#and no one else should either. not ever. and especially not in a country as wealthy as this one

[curious-dragon-hoarder]

Adding that if you don't have health insurance, it's possible that you can get on Medicaid and backdate it to the beginning of the month. My little sister was very badly hurt while in between jobs and a social worker at the hospital helped us get this process started for her while she was still unconscious. Total between all the surgeries, hospital stay, follow ups, etc would have been over $700,000. Medicaid covered almost everything, we only had small copays for her meds.

I feel like I should make a post about this because it’s not something that’s very well-known, and that Americans in particular may need to know about given the uncertain state of our healthcare system at the moment. I’ve wanted to write this out for a while, It’s kind of a long post, so sorry about that!

If you have an emergency and have to go to the hospital, you’ll owe the hospital a lot of money. (I got into a car wreck and broke my ankle and my arm. My hospital bill was around $20,000)

You’ll also owe the ambulance provider, if you need one. (My ambulance bill was about $800)

You may get separate bills from the anesthesiologist or surgeon. (My anesthesiologist bill was $1,700)

You may need follow-up appointments. (My orthopedic surgeon billed me for the appointments and his surgery together and it was about $1,000)

You’ve also got to pay for medical equipment you need afterward, like crutches or a walking boot. (Mine cost about $75)

Altogether, I ended up with almost $24,000 in medical debt from one car accident. That’s a really scary number for someone like me who makes $10/hr at a 12 hour a week job.

I got my debt down to $1075 by making some phone calls and submitting some paperwork.

The first thing I did was contact the hospital. They don’t make it easy to find, but many hospitals (perhaps most hospitals?) have financial assistance programs for people who can’t afford medical bills. I don’t make a lot of money, and I have bills to pay, so they were able to help me. I called the billing department and asked if they had any assistance programs for low income people who can’t pay their bills. I had to call multiple times, and I got transferred in circles by people who didn’t know what I was talking about. Finally, I got an appointment with someone in “Eligibility Services” (I don’t know what other hospitals call it, if it’s something different). I had to bring my pay stubs and copies of all of my bills. When I got to the hospital for the appointment, nobody knew what I was talking about so I had to wander a little to find where I needed to go. I spoke with the guy in Eligibility Services, and I waited for a decision on how much of the bill they would forgive. A month later, I got a call telling me it was totally forgiven.

I did the same thing for my ambulance bill and my anesthesiologist, but the process was a LOT easier. I just had to mail some paperwork and it was totally forgiven.

I didn’t bother with the medical equipment suppliers, since the bills came from separate companies and I didn’t feel like going through the process twice for $75. I was assured at the hospital that they had similar programs for debt forgiveness, so I could have probably avoided paying that too.

The only thing I couldn’t get taken care of was the surgeon/follow-up appointment cost, but they were able to put me on a no-interest payment plan.

Medical debt is scary because it’s something that can come from stuff that’s already really scary. I didn’t need the burden of $24,000 in debt on top of trying to get around on a crutch with a broken arm (it’s not easy, believe me!).. but I can’t imagine what it would be like with a bigger debt or a more severe medical emergency. I see lots of people in even worse trouble than I was in, both financially and medically. Please know that there are options for you when that GoFundMe doesn’t do enough. Even if your income is higher than mine, it’s worth a shot even for partial debt forgiveness.

[tavina-writes]

I am still thinking about this post on the current plight of danmei authors in China. (Which, for what it's worth, is not new.)

And of course, we should condemn the Chinese government for this. This is entirely in their hands and they have been nothing but hideous towards people who have done nothing wrong.

But there is also another part of me, as Chinese-American Diaspora, who is so so tired and furious of people saying "they should emigrate if they have the money" "these authors should just leave their country and go somewhere else!"

Okay, bear with me here: give up everything they have ever known to go somewhere else? Leave behind their family and friends and communities and lifestyles? Where are they going? Erase their histories to go where to live how exactly?

We certainly aren't welcome in the US right now.

We have historically, in fact, been kept out of the US. (Angel Island, Chinese Exclusion Act). We have traditionally been kept from owning property here - leading to laundries and nail salons being associated with Chinese immigrants because we were not allowed to apply for citizenship or own property until the mid 20th century and even later in the United States. We have had long fights over whether the children of Chinese immigrants could be considered to have birthright citizenship. We are having that fight again here and now in 2025.

My parents left China in the early 1990s, when getting a visa into the United States was so difficult that they had only ever heard of one other family doing it. If you ask any Chinese-American you know when their family immigrated, it is likely to be either: very very early or within the last 25 years or less. We are, even now, seeing the current administration specifically target Chinese international student visas - you really think they'll look at other visas for Chinese people, especially queer Chinese people as "okay! you can come to the US!" ?

During 2020 (and beyond), there was a rising wave of anti-Asian (and especially anti-Chinese) sentiment. Especially stunningly: About four-in-ten Chinese adults (39%) say they personally know another Asian person who has been threatened or attacked since the coronavirus outbreak. (Pew Research Center, 2023)

Do you remember when people said that "oh the Chinese people are dying of that disease overseas because they're dirty." back in December of 2019? I remember. We had Chinese international students camping out on the steps of our library holding signs begging people to reconsider - to have sympathy for Wuhan. In late December of 2019 I came out of a bathroom stall to wash my hands and a woman also in that bathroom pressed herself against a wall to avoid me. Would she have had a heart attack if I told her "oh, my family is from Wuhan" ?

During this time, whenever my father went to sell goods in the nearest city, we were afraid for his life. After all, he was an older Chinese-American man and there had been so many attacks on people fitting his description across the country. In the Chinatown less than an hour from where I grew up, there's been repeated efforts from city officials to destroy it (and furthermore, do we look at Chinatowns across the country these days and think "haha it's so funny that all these Asian people live in an ethnic enclave! they just so funny!"). Research article regarding why older Chinese immigrants often stay constrained in Chinatown. The support for older individuals and prevalence of low income residents within Chinatowns has long been understudied even as Chinese-Americans are pushed as a "model minority" who are obviously taking highly skilled jobs from Actual Americans.

We are often always considered foreign, no matter our citizenship. No matter how long we have been here. Visually, people do not assume we are "American." Regardless of nativity, similar shares of U.S.-born Asian adults (48%) and immigrants (54%) have experienced at least one of these three incidents - these incidents are: 1) being told to 'go back to your home country' 2) having your name mispronounced 3) people assuming that you don't speak English. Every time I get into an Uber, they are always shocked to learn that I grew up in state.

Even as our cultural exports grow more and more popular here in the US as Netflix picks up cdramas, and publishing houses pick up cnovels, and gets more and more acceptable to love your hot boy love dramas and books because they're just so hot! Chinese Diaspora fans are being pushed out fandom, and our livelihoods, citizenship, and right to stay in this country are being threatened. America has a great hunger for our silly historical stories and no love for us as people.

My mother is afraid to leave the country. As the only person in our family without US citizenship, she fears that she will never be able to be let back in despite her green card residency because of the current climate. My cousin died just four months ago. She could not attend his funeral. Everyone I know in this community has thought about if they can return to China, and if they can't return to China, where they might go if we can't stay here.

Leave China? Leave China to go where? Certainly not the US in this political climate.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Tear In My Heart

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader Stay Like This Forever Masterlist

Summary - The night You and Bruce confess your love for one another, as well as your knowledge of his best kept secret.

Warnings - Fluff, Love confessions, Identity reveal, Bruce's POV, Inspired by the song Tear In My Heart by Twenty One Pilots, Older man/Younger woman,

A/N - As with all fics within this 'verse, this is a complete stand alone and doesn't require any thing else to be read to be enjoyed <3

Word Count - 2.5k

Bruce mutters a curse beneath his breath as he skillfully avoids another pothole. He knows most of the roads in Gotham are fucked to hell and back, it’s the way that it’s always been with some of them slowly growing worse, but he honestly doesn’t remember this one being this bad. 

Though, admittedly, it has been a while since he’s taken this route in a vehicle that isn’t the batmobile. Where he’s also typically flying down the road, the law be damned, the large wheels of the batmobile skimming over the tops of them, stopping him from actually feeling them. 

Since the road is quiet, not another vehicle in sight thanks to the late hour, Bruce glances over at you for a moment. You are fast asleep in the passenger seat, his suit jacket covering your body to keep you warm. 

While the weekend had been thoroughly enjoyable for both of you. Bruce whisking you away to a different country and the two of you barely leaving the hotel room because you were all over each other. The flight back had been a different story. Several delays thanks to the weather and turbulence from hell had left you you grumpy and with a bad headache.

He’s thankful that you have finally managed to fall fast asleep. If there’s one thing that Bruce hates more than anything, it’s seeing you in any sort of pain. Especially when there’s not much he’s able to do about it. He had managed to get you some painkillers, not that they had done much to help. During the wait for news on whether or not you were getting back onto the jet or if he was going to be booking a hotel room, you had buried your head against his body, trying to find some respite from the bright lights assaulting your eyes.

As he looks away to focus on the road again, he glances himself in the rearview mirror. The creases on his forehead, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the grey in his hair catches his eyes. He quickly looks away and does his best to ignore the intrusive thoughts that are trying to creep in again. It doesn’t help that a lot of those thoughts are echoed by the never ending stream of articles that are constantly being posted. The same bullshit rewritten in different ways, but the meaning behind the words are always the same.

Normally what the press chooses to write about concerning him doesn’t bother Bruce. He’s done numerous controversial things to keep his vigilante lifestyle hidden and anything that people had to say about it either had him rolling his eyes or laughing. But recently it’s been bothering him way more than it really should be.

Deep down he knows that the only thing that should actually matter is how the two of you feel about each other. Fuck the rest of the world, but it’s like a voice nagging at him in the back of his skull. Everyday he feels his age. Even more so after a bad fall on the job. His joints cracking and his back aching. 

Sometimes he wonders if you are even happy. You have always been notoriously difficult for him to read at times. Years of acting drilled into you at a young age so that you didn’t slip up in front of the press. At the same time h e knows that you wouldn’t ever lie to him. From the start of your relationship with him, you have always been upfront and clear about what it is you want. As has he.

Even so, it doesn’t stop a certain event from his past from creeping back every once in a while and it makes him pause for a brief minute. Until he’s reminding himself that you’re not her . Your smile isn’t a facade trying to lure him into a sense of false security to distract him from the fact that a snake has trespassed into his cave, waiting to strike. 

The way that you look and smile at him. How you say his name. It’s similar to that of the only one other woman has. When he lost Selina he truly believed that he would never love again nor would he ever find someone who could potentially love him. 

Yet here you are.

He’s not a superstitious man. He doesn’t believe in fate. But it’s hard to ignore, after he swore that was it for him and he would never love again, how you walked into his life and directly into his heart. Bruce couldn’t get rid of you even if he tried. Not that he ever would try. The hold that you have on him is unexplainable, but he welcomes it completely.

He loves you. Goodness, does Bruce love you. You have changed a lot for him and it hasn’t even been a year yet. Do you know that he would do anything for you? Even if it meant him dying, if it kept you safe, he would do it in a heart beat. He hasn't told you any of this yet, though. Deep down, Bruce is scared of scaring you away from him.

“Bruce?” Your tired voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he glances over at you again. “Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, just feeling old and sorry for myself,” he replies. There’s no point in lying about it and he doesn’t want to lie to you more than he has to. After all, he’s already lying more than enough when it comes to Batman. Which already has him feeling like he’s committing an unspeakable crime against you.

“My poor Brucie,” you coo softly. It’s a nickname that he has always hated. That is until you came along and said it. Now he’s grown rather fond of it. 

You stretch as you sit up properly before reaching over to ruffle his hair, since the car is currently stopped at the traffic lights. He can’t not smile at the action. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

He thinks it over for a moment before finally deciding to just bite the bullet. 

“Are you happy?”

The question clearly takes you off guard as you fall silent for a moment. Your face drops and the lost look you have makes him feel like he’s kicked a kitten. That really wasn’t his aim. 

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” you finally say. You almost sound offended that he would even suggest that you might be unhappy. 

Bruce sighs softly as he decides to pull over. This is a conversation that should have his full attention and he really doesn’t fancy crashing a car that has you inside of it. He runs a hand through his hair as he turns to face you.

“Our age difference.” He says it rather bluntly because there’s really no other way to put it. The bluntness doesn’t upset you. You prefer it when he’s upfront with you with what’s bothering him instead of him trying to hide you from it.

Your frown grows. “I’ve already told you that it doesn’t bother me. It never has.” 

“It might some day,” he points out. “I’m not getting any younger and I won’t be able to keep up with you forever.”

“And on that day the sun will have burned out and the Earth will be a giant ball of ice,” you declare as you unbuckle your seatbelt. 

His jacket falls onto the floor of the car as you climb over and straddle him. The way that you kiss him is so completely different to any other kiss that the two of you have shared. He can’t explain how, just that it has a familiar warmth, that he hasn’t felt in many years, spreading from his chest and throughout his body, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He chases after your lips as you pull away, desperate to not let the kiss end. Damn the things that you do to him without even saying a single word. 

Your hands cup his face and you smooth your thumbs over his cheeks. “I love you, Bruce Wayne. Even when you’re late to a date or you’re feeling old and sorry for yourself or you’re running around with those pointy ears. I. Love. You.”

It feels like his brain has short circuited as he takes in your sudden confession. It’s not just the sudden love confession, but the fact that you know what he does at night when he’s not with you. Yet you sound completely unbothered by it. Like it’s the most mundane thing in the world and not him literally risking life and limb to keep an entire city safe. You have rendered him completely speechless as he looks at you in amazement. 

How in the hell did a man like him get this lucky? He can’t hide his growing grin and why would he want to? 

“I love you too,” he says, all too aware of how long the silence has been stretching on while you wait for him to recover and answer you. Not that you have shown any annoyance or worry about his silence. You’re always so calm and patient with him. 

Bruce pulls you in for another kiss, desperate to feel your lips against his own again. The only problem is how much you’re smiling against his lips as he’s trying to kiss you like his life depends on it. Those four simple words have just made all of your dreams come true. It makes it hard for him to actually kiss you, so he decides to give up for the time being. After all there will be plenty of time for him to kiss you tomorrow when he refuses to let you leave his bed, but he keeps his forehead resting against yours. 

“And how did you find out about my night life?” He’s more curious than he is concerned. You’re smart. It’s one of the things he loves about you. And with all of the time he’s been spending with you over the past six months, even going as far as to pass off some of Batman’s duties to his family, it was just a matter of time before you put the pieces together and had him figured out.

You giggle and rub your nose against his. “You’re not nearly as subtle as you would like to think you are.” 

Bruce chuckles nervous. Okay, now he is a little worried. “What was it that gave me away?”

“How about the late nights where you claimed you were doing paperwork, but you come back to me covered in fresh bruises and cuts,” you reply. “Unless there’s some rich man fight club I don’t know about, it’s pretty suspicious, babe.” 

He huffs a laugh, his worry melting away. At least his whole “not being subtle” is restricted to your relationship and not the outside world. Now that’s something that would be disastrous. 

“No, there’s no rich man fight club. Unless you count fighting Lex on occasion. Was there anything else?”

He doesn’t mean to interrogate you, but until a few minutes ago he had thought he was doing a good job at keeping Batman a secret. 

“Your passion for helping Gotham. You would do anything for this city and its people. Even putting your life on the line. And then there’s the scars. You have more than what makes sense, for a normal man anyway.”

He nods. That makes sense. After all, there’s a reason he doesn’t do any magazine photoshoots that involve him revealing his skin anymore. It’s way too risky and he’s positive that no one would believe the damage done to his body is due to extreme sports and the several “accidents” that he’s had over the years. People will start asking questions and it’ll blow his cover, putting everyone who knows him in danger. Putting you in danger. Bruce can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen. Your safety is of the utmost importance. 

You go to say something else, but you’re interrupted by a yawn. You also press your hand against your head and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Your head still hurts, sweetheart?” he asks. He reaches over, his hand coming up to cup your face as his thumb smoothes over your cheekbone. You lean into his touch as you nod. 

“I thought it was gone, but it seems to be coming back,” you reply.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Bruce says. He helps you back into your seat, even leaning forward to grab his jacket to cover you with it, once you’re buckled back into your seat.

During the rest of the drive, you end up falling fast asleep again. Almost curled up into your seat, with your head resting at such an awkward angle Bruce is sure it’s going to give you a crick in your neck. When he’s stopped at another set of lights, he reaches over and calls your name, gently waking you back up. You grumble softly as you shift your position as much as the cramped space in the car will let you. It still doesn’t look very comfortable and he makes a mental note to buy you one of those neck pillows. Or maybe even one for each of his cars and his jet. 

It’s not long before the car is passing through the large iron gates of Wayne Manor. He pulls up in front of the main steps, turns the engine off and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

For a moment, he pauses. Taking the chance to simply admire you. A thought from earlier echoes in his mind. How did he, of all people, get this lucky to have someone like you in his life? He wonders if you have any idea of the power you hold over him.

He’s careful when he climbs out of the car, coming around to your side. He does his best to not wake you up as he unbuckles your seatbelt and lifts you into his arms. You stir for a moment, mumbling something underneath your breath, but quickly fall back asleep. 

As he reaches the front door, it opens and Alfred holds it open for him. Bruce quietly thanks him before carrying you through the manor and up to his bedroom, where he lays you down onto the bed. Instead of waking you, he decides to remove your makeup himself. 

He’s had more than enough practice in the past so it’s easy enough. Once he’s done he gets you out of your dress and into something more comfortable and getting you properly settled into bed before leaving to get ready himself.

Bruce settles into bed, next to you, and pulls you close to him. Since getting together with you he now finds it impossible for him to get anything resembling a decent night’s sleep unless you’re laying close to him. 

You mumble something in your sleep as he does so. It’s too quiet for him to make out what, but he swears he hears you say his name which leaves him wondering what exactly it is that you’re dreaming about. With you in his arms, curling up into his embrace, he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

[beetle-ze-bub]

I have this Au idea based on The Deal by Mitski cause for whatever that feels like a Stan Pines song and I can't fully explain why.

Anyways, basically, during Stan's drifter days he stays in some pretty unusual places with more than a few weird characters. So, at some point or another, he somehow hears about this deal you can make with the Night itself. Midnight, walk alone, etc, etc. Just like the song.

Stan has never been one to believe, or even just be interested in spirituality or magic or whatever; that was his brother. But he decides to keep the story in his back pocket, if for no other reason than to have an interesting story to tell people.

But maybe at some point when he's feeling like he's at rock bottom, after something especially bad happened (idk the Tijuana incident or the trunk, or losing his kidney, something like that) – and/or while drunk – he decides, 'Fuck it, I got nothing else to lose', and decides to try the deal just for the sake of it. The worst that could happen is nothing, right?

Like in the song, he tries to give away his soul, because he really is pretty sick of all the hurting and the pain and shit. Also reasoning that, since nothing will likely happen, he might as well go big.

This is where it diverges from the song somewhat. Because for what he'd take I think it'd depend.

If he was drunk and/or in an especially bad spot, I wouldn't be surprised if he said, like the song did, he would only take the consequences. But, at the same time, I think he knows enough about bad deals to realize that if – on the very off chance this is real – he's giving his soul away, it should at least be for something good. Maybe he'd ask to get Rico off his back, or for that million dollars, or make it so he never broke Ford’s project (though I feel like this isn't likely as even in its divine grace, the Night can not change the past. Maybe Stan would even get a feeling somehow, as though the Night tells him this.), or even just to keep Ford safe and/or happy. Idk rn, but yeah.

After the deal is struck, Stan feels lighter somehow. Like something is missing. It's not bad that it's gone. It's not good either. It's just missing.

He'd probably still have the same talk with the bird, but after that I feel like he'd keep drifting across the country. Not out of a need to escape, or hit his big break, but just instinct. Habit.

He'd probably still call his mom, but it's almost professional in how he talks to her, clinical. There's no attachment there, really. He loves her, or at least likes her, to some degree. But it's muffled and smothered, and so, so quiet that he can't make out the sound of it anymore. Like a soft tap at the back of his brain, so light he can hardly recognize it happened. He can't say for sure whether he'd feel much if something happened to her.

Maybe Ford, depending on what Stan wished for, suddenly finds the night welcoming. Something caring and kind and protective of him in a way he can't really explain. Obviously it can't be, it's the night; just a time of day. It's not doing anything. But he still can't help but feel that way.

Or maybe even his life has suddenly gotten so much better. He's suddenly been offered a bunch of grants, people are vying for his research or his reviews of their work. He's being offered hundreds of prestigious positions and people are dying to have him give interviews or lectures. And while Ford is obviously ecstatic, and riding the high of all this praise and his accomplishments being recognized and getting everything he's ever wanted (what about his brother?), he can't exactly… remember, what he accomplished or published that got him all this attention.

But that doesn't matter! He's sure it'll come to him! He's just too focused on his now busy schedule, that's why he forgot. After that he has to get back to his current anomaly research too. But he's sure it'll come to him in time.

Again, depending on what Stan wished for exactly, and even what time he made the wish, maybe Ford sends the postcard to Stan again; whether it's about Bill or something else, idk. But when Stan comes something's wrong. It looks like Stan, talks relatively like Stan.

But he's empty. As though he's been drained of everything Ford remembers made Stan Stan. He was ready for a hot-headed, angry brother. Not this… shell.

If Ford still opened the door with his crossbow, he would be visibly surprised, sure. His eyes widened, his mouth opened in shock, he even took a step or 2 back. But there was no scream. There was no snarky comment or angry blow up at his behavior. If Ford still shone a light in his eyes Stan still pushed him off him and frowned, but he only said “Stop that.” in a mildly upset voice. When Ford apologized Stan said “It's fine”.

…And that was it. No biting remarks or angry glares. Just an awkward silence as Ford stared at this facsimile of his brother.

When he tells Stan he has to show him something he wouldn't believe, he only asks “What is it?” Even when staring the portal down, while, again, he is shocked. It's only in the generic way you'd see in something like a stock photo, or some guide book on emotions. Only in the basest, least-effort way you could get someone to understand you were displaying shock.

Because that's what it felt like, Ford realizes. A display. Like the emotions weren't real. Or if they were, they were so shallow that might as well be. The display wouldn't even last long. The briefest of flashes before fizzling out unceremoniously and disappearing completely.

Idk maybe something something, Ford finds out what happened somehow, goes bird hunting in some fairytale, fae esque trial of character way or something. My main idea was the Stan making the deal and the empty birdcage Stan that comes as a result.

[alwaysthebiggerbear]

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe." - Soldier Boy x Female Reader

Summary: You’re tired of running and you go to Soldier Boy for protection. He agrees to do it but not without a price.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. This scenario immediately popped into my head reading the line and I just had to write it. Beta'd by @rieleatiel. Warnings: violence/murder; implied assassination attempts; sexual propositioning; Soldier Boy being himself; starts out as a blackmail type dynamic that appears as if a little dubcon at first; language? Word Count: 2528 First posted on here: 1/1/24 dividers by @firefly-graphics

You never thought in a million years that you would be seeking out one of the most dangerous Supes in the world for protection. Then again, you never would have thought that a multi-billion dollar corporation would be after you, intent on seeing you torn apart and scattered to the four winds. You didn’t exactly blow the whistle on them, but you didn’t exactly tow the company line either—something Stan Edgar was less than thrilled with and now the evil son of a bitch wanted you dead.

It was no secret that Edgar and Soldier Boy had a falling out of sorts after the truth about his being handed to the Russians had come to light. His old team may have made it happen, but it was Edgar pulling the strings all along. Surprisingly, the Supe who had been so focused on revenge hadn’t hunted Edgar down after this revelation, which made you wary about going this route. However, after narrowly escaping the latest death squad sent after you, you decided you had no choice but to take the gamble. There was nowhere you could run that Vought wouldn’t find you and you just hoped this would be more of an ‘enemy of my enemy’ situation rather than a ‘handing you right over to your enemy’ situation.

Once you had managed to track him down in Hong Kong while you were busy running yourself, he had shockingly agreed to a meet, and even more shockingly agreed to help you. Not without certain stipulations, of course.

“Let me in that sweet pussy of yours and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You should have known, especially from the way he had been eyeing you up ever since he caught sight of you. Screwing your face up in disgust, you flat out refused. “Not happening.”

He shrugged and began to walk away. “Then you must not need my protection that badly.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re seriously turning me down because I won’t fuck you? Whatever happened to the ‘Soldier Boy is America’s son’ bullshit? The OG superhero who fought Nazis and protected people?”

Soldier Boy stopped and slowly turned back towards you. “I’d be putting myself on the line to protect you. For that, I deserve one hell of a payment.” 

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “So now you’re blackmailing me into sleeping with you? Unbelievable.” You had heard he was more like America’s Asshole than its Son, but you still couldn’t believe your ears. You had even offered to help him take Vought down with what you knew, so long as he kept you safe. You knew he’d want that kind of information. Why else was he hopping from continent to continent in the last few months, trying to shake Vought just like you were? Instead, his dick was taking top priority. Typical. 

“It’s the least you can do, doll.” He faced you fully again, shield hanging off of his arm as if it weighed nothing. “Like you said, I fought for this country, fought the Nazis, and now you’re asking me to play bodyguard while taking on Vought for you. I deserve something worth all that trouble.”

You ran through all other options in your mind. You still had a contact that could possibly put you in touch with someone that wouldn’t mind tapping into Vought’s offshore accounts that weren’t supposed to exist. You were already on Vought’s kill list; what would a few hundred thousand dollars of theirs matter? “I could pay you,” you offered.

“I’m not interested in money.” His eyes roved over you as he approached. “Besides,” he murmured as he came to a stop in front of you. You tensed as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair that had gotten loose from under your ball cap behind your ear. ”I haven’t had a looker as pretty as you in a long time. Been locked away.” He gently gripped your chin in between his thumb and index finger, his eyes intent on your mouth before lifting to meet yours. A hint of a smirk started to appear on his handsome face when he most likely heard your heart beat starting to increase.

He released you and even took a step back from you, allowing you physical and metaphorical space. “Your call.”

You bit your lip as thoughts chaotically swirled inside your head. On one hand, you refused to be manipulated or pushed into sex with this asshole. No matter how physically attractive he might be, you weren’t willing to get on your back just so he would help you. But on the other hand, the cold hard truth was that you were tired — tired of running, tired of little-to-no sleep, tired of the paranoia that came with such a flight. Hell, at present, you hadn’t slept in almost two days and you were running on fumes; there wasn’t enough caffeine or energy pills in the world to get you through another day with no rest. Your reaction time was already dragging if your last narrow escape was anything to go by. If you continued this way, you’d be dead before the sun started to warm the sky; you were certain of it.

Soldier Boy stared you down. “What’s it gonna be?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you glanced behind you at a small noise far off down the street. Thankfully, it was an old woman tossing something out onto the pavement, but you couldn’t deny it put you further on edge. You turned back to the Supe whose eyes stayed trained on you. You took a deep breath to steady your nerves and readied your response. His lips began to quirk upwards into a smile; he knew what your answer was going to be before you even said the words.

Vought Tower had been completely demolished. Luckily, it had been mostly evacuated before the destruction occurred. A fight between Soldier Boy and the now-dead Homelander had caused most of the damage, but the C4 that had been carefully lined throughout the infrastructure is what ended up bringing it down. 

Before it went boom, Soldier Boy had approached Stan Edgar, who refused to cower in a corner. The Supe respected that, but it didn’t change what he’d come here to do. He gripped Edgar by the throat and lifted him in the air, choking the older man and ignoring the fingers that desperately clawed at his hand.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Edgar rasped out.

Soldier Boy shrugged. “She made me a better one.” He then snapped the man’s neck and tossed his body aside like a rag doll. 

“Oi! We ought to get out of here,” Butcher warned after seeing Stan Edgar lifeless on the floor. “Frenchie’s about to blow this place to fucking hell.”

He glared over at the Brit and picked up his shield. He still didn’t trust him, not after what he and his merry band of assholes had tried to do the last time they’d teamed up, but he’d made a deal with you and he was intent on keeping his end of it. The only conditions Butcher and Captain Lesbo had given this time around was: no civilian casualties and Ryan was off limits. He did his best with the first and he could give less than a fuck on the other. As far as he was concerned, the kid was Butcher’s problem as long as the kid didn’t come looking for some payback once he got older, which Butcher assured he wouldn’t. That, and there better not be Novichok gas waiting at the end of this mission for him. They’d reluctantly agreed, knowing they had no other way to kill Homelander and take down Vought all in one swoop.

“After you.” Soldier Boy gestured for Butcher to leave first. The man scowled but obliged, keeping a wary eye out as he moved. Smirking, Soldier boy followed. The Supe might have enjoyed the reaction—or even tried to settle the score from Butcher’s previous betrayal—if he didn’t have you to get back to. He needed to let you know that you no longer had Stan Edgar or Vought to worry about. He’d kept up his end of the bargain you’d both made — now, finally, you were free.

You woke up to the sound of someone moving through the darkness in your room. You grabbed the gun from beneath your pillow and bolted upright as much as you could, trying to get your eyes to adjust so you could get a good shot.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Soldier Boy assured you. 

Recognizing his voice, you slowly lowered the gun and focused on his location. When your eyes finally adjusted, you realized he was near the foot of the bed, completely nude, his hair damp from a fresh shower. “Ben,” you breathed out in relief. “You scared me.”

Through the beams of moonlight shining into the room from the window, you saw him give you a smile and lay his shield down on the floor next to him. “Didn’t mean to.”

You slipped the safety back on the gun and stashed it into the drawer of your nightstand. You hated having it under your pillow at night; it was super uncomfortable and you only needed to do that when Soldier Boy — Ben, as he’d asked you to call him instead — wasn’t around. “Everything go okay?” 

“Better than okay.” You glanced back to see a smirk adorning that handsome face of his, with an all-too familiar gleam in those green eyes. You watched as he slipped on some sweats and then made his way to the opposite side of the bed. You moved onto your side to face him, smiling as he climbed in next to you and sat up against the headboard, turning to grin down at you. Within seconds, he had his arms wrapped around you, pulling you up against him, and he was kissing you a proper hello. He only pulled back when you needed air and tenderly rubbed his nose along yours, nuzzling you. “How about you, doll? Everything go okay while I was gone?”

You nodded and snuggled into his bare chest, letting out a relieved sigh when you felt his warm hands stroking your back. “Everything’s fine,” you assured him, closing your eyes. You’d never admit it aloud, but you felt so much better when he was around. Not only did you feel protected but you just felt better in general. You’d have to be under the pain of torture to admit to him (or yourself) that you actually missed him when he had to leave.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and let his lips linger there, continuing to rub your back just the way you liked. “Edgar and Vought are gone,” he murmured. “The Caped Cunt, too. You’ve got nothing more to worry about.”

Your eyes snapped open and you lifted yourself up to meet his gaze, your brows furrowed. “What?” You asked in shock.

“You heard me.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, his grin now a smug smile. “You’re safe, baby.”    

Your eyes widened when the realization hit you. “That’s where you went?”

Your only answer was the lengthening of that smile. 

“Jesus, Ben.” So many thoughts and emotions swirled within you all at once. You were free, truly free. You no longer had to worry about Vought death squads hunting you down, Homelander coming for you, or Stan Edgar sending after you any ragtag Supes he could scrounge up. You were free. Although, Ben hadn’t told you that he was about to go on his most dangerous mission yet. He might be America’s original superhero and he might be tough to kill, but that didn’t mean he was completely invincible. He’d admitted as much to you over the last few months. “What if… What if you didn’t—”

He kissed you, effectively cutting you off. “I did,” he hummed against your lips. “Told you I would.”

You nodded, gently tracing his facial features with your hands before gliding down to his shoulders, dipping down the warm expanse of his back and then slowly returning to his chest. As always, he remained patient whenever you did this ritual of checking him for any wounds or injuries, knowing you wouldn’t find any but needing to assure yourself just the same. Truthfully, this man had come to mean more to you than you’d ever imagined would be possible. Hell, there had been a time when it wouldn’t have been possible at all.

When you were done, you met his gaze head on. “Do I want to know?”

Ben remained silent, but his eyes said it all: no, you didn’t want to know. You and Ben may have planned for the downfall of Vought and the ends of Homelander and Stan Edgar, the very same bastards that had put a target on your back in the first place, but that didn’t mean you wanted to hear the gory details of their deaths. You were just grateful Ben had come back to you alive and unharmed. 

You gave him a thin-lipped smile in understanding. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

Ben studied you for a moment, then pulled you in and kissed you again, his fingers slipping through your hair until he grabbed the back of your neck and urged you to meet him more fully. Just as you were getting into it, he broke away and chuckled. “You’re real eager for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” You shot him a look and the smirk was suddenly back on his face. Without warning, he picked you up to rearrange you in the bed how he wanted you. “Too bad that you need to get some rest. We’re blowing the fuck out of here tomorrow and you’re gonna need to keep up.”

As if he would leave you behind if you couldn’t. “I thought you said Butcher would leave us alone after this.”

“I don’t trust that dicksucking Brit and I trust his bitch of a boss even less.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking when you felt him settle in behind you, knowing how much he enjoyed spooning you like this. “‘Kay,” you agreed. He had successfully protected you this far; you’d follow his lead on this one, too. You shut your eyes and snuggled into your pillow, content to feel his hands on your back caressing you once more.

You were just about asleep when you heard him murmur in your ear, “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” You smiled when you heard the words he’d been saying to you every night now for many months and your heart lightened when you felt his hands trail from your back to cup protectively over your rounding stomach, rubbing gently. ‘Safe’ is exactly how you felt right in this moment, and the little girl moving to meet her father’s embrace—like she always did when she sensed he was near—only cemented the knowledge that this was the first night neither you nor she were in danger any longer. It gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

A/N: Sequel

[artist-issues]

do you think that it’s bad for a people group to keep thinking about the impact slavery had on them in the past?

I think the only utility in it is learning your history: that mankind is depraved and can sell and buy one another, and treat one another like less-than-human, and so watch out for the signs that a society is starting to blur the line about what makes a human a human in the image of God.

and that’s it.

I have a friend who said something really good about this when we went to Togo. After we visited the historical site where the Togolese sold one another to the colonists and saw the places where those people were treated like hated cattle, we were discussing the topic. But my friend just sat there and didn’t join in. And we were all kind of wanting her to, because her family has lived in our hometown for generations, and our hometown was on the map at the historical site where the Togolese were sold out of. So you know. Odds are, her ancestors were from there, where we were standing. Or at least they suffered the same fate from ports like it all up and down the African coast. We wanted to hear her thoughts in particular. But she didn’t say anything.

And afterward I was nagging her about it, I was like, “you have to say something in moments like that, we all want to hear you!”

And she (is not your ordinary person) just laughed at me and said, “I knew it! Every time one of you said something (about the historical site and the slavery topic) it was like you would glance at me to see what I thought or if I was passing judgement. But why should I have anything to say? I don’t speak for everyone else. Especially people who died hundreds of years ago. It’s horrible, and it’s sin, but that’s (slavery’s) not me. That’s not my identity. It’s not yours either. Just look at what God’s done since then.”

I wish I could introduce everybody to this friend of mine. You’d see she’s like that all the time. I’ve known her for almost ten years now and she’s one of the most insightful, chill, wise, fun (she can quote all of Barnyard and SharkTale) people I’ve ever met in my life. I think she was totally right about this (she’s also been right about everything we’ve ever talked about, for context.)

I’m quoting her because if anyone had a right to be thinking about ancestral slavery any type of way, it would be my dear friend. We were standing in the place with a high likelihood of being where her specific greatx grandparents were stolen from their homes and brought to this country as slaves. But she thought about it healthily instead of unhealthily.

I mean we don’t do this when our family-history has a good, prosperous chapter in it, right? When your great great great great grandfather builds a thriving company from the ground up, and generations later the wealth of your family still speaks to the prosperity he had—but if you try and say, “I know about sacrifice! I know about hard work! My grandfather went through all this stuff to build this company!” Most people would roll their eyes at you and tell you you’ve been privileged, that just because your grandfather experienced and lived through some major stuff, that doesn’t mean you’ve earned the right to claim that major stuff. You didn’t go through those experiences.

That’s what we do with positive family history. But with negative family history, what’s going on? Why do we make that our whole identity? “My ancestors were slaves!” and then we don’t say “so that gives me authority to speak to this/so I know how it feels/so I deserve [this-or-that]” but we live like we’ve somehow inherited what happened to them.

And we haven’t. We just haven’t. We haven’t. It’s part of history. It’s not part of our experience.

When we went to that place in Togo they lowered me down into the hole the slaves were lowered into under the colonist’s house’s floorboards and had me squat there, in the dark, for just fifteen minutes, unable to stand up or stretch out or see, while they explained from the floor over my head that I should also be imagining that I’m naked, surrounded on all sides by crowds of frightened grieving people in the same predicament, packed in so close that we can’t even move sideways, either. And other horrors, of course, like the fact that there’s no bathroom, their own tribespeople helped put them in this hole, and the food only came from the hole itself, so if you were furthest away from it in the dark under-the-floor-of-the-house crawlspace, you could just starve to death because it never reaches you. You hope the other sufferers around you are kind enough to pass you food, but you don’t all speak the same language because you’re from different tribes all over the continent. And this is all before you’re even put on the boats away from all you’ve ever known. Just fifteen minutes, I curled up where they were forced to curl up.

Guess what I learned?

That it was just fifteen minutes.

That what I experienced in the moment I could get closest to their suffering was still nowhere even close to what they experienced.

That nothing in my life has ever approached imaginable levels of that suffering. And it’s arrogant and misguided to claim it as any part of my identity. That level of suffering is foreign to me.

And thank God it’s foreign to me.

If you want to claim other sufferings, be my guest. If you want to say, “I’ve experienced a feeling of not belonging as I waited in the line at Wal-Mart,” or “I’ve experienced my teacher using a slur to refer to me,” or “I’ve experienced the grief of a lack of justice” go for it. But it’s not the same as what they experienced.

Our ancestors who suffered through horrible things, do you think they’d want us to be going around, making our whole lives about their sufferings? Making all of our value-judgements on stories we’ve been told about what happened to them? I mean, geez, in fantasy movies when the defeated villain raises his son to burn with a lust for revenge, we think of that as a bad thing he did. He should’ve let his son grow up free, not saddled him with your hatred over experiences he was blessed enough not to have. But we don’t use that same understanding when it comes to unhealthy thoughts about our enslaved or abused ancestors.

It’s not “no thoughts at all.” It’s “think rightly.” What happened to them was an atrocity, and it should never be repeated, and if we see the seeds of that atrocity cropping up in others’ minds or our own minds—specifically a tendency to view one another as less-human-than-ourselves—we should nip it in the bud.

But we shouldn’t make that the crusade of our lives. It’s just turning yourself into a ghost. What happened to them isn’t happening to you. Live your life as if good has happened since then. You get to have friends, loves, communities, where your skin color or language or where you’re from doesn’t get to be the one thing that defines you. They didn’t get to have that. Don’t shackle yourself to an experience you never had; don’t assume that’s what your ancestors would’ve wanted you to do if they could somehow see a vision of you in the future.

It’s just common sense.

Now.

For everybody who wants to reply, “What are you on about, people groups today may not be enslaved but they are still dealing with the f***ing consequences of slavery!!! They’re still dealing with prejudices and racism and!!!” Knock it off. That wasn’t the question. The question was “should people groups who were enslaved still think about it.”

If you wanna ask me “okay then, should people who have ancestors that were enslaved/abused/massacred/discriminated against/ARE being discriminated against themselves in the present-day—should THEY think about it?!” then roll up and ask me that. But it’s a separate question. And I’m tired of this grandpa

[moonlight0934]

Being Robin is the best thing I've ever done

Damian curls up on the couch, flipping his book open. It’s quiet in the manor with almost all of its occupants out of town. Bruce is out of the country, helping the JL with some big mission while Alfred is visiting England. Jason had left town right after Bruce to visit Roy and Lian. Cass is working in Frace on a mission, and Stephanie is working a case with Dick. That leaves Tim and Damian as the only two vigilantes left in the city, though Damian honestly hasn’t minded. Sleeping is hard in this big, quiet house, and splitting the patrol routes with Tim leaves him out a lot longer than it normally would. It leaves him with less time sitting in the dark in his room. 

Tim has also been a quiet partner, not speaking much over the comms, which leads Damian to think that he’s got something else on his mind. He’s not normally that quiet, but Damian isn’t going to push. He’s probably working on a tough case. It has been pretty chill since they were left alone with no Rogue attacks, or major issues in Jason’s territory. Damian pauses his reading after a while, glancing down at his watch. 

“Hm, I lost track of time. I should start preparing dinner.” 

He gently places the bookmark into his book, but his phone starts ringing before he can stand up.

“Hello.” 

“Hey, can you get out on the streets? I’m working a gang case, and it turns out that drugs are involved. Now a few people are kinda trying to kill me.” 

“Make sure your tracker is on, and I’ll be there in a few,” Damian replies, trying not to sound exasperated. 

He’s not going to have time to make and eat dinner at this rate. They’re going to finish this, and then he’ll have maybe ten minutes before patrol, and that’s if he’s lucky. He can’t put patrol off since the area he’s covering is so large, and he has school tomorrow morning. He fixes his cape with a sigh. 

Guess I have to give up the idea of eating tonight. I’ll get up in time to have breakfast tomorrow. 

He pulls up Tim’s tracker, and heads off to his brother’s location. He makes the trip quickly between his grapple gun, and small sprints across rooftops. The wind is blowing pretty hard, ruffling his hair and cape. He finds Tim completely alone, tucked in an alleyway, dressing a small wound on his arm. 

“Red.” 

Tim waves briefly without looking up. 

“Where are the criminals, and who are we dealing with?” 

“They’re a few blocks back, but I wasn’t able to stop the deal yet. So they’ll either find us, or claim that they scared us off when the client asks about it. It’s one of Gotham’s ‘elite’. One of those socialite pricks. I don’t remember his name, but he’s the worst. Calls me names all the time,” Tim adds under his breath as he pins the bandage in place. 

“What kind of- Nevermind. We can discuss that later. Especially since we have an event in a few days.” 

“Will the others be back by then?” 

Damian shrugs. “I don’t know, but it currently isn’t looking like it. I was told that I would probably have to represent, so…” 

“Damn, must be serious, cause I thought he would never ask you. Anyway, we should stop that deal before the prick gets away.” 

Damian hums, motioning for Tim to lead the way. Damian follows Tim back to the warehouse where goons are gathering back up, obviously having given up on finding Tim. Damian clocks the socialite instantly since he’s the only one dressed up, and is actively rummaging through an absurd amount of drugs, all packed into tiny little bags. 

“He’s probably going to be hosting a party or something like that,” Tim says distastefully. 

“Is that normal?” 

“Well considering I got invited to a drug party the day after my dad’s funeral, I’ll say yes.” 

“That doesn’t seem socially appropriate.” Tim shrugs. 

“Gotham doesn’t even have common courtesy. I’ll go around back, you come from the side. Make sure to secure the drugs first. I’ll tie him up real fast, and then we can take out the goons.” 

Damian nods, hopping off of the building. He sees Tim race across to the next building so he can make his way around, and take them by surprise, and also take out the reinforcements lurking inside the warehouse. Damian waits a couple of minutes, perched on top of a lamppost, watching them talk. Then he swings over, landing between the socialite and the dealer. He knocks the dealer out with one swift hit, and slams the case of drugs closed. The socialite takes off, but Damian doesn’t bother with him, instead turning his attention back to the hordes of goons running towards him. 

Wow, this must have been a large deal. Maybe his first with these dealers, so they’re trying to prove something. Not that it matters how many of them there are. 

The next fifteen minutes are a blur of fighting making sure to keep the drugs in his peripheral. Finally, the only people left standing are him, and Tim, who’s standing a few feet away. 

“Ok, I’ll call the cops, and have them all taken in,” Tim says, grabbing his phone. 

Damian nods, a hand reaching up to his collarbone. There’s a small cut there, though quite deep. 

How did I get that? Ugh, doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with it later, once patrol is over. This took longer than I had hoped, and now I’m going to be late starting patrol if the cops take as long as they normally do to show up. Ugh, I’m going to get home so late. 

Damian can’t help the way his lips twist into a deep frown. Tim drops a hand onto Damian’s shoulder. 

“Hey, you good?” 

“I’m fine, just annoyed. I haven’t eaten today, and it looks like a late night is ahead of us.” 

“Well, how about this: we can go get some food, and I’ll take the last half hour of your patrol route if you’re not feeling up to it? You don’t have to answer now, but if you’re tired, or it’s getting too late, then you can comm me, and I’ll come to you.” 

Damian hesitates. 

“Alright, but I don’t need you to patrol for me. I can cover that.” 

“Ok, then you don’t have to reach out.” 

Tim puts a gentle hand on Damian’s shoulder, holding it there for a second. Damian’s shoulders slump, allowing himself to relax. He tenses as soon as the sound of the sirens reach them, and Tim pulls away. He walks over to the case, opening it, and counting the bags. 

Damn it, why didn’t I remember to do that? We’re always supposed to have our own files to give to Gordon so we can make sure the right amount makes it all the way to evidence. 

Damian strides off to meet the cops. Exactly as Damian thought it would, they end up taking forever to get everyone into custody, and gather all of the evidence, making Tim and Damian almost two hours late to start patrol. Damian ends up telling Tim that they should get started immediately since they’re so late, and he’ll eat when he gets home. By then, his head is spinning, and he’s a little dizzy. If Tim notices, he doesn’t mention it. 

“Make sure you let me know when you get home, Baby Bat.”

Damian nods, the world tilting even after he’s stilled. He doesn’t remember most of patrol, breezing through it without really being able to keep track of what’s going on. He’s coming to the last stretch when his legs give out. 

Damn, this shouldn’t be happening just cause I haven’t eaten, and didn’t sleep last night. I’ve trained for this. 

He stumbles back to his feet unsteadily, reaching for his comm. 

“Red, can you finish up my patrol? I think I need to get home. I don’t feel well,” he admits, the words feeling like poison rolling off of his tongue. 

“Of course, let me know when you get home. I’ll come check on you in a bit. I’ve got your location, so you can head back home now.” 

“Alright.” 

Damian flips his comm off with a tired sigh. He walks home since it’s not far, but it still takes forever, and his head is pounding in time with his heart by the time he gets there. He changes into shorts and a t-shirt, then heads for the kitchen. He reaches for the door of the fridge, then blinks in surprise at his purple nails. 

What the hell? 

He doesn’t even feel his legs go out this time, barely conscious enough to notice when his head hits the tiles.

Tim races across the rooftop at the end of Jason’s territory, keeping an eye out for any muggers, or small drug deals since Jason is pretty strict about that. This isn’t the first time that Jason has trusted Tim with his territory, but Tim always feels like he has to be hypervigilant since if something happens, Jason won’t be here to make an example out of the person at fault. Normally there’d be some dramatic ass retaliation like cutting out their tongue. 

He’s such a theater kid, so dramatic, but everything seems fine here. Guess I should go finish Dami’s patrol, and meet him at the house. He should have checked back in by now, but maybe he just forgot. He did seem off… I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll finish up quickly, and then head there. 

Tim races through the rest of Damian’s patrol, not even realizing how fast he’s going, but his anxiety doesn’t let him slow down. The mansion is quiet, even as he walks down the front hall. Tim doesn’t notice that he didn’t lock the door upon coming inside. A lump appears in Tim’s throat, and suddenly he’s unable to swallow. 

“Dames? You home?” 

There’s no answer, and the dread creeps down his throat, nestling in his chest. 

Calm down, maybe he’s in his room. 

“Dames?” he calls again, glancing into the sitting room. 

He continues walking upon finding no one there, and stops in the doorway to the kitchen. His heart stutters before he’s racing towards Damian. His baby brother is sprawled out across the floor, blood pooling around his head. There’s a cut across his forehead, which looks like he got it in the fall, but he’s not moving either. Tim looks him over, noting how his lips and nails are blue. He leans down to put his ear against Damian’s chest, the other hand held right above Damian’s lips. Tim finds his breathing far too shallow, and his heartbeat slow. 

He brushes Damian’s hair away from the cut, only to realize how cold Damian’s skin is. His eyes narrow in on a cut along Damian’s collarbone, small, but deep. 

“Careful, cause these guys are using some pretty nasty drugs, so don’t let ’em stick you with anything,” Jason had told him before leaving town. 

“You’re overdosing.” 

Tim rushes to pull his phone out of his pocket, knowing that he’s not equipped to deal with this alone. 

“He keeps the other hand pressed to the inside of Damian’s wrist. 

“Come on, Damian. Stay with me.” 

He explains the situation to the operator, claiming that Damian had gotten nicked with something while they were on a walk earlier as it was getting dark, but neither of them really thought much of it. They assumed it was nothing, but he was unconscious and barely breathing when Tim got back from grabbing dinner. Once the man on the other end gives Tim an estimate of ten minutes before the ambulance gets there, Tim hangs up, though the man did tell him to stay on the line. He doesn’t bother with that, turning his full attention to Damian. The door is unlocked already, so there’s no reason for him to focus on anything else. 

“Ok, stay with me, buddy,” Tim whispers as Damian’s breath stutters.

It evens out, and Tim releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“It’s ok, Akh,” Tim whispers, the word feeling foreign in his mouth, but familiar to his ears. He’s not even sure when Damian had started calling him that, but it never quite felt right to say it back, as though he was overstepping a boundary, and Damian is so careful about the walls he’s built around himself. 

Tim cards a hand through Damian’s sweaty hair, pulling him fully onto his side to clear his airways. A few minutes later, Damian stirs for the first time, then vomits all over Tim, and down the front of his own shirt, almost choking. Tim pats his back, trying not to wince. 

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” he whispers over and over as if it will make Damian hold on. 

Then all of the sudden, paramedics are crashing into the room, and Tim is pulled away from his baby brother. He feels like crying, and pushing back to Damian, but he doesn’t do either. He merely sits back on his heels, and stays out of the way as they suction vomit out of Damian’s throat before placing an oxygen mask on him. He does follow them out to the ambulance, only stopping to grab a travel bag from the closet so he can change clothes once they get there. He tucks himself into the corner, farther from them, and watches. He watches every small deviation to Damian’s heart rate, and he watches Damian’s oxygen levels go down even though he’s having air pumped into his lungs. Thankfully he’s still stable by the time they reach the hospital, but Tim feels dread pool in his stomach when they take him back immediately. 

Reasonably he knows how bad it is, but this just confirms it for him. That Damian is critical, and requires care over everyone else there. He slips into the bathroom to change. Turns out this bag is Dick’s, so Tim has to roll the pants up, and tighten his belt the most he can, then pull the hoodie on just so the shirt will stay over his shoulders. It’s comforting despite being uncomfortable to have on, the clothes smell like Dick. They cling to him loose enough to feel like a hug, but tight enough to stay in place. He wraps one arm around himself, the other hand going for his phone. He’s dialing the number before he even registers what he’s doing. 

Stephanie sounds groggy when she answers, “Tim, it’s an ungodly hour, what’s going on?” 

“Is Dick with you?” he asks, knowing she was staying at his apartment while they were working the case. 

“He’s in his room. We only got back from working like three hours ago. Do you want me to get him?” 

“Yeah, I need to talk to both of you,” Tim says, his voice shaking. 

He can hear springs creaking, and Stephanie grunting as she forces herself out of bed. Probably on aching muscles, and tired bones if they were working a mere three hours ago. Tim can feel his own body beginning to shut down from everything he’s put it through, and the drop of adrenaline. They’re all used to the feeling though, being dragged out of bed to deal with something new right after climbing in, and falling asleep. 

“Dick.” He can hear knocking to accompany his oldest brother’s name. 

“Yeah, Steph, what’s up?” Dick asks, sounding sleepy. 

“Tim called me, and he wanted you to be here before he would tell me why,” Stephanie says, a bit of fear seeping into her voice. “You’re on speaker, Tim. Dick’s here.” 

“Hey, Timmy, what’s up?” Dick says, sounding concerned as well. 

“So, something happened. You guys are the only ones still in the country other than Jason, so I figured I’d call. I’m gonna text Bruce and Alfred, and they can call me when they have the chance. Anyway, Damian got hurt earlier. It was a small cut, but it ended up being used to transfer drugs into his system. He overdosed after getting home. We’re in the hospital now, but the guys were taken care of earlier.” 

“Is he ok?” Dick demands, and Tim can hear him snatch Stephanie’s phone out of her hands. 

“I don’t know. He was breathing when we got here, but his oxygen levels were horrible, and I didn’t have any Narcan on hand when I got home. So I couldn’t do anything, but call 911. He was taken in, and I finished changing clothes.” 

“We’ll be there in an hour.” 

“Do you have any more information?” Stephanie asks as Dick’s footsteps fade. 

“No.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“No,” Tim says, his voice breaking. 

“Alright, stay on the phone with me. We’ll be there soon. Sit down, and focus on breathing.” 

Tim drops into a chair in the waiting room, curling in on himself. Stephanie keeps up a soft, steady stream of quiet reassurances as she changes clothes, brushes her hair, and gets her shoes on. Tim listens, but doesn’t respond. He can still feel Damian’s cold skin, and sweaty hair; can see his blue nails and lips. Tim takes a deep breath to calm himself down, but he can smell the acrid scent of vomit all over him. He sobs, his chest hitching. Everything fades into the background until a small hand lands on his shoulder. Then he’s being pulled into Stephanie’s arms as she rubs her hand up and down his spine. 

“It’s ok. Let it out, I’m here. Dick’s checking in on Dami, and he’ll tell us Dami’s condition when he comes back. Everything’s going to be ok,” Stephanie reassures him, keeping him cradled in her arms. 

Tim continues crying, clinging onto Stephanie. Stephanie rocks him back and forth, keeping him close to her chest. It takes a while for him to calm down, his breathing still distinctly off. Stephanie softly wipes away his tears as Dick walks back over. At this point, they’re on the floor, and Tim is leaning against Stephanie. 

“He’s alive. He’s going to be transferred to the ICU soon, but he’s alive. I also called the others to tell them what happened. Are you sure you’re alright, Tim?” Dick asks, and Tim can’t even blame him. 

This reaction is so out of the ordinary, and far more emotional than he tends to be. Tim shudders, pressing his face into Stephanie’s neck as all of the noises around him get louder. 

“He’s running a temperature,” Stephanie whispers. 

“Ok, I want to see if we can get him checked out. I’ll go ask them. See if you can pull any information out of him about if anything could have happened to him too.” 

They’re still on the floor when Dick comes back, but Stephanie looks pensive. 

“He said that he got hurt right before Damian, but it was fine, because he only needed three stitches.” 

“Do you think drugs might have been involved with him too?” 

“It’s possible. I don’t think he’s overdosing, but I have no real way of knowing. Wouldn’t it have hit him sooner?” 

“Not necessarily, especially since Damian’s a lot smaller than Tim.” 

Dick puts a hand on Tim’s forehead, leaning him away from Stephanie. Tim whines, his eyes glossy. 

“Give him to me,” Dick commands. 

Stephanie pulls back, and Dick scoops Tim into his arms. 

“No, let go of me. I’m fine,” Tim argues, his movements slow as he tries to get away from Dick. He can’t even get his hands out of his hoodie sleeves though, making his efforts completely useless. He flops against Dick’s chest after only a few seconds, his eyes drooping with the effort. Dick says something, but it feels too far away for Tim to keep up, so he decides to go to sleep since that feels infinitely easier. 

Damian wakes up surprisingly unaware. Normally he’d be aware as soon as he’s conscious, but waking up feels slow this time. It’s not something that he’s used to, but it has happened before. Normally with concussions, or heavy medication. The first thing he notes when he manages to pry his heavy eyes open is that Brown is sitting nearby, one leg propped across her lap, a book settled against it. Her eyes trace the pages, not even noticing Damian. It’s quickly apparent where he is, and he tsks in disapproval. 

If Brown is here, then Grayson is too. That means I did something to land myself in the hospital, and pull them away from their case. But what was it? I can’t remember anything other than… going home to my book. 

“Brown.” 

Stephanie looks up, her eyes lighting up. 

“Hey, Dames. How are you feeling?” 

“Sore, and quite tired. What happened?” 

“You got drugged, overdosed. Tim called us.” 

“Timothy, we were-” Patrol. “Where is he?” 

“He’s also admitted. He’ll be fine, but they want to watch him while they get the rest of the drugs out of his system too. Dick wanted us to swap, but Tim insisted that I sit with you. Wanted to make sure that you were being watched by someone who would text him immediately. Speaking of which, I’m going to do that while we’re talking, I’m still listening.” 

“I remember everything. Everything except getting home. I was walking there, but I don’t actually remember making it home. Did I get there before passing out?” 

Stephanie nods. 

“Yep, no need to worry about what state you were in. The cover story has been taken care of too. The only thing you need to focus on is getting better.” 

Damian hums, having heard that a thousand times before. 

“I want to see Timothy.” 

“Yeah, and I’m sure he wants to see you too,” Stephanie replies, setting her phone back down on the nightstand. 

Damian proceeds to sit up, and reach for his IV. Stephanie barely has time to catch his hand before he can rip it out. 

“Chill, little dude. You’ll be able to see Tim in a bit. You need that though.” 

“Unhand me.” 

She lets him go. 

“Fine, but no trying to take that out again. Your dad is also on his way back. He was worried about you.” 

“Wonderful. Just what I needed.” 

“Hey, you guys handled things well. You made sure that the criminals were stopped, and you managed to get medical help before Dick and I got here. You didn’t need any help. You did a good job while you were alone.” Damian rolls his eyes. He yawns, and Stephanie pats his leg. 

“Try to get some more rest, and you can see Tim when you wake up.” 

Damian tries to argue, but finds he can barely keep his eyes open. So he gives in, and lets himself sleep. 

Someone is talking when he wakes up again, and he has half a mind to tell them to shut up, but then he recognizes the voice. His eyes snap open, Tim’s blurry shape coming into view. He’s wearing jeans, and a far too big hoodie, dark bags under his eyes. He’s talking to Dick, who’s standing in the doorway. 

“I have to go pick B up from the airport, or he’s going to drive here on no sleep in the last six days. I’ll be back.” 

He slips out, and Tim turns back to Damian. His eyes light up when he meets Damian’s. 

“Dami, you’re awake! Hey,” Tim says, sitting down in the chair Stephanie was in before. 

“Hello, Timothy. Are you alright?” 

“I’m alright. I had some drugs in my system, but I’m ok. You, on the other hand, almost died.” 

Tim reaches out to brush Damian’s hair back. Damian smiles. 

“You’re going to be alright. The doctors say you’re healing well, and Dick is on his way to pick up Bruce now.” 

Damian nods.

“I heard you speaking to Grayson… but I’m still tired.” 

Tim frowns. 

“Alright, you can go back to sleep. It’s ok.” 

Damian twists his fingers together, trying to figure out how to voice what he’s thinking. Apparently he doesn’t need to since Tim stands after a few seconds. 

“Scoot over. I get it, I don’t really want to feel like you’re not here either. I’m ok though, I promise.” 

Damian nods again, scooting to the side. Tim climbs up beside him, opening his arms. Damian nestles against Tim’s side, careful not to disrupt his IV. He sighs, letting his eyes close. He drifts off to Tim’s quiet breathing.

[britcision]

Tbh I think the wildest thing about Trump is that he literally doesn’t understand soft power

And possibly cannot even perceive it

He’s going around bitching about trade deficits and defence spending…

But a trade deficit means that the country with the deficit is buying more of your stuff than you are buying of theirs

It’s a good thing for your market, especially if you want independence and to get money from people buying your stuff - it’s not people not paying for things, it’s people buying your products and you not buying theirs in return

You’re “trading” products for money. You still get the money. And you can do things like influence the market and sell shitty dvd players that break after a year so that people need to buy Even More dvd players from you, because they aren’t making their own and are used to buying yours

(Note: in this example, “you” are the party with a trade SURPLUS. That means someone else has a deficit in their trade with you

Being the person with the deficit is also not a bad thing, so long as you’re actively trading; it means rather than creating your own industries that may not do as well as another country’s for immutable reasons like being able to mine for specific minerals, you can buy a good product and skip all the construction costs and focus on the things you can do better

The general rule of trade is that if you keep trading, everyone wins)

But Trump is essentially saying that he wants to stop other countries from buying American goods; he wants our imports (us buying your stuff) to match our exports (you buying our stuff)

So

You get less money, because either you’re buying more of our stuff (our exports rise to match imports), or you can’t sell us anything (we lower imports to match exports)

And he wants to do this with tariffs, which mean it becomes more expensive for American retailers to import international goods - because they pay tariffs to the American government, and the exporter does not pay those

(So you can’t afford imports)

So the only way to do what he wants… is to stop buying American goods

This will do good things for the American economy I pinky swear 🙄

The defence spending thing is actually even worse, which is fucking wild to me

The main reason that America is a military world power is that you waste all that money on an army you’re not really using to anything but go around showing off and declaring how big your army is

Other countries spend less on defence because we’re spending on things like infrastructure and improving the well-fare of our citizens

So we don’t have a big strong army that can fight your army, because we don’t need one, but we do need things like food for children and healthcare

But Trump is demanding that everyone else make themselves a big strong army

Because the US being able to essentially run a protection racket and ever so casually say “oh gee Russia looks so big and strong. Let us put a military base in your country so we can keep you safe… oh, and I guess maybe some beneficial trade deals while we’re there 😉😉 keeping you safe 😉😉” is… America being exploited?

And listen, Trump doesn’t do subtle. He’d probably just blatantly say “do what we want or we will invade”, and start a war

But because he can’t do that, he seems convinced that there is no value in America spending more on defence, and insists that the very same people he is antagonizing and threatening the sovereignty of should be expanding their own military power

Frankly, they’d probably start spending a little more on defence anyway

Nothing he’s doing will increase American influence on the world stage, because he’s actively forcing the rest of the world to start acting like America has already left

“Stop buying our exports. Build your own army.”

And as a Canadian? I do think it’s about time we were a little less economically dependent on the US - because it gives them too much power

They’re our closest and most convenient trade partner, but not the only game in town

[srldesigns6277]

If the kids family entered the country illegally then yeah, they should get deported?? Lmao??

There's only so many people a country can sustain. Every country worries about its citizens first and foremost. The obligation of a country and the politicians is to take care of their own FIRST. Everyone else is second. If you want to move someplace else then fucking do it legally and see if they let you in. You don't get to just jump the fucking border and rub your hands like a shitty little fly.

I am going to break this down point by point.

Your first statement: One that's fucking appalling since I know people who have seen the inside of those fucking facilities. I have seen the cages they have put children in before. No one. NO FUCKING PERSON should be put in a fucking cage. Many of the students I know and see have entered the country on visas and do work, but many American students I know won't. Many of them also have experiences that would make your head spin, from either their home countries or Border Agents. My community is better off with our immigrant population. We have construction workers, plumbers, thriving restaurants, and community groups. Many of the immigrant students and their parents have entered the healthcare industry here, too. They are integral to our community.

Your second statement: Did you know our country pays farmers to burn their crops or to not plant them at all? We often have overproduction in certain cash crops like corn and wheat. Most homes in the United States are owned by corporations rather than individual citizens, which has led to more homelessness, especially as those corporations tend to increase rent exponentially each year, often pricing people out of being able to afford rent. If the country truly cared about its citizens first, wouldn't it do something about the corporations?

Third statement: Similarly to what I just stated, If the obligation of Congress, the President, and the Judiciary, wouldn't they want to lower the infant mortality rate? Wouldn't they want to lower the pregnancy mortality rate? Wouldn't they want your prescriptions to be lower? Wouldn't they work with veterans to ensure they had easy access to healthcare and homes? Wouldn't college be cheaper or at least more accessible? Wouldn't they care about climate change since, as we just saw this past week(Jan 2025), the deep south has been under snowfall, the last time being the 1890s? Wouldn't they want to protect the rights of citizens since CITIZENS are you claim they want to help over immigrants? Wouldn't a government that cared want to have affordable homes for people?

Fourth statement: What ever happened to the poem on the Statue of Liberty?

"Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Or does that just matter if you are European? My family went through Ellis Island, where all they had to do was present their names and what they brought with them. But they were from Italy, so they were deemed okay, right? Or my family from Germany immigrated in the 1840s and were just allowed to move and create their own farms in Western Pennsylvania or Ohio. Or even still, the individuals who come on work or college visas, the H1B visas, are deemed perfectly fine. What's the difference there?

Your fifth statement: Our families probably did that, from the boats of Ellis Island in the East and Angel Island in the West. Plenty of people have been allowed to stay after doing similar things in the past, so why is it different now?

Next time just say your racist and move the fuck on.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Golden Cassandra

People don't listen. Not when what your saying, scares them. Especially when, what you're saying, scares them. They like to pretend, instead. That if they don't hear you? It's not happening. Can't and WON'T happen. That you're just a liar. Speading fear, for the fun of it.

But oh, when has reality ever been that kind? That agreeable?

Tell me, WHEN has it ever bowed to the tantrums of men?

I can't think of a single instance. Knew it wouldn't now, either. So, really? What was I to do? Keep trying? Beat my head against walls of willful ignorance, until the deigned to give? Hoping, against all reason and evidence, that they MIGHT, just MAYBE, do so in the nick of time? Please. I was hopeful, not a fool. Optimism does not render a soul naive.

Like the fall of Atlantis, the sacking of Rome. Great Alexandria burning. Everything was going to be destroyed. Rather dramatically, too, and rather deservedly. I couldn't and DIDN'T defend it. Try to change it? Yes. Try to SAVE them? Absolutely. But not once, not EVER, would I defend it.

After all, it was a system built upon the backs of slaves.

Death was the only reasonable outcome. Revolution, the Voice, of those unheard and in chains. Their magic, their power, used for the convenience of their so called "betters". It was disgusting. Vile.

Set dressing, for an Otome Game.

As though their VERY LIVES, their SUFFERING and SOULS, were nothing but pretty little plot points in someone else's PLAY! The indignities they faced. The starvation and thirst. Being forced to watch friend and loved ones suffer, Scream, DIE!

But Oh, at least the Protagonist gets her handsome meat to oogle. They'll know their place, as they play along. Broken nicely and so very, VERY greatful for her scraps. She can play at revolutionary. Or perhaps at savior, should she feel the need. Assuming she doesn't leave them in chains.

And I? Oh I am supposed to play dress up and face her, in some sick "duel" of love! Abuse and use to my heart's content! The Gods jest. For I will do no such thing!

I can barely recall the plot. Only that the gloss over the rather significant socioeconomic and political fall out that is sure to follow. The Kingdom is not going to survive. Should it not be one sort of Revolutionary revolt, it will be another. Corruption, stagnation, and willful ignorance are simply too wide spread among the upper echelons. Baked too deeply into the foundations.

Gods... I... I tried.

It hurts. Like ripping out finger nails, one by one, when I finally gather enough. Not even all that I wish I could. But simply... enough. There is not enough time, the rumblings of revolution have grown too loud. I... I HAVE too go. And... and I know they won't come with me. My friends, my family, the neighbors. All those who smile, nod, and listen but don't believe a word I say.

The pain is hollowing. A truely special sort of hell.

Looking back, to little cousins on tiny legs, helping you pack. With their round little cheeks and small little hands. Watching them try to lift bags like a "grown up". Your friends and family, treating it all like a trip to the country side and not the last time you'll ever see them. The... the day being... being so accursedly normal. Mild weather and gentle breeze. Like your world isn't ending. Like everything isn't gone.

Wanting to be wrong. Traveling and traveling. Wanting to be wrong. Everything mild, calm and sweet. A hell of self doubt. Every night and every dawn. Are you insane? Were they right all along? Were you reading signs, portents of Doom, where there were none? But still... you travel. A caravan filled with your life's work.

Every scrap of modern knowledge. A copy of every work and definitive artwork. Every play, treatise, and textbook. Every old Diary I could get my hands on and endless days patrolling the book markets. A lifetime's work. All spent in hand-me-downs and out of fashion clothes, just for this. The preservation of knowledge.

But what if I'm wrong?

Fiddling with the piles of ward stones, as I get farther and farther north. Closer and closer to the land I stashed away. Hidden, within layers upon layers, of ever circling bureaucracy. A magic rich grove of Gold-leaf Ginko. They would have been harvested to oblivion, if I hadn't hidden them, and the species is already endangered.

I have been using a tower I built (in a natural clearing, as I would sooner remove my own limbs, then a single branch upon one of those trees) there as a seed bank. Every endangered magical plant species I came across? I sent as many seed as I could, to my bank. Had even begun the lengthy process of creating automatons, so they could build a green house (carefully!) into the mountain.

Seems I will have nothing but time, now, to dedicate to that project.

As I get closer, passing through the beginning of the valley towns (that lead into the high lands)? My Family Ring breaks. The terrible Crack of it, a sharp knife to the gut, splitting the morning silence. Father is... oh Gods, Father is...

Yet, even before I can come to terms with this terrible new reality? Beneath my travel cloak and jacket, nestled precious like the love it represented, my Clan Mantle begins to snap and crack like popcorn. Enchanted stone beads cracking apart violently, with the lose of the life they were made to represent. Shrapnel tearing at my clothes as I desperately rip at my cloak, my jacket, blood already welling up from various wounds.

Pop, dead. Crack, dead. Snap! Dead.

I manage to rip the heavy necklace from around my shoulders. Already half the bead are gone. More, like lethal firecrackers, shooting off even as I fling the enchanted jewelry into a nearby leather bag. Scramble for a nearby heavy blanket to cover it. Blood stains everything, dripping from shallow nicks and shrapnel wounds alike. I... oh gods, I barely notice I'm crying.

The sounds have startled the horses. One of them even got hurt. It.. it takes hours to fix. I have to stop in the next town. Shaking. Shaking. I.. I think I may be shaking. C-crying. "To remember where you came from." That's... oh god. That's what Clan Mantle's are FOR. A symbolic gift, really. They... they could never have known.

That it would actually serve it's original purpose. It's ancient purpose. The reason they USED to be made. To... to show who was still ALIVE. Oh gods. I... I can't check. Can't bear to look. The sound has stopped. Is it over? Are... is there...? Please, gods, don't make me look. Don't make me KNOW, how few members of my own family are left.

I was right. Gods, damn them.

Gods damn them all.

I was RIGHT.

Bandaged, healed, I travel faster. Time is running out. It doesn't matter, now, which "route" she took. Everything will have fallen apart. I reach my grove and don't even bother to set up a tent. Wards before all. Better to sleep on the floor, then be caught unaware. I work around the clock. Feeling like clawed fingers are ever so gently, wrapping around my throat, one at a time. Tick, tock, tick, tock. And oh, the tighter they squeeze.

Barely... BARELY! Do the wards thrum to life, deep and powerful, before I feel some almost god like crash into them. My hands shake. Still kneeling in the dirt, from where I placed the last stone, I slowly look up. And... and curling above the golden trees? Shades of copper catch the light. Massive and leaning. Stepping on my wards. Looking down in annoyance, as they refuse to part.

(Distantly, I hear the horses scream in terror. I... I wish I could do the same.)

I flee. Scrambling without dignity, back to the seed bank's tower. Trying to keep out of sight. A hopeless endeavor, I know. What other reason could such a power Dragon be out here for? If not to finish what was started? But... but hope has carried me so FAR. Can it not carry me just a bit farther?

No attacks come. No insults or threats. Yet...

The presence does not leave.

I can not hide forever, for all that fear exhausts and bids me too. All my supplies are out side. My wards, at least seem, to have held? But how can I trust it? Knowing just how strong a dragon's magis is. Sure enough, the second I step outside? There he stands. The copper dragon. Just beyond the wards.

Worse still? He is a man I recognize. Which can only invite pain and suffering, as he played no small part in the revolution. Not to mention, his significance to that damnable Game. Was he "supporting character"? A "hidden route"? An antagonist I could not quite recall? I can not place it. He was THERE, but not lead about by the nose, like the others. Not broken, as they were.

Now, here he stands, light catching off his ornaments and nails. As he tap, tap, taps them lightly against my wards. In sequence. Amused. His eyes locked with mine and glowing from within. Fire and magic made manifest. The king was a fool to think he owned this man. A "royal gaurd dog" indeed. Ha! They brought death into their house, then kicked it.

A slow smile, spreading like poison through sleeping veins, creeps across that deceptively youthful face. Sharp, sharp teeth are revealed to the air. I think I may amuse him. Perhaps I have for quite a while. I have made it no secret, after all, that I know he is dangerous. Treated him as the threat he truely IS. Others thought it was funny. Would find excuses to shove me at him, just to see me panic. All the while, he pretended, like a GOOD little dog, to be polite.

His eyes had always been laughing.

And now? He doesn't even bother to hide.

"You ran away." His voice rings out, the barest hint of rasp, like the drawing of a blade. It fills the silence. Demands attention. "Did you think I wouldn't be able to find you?"

To be honest? I had hoped no one would look. That I had given them no reason to even try. Perhaps that had been naive. I was a part of the system too, in the end. Guilt by association. That didn't explain him, however. Had I wronged him? Beyond the obvious. (And the obvious sat between us, like so much rotten filth. How could ANYONE over look that?)

"Their courts burned, just like you always warned they would. You should have seen it."

He stopped to chuckle. Closer to a sneer, then a sound of true amusement. His distain and delight intertwining as he savored the memory. He leaned closer. Letting his forehead press against the barrier. Enjoying, reliving, his moment of triumph, once again.

"Ha, ha~ Oh, but you should have seen their faces. When they realized you were right. That you had warned them and warned them, but they had refused to listen! It was glorious, darling. They howled with such regret and fear. A magnificent symphony~ you made for me."

I backed up against the carts. The wounds from broken beads stinging harshly with every shift, like the screaming of the dead. Scared. Gods, I'm s-so scared. I can't possibly have invited this... r-right? I never flirted or... or suggested anything! So-! So why is-?! Gods, why is he here?!

"You can't run from me, clever girl. Not for long. You saw me and I see you. Too clever by half. They really should have listened~!" He broke off to laugh, a sharp mockery of the dead. Fangs catching the light. "But they didn't, did they? My poor clever girl. We truely were buried by filth, weren't we? How glorious it must be. To finally be free."

"But~! Did you really think you could escape ME, my clever girl?"

"You're not nearly so foolish. Open the barrier, darling."

"Let me in. Our revolution is over, I have won."

"Now you can't escape me~"

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 20

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer.

a/n: part 2, aka the continuation is now in process. warning for newcomers: this is a yandere story with dark (non-con, violence) themes. read on with caution. this story does not romanticise either concept.

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • < previous chapter • next chapter >

20. Promise

[3 months later]

You have never been one for goodbyes, but life as it had turned out, had already forced you to do so not once, but twice already.

The first time was voluntary; when you had left your sleepy hometown and the long-haunting corrupt influence far behind. It seemed like such a good decision back then, when you at long last, had obtained that prized referral to work at one of the country’s most prestigious Jujutsu institutions. It almost seemed too good to be true, and maybe that’s because it was, because, just like everything else in your life—all of the highs had to come down—inviting the lows to linger, to fester, to… rot.

The second time wasn’t by your own choice, however, but something far, far worse. If you were being honest, you couldn’t have made sense of your situation if you tried. Forced to flee from Tokyo following an obsession that went too far, the ever-lasting consequences of summer had consumed your life to the point where you were once again left a victim of an unrequited influence out of your control.

You’ve had plenty of time to think about just how exactly it all went wrong, too, and just for a while, you were happy to appoint the self-blame. In a twisted sense, you believed that it was your fault for trying to naively infiltrate a jaded world with such fresh hope. Maybe it was wrong of you to have dreamt of a better life; maybe you should never have tried with Jujutsu to begin with. Perhaps you should have taught the ordinary future generations of today because, it wasn’t like they didn’t matter, too. They were more responsible for future cursed energy than they even knew.

…But then again, how were you supposed to know that you were going to be so entangled between… them?

It wasn’t as though you set out to ruin your own life, after all. It was out of your control from the very second you let your guard down—from the moment that you placed your trust in the two people you shouldn’t have. That couldn’t have been on you, though. Surely not.

You did suppose, however, that in some sort of twisted sense, that your return to the city (albeit against your will) could have been considered a reunion of sorts when you were met with those chilling blue eyes once more. What was once a calm blue sea guiding the way now turned out to be a violent storm—its waves dragging you into the murky depths, anchoring you within it—but not quite letting you drown, at least not yet. You instead were trapped. Imprisoned in a floating limbo, forced to endure whatever… this… all was. It was humiliating, perhaps even insulting and you berated yourself mentally every single passing day for not fighting back against Satoru fucking Gojo when he confronted you back in Osaka, but then again, that same pressing question begged your rationality once more; how exactly were you ever supposed to go against someone like him to begin with?

Someone like him, who had the entire world of Jujutsu wrapped right around his finger.

As bleak as it all sounded, as harsh as the reality reigned true; you never had a chance to begin with, did you? Whether you ran away or stayed behind—it would have likely gone this way, because… after a summer of getting to know him, you of all people knew the truth (from learning it the hard way), that Satoru Gojo always got what he wanted.

You sighed as your eyes rolled back to glare at the fluorescent-lit ceiling, the pale flickering glow straining against your eyes. It was almost comedic with how dramatically it all came undone, like it was some sort of sick joke and you were the unsuspecting punchline right at the very end. Tokyo was supposed to be your fresh start away from the monotonous flow of small-town politics and its corrupt influence, so why on earth did it follow you here, too? You did everything right, after all, you studied hard and you persevered, you earned your place in the world, and just as it all finally began to fall into place… it unraveled. It was truly as though the string that you delicately wove through the passage of life was on its last thread, destined to snap from the moment it all connected.

(There was never a chance. There was always something in the way.)

You sat up, trying to avoid the light only to catch a flash of it reflected in the sleek black tiled floors. Closing your eyes in frustration, you tried to think back to the good times. You did suppose that the city was technically everything you had otherwise fantasised it to be; loud, noisy, and bustling with endless life. It was a far cry from the watchful and prying eyes of your quaint town. There was something… special about Tokyo because you were able to simply just… disappear, as one fleeting face of many, a living ghost blurring in and out of the crowd as you had pleased, free at last.

For it to have been taken away just from the introduction of three people, was almost hilarious. It was funny how that all worked. Just three people. Three.

Shoko, bless her heart, was your first real friend who guided you into the person that you desperately yearned to be. Someone both caring yet unrestricted from the confines of a sheltered former adolescence and then, guiding you into the further depths of it all, was… them.

Ah, Suguru Geto. If only you knew, huh? You laid back down with your head now slightly throbbing with a faint aura; the beginning of a migraine. These damned lights. So brooding and mysterious he was—it was a shame that he had to turn out the way that he did—a nightmare disguised as a dream. Was it your fault for admiring him from a distance initially? Did you somehow fall victim to some sort of manipulative act, when you found his calm, almost contemplative personality to be a comfort? His suffocating presence wasn’t something you could quite predict, after all, so possessive and longing, yet somehow subtly so. To have eluded the perceptive gaze of Shoko and even Satoru was almost impressive, but unsurprising because even he managed to fool you at times. Oh, how crazy he made you feel, even for just doubting him at all.

Then there was Satoru Gojo. Ah, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru… Oh, so ever loud and energetic, Satoru… Truth be told, you found him overwhelming at first, but there was a certain quality of his that drew you in. He was good at both carrying the conversation as well as involving you within it, making you feel special when the attention landed on you for just a second and dare you say, even… validated. Just like Suguru however, he couldn’t keep up the act for very long, though, even if he did crumble last. In some ways, he was the most volatile one out of both of them, because beyond that playful facade that he let on, was something else that bubbled and simmered beneath the surface. It was hard to tell at times, but it was certainly there.

Something that wasn’t quite calm, but maybe tender. Something that was… vulnerable and whatever it was, it made him dangerous to be around.

So in the end, if you had to truly reflect, then maybe it was all three of you that were at fault.

All three of you were that were victims of losing yourself in an attempt to look for something meaningful in that endless, unforgiving city. All three of you were subjected to the quickly fleeting addiction that you could never quite hold onto, of being both seen and understood. It was no wonder that you opened up too quickly and too soon, slipping on that pair of rose-tinted glasses longer than you should have. Maybe if you took them off when you had the chance, then you too, could have been yet another passing soul in and out of their lives, but you weren’t.

You got attached and so did they, and now, for a lack of better words, it wasn’t just your life that was ruined, but theirs too. All together, the three of you floated around in an unending, aimless drift, leaving Shoko to pick up the pieces (as usual).

The migraine faded and never thankfully developed, but you still grimaced at the light that flickered all the same. He was home, but not close just yet. All of those riches that lined his pockets and he couldn’t afford to screw in a better bulb for the lights or at least opt for something warmer and less clinical. You wanted to punch that light, to let it shatter and paint the room in a much-needed night, but you couldn’t. So instead, you were illuminated and exposed, plunged into the spotlight, forced to look at the pretty little cell he had confined you to.

Such continuous misery left you wondering if your life could have been… maybe… better if you followed Suguru. In a way, you missed his pretty lies because he at least tried to offer you comfort and see you for who you truly were, but he also hurt you, so you couldn’t forgive him. Twice. He hurt you twice and yet, your mind still drifted to him at times. Why? You couldn’t make sense of it—of him—of the very same man who despite forcing you to bury your past behind and move on—surely had an issue with never letting you go, with never letting anything that ever happened to you… go.

Did this therefore make Satoru better or worse? You didn’t even know anymore. They were both equal runner-ups for the worst human being, that much was for certain. Suguru may have been involved from the start, but he was nothing like Satoru, who was always watching right from the start, more closely than you, or anyone else had ever known. Those burning blue eyes so focused yet serene, locked on you in a way that almost felt invasive. If Suguru was the storm, then Satoru must have been the cataclysm itself.

Devastating. Consequential. Unforgiving.

Indeed, you were never free.

All of the hope, all of the dreams—everything else that fell in between—none of it was ever real.

The only thing that had ever remained consistent throughout this whole experience was the part where Satoru told you that he would never, ever let you go.

The lights above you were now starting to buzz and crackle, fading in and out with every muffled thud. He was approaching. Suddenly, you regretted spending so much time reflecting on the aftermath of your life yet again, knowing that you had spent yet another day moping around, thinking of them, of him… knowing fully well that you were never truly alone.

Satoru would reunite with you every night, on clockwork, never late and always on time.

His voice was calm, always welcoming yet never inviting. You always found yourself flinching as he greeted you, wanting nothing more than to be left alone for the night. Just one night was all you asked him for—it was all you begged for at one point—for him to not talk to you, for him to not… touch you. A single night was all that you asked for, a break from having to play pretend.

“Ah, [name],” Satoru cooed, lowering an unwinding staircase that revealed a mocking glimpse of the room just above. A faint reminder of just how close the surface was, yet so inaccessible. The entrance operated on a motor, using some sort of secret code. There was a dial pad inside of the basement he kept you in as a failsafe just in case it locked him in, but try as you might to crack the code, you never guessed it right and every time you failed, it sent an alert to him. “You haven’t moved an inch from where I left you last! Didn’t I tell you about the importance of needing to stretch, even if it’s just for a minute or two a day?”

“Please just let me go,” you croaked out weakly, knowing that he wasn’t going to oblige, let alone even humour you.

Predictably ignoring your request, he walked over to you, setting down a plain white plastic bag right where you lay, strategically positioning it so that you could spot your favourite snacks and drinks poking out.

“It’s been a hell of a long day, you know,” he continued, adopting a softer tone that almost sounded hopeful, “did you miss me?”

You closed your eyes in an attempt to block him out. “You already know the answer to that one, don’t you?”

Satoru snorted a half-laugh, seeming annoyed but also amused. “You’ll have to admit it one day, [name],” he reminded, “the sooner you learn to… adapt, the sooner it’ll start to look up for you, and maybe, just maybe…” he trailed off, letting the beginning of a promise hang, “I’ll let you see your friends again, maybe I’d even let you see… him,” he paused as he said that last word, his composed demeanour ever so slightly faltering at the indirect mention of Suguru, “so, what do you say?”

You repeated the same answer you always did, “Never, Gojo,” you sighed, already expecting the worst as he took up the free seat next to you on the sofa, settling right where your head lay.

You felt a cold shocking jolt run through your body as his cold hands cupped your face, tilting your head up to meet with his longing yet intense stare. He would do such a thing on occasion, hoping that you would return even a hint of the way you once looked at Suguru before, and yet you didn’t. In your eyes, there was resentment but also, if he looked hard enough, fear.

“What have I told you about being so formal, huh?” he murmured, scoffing a little, “we’ve been over this, you’ll call me Satoru and we’re… we’re going to make this work,” he reminded you, trying to maintain his composure, “I’m not letting you go either way, so you’re going to have to drop that at some point, because like it or not, it’s not up to you how it all goes… it never has been.”

You blinked, unable to reply.

Satoru’s eyes softened for a moment, revealing a hint of internally conflicting vulnerability, maybe even traces of guilt glinting in his stare. “We’ll play pretend for as long as we have to, yeah? We’ll make all of it feel real one day.”

His words cut sharp even if it was just a reminder of something you already knew, that there was some sort of unseen force meddling in the sidelines of your life, forcing you to endure whatever life had in store for you, even if it meant pretending that it was all okay.

One thing did bother you, though.

A question that you looped over and over in the back of your mind and yet you never did dare ask him, as if afraid to hear the answer.

If he was simply fulfilling his promise to never let you go…

…Then why was he punishing you for being here?

[apas-95]

abt the 'exit strategy for capitalism' thing obviously the natural advantages of socialist states will lead to their uncontested military and economical dominance in the coming decades, at which point they'll have both means and motive to buy out bourgeois interests and their 'possessions' and transition the economical system while there's no easy way for imperial core states to outright end these trends, their policies obviously do affect the economical development of socialist states and there's probably enough variance to shift the timetable on all this happening by a couple years, so y'know exert whatever influence you have on the particular flavor of capitalism that's in vogue if done well (and what I'm seeing rn actually gives me hope for that) the capitalists at no point have an incentive to burn the whole thing down out of spite bc they keep earning right until they don't, you know how the saying abt ropes and hangings goes (and if done poorly and they cling to and suck dry the last scraps of the world's economy they control at least everywhere else should be out of reach by then) and my main concern with a revolution is actually that one will 100% get accused of having foreign backing, at which point you just needlessly raise the odds of some general deciding he (or she #imwithher) might as well let those nukes fly (even if they're losing, especially if they're losing) But it's all w/e, I could be convinced either way, this all just makes a lot more sense to me than a succesful imperial core revolution that doesn't end with the northern hemisphere irradiated

fundamentally the notion of a peaceful transition out of capitalism is simply not in agreement with reality. no class has ever abandoned the world stage without fighting to maintain itself, and the imperial core is already both undertaking massive violence and war against the sections of the global south it already has under its heel, and preparing for high-intensity conflict against the communists that have slipped its shackles. there is no point where the bourgeoisie would simply peacefully allow themselves to be stripped of power.

the point of nukes is exactly *why* there has to be revolution within the imperial core, rather than having the rest of the world do the job for them - there is precisely one place the US has no nuclear deterrent against, which is itself. if the thing we're supposed to fear is that both 'the US military's high command, likely facing severe mutiny, rather than ordering a negotiated surrender during civil war, decides to nuke themselves' as well as 'the US strategic missile forces, upon receiving the order to nuke themselves, carry it out', then so be it - such a fundamental strategic insanity would be just as likely to start a nuclear exchange even if there weren't a revolution - which brings us to the final point.

world war is on the horizon. the economic reasons for world war remain as they did a century and a half ago. the world has been fully carved up, and the profits are drying out. the imperialist blocks, principally the US and EU, are driven to compete against each other for their holdings, first peacefully, then through proxy war, and finally through direct conflict. as it was a hundred years ago, the buildup of war is accepted on all sides with the target of the socialist bloc and the potential for its pillaging, but (as has already started breaking out among larger and larger regional powers) any conflict of this sort would manifest as general war and looting, as desperate, recession-wracked imperialists take opportunity as it presents itself. in inter-imperialist war the most ruthless techniques are used, and a nuclear exchange would not be off the table -- and, fundamentally, the conditions that lead to world war are the same that lead to instability, insurrection, and revolution within individual countries.

war is, at this juncture, an inevitability. the only question is whether revolutionary war will win out over unjust war, will convert the war between nations to a war between classes. we are against war, but we are not afraid of it.

[mithliya]

"allowing 15-17 year olds to marry is totally the same as having 7 yo girls getting raped by 40 yo moids as a cultural practice im very smart"

and no i dont think marrying 15 year olds should be allowed either but like come the fuck on those arent even remotely the same

“as a cultural practice” 😐 u know the wild thing is some of u genuinely think that children aren’t getting married off in the west and that every eastern child is getting married off. the black & white thinking just makes u look dumb. despite living in a muslim & middle eastern nation, i have not met a single person in my generation who was married off as a child to an older man. not one. bc statistically child marriage in the middle east (especially under 15 years old) does not have the rates u imagine it to have:

but bc of where my country is geographically located, yall assume this is some common normal “cultural practice” that we are all too dumb to ever criticise ourselves. u see brown skin and assume “surely this person believes pedophilia is ok”. meanwhile statistically, while no child should go through it, it is far from being the norm and the vast majority of us are very aware it is wrong & pedophilic. statistically, most child marriages worldwide occurred when the girls were over 15 also which apparently is somehow justifiable to u, which says a lot about u here.

but i guess it’s ok pedophilia is happening in the west bc if it’s a 12 year old being married off then it’s not as bad all of a sudden, bc u imagine child marriages everywhere else typically involve seven year olds (which even in regions where child marriage is more common like south asia, is usually not the case at all). we will have to disagree there bc i think no matter the frequency and the race and the age in which child marriage occurs, it’s not ok, but clearly ur priorities lie more with arguing white men are superior so u would rather downplay their pedophilia.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2017/02/10/why-does-the-united-states-still-let-12-year-old-girls-get-married/

this is exactly what i mean when i say y’all don’t care about issues like fgm and child marriage bc u clearly don’t know shit about it, u just use it to make racist generalisations & assumptions to justify why u look down on anyone who isn’t white

so much for ur superior culture, seems ur mindset isn’t that different to other pedos.

[fairuzfan]

I don’t want to misunderstand and make things worse for people. When you (and others) say don’t vote, do you mean don’t vote for biden or don’t vote at all?

Hey thanks for sending this in. No worries I understand the confusion.

I said in the tags in the previous post that I think people should vote for the reps in that list because they can be bullied into doing things based on the traditional means of opinion sharing (calling, writing letters, etc) and plus it's a nice little "we meant it when we said we would not be voting for you when we called" to the other dems. Basicially, using your vote strategically as a threat and sending a message instead of just blindly voting blue because red is "worse" and not because you actually like any of Democrats policies.

When I personally say I'm not going to vote, I am still voting in local elections and school boards and things like that. I definitely think you should always vote on the school board, especially, if nothing else. But I don't think I will be voting for major politicians like presidency — at least next election. I don't live in any of the districts of the ceasefire reps either.

Not voting and seeing people not voting would make people change their strategies. They know they can't rely on votes naturally anymore — they actually have to earn them based on material change. That's my personal intention, at least, with not voting. That and... like hell am I going to vote for the party and people that called for the blood of Palestinians. I do genuinely think they're bad people that no one should ever support under any circumstances, and I'll stick by that.

People mention voting for third party and I've recieved asks about it but.... I'm not sure. I think being president of the most powerful country in the world changes you fundamentally. We (palestinians) were hopeful for Obama when he went into office, and he did nothing, largely abandoning us, and he was taught by Edward Said himself. He was friends with Khalidi. He knew what was happening and still he made the decisions that he did.

Now I don't think you should just blindly follow whatever anyone says on the matter. I'm only giving you my opinion on this based on personal experience and past circumstances. You should genuinely, honestly, think about how your vote impacts others, especially around the world. Voting "blue" just because it might be easier for you here, then largely ignoring the entire world that's affected by the US, is, in my opinion, a pretty selfish decision. Besides, as someone who is disabled, Biden has already abandoned a large swath of people and basically left them to die with how he's dealt with covid. The migrant concentration camps are still there. He can't do anything about the Supreme Court and their messed up decisions. He won't do anything meaningful to protect any type of person in the states either, so what are we voting for exactly?

Voting is not a chore you have to do to keep your rights. Voting is a participation in your political system depending on the circumstances surrounding the things you care about. When that political system largely ignores you, I don't see a purpose in participating and showing support — because that's what Voting is, support — to people you fundamentally disagree with and those that don't really care about you.

[envirae]

my very first love ! — 23: one last chance

masterlist

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wc: 677

written part below the cut!

All the best teams in the country were gathered in one place, but Soobin had his eyes on only one person.

Lee Heeseung.

You and your team knew how hard you had worked for the past few weeks, especially after the choreo fiasco. There was no doubt in your mind that you could beat Enhypen.

But from the looks on their faces, they seemed to have no doubt that they could beat you, either.

Heeseung strolled up to Soobin, almost as if he was bored. But you knew that behind his nonchalant façade, he was just as terrified as anyone else in the room. "Fourth year, Soobin. I'm excited to see what you guys have planned. Good luck."

"Fourth year, Heeseung." Soobin replied, standing his ground. "And thanks, but we don't need luck. May the best team win.” He asserted, shaking Heeseung's hand as he walked away.

The two team captains were likely the most on edge. It was both of their last years, and both of their last chance to finally show the other who was the best.

And as much as the two of you tried to deny it, the tension between you and Riki was painfully obvious. The stolen glances from across the room didn't go unnoticed by either team, it was almost pitiful.

You even debated going up to him, but all your temptation and yearning disappeared when Jiwoo walked into the room.

"Hey, I thought only performers were allowed backstage?" Hanni groaned, loud enough to make sure she heard. Embarrassed, Jiwoo whispered something to Riki and briskly walked out.

Riki followed Jiwoo out to the hallway, and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. He was so shameless. Your annoyance was visible to everyone in the room, and you were sure you would have lost your mind if Sunoo didn't come up to you.

"Hey y/n, I know you probably don't want to hear from him, but I think you should talk to Riki."

You knew he was just trying to help, but still almost scoffed in his face, "Thanks Sunoo, but I don't think he wants to hear from me either. Besides, he looks like he's doing just fine."

"He's not, trust me. Just— go find him and talk to him. If things don't go well, you'll never have to speak to him again." He could tell you were hesitant, and even he was surprised at how much he pitied the two of you. "Just give him a chance, y/n. I don't think you'll regret it."

You walked out into the hall, stopping before turning a corner when you heard Jiwoo's voice.

"I don't get it, Riki. I thought you liked me?" Her voice was shaky, like she was about to cry. The conversation sounded really personal, but you couldn't bring yourself to walk away.

"I'm sorry if I gave you that impression, Jiwoo. I never meant to lead you on, and it's not your fault at all. You’re great, really, it’s just that— I like someone else. I thought I moved on from them, but I wasn't. And I don't think I'll be ready to be with someone else for a really long time."

There was a long pause before Jiwoo responded. "It's y/n, isn't?"

"Yeah, it is." He confirmed, almost disappointed. "How'd you know?"

"Riki, you are an amazing dancer, but you are a terrible actor. I could sense your feelings for her from a mile away. Why don't you do something about it?"

"I don't think it's gonna go anywhere. She doesn't see me like that and with our teams, I don't think it would ever work out. We'd only both get hurt, you know?" There was an odd sadness in his voice, as if it was breaking him to say it out loud and he wanted nothing more than to be proved wrong.

"I think you should at least try. You're a great guy Riki, and you deserve someone who makes you happy."

They were silent for a couple seconds before Riki's phone buzzed. "Shit, it's fifteen minutes till call time. I got to go, but I really appreciate you coming, Jiwoo."

You scrambled for a place to go, but Riki turned the corner too quickly and you were now face to face.

"y/n?"

taglist 1 (closed): @haknom @kjrcrz @lalalalawon @123-678h @k25vi @aosbie @yenqa @wondering-out-loud @captivq @enhaz1 @luvistqrzzz @luvchungha @beomgyusonlywife @heart4hees @mrchweeee @mywons @jwnoot @jayujus @jaeyunsimswife @yumilovesloona @pagesofmiracles @eumppattv @fluerz @yjwfav @darly6n

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for stealing jewelry and a few other items from my hoarder aunt?

This was a few years ago now, I wanna say maybe 2018? My dad has two sisters, Z and K. K is married to a hoarder and has some hoarding tendencies herself so their house and particularly their garage is a mess. Not biohazard levels of mess but for sure just dusty, dirty, and stuffed with with ancient unusable garbage. K and her husband don’t have any kids, they’re both in their mid-70’s and both are in pretty poor health, so Z flew down from Florida and asked my father and I to come help clean. We agreed and came down for a day.

I have a weird relationship with my aunts. K took care of their mother until she died, and until she died my father would be at his sister’s beck and call. He would frequently abandon his own family to go help K and his mother. I don’t blame him for this, he wanted to help his sick mother, but I do blame K for using him as free labor. He built the house K is hoarding in, destroying his body in the process. Now that I’m an adult I don’t really speak to either aunt, like I had no contact with Z since Z’s second wedding in 2013. K is much closer location-wise but I don’t speak to her either because she’s just kind of off putting. The last time I spent time with her we went shopping and she kept telling me stories of her miscarriage and how annoying her husband is and pointing to someone and loudly asking “you think that’s a man or a woman?” Like I understand we are family but K and Z are as close to strangers as family can get to me. This doesn’t even cover my mom’s opinion of them and their treatment of her. Both Z and K have a history of manipulation, deception, and are both very vindictive and ignorant. She hates them both to the point of paranoia. My sister and I have a similarly low opinion of them both, but we both are more tolerable, myself especially.

So we arrive and we clean, Z and I working together to throw away a bunch of shit and my father worked on installing a new dishwasher. I stumble upon this gorgeous hanging lamp that looks like a large full moon. I text my mom about it and she flips. “That’s mine,” she says, “your father and I found that on the side of the road one night when we were first married.” So I load it into my dads car because it’s so pretty and it belongs to my parents. “Hey, you better ask if you can take that” Z says and I flat out tell her that it belongs to my mom. She shrugs and we continue to work. I find another really cool set of hanging lamps and a solid wooden lamp base carved to look like a gazelle that probably belonged to K’s husband’s parents and I took those too, with no input from Z.

These items weren’t lovingly packed and carefully stored away. They were sitting in plastic bins stuffed with dozens of boxes disintegrated plastic gloves and tools that were more rust than anything else. Towards the end of the day we discover some jewelry boxes and I take those inside to go through with K. A lot of it was junky costume jewelry but there’s some incredible pieces including a pair of 14k gold hoops that look like rams heads, a cool brass ring with an enameled signet with the Sagittarius archer, and a huge silver heart pendant. I carefully set aside the items that I would like to take home and K didn’t say anything, either because she didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Finally when we got home I showed my mom all of the cool stuff I found and she kind of scolded me, saying I should have asked to take this stuff and I brushed it off by joking that this was payment for my cleaning services. She was very happy that I rescued her moon lamp though.

I’m wearing that chunky silver heart pendant today and am thinking about it again. K doesn’t have any children so the only people who would ever inherit this junk would be either myself or Z’s kids, but Z’s daughter is no contact with Z and Z’s son lives on the other side of the country. We own the property that K lives on, pay for the taxes on it and pay for the maintenance on it all without charging K anything, so even when she and her husband die my family is going to have to clean it anyway and I can assure you I would be the only person who would actually want to sift through the garbage to find cool stuff. I feel like I saved this stuff from the landfill. I wear the jewelry I took, we have that really cool gazelle lamp displayed in our living room, and my sister said she was going to use the hanging lamps I brought home for when she has her own home. But of course I technically stole all of it and for sure will not be giving it back, even if she noticed it’s missing. AITA?

What are these acronyms?