#seriously we need to be protesting this

[theyhaveacavetroll]

Just in case anyone was wondering, here is what seems to be the latest on KOSA. For anyone in the US, here is a link to tell your congresspeople that this is not ok.

[ispeakeasily]

I don't think people are clocking what's going on when these colleges and universities call police to a student protest.

These protests have been non-violent, centering community, education, culture, solidarity, and, of course, divestment. They are made up of the body these institutions are meant to serve, expressing concerns and issuing demands.

But, to those with power in a capitalist system, interrupting the flow of capital will always be seen as peak violence. The heads of these institutions and the politicians backing them, albeit headasses, are smart. They know some things:

One. When police show up to non-violent protests, everyone -- the cops, the protesters, bystanders, passersby -- gets agitated. Things get tense and physical violence is more likely.

Two. The police will kill you. Some of them really want to. We have seen, in living memory, police kill anti-war student protesters on campus.

It's a very generous assessment to say that these colleges and universities, these politicians, are merely willing to let these students be killed for protesting the war and interrupting the flow of funds.

(I wrote this yesterday and didn't post it 'cause I kind of just keep my thoughts in my drafts and interact with people elsewhere online, but after everything that has happened in that time, I think it needs to be said that these institutions are calling the police in because they know they will attack protesters. They are calling them in to violently, even lethally, snuff out this movement. They're called in to administer punishment, not peace.)

[magentagalaxies]

vent incoming:

got my grades back for my courses last semester and most of it was to be expected, mostly A's, maybe an A-, etc. but i honestly can't get over the fact that my independent study (the buddy cole documentary) was for some reason given a B. like sure getting a B isn't bad per se, I usually get at least one B every semester and i honestly don't really care about what my exact gpa is as long as i can graduate, but come on. this school put me through months of psychological torment over this project and didn't even have the nerve to give me a B+??? i'm still coping with the self-doubt they forced on me and this bullshit is not helping!!

[thedisablednaturalist]

If Trump is elected and even more Republicans come into power, literally this is one of the many fucked up things on their agenda. The SAVE plan is the one thing keeping me from homelessness or moving back into an abusive environment. I cannot afford those payments. So many Americans like me will not only be PUNISHED for pursuing higher education but our lives will be absolutely destroyed. College will once again be only for the white, abled, and most importantly rich upper classes. These parasites only care about sucking up more and more of our income that they don't even need! And as a disabled person its especially fucked that these people treat US like the parasites!! Literally every policy they make is just to increase their own personal wealth, they have no interest in actually making this country a better place to live and god forbid the world too. I am scared out of my mind that Trump will be able to put more of his cronies in power.

Please read this and learn more about project 2025 and the fascist scrawlings of shit it is. This is what republicans and conservatives want. They want to rape this country and ruin the last scraps of good thats here. They want to tear down every single good thing that has been fought for with blood and sweat and tears for over a hundred years.

I'm sorry I'm just, I'm so scared. I can't leave this country. It's my home and even if I wanted to leave I can't. Y'all countries who think you're sooo much better than us don't let disabled people like me in. You keep your healthcare to yourselves by literally banning immigration of disabled people, especially those who are of color.

[bat-the-misfit]

oh no

[deadlylittlemiho]

So I'm genuinely concerned

Are we really all gonna just pretend not to like Harry Potter anymore? Because of one terf with a million bad ideas and a superiority complex?

When the fandom has long since denounced her and started making their own fan works and headcanons? The existence of Harriet Porber makes me feel like ???? We don't need to destroy the series just because the creator is a bigoted moron???? Stop me where I'm wrong but I thought the point was to separate art from the artist, and as long as we're not supporting HER, where is the harm?

[lurkiestvoid]

It's absolutely a deterrent especially for folks who've never been to a protest. There's this idea that you have to Gear Up And Prepare for ANY action even just like, a simple picket or march, so folks think protesting is Always some violent dystopian Struggle with severe risk of personal harm and arrest. And while yeah, sometimes they do go badly and these things do happen, it is NOT the majority of action and most events are relatively boring risk-wise.

Like, no you don't need full black bloc gear to hold a sign for a permitted 2hr sidewalk protest, and you don't need shields and gas masks and jugs of milk for daytime local-issue demonstration of civic dissatisfaction. PLEASE just show up. If there are risks, the organizers will be able to tell you what they are and how to prepare.

The most 'risky' protests I've been to have all been either systemic, ongoing, and/or continued into late evening after sundown. They were still all highly organized, and the leading experienced activists were very clear on strategy and risks. Typically, any policing threats were made obvious by the cops changing from 'standing around looking bored' to 'organizing into groups/lines', so if you're not prepared to Resist for any reason -- zero judgement, there are so many reasons and they're no one's business but yours -- that's when you leave.

For now we still have the right to protest, and the majority of action will be calm and organized. There will be lots of in-group mediating and de-escalation if folks come in looking to start shit, and just showing up is an EXCELLENT way to meet local activists and justice groups/networks, many of whom work together on many different issues.

Even if you cannot stay or participate there are other ways to help, like delivering/dropping off water (or snacks!), donating to involved groups or bail funds, donating/lending canopy tents and seating for elderly and disabled activists, and volunteering labor like childcare, transportation, distributing materials/info, making signs and posters, translating/interpreting, and more.

And most modern protests work hard to make their actions more accessible or will work with you to ensure you and others like you can access them! If you cannot or do not want to march a route, there is still much more work that can be done both before and after, and not every action is a march!

Just please show up whenever and however you can, whatever that means to you and your circumstances.

i also think that the way people on here talk about protests is sometimes needlessly fearmongering like it's always good to have your wits about you and be aware of dangers from cops or counterprotesters but also i feel like a lot of people on here have become convinced that by going to a large peaceful protest march they are taking their lives in their hands which is just simply not the case (the point of those events is optics and showing that a lot of people are willing to show up for the cause) and i'm worried it might be deterring people from actually showing up to protests

[sortanonymous]

Well this is horrifying. (put this link into 12ft.io)

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 1 | masterlist

-

“I’m not looking for a babysitter that can only come by every now and then,” he says sternly and pauses for emphasis, brows furrowing to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve got a busy schedule and his mom isn’t in the picture. I need a real commitment.”

You sit across from him wringing your hands under the kitchen table, wondering again what it is you’re doing here. Babysitting has never been your schtick; you’re somewhere in between too old to do it as a casual gig for extra cash and too young and inexperienced to be considered for a full-time position. 

Yet, it seems like that’s what he’s looking for, based on the information he’s told you and your general impression from having been in his house for less than twenty minutes. The house is a mess—toys strewn across the baby’s bedroom and the living room, dishes crusted with day old food sitting in the sink, the bookshelf in his study covered in a fine layer of dust that tells you that this man spends so little time in his own house that it’s become something of a requiem to single fatherhood. 

“So, a nanny?” you ask.

He hems and haws over that for a bit. “Bit too fancy for my tastes, but that’s more like it. It won’t just be watching the baby—I need someone who can help out around the house as well. ‘Used to run a tight ship before him, but cleaning’s not been my highest priority these days. Sure you’ve picked up on that.” He says the last part wryly, lips curling up into a crooked grin under his mustache. 

“Well…” You trail off while glancing at the mess in the living room out of the corner of your eye, toys and blocks scattered over the playmat. Your own smile is sheepish. 

“I work odd hours, so I’ll be gone a lot; you’ll probably have a few late nights here, but I pay well. Think that’s something you can handle?”

A polite refusal sits on the tip of your tongue until you swallow it back, suddenly conscious again of the dwindling funds in your bank account. It’s not that you don’t think you could handle the job. You’ve babysat before (only preteens, you correct yourself internally, but surely there are some transferable skills there). And, eclipsing all of your arguments in favour of walking out the door right now, is the very salient and pressing need for an actual income. 

“You’re military, you said?” you croak out instead.

He nods, hums. “Bit of a glorified desk job these days. They don’t put the old timers out in the field. Still, keeps me busy.”

You frown at that. “You’re not that old.”

That gets him to cock an eyebrow. “Love, I’m over twice your age, easy. I’m plenty old for a first time father on top of that; should’ve already been an old hand at this, but I’ve been married to the job for too long.”

You don’t ask if the baby was an accident or how it came to be that he chose to raise the baby on his own rather than try to work something out with the mother or give him up altogether. It seems uncouth. Rude. It’s none of your business and, more to the point, hardly relevant to the job. It’s just your own insatiable need to pry and know every little detail raising its head to sniff the air. 

“Well, I think—” You chew on your words and then backtrack. “—I can handle the job. I live nearby, so I can be here whenever you need me. If you need references, I can—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m a good judge of character. If you wanna help put the baby to bed, we can talk salary and I’ll go over my schedule this week with you.”

The chair scrapes against the tile floor when he stands up, pushing it out from under him. Standing, he towers over you, a big, fit man despite his protests to the contrary. Hardly out of his prime. You’d put him at forty-five at the latest, and still a work horse of a man at that; broad like a draft horse, like he flips tires and runs marathons for fun. When you push out your chair and stand as well, you’re still forced to look up at him. 

“Sure can, Mister…—?” You realize with a slight start that you only remember his first name, though it hardly feels appropriate to call him by that given the fact that he’s about to become your boss. Already is your boss. 

“Price. But John works just fine,” he corrects, his smile warm, almost paternalistic. 

You ignore the flash of heat up your spine and the way your belly constricts when he reaches across the table to shake your hand. His big, calloused palm dwarfs yours, fingers easily overlapping. You might as well be shaking a mitt. 

“Well, thanks for the job, John,” you say with a smile of your own, ignoring the way yours strains at the end, anxiety already gnawing a hole through the lining of your stomach that your stomach acid will now most certainly leak through. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.”

His words seem like a bellwether for something that you can’t yet articulate or even anticipate. Regardless, they make you swallow reflexively when you start salivating out of nowhere. You should probably quit on the spot actually, just out of principle alone, but again you remember the gut-churning sensation of checking your bank balance in the middle of the grocery store the other day before putting half of the contents of your cart back onto the shelf beside you. 

You follow him into the playroom instead, where a fuzzy headed infant gasps up at his daddy, blinking big lovestruck eyes up at him. Your own heart feels like a melted caramel in your chest when John picks his son up, eyes crinkling with affection. The baby is so tiny in his arms.

Any thought of being a good person evaporates from your mind. As if you ever had a chance. 

You don’t know how he found you. Through a friend of a friend of a friend’s dad’s coworker, maybe. Word of mouth. Watercooler conversation and a heaping cup of gossip.

“Did you hear the Captain’s looking for a babysitter?”

“For what? To bang?”

“No, dipshit. He knocked some broad up and she left him with the baby.”

“No kidding. The Captain?”

“Didn’t I just fuckin’ say that?”

“Price, you mean? Captain Price?”

“Are you fuckin’ deaf? Yeah—Price.”

“Christ. Godspeed to him. A baby. Goddamn.”

“Give it a rest, it happens all the time. That’s why you always wrap it up. Anyway, you know of anyone that’d be up for it?”

And then somehow, your name gets mentioned. Much to your relief. Job opportunities don’t knock on your door all that often, and when John finally gets around to telling you your hourly rate, you almost burst into hysterical giggles in front of him. It’s more than you expected. More than you deserve, if you’re being honest. You’re retroactively grateful that he didn’t ask you to name your rate because you wouldn’t have dared propose something anywhere close to what he offers.

It’s a straightforward gig. John doesn’t work the typical nine-to-five, so you show up at the times he made you write down on that first day in his living room after your interview and you leave whenever he comes home. The first week is fairly true to the schedule he laid out for you. He’s only late by around half an hour one evening, but that was another condition that he made you well aware of prior to giving you the job. 

You know better than to put up a fuss. You’re already learning on the job as it is; with your anxiety at a ten at all times, you appreciate the extra half hour to keep googling baby-specific information. What to do during tummy time. The benefits of baby massage. How to change a diaper. You’re learning all sorts of things these days.

To your credit, he could’ve done worse. The day after John hires you, you sign up for an intensive babysitting course over the weekend and read the online manual front to back. Your CPR certificate is still valid, but you book a refresher course as well just to be on the safe side. It’s a bit unbearable to watch the funds drain out of your account before you’ve even had a chance to earn your first paycheck, but it’s worth it for the burgeoning confidence that you bring on your first day.

Babies are fun to be around, you realize, much to your own delight. Babysitting—or rather, nannying, but John still introduces you to the neighbours as his babysitter, plus nannying requires a host of additional accreditations that you simply just do not have—might not have been a job that you ever expected yourself to like, but you find yourself kind of morose at the end of each day when you have to say goodbye to baby, and even going so far as to turn in early when you get home so you’ll be ready bright and early the next morning.

Babies also smell better than anything you’ve ever smelt in your life. You could huff the top of this little guy’s head morning, noon, and night. Milky and clean; it barely takes a few days to become addicted to the smell of his little head. When he’s cradled in your arms, you can’t help but press your nose to the top of his head and take a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. It’s some good shit. 

You keep a journal filled with notes to relay to John when he comes home at the end of the night and keep your phone close to you during babytime to film any important moments that John might’ve otherwise missed. 

“He started babbling today,” you tell John the second he walks through the door, the video already pulled up on your phone. You haven’t felt this excited in ages. “Look.” 

He’s still in his fatigues and everything, but he humours you and takes the baby when you pass him over, cooing and tickling his belly until the baby squeals and babbles again for him. 

“See?” you gush, mooning over him. You don’t have the presence of mind to be self-conscious in the moment. 

“Yeah,” John remarks, lifting his son up to blow a raspberry into his belly and grinning at his ensuing peals of laughter. “Ain’t that something.”

If the smile in his voice has anything to do with you, you don’t pick up on it.

On top of everything, John turns out to be a really good boss. Despite his gruff, intimidating exterior, he’s remarkably kind and patient with you. He doesn’t nag you for missing a spot when cleaning the bathroom. He doesn’t scold you the day your car breaks down and you’re forced to take the nearest bus to his place, tacking on an extra twenty minutes to your commute, even though that means that he’s invariably late for work. When you accidentally use scouring powder on the inside of his Le Creuset Dutch oven and scratch off the enamel, he gently talks you out of a sobbing fit, seemingly unbothered by the state of his scratched up crockery.

He shrugs when you bring it up. “It’s got a lifetime warranty anyway. I’ll bring it into the shop over the weekend. No use getting upset about it.”

Unflappable. That’s the word for it. It’s like as long as he’s able to come home to the baby and you in one piece, nothing else matters, and that sense of calm permeates the whole house; for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone. 

Your only qualm—and it’s hardly even a qualm, to be honest, more of just an observation—is that John is more of a physical person than you are. 

When he wants to move you, he does—two big hands clamped around your waist and only a fraction of his strength to move you away from the stove so he can take over cooking while you check on the baby, your mouth hanging open, aghast. Fuming at his nerve. The gall of him to manhandle you. 

You don’t hold it against him though. You haven’t spent much time around groups of men, but you’ve seen military movies before and it seems like the status quo for men to grab and push each other around. If anything, he’s gentle with you. 

It’s just that—and again, John’s the first adult man you’ve spent any one-on-one time with, what with it just being the two of you and the baby in his house, so your frame of reference is microscopic—you’re not completely sure whether it’s appropriate for your boss to be so touchy. 

You don’t mean to insinuate that he’s being inappropriate. It’s just that—and again you have to catch yourself before you go making assertions about people because John is honestly such a nice man and he’s done nothing but treat you fairly and made you feel safe and welcome, but…—sometimes he insists on you staying over for dinner after he comes home from work and doesn’t take no for an answer.

You’re never in any rush to leave. There’s not exactly anything waiting for you in your dingy little apartment. So when he asks you to stay, you have no good reason to refuse. It’s nice to get a free meal as well. With the way John gives you unfettered access to the fridge and pantry, you hardly need to buy groceries at all these days. You feel a little guilty about that, but you know what it’s like to go hungry.

Maybe that’s why you stay for supper the first time he asks a couple weeks into you working for him. You’re subconsciously mortified that you’ll eat his food when he’s not gone but not when he offers it to you.

At least dinner feels like something you’ve been given rather than just taking, taking, taking. 

Not to mention you’ve developed something of a rapport. There’s always something to talk about with John: the baby, his work, a show you watched on TV after putting the baby down for a nap, the new big Tesco four blocks from your place, his late teens before joining the military (“back when you weren’t even a thought in your mum’s head,” he jokes, cutting into his steak and something in your brain pops and fritzes out like the static between radio stations). 

The first few suppers are sporadic and never long enough to make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In all honesty, they’re the few bright spots in an otherwise dull life. Outside of your job and the infrequent dinners, you’re estranged from your family and you’ve only got a few close friends in town that you see maybe once or twice a month. Nothing to write home about. Some Friday nights, the yoga studio near your flat has a five pound community class that you pop in for, but those are infrequent too. 

Then there’s the odd night where he shoos you into the living room to put on a movie while he cleans up after dinner. You stare absentmindedly at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves and then jump when you find him staring at you expectantly over his shoulder.

“Go put something on,” John tells you, a warning look in his eye. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Sorry,” you whisper before slipping off into the living room.

You can’t relax on the couch while you wait. You flinch when he finally joins you, sitting down on the other side of the couch suddenly. You hadn’t even heard him coming; he’s light on his feet for such a big man. 

The buddy cop comedy you picked barely distracts you from the fact that your boss is sitting on the other side of the couch. You spend the whole two hour run time so nervous that you’re afraid you’ll buzz right out of your skin. 

For absolutely no reason, of course, because all John does is make light conversation with you throughout the movie. Conversation that you respond to in curt, choked whispers. When he walks you to the door after the movie, all you can focus on is how utterly embarrassed you are for being so weird.

Your dreams that night come frantic and heady. Humid under the blanket. The phantom feeling of a body heavier than yours weighing down one side of the couch and you sliding towards it gradually, unable to even cling onto the arm of the couch to keep from falling into his lap. 

Then hands on your belly, cupping and holding. Thick fingers with hairy knuckles. A warm, tobacco smell wafting under your nose, sweet like tonka bean and smoke. Nothing you can do to keep them from travelling down your stomach and thighs and spreading your legs wide, big hands curving around your inner thighs until—

You wake up panting, fingers pressed against your clit in your sleep. It takes nothing to bring yourself over the edge, dark blue eyes swimming on the precipice of your conscious mind. 

“Sleep well?” John asks you the next morning when you show up on his doorstep, handing you the baby before you’ve even said so much as a word. You hold the baby to your chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to put some distance between you and the man who has now taken to starring in your dreams. 

“Not bad,” you squeak. 

You flinch when he guides you in with a hand on your back and shuts the door behind you. Your cunt pulses when his fingers press firm against the small of your back, hand bigger than you remembered from your dream.

As if you were ever going to end up anywhere but here.

[queenpiranhadon]

"That's what you're going with?"

Nobara looks at Gojo skeptically, and her teacher blinks back at her, confused.

"...What?"

The brunette rolls her eyes, and motions in Gojo's general direction.

"Midnight Lotus, really?" she looks at him, disappointed. "It's clearly a Vanilla Cream day."

Sighing, she looks to Megumi for help. "It's like he wants to get divorced at this rate."

Satoru watches the interaction between the two, scandalized. He wants to what?!

"Now, now, Kugisaki, I'm offended you think so little of me! My wife loves me far too much to leave me over some cologne choice. Plus, Midnight Lotus smells awesome!"

Nobara looks at him scrutinizingly before lifting up her fingers to make two Ls as if to look at him through a frame.

"It's giving...paintbrush." She says, squinting disapprovingly, looking at Yuji for backup.

He nods sagely, replying with full seriousness. "He's low-key cooked if he thinks this is what's gonna seal the deal for him."

Satoru looks at them confused, already feeling old from his lack of understanding of their slang and yet he understood enough.

"Hey! You know she's my wife, right? The deal was sealed 7 years ago."

"I still question her judgement back then." Nobara mutters, eyeing her teacher's childish behavior. "But no matter! We're going out to buy you better stuff instead of the crap you wear."

Despite Satoru's protests, Nobara's dragging him out the classroom, leaving a oblivious Yuji to follow after them (he's just happy to be here) and a disgruntled and reluctant Megumi who trails behind the three (he is not happy to be here.)

Satoru does admit, his student's blatant insults towards his ability to be romantic does take a hit at his ego a bit, but he knows deep down he could get them to stop whenever he wants to (he doesn’t).

He can't help but feel his heart warm underneath all the complaints and groans, because he knows that they love him.

And they love you too.

Which is what Satoru tells himself while Nobara and Yuji drag him around the mall draining thousands of dollars from his wallet (it's okay, it's just pocket money).

He knows it'll be worth in it the end though, when he goes home to recount his day and hear that gorgeous laugh of yours.

God, he can't wait to have kids of your own some day

A/N: We all need a little more dad gojo in our lives

[lavendernhoney]

Yeah the Democratic Party is a mess and failing us.

To be clear we need to fight like hell to get someone more progressive on the Democratic ballot. We also need to fight like hell to destroy the two party system in general.

BUT

we cannot destroy the two party system before the next election. It’s too deeply entrenched in our politics and voting systems. And if Biden is still the Democratic candidate you do still need to vote for him. Yes he is directly contributing to the conflict in Palestine- but so will a Republican candidate. No I do not want to vote for him, but I know not voting is a helping someone more conservative take the presidency again.

Voting is not condoning everything a candidate does. It is a chess move. It is strategic. It is necessary. You can vote for someone you don’t like and then also protest everything they do. If the Democratic Party fails us once again you do still need to vote for him.

In the meantime fight like hell to get the Democratic Party to elect someone better. And fight like hell to destroy the system that allows the will of the majority of this country (because the majority of us DO NOT SUPPORT ISRAELS OCCUPATION) to be ignored.

Edit: I highly encourage everyone to look into Marianne Williamson’s presidential campaign. She hasn’t gotten a lot of media coverage but her grassroots campaign is growing in momentum. She was calling for ceasefire in Palestine two months ago and has been much more in line with public opinion on the issue. She has some really interesting policies, some of which may be unrealistic under our current government but damn I want to see her try. Check out her policies here

[chongoblog]

Hey all my fellow Americans.

Vote.

Like, seriously, if you can, vote.

Preferably for Kamala.

“But Kamala is really bad”. Yes she is, and I can guarantee you that the alternative is going to be worse. Trump is literally running “Mass Deportation Now” as a slogan and saying that immigrants are poisoning the blood of our country with him and his VP knowingly spreading false rumors that Haitian are eating people's dogs and cats. And he’ll probably appoint even more religious zealots onto our Supreme Court who will last quite a long time.

“I’m sick of picking the lesser of two evils. She should EARN my vote” I agree. And in a just world she would have to do that. But of the two parties, one is FAR more likely to implement policies that will make it so she has to like Ranked Choice Voting.

“So you’re saying to support genocide?” Voting is not advocating for a candidate’s policies. ESPECIALLY in the dogshit political hellscape we live in.

"Voting for a Democrat isn't going to make the changes that need to be made." You're right again! Voting alone isn't going to make those changes. But between the two parties, I think one of them is going to be easier to organize under, and it isn't the one who said that cops should shoot protestors during the BLM protests.

"After all Biden's done with no promise of Israeli divestment from Harris, I simply can't bring myself to make that vote" And I understand that. The issue is that there just isn't a good choice available for that front, especially if you believe that Kamala and Walz can't be bullied. So you have to make the decision based on every other front. And whether it be the economy, rights for immigrants, rights for LGBTQ people, rights for women, foreign policy, or plenty of other issues, the orange man's platform is LEAGUES worse.

So I ask you, if you are able to, vote. It might suck, but at this point in time, it's something we can do.

[bizarropurugly]

back at it again at krispy kreme stonewall

we have to fight against them together or die there's no choice at this point.

if you're a cis lgb and think you're safe you're not. they're coming for all of us.

[wackachewbacca]

Only recently stepped into mythological retellings and already I want someone to do Mary the mother of Jesus because I want to know what it is to be told you are going to give birth to the Messiah, birth him in an animal trough, flee for your lives to avoid slaughter, live a few years in ease with your husband and son and I am assuming a few other children/relatives barring the few instances your messiah son decides to scare the shit out of you when he’s missing one day, and then one day you’re following your son’s small congregation of people going in people’s homes and the countryside watching things of purported miracles happen in front of your eyes and perhaps grow close to other notable women of the ministry (weirdly enough there are two more women named Mary who may just be the same person?), and then the worst days of your life when your son is taken from you, tortured and battered and sentenced to death and you watch him die a painful death and though you’ll be taken care of by your son’s will, wouldn’t you briefly for a moment hate the very being who sent you this darling child just to slaughter him in front of your eyes and perhaps what seems like a false promise and you’re left to your immense grief with the rest of his followers until a few days later someone says he’s alive again and you dare to dream and you won’t dare give life to that dream until you see him before your eyes and your darling child is alive and does it even matter if he’s the messiah promised to the world, it’s your child come back to you from death itself and my god what a tragic and wonderful life that must have been

[kittyprincessofcats]

ICJ Ruling

Okay, let's get into this.

First of all, I get the frustration at the court not ordering a ceasefire. I was disappointed and frustrated at first too, since a ceasefire was the biggest and most important preliminary measure South Africa was requesting - and of course we just all want this horror to finally end for the people in Gaza. So I get the frustration and disappointment, I really do.

However, I do think this ruling is still a major win for South Africa, Palestine, and international law as a whole and here's why:

The court acknowledged that it has jurisdiction over this case and completely dismissed Israel's request to throw out the case as a whole. It will now determine at the merits stage (that will probably take years) whether Israel is actually commiting genocide.

The court acknowledged that Palestinians are a "distinct national or ethnic group and therefore deserving of protection under the genocide convention". Pull this out next time someone tells you "there's no such thing as Palestinians, they're all just Arabs".

The court acknowledged very unambiguously that "at least some" of Israel's actions being genocidal in nature is "plausible". South Africa has a case, officially. Israel is accused of genocide, in a way the ICJ deems "plausible", officially. This is huge. (And seriously, how freaking satisfying was it to hear all of those genocidal statements by Israeli politicians read out loud and used as justification for this rulling?)

The court might not have ordered a "ceasefire" in those words, but they did order Israel to "immediately end all genocidal acts" (which includes killing and injuring Palestinians) and submit proof that they actually did. How are they going to comply with this ruling without at least severly reducing or changing what they're doing in Gaza?

In fact, this wording might actually be more appropriate for a genocide (vs a war), as author and journalist Ali Abunimah notes on Twitter:

He's completely right. Israel lost today, by overwhelming majority (I mean, 15 to 2? I heard people predict the rulings would be very close, like 9 judges vs 8, but instead we got 15 to 2 (and even 16 to 1 on the humanitarian aid). Holy shit.) The court disimissed almost everything Israel's side of lawyers said, while acknowledging that South Africa's accusations are "plausible".

And this is important especially because of Mr Abunimah's second tweet there^. Because the question is, where do we go from here?

This ruling means that Israel is officially /possibly/ commiting genocide and that should have huge international consequences. The rest of the world now HAS to take these accusations seriously and stop arming and supporting Israel - and if they won't do it on their own, we, the people, have to make them. This is THE moment to rise up all around the world, especially in the countries most supportive of Israel (the US, the UK, Germany): Protest, call your representatives and demand a ceasefire and an end of arms deliveries to Israel.

We now have a legal case to back our demands: If Israel is, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" commiting genocide, then all of our governments are, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" guiltly of aiding in genocide. And we need to hold that over their heads and demand better. We need to do that right now and in huge numbers. Most politicians only care about themselves and saving their skin. We have to make them realize that they could be accused of aiding in genocide.

(As a German, I'm thinking of Germany here in particular: After South Africa's hearing, our government dismissed their case as having "no basis" - how are they going to keep saying that now that the ICJ officially thinks otherwise? Over the last months, people here have been arrested at protests for calling what's happening in Gaza a genocide. How are the police supposed to legally keep doing that now that the ICJ has officially deemed this accusation "plausible"? I used to be scared to use the word "genocide" at protests or write it on my protest signs - not anymore, have fun trying to arrest me for that when the ICJ literally has my back on this one 🖕🏻.)

So yeah - don't be defeatist about this, don't let Israel's narrative that they "won" (they didn't) take over. This might not be everything we wanted, but it's still a good result. Don't let what the court didn't say ("ceasefire"), distract you from the very important things that they did say. Let this be your motivation to get loud and active, especially if you live in any country that supports Israel. Put pressure on your governments to not be complicit in genocide, you now officially have the highest international court on your side.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。YEARS LATER — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy au!)

contents. you and your rich husband, sitting and eating sushi years later on your wedding day. the end of one chapter, but the start of a new one. enjoy your happy rich boy gojo ending. with love, tee bee <3

satoru’s eyes are pretty when the sun sets, almost green instead of that usual icy blue—you can’t help but stare. it’s shamelessly, even. you watch as he brings the sushi to his lips, pausing just before he can take the bite as he notices your eyes on him.

“if you’re so busy staring at me, you might not notice it when your food is gone,” he hums, grinning cheekily at you.

you snort, rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “oh yeah? then i’ll just make you buy me more.”

“first day and you’re already admitting to marrying me for my wallet?”

you laugh—it’s a free, bright sound that he has memorized from plenty of experience. and it’s his turn to stare as the sun settles in the crinkles by your eyes, years and years of laughter and smiles evident in the lines of your skin. beautiful, he think, you’ve always been so, so painfully beautiful.

your wedding dress is expensive. a pretty, flattering little thing. you buy it yourself, despite his protests. some years ago, you’d have stared wistfully at the price tag and considered the purchase in another life. you’ve come a long way since then—satoru is proud. so proud, he feels an ache building in his chest from the way things have changed as time crept past the two of you.

not a bad ache, perhaps. a dull throb of nostalgia that settles under his heart, in that spot he has saved just for you.

“i don’t need your wallet, you idiot,” you grin, reaching over with your chopsticks to steal from his roll. he lets you, just like he always used to when you were younger.

satoru thinks now, if he could, he’d love to pat his younger self on the back. the version of himself that used to watch you walk out of class without sparing him a glance, the version of himself that ached so badly for a chance with you, he’d collect stars from the sky to trade for an ounce of your love. he’d tell his younger self that he made it—that he’s sitting here, years later with his grandmother’s ring on your hand, eating sushi go after your wedding.

for old times sake, you’d told him when you asked to stop by, we always celebrated with sushi go when we were younger, remember?

as if he’d forget, he wanted to laugh. but he drives over anyway, parking the car in the same old spot as he used to. this time, there’s newly wed! written on the back of the window—and the words miraculously enough crossed out underneath. (he thinks that’s courtesy of shoko, but she doesn’t fess up, and suguru insists it doesn’t matter. soon enough, he’ll get to the bottom of it.)

“are you sure?” he hums, “you’ll have a lot of fun with it, i promise.”

“i think i’d rather have fun with you,” you hum, giving him a small wink as you take a sip from your soda, making his lips curl into a wide grin.

“oh, isn’t that sweet,” he drawls, “i’m a lucky guy.”

“maybe if you’re on your best behavior, you’ll get extra lucky later tonight.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, folding his hands as he sits up straighter and nods seriously, “i’m a good boy.”

“you’re anything but that, toru,” you snort. and then you soften, staring at him as you reach over and grab his hand. he lets you, lacing his fingers with yours as your thumb brushes over his knuckles.

years and years worth of love resides in between your skin. the first time your hands touched him, you didn’t want him the way he needed you to. then one day, they touched him hesitantly, carefully, slowly exploring him with cautious gentleness. eventually they touched him like he was the world pressed in your palms, heavy with the weight of being your everything.

he likes being yours. more than he likes you being his—he’s always had more than enough. but there’s something about giving himself that feels better than taking, better than wanting, better than having.

satoru has always loved you. he thinks the first day you glared at him, he was doomed from the start. he thinks right now, as you stare at him with fondness, he’s even more doomed now.

he doesn’t mind it, not even a little.

“hey,” he murmurs, making you raise a brow for him to continue, “i’m your husband now.”

“i know,” you nod in amusement, “we just got married…like two hours ago. i didn’t forget that quickly.”

“good,” he wipes his forehead in faux relief, “i was getting worried for a second.”

“you’re too much,” you roll your eyes, squeezing his hand delicately.

“now that we’re officially married,” he starts, grinning cheekily as he bats his lashes, “we should list all the things we love about each other. in alphabetic order. you go first, of course.”

“i don’t have to alphabetize it.”

“why? you numbered it or something? is it organized by importance? i’ll accept that too, i suppose.”

“well, there’s only one thing,” you tease.

he huffs, grumbling a petulant, “so mean. all these years and you can only think of one thing? can’t you be a little nice to me in our wedding day?”

“i’ve worked smarter, not harder,” you shrug, “i’ve condensed all my reasons down to one thing.”

“and what would that be?” he pouts.

“everything.”

“that’s cheesy,” he snorts, but there’s a flush on his cheeks that makes you grin, snickering as you lean over and poke at his cheek.

“you’ll just have to deal with it. you’re my husband, after all.”

“did you ever think about it? when we were kids?” he asks softly, staring off at a young couple in the distance with a tiny grin. the boy pulls out the chair for the girl, pushing her in and tripping slightly on his way to his own seat. satoru chuckles softly at the sight.

“think about what?”

“us,” he mumbles, “getting married some day. before we got serious, at least.”

“i don’t know,” you admit, “i didn’t even think i’d date you, to be fair.”

“you hated me,” he pretends to sniffle, “you wanted me dead. you wanted me to blow up into smithereens and leave my poor mother a grieving mess, didn’t you?”

“maybe not then, but i might now,” you sigh tiredly.

“well, i knew i was going to marry you since the first time you insulted me,” he nods proudly, earning a loud chuckle from you.

“you were a little freak back in the day,” you laugh, “i believe it. only you’d be romanced by degradation.”

“baby,” he huffs, glaring at you (his eyes are soft, playful, even. so sweetly affectionate, your teeth could rot), “you should appreciate a man seeing the best at you. even when you put him through the ringer.”

he almost regrets saying it when your hand pulls away from his, but then one by one, your palms reach over to cradle his cheeks, brushing a thumb along his soft, familiar skin as you stare at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

he is, you make him believe. he’s the only thing that matters. the center of your universe. he fought tooth and nail to get there, of course, but he has no intentions of leaving.

ever.

“i will always appreciate you,” you say softly, eyes watering as you swallow thickly, chuckling when a small tear slips from your eyes. “thank you for loving me, satoru. even when it was hard. even when you had to fight to do it. no one has loved me like that.”

“aw don’t start with the waterworks now,” he mutters, looking away and blinking suspiciously enough that you suspect his own eyes are just as teary, “we can’t have you crying for me already—that’s for later.”

“never any decorum with you,” you huff out a breathless laugh.

his thumb reaches over to swipe at your tear, pinching your cheek affectionately as he grins. it’s toothy, boyish, hopelessly and completely in love. even back then, and even right now. he’s always so in love. it’s you—always, from the day you first rejected him to the day you said yes when he got in one knee, it’s been you.

“thanks for loving me too, sweetheart,” he whispers, his own voice choking a bit as he swallows, “it can’t be easy. i’m a handful.”

“at least you’re self aware,” you snicker.

satoru beams—and he’s yours. your rich, spoiled, beautiful boy. all yours to love for the rest of your rich, spoiled, beautiful days.

i cried writing this. what a man he is truly