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thesuperiorrobin · 4 months

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Winter season~

‪‪❤︎‬ Pairing: Single Dad!Damian Wayne x Fem!Nanny!Reader

‪‪❤︎‬ Word count: 1.5k

‪‪❤︎‬ Warnings: none!

I do know know if I spelled the write term from father in Arabic correctly, asked a friend who speaks it and she told me she calls her dad “baba”. But if I did use the wrong term or spilled it wrong let me know please!

Christmas seemed to be the only holiday the twins looked forward to all year, but then again what kid doesn’t? The twins are settled beside you, on their feet with red and white plastic balls in hand, debating on which color should cover the tall tree.

“Red should go on the tree,” Amir says, placing the red ornaments on the tree and watching it dangle. The little girl huffs slapping the ornament onto the ground. The plastic ball makes a noise as it comes in contact with the wooden floor. You frown.

“Ew no!” Fatima sticks her tongue at her brother, who’s older by seven minutes. “Red was last year! We do white this year!”

“Nuh-uh!” The boy shakes his head roughly, kneeling to pick up his decoration before waving it at his sister's face. “It’s Red! It’ll look so much cooler!”

“I don’t want cooler! I want pretty! So white!” You listen to the twins bicker back and forth for a few minutes before sighing heavily, snatching both decors off their hands and placing them on the tree.

“We’ll use both this year and that's final” the young set of twins let out grumbles as their little hands pick up their color ornaments and start decorating the bottom of the tree while you stick with the top part they can't reach. A normal person would take about thirty minutes to an hour to finish decorating a Christmas tree, but being stuck with two stubborn children took a lot longer than it should have been. You take a step back to admire the work you and the two children have put in, most of the ornaments fell at the bottom a clear indication that the twins did help while yours were scattered around—barely touching.

Fatima tugs at the hem of your shirt—taking your attention off the tree and onto her. She’s holding something in her hand—they look like Christmas ornaments but they weren’t from the boxes that you had initially picked out. “We made some in class for our last day! Can we put them on the tree?” She seemed to hesitate with the last sentence and all you could do was nod, a bright smile on your face.

“Of course! Where do you want to put them”

“on the top!” They shout. A chuckle erupts from your throat as you pick them up one by one, Amir’s then Fatima's. Their homemade decoration is placed next to each—you examine them carefully. You can tell who’s who by the snowmen are lined up. There are four snowmen on their balls, which leaves you confused.

“Who’s the fourth snowman?”

“That one’s you!” The little girl, who’s still in your arms, giggles. A soft smile forms on your lips as your heart warms.

“Can I light up the tree now?” You nod down at the little boy who gives you a toothy grin and skips behind the tree. It takes a few before the lights around the tree light up and green, red, and white fill your visions.

“Still think we should have gone with white, but this will do” You roll your eyes playfully, bringing Fatima onto the ground carefully.

“Do you have your Christmas list done? Or do you two need more time?” you question, they answer quickly “mines in my room!”

“Mines in my backpack!” And before you can set an answer the twins are sprinting off in different directions. You leave behind and with a sigh, you sit done on the comfortable couch in the room. A smile paints your lips the longer you stare at the colorful tree in front of you. Not long after the twins leave they come running back with a piece of paper in their small hands.

Fatima hands you hers, and you aren’t shocked by the many things she’s asking for this year. You read the list carefully and your eyes land on a certain bullet point.

“A real-life shark?”

“Mhm!” She hums “We learned about them and I thought they were pretty so I want one!”

“Well let’s wait and see what Santa can do” You smile at the little girl and Amir hands you his, he doesn’t ask for much but you are surprised to see only four things on the small piece of paper.

“No toys this year?”

“I’m too old for them” he huffs “I’m a big kid now so I don’t need any toys” You hum

“Not asking for Nerf guns?”

“I outgrew them” his answer hesitated. You scan their list one more time before you send them to get ready for bed, they protest but go on their way, dragging their behind them. A small laugh comes from your throat as you shake your head. The Christmas tree disappears from your sight as you leave the room with the letters still in your hand. The walk to his office is short, as you are faced with the dark brown wooden door you bring your arm up—hand in a fist as you knock on the door three times.

You wait until there is a faint ‘come in’ from the other side. The door lets out a small creek as you open it, stepping foot into the room, there Sits the infamous Damian Wayne, at his desk signing away at papers that lay below him. He places his pen down, forgetting about the papers once he feels your presence.

You wave the letters around with a bright smile “I got their Christmas list!” The letters slide across his desk as you pass them over to him, and with an exhausted sigh, you drag yourself to the couch a few steps away and plop yourself down, head resting on the arm set. Damian scans his children's list, chuckling at His daughter’s list as he reads a few things off hers.

“A shark?” You hum in response. He moves on to his oldest son, head tilted in confusion. “Four things? Not even a single toy?”

“He secretly wants more Nerf guns” He hums. Damian takes a look at your exhausted form, chuckling.

“I assume my stubborn children burned you out today?”

“Wasn’t so bad today, just a small argument about the tree ornaments”

“Fighting over what color they should be again?”

“Yeah, but in the end we went with both red and white. So no more arguing” It’s silent between you two, taking in the quietness before it’s gone. The sound of pen against paper stops and it goes unnoticed by you. Damian’s paper is forgotten once more, taking in your figure as you lay still on the couch with an arm over your eyes. Your breathing is even but you aren’t sleeping, he could tell by the way you softly hum to keep yourself from dozing off.

The soft sound of steps breaks his gaze, green eyes land on his closed door, seconds before it’s slammed open to reveal his blood dressed in colorful sleepwear. Their giggles fill the room—each running to whom they land their eyes on first. Fatima runs to her father, running behind his desk and jumping in his arms, trying to get a look at what lies on top Thankfully Damian hid the letters as soon as he heard them. Amir Runs to you, finding a place beside you seeing as you’re no longer lying down.

“Did you see the tree baba?!”

Fatima exclaims eyes shining brightly as she stares up at her father, Damian shakes his head, much to the little girl's disappointment. “Not yet ‘Amira, I’ve been busy” his accent runs as he pinches the small frown off the little girl's face, Fatima lets out a small giggle, slapping her father's hand off her cheeks.

“The white kinda ruins it” Amir murmurs quickly, and you cover his mouth, frowning. Fatima sends a glare at her older twin, green eyes staring at the side of his face viciously. The small boy takes your hand off his mouth turning to his sister to repeat his sentence to her face.

“I said-“

“he said ‘let’s go brush our teeth!” He cuts him off, not wanting to deal with the Wayne twin's outburst so late in the night, you grab ahold of his hand before reaching your hand out to the little girl who jumps off her father's lap and runs to you—grasping your hand in hers.

“But that’s not what I said” he protested

“Yes it was, now come. Your father has work to finish, us interrupting him means he won’t be able to read you stories before bed.”

Damian can only stare at the scene in front of him, his children clinging to you as you drag them out of his study. His children were never the way they are now, always quiet and kept to themselves, but once you came you seemed to break them out of that habit. You were what they needed and it’s a Christmas miracle that you were able to win them over so easily. The other Nannies couldn’t do what you did, quitting after a week or so his children were so difficult, but he couldn’t blame them they got that trait from him.

Once you’re out of his sight he goes back to signing, but something tells him to look over their list one more time and he does, scanning over until he flips over the paper. His ears tune red and his skin feels warm when he reads the single bullet point.

“Make Miss Y/N our mother!”

Written in bold letters.

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian x reader #robin x reader #damian scenarios #damian wayne headcanon

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drmaddict · 10 months

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Patchwork

Summary: Henry becomes a father... Just not how he thought it would happen.

Word count: 2.160

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence, lots of fluff

"Six?"

"Six."

"Six children?"

"Well not biologically, but.... yes."

(Y/n) looked uncertainly at Henry. The blue eyes stared at her in disbelief.

"You have six children living in your house?"

She sighed. That was always the point at which every guy ran away.

"I understand if that's too much for you," she began.

Henry shook his head still in disbelief, but grinned. "Do you ever sleep, or do you just get used to sleep deprivation?"

She smiled cautiously. Didn't trust the peace yet, though. "To be honest there are two kids one 9 and one 12 and four pubescent teenagers."

He regarded her quietly across the restaurant table. "Are you okay?" he asked, "Did I say something wrong? I know my reaction may have been a little surprised, but I didn't mean to cut you in."

She relaxed a little. "It's just... Most guys run away as soon as they hear that, and that would really be .... a shame."

Henry smiled and shook his head. "I don't run away. I hate cardio."

That made her smile.

"But you'll still have to tell me how you get to adopt six children and teenagers.... And that as a single woman in her mid-twenties."

"It's like cats. Somehow I guess it doesn't stay with just one." She tipped her wine glass. "The first one was Jason. He was the son of my neighbors at the time and would come by my apartment every so often in the afternoon until his mother got home. One night he showed up at my door bleeding. His father caught him with make up and beat him black and blue. It took a while, but then he could move in with me. He's graduating from high school this summer. He has even been accepted to a make up school. He wants to go into film as a makeup artist." She smiled softly. "He's come a long way."

Henry curtsied in shock at the story. "Fatima is 16 and has been disowned by her family for not being a virgin. She has ambitions to study law. I don't think anyone will stop her from going to Oxford. Mike is almost 16 - next week - and grew up without a father and even though his mother tried everything, she has high level schizophrenia. She has been institutionalized and now lives in care. We visit her whenever her condition allows it. Mini - Emilia ran away at some point. We don't really know what happened. She is 14. Kamon is 12 and comes from a refugee family. His parents have been sent back to Thailand. We are trying to get a visa for them. Until then, I'm kind of his foster family. He and Mike are not officially adopted. Both love their family and do everything for them, even if they can't always be there. And Lilly. She is 9. Her family died in a car accident. No family member has been found."

She was silent for a moment and continued to contemplate her wine before looking up and looking at Henry.

"Henry... I understand if this is too much, but.... they've all been through enough in their lives and every single one of them has their reasons for making it hard for new people in our family. So if, against all odds, you say yes to this circus, know that it's not so easy to get out of it either." Her gaze became insistent. "If you leave me, that's one thing, but I won't do that to the kids."

Henry, who hadn't said anything all this time, took one deep breath and reached for her hand lying on the table. He smiled. "If they're willing to meet me, so am I."

Henry stood in front of a gigantic house. His house was already big, but this one surpassed it. Despite its size, however, it didn't seem ostentatious. It looked cozy and inviting. The word 'home' popped into his head.

Shouts and frantic footsteps sounded from inside.

He pressed his thumb on the doorbell. Immediately, everything went silent.

The door opened with a jerk. A dark-skinned boy stood before him, beaming at him. From the colored eyeliner, he concluded that it must be Jason.

"Hello Mr. Cavill." he said in a noticeably loud voice.

Immediately, frantic footsteps sounded and he saw scattered bodies running through the background.

"Hi. Henry will do." he smiled.

"Come on in. I'm Jason. Ehhm... (Y/n) isn't here yet.... Mike had... They had to go to the hospital."

"Is he okay?"

Jason shrugged. "Normally, he is. Boxer you know... Tea?"

"Gladly."

He stepped into the house. It was swept as if empty, yet the traces of life could be seen in it. Self-painted pictures. Photographs. Various equipment for hobbies. Shoes in different sizes. And that was just the hallway. Henry let himself be led into the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs. None matched the other.

"Mike had a match this morning. (Y/n) said he's already patched up. They're already on their way here."

Henry smiled. "With something like this, you should take your time."

Jason set the steaming cup down for him and sat with him.

Henry accepted it gratefully. "It's very quiet."

"Be glad." was all he said, sipping his tea. "I don't want to chase you away, but it's like human history here. The periods of absolute peace are relatively negligible." He ran his index finger over the rim of his cup and grinned. "And I'm one of the worst divas here. Just a warning."

The front door opened and a rumble sounded, followed by an amused giggle. "Sorry about that." a boy's slurred voice rang out.

"That's okay big guy. Come on off to bed." he heard (y/n).

"I'm fine!"

"That's because they drugged your ass off so you can't feel your face."

"Where's Ammy?"

"Mike you need to rest now. You can call Amber when you're in bed."

"Who are you?" A blond boy in a gray sweatshirt and swollen face looked at him from the doorway, aghast. "Who's that?" he turned to (Y/n).

"A friend Mike. That's a friend. Jason stop filming him!"

Still grinning, Jason put the phone away and turned to Henry. "Welcome."

"What's the dog's name?", Kamon asked him.

"That's Kal...like Superman." he smiled at the shy boy.

"I like Batman."

Henry rolled his eyes playfully. "Oh yeah, why?"

"Batman watches out for kids nobody else wants. Like (y/n)."

Henry smiled.

"I told you not to rummage through my things!" yelled Emilia down the hall.

Henry and (Y/n) sat in the garden each holding a book.

"I wasn't rummaging. I was getting MY eyeshadow, that you stole from MY room!" shouted back Jason. "It's not my fault you leave your lovey-dovey fanfictions lying around in the open like that!"

"You have no business in my room!"

"That being said - Tom Holland? Really?"

A splintering sound rang out.

"I guess that was the vase, then," (Y/n) sighed.

"I would have thought she was more of a Sebastian Stan type," Henry reflected loudly.

"How long has she been sitting there?" whispered Henry to (Y/n).

"Since this morning. She hasn't looked up from that book in five hours."

Fatima sat at the large parlor table surrounded by books, writing notes and index cards.

"That's impressive. Scary, but impressive."

Kal walked over to the table and nudged her.

"I have to study! Sit!" Kal obeyed immediately and sat next to her chair.

"She'd make a good drill sergeant," Henry grinned.

(Y/n) sipped her coffee. "You've never seen her in exam stress."

"This isn't exam stress?"

"This is relaxed studying."

Henry looked in shock at the girl with noise cancelling headphones. (Y/n) grinned into her cup.

"They need more glitter!" determined Lilly.

Henry reached for the can of edible glitter and sprinkled more of it on the unicorn cookies.

"Like this?"

The little girl looked thoughtfully at the tin. "Like this."

Henry bowed theatrically and slid the tin into the oven. "All for your majesty." The girl giggled.

(Y/n) just watched with a smile.

Jason and Mike sat on the sofa grinning together at a tablet, each with headphones in their ears.

This wasn't normal. Even Henry knew that by now. He wondered if they were both watching porn. He'd been that age once, too. He knew what that was like.

(Y/n) came into the living room and looked over there shoulders at the two of them. She laughed uncontrollably grunting, but immediately suppressed it and came over to him.

No porn, he concluded.

"What about these two?" asked Henry, pulling her to him on the sofa and onto his lap.

"Just a movie," she grinned.

"What movie?"

She continued to shake her head with a grin and waved it off. Henry was very reluctant to be shut out. So he sat (y/n) down next to him on the sofa and stood behind the two teenagers. When he saw his younger self in a black hoodie grinning and holding up a tarot card, he groaned in annoyance.

The boys snorted indignantly. Henry looked defiantly at the display.

"Oh come on Sweet Cheeks! What's wrong?" asked (Y/n) with a laugh.

He looked at her with an intensity that promised she would pay for this yet. She could hardly wait.

"What's with the hair?" laughed Jason.

"It was in back then!"

Henry stood in the kitchen making coffee while there was the familiar bustle around him. Kamon couldn't find his second shoe, Lilly needed a certain T-shirt, Jason occupied the bathroom, Mike shoveled eggs into his mouth, Fatima just drank the coffee straight out of the pot, and Emilia hid behind a book.

He could hardly believe that over a year should have passed already.

They had grown close to his heart. He didn't want to miss the chaos at all. The last time he left for a job, it seemed almost eerie how quiet it was that night. He had told (y/n) about it over Skype. She'd just grinned and said those feelings liked to sneak up on one.

"Do you think they want me in their life?" he had asked her uncertainly.

She had only smiled. "Wait a minute." She disappeared and came back a moment later with a piece of paper. She held it up to the camera. "Lilly drew this for you today." It showed eight roughly drawn people. Under each one, in capital letters, was the name.... except for (y/n) and him. It just said Mum and Paps. Henry stared wide-eyed at the screen. "Please act surprised when you come back. It's supposed to be a gift.", she put the paper back down. "Are you crying?"

Henry had remained silent. He had only nodded.

He smiled at the memory. The picture hung framed in the hallway. It had become Henry's favorite picture.

"Car one go!", (y/n) called down the stairs.

The three mismatched teens got up from the table and walked to (y/n)s car.

Henry packed the last of the snacks into Lilly and Kamon's lunchboxes before he, too, packed them into his cat and drove them to school. Jason had a little break from make up school and stayed at home.

Henry came back earlier than (y/n). He waited patiently for her in the kitchen. Looked at the mismatched chairs and the photos on the wall. Photos that now included him. (Y/n) came shortly after him and dropped into her usual seat next to him. She reached for the waiting cup of coffee and dropped her head on his shoulder. "How did I do this alone before?"

Henry laughed.

"I mean it. Don't you dare leave! I can't take it anymore!"

Henry just smiled at her. He got up from his chair and knelt down in front of her. He pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it in front of him. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life anywhere but with you and the kids. (Y/n) will you marry me?"

She looked at him with shocked eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nodded with a smile. "I want to take Lilly to her dance lessons. I want to be there when Jason gets his first jobs. I want to see Fatima come top of her year at Oxford - in law AND medicine." They both laughed. "I want to cheer Mike on in his competitions. I want to watch Emilia find the romance she secretly wants. I even want my heart to break when Kamon is reunited with his parents. I want to be with you. I want to be with the children. I don't want to run away. I want to be part of this family."

"You already are," she smiled, crying. She pulled him close and kissed him.

"Does that mean yes?" he grinned.

"Yes you idiot." she laughed.

#henry cavil x y/n #henry cavil x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill fluff #fluffy #fluff #henry cavill x you

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fiercynn · 7 months

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black & palestinian solidarities

if you support black liberation but are unsure of your stance on palestinian resistance, here’s a reminder that they are deeply intertwined. after the 1917 balfour declaration by the british government announcing the first support for a zionist state in palestine, zionism and israeli occupation of palestine have followed similar ideologies and practices to white supremacist settler colonial projects, so solidarity between black and palestinian communities has grown over time, seeing each other as fellow anti-imperialist and anti-racist struggles. (if you get a paywall for any of the sources below, try searching them in google scholar.)

palestinians have been inspired by and shown support for black liberationist struggles as early as the 1930s, when arabic-language newspapers in palestine wrote about the struggle by black folks in the united states and framed it as anti-colonial, as well as opposing the 1935 invasion by fascist italy of ethiopia, the only independent black african state at the time. palestinian support for black struggles grew in the 1960s with the emergence of newly-independent african states, the development of black and third world internationalisms, and the civil rights movement in the united states. palestinian writers have expressed this solidarity too: palestinian activist samih al-qasim showed his admiration for congolese independence leader patrice lumumba in a poem about him, while palestinian poet mahmoud darwish’s “letters to a negro” essays spoke directly to black folks in the united states about shared struggles.

afro-palestinians have a rich history of freedom fighting against israeli apartheid, where they face oppression at the intersections of their black and palestinian identities. some families trace their roots back hundreds of years, while others came to jerusalem in the nineteenth century from chad, sudan, nigeria, and senegal after performing the hajj (the islamic pilgrimage to mecca) and settled down. still others came to palestine in the 1940s specifically to join the arab liberation army, where they fought against israel’s ethnic cleansing of palestinians during the 1948 nakba (“catastrophe”). afro-palestinian freedom fighter fatima bernawi, who was of nigerian, palestinian, and jordanian descent, became, in 1967, the first palestinian woman to be organize an operation against israel, and subsequently the first palestinian woman to be imprisoned by israel. the history of afro-palestinian resistance continues today: even as the small afro-palestinian community in jerusalem is highly-surveilled, over-policed, disproportionately incarcerated, and subjected to racist violence, they continue to organize and fight for palestinian liberation.

black revolutionaries and leaders in the united states have supported the palestinian struggle for decades, with a ramp-up since the 1960s. malcolm x became a huge opponent of zionism after traveling to southwest asia and north africa (SWANA), publishing “zionist logic” in 1964, and becoming one of the first black leaders from the united states to meet with the newly formed palestine liberation organization. the black panther party and the third world women’s alliance, a revolutionary socialist organization for women of color, also supported palestinian resistance in the 1970s. writers like maya angelou, june jordan, and james baldwin have long spoken out for palestinians. dr. angela davis (who received support from palestinian political prisoners when she was incarcerated) has made black and palestinian solidarity a key piece of her work. and many, many more black leaders and revolutionaries in the united states have supported palestinian freedom.

while israel has long courted relationships with the african union and its members, there has been ongoing tension between them since at least the 1970s, when all but four african states (malawi, lesotho, swaziland, and mauritius) cut off diplomatic ties with israel after the 1973 october war. while many of those diplomatic relationships were reestablished in subsequent decades, they remain rocky, and earlier this year, the african union booted an israeli diplomat from their annual summit in addis ababa, ethiopia, and issued a draft declaration on the situation in palestine and the middle east that expressed “full support for the palestinian people in their legitimate struggle against the israeli occupation”, naming israeli settlements as illegal and calling for boycotts and sanctions with israel. grassroots organizations like africa 4 palestine have also been key in the BDS (boycott, divestment, sanctions) movement.

in south africa, comparisons between israel and south african apartheid have been prevalent since the 1990s and early 2000s. israel historically allied with apartheid-era south africa, while palestinians opposed south african apartheid, leading nelson mandela to support the palestinian liberation organization as "fighting for the right of self-determination"; over the years his statements have been joined by fellow black african freedom fighters like nozizwe madlala-routledge and desmond tutu. post-apartheid south africa has continued to be a strong ally to palestine, calling for israel to be declared “apartheid state”.

black and palestinian solidarities have continued into the 21st century. palestinian people raised money to send to survivors of hurricane katrina in the united states in 2005 (which disproportionately harmed black communities in new orleans and the gulf of mexico) and the devastating earthquake in haiti in 2010. in the past decade, the global black lives matter struggle has brought new emphasis to shared struggles. prison and police abolitionists have long noted the deadly exchange which brings together police, ICE, border patrol, and FBI agents from the united states to train with soldiers, police, and border agents from israel. palestinian freedom fighters supported the 2014 uprising in ferguson in the united states, and shared strategies for resisting state violence. over a thousand black leaders signed onto the 2015 black solidarity statement with palestine. the murder of george floyd by american cops in 2020 has sparked further allyship, including black lives matter protests in palestine, with organizations like the dream defenders making connections between palestinian and black activists.

this is just a short summary that i came up because i've been researching black and asian solidarities recently so i had some sources on hand; there's obviously so much more that i haven't covered, so please feel free to reblog with further additions to this history!

#free palestine #black liberation #black and palestinian solidarity #black and asian solidarity #original

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genderkoolaid · 8 months

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In the last two decades, there has been a growing body of literature on trans health in India. However, most research is limited to HIV/AIDS and primarily focuses on trans women. Studies on trans men or transmasculine identities and their healthcare needs and experiences in India have received little scholarly attention. Even globally, the literature on trans men’s health is relatively scant, with existing studies conducted mainly in Western countries. There exists a dearth of government data and statistics on trans men in India. The only attempt to enumerate the transgender population was made by the national census, which categorised them as ‘other.’ The census estimated 4,87,803 transgender people in India. However, several transgender activists have argued that this number is a considerable miscalculation and an inaccurate representation of the entire transgender community in India. Moreover, the lack of official data on trans men also risks under-allocating funds for much-needed welfare programmes. Moreover, trans men experience direct and indirect discrimination in healthcare settings. Such experiences include being asked invasive or inappropriate questions about their bodies, invalidating their gender identity via misgendering, deadnaming, and being denied healthcare or receiving low-quality care. Sometimes, it also includes physical mishandling and verbal harassment by the hospital staff and co-patients or not being allowed to enter certain hospital wards or spaces. [...] For many trans men, the family becomes the first space for mental and physical violence and outright rejection of their identity, with instances of forced heterosexual marriages or corrective rape. Vinay (name changed), a 30-year-old trans man from Punjab, says, “Family says ‘you’re ruining our reputation, get married, have one-two kids and then everything will be fine.’ They even use rape as a measure saying ‘you don’t know who you are, and when it happens, then you’ll know [your true sexual orientation].’” Many have to deal with uninformed healthcare providers unwilling to treat them because of their gender identity. Lack of knowledge amongst medical professionals and poor social understanding of trans men means that trans men often have to self-advocate and explain their health-related issues and gender identity to medical practitioners who constantly challenge or dismiss their identity. This self-advocacy and mental effort to explain or justify one’s gender identity and expression often leads to emotional exhaustion. Soham (name changed), a 24-year- old trans man from New Delhi, recounts his experience of going to a hospital, “The doctor came and shouted my dead name. There were a lot of people in the emergency room and I remember feeling numb for a second…He shouted, ‘Is this you? Yehi naam hai aapka?’ (‘Is this you? Is this your name?’)…Then he literally pointed at my chest and said your chest is so flat, do you have your periods? I was numb and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t get my medicine, I didn’t tell him my problem, I just went home and I locked myself in my room for a week.”

— I Didn’t Get My Medicine, And I Locked Myself In My Room For A Week (Trans Men Are Invisible in India's Healthcare) by Arushi Raj and Fatima Juned

#m.#rape tw #examples of transandrophobia #transandrophobia #transmisandry #anti transmasculinity #transunity

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songsbygumi · 9 days

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If the sun refuse to shine

| Gojo Satoru x reader

Summary- The first and last time Gojo Satoru called you 'wifey,' and the few moments in between.

Warnings - Angst, canon events, use of the pet name "wifey" so if that makes you cringe pls keep scrolling, first fic ever xd and ofc poor used of the english language, no mention of readers name.

A/N- this is my first fic ever in english so I really tried my best, heavily inspired by intro (end of the world) by Ariana Grande. Thanks to my beta Fatima (biggest Megumi fan), finally this can be read as gender neutral if you don't mind the pet name mention in the warnings, enjoy

It was a hot summer day, the first time Gojo Satoru called you "wifey," though you didn’t even notice, head too deep in your book.

“Lame,” Suguru murmured, loud enough for Gojo to hear, followed by Shoko’s laughter. Yet, Gojo stood tall, brushing off his friends' mockery.

“Wifey!” he repeated, this time louder for you to hear. Your face lifted from the pages to meet his intense blue gaze. “W—What?” you stammered, your words stumbling out as your cheeks flushed.

Gojo's smile widened, his eyes fixed on you, appreciating your embarrassment. “What are you reading?” he inquired, laying his head in your lap, and guiding your hand to his hair, inviting your touch.

“I thought they weren’t dating” Haibara interjected a couple of meters away from the couple, a confused expression on his face. “They aren't” Nanami clarified.

Since that summer, the pet name stuck around like second nature. Every time it escaped Gojo’s lips, you couldn't help but turn to see his grin and his eyes already locked on you.

So, as Nanami had declared years ago, you weren’t dating. Of course not, but there was an undeniable magnetic pull between you two. It was sweet and comfortable, the feeling that makes you blush whenever Gojo glanced at you during important meetings (don’t bother asking him what they were about, as he only remembers the way your hair touched your face), elicited butterflies in your stomach with his smile, the unspoken gratitude when you hug him after a long mission, clinging to him for the entire night, accompanied by the feeling in his chest the next morning when you are making breakfast in one of his t-shirts, and of course, you can't forget to mention the goodbye kisses before having to leave for too long that taste sweeter than the usual ones.

Satoru and you have been in love for too long now. You had orbited each other for years, supporting one another through thick and thin. Whether it was the loss of Haibara or Suguru's descent into madness, even that time where he came home with two clueless children. You were there, you were each other's constants.

You have been through a lot, the scary lonely nights when he was sealed away from you keeping you awake every night, with endless thoughts of what could have been different and wondering if you could ever get to see him again, the ghost of his touch haunting you every day until you saw him again.

“Don’t do that to me again” you demanded, crushing him in a tight hug. “Never again, love.” He kissed your head and hug you back.

The first night he was back in your house, the words “Nanami is dead” slipped from your mouth, and for the first time since your best friend's passing, tears flowed freely, comforted only by Satoru's presence as you mourned.

The days that followed were slow and filled with sweet moments. You cherished every opportunity to hold each other, every kiss on your skin, and every gaze filled with love, silently acknowledging the inevitable, but neither of you dare to mentioned it.

On the 24th of December…

Your mouth was dry, your chest tight, your hands cold and sweaty. "He is the strongest" you repeated in your head, seeking reassurance. “Are you okay?” Satoru asked, holding your hands together. “Yeah, fine” you tried to smile, but it felt wrong, knowing he could see through it.

“Gojo Sensei!” Itadori's energetic voice made you tremble slightly. Satoru released your hand with a final squeeze. “Your cursed technique is in the way,” Itadori continued saying while you started to lost touch with reality, your feet rooted to the spot, eyes welling with tears., “he’s the strongest” you whispered, clenching your fists so tightly it hurt.

“Wait!” your voice was drowned out by the chants cheering Satoru on. “Toru, wait!” you tried again. “TORU” this time his head turned around searching for you. “Wifey?” he asked, trying to spot you. “Toru, over here” you raised your hand. “This way, Sensei” Yuta guided Satoru's attention towards you, and you offered him a reassuring smile.

“What’s wrong, wifey?” He brushed a piece of hair from your face “You wouldn’t be doubting me now, would you?” he chuckled. “Shut up, Satoru” you playfully swatted his chest, but a sob escaped your throat. Satoru sighed, cupping your cheeks. “I will bring Megumi back to you, I will bring back our son, wifey, I swear everything will be fine, we will…”

"Ask me," you interrupted. "Ask me, Toru." His face showed confusion for just a second, and your heart thundered, just to relax when understanding flooded his eyes. "If you ask me now, the answer will be yes; it has always been yes." He smiled sadly, kissing the top of your head, your nose, and finally your lips.

He pulled away smiling and you tried to chase him back. “Not yet, wifey” hand on your cheek, stroking it. “So, I really hope the answer will still be yes when I come back” he smiled cheekily at you and removed his touch from you. “I come back.”

You caught Satoru one last time, kissing him with fervor. There were so many words left unsaid, so many experiences left unlived. “Please God, let him come back to me” you prayed silently, releasing him. “I love you, Toru” you whispered for his ears only. “I love you more” That was the last thing he said to you.

The world stopped right in front of your eyes. There would never be a white dress or Satoru's blue eyes locked on you with a smile as you walked down the aisle, Megumi beside him as his best man. There would never be happy family dinners with Megumi trying to hide his grin at Satoru’s antics, no more lazy mornings in his embrace, or Satoru pouting whenever you denied him something. And there would never be another "wifey" leaving his lips. You watch it burn.

the sun stopped its shine.

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azeemarahman · 16 days

Text

It is the first night of Ramadan. Ali makes the same journey that he has for the past 22 years. He walks down the same streets, once filled with the night sounds of children laughing and women chatting, the scent of coffee wafting from cafes that stay open for suhoor, the sight of streetlights and dainty lamps and scattered stars, the feeling of moving along with the hustle and bustle of men rushing towards the call of the adhan. The same streets are now eerily silent, whispers of du’a barely audible, no sound of women or children, not enough men to form a crowd, no electricity to fuel the lights, the cafes and buildings crumbled to rubble and dust, the graveyard of a city that once came to life at night.

Ali prays Tarawih on the ruins of the mosque he grew up in.

It is the fifth night of Ramadan. Ali thinks back to the time he first entered this mosque. At four years old, he walked through the doors, his excitement contained within four stone walls. Rays of sun bounced off of tall windows, casting light onto Ali, running around in circles as his father prayed Asr. Ali remembers climbing onto his father’s back as he went down into sujood; he remembers his father putting his head down slower the second time; he remembers standing in front of his father, poking his head and waiting for him to finish; he remembers his father smiling at him and taking Ali into his arms as he completed his du’a; he remembers his father blowing the barakah of his du’as into his hands and blanketing Ali in that same barakah. He remembers his laughter as he did the same back to his father. He remembers the laughter of the other children ringing through the mosque’s four walls.

There are no longer walls to contain the sound, no longer children with any laughter.

It is the 12th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being 15, in a circle of his friends as they learned the Qur’an. He remembers the giggles and whispers that passed when the teacher’s head was down. He remembers his cheeks flushing as the teacher caught him talking to his friends. He remembers every mistake he made when he first recited Surah Mulk by memory. He remembers his teacher’s sigh when he gave the same lecture for the hundredth time that day. He remembers seeing his teacher smile for the first time when he recited the Surah with no mistakes.

Ali attended the Janazah prayer of his teacher in this very mosque only three Ramadan’s ago.

It is the 14th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being only 21 when he had his Nikkah. He remembers his cousin sisters decorating the entrance of the mosque. He remembers his mother cooking enough to feed an entire masjid full of worshippers. He remembers his father sitting him down and lecturing him on the responsibilities to come. He remembers the laugh that came after as he told him the blessings that were to follow. Ali remembers the smile that broke as his father told him how proud he was of him. He remembers his father blowing the breath of his du’as on him once more, just like the day he first entered the mosque. He remembers Fatima entering the mosque and thinking they were destined for one another, right down to their names. He remembers lifting her veil the moment they were officially wedded. He remembers their first hug, shy and small and sweet; he remembers wrapping his thobe around her; he remembers the first Salah he led her in and taking her by the hand to lead her out of the mosque, together this time.

Fatima hasn’t entered the mosque since she witnessed her sister being shot on the musallah that their mum gifted her.

It is the 17th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being 23, rushing into the mosque with a smile just before Isha, exclaiming how Fatima had blessed him with a daughter. He remembers that despite the ongoing attacks, the hugs and smiles and tears and du’as were abundant among the brothers he prayed beside. He remembers looking forward to the day he could bring his daughter into the mosque and she could climb on his back the same way Ali used to climb on his father’s.

Ali’s daughter went missing from the mosque only two nights ago.

It is the 20th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being 24 and opening his fast with his brother-in-law beside him. He remembers not having much for iftar, but at least having enough dates and bread to feed all of the worshippers that day.

The worshippers lessen as the genocide continues, and yet there is not enough bread to go around.

It is the 27th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being 25, watching and being part of all the brothers immersed in their prayers and du’as during what may have been Laylatul Qadr. He remembers brothers praying for safe returns, for the healing of loved ones, for the protection of their Lord.

Ali was reluctant to lift his head from the rubble as he prayed for his daughter to come home.

It is Eid day. Ali enters the mosque to pray Eid Salah. He remembers how Ramadan always passes in the blink of an eye. He contemplates the first Ramadan he spent praying on the ruins of his local mosque instead of within its four walls. He ruminates over how the worshippers lessened and lessened from that first night of Tarawih. He remembers attending the Janazah of the ones who were at least blessed enough to be found. He dreads how this Eid prayer will be followed by Janazah prayer, after Janazah prayer, after Janazah prayer.

Ali begs Allah that none of those prayers are reserved for his daughter.

-azeemarahman

*please note this story is fiction.

[Translations:

Ramadan - the month when Muslims fast from the time of the dawn prayer to sunset.

Suhoor - the pre-dawn meal.

Adhan - the call to prayer.

Dư'a - supplication.

Tarawih - Sunnah prayer performed in Ramadan.

Asr - afternoon prayer.

Sujood - an action during prayer whereby the forehead is lowered to the ground.

Barakah - blessings.