#violent hostile situation

[kaijucantdie]

KAIJU MET THE BUTCHER!

[savanir]

A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park. 

The situation had seemed so simple. 

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn’t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation. 

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire. 

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped" 

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position. 

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available. 

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act" 

The audio cuts out. 

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!" 

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

[personapeters]

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬

— a rafe cameron one shot (1 of 2) part one • part two

✰ you’re at a party with your ‘best friend’, rafe, when things suddenly turn sour, and he’s not afraid to fight for whats his.

rating: sfw — cw: alcohol, physical assault, blood

if y/n was somehow convinced that the rafe cameron could have simply walked away from a situation as such — she was terribly mistaken. the mild taste of alcohol burning in the back of his throat became overwhelmingly bitter as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, his knuckles aching in sheer anticipation.

his mind raced for a moment as he stood, rage gradually bubbling in his stomach as a burning sensation overtook his skin. they weren’t ‘official’ by any means — he wasn’t even sure if she saw him the way he did her — but in his mind, that truly meant changed nothing; whether she was simply his closest friend or his girlfriend, she was still someone of his — his.

he downed the rest of the weak mixer in his red solo cup before throwing it down onto the already trash cluttered floor. his narrow eyes scanned the crowed of moving bodies surrounding him before they landed on a familiar head of dirty blonde.

“aye — aye, top!” he called out, weaving his way through the living room with minimal care for the people he was shoving before fully approaching his friend. “yo, rafe, you good?” topper questioned with immediate concern, noticing the all-too-familiar look on the older mans face as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

“where’s your man?” rafe asked through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his composure — he knew exactly who y/n refered to, he just needed to find him. “wha- who?” topper replied with a genuine confusion, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “that short fuck you invited, topper,” rafe seethed with mild annoyance, his patience wearing extremely thin as he watched his friend take another swig of his beer, “the blonde — where is he?”

“mmm,” topper hummed in recognition as he pulled his lips from the bottle and took a swallow, “mikey? uh, out back with kelce, last i seen ‘em.” needing nothing more, rafe swiftly stormed off with a clenched jaw, exiting out of the back porch door with a slam while ignoring topper’s questioning calls from behind.

the sandy backyard was almost as populated as the inside, the once pounding music now a muted bass as he furthered himself from house, his head on a swivel as he searched the sea of people. once again, he roughly pushed his way through party-goers, his height playing to his advantage as he peered above their heads, scanning the area. it took all of a minute before he spotted kelce and a few others gathered around a fire, laughing amongst themselves.

he felt a twisting heat build in his core as he neared them, his fists balled tightly as he held them stiff by his sides, knuckles white from the intense pressure. kelce noticed rafe approaching out of the corner of his eye, a bright smile on his face as he prepared to greet his friend that was quickly wiped away when he noticed his hostile demeanor.

“aye, what’s-,” kelce started, but was cut off abruptly as rafe brushed past and violently shoved the lanky blonde beside him to the ground. “yo, what the fuck, rafe?!” kelce yelled, stepping in between the two men hastily, eyes widened as he glanced between them both — once again, rafe simply brushed past him.

“y’think you can just try ‘n force girls to fuck you? keep fuckin’ with her ‘till she puts out?” rafe seethed at a moderate volume, towering over a heaving michael who was attempting to regain the breath that was knocked out of him. rafe used the plural term ‘girls’ loosely as he only really cared for the one girl in particular — he wasn’t afraid to admit that, either.

“what are you talking about, dude?” the man in the sand exclaimed, though rafe knew he was feigning ignorance. “what the hell is going on?!” kelce added, though through everything he was hearing, he began putting the jagged pieces together.

“can’t get pussy without beggin’ for it, right? ah, that’s it,” rafe taunted with a malicious half-grin, one that could send a static chill down one’s spine and make them question what it’s owner was capable of. some would say rafe cameron always had a hint of crazy in his eyes, but now it was prominent and on full display. “c’mon, rafe, just chill,” kelce reasoned, or attempted to, pushing his friend back by his biceps as michael clamored to his feet.

“yo, get the fuck off me!” rafe barked, swiping both of kelce’s arms away with a single motion, his eyes still locked onto his target. “y’like puttin’ your hands on girls, yeah?!” rafe hissed, marching across the sand and pressing his broad chest to michael’s lesser one, his breaths hot and rapid as they fanned across his opponent’s face. a crowd had formed as the altercation became louder and more evident, encouraging chants emitting from the herd of college students surrounding who drunkenly anticipated the unconventional entertainment.

admittedly, rafe liked — no, loved that everyone was watching him make an example out of the unfortunate soul who crossed him. anyone who had an ounce of sense knew never to mess with rafe cameron or his people, especially not his girl — his name was written all over her. yet, seemingly, not everyone got that very important message; though, he knew it would soon be made exceedingly loud and abundantly clear, as it should be.

“dude, i-i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking ab-,” the blonde began to babble but rafe wasn’t in any mood to listen, abruptly interrupting him in his fit of rage by swinging back a heavy fist and letting it crack against mikey’s jaw. the shorter man stumbled backwards, the sand beneath his feet making it harder to regain his balance as he plummeted to the ground. he gripped his chin as a thin stream of warm blood began to pour from his mouth before yelling, “what the fuck, dude?!”

“what—you don’t like that?” rafe mocked with a sickeningly sweet tone, watching with an ice-melting gaze as the man clamored to his feet. “tell me to stop,” rafe snarled, lunging forward and taking another loaded swing, connecting it straight into michael’s ribs, “nah, you like it, don’t you?” he doubled over in pain, letting out a strained groan as he placed a hand over his sore abdomen.

“yo, that’s enough, rafe,” kelce intervened again, stepping in between the two men in an attempt to distinguish the fight. rafe ignored his friend’s plea, roughly brushing shoulders passed him as he advanced once again. “c’mon, tough guy, don’t be a bitch,” he taunted again, “put your hands on somebody who wants ‘em.”

suddenly, a voice from within the large huddle of bystanders was heard, topper emerging from the mass with urgency. “hey, hey! what the fuck is going on?!” he asked frantically, his eyes flickering between rafe and the battered man before him. “why don’t you ask your buddy over there, huh?” rafe hissed, enough anger boiling in his blood to heat the very surface of his skin, his adrenaline at an all-time high.

“i ain’t do nothing, alright?!” michael defended breathlessly, and rafe felt as though his body could have burst from rage. “nothing, huh?” rafe muttered, surprisingly calm as an overwhelming, animalistic urge to tear the man apart limb from limb began to overtake him even further.

“beggin’ to crack girls who don’t want to fuck you is nothing, huh?” rafe projected as though it was an announcement, loud enough for everyone surrounding to hear, “getting your dick in a twist when they turn you down, leavin’ marks on ‘em — that’s nothing? you’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

“alright, you watch your mouth,” michael spat through gritted teeth, striding forward with a pointed finger, stopping it a mere inch away from rafe’s stoic face; rafe found it almost comical. “or what?” rafe rebutted, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his rose tinted lips. the volume of the crowd raised once more as the momentum picked up, the watchers on the edge of their metaphorical seats as they awaited a fight they knew rafe would deliver.

“you guys needa just-just chill out — calm down,” topper coaxed, attempting to play peacemaker, though his efforts were deemed futile when michael suddenly pulled his fist back and pounded it against rafe’s bottom lip, catching him off guard. the pink, supple flesh split instantly, blood trickling over his chin and trailing down his neck, the fabric of his shirt soaking it up and painting itself crimson.

rafe darted forward, virtually unfazed by the newfound gash on his face, grabbing michael by his collar with one hand and striking him in the jaw with the other. the crowd gasped while others cheered, their phones tight in their grasps as they recorded the brawl — this is what they were waiting for. rafe felt multiple pairs of hands on his back, tugging at his shirt as they attempted to pull him off, but rafe could only stop when he wanted to.

he planted another jab into michael’s side, which was quickly reciprocated when a set of knuckles collided with rafe’s torso, causing him to stumble. although michael was noticeably smaller, his brute was still nothing to be undermined, especially when being used against a girl like y/n. considering that only pushed rafe further off the edge — the idea of anyone trying her made him irrevocably livid.

“you’re a coward,” rafe yelled as he swung once again, this time knocking michael off his feet and onto his back with a sand-cushioned thud, “a fucking coward!” he kicked the fallen man in his side with the entirety of his strength, causing him to roll over in agony as he hugged himself. “ain’t even man enough,” he gritted out while kicking him again, “to own up to it,” and again, “wanna touch my girl,” and again, “fuckin’ joke.”

in the near distance, a loud siren was heard followed by the hue of red and blue lights washing over the front of the house, causing the gaggle of bystanders to all flee in various directions. “that’s enough,” topper insisted with a hand yanking rafe back by his shoulder, frankly only concerned for him after digesting the entirety of the situation, “the cops are here — we gotta go.”

rafe ignored his warning, stalking towards the blonde on the ground with an unwavering desire to make his face utterly unrecognizable. moments like these made him wish he could guarantee getting away with murder, completely removing the problem from his island. he crouch down slowly, grabbing michael by his dirtied polo before roughly pulling him upwards, their faces inches apart as he left him with a final message warning:

“don’t come back here again. if you ever — ever even so much as fucking speak to her again, i promise… i will fucking kill you.”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[rafey-baby]

hidden 2

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, rafe getting injured & reluctantly letting her clean him up, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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It’s past midnight and Rafe is driving over the speed-limit— he said something about handling business and then more or less shoved her into the passenger seat of his truck before she even had the chance to open her mouth.  

The island sky is as dusky as the bottom of the ocean while he races through the soundless highway that reminds her of the yellow brick road; never-ending and with no certainty of what’s looming at the finish line. 

She’s sits silently, because even if she was curious as to where exactly they were headed to, she’s well aware that he wouldn’t tell her if she asked— which is why she merely lets her heavy lids flutter shut to the lullaby of the wind picking up outside the vehicle, so exhausted she falls asleep within minutes. Therefore, she’s not sure how much time has passed before she’s jostled awake to the sound of him turning off the engine in an empty parking lot. 

“Don’t even think about openin’ the door, alright?” a heavy warning lingers in his tone while he tucks his gun into the waistband of his pants and grabs a thick wad of cash from the glove compartment.  

She hums her acknowledgment, watching his actions with wandering eyes filled with questions. However, he merely offers her a brief glance before he’s throwing open the door and disappearing into the eerily serene night— leaving her alone in the dimly lit space with her nervous inhales the only thing keeping her company.  

The moment he’s gone, she tries to peer through the window, squinting in order to see where he’s run off to. However, the faint glow of the street lamps provides little to no help, which makes her tap her nails against the center console; impatiently waiting for him to return. Then, she attempts to press her ear to the window, but unfortunately no sounds other than the leaves in the trees surrounding the area reach her eardrums.  

She sighs. What if something happens? 

Realistically, she knows he doesn’t need her to worry about him but she can’t help it; no matter how terrible of a person he is, she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. Because at the end of the day, she’s not a carefully programmed robot entirely void of human emotions, is she?

The mellow memory of him reluctantly attempting to soothe her after her outburst the other day still lingers at the forefront of her mind— turning her initial thoughts about him into something softer. After all, she was certain he was going to kill her when she threatened him with his gun. However, he seemed almost entertained by her stupid bravery, opting to mock her instead of showing a single ounce of actual fear.

And she doesn’t know why, but there’s this peculiar flutter in her stomach whenever her brain decides to mull over the moment of him wrapping his big arms around her shaky form in an almost gentle manner. She wants to forget about it, wants to push it aside and simply despise him for forcing her to help him, but she can’t— can’t help the fact that even if she’s utterly terrified of him, there’s something almost fascinating about the way he’s such a polar opposite to her.

Not only is he a Kook but he’s also violent and hostile, whereas she doesn’t even have the heart to kill a bug. His demeanor is aggressive and she thought that was all there was but then he goes on and practically hugs her when she’s a trembling mess with salty tears streaking her cheeks. And she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to think of that.  

In fact, all of it confuses her to no end— disarranging her cerebrum and making foreign emotions bubble in her chest like molten lava. Or maybe she’s just touch-deprived; starving for whatever attention Rafe is suddenly offering her so generously. 

However, she doesn’t necessarily want to think about any of it right now, opting to stare out into the gloom of the night, forcing her mind somewhere else entirely when all at once, the driver’s side door slams open and her head snaps towards it; eyes startled and heart jumping in her chest at the sudden intrusion.  

“Calm down, s’just me,” Rafe mutters, sounding out of breath, his exhales harsh and chest rising and falling like a madman while he leans against the leather seat— eyes soon flitting over her tense form.

“You seriously didn’t move?” he huffs out, brows raised. “When’d you learn to listen? Should give you a treat for bein’ such a good little puppy, huh?” he lets out a chuckle with a shake of his head while she comes to the conclusion that she’s definitely craving a very specific type of attention when her thighs involuntarily press together in response to his twisted notion of praise.   

“You— uh…you okay?” she cautiously asks; an attempt to focus on something other than the warmth scattering along the apples of her cheeks.   

“M’fine,” he mumbles before starting the engine and speeding back out onto the road still sound asleep— the pitch-black sky beginning to fade into a navy blue with the dim glimmer of the street lamps illuminating their journey.    

However, when she gets a better look at him, she notices a few cuts and bruises adorning his tired face. There’s a particularly deep scrape on his cheekbone; crimson transferring to the back of his hand when he mindlessly swipes over it. “Rafe you’re bleeding. What happened?” she exclaims, uneasiness coating her voice.

“Don’t worry, okay? Jus’ had some, uh…disagreements, you should honestly see the other guy,” a lazy smirk paints over his face when he lets out a dry chuckle.  

“Do you want me to clean them up for you? Those could get infected or something.”

“S’just a few scratches, you’re actin’ as if m’bleedin’ out,” he rolls his eyes, turning exasperated.  

“M’being serious, you can’t exactly go to the doctor if those actually end up getting infected, can you?” she argues with a pout.    

“Shit, are all pogues this fuckin’ stubborn or jus’ you? Told you, s’fine,” he snaps in disdain, knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel.  

“It’s not fine, though. Can you jus’…can you just let me help? It’ll take like ten minutes and then you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” she rakes a hand through her hair in frustration because in her opinion, Rafe is the one being stubborn right now.   

“M’not worryin’ about it!” his gravelly voice suddenly thunders from his chest, making her flinch.  

“…well— I am,” her tone is quiet now, slightly regretting bringing up the topic in the first place.    

At that, he lets out an irritated sigh before he’s abruptly pulling over to a parking lot next to some gas station.

She turns to look at him with a surprised expression.   

“Don’t have all day, get the fuckin’ first aid kit from the glove box then,” he grumbles out a harsh demand.   

“O— okay,” her face begins to light up in victory as she scurries to open the compartment in front of her, rummaging through and trying to not pay attention to the plastic baggies filled with white powder or the wads of cash her hand comes in contact with. 

At last, her tentative fingertips find the small red bag she was looking for. However, when she turns to face him again, he’s not initiating any sort of movement, simply spreading his legs out in front of him in his slouched position and staring down at her expectantly.  

She hesitates. “You’re not gonna…move?”  

“If you wanna play nurse so fuckin’ bad then you have no problem sittin’ on my lap, right? Not gonna reach all the way from there, are ya?” his voice is mocking and she can practically feel the warmth crawling up her face.  

“Oh, right. Um— yeah. I’ll just…” she blinks and then she’s clumsily climbing over the console and awkwardly lowering down to his lap while he merely looks at her with a bored expression; annoyance swimming in the lagoons of his eyes as he glares at her, clearly bothered by the fact that he has to waste his precious time on something as trivial as this.

It makes her huff before she’s timidly opening the first aid kit and trying to settle down onto his lap. However, with his long legs sprawled out in the legroom, he’s not exactly making it easy for her— being petty and difficult on purpose while she takes out a clean cotton pad and dampens it with some antiseptic spray. 

“Can you just…” she trails off before gingerly taking ahold of his jaw and tilting his face in an attempt to examine the injuries.  

And to her surprise, he lets her freely maneuver his head as she pleases and despite the sting, he doesn’t even flinch when she dabs over a smaller cut on his jaw— merely lets his gaze flicker over her features, making her grow nervous under his curious eyes while she tries to concentrate on the vermilion spots on his face and not the way he’s soundlessly observing her. Or the fact that she’s currently closer to him than she’s ever been before— can feel the even breaths from his nose tickling the skin of her lower face when she leans down for a better angle.  

“So…you’re a drug dealer?” she decides to try her luck, not being able to sweep the cocaine in the glove compartment under the rug so carelessly.   

“What did I say about questions, puppy?” he scolds her instead of answering.   

“Right— sorry,” her eyes drop. At least she tried.  

And she doesn’t say anything more, instead focuses all her attention on gently cleansing the scrapes while she tries to not pay any mind to the fact that as an afterthought, this position is incredibly improper, and she’s not entirely sure why she agreed to it so easily. Upon careful consideration, she thinks she’s entirely too aware of his sturdy muscles underneath her and it’s turning her respiration more and more labored by each wipe over his skin.  

“Thinkin’ about goin’ to Guadeloupe next week,” he utters out after several moments of silence.  

“You are?”   

“Mhm, m’family has a house there,” his voice is calm, almost relaxed.  

Her brows crease in a question. “But how’re you—”

“I have a private jet,” he states as if it should be obvious. He is a proud Kook, after all.

“Right, of course you do,” she shakes her head when the corners of his mouth tug up. “How long are you gonna stay there?” she then asks while lifting her hand to swipe the saturated cotton over the deeper wound on his cheekbone.   

He shrugs. “Don’t know, ’til I figure somethin’ else out.”

She hums and then shuffles around on his lap some more, trying to wriggle upwards in an attempt to not fall. However, as she’s shifting into a more comfortable position, he suddenly lets out a low grunt from the back of his throat.  

“Shit, puppy. You, uh, you really gotta move around so much?” he murmurs, promptly resting his hands on her hips, halting her movements altogether.   

“S— sorry,” her eyes round out when she realizes there’s a slight bulge in his pants. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re tryna get me hard on purpose, hm?” a breathy chuckle escapes his lips, amusement glittering in blue gemstones while he inspects her flushed face with intrigue.   

“Oh, no— m’not…was jus’— trying not to fall,” her words are rushed, thoroughly embarrassed as she blinks repeatedly.  

“Just, uh…stay still, yeah? Need me to steady you?” he rasps out before strong arms are holding her upright with a firm grip on her waist.   

“Thanks,” her voice is a muted whisper while she tries not to seem so affected— getting a new cotton pad and beginning to scrub off some of the dried scarlet from under his bottom lip, not daring to shift an inch after that.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Something I've been thinking about in regards to the difficulty of writing about my job in the healthcare profession is that there's very different conversations happening at the same time. The first is that this is a job that gives us a lot of power over vulnerable people that is easy to abuse and easier to be passive about. The second is that people will never not bitch about their jobs.

What if a customer service job was high-stakes? That's nursing. It's not the only part of nursing, but cmon, anyone who has worked a public-facing job knows how some people can be. Hospitals are full of people having the worst days of their lives while also being tired, hungry, lonely, and bored.

Plus, it's not just the general population you're dealing with. Hospitals have a disproportionate amount of very difficult people. To draw some examples from my own direct experience: the dementia patient had become too violent to stay at home (unfortunately common), infected chronic wound guy who is so racist that his facility will not take him back, confused patient who screams unceasingly 24 hours a day until she passes out, sexually inappropriate guy who needs two caregivers at all time, another racist patient but this time they're also sexist, banned from multiple shelters for assaulting the staff, etc. Or what might be the most common: person who is too sick to go home alone but no one they know will agree to take care of them. Like, have any of you cut off horrible relatives or abusive partners? People who were in whatever way unacceptable to be around? Would you like to take care of them? And you KNOW they're also not doing any of the stuff that would help them heal so it seems like they will never leave.

I think the gap between healthcare as a Duty versus as a Job contributes to hostile conversations. When you're complaining about your Job ("that moment when you let a call light ring for a while in the hopes someone else answers this time because that patient is annoying as hell"), it's frustrating to get a response that solely looks at the situation through the lens of a Duty ("all patients deserve the same level of care and shouldn’t be ignored.") And it's also frustrating to have these legitimate criticisms ignored or disputed because people are like "it's not that serious, calm down, let nurses vent." And it’s also frustrating to feel so intensely monitored in your free time because of your job. And it’s also frustrating to see people in their free time display qualities that seem like they would have big, negative impacts on their job.

Thinking on this topic, I keep coming back to this one memory. There was a time when I responded to a Code Blue (cardiac arrest, guy’s heart has fully stopped) and was the fifteenth or so person to arrive. The room's full of critical care nurses, I'm not the direct care nurse, the rest of the floor is quiet. So basically, I'm useless to the emergency situation. I ran into a coworker who also responded to the code. I hadn't seen her in a minute, so we caught up. She showed me the new stickers on her water bottle. I don’t remember the exact sticker, but I believe it was a nacho-based pun. It was a pleasant chat.

Meanwhile during this entire conversation, within eyesight of where we are because we’re waiting around to see if we’re needed, people are trying to bring a patient back from the dead. What was happening in that room is life-or-death--to the patient. For me, it was an interlude during a forgettable shift. I only remember that code because the discrepancy between what I was experiencing and what the patient was experiencing was so stark. I don't even remember if the patient survived or not.

None of the patient’s family was there. If they had been, we would have removed ourselves further or not talked so casually. Probably. But if the spouse was there, it would be so insanely insensitive if we tried to include the patient's spouse in our chat about fun stickers. If me and that nurse had been casually in a different hallway chatting, it would be very abrupt for the patient's spouse to walk into our conversation and explain how the patient's death would be so hard on the kids. One of these examples is way more sympathetic and understandable than the other. And I want that spouse to feel comfortable coming up to me and discussing that! That’s part of my job! But also, you can get why that would be a distressing interruption to a moment of downtime.

In both cases, the people in the conversation couldn't be further apart in tone and investment. Neither of us are being bad people. We just should not be talking to each other. And the nature of the Internet and public posting is sometimes talking about my job feels like it's me, my coworker, the spouse, and the revived but severely affected patient in single group chat.

[kittyit]

"The suffragettes are instructive. Their tactic of choice was property destruction. Decades of patient pressure on the Parliament to give women the vote had yielded nothing, and so in 1903, under the slogan 'Deeds not words, the Women's Social and Political Union was founded. Five years later, two WSPU members undertook the first militant action: breaking windowpanes in the prime minister's residence. One of them told the police she would bring a bomb the next time. Fed up with their own fruitless deputations to Parliament, the suffragettes soon specialised in 'the argument of the broken pane', sending hundreds of well-dressed women down streets to smash every window they passed. In the most concentrated volley, in March 1912, Emmeline Pankhurst and her crews brought much of central London to a standstill by shattering the fronts of jewellers, silversmiths, Hamleys toy shop and dozens of other businesses. They also torched letterboxes around the capital. Shocked Londoners saw pillars filled with paperthrowing up flames, the work of some activist having thrown in a parcel soaked in kerosene and a lit match.

Militancy was at the core of suffragette identity: 'To be militant in some form, or other, is a moral obligation, Pankhurst lectured. 'It is a duty which every woman will owe her own conscience and self-respect, to women who are less fortunate than she is herself, and to all who are to come after her.' The latest full-body portrait of the movement, Diane Atkinson's Rise Up, Women!, gives an encyclopedic listing of militant actions: suffragettes forcing the prime minister out of his car and dousing him with pepper, hurling a stone at the fanlight above Winston Churchill's door, setting upon statues and paintings with hammers and axes, planting bombs on sites along the routes of royal visits, fighting policemen with staves, charging against hostile politicians with dogwhips, breaking the windows in prison cells. Such deeds went hand in hand with mass mobilisation. The suffragettes put up mammoth rallies, ran their own presses, went on hunger strikes: deploying the gamut of non-violent and militant action.

After the hope of attaining the vote by constitutional means was dashed once more in early 1913, the movement switched gears. In a systematic campaign of arson, the suffragettes set fire to or blew up villas, tea pavilions, boathouses, hotels, haystacks, churches, post offices, aque-ducts, theatres and a liberal range of other targets aroundthe country. Over the course of a year and a half, the WSPU claimed responsibility for 337 such attacks. Few culprits were apprehended. Not a single life was lost; only empty buildings were set ablaze. The suffragettes took great pains to avoid injuring people. But they considered the situation urgent enough to justify incendiarism - votes for women, Pankhurst explained, were of such pressing importance that we had to discredit the Government and Parliament in the eyes of the world; we had to spoil English sports, hurt businesses, destroy valuable property, demor-alise the world of society, shame the churches, upset the whole orderly conduct of life. Some attacks probably went unclaimed. One historian suspects that the suffragettes were behind one of the most spectacular blazes of the period: a fire in a Tyneside coal wharf, in which the facilities for loading coal were completely gutted. They did, however, claim responsibility for the burning of motor cars and a steam yacht."

- How to Blow Up a Pipeline, pg 40-42

[badninken]

Scary Warlord of the Sea - Trafalgar Law

I want to talk about Law's introduction on Punk Hazard, and the fight that follows. Starting with this moment:

It's been an eternity since Law's last appearance in the story when this takes place, and it's the first time he shows up after the time skip. Last time he was seen he was a sleepy-faced dude with a polar bear friend who saved Luffy's life. A bit weird but not very intimidating. This Law though, is first seen skulking in the shadows, offering to help the local villain take care of a notoriously "insane, cruel, and merciless" bunch of marines that's come knocking.

Is Trafalgar Law a villain now? Is he in charge of this very evil-seeming science facility??

Well, he sure looks shady enough to be a villain, and the notoriously merciless marines seem scared out of their fucking minds to see him.

This scene is shorter in the manga but I love the way the anime drags it out by having Tashigi name-drop other Warlords to put his new title and status into perspective. The marines are literally screaming, crying, throwing up over how scary he is, retelling the story of his 100 hearts delivery, all while Law just stands there, smiling.

And that's the thing I wanna talk about. The standing and smiling and how he acts throughout this whole encounter. The way he's leaning against that wall just like he's leaning on his own reputation to do all the work for him. His job in this situation is to scare these people away without letting them know what's going on behind those doors.

If it weren't for Smoker standing his ground, the marines might have simply turned to flee at the sight of him, without Law even having to lift a finger to encourage them. Smoker seems to be having a hard time getting around Law's arguments too. They're both working under the government here and Law doesn't offer any outright hostility or threat for him to act on. Because Law is smart.

Law is handling this navy problem non-violently with minimal effort and it seems to be going according to plan.

But then the Straw hats happen!

And also giant abducted children used for science experiments he had no knowledge of what so ever because he's been minding his own fucking business.

And now he has to deal with taking the blame for horrifying child abuse AND looking like he blatantly lied about the Straw hats and also looking like he's incompetent enough to let all those dirty secrets pop out right behind him in a rain of fucking confetti at the worst possible moment.

(does not deny this)

He looks like he just aged ten years out of pure 'what the actual fuck'-stress. Like, where does he even begin with this situation? He's not responsible for any of that shit. He's just there to destroy some other evils, as discreetly as possible, but now he has to silence an entire unit of marines, just so the mess other people made won't ruin his own plans. Plans that's he's worked on for 13 years. Sounds like a typical Trafalgar Law day.

So he apologizes for saying something that wasn't true and then he handles the problem by causing massive property damage.

While not causing any lasting harm or even pain on a single one of his opponents.

The thing I think is so interesting with looking at Law's behavior in these interactions, is how he plays a role the entire time. He is not a villain, but he deliberately lets people believe that he is capable of great evil and cruel acts for his own gain, because that's his defense. It's a deterrent and a warning. His yellow black patterned coat fits that strategy perfectly, like the message of a wasp or poison dart frog. I can kill you, stay clear.

He keeps the cold, creepy act up the entire battle and makes it known that he could kill everyone there. Easily. He's never even close to trying though, and when he takes Smoker's heart he keeps it safe.

Law has no problem letting people believe horrible things about him if it can get him where he needs to go, but he's famously got a bunch of problems with people thinking he's a good person. I think that plays heavily into why he falls to being Doflamingo-cruel verbally to Tashigi when she goads him to kill her, but there are too many layers and things to say about that particular exchange so I'll save it for another time.

At the end of the day, it's all about this I think:

Law hearing people call him a creepy freak madman vs hearing Luffy say he's lucky to have met him.

[deerspherestudios]

With MR Mychael would he be more forceful/violent with keeping the MC? I was just thinking about it and he’s not a pacifist like normal Mychael.

Also I love the silly MR Mychael I want to squish his cheeks even if he’ll kill me for it afterwards.

For context! With his personality and beliefs? I think so. I definitely see him using more direct/aggressive means to get what he wants, even if it's forceful. He has more to lose if he lets you go just like that, especially after getting attached.

I think the first half already answers the question but a little bit of an extra ramble below:

While both Mychaels went through the same amount of hostility throughout their life, OG!Mychael has the advantage of de-escalating situations with his hypnosis.

MR!Mychael does not. Not only that, he's been exposed to direct vitriol at the sight of him. So his instincts are resorting to fight/flight/fawn/freeze no matter what. In this case, it's fight.

To him, keeping you to himself is the least he deserves.

[kaijucantdie]

GET THE NEW ALBUM Violent Hostile Situation on BANDCAMP !!!!

[infiniteglitterfall]

my all-time favorite Palestinian activist

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Hamza Howidy (@hamzahowidyy)

"I think [reaching Greece in an overcrowded boat no one knew how to drive] was one of the happiest moments in my life, because I survived. And I stayed in Greece -- and I was supposed to stay there to apply for my asylum and get my life there.

"Unfortunately, with the atrocities of October the 7th and my activism, the threats I received when I was in Greece by some radical pro-Palestinian folks, I decided to leave.

"And based on a friend's recommendation, I decided to go to Germany because it's somehow considered safer than the other European countries and there is somehow enough space for a free speech here."

"Voicing dissent [in Gaza] was not an option. Hamas has a no tolerance policy for criticism or objections to any of its policies. Even discussion is forbidden.

"Any journalist who objects or criticizes a policy is suspended and investigated. Demonstrations are strictly prohibited. Freedom of speech in Gaza is a fantasy.

"The dirtiest tool Hamas uses to silence citizens is character assassination through online campaigns accusing dissenters of working for hostile bodies or committing immoral acts.

"Hamas also routinely breaks into the homes of people deemed disloyal and humiliates them in front of their family and neighbors.

"...A huge social gap opened between the wealthy elite who belong to Hamas and the rest of the population who were increasingly living in driving poverty. Public sector jobs were limited to Hamas members, and taxes were increasing on necessities day by day, even as the cost of living skyrocketed.

"Many of us could no longer bear it. I was one of them.

"Though we knew dissenters were subject to imprisonment, torture, and even murder, in 2019, a few of us decided to join forces and form a protest to voice our opposition to Hamas. We called it the 'We Want to Live' demonstration.

"Our demonstration elicited an extreme reaction by Hamas. They violently cracked down on the protests and we were all arrested.

"I will never forget my first day in jail—walking up the steps listening to screams of my colleagues, most of them fellow students, who had been arrested before me. I was held under arrest for 21 days and subjected to various types of torture. I was beaten with batons and sprayed with cold water in the late winter night hours.

"My friends didn't fare much better. A Christian friend was in the next cell and I could hear them screaming at him, 'You are a Christian and you don't like the situation? Then go to another country!'

"After we were released, most of those who participated in the demonstrations emigrated away from Gaza. There was no hope for any change in the current situation. We suffered ongoing harassment by Hamas members.

"Some died trying to leave, like Tamer Al-Sultan, a pharmacist whose crime was asking for a reconciliation between Hamas and Fatah. [The political party of the Palestinian president, which Hamas violently kicked out of Gaza in a 2007 coup.]

"People's living conditions got worse. The wealth gap expanded even further. We protested again in 2023 and were crushed in the same manner as in 2019.

"I was arrested again by Hamas last year and held for 14 days, this time in a small cell with no bed, no window, and barely enough space to sit down. I was released on bail on the condition that I not take part in any further demonstrations.

"I still expressed my opinion occasionally on social media, but the arrest warrants after each post and the continuous threats from Hamas members and accusations of treason made me lose hope that I could make any kind of change.

"I left Gaza in August [2023] to seek a better future for myself and my family."

"I know firsthand that when ordinary Gazans like myself protested against Hamas, there was no media attention.

"No human rights organizations demanded the release of prisoners held for months in Hamas prisons, not to mention those who were tortured by Hamas, and even killed by Hamas—like Issam Al-Saaffein, who was killed under torture in Hamas's jails.

"This trend has continued during the present war. Since October 7, hundreds of Gazans have been killed by Hamas' failing rockets. Hamas has confiscated the food, fuel, and medicine sent to Gaza, and they did not stop here.

"13-year-old Ahmad Breka was shot in the head by Hamas in Rafah while attempting to collect humanitarian aid. Others were fortunate because they were merely shot in the legs by Hamas while attempting to grab humanitarian goods that Hamas stole and kept in their facilities.

"These inhumane acts, along with the agony that Gazans have undergone since October, prompted many to demonstrate anew during this war. They demonstrated in Khan-Younis in front of Yahya Sinwar's house; others protested in the north, asking that Hamas free the captives and cease the war.

"They received the same response from Hamas that I did: They were fired upon.

"And once again, the global media largely overlooked these crimes.

"Daring to take some food in the midst of a war or protesting Hamas isn't the only activity Hamas has persecuted us Gazans for; attempting to play any part of delivering this aid to those in need, or even considering playing any role the day after the war, is enough to get anybody the death penalty from Hamas.

"That's what happened to the Abu-Amro tribe leader, along with two members of his tribe who were killed by Hamas militants a few days ago.

"A couple of months ago, they beheaded the head of a clan leader in the north of Gaza and issued a statement on social media: 'We murdered him, and we will do so to anyone who stands against us and cooperates with Israel.'

"Others who publicly criticized Hamas during the war were reported missing."

[q-nihachu]

I've been thinking about what it is so specifically about Minecraft roleplay that involves so much sharing of interpretation between creator and audience. And what I've landed on is that the crux of it is something entirely separate from either. There is a third party providing interpretation—that of the "world" (the video game) the characters occupy.

See, there are a lot of different game worlds used for storytelling. For example, The Sims. When a creator tells a story using The Sims, the actions are provided by the game. There's very little that is vague in terms of what the characters are doing. The creator may still provide the characters' thought processes and link everything together for you, but the game is doing the heavy lifting of the storytelling.

Take an opposite example. D&D provides quite a lot in terms of worldbuilding, but most of the story is told via an entirely separate medium: speech. If one character stabs another, the game provides, perhaps, two minis colliding. That doesn't tell you much. So, the creators narrate every aspect of the what's happening, from the characters' thought processes to the sensory impact of what they've done. The actions themselves still leave little up to interpretation because you've heard them directly from the creators' mouths.

Finally, take Minecraft. In contrast to the other two, the actions characters take are often ambiguous. We know if one character hits another, but we don't know what that means. It could be nothing, or it could be a deep betrayal. The same action is used by a QSMP egg to say "hey, I have a sign for you to read" that c!Wilbur uses to violently and righteously beat c!Dream to death in his fantasy. So, in the ambiguity of the action lies a tricky situation. The game doesn't detail what the action is (a tap on the shoulder or a punch to the face), but the creator can't either. It would be a betrayal of their medium to do so. They have only the tools of context and reaction to indicate what an action means. And these are very useful tools! It's clear that when Wilbur beats Dream, it's to be taken with the gravity of a real-world beating.

But because of this unwritten rule that actions can't be clearly stated, Minecraft roleplay creates a story that requires the audience to interpret themselves what, exactly, is happening. They can choose not to engage with this. If two players bump into each other, the audience doesn't have to say what that means. The creator can also choose to state things outright at times. Perhaps when those players collided, it was a hug. But the gift of the medium is when neither of those things happen, and the audience gets to say, "They did that on purpose to be hostile!" Maybe that wasn't what the creator intended with the action, but they kept to the rule—so the story now, uniquely, belongs to the audience to create.

[majikkulu]

✮ ˖° ⸜ masterlist ꕤ ･

╭₊˚๑ your  south  node  persona  chart  shows  a  deep  dive  into  your  past  life,  revealing  your  previous  personality,  karmic  lessons,  and  patterns  that  may  still  influence  you  in  this  lifetime.  

today,  we’re  going  to  explore  pluto  in  the  SNPC  by  house.  specifically,  how  it  might  hint  at  the  way  you  died  in  your  past  life.  death  and  reincarnation  have  always  fascinated  me,  so  i  thought  this  would  be  an  interesting  topic  to  discuss.  of  course,  i’m  not  a  professional  astrologer,  so  take  this  with  a  grain  of  salt!  

if  my  posts  resonate  with  you,  feel  free  to  like,  reblog,  and  follow  me  on  this  journey!  be  sure  to  explore  my  paid  reading  services  post  as  well  :)

✧˖°.₊  ♡  ✩˚  ༘

 ✩˚  ༘ pluto  is  the  planet  of  death,  rebirth,  and  karma,  making  it  a  key  player  in  past-life  astrology.  i’ve  noticed  how  strongly  it  resonates,  not  just  in  my  own  chart  but  also  in  readings  i’ve  done  for  others.  naturally,  aspects  can  modify  its  effects,  so  keep  that  in  mind.  

✩˚  ༘ for  example,  i  have  pluto  in  the  6th  house,  which  rules  health,  work,  and  daily  routines.  this  suggests  that  my  past-life  death  may  have  been  due  to  illness,  overwork,  or  a  condition  that  slowly  drained  my  strength.  something  incurable,  something  that  wore  me  down  over  time.  however,  i  also  have  mars  sextile  pluto,  which  could  mean  i  accepted  my  fate,  but  because  mars  is  a  violent  planet,  there’s  also  the  possibility  that  war  played  a  role  in  my  death.  still,  with  the  6th  house  focus,  i  lean  toward  exhaustion  or  a  chronic  illness  as  the  most  likely  cause. what’s  eerie  is  that  in  this  lifetime,  i  struggle  with  a  chronic  condition  that  requires  lifelong  care.

✩˚  ༘ now,  my  friend  has  pluto  in  the  4th  house,  which  strongly  connects  death  to  family,  home,  or  early  life.  people  with  this  placement  may  have  died  young  or  experienced  a  fated  death.  one  tied  to  ancestral  karma,  family  curses,  or  even  genetic  conditions.  interestingly,  she  also  has  mars  square  pluto,  an  incredibly  intense  aspect.  some  astrologers  associate  this  with  violent  or  traumatic  deaths,  sometimes  even  at  the  hands  of  family  members.  domestic  violence,  family  betrayal,  or  rebellion  against  oppressive  family  dynamics  are  all  themes  that  can  show  up  here.   in  this  life,  she  struggles  with  her  family  in  a  way  that  feels  karmic.  like  she’s  trying  to  break  free  from  something  old,  something  deeply  ingrained.  she  feels  a  strong  urge  to  distance  herself.

﹒ ﹢ ♡. PLUTO  IN  1H  OF  SNPC   ﹑ ﹒ your  past-life  death  was  likely violent,  sudden,  and  deeply  personal.  you  may  have  been  someone  in  the  spotlight—wealthy,  influential,  or  commanding  attention—which  made  you  a  target  for jealousy,  rivalry,  and  betrayal.  your  death  could  have  been  an assassination,  an  act  of  revenge,  or  even  a  public  execution.  there’s  also  the  possibility  that  you  were  a warrior,  fighter,  or  someone  involved  in  dangerous  situations,  leading  to  a  fatal  accident  or  direct  attack.  reputation  and  physical  health  might  have  played  a  role  as  well—perhaps  illness  or  injury  weakened  you,  making  you  vulnerable.  your  existence  in  that  lifetime  likely  triggered  hostility  in  others,  and  your  death  may  have  been  an  attack  on  your  very  identity.  in  this  lifetime,  you  might  carry  an unconscious  fear  of  being  overexposed  or  too  visible,  leading  to  struggles  with power  dynamics  and  control.  you  may  find  yourself  in  situations  where  you  feel  the  need  to defend  your  identity,  set  strong  boundaries,  or  navigate  conflicts  related  to  dominance  and  authority.  there  could  be  an  underlying  sense  of  vulnerability,  as  if  being  seen  too  much  puts  you  at  risk.

﹒  ﹢  ♡.   PLUTO  IN  2H  OF  SNPC   ﹑  ﹒          your  past-life  death  was  likely  tied  to  money,  resources,  or  survival.  financial  struggles  could  have  played  a  major  role—starvation,  poverty,  or  extreme  deprivation  may  have  led  to  your  demise.  on  the  other  hand,  you  might  have  had  great  wealth,  but  it  became  your  downfall.  greed,  betrayal,  or  financial  disputes  could  have  been  fatal.  slavery,  forced  labor,  or  being  exploited  for  your  resources  are  also  possibilities  with  this  placement.  some  may  have  even  died  due  to  poisoning,  orchestrated  by  someone  seeking  inheritance  or  financial  gain.  your  past-life  death  likely  involved  a  deep  sense  of  instability,  scarcity,  or  material  loss,  leaving  a  karmic  imprint  on  your  soul.  in  this  lifetime,  you  may  struggle  with  fear  of  poverty,  financial  insecurity,  or  difficulty  trusting  others  with  money.  you  could  have  an  intense  attachment  to  your  possessions,  feeling  the  need  to  protect  and  control  your  resources  at  all  costs.  sharing  might  feel  risky,  and  you  may  have  a  subconscious  fear  of  being  taken  advantage  of.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   3H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒     your  past-life  death  was  deeply  connected  to  communication,  knowledge,  and  intellect.  you  may  have  been  silenced,  executed,  or  punished  for  speaking  the  truth,  exposing  secrets,  or  having  radical  ideas  that  others  deemed  dangerous.  perhaps  you  were  labeled  as  mentally  unstable,  rebellious,  or  a  threat  to  those  in  power.  there’s  also  a  strong  link  to  travel-related  deaths—you  may  have  died  in  a  carriage  accident,  on  the  road,  or  while  delivering  an  important  message.  conflict  with  siblings,  extended  family,  or  close  acquaintances  could  have  played  a  role  in  your  demise.  some  with  this  placement  might  have  even  died  due  to  strangulation,  suffocation,  or  an  attack  meant  to  silence  them  permanently.  in  this  lifetime,  you  might  have  a  deep-rooted  fear  of  expressing  yourself.  you  may  instinctively  hold  back  your  thoughts,  struggle  with  trust,  or  feel  anxious  about  speaking  up.  there  could  be  a  lingering  sense  that  your  words  could  lead  to  your  downfall,  betrayal,  or  danger.  paranoia  surrounding  communication  and  secrecy  might  be  common,  making  you  naturally  cautious  about  who  you  confide  in.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   4H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒      you  may  have  died  in  your  own  home.  perhaps  due  to  a  house  fire,  home  invasion,  or  even  at  the  hands  of  a  family  member.  this  placement  can  indicate  ancestral  curses  or  generational  karma,  meaning  your  death  may  have  been  part  of  a  larger  cycle  of  suffering  within  your  lineage.  some  with  this  placement  may  have  died  young,  possibly  due  to  natural  disasters,  illness,  or  tragic  circumstances  linked  to  their  family  environment.  in  some  cases,  this  can  indicate  a  life  where  your  home  was  not  a  place  of  safety  but  rather  a  source  of  pain,  danger,  or  betrayal.  in  this  lifetime,  you  might  struggle  with  feeling  truly  at  home,  both  physically  and  emotionally.  you  could  have  difficult  or  karmic  relationships  with  family  members,  feeling  unwanted,  disconnected,  or  like  an  outsider  in  your  own  home.  there  may  be  hidden  family  secrets,  unspoken  truths,  or  a  sense  that  something  is  being  concealed  from  you.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   5H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒      you  may  have  died  due  to  a  love  affair  gone  wrong,  possibly  as  a  result  of  jealousy,  betrayal,  or  even  execution  for  forbidden  love.  this  placement  can  also  indicate  death  tied  to  gambling,  dangerous  risks,  or  reckless  behavior. perhaps  you  lost  everything  in  a  game  of  chance,  or  your  thrill-seeking  tendencies  led  to  fatal  consequences.  for  some,  this  could  point  to  dying  during  childbirth,  as  the  5th  house  rules  children  and  fertility.  there’s  a  dramatic,  almost  theatrical  quality  to  this  past  death. you  may  have  died  while  performing,  entertaining,  or  in  a  moment  of  high  passion  and  excitement.  whatever  happened,  it  was  intense,  public,  and  deeply  emotional.  in  this  lifetime,  you  might  struggle  with  fully  embracing  joy,  self-expression,  or  romantic  vulnerability.  there  could  be  a  fear  of  love,  intimacy,  or  taking  risks,  as  if  part  of  you  remembers  how  it  once  led  to  tragedy.  creative  blocks,  performance  anxiety,  or  feeling  unable  to  freely  express  yourself  may  also  be  common.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   6H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒       your  past-life  death  was  likely  connected  to  health,  work,  or  physical  exhaustion.  you  may  have  died  from  an  incurable  illness,  with  the  process  being  slow  and  painful.  there’s  a  possibility  that  you  succumbed  to  an  epidemic  or  poisoning,  either  from  someone’s  malice  or  due  to  the  harsh  conditions  you  endured.  it’s  also  possible  that  you  worked  in  medicine,  war,  or  under  challenging  circumstances.  perhaps  in  a  physically  demanding  environment.  where  your  health  gradually  deteriorated  over  time.  the  nature  of  your  work  or  environment  may  have  taken  a  heavy  toll  on  your  body.  in  this  lifetime,  you  might  struggle  with  chronic  illness,  hypersensitivity  around  health,  or  an  intense  fear  of  physical  decline.  there  could  be  an  underlying  sense  of  vulnerability  related  to  your  body  and  well-being.  perfectionism  and  the  tendency  to  overwork  yourself  may  stem  from  a  deep-rooted  fear  of  failure  or  a  need  to  prove  yourself.  you  may  also  have  natural  healing  abilities,  drawn  to  working  in  healing  professions  or  offering  comfort  to  others.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   7H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒       you  may  have  been  murdered  by  a  partner,  lover,  or  someone  close  to  you.  whether  out  of  jealousy,  betrayal,  or  revenge.  your  death  could  have  been  the  result  of  a  duel  over  love,  honor,  or  justice,  or  perhaps  poisoned  by  someone  you  trusted.  marriage  or  romantic  relationships  in  your  past  life  may  have  been  political,  forced,  or  tragically  ended. perhaps  you  were  punished  for  love,  adultery,  or  seeking  revenge.  there  may  have  been  a  significant  power  imbalance  or  emotional  conflict  that  led  to  your  demise.  in  this  lifetime,  you  might  attract  intense,  karmic  relationships  that  push  you  to  confront  deep-seated  fears  or  wounds  related  to  betrayal,  trust,  and  power  dynamics.  there  could  be  a  lingering  fear  of  being  hurt,  abandoned,  or  deceived  by  those  closest  to  you.  you  may  experience  challenging  relationship  patterns,  often  feeling  as  though  you’re  repeating  cycles  of  emotional  intensity  or  conflict.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   8H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒         your  death  could  have  been  murderous,  a  ritual  sacrifice,  or  part  of  a  dark  karmic  pattern,  possibly  linked  to  assassination,  magic,  or  betrayal  at  a  deeply  personal  level.  there  may  have  been  involvement  with  secret  societies,  occult  practices,  or  financial  scandals,  all  contributing  to  the  secrecy  and  power  struggles  that  ultimately  led  to  your  demise.  your  death  may  have  been  violent,  and  the  circumstances  surrounding  it  could  have  been  part  of  a  larger  power  play  or  revenge.  it  could  have  been  the  result  of  deep  betrayal  by  someone  you  trusted  or  an  event  that  took  place  in  the  shadows  of  secrecy  and  manipulation.  you  might  have  been  a  powerful  figure  who  was  eliminated  to  remove  a  threat.  in  this  lifetime,  you  may  have  a  deep  fear  of  the  unknown,  but  also  a  magnetic  attraction  to  it.  there  could  be  an  inner  pull  towards  mysticism,  the  occult,  or  hidden  knowledge.  areas  that  are  simultaneously  fascinating  and  terrifying.  you  might  also  possess  strong  psychic  abilities,  yet  feel  afraid  to  tap  into  them,  possibly  due  to  subconscious  memories  of  past-life  experiences.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   9H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒         you  might  have  died  while  on  a  journey,  possibly  during  a  pilgrimage,  or  as  a  result  of  religious  conflict.  your  death  could  have  been  executed  due  to  holding  different  beliefs. whether  they  were  religious,  philosophical,  or  cultural. or  you  may  have  perished  due  to  the  crusades,  holy  wars,  or  other  battles  fought  over  differing  ideologies.  it’s  also  possible  that  you  died  in  a  shipwreck  or  from  an  unknown  disease  while  far  from  home,  navigating  unfamiliar  territory.  in  this  lifetime,  you  are  likely  someone  with  strong  convictions  and  a  deep  desire  for  knowledge.  you  may  be  very  intelligent,  wise,  and  driven  by  a  quest  for  understanding  the  world  around  you.  however,  you  might  carry  religious  trauma  or  fear  of  judgment,  possibly  due  to  past-life  experiences  where  your  beliefs  were  punished  or  misunderstood.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   10H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒    you  could  have  died  due  to  a  public  downfall,  possibly  through  a  public  execution  or  assassination.  you  might  have  been  someone  with  significant  power.  such  as  a  king,  queen,  or  ruler.  who  was  overthrown,  betrayed,  or  punished  for  ambition.  your  death  could  have  been  the  result  of  being  falsely  accused,  executed  in  front  of  a  crowd,  or  violently  removed  from  power  due  to  political  intrigue  or  revenge.  in  this  lifetime,  you  are  likely  someone  who  has  a  strong  drive  for  success,  ambition,  and  the  desire  to  make  an  impact  on  the  world.  you  may  feel  a  deep  need  to  protect  your  public  image  and  be  drawn  to  leadership  roles  where  you  can  make  a  name  for  yourself.  this  can  be  a  karmic  pattern.  wanting  to  be  seen  as  someone  important,  powerful,  or  influential.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   11H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒      you  may  have  been  betrayed  by  those  you  trusted  or  lost  your  life  while  challenging  societal  norms.  your  death  could  have  been  the  result  of  group  conflicts,  possibly  during  a  revolution  or  activist  movement  where  you  fought  for  social  change  or  justice.  you  might  have  been  someone  who  rebelled  against  the  system,  standing  up  for  what  you  believed  in,  only  to  face  violence  or  sacrifice  as  a  consequence.  in  this  lifetime,  you  may  feel  like  an  outsider.  someone  who  struggles  to  fit  in  with  traditional  groups  or  social  circles.  you  might  carry  a  deep  mistrust  towards  friendships,  perhaps  from  past-life  betrayals,  and  feel  a  desire  to  change  society  or  speak  up  for  causes  but  also  a  fear  of  the  consequences  of  doing  so.

﹒   ﹢   ♡.    PLUTO   IN   12H   OF   SNPC    ﹑   ﹒       you  may  have  died  in  a  mental  institution,  possibly  due  to  mental  illness  or  overwhelming  internal  battles.  your  death  could  have  been  mysterious,  unnoticed,  or  even  erased  from  history,  leaving  you  to  pass  away  alone  in  physical  or  emotional  isolation.  you  might  have  been  someone  who  engaged  in  self-destructive  behaviors  or  suffered  in  silence,  leading  to  a  tragic  and  forgotten  end.  in  this  lifetime,  you  may  carry  unconscious  fears  or  psychic  sensitivity,  as  well  as  a  deep  inner  knowing.  you  could  have  a  strong  intuition  or  a  sense  of  being  drawn  to  the  mystical,  occult,  or  unknown  realms.  there  might  be  a  subconscious  fear  of  isolation  or  abandonment,  echoing  the  loneliness  of  your  past-life  death.

[nightlyrequiem]

Housekeeping

╰┈➤ Valeria doesn't like the new maid Diego hired. Mouthy, cheeky, and everywhere Valeria needs to be.

Read on AO3! Masterlist W.C- 2,942

A/N- I'm not sure if this is technically housekeeping but who cares, enjoy the smut, lovelies. Also I'm taking a creative writing class, ya'll think my writing is getting better or no??

Tags- WLW, Maid!Reader, Porn with Little Plot, Degradation, Leg Humping, Masturbation, Petty Sex, Mutual Dislike

There's someone in Valeria's office.

She was coming back from an interrogation, hands caked with drying blood and a violent itch left unsatiated. Then she saw the door ajar and heard someone moving around. With a sharp scowl she silently moved in and looked, wondering which of her subordinates she'll be hurting for snooping. Her anger died down and gave way to confusion at the sight of a woman dressed in a little maid outfit dusting her shelves.

Valeria isn't sure how to approach this situation. Somebody cleaning was the last thing she expected to see.

"Who are you?" She asks harshly, startling you. You turn and she's even more caught off guard. You're pretty. Not so pretty that she'll let you get away without questioning though. 

"Oh, hello." You reply, giving her an apologetic smile. "I'm the new maid? Diego hired me." You say, your voice lilting questioningly, like Valeria should know who you are.

Valeria frowns. She wasn't made aware of a maid being hired. Her annoyance flares. Having someone cleaning up around the compound would certainly be useful, but it's also risky. You could overhear things you shouldn't or see things you shouldn't see.

"And you're in my office because...?" She drawls on unkindly. Your smile falters at her hostile tone. You hold up the little gray feather duster in response.

"To clean." You reply. "I can leave if you want though."

"Please."

You hesitate, then bend over - giving Valeria a very generous view of your rear end - to pick up your supplies bucket. You scurry past her with your gaze averted and she watches you leave with a territorial glare. Valeria is a very private, secretive person. Even if all you were doing was cleaning, she doesn't want a stranger invading her space. She sits down at her desk with a groan, her chair squeaking under her weight.

Valeria struts down the hall towards the interrogation room a few days later. Wanting to set it up for a loose-lipped traitor. Her steps echo along the stone basement walls. She turns around a sharp corner and stops. Bent over scrubbing the floor is you. The harsh, nauseating smell of bleach wafts out from the room. She scowls. Valeria doesn't quite understand why the sight of you irritates her so much. 

"What are you doing?" She asks loudly. You jump and look over your shoulder at her. Your skirt is too short for this kind of work and you're not wearing shorts under it. This whole scene makes Valeria feel like she stumbled onto the set of a bad porno.

"...  Cleaning?" You say obviously.

The lines on her face deepen with her scowl.

"I can see that." She says flatly. "But why are you doing that now? I need to use this room."

You rise to your feet and turn to face her. Your knees are red and dry from kneeling on the hard ground in chemicals. "That's fine, I'm done here anyway." You say breezily. Your easy attitude pisses her off.

"Wasn't asking if you were done." She grumbles pettily. Valeria was not asking for your permission to use this room. You're just a scantily clad janitor, and it irks her that you don't act accordingly.

You don't react to her words. You slip by her out into the hall.

"Wear pants next time." She snaps after you. "You a stripper or a cleaner?" Much to Valeria's discontent, you don't take the bait. She curls her lip in anger and storms into the room. Trying to ignore the overpowering stink of bleach. The blood on the floor is gone. That pisses her off too. Sure, it's a biohazard, but it's intimidating to hostages.

For the next week, much to Valeria's annoyance, you just seem to be in every room that she needs to be in. She's almost starting to think that you're doing it on purpose. She sidles up to you while you're busy dusting a metal shelf. The crates and boxes that were previously on it scattered on the floor. She watches dust particles go flying. 

"You're just getting dust everywhere." She says, scowling at you. "And you missed a spot here." She points to a small corner around one of the bars, still coated in a thick layer of dust from where the head of the duster couldn't reach. Looking exasperated, you turn and look at her.

"Can I help you?" You ask, like she's inconveniencing you. Valeria bristles at your tone.

"Yeah, either clean properly or quit." She snaps. Unusually agitated, even for her.

Your expression shifts, dropping it's easy-going, friendly nature. You suddenly lash out and grab her wrist, startling -- startling Valeria. You push the feather duster into her hands.

"Show me how it's done properly then." You say, barely holding back your anger. Valeria is a little stunned by your brazen display of disrespect. People are usually much quieter about it. "Go on," You continue, getting in her face. "Show. Me." Valeria should slap you upside the head, but she's so caught off guard by you going off the mental script she keeps for other people that she actually starts dusting the shelf.

"Sure. Since you're so useless." She scoffs, feeling unsettled and confused. "There, that's how you dust properly." She turns to look at you arrogantly, taking back her power. She stuffs the feather duster back into your hands. She hurries out of the room, shoving past you.

There's a little bit of shame inside Valeria at the way she reacted to you. And a lot of anger. It's not like her to be so complicit. So weak. You had intimidated her. Valeria shakes her head, disgusted. She's losing her edge. She can't have you running around thinking you're in charge. She looks around and her eyes light up at the half-finished glass of cognac sitting on her desk. She grabs the glass and pours it out onto the white carpet. Shaking it to get every drop out. Then she sets it back down and walks over to the door, opening it and snapping at the nearest worker to find you.

She leans against her desk and waits for you, fingers tapping mindlessly. She'll remind you of your place. Cleaning up her messes. See how powerful you are on your knees with Valeria hawking over your shoulder. Valeria bids you entry when you knock. Her gaze flits over you darkly when you enter.

"Clean this up." She says sharply, pointing to the stained carpet. She waits, tensed for a snide remark but you just nod and move forward, settling down on your knees and shifting through your cleaning supplies. She frowns, not feeling so eager anymore.

She hovers over you. Watching you scrub something into the carpet to get the stain out.

"If you can't get it out then I'll have to fire you." She says boredly.

"Diego is my boss, not you." You reply without looking back. 

"And I'm his boss, ergo, I can have you fired." Valeria scoffs. You sigh and stop scrubbing, sitting up straighter to turn and look at her, eyes narrowed.

"But you won't." You say.

Valeria raises a brow, annoyed by your confidence. "Why not?"

"Because you want to fuck me." You reply calmly. Valeria, taken aback, unsure if that's what you really just said. "Bothering me is just foreplay to you."

Valeria doesn't respond. How could she? she's angry, embarrassed, and a little intrigued.

"You're bold for a janitor." She snaps, face heating. Maybe she does want to sleep with you. It's natural to want to sleep with a pretty girl. But the way you phrased it, and so boldly at that, makes her feel foolish. "Someone needs to knock you down a peg, you're way too arrogant for someone that cleans toilets for a living."

You just gaze back at her with a frustratingly calm expression. 

It makes her feel like she needs to prove something. She takes a threatening step forward, towering over your crouched form. "I could kill you." She says angrily.

"So do it." You taunt.

Valeria frowns at you. Silenced.

"I will." She says. You stand and peer at her curiously. Annoyingly close to her. Valeria doesn't know what she wants to do more; hit you or tear off that ridiculous maid outfit. You step forward and back her into the wall.

"Are you going to stop being a coward and take what you want, or you going to dance around me forever?" You hum.

Valeria scowls at you. "You're a nuisance." She says. Grabbing your hips and shoving you towards the desk, lifting you up onto it. She forces herself between your legs and kisses you roughly. Shoving her tongue into your mouth.

She feels you wrap your legs around her waist, pulling her closer. Valeria lets her hands wander. Pushing up your frilly skirt. You bite her bottom lip and she flinches. The strong, unpleasant metallic taste of blood assaults her tongue, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she bites back. Valeria thinks she might hate you a little bit. Her hands dart to her belt buckle. She fiddles with it, unbuckling her belt and unzipping her cargos. She swiftly pulls down her underwear and pants.

Embarrassingly eager, Valeria cups you through your panties. Satisfied at the sticky wetness she feels. It makes her feel smug because it's evidence that you're not as cool and detached as you want her to believe. She rolls her palm over your clothed folds, relishing in the little sounds you make. The feeling of your warm hands gripping her biceps sends her blood aflame. It's been a while since she's been so close to another person, and she's forgotten how good it feels. 

"Do you let all your employers feel you up like this?" She mutters darkly. "Wearing a whorish outfit to clean, you were wanting one of us to jump you huh?"

"You're not my employer, Diego is." You remind her, huffing with indignation.

"Have you let him touch you like this?" She asks, feeling a painful spark of jealousy at the thought of you giving it up to him as well.

You reach up and grab her head, making her look you in the eye.

"No, I'm not really into the whole 'bald thing.'" You reply. Valeria's annoyed by the relief she feels. She shouldn't be jealous. The only thing she's feeling for you is lust and anger, but Valeria has never liked to share. She doesn't want others to have what she has, whether she likes it or not. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your underwear and tugs down, pulling the white cotton down to your ankles, watching you kick the garment away carelessly. Satisfied, she pushes you to lie flat on your back, white stocking-clad legs in the air.

She can feel herself throbbing with need but instead of grinding against you, she drops to her knees. There's no dessert without dinner first.

"It's shameful how easy you are." Valeria sneers. "Spreading your legs after a few mean words. You have some serious issues."

"You're the one getting on your knees for a cleaner, what does that-"

 Valeria doesn't let you finish your sentence. Licking a long stripe through your slick folds. You taste exactly the way she thought you would. Warm and flavorful. She dips her tongue into your entrance to taste you from the source, lapping up your arousal like a thirsty dog. Valeria digs her fingers into your thighs to keep you still. She wants to take her time and enjoy this.

She maps her way around your cunt with her tongue like an explorer in the Amazon. Getting familiar with each dip and curve. She wraps her lips around your clit and suckles gently, drawing out breathy, animalistic moans from you. She teases her fingers over your hole, pushing them in with an agonizing slowness. While her mouth works at your clit, she pushes and curls her fingers into you. Pulling out whines and grunts.

"What happened to your cockiness?" Valeria mumbles against you. Your fingers snake through her hair, shoving her face right against your cunt.

"Shut up and lick." you command breathlessly. Valeria glowers and nips your thigh, making you jerk your leg away with a small yelp.

She rises, abandoning your wet and weeping core.

"Hey, I didn't finish." You say with annoyance, starting to sit up. Valeria lays a hand between your breasts and pushes you back down roughly. She leans down, nose-to-nose with you.

"You still don't seem to understand where your place is here," She growls, her pupils blown wide, two dark moons reflecting your frustrated and unsure expression. Valeria rips herself away and crosses her arms.

"Off the desk." She says, watching you sit up. You eye her uncertainly.

"... You're that sensitive that you're kicking me out?" You reply, exasperated.

Valeria's lips twitch with impatience. "I didn't say get out, I said get off the desk." She says.

You hesitate, a defiant expression on your face. Valeria thinks you're about to talk back when you slip off the desk, standing straight.

"Get on all fours." Valeria says. You huff but lower yourself to the ground. She beckons you closer with a finger. Pleased when you crawl over. You look up at her from the floor and the rush of power is exhilarating. "Do you want to finish?" She asks softly.

"... Yes." You nod, frowning at her.

"Then hump my leg like the bitch you are." Valeria whispers, taking joy in the anger on your face. 

For a few seconds you don't move. Valeria wonders if that's too low for you, if cumming isn't worth your dignity. But to her delight, you grab her bare thigh and press yourself against her, rubbing yourself on her lower calf. You lay your head on her thigh, avoiding her gaze. Your warm breath puffs against her thigh. A wet spot gathers on her leg. The whole thing is too erotic for Valeria, who can't passively observe anymore. She slips her fingers down to her crotch and circles her clit. Her breathing becomes heavy while she watches you keenly. She enjoys the painful prick of your nails from you clinging to her.

Valeria reaches her free hand down and holds the back of your head. 

"Look at me," she coos. Gripping your hair and angling your head up. "You're lower than me, literally and metaphorically. When the high wears off I want you to remember my face." You scowl and shudder, Valeria doesn't know if you even heard what she said. If it just went through one ear and out the other. No matter. She's sure you'll remember anyway. Her fingers poke inside her neglected core. She tries to match your slower pace, but impatience takes over. Her head falls back, her mouth opening in a soundless moan. 

Her fingers curl and press against that spongy spot inside of her. She stumbles a bit when you pull her leg closer to yourself. Your thrusts are becoming less rhythmic, your pleasured sounds less stifled. Valeria watches unblinkingly. Wanting to burn the sight of you into her memory. Her thumb finds her clit, firmly toying with the stiffened nerves while her fingers swiftly pump in and out of her. It would be so easy to hurt you, knock that little attitude out of you. She pictures how your skin would look with finger shaped bruises and then promptly cums. There's no fiery buildup in her abdomen, no snapping of a rope. She cums, shudders, then pulls her soaked fingers out of herself.

Content to watch you, she studies the stiffness of your shoulders and the rolling of your hips. Familiarizing herself with your sexual tells and quirks. Your huffing and whining is starting to work her up again. Your mouth gapes open. Valeria feels tempted to spit. You groan and grind down hard. Warm arousal rushes out of you and drips down Valeria's ankle. You slump against her, catching your breath.

"Now there's three carpets in the room that needs cleaning." Valeria murmurs. You look up, brows pulled low in an unamused expression. You scoff and get off of her leg, a thin wet line briefly connecting you to her as you pull away. 

You look around and stalk over to your discarded panties. Valeria eyes them. Opening her mouth to speak when you bend down to grab them.

"Leave them." She orders boredly. You look back at her, frowning. She raises her brows. "That carpet won't clean itself. The longer you let the stain sit the harder it will be to remove. Better get to work."

"Seriously?" You exclaim, turning to face her fully.

Valeria bends over and pulls up her pants, inwardly cringing at the uncomfortable sticky, wet mess. "Get on with it," She waves you away, walking past you to her desk.

She sits down and sets out to do paperwork. Or tries to. Her mind strays from the task at hand. More focused on replaying the events that just occurred and your annoyed huffing and grumbling. You scrub and scrub, getting the stain out after thirty minutes. Valeria scrutinizes the carpet. Pretending to inspect the spotless area. She deems it good enough and lets you leave. She silently watches you leave and looks down. Once the door is shut behind you and she's finally alone, she walks around her desk and leans down, grabbing the white panties you forgot. She pockets it and avoids her own reflection in the hanging mirror on the wall. She sits back down at her desk. There's still some work to be done.

[stxrvel]

the house (2)

hi guys! i felt so inspired that i was able to write part 2 soon and that's a very rare thing for me. thank you so much for all your comments and notes! they made me very happy. see you in the next one!

summary: Azriel wasn't gonna give in so easily with Rhysand, but he had to do everything he could to ensure his mate's well-being pairing: azriel x f!reader words: +3.5k warnings: bad words and fights and angst and a lot of anger. also English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes!

part 1: the cliff

part 3: the court

part 4: the routine

“... what the fuck is wrong with me? No, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Az, I had no idea-”

“What does that fucking power works for if you're not gonna use it right?”

Cassian stood back from the commotion, with Nesta and Mor on either side of him watching from head to head as words crossed. Azriel was raising his voice and snarling at his own High Lord, and Cassian was almost surprised to see the way Rhys only dropped his shoulders, looking at his brother with sunken eyes as he claimed him. He had no intention of defending himself, Cassian could almost feel how embarrassed and remorseful Rhys was from a distance.

Azriel had a right to be angry, everyone knew that. And no one would stand in the way (unless the situation turned violent) because they understood the lengths you could go to just to safeguard your mate's well-being. Rhys would do it for Feyre. Cassian would do it for Nesta. Cassian always believed that this was how he would see Azriel defend his mate, right when he found her, and he was grateful that Rhys understood that his cries came from beyond rage and anger. There was anguish there, pain, guilt… Cassian had never seen Azriel so upset.

Returning to the Town House was torturous. Azriel wouldn't leave his mate's side and wouldn't allow any of his brothers to get close either, but she wasn't willing to go to a place she didn't know at all either, even if her mate accompanied her. Cassian had to watch his friend be more cautious and careful than ever with someone he never thought he had to be: with himself and Rhys. The sight was bleak as Azriel's shadows swirled around him and his mate, almost as if erecting a wall between the four of them. The looks Azriel sent them were like daggers and just by sharing a glance they knew that this was something the Shadowsinger wasn't going to overcome out of thin air, even if hundreds of years of friendship gave him the confidence to do so.

Azriel had to make a promise with her to convince her to leave, because he wasn't willing to let her disappear from his sight and she wasn't willing to just go with them for the sake of it, when one of the men in front of her was the one who pushed her off the cliff.

Cassian noticed several times Azriel watching the tattoo with crystallized eyes. Beyond everything, the hostile and distrustful context of the whole situation caused him pain.

Arriving at the Town House, they were all assembled. Without wondering too much without Rhys having spoken to Feyre (which he surely had), Cassian ran into the kitchen where Nesta was with her sisters and enveloped his mate in a tight embrace. Within seconds he heard movement around him and knew Rhys had done the same. Neither of them would ever be able to forgive each other for what had happened, if Azriel ever forgave them first.

“Az, I'm truly sorry,” Rhys stood behind his desk, the only thing that allowed him distance from a heated Azriel, besides Feyre's presence which the Shadowsinger respected even within his rage. “I was careless with the inmates. And you're right, it was easier for me to have simply looked inside her head. It had been a long time coming and I think I became confident of the reality of the situation, that whenever I saw inside them I knew what they were. I didn't give her the benefit of the doubt. I'm sorry, brother.”

“Your apologies are worthless,” Azriel spat, his face almost red from the way he was trying to contain his emotions and his hands resting on the table. Rhys lowered his head in front of him, running his hands over his face. “How are you going to fix with your words what for years broke under your nose? How can I come to look at you with respect when my mate is terrified to see you?”

Cassian felt Nesta's hands wrap around his right arm and he lowered to look at her questioningly. She had reserved her comments from the moment Cassian had told the two sisters what had happened. Feyre had escorted Rhys to his office after their effusive hug and Cassian had stayed with Nesta and Elain in the kitchen, talking. With Elain it had been a little easier, her face looked mortified and she had run after Rhys and Feyre barely understood what had happened.

Nesta… she tried not to show what she was thinking, but Cassian knew there was something that made her feel upset and insecure.

Cassian tugged at the bond, trying to get her attention and Nesta had to drag her gaze from Azriel to look at her mate. Cassian felt the air rush out of his chest when he noticed the tears under her eyes. He didn't waste a second in leading her out of the room, moving into the giant living room in complete darkness, despite it being barely noon. The maroon curtains lent a more somber look to the situation.

“What's wrong?”

Nesta closed her eyes as Cassian's hands cradled her face, letting out a pair of tears that furrowed the border with her cheeks. A ragged breath left her and Cassian felt the agony of her nervousness shake his body.

“I had already seen her,” she whispered, her eyelids tightening. Cassian frowned, but didn't interrupt her when she came up for air again. “I once accompanied Rhysand and Feyre to the camp. Feyre had told me that Rhysand had some business to take care of on the mountain. I heard… I heard her voice…”

Cassian pulled his mate closer by the shoulders, pressing her against his chest as her voice broke off.

“I heard her voice begging Rhysand to believe her,” Nesta continued, trying to still the sobs that were born in the ache in her chest. Cassian shared the sentiment, the end of the bond in his chest twisting with his mate's wailing. “She was so scared…”

Nesta wrapped her arms around Cassian's torso, sinking her face into her mate's neck. Cassian moved from side to side, trying to send warm sensations through the bond, trying to calm her down a bit.

Nesta's revelation left Cassian almost frozen. The last time Rhys had gone to the mountain had been ten years ago.

-

Azriel hadn't expected that to be the way he would meet his mate, much less would he have expected her to be terrified to be around his brothers and almost himself and, of course, much, much less had he expected to hold so much resentment against Rhysand.

His mate hadn't left the room Azriel had left her in, as far away from the others' rooms as possible. With the tattoo burning his skin, Azriel had not only promised her that she would be safe in the Town House, but she had also made him promise that her interactions with his brothers would be next to none. With the watchful eyes of his friends from centuries ago upon his back, Azriel agreed. He had to make sure to provide for his mate's physical and mental health, especially when he knew that the time she had spent with the Ilyrian soldiers had to have been traumatizing.

And of course, there was also the issue of the bond.

His mate couldn't or didn't know how to control the flow of emotions that traveled through the bond and Azriel felt it all. At the moment she was relaxed, calm inside the room away from everyone, but Azriel was losing his temper in the living room. His friends were gone, they had left him a moment alone when he had finished yelling at Rhysand, as he tried to control his emotions and those of her mate, who had surely been listening to everything and so was sending distressing sensations through the bond.

But even with all that space to himself he still felt like he couldn't breathe.

He didn't know how things were going to be from now on. The mere thought terrified him to the bone. He didn't know how he would deal with the fact that he wanted and was dying to be near his mate, to hold her, to comfort her, to support her, to protect her just a step away from him, but he couldn't, at least for now. The need consumed him and tormented him. Staying behind had never been an option, especially if it was his mate, but what could he do if that was what she wanted? He would have to get used to the pain, the emptiness he already felt in his life even though it had barely been half a day since he had found her.

Ah, Azriel didn't know how much guilt and pain he could carry until his knees failed.

He closed his eyes for a couple of minutes, laying his head back on the couch, his face settled in the direction of the ceiling. He tried to relax his muscles, stiff from the tension and stress, from the speed with which everything had happened in the last few hours. Maybe then he could get some sleep. He didn't know how it would be now that he had found his mate.

Azriel was beginning to feel his body going numb, the inattention to his senses and the lightness of his limbs, when a pair of light footsteps entered the room. They would've gone unnoticed by anyone, but not him. He lifted his head attending to the sound, finding you on your feet, frozen, all around the entrance to the living room, hands clasped together twitching in nervousness.

Azriel didn't know what to do. His heart skipped a beat at the sight. But he also felt the fear and nervousness coursing through the bond from the other end. He tried to send calm through his end, hoping that and the shadows crowding at her feet, which hadn't left her since they found her, would allow her to relax a bit.

“I'm sorry… for interrupting,” you looked down and Azriel had to stifle the urge that went through his body to get up and go running to your side. His head filled with the memories of his dream, cruelly comparing the happiness that was in them and the sadness that now engulfed you. Your voice was barely a whisper.

“It's okay,” Azriel stood up carefully and quietly, catching your attention. From the way you brought your hands to your chest, still clasped together, Azriel made no attempt to move closer.

“I need to ask you something,” you fought with the words until you finally told him and a current of panic ran through the bond, so strong that Azriel had to hold back the grimace on his face.

“Whatever you need.”

You looked at him again and Azriel felt something in his chest blossom. He sent that feeling through the bond, hoping it would counteract the anxiety on your end, but only received a frown in response.

“I need to contact my parents,” you asked, shifting your feet a little closer and Azriel quickly caught the pleading expression you were trying poorly to hide.

“Sure. Where are they? I can take them a letter, if you want,” Azriel offered, but your reply wasn't welcome as a spasm of pain ran through his chest.

“No… I-I-I don't want that,” you shook your head, lowering your head. The way you moved your intertwined fingers made him question how much courage you'd had to muster to come out of your room and ask him that. You must've wanted it badly. Surely it was all you could think about for all the years you were on the mountain. Azriel moved his hand from side to side across his chest, through the fabrics of his clothing.

“We'll do what you want, then. Tell me where they are.”

“Adriata,” you whispered, eyes glittering.

Azriel choked. Of course, former prisoner of the Summer Court. How would he get across the border if he had a blood ruby in his desk drawer? Rhysand and he were still mortal enemies of the Summer Court.

“And how do you want to contact them?”

“I want to go back.”

“What?” he coughed, his body tensing and the calm evaporating from his body in a second. Surprise narrowly prevented him from noticing your crystallized eyes.

“Azriel,” you implored, taking long strides towards him, frozen in place, electricity coursing through his veins from the way you said his name. “I don't even know how long it's been since I last saw them. Please, please. That was all I've ever wanted since I was captured. I just want to see them and let them know I'm okay. Please.”

Azriel stood there on his feet in front of you, barely acknowledging the fact that you had moved so close to him that from just raising a hand he could run down your cheeks. Your request had torn at his chest and he was sure he hadn't been able to keep some of that emotion from traveling through the bond, because now you looked more disgruntled and nervous than before. Now you wanted to… leave? And you were asking him to let you do it, as if he had any right to keep you here, as if you owed him anything?

The Shadowsinger clasped his hands at his sides, trying to contain his emotions behind the line, trying to keep them from affecting you too much. He had never felt such pain, not even something he could imagine, nothing that had ever hurt him before could compare to the pain of that moment. He hadn't had a moment with her and he had to let her go already.

“You want to go back… to Summer Court,” Azriel murmured, trying to confirm the obvious, as if you repeating it made it more real, as if he needed it to be sure.

“Yes,” you shook your head in assent and Azriel's heart crinkled as he noticed your desperation. Of course that would be the first thing you would want to do, how could he have been so selfish as to not even consider it before? How could he not have suggested it from before?

“You… I don't… I mean-”

“Azriel,” you took another step, hesitant, he could tell by your body language, but trying to keep the assurance on your face. “I need to see them. Please.”

“All right. Just… wait,” Azriel moved to the side, trying to clear his mind and think rationally even though your closeness was suffocating him. “There's something you should know.”

“I know the Night Court and the Summer Court aren't on good terms,” you shook your head, as if to tell Azriel that it was a silly problem that should have no bearing on your return.

“Yes, but that's not all,” moving his hands away from his already sufficiently tousled hair, Azriel looked at you in anguish. “If you go back to Summer Court now, I don't think you'll be able to come back again.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Rhysand has held the Summer spies captive for…. many, many years. Tarquin has tried to negotiate their release, but Rhysand is not open to negotiating with him, or even seeing him again,” Azriel tried to explain, not overlooking the way you flinched when he mentioned the high lord's name. “If you leave now… If your parents declared you missing… Tarquin's not going to let you go out again. And they won't let me in either because the moment they see me they'll try to kill me.”

The silence that followed his words was agonizing. Azriel was terribly frightened. It didn't calm him to know that the doubt in your eyes was minimal; the desire to see your parents again was greater than the possibility of never seeing your mate again. The mere thought made him shudder, but if that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing.

“Why… why wouldn't my High Lord let me come back?”

“Fifteen years ago the high lord forbade his people to return to the Night Court. Fifteen years ago no person from the Summer Court has gone beyond the mountains of Day.”

“Fifteen years?” you stammered, an expression of incredulous surprise taking over your face. “I'd been there for more than fifteen years?”

Azriel halted his movements, barely noticing how you succumbed to gravity and plopped down on the couch where he had been a couple of minutes earlier in complete stupefaction.

“Y/N, I'm really sorry-”

“I can't stay here,” you looked at him again, shaking your head in refusal and sending a current of panic through the bond. “I don't want to. I need… I need to see my parents. I want to be with them.”

Azriel shuddered at the desperation he saw in your eyes. He wasn't going to deny you that, ever. But he couldn't deny that he wanted to show resistance because, if you left right then, when would he ever see you again? They wouldn't even have time to talk about the elephant in the room, but, at the same time, it didn't seem like the most important conversation at the moment.

Azriel wanted to cry.

“It's okay. Don't worry. Of course you'll go see them,” he finally spoke, facing the reality he would have to live in from now on.

“Thank you,” you cried and Azriel felt each tear pierce his heart, even though the feeling of relief reached all the way to his chest, your relief, mixed with his hopelessness. “But, you… you won't be able to go.”

“No.”

“We won't be able to see each other.”

“No,” Azriel exhaled sharply and shook his head slightly. “But I'll work it out. Somehow.”

“You can't go near there. Tarquin would hurt you!”

Azriel felt the worry reach from the other end of the bond to his chest and was a little glad to know that you at least cared about him the same way he cared about you.

“I'll make an agreement. Whatever I have to do, I'll do it. I promise.”

You nodded in his direction, convinced of his words, convinced of his shaky assurance and confidence.

“And you… will you accompany me?”

You frowned when he shook his head, but quickly added, thinking he'd be mad and damned if he'd let you spend the return trip all alone after all you'd been through, “I know a faster way to travel.”

“Okay,” you nodded, calm finally ruling in your body. “So when do we leave?”

-

Everyone in the house had gathered to receive Azriel's announcement and things were breaking down just as he expected.

No one had said anything for several minutes after the Shadowsinger announced that he would be going to the Summer Court with you, to return you to where you belonged, to your true home.

“I'll do it,” Mor was the first to speak, to Azriel's right, watching him confidently. She turned to look at Rhysand, who hadn't looked up since his brother finished speaking, deep in thought with a hand on his chin. “I'll request a meeting with him.”

Cassian stirred at Azriel's left side, sweeping his gaze over everyone present. He could almost imagine what was going through his friend's head, helpless at not being able to join him, just as it must've been going through Rhysand's mind. Azriel knew the only reason his High Lord was still thinking was that. If it was risky for the Shadowsinger to go, it would be worse if it was both of them.

“I can go too,” Feyre spoke to Rhysand's right and the aforementioned raised his head in a second, beginning to shake his head in denial.

“For no reason should you ever step near that Court again,” Rhysand stood up, resting his hands on the desk and leaning towards his mate. His face contracted, contrasting with Feyre's warm gaze.

“Rhys, don't you think it's time to get this over with?” Feyre reached up to cradle his mate's face, Rhysand leaning in almost on instinct, betrayed by his senses.

“You want me to overlook so easily what he did to you?” the High Lord frowned, closing his eyes under Feyre's gentle touch.

“Not easily, Rhys. It's been fifty years.”

“You know fifty years is nothing to us,” Rhysand snorted, straightening his back.

The Shadowsinger clicked his tongue.

“It was too much for Y/N.”

No one in the room had to look twice to know that Azriel was tense, hands clasped behind his back. Rhysand turned to see him, his wary look of apology over his friend's stony expression.

“You know I didn't come here to ask your permission, Rhysand,” Azriel almost spat, dragging the words out between his teeth.

Mor shuddered beside him, following Cassian's gaze. In so many centuries, there had obviously been trouble between the Inner Circle for some time, but in this moment it felt different, deeper and more painful. The anger and rancor in Azriel's gaze was unmatched and to earn that facet of the Shadowsinger you really had to be a son of a bitch. Mor hoped she was wrong.

“It could be dangerous for you,” Rhysand warned and Azriel had to stifle a wry chuckle. The way his High Lord's features contorted gave him to understand that he had understood the twitch in his muscles all too well.

“I don't care what you think,” Azriel bellowed, clasping his hands at his sides. “I'll go with her, and since Mor offered I'd greatly appreciate it if she'd accompany us.”

Rhysand didn't respond, settling for sharing a glance with his brother, trying to reach a part of him that was minimally willing to forgive him. Azriel sensed his intrusion and angrily erected a wall of obsidian in his mind, miles away, forcibly pulling Rhysand out of his head. The aforementioned barely staggered to his feet.

“Fine, but I'd like to be kept informed of everything that happens,” Rhysand nodded looking at Mor, who barely returned the gesture and left the office to manage the meeting as soon as possible.

When the doors rattled and the room fell silent again, Rhysand looked at Azriel pleadingly.

“Az-”

“If that's all.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Azriel turned on his heels and stormed off. Cassian followed close behind, barely sending a glance at his high lord, his brother, saying with his gaze how sorry he was that it had all happened and ended like this.

[former-leftist-jew]

“Jews are willing to give up land for peace.” Bull fucking shit!!! Have you seen what’s happening to the West Bank??? Are you aware of how many Palestinians have lost their homes to Israeli settlers? In settlements that are internationally recognized as illegal!!! This isn’t just an Israeli thing either. Diaspora Jews are being recruited to move to the West Bank but Israeli real estate agents.

“We are NOT willing to bare our necks before the executioner's axe just because Islamists demand it.” But you expect Palestinians to bare their necks for the executioner’s axe because Israel demands it.

Jews are not the fucking victims here. I know Jews have been the victims of a lot of violence throughout history but the situation in Palestine is perhaps the one time in history Jews are the perpetrators.

I see you didn't read or watch a single source I gave to back up my claims, and didn't cite any sources to back up your claims either.

Since you're not going to bother to read, I'll keep it brief:

Are you aware of how many Palestinians have lost their homes to Israeli settlers?

And are you aware of how many Jews were violently driven out of their homes due to Islamic aggression after WWII--mostly in retaliation for Israel being formed?

Are you aware that Jews were living in and around the "West Bank" (historically Judea and Samaria) for centuries before Arab Jordinians invaded and violently expelled all the Jews living there in 1948?

Are you aware that most so-called "illegal settlements in the West Bank" are places where previous Jewish communities were forcibly expelled by Arab armies or militia, and many "Israel? (Or slaughtered, like Jewish community of Hebron in 1929?)

Are you aware that about 2 out of 9 million Israeli citizens are Israeli Arabs--most of whom are descended from Arabs who chose not to leave to make it eas

Meanwhile, most of Israel's current 2.2 million Israeli Arabs are descended from Arabs who chose not and annexed

But you expect Palestinians to bare their necks for the executioner’s axe because Israel demands it.

No, I just want them to stop attacking and trying to kill all Israelis/Jews already.

Like the so-called "moderate" Palestinian Authority's infamous "pay to slay" Martyr Fund, which incentivizes West Bank Arabs to attack and kill Israelis/Jews, since they get more money for every act of violence they commit against "the state of Israel."

Like Hamas firing rockets Israel non-stop after the latter completely withdrew from Gaza and effectively gave them a Palestinian state to run as they please, without Israeli.

Jews are not the fucking victims here. I know Jews have been the victims of a lot of violence throughout history but the situation in Palestine is perhaps the one time in history Jews are the perpetrators.

I want you to stop and think about that for a moment.

What logical sense does that make? "Yeah, Jews were victims of violent persecution throughout history, but THIS TIME all the evil things people say about you and do to you are totally justified!!"

a) Isn't that what antisemites say every time they attack Jews?

b) Have you ever considered that maybe the said extensive history of violent antisemitism might have contributed to Palestinian Arabs being complete hostility towards and refusal to accept a Jewish homeland?

For example: After the Ottoman Empire lost against the European Allies in WWI and ceded territory to the victors, France gained control of "Greater Syria" while Britain gained control of Palestine and Mesopotamia (now Iraq).

About the same time that Britain thought about dividing Mandatory Palestine into an Arab State for the Arab Muslim majority to the east and a Jewish state for the (existing) Jewish minority to the west...

France was ALSO dividing Greater Syria into a larger Arab State for the Sunni Muslim majority, and a smaller state for the Maronite Christian and Druze minority.

Yet, no one ever questions why Arabs grudgingly accepted a state for the Maronite Christian/Druze minority, but threw a raging bitch fit against a homeland for the Jewish minority?

No one ever accuses Maronites/Druze of "stealing Syria land!" but they do constantly accuse Jews of "stealing Palestinian land!"

Speaking of, roughly 3/4 of the original Mandate for Palestine became what is now Jordan, yet no one ever accuses Jordan of "stealing Palestinian land"?

IF NOTHING ELSE, I would like you to AT LEAST read this detailed and well-researched article about historical attitudes and treatments towards Jews in Islamic lands, and how those same attitudes and treatments carried over into the Islamic world's reaction to Jews emigrating to and eventually creating Israel.

[atomic-rattz]

TW BLOOD

TMNT: killer focuses around four turtles mutated by the scientist, “Splinter”. They were made to destroy all evil, only following what they’re told to do by their creator.

Leo: Leo is more attentive and looks out for suspicions, he’s bold in his actions and will always take lead in missions.

Donnie: Donnie is quiet with his actions and likes to stay closed off. He’s more shy than his counterpart, his twin usually speaking out for him.

Mikey: Mikey is the most aggressive explicitly, he likes to have fun with missions a creates a ruckus due to his violent personality.

Raph: Raph keeps his brothers together in the team. He shows himself as calm so he can stabilize intense situations, despite being extremely hostile when things are out of his control.

Splinter’s main enemy is Shredder, knocking out the foot clan slowly and quietly as possible as a means of revenge, even if it means to disposing of many lives… The turtles protect Splinter’s child, April against the corrupt world.

Umm sorry if my explanation is bad! Feel free to send asks if you wanna know more specific things 🙏