#not a survivor myself for the record

[muzzled-kelevra]

Guys can you have delusional thinking and know it's delusional and yet it still effects you?

Google is seriously not helpful rn

[opencommunion]

since zionists want to act obtuse about why we're criticizing a superbowl ad, here's an explanation from before the ad even aired. it was openly designed to act as pro-genocide propaganda. fighting antisemitism is a worthy goal but that's not what's happening here:

"The New England Patriots’ 81-year-old owner, Robert Kraft, writes seven-digit checks to the right-wing Israeli lobbying machine AIPAC, but his personal, political, and financial ties to Israel run deeper than the occasional donation. The multibillionaire married his late wife, Myra, in Israel in 1963 when Kraft, then 22, was older than the nation itself. Together they set up numerous business, athletic, and charitable ties to Israel, a record of which is proudly proclaimed on the Kraft company website. In particular, the Kraft Group boasts of its 'Touchdown in Israel' program, where NFL players are given free, highly organized vacations to see 'the holy land' and come back to spread the word about 'the only democracy in the Middle East.' (Not every NFL player has chosen to take part.) Kraft also attends fundraisers for the Israel Defense Forces, currently—and in open view of the world—committing war crimes in Gaza."

Now, as Israel wages war against the civilians of Gaza—more than 25,000 Palestinian have been killed with at least 10,000 of them children—Kraft is again flexing his financial and political muscles in order to defend the indefensible. His Foundation to Combat Antisemitism (FCAS) will be spending an estimated $7 million to buy a Super Bowl ad titled 'Stop Jewish Hate' that will be seen by well over 100 million people. Under Kraft’s direction, the ad’s goal is to create a propaganda campaign to counter the reports and images from Gaza that young people are consuming on social media. 

... The content of the Super Bowl ad is not yet known, but FCAS has afforded Kraft the opportunity to make the rounds on cable news saying things like, 'It’s horrible to me that a group like Hamas can be respected and people in the United States of America can be carrying flags or supporting them.'

This is Kraft enacting the mission of FCAS: fostering disinformation. He is far from subtle: A Palestinian flag becomes a 'Hamas flag,' and people like the hundreds of thousands who took to the streets of Washington, D.C., last month to call for a cease-fire and end the violence are expressions of the 'rise in antisemitism.' Without a sense of irony or the horrors happening on the ground in Gaza, Kraft says he is giving $100 million of his own money to FCAS, because 'hate leads to violence.'

Let’s be clear: What Kraft is doing politically and what he will be using the Super Bowl as a platform to do is dangerous. He appears to think any criticism of Israel is inherently antisemitic. For Kraft, it is Jews like myself, rabbis, and Holocaust survivors calling for a cease-fire and a Free Palestine that are part of the problem. Kraft seems to think that opposition to Israel, the IDF, and the AIPAC agenda is antisemitism.

... Right-wing Christian nationalists, with their belief in a Jewish state existing alongside their conviction that Jews are going to Hell, are welcome in Netanyahu’s Israel and Kraft’s coalition. Left-wing anti-Zionist Jews are not. The greatest foghorn of this evangelical right-wing 'love Israel, hate Jews' perspective is, of course, Donald Trump. Kraft, while speaking of being troubled by events like the Charlottesville Nazi march and the right-wing massacre at the Tree of Life synagogue, counts Donald Trump as a close friend and even donated $1 million to his presidential inauguration.

No one who provides cover for the most powerful, public antisemite in the history of US politics should ever be taken seriously on how to best fight antisemitism. No one who funds AIPAC and the IDF and opposes a cease-fire amid the carnage should be allowed a commercial platform at the Super Bowl. But given that the big game is always an orgy of militarism, blind patriotism, and big budget commercials that lie through their teeth, perhaps that ad could not be more appropriate. We can do better than Kraft’s perspective on how to fight antisemitism. Morally, we don’t have a choice."

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Faye Schulman

Faye Schulman was a young Jewish photographer in Poland who became a resistance fighter after her family was slaughtered by the Germans. For the next two years, she took pictures of what she witnessed, leaving an extensive photographic record for posterity.

Born Faigel Lazebnik in 1919, she was one of seven children in an Orthodox Jewish family in Lenin, a small village in Poland. Known as Faye, she learned four languages: Yiddish at home, Polish at school, Hebrew in religious school, and Russian among the non-Jewish townspeople. Her brother Moshe was a professional photographer and she worked as his assistant, developing a keen eye and a talent for photography. When Moshe moved to another town, Faigel took over his business.

After the Germans invaded Lenin in 1941, they forced the town’s Jews into a squalid ghetto. On August 14, 1942, the Nazis “liquidated” the Lenin ghetto by brutally murdering 1,850 Jews, including Faye’s parents, sisters, and brother. Only 26 Jews were spared because the Nazis could make use of their skills. Faye was ordered to develop photographs of the massacre that claimed the lives of her family as well as almost everyone she knew. She secretly made extra copies of the pictures and kept them to bear testimony to Nazi crimes against humanity.

Soon after, Faye escaped from the Nazis and joined the Molotava Brigade, a group of Russian resistance fighters in the forest of Belarus. She said, “This was the only way I could fight back and avenge my family.” They were known as “partisans” – an insurgent militia group opposing an occupation army. Despite rampant antisemitism in the group, she was allowed to join because she had some basic medical skills learned from her late brother-in-law, who had been a doctor in Lenin. Faye became the group’s nurse, serving alongside the resident doctor, a veterinarian. For almost two years, Faye dressed fighters’ wounds and did whatever she could for sick and injured fighters, despite a lack of medical equipment. She participated in armed raids, later remembering “When it was time to be hugging a boyfriend, I was hugging a rifle. Now I said to myself, my life is changed. I learned how to look after the wounded, I even learned how to make operations.”

Faye’s partisan brigade raided her hometown of Lenin, during which the resistance fighters acquired food, weapons and supplies. As they passed her childhood home, Faye urged her fellow partisans to burn it to the ground, which they did. “I won’t be living here. The family’s killed. To leave it for the enemy? I said right away: Burn it!”

Faye found her old photographic equipment, and brought it back to their forest encampment. For the next two years, Faye documented the dangerous existence of anti-Nazi partisans. It was vitally important to her because as she later said, “I want people to know that there was resistance. Jews did not go like sheep to the slaughter. I was a photographer. I have pictures. I have proof.”

Faye’s resistance group was liberated by the Soviets in July 1944. After the war ended, she was overjoyed to find that her brother Moshe had also survived and had been part of another resistance group. Faye and Moshe were the only survivors of their family of nine. Soon after Faye married Morris Schulman, who’d fought alongside Moshe. They decided to make a new life in Palestine, then occupied by the British, who made it difficult if not impossible for war-scarred Holocaust survivors to enter the land. For two years the Schulmans were stuck in a displaced persons camp in Germany, waiting for the opportunity to immigrate. They helped smuggle arms into Palestine to support the Jews fighting for independence. In 1947 Faye became pregnant, and they needed someplace safe to live. They were able to get visas to Canada, and settled in Toronto, where they ran a family business and raised two children. In 1995, Faye published a book about her experience as an anti-Nazi resistance fighter: “A Partisan’s Memoir: Woman of the Holocaust.”

Faye died on April 24, 2021, surrounded by her family, at age 101. Sadly, the last few years of her life saw an upsurge of antisemitism worldwide. Faye left an inspiring message for young people today: “To Jewish kids I would like to say – be proud to be Jewish. To non-Jewish kids I would like to say – if there is a war and you have to fight, fight for freedom and don’t be ashamed to be in the army.”

For saving lives, battling Nazis, and leaving a photographic record so the horrors of the Holocaust would not be forgotten, we honor Faye Lazebnik Schulman as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[commonwealthcass]

Greetings again

i was wondering how deep you got into the Fallout show and if so what do you think of it so far? since im a bit mixed, mostly due to me being a FNV fan and just weirded out by some decisions in the show, but what do you think, also how Cass would react to this new Ghoul, also wanted your opinion on Raul

Hey there! I’m actually a big Fallout NV fan myself and, tbh, I was very skeptical of the series when I first heard that it was in development. Video game adaptions don’t have the best track record and initial shots had a lot of people making speculations about sneak peeks we were given like Lucy visiting a town that some people thought looked like Megaton. I went into watching the show without any expectations and was pleasantly surprised at how faithfully they had tried to make it - it’s good for people who aren’t familiar to Fallout but also had enough nods that give us long-time fans a treat. I’ve had a couple friends say they were sharing the show with their parents and grandparents, which I think is pretty neat!

I think so long as you keep the mindset that this is its own thing. The last episode exceeded my expectations and I’m looking forward to the next season but I get it might not be everyone’s cup of tea. Still, I do think that the showrunners did do a good job of constructing something that feels like it would belong in the universe.

Raul was my buddy in NV and I loved his story arc. We find him pretty self deprecating and suffering from survivors guilt when we find him in Black Mountain. Getting him to open up about it and take on the vaquero outfit I felt was really rewarding. Probably the companion I traveled the most with besides Boone.

Also, I think Cooper would, in typical Cooper fashion, would definitely make a big impression for sure…

[peachesofteal]

This post contains resources for leaving a domestic violence situation (in the United States). If you have additional domestic violence resources from other countries/places in the world, please leave them in comments.

This is a content warning: beneath the cut is a conversation about Simple Math, domestic violence, and my boundaries.

Hi.

I want to preface this conversation by telling you how much I love you all. I'm so grateful to the little community that we've built here, and I really feel like we've created a space where we can talk to one another comfortably. I adore interacting with you all and I've been pleasantly surprised at Simple Math's reception. I knew writing a fic with a character who had survived domestic violence would open a certain kind of conversation, and I'm okay with that, to an extent.

That being said:

For my own peace, I ask that you refrain from sending me GRAPHIC messages about your experience with domestic violence. If you are a victim/survivor/witness/etc, and you want to open a conversation with me reference your experiences and/or trauma, I am absolutely okay with that as long as it's done in an appropriate way. A lot of us can relate to Bun, and I don't have an issue sharing enthusiasm for the story in relation to your life. I am not okay with DMs or anonymous messages detailing graphic descriptions of abuse. You don't know me, my personal life, or the things I've experienced, and sending a detailed play by play of your past or current experiences (without even a warning) is not okay. I understand that you need someone to talk to, or maybe even someone to ask for advice, but I cannot read the graphic nature of these messages, and I encourage you to turn towards someone who knows you personally so you can receive help. Leaving the details of a current or ongoing domestic violence situation in my inbox, with no way for me to report what is happening or ability to get you any kind of help or resources, cannot happen. Domestic violence is a crime. In the case of physical abuse, it is a violent crime. Please do not detail violent crime to me in my inbox.

I consider myself to be a kind person. I try to help my community in real life and here as much as I can. I strive to make this a space where you feel comfortable and welcomed. I enjoy the way we interact and talk about these stories. It pains me to have to write something out like this, but I really don't know what else to do. It's very upsetting to read a message from someone who possibly is being harmed, and then feeling like I'm screaming into a fucking void because it's an anonymous message and I cannot help.

I've included some resources below if you're in the US and need somewhere to start in regard to getting out of a domestic violence situation.

US resources: Phone: 800-799-7233 Text: Text START to 88788

Create a safety plan. It’s important to plan how to stay safe while still living with an abusive partner and how you can safely leave the home or relationship. Record evidence of any abuse you experienced. This could include pictures of injuries you received or threatening messages. If possible, keep a journal of violent incidents, noting dates, events, and any threats made. Store your journal in a safe place. Establish where you can go to get help. If you’re comfortable doing so, tell someone trusted about what’s happening. They can help you with safety planning or finding resources that support survivors. Plan with your children and identify a safe place where they can go during moments of crisis, like a room with a lock or a friend’s house. Reassure them that their job is to stay safe, not to protect you. When preparing to go to a shelter, if you can, call ahead to see what the shelter’s policies are. They can give you information on how they can help and how to secure a space when it’s time to leave. Our advocates can also provide you with local resources. Try to set money aside or ask trusted friends or family members to hold money for you somewhere an abusive partner can’t reach it. Financial abuse is very common and creates many issues for someone preparing to leave. If relevant and feasible, pursue job skills or educational qualifications that expand your opportunities for independence. Talk with an advocate at The Hotline. Our advocates are highly trained in all aspects of domestic violence. They can help you create a safety plan, give information on preparing to leave, and can connect you to local domestic violence resources for further support. Create a safety plan. It’s important to plan how to stay safe while still living with an abusive partner and how you can safely leave the home or relationship. Record evidence of any abuse you experienced. This could include pictures of injuries you received or threatening messages. If possible, keep a journal of violent incidents, noting dates, events, and any threats made. Store your journal in a safe place. Establish where you can go to get help. If you’re comfortable doing so, tell someone trusted about what’s happening. They can help you with safety planning or finding resources that support survivors. Plan with your children and identify a safe place where they can go during moments of crisis, like a room with a lock or a friend’s house. Reassure them that their job is to stay safe, not to protect you. When preparing to go to a shelter, if you can, call ahead to see what the shelter’s policies are. They can give you information on how they can help and how to secure a space when it’s time to leave. Our advocates can also provide you with local resources. Try to set money aside or ask trusted friends or family members to hold money for you somewhere an abusive partner can’t reach it. Financial abuse is very common and creates many issues for someone preparing to leave. If relevant and feasible, pursue job skills or educational qualifications that expand your opportunities for independence. Talk with an advocate at The Hotline. Our advocates are highly trained in all aspects of domestic violence. They can help you create a safety plan, give information on preparing to leave, and can connect you to local domestic violence resources for further support.

You are loved, even if it doesn't feel like it. You have the ability to do things you never could have dreamed of, and that includes getting out.

[ivystoryweaver]

hi ivy, congrats on 1k! 💕🎉 i was wondering if u have any hc's on how the mk system would take care of u when ur sick? currently dealing w strep myself & it sucks. hope this is okay if ur still doing these & that u have good day! 🩷

You're Not Alone

@suresnips Once upon a time you were sick and I left you there, with no Moon Boys to comfort you... Jake is gonna have words with me. Thank you so much for the congratulations, you are so sweet! Long overdue, but I never leave an ask unanswered

Word Count: 700 Content: sick you, mentions of food, domestic life, slight mentions of Marc's past, not beta'd

Marc has been on his own for years, and even when he was young, he had to fend for himself.

He knows how to take care of himself, having shivered through fevers in the roughest neighborhoods and parts of the world - sometimes on the run.

Believe it or not, Marc is the one who really doesn't want you to feel alone when you're sick. He doesn't always know what to say or do (he does, actually, but that's his self-loathing talking), but he'll sit with you.

Marc doesn't like the doctor - he was raised hiding things from professionals and he's conditioned to think they don't actually care, but since he doesn't want you to feel alone, he will always make sure he's there to wait with you.

He's traveled all over. He's a survivor and he's picked up all kinds of useful knowledge from his journeys.

Marc knows lots of little tricks, like how peppermint or lavender oil can be diluted and rubbed on your feet to bring down fever. He also knows oils and tinctures for all kinds of symptoms, such tightness or spasms from coughing, or simply to help you rest.

Since Marc doesn't know what to say sometimes, he will want to touch you. But occasionally, having a fever means you do not want to be touched - or at least not held.

This is why both of you find it so soothing when he rubs a balm into your chest or oils onto your feet. His dark eyes lock onto yours and you can see straight to his soul

Marc is steady and calm when you're sick. He doesn't want you to feel that what is wrong with you is your fault - you really feel loved and supported, even when you have "just a cold."

Steven is a caring, observant person: cordial to those who dismiss him, professional to rude bosses, sympathetic to friends and mindful and proud of the places he occupies

He even talks to Gus and makes sure he has everything he needs.

So he is going to notice the second you're feeling off.

"Getting sick, aren't you, love?"

"What? No, I'm just tired."

By that evening, you're burning with a fever.

Steven ushers you to bed, letting you know he stopped by the store on the way home. He is prepared.

Steven knows which tea will soothe your throat or settle your stomach. He understands just the right amount of honey or lemon you need, and how long to steep the tea leaves.

Even if you don't prefer tea, he knows how to make it taste good enough to warm you up or settle you.

Steven is vegan so he knows how to substitute ingredients or some interesting places to order takeaway. He'll encourage you to steer away from foods that will only exacerbate your symptoms, like fried foods or too much dairy.

He loves to take care of you, dote on you, bring you trays of things, prop up your head with an extra pillow.

He'll place a washcloth over your forehead and cover you with an extra blanket while you suffer.

He'll read you to sleep if you like, but he will miss you so much while you're down and out.

He's an exuberant puppy when you're better.

Jake helps you get things done.

You're out of it for a few days or a week? All good - bills are paid (if you share them), laundry is done.

Don't feel like calling out of work or making doctor's appointments? Jake takes care of it. You're not to be bothered.

He's going to help you zone out.

He'll make you smile, play your favorite record, watch movies with you on the couch.

He's gonna sneak you junk food, tbh. Steven's teas and soups are so wonderful, but after a few days, there's just that one food you want because you're kinda feeling sorry for yourself?

That's Jake. Snacks and movies and lightening the mood.

And - it's Jake Lockley. He's definitely going to try to feel you up during a movie. Once your fever breaks anyway.

“But I look awful,” you halfheartedly protest.

"Never, mi amor. Just relax."

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

1000 Follower/Holiday Celebration Masterlist

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[teaboot]

Your post about art vs content got me thinking about the differences between the two. To me there is no difference besides the mindsets. One is of creator and the enjoyer, the other is content and consumer it removes the personhood, the joy/emotion, from the equation. Like a writer or video creator may not see their work as art so content creator maybe a way to refer to themselves comfortably but it sounds so machine, emotionless and lifeless, like a cookie cutter recipe mass producing something verses people lovingly crafting something...then again Disney uses a cookie cutter recipe for the most part and it brings out bangers cause people lovingly make it their own so maybe I'm thinking too hard on this

Does my long-winded rant make sense?

see, I get what you mean, but I still feel like the willingness to entertain calling art of any kind "content" reduces it to the facet of consumption where in reality, the experience of consuming art is not the sole defining trait of it.

Reducing arts like music, writing, painting, dance, voice acting, theater, etc. to the role of "content"- a thing created to be consumed, measured and valued by how pleasant or easy it is to digest- I feel that it was our biggest red flag to herald the incoming tide of AI "art".

Because if art is "content", if arts are nothing but consumable matter, then obviously the key to success is to produce as much soft, tasty, edible paste as we possibly can at the lowest possible expense.

It's the same issue I have with "meal replacements", diet culture, nutrient slurries, twenty-step skincare routines, 24/7 body padding and shapewear and laxative teas and "grind culture". It's not a cause, but a symptom, of the disease that is late-stage capitalism.

Things must be produced at low cost and remain in high demand forever. Things must be perfect and palatable and the new hit trend forever. People must pay hand over fist to consume without asking anything in return, and if they start dropping like flies at the unending unrewarded thankless demand of it all, then that must be treated as a weakness. We should all take pride in how much we can spend, pay, give, produce, and think as little as possible about what we ask for ourselves.

So, who cares if, of two identical paintings, one was made by a person and one was made by a computer program? It's the same work, so what does it matter? What does it matter?

I am an artist. I make art. I ask a question, make a statement, declare something horrific or challenging or upsetting or wrong or grotesque, and when you respond, we are together experiencing a conversation. We are existing, two people living one life and reaching out and touching across time and space. No matter the work, you're at the barest minimum saying, "I'm alive, and you're alive, and at one time or another we shared this same world, and at the end of the day we aren't too terribly different. My heart is worth sharing, and your heart is worth the struggle of understanding."

An AI-generated piece, a computer-generated voice, a CGI puppet of someone long since dead and gone, they cannot speak. They have no voice. Ay best, they are the most chewable, consumable, landlord-beige common denominator possible that you can sit and listen to like the lone survivor of a shipwreck listening to the same three songs on a broken record, and at worst, they're the uncaring vomit of an empty, unloving, value-addled hack wearing the skin of someone I know over their own.

When you abandon art to say that you make content, that should not be a point of pride. That's an embarrassment. That's not sitting down for an intelligent discussion with an equal, that's kneeling at the feet of the crowd and saying, "what do you want to see me do? I can be anyone you've ever loved. I can be them, I can be anyone, as long as you love me."

I can make content. I can be consumed. What do you want to consume? I'll make myself consumable. I'll make myself just like anything you like. And I'll make so much of it that you'll never have to go anywhere else, because it'll all be right here, and under all the cut-and-paste schlock you've seen before I will sit alone in the dark and the silence and I will know that I am safe, because I am valued, because I am desired, and I need to be desired or else I am worthless like a factory that no longer churns out steel or a hen that no longer lays eggs or a cow that is too old to make milk.

Content, the most literal meaning, is something which is contained inside a container. What it is doesn't really matter, and the best it can hope to be is something worthy of being scooped out and used.

Art is an experience that transcends value. Art is something you can eat without paying for. You can make it out of anything and anyone can do it. It can be crude and vulgar and bad, and that's a strength because it means something. It always, always means something, and it doesn't matter if you like it or not. It's not content because it doesn't fill anything. It's a living, breathing thing, and whether you want to birth it or eat it, then you're going to have to be willing to put the fucking work in

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red

art in the cover by @ave661 and @shkretart !

chapter one | chapter two | ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you'll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won't. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn;

A/N: Hello girlies! This is the very first time I get the courage to actually post something I wrote. I've been reading y'all fics behind my screen for so much time now I figured I could start postingggg; so please be gentle with the feedbacks, but be also sincere ♥ also, English is not my first language and although I'm fluent, there might be a mistake or two along the way. Don't feel shy in pointing it out if you see any! Moreover, this will be a long ass one I'm pretty sure, but I might get myself some more courage to post my smut oneshots in some near future. Hope you enjoy! x

Chapter 1 - The Incident | 3.3k

There was ash in the air everywhere. That scenario didn’t frighten him – in fact, Ghost was absolutely sure that at that point in his life, almost nothing could fright him. He had seen much worse things before, he thought silently as he walked towards the building completely destroyed. There was debris everywhere – the building had not collapsed completely, but some parts did not survive the flames and now there seemed to be not even a little bit of life in that place. There were still small portions of flames spread through a few heaps of debris, a terrible smell of wood and burnt concrete; but nothing of that could be worse than the smells of dead, flattered human flesh that once or again invaded his nostrils.

His eyes rolled around in search of any record of life. In vain, he knew: there was no chance that any civilian had survived that. A cruel, dark bombing, a violent and destructive terrorist act. The only goal was to destroy any form of life that could inhabit there, and possibly it had been obtained without any further circumstances. When Price sent the radio search order to all members of the 141, he made it very clear that those efforts were in vain. They would find nothing. We lost today, he said. We could not foresee this, nor can we remedy it. It was a burden they had to cope with on a daily basis - the often inability to do something, to act, was a burden that a soldier should carry. It was part of the job.

Ghost pressed the point button in his ear. “Is anyone listening?” He asked, his eyes checking the entire perimeter of the building behind the skull mask that covered his face. “Have you found something, LT?” Soap answered, his voice hushed by the efforts. “No. I’m making an entrance, there’s nothing out here.” the lieutenant stated, kicking off a few remaining pieces of concrete from the front of his feet and laying the rifle in his hands. Ghost stood in front of the main entrance to the building – that place that should have looked like a reception at some point in the near past - and the movement of his boots against the ground caused the roof above his head to shake a little, and some ash particles fell onto his helmet. He observed the movement, standing still for a few seconds, only for warranty; he did not want to end up becoming one more of those burial victims. 

When the concrete whisper finally stopped stirring his ears, he entered. The lamp of his helmet lit up, and he looked around. His eagle eyes did not lose an inch of that entire perimeter, his ears attentive as those of a bat. He was looking for a sign, whatever it was: a presence, a scream, voices, calls for help. Anything. Anyone.

All he could hear were the sounds of the structure of the building, apparently ready to give in. Ghost tried to enter one of the apartments; his boots sole hit the semi-destroyed grinded surface of the door, and he broke in. He looked around. An enormous smashed chandelier rested violently against the bloody body of a child. 

Many people said Simon was the type of man to have no feelings anymore. That time, scars and trauma had taken from him all and every kind of humanity. He had become a soldier—one of the good, one of the invincible, but nothing aside from that. Nothing but a soldier.

Perhaps that sentence became so repetitive that at some point, he, himself began to believe it. His face remained motionless. The sound of the blood drops hanging on the floor filled his ears, and he snorted for a moment, pressing the point into his ear. “First floor, apartment 102,” he said, coordinating other operators to head to start collecting the bodies. 

His eyes went up to the ceiling, facing the huge blunt in the structure that caused the luster to fall. Maybe the parents' bodies were still there somewhere to be found, he thought. But that wasn’t his job, and unfortunately he didn’t have all the time in the world. He then traced his steps out of the apartment, looking around. As he kept going upstairs, the lantern lit up one hand or another thrown out of a pile of debris. Broken legs, the kinds of horrors that haunt the dreams of ordinary people. 

As Price had said and as he imagined to be fact, there were no survivors. Even when he reached the last floor, without any hope that he would find any movement that were not spasms of lifeless bodies, he tried. He tried to find someone, to do his job with all the mastery he could. His voice echoed through the entire floor, looking for anyone who could answer, but as expected, there was no response.

All that was left was the subsoil, the garage. When he came down the lobby again and found a portion of the staff dragging out some bodies, placing them in black bags, one of the doctors caught his attention. “Lieutenant. Have you finished checking around? Nothing up there?” The man asked, pulling his glasses from the tip of his nose. Ghost is negative. “No, nothing,” he said bluntly.

The doctor seemed to bite his own jaw with some strength, in disappointment. He has baffled. “You don’t even have to check down there. If those above didn’t survive...” he said, giving on his shoulders. Ghost watched him in silence for a few seconds, before finally answering, “Focus on your work, doc. I’ll finish my own.” He said in a nod before starting to push with his crude hands the stones that covered the entrance to the stairs that led to the garage.

His steps echoed. Ghost walked through the parking lot, passed pillar by pillar, checked every car. There were bursting pipes releasing hot steam, a gas leak as well he could tell – and he didn’t want to be there to see what would happen if some kind of ignition occurred. He hastened his steps. He took a deep breath; he was about to press his point and give up, claiming that there were no survivors, but a stifling sound interrupted his action. He looked around, looking for the source of the heavy breath and the little grumbling of pain he heard. His eyebrows cracked almost instantly and he turned around himself, looking around. All his senses were activated at that moment – he began to walk through among the few cars there, following the sound he had heard and then, a hand hitting the air dropped debris to the side of what seemed to be a body. He approached cautiously, throwing the light from his helmet’s lantern in the direction of the sound, and to his surprise, although not perceptible, there was the only survivor of the bombing: you.

A small, female frame shrunk from a pile of debris. Your hair was covered in ashes, your face - the dirty cheeks with the blackness of the material, your arms painted in the scarlet of your blood flowing freely to the ground, glass blades attached painfully to your soft skin. There was a cut down from the top of your forehead until the beginning of your left eyebrow. The completely messy strands of your hair fell against your face, opaque, bright. The expression of fear on your eyes turned into pure terror the moment they met his own, those small cold orbs inside the mask. You instinctively tried to move away from him, push your body away from those debris, away from that huge and frightening man.

When you threw your body to the side, all you could feel was your back against the cold floor, your left leg refused to work. You felt nauseous, stupid, your head turned. Your mouth trembled in a failed attempt to say something, the silence already lasted for seconds enough for you to fear his frame standing ever so tall and quiet. “Please don’t hurt me.” You managed to say, your voice engulfed in a cry that refused to go out. It wasn’t as if it was going to work; if he was one of the terrorists who caused this incident and really wanted to hurt you, then you were at his mercy and there was little you could do about it.

Maybe, if you were in a better mental and physical condition, you’d be able to identify that the rifle in the hands of the man in front of yourself was of a military model. That all his gear pointed out that he was an operator, someone willing to help. Your mind could not process all the necessary information about him at the given moment, although.

“I will not hurt you, lass.” He explained, and for a moment you felt your chest swell in air and it was hard to contain the immense desire to cry. The heavy steps of the man were made against your small, wounded body. He lowered himself, letting the rifle rest next to him quietly. You gulped in dry, still nervous with your eyes raised to his, now a little closer to you. He wasn’t looking at you — he was looking down, seeming to assess how hurt you were. “I’ll tell you what’s happening now. Okay?” He asked, slowly and calmly, his cold eyes now facing your own, visualizing your soul behind the cover of this hurt shell of yours. You stumbled, and he continued. “I’ll take that away from you, and I need you to help me helping you. Alright? You will be well. I just need you to hold your leg and when I push it over, you roll. Understood?” The man asked, his firm and deep voice being the first source of human contact you had since the lightning caused you to wipe out unconscious hours before. You came in for confirmation.

Ghost nodded back and raised his fingers, counting to three. Contrary to what you might have imagined, he didn’t need to do much to lift the huge concrete block that blocked his left leg from moving — he even had some ease in doing so. He held the concrete above his body, his arms backed over you, he sat down. “Roll.” he commanded, and you obeyed as you could. You leaned her hands on the ground and gave a boost; one of your hands instinctively went to the wounded leg, in an attempt to warm up the pain now felt by finally having released it from the rubble. You couldn’t hold a moan of pain, but he was quickly stifled by the sound of concrete hitting the ground when Ghost let it fall back.

You mentally begged that you could endure that. Your eyes were filled with tears, and a certain despair arose through your throat, your mouth. The anguish of finally feeling the unpleasant smell of the environment, the nervousness of realizing that very possibly, few other people survived that disaster, it was overwhelming your already troubled mind. 

Ghost didn’t lose a second in time; he finished positioning the rifle around his body and you felt his arms wrapping you by the waist and the folds of your knees, and he lifted it up with immense ease – it was as if you were featherweight. The gloves in his hands were rough against the sensitivity of your skin, but his touch was as cautious as possible. You could say without a doubt that this soldier of at least twice your height was doing his best not to hurt you any more than you’re already wounded.

“What is your name?” He finally asked, his rifle resting on his back, and you resting over his arms. He wasn’t looking at you – his eyes were fixed ahead, in the direction he was carrying you to, the exit. You answered, and he nodded in acknowledgement. “You can call me Ghost. I am a soldier, yes? We will take care of you.” He said in a clear tactical attempt to calm your nervousness down.

You sat down with your head. “Amelie Miller... Did you find her? My friend, she... did you find her?” You asked, your body trembled as you came to realize his eyes were now boring into yours.

He seemed to look for words that would not hurt you as much as the ones he had to say, but he for one, was not good with words or comforting.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he whispered, in a sigh. “there are no more survivors. You were the only one.”

~ x ~

Your head hurt. Everything hurt; body, arms. There was a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water still sealed in your hands. The look in your eyes was empty, blurred; there were a lot of people there. Many doctors, many operators - soldiers like Ghost. One of them wore a mohican, the other had thick eyebrows. The captain was talking to them in an isolated corner, the doctors were talking to each other about your condition, about what should be done from now on. There were agents from the British intelligence surrounding the site, and there were about hundreds of black bags stretched on the floor, closed. You still felt pain, although the healings now prevented blood from flowing freely through your forehead as before. The glass pieces had been removed from your arms, your face was clean now and even so, you never felt so dirty in your entire life.

Every time you dare to blink, you could swear that you would faint. Your hands were getting weaker, loosening around the bottle. The sudden sound of the bottle falling to the ground caught the attention of one of the men there – the captain. As far as you could realize, he called himself something Price.

“Miss.” He said, coming closer to you. Suddenly, there were eyes on you from every angle possible; all of the other soldiers turned to the ambulance where you were sitting now. You slowly raised your face to look back at Price, and he continued. “I’m not going to ask if it’s okay, this question is rhetorical. You need to be hydrated.” He was bowing down in front of you, taking the bottle he dropped and opening it, offering it to you. Your eyes checked at the bottle for a few seconds and your trembling hand finally grabbed it, drinking until the last drop you could - all at once. You could feel your throat burning, your skin seemed to be in living flesh. The appearance of your wounds was not as unpleasant as the feeling of having them, but you knew that all that would leave you some ugly scars.

You could not care about it now – in fact, couldn’t care about anything at all. Your mind was empty and you never felt so apathetic in such a distressful situation. 

“What am I going to do now?” You asked, in a whisper, your eyes completely lost. “I—what am I going to do...?,” you repeated, and there was nothing but an absolute feeling of raw pain and loss in your voice right at that moment, for as much as you tried to hide it.

Price swelled his chest, and his lips compressed into a line. “You don’t have to worry about anything now. We’ll take care of everything,” he assured. “The government has a great defense program for disasters like this, you won’t be without a roof,” he finished, trying to calm you down. You closed your eyes and shaken your head, but you did not respond. There was nothing to say, nothing to do; what could be done besides trusting that everything would go well? Trust that they would have a plan for you, a shelter, doctors, a chance of living after you were supposed to die in such a horrific way?

You didn’t even know if you wanted all that. Didn’t even knew if you wanted to be the only survivor. Surely not: at that time, you would rather have died among the other more than a hundred people who were now in black bags scattered on the floor in front of you. You felt so much - you felt gratitude for their work, for saving you, but at the same time you couldn’t help but to feel like a fraud for surviving while other died. Others that, somewhat, deserved more than you to live. There was so much in your mind now, but little that you could really synthesize and make sense of.

You drowned your face between your hands, unable to cry, but wanting so deeply to hide from them, from those men, from doctors, from the press, from everything. Wanting to be away from everything, wanting to be dead for once.

A little further away, Ghost observed you. His broad arms crossed, his posture relentlessly perfect as always. His eyes looked at your gestures, scanned your body —all those wounds, poor girl, he thought. Although he was sure there was no more of a heart in his chest, he felt comprehensive towards your emotions. The horrors you had lived in such a short space of time, the unbearable consequences that that meant for your poor mind. The trauma. The pain.

He could not help but think that he saw a bit of himself in you. Not a bit of Ghost – a little bit of Simon. A little bit of the little Simon who felt an immeasurable strain in his chest, a void that could not be filled. 

When the doctors finally helped you to get up in the ambulance and sit on one of the available chairs, your face turned over your own shoulder and you found his eyes stuck to yours. It felt intimidating in some way; perhaps the way his confidence didn’t allow him to look away while you stared at him, or something in the way he seemed capable of reading right through you like a good book of his. He was a savior to you, and somehow it still seemed his persona was conflicting with the one of a savior. He was something else, perhaps still a benefactor, but somehow, a very dangerous man.

There was not a single feeling in his eyes, quite the opposite. There was pure coldness, and yours on the other hand carried some gratitude and ingratitude at the same time. You felt grateful that he had saved you, but at the same time, felt angry at him for not having let you die. You entered the ambulance, and your eyes continued to lock a gaze against his until the moment someone closed the car door from outside.

Ghost turned his eyes at last, and saw Price approaching.

“Fuck.” The captain whispered, laying his hands on his waist, looking at all the misfortune that the incident had caused to that place. “How many bodies?” He asked, looking at Simon with the corner of his eyes.

“A hundred and two so far.” Ghost answered quietly.

“And have you found the bodies of the sons of bitches who did this?” Price said with some disgust and hatred attached to his voice. Ghost assented positively, which made Price crack the dust almost instantly into a distressed expression.

“Motherfuckers.” He grunted, turning to the rest of the team. Soap, who had been remaining in silence for thorough all the search, dared to finally speak.

“We have a lot to report, hm?” He raised his eyebrows, and received a Price assent in response.

“To the headquarters." The captain ordered, making his way to the helicopter that awaited for them, and they left.

[demonslayedher]

Low-Key Married AU fluff

Kochou said that I was disliked, so I asked her if she disliked me too. For someone so quick to have a smiling response to everything, she struggled to reply. She was the one who proposed marriage and swayed me, so I had thought that meant she had feelings for me. There would be no other way to read it. However, with as unbothered as she is by my absence, I have to wonder.

It’s been ten days since I had last contact with her. I went home to the Butterfly Mansion, but she had just departed for a mission, so I didn’t stay long so as not to trouble the girls. It may still be a few days before I can return again, but it’s always likely she’ll be busy. She’s incredible in that way, taking on all the care of our injured Corp members in addition to her Pillar missions. It must be in her personality to keep adding to what keeps her busy, like taking me in as though I looked like I needed the care. Although the times we’ve spent together have been nice, I don’t require it. My duties call for me to always be ready for battle, and I’ve always kept my heart steady.

So has she. We are Pillars first, and no amount of affection can sway us—whether an abundance or a lack.

I’m not bothered by lacking something I didn’t deserve in the first place.

Last night again, I was too late to prevent a family from being slaughtered. There were no survivors this time, aside from the eldest child who was still ravenous with a recent transformation. Having to chase him down and keep him from harming anyone else kept me off the trail of the progenitor of demons, who had to have been close by. For centuries, he’s evaded us this way over and over, sacrificing entire families to throw us off his trail. If I were to chide myself over every failure, I would have lost the ability to do anything ages ago. Each time, the anger is something I carry with me, to push myself harder the next time, and the next. Any extent more that I can push myself may be the difference to someone’s survival, no one can afford to lose their life over any of my own lost confidence.

“CAW!! TOMIOKA GIYUUUU! NEWS FOR TOMIOKA GIYUUUU!”

Each time it's a crow I think I recognize, my stomach drops. My mind is already playing the words I dread to hear, as though trying to protect my mind once I someday hear them.

"Kochou Shinobu has died."

Even if I hear them, I'm a Pillar first. That was what we promised each other. I'll always do as I must.

The crow says nothing as it delivers a letter.

YES, YES, I KNOW, THIS FANDOM HAS TURNED ME INTO SHIPPER TRASH. For this pairing, it was more specifically my own joke AU which later bit me in the back and made me start really, really enjoying GiyuShino (which, for the record, I do not consider canon). Was throwing ideas back and forth with @reicchel again the other day and so here we are with ship content!

Part of the reason I love the Low-Key Married AU (in which it's mostly canon as usual, except that Shinobu and Giyuu have been married for over a year or so, and it's not a secret but they make such little deal about it that many people don't even know they're married) is that it's a frame through which to see every interaction and either make it really, really funny, or very, very, sad. Everything was supposed to be funny, but it keeps hurting, hahaha... aaahhhh.

For instance, in a regular romcom situation, it should be funny that Kanzaburo doesn't deliver all of Giyuu's letters. Knowing these two, who might had started this whole "well, we'll be a couple when we have time" thing by actively writing regular letters, this could had simply given the impression that the other person wasn't writing as much, so they both naturally decreased frequency to match. It's a little lonely, but neither one is going to push the other for more attention.

No!! I refuse to let this post end with angst! Time for omake!!!

[raconteur-wanpi]

ONE PIECE 1123

Dear lord I have so many thoughts I don't even know where to begin. This was a pretty short and lower stakes chapter compared to all the chaos and the bombs that came before it, but I think despite that, it gave me more revelations and thoughts than some of those ones did. It's all vague stuff like, it's soup in my brain but it just keeps getting more interesting.

Starting off with S-Snake continuously showcasing normal human behavior. I really like the insistence of the story of honing in that the Seraphim are, in fact, people. They are children. Their existence is horrific and it IS supposed to make you feel uneasy, especially comparing them to the rest of MADS' history of experiments. I do think, in a story about freedom, that these authority-chip-ridden-kids will eventually seek out their own freedom and independence to be people instead of weapons. Alber himself was a victim of MADS' experimentation, so was Kuma, Sanji, Mocha, every victim of the Smile fruits, hell- Bonney was a victim of the science of the Gorosei / Saturn. It's very interesting to continuously see Stella's role in all of this, and how Oda showcases that you could put the nicest guy alive into the same system as the most wretched monsters, and they will produce the same results. Which does bring me to this realization moving forward:

Sanji is in fact the person that was closest to the events of Vegapunk's death. He is specifically chosen out of all the strawhats to be the one to grapple with Vegapunks decision and sacrifice, and he is the only member of the strawhats to have experienced the horrors of MADS firsthand. I find that very interesting, it's looking at that dilemma of morality again. How do you judge a person who has spent years creating weapons of war, even if it's been the result of his naivete? How does a person who realizes what he has done, redeem himself? Death? Sacrifice? Admitting you can only throw your life away to undo the damage, to the face of someone who you know understands the horrors of such science? I don't know, it's interesting.

Going back a bit however, I think my favorite page in the chapter, is this. My god. Luffy thanking Emeth, full of joy, smile across his face in his Nika form, juxtaposed to the Iron Giant's dark unresponsive face. It's so moving and joyful and sad, genuinely. The brightness of the sun against the shadow of a sacrifice. Emeth in his "death" looks somehow both content and saddened. Luffy's recognition and gratitude towards him. OK. I'm fine. Damn.

Back to Vegapunk, this has been wild to see said textually when I've seen many people, myself included, discuss it. "Evil" and "Greed" being the two things Stella ended up leaving behind, despite his best efforts to do good. He recognizes greed was his downfall, his desire to continue building and discovering, without thinking about the consequences of it; just what we discussed earlier. It's also interesting that they all suspected Lilith at first, but she turned out not only to be innocent, but also a valuable ally in the battle and the only other survivor. Lilith leaving the garden, Stella being the forbidden apple (of knowledge) that brought about the downfall, the Gorosei being demonic entities that entered that space, it definitely is all very biblical. I wonder if Lilith will see a path towards becoming a more complete person, rather than, as Stella says here, a compartmentalized personification of "Evil". Similar to what I hoped for earlier with the Seraphim and Kuma (or even the Vinsmokes if you want to go there), a manifestation of full (rather than artificially partial or removed) personhood.

This is something I've been thinking about the entire time as well! Is Vegapunk really dead? Is it just his body? What does it mean to be able to keep your consciousness separate from said body? Within other people, even? Is he really dead as long Lilith and York are around? Is Stella himself, still in there, in Punk Records? Could you bring him back? Much to think about.

Aaaand closing in with my second favorite moment from this chapter. The confirmation we're going to Elbaf! Usopp being help up by the giants! His arc begins! I am so so giddy. I know I'm biased considering he's, well, my favorite One Piece character but, god. I am as nervous as hyped. I am so, so excited. This is delightful, he deserves this!

[having-a-hyperfixate]

Don’t mind me sprinting to try and get this thought in order before the Anime Expo panel. I need it to be out in the wild Just In Case.

So, a few of the Gung Ho Guns have gotten reworked for Stampede, yes? To varying degrees.

Ninelives is apparently not a horrific flesh mech, Dark Souls boss thing, according to the end credits of episode 3.

E.G. the Mine just got a HUGE upgrade and didn’t get owned 3 seconds after he showed up.

Monev was an actual character with a fubar backstory and emotional impact instead of just Some Guy who trained in a basement for years specifically to kill Vash. (and Orange is SO EVIL for this)

Elendira is. *gestures futilely* There is so much going on there but yeah. She’s going to be terrifying once she achieves adult body and loses (drops?) the childish attitude. Also because of the whole Plant hybrid thing her nails truly are literally infinite sooooo.

So I have some thoughts about Hoppered the Gauntlet.

In Trimax, Gauntlet’s narrative weight comes from the fact that he makes Vash remember, which by extension makes US, the reader, understand what July really meant. Before that we had heard mention of it a few times as ‘a city destroyed in a single night’ and talk of there being ‘no survivors’ but we had no actual connection to it, and also no real idea if that was even true. But in Stampede, we saw July happen. We were there. So even if Vash’s memory is still shot afterwards, and he doesn’t remember Lost July, we the audience DO. So having the Dragon’s nest play out exactly the same isn’t going to have the same narrative punch in the gut that it did in Trimax. It can’t.

There’s also the fact that, given how we’ve met most of the major players in the story, or had them mentioned at least (hi Milly), it feels kind of Odd™ that we haven’t seen someone has emotionally impactful as Gauntlet yet.

Unless we have.

We saw with Rollo/Monev that Orange is willing to have the person’s regular name be one thing and then have a second Eye of Michael code name. I suspect that is going to happen with Gauntlet; either because EoM or because he has decided on his own to lie about who he was.

And yes, I do in fact have someone in mind.

I checked myself the translation there is accurate; the only change I would make is calling the gun ‘gaudy’ instead of ‘shiny’ but that’s not a huge deal. Also for the record, the original tweet is from Jan. 11, well before he makes his reappearance for the season finale. So when it talks about a ‘reappearance’, it is talking about seeing him again in July. Original tweet here, tweet containing the translation here.

I think Chuck Lee is going to be our Gauntlet. That he made it just far enough out of the city to survive, but that he was badly maimed in the process, and that his family didn’t make it. He’s the ONLY member of the military police with a unique design. He has an actual name, and the director himself tweeted about his backstory. His gun is so unusual that we would recognize it anywhere. Hell, I referred to him as ‘the gold gun guy from episode one’ when one of my friends didn’t recognize him immediately. His gun is so incredibly recognizable. Almost like we need to be able to recognize him by that alone, when everything else about him has changed.

THIS could be how narrative weight for Gauntlet is established in the Stampede universe when it can’t be done the same way as in Trimax. Taking a character who has, in a way, also been with the audience ALL ALONG, who was there with us for two pivitol moments, the beginning and the awakening, but who comes at it from such a horrifically different angle and bringing him back in such an agonizing way. Because he was very much in the wrong with his stunt at Jeneora Rock, but his rage over the loss of his family in July would be justified, even if we know it wasn’t Vash’s fault.

(Also, the IRONY of him ending up as one of Knives’s lackeys when Knives is the one that caused all of this? Damn.)

Footnote: I have Thoughts on why they can get away with adding Milly to The Squad late. That is a whole other Thought but tldr; (and also I haven’t actually written it out) Milly is the most perceptive of all of them she doesn’t NEED an extended intro to Vash to Know.

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Eat The Acid II

Summary: It had been 14 months since the fight, the worst 14 months of her life and finally she thought now was the right time to share her side of the story but all she can think about is the return of CM Punk at survivor series not even 48 hrs ago. What happens when she reminds him of the fact he's going back to a promotion that fired him on their wedding day?

Word count: 2,538

Warnings include: Swearing, violence, toxic relationships, manipulation and those kinds of things 

Part 1 Part 3 Main Masterlist CM Punk Masterlist

Inspired by "Eat The Acid" by Kesha

Survivor series 

I knew I would keep quiet when all of the news of what happened at All Out went public. I knew I would say something stupid or let my emotions get the best of me. I can’t believe I stayed out of it for over a year, this was me breaking my silence. Phill and I had filed for divorce months ago, only now getting the paperwork started. I felt anxious as I sat in the chair, it reminded me of the one that got thrown during the fight. Renee Paquette invited me on her podcast to talk about my career and how things were going. She knew about the divorce before Phill got served so with my permission we would talk about the situation. Figuring it had been the right time to finally hear my side of the story. At this point everyone knew, in fact they couldn't stop talking about it. Dying to know my thoughts, feeling bad for me after what happened. We both knew what could happen, how this would backfire, but I told myself I would never speak bad about Phill, sure he was my ex-husband but I could never say the things he said about me, about him. 

“So Y/n, I know you have some things you would like to get off your chest” Renee said “The floor is yours” 

I felt my heart rate increase, I grew anxious. It wasn’t like this was a live recording, this was me and Renee in the comfort of her and Jon’s home. Sitting with two microphones, creating a recording we could do multiple takes of or even cut things out. I looked at Renee and she gave me a comforting smile, assuring me things would be ok. 

“So, I’m sure by now you must have heard that CM Punk and I are getting a divorce” I knew we were getting divorced, but every time I said it outloud my mind couldn't comprehend that it was real. “This was a really hard decision but I really didn’t know what else to do Renee. I tried, I tried so hard…I..I just can’t do it anymore. It’s unfortunate because I really loved Phill and a part of me will always still love him. The whole situation ruined my family, I can’t even look at him the same after what happened. I really didn’t want to get a divorce but it was the best option.” 

I looked to Renee who said nothing, offering a warm smile encouraging me to continue but I couldn't focus. All I could think about was the event that took place less than 48 hours ago.

I woke up feeling like I got hit by a bus then rolled over by a train. My body was sore, I wrestled Full Gear a few days prior and felt fine despite having one of the most grueling fights of my career. It wasn’t until I woke up Thursday morning after I wrestled on Dynamite the night before that I felt it. It was weird walking up in Chicago alone, I spent many years here with Phill, it just felt wrong without him. I knew survivor series would be happening in a few days, finding it funny how AEW and WWE were both in Chicago less than 3 days apart. I decided to stay the week in Chicago wanting to catch up with old friends I haven’t seen in years.

Half asleep and in pain I heard my phone ring. After struggling to find it, lost in the mess that was my hotel room I answered the call half asleep, not even bothering to see who it was before I picked it up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi” the voice on the other line was soft, so quiet that I almost didn’t hear the response 

“Who is this?” I responded, climbing back into the warm sheets 

“It’s me” the voice said a bit louder this time 

“Oh hi, Phill. What’s up?” I asked him, oddly calm, almost like nothing happened between us

“I need to talk to you, It’s important” He said quietly 

I didn’t know what was going on but I knew it must have been important. “Is everything alright?” I asked 

“Can you stop by sometime today, this is an in person type of conversation” I agreed to his offer, deciding to go to our once shared Chicago home to figure out what was going on. 

***

I stood on the steps of our once shared home, debating whether or not to ring the doorbell. It felt weird, like this was a foreign space despite all of the memories I’ve had here. When I entered the home I noticed it looked the same as it did the last time I was here. The only thing different was my missing items. I sat down on the couch agreeing to a coffee as I watched a very anxious Phill Brooks make two coffees. “So, tell me what’s bothering you” I told him honestly as I grabbed the mug from his hands, placing it on a handmade coaster I made years ago. A smile on my face noticing he kept it. “I’m coming back” was all he said and I knew exactly what he meant.

I didn’t know what to say, my throat was dry, my brain unable to form a thought. “No one knows, only Hunter and I know. I thought you should know about it and in person” He said softly trying to read the non existing expression on my face. He didn’t say anything waiting for me to speak knowing how I can struggle with expressing my emotions. 

“I don’t know what to say. How is this even possible?” I asked unable to comprehend how after everything he would return to a promotion that made him want to kill himself. “I remember when they fired you on our wedding day. Do you remember that, how that made you feel? How you swore to never wrestle again, never mind return to the enemy? You shit on WWE for years, not even six months ago you were talking about how horrible that place is and now you're coming back?” 

“I can’t believe it either love, if Hunter and I can make up I have hope that we might be able to make things right. I promise I will explain everything but I don’t even know what’s going on.  I know you don’t love me and that’s fine but I just thought you should know about it”

I could feel the tears fall from my face, I didn’t know why I was crying but I was. I felt betrayed, I felt like this was personal even though I knew it wasn’t. I had been by his side for the past 10 years. I remember when he told me he was miserable at work, I remember when he called me in the middle of the night when I was in Japan to tell me about the pipe bomb he dropped. I remember how they fired him moments after we said I do, I remember being by his side when he told me he wanted to start UFC, I remember being so proud of him despite his loss, I remember the tears we shared as I mended his wounds. I remember when he told me he wanted to start wrestling again, I was by his side through his whole stint in AEW. So hearing he was going back to a company that almost killed him, killed me, feeling like I had been living a lie. 

All I wanted to do was cry, over what I’m not sure exactly. Maybe it was the return, maybe it was about the fight, maybe it was the fact that he didn’t fight for us. I felt like a small child, I just wanted to cry and have Phill hold me like how he used to but that was wrong. That was then and this is now, when I looked at the man who sat across from me I saw the old Phill. Something inside him had changed, his hair starting to grow out, the gray in his beard returning, the love in his eyes. This was the man I fell in love with. 

I could tell that he wanted to hug me, he still knew me and he knew what I needed, he always did. He didn’t know what to do so I did it for him. “Can I have a hug?” I asked him softly ashamed of how vulnerable I was. “Of course love”

We stayed like that for a while, holding each other in a loving embrace, in a comfortable silence, neither one of us wanting to let go but knowing it was wrong. There was something so comforting about it, being back in the place I called home, with the man I onced loved, lying on an old couch that was falling apart but neither of us wanted to replace. It was like old times, I felt at peace, I was scared, terrified but this told me that things would be okay. 

Phill was the first to break the silence “You have no idea how much I missed this” he said softly as he began to draw shapes on my back, something that never failed to calm me. If anything it made things worse, it was too much. Everything felt too normal. He must have noticed that I had gotten more upset as he let go. “I’m sorry, this is too much isn’t it?” he asked. I didn’t respond. 

“What’s wrong Y/n?” He knew I was thinking about something. “What if I made a mistake?” I told him truthfully. To be quite honest up until this very moment I was still mad at him. 

“This doesn’t feel real Phill. Up until half an hr ago I still hated you but us sitting here in a home we used to share, this old couch, fuck you even kept all of my artwork. This feels too normal. You know that things can never go back to the way they were, I’m sorry but I can’t forget that fight. Do you even realize the long lasting effects that has left on me and everyone involved. You know I don’t care about that Perry one, you know that I thought he deserved it but for god sakes Phillip I watched you beat the shit out of my own brothers. There is something about this that feels too good to be true. It feels wrong, I miss you, I miss you so much, but I also hate you so much that I fucken love you. You just had to fight The Elite, why not The Dark Order or JAS, why me? Why after 10 years of loving it is all being thrown away after a silly little fight you started?” 

With every word I said I could see the guilt in his eyes, it was almost like he wanted to cry but didn’t want to show the vulnerability. “My love, I have tried everything to make things right, I know neither of us truly want this divorce but like you said it’s what's best. I’m sorry I didn’t fight hard enough for us, I thought it would have made things worse but by me doing nothing created damage I can never repair. If it means anything I will personally apologize to both Matt, Nick and Kenny, fuck I’ll even apologize to your dad. I know he always hated me”

“What about Adam?” I cut him off “This whole thing started over your hatred for him. You never once apologized to him.  Did you see his match with Swerve? That’s what he has to do to get the fans back behind him after you destroyed that cowboys career for no reason” 

“Y/n?......Y/n?.... You alright?” Renee called out, breaking me from my trance 

“Oh yeah I’m fine. Just thinking” I responded 

“We can wait, we don’t have to do this now. I know there’s alot going on” She told me reassuringly 

“I’m just still trying to process everything that has happened Renee” I told her as I looked at the grandfather clock that sat across from me reading 7:40 pm. “Raw’s on soon, do you think I should watch it, see what he has to say?” I asked Renee as I began nervously twisting my hair. 

“It’s up to you. I don’t want to be rude when I say this or anything but we both know he will probably talk shit about everyone during whatever it is that he has to say” Renee was right, Punk had a thing for shitting on his former employers and friends, I know this time would be no different. Knowing that The CM Punk would be on Raw tonight just felt weird, it was almost 10 years since he was fired. Even though I knew about his return it was way different hearing him say it then seeing it with my own two eyes. 

Since I  knew about the return, why was I in such shock once I heard his theme play. It was indeed real, the fans going crazy as the impossible was made possible. Chicago's son was home, home in the WWE almost 10 years later. My emotions were all over the place, on one hand I was excited, so proud of him like I always would be. The other part was scared, scared of the impact this would have on AEW, sure ratings were down but how could you compete with the return of Randy Orton and CM Punk in the same night. Part of me felt betrayed, after everything I did for him for what All Elite Wrestling did just to get stabbed in the back and join the other place. Another  part of me wished I was there, hidden within the crowd, in some disguise being able to immerse myself within the crowd, getting to experience one of his returns in person once more. Looking into his eyes you could tell that this is what he needed, he was truly home. He was happy, still in shock himself that he was back in a company that not even six months ago still had him banned.

I thought about what Phill told me earlier, ‘If Hunter and I can make up I have hope that we might be able to make things right.’ After that talk I couldn't get him off my mind. I knew if  he wanted he could just use that Chick Magnet charm and I would come running back but I needed to remind myself of the pain he caused me. How the past 14 months of my life had been an absolute hell. Everyday I look in the mirror and am shocked that I made it out alive, how somehow I was strong enough to tell that little voice in my head to shut up. I knew that chasing the feelings that were coming back was a suicide mission. I knew I shouldn't watch Raw but here I am getting home just in time to find my ex lover on the screen. I mean how bad could it be? 

[delzinrowe]

Aftermath - Kento Nanami

WORD COUNT: ~4.2K WARNINGS: Some minor & major alterations to Shibuya Arc! No Culling Games in this fic. Otherwise no serious warnings. F!Reader SUMMARY: Three days after the Shibuya Incident in the midst of the aftermath Y/N is trying to sort out her emotions and deal with what happened. A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! If you want to be tagged in upcoming fics/drabbles, please let me know!!! Thank you, and enjoy <3 Considering there are alterations to Shibuya: PLEASE, keep your replies/comments spoiler free, to ensure the unaltered enjoyment of other readers. Thank you!

Curses had claimed Shibuya. Half the district was gone, reduced to ashes and debris. Thousands of human lives were eradicated, leaving nothing but pain and emptiness in the hearts of those who miraculously survived the tragedy.

The remaining sorcerers tried their best to evacuate those who lived too close to the newly created wastelands of Tokyo. There was no telling how long it would take to get rid of all the curses, if that was even possible. Therefore saving and protecting all non-sorcerers had priority.

Within record time Y/N had scouted through the rackages in search of any survivors and brought them to Shoko for treatment. It was a tiring task, not only physically but mentally. Seeing the devastating destruction caused by Sukuna, Kenjaku and the countless curses truly took a toll on everyone.

All it took was a few hours to save all the survivors. But this small win was overshadowed by the carnage left behind. Every sorcerer had returned to the Tokyo Jujutsu High grounds, even the ones from Kyoto decided to stay. Considering the immediate threat posed by the countless curses roaming the streets it was the most logical decision for everyone to stay and aid the Tokyo sorcerers.

Many of the sorcerers made it their daily mission to eradicate as many curses as they possibly could, it was their way of dealing with the losses. Among those was Y/N. After the incident she focused all her attention on the vile creatures, spending every minute on the battlefield. As one of the teachers at Jujutsu High she had always made it her priority to keep everyone safe. If going on a rampage and killing curses left and right was the only way for her to ensure no one else would be hurt, so be it.

Just after killing the last of the evil spirits in front of her she fell to her knees. The exhaustion of the past few days took over her body, but she fought against it.

“You can’t keep going like this, Y/N.” Nanami Kento’s voice sounded from a bit further away, as his feet slowly carried him closer to her kneeling form. The blonde sorcerer seemed exhausted as well, carrying scars and injuries from the massacre days ago.

“Sure I can. I have to.” She responded, but her words didn’t hold as much strength as she had intended. And when she stood up she realised how much her body trembled.

“When was the last time you slept?” He inquired with this slightly disappointing tone that made her feel aggravated all too quickly.

“For your information I slept last night.” By now he was standing before her, watching with eagle eyes as she brushed the dirt off her clothes.

“How many hours?” His question earned him an eye-roll in response. Why did he feel the need to act like this right now when he knew the current situation better than anyone.

She refrained from answering, knowing fully well that in her agitated state she might say something spiteful or mean that she’d regret later on.

“You cannot keep this up.” His voice now held a more stern tone as he tried desperately to get through to her. However, the more he tried to reason with her the more she resisted.

“I’m not a child, Kento, I can take care of myself. Thank you.” She had never raised her voice at him like this before, but his nagging really was not what she needed right now. While she knew that it came from a good place, it fell on deaf ears. She had lost too many people, had watched close friends be slaughtered like pigs in front of her.

“Obviously you can’t!” He yelled back at her when she had already turned on her heel.

“You’re a teacher, don’t you think you should be a role model to your students?” Y/N couldn’t see it but she knew that he wore a pleading expression on his face, simply with the way his voice sounded almost desperate to get through to her.

“I am!” Was all she shouted back at him before walking further away, out of his field of vision. She had to get away from him right now even if she knew that he only meant well.

Didn’t he understand that she needed this? That she needed to exorcize as many curses as she could? That she needed to make these streets safer for everyone?

Nanami knew her better than anyone. And he knew that she needed this, but not ‘to make the streets safer’. Not because Exorcizing curses was the simple job of a sorcerer.

No. Y/N needed this for herself more than anything.

Once she had walked further away, when she was out of earshot, she once more collapsed, physically and mentally. She dropped to her knees, not caring that the tiny stones on the ground would leave marks on her knees even through her pants, and balled her hands into fists. She made no attempts in stopping the tears that started filling her eyes, eventually rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto the ruined ground, which once was a bustling street filled with life.

Minutes passed in which Y/N cried without a care in the word if anyone saw her. The overwhelming guilt she felt caused her chest to tighten and burn as if it was on fire.

“Survivor’s Guilt”, is what Shoko had called it when she patched up Y/N’s injuries. “It’s the belief that you did something wrong by surviving when others didn’t.”, she explained it further. Y/N knew that it wasn’t rational to feel like this, but what did that help when she was convinced on a deeply emotional level that by surviving she truly did do something wrong.

“It’s not fair. So many talented and skilled people died, but I survived. Why? It’s just not fair…” She had argumented, but Shoko was quick to smack the back of her head, effectively capturing her full attention. The healer had made it clear to her that she didn’t survive for nothing, that people still needed her. It was enough to give Y/N at least some mental strength, but as soon as she had left Shoko’s infirmary she fell into the habit of not eating, not sleeping and using all her time to hunt down every cursed spirit she could find.

Y/N wasn’t sure how much time had passed, it couldn’t have been more than half an hour, considering the sun was pretty much still at the same spot in the sky. She frankly didn’t care all too much about it either way.

After wiping lazily over her face she finally stood up, skillfully ignoring that her knees felt like dough and her legs trembled. It simply did not matter, she felt as if nothing mattered. At the same time everything mattered.

By now she deeply regretted snapping at Nanami, he was the least person to deserve that. He had always been some sort of role model to Y/N. His moral code in keeping children safe and not letting the youth experience any misery greatly inspired her to become a teacher at Jujutsu High.

She decided to apologise when she saw him next. He’d understand her, she was sure of it. For now she just wanted to get out of here. Her strength was decreasing due to lack of sleep and nutrition. As skilled and talented as she was, she wasn’t arrogant enough to believe she could take on multiple high grade curses in her current status.

Her walk back to the next operating public transportation wasn’t short, giving her plenty of time to think of the exact words she wanted to tell Nanami during her apology and how she’d explain herself. Even though she knew that his maturity wouldn’t expect her to explain anything. He surely knew how she felt. She guessed that he was ridden with the same form of guilt that plagued her mind and heart.

Y/N paid it no mind to the unamused glares and frowns of disapproval she received from strangers on the train. She knew that the blood stains and tears in her clothes were bound to attract the attention of non-sorcerers. Sometimes she’d even jump at the chance to horrify some particularly judgmental bystanders.

“Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.” She’d muse in an assuring tone of voice while showing a smile that seemed far too friendly. Every time, without exception, it would earn a wide-eyed stare.

However, today she was not in the mood to provoke anyone. She settled for mindlessly watching the passing landscape, it was all a blur to her unfocused eyes. Only when the mechanical voice announced the next stop was she ripped out of her thoughts. Due to a quick message she had sent when she stepped into the wagon she was greeted with Ijichi’s soft smile.

The tone between the two had always been kind and casual, almost friendly, which was something Y/N deeply appreciated. Other assistants sometimes didn’t dare to pursue a friendship with sorcerers, especially higher grades. They claimed it was due to professionalism, but the truth was that the assistants didn’t want to get attached to someone who’d end up dying well before their time.

Ijichi, in his gentlemanly behaviour, held open the car door for Y/N. Behind his nervous smile was a wave of worry when he glanced at the countless cuts and bruises that littered her body. The dried up blood as well as the torn clothes only added to his inner turmoil. Yet, every time he brought up his concerns for her wellbeing she shot him down with a lazy attempt at reassurance. It never worked.

“Has Yuji-kun already talked to you?” He asked with an almost cautious tone after he slipped into the driver’s seat and ignited the engine. Through the rear view mirror he could see how she furrowed her brows in confusion. It was enough of an answer for him.

“He mentioned that he was looking for you.” Ijichi explained further but Y/N only shook her head.

“I’ll find him when I’m at Jujutsu Tech. Thanks for telling me.”

After these words the remainder of the drive was spent in silence. It wasn’t unusual for rides with assistants to be quiet. Most trips with Ijichi however, were spent chatting about missions and the current state of affairs. 

This time the assistant kept quiet. Perhaps because he wasn’t fully well yet either. Shoko had only allowed him to operate the car he was currently driving. Everything else was strictly off limits to prevent him from overworking. A trait shared by seemingly everyone and their mother in the sorcerer society.

The two of them reached the school grounds quickly and while absent-mindedly muttering a “Thank you.” Y/N stepped out of the car, heading straight towards Shoko’s infirmary to get her wounds treated.

The eerie silence in her mind, surrounded by the noise of nature in the form of birds chirping and leaves rustling, were all that filled the air, but not for long. Before she even made it halfway to her destination she was suddenly stopped by a voice yelling her name from a bit further away. It was a voice she had come to know well.

“What’s up, Yuji?” She asked as she turned towards him. The boy stopped a few feet away, despite seemingly running he was barely out of breath.

“Y/L/N-Sensei, you’re not forgetting about later right?” The pink haired boy almost seemed timid and hesitant but Y/N didn’t read into it. There was no reason for something like that at a time like this.

“About the little get-together later? I won’t forget, Yuji.” She had to force a little smile onto her lips as she reassured him. It seemed to be all the young student wanted to talk about as he quickly nodded and shot her a smile, that seemed far too out of place for the mindset she surrounded herself with at the moment, before he turned around and disappeared into the direction he came from.

Y/N didn’t like that Gojo was throwing a get-together at a time like this, just days after a devastating tragedy that caused pain and loss to so many people. Yet, another part of her could understand it somehow. Even though he acted like an idiot at times, she knew his heart was at the right place. She figured quickly that he wanted to bring them all together to strengthen the bond of the remaining sorcerers, ultimately making it easier to rely on each other. Perchance he even had a plan to deal with the curses, and most of all, the curse user formerly known as Geto Suguru.

With all this in her mind she finally made her way to Shoko. The breeze, that was far too warm for this time of the year, went by her without any recognition. All she could do was try not to get lost in her thoughts, her planned apology to Nanami still lingering in the back of her mind.

“You’re looking great again…” Shoko’s voice was filled to the brim with sarcasm.

“Thanks, always a pleasure to see you.” Y/N attempted to respond with the same level of mockery as she rolled her eyes, but her tone sounded more annoyed than anything else.

“Is that why you’re making it a habit to visit every day with new injuries? Y/N, you can’t keep doing that.” It was uncommon for the (now again) heavy smoker to show this level of concern for others. She was well aware that her fellow sorcerers could handle themselves well.

“Damn, I heard that before.” This time Y/N’s words were dripping with sarcasm. There was no ill-will in her voice, but Shoko immediately realised that she had more luck getting through a wall than her patient’s thick skull. With a sigh she simply decided to drop the subject.

Only mere minutes later all of Y/N’s injuries were healed, or at least taken care of and she left Shoko’s infirmary after voicing her gratitude.

“Should I pick you up later, or..?” Y/N didn’t answer the question that was yelled after. She heard it, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. Why would it matter if Shoko picked her up for the stupid get-together? It came as a surprise that Shoko even cared about one of Gojo’s plans.

The sky had cleared up within the past minutes, allowing the sun to shine down on the scenery and dipping the landscape in a plethora of orange hues. However, the colour spectacle went unnoticed by Y/N, whose feet carried her to her assigned room. Out of courtesy, or rather practicality, the higher-ups had decided to offer the empty dormitories to the remaining few sorcerers. Considering the school was protected by barriers, this served as a means to keep them safe more so than goodwill.

Time passed by quickly, or maybe it didn’t, but Y/N was simply too caught up in her own thoughts. She could feel herself being dragged down once more, spiralling into the depths of her sorrow. She thought that maybe as soon as she reached the room the thoughts would dissipate, but nothing of that sort happened.

Seemingly like a zombie trapped in her own mind she undressed herself, showered, dried herself off and changed into a set of clean clothes. She settled for the only black dress she wore. Taking into account the circumstances it felt fitting to wear black, even if Gojo would possibly find a way to bring colour into everything.

Maybe this get-together was exactly what everyone needed right now. Maybe this was a chance to reconnect and move on. Maybe, just maybe, Gojo’s idea wasn’t too bad.

After checking the clock on her phone for the nth time Y/N to get going. Arriving early was always fashionable, wasn’t it? Besides, she knew that Nanami, as much as he disliked these gatherings, would most probably be there early as well. She’d simply take the time to talk to him and apologise. This way she had a chance of enjoying the rest of the late afternoon, possibly even with Nanami next to her.

And wouldn’t you know it, just like she had predicted, the blonde sorcerer stood outside the venue, glancing at the watch on his wrist. To no one’s surprise he wore the same white suit as always. He likely owned it multiple times to make dressing up in the morning easier, a simple fact she had never cared to think about before. Now it almost seemed hilarious to her. Nonetheless there was a frown on her lips. Knowing that she had to act like a responsible grown up and apologise for her earlier outburst left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Kento! Hey.” She greeted him almost hesitantly, if he noticed the nervousness in her voice he didn’t show it. He simply greeted her back while turning towards her.

“Can I talk to you about earlier this morning?” What a stupid way to have phrased it. Of course she could, she evidently had the ability to do so. Internally she scolded herself instantly over her choice of words.

“If you want to apologise, there’s no need for it, Y/N.” Here he went again, being the ever considerate and thoughtful person she knew him as. The expression on his face was almost soft, something he only showed around a small number of people, which she considered herself lucky to be a part of.

Before she even had the chance to respond to him he spoke up once more, prompted by the uncertainty shown on her features.

“I’m serious. It’s a difficult time for everyone, we’re all on edge. It’s alright.” Nanami uttered with a tone so full of understanding that it almost blew her away. Then again, despite him being the youngest of the adult sorcerers, he had always been the most mature one and the voice of reason.

For a few short minutes a comfortable silence was shared between the two, until Y/N glanced over his white suit and remembered her train of thought from before.

“You decided to keep wearing that same white suit? Don’t you have anything different to wear?” Y/N’s almost playful glance revealed the nature of her words, there was no malice or ill-intent. She prided herself on being the only one who could get him to engage in conversations in a light-hearted manner.

“Why? Don’t you think it looks handsome?” Nanami’s response came quickly, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Oh, it definitely does.” She replied back, unable to help herself from chuckling once more as she saw the slight smile forming on his lips. At this very moment it almost felt like nothing bad had ever happened.

“Y/N, there is one thing you have to do for me.” Nanami spoke up once again. Y/N didn’t pay too much attention to his somewhat more seriously sounding tone, that was simply his nature.

“You can't keep me from getting absolutely shitfaced drunk.” If this get-together was anything like Gojo’s previous festivities there would be an unlimited amount of alcohol provided. Even if the host of these gatherings never drank an ounce of it himself.

When Nanami didn’t respond or smile at her quick remark she straightened her posture and looked at him expectantly.

“You have to forgive yourself for everything that went down the other day.” He continued then, judging by his tone it was clear as day what exactly he was referring to.

Without any sort of warning a wave of guilt washed over Y/N. Her chest tightened at the reminder of how many lives were lost, how many people she couldn’t save. The destruction was terrible. But it wasn’t the source of her pain. Involuntarily her mind wandered to the corpses which had littered the grounds of the Shibuya station. Her lips started to quiver but she was determined not to give in to the tears. No other word was needed, no clarification or elaboration. She knew what he meant.

Nanami didn’t rush her in her response, instead he gave her all the time she needed by waiting patiently. Something she was thankful for, even if he was the only reason she needed time in the first place.

Y/N hardly noticed when the index finger of her right hand started to scrape at her thumb’s cuticle. Her head was turned away, gaze averted from him. A part of her knew that she had to forgive herself. In fact, she knew that there wasn’t anything to forgive herself for since she had done everything in her powers to save as many people as she could. She had done enough. But her heart did not agree with her head. In her heart she had failed the people of Tokyo. She had failed her fellow sorcerers. She had failed herself.

“You can be really annoying sometimes.” She responded after what seemed like forever, allowing a deep sigh to leave her lungs. ‘Mostly when you’re the voice of reason’, she added in her thoughts bitterly while turning her gaze back to him.

“Yes. Maybe.” His words of agreement were simultaneously out of place and so very typical for him, at least when he was with her. It was enough for her to crack an unwanted smile.

She breathed in deeply, once, twice, and another time.

“Okay.” She finally answered his previous request. Both of them knew that Y/N needed more time to actually forgive herself, but it was a step in the right direction. It was an unspoken promise that she’d attempt to do this for him.

Nanami only responded with a proud nod, barely mouthing the word “Good.”

The quick change in atmosphere had almost caused her heart to beat irregularly. A silence hung over them, but this time it was heavier than before.

Y/N needed to shift the mood again, she needed to uplift not only his spirit, but also her own. She knew that otherwise she’d be glum and gloomy during Gojo’s get-together. There had been too much tragedy within a short time, a killjoy was definitely not what any of the sorcerers needed.

“Since you’re forced to attend this get-together, when are you gonna start complaining?” She chuckled, a little forced anyways, as she asked the blonde sorcerer.

“Complaining about what?” It was Shoko’s voice that sounded from behind Y/N, making her turn around and face the healer with a smile. Although Shoko was never full of energy and happiness, she seemed even more dispirited than ever.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, “You know, about Gojo’s obnoxious attitude, about our tone deaf singing when we get drunk, about music that’s way too loud. The whole thing, really.” It seemed obvious to her that Nanami wouldn’t enjoy any of these things.

Shoko’s brows furrowed, her head tilted ever so lightly and her lips pursed.

“Where do you think we are?” She asked Y/N. A question like this would usually have resulted in the female sorcerer chuckling and replying in an amused tone. However, something about Shoko’s tone made her hesitate.

Y/N turned around towards Nanami once more, ready to smile at him.

Except, he wasn’t there anymore.

In a split second Y/N’s entire world came crashing down on her as the realisation set in that he had never been there in the first place. Images of her fights in Shibuya flashed before her eyes. Imagines consisting of sorcerers dying in front of her because she had been too slow.

A ringing set in her ears, intensifying with each memory that surfaced. The sound became stronger when she remembered finding Nanami again amidst the chaos and rubble of the destroyed Tokyo district. She had watched him fight, she had yelled after him, she had attempted to reach him and aid him.

Y/N swallowed hard, slowly turning towards Shoko again. Her chest tightened enough to leave her breathless. With a bitter smile on her face she lowered her gaze. Reluctantly she forced herself to walk, taking one painful step at a time towards the row of outdoor chairs that were neatly set up in front of the closed casket.

She had saved lives and exorcised many curses in Shibuya. She helped search for survivors and consoled the ones that were left behind after the losses.

Alas, the only thing she would forever remember about that night was how she witnessed Nanami dying right in front of her, when she had been too slow to save him.

Without any form of communication she sat down on one of the chairs in the first row, right in front of Nanami’s picture.

She was soon joined by Shoko who sat down next to her, placing a warm hand on her thigh and rubbing it assuringly. The gesture went unnoticed by Y/N, whose eyes were focused on all the little details she could make out on the picture atop the casket. Details that blurred more and more when her eyes filled with tears upon realising that it was all an illusion.

The arguments, the smiles, the quick light-hearted banter she shared with the blonde man during these last few days. It was nothing more than a beautiful hallucination.

[recoord]

The importance of the allegations against Neil Gaiman being public

Claire on the podcast: Am I Broken: Survivor Stories.

S4 Ep2 - Claire "I Ignored It and I Believed Him Because He's the Storyteller [Neil Gaiman]"

"There are a few reasons why I'm coming forward now. And honestly, most of them have to do with how things went that first time that I tried. Um, that was back in 2019 that I first tried to share my story, and I reached out to a handful of journalists and I had several conversations off the record, but... Yeah, that message I got, across the board, was pretty much that what happened to me wasn't enough to establish a pattern of behavior. Because I was just one person, and back then everyone was looking for a serial rapist, right, like not one-off creeps."

"So when the journalist said what happened to you isn't enough to establish a pattern of behavior, what I heard, of course, was that what happened to you wasn't enough. And I was really shaken by that experience."

"It turns out – I wasn't the only one. Uh, three weeks ago from the date of this recording, uh, two other women came forward with allegations against him of rape and sexual assault. And one is – was in 2002, and the second in 2022. So my experience falls right in the middle of that, in 2012, and – that's a pattern! So, I decided to come forward, and ... knowing what I know now, I – I wish I'd come forward sooner, like I – no – (sigh) it just – it broke my heart hearing how one of the victims, Scarlett, had been googling "neil gaiman sexual assault" when she was trying to piece together what had happened to her, because I did the same thing! For years!"

"I was – I felt so alone, back then, and I don't want any of his victims to feel that way ever again. So, I'm sharing my experience, in solidarity, to support those women who've come forward and the people who will, and the people who can't. And... I'm also doing this for myself, as a... continuation of my healing. And I've never told my story so completely before. And... I'm choosing to do that through this podcast, because in this space, unlike in most spaces, it's not about him. It's about me, and my story."

Credits for the transcript to ErsatzHaderach Thanks a lot!

[saintmagx]

✨ Cruel Summer ✨

pairing: Solo Sikoa x reader, Jey Uso x reader (briefly)

AN: Literally making this for myself, so if I do ever end up publishing - enjoy I guess? 🤪

w/c: 1198

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity(if you squint), jealous Jey, toxic behaviour, bad/embarrassing writing ⚠️

doesn’t follow a specific timeline however it is more recent, total divas making a return.

✨ I love you ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard - he looks up grinning like the devil ✨

• ❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

“I dunno Trin, the thought of being recorded for 12 hours of the day, like, I enjoy my privacy”.

“Think about it as an opportunity, having the fans see a different side of you. Showing them how hard you work your ass off.”

Trinity is my best friend, she helped me out so much when I joined the WWE 6 years ago. She and her husband Jon took me into their family and helped me adapt into the crazy world of being a WWE superstar.

“Just think about it is all I’m saying. It’ll be fun” trin says nudging me.

Ever since I moved here, we have had a weekly tradition of Wednesday Girls Night, its just snacks, Chinese takeout, and movies, it’s just time for us to catch up and wind down from the gruelling travel schedule.

Right on queue at exactly 11:30pm Jon walks in the door.

“Times up ladies” he says, which is swiftly followed by two pillows being thrown at his head.

“Come on uce, you know better than to interrupt gIrLs NiGhT”

The couch beside me dipped and once again I felt the heat from the body of Josh Fatu, my one weakness. His hand falls to his side and creeps closer to me caressing the side of my bare thigh. You see what people don’t know is Josh and I have an ‘agreement’ - no feelings, just sex and friendship, and it was going great until it wasn’t, feeling were caught, specifically by me and I’m stuck between a rock and hard place as I’m falling hard for him, but I cant let this agreement end because I would rather have him this way than not have him at all.

“Spoke with Joe today, Hunter is bringing him up to the main roster, can’t wait to have my other younger brother fighting by my side”. A third pillow is thrown at Jon from the direction of Josh.

“We are twins, and you are only older by 8 minutes”.

Never a dull moment where the Fatu boys are concerned.

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First day of filming (TD Interview Segment)

Okay, so lets start with a basic intro okay? Ready, go!

The room falls silent the light shines bright on me, I have at least 6 pair of eyes on me, goading me into starting. Gosh why did I sign up to do this!!!

Hi there, my names yn, I am currently on the Smackdown roster and I am the current WWE Women’s Champion.

I’ve been with the WWE for 6 years now and I wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for my adoptive sister Trinity, she took me under her wing and I’ve been there ever since. As you guys know – and if you didn't know, the accent should be a huge giveaway, I’m originally from the United Kingdom, I came to the states with a dream in hand and no one there to help me through this bumpy ride. I can never repay her or Jon for the way they have accepted and welcomed me into their little dynamic. Although, travelling the world with Jon and Josh is hard work, they boys are chaotic, I don't know how Trin managed to do it herself for so long!

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Friday Night Smackdown, Atlanta Georgia, 8 weeks before Survivor Series

Walking into the arena for Smackdown I get a message from Hunter asking to meet him in his office. A mixture of anxiety and curiosity fill in the pit of my stomach. In his office I’m met with the familiar faces of Jon, Josh, and Joseph, smiling I look over to Hunter who invites me to sit.

“I got your message, what’s up?

“We have been toying with the idea of a cross brand rivalry - for Survivor Series. Now that Joe has come up to the main roster, we think the Usos and Solo v The Judgement Day would pique interest from the WWE universe.”

“So why am I here?”

“Demi is the Women’s World Champion and part of Judgment Day; it would only seem right that she faces the Women’s Champion”.

Without hesitation I accept. Hunter debriefs us on how it’s going to play out over the next few weeks. We will have to be on both RAW and Smackdown over the next few weeks, so looks like it will be me and the brothers travelling together since Trin is exclusive to Smackdown!

Gorilla, few hours later (TD segment)

Tonight, I have a singles match, however Demi has to interfere and cost me the match – thus starting our road to Survivor Series.

I see Hunter in his usual place over at the screens with his headset on talking to Randy Orton, Randy spots me and immediately comes over to me.

“There’s my favourite girl.”

“I wouldn’t let your wife hear you say that Randy”.

Randy Orton, he is exactly how you would imagine him to be, a cocky little shit, flirtatious as hell, a menace but he has a heart of gold. Many nights we would hit the gym together and training with him before his injury really improved my in-ring ability. He is another one I would call my family away from family.

A familiar scent fills my nostrils, Josh. He stands next to me wrapping his arm around me pulling me closer, as if to stake his claim in me.

“I’ve been looking for you, come on let’s go”.

I smile apologetically at Randy, he just waves me off laughing, as much as I say people don’t know anything about me and Josh, it’s not to say there isn’t rumours flying around, people have their own take on it, and that’s okay, we just laugh it off.

Trin and Jon (TD Interview segment)

“You see yn and josh think they are so slick hiding their little late-night rendezvous” says Jon

Trin sighing, “I just wish they would bang their heads together and realise they are meant to be. Think of the double dates we could finally have Jon.”

Jon’s laugh fills the small interview room, “yeah it would be sweet, and yn is already like family, it would be an easy transition.”

Away from the cameras

“What were you talking to Randy about?” Josh quizzes

“Nothing, you came in and ushered me away before I could say anything.”

“Good, I don’t like it when you get attention from other guys, just me, okay?”

“I think you’ll find Josh that I can speak to who I like”. I say frustrated with his behaviour.

You see as much as I love Josh, this, this right here the way he wants to have his cake and eat it too drives me insane. I so much as look at another guy and he is right there to remind me I’m his, yet he can look at and speak to as many girls and I can’t say shit.

“I’ve got a match to get to, I’ll see you later J.”

“Goodluck out there baby girl, not that you need it.” Before he can come any closer to me, I slip out the room and let my frustrated sigh out. How much longer am I going to keep torturing myself.  

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[givemearmstopraywith]

i've spent most of my weekend reading survivor testimony from auschwitz for a research project and i think what im getting is that people have a very very difficult time grasping to the depth of depravity that went on during the holocaust, myself included, because most of what is included in the historical record is too disturbing to portray in media and just "inconsequential" to be taught your average history course (unless you're specifically learning about the holocaust in depth no class is going to talk about the state of the latrines in auschwitz, the fact that it smelled constantly of burnt bones, or exactly what sort of food people had access to). and i think this has led to a real anesthetizing, even sanitizing, of genocide and atrocity in general. it is enabling both reactionary jokesters who make gas chamber jokes and also literal holocaust denial. it is also enables denial of genocide in general, and people who can joke about world war three when there are millions of lives at stake.

israel has played a huge, frankly pivotal, role in sanitizing the holocaust at the expense of survivors and their children. israel has reframed the holocaust as a political and economic tool that can be use to bludgeon colonizer agendas into global consciousness at the expense of humanizing victims. a vast majority of israeli leaders had no direct connection to the holocaust. they did not survive a genocide: they lived in another country. golda meir was american. netanyahu is american. david ben-gurion was happily creating murderous colonizer policies in palestine during the war. it is the sanitization of the holocaust by israel (as well as countries like the us that were absolutely complicit in allowing the holocaust to go on as long as it did) that has led to people being unable to grasp the severity of what's happening in palestine too. and zionists wonder why so many holocaust survivors and their descendents support a free palestine.