#everyone feeling safe??? Without having to do anything????

[dreamscapeee222]

Could you write Arcane characters and reader fight. Who is the one to apologize first.

A/n: This took a while. I think I liked writing this one. I hope you like it too !!

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

You’re pacing the apartment, arms crossed as Vi throws her jacket onto the couch, fresh bruises blooming across her knuckles.

"You promised, Vi," you say, voice trembling, though it’s unclear if it’s from anger or worry. "You said you’d stop throwing yourself into danger."

Vi exhales sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "What do you want me to do? Sit back and let everyone fend for themselves?" Her tone is defensive, her walls already going up. "No, I want you to consider how I feel when you walk out that door like you’re invincible!" you shout, tears brimming. She flinches at your words but doesn’t respond, instead turning toward the door. "I need some air," she mutters, leaving before you can say another word.

Hours pass, and the apartment feels impossibly quiet without her. You’re curled on the couch when the door creaks open, Vi stepping in hesitantly. Her face softens when she sees you, guilt written all over her. "I shouldn’t have walked out," she starts, voice low. "And I shouldn’t have made you feel like you don’t matter. You do. More than anything." She sits beside you, her hand brushing yours. "I’ll try to be better—safer—for you. Just… don’t give up on me."

Jinx

The argument starts with something small—a misunderstanding spiraling into chaos, as things with Jinx often do. You’re frustrated, arms crossed as you say, "You can’t just act like nothing matters. You keep running off, leaving me to pick up the pieces." Jinx’s eyes narrow, her voice defensive. "Oh, so now I’m the problem? Maybe if you stopped trying to control me, I wouldn’t have to." Her words cut deeper than you’d like to admit. You shake your head, hurt threading through your voice. "That’s not what I’m doing, Jinx. I just want you to let me in." She scoffs, brushing past you with a muttered, "Whatever." The slam of the door leaves the room eerily silent.

Later, you find her sitting on the floor of her workshop, surrounded by half-finished projects. She’s fidgeting with a small gadget, but her movements are jittery, unfocused. When she looks up, there’s a flicker of guilt in her wide eyes. "I’m not good at this, okay?" she says suddenly, her voice soft but frantic. "I mess things up. I don’t mean to, but I do." You step closer, kneeling in front of her. "You didn’t mess up, Jinx. I just—" She cuts you off, shoving a tiny, lopsided trinket into your hands. It’s a crude carving of you two, rough but undeniably heartfelt. "I made this. I was mad, but I kept thinking about how much I hate when we fight." Her gaze drops. "I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you away. You mean too much to me." You wrap your arms around her, and she clings to you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. Her whispered, "Don’t hate me, okay?" is a quiet plea that you’ll never stop reassuring her about.

Caitlyn

The fight begins when Caitlyn forgets to show up for dinner, something you planned weeks ago. You’re sitting at the table, the candles burned low, food cold on the plates when the door finally opens. She looks exhausted, her uniform slightly disheveled.

"Caitlyn," you start, your tone sharper than you intended. "You didn’t even send a message." Her brow furrows. "It was work—there was an emergency. You know I can’t just drop everything." You stand, crossing your arms tightly. "I get that your work is important, but do you ever think about us? About me?" Her expression falters, but instead of conceding, she doubles down. "This isn’t fair. I’m doing everything I can to keep things safe—for all of us." The tension snaps, and you turn away, muttering, "Maybe you’re better off with someone who doesn’t need you to show up."

The silence that follows is deafening. Caitlyn doesn’t respond but leaves quietly, and for the rest of the evening, the apartment feels colder without her presence.

Hours later, the door creaks open again. You’re curled up on the couch, pretending not to notice her until she speaks softly. "I thought about what you said," she begins, sitting on the edge of the couch beside you. "And you’re right. I haven’t been showing you how much you mean to me." You glance at her, catching the guilt in her tired eyes. She reaches for your hand. "I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’ll do better. For us." Her sincerity melts away your hurt, and as you lean into her touch, she adds with a small smile, "And next time, I’ll at least bring dessert as an apology."

Ekko

The argument begins when Ekko overworks himself again, pushing past limits you’ve warned him about. He’s been up for hours, fixing up a broken clockwork mechanism, his hands trembling with exhaustion.

"You promised you’d take breaks," you say, stepping into the workshop, frustration clear in your voice. "You’re going to burn out, Ekko." He doesn’t look up, his jaw tightening. "I don’t have time to stop. The Undercity needs this, needs me." You cross your arms. "And what about me? Do I even matter in your world of never-ending responsibility?" His head snaps up at that, brows furrowed. "That’s not fair. You know I’m doing this for a reason." The hurt spills out before you can stop it. "Sometimes it feels like I’m just waiting on the sidelines for scraps of your time." You leave before he can respond, your heart heavy.

Hours later, you’re in bed, staring at the ceiling, when there’s a soft knock on your door. Ekko steps in hesitantly, holding a small gadget you’ve seen him working on before—a music box. "I made this for you," he says quietly, setting it down beside you. The melody that plays is soft and familiar, something that always calms you. His voice cracks as he speaks. "I messed up. You’re not on the sidelines—you’re the reason I keep going. I just… don’t know how to balance it all sometimes." You look at him, the sincerity in his eyes cutting through your lingering anger. He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing yours. "I’ll do better. For you. I swear." The fight doesn’t disappear instantly, but as you lean into him, you know you’ll figure it out together.

Jayce

The fight begins when Jayce cancels plans at the last minute—again. This time, it was supposed to be a rare, quiet evening together, but his work at the Council dragged him away.

You stand in the kitchen, arms crossed, as he walks in late that night. He looks tired, but you’re too frustrated to care. "Did you even think to tell me you weren’t coming?" Jayce sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was swamped. Things ran over—what do you want me to say?" "I want you to say you actually care," you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. His expression shifts, hurt flickering across his face.

"That’s not fair," he counters, his tone defensive. "You know I care about you. But this work—it’s not something I can just walk away from." You shake your head, stepping back. "Sometimes it feels like your work is the only thing that matters to you." You leave him standing in the kitchen, retreating to your room and shutting the door behind you.

When you wake the next morning, there’s a soft knock on the door. Jayce steps in, holding a small tray with coffee and your favorite breakfast. His sheepish smile doesn’t quite mask the regret in his eyes. "You’re right," he says, setting the tray down. "I’ve been letting work take over, and that’s not fair to you. To us." He hesitates before sitting beside you. "I hate fighting with you. Please let me make it up to you." You sigh, leaning into his warmth. "You have to actually try, Jayce." His arms wrap around you, his voice soft. "I will. You’re more important to me than anything else. I’ll show you that."

Viktor

The argument starts after you notice Viktor pushing himself too hard again. His lab is dimly lit, a cluttered mess of papers and prototypes, and he’s leaning heavily on his cane while adjusting a mechanism.

"Viktor, you need to rest," you say firmly, stepping into the room. "This isn’t sustainable." He glances at you briefly but doesn’t stop. "There’s too much at stake to rest," he replies, his tone clipped. "You know that." You cross your arms. "I also know what happens when you push yourself past your limits. You can’t keep doing this to yourself." Viktor stiffens, his frustration bubbling over. "And what would you have me do? Sit idle while everything crumbles around me?" The sharpness in his voice stings, and you take a step back. "I just want you to take care of yourself for once," you say quietly before turning and leaving the lab.

Later that evening, you hear a knock on your door. When you open it, Viktor is standing there, looking apologetic, a faint tremor in his hands. "You’re right," he says, his voice softer now. "I’ve been careless with myself, and that’s not fair to you. Or to us." He hesitates, as though searching for the right words. "I never want you to feel like I don’t hear you. I just… get lost sometimes." You step aside to let him in, and he takes your hand gently. "I’ll try to be better—for you. For both of us." His sincerity melts the tension, and as you sit together in the quiet, you know he means it.

Mel

The argument begins with Mel’s tendency to keep her emotions guarded, leaving you feeling shut out again. It happens during dinner, her silence heavy as she focuses on her work instead of you.

"Do you even care about this relationship?" you ask, the words escaping before you can stop them. Mel’s head lifts sharply, her calm demeanor cracking slightly. "What kind of question is that?" she replies, her tone cool but defensive. You press on, frustrated. "You never let me in, Mel. It’s like you’ve already decided you don’t need me." She sets her utensils down with precision, her voice clipped. "And you’ve decided to make this about you. I have responsibilities that extend beyond personal feelings." The words sting, and you shake your head. "Maybe I should stop trying if you’re not willing to meet me halfway." You leave the room before your voice can break.

The next morning, Mel finds you sitting by the window, your face turned toward the city. She approaches quietly, holding a small, beautifully wrapped box. Without a word, she sets it down beside you. Inside is a delicate bracelet, the design intricate and unmistakably hers. "You’re not wrong," she admits softly, sitting beside you. "I’ve built walls to protect myself, but they’ve shut you out. That wasn’t my intention." Her hand reaches for yours, her touch tentative. "I care for you more than I’m able to show sometimes. Please, don’t doubt that." You turn to her, the vulnerability in her expression easing the ache in your chest. "I don’t need grand gestures, Mel. I just need you." She nods, her voice firm but warm. "And you’ll have me—every piece, no matter how long it takes."

See pinned.

[notthewriteryourelookingfor]

I have some thoughts on this:

Because this test doesn't list pedestrians & people in other vehicles, I think it's a lil bit of a misrepresentation of how safe a car can be. Cuz if you're in a fuckin tank of an SUV then of course you'll probably be fine but unless everyone around you is also in the same cars they're not going to be.

I may have a basic misunderstanding of "road safety" but I feel like what makes a car "safe" should be equal parts "does it keep the passengers safe?" And "can it limit damage to those around the car as well?"

So of course the increase of large car numbers make smaller cars less safe because if you have an SUV with a bonnet clearance of 3 meters & a fucking mini, the mini is toast. Also maybe not even visible.

There needs to be a limit on car sizes, especially in urban & city environments.

Like if you cannot see a 4 foot tall child in front of your car, you cannot drive it on anything except rural roads. & if a 5'8" person (average height of an adult) needs a step to get into the cab I think you need to get a special license for it.

About the "distracted driving", it's becoming more and more obvious that cars shouldn't have touch screens. In Australia, I'm not allowed to even touch my phone while I'm driving, even at a stop light, so why would having air con, music, etc being a touchscreen be ok?

No touchscreens in cars, we should be able to turn the air con down or the volume just by touch, without taking our eyes off the road.

Also with the Teslas: if they catch fire, it is very hard to put them out. If you crash & your Tesla catches fire, it's possible that you won't be able to get out because the doors are all electric.

If you have a Tesla or anything with heavy electrical locking, get one of those window breaker kits just in case. It helps if you hit water, if the doors stuck, etc.

But yeah, I think the main reason why smaller cars are more "dangerous" to those inside the car is because of all the giant SUVs around the place and I'm sick of pretending otherwise.

They should do this again & have a secondary number for the people outside of the car being tested.

holy shit

i knew teslas were bad but "literally twice as deadly as the average vehicle" is something else

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] |

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to voice the tension. 

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you. 

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do. 

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online. 

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

-----------------------------

a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Pumpkin Pie

Pairing: dad!Peter x mom!reader

Part of the Charlie May Universe

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: Thanksgiving is a shit holiday to me for a variety of reasons, but I really am incredibly thankful for each and every one of you, and I’m so grateful for this wonderfully lovely little space on the internet <3

“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” you whisper in the quiet of your kitchen, the sun just beginning to rise over the New York skyline. You’re still in your pajamas because of the ungodly hour, but Peter doesn’t even try to quiet his scoff from where he’s making your coffee. You smile as he hands you the mug, the picture of innocence, even though you know he’s tried over and over to tell you this was not a smart idea.

It doesn’t matter how many Thanksgivings find you seated at May’s kitchen table or how many times she tells you there’s no need for you to bring anything other than yourself, you always feel a gnawing sense of guilt showing up empty handed. This year you were determined to change that, telling her months ago that you would bring dessert, neglecting to account for how difficult it was to make a homemade treat with a toddler running around, who refuses to allow you to spend any significant amount of time in the kitchen making something she wouldn’t be able to eat right away. So, after days and days of trying and failing to get the baking done, you decided it would be easiest to wake up early on Thanksgiving morning and get everything done then, before the sun came up and Charlie woke up, your sweet daughter nothing short of an absolute monster in the mornings.

It’s peaceful, just you and Peter in the semi-darkness, held safely in the warm glow of your kitchen while the rest of the world seems to sleep. Even so, you’re half asleep, having debated over and over with yourself when the alarm went off if you really wanted to get out of your nice, warm, cozy bed, before your determination won over and you managed to rally yourself, slipping out of bed and bracing for the shocking chill that awaited you when you threw off the blankets. You tried to be as silent as possible, and you managed to make it all the way to the kitchen and flick on the flights before Peter joined you, hair and pajamas adorably rumpled.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, as quietly as possible, making your way to the fridge to start gathering your ingredients while Peter heads straight for the coffee maker.

“What’re you doing?” He throws right back, opening the cabinet where you keep your mugs as silently as possible, both of you knowing even in your sleep-addled state that waking Charlie had to be avoided at all costs.

“Making a pie,” you respond, much too tired for any of your usual snark or sarcasm, and trying desperately hard to focus on gathering all the correct ingredients.

“Yeah, that makes sense, I forget everyone wakes up at four in the morning to bake pies,” his voice is dripping with equal parts sarcasm and affection, and if your brain wasn’t still starting up, you’d find something to throw at the back of his head as he turns towards the coffee pot.

You finish setting out all your ingredients, thanking the universe for whoever invented premade pie dough before turning your focus to the recipe you’d chosen, staring with such intensity it’s like you’re preparing for a test. It promises to be exceptionally easy and perfect for beginners, and you’re equal parts curious and anxious to see just how true that is.

Peter finishes his first cup of coffee and pours himself another before joining you by the countertop, ready to help without you even needing to ask. It’s not often that the two of you have so much uninterrupted time together, especially for cooking or baking together, and there’s something so lovely about it, even as you constantly feel like one long blink is going to send you back to bed. The two of you work well together, you always have, and you fit together seamlessly in the space, mostly silent as you both bask in the early morning glow of the sun, just starting to peek its way around New York City’s skyscrapers. Even with the added light, the city looks drowsy and cold, the perfect weather for staying inside and eating all day long, the gold of the sun matching perfectly with the jewel-toned leaves as they fall from the trees in shades of red and orange and yellow, making way for the snow you know is sure to come.

The baking goes quickly with the two of you working in tandem, and soon the pie is being slid into the oven and you’re hoping and praying that it turns out okay, that it’s edible at the very least, but you have high hopes.

“How long do you think we have until Charlie gets up?” You ask as you pick up your mug, the kitchen awash in the golden light. There’s a creaking of a door and a patter of footsteps and within seconds your daughter appears in the kitchen, looking so rumpled from sleep she might as well have just survived a fight with a bear.

Despite her consistently sour moods in the mornings, you always find her especially precious, with her wild hair sticking up every which way and her little body still warm from sleep. She reminds you so much of Peter, with her messy hair and her tiny little frown as she waits for her breakfast, and especially in the way she shovels cereal into her mouth like she’s been deprived of food for the last thirty years, her spoon in a vice grip. The kitchen’s a mess, ingredients and bowls and spoons all over the counter, and you know you should clean it, but instead you take a seat at the kitchen table across from your daughter, trying to hide your laughter at the enthusiastic way she eats.

Even though you should clean the kitchen, and then wrangle Charlie into getting dressed and brushing her hair, and then get ready yourself, none of that seems very important with the three of you quiet in the kitchen, the whole apartment filled with calm and the scent of pumpkin pie. It’s beyond peaceful, and you’re so full of love and adoration for your little family, for your cozy apartment, for your wonderfully quiet life you’re almost certain you’re going to explode because it doesn’t seem possible for one body to be able to contain so much affection. You’re just absolutely bursting with all of the warm, fuzzy feelings that always seem impossible to name, so instead you rise for your chair and lean across the kitchen table to plant a kiss on Charlie’s forehead before taking her bowl for her, even though she’s normally supposed to clear her own plate.

“What was that for?” Your daughter asks, confused but delighted at the series of events that just took place, grateful for the temporary relief from her typical chores and always appreciative of any sort of affection.

“Just because I love you,” you shrug as you start on the dishes, and as you turn towards the skin, you feel a little body collide with your legs.

“Well, I love you too,” she says, wrapping her little arms around your knees and giving you a squeeze before she runs off again, never one to dwell on a moment for too long.

“Do you think she’ll let me put a bow in her hair?” You ask Peter, who’s finally consumed enough coffee to be a mostly functioning person and has taken over drying the dishes as you wash. You spare a quick glance towards you daughter, lounging on the couch and engrossed in cartoons with the worst case of bed-head you’ve ever seen. Charlie’s always been headstrong, and she doesn’t typically enjoy having you do elaborate hairstyles on her, not because she doesn’t like the way they look but because the process is excruciating for her, sitting still with no wiggle room. You’ve tried everything to make the process more enjoyable for her, like having her sit in front of the TV while you brush out her hair or some slight bribery, but so far, nothing has been successful. But, you have a gut feeling that she’ll allow it today, especially if you move as quickly as possible.

“If she does, I’ll let you sleep in tomorrow when she wants to drag you out of bed to decorate for Christmas,” he responds, and you know by that answer that he has little faith in you. Charlie has been desperate to decorate for Christmas since the moment she returned from trick or treating, but in keeping with the themed activities she does in her kindergarten class, you’d decided to hold off on getting festive until after Thanksgiving. In Charlie’s mind, that meant the second Thanksgiving was over, and all she'd been talking about for weeks was how excited she was for Thanksgiving, when really what she meant was she was excited for Thanksgiving to be over so it could be Christmastime, and really, you couldn’t blame her.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” you tell Peter, finishing the dishes before leaving him to deal with taking the pie out of the oven while you try and coax your daughter off the couch and into her room to get ready for the day.

You’ve never wished for a camera more in your life than the moment you and Charlie emerge from her bedroom, her with a high ponytail and a bow stuck firmly to the center of her head to capture Peter’s expression of pure disbelief that you’d somehow convinced your finicky daughter to wear a hair accessory. Sure, you’d had to bribe her with leftover pie for breakfast tomorrow, but he never has to know that. All that matters is that Charlie looks as cute as always and has no complaints about her hairstyle, and that you’ve managed to secure yourself a morning to sleep in, at least until the sun rises.

Tags: @funktchonalhuman3

[schlattslambo]

daddy issues | schlatt

a/n: i wont lie, this is mainly self insert comfort cuz my day was shit today. i hope you guys like it

c/w: mention of abusive relationship and a bad father. this may be triggering for some people so please read with caution

—————

thanksgiving was meant for warm houses with soft lighting and a big of laughter, reminiscing about how grateful one is for the year and all of the tasty food. well, for most people it is. for you, it was mainly hell.

your father was drinking and your mother fucked up the dinner for the fourth year in a row. your father had refused to eat it and your brother stomped around because everyone else was angry, he should get to be angry too. the turkey was slightly undercooked, the stuffing was wet, the sweet potato casserole was burnt, and the rolls were stale. everything was a mess.

you can’t afford to move out, so you did the next best thing. you snuck out the front door while your father threw the soggy stuffing in the trash. according to him, the stuffing had been your fault, since you told your mother not to worry about it. you figured that it would be best to take yourself out of the situation and go to the only place you knew would take you in.

schlatt’s house was somewhere you escaped to frequently. whenever your father got too angry, you stayed at schlatt’s house for a few days. he protected you and made sure that you had someplace nice and warm to sleep.

the breeze was cold as you knocked on the door seven times in a rhythm. it was the only way you could tell him that it was you without outright texting him. the door opened and schlatt stood there, looking you up and down.

“cmon in, toots.” he says with a sweet smile. “i was just getting ready to eat.”

schlatt had a policy that you could come over whenever you wanted and didn’t have to tell him anything as long as he could give you some food. you’d denied it the first few times, but you figured it was easy to just let him feed you. it helped that he was an amazing cook.

you sat at the table as schlatt carved the turkey and dished up all your favorite sides. cornbread, stuffing with apples and cranberries, and even green bean casserole.

“thank you jay,” you say with a soft but sad smile. “i didn’t get to eat at home. dad threw out the stuffing.”

“your dad’s a dick,” schlatt says with a mouthful of turkey. “i hate that you still live with him.”

“jay i can’t move out,” you argue. “i can’t afford it, you know that.”

“then live here,” schlatt says as if its the most simple thing in the world.

he won’t tell you this, but he’s wanted you to move in ever since you first came to his house, drenched from the rain after your father put his hands on you. your breath was still in gasps when you reached his house. schlatt was ready to kill.

since then, he always has a spare bedroom made up for you. he has a pile of things that you enjoy, your favorite snacks and favorite drinks.

“i can’t do that,” you say. “i dont want to intrude.”

“you won’t be intruding,” schlatt replies. “you’ll be safe and taken care of and loved.”

the last word hangs in the air for a bit as you stare ar schlatt. you know that he cares about you , so you sigh.

“will you help me get my things?” you ask. “after tonight?”

after eating, the two of you sit by the fire and watch as jambo and soup chase each other. schlatt’s arm is around you, tracing soft circles onto your shirt fabric. for the first time in a while, you feel safe. you allow your head to drop to schlatt’s shoulder and he pulls you close with a smile.

“i’ll take good care of you, baby.” he whispers. “you’re safe with me.”

[ideas-4-stories]

Cross Guild Romance prompt: Luffy and the Strawhats are sailing when this sudden and severe storm catches them. In the chaos Chopper goes flying overboard with some debris before anyone can grab him. Luffy and the crew get blown the other way and can only despair and hang on. Come morning Chopper wakes up not in the middle of the ocean but in Cross Guild’s hospital tent with Buggy, Mihawk, and Crocodile looming over him. Chopper thinks he’s gonna be tossed in the dungeons. Instead Mihawk basically takes full charge of him, taking care of him and knowing how beloved the little reindeer is from Zoro’s stories. Buggy and Crocodile are actually nice to Chopper too and spend time with him while they actually try to contact the Thousand Sunny with no luck thanks to signal interfere with the den dens. Mihawk is strict but not unkind, teaching Chopper about herbs and gardening and even some sword play. Buggy includes Chopper in the circus acts since he dances so well, and even Crocodile shows him the baby fruitwanis. Chopper is much liked in Cross Guild and he actually plays unintentional matchmaker for Buggy, Mihawk, and Crocodile. When they manage to finally contact Luffy and inform the Strawhats that they have their beloved doctor safe and sound, they all plan an epic reunion for Chopper, culminating in Luffy and the crew showing up when Chopper is performing on stage with Buggy. It’s an epic reunion of hugs, tears, relief and a bit of reconciliation for Buggy and Crocodile with the straw hats while Mihawk and Zoro get to reunite too. Everyone loves Chopper!

Oh, The Gods Above And Beyond, CHOPPER!!! Poor dude, who knows how long it took him to wash up on the shores of Karai Bari and he did it unconsciously as well clutching onto something that's very buoyancy in the water… You know I'm gonna go with the idea that Chopper was fiahed out of the sea from a Buggy Pirates boat, whether they meant to fish him out or it was a surprise. They rushed to their great glorious chairman as he would know what to do with the reindeer.

I would say it would make more sense if Chopper was asleep for a couple days so the boat can get back to land and let the Cross Guild leaders wonder what they’re gonna do with the reindeer.

Again poor Chopper, waking up in enemy territory is not a great thing to wake up too. Only to be shocked when Mihawk starts to feed him and reassures him that they will make sure Chopper gets back to his crew because when the little reindeer doctor was still sleeping, the trio made the decision it would be a good thing to stay on Luffy’s good side.

Love that Mihawk is doing most of the caring for Chopper, while Crocodile and Buggy would be giving Chopper sweets without knowing that each other are doing it as well. Chopper will be getting double cotton candy and he won’t say anything because Mihawk would definitely stop that (it’s up to you if Mihawk learns about the double dose of candy or not)

Mihawk teaching him about herbs and gardening is so cute! I’m thinking that sometimes Chopper will list off how these herbs could be used to heal and Mihawk is nodded, saying that interesting and jotting it down in a notebook. I can see Chopper holding a very small wooden sword that Buggy got his woodcarvers to make for the little doctor! Chopper is a number one hit just like their chairman to Buggy’s followers. They are definitely cheering him on and cooing when Chopper swears at them. Crocodile taking Chopper with him when he comes to check on his fruitwanis. Chopper is telling him how they are feeling and the big man is happy that his fruitwanis are happy! (Also love that Chopper is playing matchmaker, love that for him!)

I love the ending, truly goanna be a flashy great reunion party!

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 21. Show Me

Summary: After rushing from the training hall, Dahlia is left alone to her thoughts. Or so she thinks.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

I had no idea how I ended up here. Just letting my feet carry me to wherever they lead me. Which apparently was the top of one of the towers of the Quadrant. It clearly wasn’t used much, but it must have been a place someone came to as there were some footsteps in the dust in the stairwell.

I’m sure the view was beautiful, but all I could do was stare down at my hands, the memory replaying in my head over and over again. The scream echoing loudly in my head over, and over again. I’d barely had my signet a day and it was already a shit show just like the rest of my life. Just when life was starting to be good for once. I was making friends, didn’t have to deal with the constant disappointed looks of my father and brother. I was actually living my life. Now I doubted anyone would want anything to do with me after that.

They must have developed a signet like I had recently. Emetterio knew of my signet after last night, knew it wasn’t entirely safe for me to touch anyone except Bodhi really. His signet was the only one I could trust in my hands. But clearly the other cadet had manifested one without realising. And I’d thrown it back at them without even realising and caused everyone in the Quadrant to look on in horror as they screamed and screamed. I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to block the memory from my mind, but it does nothing. The scream still echoing loudly in my ears.

I startle as the door next to me opens. I half expect to see Xaden who I knew had tried to follow me out. And at first I think it is him with how tall the person is, but as they fully step through the door, it’s the last person I expect to see. They shut the door behind them before walking over and lowering themselves to the ground as they lean up against the ledge with me, legs sprawled out in front of them. I look up at them to see them staring down at my hands. I’d only ever seen him glare or tease me, so the worried way he looks at my hands is new to me. A softer look to their features I’ve not seen before, as if they were relaxed despite the worry. And I hated to say how much I liked it.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, an almost pained tone to their voice.

I look at him confused, unsure why he’s apologising to me. “Sorry? Why are you sorry Garrick?”

His shifts his gaze to look at me, and I can see the pain in his hazel eyes. I can see how sorry he is, as if he feels like this is his fault. But there’s something more there. I know the look in his eyes isn’t just to do with what happened to me.

“I’m sorry, because the signet you replicated was mine.” He confesses, averting his gaze as he leans his head back against the stone ledge, looking up at the roof.

I stare at him in disbelief. One because I’d been so adamant I’d replicated the cadet I’d been up against. And two…. Because this was a side of him I had never seen. Not once in my months here had I seen him be anything but the arrogant lumbering oaf I’d assumed him to be. Didn’t think he cared about anyone but himself and the few he kept close. But I can see how worried he is. How bad he feels. There’s no way this is an act. Especially when I lower my gaze and note a slight shake to his hands. I almost want to reach out and grasp them in mine, but after what’s happened I doubt he’d let me. And I internally kick myself for wanting to do so. Just because he feels sorry for me and what’s happened, doesn’t mean he won’t go back to treating me any different once tomorrow comes. Just like my brother and father.

“The same thing happened to me.” He starts, his gaze still set on the roof. “We were doing training while challenges were on hold. Only a few squads were with us. And I had no idea my signet had manifested.” He pauses, taking a deep breath before looking down at his own hands. “We were doing hand to hand combat and at first it was fine. Both of us landing hits on each other without any issue. But as it went on and got more and more intense, I felt something shift in me. Something had changed. And as I pinned them beneath me, their screams echoed around the room as they writhed in pain beneath me.”

Garrick squeezes his fists shut, the tremble now more emphasised due to it. As I look at him I realise what had happened today was almost a copy and paste of what had happened to him last year. No doubt reliving the memory as the screams had echoed around the training room, watching as I pinned them to the ground in a similar manner. Not only was I shaken, but Garrick was to.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper.

He turns his head and lightly laughs. “The last thing you need to be is sorry. You did nothing wrong.”

I shake my head. “But I did. I didn’t think. I should have thought about what could happen when I touched your arm. But I didn’t. I didn’t think and now I’ve probably traumatised some poor cadet, and you.” I ramble, finally breaking free of the slump I was in. “Everyone probably thinks I’m a freak.”

He chuckles lightly, my eyes narrowing at him as I glare at him slightly. “Aww you care about me. How sweet.”

I huff and push off the ground, “And there it is. Sorry for trying to be nice.” I snap as I go to storm off.

I barely take a step before his hand grasps my arm halting me in my tracks. I try to pull my arm free, not wanting to accidentally hurt him but he just grips my arm tighter.

“I’m not trying to be an ass. Just thought a joke might make you feel better.” He states bluntly as he stares down at me.

The last time I’d been this close was in the hallway the day after threshing, and I’d forgotten just how tall Garrick truly was as I crane my neck to look up at him. And just like last time, being this close to him affects me more than it should.

“It doesn’t matter, as soon as we walk out of here you’ll go back to hating me and treating me like you normally do.” I say as I try to loosen my arm from his grip.

He sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t hate you Dahlia.”

I freeze at his words. In all the months I’d been here, not once had he used my name. Always calling me little Aetos, or some other colourful word. Never by my actual name. And I hated how it caught me off guard. Hated how much I liked it coming from him.

He releases my arm, clearly satisfied I won’t storm off anymore. “At the start, yeah I did. But I’ve realised I never hated you. I hated your name. Your last name. Who I thought you were. Who your father is. And dare I say, I was wrong about you.”

“Is this you trying to apologise?” I ask, staring at him like he’s gone crazy.

Cause clearly he had. Or maybe I had. Maybe I’d been knocked out on that mat and this was just a dream. There was no way these words were coming from Garrick. Garrick who despised me from the moment I stepped off the parapet and he knew my…. My name. I’d barely looked at him but there was no hate in his eyes the first time I’d looked at him. He looked curious and amused as I’d tried to avoid giving my name to him and Xaden. But the moment Dain had uttered my last name, it had changed. Every time he’d looked at me since then there had been hate in his eyes. Until now. And I hated to admit that now as I looked up at him, there was none of that there. For once Garrick Tavis was looking at me like he didn’t hate me.

“I can retract it if you want? But yes, this is me saying that maybe I was wrong about jumping to conclusions about you based off a name.” He admits with a shrug, clearly trying to play it casual.

“You aren’t doing this because you feel bad about the whole signet thing?” I ask, still not sure what he’s saying is true.

“I won’t deny I feel extremely bad about what happened. But it’s not why I’m doing this. And I get if you don’t believe a single word I’m saying to you right now. Just felt like right now was the only time you would listen to me.”

He wasn’t wrong though. As he’d joined me up here I’d let him. I hadn’t scoffed and moved on time I usually would, hadn’t made a smart ass comment to him. I’d watched and let him sit next to me and talk to me properly. Too caught up in what had happened to care. And honestly, I’d wanted to company despite running off.

I walk over to the ledge, looking out over the Quadrant as I think over his words. Despite everything something deep down told me to accept his apology and put all this behind us. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I want to suddenly forgive him and move on? Maybe Bodhi’s insistence I give him a chance had finally worn me down.

“Ok. “ I utter, turning to look at him. “I’m not fully forgiving you. But I’m giving you a chance Tavis. As they say, actions speak louder than words.”

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal

[emma23]

When you left:

Joel miller x reader

————————————————————————

It’s quiet outside. The world is still, as it often is in these moments, when danger feels both distant and imminent at the same time. You hear the wind brushing against the cracked window of the small cabin you’ve holed up in for the night.

Joel’s standing across from you, eyes heavy, filled with something between regret and longing. His rough hand, scarred from years of survival, lingers mid-air before it falls to his side.

His voice is low, as if the words are a burden he’s struggling to lift.

“You’re afraid of me.”

His gaze holds yours, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something human beneath all that guardedness. It’s not often you see Joel like this. Vulnerable. But it’s fleeting.

He takes a step closer, his breath shallow as he continues, “You are aware that you’re the only person in this world I’d never hurt, right?”

The words hit you, but not the way he wants them to. They echo, bouncing around the walls of your mind, but they don’t offer comfort. If anything, they open a wound that’s been festering for too long. You feel your throat tighten, that familiar sting of pain and anger bubbling up inside you.

“If that was the case,” you start, voice steady despite the crack you feel coming, “then you wouldn’t have walked out of my life when I needed you the most.”

Joel’s face falters. His brows knit together, the weight of your words sinking in. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he can offer an excuse.

“You already did hurt me, Joel.”

Silence follows. It’s deafening, thick with everything left unsaid. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his hands clench and unclench as if he’s fighting some internal battle. You want to believe that he’s sorry, that he understands what he did to you. But there’s this stubbornness in him, this refusal to admit just how much damage his leaving caused.

He steps closer, the tension in the room thick as his presence looms over you. “I didn’t have a choice,” he says, his voice rough, filled with a sadness that almost makes you want to forgive him. Almost.

You shake your head, backing away slightly, needing space from him—space to think, to breathe. “There’s always a choice, Joel,” you say softly. “And you chose to leave.”

The memory of that day is still fresh in your mind. The moment you realized Joel was gone, that he’d left without a word, without any explanation. It felt like your world had crumbled beneath your feet, like you’d been abandoned all over again, just like everyone else you’d ever trusted.

Joel looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s never been good with emotions, never been good at handling situations like this. But this time, you won’t let him off that easily. You won’t let him run from this.

“Do you know what it felt like?” you continue, voice trembling now. “To wake up and find out you were just... gone? Like I meant nothing to you?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, his hand reaching out to you again, as if he’s trying to bridge the gap between you two. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “Do I? Because it sure felt like it.”

He sighs, stepping even closer, until there’s almost no space left between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just... I had to keep you safe. I couldn’t...”

His voice trails off, and you see that familiar pain in his eyes—the same pain you’ve seen when he talks about his past, about everything he’s lost. But this isn’t about his pain. It’s about yours.

“Keep me safe?” you laugh bitterly. “Joel, I would’ve rather faced every danger in this world than lose you like that.”

His hand finally reaches you, resting on your arm. His touch is warm, but it doesn’t ease the ache in your chest. It just reminds you of everything you’ve missed, everything that’s been lost between you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The words are almost too quiet, like he’s afraid to say them. Like they’re too heavy for him to carry.

You look up at him, searching his face for something—anything that might make this easier. But all you find is a man who’s just as broken as you are, if not more.

“I don’t know if sorry’s enough, Joel,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He flinches, and for the first time, you see something crack in him. “I’ll do better,” he promises, his voice urgent now. “I won’t leave again. I swear.”

You want to believe him. You want to believe that things could go back to the way they were, that you could find some semblance of happiness in this broken world. But deep down, you know that things will never be the same. Too much has happened, too much has been lost.

You let out a shaky breath, stepping closer until your forehead rests against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And for a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to feel safe in his arms again.

But the hurt is still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

“I missed you,” you whisper against his chest, your voice barely audible.

He holds you tighter. “I missed you too.”

Later, as you lay in bed together, the room silent except for the sound of your breathing, you find yourself wondering if things could ever truly be okay between you two. If the scars left behind by his absence will ever fade.

Joel’s arms are wrapped around you, his presence warm and solid beside you. And for now, that’s enough.

But as you drift off to sleep, a single thought lingers in the back of your mind:

Sometimes, love just isn’t enough.

Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t losing someone—it’s realizing they were never really yours to begin with.

[icouldntfindquiet]

Thanks for all the supportive messages. ❤️ I’d post them but I don’t want to add to the negativity. I don’t like conflict but I couldn’t stand there and do nothing because if we don’t do anything, they’ll walk over us.

This is literally cyberbullying which has forced people off Tumblr and people are now scared to write/read fanfic or have sexual thoughts about someone. There is nothing wrong with that. It’s completely normal and it pisses me off they tried to make it weird and creepy. Everyone is different. They may not like the same things you do but they never shamed you for it. I’m not trying to change their mind about it. It’s not for everyone but they could’ve ignored it and moved on like any respectable person would.

We do not have to share the same opinion or interests but people should be able to do whatever they want and like whatever they want without fear of being ostracized. Em was able to create a safe community for everyone and they ruined that sense of safety. If you’re wondering where racism, homophobia, sexism, etc. stems from—this is where it starts and we need to call them out for it.

If you don’t like my opinions or viewpoints, you are welcome to unfollow and block me. Being happy that people are bullied is the most messed up thing you can wish upon someone. They’re people with feelings. You never know what someone’s going through. Be kind always.

Tumblr is a place for people to express themselves freely and anyone trying to encroach on that right is overstepping their boundaries. This is your blog—make it what you want. Hate of any kind will not be tolerated here.

[milevenstancyendgame]

It would make the difference between surviving and living.

UBI needs to happen. via antiwork

[superbellsubways]

im gonna be honest gang ive been feeling more and more hopeless as of late and seeing everything thats going on both online and in the real world im just like. wow the misery never fucking ends!!!! we live in an actual hell world and its exhausting!! fuck

[marenwithanm]

Little Links announcement

As we start getting into chapter 4, I just wanted to warn everyone that starting on page 4 (so next week's update not this week) there will be some violence and blood. Mostly canon-typical violence but canon doesn't usually have blood so there's that. I'll put slightly more specific stuff in the tags

[skhardwarevers1]

me when I write poetry to cope with my bitchass teacher

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya is rather touch averse, cringing away from casual contact people give him under the guise of being distracted or idle movement. He's used to it, the Ragnvindrs and Adenlinde got him used to frequent affectionate physical contact, but it can still be entirely Uncomfortable if he's touched by someone outside those he is close to or someone he's otherwise Allowed to touch him.

[boiled-dennis]

dennis finally sorta acknowledges his attraction to men and starts a relationship with this random guy using a Dennis’ Relationship Standards Checklist he created that the guy has to sign. his bpd makes him deeply attached + really vulnerable way too soon without realising it, and he starts talking about himself, but the guy is really weird and says stuff in response like “y’know, i always had an interest in psychopaths.” dennis feels uneasy about it way too late and the guy ends up ghosting him because he isnt living up to the expectations he had of being with A Crazy Person (the whole situation backed dennis into a corner and really changed his demeanour), and a month later the guy is at paddy’s and dennis yells at him to fuck off, but then dee shows up and is like “why are you yelling at my boyfriend??” fully aware that dennis had a relationship with him, but not knowing any details

[mortalityplays]

I know you have all probably seen the esims for gaza posts circulating. Some of you have probably looked at them and thought maybe you should help out, but have weighed up the daunting process of signing up for something you're unfamiliar with vs. the gut-wrenching scale of the things people are going through on the ground right now, and you've put it off or questioned whether it will make enough of a difference vs. some other future kind of activism you could put that $6+ towards. I'm not calling you out or scolding you, it is natural to feel conflicted and ambivalent about the multiple calls for aid that you are seeing on social media.

but consider this: what would you do if you suddenly had to leave your home? how would you cope? how would you begin to plan where to go next, or figure out what to do to take care of yourself? most likely you would reach reflexively for your phone.

telecoms access is not a petty luxury in 2024. a loaded esim means the ability to call family members and find out where they are and whether they're safe, and whether they need anything you can provide for them. it means access to maps and regular updates on the situation unfolding around you. it means you can look up whether it's safe to drink rain water, or how to tie a type of knot you've never had to think about before, or how to treat an injury without medical supplies. it means the ability to tell people outside the situation what you are seeing, what you are feeling, what you are thinking. it is an absolutely crucial resource. and it starts at $6 for 7 days.

many many people have observed that internet access is changing the way the world understands genocide. internet access is life or death, and it is shaping modern history in front of you. and it starts at $6 for 7 days.

please, please visit gazaesims.com and spend 5 minutes and $6 to change the way this plays out for everyone.