there are those people who look to deep into things


Imagine finding out that people are saying things about you behind your back, so Sherlock attempts to cheer you up.

Requested by: Anonymous.

Author’s note: To the anon that sent this, I know it’s late, but I would just like to let you know that you shouldn’t listen to those people who are saying things about you (if they are) and that you’re by far 100 times better than them. Don’t retort, just move on. They aren’t worth it.

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Watching how abusive and opportunistic people in leftist circles, at a time when we are in perhaps the most vital and precarious position of our collective lives, manage to twist and turn in order to go from excusing the violence they perpetrate to then turning around and condemning those who do the exact same thing while working feverishly to erase the evidence of their own wrongdoing, masquerading it all behind the left’s current hot buzzword “self-crit”

Frankly, I’m out of faith at this point because at every turn the left looks more and more like a bucket of crabs, which really just betrays a deep desire to be the one to win at the bottom rung of the fascist hierarchy, something perhaps hidden even to the ones perpetrating it. 

About our Queen Lenalee

Ok this Chef is going to be as blunt as a hammer of Tettsui’s caliber here.

To all those people out there who are saying that Lenalee is weak, that’s she’s too dependent, that’s she’s a fucking Mary Sue of all things…

I’m fucking laughing my ass off at all of you.

Wanna know why?

Let’s review the facts, shall we?

Let’s start out with that dependency issue. TAKE A DAMN GOOD LOOK AT THIS FIRST PICTURE

Do you guys see that face? Do you see the sheer anguish, the bone deep fear in that expression? Do you see what that Shithead Lveille and those bastards at Central did to a little girl barely into her prebusent years? They snatched her away from the remains of her Akuma destroyed home, FROM KOMUI HER ONLY REMAINING FAMILY, AND THEY FUCKING LOCKED HER UP AND PSYCHOLOGICALLY TORTURED HER WHILE TRYING TO MOLD HER INTO A CHILD SOLDIER!

And you can bet your bottom dollar that they probably conducted at least a handful of experiments on her. After all, before Komui came into the picture, Experiments were considered necessary, THEY WERE CONSIDERED THE FUCKING NORM.

When Komui finally managed to get there and stop all this madness, do you really think Lenalee wouldn’t have latched onto her big brother as a life line?

Her reinforced attachment to her brother is what saved her sanity back then. And with that attachment, and the ones she made later on, she was able to march on, she was able to become an exorcist, she became strong enough to call her former prison her home.

It takes a lot of strength to be able to let go of that much trauma, and yet our Queen did just that - quite spectacularly I might add.

Now let see here. Hmmmm. Nope.

I don’t see a weak woman. And before you guys start ragging on me, I will remind you that, yes, I remember how this fight ended. I remember how it started too. Anita’s Ship was demolished by this tricky bastard, and if it wasn’t for Miranda’s Time Record, the whole expedition for Cross would have fallen through. All the exorcists banded together on deck to fight off this menace and it ended up with Lenalee willingly going off to fight this guy on her own.

Yes the fight ended with Lenalee frozen inside a crystal, when shattered apart to set her free had left her legs near paralyzed, but rembember she ended up like that because she fucking forced her own Innocence to exceed Critical Rate despite knowing the dire consequences, SHE FUCKING GAVE IT HER ALL AND THEN SOME.

Yes she ended up needing help to walk afterwards, but try to remember that Lenalee is. a. Human. Despite what those bastards at Central may think every Exorcist is human at their core. They are allowed to make mistakes, to trip and fall. What truely matters is that they are able to pick themselves up again.

And she DID.

Here we have Lenalee heading headfirst into battle with a fucking concussion and yet still ready to kick some Akuma ass.

You guys remember how this went about right? Remember how the Noah invaded the HQ to retrieve their Egg. Remember the very first Level Four in existence and how it ripped through everything and everyone. Remember Shithead Lville and how he pushed her into reconnecting with the Innocence that chained her down for so long despite allowing her to soar. Remember how she smiled so painfully at Lavi and the Head Nurse telling them that she wouldn’t run from her cruel fate anymore. Remember how she fearlessly allowed Hevlaska to reattach the Innocence.

Remember how she got that damn concussion. Remember how she reached out to the Innocence she hated so much. Remember the resolve that the Innocence accepted before allowing itself to recreate its image in her blood.

All she wanted was to be able to have her home again with everyone she loved.

So. You guys wanna know why I find your opinions so hilarious?

It’s because at the end of the day Lenalee could still kick your ass six ways into the next century. And when that happens I’ll be off to the side, preparing a feast for the others in my BD family to eat while enjoying the free show.

Cheers to that dearies~

Magical Albinism Used as a Curse, Divorce from their culture

I’m presently working on a story in which a young prince sets off on a mission to save his Queendom by resurrecting his late mother, the Queen. He goes about committing various taboos in his desperation, but the act of resurrection is considered the greatest taboo of all in this setting.

The prince and the culture he belongs to have very distinctive physical traits, in that they have dark skin, black or dark-brown hair, and deep violet eyes.

The punishment for committing the taboo of resurrection is to take the thing that the summoner values most from them. In the prince’s case, that thing is his heritage and his culture.

So the angel who brings his mother back into the world of the living strips those physical markers of his race from him: His skin and hair go white, and his eyes lose their violet hues for a dull, steely grey. The idea is to make him look “incongruent” with his people (it should be noted that angels in this story do not hold a perfect understanding of humanity. They’re more like…disinterested observers much of the time). Ostensibly, he becomes the first albinistic person within this world.

He spends a decent chunk of time deeply depressed and horrified by this development, but of course in time his mother and countrymen assure him that it does not truly rob him of his right to their culture or his place in the Queendom itself, and in time he overcomes this inner conflict.

I’m worried that this is…icky.

I’m not sure that I have the right vocabulary to express what it is exactly I’m concerned I might be doing wrong?

I worry that treating this inflicted albinism as a horrifying punishment in his eyes (despite it being resolved later) is a grossly crude inclusion of the disorder.
I also worry that taking a character of color and robbing him of his dark palette could be considered a form of whitewashing. It is explicitly clear that this “whiteness” is unwanted and even traumatic to him, and at no point does he stop identifying with or renounce his race/culture.

It’s something of a two-toned issue, I suppose. I want to make it clear that the fact that he loses his pigment is a bad thing—a thing to be mourned—but I also want to make it clear that albinistic folk do not actually relinquish their culture.
I worry that no matter how I spin it, it will only be taken one of two ways: “he becomes white & *~pure~* bc he saved his country!!!!” or “albinism is horrible & disgusting & albino ppl aren’t REALLY [race]”; neither of which I want to imply at all.

I guess what I’m really trying to ask is: Do you think there is a non-awful way to write this story? If so, how?

I’d appreciate any advice you may have for me, including if that advice is simply not to write it.

Growing up, I had a HUGE problem with my albinism and I thought it was a curse. Others saw it as a blessing, but I brushed that off as eurocentrism. I still wonder how life would be or how I would look if my genetics had turned out like my brother’s. I will say that personally, my albinism has never made me feel less black. Other people who had problems with my albinism made me feel less black. Having this disorder, I’ve always known that skin color had nothing to do with one’s race, but very few people on this planet are as enlightened as me and tried to sever me from my people because they were uncomfortable with my appearance. 

You have to raise your protagonist up without being eurocentric about his color. Also, look into people with vitiligo because I’ve always lacked pigment, but in some cases of vitiligo, their melanin can recede over time.

I would stray away from words that demonize albinism i.e. curse. Readers will be able to interpret that the stripping of his pigment is an unfortunate event without saying it’s a curse if you describe it correctly. 

Take into consideration that this is my opinion and I do not represent all people with albinism who could find your plot offensive.

~ Mod Brei

People are so caught up by the trivialities of school, work and love that they often forget how to notice the simpler things in life. The hugeness of the sky, the fact that we have a silver disk which lights up the darkest hours of the night, the fluidity of water, the beauty of a human face, the way your stomach fills with butterflies at the way someone looks you deep in the eye. The world itself is art. Don’t forget to look out for its beauties, just because those who occupy it have made this planet cruel.
—  broken poetry
pearlrose WWII AU: “together after the war” things

remember my human AU where Rose was a nurse and Pearl was a supply pilot in occupied Europe during WWII? remember how I said it was basically just a setup for adorable domesticity down the line? well…

  • When Rose first comes and gets Pearl from that boardinghouse, the idea they agreed upon is that Pearl would come and stay until she was feeling better/found a better place to live/saved some money and got on her own again. But when those things actually happen and Pearl–with audible regret–mentions she’s looking at an apartment, Rose tries to act like it’s a positive step ‘cause it is but then she kind of. deflates and goes “I’m really going to miss having you around”
  • Pearl has a small, quiet panic, decides it’s now or never, takes a deep breath, leans toward her, and shyly, hesitantly says “I don’t…have to go.”
  • That settles that question once and for all
  • Later down the road people who know them will jokingly ask “So, has Pearl found a place yet?” and Pearl and Rose just clasp hands and laugh…yep sure she’s been moving out next weekend for the past 20 years
  • Their apartment has a (tiny) real fireplace and a (tiny) balcony which is almost entirely taken up by Rose’s potted garden. She grows flowers and strawberries and herbs and mini carrots in big tubs, it’s a regular farm in miniature and she is a HUGE GEEK ABOUT IT
  • Rose comes from a big close-knit family and on her grandmother’s side she actually is the product of A Long Line of Healers, she has family recipes for home remedies and pungent teas that ease pain and clear up colds that she can make with her garden produce…some of them she’s got down and she and Pearl both swear by them, some of them are still in the experimental stage. The first one she tried giving to Pearl had her sneezing for two days.
  • She also mixes up this homemade menthol ointment stuff that Pearl can put on the leg she hurt in the war since the joints don’t work so well anymore and she gets pretty bad muscle stiffness…Rose gets in the habit of massaging it onto her (Pearl’s) knee and her ankle every night before they go to bed and it’s amazing how she manages to make this routine practical old-ladyish-seeming thing feel like some kind of romantic spa treatment…the smell of menthol, in any context, makes Pearl instantly relax.
  • It’s an old building and their place is rent-to-own, and Rose has puppy-dog-eyed the landlady into letting Pearl fix stuff herself when it inevitably has problems. Every weekend she’s re-hanging doors and taking the sink apart. She’ll actually just generally take stuff apart at the slightest provocation…it makes Rose’s life difficult at times, but it’s also handy, nothing ever breaks for long and if something breaks more than once Pearl looks into it and rebuilds it better. She sings while she works on her projects and Rose loves just being around, feeling her enthusiasm in the air.
  • Rose gets a job at the city hospital and works a long shift, from mid-morning til about 9. Sometimes Pearl takes the bus there and visits her on her break, often enough that the nurses all know her and start conversations with her and she doesn’t know what to say and is generally very awkward. Rose would never dream of subjecting her to small talk and wishes everyone understood the joy of being talked at about space for two hours but she wants everyone to have the best chance at making friends right off and tries to help Pearl out with the people-ing…and the two of them have whispered conversations that go kind of like ‘Of course she likes you, ask her how her kids are doing’ ‘How her kids are doing what?’ ‘In–In general Pearl come on I know you have some idea how we mere mortals talk to each other’
  • In the mornings Pearl is always awake first and will be out on the balcony sipping tea (she is not allowed coffee, not since the incident) and reading the newspaper, looking all casually dapper in her stripey pajamas and red pom-pom slippers and her God Damned Monocle that she got because she apparently wasn’t gay enough
  • Rose sleeps in frilly negligees with curlers in her bangs and is Hates Mornings and about an hour after Pearl gets up she stumbles into the kitchen with her eyes shut…Pearl either hands her a cup of coffee and kisses her cheek and tells her she’s looking especially beautiful today or she’ll already be twittering about something that happened to run across her mind or that was in the paper and Rose will squint at her and go ‘dear it is seven o’ clock in the morning’
  • After her aforementioned long shifts Rose will usually come home to her wife busy writing and try not to disturb her but she always notices (it’s…not a big apartment) and comes and gives her a long hug and a kiss hello and they cook dinner together, shoulder to shoulder at their tiny stove, leaning on each other and singing harmony
  • Sometimes Rose has had a really hard day and Pearl settles her on the couch and rubs her back and braids her hair while listening to every detail…it really affects her when Rose is distressed and sometimes Rose hides how tired or troubled she is because she doesn’t want to burden her but Pearl knows her so well and is so captivated by everything she does that she has all her little signals down rote and she always figures out that something’s wrong. And makes it her business to make it as Better as she can. 
  • There’s a little local pub in the suburb where they live where they sometimes have a Night Out On The Town, they snuggle up on the same side of the booth and feed each other fries, joke around with the waitresses who all know them, Pearl has half a glass of wine and the next thing you know she’s flitting around boosting herself up on top of booths with her one good leg lecturing whoever will listen about mechanics and beating old men at checkers. Rose meanwhile is leaning up against the jukebox non-seriously flirting with everyone there…at least until Pearl gets flustered and comes back and gives her attention
  • They also put records on and dance at home a lot. Fun fact! Pearl is either fully supported or off the ground for 80% of the RBQ fusion dance, as long as her cane’s in grabbing distance she can still perform it with incredible grace, even if she can’t ‘get her leg to do that’ quite so well in this case
  • At some point, Pearl comes into possession of a derelict old biplane, which she spends hours perched on a precarious lawnchair-stepladder rig, lovingly restoring the machinery and giving it a snazzy paint job. She keeps it in a friend’s shed out in the country and goes out to work on it some weekends; Rose comes along usually and lounges around, chats with her, holds a beach umbrella to shade her in the heat of the day and pesters her to take water breaks. Finally at sunset Pearl is leaning on the fuselage all worn out and happy with a lil grease smudge on her cheek…Rose makes some noises about going home to bed and Pearl just says “Aren’t you coming for a ride?”
  • And they both scramble into the cockpit and Rose snuggles in with Pearl in her lap at the controls and a bandanna tied over her curls and take off into the sunset
  • There’s actually MORE of this but to be continued for now, this post is long enough

A theory explaining Talisa Maegyr. Keep the annotiations on.

High School Hysteria || AU || Open for everyone

School. It wasn’t a place Sting loved to be unlike a lot of people probably thought. No, he preferred staying home, playing games with his cat, Lector. The only friend in his life he had. A fact probably no one knew of him. How could they know? Sting was good looking and popular. The formula to a successful high school career, right? Guess what? It wasn’t. The people who flocked around him were only interested in either getting popular themselves or just stared at his face. He did date a few people here and there, but the only thing they did was bragging they were dating the hottest and most popular guy in school. Sting dumped those people fast after hearing that.

Sighing deep, Sting dragged himself inside the school building, heading towards his locker to get his books for the upcoming class. Of course, the moment he entered the building, a few shrieks could be heard and various people gave him a good morning, hoping the blonde would strike a conversation with them. But Sting did not do such a thing. He only returned the good morning and continued his way.

When turning a corner to head the lockers, he accidentally bumped into someone. The blonde let out a “Ouch!” followed by a rub on his forehead. Looking at the person he bumped into, Sting removed the hand from his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to run into you like this. Hope I didn’t hurt you that badly.”

Here’s a thought I’ve been playing around with lately… I don’t where I’m going to end up in life. What I want to be. Or where I want to live. All I know is I want to create art. And live in it, everyday. To spend the hours looking at the little things and being inspired by them. To spend the minutes being fascinated by everything. And to share those things with a community of people who will appreciate them. And talk about deep subjects. To be passionate and enthusiastic about how beautiful life is. Because life is art xx


Where exactly was he? The TARDIS hadn’t named this place before he left her, ending up somewhere where the Doctor was the first time. How intriguing, a whole new world to look around! The ground was so much different from the earth he knew, and the air smelled sweeter. 

He was right now close to a palaces entrance. Curiously looking at the people next to the entrance. As far as he sees, the guards at the palace are human, dressed kind of before the technical progress. And a carriage was there, someone stepping out of it. A very fancy dress was the only thing he saw from where he was standing. Definitely that must be the Queen! Noone in such times would wear deep red and come out of such a fancy looking carriage. 

And… those guards already had their attention on the Doctor, someone who from nowhere just suddenly was there with a blue box, definitely supicious. Nothing unusual to the Doctor anyways he already often enough walked out of the TADRIS and had several guns pointed at him, so he just slightly lifted his arms to show he had nothing in his hands and approached without thinking too much about it. It would be more suspicious to just walk or run away. And he was curious. Also a reason to approach.

The Secret Chronicles: Madison’s Threat

The walk home was bittersweet. Elyza was able to hold Alicia hand and have her once again in her life, but she wasn’t sure what the consequences were going to be yet. Madison was a wild card and Elyza never knew what to expect from her at any moment. Those were the people you needed to watch out for, not the ones who threatened outright but the ones who could look you in the eye and send a shiver down your spine.

They reached the house and Elyza instinctively took her hand away from Alicia. “No.” Alicia grabbed Elyza’s hand and held it in her own. “I’m not hiding from her and neither should you.”  Elyza nodded and took a deep breath. She had faced hordes of walkers and other things found only in nightmares. But the thing that scared her most was her girlfriend’s mother, seemed right.

Madison opened the front door before they could get up the porch and Elyza could see the ice in her eyes as she looked first at Elyza and then at Alicia and finally her eyes zeroed in on their joined hands. Elyza could tell she was choosing her next move carefully. Madison was calculating and even though she knew this secret from Elyza’s past she wouldn’t just spill it without knowing how and why it would benefit her in the long run.

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