#fight me?

[its-hitoshi]

modern! sevika au [low income edition]

Hi I’m also going to be using the last name ‘Jain’. It makes me think of that pretty girl at a summer program I went to that had that same last name and like Sevika, I can’t get her pretty eyes out of my head now. Setting is a general big city. Think of Los Angeles or New York or Toronto

ANYWAY FIRST GEN LOW INCOME SEVIKA REP LETS GOOO. I'm trauma dumping onto Sevika. No one can stop me.

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Sevika Jain, who grew up on food stamps, always looking forward to that one snack her parents would buy her at the end of their grocery hauls. Some days it was bubblegum and shrimp chips the next. Her favorite was always roasted peanuts though. But none of those ever compared to the snacks her mom would make after she helped carry inside bags of fresh vegetables and gallons of water [from the local water store of course]

Sevika, who’s never had the privilege of having her own bed. Or her own room for that matter. Her entire family – mom, dad – lived in a one bedroom apartment. Growing up, she’d snuggle between them during cold nights under that one thick, flower-patterned blanket.

Having fun was playing on the jungle gym or sports with other kids at a local park. Her baba always took her. It’s how she would spend her summers. She still had asthma though. The air quality wasn’t good.

Sevika, who grew up speaking fluent Hindi, only being able to understand her dad now when he speaks to her. All the words she used to know, she can’t say them anymore. She remembers how they felt on her tongue, how they sound. But when she tries, it all comes out wrong. She doesn’t speak Hindi anymore. [Perhaps in a few years, she’ll try to learn again. Duolingo. Mangolanguages. Maybe she’ll meet someone who’s also having difficulties with their own language. Maybe together, they can try.]

Sevika, whose parents loved her, but still felt the sting of their palms. Or sometimes it was a stick. They said they did it because they loved her. Look at all they haven’t made her do, like other kids. Back in their homes, in their childhoods, she would have been working so much. Doesn’t she see how much they’re doing for her? Why can’t she behave?

Sometimes, when her parents fought, she’d see a flash of silver as their voices rose and things got… violent. Sevika wonders if it was just her childish imagination that saw the window rattle or if they actually did it.

Her father sobbed the day her mother died, nonetheless. All the fighting and all that screaming. The doctors had said it was a stroke. Her mama had been complaining about fatigue. Her head was throbbing the morning she walked out the door to go work. Sevika had had school. Her dad also had work. Sevika didn’t know until her dad pulled her out of school one day, white knuckles clenched around the steering wheel as he says quietly that her mother is dead. They park outside of the hospital, and this is the first and last time she sees her father cry. He still had to go into work the next day.

Sevika, who’s older and seen more of the world now, remembering those who weren’t able to. She went to a Title 1 school. Underfunded, in an area that might have been described as ‘ghetto’ in the past – gentrified now, of course. She wouldn’t be able to afford to live there now. The low-income apartment towers she used to live in were remodeled into luxury apartments, marketed to savvy college graduates who wanted to live close to the heart of the city. She walks past the streets she used to call home and tries to recall where the memorial for her classmate had been. They left flowers and candles at the corner he died at. There it is.

And there, she recalls, another shooting happened. There wasn’t a memorial, but there was a death. School had just been dismissed. It was a drive-by. They weren’t a student, but she had been. Her school’s been shut down now. Low enrollment, low performance, and the like. It’s been merged with another school a few streets down.

She wasn’t the best at school, but she wasn’t the worst. She could do fractions in high school, which was better than some of her fellow students. What she did do, was get into a decent amount of fights. She was tall for a girl. Quiet. Also couldn’t stand it when some bastard was running his mouth with no bite to match up his bark.

She graduated, solid middle of her class. She stayed near the neighborhood as others left for better or for cheaper lives. It was already starting to get expensive.

More deaths started rolling in. A drug overdose here or there.

Girls her age becoming pregnant. Having kids. Sevika wondered if there was ever anything wrong with her. She never wanted a guy like they did. Maybe what they said during high school was right. Maybe she is a lesbian. [in time, she comes to understand that she is. Also, that her desire for people is a little different from others. It’s all okay.]

Sevika walking past a recreation center. They’d given her a scholarship one summer, when she wanted to take lessons. Her baba had told her no, but they said they’d take her anyway. Free. They’d give her a scholarship. Sevika, who usually always spoke in low tones, not just because it was comfortable, but because it would get people off her back, was allowed to sing.

Her baba had recorded it. It’s in a flash drive somewhere, but Sevika also had it uploaded to her computer. It captures the moment she ran down to her baba to give him a big hug. He’d said she was amazing.

Late at night, when she’s in her apartment far from the heart of her city, far from what was home, but still home, Sevika is cooking a curry. Her kitchen, though small, is filled with little plastic sachets of herbs and spices bought from her local grocer. She has a pestle and mortar to grind up her spices as coarsely or as fine as she’d like. The scent of home blooms in the air. She found a playlist of old songs someone compiled on Youtube. Her parents liked these songs. She hums the melody, mouthing some of the words as she cleans her chicken. Her baba is dead now. Been so for quite a few years. She’s grown. Her college degree is hung up on the wall, a nod to him and his dreams for her. She did it, even if it was a little late. Even if it wasn’t at some big, fancy college where she knew she’d be the odd one out. He’d have a conniption if he knew she lost her arm in an accident. She got a decent settlement from her workplace at least. Kept her from being off the streets.

 If she ever bumps into them, she’ll buy her classmates and their kids something from the food stall at the corner of the street – churros, freshly made by a nice woman who she can’t really communicate with, but food is food, and money is money. Their kids aren’t kids anymore. Teenagers, plucky and ready to take on the world.

She doesn’t need to be on food stamps anymore. She might not be rich, but she’s stable. This curry will last her for a few days. Silco might work her to the bone in his NGO, but she has her sick days. And vacation days that he not-so-subtly asks her to take with his Do I work you hard enough to not visit Vander’s bar? He’s been complaining about me barring his best customer.

Vander and Silco have two girls between the two of them: Powder and Violet. Violet has her mother’s face. Powder reminds Sevika of how Felicia was like when they were all kids together – when they first met. And somehow, Vander finds enough time to volunteer with two more boys. Mylo and Claggor. Sevika’s met them all at this point.

She takes them to the park when Vander and Silco need a break. She watches them play in the apparatus and muses at how… green the playgrounds are nowadays. No more blacktop. Grass and trees and flowers. There’s even music playing from a radio somewhere. Whoever that person is, they have good taste.

So do the kids, apparently, when they eat up the curry she brought them for lunch. She smirks as she knows for certain that she’s given Vander a run for his money now.

(Vander’s also doing the dishes for her in that nice dishwasher he has in his bar)

[604to647]

In honour of @kate-komics coming back to Tumblr, here is a wonderful commission she did for me last year. I love it so much - truly one of my favourite things from 2023.

Always knew that Din has a sweet tooth 🥹

(Coffee Crisp in the bandolier inspired by Pedge’s IG TLOU BTS photo dump.)

[theficpusher]

Fight me? by lunarheslwt | nr | 1747 'Fight me,' the high voice quipped from under the mountain of pillows, and Harry let out a chuckle, snapping his mouth shut immediately because what was he doing?? The anesthesia must still be wearing off. Harry walked up to the patient again, bemused, and tugged at the pillow, but the person had a surprisingly strong grip on them. Again, with more annoyance in his tone, he said, 'fight me.' Or, Harry is a nurse, to a slightly loopy and sassy Louis.

Green Jello | T | 2341 In Liam’s defense, he’d mostly been joking. Louis didn’t see it that way, of course, but he wasn’t sure anyone else would either, had their best friend dared them to jump into the ocean in the middle of December “for the vine,” and they’d ended up in the hospital with a nasty case of pneumonia and a very high chance of being stuck there through Christmas. *** Louis is stuck in the hospital for the holidays. The only spot of hope is his unfairly pretty nurse.

sunbeams by ohsailor | nr | 2492 Harry is the new neighbour suffering from insomnia. Louis is the night nurse across the hall trying to find ways to help him sleep. They find one that works.

One Way Out by nialleritdidnthappen | G | 5060 Niall was almost surprised that anxiety hadn’t gripped him the moment he got home, that he wasn’t sitting vigilant by the phone, willing on sheer, idiotic hope for the burner number to pop up. The physical demands of the night had taken their toll, so much so that he simply focused on breathing deeply, every exhale clearing his lungs as well as his mind, emptying it of everything but the silent mantra: All you can do is wait.

beat the darkness by turnyourankle | T | 7754 Harry is a volunteer nurse stationed in Cairo; Louis is one of the patients in his ward.

Night Shift by banaanipoika | E | 8899 Louis is into his nurse and suspects the feeling may be mutual. He’s not afraid to take it further and push their relationship beyond the bounds of professionalism, but Harry has been erring on the side of caution. One night, twelve hours into what’s turned out to be a sixteen hour double-shift, stressed, lonely, and delirious with exhaustion, Harry gives in and shows Louis just how unprofessional he can be.

You Gotta Swim, Swim For Your Life [Series] by jaerie | E | 25242 Harry never thought he would find himself battling cancer. Louis never thought he would find himself so attached to one of his patients.

Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) by bluegreenish | E | 28000 Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back. or, the one where, after two years, paediatrician Harry returns to Silver Street Hospital and with it to paediatric nurse Louis' life.

Fractured by thisonegoes | E | 33022 “Can you tell me your name?” A nurse. A nurse's voice. His penlight flashes in front of Zayn's eyes, first his right, then his left. A quick back and forth. To test him. To see if he’s still here. He blinks it away. It’s too bright, stop it, I’m here, am I dying? Hospital AU.

[zoomingupthathilla]

because I am lame, I wanted to put on a christmas movie just for background noise -- BUT I had no idea which one, so in the search bar I typed in the word christmas........... tell me why mean girls popped up? because they have candy canes and that one christmas scene? LISTEN I LOVE MEAN GIRLS BUT IT IS NOT A CHRISTMAS MOVIE.

[thursdaynights]

I swear to all of the gods and all 15 fears that I am still aromantic. My music taste doesn’t change anything?? Heartaches by the number is on my playlist bc I love trail songs AND I am really good at both the whistling parts and the butt slapping part.

[bixels]

As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

[brainrotcharacters]

When irl pisses me off, I rewatch the Honda Odyssey scene to relax

[mintybagels]

damn these canadians

[bamsara]

"youve already written that trope" yesss. i like it a lots. i will be writing it again. 1000 stories of the same trope over and over again for ten million years

[mychemicalbrromance]

Guys ive been reading peak

[dickgraysonmybeloved]

Bruce, High on pain killers: I hate to tell you this, but one of you is adopted

The Batfam: …

Dick: .. only one?

[marlasbreastlump]

was originally gonna color and post this for pride month but i lost the original file

EDIT: Thank you to @localdisasterisk for making the image discs!! :)

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[wuucchoo]

waiting for megumi's class to end so they can play ૮⍝• ᴥ •⍝ა

[zillychu]

everyone sh. shutd up im cooking smthn

[gertritude-art]

classic online experience