Youth-Attack!

Let Me Warm Your Heart Part 2

Word count: 2017

Summary: Credence misses a certain kind lady. But he meets an unexpected visitor instead. All is not what it seems and even though life tends to be rough at times, every cloud has a silver lining.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, violence and blood.

Disclaimer: GIF Credits to their owners. Also I don’t own the FBAWTFT universe. Queen JKR does.


Credence searched through the gathering crowd. His heart plummeted into the melancholic depths of disappointment as the lady with the kind smile failed to turn up at yet another NSPS meet. He reminisced how her face lit up with a smile, how unlike others she had apologised and with kindness radiating from every gesture, helped him gather the scattered flyers (even though it was probably his fault that they fell in the first place). It was far too rare for people to deem him worthy to bestow kindness upon. It was more often than not a case of shoved bodies, rough touches and muttered insults. Not pretty smiles and an overwhelming softness of the heart.


Credence couldn’t help but feel sadness clutching him in its cold grasp, he really shouldn’t have gotten his hopes high. After all, it was highly unlikely that she had the free time to attend all of the rallies. She had indeed said that she had work to rush off to the other day. A hopeful part of him wished that it was just that, a busy schedule which kept her from coming back. But then again, she might have completely forgotten him. Who would remember a lowly, wicked boy like him? And if at all she did remember him, it would be with disgust at his uselessness, disappointed with anything he did. The way Ma was.


Credence sneaked a glance at his adoptive mother as she went on about the malignant virus of witchcraft that was fast spreading amongst the unaware and naive naysayers. She urged the people to be proactive and join the cause, they had safety in numbers. It was the vigilant who could save themselves after all. He thought that if he repeated the propaganda enough times, he might even start believing it. It was not that Credence disbelieved that people like witches and magic existed. He knew that his biological mother was wicked, that her blood was tainted, the same blood that ran through his veins. He had heard about it numerous times over the span of his childhood, receiving divine punishment at the hands of his Ma in a bid to loosen Satan’s hold over him. Such instances though, had become rarer as the years passed. The punishments hadn’t stopped, just the reasons had changed.


His hand felt a ghostly sting and Credence flinched, remembering the latest disciplining. His barely healed hands clutched the flyers tightly as the memory of a few weeks back washed his subconscious. Ma had been so angry with him when she had seen him idling around the back instead of handing out more flyers like he was supposed to. He had just found the crowd oppressive and decided to get a few breaths of clean air, a brief respite from the heat. That was when she had stumbled across his feet, not hard enough to cause him discomfort, but enough to make her presence known. He had expected harsh words, an angry shove or complete unapologetic indifference even. Because that was how he was used to being treated. Instead like an angel shining her heavenly aura on lesser mortals, she had come to his aid. Being the worthless being that he was, he’d somehow managed to become a stuttering dimwit, rendered dumb by her kindness and beauty. This was an exchange that hadn’t escaped the watchful eyes of his mother, though thankfully she hadn’t seen who it was that he was speaking to.


No amount of pleading would dissuade her from meting out what he rightfully deserved. It was just a matter of time and it came when they reached the rundown excuse of a church that they called their house. The moment the door to the living room closed, he silently slid off the belt from its place, grasping the buckle in the hope that the ordeal would end faster if he willed it to. Just thinking of the belting had his hands smarting in remembrance of the vicious hits. Ma had been especially angry that day.


“Hello there, young man. Won’t you give me one of those flyers?” An elderly woman broke Credence out of his reverie, a wrinkled hand outstretched towards him seeking a purple handout. Her eyes crinkled as she gave him a benevolent smile. She looked of Asian heritage, probably Japanese judging from the pastel kimono that draped her delicate frame; with her soft demeanour and quite mannerisms, she faintly reminded Credence of summers spent lying in the warmth of his birth mother’s lap, but it was a fleeting thing, this barely remembered memory.


Though he had been expecting quite a different interruption, even this was welcome. After all, it was not everyday that people treated him with such gentleness. As if reading his mind, the old woman queried, “Were you perhaps expecting someone else?” Pink dusted his cheeks as Credence replied in embarrassment, “N-no!” It came out louder than he had intended. Glancing at his mother to make sure that her attention was focused elsewhere, he quietly mumbled, “ I meant…no. That is not the…case.” His speech was marked by ponderous pauses, as if mulling over what would be appropriate enough to voice out loud.


The old woman merely nodded in understanding, though what she comprehended from his mumbles and pauses, Credence could only wonder. They stood in comfortable silence for a while before the woman spoke again, “What is your name child?” He jerked as if virtually slapped and something skittered in the woman’s eyes but it was gone before he could really observe. “C-credence.” He spoke so softly that it was a wonder that the woman had heard anything at all. But her serene smile indicated that she indeed had heard him. “You have a beautiful name”, she complemented him, making him blush again. As the rally broke up with the end address from his mother, the elderly lady stared up in the sky as if thinking about something before saying, “I better get going now. Hope you have a good day son!” her eyes twinkled and Credence couldn’t help but be gripped by a weird sense of deja vu,feeling as if he had met the woman somewhere before.


                                          
Y/N laid down her quill with a sense of satisfaction as the last report was written, bringing her paperwork to completion. Standing up, she stretched her muscles before waving her wand to summon her coat. Capping off another day at work, she stumbled out of the inconspicuous gates of MACUSA, weary and bone tired but happy at the pace of things. She started walking at a leisurely pace, setting off towards her apartment idly wondering about what she should have for dinner. Today felt like a sushi day.                



Tasked with scouting for a new place to conduct the next meeting, Credence walked the bustling streets of New York City. He had been walking for well over an hour and twilight had set in by the time he truly found anything of use. Before his eyes lay a dusty playground, more derelict than green. It was not exactly spic and span but with some cleaning, it would do. Credence looked at the playground which was sandwiched between a confectionery and a chic boutique selling trendy flapper dresses which seemed all the rage these days. Yes, this would do. He was just about to venture a bit further inside to give a last cursory glance to the venue when he stumbled across an empty glass bottle.


Landing hard on the dusty pavement with his hands outstretched to break the fall, a hiss escaped Credence. The fall tore anew his barely healed palms. Cradling them close to himself, he took a closer look at the demon that had devised his fall. Was that a beer bottle that he spied? “Oi, who goes there?” A gruff voice enquired from the depths of the dimly lit playground. Fear grabbed Credence as he stared at the questioner. Three men, drunkards by the look of them, appeared from the murky shadows. A pudgy faced man, with a pronounced limp approached him followed by a stockily built man and a towering youth with a face attacked by the most vicious case of acne Credence had ever seen.


“Looky what we ‘ave 'ere eh? A pup, wet behind 'em ears!” The towering youth chuckled nastily, showcasing yellowing teeth much to the amusement and hollering of the other two. He had a surprisingly gravelly rasp. Probably a result of excessive smoking judging by the cigarette clutched in his blackened fingers. “Ya think ya can just come here an’ bust upon us, pup?” The stocky man’s words would have been intimidating had they not been uttered in the squeakiest voice ever heard. All this would have been an excellent backdrop for a comedy show and Credence might have even found it funny had he not been in the midst of it. “Answer da question. What ya doing 'ere, punk!” pudgy face bent down for emphasis , getting too close for comfort, spittle spraying everywhere and his body reeking of alcohol, rancid sweat and something more unpleasant best not named.


Credence could barely manage a frightened whimper as hot tears ran down his cheeks. It was one thing to be belted by Ma for his actions. He deserved that, after all, it was meant for his own good, wasn’t it? But what had he done to deserve this? He cowered as pudge face yanked him by the collar of his shirt, drunken vigour easily lending him the strength to haul the frail boy up. “The cowardly brat’s snivellin’ like a damned 2 year old, if I ever seen one. What ya boys say we beat some sense inta him?” Credence felt a tightness blossom in his ribs, pressing down on his chest making it difficult to breath. His sight became hazy and all he could think of was the world of pain, broken bones and smashed teeth that was awaiting him. He saw the raised fist and closed his eyes, as the tightness in his ribs grew, threatening to burst him at the seams. Any moment now, he would be beaten into pulp.


Suddenly, the air rang out with a shrill alarm, a siren similar to those of police vans. “Shit! Why’s the police here?” the squeaky voiced man called out and Credence snapped his eyes open. Pudgy face shoved him away as the three bustled out of the playground, scampering ahead of one another, beer bottles scattered in their wake. Shaking violently at the near beating, Credence curled up into a ball and couldn’t help but continue crying as the siren grew louder and his mind went into overdrive. The police would find him and take him in for questioning. There were empty beer bottles here, he had obviously been up to no good, they would think. Wait, if the police took him up for questioning, his Ma would know. Dread latched onto him, pooling into an acidic swirl at the pit of his stomach. Oh what would she say? The mere idea of her wrath sent him on the edge of a panic attack.


Credence barely noticed when the siren stopped, for the ringing in his ears only continued to grow louder with every passing second. He was going to be arrested!! Someone was calling out to him, asking him if he was okay, but the world was a cacophony of white noise. They crouched beside him and attempted to pull his body upright. Resisting the movement, he flailed on the ground muttering incoherently throughout. Suddenly, his face was grabbed by a gentle touch and Credence found himself staring in the most mesmerising pair of (Y/E/C) eyes he had ever seen. “It’s okay love, they are gone. You are safe now. Nothing will harm you…I won’t let anything harm you!” His body gave a violent shudder. Letting out a choked sob, he fell into the soft embrace of the kind woman for whom he had been waiting for so long at the rallies. His angel had finally come to his rescue.



A/N: Ahh the time for the fated meeting has finally arrived! Writing this chapter through Credence’s P.O.V. was super fun as well as a bit anxiety inducing. I was constantly worried whether I was portraying him correctly.Just some trivia, the first sushi shop in the U.S. reportedly opened in 1906 in the Little Tokyo neighbourhood of LA apparently. I actually went and researched this on the net and Wikipedia threw this up on “the history of sushi”. Well, now that my nerd curiosity and obsessive authenticity mania has been satiated; addressing another twist- a mysterious old woman (Oba-san, if we are getting technical here) has appeared!! I wonder who she could be? 😉 Please excuse any typos that may have crept in. Thank you dear readers for the overwhelming love that you are showering on this story! Stay tuned for the next chapter and let me know how you all found this! ~mystical reading nerd

Eren’s Suppressed Emotions and Ultimate Failure in Clash Arc

It didn’t occur to me until my most recent reading of this chapter that Ymir was trying to drop direct hints at Eren that she had a plan here. Ymir is so smart, on par with Armin as far as analyzing the situation and players involved, and Reiner even says that she had every intention of escaping from here via Eren’s Titan. In fact she was subtly begging for Eren to prove to her he could be smart enough to work with her. But she was only proven wrong, and concludes that she cannot put her faith in him, (until Cry, where he manages to use the coordinate power and thus the walls are the only hope for Historia’s future).

This was a big loss.

Keep reading

you know what the problem is with saying things like “we shouldn’t assume an idol’s straight but we also shouldn’t assume he’s gay!!” and “we shouldn’t talk about an idol’s sexuality because it’s nosey and not any of our business!!”

  • you’re shutting down queer kids who are looking for representation and understand the isolation of staying in the closet
  • you’re overreacting about a relatively small discussion that is happening on personal blogs that will probably never be seen by any idol, let alone the idol(s) they’re discussing
  • it’s quite literally impossible to completely ignore an idol’s sexuality because idols are expected to be romantic and sexual.  idols are pressured to write songs about love and sex so they can be more marketable. idols are constantly asked about their ideal types and what celebrities they find attractive. idols are asked about past relationships and closeness to other idols. idol’s sexualities are always in the spotlight, regardless of what a few fans speculate on their blogs. queer idols are forced to either blatantly lie, out themselves (which could ruin their career), or carefully word their answers, an option that could arise suspicion. they cannot hide from these questions, expectations, and pressures. they are assumed straight and have to play along to some degree to keep their job. so whether or not you want to talk about an idol’s sexuality, an idol’s sexuality will be talked about,whether the idol likes it or not…and that’s just the reality.
  • if you really think that fans can’t openly discuss an idol’s sexuality on the internet, better strap on your seat belt because with that logic, you also don’t think that shipping, fanfics, and romantic/erotic fanart should exist…straight or queer. what was that?? you want to keep your precious gay ships and raunchy smuts?? so it’s alright to hypersexualize gay men and use the concept of gay men as entertainment because it turns you on…similar to how straight men hypersexualize lesbians and see them as objects of entertainment…but when an actual queer kid suggests an idol’s not straight…you get upset and suddenly this idol is fragile, can see every word that’s spoken in the fandom, and deserves sexual privacy??
  • yes. queer international fans completely understand that two men being touchy in the korean culture does not equal gay. we understand that two men in any culture does not equal gay. of all people we’d fucking understand that. we’re not pushing our fantasies, hopes, and dreams onto these idols. don’t mistake a few fans who get overexcited about two idols hugging as the entire LGBTQA k-pop fandom. we know there’s more to sexuality than who you hug and cuddle, okay?

all in all, let queer fans discuss idol’s sexualities on their personal blogs that no idol’s going to see on a website with an overall safe and accepting atmosphere. we’re not outing these idols. we’re not trying to spread misinformation and we’re definitely not trying to spread speculations until they reach the media. but as a queer, male fan i’m honestly so tired of people reading/writing paragraphs upon paragraphs of male idols fucking each other in the ass because it gets them off, but then make a huge deal out of a few fans talking about an idol possibly not being straight…and you write this graphic smut without any consent from the idol and put it on a public forum knowing very well that if the idol read it they’d feel uncomfortable and possibly violated, yet you attack queer youth who are openly discussing sexuality with the argument that the idol’s going to somehow see or sense the discussion and be hurt. stop using the concept of queer male idols purely for your entertainment and allow queer fans to talk about sexuality on overall irrelevant posts that these idols will never see.

anonymous asked:

This blog is pathetic and cringey as hell. It's really obvious that you're a pedantic child with no critical reading or thinking skills whatsoever. You're not cool or special for being able to parrot the blind hatred that internet weirdos fed you.

if i was a child this is such a mean thing to say to them. then again terfs have no filters when it comes to dealing with children.

my hatred isnt blind, it was hand-fed to me by terfs themselves who actively told me to “kill my tr*nny self” and that im not valid as a human being. they said those things to me since i was 11.

my parents didnt teach me about what trangender or non binary meant, ever since i could produce thoughts i knew i wasnt what everyone expected me to be. i wasnt brainwashed i was just educated on terms and labels for things i always knew existed.

it was terfs who tried to hurt me and brainwash me as a child. hell, i had a radical feminist go off on me for shaving my fucking arms even though i did so because i had to get blood infusions every month and i didnt want the tape that held the needle to pull on my arm hair.

terfs have blind hatred, not the trans youth they attack

beautynorder  asked:

What does the article about Molenbeek say?

The one with the busses?

That “youth” in the Molenbeek constantly attack drivers and busses. The drivers claim it’s specific to the area where Paris mass murderer Salah Abdeslam was arrested (a known jihadi hot spot).

They claim ‘barely a day goes by’ that they can make it to the end of their route without being attacked in one way or another. The pictures are of one of the last attacks where “”””youths”””” took road-tiles and threw them through the windows.

The drivers feel ignored by the bus company and by police and are saying they might go on a strike until the company installs safety booths to separate the drivers from the passengers.

Palestinian lying

Literally everything the Palestinians accuse Israel of doing is something they or the Arabs have done or are still doing themselves. It’s insane. Israel does not do them, but its accusers do.

Apartheid? No Jews allowed to live in many Arab-Muslim countries. Israelis, and Jews really, not allowed to step foot in many Arab-Muslim countries. The dhimma laws are institutionalized apartheid. Jews lived seperately in ghettos in MENA countries for centuries.

Ethnic cleansing? Nearly one million Jews cleansed from the MENA region, propelled by laws allowing them to confiscate the Jews’ property. While in Israel 20% of the country is Arab-Muslim, the amount of Jews living in MENA countries is de minimus.

Genocide? The Arabs openly call for Jewish genocide and have been for years. If they could have done it, they would have. The Turks committed the Armenian genocide. Upon the advent of Islam, the Arabs committed the second largest slaughter of Jews after the Holocaust at Khaibar, wiping out the Jews. Meanwhile, Arabs in Israel thrive.

Racism? Arab xenophobia is rampant. Dhimmi laws are codified racism. The Arabs refer to Jews as sons of pigs and apes. At least Palestinians have skin in the game though. Their Western supporters are often just simple Jew-haters and Marxists. Not to mention Palestinian nationalism’s Nazi roots, central to its anti-Semitic ideology along with the dhimmi codes.

Censorship? On campus, any time a Jewish, Israeli or pro-Israeli speaks, even if it’s a leftist message, anti-zionists violently shut the speech down, using intimidation and violence, pulling fire alarms, breaking windows, throwing chairs. In Israel, there is robust freedom of expression and speech. You can openly call for Israel’s destruction without worry. European leftist trash fly into Israel en masse to go on “Catch the Jew” tours and to throw rocks at soldiers. There is little to no freedom of press in Palestine.

Killing children? Palestinians have violently murdered infants in extremely cruel, personal fashion. They’ve been doing this for years, and Palestinians treat their baby-killers like heroes. The Itamar Attack, in which two Palestinians slit the throats of three babies, wasn’t unusual or unique. They do it all the time. Meanwhile, the one instance of the Arab baby dying was actually an arson attack gone wrong and the perps were arrested. Further, the Palestinians incite their youth to commit attacks on soldiers. The Arabs fully appreciate the PR value of a dead child. Israel never exploits its dead for PR purposes.

Using phosphorous? Israel only uses phosphorous in flares. Israel does not use weaponized white phosphorus. Hamas, however, uses weaponized white phosphorus in an RPG-type weapon. There are plenty of videos on YouTube showing this.

Human shields? Hamas is infamous for their use of human shields. They fire mortars from dense, residential areas.

Hasbara? Palestine for years has operated one of the most effective, dishonest PR campaigns in history. They traveled to and studied Marxist nations’ methods in order to rebrand themselves as Oppressed Peoples. They frequently hire well-known PR firms. Israel used hasbara too, of course, but much more honestly. Even the dreaded Occupation is largely mischaracterized.

Ties to the Land? Only the Jews have a continuous 3,000+ year presence there. The Arabs are largely settlers and colonizers not only from the Arab conquest that accompanied the advent of Islam, but in wave after wave of immigration continuing up through about World War Two.