#but i REFUSE to believe that

[weird-cato]

[peakyfag]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅

ㅤㅤ𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐀𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

I truly have nothing else to do, and these two have been living in my head rent-free for the past few days. warnings: period-typical homophobia, a little bit of religious trauma and internalized homophobia.

ㅤ— The two met during adolescence. The first time they had seen each other was during a rendezvous between Thomas and Jeremiah; Finn was all but shy of twelve, and Isaiah was sixteen, bordering on seventeen. By that point, Finn would not unglue from Isaiah.

— For a long time, Isaiah could not bring himself to view the youngest of the Shelby's as more than a little brother; both due to the age difference between the twain of them, simple five complete years, and due to Finn's personality in itself: he was a sweet boy, indeed. Gentle, naive and soft-spoken.

— And so, he had made a duty out of protecting Finn. It was as though he was a fourth older sibling to Finn, whose vision could not be further from Isaiah's own. No, it truly could not be further, no doubt.

— At first, it was nothing more than a little, innocent crush of youth. A crush of which Finn cultivated ever since he saw the preacher's son—and one he long fought and fought to forget and to keep at bay. Really, at such a tender age, he was a good, catholic boy, raised on the very end-of-the-world that was Birmingham, at the time (even if it was mere 100 miles away from London).

— It would have been easier, he thought, should he have been in London. That was the portrait of whom, at the ripe age of thirteen, he had came to be: a paltry youngster, a boyish scant of Birmingham, always protected by his family and his brothers, the fucking Peaky Blinders—as they called themselves, seemingly taking all delight on it, and as others called them as well. When the sun shone, he rolled his eyes at such nonsense; yet, as dawn fell by the sky, he craved to be one of them.

— At last, he was a Shelby by birth. The only thing he carried of his family was the surname, but not their blood. He should have honoured the name which he was given. Indeed, he should have—at last, however, time did not wait for the honour of one, for it had a duty of its own, and such was to pass. Finn, despite himself and whatever reveries his juvenile and chimerical mind created, grew. He grew not into a sword, nor into a blade, but in a callow boy—against all odds he bet.

— Time was the hound of the mightiest jaw, and for that, it possessed metallic hands. As the claws of the clock got to him, he tried with all the might in himself to be involved with whoever was the poor girl that would have him, and hand to him a press of lips or two; a thorn of affection and a rose of wanting. Even then, there had been something wrong. Whatever was that thing, it wandered, walked by his entrails as does a spider. There was a certain element, a certain discomfort which overcame him as delicate, feminine hands (agreeable to all, but to him) enveloped his neck, in the manners of chains.

— Then, the excuses would come to him: the hour was bad, he said, none time did he had. By most, the girls could barely last a week—with luck, they could last for one and a half!—and he, in the circumstances of his birth, learned to saunter only through the shadows. Never would his steps reacb luminescence. But Birmingham perceived his ways, and, once more, he walked by obscurity, as though he was an aloof mouse. Still, he always remained by the side of Isaiah.

— With observant eyes, Isaiah watched as nature sowed Finn. The more he was sowed, the more Isaiah’s eyes dawned upon him, delineating every detail and feature they could soak in. At eighteen, Finn had been transformed into a certainly alluring little thing: he was a beauty, a man of pale skin, with and inviting and longish neck, reddish and well-contourned lips. And his eyelashes; they lingered through all, as did his eyes themselves, and were as long and flattering as the incarnation of grace.

— At nineteen, only one year later, he was a youth much mismatched to that of the rest of his own kin: with a slender silhouette and a frame sculpted and chiselled by the art of all thar was exquisite and flimsy, he had longish legs and fine hands. There was a hidden adroitness in the bounds of his body, a contained charm which contaminated everything he could do. Most said he was quite alike to his late mother, when the woman was the same age as him.

— He had not met Mrs.Shelby, but if she was as alike to Finn as said the bad tongues, then she was a woman of great beauty, indeed. Dwelling on these thoughts almost gave him the desire to have met her before God took her. And in the fullness of time, when the age of twenty came to him, Finn turned into a true and heartful, lovely youth; so beautiful. In all honesty, really. The mere way in which his lips enveloped the cigarette did more than enough to force Isaiah to look the other way.

— By great irony of creation, it seemed that Finn had been transformed into a grandiose portrait of his kismet; the rest of his life waltzed in him. Observing and observing, a particular notion about the youngster came to him, one of which he had never lingered upon: Finn was never quite there. Not quite here and not quite there, as though he was a zephyr, a phantom-like creature, always sauntering in the eyes of all but never truly appearing in light, only obscurity. He was as hidden as the agrestic. This notion, it seemed, solely served for them to be further close.

— But as aware of Finn as he turned to be, he took no act. He had met the boy when he was all but a child, a scarce little lad, and had watched as every moment of the world dawned upon him. He had been certain that he was nothing more than a fourth brother to Finn, as if three were not yet enough—Finn nurtured a meagre fraternal affection for him, no other could do. As it was, he had been by his side since he was a wight of twelve. The naviety and gentleness of that age seemed to have been lost in him, however.

— There had been a particular night, though: in a dark alleyway away from the Garrison, when the hour was gloomy and when the shades of evening had already stabilished rule through the city's aurora. There had always been an individual easiness between him and the other, where words were not made necessary, for the sky spoke for them. Between both, silence was as euphonic as the melody of a church's chore and, for all, it was easier to be with Finn when all was quiet.

— Whilst a caramel candy was the sole thing to dance around Isaiah's mouth, a cigarette, lightened by Isaiah himself, laid between Finn's lips. It was an sardonic image, yes, wrote out in even more sardonic stanzas. A definitive gleam shone through Finn's eyes when the lighter came to his mouth: a fiery glow, a haunting and golden luminescence in those hazel eyes. The flickering of the flame delineated all of the freckles in Finn's fair, lovely features. It was a derisive acerbity, that his flesh was so ivory in tone.

— He should not smoke, Isaiah remarked, and yet a venom remained in Finn's veins, even if it was as fine as a rabbit's hair. He was still a Shelby, no less—and venom was nothing if not inherited by the family's blood. And Finn, sweet, pretty Finn inherited the verses of his kin's serpent as well. He was gracious and sly, quiet and wily. Truly, he possessed the potential to be cunning. Even so, as the cigarette went out and Finn brought another one to hover between his red lips, Isaiah, in repeated motions, held out the lighter to set it aflame, but then—then, the mere look the other shot him was enough for him to abandon the object in his pockets, take Finn by the jaw and kiss him.

— The flavour of that caramel candy, which Finn had long observed by Isaiah's lips, shred its paths through his mouth, as he was certain that the taste of tobacco did by Isaiah's own. Hands, once in his jaw, wandered until one of them held his waist and the other held his hip. His own slender arms came to circle around Isaiah's neck, and his body was firmly pressed to the other's—with a tint or two of something he could not name, albeit as heavy as concrete, he saw that he ought to stand on tiptoe to equalize both heights. A glint shone by Isaiah's eyes; it was hunger that he saw in the man's pupils. And God, did he not kiss well?

— In a short and eventual period, encounters such as that turned into a trite remark for both. Way too trite, if the opinion of logic should be considered. All the rendezvous were always at dawn, where no eyes could pry and no soul would wander around, always strategically distant from any point where one could recognize the both of the two. They hid and hid as though they were rats in a a cathedral, distant from the sacred, hidden of the punishments for one's existant in itself. A man had once said, "my existence is a scandal".

— Where moonlight slips, an euology for a certain image is kept. And did the both had quite the visage to keep, Finn reckoned. Yes, they did—as sure as the sun rises day after day, and the crows keep on creaking dawn after dawn. One cannot be thought as blind, for when the eyes close, one can be merely blinking.

— Every suspicion was to be kept at bay, like a prisioner in gelid bars. If one did so much as dream that such encounters had been happening, when the only element to be seen was dawn—oh, heavens. The mere thought of it send a cold trail down his spine; he wore his fear as though it was a perfume of cruel aroma. Yes, they should be discreet—proper, even. The vision of Finn, with agitated eyes and agony in his every motion, looking to one side and then the other in disturbed attempts to find anyone in sight, turned into an usuality. An eventuality, perhaps.

— Isaiah was lying through his very teeth when he told him to calm himself, that both could not be seen; he knew that much. The other cultivated the same preoccupations as him, he was certain. His arrogance had never quite left him, no. In fact, one could say his gentleness and naviety had long been traded by that deep arrogance. Therefore, he dearly held the belief that Isaiah could not hide anything from him—so dearly he held it, so navietly. But when they were discovered (should they ever be, that is) his particular surname would not take him nor Isaiah out of the gallows.

— At night, one could say that his prayers only held one thing: that his neck broke when the rope was tightened, and that Polly was not there to witness. Cowards are sculpted by the laws of their era. For some time, a press of lips in the neck and a hand here and there sufficed for both him and Isaiah; and one may take notice that Finn could never be accustomed with anything for long. All he possessed, alongside his affections, was fear. Fear of discoverence, of whatever Thomas would do once those meetings came to his knowledge, of whatever Isaiah himself would do as the secret (for that was what it all was: a secret to be taken to the grave, where sentimentality lay the most) was told.

— Grandiose were the terrors to roam within the bounds of his bones. The sweet and tender have no enemy but time, that is certain; but in the dance of the clock, the roaring dread will either die in fire and powder or consume, as all greatness does. As it seemed, it just consumed, its teeth and claws as sharp as the verses of the Devil, devouring in motions most ardent. For all things sacred, he had tried to take no shame in whatever creature he was (for he was not human, not at all. He could never be; humans were not quite like him) and he had tried to murder his fear. Still, it took vengeance as its, and it repayed. To murder one's terrors, is to murder one's self.

— Finn was young, was he not? Younger than Isaiah, certainly.

— In a golden carriage, it came: the moment where Isaiah decided to confront Finn about it all. The distancing with no past clues to be seen, the very way Finn pretended not to know him when he was up to it, even if he kissed him so hard it could bruise when none were watching. And Finn—he had always had quite a temper, had he not? Yes, he had, and by himself, Isaiah should have realized that such was behind the motives of him avoiding confrontation. Firstly, Finn had the shame to deny that any terror could have ever crept upon him, and then, he all but kept the same speech: that both ought to keep appearances.

— Now, fuck off. It was not as if Isaiah was asking Finn to marry him. All he wanted was a simple little thing: constancy. Perhaps honesty, even.

— He could not tell he did not understand how Finn felt. He was a preacher's son, and as alike to Finn as he could be, he was raised as a catholic lamb; he appeared on every mass, he confessed every blasphemy which could ever come to dwell on his thoughts, and with prying ears, one could hear his prayers before bed. All in all, he purged every sin of his skin, and spent childhood and adolescent living in such a way.

— And there was a certain evening when he supposed he could not live like that, and acceptance came to him. As was evident, Finn still did not possess such understanding, and Isaiah could not be the one to guide him down a path he once followed. It would be, above all else, painful, and albeit he held the want to shepherd Finn, he could not stand to hold the hand of a mirror of whom he once was.

— In eventuality, both parted their destinies. The decision was agreed, and Finn did not have the opportunity to refuse.

This one got quite angsty, and much longer than what I expected. I still have more, though.

[violet-catsarelife]

Dick: Dami. Damian no. Do not add a garrote to your costume—

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i am beyond serious

bonus:

[reineydraws]

jason is a grandpa's boy and u cant take this away from me!!! they cook together, they discuss literature together, and when jay comes back, they clean their guns together haha. ofc they celebrate their birthday together too! 😌

✨️🎂 hbd jay & alfie 🎂✨️

[cozylittleartblog]

@staff if you [change] the [design] of the fucking [dashboard] i will kill you

edit. i want it on the actual post that i am not actually making a de-th threat against the staff. that's shitty. the caption quotes the fucking costco hot dog meme, which i originally said in the tags. if any staff member sees this please do Not take it personally

[leminaus]

red and vee :)

[evilwizard]

instead of exterminating rats, the state of New York should hire a rat trainer to round them all up and teach them to do odd jobs. they could clean up litter, scrub the manhole covers… run electrical wires. maybe do some plumbing

there should be a dedicated rat feeding station in every subway. if you pass out drunk on the bus a squadron of 50-60 purebred albino rats should carry you gently down the street back to your home. i know this may all sound rather infeasible—but if you hire me, the pied piper,

[imchoccy]

How I look at a man I met once decades ago and tortured out of jealousy:

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

Plain-text version:

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[hmura-hmara]

“You were right. You were right about me. Tell your sister…you were right.”

[nenayaquisieras]

my brain is saying 141 with a reader that sees dead people. like they notice how respectful she is to the dead. when she kills she moves the bodies, sometimes says a small prayer to herself. they see her looking at things that aren’t there. “Did you see that? Never mind.” or she mentions she feels something weird in the air, or something wrong. talks to the team about the sleep paralysis she gets, always leaving out the grayish dark figure that accompanies her on those nights.

She’s never told anyone until she got drunk enough to were she’s literally laughing saying

“oh yea i see dead people.” And the guys obv think she’s joking and egg her on about said dead people she sees. but then she tells them about the entities that follow them, the people they’ve killed, always following them around. some are very angry, she feels their malicious intentions. ends up describing them in grave detail, they way they looked, what they wore, the last words they spoke before her teammates pulled the trigger. Something that only THEY would know.

“oh man, let me tell you about Gilbert my sleep paralysis demon. I swear he’s been visiting me more and more recently.”

[doliminuz]

This was funnier in my head

Also alt version under cut

[tododeku-or-bust]

Every time I hear about the cruelty of the genocide in Palestine I'm always baffled. Not by the logistics of it. I recognize that white western supremacist leaders value money and power over brown lives. They always have. It reveals itself in every political interaction.

But I guess... The lack of humanity always stuns me. How far detached do you have to be to be okay with this? To know what you're doing and do it, not even saying "oh well it's someone else" no it's YOU! YOU are the one committing these atrocities! How do you get there? I can't fathom what greed and privilege you have to have to be okay with this. To think that this is a "necessary evil". Even those who AREN'T going to benefit from it (i.e. white liberal voters) have convinced themselves of this. How do you do that?? How do you see live action the murder of tens of thousands (with the intent of millions) and not like... That shit don't bother you? It don't... Make you question that the leadership you're under, that the world you're in, is not the way it should be??

[lemonsharkgirlfriend]

so rhaenyra starts s3 with a god complex, believing herself to be the prince that was promised from aegon the conqueror's dream... but hugh and ulf will betray her, mysaria will misunderstand her, coryls will undermine her, bartimos will underestimate her, daemon will abandon her, her people will turn against her and burn her castle and kill her dragon. and when everyone who accepted rhaenyra as queen rejects her, the only person left to love rhaenyra will be alicent, who never loved rhaenyra as queen but rhaenyra as a person ("she was the vision that sustained him [...] it was his love for her that kept him resolute in his choice of heir."). alicent, who abandoned her gods and duty to go to rhaenyra on dragonstone and appeal to the person beneath the crown ("i cast myself on the mercy of a friend who once loved me."). alicent, who's made a god of rhaenyra, not as queen, but as the girl she read with beneath the godswood ("come with me.").

[plantdeficiency]

fishing all day every day 24/7 non stop no break on the grind at all times always forever