Words From Starpeace

Ngl this hurt me

“young adult dystopian novels are so unrealistic lmao like they always have some random teenage girl rising up to inspire the world to make change.”

a hero emerges 

The day I died but Somehow Stayed

23th of February was so normal it hurts. It was the 23th day since my 26th birthday and 24th day since I’d finally started treating my MDD.

I don’t remember what it was that I ate. I don’t remember what song on Spotify was the soundtrack of that day. I have physical memory though - my whole body feels sore and hard to move because of the hiit exercises I started doing. It was painful to breathe, let alone walk or sit or even laugh. 

I have a mental memory - I was scrolling through concerts’ ads hoping to see some rad bands performing in Kyiv in late April. My sister will have turned sweet 16 on the 28th, so I wanted to make that day a memory she could go back to every time she feels upset or broken or unable to keep pace. Be careful what you wish for, they say. Now I wish I did. As my little angel will never forget her sour 16 she met under russian occupation in Mariupol, dreaming not of Black Pink or Maneskin singing to her in the flesh, but of taking hot shower after 2 months of living in the basement of the Culture Palace she once used to go to dance classes. Once. How unfair this “once” was just 90 days ago. An eternity. 

I have a memory that makes me angry and sick - an echo of a conversation me and my partner had that day. With my taking antidepressants I was also trying to finally try living again, first time after 6 years of isolation and self-destruction. We were planning to go to the Philharmonia and I was thrilled - it felt like I was going to meet the Queen, no less. Social anxiety will do it with you, beware.

I remember myself whining about the new Batman movie and how we’d rather go to the cinema if only there was any decent title. You see, I love Batman. The me from the 23th did, at least. The me who was complaining about going out to listen to some music live. 

And that’s where I feel like throwing up. That’s where I get angry with my past-self.

How easy life was for her. How she took for granted the possibility to wake up to cars honking and birds tweeting outside along with a bunch of I-don’t-know-who-but-they-are-hilarious users on Twitter doing the same.

I want to scream at myself, say “why am I suffering now so much, why do I cry every night and beg the gods to take me in my sleep and not with a GRAD fragment splitting my throat open or cutting off my limbs or burning me alive in my own bed, why my concern is not that about how to find the money to finally get my mom to Prague on her birthday - cause she always wanted to visit Europe - but how to find a way to fucking just hear her voice and know she is still alive there, in Mariupol, for now she is still breathing, why am I supposed to live through this hell same way dozens of my Ukrainian ancestors did just because there’s a MONSTER neighboring my country, why am I to be exterminated just because I’m Ukrainian wanting to live in MY country and speak MY language, why the people I used to call relatives and friends who live in russia are telling me I just have to “bear with it” and “get denazificated” and “be corrected and thus saved”, why they deny every missile that hits my street or say I deserved it because I live in Ukraine, WHY?”

WHY DO I STILL REMEMBER HOW IT FEELS LIVING IN THE EVENING OF THE 23TH OF FEBRUARY?

I went to sleep at about 3 am. My body was sore and I was annoyed thinking that tomorrow I had a training scheduled. It’s a YouTube hiit marathon so I’d better not skip it.

It was about 4 am I fell asleep at last thinking about the fanfic I was writing to unwind. My personal lullaby. 

And it was 5 something when my partner startled me into the reality. Fully dressed, in his Bershka parka and winter Martins. It was dark in the room and I couldn’t make out the features of his face, all covered in shadows. He was silent, probably waiting for me to fully wake up. But it suddenly felt like I’d never closed my eyes at all. The alertness was overwhelming. 

When he opened his mouth to explain himself, I already knew what happened. That moment is still the one I’m trapped in. The one I died at and got myself buried in bomb shelter with kids crying and the old praying all around while the constant bombing laughs at them, knocking at our doors to let the “russian world” they brought us in. 

My love opened his mouth and I think I will never be able to escape the word he whispered.

It wasn’t “war”.

It was “russia”.

Synonyms.

pic: our basement hideout at the first day of the War. People are settling in. Very cold and dusty and overall terrible. Still better to die under shelling. 

An Octopus unscrewing a lid from the inside.

an "ordinary russian" man : "I want to catch a 16-year-old khokhlushka (slur for a ukrainian woman) whose father died near Bakhmut, take off her underwear and tights, leave her only with a t-shirt with the inscription “Everything will be Ukraine”and roar to deflower her, kissing her tears and looking at her into the eyes where the pupils dilate to the size of Mother Russia."

these are the people you like to infantilise and justify so much btw

never liked the childhood imagery for bnha. It's cute, nauseatingly so, it's 100% calculated to evoke easy feelings of adoration and protection and sympathy for a character. Which is fine, I'm not against it as a trope, I think it's very cute too!

But that childhood imagery was always Not Real. It takes place in the Past. It was Things That Could've Been. And here, as the official account puts it, Things From Another Lifetime.

But why not this lifetime? Why can't the hand holding and connection and bright colors and healing be in the lifetime the characters are in now? Yeah, it probably can't ever reach this level of Brightness, but it doesn't mean it's not worth it?

But Childhood Imagery + The Conclusion We Got means it was just too late. The time to save Toga was when she was 3 years old. Being 17 means it's all over. Can you save Villains? Yes, but only when they're age 5 or less. So before they became Villains. Before they even become 'misbehaving' children, actually.

So can you save Villains? No.

The satisfaction from Childhood Imagery isn't from solving the problem, it's from a 'what if'.

And that's fine! I love AUs. But I'm not reading fanfic here, i'm reading the canon manga and the story asked 'can the Heroes save the Villains' and the answer is a no. But Maybe In Another Lifetime.

Which is also fine, if we are to take this to mean the Heroes lost and failed. But that is a downer conclusion to give to your heroic protags. idk. Maybe hence the conclusion of 'well, next time then, so just keep reaching out.' But this was the first and only time in the story Ochako tried to reach out to a Villain like Toga so we're starting off not too good, with a total record of 0. Will next time work? Or will it have to happen In Another Lifetime?

(Plus also we don't see that Heroes reach out and save the next crying taboo-quirk 3-year-old. That radio blurb of 'expanding quirk counseling' doesn't count. What does that even mean, 'expanding'? Because more importantly, that wasn't what Toga needed. She needed her parents to not be so emotionally and verbally abusive towards her. She needed a mom and dad that didn't tell her 'we gave birth to something inhuman'. Because her parents couldn't get her into quirk counseling fast enough. They depended on the counselor to 'iron' out her deviancies. What does Expanding quirk counseling solve here? Expand therapy techniques so that the parents can have a quiet child that wouldn't embarrass them so much they have to yell at them that they're subhuman? Is expanding quirk counseling going to do anything about the parents who want those expanded two-hour long sessions, expanded to every day, to 'fix' their child because else they'll have to abuse the abnormalities out themselves?)

(Else they have to lock their kid in a basement? and only when the next disaster comes, the kid can finally escape and get rescued by a guilt-ridden civilian? Instead of a Hero who hasn't done their job of 'saving' at all in this kid's years of suffering????)

Childhood Imagery is so cheap to use. smh horikoshi

i hate my birthday. not because something bad happens every year, though that does have something to do with it. but because for some reason i get more sensitive. i hate attention and i hate that no one listens to me. i hate that when i ask for something everyone goes around and try’s to come from the heart but it doesn’t work. i hate that it’s my day but i can never spend it how i want it. i hate that i feel like a burden. i hate when people say it’s your day because i hate that feeling. i hate feeling like i have to pick everything and make decisions. because chances are the people around won’t like what i pick. i remember on my 15th birthday i wanted to ride an electric skateboard instead of a scooter and my mother yelled at me. i told her i didn’t want to ride anything anymore and then i was lectured by taking the fun out of it. i later rode the scooter. on my 17th my friends planned a surprise to watch a movie where i was forced to pick a movie to watch. i chose one i thought they would find funny but no one laughed, and later we didn’t even finish the movie because everyone got bored. i’m now going to be 20 and i still hate the feeling. i still get anxious when people ask me what i want and get frustrated when they get upset with me. i still give into what my mother says. if she tells me not to wear something because someone else did or because it may cause issues i don’t. i don’t have childish reactions to simple things anymore and for that i get told “i’m not thrilled.” so than i overcompensate. i say someone may come over early but to that she says i wanted this person to, you can spend one on one time with them. and yet again i fold. i get upset because i don’t like being useless, and on my birthday i am. you aren’t supposed to help or decorate. suddenly my family like “simple” for my birthday but “extra” for everyone else’s. i’m still hurt by the fact that everyone wanted to plan my mothers before mine. but again, i hate my birthday, so why would i care? i care because even though i can’t stand the attention i wish it seemed like they cared. i don’t need everyone to sing me happy birthday or to decorate the house. but it would be nice if they could make it seem like i was more than just a cake maker or occasional babysitter. or that i could wear things or do things without it being “copying” someone else. i wish i didn’t feel like such a burden. because that then carry’s over to my birthday. the burden of feeling like they have to care about me. the burden of feeling like they have to talk to me. the burden of not being enough. the burden of pretending to like me. the burden of doing what i want. that is all what comes with the title of “birthday girl.” and i hate it. so yes, i hate my birthday. not because my family doesn’t love me, they do. but because i hate that my role gets switched and it feels forced. i hate the fact that if i want something celebrated i have to set it up. i hate the fact that no matter what something will go wrong. i hate that i am the way i am. it’s as simple as that.

24.02 updates from Ukraine

please spread the information, dont trust russian propaganda

Watch this

Can you draw the delightful children or sector z pls I love your art so much!

Ah, those delightful kids from down the lane? 🤗 Sure!

Honestly that Sector Z reveal? Had done something to me, like, even as a kid?? 😭 Like WDYM the series main antagonists were legendary agent kids, but an adult brainwashed them into his obedient little dolls and they are stuck like this forever??? And only 2-3 people in the whole universe know about this?? Like, bro???

(also thanks! 🤭 ✌️)