#why void wants to provoke a physical fight with the one of two people who could legit harm him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

euphoricpixi3 · 5 years

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TASTE OF MENACE |5| OT7!MAFIA AU

— Masterlist in my bio

— Pairings | this chapter | a little bit of jimin x reader, namjoon x reader, yoongi x reader, jin x reader

— Through the story | reader x others as the story progresses

— Warning | this story contain smoking, swearing, tattoos, drinking, blood and drugs. This is a mafia!au!yandere

— Summary | Your first time watching the underground fight took a completely wrong turn, why were you the only one laying lifeless on the cold ground when you weren’t even fighting?

You jerked upright, panicked, but your arms refused to move. Something sharp and cold dug into your skin. You looked down and saw there were handcuffs holding your hands to the table.

The door opened and slammed shut, making you jump a little with the only slack you had. “I’m glad you’re back” Yoongi said. Your eyelids felt heavy, yet you didn’t miss a second of him moving.

“What is your name,” The male said crankily seating himself into the chair opposite to you. It wasn’t the best idea to stay silent, but the lump in your throat made you tightly press your lips. "TELL ME.” He repeated sternly. You felt the coldness envelope you, your lack of response provoked Yoongi till he lost his temper, suddenly Yoongi broke the cuffs and then wrapped his large hands around your throat and squeezed. He raised you off the ground. You kicked and squirmed, but it was no use. Just as your vision went blurry, a familiar man came in, and Yoongi dropped you to the ground, making you crash onto the cold tiles.

Your gaze followed the dark red spots standing out on the blindly white floor. If it wasn’t for your empty stomach, you would have definitely purged your guts out. The metallic smell lingering in the air just confirmed that it was dried blood.

Disgusting.

“I thought our Taehyung would almost kill you, yet here we are” Namjoon darkly chuckled intensively staring at your laying body on the cold ground, clinging for air.

“She didn’t tell me her name” Yoongi mumbled before sitting back.

You felt as if you were drowning in a deep ocean and the sound of your name made you look up. The look on Namjoon’s face sent shivers down your spine, he was playing with you, like the rest of them, you were stuck in a doll house.

The tip of your nose crunched, if it weren’t for the situation, Yoongi and Namjoon would’ve thought you looked cute, but it wasn’t the case.

“How do you know my name?” you managed to croak out, your voice cracking painfully at the end.

You weren’t the only wondering that, Yoongi had also questioningly looked Namjoon’s way.

For some reason your question satisfied the grey haired male, seemingly as he crunched down to your level.

“Ah I’m glad you just confirmed my guess” his soothing voice made you squirm “You see, I wasn’t sure if it was really you, since you didn’t seem like that type of girl. Lesson learned once again, never judge the book by its cover” the last part was a low whisper, his soft fingers brushing down against your bruised cheek.

“What type…What are you talking about?” you asked, but your desperate questions flared something deep in Namjoon, his grip suddenly getting tighter, making you whine.

Just as quickly, he stood up and started to walk away. He turned slowly, not even bothering to look down your away. “We don’t like liars. Yoongi, lock her up, let’s wait till she starts talking”

As soon as Yoongi dropped you to the cell, your exhaustion and pain caught up with you making you pass out.

So now, when your eyes were wide open, you didn’t know how much time passed, minutes, hours or maybe even a day.

Surrounded by four white walls, there was nothing else to do but stare at them.

The cell was a hollow cube, one way in, no windows. The isolation was total, no sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind. It was all an inmate could do to feel the cool walls, but even they were smooth.

You guessed more hours passed as the old door slowly opened revealing Jin, if it wasn’t for the syringes in his hands, you would be relieved that Jin was here, since he seemed the nicest out of all of them, but you only crawled away, feeling the pecks of something scratch your palms.

“What did they do to you” Jin quietly gasped quickly moving your way, making your cry out loud from the sudden fear rushing to your body.

Your scream stopped him in his tracks. “You don’t have to be scared of me, I’m here to help” he whispered, his pitiful gaze followed your terrified one, stopping right on the syringes.

“Namjoon gave orders to forbid you from water, so the pain killers are in liquid form” Jin answered, nodding his reassuring you that it was okay. But you only moved away, shaking your head.

“You have to take them, the pain will be too much” he tried again, his dark eyes staring into yours.

His shoulders dropped in disappointment as you shook your head “Then I guess my job is done here.”

As the time passed, you knew it was a new day, you also knew why Jin wanted you to take the painkillers.

The bruises and wounds caused by Yoongi and Taehyung started to really hurt. That kind of pain, where it feels as if someone has their hand in there and are squeezing your organs either gently or as hard as they can.

You’re glad there’s no blood, but every part of you that wasn’t covered by the thin fabric, was purple and lumpy where it should be smooth.

Yet, as fucked up as it sounds, you were glad for the constant throbbing, it kept you sane. Because for the first time in your life you found yourself really alone. Of course, there were days where you would lock yourself in your room for a whole week, just because you felt that way, or back to that time, when your heart was broken by two people, your ex best friend and your ex boyfriend.

You remember that day as if it was yesterday, walking into your apartment after a long day and seeing them two on your kitchen counter. You were furious, wasting no time you kicked them out and when they were gone, the only thing you did was stare numb at the wall in front of you. You didn’t cry, you never cry out of emotions, that’s now how you were raised.

If we’re being honest, the void is still there, seeing as it only happened few months ago and it’s not that easy to forget two years of relationship and a friendship that lasted even longer.

But that’s how you met Eve, she was a girl living next door, who got worried about her neighbor, she appeared at your doorstep “There’s no annoying music blasting at three am and as far as I know you still live here, so I just wanted to know if everything’s ok”.

The only thing you could do was shake your head and let her in, that’s how your friendship bloomed.

But now, now you were alone and utterly terrified. You sat in the corner, your back pressed against the cold tiles and hands shivering along the smooth walls. You lay your head gently on the hard surface on the floor, puffs of warm breath threading out of your lips.

You knew you had to change your position because this one was getting too far uncomfortable. But as you tried to lie down, the pain shot through your body, it wasn’t like the aching you had before, it’s like something suddenly tear you open.

Suddenly something warm started gushing from your stomach.

Blood from Taehyung’s knife wound.

You gritted your teeth trying to stay silent, but as your hand accidentally brushed against the open wound, you cried out.

And just like that you were crying, for the first time in ten years you were sobbing not only because of the physical pain, but also emotional. Everything you ever hold in, sadness, happiness, confusion, all of this was slipping away from your grasp, your togetherness was slipping away and you couldn’t do anything about it but cry even more.

3rd. POV

From one of the cells came the most hysterical crying, the screaming sobs only interrupted by the person's need to draw breath.

It didn’t take much thinking to Jimin, to know who it was. His face creased and his fists closed so tight he can feel the sweat trapped inside them, he wasn’t sure if he should check the poor girl or not, but as the screams only got louder, he didn’t want the other guards to come and get her.

Unsurely he moved towards the back of the hall, his steps echoing through the place. As his hands grasped the locks, opened doors revealed the girl laying down in her own blood, his eyes didn’t miss the small smile on her face.

Before your eyelids fluttered shut he heard her whisper something, that made his heart clench, even if he didn’t admit it.

“Maybe if I’ll wait a little longer, I’ll be long gone and forgotten. Maybe.”

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handspoken · 4 years

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PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME 2.0 for @pristinette

send me a ✿ and i’ll fill out the template below. BOLD for things i could definitely see or want, italics for things i could see or am unsure of and striked out for things i don’t want or cannot see.

FRIENDSHIP. childhood friends / work buddies or coworkers / family friends / friends with benefits / smoking buddies / adventure buddies / fake friends / recently friends / party buddies / friendship of need / dying friendship / circumstantial friendship / partners in crime / old friendship / [ your muse ] is the good influence / [ your muse ] is the bad influence / [ my muse ] is the good influence / [ my muse ] is the bad influence / opposites attract / ride or die / frenemies / roommates or flatmates / penpals / exes to friends / enemies to friends / other ( debate friends? people who don’t like each other but can hold a conversation b/c of mutual respect and maturity idk what this is called fam )

FAMILIAL. siblings [ half ] / siblings [ step ] / [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure / [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse / [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours / [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse / guardian figure / legal guardian / adoptive child / foster child / [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing / [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing / other ( protective of one another through an earned respect ).

ANTAGONISTIC. dangerous to each other / dangerous to others / unpredictable / rivals / petty / developing into sexual or romantic tension / based off family matters / based of off circumstance / based of professional matters / based off misunderstanding or lies / conflict of ideology / betrayal / hero - villain dynamic / enemies / fight club / friends turned enemies / lovers turned enemies / exes turned enemies / other ( gaster popping in thru the void like like ‘oho a new world to ravage and research’ and pearl 'uh lmao no’ after she spent her life protecting it )

FINAL THOUGHTS. it’s a little difficult to place these two in the same plane of existence just because of how already developed their separate universes are - but if we forego the need to explain why one is in another’s world then let’s just imagine two people who have a tower of history looming behind them, like.. trying to hide their power level or something lmao. pearl has eons over gaster - she would most likely have the experience to know that not only there was something that plagued his past but gaster is also (relatively) young enough to keep hoping for the impossible that pearl may think is fruitless. i like to think they’d chip away at one another to open up, especially if gaster were to be in the SU universe and pearl has respite to be at home to have time for herself. there’s potential in the philosophical more self-reflective side of these characters if they had the chance to sit down. however, even in his own universe, gaster is an intruder. he wouldn’t have the most well-meaning of intentions if he were to pop into the SU world through the void from his own universe, and he could really provoke pearl to a fight or beyond if he had the power to be an equal (both in a physical real fight and of emotion or banter). i don’t see them becoming friends in a realistic manner, especially in consideration of making their universes mesh and provide an adequate explanation of why these two have met in the first place, but in a utopia i think they would have a good time doing harmless debates.

#on a sidenote what wonderful songs u have on your blog #pristinette #this is for ur ref and if you'd like to save go ahead :D #* inbox.txt #long post /

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flowercuco · 5 years

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MASKS! Starring [Team Name TBD] (1)

To not get too tired of Veil after some intense sessions, our group started a side game in the city of Santa Themas, where we’re going to play MASKS, a game about superheros and stuff.

In this game we have Orbital, also known as Vhira'hni Sho Hhaoni, the Outsider, an alien who has come to Earth, floats around everywhere, and has telepathy and alien technology at their disposal!

Victory, the hero identity of Briar Bravura, the Bull, who was turned into the greatest superhero ever by her parents before her older sibling kidnapped her and ran away for their own good. She’s super strong, super tough, good at fighting, and basically can dragon ball z power up.

Merlin, once referred to as Bruno Brujo, is the Nomad, originally from Earth, he was picked up by what is essentially a group of adventures from the Fae Realm who taught him how to do adventuring and has various tools from their adventuers in the realm.

Datamosh, Faith Moreno, is the Delinquent, the only person with a normal relationship with their parents and capable of powerful illusions and teleportation due to a cursed video game.

Finally, we have Crossroad, the one and only Valery Santinèl, Scion and child of a powerful crusader villain. They have control over cosmic energies that manifest as gravity control as well as some psychokinesis. They just want to please people. Oof.

The group are working security at an event mourning Air Control, a legendary hero of the city who died stopping an evil plot by the Vampire Queen from the fae realm.

This event is at a park, with various tables with drinks and such on them, many civilians and barely anyone with powers, all hanging around and waiting for a speech to be given on the main stage and podium.

The group has some antics as Merlin takes some drinks and is followed by Victory, with the two keeping watch. Crossroad goes to the backstage and runs into the hero Star Buster, who revealed their heritage and attempted to shun them for their link to their father.

Sho flies up into the air and notices various trails of smoke appearing and disappearing around the event, using telepathy to inform the other group about the smoke, who start to notice it, as before it was that sort of thing where you can’t really see something because it like, reflects light in a weird way. The group notices that they are heading towards the podium, and start to make plans of action.

Star Buster is clearly not happy to see Crossroad, asking them what they’re doing here. When they respond with the obvious, that they’re working security and such, Star Buster just asks that they do their job and nothing more. Crossroad gets Orbital’s message, looks concerned, but allows Star Buster to leave before contacting the others.

Victory walks up to some smoke and does what any powerful superhero would do, put their hand through it, finding some resistance as Datamosh films the experience as well as Victory’s description of it being slimy. The smoke vanishes with an odd hissing sound as Crossroad asks why Victory touched it, saying it could have killed them and to be careful. Victory shrugs it off, as fanning smoke away is the obvious thing to do, but accepts Merlin’s suggestion of having used a stick.

As the situation could get worse before it gets better, Sho looks and describes paths for evacuation as Star Buster begins his keynote address, saying some bullshit about how tragic the loss of Air Control was and how its important for everyone in the city to be as good as possible so no one does that ever again.

The shadowy smoke begins to manifest as shadowy figures which start to position themselves closer to the main stage. Merlin turns invisible and tackles one of the ones thats closest to Star Buster, who is so engrossed by his own speech that he doesn’t notice the thud as Merlin hits the figure, feeling the shadow resist him and hearing what is clearly some sort of language, though not one he recognises. The shadow moves away, and Merlin returns to the group, noticing that the figures seem to be watching the event. Datamosh attempts to speak with one, only to be met with essentially silence. Sho tries to telepathically link with one of the shadow figures, which have now manifested far more physically than before, though go unnoticed due to the peoples emotional investment in Star Buster’s speech.

Sho hits feedback, only managing to hear the words AWAKEN THE NIGHT, before reeling back as all of the shadow figures twitch upwards as if screaming, a sound that only Sho hears, but is enough to make everyone finally notice the figures surrounding them.

As the people begin to panic, Star Buster directs the people to go towards safety while telling them to listen to the security, which is our player team. Datamosh acts quickly, teleporting to as many people as possible, so fast it seems like they’re doing it all at the same time, and telling people not to let their curiosity get the best of them and touch the shadow figures. Crossroad gets Star Buster’s attention and asks for them to speak privately.

While Star Buster would prefer that Croassroad and the rest of the team try to deal with the situation, the scion insists on trying to get backup from other, more established heroes. While Star Buster prepares and finds some contacts that could come to help, he hesitates, as if people just leave and if the shadow figures aren’t doing anything, then it would be a waste to call for other heroes, who are presumably preoccupied. They should just focus on doing their jobs and wait before worrying and blowing things out of proportions.

Orbital from the skies notices someone walking against the sea of people running from the shadowy figures and the stage, and they fly to them, asking what they’re doing only to be met with silence. When they attempt to probe further, going so far as to telepathically ask what the white haired swordswoman plans to do, they are again met with silence as well as some sort of ward. Not wanting to waste more time, they go to the podium and use their alien engineering to turn it into a telepathic amplifier, which they succeed in using to stun all of the shadow figures.

Victory meanwhile, pushes against one of the shadow figures, using more and more of their power in order to fully and completely push through it, making it disappaeate, though not before they hear AWAKEN THE NIGHT in that hissy dark voice.

As Orbital and Victory clearly have the situation under hand, Star Buster puts his phone away and motions for Crossroad to go to work with their friends, only for the swordswoman to finally leave the crowd and head towards the shadowy figures. Merlin takes notice, seeing that the lady has horns and pointy ears as well as her white hair and clearly magic sword, and similiarly notices her heading towards Victory. He tackles Victory down then tells the swordswoman to stop, only to be met with her saying that she does not answer to him.

Crossroad attempts to plead with Star Buster, but he isn’t having any of it, and uses his influence on Crossroad to make them less dangerous and more normal, an attempt to ensure they just do the job they were hired to do. Crossroad gets angry at this and tells him that if anyone dies, it’s on him. They go towards the group as Datamosh teleports to ask Star Buster if he knows anything about whats going on, which he responds with vague identification of it as relating to the Fae.

The swordswoman begins to cast a ritual with her blade on the stunned shadow figures. Not trusting this, Datamosh uses a powerful illusion to fool the swordswoman into thinking that she has been teleported into a featureless black void, away from the shadow figures. The swordswoman curses this turn of events, and when Merlin presents himself as master of this realm and asks her what she’s doing, she introduces herself as Devil Trigger.

When further questions are met with snide and prideful silence, Devil Trigger is provoked by Merlin into speaking more, monologing about her master, Saint Spring, as well as her mission to stop The Waking of The Night, the somewhat generic terms causing Victory confusion.

Caught off guard and wanting to get back in control, Devil Trigger teleports behind Datamosh, hits them with the hilt of their blade, and puts her blade to their neck. Orbital and Crossroad, from outside of the illusion, see this and leap into action, with the former trying to use their psychic powers to give Devil Trigger a mirgane and drop her sword while the other attempts to use their gravity powers.

Orbital’s plan works, though there is a moment of feedback as they hear a beautiful song and a deep desire to see someone, someone they know is beautiful and wonderful. As Datamosh’s illusion dissipates, Crossroad’s plan is less effective, with Devil Trigger throwing Datamosh at the scion after realizing that she has been had.

Datamosh teleports around, not seeing Crossroad and just adjusting their path so they at least hand on their feet while Crossroad takes the full blow of the throw, giving Devil Trigger time to grab their sword, step further away from the others, and cut open a portal elsewhere, as the shadow figures start to dissipate.

Victory makes a last ditch effort to try to stop Devil Trigger, shoulder tackling the swordswoman in an epic clash that impresses her. She tells Victory to follow her to the Fae realm if she truly wants to find out whats going on and stop the Waking of The Night, before leaving, our heroes having won the day without any real collateral damage or harm to villains or lasting damage to themselves.

Next time! Finding a path to the Fae realm? Investigating the Wakeing? All this and more!

#masks #santa themas

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izanyas · 7 years

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Not Justice (6)

It’s here... the post-ketsu Big Fic Update... :D thank you @scarlet-blossoms!

Rating: M Words: 5,500 Warnings: PTSD (panic attack, derealization, some unsanitary stuff), child kidnapping, Namie’s ego.

Not Justice Chapter 6

Izaya refused to go back to Tokyo as long as Namie herself wasn't already there to wait for him. Namie had expected it, had her brain rushing ahead and her fingers on the keyboard of her laptop by the time he hung up on her, trying to buy the quickest plane ticket to Narita that she could find.

It didn't matter how expensive it was. She still had access to one of Izaya's bank accounts, and what was left on it largely paid for the fee.

She left the same evening with not even a note behind herself. The woman at the entrance of the hotel she was staying at looked at her with wide eyes when she handed over her keys—for good—and all Namie felt at the sight was a burning sort of satisfaction. "You'd look better with short hair," she told her, breaking another of the rules she had set for herself by the time she reached fifteen years old.

She didn't compliment people who weren't Seiji. Especially not women.

The text she sent to Kishitani Shingen from the airport was to the point. I quit, it said. Shingen tried to call her almost immediately, but Namie shuffled deeper inside the armchair of the first class resting lounge and turned off her phone entirely. The champagne she downed from the offered buffet was the best she had ever tasted.

She didn't retain much from the flight. She wasn't sick, and her ears didn't hurt like Seiji's had when they had traveled to America together almost two years ago. She grabbed a few fitful hours of sleep, her back aching despite the comfort of her seat and her dreams plagued by Izaya's voice and flashes of the city she was going to. The city she was returning to.

She didn't know if it felt like going home. She had never had a place to call home in the first place.

It took until her plane landed in Japan for her to realize that the weightlessness of her heart came from the fact that, for the first time in years, no one was after her. She wasn't in danger. Seiji was thousands of miles away, unaware of her departure, and the only thing waiting for her here was what she herself had brought. She had nothing to expect here but maybe answers to the void inside her—and already this gap was being bridged, already she could breathe like she hadn't in months. She was clean, and she was fed, and she had two suitcases with her full of belongings that she didn't have to hand over to anyone.

Her inbox was full when she turned on her phone once more. She deleted the Kishitanis' inquiries without reading them, opened Izaya's email to check what time his train would arrive in Narita—ten thirty—and finally, her thumb hovered over the single text she had received from Harima Mika.

There was a sense of finality in her when she opened it.

Good luck, it read. And, like an afterthought, Thank you.

Namie's jaw was tense, her throat dry and hot. She felt no anger, though, and no regret.

Namie took a seat at a café inside the station and resolved to spend the next two hours waiting in silence, hands resolutely not shaking around the porcelain cup that a waiter brought her, stomach too knotted to eat the breakfast she had ordered with it. Her toast cooled down within a few minutes, the grease from the butter growing less appealing as it did. She ate half of an apple and the tiny piece of chocolate that went with the coffee. She felt tired but restless, and the caffeine helped with that, making it almost impossible for her to close her eyes or quiet her own heartbeat.

She told Izaya where exactly she was waiting thirty minutes before his train was scheduled to arrive. She couldn't see the tracks from inside the station, but she was right outside of where he should come up once the time came. Seeing posters written in her own language and hearing it spoken around her in the café hadn't been surprising at first; now, though, she found herself lending an ear to the other customers' murmurs and glancing at the ads plastered over the walls of the station.

She thought she must simply be too tense at first. The closer she got to the time of Izaya's arrival and the harder her heart beat against her ribcage, the more she felt her own clothes tighten around her as if to suffocate her—her bra was digging into her sides, making it hard to breathe. She was considering sneaking a hand under her shirt to unclasp it when her eyes glanced over one more movie poster.

Hanejima Yuuhei, she thought. He was on it, looking no different than she remembered. Pretty but plain. Namie rubbed her forehead with tired fingers, a useless attempt at pushing away the headache she could feel coming; her eyes lowered to read the title of the movie, and her heart jumped in her chest before she could understand why.

There was a man standing next to the poster. He was too far away for her to see his features, and he was looking to his side anyway.

He had blond hair.

Her leg jerked under the table, making her empty cup and untouched plate rattle loudly. Namie barely remembered to drop a few bills onto it before she jumped out of her chair, dragging her suitcases behind her, walking toward the man with fury flowering inside her, tasting fire on her tongue.

There must be tens of thousands of men with blond hair in Tokyo and its vicinity. She knew that. And even as she got closer she couldn't see this one's face, and he was wearing very plain clothes too. But the build fit, and the atmosphere did too, and Izaya's train would be here in less than five minutes.

Heiwajima Shizuo barely managed to avoid the suitcase she threw at his legs. He turned his head in her direction right as she was reaching back, feet slipping on the floor as she tried to gain traction on it, and his side-step was done with a loud swear.

Namie's suitcase crashed into the wall, right under the Hanejima poster.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Heiwajima barked, veins turning dark in his face and hands flexing by his sides.

Namie was too tired to be afraid. "You are not going to ruin this for me," she hissed. "Get out."

"You just tried to break my leg—"

Nami stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar before he could finish, and he looked bewildered, an expression she had never seen on his face in the few glimpses she had had of him in person before. "Get out!" she yelled, her spit probably flying into his face, she was so close. "I don't care if you beat me up later, just get out, now."

"Who the fuck are you?" Heiwajima took hold of her hands and ripped them off of him—lifted her and pushed her away as if she weighed nothing at all. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't punch your face in!"

Namie's body was too tense on anger, red-hot and slimy inside her veins. She couldn't feel any more fear because she was already bursting with it. "It doesn't matter," she said. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a man in uniform approach them slowly. "Fuck. Heiwajima, you need to get out of here."

"Why should I?" he answered loudly. "Who are you?"

"Shit," Namie whispered, biting into her own lips. She had the taste of metal on her tongue when she ordered, "Tell that guy that everything's fine."

"You—"

"Please." She wasn't above begging. Not for this.

Ten-twenty-eight, the clock on the wall said.

Heiwajima looked at her—too long, too slow—and she thought she saw him physically reign in the violence visible in the line of his shoulders. He exhaled as though trying to expel it from his own lungs, he closed his eyes, and he rubbed a hand over his face. When he nodded to the man she could feel walking in their direction, he looked older than she had ever seen him.

"Explain yourself," he told her between his teeth.

But she couldn't. Not now. "There's no time," she replied—and her voice was shaking, she noticed, horrified—"Just do as I say. I'll give you my number, you can contact me later if you want, but I need you out of this station right now."

Heiwajima stared at her without moving. She knew that she must look frightful, deranged, out of her mind; she knew that her face was hot and her luggage spread around her on the floor and her hands twisting together; she knew how much her face was marked with the insomnia of the past year and how little she cared about masking this with makeup. "I'll contact you later," she said again. She tried to push him toward the exit, but he didn't bulge, not even one bit.

"Who are you?" he asked for the third time. She was staring at his chest—at the deceptively normal white shirt he wore, not unlike her own—both of her hands shaking against him. Trying to move him felt like trying to move a brick wall. "You obviously know who I am," he continued, getting rid of her grip on him once more.

So easily. As if he were batting away an annoying fly.

Ten-twenty-nine. Namie thought she could hear the train stop from where she was, its doors opening, its passengers getting out, Izaya among them.

"If you stay here," she said, throat tight, "you're going to provoke a fight."

Heiwajima's eyebrows twitched in irritation. "I haven't punched you, have I?"

She almost wanted to laugh. "You won't be able to help it."

In the second that followed she saw Heiwajima's face change; the hostility seemed to bleed out of him and leave nothing behind but closed doors. "Ah," he said. His hand released her wrists. People crawled up the escalator that led out from the platform under their feet, and they both turned to look at them spilling out into the station, carrying luggage and holding children's hands.

"You're here for him too." Heiwajima's voice was heavy.

She couldn't look at him anymore.

They stood frozen in front of his brother's movie poster, Namie's suitcases still lying on the floor, gathering dirt. She felt tied up. Strangled. The hard plastic of her bra dug into her chest with every breath she took, painful and relentless; the lighting was too harsh now, making her blink away tears and leaving gray spots in her vision.

The doors to the elevator opened again. Namie and Heiwajima turned their heads to look at them with the same breath lodged in their throats, and, she thought, with the same apprehension.

Izaya wheeled himself out of the elevator's cage and right out in the open, his black hair shining blue under the electric lights, his face turned away to look at the old man standing beside him.

"Don't," she breathed.

Heiwajima kicked her suitcase out of his way and started walking.

Sozoro was hovering.

He looked like a bird of prey. Today wasn't the first time Izaya had had this thought, and it wouldn't be the last; Sozoro had eyes like an eagle's and talons to go with them too—knives hidden on his person, just like Izaya did.

Izaya hadn't had much use for his knives lately.

Sorozo, though, seemed to be having the time of his life. The closer their train got to Tokyo and the sharper the glee was on his face, and Izaya was too bored, or too tense, not to ask questions.

"It'll be interesting to see how you fare there," Sozoro answered him. "Somewhere you know, among people you know. People who know you."

"I don't intend to make my presence known."

Sozoro's eyes were glinting. "Plans don't always come to fruition," was all he said.

The train ride wasn't uncomfortable. Izaya had traveled light—most of his luggage would be transported at a later date if necessary. Because of Namie's insistence that he go to Tokyo within twenty-four hours of her call, he hadn't had much time to prepare. He had to get a prescription filled and book train tickets and pack. Even with Sozoro's help, this took time.

Now he was sitting between two wagons, in a space left free for the disabled, back against the soft train seat and legs extended onto his own wheelchair in front. His laptop was on his knees, but he wasn't doing anything with it other than watching the video Namie had sent him of the creature they called Snake Hands. Over and over. Hoping for his eyes to catch a new detail.

Izaya didn't know anything or anyone who could outrun the Black Rider. It made sense to suspect that someone—or something—he didn't know might have taken Kururi.

"You're hesitant," Sozoro commented.

Izaya tensed. He lifted his right thigh with his hands, so he could cross his legs at the knee in front of him. "I'm just tired."

"Your sister has been missing for more than thirty hours now," Sozoro continued evenly. "You know the chances of finding her alive are thin."

Izaya knew. He was no stranger to abductions.

He couldn't call anyone yet, though. Not as long as he was out of the city—and, his mind whispered, not as long as Namie wasn't there.

She texted him right then, telling him where she was waiting. Izaya put his phone back into his pocket without answering.

He would be with her soon enough.

The last few minutes of travel were spent in silence for the both of them. Sozoro hadn't sat down at all through the trip; he was holding a wall loosely so as not to lose his balance in case the train slowed suddenly. Every seat except for the one Izaya had taken was free, but he ignored them all.

Izaya had to resist uncrossing his legs and crossing them again. His spine was burning harder than usual as it was. He couldn't even tell if that was his imagination—most of the pain was his imagination in the first place.

In the balance of all the painful days he'd had since waking up in the hospital, paralyzed from the waist down and both arms in casts, this one weighed toward the bad.

Izaya packed his laptop into his bag ten minutes before the train was scheduled to stop. He tugged his legs out of the wheelchair's seat and brought it closer to him. Then, after locking the breaks in place, he pushed himself onto it.

"You should've eaten before we left," Sozoro said, eyeing the way Izaya's arms shook under his weight.

"Too early to eat," Izaya replied between clenched teeth.

He let out a harsh breath once he was securely seated. His legs ached, but the worst of the pain was always at his lower back; as though someone had taken hold of his spine there and twisted their fist sideways. With a wave of his hand, Izaya ordered Sozoro to pick up his suitcase and push his backpack under the seat of the chair.

He ignored the doors opening around him. Other passengers were walking out of their assigned seats to wait near the door where he was; some of them marked a pause at the sight of him, one or two flicked their tongue in annoyance. Izaya leaned back in his seat and turned his head to look at them, lips stretching on amusement despite himself, despite everything.

"My apologies for blocking the way," he told them. "I'm in quite a bit of pain, so I'd like to hurry out."

The couple behind him seemed to deflate; soon enough, everyone in the vicinity was looking at them with animosity. Izaya entertained himself with the whispers for the last two minutes of the drive.

He barely felt the train slow and stop. The doors opened in front of him silently, the platform almost empty but for a few people come to wait directly on it; Namie would be upstairs, though, he knew.

Sozoro pushed down on the handles of the wheelchair so that its front would lift and allow to cross the small step separating Izaya from the edge of the quay.

Nothing around was especially different or stressful. Narita was a big station and a bigger airport; the chance of accidentally crossing paths with anyone he knew was small. Still Izaya felt his lungs fill with ice as he breathed, felt a tell-tale pain in his chest that he knew would soon enough be lodged in his forehead and his throat. Sozoro handed him the small pill pouch from his bag wordlessly as they waited by the elevator.

For once, Izaya didn't rue Sozoro's foresight. He didn't pretend that everything was fine. He popped an anti-emetic tablet into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

"There's nothing for you to throw up," Sozoro murmured.

"I'd rather not be nauseous at all. It's a pain to get rid of."

Sozoro didn't mention the chest pain. Izaya had pills for that, too; but Izaya would die before he admitted to needing those.

The line for the elevator was almost empty now. People kept throwing curious glances at Izaya, offering to let him go first, and Izaya smiled and waved them off. He wanted to avoid as much as the crowd as he could before meeting Namie. Finally, it was only him, Sozoro, and his luggage. The train that had driven them here had already left the platform. Izaya pushed himself into the elevator manually despite the strain on his back and let out a sigh once the doors closed.

"You're going to have a grand old time here," he told Sozoro, looking at the ceiling.

"Indeed."

Izaya chuckled. "I could introduce you to quite a few skilled fighters. One of them a former classmate of mine. She'd be delighted to take on a specialist, her usual sparring partners are mostly comprised of children."

"I'll make sure not to hit too hard," Sozoro drawled, and Izaya laughed brightly.

"Oh, I wouldn't underestimate her if I were you." The elevator stopped. A bell rang, softly, and as Izaya turned his head to look over his shoulder and into Sozoro's dark eyes, the doors started opening. "As I said, though, I don't plan on making myself—"

He choked. His mouth stayed open for a timeless second, voice gone from him; the pain in his chest disappeared entirely under the cold air that filled his lungs, thick, heavy, till they were so full of ice that he couldn't breathe at all.

He barely heard Sozoro ask, Izaya-dono? with something akin to surprise on his voice. Izaya whipped his head around to look at the crowd walking through the station, and as he did, it parted in front of him neatly, people pressing backwards to make way for the man walking in his direction.

Shizuo's eyes met his in less than a second, hooked them in and made it impossible for Izaya to look away. And it didn't matter that his eyesight blurred almost instantly or that he could feel blood rush to his head painfully, begging him to breathe again—Shizuo's face fit itself into the hole in Izaya's mind as neatly as if it had only been a day since he has last smelled murder off of the other's body and felt all the bones in his arms snap.

Shizuo stopped in front of Izaya, both of his feet hitting the ground like earthquakes; he never paid any mind to the way Sozoro moved, wrapping a hand around his wrist and no doubt pressing a blade against the blue veins there. "Izaya," he said, and the word shook through Izaya like that metal beam had twenty months prior. Painting his entire back blue and purple from the shock; twisting his spine, halting his steps.

Izaya rasped in a breath when Sozoro's blade started pushing into Shizuo's skin. He didn't check to see if the man had managed to draw blood. He couldn't look away from Shizuo's face.

"It's no use," he tried—he clenched his teeth so the shaking would stop. "Sozoro-san," he continued, louder. "You won't be able to stop him."

He could feel the incredulous glance Sozoro gave him. But the man obeyed, bound by contract and no doubt encouraged by his own dislike of Izaya—and Shizuo took another step forward, raising the hand—ah, the hand that Sozoro had grabbed, and indeed it was bleeding from a tiny cut at the wrist, already staining Shizuo's shirt sleeve crimson.

When he grabbed Izaya by the collar, the stain spread over it.

"Izaya," Shizuo growled again.

Izaya smiled, and tasted bile on his tongue as he did. "Shizuo. Long time no see."

There was no pain anymore. His entire body felt electric instead. In the pit of his stomach, heat spread, familiar and forgotten at once—but this time there was something blocking it, something that made Izaya want to scream instead of laugh and trapped all of his voice in at the same time.

It was fear. Worse than he felt even waking up from nightmares, swimming in his own sweat, thighs wet with his own piss.

Shizuo's face hadn't changed. Through the white haze Izaya saw the same nose and eyes and mouth, saw the dark roots of Shizuo's sloppily-dyed hair, saw the white teeth in his mouth as he opened it to speak again.

Except—something happened. There was a shock, enough to make even Shizuo falter slightly. Izaya's now blood-stained collar slipped out of his grip, and Shizuo broke away from his eyes to look behind himself. Izaya did the same with a scream stuck in his throat.

A suitcase fell to the floor, probably after hitting Shizuo's back. When Izaya looked up from it he saw Namie, almost comical in her fury; her arm was still extended forward after throwing it, and her face was a vibrant red.

Izaya let out the ugliest laugh, shoulders shaking and making the fabric of his clothes drag against the slick sweat at his back. "And Namie-san," he declared shakily. "My, what a reunion."

"Will you fucking leave me alone," Shizuo snapped in her direction, but all Namie did was attempt to kick him in the thigh.

"Fuck off, Heiwajima. Just—fuck you, fuck everything about you."

They glared at each other, violence gleaming at Namie's throat and straining the lines of Shizuo's back—and Sozoro stepped forward again.

"If I may—"

"Shut up," they told him, at the exact same time.

Izaya couldn't help it; he laughed again, belly aching on it, chest shaking, heart bruising his throat; it was loud enough to attract the attention of two people wearing the station's uniform and make them walk toward him in hurry.

Izaya shook a tranquil hand in their direction. The laughter had made the cold dissipate and the pain come back tenfold. "Let's take this elsewhere," he declared, leaning back into the chair.

Namie tried to walk in his direction, but Shizuo grabbed her by the shoulder to stop her. "No," he told Izaya—Izaya's stomach tightened at the sound. "I'm not fucking following you anywhere. You sit there and listen to me."

"I can't exactly run away, Shizuo."

There wasn't a hint of pity on Shizuo's face when he looked at the armchair. "Do you want me to kill you?"

And Izaya should have expected that, really; but he found that the smile left his lips as violently as it had appeared, leaving his entire face numb in its wake.

Something changed on Shizuo's face as well. Both of his hands turned to fists by his sides as he breathed—Izaya's eyes zeroed in on them, helplessly—but all he did was put them into the pockets of his jeans.

"Are you here for Kururi?" he asked lowly.

Izaya licked his bottom lip. "Did Namie tell you I'd be here?"

"I did not," Namie exclaimed, still red with rage—but it was Shizuo whom Izaya was looking at. The hatred in his eyes was not as vibrant as it was in his memories. He said, plain and honest: "I knew you were coming back. The city stank." After a breath, he added: "Been hanging around here since yesterday, just in case."

Izaya raised a trembling hand to his lips and wiped the sweat off from under his nose. "Mmh."

"Mairu is losing her shit. She asked me to help—but I don't have any fucking clue where Kururi is. Do you?"

Izaya said nothing. The white around him was worse than it had been a minute ago; he was having trouble focusing on anything, but despite even this, his entire body tensed as Shizuo approached.

"Do you?" he repeated, hunched forward so that Izaya was only a couple inches under him. "Do you have anything to do with those fucking kidnappings, Izaya?"

"No," Sozoro answered for him. He stepped in front of Shizuo; Izaya usually disliked this sort of behavior from anyone, but this time, he felt grateful. "Izaya-dono came back at his sister's request. I'm sure he'll do his utmost to find her." Sozoro's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Shizuo didn't seem to catch it, but it didn't matter, because he knew Izaya better than any of the people here anyway. "Are you here for her?" he asked again.

"You already got your answer," Izaya muttered. He had to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand again—his face was clammy. He felt cold all over. Breathing caused the same ache in his chest that drowning would.

Shizuo pushed Sozoro away with only the strength of his wrist—if he had been in any state to, Izaya would've laughed again at the face Sozoro made. "I didn't get any answers." He put both of his hands on the armrests of Izaya's chairs, and Izaya pulled his own arms back in his lap, whip-fast.

"Why are you here, Izaya?" Shizuo asked, this time right into his face.

And Izaya had prepared lies for this; he had been still in bed all night, stomach twisting, waking up from hazy nightmares of fire-lit rooftops and a headless woman descending from heavens on stairs made of shadows; he had told himself, over and over, that coming back meant nothing to him.

He found himself telling the truth. "I'm here for the same reason I do anything," he said. "Because I'm interested, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo didn't react to the nickname. Izaya stared into the eye of the storm, the rest of the station completely gone from his mind. Voices and footsteps erased, walls painted white by his mind struggling against unconsciousness.

He realized that he was hyperventilating.

Shizuo seemed to drag all the air with him when he drew back. His steps were the only thing Izaya heard and his body the only thing he saw.

He looked like a creature from a book. Like a giant at the foot of a bridge.

"Fine," Shizuo said. Izaya blinked, and didn't see anything anymore. "Fine. I don't give a shit. Just find Kururi."

Izaya breathed a half-laugh, half-sob out. "There's no certainty that I can do that."

"Then you're even more rotten than I thought." As Izaya blinked in his general direction, Shizuo added, "Find her and get out of here for good, or this time I'll kill you for real."

"That's the plan," Izaya grit out. He heard Shizuo's footstep distance themselves from him, almost breaking out of the liminal space that fate or trauma or both had opened for them; before he could, Izaya asked, "Did you think you'd killed me?"

Shizuo stopped.

The silence was absolute, now. White and endless. Izaya thought he wouldn't have been able to notice someone touching him.

"Yeah," Shizuo said from far away. "Yeah, I thought I did."

Izaya smiled. "There I guess there's reason for you to celebrate after all. You didn't kill me." He leaned back into the shapeless space where his chair should be. "You didn't give me what I wanted."

The space broke, allowing in the white lights of the station and Namie's still-pink face in front of him. Izaya couldn't see Shizuo anywhere.

"I think I'll be passing out now," he informed Sozoro. "Namie will help you with directions."

He barely felt Namie's hand on his arm and the vicious words she threw at him in answer. The fog covered his brain and drew his eyelids shut, and with the last of his awareness he brought a hand to his collar and touched the wet, warm stain.

It was fitting, in a way. Stepping back into Ikebukuro with Shizuo's blood at his throat.

Kururi opened her eyes to a hospital-like room.

She had never had to go to a hospital herself. Neither had Mairu. Her mom had always said that she and her sister were healthier than anyone she knew—never got worse than cut knees or bruised eyes, even with Mairu's training at the dojo. She used to compare them to Izaya, because Izaya got sick often, according to her. Flu after flu, cold after cold. Perpetually underweight. Always an insomniac.

Kururi couldn't ever remember seeing her brother sick. Or at least not in the physical way. It might have been before, though; before the time she started to look at Izaya, before she realized that there was a fifth member to their family that she ought to get to know.

The ceiling was bare and grey. Dirty. Not a hospital, she thought faintly. Hospitals must look better on TV than they did in real life, she knew, but she didn't think one would look quite this bad.

Not a legal one, at least.

Kururi let her head fall sideways on the pillow. She was lying on a low bed, almost to floor-level. Other beds were in the room, with other people in them. There was a plastic pole next to her holding a transparent bag of… something. A tube went out of it, dropping down to her level, up to the crook of her elbow where a needle was stuck into her skin.

She tried to move, but found that she couldn't.

Mairu, she thought.

She felt as though she had slept for a very long time. The memories of being grabbed by the middle and lifted off the Black Rider's bike came to her sluggishly. Like trying to remember a dream.

Had Mairu been taken too?

She couldn't hear any voices. The people she could see next to her all seemed to be asleep or at least drugged, like she had been.

Her heart almost jumped out of her chest when something touched her face, but she couldn't move away from it. A hand grabbed her by the chin gently and made her turn her head back.

"There's only so long we can make a child sleep," the woman above her said.

She had a red coat on. At first, that was her most distinguishable trait. Kururi blinked forcefully, until she could see enough to make out the woman's features. She was pretty. Light-colored hair held up above her nape, warm skin and soft fingers against Kururi's cheek, wide eyes. Kururi couldn't guess her age. She smelled of flowers and smoke.

Her eyes were yellow.

The woman patted Kururi's hair briefly. "Don't panic," she said. "Though, I guess that's a little useless. You seem pretty calm already."

Kururi opened her mouth, forced her voice to come out. "M-Mairu…"

"Your sister's safe. I only need one of you, after all." She had a melodious voice, every word singing itself out of her. It might have been because of the drugs, but when she carded her hand through Kururi's hair once more, Kururi relaxed into it. "You really are family," the woman murmured. "He wasn't anxious in the least when I caught him either."

What do you mean? Kururi wanted to ask. But the woman fiddled with something on the pole, and already the room was blurring into black around her. Already all that Kururi could make out was the deep red of the woman's coat—and the bright glow of her inhuman eyes.

"Shh," the woman said. "Your brother is full of lies. Even back then, he made sure to protect you from me." Kururi opened her mouth silently; the woman patted her shoulder and stood up, her face disappearing into the dark.

"He'll come," she said. "Even if he doesn't care about his family."

Her eyes flashed, burning bright spots into Kururi's sight every time she closed her eyes; and Kururi saw the woman raise one of her soft hands and examine the sharp, gleaming claws protruding out her fingertips.

"He'll be too curious not to."

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#durarara!!#shizaya #heiwajima shizuo #orihara izaya #yagiri namie #fic: not justice

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queerasart-blog · 7 years

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An open letter to France | Trans rights | Issue 2

Paris’ Pride in 2016 had for revendication that “the rights of trans people are a priority”. Indeed, in the cadre of the law “Justice in the 21st century”, the situation can finally change. Now that the law has passed, it is necessary to come back on the affair of the civil state change, on the revendications and the results of a process that had been going on since 1992. It was estimated that this law affects about 10 000 to 15 000 people in France (who are “in transition”, following the National Assembly’s sayings) but this number is surely under-estimated.

I don’t have time to read, sum it up

Before the law, trans people were facing a juridic void. Changing your civil state is linked to jurisprudence, which means that only competent judges validate or not the change.

The law was brought to the Senate, more conservative. The changes that were then applied provoked a general uproar and were considered as a “huge step back” (Clémence Zamora-Cruz, spokesperson for Inter-LGBT). Trans people are still seen as suffering from psychological troubles, which means they need a tight file to prove that they really live under the gender they demand. However, the psychological follow-up (necessary before the change, for a couple of years) is cut out. The heavy, costly and difficult procedure is in their eyes a way to prevent people “that are troubled to claim to be of an other sex”.

The National Assembly finally had the last word: no self-determination by a free and easy procedure in mairies but no obligatory sterilisation or modification of genital organs, the file being constituted by the one asking for the change. It is no more talked of a syndrome of transsexualism (this “syndrome” having anyway been outed from psychiatric books since 2010). Organisations such as Fédération LGBT+ underlined the “judiciarisation, the arbitrary appreciation of magistrates, the binary and disparity of the procedure depending on the territories.” Some however judge this procedure as perfectible and consider the supervision of the civil state change as an improvement.

A “juridical void” (Amnesty International)

No law recognise specific rights for trans people: no fight against discriminations is put in place and, more importantly, no regulations around the civil state change.

Before 1992, trans people were facing a juridical emptiness which led to a systematic refusal of their demands. We had to wait until 1987 for a Mlle B. to appeal to the European Commission of Human Rights. The latter states a violation of human rights and condemn France in 1992.

Following this decision, the civil state change belongs to the field of jurisprudence - meaning that judges have full power on this decision. Judges often badly informed or even completely ignorant, going as far as demanding physical examination of genital organs of the requester, a specific medical treatment (a specific operation, an hormonal treatment or a psychological follow-up) or even sterilisation.

France is an out-law

The right for civil state change is guaranteed by the European Commission of Human Rights since 1992. Despite recommandations from the French Equal Opportunities and Anti-Discrimination Commission (HALDE in French), from the UN (France having signed an international agreement where it stated its intention of fighting against discriminations suffered by LGBT+ people), from the European Commission of Human Rights, despite all this little lot knocking at its door and underlining the fact that France is violating its own rights, nothing. It was condemned on multiple occasions for its non-respect of the right to fair trial, of the right to privacy and family life, of the prohibition of discrimination and torture.

It’s starting to weight heavy - 25 years of international condamnations.

Project “Justice in the 21st century” : adopted on the 13th of October 2016

The project “Justice in the 21st century” is a project to modify laws. The subject of civil state change was thus dug up, which explains why it is finally spoken about after 25 years of silence. After a first reading at the National Assembly, it was sent to the Senate. The National Assembly finally adopted it on the 12th of October 2016, quoting :

Art.61-5 “Any major or emancipated person who demonstrates sufficient facts stating that the mention relative to their sex in the civil state acts do not correspond to the one under which they present themselves and under which they are known can obtain its modification.”

Here are a few points:

- demand of a “physical appearance bringing the person close to the other sex” “of which corresponds his social conduct” “which was medically stated” - the fact of not having gone through an operation of one’s genital organs or of sterilisation can not motivate a refusal of the demand (as judges were too subjective) - it’s not spoken of a “syndrome of transsexualism” anymore (which disappeared of all psychiatric reference books since 2010 et which has thus been de-medicalised internationally seven years ago) - there is no need for medical attestations’. - it is thus not based on auto-determination - there is still no free access to the change, and it still has a cost - if the person has kids, their wrong gender will be noted in the birth certificate the intangibility of the civil state is considered as one of the big principles of law that cannot be discussed. However transferring the CEC (which has to remain exceptional) to the civil state officer questions this principe and thus the worth of civil state’s data. “The integrality of a person could thus be modified by simple demand to a civil state officer”. The amendment authorising the change of sex and name by a civil state officer was pulled off - the “sufficient facts” are not only a declaration: papers are needed. Not medical papers stating any change but every day life papers: be it bills, mails, letters, gym subscriptions, anything stating you use the name you want to change to in your life - you will need to have declaration and ID papers of at least two to three people-of-age who could testify knowing you under your wanted name

“The problem with their project of law is that we still have to face the high court, thus still need a lawyer, with a remaining blur around the necessary files, whilst on the top of that being too costly, too long and still too arbitrary. Even if they do not demand sterilisation or “medical proof”, the law remains insuffisant” C. trans man

CIVIL STATE

Changing your name is now authorised by the “law of modernisation of the 21st century justice” which was adopted by the end of 2016. This mesure, put in application since the 20th of November 2016, removed the justice-step beforehand necessary to change your name.

Changing your name (or the adjunction, suppression, modification of your names) is now to be demanded to a civil state officer (directly in your town council, which should easy up the processus). Your file will still however be brought to the High Court for it to give its final statement. If the demander is older than 13 years old, his personal consent is required. There’s however no possibility to have a medical transition (as contrarily from the Netherlands and Belgium, we refuse hormones stopping puberty) or a sex change noted on your papers.

PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS

Seeing how candidates remained blurry on the matter, (even though Benoît Hamon did declare he is in favour of the ART) the organisation Inter-LGBT decided to send, this week, a questionary to all those demanding the highest function - Marine Lepen apart. “Unnecessary”, said C. Zamora-Cruz, spokesperson of the organisation. The file is a sixty questions file going from rights, health, education, parenthood to the fight against oppressions. The list is long but will have the merit of clarifying each candidates positions’, which will be posted online over here: http://www.lgbt2017.fr/propositions/nationales.html.

Testimonies and reactions of concerned people (in French):

“It’s the worst law draft on the matter of the past ten years!” Stéphanie Nicot, president of the LGBT federation. Delphine Ravisé-Giard, president of the ANT (Transgender National Organisation), describes it as “the worst law voted in an European country”.

http://tetu.com/2016/09/22/video-trans-ilga-avancer-loi/

Come on, France. Country of Human’s Rights. What organisations ask you ain’t much. Even wore, it’ll make your job easier - judges surely have better to do than changement of letters and names on passport. It won’t cost you anything: the person would pay all the way to the re-impression of their papers. What does that change for you? Don’t you think there’s more important in your law “Justice in the 21st century”? Think about all the youngsters killing themselves. Think of all the people losing their jobs or not finding another one. Think of all the people who don’t have enough money, enough time, enough strength. Think of the people who can’t even go to the post office for a parcel without being questioned on their intimacy. Think of the HALDE, of the European Commission of Human Rights, think of the UN, of Amnesty International, of Inter LGBT+ and all those organisations and people knocking on your door, underlining your stupidity. Think even further, and move yourself for the rights of trans people and of intersex people, who are also mainly concerned by this law.

Don’t you think that’s it, the “Justice of the 21st century”?

#open letter #france #trans rights #lgbt history #lgbt zine #queer as art #past articles #issue 2

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starrsquad-blog · 7 years

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Simply some bunch of points about Eddie I will eventually go back to them again, but in details. These has been sitting at the back of my head for days, and I want to write them as a full character study.

✦ Eddie is part of a Dream Demon ( hybrid specie of a Dreamwalker and a Demon ), Rorrim ( pronounced as “ro-reem” and Rorrim is basically an original specie of mine that have to do with mirror-like creatures ), and a glitch/virus, but he's mainly known to be the physical embodiment of darkness and void, the fucker is just overall The Mess(TM).

✦ Because he is the darkness, he have the ability to steal a shadow of someone else before turning into one and then have a physical appearance of them, as if their identical twin. He does not have his own shadow in any physical forms, because he is the shadow. Whenever Eddie with Caleb, he's either being traveled behind him under the light or somewhere at the back of his mind.

✦ He writes emo as fuck poetries, but leave him alone, he's trying to be poetic for once.

✧ Please though, don't ever trust him with his creativity in any other ways, he's fucked up; he is even the best cooker, a lot professional than Caleb, but he is a considered to be a cannibal as he cooks and eats humans.

✦ His body skin colour is what makes one be reminded of him being in a photo, but it's in black and white. There are two separate reasons why it's like that, while no one knows how his skin colour is shown that way, but the first reason is how much emotionally damaged and depressed he is, his colours fades away to express his misery, and secondly, while he may be the “future” of Caleb, he always thinks about his past and compares whatever appears around him in the present to it, as he can't ever let go of it, and you know hundreds of years ago, the photos were still in black and white, and it says how really far parts of Eddie’s consciousness is away from the present.

✦ Though when he glitches, the outline of his body, with parts of them becoming into pixels, are red and cyan, to make people’s eyes strains, and you do not want him to because when his voice becomes distorted from the glitching, it brings pain and discomfort to their ears. While Caleb is the person who brings people close to him for his silly, but sweet personality, Eddie is the person who wants people to stay away from him and not interact him as if he's their friend.

✦ During his speeches, if he speaks i̧n ͘͘t̛͞ḩ̕͟i͘s̛҉ w͢a̴͟y͢҉, it means his voice would be distorting and gets added in layers of voices that belongs to the people who appeared in his and Caleb’s life. Like Caleb, he can speak in any languages, alien or what actually exists in Earth, but besides English, he mainly speak in Rorrim’s language, which is basically the words are written in backwards — elpmaxe na si siht = this is an example.

✦ He creates his many companions, Hellshadows, a longer term to address them is Hell Shadowhounds, and a specie that is a Hellhound with shadows attached to their body parts ( areas for shadows includes: ridge of back, tail, ears, legs, paws, shoulder blades, mane, beside their eyes ) but have the capability to turn into a complete shadow, though in either forms, they are able to be injured and bleed black substances, and the more they bleed, the shadows are less clear as they're being “put out” and most of their body parts disappears. This part is inspired by my friend’s works with their creation on their own Nightmare Realm, but Hellshadows are able to give nightmares, while dreams are rather uncommon, yet only if there's a genuine meaning behind it, and would eat them to gain their strength and energy. But if they eat more than what's enough, they will form into their true Hell form in a bigger sized and stronger body structure with their shadows acting more of a fire then, and they will destroy anything and anyone that gets into their way.

✧ Even though Eddie may be the opposite of Caleb, his love towards canines, mainly his Hellshadows, really, will always be there at the bottom of his dead heart, and if you don't think it's unusual to make a villain love dogs more than anything and anyone else, get out of my face and never talk to me ever again.

✦ As a mirror creature whose their reflection of a person from the real world is broken from whatever reasons, to show him as being “broken” from Caleb, he have a extra layer beneath his skin, as the outer one is a cover to hide all of the scars that's shown all over his “true” appearance that is transferred from Caleb.

✧ Though the only scars that is revealed over his cover is a deep, long cut over the side of his abdomen when Caleb’s former best friend stabbed him with a knife.

✧ Part of him being a Rorrim makes it into a mark that connects from there to another long, but wasn't done deep this time, cut across his neck, earned by him cutting Caleb during the eight months of psychological traum.

✧ It then also connects across the right side of his face before it travels over to his right eye and stops at a bullet wound in the forehead, and he got it after his “final fight” with Caleb at his Dream Realm, when he was only known as Dark, and he thought Caleb would commit suicide by pulling a trigger of a pistol he summoned to his temple, and at the fact that whatever happens to a person in his Dream Realm will affect them in real life, Dark didn't ever believe Caleb would end up wanting to kill himself when he was trying to break him only to change his entire beliefs towards the world and got shocked at the sight of him with the pistol to head. Distracted, Caleb used it as an advantage and shot Dark in the forehead instead.

✧ The last scars is located on his back just above his waist, but there's no connected scarred lines from any others, and it's carved in a short phrase with a pocket knife of sort. It's written, “I’M ( NOT ) SORRY,” and it's done when, at this time Eddie being Dark, he met Caleb for the first time after a while, few years, of them being separated from each other.

✦ How he receives his energy is being fed with negative emotions by other people. He's a lot more grouchy and easy to snap at when he lacks them and sort of uses that fact to provoke people before he gets what he wants.

✦ Eddie is the “conflict” to Caleb, as the reason why he's always fighting against himself with his decisions and emotions, which doesn't imply himself, but really, it's Eddie who he is always against with in his thoughts, either when making choices or how he's feeling towards anything in general. More or less, Caleb is the “do,” while Eddie is the “do not” ( e.g. Caleb would want to make friends, but Eddie wouldn't want to make friends ).

✦ Doesn't give a single fuck of what your skin colours, what religion you believe in, where you come from, and anything that relates to who you are as a person; he finds it absolutely ridiculous of how sensitive and much of a dimwit people are to be overly offended over this or that.

✦ He always have this thought that, “everyone will die in the end,” so he express very little to no care at everything around him, more former at himself, because well, he's himself. But when he kills people, he considers them the lucky ones for being dead earlier than anyone else who will suffer a lot more than those who died before them.

#notes #Eidottnawi

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