#Physical Assault

[alwaysbewoke]

[pinkieloveheartpastel]

tw: white supremacy, white fragility, assault mention aka being coughed on like I’m trash, other exhausting nonsense.

You can color your hair rainbows all you want to, wear all kinds of pins with “black lives matter”, and “equality” and “fuck the police”, “down with the system” or whatever the fuck with all the rainbow socks and all that shit, but if you’re still holding onto your white supremacist ideals and behavior, and you’re going out of your way to treat black people like shit (like this white blue-haired mf who coughed in my direction as soon as they got close to me, I will never forget that.), if you continue to silence black voices, and other marginalized voices, and cry white tears when you’re confronted, and forced to examine your whiteness, if you immediately jump to defending your behavior and hiding behind your white fragility, fuck you and fuck all those fake ass pins that you don’t fucking believe in. It is a fucking COSTUME. A PERFORMANCE. And I cannot STAND performative activism!!!

[edenfenixblogs]

For the record, the man accused in the shooting of the three Palestinian men was NOT JEWISH.

Please do not allow this terrible event to contribute to antisemitism or retaliatory Islamophobic violence.

James J. Eaton, the accused, is a white Christian man whose mother thought he was decorating a Christmas tree she gave him at the time of the shooting.

Many of us—Jews/Muslims/Israelis/Palestinians/Arabs—have been BEGGING those who claim to be our allies to dispense with violence and violent rhetoric against all of our communities precisely because we all know that these kinds of things happen as a result.

When I say that the rhetoric and tone you use online and the dogwhistles you espouse thoughtlessly can get people killed, this is what I’m talking about.

We all know that you want to be on the “right” side of history. But you have to want peace for all MORE than you want the self righteously fulfilling feeling of being right. This is not a game. People in your country are dying because people who claim to want to help are hurting everyone instead.

The only sides in this conflict are peace vs war, love vs hate. We must all be united in our desire for peace, not by our (self-proclaimed)“righteous” fury.

If you are demonizing Israel and Israelis and Jews or Muslims and Arabs and Palestinians, you are not only on the wrong side. You are not even on a side that can possibly be right.

Your personal political identity is irrelevant. Being a leftist/liberal/progressive doesn’t mean you’re immune to being hateful and Islamophobic and antisemitic. Being right wing/conservative doesn’t meant you are, either.

So, once again, I’m BEGGING YOU ALL: please tone down your rhetoric. Learn what dog whistles affect all parties in this conflict and then stop using them. Elevate the voices of people working for peace, not victory. And spend more time learning from those more familiar with the conflict than you do from those speaking most loudly about it.

And for the love of G-d. Please learn to interrogate a source for credibility before sharing it.

[neuroticboyfriend]

touching or pushing someone's mobility aid without their consent is assault. don't touch us, and dont touch our aids (which we often see as extensions of our bodies) unless we genuinely tell you it's okay. an unsure yes is a no. a yes under coercion is a no. either respect our boundaries or stay far, far away.

[acourtofladydeath]

TTBW Chapter 2

Cassian's healing journey beings, and Emerie tells her story.

New tags include discussions of cycle/period discrimination.

Start reading under the cut or on AO3!

Tensions were high outside Cassian and Nesta’s room at the House of Wind. Emerie, Azriel, and Rhysand had been sitting in the hall over a day as Madja and a team of her best healers worked on their friend’s mangled wings. Nesta refused to leave his side. Madja allowed her to stay in the room only as long as Nesta agreed to follow all instructions and stay out of the way, which she had. There was no time to fill anyone in on his status. While the camp lords had not intended to kill Cassian, the combination of the paralytic, faebane, and the shock to his system from trauma and blood loss had caused his body to shut down quickly. 

Rhysand had never seen Madja call for so many extra healers. Typically she brought along an apprentice or two to train. On particularly bad occasions, like after the King of Hybern had shredded Cassian’s wings and Azriel had been stabbed by Jurian, he and Morrigan had lent a hand. Madja called for six additional highly trained hands, and specifically refused the help of any apprentices or the Inner Circle. Such a thing was unheard of. 

As they waited, Emerie leaned against the wall, arms folded and one leg kicked back. Rhysand had slid down the wall several hours ago. Now his legs were bent up to his chest, elbows rested on his knees, and his head hung heavy in his hands. Azriel stood rigid by the window, unable to break his stare from Cassian’s door. Emerie watched him flex his hands and knew what ran through his mind. She knew what he must be reliving after what Cassian had endured because she was reliving it too. Their scars ran deep.

Loss, damage, physical, mental, and emotional pain that no amount of training could prepare anyone to live through. This was trauma in its purest form, and Cassian was not the only one injured. Emerie shut her eyes tight as she tried to push away the memories that had threatened to consume her from the moment Nesta had recognized the agony in Cassian’s wings through their bond the night before. The images and phantom pains that Emerie still fought back daily had only gotten stronger after what she’d witnessed in that tent.   

Hours later the door to Cassian’s room opened and Madja, exhausted and flecked in more blood than anyone was comfortable acknowledging, entered the hallway. Rhysand was instantly on his feet. Azriel remained still, but Emerie took a step off the wall, arms still crossed and wings held in tightly to stave off the pains. Rhysand quickly approached the healer, expectation written across the wrought lines of his face.

Madja stared down at the floor. This healer, a female whose skills went beyond all others, one of the only people in all of Prythian who could order the High Lord around, could not meet his eyes. Rhysand’s eyes bore down on her. Emerie tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, tried to remember that he was in pain, but she did not like the way he looked upon his master healer. 

With a deep breath, Madja raised her head and squared her shoulders to address Rhysand. Her face was schooled in a practiced calm as she began to speak with a steady voice. “We have stopped the blood loss, and managed to prevent amputation. His organs were shutting down and we almost lost him, but I am now sure that physically he will survive this.” 

“His wings,” Rhysand cut in, voice hoarse from lack of use and water. As he continued to speak his tone was harsh as he asked the question Emerie already knew the answer to. “Will he fly again?”

“No,” Madja said, voice firm and sure though it sounded like she did not want to be. “His wings were too damaged and there was noth-”

“You have to do something. He can’t not fly,” Rhysand said, voice rushed and angry as he took one step toward the healer. “He has to fly, Madja. You have to do something. His wings have been bad before, and you’ve always fixed him.” 

Emerie watched as some small part of the healer permanently broke, and she stepped forward to try and prevent the crack from growing further. “Thank you, Madja, for saving his life. We are so thankful. Is there anything that you need us to do?” 

Madja looked gratefully at Emerie for a brief moment before she responded. “No, thank you dear. Nesta has all the instructions and we will visit again soon. He needs rest before we work again.” 

Emerie smiled warmly at the female as she kindly nodded her response. Madja ushered the healers, all in various states of dishevelment, out of Nesta and Cassian’s room before they left the House of Wind together as one with Morrigan as their guide. Em watched them leave as she used her body to create a barrier between the healers and the High Lord. Azriel still had not moved from where he stood, eyes locked on the door that was once again shut. When they had gone and she was certain they were out of ear shot, Emerie turned angrily upon the males behind her. 

“Are you proud of yourself,” Emerie spat at the High Lord, who was still fuming mad about the now undeniable fact that his friend would no longer be able to fly. 

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Rhysand retorted as anger rolled off of him in dark waves. 

Emerie cocked an eyebrow at the High Lord, her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah? Nothing wrong? You do know that your words have an effect on people, correct? You had no right to guilt her like that.” 

“I did no such thing. I simply asked-”

“No,” Emerie said back. She wanted to shout, but she knew that Cassian and Nesta did not need to hear this right now. To try and preserve their peace, Emerie worked to keep her voice low, yet strong. “By bringing up the past times she was successful, you just confirmed to Madja that you believe this was likely her biggest failure to date. And it’s not. There’s no way to recover from the wounds he received. He’s lucky to be alive right now.” 

Continue reading on AO3.

[questioningespecialy]

Black News: Roda Bashe's assault by brick... and the aftermath

cw: physical assault, swelling

“Y’all, this man just hit me in my face with a brick and all these Black men just watched. This man...grabbed a rock and hit me in my face because I wouldn’t give him my number,” Bashe said in the footage. “What have I ever done to anybody in my life to deserve this?” she continued, now recording herself from a hospital room. —Candace McDuffie, The Root (2023/09/08)

After the incident, Roda Bashe received medical care at a nearby hospital where she stayed for several hours and was finally discharged with a concussion. A GoFundMe was created for Bashe by friend Kiara Davis, and it has raised $37,000 and counting for medical expenses. —Sayou Cooper, Daily Dot (2023/09/06)

There's lots of platforms and podcasts that are teaching men how to control, but not enough are teaching y'all how to care. —Jameelah Jones @sunnydaejones, TikTok (2023/09/06)

[hakeem0n]

No amount of therapy, substancies and medication has ever helped me to feel less paranoid and hyper vigilant all the time. I feel like I can't drop the guard for a second. I feel like I have no control over my body and life. I can't trust anyone anymore.

Living like this is exhausting.

[alwaysbewoke]

[askdiscordwhooves]

And thus ends this arc. So that I have time to gather asks and script ahead while keeping up a decent queue in order to give guest artists plenty of time to draw more updates, I’m going to take a break on updates for the rest of the month and begin updating again in November.

We’re getting closer and closer to the end, and I think as long as I can keep up the pace with guest artists, I can have Discord Whooves finished by the end of 2023!

Anyways, send your asks! I’m sure you’re dying to see what happens next!

[gangviolets]

[born-in-hell]

To com mt do dó guri do twitter q foi expor golpista fdp e acabou sendo exposto na internet pela velha pnc a ponto de alguem ligar pro colégio dele perguntando se ele era trans msm, a coordenadora dai chamou os pais e assim tirou o guri do armário e dps dele falar q foi espancado pelos pais ngm teve mais notícias

[fire-to-fire]

Being a child abuse survivor means not fully realizing until years after the fact that other adults abused you because it was so normalized.

[sbrown82]

“…You’re done, you’re not safe anymore, you’re not protected anymore…”

– Alex Fine (Cassie’s HUSBAND) on abusers.

[murdockmeta]

-He deserves better than this! He was a good man!

[ernestofparis]

I was physically assaulted today.

I’m a night owl, and that means I go out at the middle of the night, put my headphones in, and allow the night soul of the city to meet me. I’ve done this a million times.

This early morning, almost getting home after a rather interesting adventure, I feel arms wrapping around my neck. They slowly pin me to the floor, when the second wasted cumshot of a guy appears, holding a gun. The usual; they tell me to shut up, to give them my wallet (which I didn’t have at the time) and my phone, asking also for the password in a probably fake Venezuelan accent, probably to discredit them. I was too scared, so I fumbled and wasn’t able to give it to them (maybe for the better). This caused him to beat me with the butt of his weapon. Next thing I know, the cunt that hugged me from behind was showing me my broken chain with my medal, stained with my own blood, telling me “look what you did”, as if the blood was his. He was even claiming my blood as his own, while blaiming me for spilling it. He then starts to take my jacket off. They let me take my ID and my keys, then to leave me on the ground. I ask them If I can take out my SIM card, and the guy in the gun tries to help, but just can’t be bothered. I watch them walk away. I then realise they took my headphones too.

There is too much to be said and felt. These escapades du flâneur were sacred to me. These nights were sacred to me. That path was sacred to me. They violated them by rendering me helpless to their inability to make a living in a decent way.

And then, all the feelings of anger and revenge that turn me into an animal, making me probably worse than them. I still know I’m better, because I restrained myself. And there was the silver lining:

My restraint somehow led my mind into a rabbit hole that concluded in the most necessary and strange of gardens. I find my higher self telling me, inside my mind, swearing to God and ourselves, that all the lies that my family, my schools, and the narcissists that have come into my life are not true. He’s begging me to believe him, and miraculously, after years of struggling to get out of the black hole of depression and self assured insufficiency, I realise that it’s true: They’re lies, warped by those who refused to see me, and woven by my own despair to go along. And suddenly, like my jacket, that fabric was gone, and its cold absence shows me my real reflection in the most objective mirror I’ve ever gazed myself into.

Don’t ask me why this happened then; why did such violence catalyse such a path in my mind. But it did. And along the other things I’ve been learning recently, I can now see how the hope that I’ve lately gotten back will come to be.

Right now I’m processing the first stages of trauma. At first it was waves of anger and aggression directed towards the poor bastards that don’t know what else to do with their lives. But now I’m starting to feel the helplessness, fear, and notes of despair of having gone through that. And I’m tired. I feel defeated. And yet, it feels normal; I’ve just gone through a traumatic event. But above that, it feels ok because I can see the field of wheat that I’ve been promising myself for years, just outside the walls of the magnificent, cold and dead castle that has been keeping hostage all these years.

I guess I’ll always have the castle. But it’s time for me to get out on the world, so I can come back to fill it with the life we both deserve.

[acourtofladydeath]

TTBW Chapter 1

Chapter 1 of TTBW has now been posted to AO3. Please make sure you read all tags with every chapter of this fic that is posted. I will be updating as I go. Read the beginning before the cut, and the entire chapter here!

Nyx shrieked joyfully in his uncle’s grasp as Cassian banked to the right. The wind caught both their wings, Nyx’s still so small and delicate as they flew. Cassian held his nephew tightly around the waist as he tried to get the mischievous four year old to get used to the feeling of the air as it rushed past the diaphanous structures still developing within his wings. 

As they leveled out, Nyx’s wings went limp and he clapped his hands together, “Uncle Cassie again, again!” Cassian chuckled softly to himself as he looked out over the waters next to the River House where he held his flying lessons with Nyx. 

“Okay little pyxie, but you’ve gotta hold your wings out for me! Big and strong, like we talked about.” Cassian could feel as Nyx held his breath and braced his wings out from his tiny body. Nyx’s wings were still so small they barely went past the breadth of Cassian’s shoulders. “Look I’m doing it!!” Nyx shouted back at him. As he peered over his little shoulder the young male’s violet eyes shined with excitement at his achievement. Cassian could barely hold back his own tears as pride rushed through his body. He choked back his emotion as he spoke encouragingly to his nephew.

“You’re doing it big guy!” Cassian made sure they were close enough to the shore that the rest of the family could see Nyx’s achievement before he prepared to bank again. “Alright Nyx, think you can hold them steady for this turn?” 

“I’m a big boy! I can do it.” The determination in Nyx’s voice sent another burst of emotion through Cassian as prepared to bank. “Okay, on the count of three buddy. One… two… three!” 

Cassian softly curved above the shore and Nyx’s wings stayed stretched wide through the entire turn. Nesta, Azriel, Rhysand, and Feyre all cheered from the shore as the pair flew by. Once they were out of the turn Cassian landed, he turned his nephew in his arms to face him.

“I did it! I did it!” Nyx shouted and raised his still plump little fists in the air in celebration. 

Cassian held him in one arm as he also fist pumped the air in celebration and laughed along with his nephew. “You did such a good job Nyx!” 

When Nyx had calmed slightly, Cassian knelt and placed the little male on the ground to stand before him. Nyx looked intently into his uncle’s eyes as Cassian placed one hand on his shoulder. “Now, remember what we talked about. Your wings are still growing. They’re not as strong as mine or your dad’s or Uncle Az’s yet.” 

Nyx looked at his uncle intently as he spoke, but chimed in “or mommy’s right? She has wings too! But not all the time, like daddy. She can put them away. But I can’t.” 

Cassian smiled at his nephew, the intuitive little bugger. “That’s right. Your mom and dad have different wings. But you and I can’t take our wings off and we can’t put them away. What does that mean Nyx?” 

Nyx looked seriously back at Cassian, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “It means I have to be extra super careful not to hurt them. They’re my wings and no one else's and I only get one pair so I have to take care of them.” 

“Yes, exactly bud, great job. What else do you have to remember about your wings?” Cassian smiled encouragingly at Nyx to continue.

The little male responded with sincerity, eyes and nose still scrunched tight. “That no one else can touch them unless they ask and I say it’s okay, and I should only say it’s okay if I know them extra super well like you or Uncle Azzie.” 

Cassian nodded. “That’s right, little pyxie. You did a great job today, you know that?” 

A huge grin spread across Nyx’s entire face at his uncle’s compliment. He responded eagerly as he excitedly bounced on the balls of his feet. “Does that mean I get to fly all by my own next time?” 

Cassian chuckled as he responded. “Not so fast, big guy. Before our next lesson I want you to work on your wing flaps for me. We need to make sure your muscles are big and strong so they can support you without my help okay?” 

Nyx looked down at his feet, a defeated look on his face leaving his bottom lip slightly wobbly. Cassian used his free hand to tilt his nephew’s gaze back up to meet his. “Hey, don’t get upset. You’re doing so well! Only a few more lessons okay? And then you and I can fly over the river together but separate, I promise.” 

The young boy, so small and new to life, perked up a bit at that as he responded. “You’ll take me first right? Don’t tell my dad but your lessons are my favorite. I want to fly together but separate with you first.” 

Those damn emotions hit Cassian again at his nephew’s words and he swallowed back more tears. “I promise Nyx, the first time you’re ready to fly without one of us holding you, I’ll be the one to take you.” 

Nyx rushed forward and hugged his uncle, arms wrapped so tightly around Cassian’s neck he could barely breathe. But he’d never stop Nyx from embracing him like this, not in a million years. Once the tiny bat let go, he raced off to tell his mom and Auntie Ness all about how well he did in his flying lesson. Cassian stood and brushed off his knees as his brothers approached. 

“Well, that went well,” Rhysand said as he stood next to his Cassian with a proud smile on his face. 

“He’s doing so well, Rhys. I don’t know many younglings that can fly as strongly as he is at that age.” Cassian stared off after his nephew as he raced into Nesta’s arms. His mate scooped Nyx up into her grasp with ease and twirled him around as pride shone across her features. 

Rhysand watched where Cassian’s gaze fell and joined his soft reverie as Feyre hugged her arms around Nesta, which left Nyx sandwiched between the sisters and showered in love. Azriel, ever the serious brother, cut into the soft moment. 

“Cass, we wanted to talk to you about tomorrow.” Rhysand raised his eyebrows and looked over toward their brother, already masked in nervous shadows. “Way to really bury the lead Az,” before he looked toward Cassian, a look of sincerity on his face, “but he’s not wrong Cass.” 

Cassian crossed his arms over his chest as he looked between his brothers, who both wore concerned expressions. “Alright, you two look like scouts with horrible information who don’t want to spill the news. Well, spill.” 

Rhys straightened his posture while the shadows flurried more quickly around Azriel’s shoulders. It was the High Lord who spoke first. “I know you’ve been really looking forward to tomorrow and think it will make a big difference in your and Nesta’s plans in Illyria but-”

Azriel cut Rhys off stoney faced, “Cassian there have been serious death threats. Are you sure it’s really a good idea for you to let loose with these men when they’re the very same ones calling for your head on a spike?”

Cassian huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. “You sound like Nesta. Look, Az, you have your mission in Autumn tomorrow, and Rhysand has Velaris to guard with Mor and Amren gone.” Cassian clapped a hand on each of his brother’s shoulders as he said with more confidence than he actually felt, “I’ve received more death threats than the three of us combined could count. Nothing’s gone wrong before, why would it now?” 

His brothers looked obviously unconvinced by Cassian’s attempt at bravado. “Look, Devlon will be there. He’s been on our side since day one of this rebuild. Nesta, Emerie, and their Valkyrie unit won’t be far either. I know you’re concerned.” Cassian ran a hand through long curls as he spoke, his true anxiety on full display. 

“I’m concerned too, but we are at a stalemate. My job is to fix Illyria, to make her something that all three of us can truly be proud of. A place we work with, not just order around when we need them.” Cassian met Azriel’s shadowed stare before he locked eyes with his High Lord’s piercing violet gaze as he said his last piece. “Let me do my job Rhys, let me help Illyria.” 

Continue reading on AO3.