#THAT MEANT SOMETHING

[walkingstackofbooks]

After "meeting" Lisa Cusak, Julian finds he wants to get something off his chest that's been weighing him down for the longest of times. Unfortunately for Miles, it's two in the morning.

Hurt/comfort. CW: suicidal ideation.

--

They'd both been lying in silence for nearly an hour, but just as Miles was finally beginning to drop off to sleep, Julian's voice drifted up from the bottom bunk.

"Chief?"

Miles didn't bother to stifle his groan. "Yeah?"

"Do you—Do you ever think about dying?"

The unexpectedness of the question gave Miles pause, but after a second he scoffed, shaking his head. He was too tired for this.

"Go to sleep, Julian."

"But do you?

"'Course I do. We're in the middle of a bloody war."

Julian fell silent for a few seconds. Then Miles heard the sound of covers being pulled back and found himself looking into the anxious face of Julian Bashir.

"That's not quite—I meant, like... do you ever still have Agrathi thoughts about dying?" Julian asked quietly, eyes searching Miles' face, before darting down towards his feet.

"Bloody hell," grumbled Miles, sitting up and banging his head on the ceiling for his troubles. "It's two in the morning, Julian. What's brought this on?"

It was a stupid question, really. He knew the answer before the words had even left his mouth.

"I just... can't stop thinking about Captain Cusak, I guess," Julian says. "And some of the things she said. About talking to people, you know?"

"And you think I need to talk about this."

Julian shrugged. "I don't know. Do you?"

Taking a deep breath, Miles gave Julian the most reassuring smile he could muster - which was probably still more of a grimace - and shook his head. "I promise you, if I got that way again, I'd tell you, or Keiko: and she'd make me tell you. Go back to bed and stop worrying. I'm fine."

In all honesty, it was nice that Julian cared enough to ask - but it would be even nicer if it weren't in the middle of the freaking night, and so with that, Miles pulled up his blankets, rolled over, demonstrating to Julian what going to bed looked like. To his credit, Julian took the hint, and Miles soon heard the sounds of crumpling sheets and mattress creaks.

Peace returned, but that was far from enough to lull Miles back into even a comfortable doze. While he'd been quite honest in answering Julian's question, he couldn't help feeling like he'd missed something. The longer he lay there, the more uncomfortable he got with the silence below him.

By the time he'd figured out what it was, he was almost certain Julian must have fallen asleep - but that was no real deterrent.

"Do you?" he asked, into the darkness. The response came almost immediately.

"What?"

"Do you, you know... ever get those thoughts?"

"A bit." He could hear the hesitation in Julian's voice. "A lot, actually. Sometimes."

Miles' heart dropped. "For how long?"

"How long's a piece of string?"

"What's that meant to mean?"

When Julian didn't respond, Miles sat up again, intending to peer over the side of the bunk at his friend.

"What's that meant to mean?" he repeated, and - realising he was not nearly flexible enough to peer over the edge - swung his legs over the side of the bed and climbed down.

Julian was moving again, shuffling across, clearly making room for Miles to sit next to him. "Sorry, Chief," he said. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just... I was just thinking about it, that's all. Not—not that - about telling you, I mean."

"You're avoiding the question," Miles said gruffly, and Julian looked away.

"It means—It means I can't remember. Feelings... they're more difficult to pinpoint than events. I just don't know, Miles."

Miles frowned. "Not even an estimate? A few months? A year? Two?"

A bitter laugh escaped Julian, one that Miles really didn't like. "Try twenty," he replied, the number slipping off the tip of his tongue like it was nothing.

Twenty years was not nothing. Twenty years was a lifetime in an Argrathi prison. For Julian, twenty years was a lifetime. Period.

"Since you were a teenager?"

Julian shrugged. "Thereabouts."

Miles looked at him, really looked, at the well-worn lines creasing his friend's face, the ones he'd thought had only appeared with the onset of war. At his dark, sad eyes that Miles could remember being full of youth and hope and light. How could he reconcile that Julian with a teenager who—

Oh.

"The enhancements?"

His voice was quiet, as though that would make this conversation any easier on Julian.

"They didn't help."

"You... you didn't ever—"

"Do you really want to know?" Julian interrupted, his eyes hard and tired and wet with unspent tears. Miles was tired too; his heart was sore and his friend was far too complicated.

"Why start this if you don't want to tell me anything?" he asked.

"I have told you something!" Julian replied incredulously. "I'm just - I didn't expect you to make a whole conversation out of it!"

"Hah, as though you never made me talk after Argra—"

"That was different," Julian argued. "I was there, I saw you— I stopped you. This was years ago."

"So you did..."

Julian let out a long exhale, a sure sign that Miles had won the argument. If you could call it winning.

"Yeah," he said eventually. "Not immediately, but yes. With everything else that had been bubbling up over the years, when I found out what my parents had done..."

"Everything else?" Miles had thought that his voice couldn't get any softer, that his heart couldn't break any further. He'd been wrong.

Julian gave snort and a shake of his head. "We're not going there."

"Right."

Miles didn't know what else to say. What was there to say to that? A completely new history of Julian Bashir had been uncovered, one that Miles should surely have been able to discover before: if only he'd thought more deeply, asked more questions, been less afraid to entangle himself in awful, messy, emotional conversations like this...

"God, you were only fifteen—"

"Sixteen," Julian corrected, "by the time I actually tried—"

"Great. Sixteen," Miles repeated with a mirthless chuckle. "Because that makes it so much better."

Julian snorted, his face contorting into some strange sort of half-grin, and then he was laughing, and then he was crying, and Miles was holding him close, rocking him and soothing him and pretending not to be quietly terrified.

When Julian finally sat up, wiping his face roughly with his sleeve, they both looked away from each other, as though a lack of eye contact was enough to pretend that no emotional outburst had just happened.

"Seems to me," Miles said, standing up, "that you owe me a promise."

"Probably," yawned Julian, laying back down. Miles wasn't sure why he was bothering. Neither of them were going to get any sleep now.

But he guessed they had to try. "So do you?" he asked, as he clambered back into his own bed.

"I promise," came the quiet response. "I'll tell you, or Jadzia, or the captain, if—if... You know."

"Yeah. I know."

The room was silent once more, but only for a few minutes.

"Miles?"

Miles hated the way his heart started to jackhammer as soon as he heard Julian.

"Mmm?"

"Captain Cusak was right, wasn't she. It is good to talk."

"I'm not sure she meant we should substitute it for sleeping."

"I'm glad we did, though. I feel better now. Lighter."

I don't, thought Miles, but he couldn't say that. Julian's confession was a burden he'd gladly carry if it gave his friend even an ounce of peace.

"That's good," he said instead.

"I'd do the same for you, you know. Listen, I mean. If you want to—"

"I know."

"I know you don't like talking but—"

"Julian," Miles groaned. "I love you, but there's a time and a place and we both need to get some bloody sleep before it becomes morning again."

For a minute, Miles thought it had worked.

"Miles?"

Maybe if he stayed quiet, Julian would think he'd fallen asleep.

"Chief?"

Although, knowing Julian, he could probably tell if he was faking from hearing his ruddy heartbeat or something.

"Miles," Julian hissed. "What did that mean, 'you love me'?"

Well that settled it. Heartbeat or no, Julian would definitely not be getting any more responses from him.

"Miles?"

The bunk shook slightly, but thankfully it seemed Julian wasn't getting out again, only turning over and settling down. Miles dared to start counting sheep again.

"Don't worry, Chief," came the quietest of whispers. "I know you meant it."

[chiisana-lion]

[sabertoothwalrus]

let's get ✨vulnerable✨

[trainwreckgenerator]

a face you'd find on the side of a milk carton

[paintedcrows]

The Mystery Twins all grown up!! I love them so much. 13 forever, yet always older than me

[thatrandomblogsays]

Annabeth: I, a child, had to earn Thalia’s love, that’s how the world works! I have to earn my moms love. Love is transactional, you gotta be worthy of it first silly :)

Percy, listening to this on the train

[nymph1e]

On Discomfort and Morality

My father finds gay men uncomfortable.

He's told me before that it's like a knee-jerk for him. Something he doesn't consciously control. He sees two men behaving romantically, and his body reacts with mild discomfort.

In the 1960s, when he was in high school, most of the boys in his form thought he was gay on the simple fact that he wasn't homophobic. He wouldn't participate in insulting queer people, he didn't care if someone was gay, he wouldn't have a problem hanging out with gay people. So people thought he was gay. That's how prevalent homophobia was in his formative years.

When I was 10, my dad told me very seriously that Holmes and Watson were gay. That it was obvious from the literature and the time period that they were meant to be a gay couple. When I was 14 and I came out to my parents as bi, when my mum was upset my dad ripped into her for it. Told her that she was being stupid, that it was my life to live how I wanted to and that she needed to get over herself.

My dad formed my views on censorship: that being that it was completely ridiculous and thoroughly evil. He didn't believe in censorship of any kind. If I asked him a question about sex, he answered it honestly. When I was 12 and I asked him about homosexuality, still young and uncertain, he told me that there was nothing wrong with it. That it was just how some people were. That there was likely an evolutionary reason for it. And that for some people it was uncomfortable on an instinctual level.

He taught me that just because you're uncomfortable with something, doesn't make it wrong. He also taught me that most people don't understand this.

I see a lot of this on the internet as of the last few years. The anti shipping movement, the terf movement, the anti ace movement. It all stems from discomfort that people have crossed wires into believing means wrong. Really every -ism and -phobia out there stems from this same fundamental aspect of humanity.

The next time you see something and you automatically think it's disgusting, or wrong, or immoral, I invite you to ask yourself: is this actually wrong or does this just make me uncomfortable?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

It's just guys night talk! Don't worry about it!

(Read Tiger Tiger and shake this man awake so he can finish that thought!)

[canisalbus]

[journey-to-the-attic]

"karasu search how 2 cheer human up"

"karasu search difference between sad human and zoning out human"

"karasu search how long is it safe for humans to zone out for?"

(+ a longer look at each scene:)

[ceeejus]

🚀🗺️

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Being someone who read Under The Red Hood and came out with the firm belief that, for Jason, it's not about killing Joker, it's about Jason wanting proof Batman would choose him over the Joker (bc shelia chose the joker). Makes seeing any other media where it's all about just wanting the Joker dead is a teeny bit frustrating. to be honest

Jason could've killed the Joker himself, really, really easily. Jason kidnaps the Joker before the confrontation. I can't open my comic for a reference right now, but it felt like he had the Joker for quite a bit before the confrontation. He had him. He beat him up with a crowbar. He had every single opportunity to kill the Joker himself, but he didn't because that wasn't his goal. Make no mistake, he did plan for the Joker to be dead by the end of it, but do you see what im trying to say here

Edit: If I knew this post was gonna get 1000+ notes I would've tried to word it better or something, this was a rant I made on the way to the grocery store 😭

It's not about making Batman kill either. When Batman says he won't kill, Jason adjusts and goes, 'Let ME kill the Joker or kill me to stop me' instead. The test is all about Batman choosing him. The whole final confrontation is Jason's first death again. The parent, The Joker, and the explosives. It even ends with Jason unable to move as a bomb goes off right next to him again because the parent didn't choose Jason. And instead tried finding an option that'd benefit them and (consequencely) letting the Joker walk, again, lol, lmao <-in agony

[ciderjacks]

An old friend

[rogueshadeaux]

“I hate the script, the vault dwellers sound so cheesy—“ my Brother in Steel you realize that’s the point, right? They were bred to act like the physical embodiment of an HR e-mail. Did you not catch the memo that Vault-Tec put out regarding their experiment facilities?

[breesperez139]

Dc x Dp Prompt #6

“I’m a twin”, Damian said one night. He could feel the narrowed eyes of his family drilling holes on his back in disbelief. Not that he could blame them. Damian had never so much as implied being raised with a companion, much less a sibling.

“I had a brother”. Damian paused to recollect himself. He had not said his brother’s name out loud in over 8 years.

“His name was… Danyal”. Damian hated the way his voice wavered, but he could not help it. Danyal was everything to him, his other half. Their heart beat as one and when one heart stopped beating, the other one died with it. At least until his family put his heart on metaphorical life support without ever realizing.

“Where is he now?” His father asked, voice filled with knowing grief and a hint of betrayal. It had in fact been 6 years since Damian first showed up on his doorstep.

“Up there”. All eyes shifted towards the specific star he was pointing to. “Right before he died, he promised me he’d guide me from the stars. Unfortunately, the stars are not visible in Gotham, so my brother is unable to be of much help unless I leave the city.”

“Your brother is Polaris, the North Star?” Tim questioned warily, most likely in attempts to not offend him. Damian was aware of how stupid it sounded, but Danyal had promised, and his brother never broke his promises.

“Yes. Danyal is with the stars now, just as he always wanted”

[panthermouthh]

U ever get those days