#tw atrocities

[vlovann]

The concept of bigoted minorities has always been wild to me. Why do you take the side of the ones who oppress you? Why do you act like them? Why do you enable them when it affects you too?

I’ve had to break some stigmas about my own community, my LGBTQIA+ people. It took a lot to drill in my head that we are not all kind and understanding and it was really fucking hard to accept. It hurt getting the brunt of it. This idea isn’t detrimental to anybody’s safety by any means and it’s not the worst stigma, but it still made sense.

We are all multi-faceted. No matter who we are. And one aspect of ourselves does not define another. You can be queer and toxic. Queer people can also be abusive. In the exact same way that straight people can be.

I feel like the world could be different if everybody knew of the obscure sorrow, Sonder. It means to realize that every human around you has a life just as complex as your own. Filled with smiles, tears, birthdays, and betrayals. Those all make that person buying a coffee or that homeless person sleeping on a park bench with nowhere to go, even the drug addict who may have unfortunately forgotten them from the poison.

And how in the multiverse of hells can you sit there as a minority, and judge other minorities the way all of our oppressors (white, At-Birth sex, identifying men) do for one aspect of ourselves that they propagate as a synonym for evil? Why don’t you try to understand each other the way you wish others would do for your people?

Every single minority. Every SINGLE one. Women, disabled people, people of color and indigenous peoples, queer people, the homeless, drug addicts, EVERY SINGLE ONE have gone through genocides and/or suffering in one form or another and ARE STILL going through these things.

Do you know that so many holocaust museums don’t even include the gay men that were sent to the camps in their statistics? This is because, despite all being in the same place, at the same time, the other captive minorities still thought that being gay meant you just weren’t human. They excluded them and bullied them while the N@is watched and laughed while lining them up for their own same demise. They couldn’t separate the two concepts as completely unrelated.

There was a man who escaped the camps thanks to a gay man. His first thought was that he was scared he would rape him. He thought it was because he was too young for him that he didn’t. It’s never, maybe this gay man didn’t want to see me suffer and wanted to save me, so he saw the opportunity and took it…For me…And I’m alive now thanks to him. Period. It’s never, maybe what I thought about gay people is wrong. Maybe…being gay doesn’t inherently make you a pedophile. His story is on YouTube.

Once again, you have Christianity to thank for that propaganda.

And this is exactly what the Conservative White ABSI Men do. To ALL of us. THEY infect the world with the stigma and YOU choose to let it fester and use you as a vessel for hate while they’re insulting you and your ancestors and your culture while plotting behind your back to erase it all off the face of the earth like they have done for millenia.

How could you? Go to therapy, learn about empathy and do better. Come back when you’re ready to shed the lifeless, thoughtless, blindfolding helmets and orders of our oppressors who want you dead and fight them in the armor or battle garb of your unique predecessors and invoke the voices of those who died for your rights to live in peace (I am not talking about the U.S military).

[daily-smol-silm]

Day #161 - Atrocious.

Wanted to draw Sauron in a sweater, it quickly spiraled into the most atrocious holiday outfit ever worn by an Umaia.

[lovelizards]

"What do you want me to say? Shall I kneel at your feet and thank god? Shall I wail and fall into your arms? There is no god. And you're three years too late."

Haydn couldn't quite believe his eyes.

The room she was being kept in was no larger than two paces in any direction. A small cot, dirty curtains hanging limply over a boarded window. The only thing of real note was a mirror, with cracks all the way down the middle.

Gwen sat in front of it with a hand pressed against the glass, not looking at her own reflection, not moving an inch.

He supposed she couldn't. One of her legs was missing from mid-calf down.

Her entire body was riddled with knife and burn scars, bruises that mottled her milk-pale skin, and her once long and full honey-brown hair was chopped short without care.

How could a knight do this?

He had grown up around knights his entire life, and none of them ever seemed cruel enough to treat another person this way, let alone a woman.

"Gwen -"

"So you remember my name...should I be honoured?" she muttered, fingers curling into a fist against the mirror, "Not that it matters now..."

Haydn took a few steps into the room, but slowly, because something felt very off about the Gwen that was sitting before him. As if she were more feral beast than human.

"Let's get you out of here first, Gwen, then we can talk about what happened, and -"

"Oh, would you like to talk about it? Which part? The part where he chopped my leg off with a fletching knife? Or maybe how he kept me chained up with the horses while he travelled? Or do you just want to know about that night?"

She stared up at him, with such vitriol in her eyes that Haydn felt pinned in place by it, "That night, when he collected me just like Ava's horses and arms. When he told me, by rights of combat, that I belonged to him because he murdered the knight who previously owned me..."

Haydn had to look away. Her intense gaze was chilling, reaching down into the dark places in his soul he'd tried desperately to hide for the last three years.

He still remembered that day, the beauty of the jousts and the glittering armour in the summer sun all turning sour, when his sister - one of the realm's most beloved knights - was struck off her horse.

The joust was finished, as it often was, by a duel of close-combat. But the opposing knight had no honour. He fought dirty, and because the laws of combat within a jousting tourney were what they were...

"Despite everything he did to me," Gwen interrupted his thoughts, "despite every foul, horrific thing...The worst thing he ever did was take Ava away from me."

Tears rolled down her cheeks, though her expression didn't change.

"Let me help you stand, you can lean on -"

"Don't you touch me," she whispered, nails scratching a path in the cracked and crackling glass, "her death is on your hands, just as much as his..."

Haydn flinched, as if he'd been struck.

He'd replayed that day in his mind hundreds, thousands of times. If only he had rushed in sooner. If only he had taken up a sword and fought with her. If only he'd called for the senior knights to do something, stop the fight - damn the rules! If only, if only...

"He...was a knight," Haydn said, though it was a weak argument at best, "I - I never thought he would -"

"Knights," she spat, "well damn your knights, and damn you, Haydn."

"At - at least let me take that chain off and -"

"I would rather die," Gwen snarled, "I would rather die than be saved by you."

He caught his breath. The other knights had warned him not to expect anything, said that she might be far removed, and too changed from the Gwen he remembered. But even so..

"I can...bring someone else. It doesn't have to be me."

She didn't respond to that. Just glared up at him, tears falling silently, and watched him with murderous intent as he left the room to go find someone, anyone else, to help the woman who should have been his sister's wife.

[vos-videmus]

snake in the garden

[cryenaa-blog]

More album redraws when I feel like it

[I Get Wet]

[disinherited-dornishman]

In honour of @helaenasbestfriend 's insane tags on my post, which inspired this two part trash from my end.

Part 1

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fantasies of regicide. TW: offscreen marital SA in part 2, because that's what doing one's duty as Alicent Hightower pertains.

Part 2/2

His prayers go unanswered.

Criston is stone, cold and hard, a gargoyle once more. He does not take his eyes off the wall opposite his post.

Soft creaking. Not his sword's leather hilt.

He thought back to Ser Arlan's oath, the weight of his blade on Criston's shoulders. "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and the innocent. In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to defend all women." He felt the warmth of pride as though he was back in the Marshes at this very moment. The clasp Ser Arlan's hand around his forearm, a clap on his shoulder, and respect from a knight he looked up to all his boyh-

A whimper pierces the creaking of the bed and the King's panting.

It is for his sins that she is being punished, he knows it. The Gods see his desires when he prays to them. The violence. The vengeance. The rage. The love. They see the hearts of all their faithful.

He closes his eyes at the soft, strangled cry.

He would pray for mercy for his Queen, but he's learned his lesson and instead gives prayer for forgiveness, before he goes away inside again.

"Ser Criston!"

The Prince Aemond ran to him with an eagerness not his wont, and he couldn't help but freeze in surprise. "What is it, my prince?"

"Aegon needs your help."

His smile kept Criston from mistaking this for an emergency, but he followed his energetic prince with due speed toward a path he swiftly recognized as leading to Queen Alicent's solar. When he entered, shrieks greeted him, and he sighed at the sight of Princess Helaena, rather calmly, chasing Prince Aegon with an insect of some sort.

"He only wants to meet you, Aegon," she said, wholly sincere.

"Get it the fuck away!"

"Children!" They stopped and a brief wave of embarrassment washes over him that he had spoken to his royal charges in such a manner. But he was also relieved the cacophany stopped. "Princess."

"Hello, Ser Criston."

"Get the she-beast away from me," Aegon commanded, wild-eyed and watching his sister warily.

"An unworthy thing to call your sister," he chided. "Princess, please stop whatever you're doing if it's making Aegon scream? I beseech you. Otherwise some guard must leave their post as I have to stop it."

"Apologies, Ser."

"You're sorry for that but not for me?" Aegon was in disbelief.

From beside him, Aemond laughed, and the sound had Criston suppressing a smile of his own.

The smile broke along with the memory, when the door behind him opens.

He dares not look anywhere but ahead as King Viserys steps out, feet and cane tapping a cadence he has come to despise. His Grace stops before him, glancing, ashamedly perhaps, but he cannot tell for he will not look, cannot, or he might well start to truly consider the voice that is whispering from the dark corners of his mind.

The gods listen, he reminds himself. Remember your oath. Remember your honour. Protect her in this way from him, we cannot in any other.

Mercifully, as though the gods approve of his line of thought, Viserys Targaryen finally averts his eyes and lowered head, and leaves with Ser Harrold in tow.

He had forgotten the Lord Commander was beside him.

"I charge you to protect all women, Ser Arlan's voice said.

The silence was bliss this once, if only for the lack of his Queen's cries. Why the King had been rougher than usual this time, he could not say. Perhaps he missed his Aemma particularly today.

But the silence did not bring him peace much longer, for soon it began to unnerve him, and both his oath and his heart told him to enter her chambers and make certain of her safety, but the truth is that there is no safety he can bring her that is mentionable, and he could not chance that she might be indecent. He could not add to her pain, her humiliation.

He could not.

The agony of these minutes is much the same as it had been in the Boneway, when he awaited Ser Arlan's command to attack the watchtowers, not knowing if he would survive the skirmish.

But his queen breaks it as she breaks all his agonies, when she calls his name.

"Ser Criston."

He finally looks away from the wall, and finds his Queen pristine, in one of her mother's old green dresses. They always comfort her, and she keeps them in exceptional condition.

"My queen." His voice is strangled, but he finally breathes again.

Her sorrow is statuesque. She spares him a smile - and it is only now that he notices her upper lip is split.

His cold fury must be evident. "My own doing, not my husband's."

For the better, or I would have made you a widow. His eyes widen and he quickly averts his gaze. Damned fool! Banish these thoughts before she is punished any further for your-

"Please," she says, and he starts as her finger brushes his fist. "I would not have you worry for me, Ser."

"It is my duty," he says, "as your protector."

"And this is mine," she says. Her smile pierces his heart like a knife. "Put it from your mind. Please."

Despite her calm, he recognizes her need, the desperation in her eyes, and finds he is capable of anything to fulfil it. Even forgetting the King's sins. "As you command."

"Will you pray with me? At the sept? I'm afraid I am in no state to be seen by the children yet."

"You honour me, your grace."

Her smile becomes a little less tired, and his own agony abates some as they make their way to the sept that had become his haven these past years. He ignores the failure in her step, for fear of the thoughts that would arise if he didn't.

The prayer is small solace tonight. But her presence, the realness and safety of her being beside him after having to listen to... her duties, more than makes up for it. He finds himself thinking more of her bitten, bloody lip than the words of prayer his mother had taught him. Today they knelt before the Maiden, and he catches part of her words under her breath.

She prays for a child to come to life, and its health to be good.

It is a prayer in which he joins. For even this child would be dear to him as Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond already are. A light in the darkness. The only good to come from Viserys Targaryen, yet but a drop in the ocean that is his Good Queen Alicent.

"Will you tell me what plagues you, Ser?" she says, waiting for him by the door of the sept when they've finished their prayer. He's looping his scabbard about his waist.

"Forgive me." He promised to put the incident out of his mind, yet words are wind. He cannot help but be haunted.

"There is nothing to forgive." She looks down, suddenly uncertain - for the first time this whole night, he is surprised to realize. "If you wish to speak, Ser Criston... I am here."

Disbelief. That's what he's feeling. He knows this - this, this is an offering of trust. An open hand extended. And his Queen is asking for his.

Gods, if he had known earlier-

"Of course, my queen. It is merely... I..."

"Yes?" Her uncertainty is replaced with relief, and curiosity.

"I fear I am at fault."

"At fault? Whatever for?"

He looks down, swallows the lump in his throat. "The gods see and hear all. We cannot hide our hearts from them, even if we can hide it from ourselves. I... the gods punish you for my thoughts. The... The unwell thoughts... that I spoke of."

When he finds the courage to look up, she watches him with soft, large eyes, and greets his confession with the kindest of smiles. "Sweet Ser... you are a fool."

His mind blanks. Fool? Sweet Ser?

His faculties are not helped when she steps closer. The moonlight through the stained glass is paler than the daylight's, and it enhances her beauty immeasurably, her skin and the auburn of her hair.

"This is not punishment," she says. "It is the duty of all wives, from Dorne to the Wall. I assure you that I have had similar nights long before I took you in my service. You are not at fault for my... pains."

He nods, feeling like a fool, and not at all sweet. Worse, selfish. He should be comforting her, not the other way about. "Of course..."

She is still smiling. His heart races. "Your concern is most welcome, however. You are a dear friend, Ser Criston."

"You honour me," he rasps.

"And you me."

"No," he shakes his head. "My thoughts-"

"Are only because you care for me, as a friend would."

The way she says the word friend... there is no doubt left in him. She knows, yet she accepts it. Gods be good. Madness grips him.

"Ask me to end your suffering."

She does not flinch, wonder, or turn. His Queen knows precisely what he is saying, and all she does is smile. It is so sorrowful the lump in his throat returns. "I cannot."

He shuts his eyes. He nods. "Of course. Forgive me, he is your king husband, I should never have- I am a beast, Your Grace, wild with fear and-"

She breathes a quiet laugh. "You do not understand, Ser. It is not for my husband I am concerned."

Queen Alicent does not elaborate in the silence, and it is all the explanation he needs. The air betwixt them is intoxicating. "They would not know it was by another's hand."

"I cannot chance that."

"Even if I was discovered, I would never give your name, not even to the Lord Confessor himself."

"Discovery does not frighten me. It is the loss of you I could not bear, dear friend. Who, Ser, would pray with me in this sept after the king's visits? Who could I trust to safeguard my children's lives?"

"... I understand." He did, truly. How long had she felt...

Her fingers weave through his, her eyes close as though in rest or repose. He is suddenly starved for nearness, and leans forward while she does the same.

His forehead rests against hers. Her warmth, the gentleness of her hands, so abiding and comforting. Her tired breath, the sweetest sound he knows.

They remain so, drawing strength from each other, until minutes pass. Or hours.

When finally they part, she looks at him with such fondness and trust his heart feels like to burst from it.

"We should go to the solar, Ser Criston, before the children go mad from eagerness."

The mention of them breaks him out of it enough that he finds his voice. "Eagerness?"

She laughs beautifully. "Oh, yes, I forgot. Helaena intends to surprise you with an insect from the Dornish Marshes. Be certain to act surprised."

He grins. How delightful. "As Her Grace commands."

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

The next day, he recalls a tale he had heard of the gargoyles of Dragonstone, that they were more than they seemed. It is said that one day, the stone dragons would awaken. Some terrible battle against a foe, he couldn't recall.

Criston Cole was no dragon. Just one of the many grotesques. But he knew how to fight.

And when he saw in the training yard how the King favored the Darklyn knight, he knew precisely how to avenge his queen's pains.

Ser Rolland never breathed painlessly again.

[scienceoftheidiot]

Seeing guys on here go oh we don't want politics here so we're going to tag our serious post "tw US politics" sorry about that

As if their politics doesn't impact the whole fucking world

As if the whole fucking world didn't spend months telling them not to let this happen

"tw US politics uwu we know you don't want to see it"

We're gonna see it anyway fuckers. Everyone's gonna see it. Some people are going to feel it very bad too.

I'm going to scream

[rainyrambles-overcod]

warnings: mcd / major character death

day 15 of drawing one (or two) of the cod characters until I’m comfortable with trying to find my style

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I could NOT figure out how to do the background actually so

mm

[bringthekaos]

On a more serious note i remember taking a screenshot of each time Viktor is like. *Looking* at the Hexcore and. Man. Stop looking at it as if its your wife or like your drug. Its scary. Please return to being normal. I can’t believe Jayce never noticed how concerning it was

I truly believe, had he not been forced into politics against his will, and was spending his usual amount of time in the lab, Jayce would have noticed. I feel like the “are you sure this is safe” line was even hinting at his worry about the risks Viktor was taking with the Hexcore.

I also think that whatever this influence is that the Hexcore is exuding onto Viktor (whether it’s the Void or not)… it’s sentient. It knows it needs to keep itself secret if it wants to continue to put its feelers in Viktor’s psyche, and as such, I feel like it started to manipulate Viktor’s behavior. Viktor already had a tendency to pull away from people when he was struggling (“he disappeared. He does that sometimes”), so it wouldn’t have been that much of a stretch for this habit to get worse without people around him noticing (especially in the wake of his terminal diagnosis—everyone has a different reaction to a terminal diagnosis, and sometimes solitude is one of them. Jayce may have wanted to respect that. And that’s a slippery slope, with no right answer—do you force yourself into someone’s personal life when they don’t want you there? Do you leave them alone, even when it’s clear they’re hurting and could use the support? I can understand how they end up in a sort of stalemate, because everyone is afraid of encroaching on boundaries.)

But the sad truth is that Viktor’s desperation to save himself is what drove him to these extreme measures, and even without the Hexcore’s influence, that desperation would still be there. The Hexcore was his hope, and I understand how hope—even when flawed—can be addicting. At that point, there would have been no going back to “being normal,” because either way he’d suffer. He truly is backed into a corner, and the inevitable snarling, gnashing, lashing-out rage at the injustice is yet to come, I think.

[margridarnauds]

Mallathalra Symryvvin | Lolth-Sworn Drow (Szarkai) | Gloomstalker Ranger/Assassin Rogue | Urchin | Neutral Evil

[lemonlilypufftangerine]

I've wanted to remake this meme ever since i finished The Adventure of the Runaway Room (疾走する密室の冒険)/DGS 1-3.

I laughed so hard when i first saw that cutscene. He looked like he couldn't give less of a damn except that he had to have it cleaned up by the next trial.

Me: Sir, a man is burning alive in there.

BVZ: Can't believe he did that to me personally, now i have to order maids here to clean up his mess.

Sorry i cant find the original post, just my screenshot.

[cooking-with-hailstones]

Fucking hell, I'm still reeling from the fact that we have actual cctv footage of a Palestinian being gang raped by Israeli soldiers, so severely that he has to be hospitalized with life threatening injuries, and then when those soldiers were arrested, mobs rolled up to DEMAND THAT THE SOLDIERS SHOULD BE FREED.

(source)

Israeli Human rights groups are referring to detention centres for Palestinian prisoners as "torture camps" and yet the Canadian government is authorizing millions of dollars worth of military equipment and bombs to be sent to Israel next year and somehow most people seem to have 0 issue with this???

[lovelizards]

Iska // Meres

[mad-hunts]

oh, by the way, it's random headcanon time because i thought y'all should know this: barton's doll motif does, in fact, go deeper than his 'doll-making.' because although his hair isn't always this way, you can always sort of tell when barton is really spiraling, because he will just stop brushing his hair to let it become matted and resemble a ' doll's ' hair more closely. and as for what that looks like, think the ringlets that seem to resemble a doll's that has yarn for hair that i used in my pinned post, except they're blonde. so yeahhh. though, of course, there's nothing really wrong with that. however, comma, did i also mention that he is SO wack that he stitched someone else's arm onto himself and now uses it as his own like one of his ' doll-like ' creations?

and as you guys can probably already tell, there are definitely some things wrong with that 💀 i mean barton just cannot go even one day without causing some sort of horrific upset, am i right, guys? JSJSJ / j NAH i'm kidding, i'm kidding (... actually, i might not be this time. idk LMAO ). but anyhowww, i'll tell y'all more about that later because it will probably be a long post due to the nature of how that came to be, but how are we feeling about barton now with this information? like has your opinion of him changed or is it pretty much the same? i am just genuinely curious so feel free to leave a comment below to tell me.... because i know it is gross to think about and also terrifying, but barton is SEVERELY demented so he doesn't think of it that way personally

[byler-alarmist]

If your support of Palestine includes apologizing for SA on the part of Hamas, you'd better block me before I come for your ass

[yunnshui]

normal night in the loser dorm