#advocating for tearing away peoples rights.

[snekdood]

ive literally never understood antisemitism and i dont think I ever will. literally 0 basis for any of the conspiracy theories. its always just projection from christians.

[nereidprinc3ss]

trolley problem

in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned

flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K

Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago. 

The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out. 

You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. 

So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere. 

You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death. 

But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.

Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?

It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death. 

Just… not yours. 

Or maybe you’re just in deep denial. 

Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.

Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job. 

“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”

Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns. 

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to. 

“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”

Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?

“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”

At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well. 

“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”

Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital. 

“I didn’t walk into active g—”

“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”

“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”

You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk?”

“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”

“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.” 

The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.  

“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”

“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”

A beat. 

Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words. 

“Do you believe that?”

His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle. 

You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that. 

“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good. 

It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now. 

“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”

“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago. 

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”

There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa. 

“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”

He snaps. 

“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”

“It’s my job, Spencer.”

“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”

“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was. 

You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking. 

“You need to eat something.”

Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before. 

However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now. 

“Spencer, please don’t—”

But the door is already whooshing closed. 

You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one. 

When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing. 

The door closes as quietly as it opens. 

This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse. 

Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get. 

“You didn’t bring food.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Fair enough. 

You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth. 

Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall. 

Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain. 

“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly. 

Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”

He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in. 

“I just wanna help people.”

“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”

“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night. 

“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”

The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise. 

“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”

For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.

When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention. 

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern. 

“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”

“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”

“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”

“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”

And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.

Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place. 

“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking. 

“Hm?”

He hesitates. 

“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”

“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”

“I mean beyond that.”

You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog. 

“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”

If he responds, you miss it. 

You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone. 

Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel. 

Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand. 

You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight. 

The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass. 

Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass. 

God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead. 

Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did. 

Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things. 

Maybe you’re tired of being human.

Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore. 

And yet. 

It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful. 

Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever. 

Maybe that’s something you envy.

But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour. 

You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now. 

You doubt they ever could. 

[aronarchy]

Why we don’t like it when children hit us back

To all the children who have ever been told to “respect” someone that hated them.

March 21, 2023

Even those of us that are disturbed by the thought of how widespread corporal punishment still is in all ranks of society are uncomfortable at the idea of a child defending themself using violence against their oppressors and abusers. A child who hits back proves that the adults “were right all along,” that their violence was justified. Even as they would cheer an adult victim for defending themself fiercely.

Even those “child rights advocates” imagine the right child victim as one who takes it without ever stopping to love “its” owners. Tear-stained and afraid, the child is too innocent to be hit in a guilt-free manner. No one likes to imagine the Brat as Victim—the child who does, according to adultist logic, deserve being hit, because they follow their desires, because they walk the world with their head high, because they talk back, because they are loud, because they are unapologetically here, and resistant to being cast in the role of guest of a world that is just not made for them.

If we are against corporal punishment, the brat is our gotcha, the proof that it is actually not that much of an injustice. The brat unsettles us, so much that the “bad seed” is a stock character in horror, a genre that is much permeated by the adult gaze (defined as “the way children are viewed, represented and portrayed by adults; and finally society’s conception of children and the way this is perpetuated within institutions, and inherent in all interactions with children”), where the adult fear for the subversion of the structures that keep children under control is very much represented.

It might be very well true that the Brat has something unnatural and sinister about them in this world, as they are at constant war with everything that has ever been created, since everything that has been created has been built with the purpose of subjugating them. This is why it feels unnatural to watch a child hitting back instead of cowering. We feel like it’s not right. We feel like history is staring back at us, and all the horror we felt at any rebel and wayward child who has ever lived, we are feeling right now for that reject of the construct of “childhood innocence.” The child who hits back is at such clash with our construction of childhood because we defined violence in all of its forms as the province of the adult, especially the adult in authority.

The adult has an explicit sanction by the state to do violence to the child, while the child has both a social and legal prohibition to even think of defending themself with their fists. Legislation such as “parent-child tort immunity” makes this clear. The adult’s designed place is as the one who hits, and has a right and even an encouragement to do so, the one who acts, as the person. The child’s designed place is as the one who gets hit, and has an obligation to accept that, as the one who suffers acts, as the object. When a child forcibly breaks out of their place, they are reversing the supposed “natural order” in a radical way.

This is why, for the youth liberationist, there should be nothing more beautiful to witness that the child who snaps. We have an unique horror for parricide, and a terrible indifference at the 450 children murdered every year by their parents in just the USA, without even mentioning all the indirect suicides caused by parental abuse. As a Psychology Today article about so-called “parricide” puts it:

Unlike adults who kill their parents, teenagers become parricide offenders when conditions in the home are intolerable but their alternatives are limited. Unlike adults, kids cannot simply leave. The law has made it a crime for young people to run away. Juveniles who commit parricide usually do consider running away, but many do not know any place where they can seek refuge. Those who do run are generally picked up and returned home, or go back on their own: Surviving on the streets is hardly a realistic alternative for youths with meager financial resources, limited education, and few skills.

By far, the severely abused child is the most frequently encountered type of offender. According to Paul Mones, a Los Angeles attorney who specializes in defending adolescent parricide offenders, more than 90 percent have been abused by their parents. In-depth portraits of such youths have frequently shown that they killed because they could no longer tolerate conditions at home. These children were psychologically abused by one or both parents and often suffered physical, sexual, and verbal abuse as well—and witnessed it given to others in the household. They did not typically have histories of severe mental illness or of serious and extensive delinquent behavior. They were not criminally sophisticated. For them, the killings represented an act of desperation—the only way out of a family situation they could no longer endure.

- Heide, Why Kids Kill Parents, 1992.

Despite these being the most frequent conditions of “parricide,” it still brings unique disgust to think about it for most people. The sympathy extended to murdering parents is never extended even to the most desperate child, who chose to kill to not be killed. They chose to stop enduring silently, and that was their greatest crime; that is the crime of the child who hits back. Hell, children aren’t even supposed to talk back. They are not supposed to be anything but grateful for the miserable pieces of space that adults carve out in a world hostile to children for them to live following adult rules. It isn’t rare for children to notice the adult monopoly on violence and force when they interact with figures like teachers, and the way they use words like “respect.” In fact, this social dynamic has been noticed quite often:

Sometimes people use “respect” to mean “treating someone like a person” and sometimes they use “respect” to mean “treating someone like an authority” and sometimes people who are used to being treated like an authority say “if you won’t respect me I won’t respect you” and they mean “if you won’t treat me like an authority I won’t treat you like a person” and they think they’re being fair but they aren’t, and it’s not okay.

(https://soycrates.tumblr.com/post/115633137923/stimmyabby-sometimes-people-use-respect-to-mean)

But it has received almost no condemnation in the public eye. No voices have raised to contrast the adult monopoly on violence towards child bodies and child minds. No voices have raised to praise the child who hits back. Because they do deserve praise. Because the child who sets their foot down and says this belongs to me, even when it’s something like their own body that they are claiming, is committing one of the most serious crimes against adult society, who wants them dispossessed.

Sources:

“The Adult Gaze: a tool of control and oppression,” https://livingwithoutschool.com/2021/07/29/the-adult-gaze-a-tool-of-control-and-oppression

“Filicide,” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Filicide

[ajokeformur-ray]

My thoughts on Joker: Folie à Deux

Now that I'm done sobbing and it's been a few hours since I left the cinema with my roommate, I've put the first Joker on for comfort while I write this.

Spoilers below the cut for anyone who hasn't seen it.

We all know that I was one of those "I don't want a sequel" girlies and in a way, I still am. I maintain that Joker didn't need a sequel, it was a perfect standalone. But, surprisingly, I enjoyed this film as it was.

It was very dark, gritty, the things we didn't get to see because they were only implied were things which stuck with me long after leaving the cinema, it was ambitious with Lee but didn't quite go as far as I would have liked with her; she had so much more potential and I thought we were gonna get that when she smashed the shop window to get a small TV with which to see her Joker on with a very sweetly spoken "excuse me" and then walked away without a fuss. It was gorgeously arranged, the songs were perfectly selected and I adore that That's Life played during the start and end; it brought our beloved Arthur to a full circle. And, most importantly, it was faithful to our Arthur. That's what I and so many others were afraid of, that this sequel would butcher our boy, but it didn't. It was faithful to him to the bitter, tragic end.

Joker was gorgeous. He was... so realistic, so raw and real and in pain, he was everything I always wanted this universe's Joker to be. I've always said in my fics and posts that Arthur didn't want to be Joker, it was something which the general public put onto him and he never wanted it, he just wanted to be seen, heard, accepted and loved for who he was, and even when he exposed his pain on national TV, he wasn't given that. He was ignored, spoken for rather than listened to, and then in this new film that carried on happening until yet again he stood up for himself and took what he knew to be right. He's the best advocate for himself and it's a lesson I need to learn from him a bit more than I have done before. But I digress... Joker was so perfect. And his little comedy moments did have me giggling, even through my tears at various points in the film.

I enjoyed the difference between how Joker and Arthur were considered, though we all know that the lawyer's initial defense, as well meaning as it was, was not it. Arthur was never gonna walk out of there without consequences and we all knew it. The constant switches between his delusions as Joker and the way he was stood still in Arkham or the courtroom were so well done, and I liked how murder was used against himself while he was waging between doing what people were telling him to do, and what he wanted to do for himself.

I was begging for Arthur to do the right thing the whole way through the trial, even though I knew what it would mean for him, and in the end he chose himself just like he did in the first film, and it was the bravest thing he could have done. It was utterly devastating, but in the end I think the way he chose to go down was the right way. He could have either continued being Joker and gone down being known for someone he wasn't and someone he had never been, or he could stand up, admit to who he is and display emotional maturity and speak for himself.

He chose the latter and I'm, in a very bittersweet way, grateful. I sobbed through most of the film but in the end, Arthur was himself, and it was so brave and so heartbreaking. This film was, at the end of it all, as true to Arthur as Arthur ended up being to himself (and I think it was because Gary's testimony and tearful "why are you doing this to me?" that was the catalyst behind Arthur making this fateful decision), and it was... it was so hard to watch, very difficult to stomach, but also I am proud of myself for going. I really didn't want to, I didn't, but Arthur would have gone to see us if the situation was reversed, and not going to see this film would have felt like abandonment of our boy... I didn't want to do that. I'm glad I went, but I'll probably take a long time before I'm able to watch it again, if I ever can.

The last scene especially shattered me, but I think that from a narrative point of view, it makes sense. Arthur was a tragedy, through and through. Though, he's an unreliable narrator, so who knows if we saw what we all think we saw? It was the perfect end for Arthur, as horrific, cruel, and brutal as it was, but the inmate was wrong... it wasn't at all what he deserved.

Our Arthur deserved sunshine, cuddles for days, kisses in the rain, dancing, singing, he deserved comedy nights and a dancing partner, he deserved so much more than what he got.

And the irony is that the people complaining that this Joker wasn't the Joker they wanted are literally proving the core message of the film; Arthur isn't Joker. He was never Joker, and that's why he was abandoned by so many in the film; by Lee, by those dressed like Joker, by everyone who wanted him to be someone he wasn't... he was given that title by people who didn't know him, people who didn't want to know him, Gothamites who used him and his crimes to justify and further their own political agenda, and, in the real world, by those complaining that this Joker isn't the Joker they wanted.

Arthur is Arthur Fleck, he's always been Arthur Fleck. He was willing to die to make that point, so in the end he died for himself, and it was so brave and courageous and heartbreaking.

I walked out of the cinema sobbing the hardest I've cried for a long time, but so much more in love with Arthur Fleck than I was before. I just want to tell him how sorry I am, and how loved he is by all of us. That's what he deserves.

❤️💚💙🤍

[hero-israel]

One of the reasons for the "Left" becoming more and more like a cheerleading squad for exactly the kind of things Leftists are supposed to hate is because so much of this new coalition of young people are coming from conservative backgrounds, but not doing any real work to deradicalize themselves.

They grow up with these Puritanical ideas of sin and justice, crime and punishment, and instead of unlearning any of this they just switch the targets of their disdain. It's switching teams for them, not learning that they don't have to play the game. Most of them are soft conservatives who just want free healthcare.

And these Leftoid chud debate pervert streamers like Hasanabi are a big contributing factor to this, not the only factor, but a prominent one. He definitely puts this veneer of artificiality and commodification over the Left. American society is under a lot of stress right now, culturally and economically. Instead of the Left organically building coalitions it's mostly unorganized college kids reading Al Jazeera and Russian and Chinese propaganda and running as fast as they can away from privilege and having a toddler understanding of class consciousness. It's so pathetic and basic and it will not save us.

You cannot save a society that you don't think is worth saving. They're just practicing radical disengagement and some kind of edgy nihilism. They purport to hate America and the West and want to burn it all down but they know that will never happen which is why they're so comfortable with the cognitive dissonance. It's why they don't vote, and why organizing and demonstrating is like teeth pulling for them. Either black activists have to do all the leg work for them, or the protests have to be about tearing something down, not advocating for any positive change, right now that's Israel. Soon it will be something else.

Unironically, the pussy hat resist lib wine moms did way more with their women's marches than any of these wannabe philosopher college kids are doing with anything. Like I know for a fact a "Leftist" would read a post like that and be like "L + ratio libshit, imagine supporting the neoliberal fascist colonialist concept of due process?" like we're so beyond the pale at this point. When fascism takes over, I'm sure they'll think they're fighting back, but if the fascists learn to coopt enough phrases about climate and Palestine and healthcare, will they even notice the fascists taking over?

I've got a few friends who were raised hardcore fundie Christian, "gays will burn" creation and rapture types. They went to normal public colleges and wound up becoming very left-wing, all the left memes and slogans you can think of, fastidious in their distinctions between and protections of every conceivable marginalized group (which none of them are, on any axis). And.... you can't disagree with them about anything. Can't point out that a source is questionable or that a slogan is psychologically backfiring and producing skepticism or mockery instead of benefits. They will not hear of it, because they are still fundies. They did a binary flip from one team to another but never moderated their tactics or temperament.

[smokesandsonatas]

can i have some headcanons of what our twisted wonderland boys will do after they graduate? you can choose only 4 if there is a limit, thank you so much

Twisted Wonderland characters after their graduation at NRC

- This really tickled my brain so I'm going to write assumptions for everyone. I drafted this around last year then only got to post this right now, haha. -

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

After his graduation from NRC, and bagging home the highest honor for an exceptional mage, I can see Riddle furthering his education. If there's such a thing as Ph.D. in Twisted Wonderland, Riddle will pursue that. I can also see him becoming a "Double Doctor," a medical doctor, and a doctor of Philosophy. Not only that but Riddle will also pursue law, along with magical medicine. A doctor and a lawyer, all in one. Riddle would go on to be an internationally recognized mage. He will also be an advocate of Mental Health education, fueled by his past and his mission to never let anyone experience what he went through.

Ace Trappola

I can honestly say I see him being recognized as a famous basketball player or entering the military enforcement of Queendom of Roses along with Deuce. Occasionally, Ace will perform magic tricks along with his brother, which is always a hit of course, someone even offered the Trappola brothers to appear in a reality show but Ace had other plans. In his 3rd year, he will become the Dorm leader of Heartslabyul, while Deuce will be his vice.

Deuce Spade

Will become a high-ranking magical enforcer, his salary will allow him and his family to live comfortably, especially his mom. Once the Queendom of Roses gave Deuce an award as the 'Hero of the Year,' he broke down into tears as he hugged his mom. Will be buddies forever with Ace.

Cater Diamond

Will be a famous vlogger. Be it traveling or fashion, Cater will be a famous influencer. He will also have a successful studio with workshops on how to run a magicam account successfully. If there's a fashion show, he would always be on the VIP list, as he is acquainted with Vil. If he feels burned out, he'll try to stay away from social media. If Cater can't form long relationships, he'll just leave his mark in the world with his vlogs. #LonelyButNotReally

Trey Clover

Owner of a famous bakeshop. His family's shop will prosper under his guidance. On every occasion, their sweets will sold out. One time a magazine listed Trey as the "sexiest pastry chef," and Cater and his other friends will never let him live with it. The Clover's Bakeshop occasionally partners with Mostro Lounge, and when they do, everything sells out within seconds.

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar

He does not need to work, but he is a genius as Leona is still a prince of a noble family. Have you seen those alpha males ads? Leona will be all of that. A CEO of his own company and at the same time a diplomat of Sunset Savannah to other nations. His business started out as a mining corporation, gradually expanding into construction. A noble man who many people - beastmen and beastwomen - fawn over with. A millionaire. A bachelor. Once, Farena, the current king and his older brother, called to meet with him and Leona put harshly down the phone. Leona's reason for doing this? When he realized that Farena tried to marry him off to a noble from some rich kingdom 'for his future'. Leona's reply? Is a simple scoff and a very deep, "Fuck off."

Ruggie Bucchi

Will be an assistant to Leona. The next generation of Hyenas will not experience poverty as Ruggie did. His all-around skills will come in handy as a secretary. Ruggie will be a finance speaker. He will sometimes get his hands dirty. What? Hyenas are used to it. Fear not, he's still the same old Ruggie, just a little more rich.

Jack Howl

After graduation, Jack will get a lot of offers to be a professional magift player. Leona will offer to sponsor him tho, so he doesn't need to worry about financial things. Will be an advocate of physical health, his muscular physique is no joke. I can see Jack being a well-known magift player and a track and field competitor, with the help of Prof. Vargas as a head coach.

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto

In every nation, there's a branch of Mostro Lounge. Azul will be listed as the "Top 100 most successful bachelors," along with Jade, possibly Floyd, Vil, and Leona. Azul would go on to accumulate a lot of awards for his splendid business skills. Will own a share in almost all known companies. He'll have to pull strings from Idia to let him invest or buy shares from Jupiter Enterprises. Azul will be compared to the Sea Witch due to how influential he is. Once his mother passed him their restaurant in the Coral Sea, Azul's work will quadruple, and so is his income. Because of him, the mermen's view of octomerpeople will change. But for a darker secret, Azul will be known as the Mediator, and every Mostro Lounge place will be known as a neutral territory for members of the 'other' world. Of course, the Leech twins will still stick with him.

Jade Leech

Jade will inherit their Father's mafia legacy, along with Floyd. The Leech family will prosper under the twins' rule. Jade will open a mushroom business, as to what kind of mushrooms he's selling Jade will smile in response and say it's a fresh mushroom from the mountain. Jade's favorite base of operation would be on land, it's just more fun and chaotic when he watches humans stutter and pass out once he interrogates them. Jade will work as Azul's concierge, working for both him and the Leech family. And in the morning, he'll be the vice manager of Mostro Lounge. But sometimes it does get a little boring. Once a company famous for being greedy with their demands easily relents when they realize it is The Jade Leech that will conduct business with them. Such a shame, Jade would've loved to see the look on their faces.

Floyd Leech

Floyd would be proud of his shoe collection! By now he would have a hundred pair of shoes. Of course, he's still with Jade and Azul, acting as the brawns of the trio. He will make it a point with them to only give him interesting jobs, if it's boring? Floyd would abandon that. One time he learned to drive, he brought his sports car to another country and accidentally got pulled over in the Queendom of Roses, to his surprise it is Mackerel (Deuce) who pulled him over! Floyd paid for the ticket and then went on to hang out with him. Floyd's favorite part of his job is squeezing everyone that owes them unpaid debts!

Though Floyd just doesn't understand why Momma Leech wants to introduce him to a mermaid. Jade is laughing at first, but not anymore once his twin realized that their Momma intends to introduce him to a mermaid too! Floyd will never forget the look on Jade's face - that's probably reflected on him - once their Momma gushes over about 'baby eels'. What? Mermaid eels have little populations. They have to do their part, don't they?

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim inherited his father's multi-million business. Through his easygoing personality, Kalim is well-loved by everyone. He established business trade routes with almost every nation, while still honoring his personal ones. An example is with the Felmier's, so that their apples will be enjoyed by everyone in Scarabia. The threats grew along with the Asim's already immense wealth. Don't worry, Kalim by now, will know how to defend himself using his unique magic. He just had to know how to reply with the various marriage proposals going his way, it pains Kalim to reject every single one, you know.

Jamil Viper

After his graduation at NRC, Jamil would take a year or two for himself. He will travel across Twisted Wonderland, and by this time Jamil's perception of the world would change. Finally prioritizing himself and is selfish for once. When he will come back, however, he will be met with a warm welcome from the citizens of Scalding Sands and the Asim and Viper family. Jamil would go on to become a successful businessman and bodyguard best friend of Kalim. But this time, they're on equal footing.

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit

There's no spotlight if there's no Vil Schoenheit. He will become the highest-paid actor for straight 5 years, until Neige just slightly beats him, running off a few hundred thousand madol. But in the same year, Neige surpassed him in pay, Vil went on to win the Best Actor award for his work in a movie as a misunderstood villain protagonist. His movie even screened in the coral sea! As if there's no stopping him, his successful cosmetics company took off Twisted Wonderland by storm, his eye palette alone is sold out within seconds.

Rook Hunt

Oh dear, Rook will also inherit the Hunt's family business. One moment someone can see Rook in Quendom of Roses then the next he would be spotted on Sage Island. Of course, Rook will not stop admiring beauty and arts! He will fund archaeological studies, theater, art museums, galleries, and even beauty pageants. Rook will be one of the art and beauty industry's most important benefactors.

Epel Felmier

Will be known as the "pretty boy of magift." Not in a bad way, but more like a compliment. His talent is honed thanks to his NRC club. Sometimes Epel would attend fashion shows that present him as a "manly man", you know wearing suits and all of that. Because of his new-found fame, the Felmier's apple business will bloom, in part thanks to Kalim.

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud

Will become the head of S.T.Y.X, but will also manage the Shroud's position in Jupiter Enterprises. On top of that, Idia will develop one of the best MMORPG and FPS games Twisted Wonderland had ever seen. Additionally, Idia won't just stop in developing games, he will also develop magic-infused medical devices that will drastically change the healthcare industry, crediting the Idia Shroud for its invention.

Once a magazine included Idia in their "Top 100 most successful bachelors," he almost sued them if not for Azul, Ortho and his parents convincing him it's a good thing. But Momma and Papa Shroud can't help but wonder when will they have grandkids, the Shroud's need an heir to continue their duties, you know.

Ortho Shroud

Ortho will stay at his brother's side! But his looks will drastically change, if the Ortho from before looks young, the Ortho from the future will have a much taller body, but he will still regain his childlike curiosity. Only the future Ortho is more mature and more open to take time for himself. He will ask Idia to send him off to faraway lands to gather information and to also satiate his curiosity about the real world. Ortho will become independent yet still close to his brother.

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia

Malleus' coronation is one of the most liveliest and solemn celebrations Briar Valley had seen for the last 5 centuries. Under King Malleus' rule, his kingdom will prosper. Faes and humans alike will come to a much more common understanding. Although the valley still heavily relies on magic, technology will become available, as a courtesy of the friendship acquaintanceship of Idia.

On some days, Malleus will truly get busy. Managing a country and it's affairs is no small feat. Through trades and partnership with every Kingdom, from Savanaclaw to the Coral Sea courtesy of his two alumni schoolmates from NRC, Briar Valley will prosper. It just gets annoying sometimes when the news reporters, the common folk, the fae senators, and even his own grandmother will ask him about an heir. Malleus still needs to find someone who will stay by his side, and it's not an easy thing to do.

Lilia Vanrouge

Sweet old man Lilia is on his way to retirement. In the chapter of Diasomnia, we learned that his magic is running out. Well, all good things must come to an end. Though his eventual retirement in the Land of the Red Dragon came true, he still returned. And Lilia had his fair share of adventures. Because Malleus is busy with the preparations for his coronation, Lilia is there to help him. On the occasion he's free to do anything, Crowley offered him a teaching position in NRC, which is the spot left open by Professor Trein. Lilia accepted, and for a semester he become a teacher, quitting right after to attend Malleus' coronation.

Lilia liked to think a had lived a full life. He was it all. A fearsome general, a caretaker of the young prince, an adoring father, and a good friend.

Sebek Zigvolt

No one dares to Disrespect the King under my watch! That is what he would occasionally say. If one of Briar Valleys' own Fae advisors disrespects Malleus, expect Sebek to speak, and even draw his sword. Yes, he's part human and half Fae but that doesn't mean he's not powerful enough to defend the king.

With this Sebek will grow in closer relationship with his grandfather and his mortal dad. His parents' dentistry business will expand, and for some time Sebek's face is the model of it, which made him embarrassed, yet he still loves his parents nonetheless.

Silver

I can see Silver honoring his promise to Lilia and staying by Malleus'side. However, that is considering if his feelings don't change. Silver will quickly become one of Briar Valley's most beloved humans, and for some reason, he always gets mistaken as an RSA graduate. Once Vil invited him to cover for a sick model in a fashion show and he declined but Vil already presented his picture to the photographers. For some reason, his picture was leaked to the public and Silver's name is trending for days. Some say he's a child of the king, and others compare him to Neige's beauty. His face was everywhere in magicam, with the hashtags "the most handsome sleepy prince," and the "dreamy prince of dreams."

[rainba]

Hihihihi!!! How would the sillies respond to a darling who's self destructive (both socially and physically, like self harm and self sabotage)? I love ur OCS btw ur writing is amazing 💘

Aww, thank youuu!! :3c

And thank you for the ask!! It's really made me think....

Huge warning for these responses, they are very… Dark. If these topics make you uncomfortable, please feel free to skip this one!

TWs/tags: self-harm, toxic behaviors from the yans.. Lots of angst (plus comfort)

For Kairos, it’d be a really unhealthy situation. He, too, engages in really self-destructive behaviors, and if his darling also does it, he’d only end up enabling you even further. In some way, Kairos would see it as “beautiful”, the two of you suffering together at your own hands... He’d be one of those people that would watch you cut yourself and then kiss your scars right after… And then he’d cut himself in the same places, just so you two can “match.”

And if you’re socially self-destructive? Pushing everybody away because you just feel like everyone secretly hates you, or for some other reason? It’s okay– all you need is Kairos, anyway! You can destroy all of your other relationships, so long as you keep Kairos close to you.

He’ll love you forever and ever, you never have to worry about him leaving you. If you push him away, he’ll keep coming back. You could be at your absolute worst, and he’d still view you as a perfect angel. It’s… Not healthy. But he can’t help it.

However– if you were to ever put yourself into any life-threatening situations, or if you genuinely wanted to die, he'd become downright terrified and would try his best to make you stop your self-destructive behaviors. After all, he loves you too much– he doesn’t want you to die. The two of you need to live long, happy lives together! If engaging in all these self-destructive things with you might lead to your death, he’ll do everything in his power to make it stop, and he'll also make sure that the both of you get better. He'll hold your hand every step of the way, recovering alongside you. And he'd never judge you for relapsing.

Basically, it's sort of like this: if you want to get worse, Kairos will also get worse. If you want to get better, Kairos will do everything in his power to help you, and he’d also try to help himself along the way. It’s almost like he’s mirroring you, in some ways.

As for Luka, he’d have a totally opposite reaction to Kairos. He would be enraged that you actively hurt yourself. He’d handle it pretty badly. If he found out that you actively harm yourself, he would refuse to take his eyes off of you and would be monitoring your every movement... You'd suddenly never get a moment to yourself.

When you’re using the bathroom, he’ll be standing next to you the whole time. When you shower, he’ll be showering with you. When you go to sleep, he'll be caging you in his arms.

If you have a job, he might actually force you to quit, just so he can monitor you even further. Either that, or he’ll make you take a temporary leave from work until he knows that you’ve stopped hurting yourself.

It’s… Absolutely not a good way to go about it, he knows this, but it’s the only thing he can think of doing. It's his gut reaction to it all.

Luka would keep asking you ‘why’ as he holds you tightly in his arms, glaring at you while also having pitiful tears in his eyes. For one of the first times in his life, he feels so deeply hurt and confused. He isn't prepared at all to handle the feelings that are bubbling within himself. Luka would also start losing lots of sleep.

When you’re sleeping peacefully in bed beside him, he’d sit up and bed and just… Stare at you for hours.

Slowly, he'd start kissing your cheeks, stroking your hair, and then holding you close as he tries not to be upset with you. He knows that you’re hurting… And he loathes how helpless he feels. While he’s not the biggest advocate for therapy, he would ask you to go see a therapist. He knows that he alone can’t help you– and that it’s impossible for him to just monitor you every second of every day.

If you refuse to see a therapist, he’ll be upset, but he won't force you to go. All he tells you is that if you need it, he’ll listen to you– even though he’s horrible at giving good advice. But at the very least, he’s really good at just listening to you. He’ll remember everything you tell him. And any time you show signs of improvement, he will be proud of you.

As for socially sabotaging yourself, it’s the same as Kairos. All you really need is Luka, so… He won’t stop you from cutting everyone else off. ^^;;

[autistic-duck]

It really sucks when you realize that a survivor's mentality is not a sustainable model for working full-time.

I can't go into every day thinking, “Oh, if the bathroom is occupied during lunch then I'll just wait to pee when I get home” because that is survival. I'm just surviving until I can get to a safe time and place. I am literally holding in pee for eight hours straight, feeling more and more pain because I can't figure out a better time to go to the bathroom.

I can't keep doing that.

Every day, it becomes, “If you can just sit still for a couple more hours, you'll get to move a little bit.”

Or, “if you can just hold in the tears until you can sneak into an empty room, you'll be able to make it through the day without anyone knowing you're upset.”

(Click “keep reading” to hear a more detailed explanation)

I started work this week, and I had completely forgotten just how awful it is to try and exist in a way that doesn't seem off-putting (or scary) to other people.

I had to do two eight-hour blocks of time alone away from home, which I hadn't done since high school, and I'm already realizing that my old methods no longer work.

I legitimately can't mask the entire day anymore. I can feel my joints groaning under the stress. My cells are feverish with the desire to stim. My mind is slowly melting under the fluorescent lights. The voices, the droning voices of professionals, buzz in my head and make no sense. I take notes, but the words look like no language I've ever spoken.

I can't keep pretending to understand what's going on.

But I'm also new to telling people that I'm disabled. The only people who know are immediate family and friends and the psychology clinic that diagnosed me. I want to be proud and confident, to just ask for and demand help, but I can't imagine anyone actually believing me. Nobody helps me when I ask for something because they decide it isn't important.

My sensory issues aren't “bad enough.” My social struggles are just “excuses to be rude.” My stimming is “attention seeking.”

Why did I choose education as the field to go into? I'm not cut out for this new “customer service” teacher mentality. I have to have good interactions with everyone all the time? Just so parents want to send their kids to our schools? How is that even possible? I have a hard time smiling at people who are nice to me, so how do you expect me to smile when someone is yelling at me for failing their student because they didn't turn in their work?

The education system is broken, and I'm just one disabled person who is just now realizing that their disability might actually stop them from keeping their dream job.

How do you advocate for yourself when you grew up thinking that self-advocacy was selfish and evil?

I literally just realized that I can't eat food or respond to greetings if I'm stressed. Showering used to make me feel relaxed before bed, and now it's the only thing preventing me from crying right before sleeping.

I want to learn Spanish, write in my journal, cook healthy meals, exercise in the morning, drink plenty of water, sleep comfortably at night, and spend time with friends who don't make me feel guilty for existing. I want to be able to go to the bathroom whenever I need to. Why does that feel impossible now?

If anyone has experience with advocating for a disability, especially high-functioning and heavily masked autism, I'd really like advice. Who do I talk to? What do I ask for? How do I explain my struggles and keep a job?

[vavuska]

Imane Khelif reacts to the cyberbullying campaign spread by Elon Musk: 'You hate me but you don't even know me'

An emotional Imane Khelif has taken aim at Elon Musk for leading the cruel campaign against her we all know about during this summer's Olympics.

Imane Khelif was able to win a gold medal in boxing out in Paris, despite the huge impact of the cruel lies surrounding her gender, that dominated headlines throughout the Games, had on her psychological well-being and her family's concerns.

Khelif is a cisgender 25 year-old girl, but was subjected to a massive campaign of hate online - mainly conducted by far-right politicians and propaganda players - and has been harassed by million of strangers for her physical appearance and baseless and harmful rumors about her gender identity throughout the Olympics, with Elon Musk, Donald Trump and J. K. Rowling even joining the pile-on at one stage.

« Immediately after there was a lot of noise from politicians, athletes, stars, artists — Elon Musk and Donald Trump and that hurt me a lot, I cannot describe how scared I was, »the 25-year-old said.

« This affected me. I'm not lying to you, it affected me a lot. It hurt a lot. I can't describe the fear I had but thank God I was able to overcome it. Thank god, all the people of Algeria and the Arab world knew Imane Khelif with her femininity, her courage, her will. »

Imane Khelif, not only didn't permit to the responsible of the cruel attacks to break her concentration in training, but also fought back: she responded to the Golden Trio - Trump, Musk and Jo - by filing a cyberbullying lawsuit against all of them.

In an interview on French TV show CLIQUE, Khelif fought back the tears after being asked about Musk inviting further abuse with his post about her on Twitter/X:

« Elon Musk was one of the first to attack me during this hate campaign. He posted this video and it was retweeted. So, he was one of the first to have spread this buzz, this campaign against me. I would say... you hate me but you don't even know me. I don't even know why you led this attack. You have been cruel to me, cruel to my family, to my mother. At that time, my mother was going to hospital every day.»

Khelif then paused to wipe away the tears before adding: «So I don't understand the behavior of people today. God is my guide, I am a practicing Muslim woman. I am a Muslim Arabic woman and I got through this moment. 'I hope I will be even stronger in the future and come back even more motivated.»

It's important to put in lights, that Trump has long criticized transgender people as part of his rallies and focused specifically on transgender athletes, using language about gender identity that is wrong and harmful. Transgender-related issues have become perhaps the biggest rallying call to Christian conservatives, more than abortion rights or same-sex marriage. That shift worries advocates who note transgender people are already disproportionately prone to stress, depression and suicidal behavior when forced to live as the sex they were assigned at birth. The former president has repeatedly mocked transgender people during his campaign, using this poor, innocent girl, as scapegoat and target to show HOW her really cares of women's spaces and rights - by bullying a young cisgender woman.

Source - video has been downloaded from muzammilvagozz on Threads

[Off-topic: Am I the only that finds Imane's eyes gorgeous? She looks stunning in light blue.]

More links:

- My previous post in which I spoke about all the harmful situation caused by mean rumors to Imane Khelif and other non-white athletes

- Imane Khelif spoke against cyberbullism

- Imane Khelif sues both JK Rowling and Elon Musk for cyberbullying her and spreading hate online

[tenderlyrenjun]

7Dream + Comforting You

a/n: just because I'm having a hard time lol; sorry; I hope this brings other people some comfort too ... tw mentions of panic + OCD + general sadness

Mark Lee

"Hey."

You waddle into Mark's room, and he tears himself away from his daily affirmations book. It only takes one look at you - in your oversized hoodie and stained sweatpants - for him to put his pen down.

"Hey," he responds, equally soft. You sit on the floor, a little bit under him, and blow a shaky breath from your cheeks, mouth opening just a second. And Mark waits, for you to say something, or even move. He slides his palms down his thighs, pausing at the tip of his knees, then joins you on the ground. "Is something ..."

A beat passes, the both of you understanding his implication: is something wrong?.

"I just," you inhale, eyes darting from the wall to the ground, barely glancing at him out the corner of your eye before settling on your twiddling fingers. "I just need some extra support right now," you confess. "I've been feeling a little bit ... insecure." You scrunch your nose at the word, but Mark nods along, nodding into your personal space, encouraging you to continue. He knows that it takes you a minute, sometimes, just to label your feelings, so he tries not to break your train of thought. "You - You don't need to say anything, but ..." You swallow, stifling a little at the conjunction, and look at him. That's when he sees the glassy tinge around your irises. "But can you listen for a little bit?"

Mark brushes messy hairs away from your face with his index finger, holding them back with his palm. Then, he rubs the apples of your cheeks, soothing the swelling already having settled in.

"Of course," he says simply, not wanting to say more, unsure exactly how to support you without knowing more.

And as you get deeper and deeper into divulging your insecurities, you fall onto his shoulder, then into his arms, then against his chest. Mark holds you up, unfolding his legs to bring you even closer. He can smell the cherry blossom shampoo you stole borrowed from Renjun last week. Somewhere along the line, after circulating the same thought, playing devil's advocate against yourself, you trail off and hug his waist.

"I'm sorry. I know how that sounds. It probably didn't make very much sense. I just -"

"I hear you," he whispers, stopping you from starting again. A hiccup in your apology brings you out of his arms, but he grabs you again, by the cheeks, making you look him in the eyes. "You must've been struggling for awhile. It's okay to feel insecure sometimes." Mark slides you back into his chest, comfortably, his lips close enough to kiss the top of your head. "I'm proud of who you are right now. You're amazing."

Huang Renjun

Renjun wanders down the hall to your apartment, entering swiftly with the key you gave him months ago. You were supposed to meet him for coffee earlier but never showed up, and since the café is just up the street, he decided to ask, in person, if you are okay.

He calls your name through the living room and the kitchen, meeting dust and organized DVD shelves. The flowers in the hall on the IKEA cabinet show signs of wilting, the water browning at the surface, and he frowns. It probably should have been replaced yesterday, or the day before. Renjun walks further into your apartment, and he trips on a trail of slippers leading from your bathroom to bedroom, where he finds you, just sitting at the desk, staring at a blank notebook. He walks around you, back facing the window and alarm clock displaying the time: 3:23 P.M. You still have the pen in your hand, blue ink decorating gibberish between your fingers. Renjun grabs your arm, gently turning you away from all the stationery. He sees the veins more prominently in your eyes, the wooly hairs around your ears, the slight break between the seam of your lips. And it's only when he touches your arm that you react; you jolt, sitting up straighter, eyes blinking up to his face.

"I'm sorry." You pull away, into the flexible chair spine, bouncing a bit, then wipe your nose with your sleeve. "Were you waiting for me?"

Renjun nods, small, a few times, and kneels on the ground. "Don't be sorry." He pauses for a second, slowly stuttering his head into your lap, no solid emotion palpable at the moment for him to gauge your actions. But he knows that you like to run your hands through his fluffy hair. "I just wanted to check on you. Is everything okay?"

And he's proven right, to some degree, when you thread your fingers behind his head, crawling down to his ears.

You don't say anything, though, for awhile; Renjun can almost hear the clock tick behind him, but when he opens his mouth, he feels the entire chair shake, and he looks up at you - your bottom lip quivers, and you bite it to stop; your fingers, all ten digits, tremble, and you curl them into fists under your long-sleeve shirt. Still, you nod, yes.

"I have a lot of things to do," you answer him, finally, "and it's just stressing me out a little bit." You meet his eyes and shake your face, giving him a small smile. "Sorry."

Renjun strings his hands with yours. "It's okay," he nods, "Tell me about it. We can do everything together."

Lee Jeno

Maybe two or three weeks have passed since Jeno last saw you, a fault of your misaligned schedules, really. His job keeps him busy from dawn til dusk, sometimes further, and he sacrifices your relationship, selfishly, at these points. But, today, when he goes to your apartment, Jeno finds you laying on the living room rug, back against the couch, hugging a pillow under your chin, and scrolling through random Instagram reels.

Slowly - and quietly -, he takes off his jacket at the front door, hanging it above his loud shoes. He takes long strides toward you, speeding to get close again before he lays on the ground in front of you.

"Hey," he gives you a small smile, mostly through his eyes.

You glance at him, waving your fingers only slightly above your phone, no words communicated. The pillow squishes your cheeks upward, temporarily removing the frown in your lips, supporting an equally small smile that doesn't meet your eyes.

"How was your day?" he tries, scooting a little bit closer, gently reaching out to your elbow.

You clear your throat and lock your phone, blue light fading between the both of you. "Okay," you answer, voice cracking, then bring the pillow closer down your stomach. "How was your day?"

"Also okay," he lies, smoothly. To be honest, his schedule tore down his muscles and threw a tornado in his brain. He mostly looked forward to seeing you tonight, so he's okay, right now, with waiting for you again, sensing that you might need something from him.

You both kind of just stare at each other for a few seconds, until Jeno makes the first move, seeing the quiver in your lip, even with your teeth biting it down. Cautiously, he wraps an arm over you waist and another under your neck, pulling you half-way on top of him. And you sigh on his shoulder, full weight sinking into him, breath shaking your torso.

"It's okay," he whispers, squeezing you tighter. "I'm here."

Lee "Haechan" Donghyuck

"Sorry," you apologize again, pulling a plastic take out box from the steaming water underneath, while Haechan enters your apartment. "I didn't feel like cooking."

Haechan peeks over to your trash can, where other boxes waterfall over the edge, piling up on the ground. "How long have you felt like not cooking?" he asks skeptically, still accepting the dish anyway.

You shrug, offering the unused counter a half-smile, handing him a plastic fork, not bothering to plate the food on ceramic. "Awhile I guess." You sit down at the table first, choosing the mismatched foldable chair - the orange color contrasting against the blue table and its single match.

Haechan glances at the rabokki, cheese melted mostly over the rice cakes, drowning out any color under 560 nm. He looks back to you in the dining room, thinning his lips. Usually stores also give side dishes, but he sees none, so he pokes around your kitchen further, first looking in the refrigerator, then the sink, then the trash; the Styrofoam containers are in the the overflowing bin. Haechan sighs, shoulders deflating, and looks at you again.

Sometimes, the two of you would just eat dinner at the same table, not really together, settling into silence as you individually read or scroll through your phones. Other times, you catch up about the day or on each other, holding hands over a metaphorical candlelight, until he pulls your chair closer. But it's been awhile since he has eaten at your apartment; the both of you either eating out, eating at each other's offices, etc. And he knows that you value a homecooked meal, which is why, as he walks over to you, touching your elbow to break your blank staring contest with the wall, he says:

"This doesn't have enough vegetables. I'm going to cook something for us. Join me?"

You swallow a long noodle, licking the sauce off your lip, retreating into yourself, and whisper, "You don't have to ..."

Haechan gives you a bigger smile, grabbing your hand. "It's for me," he lies and stands you up, guiding you with him into the kitchen.

Na Jaemin

[You, 3:21 P.M]

Can you bring me my inhaler, please?

[You, 3:21 P.M.]

To the bathroom.

The bathroom is literally adjacent to your bedroom. Jaemin, in the living room, is further than you from your inhaler, even with his long height to cross the distance quickly. But still, your odd text makes him comply, and he practically runs from the couch, throwing his phone down on the cushions, to grab the panacea. He knows that you have a hundred placebos laying around your apartment, but he’s never actually seen you use them. Yeah, he made a point, since he’s known you, to mentally know each location, but you never let him in enough to help you.

He knocks on the door first, as a signal that he's entering, to give you time to adjust. And after a beat of silence, he wanders inside, gently calling your name.

"I'm coming in," he announces, loudly, over the bathroom fan and sepia light. He hides behind the door, face looking outward, allotting more time in case you need to kick him out, or hide yourself, but still, he hears nothing, so he looks inside, glancing around eye level, then he drops to the ground, where you have the heels of your palms pressed into your eyes and your chest pumps up and down rapidly.

Gently, he pulls your dominant hand down. Your eyes tighten, crows feet deepening in the corners. Jaemin guides the inhaler, through your palm, into your mouth, squeezing the pump with his larger thumb twice. And you relax, just as quickly, breathing slowing. You uncurl from your knees, unwinding against the shower stall, head banging on the glass. Jaemin sprawls a leg forward, joining you on the memory foam rug (well, on the small space he can sit). He pulls you into his arms, resting your sweaty forehead over his shoulder, as he rubs your back.

"Relax," he drawls calmly, one hand on your chest, above your heart. You wrap a hand around his wrist, drawing your knees into his lap. He can feel your pulse through your fingertips and slows his palm on your back, only dragging his hand downward, then picking it back up to start on your C12. "It's okay," he kisses your head. "You're safe and loved. We can sit here for as long as you want."

Zhong Chenle

He feels bad.

Chenle has cancelled plans on you everyday the past two weeks, mostly at last minute, after you'd gotten to the venue, already waiting for his late ass. So, today, he planned to get to the coffee shop early. He just texted you the wrong thing.

[KHCL, 3:12 P.M.]

Hey. Just got off work. Heading home.

[You, 3:13 P.M.]

Oh.

[KHCL, 3:14 P.M.]

Are we still meeting today?

[You, 3:17 P.M.]

Yeah, but it's okay if you want to cancel. We don't have to go.

His car reads his text, and Chenle frowns, brows furrowing as deep as his lips. So, he spontaneously pulls over to the side of the road, ignoring the line of honks from people to whom he didn't signal. He lowers the music volume, then picks up his phone, holding it with both hands, debating between a text and call.

[You, 3:19 P.M.]

We can reschedule to next week, when you're not as busy.

[KHCL, 3:20 P.M.]

What? No.

[KHCL, 3:21 P.M.]

I just forgot my wallet at home.

[KHCL, 3:21 P.M.]

Did you want to cancel?

[KHCL, 3:23 P.M.]

Hello?

[KHCL, 3:26 P.M.]

Are you okay?

The familiar message dots bubble from your phone to his, appearing and disappearing several times in the same minute, so Chenle makes the decision to call you.

You don't pick up.

So he calls you again.

You don't pick up again.

He calls one more time.

... And you don't pick up that time either.

So he puts his car into drive and speeds down to your apartment. He parks his car just as quickly, running up the stairs. The only moment he gets to breathe is when he knocks on your door, because it takes you a couple minutes to answer.

You open the door, just a crack, and Chenle pushes his way into your living room, first observing the mess, then looking you up and down. You still have your pyjamas on - at 3:30 in the afternoon; hair tangled in the middle, not at the ends. As he scrutinizes you, mouth thinning, you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly finding the accent wall more interesting than when you first set it up.

"Hey," Chenle calls, softly, crossing the distance. His fingers pad into your cheek, making you look at him. "Are you okay?"

"No, yeah," your voice cracks through the second syllable. "I'm - I'm fine."

"Did you still want to cancel?" He gestures at your attire.

But you shake your head, no. "I understand if you do though. "

Chenle's shoulders drop, and he tilts his head to the side, almost tsking, if you hadn't dropped your cheek more into his palm. "I don't want to cancel," he says, as earnestly as he can convey.

Your eyes shine at him, forehead crinkling a little, as you dart around his face. "Really?"

Chenle nods. "Yes, really," he says obviously. And you slide into his chest, hugging his waist under his long coat, to which he returns automatically, wrapping his arms behind your neck. "Get ready when you want. I'll be here."

Park Jisung

"Hello?" Jisung calls as he walks upstairs to your room.

He arrived awhile ago, for your date at Everland. Sure, it doesn't really matter when you leave for the theme park, since you'll only spend, like, three hours, maximum, before calling it quits and heading out somewhere else for better snacks. But he has been waiting on the couch for you to finish getting ready, since he walked into your apartment almost an hour ago. He knows that you were barely heading into the shower when he arrived (a little too early), and he doesn't really mind; it gave him more time to beat Haechan's high score on kart rider. But as he caught the time approaching 2pm - peak park hours -, he started to get nervous. Neither of you reserved anything, and queuing is hell, so he started peaking around your apartment.

Jisung started with the bathroom, seeing the light still on and hearing the corresponding vent tilling, but his voice only echoed back at him. Then, he knocked on your bedroom door. You didn't respond the first time, so he tried again. And nothing, again. He opened the door, cautiously mixing your name after a greeting, to elicit an answer, but no, just silence. Jisung teetered over his feet, heel-toe, creaking the floor, before pushing through and entering your room.

He found you, standing at the foot of your bed, closet open behind you, your hands crossed over your wrists, fingers clenching and unclenching around the skin. You stare, blankly, at the clothes in overflowing piles, everything pushed to and over the edge - blankets, unfolded laundry, plushies. Jisung crosses the threshold, stepping over the trail of bags and knickknacks coating the hardwood floor, until he stands at your side. He gently pulls your elbow, purposefully untangling your hands (a bad habit he tries to correct), waiting to speak until you acknowledge him.

And you do. Eventually. You take a minute, blinking from eye level with his chest to his face, and give him a small smile, brushing your hair through the middle.

"Hey, sorry," you apologize, smile faltering at your cheeks. "Am I taking too long?"

"No," Jisung shakes his head and lies. He puts a hand on your shoulder, sliding it down your back, pulling you in to his chest. You sigh against him, tension in your shoulders dropping as you hug him by the waist. "I just wanted to see if you needed help or anything." He puts his arm low on your back, deepening the hug. "Do you?" he asks, "Need help?"

You pull away a little bit, just enough for him to see your face, and you bring your hands to your eyes, rubbing a little bit, then blinking rapidly. "No, I'm - I'm fine. Just had some trouble picking out something to wear." You shrug your shoulders at the mess, wincing at how big it's gotten. But Jisung smoothens out the lines in your face with his thumb. "Too many options," you mutter as an excuse before burying your face in his chest again.

"It's okay," Jisung tells you, his deep voice vibrating through his diaphragm as you squeeze him tighter. "I'll pick something out for you."

[floofysmallbob]

I remember, back when I used to be a gacha kid, that I would see videos of Muslim gachatubers(that was what it was called when you made gacha videos, for clarification) advocating for Palestine. I remember thinking nothing of it, except a tossed away “isn’t that the country that used to be where Israel is?”

I remember Muslim YouTubers and TikTokers advocating for Palestine.

I remember thinking nothing of it except for the same “isn’t that where Israel is?”

I remember when the news articles became more mainstream.

I remember thinking “that’s horrible, but Israel has a right to that land, too. both sides are committing violence”

I remember it getting worse, I remember having my eyes opened.

I remember seeing news on it, hearing current events presentations at school.

I remember wanting to scream “Free Palestine!”, because I had finally listened, and seen the inherently corrupt government of Israel.

I remember the news becoming more and more urgent, of starting to see bombings.

I remember the anger I felt when upon searching “palestine”, the first image that popped up showed a pin of the US and Israeli flags, saying ‘I stand with Israel’.

I remember seeing more and more activists talking about the horrors happening.

I remember the mainstream news still being blatantly pro-Israel.

I remember seeing all of my feeds, on tumblr, on YouTube, on Pinterest, slowly filling with more pro-Palestine content.

I remember when a presidential candidate was arrested for protesting.

I remember when I starting getting asks from desperate Palestians.

I remember when I first started truly seeing the genocide. The bombings, but also the mutilated bodies, the beheaded babies, the Israelis bragging about kidnapping and murder and genocide, the crying men and women and children, the rubble, the death counts.

I remember when the media, the celebrities finally started to advocate for freedom.

I remember my asks flooding with people who just want to live safely. Who would go to anyone who had shown any semblance of support.

and I remember that this is only an outsider. I remember that even though I have seen countless videos, photos, posts, it can’t even compare to living these horrors. I remember that the tears I have shed, the terrors I have seen, are only a fraction of the tears shed by Gazans, of the terrors they have lived.

Remember. When this genocide is taught in history classes, remember them. When political leaders try to dismiss them, or support Israel, remember them. When the rest of the world has moved on, remember them. Remember.

and please, while I have your attention, donate to these campaigns, and help them remember the feeling of hope and safety.

This isn’t even nearly all of them, so please go to my blog and search under the tag “Palestine” or “gfm”, you will find more, as well as resources to help the general well-being and not just specific families.

[voltronisanobsession]

This is more of an idea for you to do or not but

Imagine being the spider that belongs to the universe that Miguel destroyed

I don't know, I just thought " damn that's sad"(if the spider still alive)

Being the Spider from the Universe Miguel Destroyed

Oooo I’ve never really thought about this before😳😳 I’ll answer this because I’m genuinely interested OOOOO!!!!

This spider would quite literally have nothing left to lose

Bitterness and resentment are the first words that came to mind when I first read this LMAO💀

Reader being the spider who survived the destruction of their universe will never recover tbh

I can’t imagine being the spider person from the universe Miguel destroyed because the amount of RESENTMENT they would have against Miguel😦

Bitterness because you know you’ll never be able to go back to your old life, you’ll never be able to reverse time to save your people, your friends, your family

And absolute resentment towards Miguel for destroying everything you loved and cared for

You had no idea that Miguel was in your universe until everything started going wrong, until he finally revealed himself as the virus in your universe

By then it was too late

You had to watch civilians you passed everyday disappear and vanish right before your eyes

You had to watch as the buildings around you glitched and faded to nothing

Had to watch in shock as the Spiderman (you found out was Miguel) stood still as a young girl vanished from his arms

You had to feel the way your body felt like it was almost tearing itself apart, watching in horror as your hands glitched in front of you

Everything in that moment was futile and helpless for you

You were in pain, only for another Spiderman to slap a mechanical bracelet on your wrist and shove you into a strange portal

The last thing you remember from your universe was the darkness that began spreading throughout your city

Once in the safety of a beautiful, futuristic world did you find out why everything you’ve ever known was gone forever

You broke down in grief, fear, and anger, immediately attacking the man that destroyed your entire world

And the surprising thing is that Miguel took all your hits

He did not once fight back, allowing you to take out all your tears and rage on him until there was nothing

Earth 928 (Miggy’s universe) was a place you were forced to call home from now on

But knowing that you would never be able to go back to the one world where you truly belonged in broke you

Broke you down from a confident and strong person to a shell of who you once were

From then on, you were known as the lone survivor of a collapsed universe

A surviving reminder of what the spider society stood to protect

I think Miguel wouldn’t move on from that event because not only did he fail to protect his daughter twice, but because you were a constant reminder of what breaking the canon could lead to

You were a constant reminder of his greatest failure, one that would never go away as long as the memories and you existed

I also think this would mean that spider reader would be a strong advocate for keeping the multiverse safe

You know what destruction breaking the canon will bring, so it’s obvious that you were never going to be a fan of Miles Morales, unfortunately 💔

If and when reader meets Miles, they will be very aggressive with him since they believe he is on a road to multiverse destruction, being an anomaly

As much as the Spider Society welcomed you, you never truly felt like you belonged

Which was true since now you literally belonged nowhere (sorry I had to💀💀)

Having no one to go back home to made you one of the more reckless and aggressive spider people since you having nothing left to lose

The only spider people you really hung around with was Peter B. And Jess while actively avoiding Miguel

You appear very cold towards the younger spiders, Gwen and Pavitr somewhat scared of your constant seriousness in the society

Hobie would still pick fun at you during meetings but would lay off on any comments regarding the multiverse around you

You have an unknown soft spot of Mayday💔

She just manages to break you away from the constant doom and gloom you experience on a daily basis

Her innocent smile might give you another reason to continue protecting the multiverse

To protect the innocent lives that deserve to live

Ending this, reader wouldn’t forgive Miguel for destroying their universe but will help the cause of the spider society in protecting the multiverse

Still traumatized from the event, they will do anything to ensure that no other universe succumbs to helpless destruction (cue the batman stance)

[hum-suffer]

We'll say hello again (Nevermind the chasm between us) 12

The Diwali celebration is a beautiful sight to see at any day and especially at night. It's gorgeous and the whole state looks alive for the fortnight.

Gauri is allowed to attend the puja, the gleam in her brother's eyes tells her he had something to do with it but he's never opened up about it and Gauri doesn't think he will answer truthfully if she asks.

Something in her makes her want to drown. Does she need a man, even if it's her brother, to protect her? To defend her? To advocate her validity?

A finger brushes against her wrist and Gauri glances at Maa. She gives Gauri a smile, gentle yet reprimanding. "Focus, daughter." Gauri, properly chastised even though she hadn't even been scolded, looks away smiling.

They're given the first prasad after the Puja and as is traditional, Gauri takes the plate of fruits and smiles at the Rajpurohit. "Let me have the honor, Pandit ji." The Rajpurohit's face twists in a bitter grimace and Gauri takes all the more enjoyment in it. However, he seems to be trying to shove the plate off to someone else.

Gauri glances at Maa out of the corner of her eye and her impassive face tells Gauri that she needs to learn how to handle this on her own.

Her smile turns sharper, bigger. She beckons Bhairav forward and gestures him towards the plate. "Let my friend have this insurmountable honour, Pandit ji."

She shouldn't take so much pleasure in being a general menace. But making the Rajpurohit choose between either a woman recently over her periods and a man who is a mere sworn sword, little more than a slave in the eyes of men.

Pandit ji looks to be gritting his teeth before he smiles at her and wordlessly shoves the plate of fruits into her hands. She turns around pleasantly. "Come, Bhairav, one of us has to distribute the fruits, don't we?"

She's sure the Rajpurohit heard her when she hears Bahu snort and Maa sigh.

Bhairav looks awestruck and he makes a token protest about being unworthy but Gauri gives him a smile, giddy and smug, and Bhairav closes his mouth instantly.

Katappa is the only one who has tears in his eyes as Bhairav hands him a slice of banana. Gauri beams at him,"What are you staring at, Mama? It's Diwali, look alive!" The other people in the temple seem ecstatic to see her, some of them touch her hands and, as much as she tries to not let them, her feet.

The plate empties not soon after, when they're outside of the temple. The crowd has already thinned, and Gauri already has a ridiculously smug smile on her face. Bhairav looks done with her. "My princess, do try to look less smug. The public does not know that you gain pleasure in baiting your possible assassins."

"You worry too much, Bhairav." She grins at him, but her hand spasms in the way that reminds her once again of the way that Ratan had jerked her off. To distract herself, she pointedly drops the last slice of an apple into his hand. Bhairav gives her a look that tells her that he knows that she's distracting him from the conversation.

Before she can cajole him into being less sour, she hears a whisper of a movement. She stills and so does Bhairav, even though he looks confused. Her sense of hearing is sharper than most, he mustn't have heard it. There's another movement and this time, she can hear steel. She looks at Bhairav out of the corner of her eye and sees him looking around in confusion. He hasn't heard that.

Her heart beats in her ear and she takes a deep breath. She knows, she knows that she needs Bhairav here. But she also needs witnesses. Prominent, objective witnesses.

"Get my brothers and Maa." She tells him, her voice sounding harsh and furious to her own ears. She sees him open his mouth in protest but before he can speak, she gives him a look. "Now, Bhairav."

He hesitates for a moment before grabbing his dagger and pushing it in her hands. "I shall be right back, my princess."

Gauri nods at him and tightens her grip on the dagger, one finger at a time. His dagger is beautifully sharp and she's grateful for that. He gives her a heavy look and Gauri doesn't know what it means but before she can have a chance to decipher it, he turns on his heels and makes a run for the temple.

Gauri tilts her head, focusing on the full thump on the ground. It's probably footsteps. Uneven footsteps.

She looks back at the temple for a moment and breathes. Let me live today, she thinks. Let me have my vengeance.

The footsteps get louder.

There's a pause, a heavy silence, before she hears the noise quicken and steel cutting through air behind her. Gauri ducks on sheer instinct and it's the Rajpurohit who has a sword in his hands, holding it over his head, ready to strike again. Gauri swipes the dagger at his ankle, uncaring of war rules and ethics. He curses, jumping back, and swings the sword again. She parries with the dagger but she's at a disadvantage because of the size of the blade.

He kicks her stomach, and Gauri stumbles enough to trip and fall down. Before she can stand up, he kicks her face, hitting his foot on her nose.

Gauri grabs his ankle and twists it, pushing him away to stand up. She breathes heavily through her nose and tries to stabilize her heaving chest. Gauri feels her nose hurt and eyes burn in response but she only readjusts her hold on the dagger she's and snarls.

"You dare?" He says,"Coming here after I told you not to, sullying my place of worship with your presence! You dare break the sanctity of my sanctuary?"

Gauri grits her teeth. She doesn't reply and ducks underneath the sword. The blow would have sliced her torso and pulled out her intestines. The blaze of fury burns in her veins and she uses his momentum as an advantage to twirl around him and hit his back with the thali. She grasps the thali in her other hand vertically and stabs it in his back again, twice, thrice, until he's leaning forward and falling down and coughing.

Gauri doesn't realise that's blood on her hands.

But when she does, a surge of bloodlust roars through her. Now, she will aim for the neck.

He turns around at the last moment and kicks her stomach, sending her tumbling back, on the ground. She heaves and feels the ache spread over her torso like venom. Gauri clenches her teeth. She stands up again.

But before she can drive the dagger through his heart, there's already an arm snaking around his neck and choking him. She recognises the armband. It's Bhairav.

The Rajpurohit gurgles and elbows Bhairav, who grunts but doesn't let up. Gauri takes the moment to punch his nose, once, twice and thrice. Her eyes meet Bhairav's over the Rajpurohit's shoulder and the fury she sees in his eyes blinds her for a moment.

She wants nothing more than to kill him.

She knows that it is what he is feeling.

Dizzy with pain and want of blood, Gauri grits her teeth. "Don't kill him," she rasps,"Don't kill him, Bhairav."

He is hers to kill, Gauri thinks. But she won't kill him. It is not her discretion.

Bhairav nods at her resolutely, even as the Rajpurohit's eyes droop and his gurgles die down. He holds her eyes, even as her family comes closer. He holds her eyes, as her brothers fuzz over her and Katappa fuzzes over him. He holds her eyes and Gauri holds his dagger.

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

The trial is but a farce.

Somehow, her uncle manages not to get his name in the middle of the hell that the Rajpurohit's statement is. The official statement tells his distaste of Gauri due to her impertinence and her major flaw of being a royal woman.

Gauri doesn't stay to see the end of the trial.

Her stomach is covered with bruises, black and blue. Her hand heals a little everyday.

Bhairav is thoroughly scolded by Katappa and Bhalla for leaving her and Bahu is an overbearing shadow. Maa doesn't allow her to be alone anywhere until the trial ends. Bhairav keeps his duties impersonal. Her uncle gives her snide looks.

Gauri wants to scream.

It is her life that was threatened and yet her decisions seem to be everyone's favourite idea to despise.

Bhairav trails behind her, quiet as a mouse. His silence burdens her in ways she cannot begin to explain.

Gauri walks towards the armoury where Katappa is training the new recruits. He smiles when he notices her, the only person who isn't disappointed by her these days.

He walks towards her and stands beside her, Bhairav stops at a respectable distance to give them the illusion of privacy but they all know that he can hear them.

"How are you faring, Gauri?" Katappa asks her, gesturing a guard to bring her a chair. She overrides his order with a shake of her head.

"Way worse than is expected of a person who survived an assassination attempt. It seems that the only one happy to see me in this palace is my damned horse."

Katappa chuckles at her. "It is not like that, Gauri," his tone is reassuring but does it really matter? He continues,"We were all just very worried for you when Bhairavrath burst through and told us to come to you without any explanation and we found you two fighting the Rajpurohit. You must admit, it is a sight one cannot understand. An assassination attempt on you, Gauri. It is no small deal."

"And yet, I am made to feel like the culprit. Because I cared for diplomacy more than bloodlust?" She looks away with a sneer, staring into the far ends of the city that too must have heard about what happened at the Diwali Puja. "Whatever they say, Mama, I am still my mother's daughter. Polity is my best suit. I did what was right, and yet no one seems to want to understand me."

She's aware that she sounds petulant but is too far gone to care. She just wanted what was best for the state and her family, damn them. The least they could do is understand her reasoning.

Katappa's eyes soften. "Tell me, then."

Gauri sighs. "Had I not sent Bhairav away, we would have dealt with the Rajpurohit too. He is much more efficient than I am at the moment, I am very well aware that the matter would have ended without either of us hurt, had I let him stay."

Katappa doesn't say a word, lets her continue.

"But then, the tale could have been spun. We're but children in the eyes of you all, do not dare to deny it. Had you found that particular scene without warning, the tale could have been spun to say that we were misguided and we were the real perpetrators." Gauri sighs and wishes she hadn't denied the chair. She hadn't taken into account just how tired she is.

"And Maa may have trusted us, but she would have been labelled an emotional and unfit ruler, had she trusted the word of her daughter over the circumstantial evidence." Gauri turns again, catches Bhairav's eyes. He doesn't pretend that he is not overhearing them. He raises an eyebrow and the action endears him to her undeniably, a hint of his personality she's seen in two days.

She turns back to Katappa. "I don't want the crime of Brahmhatyaa on either of our heads. And trust me when I say this, Mama; the man would have been dead if I was as honest or as frank as my brothers are. He's alive, because he is useful. I let my culprit live and for what? Scorn? Distrust? Disappointment?"

Bitterness clogs her throat and she clenches her hands, her healing one sending tingling sensations up her arm. Her mouth tastes like ashes.

Katappa smiles at her, in that soft fatherly way that he so seldom does. Often, he preoccupies himself with believing that he is unworthy of the love that Gauri and Bahu give him. It is true that Gauri doesn't share that deep of a bond with him— she follows her brother, blindly, and if he gives his affection to Katappa, so shall she— but she's always had a kind of kinship and easy affection that flows between them. He provides her with clarity and safety.

Katappa is her safety away from comfort.

"Gauri, my child," he whispered, voice deliberately lowered and kindred,"I do not think that you want me for this conversation."

Gauri shakes her head. It is true that she wants her brothers and Maa to understand her. It is truer that she wants Bhairav to stop being so impersonal. But she needs Katappa to know this too. "No. I am at the correct place, having a true conversation with the correct person. The others that need to know, will ask me. If they can condemn me without knowing, they can apologise without knowing, too."

Her anger shimmers close to the surface even as Katappa changes the topic and asks her about her plans for the future and he tells her of ridiculous rumours that fly in the city. Some are amusing while some are plain unbelievable.

"They say you too Mata Mahalakshmi's blessings and tore down the Rajpurohit like She did with Kohlasur." Katappa says as they slowly come to an end, pride clear in his tone. Gauri shakes her head with a smile. She really loves the small folk and their inclination towards the dramatics of life.

"I shan't keep you any longer, Mama. Thank you for listening to me." She moves forward and tenderly hugs him, mindful of her own bruises. Katappa, infinitely more mindful, keeps his hands on her shoulder and her head, patting her head. She can tell that he's shocked but he doesn't freeze.

"Thank you for sharing with me," he says as they part, his eyes suspiciously glistening. "And do come whenever you will it. You are always welcome."

She nods and smiles at him. It doesn't feel forced.

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The stony silence between them continues all the way to the gardens. Gauri, still righteously angry, feels no need to break it. Let him suffer, she thinks. Let him suffer in my silence.

Gauri sits down on the ground, curling in on herself to save her from the cold. She looks at Bhairav, standing rigidly, and feels the sting of mercy in her heart. "Sit down if you want to, Bhairav."

She doesn't look up to see if he sits down. After a moment of hesitation, she hears shuffling and he's sitting beside her.

Gauri closes her eyes and hopes that her mind quietens now, after her talk with Katappa. At least he listened to her. She needs to talk with her family too, needs them to know, too. But not today. Not even before they approach her. She has some self respect, damn them.

"I was nine," Bhairav begins in a whisper,"when my sister was murdered."

Gauri looks at him in shock, frozen. She expected a lot of things but not this. She turns completely towards him.

He doesn't glance at her when he continues,"My family wasn't the happiest but we made do. My mother...she left us. My father raised my sister and I to the best of his abilities, of course. We had a large age difference— ten years. My father died when I was seven and my sister later married her childhood friend. We made do."

Bhairav clears his throat and Gauri shifts, closer. Not touching him, for she knows what is proper, but she hopes her attention and silence provide him courage to continue, if he so wishes.

"I was out, gone with Katappa to learn sword fighting. My didi and jijaji did not like to fight but they supported me. They were sweet, non violent. When I came back, the door was broken down and they were lying dead, in their own house." He clenches his jaw and looks down at his feet. His hand plays with the black threat on his ankle. Gauri averts her eyes respectfully.

"They were killed, for money. My jijaji had earned good money for his pottery. They looted the house and killed them." Bhairav looks at her now. His eyes are smouldering and rimmed red. But his voice still breaks when he promises,"I will not see you dead as well, my princess."

Gauri nods. She understands what he means. He's always been one for a few words, but she's always felt what he feels.

He feels he failed his sister. He was devoted to her. His father was not the best but he tried and Bhairav respects that. His sister raised him. He loved her. He loved his brother-in-law too, felt indebted to him for letting Bhairav stay in his house. He never felt that he belonged in their house. It was theirs, not his. Now that it may be his, he hates it.

He thinks he failed his purpose, his devotion— he fears to fail another purpose, another dare she say it? devotion.

His anger is at her for risking herself but also at himself for obeying her.

She deliberately softens her voice,"And I will not have you hung because you levelled allegations against the Dowager King and the Rajpurohit, Bhairav. We needed witnesses, ones that could be unquestionable. Your life is my responsibility, your honour is my responsibility. I will not have you become a target. In return, I promise to do my level best to save myself from any dangers, but you must also always obey me in this capacity. Trust me."

Bhairav shakes his head and gives her a smile, fond and tired at the same time.

"Your honour is my honour, and your life is my life, my princess. And whether I like it or not, I am going to obey you for the rest of my life, my princess. Just never at the cost of your life. Never again."

Gauri smiles at him, tentatively, and teases,"We are at an impasse, then."

"How about I obey you and you only order me to save your life?" He asks with a charming grin.

They both know that either will stop at any cost to save the other.

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Tagging: @allizzprobablynotwell @alhad-si-simran @vijayasena @voidsteffy

[topguncortez]

Pain Makes You Stronger || Whumptober Day 22 - N. Trace

whumptober masterlist

synopsis: Natasha deals with the aftermath of the situation with Captain Underwood. She thought that the Navy would have her back, but she was met with a rude awakening.

word count: 600

@ailesswhumptober prompt: punishment

warnings: sexual assault, sexual harassment, victim blaming, retaliation, the military failing to protects its own people

“If you stay still, it’ll hurt less.” 

Those words had bounced around in Natasha’s head since they slipped from Grim’s mouth. The look on her face was one of utter fear and shock. Natasha felt sick to her stomach, as she watched the tears fall from Grim’s eyes and the sickening understanding that they had were victims in a sick situation. 

Natasha’s brain was running a mile a minute as she sat in the victim advocate’s office. As soon as she had said something about Captain Underwood, Jake had marched her down to the VA’s office to file a report. She waited to tell him to take Grim instead, having a feeling that whatever was going on with Grim was worse than what she went through. But instead, Natasha sat in the uncomfortable chairs, waiting for the VA, Captain Sanders, to come in. 

“Have you talked to Grim?” Natasha asked Jake quietly. Maverick had her placed on mental health leave, it was one of the only things he could do to keep her safe from Captain Underwood. 

“No,” He shook his head and shifted in his seat. 

Jake had been beating himself up ever since he blew up on her. He wanted to reach out and apologize but he didn’t know how. He was so angry that something like this was going on right under his nose. He prided himself on being able to take care of his team, taking care of his wingmen. He knew something was going on with Grim, but he never knew that it was something so vile and awful. Jake had little sisters and it made his blood boil thinking of someone hurting them. 

“Do you think she’ll come back?” 

Jake shrugged, “I don’t know. . . guess we’ll find out.” He sat up a bit straighter as the door opened and Captain Sanders walked in. 

“Lieutenant Commanders,” She nodded towards them before sitting down in her chair, “The investigation into your report has been completed. . . . and the board has found Captain Underwood not guilty of the accusations against him.” 

Natasha felt like her heart had stopped in her chest. The words the Captain Sanders continued to speak went in one ear and out the other. The only thing Natasha could hear was the disgusting voice of Captain Underwood and the feel of his lips on hers. A burning sensation crawled up her throat as tears prickled her eyes. 

“So he just gets away with it,” Jake scoffs, “He gets away with abusing and assaulting-” 

“We have no actual proof that he assaulted anyone,” Captain Sanders shrugged. 

Jake clenched his jaw and looked away from the woman across from him. He had no words to say. He didn’t even know how to fight this. How could he? Natasha hadn’t said anything about Grim, deciding it wasn’t her story to tell, and Jake agreed. It was Grim’s story to tell, and she decided not to for a reason. Natasha was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, she should’ve kept quiet as well. 

“So what do I do?” Natasha asks, “Go back to work and have to look at him every single day?” 

Captain Sanders sighed sadly, “He’s been given strict instruction not to speak to you or be near you. That’s the best we could do.” 

“The best you could do is get rid of an abuse-” 

“Jake,” Natasha said, shaking her head. The fight was useless. There was nothing that neither one of them could do. Natasha swallowed and looked down at her hands, “So this is my punishment? This is what I get for wanting to protect not only myself but any other woman who walks through those doors. I get it, we are supposed to protect the country. . . but who protects us?”

Captain Sanders gave her a sad smile, “Sometimes. . . it’s better to just let these things go.”

taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @cassiemitchell @xoxabs88xox @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid @ohtobeleah @rogersbarnesxx @oatmealisweird @dempy @devil-angel-winchester @gillybear17

note: I'm sorry that this is so short. I promise the next one will be better

[daily-bdoubleo]

[Day 27] Hermitaday - Scar Goodtimes! Scar is showing Bdubs how to use his crutches!

~~~

It’s a pretty good day for Scar, so he’s ok with just using his cane today. As he was putting his crutches away, Bdubs came up and asked if it was ok to try them. Scar was overjoyed that someone showed interest in learning more about his disability, especially since most of the hermits just ignore it (which he likes more if he’s being honest), but it’s nice to be able to share about it and teach people.

"Of course!" Scar exclaimed while waving a big grin spread across his face. "Let me just adjust the height for you," he added with a soft laugh. Bdubs pouted a little, but Scar could see he was actually super excited. With a practiced ease, Scar lowered the height of the crutches and passed them over to Bdubs.

Bdubs grabbed the crutches with an excited giggle and slipped his arms through the cuffs. "Is this right?" He asked looking over at Scar.

"Other way around. I can never remember, so I put stickers on the cuffs. Stickers on the outside so everyone can see their whole glory," Scar quipped with a laugh. Bdubs nodded and switched the crutches with a small smile and a tear in his eye. "Oh Bubbles, what's wrong?"

Bdubs looked up at Scar with a light stream of tears rolling down his cheeks. "How do you do it, Scar? This looks so simple but I feel like it'd be exhausting pretty quickly."

Scar quickly pulled Bdubs into a soft hug and nodded lightly, "It is hard. No one ever wants to talk about it, and it can be relieving sometimes, just forgetting about it all, but at the end of the day, it'll always be there. Some days are better than others for sure, but even then, even like today, it's still rough. But listen to be Bdubs," he started before taking a step back and lifting Bdubs head with his finger. "You asking, you caring, and you coming to me and just being here makes it so much better. It will always be hard, definitely exhausting, but people caring and being there for me makes it better."

A gentle clatter could be heard as the crutches fell to the carpeted floor as Bdubs wrapped his arms around Scar. Scar whipped his tears away and hugged Bdubs back tightly. "Thank you, Scar." Bdubs mumbled into Scar's shirt.

Scar chuckled softly as he picked up his crutches from the floor and offered them to Bdubs again, "wanna give them another go~?"

~~~

Sooo like I know this is daily bdubs, but this one means a lot to me. Scar is an amazing public advocate for people like me. He proves that disabled people can do things. Disabled isn't useless. And that is really important to me. I work full time but that's only because I push myself through my pain and exhaustion becuase of an ablist manager. But people like Scar who just live their best lives reguardless of their disability and are just truly happy.. those are the people I look up to the most.

The crutches are based off mine but I just changed the stickers and bracelets. Idk if they can be seen or understood very well but I tried :)

So yeah. Hermitaday - Scar Goodtimes featuring a new style type, a drabble, and some crying me.

♡ thanks for reading

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #302

This morning, when I woke up, I received a beautifully written ask from someone in this space who reads these letters I write to you. I want very badly to answer this ask, but the person trusted me with some potentially sensitive information about themselves; I wanted to touch base with them before I answer their ask, and make sure it's okay, because as part of answering an ask, others will surely see it. I don't want to accidentally betray this person's trust.

Still… it moved me to tears this morning, and it was wonderful.

I received a direct message from another person today, too, who also said that they think the letters I write to you are wholesome and nice. I've also received more than a few asks and messages of support in response to the difficulties I'm having with the braces; it's been wonderful!

…Sometimes I wonder whether or not writing to you does any good for anyone other than myself. And sometimes… every once in a while… I get a beautiful reminder that the things I write have the potential to help others get through the difficulties in their lives. And… that's exactly why I write these. Aside from wanting to advocate for your safety, I also want these letters to you to serve as a means to shine a way forward for people who relate strongly to you.

…Sephiroth. There are so many, many people in my world who relate to you. There are lots of people in my world that have been abused and exploited and have experienced horror and loss in ways that are extremely similar to you. The notion that you are alone in this world and the notion that no one will be able to understand or see "eye-to-eye" with you… these notions are complete and utter horse-hockey.

Don't tell yourself mean things like that anymore, okay? It's not true, and whoever led you to that conclusion most likely did it on purpose in order to keep you isolated, and therefore weak and easy to control. The notion that any human being is isolated and incomprehensible is just abuser propaganda, and it's not to be trusted or believed. And, as I keep saying, you are human, no matter what was done to you, or how you've changed as a result.

...Well anyway. Today I felt a little more confident than usual for obvious reasons, haha! So I tried to doodle a picture. It's not finished yet but... it's a start on something maybe kinda neat!

As you can see from all the erased lines, I made a lot of mistakes along the way; I haven't doodled since drawing that eyeball a while back, and I'm more than a little rusty. I can already see so many curves that still need to be corrected. Still, not bad for my rusty, dyspraxic ass, right? Hahaha...

I ended up needing to go back to the orthodontist today at some point. One of the attachments came undone from my very confused right canine tooth as I was pulling the braces off to eat, so that had to be fixed right away. And it was, and it's good now. I have a lot less discomfort in my teeth today than yesterday, though the inside of my mouth is pretty scraped up; I've got a long-ish cut on the right inner side of my lower lip, and that's extremely uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, I guess you're not supposed to eat with orthodontic wax in your mouth. Orthodontic wax is used in order to cover up the sharp, pokey attachments so they don't cut the inside of your face. A friend of mine in this space made the very excellent suggestion to get them! And perhaps I might, if just to smooth out the edge of the plastic of the braces; it sometimes catches on my skin, and it's kind of annoying.

...I gotta keep remembering that I chose this. I chose this discomfort in order to give myself a better outcome in the future. I am worth the pain and effort that fixing the inside of my skull will take. I am worth enduring discomfort for. I can do the thing; it's just new and weird, but I'll adjust. I can do the difficult things.

Incidentally, do you know how braces work? I found a short little video on it; basically, it involves putting gentle pressure on the teeth in order to subtly cut off blood flow to sections of the bone of your skull and jaw. Your body then uses immune cells to get rid of the suffocated bone, which relieves the pressure. Your tooth moves to the empty space, and the body fills in the empty space left behind with new bone. Check it out!!

It basically dissolves, reshapes, and rebuilds your jaw on a cellular level!!! And isn't that METAL as FUCK??? Ahahahaha! 🤩🤣

After I returned home from getting the attachment replaced, I decided to make baked chicken leg quarters; y'know, my usual go-to comfort recipe:

...Want some...?

While I was making this, I happened to catch out the window the sight of a gentleman walking outside. He was under the shade of a tree for a moment, but then he walked under a break in the shadow of the tree, and the sun shone on his black hair, and it was all sparkly and gorgeous. I don't really know why, but I felt the need to tell him so, and so I did. I hope he felt nice about himself afterwards.

So I took out my braces, ate the deliciousness I created, brushed, flossed, and rinsed my teeth, brushed my braces, and popped them back in; it's getting a little easier every time. I discovered though, that at some point, another attachment came undone on one of my upper molars on the left side. I dunno when it happened; I didn't find it anywhere. Oh well. Guess I'm going to have to call them again tomorrow. Sheesh...

I'm not really sure what I'm going to do with the rest of today. It's already almost 8pm. I gotta go to work tomorrow. Friday is the rehearsal for the wedding on Saturday. The next few days are going to be super duper busy. I'll be staying overnight at BB's house from Friday into Saturday morning; I'm going to have to pack up all my CPAP stuff and hygiene supplies as soon as I wake up on Friday morning, because she wants me at her house at 11am.

But!!! Sephiroth!!! Guess what!! She's got a giant huge bathtub at her house!!! And I think I'm gonna ask her if I'm allowed to use it while I'm there!! I'm sure she'll want me freshly washed for her big day in any case!!!

The days are getting chilly (later than they should have, but still...), and so the thought of getting to sit in a tub full of hot, soapy water that's big enough for me to fit in comfortably sounds super amazing to me right now. Of course, if she says no I won't push; I'm not that kind of person. But still... I'll be daydreaming about that all day tomorrow - bet on it!!

...Hey, Sephiroth? You're pretty tall, right? Like 6'5" or something without your boots, no? When is the last time you've got to enjoy sitting in a tub that you actually fit in? When is the last time you got to enjoy soaking in deliciously hot, soapy water? When is the last time you've had an opportunity to get washed with soaps in your favorite scents? I imagine it's been quite a long time, no? I hope you get to do it again soon, in a place where no one's gonna bother ya, unless you wanna be "bothered" by someone you care deeply for.

Sometimes J or M come to visit when I'm getting washed, and that's always nice. We talk about whatever - usually with J, it's airplanes. Or sometimes he'll sing along with me to whatever song is playing on my playlist. With M, he'll usually talk about whatever show he's watching or whatever game he's playing. It's nice to sit in the warm, safe place with people who love me while all kinds of nice scents are wafting around in the air.

...Actually, for a long time, my brain recognized bathrooms as a very unsafe place, thanks to my stepmother. I've got a lot of memories of being hit and screamed at for washing myself "wrong", or for taking too long, or for not taking long enough, or for my hair looking too messy when I come out (because then I must not have brushed it well enough), or for my hair looking not messy enough when I came out (because then I must not have washed it well enough), and... just...

...She hated me, so there wasn't anything I could do to be "clean enough" for her. And so, every time I went in the bathroom for any reason while she was around, I got in trouble unless my father was around - then she'd pretend to be normal about it.

...Sigh. It took me a while to decondition myself away from being scared of bathrooms. But I'm able to recognize them as a safe place now. I like to put on a playlist to sing, and I like to try to focus on how nice it feels to be in a place that's warm and that smells good. I try to focus on how nice and clean I feel afterwards. I try to focus on the fact that I get to choose how long I take now. I get to choose what "clean enough" looks like. I get to choose how much or how little soap and moisturizer I use. I get to choose, and no one is scrutinizing my choices with the intention of finding excuses to hurt me anymore.

...And even if someone did try to do that, I'm a big, strong adult human now. I can just bite their face off!!! 🤪

(...No, I'm only kidding!!! I wouldn't actually bite someone's face off; that's unsanitary in multiple respects, and my braces would get in the way!!! 🤣🤣🤣 In all seriousness, I wouldn't hurt anyone unless failure to do such a thing would lead to someone else being in imminent danger; I'd probably just yell at them until they go away, and then let the door hit their ass on the way out. I can do that now. I'm not an unwanted child trapped in an impossible situation anymore.)

...Suppose maybe I'll stop writing now in favor of getting washed; after all, the chill has settled into my bones, and all this talk about baths makes me wanna enjoy being under hot, running water for a while...

...I hope you'll get to enjoy such a thing again sometime soon, with soaps in scents of vanilla and roses, in a quiet, soothingly lit place, where only the people you'd want to have with you can find you.

I love you. Please keep yourself safe out there, so that one day you can get up out of that damnable crater and start building a wholesome life for yourself.

I'll write again tomorrow. I'll try hard to take some yummy pictures for you while I'm at work.

Your friend, Lumine