mistkissedmoon

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team meeting

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In case the esim process confuses you or you aren't able to buy them yourself for any other reason, crips for esims for Gaza is collecting donations, they've almost met their goal of $150,000 raised. Donating allows them to buy esims in bulk which allows them to obtain more than individuals would be able to. I just donated and it was super easy as you can use paypal.

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you can click on this button once daily to help palestine and support other causes in the middle east for free. it takes literally 5 seconds and could help save lives so please take the time to click and share this link.

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PROOF OF PURCHASE #2

Flour has been bought! We said in an earlier message, we had said they wanted to buy 40 bags, but because he was told the prices would double soon, the landowner bought extra bags of flour to save up.

The speaker in the video is Hussam from Rafah, the host of the camp. He wanted us to share his first name with everyone to show how appreciative he is to everyone who donated and spread the word.

Donate today to help families in Rafah! This is a direct donation with no middle man, so please help if you can. No amount is too little.

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AU with Dick as Nightwing and Jason as Flamebird in adulthood. Jason’s costume is the black and red version of Dick’s usual black and blue Nightwing costume, but with Jason’s own personal touches like his brown jacket, etc.

And they’re all purpose vigilantes like the rest of the Batfamily, but they have their own additional focus specific to them: protecting abused children. Dick’s focus is more geared towards juvie and state sanctioned child housing, while Jason’s is more towards domestic abuse, but both have the same reputation: children in Gotham and Bludhaven know that Nightwing and Flamebird have eyes and ears everywhere, and that if it’s not safe to go to the adults in their life to report their abuse, just leave a signal for the brothers - their version of the Batsignal, specifically spread through Gotham schools via whispered rumors specifically for this.

Just draw in chalk or spray paint on the wall of your building the brothers’ symbol of a V shaped raptor (like on the front of their costumes) and once word of it reaches them via their network of kids keeping an eye out for those marks or Oracle sees it via one of her plentiful cameras, the brothers will come and figure out a way to help you.

It doesn’t have to be big or garish or eye catching, and soon the buildings of both cities, from low rent tenement buildings to wealthy mansions and juvie centers and even schools are dotted with small red and blue V shapes that most adults just dismiss as graffiti homages to the vigilantes known to have a soft spot for kids in particular.

Never recognizing them for the cries for help they are, because if there’s one thing the children of Gotham and Bludhaven guard zealously, it’s the secret of the red and blue birds in flight. It’s not a thing for adults, it’s just for them, and they never know when they might be the one who needs Nightwing and Flamebird to come and believe them.

Because that’s the power of their symbol - no matter who you are, who your parents are, if you send it they will come.

And they will believe you.

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Giving someone six geese (a-laying, and thus in full protect-the-nest mode), much less SEVEN SWANS, does not seem to me, to be, per se, an act of true love

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Secret second dashboard time!

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luffy IS selfish. By @ace-no-isha

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Galas were energy drainers, which was a well known, established fact.

Bruce isn't a solid believer that people are born bad; The person in front of him seems adamant to prove him wrong.

"Those are very big words you're throwing around, Mr. Wayne," Bruce is sorely concerned if 'climate change should be acknowledged and regulated' can be considered ' big words', "Care to define them?"

Bruce would, truly, but this jerk already wasted half of his night by being condescending, so why bother?

" I've enjoyed myself, but,--"

" I did too. Truly, its nice to be listened to. You could teach my wife a thing or two...Among other talents. Maybe we can speak more over dinner?"

Discomfort churns and batters Bruce's insides. He's not good with sleazy.

He thankfully learned to camouflage disgust at arrogance and tackiness and nastiness,-- but sleazy? His hands sweat, hungry to hit, punch. His tongue is heavy and bit to blood.

A long shadow covers them both, and everything bad vanishes from Bruce's body in a relieved breath.

" Oh...Thank you for the invitation. But...You'll have to ask my boys."

A gulp from the other.

There's Jason, his Goliath of a son, Bruce's bruised sunshine. On his shoulders, not clothed by a restricting tuxedo like the rest, but by a red hoodie instead, Damian holds a butter knife close.

Tim, arms folded, mimics Bruce's nauseated snarl. Ah. So they heard, then.

Dick, as always, stands at the forefront, both shielding his siblings, and establishing himself as top threat. A pure leader, no doubt behind it.Bruce would lie if he'd say the spark of pride isn't there.

"What time?"

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Hopping off that last post slightly to say that I also think a good part of the reason Joe can afford to still feel everything so intensely is because of Nicky. Not just because of the obvious part where they are both sickeningly in love and have been for thousands of years without ever feeling it any less, but also because I think Nicky built a dynamic with him that allows Joe to stay so passionate

(There's more than just that, obviously, such as the fact that the group NEEDS someone like Joe, who isn't jaded or cool headed, but I already talked about that on the other post)

Nicky is the ice. That's a fact. He's not cold as in unfeeling but he is extremely cool headed. The greatest example of that, in my opinion, is the way he treats Booker after his betrayal: while Joe rages and screams at him, Nicky just tells him to leave it. You'd think that he isn't mad, but in the end, Nicky is the only one who doesn't say goodbye to Booker. Nile talks to him at the bar. Andy tells him about his punishment and hugs him. Even Joe looks back and gives him a nod, despite his anger. Nicky doesn't acknowledge him. I don't think he looks at him or talks to him once after they learn about the betrayal. He isn't telling Joe to leave it because he isn't pissed; he is saying it because now is not the time and they need to focus on getting out of the lab. Rationality first, feelings later. The goal always comes first to Nicky. He's a sniper, he's calculating, he's steady. It's the main mark of his character, in my opinion

So, he provides the steadiness that Joe needs, which allows Joe to not become quite as steady himself

I see that in pretty objective, practical ways - their dynamic in battle being the most obvious example. I am once again bringing up the battle outfits; Joe is more focused on his damn baseball cap than on packing his weapons. He puts his scimitar on his back (completely impractical) and then also tries to carry a bag slung over one shoulder (that keeps bumping into the scimitar and going back and he needs to keep readjusting it in a never ending battle with his own setup). He has like one gun on him. Meanwhile Nicky is Weapons Georg-ing his way through the desert like nobody's business. And then we see that half of these weapons are meant for Joe. Nicky is so attuned that he knows instinctively when Joe has ran out of bullets and he passes him guns without either of them even needing to look at each other, much less say anything; it's completely obvious that this is something they have been doing for centuries, that it comes naturally to them. If Nicky weren't there to give Joe weapons, Joe would have to have an ounce of practicality and keep his love for the vibes at bay long enough to pack efficiently. But Nicky IS there, and so Joe can afford to be the dorky, somewhat carefree man that Nicky adores, and bring some levity as they are heading to their mission (his cocky, teasing little smile as they are in the helicopter, for example)

If Nicky weren't there to stay between Joe and the door, if Nicky didn't sleep with a gun in his hand, then Joe would have to. But he does, so Joe doesn't, which allows him to dream peacefully and without worrying too much about whatever nonsense might be heading their way. I could keep going, but you get the picture: Joe would have had to keep more of a lid on his feelings if Nicky weren't there to take care of the practical problems that demand a cooler head

(And just to be extra clear, by that I don't mean that Joe is a Hotheaded Angry Brown Man and Nicky is The Voice Of Reason. I mean that Joe is a romantic and an artist, someone who's very in touch with his feelings and open about feeling them, which makes him uniquely vulnerable in their line of work. And that Nicky, knowing that, covers his blind spots)

And Joe, in turn, covers Nicky's blind spots as well, of course. He's the one (quite literally) holding Nicky together, making sure he doesn't let that overly rational head of his get the better of him and bury his feelings too far. Where Nicky hands Joe weapons, Joe finishes off Nicky's kills; most of the time, when they're fighting together, it's Nicky incapacitating people and then throwing them over his shoulder so Joe can kill them. That always stood out to me, because we know that none of them like killing; I think this is Joe's way of shouldering that weight for Nicky, making sure he has less to worry about and feel bad for, too

I used to think that Joe was the emotional protector and Nicky was the physical protector because of that (like, obviously both do both, but this was the role they took most prevalently). But the more I think about it, the more I realize that Nicky is also protecting Joe's feelings; because Joe doesn't have to grow more jaded and cool and rational if Nicky can do that for him. So he can continue to be who he is - light, passionate, loving, intense, open, vulnerable - because Nicky's got his back. It's my personal headcanon that Nicky has vowed to himself that he'd do everything in his power to keep Joe from losing that spark in him, and he's making good on that promise

It's a very interestingly equal relationship, where they not only balance each other out, but in doing so, allow the other to remain who they are, because that stark difference is part of what they love about each other

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truly wish i had the ability to give joe the characterisation that he has in the movie perfectly because i would love to write a fic about him coming to terms and healing from what happened and deciding, no, i want to get to know the booker that was under all the fabrications and the hiding and the pain. they go for one of those super long trails in the US that you can do for like. weeks and months. or maybe they go for a pilgrimage around north africa, the maghreb, up into west and central asia, across into asia proper, around south+south east asia, across the ditch into japan and back again, before taking a trip through sibera, on the trans siberian railway, and across eastern and western europe and into england where it all came crashing down. 

learning bits about each other they never bothered to learn or were hidden away with pain grief for a lost guard member (for quynh) and seemingly the whole world and all you know (for booker’s loss of complete identity). it’s not perfect but it’s nice. they start to talk again. joe picks up beaten up old books of poetry, takes to dramatically reading them while booker cooks, or puts the tent up or is washing the clothes in the river because we’re 250 kilometres from the nearest laundromat yusuf do it yourself. booker takes to telling him stories about jean-pierre, as a baby and a little boy. and of his two other boys who never really got to adulthood before they were taken away. about how sometimes he had wished he had never gone back but could not bear the thought of not being with them when the light left their eyes and they finally went somewhere he could never follow, leaving him all alone. 

maybe nicky and nile catch up to them, when they get into east asia, andy and quynh doing their own pilgrimage, but they all make that trek and train ride across siberia and russia together. instead of fear and despair, there’s familial connection and learning. about what makes everyone tick, about everyone’s limits, about what makes them laugh and smile and sleep peacefully after nightmares. it takes a long time for nicky to be able to smile at booker, to even look at him, but it happens. he comes to terms with what happened on his own terms; but like his husband he wants to know, he wants to learn about what makes booker into booker, what he hid and what he didn’t think he could say to the people he spent two hundred years with. nile is easier; she is burden with the knowledge of what was done in the end and her valid distrust of booker is not so harshly set in stone: booker learns from her what is means to not bundle it all away, like rolling a sleeping bag for a too small case. it’s okay to feel things; your feelings are not wrong but it’s up to you on how you actualise them. he takes to journalling on her suggestion. they meet back up with quynh and andy. 

booker continues to journal what he is feeling, if nothing else the act of writing out how he feels is a way to stave off the incessant waves of numbing deadness: today i taught nile how to speak the most basic of occitan; i have not heard spoken it to anyone for a hundred years. she smiled at me like jean-pierre did. she’s not my jean-pierre but maybe this is him telling me that he forgives me, that they all forgive me, for what i could not do no matter how hard i tried. they live through my actions.

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Booker had relied on Nicky. He relied on all of them, of course, and they relied on him to show up with a gun and some dynamite and a willingness to do whatever it took to see them through. They trusted him to – well. They’d trusted him.

But it was always going to be Nicky, who argued for hearing Copley out, who was willing to risk their own immortal lives for a handful of girls thousands of miles away. Andy would have walked away without a second glance—we don’t do repeats—and Joe would have followed, would have gone to the market and haggled delightedly over the ingredients for dinner, chopped vegetables and shouted at the television with Booker and waited until the meal was done to suggest that they find some other good to do. Booker knew he needed Nicky for the plan to work.

And then, of course, it was Nicky who derailed all the plans that followed. Nicky who insisted that they find the girl immediately, rather than leave her alone for just a little while. Leave her alone forever, he supposed, since he’d consigned them all to a different fate.

Booker knew how it felt to be alone. He thought he’d known all along, two centuries of solitude, but it turned out he’d never been alone a goddamned day in his unfortunate life.

Keep reading

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One of the most bizarrely cool people I’ve ever met was an oral surgeon who treated me after a ridiculous accident (that’s another story), Dr. Z.

Dr. Z. was, easily, the best and most competent doctor or dentist I’ve ever encountered – and after that accident, I encountered quite a number. He came stunningly highly recommended, had an excellent record, and the most calming bedside manner I’ve ever seen.

That last wasn’t the sweet gentle caretaking sort of manner, which some nurses have but you wouldn’t expect to see in a surgeon. No; when Dr. Z. told me that one of my broken molars was too badly damaged to save, and I (being seventeen and still moderately in shock) broke down crying, he stared at me incredulously and said, in a tone of utter bemusement, “But – I am very good.”

I stopped crying on the spot. In the last twenty-four hours or so of one doctor after another, no one had said anything that reassuring to me. He clearly just knew his own competence so well that the idea of someone being scared anyway was literally incomprehensible to him. What more could I possibly ask for?

(He was right. The procedure was very extended, because the tooth that needed to be removed was in bits, but there was zero pain at any point. And, as he promised, my teeth were so close together that they shifted to fill the gap to where there genuinely is none anymore, it’s just a little easier to floss on that side.)

But Dr. Z.’s insane competence wasn’t just limited to oral surgery.

When I met Dr. Z., he, like most doctors I’ve had, asked me if I was in college, and where, and what I was studying. When I say “math,” most doctors respond with “oh, wow, good for you” or possibly “what do you want to do with that after college?”

Dr. Z. wanted to know what kind of math.

I gave him the thirty-second layman’s summary that I give people who are foolish enough to ask that. He responded with “oh, you mean–” and the correct technical terms. I confirmed that was indeed what I meant (and keep in mind, this was upper-division college math, you don’t take this unless you’re a math major). He asked cogent follow-up questions, and there ensued ten or so minutes of what I’d call “small talk” except for how it was an intensely technical mathematical discussion.

He didn’t, as far as I can tell, have any kind of formal math background. He just … knew stuff.

I was a competitive fencer at this point in time, so when he asked if I had any questions about the surgery that would be necessary, I asked him if I’d be okay to fence while I had my jaw wired shut, or if it would interfere with breathing.

“Fencing?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “like swordfighting,” because this is another conversation I got to have a lot. (People assume they’ve misheard you, or occasionally they think you mean building fences.)

“Which weapon?”

“Uh. Foil.”

“No, it won’t be safe,” and he went off into an explanation of why.

Turns out, he was also a serious fencer – and, when I mentioned my fencing coach, an old friend of his. (I asked my fencing coach later, and, oh yes, Dr. Z., a good friend of mine, excellent fencer.) (My coach was French. Dr. Z. was Israeli. I never saw Dr. Z. around the club or anything. I have no idea how they knew each other.)

So this was weird enough that later, when I was home, I looked Dr. Z. up on Yelp. His reviews were stellar, of course, but that wasn’t the weird thing.

The weird thing was that the reviews were full of people – professionals in lots of different fields – saying the same thing: I went to Dr. Z. for oral surgery, and he asked me about what I did, and it turned out he knew all about my field and had a competent and educated discussion with me about the obscure technical details of such-and-such.

All sorts of different fields, saying this. Lawyers. Businessmen. Musicians.

As far as I can tell, it’s not that I just happened to be pursuing the two fields he had a serious amateur interest in – he just seemed to be extremely good at literally everything.

I have no explanation for this. Possibly he sold his soul to the devil.

He did a damn good job on my surgery.

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what happens when an angel falls in love with a human? what does it look like?

there’s this girl.

.

you remember the daughters of men who enticed your brothers to fall, in those early days of mankind. They had been beautiful—women of salt and rain, of little vanity and no hesitation. The daughters of men were born with horizons in their eyes and hearts that sang; they wove the priestly garment without needle, learned Sarai’s laughter. (and the fruit of the tree was pleasing to the eye…)

your brothers had forsaken everything for them, in the end.

and you had pitied them.

.

she will be fourteen, all coltish limbs and half-tamed hair, when she kisses you—a swift, daring thing, her lips pressed to your lion’s maw. (she had asked you to kneel, down and down again, and she had gone up onto her toes, and somewhere between the rising and the falling…)

she leaves behind a faint slick of strawberry lipbalm and something older, sweeter, like crushed apples.

oh, child, you breathe.

I wanted to know, she says, and there is defiance in the set of her shoulders. okay? I wanted to know.

she grabs her backpack from where she left it on the concrete and takes flight, her sneakers hitting the pavement like an afterthought of wings.

Keep reading

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Pacts

A/N: Entry for DamiRae week Day 3: Deal With the Devil!! This might be unexpected for this prompt but hey again it works and I love it so I hope you do, too. 

“You’re part demon,” he said in a tone that wasn’t quite a question or statement.

Raven turned partially to him with a raised eyebrow, her fumbling fingers pausing on the tea bag she was trying to open. She eyed him carefully. The first thing that comes out of his mouth after seeing her for the first time that day is that? That was something he should have known by now — if he didn’t, she didn’t know why she was dating him and how he dealt with accidentally transporting them to halfway around the globe when she had nightmares. Either that, or he wasn’t fully awake yet, since half-awake Damian tended to blabber.

“Yes?” she replied, returning her attention back to her chamomile lavender tea. “What about it?”

As she was pouring water into her cup, she heard his faints footsteps slip across the smooth hardwood floor, and before she could dip the teabag in, he blocked her hand by leaning onto the countertop right in front of her mug. Jeez, she knew it was their apartment, but he didn’t have to act like he owned the goddamn place. If she didn’t like the sight of him in a crisp white open button down, then she would have used her powers to push him out of the way, so he was lucky, very lucky. Did he know that her water was boiled exactly to 194 degrees to ensure the perfect brew? She immediately frowned.

“You’re in my way.”

“So,” he continued, completely ignoring her statement as he appeared to get even more comfortable against that countertop, “that makes you…part…devil…give or take, right?”

She frowned even harder.

“Sure,” she answered hastily, “now move, my water is getting cold.” She tried to push him to the side to reach her water, but him and his chiseled chest and open shirt just didn’t budge.

Jeez could she even frown harder?

“You know how I’ve always been curious to make a deal with the devil?” he questioned. His voice was low and gruff and for the first time in those how many few minutes that her water was losing its precious heat, she decided to roll her eyes up to meet his.

“Sure,” she gasped on an exhale, the sharp contact of their eyes stealing her breath.

Even though they were living together now, she couldn’t seem to get used to seeing him with his slept in hair and lopsided grin and those piercing eyes. She couldn’t get tired of him, even if he was kind of pissing her off by stopping her from having her morning tea.

“I’ve found out how,” he continued, cocking his head. The smirk grew on his face, emphasizing the sly glint in his eyes and the dimple on his right cheek he knew she loved. Just what was he getting at?

Finally, she crossed her arms and leaned away, sighing heavily. Azar, if this was so important to him that he was smiling like a little kid from ear to ear, she could just boil the water again after this hopefully interesting conversation. If she was wasting this perfectly boiled water, it better be worth it.

“Please, enlighten me.” Her eyebrow rose further as she found a smile tickle her own lips.

Before she could blink, before she could open her mouth, before she could breathe, before she could even think, he disappeared from her line of vision.

Her glance shot immediately down.

He was kneeling…

With her mouth agape and her hands fisting at the hem of her oversized t-shirt, she gaped at him and he was no longer smiling but his eyes still held that same fiery excitement.

He was kneeling …On one knee…

Mother of Azarath, what?

All those meditation techniques to calm her breathing and yet none of them worked right now.

She couldn’t even manage a simple exhale.

“Marry me.”

She was sure she was gaping like a fish now, but she just couldn’t manage any other expression. Did he…To her…? What…?

Her heart was bound to jump out of her mouth by the speed it was thumping and by the angle of her slack jaw. Did she hear him right? Was he still asleep, how did any of that make any sense…with the devil and marriage and…marriage? Was she still asleep and dreaming? Maybe she was just hearing things, it was sure bizarre enough.

“Marry me, Raven,” he repeated, taking her hand and turning her palm. Something light and smooth and warm fell into it, and afterwards he clasped his hand over hers. His hands were so warm. “There’s only one devil I would want to make a deal for life with.” That sly smirk found its place on his lips again. Azar, she loved it when he smirked. “That is, if she agrees.”

Quite frankly, she was far too stunned to do anything other than stare blankly at him. Her mouth felt like it was moving but she couldn’t seem to find her voice or her words. She didn’t even know if she had a voice, nothing seemed to be coming out, let alone the lack of thought except for her brain playing “Marry me” on repeat. Marry him, marry him, marry him?Simply, she was floored, and she was never floored. How did Damian manage to do that to her? They were two simple words and yet they held more promise than the world’s most fiery sermon. How did he manage to do…anything he did to her? She never expected to fall for anybody, let alone date them, let alone live with them, let alone marry them. But most of all, she never expected to fall in love. But this hot-headed smirking brat in front of her…he managed to make her do just that.

“A deal with the devil, huh?” she finally whispered albeit shakily, still trying to find her footing. “You’re kidding…” she tried to laugh but it was trembling, “…right?”

He stood up, stepping and leaning over her as close as he could without embracing her. His hands reached for her own as he caressed them gently, bringing them up so that her knuckles pressed against his chest. His unkempt hair tickled her cheek as his lips brushed her ear.

“Open,” he murmured, his voice low and breathy and she felt his whisper like a pleasant electric current.

She obeyed, stretching her fingers to reveal a small silver…ring…a ring! He was serious! He was…serious? She brought it closer to her and inspected the tiny diamond details on the band, entwining to hug a beautiful polished onyx in the center.

“Damian,” she gasped, her eyes wide as she glanced at him.

His smile was knowing and warm now, and it just made her heart throb more. She would never get used to him and the effect he had on her.

“I was trying to be romantic, but now I’m getting apprehensive and impatient,” he coughed, as he blushed and looked away, tousling his already messy hair. Vulnerable Damian. Her second favorite sight.

She chuckled. Seems like he couldn’t get used to the effect she had on him, either.

Carefully, she slid the beautiful dainty ring onto her finger, biting her lip and watching it as it sparkled slightly in the hazy morning sun that spilled through the windows. He knew her so well, she didn’t even remember if she ever once mentioned that the onyx was her favorite stone.

“The pact is sealed,” she smiled, wiggling her ring finger at him and shrugging as she met his eyes once again.

He immediately relaxed with a heavy sigh and pulled her into a tight embrace as he placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Goodness, he smelled so good, like amber and silk, and his skin was oh so soft and slightly cool from being exposed. His heartbeat was a tattoo of unspoken yet well known words against her ear. She practically melted in his arms. He could make her a sloppy remnant of Raven just by all of those simple pleasures he offered. Is that how marriage was like? She would never get used to that, she was sure of it.

“Best deal with the devil I’ll ever make,” he chuckled.

“The only deal with the devil you better make, ever, mister,” she chastised.

“Touché, Misses Wayne,” he grumbled against her hair.

She felt the vibrations of his low laugh where her ear was pressed to his chest, her breath hitching at her throat and her arms tightening around him. Raven Wayne. Really, could she get used to all of this?

She leaned her chin on his chest and looked up to him under her eyelashes. He was smiling down at her with the widest and toothiest and goofiest smile she ever saw him wear and it was adorable and incredible and heart stopping all in one.

She tip toed to meet him, his lips softening and closing over hers.

“I love you, Damian Wayne,” she mumbled against his lips.

“And I you, future Raven Wayne,” she felt his smile against hers.

Azar, she loved this man and all his quirks and every unexpected thing he ever made her feel and experience and how she wouldn’t mind waking up to him like this forever and how he made her forget all about cold water and unused tea.

Raven Wayne.

She smiled for the umpteenth time that morning, pulling him to meet her lips once again.

She could definitely get used to this.