luxury ignorance

  • them: if we have communism then no one will ever be able to enjoy luxuries again no matter how hard they work
  • me: luxury is a social construct, what i mean by that is, we only consider things luxuries if they are exclusionary
  • me: we could all experience the same joy and items that today are considered luxuries
  • me: the only difference is, they would no longer be called luxuries, but simply living.

I’ve taken some time to think over and process recent criticisms that people have made of me. Thank you to everyone for being patient while I took this time to reflect–I think that a brief review of my behaviour in the past has shown that I often respond poorly and clumsily in the heat of the moment, and these conversations benefit when I give them the thought and effort they deserve.

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🌈 Colors of the Sky 🌈

Red-Orange; attraction, authority, change, courage, faith, harvest, ignorance, motivation, pleasure, power, self control, strength, stubbornness

Red-Orange-Yellow;  attraction, clarity, confidence, control, creativity, dishonestly, energy, excitement, happiness, insanity, inspiration, sensuality, opportunity, vanity, warmth

Red-Orange- Purple; calming, confidence, control, creativity, drama, enhancement, healing, independence, ignorance, luxury, moodiness, mystery, passion, protection, sickness, understanding, wisdom

Red-Yellow; change, clarity, comfort, courage, energy, enthusiasm, excitement, inspire, leisure, motivation, pleasure, vibrancy

Red-Yellow-Pink; attention, desire, emotions, energy, extremes, hatred, jealousy, love, lust, memory, physical, rage, revenge, romance, ugliness, vibrancy, vitality, wildness, wit

Orange-Yellow; carefree, clarity, comfort, happiness, health, education, enthusiasm, irresponsibility, intellect, joy, leisure, pleasure, mental clarity, rebellion, visions

Orange-Yellow-Pink; attraction, beauty, caution, caring, friendship, goals, inspiration, lighthearted, opportunity, protection

Orange-Blue-Purple; anxiety, change, coldness, control, depression, dreams, energy, focus, healing, independent, judgement, knowledge, loneliness, mystery, planning, sadness, spirituality, thought, tranquility

Yellow-Pink-Magenta; compassion, dependent, desperation, dominating, healing, heat, intensity, lively, love, passion, playfulness, seduction, sensitivity, outgoing, overbearing, weak, wildness, vulgar

Yellow-Blue; anxiety, awareness, discord, fear, insanity, justice, mixed signals, sickness, timidity, truth, unbalanced, unstable, weakness

Yellow-Blue-Grey; conservative, doubt, heartache, hopelessness, illness, isolation, logic, regret, restrained, quietness, sickness, sadness, sorrow

Yellow-White; bright, cleansing, creativity, freedom, harmony, innocence, learning, originality, peace, purity

Blue; calmness, communication, confidence, consistency, distance, healing, insight, knowledge, loyalty, patience, security, serene, solutions, wisdom

Blue-Purple; adventures, dept, faith, forgiveness, healing, intelligence, intuition, judgement, mediation, power, progress, protection, royalty, safety, sincerity, spirituality

Blue-Purple-White; calmness, cleansing, intuition, nostalgia, peace, perfection, safety, soothing, spirituality, understanding

Blue-Pink; affection, balance, caring, contentment, emotional healing, harmony, honor, nurturing, partnership, relationship, selflessness, sympathetic, thoughtfulness, unity

Blue-Black; banishment, beginnings, change, cleansing, endings, knowledge, learning, patience, power, protection, rebirth, telepathy, tolerance, unknown

Blue-White; calmness, cleansing, constancy, hope, guidance, patience, peace, protection, tranquility, trust, truth

Purple-Pink; attention, cool headed, enchantment, friendships, harmony, humble, luxury, optimism, relationships, sociable

Purple-Pink-White; aggressive, envious, extravagant, fear, immaturity, innocence, naive, weakness, wildness

Purple-Black; development, forgiveness, intelligence, justice, logic, mystery, pride, rebirth, releasing, safety, unknown

Purple-Grey; balance, clairvoyance, growth, healing, horrors, influence, neutrality, power, progress, security, spirituality

Black; closure, curses, death, destruction, endings, grounding, protection, repelling, reversing, transformation

Black-Grey; change, chaos, doubt, endurance, grounding, intelligence, knowledge, restrained, safety, solidness

**My personal correspondences

Are you really
just going to come back into my life
like you’ve never been missing?
What am I supposed to do with all the empty space?
I carved out a hole
for the you who would rather fly
than dive,
for the you who would rather rest than run,
for the you who didn’t know what a heart was
but still knew
how to break one.
The silence is too much.
You are looming in the background
as if maybe, maybe,
with quiet enough steps,
I won’t even notice you’re there.
But I have marked every moment without you.
You are not something
I have the luxury
of ignoring.
—  For three years ago (h.r.s.)

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Jyn Week - Day 2 Luxury

In her early years, on Coruscant and even Lah’mu, Jyn had every comfort she could need - had never thought to want.

Her own bed sat warm and cozy within her own room. Her favorite toy was always within reach. Food was delicious and fresh and ready when she was hungry.

Most importantly, Mama and Papa were there, alive and with her.

With the shot from a blaster and the departing of a ship, she soon learned what it meant to want, to need. Luxury is only understood with the absence of it.

From that day, she is taught a new definition of the word.

Luxury is the bottom of a bunk with a thin, rough sheet. A blaster that fits into the palm of her hand. Training that teaches her to duck, tackle, claw and fight. It’s understanding that she comes second to the only person she has left in the world. She takes comfort in believing so fiercely in the cause herself that she does not have time to know who she is - to question, to ache, to fear, to miss.

When she is sixteen, the definition shifts again. A cavern closes on her once more, this time by hands that are not hers, by the hands that had first freed her, that were supposed to take care of her. They’re the last hands she’ll ever trust besides her own. She discovers then that luxury is tears that have already learned to fall silently in the dark. It’s the bruises on her knuckles - the comfort that her own fists must always be by her side.

She keeps her head low, in an attempt to support the weight crushing down on her shoulders. The position is uncomfortable, but still she refuses to look up. Seeing what hung there would bring her more discomfort still. Luxury is surviving.

The galaxy continues to shatter, but she pretends it doesn’t matter. She cannot fix something when she herself is struggling to stay intact. Her hands are full with her own pieces. The Empire passes her, but she looks away. She’s not compliant. Stormtroopers are downed by her hands, moffs misplace money into her pockets and informants lose voices and lives in street fights. You don’t get sentenced to Wobani without a little resistance. But luxury is ignoring the small nagging voice saying she could do more, be more.

Luxury is never being called out for it. Until a man who has fought every time she hasn’t spits the word into her face. Until the man who can truly understand her loss and pain shows her there’s another way. A man whose yielding eyes don’t match the judgement in the statement. His words are ones of defense as he faces his own luxury of being able to justify anything for the cause. But she sees the truth in them reflected back in the mirror of his face.

At the age of 21, it is this same man who shows her the true meaning of luxury. Because luxury is having someone who always comes back for you. Luxury is a home and a family. And Cassian is hers.

I was checking Google Street View for work and I stumbled across this moment from 2013. 

This is post-Superstorm Sandy. Many were left homeless and the National Guard was deployed to help hand out food and water and necessary supplies. I remember going to a family friend’s house which had had its foundation cracked, and wading chest deep into freezing January sea water to rescue jewelry, heirlooms, photo albums, any piece of her life that we could salvage for her. 

Many still can’t go home. Many businesses are still shuttered. And most people who don’t live on the coasts have forgotten. We haven’t. New Yorkers are islanders, though many don’t realize that about us. We live on a series of islands. Climate change is threatening us. We do not have the luxury of ignoring this, we do not have thousands of miles of coast to spare. I beg you to consider this. 

Today is Earth Day. New York city, one of the wealthiest cities in the world, has not yet recovered from this. How can smaller island nations stand against this? How can poor communities globally cope? How many lives do we have to lose before people take notice? Please, please don’t relegate your environmentalism to one day. Take today to commit yourself or re-commit yourself to fighting climate change. There are billions of people, and billions more not yet born who are relying on you. 

Why your claims of "reverse racism" are a logical fallacy.

Racism is a social construct, not the way an individual treats you. That is prejudice. If you’re hated, disdained, insulted, bullied, etc., for your race, that is prejudice. Why isn’t it racism? Because there are no societal implications. That bullying doesn’t give you less access to education, health care, representation in media, doesn’t make you a “profile” that is threatening inherently to the world, doesn’t get you aggressively targeted by police, doesn’t get you harsher punishments through the justice system, and on and on and on. Racism isn’t about an individual’s ill intentions or beliefs about another race. Racism is a social construct, a systemic form of oppression that unless you are the target of, you are complicit in and guilty of perpetuating and condoning. It wouldn’t be farfetched to say every single white person in America is racist. Does that mean they are all prejudice? No. Does that mean they all consciously make efforts to disenfranchise people of color or harm us? No. Does that mean they harbor ill will or hate? Absolutely not. However, do they benefit from the privileges of said social construct? Yes. Willingly or not. They do. Period, point blank. And don’t confuse privilege with earned material goods or status. What you worked for, you worked for. Privilege describes unearned means. Privilege would be the slap on the wrist for something that would land a black person in prison for life. Privilege would be walking into a job interview, seeing that all the other candidates were black and the interviewer was white, and having a sudden feeling of relief and confidence. Privilege is what allows someone to not have to know the difference between racism and prejudice. It’s what allows them to dismiss a person of color’s experiences, or try and impose their own as relative, without any true comparison. Privilege is the luxury of being wilfully ignorant with impunity because you are not harmed by the status quo in any way - in fact, it is designed for you, it caters to you, it provides for you, and it shelters you.


Series Summary: You and Castiel have been falling for each other for a while now but avoiding entering into an actual relationship. That all changes one night when you and the angel finally sleep together, resulting in much more than a purely physical bond.
Part 8 Summary: You thought you and Castiel were on the same page about working together as a team to defeat the angels. After he teams up with Dean behind your back, you realize you thought wrong. 
Reader Gender: Female
Word Count: 5,367
Tags: canon verse (canon divergent), lots of important plot development, angst like whoa, i promise this fic has a happy ending

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine coming soon!

tagging: @jensennjared, @galaxystiel, @the-chick-with-the-best-fandom,@abaddonwithyall,@novaevelenekim, @hqwcll, @just-a-touch-of-crowley, @whoopxd,@bogganheart,@mywant3dnightmar3, @soab1967, @shamvictoria11, @castielspahdehrah, @bkwrm523,@watchfuldivine, @aproufoundbondwithdean 

Dean gave Castiel a worried look. “So, what’s this plan of yours and why can’t we tell Y/N?”

“Because it involves keeping her confined to the walls of the bunker, which she would never agree to willingly.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “No kidding she would never agree. What the hell, Cas?”

“Dean, she is going to die.” Castiel implored. “If we don’t protect her, the angels will find her and she will die.”

“Cas, buddy, I get that you’re stressed. We all are.” Dean gave his friend a concerned look. “We’re gonna work through this thing and no one is gonna die.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, Dean, you don’t understand.” Castiel hurriedly explained. “I saw it. Delphi – the prophet – she showed me. She has the power of sight and she showed me Y/N’s future. An angel stabs her and she…” Castiel trailed off, unable to finish.

Dean’s posture stiffened. “Well, maybe her visions are wrong. She’s like a million years old. Maybe she’s off her game.”

“She is the original prophet, Dean.” Castiel grimaced. “She’s never wrong.”


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Americans, think about your own grade school education. You learned about genocide, war and slavery, how awful that all is, etc. You learned about how MLK Jr. fought for civil rights, and Thomas Jefferson said all men were created equal, how horrific the Holocaust was, and how the savior Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves.

But the textbooks conveniently leave out how MLK was an enemy of the state and the president and CIA wanted him dead, Thomas Jefferson owned and raped his slaves and he literally meant all caucasian males were created equal, the US denied entry to Holocaust refugees and no one cared, and Lincoln was also a racist and the emancipation of slaves was an agenda to destroy the confederate, not to save black people.

History paints us in a favorable light so we can shed the guilt and to lose accountability for past actions and to push the belief that it’s all in the past; everything is fine now. All tragedy of the past is mourned, but what are we taking away from it when history repeats itself?

We were taught as kids not to see or judge people based on color/gender/etc. and be tolerant because we’re all “equal.” It sounds like a good thing, but it just keeps privileged people ignorant and in denial of the existence of the current social issues. It becomes an excuse to be blind to other people’s problems and lose accountability for the social issues they unwittingly perpetuate so they can continue to live in comfort. It’s a delusion. When states like Texas rewrite textbooks to omit the word “slavery”, that just takes it all a step further.

If you grow up as a minority, or a double minority, or a triple minority, or a refugee of war, you don’t get the luxury of ignorance. You don’t get to pretend like social problems are a thing of the past. You don’t get to pretend racism/misogyny/homophobia/transphobia doesn’t exist when the inconvenient to life-threatening shit gets thrown at you on the daily. 

If you’re so lucky to live in a privilege-bubble, it can be hard to see how fucked up the world actually is, and eventually people like me just look unjustifiably angry all the time, and feminists look like angry bitches and black ppl need to get over slavery, and we should monitor or close down all the mosques (-Donald Trump) and Syrian refugees should stay in their country or be put in internment camps (-Sen. Elaine Morgan), and we should all pray for the white people in Paris. You lose sight of how the entire social construct for most of human existence was built on a hierarchy where heterosexual cis-gender Caucasian men have always been at the top. We see it in our government. We see it in the movie industry. In cartoon depictions of God and bible stories. We see it in how the news gets reported, and we see it in history textbooks.

People often misconstrue my fight against this social hierarchy as a hatred of white people which is not true and not the point. And they wonder why I’m so bitter and cynical all the time, and why I go on so many camping trips. Can you blame me? Am I at fault here? Am I the one that needs changing?

I can’t believe I’m writing this right now but since apparently my Hogwarts sorting metas (specifically the one about Sansa being a Ravenclaw) sparked discussion about how Arya failed to get to safety/got herself into trouble because she supposedly couldn’t identify allied houses from enemies, I’m just going to say this-

That’s Sansa’s initial issue, not Arya’s. Arya has always been remarkably good at spotting the trustworthy from the not. She’s ridiculously suspicious actually for a character who’s 9 years old and has been raised sheltered. Even from the start of the series, she has a really keen ability to discern the fakers.

Two of the guardsmen were dicing together while the third walked rounds, his hand on thepommel of his sword. Ashamed to let them see her crying like a baby, she stopped to rub at her eyes. Her eyes her eyes her eyes, why did…
Look with your eyes, she heard Syrio whisper.
Arya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers. AGoT

She wished that Robett Glover and Ser Helman Tallhart would come back to Harrenhal, though; they had marched too quickly, before she’d been able to decide whether to trust them with her secret. ACOK

When she got closer, she saw that he was a northman, very tall and thin, huddled in a ragged fur cloak. That was bad. She might have been able to trick a Frey or one of the Brave Companions, but the Dreadfort men had served Roose Bolton their whole life, and they knew him better than she did. If I tell him I am Arya Stark and command him to stand aside… No, she dare not. He was a northman, but not a Winterfell man. He belonged to Roose Bolton. ACoK

The thought of hot food made Arya’s belly rumble, but she didn’t trust this Tom. Not everyone who spoke you friendly was really your friend. ASoS

Arya can easily identify Northern banners as well. She can ascertain her supposed allies. She doesn’t necessarily trust them though, which proves a great trait in regards to Roose Bolton.

Arya is well educated and intelligent, but unlike Sansa, she doesn’t enjoy it nor does she really value many of her lessons especially at the time pre-series.

He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man who liked to walk the battlements alone in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done. ACoK

Arya recognizes banners, she’s able to very easily see that he belongs to Tywin and is therefore an enemy. Sansa excels at that stuff, that’s the difference. Arya knows the basics whereas Sansa goes above and beyond. Sansa enjoyed her lessons and enjoyed earning Septa Mordane’s praise for being so good at them. She tried hard to learn as much as possible. You can clearly see that from how many times Sansa thinks back on Septa Mordane’s lessons- from her wedding night with Tyrion to her initial interactions with Sandor to trying to please Joffrey/the court, Sansa reminds herself of Septa Mordane’s teachings and remembers them clearly.

That doesn’t make Arya stupid or incompetent. Seriously, this isn’t a competition of who is the genius and who is the idiot. 

From the beginning of the series, Arya was great a street smarts (that’s why she was able to blend in enough and survive in Flea Bottom and beyond) and Sansa was great at book smarts (that’s why she kicked even her brothers’ asses in letters and performed amazingly in her studies.)

As the series goes on, Sansa wizens up after the fall from grace and becomes better at judging people (street smarts) whereas Arya diligently takes lessons and serves to the point of picking up multiple languages (book smarts.) The skills they lacked before things went to hell became necessary to pick up and neither had the luxury of ignoring their own ignorance anymore.

I don’t generally like to make comparisons between forms of oppression but the older I get and the more I read, the more I understand not just how central the role of the United States government’s official action has been against the vanguards, the figureheads, the leaders of the movements which preceded the progressive and radical movements of today- not just the far right, not just people waving Nazi flags, but elected and powerful and even progressive officials- but ALSO the way in which this has left so many people woefully stranded, separated from generational knowledge, literally stripped of elders upon whom we might have called for their experience, and that these policies didn’t stop having effects once their targets were either minimized, eliminated, or pushed underground.

I think about the deaths of gay, bi, and trans people to AIDS in the face of a government which laughed at them and thought their deaths a suiting punishment for their crimes against heterosexuality. And I think about the leaders of so many black resistance groups being shot, or tortured, or locked up permanently, being forced to leave the country- the Fred Hamptons, and the Assata Shakur’s and what could so easily have been true for Angela Davis, making up only a small portion of those who were doing the work in the streets every day, the untold names we won’t know because they were locked up too soon for planted drugs and so on- and the leaders of so many adjacent movements like those championed by groups like the Young Lords- and realize that we have quite literally lost a generation, or a good chunk of a generation, of people with real experience building street-based political movements. I realize we are stuck with some history, some books, some elders and just a fraction of the elders with whom we should have been able to sit and have real conversations, who can physically show up and help us do the work. And I’m horrified. The oldest gay male activist I can reliably get a hold of is in his late 60s and he tells me he kept a list of how many of his friends died at the height of the AIDS crisis, hundreds of names, until it made his heart so heavy he just had to get rid of it. He tells me many of the men with whom he was the closest on the list were good kids, activists doing work to feed other gay, bi, and trans people. And I think of how incredible it would be to be able to talk with these men who would be his own age.

I’m not saying they are gone- we have several who are alive, and well, and still working, but we have been robbed of such a major heritage. This is part of what upsets me about people still shilling for Clinton- how many people were locked up because of a bill she supported, how many people were murdered by police for their activism only to have these murders written down as accidents or suicides or cases of slight overreaches of police power, how many of those who would still be leading struggles did policy she supported to suppress “supercriminals” suppress or force out of the country or shove away in jails with no hope of release or contact with others? She has had the luxury of changing her mind in the past few years- those affected by the bill have not had the luxury of ignoring its effects, or wiping their hands of its effects, because they’ve got families, histories, and social movements totally broken from it. And now, as she realizes that between her party’s suppression of a more-liked candidate, her absolute failure to even visit several states she needed to win because she arrogantly assumed she did not need to, her absolute failure to reach out to people she needed to support her, now as her failures as a candidate (a loss for which she herself holds much of the responsibility) her supporters turn and shout for movements to combat Trump. We already have movements, and we always will. But the fact that so many progressive movements are almost entirely pushed by young people today is not just a good thing, though it is also a good thing, but it is a reflection of how massive our losses have been.

Will it be Okay?

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Word count: 4018


“Hey Jungkook… will it be okay if I don’t let you go?”

Your life was a mess. The kind that was filled with endless despair, desperation, and meaningless sacrifices that ate out your hopes of a future worth waiting for. One particular day pushed you to your limit, and you almost accepted the fact that you weren’t escaping this hell hole anytime soon and that the world was only coated in fake beauty in order to hide its ugliness, but on that particular day, you also met someone with glossy and enchanting eyes that screamed defiance to your belief.

And you could never get enough of it.


‘They’re at it again’ you thought bitterly, picking on your cold breakfast as you listen to your parents fight in their room. You could clearly hear the words they screamed to each other and you wondered what they were fighting about when all you could hear were profanities. You take a sip of water, focusing on its bland taste as you hear high and low pitched chuckles slowly descending the stairs.  

“Really? That’s crazy she must’ve— Oh it’s you” You scowled, hearing the sickly sweet voice of your sister greet you ever so warmly. She stopped a few meters away from you, her hand around a half naked man’s waist as she rolled her eyes. You cringe as the man dips down to kiss her neck, ignoring your presence completely.

Choosing to ignore her you finished your breakfast as fast as you can, eager to just get the hell out of the house. You were about to stand up when your 'sister’ slapped your hand away from your empty plate making you snap your eyes at her. Your sister’s eyes were narrowed down to a glare and her nose flared in anger.

“You don’t get the luxury of ignoring me you brat” she spat out angrily. You held back the urge to punch her and instead settled on a scoff.  

“And you get the luxury to fuck random men in the living room whenever you like?” You gritted back out. Your sister’s eyes widened and she threw a harsh slap

on your face, the force making you stumble on your feet.  

“You bitch–” She raised her hand to slap you again. You close your eyes and braced yourself for the impact.

“Babe stop that, the hoe’s not worth it” a male voice interrupted. You felt your blood start to boil.

Did he just call me a hoe? You glowered at the buff man in front of you who was pulling your sister into his chest. Your sister glared at you. “You’re pretty damn lucky my man pities you enough to save your poor ass” She barked, kissing 'his man’s jaw as she gave him one of her disgusting smiles. You almost gagged.

“I’d rather die than having a whore save my ass” You emphasized, picking up your bag and briskly walking out the house, ignoring your sister’s screams of protest. You could feel your eyes burning with unshed tears but you blinked them back, not wanting to waste tears on people like them. You walked straight to nowhere, your knees getting weaker for every mile you walked. Your cheeks still stung, but it was nowhere near the pain you experienced every single day.

You snapped out of your trance and found yourself at a park. It was early and only a few people were around which gave you a slight feeling of relief. You took a seat on one of the benches and closed your eyes as the wind blew. You thought about everything.

Why did you have to be treated like this?

How did everything end up this way?

What did you do to deserve this kind of suffering?

You did everything your parents wanted you to. You were one of the smart students in class, you didn’t go to parties every weekend, you made studying your hobby, and you loved them so much. You had rejected confessions from men whom you were actually attracted to, and you placed their happiness before yours.

You didn’t know what you did wrong.  

You were lost.  

Maybe there were other things you could’ve done

Maybe they weren’t enough

Maybe you had to try harder

But in the end, nothing you ever did was enough. A single mistake exceeded all your sacrifices and achievements, and all you could do was accept it and start again. You were tired. You were tired of spending hours of endless sobbing in your room. You were tired of being weak.

You felt tears threaten to spill from your eyes without your consent, but before you could let them fall down, you heard a small whimper. You opened your eyes in curiosity, scanning the almost empty park with a blurred vision and your eyes landed on a boy about your age about 5 meters away from you. He was crouched on the ground and you couldn’t see his face with his back facing you. However, you noticed his shoulders slightly trembling as if he was crying.

Deciding not to interfere with a stranger’s business you dragged your eyes away, only for it to be focused back to him when you heard another whimper. He was now trembling more visibly and was whipping his head side to side as if looking for someone to help him. You bit your bottom lip, hesitating.  

What if the guy’s a pervert? You thought. You stare at his helpless form.

Oh fuck it, you never know  

Silently, you stood up and walked towards him, stopping just behind his back. You could feel your fingers twitch and you finally tap his rather broad shoulders to catch his attention. He jumped at the sudden touch, looking back at you so fast you flinched in surprise as well. Dark brown, and not to mention watery, eyes met yours and your breath hitched.  

He was beautiful.

You stare at each other for a solid ten seconds, before his eyes watered even more and his lips started trembling. Your eyes went wide and your heartbeat quickened in panic. You pulled your hand back quickly, your head going blank.

“Woah woah woah there d-did I do something wrong? S-Should I just leave you or something?” You stuttered out, not knowing why the hell the handsome kid was crying and how you were supposed to calm a guy possibly the same age as you, or if not older. You took a step back but then he was grabbing your arm suddenly.

“C-Can you— no, please help me!” He begged desperately, his grip on you tightening as he looked down on something he was holding closely on his chest. You blinked in confusion and leaned closer.

You gasped. He was holding a kitten with an injured arm.

You softened. You’ve always loved animals and always had a soft spot for them, and seeing a kitten no more than two months old bleeding is making you feel worried. You gently kneeled down and stroked the kitten’s fur, and your heart ached when it gave a weak meow.

“What happened to her?” You asked, your eyes not leaving the animal’s blood stained form.

“I-I don’t know.. I j-just found her at the side of the s-street and p-picked her up” the unknown man choked out, holding back tears. You nodded and took the kitten into your arms and stood up. The man stood up abruptly, looking at the animal with a worried gaze. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling.

“I know a pet clinic close here, would you like to come with me?” You asked him, holding back a smile when you saw him nod vigorously.

“Y-Yes please!”

“I’m so glad the doctor said she was okay” You breathed out, exiting the brightly lit pet clinic with the nameless young man still trailing behind you. The small animal had a broken bone, but the doctor said she’d be fine in a month.

“Me too” he uttered, stopping right where he was, causing you to turn around to look at him curiously. He had his head hung low and fists clenched. He was opening and closing his mouth repeatedly and you could see a furious pink covering his face and ears. You blinked.

“Um. Are you okay—”

“I-I-I um… Th-Thank you s-so much f-for helping me out there, I-I-it must’ve bothered you but I-I c-can’t apologize since if you weren’t there sh-she would’ve…” He stammered, trailing off by the end of his confession. Your heart melted.  

How can a 20 year old be so naive and innocent? You thought to yourself. You were slightly envious of the boy close to tears in front of you. You were once like that. A crybaby, a person who was easily scared, the kind of person people wanted to protect, childish and ignorant, but also, a person who saw the world in its most beautiful form.

You wondered if you could ever see the world like that again.

You walked towards him, and as if you were possessed you cupped his cheeks in your hands, lifting his face up to meet your eyes. You smiled at him.  

“Hey it’s fine. She’ll be okay no need to get too emotional about it and plus, you saved her and not me” you said softly, lightly rubbing his cheeks with your thumb. He stared at you, and you couldn’t help but get entranced by him. His eyes, that seemed to hold the entire universe, caught most of your attention and you found yourself unable to look away. You knew this was wrong. You knew it was wrong for you to feel like this for a stranger you just met minutes ago, and you never thought you would ever be so stupid to let yourself feel like this, but you couldn’t pull away.

Or rather, you didn’t want to, as stupid as that sounded.

The nameless man stared at you like how you did to him, and butterflies erupted in your stomach thinking that maybe, he felt the same attraction as you did.

That maybe, it wasn’t one sided.

The two of you found yourselves being pulled towards each other, your gaze falling down to his plump lips as you drew closer. You were merely a centimeter away when your phone rang, making you freeze on the spot.  

Realizing what was happening, the boy jumped away from you and blushed furiously. His pupils were shaking in embarrassment as he brought his arm over his lips.  

“I-I-I’m so–” You pressed a finger on his lips and shushed him. Your cheeks were also burning and had a visible pink hue, but you tried to not think much about it and pulled out your still ringing phone. You looked at the screen.

Mom it read. You sighed.

“I have to answer this, could you wait a bit?” You said barely above a whisper, you could feel shame slowly creeping up your system the longer you stared at him, and you coughed out. He nodded quickly and you held yourself back from not answering the damn phone and return to what you were doing awhile ago.  

Controlling yourself, you quickly picked up.


“Where are you? Why did you leave without permission? You don’t have classes today.” Your mom croaked, her voice hoarse at all the yelling she had with your

dad. You grit your teeth.

Glad you noticed.

“Sorry mom, I just went out to take a walk. Did you want to talk about something?” There was a short silence at the other line before your mom sighed.

“Yea I’d like you to be here in 10 minutes. Your father and I have something to talk to you about.” She said and hanged up. You groaned.

The boy’s wide doe eyes stared at you patiently, and you couldn’t help but compare him to a loyal puppy. He had his hands clasped together and stood straight, similar to how a child would wait for their parents to pay attention to them. You bit the inside of your cheeks, holding back a smile at the endearing boy.

“I guess I have to go now. My mom said she needed to talk to me.” His face fell.

“Oh” He looked down, shifting in his place as he bit his bottom lip, the look of disappointment never leaving his baby face. You chuckled and handed him your phone. He looked at it in surprise, gaze shifting between you and the gadget on your hand.

“If you want we could meet up later… If you would ever so kindly give me your number” You told him. He flushed again and hesitantly took your phone, carefully punching his number and saving it. He let out a small smile that made your heart skip a beat and returned your phone to you.

You looked at the contact name, Jeon Jungkook.

You smiled.

“I guess I’ll see you later Jungkook! Oh, and by the way, the name’s Y/N! ” You called out at him before running off home in high spirits. Not having the chance to see Jungkook turn around and smile widely as he muttered your name softly to himself, a pleasant feeling coiling in his stomach at the thought of you.

“W-What did you say?” You choked out, a lump stuck down your throat as you listened to every word your mom was saying.  

Your mom sighed.

“As I’ve said Y/N, your dad and I have decided to file a divorce”

You couldn’t breathe. Your gaze shifted to the people whom you called mom and dad alternately, trying to spot something, a sign of hesitation, a sign of pain, of distraught, of anything to prove that they were lying. However, you were met by dull, emotionless eyes that seemed to haunt you.

Your heart dropped.

“W-Why? What’s wrong? You c-can’t— I mean–” You choked, pupils shaking ever so slightly as you pictured yourself being separated from one of the two people who meant the most to you, to be separated from the people for whom you sacrificed so much for, and for one or both of them to replace each other in the near future.

And as expected, you couldn’t swallow that fact ever in your whole life.

“Why the fuck would you even think of doing that?!” You were yelling now, your lungs burning as you felt hot tears fall down freely on your face. Every joint in your body lost its energy and you felt like collapsing. Rational thoughts left your mind one by one, leaving behind desperate and foolish reasons.

Your parents were surprised at your sudden outburst but maintained their composure, their lips pressed in a tight line as you panicked.

You hated that. You hated how calm they were. You hated how they could take the issue so lightly as if it was a trivial matter. You hated how they took your emotions so lightly. You hated your father. You hated your mother. You hated your sister.

You loathed all of them.  

“Listen Y/N, these past months all we’ve done is fight and we don’t think a relationship like this should be continued–” Your mother tried to reason out, but you didn’t want any explanation.

“So fucking what?! You’ve been together for more than 20 fucking years! You’ve had fights before! But you always solved it! What’s the difference now?!” You screamed, wheezing. Your dad opened his mouth to speak but you didn’t let him. No, you were the one who’ll do all the talking this time. You were gonna tell them every single thing you felt in these torturing months.  

“Yes I did know that these months you were always fighting but it wasn’t only you who fucking suffered in those months. Because of your motherfucking fights your attention has been drawn away from all the sacrifices I have done for you, you never appreciated the achievements my sister and I have accomplished because all you were doing was yelling at each other’s faces all day!

"Did you even know that I won a gold medal at swimming?! Did you know that I became the top of our class?! Did you know that when parents were supposed to come to the awarding ceremony and you weren’t there, I walked down the stage by myself while my other classmates smiled with their parents beside them?! And you call Hyeri a slut for bringing different men in this house, but did you even acknowledge the fact that she got accepted in the company you wanted her to work in?! She got accepted! But then you were too busy throwing motherfucking plates at each other!” You sobbed uncontrollably, tears endless as you let out everything. You were pretty sure you looked like a wreck right now but you didn’t care.  

All that mattered was that you were finally able to tell them. They finally knew your pain. They finally knew your sister, Hyeri’s pain whom you have learned to hate as well because of how she dealt with your parents’ issues. They finally knew that it wasn’t you who brought this pain upon yourself but them. Your own parents.

“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much” You whispered.

You heard your mom sniff and softly approach you. She was crying.

How dare she.

“D-Dear I’m so sorry–” She reached out to you but you slapped her hand away, cold eyes meeting her damp ones as you chuckled lifelessly.

“You think that’s enough?” You growled lowly, having enough of the bullshit you’ve been put through.  

With all your remaining energy, you turned around and stomped out the house, brushing off your 'mother’s arms when she tried to pull you back. You needed to get out of that house.

It took awhile to finally hear your mother’s sobs dissipate in the wind, as you stumbled your way towards the park. The walk seemed endless with your tears still falling down your cheeks. People looked at you concerned, but you ignored them and continued walking, wondering where the tears come from and why they never stopped.  

Although you felt like losing consciousness then and there, you forced yourself to go on, wanting to see the person who have stolen your heart at just a glance.

Jeon Jungkook.

You thought about him. Everything about him. He was the epitome of perfection. He was pure, innocent, kind, selfless, and gorgeous. It was as if all the evil and

negativity in the world feared to taint him, to taint his immaculate soul.  

Meanwhile, you were his polar opposite. You were desperate, sad, weak and selfish. Yet here you were, walking towards where you first met, hoping to catch a glimpse of those plump lips you had almost had a taste of. You weren’t worthy of him, and yet you continued to look for a faint chance, hoping that maybe this time, something would go right for you.

You were greeted by the familiar scent of the fresh grass of the park, and it would have comforted you, but there was no Jungkook to be found.

And then, your walls broke down.

You fell on your knees and sobbed, your form trembling as you gripped the weeds that grew on the ground tightly, wincing as you felt sharp rocks dig into your skin painfully, causing blood to rush out of the fresh wounds. Your skin was tingling in desperation, pure hatred coating your heart as you squeezed your chest, urging the pain to go away but failing helplessly. You screamed, and then realized nobody would ever bother listening.

You were alone. Always have, and always will be.

It felt like hours until you finally felt yourself become swallowed by the numbness of pain. You weakly scooted towards the closest tree, leaning on its trunk as you brought your knees to your chest tightly, welcoming the mixed smell of grass and blood. You buried your head into your arms, taking slow deep breaths, when all of a sudden, a familiar voice called out your name.

“Y/N?” Your breath hitched.

It was him.

You inched closer to the trunk, hiding your face deeper into your arms, not wanting him to see how pathetic and helpless you were. “D-Don’t come any closer” You choked out.

Jungkook stopped in his tracks and stared at you. He was confused, worried, and scared.  

There you were, curled into a ball, shivering with your hair disheveled and messy. He recalled just how happy you seemed to be awhile ago, and how excited you had seemed to be of the thought of seeing him again, but here you were, sniffing as you choked out incoherent words as you tried to convince him to leave you alone. His chest tightened and you could almost hear his labored breathing as he struggled to keep his emotions at bay.

He hated seeing people cry, especially those who meant a lot to him.

He slowly knelt down to your figure, brows knitting together in pain as you trembled.

“Y-Y/N… W-What’s wrong? D-Did I do something?” He choked out, dropping his bag on the floor as he tried to reach out to you, but you just moved away further, hiding your face even deeper into your arms if that was possible. The tears were back as soon as you heard Jungkook’s voice, and you couldn’t even stop it.  

Jungkook’s heart was pounding.

What do I do? She’s crying oh my god. Y/N’s crying. I’m so fucking useless. She doesn’t deserve such a wimp.  He thought, biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from crying, but failing miserably.

You froze when you heard a small choke coming from the man in front of you. You slowly lifted your head to look at him, and found him kneeling across you with his head on his hands as he unconsciously let out faint sobs.

Is he being serious right now?

“Y-Yah! Why are you–?”

“I’m sorry… I-I’m sorry Y-Y/N, that I’m so useless… I couldn’t e-even cheer y-you up, and h-here I am crying as well.. I’m such a crybaby I k-know b-but I really d-don’t want to make y-you mad at m-me” he breathed out between sniffs. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his words. Seeing his trembling form in front ofyou, made you want to protect him, to protect him from all the bad things in life, even if you may be the one who’s the most dangerous. You’ve never had anyone cry for you before, and somehow, it was refreshing, and you wanted to keep the feeling forever.  

You were selfish, but you didn’t care.

You shuffled towards him, softly grabbing his hands away from his face making him blush and look away from you in embarrassment. He’s so cute.

“You’re an idiot you know that?” You smiled at him. He snapped to you with a blush and was about to explain, but you crashed your lips against his making him freeze. He had a faint taste of mint and raspberries, a weird combination but you couldn’t get enough of it. It took a while before he finally responded and you’ve never felt so complete your whole life. It was warm, and perfect. It was paradise.

You pulled away and stared at his beautiful face as it shifted from one color to another. It was like watching sunrise on the top of a cliff, mesmerizing and enchanting. It was addictive and soothed your nerves in a way you never thought was possible.

How could an naïve boy bring out such outrageous feelings from a person like me? You thought, as you bask yourself in his innocence as if it could purify your soul. There was a huge possibility that this was just a temporary feeling, that this might just be an effect of your overflowing anxiety, which made you want to seek shelter on someone who didn’t know the downsides of living.

However, you wanted to trust on that small but firm tug on your heart that this may be the start of a better life.

You gave him a knowing smile, holding his large hand tightly in your own, as if he was going to run away anytime soon.

“Hey Jungkook… Will it be okay if I don’t let you go?”

//Hope you like it! ^^ Reviews are greatly appreciated//

“You’re not dealing with it.  Keeping everything you’re going through inside, shutting out the people who love you, that’s not dealing.  It’s hiding.  You and I, we don’t have the luxury of ignoring our emotions, hoping they’ll just go away.  That bites people like us in the ass.  The only way you’re gonna get through this is to let yourself feel every heartbreaking, gut-wrenching part of it.” - Charlotte King



If you are cosigning with North Korea’s comments about the U.S., you are a sheltered, privileged little bastard.

What happened in Ferguson is fucked up, but we are allowed to be open with our disgust, protest, and try to change things for the better.

North Koreans (plus two generations of their kin) can be forced into deplorable prison camps or executed for even thinking something that isn’t in accordance with the dictatorship.

Some of you want to talk about how horrible this country is, but I’m not seeing any Americans, protesting or not, trying to escape this country and being prepared to take their own lives if they have to go back. We aren’t fucking perfect, but we can improve without risking execution for speaking up. North Koreans don’t have that luxury.

Send me hate, ignore me, unfollow me, I don’t give a fuck, but if you are applauding North Korea you are making a flawed, hypocritical, half-assed attempt at social justice.

anonymous asked:

I've been hearing a lot of buzz over the last year about different treatment for women within the publishing world from things like the VIDA count and the hoopla about women's book covers versus men's book covers. Now that we have seen our Cheezit goddess's progressive side, I'm curious about your thoughts on discrimination within publishing. ::constructs altar of Cheezits in your honor::

Sexism is alive and well in the publishing industry. Which is weird, because at this point it’s a female-dominated profession. Racism is also very much alive, which makes slightly more sense because despite the gender-shift, publishing is still dominated primarily by white people. 

It’s a problem.

This lack of representation (this sexism, this racism) manifests itself in the books we publish. Dozens of articles have been written about gender and racial representation in contemporary books. More specifically, how it is a huge problem. In children’s literature alone, there have been entire scientific studies about the harmful effects of unbalanced gender and race representation:

Gender Representations in Children’s Picture Books: A Scientific Study

Study Finds Huge Gender Imbalance in Children’s Literature

Gender Bias Uncovered in Children’s Books

Race, Gender, and Disability in Today’s Children’s Literature

As Demographics Shift, Kids’ Books Stay Stubbornly White

Dearth of Racial Diversity in Children’s Books is Terrible: Depressingly Unsurprising

‘What could I say?’ A critical discourse analysis of the construction of race in children’s literature

And that’s just children’s literature. Y’know: books targeted at the most impressionable and vulnerable readers out there. Books that will shape the minds and worldviews of our future leaders, teachers, and yes, publishers. Bestselling Nigerian author Chimamanda Adichie did a recent Ted Talk in which she drove home the need for greater race representation in literature. It’s worth the watch.

Adult literature and YA literature are just as guilty of whitewashing and defaulting to male. Male protagonists outnumber female protagonists just as white protagonists outnumber people of color. Publishers worry all the time about marketing books with female protagonists because they’re worried that men won’t want to read about a woman. They don’t worry about women wanting to read about a male protagonist. Because male is the default. Books about nationalities and ethnicities other than white American are marketed as representing some exotic Other, rather than representing a statistically significant portion of the world’s population. 

And what about the authors? How are they affected by our industry’s deplorable sexism and racism? Male authors are privileged over female authors. They are taken more seriously. They are more likely to win awards, more likely to appear in the New York Times book review section, more likely to be seen as accessible to all readers, regardless of gender, while female authors are more often pigeonholed as “women’s literature” or “chick lit.” Women are still using male pseudonyms in order to be taken seriously or published at all. Their accomplishments are dismissed in favor of highlighting the achievements of male authors.

“But QQ, why is equal representation in books such a big deal?” you ask, ignoring all the links in the above post. You ask this question because you are either white or male or heterosexual or cisgender or able-bodied or all of the above. You ask this question because you don’t understand what it is like to be an under-represented minority. You don’t know what it’s like to feel diminished because of your gender or your race. For you, representation has never been a problem. You can turn on the TV and see people who look like you every time. You can pick up a book and assume the characters appear white, and a large percentage of the time your assumption will be correct. You can be surprised that Rue is black even though she was described quite clearly as being black in the damn book. There are people who do not have this luxury, and to ignore their feelings of self-consciousness, of hurt, of frustration, of the utter pain of invisibility, is to live in a world in which you are complicit in racism and sexism, whether or not you want to admit it.

Octavia Butler (an African American science fiction author) once told an interviewer about an incident of racism she experienced at a conference.* A white man on a panel with her turned to her and said “I don’t think it’s important to include black people in science fiction. Any themes of racism can be explained by using different species of aliens instead.” Just… think about that. Let that sink in. And then go read an Octavia Butler novel or three because she’s awesome.

So yes. There is discrimination in publishing. And it is harmful. It affects authors and readers in the worst way, and there is no reason for it. If you work in publishing, be mindful of representation in the works you publish. Be mindful of the authors you work with and how they fit into the gender spectrum. Be mindful of the fact that just because someone is different from you, it doesn’t mean they don’t have anything of importance to say. They represent a whole group of readers that you might be ignoring or actively hurting. If our business is selling books–peddling stories!–then we should want to sell books to everyone, regardless of their gender, their race, their sexuality, or their ability. That is our job, after all.

I could say a lot more on this topic, but for now I want to just open it up to discussion. What do my minions think? Have you encountered prejudice as authors or publishers? As a reader, how has representation in books affected you? I want to hear your stories.

*I’m sorry but I couldn’t find the exact wording of the quote. I heard the interview about ten years ago and it has stuck with me ever since.

Brigham (part 8)

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

5 months before the wedding…

I’m standing at the arrivals gate, waiting. A bride waiting for her maid of honour to fly in from New York and of course you’d assume the person beside me would be my husband-to-be, or perhaps another of my bridesmaids. But no, the person beside me is my ex-boyfriend- you know, the one that I kissed a couple of months ago?

“Hi,” he chirps as soon as I enter the rotating doors of Brigham’s main surgical wing, sweeping up behind me and following my quick pace.

“Hi,” I dismissively smile, trying my best to act non-chalant.

“So about last night,” he starts. “Will that be happening again… or…?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb Amelia. We both know what we’re talking about here… The kiss. I took you outside and asked if you felt the same way as me, and you answered by kissing me.”

I scoff before shrugging and uncomfortably folding and unfolding my arms, fiddling with my bag strap as I take a swift left for the stairs.

“Amelia,” he persists, not allowing me the luxury of ignoring him.

“Look, that was obviously a mistake. I’m sorry,” I say, swinging the door to the stairs open and maintaining my march.

“That was no mistake, I was there, your tongue was in my mouth Amelia,” he whispers. I don’t need to be looking at him to know he currently has a smug smirk on his face, and I turn around and face the expression on the fourth step. He’s smiling and it infuriates me how he’s so calm in this shit storm we’ve created.

“It was in the moment… and it was a mistake, and I was drunk-”

“You were not that drunk,” he cuts me off before I can start to make excuses.

That day, as fate would have it, an actual storm hit Boston and ripped up half of a neighbourhood on the east side of town. Owen and I were sent with the ambulances to intiate damage control in the area and as if it had been 10 years prior, we synced our hands, our shorthand kicked in, and within an hour we were running the site.

Adrenaline had pounded through me as I let my heart remember the amazing experiences I had had with Owen in far-off lands, missing the rush of pride and satisfaction that accompanied saving a life despite lack of equipment and time. We had taken the last ambulance back to the hospital and discussed everything- kisses, feelings, honesty, crushes, returning emotions… We came clean about everything in the forty-five minutes of traffic, and this time without kissing, agreeing that as long as we respected boundaries, it was safe to be friends. The underlying tone to the conversation was that we would probably always love each other in a certain way that isn’t wholly platonic but that’s the way it had to be.

Although one person was still battling internal bleeding in an OR at the end of that day, every patient had made it. To celebrate, we went into town and ended up in a small bar that had changed its name since our student days. It was dingy and small, dark and hot, and as predicted, Owen and I ended up deep in our own conversation away from the group. The entire time, I was aware of Addison’s beady eye watching every move. Every touch of an elbow or flick of my hair caught her attention and I sensed a mental list forming in her head.

As people drifted home, Addison practically dragged me out of the bar and insisted I share a taxi with her. I refused and we ended up in an argument in the street about my inappropriate actions. Out of spite, and probably bitterness at how correct she was, I had grabbed Owen’s hand and stormed away in the direction of the hospital. We had ended up nose-to-nose in the single bed once more, giggling under the stars on the fifth floor.

So, yes… we kissed, we admitted it happened, we agreed things would work themselves out eventually, and a few months later I’m now standing with Owen in an airport, waiting for my maid of honour to arrive. As she rounds the corner, my heart skips a beat in joy at seeing the beaming white smile I associate with sunshine and happiness- the epitome of Arizona Robbins.

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