiences. I am a proud POC, a proud member of the LGBTQ+ community, a writer, an actor, a director, and a human being. I see where you all are coming from—I hear you; I read what you write. I get it. But can you get me? Can you understand where I am coming from? Can you stop with the misinformation and the moral superiority complex? Life is too short to live like this. I know that it’s Tumblr. I know being superior is the bread and butter of this site. But, honestly, guys, let me get cheesy for a second, let me get real, because you guys clearly need to hear this:

Be willing to understand and to learn. You will get so much further in life. You cannot help that which you’ve condemned, guys. And you really can’t. You can’t change what you believe is irreversible. You can’t teach that which you believe is unwilling to learn. Give people a chance, and they might just surprise you.

Gosh, I hope this cleared some things. I doubt many of you made it to the end if you even got past the beginning, but I sure feel better after writing this. Take care. Bless. I’ll see you on the other side of the war.

#stranger things 2 #billy hargrove #in defense of billy hargrove #in defense of myself #dayummmm never thought i’d end up here #tumblr will forever and always need to chill #chill tumblr chill #mullet wearing asshole #harringrove #i am here to clear the air #that really wasnt muggy to begin with #but some people got confused real fast #so here we go

[truthbeetoldmedia]

Good Trouble 1x13 “Vitamin C” Review

In its first season, Good Trouble has provided endless drama and laughs while re-introducing characters from the hit Freeform drama The Fosters in an entirely new chapter of their lives. While it was a giant risk to throw them into a loft with people the viewers have never met before, and rely on just two original characters to pull it all together, it paid off. Big time. In the final episode of the first season, we see new relationships between said characters blossom, old ones fall apart, and some are left hanging. Because after all, what is a good season finale without a few cliff-hangers?

At the end of Episode 12, three major plot twists occured. First, the head of HR at Speckulate, Angela, gave Mariana a list of all the male employees at the company and their salaries. Second, Malika had a mysterious family emergency, one that caused her to uncharacteristically skip out on the Black Lives Matter protest she helped organize. And third, Dennis took his ex-wife’s malicious words to heart and appeared to be on the metaphorical and literal edge.

Thankfully, light is shed on each of these situations fairly quickly in the finale. We discover that Malika’s mother has had an aneurysm and is essentially brain-dead. This causes yet another rift between Malika and her brother, who refuses to take her off of life support. Malika meanwhile knows that it’s time for them to let her go.

At Speckulate, Mariana questions Angela’s motives and decides to confront her. Angela confides in her, telling her that when she was first hired years ago, the same optimistic thought went through her mind about the engineering culture shifting. However, nothing came of it. She wants to help the cause, but knows that if she is outed for her involvement, she’ll lose her job and probably never find another one, making her unable to care for her child. This was a heartwarming moment of female solidarity, thankfully not a rarity in this show.

Back at the loft, Dennis is still missing. Davia seems to be the only one worried about him, and has called every jail and hospital in the area to no avail. Her mind is soon taken off of her friend’s disappearance, though, when her student whom she and Malika suspect is homeless shows up at the front door. Though this storyline seemed random at first, it serves as the motivation Davia needs going into the second season to make the right decision regarding her future. She’s been considering leaving LA to go back home and live with her boyfriend, who up until this point, has been making the empty promise of leaving his wife. However, despite her lack of confidence, she’s a great teacher. Her students need her.

The chaos in the Coterie continues as Sumi is about to get married on the rooftop. The whole event has been orchestrated by resident pushover Alice, who must keep up the facade that she’s straight and definitely not dating Joey, I mean, Joanna, when her parents stop by with a congratulatory present for Sumi. Alice manages to get them out of the Coterie without suspecting she’s in a relationship with Joey, or that Sumi is the bride marrying another woman. However, she’s left with more weight on her shoulders than before.

At the courthouse, Callie continues to question if Judge Wilson has ethical motives as he withholds personal information belonging to one of the police officers accused of wrongly shooting and killing a black boy, Jamal Thompson. Callie and Jamie conspire that he’s made a deal with the LAPD following his own son’s arrest, allowing his son’s charges to be dropped in exchange for biased favoring in the court.

Because Callie has no proof of this, she considers rummaging through Judge Wilson’s desk drawers and finding the private files for herself. However, she decides against it, the clerk beating out the social justice warrior in her.

Also facing an internal conflict is Mariana, who isn’t sure whether she should take the opportunity she’s been given by the CEO himself, Evan, to create an app and recruit women and people of color to help her, or publicly release the company’s salaries. Her greatest concern is inciting positive change, and Callie reminds her that she can convince herself of anything, she’ll know what the right decision is by listening to her gut. At first, Mariana does just that, telling herself and her sister that the app is the best decision. She soon realizes though that she’s being too safe, and that posting the salaries is the right move.

Though Callie and Mariana aren’t biological siblings, it’s very clear at this point that they were both raised to act with the greater good in mind. Without Stef and Lena acting as major characters in the series, moments like this one are nice callbacks to them and the morality they’ve instilled in their children.

While they’re talking, Callie mysteriously (or not so mysteriously?) receives an envelope that was left for her earlier, full of the personal information she almost stole out of Judge Wilson’s desk drawer. Regardless of who delivered the envelope, it’s in her hands now (though she struggles with what to do with it). Within the envelope is a document stating that the Chief of Police in the city said it’s cheaper for the city to let victims of police shootings die, a detail that if revealed to the public, could help Jamal’s family win the case.

We see Callie argue with herself, unsure of whether or not to give the files to Jamal’s attorney. She doesn’t get a chance to make a decision, as she’s interrupted by a newly single Gael. He confesses to Callie that he broke up with Bryan because she’s the one he loves, and questions her relationship with Jamie. Callie says nothing in response, but seems a bit shaken.

Davia, meanwhile, finally meets the father of her student, who reveals that the two are in fact homeless. He begs Davia not to tell anyone, and also tells her that she’s his daughter’s favorite teacher. Without her, he says, she would hate going to school. Davia  makes learning fun. This one small moment seems to cause a lightbulb to go off in Davia’s head, that she should stay in LA and continue teaching, but also that’s she’s worthy. For too much of the season, she’s struggled with her own self-worth, and while countless characters have tried to steer her away from actions rooted in self-loathing, like staying with a man who isn’t entirely committed to her and wants her to give up her professional dreams for him, it turns out she just needed to hear that her students needed her.

The next day, Mariana arrives at work and overhears coworkers talking about Evan’s interest in another employee and how she ended up being fired. She confronts Raj, who she yelled at days prior for warning her about Evan’s possible motives. Raj only wants what’s best for her, and seems not to have any questionable motives himself.

Knowing Raj will always have her back, Mariana attempts to convince the members of Byte Club that publishing the salaries is the right move. While Casey opts out, fearing that all the work she’s put in over the years will have been for nothing, the other women decide to back Mariana up.

It goes about as well as any of them expect, when Josh demands the perpetrator come forward. However, things take a turn when he blames Angela for not bringing the wage gap issue to his attention (obviously bullshit) and fires her. Mariana immediately stands up, taking the blame for hacking into the system and getting the salaries. Soon, a wave of people standing in solidarity (including Raj) washes over the room, forcing Josh to rethink firing Angela. Several women also call out Josh for trying to kiss them, flipping the script.

And though Evan tries to keep her from leaving, Mariana decides that she should say goodbye to Speckulate and move on with her career, maybe even create her app on her own. Unfortunately, Evan tells her that if she leaves, she can’t take the app with her. It belongs to him now.

Back at the loft, Meera reveals to Alice that Sumi has called off the wedding. When Sumi finally returns, Alice must tell her that she doesn’t love her back, even if she isn’t with Meera anymore. She does remind her friend though that she shouldn’t marry someone she isn’t sure about.

And in her own moment of bravery, Alice comes out to her parents via FaceTime, who reveal they knew all along that she was gay. They’ve suspected she was in love with Sumi, and tell Alice that they just want grandkids. With so many cross-cultural coming outs gone wrong, it was nice to see Alice face her fears and come out the other side better than okay. This moment left me hopeful that maybe she’ll be able to get Joey back, who wasn’t impressed with her closeted behavior, and have a happy, authentic relationship in Season 2.

As the Jamal Thompson trial continues, the files have been released to his attorney. This leaves the courtroom a bit shaken, and ultimately causes Judge Wilson to call a recess for the time being. It looks like it’s Callie versus Judge Wilson now, though he doesn’t know (yet) that she’s working against him. This will definitely get interesting next season.

Having made a professional decision, Callie is still unsure of what to do in her personal life. This episode included a great choreographed dream sequences which showcases Callie dancing with several partners, all of whom play important roles in her life currently: Judge Wilson, Malika, Gael and Jamie. They seem to be pulling her in every which way, and although cheesy, this play on conscious thoughts bleeding into the unconscious in the form of a dream portrays to us viewers just how torn Callie is in her life currently. As a young woman, she’s understandably lost and questioning herself more often than not. This allows Callie to be extremely relatable to young viewers (even if they aren’t clerks secretly meddling with a case or in the middle of a love triangle).

Despite my dislike for Gael and Callie’s relationship and his portrayal as a bisexual man who’s unable to commit to one partner, I can’t deny that she’ll probably end up with him next season. This isn’t to say that their relationship will last, but I’m definitely seeing more chemistry between them than between her and Jamie. I love her and Jamie together, I really do, but this is one battle I’m prepared to lose.

Across town, Davia finally finds Dennis checked into a hospital after nearly committing suicide. He tells her that her voice had been running through his head, telling him not to be an idiot, and the two share a sweet moment together. Davia doesn’t tell the others back at the Coterie where Dennis really is, lying instead and saying he’s on a road trip and didn’t have service for a while. During a rooftop hangout, she also reveals to her friends that she’s decided to stay in LA, despite her boyfriend coming by and telling her he broke up with his wife, finally.

And while Callie is still unsure who she wants to be with, Mariana has made some moves in the love department. In a moment I’ve been waiting for all season, she kissed Raj on top of the Coterie roof, finally bringing their adorably supportive friendship to the next level. It’s clear that Raj has a lot of respect for Mariana, and really just wants what’s best for her. Though he inappropriately tried to kiss her earlier in the season during a work project, his redemption arc has been steady. Raj has proved that he’s not some slimy dude, like the rest of the guys at Speckulate, but he has genuinely innocent intentions. He respects Mariana as an engineer, but he also has feelings for her.

I can’t wait to see their feelings explored in Season 2, and hopefully see Callie choose a suitor as well. I’m also totally rooting for Davia and Dennis, because ever since their duet on the rooftop, I refuse to believe these two are platonic.  

And so, the first season of Good Trouble is over. Starting as a The Fosters’ spinoff, this show has caught the attention of many as a show that can stand on its own. Though Callie and Mariana are familiar faces, and there are occasional cameos from Adams-Foster family members, the show is about so much more. The Coterie members come from all walks of life and each serve a purpose to each other and to the audience, to educate us on the lives of people we may not interact with every day. Issues of intersectionality, sexual harassment, biphobia, police brutality, racism, and mental health have all been discussed in just 13 episodes, making it clear that Good Trouble isn’t just here to be entertaining.

Going into Season 2, I’m so excited to see some character dynamics grow and change, but also to learn more about their experiences and see them be their true, authentic selves. Character creation is where this show really shines, and I’m confident it will continue to do that in seasons to come through the reinvention and evolution of everyone in Callie and Mariana’s lives.

Some stray thoughts on the season:

I wish we got to see more of Jazmin. Having a trans voice amongst the sea of characters was so, so, important, not to mention a trans woman of color. I hope we’ll see her return in Season 2.

Irrelevant to the plot, but Mariana’s outfits were consistently on point. I’m sure no one is surprised, though.

As much as I want to love Gael, I really haven’t been able to get there yet. I feel like he’s been shrouded in his identity as a bisexual man and his seemingly subsequent inability to commit, which is frustrating to watch. I know he’s more than that, and more than anything, I wish his story had been handled differently (Say it with me: Bisxuals are not noncomittal by nature!)

Season 2 of Good Trouble airs on Tuesday, June 18th at 8/7c on Freeform.

Jessica’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

#Good Trouble #Vitamin C #Season Finale

[textsfromtheborderline]

I'm gonna be honest: I like your posts a lot, think they're informative and look good. The reason I don't follow you/RB any of your posts is because you once made a post where you referred to "narcissistic abuse", a term that unfairly stigmatises NPD. However, since then I think you may have deleted it, and have made posts that indicate you don't support the stigma against NPD. Basically, what I'm asking is, do you believe narcissistic abuse is a valid term? (If i got the wrong person, my bad!)

Hey, thanks for asking!

I deeply appreciate that you like my inforgraphics. 

I never made a post referringto “Narcissistic abuse;” it was in the original FAQ page of my blog whereI used it to describe my experiences with my NPD/ASPD abuser. Rest assured,I’ll be addressing this concept and your question in a much more detailed and impactful way in the not too distant future…

For now, I will say that no,I do not believe any longer that “Narcissistic abuse” (or Borderlineabuse, for that matter) is a valid term.

Why I used tothink it was valid:

I had never before in my life encountered such cruel emotionalabuse + manipulation. It completely crushed me. I was ignorant to thisparticular mental illness. Once I identified the behaviour of my abuser (thanksGoogle!), Narcissistic abuse seemed the appropriate term to describe my livedexperiences and the bewildering behaviour of NPD.I initially simply thought that “My abuser is a Narcissist” + “abuse” = Narcissisticabuse. I didn’t really think of it as being a part of stigma or its own specialcategory until I started finding out about the experiences of other abusesurvivours.

The articles, vlogs, books, and blogs I’d relied on for informationwhile I was going No Contact and just beginning my recovery process allconfirmed that Narcissistic abuse was quite distinct from run-of-the-millabuse. I thought that so many similar experiences could not all be wrong. The most prominent reasons offered were: 1) Narcissists are inherently abusive;they exist to torment unsuspecting people so everyone is a potential SupplySource/victim2) Narcissists prey upon HSP/Empaths inparticular, which makes the abuse distinct, insidious, and especiallydestructive.Of course, I’ll point out that these two statements are highly contradictoryand present a black + white/ good vs. evil narrative that honestly has no placewhen it comes to discussing mental health in an open, honest and well informedway. It is difficult and impractical to moralize mental illness.Now before I knew about my BPD, HSP/Empath was the first concept Iencountered that really reflected my inner processes since childhood. It turnedout to be correct, along with BPD. But I didn’t have all the information Ishould have had, so the context within which I was processing information aboutmyself and about NPD was skewed.

My own painful experiences + misinformation=prejudice. Honestly, Ididn’t want to consider that what hadhappened to me was simply “ordinary” abuse. It still felt far too significantin my life, and affected me personally on such a deep level, that I felt thatto consider it anything other than “Narcissistic abuse” dismissed + invalidatedmy experiences. I thought Narcissists were trying to excuse abuse and tomanipulate perception of their disorder. I never cared to consider the stigmabecause I was too wrapped up in my own experiences.

This was my perspective until very recently, when I started thisblog.

Why I don’tthink it’s valid anymore:

Learning about my BPD was the catalyst for me starting tochallenge stigma. I got sick and tired of being labelled a “demon” or “monster.”Especially since the way I live completely contradicts those labels. I have never abused anyone, and I never will-mental illness or no. I’d had enough of the misinformation, distortions, outright lies, and lack ofresources for Borderlines. I wanted to make a difference. So here I am justtrying my best in hopes that it helps.

Other Narcissists and abuse survivours writing to me and gentlyexplaining that there was no such thing as Narcissistic abuse. I was able toconsider their perspective this time because I had hit a “recovery wall:” Iwasn’t progressing with healing or knowledge, I was stagnating. The reason why is because I found that the online recovery community was nolonger helping; it was frightening me with the toxic, misinformed, and franklyhateful + dogmatic rhetoric being spread under the guise of “recovery.”Where I once found solidarity, I now found the very same emotions I was tryingto heal from: anger, despair, confusion, and rage. These people were no longermy fellow abuse survivours. I saw them for what they were: people stuck andhyperfixated on their suffering, blinded by emotion, professing to a truth theythought was complete, but actually doing more harm than good.While I still check up on a few YouTube channels, I do it because these arefocused on recovery and healthy coping mechanisms, not on demonizing Narcissistsand wallowing in the aftermath of abuse. But even then, I take them with agrain of salt.It also bothers me that so many channels/blogs/authors monetize their preciousknowledge. That kind of vulture-like opportunism on the suffering + desperationof victims hurts us all.Fundamentally, any kind of “knowledge” about BPD and NPD that does not includean open, honest discussion between non-personality disordred people (abusevictims or not) and personality disordered people, cannot truly be knowledge because it’s missing key information +perspectives of the Cluster B community.That’s why I became disillusioned with the recovery community. Ifind them all so amusing and pathetic now. In my opinion (which may be harsh),the survivours who are truly committed to recovery and moving on have checkedout of that toxic community and are learning + healing on their own terms.

I wasn’t furious or in pain anymore; my hate and despair hadburned out. I was ready to truly moveon. And moving on meant acknowledging that I had gaping holes in my knowledge.It was time to humble myself and learn once again.

So when I was told to consider Narcissistic abuse as invalid, I actually listened.

The term “Narcissistic abuse” is invalid because while the abuse aperson experienced is real and valid, itis not its own special category. There isno disorder that makes someone abusive. Abuse is a choice that is made mynon-disordered and disordered people alike.Mentally ill people, particularly Cluster Bs, do need to managepotentially dangerous symptoms. But they are not inherently abusive. It’s also important to keep in mind that moreoften than not, they are actually the ones beingabused.

So ultimately, “Narcissistic abuse” does more harm than goodbecause to blame a disorder for the choice to inflict abuseis just taking the blame off the abuser. They are at fault for whatthey did, and to use their disorder as a reason for why they did it is givingthem an out.

To be clear, I contributed heavily in my own way to the stigmaagainst NPD (and I will also be talking about this openly in the near future aswell). I said some hateful and quite ignorant things to my abuser. I dehumanizedher in order to fully go No Contact. She was not a person, I convinced myself,she was a Narcissist and therefore Iwas allowed to dismiss her thoughts, feelings, and experiences.  It was the only (wrong) way I thought wasavailable to me at the time.

I felt completely justified because I was furious and in terriblepain from the abuse; I was betrayed by my best friend and partner of sevenyears, and it just felt righteous to lash out. I don’t take those things back,but I do wish I had been able to reach a reasonable, calm state of mind inorder to truly understand. The situation did not permit it at the time. But it’s been two years of NoContact. Two years filled with tears, learning, growth, victories, andknowledge. I realize now that I was misinformed and even plainly wrong aboutwhat I once thought I knew. That’s okay, because here I am now.

As far as I’m concerned, my abuser can rot in hell. I am happy tohave finally reached a point in my recovery process where I am completely emotionallydetached from her and absolutely cannot care less about anything to do with her(which is a big deal for me so I celebrate it).

No Contact has served me well, and will continue to do so. Istrongly encourage + support everyone to go No Contact with abusive Narcissists and Borderlines.But that is precisely the distinction: having the knowledge and understandingavailable in order to separate the abusers from the genuinely decent Cluster Bpeople, which in my experience is the majority of us.

But that’s an important discussion for another time.

I hope this answers your question!

#thank you for asking! #anon #q + a #bpd #npd #actuallyborderline #acutallybpd #mental illness #abuse #healing #recovery #actuallynpd #actuallynarcissistic #textsfromtheborderline

[thesinglesjukebox]

KATY PERRY FT. MIGOS - BON APPETIT [3.53] In which the Jukebox is told it's not getting any dessert until it's finished its Monday singles...

Rachel Bowles: Musing about cunnilingus is the finest thing a person can do, if she's good at it. Narrowed down to just vagina-as-food songs, Perry's extended mixed-metaphor is still easily outclassed, even by Iggy Azalea. As evidenced in this list, cunnilingus anthems have been largely pioneered and perfected by Black women (Janet Jackson, Lil Kim, TLC, etc.) those with the double curse of misogynoir proudly contradicting the patriarchal capitalist message that vaginas are disgusting and only for fucking. A good cunnilingus song makes women high five on dance floors, feel sexy and genuinely empowered. Personally, I prefer obscene instructional songs (Khia, "My Neck, My Back") over those with faux-coquettish metaphor (Christina Aguilera ft. Nicki Minaj, "Woohoo") but in Blow, Beyonce found the perfect balance: sexy imagery with a direct order, delivered with female solidarity in the echoed "Turn that cherry out!" "Got me spread like a buffet" to some generic summer EDM synths just doesn't compare. [3]

Iain Mew: Weird to hear a Katy Perry single where the lyrical issue isn't awkwardly cramming in sexual references, so much as incoherence as a result of failing to properly commit to the obvious cunnilingus angle. The low-key sweetness of the production and her restraint still makes it a better listen than most, and the two note-four note hop-skip in the chorus works even better than it did in Anne-Marie's "Ciao Adios." [6]

Katherine St Asaph: Christ, without Bonnie McKee's involvement Katy Perry really does go right back to One of the Boys leftovers with an Anne-Marie melody. In a just world, such a demonstration of value over replacement songwriter would earn McKee something, like maybe, I don't know, sales. In this one we get midtempo blahs I guess are supposed to signify sexiness, a cursory Migos feature fresh off their Capitol signing, and likely not even a hit to show for it. [2]

Danilo Bortoli: Fabricating hatred has never been easier in 2017. "Bon Appetit" might have received all the negative press it deserves, but that happened for all the wrong reasons. Over time, however, consensus was formed: this is the most soulless Katy has been in years. Nothing works. Migos are out of place here (as a solo version proves). And, of course, the track seems like the result of a pun contest's last place entry (apparently, this is a real and tasteless thing). No joke intended -- but the song itself, that is. [2]

Alfred Soto: "Five-star Michelin," eh? I'll say this about Katy's latest amuse-bouche: it follows through on its conceit. Confirming their A-list status, Migos gets relegated to muttered quavering non-entities. [5]

Scott Mildenhall: You might feel differently, but Katy Perry singing "got me spread like a buffet" just has to be one of the worst musical moments of the year so far. As extended metaphors go, this one is executed very badly. "Table for two... I'm on the menu" -- is she advocating autocannibalism? "Bon Appetit" has the ridiculousness of Perry's worst, most affectedly wacky singles, yet sounds like it's being played with a straight face, and that's quite a weird place to be. The shimmering production is enjoyable, but the words are so egregious that they're hard to ignore. [4]

Cassy Gress: This is arguably the least sexy sex song I've ever heard. Katy Perry is singing through an A/C window unit, the song just rocks back and forth between B♭ minor and B major with no resolution, Migos stops by and contributes virtually nothing, and it's a bit too close to "GOBBLE GOBBLE" for comfort for me. It manages to come off as clinical despite never explicitly referencing sex; I know I'm sort of squeamish about sex talk, but blugh. I'd rather listen to "Touch It." [1]

William John: Katy Perry whispering unsexy, overwrought metaphors over boilerplate house reads poorly as a primer, but remains a more tantalising proposition than faded xeroxes of 80s synthpop with vacant "let's save the world" platitudes. A few extra marks for the intermittent whoops, which nod reverently to Crazy Cousins' classic "Inflation" (at least in my head) and Migos, who may have phoned in their guest spot but deliver it lithely nonetheless. [5]

Katie Gill: Turns out "Chained to the Rhythm" was just a fluke! No, Katy Perry's going to continue to make songs about sex with dumb metaphors stretched to high heaven, warped into near unrecognition. It's an even tackier version of "Birthday", where the best thing is the Migos break and the worst thing is the impossibly tacky dancehall stylings. Possibly the most interesting thing about this song is the cannibalistic implications -- "I'm on the menu"? Really? -- which has the potential to be thought provoking, so of course that means Perry's going to ignore it. [3]

Joshua Copperman: Between "lemiteiku" and "the worldsbestcherryPIe", this melodic math was a bit miscalculated. And that's before the chorus, which is possibly the worst Katy Perry melody ever, even counting "This Is How We Do". Unusual for Max Martin, as far as I can tell, the chord progression is limited to B♭m-B the whole way through -- apparently they couldn't even be bothered to use four chords. Migos' verses aren't bad, and I smiled at "appetite for seduction," but those are all the positives I could think of for this half-assed song that makes me wish a portmanteau of somnambulance and cannibalism was possible (somnamibalism?). I assumed that "Bon Appetit" would grow on me over the summer, but as it's currently flopping after just one week of existence, I'll never even get the opportunity to hate-then-enjoy it. [3]

Will Adams: Against my better judgment, I clicked on the Tasty video in which Katy Perry prepares the "world's best cherry pie" (take: this is an impossible task because there's no such thing as a cherry pie that's anything but gross). But my regret soon turned into high enjoyment as I listened to Katy ramble incoherently in some misguided attempt to create a Genius annotation live. As with "Chained to the Rhythm," there's so much effort to legitimize the nonsense pouring out of her mouth: 1. She claims there are "easter eggs" in the lyrics; I think she just means euphemisms. 2. What the hell kind of songs has she heard where "cherry pie" was not sexualized? 3. That she's trying to connect this to the cherry Chapstick in "I Kissed a Girl" shows she still hasn't realized she should probably disown that song. It's all so tiresome; "Birthday" worked because it leaned into the cheesiness, but "Bon Appetit" goes serious with its Cobb salad of food-based innuendo, a concept I've rarely heard executed well. Fold in some perfunctory Migos, overdress with the entire world's supply of reverb, and... oh fuck, now I'm doing it. [4]

Anthony Easton: I adore the gossip about Perry's fighting around her new aesthetic with the label, who apparently is worried about sales. I have no idea if this will revive her fortunes; it's not quite anonymous, but it pushes her against Migos, and Migos wins -- working against each other, doubling down on a cryptic chorus, becoming very close to being a hook singer. It's not sexy, even if it is about sex, and this kind of disembodied paen to the abstract idea of desire complicates Perry's previous perceptions. It's not quite a meal, but it does seem to have that vague whiff of nausea after eating too much candy. [8]

Thomas Inskeep: I guess, seeing that "woke Katy" didn't exactly burn up the charts, her camp/label/some-combo-thereof decided "we better go back to the clumsy sex songs, fast!" Because, you know, nothing's sexier than hearing someone say they're "spread like a buffet." (Pardon me while I throw up a little in my mouth.) I'm sad to hear Migos doing a clear cash-in bridge rap here, because they're so much better than this. Max Martin and Shellback's track isn't bad, but it's sonically awfully slight. Ironic to hear Perry saying "bon appetit," because there's no major pop star whose music I find less appetizing. [1]

Edward Okulicz: Pop stars get hot but they don't stay hot forever, and if this uninteresting ode to Katy Perry's vagina returns her to the top spot, then there is no explanation other than massive amounts of payola and a bunch of Capitol Records interns doing nothing but stream this 24 hours a day. I couldn't last 24 minutes of the title's non-punchline squeezed, against the laws of nature, into this non-chorus. [2]

Jonathan Bradley: I have a Spotify playlist of Katy Perry songs that runs for about 50 minutes. That's not an extensive running time for a ten year long career, but it contains some songs that are very good and some songs that are very stupid and also some songs that are very good and very stupid at the same time. Perry has had five songs off a single album reach the top of the Billboard Hot 100 -- as well as a sixth from a re-issued version. She's been risible and racist and homophobic and "woke" and "inspirational" and fantastic, and even birthed a meme from her Super Bowl performance, but on "Bon Appetit," she's nothing. This is a public-domain club groove and a Migos verse that couldn't deliver the rap group unto dance even as effectively as Calvin Harris did. If, immediately after "Ur So Gay" dropped, someone time-travelled to 2017, could you convince them off the strength of this single that, in the interim decade, Katy Perry had been one of America's biggest pop stars? [4]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#Katy Perry #Migos

[womenofcolor15]

MORE THAN ONE WAY TO PROTEST: OSU Players Threaten Not To Play After Coach BOLDLY Posted Himself In Right Wing Media Tee + Coach Apologizes, Makes Amends With Players

OSU players aren’t tolerating any racism or right wing hate spewing, especially not from their head coach Mike Gundy. The players threatened to NOT play after a picture of their coach was posted online wearing a pro-Trump OAN t-shirt. Now, the coach is singing a different tune.

We stan young, black and WOKE college students. Even moreso that they’re college football players using their power to shake the table since they're smart enough to know the power they hold.

Oklahoma State head coach Mike Gundy sparked controversy when a picture of him wearing an OAN t-shirt while fishing at Lake Texoma was posted on social media.

Mike Gundy went fishing on Lake Texoma donning an OAN t-shirt pic.twitter.com/gq9c2I6HGl

— Kyle Boone @ (@Kyle__Boone) June 15, 2020

OAN stands for One America News Network, which is a right-wing conspiracy news network - which airs on AWE cable network and elsewere - that is heavily and unapologetically in favor with America’s sitting president, founded by Robert Herring, Sr. And apparently, this isn’t the first time he supported the network that promotes & praises Trump multiple times a day while dragging up conspiracy theories and negative news about any Democrat, especially people of color.

Some added context to this: Gundy in the past has praised OAN for its reporting. He said this of the network in April via @jacobunruh https://t.co/8mVXiXDYQH pic.twitter.com/4FtJK94CWN

— Kyle Boone @ (@Kyle__Boone) June 15, 2020

The t-shirt made several black OSU players feel a way, so they decided to do something about it.  Thankfully, they're aware enough of off-hand news networks to know they need to speak up about this one in particular.

OSU stars Chuba Hubbard (the Big 12 Offensive Player of the Year in 2019 and a 2020 Heisman candidate) and Amen Ogbongbemiga were outraged by their coach’s actions and threatened to NOT play “until things changed.”

”I will not stand for this.. This is completely insensitive to everything going on in society, and it’s unacceptable. I will not be doing anything with Oklahoma State until things CHANGE,” Chuba tweeted.

I will not stand for this.. This is completely insensitive to everything going on in society, and it’s unacceptable. I will not be doing anything with Oklahoma State until things CHANGE. https://t.co/psxPn4Khoq

— Chuba Hubbard (@Hubbard_RMN) June 15, 2020

”I stand with him!,” Amen responded to his tweet.

I stand with him! https://t.co/WWOs2ALxml

— Amen Ogbongbemiga (@closedprayer) June 15, 2020

If you don't know college football, understand this was the equivalent of throwing down the gauntlet.  Chuba is one of their star players, set to indeed enter the NFL draft in about a year.  So this threat came with plenty to lose.

OSU lineman Tevin Jenkins spoke out to show he’s standing in solidarity with them as well:

As an O-line we stand and support Chuba https://t.co/5zau9yTpCF

— maybe: tev (@TevenJenkins) June 15, 2020

Coach Mike Gundy met with some of his players “and realized it’s a very sensitive issue with what’s going on in today’s society.” He said he was looking forward to “making some changes” in a video with Chuba.

Check it:

Change is coming I promise you that. pic.twitter.com/wTGHtByh3N

— Chuba Hubbard (@Hubbard_RMN) June 15, 2020

Many other players and students chimed in on Twitter, and it seemed there were MUCH deeper issues with his charscter than just this shirt, which seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back.  Another player brought up a time Gundy told teammates that he was going to run them back to the ghett they came from.

Coach Gundy released an apology video of his own a day after Chuba’s tweet:

pic.twitter.com/x4mjK6v3UV

— Mike Gundy (@CoachGundy) June 16, 2020

Before Coach Gundy posted his apology, Chuba posted some tweets to double down on calling out Gundy and said that he needed to hold him accountable. He called him out amid nationwide protests against police brutality, racism and social injustice.

By voicing our opinion we are happy to have came to a conclusion and opened a gateway to create some serious CHANGE around Oklahoma State. My teammates and I have all agreed we will go ahead and resume all workouts and activities. We’re all in this together

— Amen Ogbongbemiga (@closedprayer) June 15, 2020

”By voicing our opinion we are happy to have came to a conclusion and opened a gateway to create some serious CHANGE around Oklahoma State. My teammates and I have all agreed we will go ahead and resume all workouts and activities. We’re all in this together,” Amen tweeted.

Loves it. THIS is surely another way of protesting to have your voice heard.

After Coach Gundy posted his apology, which, again, is a HUGE deal from a Big 12 coach, OSU alum and former basketball standout Doug Gottlieb released the players “demands” for change on Twitter. However, the demands he tweeted were the farthest from the truth. Several OSU players called him out for posting these demands that perpetuate a stereotype attached to black men.

Be careful what you say and who you listen to. The entirety of this isn’t true and depicts a bad image on us. I haven’t heard anywhere within the program that someone wants to play music that is disrespectful towards women. This isn’t the sincere objective we’re trying to achieve https://t.co/C0k3T4kDzK

— Amen Ogbongbemiga (@closedprayer) June 16, 2020

I’m not sure where you got this information but it is not even close to what was demanded of US players (yes white players too) that is changed within OUR program. You are trying to paint my black brothers in a bad light and I’m not gonna sit here in silence and let you do that https://t.co/4SfHBAdxZD

— Brock Martin (@btmartin40) June 16, 2020

Furthest from the truth https://t.co/rOymldxrf6

— Braydon Johnson (@GLOing_817) June 16, 2020

What Okstate Player said this lol?? https://t.co/VvKJVAWxIz

— Jason Taylor II (@JTII_25) June 16, 2020

Come on kings! Glad they checked him for this!

In other news...

Someone just posted this. Seen at Manchester #BlackLivesMatter protest. Fetishing Black men is not cute. Especially given that the hypersexualisation of our bodies is often what gets us killed. pic.twitter.com/ght8t0YkhN

— No such thing as BAME (@thetwerkinggirl) June 6, 2020

We're going to need the Black Lives Matter protesters to STOP fetishizing over the sexuality of black men and black penis.  Because we ALL know....nevermind.

This is actually disgraceful. We have people gathering en masse on the streets in the middle of a GLOBAL PANDEMIC to protest and mourn the loss of black life and you’re out here talking about dick? You’re not an ally, you’re part of the problem. pic.twitter.com/QgN9EPk5qC

— Obi (@heelobi) June 7, 2020

And it's from both sides. White women are making posters expressing their love for "black d*ck" while black men are carrying around posters that ask why a white woman's family can't accept them when they love the "black d*ck."

This is actually disgraceful. We have people gathering en masse on the streets in the middle of a GLOBAL PANDEMIC to protest and mourn the loss of black life and you’re out here talking about dick? You’re not an ally, you’re part of the problem. pic.twitter.com/QgN9EPk5qC

— Obi (@heelobi) June 7, 2020

"Your daughters love every inch of us, so why can't you?," is a question written on a black man's poster during a protest. Just, no. This ain't it, y'all.

  Hey white ladies ur “black dick matters” protest signs look v selfish and tacky btw

— kai (@kaichoyce) June 9, 2020

  fetishing black men because of your obsession with having mixed kids is weird as fuck https://t.co/oe0E0593d8

— AISHA (@ishahorton) June 7, 2020

    I hate seeing these non black women’s poster about fetishing black men.... like is that the only reason you saying black lives matter???? So you can get mixed kids???.... what about being with the movement because black men and women have been treated like crap in this country https://t.co/kOWwfKuV0y

— Tiare Santiago (@tiare_santiago) June 8, 2020

  The truth is, fetishizing Black men’s genitalia is dehumanizing and it plays into historical symbolism of the dehuminzation, emasculation & castration that happened during lynchings as black men were often only valued and objectified for their bodies and what they could do for white men's land and white women's bodies.

If you didn't know, racial fetishism is a thing. It means a person sexually fetishizes another person or culture belonging to a specific race or ethnic and it's very prevalent these days. While support is always appreciated, the fetishizing of black men isn't it.

  EXTRAS:

1. Congressman Bobby Rush lashes out at Chicago cops after video surfaces of officers “lounging” in his campaign office as rioters destroyed buildings near by. STORY

2. The US dictionary Merriam-Webster is revising its definition of the word “racism” after receiving a series of emails from a young black reader. STORY

Photo: @carsonkropp

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/06/18/more-than-one-way-to-protest-osu-players-threaten-not-to-play-after-coach-posted-himself-

[questionthebox]

Anthony’s Thoughts

There is this particular use of language that is used, that coinsides with what i call, The Presentation, Accountability, & Reality, 

1. Presentation, is what Jen posted about Tik Tok, Presentation is the performative nature, of Courtney Love, who both Elly & I Follow On Instagram, Elly liked one of her posts, that was just the Performative Nature of Solidarity with Blacks in light of these Cop Killings, Presentation started with perhaps the reality show Survivor now that i think about it, that show and American Idol, kicked off the performative nature of Language. 

2. Accountability is this weird form of a unified voice, neither begging or demanding, but pressuring to conform to the Presentation, the mass unified voice of Social Media, is used to hold accountable everyone to a sort of Metropolitan Acceptance, but i personally don’t know any trans gender people, and ive actually seldom have met them, they kinda feel like this conversation i’ll have with people in regards to Midgets, you hear about them, but when the hell have you ever seen a Midget in Walmart ? 

3. Reality.

 right now im personally pushing for Elly & Jen to have us Meet, Elly and i both live in california, Jen lives on the east coast, we’ve all found each other essentially through Tumblr, and during this span, of 4 years or so, all of us have had romantic relationships, friendships, family, school, work, in our “Physical Lives” but i’d argue, none of those things has felt like this, with Elly, its been a rollercoaster of posturing, as it would be with two young people a year apart in age, its been vulnerable, its been a battle, and very stimulating, its been scary, im sometimes scared to think of meeting her, only because of certain things, but we’ve crossed that rubicon, we have each other now, and forever, 

as for Jen, im not sure what meeting her would amount to, for some reason i belive we’d have sex before Elly and i would, just because, she as a grown woman, understands certain things elly clearly doesn’t because shes been provided with, and if i did have sex with her in her house, im aware as a 28 year old man, that i can have sex say with that chick i grew up with in Long Beach and just easily move on, but having Sex with Jen, that’s incoporating a sort of opening up of a world, don’t take this as me being scared either, i believe if Jen and i met, we’d feel something and do something ive only felt with my Professor Janet, with Jen, there’s Art, the being of Artist, if you haven’t lived or loved another artist you wouldn’t understand, but there’s also the fact that because she’s older, i would have to inherit her baggage, in our conversations she’s taken on my baggage, being there for me in destructive times, in fact both of these Women have been here for me, when everyone else in my actual life has ran away, Mj ran away, others have ran away, as i went into myself, as Poet/Artist, people left me, i currently don’t have any friends really, due to this, so it also begs the question of Reality, 

Reality, is this avatar of self, the Internet has allowed me to accept who i am essentially, without the internet, i never become the Artist, 

Reality, is this create o’ world, kinda like build a bear workshop, 

for thousands of years Reality, was nationality, class, race, gender, religion, 

its no longer none of those things, it could actually be all thos things slammed together, 

i don’t personally feel like a Masculine Man, in fact i feel sometimes like my mother, but i am a Man, i don’t feel like a race, but then look at the music i tend to listen too, 

but in regards to langugae, even in saying all that shit, im attracted to Elly/Jen particularly because they never use Neo Liberal Language, there’s this young woman who i follow on tumblr, shes an anarchist, she advertises herself, as an Applachian Anarchist, i read her posts, she uses the Performative Neo Liberal Speech, of Polite Collectiveness, that somehow, by talking like a Twitter page, its progressive and or a form of Liberation, its not, and the entire Left does this here in America without realizing it, the american Left, talks in the Neo Liberal trap of polite conversation, to justify itself to The Presentation, at college, the people, who aren’t my friends btw but i’ll leave that for another post, they all talk this way, with everyone seemingly participating in a conversation, but no one actually saying anything, and everyone performing for each other, to pretend they like LGBT to pretend they give a damn about Race, but when it boils down to it, there’s something about these people that always strikes me, if your around them long enough, you’ll hear how they almost continously talk about Work, and they talk about work, like its, ok i’ll put it like this, i don’t ever think in the middle ages people talked about church as much as the stereotype is, but these people im mentioning, they talk about Work, like how you’d think someone in the middle ages would talk about Church, these people also reveal over time they essentially don’t know anything, they don’t know Anais Nin, or those women writers Elly loves, they simply aren’t capable of that, 

there’s something that’s happened to Human development that i would say started in the 2000′s but really didn’t kick off until 07-08 

i’m starting to realize what it is. 

@insideoutbrutality its this weird Californian heat 

@smakkabagms without you Anthony as burgenoning essayist, one day, in a professional setting, doesn’t exist. you’ve pushed me into being The Writer. 

#poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #my thoughts #thoughts #socialism #metaphysics #artists on tumblr