#or “oh this is a community we work all together there are no discriminations this is a safe place to learn and improve”

[autumn-applepie]

University ever pushes you so low you have to go buy a couple of beers? /srs/neg

I'm gonna vent in the tags for a moment humor me for once /gen

[brights-place]

Trollex X Rapper! S/O

Pairing: Trollex X S/O

Warnings: Lots of Fluff

A/N: Okay my first ever thought today to get me distracted was listening to music so I just shuffled some songs form one of my playlists and a rap song was playing while I was writing and I was like ‘Oh shit I gotta write this!’ Now here we are!

- Trollex with a Rapper! S/O YIPPEEE it was so fun to write this

- When you first met Trollex asked you all about your genre listening to how you explained everything and told him that a rapper is a musical poet technically your job was blending rhythm and rhyme to express stories, emotions, and ideas. They craft lyrics, hone their flow, and perform with energy that captivates audiences. Rappers often reflect on personal experiences or societal issues, becoming voices for their communities like what you did

- He couldn’t stop being interested in you after that and get pulled in more when you rapped into the microphone to show him an example with an random beat he gave

- He can’t help but raise a brow at you sometimes when you rock up to the studio and wait for creativity to strike, usually spending all night to work on your music he gets worried sometimes and tells you to relax and have some fun with him at the Techno reef Parties

- He would definitely make beats for your song and let you freestyle your way with the music he had given you.

- He love sit when you rap especially when you insult someone in an rap battle he finds it funny to see your smirk or smile

- He loves when you write and perform some of your rap songs or hip-hop music.

- He hates how your genre was criticised though sometimes… scratch that he hates when anybody discriminates and insults someone’s genre or music (it’s technically their race in Trolls)

- He loves you with all his heart but can’t help but notice how you and Prince D would vibe to hip hop together and rap he’s jealous of your bond since your technically in the same music genre even if your appearance was different your genre was the same

- Trollex though loves when you share your earbuds/headphones with him to show him some New rap songs or hip hop music you enjoy fucking falls in love with you all over again

- He had tried rapping once since you begged him to do it he was good like REALLY GOOD

- That mother fucker was good at it… not as good as Bruce though that man could go off (Bruce is VA is the guy who played my favourite character in Hamilton Marquis de Lafayette and Thomas Jefferson. NEHGEHE)

- He glows and has an bigger smile when you praise him as he quickly tackles you into an hug and snuggle into you which leads up to you holding him close to your chest and rubbing his back as he sleeps on your peacefully

- Trollex can’t help but admire how you hold your mic and go off at anybody or just have fun with it

- He loves how you send out messages through your rap speaking up and talking about issues and your own experiences while on stage.

- You know how I said he makes your beats? Well you also come by to his place and surprise him with an rap you wrote out of boredom without realising and asked if he could help make an beat for it

- he did and it was sold so fast 😭

- Trollex loves when you sing normally though even if you rap all the time he loves when you just sing in an slow pace and wants to dance with you slowly even if both of you were used to the loud techno and hip hop music

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[azulera]

Sweet Like Açai

Pairing: TAA x Black Reader

Summary: He’s still raw from a rough break-up, his club is trudging through a mid-season slump, and somehow Trent still develops a fat crush on the server at Merseyside’s newest smoothie place.

Notes: this will be my last story for a while, but it is a longer one, and who doesn't love wingman curtis and flustered shy trentski 😃 here is chapter 1, but all other chaps will be posted on ao3. pls enjoy and do tell me what you think!

—————————————————————————

The new café that Curtis suggests is only a 15-minute drive from AXA, so after their last meetings and quick showers they take off in his Range Rover and make it there in ten. The owner, he says, is a friend of the Jones family, a former footballer who took the constant chiding of his nutritionists to heart and built a second career from it, and Curtis promises Trent that it’s the best combination of chilled fruit, yogurt, granola and whatever other superfood magic that he’s ever tasted.

But it’s not that Trent needs the backstory that his teammate gives or really much convincing at all - after training his stomach feels as big and empty as a house, and, even still, he figures he deserves it. The past months have been less than kind to him, and closer to brutal: the team’s performance has continued to nosedive in what by Liverpool standards was already an aggressively average season, and he’s still deciding if he’s moved on from the mutual but still painful breakup with his long-term girlfriend two months ago. “Self-care” is a foreign thing he’s been trying to practice at the insistence of his mum and Hendo, since they claim it’s okay to let himself have nice things, to not always push harder when the going is already tough.

A quick, sugary pick-me-up can’t possibly do too much more damage.

A little bell chimes as they step in the door and the air that greets them is pleasantly cool, and sweet. Dark purples and greens blend with browns and oranges on the walls in a swirling pattern, and rustic wood tables with high stools are arranged in rows from one side of the space to the other. There’s a couple sat together at a spot near the window, twin purple cups in front of them, and a single, serious-looking man on a laptop near the back, but the line to order and the self-serve kiosks are both empty. Curtis walks up to the counter, as in any room, like he lives there, and has been there a million times.

“The açai one’s gonna blow your mind, lad, I swear to ya. Plus, the place is Black-owned and that, supportin the community.”

Trent laughs once before settling his hands in the pockets of his sweats and looking up to the menu. There are too many options, really, but at the moment his stomach is non-discriminating.

“Yeah, it better. Won’t shut up about it, you. What’s good- the bowl or smoothie?”

“Hold on – Y/N? Is that you?”

Trent’s question goes unanswered, and smothered by the sound of Curtis’ yell. His voice lifts across the space, shouting the unfamiliar name another time, and again Trent is astounded by just how loud his teammate’s voice can be. That level of volume is helpful on the pitch but embarrassing in public, and Trent feels the eyes of at least one of the patrons on them.

“Curtis? Curtis Jones? Oh my days, one second–”

The ceramic counter holding the ingredients curves around into a small kitchen entrance on the left, and from where he’s standing, Trent can’t see what, or whoever it is that Curtis sees. But the mutual excitement in the voices can’t be missed.

“No way! Get over here!”

Curtis shouts, bouncing on his toes. A moment later, a blur of movement in the shape of a girl flies in from the kitchen, and has Curtis pulled into a tight hug. His teammate reciprocates, and Trent can see his shoulder muscles working to tighten the squeeze, even with the width of counter between them.

“Long time no see, Curt. Was starting to think you were something we dreamed up, only ever see you on the telly.”

Trent can soon confirm the voice does belong to a girl, and on the first glance he gets of her face it is slightly squished against Curtis’ shoulder, but painted in a look of open, undisguised surprise and happiness. It’s the kind of strong emotion he would only ever show on the pitch, almost never in a public place like this, and it almost feels like too much to witness such vulnerability from someone he doesn’t yet know, and who’s heartfelt reunion he seems to be third-wheeling on. He would look away, but his eyes betray him and zoom in, already busy taking inventory without consulting him first.

They start at her skin, which is glowy and smooth, and the same color he likes his tea, on the off day where he does drink a cup. He thinks it’s probably poor to compare a woman to a beverage, in fact, he knows it is, but blames it on his grumbling stomach and moves on. His gaze locks next on her lips, because she and Curtis are speaking again, loudly.

“Could say the same to you, can’t I, been ages since I’ve seen ya! And I’m loving the hair.”

“Yeah, wanted to try something different. It’s been a few years since I’m growing them.”

Her hair, Trent notices when he pulls his eyes from her face, is in locs like his, but lighter brown with amber highlights strewn throughout. They swing about her shoulders as she moves, so that she regularly has to push the strands back behind her ears, away from her face. The familiarity of the movement triggers a thing in his brain that yells “Me too!”, and his eyes travel the rest of her, suddenly hungry to find more things he recognizes. The first are her eyes, which are a warm, chocolatey brown, maybe two shades lighter than his own. The close second is that he finds her unpredictably, and undeniably attractive.

That feeling inside him that went dormant two months ago starts to fidget.

“How is everythin, though? Uni? And how’s the fam?” Curtis asks.

The two of them continue catching up with excitement that hasn’t yet worn off, and Trent stands to the side, trying not to intrude and trying not to be awkward. In a way he hopes is sly, he continues scrutinizing her features while intermittently looking at his shoes, up at the artsy menu board where the offerings are, impressively, engraved rather printed, and briefly at his phone.

He should, he supposes, listen politely to their conversation, try and contribute, but in truth he only checks back in after a loud burst of laughter. She's covering her mouth with one hand, and Curtis is straightening up from being almost doubled over.

“Whoo, I had nearly forgotten about that, you know! Your brother used to be absolutely mad. But hey, I was round here last week and didn’t see you. Are you workin here now?”

“Yeah, I am.” She pulls at the cafe emblem on the corner of her mauve t-shirt. “I’ll be working the front end of things while we’re still small. Only been at it a few days now, but Dad’s made sure I’m working hard.”

“I don’t doubt it, but you tell the big man he ought to hire some more staff, ‘cause me, I’ll be telling the whole city about this place. Dragged Trentski here as soon as I could, just to show him. Me first convert.”

The sound of his nickname evaporates whatever was left of his distraction, and he steps forward a little, as if finally being invited into the conversation. He looks up and finds she’s looking back at him.

“Alright?” She asks, smiling. “I’m Y/N.”

She waits for him to introduce himself even though if she’s a friend of Curtis and a footballer’s daughter, she surely knows who he is. Or does she? Either way, he decides he likes her for it.

“I’m Trent. Nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, too, Trent. Let me get Curt situated and then I’ll be right with you, yeah?” She smiles again, and it isn’t one of those plastic, forced customer service smiles, but one that lasts, like she means it. The light from it floods her eyes, and makes them even shinier, independent of the artificial lighting buzzing above them. In it’s glow, his chest does that stupid thing where it feels filled up with too much air.

He watches as she moves down the line and makes his teammate’s bowl with laser focus, trying to guess if what he’s sensing is just politeness, if her smile lasts as long every time. When the flash of white does appear behind her lips again, and twice more before she calculates Curtis’ total at the register, he gets too distracted by it to count the seconds.

“What would you like?” Too quickly she’s in front of him again, hands poised around a brown paper bowl.

“Em, yeah,” He clears his throat. “A bowl, please. Not a smoothie. The açai one?”

“Good choice.” She nods, while scooping portions of the purple fruit-yogurt mix into the container. “Any special add-ins for you today? Plant protein, energy, antioxidants?”

The health-food buzzwords set off signals in his head, and he gives the answer that would make his nutritionist proud.

“Need all of it, honestly.”

She laughs again, but it feels different this time, since he’s the one who made it happen, not Curtis.

“Good boy. Bet your nutritionist loves you. Which fruits?”

Trent freezes a second, affected in equal amounts by the “good boy” and the feeling that she’d read his mind. She pushes the right side of her locs back behind her ear in the silence.

“What about banana? It goes really well with the açai.” She offers.

“Yeah, banana’s good.”

She nods again and uses metal tongs to arrange the pale yellow pieces artfully over the yogurt. He goes on, choosing available fruits from the names listed on the clear glass shield, and trying not to stumble, again. The bowl gradually fills up, and it’s a smooth exchange – it’s much easier to do this, to talk and focus, he realizes, when her face is turned down – until they reach the last two options.

“Pineapple?”

“Em, nah, no pineapple, it-” The next bit of information he adds not because it’s particularly important, but because their interaction is almost over, and he doesn’t want it to be. “-makes me tongue feel—��

“All tingly? Yeah, that’s a thing!”

Her eyes light up as she exclaims and to Trent it seems her face sudddenly changes over — there’s more color in her cheeks, and vibration in her voice. But maybe he’s imagining it. She flits the tongs through the air as she continues.

“There’s an enzyme in pineapple, bromelain, that breaks down proteins, and you’ve got a bunch of those on your tongue and cheeks. It’s what makes it so acidic, and makes it burn a little to eat, but it’s interesting, cause, bromelain is also really good for you? Helps treat inflammation, and indigestion-“

“Not now, Y/N, just give the lad his food! If he wanted a lecture he would have gone uni with you.” Curtis teases from near the register, looking up from where he’d been on his phone, waiting. She graces him with a beautiful and dramatic roll of her eyes, but when she turns back to Trent they’re sincerely apologetic.

“I get a little carried away with the nutrition thing, forgive me. It’s nice to have Curt here, though, to keep me humble. Coconut?”

Trent wants to say, “No, it’s okay, I don’t mind it” but all he manages is a kind smile. He could care less now if she adds the shredded bits of white to his order or not, but he wants her to keep looking at him, for the excited glow on her face from when she’d mentioned food science to return.

“Em, yeah. Thank you.”

Minutes later, their bowls are bagged and paid for and they’re heading towards the door, fond words of parting on all their lips.

“You all come back, okay?” Y/N probes, pulling out from another Curtis, cross-counter hug. “And I’ll tell me brother and Dad you came in, Curt, they’ll be buzzin.”

“Oh for sure, I’ll send him a text as well. It’s been so nice seeing ya.”

“Same. And hope to see you again, too, Trent. Not just on the telly.” She waves at him, more a wiggle of her fingers, and it should look silly but somehow it isn’t. He wiggles his own back, and hopes it works for him too.

In the car, they dig in, setting aside the plastic lids unceremoniously on the dash. Curtis is obnoxious about the cleanliness and quality of many things, his clothes, trainers, and phone screen, but strangely his car isn’t one of them.

The bowl Trent ordered turns out to be far better than average. The yogurt is perfectly tart and tangy, the fruit crisp and juicy and the açai deliciously purple. He still hasn’t got the girl from the counter, Y/N, out of his head.

He’s four bites in when he finally asks the question bumping around his brain the past five minutes.

“How’d you know her again?”

“Who? Y/N? Her brother’s me mate. She was a year older, but we all grew up together in Toxteth. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Do you fancy her?”

“No-what lad?” Trent screws his face his up, unsure how indignant he truly is, and though he saw the question coming. Curtis only shrugs.

“I said, do you fancy her? I saw your face while yous was talkin, and you almost never ask after girls. Just pull with your mind games or telepathy or whatever it is you do.”

Trent gets a mouthful of coconut to formulate his answer, and the taste makes his stomach feel funny. He remembers why he doesn’t usually go for it.

“No, I mean, I think she’s good-lookin, yeah, but I don’t fancy her. Don’t even know her.”

“S’not hard to change that- I could put in a word for ya. Know she’s real busy, real serious about school and that, but you’re you, innit. Trent Alexander-Arnold. Be mad not to go for it.”

Trent lets the drama of Curtis’ compliment slide off him with a shake of his head. But the “you’re you” sticks; it’s what he’s been telling himself the two month’s he’s been girlfriend-less and on a season high not-winning streak, sitting middle of the table with indications to fall. He’ll keep on repeating it, or hearing it repeated to him, until it feels true again.

“You don’t feel weird about that? Since she’s your mate and all?”

“Why would I? You’re both sound people, better than sound. And if chattin to her gets rid of that kicked-dog look you’ve been wearin the past month, brother, I’ll plan the weddin.”

“I haven’t been— there won’t be-“ Trent splutters, before resigning to the chaos that is his closest teammate and friend. “I’ll keep the offer in mind, lad. But let me finish me smoothie bowl first, yeah? Let’s start there.”

“Okay, okay. You’ll remember I told you so.”

Trent keeps eating, lets Curtis switch the subject, and it's not until he’s home, scrolling the lists of Liverpool-based Instagram profiles containing the name “Y/N”, that he questions just what would be the subject of his friend’s “I told you so” — Y/N or the smoothie. He decides to treat him to another one tomorrow to find out.

[bengiyo]

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat 2 Eps 17-20 (Finale)

Last week gave me everything I wanted and more. The whole squad went over to Yako's place for a curry party and everyone had a great time. Later, Nagumo got a diagnosis for her condition and got to have personal time with Yako. Kasuga and Nomoto continued to work on their communication and making sure they aren't trampling over each other. They're continuing to work on this move. Seriously, we had a curry party and a s'mores party last week. We planted strawberries together. Let's finish this.

Episode 17

Looking for housing is so stressful. I was wondering if we'd get into housing discrimination in this.

Red beans in Japan are different from what we eat here. Theirs carry a naturally sweet profile that doesn't mesh well with creole cooking.

I feel like those beans needed to boil longer, but that's me thinking in my home cooking terms.

Yes, ladies, tell each other how happy you are to see each other.

@furritsubs thank you for the note about Azuki beans.

I'm really enjoying the way they're handling this situation. The realtor wasn't trying to be homophobic, but the systems he was upholding with the landlord references reinforces the status of same sex households. I also like that they acknowledged how circumstances closet people in ways that hurt them. This is good payoff from the news bit we saw earlier in season with Kasuga.

Getting a tasty treat in before going back into the fray is so valid.

Kasuga being even more affectionate about Nomoto's food now that they're dating is exactly what I wanted.

Episode 18

Oh fuck yeah, let's continue to unpack how structural homophobia makes people scared to share something that should be a joyous occasion.

Amused that Yako is the primary person using Nomoto's given name.

Are we going to have a takoyaki party next??

COME THROUGH, YAKO!!! You gotta help your folks get through this bullshit, but never let them forget that it's bullshit!!

I am relieved that we checked in with Ms. Fujita about divorcing her husband at the same time as we're working through LGBT housing issues. Single divorced women likely also face huge challenges in housing when marriage is the goal we're being pushed into.

Wow, Sayama, you are in contention for the Yihwa Best Girl Award this year. You are an ally. Love the way she examined how what she said might have been hurtful.

Feeling like you somehow failed because you didn't get married in your 20s is so real. I sometimes struggle with this in my 30s.

This show uses its characters to illustrate its political points in a way that feels gentle and accessible, but also carries a sense of urgency. Women are facing extreme reproductive pressure right now, and it's clearly not making those who don't already want husbands and children happier. Hell, it's making them resentful to the point of divorce as they get older.

Hold on. Gotta cry a bit about Nomoto telling Kasuga that being told outright that hiding who they are upset her made her feel better got me.

Episode 19

Takoyaki Party let's goooooo!!!

A party where you cook together like this is always so much fun. We had fun with some friends' kids a few weeks ago teaching them how to make pancakes and letting them add their own toppings before, during, and after cooking.

Nagumo managed to enjoy a bite of food with them. Hold on. Crying again.

We've seen takoyaki a few times lately, and I am very impressed with this cooker.

Yako, tactful as always, is gonna check on Nagumo. I love her.

This is so important. Couple formation does affect the friends around them, and I'm really glad Yako let Nagumo voice that she supports her friends even as she knows she's going to miss the dynamic they've had. Yako is so right to point out that a change doesn't mean it's over, and their friendship will last if we all continue to reach out.

This realtor scene is so good. I like how politely she asked for them to disclose their relationship with the express purpose of securing ideal housing, and we're getting into how the financing of housing can affect people's privacy. She's also owning that landlords can discriminate against couples. I also appreciate that their meeting room was private.

I'm ready for the moving in party!

Episode 20

They got the house!!

A crab cream croquette party!!!

Wait, where's Nagumo? I wanted her to try a croquette too!

We are on the bed together. This is not a drill.

Yes, let's acknowledge that they have liked each other since season 1.

The intimacy question is on the floor!

They are finally hugging!

NOW KISS!!!

That was very sweet, and felt right for them. I'm glad they had that moment in the old place before they moved.

Cried because of Ms. Fujita and Nagumo possibly getting hired.

So glad Yako and Nagumo are still hanging out! That's really how some friends groups will be. Two people will just gel at a party and grow close.

Oh hell yeah we're at casual intimacy now.

I'm so excited to see where the TV goes next season!!

Oh my goodness Kasuga is wearing a lighter sweater!!!!!!

Final Verdict: 10, Go Watch This Immediately and Then Show it to a Friend. Seriously, do not make excuses for yourself. You owe it to yourself to watch this show. Between this, Ossan's Love Returns, and What Did You Eat Yesterday? coming back, we cannot stop supporting our shows about older people getting together and forming their own forms of family. This show built on the foundation of its first season and made every little detail feel so potent and impactful. I did not expect the pen pal to grow into a trusted confidant and core member of this friend group, nor was I expecting the women at the supermarket to help Kasuga as much as they did. This season was excellent, and will be joining WDYEY on my comfort watch rotation.

Big thanks to @furritsubs and friends for making this watch possible.

[roabythecow]

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Well, I gotta secret to share with you...

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Eh?

That image looks edited? What—Er... 🤨🕶️👌 😑🤳

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[tranquilpetrichor]

i'm inside your head

synopsis: y/n's ability to read minds with a simple glance and communicate telepathically gets them into some interesting situations.

cast: fem telepathic!reader (uses she/they) x gyuvin ft. gunwook & ricky

genre: fantasy, superpowers!au, angst, comedy, fluff

wc: 2.8k (2,845)

warnings: mentions of crowd anxiety, reader has a period, cursing, descriptions of illness, mentions of discrimination against people with powers, brief mentions of family members insulting each other, people y/n isn't close with tend to use only she pronouns with y/n so fair warning, touching grass jokes, events of fic are in non-chronological order, this attempts to go by the korean high school system, lmk if i missed anything

a/n: first zb1 fic and it was kinda a word dump stemming from one of my crazy ideas LOL. the inspiration from this series came after seeing the character nahida (from genshin) and her ability to read the mind of any sumeru npc with her skill. i also thought it'd be kinda cool to explore the different scenarios that y/n could get themselves into if they could do that.

if you were to go back and ask six-year-old y/n what superpower they would have wanted, they would excitedly have said, "mind reading! it's so cool to know people's thoughts!"

the eighteen-year-old version of you knew better than that, though. since the age of seven, your abilities had only continued to develop, and if you tried enough, you could communicate telepathically with people.

telepathy's fucking annoying sometimes. but it has its perks too.

you can recall many anecdotes, ranging from humorous to depressing to gross, that were the consequence of your telepathic abilities.

1. so he does have a crush..

year 2 of high school

if there was one thing you learned today, it's that kim gyuvin was not great at hiding his thoughts.

when you wanted to focus, it was natural for you to suppress your mind's tendency to peer into the minds of others, but depending on how active their thoughts were, it was difficult.

so that was how you learned in your science class that your cute lab partner wanted to ask you out, but never had the chance to really talk with you until now.

that was all accompanied by a cascade of other thoughts like y/n's such a talented student, I'd love to even be friends with them, and that's a cute necklace.

hm, kinda cute, you thought to yourself. truth be told, you were a little hesitant to make the first move romantically, but a tiny little push couldn't hurt, right?

you innocently whistled while scribbling down a few more notes—you couldn't make it too obvious that you knew his secret. but since the two of you had to make a joint presentation presenting your findings from today's lab, you figured that it would be a lot easier if you exchanged contact information with him.

and hey, he was cute.

you tapped gyuvin on the shoulder and smiled, showing him your lab paper with your personal info written in the right-hand corner.

"i’ve finished this part of the worksheet—here's my number and kakao talk id so we can talk more. let's work hard on the presentation together!"

his lips formed an o of surprise, and you swore that he was blushing. "alright then! uh, thanks for giving me your info!"

AHHHHH wait wait wait oh my god what just happened was all you could hear in his mind. a subtle smile bloomed on your face. science class just got a lot more interesting.

2. a (mostly) clean separation

year 1 of high school

you actually didn't enjoy telling people about your abilities. it wasn't that people with powers were so uncommon (you forgot the exact figure, but you thought it was about 2 percent of south korea's population that did).

no, it was the specific nature of your abilities. people tended to make assumptions about you as soon as you trusted them enough to drop this info.

it was as if you were suddenly someone not to be trusted, even though you were acting no differently than you had before.

although, their assumptions were understandable. you couldn't say you had never abused your abilities for personal gain, but it was something you didn't want to make a habit of.

revealing to your friend, gunwook, your secret had caused a minor but turbulent period of conflict in your friendship.

he clenched his fists and released them with a sigh. "how did i not connect all the dots? i'm hurt that you've kept this from me for so long."

6 months was a long time to keep a secret, but you were cautious by nature. you knew that not everyone liked people with superpowers, and that some still faced discrimination and greater scrutiny.

besides, you wanted people to get to know you for things outside your powers.

"i'm sorry, gunwook. i had my reasons. i thought you would judge me harshly, and i've had several negative experiences of this happening."

you paused to catch your breath, and continued, trying to silence his troubled thoughts, but it was getting increasingly more difficult. you held a hand to your head.

"look, i'll understand if you want to stop being friends."

he grabbed his water bottle and drank some of the liquid, presumably to calm down. he was facing away from you, and let out a sigh.

gunwook was actually quite level-headed most of the time, which was why it pained you to see him trying to hold back signs of emotional distress.

"y/n, i don't want this to ruin a great friendship. it's just, i have to take time to think about how my perception of you has changed. i don't want to say anything i might regret. this is a... personal issue."

if it was personal, you weren't going to pry. it was up to him to decide if and when he would tell you.

you got one final glimpse of his thoughts before he bid you goodbye.

"not a monster.. they're not a monster. they're not..."

as he walked away, all you could hear were the autumn leaves crunching beneath his feet and the wind that drowned every noise out so easily.

3. the donut order

year 2 of elementary school

there was no better feeling for you as a kid than the chance of getting a treat after school, and since you had quite the sweet tooth, there was no better place to go than the donut shop.

"which one do you want?" your mother had said, gesturing to the display case of donuts. back then, you could barely see the whole thing, so you had to stand on your tippy-toes.

your gaze settled on one particular flavor. "chocolate, please!"

"you got it, kiddo."

your mother's thoughts were creeping into your mind. this had happened a few times before, but now, they were clearer.

i think i should try something new. lemon sounds good. oh, i'll get another donut for him too, maple. i'm sure hayoung won't mind an oreo. shoot, i don't think i have enough reward points. maybe next time.

"mommy, i think you're getting a lemon donut and bringing back a maple for daddy, and an oreo for hayoung!"

she nodded, but her eyes soon widened with surprise. "yes, that's—wait, how did you know? we'll talk about this later."

you wondered if you had said anything wrong, but quickly returned to the thought of getting a donut.

the employee working the counter was busy refilling certain sections of the display case and seemed to give no indication that she had heard the conversation between you and your mother.

"miss?" your mother asked politely, and the employee looked up. "i'll get one maple, one lemon, one oreo, one chocolate."

"will that be all?"

"yes."

"okay, one maple, one lemon, one oreo, one chocolate," she repeated for confirmation, grabbing each flavor mentioned and placing them in a large box. "you can insert, swipe or tap your card here."

your mom took out her credit card and followed the instructions on the kiosk.

"would you like a receipt?" the worker asked.

"no, thank you."

"alright, thank you and have a good afternoon!"

you followed your mother out the door, watching her quickly stride towards the car. after both of you got in, she sighed.

"y/n, you've always been a pretty smart kid, but i wasn't exactly ready for you to be a mind reader. i'm pretty sure that's why you knew what i was ordering."

you grinned, eyes wide with curiosity. "so i can really read people's thoughts?"

she hummed thoughtfully. "well, let's make sure. i'm thinking of an animal right now, what is it?"

pink giraffe with wings. she should be able to sense that thought.

"a pink giraffe with wings... but that doesn't exist."

she sighed. "what am i going to do with you, my dear child?"

4. money before morals

year 3 of middle school

you were walking around campus after school, wanting to enjoy a few minutes to yourself. you had your headphones on, not wanting to be disturbed.

however, a figure began to approach you. as you took in his facial features, you suddenly recognized him.

that’s jeon jaebeom. his dad works for the school administration…

he walked in line with you, so you started walking towards a more crowded area to try and get away from him. you could hear him yelling.

“hey, wait! you’re the one who can read minds, aren’t you?”

you took off your headphones and glared at him. “ah, so someone was looking at something they shouldn’t have. keep it down, will you?”

he chuckled, and you wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face, even if it would get you in trouble.

“but you would be useful to me. i’d like for you to help me cheat on our next math test. see if you can get the answer key or something. i’m close to getting a c in that class, anyways.”

you groaned. what an idiotic request. “and why would i do that? so i can get expelled on your behalf?”

he shrugged. “because i’d pay you.”

you did a quick scan of his thoughts.

this bitch would be stupid if she actually did it.

hm, why not play around with him for a bit?

you looked at him quizzically. “how much?”

“100,000 won. you could probably buy a pretty nice meal with that amount.”

it would be useful, but i can't stoop that low to get it, you thought.

you laughed and pretended to thoughtfully consider it for a couple of seconds.

“i don’t think so.”

jaebeom glared at you. “what, you want higher? come on, isn’t this a good enough amount?”

you were truly annoyed and just wanted to blast your music again. why did you even remove your headphones, just to hear him say some nonsense? at least you were the same age as him, so he couldn't say something like "respect your elders."

it was time to go home.

“no, i don’t want your money, i want you to leave me the fuck alone. i’m not someone who stoops that low just to pass one test, but apparently someone thinks i’m a ‘stupid bitch.’”

he sneered and walked past you, shoving you as he did so. “fine. no one would trust someone like you anyways to help because all you’ll do is read their thoughts and manipulate them."

you staggered sideways, trying to regain your balance. you scowled.

really, you should have known better than to entertain a conversation with someone as spoiled as him. he shouldn't have soured your day, but in your defense, the middle school you was bad at picking the correct battles to fight.

still, you wondered if no one would trust you after all.

5. i'll be your destination

year 2 of high school

you groaned, trying to get up from your bed, and failing. usually, when your time of the month rolled around, the cramps weren't so unbearable, but of course, it had to be more painful than usual this month.

your sister had already gone off to school for the day, but your parents had allowed you to stay home, thankfully. they'd gone off to work, but they left soup that you could reheat in the microwave.

you grabbed a cup and filled it with water. you were bored, but you didn't want to risk getting any of your friends in trouble by texting them (seriously, how hard was it to silence a cell phone?).

although, there was one thing you could potentially try...

hey gyuvin, what class are you in right now?

you didn't expect an instantaneous response or one at all. then again, the more often you contacted someone telepathically, the easier the process was, and you would say you and gyuvin had developed a pretty strong bond.

oh, hi y/n! social studies. you sound like crap by the way, haha.

you could practically visualize his smile. if you had the energy and were with him in person, you'd playfully elbow him.

ugh, so mean.

you just thought of elbowing me, so who's the mean one? ok but seriously, are you sick? fever? your attendance is usually pretty good. or wait, it's that time of the month?

bingo. should i give you a cookie or something for getting it right?

no, but you could give me a kiss...

you smiled. he always got away with cheeky remarks like this.

what an idiot.

heard that.

hey, wait. you have work to do.

it was some boring worksheet and it's done, i swear. besides, i'd rather help you feel better. is there anything i can do?

you've learned that despite initially pegging gyuvin for a jokester, he was incredibly caring and emotionally receptive.

well, talking has already helped me so much. but if you really want to do something... then i want to hear you sing. it doesn't have to be long.

hey, if it makes you happy,

in your head, you heard his boyish voice, singing one of his favorite songs.

i'll be your destination, tell me your favorite song...

he continued the lyrics while you finished your soup, and you felt more relaxed. even the worst days could turn bright whenever he was in your mind.

6. don't spoil the ending!

year 3 of high school

watching dramas was a slow process for you, and it was another reason why you had to block people's thoughts sometimes.

because occasionally, a certain friend would be thinking about the ending of a show you weren't caught up on...

hey y/n.. guess who finished alice in borderland!

park fucking gunwook. i'm trying to finish this essay, don't you dare. and let me finish season 2 in peace.

come on, you're good at filtering out my thoughts anyways. i think you'll like it.

i have 4 more episodes to go. it's so tempting to just read spoilers online.

clearly, not god's strongest soldier—you should finish soon. honestly, we should have just had a watch party. gyuvin and ricky still need to finish season 1.

true. it's hard to watch a whole show together.

you typed another few sentences. perks of being busy, right?

despite that, you'd noticed that gunwook did manage to finish a few more dramas throughout the year.

being on student council sure does take a lot of time.

still, you get all the work done.

speaking of work, i'll leave you alone. finish the essay, and then we can talk about dramas.

fine, i guess it's time to be a good student.

yeah. but touch some grass every once in a while, i heard the cherry blossom trees are nice this time of year. i honestly think we should have debate club outside.

well, you're indeed the president, so you could probably do whatever you want. anyways, see you soon.

you laughed. nothing like friends telling you to touch grass, right?

quickly, you resumed your research for your argumentative essay, realizing how enjoyable (and yet distracting) it was to talk and reconnect with friends. maybe you'd have time to watch one episode tonight...

7. information overload

year 2 of high school

family reunions weren't always the greatest place to be. of course, there was a lot of good food, whether it was homemade cooking, or people used another catering option.

but the downside to a large family reunion was an abundance of thoughts to read, which was the case anywhere that was crowded. however, family reunions made you quite nervous.

people's thoughts began to creep into your headspace, the voices semi-recognizable.

she got so fat.

i wonder where he's working? some tech company, i've heard.

auntie's boyfriend is so ugly.

dinner looks good.

can we go home? now?

he'd better get into a sky university.

i hope the kids don't crash into the wall..

of course, it had gotten easier to block these thoughts out, but you could never get rid of them a hundred percent. people had more on their minds than you'd expected.

if your mind was too muddled, it just induced headaches and sometimes, other symptoms such as suddenly feeling nauseous. that's why you couldn't be in crowded places for too long, and you usually had some sort of water bottle with you.

damn, you thought. i need somewhere to be alone.

you tried not to invite conversation as you found your way to the bathroom, shutting the door quickly as you entered.

you sunk to the floor, leaned against a wall, and closed your eyes, glad to be able to rest, if only for a short while. a peaceful smile appeared on your face.

you'd long accepted that your experiences as an adolescent weren't ever going to be entirely normal, whatever that meant. your powers were a blessing and a curse, a gift and a tool for destruction.

of course, it was up to you to decide how you would use them in the future.

but as long as you had people in your life that accepted and cared for you no matter what secrets you held, you'd be alright.

[variousqueerthings]

From “There Is No Hierarchy of Oppressions”

I was born Black, and a woman. I am trying to become the strongest person I can become to live the life I have been given and to help effect change toward a liveable future for this earth and for my children. As a Black, lesbian, feminist, socialist, poet, mother of two including one boy and a member of an interracial couple, I usually find myself part of some group in which the majority defines me as deviant, difficult, inferior or just plain "wrong."

From my membership in all of these groups I have learned that oppression and the intolerance of difference come in all shapes and sexes and colors and sexualities; and that among those of us who share the goals of liberation and a workable future for our children, there can be no hierarchies of oppression. I have learned that sexism and heterosexism both arise from the same source as racism.

"Oh," says a voice from the Black community, "but being Black is NORMAL!" Well, I and many Black people of my age can remember grimly the days when it didn't used to be!

I simply do not believe that one aspect of myself can possibly profit from the oppression of any other part of my identity. I know that my people cannot possibly profit from the oppression of any other group which seeks the right to peaceful existence. Rather, we diminish ourselves by denying to others what we have shed blood to obtain for our children. And those children need to learn that they do not have to become like each other in order to work together for a future they will all share.

Within the lesbian community I am Black, and within the Black community I am a lesbian. Any attack against Black people is a lesbian and gay issue, because I and thousands of other Black women are part of the lesbian community. Any attack against lesbians and gays is a Black issue, because thousands of lesbians and gay men are Black. There is no hierarchy of oppression.

I cannot afford the luxury of fighting one form of oppression only. I cannot afford to believe that freedom from intolerance is the right of only one particular group. And I cannot afford to choose between the fronts upon which I must battle these forces of discrimination, wherever they appear to destroy me. And when they appear to destroy me, it will not be long before they appear to destroy you.

-Audre Lorde

From Homophobia and Education (New York: Council on Interracial Books for Children, 1983)

[jinmukangwrites]

Weep little lion man (2/14)

First-previous-next

Fandom: Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor Rating: T Warnings: kidnapping, minor discrimination of injury Ao3 Notes: update schedule for every Thursday somehow going strong. Hopefully I keep on track for next week.

Summary: After defeating Dagan Gera for a third and final time, the Compass ends up in Bode's hands without a scratch. He could go back to Jedha with Cal... but he's holding what he wants. He doesn't see the point in pretending any longer. He makes a split-second decision. Or: Bode's betrayal goes a bit differently.

-------

Bode told Kata to pack. Even as he walks into Denvik's office, he can hardly believe it.

He feels like he's living in a daze, walking in a dream. He... actually did that. He has the compass, Kata packing, Denvik none-the-wiser...

And Cal stuffed into the small storage compartment of his fighter jet.

That last one wasn't a part of the plan. The plan was to convince Cal out of giving the compass to the hidden path, or maybe go on a solo "scouting mission" with Cal to Tanalor and reveal everything then. What he just did was impulsive. Foolish. Once Cal wakes up long enough to process everything he's going to hate Bode, he's sure.

But it'll be worth it.

He'd rather have Kata lonely if it means she's safe.

He'd rather have Cal hate him if it means he's alive.

"It's not often you visit in person, Bode," Denvik says, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded neatly on the table. "Something must be important. Tell me, how's the mission? Good news I trust."

"Plans have changed," Bode says. "In our favor."

Denvik grins; predatorial, stomach-churning. "Do tell."

"Kestis had an argument with the rest of his crew," Bode begins the hastily put together lie. "He's planning on returning to Saw Gerrera to work off some steam."

"And how is this in our favor?"

"Cere Junda is not the only one you want, yeah?" Bode says, and Denvik's smile sharpens. "Kestis is in a position right now where he's cut communications with his friends. If he goes, let's say, missing, no one will notice until it's too late."

"That certainly is a development..." Denvik says coyly. "What was the nature of the argument?"

Bode shrugs. "Same thing that caused them to split in the first place. Kestis has made it his life's goal to resist the Empire, the others can't match the mindset. He thinks they're doing nothing, and he wants to feel useful."

"Interesting," Denvik says, "however, this could still be a risk to the operation. The Jedha invasion is not for a few more months, so much could go wrong in that time."

"We have to act soon," Bode insists. "A few months is risky, but he'll be back with Gerrera in a few weeks. It'll be impossible to get him after that, especially once he finds out about the assault on Jedha. Besides, I know what you plan to do with him, you might even be able to have an extra soldier for the attack. All I'm asking for is some... proper equipment for capturing a Jedi. I'm sure you have some Force resistant stuff."

"Oh I do," Denvik assures. "I'm still not convinced this is worth the risk, however."

"You want Kestis under your control don't you?" Bode asks perhaps a bit too coldly, but Denvik doesn't waver. "I'm close to giving you just that. Give me the things I need and he'll be your pet, not Vader's. Surely you know how useful a Jedi under your control is. Imagine having two."

Denvik doesn't say anything as one hand raises to his chin in thought. He stays silent for a few moments, before he looks Bode in the eyes. "And it will not affect the Jedha invasion?"

"On my word."

"And on Kata's safety?"

Bode bristles. "I wouldn't suggest it if that was in the question."

Denvik takes another moment, then he nods. "Very well. I'll see to it you have access to all the equipment you need. I expect results, and quickly."

"You'll get them," Bode assures, careful to not release a breath of relief quite yet. "Trust me, this'll go off without a hitch."

-o-o-o-o-

As much as he wants to, he doesn't go to Kata right away. It's been a long while since he's last seen her in person, but he has other things to do right now. What's a few hours added to weeks of waiting?

No one stops him as he travels through the halls of the ISB base, Denvik had already given orders to let him through without question. Various trooper helmets do watch him as he passes, however it doesn't bug him none. For all they knew, he's just another bounty hunter working for the IBS. For all they cared, he's just an order to follow.

There's no one in the supply rooms besides a few guards posted at the door, so he practically has the lines of shelves all to himself. He passes by the various stored weapons, armors, and tools until he gets to where the more useful stuff is. Restraints, ration supplies, survival gear.

He drops a duffle onto a nearby counter and begins gathering what he needs. He goes to the food supply first. He didn't get much from Zee's head about Tanalor, but he at least knows that there is local wildlife that are safe for domestication and consumption. The soil is good for plant growth, and even has local edible species of its own. The problem is that starting up a renewable food supply on an uninhabited planet would take time, so a few months' rations should do them just fine for the time being. Then, he goes to the gear, grabbing blankets and hydrophobic gear and some rope, first-aid.

He grabs other supplies here and there, things he doesn't quite know if he'd need but doesn't hurt to anyways. He only realizes as he's trying to stuff a fire-starter into his bag that he's... procrastinating.

He forces himself to look at the restraints. All shapes and forms stare back. Cuffs for various sizes of sapients. Collars. Muzzles. Some look quite simple, others look like they're made to be painful.

The sight makes him sick.

He's pretty sure the adrenaline was the only thing that made it possible for him to restrain Cal in the first place with his makeshift bindings. Somehow, imagining these... things... locked around Cal... it all feels so much more serious.

He almost wishes there was another way. That Cal didn't care so much. That Bode didn't care so much. He wishes Cal took the options Bode tried to give him. He wishes he never started to worry for Cal's well-being.

Most of all, he wishes that he could go back to his ship, untie Cal, and have Cal understand what he was trying to do here. The good he's trying to do. He doesn't want to restrain and imprison his best friend. The thought makes him sick.

But he has to do what he must. It's only a precaution. Once they're safe on Tanalor, then he can take the restraints off when Cal realizes the situation he's in. This is just to make sure he keeps secure until then, so that he won't attack Bode or stars-forbid Kata.

Kata.

Bode has to make sure Kata doesn't know about this quite yet either. When he introduces them to each other, he needs it to be under Cal's free will. Kata can't know about this, she's a pure soul and she might not understand if he shows her the unconscious body he has in the storage compartment.

He forces himself to move robotically, tactically.

He grabs the things strong enough to hinder a Jedi, and a few worst-case-scenarios. Before he leaves, he grabs a handful of tranquilizers, stuffs it in his duffle, then leaves before regret can catch up with him.

-o-o-o-o-

He's never been more glad for a private hanger to park his ship. There's no guards, no droids, to watch as he approaches his ship and double checks he parked it strategically enough to hide the cargo-hatch from view of the one camera located near the airlock.

Once he's satisfied nothing will catch him off guard, he approaches the hatch and stops to listen for a few loud heartbeats.

He hears nothing, no shifting, no shouts. Nothing.

He takes a deep breath, then opens the hatch.

The sight that greets him is like a punch to the gut. Cal is almost exactly how he left him; stuffed into the compartment, bound hand, arm, knee, ankle. He's curled up in a way that Bode definitely doesn't think would be comfortable, even for a guy half his own size, but it's the only way he could get Cal on the ship other than having the poor guy sit in Bode's lap as he flies. And well, considering how angry Cal might be once he's awake it would be a horrible idea to do that.

So yeah, the sight that greets him is a punch to the gut, but it's also exactly what he was expecting to see. His eyes are still closed, even.

That makes it a bit easier for Bode's sake-of-mind to place down his duffle and dig out various medical tools and a knife.

He begins by carefully cutting the makeshift rope around Cal's knees, however he pauses when Cal suddenly shifts and groans when Bode tries to get at the blaster wound.

He watched Cal's face, heart drilling into his ears, as Cal's eyelids squeeze and another grunt leaves his slightly parted lips. His arms tense... and then he falls still.

Bode knows how light of a sleeper Cal is, but he also knows what a blaster-grip to the forehead could do to a bastard. So either Cal is starting to wake up naturally, or his knee really hurts.

He considers his options but only for a moment. He can't have Cal waking up too early.

He reaches into the duffle and grabs one of the tranquilizers, bending his upper-body into the compartment to press the tranquilizer into the crook of Cal's exposed neck, just below the corner of his jaw.

The prick of the needle has Cal flinching, his breath catching as his eyes fly open.

Bode can't move as Cal startles, eyes flickering wildly. His hand is still under Cal's jaw, and it's like he's been frozen in carbonite as Cal meets his eyes for just a moment. His lips groggily move, his eyelids flickering and closing more and more each time as the tranquilizer takes hold.

"B-Bode..."

And he's out.

Bode stays still for a few moments before he releases a breath.

Get back to work, soldier.

He returns to working on Cal's knee, cutting away the rest of the bindings and some of his singed pants, rubbing bacta on the wound before wrapping it. He doesn't have enough light to see the full damage of the wound, but he'll get more time to check again later once they're on Tanalor.

Once they're on Tanalor.

Free from the Empire.

He swallows, the thoughts euphoric despite how his current actions feel like poison.

He moves on to cutting the rest of the bindings, taking some time to rub Cal's limp wrists where the bindings had dug into his skin before stepping back and... and reaching into the duffle to pull out a simple pair of silver Force-suppressant cuffs.

He takes a deep breath, then maneuvers Cal's arms back behind his back and locks them in place with two twin clicks. Then, it's just a matter of replacing the makeshift with the official.

Soon enough, Cal's arms are not only behind his back, but also his elbows are roped to his sides to prevent Cal getting his hands in front of him. His ankles are shackled, however this time Bode ties his legs together at the shins and thighs to avoid rubbing on the bandages with more rope. Bode feels horrible adding so many restraints, but he out of anyone should know what is needed to properly restrain a persistent Jedi.

Then, once he's no longer restraining Cal's limbs, he moves on to unbutton the collar of Cal's jacket and inspect the lightsaber wound. Even in the dim light of the compartment it doesn't look pretty. The edges of skin around the wound are blistered and irritatedly-red, too red for Cal's skin-tone. He doesn't see any infection, but if left untreated the possibility of one forming is likely. He would curse Dagan Gera's name as he spreads bacta across Cal's chest and tapes on bandages, but as his eyes travel down to his knee, then to his temple, he decides that now isn't the time for hypocrisy.

Not when everything feels so much like regret.

After securing the bandages on his chest, Bode finishes up by adding more bacta to Cal's forehead. He didn't break skin with the blow, but it is bruising. He doesn't think there will be a concussion to worry about but the risk is always there no matter how careful you are.

While spreading the bacta along Cal's temple—the wound he gave him—his eyes can't help but trail down to the constellations of topaz decorating his face. The freckles, Bode's sure, cover every square inch of his body, but seeing them up close like this is like seeing the entire Galaxy from space for the first time.

He blinks, then clears his throat despite no one, not even Cal, being there to witness the moment of... whatever that was.

Get it together Bode, he thinks, finishing spreading the bacta and wiping his hands off on a cloth before stepping back from Cal's prone form.

He looks down to the duffle then sighs.

One last thing.

Sitting neatly at the top of the duffle are two last restraints, though only one will have to be used. He doesn't know Cal's tolerance for tranquilizers, and while a single dosage should keep him out for twelve standard hours, the trip back to Koboh, to Tanalor would take just about that time if not longer.

He can't have Cal waking up and trying to shout while he's flying, not when Kata should remain ignorant of his presence for the time being. He fights off a wave of nausea as he lifts the Imperial-grade muzzle sized perfectly for the facial structure of humans and other sapients of similar build, meant to gag and silence. It latches behind his head, locking in place over his nose, jaw, lips, chin; shaped similar to a work mask or a mask for the sick and contagious, but the material is metallic and seals perfectly to the skin.

The second, Bode swears to himself, the second Kata is safely out of earshot on Tanalor, he will remove the muzzle and hopefully never find the need for it again. This is his best friend and he's demeaned him down to a beast, a wild feral mutt. He almost considers taking the muzzle off—his stomach hurts and it looks so wrong on him—but he knows he doesn't have any better options.

The second piece of equipment... the collar is programmed to recognize measurable shifts in the Force then promptly punish its wearer in the form of electric bursts. However the function isn't reliable, and the electric burns are brutal; the collar is more useful for its second purpose. There's a small compartment where the right corner of the wearer's jaw would be, where one could insert whatever drug, or poison, into the collar and have the collar itself track and administer doses on its own.

The collar's shock function doesn't sense the Force well, not as well as the IBS would hope, but the ability to administer hands-free sedation or depressants keeps a Jedi wearer subdued enough to not be able to use the Force advantageously anyways.

Bode grabbed it as a worst-case-scenario.

As useful as it would be to have more tranquilizers automatically put into Cal's system as Bode's flying to Tanalor as the first dose wears off, he doesn't want to humiliate Cal with the indignity of a collar, even when he's unconscious. He'd rather Cal come-to earlier than planned, but be silenced by the gag and too restrained to make much sound that way.

Besides, tranquilizers aren't fun to wake up from, let alone after multiple doses. Bode's also not sure when the last time Cal ate or drank was, and a second dose would knock him out far longer than what Bode would like.

As much as it looks like it, he doesn't want Cal to be miserable. If Bode had confidence Cal wouldn't try to fight back, take away the Compass and probably try to kill Bode in the process, then he would have gladly not even have considered going this far in restraints.

Cal can be angry with Bode. He can hate Bode. He can kick, scream at, fight, insult Bode all he wants. Kriff, he really could try and kill Bode. Bode deserves it; but he has a daughter to protect. Kata is number one. Bode will make sure nothing can hurt himself so nothing can hurt her. So, for now, until he and Cal can come to some sort of understanding or truce on Tanalor, it's going to have to be this way.

He stuffs the previously removed makeshift bindings into the duffle—so anyone who happens to be checking the camera for this hanger doesn't wonder why he has a bunch of torn up cloth—then seals the duffle. He pushes it into the storage compartment next to Cal's unconscious, restrained, muzzled form, and then forces himself to close the compartment.

He stares at the latch for a moment, letting out a breath he has no idea how long he's been holding.

Next step. He needs to move on to the next step. It's nearly impossible to turn his heels from the ship, like he's stepped in a puddle of tar dragged into the Saloon or into the Mantis by none other than the person he now holds captive.

But he turns anyway. Kata will need his help finishing packing up, then, they can go before Danvik is any wiser. Besides, there's two trackers in his pocket he needs to plant before leaving.

-o-o-o-o-

"I can't find Mookie," Kata whines, searching around the sofas and her little play corner.

Bode laughs quietly to himself. Seeing her again in person, to hold her in his arms, it's made everything worth it. That shame, the regret, the fear of losing his best friend, it's nothing compared to seeing her smile, or the way her nose wrinkles when she's thinking hard like her mother had always done, or hearing the frustration in her voice as she searches in all the wrong places for her favorite stuffed animal that usually always ends up in the same place.

Bode kneels under the central control board and lo-and-behold, there it is. He grabs the little plush and straightens back up, his fingers rubbing the soft synthetic fibers that make the orange halo of hair around the creature's blue head. He chuckles, stepping towards Kata before kneeling to be at her eye-level. "You know," he says, "I have a friend who looks like this."

Her nose wrinkles as she takes the plush into her hands. "On your super secret missions?"

He nods, crossing his arms and resting them on his forward bent knee. "Maybe you'll meet him someday."

Her eyes brighten at that, and his chest fills with warmth. She looks down at the plush and pulls on its horns.

He stands and ruffles her hair. "C'mon kid, we've got places to be."

She grins at him, then rushes back to her bag to finish packing her meager belongings. While she does that, he reaches into his pockets and pulls out two locator devices. He hadn't forgotten about them when he took Cal, and honestly he's not sure if one is able to be tracked without the other. Yet it doesn't hurt to have a backup plan. If any of Cal's friends survive whatever is about to happen on Jedha, then they'll come looking for Cal... if they're not already looking for him. If they manage to track these locators, it'll lead them to where he can kill two birds with one stone.

Denvik and the rest of Cal's crew would tear each other apart.

And Bode, Kata, and Cal?

They'll be long gone.

He places them both on the center console, going as far as to hook one up into it and allow it into the IBS system. If anyone's looking for the signal, it being connected to a minor IBS base should make it all the easier to track.

"Come on, princess," he says as he finishes his minor task. She zips up her travel bag and gives him a soft smile, clutching Mookie to her chest. "We got to travel one last time, okay?"

She nods. "Okay."

[loganofthenorth]

Just for fun I'm going to write what I'd do if I ever got a Netflix comedy special. I'm not a comedian but, let's say in an alternate universe where that is the case.

*Crowd floods in, takes their seats. Lights turn on. Speaker turns on.*

Speaker: Creatives, Nerds, and/or Weirdos, please put your hands together for (insert a somehow lower rank comedian that's opening for me)

LRC: Hey everybody, what's up!

*crowd cheers*

LRC: I said what's up, but y'all are down there. *over exaggerates looking down at the audience*

*audience laughs*

LRC: *also laughs* Finally, a crowd that's shorter than me. *let's say the comedian is either really short or really tall.*

*audience laughs*

LRC: *hyped* Are you guys ready for educational comedy?

*cricket noises*

LRC: *laughs and gives a reassuring expression to the audience* No, I promise it's really funny. Not even that educational, just a lot about mental health, disabilities, culture, and the queer community.

*a decent amount of the crowd cheers*

LRC: Alright now we're talking! Everyone put your hands- or paws, fins, etc. we don't discriminate here- for Lady of the North!

*crowd applauds and woos*

Me: *gets on stage and hugs lower rank comedian that I have never met before*

LRC: Knock em dead *pats me on the back and goes back stage*

Me: *goes centre stage and breathes into the mic for a moment*

Audience: ...

Me: Not literally, I hope.

*small chuckle in audience*

Me: I mean, call me Autistic, *gives knowing look and wink to the audience* but I'd be pretty concerned if that guy actually wanted me to knock you all dead.

*more laughter from the audience*

Me: Good, good, you like morbid humour. Good to know. Not saying my jokes are usually morbid, but, there is one about a house fire, so. *walks around the stage, fidgeting with the microphone wire*

Audience Member: *coughs*

Me: I like to talk to myself.

*small nervous laughter*

Me: *with false sympathy* Aw, did I make you all uncomfortable? *rolls my eyes in an over exaggerated way* Alright, alright, I see how it is. *continues walking around the stage* I'm Autistic, so I'm uncomfortable, like, eighty percent of the time. So.

*hesitant laughter*

Me: *stops waking* Ever been talking to a large group of people, *gestures to the audience*

*some people laugh*

Me: and they're all talking over one another? You can't hear any of them?

*sounds of confirmation from the audience*

Me: So you just scream: PLEASE, I BEG YOU, *falls to my knees in a pleading pose* SPEAK ONE AT A TIME!!!

*crowd laughs*

Me: *slowly gets back up with a knowing grin* You ever get that feeling, Toronto?

(Because of course I'm performing in Toronto)

*audience cheers*

Me: Good, good. See, now we understand each other. *continues pacing around the stage* Because I have that feeling- *stops walking, faces the crowd, big manic grin on my face* All. The. Time.

*nervous laughter*

Me: Oh yeah. *continues pacing and playing with the wire* Let's say I'm in a room, by myself. Or, maybe there's a couple other people there, minding their own business, we're all doing our own thing. Either way, I'm hearing the lights buzz and flicker, the heater or air conditioner run, machines going in another room, electricity in the wires in the walls, and every time Olivia and Marcy- those are the two people there with me- move a muscle or do anything I hear that too.

*Autistic people cheer and applaud*

Me: *knowing grin and stops pacing to face the crowd* Can anyone relate to that?

*Autistic people cheer louder*

Me: Good. Now for once we, the weirdos, are the ones with the power of knowledge! *raises hand up in an empowered pose*

*Autistic people cheer*

Me: And the neurotypicals, yes, they are the ones who must suffer. *evil laughs*

*crowd laughs*

Me: *acting like a normal person* So I'm sitting there, right?

*crowd chuckles*

Me: And I'm trying to get my work done. Let's say I'm writing a book, as one does,

*audience chuckles*

Me: And I come across a plot hole. *dramatic gasps*

*audience laughs*

Me: So I come across the plot hole, and what's a writer to do? *takes a tangle of yarn out of my pocket and tosses it on the floor*

*audience laughs more*

Me: I have to sit with this plot hole, *squats next to the yarn* And work it out. *starts untangling the yarn irritably, then suddenly looks up with an annoyed expression*

*nervous laughter*

Me: Shut up, Olivia. No one cares about your boyfriend not texting you back.

*crowd cheers and laughs*

Me: Can you believe that? Two girls whispering over there, you know, because they have lives and human relationships they can talk about their problems in a healthy way to.

*crowd chuckles*

Me: But not you. No. You have anxiety that makes you bottle up your problems, and then I vent it out to you.

*crowd cheers and laughs*

Me: So, since I know this is a me problem, not an Olivia problem, I don't actually say anything. *continues untangling yarn* I simply continue... untying... the... PLOT HOLE *screams*

*crowd laughs*

Me: *smiles at the crowd and blinks* But that's not all, Toronto. *stands up*

*nervous laughter*

Me: There are other people *points to my head* in here. It ain't just me.

*tense silence*

Me: What? *paces around the stage and acts like a normal person again* Why is that so scary? I simply have more people than just me in my head. Why do horror movies have to dictate that those people must be serial killers?

*a couple of laughs*

Me: I'm serious. I'm an OSDD 1B system. Self diagnosed, but I'm pretty damn sure that applies to me. *stops pacing* Which means that there are multiple people sharing our head, all with our own distinct personalities, but we all share memories. There's no black outs or amnesia barriers. So it's a lot easier to communicate with each other, but a lot harder to figure out who's fronting at the moment.

*silence to let that sink in*

Me: Currently the active alters we know about are: North (myself), Lucy, Lisa, Stacy, Magie, Brianna, Teresa, and Austin. None of them are serial killers, none of them are even that violent- except maybe Lucy but she has a lot of self control. She prefers to be verbally violent anyways.

*silence again*

Me: So, yeah. None of us would harm the body or anyone around us- unless we're having a trauma response, panic attack, melt down, or otherwise, but even then we're pretty good at avoiding it. None of us are serial killers, but damn are we annoying.

*audience laughs*

Me: *continues pacing* Back to the metaphor about the group conversation,

*audience slowly stops laughing to listen*

Me: Imagine that, playing in your head, all the time. Like, Brianna, I know you want to help Olivia with her problem and hopefully become friends. But we have our own problems to solve and- yes Magie that is what Lucy said. I know you think it's boring to work on this but- *marches forward with a stern look* Stacy put the anxiety away.

*audience laughs*

Me: *chuckles and continues pacing* So I have to baby sit my fellow alters all day.

*audience chuckles*

Me: *stops pacing and looks down* That's not true, Lisa babysits us.

*audience laughs*

Me: *looks up with a grin* So, anyways. *continues pacing* I need to get these guys to talk one at a time. *stops next to the yarn and squats down again to pick it up* Or we'll never fix this problem. *continues untangling* Which means, the only way I can filter out everyone's trains of thought so that I can actually problem solve, is to talk to myself out loud. Then only one person can speak at a time.

*a sound of understanding falls over the audience*

Me: *talking to myself* Okay, so Brianna wants to help Olivia with her problem so we can make a friend. Lucy wants to solve this plot hole. Magie wants to do something else. Stacy wants us to go skate boarding, even though that isn't something the body knows how to do.

*quiet laughter*

Me: So, we will fix this plot hole, wrap up the scene we're writing, then talk to Olivia and hopefully make a friend. After that, we'll go to the mall, buy a skate board and a few things Magie wants. Then we can attempt to learn skate boarding. How does that sound? Okay, good. *looks to the audience* The voices on my head agree to my compromise, Olivia leaves by the time we're done, we're burnt out so we go home and collapse and forget this ever happened the next day. *stands up and raises my hand in the air*

*audience laughs*

Me: *bring microphone back to my mouth* But hey. *holds up string* Fixed the plot line.

*audience laughs and cheers*

I'll continue writing this later. Let me know what y'all think so far!

[brojames-glorytogodvideos]

Trump's Crowd Now See Him As Suffering Savior

After his indictment on 34 felony counts, Donald Trump sought out a faithful audience, joining a conference call with professing "Christian" supporters. Trump’s longtime religious adviser Paula White, working with an evangelical group called Intercessors for America, organized an “Emergency Prayer Call” for Trump. The former president — whose recent legal troubles stem from an attempt to cover up an affair with a porn star — is revered as their champion. This crowd sees Trump as a demigod — a protector who is absorbing attacks that would otherwise befall the faith community. This is a perception Trump’s team has cultivated, both for faith followers and MAGA-world more broadly. It’s a kind of Jesus Christ thing. Trump is absorbing all this pain from all around from everywhere on behalf of his followers. Speaking on the conference call, Trump painted his legal woes as religious persecution. Quoting Trump, "Our beautiful Christianity is being discriminated against as a religion. And we can’t let that continue. I’m fighting very hard for people of religion, people that believe in God. I want you to pray really hard, because we have to have a victory in 2024.” Paula White then moved the call along, asking other prominent guests to make public prayers for the ex-president, who remained on the line. The speakers included Focus on the Family founder James Dobson and former congress member Michele Bachmann who prayed, quote, “Father, our President Donald J. Trump has taken the blows for us. Oh God, would you declare Donald J. Trump innocent?" This notion that Trump is a Heaven-sent human shield also surfaced in a similar conference call organized by the group called Pastors for Trump. During that gathering, Pastor John Bennett said, quote, "God has moved Donald Trump between us and the enemy — to give us a little bit of time to get our act together. They’re after President Trump. And thank God he’s been long suffering and he’s fought the good fight of faith. Thank God, he’s been obedient to allow the Lord to work through him. He, and the Lord, is the only thing between us and evil. That’s the only thing that’s right now stopping evil from overtaking good.” 

 Our website.. GloryToGodVideos.com

[crucifixes-and-chrysanthemums]

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

That's the clock counting down. 31 more hours of work at 7-Eleven till I'm finished. I'm excited for the new job, I really am. I think I'll fit in pretty well there. It'll be good to have a new start, too! Some fresh air.

I've also been doing some reflecting on myself lately. I think that I am asexual. Not entirely, but like, asexual adjacent. When I am in a good place mentally, I have very little sex drive. What makes me curious is that when I am in a bad place mentally, it's higher. Normally for most people, it's the opposite. I am asking around to see if this is the case for others. I wonder if it has something to do with trauma. In one discord someone said they have "used sex as a band aid for unresolved emotional issues and free dopamine," which I think makes sense. Perhaps that is at least part of it. It makes sense to me.

My mind has been much slower the past few days in a good way. Last week it was racing almost constantly and I have been pretty calm the last few days. This pleases me greatly.

I'm also putting myself out there again. I activated my Bumble profile again. Do I figure I'll marry someone off Bumble? No. But it's good to put myself out there, if for no other reason that getting "back in the game," to use an expression. Getting myself used to dating again. And I'm actually going to be discriminating in who and how I swipe, instead of just constantly right. I am above compromising. I am a good person who communicates well, good looking, funny, so on and so on. I am comfortable waiting and thus I am above compromising.

Regarding the Anh situation. It's unchanged, which is nice. Meaning we're still the best of friends and just so. I blame the full moon and weird weather for my behavior but in reality it's because I occasionally have bouts of needing validation, and I am a sap. In honesty I think I could be happy with her, but, and I mean this in a nice way, she's an option. Man, that sounds sort of shitty to say, but I don't mean it in a shitty way. I mean that I think we could be happy together, but we are not each other's one true partner or something. Besides, I do not think we have been lovers in every life we've known each other. She's back together with Erik, and I really do hope they work out. She seems happy with him.

I think that's about it. It's been a fairly uneventful weekend and whatnot, and that's the way I like it. Oh, I'll be meeting with Mike some time this week to discuss the Catholic young adult thing moving forward.

Three positive things about my day: my chicken sandwich was good and mom paid for it, I got to see grandma and grandpa who stopped by work to say hi, and my mindset has been positive all day.

Three intentions for the coming week: maintain my positive mindset, think more deeply about my sexuality, and make the most of my last days at 7-Eleven.

11:43pm, Monday, February 6th, 2023.

[elldritch-horror]

Oh I’m going to get cancelled all to hell for this, but fuck it.

It’s not just kink that we need to fight against the demonisation of. It’s any sexual or gender deviance. We need to stop abandoning our intersex siblings, for instance. We’re all very happy to confidently state that no one is giving infants gender confirmation surgery when the terfs talk about us ‘mutilating children’, but how many of us speak up against those exact same surveries carried out on intersex babies for no medically necessary reason? We need to stop splitting up into our bullshit, petty, little factions and stand together.

And, frankly, we should include people who experience sexual attraction to children. Not because we endorse violence against children — the overwhelming majority of sex crimes committed against children are NOT committed by people who experience sexual attraction to minors. It’s about power, or control. Remember what previous poster said about power and control? — most people with an innate attraction to minors never hurt anyone but themselves. Mostly, they’re so isolated by the fucking evil rhetoric peddled all over the place (under the good, old, ‘think of the children’ heading) that they can’t access any support whatsoever, and are so terrified that they might hurt a child, that often, they just kill themselves.

Now, do you feel any differently about how ready everyone is to say ‘all pedophiles should be killed’, knowing that mostly, they do die, but by suicide, and never having hurt anyone but themselves?

Yes, there are people with sexual attraction to minors who do hurt people. And they have pretty high rates of recidivism - but when literally everyone in your community would rather shoot you than give you the time of day, you’re not going to make good choices. Humans don’t function well in protracted isolation. From a harm reduction standpoint, we’re getting it all wrong.

Remember ‘born this way’? Well, however factually true it is or isn’t (personally, I’m on the side of queerness being a little more complicated than that), however much you feel that your sexuality is an innate, unchosen part of yourself, there but for a quirk of nature and nurture go all of us. Any of us could have been born, not just with a sexuality that is discriminated against, but one which you have no ethical way to act upon. Plus, as a bonus, if anyone ever finds out, then the absolute best you can hope for is to be non-violently shunned, even if you have never done anything wrong.

Remember, if we take the precise definition of pedophile as someone who experiences sexual attraction to children, then you could wipe every pedophile from the planet today, and do very little to change the rates of sexual violence against children. If you really care about children’s safety and well-being, then I’m afraid you’ve got much more complicated work ahead. It’s not as easy as just ‘shoot these people’. We need to dismantle a whole bunch of power structures, that let certain adults see certain children as their property, to do with as they choose. We need to build functioning communities, so children have lots of trusted adults in their lives to talk to (and y’all ‘abolish schools’ and ‘no one should ever speak to a minor they aren’t related to’ folks are Not Helping). We need quality, age-appropriate sex education, at all ages, so children have the context to know that these things are not supposed to happen and help is available in stopping them. Fuck it, while we’re at it, let’s dismantle capitalism, so parents aren’t frequently left with the choice of ‘leave child with an unsafe adult’ or ‘skip work and let your child starve’.

So just fucking block me now, if you like, but the next time I see y’all suggesting someone should be killed purely by dint of who they are innately attracted to, in the absence of that person ever actually having caused any harm, I know who I’m claiming as part of my queer community, and it isn’t you.

We need kink at pride because “kink” isn’t just kink. “Kink” is:

That boy wearing jeans that are too tight

Your neighbors and their “friend” that lives with them

Having a beard and wearing a skirt

Wearing any kind of choker

Literally anything else they decide goes against the “norm”, and it can be literally anything. That is why we need kink at pride.

[creacherkeeper]

so i’ve seen some people (mostly on twitter) say things like “oh everyone on the internet thinks theyre autistic” in ways that are mostly used to dismiss self-dx but i kind of wanted to talk about that for a second. so pardon the ramble 

disclaimer up front that i am super PRO self dx as someone who is professionally diagnosed, has done a ton of autism advocacy in leadership positions, and just started a new job working with autistic people in a professional social work capacity 

so there IS this stereotype of like. everyone in certain circles thinking theyre autistic because its like some sort of trend or excuse for certain behaviors. the people saying this are seemingly under the assumption that some/most of these people are NOT ACTUALLY autistic and are just claiming to be 

but here’s the thing. a lot of this happens in fandom circles. you know, fandom, a place where people talk at length about interests in a very deep and focused capacity where you can manage your social circle so most of the people youre talking to shares interests and wants to talk about them a lot? you know, online, that has a specific way of communicating that can be easier to read for someone who struggles with body language and where people wont subconsciously discriminate against folks who have othered body language and speaking? i’m saying that fandom is a place that inherently attracts neurodivergent people, especially autistic people who are more likely to be introverted (not all, i am a ~rare extroverted autistic~) and want to socialize more online where they have more control over communication and content 

also, autistic people are more likely to be influential in fandoms because they’re usually the ones sticking with fandoms for long periods of time and producing a lot of consistent content for it. if someone has been running a fandom-specific blog for years and has a hundred fics written for it (or gifsets or art or meta etc) i can guarantee theyre more likely to be autistic than any random person on the street. so you have a lot of autistic BNFs (big name fan) who are not only attracting other fans like themselves, but are sometimes making posts or reblogging things about neurodivergency and autism. which attracts MORE autistic people to their blog/fandom but ALSO is exposing non-dx’d people to what autism is who maybe wouldnt have encountered it otherwise. so people who maybe never wouldve gotten dx’d or self dx’d are now learning about autism in fandom spaces and going “wait thats me!!”. so having prominent autistic people is cultivating a circle of neurodivergence in fandom 

NOW before you come at me with like “but autism isnt that common!!! they cant all be autistic!!!” im going to argue that autism is WAY WAY MORE COMMON THAN MOST PEOPLE THINK IT IS 

when you hear these statistics like “1 in 60 people are autistic” (some recent stats say 1 in 54) THIS IS MISLEADING because it is mostly based on DIAGNOSED CHILDREN and not the actual prevalence of autistic people 

diagnosis is not only financially inaccessible and locationally inaccessible (i dont think thats a word but um. yeah a lot of people do not have diagnositicians anywhere near them) but diagnosis is also skewed heavily towards stereotypically-presenting white male children!! adults, AFAB/female presenting people, and people of color are MORE likely to get misdiagnosed and LESS likely to be diagnosed with autism even if they are autistic. plus, a lot of people get diagnosed later in life and wouldnt be included in statistics about children (i was dx’d at age 19 after seeking out a diagnosis myself against the wishes of my parents who never wouldve let me get evaluated had i been a minor. i am still autistic and should be counted.). not only that, but our diagnostic criteria is heavily biased towards how autism presents in DISTRESSED AND TRAUMATIZED individuals which means healthy and happy autistic people probably will not get a diagnosis from a professional even if they are autistic  

basically what i’m saying is we have no idea how prevalent autism is, but it is probably way way more common than people think, even going off of that “1 in 54 children are diagnosed” statistic. so taking into account that autism could make up a significant portion of the population, that we tend to group together even if we dont know we’re/others are autistic, AND that fandom/the internet is an inherently attractive model of community to autistic people .....

yeah, “everyone on the internet thinks theyre autistic” literally what of it. we probably are mind your business 

[forestlingincorporated]

I wanna talk about Janet Drake

I’m not against exaggeratedly evil versions of Tim’s parents, tbh. It’s fanfiction, if we can depict an Exaggeratedly Good version of Bruce (which we can, and I do, and I love) then we can depict the Drakes as Exaggeratedly Bad. As someone who personally identifies with Tim, and his brand of complicated parental abuse in particular, I find it cathartic to uncomplicate that abuse and rescue him from the Obviously Evil Bad People. 

That said, since much of comics lore is passed down word of mouth, the oral tradition surrounding Tim has developed this idea of Janet as The Worse Parent between her and Jack that was never really present in the comics. We see much LESS of Janet, and we have 20 years worth of comics depicting Jack as a neglectful hotheaded idiot who ultimate does love his son. More importantly, Jack isn’t very much LIKE Tim, so there is a habit to attribute Tim’s traits to his mother... and, as someone who really really identifies with Tim, Tim has... some negative traits. Tim can be a bitch sometimes. He’s fiercely intelligent and sweet and kind, with a strong sense of justice, but he can be cold and judgmental and unthinking - he fights those traits, but he does have them. 

And it is perfectly fine to depict Janet that way. I’ve enjoyed depictions of Cold Calculating Janet Drake, but it’s not the ONLY option, and I want to challenge fans to consider different avenues. Tim could pick up these traits from anywhere: a nanny, Mrs. Mc Ilvaine (”Mrs. Mac”), a teacher, tv, Sherlock Holmes novels, Bruce Wayne himself. Tim is capable of not being like EITHER parent. 

So, what do we KNOW about Janet? (I’ll also touch on Jack, but only in scenes he appears with Janet.) 

When Janet was first introduced she was depicted as a gentle but “modern” woman. This was written in 1989, told by a 13 year old Tim, so this theoretically was meant to take place in 1979. I’m not here to give a lecture on the history of sex discrimination in the united states, but much of the legislation protecting women in the workforce or surrounding women’s bodily autonomy would have been very very new in this initial depiction. 

Here, Janet is shown to be encouraging, emotional, maternal, and projects her own feelings onto Tim. Jack is shown to be slightly sexist, possibly discouraging, but not overbearing. And the artist is shown not to know how to draw children. 

To insert some speculation, I think it’s important to note all the Drakes witnessed a terrible murder/accident that day. I point this out, because this is the last time Jack and Janet are depicted this way. It’s possible they changed as a result of this event specifically. 

However, this is also a story being told by Tim. It’s also possible these events aren’t really “real” at all, and Tim is misremembering what his parents were like as a three-year-old, possibly projecting a more palatable version of his parents into the narrative. This is entirely up to personal interpretation. 

In fact, the Drakes are shown in Legend of the Dark Knight attending Haly’s Circus, and the artist knows what a toddler looks like and they’re depicted as already having a slightly strained relationship. Jack is clearly on the defensive, and Janet seems to be passive-aggressive, though she could just be attempting to explain the situation to her toddler honestly. The intended tone isn’t especially clear. 

I do want to point out, in this depiction, Tim isn’t being carried like he was in the previous one. He’s walking ahead of his parents, which isn’t a terrible horrible crime, but could be dangerous in a crowded place like the circus. Might be a subtle hint to his parents overall neglect. 

Back to A Lonely Place of Dying, in Tim’s memories of the night he discovered Robin and Dick Grayson were the same person at nine-years-old, his parents are home, and watching TV together while Tim played... trucks, idk, in the living room with them. (This is semi-interesting, because you could say “oh, Tim liked vehicle toys as a kid” or you could extrapolate that this is another subtle indication of Jack’s sexism, providing Tim with appropriately “boy toys.” Either interpretation is valid. If Tim was assigned female at birth, would they have been given “girl toys,” or allowed to play with whatever they wanted?) 

This is, to my knowledge, the only panel of the Drakes when Tim is between ages 3 and 13. They’re all together, which might indicate that the Drakes were home more often when Tim was 9, only later going on business trips when Tim was “old enough” but... 

This is Tim’s boarding school when he’s 13. While most boarding schools in the US are for grades 9-12, Tim is clearly not a freshman at age 13; look how much younger the other kids in this panel are. In the US, the youngest you can attend most boarding schools is 7. 

That means Tim could have begun going to boarding school anytime between 7 and 13. He most likely spent all of middle school in boarding school, at least. There are an almost infinite number of possible ways the Drakes handled having a business that required lots of international travel, an archeology hobby, AND a very young child. Janet staying home until Tim was 7, 11, 13, is equally possible as the Drakes having a nanny until 7, 11, 13. Tim just doesn’t talk about that period of his life very much.

(”What about Mrs. Mac?” - it is unclear when Mrs. Mac begins working for the Drakes. We only see her when Jack comes out of his coma. She could either be a long standing staff member, or a recent hire.) 

Note: I’ve seen it said that it’s canon that “According to Tim, when his parents were home, they made a point to try and include him in their activities, bringing him along to events that were normally adults only.” I have never seen this panel, or I don’t remember it, so I cannot confirm, but I also cannot debunk this because... comics. 

By the time Tim is 13, Jack and Janet are away on business trips a lot, with limited communication, and no firm return date. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say it was harder to communicate internationally in 1990 than it is today. If I’m not feeling generous, I’d say the Drakes are extremely wealthy, and international communication was easier than ever before in the 80s and 90s. They’re not even going home to see Tim in a week or two, they’re going home and calling Tim at boarding school in a week or two. 

Even Bruce thinks its weird, though he doesn’t say so to Tim’s face. It’s written almost as if Tim’s parents’ neglect was meant to be a plot point that just got forgotten about. 

Tim’s parents are fighting at this point (their poor assistant), but Janet still goes with Jack on these business trips. And she’s clearly involved in the business, somehow, but the comics never SAY what Janet’s JOB is. We’re told Jack is the exec, but Janet is ONLY ever referred to as Jack’s wife, though they’re later described as the “heads” of the company, plural. 

Just to be clear, this is Jack’s business. There’s a perception that Jack is a bad business man because he and Janet fight over company decisions, and Jack looses the business after Janet dies, but Jack looses the company YEARS after Janet dies, and maintains it for about a year after No Man’s Land at that. We’re not told how Jack looses the business, but he’s got to be doing something right. Janet isn’t necessarily the “real brains” of Drake Industries. 

And I’m not... gonna... touch the... exploitation and racism because... I’m not qualified to do that. But, here’s the panel. The Drakes sure seem exploitative and racist in their business decisions. Someone else can... analyze that with more nuance. 

Regardless how how long they’ve been fighting, when their lives are in danger, the Drakes fall back into a loving husband and wife. Their marriage may be falling apart, but they do care about each other. 

I want to show these panels because it shows that Tim and Jack do have things in common. They’re both level headed in a crisis and can be somewhat cold in their practicality. Janet meanwhile and silent. Jack is later willing rant and rave at their captors, but Janet remains silent. 

That is, until they’re alone, and she finally lets herself fall apart. 

God, Jack can be obnoxious. Janet just looks miserable and resigned. I actually think Tim takes after his parents in this respect in equal measure. Tim can have a temper, but he can also be fairly melancholy and defeatist. 

Jack keeps reminding Janet to be strong and in control, which could be period typical sexism? But Jack seems so practiced and ready with the words of encouragement, and with Tim’s history with depression, I wonder if Janet has an inclination towards it as well. 

As the end approaches, when Jack brings up Tim, Janet seems to have a lot of regret. She talks about “wasting” the good things, and I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to assume she’s talking about time spent with her only child. 

From this point on, Janet is at times spoken of, but not seen. Like here, when Jack says Janet wouldn’t approve of him and Tim being so “far apart.” He says this after he tells him he takes back his threat to send him back to boarding school, which might imply Janet was against the idea of boarding school? Though she obviously lost that argument when she was alive. 

Jack will of course renege on this later, but that’s Jack Drake for you. 

Or here in Tim’s illness induced dream, where he gets everything he wants. Though, since this is a fantasy of Tim’s, where his father and girlfriend are both more accepting and understanding than they are in real life, I would take this depiction of Janet with a grain of salt. 

After loosing Drake Industries, Jack thinks about Janet (though, they call her Catherine/Cathy for some fucking reason) during his depressive episode. And... uh... 

Hallucinates a Valkyrie???? Is this symbolic of suicidal thoughts, or is she... real? Or is he seriously hallucinating? 

Anyway, we’re not here to discuss Jack’s mental state, the fact that he forgot Tim’s birthday, or that concerning “I was going to knock some sense into you but you’re still bigger than me” statement from Tim, we’re here to talk about Janet. And even though this entire arc is about Jack mourning his first wife, they don’t SAY anything about Janet herself at all. I mean, they don’t even get her name right, so I guess what was I expecting. 

Then there’s Origins and Omens, which also doesn’t say anything about Janet, except that Tim’s memory of her is faulty - Janet was poisoned, her assistant Jeremy’s throat was slit on television, but Tim seems to have conflated the death he did see with the death he didn’t. 

The only piece of canon to suggest that Janet might be cold, is Tim compares her to Thalia. And even then, he’s really just saying Janet was protective of him. It’s kind of a scary look to make at your kid, but Bruce does the same thing, so. 

I do want to say... it’s not 100% clear if Tim is even talking about Janet. He could be talking about Dana. Dana was observably protective of Tim, though I don’t think he’s ever called her mom. He PROBABLY means Janet. 

And finally we have Tim visiting his mother’s grave (in a duel Christian/Jewish cemetery, make of that what you will), where Tim says she was “a little religious.”

And that’s it! That is all we know about Janet Drake in New Earth. Hardly the Mom From Hell, but she isn’t perfect. I’d be interested in seeing some alternate depictions of her within the fandom. 

I’m still gonna eat up Terrible Parents From Hell like a starving puppy dog, though. Just some food for creative thought. 

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 125.4: Accidental Bonding (Part Four)

(You can start at Part One, if you’d like.)

"Come on," Harry begged, the following Friday. "Please come to dinner." The bond had only seemed to strengthen in the past eighteen days and Harry found his mind turning to thoughts of Draco almost constantly whether they were together or apart.

And touching the other man was almost second nature at this point. They spent all day every day touching the other without thinking; they sat with their ankles pressed together under their desks, hands brushed against shoulders and backs as they walked past each other, they frequently held hands without even talking about it first, and Harry couldn't remember the last time that he'd woken up without being wrapped around Draco's body or vice versa. Yes, the bond wasn't showing any signs of weakening.

"Your friends hate me, Potter," Draco reminded him as he pulled a wine glass down out of the cupboard.

Harry sighed, "But they wouldn't if they got to know you."

Draco leveled him with a glare, the kind that Harry had learned to recognize as a shield of sorts that the other man used when he was feeling insecure. "They have good reason to hate me," he said as he filled the glass.

"Not anymore," he protested.

The other man rolled his eyes and took a large swallow of his wine.

"Come on," he said again. "If you're there no one will flirt with me."

Draco face twisted in disgust, it was unpleasant for both of them if someone touched one of them with certain intentions.

"If they're rude, you can leave right away," he added.

"What's in it for me?" Draco asked.

He thought for a moment, "A foot rub," he offered, remembering the night that Draco had drunkenly been complaining that his feet hurt and Harry had drunkenly offered a foot rub. There'd been something immensely satisfying about it, he assumed it was something to do with the bond and not with the look of rapturous delight on Draco's face.

(Read more below the cut)

Draco's eyes narrowed, "And I can leave immediately if they're unkind."

"Yes."

"And you'll give me a long foot massage?"

He laughed, "Yes."

"Fine."

Harry grinned at him. "Excellent. Let's go then, they're meeting us at The Night Owl."

"How did you know I'd say yes?" he asked, looking affronted.

"I didn't," Harry lied, even he'd had a strong suspicion he could convince the other man. "They could eat there without us if you didn't want to go."

He didn't seem entirely convinced but he allowed Harry to take his elbow and he apparated them to the apparition point closest to The Night Owl.

Ron and Hermione were already sitting at a booth when they arrived, and Harry slid his fingers through Draco's as he headed over. "Hey," he greeted brightly.

His best friends both looked up, smiling at Harry before doing a double take when they saw Draco standing there beside him.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, eyebrows lifting. "What a surprise!" she said, glancing at Harry.

He could feel Draco's nervousness like it was a tangible thing. "Yeah," Harry said, widening his eyes meaningfully at her, "I told you he might be coming."

"Yeah," Ron said, "But we didn't think he actually would."

"Well," Draco said, detaching his hand from Harry's, "This has been fun but I'm going to-"

"No," Harry said, turning toward him and grabbing his hand again, "It's fine," he said, glaring at his friends, who he had told to be on their best behavior and to just give the other man a chance.

"Yes," Hermione piped up. "Stay, please. We were just surprised."

Draco looked at Harry for a long moment, obviously arguing with himself before nodding once and sliding into the booth.

Harry slid in next to him, the first (and hopefully largest) hurdle out of the way.

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

Dinner went surprisingly well. Hermione and Ron obviously struggled a bit but Harry had asked them to give him a chance and they seemed to be trying.

Everyone seemed to relax a bit once they'd had a few drinks and when Draco got up to use the loo, Harry turned to his friends, "So?" he said eagerly, "He's different, right?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other before Hermione said carefully, "I think it's too soon for me to tell."

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed, "I know you've always had that thing for Malfoy but," he shrugged, "it's hard to know what's real and what's an act."

"You do know that he like cut ties from his parents, right?" Harry asked incredulously, "he believes that all of that pureblood nonsense is garbage."

"Does he though?" Hermione asked, "Or is that just what it behooves him to have you believe?"

"He lives in a tiny flat!" he protested. "He said that he was so compelled by your arguments about house elves that he couldn't bring himself to have one for his flat."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, "Or does he just hide it from you? House elves are wicked good at magic."

"He knows how to cook," Harry said, "From scratch. And he knows cleaning spells," he added. "Why would he have to know cleaning spells?"

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, "Maybe you're right-"

"Just give him a chance," he said. "You won't-"

"Better talk about something else," Ron interrupted, "He's headed this way."

"Well, I tried to get Lugnok to speak with me about the discrimination that Goblins have been facing for ages in the wizarding community, but he wasn't very forthcoming," Hermione started as Draco slid into the booth once again.

"Oh," Draco said as he pressed his shoulder against Harry's and they both relaxed into the pleasant hum thrumming through the bodies, beginning at their shoulders and radiating outward. "I read the last article that you published in The Daily Dilemma," he said excitedly. "It was fascinating," he added.

"Really?" Hermione asked, sounding surprised.

He nodded, "I always wanted to learn more about Goblin magic but good information is so hard to find. When I was young, I'd hoped that it was something they'd teach at Hogwarts-"

"Yes!" Hermione agreed emphatically. "I have been trying to convince Minerva of that for years."

"We don't know nearly enough about magic that other beings possess and honestly," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "I don't know why any other magical being puts up with us. I can't understand it." He shook his head, "I mean for all intents and purposes, their magic is stronger than ours and they've got better control of it. A house elf, for example," he said, "when they want to apparate somewhere it's just a snap of the fingers. And their blind apparation is loads better than ours," he shook his head, "And that's just one spell."

Hermione nodded, "It's never made sense to me."

Draco swallowed, "I'm sorry about that, by the way," he said, not quite meeting her eye, "for making fun of your organization." Then his mouth twisted, "For a lot of things, really," he continued. "Many that were worse than that."

"Thank you," Hermione said after a moment. "I appreciate your apology."

He nodded once. "You probably know this already, but Henri Laurence is a real advocate for changing the way we treat other magical beings. He could probably help your causes."

"Who?" she asked, brows furrowing as she tried to place the name.

"Henri Laurence," he repeated.

She shook her head, "I'm not familiar with that name."

"He works in transportation," Draco replied.

"Why would I talk to someone in transportation?"

He gave her a wry smile, "Henri works closely with a lot of department heads to schedule their trips. He's very amiable and everyone loves him," he added. "More than one political career has risen and fallen by his words. He also works with the Minister quite a bit, the Minister is quite fond of him."

"I never would have thought to start there. Thanks for the tip," she said, giving him a cautious half smile.

"Of course," Draco said automatically. "I'd be glad to give you names if you're ever wondering the best way to get things into people's ears. I'm afraid I can't do introductions, though," he said with a self depreciating laugh.

"Thank you," Hermione said, sounding genuinely grateful. "That would be so helpful."

Draco gave her a little smile and Harry felt hope bubbling merrily in his chest.

----------

As the evening drew to a natural close, Harry couldn't help but think that everything went exceptionally well.

Draco was still talking about Hermione's current project with the Goblins at Gringotts as Harry headed back toward the bedroom, Draco trailing along behind him. "It's invaluable," he said as he started to strip so he could put on his pajamas. "This research could change the way that we think about other beings. We could really have the opportunity to understand them better and then maybe we'd understand our own magic and our own limitations better."

Harry nodded, "You sound just like her. I thought you two might hit it off."

"Did you?" Draco asked curiously as he crawled into bed.

He nodded, sitting at the bottom and pulling Draco's left foot into his lap, pressing his thumbs up the curve of Draco's arch. "You're the only other person I know who likes to talk about Magic Theory."

He let out a low moan as Harry's thumbs rubbed the ball of his foot, "Potter, you are really good at that," he said, thoroughly distracted from the conversation they'd been having.

Harry laughed.

"I'm serious!" the other man protested. "If the whole saving the world, one idiot at a time thing fails, you can go into foot massages."

Chuckling, he shook his head, "Can you imagine?"

"Yes," Draco replied, closing his eyes and settling further into the mattress, "I'd come see you every day."

"Ah, in that case," Harry teased, "maybe I should think about it."

"You do that," he said, in that distant voice that meant he wasn't listening to him anymore.

"Read something," Harry said.

The other man opened one eye to look down at Harry, "What?"

"Read me something," he said. "Grab a book off your nightstand," he said, nodding to the pile, "And read. But don't pick something boring."

Draco reached over and plucked a slender book off the nigh stand, "I think you'll like this one. He gets everything wrong but it's delightful." He cleared his throat, "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..."

Harry listened as he read, a smile tugging at his lips, his chest filling with warmth.

This was nice, Harry couldn't help but think. Living with someone, sharing meals with someone, having someone in your bed when you went to sleep and when you woke up. It was nice to have the sound of someone else's voice and the feeling of someone else's hand in yours.

He wondered if he'd miss it when the bond ended in twelve days.

More importantly, he wondered if Draco would miss it.

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

Part 3 | Part 5

[eastern-anarchist]

Why intersectional theory doesn’t fit the description of ethnic discrimination in Eastern Europe (longread - I don't know if you will read this, but I think it's important)

Disclaimer 1: I am a historian, not a sociologist, and this affects my analysis. Disclaimer 2: I know best the history of the Russian Empire and least of all the Ottoman history. As we know, intersectional theory emerges from the concepts of "privilege" and "oppression". There are social categories that have greater access to benefits (education, good income, representation in art and media, etc.), and there are those that are oppressed for certain essentialist reasons, although the reasons are actually socially constructed (non-white skin color, non-straight sexuality, but you know about this without me). It’s important that such a system has been established for centuries, starting from about Early Modern times.

Intersectional theory is aimed at increasing the diversity of discourse and representing as many identities as possible in society. Also, the theory assumes a description of the intersections of various discrimination, where race, class, gender and sexuality aren’t separated from each other, but together form a person's identity. But ironically, this theory is very Americancentric, as it stemmed in large part from racial conflicts in the United States. It’s also partly Western Europeancentric, and includes mainly such colonial relations as between Britain and India, France and Algeria, etc.

But on the example of countries on the territory of the former Russian, Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires, it doesn’t work well, and here's why.

Mostly, the intersectional theory assumes the same type of conflicts and relations (racial, class, gender) in society over the centuries, which began to be established precisely in the late 15th - early 16th centuries, and this isn’t at all obvious for Eastern Europe.

Eastern Europe has distinguished itself by its "long" feudalism. Feudalism, on the other hand, means political fragmentation instead of absolutism, a greater concentration on religious affiliation (hello to the beginning of secularization in Western Europe) and the priority of status over class. Yeah, in capitalism it was difficult for a peasant to become a worker, and a worker (even more difficult) to become a small entrepreneur. But feudalism, in principle, doesn’t imply any social mobility - everyone is literally obliged to remain within the framework of their social strata.

Thus, the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth remained de facto politically fragmented up to partitions in 1795. The Russian Empire retained the priority of (Orthodox) religion over class until (!) the February Revolution in 1917. For example, in imperial Russia there was such a concept as the Pale of Settlement - a territory where Jews could live and were forbidden to move outside of it. At first glance, this looks like normal segregation, HOWEVER. Christianized Jews could live outside the Pale of Settlement, and especially rich and educated Jews had the right to do so. Yes, here it’s necessary to make disclaimers that there were such a minority and towards the end of the Russian Empire there was state discrimination of "privileged" Jews (for example, under tsar Alexander III). But we must take into account this "ambiguity" of social relations.

In the three empires, very different peoples lived side by side, who didn’t live segregated from each other, and built their identity not on "citizenship", but on the same religion or even on the area of ​​residence. It can be said that Russians were an ethnic group in the Russian Empire, but this statement will tell you nothing about the relationship between Jews and Ukrainians, Poles and Romanians, Georgians and Armenians, etc. Moreover, empires had many mixed families, which significantly influenced attempts to build "nations" in these regions.

Serfdom existed for a long time in the Austro-Hungarian and especially in the Russian Empire. In fact, this is a form of slavery, but it extended to peasants, regardless of their ethnicity. In general, returning to the first point, the stratification here was very strict. In the Russian Empire, at the time the Bolsheviks came to power, 3/4 of the population were peasants and illiterate.

Oh yes, the Bolsheviks. The USSR in general confused everyone. At the beginning of the USSR, all nationalities were formally declared free (the Pale of Settlement and the priority of religion were abolished), but things went badly after the arrival of Stalin, under whose rule massive repressions were carried out against national minorities. At that time, many Germans lived in the USSR, who were a rather privileged community in the Russian Empire (recall that Catherine II was an ethnic German). But under Stalin, the Germans were among the first repressive and deported  groups (largely due to the arrival of the Nazis in Germany and the invasion to the USSR). But by God, for reasoning about whether the USSR was an "empire" and what ethnic conflicts there were, 10 more posts are needed.

Finally, relations with the metropolises. Due to the redistribution of territories, the same territories with ethnic minorities belonged to different empires. The Balkans were part both of the Ottoman Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and Russia also wanted to annex them. As for today, the Czech Republic or Western Ukraine are unlikely to have any conflicts with Austria (but I’m not saying here about the entire Western European world). What can’t be said unequivocally about the Balkans and Turkey, and even more so about Russia and Belarus, Ukraine and Central Asia. In general, guys, it is possible to operate with intersectional theory only in the case of countries which 1) colonies were far from the metropolises; 2) capitalism developed early; 3) racial and ethnic minorities were severely segregated. And it hardly applies to countries that have been feudal for a long time, have gone through a massive revolution, a Soviet / nationalist dictatorship and suddenly become neoliberal.