#do i not know how to ask right or was i really justified in not asking out of fear i would find out there wouldn't be help for me?

[residentwordsofaffirmationdealer]

DAMIAN WAYNE MOMENTS ABOUT TRUST AND CARING 1. He tries to protect tim from pru, who he knows is an assassin for his grandfather, but tim is working with him, and tim slams damian down onto the floor.

2. despite how he acts, he does deeply care for dick and even charges at the Heretic (is that what he's called? i've highkey forgotten) to protect dick

"look at me. touch him again, i'll kill you! leave him alone!"

3. he's scared that bruce will give up on him and never give him another fair chance

"and here i thought we didn't like each other." "we don't understand each other. there's a difference." "don't give up on me, father."

4. he looks up to bruce a lot, even if his idealized version of him is very different from how he actually is, and he's found it very hard to gain bruce's approval

"i want to be like you. i've always wanted to be like you."

5. bruce makes it blatantly obvious he doesn't really trust damian and thinks he's selfish

"and if i can't trust you to do what i think is right, then" "even dick trusted me -- why can't you?"

"you're sounding more and more like a cold-hearted ten-year-old boy who only cares about himself"

"i'm terrified you don't care about anybody but yourself." "but i do, father"

6. tim includes him on his hit list

"i have done all that has been asked of me! i control aspects of my upbringing neither of you could begin to understand -- and i am dismissed -- by him -- as a threat to be monitored for some hidden agenda?! it isn't fair"

tim justifies his contingency plans by assuring them that he has contingencies for both villains and heroes, because they're for the event of an emergency, but he notably does not have one for dick, and when dick confronts tim about it, tim says its understandable because of damian's "history" and "biology" (presumably about the time talia took control of his movements and tried to kill dick) and anyway tim "didn't think the homunculus would ... be hurt by it" and dick replies that damian "practically bleeds a need to be accepted" i have more thoughts on this and i'll come back to this when i can phrase it cohesively BUT damian's relationship with trust and caring is soooo interesting and his little "it's not fair".......... its like when will he be trusted?? when will they see he's not selfish and he does care?? will they ever stop trying to understand him?? will they even try?? he's just trying to help :(

[juchioris]

Undine Eisner No Yan Sim AU Q&A

Link to her Introduction post CLICK HERE

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

Yes. Undine lives with her parents and has a good relationship with them. Her parents, followers of right-wing populism, are a bad influence, raising their daughter (only child) to be racist, queephobic etc. The teachers at the school step up and try to teach her to be more tolerant.

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

Quartz has an unusual skincolour, so... While Undine doesn't outright bully people with a different skin colour, her racism manifests in a casual form, by her avoiding them, being wary of them and being less kind to them. For example, Undine would help Quartz, if she sees another student bullying/attacking her (unless she knows of a context that justifies it, like... you know... Quartz trying to kill someone), but she wouldn't help her if she fell down or dropped some things, when she would help white students in such little scenarios. Since she is so distant, Undine isn't close to Quartz at all. She barely knows her. Undine has no idea, what she's up to. While Undine isn't crass enough to admit it out loud, she is more suspicious of not-white people, so she will easily suspect Quartz to be a criminal.

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Undine has no respect for guys who have a harem (which Azul has in this AU apparently, lol). Someone who can't choose and commit isn't worth her (romantic) interest. Normally, Undine stays away from Azul and his admirers. She has actually never met him alone until now and has never had a proper conversation with him. She only knows him from seeing him around and hearing other people's stories about him. She will protect him from harm and danger, but out of principle - Undine will try to save every student, whose life is in danger.

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

Crowley: If Miss Eisner gets sent to my office one more time for political incorrect commentary, I shall have her put together and hold a presentation about why discrimination is unacceptable and the benefits of tolerance at school. A recording of that will look good on the school's website - I mean it is good to share the resource with the public, so that everyone can learn from it...

Azul: Undine is easily one of the most foolish students here, very naive and narrow-minded. I don't like people like her.

Vil: Undine is a perfect example of someone who has neither skill nor talent in acting. Unfortunately, she tries to put up her nice-girl-act every day, despite that. It's so bad, that no one could fall for it...

Ace: Yeah, Undine is really way too nice. She just agrees to help me with everything I ask of her, as long as I don't want her food or ask her to go throw my trash away. I found out that her limit of taking requests from the same guy is two per day, then she catches on that she gets used as maid and gets snappy, hehe.

5. What grade/year is your OC?

First year

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Get good grades, do good, be heroic.

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Outrageous! Undine will prove her innocence and look for the real killer! If she knows who framed her, she can guess the killer is also Quartz.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

Yes.

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Undine doesn't skip class. She eats lunch in the cafeteria. She is either going through the school alone or with her frival Yuu Quinn.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Overall good, but nothing special. She's failing English, because she is too far beneath the first language level, that is taught here.

(No Yan Sim AU) Questions for OCs! + Quartz and other characters' lore

You don't have to do these if you don't want to! You can write and answer how ever you want (3rd person or as the OC)

These answers are just examples and they also give lore to other TWST characters in the AU

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

Riddle currently lives with his mother. Because of her influence, he is the strictest in the student council (which consists of the dormleaders.)

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

[You can yap about it here since I already used Quartz as an example in the fourth question]

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Jade is Azul's right hand man. He assists Azul with a lot of student council work and is mostly by his side with Floyd. They are friends from their middle school days and up to their highschool days (although the three of them won't admit it).

Jade found Azul's hardwork and scheming nature very exciting so he and his brother always stayed by Azul's side to see what fun events would happen.

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

[They are speaking about Quartz as example]

Floyd: "Who again?"

Floyd doesn't really acknowledge Quartz since she's so quick out of his sights. Genuinely believes there isn't a person named that but is suspicious.

Jade: "Oh, that shy girl? She's a little funny."

Definitely suspicious of Quartz but they don't interact much so he has no other information about her. He probably needs to be more skillful when studying her.

Riddle: "Quartz?.. Uh.. I-I don't recall who that is."

Quartz rarely interacts with Riddle.

Ace: "Ah? You mean that girl who's always so weird? I've seen her watch Azul. Pffftt! Do you think she likes him?"

He notices her sometimes because he thinks her appearance is a little flashy.

Idia: "I-Isn't she one of Azul's admirers?... She's the shy type right? She's a little strange though.. Sometimes she takes photos of me! W-Wait.. Maybe she's into me instead?! EEEKK!! H-HOW SCARY!!"

Completely misunderstands Quartz's actions but he's quick to know how weird her actions are. He stays away from her if Azul isn't present.

5. What grade/year is your OC?

Azul, Jade, and Floyd are all 2nd years (17).

Leona has been held back so he is still 20.

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Quartz wishes to kill Azul 🙏

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Floyd is jumping her.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

Riddle is absolutely reporting that! He's calling the cops and everything 🫡🫡🫡

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Quartz is always in class but she'll come right before the bell rings since she was.. busy. She doesn't have a particular place she goes to all the time. She's never in one spot.

Quartz's lunch spot varies because she's always spying but her usual spot is in the courtyard.

Riddle is assigned being a hall monitor so he usually watches the halls when he is able to. He usually eats lunch with Trey and Cater.

Leona is always found napping under trees and skipping his classes. Ruggie manages to find him and give him his lunch from the cafeteria.

Rook is watching you.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Deuce tries, ok. (Awful)

[chaoticdreamlandphilosopher]

I just saw a video that was talking about vi in season 2 of arcane and talking about how she wasn’t the same and the comments even having complaints of their own and them also complaining about how Vi is written in season 2 and I just need to get this off my chest and say that I don’t agree with what some of the comments are saying about vi because I can’t help but feel like some of the comments are people who just don’t like vi as a character because of how she chooses to react to others or trying to say that she has no right or shouldn’t be reacting this way to some other characters. I saw this one comment that was paragraphing itself and it involved things claiming that vi shouldn’t be mistreating or hating her sister and all of suddenly calling her by other name “jinx” even though the only reason she does those things is because Jinx committed a terrorist attack against piltover and cost the life of her girlfriends mother and causing children to become orphans in zaun, you’d think they would bring that up as reasons as to why she kinda disowns her own sister in the first half of the season before warming up to her but they don’t because they want to make it seem like she isn’t justified to not like jinx. And then other people complain about her relationship with Caitlyn thinking that her whole character revolves around her even though it doesn’t because we still see her be her her own character and still sharing other relationships with people other than caitlyn like with Jinx and Warwick (Vander) like we see her in other relationships and I mostly think that it is the fandom that is just claiming and making it about how she is revolved around caitlyn when even the Caitlyn and Vi shippers make it clear that they don’t want people to see the other as if they’re whole character is revolved around the other only for that to happen even with people who don’t like the ship. So then the comment explains that vi is supporting her for what she is doing even though yes she is participating in Caitlyn’s actions and not saying anything bad about it because she knows that Caitlyn is not in the mood to listen to people having second thoughts about this but we can still see in vi’s face that she doesn’t support the stuff that caitlyn would bring herself to do like when caitlyn was trying to shoot jinx but was also going to shoot isha on accident if vi didn’t step in and prevent her from misfiring also not to mention after that display she confronts caitlyn about it and even ask her what’s wrong with her because she’s begging to see that her mother’s death is really getting to her in a bad way, and when Caitlyn says that vi is no different then her sister because her blood runs through her veins which gets vi mad at her and then tells her then why is she the one acting like jinx, showing that she is done taking the hate that Caitlyn has been giving to her and the people of zaun and also them believing that she is agreeing with what Caitlyn is saying about the under city people is just wow, because she literally doesn’t say anything that makes it look like she is agreeing with her and she says something in return to contradict what Caitlyn said that didn’t involve her agreeing with her. I mostly think that the reason as to why they think vi agreed with what Caitlyn said was because she was hesitant to say otherwise even though that doesn’t always mean that the person agrees with them it will often mean they don’t agree with them but they will keep it to themselves and not say it because they don’t want to start something and that’s what vi was doing in that scene.

Also the comment goes on to explain that vi had no reason to be sad the vander died because she should have gotten over his death long ago even though this was different being that her and jinx had a chance to actually bring him back and start over again so for that to all go to shit because of what happened in act 3 of course she is going to be upset about it and even cry for him again because they were so close to having their loved one back.

And I honestly didn’t want to look at more of the comments because one of them would have been complaining about how vi didn’t mourn jinx in the end even though we had a whole scene of her literally mourning jinx the moment she sacrificed herself for vi and we literally see her just laying there crying over the fact that her sister and her adopted father is dead and that she is the last of her whole family, we even still her crying when it cuts to another scene indicating that she was laying there for a long time before someone found her.

What I’m trying to say is that the video and the comments didn’t feel like criticism it felt more like hate for the character and hating on their flaws even though these are the same people who say that they want more complex female characters but when that character is written to have more flaws she gets hated and the fandom will try and make it seem as though she has no right to feel the way she may feel and thinking she has to have flaws just flaws that they will like not flaws that they won’t like

[fuck-customers]

I am actually pretty glad that the company that has treated me horribly and fucked me over and over is (most likely) being shut down. There's a 50/50 chance that the company will be bought out by Buyer A who will keep the stores running and revamp the company (or so we're told) or be bought out by Buyer B who will liquidate. (I don't want to give too much info at risk of exposing myself, but I think this is probably enough to figure out what I'm talking about. It's almost definitely obvious to ither employees of Company) I feel almost equally about either option, but I kinda want Buyer B because of some immature part of me that's going "haha yeah fuck you, that's what you get for being such a garbage company that treats your employees (and customers) like shit. You're a waste of retail space" but also I recognize that the satisfaction will last for like 5 minutes, max, before I'm like "well now I'm fucked and out of a job, so..."

Idk where I'm going with this. It's just kind of a rambly vent. I absolutely hate job hunting (as does everyone) and this is actually my first "real" job, as my previous job was a short-term seasonal gig, so I'm very nervous on a personal level because I do not feel confident that I have enough work experience nor enough job hunting experience to be able to get another job. Especially since it is after the holidays but before the summer season. Aka: the dead zone of hiring times. Hopefully I'll be able to fall back on filing for unemployment if I have to.

But I'm trying to focus on all of the fucked up moments at this job as a kind of admittedly bizarre inspiration tactic. Kind of like "hey maybe my next job won't have management that makes fun of me for my disability" and "maybe I won't have a manager that yells at me and treats me like I'm stupid in front of customers and causes me to cry in the bathroom and then the other manager who wasn't even there that day piles on the bullying by essentially saying (I'm paraphrasing) that the first manager is justified in yelling at me because I am stupid"

Idk honestly I'm the type that could perform really, really well if I am just shown how to do my tasks and then left alone to do them. That's it. I don't need to be micromanaged. I know how to and will ask for help if needed. But unfortunately, I do not have qualifications, so I most likely will end up at another retail job, which is just the same thing in a different packaging.

I am sorry you may be losing your job and I really hope you find a better one that treats you right.

But for the life of me I can't figure out what company is and what company A & B are. would you be willing to send an anon ask with that and I promise I won't publish it. But if not I understand.

-Rodney

[brick-van-dyke]

TERFs 🤝 Zionists

Using the exact same talking points and rhetoric.

[auntie-browning]

Browning was flabbergasted, speechless even. The words she wanted to articulate couldn’t immerge. The shock, the horror, the encroaching sensation of doom, and the miasma of conflicting signals emanating from the Red within left her reeling. The doll wanted nothing more than to push that creature away and scream into the night. Perhaps she could run far enough to put some distance between the two and seek some other end to her existence. Anything to be rid of this foolish devil’s burden she finds herself with.

But she knew all too well that Ziatrix would not only find her but catch up faster than she could hope to escape. She wasn’t just a killer satiated with the hunt; she was malevolent creature created only to consume. Everything she learned only works to make the ends meet. How could a standard issue doll like her even hope to compare towards a creature magically engineered to mutilate the body and expunge the soul? Every cell of her being desires constant satiation. She knows this well for she hears them in her own being with how they gnaw upon the recesses of her subconscious for satiation.

Only now they quell for they have eaten well. But soon, she shall want. With that, Browning must always ask: Will she be the next to go then? What day, what hour, and for what reason? Even postulating on these questions makes the doll sick. But nothing shall ever replace the unparallel nausea she experienced seeing Zia’s first two victims with her very eyes. Nothing could even come to a fraction. Not even the radioactive husks of beings from her home reality.

“G-Give me a moment…Christ…j-just give me…”

She bargained aloud while she gets her bearings in place. One could say it was with the beast of Babylon before her but it could very well be with this unjust reality she’s experiencing. Her neural cloud was doing it best processing the different responses happening within that mental matrix, interpreting what she could even do while trying to compose herself.

The pair already understood that they needed to leave, sooner rather than later. She was wondering if she should even grab the cans they already had or just high tail it out of there right that instant. Zia did make her feeding into a spectacle, indulging in the pseudo-justified slaughter of some unsavory people who really didn’t deserve it. Blood curdling screams and all.

After picking herself off the ground, the doll surveyed their immediate surroundings with hazed breaths. Electing to retreat back to their ‘rally’ point, she began her attempt to guide them without having another slip up to give the other some kind of justification again. Truthfully, she wasn’t hurting from the attacks done upon her anymore. Instead, she was simply trying to compose herself to little real success. That also isn’t going into the implications her ‘healing’ would mean to what has changed to her body. Even if she tried to tackle that now, she’d probably end up like a shriveled nervous reck.

Right now, she had to focus. She has the blood of two innocent people on her hands from the actions of this monster she tried to control. If she didn’t move soon, she’d very well have the blood of many more by morning’s dawn.

“W-We’re getting the things we got, grabbing it all, and sprinting back to where we came from! No stopping! If I start slowing down, drag me if you need to!”

Browning nervously commanded, hoping she could still boss her to her will for the time being as they duck back into alley ways in order to get themselves back to their gathering before getting out of dodge.

Just as blood splashes, as those spikes faded away and the liquid formed into puddles, washing bites and pieces down the drain. Whatever was missed, whatever was spilled as Ziatrix consumed these poor souls.

Their screams both physical, and the ghostly images that were seen as their souls were torn and rend asunder. Whatever parts of 'them' were turned into nothing more than little pieces of 'her'.

Even that flesh she fuses to Browning's synthetic skin, it's mimicry at it's finished. A doll like her, her systems, her everything would only recognize it as the same flesh she had before.

It's so perfect in it's copy, it speaks in code when it needs to, it responds to other cells as it must. It's perfect, so scarily so. It makes one wonder, if they'd perhaps already been replaced at some point in the night, if why it bound so easily to her, was because she was alike it already.

"So now you've seen it..." Ziatrix straddles the other, resting her hand on the sound, her body against theirs. A hand remains on Browning's chin to force her to look forward. As usual the creature likes to be close, and those unblinking eyes enjoy being locked on the other's.

"It is, indeed the fate that awaits you. Once I fully understand the process, the soul of what is a neural cloud... how to consume it, perhaps I cannot rend your flesh like a delightful meal but."

She rested her forehead against Browning's, eyes still staring.

"I will eat that mind of yours...after a long journey, when it's matured perfectly. But until then, you cannot die.. I will raise the city, the planet if I must. To ensure they do not take you from me."

"But today.. we must keep moving. Less I break my promise to you anymore, stand...you know what happens if you do not."

She slides off Browning and offers a hand once the healing process was complete.

[the-busy-ghost]

Warning- this is a very petty post, but I think I'm entitled to at least one petty, pissed-off reaction every time I finish a classic novel that hit harder than I expected so take this as my quota for the year.

Also spoiler warning for a book that came out over a century ago but still, I didn't know the plot going in so don't want to ruin it for anyone else, if you haven't read it shut your eyes. (Also Local Tumblr User Going Wild Over Book Published a Hundred Years Ago That Everybody Else Already Read should probably be categorised as akey part of indigenous tumblr culture at this point).

Anyway I just finished the War of the Worlds and in between studying I've thinking about Themes and Motifs as you do, and idly looking for further analysis. I then accidentally ran into an article called 'A Quiet Place II Succeeds Where the War of the Worlds Failed' and:

Now I haven't seen any of the Quiet Place films, this is not a rant against them and of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But re: the ending of The War of the Worlds, I have to ask, did this guy somehow miss, uh, the entire point of the book or am I just utterly insane?

[robotic-maid]

How things are going again… update I guess? Still can’t figure out how to read more on mobile. I’m just typing this out so it can leave my head.

[bubble-you]

create progeny (have purpose) create something that is "yours" through unity or love or eros or something, experience tension & release & the expansion/devouring/penetration of your identity, let them also create progeny, the planet is overpopulating and who needs more of us, well that is a question for another time, a later generation, when time comes that overpopulation threatens our need for food, water, shelter, normal temperatures, we'll change purposes.

or. or we could become climate change scientists and work on. prolonging the cycle of. prolonging the life of the energy that we depend on. (don't know how we did it before and survived 3000 years like the egyptians did. agriculture? bronze and iron tools? maths? how big was their empire, population-wise? i guess the need for energy is not so great when you don't have the internet or ai or large scale mining or computers or cars. just slaves.

this sort of answers my question about how did the philosophers in ancient greece... live. like if they didn't produce food, or labour, or "production" in the industrial sense. i imagine it's something like, there are warring tribes (as there were in china too) and you need philosophers, because in the neverending cycle of chaos and order, how do you find what is good? what should the goals of a ruler be, anyway? what should a person aim to do? what is the best way to govern? how can people be happy? should people be happy? how do you find your ideals? and so philosophy was something people needed, something that it was absolutely worth giving the surplus production to.

[saanphoenix]

Some insight to Saeris and why this is the conclusion she has come to.

Laidir backstory, by default, is "Former Tevinter galley slave." But Saeris is Dalish. She's got vallaslin. Which means that she had reached age, gotten tattooed, and shortly thereafter was taken by slavers. Because Dalish clans don't really go near Tevinter, right? And she's not a mage, she's just a hunter, so into the manual labor work she goes. While kind of inferring that her people are kind of the first on the chopping block when it comes to fucked up shemlen shit.

And, given her age in Veilguard, which I put at late 20's, she spends YEARS as a galley slave. (If you don't know what that is, it's the people stuck in the bottom of the boat rowing the long ass oars that propulse them.) It's not pretty. Not a good time. But she also has to do what she's got to do to not die. Or worse. There's some Not Great coping mechanisms that develop here. First and foremost, "What are emotions? Ha ha. :]"

And then lo! Pirates! Pirate attacks are quite common on galleys, really. There's generally fancy shit on boats using slave labor to get anywhere.

Except that it's not the normal pirate, it's the Lords. And you know how Isabela is about people aren't cargo, mate. So, the Lords get the fancy relics the Tevinters were trying to transport, and the slaves get to not be slaves anymore. And Saeris, having no idea where her old clan is, could be, if they're even still alive or not, and no sense of direction for the future, is just like, "...Hey, can I join you guys? I know how to Boat." And the Lords are like, "Yeah, sure! We get that a lot, actually."

Then comes the agonizing process of experiencing freedom again and the mortifying ordeal of having to remember how to be a Person.

That takes a minute. A very long one.

But what helps is, y'know, doing pirate things. Indiana Jones things. Ancient ruins, puzzles, treasures, arena fights. Anything to keep the mind off the Other Horrors in one's life.

For gold and glory becomes a motto for survival. The Lords become like her new clan. Through them, she learns how to move forward.

And then there's a job. It entails collecting an ancient relic. That a noble wants to hand over to the Venatori. And to keep that relic out of the hands of pure evil, and to protect the people who are her family now, Saeris does the right thing and kills the noble.

Right thing to do though it was, it was not the smart thing. So off Saeris is sent by Isabela...to stop Fen'Harel.

Being Dalish, she has her own preconceptions of the Dread Wolf. The tales Varric gives paint a similar yet different impression of the Trickster god. But all that REALLY matters to her is that his plan is to bring down the Veil, which will unleash demons all over the world. He has to be stopped just as that noble had to be stopped.

And just as she did with the noble, Saeris acts first to do the right thing. But this time, her entire crew pays the price. As does the world.

That's where the connection starts, really.

Sure, Saeris nips and barks at the Dread Wolf, tries to take the moral highground and justify her actions, but he bites back. And his bites are deeper.

D'meta's Crossing. Minrathous. Treviso. Weisshaupt. Well-intentioned decision after well-intentioned decision results in more blood on her hands. Because that's the price you pay as the leader. The responsibility. The guilt. And though she tells Bellara she can't blame herself for Cyrian's death, though she tells Harding that she can't blame herself for everything because it will destroy a person...she starts to fail to heed her own advice.

And by reenacting Solas' memories, by viewing his regrets, she starts to realize that, when she speaks with Solas, the questions he asks her... She is looking at her possible future. He is looking at his past.

From that point forward, knowing full well he will betray her yet not knowing how, Saeris resolves to make him stand down when the time comes. She has to make him see reason, just as Varric tried, though with far better insight than Varric ever had.

Because if she cannot get Solas to stop looking back and instead get him to find a way forward, then her own future very well may be a person who has come so far, through so much darkness, that she forgets what the light of hope looks like. That the blood on her hands colors her every deed.

She cannot become that, and she knows that she can. Because she's looking right at herself through his eyes.

So, there's data mined dialogue floating around of Morrigan telling Rook that few would react to the Dread Wolf's trickery with compassion and why would Rook.

And I've only seen one choice route, with no access to the others that might exist.

But I will say that, for Saeris, the answer would have been as simple as, "Because he's like me."

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[blankticket]

Even with his face turned away from Vash, hands visibly tense as he draws his knees closer to himself. Shoulders square in, tense, shake, go still. There's only so much he can do to hide the hurt.

" … You still wanna call yourself the worst now?"

A half-beat of consideration. Then the hooded figure's shoulders shake again, head lifting up, but it's more of an impression of laughter than anything.

"Sure. Gotta be, if I'm bringing all of this outta you." It's the same principle as always: whatever pain he was feeling must be negligible compared to what his predecessor had obviously endured for decades on end, alone. And despite all the lecturing from just now, his own pain still felt unimportant. If anything, all that ire justified the thought. It's this line of thinking that prompts the predictable brick wall into continuing, anyway:

"The point of talkin' about it with me earlier than this isn't about how I would've felt about it, whatever I'd have to say about it. Of course I'm not entitled to that."

The point was that Legato Bluesummers would have been important to anticipate, should he arrive to Spirale. The point was that he wanted to be there for Vash, because he cared about how he felt. He didn't want to leave him alone in that suffering; not when it's his responsibility to understand him. But maybe—oh—maybe the other guy really never felt that way. Never needed him for any of it.

A mitten clumsily comes up to the opening of the hood, only to fall back into hugging at his knees instead. "And no, I didn't think you'd have all the answers. I just thought you'd wanna…"

Want to find them together? So what, the other Vash wouldn't feel alone? So that they could fool themselves into thinking they were doing others right, "protecting" them from problems caused by them to begin with?

Why would he want to do that, with someone who's so eager to die, someone who clearly doesn't know what he's talking about?

The younger Plant lapses into a silent trance then, quietly letting all the accusations soak in deeper. It'd do them both good for him to quit talking and pick himself apart for once, and to quit from putting any more words in the older Vash's mouth. Maybe it'd encourage the other guy to lay into him some more, while he was at it.

What the hell was he thinking, pretending to do all of this for Vash's sake, for everyone's sake? He hasn't helped one bit; worse than doing nothing, he's evidently only reopened old wounds and wasted time. Chosen to be dishonest around everyone he'd promised to keep true to. He's forced Vash to relive memories he wasn't ready to handle, feel things he wasn't ready to share; been unfair to him, over and over again. How could anyone look at what he's done now, and stay fooled into thinking it was to protect anyone?

God—how stupid could he get? No wonder Vash hated him this much.

He was right to air out every bit of criticism now, to look at the wrong Vash's insistence of humility and vulnerability, and see it for what it really is: childish embarrassment in getting caught for all his incompetence, trying to do things nobody asked him to do, and not even getting that right. Vash would've been better off if this worthless edition of himself had just…

"I'm sorry." It's said softly, but even then, he feels disgusted at the way he has to steal the other's voice to say it. "I should've known. I'm sorry for hurting you this bad."

★ --;; "Talk like what?"

It comes out bitter, mean. An angry old dog protecting the wound in its side. "Like I don't have all the answers?" He still sounds just as tired and wrung out as he feels, as though the nervous energy had all at once seeped through the soles of his feet down into the freezing pavement. All that's been left in its wake is the simmering pain that's been there for years, the anger that lies draped across it. " 'Cause I don't know how or when you got that in your head, but I've never had them."

Even without the denial of space, Vash wouldn't have gone to sit back down. There's a wall there, now; maybe one that had always been there. Had definitely always been there in some capacity, its corporeality shifting in and out of existence. Playing pretend that it hadn't helped either of them.

"And now you're here puttin' words in my mouth 'cause it's what you wanna hear again. That's never what I meant!" The more he talks the more that misplaced resentment and shame sits hot at the back of his neck, behind his ears, burns in his chest. At come point his fists had clenched at his sides.

"I'm mad 'cause you keep doin' stupid shit on my behalf and brushin' it off, 'cause god forbid I try and care about your wellbeing! You told me you don't wanna die, but you sure as hell don't know how ta' show it!"

"And then every time I try an' get it through your head it's either like talkin' to a brick wall or you gettin' mad at me for tryin' ta' help you in the first place! Mad at me for not carin' and then mad at me when I do! And I know I messed up by not talkin' about it! I know!"

The words coming out his mouth, the accusations being thrown— they don't make Vash feel any better. All they do is make that horrible feeling churning through him feel that much worse. But it's like a dam's burst open, the flow impossible to stop.

"No, I didn't want you to resent me for not talkin' about it— but even if I had, what would you have said? That I shouldn't have done it? I *know* that! I live with that every day! But he wouldn't listen, I couldn't just let him go and kill Liv after Nick had just—"

The words catch in his throat. At some point his entire body had tensed back up, muscles held in place so tightly even though the one who had made them that way wasn't physically there to keep then locked and frozen. It takes a good few moments of silence, steam rising up from heavy breaths, before his jaw and throat finally loosen enough to start croaking again.

" ... You still wanna call yourself the worst now?" he asks quietly. " 'Cause I'm tired of pretendin' to go along with it."

[inkskinned]

you're in the habit of denying yourself things.

if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.

but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?

what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.

and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.

you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.

so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.

it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.

sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.

oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

sometimes the notes app ain't it, u have to do vent posts where no one will see it

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)