#sending love and solidarity

[28whitepeonies]

Reading that made me realize how much my boyfriend ‚hates‘ woman, too. And it makes me sad.

Hi friend

Firstly I’m really sorry that the world we live in has been built the way it has and I’m sorry that it’s causing you hurt. I just want to start by saying that how you feel is very valid. I can’t offer much in the way of your boyfriend but I can offer some thoughts on how I exist in the hopes that might help you.

The thing about the 1D boys or the vast majority of men in general, and this will apply to your boyfriend too, is that misogyny is systemic. It’s built into the structures of everything around us, but like all forms of oppression, it does not have to be. Fighting it is a fight to make a better world and I think the it’s important to remind yourself that you’re not powerless, although as individuals our actions may not have a significant impact, there’s power in a collective.

And if I were to offer a piece of unsolicited advice, it would be that even beyond wanting to change the world, I have also probably found the greatest comfort in other women fighting for the same thing. There are different ways of finding that but I think there are two good places to start, the first is if you’re in a union - that in itself can be a good way to find likeminded people, but most branches will have a women’s rep and in my experience they will be a fountain of knowledge about local organising groups or book groups or radical knitting circles etc. The second requires a bit more time spent looking for yourself for what’s in your area, for instance there’s a little socialist book shop I have been going to for years that runs community events in my city and they do all sorts of stuff, or there are a couple of direct action groups focusing on women’s safety and buffer zones for abortion clinics - going along to meetings is a good way to work out what you want to get involved in and what you don’t.

I don’t have any other wise words to offer but I will share a couple of things that I have found a lot of comfort in and a couple of things that are a constant source of hope, because I think that matters a great deal. I’m going to put them under a cut before this gets too long!

This is a film about Ireland’s 8th Amendment and the fight for reproductive rights. There’s also a podcast called ‘How the yes was won’ if you’re a podcast fan.

If you haven’t seen ‘Made in Dagenham’ then I’d really recommend it. It’s about 187 women who worked for Ford as sewing machinists going on strike in 1968 over sexual discrimination. They predominately made car seat covers, and their strike brought Ford’s production to a halt. They won that fight and it resulted in better conditions for a far larger number of women than those 187 who walked out. The movie focuses a bit too much on pay and not enough on ford’s discriminatory practices in terms of conditions, grading of skilled work etc but it’s still a good place to start.

I’ve read two books recently that I would also recommend, the first is ‘Striking Women: Struggles and Strategies of South Asian Women Workers from Grunwick to Gate Gourmet’ which focuses on the stories of South Asian women organising and striking in Britain in 1976 and 2005.

The second is ‘Betraying Big Brother: The Feminist Awakening in China’ which starts with the stories of five women arrested in China in 2015 for their activism - the first section of the book tells each of their stories.

[tubbytarchia]

jimmy stream watcher here i havent watched most of this stream but he did run into glass. like a bird

amazing. I'm so proud of him

[trans-axolotl]

today is international whores' day!

"On June 2nd, 1975, over 100 sex workers began an 8-day occupation at the Saint-Nizier Church in Lyon, France. They demanded the end of fines, stigma, police harassment, and the release of ten sex workers who had been imprisoned a few days earlier for soliciting. This occupation was initiated to call attention to the increasing violence against sex workers perpetrated by the French government. It was widely reported both nationally and internationally, receiving support from labor and feminist organizations alike. On June 10th, after 8 days of occupation, the police forcibly removed the women from the church, but their impact marked the start of an international movement." - History, IWD LA

today (and every day) is a good day to learn from sex workers about decriminalization, our activism, and how to support us.

check out the Sex Work Syllabus from the Support Ho(s)e Collective and donate to their ongoing mutual aid campaigns.

read Girls do what they have to do to survive by the Young Women's Empowerment Project.

Donate to SWOP Behind Bars to support incarcerated sex workers.

get involved in harm reduction and decrim activism in your local community.

support the sex workers in your life!!

[screechingfromthevoid]

Also, also, Dorian's reaction to Imogen's compliment? Hello?

When Dorian gets a compliment from a man he's all flustered and blushy and very "awww stop it. Please keep going"

When he gets compliments from gods he's stoic and unfazed.

BUT WHEN IMOGEN COMPLIMENTS HIM. Robbie has said that Dorian was always closer to his mother. That he misses his mother. When he goes to Keyleth he says that the "motherly, powerful sort of feminine energy of compassion is something that Dorian's longed for since leaving home."

I'm not saying he sees Imogen as a mother figure but he respects the hell out of her. He holds her to such high esteem. She's powerful and compassionate and she loves him. And her complimenting him? Telling him that he's doing great?

It instantly means more to him than any other compliment hes ever gotten.

[starry-bi-sky]

Just the idea of clone Danny and clone Talia working out much bette then him and Talia would confuse poor Bruce. And best part all 4 of them don'T believe he is batman Danny: "We know he is your Sugarbaby, Mom and dad talked about it." Clone Talia:" So no fear, my OG liked a Himbo. And well Danny is a one too."

FR THO AND THEN THERE’S BABY DAMES IN THE CORNER SWEATING BECAUSE HE KNOWS. HE KNOWS. THE LoA TOLD HIM. He’s not saying SHIT though because this is hilarious. He’s silently laughing in the corner. And yessss Clone Danny and Clone Talia working out much better is exactly why I thought of it -- because one its funny and two the potential angst. the could have been.

It doesn't ever occur to Bruce to tell them he's batman but that conversation still comes up during mealtime one day while Danny's recovering (he has to be tied to his chair because he found the gym and nearly dislocated his shoulder trying to train. Dammit Danny your bones are made of glass right now from destabilizing, let your cells repair before doing anything!) because the four of them were talking about Batman and his clan of kids.

Danny, frowning: im not a himbo?

Nasra: reportedly when you first met Damian, your first response to his attacking you was to... grab the blade with your hands, multiple times. This resulted in you slicing a nerve in both hands and permanently weakening your fine motor control.

Danny: well--

Nasra: even now you're rubbing your palms, you only do that when your hands are bothering you.

Damian, snapping his head up: what!?

Danny: you noticed that?? also i learned. I didn't repeat myself when you attacked me when we met, did I?

Nasra: i. suppose not. you're still a himbo, however.

also Danny does his usual 'run on negative sleep' bullshit while in the manor except now he has not only damian but also Nasra tag-teaming his bullshit. Like no, Danny. you need sleep to recover your strength. your ghostly investigation can wait until you're not about to pass out and break your nose on your laptop. They have whole ass arguments in arabic - all three of them - as damian AND nasra drag danny to the closest soft horizontal surface. Danny returns the favor to the both of them when those two are also doing their 'negative sleep' stuff.

Dick at bby Dames: so do you....

Damian: know that you guys are Batman and his family? Yeah. Grandfather and Mother told me before I was living with Danny.

Tim: how come Danny and Nasra don't know then?

Damian: I didn't think it was important to tell Danny that his original was Batman. He does know of the League, however. He calls Grandfather my "super evil, ecofascist grampa and his cult of killers" and doesn't want to know more out of worry of needing to get involved.

Dick: I - really?

Damian: yes, he figured that since grandfather had yet to successfully wipe out my original, then that whatever Damian Wayne was doing was working. And that if he knew more, then he might have to get involved, and he has own problems to worry about than the League of Assassins.

[thetomorrowshow]

response

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

this takes place about 10 months after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, flashbacks, heavy dissociation, blood & injury

~

It’s on the news before it’s anywhere else, which is to say, everyone knows before Jimmy.

Lizzie texts him to ask him if he needs anything, and while it’s an odd message to receive out of the blue, Jimmy doesn’t mind it at all. Lizzie checks in occasionally, particularly after big life events, and it’s just nice to hear from her.

Then Joel texts the same thing, and Jimmy starts to feel that something’s wrong.

He only finds out by chance, though—he turns on the TV and it happens to be on the news, and just before he switches away, he sees the scrolling headline.

MAJOR DISAPPEARS AFTER FIGHT WITH THE ORACLE.

His stomach drops.

The clip starts playing moments later, some newscaster narrating it like a sports game, not like his partner’s life is on the line.

“So here we can see the Oracle grab Major—it’s barely contact, but anything goes with that villain—and then, while Major’s disoriented, he slams him into the ground.”

Jimmy watches, mouth slightly open, as Scott indeed is shoved into the asphalt with enough force to knock a few teeth out. He winces, old injuries twinging in sympathy. It doesn’t stop there, though—as Scott is grabbing at the Oracle’s legs, doing anything to pull himself back up, he goes suddenly limp, and the Oracle lands a terrible hit to Scott’s nose, sending blood spurting everywhere.

The Oracle grasps Scott by the hair, then, Scott’s arms flailing out, and slams his head into the road. Jimmy gasps, reaches out as if he can grab Scott through the screen. This is bad. Scott hasn’t had such a bad fight since Xornoth. The Oracle must be getting more powerful, or gotten more training recently or something, because last Jimmy knew he was a local menace, not actually a danger.

Jimmy almost can’t watch. His hands are up at his mouth, and he can’t tear his eyes from the screen as Scott stops trying to fight back and just tries to crawl away. He almost makes it—the Oracle grabs him by the cape, pulls him back as his fingers scrabble for purchase.

The Oracle drags him up, has him in a chokehold—it’s the perfect position to just kill him, he’s already too weak to do much and the Oracle could easily slip a knife from the folds of his clothing and slash Scott’s throat, but he doesn’t. He just holds him as Scott struggles, whacking at his grip with steadily clumsier arms. Scott stops moving after a moment, and Jimmy’s moving forward, toward the TV, he has to help—

Scott’s only gathering strength though, and moments later he manages to buck backward and throw the Oracle’s arms from around his neck. With a spray of ice on the road, Scott collapses and penguin slides down the hill and past the news van, throwing up a curved wall of ice to make a sharp turn to the right. He disappears from view entirely, and when the camera turns back to the Oracle, he’s gone.

It’s barely a minute-long clip, but it leaves Jimmy breathless in the worst way possible. He needs to find Scott, he needs to help him—he’s opening the front door before he even puts his mask on, only in socks and his gym clothes, he’s got to find him—

His phone buzzes, and without even thinking he answers, everything in him tensing at the thought that it could be Scott, it has to be Scott—

“Jimmy, where are you right now?”

Lizzie. His heart utterly sinks. “I’m—do you know where he is? I’m going out to find him—”

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah, yes, but I’m leaving—”

“Do not leave,” she tells him sternly. For the first time, Jimmy registers feedback from her end—as if she’s outside on a windy day, or standing on the pier. “Stay at home.”

“I have to find him,” says Jimmy, and he needs to grab his key—where is his key, it’s usually right on the hook by the door—

“Joel and I are sweeping the city, all right? You need to stay home.”

“I’m not scared,” Jimmy retorts. “I can fight, I will fight, I’ll kill the Oracle if I have to—”

“Jimmy.”

He stops, reluctantly, at her tone.

“You need to stay home right now, because if Scott is his usual stubborn self and doesn’t check himself into a hospital, he’s going to come to you,” she explains. “Now I need you to listen to me, all right?”

He sighs. He’s still burning with a need to get out there, find Scott, but she’s right. Unfortunately. He slams the front door shut, sighs even louder. “Yeah, fine. What is it.”

“Get towels you don’t care about,” she instructs. “I know you have a pack of rubber gloves somewhere, so get those and your first aid kit. Disinfect wherever you’re going to help him—I’d think the dining room table, but it’s your choice. Got all that?”

Jimmy’s already halfway to the closet for the first aid kit, grabbing some bleach-stained hand towels from the bathroom on the way. “Yeah. What else?”

“We’re most worried about a concussion here, so he might be confused—especially after fighting the Oracle. Help him know he’s safe and cared for. Maybe get something he’s familiar with to have near, to ground him?”

“Treat it like a flashback, got it.” Jimmy sets the first aid kit down on the table, runs back to their bedroom. He and Scott had gone on a Build-A-Bear date recently, and Scott had gotten the Frozen’s Elsa bear. That should do for grounding, hopefully.

He brings the bear (and after a thought, his own, a brown bear with roller skates) back to the dining room, then cracks open the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit and starts rubbing down the table and one of the chairs.

“Take care of him, all right?” Lizzie says, sounding almost far away. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you with more updates. Text me if he shows up.”

Before he can even say goodbye, she hangs up.

Great. He just has to deal with this situation alone, then. Scott’s never been that badly injured since Jimmy’s been dating him—sure, there was the broken arm incident, but Scott had still won that fight. He’s never been so badly injured that he had to flee.

What if he doesn’t remember how to get home? It’s not like he’s lived here his whole life, it’s entirely possible that he gets lost on the way back. Jimmy needs to go looking for him, has to be out there to help—

From the office comes the sound of a window sliding open.

Jimmy drops the rag he’d been using to wipe down the table and sprints for the office.

Sure enough, Scott is there, one leg in the window, and looking absolutely awful.

He looks worse than he had on TV. The collar of his costume is drenched in blood, most of which seems to be stemming from his nose but there’s blood in his bright blue hair and dripping from his mouth and all over—

Blood, there’s so much blood and Jimmy’s not sure if its his own or his opponent’s but as he stares at it he feels nothing, nothing but hope that his master will reward him for being so good—

Scott grunts and Jimmy’s back in the present, but his feelings of detachment remain. He crosses the office to the window and wraps an arm under Scott’s armpit to pull him the rest of the way in (Scott cries out, but Jimmy ignores it), then puts his other arm at his knees and fully lifts his boyfriend up.

Scott’s almost too heavy to carry—sure, Jimmy’s been working out, but the deadweight of a muscular, six foot human isn’t anything that he’s used to. So he gathers all of his strength and hurries down the hallway before his arms can give out, carrying Scott to the dining room and settling him in the chair he’s prepared before cracking open the first aid kit.

Jimmy strips off his mask first, grimacing at the bruises already beginning to ring his eyes. Luckily, Jimmy’s set quite a few broken noses in his time, and he mutters a warning before jerking it back into place. Scott lets out another cry, muffled by Jimmy shoving a wad of cotton under his nose.

He holds it there for a few moments while he categorizes the other wounds. The head wound is probably most important—or rather, most dangerous. There’s scrapes and bruises in various places all over his body, visible through the tears in his costume. Red stains his lips, so Jimmy pries his mouth open—yep, missing tooth and bitten tongue. He knows Scott’s already got an implanted molar, but this is one of his front teeth, leaving a gaping hole in his mouth. That’s going to need some cosmetic surgery.

It’s not really a huge concern at the moment, though, so Jimmy moves on, rolling down the neck of Scott’s costume.

Sure enough, bruises are already blossoming around his throat. That’s not something Jimmy can take care of himself—he needs an x-ray to make sure nothing’s broken, probably. In fact, it would be better just to take Scott to the hospital right now.

One last thing to check—across the room, on the hook where he usually leaves it, is his key, a pocket flashlight attached to the key ring. Jimmy retrieves it, shines it in Scott’s eyes.

His pupils don’t dilate smoothly, and the left eye is slower than the right. That’s never good.

“Are you feeling disoriented?”

Scott blinks. “. . . yeah,” he rasps. Jimmy hands him his glass of water, gives him a napkin when he chokes on it.

“We’re going to the hospital,” he announces, clicking off the flashlight. “Put your mask back on, I’ll carry you to the car.”

Scott complies, hands moving slowly and shakily. “I—Jimmy?” he asks, voice small.

“Yeah?”

Scott sniffles. “I don’t feel well.” “That’s why we’re going to the hospital,” Jimmy tells him, voice utterly lacking emotion. He doesn’t feel much of anything, right now. “Do you want to bring anything?”

Scott looks around, blinking slowly. He points to the Elsa bear on the table. Jimmy nods, glances around for a moment before finding a reusable plastic grocery bag and stuffing the bear in it.

“You’ll have to leave it in the car, but that’s fine. Let’s go.”

Scott is, for the most part, complacent as Jimmy picks him up, wrapping his arm around Jimmy’s neck. Jimmy carries him out of the house and into the backseat of the car as quickly as possible, then ducks back inside to look for Scott’s thin work wallet, eventually finding it just outside the office window. He grabs it—it identifies Scott as Major, has his SuperInsurance card, and other necessary cards—then heads back out to the car, swinging into the driver’s seat and snapping a mask over his face. He tosses the bag with the bear in the backseat with Scott, then pulls out of the driveway.

The hands on the steering wheel don’t look like his, and it takes until Jimmy clicks on the turn signal at a stoplight to realize that he’s dissociated. In fact, he thinks he’s been out of it since he helped Scott inside. Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember doing anything to comfort Scott, calm instincts taking over to keep him from panicking.

A glance in his rearview mirror shows that Scott barely looks conscious. “Don’t fall asleep,” Jimmy snaps, and Scott jolts up, gasping, one hand clutching at his other arm. His other arm that looks mysteriously swollen, held carefully close to Scott’s body.

How had he focused so hard on the head wound that he hadn’t even noticed an injured arm? It’s clearly hurting Scott, and he had done nothing—

“Stay awake, okay? Talk to me. What are you feeling?”

“My arm hurts,” Scott manages. “I think—Jimmy, I think it’s broken again. I don’t—where are we going?”

“The hospital. Just hang tight, we’ll be there soon.”

They won’t be there soon. They’re still at least twenty minutes away. Scott had actually been closer to the hospital before he’d headed home, so he could’ve saved them both some time and gone straight there.

The hands that are definitely his but don’t look it tighten on the wheel. None of that matters right now. Right now he just needs to get Scott to somewhere for treatment.

It’s a tense drive, but Jimmy manages to stay levelheaded. He knows he’s speeding, so every cop car he passes he sends a burst of power out toward, hoping whatever accident it causes won’t be very dangerous.

He sees the signs for the hospital and cuts across three lanes of traffic to get into it. Once there, he pulls into a parking spot and looks up.

At the hospital.

The dissociation hits full-force.

It’s not the hospital, not the one where he was taken right after, but it’s still a hospital. It’s still tied to needles and blood and long hours on an exam table and distress and pain, and just looking at it makes his head all woozy.

His head presses against something hard. His hands go slack. He’s not sure where he is. He’s not sure what’s real.

It’s easier to believe that he’s asleep, easier to accept that none of this is real. He doesn’t even know what he doesn’t want to be real.

He’s not sure how long he floats there, feeling nothing but anxiety about how he’s feeling nothing. He doesn’t even register that there’s any sort of outside stimulation until he hears words, tinny and staticky.

“Jimmy? Hey, Jim, what’s happening? Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” he thinks he says. “What’s happening?”

A sigh. “Scott says you just sort of zoned out. Do you know why?”

He’s not sure how to answer, so he doesn’t.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No,” he admits, because he doesn’t. He has no clue where he is or how he got here, and now that he’s realized that, the anxiety develops into panic.

“Look around, Jim. Tell me five things you can see.”

Five things—that’s a grounding exercise. Jimmy knows that’s a grounding exercise. He glances around. “There’s a steering wheel. Radio. A seat. I’m in the car.” It hits him like a train, the understanding that he was driving, and he can’t remember that he was driving, and he can’t remember why he was driving, but he’s in the car behind the steering wheel. “Um, asphalt. Parking lines.”

“Cool, four things you can touch?”

The hands in front of him don’t exactly look like his own. One of them lays itself on the steering wheel, and he’s not sure if it’s by his own instruction or not.

He’s sitting in the car, though, so he can assume some certain things. “The seat. The armrest. Um.”

“That’s good. Anything else?”

The voice sounds rushed. Jimmy cringes. He can’t really feel much, other than the awareness that a thing is touching him. Another sigh.

“Right, hand the phone back to Scott, okay? Scott, where are you?”

Is he holding something? He’s holding a phone, and that’s where the voice is coming from. Jimmy stares at it, not quite sure what he can do with it. “Hand it back to Scott,” he echoes.

“Jim’s really out of it, Scott, so can you just look out the window and tell us which hospital it is? Then Lizzie and I’ll be over.”

“It’s . . . United. You guys are coming here?”

“Yeah, well, it sounds like you two are being a bit dysfunctional right now. I’ll escort you and Lizzie’ll stay with Jimmy, and that way all bases are covered. Sound good?”

“I guess?”

It’s warm, Jimmy thinks. Like he’s lying next to a heater. At least it’s feeling something. He feels so detached, so out of his body, that he’s not sure of anything anymore.

He doesn’t hear any more speaking, and he’s not sure if that’s good or not. He just sort of . . . exists, less-than-present but not nonexistent.

At least, until there’s someone grabbing his arm.

He’s not exactly snapped back into his body, but he can see it now—someone heaving him out of the car, someone with pink hair, wrapping an arm around him and walking him to the other side of the car. It feels like he’s observing from above, knowing that it’s his body being moved but feeling no real attachment to it.

It all becomes foggy again as he’s set down in the passenger seat, but he manages to register something clicking and then the car moving. He doesn’t know how long the car moves, but at some point, there’s someone talking to him.

“Scott’s all right, you’re all right, everything is fine. Jimmy, are you with me?”

He tries to nod. He’s not sure if he does it properly.

“No, you’re not. Can you hold this?”

Something’s put in his hand. He doesn’t know what it is.

“Smell that, all right?”

He lifts it up to his nose. It smells sharp, citrus-y.

“What’s that smell like?”

“Oranges,” he answers dutifully.

“Keep your hand up, keep smelling it. Can you describe it?”

He sniffs it again. “Nice,” he eventually says. “Clean. Oranges, and lemons.”

“What does an orange taste like?”

He puts the thing in his mouth.

“No—! No, Jimmy, don’t eat that! That’s—that’s an air freshener, it’s not an orange! Please take it out of your mouth!”

It’s bitter, he thinks, as he obeys. Not like how oranges usually taste. Oranges usually taste sweet, a bit sour, and have all those stringy bits that you have to get off otherwise eating the segments aren’t worth it. It’s one of his favorite tastes, though; the fridge always has orange juice in it and there’s usually oranges on the table. Not just because they taste good, but because they’re decent tools for grounding. The peel has a strong smell and texture, and when you’re done peeling you can taste it.

This isn’t an orange. But it feels suspiciously like a grounding exercise. Why would he be doing grounding?

He blinks, looks up at Lizzie. She’s here. He doesn’t remember her getting here. “Am I dissociating?” he asks.

She laughs a little. “Yeah, I think you might be. Can you smell the air freshener again?”

It’s wet with his own saliva in his hand, but he raises it to his nose anyway. “I’m smelling the air freshener.”

“Good job. Don’t eat it.”

“Don’t eat the air freshener.”

“Smell it.”

“Smell it.”

“Yes.”

“It smells like orange.”

“Mhm.”

Jimmy closes his eyes and breathes in deep. It smells like orange, but not quite. More bitter than an actual orange. Like the way it tasted bitter. “Did I put an air freshener in my mouth?”

Lizzie laughs again. “You very much did. Are you back?”

“No,” he tells her, then goes back to smelling. He can smell something else on his hands, something just as familiar as an orange. Something clean, yet bad. Something that hurts.

“Jimmy, you’re crying. Can you keep smelling the air freshener? Lift your hand back up. What’s it smell like?”

He smells it. “Orange.”

“That’s right. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it.”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

Jimmy likes oranges, so it only makes sense for him to like this scent, right? But in the same way it tastes bad, he’s not sure that the smell of it can hold a candle to real oranges.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly.

“All right. What do you know?”

He sniffs the air freshener. “It smells like oranges. I’m holding it. It tastes bad. You’re here.”

“I’m here,” agrees Lizzie. “Do you want me to hold your hand?”

Jimmy frowns. “Holding the air freshener.”

“You have two hands.”

Oh. Right. He extends his other hand, Lizzie taking it in hers. Her hands are cool, but not nearly as cool as Scott’s. Her nails are pointy, brushing against his skin. The skin. Of the hand. It doesn’t look like his.

“I’m dissociating real bad, I think,” he murmurs. Lizzie’s hand grips his tighter.

“That’s all right. I’m here until you feel better.”

It’s a long time until Jimmy feels more like himself. When he fully becomes aware again, he’s sitting on his couch next to Lizzie, sharing some leftover pasta between them. He blinks at it, vaguely remembering the process it had taken to get him to eat it at all.

“I’m back, I think,” he says, blinking a couple of times. He licks his lips, tastes the pasta sauce there. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Lizzie sighs in relief. “I was just going to try getting you to nap next, I was completely out of ideas.”

Jimmy laughs a little, thoughts still somewhat out of order from all the fog settled around his brain. “Norman usually helps. Did you get him?”

“Check your feet.”

He looks down. Sure enough, Norman is curled up on his feet, purring loudly.

Jimmy doesn’t remember much from the past—however long it’s been. He has bits and pieces of the drive home from the hospital, but he has no idea when Lizzie turned up or what happened to Scott.

Scott.

He jolts up, almost knocking his plate of pasta to the floor. “Scott,” he gasps out, “is he—did—”

“Scott’s fine,” Lizzie says placatingly, gesturing for him to relax. “Joel just texted me a few minutes ago. He got some stitches and they just finished his scans, they’re waiting on the results. They got him on some pretty good pain meds, I heard, so he’s doing fine.”

Reluctantly, Jimmy sits back, wringing his hands. Sure, Lizzie can tell him that Scott’s fine. But he hasn’t seen that, he doesn’t know for sure, all he knows is that he barely did anything to treat Scott’s wounds and then couldn’t even walk him into the hospital.

His head hurts.

“We can call him, maybe?” suggests Lizzie. Jimmy nods after a moment. That might help.

He sits in silence as she fiddles with her phone, doing who knows what. Every second that passes is another second that Jimmy doesn’t know how Scott’s doing.

Then Lizzie’s phone rings.

She answers, grimaces at the screen, then hands it over to Jimmy.

It’s a video call, and Scott’s there. His nose is properly bandaged, now, and Jimmy can see through the eyeholes in his mask that his eyes are puffy and bloodshot. There’s a large bandage along his jawline, and his split lip is actively bleeding. The ring of bruises around his throat is stark against the hospital gown.

He looks absolutely beautiful.

“Jimmy!” Scott cries, delighted, then sheepishly ducks his head when Joel shushes him offscreen. “Joel—sorry, the King says I can’t say your name.”

Jimmy chuckles, nerves quieting as he gazes at Scott. “That’s fine, Major. How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Scott admits. He shrugs. “My head hurts, but they put some good drugs in my arm and I can’t really feel it so that’s good!” He tips the screen to show an IV. Jimmy shudders and looks away.

When he looks back, Scott’s turned it back to his face, concern written all over it. “Are you okay? You were . . . uh, what’s the word. . . .”

“Dissociating,” Jimmy finishes.

“Yeah. That. Lizzie said it got really bad, but when we got to United, you just sorta . . . blanked out.”

Jimmy bites back a retort. He doesn’t actually want to be mean to Scott, especially not when he’s floating on pain drugs. He’s just exhausted and foggy from the dissociation. “I’m good, just worried about you. And maybe don’t say real names, yeah?”

“Oh. Right. Joel, how much longer?”

A sigh from offscreen. “Probably half an hour, maybe more. Done talking to your man?”

“J—the King wants his phone back,” Scott whispers. “Are you really okay? Do you need a nap?”

Jimmy can’t help but laugh. “I’ll go rest if you rest, yeah? Love you, keep annoying the Mad King.”

“I love you so much,” Scott says seriously. “I wanna kiss you right now, but I don’t wish you were here because that would be bad for you. So I can wait until we go home.”

Suddenly choked up, Jimmy manages a wave, which Scott sets the phone down to return. Then Jimmy passes it back to Lizzie, who exchanges a few words with Joel before hanging up.

Jimmy doesn’t go to bed. He curls up on the couch and turns on some episode of a 90s sitcom to watch in silence.

“You didn’t fail him,” Lizzie says during a commercial. “You did good.”

Jimmy sighs. “Lizzie, I was dissociating before I even helped him into the house. I didn’t call you, I didn’t actually do anything to help him, and I couldn’t even go into the hospital with him. I freaked out and couldn’t help when he needed me.”

“You fought a trauma response to assess your boyfriend’s injuries and were able to drive him to the hospital,” Lizzie counters. “You set his broken nose and kept your head, despite having triggers all around you. Not to mention, driving him to the hospital was probably the best choice you could’ve made—I don’t have a car, and Joel was halfway across the city. There was no way we could get him to help. You did everything you could.”

Jimmy doesn’t argue. He’s too tired. He just turns his attention back to the TV as the commercial break ends.

When Joel helps Scott in the house several hours later, Lizzie’s made pancakes for them all, and Jimmy’s set out plates and spreads. Scott eats a single pancake, eyelids heavy, before limping off for bed. Jimmy follows him, rearranges the pillows so that Scott’s newly-casted arm can be elevated.

“You’re gonna be here a while, mister,” Jimmy tells him, handing him an ice pack. “Doctor’s orders. A week of bed rest, all for you.”

“At least I can give you kisses,” Scott slurs, smiling the best he can with a split lip and swollen mouth. Jimmy giggles, stripping off his shirt and climbing into bed next to him.

“I think even kisses are gonna hurt, baby. It’s okay, though. You’ll be okay.”

Scott nods sleepily, eyes already closed. “Yeah. We both will be.”

[bidoofenergy]

prompt 38 under kisses, ship of your choosing :]

kisses 38. fake kisses (prompts) (AO3) (526 words)

Jimmy finally steps into the night air, still excitedly talking about his plans for tricking Skizz. BigB is right behind him, closing the door down to his backrooms, and when Jimmy looks back, he’s smiling softly. That’s nice—BigB was enjoying himself, not just doing this because it’s his task.

“Right,” Jimmy holds up BigB’s secret task. “I’ll go share this with Martyn and you—” he pokes BigB in the chest with the scroll— “go get Skizz to meet me.”

BigB doesn’t even seem annoyed with getting poked, just gently pushes Jimmy’s hand down. “Let me know where to bring him.” he says, not letting go of Jimmy’s wrist.

“Of course,” Jimmy grins. “He won’t even see it coming.” The thought of the hearts to come—either by Skizz agreeing to rig the draw or by finishing his task—has him excited, practically vibrating in place. “I’m gonna dig out a cave over by—” He cuts himself off. Someone is approaching, talking about selling a camel?

“Scar,” BigB whispers, eyes wide. “Dude, he’s gonna ask so many questions.” Questions like why a red name was casually hanging out with a green name—and what could they possibly be up to? Jimmy doesn’t even think, just does the first thing that came to mind. He grabs BigB by the front of his shirt and backs up against the cobblestone wall, pulling BigB in to crash their lips together.

To his credit, BigB only flounders for a moment before kissing Jimmy back. He steps even closer, sliding a leg in between Jimmy’s thighs, his slight height advantage forcing Jimmy to tilt his head back a little. The only coherent thought Jimmy can summon is that’s what his beard feels like. Behind that, is the faint feeling of maybe this isn’t a good idea?—quickly wiped away when BigB opens his mouth a little and there’s room for Jimmy’s tongue.

“Oh, what do we have here?” interrupts Scar, sounding pleased. His smile grows when BigB moves enough for him to see Jimmy.

“Hi Scar,” Jimmy says weakly.

“Oh, BigB,” Scar chides, looking scandalized and excited. “Does the rest of the Heart Foundation know you’re out here with a Red?” Something flushes through Jimmy at that—a mixture of shame and something nicer—and he can’t summon enough words to reply.

“Keep it moving Scar.” BigB says, calm and low, the same voice he’s been using when someone asks a few to many questions about his backrooms. Scar laughs, a little nervously.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving—bye!” he calls. Jimmy lets out a breath as Scar leaves and slumps against the cobblestone wall. BigB takes a step away from him, a tight smile on his face.

“Let me know where to bring Skizz.” He says and heads off in the direction of the Heart Foundation.

Jimmy stays leaned against the wall. He still has to set things up, still has to talk to Martyn, still has to attack Skizz—but he can still feel the warmth of BigB’s hands on his body, the pressure of BigB’s mouth against his, the rhythm of BigB’s heartbeat under his own hands.

[machveil]

ok im coming off anon! i'm -🐁 anon (and fucking proud of it) to show my plushies

these are the current stuffies on rotation (Technoflop and Rammie should be pretty clear indicators on where I was once LMAO). But I also have Stalight (mew), Macaroon (protogen), the Doodles (pcrow merch), Satoshi (bunny), Coda (oldest stuffie), and Chelsie (the border collie)

And then there's the full stuffie box I have in rotation. Yes, it's completely full.

I have a stuffie problem I need to stop buying more but they're too cute ☺️

aah!! you’re so real for having them all on rotation. I keep a majority of mine on my bed at all times since it’s pushed against a wall and they won’t fall off - Chelsie is adorable, also the big Eevee is such a mood

these aren’t all of mine, but they’re the usual suspects. all the Squishmallows go by their given government names, the cat is Honey (as in I walk into my room and dramatically say, “Honey, I’m home!”) and the Llama is Rapture (got them around the solar eclipse). I’ve got another another Squishmallow (Seth), two Pusheens (holding an ice cream, birthday + cupcake), a Scorbunny, a cute fox in a hoodie from the St Louis city museum, a beluga (Wilbur), a unicorn pillow pet, a teddy bear blanket (Mr Bear, childhood classic), and a unicorn pillow but it’s soft enough to be classified as a stuffie in my heart

there’s a few more scattered around my room and a handful of Bamboletta dolls too

honestly, shoutout to stuffie havers - live your best life gang🌸✨

[leninisms]

Hello,

I am Samar, a mother of a baby🍉🇵🇸👶

I’m writing to you during a difficult moment we are facing. We are struggling to provide milk and diapers for my child, and we have lost so much. Despite my husband’s efforts, the challenges are greater than we can bear.

We are in urgent need of your help, and any small donation would make a big difference in our lives. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to reach out to you; your support means so much to us.🙏🏻

https://gofund.me/5b6f1940

€13,451/€45,000

[jils-things]

im so overwhelmed with emotions rn /pos

[bitter---wing]

Hi, I hope you are doing well🌹

Can you help by sharing my story, reblog, and donating if you can, to keep hope alive for me, I'm type 1 diabetes. I am calling on your humanity and kindness to help me raise $340.

This amount will enable the approval of an insulin pump that will help me better control my diabetes. Although I am happy that I have been approved the hardest part is the money to pay for the pump and equipment, please your contribution is important. Be blessed ♥️

my own medical debt is currently drowning me alive but I'll share cuz I feel u and best of luck 🤝

[c28hunter]

I just think that he <3

HE <3 INDEED

[nando161mando]

I love you Nando <3 it's nice hearing about Australian political issues instead of American for a change (even if the two are inexorably linked) giving you kisses and likes all day everyday

Most welcome comrade and thanks for tuning in to my shitposting. 🖤

[trans-axolotl]

hi! no rush in answering this and I hope it all works out with your job, sending good vibes. I wanted to ask for some advice as my partner hss AFRID and (probably) anorexia. they've been refered for help for the AFRID stuff specifically and they (for very valid. and obvious reasons) don't feel comfortable opening up to drs about the other loads of eating problems they have. Now they are being monitored and freaked about abt the need to gain weight etc

Im helping them as best I can but it feels very us 2 (and our friends) vs the rest of the world plus that I feel I'm p much winging random stuff that Might help see what sticks. We are trying to find some middle ground were they can make some "progress" so they aren't coerced into something they really don't want to do by drs and so they can have a little more energy etc etc.

We are also both still living at our parents and it's all just not ideal. rn. Any advice at all would help really, is there anything I should do and anything I really shouldn't? just typing it up to someone who won't tell me to force them to get themselves admitted is already a relief tbh thank u for ur work on harm reduction <3

Hey anon! Thanks for reaching out. It can be so hard to find any information about how to support people with eating disorders that isn't just "Go get professional treatment right now," so I will do my best to share some stuff that we've been talking about in my harm reduction + peer support networks!

Correct me if I'm retyping your situation incorrectly, but my understanding of what you shared is that your partner has ARFID and is also having other struggles with eating more related to anorexia in terms of fears about weight gain, body image, etc. Their doctors know about the ARFID and are receiving some sort of treatment for the ARFID, but the treatment is triggering some more of the anorexia stuff because of the increased monitoring.

This sounds like a difficult situation for both your partner and you as a support person, and I can understand how stressful it is to have to worry about coercive treatment on top of trying to figure out ways to cope with disordered eating in the first place. It sounds like you've been doing a really good job supporting your partner and listening to what they need, and trying out lots of different things to see what's helpful for them. I'll share some tips, but as always, what works for one person won't work for another! Asking your partner and collaborating with them to figure out what their exact needs and wants are is always going to be the most important.

@librarycards just made a post about harm reduction in eating disorders that I'm going to link to. I'm not going to restate everything they wrote, but one thing they talk about is identifying what feels like a necessity that can't be changed right now, and what things feel like there could be some wiggle room and space for change right now. If your partner is open to it, it might be helpful to sit down and make a list of what kind of eating disorder behaviors feel absolutely necessary right now that can't be changed, and what things feel more flexible. I think it's really important to be able to do this nonjudgmentally--a lot of eating disorder recovery spaces argue that "recovery" is all or nothing, and that allowing any kind of eating disorder behaviors is a failure. It can be really important to use a harm reduction approach to identify goals that actually feel doable for us, instead of saying the only option is to stop every eating disorder behavior and mindset 100%. That will look different for everyone, but explicitly giving yourself permission to continue some eating disorder behaviors can sometimes help people meet other goals around energy, quality of life, etc that are important to them. I know for me, having both ARFID and anorexia made it incredibly difficult to try to focus on dealing with both at the same time. I completely stopped trying to focus on any ARFID goals in increasing variety or challenging sensory needs, and instead just focused on figuring out coping skills and how to meet the energy needs for my body. Giving myself permission to only eat safe foods, ignore social norms around food, etc, helped me a little bit with figuring out how to cope with some of my restrictive urges. It might be worth figuring out with your partner what goals feel like priorities at the moment, and making a plan together.

Another thing that I found super helpful in my own journey with the ARFID and anorexia combo was learning about fat liberation and discussing it with other people. Basically all mainstream eating disorder treatment doesn't bother to spend anytime talking about fat liberation or fatphobia, and usually actually perpetuates a lot of fatphobia. I think that being able to dismantle the societal ideas we learn about weight gain, fatness, and diet culture is super important for everyone, and I think that for disorderly eaters, it can also be super important to track how that influences our own self-understanding of our eating. This list by Rachel Fox is a great starting point for fat liberation resources. For me, it was super helpful to be able to read through articles and books about fat liberation and discuss them with other people, and build a political understanding of fatness that allowed me to connect what I was reading to my experience with disorderly eating. If this is something that your partner is interested in, having someone to learn + read with can be super impactful.

I think it can also be crucial to think about your own boundaries and needs as a support person. You are not in charge of "fixing" your partner and your partner does not need to be "fixed." You're allowed to not know the answers to things, need to take breaks to support yourself, and to also be going through difficult times. Both you and your partner's autonomy is important, and figuring out ways to support without feeling responsible or trying to control each other can be really crucial. I can tell how much you care about your partner and it sounds like you're doing a really incredible job with all the ways you're providing care. If either of you ever feels like you need a space in your life to talk about this, ANAD offers peer support groups both for people living with eating disorders and for family/friends of people living with eating disorders.

Other than that, there's not a ton I can think of for things you should or shouldn't do, since it seems like you have pretty good insight into major things to avoid (forcing people into hospitalization, making fatphobic comments, reinforcing diet culture, forcing recovery) and are doing a lot of things right (asking your partner what they need, trying things out and being flexible, making room for harm reduction style goals instead of only "recovery.") Keep asking your partner how to support them, collaborate with them on the best ways to provide them care, and continue being there for them through this hard time.

Truly sending you and your partner the best of luck, anon, and hoping that you both can find some care and healing during this difficult time. All the solidarity and please feel free to send any other asks with more questions, vents, anything, <3 <3 <3

[luuney]

being an extrovert is so pathetic because what do you mean you’d rather stay at the front of the shop than sit in the break room alone during your lunch break and that everything you do is actually to curb this perpetual underlying sense of loneliness and isolation from others (it’s me i’m pathetic)

[dyke-a-saur]

Being black and seeing the specific racism against rroma/Romani/sinti people is wild. Like mad weird. Seeing even “anti-racist” Europeans be like “no u don’t get it they’re actually-“ an then go on to spew some racist bs on the same level as anti-black people in the US. Like shit is crazy