#in good conscience contribute to this hell

[https-chaos]

Hyperempathy problems: Have to quit watching video game streams when the streamer says they're not having fun and chat starts being like "yeah we demand blood content is sacrifice" ew yuck it causes me physical discomfort

[asma-jamal]

Hello.,

My name is Asma Al-Dahdouh from Gaza. We are trapped between walls of fear, despair, and deep sorrow amidst the ongoing war in the Gaza Strip. I appeal to every person with a living conscience, a compassionate heart, and an understanding of humanity to help us.

Help me overcome adversity

I reach out to you today, resilient and compassionate, facing unimaginable challenges. Life in our area has become increasingly difficult due to the ongoing and escalating conflict. I struggle to secure the basic necessities for our family.

Who is Asma and her family?

I am married to Ashraf Jibreel, who is 39 years old. I am 34 and suffer from chronic illnesses, including thyroid disease and rheumatoid arthritis, requiring lifelong medication. We have four children: the oldest is Oday, 14, who suffers from a chronic illness like mine; Muhammad, 12; Amal, 9, who has celiac disease and cannot eat regular foods, requiring a special diet that suits her health condition; and Hussam, who is 4 years old.

How has war made our lives hell?

We all feel fear, deep sadness, and insecurity from the relentless bombardment and destruction since the war on Gaza began. My young children cannot sleep normally due to fear and nightmares. My family and I do not have a safe place to live; we rent our home, which has been shelled.

 We have fled multiple times due to repeated threats and demands to evacuate. My husband used to work as a taxi driver, but his taxi was destroyed in the war, leaving him unemployed. My son Muhammad, my daughter Amal, and I contracted advanced hepatitis, increasing our suffering.

Due to a lack of good food, clean water, and necessary medication, our condition has worsened. Our lives are threatened either by bombardment and shrapnel or by malnutrition, the spread of epidemics and diseases, psychological insecurity, rampant unemployment, lack of fuel, cooking gas, electricity, and my husband losing his job.

Despite the harsh conditions and ongoing uncertainties, I remain hopeful and determined to provide a better future for my husband and children. My spirit is unbreakable, but we need help from those with living consciences and compassionate hearts to overcome the obstacles we face.

How can you help me?

My family and I aspire to build a better future for our children, ensuring their safety and allowing us all to live a dignified life, feeling secure and stable, and living in peace. Help us achieve this dream through your generous donations, which will undoubtedly have a significant impact on saving us. The funds raised will be used for:

Renovating our destroyed home and purchasing furniture and appliances necessary for daily life.

Food and water, ensuring we have daily essentials and medical supplies and healthcare.

Education, supporting my children's education by covering tuition, school supplies, and necessary needs.

Every contribution matters

No donation is too small; every contribution brings us one step closer to relief and a better future. Even if you cannot contribute financially, sharing this campaign with your generous network can make a significant difference.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Asma Al-Dahdouh North Gaza City.

[asmafamily]

Hello👋

Help Asma and her family in Gaza survive

Welcome, My name is Asma Salman Abu Daf from Gaza, trapped between walls of fear, despair and extreme sadness in the shadow of the ongoing war in the Gaza Strip, I appeal to every conscientious person, compassionate heart and human being who understands the meaning of humanity to help us.

Help me overcome adversity

I am reaching out to you today as a steadfast and compassionate person facing incredible challenges, life in our region has become increasingly difficult due to the ongoing and increasing conflict day by day, and I am struggling to secure the basic necessities for our family.

Who is Asmaa and her family?

I am married to Ashraf Abu Daf, 46 years old. I am 39 years old and suffer from chronic diseases, which are Mediterranean fever and Crohn's disease. I take expensive medications and treatments for life. I have 7 children. Jana, 13 years old, suffers from chronic diseases, thalassemia, which results in short stature. She needs treatment for many years to take expensive medications. Rafeeq, 18 years old. Nour, 16 years old. Abdul Rahman, 13 years old. Muhammad, 12 years old. Ibrahim, 5 years old. Misk, 3 years old.

How has the war made our lives like hell?

We all feel fear, extreme sadness and insecurity due to the severity of the bombing and destruction we have been exposed to since the beginning of the war on Gaza until now. My young children do not sleep normally due to the severity of the fear and nightmares. My family and I live in our house that has been exposed to shells and bombing. I fled with my family several times due to repeated threats and requests to move from one place to another. My husband's income is limited and does not cover the required living expenses.

Due to the lack of good food, healthy water and the necessary medicine for our treatment, our situation has gone from bad to worse. Our lives have become threatened either by death due to bombing, shrapnel and missiles or by malnutrition, the spread of epidemics and diseases, psychological insecurity, widespread unemployment, and the lack of fuel, cooking gas and electricity.

Despite the harsh conditions and constant doubts surrounding us, I am optimistic and determined to provide a better future for my husband and children. My spirit is unbreakable, but I need help from people with a living conscience and compassionate and humane hearts to overcome the obstacles we face.

How can you help me?

My family and I aspire to build a better future for our children and ensure their safety and that we all live a decent life, and that they feel safe and stable and live in peace and reassurance. Help us achieve this dream through your generous donation, which will certainly have a great impact in saving us.

The funds collected will be used to:

• Restore the destroyed house and purchase furniture and appliances required for daily life requirements

• Food, water and medicine, and ensure that we have access to daily necessities, medical supplies and health care.

• Education, supporting my children's education by covering fees, school supplies and providing the necessary needs.

Every contribution matters.

No donation is too small, every donation brings us one step closer to relief and a better future, even if you are not able to contribute financially, sharing this campaign with your generous network can make a big difference

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Asmaa Abu Daf

[coveholdenmyluv]

Mean Girls - Eren Jaeger

synopsis. Eren's the new kid at Trost Academy and being fresh meat in his senior year isn't easy. Especially so when the only friends he's made yet have managed to convince him to help them mess with "The Plastics". The problem?

He's got the biggest crush on their queen bee, Y/N.

series masterlist.

chapter warnings. Foul language, rich ppl, mentions of vomit, mentions of shitting your pants (what even are these warnings LMAO), laxatives, mentions of giving a character laxatives, hitch is a bitch (I love her I’m sorry I made her like this), drama drama drama, a lot of menstrual product talk (these characters are very comfortable talking abt these things!)

chapter synopsis. From a brawl at the supermarket to a meeting with the Queen bee’s arch nemesis, our trio’s plan preparations seem to be coming together! Though, will learning some lore regarding our resident plastics impede on Eren’s drive? Perhaps the future isn’t looking so bright for our revenge seekers…

chapter 2. Fuck with the Plastics: start

"Bag secured, over." Mikasa spoke in her usual monotone voice.

"And... you're completely sure that this will only make her a bit gassy, right 'kasa?" Armin spoke next, the shake in his voice painfully obvious even through the speaker of Eren's phone. With no answer, he tries again, "Guys? Hello?"

Silence.

"You're supposed to say 'over', Armin!"

"Oh! Over."

"Alright, mine is secured too... over?" Eren announced as he slipped his arm through the plastic bag, doing his best to be inconspicuous, though the hood over his head isn't helping his case. His attire was mostly to calm his troubled conscience.

The three way call had one purpose and a very important one at that.

Phase one of 'Fuck with The Plastics'.

"Good boy," Mikasa purred and Eren swore he could hear the mischievous grin his reply had caused to form on her face. "Now Armin, relax. All this is gonna do is make her tummy a bit upset, a little gas here and there never hurt anyone. She'll get the humiliation she made Eren bear... only much much worse because of her status, plus ruin her chances of winning this highly anticipated game and possibly her entire athletic career. Over."

"Please, stop repeating what could go wrong. I'm getting nauseous again..." Eren groans into the speaker.

"Mikasa, you say that now but, what if she's allergic to it or something? Ohmylanta, what if she dies?!" Armin screeches and Eren fears he may begin to wail soon. "I don't wanna go to jail guys! I can't go back!"

"Geez Louise, Armin." Eren winces as he pulls the phone away from his ear. "My ears are bleeding."

"Oh wait Eren, now that you reminded me, can you get me some pads from the store? My cycle is pretty heavy today." Mikasa asks.

"Uh, T-M-I Mikasa..." Armin mutters as he glances around the student aid center. His portion of contribution to the trio's master plan is arguably the least interesting, though the boy didn't seem to mind. All he was put in charge of was attaining their tickets for the game, which they receive free of charge with their student ID's.

"Mikasa, I'm literally already walking out of the store." Eren says exasperatedly, though his pace has already begun to falter in preparation for his U-turn.

"Well then, go back? If I bleed out all over the bleachers, it's your jacket I'm using to wipe it clean. The ball is in your court."

"Oh my gosh, fine!" Eren relents. "What size?"

"XXL."

Silence reigns over the three, and Eren swears everyone in the supermarket had audibly halted all movements along with them.

"Mikasa, you know damn well..." Armin begins.

"Armin! Shut the hell up, the length helps with my leakage so mind your own business!"

"Zayum, okay geez."

"Wings or no wings?" Eren asks, already having made his way back into the multiple isles freshly restocked.

"Wings, please. I want to be ready for anything." The girl answers ominously.

"I don't even want to know what that means. I'll head back to the academy after I'm done with this, where do you guys want to meet?"

"The restrooms near the cafeteria are right beside the doors that lead to a path straight to the stadium. We can meet there." Armin suggests, already beginning to make his way towards the meeting spot.

"Okay. Actually, since I'm here, do you guys want any snacks for the game?" Eren asks while he grabs a box of fruit roll ups and a bag of hot Cheetos for himself. "How long does a soccer game last?"

"A little under an hour and thirty minutes, and that's if they don't go into over time which they probably will, considering who they're playing against." Mikasa answers, "Oh, and I'll take an oat meal crème pie and a red Gatorade. But! The one with the twistable cap that you can suck on."

"We'll see how long this one will last with what we have planned, though." Armin mutters into the speaker anxiously, "Anyway, I'll take some Skittles, baby Gerber puffs, Teddy Grahams, Hubba Bubba, strawberry Hello Pandas, Scooby-Doo snacks, Gushers, Pirate's Booty-"

Eren hangs up before the other boy could finish, deciding it wasn't worth his weekly allowance.

He had already arrived at the feminine hygiene products aisle by the time Armin had sent him the remaining 27 items on his wishlist for tonight, which Eren promptly ignored. The wall that held most of the menstrual supplies was expanse and slightly intimidating to the teenage boy's eyes, though that was not to say he was taken off guard. Having a close relationship with your mother desensitizes you to a large amount of aspects of womanhood that most immature boys his age would either cringe at or ridicule.

He knows the brand his mother uses is best for absorbing, but they're not the best at being discreet. He wonders which Mikasa would prefer, though he decides that coverage and preventing leakage must have been her priority considering her earlier words. Deciding upon the trustworthy brand he had always picked up on late night pad runs with his mom, he notices how it seems to be the only brand that has yet to be restocked. The one in his hand being the very last one in XXL.

As he turns to leave the isle, a high pitched voice, practically whining curse words, catches his attention. Before he instinctively turns his head towards the sound, he internally prays for there to be no reenactment of his first encounter with Armin, knowing he couldn't bear to handle another stereotypical bully, much less work up the courage to stand up to them once more. 

"They don't have that one today, I swear I've looked everywhere!" The, now visible, person speaks into the cell phone clutched to his ear. "I don't know? Does everyone suddenly use the biggest size available? I know you do not need double X."

It seems to be a young boy, perhaps only a few years younger than Eren himself, with messily styled H/C hair and a few piercings adorning his delicate face.

"The one with the purple flowers on the box or the navy blue one with the stars?" The young boy asks, his impatience slowly making its way into his features.

Wait, purple flowers?

Eren's gaze moves back toward the box in his hands and his eyes trace those exact purple flowers printed and plastered smack dab in the center. Though, he knows there are tons of other brands that use matching floral patterns, perhaps this boy was looking for the one with the green background instead of the pink one Eren held.

"The one with the pink box, right?" The boy asks.

Well, perhaps he was searching for the 7 hour wear edition instead of the 8 hour one Eren got for Mikasa. Surely that was the case-

"8 hour version? Do you need to charge it or something, why is there a time limit?"

Certainly he couldn't be looking for the same size, not many people would be as paranoid as Mikasa due to leakage-

"Mm, XXL? Oh, cause of leakage, got it."

Run, that's what Eren needs to do. He knows how far passionate boyfriends would go for their lovers, especially ones as young as the boy he is sharing the aisle with. Kids his age will either pay romantic relationships no heed or take them far too seriously.

Though, before he could pivot in the other direction, the boy ends the call and turns to presumably search for the pink floral box in the size XXL. Coincidentally, the exact box Eren plans to buy.

The last box.

Green meets E/C.

His heart drops to his ass and his arm hastily shields the prized object behind his back as visible sweat forms on his forehead. Though, truly his efforts were all for naught.

Silence follows as the two teenagers hold eye contact, one accompanied with worry creases near his brows and the other with an unamused pout to his lips.

"Those are the last double X they have in stock, aren't they?"

"...Perchance..."

The H/C boy sighs and holds his hands up in surrender. "Look, dude. I come in peace, it's fine. What do I look like to you? Someone who would go batshit over menstrual products?" Eren shakes his head hastily, to which the younger boy agrees. Of course, what was Eren thinking? Incriminating a person who looked to be no older than the age of 15 was not cool on his part.

"You're right, My bad."

Letting any past thoughts flee his mind, Eren resumes his standstill with the stranger, neither seemingly knowing what to do next...

...before the stranger juts a finger behind Eren and exclaims, "Hey, look over there, it's TSwift!"

"What?! Where?!"

Eren was tackled to the ground and landed with a coherent 'oof', the assailant clambering on top of his chest and tugging at his arms to loosen the tight grip on the box that remains in his hands.

"That was a low blow, you psycho! I haven't seen her since I was in fifth grade!" Eren whines as he tries to free himself. Deciding that his actions were amounting to nothing, he thrusts the box away from his body and above his head, the cardboard sliding across the tiled floor of the supermarket.

"Morality is non-existent when it comes to the last box of pads, pretty boy!" The younger boy grits as he abandons Eren's body in favor of stumbling to his feet to reach the box.

As the boy steps over his head, Eren grabs onto one of his leather boots, causing him to plummet with his fingers outstretched only inches away from the prize. Eren flips himself onto his stomach and scrambles over the other boy, laying a palm atop his face to thwart his vision. In retaliation, though not after a sharp squawk, the boy chomps on the fingers overlaid his mouth, causing the brunet to cry out in pain.

"Give up!" The boy demands, "I don't care if I have to bite every one of your fingers off, I'll be leaving with that box!" He declares and delivers a torturous blow to Eren's crotch, causing him to wheeze and topple over in pain. "Aha!" The boy proclaims as he nears his victory, emitting a cry of premature success.

Though, before his slender fingers are able to reach the jackpot, his worst fear is born into existence.

"My Prada boots!" He squeals in agony and fear as Eren holds the cherished shoe above his head triumphantly and a pained smirk creases onto his face. "Don't you dare you monster, they're monolith!"

"You rich people are all the same," Eren scoffs as he throws the boot aways behind him, not sparing a glance in the direction as the boy abandons the box in favor of running over to his beloved shoe. Eren limps over to the pink box and swipes it up with an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. "I win." He states in a cocky tone, taking pride over the brawl he emerged victorious from, already preening at the amount of bragging rights he had just earned himself. "Mikasa, you owe me big time- ack!"

Not without a war cry, the unrelenting stranger rams a shopping cart into Eren's body, forcing the brunet back onto the ground and causing the box to slip out of his grasp and slide onto the floor once again.

"Never mess with my Prada boots again," He heaves and delicately steps over to the abandoned box, taking it into his hold and placing a kiss atop the the printed flowers. "Auggie, you're awesome." He then turns to face Eren and boldly upturns his pierced nose at the sight of the older boy sprawled on the floor. "You put up a good fight, unfortunately for you I reign superio-"

"I didn't hear a bell!" Eren shouts as he springs up and tackles the shorter boy, resulting in the two wrestling on the ground once again, just as they had originally started. Scratching, kicking, and biting their way across the floor, though noticeably making zero progress towards the box they both sought out.

An awkward cough acts as the bucket of cold water that halts their movements, both boys craning their heads in the direction of the sound alike deers in headlights.

An employee that hauled a cart filled to the brim with pink cardboard boxes and printed purple flowers decorating their surfaces stood before their tangled ball of limbs, gifting them a critical stare. Leisurely, and hesitatingly so, she tucks the prized boxes where they belong, before scurrying away with her haul of products stacked into her squeaky cart.

An air of silence follows the departure of the poor retail worker, both boys remaining stunned by the sudden appearance. Though, after realizing what a compromising position they had been caught in, the unraveling of their limbs went unspoken as they stood simultaneously.

Another awkward cough, though this one originating from the brunet, filled the vacant space between the two. Eren grabs ahold of one of the boxes that was recently stocked, his head hanging low in embarrassment. "So..." He utters hesitatingly.

The younger boy clears his throat, "M sry." He mutters.

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry! ...I know that Tswift joke was wrong of me."

Eren sighs in resignation, now realizing how idiotic his actions were, especially considering the fact that he seemed to be the older of the two. "It's fine. I guess we were both signed up for errand boy today, huh?"

The stranger shook his head, "Yeah but, to be honest, this is my first time going on a pad run for my sister. I wasn't 'old enough' a few years ago, and even then we don't usually do our own shopping. Our butler handles all of that."

"Oh..." It was stupid of Eren to forget that most people in his city were lathered in riches, but he did. His recent encounter with this new boy only furthered his forgetfulness, because what sort of opulent teenage boy was willing to engage in a full out brawl for a box of pads? "Well, either way. I'm guessing these aren't for you?"

"Nah, they're for my sister's friends. But, she can get pretty impatient real quickly and I'm not in the mood to deal with teenage Godzilla. She'd probably run me over with her convertible."

The mental image of Godzilla driving a convertible, only to then run over an edgy teen made Eren chuckle, "I get it, this size seems to be in high demand."

"My sister says that it's because of leakage, whatever the hell that means. I don't even think I want to know."

Eren smiled sympathetically, little brother ignorance was something he knew about all too well. "So, why are you here instead of your butler? I think I would have stood a better chance against him if I'm being honest."

The boy shrugs nonchalantly, "She says it's an emergency. Those girls can get pretty scary when in a state of panic. For being older than me, you'd think they'd be better at dealing with stress."

"I understand completely." Eren huffed in exhaustion, "My friends and I are dealing with these real popular kids at our school, we've got an ulterior motive of course, but we've seen a fair share of their antics and I can tell we'll have our hands full. At least the pay off will be worth it. We have a whole plan and everything."

The boy cackled a laugh that shook his whole body and clapped a palm onto the older boy's shoulder, "You don't say? What's such a good prize worth dealing with what seems to be a bunch of rich maggots eating away at your soul?" He asked.

"Well, it has to do with this girl..." Eren begun to attempt to elucidate the entire situation to this stranger but in the end only arrived with stutters, before he decided that the effort of reliving his trauma was not worth it. He sighed, "It's a long story."

Unexpectedly, a highly pitched rendition of 'I'm Just a Kid' began to chime in the stranger's pants, causing him to wince and groan in annoyance. "A story that I can't stay for, unfortunately." He muttered before slipping the device out of his pocket. "It's Godzilla." He confirmed his suspicions but made no moves to accept the call. Instead, he offered a jeweled hand towards the brunet.

This hand wasn't like the one that was offered to him earlier today. Instead of diamonds and gold, silver and various colored stones wrapped around this boy's digits, crowning them with luxury and status.

"My name's Augustine, but you can call me August." He paired with a friendly grin, bringing attention to the silver lip ring hung on his bottom lip.

For some reason, this boy struck something within Eren. He didn't know what it was, but there was a sense of reminiscence flooding his senses when he stared at his smile. The reminiscence that creeps up on you when you look at your sibling and recognize that the shirt they have on is in fact not theirs but yours.

He can't put his finger on it... but August reminded him of someone.

Nonetheless, he excepted his dressed hand with his own bare one. "Eren, it's just Eren."

"Alright, just Eren. I have to go, but hopefully I'll see you around!" August called out as he scampered down the aisle before Eren could have gotten another word of parting out.

What a nice guy, Eren hopes to see him again.

After grabbing the snacks that his newest friends had ordered, promptly ignoring 25 items on Armin's list, he pays the nice woman working the register and makes his departure. By the time he steps back on the pavement, the sun has begun its decent, painting the concrete buildings and vibrant trees in a golden hue.

Trost truly is a beautiful district — the architecture alone places it on a superior level when compared to many other extravagant districts out there.

Eren himself has never lived the kind of life that his new friends or acquaintances were born into. Although having a successful doctor for a dad, it was never an aspect that had ever brought upon wealth for the Jeager family. His mom rapidly rising in her fashion designer career is what has brought him to such a district as this one. Mrs. Jaeger is well on her way to being known for her individuality, and he couldn't be filled with more pride.

Having to leave his old school was pretty easy for him, he had never had many friends there anyway. Sure there were the few he could greet in the hallways, but none that had ever willingly stricken a genuine conversation with him, much less an interesting one. Though, that's not to say the experience of moving out of the blue in your senior year was something he was excited about either, that wouldn't be a nice time for anyone.

It was just his luck that he'd already made a fool out of himself on his very first day. In front of his crush to boot.

Y/N Ackerman.

He wouldn't lie to himself and proclaim that he has no feelings towards the girl. He quite literally puked on her because the amount of emotions she made him feel at a single glance proved to be overbearing to his body. Though, a portion of himself finds itself conflicted. Actually, scratch that - multiple portions of himself find themselves conflicted. As if the little people in his head are arguing against each other, and he isn't sure which side he should be on.

On one hand, the purple person that he decides to name Armeen is arguing that he should hate the girl. Mikasa said that Y/N had surely made it her goal to embarrass Eren in an attempt to solidify her superiority against him and that she was a vicious person with the ugliest soul she had ever seen. 

On another, the red person, Mika Mika, proclaimed that he already hates her. Armin and Mikasa have informed him of her vile friends, the people she willingly surrounds herself with. She condones their actions by mere association. Not to mention the absolute joke she had made of him, which was sure to have cost him a year's worth of ill-repute. Hell, probably even the rest of his soon to be miserable life.

But then, as if he had grown a sudden third hand, there appeared a pink person. This one unnamed, whispered details the other two would surely never approve of. How could she be a vicious person, when she had went out of her own way to not only invite him, but his only friends, to her highly anticipated game AND her own home, knowing that everyone in their grade had heard the abrupt invitation? She was willingly attempting to help him fix his image. How could the person those little people in his head describe as ruthless and callous, ever make his insides light on fire, as if he was a skewered rotisserie chicken on a white Sunday morning? How could the devil herself bring upon him feelings only talked about in movies?

Manipulation.

Gaslighting someone to their wits' end by batting her fluffy lashes. It's an old tactic really, but one that would never die out, nor could it. Eren isn't stupid, he knows the truth of the situation. How dire a messy set up like this could have affected her reputation as well, he gets it. Understands that measures need to be taken to prevail through such a trying time. When you're at the top, tiptoeing a razors edge, everyone at the bottom has a clear shot to shoot you down. Those mean comments and accusations of prejudice are just the paint strokes crafting a precise target onto her back.

But, to bring him and his friends into her little scheme?

To escape that threat, you need to move, and to move, you need stepping stones. Eren won't let himself or his friends be used as stepping stones.

That's exactly the reason why the three of them have developed a plan to knock her off of her prodigious throne. No longer will they allow the Queen Bee of Trost Academy to continue her reign of exploitation.

Instead, she will... shit her pants?

Well, that's the best they could come up with, so it'll have to do.

It was simple in nature really, Eren simply needed to buy her a drink, one that Mikasa claims has always been her favorite pick to drink before a game, though Eren still questions how she even had that information, and then he will offer that said drink to her as a peace offering.

A seemingly innocent gesture, except it's not. Mikasa was in charge of acquiring laxatives which they would infuse into the refreshment, which Y/N would drink and whatever happened next would be left up to fate. Though, Armin had elucidated three paths that which this plan could take.

Probability 1: She'd harbor a stomach ache, forcing her to be benched due to her poor performance, effectively eliminating the captain of Trost's varsity soccer team. Ruining her image, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

Probability 2: She'd fart up a storm, or worse, ruining her image of the ideal senior of the year, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

Probability 3: She'd pull an Eren and projectile vomit all over her teammates and opponents. Ruining her stellar image, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

The third was preferred for their goal of seeking revenge, but they wouldn't complain if either of the other two played out perfectly.

"Finally, Eren! You took so long, we started to wonder if you had gotten lost on the way here." Armin says as the boy approaches their meeting spot.

"I did, three times. There is no need for this school to be so damn huge."

"Well, you're here now so..." Mikasa surreptitiously looks over her shoulder and then Eren's, "You got the goods?" She asks.

"Stop acting shifty Mikasa, you're making me nervy." Eren rebukes, eyes glancing from side to side in paranoia.

"Do you have it or not." She exasperatedly asks. He timidly ushers the plastic bag her way, his back moving to obstruct the exchange from any prying eyes. "Good boy, keep me covered and I'll crush these bad boys and then pour them in."

"Hurry 'Kasa, I don't wanna go to jail!" Armin's nerves get the best of him, and just as Mikasa began to pour the laxatives into the energy drink, his trembling palms latch onto her shoulders and begin to shake her back and forth. Unfortunately, the forcible motions cause her hand to slip and pour more than what was necessary for what they had planned. "Oops..." He breathes.

Eren's jaw drops at the amount, "Holy shit, are you- are you sure that's okay?" A dramatic gasp forcibly rasps his throat, "She's not actually gonna die, right?!"

"Uhm... no... I don't think so."

"What do you mean, you don't think so?!" He screeches.

"Ohmygosh,we'regoingtojailI'mnotbuiltforthatimgonnadie-"

"Armin, chill." Mikasa grits, before twisting the cap of the bottle and giving it a good shake. "She'll be fine, we're not going to jail. All that'll change is the addition of one more possibility, which is shitting her pants for real."

"I thought we were only joking about that? You mean she'll actually shart herself?" Eren asks.

"Yeah," Mikasa declares with no amount of remorse in her irises, simply tilting her head to face him head on, smirk standing proud on her lips. "Even better than we planned, right? Give the bitch the humiliation she deserves."

After a moment of maintaining arduous eye contact with the ravenette, Eren relents, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling instead and interlocking both hands in his shaggy hair. "You're crazy. Like deadass, you belong in a mental hospital."

"Okay but, wait. The bottle is already open, no one who has a right mind would accept an already opened drink from someone she met yesterday." Armin points out, ever the observer.

"Well, she's gonna have to in order for this plan to work..." Mikasa mumbles, lips pursing in thought. "Oh, Eren! Why don't you be a doll and offer to open it for her, that way she wouldn't even notice it has already been open." She announces with a proud nod, clearly impressed with her solution.

Eren however, isn't as impressed. If anything, the pit in his stomach twists and turns even tighter, bringing forth creases onto the surface of his skin as his face lightly scrunches in disgust. Playing a direct hand in the demise of anyone's athletic career can be catastrophic to the psyche, though he doubts Mikasa's is being affected much if at all.

"Fine."

"Good boy-"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Anyway, we should get going now. Or else, we'd be late. The game starts in 20 minutes, and the walk there is about five, give or take. Though, the introductions take up a good 10 to 15." She ignores the boy.

"Plus, we still need to find seats. Hopefully we won't have to sit on the opposing team's side, or else we'd be royally fucked." Armin adds as they exit the school building.

The pathway that leads them directly towards the stadium is beautiful and cleanly. The school itself is exceptionally cared for, with vibrant green bushes that looked as if they were clipped with the utmost precision. Marbled vases for various other plants and polished benches littered across the lawn oozed a luxurious aura.

"Who are they playing against?" Eren asks.

"I think it's Stohess Prep." Armin answers.

"Oh, that means drama~" Mikasa adds, "10 bucks Levi chokes out Coach Nile?"

"Mm, nah. 20 bucks it's Ymir and Hitch." Armin replies, pointer finger prodding at the fat of his cheek in thought.

"Oh, I forgot about those two. 30 Y/N is forced to step in either way."

"40 bucks she joins."

"50 that they recreate that one Euphoria scene from season 2."

"60 someone yells plus ultra."

"70 bucks Y/N gets hit by a bus and dies."

"..."

"..."

"Okay, you need an exorcist." Armin quips.

"I've been wondering, why do you hate her so much? There's gotta be history you're not telling me." Eren asks the girl.

It was true, he can feel the animosity she seemingly reigns in 24/7 and he wonders if it was at all reciprocated. Though, he has the feeling that it's heavily one sided.

"Mikasa and Y/N-"

"Armin, shut it." The girl grits before her friend could have thought to utter the remainder of his statement.

Eren groans, "Armin, don't shut it. Open it. Open it wide."

"Don't word it like that, Eren..."

"I just don't see the point," Mikasa admits, though her face was telling to how difficult the situation seems to be for her, "What's in the past should be left there, why open up that can of worms?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but it's pretty damn obvious that those worms have been out for a while now. You don't think I've noticed how personal this seems to be for you?" Eren rebuts.

"Oh, and I'm not supposed to notice how personal this is for you? As in, more than just some revenge brought upon by petty high school humiliation?" She challenges, and her piercing gaze bore into Eren's own. "You've made your little crush pretty obvious, the addition of this information might change more than you think it would, Eren."

"Who I have a crush on is none of your business. Besides, yeah, I'll admit I'm not blind, I can tell Y/N is an attractive girl. You can't blame me for admitting so, but a silly little school crush is just a silly little school crush at the end of the day. I don't get how your past with her had anything to do with something as minuscule as that."

Mikasa's arms crossed before her chest in frustration, and she kept her head forward, not relenting at unsealing her lips. Though, Armin, being placed in the middle of both teens, hates being a quiet middleman.

"Y/N and Mikasa are cousins." He blurts.

Eren's jaw drops, "What?!" His fingers thread through his hair once again, this time gripping at the roots because what the actual fuck. "You're fucking with me, right?"

Armin shakes his head vehemently, "Deadass. They even have the same last name! You'd have never guessed, right?"

"Well, not really. Like, at all."

"Trust me, I wish it wasn't true either." Mikasa sighs.

Eren's arms flail before him defensively, "No! It's not that I wish it weren't true, it's just that it's hard to believe considering how you guys are like polar opposites. I mean she's so... y'know-" He awkwardly shrugs his shoulders, expecting the action to speak the words he couldn't find in himself to utter out loud. "And you're... y'know..."

Armin coughs, "Emo."

"I'm not emo! As a matter of fact, I'm not even a goth, contrary to popular belief. I'm just edgy, how hard is it to look up, people?!"

"...what's the difference?"

"Oh, shut up, Armin! That's why your balls haven't dropped!"

"You promised you wouldn't bring that up anymore!"

"Armin, your balls haven't dropped?"

"Oh, look! We're here!"

As Eren looked before them, he was met with the front of an impressive industrialized soccer stadium. The words 'Home of the Scouts' were engraved above the entrance in proud bold letters. He notices that they are currently standing in the middle of the massive parking lot, containing multiple first class busses bearing the titles 'Stohess Stallions'.

Guessing that those belong to the opposing team, and that team was no where to be found, Eren concludes that both teams must be inside already. Which begs the question, how late is this trio?

"You're in the way."

Eren nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden stern voice, and the freight was not limited to himself. Armin squeaks and hides behind his two friends, using them as human shields, though Mikasa simply whips around with a nasty scowl at her face because, who would have the audacity?

Oh, that's who.

"Hitch." She grits.

Coming face to face with a group of girls clad in forest green shorts and jersey's, though their matching team jackets obscured the latter, was intimidating, to say the least. The one standing with the most pride, right at the front and center, wore a smug smirk on her face that her short and wavy dirty blonde hair framed beautifully.

"Well, well, well, would you look at who we have here." She drawls with a laugh. "This is such an interesting trio you guys have going on."

"Mikasa who is this, and why did she come up to us like an anime villain?" Eren whispers towards the ravenette.

"Just our luck." The girl mutters under her breath, not at all a just answer in Eren's eyes, but he was not about to voice his thoughts.

The stranger eyeballs Eren in a way that a certain Ackerman did just a few hours earlier in the day, though this time it did not have him weak in the knees, instead an eerie shiver ran down the length of his spine and caused him to gulp down a yelp.

"Come lookin' for a barf bag, new kid?" She decides to single him out directly, "You know, it's almost funny. I always have the same reaction you did when I see Ackerman as well! I don't blame you, hell, I'd even praise you if it wasn't so disgustingly embarrassing." She jests. "You are new aren't ya? Man, the balls you must have to pull that stunt on your very first day. Oh, the look on her face was enough to have me in tears, I've got to tell you."

"It wasn't on purpose." He mumbles with an eye roll.

"Oh, be careful Hitch. You'll make him mad and we just had our jerseys dry cleaned." Comes a voice from beside her, one of her teammates presumably. This draws out many more chuckles from the group of girls, causing Eren's cheeks to heat up from the jab at his poor stomach.

That voice, low but smooth, causes both Armin and Mikasa to stiffen, as if they had recognized it.

"No way..." Armin mutters, his eyes widening in surprise as the owner of the voice made herself visible.

Another blonde, though this one a paler tone, with glacial blue eyes and a sloped nose emerged from the group, a large bag slung over her shoulders and purple cleats hanging from her fingers.

She had an aura about her, one familiar to Eren. One that wrapped itself around every throat and forced the people around her to pay her heed.

"You're right, Annie. Coach would bench us if we happened to sully them and he can't afford to bench his star players." Hitch agrees, though her eyes are not on her apparent teammate. Instead, they seemed to be inspecting Armin and Mikasa's faces, clearly amused by their starstruck expressions.

"Kasa, do something..." Armin whispers.

"What do you want me to do, hex her?"

"Mikasa, long time no see." Annie continues. It seems that the two know each other, perhaps they are old friends? What a heartwarming reunion. "How's it feel living in your cousins shadow?"

Or, perhaps not.

Mikasa's eyes darken and she begins to fumble in her bag for a pair of scissors, "I quite like the shadows, it gives me a place to properly plan your downfall. Maybe even your murder."

Hitch gasps and feigns a frightened expression, "Oh shiver me timbers, small emos are so scary."

"I'll show you scary cunt-"

"Hey hey hey! What's going on here?" Connie unexpectedly appears from behind the trio, his arms making their way around their shoulders. "You guys will be late if you keep loitering around."

"You could never be Bokuto." One of the girls murmur.

"Oh, Connie, I'm so glad you're here. Bend down a little will you? I feel like I have something stuck in my teeth." Hitch jests as she rubs a finger across her pearly whites.

"Aha, funny." Connie grits, "Hey, how's Marlowe by the way? I imagine he's better since he left you for, who was it again?" He asks with a false pensive look.

"Her mom." Armin declares with a proud grin.

The girl clenches her jaw and scowls, "Fuck you, Connie. Isn't yours chilling upside down on a roof?"

"Wrong AU, hitch."

"At least my hair doesn't make me look like I call corporate." Connie retorts.

"Yeah, well at least-"

"Hitch, we don't have time for this." Annie interrupts, holding her wrist out and allowing her teammate to glance at her watch... is that a Rolex? "We still need to warmup."

Eren doesn't think he has ever seen Connie's eyes darken as much as they did then, shooting daggers at the blonde on par with the ones Mikasa fires at her cousin. "You finally decide to talk, Annie?" He calls the girl out.

Without even sparing him a glance, she states a monotone, "I have nothing to say to you." And walks away from the group in pursuit for the entrance.

Following her departure, Hitch scowls at the fact that she too should follow. "Whatever, I'll save my energy for your little friends on the field. You better watch your captain, it'd be a shame if she forgets her place and mysteriously finds herself on her knees where she belongs."

"Don't dish out what you can't take." Connie asserts.

The girl simply rolls her eyes, "Let's go." She says and takes her leave, taking her army of followers along with her.

"Saweetie did it better!" Armin yells after her, to which Mikasa agrees and waves her hand daintily at the group.

"Man, you are having the worst of luck today, aren't you, Eren?" Connie says with a guffaw.

Eren groans and holds his head in his hands. "Trust me, I know."

"I'm surprised you held your own, Connie. Considering that was literally Annie... and she's with Stohess." Mikasa says.

The boy sighs, "Yeah, I know. Fortunately, Reiner found out yesterday, so we weren't as blind sided. Though, we still haven't told the team, and that's been a topic of discourse amongst a couple of our friends." He answers, and the pained expression on his face almost forces Eren to feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Shaking his head lightly to disperse his frown, he instead returns his attention towards the brunet once again. "Anyway, don't worry about Hitch. She's always like that. It's petty school rivalry shit that we used to have with Marley till they shut that school down. Now Stohess thinks they need to step up and claim the spot as our rivals." He explains, though Eren laughs at the ridiculousness of his joke.

They're in high school, clearly it wouldn't actually be that serious, right?

Why is Eren the only one laughing?

"No literally, look." Connie says and juts a finger towards the busses they had spotted earlier. Eren hadn't spotted it before, but right under the school name seemed to be the words, 'Trost Academy rivals! Fuck Marley and Fuck Trost!'

"Oh..." Eren utters breathily, "We're too old for this shit."

"Anyway, we should really get going or else we won't find good seats." Armin ushers his friends with his hands.

"Oh!" Connie exclaims with a newfound grin, one that Eren thinks fits him better than his previous frown. "Don't worry about your seats, you can come chill with us. We've already saved some for you guys."

Armin gasps dramatically and his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull. "Y-you mean, your VIP section? We get to sit in VIP?!" He screeches. Even Mikasa seems taken aback, her jaw slack and her brows hiding behind her bangs, though she didn't dare voice it.

"Yup! Though I had no idea it was called that, Sasha is gonna freak when I tell her!" The teen buzzes with anticipation. "I'll lead the way, come on."

As they begin to follow him, Eren leans into Armin's ear to ask, "Why are they called the VIP seats?"

Armin sputters, "Why else, Eren? They're the best seats in the stadium. The plastics are the only ones to ever use the space, but today we're making history."

"We haven't even told you about the rest of their clique." Mikasa adds.

"The rest? There're more than the eight we've talked about?"

"Oh Eren... there are levels to this shit, okay? Not to mention, lore." Armin says whilst his fingers wiggle before Eren's face to build suspense.

"For instance, remember Annie from earlier? The blondie with blue eyes and a tongue as sharp as a dagger?" Mikasa asks.

"Yeah?"

"Well, she might not act like it, but she's a retired plastic."

"What? You mean she attended Trost at one point? Also, you can retire? Why would she retire?"

"She didn't just attend Trost, she was a founding member of the plastics. A true OG. She helped run our halls. In fact, I'd go as far to say that she was once closer to Y/N than Jean has ever been." Armin said.

"Then, what would make her willingly give that up?"

"Something so simple and obvious, yet achingly torturous that you wouldn't help but sympathize with her. Especially someone like you, wearing your heart on your sleeve like that." Mikasa lightly jabs at her friend.

"Just tell me, 'kasa. I'm not as soft hearted as you think I am." Eren grumbles.

"Unrequited love."

Eren's breath catches in his throat at her words, for he couldn't believe what she was implying. "W-what? You're telling me..."

"Yup," Armin decides to finish his sentence, "We're not sure which way it went or how exactly it went down, but...

One of those girls loved the other far deeper than just mere friendship."

Taglist: @idreamitski @str4wberrylover @jesus-son-of-god @hoejosblindfold @caycaysblogg @simpingmyassoff @youatemylollipop @enouche @longestline [comment to be added, dm to be removed!]

A/N: im sorry this took so long, its shorter than the last but twice as long as my first draft 😟

[ao3cassandraic]

As far as they can

At the end of the Job minisode, Crowley inaugurates Their Side by proclaiming Aziraphale "an angel who goes along with Heaven... as far as he can," parallel to his own stated relationship with Hell.

Only it... doesn't actually work that way. Their exactlies are different exactlies.

Crowley defies and lies to Hell as often as he thinks he can get away with it. He never disabuses Downstairs of their misconceptions about his contributions to human atrocities. He cheerfully lies in his reports Downstairs, something Aziraphale briefly turns on his Baritone of Sarcastic Disapproval about in s1. Crowley even turns evil homeopathic in the latter part of the 20th century, likely in hopes that it will look good to head office while accomplishing essentially nothing. (This, of course, is another way he Crowleys himself, both with the London phone system and the M25.) After Eden, Crowley's default given an assignment from Hell is to see how he can subvert it.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, defies Her and Heaven as little as he possibly can. Sometimes, as with his sword giveaway, his compassion gets the better of his anxiety. Sometimes, as with Job's children in the destruction of the villa, he can try to stay within the letter of the law by leaving the defiance to Crowley.

His default, however, is "'m 'nangel. I can't dis- diso -- not do what 'm told." This comes out most often as respect for the Great/Divine Plan, which to him is sacrosanct. He sounds quite sincere in s1 when he says "Even if I wanted to help I couldn’t. I can’t interfere with the Divine Plan."

Aziraphale quite frequently Good Angels along by parroting Heaven's party line, whether it's "it'll all be rather lovely" or "I am good, you (I'm afraid) are evil" or droning on about evil containing the seeds of its own destruction, or condemning Elspeth's graverobbing as "wicked" (a stance he offers absolutely no reasoned support for, no logic, no "but She said," not a word -- that's very Heaven; most of Heaven's angels have the approximate brainpower of paramecia). Maestro Michael Sheen even has a particular voice cadence -- I think of it as Sententious Voice -- he uses when Aziraphale is thoughtlessly party-lining.

When the angel's conscience wars with his sense of Heaven's orthodoxy but (and this is an important but) he can't feasibly resist whatever's wrong, he offers strengthless party-line justifications he clearly doesn't agree with (as with the "rain bow" in Mesopotamia) or resorts to a Nuremberg defense: "I'm not consulted on policy decisions, Crowley!" Once or twice, he's even vocally aware of Heavenly hypocrisy: "Unless… [guns]'re in the right hands, where they give weight to a moral argument… I think." This isn't Sententious Voice. It's I-can't-disobey-and-I-hate-that voice.

But at base, the angel prefers obedience (not least because it's vastly safer), and he'd rather have someone else do his moral reasoning for him. Honestly? Pretty relatable. I know lots of people like this -- hell's bells, I've been this person, though I grew out of it somewhat -- and I daresay you do too. Moral reasoning is hard and often lonely (since it can be read as self-righteousness or even hypocrisy) and acting as it dictates can hurt. Nobody would need ethics codes if The Right Thing was also invariably The Convenient Thing.

Many GO fans find these Aziraphalean traits frustrating! Especially his repeated returns to parroting Heaven orthodoxy! Sometimes I do too! (Not least because I'm rather protective of my own integrity, and it's cost me quite a few times. I'm well-known in professional circles for picking up a rhetorical spear and tilting at the nearest iniquitous windmill. I often lose, but I sure do keep tilting. Every once in a blue moon I actually win one.)

The key, I think, to giving our angel a little grace on this (beyond honoring the gentle compassion that is pretty basic to his character) is noticing how often he can be induced to abandon an unconsidered Heavenish default stance. As irritating as his default is, and as consistently as he returns to it, it's not really that hard to talk him out of it. Crowley, of course, is tremendously good at knocking Aziraphale away from his default -- he's had to be. But Aziraphale even manages to talk himself away from his default once, in the form of the Ineffable Plan hairsplitting at the airbase!

I think the character-relevant point of the Resurrectionist minisode is making this breaking-the-Heavenish-default dynamic as clear as the contents of the pickled-herring barrel aren't. "That's lunatic!" Crowley exclaims, when Aziraphale Sententious Voicedly parrots Heaven's garbage about poverty providing extra opportunities for goodness. Aziraphale isn't quite ready to let go yet, replying "It's ineffable."

But Dalrymple (who, I think, parallels Heaven, perhaps even the Metatron -- there could be something decent there, but it's buried too deep under scorn and clueless privilege for any graverobber-of-souls to dig it out) manages to break Aziraphale's orthodoxy by explaining the child's tumor.

Once released from his orthodoxy, Aziraphale can't be trusted to handle moral reasoning well; his moral-reasoning ability is not-uncommonly (though not always) portrayed as vitiated. When he gives Elspeth the go-ahead to dig up more bodies, his excuses are just as vacuous as they were when he was convinced of her wickedness. He knows that he's crossed Heaven's line, too, and just as at Eden it's worrying him. That's why he has to talk to Crowley to nerve himself up to help Wee Morag... only he spends too much time talking, and it's too late.

But Crowley can then talk him into bankrolling Elspeth toward a better life. Aziraphale doesn't even put up any fight, both because he's compassionate and because Crowley is temporarily taking the place of Heaven (he's even Heaven-sized and staring down at them!) as the angel's moral compass.

S1 has an even worse example of Aziraphale's moral wavering, actually. Crowley yells "Shoot him, Aziraphale!" and Aziraphale sure does try to murder Adam. Again, he's adopting his morals from the nearest (and loudest) convenient source. Madame Tracy, thankfully, has enough of a moral backbone to save our angel from himself and Crowley.

(With my ersatz-ethicist hat on: this is a fight between utilitarianism and deontology. Crowley is the utilitarian, which is actually a bit of a departure for him, but he's admittedly desperate. Madame Tracy is the deontologist: One Doesn't Kill Children. Aziraphale is caught in the middle.)

I wouldn't be surprised if part of the reason we start s3 with Aziraphale and Crowley separated is so that Aziraphale finally has to do his own moral reasoning, without Crowley's nudges. I don't think it'll be easy for him. It will absolutely be lonely. And it may well hurt.

But I will watch for it, because it's how he will become his own angel, independent of Heaven and even of Crowley. And he must do that.

[indianamoonshine]

adonis & rainwater | joel miller x reader | one shot

summary: joel says he can’t do this anymore. you don’t believe him. and that’s how you ended up on his porch during a thunderstorm.

rating: m. this is filthy.

warnings: piv, oral (female receiving), d*rty talk, kind of soft. fluff. loss of virginity. age-gap (reader is in her twenties, joel in his early fifties!). when i wrote this, i was thinking of TLOU 2 joel. i love pedro but pixel joel is forever my baby.

word count: idk!! it’s long.

His name is called out in the midnight summer rain. It’s the discombobulated voice of loss; a woman he never imagined he’d mourn since meeting in the saloon last autumn. He never suspected he’d wrestle with the innermost parts of his shadowed conscience after her — of pleading with himself to touch those softer parts he’d hidden away for over twenty years.

It’s you. Your voice.

He’s strumming at his guitar on the porch, mind tangled with thoughts of you ever since your argument earlier this evening; ever since he said with stoney face that he couldn’t do it anymore. You’re too precious — too angelic — for his affection. He’d scald you with hellfire; infect you with something that didn’t rot in the runners or the clickers. He’d prodded parts of human nature that should’ve died out hundreds of thousands of years ago.

He hadn’t told you this, though. He’d been vague — sparing details of the sentiments he tried so hard to keep buried. Fatherhood was different; it was an ancient response.

This was different.

It doesn’t belong in the human timeline anymore. You don’t need to have feelings for someone to survive. You didn’t even need to have attachments to make the contributions to repopulating. Sex was just technical these days — didn’t require a degree of intimacy that it used to. Romance had no meaning anymore — no aspirations or benefactions to society.

That’s what he told himself — kept telling himself. And he continued to long after he left your house a couple of streets over, ignoring the tugging at his chest and the whispers of a man who lived over two decades prior: “Turn around, jackass.”

But it wasn’t his voice he was hearing now. The moment he hears his name his attention is pulled away in a reflex he lost sleep over at night. When he finds you at the end of his porch steps, doused in rainwater, he lets out a sigh of relief. You’re still in the white linen dress you wore earlier this evening except now you’re soaked to the bone. He can see the outline of your body through the fabric, of the bra and panties he hadn’t yet the chance of sliding off you with shaking fingers. The two of you hadn’t gone that far yet; he hates it.

He couldn’t take that risk. Not with the idea of loosing you.

He stands at the sight of you, abandoning his guitar.

“Petal!” he calls out. It’s the nickname he’d given you a few months prior and it stings like barbed wire when he says it. “What the hell are ya doin’? Get out of the rain! You’re gonna catch your death!”

You shake your head. “No!” you shout through the storm. A chain of lightning appears over your head. “Not until you tell me the truth!”

The thunder rolls. It vibrates the skin on his bones.

“What the hell are you on about?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Say it, Joel! Say what you want to say!”

He runs a hand down his face. This can’t possibly work on him. It can’t. There’s no way you’re capable of scyring out the truth in him.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he shouts over the thunder. “Now get in here, please! You’re soaked!”

Your pretty eyes well with tears. He can barely hear your voice over the storm. “You love me, Joel.”

A crack of lightning ignites the silence with electricity. He stares you down like he would an enemy. You’re not allowed to do this to him — to conjure these proclamations. Neither of you can afford his love. It’s toxic, rancid — the expiration date past due. He’d be tainting you.

“Don’t,” he warns.

You stand your ground firmly; you’re good at that — at stubbornness. You’ve gotten your way many times before because of it. Of course, it could’ve also been due to the uncomfortable truth you were now attempting to pry from him.

He…

“You. Love. Me.” you push.

The two of you stare at one another for a while. It’s a show of strength for the both of you. The shallow part of him wants to lie - to claim it wasn’t as serious as you’d hoped, that his time with you was nothing more than a passing fancy. He wants to protect you from himself - to shelter you from any of his misery and defeat, of his loss and his grief. You had no idea of the things he was capable of — of the things he’d done. The crimes against humanity that he had committed keep him up at night and beckon him into a blackness that was too hard to claw out of. He couldn’t pull you down with him.

But you were a lantern in that darkness. You’d witnessed his anger and carried his grief too. He’s watched in awe as you dusted the sadness from his shoulders, of sharing the burdens with him. He’d noticed the way you observed his complexities and then created something fruitful from them. You kissed the frown from his grimace and watched with smiling eyes as it faded from his mien.

He was reluctant to admit it.

You’d chipped away bleakness from him.

He watches as you allow yourself to be pelted of rain in a post-apocalyptic world; a reality where violence managed to flay underneath his muscles and bear its teeth in his form.

And still it loved you.

He loved you. Even his violence.

“Goddammit,” he grumbles.

He turns for the steps, ignoring an animalistic instinct to shut the door in your face. When he reaches for you, you gasp in the rain and shudder when he pulls you into his arms and grips your cheeks in one hand.

“I love you, goddamit.” He shakes you a little bit, watching as the tears fall from your eyes. “Are you happy now? Huh?”

You nod feebly in his grasp. “Only if you mean it.”

“You know I do,” he growls before kissing you.

—

It’s the kind of kiss you read in those paperback romances; the sparse library in town carried them. Your favorite was a western.

It had nothing on this.

Joel pulls you into him, hands gripping at your waist. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, kissing him with a fervor you hadn’t experienced before. His mouth opens, tongue shoving its way against yours, and you expected to hate it but don’t.

You haven’t french-kissed a man before.

He knows it - has talked about it with you. The two of you hadn’t been seeing each other for very long romantically - were just friends up until three months ago. He didn’t want to pressure you into anything but you were aware that a man like Joel Miller had needs. You tried so desperately to convince him you were longing for it - for giving him your everything - but he brushed off the idea.

Until one night he got a little handsy.

It was two days prior. The two of you were watching a film at his house. It was some kind of classic Joel had dug out from under dusty artifacts while out on patrol. His attention was on the film like a baby and a shiny thing until you laid your head against his lap.

The two of you kissed of course but only with closed mouth. You would’ve gone farther earlier but you were a pansy - too afraid to disappoint him and too expectant of loosing him. But that night the kiss began to get heated and his hands started to wander. And right as you opened your lips just slightly…

He pulled away.

After that night, he avoided you for over twenty-four hours until you finally cornered him at the community garden. While you expected there to be some tension, you hadn’t expected him to break things off with you a few hours later. His monotone voice and clipped edges punched a hole into your gut. But…

No. You saw through him.

Which is exactly why you came here in the pouring rain, insomnia coursing through your veins, and fury along with it. Joel Miller would not leave your side. You were a lot of things: a chicken, bad with guns, and the last person to ever survive in a world like this. But the greatest thing you were?

A hopeless romantic.

Which is how you knew Joel Miller had fallen in love with you exactly one month ago when he brushed his calloused thumb across your cheek and whispered, “Hey Petal. Pretty girl.”

You weren’t an idiot.

Neither was he.

Joel lifts you in his arms and you gasp against him, unaware that he was capable, but pleasantly surprised. The thunder grows louder, the rain heavy upon the sidewalk. The weather makes his natural scent more potent: a heady blend of a spice you can’t name, pine, and ash. You claw at his t-shirt; the patience within you is growing mighty thin.

“Joel,” you whisper against him.

He walks the two of you up the steps, one hand cradling your ass while he opens the screen door. It slams behind him with a loud bang, the sound of crackling lightning camouflaging the noise. Inside is warm, candlelight flickering against the windows. Joel prefers to save as much electricity as he can, especially at night. Maybe twenty-years of burning wax became something of a solace for him.

“Living room,” you gasp, breaking free from his kiss.

He looks puzzled, one hand splayed across your back. “What? Why?” He’s breathless, accent thick in the throes of pleasure.

You rub your nose against his, feeling the scar across the bridge of it. It’s Joel. “I’m impatient. I’m also very wet.”

Joel raises a brow.

You blush, realizing what that sounded like. Not that it mattered. “I don’t want to get your bed wet is what I mean.”

He chuckles darkly. “Babygirl, I plan to get it wet either way.”

—

He practically tosses you into his bed.

You giggle, bouncing slightly upon it, and stretch like a cat in sunshine. He takes a moment to admire your female form; the curves that show so beautifully under damp clothes, the way your eyes glitter in the candlelight, and the illumination of your skin with it.

If he hadn’t believed in a God before, he did now.

Joel’s been out of practice for a couple of years but he’s tried to convince himself it’s like riding a bike. He and Tommy had broached the subject rather drunkenly a few months ago at the saloon. Tommy claimed it was different since the world ended - more satisfying than it had been before, like tasting chocolate for the first time. Joel didn’t agree at all; sex for the past two decades had been almost clinical in nature, but maybe that’s because he was fucking women he didn’t have any emotional attachment to.

This…this was not void of sentiment.

The last woman he — well, made love with, he supposed — was Sarah’s mother. There was one night he and Tess had fooled around and that had been something but not even close. With Tess, he felt a sense of devotion - not passion. Not intimacy.

He goes for your neck, eating up the little moans you allow to slip from your plumped lips. His hands glide down your thighs until they reach the hem of your dress (the one you’d made on your own and he’d been so impressed by it). He lifts it over your shrugging form and finds the valleys of your body are just as divine as what he imagined.

The luxury of Jackson allowed your tummy to be softer than what he’d been used to all these years — it was unbelievably sexy. He hadn’t cared about it either way before but knowing you were well fed now brought him a sense of peace. He kisses down your sternum, unclasping the bra at your back, and almost fucking loses it when you throw it in the corner of his bedroom.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, taking your breasts in each hand.

They’re soft against his calloused palms — smooth compared to every inch of him. He leans down to suckle the right, your nipple peaking gently against his tongue.

You whimper, arching into him.

A wicked — and treacherous — thought manifests. He imagines your tits swollen with milk, a child resting deep in your womb. He groans, wrapping his arms around your waist as he laps at each breast, silently entertaining the idea.

You grumble in frustration, pawing at his shoulders. “Your turn. I want…”

He releases you with a wet pop and then smirks a little in the night. A crack of lightning ignites outside.

—

You skipped all the frivolity.

There’d be time for that soon.

You just wanted him. Wanted the thick length of him between your legs, hot and heavy, and pulsing. When he stripped bare, your jaw almost hung open in shock at the size of him. You had a suspicion — hell, all the women in town did — but to see it now was…

God, it was almost too much.

It was…pretty, which you didn’t expect. It wasn’t like the ones you’d seen in medical books or in person at the quarantine zones. While it wasn’t pornographic, it certainly wasn’t disappointing. Joel was thick, a prominent vein running down the side, and flushed with red at the head. The length was more than adequate — so much that you did some quick calculations to yourself. That was supposed to fit inside of you?

Joel chuckles when you subconsciously lick your lips, leaned upon your elbows, and waiting with bated breath. He kisses your mouth closed and then your cheek before whispering, “Lie down, babygirl.”

You do, taking in a deep breath. You feel him rub at your slit with the head of it, teasing your fluttering hole, and gathering the slick you’d released.

“You ready?” He noses at your hairline.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe, nudging against him. “I’m ready.”

—

A vise.

(Vice.)

A vise in the sense that your insides envelope around his cock. You suck him in noisily, though hesitantly, and he groans with embarrassing volume. You whimper, shifting your hips, and it tickles down the base of his cock.

“Jesus, fuck.” He clenches the sheets in one hand, the thread stretching around his knuckles. The other hand palms the side of your neck.

“Oh, god. Joel.”

A vice in that your body was now a cathedral for his debauchery.

His hips still when he bottoms out, your pelvis against his. He can feel your fucking pulse. He’s not sure how he ever lived without this. Tommy was right.

You’re babbling sentences he can’t understand; it’s as though you’re speaking in tongues. Your neck arches against the mattress, eyes rolling in the back of your head. He hasn’t even moved yet.

He whispers your name — your given name. “I know, baby,” he groans, face falling into the crook of your neck. He begins to thrust shallowly. “I know.”

You bring your arm to cross your face, biting at your own flesh to keep from shouting. Joel wants to tear it away, to hear everything you can give him, but he’s far too busy trying to keep from coming. When his thrusts begin to speed up, you abandon all attempts of keeping silent.

It’s like an orchestra. Joel remembers Tchaikovsky. It reminds him of that; of canons betwixt strings and brass. The juxtaposition of shouts dedicated to pleasure and groans of ecstasy was the closest to nirvana he’s ever gotten. He can’t remember the last time he left his body for anything other than panic and fear.

He takes a hold of your hips, bowing you against him, and begins to thrust into you with a wild pace. “Jesus, this cunt is fucking perfect,” he growls.

“Joel, I think…” you start.

But your mewl is cut short. Joel feels a pressure building and then suddenly…

“Oh god,” you whine.

Joel looks down, hips still pistoning against yours.

He realizes you’ve just squirt, your cum dripping around his cock where it makes a sinful noise with each thrust. He growls, ripping himself from you, and dragging you to the edge of the mattress.

“Joel! What…”

Your protests are cut short when he drops to his knees, wraps your legs around his shoulders, and then presses his mouth against you.

“Oh. Oh…” you purr, hands tangling in your hair.

Din hums against you, the vibrations causing you to shiver and murmur his name. He laps up every drop of you; it’s a nectar sweeter than Georgia fuckin’ peaches. He moans, tongue weaving between your fucked out hole and your puffy lips.

He brings a hand to his cock.

—

He’s close. You know he is.

The feeling is incendiary. His tongue is warm and wet against your poor, swollen cunt. He is a salve, his expertise rinsing away the remains of your previous orgasm.

He grunts against you. You sense the grip he has on your hip begin to tense, the blood rising to the surface of your flesh. You grab his hand at your center and squeeze before interlocking his fingers with yours.

“On my pussy,” you beg in a whisper.

He growls, separating himself from you and craning his neck backwards. The veins throb against his skin, a flush creeping down into his collarbones. He’s never looked more beautiful than he has now.

An adonis with rain in his hair.

Joel comes with a broken grunt — something manly and full of testosterone — before a pearly wad of cum spurts upon the folds of your pussy. You whine at the vision, the sensation of it dripping down your sensitive lips almost enough to get you to come again.

When Joel’s finished, he kisses the skin of your thigh and tummy before reaching your mouth. Your taste lingers against his lips - something earthy and sweet and mixing with him.

The two of you exchange breath for a few moments, unabating in each other’s company. Your soul feels something like a specter; drawn out into the afterlife and existing in a patch of time frozen in his arms.

Joel cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lips. His furious kiss has reddened the skin and making them tender. He kisses them softly. Once. Twice.

You slide your hands up his broad chest, stopping at the sides of his neck, and massaging gently. He closes his eyes, relaxing into your touch.

“I knew you loved me,” you whisper in the darkness. The candles have burned out. The rain still falls.

And so does Joel.

[strawberryacailemonade]

RadioApple Prompt

Alastor is a sucker for old things and refuses to embrace the modern even in the way of speaking and having Lucifer as his walking translator

If someone told the King of Hell that he and the infamous Radio Demon would be in a relationship, he would have laughed out his ass and then proceeded to eviscerate them. But fate is extraordinary,  They find each other enigmatic which compels them to unveil each other’s mystery, and slowly they learn, understand and develop feelings. So now, they love and would die for each other.

Lucifer love Alastor, he does but sometimes he wants to smack that redhead by the extent of understanding he contributes to this relationship

By understanding, the thing is Alastor’s voice and the way he spoke. As expected of him being a radio host, the deer has his way with words but the downside is his reluctance and refusal to entertain modern stuff which affects the way he speaks, he refuses to use modern language except for the occasional ‘Fuck you’s’ and leaning more to the old English, full of poetic and subtlety — he believe it has ‘more class’—  this gave others having a hard time comprehending the deer demon sometimes, lucky for The Devil— being the same age as the Earth helps him understand languages even the most fucking long and poetic response.

Committing to this relationship means you have to interpret what your partner says.

——————————————————————————————————

“How about you Al?” Charlie asked looking at his two dads, specifically the taller one

Alastor smiled at her “The gravity of your proposition, yet, it is one that my conscience cannot, in good faith, endorse. In truth, I cannot acquiesce to thy request, for it would lead us down a path fraught with shadows and sorrows. Hmm, I must, my heart heavy with the weight of inevitability, respectfully, but firmly, decline. For to yield to thy supplication would be to court chaos and upheaval, disrupting the delicate equilibrium of our lives. May the passage of time grant us the clarity to discern the wisdom of my decision, and as our paths inevitably diverge, let us find solace in the knowledge that mine was guided by the hand of prudence and virtue.”

“o-okaaayyy…??” dumbfounded, the princess looked at his other dad asking for clarity

“He means ’No’, he does not want sugar in his coffee”  the king replied 

——————————————————————————————————

While the couple was strolling around, they came across the TV overlord. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Vox approached the Radio demon and started to ridicule him. Lucifer can see that his partner has no patience for the walking monitor. 

Al cut off Vox’s monologue "Kindly withdraw from my presence and my partner’s, for your unwelcome intrusion disrupts the tranquillity of this esteemed gathering. Perhaps, indulge in a solitary stroll in yonder direction or retire to the solace of your chamber, where your company may be better suited. I trust you will understand the propriety of such a request and act accordingly. It is my unsincere hope that you may find a more fitting environment elsewhere, one better suited to your particular inclinations and proclivities, for here, your presence is as delightful as a rat in a granary." after that Alastor proceeds to walk away

After such words, the silence was deafening. Lucifer, who stayed watched as the Overlord tried to comprehend what Alastor said. He finds it fascinating as colours and codes appear on his screen—or face… whatever that is.... 

Getting bored at the display, Lucifer answered  “He told you to 'f*ck off' ”, he then proceed to follow his Bambi not waiting for the TV’s reaction

——————————————————————————————————

"Your query strikes a resonant chord within the chambers of my intellect. A multitude of affirmations dance upon the delicate threads of my consciousness, each whispering their assent in the hushed tones of a reverent confession. 

Does a bird seek refuge in a chimney pot?

Does a street urchin covet a crust of bread? 

Does the moon wax and wane in the night sky 

Thus, my dear fellow, with a measured breath and a reverent nod, as surely as the sun rises in the east, my answer is unequivocal.”

“........”

“ you could have just simply said ‘Yes’ instead of making me kneel here for fucking 33 seconds waiting for your answer”

“well… I love seeing you suffer”

The King stands and reaches out for the demon’s hand to put on the ring.

——————————————————————————————————

“Darling..” Al whispered whilst taking Lucifer’s right hand and kissing his fingers, the two just finished consummating their marriage. Now, Lucifer has hickeys and bite marks adoring his body and a bruise in the shape of familiar hands forming around his hips. His body aches specifically on his nether regions. 

“hmmm….??” Lucifer responded 

"I cannot suppress the fervent affection that consumes my very being. My feelings for you transcend the boundaries of rationality, defying all sensible objections and societal expectations. I confess I have struggled in vain to quell this ardour, but it persists unabated. Every rational argument every prudent consideration, pales in comparison to the overwhelming force of my affinity for you. I cannot deny the truth of my emotions, and I beseech you, with all the fervour of my soul, to accept the love that I offer and consent to be mine. And so my dearest, I lay my heart bare before you, knowing full well the risks I undertake. But in matters of love, there can be no pretence, no artifice. You complete me with a depth and intensity that knows no bounds, and I pray that you may find it in your heart to return my affections."

The King was speechless, he felt his heart swell with joy and love, this was one of the times that Lucifer appreciated his now husband’s way of talking, the way Alastor said it gave more meaning and showed the demon’s inner thoughts.

Lucifer smiled, eyes full of affection “ I Love you too”

______________________________________________________________

Just saw this on the reels of @/englishenjoyed on Instagram, and thought it fits Alastor 

Re: I made a fic about this in AO3. Here

[agoodflyting]

Even more thoughts about Enver Gortash and Richard III

T'was the night before Christmas and all through the house, this bitch is still obsessed with the parallels between Enver Gortash and Shakespeare's OG tyrant, Richard III.

Part I Here

tl;dr It makes perfect sense that they have a lot in common because Richard III is the archetype for the tyrant king in Western literature. Some things they have in common include a sense of otherness, ambition, early childhood trauma relating to power and powerlessness, and a smooth-talking charm that helps them get away with their bullshit.

And now to add:

"My other self, my council’s consistory, My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin!" Both Richard and Gortash have an evil bestie who helps them facilitate their schemes, and who they heap praise on and seem to regard as closer to an equal than a minion. Gortash has the Dark Urge and Richard has Buckingham. If you play as the Dark Urge, the parallel is even stronger because in both cases their former evil bestie is one of the key figures who turns against them and contributes to their death.

(I cannot stress enough that the 'my other self' scene sends me into fits of durgetash madness.)

"I am not made of stone." Both Richard and Gortash's plots revolve around them not just seizing power, but specifically creating a situation in which the people in charge will beg them to take over. In Gortash's case he uses the Bhaalists and the Absolute plot to create fear in Baldur's Gate, and then sells himself as the only person who can protect the city, culminating in him being named Archduke by a terrified but willing populace. In Richard's case, he creates a succession crisis (in a country that just survived a civil war caused by an earlier succession crisis) by assassinating key members of his own family and spreading rumors that others are illegitimate pawns of a plot to seize the throne by a lesser noble family. The end result is that Parliament begs him - the closest remaining Plantagenet heir - to take the throne in order to prevent another civil war. I find it especially interesting that in both cases, their plots seem to hinge on pretending they don't want power and are only graciously accepting it for the Good Of The People when in fact they were the threat all along. That's gotta be serving some kind of emotional need.

"Your eyes drop millstones when fools’ eyes fall tears. I like you lads!"

Just because you're evil doesn't mean you have to be a jerk. Both Richard and Gortash have a habit of paying compliments to their minions and allies - compliments which seem to be genuine.

"Thou cam’st on Earth to make the Earth my hell. A grievous burden was thy birth to me " (Duchess of York, Richard's mother) Mommy issues. So many mommy issues. Both Richard and Gortash have especially rough relationships with their mothers. In both cases, their mothers seem to regard them as horrible burdens that they regret having given birth to - although it's up to debate how much of that stems from the fact that their sons have grown up into horrible little murder gremlins.

"Conscience is but a word that cowards use, devised at first to keep the strong in awe." Richard and Gortash are both willing to commit the most vile crimes - up to and including child murder - if it gets them an inch closer to what they want, and neither of them seem to feel bad about it. Richard has his young nephews murdered because they're in his way (and also one of them sassed him), and Gortash... ngl, I started typing here but it's shorter to list the atrocities Gortash didn't commit.

"Alas, I rather hate myself. " This is getting into meta character interpretation, but both Richard and Gortash have the kind of outward egotism that almost always masks a bone-deep insecurity and boundless wells of self-hatred. No one who really loves themselves has that much need to prove their worth to the world.

"I have set my life upon a cast, and I will stand the hazard of the die." And to finish it off - both Richard and Gortash die facing their enemies, both of them willing to get their hands dirty to stay in power right to the bitter end. Instead of running, Richard takes the field himself to fight Richmond (aka Henry Tudor) and is killed in battle. Depending on how you play the game, Gortash is either killed in combat by the player character or killed by the Elder Brain when he goes to confront it alongside the player. In either case, he shows that he's willing to take the field himself in order to keep the power he's gained. They may be tyrants, but they're never cowards.

in conclusion... Enver Gortash is following in all the best traditions of his tyrant forbears.

[natsuhi-did-nothing-wrong]

I just need to say… even if every accomplice thought it was all a game made for Battler and that everyone else was in on it, whAT THE HELL WERE THEY THINKING

Specifically I’m thinking about episode one’s first twilight. Battler has a breakdown over his parents being dead while it’s at least implied that Eva and Hideyoshi think it’s all a game, and neither of them shows even the slightest hint of feeling bad about contributing to that, or any desire to tell him (what they consider to be) the truth. They can assume everyone else is just really good at acting and were given the same deal as them, but they were told this game is FOR BATTLER.

And maybe thinking everyone else knows it’s a game is part of it? A bit of bystander effect, maybe. Like, his parents are lying right there and not bothering to break the illusion, why should I be responsible for letting him know it’s fake?

Maybe they think he knows it’s a game too and just doesn’t know the culprit, but like… why?? Normal murder mystery games don’t involve screaming and crying at the sight of the corpse(s). They would’ve had to have been told to act like it’s real, which would imply that someone doesn’t know it’s a game. I guess they can just figure Sayo’s weird and gets some sort of entertainment from it being well acted? They’ve probably been primed to think like that too, since Kinzo seems the type to make strange demands that it’s better to just go along with.

And of course there’s always the money. Enough money to stop them from thinking too hard about it, enough money to hush their conscience, enough money to create a whole new truth.

It’s not that I think it’s out of character, I just need to see how they justify that to themselves, it’s gotta be so complex.

[elektrischemaidchen]

Lisztober #12: Roman Catholic Guilt

Good morning from the beautiful Rhineland, @franzliszt-official

which is shrouded in the deepest fog outside my window. Pure Rhine romance and also fitting for today's theme.

‘Cool, are you doing a ‘Pretty Addicted’ cover?’ , Lacelove asks me.

No, not really. Today it's another „boring“ German ballad. (Noooo, please don't!!!) But  good news: it's ‘only’ 6 minutes long. Sorry ;)

The reason is quite simple: My dear band mates are both not baptised (Heathens!) and unfortunately can't contribute anything (except jokes ;)). On the other hand, I started about 10 text drafts and discarded them. And then I went back to where I found what I was looking for, a few days ago: Liszt himself.

In the beginning, I got stuck on St Cecilia, whom Franz greatly revered. That would be the precise moment when my band mates would really have me committed: Drosselmeyer had written a hymn about a Saint. And we would really lose all of our listeners. And then I remembered that, apart from ‘The Blind Singer’, there was another melodrama that had a promising title: ‘The Sad Monk’, based on a poem by Lenau. Although it doesn't have quite the same overwhelming, deeply sad verse as ‘The Blind Singer’, it is still beautiful, though. Why do these melodramas hardly ever appear in biographies and if they do, only as a side note?  The poems ,he had chosen, tell us so much about Franz's inner life. You can find an English translation on this website.

I have incredible respect for Franz's religious side and his handling of theological motifs. But here too: It is this strange ambivalence that makes his life so interesting and in some places intangible. Could „Génie oblige!“  & „Caritas!“ exist side by side at the same time? They could! Did Franz stop shagging hords of piano students after he received the lower orders? HELL NO! (Unintended pun.)

For one thing, Franz came from a very Catholic family and would have liked to pursue a career in the church from the outset, but thanks to his busy dad, this wish was dashed to the ground.

Anyone who comes from a Catholic family knows the struggle with the often frighteningly deep-seated guilty conscience. (Even I can't completely absolve myself of this... and I'm anything but a good Catholic ;) My cousin, for example, is a priest and only runs around in a robe. Even in his free time. Just the sight of it is enough to make me feel guilty ;)

On the other hand, he probably longed for stability at some point - and since this was lacking in his unsteady life, the return to his faith probably came at just the right time. And as much as many made fun of it: It was the right path for him and perhaps for his peace of mind. Oh, Franz.

So you see: no Pretty Addicted cover. Although they are really cool ;)

Amen.

[asmaa-family]

Hello 👋

My name is Asma Salman Abu Daf

from Gaza, trapped between walls of fear, despair and extreme sadness in the shadow of the ongoing war in the Gaza Strip, I appeal to every conscientious person, compassionate heart and human being who understands the meaning of humanity to help us.

Help me overcome adversity

I am reaching out to you today as a steadfast and compassionate person facing incredible challenges, life in our region has become increasingly difficult due to the ongoing and increasing conflict day by day, and I am struggling to secure the basic necessities for our family.

Who is Asmaa and her family?

I am married to Ashraf Abu Daf, 46 years old. I am 39 years old and suffer from chronic diseases, which are Mediterranean fever and Crohn's disease. I take expensive medications and treatments for life. I have 7 children. Jana, 13 years old, suffers from chronic diseases, thalassemia, which results in short stature. She needs treatment for many years to take expensive medications. Rafeeq, 18 years old. Nour, 16 years old. Abdul Rahman, 13 years old. Muhammad, 12 years old. Ibrahim, 5 years old. Misk, 3 years old.

How has the war made our lives like hell?

We all feel fear, extreme sadness and insecurity due to the severity of the bombing and destruction we have been exposed to since the beginning of the war on Gaza until now. My young children do not sleep normally due to the severity of the fear and nightmares. My family and I live in our house that has been exposed to shells and bombing. I fled with my family several times due to repeated threats and requests to move from one place to another. My husband's income is limited and does not cover the required living expenses

Due to the lack of good food, healthy water and the necessary medicine for our treatment, our situation has gone from bad to worse. Our lives have become threatened either by death due to bombing, shrapnel and missiles or by malnutrition, the spread of epidemics and diseases, psychological insecurity, widespread unemployment, and the lack of fuel, cooking gas and electricity.

Despite the harsh conditions and constant doubts surrounding us, I am optimistic and determined to provide a better future for my husband and children. My spirit is unbreakable, but I need help from people with a living conscience and compassionate and humane hearts to overcome the obstacles we face.

How can you help me?

My family and I aspire to build a better future for our children and ensure their safety and that we all live a decent life, and that they feel safe and stable and live in peace and reassurance. Help us achieve this dream through your generous donation, which will certainly have a great impact in saving us.

The funds collected will be used to:

• Restore the destroyed house and purchase furniture and appliances required for daily life requirements

• Food, water and medicine, and ensure that we have access to daily necessities, medical supplies and health care.

• Education, supporting my children's education by covering fees, school supplies and providing the necessary needs.

Every contribution matters

No donation is too small, every donation brings us one step closer to relief and a better future, even if you are not able to contribute financially, sharing this campaign with your generous network can make a big difference.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Asmaa Abu Daf

[kamiyugure]

ANGER IS A GIFT

Ok, so the presidential and a lot of other really important elections in the US look like they just went way right and there are so many people rightfully angry and scared.

That being said, DO NOT PARTICIPATE IN THE BLAME GAME. This is a waste of valuable time and energy.

Your anger at these outcomes is justified but this didn't happen because your Muslim friend couldn't in good conscience vote for either of the two candidates turning a blind eye to our direct contribution to A GENOCIDE being perpetuated against their people and the destruction being done to their ancestral homelands.

And it certainly isn't the fault of the poor and disenfranchised and those that republicans have been working their asses off to disempower for literally decades: historically black, hispanic and poor neighborhoods with abysmal funding for public resources that deliberately include making it extremely difficult to vote.

It didn't happen because of those that rightly sensed the Democratic Party's lack of a spine on any serious issues we care about: giving weak promises to "fix" things they haven't bothered to fix during the last FOUR YEARS they've had in office.

We've been blue this WHOLE TIME and what has the Democratic Party done with that? Basically nothing. We still haven't codified Roe v. Wade. We've INCREASED spending on police, not decreased it. And millions of EXTREMELY vulnerable people like the working class, the disabled and certainly muslims and LGBT people are as scared as ever and they saw more regressive policies put in place against them not fewer.

The Democratic Party keeps relying on their favorite strategy: letting the opposition strip away rights so they can use that as campaign talking points but when we hand them power, THEY DO NOTHING TO FIX WHAT'S BROKEN.

My mom recently got fired up by old Rage Against the Machine music videos and I feel fired up, too. Particularly their song Freedom and its accompanying video. One of the most powerful lines in any song:

ANGER IS A GIFT.

Why?

Because anger lets you know that a wrong has been done. It gives you the will and ENERGY to find the problem and deal with it.

DO NOT WASTE THIS GIFT ON POINTING FINGERS AT YOUR ALLIES.

Who are your allies?

Your fellow leftists. Your poor and working class neighbors. And more than anything else, the marginalized that keep getting used, abused, and dismissed by our broken systems.

We need to build and strengthen aid and support networks and our connections with people we care about. The government after this election has been fully hijacked by the rich and powerful, the regressive and the ignorant.

BUT!

There are organizations all over the country that are passionate about doing what's right for those people who are consistently wronged by the systems in place.

I live in the deep south, in a rural town in East Texas. And even here, there is a small organization that's mostly just one woman calling and fighting insurance companies for medications for low income families. There are food pantries and a great local library. A larger nearby city, within an hour's drive, has a planned parenthood and a small LGBT community.

FIND THESE ORGANIZATIONS or start building them yourself and PUT ALL OF YOUR ANGER AND YOUR ENERGY toward HELPING EACH OTHER. Build mutual aid and support the efforts that already exist around you to help, support and protect the real lives of real people within your existing communities, both near and far.

Start or join online communities of support and mutual aid. We will not make it through another Trump presidency by attacking each other. The systems are what's broken so lets fix it or build new and fight like hell against the people trying to break those positive systems down, whether they carry a blue flag or a red one. We can't recast votes for these elections, we can only do what we can to help and protect one another. That's all we had before this, too, but I think this makes it clearer than ever.

And lastly, please reach out to those you know will be the most scared by this outcome and be their shoulder for crying or their ear for listening and then stand up together and start taking action to make things better.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Question on AI Policy

Hey All! This was sent to one of our personal accounts, but since it is a CFWC item, we prefer to answer here.

To begin with, this situation has been quite distressing for us. We don't run CFWC for our own benefit; it exists for the Choices fandom. We want every story, all ships, and each person to feel included. We want to spur creativity, promote creators, connect fandom members, highlight events, and, hopefully, keep our small fandom going as our numbers dwindle. The idea of CFWC becoming a lightning rod for drama or division within the fandom honestly makes us sick. With that in mind:

What we're about to state is our opinion, and we stand firmly by it. We understand some will share our views while others will not. But we ask for everyone to please be respectful of one another. We can disagree and still be respectful.

Utilize unfollow, block tags, or even block blogs if you must. But do not use this as an excuse to hurt others, and, as always, if you're thinking of sending anon hate... don't.

We first addressed our blog's policy on AI-generated works a few months ago when an AI-created fanfic was submitted. Our answer was and remains an emphatic no.

Fandom writers spend hours upon hours creating. They put their hearts and souls into their work. That is creating, and that's what we're here to support. AI-generated stories are the antithesis of that, and we will never knowingly support them.

Our opinion does not change when it comes to visual arts. We are proud of the talented artists in our community who share their talents with us. They also put in their time, love, and labor to bring their creations to life.

We can not in good conscience support our creators while simultaneously supporting AI-generated works.

It's stealing. It diminishes the contributions of artists. It's making it more difficult for creators to earn a living. (Just look at Hollywood for examples.)

We understand the appeal. It's easy, it's fast, it's inexpensive, it's tempting. Hell, we'd love to illustrate our entire HCs from beginning to end, and this would be a way to do it. But it's grossly unfair to creators.

We love baseball and car analogies, so here is one of the latter. If we want a new car, but it's not in the budget, stealing one is not an option. It's an oversimplification of the AI issue, but we are applying the same logic here.

But the question is addressing PFPs.

Bedgudginly, we will share works of creators with AI PFPs as long as nothing in the work that we are reblogging/highlighting contains AI-generated imagery or words. This includes AI imagery used in headers or moodboards accompanying fiction.

Our decision is not based on our preference or what we feel is "best." It's based solely on our administrative limitations and desire to remain outside of fandom issues.

We're well aware that a creator could submit a work with a PFP and change it to a PFP with AI imagery after we reblog it. We don't have the time, manpower, energy, or desire to become fandom police.

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[onekisstotakewithme]

mashnoir because I'm hungry for more and also sperm donor!

i will... do sperm donor first so I can post mashnoir below the fold (since it'll have spoilers for post-ch 6).

anyway the gist of sperm donor (which I set aside to work on president CJ) is that during season 5, shortly after the supremes, a whole bunch of events conspire to make CJ think about kids and the having of them, and she starts considering using a sperm donor. guess who the number one candidate might be. (it's danny).

I had a lot of fun writing it because it was a lot of the day to day political stuff that ASorks excelled at. I had to do like six years of research for the like 12k I had of it.

Snippet (featuring my favourite, CJ + press corps banter):

“Have you changed your stance on your right to adopt?” “Okay,” CJ says, as Katie grins at her. “Just, right out of the gate, that’s what you’re going for?” Katie raises an eyebrow, but Mark holds up his pen beside her. CJ looks between the two of them, before saying, “… Mark?” “Will you be adopting a boy, or a girl?” “Do you two rehearse this act, or…?” Katie and Mark both laugh, exchanging a look, before CJ asks, “Do either of you have a real question?” “Does this law favour younger parents?” “No. Typically the kids who are adopted are younger, generally infants and small children. The older you get, the more likely you are to age out of the system. The Federal Adoption Opportunities Act is designed to streamline the process of getting more kids out of the foster care system and into families that want them, with a focus on getting older kids into foster families and eventual adoption. Chris?” “Will there be any studies conducted on the effects and outcomes associated with adoption, or is that considered a state matter?” “It is one of the requirements of the bill that adoption outcomes will be studied at length, and recommendations will be made to Congress once those studies take place. Steve?” “Do you know who’s dressing up as the Easter Bunny this year?” “You know what? I don’t, but that’s a great question. If any of you see Toby Ziegler around today, you should tell him to do it. That’s a full lid, everyone, thank you. Have a good night.”

as for mashnoir... was literally cackling and kicking my feet over the plot twist in chapter six. the real question of why did i add more chapters... the answer is because I want more interactions between the three of them. Did I maybe pick a more mundane version where I could've written something more gritty (Hawk sleeping with both Hunnicutts and them putting a hit out on each other?). sure. but i'm enjoying subverting the noir twists and turns ;)

also a love letter to your favourite state of maine will be in this fic.

anyway this bit from chapter eight:

Hawkeye should feel relieved, now that the whole scheme is out in the open – now that he’s a co-conspirator in a mercy killing instead of a co-conspirator in a murder – but he doesn’t. If he thought the weight on his soul and his conscience would be eased by the knowledge that he’s easing a dying man’s suffering, that was blown to hell with the knowledge that he’ll be leaving a child without a father. Worse still, he genuinely likes BJ, despite barely knowing him, and the loss of it tears at him. And given this madcap little scheme that he’s hatched of leaving a proper paper trail for any enterprising Barton Keyes-in-training, he’s only contributing to his own suffering by putting himself in close proximity to BJ on a regular basis. The first of these appointments falls in late July, the dead of summer, on a day so hot that there seems to be a permanent haze hanging over Boston, hot enough that the only flowers not wilting are the wax ones sitting on the nurse’s station.

(yes this is the start of chapter eight, don't @ me, I've been pulled in 1000 directions for the past week).

many twists to come. maybe not many. twists to come :)

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Tuesday, April 11

ANYA: I let them do that. Dance together. That was me. TARA: Very nice of you. WILLOW: A good deed. ANYA: Yes. I'm expecting a big karmic reward any second now.

~~Buffy Episode #93: "I Was Made To Love You"~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor! Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here. If you saw the phrase "HTML template" in our previous calls for editors and that was what made you decide that Herald duties aren't for you, you may be glad to hear that we've set up an alternative posting process!

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Totally Not a Bribe (Xander, T, multiple xovers) by madimpossibledreamer

Interwoven (Angel/Spike, T) by SomeKindOfADeviant

He's Been Pretty Much Yellow And I've Been Kind Of Blue (Jenny, T) by butimbroken

The Key for Lover's Walk (Buffy/Spike, ) by Julikobold

[Chaptered Fiction]

Dawn the Vampire Slayer Ch. 6 (Dawn, Ensemble, M) by LJ94 (wastedperfume)

The Nymph's Kiss Ch 8 (Multiple pairings, E) by Kylia

Divide & Conquer Ch. 26 (Buffy/Giles, E) by

Wedding Drabbles Ch. 5 (Ensemble, T) by AJ Fields

The right kind of wrong ch. 13 (Buffy/Giles, E) by DancingAngel0013

Bloom Ch. 3 (Buffy/Spike, M) by ashcrashed

Crushing Expectations Ch. 4 (Buffy/Spike, M) by RavenLove12

The Witch’s Gift Ch. 4 (Buffy/Spike, M) by RavenLove12

Fathers Ch. 11 (Buffy/Faith, M) by Forgotten Conscience

He's Been Pretty Much Yellow And I've Been Kind Of Blue (Jenny, T) by butimbroken

The Key Saves Spuffy , Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Dynamite

42, Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Dynamite

What Buffy Wants, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, T) by BewitchedXx

A Time to Every Purpose, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Joan963z

Give Me Back My Girlhood, It Was Mine First, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, T) by Wonder and Ashes

Trying, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Pet35

So One of Us is Living, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, T) by violettathepiratequeen

Sculpture of Dance, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, T) by Desicat

Sparks, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Dusty

The Butcher, Chapter 12 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Grief Counseling

Tuning Frequencies Ch. 8 (Xander, M, multiple xovers) by Sithicus

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork:Easter vamp-bunny (Spike) by JSBirsa

Artwork:Easter slay-bunny (Buffy) by JSBirsa

Artwork:Buffy by helihi,

Icons: Spuffy icons + spring colors by mcgnagallsarmy

Video: Wesley Wyndam Pryce | AtS | Symmetry by Jess Wilson

[Fandom Discussions]

Okay, this is new by aadler

i curse the day I convinced myself to watch Angel. by alistair69

I’ve watched the first 4 episodes of Angel. by girl4music

This is what ‘Angel the Series’ is going to both tell and show me. by girl4music

Speaking of Angel and the whole split-divide of his identity/personality. by girl4music

Honestly, I’m not a Bangel shipper or really an Angel fan… but I have to say... by girl4music

It feels extremely ironic that in Season 6 what’s left behind is Buffy’s spirit by girl4music

I could write a dissertation on how Buffy raised me by elizabethbennets

Crush is such a good episode. Like seriously… by spuffybot

Sarah Michelle Gellar did an excellent job playing Faith but Faith did not do an excellent job playing Buffy. by girl4music

Random Buffy Shower Thought by newraistlin613

Imagine if Xander or Riley started stalking Buffy obsessively like Spike by Trash_man_can

Xander and Dawn by singleguy79

It's never explained in the show why Angel was spit out of the hell dimension in Buffy 3x3 by alrtight

Buffy's clothing color choices by dragonsrawesomesauce

Which scene(s) would you like to see in a BTVS Trailer? by WALLIEWONDERS

Defending Seeing Red by Ravenclaw54321

It bothers me how lightly the events of “Seeing Red” are taken by cstar373

Wow, Angel, you can't just say that! by SecretlyASummers

Did you think Spike was really redeemable after assaulting Buffy? by PhoneixVice

Because it's wrong... by Opening_Knowledge868

Am I weird for not shipping Buffy with anyone? by Azuredness

Who was on bathroom watch when Andrew was tied to the chair? by Exiled-Devotion

What really grinds my gears about Season 7 by Exiled-Devotion

Watching Buffy as a kid vs Watching Buffy as an adult. by Exiled-Devotion

Wang Chung references by jacobydave

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

PUBLICATION: Buffy The Vampire Slayer's Best Episodes by Giant Freakin Robot

PUBLICATION: Buffy Calls Out The Reason Slayers Don't Make Sense (And She's Right) by Screen Rant

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

[amicidomenicani]

Question Good morning Father Angelo, I would like to ask you a few questions about the fifth commandment "You shall not kill". Let me explain: an acquaintance of mine told me that his grandfather fought as a partisan to free Italy from German domination. During the war he killed several soldiers but never with contempt and hatred. Now I wonder: in these cases, is killing one's neighbor considered a mortal sin leading to Hell? Until a few decades ago, one could choose whether to be conscientious objectors. Even if this is the more Christian choice, what would happen to a nation if no one defended it? Who decides to hold a weapon against his brother is wrong? Perhaps in the event of wars one should just rely on God and practice acts such as Gandhi's "power of non-violence"? Dear friend, 1. Not even in war it is allowed to kill one's neighbor, who shall always be loved as oneself. 2. In war, as indeed also outside war, it is lawful to defend oneself. The defense, however, does not consist in the direct killing of the opponent, but in trying to intimidate him, to discourage him, to make him desist from his wicked intentions. 3. On legitimate defense, the ancient laws of the Church (the Decretals of Gregory IX) accepted a principle of Roman jurisprudence that sounded like this: "Vim vi repellere licet cum moderamine inculpatae curae” (“It is legitimate to reject violence with violence, with the moderation of a non culpable defense). Therefore, the defense must be "moderate" in the Latin sense of the word, that is, "reasonable". So that killing an opponent who stays put just because he is an opponent is not reasonable, but inhumane. 4. However, in violent and unjust aggression, things change: For this reason, John Paul II in Evangelium vitae said: "Unfortunately it happens that the need to render the aggressor incapable of causing harm sometimes involves taking his life.  In this case, the fatal outcome is attributable to the aggressor whose action brought it about, even though he may not be morally responsible because of a lack of the use of reason" (EV 55). 5. Apart from this case, the direct killing of an opponent who at that moment has no will to harm is undoubtedly a grave sin. 6. And here is the teaching of the Church in this regard: - “The fifth commandment forbids the intentional destruction of human life. Because of the evils and injustices that accompany all war, the Church insistently urges everyone to prayer and to action so that the divine Goodness may free us from the ancient bondage of war" (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2307). - "All citizens and all governments are obliged to work for the avoidance of war. However, «as long as the danger of war persists and there is no international authority with the necessary competence and power, governments cannot be denied the right of lawful self-defense, once all peace efforts have failed»" (CCC 2308). - “Public authorities, in this case, have the right and duty to impose on citizens the obligations necessary for national defense. Those who are sworn to serve their country in the armed forces are servants of the security and freedom of nations. If they carry out their duty honorably, they truly contribute to the common good of the nation and the maintenance of peace" (CCC 2310). - "Public authorities should make equitable provision for those who for reasons of conscience refuse to bear arms; these are nonetheless obliged to serve the human community in some other way" (CCC 2311). - “The Church and human reason both assert the permanent validity of the moral law during armed conflict. «The mere fact that war has regrettably broken out does not mean that everything becomes licit between the warring parties»" (CCC 2312). - “Non-combatants, wounded soldiers, and prisoners must be respected and treated humanely. Actions deliberately contrary to the law of nations and to its universal principles are crimes, as are the orders that command such act

ions. Blind obedience does not suffice to excuse those who carry them out. Thus the extermination of a people, nation, or ethnic minority must be condemned as a mortal sin. One is morally bound to resist orders that command genocide” (CCC 2313). With the hope that you will never be faced with such situations, I remind you to the Lord and I bless you. Father Angelo