I'm going to expand it later

Get comfortable with the phrase “I don’t know”.

Me when asked for general grad school advice. 

And I mean this in the way that you should realize that it’s okay to feel like you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re learning, after all. But you should also use this feeling as a way to reach out to the various resources that are there to help you and ask lots of questions!

Breathe with me.

Fluffy Darkstache, can be read as both platonic and romantic.

TW: Disassociation, hallucinations, panic attacks, and mental illness in general. Please read with caution!


Wilford hated blood.

It would be easier if people didn’t bleed whenever they got injured or, say, shot a few times. After all, a body is basically a puppet, some hollow shell that any spirit can use or steal. But puppets don’t bleed, so why do humans? It’s ridiculous and messy.

For a long time, Wilford believed that blood never came out of anything. Walls, floors, pants, shirts, and even hands – they’d be permanently stained red, sometimes fading to a bitter pink.

He was always annoyed that everyone pretended not to see it. Even Dark, when Wilford brought it up, said, “Blood doesn’t stick around forever, Wil.”

But Wilford knew better. It did stick around forever, because Wilford still saw it sometimes. In those rare moments of being alone, or after waking from a nightmare, he’d look down and see it on his hands.

Palms covered in bright red, still warm and wet.

By the sixth or seventh time it happened, he tried washing it off. Wilford stood by the sink for hours, repeatedly scrubbing his hands, using enough soap and water to fill a bathtub. But it did nothing.

The soap couldn’t block out the smell of blood that seemed to fill the air. And the water slipped off his skin like he was made of rubber. He clawed at his flesh, attempting to strip the skin off, because maybe it was just rubber. If he couldn’t get the blood off, he’d throw the bloody pieces away and grow a new skin for his shell of a body. He could do that.

Dark stopped him before he could.

His friend rarely showed concern for others, but with Wilford, it was clear on his face. Wilford saw it after Dark turned him around, brows furrowed and lips drawn tight with worry.

“Wilford, what are you doing?” His hands gripped Wilford’s shoulders gently, like he was a piece of glass not meant to be broken.

But Wilford was already broken and couldn’t pick up the pieces. 

He barely heard Dark’s question over the sound of his own frantic thoughts. “It won’t come out,” he babbled. “It’s still there, but it shouldn’t be, it should come out and it won’t, I need to tear it off –”

“No,” Dark interrupted, voice gentle like his grasp. “Tearing it off won’t help. Where is it?”

Wilford held his palms up, waiting to see Dark’s surprise. There was so much blood, it was practically dripping off his skin. Dark had to have seen it, had to have smelled it in the air.

But Dark remained calm, as if the situation was completely normal. He reached around Wilford to turn off the sink. Without the sound of water running, Wilford panicked, worried that he’d be trapped with the voices in his head and nothing to drown them out.

He opened his mouth, about to demand Dark turn it back on, but stopped. Dark had taken his hands, his red palms, and covered them with his own. 

It was still there, the blood was still there and he could feel it, but Wilford couldn’t see it. Not over Dark’s gray skin.

They stayed like that for a moment, Dark linking their fingers to keep Wilford from pulling away. Wilford could feel their skin mold together, the blood like an adhesive. He started losing feeling in his palms. His fingers. His entire body was getting numb and the panic returned.

“Sit down with me,” Dark commanded. His calm voice stood out among the shrieking in Wilford’s mind. He tried listening, tried focusing all his attention on that voice and nothing else.

“Sit down, Wil,” Dark said again. How could Wilford sit down when he couldn’t feel his legs? He didn’t know how. He was paralyzed, trapped in one spot. Maybe he was sinking into the ground or becoming part of it.

But Dark was insistent, tugging Wilford’s hands down. And, still linked together, Wilford followed, legs bending without thinking about it. He felt the ground, but couldn’t really register it. Was he on the floor? Everything seemed both closer and farther away.

Except Dark, who was sitting right across from him. Some distant part of Wilford realized they were within kissing distance. He could feel breath on his lips. He felt a cool forehead press against his own. And he heard a low, soft voice say, “Breathe with me.”

Sit down with me, Wilford remembered the voice say. And then he sat down. No, they sat down, him and Dark. If Wilford could do that with Dark, he was sure he could breathe too. 

If Dark was there, he could breathe.

Dark took slow breaths; his chest expanded with each long intake of air that escaped through his nose when he exhaled, drawing it out as much as possible. Wilford tried doing the same. He felt his lungs fill with air, trying to ignore the smell of blood, and release in a shaky exhale. It wasn’t for as long as Dark, but Wilford didn’t think he had that much air to breathe out.

He didn’t have much air at all. It felt like it was draining out of the room, leaving a bitter emptiness that stung his nostrils and made his mouth dry. But he felt something tighten around his hands, just for a moment, enough to drag Wilford back to the present.

“Focus,” the voice reminded him. He tried focusing again.

Inhale, exhale. It was so difficult to breathe. But after a while, it became easier. Wilford got caught up in the repetition of it, tuning out the voices to focus on matching his breaths with Dark.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Wilford had no idea how much time had passed. His eyes had eventually closed on their own and he started to slouch. The hands holding his own were cold, a pleasant feeling against the heat surging through his body.

Reality slowly came back to Wilford. He was here, next to the sink, sitting with Dark. Holding hands with Dark. He wasn’t alone; he was with Dark. That thought comforted him more than anything.

“Open your eyes, Wil,” Dark said. His voice was close and when Wilford opened his eyes, he saw his friend looking at him. The concern was still there, but less than before. “Can you speak?”

Wilford considered the question. He felt like he could talk without getting panicked now. The voices had died down and he could feel his body again, separate from the floor. He was here with Dark. “Yes.”

Dark gave his hands a tiny squeeze. “Good. I’m going to let go now, okay?”

Wilford frowned. “But what if it’s still there?”

“It was never there to begin with, Wil,” Dark corrected him. “Just because you see something doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Memories flashed in his mind – a body falling, a corpse standing, a face changing. It was too fast to make them all out.

Of course, Wilford thought. His eyes were playing tricks on him. They couldn’t be trusted, but Dark could. He could believe in Dark.

And so, after a moment, Wilford nodded and stopped gripping Dark’s hand. When their hands separated, Wilford was expecting to see it again, bright red and fresh.

But there was nothing. He didn’t see it, smell it, or feel it. It was gone, like the entire debacle had never happened and it was all just a fever dream. Dark had even implied that Wilford only imagined seeing it – was he just imagining Dark here too?

“No, I’m actually here,” Dark answered. Wilford realized he must’ve asked the question out loud. “And so are you. But that thing you saw, that was never there. You only thought it was.”

His words weren’t demeaning, but Wilford still felt ridiculous. And frustrated. Of course it wasn’t real! It was all just some sick joke his mind played on him. And he fell for it. 

“This is bullshit,” he huffed. “How can I tell what’s real and what isn’t?”

Dark shrugged, unable to answer his question. “If you’re in doubt, you can always ask me,” he offered. 

It wasn’t the best solution, but it was something. And it reassured Wilford that Dark wasn’t going anywhere without him – if he did, Wilford wouldn’t be able to ask him.

And Dark had just said – well, implied – that he’d always be around to ask.

Wilford grinned at that, comforted by knowing that he’d never be alone. Dark would be there and he could believe in Dark.

That’s all he needed.

Now Wilford knows that blood doesn’t stain permanently. He knows that it can be washed off walls and floors, bleached out of clothes, and scrubbed off skin. He knows that, like Dark said, blood doesn’t stick around forever.

Wilford knows that, but a part of his mind doesn’t. That part of him still clung onto the memories, fabricating images of bright red covering his hands. And it looked real, it felt so real that there were still times Wilford thought it had to be, it had to be on him, there’s no way he was imagining it.

But then he’d remember – he’d remember to breathe. To close his eyes and focus on his chest moving, his lungs expanding and compressing, the soft voice in his mind that could be heard over the screaming and wails of people he’d forgotten long ago.

Breathe with me.

anonymous asked:

Who are the JDL? I'm a Jewish antifascist but I've never heard of them until the post about them and the SOD

Oh these fucking JDL clowns.

You’d hope that a group going by the name “Jewish Defence League” would be dedicated to fighting anti-Semitism and neo-nazis.  Sadly, this ain’t the case.  It was founded in 1968 by Rabbi Meir Kahane (aka Martin Kahane) as part of a campaign to incite fear of black and Puerto Rican residents in NYC in the Jewish community.  A few years later the JDL switched their focus to committing terrorist acts against Soviet targets.  Quickly, they expanded their hit list to anyone they considered to be the enemy of Zionism, Israel, or radical-right Jewish nationalism.  This was to include Jews who “weren’t Jewish enough” for the JDL.  For example, in the mid-seventies JDL members stormed the San Francisco Jewish Welfare Foundation offices, beating four staff members, including one that was permanently disabled from their stay in a nazi concentration camp.

In 1994 JDL member  Baruch Goldstein walked into a mosque in Hebron with a machine gun and murdered 29 Palestinians as they prayed.  The JDL praised Goldstein for this, calling his terrorist mass murder “a preventative measure against yet another Arab attack on Jews.”

In 2001 JDL leaders Irv Rubin and Earl Krugel were awaiting trial on charges of conspiring to bomb a mosque in California and the offices of an Arab-American congressman.  Both died in prison before they could be brought to trial.  The FBI listed the JDL as a terrorist group in its Terrorism 2000/2001 report.  

As of late, the JDL have been actively collaborating with other Islamophobic extremists - even those with well-established links to neo-nazis - like Sons of Anarchy cosplayers the Soldiers of Odin.  

The JDL were most recently in the news for mobbing and beating a 55-year-old Palestinian man in Washington, D.C., putting him in the hospital with serious injuries.  

More details about this shitbags here and here.

anonymous asked:

Maybe it's totally obvious and I'm oblivious or maybe it's something you're gonna expand on later, but why were Victor's crew mates telling Yuuri not to go into his room? When he returned with medicine, I mean.

It was Emil, he could see how desperate Yuuri was and he wanted to warn Yuuri not to accidentally hurt Victor in his haste

anonymous asked:

Hi Bryn! I'm toying with the idea of an alternate 1920's detective novel for NaNoWriMo next month, but I'm absolutely stuck. I've given myself an outline of how the plot should go, but it feels... off? Rising tension seems fine (serial killer vs. investigator), but character-level plot details are a mess. Character choice is lacking from later points and with the lack of sub-plots, I'm not sure if things are escalating too fast? Like a TV show rather than a book. Any advice for fixing things?

You’ve already picked out the two major things that will help you make your outline fuller! Let’s expand on those:

1. Character choices/development.

Character development is almost never immersive or believable unless it happens in conjunction with character choices, because without the choice, the development is just words in a character’s head. You need action in order to prove those words true. 

How do we create character development through choices? Simply put, we rework the story to allow for these choices. Try writing up an outline of just the character development, starting with its set up in the first chapter and ending with the final place you want your character to reach at the end of the climax. Where do things seem to stagnate and where are no choices used to show the growth in action? (Don’t forget that development doesn’t have to be positive all the time! Characters can stumble and backslide too.)

Look at those places along your plot this development falls, and then add the appropriate choices and points of growth (or backsliding). You may very well need to rip apart your plot in over to do this! It’ll take time, brainstorming, and effort, but it’ll make your story stronger in the long run. 

2. Subplots.

Subplots aren’t necessary in the way that character growth is, but they certainly buff up a story’s word count, and they can help you explore your characters, character development, relationships, and world building in a way your main plot might not allow. 

How do we add in subplots? It’s not much different then anything else. Brainstorm. Write down the ideas you like, feel emotional connection with, or which provide a broader view of your world and characters. See if you can work any of them into your story, once again ripping and reassembling where you have to.

Since this is an awful, vague explanation, have some resources which will give examples: 

anonymous asked:

Oh I forgot to ask: Do you also feel like they've softened Matthew a little bit? Maybe it's because they cut out a lot of their interactions, but I feel like they did, while still showing how lethal and dangerous he can be. I'm all for it, I think it's still true to the character, but works better in the context of the show.

I do think they softened Matthew a bit, and Matthew Goode does a fantastic job of conveying that with expressions, like for example the way he looks at Diana before he attacks Domenico. I believe we might still find out later on though just how lethal and cold blooded he can be, starting with Gillian next week. I’m kind of sad to see her go, I liked how they expanded her role and think Louise Brealey does a terrific job. 

I also feel he’s less controlling in the TV series than in the book. To me, at least, he seems more protective and gentlemanly than dominant, but I also think Diana is a bit more active and independent. I really hated that she was always told to eat or sleep in the book. 

There are a lot of things about Melone I can talk about but let’s take a moment to look at the way Melone refers to his stand.

First, Baby Face is referred to as a parent. The stand that is active and pursuing is a “son of baby face” implying a difference in the stand that created it and the stand that is active. He also refers to the stands baby face creates as stands and uses the term sons. This could be just in the translation but the idea comes across often that there is a separation between the initial stand Melone uses to create baby face and the “son” the stand creates.

Second, Melone talks about baby faces ability as an auto tracking stand in words that imply this isn’t the consistent result. It’s referenced at another point that the stand relies on how much it’s learned and he’s also given an option to use a “father” of sorts. All this implies a lot of variety between the “sons of baby face” which could occure.

Third, Melone has to teach his stand. This is really interesting seeing as the stand is both sentient and growing independently of himself. Baby Face acts on its own and seems to inherit from its mother and “father” rather then from its user.

Because of these points I find it likely that the stand that shows up first and allows the creation of baby face is Melone’s true stand while baby face operates under the stand the stand that we see in Melone’s chapters is only partly his.

This is important if one takes stands as reflecting the users inner working. This theme runs strongly throughout Vento Aureo and Giorno references it during the fight with Cioccolata. If stands reflect the user then the part of Melone’s stand that can be used to determine more about him is the initial data collecting computer element.

The stand that does the fighting tells us more about its parents. Melone comments that the personality is different each time and suggests using a different mother the next time. The ability we see Baby Face use could also change but there isn’t any strong evidence supporting this in either direction.

This being the case we can only look at the stand Melone uses early on and the features we know for sure all of baby faces sons would have.

First, The stand asks for dna contribution which activates the auto tracking implying it could be possible to use baby face without this ability. The ability itself sets the stand to track it’s “father” while baby face seems to consumer it’s mother following birth. This is likely a reflection of an extremely unhealthy relationship with his own parents. Searching out a father could relate to having an absent father. The consumption of the mother is a little more difficult to say for sure but it is unhealthy no matter what.

Second, the stand is a computer based stand that analyzes data of humans and genetics. Melone needs to input blood types and ages as well. He also asks questions about drug and alcohol use. All these presumably affect the outcome. From this it’s clear he has some base knowledge in genetics, and the impact of environment on the fetus, likely also epigenetics. The entire time he is questioning the “mother” he remains distant and cold for the most part. This isn’t something he does for any pleasure outside of the use of his stand and a scholarly side. He has the mind of a scientist without many morals. If he has to sacrafice some people for his experiment he will.

I could honestly go on for much longer about Melone and what his stand could say about him but I’ll expand in a later better organized post. Anyhow for now have some observations and feel free to ask me about my interpretations any time

Title: Break Me

Series: RWBY

Pairing: Qrow/Winter

Rating: T


Sorry for not coming to see you in person. I know you’re gonna be pissed at me when you finish reading this, and I get it.

The past few years have been great between us. But you’ll only get hurt if I stay I don’t deserve you. A woman like you shouldn’t be with a dusty old crow such as myself anyway….

Keep reading

deancainweek day 4: inspired by
inspired by: the doors - ‘people are strange & riders on the storm’ 

1971 - 22 year old Dean and 18 year old Sam sneak out to see The Doors in concert, while there they’re separated. Sam ends up running into a strange older man who offers to help him find Dean. However, instead of being helped, Sam is drugged and taken away. 

Dean never found out what happened to his brother. 

Ten years later, he finds himself in a relationship with an older, blue eyed man. He’s a little strange and into bees, but Dean knows Cain is a good man. That is until he finds a box of polaroids with victims pictures inside. It’s only when he lands on a picture of Sam alive and then Sam dead, that he starts to unravel the pieces of Cain’s past. 

the-lady-cassandra​ said:

If Steven turns out to be trans/non-binary canonically, I will be so happy.

thebombasticbookman​ said:

I REALLY like your interpretation of the ‘I wanted to do this’ scene. It makes the moment not only sweet, but powerful.

Like I would be completely blown away if Steven being trans was even remotely part of the creators’ intentions. But I also feel like this moment is really significant? Like just the way he says it. “It was always me.” Quiet and solemn. Like this isn’t a funny twist. Everything about this is played as a serious moment for both of them.

I mean, god, look at him!

He’s so surprised. He’s suddenly learning something about himself that he’d never imagined before.

I don’t know precisely what is revealed to him here. But there’s definitely a revelation.

deleted scene

A flash of purple and Alya was gone; Lady Wifi stood in her place. Marinette’s heart dropped. Hawkmoth could… re-akumatize people? Her eyes darted around but she knew she couldn’t transform on the subway. What had even upset Alya enough to become re-akumatized? 

“Marinette” Lady Wifi cooed in a child’s voice. 

Manon’s voice.

“M-Manon?” Her voice was timid, she was shocked…Hawkmoth possessed a child? “W-what are you–” 

Lady Wifi grabbed Marinette by the throat, cutting off her air supply. 

“Marinette!” A muffled cry called out from the other metro car. She didn’t have time to process the fact that it was Adrien before Lady Wifi forcefully pinned her against the door. 

“You have something I want.” Manon’s voice was bone-chilling. 

Marinette could feel Tikki pressing against her bag. She had to get free. The metro came to a screeching halt and using the brief moment of Lady Wifi’s unbalanced stance, Marinette kicked her away. She instantly gasped for air and reached for her bruising neck. 

Lady Wifi growled, eyeing Marinette viciously. Her demented glare turned to a determined smirk. Marinette’s eyes grew wide as the metro doors flung open. Before she could do anything, Lady Wifi was out. Marinette stumbled out onto the platform, doing her best to chase after her friend. She collapsed against the wall, still struggling to find her breath.

“Marinette!” A familiar voice called out. She turned to find Chat Noir with a worrisome look in his eye. “Are you hurt?”

“G-go” Her voice was raspy, words were hard. “She’s going.”

“My god, Marinette your neck! It’s brusing! I need to get you to safety. Come-” Marinette swatted Chat’s hand away and did her best to take a deep breath.

“I’ll be fine. She’s g-going to m-my house.” 

Chat tilted his head.

“Go. S-stop her.”

Chat gave Marinette a concerned look.

“I’ll get help, I p-promise.” 

That seemed to have calm Chat enough.
“I’ll be back to check on you later.” He said in a low voice, taking off after Lady Wifi.

Racism: the systematic oppression of minority ethnic groups, a constructed social system made to maintain a privileged status quo

Sexism: the systematic oppression (typically) of women, a constructed social system made to maintain a privileged status quo

Classism: the systematic oppression of the (usually) socially and economically disadvantaged, a constructed social system made to maintain a privileged status quo

Iconoclasm: the attack of cherished beliefs, traditional institutions, etc. as being based on error or superstition