#houseless story

[chronicallycouchbound]

There was several years of my life where I was on strict doctors orders to be on bedrest and I didn’t have a bed to be in because I was homeless.

Every night I’ve had a bed, ever since I was a young child, I have always said a silent “thank you” to it before I sleep.

I’ve also said that same thank you to overpasses and bridges, park benches, couches, floors, car seats, the half crumbled foundation of that building I could fit under, trees, snow, ice, green grass, tents, my jacket, my backpack, my friend’s lap, hospital beds, waiting rooms, empty church pews, abandoned buildings, behind stores, alleyways, half flooded basements, bus seats, bus shelters, steps of a homeless shelter, steps of a church.

I’ve slept in so many uncomfortable places and still was grateful. And at the same time, I knew I needed a better situation to get true rest.

When I became seriously ill in 2017, I couldn’t rest. Even when I got an apartment in 2019, I was still in an unsafe environment, still having ER visits every other week. It wasn’t until I got a bed and in home care that I stopped having nearly daily life threatening symptoms and could give my body a break.

I still have life threatening symptoms, I still have bad days, but now at least I can rest in between everything. And for that I am so grateful.

[bluemarbled]

The Kid with No Shoes- A short story.

December days in the U.S. south have a strange quality to them. It can be bitterly, bitterly cold while the sun shines directly above, and it can be wonderfully warm even in the cloudiest hours of the afternoon. No one wants to be on the street in December anywhere, but in the south it is particularly dangerous. When you die of exposure in December down south, there's an equally good chance you've either frozen to death or dehydrated into a corpse on the side of the road. It may rain for a few minutes, and then the water will crystalize on your form while sweat beads beneath your clothing.

On this particular December day, a young boy walked down the street. Or was it a young girl? They had a mustache but the most beautiful, clear voice with something reminiscent of a young, feminine shrill left behind thickened vocal chords. She held a packet of papers beneath one arm and a plastic sack in the other, sporting a pair of too-tight tennis shoes given to her when she was released from jail.

After five hours of wandering, asking for food and water where he could find it, he finally had to ditch the shoes on the side of the road and trust himself to avoid needles on the sidewalk with socks. Their toes were beginning to numb, and they knew they'd never be able to keep walking.

"Sorry!" He said, out loud to no one as he kicked off one shoe. "I know I know! I shouldn't litter! But I gotta keep going!" The other one kicked free as he kept walking, tiny feet thanking him for the reprieve.

They didn't know where they were going. They weren't sure how they got there, or what they had done wrong, or why the world seemed so specifically to be moving against them. Had they died and now been released into some hellish obstacle course resembling the same town he lived in? Who would be a threat? How could she make as little fuss as possible? Why were her lips so chapped?

All day, people watched the kid with no shoes wander. Where were they going? Why did they look so scared? Why were they going in circles? What horrible fate had befallen this skinny kid covered in cystic acne and tattoos and empty piercing holes?

Here's the thing about the kid with no shoes- they don't trust religious institutions. They got fucked over one too many times far too young by adults wearing crucifixes, but this was no longer a time to be scared. He recognized that if he was going to survive, he would have to swallow his pride and trust a few people. He would just have to hope no one would question a kid like him too hard.

So she went to a church. She felt like an asshole, just waltzing up to the door and ringing the bell. In fact, this was the third or fourth one she had passed and the first time they could gather the courage to actually walk up. In her youth her mother had once told her- 'if you're ever in trouble and need a place to be safe, find a church. They'll help you. No matter what'. And she held tight to that belief as she walked up, his heart pounding in his chest.

"hello?" The church lady who had just pulled up in her car called, keeping her distance.

"Hi!" He said, well-aware of his state and not moving closer, not wanting to frighten her "I'm so sorry I just- I'm just looking for a warm place."

The woman looked at him sideways and a sour curve curled her upper lip. Who the fuck was this kid with no shoes waltzing up to a church?

"I um- no, sorry," she said haltingly, still watching as the kid began to move back towards the street, his arms held high to show he meant no harm.

"alright no worries! I figured I'd ask anyway! Thank you!"

Saddened at his failure, the boy turned down a side street and committed himself to wandering until he found another one. She could do this. She could survive this.

But in the alley behind the church, two men approached, a white man and a black man.

"hey kid!" The black man called, watching as the kid with no shoes whipped around with wide and scared eyes. "Hey woah! We're not gonna hurt you! We're from the church, the ladies said they saw you, but they were scared to approach a strange man,"

"ah, fair!" The Kid agreed, immediately understanding. He was a strange guy with a shitty mustache, of course she sent someone else.

"hey uh? Dude. Where are your shoes?" The white man asked. The boy looked down at his mis-matched socks with surprise.

"oh yeah. Totally forgot about that." He said casually- it was the least of his problems at this exact moment. "Some guy gave me 50 bucks to buy some but that's not really the priority, I was just hoping to get a place to rest for a minute,"

The two men gave each other a look. Something between amusement, amazement, and bafflement. Then, without a word, the white man sat in the open side of his car and pulled off his own shoes.

"here, kid, take these. Jesus. Walking around this town barefoot? You're brave."

"oh God no, I'm not brave," the boy said, watching wearily. After a moment of arguing with the white man about how he couldn't possibly take the shoes, the kid finally put them on.

"there." The black man said. "Now you're not barefoot,"

The kid doesn't remember everything those two men said or did, but one of the church ladies pulled up in a car and wrapped a jacket around his form. "take this, please" she said. "it'll be dark soon,"

After many minutes of the kid pacing around the neighborhood with new shoes and a jacket, they finally returned to the two men and asked for a ride. The two had not moved, as if they knew she would come back. They gave her a ride to the local Salvation Army, and didn't seem at all surprised when she tensed at those words.

"You don't have to stay if you don't feel safe," the black man said. "But it's the closest place,"

The Kid who now had shoes did not stay at the Salvation army that night, they knew at intake that it wouldn't work out. But this time, when they walked back out on to the street they had shoes and a jacket and knew they could make it on the street if they had to.

The Kid with shoes did not die that night. By some miracle, by the grace of an extra jacket and Skechers that flopped around when he walked. They were finally found, sitting on a rolled out mat in front of some community center. They lost the card the two men gave him, and her memory would only provide one of their names, but a few days later they returned to that final resting place and handed over the shoes and jacket.

"hey," she said to the lady at the front desk. "I was here a few nights ago?"

"Yes, I remember," the community center lady said, eyes slightly weary. The Kid chuckled, embarrassed.

"Yeah sorry about that, I was pretty messed up. But you guys seemed to know the people who helped me and I wanted to bring these back," she explained, holding them out. "I really appreciated it, but they're not mine and I have a feeling you can get them back to where they belong,"

The community center lady chuckled a bit disbelievingly as she took the offered shoes and jacket, eyes open with wonder.

"God bless you," she said sincerely.

"God bless you!" The Kid said back on his way out the door, and it did not taste bitter on his tongue.

He still doesn't believe in God, but he believes in people. And they've learned the hard way to take blessings wherever they can find them.

[justdreamsandmusic]

SCP 610, “The” Flesh That Hates,” 2020, 4 the younger brother upon request without me bringing up that I like the Wiki & its concepts? of a female friend of mine I made in Boston who shares names with my Mom, Dons & after 2021 EBCAP & SSA Revelations confirmed by Mom’s side of the Family (F- Armenia-Anglish-English-French- 2 M Asyria, Anglish, English, Nativae’Yankee, Irish connection, IIRC) my Mother, as well. Dawn Piett, Dawn Berouty, RIP. Dawn Lafeirre, currently by choice a question mark of mine. Dawn ?, who I have some old phone numbers of & would say hope is alright yet her Mom is on their house really overtly. it was special to me i got to have that experience i made a mashup of grey sky eyes by carbon leaf & grey street by dave matthews, 1 of the only bands my dad bought a CD for me with for a birthday back in high school. 1st time in an aeropostle, not 1st time in Providence Mall or that really nice one near Attleboro 

[ryverdakota]

[blackwoolncrown]

Hey allies - I could use support <3 (Black, autistic, NB femme, orphan of estrangement)

So long story short I've been through the ringer lately- The great part is things that I've been working towards for the past 2 years are finally coming to fruition!

The hard part is that I've been dealing with frequent fees and expenses in the process and Oct-Nov promise even more.

If you don't know, I was displaced from FL during the housing crisis and just couldn't keep up with what the US was demanding of me for survival, so I moved to another country at the suggestion and helping hand of a friend.

Recently, I've managed to get part of my residency process under way, but the trip to do so cost me ~$2k for travel, food and lodgings, I'd JUST had my car fixed.

When I got back to the country I was told that completing the process would be another $100 fee; my lease is up next month and in order to move I'll need to pay 2x rent wherever I go.

It's just a lot building up and I make a modest income right now; my savings is drained from taking care of things with my business and having to travel back and forth to a town 1.5 hours away bc my place got robbed and I've been having to handle things w the police & my landlord while I stay at a friends (still, unfortunately, paying rent at the place I can't stay at rn). I'd love to focus on my work to help w this but I only do payroll once a month, and I'll need to pay fees & rent sooner than that because next month I have to move AND drive 3 days to pay a bunch of money to import my car.

There's more and I'd be happy to give more detail/proof if anyone wants it (DM me) but overall I have just been really financially drained, burned out, and I need funding to assist w covering groceries, deposit and legal fees for this month into Oct & Nov.

**I am not at risk of being houseless or unfed atm so this is really for anyone with privilege who can comfortably help out***

C***app: $moonseye

!!!PLEASE DO NOT TAG!!!!

[hazelsmirrorball]

Spiderman’s Biggest Fan |  Jaime Reyes part 4

summary:  Jaime Reyes is the biggest spiderman fan. His girlfriend on the other hand is Spiderman's biggest hater. 

pairings: Jaime Reyes x Spiderman! FemReader 

a/n:  Part 4 baby! Hope you guys are enjoying this little series.  I know I said this was going to be the last part but I’m going to do one last part because 5 is my lucky number. Sorry in advance

warning: English isn’t my main language. Angsty and kinda sad. Not edited

[MASTERLIST]

part one. part two  part three part five

Aunt Marisol was dead.

The last ounce of family she had was dead and she left like a coward. Her mom and dad were gone before she had consciousness. Her uncle Ben died before she could even graduate high school and now Aunt Marisol, the only person she had left was gone. She had left her to root under piles of blocks. The person that raised her and took care of her most of her life was treated like shit. 

Y/n was a murderer. Even though she didn’t throw the bomb after her, she knew that the cause of it was her own fault.  She felt guilty for her aunt's death, if she weren't bitten by that damn radioactive spider she would be with her aunt right now, chatting about God knows what. If she would’ve organized herself and her life better she wouldn’t be dragging other people into her problems. There was no time to regret her actions, because that for sure wasn’t going to bring Marisol back. All she had of her were two things, the fight two hours prior to her death  and her words stuck in the back of her head. 

With great power comes great responsibility.  

Aunt Marisol didn’t recognize the person she had become but in all honesty. She couldn’t recognize the person she had become either. The real her would’ve stayed with Aunt Marisol. She would’ve, scratch that, She should be with The Reyes family, she should be showing her face at Marisol funeral, she should be mourning her aunt's death but there she was, avoiding everything and everyone. She hadn’t heard a thing from The Reyes family, not because they weren’t communicating with her, her phone had been blown up with text messages she decided to ignore, not ready to face anyone, specifically Jaime. 

Y/n in the past three weeks was houseless, her secret was out for Milagro to spill at any second, villains were on the loose making Palmera a big threat to civilians. She was on the verge of dropping out of grad school. She also assumed she was fired from her job and she didn’t have a clue if the Reyes family was okay since she didn’t want to anything, she didn’t want their pity or the mutual sadness, she couldn’t deal with that right now. 

With great power comes great responsibility, yet right now Y/n couldn’t even deal with the responsibility of keeping herself afloat , let alone save  a whole city. She finally accepted that she had lost it.  

It was clear that her priorities weren’t straight, she was aware of that. But all she wanted to do was stay in a corner while the funeral service started. Y/n had no intention of talking to anyone. She didn’t feel like hearing people's pity stories. She was used to it already growing up without parents made her get used to peoples sad eyes and pity glances. It didn’t help, so why even pay attention to them. Half way through the services Y/n managed to take her phone out distracting herself from the cries she could hear all over the room. 

As she scrolled around her eyes locked with a pair of  yellow eyes glowing towards her. Her eyes focused on the report that was glowing from her phone as she felt shivers down her spine remembering what Karen said. She should’ve called for backup when Karen suggested it. He could’ve helped her and maybe there could have been a chance she survived. Seeing him made her feel more guilty than before. A constant reminder that Marisol was dead and it was all her fault. 

Blue Beetle. 

The rising super hero that had shown up out of nowhere to save the day. Y/n never really trusted the Kord legacy and weirdly enough, Blue Beetle was associated with them. Which in her head meant that Blue Beetle wasn’t one to trust. But who could blame her? Ever since he showed up nothing but chaos came to the Palmera citizens. Something that Kord enterprises was known for doing so it wouldn’t surprise Y/n if he was associated with them and their evil origins. 

Her eyes glared at the screen in front of her not noticing how Jaime sat next to her quietly waiting for her to notice. Her thoughts snapback to reality as she felt Jaime rest his hand on her thigh. Her eyes wandered towards his face, noticing the tear filled eyes. Y/n looked at him with a sourlook. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him. She couldn’t break right now. She was going to keep Jaime safe. 

Jaime had a family to take care of. He was already dealing with grad school, work and his family. Having her in the mix made things worse, he had recently lost his dad, his house and now Aunt Marisol. Y/n couldn’t risk someone else being added to the dead list. 

“Can we please talk?” Jaime managed to get out as he extended his hand towards her. Y/n softly nodded holding his hand while heading to the exit noticing how the Reyes family eyes followed her. She shocked her head as she looked at the exit avoiding their eyes. 

As Jaime and Y/n headed outside both of them sat on a small bench outside, none of them daring to break the silence surrounding them. Y/n played with her hands as Jaime heard Khaji Da telling about Y/n's off demeanor. 

“How is everything going? Where are you guys staying?” Y/n asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence surrounding them.  

“I guess we are as good as it can get. Jenny actually helped us with a place to stay while we fix the house” Jaime replied softly as Y/n grimace as the name of Jenny Kord  got brought up. 

“Well, I’m glad”She replied as she played with her lips softly not knowing what to say. 

“You know, I know this is a lot for you but I really want to help you, Y/n. But I can’t help you if you continue to push me away. I know this is all of a sudden but you can’t keep pushing me away. I was really worried about you. I thought you died too!” Jaime exclaimed as his voice broke.

"I just..." before Y/n could even continue talking Jaime stopped her words.

"I know this may sound dumb but I think you need to hear this right now. I know for a fact Spiderman will find those people that got aunt Marisol and he will do the right thing."

"Jaime, for fuck's sakes! The only thing you talk about is that damn Spiderman. Fuck him all he does is fuck peoples lives off. If he were actually good, if any hero was actually good, there wouldn't be any crime, but Palmera is getting fucked by the second and your little Spiderman or that damn beetle haven't done a thing. Open your eyes Jaime. The only moment where heroes have actually done anything is in the damn comics your read, beside from that they are not to be trust"

Jaime stared at her agape not knowing what to say. He never intended for this conversation to take the route it was currently in. He wanted to tell Y/n to stay with them. He wanted to help her, not fight with her outside of a funeral home.

Y/n closed her eyes in pain knowing what she had to do. As much as it was going to hurt the both of them she knew it had to be done now, for their safety and relationship. Y/n stayed quiet for a few minutes much to Jaimes dismay. 

“I think it’s best if we broke up” Y/n replied nonchalantly as she looked him dead in the eyes. She watched as Jaimes face dropped and more tears threatened to spill as she stayed with a neutral look on her face making Jaime even more hurt. 

“What?” Jaime's voice broke as his eyes widened, not believing what was going on.  Y/n took a deep breath and turned to the side not wanting to see his broken face, knowing that she couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I’m glad that you came here to show support and everything. I’m grateful for everything we have done as a couple but  right I think it’s best for us to take a break Jaime. There’s a lot of things going on and I need time” 

“Are you hearing yourself right now? I just told you about opening up to me and not pushing me away. That’s what you are doing right now. I can’t help you if you are constantly pushing me away. I’m all that you have left. What the hell happened to forever”  Jaime exclaimed  angrily, getting up. Y/n focused her eyesight towards the sidewalk in front of her not wanting to face Jaime. 

“I’m not asking for your help Jaime. I’m telling now that maybe us, this, wasn’t meant to be forever. That’s something you need to get through your head. Now, as I said, thank you for showing up. I’m sure that Aunt Marisol appreciates it, but I need to go back inside to talk to people. Goodnight Jaime” Y/n replied calmly, giving her back towards Jaime as tears fell from her cheeks hearing the cries escaping Jaime’s lips. 

With great power comes great responsibility.  

Jaime was right. Spiderman will find those assholes that killed aunt Marisol and she was going to do the right thing. Even if it took to kill them in the process.

That was Y/n's new purpose in life.

[MASTERLIST]

part five.

[nappingpaperclip]

since it is also the Trans Day of Visibility, please think of the trans Palestinians, Dafuris, and Congolese who are being erased by genocide. Please think of the many vulnerable houseless trans people who are ignored in your own countries while money that could go towards housing them goes towards bombs and guns to further genocide.

How many people would have come to join our loving community and celebrate the day of visibility had their lives not been cut short or overtaken by war?

How many people could we house and feed with the money that goes to funding war?

Our bodies are not collateral damage.

We are not invisible. Our stories will not be forgotten.

We cannot be free until all of us are free!

Free Palestine

Free Sudan

Free Congo

Protect trans youth

[lambtotheslaughterr]

Rise : Chapter Thirteen

A Rafe Cameron Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 2.8k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

CHAPTER TWELVE | MASTERLIST | CHAPTER FOURTEEN

personal note* @bunnycvnts bby honey love i am SO sorry! i incorrectly placed you under the taglist for only I Burn updates & not Rafe Cameron updates as a whole. i apologize wholeheartedly, my love. from now on, you will be properly tagged in all future RC fics.

118 days since the world ended

            Your world was spinning. Maddeningly so.

            Days bled into one another, weeks passed you by without a thought. You had no control over your mind, constantly free-falling somewhere between conscious autonomy & other-worldly helplessness.

            Sometimes you spoke but you never knew what you were saying, if you were saying anything at all, really. You were completely numb, mindless, isolated from who you once were. And you had Rafe concerned.

            In the weeks that he kept you holed up in your new room, he would come in with lines of coke, forcing you to snort them or if you were too immobile to do so yourself he would rub the powder on your gumlines. He didn’t enjoy seeing you like this, like a zombie, but he thought it the only way to protect you from the trauma of what you had done. Of course, he felt no guilt in his part of it. He felt he was a necessary evil in the new world, & that you were just slow to adapt. But you would adapt. He would make sure of that.

            After the events at the cabin, Rafe ransacked the cabin, taking what would be needed for the next move. He instructed Matt & Robbie to take Sayyed’s wrangler & bring it along as another reliable vehicle. Then he led everyone north to the closest city of Asheboro. There, on the north end of the city in the industrial district, he found an abandoned mill that had been shut down long before the world ended, but did serve as a home for the houseless. Fortunately, there were plenty of necessities to make a living.

            In a long & wide spacious space, there were a plethora of overturned cots & worn through mattresses, metal tables that would work for food, pallets & dusty blankets, & a few empty oil barrels that were once used to build fires. It being summer, fires wouldn’t be needed, but they would come in handy in the winter months. Rafe was quick to set roles for everyone, that is except for you & Bear. He moved you into a small private corner room on the second floor of the building, & Bear to a nearly identical one on the opposite end. He didn’t want you two interacting until you both got with the ways of his world.

            And so as everyone got to their tasks daily & life in the mill began to function decently, Rafe finally turned his attention to you. Even without the coke, you were quiet, displaced from yourself. He needed you to be alert, aware & paying attention to him. And that was when he started bringing you coke. It had worked the first time you fucked in the woods. And the second time when he had to coerce you to have sex with him. It would surely work a third time.

            But much to his disappointment, you hardly reacted to the coke in the first couple days. If anything, it had the opposite effects of his intended wants. You weren’t awake, alert. You became drowsier, your speech slurred. Rafe had never really seen anyone respond to coke like you had in those first couple days. So, he quit. But then your behaviour changed again.

            You became violent, erratic, dangerous—not to others but to yourself. You were so far gone in your mind that you would find ways to hurt yourself. First it was you clawing at your skin, leaving deep, long bloody marks down the sides of your thighs. So he cut your nails & kept them short. Then you stopped eating. Your weight dropped drastically. He took it upon himself to force feed you & make sure you got your share of the food day in & night out. The final straw is when you attacked him. Him! Of all people. He knew it wasn’t really your doing, your intention to really want to harm him, but he couldn’t have you out for his blood, nor could he put you down. That’s when he finally brought on another pair of hands to help him. The only pair he trusted.

            In the first two weeks of living on the edge of Asheboro, Anna had built quite the stockpile of medical supplies & equipment. Much to Rafe’s chagrin, Anna told him that he was the sole problem to your bipolar & violent tendencies. You were suffering from coke withdrawal at the height of a traumatic experience. And supplying you with more coke in an attempt to wake you up only made it worse. Then when he took it away yet again, your behavioral symptoms adapted to the change in a violent way.

            So, it was her duty to get you back to a clean & safe mind. But you would fight her. Not even consciously. Anna had told Rafe that it was as if your own mind wouldn’t allow you to come back, to live with what you had done. But Rafe wouldn’t have it. He would have you back whether you wanted to be there or not.

            While Anna tended to you the next couple weeks, Rafe focused on the way of life at the mill. Shortly after Anna took over his role for caring of you, there had been a meaningful event. People.

            There was five of them who appeared, claiming to have thought the building abandoned & that didn’t want any trouble. But Rafe didn’t see trouble, he saw power. More people to keep under his thumb. After all, he knew how dangerous he could be, how lethal—he could only imagine who else out in the world was like him. And with survival being key in this world, the more bodies he had the better, virus be damned.

            Anna cleared four of them to assimilate to the group. The one she didn’t clear showed symptoms of the virus & was effectively removed. Permanently. The remaining four did not put up a fight to protect the one, a sign they would be easy to maintain. After the removal of fifth body, the four—Vic, Maddy, Barry, & Enzo—were quarantined on the third floor of the building for a week before they were allowed to begin pulling their weight. And much to Rafe’s delight, they followed directions well & meshed well with the others. Rafe could see the world falling together perfectly before him.

            On the fourth week at the mill, Anna came to Rafe with news. Good news. You were awake. Alert like he wanted. He immediately wanted to see it for himself, to hear your voice, to have him alone time with you, but Anna was quick to squash it.

            “Her mind is still fragile, Rafe.” She told him firmly, stopping him from heading to the second floor to see you, “You may trigger her. And then all that progress will be lost & I can’t guarantee getting her back again after that.”

            Rafe was frustrated. Since when had you been fragile? You were always a force to be reckoned with. You were loud, bold, a dominating personality, a lot like him. It was what always drew him to you in that first year of college. And it was why he loathed your relationship with Sayyed even more. He always thought the two of you would be a short fling, but soon that fling turned into a relationship, into meeting each other’s parents on breaks from schools to traveling with each other during the summer, always returning back to school closer than ever. He had been angry, but he knew his time would come. But now that it was here & he was being told to stay away from you, Rafe thought he himself would lose his mind next.

            But, as much as he hated to, he listened to Anna, & kept his distance. For the next week, he would stand outside your room, listening as Anna spoke to you as she brought you food & updated you how life at the mill functioned. Rafe noted how she made it a point to rarely say his name, if ever. It bothered him to no end, but he wouldn’t risk losing you again.

            Rafe thought ahead then. He knew that when you were ready, truly ready, to be let out & to assimilate with the rest of them, that you would need a face you could rely on. Without speaking to Anna about it, because he didn’t need her permission, Rafe finally made his first visit to Bear. Unlike you, Bear was very aware.

            Rafe entered the room & Bear stood on business, prepared for the worst if he knew it was Rafe coming in.

            “Calm down, buddy.” Rafe scoffed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. But Bear didn’t calm down. He stood stiff & ready opposite of him.

            “Can’t imagine it’s a ton of fun in here. You’d get more food if you pulled your weight.” Rafe told him.

            “I wouldn’t help you if my life depended on it.” Bear seethed, “You should’ve just killed me.”

            Rafe agreed. He should’ve. But Bear was his only leverage against you. As much as he hated it, Rafe needed Bear to keep you in line, otherwise you’d be as against him as you had the first time the group split.

            “As much as I’d enjoy that,” Rafe started, glaring at Bear, “you’re much more useful alive.”

            “Like I said—”

            “Like I’m saying.” Rafe cut him off, “If you & _____ want to live, you’ll work with me, not against me.”

            Bear softened at that, “Where is she?”

            “She’s fine.” Bear didn’t need to know the whole truth, Rafe decided, “But she does need a friend. And it seems you’re the only one she has here until she makes more.”

            Bear shook his head, “You know that’ll never happen after what you did.”

            “I wouldn’t say that.” Rafe warned, “That’ll make you both disposable. I know you don’t care about dying, but you care about her dying. You go down, she goes down with you.”

            Bear quieted at that, angry but quiet.

            “So, you ready to come out & play nice?”

            Bear glowered, weighing his options, but even he knew he had little to no change against Rafe & the others. If Bear was going to be there for you, he needed to play along. For now.

            The first time Rafe saw you was in the courtyard garden. It wasn’t a garden to begin with, but Maddy with her green thumb, managed to turn it into one. He saw you through the windows, on your knees before the metal watering bed, your hands covered in soil as you helped the new girl plant more seeds. It took everything in him to not go out there & gather you in his arms, to run his hands through your hair, to press his chest to yours. His mouth watered at having you to himself again.

            Anna joined him at the window, staring out at you, “She’s almost ready. I want her to acclimate to roles here before she sees you again.”

            “How long?” He fumed, his nostrils flared as images of you flooded his mind. You were so close, yet so far.

            “A day or two.” Anna shrugged, “I’m not a psychologist. I do nurse shit. But better safe than sorry.”

            Rafe’s spine stiffened & relaxed at the same time. It was bittersweet. A day or two more wasn’t really all that long, but in this world, it felt like ages. He would have to make do.

            And he did, but he would often keep you in sight. In the mess hall—the spacious room—he would watch you sit with the others on pallets & ate silently alongside them while they all talked amongst themselves. Bear was there, too. But he wasn’t as sociable with the others, though he did keep near you. Rafe would have to keep an eye on that. As much as he thought having Bear would help you adapt, he also worried about it also influencing you.

            Rafe did well to keep himself distracted until the last two days passed before he saw you face-to-face again. On the day before he would see you, he approached Micah in the gravel lot outside the mill. Micah was in charge of scavenging. He, Matt, & Robbie, were gone long & often as they cleared surrounding smaller towns of goods & necessities.

            “Micah.” Rafe hollered when he went outside, seeing Micah standing in the bed of his truck as he passed off crates to Matt & Robbie.

            Micah nodded at him, telling the other two to take over as he hopped over the side of the truck before walking towards Rafe, “What’s up?”

            “_____ is out.” Micah’s demeanor changed in an instance at the sound of your name. It was no secret that Micah loathed you, wished you dead. Honestly, Rafe thought it pathetic. He knew it wasn’t your fault that Millie died, but he needed Micah angry, needed him ready to point & shoot at whoever Rafe told him to. If blaming you for his girlfriend’s death is what kept that anger alive, that’s all that mattered. But he also needed to remind Micah of one thing.

            “You go nowhere near her.” Rafe stared hard at his longest & oldest friend from college.

            Micah’s nose crinkled with distaste, his own eyes darkening.

            “I mean it.” Rafe stepped closer to him, his voice firm but filled with warning, “I see you even look at her wrong, & you won’t have a place here anymore.”

            Micah’s nostrils flared, “You’re gonna pick her over me?”

            “I’d like to keep you both.” Rafe smirked but it wasn’t friendly, “So, don’t make me choose. Understand?”

            Micah shook his head in disbelief, “And if she comes at me?”

            “She won’t. You know she won’t. And if she does, I’ll take care of it.” Rafe shrugged.

            “Your dick isn’t some magical stick, ya know.”

            “Watch it.” Rafe lowered his voice, “Just stay away from her. Do your job. Got it?”

            Inhaling sharply, Micah shook his head once, “You’re the boss.”

            Rafe gave a closed-lip smile at that, gripping Micah’s shoulder, “That’s right.”

            It was time.

            Rafe woke early & dressed quickly. He looked around his functionable room, reminding himself to get one of the guys to tidy it up. After all, it would very soon become your room. But he would get to that later. What he needed to get to now was you.

            As if she knew Rafe would be gunning for you, Anna was waiting outside your room, having just brought you your breakfast for the day. Rafe didn’t slow down though as he saw Anna give him a concerned look.

            “Rafe.”

            “What?” He snapped.

            “Are you sure?” She questioned.

            “Am I sure about what?” Anna’s eyes flashed to the door to your room. Rafe rolled his eyes, “You said two days, it’s been two fucking days.”

            “I just don’t want you to regret it.”

            Anna was funny to him. She was always the tough girl, took no shit & gave it back ten times more. But it was amusing how the end of the world quickly turned her into a pawn. Rafe knew her tough exterior was just that, an exterior. She was as easy to control as the others.

            “It’s not your job to worry.” Rafe told her sardonically.

            Anna crossed her arms at that, “Then why is it always me cleaning up your messes?”

            Rafe licked his teeth, smiling down at her, “You got a problem, Anna?”

            She sniffled, straightening her spine, the tough exterior coming out, “No. Just don’t want you to lose focus because of her.”

            “Like I said.” Rafe repeated, “Don’t worry about it.”

            It was clear she wanted to say more but didn’t, just stiffly nodded.

            Rafe was eager to enter your room, but just as he placed his hand on the knob, he paused, turning once more to Anna, “Get your man to clean up my room. Then relax. You can take the day off.”

            “He’s not my man.” Anna gritted out. Though she was a sexually open woman, she refused to admit being tied down to a man. But her & Matt had been screwing ever since the two men joined their group nearly three months.

            “Just get him. And quit being stubborn.” Rafe’s smile dropped, shifting his face to one of impatience.

            “Whatever.” With that, Anna stomped away.

            Rafe was finally alone. Mostly. After all, you were just a door slab & a few feet away from him. Rafe’s heartbeat erratically within his chest. He had been waiting much too long for this.

            Twisting the knob, the door moaned quietly as it cracked open. And Rafe stepped inside.

okay, so hey! glad to be back after a great vacay & a sickly recovery lmao. that being said, it is a shorter chapter to kind of summarize the way of life 3-4 weeks later. i also wanted to change it up & kind of tell the story from rafe's POV to give reader a break. but next chapter will be from reader's POV.

as always, please share your thoughts via comments, reblogs w reviews, talking to me in the ask box. i am greatly deprived since i have been gone. teehee.

thank you for reading!

beau<3

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[chronicallycouchbound]

Homelessness as Trauma: Transitioning Into Housing

Having housing after experiencing homelessness for over half of my life wasn’t healing for me (and most others too).

Homelessness is inherently traumatic in and of itself. Just the act of not having housing is traumatic. But before someone becomes homeless ever, we know that certain marginalized communities are more likely to become homeless, and that those marginalized communities are experiencing communal trauma AND the individual person is experiencing trauma. Additionally, whatever led to you becoming homeless was traumatic. And then you’re at significantly increased exposure to other traumas while unhoused (friends dying, police violence, systemic barriers, communal traumas, developing medical conditions, medical discrimination, etc).

Long-term homelessness is exponentially traumatizing.

When I lived in a youth homeless shelter for nearly 4 years, prior to, and after that I had been unhoused or in extremely unstable housing. Watching as other youth would become unhoused and then quickly gain housing, some in under a week, most in under a few months, I felt absolutely dispirited. As time went on, I only acquired more marginalization and thus faced more barriers. I felt like I would never have stable housing. It often still feels this way.

The staff at the shelter where I lived consistently said “We are not a crisis stabilization unit” in response to youth showing signs of trauma and crisis. Almost no concrete supportive services exist for people transitioning out of long-term homelessness. I stopped qualifying for most services after I stopped being legally homeless, even though my housing was even more unstable than the shelter was most of the time.

For a frame of reference, because I was never officially in foster care as a minor (even though I was homeless and on my own documented as a minor, had various legal guardians other than my parents, as well as dozens of child services calls and regular check-ins with caseworkers because of documented physical abuse and neglect all throughout my childhood, but I digress) I don't qualify for the services that foster youth get granted until they're 30, even if they only spent 1 night in foster care. Some of those services include free college, housing vouchers to pay for housing in full, guaranteed Medicaid coverage, additional food stamps, and more. I have several friends who have used these programs and are thriving! I'm glad they exist for people in need-- they should also be expanded to include homeless youth.

So when I moved into my first apartment, on my own, at age 19, I was genuinely more terrified than at any time while I had ever been homeless. I slept with my backpack as a pillow and my jacket as a blanket, despite having pillows and blankets to use. It was like a security blanket for me. I slept with my knife on my waistband like I always did, and I reluctantly put my boots within arm's reach instead of wearing them.

I didn't put anything into cabinets or closets or drawers for a very long time. I just kept living out of my backpack. I was afraid of leaving anything in my apartment-- usually leaving any possessions anywhere meant saying goodbye to them. I was afraid of being alone in my tiny studio apartment so I would have friends over every night.

There was times I wouldn't leave my apartment for days on end, especially when I started owning possessions that I had to leave behind and couldn't carry everything on my back anymore. I can't remember a time I owned enough possessions that I couldn't fit them all into a tote box and backpack. It was an entirely foreign experience.

People kept congratulating me and yet no one gave me any help with getting basic necessities for my apartment. Every pot and pan I own is scratched to shit and found free on the road, akin to all my mismatched dull knives and friend's hand-me-down towels. It was a pat on the back while I was still out there drowning.

People kept congratulating me and still my friends, my family, were on the streets dying. Acting like I should be proud to "overcome" while the system still hurts us all. My friends are still dying. Our whole community is grieving all the time. I feel guilty to just be alive.

That's not even touching the start of processing the trauma I experienced while unhoused. They say you don't start to process shit til you're safer and it hit like a tidal wave.

I had never felt like that before getting off the streets. And I wasn't and am still not in stable housing. I can't even imagine what stable housing would look like, let alone how tryna process that would be like. It is such a raw and vulnerable experience to come fresh out of homelessness and then be thrown into a world you've never known.

So many people think JUST housing is the answer when it simply is not. We need supportive services, we need community support, we need to be cared for and looked after. We need places to go for holidays and people to be our emergency contacts. We need financial help and support that money can't buy. We need real love, we need to be held by our community and uplifted to where we all can thrive.

[lunastrophe]

BG3 Drow Lore: Araj's Ambitions

Araj means 'vengeance' in the language of the drow. Interesting - was Araj Oblodra given such a foreboding name as a child? Or did she call herself Araj later, after her house was destroyed, making vengeance a part of her new identity?

However her name might be connected to her story, Araj's ambitions are obviously focused around avenging her house and restoring it to its former glory. Here are some of my thoughts on that, as well as on Araj's past:

🕷️ Female of House Oblodra - Araj was probably not among the highest-ranking females of her house. She might be related to the Matron Mother of the house (she mentions her cousins living in the Oblodra compound and bragging about the view), but she was almost certainly not her daughter.

Despite of that, being a female and member of the third house of Menzoberranzan, Araj was very high on the social ladder of the city.

🕷️ Houseless Drow - after the (very literal) fall of House Oblodra in 1358 DR, Araj lost her previous social status, becoming a dobluth - an outcast.

Survivors from destroyed houses sometimes were accepted into other drow houses. Sometimes they formed - or joined the already existing - mercenary or mercantile groups, more or less independent. For example, Kimmuriel Oblodra, another Oblodran who survived the destruction of his house, joined the famous group known as Bregan D'aerthe.

Araj had no such option, apparently. Also, no other house would probably shelter an Oblodran, given the history of House Oblodra. She did not stay in Menzoberranzan - she left the city and ultimately moved to the surface.

🕷️ Even though she is away from her homeland, Araj plans to restore House Oblodra and force matron mothers of Menzoberranzan to recognize its rise (or destroy the entire city, should they refuse). She is entirely devoted to this cause, wanting not only to regain, but to rise above her previous station.

🔹 Araj is a great example of a drow from the fallen house who sticks to the drow (and to her house's) principles even as an outcast. She seemingly adapts to life on the surface, but she has no intention to move on. She is determined to finish her research, return to Menzoberranzan, restore House Oblodra and become its leader - rising to the very top of drow society.

🔹 Araj's plan seems insanely dangerous, or just plainly insane. But it is certainly a worthy testament to Oblodran unpredictability... that usually bordered on insanity.

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️

[mdzs-is-rotting-my-brain]

Wangxian mermay 2023

Day IV: Shipwreck

The last thing Wei Ying expected to happen to him, was pinned to the floor of the shipwreck he’d been hired to evaluate by a man with gold eyes.

His hand, thick with…callouses, didn’t cut off airflow, but the implication was there. His other hand was large enough to pin both of Wei Ying’s hands to the floor.

Which was doing things for him.

Bad time to learn he had kink.

This is not the time to get aroused.

Wei Ying cleared his throat, and prayed his face wasn’t red.

“Um, hi. Did…I disturb you?”

What a thing to ask!

In Wei Ying’s field of environmental science he learned there were only a handful of people that willingly walked into ten-year-old oil tankers washed up during hurricanes.

The first group, his group, were the people hired to figure out what threat it posed to the environment.

The second group, dumb teenagers.

And the third group, people looking for a ghost story, or the curious.

This man, with his sharp angled features, beautiful golden eyes, and large hands, belonged to neither of those categories.

“I mean, yes. Clearly I did because people don’t tend to react violently when they’re expecting people to come wandering around the corner. And you’re not living here, you’re too pretty for that. Not that that’s a judgment on the houseless, anyone can be-”

“Quiet.”

Wei Ying snapped his mouth shut, frowning. The man’s voice trembled. He noticed both of his hands were shaking, his breaths were ragged and short.

“Oh shit, do you…need help?”

The man glared at him harder, his hand on Wei Ying’s throat twitched like he couldn’t decide to squeeze or release.

Wei Ying shut down the part of his brain that wanted him to squeeze just a bit harder.

“Close your eyes,”

Wei Ying obeyed, closing his eyes and going limp, trying to poise as little threat as possible. The hands fell away from him, as the weight moved off.

“Get out.” The voice came back, shaking and pained.

Wei Ying sat up, turning his head to the direction the voice came from, keeping his eyes firmly closed.

“You’re hurt.”

A snort, what sounded like a snake across the metal plates,

“You cannot help me.”

Wei Ying frowned, “You don’t know that. What’s wrong?”

“I cannot tell you. You cannot help me.”

Wei Ying took a breath, slowly breathing out. “I can’t just leave you here. Please…let me do something. Call someone you can-wait, no that won’t work Yuan-er broke my phone last week. Mianmian has a phone I can borrow.”

A long beat of silence followed that. Either the man had gone, or he was staring at Wei Ying, trying to figure out how he tied his shoes in the morning with a brain that moved that fast.

(He didn’t! He had velcro laces and boots so he didn’t have to worry about if he tied them or not)

“I…was going to see my brother. I do not have his number. There…is no one else.”

No one that beautiful should sound that heartbroken. Wei Ying wanted to hold his hand, to comfort him in some meaningful way.

“Then let me help…please.”

The tension this time was different, he knew the man was waffling, willing to give in, he could taste his anxiety and reluctance in the confined room.

“You…may open your eyes.”

It took a moment for them to adjust to the sunlight streaming through the broken plates of the tanker, scattered across the tossed cabin. Glinting off silver and white scales smeared with blood from a long fin impaled by three rebar.

“Shit.” Wei Ying scuttled over to the tail, he pressed down gently around the wounds, issuing an apology when a hiss of pain and a hand grabbed his elbow. “Fuck, fuck, this…this is bad. Ho-how long have you been like this?”

“Thirteen days.”

The man’s brow twitched forward, his mouth wasn’t unhappy, more…curious, his eyes darting between Wei Ying and his tail.

Right.

He probably should have had more of a reaction to a mermaid in the shipwreck (great name for a band) but as stated by friends and the few people that loosely considered him family, he was bad at faking being human.

An explanation would have to wait. The man was dehydrated, and had lost a considerable amount of blood, The tanker was upside down, so the high tide would have brought in water and fish, but still he needed fresh water, his first aid kit, and the atargatian from his jeep.

Turning he saw his gray and white bag on the floor, grabbing it he pulled out his lunch, and a bottle of human medication Wen Qing cleared for him to use.

He passed both over to the man, along with a sweater he kept because fuck these northern estimations and recoveries, they were always cold.

“I have to go back to my car and get some things. I have some atargatian that will help heal your wounds, but I’m going to have to get them out of you first. Are they welded to the floor? Do you know?”

The man blinked, a creamy cardigan with ink stains around the cuffs draped about bis shoulders, and his hands full of Wei Ying’s startlingly red lunch looked…adorable.

Wei Ying barely restrained himself from cooing aloud.

“No. I sought refuge from the storm in here, the waves drove them in when the ship washed on land.”

Wei Ying nodded, “Good, good, that’s very good. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He pulled his gloves back on so he could pull himself out of the wreck faster without worrying about cuts and scrapes and legged it up the beach to the parking lot.

With flirting and a lot of fluttering eyes he got Mianmian to text Wen Ning to pick Yuan-er up from pre-school, only promising to tell her the entire store later, She was a Koi Jin, she would understand.

He was out of breath when he got back, the mermaid had put the cardigan on and was staring at the food with the kind of determination a man before the gallows does.

“You don’t have to eat it.” Wei Ying turned over a metal box, using it as a makeshift table where he unloaded the three bottles of atargatian, handing one over, he got out the rest of the supplies.

“I..do not think that I can.” His voice was quiet, he peered at Wei Ying through his lashes, “I do not wish to be rude.”

“Dude. You’ve been pinned by rebar for thirteen days, and you let me go after just a few seconds of incredibly kinky restraint. You’ve been the perfect gentleman given the circumstances.”

He kneeled beside the rebar closest to him, this one was going to be the easiest to get out.

“I should really have asked Wen Qing to come out, but I forgot before I left if you would have been comfortable with someone else. She’s a Wen Taimen in case you were worried I’d call a human to help you out. What should I call you anyway?”

Wei Ying pressed a thick gauze pad to the top of the wound, grabbed the rebar.

“Wangji.” He said staring at Wei Ying,

“On three.” Wei Ying offered his elbow “You can hold on to if it you need too.”

He slid one hand around his elbow, fingers shaking slightly.

“Okay,” Fresh blood seeped out of the wound, “One, two-” He pulled up and out, covering the wound with the gauze before fumbling for the first bottle of atargatian, he popped the glass cork, dumping the dark blue brew into the wound.

He made quick work of the other two pieces of rebar before wrapping the bottom half of the tail with enough gauze to make Wen Qing have a coronary when she finds out how much was missing from his kit.

Wangji was breathing hard, his skin was pale and sweaty, his fingers were digging into Wei Wuxian’s arm so hard he knew he was going to have bruises the next day.

“Okay.” Wei Ying moved to his side, holding up his hands, after he pulled the gloves off, “Do you want me to touch you?”

Wangji nodded once, a tight, controlled action.

Wei Ying took one of Wangji’s hands, placing it on his own chest, over his heart where Wangji could feel his heart through the thin t-shirt.

“Breath with me. In and out with me. Good, good, that’s very good. Slowly.” He took deep breaths, letting them out slowly.

“You did good. Such a good job. I know it hurts right now. I’m sorry. You’re doing gre-”

Wangji buried his head in Wei Ying’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around Wei Ying’s waist, hands gripping his shirt so hard he might have felt a few stitches pop.

Wei Ying settled down beside him. Stroking his hair and back, rubbing his arms. He hummed softly, like he did when Yuan-er had bad dreams, something soothing from Wen-popo to help soothe him.

Cold water slapped him in the face.

Sputtering Wei Ying jerk up, blinking at the rapidly encroaching water and the dusty sunset.

He scrambled backwards, looking around. The mermaid was gone, along with the empty atargatian bottles, his lunch, and sweater.

No surprise really, he hadn’t expected for an injured mermaid to stick around. Being injured was bad enough, having to rely on someone who may or may not have been human, especially given their track record was worse. Wei Ying could have brought Wangji to his family, washed his tail, and adorned him with pearls while kneeling and it wouldn't have mattered. Acts of service did not trust make.

Gathering his things, he gave the slowly encroaching ocean one more look before making his way out of the ship.

He thought that was the end of it.

He really did.

He helped someone out that needed it and went on with his life. Told Wen Qing of the events before she discovered the missing gauze and atargatian before she could, and got replacements a week later and a lecture about falling asleep with a stranger.

Which, he deserved.

Until today.

“Have you…done anything recently?” Mianmian had asked an hour ago, perching against his desk.

Wei Ying looked up from his oil tanker report draft,

“Not…that I’m aware of. Why?”

“Lan Xichan called, he wants to see you at the corporate office in Gusu.”

Wei Ying stared at her for a minute longer before looking at the clock on his computer, “It’s nearly midday, Gusu is a three-hour train ride, or two hours by bus, I gotta get Yuan-er in forty minutes and-”

“You’re not cooking tonight.” Mianmian stole one of his mints from the bowl, “I am. I don’t want to die. Lan Xichen’s sending a car for you.”

“It wasn’t that spicy, Yuan-er?”

Mianmian shrugged, “I’ll grab him, Good luck, put on a tie.”

She pushed off his desk, returning to her own.

Wei Ying flipped her off before digging out the only tie he had.

The car ride was only an hour, but it felt like an eternity. He’d met Lan Xichen when Cloud Recesses Disaster Recovery had been brought in for an oil spill off the coast of Seattle, in which Wei Ying was both an anti-capitalist protester and volunteer. He was pretty sure Lan Xichen forgave him for nearly setting him on fire. In his defense he hadn’t known he’d been there at the time. Companies didn’t like talking to Volunteers, and Volunteers had decided on in situ burning to prevent the build up of oil near a turtle nesting ground.

He hadn’t lit anything on fire recently, so it couldn’t have been for that.

The Corporate offices were high in the mountains that forced corporations that ruined the environment to climb up the stairs, while employees got the trolley ride up the back.

He was greeted upon arrival, and taken straight to Lan Xichen’s office.

“Lan Xichen I-”

He was met with bright gold eyes staring at him from the otherside of the room.

This one went places. Were those good places?

[jitterbugjive]

I love my job as a peer because it offers something a doctor can't. A therapist can talk about recovery and hope all they want, but a peer is a proven recovery story. Someone who's been in the same place and found a way to live a mostly stable life. I've actually inspired a lot of people to look into becoming peers by being a peer to them.

People who are houseless are often surrounded by people stuck in the same place as them, a lot of folks not getting the medical attention they need for their mental health and addictions. So the people they spend time with who might be in the same place mentally are not exactly examples of stability.

Peers model recovery and we can show them that management of mental health and substance use is not only possible, but we're there to help people get on that path themselves. A doctor can say "I know hospitals can be difficult" but a peer can say "I have had some pretty traumatic hospital experiences as well."

I see people nervously admit they hear voices only to see them light up when I tell them I get auditory hallucinations as well when I'm stressed, and then we both passionately describe and compare our experiences with hallucinations because now they know I don't think of them as a crazy person for having a fairly common but often hidden phenomenon.

I also have my own peer to help me with motivation for household tasks who has been trying to get me to form healthier habits and is a fellow trans man who can relate to me in a lot of ways and it really helps to have encouragement from a empathetic point of view rather than from someone who doesn't really understand how my brain works.

So yeah just saying. Peer Specialists are awesome.

[fungalfaggot]

i do not trust librarians full stop. y'all r really nice to me personally when I'm tryna print off zines or whatever but yr insistence on calling the cops on even slightly rowdy houseless ppl (and often writing "horror" stories abt them online afterwards) makes u my enemy.

[meadowlarkx]

Elwing/Eärendil and 41? 🥺

41. ...because the world is saved

The prayer was granted—he had felt the currents of the world assembled and heard them answer yes. Yes, yes, yes: it beat in him. He had been relieved, as though a great burden had fallen from his shoulders, and then he had felt barely anything at all. His feet carried him from diamond street to pearl-strewn shore, still expecting the land beneath to move like a ship’s deck, in waves. Where was Elwing?

Here was another city. If Tirion had called up childhood memories of Gondolin, the shining mirror of a ghost, here was the distant, grander echo of Sirion and home. It was in the adornment of the arches that reminded of Círdan and in the piers with their forest of gleaming masts. The proud curve of the bay was an embrace, until he remembered that it reminded him of nothing: Sirion was no more.

Many voices rose ahead of his steps. These Elves had not gone to the festivities in Valimar: they were immersed in talking, gathered in a lantern-lit square near the water and seated casually clustered about one slight figure.

Her dark hair stood out among them, but he would have known her anywhere. Their eyes met and she was again before him, studying him with steely eyes. Her hands alighted on his hands gently, but firmly. He interlaced their fingers without thinking of it. A moment ago, he had drifted across the littoral, a houseless shade. Now he was solid, and suffused with the news to bursting. He kissed her and tasted salt; his own tears spilling over and down his cheek.

“Yes,” he said. “They said yes.”

Elwing laughed and gripped his hands harder. 

“They said yes?”

Leaning up she kissed him.

“Then the world is saved!” She laughed again. She was crying too, a piscine glistening upon her brown face in the silver lantern-light. He released her hands and drew his arms around her. “You have done what your grandfather and all Círdan’s craft could not.”

“We have,” he said.

What a dream it was: here they stood in a dream land, the land of song and stories. They had nothing: they had accomplished everything. Somewhere away through the impossibly high stone arch across the mouth of this harbor, gleaming with mother-of-pearl, were the darkened eastern shores of Middle-earth, and a much smaller arch in a kindred style that jutted out perilously above the Sea.

“I hate them,” Elwing said suddenly. “Is it wrong, that I hate them?”

“No,” Eärendil said, and squeezed her tightly. “I hate them too for not acting earlier. But it is done now. It will be better now. It must be.”

[kitkatopinions]

When discussing the idea that RWBY has the difference between the heroes and villains be their choices, my problem isn't that the characters aren't real and therefore don't technically 'choose' anything. I think that when analyzing media, there has to be some discussion of characters having traits, doing things, making choices, etcetera. Yes, everything a character does, says, or chooses is something they're puppeteered to do by writers, but within the context of the narrative, in the story the writers are trying to tell, the characters will do things and say things and choose things. When talking about Ruby, we can say she chose to be involved in the fight with Salem, and the fact that she's fake doesn't change that.

So if someone says "the RWBY villains made choices that led them to where they wound up" my problem isn't going to be that they didn't choose anything, because they did. In the story, in the narrative the writers are trying to employ, they choose things, Ruby chooses things, her team chooses things, etcetera. My real problem with the idea that RWBY is presenting us with a choice based villainhood whereas the good guys choose good things is that I think it's very badly done if that was even the intended goal, which I'm not sure it was.

In media that wants to make a point of choices being what leads people where they are, there are two things that I think are very important. 1. That the world they establish is either free from systemic bigotry and classism, or that the villains aren't that impacted by the bigotry or classism, or that the system is acknowledged as a driving force that the narrative and the characters within the show are actively against and want to make better. And 2. That the heroes parallel the circumstances of the villains very closely but are shown to make the right choices whereas the villains do not. And I think RWBY fails at both of these steps.

Let's talk about the first one. RWBY is a show where not only is systemic discrimination against the Faunus a thing, but classism and capitalism are both things as well. And both the tendency of the writers to just write what they know (Weiss saying that her asking Neptune out is unorthodox, May talking about her family,) and the writers own bigotry (very few women in leader positions of power, Jaune and Neptune's behavior, the 'joke' about Jaune wearing a dress) make it clear that other forms of bigotry exist in Remnant. On top of this, there are child slaves (Cinder, Adam in extended content,) there's kids living on the streets (Emerald, Nora,) corruption in the Hunter Academies (Dee and Dudley, Qrow's 'shady' colleagues he talks about in V3 and tries to contact in V5, Leo,) and racist and/or sadistic badge carrying law enforcement officers (police in Vale, Cardin training to be a hunter, Coco training to be a hunter.) Weiss's house is the size of the entirety of Menagerie and yet we see houseless people in V7 (iirc) and people living in slums.

The system they invented in the show is inherently unfair, and often heavily impacted the characters we see that are evil, whether that's Cinder being raised as an abused child slave, Adam being raised as an abused child slave and facing discrimination and the systematic oppression of his people, Emerald being a homeless teenager, Ironwood with the weight of a government on his shoulders, Mercury and Neo not having anyone help them while they were abused by their parents, or even the mere implication that Roman grew jaded as time wore on but hadn't started that way. Along with the Brother Gods' hands in the stories of Salem and the Curious Cat, many of the RWBY villains have been severely impacted by conditions outside of their control, the system and hurt caused by others. And RWBY as a whole and the RWBY writers seem not only completely unwilling to delve into criticism of the system and acknowledging the way it contributed to the way villains got to where they are, but at times they even seem to approve of it (Corrupt hunters being treated as bad apples in an otherwise good system, Ironwood being treated as a bad apple in an otherwise good system, Jacques being treated as a bad apple in an otherwise good system, etcetera.) It makes the 'they're defined by their choices' argument feel like a lazy excuse to not examine and even to uphold the corrupt and bad system. It's impossible to say that evil characters are only evil because they chose it when circumstances so frequently pushed them on that slippery slope in the first place, and putting all the blame strictly on how they didn't perfectly handle the horrible situations they were in rather than bothering to ask why those situations happened and how they can be prevented in the future can often boarder on victim blaming. "Adam let his anger consume him" is technically true, but "he shouldn't have been so angry and upset over getting branded in the face after he spent time as a child slave working in a dust mine in horrible conditions as a member of an in-universe oppressed minority group" is very victim blamey!

Now onto the second point. It's much easier to believe a story is specifically about choices if we have a comparison in a very similar situation who chose differently. For instance, Jaune and Salem both lost loved ones that were close to them that were romantic partners. But Pyrrha was not the only person Jaune had as Oz was for Salem, and Jaune hadn't been abused and locked up by his parental figure before that, and after losing said loved one, Jaune wasn't cursed with immortality in punishment for doing something perfectly logical and then watched all of everyone in the world die after trying to rebel against the gods that cursed him. As someone who hates Salem and does think that she's responsible for her actions, it still isn't convincing to put her against Jaune and say 'they both suffered in the same way and yet Jaune made good choices and Salem did not' because... No, they didn't both suffer in the same way. Holding Weiss up to Mercury doesn't work either because they may have both been abused, but all we've seen Weiss get was a slap from a cold father figure whereas Mercury's father was implied to be the reason behind Mercury losing his legs, his dad used to beat him, raised him to be an assassin, and he'd stolen Mercury's semblance, and also Weiss had Winter and Beacon and a support system and all Mercury had was Cinder and Salem and Evernight Castle - Also they seem to be in completely wealth classes. Same with comparing Blake to Adam, same with comparing Neo's loss of Roman to Qrow's loss of Summer, or comparing Cinder's upbringing to Nora's or something. The only really convincing ones are comparing Ruby to the hints about Roman (vaguely implied loss, vaguely implied that he used to be bright eyed and bushy tailed, vaguely implied that the world beat him down in time, which is similar enough to what we've seen with Ruby,) comparing Nora to Emerald (both grew up seemingly on the streets and found their solace with one person,) and comparing Weiss to Watts (both lived in Atlas while they had plenty, both struggled with jealousy and feeling passed over.) People being defined by their choices only really works if we can see them offset against people who shared their circumstance who did make the right choices, and in RWBY, most of the time the villains have gone through far more than the heroes with very little exception to that rule.

Another thing is that the idea of people's villainy stemming from their choices is that imo it only works if we see them get options that are a viable way out, that they ignore. That's also really lacking in RWBY as a general rule. We don't see Mercury and Emerald get a moment before the Fall of Beacon where they had a clear good way out and they didn't take it. We don't see anyone offer Neo a chance to do the right thing and she doesn't take it. We don't see Cinder offered a hand that she rejects. We don't see Ironwood presented with a better plan in V7 that he refuses to try. We don't see Adam ever extended the same sort of grace and chance that Ilia was given and spit at it (TO BE CLEAR I am not saying Blake needed to give him a chance,) etcetera. The story is largely uninterested in giving any villain opportunities for change outside of Hazel, Emerald, and Ilia. Which leads me to believe that the show actually isn't interested in a narrative where the villains are the way that they are out of personal choice, because they only offer them a real choice if they already know they're going to take it.

So yeah, I do not like the offered idea that the RWBY villains are villains out of personal choice, because I don't think the writers did that.

[frostbytemyrik]

Land back is literally Nazi 'blood and soil' ideology. The idea that a certain people have a unique connection to the land of a certain region and are the only rightful rulers of it. Every group of 'indigenous' people killed or forced some other group of people off of that land they're on before they took over it. Everyone is a colonizer if you go back far enough. It's totally incoherent.

Posting this publicly so other people can see this too to confirm I'm not just going completely mad. Are y'all seeing this? Did someone really just roll up to my inbox and claim the Land Back movement is comparable to Nazi ideology? Am I making up this clownery?

Anyway, cite your sources. EVERY group is a bold claim. And even then, that doesn't excuse the atrocities committed unto them by the European colonizers, nor the devastation that said colonizers continue to bring upon the planet and Her people.

From an ecological standpoint, stewardship is crucial to many environments. Native humans have tended to the land, and when colonizers "settled" it, they disregarded any care that it may need and, through a mix of killing Natives off and forbidding them from lands they were on first, keept and still keep them from tending it and never bothered learning to tend it themselves. It's the major reason why the Australian wildfires were so devastating.

But we aren't looking at this from a purely ecological standpoint, are we? We're looking at it from a humanitarian perspective, too. When we show up where other people already are and violently remove them from where they've lived for countless generations, make them houseless, starve them, defile their sacred spaces, mass murder their main sources of food and fabric, forcibly convert them to our religions, separate them from their families, and punish them for speaking their own languages... is it right? Does the fact that some of these nations have warred with others in the past make this okay? Does that make this treatment justified? (I'd think this is a rhetorical question, but considering this anon showed up I feel the need to specify: the answer is OBVIOUSLY NOT.)

This is just the list that I, a white man in the US, came up with on the spot, and this is only about a few of the abuses committed by the US alone. There's a lot more to be added here. No people deserve such mistreatment and no people ever will.

The continued persecution of Native peoples around the world will not end until the rights to stewardship of lands they had stolen from them are acknowledged.

LAND BACK NOW

Edit: Whenever I come back to edit this, Tumblr deletes all my sources in that big block of atrocities, so I'm just posting them all here below. TW for racism, genocide, and...just about everything else.