#written for catharsis only

[the-kestrels-feather]

Auggie and Roderick talking about the voyage Pym was on, the fond laughter?? 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

#the fall of the house of usher #fall of the house of usher #roderick usher #c auguste dupin #the fact no one has written fic of them hatefucking is truly astounding #at least on ao3 anyways #dont think there's anything romantic there. but I think at some point they just had such deep pent up emotions that it was the only #catharsis they could come to that wasnt violent #its not *healthy* and its not good but thats my thought

[stxend]

sorry everyone im on my brainrot of '616!karen should come back from the dead for like 20 minutes to just yell at matt and then go back to wherever she's from because at the very least she deserves catharsis'

#ignore im not very good at drawing and only do it in ms paint these were just to put my idea down quick #him.jpg #daredevil #karen page #matt murdock #she was treated like shit in guardian devil. also guardian devil was written by kevin smith (my worst enemy) #so. if you cant find your own catharsis homemade is fine

[shubbler]

ok fellas i have an idea for a fanfiction set in an AU but A: i haven’t written anything and then finished it in about 5 months B: i haven’t written anything actually GOOD like. ever C: i’ve never really written fanfic before and i know i’ll find it way too cringe to upload even tho i love reading fanfic and don’t find it cringe when other people do it D: i have like 18 unfinished projects i want to finish, one of which is a short story that i haven’t even started and a few of which are time sensitive E: i don’t have an idea for most of the plot, just the concept and F: i’m pretty sure i’d be terrible at keeping the characters in character so

#yes it’s a dumb idea for a yakuza fanfiction #yes the only fanfiction i’ve ever written before was one time in year 8 when i was tired of the girls that sit with me in form simping for #draco malfoy so i wrote a detailed 2000+ word fanfic about brutally murdering him as catharsis and uploaded it #yes the one previous attempt i tried at writing fanfic for something i like was so bad i deleted the google doc #fanfiction #yakuza #can i tag this as yakuza?? #oh well prolly #this is so many words

[demonicimagery]

inventory management is basically video game aftercare

#this post literally only applies to me playing baldurs gate 3 #the cazador fight and aftermath is so well written it’s insane #but also really got to me emotionally #so after taking a long rest i spent like 15 minutes just sorting out my inventory #to cool down from the catharsis

[araneitela]

Character, connections, and verses: (2/2)

#[ visage. ] yet he thought her smile looked sad. maybe someone left her before they could listen to everything she had to say. #[ meta. ] the mara's tether is firmly in her grasp. she will not pull upon it before the designated time; nor shall she relinquish it. #[ mini study. ] she must have sought something extraordinary. everything she does comes at a great cost. #[ essence. ] it started with sincerity and anticipation followed by a passionate catharsis; with one climax after another. #[ stellaron hunters. ] we all have our own individual goals. we may work together; but we work together for our own reasons. #[ astral express. ] in pursuit of the most dangerous objects in the universe? in that sense; you and i are cut from the same cloth. #[ conflict. ] looks like we're the ones getting ambushed. / but they're the ones getting besieged. #[ nessun dorma. ] da capo. fortississimo. capriccio. recitativo. doloroso. leggiero. #[ beauty. ] all beautiful things have one thing in common: fragility. the more fragile; the rarer. maybe that's what makes it so precious. #[ destiny. ] that's the nature of destiny — it creates a miracle but convinces you of an accident. #[ pteruges-v. ] it was one of many planets changed by a stellaron. ah #it's a shame i never got to witness how far it fell at the time. #[ caelus. ] i called out to you and you came. you had many choices; but everything led you here. to right here and right now. #[ inominati. ] you won't remember a thing except me. #[ elio. ] he can see the future; but he can't interfere with our choices. we are all 'destiny's slaves. #[ bladie. ] … her voice was very gentle. and even the monster inside his body stayed silent to listen to her. “but I don't want to.” #[ silver wolf. ] ignoring the rules is something she and i have in common. #[ sam. ] you should really stop playing with your food; kafka. / i know. next time. this time… it's already too late. #[ v: new babylon. ] i was a devil hunter. when people don't feel fear; they are dominated by desire and pleasure. they become “devils”. #[ v: present. ] we can only add one gold thread each time but eventually: we will pave the way for the future that is written. #[ v: future. ] the future is like a labyrinth: every divergence is merely an inducement. there is only one real path. #[ bladie. ] … her voice was very gentle. and even the monster inside his body stayed silent to listen to her. 'but I don't want to.'

[ghouljams]

subsimon is like…all i’ve ever written. like there’s just something so sonic about being a sub. he’s a crier. he cries during it and humps your thigh when u feel too sore or you’re denying him. he growls but also whimpers and buries his head into your neck.

Ghost cries those thin silent tears, glares the whole time he does it, like you're in the wrong for forcing them out of him. If you keep pushing though, he'll break. You'll get those big heaving sobs out of him, the kind that mean sex is over and you need to hold him for a while. The sort that mean you've pushed past whatever was bothering him into catharsis. The sort that mean he'll fall asleep on top of you, and you'll have to struggle to tug the blankets up over you both while pinned. Don't bother trying to move him, he'll pull you back like an octopus.

He'll hump your leg, sure, but you can also make him lay back and hold his heavy cock up, make him squeeze the base tight so he doesn't come as you rub yourself against him. Your hips moving fluidly as you drool against him, giving your own sweet sounds a chance to shine, each buck of your hips dragging your sensitive parts against his cock. And he just has to stay there, hold himself steady like the good little sniper he is as you chase your own pleasure. He doesn't need to come does he? No... no this is for you, his cock is only for your pleasure, he knows that. That's why he's such a good boy letting you do what you like with it. That why he lets you come on his cock and thanks you for it, why he asks if he can come and begs so nicely when you take him in your hand.

He needs some level of control, needs to feel like he's participating, but he also needs you to tell him what to do, how to do it. Needs you to look him in the eye and say sweet things, tell him you love him and that's why you're using him. You don't have to love him like a person, you can love him like a pet, or a toy, he can be a toy. He just wants to hear it. "I love you Simon, my good boy," makes him come no matter how many times you say it. You might be conditioning him at this point. That's fun.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x oc #x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #oc: goose #sub!ghost

[gffa]

Did you know I’ve probably cried like a dozen times from BATFAMILY fic over the last two weeks? I’m not a big cryer, so that’s saying something for me, by which I mean, I realize I have some incredibly intense feelings about fictional characters, but also fandom is phenomenal about hitting those feelings dead on in exactly the way they mean to do. And it’s great, hell yeah make me cry buckets in emotional catharsis!! And then balance it out with comfort or humor because my soul needs soothing, too! I have been reading so many comics lately (so many good comics, what is this, I’m not used to having comics I actually think are good) and I love the canon so very much, but part of the draw towards this fandom has always been the enthusiastic fic response, the willingness to explore things the comics themselves don’t always have time for, whether aftermath of events or psychological effects that aren’t necessarily intended but are fascinating to consider or just straight up downtime that’s not about a case because fic doesn’t need to make people punch things in every issue. The two go hand in hand for me and getting fun comics to read and fun fic to read has been really meaningful to me in a time when I’ve really needed that in my life. I hope that I can return the favor even a little by shoving a bunch of fics at you and only making you scroll a little to get through my Dick Grayson Problem. BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I’M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ May Our Memories Light The Way by sElkieNight60, dick & bruce, time travel, 1.9k      Bruce travels into the past and serves up an apology long over-due. ✦ Late Spring by halyordan, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.5k      Dick gets in his first ‘fight’ at school. Luckily, Bruce was an angry boy once. He knows how to deal with it. ✦ the color violet by TheResurrectionist, dick & bruce & cast, 2.6k      The address – 1007 Mountain Drive – told Alex two things: one, their patient was either going to be someone unreasonably wealthy or an unlucky service worker, and two, getting to the actual patient was going to be a bitch. ✦ as i was walkin’ by oh_fudgecakes, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.6k      Bored and chased out of the kitchen by an irate Alfred, a young Dick Grayson falls through a loose floorboard while exploring the attic and ends up in an locked storeroom housing an interesting set of journals. ✦ help me fill this hole in my soul by renecdote, dick & bruce & cast, 5.9k      Dick nearly drowns on patrol one night. He’s fine, except that he really isn’t. Alfred and Bruce take care of him when he gets sick and let him know that even though his parents are gone he isn’t alone. ✦ medio by newsical, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.1k      Loss, again. This loss was by his hand, by his own tongue, with words so sharply edged that they tore apart his mouth and left his lips bloody. The manor was silent, and he was alone. And Alfred’s half birthday was in three days. ✦ My Little Bird (is a Troublemaker) by sElkieNight60, dick & bruce & clark & cast, 10.9k      No, not good enough, thought Bruce as he gripped the boy’s shoulders in his hands. Dick still didn’t move and the man had to resist the violent urge to shake the answer out of him. This wasn’t his little bird. This wasn’t his Robin, he would never do something like this. Dick gets caught drunk, Bruce loses it. ✦ things kept hidden by emavee, dick & bruce & cast, 9.7k      “Better hope the Batman doesn’t catch wind of you. Batman hates metas. He’ll make you disappear. That’s what he does.” “But I’d never hurt anyone,” Dick stammers. He doesn’t know very much about Batman, but he’s a hero, right? He fought crime, like Superman, and Superman was a hero. Right? ✦ (Not) Enough by daringyounggrayson, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.3k      After the training simulation goes wrong, Bruce takes his kid home. ✦ i can’t promise (it’s not written in the stars) by konan_konan, dick & bruce & alfred & cast, 7.3k      Batman is following him, surely, but he’s smaller and faster and he’s not going to let someone take him and lock him up again. Wayne Manor, he’s learned, is just another kind of prison. It may be big and fancy but it is also empty and cold and he’s not going back. Tony Zucco dies tonight, he tells himself. It is the only thing that matters. ✦ what’s needed most by dizarys, dick & bruce & alfred, 1k      Dick wants to fly. Bruce would like that to not involve giving him a heart attack for once. ✦ two sheep counted, but not enough to sleep by batofgoodintent (crownedcrusader), dick & bruce, 1.8k      Dick hasn’t been sleeping. It’s a problem Bruce should have addressed by now. BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ (At the Very Least), I Can by sElkieNight60, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian, 3k      “… something is wrong.” That was Bruce’s voice, he would know it anywhere. OR, Dick Grayson + Full Body Paralysis ✦ Catch by sElkieNight60, bruce & dick, 2k      Raptor has Bruce in dire straits. Nightwing catches Bruce as he falls. Then it turns out Bruce never fell at all, he jumped. “Dick. I didn’t fall. I jumped. I jumped because I knew you’d catch me.” Childhood trauma never truly goes away, it seems. OR, the emotional aftermath of “Better than Batman.” ✦ Call Me if You Need Me by LiterallyThePresident, bruce & dick & alfred, 1.1k      “Master Bruce is rather distraught, you see.” and now Alfred sounded pained, “The dose he received was not enough to render him immobile, but it is causing some paranoia and unpleasant hallucinations. He… Well, he appears to be rather convinced that something has happened to you.” BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ Sons and Fathers by FabulaRasa, dick & bruce & jefferson & dick/babs, 4.9k     Dick has three conversations that needed to be had, at the end of season three. This is blatantly a “there I fixed it” fic. ✦ The Best Medicine by JpegDotJpeg, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & alfred & cass, 2.2k      “I’m dying.” “You are not dying.” “This is it. It’s the end for me. I bet I have some exotic viral disease with no known cure and now I’m going to waste away into nothingness.” “I highly doubt that, Master Richard.” ✦ Look to the Stars by Zephyrra, dick & bruce & jason & hal & alfred & cast, lantern!dick, 8.3k      After Batman fires Robin for the last time, Dick becomes a Flying Grayson in an entirely new way: by becoming a Green Lantern. But no matter what kind of mask he dons, Dick Grayson has a way of (accidentally) changing history irrevocably. This is only the beginning. ✦ the courage of stars by theragingstorm, dick & clark/lois & jon & cast, 1.8k      When he really needs somebody, Dick goes to Metropolis. ✦ a great honour (to hold you up) by dizarys, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & duke, 2.6k      “For the last time, I’m not getting sick!” Jason and Tim exchanged skeptical looks behind Dick’s back. “You’re pale, shivering, and wince every time your bare skin touches the cold metal desk.” Jason ticked off on grease smeared fingers, “Sounds sick to me.” “Wonderful observations, Holmes.” Dick muttered, still looking through the microscope. “What does Watson have to add?” “That first of all, I’m Sherlock.” said Tim, “And my associate is correct. You should go get some rest.” ✦ i am tired of all these motherfuckin’ bombs on these motherfuckin’ spaceships by konan_konan, dick & bruce & damian & titans & background dick/kory & justice league, 4.5k      “Those generators won’t last long,” barks Batman. “We’re losing our window. What other plan do you propose, Nightwing?” He huffs. “I’m gonna blow up the ship.” or: when the justice league gets stranded in space, the teen titans come to the rescue. it doesn’t exactly go to plan. BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I’M GONNA THROW HIM AT HIS SIBLINGS BECAUSE IT’S FUNNY: ✦ abyssal plain by glassofwater, dick & jason, 3.5k      “What did you do?” “Exactly what he said. I killed him.” ✦ Bang, bang by Ididloveyou_once, tim & jason & cast, 5.5k      ‘You shot me!’ Jason gasped, stunned, ‘Holy shit, you actually shot me.’ Tim’s eyes widened and he froze. They stared at each other for a second, dumbstruck and then- ‘Don’t tell Bruce.’ ✦ Break the Ice by dizarys, dick & jason, 1.5k      He felt the blades pierce his body. It was at the height of his leap, back arched as he sprang backwards over the car. A bolt of searing hot pain shot through his side then thigh. But Nightwing still landed with grace and flung his escrima sticks straight into two gang members’ heads. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I’M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Not Quite Saudade by Wisptheraccoon, dick & damian & bruce & jason & tim & alfred & jon, 3.1k      Aka. The reason Dick is no longer allowed to leave on long missions without Damian. ✦ Scorpion-grass by Ididloveyou_once, dick & damian & bruce & tim, 2.9k      Damian gets hit with fear toxin and is forced to relive Dick losing his memories… Dick could’ve gone without knowing how the kid reacted to his amnesia. ✦ what’s waited till tomorrow starts tonight by theragingstorm, dick & damian & john/mary & cast, time travel, 63.4k wip      After an argument with his Batman, Dick Grayson, Damian finds himself in Dick’s past, with one of his greatest tragedies fast approaching and no easy route forward for either. As long as he risks being stuck seventeen years in the past, all he can do is live at the circus, with a family he never knew — and just maybe learn from it all. BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY’RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ When Wisdom Must Go by AnicomicQueen, bruce & dick & tim, 5.1k      Bruce experiences taking his children to get their wisdom teeth removed. Chapter 1: Dick (Age: 17) Chapter 2: Tim (Age: 16) ✦ So you’ll know where I’ve been by victoria_p (musesfool), jason & steph, 2.1k      “I just noticed your scars.” “We all have—Oh.” Jason drops his gaze again, runs his fingers along the faded incision on the left side of his chest. “No one else has one of these.” ✦ and when you’re in the trenches by dizarys, jason & tim & dick, 4.3k      When Jason stumbles across a shocking discovery, he’s forced to decide how much he truly cares about the people he used to call family. ✦ The Kids Are All Right by Browniesarethebest, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & alfred, 11.4k      Dick and Tim are de-aged. It goes about as well as anyone would expect. ✦ World’s Saddest Breakfast Club by motleyfam, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & cass & steph & duke & cast, 7k      Following a couple of Very Bad Weeks™ (which may or may not have involved being kidnapped and mildly tortured), Jason decides the best way to cheer himself up is to break into the Manor for a 3 a.m. snack. Turns out he isn’t the only one awake. BATFAM FIC RECS - I CUT MY TEETH ON DICK & TIM AS CLOSE BROTHERS AND NOT EVEN CANON WILL NOT TAKE IT FROM ME: ✦ Not So Large but Definitely In Charge by dottie_dc (dottie_wan_kenobi), dick & tim & bruce & alfred, 6.7k      Alternate universes suck so much. Tim has always known that, but he’s never really grasped it, not until he and Dick were forcibly thrown into one a week ago. ✦ there’ll always be a few things, maybe several things by incogneat_oh, dick & tim, ~1k      Tim breaks the silence, half-glancing over his shoulder to murmur, “Pop-culture has taught me that you’re supposed to seek out your parent in the middle of the night. Not your sibling.” “Pop-culture isn’t a perfect teacher, Timmy.” ✦ will we ever get to the other side? by dizarys, dick & tim, 4.8k      Blockbuster is dead and Dick is lost. Haunted by that night and no longer Nightwing, he flees Gotham only to find himself back in Bludhaven on mob business. Now Robin is the city’s new protector and Dick is determined to avoid Tim & his old life. That is, until he finds Tim bleeding in an alley. ✦ World Gone MAD by Havendance, dick & tim & justice league, 5.5k      Ask the GCPD about the Joker’s death, and they’ll tell you he died of natural causes. Ask the Justice League, and they’ll tell you that it’s a matter that’s been resolved internally. Ask Batman and he won’t give you an answer, because he’s Batman. The truth of the matter, however, is this: Dick Grayson beat the Joker to death. ✦ Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by incogneat_oh, dick & tim, ~1k      He’s already halfway up the stairs, towards the window on the second floor landing, when Dick says, “Tim.” He turns back, says wide-eyed and guilty, “Mhm? Can I– I’ll get you a blanket? If you want?” – Or, Tim visits Dick in Bludhaven. ✦ unleash the beast (with a kiss on the cheek) by InkpotSprite, dick & tim & bruce & jason & stephanie, 1.3k      Dick’s chest tightened as his lips parted to say something that he’d truly regret. Before a soft pair of lips pressed against his cheek, then disappeared so quickly that Dick was almost sure he’d imagined it. If it weren’t for Bruce’s fractionally wide eyes, Dick would think he had. Slowly, he turned his head to the side. Tim smiled back at him. BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE’S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ cat tactic of healing by CarrionCarnival, tim/kon, 2.1k      Kon finds a moderately sick Tim, and decides that it’s his problem to solve. feline style ✦ In the Corner Taking up Space by Louis_the_Snake, tim/kon & cast, NSFW, 5.1k      Tim gets roped into doing a simple modeling gig for Wayne Fashion with some of his siblings and realizes that everyone he knows is way hotter than he is. And the hottest thing about him is his ass. Which ends up plastered in every major city in the U.S. ✦ Thief by rotasha, tim/kon, NSFW, 1.8k      Kon walks in on Tim wearing his leather jacket. ✦ only touched you once by distracted_dragon, tim/kon, NSFW, 1.8k      Kon decides to tease Tim a little with his TTK. ✦ Missing Words by Violet_Witch, tim/kon & cassie, 6.9k      It takes Tim years to realize what’s always been there. ✦ What’s Real and What Isn’t by JpegDotJpeg, tim/kon & bart, 2.3k      Kon’s eyes almost glow in the dark, a luminescent blue so vivid Tim almost can’t stand looking at them, though he has a harder time trying to look away from them. “I thought you were having a nightmare or something. Your heart was beating so hard it woke me up.” Tim feels himself a flush. He can’t even sleep without bothering someone else. “Oh,” He replies, voice small. “Sorry. I’m fine, you can go back to sleep.” “You’re shaking,” Kon points out and Tim curses internally. ✦ you taught me the courage of stars before you left by popsunner, tim & kon & bruce & damian & lois & jon & cassie & cast, 6k      “He loved you, you know,” She says wistfully, meeting his eyes. Tim looks away. “I loved him too.” “Love.” “What?” “Love,” she repeats. “Not loved. He might be gone, but we don’t love him any less.“ BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT’S WHAT I’M HERE FOR: ✦ Arguments with the Recently Deceased by JackHawksmoor, dick & bruce & clark & tim & cast, 7.9k      Dick just got back from a lousy, week-long adventure traveling in time. When his ride drops him off at the cave the morning after he left, Dick isn’t expecting to find Bruce in the middle of a complete meltdown. Dick realizes there’s been a mistake- Dick hasn’t been gone six hours, he’s been gone six months, and everyone thinks he’s dead. ✦ Solar Flares by glassofwater, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & alfred & cast, 46.1k wip      Personhood, noun: the quality or condition of being an individual person. Son, noun: a man regarded as the product of a particular person, influence, or environment. Dick Grayson, noun: oldest son of Bruce Wayne, first son of Batman (i.e., a sum of parts, not a whole) ✦ Starlings in Winter by FromStarstuff, dick & bruce & clark & alfred & cast, 14.3k wip      When Dick was eleven years old he ran away from Gotham. No one could quite figure out why. Take your pick; there was a fight at school, a circus in town, and a song he can’t remember the melody of. Eleven-year-old Dick Grayson was flooded with grief, swimming in it, perpetually drowning. One day it was too much. ✦ Going Nuclear by wrsttballplayer, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & barbara & cass & steph & alfred, time travel, 15.3k wip      Dick looked at his younger self; the way his brow twisted up in so much anger and his was chest heaving with pure vitriol. Dick remembered what fury like that felt like. He remembered the way it burnt in his throat. He used to spew that poison at Bruce all the time, hell even the Titans had gotten the bad end of his temper more than once. And yet, Dick couldn’t place the last time he had been mad like that. Nowadays, all his anger died into withering flames of resignation and compromise more often than not. ✦ Why Is Tim the Only One With Any Tact? by CamsthiSky, dick & tim & wally, 4.1k      In which Tim tries to mediate an argument between Dick and Wally. Things don’t go so well. ✦ You Won’t Wake Up Alone by DawnsEternalLight, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian, 5.2k      Dick’s captured and drugged and probably about to die. The last thing he wants to do is die in front of his family, especially not his baby brothers, all he wants is to be with Bruce and feel safe again. ✦ Hold Me Dear and Close to Your Heart by sElkieNight60, dick & bruce & cast, 3.8k      Dick Grayson leaves his whole life behind when Bruce Wayne kicks him out. ✦ the flute of your whole existence by LovesFrogs, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & alfred, 4.2k     He could voice his greatest fears, weaknesses, or most secret dreams at the drop of a hat; all the things he’s never put into words before and keeps tucked close between his ribs. What kind of ammunition is his son going to ask for? What will he make Bruce admit, knowing he is incapable of a lie? ✦ The Kids Are(n’t?) Alright by avengemyheart, dick & bruce & tim & alfred & cast, rape aftermath, 3k      Dick saves a young rape victim from his babysitter and in the process reveals his own trauma. The problem? Dick is Batman at the time, and kids are blabber mouths. ✦ Cursed Silence by TheSilencer, dick & bruce & jason & tim & steph & cast, 3.4k      Dick Grayson is given a gift - to seal away his emotions. No one has a good time. ✦ Peeking Through the Tunnel Beyond by sElkieNight60, dick & bruce & cast, read the tags, 2.4k      Or, Dick Grayson just can’t seem to free himself from his past. And this time, Bruce is there. ✦ soft clocks by dustorange, dick & bruce & damian & jason & tim & alfred & tiger & cast, 35.2k      Dick has amnesia during his time at Spyral. The family grapples with finding out he’s alive. Dick grapples with finding out he has a family. ✦ Never Say That by JackHawksmoor, bruce & dick & jason & damian & cast, 9.6k      "Calm down, I’m not aiming for anything vital,” Jason said irritably. Batman turned away from the man he’d just floored. “We agreed-” he began sharply. “I didn’t promise anything,” Jason snapped. He lifted his gun, muttering under his breath. “You ought to be grateful, it could be worse-” Or: the Bats have an extremely bad night in Gotham City BATFAM FIC RECS - SOMETIMES YOU JUST NEED TO TAKE ALL THE SERIOUSNESS OUT OF THE ROOM AND STAY SILLY FOR AWHILE: ✦ there but for the grace of god by TheResurrectionist, hal & dinah & ollie & flash & j'onn & bat-kids & young justice & justice league, 3.7k      A Justice League fic where everyone argues about who’s the most beautiful and intimidating sexy from the Big Three and everyone has valid points. ✦ The One With The Bat’s Son by Maximum_Quinn, bruce & dick & wally & hal & billy, 3.4k      “Batman has seven kids.” Wally blinked. “You’re shitting me.” “Not even a little, I just overheard him and Supes talking.” “Oh my god,” he breathed, staring at Hal incredulously. “You don’t think -?” Hal nodded, slowly and seriously. “Batman could be Captain Marvel’s dad.”

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #alfred pennyworth #conner kent #timkon #fic recs #batman fic recs #long post

[neo--queen--serenity]

The Black Butler revival will, of course, in this day and age, be the complete embodiment of pro-ship vs. anti-ship discourse, given the subject matter.

But for those of you who are watching this for the first time in 2024 (which includes myself!), there are certain things about the show you simply must understand, for the sake of media literacy.

The first is that Black Butler is supernatural gothic romanticism at its core. This genre alone should tell you that the relationships integral to the plot will be complex, messy, and toxic, by default. That is not only a huge part of this genre’s appeal, but very much the point of the story.

The themes are dark, the terrible things that happen to the main characters are dark, and therefore the relationships at the forefront (and in the background) will reflect that.

The gothic genre has been alluringly popular for over a century (longer, if you know your history) because audiences are entranced by the macabre, the tainted antiheroes, the monsters who live inside us all. It’s popular for a reason.

That being said, understand that whether you, the viewer, ship Sebastian and Ciel or not is irrelevant. Their bond doesn’t need to be understood as romantic or sexual, but it sure as hell isn’t normal. It isn’t healthy. And the audience knows that. That’s the draw. It’s what makes them compelling to watch.

Ciel and Sebastian’s relationship mirrors many gothic novels, poems, and penny dreadfuls written in the Victorian Era (the very same time period in which Kuroshitsuji takes place). The Victorian folks who read these tales for the first time ate that shit up, because it was tantalizing. It was shocking. It was inappropriate, and monstrous, and violent, and erotic, and went against societal norms. But that was the point.

A huge part of gothic romanticism is the blatant sexualization of the relationship between the “monstrous” characters and their human counterparts in the story. Sex itself doesn’t need to take place for their bond to be sexually charged. The forbidden nature of their relationship—which typically involves layers of social taboos, moral ambiguity, or simple infatuation—is what makes their interactions erotic. Sexual contact rarely ever actually happens in these stories. It’s the taboo nature of their bond that creates the tension.

One of the many reasons audiences love this genre is the constant question of morality in its themes. Who, between them, is the real monster? Could the human character have ever been saved? This genre is often associated with tragedy, because the bond forged between the characters in these stories are destined to end in death and destruction. The reader knows it can’t end any other way. How can it?

But an integral element of these gothic tales is the catharsis that comes with this tragedy. The corrupted human often gets what they want in the end, even if it’s at the cost of their own life. Whether they regret their choice to foster this monstrous relationship varies on the story, but it doesn’t change the trajectory of their descent.

Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship is the whole plot of Black Butler. Their closeness bears a grotesque ick factor, but it is deliberate. It is a constant reminder of how unnatrual their bond truly is. Rationalizing or watering down how abnormal they are about each other misses the point entirely. They will never have a normal, healthy relationship, and that’s what moves the plot forward.

That’s why you’re watching it.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #the soundtrack repeatedly uses gregorian chants of the agnus dei. like COME ON. gothic media loves a catholic allegory #gothic literature #gothic romanticism #neo queen serenity’s posts #please remember to be civil! or else my block button will be upon ye #black butler analysis #kuroshitsuji anime #yana toboso #black butler anime #classic literature #black butler meta #black butler season 4 #black butler s4 #kuroshitsuji season 4

[physalian]

The Hero with Dead Parents is not Cliché, it’s Necessary

The staggering number of protagonists in sci-fi and fantasy with dead parents grows every single year. Frodo Baggins, Harry Potter, Luke Skywalker (before the retcon in ESB), almost every Disney Prince and Princess, the Baudelaire children. Beyond the realm of fantasy into action, thriller, romance, mystery, slice-of-life, and bildungsromans.

Dead parents, or parent, is the curse of being the hero of the story and for a very good reason:

Parents are inconvenient as f*ck.

Unless the mom and/or dad is the villain of the story or the entire story is about the relationship with the parent/parents, the “dead parent” trope serves many purposes and while it may be “cliché” that doesn’t mean this trope is bad or, in my opinion, overused.

It’s one less liability the hero has to worry about protecting

It’s one less obstacle in the hero’s path to their adventure

It’s one (or two) less characters to find excuses to stay relevant in the story

It’s a juicy backstory a lot of people can relate to

Trauma. Is. Compelling.

It’s an excellent motivation

And their murder is an excellent inciting incident

Living parents and guardians get killed off both for internal plot reasons, and meta writing reasons: Living parents are a pain in the ass to keep up with. You’re stuck with a character your hero should still keep caring about, keep thinking about, keep acting in relation to how their actions will be seen and judged by that parent. That parent becomes an obvious liability by any villain who notices or cares.

Living parents can of course be done well, unless they’re the villain, but they just kind of sit there on the fringes of the plot, waiting around to be relevant again and they kind of come in four flavors:

There when the plot demands for pie and forehead kisses (Sally from Percy Jackson)

A suffocating but well-meaning obstacle in between the character and their independence trying to do right (Abby from The 100, Katniss’ mom from Hunger Games, Spirit from Soul Eater)

A mentor figure (Valka from HTTYD 2, Hakoda from ATLA)

The only rock this character has left (Ping from Kung Fu Panda)

*Notice how many of my examples lost their partners shortly before or during the plot, thus still giving the hero the “dead parent” label.

Most of these are self-explanatory so I’ll say this:  I think this trope gets exhausting when the parents are written out without enough emotional impact on the hero. These are their parents and a lot of the time, the emotional toll of losing them isn’t there, like just slapping a “dead parents” sticker is all you need to justify a character’s tragic backstory and any behavioral issues they might have.

Like, yes, the hero has dead parents, but you still have to tell me what that means to them beyond obligate angst and sadness. When the “dead parents” trope reads as very by-the-numbers, usually the rest of the story is, too.

How present the parents were in the character’s life should be proportional to the death’s impact on the narrative (as with any character you kill off). If they were virtually nonexistent? No need to waste a ton of time. If they didn’t matter to the character before, they don’t need to matter now unless the plot revolves around some knowledge or secret their parent never shared.

Sometimes, the hero’s dead parents are a non issue. Frodo being raised by Bilbo doesn’t impact his character at all. It’s a detail given and tossed away. On the other hand, sometimes the entire centerpiece of the work is revenge/justice/catharsis surrounding the parent’s death—Edward and Alphonse Elric’s entire story is defined by the consequences of trying to bring their mother back from the dead.

As someone who kept one of my protagonist’s parents alive and didn’t make them villains just to spite the trope, I have all the more respect for this enduring legacy of fiction. You can of course keep the parents alive, but I don't think it's seen as lazy or cheating or taking a shortcut just killing them off, so long as you remember that your hero is human and should react to losing them like a real person.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #character design #character development #fantasy #scifi #dead parents

[circle-with-me]

stung by the wasp

Pairing: Jolly Karlsson x OFC (Violet)

Content Warning/Tags: ⚠️ 18+MDNI!! male masturbation, male sexual fantasy, soft dom!OFC, light sub Jolly, fingering, finger riding, female masturbation, teasing, cum eating, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie.

Word Count: 5.3k

Tag List: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @darksigns-exe @ladyveronikawrites @malice-ov-mercy @to-be-written @sitkowski @foliosriot @collective-heartbreak @cookiesupplier @cind6547 @meekahy @lacktoesandtoddlerants @jilliemiw86 @sammyjoeee @blackveilomens @thisbicc @collapsedglasshouses @sacredthefran @anameunmusical @alastriaa @sprokat @bruisedleftknee @0fth34byss @unicornfairytail @catharsis-in-darkness @agravemisstake

Author’s Note: this is part 2 to the way you bend the way you break. thank you to @deathblacksmoke for beta’ing this 🤍

So come to me

No sense of restraint

It’s in Jolly’s favor that he knows the music so well. He has played their songs so many times he doesn’t even have to think about what he’s doing, he works strictly on muscle memory.

It’s in Jolly’s favor, because his mind is in a million places, but this show is not one of them.

He’s too busy thinking about her thighs wrapped around his head while he laps at her pussy. The movements and noises she makes when he inserts a finger inside her. How soft and plush her breasts feel in his hand. How being inside of her made him feral in a way he’s never felt with anyone before.

They had only had sex twice, once the night she came over and again the next morning. Jolly hadn’t seen her or barely heard from her in the ten days since she left, but she was all he could think about. He was beginning to feel like he dreamt it. 

The metronome in his ear clicks and brings him back to reality for a moment. He opens his eyes and surveys the stage. He watches Nicholas screaming into his mic on the other end. He suddenly realizes what song they're on and that he’s supposed to be screaming along with him.

Shit.

Nicholas backs away from his mic and stares at him pointedly. Jolly gives the bassist an apologetic look in return and he rolls his eyes playfully, a soft smile on his lips. Nicholas can never stay mad at him for too long.

The rest of the show goes by smoothly with no issues. The embarrassment from his little mishap helped him focus but as the show continued his mind drifted back to Violet. By the time the show ended he was ripping his gear off and storming off the stage.

Jolly hears Noah and Matt call after him but he ignores them. He’s hot, dizzy, and needs to find somewhere to be alone before he loses it. The green room wasn’t an option so he stalks further backstage looking for an empty room. He finds a bathroom at the far end of the hallway and decides it will do.

He slams the door behind him and locks it, pacing the room. He threads his fingers together and places them on top of his head, breathing deeply and trying to will his thoughts away. No matter how hard he tries, they go straight back to her. It was like his mind was stuck on a loop and the only thing that would play is her.

Jolly shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. This was Violet. His best friend. She trusted him to give her what she needed and that was it. It wasn’t supposed to go any further than that. Something snapped in him that night. Now, he’s become this disgusting fiend desperate to have her again.

He strikes the door with the palm of his hand, frustrated, and leans against it. Deep breathing wasn’t working, trying to redirect his thoughts wasn’t working. The throbbing in his pants wasn’t going away and he couldn’t walk back out there in this state. 

Jolly closes his eyes and his mind drifts again, back to her naked in his bed. The beautiful way she quivered when he made her cum. How sweet she tasted. She looked so gorgeous with her makeup completely ruined and running down her face. Her voice crying out for him has haunted him in his sleep since she left.

He would much prefer the soft skin of her hand than the rough calloused surface of his own, but he’s not in a position to complain. It’s still a mind blowing sensation when he spits in his hand and coats his cock, dragging the pre-cum from his slit down as well. 

Jolly attempts to move slowly, limiting the noise so as not to give himself away but his thoughts betray him as he hears Violet’s voice in the back of his mind.

I need to feel you, daddy.

Jolly rests his head right below his arm, the only thing that was keeping him upright at this point. The cool metal of the door was no match for the heat radiating off of his skin. Beads of sweat form between his brows and drop from his face as he furrows them. 

He bites back the moans that threaten to spill from him. He can’t risk anyone on the other side hearing. Fist moving rapidly over his aching cock, he chokes out her name as his orgasm crashes into him.

He cleans himself up and stuffs himself back into his pants. He stares at himself in the mirror, shame and disgust settling in. 

“Oh, my flower. What have you done to me?”

“You want to talk about what happened out there?” Jolly hears Nicholas’ voice through the curtain of his bunk. He was considerate enough not to just fling it open, at least. None of the other guys would have given him that courtesy.

Jolly stares at the top of his bunk in silence, hoping Nicholas will think he’s not there. When he knocks on the paneling Jolly realizes he’s not getting out of this. He slides the curtain open in a huff to see Nicholas smiling at him. Jolly’s face softens at the younger man. It was hard to be in a bad mood around him. 

“I’m sorry about that. I got distracted by something in the crowd. Won’t happen again.” 

Nicholas narrows his eyes. Jolly knew better than to lie to him. 

“We‘ve had fights, medical emergencies, people showing tits and ass in the crowd and you’ve never been that distracted before.” He takes a seat on the bunk opposite Jolly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

Jolly lays back against his pillow pinching the bridge of his nose. Guess he has to tell him sooner or later.

“Violet and I had sex a couple of weeks ago.” 

There’s no immediate response from Nicholas so Jolly lifts his head to look at him. If he is shocked, disappointed, or confused he doesn’t show it. He just stares back at Jolly with the same content look on his face. 

“Go on.” Nicholas finally says.

“She came over to my place and asked if we could.. you know. So we did. It was just supposed to be for stress relief but I can’t get her out of my head, man.”

“Have you seen her since then? Talked to her?”

Jolly shakes his head. “I haven’t seen her and we’ve only texted a few times.”

“Maybe you should call her.” 

The older man scoffs, looking at his friend incredulously.

“And say what? ‘Hey, Vi. I know we haven’t talked in a couple of weeks but I can’t get you off my mind, wanna fuck?’ No way.”

“Or.. “ Nicholas begins. “You could invite her to the party we’re throwing on Friday when we get back into town. You can talk to her then. It’s a casual environment so it won’t be as weird for the two of you.”

Jolly stares at Nicholas for a moment and then returns his attention to an uninteresting spot on the bunk above him.

“That’s not a bad idea.” He mumbles quietly. 

Jolly can see the grin on Nicholas' face from his peripheral vision and he’s already annoyed. It’s contagious, however, and he finds himself smiling despite himself. 

Nicholas gets up, nudging his leg with his knee. 

“You need to get laid, dude. You’re grumpier than usual and if you fuck up on stage again Matt might kill you.”

Jolly laughs, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not afraid of Matt.”

“YOU SHOULD BE!” Matt’s voice booms from the front of the bus. Jolly and Nicholas trade glances and laugh. He decides then that he’ll call Violet tomorrow.

Jolly picks at a stray piece of wicker that had broken loose from the chair he’s sitting on. He’s kept his eye on her through the patio door all night, willing her to walk outside. She arrived two hours ago. They exchanged waves when she spotted him, a sweet smile on her face that made his knees buckle a little. 

He hoped she would join everyone outside but she got caught up in conversation with someone he didn’t recognize. As she was finally making her way out the door, Folio caught her and dragged her back inside. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, chugging the rest of his beer.

Jolly glances over at her again, this time she’s glaring at him with a look that screams “get me out of here.” He heads into the house, deciding it was time for another beer anyways. 

“Folio, my good man.” Jolly says loudly as soon as he spots them, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Would you mind terribly if I stole Violet from you?”

Folio shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. I’m probably boring her to death anyways.”

“You could never, my dear.” Violet responds, placing a kiss on his cheek, making him blush. “Thank you for educating me on.. what was it again?”

“Overfishing!” Folio answers. “It’s devastating to the marine ecosystem and their food chain!”

“That’s it. Thank you, Folio. Jolly, are you ready?”

“Absolutely.” Jolly says, giving Violet his arm. She takes it and waves to Folio as they retreat to the next room.

“Oh my God, thank you.” She whispers, clinging to his arm. “I love him to death but if I had to hear one more fact about fish I was going to rip my hair out.”

Jolly laughs at her. “He’s very enthusiastic about his hobbies. He means well.” 

Violet claps her hand over her forehead. “I feel like a total asshole.” 

Jolly turns to look for his friend who was currently standing in between the legs of another woman that was perched on the counter top. She was playing with his hair as he spoke and from his hand gestures, he was still talking about fishing. Jolly smirks and points.

“I think he’s doing okay.”

Violet looks over and laughs. 

“We’ve been gone for five seconds!”

Jolly throws his head back in laughter. “He works fast, I’ll give him that.” 

“So you wanted to talk to me?” Violet asks out of the blue. The question is so abrupt it throws Jolly off guard and he forgets for a moment that he invited her to the party for a reason. He nods quickly, looking down at her. She touches his arm and his skin ignites. This is going to be more difficult than he thought.

“Is there somewhere else that we can go? Somewhere more private?”

Jolly ushers her in the room, closing the door behind them. The only light on was the LEDs around the bed. He knew this wasn’t a good idea but all of the other rooms were occupied. 

Violet plops into the plush gaming chair while Jolly sits on the bed opposite her. She playfully swings the chair around and giggles. If he didn’t know her personality as well as he did, he might assume she had too much to drink. She catches him watching her and her cheeks turn a bright pink.

“So.” She murmurs, scooting to the edge of the chair. Jolly purposely ignores the way her skirt rides up her thighs as she moves, but something catches his eye. Against his better judgment he glances down and spots it. A black leather garter with a silver metal heart in the middle. 

 “What did you want to talk about?” Her voice breaks through the filthy thoughts in his mind. Violet runs her hand over the garter and he has to pull himself together enough to form a response. 

“I just uh.. wanted to-” He slowly drags out the last word when she spreads her legs a little, lifting one to cross it over the other but she hesitates briefly. In that split second Jolly sees the damp spot that has formed on her underwear. It disappears immediately as she crosses her legs but the damage has been done. 

Any chance Jolly has of forming a coherent sentence now is completely gone. It was taxing enough for his short circuiting brain to close his mouth that was hanging open. All she did was adjust her position in her chair and he was panting and salivating like some kind of rabid dog.

Violet giggles softly, her fingers tracing the heart shaped charm on her garter. 

“That’s what I figured. I missed you too, daddy.”

If his legs hadn’t been turned to jelly by her comment then he would have snatched her out of the chair and shown her how badly he missed her. However, the situation being what it was, Jolly just sits there, his fists balling up the fabric of his jeans.

Violet stands up and saunters over, placing both hands on his shoulders. He looks up at her as she rubs her thumb against his jawline. Her gaze softens the longer their eyes meet. 

“Is this what you want?” She whispers.

“Yes. Please.” Jolly responds. At this point, he doesn’t care if he sounds desperate. He wants, no— he needs her. 

Violet climbs on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Jolly has no idea what to do with his hands, a feeling he hasn’t had since he was a teenager. He struggles with his choice and evidently it’s obvious as she laughs and places his hands on her waist. 

“This is not the same Jolly from the other night.” She says as she threads a hand through his hair. Jolly heaves a pleasant sigh and leans into her touch. He has been nervous to touch her all night but now that she was close to him again all of the nerves vanished.

“I’m not always so dominant, you know.” He replies, squeezing her waist. She squirms a little and he’s grateful that she’s not sitting directly on his crotch otherwise he’d render that statement useless.

“So my Jolly is a switch, huh?” A smirk plays across her lips and Jolly has to pretend that it doesn’t make his heart race hearing her call him hers. 

“Something like that.” His eyes flicker from hers to her lips, and she licks them, earning her another squeeze. She scoots further into his lap, her clothed pussy rubbing against the hardening cock in his jeans.

Her skirt moves up her thighs and Jolly, suddenly feeling a bit more confident, drags his hands down to dig into the flesh. The action isn’t necessarily an encouragement to move, but if she takes it as such he won’t complain. 

She doesn’t move, however, but she lifts herself off of him ever so slightly. Grabbing his hand from her thigh she pushes it between her legs guiding his fingers over the dampened fabric of her panties. 

Jolly’s breath gets caught in his throat, his head swimming as she uses his fingers to push her panties aside. Between her gasps when she guides him over her clit and how wet she is already, Jolly is fairly certain he could cum untouched.

Violet tilts her head back, enjoying herself as she uses his hand for her pleasure. He watches her, wide eyed, desperate to kiss her or touch her somewhere. He doesn’t dare to interrupt the show. This was all he’d thought about for nearly two weeks. 

Violet looks back at Jolly, her eyes glazed over in lust. Jolly imagines his eyes are much similar. She pulls him in, kissing him hard and desperately. She rises again and pushes two fingers inside of her, gasping at the stretch. 

She rotates her hips, clenching around Jolly’s fingers. She takes his face in her hand, biting his lip as she begins to ride him. It takes her some time to come up with the words in between pants but she finally manages.

“Let me fuck myself on your fingers and then you can fill me up, okay?”

Jolly’s mouth goes dry and he nods, knowing that if the roles were reversed he would not accept that as an answer. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Violet as she grabs his chin firmly.

“I need your words, sweet boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chokes out, and as soon as the words leave his mouth she clenches around his fingers so tight he’s positive that she’s cut off the circulation in his hand. It’s almost painful but there’s no way in hell he is going to stop her.

Jolly can’t decide what he wants to concentrate on more, her face or where they’re connected. He pushes her skirt up her waist further so he can get a better view. The sight of her bouncing on his fingers, and her slick coating his entire hand has him licking his lips and dying for a taste.

“My flower, please… Can I taste you?” Jolly begs. 

“You can lick me from your fingers when I’m done. Now are you going to make me cum, or not?”

Jolly places his hand at the middle of her back, leaning her backward so he can have more room to work. Violet maintains her movements as he meets them, pressing the palm of his hand into her clit. She throws her head back, uttering the cries that Jolly’s been desperate to hear for so long. He curls his fingers inside of her and her movements slow, the spot he’s massaging wiping out every thought in her mind. 

Jolly curls his hand around her neck, tilting her head forward to face him. Her eyes bore into his, glazed over with pleasure, as she attaches her forehead to his.  

“Keep going, pretty girl. Doing so good for me.” 

Violet keens at his praise while she clings to him, grinding her hips against his fingers. With the increased pressure against her sweet spot her orgasm collides into her with such force she seizes in Jolly’s lap, mouth agape but no sound comes out. 

Jolly removes his fingers when she grabs at his wrist. He wastes no time shoving them between his lips, moaning at the delectable taste of her. She watches as he sucks her release from his digits, already missing them inside her. 

The noises he makes cleaning his fingers are downright obscene. Once he’s certain every crevice of them have been cleaned, he moves to his palm and then down his wrist. Jolly sees her staring wide eyed, biting her lip. He smirks at her, running his tongue up his arm to catch a rogue drop that had fallen.

“Don’t wanna waste a single drop of my flower’s 

sweet nectar.”

Violet whines and grinds against the bulge in Jolly’s pants. He groans, guiding her over his lap with a death grip on her. She leans his head back for better access to his neck, sucking bruises into his flesh. She roughly tries to remove his belt buckle but struggles. 

“Easy, baby. We’ve got plenty of time.” Jolly chuckles, helping her remove his belt and pants. She pulls his boxers off and climbs back in his lap, his shirt quickly removed and discarded behind her. 

“I’ve waited just as long as you have for this, Joakim.” She says, grabbing his cock. Between the grip she has on him and his full first name falling from her lips, Jolly’s resolve was dwindling quickly. 

“Are you going to take your clothes off or am I going to have to do it for you?” He questions, cocking an eyebrow.

Violet squeezes his cock, eliciting a low groan from him. She smirks, pumping him so painfully slow it’s almost torturous. 

“I think you’re forgetting who is in charge this time, love. It seems that I recall when I got mouthy you threatened to leave me to fend for myself.” She drags the pad of her thumb over his slit and he hisses. “You don’t want me to do that now, do you?”

The noise that escapes Jolly is pathetic as he wildly shakes his head. Violet raises her eyebrows in anticipation. He knows she’s waiting for a response but all he can think about is how she’s pressing on the tip of his cock with her thumb. 

“I’m waiting.” She sings. 

“No-No ma’am. Please don’t do that.” He chokes out, his throat so dry now his voice has become hoarse.

“Be a good boy for me and lie on the bed.” Violet says, lifting herself from his lap enough so that he can slide backwards. Once he’s settled back against the pillows in a way that satisfies her she crawls on top of him again. 

“Now.” Violet hums, dragging her core against him. Jolly’s breath hitches as she slicks up his cock. He stretched her out with his fingers and she’s so wet he could probably just slip in if only she’d just—

“Love, I believe I was speaking to you.” Her fingers dig into the flesh of his jaw, puckering his lips. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth, biting on the flesh. 

“Mmm. Now what was I saying? Oh yeah.” Violet readjusts herself making a point to press onto him even harder. He grunts, flexing his hands at his sides but does his best to pay attention.

“I’m going to take my clothes off. You’re going to watch me, and under no circumstances are you allowed to touch me, understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Jolly nods, fanning his arms out across the bed so she can see them. 

Violet smiles, leaning over to kiss him. 

“Thank you, sweet boy. So good for me.” 

Jolly’s heart bursts at the praise. He chases her lips as she pulls away but she’s too quick. She runs her hands down the front of her sheer floral top, pulling it over her head. Her fingers trace the lace around the cups of her bra and she pulls them down exposing her breasts. 

Jolly’s breath hitches when she leans over, hovering over his mouth. All he had to do was stick his tongue out and he could wrap it around her nipple but he kept his mouth shut tightly. He needed to be good for her. 

Violet wets her forefinger and drags lazy circles around her nipple. Jolly watches as it pebbles and clenches his fists. He holds his breath completely when she drags it against his lips. 

“Open up, love.”

The speed at which Jolly wraps his mouth around her surprises even her as she gasps a little. A mixture of a moan and a laugh leaves her when he closes his mouth tightly around her. 

The pretty noises Jolly has missed so much fall from her lips as she rocks backs and forth on top of him. He can feel her getting wetter by the second, her arousal dripping down his balls the more she moves. 

Her thighs squeeze him tight, her moans becoming louder. One hand is grabbing the flesh of his shoulder and the other is holding his head as close to her as possible, like he would stop unless he was forced.

As her movements become more erratic, Jolly knows her orgasm is near. He forces himself to think about music, literature, anything to keep his own from coming on. The blend of sensations, noises, and friction, however, were making it almost impossible.

Jolly watches her face from below as her second orgasm peaks. He’s infatuated by the way her mouth drops open and how her nose scrunches up. His favorite thing is how she shivers and smiles a little towards the end. He wishes he could film her so he can watch it over and over.

Maybe she’ll let him one day.

He forgets himself in the moment and lets go of the bedsheets, removing her bra and enveloping both breasts in his hands. He raises his hips up providing more pressure as she grinds against him. Violet falls on top of him as she finishes, running her hand underneath his head and gently pushing her fingers in his hair. 

She kisses and nibbles at his neck. Jolly traces patterns across her back as he hums softly. The sweet moment is interrupted when she abruptly grips his hair, pulling his head back to look at her.

“What did I say about touching me, love?” Violet says firmly. 

The realization hits him and Jolly’s hands fly back to the mattress. He stutters out an apology, something about how he just wanted to make her feel good. He knew it was futile though. He deserved to be punished. 

“You were a good boy and didn’t cum but you broke the rules so I have to punish you, now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jolly responds and she hums, kissing him and letting go of his hair. She sits up and removes her skirt. The only remaining clothing item was her soaked panties that had been pushed aside. Jolly writhes underneath her, letting out a pathetic whimper as she gets off of him. Violet sees his hand move slightly and tuts at him. 

“Am I going to have to tie you up, love? I’m sure Noah has something in here we could use.” 

Jolly shakes his head. “No ma’am. I’ll be good, I swear.”

Violet smiles and sits between his legs facing him, draping her own on either side of his waist. From this view, Jolly could see her entire body perfectly. She lifts her hips up, pulling her panties down and off her legs, throwing them into the floor. 

She scoots up closer to him, her pussy so close to his throbbing cock he can practically feel her heat. Leaning back on her left elbow, her right hand lands on her inner thigh. Her fingers drag down, collecting her arousal that had dripped there. 

Jolly’s eyes nearly bug out of his head when she runs a finger up her slit, collecting more juices. She brings the finger up to her mouth, wrapping her tongue around it. A loud, obscene “mmmm” follows as she pulls it between her lips with a pop. 

“I can taste you too, sweet boy.” 

His mind goes completely blank as she speaks. His cock jumps against his belly, the swollen red tip leaking even more. Her eyes trail down to where the pre-cum pools on his stomach and licks her lips.

Sitting forward Violet reaches over and swipes it with her fingertips. Her knuckles barely graze against the head of his cock but he’s so sensitive the contact makes him hiss. Instead of putting her fingers straight into her mouth this time, she applies his arousal to her lips, slowly rolling her tongue over them to collect it.

Violet spreads what didn’t go on her tongue onto her clit. Her head lolls back as she touches herself. The sight has Jolly clenching his jaw and white knuckling the bed sheets. When she fits two fingers inside of her with ease, he has to look away. 

“I don’t think I said you could look away.” Violet says sweetly, with a warning behind it. “Look at me, Joakim.” Jolly takes a deep breath and looks back at her, immediately moaning. 

The prettiest pussy he’s ever seen, quite possibly the only one he ever wants to see again for the rest of his life, was spread open before him. He sits up on his elbows, then on his hands, desperate to get closer. She grabs his thigh, a silent reminder to keep his hands to himself.

“Tell me you want it.”

Jolly’s mouth drops open as she uses his own game against him. He does want her more than anything else. He knows he won’t last long but by the way her thighs are subtly shaking, she won’t either. He swallows hard and nods, begging like he should.

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“Tell me what you want, sweet boy.” Her voice shakes as she speaks. 

“My flower… please.” Jolly pants. “I want your pretty pussy. Need to be inside you.”

It’s clear that Violet’s resolve weakens significantly at his begging as she practically scrambles on top of him. She kisses him so hard that it makes his mouth hurt but he doesn’t mind. Violet pulls back panting and grabs his hands, placing them on her waist. 

“Waist only. If they move, I stop.” She declares upon his lips with no real authority. Jolly nods appreciating the soft bits of skin he was given access to. His nails dig in her flesh and he buries his face in her neck when she lowers herself onto him. 

The feeling of her cunt so warm and tight around him drives him crazy but calms the anxiety that has been raging inside of him for weeks. She chants his name while she rides him, and he realizes that just like him, she’s needed this too. 

Violet bounces on him hard, neither of them concerned about how much noise they make. Luckily, the music from the party will drown most of it out anyways. Jolly keeps his hands where he was told to, focusing on leaving as many marks on her neck and chest as he could. He wanted to make sure she walked out of this room and everyone knew who she belonged to. 

Jolly feels moisture as he nibbles her jaw and looks up. He notices tears falling down her face and calls out to her. Violet leans her forehead against his, both sticky with sweat. Her face twists as she tries to speak. 

“F-feels so g-good, Jolly.” She whimpers. “I’m so close.”

“Cum with me, Käraste. I need it.” He begs.

“Touch me, please, please, pl-“ She repeats as Jolly reaches in between them to give her what she wants. The dominance and submission was gone and all that remained was their need for each other. Their climaxes hit together and it’s almost too much. Jolly falls back against the pillows, bringing Violet with him, thrusting into her chasing their highs. 

He rolls them over but doesn’t let go of her. He’s afraid she’ll leave again and never come back. Violet hugs him, almost as if she heard his thoughts and was trying to comfort him. It’s peaceful with her like this. Suddenly, she giggles against his chest, leaning back to face him.

“Does this mean I have to run you a bubble bath and comb your hair this time?”

Jolly shakes with laughter and she joins him.

“I mean, aftercare is important and so is that beautiful hair of yours.”

Jolly laughs some more and kisses her forehead. She smiles up at him and for a moment he forgets how to breathe. Her green eyes reflect the changing colors from the LEDs. He kisses her, holding her so tightly against him he’s afraid he’ll suffocate her but she simply melts into his arms. 

When they part she refuses to stop, continuously pecking at his lips. Jolly decides they need to get up before Noah finds them in his bed and she whines but agrees. They get dressed and sneak down the stairs. Jolly grabs them two bottles of water and waves goodbye, hurriedly pulling her outside.

They walk to her car and Jolly leans back against the driver side door, hoping to delay the inevitable. He cracks open the bottle of water and takes a drink, nudging a rock on the ground with his boot. Violet stops a few feet in front of him. He glances at her, confused.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you to your car?” Jolly responds, even more confused. 

“I’ve been drinking. I can’t drive.” Violet says, winking. 

Jolly smirks, immediately playing along. He smacks himself in the forehead playfully, rolling his eyes.

“Of course. How silly of me!” 

Violet sighs in faux disappointment. “I guess you’re just going to have to take me home.” 

Jolly presses his tongue to his cheek and then swipes it behind his lower lip. “Well if I do that I might as well spend the night.”

Violet cocks an eyebrow.

“To take care of you. Ya know. Since you’re such a drunk and all.” He winks at her.

Violet cackles and rolls her eyes.  “Just take me home already, Joakim.”

“Yes ma’am.”

#jolly karlsson #joakim jolly karlsson #joakim karlsson #jolly karlsson x ofc #joakim jolly karlsson x ofc #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #jolly karlsson fanfic #jolly karlsson fanfiction #jolly karlsson fic

[orchidyoonkook]

Under The Willow Tree | MYG

Title: Under The Willow Tree   

Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life

Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?

Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.

Word Count: 7401

Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM

A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process. 

A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k​, @katykatmeow​, @here4btsfics​ and @phthartic-fox​​ for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness. 

It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.

Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.

It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.

The one under which you had your first kiss.

You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.

But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.

It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.

To get away. From anyone and everything.

There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.

Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.

Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.

Copy. Paste.

Copy.

Paste.

You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.

You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.

You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are. 

And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.

Copy. 

Paste.

It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.

You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.

You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.

What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.

You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.

Of leaving.

But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.

It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.

You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.

You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.

Seen how they treat him.

Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.

You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.

The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.

Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.

Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.

They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.

As if he were acid.

As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.

You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.  

And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.

You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.

You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.

And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.

You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’  having not once in your life resonated.

You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.

The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.

The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base. 

Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.

No one bothers you here.

Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.

And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.

So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.

Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.

Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.

Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.

So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.

You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.

You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering. 

You’re always elsewhere. 

And he’s finally figured out where that is. 

He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did. 

Not to him.

But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer. 

Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.

So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house. 

For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.

After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves. 

You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you. 

Soft. Wistful even.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.

Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.

And as he does, you get your first real look at him.

He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.  

The ones now focused on you.

“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”

So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?

…Why you?

You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.

To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.

It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

Can you trust him?

No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.

All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.

“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.

“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

Those four words alone are all you need. 

He gets it.

“Yeah.”

Maybe you can trust him.

Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.

And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”

You think about it for only a second.

No. No you didn’t.

“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”

He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.

And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.

“Yoongi.”

An introduction.

“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.

His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff. 

So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.

Releasing, he settles in.

What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.

It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.

Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.

Your favourite.

Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.

Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.

The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.

You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.

On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.

    “Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.

    Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.

    “Pride and Prejudice.”

    That was the last answer you expected.

    “Why?”

    He lifts his head to look at you.

    “I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”

After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.

    “Just have to save up enough money first.”

    You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?

    Who knew?

    Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.

    He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.

    That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.

    You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.

    “Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.           

    “Getting there,” was all he gave.

And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.

    Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.

    “My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”

    You grieved for him as he told you his story.

    How he had to raise himself.

    Just like you did.

    “I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.

    Knowing how it felt to be alone.

    You understood.

    You did, you did, you did.

    Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”  

    It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.

    And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.

    How you’d…treated him.

    A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.

    Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.

    “My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.

    Even though it was August.

    “He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”

    You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips.     He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.

    He understood.

It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.

The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.

Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.

Just him and his bike.

You turn sheepish.

“Can I tell you something?”

He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.

Brown and endless.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take a deep breath.

“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”

A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.

“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”

There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.

He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”

You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.

“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too. 

But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.

“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”

“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.

“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”

“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.

“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”

Oh. Well then it must be,

“Your pants pocket?”  

“Nuh uh, try again.”

Damnit!

You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?

“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.

“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”

Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.

It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.

He holds it against a palm to show you.

“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.

With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”

A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.

And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.

An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.

One he doesn’t know if he deserves.

Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.

“Yoongi,” you hesitate.

It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.

You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.

What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.

You falter. “W-what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”

“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”

“But I—”

“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”

It never leaves your neck.

“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.

“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.

“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”

He was kidding right? He must be.

For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.

What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.

So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.

But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.

“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.

“Because I’ll be there.”

And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,

“Okay, fine.”

Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.

“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.

Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.

“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.

“Oh.”

What a weird place for an ignition. 

“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”

Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.

“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.

He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”

Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.

You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.

Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”

You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.

The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.

“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”

“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.

“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”

Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.

Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.

Holy shit!

You’re riding a motorcycle! 

You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?

Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.

Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.

He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.

You’re positively giddy.

“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.

Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate. 

But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.

It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.

“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.  

Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.

And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.

The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.

Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy. 

“Really?”

He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’

You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.  

Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.

Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.

And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,

“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours. 

What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well... 

“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided. 

Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen. 

Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.

He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.

You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.

You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.

You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to. 

Literally.

But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.

Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips.  A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you. 

Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.

Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.

Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.

He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.

And you’re worried.

Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.

It’s not like you can go looking for him.

And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.

But you can’t help it.

Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.

Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.

They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

Six days.

It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.

“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.

“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.  

And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”

Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.

“B-but why? What happened?”

“I got fired.”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”

Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.

Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.

The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.

The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.

The Yoongi you fell for.

Your Yoongi.

The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.

He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.

You don’t know this person.

And you hate it.

You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.

He’s—he’s leaving. 

Actually leaving.

This place, it’s people.

You...

The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.

“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.

Don’t let him see you cry.

He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?

You don’t get to feel this way!

Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.

Make it go away. Far, far away. 

Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.

In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.

His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.

He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.

Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”

But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.

You’re crying.

He made you cry.

And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.

“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.

Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.

Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.

You have no one, aside from Yoongi.

And now you won’t even have him.

So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.

But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help. 

And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.

An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight. 

He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.

He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.

You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.

When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.

“I got you.”

“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do. 

This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust. 

Of course he’s got you. 

You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”

The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.

“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.  

“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.

It doesn’t meet much resistance.

Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.

He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.

Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.

It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.         

You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.

So close, yet so far away.

Because he’s leaving.

And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.

He’s as special as they come.

Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.  

Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.

Like him.

You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.

It’s funny, really.

It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere. 

Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

Anywhere he can reach.  

Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.

You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.

And then you’re scared.

Terrified, actually.

To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.

What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?

Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?

What if you just ruined everything?

Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.

For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.

Is it shock? Or worse.  

Disgust?

Doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“

Lips on yours shut you up.

It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.

It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.

He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.

You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.

Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.

The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.  

Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.

He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”

You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”

“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”

Yoongi looks so serious but..

He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.

And now?

Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss. 

“Come. With. Me.”

It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.

So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.

You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.

“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”

He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.

Your salvation.

And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.  

Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.

In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.

In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.

Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years. 

Something he never wants to lose again.

He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.

Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.

Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.

For not being like one of them.

Because you’re not one of them. 

You never have been.

And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.

You don’t have to anymore.

You’re free.

A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi au #yoongi fanfic #yoongi bad boy au #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #bts #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi scenario #yoongi scenarios #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x you #bts au #yoongi x y/n #bts yoongi #bts min yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #UTWT #yoon writes

[anistarrose]

So I have only my two cents to give on the "curing disabilities in fantasy/sci-fi stories" trope, as just one disabled person among many disabled people, but here are my two cents nonetheless.

One defense of the trope is that it's simply a form of escapism, and moreover, a fantasy that disabled people themselves can quite reasonably find joy in — as a feel-good story, a break from all the pain of real life. Many — not all by a long shot, but many — of us would jump at the chance for a cure, after all, and it's not like we're not valid to do so. Lots of us take pride in being disabled, but nevertheless, sometimes it really fucking sucks.

The counterargument to the above is this: that this isn't a realistic trope, and that particularly in combination with the suffocating frequency that this trope is used, this becomes the opposite of a hopeful fantasy. When you have an incurable condition, and the only happy endings you see represented for people like you in fiction are inevitably only achieved once the characters stop being like you — that can be indescribably upsetting.

Disabled characters do not get happy endings while remaining disabled — and fiction is fiction and all, but I'm not going to pretend like this doesn't have gradual, accumulative real-life effects on the amount of effort people/society are willing to put into accessibility and acceptance, because of beliefs like "aren't you going to be cured someday anyway?" Or "isn't this disability just going to stop existing, someday? one way or another?"

I hope I don't have to explain how damaging it is to think the above way, or to imagine a future where disability doesn't exist. (Yes, even though disability is partially socially constructed. That's a load-bearing "partially".)

So, if you couldn't tell, I do generally relate a lot more to the harsher, more critical view of this trope — but I certainly don't want to judge actual disabled people for writing it either (and especially not people with progressive conditions), not when there is genuine catharsis and escapist joy that can be wrung from it. I obviously don't trust non-disabled folks with writing "cure" stories any further than I could throw them, due to a long fucking history of non-disabled people fucking it up — but also, no one should be forced to reveal personal details, let alone medical history, to justify their choice to write something.

This is the paradox that I am willing to come to terms with, by throwing up my hands and saying, "okay, so some of the time I sure don't like it, but it's technically none of my business."

That said: if you're non-disabled, or you're writing about a disability much different from your own (a physical disability when you're autistic, for example), and you want to write an escapist feel-good story featuring disabled characters: I also want to stress that "escapist themes" versus "no one's disability gets cured ever" is very much a false binary. You can have both.

I've never written a "curing a disability" story. But I've both written and enjoyed some extremely escapist, unashamedly hopeful stories revolving around disabled characters — and it's all about accommodation.

A story of any genre where society is more accepting of — and willing to collectively help care for — chronic illnesses and chronic pain? That's escapist, and if it's something that characters once fought tooth and nail for, it's pretty damn cathartic. A fantasy or sci-fi story where medicines are still required to treat a condition, but the medicines are more accessible, more effective, et cetera, may also be escapist depending on the context.

Fantasy service animals, high-tech service robots, magical or indistinguishable-from-magic mobility devices? They're all possibly escapist too. (Just note that a lot of disabled people may still maintain a personal preference for seeing the "real world" versions, and that's that's also perfectly reasonable. Remember that the gripe with the original trope has a lot to do with a lack of variety in representation, justified by arbitrary rules about how fantasy/sci-fi "should" look, and the goal should be not to replicate that.)

So, in conclusion: if you find yourself writing a disabled character, and want to give them a happy ending, I urge you not to jump to "their disability is cured now" without at least thinking through the alternatives. Do your research regardless, and accept that disabled people will likely have a wide range of opinions on whatever you decide to go with — but accept that disabilities themselves are varied, and should not inherently have to consign either characters or real human beings to tragic lives by their mere existence.

#disability #ableism #long post #honestly i could tag toh here but i won't #(especially because the ableism in that fandom has calmed down since the peak in s2a - at least as far as i've observed)

[ghosts-and-glory]

Imma be honest, Narinder deserved purgatory more than his siblings. I'm glad you gave him the fate he deserves, and I'm excited to see what horrifying abomination had taken his place in the cult. (I desperately hope it's Nothing There from Lobotomy Corporation, but that's wishful thinking lol.)

I’m sorry bestie but I’m not the Nari anti you think I am, I just like putting my faves through the horrors™️

In writing tragedy I want moments of catharsis. Narinder is a character destroyed by his own actions and punished beyond human comprehension. I don’t have a desire to write his infinite torture, more to play with the questions the post game leaves me with. I honestly can’t help but read the stories Narinder and his siblings as one of tragedy, where they are ripped apart by their flaws and reduced to play things in the cult.

Honestly what we know about the crown bearers there’s an argument to be made that Narinder has committed the least atrocities. His ass is the only one who hasn’t done a war crime in facilitating a genocide against the lambs. We are never given in cannon what he did to get banished or how the betrayal went so I can only theorize on the severity of his past actions. The conclusion I have come to based on mostly his, ??? (Mystic seller or whatever you call it, to me it’s Kevin) and Shamura’s dialogue is that he did something to attempt to reverse the natural order of things, mostly like relating to death.

I’m gonna ramble cause I’ve been chewing at the bit waiting to be asked about my au. There’s also some art under the cut. Hehe hoho I’ll be so normal with my interests.

Going into my au, that I really really need to name, The Lamb executes Narinder after he’s defeated. Partly for revenge, for their dead family and for damning them to serve the crown, but at the same time they feel empathy for him, as a servant of death they know that to die is to rest. What The Lamb did not forsee was that killing Narinder would damn him to purgatory just as it did his siblings.

I have a early concepts of, who I’ve affectionately dubbed Not-Narinder, with Purged Narinder.

I don’t wanna divulge too many details on my plans for the au, but Narinder does eventually end up in the cult. After two thousand years in service of the crown, another thousand years in chains, and then a hundred years in purgatory stripped of his senses. To some level the cult grounds are its own prison but does he not deserve a chance to carve out his own life? I will however tease a half written script and doodle of The Lamb and Narinder’s conversation after he’s freed of purgatory.

Unfortunately for me my thoughts and plans for the au go back thousands of years before the plot of the game and then another few thousand years after. It’s like the Star Wars timeline, as in its a big mess.

#cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb narinder #cult of the lamb au #my art #my post #I think he’s fucked up in a endearing kinda way #Tw blood #Tw gore #no devotion au #ask

[unbidden-yidden]

This is extremely long and apparently subject to change, which is part of why I'm copy-pasting this version below. I don't agree with significant parts of it (in particular, I take umbrage with some of the delegitimizing language she uses for the Jewish/Israeli narrative and history that she doesn't use with the Palestinian narrative and history), however, I think it's a really really important read, because she addresses a lot of the real problems with the current discourse and real-world impacts that has.

I think this paragraph in particular was something I needed to read:

Arguing with the far left is a waste of time. They have no self-awareness, they are delusional, and they will never stop. They are as fanatical as any of the mob. The only way to make them stop talking is to actually sort this problem once and for all and work for the freedom and dignity of all. And when all is said and done, the ones that will keep complaining will finally be exposed for what they truly are.

She also winds up positing the A Land For All solution as the most likely to succeed, which I do agree is probably correct, for the main reason she argues, which is that it is the option that gives the most people the greatest amount of what they want, the basics of what everyone needs, and hews most closely with answering the competing narratives that exist.

There is No Magic Peace Fairy. Version 2

For anyone who might have read the previous version of this piece of writing, this is quite different from the original. Its spirit and essence are the same, but much has been added. It is very long, but it seeks to understand some extremely complicated and difficult things.

I should have realised when I first wrote it, and then sought to follow its instruction — to listen and learn from a wide spectrum of other people — that it was only ever going to be a working and evolving piece of work. This is version 2. There may yet be a version 3, 4 or 5.

Why did I even write it? Initially — truthfully, and honestly — it has been for myself. It started as catharsis, and it has become a compulsion — the way to “make it make sense.” The way to cope with horrifying scenes across the television and social media, witnessed day after day, and feeling utterly powerless to stop it.

It comes from years of witnessing, and sometimes partaking in long and sometimes very bitter family arguments. Arguments that became spectator sport for friends who would come over especially because they knew they would happen. Arguments that, in retrospect were not actually remotely funny for those of us living through that constant emotional turmoil, nor considering the subject matter. It has been the way to work through those conflicted feelings, and some things that were never really reconciled.

So, yes, it started for myself. But now I have written it, I do want people to read it. I think it may help others to work through some of the same things. And then it would have been worthwhile, especially if it may help some people to find a way to salvage lost friendships and lost relationships from the last few months, because it seems there is a giant rift forming in our communities in Britain.

This has nothing to do with ‘both sidsing’ anything, and it has everything to do with problem-solving. As far as I am concerned, in all of life, you cannot solve a problem that you do not understand. And I really want to understand it. So, I look at both narratives that the Palestinians and Israelis know as the history of their peoples, and think about the lives of individual Palestinians and Israelis, and then I wonder, how could this ever actually be fixed? Is there really any hope for the future?

It is not meant to justify or apologise for anything anyone has done.

I am sure this writing will includes things that almost everybody will take issue with, but it is my hope that by doing my very best to do justice to our collective stories that people can read without anger what it is that I have to say — and please do read to the very the end if you are intending to pass judgement on what that is.

Most of all, I think this will interest people in the diaspora with family, friends, and personal links and connections to the region — Israel or the Occupied Palestinian territories — who wish nothing more than to see their friends and family living in freedom, with dignity and security.

If you have read version 1, the stories of the 15-year-olds have only minor additions, but the narratives and the rest of the article have changed a lot. If you get to a bit that sounds very familiar, skip a bit further down — it is very long to read it twice.

~~~~~

What is the most important narrative of the Palestinian people?

(You do not have to agree with this — I am just telling it how it is told).

Something like –

“The defining event of our history is the Nakba (Catastrophe)

Before 1948, we used to live in Palestine. We loved Palestine. We lived there for centuries. We lived peacefully. We had a deep spiritual and emotional connection to the land. Our ancestors are buried there. Religious sites — Christian, Muslim, Jewish — that had great meaning to all of us were there. It was a rich tapestry of different religions and cultures containing a beautiful and sacred shared heritage.

We had wonderful villages and beloved homes that we built with our own hands. We had gardens with trees and plants that our grandparents planted. We had treasured possessions. We had friends and families and good lives. We could go and come as we pleased.

We had neighbours of all faiths, including Jewish neighbours. We lived contendly together. Some of them had been there for centuries just like us and we liked them, we lived there together happily and in peace.

In the 1900s, more and more started to come. They were fleeing persecution. We gave them refuge. We had no problem with them coming. They were being hounded in Europe and they needed somewhere else to go. Where better for them to be but here in Palestine, where the history of their people was born? And many of them were respectful and we had good relationships with them. We liked them.

But some of them wanted a country. Some of them fought with us, and some of them attacked us, and terrorised us. How could they have had a country in our land? We had been there for generations, and what would have become of us if we had agreed to it? Where would they have stopped? The problem was never them. It was them trying to make a country. And if they hadn’t tried to make a country, everything would have been okay. We could have had a country all of us together. What a beautiful country it could have been. But the country they wanted did not include us.

Some of them were clear they would have kept going until they got more and more of our land, and there is no question they would always have driven us away. Some of their leaders where unashamed and brazen in the way they looked down on us, in their statements that dehumanised us, in their disdain for us, in their colonial intent. They under-estimated us.

The Nakba (catastrophe) was a disaster for our people. In 1948, there was a war. During that war, the Israelis attacked us, killed us, stole our property and ethnically cleansed us from our land in order to create their Jewish state. We left in fear of our lives. We were not the ones that started that fighting. We wanted nothing to do with it. That is why we left.

We didn’t think we would be gone for long, surely once the fighting had subsided we would be back. But then days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into years.

Then it finally sunk in — they weren’t going to let us back. And we realised we were divided and dispossessed. That nightmare was only the beginning for us. They have never, ever allowed us back for 75 years. We lost everything. Our human rights are denied to us. More and more of our land is taken every day. We are not free. Some of us have no freedom at all and no rights.

We want to stop being ethnically cleansed. We want to go home, to go back, to see our homeland, our ancient sites, to be back where we belong, where we have always belonged. We want our dignity, and we want our freedom."

~~~~~

You do not have to agree with the way this story is told, but it has, in some form, been passed down through generations and generations of Palestinians.

~~~~~

What is life like for a 15-year-old Palestinian who lives in the West Bank?

You are told this story of your people from the day you were born. You live under a military occupation. More and more violent religious settlers move into the lands around you. They build new homes and can do whatever they want. They come and go as they please, in and out of Israel. You are not allowed to go anywhere except the West Bank. Their soldiers are always there with guns. They are in charge.

The settlers terrorise you all the time. They stop people farming their land and so you struggle to survive. A few weeks ago, a settler shot one of your friends. They never get punished and they never go to prison. But recently your best friend went to prison for throwing rocks at the soldiers. You really miss him.

Your grandparents left Palestine in 1948 with four children, and very few possessions. Your grandmother thought she would be back in a few days or weeks. Your grandmother’s sister ended up in Gaza and they never saw one another other again. She died recently. You have a cousin who is the same age as you. You know you could have been close if only you had even met.

You see no future the way things are now. There is no hope. You want a different life. You want the things your grandparents had. You don’t want to be constantly afraid of being attacked. You dream of leaving. You dream of the day you go back to Palestine where the house you should have had is, even just to see it, to be truly home, to live the life that is rightfully yours.

What do you do? You resist. In the only way that you can, with the only things that you have. You throw rocks at the soldiers. One day, you get caught, and you get put in a prison. You are tried by a military court, and you stay in prison for a really long time. In prison, people do appalling things to you. Finally, they let you out. What do you do?

~~~~~

What was life like for a 15 year old living in Gaza?

You are also told the Palestinian story from the day you were born. There are good things about your life. You go to school, have friends, and family who you love, you can go out and do things. There are hospitals, and you can get a lot of things that you need. You love Gaza. But you can’t leave Gaza. You can’t go anywhere else in the land or the world except Gaza.

Your life is still hard. Your family struggle for money and to survive, to get the things that you all need. There are a lot of things that would make your life better and easier, but you can’t get them in Gaza. You know that if you lived in Israel, you could get whatever you wanted and needed. You have family in the West Bank you have never met, but you know about their struggles. You have a cousin the same age, who is enduring unimaginable hardships.

The people in charge of Gaza are not good leaders. They can be dangerous and violent if you oppose them. A lot of people in Gaza don’t like them, although some people support them. Your own parents really can’t stand them. These people have been in charge of Gaza since before you were even born. You have learned that there was a civil war in Gaza before that and hundreds of people were killed or wounded. There has never been an election since.

You know they fire rockets into Israel because they want to dismantle it. You want a different life, but it’s never really worked or got anywhere. It seems futile. And you know that every few years, the bombs will come. Everyone you know has lost someone or something from the Israeli bombs. You don’t remember that much about the last time, but you do remember being really terrified, and you remember that your Dad cried when his brother was killed.

Then one day you hear news. News that Israel has been attacked by Gaza. Israelis have been killed, and some are even being brought into Gaza. Your heart sinks. You have a funny feeling in your stomach. You know what is coming.

~~~~~

To these two children, these cousins, Zionism can and only ever will mean catastrophic dispossession, oppression, and Jewish supremacy. The only Jews or Israelis they have encountered have either bombed them or terrorised them. Israel is a colonial entity. It never had a right to exist. Israelis are settlers. All they ever do is steal land. How could you expect them to see it any other way? There can never be any nuance, or any grey area about it. It could never have any legitimacy in their eyes. How could you expect or ask them to empathise with Israelis when you consider what they have lived and are living through?

For them, anyone who describes themselves as a Zionist in any form, even a liberal Zionist, could only ever be perceived as somebody that cannot be reasoned with, is trying to justify and support the unjustifiable, and is nothing but a settler and a tool of their oppression.

~~~~~

What is the dominant narrative of Jewish/Israeli people?

(You do not have to agree with it — I am just telling it how it is told).

It may be slightly different for secular Israelis and Diaspora Jews, but it goes something along these lines:

“We are the people of Israel. This is where our religion and our language were born, where we built temples and our ancestors are buried. We have and always have been surrounded by enemies on all sides. For millennia, we have been scattered throughout the world. We were driven from Israel and we went to Europe, the Middle East, and Africa. Throughout history people have always tried to kill the Jewish people. They didn’t like us being Jewish. There were always pogroms and mass killings. In some places people would hide and pray together in secret. It is our duty to keep the Jewish religion alive in their honour.

In Europe the pogroms got worse and worse. A few of us left Europe for a better life in Palestine. But most of us stayed in Europe. And most of us died in Europe. Six million of us. They did it because they said we were responsible for everything bad that had ever happened in the world.

Most of our so-called friends and neighbours said nothing as we were terrorised and led away. They carefully planned and counted how they could get rid of each and every one of us. They tried to annihilate us completely from the face of the earth. But as a people we lived on.

Jewish people had been coming to Palestine from Europe for years before 1948 fleeing the persecution. We came and we bought land fairly and built our lives there. We were happy. We wanted to all be together again, in a place that had meaning to us, where we would be safe. We knew we needed freedom and independence, so that this time it would never, ever happen again.

People say that we never needed a country, but what do they know? Jewish history has taught us things that they can never possibly understand. Jewish history has taught us that the world will always betray us, and when that day comes, our friends and neighbours will walk on by. We are a minority, so we must stick together, protect one another, keep one another safe. We knew we needed freedom and independence, so that this time we would have a safeplace where we can go and live when the world finally turns us on again, as it always does.

And In 1947, the UN agreed we could finally have a state of our own. We were so proud and overjoyed. What an achievement for us after everything we had been through.

We never wanted to fight with the people already living in Palestine. Yes, before 1948, some of us lived together peacefully. But it wasn’t a Utopia. Some of the people welcomed us and provided us with a safe place to live. We had good relationships with them.

But some of the people didn’t want us there, we were outsiders and they never liked us. Some people went to the British to get them to stop us from coming to Palestine. And even before 1948, there was a lot of fighting between us, and some of us were massacred even in Palestine.

But we could have found a way to live together peacefully, in two states, and they could have lived in our state just as we could have lived in theirs, just so long as we had a State. That is all we ever wanted. We could have divided and shared the land.

But they could never let us have it. Never. And when the British finally left, we saw our opportunity, we declared our state. We had no intention of taking anything from anyone. We just wanted a state. And then every single one of our neighbours, all the countries around us invaded us, from every corner of the land. Enemies on all sides. They surrounded us and we found we were alone, again, just as we always have been.

But this time we fought back. We fought for our freedom and independence and dignity, and our right to live and exist and not just accept to be killed, and mainly, for most of us, because we actually had nowhere else to go. It was a war, yes, we took land yes, but we didn’t start that war. It was existential, because how else exactly do you expect we could have guaranteed our security and safety surrounded by neighbours who were baying for our blood? What would you have done?

Then after 1948 the Middle East erupted. The Jews in the Middle East had always experienced persecution. But this was worse than ever. It was intolerable. They blamed those Jews for Israel. Hundreds of thousands of us were ethnically cleansed out of homes we had lived in for centuries, from Ancient communities all across the continent, and we left to build new lives in Israel. Over half of Israelis today are descended from those Middle Eastern Jews.

Now we live together in Israel. We stick togehter and we fight together. We have fought war after war after war. They have tried to kill us from all sides, time after time. But each time, we fight back harder, and we win. We have and always will be surrounded by enemies, but we will always fight back.”

~~~~~

You might not agree with a single word of this story. But this story, in some form or another has been passed down through generations and generations of millions of Jewish and Israeli people.

~~~~~

Now imagine the life of this 15-year-old born and living in Israel

You have been taught this story since the day you were born.

You live in a Kibbutz. You have friends. You like the outdoors and sports. You get good grades in school.

Your grandparents live nearby. Your Grandad came from Yemen as a refugee, as a child. He told you that his family were being attacked and threatened after the 1948 war, so they left their possessions and homes behind in Yemen, and they came to Israel instead.

Mostly you are happy. You are so excited you have a new boyfriend or girlfriend who you really like, but your parents don’t know yet.

But you really hate the rockets. You have never known any life without rockets. You know that some of the rockets get intercepted, but they still get through all the time.

There are bomb shelters everywhere. At school, in the playgrounds, in the bus-shelters, and at home. The sirens can go off at any time and then you have to run to the shelter. Even if you are busy doing your homework, or asleep, or on the toilet. The noise of the sirens never stops making you jump. You are used to it, but you still get scared and you hate it, and the sounds of the rockets make you shake.

You know in a couple of years you will be conscripted into the army. Everybody goes. You do and you don’t want to go. You want to go because you know it is your duty to protect the State from its enemies, just as everyone in your family has always done. But you are scared about it, and you don’t know what it will really be like. People don’t talk about it.

One weekend, your parents agree you can spend the night with your cousin. They live 40 minutes away. She is like a sister to you. So, you go on Friday. You have fun, watch a movie, chat for ages, and you fall asleep late.

The next thing you know your Aunt is waking you both up. It is Saturday morning. She is in a panic. Something is happening. Your parents have messaged. Something is wrong. She says there are men everywhere in the Kibbutz with guns. You turn on your phone. There are messages from your parents and your brother. They are in the bomb shelter. You try to call them. You can’t get through. You feel the panic rising in your chest. No, please, no. You ring your boyfriend or girlfriend. No answer.

~~~~~

This child has never met a Palestinian that lives in any Occupied Palestinian territory. All he/she knows about them is that they fire rockets at Israel and have done his/her whole life, and once every couple of decades they commit extremely violent and horrific terrorist attacks. That is what he/she knows because that’s what they have been taught and also what their lived experience has taught them.

Many Jewish and Israeli people believe when they talk about Zionism they are talking about, “Somewhere safe for Jews to live where they will not be attacked, where they can call home, and where they have self-determination.” How is it possible for this 15 year old child, given the stories they have been told and the life they have led, to be anything other than a Zionist, when it is defined like that? And if they are told they are a ‘settler’, or an ‘evil oppressor’ and that that is why they deserve to die, they will look at you with wide eyed wonder and assume you are a lunatic.

The reason they can conceive of the Jewish people as settlers who live outside 1967 borders and not themselves is because they do not see them as being in the, ‘Right for somewhere safe to live’ group of Zionists. They are considered to be religious extremists and supremacists, what they see as a distorted and extremist form of Zionism, and they don’t consider it the same.

~~~~~

There are many incredibly sad and depressing things about all of these stories. But the part to me that makes it seem most tragically futile — is that for a very large number of individual human beings that ended up living in either Israel or in the Occupied Palestinian Territories in the 1950s -1960s — their stories are almost the same. Most of them were running away from something, and most of the time, the people who are doing the running away are not the people doing the fighting or the massacring.

It is a story of being a refugee, of fighting for survival against all odds, of 20th century dispossession and mass displacement. A story of being blamed for things they did not do and being held to account for debts that they did not owe. The tumult of 20th century history created a shared heritage — that over a very short time hundreds upon thousands of people were displaced — Jews fleeing Europe to Palestine, Palestinians fleeing during the creation of Israel, and almost all the Jews across the Middle East then fleeing to Israel in the few years after it started.

Part of that shared heritage became about yearning to return to a Holy piece of land that carries promise and a deep spiritual connection. It really shouldn’t be that hard to explain to one another — and indeed the rest of the world, why we cannot just ‘let it go’.

I am not trying to rewrite history and say that every single person in the years leading up to and including events in 1948 was an innocent bystander. Absolutely not. I am just saying that, generally speaking, as is almost always the case — when it comes to atrocities, it is normally extremists that engage in it, that end up calling the shots for everyone, and it is them that end up dictating history.

And it is extremist ideologies that are plaguing us today. One is an ideology of Jewish supremacy. God’s chosen people, Israel is God’s gift and therefore comes with a right to take land off anyone and everyone. The other is an extreme, dangerous and corrupted version of Islam — a highly repressive ideology where human rights do not exist, and it exalts in the death of Jews.

These people — all of them — they are the mob. ‘Death to the Jew. Death to the Arab’ One or the other in their rightful place, subservient to the other, or better yet, dead in the ground.

Most people are not the mob. Most people are not sociopaths. Most people just want to live and get on with their lives, they want to have their basic needs met, their human rights, and they want their children to grow up happy and healthy with a bright future ahead.

It is important to understand though that the bonds of community and peoplehood are also part of a basic human need. The need to maintain relationships with brothers, sisters, cousins and friends who live in our communities together with us, who have a shared history with us, who support us, and to whom we are loyal — it is part of the human experience.

The stories of our own and our friend’s grandparents, the loss of livelihood and dreams for the future as they packed their bags and fled — these are the stories that make us peoples. And it is these stories that bind us together within our communities much more closely than any ancient religious text or any ancestral DNA test ever could.

And so when people say, “The Jews and Israelis are not a people. They are fakers, they are ‘Europeans’ pretending to have links to a land that has nothing to do with them.” Or people say, “The Palestinians are not a people. They are just ‘Arabs’ who could have gone anywhere, who have no real history and whose only goal in life is to terrorise Jews,” these will both only ever be seen as inherently anti-Semitic or Anti-Palestinian statements that erase and deny large parts of our collective heritage, and neither will lead to any kind of constructive dialogue. Who is anyone to make judgements about what another people is that they do not belong to?

And so we end up where we have got to today –

From the Palestinian side, what I think is difficult for somebody who is not Palestinian to understand, is that telling them that they should give up on the right to return — for many — is impossible. They can’t do it. Understanding and honouring Palestinian history, which is rich, and complicated, and is largely unknown to many people, for them it is part of their identity. Poetry, art, great thinkers, great writers — they are all there for the world to see if only they would bother to look.

And even worse for a Palestinian, to suggest that everything that has befallen them was somehow their fault because they refused to give up on their history, this could only ever be met with fury and be seen as gaslighting.

It is essential as well to remember that this land — it is not just any land. It is not so easy to walk away from it as any other place on earth. It is Holy Land. It has meaning to everyone associated with it, and everyone wishes to be able to walk free inside it.

Having an enduring determination to free themselves from a brutal occupation that does nothing but dehumanises them and steals from them — and a longing, ultimately, to return to their homeland, this is inherent to being a Palestinian. They cannot ‘Un-Palestinian’ themselves.

So the Palestinians will say, “What world would you have us do? You the world have done nothing to help us. You who have been silent and you care nothing for our oppression. You have abandoned us to unthinkable injustice and suffering for decades. You who sit comfortably in your homes have no right to moralise at us or criticise us and tell us what we should or shouldn’t do. We have no means whatsoever to fight for our freedom. No one is on our side. We are alone. We will do whatever must be done to fight for ourselves, our human rights, our land.”

The Palestinians are living in an impossible nightmare. There seems to be nothing they can do to free themselves that doesn’t make their situation worse. What exactly are they supposed to do when they live under an occupation, have no civil rights, no means to fight for themselves, and the people with power that could do something are not standing up for them? And when all means of civil and non-violent resistance are completely denied or futile, support for more violent resistance will become inevitable.

And it was indeed inevitable that 7th October would come. Warning after warning has been given about the Occupied Palestinian territories and the blockade. Warnings about human rights abuses have gone unheeded. Warnings that if Palestinians are not given their freedom what would happen. Warnings that it was totally unjust, immoral and illegal for Palestinians in the West Bank to be under military occupation. Time and again it has been said it is a danger to the security of Israel, and it was ignored.

But the problem for the Palestinians is that terror was never ever going to work — because the people in Israel believe it was established and is needed as security because of the risk of terror against them. So the idea that they could be terrorised into giving it back, or into leaving — this is an absurdity. People talk of ‘Hasbara’, but terror is and feeds Hasbara. October 7th has done nothing but make people believe in Zionism even more (a safe place to live in their eyes). Zionism burns greater than ever with the fuel of the fires from the Hamas rockets. All terror has and can ever achieve is further encroachment onto Palestinian territory — the literal opposite of a free Palestine.

What happened in 1948 is horrendous. But what of it, to that 15 year old Israeli child? Whose own grandparents had nothing to do with it, and were themselves dispossessed, as is the case now for so many people living in Israel. That child who has only ever known Israel as their home.

So Israelis will say, “World, what would you have us do after October 7th? People outside Israel, you can say whatever the hell you want, but we are here alone. We have and always have been surrounded by people on every side who wish to murder each and every one of us until we are annihilated, and in the most painful and brutal possible way, as has just been demonstrated plainly for all the world to see. You, who do not have any understanding whatsoever of what that is like, do not get to tell us what to do. We will do whatever we think is necessary to strengthen our position to ensure this cannot happen again.”

What people are missing is that this conflict is unique to any other case of the ‘coloniser and colonised’ in history, because the people doing the ‘colonising’ are half the people of the land, people who have a genuine existential fear of everybody around them that does not come from nowhere, and is deeply ingrained into most people’ psyche. Most do not have anywhere else to go, because most of their grandparents came to Israel as refugees, and so they cannot perceive themselves as a ‘colonial settler’ in any way. So they will never stop fighting back at terrorism for their right to live without fear of attack.

This links to the Jewish people in the diaspora who support Israel and is extremely difficult for non-Jewish people to understand.

For many Jewish people, memorialising the repeated attempts to eradicate Jews throughout history, most notably the Holocaust, and remembering and honouring ancestors who have died to keep the Jewish religion alive is considered essential.

Every festival, every prayer book, every cultural activity and a very large number of conversations includes this on some level. It is integral and inherent to most people’s identity. So if people feel that their Jewish counterparts, and very often family in Israel are in existential danger, they can and only ever will see it as a moral imperative that they must be supported.

Asking Jewish people to somehow disavow themselves of this notion is impossible. To tell most Jewish people they need to ‘get over it’ because, “they are a coloniser and their needs do not matter,” is completely meaningless to them.

It is not grounded in reality, and something that can and will only ever be perceived as an attempt to ‘UnJewish them’. I.e. to eradicate significant parts of Jewish history and day-to-day life and community, and thus could only ever be perceived as deeply antisemitic in its very nature. The more these things are denied as relevant, the more people will fight back against what they see as gaslighting.

But for those people in the diaspora who have blindly, unquestioningly, dutifully and uncritically supported Israel, while its government drifts ever further into the grip of right-wing extremism and corruption, must surely now see that was a mistake. If you had a friend or a loved one on a destructive path of self-sabotage, would you just let them carry on?

It is great tragedy of Jewish history for both Jews and Palestinians alike that self-determination and independence for the Jewish people, at a time when they needed and wanted it so badly would come at someone else’s expense. Something that is so freely and unquestioningly given to so many other peoples, but not the Jewish people. Yes, it is unfair. But it did come at their expense. I think that most Palestinians only opposed it, not because they oppose Jewish people — it is the bit about it being at their expense.

We can argue forever and eternity about, “Oh, but it never needed to be this way. If only you could have shared with us. If only in 1947 this or that. And if only in this peace agreement this year or that year,” or whatever.

But what of it to those 15 year olds living in Gaza and the West Bank? It is an irrelevance what was ever intended. What was intended bears no resemblance whatsoever to their lived reality. The Jewish dream of Zionism became their nightmare. I know this is an extremely painful and bitter pill for people to swallow, but Zionism since its inception has resulted in nothing other than subjugation for them. And it is not normal for a country to not have any proper borders, and for one people to control another in some parts of it.

And while it continues to happen, Zionism will continue to be seen as Jewish people being allowed to have control over other people. This was never ever how Zionism was originally intended for a lot of people, and it is not what they think it means. Far from it. But this is where it has come to, and intentions do not matter, because it is our actions that count. Once you understand this, it is really not difficult to see how this is fuelling dark and extremely dangerous conspiracy theories about Zionism, which are dragging us back to a place in history that we most definitely do not want to go, and it endangers us all.

We need to open our eyes to reality. As the bombs reign down in Gaza, destroying thousands of lives, after well over 100 days, there are people dying from starvation. This must end, immediately. It is abominable. The rockets are still coming. And even if you stop them today, while there is occupation in any part of the land, they will just come back tomorrow or the next day or the week or the year or the decade after that. And surely from the Israeli side, negotiating whatever terms to get as many of those hostages out alive, going through what must be unthinkable terror, at any cost, must be prioritised above all else.

And I am very sorry, because I know people will not like this. But this ‘war’ — it is not about destroying Hamas. It is becoming increasingly clear by the day that not only is destroying Hamas impossible, but Israel’s government are violent ethnonationalists. The far right threaten to collapse it at every mention of a ceasefire — the only thing that will get most of those hostages back alive — and so it carries on. And extreme ideology is much more widespread within the government than just the furthest right that are propping it up. The very leader of Israel himself is at the heart of it.

When you hear what they are saying, it is very clear that they have far more sinister intentions, and we must take them at their word. Allowing people to starve, making plans to drive them off their land into other places, destroying heritage sites, and yes, mass killing — that is ethnic cleansing. It is the definition of ethnic cleansing. It is illegal under international law, and it must stop.

People say, “Oh, but Hamas are stealing the aid.” Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. I don’t know. I don’t know and I don’t care. I don’t care because it is an irrelevance at this moment in time to that woman looking into the eyes of her hungry child as they wither away and die. It is enough.

Could it ever be solved?

There are those of us that would be willing to give up on the dreams of our respective peoples, and not because we wish to throw them under the bus. But simply because we would just accept any solution, in whatever form, that would bring the suffering of all people to an end, and as quickly as possible. Because we believe that none of any of this is worth the blood of anyone’s children.

Because we look at those dreams of security through self-determination, rights to return, and we look at where we are today, and we see that none of any of it has delivered on its promise. We see that the world is a very different place to what it was in 1948. We recognise that there are people on the ‘other side’ that we would much rather share a country with than the ‘mob’ on our own side.

Because we know that our histories are worthless if they demand that we ‘unhuman’ ourselves.

Because we recognise that we have inherited the most Unholy mess.

But we are few in number, because the majority of most peoples cannot let go of their respective narratives, either in whole or in part. And so the solution that must be found is one that could satisfy the majority of the narrative of both peoples.

Israel already has half of what it wants — it has the state. But it does not have security, and any pretence of it has been an illusion, one that was violently shattered on October 7th.

The Palestinians meanwhile — they have nothing of what they want.

A one state solution — this does not satisfy the Israeli narrative, because it requires the undoing of Israel. It gives many Israelis nothing of what they think they want and everything they are afraid of. If you were that panicking aunt of that 15 year old Israeli child just now, would you be agreeing to open that border?

But I do not think the two-state solution really satisfies the Palestinian narrative. Because in that narrative, things were better before Israel, before Zionism, where everybody just lived together. And mainly because people want to able to walk free across the land — the right of return. The two-state solution may bring freedom and dignity, but I am not sure if it would give enough people what they really want.

Ultimately it comes down to one of the reasons this has been so intractable for so long. The Jewish State and the desire to control and ensure the continued right of Jewish immigration to Israel, and the presumed need to maintain a Jewish majority to enable that, vs the Right to Return of the Palestinians. ‘The War of Return’ as it has been called. The thing that neither side seems to be able to give up, that seem to be in direct conflict.

So what do we do? Throw our hands up, put it down to a bad job and just give up. (What the world has done). Keep blaming each side’s ‘propaganda’, each side’s education system, each side’s unwillingness to budge. But it won’t work, because it is asking people to let things go of things that they cannot let go of, things that are integral to the history of their peoples.

Human beings have been solving problems since we existed and there is no reason why we cannot solve this one.

There are many possible ways to solve it. The confederate two-state-solution is one example of a way to square the circle: https://www.alandforall.org/.

I suggest it not because I am wedded to it but because it seems to me that it would satisfy enough of both narratives to work. There may be multiple other ways to do it.

How do we get to it? As a possible example. We start with two states. Real states. Not a bit of a state or half a state with the other bit not connected to it and some people still being occupied that could never be acceptable, and was always going to be fought against. A real Palestinian state, whose borders are secured through international peacekeeping. But with that state must also come the promise and the goal that over a reasonably short period of time, everybody who wishes to cross that border gets to cross that border, until eventually, one day, ideally, there isn’t a border. People live wherever they want, but retain citizenship in their own state. And with regards specific land and homes that cannot be returned, real reparations are made. This is just one example of how it could be done.

As we keep hearing — 7 million Israelis, 7 million Palestinians. No one is going anywhere. But at some point, it is my opinion that, probably, for this to ever end, everyone must be able to go everywhere.

Two peoples living side by side. All free to live and move freely across this ancient and Holy land that is so special and meaningful to all and must be shared. Finally able to mix and become humanised in each other’s eyes. Christian, Jew, and Muslim, free to access their ancient and Holy sites. All of us united together in the spirit of mutual respect and tolerance.

Cooperating together to fight the only war that there should ever have been — the only war worth fighting.

Everybody vs the mob.

Not a religious war, not a war of the us or them, not a war over rights to the land and houses. But a war of the moderate and the just against the extremists that have desecrated our respective religions and turned them into something ugly. The lunatics marginalised, silenced and rejected. As opposed to what we have now — the sociopaths leading the charge and everyone else marching dutifully along behind.

People will say this is idealistic nonsense, a pipe dream. But what is the other option? Another twenty or thirty years of failed peace agreements and more of the same all over again? And with every round of violence, the violence gets more violent, the mob gets stronger and more popular on both sides as their ideas are seeded. And the mob is hard to fight, because the mob involves fanatic religion that cannot be reasoned with.

If we keep allowing them to get stronger and stronger, I think they will eventually set each other, themselves, and quite possibly the entire world, alight. Literal World War 3 with Jerusalem at the centre.

“How can you ask us to negotiate with them?” I hear you say. “Them, who are ethnically cleansing us,” or, “Them who wish to annihilate us,” depending on which side you are on. But here is the rub — you cannot terrorise people into leaving and you cannot bomb people into submission. Neither has ever worked. We cannot ethnically cleanse or genocide our way out of this for either people, one way or the other. Any other solution other than a diplomatic solution will lead us nowhere but the abyss.

Israelis and Palestinians are not all inherently genocidal oppressors or inherently genocidal terrorists. (As unfortunately lots of people are saying) Of course they are not. Maybe right now in Gaza most Palestinians do support Hamas in what they see as armed resistance, and most Israelis do support the actions of their government in what they see as a war. But both things have become intertwined with both mobs, and so they are not what each respective side thinks they are. The ‘armed resistance’ — a pogrom style massacre by the ‘death to the Jew’ mob, and the ‘war’ a flagrant breach of international law and an obvious attempt at ethnic cleansing by the ‘God gave us Israel, death to the Arab’ mob.

I am not very sure that most of any of them either know or believe exactly what has or hasn’t happened. The information they are receiving is very different to ours. And in times of heightened escalation of violence, people retract into the respective narratives of their people as they become reinforced. “If it’s a choice between us or them, I choose us. And for me to be able to look myself in the mirror, I must choose to believe what I choose to believe.”

Both believe so deeply within their heart and soul that they are on the side of righteous justice. For one it is ‘the right to just exist’, For the other, it is ‘the right to life, dignity, freedom from cruel and violent oppressors’. So they are both engaging in the collective delusion that because theirs is the side of the right and good, their soldiers/fighters must also be right and good.

Their people can’t possibly be the ones committing the crimes against humanity, and they cannot believe the worst things that are being said about their own side, only the other. But this is not the reality of wars and fighting, and definitely not in a conflict that has gone on for this long where this amount of hatred has become so entrenched, and most of all not ones which involve religion. To me it seems very likely that most of the worst things that are being said about both sides, are in fact, the true things.

As it turns out, many of them were always, are becoming, or have become, the mob.

I think almost everyone, whatever they say, would in fact be appalled if they were actually to see the violence that has happened, and is happening with their very own eyes. But they do not want to open their eyes to see it for what it really is, because they are on the side of the right and the good.

I know there are people of every colour and creed who no doubt I could become friends with, get along with, and love dearly. But also there are people of every colour and creed that I could not stand to be in the same room as. I know this because I am not a racist. Human beings are human beings, that is all we need to know. And if we find ourselves making any collective statements about all of a people, we are probably becoming the very thing we so vociferously claim to the world we are not.

I think that racism may well have become entrenched on ‘both sides’ but I am not sure that it is exactly racism — perhaps a better way to put it would be ‘othering’. “They did this, they did that. They support this, they support that.” And the only way to stop doing it is not to tell each other that we need to unlearn or erase our respective histories and ‘un-brain’ wash ourselves. It is the opposite.

We have to first human ourselves. And then we might have to temporarily UnJewish and UnPalestinian ourselves for short amounts of time. Then we learn each other’s history. Then we will be able to find solutions together.

How can we work together to solve this?

This part of this piece of writing — specifically — it is for us in the diaspora. Hardly anyone in the Middle East is in a place to hear any of this this right now, and too many of them are much too busy trying not to die or get killed.

We in the diaspora, we are trying very hard to do what we can to stop this, and to help. But how is it possible, that all of us who seemingly so desperately want the same thing — freedom and dignity for everyone, and yet still don’t seem to be able to get anywhere without offending and upsetting one another? How can we expect people in the Middle East to co-exist, if we cannot even have a conversation?

I believe we are talking to each other in languages we do not understand, and until we realise this, we will only ever talk past each other. Almost every conversation will have the opposite of its intended consequence, and make the other person believe they are even more right.

We will only ever find it inconceivable that people or friends or colleagues that we thought were ‘nice’ could have views that seem totally barbaric in our eyes. But if we could talk in languages each other could understand, it would get easier. Or at least if we can’t, if we tried to hear what the other is really saying.

We are not listening to, or being respectful of one another and as a collective we are so much weaker and so much less powerful for it. Because the discourse has become so toxic that we cannot work together to find solutions.

I know I myself have been done these things, but even as we try to so hard to understand and explain, it is so easy to offend. I think the reason we are offending each other is because the words in the mind of the speaker sound very different to the ears of the listener.

If the conversations are had respectfully in the spirit of achieving genuine mutual understanding, that is great. But if it is an argument to convince the other person that you are right, forget it.

Take the debate about whether shouting ‘Intifada’ is Anti-Semitic.

If you tell some Palestinians that shouting, what to them means ‘resistance’ against a state which is and has been exercising immense and disproportionate power against them and has done for three quarters of a century, is anti-Semitic, they will inevitably wonder what planet you are living on. How exactly it is that you expect they can possibly fight for their freedom? And why do you continue to engage in this collective delusion that just condemns them to suffer and die?

But if you try to tell most Jewish people, that what they perceive as the indiscriminate killing of Jews in terrorist attacks is not antisemitic, it is inevitable that they will not believe you. In fact, they will see you as yet another of the seemingly innumerable people in the ‘Death to the Jew’ mob.

Every conversation is having the opposition of its intended consequence. Convincing the other person they were more right than they were before.

Think about the way that we frequently use each other’s non-mainstream diaspora voices as a stick to beat each other with. (And this is not necessarily a criticism of those voices — some of them are very important — it’s just explaining how they are seen).

People say to Palestinians:-

“Look, this Palestinian is good, they think Zionism is okay, and you should just accept it. If only you could stop being so silly like them it would have all been over a long time ago. They agree that you haven’t exactly helped yourselves.”

How could a Palestinian ever consider this as a legitimate argument? Views that surely could only be perceived as incredibly anti-Palestinian. Surely they must think something along the lines of…

“You are privileged not to be in Gaza grieving incommensurate losses. You are one of the lucky ones whose entire family is not now dead. You who are not hungry and ill and exhausted and cold and terrified of being killed. All of your hopes and dreams do not lie in ruin before your eyes. You are enabling and emboldening our enemies. You are throwing us under the wheels of the bus of occupation all the while benefitting from living in the countries that side with our oppressors. You do not, and you will not ever, speak for us.”

Equally Jewish people are constantly bombarded with -

“Look at this Jewish person or that one. They are reasonable. They believe Israel is a colonial entity and should be entirely dismantled. They agree you are weaponising the Holocaust and playing the victim. Why are you not a good Jew, like them?”

This is not in any way a mainstream Jewish view because it is mostly perceived as -

“Lucky you, not to be one of almost half the Jews of the world that ended up living in Israel, to not have been born there, to not have a friend or family member that has been killed or taken or mutilated.

Lucky you, who can align yourself with the baying mob, and in so doing throw your Jewish Brothers and Sisters in Israel under the wheels of the bus of annihilation by the people that have demonstrated time and again that they hate them, because it is not your problem. You are not and never have been part of the community, and you do not speak for us.”

If we constantly tell both groups that we don’t hate them, just so long as they agree with something that is a total anathema to them, it will never wash. I am sure it is incredibly offensive to everyone.

“From the River to the Sea.” What do you mean? Genocide the Jews? Genocide the Palestinians? Arab Nationalism? Jewish Nationalism? Or simply freedom and equality for all?

And when it comes to ‘Zionism’. Forget about different languages. We are on completely different planets.

For everyone and anyone else watching the nightmare unfold, who can’t make sense of any of it, they must be thinking, “Surely none of any of this can be okay in the name of human decency?” But they do not know what to do. Because to ‘both sides’ it is to offend everyone and convince no one. ‘Both sidsing’ it has been declared not allowed. You will always be seen as a sell-out or a bus-thrower-under, one way or the other. So they are silenced, their voices not heard, reduced into a despondent, hand-wringing depression.

Yes, in the Middle East, one group has all the power. But in the diaspora, we are more equal. We have equal rights, we mostly live in countries where we are free to speak our minds.

Both sides are busy trying to expose each other’s mob. Both sides have “traitors” who are busy helping. The traitors have totally denounced their own side as either misogynistic, or racist, or both, and have joined the other team. And most of everybody else is on the scale of moderate, somewhere in between the views of the ‘mob’ from their own side, and ‘traitor’ for the other side. None of us even agree with each other on our ‘own side’, and very often, the people on our own side annoy us even more than the people on the other, and amazingly, sometimes the people we find the most annoying are the people we agree with the most.

In the first version of this I wrote, “We are mirror images of one another, yet it seems we mainly hold the mirror up at each other, not at the self.” So we never get to see what it is that we might have been missing.

Maybe is the other way around — we only hold the mirror up at the self and not the other. Something like that.

This is a long and, yes, very complicated story affecting and involving millions of different people across the world, across time and space, with millions of different stories to tell. For there to be any genuine hope of mutual understanding or respect, every single person is going to have to concede that most things about this story they can never truly understand because they have not lived them.

We cannot know, if we have not lived it, what it means to be born and live in a country that has only ever been at war. We cannot know, if we have not lived it, what it means to be born and live your whole life in a territory that is brutally occupied, or is under a blockade, by another people. Nor can we know, if we have not lived it, what it is like to have friends and family caught up on any side of this, whose safety and wellbeing you are desperately worried about.

We in the diaspora, so desperately worried for people in the Middle East, we are all working so hard, but we are not doing the right work. We are digging the hole deeper than ever. The magic peace fairy is not coming. They will not simply just descend from the sky, sprinkle us with magic fairy peace dust and make it all better.

When was the last time we tried to have a meaningful conversation with someone who is saying things that seem incredibly offensive to us? When was the last time we took the trouble to ask them why they think what they do? Or to ask why it is that we have offended them? To ask them about their lives, what happened to their grandparents, and their families and friends, and their parents and the stories that they were told growing up. About their hopes and dreams and aspirations. About their fears for the future.

Whenever the violence escalates, the historians cash in. Suddenly people have more motivation to understand, so we start reading and re-reading the history books. But mostly history will not give us the answers that we are looking for. It is people’s stories that will do it. And reading books that reinforce things that we already agree with will not give us the understanding that we need. It is the great writers from the other side that might.

Social media has many ills. But one huge positive is that it allows us to connect with all sorts of people whose thoughts and ideas we would never have been exposed to. We can observe fascinating conversations between other people we would never have been party to before. We can gain understanding, share ideas and solutions. It is definitely happenning. None of this was there in any previous attempts to fix this. It might just be the gamechanger that we need. We must make the most of it.

We cling to our positions like shells to a rock, not budging at all, so sure that we and we alone can see this for what it really is. I know I was. We could have been working together to stop this, but we never make any progress, and as a result, inadvertently, each and every one of us is complicit in the most unforgivable human suffering.

People say that there is no point talking about peaceful co-existence because it has never worked — but neither has violence. Ultimately there are only two choices — wait for the magic peace fairy, and die together. Or we can do the work to make the ‘peace’ that we all want, and maybe we can live together.

Addendum

And now I speak “as a British Jew,” to anyone in our community who is willing to listen.

I can tell the story of the Jewish story because I know that story. I have grown up listening to it. I was taught it in the Synagogue, in Sunday school and by family and friends. I have also tried, as best as I can, having not lived it, but by listening to the voices of Palestinians and with the help and feedback of allies, to do justice to their story. I hope that I have. It may not meet the mark, after all, this is only version 2. And anyway, neither ‘side’ is a monolith, we would all tell our histories a bit differently, so I definitely cannot satisfy all.

It is important to say that there is one thing yet unmentioned about these two stories. It may be the most important thing. I think it belies the biggest lack of understanding between us.

I have talked much of the similarities in our stories. But there is one very big difference.

The Israeli and Jewish story is about running away. It is about running away from terrible persecution, and of moving forward. It is about moving on and building a new life. The idea of wanting to go back in time, wanting to turn back the clock — it is unconscionable. There was never anything worth going back to. So, for example, when some of us are suddenly being offered citizenship in European countries because our grandparents lived there before the Holocaust, this is not something that we could ever comprehend wanting.

So many Israelis feel, “Why couldn’t they have just moved on like we did? Why did they spend all of their efforts ruining things for us when they could have just moved forward, let it go, made the best of a bad lot, and made new lives like we did?”

Apart from the multitude of reasons I have already explained as to why it was never that simple and why their material circumstances and the occupation has made that impossible for most people — what we need to realise is that their story is the other way around. Our story starts from a place of misery, and moves onto something better. Theirs starts from a place where they were happy enough, and moves onto something horrific. It starts from being at least content for hundreds of years, running away — something they thought was temporary — and never being allowed to go back.

And I say this part as gently as I possibly can. There is a very deep and particular sorrow that many Jewish people will know. It comes with realising that we do not want to look back, because looking back is much too painful. Knowing that for some of us there is no point going on ‘ancestry.com’ because there is no ancestry left to trace. And is it that sorrow that was felt so keenly after the atrocity that was October the 7th. People do not understand that something cannot be weaponised when it is so genuinely heartfelt — there is no intent behind it.

But for the Palestinians — seeing that people from other countries can go and visit, go on holiday, and walk around in a land where their grandparents built their homes, left with whatever they could carry only for them and their families to encounter ever more worsening horrors on their onward journey right up until this very day — and yet they can never set foot in that land — I think what they experience when they see that — it is a very similar sorrow. And I am sure that they have been feeling that sorrow most keenly with each and every passing day, and most particularly in these last months.

I do not believe, as I have argued, that is the case that Israel must cease to exist with all the people in it, to allow the Palestinians what they clearly want, need, and, I believe, are indeed entitled to. The idea that our millenia-old right of return is still in date but their 75-year-old right of return has somehow expired is completely logically incoherent.

And I am coming to understand that suggesting that it has somehow been indulged is a bit like telling us we are weaponising the Holocaust. I think that nothing could be more insulting.

The problem with our version of the story that we were taught — The story of the Jewish people, our losses, our sacrifices, our spilled blood — it is only half a story. It is history through only one lens.

And that story is not the only thing that is taught in our homes and in our Synagogues and in our Sunday schools. We are taught values. We are taught values of respect, justice, and ‘do unto others’. We are taught the words of the Talmud ‘Whoever saves a life, saves the world entire,” (words that can also be found in the Quran).

Most importantly of all, we are taught, “Do not stand idly by while the blood of your neighbour is shed.”

And because we are taught those values — there is a cognitive dissonance that so many people in our community feel — but don’t quite understand — that parts of this story don’t really make any sense, that what happened, and is happening, is definitely not okay. That dissonance — it will not hold forever. It will tear our families and our community apart. It already is.

Yes, there is a death to the Jew mob. Yes, they are a massive problem. But I think we have no right to make mention of that mob unless in the same breath and multiple times over we are making mention of our own mob. Because our own, ‘Death to the Arab’ mob — they have been running around the Occupied Territories unchecked for decades. And it is both mobs that need to be brought under control before there can ever be any hope of resolving this. The Death to the Jew mob will come back stronger than ever while the Death to the Arab mob roam free. And who are we to lecture Palestinians for not getting their house in order, when it is our side that has all the power and all the resources, and yet we have allowed it to carry on? We who demand that they condemn the “resistance” whilst refusing to condemn the “war”.

And we must understand this — If Gaza is allowed to be resettled — it is over. Ever more untold and unimaginable horror for the Palestinians, and in our silence we will have handed Israel on a plate to those ethnonationalists, to the people that should have had nothing to do with what Israel could have been — and in fact people that have nothing to do with us and our values.

People keep talking about the two-state solution like it is some kind of utopia that, like the magic peace fairy, it will just fall from the sky. It is not that easy. Trying to dismantle settlements in the West Bank to make that possible — it is probably almost undoable as it is. Some of them have been there so long now and the Palestinians have very little faith that it could or would ever be done. In fact a confederate version of the two state solution may in some ways be easier to implement because it does not necessarily require the dismantlement of all settlements, something that looks like it is getting harder to do.

And If we think antisemitism is bad now, it will be nothing compared to what is in store in years to come if the resettlement and reoccupation of Gaza were to happen. Israel, hated among nations like never before, until eventually the world will finally not tolerate it. It is dangerous and it leads I know not where, undoing it, I know not how. An epic holy war ahead of us, and in the process we will see what we are already seeing in Israel — free speech and dissent a thing of the past — and Israel’s democracy — burned to the ground.

We are doing our cousins and our friends no favours by parroting off the same old arguments, and ignoring the occupation that has been allowed to become normalised within Israel. It is high time for a different conversation. It was a long ago, and it is now or never.

We need to speak up, loud and clear. When it comes to armed Jewish settlers running around the West bank and terrorising Palestinians, we are anti — it, and we always have been. But how can we expect other people to know this if we do not have these conversations in the open? If we do not call a spade a spade. Our refusal to use particular words and talk about things in a particular way in front of other people even if we do it behind closed doors has led to a lack of education within our community — and I am sure that there will be some people when I talk about these things, that have literally no idea what I am even saying. This is a very big problem. I hope some of those people are reading this now.

And what exactly is it that we are so afraid will happen if we put our heads above the parapet? It is evidently clear that Israel has not been abandoned by its allies. Put yourself in the shoes of an ordinary Gazan just now. Heartbreakingly, it seems to me, that being abandoned by the world — that that has become their destiny.

And, “What of the far left?” people will say? How are we to do deal with their antisemitism?

Yes, the far left think they are supporting armed resistance but have in fact aligned themselves with the ‘death to the Jew’ mob. They bleat on about ‘Hasbara’ — something they clearly have no understanding of whatsoever because if they did they would realise that they are it. Or at least that they are feeding it. Literally they are walking, talking Hasbara.

But of the multiple problems with the far left — and there are many — to me the worst is that there are those of them who have no connection whatsoever to the lives of anyone in the region — no ordinary Israelis or ordinary Palestinians, and yet they cheer for ever more death and destruction. They cheer on “armed resistance” from their comfortable homes in their comfortable lives, and it is not them who will have to face the consequences.

And maybe this round of violence will be the last round, the round that ends it once and for all — I hope so. But it has come at the most appalling and unacceptable cost.

Who are they to think they have a right to declare that somebody else’s family, somebody else’s child — Israeli or Palestinian — even one — let alone thousands and counting — is an acceptable sacrifice?

Maybe it is because they did not understand that October 7th could only ever have been a suicide mission. Because as a consequence of the rigidness of far-left ideology that does not allow for self-critical thinking, they refuse to understand this problem in more than one way. That you cannot fight evil with evil. That yes, it is more complicated than just ‘oppressor’ and ‘oppressed’, more complicated than their warped version of reality where even children are fair game.

Probably there are some of them that knew what would happen after October 7th, and just decided it was probably worth it if it would eventually ‘free Palestine.’ Either way it is unforgivable because it was not their decision to make. And all that has happened as far as I can see, all October 7th has achieved is all it would ever achieve — to enable an extremely racist, harmful, problematic and untrue stereotype that ‘Palestinians are genocidal terrorists’ to be reinforced in the eyes of Israelis and the rest of the world. Around 3,000 people crossed that border on October 7th, of a population of over 2 million. But undoing that sterotype will be extremely difficult, taking us further away from where we need to be.

You cannot help but wonder where we might be right now if only all those people had used all that effort to lobby for a real diplomatic solution. But we can’t turn back the clock.

Arguing with the far left is a waste of time. They have no self-awareness, they are delusional, and they will never stop. They are as fanatical as any of the mob. The only way to make them stop talking is to actually sort this problem once and for all and work for the freedom and dignity of all. And when all is said and done, the ones that will keep complaining will finally be exposed for what they truly are.

That there are outspoken people within our community that think that the correct response to these people is for us to align ourselves with far right Islamophobes — we who have traditionally been proud of being anti-fascist — this could not be more ludicrous. It will lead us into that abyss. “I think the Jewish Chronicle is the Daily Mail for Jews.” Yes Dad, we all finally agree.

So where do we go from here? We need to start doing that right work. It is incumbent upon us more than anyone. Because it is only us who can help our friends and family in Israel, because it us who share history with them, who love and care about them. It is us who can help them see this through another lens.

We need to change the conversation, and we need to do it fast. Because the Palestinians do not have the luxury of time, and as far as I am concerned, neither do we.

There are people in our communities — both Israeli and Jewish — that have already been doing that right work for a really long time. It is time to listen to them, and elevate their voices. We need to start to be willing to be offended and to listen to other points of view. And unfortunately some of the right work does sometimes involve wading through what feels like a massive steaming pile of anti-Semitic shit, in order to get to the heart of some of the problems. But we also have an opportunity to meet some incredible people, and hear some amazing and wonderful voices that we would never have had a chance to hear. We have to get this done, to fix this once and for all.

We cannot hand this legacy to our children. We have to fight (non-violently) for a different future. This is the chance to do it. The world’s eyes are on Israel, and the time is now.

#i/p #המצב #jumblr #a word of warning: #when I say it's extremely long #I mean that this will likely take you an hour to read properly #I'm not getting an easy word count on it #but it's Long

[with-love-from-hell]

Neverending Nights

written for Gn!Mc (you/yours)

genre: hurt/comfort

pairing: Mammon x MC (can be seen as platonic/friendship)

Cw: depression implication, self-loathing, FOMO, rejection sensitivity, reader is gn but coded as shorter than Mammon.

"I sincerely apologize, Mc, but I will have to postpone our date tonight." Lucifer sighed, rubbing his temple. "Diavolo urgently needs me at the castle to review RAD's cost analyses and approve a budget for next quarter- especially considering the cost for repairs has been much more significant this quarter."

"That's ok." You mumble mournfully. "I understand."

Lucifer winces, feeling the disappointment glaring through in your tone of voice. "I do hope you know I will be making this up to you ten fold when I have the opportunity, Mc."

You smile weakly before wishing him luck at his meeting and returning to your room. It didn't hurt- at least, not at first. Lucifer was always busy- it couldn't be helped, after all. Besides, he always made due on his promise to reschedule your quality time together- all the brothers did. They valued your time...right?

"Sorry Mc, I'm at a photoshoot with Devilstyle right now! Talk later, mmkay? <3"

"I'm at a banquet to honor one of my close associates. Maybe tomorrow?"

"MC! I'm currently in line at the music shop on Dogma Street! Surce Frenzy is here signing autographs. Can you believe it?! The line is so long though...I probably wont be back until morning LOL!"

"Fangol practice is running late. I won't be home for awhile..."

"Too...tired..."

Tears begin to well up behind your eyes. Even your friends at Purgatory Hall were all out together at a movie without even thinking to invite you... The breaking point, though, was the fact that Mammon didn't bother to respond to your texts at all.

Your stomach feels heavy as you set your phone to the side. Every rejection from your found family replayed in your head on a loop. Part of you was sure it was a coincidence that they all happened to be too busy for you right now, and that this is just what happens from time to time. Another part of you, though, was reminded of all the other times you were cast aside, ignored, forgotten, and rejected by others.

Your kind weren't exactly cruel to you, but there was a sense of belonging shared amongst humans that you just didn't really feel with very many of them. And part of you was convinced that they felt it too, which is why you often felt left out of...well...everything during your time there, and why the Devildom, and the friends you made here, had felt so much more like home to you.

But now, here you lay- curled into yourself in the corner of your bed. The same hurt from back then worming its way from your stomach, to your heart, and up through your throat. Your entire body felt tight and tense; the only catharsis it allowed was from the shuddered breaths and muffled cries that escaped your lips. Darkness shrouded your vision, not even the light from your phone was enough to permeate it. The blanket you've surrounded yourself with closes further and further in on you, slowly making its way over your face and shielding you from the outside.

Had you done something wrong? Maybe you unintentionally said something insulting about one of them and it spread around the group. Did they all hate you now? Maybe your "new shiny object" charm wore off, and they were bored of you- like when a child gets a bunny for Easter and their parents end up getting rid of it after a month because they lost interest. Or maybe you were never really interesting to begin with. They could have been faking it, just to get on Diavolo's good side. Or maybe they were using you...There definitely was evidence to suggest that could be the case. So they'll come back when they need something again...But maybe they never will? Maybe they'll send you back to the human world and forget all about you...

The thoughts hurled their way through your mind rapidly. Somehow, you managed to sift through what you thought to be the plethora of evidence that supported each one of your theories. It didn't make sense for all of them to be correct of course, but you believed it was more likely than sheer coincidence. How else would it explain why Mammon and Belphie just ignored your messages?

You tighten your grip on the blanket you bundled yourself into, pulling the fabric down over your eyes. The self-deprecation and rejections replayed in your thoughts like a broken record. The inside of your mind was so loud, you barely heard the sound of your door flinging open and slamming against the wall.

...barely.

"Oi, human! I just got back from winnin' big at the Casino. Ya won't believe how much I got this time!" Mammon quipped loudly as he strolled into the dark room. The light from the hall spilled in, illuminating your lumpy figure under the blankets. Mammon cocked his head to the side as he noticed you, fiddling with a small box that he was hiding behind his back.

You don't reply, only curl into yourself further, praying for him to go away. You were certain that he was only here to brag, and hadn't even glanced at the message you sent him about wanting to spend time together. Clearly, the Casino and his greed meant more to him. He was a demon, after all.

"Aye! I'm talking to you, Human! This aint no time to be sleepin'! C'mon!" Mammon paused his movements as he reaches the edge of your bed. His brow now furrowed with a mixture of confusion, irritation, and concern. After you don't respond a second time, his anxiety begins to spike.

"What, are ya sick or somethin'?" Mammon shakes you a little to roughly with one hand, but the action becomes more gentle when he finally hears your sniffling, despite your best attempts to hide it. "Hey...what'sa matter?"

You shake your head enough to where you're sure he can see the movement from beneath the covers, but still say nothing. Mammon's frown deepens on his face, now heavily concerned with whatever had you to the point of tears.

"Did someone..? I swear if anyone dared lay a damn hand on ya, their head would be mounted on The Great Mammon's wall!" He growls protectively. Mammon squeezes your shoulder gently, but is taken aback when you swat his hands away.

"G-go away." You mutter.

Mammon blinks, taking a minute to process what he'd heard you say. "Huh?"

"I said: Go. Away." Your voice is louder as you snap at him, finally revealing your face from underneath the blanket cocoon you had nestled your woe into.

Mammon's eyes widen at the state of your tear-stained face. "Hey now...I ain't goin' anywhere 'til you tell me what's eatin' ya."

You sigh, folding yourself back under the blankets without another word. Mammon stands there, confused, trying to think of what to do. Clearly you weren't going to make him leave, despite saying you wanted to be alone. For a minute he ponders what could have you so upset. After his mind continues to draw blanks, he pulls out his phone, trying to see if you had maybe left any clues in the group chat. After reading through the innumerable messages declining the request to spend time with you and you're dejected "that's ok..." in response, he begins to put the pieces together.

"I'm here now, Mc..." Mammon clears his throat, sitting at the edge of your bed. "So...er...we can hang out, if ya want..."

Again, you don't reply to him. The only thing swimming through your mind now is the pity he must feel for you, seeing you like this. He probably thinks you're pathetic.

Mammon shifts his jaw. He hadn't often seen you in a state like this, but something about being lonely must have set you off. He thinks back to all of the times he himself had been lonely, and everyone else was too busy for him. The difference for him, though, was he found comfort in greed- that was his way of feeling less lonely. The casino, the horse track, and even online gambling dens were crowded with demons. Sure, many of them would roll their eyes at him or make snide remarks when he passed them by, but at least he wasn't alone.

He lets out a sigh, fidgeting with the box in his hand. "I'm sorry Mc. I didn't know you were so lonely. If I woulda known, I'd've come right home and skipped the Casino..." He pauses, glancing at your form that lay hidden underneath the blankets. "..but, I also wouldn't've been able to get ya this."

You barely have time to register what he says before a box is shoved into your face. You blink a few times before carefully taking it out of his hands. You swipe the blankets away from your face, taking the chance to study Mammon's intentions. You were surprised again to see him blushing, now turning his head away from you. With an uncertain breath, you open the box. A small gasp escapes your lips, and you snap your attention back to Mammon, who's blush seemed to have spread to his ears.

Inside the box is two sparkly gold necklaces, the heart-shaped pendants appear to be two halves that connect in the center with a magnet, showing that the wearer of each has a "half" of the other person's. "Partners in Crime" is spelled out in black cursive when the pendants are connected to each other. The gift seems befitting of a pair of middle schoolers who labeled each other as best-friends.

But as juvenile as the gift was in theory, you couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Mammon...this is very sweet."

"Yeah, yeah..." Mammon cleared his throat, trying to hid the reddness deepening on his cheeks. "I- uh- just got it so that other demons wouldn't mess with ya, not cuz I got a crush on ya or somethin'... If they see us wearin' the same necklace, they'll know you belong to the Great Mammon!"

For some reason, the comment doesn't phase you. If he'd said something like that 10 minutes ago, you would have been convinced he wanted nothing to do with you, but the gesture of the gift and the adorable flustered state he was in was proof enough that he cared about you...so much so that he went out of his way to pick up a good quality set of jewelry for you both to wear together with his winnings from his gambling. Instead of acknowledging his words, you hug him tightly.

"I...uh..." Mammon interrupted your thoughts, looking down at you with a sheepish smile on his face. "I still got some money left over from my winnings...did ya wanna order a pizza and watch some movies? I ain't got anythin' to do for the rest of the night and-"

"That sounds perfect." You smile warmly up at him. "Thank you."

Mammon finally returns your hug, squeezing you tightly. "Good. You ain't goin' anywhere cuz I got ya all to myself now, ya got that?! And...no more cryin' like that either...The Great Mammon's gonna make all yer problems go away!!"

You let out a small laugh, nuzzling into his chest. "Sure, Mammon..Sure."

#obey me! #obey me mammon #mammon #mammon x reader #gn!reader #gn!mc #mammon x mc #hurt/comfort #OM!

[sirfrogsworth]

The Pretty Average Trump Trauma

I really picked the wrong week to have a controversial post go viral.

The appeal deadline for my disability case is very soon and we just recently got the last of the medical records. My lawyer can get very busy and hard to reach. And I have been freaking out trying to get a hold of him to make sure everything is ready to be submitted. Thankfully he just emailed and said everything is on track and will be sent in for the appeal.

But having this weighing on me behind the scenes while also dealing with the blowback from my "vote for Biden" post caused me to enter into some unhealthy arguments and lose my temper on several occasions.

I didn't actually think about what would happen if that post went viral. Sometimes I write things and a hundred people see it, and it serves as a catharsis because I was able to get my thoughts and fears out of my brain.

And sometimes it gets reblogged 6000 times and I can forget I have a platform where that happens from time to time.

I wish I had written a better initial post. I think my thoughts in subsequent posts, along with the inclusion of what I think is a better strategy, would have gone a long way to help people understand my point of view. Looking back, that original post feels incomplete.

The post that ended up going viral was not inspired by reason or logic and it was never really meant to convince anyone of anything.

I thought I was preaching to the choir.

It was a representation of my fears. It was the result of two years of panic and trauma from the pandemic which ended in my mother's horrible death.

Let me explain...

On November 9th, Shaun, a YouTuber I respect, posted this.

And it scared the hell out of me.

A very popular leftist with a huge platform wrote this to 5 million people and I freaked out.

Shaun wasn't necessarily saying not to vote for Biden at the time. But he thinks people should all say they won't vote for him unless he calls for a ceasefire. I get the strategy. But I feared that nuance would be lost on many people and they would only see it as "don't vote for Biden... no matter what." Which was an accurate prediction on my part. The guy from Eve 6 has been going nuance-free for weeks now.

The one thing I greatly disagree with Shaun about is this...

Before the pandemic, I might have understood his argument. For the first two years, Trump was mostly an ineffectual goof. He had trouble getting a lot of his worst ideas to manifest. Most of the border wall he built ended up being repairs of existing barriers. And Obama droned civilians and kept kids in cages too—though Trump kept them in cages indefinitely and made up a rule that we can't actually know how many civilians he was droning.

So, a lot of the same, but turned up to 11.

But nothing about the pandemic response was pretty average.

There is something I have been choosing not to say during all of these discussions. I felt like saying it would be poor timing. I was worried people wouldn't actually agree with me. I worried it would make people think I was turning suffering into a competition. I didn't want to make it look like I valued certain lives over others. But then people accused me of all of that anyway. I was called evil and a collaborator and a supporter of genocide.

So I'm going to talk about it. Because the fact that few have mentioned it in these discussions has been bothering me. And the fact that the majority of society does not mention it makes me feel very alone in this belief.

I have long believed Trump and the majority of US conservatives committed a genocide of the disabled and elderly. I was never really comfortable calling it that word. I wasn't really sure how a genocide got classified as such. So I would just say things like, "40% of people who died during COVID should still be alive" and "Trump is responsible for hundreds of thousands of COVID deaths" and "Trump killed my mom" and hoping people would make the connection or at least see it as mass murder. I mean, this country judges everything by how many "9/11s" something is, but not the pandemic?

Donald Trump was the leader of the Republican party. When he refused to wear a mask due to vanity, his followers looked for something to excuse him. And I feel that directly birthed the "masks don't work" movement among conservatives. Donald Trump, having enormous influence among his acolytes, refused to correct this dangerous rhetoric. And he probably welcomed the cover so he could continue going maskless and not smear his makeup—even after he nearly died.

It is my belief this was the beginning of a genocide of apathy, deliberate and accidental incompetence, and non-compliance. And the reason for that non-compliance was not freedom as many claimed.

Conservatives did not like being inconvenienced.

They didn't like having to consider others.

And if competence requires effort and vigilance, they'd prefer doing the bare minimum.

Trump was famous for not filling vital administrative positions in the executive branch. Not only that, his turnover rate was 5 times higher than previous administrations. People were asked to do the job of several people because they didn't staff properly, and so those people quit. Thus creating a cycle of inexperienced new-hires that were out of their depth and asked to do much more than they bargained for. There is no way they could succeed in their jobs.

I think people forget that part of the role of the executive is the day-to-day boring administrative shit that is required to run a country. And when this day-to-day work isn't valued, it creates a crisis of incompetence. Which then creates things like not enough tests, not enough testing, Trump saying "if you don't test, it doesn't count", botched vaccine rollouts, rampant misinformation, poor education of the populace, and abysmal improvised press conferences where the President does a quick riff on injecting bleach.

This competence aspect is one of the hugest reliefs I had with the Biden administration. Not Biden. Not his policies. I'm talking about the regular workers getting shit done. This is the reason I am desperate to get my shit worked out with Social Security before the election. I once called Social Security during the pandemic and I literally got a recording saying to try calling back the next month.

Trump didn't care. People criticized him for not hiring people. He was aware of the problem. He just did nothing about it. And many conservatives praised him for "trimming the fat" or whatever. This idea that all of these government workers were useless burdens on the taxpayer fell apart during the pandemic.

There is incompetence caused by ignorance but it can also be a deliberate act. Trump was extraordinary in all forms of incompetence. He wasn't qualified to manage a pandemic. But he could have easily appointed experts and then gotten out of the way. But his narcissism would not let him cede power to anyone. He has always been convinced "only Trump can save you" and so his ego helped kill nearly half a million people.

Once the incompetence ball got rolling, that's when malicious apathy reared its ugly head. It was time to choose who they cared least about dying—who they felt was most useless. Conservatives decided it was time to devalue lives and start making sacrifices to save politicians' money laundering fronts small businesses.

Popular conservatives were going on TV and saying it was okay if Grandma died. It would be a worthy sacrifice to protect our freedoms.

The Lt. Governor of Texas, Dan Patrick, basically offered up the elderly for sacrifice all while claiming that he spoke for them and was also willing to die. Though I don't take his personal willingness very seriously, since he has the money and resources to get the best medical care and probably had no expectation he was in any danger.

“No one reached out to me and said, ‘As a senior citizen, are you willing to take a chance on your survival in exchange for keeping the America that all America loves for your children and grandchildren?’ But if they had? If that is the exchange, I’m all in. So my message is let’s get back to work. Those of us who are 70-plus, we’ll take care of ourselves.”

But you cannot just sacrifice the elderly. You may justify it by saying they have lived a long life, but many of the same health risks were shared by the disabled. Many of whom still had normal lifespans, but just needed extra care and protection.

There are countless elderly who cannot "take care of themselves" but they are still of value to our society. They are still loved. They watch and teach their grandchildren. They are the keepers of the family stories. They bake cookies and give you two dollar bills. They have random bowls of butterscotch all throughout their house.

But some need help. Some are sick. Some can't drive. Some can't walk. I guarantee not all of them were prepared to die for the cause.

And none deserved to die for a sports bar.

Oh, didn't I mention?

Dan Patrick owned a chain of sports bars that were losing money from the lockdowns. Did you really think he was sacrificing old folks "for the children"?

Thankfully Dan's sports bars are gonna be okay. He ended up receiving a $179,000 PPP loan... that was forgiven.

Then they started saying COVID deaths weren't COVID deaths.

"Well, they had a bad heart." "They were obese." "They had cancer."

They dropped the elderly excuse and began to openly devalue the disabled as well. If you were sick, what good were you? They considered us the next sacrifices for their convenience. If we wanted to survive, we shouldn't have gotten sick. It didn't matter that we could survive for years or even have a normal lifespan as long as we were protected by our communities.

And then began the non-compliance.

Trump's followers ignored masks and lockdowns and eventually vaccines. They were unwilling to protect the vulnerable and so many of us just... died.

Again, 40% of the US COVID deaths could have been prevented. Hundreds of thousands of people should still be here. Malicious apathy, incompetence, and non-compliance were the direct cause of this genocide.

The United Nations Genocide Convention identified 5 acts that typically constitute genocide. Only one act is required and in the pandemic 3 of the 5 acts happened.

Killing members of a group. Causing members of a group serious bodily harm. Imposing living conditions on that group that would destroy them.

I'm looking at that third one just now and realizing why we have advocates to remind us of vulnerable groups that need protection. I was thinking about how the elderly and disabled were trapped in hyper-contagious nursing homes and care facilities, but I completely forgot about prisons and the concentration camps at the borders.

I am not trying to diminish the awful things happening in Palestine right now. This is not a comparison of suffering—but a reminder. When a current terrible thing is happening, it can be hard to focus on anything else. But I do wish more people recognized what happened as a genocide and that the leader of that genocide, the one with the power to stop it, was Donald Trump. If we are going to base this voting decision entirely on acts of genocide, why is this not part of the consideration?

It is an awful moral calculus we have to figure out. One president is supporting and asking for funding for a genocide and I feel the other was the direct cause of another genocide. That's why I said both choices sucked. And the only way I could resolve this moral calculation was by asking what path would cause the least harm for everyone involved.

And the most disappointing aspect of all of these debates was the ableism. People told me if Trump was elected and I lost my benefits I should grow my own food and learn about medicine. They said I valued disabled lives above those in Gaza. They told me to imagine myself in Nazi Germany as a collaborator despite the fact I would have been euthanized.

But I felt like they weren't considering the disabled at all.

I am a disability advocate. So of course I am going to remind people to consider us in their voting decisions. But I'm tired of hearing I value lives differently just because I speak on behalf of a vulnerable group more often. I'm tired of continually having to justify my existence. And I'm tired of people dismissing the very real trauma caused by Trump.

It was not pretty average.

I'd like to tell you the full story of my mother's passing. All of the details. Even the ones I can't bear to type. But this isn't just my story. This is the story of countless others who had to watch their loved ones slowly die behind glass or over the phone or on an iPad.

I spent two years in constant anxiety trying to protect my two very sick parents. It was always assumed that my father was the most at risk. And that he was probably going to die long before my mother. But she had started a treatment for her psoriatic arthritis that turned the volume down on her immune system. Something that would normally not be a huge risk... but a pandemic changed that. A vaccine needs a functioning immune system to protect someone.

She could either accept the agony of stopping treatment or risk getting COVID. If people would have been willing to protect her, it would have been an easier choice. And she would still be around today. And I wouldn't have to worry about being homeless right now.

I don't know for sure when she was infected. I kept her inside as much as possible. But she needed those treatments and we had to pile into a crowded waiting room every time. And I remember a man in his fifties who seemed preoccupied with having to wear a mask. And when he thought no one was looking, he'd pull it down below his nose. A few days later she was being taken away in an ambulance.

A few weeks before my mother died, she called me on the phone. She was heavily medicated and they had two different breathing devices assisting her. The nurse was holding the phone up to her ear and she was trying to speak over the volume of the air rushing into her face from the masks. I could not hear her no matter how loud she yelled. So she asked the nurse to take the masks off for just a second so we could talk.

Her only concern was for my father. We all contracted COVID and she was so worried he would end up just like her. Thankfully the vaccine worked for him and he was okay at that moment. But she kept yelling, "Is Dad okay? Is Dad okay?" And I kept trying to tell her he was fine, but she was hard of hearing and the phone could not be held very close to her ear.

Unfortunately, the yelling made it harder and harder for her to breathe. She started gasping for air. The nurse kept insisting she put the breathing equipment back on, but my mom refused. "I want to talk to my son! I need to talk to my son!"

I knew there wasn't much we could do to communicate. And so I kept trying to yell "I love you, Mom. Everyone is fine. I love you!" I then asked the nurse to tell her that. And when she finally understood what I was saying, she burst into tears.

Her oxygen levels were getting dangerously low and she was fighting the nurse. And she just yelled out, "I'm so scared! I think I'm going to die! Tell Dad I'm sorry I can't take care of him! I don't want to die!" She kept repeating that over and over. The nurse had no choice and had to put the masks back on. My mom screamed and shouted "No! Please no! That's my son!"

And those were the last words I ever heard from my mother.

Gasping for air. Scared of dying. Worried about her family.

This moment has intrusively popped into my brain on a regular basis since it happened. It happens when I'm awake. It happens in my dreams. I have no control over it. I just have to keep experiencing it like it is happening for the first time.

After I saw that tweet from Shaun and then many others expressing the same thing (without the strategic aspect), my dread and trauma resurfaced with a vengeance. I've been reliving my mom's final words in my dreams. That moment keeps popping into my head. I feared the man I feel is most responsible for my mother's death may regain power and kill me and the last of the family I have left.

I keep asking myself the same questions over and over. What if there is another public health emergency? What happens to my trans friends if he turns the US into Florida and Texas? What will happen to the migrants at the border?

All I have is my two best friends. Katrina is gay and Delling is trans and disabled. All of us are vulnerable.

I wrote that post to help deal with the nightmares. Writing is part of my coping process. I didn't really expect it to go super viral. I just needed to get that out of my brain. But when people pushed back and started calling me evil and a collaborator and that I was valuing my life above those in Palestine, all with a huge heap of ableism, I found myself unable to let it go and not respond. I couldn't choose the healthy thing and step away.

While I feel I made some good arguments and put forth some solid ideas for other ways to handle this, I also got angry and lost my temper and stayed in arguments for way too long—all to my mental detriment.

My little world felt like it was collapsing and the world at large also felt like it was collapsing. I had personal horrors in my mind mixing with the horrors of this global conflict.

It was too much.

I don't regret what I posted. Many felt the same as I do. And I think my subsequent posts did a good job of expanding on my thoughts while also offering hope for alternate solutions.

But I do regret the timing and I wish I hadn't lost my temper. Especially in a reply I left with a lot of cussing.

People might disagree but I am hoping that people can understand the fear and trauma that influences my point of view.

I am actually willing to risk quite a lot to protect other people. Even people in faraway lands I don't know.

But I refuse to offer up the vulnerable to be sacrificed if it won't actually help anyone. That's what a Texas Lt. Governor would do.

#trigger warning #death mention #genocide mention