#of people and displace a community that makes things work for them and while it is the worst of the worst its a little bit better before

[extravagantliar]

Lowtown is prone to flooding, which means Darktown is prone to flooding, and that was fixed by varric in one of his many swift acts in between ( the docks, the chantry, the orphanage, the renamed community, and the aqueduct - in that order ) DAI and Trespasser - but he also caused more fires in Darktown. Darktown is very dense, and with that density and multiple layers, it catches fire quick, not the structure, since that's old mines and old veins, and holes, but literally, the stairs are wood, the furnishings are wood, there is hay, cloth, and things catch very quickly, without this flooding, the citizens have developed methods to dampen against fires, along with never letting carts with coals go unattended ( yet some do ). Eventually, due to the reorganisation of the city guard and money eventually being poured into Darktown - they would catch fire a whole lot less. It doesn't fix the crime or the lawless nature of it, but it does fix some of the living situations.

[phoenixyfriend]

That one post about great domestic policy and HORRIFIC foreign policy just does not stop being true

Domestic Policy Win: The American Museum of Natural History in NYC is closing down two entire exhibits of Native American belongings in order to comply with a federal order that requires museums to obtain the consent of indigenous nations in order to display artifacts of native origin. The linked ProPublica article specifies that the exhibits in question are the Eastern Woodlands and Great Plains Halls. To quote:

The new federal regulations, which went into effect this month, prohibit the display of items subject to NAGPRA without tribal consent and ban all research done without tribal consent. In addition, the regulations closed a loophole that had allowed museums such as the American Museum of Natural History to keep ancestral remains and burial items by claiming that they are “culturally unidentifiable” — meaning in their view they could not be connected to present-day Indigenous communities based on available evidence — and therefore could not readily be returned to tribes.

Foreign Policy Fail: The United States, the UK, and several other nations, in response to claims that several members of UNRWA were involved in the Oct. 7th attacks, have cut funding to the relief agency in question. The Al Jazeera article profiles the Palestinian response, and also specifies that this funding was pulled after the UNRWA launched an investigation in response to Israel's allegations that 12 members of the relief agency were involved.

Australia, Canada, Italy and the United States said they would halt funding to the agency, while European Union foreign policy chief Josep Borrell said the 27-member bloc would “assess further steps and draw lessons based on the result of the full and comprehensive investigation”. Germany, Finland, the Netherlands and the United Kingdom then also joined the list of countries pausing financial aid to the UN agency, whose facilities where displaced Palestinians sought shelter have been repeatedly attacked in Israeli air raids. Ireland and Norway, however, expressed continued support for UNRWA, saying the agency does crucial work to help Palestinians displaced and in desperate need of assistance in Gaza. - Al Jazeera

"One million displaced people are currently taking refuge in and around UNRWA buildings. They are the ones who will suffer as a result of this decision," said Mr Gunness, adding: "The curtailing of UNRWA services will also destabilise the region at a time when Western governments are trying to contain a regional conflagration." [...] The US, Germany and the EU are among some of UNRWA's biggest donors. - BBC

Unfortunately, the WSJ article is paywalled, so I can't access the full thing for a quote.

Anyway. Call your reps. I'm not even talking to just the Americans this time, call your fucking reps. If they aren't donating to UNRWA, then make them do something. Is the organization possibly a security risk, and the concerns legitimate? Maybe! But you cannot cut the funding that is keeping 2.3mill people alive on an already shoestring budget and not immediately put a backup security net in place.

Until then, pick a charity with a good rating, donate and signal boost it, and politely harass your politicians.

Politely as in "don't shout at or cuss out the staffers that man the phone lines," because they are not your reps, but also because your number is going to get blocked and then you won't be able to pressure them in the future. Do be firm, though.

I'm personally picking the PCRF this time, since one of the three remaining hospitals in south Gaza has been evacuated and shut down, and the evacuees reportedly include women who just got C-sections, which means the evacuees also include newborns, and medical care is in high demand. They're also currently focused on providing clean drinking water to the people of Palestine. That said, so is food, and shelter, and winter clothing. Pick a need, find a charity, and toss them some money.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Across Time (6)

A/N: These guys really need to work on communication. I keep throwing them together and they keep being stupid. Come on guys. I'm trying my best here.

Pairing: Adar x Former Elf! Reader

Warnings: Little bit of violence, Reader is lost and not too sure of their place in the world.

Word Count: 4K

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chaos still hums in the air as Adar tugs you forward, practically dragging you from the barn as the eruption’s glow casts jagged shadows over everything. Your feet stumble as you try to keep pace, the ground still trembling beneath you from Orodruin’s violent awakening.

“Could you stop pulling me along like a helpless whelp?” you snap, attempting to wrench your arm free from his grip. He doesn’t release you, instead throwing a dark, urgent look your way.

“For once, please keep your mouth shut,” he hisses, his tone clipped. Without pausing, he guides you around the debris-strewn path, making a beeline toward one of the tunnels dug out by the Uruks, half-hidden under twisted roots and rock.

With a quick glance around, he shoves you both into the narrow mouth of the tunnel, ushering you deeper into its shadows. You pull your arm free as soon as his grip loosens, casting a sharp glare his way. His focus, however, is already directed inward, navigating the winding passage as if this route is as familiar as breathing.

Before long, several Uruks appear from the dark depths of the tunnel, their brutish figures just discernible in the dim light. Their sharp, dark eyes take in the sight of him, and, without hesitation, they break into cheers. A mix of gruff voices echoes down the tunnel, chanting his name—“Adar”—with a reverence that feels both foreign and strangely fitting.

The Uruks gather around him, faces lit by a fervent light that speaks to some shared history, some unspoken bond. They clap him on the shoulders, some reaching out to clasp his forearms, their voices rough but filled with an undeniable gratitude.

“Thank you, Adar,” one of them mutters, his voice thick with emotion, while another simply nods, unable to speak, overcome by some loyalty you’ve never seen Uruks display. They look to him not with fear, but with something more profound—like he is the only solid thing in a crumbling world.

You watch, slipping back against the rough wall of the tunnel, feeling a mix of disorientation and an odd sense of displacement. While the others crowd around him, sharing hushed words and steadying breaths, you pull away, sinking into the shadows with arms crossed, keeping yourself apart from the gathering. It’s damp here, and the air smells of wet earth and something stale, tinged with a metallic bitterness that pricks at your senses. Your elven eyesight adjusts easily to the dark, every detail sharp—the taut sinews of their arms, the eagerness in their postures, even the faint glint of desperation in their eyes.

You lean back against the tunnel wall, feeling the cold, damp stone press into your shoulder blades. As the noise of the crowd gradually dies down, you allow yourself a moment to observe Adar in this strange environment, amongst these people who look at him with such fervent loyalty. They seem to carry hope here in the shadows—hope drawn from the one they call Father, the only name they cling to in the dark.

There’s a strange tension in your chest as you stand in the cool dimness, watching from the periphery. You left the Misty Mountains searching for purpose, for something that could fill the emptiness you thought would devour you whole. But here, surrounded by these creatures and your shared past, you feel, perhaps for the first time, like you’re standing at the edge of something dark and familiar—a history that’s wrapped itself around you both and pulled you into a path lit by fire and shadow. 

The tunnel falls silent as the Uruks retreat to their own places of rest. Shadows deepen, and even the glowing embers of Orodruin’s eruption feel distant, their light softened by layers of rock and earth. You sink further into the cold, unyielding wall, letting its solidity keep you grounded, while thoughts twist and spiral in your mind, restless as the dark.

A quiet tread reaches you before he does, his footsteps familiar even here. You don’t look up immediately, but when you do, Adar’s face is drawn in a thoughtful expression, his eyes sweeping over you, lingering in a way that is both assessing and somehow distant.

“The sky will continue to rain down stone for the next few hours,” he says, his tone level, carefully neutral. “But once it has cleared, you are free to go. Wherever you wish.”

The words settle into you, heavy and thick, pulling down a weight you hadn’t fully realized was there. Free to go. He’s telling you that he doesn’t expect you to stay, maybe doesn’t even want you to. It shouldn’t surprise you—after all, it was Adar who had always sought his own way, had always made the hard choices without looking back. But still, the sting lands somewhere deep.

You keep your face as impassive as you can, but your heart is pounding, half with anger and half with something you don’t care to examine too closely. He’s leaving you with nothing more than a vague freedom to… go. And where would you go? The Misty Mountains hold only emptiness, and the lands beyond are foreign, hostile. You’ve wandered so long without purpose, and now, standing here, you realize how little you know of what to do next. This journey was only ever a gamble, a last-ditch attempt at something, anything, to make sense of your existence. But if you walk away now… there may be nothing left to chase.

You try to find words, some answer that might hold meaning, something that would keep you grounded. But when you look up at him, you’re struck by the sheer wall of resolve in his eyes, as though he’s already moved on to some distant future you can’t quite reach.

"So that’s it?” you ask, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. “I’m simply… free to go?”

Adar’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I am not your keeper, nor your guide. You followed your own path to get here, and I expect you to follow it wherever it leads.”

The words are like stone, weighty and unmoving, and they crush down on you until it’s nearly impossible to breathe. Adar’s presence, once a strange comfort, now feels like a wall closing in around you, leaving you once again at the edge of a void, unanchored.

You don’t say it aloud, but the thought is nearly a scream in your mind: I didn’t expect to make it this far. The truth is, this is uncharted territory. You hadn’t thought about what would come next because you’d never thought you’d get to it.

He gives a small nod, almost as if he senses your turmoil but chooses to overlook it. “Find your own purpose,” he says, quieter now, almost gentle. “Or make one.”

As he turns away, you swallow hard, feeling the emptiness press in on you again, more sharply than before. The strange, bitter taste of disappointment lingers, raw and unbidden. It’s clear he expects you to walk out of this darkness, to take his vague permission and disappear.

And what then? You could go to the Southlands, to lands beyond the mountains, where even fewer would know you, or recognize the traces of your past. But the thought is hollow, uninviting.

You settle deeper against the cold, rough wall, allowing exhaustion to wash over you as the rumbling of distant rocks and scattered murmurs drift into silence. For a brief moment, you close your eyes, trying to find some sliver of peace. Just a few hours, you tell yourself—just enough to let the weariness drain from your limbs.

It doesn’t take long, however, before quiet voices echo down the tunnel. Words catch your ear, spoken in the harsh cadence of Black Speech, but their meaning comes to you clearly, each phrase resonant in the dark.

“She was one of them in the First Age, wasn’t she? They called her the Shadow’s Eye.”

“Yes, a spy, a tracker… whispered to be the sharpest mind in the shadows of Angband. Said to end battles before they even began.”

“But she was his creature, his hound. A servant of Morgoth—no more loyal than the rest of Sauron’s kin.”

The words sting, pricking at a buried part of you that had long been frozen and discarded. To them, you’re still only a distant figure, little more than an instrument of war and espionage in a past that remains shrouded by centuries of violence. They see you only as a threat, something broken and tainted by your ties to darkness. For some reason, their fear… their suspicion… it hurts.

You lower your head, forcing down the ache rising in your chest, and exhale, gripping onto that familiar coldness within. The longing for trust, for alliance, for someone who sees beyond the rumors and fears—that part of you is foolish, you remind yourself. These creatures were only meant to serve; they wouldn’t understand. Yet you can’t stop the quiet ache of wanting… to be known as more than a relic of a shadowed past.

Footsteps approach, firm and unhurried, and the Uruks fall silent. You recognize the distinct gait even before you hear his voice. Adar.

“Let her be,” he says, his tone calm yet carrying an unmistakable authority. “She needs her rest.”

One of the Uruks speaks up, defiance and curiosity mixed. “But can we trust her, Father? They say she served Morgoth and Sauron—closer than even we did.”

Adar’s response is a low murmur, one that reverberates through the dark, steady and unyielding. “Trust her or not, she has sought freedom as much as, if not more than, any of you. She has her own path, and it is not for us to judge.”

“But where did it lead her?” Another Uruk’s voice cuts through. “We’ve heard nothing of her for centuries. What has she done with this freedom she wanted?”

Adar’s tone turns steely, silencing further questions. “Her journey is her own,” he says, each word ringing with finality. “You do not know the road she has walked. It is not for you to condemn what you do not understand.”

A faint warmth spreads through you, despite yourself. Adar’s words linger in the air, defending you in ways no one else has before. There’s a peculiar comfort in it—his voice is both an acknowledgment of your scars and an acceptance of your choices, without demands or judgment. Yet as quickly as that warmth settles, it flickers again with his earlier words: You are free to go. Wherever you wish.

He does not mean for you to stay. Even with his defense, he must know that you no longer belong in this strange community he has carved from the remnants of Morgoth’s legacy.

As the Uruks drift back to their resting places, the silence returns, heavy yet strangely comforting. You let yourself lean back against the wall, feeling the distant tremors of Orodruin through the rock and soil. With Adar’s words echoing in your mind, you close your eyes, letting that small, fragile warmth of gratitude linger until sleep finally takes you.

++++++++++

A faint shuffling stirs you awake. Blinking the haze of sleep from your eyes, you see the Uruks filing out of the tunnel, one after another, their expressions alight with something you can’t quite place—pride, maybe, or the sense of victory. Above the low grumbles of Black Speech, you hear the quieter footsteps that linger behind. Adar stands over you, waiting with a calm patience that somehow feels more like an expectation than an invitation.

Wordlessly, you rise. He’s already turned toward the tunnel’s exit, clearly anticipating that you’ll follow. Reluctance twists in your chest, but you find yourself trailing him out of the damp darkness, stepping out into a world transformed.

The landscape that meets you is unrecognizable. Thick ash clouds block out the sky, casting everything in a strange orange hue. Scorched lands stretch out in every direction, stripped of life and light. Fields once green and lush now lay barren and blackened, stretching endlessly under a darkened, smoke-filled sky. In the distance, Orodruin looms, its fiery maw still pulsing with low rumbles, spewing thick, dark plumes. The Uruks stand in reverent silence, basking in the absence of the sun’s burning rays, able to walk freely at last.

Adar moves to a log nearby, his back straight as he surveys the wreckage with an expression that borders on reverence. For a moment, he looks out over the land like a king admiring his hard-won kingdom. You hesitate, feeling a confusing blend of dread and awe at the sight, before moving to sit beside him.

The Uruks’ low laughter and murmurs carry on the ash-laden wind as you turn to him, breaking the silence with a question. “Why… why did you do this?”

His gaze remains fixed on the ruins he’s crafted, his voice low yet unwavering. “I wanted a home for them. A place where my children could live freely, shielded from the sun, safe from those who despise them.” He gestures to the sky, the smoke-heavy clouds blotting out any sign of blue. “Here, they are free from burning daylight and the eyes of those who would see them suffer. Here, they can finally belong.”

You stare at him, absorbing the depth of his resolve. There’s a quiet triumph in his words, an acceptance that this wasteland—this violent, ravaged place—is the haven he believes they deserve.

“Safe… from the sun and others?” you echo, unable to hide your disbelief. All this destruction, for a place to call home?

He finally turns to you, studying your reaction, perhaps even expecting it. “I did what had to be done,” he says. “I’ve spent years preparing them, guiding them… ever since I killed Sauron.”

The words hit you with the force of a hammer. Your gaze snaps to him, searching his face for any sign that he might be lying, or exaggerating. “You… killed Sauron?”

He nods, his expression unchanging. “Yes. He believed he could use them—use us��for his twisted ambitions. I saw what he did to my children, the cruelty he called ‘purpose.’ It was my duty to stop him, to protect them.”

You struggle to process it, the enormity of the idea settling like a heavy stone in your chest. To think that anyone—let alone Adar—could end the Dark Lord himself… You always believed Sauron to be a force that couldn’t be broken, a shadow cast over the world, even when he was absent. And yet, here is Adar, claiming to have done the impossible. There’s a strange pang of respect mixed with doubt, though you keep it to yourself.

The two of you sit in silence, watching as the Uruks settle into this ravaged land with looks of deep contentment. For them, this scarred earth is sanctuary, the safety that was denied them for so long. You glance at Adar, catching a trace of something softer in his expression as he watches them. He may have done the unthinkable, but as you see the fulfillment in his eyes, you wonder if, for him, the destruction was worth it.

You wander the makeshift camp, observing as the Uruks begin to settle into their newfound land. Tents are erected in crooked rows, and fires sputter to life, the crackling flames a rare warmth amid the ash-darkened skies. Uruks haul supplies, setting up crude encampments with the efficiency of soldiers used to rough living. Some laugh and jest, voices echoing with a wild sort of glee as they relish the freedom this land promises them.

As you walk among them, a strange sense of emptiness nags at you. With each step, you search for something, some purpose that might justify your presence here—some way to prove that you could belong in this twisted semblance of a home.

Ahead, you catch a murmur from a group of Uruks discussing recent movements. One of them, a lanky figure with jagged teeth, hisses in excitement. “The Numenóreans have set up camp near the old village. Seen a few of ’em wandering about, lookin’ lost… easy prey, if ye ask me.”

The others chuckle darkly, the thrill of potential battle evident in their expressions. You turn away, a thought forming. Perhaps you could make yourself useful by keeping watch over the humans. If you bring this information to Adar, maybe he’d see your value—or even consider allowing you to stay.

With purpose guiding your steps, you make your way to the center of camp. Adar’s tent stands larger than the rest, its walls reinforced and weathered, a rugged banner hanging by its entrance. Inside, you find him hunched over a table strewn with maps and notes, a figure clad in rough furs and leathers beside him—a wild man who pledged his fealty to Adar’s cause. They speak in low tones, discussing plans you can only guess at.

You clear your throat softly, drawing Adar’s attention. His gaze shifts to you, sharp and unwavering, but he says nothing, waiting for you to speak.

“I overheard some Uruks talking about the Numenóreans,” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “They’ve set up camp in the nearby settlement, but a few are still scattered around. If they’re vulnerable, maybe I could be of use… perhaps by tracking their movements, keeping you informed.”

Adar’s expression doesn’t shift. He regards you for a moment before returning his attention to the map. “The Numenóreans are scattered and weak. They’re broken and pose no threat,” he says dismissively. “My children are more than capable of handling them should they wander too close.”

The casual rejection stings more than you care to admit. You’d thought this offer might prove your worth, but Adar’s lack of interest feels like a door shut in your face. He’s dismissing you, perhaps even assuming you’ve little to contribute to his plans.

Swallowing the bitter feeling, you stand there a moment longer, uncertain of what to say. Before you can decide, Adar’s gaze flickers up, taking in your expression. His face softens for the briefest instant, but he remains silent, turning back to the wild man at his side, the discussion resuming as though you were never there.

Disheartened, you turn and leave the tent, feeling the weight of rejection settle on you.

The camp fades behind you as you move toward the edge of the woods. If Adar doesn’t want your help directly, you’ll find another way to prove yourself. After all, it’s not his acceptance you crave but the reassurance that, perhaps, there is some place left in this world where you belong.

You climb up into a sturdy tree, its twisted branches wrapping protectively around you as you settle in. From here, you can see the flickering fires of the Uruks’ camp and the distant silhouette of Orodruin against the sky, belching smoke and ash into the clouds. You’ve been a scout before—trained to blend into the shadows, to become part of the unseen. Watching from here, you’re both near enough to help yet far enough that your presence won’t intrude upon Adar’s world.

Hours slip by, the darkened landscape shifting under the eerie orange glow cast by the fires and the molten mountain. Occasionally, you catch sight of an Uruk patrol, shadowy figures moving just outside the perimeter of the camp. You wonder if they feel the strange mix of freedom and burden that hangs in the air.

From your hidden vantage point, you remain vigilant, tracking any hint of movement beyond the Uruks. It’s quiet for a long stretch, the night pressing in thick and heavy. And then—out of the corner of your eye—you see a flicker of movement, just beyond the camp. It’s subtle, nearly invisible to anyone untrained, but you catch the faint glint of steel under the moonlight.

You tense, recognizing the creeping movements of a scout—Numenórean, by the look of their gear. Your fingers curl around the hilt of your hidden blade. Waiting in the shadows, you gauge their direction, watching as they edge closer. The Numenórean pauses, looking toward the campfire glow as if assessing the best way to approach. They don’t see you perched in the tree above, don’t realize how close you are.

In one swift motion, you drop down, landing behind them without a sound. Before they can react, you grab them by the collar, yanking them into the shadows, muffling their startled cry. You make quick work of disarming them, pressing your blade against their throat.

“Who sent you?” you whisper harshly, voice barely audible in the stillness.

The scout struggles, but your grip is unyielding. They manage to choke out a response, words edged with fear. “The others… they’re coming. It won’t be long.”

You sigh, calculating. If there’s one scout, more may be on the way. But this is your chance—to protect Adar’s camp, even if he doesn’t know you’re doing it.

You drag the scout back, deeper into the woods, leaving them unconscious but alive, bound and hidden in a thicket. Returning to your post, you settle in, sharper than before. If any others try to come close, they’ll meet the same fate—or worse, should they prove a true threat.

The night passes slowly, but with each glance back toward the campfires, you feel a strange warmth. You aren’t in the circle of the Uruks by the flames, nor in Adar’s tent, but you’re part of this place now, even if only as a shadow.

+++++++++

Adar’s gaze lingered on the edge of the camp, where the dark woods met the scorched earth. He had noticed her absence almost as soon as she slipped away. But as the hours dragged on, he found himself casting glances into the trees, wondering if she had taken his words at face value and vanished altogether.

The thought unsettled him. He wasn’t sure why he felt that faint, uncharacteristic pang. His children were finally home, safe beneath a sky that would shield them, if only temporarily. Their relief, their exuberance—those were what mattered. And yet, in the moments between his duties, he couldn’t shake the silence where her presence had been.

Adar’s lips pressed into a thin line as he mentally scolded himself. He’d said nothing that should have driven her away. Or… had he? He hadn’t meant to imply that her purpose lay elsewhere, only that the choice was hers and that he had no desire to see her become a mere weapon, pointed wherever she saw fit. She had the skill, yes—but he had hoped, after everything, she’d seek something more.

His musings were interrupted by heavy footsteps crunching across the dry ground. An Uruk approached, dragging something limp behind him. Adar straightened as the Uruk came forward, hauling the unmoving form of a Numenórean scout and tossing him to the ground. The man’s hands were bound tight, his mouth gagged, head slumped forward as though he’d been rendered unconscious.

The Uruk scratched at a patch of scabbed skin on his arm, frowning as he looked down at the prisoner. “Found this rat out on the far side of the woods,” he grunted. “Looked like someone dumped him in a bush.”

Adar stepped closer, scrutinizing the scout’s bindings. The knots were precise, efficient. There was a subtlety to it, a touch he recognized. A knowing smile curled at the edge of his lips.

He straightened, his voice calm but edged with satisfaction. “Take him back,” he instructed the Uruk. “Set him right where he was found.”

The Uruk looked puzzled but didn’t question it. Adar gave him a hard look, watching as the Uruk adjusted his grip on the scout’s collar. “Anyone who dares to follow this one’s path will see it for what it is—a warning.”

The Uruk gave a nod of understanding, hoisting the scout onto his shoulder and lumbering off back toward the trees. Adar crossed his arms, his gaze flicking once more toward the shadowed woods.

“So,” he murmured to himself, a hint of amusement slipping into his tone. “It seems someone is watching over us after all.”

Adar allowed himself the smallest of smirks, a hint of warmth threading through his usual restraint. She was still here, lingering in the trees. A shadow, yes, but one that had chosen to stay, even if just out of sight. The knowledge stirred something familiar in him, a twinge of loyalty, of purpose.

Perhaps she would always see herself as a weapon. Perhaps she would remain at the fringes, watching and protecting without ever stepping fully into the firelight. But he could give her time, as he had given his Uruks. And if, one day, she came to understand that her value lay not in what she could destroy but in what she could protect… well, that would be a victory all its own.

[insteading]

As someone who’s done bereavement care for almost 20 years, I’ve observed again and again and again that it is not staying with grief that cuts us off from other people, it’s suffocating grief and suppressing grief. It’s impossible to repress grief without also repressing all sorts of other things like joy and memory. Actually, expressing grief naturally connects us empathetically to other people. It is not an accident that right now when there is such a profound suppression of global grief, we’re also finding ourselves in a moment of such isolation.

Rabbi Elliot Kukla, in them magazine

I sought out this piece because Rabbi Kukla was quoted in today's sermon in reference to the ongoing genocide in Gaza ("It is lifesaving to mourn our humanity in inhumane times").

But this paragraph about grief hit me so hard I wanted to single it out to share. It is relevant to corporate grief of the sort we might experience when a state is doing harm in our name (police brutality, displacement, execution). It is also relevant to individual griefs.

In the bereavement calls I do for hospice, I have noticed, this is precisely what gets people stuck in grief: the feeling that there is no safe space and time to express grief. Companies tend to give very little accommodation for bereavement, if they give any at all. Culturally we're expected to get over losses in a matter of days. But grief rewires us, and some losses-- particularly losses like war, displacement, and police brutality where a state or institution does the same kind of harm repeatedly-- are complex and ongoing.

Grief impacts sleeping, eating, executive function. (I don't ask people in bereavement calls, "How are you doing?" I ask, "How are you sleeping?" "How's your appetite?" Maybe "Are there moments from your caregiving, or from your [loved one's] dying, that keep coming up for you?" Because of course you're not fine! You just lost someone essential to you. What I want to know is, is your body getting a chance to repair itself as your mind and heart process what you've experienced?)

People have talked to me after a loss about feeling exhausted and overwhelmed by daily life. It's not unlike recovering from a major injury and having a sizable portion of your bandwidth given over at all times to the tasks of bone, muscle, and nerve repair that are not under your conscious control. When tasks you're used to thinking of as having one part suddenly make it clear how complex they are? Cooking a meal takes more out of you. Doing a load of laundry takes more out of you. If you're already an introvert, the cost of social engagement goes up, at a time when social engagement might actually be very helpful.

Doing some of our grief work with other trusted people shares the load. It recovers some bandwidth. But many folks learn early in the grieving process that they have fewer trusted people than they thought. Or that it feels like the wrong time to deepen an acquaintanceship they'd hoped might become a friendship. Or that they aren't as comfortable asking loved ones for help as they thought they would be.

And the bereavement model I'm trained in assumes that a grieving person has experienced one recent loss. We know that a recent loss might poke us in the tender spots left by earlier losses. But that's still different from the experience of a tragedy that affects a whole community at once (as in an entire region's population losing multiple loved ones in a very short time and being forced to flee).

I don't really have a conclusion here, but I'm finding the activism that feels most healing and hope-filled to me has lament built into it: a chance to name the people who've died in our county's jail, while advocating for better communication with families of people inside. A chance to call out the names of people lost to covid while advocating for policies that will mitigate risk to vulnerable people.

Maybe it takes days to name all the people impacted by ongoing genocides in Congo, Palestine, Yemen, while urging our government to end its role in those genocides. Maybe our systems and structures, which aren't even good at honoring our grief for members of the nuclear family we're taught is our primary world, are disinclined to give us that time. Maybe we ought to take it anyway.

[ficklecat]

Hatake Clan Lore

I cannot for the life of me remember if I ever posted my Hatake lore head canon but it's been bouncing around in my brain so fuck it here we go -

WARNING: long post ahead, all of this is head canon and none of it is based on anything other than conjecture and ✨vibes✨

also not that I anticipate this but people get touchy about this stuff so - if you disagree with me so strongly that you feel the need to yell at me about it, please save your energy; I literally cannot express to you how disinterested I am in engaging with that kind of thing it's just anime you'll be ok pookie

Clan History

Before the First Shinobi War, the Hatake clan was a largely pacifist group unaffiliated with nation or creed. They started out as nomadic but eventually settled into farming & hunter/gatherer communities across the Land of Fire. Though they had no kekkei genkai develop, they did have some persistent clan traits that were easy to spot. Particularly, ancestral traits of early people would remain dominant through generations instead of recessing, such as sensitivity to smells and seasons, characteristics like coarser hair, sharper teeth, longer nails or limbs, and instincts that aligned with the native fauna. This allowed them to live in harsher conditions than the newly settling villages and clans, gave them the ability to self-sustain and develop natural affinity for the wilds of the elements, and eventually, aided in the use and presentation of various chakra natures in some of their clan members.

The Hatakes were small in number and fiercely independent of other clans and families, despite being extremely tight-knit in their own communities; they were not necessarily unwelcoming, rather, they lived very differently from the newly forming clan powers, and were not interested in the quarrels of man. However, due to their reluctance to ally and the growing strains between larger war clans and families, they didn't stand much of a chance when major conflicts began to arise.

When the first war finally began, the already sparse farming and hunting communities of the Hatake clan became widely dispersed as lands were torn up in battle or claimed by other families; they were displaced or absorbed into warring clans over time - some Hatake had already been taken in by the Senju, while some sought refuge with the Uchiha, only to face each other on the battlefield and recognize their clan members in the heat of battle - the wild hair, the piercing eyes, the way they would fight with teeth and claw and kunai over complex justu or weaponry.

By the time the first war ended, there were very few Hatake left to remain in tact as a clan. Many had died in battle, some had renounced their clan to assimilate into the powerful Senju or Uchiha, and the scarce few that remained had to make a choice - let their clan die out with them, or integrate into another.

Thus began the efforts of the Hatake to affiliate with the growing Inuzuka clan - an ally of the Senju but still independent of them, this clan had roots in the Land of Fire's villages already, and their affinity for canines and comparable clan traits and practices made for an easier approach than some of the more "domesticated" families. Even still, the reluctance of the Hatake to fully submit to the 'new world' and lose their precious way of life was enough to keep them at arm's length from the Inuzuka, their need for freedom clashing with the Inuzuka's desire to serve the new developing nations and hidden villages. As such, the remaining Hatake began to dwindle into disappearance, until there were only a handful left.

Kakashi's Family

This bit is also fully personal head canon and an idea I'd always wanted to turn into fic but could never get right; works better as a hc anyway -

By the time Sakumo and his partner, Hoeru Inuzuka, had Kakashi, the Hatake clan was gone, either fully absorbed into the Inuzuka by way of marriage or willing induction, or killed in action during the Second Shinobi War. Sakumo, along with Sakumo's elderly uncle, Kama Hatake, remained alive around the time of Kakashi's birth. Kama had sustained significant injuries during his service in the war, and had been in decline ever since, unable to recover. He never married and had no surviving family apart from Sakumo, but was extremely close to his nephew and Hoeru, particularly during her pregnancy. Hoeru herself was a fierce matriarchal member of the Inuzuka, but had deep respect for Kama and the Hatake clan's heritage - after all, despite their small size and initial reluctance to integrate, the Hatake had become a major part of the Inuzuka clan over generations, and had helped their clan to grow into a foothold in the Hidden Leaf Village.

Kama himself did his best to impart the importance of keeping their clan's memory alive in Sakumo - he would share stories and techniques passed down from his own uncles and parents, grandparents, elder clan members who had long since passed. He shared the importance of their preserved weaponry like the tanto or the kunai - highly usable, compact, and versatile for farming and hunting as well as in battle. When Hoeru was pregnant, she and Kama would spend a lot of time together, in the garden or inside reading when Kama's health began to worsen. Hoeru insisted he promise to live at least long enough to see the birth of their child, and Kama made good on this promise.

He died three days after Kakashi was born, and in his honor and out of a deep love for Sakumo, Hoeru made the choice to allow her son to keep his Hatake clan name. She and Sakumo planned to teach him the important history of their clan, and how both the Hatake and the Inuzuka had come together to help keep their wild spirit alive.

Unfortunately, Hoeru's death when Kakashi was still an infant left Sakumo heartbroken and hopeless. With his dear uncle and the love of his life both gone, being the last remaining member of his clan aside from his son brought him immense and crushing grief alongside his already significant battle with depression. Still, as the years went on, Sakumo did his best to teach his boy about their clan, and about the importance of belonging while keeping the memory of precious people alive. But the excommunication following that one fateful mission brought the final blow to his despair - and with everyone turning his back on him, with no clan, no lover, and no family, he lost the battle to his grief, leaving the only remaining Hatake clan member to be his son, Kakashi Hatake.

[drdemonprince]

Look I understand that at the federal level we're cooked because we don't have a good third option but voting on a state and local level will help out peoples lives. We can see this with how abortion rights were enshrined in blue states and how places like Minnesota got children free lunch. We can't just decolonize the system overnight so I think it's the most practical thing to do is vote for the best change possible on levels where you're the most effected while working for more.

It's not that we lack a good or viable third option, the problem runs far deeper and more systemically than that. The system is set up such that no alternative option that is actually challenging to the status quo can exist -- the way election financing works and the structure of majority/minority leadership in houses and senates makes having a meaningful third party presence impossible.

As for the possible influence at the local election level, in some ways I am with you. I voted for an increase to funding for the forest reserve. I felt good when that passed. I voted for increased funding for homeless people -- it never materialized. Even when welfare packages pass, they rarely do materialize as promised because there is no way to hold the government accountable for carrying out the people's will.

I voted for the mayor that was less pro-cop. It hasn't kept police from brutalizing protestors all over this city all year long. He put in a few more bike lanes which I guess some people find an adequate enough reason to continue to be complicit within the present system. But my feeling is that every goddamned time that I convince myself that I should participate to try and move the needle, that I should lower my standards and accept even a modicum of improved treatment by the state, I wind up being bait-and-switched even further and having to accept even smaller table scraps than the crumbs I'd already been offered. And I see so many dedicated, passionate leftist people pouring hundreds of hours every year into campaigning for Democratic politicians who pull shit like this, and helping them raise copious amounts of funds that exist only to help them keep getting elected and doing fuck all.

if you wanna walk up to the polls on election day and pay attention to whats happening down ballot that's your business. im glad my alderwoman is the less pro-gentrification one than the other guy that used to be in office. she's still pro gentrification and building $1400 a month high rises all over the neighborhood. none of this is acceptable and the forward creep of economic displacement is still happening, it just has a happier face on it. and it always will because that's what the system is and does.

the deeper problem is that once people invest any hope in a system that is hopelessly oppressive, they tend to also funnel a lot of attention toward electoral politics and campaigning when that money and time would be a lot better spend like, just giving food to homeless people on your block or babysitting a neighbors kids or planting some vegetables or like anything else thats actually community minded.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

For the first day of Silmarillion Daily - some thoughts on the Discord of Melkor.

The Great Music is a theme where Ilúvatar provides the broad strokes, and the Valar are encouraged to improvise upon it. The purpose of Melkor’s discord is not creativity, but in a sense the opposite of it - “to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to himself,” and thus to give one voice greater dominance over all the others, rather than all working together in their own ways. And that dominance and lack of creativity is the first effect: some are discouraged and stop singing, while others match him rather than following their own thoughts.

The Music is something of a speedrun of what Melkor later becomes - at the beginning he wants more power in order to make his vision a reality, but as he continues fighting against anything that is not his own music, he ceases to have any real vision of his own, but only the object of drowning out everyone else.

it was loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated; and it had little harmony, but rather a clamorous unison as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes. And it essayed to drown the other music by the violence of its voice

This is a pretty good encapsulation of what evil does to a person who chooses it, on a pattern repeated throughout Tolkien’s works (Melkor, Sauron, Fëanor, Saruman): any creative impulse or goal is drowned in the desire for power and dominance and crushing any opposition.

For all this, Melkor cannot overcome Ilúvatar’s guiding theme in the music, but as a consequence of this discord Ilúvatar’s theme becomes both sorrowful and more beautiful, the beauty coming from the sorrow. This is also the core theme of The Silmarillion: evil can destroy, it can bring sorrow, but it can never ultimately win.

behold! a third theme grew amid the confusion, and it was unlike the others. For it seemed at first soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies; but it could not be quenched, and it took to itself power and profundity…deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came….it seemed that its most triumphant notes [of Melkor’s Discord] were taken by the other and woven into it own solemn pattern.

Lastly, there is a sharp contrast drawn between the attitudes of the other Ainur towards the vision of the Children of Ilúvatar, and the attitude of Melkor. The other Ainur are delighted at the prospect of people who are different from them, with whom they can communicate and from whose different ways of thinking and living they can learn:

when they beheld them, the more did they love them, being things other than themselves, strange and free, wherein they saw the mind of Ilúvatar reflected anew

But Melkor, by contrast, is jealous of them because they are different from him, and wants to control them and be obeyed by them:

he desired rather to subdue to his will both Elves and Men, envying the gifts with which Ilúvatar promised to endow them; and he wished himself to have subjects and servants, and to be called Lord, and to be a master over other wills.

In Tolkien’s works, almost invariably, more diversity and variation and creativity is a good thing, and trying to make everything done one way, your way, inevitably leads to ‘making people do want you want’ become the goal that precedes and displaces whatever it was that you wanted to do in the first place.

On another note, it’s fascinating that most of the Ainur other than Ulmo initially find the Sea unsettling (‘because of the roaring of the sea they felt a great unquiet’), even as the Elves will the first time they see it. It’s possible, in line with the above, that part of this is the wild and uncontrolled nature of the Sea; that it is, to Tolkien, the ultimate element of freedom, the thing that cannot be controlled and yet holds no dominion. This also fits with Ulmo’s role as the ‘loyal opposition’ to some of the other Valar, in his desire not to summon the Elves to Middle-earth, and to aid the Noldor after their departure; both or these are in line with allowing the Children of Ilúvatar more freedom to choose their own path.

[belit0]

Itachi with number 12 please, i need this man biblically 🛐

Me with Indra 🛐🛐 OKAY BUT WHAT IF ACTUALLY, the reader cheated on him with Shisui? That would be so hot.

NSFW prompts!

12) Imagine that Itachi and reader lived together. Itachi comes home one day and hears loud moaning coming from their bedroom, recognizing reader’s voice. Itachi assumes, to their horror, that reader is cheating on them, and they rush to the bedroom and open the door. Instead of seeing a cheating partner, Itachi actually walks in on reader masturbating/using sex toys while moaning out Itachi's name.

Being Hokage is one of the most daunting tasks of his life.

Itachi thought things were difficult when he had to prevent the almost military takeover his family was planning, when trying to stop Orochimaru from killing the Third Hokage, when preventing his best friend from committing suicide, when he had to remove that idiot Danzo and displace all the corrupt people from Konoha's power.

The villagers grew to love him so much, with him replacing the murky image of his clan with one of respect and responsibility, that there was no hesitation when a new leader for the community had to be chosen. A unanimous vote decreed him as the new Hokage, and Tobirama Senju is probably rolling over in his grave because an Uchiha reaches the pinnacle of authority.

Consumed by his new role, Itachi forgot what freedom was, leisure time, not being stressed or anxious about the amount of work he must do every day. Many old-school skeptics still believe him incapable, and he is determined to prove to everyone that not all Uchihas are demented psychopaths.

With the death of his father at his own hands, he had earned the hatred of the entire family, but he ended up making them understand the motives behind his actions, how wrong it would have been to allow the clan to take control by force. Shisui had been the mastermind behind the plan, and while people accused them of being double moralists for killing Fugaku and taking the leadership, they eventually understood that it was the right thing to do.

He tried to have his best friend be the one to take the position, but Shisui, missing an eye, excused himself under the pretext of nobody respecting a half-broken Uchiha, and absolved himself of the responsibility. With no other options, the people proclaimed Itachi as the village's savior, trusting the young boy to be capable of leading them all to a good future.

Drowned in meetings, events, documents, papers, he lost his free time, and returns home late at night every day. With his face ruined by fatigue and barely able to move his legs because of sitting all day, he manages to walk through the doors of his home, having refused to live in the Hokage's tower.

He knows who suffers the most from all of this is (Y/N).

Neither of them was prepared for events of such magnitude, everything happening overnight, and the period of adaptation was practically nil. Overnight, she lost her man's presence as if the earth had swallowed him up.

When Itachi comes home late at night, the girl is already asleep. When Itachi leaves home, early in the morning, the girl has already left for her own work.

Having lost close contact without warning, the Uchiha has almost no time to see her, talk to her, or connect with her in an intimate or sentimental way. Shuffling his feet, he makes it home, and after leaving his shoes at the door, he enters.

His ninja instincts kick in the moment he walks past the entrance, confused by the noise heard throughout the house in the middle of the night, when his wife should presumably be asleep.

He assumes the worst. The lack of touch, absence of dialogue, no physical presence had finally broken (Y/N)'s patience, and his wife decided to look for in other people what she had previously found in him.

Destroyed and with a heavy heart, he suddenly feels a huge emptiness in his chest, and becomes paralyzed. He cannot move, nor approach the room, neither can he open the door and find another man between his wife's legs. He doesn't know what his reaction would be, and he doesn't want to find out either.

Is he willing to throw it all away, everything he achieved, people's respect and affection built with painful effort just because his wife is also human and has needs? Killing the person who is pleasing her, replacing him, will only bring disgrace on everyone's head, with citizens wondering who they elected to rule. It would unleash new chaos as they would see him as an insane Uchiha and this would catapult that-.

"Where the fuck is he? He should have been here by now... dammit!" His wife's voice exclaims from the room, snapping him out of his dark lucubrations and bringing him back to reality. That doesn't sound like another person fucking her, does it?

Unsure, he approaches the half-open door, and peers through the gap of vision it provides. Could he have used his Sharingan to detect other presences in the house? Yes. Is he too consumed by his own inner demons to think about it? Also.

In front of his eyes, he sees a naked (Y/N) on the bed, legs spread and lying face up on the mattress, holding one of the toys they both use for their intimate moments. The object vibrates non-stop inches away from her pussy, but she seems to be distracted looking at the clock.

"What are you doing, (Y/N)?" Itachi asks in a mixture of confusion and relief, not understanding what his wife is up to but happy that she hasn't dumped him for someone else, watching the image with intrigue and helplessness.

Startled, she suddenly throws out the vibrator, her body involuntarily jumping in surprise, and it flies off towards the ceiling only to land on the floor "ITACHI!".

The Uchiha laughs, suddenly relaxed and calm, shaking off today's troubles and understanding his wife's effort to revive the passion their relationship was lately losing. "You should be sleeping, love." He walks over to her, and sits down on the bed.

"I wanted to surprise you... I know how stressed you are lately and maybe I could help you like this..." He takes her in his arms and all he wants to do is hug her, kiss her, squeeze her until suffocation and make her understand how much he loves her.

"Well, you succeeded, but let's not waste your state, hm?" He kisses her eagerly, pouncing on her even with the Hokage robe on, not losing a second.

Tomorrow, his work clothes will have strange light stains on them, but no one will dare ask where they came from.

[nicorobinphd]

oda really hit the nail on the head when he made the main narrative representatives of wano’s suffering children.

momo is the exile, the displaced. the home-seeking youth denied the legacy of their people & the land upon which this history took place. as a result of orochi’s theft of the throne with the backing of kaido, he is denied access to any of the material stability his family may have accrued over time, the ability to exist in community with his people, the ability to partake in cultural traditions such as reading/writing the language on the poneglyphs, etc. his inability to do anything for a group that he feels responsible for but is nonetheless materially disconnected from is repeatedly emphasized throughout his arc, and is something he is only able to start working through with the help of an alliance & the opportunity to reconnect with his people.

otoko & otama are the disenfranchised youth born into the struggle. the starving poor trying to make the most of their current conditions while taking what limited action they can to try to ensure better ones. those who exist directly underfoot of oppression’s brutality, able to recognize such, and willing to weaponize whatever means available to humanize themselves in spite of it all. otoko sends money home to help her father & the people of her village knowing that the people she’s ultimately working for do not believe in their right to exist, and are willing to mistreat them as such. she finds an opportunity to gain access to some of their wealth and give it back to the people who need it most, who’s resources are being stolen from. otoko helps hiyori maintain her ruse while refusing to let the mask of joy imposed upon her & her village be seen as anything more than a mask. she grieves and she cries and feels bitter and is allowed to be, and is allowed to start learning to come back from it. otama, on the other hand, is a spitfire. if the fall of orochi & kaido at the hands of the kozuki clan is inevitable, then she’ll be damned if she doesn’t start doing something to help it along. she sees the world around her with clear eyes, recognizes the source of the pain experienced by her & those around her, and decides that the key to her survival is to bring it crumbling down. resilient, headstrong, & a fighter, otama recognizes that for all she is materially disempowered, there isn’t a thing the crown can do to take the power to fight she grants herself away. it can take so much else, has taken so much else, but it can’t take that.

both forms of powerlessness are emphasized by the fact that these characters are children. and for each character, their ability to overcome the powerlessness imposed upon them depends upon their ability to understand the world around them, to form connections, & the willingness of others to recognize their struggles & move with solidarity.

like… oda really did go 🔨🔨

[milkybonya]

rendezvous ☆ felix

! : Felix is bullied when he's younger, idk how long it is but i hope long enough and not too dragged on </3, not proof-read !

# : bestie prince!felix x gn royal!reader, a robin hood moment

[💌: i am so grateful to be part of this collab, especially because i am in a mental rut and this fic is short, literally written in just a few sparse sittings, and is really gonna be the lowest of the low 🛌 anyways stay tuned for the other writers' works and ty if u decide to give mine a read T-T]

"just pick the time, i'm down, i always do."

being a royal isn't all that magical. it's just annoying. you have none of your own agency, you're followed around all day, you always have to act and look perfect... it's so tiring. sure, you don't have to worry about not being able to afford things, but it sucks. living in so much wealth while others are dying sucks.

and it sucks that you can't do anything about it... except, you can. and you do. and that's your only joy in life.

your parents only trust you, their beloved royal child, with Felix. he's your best friend from another kingdom, one whom you supposedly can never marry, so it's fine if you're just harmless friends. your two kingdoms are on peaceful terms, anyway.

when Felix visits you once a week, you're allowed to leave the palace and be with him. it's the day you look forward to the most, especially because you give back to the community on this special day of the week.

there's no putting it simply. you both dress up as commoners and roam the streets, handing out large sums of money to people who need it. the money is a combination of your own allowance and the palace's money. it's almost like a robin hood situation.

"is the royal highness of this palace ready to embark on yet another adventure?" you hear Felix's deep voice behind of your bedroom.

the guard standing outside your door says, "prince Felix is here, shall i let him in?"

"of course," you say, and the doors open to reveal Felix, dressed all in white and not a single stain on hin despite riding his horse here.

"are you ready?" he asks with a grin, his blonde locks falling into his eyes.

"are you? you're not going dressed like that, are you?" you ask the boy, who shakes his head at you.

"stop playing, i know you have clothes ready for me in your closet," he says, walking over to find them for hinself.

"and what would you do without me?" you tease, also joining him in searching through your closet for some commoner's clothes, kindly donated to you by some of your servants and friends.

"i'd be living my best life," Felix says, jokingly.

you punch his shoulder lightly and he acts as though he's been shot.

"is everything okay, your highness y/n?" the guard outside asks.

"yes, don't worry! Felix is just being annoying," you say.

he sticks his tongue out at you and giggles, grabbing his clothes of choice and running to your ensuite to change.

he makes sure you're also dressed before he steps back into your room. as if you haven't already done this a million times, the two of you look at each other and laugh.

"you'd be such a heart throb commoner," you tell Felix as you fix his collar.

his cheeks turn red slightly due the proximity as he chuckles, watching your delicate fingers against his clothes.

"i'm already a heart throb now, what are you gonna do about it?!" he says after you move back, sticking his tongue out at you.

you wave him away and leave your room, getting ready to leave the palace. he follows you and the two of you talk the whole way into town.

the palace is far from town, another thing which you hate. it's to physically displace the royals from the rest and it's awful. still, you prefer getting there on-foot.

"i still can't believe some of the servants who make deliveries have to walk this long journey every day," you say to Felix, who casually pulls you away from a big hole in the path.

"it's the worst. and in the heat, too?! gosh."

silence evelops you both as you digest the moment, walking along this path with your best friend. suddenly, you start to think about how much Felix has grown up.

before, you were always defending him when you were both younger. he was always bullied for being too feminine of a prince and you despised everyone who thought so. now, he's stealing everyone's hearts with his gorgeous face and deep voice. you'd like to say you have dibs on him because you've always loved him unconditionally from the start but... why would you have dibs on your friend?

"y/n, do you know what rendezvous means?" Felix suddenly asks.

"of course i do.. it's french for appointment and means the same in english--a time and place for two people to meet," you say.

"i like that word a lot. it sounds so much better than appointment, meeting, or... well, anything else."

"well, that's random," you say.

Felix's deep laugh is contagious as you laugh along with him. you didn't realize how warm it is today, and appreciate the gentle breeze that finds you both in that moment.

"it's not random! i feel like we're having a rendezvous right now. this is our rendezvous," he explains.

for some reason, your mind goes blank. Felix turns to look at you and smiles when your eyes meet.

"and this is why you're stealing everyone's hearts," you say.

"everyone's except yours," he mumbles.

___☎️

finally, you both make it to town. it's as busy as ever with all the merchants selling their goods and people trying to bargain for a good deal.

"let's see who needs our help today," Felix whispers to you as he pulls you close.

you walk up to a stand and overhear a mother trying to bargain.

"please, i really need these herbs! my son is sick and i can't afford to pay for medicine. with these herbs, i can help him at least feel a bit better. please, i only have this much with me," the lady shows the merchant her money, but he dismisses her.

just as she turns to leave, Felix places a bag of money in her hands.

"buy the herbs, some medicine, and some good fruit. i hope your son gets better," he tells her.

she beams as she analyzes the contents of the bag.

"oh my goodness! young man, where did you get all this from?"

"don't worry about it. i can't promise i didn't steal it, but i can promise that no one will ever know," he says wirh a wink.

the lady chuckles and when she turns to pay for the herbs, both you and Felix rush off.

"i hope her son feels better," you say with a pout.

Felix pats your head. "i'm sure he'll be fine."

as you both continue to walk around, an old man calling to you both makes you turn around.

"you lovely two, would you like your fortune told? it doesn't cost much and it's very accurate!"

you and Felix look at each other.

"i don't believe in this stuff but let's give it a shot," he says.

you follow the man to his hut and he invites you to sit down.

"so, would you like to see your future in love, health, or wealth?" the man asks.

"love," Felix says without hesitation.

"ah, be careful if you are a couple," the old man says hesitantly. "if the fortune is bad, i am not responsible for a breakup!"

"ah, no, we're not a couple!" you say.

Felix's heart drops.

the old man smiles, reading the situation and after a moment of silence, reveals your fortune.

"i can see that the two of you are close friends, but there are different feelings blooming between you both. you're hesitant, wary of the other's heart. stop being so careful. your guess is right, just go for it," he says.

you choke on your own saliva and take hold of Felix's arm. "okay, that's enough! thank you, sir!"

you leave the hut and meet a Felix with a flushed face.

"hey, we're just gonna forget about that, right?" you ask, flustered.

Felix suddenly turns serious.

"and why should we?" he asks.

suddenly, his features harden. not in an angry way but in an incredibly handsome way.

"y/n, how can i just forget the fact that i've been loving you for an eternity?" he asks, reaching for your hand this time.

you feel your heart race against your chest and your pulse quickens.

struggling to find words, Felix continues speaking for you.

"i want my rendezvous with you to last a lifetime, y/n. can't we get engaged?"

you blink up at him, the pretty prince who has, unbeknown to you, stolen your heart. and just like that, everything falls into place.

as much as your robin hood rendezvous with Felix has always been about giving back to the community, it was also a lovely excuse to see Felix. Felix, your friend, your first love.

how could you say no? how could you say no to him, when you'd never in your dreams imagine him proposing to you like this?

"Felix.. you really like me? this isn't some lie just to not hurt my feelings? are you just trying to make the old man sound right?" you ask.

Felix shakes his head, caressing your cheek.

"you... don't love anyone else?"

"now why would i, y/n? we've both been silly, ignoring all the signs. let's stop it now, if you're ready," he says.

the wind picks up and it sounds as if the universe is screaming, begging for you to say yes. and that's your sign. that's the engraving of the rendezvous in the universe. an eternal rendezvous.

the second you hug Felix and rest your head on his chest, he returns your embrace and cups the back of your head.

everything finally feels right. you can see it, a future together with Felix in the kingdom where the divide between royal and commoner will no longer be so wide.

taglist: @writerracha @princelingperfect @ggundeuri @orithyia-eriphyle @vumiixlyy @luvrhyune @hopeladybug @misitmoonlight @baldi-2 @baddecisionsworld @thetaytayray @midsoulz @hyunverse @realbangchan @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs @rachabreathing @nixtape-foryou @ameliesaysshoo @jisungsdaydreamer @https-skzology @day6andetcetera @linonyang @hgema @seoli-16 @bokk-minnie @foliea @amagumorii @nhyunn @ravyaryn @ink-spilled-stars @himarose @sherryblossom @shakalakaboomboo @r-arrh @siriusly1 @catwonwoo @suebinn @foxinnie8

[panicroomsammy]

Analysis of s15e6 because one of my mutuals wanted polisci analysis of Supernatural and the nuclear family and this episode crawled inside my brain.

The b plot of the episode is Cass investigating a series of deaths in a small town he’s been hiding out in since his fight with Dean. He goes to the sheriff’s office and the sheriff is dismissive, telling Cass that since it is a small town people don’t go missing there, if they do it’s never locals, and that the woman who is complaining about her son going missing complains about there being a Fourth of July parade as a way of discrediting her. There is so much to unpack in this scene. That locals never go missing and it is always outsiders who go missing has a sinister undertone with the implication that the town takes care of their own, perhaps to the extent of killing meddling outsiders. The sheriff Others tourists, not caring if they die and implying that they deserve it while there is a subtextual implication that the townspeople or the sheriff may be active participants in purging themselves of such Others. When he attempts to discredit the mother of the missing boy by saying that she complains about the Fourth of July parade, he attempts to Other her to Cass by saying “look, she isn’t one of us she criticizes patriotism/the nation, so she must be an outsider.” This was simultaneously so extremely on the nose and blink and you’ll miss it. The woman has anti-imperial/anti-colonial political views, so we shouldn’t care if her child dies. It is later revealed that the sheriff is the monster and Cass calls him out, saying “It’s always you selfish little men in positions of authority. You take what you want, who you want. You believe your power will protect you.” This is, again, shockingly on the nose. Supernatural rarely makes those in positions of authority the monsters. I can recall of the top of my head dozens of episodes where the sheriff helps and no other episodes where the sheriff is unambiguously the monster. Cass’ use of the word “always” applies more to real life than to the world within the show. It is also important to note that the victims who Cass helps are nonwhite and moved to the town from a city. These factors combined make the episode almost seem to serve as a critique of social institutions such as the police, except for two things, the first being that by making the sheriff a literal monster they Other him from his community, displacing the blame for real life corruption onto him and away from his human counterparts. Even when someone inside the community is the monster, they are still a monster rather than a person. And on the rare occasion that the “monster�� is a person they are poor and rural (The Benders, Family Remains) rather than a wealthy white man in a position of power.

The second is the a plot of the episode. Sam is captured by a mother witch and her daughter who are working to bring the other daughter back to life. The younger sister tells Sam that her older sister tormented her all her life, and Sam offers to help her escape her family, but instead of taking him up on this she chooses to stay devoted to them and dies with them. This is a much more conventional Supernatural episode plot: the choice of the nuclear family over all else - even when family is hell.

The show does not have a political message - it was created to be an artistic expression of feelings - both positive and negative - about family and to be a story about stories. The form that those stories take - urban legends that revolve around suburban fears about the nuclear family - make it fascinating to analyze, but for an understanding of subconscious influences upon the writers that in turn recreate those biases in viewers, not for a purposeful political message.

[shroudkeeper]

I'm asking the question here but it can be applicable for any of your ocs: How often does your character feel out of place when it comes to their environment or their status amongst the people around them? Is it because of something they said, did, or a trait they gained or inherited? Is their exclusion accurate or entirely in their head? Is there a way they could overcome it if they tried?

There was a social stigma regarding her inability to verbally communicate, on top of witnessing the otherworldly who inhabit the space between, which led to confusing feelings of alienation in the early stages of her life as she came to learn how different she was from others.

Before her death, she had to combat her own feelings to remain true to who she was or try and conform to what society expected of her.

As a child, adults were known to harbor prejudice against that which they did not understand, which often stemmed from fear. Her ability to see the remarkable and bizarre was inherited by both parents and paved the way for Kikyo's desire to conceal this fact from others to avoid rejection, even going as far as to hide it from the other shrine maidens whom she sought for guidance and training.

After her death, things did change, though it did take time for her to understand how to balance the duality of her existence while fighting this feeling that she is a stranger drowning in a sea of unfamiliar faces. On top of assimilating herself into this new society after leaving Yanxia, and navigating the socio-political structure in a land that declares maintaining neutrality with enemies of her people, there was the challenge of simply learning to live again with a secret that would complicate her situation.

However, in the past few years, she has done well to overcome such feelings of isolation as a displaced person with help from her clan and earning her father's affection and respect. His filial love, encouragement, and support, have opened paths to new opportunities and relationships that she would have denied herself out of fear.

She now teaches children at the Enclave, volunteers during festivals, and is known among a few merchants and traders as the hime of the Takahashi clan due to her humanitarian work and benevolent nature.

Thank you so much @gatheredfates for the question! I really appreciate you out here making me reflect on my lady.

[help-me-im-in-the-fandom]

Okay, so with all the ATLA stuff going on with the disgraceful live action series, I have been inspired so here is an idea.

When the Convergence happens and the Spirit World is thrown into a mess, a small slum district of Republic City is caught in the crossfire.

Gotham District is suddenly displaced into a new world, about early 1800’s maybe?

So starts the City of Gotham, born in a flash of light into a deep swamp across the bay from the City of Metropolis. The people quickly work to hide themselves in this new world, and the few earthbenders that were among them were able to move what buildings they had into the large cave system beneath the surface as they set up temporary shelters, very aware that the bustling people across the bay could see them.

The Metropolis people who did come to check on what was going on assumed the newly built area to be made my the miscreant and lawless population of their city, and the Gothamites, scornfully, allowed the misconception to stand.

They hide the few member of their community who can bend away after one awful day where a young earth bender girl was accused of witchcraft and almost burned at the stake while joining a company of people searching for supplies. A rule is made then, that no one would ever bend above the surface, and no one would ever speak of benders either.

Fast forward a few centuries, and one night Bruce Wayne watches his parents get murdered, and decides on two things.

1) To never allow another person to be orphaned on his watch.

So starts Batman, the protector of Gotham on the Surface.

2) To make sure no one was so in need that they had to commit crimes in order to survive.

So starts a series of bending schools and food banks in the Underground, the Sacred part of Gotham that no blood should ever be shed in. All of which are funded by Bruce Wayne the skilled Earthbender.

When Bruce begins to find himself taking in children, he finds out that all of them are benders themselves, and is excited to teach them bending himself. Though he does enforce one rule, to never bend in costume.

Okay now onto what I think the Batfam would be as Benders! This is my own opinion you don’t have to agree, just don’t be rude in comments!

Alfred:

Alfred is a waterbender, kind and soothing but never destroyed and always there. He is the lifeblood of the family, even though he hides behind the title of a Butler he is really everyone’s grandfather/father.

Bruce:

Bruce is an earthbender, results and determined, never moving and unbreakable. He has devoted himself to his beliefs and to his family, and nothing will ever change that.

Dick:

I think Dick would be a Firebender, while Airbender would be an easy answer, it doesn’t really suit him. Dick has a mean streak and donned the Robin suit in order to commit literal murder, he almost killed Joker, and he fights with Bruce constantly. He is a smoldering flame that will burn bright and hot but keep you warm on even the coldest of nights, he has so much love and affection and to me, he just embodies the character of a firebender, like Uncle Iroh.

Babs:

I think Babs would be a fire bender, similar to what is said above with Dick, but also the fact is, she chose to become a vigilante herself, she chose to fight and protect despite not having anyone to support her at first. When she was paralyzed she still fought, she still does everything she can to protect her friends and family.

Jason:

Jason embodies the Earth, calm and strong and unmoving. Each decision he makes is with reason and choice, and he is confident and willful but also soft when needed. When Jason is revived and filled with anger it shakes his foundations and his morals are shattered, but he reigns destruction like a landslide, devastating and all consuming and utterly unstoppable. Perhaps as he heals he learns to Lavabend, to put the anger and hurt and pain to control and tame the destructive force.

Cass:

Cass is a waterbender, she is used to moving with the tides and rolling with the punches, she is calm and consistent, but also powerful and strong. She can heal just as much as she can hurt, and be beautiful and powerful at the same time.

Steph:

Steph is an airbender, she is carefree and playful and doesn’t need physical things to be happy. She can never sit in one place to long, she wants to know everything and meet every one. She is kind but not merciful, and when she is angered she is as powerful as a tornado and just as destructive.

Tim:

Tim is an earthbender, he is headstrong and willfully stubborn, he has devoted his entire being to his beliefs and cannot be persuaded away.

Duke:

Duke is an airbender, though his meta gene may affect the power he can use. He is calm and straightforward, but dances with the blows life gives him and learns to adapt.

Damian:

Damian I think is a waterbender, he is strong and powerful like the sea, ever changing and never the same. The sea can be calm and merciful or harsh and deadly, and I think that embodies what Damian can be. He can also learn to be kind, to be gentle and loving and oh so very careful. Perhaps part of his recovering is learning how to heal, to use his powers to help instead of harm.

So! That’s it! If anyone has anything to add or if this inspires any fics, pls add them!

Also, here have a drawing I made while thinking about this!

[hindulivesmatter]

I am a proud hindu so i was angry about what happened to kashmiri hindus. but after reading up on it and the history of kashmir in general, one thing is really obvious: india failed kashmir (all of them not just hindus). It’s why I support their right to self-determination. I am based in America and I know several punjabis here who don’t consider themselves indian because their family/community was directly impacted by the 1984 anti sikh pogroms. ig i’m saying india has failed a lot of people (esp minorities) so if we are not from their ethnic group, we don’t get to selfishly claim them or impose our will on them. like i’m a kannadiga and i hate the imposition of hindi in my home state and while this is not even slightly comparable to the violence and trauma faced by kashmiris, punjabis and other groups, i would hate for a non-kannadiga (esp a hindi speaker) telling me how to feel and having the final say in the matter so kashmiri self determination just makes sense to me.

this just my two cents hope this didn’t sound rude because that’s not my intention.

I know you didn't mean to be rude here, but what you're saying is actually really out of touch.

I hope you're aware of what happened in Kashmir to Kashmiri pandits. Pakistan has dreamed of Kashmir since it was formed. That's why they wrongfully attacked India the first time, securing only POK which sadly was due to the UN, and weak Indian political power. Since then, they have infiltrated our country, and approximately 300,000 Kashmiri Pandits are reported to have left the region due to constant persecution from the Jammu Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF) and other militant groups, like Hizbul-Mujahideen (HM). In 1989, radical Islamists initiated an insurgency, fueled by covert support from Pakistan.

The party at the time did its best to hide this, and stifle it as much as possible, this got an ounce of coverage and light when The Kashmir Files was released

Hindus have 5000 years of recorded history with the land, that Islamists claim has “always been Muslim land”. "Kashmir" is literally named after Rishi Kashyap, if you're aware. On 19, January 1990 mosques blared out the infamous "convert leave or die" and finished their mission of converting the entirety of Kashmir to an Islamic state. Our pandits were told to leave their wives and daughters behind if they wanted to escape alive.

They're still living like refugees in their country, and now thanks to the scrapping of sec 370, things have taken a turn for the better.

Many Muslims of Kashmir still retain their Hindu surname. It was a deliberate attempt to wipe Hindus out that Islamists achieved and now THAT'S the free Kashmir they want, this slogan isn't promising actual Kashmiris that were displaced from their homes back, this slogan is furthering the agenda to chew Kashmir off India's map - the one true dream.

A similar approach is taken by Khalistanis, they aren't asking for Lahore, you know, the capital of Maharaja Ranjeet Singh, they're demanding INDIA to give Punjab away. They are funded by Pakistan as well that's why they can't say anything about Sikh treatment in Pakistan. That's why they can't say anything about Gurudwaras converted to garbage bins. You obviously, being far away, aren't aware of what's going beneath the surface, they have vandalized various Hindu Temples.

They take the name of their Guru who sacrificed his life for India, while they stomp on the flag of India.

In theory, I guess it sounds easy to say "Well, disagreements are flaring up, so let's just split and give them their own thing". But this isn't how it works. Compromise and collaboration is how decisions are made in a democracy. This is our motherland, the last time we split was painful as fuck. The only reason India didn't fall apart after Independence is because of the formation of linguistic states.

I lived in Bangalore for the majority of my childhood, and I left 2 years before the entire language debacle began. I don't know if you know, but now Kannadigas are getting violent if anyone speaks Hindi. They demand you to speak in Kannada even if you don't know how.

You're based in America, so I'm not holding this against you, but I'm begging you, please do more research.

[Exhibit 82]

[nothorses]

Hey I might be 1) misreading his post and 2) misreading your attached article but I think you’re responding to something anshelsgendercrisis didn’t actually say. I think what he’s talking about is the way people tell Jews to go back to Poland (or their “second home in NY” - something I’ve seen people say). Obviously the article you posted is also true, and reflects an unwillingness among Israelis to admit to the scale of what has been done to Palestinians. But I don’t think Avi is saying “actually the state of Israel is fine as it is,” he’s saying “telling people to go back to where they came from denies both the intermarriage making that relatively impossible and the general impossibility of moving millions of people somewhere else.” I don’t think his reply to that commenter is denying the idea that colonization is happening but rather that the commenter saying that on a post about the weird combo of racism and antisemitism mixed Jews get is just the wrong place to vent that. And goy isn’t a slur. Emotions are probably high and I think you’re likely in agreement.

My initial read of the post was that it was understanding the conversation around decolonizing Palestine to be about "sending the Jews back to Poland" (or some variation thereof), and the comment screencapped and responded to also demonstrated, to me, a misunderstanding of what a "colonizer" (vs. a settler) is.

I reblogged it with that article by Palestinians working towards decolonization because I felt it would be an effective way to communicate a number of relevant points- what Palestinians have actually said they want, what "decolonization" actually means in that context, and a little bit of what it means to be a "settler"- while also leaving ample room for the possibility that I was misunderstanding something as well. It was intended to be informational in a way that centered Palestinian voices in the conversation about their own colonization and decolonization efforts.

If the OP is just speaking to a thing non-Palestinian goyim are saying about Jewish folks, esp. in the context of decolonizing Palestine, there's plenty of room for OP to point to that same article as supporting their point! If goyim are using the colonization of Palestine to argue that Jewish folks need to be "sent back to Poland", particularly in a way that frames them as either "white colonizers" or "brown enough to be Basically Indigenous", that's erasing Palestinian voices & working against decolonization efforts just as much as the zionists arguing that decolonization would be a violent displacement (or genocide) of Jewish people.

[a-ring-over-troubled-ding]

@madredhattie and I discussed a Ratchet and Clank AU a few days ago, and the suggestion that the twins would be Nethers really clicked for me. While most of what I have to say is summed up above, there are some extra notes below, too.

No one has any idea which of the twins is actually older. The current state of things is a guess, and the odds are 50/50.

Due to their skin coloration and the spots on their faces, they're often mistaken for hybrid or mutant Markazians.

Their coat tails are holograms projected from their vests-- that way nothing gets snagged in a firefight.

Ingo only wields one weapon at a time; Emmet almost always dual wields. Often, this means that he's providing cover while Ingo takes a decisive shot.

For the Deadlocked plot in my head, they were both targeted for DreadZone, but Ingo was able to assure Emmet's safety and, therefore, was the only one captured.

During this fight, they accidentally caused a temporary rip into the Netherverse, allowing something to slip through, unnoticed.

This tear is actually to blame for Ingo's resultant amnesia, but the assumption is that he hit his head during transport.

Even somewhere where dual wielding is the norm, he will not do it; he's also unable to work with support warbots, because the balance feels off.

This would put him at a disadvantage, but the juvenile Nether following him around has had an additional effect on him: awakening the racial ability to teleport, which helps to even the odds. He just assumes he's always been able to do that.

Nobody knows the Nether is there for a long time. Eventually, it gets put into an expended ammo box to help it survive in their dimension.

Ingo's primary support team consists of Irida, a Cazar working tech/communications, and Sneasler, a robot who works on any damaged equipment and handles upgrades. (Neither of their designs is final; it was just midnight and I wanted to get my thoughts down.)

A lot of people know who Ingo is, and have tried to help him remember, but it just won't stick. It's assumed this is due to a (nonexistent) head injury, but it's the Nether interfering again.

While he's a very popular Gladiator-- the most popular, by ratings-- he's rarely seen on Vox News. His static expressions and upbeat demeanor make it hard to get under his skin, so the (lack of) outrage isn't worth the air time.

The twins reunite during the game's climax, but wouldn't be able to escape the station if not for the juvenile Nether, which temporary pulls them into the Netherverse to traverse an impassable path in their dimension.

After the game, they help to get everyone who'd been displaced home. This is what introduces them to working in transportation.

Not retired, but on indefinite sabbatical until they've recovered. They work with grav trains.