#stop fucking excusing the death of civilians

[thingsarentgreat]

I don't know how to tell you that you should care about other people.

I keep reflecting to determine if there's something more within me that's causing me to still feel so incredibly sick by it all. Really trying to expose the raw roots of the feeling to see if it stems from some kind of selfishness. And I suppose it does. But to reduce it to just that would also be lying, because it's a combination of poisons down in that soil. It's betrayal and a feeling of isolation amongst a group I thought I once knew, and then that selfish and bitter root grows in like a weed. I can only quietly observe to myself: "ah. this is where the radicalization and rampant nationalism come from. this is why I see it flowering in my family."

It's because I feel my trust breaking all over again each time I forget about it and try to go on with my business. I remember that I still can't mourn publicly without someone educating me on why obviously if I'm mourning, I must have Insert Political Alignment Here. I remember the utter silence and the downright celebration of more civilian deaths because "oh, fuckin Yaya or whatever deserved it after what Israel does."

For the record, Yaya-Or-Whatever didn't deserve it, and I still remember the lead dropping into my stomach upon hearing that from a friend. No one deserves it. No one ever deserves it.

I don't know how to tell you that you should care about other people.

Maybe that's a quote leftists recognize, but I realize now that few of them actually stick to it across the board. And I'm admittedly selfish, because I hoped that leftists could at least have a moment to care about my people suffering too before getting back to helping the people who currently need the most help. But instead we got "Yaya-Or-Whatever Deserved It." And I've been laying here for months watching everyone on the left just go back to the usual armchair activism as if they didn't just fucking say that, and when I do bring it up, suddenly I'm the problem for pointing out that it was fucked up.

You won't erase it, fyi. We saw you say it. Some of you said it with your full fucking chest. You were callous and let the antisemites into the bar by openly celebrating Jewish death. Then you pretended we were talking about Palestine when we pointed out your antisemitic actions. You know that's not what we were even pointing to as an example. But it's very convenient for you to pretend we don't know the difference, isn't it?

I don't know. It's just a reminder that most of you are actually all talk and virtue signals. There's no actual substance behind your ideals, you're just adhering to the party line, same as conservatives do. I guess I was naive to think otherwise. It's disingenuous for you to wonder why people leave the leftist movement as a whole and "suddenly" flip sides. You know why, and it's reasons like this - you're just covering it up and pretending it's a totally different, more convenient reason.

Tldr; you're hypocrite ass leftists and fuck you. You should be ashamed of how you acted.

[sofs16]

a paddock day

charles x civilian!reader

yn

liked by yourbsf, and 12 others yn yo soy muy feliz aqui ! hasta mañanaaaaaa barcelona gp, te quiero mucho! [i am very happy here! see you tomorrow barcelona gp, i love you very much!]

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yourbsf finally main girl gets to watch a gp!

⤷ yn literally jumped on this plane last night im shivering and quaking.

yourfriend ATE THAT UPPPPPP!!! WNJOY

⤷ yn THANKS BABESSS

yourbsf im literally telling u they’ll see u and go WOAH WOSH WASH! then theyll fall in love with you and you’ll be those lowkey ass wags

⤷ yn Should I just wear a giant banana costume to get their attention

⤷ yourbsf DUHHHH!!! and go public, theyll stalk you and follow u and ull go famous

⤷ yn what happened to being lowkey ass wag

⤷ yourbsf i can be your wag😊💋

yn instagram stories:

you strolled through the paddock through all motorhomes like a little girl, contained with excitement. a lot of people were there but somehow, not in front of the ferrari motorhome.

you saw a man dressed in all black (kind of stupid since it was burning hot) with black sunglasses as a hat on his head walk you way. “um excuse me? would you mind if you took my photo please?” you approached him as he turned to you

he looked at you but of course, he was wearing the sunglasses so you wouldn’t tell what he was thinking. did he not speak english?

“tu no hablas ingles?” you asked “Oh! No, sorry. I do speak english and of course. Where would you want to take it?” He said in a foreign language.

“Just here” you walked over to the 55 wall “You are a fan of Sainz?” He took your phone as you walked over “Both of them, but my best friend loves him and couldn’t come so I thought I’d send her a photo” you laughed as he did as well.

He took a few photos as you stood in front of the wall. “Leclerc or Sainz, for you?” He asked, handing you back your phone “Both” you said in an obvious manner

“Life or death” he laughed “….Leclerc… though, Ferrari needs to stop fucking him over so he can get another win” You shrugged, putting your phone in your pocket as he nodded with a smile. “You?” “Leclerc!” He exclaimed as you giggled, this man was quite fun.

“I lit a few candles today in hopes he might win, I really hope he does. Or any Ferrari win” You said “Do you have a number?” He asked stupid question he thought “I’m sorry— that was a stupid question” you laughed “Do you mind if we exchanged them?” You scratched you head “Um… ad much as I want to, I don’t exchange numbers with random attractive guys, I’m sorry” you laughed “Attractive? Thank you” “Well seeing as I can only see half your face…” you felt your phone start to vibrate and saw your friend calling you

“I have to go but it was lovely meeting you! I hope we get our Leclerc win today!” You started to walk backwards “You too!” You turned around, putting your phone to your ear as you head your best friend’s scream, unknowing that Charles’ eyes lingered on you.

It was only free practice today. He hoped to see you around more.

liked by 20 others yn LALALALALA

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yourbsf LETS GO BITCH 55!!!!!!! yourbsf still think u shouldve given hottie your instagram

⤷ yn i got NERVOUS

june 2, 2023

liked by 21 others yn POLE POSITION LETS GO BABYGIRL

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yourbsf CHARLES BABYGIRL LECLERC

⤷ yn FUCK YEAH

june 3, 2023

You were admiring the paddock once again, now race day, as you heard the familiar voice behind you. “I hope we get our Leclerc win today” you hear behind you and you start to smile. You turned around and your heart sank to your ass.

Charles babygirl Leclerc was smiling at you “excuse me?” you mumbled, mouth slightly ajar “I know, I was in a more casual outfit yesterday” he laughed and you looked him up and down, wearing his red Ferrari suit “es muy stúpida” you mumbled

“I know you maybe think this is weird but— I could really not stop thinking about you for the last few days and have been trying to find you” He chuckled softly as you felt like you hit your head on the pavement. Charles Leclerc looking for YOU?

“Well, you found me! Congrats on pole by the way” “Thank you! Though I hope to win tomorrow, for the both of us” “Oh please, I can’t take another Ferrari loss” you closed your eyes.

“You are spanish?” He asked “Oh, no! I just like learning languages and visit here a lot” you said “Would you mind… if you showed me Barcelona some time?” was he asking you out? “I- uhm- sure” you fumbled “You don’t give your number, so what about Instagram?” He smiled

“Sure” you grabbed your phone and showed it to him as he searched it up on his phone and suddenly, he was being called by fans. “It was nice seeing you again!” You walked as fast as you could to the other side and he smiled, shaking his head. yn

| charles_leclerc has requested to follow you! 1h

request accepted!

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 25 others

yn did not go with the banana outfit @yourbsf. so so sad its over BUT WE GOT A FUCKING LECLERC WIN AND DOUBLE FERRARI PODIUM LETS GO

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yourbsf babes idt u needed the outfit…….

⤷ yn 🙂.

charles_leclerc You are welcome

⤷ yn thank you (and carlitos) for stopping the ferrari drought

yourfriend 😊 LETS GO BITCH

june 4, 2023

| charles_leclerc liked your story. 10m

| charles_leclerc liked your post. 7m

| charles_leclerc liked your post. 3m

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 12 others

yn mb my definition of “explore” is a museum LECLERC

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charles_leclerc I enjoyed every moment, stop apologizing cherie. We need another one for more exploring! june 8, 2023

charles.16

liked by 2,594 others

charles.16 WHO IS THIS NEW WAG

view all 179 comments

chalando1 chilll probs just a fan

⤷ charles.16 they 😭 exchanged 😭 instagrams😭

updatef1I I FOUND HER @yn

⤷ yn no you didn’t

[COMMENT DELETED!]

f1w4gs SHES SO FUNNY I LOVE HER ALREADY june 8, 2023

f1wags._

liked by 3,281 others

f1wag._ Meet Yn Yln! Charles and her have been spending more time together and were rumored to have met in the Barcelona GP! We don’t know much about her as she’s very private but we’re already loving her humor!

#charlesleclerc #yn

view all 219 comments

f1circuitzz Whatt!!! She’s so beautiful

chacha16 What does she do and what country does she live in?

⤷ f1wag._ We know she is German but we don’t know if she still lives there. She’s a fashion student but don’t know what college/university!

ynsfan11 giggling at the bio

yncharles NEED HER AT THE PADDOCK / GARAGE AGAIN

user1 watch them be together for a week

user3 charles switched to blondes 🌝

june 8, 2023

charlesaep

liked by 6,272 others

charlesaep I CANT BREATHE YN AND CHARLES WERE RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME IM SWESTING IM CURING WHETHTHRUFKC

view all 328 comments

User1 why can’t she just walk

⤷ yntcdts calm down😭 theyre cute

june 10, 2023

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 8 others

yn i got a photographer now 🥹

view all 20 comments charles_leclerc i am “a photographer”

⤷ yourbsf i was THE photographer before you Charles Leclerc. ⤷ charles_leclerc But I am now her favorite one😂

⤷ yourbsf I HATE YOU. YN DUMP HIM

⤷ charles_leclerc NO

⤷ yn why would i dump him? he’s a 2 in one (driver and photographer) / im kidding sharl loveu

⤷ charles_leclerc I mean, I do love driving you around

⤷ yourbsf you both are disgusting

⤷ yn get dick

june 11, 2023

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 11 others yn is this montREAL?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? view all 8 comments

charles_leclerc I love it when my girl is a fangirl 😘

charles_leclerc ma belleeeeeeeeee

yourbsf Can I come

⤷ charles_leclerc Am I the best friend

⤷ yourbsf oh fuck you

charles_leclerc Your caption is funny, I love it

⤷ yn thanks sharlie 🥹🥹🥹❤️‍🩹

june 13, 2023

| yukitsunoda0511 has requested to follow you! 1h

| pierregasly has requested to follow you! 1h | landonorris has requested to follow you! 1h | carlossainz55 has requested to follow you! 1h

| fernandoalo_oficial has requested to follow you! 1h

| francisca.cgomez has requested to follow you! 1h

| carmenmmundt has requested to follow you! 1h

you just accepted 7 requests

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 30 others

yn SOOO PROUD!!!! CHARLES CAME BACK AND IS NOW A WORLD CHAMPION IM SHAKING?! CONGRATS TO FERRARI ON BEING GETTING WORLD CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPIONSHIP AS WELL IM SHAKING

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charles_leclerc Could not have done this without you, chérie

⤷ yn love u sm babyyyyy⛄️ im scared though why are half the grid following me back (i ofc accepted)

⤷ landonorris because he just ranted to us for TWO HOURS (he always does but for a few mins) about you and how amazing you are, mate! Had to see what the fuss was about

⤷ charles_leclerc Thanks, Lando.

⤷ yn IM GOING TO CRYYYY LOVEU SHARL

francisca.cgomez You’re such a beauty!!! Loved seeing you today💞 Congrats, Charles!

october 22, 2023

charles_leclerc

liked by yn, and 8,559,282 others

charles_leclerc Another post about the Championship but this time for the person beside me who motivated me the most. My beautiful girlfriend, @yn, you are my everything. I love you more than you love pasta❤️

view all 1,181,292 comments

yn good morning?????????????????? WHAT

yn YOU DID THISBALL YOURSELF IM SO PROUD OF YOU LFG

⤷ yn ball

⤷ yncha16 AHAHAHAHAH SHES SO SILLY

⤷ charles_leclerc Without you, I wouldn’t push myself! So technically, you helped. ⤷ yn id do it again ml

ynsbabe yn public when

⤷ yn when sharl learns how to cook pasta 👨‍🍳

⤷ charles_leclerc Goodluck @ynsbabe

october 23, 2023

#SOF : are we feelin a part 2 ??? #FUTURE SOF: pt2!

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 6

summary ;; This is the reality of Jake Sully: the father and Olo'eyktan of the People cannot coexist, Eywa teaches her lessons in the toughest ways. PART 5 | NEXT (wip) pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; well this took a hot minute. am back on my bs WARNING for violence and t0rture, reader discretion is advised. Please excuse my mistakes if you see any!

Jake moved on pure primitive instinct, unbridled arctic rage honing all his senses into one laser point of focus. It wasn’t survival, and it surely wasn’t prey running from predator, there was nothing noble about what he was trying to achieve. 

That avatar was going to die today, and Jake was going to make it hurt. No fair game. No warrior’s death. No respect. 

Devoid of the shape of humanity or the ties that bound him to it, he was the embodiment of a creature’s killer intent, body taking over and consciousness disappearing to the backseat as he catapulted his tomahawk at the avatar, taking advantage of the miniscule opening provided by a magazine change needed after emptying all of his bullets to a Jake luring him into wasting his resources away. 

The dull squelch of the hand-carved ax’s head plunging into flesh couldn’t be dampened by the avatar’s choked and short shout, and Jake was jumping out of cover in no time, a bull to red, advancing towards the man, footsteps not hidden out of having no concern for it at all, let him panic or try to struggle for all Jake cared. 

Opposite of what he expected, the rifle wasn’t picked up or fumbled to aim at him. The avatar, pale in the face and pupils having devoured the yellow, fear trumping the pain of his arm almost sliced off from shoulder, crawled away on his back from Jake in full speed, getting up before Jake could reach him, and started staggering into the forest, dropping the tomahawk in the process. 

Jake stopped in his tracks for a moment and picked his weapon up, the dark liquid glistening purple in the light of the Tree of Souls, droplets of blood making the moss light up as they hit the ground. His chest heaved in controlled, loud breaths, mouth pulled back in a snarl, watching the pathetic son of a bitch trying to get away. 

He was one of the lot who’d shot you, hurt you, tortured you — simply to get a reaction out of Jake. 

He was the one who pulled Jake away before he could fix his mistakes, undo the damage they had done, and get you back. 

Jake was so close. So close. 

You were there. You were right there. He could still feel you in his arms, his shoulder imprinted with your tears, shiest of smiles at a better future he could build with you from the burnt soil of your relationship. 

If it hadn’t been for him… 

That man was your murderer. 

He deserved the hell of a father’s making.

This avatar was a marine — and the fucking idiot was running into the oblivion blind worse than a normal civilian would in this situation, had all those years of training evaporated in one second? Jake’s steps were determined, yet lax following after the guy, nose picking up the trail of blood left behind, eyes watching the red splatters. This was all Hansel and Gretel for him, playing follow the breadcrumbs.

The sound of thumping, frantic running, bumping into obstacles, crashing into flora, all was distinguishable from the natural song of the forest Jake had gotten so familiar with in these fifteen years. No response came from the avatar, but Jake wasn’t hurrying. He would have him. Let the bastard tire himself out first — but he wouldn’t let him die. No. He could smell the fear, the blood, anger at bay, all ice, knowing the trees would carry all the sounds he needed to Jake. He could hear exactly where the avatar was. and If he was hoping he’d bleed himself out faster than Jake could reach him to save himself from what was going to happen, well… 

He’d better start praying for mercy to whatever deity held his worthless faith, because Jake had none of it. They had no mercy for you, his sinless, innocent child, all but wails and yelps and blood, and apologies for it. 

Every time Jake thought of you in that tremendous pain to the brink of delirium, he burned in his heart’s ice until he was black and purple all over. Your smile was so real, your embrace was tiny and warm in his arms and he had a chance, the only chance no parent could ever get in this life. Jake had dissolved together with that mirage.   

The part of him engulfed in flames wanted to end this quickly and painfully—to burn it all, break that man in, scream his lungs out, the other part of him, frozen fury that scalded over in the loss of you, wanted to draw it out, wanted to inflict never-ending pain, to bring the avatar back from the brink of death over and over again just to repeat it in a cycle. 

His child. His baby. 

The ties that held Jake together were getting pulled tight, the pressure building like deep water currents, thinner threads snapping and crackling, body being pulled to all five directions from all five limbs. Awareness went out and barged its way back in hot flashes, he couldn’t comprehend the passing of time and how long he let your murderer catch the delusion of shaking Jake off his tail — but, his instincts knew to reveal himself before the avatar could be claimed by blood loss. 

Dangling hope right in front of his face just to snatch it away wasn’t enough. It could never be enough compared to you who had dragged your own corpse back home, muted to your own pain cocooned between those who should have meant nothing but home and safety to you. Torture. You had lived torture in your last hours with help just one step, one word away. 

Nothing would ever be enough.  

Jake emerged from the thick flora like the grim reaper himself who would always be waiting right at the spot of the reaping wherever the soul ran away to, detached and unimpressed, blank face not reflecting the scorched soul inside. The almost passed out avatar jolted awake when he smelled the smoke from Jake’s shadow falling on him, and could only press his back further to the body of the cluster of big rocks he had taken shelter against as if somehow becoming one with it could shield him away from Jake’s wrath.  

The man’s breathing was getting louder and shakier the more Jake stood there motionless. “C’mon then,” he said between clenched teeth, spasming hand dropping from his mutilated shoulder, squaring up the last drops of his courage. “Get on with it.”

Jake’s whitened fingers were making noise against the handle of his tomahawk, but his voice was hauntingly hollow, unfeeling now that he had the man right in his palm. “Thought I should let you live what you did to my daughter first.”

The avatar began to scream. “Fuck you, man, we didn’t do none of this shit to that kid—”

Jake’s tone didn’t change, but it cut worse than a knife. “You killed my kid.”

His eyes widened, breath hitching, the reality of what was coming to him finally sinking in and Jake witnessed every panicked second of it. “Fuck…” His gaze wildly alternated between Jake and the tomahawk, raising his better, trembling hand up for feeble defense. “Look, look, listen, we didn’t kill her, alright? We patched her up, okay, she was going to be a prisoner, what happened happened because you engaged in battle, we wouldn’t do that to a—AGH!”

He was interrupted by Jake sharply shoving the head of the tomahawk into his injury, just putting it in there, not moving it further down. “Do you have children, marine?”

The man palmed at the weapon, fingernails digging into the wood, but no matter how much he pushed, it didn’t budge one bit. “Stop, stop! Fuck—”

Jake repeated again, firmer. “I asked you a question, do you have children?”

“No!— No, god, argh!” 

He spaced out for a while, watching him squirm and trash to get away with defeated, half-assed attempts, also unable to because of how much of an immovable object Jake was making the weapon buried in the open wound be. It would hit the bone if he used more strength. 

With a fixed, stony stare, Jake removed the tomahawk, waiting for the man’s deplorable whimpers to recede before breaking him the news like reading it off a doctor’s report. “You won’t get to have any.”

He didn’t look like he cared about something like that, but the man knew his fate insinuated by the words. Nevertheless,it didn’t mean he could be free from the survivor’s instinct’s mood swings his body was putting him through. Denial to bargaining within minutes. “Just kill me already, you deserter piece of—”

“Oh, no, no no,” Jake reassured, the only flicker of emotion he had shown since he’d cornered the avatar. “You won’t get to die for a long time, either.” 

The avatar grunted, head falling down before he started to shake it. “Please just let it end—man, just let it end, I’m sorry, okay, please!” A whole body-trembling begging shifted to anger the more Jake remained non-responsive. Watching. Just watching. The hole in his chest getting wider the more he fed this man’s suffering to it — it wasn’t enough. “Just fucking do it! Pussy ass bitch! Come on you blue motherfucker, kill me! Kill m—”

“Are you the one who shot my daughter?” 

“What?”

“Are you. The one. Who shot my daughter?”

The avatar’s face twisted. “It wasn’t me—it wasn’t—asshole, you already killed the guy, I didn’t fucking do anything!—”

“You... didn’t do anything?”

A beat. The forest fell silent in Jake’s ears. Just like how the noises you made had abruptly died down as he was putting pressure on your wound.

And like that, the thick haze that had Jake desensitized blew over, unadulterated anger rushed to his body, acidic and nauseating, soul stitching back to his limbs by a million needles and he began to shake, face contorting, teeth showing itself, the hiss that lacerated his throat was the most terrifying one of his life yet, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a sentient being, twisted by a grieving, demented animalistic horror. The avatar’s breath hitched, whatever protest and voice he had escaping deep inside his body, ears pinned back to his head. 

“Of course,” Jake glowered, swallowing the scorching stones blocking his throat. He closed his burning eyes, and was greeted by the image of you, opening them back again, and shaking the ax as if it was an accusing finger. 

And without a word of warning, his hand shot down and grabbed the avatar from the neck of his tactical vest, hurling him over the chest-level array of big rocks forming a pointy bed above, ignoring the cries of pain as the abused, torn open flesh of the wound dragged through the sharp teeth of the gravel, dousing them in blood. “Please, please, stop!—I’m sorry, I was wrong, that wasn’t right, shit, shit!”

Jake snatched the man’s dominant arm that was coincidentally the same one dangling by fractured bone and tendons from the shoulder. His soul had known what he wanted right from the start before his brain had processed it. “This hand,” he spat, holding it from the wrist, gnashing his teeth. “that pulled the trigger at me…” 

Murdered his daughter for a second time. 

All a soldier’s worth for. One hand to hold the stock tight against the body and one to fire. All that to take a single life.

Leaning the hand down against the rock in a sudden move, Jake slammed on the blunt, pointy end of the tomahawk on it like he was hammering a nail, the sickening crack of the bones breaking got followed by the avatar’s fractured scream. 

Jake saw you hunched, cheekily laughing in the blue and purple of the creek, freckles glowing because of the eclipse, silhouette illuminated by the floating bioluminescent bugs.  

Spinning the tomahawk in his clammy hand in a full 360 turn, he smashed it down once more, stronger. The metal broke skin and sank into spongy muscle. His ears were buzzing, ringing from how the shrill yells. 

Jake was hugging you after what seemed to be years, and your little arms were clinging to him for life — you were sand slipping from his fingers. 

Jake hammered again. 

You were telling him how mean he was to you, your voice suppressing the avatar’s. 

He brought it down one more time and felt the tomahawk recoil from hitting rock. 

You were bashful as you repeated how Jake would always love you. 

Guttural breaths getting louder with effort each hit, he kept slamming it down until everything was his beautiful little sweet girl. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again and again and again and again and again until there was no resistance from the limb anymore and the man had gone silent and it was all mashed meat he was pounding— 

And then he almost plunged it to your bleeding, battered corpse, your stomach covered in reddish brown from the dried brown, body ashen blue, and Jake cried out in terror, jumping back and losing strength in his legs as the tomahawk flew from his hand and he fell over. 

His lungs constricted, refusing to take any breaths in and his heart ricocheted around in his ribcage, he was gaping at the wall of rock now washed red as if it was some white rose painted red in Alice in Wonderland. 

Jake sat there for the longest time, dissociated.

In those moments, he wasn’t Toruk Makto, he wasn’t Olo’eyktan, he wasn’t the pillar of a family of seven. He was simply Jake Sully. 

However, he wasn’t allowed to be stripped down to the bone until all that’s left was a mourning father. That was Jake’s reality. 

He had to cast the crippled man aside, the tragedy of his child away, and bring the leader of the People out right as your ghost rippled in his vision, watching spitefully within the forest — because all you wanted was for him to be your father, and he couldn’t even fucking do that after your death. 

This avatar was a valuable asset, a hostage to question. For the sake of his people. 

He wasn’t allowed revenge. 

A single drop of tear rolled down expressionless face. When he looked down, Jake’s hands were still stained with your blood. 

The only instance a child should be covered in blood is when they come out of their mother’s womb, little lungs being burned with existence for the first time, crying from the pain of being separated from Eywa’s arms, birth mother a complete stranger to them. 

The gore of you barely clinging to life, unmoving, drenched in your own blood, wiped and wiped to the point Neytiri had to change buckets of water until it turned light pink was overlapping with the joyful image of your newborn self she had lovingly and gently cleaned of the remains of labor with wetted mothsilk, skin too sensitive for water for the moment, the blue coming alive as the blood and other clotted bodily fluids were cleansed. 

It wasn’t the broken, ice-cold, lithe body of a young girl Neytiri had cleaned in the torment of her excoriated, unraveling mind, it was her baby’s. Her baby, her poor baby with a gaping hole in the middle of your body, memories marauding Neytiri’s lucidity. 

She lived the moment of your first cleansing over and over again. 

You were a particularly indomitable cryer, Neytiri had known you would be infamous for your battle cries right as she was brought back from the blackout of post-birth by your overly-healthy wailing — or perhaps you would best Ninat as a singer when you’d unapologetically blossom, but one thing was ascertained: her first daughter was a fierce, fiery blue ball of ardor compared to Neteyam, who was almost shy and reluctant in disturbing people around him in his weeping that a collective worry for his health had plagued the whole clan. 

As you squirmed, smeared in chunks of her flesh and blood, as if you wanted to jump off from her arms and start walking already, Neytiri had smiled up at her Jake, your father, unable to take his eyes off you, stuck between awe and laughs that came and went. “She has your heart,” she’d told him, spent and hurting, but wonderfully alive. “Strong.”

He’d traced his thumb through her drenched hairline. “Lungs, you mean?” His scent, wind and hearthfire, had enveloped Neytiri when Jake had leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I think they’re yours.” The teasing about how you had made Neytiri scream in labor wouldn’t have gone unpunished if she wasn’t on the edge of sleep held up only by your crying, so, he’d gotten a light hit on the side of his face instead. But Jake knew how to apologize, he’d always been spectacular at it. “I’d say she takes after me in appearance, look at her little ugly face.”

To Neytiri, you were beautiful, face dark purple from how strong you were screaming, and a mini-village elder with the wrinkles, swinging those little fists — things that made you lovely in her eyes. Her first daughter. 

She had learned motherhood from Neteyam, but she would learn to understand her mother and her choices through you, someone she thought couldn’t be more different from her — Neytiri, all Mo’at could have been, and Mo’at, all Neytiri might have become, once. She prayed you would love her as much as she’d begun to love you the second you were in her arms. 

To think the enormity of her love hadn’t reached you — it was one of the greatest failures of Neytiri’s life. If it had, you’d be wounded, but perfectly conscious and well in her mother’s tent. If it had, you would have been beyond comfortable telling those demons had hurt you. 

In that all-consuming devastation, the woven towel she was using to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that formed on your body slipped from her uncoordinated hands and fell on your chest, and Neytiri had to hold back the breath that spiked to become a hiccup by covering her mouth, and immediately, her curled hand was engulfed in a smaller, five-fingered one. She came eye-to-eye with Kiri after raising her head, putting her other hand on hers at the girl’s more disheveled and messy self, heart dropping to her stomach at the fatigue varnishing an extra layer of moisture in her daughter’s drooping eyes. 

“Oh Kiri,” Neytiri mumbled, caressing her cheek and brushing the tangled hair away from her face. 

“Why don’t you go get some rest, mom, hm?” 

“Even if I somehow agreed to that, I could never agree to leaving my daughter alone in this.”

“I’m fine.” Stopping to take a breath, she sighed, collecting the towel and starting to fold it. “Well, not really fine, but don't worry about me. We’re all miserable here. And that’s natural.” Fiddling with the corners of the cloth, she leaned in a bit and lowered her voice, light reflecting from the yellow of her irises making it look like they shone from within. “I… I know she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eywa has bestowed us a gift she has never given to anyone before and it’s for a reason. I feel that everything will be set right.” She shook her head up and down, determined. “Dad will do it. I know he will.”

Neytiri trusted Kiri with her intuition and understanding when it came to the inscrutable intentions of Eywa, she was closer to the Great Mother than any Tsahik was — so close that she would drift away too much from her family. And deep down, Neytiri was heartsick by this invisible line that separated her from her daughter, any parent in her place would be unsettled like this.

She was also hog-tied to close the distance growing between them because of the human boy Spider and how she would find camaraderie in him in their ‘orphan’ status as she called it. Kiri was already faraway in her obscure existence and unwittingly separated herself as if she didn’t see herself as a real part of the family some days, and Neytiri hated that the ‘kinship’ she’d formed with Spider was planting these ideas into her head when she was her and Jake’s daughter, no more, no less. To overwrite those feelings, she tried so hard to reach Kiri, but was unsettled by the feeling of being hated sometimes, again, more or less for her stance in placing Spider at the outskirts of their family. 

But oftentimes Kiri would express her affection through small, otherwise unnoticeable actions, just like this one, a caring touch and reassurance that could melt an ice cube — and Neytiri basked in the babiest of steps between them. And maybe this was how Jake had it with you, too, she had never thought about it like this before. 

Taking in Neytiri’s solemn silence, Kiri grumbled, suddenly agitated about something. “I just… I just wish I had isirka resin and xhikul seeds for this paste and cover her wound with it. Grandmother’s extract isn’t enough to stimulate the bone marrow and ugh—” The girl groaned with the obvious guilt at groaning in the first place, as well. “I’m sorry, mom, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Kiri,” Neytiri said, weariness blending with tenderness, knowing you’d agree too. You would have probably told her to not waste her energy and wait around when there wasn’t anything left to do anyway. “Maybe it’s you who needs some rest. You’ve worked hard. Harder than any of us. You do need rest, too.”

Kiri was quick to refuse. “I’m trying something new, I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sure one of your brothers—”

Her earpiece buzzed alive. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

The unexpected timing of it caught her off guard, her hand flying up to the device, drums of alarm going off in her head by the croaky, despondent note to his voice. The impact of their previous argument evaporated from existence just by hearing his distress. “Jake?” She focused on you, not observing any difference, and frowned in worry, her pulse picking up pace as Kiri also locked her attention to her the moment she heard her father was on the line. “What happened?”

“I have here one of Quaritch’s dreamwalkers—whatever they are.” Neytiri’s mouth opened and closed at the reveal, forehead creasing. “Alive. Somehow survived to get to the Tree of Souls.”

Her hand instinctively descended to touch your cool and clammy arm closest to her. “Tree of Souls…? But you were—”

“Yeah. Yeah, he… I couldn’t. I couldn’t…” 

She stared at your face, all thoughts draining from her mind. “What are you saying, Jake?”

Silence.

“Jake,” Neytiri implored, her voice snuffed out towards the end. She tried again. “Jake, I don’t understand. What does this mean..?”

“Son of a bitch pulled me out before I could… before I could finish talking to her.” Kiri reached for her when she let out an incoherent, disbelieving voice, getting more panicked as Neytiri clawed at her tightening chest with his next words. “I failed, Neytiri. I couldn’t… She…” 

Neytiri was physically helpless to respond, and Kiri couldn’t hold back from inquiring seeing the state she was in. “Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”

“This man, if it wasn’t for this man, I had it.” Jake kept talking at an increasing speed the longer Neytiri didn’t say anything. “I had her right in my arms, making future plans, smiling, everything was perfect, and then he—” His breath quivered. “He fucking—” And he stopped the sentence abruptly to get some semblance of control back because Eywa knew Neytiri was losing it ever so slowly. “I need you here with me right now, please. Please, I…” 

Neytiri refused to acknowledge what Jake couldn’t say out loud. You were still breathing, she felt your chest rise and fall even if the pattern was weak. You had life left in you. Jake saying he failed made no sense to her, she didn’t believe it. 

“Neytiri, I need to question this… this filth, need to learn all I can about what’s going on, but I can’t do it on my own. I’ll kill him. In a heartbeat. I want to squeeze the life out of him with my hands right this moment and I— I can’t… We have to know how they could have gotten this far, what they’re planning—and now right to the Tree of Souls too, and…” The rambling that got chaotic and disconnected faded off eventually, as if he’d lost his voice. “Shit.”

And throughout all that, Neytiri had gone from confused, in denial, at the threshold of grief but not nearly in there anchored by your pulse, and lusting for blood within minutes. Kiri was taken aback by the anger radiating from her. “Bring him here!”

“I can’t. He could have a tracker on him—they could have put it in his body. I can’t risk that.”

Neytiri stood up with only one thing in her mind, and it didn’t match Jake’s. “Where are you?”

“You gotta let me pass, buddy, come on! You wanna take my head off or something? Why are you being like this!” 

Hands up and quick on his feet, Lo’ak was trying to negotiate. 

With an ikran of all things. Not even his.

Yours. 

Mom storming out like a wronged, vengeful spirit had been the perfect chance for him to do a quick supply run sneak off, but your overgrown big bird with the exact same attitude as you was getting in his way and blocking Lo’ak off by snapping its jaw at his head and opening its sunset fire tinged wings every time he attempted to cross over to his own ikran. They were basically at a standstill and he had no idea why. 

Lo’ak just wanted to help. Help you. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Shit. 

Neteyam. Making his way to him with such speed that got his braids swinging and of course he’d sniffed Lo’ak out like a nantang. Followed the odd silence, probably. Eywa, he should have thought this out better. 

“Skxawng, do you not remember what dad said?”

“I do,” Lo’ak hummed and hawed, and that was the problem. He’d never felt this guilty about disobeying dad’s orders before, it was making him squirm. “But look, Kiri said she needed isirka resin and xhikul seeds or whatever to treat her, I’m going—”

Neteyam’s jaw had flexed when he said whatever, but there was no visible agitation after he gave a sharp breath through his nose.  “So let’s call mother or—”

“They’re busy with some sky person dad caught—”

“I know. The same ones who did this to our sister. I know, Lo’ak.” Neteyam aggressively gestured to the exit of the cave system, shaking his arm while speaking. “What do you think will happen if you go off on your own and land yourself in bigger trouble than she did? Huh?”

Lo’ak threw resentful looks at your ikran. “I can’t stay put like this. I have to do something.”

“This again? There is nothing we can do.” He hadn’t said that in his normal drilling of dad’s orders — Neteyam had the same pain of acceptance that were Lo’ak’s bruises etched onto his face.

And that made Lo’ak want to throw up all over the place. He’d experienced countless sicknesses his siblings had fallen to over the years, none of those were as fatal as this and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. What was he supposed to do when his sister was dying? What did one do when a family member was in this situation anyway? Nothing seemed right to him. 

And something was finally, finally within his power — and Lo’ak would of course rise up to the challenge without hesitation. He wasn’t just going to sit down and let that possibility of your salvation slip by. “But there is. Kiri said—”

“Lo’ak if you leave right now and somehow get caught dad will never trust you again. He was the most open he’s ever been, don’t betray him like that.” 

He was getting annoyed that Neteyam was ignoring the whole point, though it wasn’t as if Lo’ak didn’t know. He was fully aware, and that’s why this was supposed to be a secret. Dad couldn’t be hurt by what he didn’t know now, could he? Not only were you getting Kiri’s remedy, which he was sure as his name was Lo’ak that would end up most effective, but he also wasn’t breaking his promise to dad when the tiniest thread of trust in his son was knotted by the man just recently.  

Neteyam grabbed him by the top of his head in a brotherly manner but his hold was of steel, the boy tried to grumpily push him off but he didn’t budge, staring right into his soul. “Use what’s in this for once and just tell dad or mother, they’re down in the forest already anyway.” When he let go, Lo’ak stumbled back, rubbing the sting off, and the semi-playful older brother was back. “And one of them will actually know what to look for.”

His immediate response was refusal. “I know what I’m looking for—”

“What does isirka look like?”

The sounds your ikran was making was eerily close to laughter and Lo’ak felt heat rush up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a tree.”

Neteyam didn’t have brow hair like Lo’ak did, but the way he raised the lines was always more expressive than how he did it. “Xhikul, then?”

“Flower, skxawng.”

“Wrong.” Lo’ak’s tail started beating the air at the condescending tone. “Kiri is talking about the fruit. Xhika is its flower.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Whatever—”

“Is it whatever?” Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulder and spun him around so rough that he got dizzy. “Are you calling my sister’s life whatever?”

Lo’ak was going to explode from how wrong this was going and how insistent Neteyam was to twist his words. “That’s not what I meant bro!” 

“You are so careless.” Neteyam’s tail had shot up ramrod straight, the little bush of hair at the end of it all puffed up, ears perking in all directions. He wasn’t necessarily yelling but was tense all over, something he did whenever they were playing back in the day and he was about to pounce after staying still enough to implant a false seed of safety. “You don’t even think about what can happen if you were to bring a completely different ingredient! You don’t think!”

“Sorry that I’m trying to help! What are you doing?”

“Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe.” He pressed his lips together on a thin line, but couldn’t hold back whatever was bubbling inside. “I’m not losing another sibling, Lo’ak!”

Only a small gasp escaped Lo’ak when he opened his mouth in retaliation. He couldn’t have found his voice even if he found something to say to that rawness in return, anyway. 

The gut-churning guilt doubled. 

“Hey… I—”

“Go,” Neteyam whispered, tilting his head together with the lone word. “Since you’re dying to help, help Kiri. She’s exhausted. I don’t think grandmother will refuse.”

“What about you?” And there he goes again. Wrong words. Neteyam was looking more closed-off than before. “I’m not accusing or anything—”

“I can’t go in there.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Neteyam took a deep breath and loudly let it go, tail deflating, the arch of it depressing as hell for some reason. “I can’t look at her.”

Neteyam just gave a forlorn smile in return to Lo’ak’s heavily concerned looks demanding he continue but not knowing how to word it, his back looked weirdly lonely as he was tending to your significantly calmer ikran to join back the horde. 

Buried in negative thoughts all the way back and ignoring the pitiful looks from the rest of the clan, he met Kiri outside of the healing tent talking to Spider, and he could see Tuk’s back covering the view to you in his peripheral.

They were whispering about something and it was obvious even from a distance where they were nothing but stick figures. At least try to look less suspicious, Lo’ak thought. 

The only part he caught from the conversation was Spider saying, “Just describe them to me,” — Kiri was really leaning in towards him. 

“What’s going on?” 

The two looked like they were caught in the middle of scheming, and it clicked almost immediately. 

If Lo’ak had thought of going off on his own, so had they. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, bro,” he said, draping his arm across the human boy’s shoulders. “Neteyam’s literally patrolling.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Spider groaned, visibly disappointed. It warmed Lo’ak’s heart to see he was totally down for sneaking off the camp for you. “You said your dad told him to rest.”

“Yeah, he did. Except Neteyam never rests. He has a dancing glow worm up his ass.”

The conversation couldn’t continue because Kiri did a double take at something. 

“Tuk!” Kiri took a few steps aside, squinting as if she didn’t think she was seeing it right. Then her expression burst into panic, her hands flying forward as she ran to the tent, Spider and Lo’ak could only stare, baffled. “Tuk, oh Eywa, what are you doing!—” 

“I’m giving her water, she’s thirsty.”

“What?”

He actually rushed to the entrance of the tent, nearly falling headfirst in, having stumbled on some rock. Your mouth was actually open. And Tuk was really trying to get you to drink from the bowl she was holding against your mouth.

You choked at one point, still unconscious, but it was a sign of life. Lo’ak didn’t know if the shocked screech came from him or Kiri.  

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul

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[spacelazarwolf]

rules of engagement with this post: antisemitism, islamophobia, or racism will get you blocked. point blank, period. bad faith arguing will also get you blocked. harassment, gentile bullshit, white saviorism, historical revisionism, etc. all get the block. i’m posting this bc i have emotions not bc i want to spend 5 hours explaining to a complete stranger why people not dying is good actually.

honestly terrifying how westerners who consider themselves progressive view violence not as a last resort but like as a sort of righteous duty, and peace as some sort of boring consolation prize. i, along with many of my jewish and palestinian friends, woke up this morning to news that some of our friends and family might be dead or might die in the coming days and weeks. y’all woke up and saw this as an opportunity to harass jews and palestinians online. i see some of y’all posting about what’s happening as if you’ve dedicated your entire life to this single cause when a search of your blog shows me you haven’t posted shit about israel or palestine since fucking 2021.

there is nothing to celebrate about an extremist faction targeting civilians of a nation trapped under a corrupt government. there is nothing to celebrate about more needless violence, death, and oppression. the pain and suffering of our loved ones does not exist for you to collect activism points, and i’m really fucking tired of watching non palestinian gentiles scoff at the thought of peace because god fucking forbid our people stop dying so you have one less excuse to be racist or antisemitic.

[2kiran]

THREEKVENT NAVIGATION

sub bruce wayne soft dom gn reader handjob

Bruce Wayne leaned against the brick wall, his suit uncomfortably sticking to his skin with how badly he’s been sweating. Each movement caused his breath to hitch, the material grazing the cut on his side. Thankfully not deep, but it hurt like a bitch.

He reached over, unlocking the window. Bruce found himself returning late at night to your apartment after encounters with criminals, taking in more hits than normal for a proper excuse.

Fate happened. You were a kind stranger, he was injured, and he needed help. Eventually, it remained like that for a while. He’d be in one place, some sort of wound visible, and you’d take him in. His eyes had watched you like a hawk, grunting and squirming away from the slightest of advance on instinct.

Embarrassingly enough, he immediately melted into your gentle touch. You guided him, made him feel what it was like to be openly vulnerable with someone else present. It’s wrong. You’re a civilian, continuously helping Batman would put your life at risk.

He feels guilty about it. You’re too kind for him, never daring to stay close to him than is necessary and choosing to respect his personal space. It was welcomed at first, but he wants more of it, more of you.

The only time he’ll actually touch you is when the pain is incredibly overwhelming his senses, which has him catching your wrist accompanied by a restrained grunt. Like he’d been burned, he’d pull back once reality crashed back down. He can’t, he shouldn’t. He’s putting you in danger.

Damn it all to hell.

Bruce tripped, stumbled, landing right on your lap. How convenient, he thought. He held himself upright, clutching the top of the couch’s backrest in a death grip, eyes wide. Bruce frantically searched your face, analyzing your reaction. “I’m—” He’s cut off when you pull him closer, gasping in surprise.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him, a soft smile gracing your lips and he wants to kiss you senseless. Until you can’t feel your hands, your face, or use that smart brain.

He stays like that, straddling your hips as you clean the wound on his side. It’s taking everything in him for his thoughts not to drift towards sinful ideas, borderline unprofessional.

He can’t help it.

Every touch, even an accidental brush on his skin has his breath hitching, anticipation thrumming in his veins. Heat pools deep within him, leaving him aching. He hopes you don’t notice, pants tightening and he’s almost painfully hard.

You do. Of course, you do. Right when you finish patching him up, earning a few pained groans, you halt him from standing up and leaving. “Batman.”

Oh fuck. Bruce is doomed. He wants to sink into the floor, or maybe the wall would be better. You know how he truly feels about the situation, and this is the last time he’ll ever see you. Panic rises, but he doesn’t allow it to outwardly show. His palms suddenly become all clammy, sweat dotting his forehead—

“May I?” Damn you.

Your hand settled on his muscled thigh and he has to suppress a shiver. Your fingers inched closer to where he needed you the most, just a little bit higher. But then you stop. Bruce whines.

“Please,” Batman didn’t beg, never did. “Please, I-I need it.”

He panted, excitement delivering a spark of heat that rushed straight to his core. His arms surrounded your shoulders, trapping you in his hold as he leaned down to your neck to hide in shame. He assists you in pulling down his suit enough to expose his glistening cock, pre-cum oozing from his slit.

Bruce felt like a wreck, lips in a tight line to prevent any embarrassing sounds from leaving his throat. Your thumb swiped across the cockhead, pressing down with enough pressure to force out a choked gasp from him.

“Don’t hold back,” You whisper directly into his red-tinted ear. He felt his hole clench around nothing, your words making him light-headed and he involuntarily bucks his hips against your touch. “I’ve got you, c’mon. Let me hear you.”

His breath stutters when you begin to gently trace the angry veins, moaning softly as he pulsates in your grasp. It’s been too long since he’s had someone—anyone—to touch him intimately, but never like you are now.

Your fingers wrap around his cock, slicking up your palm. It’s a slow pace, guiding him to a gradual orgasm. Gods, fuck, why were you being like this? He’s uncertain whether he enjoys how you’re treating him as though he’s made of glass that could shatter any unforgiving moment or if he should beg for you to fuck him rougher, make him go all dumb and drunk off the feeling of you.

He desperately ruts against you, it was selfish but the both of you knew he needed it. “Mmm.. fuck, I–” He gasps when you jerk him off a bit quicker, coming up to tease the underside of his tip every single time. Throbbing at the increased pace, he felt his eyes roll back into his skull. “more, ah ah mngh, more please.”

Bruce knew his manners, with his skin absolutely flushed and mind consumed with lust and greed to taste and take. “Yeah? Keep talking for me.” You urged, twisting your wrist as his pre-cum lathed up your hand, producing so much he seems like he’s right there. “Feels so g–good.” He whimpers, thighs trembling as his knees were beginning to fail on him.

Your too-good praise didn’t help him, at all. He felt young all over again, horny and wanting. “Beautiful,” you whisper, “need me to help you, don’t you, B?” The air gets knocked out of him, leaving him panting. He can barely feel his brain, all sensations leading to your hand pumping his wet cock.

“Need you,” He didn’t care how pathetic he seemed in this state, all he knew how desperate he was for you with your slick palm teasing his tip, rubbing in little quick circles. “ngh, so bad...”

Bruce Wayne knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this, but he wants you to stay with him. He could protect and provide for you. Who else would you want to be with besides him? That’s right. No one.

[vampiriccreature]

Look, Vergil is my favorite character of all time, but to excuse his actions just cuz you like him is genuinely dumb.

The creator of the netflix dmc show (Adi Shankar) is on twitter making posts about “Vergil was right” “hes too powerful to care about child support” or my least favorite thing he’s said:

THE FUCK YOU MEAN PROTECTING THE UNIVERSE FROM COLLAPSE??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE WAS THINKING ABOUT “reuniting the Sparda bloodline” HE WAS NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT AT ALL!!!!

Vergils flaws are what make him an interesting character, his main flaw is that he’s so motivated by fear that he can’t think about anything else. He can’t move past what happened to him when he was eight.

Vergil caused mass deaths of innocent life in both 3 and 5. He was too focused on gaining power to consider or care the amount of people that would die in the crossfire. It’s not like he went out of his way to kill people he just didn’t care if people did die.

The entire reason Dante wants to fight Vergil at the end of 3 and in 5 is because he wants to stop him. “My soul… is telling me to stop you!” Y’all glance over this quote from 3 too much. “Soul” in the context of dmc3 clearly refers to the characters goals and morals, clearly. So Dante saying his soul wants to stop Vergil is clearly because of his character development in 3 and learning to care about humanity, he doesn’t want Vergil doing these things that cause human death.

Vergil doesn’t just cause the deaths of a few people here and there you do realize that right??? When he raised the temen ni gru in 3 and when he grew the qliphoth tree, A LOT OF PEOPLE DIED. Way more in 5 than in 3, in 5 we get to actually see civilians get murdered too.

Vergil is NOT a good person. He does NOT care about protecting innocent people he doesn’t know. Vergil only thinks about his own fears and trauma since he is so blinded by it. He’s never been a good person. Also, just because someone is super powerful doesn’t mean their better than others, that’s the most dudebro power-scaling bullshit I’ve heard in my life.

Also a reminder that Vergil had no idea that Nero existed, but considering he’s “abandonment” as a child and being forced to learn to protect himself and having the quote of “Without power you cannot protect anything.” I think it’s safe to assume that of he did know Nero existed he would both protect him and teach him to protect himself, he wouldn’t willingly abandon his own child unless he thought Nero would be better off that way. I don’t know how anyone could see that differently.

[chelledoggo]

friendly reminders/spicy hot takes:

you can (and should) support Palestine and oppose Zionism WITHOUT being anti-Semitic. practicing Jews exist in Palestine, even if they are a minority there.

to Christians supporting Israel because they "support their fellow Christians": Christians exist in Palestine, too.

also to Christians: Revelations was never meant to be a literal prophecy of the future. we don't need to "protect Israel" so "Jesus can come back." (i know. this is a lot to take in. i was surprised when i first learned this, too. feel free to sit down and process this.)

one more to Christians: if you "support Israel" but hate Jews, stop and take a look at yourself in the mirror because what the fuck is wrong with you?

don't boycott your local Jewish-owned small businesses if you don't know for certain whether they support Israel, you weirdos.

if you support Israel just because they're "LGBTQ+ friendly," you have your priorities messed up. (and i'm saying this as a queer person myself. government pinkwashing does not excuse war crimes.)

war is hell and by no means should we be okay with violence or death of civilians. we want peace and freedom for Palestine, not more death.

literally anyone can drop into your DMs and claim to be a Palestinian in need of financial support. make sure to thoroughly verify their genuineness before considering donating. (the person in the DMs claiming they're verified by 90Ghost is NOT sufficient proof.)

beware of AI "photos" and videos. (i can't believe i need to say this we live in the worst timeline i s2g)

Israel's government is the enemy. innocent civilians of Israel are not. (unless they support the war, but in that case they are likely brainwashed by their government. no one is immune to propaganda.)

people can care about other current issues while also caring about Palestine. don't freak out because someone is talking about the hurricane or election season "instead of" talking about Palestine.

for the love of GOD don't shame people for taking a mental health break from the news.

k bye

[astraystayyh]

everyone who still believes that all of this started on oct 7 and that israel is only targeting hamas is fucking stupid and there is no excuse left for your ignorance and blatant discard of genocide.

the goal was always to drive out people out of gaza so that israel can settle its people in it. that's why they're bombing residential areas to ensure that even if a ceasefire is installed then the people won't have houses and buildings to live in. that's why they're targeting and killing civilians, erasing entire families and murdering babies and children to ensure that Palestinian blood lines would stop. that's why they're attacking schools and libraries to ensure that palestine's educational system collapses and with it all the cultural heritage of its people.

that's why they're attacking hospitals and ambulances and leaving premature babies to decompose on hospital beds all alone to ensure that the injured won't be able to be treated adding to the massive death toll. that's why they're blocking food and water to ensure that whoever isn't killed by bombs will die by dehydration and famine and hypothermia due to the cold and the absence of electricity and heating.

every move of israel is well planned and well thought every thing they do is with the goal to drive people out of gaza, forcing them to abandon their lands and stripping them of the possibility to return to it ever again. that's why they're attacking the north and telling ppl to move south only to attack the south so that everyone would go to the egypt borders fleeing from gaza. that's why they're killing journalists to ensure that none of their crimes get out, to kill the fighting spirit in the people outside of gaza.

just because Palestinians are willing to die for their land doesn't mean that they want to. they love life if they find a way to it. they have dreams and aspirations they're living human beings like you and me why are we allowing this mass genocide against them???? don't be complicit don't stay silent don't treat this as a trend please. the least we could do is amplify their voices, the very very very least, from the comforts of our home. the very fucking least.

[flame-resistant]

He felt sick. Why did you look at him like that? Why were you being so nice? Why weren't you scared of him like everyone else? It made his skin itch just enough; he needed it to stop.

Content: stalking, death threats, yandere

He remembered you well, the look you gave when you offered him the soda. How you said it was an extra by mistake, a kind gesture that just didn’t sit well with him. What was your game? Didn’t know who he was? Even if you didn’t, how could you not see he was bad news, how disgusting he looked. A bitter feeling entered his chest as Shigaraki watched you leave, off to do God knows what, just a stupid little civilian who didn’t know any better. You made him sick.

It didn’t take him long to find your social media, only a few days of trying to fish for information. The area the two of you met in was near a university, you looked about his age, so a student fit and damn was he correct. Even there you presented as this kind individual who could do no wrong. Helping with the needy and deprived like some saint, an obsessive thought edging its way into his mind. What would happen if someone made you snap? A grin crossed his dry lips as the bright screen created a halo around his thin figure, but he was far from angelic, and he was damned to prove you weren’t as well.

“Hey who is this loser posting hate comments in your posts?” A friend had asked after you received a few hate comments, while cyberbullying and trolling wasn’t a new topic, it was odd that your small blog would be hit. Shrugging your shoulders, eyes skimmed the words from the anonymous user: “fraud”, “die in a hole”, “you think this makes you good?”; it almost seemed this user was taking everything personal. Though you couldn’t figure out just what you did to them specifically. 

“It’s probably just someone mad and taking it out on random blogs, no? We never interacted before so we can’t possibly know each other. Look, we don't even follow the same accounts.” That was a good point, your friend mumbled in agreement. Perhaps it really just was some spam account, they only told you to be careful in case it got more extreme.

“Just be sure to take screenshots if they threaten you.”

And you did, the comments not stopping only growing by the hour. It got to the point you had to block the account, something you usually didn’t do but felt pressured due to the volume of spam comments and your friend saying they deserved it. A part of you was tempted to just reach out and ask what their problem was, an idea that was dropped when mentioned in your social group. Brows furrowed as the others called you too nice, that people don’t think like you, that some are just fucked up.

It seemed to be going well, after the block the hate comments stopped, and things started to go back into the boring norm of college classes and hanging out in your free time. A notification on your phone distracted you from the recent discussion with your study group. Blood leaving your being as you read the message sent to you, a new account, but the same words.

“Did you really think blocking me would help? I knew it, you’re just like the rest of the trash in this world. One day you’re going to wake up and everything around you is going to be dead, that goody-two-shoes attitude won’t be able to help you either. You’re all going to die and I’m going to do it.”

All attention was back on you when your phone dropped to the floor, your face pale from the feeling of anxiety growing inside you. Saying a quick “excuse me”, they watched you leave to the bathroom in a fit of paranoia. The mirror staring back at you showed a reflection that was never crossed before; widened eyes and mouth agape as you caught your breath. Mind raced with thoughts as you moved to check the stalls behind you, a breath of relief seeing that you were alone.

After the lovely encounter with your new pen pal, your friends convinced you to go to the police in hopes of finding the creep. Though it was shown they couldn’t pinpoint a good enough address, something about a VPN, your mind distracted by other things than computer tech. Looking out the window, every person became a possible threat. Was it the guy in the hoodie getting into a cab? Maybe the woman who was screaming at her phone while ordering a coffee. Your trust in humanity slowly dwindles, a hand on your shoulder breaking those negative thoughts as your friends give a few reassuring smiles. You weren’t fighting this by yourself, you had support.

Taking the police’s advice on blocking the account and switching your social to private, you had a bit more hope that maybe this would end. The small group headed back to your apartment as your friends discussed how crazy the person was. Your mind once more lost in thought on trying to figure out just what you did. The person said you were a goody-two-shoes, maybe they just meant your social media likes and posts, though something in your gut said it was more than just that. It was like they took your existence personally, as if you had truly offended them. A part of you wanted to at least try and apologize for whatever the fuck you did, but the other part knew it would anger the anon more. For now, you decided to push it aside, you did what you could.

Again, things seemed to be calming down, while it was frustrating to be on private, you knew you had to wait it out until things died down. A few weeks, maybe a month or two? God, you just wanted this to be over with, surely the person must have moved on by now, right? Someone couldn’t be that obsessed with freaking you out. So, after a month and a half you opened up your social to the public again. A few happy comments from some mutuals on seeing you back, glad to hear you were doing well. It felt good, almost therapeutic to have that control back. 

Another week and still no hate comments from random accounts, maybe they really did give up? You could be so hopeful. Checking your phone for a notification at the store entrance, you moved to place it back in your pocket before being hit by an oncoming person’s shoulder. A quick apology was sent their way as you fumbled with your phone from almost dropping it. Not receiving a reply, you figured the person was just in a rush. The dark hoodie blending in with a crowd of bystanders. Hearing your phone beep caused your eyes to leave the crowd and until the new notification. A simple sentence message from a new account: watch it.

“So, the creep really does know you? We need to go back to the police!” After the encounter, you booked it to your friend’s place, not feeling safe going shopping alone. Shaking your head, you knew it would be pointless. You didn’t get a good look at the person; from what you could see they looked male but that was just a hunch. The police would just shrug it off like they did before, not enough evidence did nothing to help them possibly hunt down a culprit. 

“They’ll just blow it off again, tell me to put my blog on private again. It was torture not getting to talk to my friends outside of our group, I don’t want to do it again.” 

“Yeah, but this creep saw you! They literally shoulder bumped you!

“But I didn’t see them.”

The two of you fell quiet, a huff from them knowing you were right despite how annoying and stressful the situation was. “So, the guy can just keep stalking you and the police won’t do shit, ridiculous.” 

It was, but it was also legal. An agreement came after this that you wouldn’t be left alone if it could be worked out. More eyes meant more chances of seeing who the guy was, which made sense. Part of you felt bad that your friends made sure to be around before and after your classes and even walking you home. They would reassure you it was fine, that they rather do this than hang up missing posters.

Every now and then a new message would surface from a new account, statements about what you were wearing, even pictures taken of yourself and your friends. Screenshots saved before blocking the next account. It was almost starting to feel normal, as if on cue you knew he would send you a new notification on the dot. And one of those days you finally felt bold, what could he do anyway, you weren’t alone so he couldn’t exactly hurt you, besides you almost wanted him to do something in public to put an end to this and call the police.

moth.eater sent: You should try the mountain dew, maybe it would give some spice to your lame life. netizen.55 sent: Why are you doing this? What did I even do to you? moth.eater sent: I just want to see you tick.

That was it, all he wanted was to piss you off? He was doing a shitty job at that, if anything he was just scaring you into a corner. A phrase you remembered from your psych class came back to your mind, anger was a secondary emotion usually from rejection or fear. This guy was trying to scare you to the point of anger, the thought alone didn’t settle well with you. That rush of adrenaline hitting you once more before you could rationalize your response.

netizen.55 sent: I’m not scared of you.

That seemed to do it, it was the first time he blocked you. A feeling of pride filled your lungs, it’s been a while since you felt this satisfied. You won this weird argument; the block proved it enough. He should leave you alone now. 

It itched; his skin never stopped burning despite how much he scratched. Red eyes stared through the screen; past the words you so bluntly wrote. You weren’t scared of him? Maybe not right now, but you would be. Every single person in this stupid world would be, sensei said so after all. The chair rolled back behind Shigaraki as he grabbed his old hoodie.

Final exams were nearing, but now that your number one hater had been leaving you alone it seemed less daunting. Your friends were even able to do their own things again which helped the guilt die down, no more being some protected being. Picking up the last textbook from the library, it was a straight direction back to your apartment. The time showed just past 7:15pm meaning a few hours of studying before crashing. Sounded like a good Thursday to you, especially with no notifications! A need to skip home almost overcame you, though the look of bystanders kept you in check.

With the apartment door shut and books tossed on the desk, it was time to get to work. Cracking your balcony door just a bit to let a breeze in, your eyes moved to observe the text. It was a relatively quiet night, not yet the weekend in which other college students would be howling below after a few drinks. Sometimes a police siren would go by, nothing too dangerous from the sounds of it, besides a few heroes were patrolling the area. Getting up to take a break, the clock now showing 8:43pm, it didn’t hit you how long you had been reading for. A hand moving to massage your face and wake up. One more hour you told yourself as you walked towards the kitchen for a drink.

Weird, did you leave the kitchen sink on? Brows furrowed as you tried to remember each step you made when you got home but couldn’t really focus due to being in a slight daze. Maybe you washed a dish and forgot to turn the faucet off. Shrugging it off, you turned the handle and moved to the fridge. Cold pizza and a few beers stared back at you, a mental note to get more groceries this weekend was made as you went back to the sink. Maybe past you knew what they were on about with the sink being on.

Cup in your hand, you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes widening from what was staring back at you. The hallway that faced the sink was empty, a window at the very back that usually helped you see what was going on in the dark apartment was now blocked by the figure. Red eyes stared back at your own, each step you took to move back was followed by another from the person.

“You said you weren’t scared of me; you look like everyone else who sees me.” The voice sounded scratched, like he hadn’t drunk anything in years, as if he was the embodiment of a desert. If it didn’t hit before, it hit now on who it was. Quick to run to the bathroom door, the closest one that would get you away from the stalker, you let out a strangled grunt when you were shoved against it instead. Face now pressed into the wood as the palm of his hand kept you in place. “I knew it, once that little facade breaks, you’re just as shitty as everyone else.”

“Let go!”

Not caring about the panic in your voice, you tried to turn around or at least get him to move, a “tsk” was heard as the hooded man showed you the cup you were once holding. Confusion turned into fear as the cup began to turn into dust just by his touch alone, a silent warning that you would be next if you kept it up. Still processing everything that was going on, the only question that could come to mind was asked, your nervous system in full overdrive with logic out the window. “Why?”

“I told you; I just want to see what’s under that mask. You should really think twice on who you offer free drinks to.” 

Darkness was the final reply you got, the world shutting down around you. If you survived this, you would keep the extra soda for yourself.

[elekinetic]

this is the first and last thing i’m going to say about this bc this isn’t a “hot take discourse mic drop” thing. this is very fucking real and talking abt it on tumblr is not really going to do anything. the last thing the internet needs is a fucking half-dead stranger things blog giving their fresh hot take abt a literal war, but if we are going to talk about it on tumblr, we need to be talking about it responsibly.

ok.

saying “you either stand with israel or you stand with terrorism” is dangerous propaganda, and it doesn’t matter if it was intentional or not. it is SO irresponsible to insinuate to your millions of followers (mostly teens and children) that not supporting a colonial power that is actively carpet bombing palestinians is being complicit in antisemitism. in what world is being against a century of violent occupation calling for the death of israeli citizens, esp children? we’re all pretty fucking clear on the idea that isis does not stand for all muslims, right, or that westboro baptist doesn’t speak for all christians? being against an ethno-state does not mean being against the ethnicity/ethno-religion. it means being against the state. learn about 9/11 and iraq, about the way that muslims were treated in the states (and continue to be treated). learn about six year old muslim child in illinois who was killed this weekend, whose death was in no small part influenced by the anti-palestinian propaganda that is getting shoved down american throats. (i can’t speak for the rest of the world but i doubt the coverage is much different.) why is it so hard to say “civilians shouldn’t die, regardless of side, and also apartheid is bad and should stop.” caring about jewish lives and wanting to end the occupation of palestine are not mutually exclusive, and to imply otherwise paints palestinians as inherently evil. that’s bad. we all understand why that’s bad right.

noah’s post is not an excuse to be homophobic and antisemitic.

criticizing the very tangible impact of his statement is not homophobic or antisemitic.

anyway.

[brucewaynehater101]

You ever think about what would happen if Bruce had to kill in self defence?

Like literally no other choice, just attacked without holding back because he knows he’s about to die, and he puts a bit more force behind it than he expects and suddenly they’re not moving why aren’t they moving what has he done—

I haven’t put a lot of thought into it, and it depends entirely on how you write his character, but I think he’d either A. spiral before eventually coming to terms with the fact that there really was no other option at the time, B. panic and hide all evidence and pretending nothing happened while slowly spiralling into a pit of self loathing, OR if you want to go the really angsty route, maybe he hides all evidence and after some spiralling convince himself that it’s fine he’s Batman he needs to stay Batman so he’ll just put this behind himself and pretend it never happened, it was just one time it’s fine, but then one of his kids unearths some piece of footage or something and demands why the rules don’t apply to him, why he can keep on working and isn’t a threat despite being a killer yet Jason always gets shit for even knocking someone out. And mayybe one of the other batkids recently killed in self defence too, and Batman was lecturing them because ‘there’s always another option’ and how they shouldn’t be out in the field if they put civilians at risk, when Jason or Babs or someone calls him a hypocrite and it spirals from there…

Ooh ~ I like how you added the element that Bruce didn't mean to kill them. He never actually made that choice.

Despite Bruce's steadfast rules against killing, the man has killed before. Imma link an article here so y'all can look into it. Basically, pre-Robin Batman (or his beginning years as the caped crusader) used to have no issue with killing. This storyline was changed so that he had never killed at all, but it is interesting to ponder. He has made kills since his character insisted he has and never will kill, though. Some of the ones listed are alternative universes or times he was sure his enemy would survive despite their situation seeming to depict otherwise.

Therefore, it's not a stretch to say he would or has killed. There's some fics that examine the hc that Bruce DID kill someone (or multiple people) in that pre-Tim era and repressed/denied the hell out of that notion. Extending that out to other circumstances would cool af.

Anyways, let's look at this AU specifically!

The three reactions Bruce can have about this are:

The mentally healthy one of coming to terms and accepting this kill

Hide all of the evidence, spiral, and try to justify it to himself while remaining a hypocrite

Repress the fuck out of his memories (including killing, hiding the evidence, and anything else surrounding it) to deny it happened

The first one has opportunities for good dad Bruce where he communicates with actual words to his kids that he'd rather they come home alive. Great hurt/comfort for that route.

The second one is full throttle fuck Bruce. He's a hypocrite who berates the others for their choices in the field, reacts explosively to them even hinting at murder, and overall no one (including Bruce) is having a good time.

The third one has four options:

Bruce is obv not mentally well. He can receive help, come to terms, and eventually end up as good dad

He keeps denying despite how much evidence is proven otherwise, causing him to spiral and jeopardize his relationships.

He eventually accepts what happens but is steadfast that HIM doing so is fine. He won't excuse that behavior for anyone else regardless of the circumstances

After acknowledging the kill, he creates a self-fulfilling prophecy with his belief that even one death will cause him to spiral into madness and mass murder. There would be many clues that he could stop from becoming a monster, but he simply doesn't due to his ideas that one death is too far

The last one could bring lots of angst, especially for the person that forced Bruce to acknowledge the evidence and his kill :)

Maybe the fic can even force Alfred to be the one to put Bruce down for good :)

There are also fics that consider what Bruce's reactions and what the rest of the batfam would do if someone who's sworn off killing ends up killing someone (particularly on accident or in self-defense). There's either good dad Bruce who apologizes for ever giving the impression that killing in self-defense is wrong (when there's no other choice) or bad dad Bruce who goes nuclear.

This has absolutely nothing to do with Bruce killing someone, but this is a rant about Bruce's moral code:

For once, I'd kill for an ACAB Batman because cops kill, and that goes against his moral code. A simple math of murder = wrong, so therefore cops (who don't swear off ever killing again) are an entire group he's against the same as he's against gangs.

He's criticized the batfam, some JL members, anti-heroes, villains, etc. for their choices regarding murdering for justice. Are there any fics or instances in canon where he basically says "fuck the police" because they do kill? Not him stating that GCPD is corrupt, but him fully disparaging the entire profession/institution due to the allowance it gives in murdering. He could go on one of his rants about judge, jury, and executioner. He could chat about power dynamics, morals, police training, checks and balances, insufficient evidence gathering before execution, innocents killed, etc.

Where the fuck is ACAB Bruce? Give me reluctantly working with Jim despite his hatred of cops. Give me him stating he likes Jim as a person and his notion of changing shit from the inside, but Bruce (as someone who is legit working outside the law and policies in place) doesn't think it's possible to change enough. Give me Bruce debating whether his role of working with the legal system is doing harm.

If Bruce has black and white perspectives on murder, let him have it about everything.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

GOTHAM CITY SIRENS (generalized canon)

—

“Harley-napping” (Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy x Selina Kyle x Fem!Reader)

| Stealing Harley from the Squad and then having a fun night out.

| SFW, mature language, criminal acts (duh), -platonic!reader/though there’s hints of something more with Cat

| You’re a thief, demolitions expert, and have EOD training in this one. Pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Arkham City video game)

| 1k+ words

| part: one of two (part two)

When you come to all that’s taking up your vision is green.

“What…the…hell?” You whine. “I didn’t steal from Black Mask again, did I?”

There’s a sound off to your left that makes you freeze but you can’t lift your head enough to see in any direction let alone that one and you groan unhappily.

The grass beneath your head seems to dance while you're forced to wait but you feel no chill. There’s no breeze against the exposed parts of your skin, just the crisp Gotham air.

“Y/n L/n.”

Deep. Feminine. Spoken with a smoothness that screamed of self assurance and superiority.

Your nostrils flare.

“Ivy,” you sigh.

A chuckle.

“Hello, Little thief.”

The dancing grass seems to perk up, listening, before the green blades start to thicken and grow longer. You eye the tendrils wearily as they come up behind you, lifting your lower body and head enough that you can finally watch Ivy standing over you from upside down.

Her face is stern, a haughty eyebrow raised as she looks into your eyes. So as charming as ever.

“I’m in need of your…expertise.”

Her words come out strained like someone’s hysically holding a gun to her head and you bite back what you immediately want to say. She wants your help as if the last time you worked together was all hugs and kisses.

“Which would be what exactly?”

“Bombs.”

You scrunch up your face, upper lip making a valiant effort to block your nostrils, while shaking your head.

“Nah, I’ve never been anywhere near a bomb before. You got the wrong bitch, sorry,” you shrug.

Now she looks irritated.

“If you’re no demolition expert then why did Cat insist I find you?”

You shrug as best you can upside down

“Don’t know? You tell me-” you abruptly stop shaking your head. “Wait Cat?”

The woman turns her head, ignoring you.

“This is ridiculous.” She looks up at something in the distance. “Why are we wasting precious time kidnapping her again?”

There’s a sigh from the direction she’s addressing and you tense up, the grass near your throat applies pressure to the side of your neck in warning. You grit your teeth, fuck tonight so much. All you wanted when you left your apartment was some damn food, and now you're hungry and tied up.

“Y/n, stop being a smart ass.”

Great. You knew that voice too.

“You know, when you’re out stealing shit I don’t call you by your civilian name.”

A chuckle right next to your ear alongside a puff of breath that makes you shiver.

“And I applaud you for such restraint considering how vocal you can get, but right now I need you to be serious.” She moves, walking till she’s standing over you side by side with an Ivy who’s trying to glare you to death. “Now let’s talk business.”

- - -

“No. Fuck no! Are you fucking crazy?”

Something that suspiciously sounds like a growl leaves Ivy and Selina looks up to the sky.

“Listen-” you cringe at the more demanding press of the plants against your neck. “Just listen, okay? Blackgait’s systems are hard to crack on a good day, but with the Squad out on a mission you know Waller’s on high alert, and I’m not Batman.”

“No. You’re better, or else we would’ve gone to him with some bullshit excuse. Uh uh-” she cuts you off as you open your mouth. “You are, and you’re going to help us get the Clown.”

“What about ‘I’m not Batman’ isn’t clicking?”

Your response makes Selina huff and she goes to answer before Ivy simultaneously cuts her sentence and your breathing off.

“Enough,” she intones.

The vines curl around the entirety of your throat in seconds, meticulously closing off your airway. You gasp, mouth and eyes widening in your shock.

“If you insist on acting guileless I will treat you as such.”

“Ivy!”

The other women’s voices disappear as your ears start to buzz, blood cut off from them in a dizzying effect. A weak sound squeezes its way past your lips before your body’s meeting the floor and your airways are free enough once more to take gasping breaths.

You cough into the prickly ground, racking heaves that shake your body so much your arms, which have gone numb from your upside down hold, give out. You gasp into the grass, each breath scratching down your trachea as your head pounds away.

It takes you what feels like hours with zero awareness of anything outside of your body to pull yourself to your knees. Everything still has a dull buzz about it, except for your body, that just pulses.

Your hand zips toward your throat.

“Fuck you, Ivy.”

She scoffs at your hoarse tone, turning and walking off.

“Not without Harley’s say so.”

You cough. Sometimes you hated Gotham and all her rampant rogues.

Selina lowers herself beside you and then she’s touching.

“You were supposed to be civil,” she says pointedly.

She tilts your head up and the leather of her gloves is gentle against your face.

“Don’t-” you jerk away. Selina makes an aggravated sound then she’s pulling you more firmly against her, hand resting on the small of your back.

“Let me see, Slick.”

“Mmmph,” you mumble but you let her other hand ease your chin up.

“She’s fine,” Ivy says.

When you glance over at her she’s poking at a particularly ergonomic looking tablet.

“How,” you stop and lick your lips, swallowing in a fruitless attempt to smooth the burn in your throat. “How are you gonna tell me?”

Ivy hefts a sigh and then looks to you.

“You are alive are you not?”

You stare after the woman, eyes widening and jaw clenching with a cock of your head.

“You-”

“Okay!” Selina cuts in before shooting a look you can’t see over at Ivy. “I can’t believe I’m the mediator here, but let’s all just take it easy.”

“As long as you do it fast.”

You sneer quietly at Ivy’s words.

“This is why I stopped working with you guys.”

“I know,” Selina murmurs, brows pinching together. “Help us out anyway? We’ll all owe you one.”

“I agreed to no such…” another look gets thrown Ivy’s way and she and Selina stare one another down. It takes a few beats of stillness but she eventually scoffs. She looks over your form coolly before sighing. “Fine. One favor if you help us get Harley out safely.”

The two of you lock eyes. Ivy’s are green, and it’s only you remembering the first time you came face to face with them and Harley’s freely thrown out whimsy that gets you to unclench your jaw. Plus, you could do a lot with a favor from one of Gotham's best rogues. Let alone three.

“Fine,” you rasp out.

You look away from Ivy as she nods and shifts her attention back to the tablet. Selina helps you up looking like she wants to touch you again, but stops herself, eyeing you apologetically.

“It’ll bruise but it shouldn’t leave any permanent damage.”

“Lucky me.”

Your head and throat were killing you. Selina gives you another apologetic look before squeezing your forearm and going to collect a duffle bag from a park bench near you all.

You press softly at your throat, wincing some at how sensitive the skin feels. By tomorrow there’ll be mulberry welts circling your neck.

Selina comes and sets the bag down in front of you, bending down to dig through it.

“Now you might be a good thief, but I’m a better one, so I’m in charge of getting Harley.”

You nod. “And you want me to work with…?”

Ivy’s suddenly right in front of you and handing you the tablet. You suck in a sharp breath at her silence then tentatively take the device from her hands. It’s wrapped in a protective case that gives it some heft. You start swiping through it. Hm.

“Are these bomb schematics?”

“Yes, and we’re gonna need you to get two of them out of Harley’s body before Waller or the team notices she’s gone.”

You glance up at her without moving your head up.

“That’s a big ask. Do you even have an approximate time that I’ll have to work with?”

“No,” Ivy quietly admits. “That’s why we got you and not anyone else. We trust you…I trust you.”

You chew on your lip for a second, swiping up at another complicated looking schematic.

“Alright. You let me look over these for a few minutes and then we should be good to go.”

Ivy nods at you before Selina stands and hands you an armful of your stuff. You roll your eyes to the sky.

“You’re horrible. How’d you even get in my apartment?”

She gives a small one shouldered shrug.

“Just because your security systems are Batman proof doesn’t mean they’re me proof, sweetie.”

She winks at you and a smile finds its way onto your face as you put on your gear. Ivy starts speaking.

“Since you’ve got your things, let’s discuss the goal. The Suicide Squad was dropped into their current mission at exactly 10:00 tonight and have been at their destination for under forty minutes…”

As she’s describing the details of the plan to you two plants slowly emerge from the ground and into her hand. She kneads patiently at the leaves, harvesting sludgy and oily substances from the respective plants into her cupped palm.

Still listening to her you pull on your elbow, knee and shin pads. Ivy kneads the plant in her palm with nimble fingers all the while. Quick extraction, take out the bombs, slip away as undetected as possible.

After that, putting on longer black pants over your exercise shorts and pads then lacing up your boots once you’ve kicked off your sneakers is all it takes to get yourself fully ready. Selina stuffs the clothes you discard into the duffel, simultaneously going back and forth with Ivy on her role.

When you’ve got your long sleeve on, gloves slipping on next, and you're dressed in all black you glance up at them both.

“Ready to go?” Selina asks.

You nod and she smiles at you before slinging the bag over her shoulder and moving towards her motorcycle. Ivy comes up to you, feet deaf in the voluminous grass.

“Eat this.”

You look hard at the hand she holds out. There’s a dollop of pale sludgy substance on it, the thing you just watched her harvest up in her palm.

When you continue to stall she cuts her eyes at you.

“I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe you’re doing something for my benefit.”

“The plants were happy to produce for you. Are you going to make their efforts in vain, or no?”

You kiss your teeth at her dry tone before opening your mouth. She inclines her head and then shoves the mush into it. It’s just about the nastiest shit you’ve ever eaten but you're not exactly operating at 100 so you keep chewing.

“Now, me and Cat will deal with getting Harley out. But while I can handle most of the squad while Selina slips her out without tipping off Waller, someone's got to take care of the crocodile.”

NOTES: After tons of consideration I’ve decided that this’ll be my first post of the new year, so hope you enjoyed!

Btw: Comments would be appreciated if you wanted to leave one! I read all of them, I only don’t respond cause this is a side blog.

[ghostaholics]

I had a dream about your enemies with benefits ghost x reader where the reader had a cryptic pregnancy. She kinda just doubled over in pain randomly and BOOM. Baby.

HE'S A LETHAL PERFECTIONIST TO THE CORE: rigid expectations impressed upon everyone; it's what makes him a first-rate soldier – grit factor and an appetite for excellence in everything he does.

(The thing is, Ghost doesn't make mistakes.

Of course, there's a first time for everything.)

It's chaos walking in Bangladesh, guerrilla warfare against an AQ cell weaseled away in Dhaka because the shiteheads have business with the organized crime bosses here. It's a city jam-packed with civilians, innocent lives. No open-fire allowed. A place like this means guerrilla warfare. Hit-and-run tactics. God knows he's not trying to start an international incident by blowing up half the bloody capital.

Cloak-and-dagger: they're picked off one-by-one. It takes a full day. A mess to be cleaned up, and he does it exceptionally well.

Ghost doesn't get any reports outside of the mission until he relays his total kill count.

"Good work," Laswell radios in. "We need you on the first flight to Oslo."

He lets out a slow exhale while jumping into the driver's seat of the vehicle he commandeered a couple blocks over. Time to make his way to the airport, then. They need his back-up. He knows what that means. But he's not going to think about the fact that the rest of the One-Four-One are there for a completely different ops and whether things have gone south if they're calling him in. He was supposed to be their fallback plan. "Everything solid?"

"It's Mav."

His grip around the steering wheel tightens. If he starts speeding through the streets, then he doesn't notice, too tuned in to the conversation at hand. "Fill me in."

"Landed herself in the hospital."

Again? Christ. It's the second visit in six months. He was there for the first one. Damn near had to stop the bloody doctors from calling out her time of death. Fuckin' tossers.

"What's the damage?"

"Well—"

"Alive?"

"Yes," she says quickly.

"Then quit beating around the bush. The hell's wrong with her?"

"All in one piece. Just get here when you can."

Right, so no helpful answers from the Station Chief. And Ghost tries to contact the others, but gets the same fucking silence. Not Price, not Gaz, not even Soap who always answers just to take every opportunity over the comms to blather about anything and everything in real time. He's not sure why he's being kept in the dark like this, but it's definitely putting him on edge.

The only other message he receives from Laswell: Oslo University Hospital. He'd combed the website for information in between stoplights. It'll do, he supposes. Their services don't seem subpar, which at any rate sounds far better than fucking Moscow; he still gets sick thinking about it.

So he checks in, gets his visitor badge. It's a whole ordeal that takes a lot longer than he likes. They tell him what floor, what room. That's the Gyneacology and Obstetrics Wing. He triple-checks, making sure nothing gets lots in translation; doesn't sound right to him, but he'll tear up the place later if they gave him the wrong directions. He memorized the hospital layout already; it'll take him approximately three minutes utilizing the right staircase, or seven minutes if he wants to take his sweet-fucking-time with the elevators.

"Our gift shop is around the corner," they tell him in a thick Norwegian accent before he makes his exit.

Odd.

She doesn't like flowers or cards or sentimental things anyways. Calls them impractical. Would rather hoard his jackets or other belongings of his that she finds useful, so the gift shop would be a waste.

When Ghost finally gets to where he needs to be, 2 minutes and 45 seconds later (skipped every other step just to shave off time), he finds everyone sans Mav waiting outside the room. It's not a happy reunion, despite Soap's grin. Everyone's intact, nobody's dead or anything that would excuse their silence during his trip from Bangladesh. Ghost is extremely unimpressed with their lack of communication and promises that he'll deal with their sorry arses later before shoving his way through the door.

—only to be met with the sight of her sitting up in bed, a tiny newborn bundled in her arms.

... whose fucking baby is that?

And when his eyes snap up to hers, she's glaring at him with a positively seething look that could kill.

[solarplanet2]

Just a Brain rot about this one TikTok about Nightwing being the cause of all the Robins' death.

So prompt. (Reading this, this seemed more like a rant but eh it works either way.)

Bruce doesn't want any of his kids to join him in vigilantism, he has strong opinions about it but no one listens. Not without anyone getting hurt.

Dick was the worst of them.

He became Robin to bring justice to his parents and continued to be Robin even after that and Bruce doesn't want him to but he couldn't do anything without hurting both sides.

This proves that Dick has authority to the Robin Mask, which means he can pass it down to whoever he wanted.

Then Jason came along.

Dick was the first to assume that Jason was his replacement after he left the manor, left Bruce after the fight. He was the one to assume that Jason was going to be Batman's new Robin.

But Bruce on the other hand, didn't think, not even once, about putting Jason in a cape. He just wanted Jason to be safe and fed, that's why he took him in. For Jason to be a child, to be protected, not teach him to punch bad guys and go out in the middle of the night in tights.

It became worse when the secret was out.

And Jason wanted in.

Bruce wanted Jason to be a civilian, He doesn't want him to be Robin, to be a vigilante. But they won't listen. At all.

And Dick was the one who gave Jason the Mask and Bruce knows he can't do anything about it anymore but to prepare Jason to protect himself.

Don't get me started on Tim.

Tim forced Bruce to make him Robin. To put on a mask and Bruce had to force himself to do it because He doesn't want Tim to get hurt, to lose another child because of his failures.

Bruce tried so fucking hard to get Tim to back down, even promising him not to loose himself the way that he did because of Jason's death.

But Tim's excuse was "Batman needs Robin" and "Gotham needs Batman"

Fucking bullshit.

Bruce wanted his son. The Sweet, Kind, Brave and Sassy child he had picked up on the streets and tell him that Bruce loves him.

He didn't become Batman to get anyone killed. He put on the mask to protect Gotham, the people, the children. His sons!

Bruce doesn't want his children to die.

It got even worse as time grew. And Bruce doesn't know what to do.

He tried. He tried so hard to stop them, to convince them. But no one listens, his children think he doesn't trust them enough, good enough with this task, this duty, making them more determined to be a vigilante just to prove Bruce wrong.

But Bruce just wants them to be Safe.

[iblameashley]

Epiphany

Civilian | Male | Gay

1,171 words Content: Argument, mention of trauma, fluff

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

Three little words during an argument. Well, maybe one of those words wasn't so little. You refused to give up on Simon, you just want to love him... but he's his own worst enemy.

“You fucking coward.” In three words – specifically that last one – you managed to stop Simon in his tracks.

Simon's head snapped back at you so fast you thought it would snap right off his neck. His eyes burned with a rage you had never seen before, and his hand gripped the doorknob tightly.

Simon's heart sank into his stomach where it was twisted. It – he – felt heavy.

“Excuse me?” He snapped at you. His chest heaved and you could see him gritting his teeth.

Simon had a list of words he would have expected you to call him, 'Slag', 'Asshole', 'Fucker', among the list, but 'Coward?', Simon was not prepared for that one. His thoughts spun like a tornado, he was pissed to say the least; not just that you had that audacity to say it, but that it was the truth. You were calling him out, like only one other person dared.

“You fucking heard me.” You fired back.

Your heart pounded in your chest and your breath was shaky. You crossed your arms and stared Simon down.

“What did you tell me when we first started dating?” You ask him, this time a little softer in tone.

Simon turned his head back towards the door, his eyes downcast. “I don't remember.” He lied.

“Bullshit.” You grunted. You took a step forward, closing a distance that felt like a canyon. “You told me that you never wasted your time and anything that wasn't worth your time.”

“That so?” Simon remarked with a smirk, attempting to regain his composure. He released his death-grip on the doorknob and stood tall.

He turned to face you, thinking his stature would intimidate you into submission. That somehow, you would crumple and repent for what you had said.

He was wrong.

You stood there like a statue, arms still crossed. He could barely make out the rising of your chest as your breathed, though he could hear it.

“So am I a waste of your time?” You questioned. You tilted your head like a puppy.

Simon relaxed some as he stared you down.

“Guess so...” He mumbled. He didn't mean it, he knew it and he knew you knew it.

You took another step forward. “You don't sound convinced.” You huffed. “You remember what else you told me?”

There was a beat between you, but you continued before Simon interject with any more of his bullshit.

“You said you would give this relationship your all. You'd give it your best.” You held out a hand, “Is this your best?” You scoffed, closing the distance some more.

“I...” Simon mumbled. He was finding it hard to look you in the eyes.

He knew you were right, he knew it. But his pride, his ego always got in the way.

Goddamnit, why couldn't he just say the words that mattered, do the things the mattered?

“No.” He finally conceded with a shake of his head.

“So you just decided 'fuck it, I'm done' and were going to just walk out?” You were losing your conviction as you looked into Simon's eyes. Those pretty brown eyes that always betrayed him. Your arms loosened but remained crossed.

“You deserve -” He began.

“Don't.” You cut him off with a renewed anger. “Don't you dare tell me what I deserve, Simon Riley. I decide that.” You explain, pointing a finger at him.

The last few steps brought you inches from him. You looked up at him, and he seemed to scared to move.

“I just don't want to hurt you.” Simon responded with a hint of vulnerability.

“Then do the hard thing, Simon. Stay.”

A suffocating lump formed in Simon's throat. Fuck, he loved you so much, but he was so scared. Nearly a year of dating – not including your months of advances – and he still felt unworthy of you.

“Why would you even want me to, after this?” He questioned.

“I am invested in this relationship, Simon.” Your words were almost a whisper as you looked up at him. Your arms finally parted, and your hands found there way to each side of his chest.

“I love you, Simon.” You professed.

You could feel his warmth, even though the thick hoodie. His heart pounded hard in his chest.

You tucked your head under his chin and slowly slid your arms around him, wrapping him in a loving hug.

“I can't...” Simon swallowed hard.

His arms found their way around you. A familiar shape. A familiar warmth and scent

“Tell me.” You press him.

“If I say it. If I stay...” He sounded like he was about to cry. “If I... That's when I'll lose you. Or you'll lose me.” He admitted.

You let out a sigh and turn to press your lips to his neck in a tender kiss.

“We knew the risks, yeah?” Your words did nothing to reassure either of you.

Of course you knew the risks, it doesn't mean either of you had truly accepted them.

“But I can't lose you. I... I have so little. You, Soap, Gaz and Price...” Simon stuttered.

The weight of the words he didn't say pressed down on you.

All of his past fears and traumas lurking underneath the surface. All the demons that whispered in his ears telling him his worthlessness.

And you, and his friends, his anchors. He ached for more, but so scared to truly embrace it. And who could blame him?

“I'll do whatever it takes to ease your mind, love.” You mumble into his neck.

His arms tighten around you.

“Like what?” Simon almost sounds like a child, whispering the words. Looking for a tangible promise.

“I'll... resign. Or ask Price for a transfer out of field work.” You offer.

“You can't do that.” He shakes his head. “You love your job.”

You take a deep breath. You can smell his sweat and cologne. You think about it for a moment before pulling away.

You look Simon in those pretty brown eyes once again.

“I would for you.” You admit with a curt nod.

You would, too. For him.

He stares at you, the light dancing in his eyes.

“But you could still lose me.” He whines.

Simon presses his forehead to yours.

“You could always resign.” You tease with a smile. “Or ask Price to move you to training recruits exclusively.” You add.

And it dawns on Simon.

A moment of clarity amidst the voices and demons.

“I would for you.” He mumbles, not realizing he's said the words until they've wormed their way into your head.

He means it, too.

He would do anything for you.

To keep you.

To have the chance to really love you.

He will.

“Because I love you, too.”

For the first time, those words feel genuine. Safe.

Safe, like you.

[flowers-of-io]

Destinytober - Reunion

Read on Ao3 with proper formatting because tumblr is being Like That again

The Lost City is tucked in under a thick blanket of sleep by the time Immaru makes it back and flies into the med bay through the open window.

The night is heavy with cricket-song and the heady scent of flowers, all an effigy of a perfect summer--warm but not sweltering, vibrant and lush but without flies and mosquitoes getting into all the places they shouldn't be with their stings and high-pitched buzzing finely tuned just at the right frequency to cause maximum annoyance. Immaru is almost--almost--inclined to say this place is even more beautiful than the throne world.

He's expected everyone to be up celebrating, really--it's not every day you kill an eldritch amalgamation of souls united in the singular purpose of bringing an end to the universe--but the Courtyard is empty save for the few Corsairs on night watch, and nearly all the windows are dark. Mass exhaustion, perhaps? Or has everyone gone back to Sol already? It's only been a few hours... Eh, Guardians. He really should stop tying to comprehend them.

The spacious, ground-floor room that has been hastily rearranged into an impromptu med bay is likewise dark and silent, but far from empty. The last time Immaru was here over a week ago, after Ór's first confrontation with the Witness, her bed was the only one occupied; but now there are other patients as well, human civilians and Awoken Corsairs and Eliksni and even one Cabal, with various parts of their bodies wrapped up in stark white bandage. Their steady breathing fills the room in an ill-synchronised but repetitive harmony.

Ór is here too, fast asleep in the bed just under the window. One of her hands is curled at her chest, and between her fingers Immaru can see the familiar blue shape of Runi's shell--whole, now, no sign of the cracks bleeding Light the Witness had gouged in him. He looks... Well. Peaceful? At ease? Not like he's about to break apart and crumble into pieces if you stare at him too long, in any case. Immaru realises he is staring, but in that same moment Runi's eye cracks open and he isn't quick enough with averting his gaze.

"You're back?" He speaks through their Light bond, as not to wake up his Guardian, but even then he sounds groggy from sleep.

"Came to check if you're dead."

"Disappointed?" Now his voice gains a smug undertone.

Immaru makes a show of rolling his eye. "Very."

"Well, I mean, I was dead. It just didn't stick."

The only response Runi gets to that is a disgruntled sigh. He chuckles to himself like an idiot and gently frees his shell from between Ór's fingers, letting them fall limply onto the covers and curl into a fist. Immaru watches him with a half-shuttered eye, and instinctively moves back by an inch when the other Ghost floats up to level with him.

"Yea, I can see it didn't stick," Immaru says, giving him a once-over. His round, blue-metallic shell is unblemished, remade into what it had been before the Witness got a hold of him. As if he'd never been splintered into pieces, bleeding out in his Guardian's hands. "You don't look like someone's thrown you against a wall anymore."

"Wonder how you'd look if you actually stuck your neck out for once instead of hiding in the damn purse." It is a jab, but a very shallow one.

"Didn't Cayde tell you to get the fuck out of there?"

"And leave Crow alone? Sounds like something you'd do, alright."

"And make a Lightdamn plan," Immaru huffs. Runi chuckles again.

"Why are you here, anyway? Snooping around for some dirt on the Vanguard?"

The other Ghost bristles. "Already told you."

"Yea, but it was a lame-ass excuse."

Something lurches deep within Immaru's core. He thoroughly ignores it, and snaps back, "Wouldn't be half as lame it you weren't a moron with a motherfucking death wish."

"What?" Runi stills in the air, genuinely confused.

Immaru feels a strong and sudden urge to chuck someone out of the window--himself, or the other Ghost, it's still up for debate. He glares at Runi and snarls, lamely, "I leave for five minutes and you're all out playin' the hero and gettin' squashed by the Witness like a chewtoy? You're lucky the Traveler even looked at your sorry li'l shell."

Runi's frown is so deep the tines of his shell fold over each other. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"Whatever. 'S not really my problem." He turns around, still speaking, and makes it for the exit. Behind him he hears a tiny little hiss of frustration.

"Yeah, clearly," the other Ghost calls after him. "As if you care."

"As if."

Immaru doesn't care. Immaru escapes through the window and flies off into the night, and he doesn't care as he glides under the brilliant purple-blue expanse of the sky, and above the dark and angular landscape, and not even when he finally curls up in the palm of his Lightbearer, shivering and angry. He really could've gathered some intel while he was there. It's not like he'll be sending anyone out there to snoop around in the nearest future, anyway. He doesn't care.