#the parroting is the worst part

[bowserplush]

You know as ironic as it is

Support workers are meant to make me be able to access life better

All they’ve done is made me want to hermit more

[fumifooms]

What if we were both magic prodigies and it otherized us in different ways and we devoted ourselves to protecting a family member who has general other goals & priorities. What if we both did self-sacrifical devotion in opposite ways.

What if we were dark mirrors of each other and where I've grown overcontrolling you've grown complacent. What if, bought as a servant into a pretty loving home, ownership and control is what love looks like to me, and to you neglected and lonely growing up, love is gratefully taking any scraps of it you’re lent.

By belonging to someone, even if she comes back injured or fails at finding Delgal, she feels like she belongs and is cherished, by owning someone he feels safe in them not leaving him.

She’s what’s tethering him do you see… And he’s the only thing giving her direction and purpose in her state. She needs a compass and he needs a support.

They’re both so out of it 😭 It’s the weirdly intense and unearned mutual trust and reliance on each other?? They’re each other’s weird little comfort codependent teddy bear. Or at least they were headed towards that before SHE DIED THEN HE DIED THEN THEY BOTH FORGOT ABOUT EACH OTHER AND NEVER MET EVER AGAIN. Though she’s also the guard attack hound keeping him safe… And vice versa he heals her and can rewrite her very being with just one wave of his hand. They’re both so so mentally and physically vulnerable both but they cling onto each other. They can’t perceive things accurately but despite it all someway somehow they stumble into something closer to resembling companionship just before they both die. Falin is just that kind and Thistle is just that lonely. Overworked. We both haven’t lived for ourselves in a very long time, haven’t we.

They both have a similar devotion to the people they love but again the difference is that Thistle starts overtsepping while Falin is self-effacing. The other difference between them is that people care about Falin <3 People have given up on Thistle long ago, and he has given people reasons to, while people refuse to give up on Falin. Yaad has a mini arc about it dw about it it’s ok he’s not all alone in the end 😭😭 He reached out for Marcille’s hand but they already all wanted to help him, they just had to be given the chance to, Yaad just had to be given the chance to, it’s okay I’m okay

Hey what if we learned to get in touch with our own identity and the world around us and living in the present again through being in the worst codependent situationship ever.

Falin and Thistle sitting in a tree, sucking on flowers together because they’re h-u-n-g-r-y 💕💕💕

I bet he’s only ever thought of flowers as useless ornaments. Weak weeds. But she shows him they’re tasty and useful and good and pretty in their own right too and deserve existing without proving their worth and waaa <33 Thistles…... Did you know thistles taste sweet if you remove the thorns and eat them?

"Even as a chimera, her kind nature remains" you can’t suppress her in the way that matters. You can’t soothe him in the way that matters. It’s doomed. You’re doomed. It’s all doomed. Save me.

[hawkwidows]

oh I hate twt so much hate it hate it hate itttttt turns out when you block people and just don't go online - shitty stupid things still get said, still get believed, still get a disgusting amount of likes and me who removed myself from the cesspool to be a happier, sane, nuanced person can only watch on as that many people run around an echo chamber parroting nothing of their own thought 💀 never wanted to have the ability to reach through the screen and shake people like I have lately but no I'll settle for closing the app and having a rant before bed. peace and love to my small corners of the internet that are still sane 🫰🏽

[acrobattack]

i think it’s fun that blossom and buttercup butt heads the most vs brick who targets boomer and more or less gets along swell with butch

[finniestoncrane]

the slog. the SLOG. john marston you are not as fun as arthur i am so sorry

[randomnameless]

I've seen a post on redshit saying deghinsea was racist and I don't understand how people even came to that conclusion. The fandom isn't ready to Tellius remakes

Are you sure it was on redshit and not here anon? lol

If it's about the branded issue, Deghinsea received a very crappy hand to deal with - and we sure as hell don't see what happens or how the Branded are dealt with in Hatari, save for a meaningless "kumbaya" because the Tellius verse completely falls on its head with this question -

Tellius is all about discriminations and how stupid it is - only to, uh, biologically, tell you one race is "superior" to the other because the other "dies" when both races mix to make a baby.

Ergo, if beorcs and laguz "coexist" peacefully and make tons of babies, the laguz will cease to exist - because each time a branded is born (or even just conceived?) the laguz parent ceases to be a laguz.

In a context of racial tensions (Tellius isn't very clear on the details, but there used to be a war where laguz enslaved beorcs, then beorcs enslave laguz?) revealing this to the public meant ultimately yes, Laguz were going to go extinct unless they got rid of beorcs.

In a way, I find it very different from the manakete - dragon stone - problem, because Manaketes still can access to their power through a device, but they are still manaketes. In the Archanea verse at least (but it's suggested even in Elibe?) the dragon parent doesn't lose their power, even if they have a dragon stone, when they hold hands with a human to make a baby, Nah exists, the Nini siblings exist (and iirc it's implied their mom was a dragon when she went "missing"?) etc etc.

But in Tellius?

Lehran wanted to kill himself because he wasn't a "laguz" anymore, he can't sing, he can't hear the voice of the Goddess, he can't transform - he is not a laguz anymore, but he isn't a beorc either.

In an era where people genuinely thought Claude "killed the CEO of racism" and don't even want to think more than 12 seconds about the Nabateans and what revealing the truth about them may create as a result (it's a egg hunt, but this time, humans are hunting chocolate eggs for easter, they hunt living beings to vivisect them to create more shiny weapons or magic milkshakes to gain a longer life and superpowers), Tellius remakes and the kind of themes and discussion brought by this duology are completely inaudible.

(and especially since Tellius's main lead doesn't give a fuck about the world or the consequences of his and the general party's actions as he fucks off to another continent with his besties, letting everyone else piece back and rebuild the continent)

What was Deghinsea supposed to do? Reveal to Laguz that yes, coexistence is impossible because they are bound to disappear if they coexist too much with Beorcs? How would the Laguz react? Lash out against Beorcs and exterminate them to make sure the Laguz, as a race, will continue to exist? And how would the Beorc react? Feel even more superior because whatever happens the "punished" parent for branded unions will forever be the Laguz and not the Beorc, and thus will start to call Laguz "subhumans" even more recently than they do in canon?

What was the solution? His lie sure led branded to be shunned and outright despised - but let's be real, if he revealed the truth, wouldn't branded still be despised by Laguz, who would see them as symbols and reasons why "their race" loses to Beorcs ?

I've seen some fics try to dance around the question by saying, more or less, Laguz are seen as giving their powers to the baby and it's a gesture of affection - but still, why should the Laguz be the only to "pass on" something to the baby when the Beorc can just, you know, get said baby without "losing"/"passing on" anything ?

I really don't know what IS was thinking when they made this "rule" - especially coupled with Yune's insane "teehee it was never intended it just happened like that!" that made Stefan weep, at Deghinshea's lie, of course, but in general, at the entire "Branded issue" ; ffs the Goddess (or one half of the goddess) said Laguz and Beorcs cannot coexists, and it wasn't something that was planned, it just happens.

I honestly consider this message "race A is superior to race B because race B ceases to exist if it breeds too much with race A" as bad as Fodlan's "imperialism good akshually" and honestly don't know why IS went through this route.

To add more drama maybe, but damn if this is a stinky message to have in a series about acceptance and coexistence - especially coming after Elibe and the heavily implied (as of FE7) dragon hybrid hero (of FE6).

[selfchiller]

Oh, suddenly this fuckin bird you haven't interacted with in over a month or let out of its cage ever is the most important thing? You couldn't go after the lady's husband while he was being torn to shreds but it's fine to risk 3 people's lives for a parrot you haven't even named?

[thechanelmuse]

I was today years old. That is disgusting.

No Child Left Behind is one of the worst things to ever be incentivized in schools. It was signed into law when I was 14. Reading Rainbow was my show as a kid. LeVar Burton played a big part in why I became an avid reader to date. The joy of it. It's an adventure around the globe and through different time periods without stepping on a plane or time machine.

Children parrot behavior. In grade school, I always wanted to read the same amount of books as my teachers (50 books) and managed to double that each year. Before No Child Left Behind, book fairs and Scholastic catalogs were a serious matter like your grandma's Fingerhut catalogs. Libraries were (and still are) a wonderland.

Reading comprehension and proficiency in schools has been declining for decades. A crisis. The joy of books isn't pushed anymore and I'm always saddened by it. It's one of the reasons why I post my book reviews and recommendations on here, as well as posts from others to encourage reading and (novel) writing. Kids will parrot your behavior while the education system sadly fails to return as that example.

[medicinemane]

You know what I hate is any time someone (usually a company) says something about "well see, we have to charge money, because people are more invested in using things that they've paid for"

Bullshit, just be honest and say "I'm charging money because I want/need money", don't act like you're doing people a favor

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil, I can`t stop crying rn because of a conversation that I had with my best friend a couple of hours ago. We`re been friends for like 13 years and we sooo close. We start talking about movie I suggested her to watch and she said that she liked it, but “there was too much black people and homosexuals. Why do they (creators) need to promote this? It seems to me that by taking the roles away from white heterosexual people, they are discriminating them as well.” I felt like someone poured cold water on me. It was the worst feeling and i`m not being dramatic. I felt unsafe and anxious, even though it wasn`t about me. She doesn’t really watch movies, and given this, I cut her some slack. I explained to her the importance of representation. She said that she is not racist and homophobic, she just feel like everyone making a big deal about “all this rights and stuff”. But...it is a big deal. She is my best and what`s more important ONLY friend. It means I can`t talk to anyone about this and how I feel and how I questioning our friendship all of a sudden. I can`t stop crying I feel so ripped and she didn`t even do anything wrong to me.

Perhaps a conversation about who told her the racist and homophobic stuff would help you and her. It’s unlikely that she came up with it on her own. It’s more likely that she’s parroting something she heard.

I’d say the best thing to remember and to point out is that life (and movies) aren’t a pie. It’s not like white heterosexual actors are a dying and forgotten breed relegated to a tiny slice of pie. They are still vastly in the majority, and casting black actors or lgbtqa+ actors isn’t stealing parts from them, any more than dark haired actors are stealing roles from ginger haired actors.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

To Love You (Platonic Yandere!Child x Monster!Reader)

Chapter 1: This child needs me

[part 0, here, 2]

CW: femme bodied GN Reader, monster stuff, accidental adoption, description of nudity (non sexual)

Avery stood as still as the trees he hid behind while he watched the thing become a poor imitation of his mother.

If he barely closed his eyes it would have looked like her, but with his brown eyes wide open, staring at it's nude form, Avery wondered if the monster even knew what a human looked like. Their body was the right height, but the shape was off; it had no breasts, nor genitalia. The creature had taken a quick look at the clothed woman and guessed what her body looked like.

Everything about the monster felt off. Like a mannequin come to life. The skin had no texture or character, no discoloration or birthmarks. The hair was a slightly wrong shade and a little too long. But the worst part of the being was it's face.

It whipped around, staring at Avery with eyes slightly too wide, showing the whites above and below the iris. It's lips were an absurdly red shade, as though it thought the lipstick the woman was wearing was her natural lip color. But what made the face really off putting was the fact that it was too symmetrical. Avery couldn't verbalize that that was what was wrong, but it didn't have the same human inconsistency that his mother's face naturally had.

And for a moment, Avery remembered every single time his mother grabbed his arm a little too tightly.

She never would have killed him. And he told himself that she loved him. But it didn't matter how often she would buy him ice cream after a big fight, or how sweetly she smiled at him, it didn't stop him from flinching whenever she raised her hand.

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was the same reason he had grabbed the steering wheel earlier.

Avery rushed forward, and held the monster as tightly as he could.

(Reader) was filled with confusion. Not only was their disguise less than passable, but they were positive that the little boy saw them kill his mom. So why did he hold onto them as though they were the hero?

Their hand reached down and slid over his dirty back. Thoughts of ripping out his spine and eating him as well filtered through their mind, but instead they went on autopilot, as though their true identity had not been exposed already. "Let's go home."

Avery slowly released the monster, looking up at them with large, teary eyes. "Okay.. mommy."

(Reader) gently held the boy's hand in their own, and allowed him to lead them to the damaged vehicle.

It was much more advanced than the last time they saw a carriage, but this wasn't the last time they slept through major technological advancements. They would adapt. They always did.

Tiny frozen fingers squeezed (Reader's) hand to get their attention. "It's too broken to drive. But there's a coat in the back."

The monster looked down, remembering their nakedness. Unlike humans they did not feel the cold, and when they were in their true form they had no need for clothing.

Ripping open the smashed door with ease, (Reader) found a long winter jacket that when they slid it on fell to their knees. Avery still stood by their side, expectantly holding out his arm stiffly so he could hold their hand again. Although it always took a bit for the ancient one to get their mind in order after a long slumber, even they could see that the newly orphaned child was an odd one.

It wasn't customary to ask questions. They just killed people and replaced them. Those who learned of their true nature were also killed. And it had been that way for as long as (Reader) could remember. They had been both man and woman and those who were neither; they had spoken many languages in many skins and lived many lives. But this child was holding out his hand, knowing that they were not his mother.

"Which way is home?" They asked, their voice parroting the sound of the woman screaming her last words, calling out for her child.

Avery still held out his hand expectantly. "Down the road. It's really far."

The creature looked at his hand, then at his small legs, and realized how long it would take if he meant that they lived at the bottom of the mountain. They grabbed him under his arms and easily swung Avery onto their back. Perhaps they would keep him alive, just until they found a better family to cleanly assimilate into.

"Am I heavy?" Avery asked with a surprised tone.

"No." (Reader) almost found his question amusing. Did he not see them rip the car door off?

The six year old thought about when he was sick the year before, and purposefully acted more pathetic than he felt because he wanted his mother's attention. How he sobbed loudly because he was too ill to walk to his bed from the couch. So his mother left him to sleep out in the living room.

It was dangerous, but the idea that this creature was his savior, and not just a monster, gave the child more confidence than he should have had, given his situation. "Are you a girl?"

".. No."

".. Are you a boy?"

sigh "No."

"Oh.." The boy leaned down harder into their back, snuggling into their hair. They didn't smell like their mom's shampoo, they smelled like dirt after the first rain in a long time. "Can I still call you mom?"

(Reader) tried to recall if this had ever happened to them. Had there ever been a time that someone learned of their true nature, and still wanted to pretend like everything was fine? They remembered the last time someone figured out that (Reader) was a monster. The poor wife had snapped, months of little clues here and there had convinced her that her husband was not her husband, but no one would believe her. Not until she stabbed (Reader) in the chest, and the thing that looked like her husband did not die.

"Yes, you may." (Reader) didn't know why they were amusing the human like they were. But it felt very warm when he constricted his arms around their neck like a snake.

He smiled into their hair. Avery didn't know it, but he was just as confused as (Reader) was. "My name is Avery. Avery Jones. What's your name?"

The creature paused. They knew their name. It was the name of a human they took a long time ago. But they wouldn't tell that to this kid. That the only name they ever thought of as their own, was the name of a child who's life they stole, a child they lived as. It was the longest they pretended to be human. It felt nice. All those years ago. They couldn't remember now what that face looked like, nor why they were so attached to it, but they became (Reader).

"I am now your mother.. What is my name?"

"Luanne. Luanne Octavia Jones."

(Reader) mimicked a laugh, their smile equally as wide on their top lip as their bottom lip. "What a terrible name!"

"Oh..I'm sorry.." Avery tensed up.

"I think I'll prefer Mom."

They felt him relax again. The longer the two walked, the more intriguing the child became. (Reader) murdered his mother. They bit her head in half. They tore her apart, ripped off her limbs, and ate her while he hid not too far away. Perhaps he was in shock?

"Do you know what I am?"

Their eyes opened harder than what was physically possible. Why did they ask that?

Avery wiggled a little. "A hero? Like the Martian Manhunter?"

"What is that?"

"A cool hero from Mars! He helps Superman! And he can change into stuff!"

(Reader) could have scoffed. Them? A hero? But the situation was slowly starting to make sense. 'And so, I am a hero..'

His body was lighter than (Reader) remembered human children to be, and they wondered if it was normal. He wasn't much shorter than the average child, but his body was like a housecat's. "How old are you, Avery?"

"Six."

Older than I thought..

(Reader) carried the boy for well over two hours before another automated carriage passed by, slowing and pulling off towards the tree line behind them. Avery sleepily mumbled "It's the police.." as the monster halted their steps.

An officer stepped out, a younger man with hard eyes squinted in suspicion, and approached the two travelers.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" His green eyes glanced down at their bare legs and dirty feet.

His question woke Avery up, as though he only just then remembered that his mom was not his real mother. "We were in an accident." The boy stuttered out.

"An accident?" The officer looked up the road briefly. "Are you two alright?"

"Ye-"

"Ma'am, where are your shoes?"

He interrupted (Reader), and they immediately considered killing him. But it was a good question. What were they supposed to say? A mostly naked woman had been found descending the mountain with a child on her back, was strange, most definitely concerning and possibly nefarious. Could he tell that under the long jacket they were nude?

Avery was panicking. They could feel his breathing hitch and hear his heart speed up. "We flipped our car! And- and-"

"I hit my head." They responded more monotonously than they intended. "I don't remember the accident, and I don't know why I took off my clothes." (Reader) reached up and ran their hand across the back of their head. Obscured by their hair and the angle, only Avery saw as one of their nails grew quickly, slicing open part of their scalp, just enough to get blood on their fingers.

The policeman's eyes relaxed their suspicious gaze when they brought their bloody hand out. However, it almost instantly bounced back. "Have you been drinking tonight?"

"No."

"Have you taken any illegal substances? Any medications you've been prescribed?"

The questions were aggravating (Reader). "No."

"Any medical issues I should know about?"

"She's bleeding!" Avery cried out.

"Alright, calm down. I'm going to bring you down to the station. Do you consent to a blood test?"

The police were.. interesting. Having been so many people, the creature was not dumb to the inequalities humans forced upon other humans. They remembered how one body would be treated very differently than another body, but even with having experienced it, if they saw a naked woman walking along the woods, injured, it felt natural that sympathy would have been expressed. Or at least, sympathy for her presumed husband. It didn't matter. Luanne had not fully finished digesting. If they wanted blood for a "blood test" (whatever that was), they could easily supply it. They just hoped that Avery's mother hadn't been drinking. Which was another interesting development. Had the humans made alcohol illegal again?

No matter how unfair this treatment was, (Reader) knew it would get Avery out of the cold sooner. And if things went sideways, they could easily kill this man.

"I do."

Avery was nearly hyperventilating and his grip had tightened like a vice. "Why are you being so mean?!" Tears started to bloom as his voice wobbled. "We had an accident! My mommy was bleeding and took off her clothes! She was just confused, and, and, and that's why she can't remember!"

The man went rigid, and was almost uncomfortable. "Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

"YES!" The boy cried out, shaking against (Reader's) spine like a small dog.

He eyed their legs once again. "Why don't you wait on the back seat, and I'll grab you a blanket?"

It didn't take long for another, larger and brighter colored vehicle to arrive, with people who were much more sympathetic than the officer. One of the men even seemed to be berating the officer while another person checked (Reader's) body for injuries.

"She seems to have a concussion, so I don't know why you would jump to drugs-"

"Look are what she's wearing-"

"-I watched a young man take off his shoes and hide them in a cabinet when he suffered a traumatic brain injury, okay? People do weird things when they're in pain-"

"Still I think-"

"-She should be going to a hospital. They'll test her for alcohol there, but her head is still bleeding, and she has no signs of intoxication other than 'her clothes' and her lack of memory, both of which can be explained by trauma."

The blue clad worker shined a light in (Reader's) eyes, which (Reader) manually dilated to resemble a human's natural response. They continued focusing on their heart rate and breathing, mimicking Avery's as he leaned against their shoulder. "I think it would be best if we take you to the hospital." The person with short hair smiled kindly.

"I just want to go home.. I can't remember anything that happened today, but my son is tired."

"Well.. I can't force you to go to the hospital, but I can call someone to come get you? And recommend that if your memory worsens, or if you feel confused, if you start throwing up, can't sleep, randomly pass out, or develop a fever, you go to an ER as your concussion could be something worse, like an internal brain bleed."

"Someone you could call..?"

"Dad's still at work." Avery whispered.

Ah. So I am married. This new information didn't sit well with (Reader). They had been married before, plenty of times actually; but what kind of man was he if his wife was like Luanne?

Overhearing this, the paramedic chastising the policeman volunteered his services on the officer's behalf. "If you don't have anyone you can call, Officer Delaney can drive you home. But I do suggest you let us take you to the hospital."

"Thank you." (Reader) could see the two men shudder as they smiled at the both of them. "But I'm really tired. And I just want to go home."

"Alright then.. don't hesitate to go to a hospital if your symptoms don't improve." The man shifted his eyes uncomfortably.

(Reader) returned to the police car, Avery securely tucked under their arms and on their hip. Their attempt at human expression had frightened both the medical professional and the officer. "I will."

The little boy held on to (Reader) more aggressively than he ever remembered holding onto his own mother.

It was peculiar.

Had (Reader) ever felt this way before? They had felt attachments before. Held and loved, but those feelings were easily thrown away whenever their hunger reared it's ugly head. But this wasn't the connection of a family loving someone they assumed (Reader) was.

This little boy was not clinging to Luanne Octavia Jones.

Avery was clinging to (Reader).

[meownotgood]

inevitable. / gojo satoru x gn!reader, angst & fluff, love confessions; satoru writing practice.

When Satoru comes home, it's another broken promise. 

He shows up well past midnight, with his knuckles bruised purple and his palms rubbed raw. His uniform is a filthy tattered mess. His blindfold hangs loosely around his neck. His head hurts more than usual, his jaw aches from the way he's been clenching it. 

Every window is dark, all the lights are off. The key to your apartment is under the mat, same as always. He steps in and closes the door behind him as silently as possible, he half-hopes you aren't awake even though that'd ruin the entire purpose to him coming. Sighing, he tries to will himself to relax, but his hands remain shaky as he clicks the lock shut. 

"You're home." 

The familiar sound of your voice doesn't surprise him — Instead, like an instinct, it makes his shoulders slump, his muscles loosen. A tingle runs across his spine and his heart sparks alight, he's home. He's missed this. Problem is, he doesn't deserve to miss this. 

"I'm home." Satoru parrots; hand frozen on the doorknob, he doesn't turn around to look at you because he isn't sure if he should. 

"I missed you." You say, ever-so softly. It finds a way to be both the worst and the best thing he's ever heard. Don't say that. 

Satoru swallows. "I missed you too." 

A few seconds of silence. Your tone's gone level. "Thought you said you weren't coming back." 

His hands sting when he closes and opens them. Close, open, they're getting sweaty. He can feel his heart thudding and his breath quickening, his blood boiling. His pulse thrums in his own neck, his throat closes up and he can't even speak. He assumed he wouldn't be coming back too. Yet here he is. 

Turning to face you, Satoru balls those same hands up into fists. This is his fault, and he doesn't think he can fix it, there's just no way. But he can't just leave things as they are, what is he supposed to do? For the first time in a long time, he's utterly lost. 

"I-" 

You interrupt him before he can get a word in. 

"I'm glad you're here, Satoru." 

He blinks. He's got no idea what to say to that. Not a damn clue. 

"You've been crying." You're continuing, your arms fall limp from where they were crossed, "Are you alright? What's going on?" 

Yeah, he's sure he looks the part, he was just hoping you wouldn't notice. He bets his eyes are as swollen and red as they feel, with deep dark bags set in underneath. 

It's foreign. He's never cried like this. He never cried when he was a kid, he hasn't cried even when he felt at his lowest — but there's something about you that's always brought out the weakness in him. Something about you he couldn't explain, something that has him breaking down the whole way here because the thought of losing you tears his ignorant heart right out of his chest. 

Satoru sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. His bottom lip is quivering. Your quiet apartment is getting smaller and smaller around him.

"I'm fine," He hears his own voice and it doesn't sound like himself, "I'm good." 

"Stop it. Tell me the truth, Satoru." 

Satoru. The way you utter his name hurts him more than anything. 

His eyes narrow, he stares at his feet, "Don't worry about me. Please." 

"I can't, I can't when you clearly aren't okay." 

"Come on," He grumbles at that, the bridge of his nose crinkles, a defeated expression takes over his features, "I'm fine, I already told you." 

"Tsk," You take a step forward, "You're such an idiot sometimes, I think you're just-" 

"Why aren't you mad? Tell me." 

You stop, falling silent. Satoru realizes he'd spoken a little louder than he wanted to. His head dips down. His brows furrow like he's the angry one, "You tell me, because I don't get it. I don't understand what the hell you're thinking, I never have. God, you- you should be pissed!" 

"Satoru-" 

He presses his fingers to his temple, he's gritting his teeth, "But you aren't, not even close, you don't even care. I don't- you're so kind and I- Why? Why won't you tell me to leave?" 

He's being childish, immature. He knows, but he can't help it. He can't wrap his head around why you're still here. Why you've stayed, why you've greeted him at the door like everything is normal after he told you he was never coming back — This'll be the last time I see you. It's for your own good. — He's tried everything to push you away, and yet none of it has worked. Nothing. 

Satoru could never be close to you. He wants to be, God does he want to be. But he can't, you can't. You'll be targeted. You'll wind up assassinated. The strongest sorcerer has always been the strongest when he's all alone. Satoru fears the day will come where he won't be strong enough to protect you. You make him far too soft, and this world is too cruel and too dark to allow any glimmers of light. 

And you understand that, don't you? 

His eyes flicker up, he scans your face, your expression unreadable. You offer him the faintest smile, and you answer. 

"For the same reason you haven't left yet." 

You've always understood. From the moment you met him, you've known. 

You're aware of the consequences. You know what could happen to you. And you know damn well Satoru could disappear at any time; it's part of who he is, what he has to become. You've stuck by his side at every opportunity regardless. He's important to you. He's good at his core. To you, Gojo Satoru is the most pleasant dream you've ever had, an unreachable star — The universe he lives in is so far from your own and yet no-one has ever understood you more than him. 

You're the one who knows all of his secrets, and him with yours. Sometimes he thinks you know him better than he knows himself. Even when he leaves, even when he's gone off on another mission all alone with no sign of when he'll return, you'll be here, waiting for him. You'll hug him close and tell him you missed him, every single time. 

This is his doing. All of this is. He's an idiot. 

Satoru keeps his gaze focused on you: wavering skies of blue, cloudy with hesitance. You step in closer, your voice is much quieter. 

"I'm not mad at you." You reach forward, taking his hands, squeezing them. His breath can't help but hitch. He's been waiting for your touch for a long time now. You don't comment on the bruises, you're used to them. "I care about you too much for that, you know?"

"I know," Satoru rubs your knuckles with his thumbs, he lets go of a long, trembling breath, "I know." 

"Stay for the night." You ask, and between his gnawing ache to have you close and the way you lace your fingers with his own, grasping tenderly — his battered hands in your delicate hold — he doesn't think there's ever a world where he could say no. "Just for tonight, okay? We can figure things out." 

"I'll stay. I'm sorry," He blinks away the water welling up beneath his lashes, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, I- I'm just so sorry." 

"It's okay. I've already forgiven you." 

"I won't leave like that again. I promise. I promise you." 

Your palm finds his cheek. He leans into your touch, he wants to collapse. 

You were the one who showed him peace could be more than only fleeting, but he's the one who was foolish enough to get so attached to you. And right now, he's the one who just can't manage to let you go. 

This same vicious cycle is what he's fallen into, he comes back to your arms only to leave again and again. It'll keep going like this until you get sick of it all, or until something takes you away from him. He hates it. He's always hated it more than anything, hasn't he? He wants to savor your presence for as long as it'll last, he doesn't want to keep leaving like this, he doesn't want to lose you. 

The reason why you're still here is the same as his own. It's why he can't leave you, why he could never leave you, no matter how hard he tries. It's because — 

"I love you." 

The huge weight he'd been carrying for God knows how long finally shifts off of his shoulders — like releasing a held breath, like pieces lining into place. His vision blurs at the edges, he doesn't understand the gravity of what he's just said until seconds later, when it's too late to go back and when you're staring at him wide-eyed, caught in surprise.

There's a look behind his eyes that's hopeful, soft, scared. He's shaking again, from his shoulders to his hands. "Shit, I really shouldn't say that, huh?"

Satoru hides those hints of nervousness behind his usual smile, he huffs a half-hearted sort of laugh, he brings a palm to his face and covers it, "Ahhhh, you're right, I'm an idiot. You're… important to me, that's all I'm trying to say. I still don't know what I'm going to do, I can't risk putting you in danger. But I'll figure something out. I owe it to you." 

For a couple of moments, you don't speak. Satoru listens to the pound of his heart in his ears. He'd break the silence if he knew of anything better to say. Then, you close the distance between him and yourself, and he notices, but he isn't about to stop you. 

You're reaching for him and he's letting it happen; you embrace him, wrap your arms around him tight, and he's sinking, falling. Finally. He's needed this so much. 

Hesitantly at first, he allows himself to hold you back, and then hard, he embraces you almost desperately. Curled over your form, he rests his forehead on your shoulder, he squeezes you firm, he melts into your arms. He's all around you, he relaxes fully for the first time in ages and allows his muscles to grow weary, heavy.

You're warm. Your palm rubs his back in gentle circles, Satoru draws in a slow and shuddering breath between pouty lips like a child. 

Your words are everything he's always wanted to hear. 

"I love you too." 

He can't help but smile, can't help but feel the apples of his cheeks growing warm, "Yeah? I love you more." 

You smirk even though he can't see it, your palm reaches the back of his head and you press him closer, so close he thinks he might implode. 

A pause. "I'm scared, to tell you the truth." He confesses, "I don't want to hurt you." 

His chest is aching, just at the thought. Your fingers meet his soft hair and he sighs deeply, he holds you like he'd fall to pieces if he let go. 

You mutter quietly, earnestly, "You could never hurt me. Not ever." 

Satoru grips the back of your shirt hard. "Could curse you pretty bad, though." 

Your voice curls right into his ear. "Think so?" 

Slowly, deliberately, you start to pull away from him, just enough to lock his gaze with yours and hold his chin between two of your fingers. He's in a trance as you drag him closer, your head tilting, free hand teasing when it ghosts the back of his neck. 

Perhaps he knew he'd give in to you from the very beginning. Maybe he's stupid for this. He's always been such a fool for you. But he'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and by his side, he's already decided. He'll love you as much as someone who never could possibly can. Whatever it takes. 

"If you're gonna curse me-" You're leaning in, he follows your pull; his eyelids flutter closed, his head is so dizzy he feels light, his nerves throb with anticipation. His plush lips brush yours and you speak right up against them. 

"... At least make it count." 

And when you kiss, Satoru's finally reached right into heaven. 

his character is hard to write. but I'm learning... I think

[jewish-vents]

I'm so tired of goyim assuming I'm a goy because I'm black and assuming they can talk shit about Jewish people in front of me or with me. My ancestors converted because in New Orleans, in the old days, the only people who didn't treat them like shit were Jewish people. Nobody else paid them fairly or talked to them with basic respect. And because they were respected, their minds were open and they realized the beauty of Judaism. They found a spiritual home and converted. I feel like I continually go through the reverse realization, where I see the ugliness of the world en masse. Goyim will stand there and go, "well, there are some people who are Jewish and racist" as if that'll make me leave Judaism when they're blanketly, uniformly ethnocentrist and hateful themselves. The worst any racist Jew has done is ignore me. Hateful goyim want to straight-up murder me. They want to murder all of us. The fact that I have a little bit of visual camouflage is just making me more aware of it, not less.

The way people act when they think you're one of them and not one of (((those people))) is incredibly telling. I don't think anything has made me want to be more observant as much as seeing how goyim in the South are acting right now. The right is trying to "save" all of us by converting us to Christianity, the left wants to murder us, and the centrists are smugly parroting their same old lines about how if we were all secular (culturally Christian) atheists (who didn't observe any Jewish holidays or practices) then the world would know peace.

No. All of those ideas are wrong. And I am not here to shit talk my own community with you, even if it'd be safer to do so. I would rather be unsafe with people who care about me than safe with people who want me to either radically alter huge parts of myself or outright die. I don't want to hang with people who have looked at Hamas' atrocities and said "it's fine, it's resistance". I don't want to hang with people who think they have to "save" me.

People get mad because I won't talk to them or I leave the room but honestly it's taking all my self-control not to yell at them when they start saying hideous, unfounded garbage about Jewish people. Trust me, you want me to walk away. You don't want to know the things I might say otherwise.

I know Hashem said not to fire back at people talking shit but it's hard. It's so hard. I don't want to become a hateful person. I don't want to lash out at other people. But month after month of this is wearing me down. I just want people to go back to pretending to respect us. Just go back to talking shit in private and not to my face. Please, goyim, that's all I'm asking.

.

[mesetacadre]

One mistake that is very common for communists to make (both online and offline, though it's more annoying online) when talking about and participating in trade unions is forgetting both your and the union's place in class struggle.

A trade union is by its very nature a reformist entity that fights partial struggles at best and reinforces the state's management of capitalism at worst. The purpose of any trade union is to represent a group of workers at the a company or sector at the same level of the capitalists who run it to achieve better conditions for the workforce. Two crucial aspects of this are (1) that it simply puts the workers at the same level of capitalists to negotiate, it does not question the very role of the capitalist in the wider economy, and (2) its ultimate goal is always to reform the contract that defines the relationship between the worker and the capitalist, not to remove it altogether. It does not matter the amount or length of strikes the union might organize, or how much they embolden workers to act in their (supposed) interest. Every fight organized by a union is, by definition, reformist. The only situations in which unions seize to have this character are in either a dictatorship of the proletariat, and like any other element of the superstructure it's put to work in the interests of the working class, or a situation with a strong communist party pre-revolution that has been able to influence the union in such a way that it becomes internally aligned with the interests of the vanguard.

Does this mean that unions are worthless and that we should ignore them because they don't immediately acquire rifles and take over human resources? No. What we should do is avoid creating false illusions or misplacing importance on these fights

An organized (that is, in a communist party) communist's role is to elevate the working masses to a revolutionary conscience, so that the party can have the sufficient amount of people, and organizational capability, to exploit the crises of capitalism to their favor. And this never changes, no matter the context of your intervention. When you go to a protest, you are a communist in that protest, not just another protestor. When you do work in a union, you are a communist in a union, not a unionist. This means that your work and your interactions with other workers should always be done as a communist. You may be an active member of a union, in fact that's the main way for organized communists to act in a workplace, if their party does not have the sufficient strength to act on its own. But you're a communist first, a communist who understands the utility of unions to create the seed of revolutionary-political conscience in workers.

And a misunderstanding of any of these two concepts usually manifests in what I see some communists do, which is taking the reformist slogans of trade unions ("fight for a just wage", "united we bargain", or just an oversimplified "join a union!", for example) and parroting them without much apparent thought. Trade unionism and socialdemocracy go hand in hand, these two currents hinge on the idea of promising workers a bigger slice of the national wealth. But the difference between these two, and part of the reason why many more communists are less critical towards unions I think, is that unions take the position of workers, the "underdog", while socialdemocracy deals directly with putting reforms in place. But ultimately they both misdirect the spontaneous conscience workers acquire by the everyday class antagonism towards policies that reinforce capitalism and the system of wage labor through which workers are exploited in the first place.

[discoonthegrass]

Watched The Search for Spock for the first time the other day, and wow this movie is such a tragic love story I’m in awe:

Kirk reflects in his personal log that he feels very uneasy, like a home without the children except even more empty (basically implying that even his “spouse” is gone)

Jim feels that he’s left the noblest part of himself (Spock is a part of him apparently) on the new planet

Sarek automatically assuming that Kirk holds Spock’s katra (why would he assume that if they were just friends)

“Your son meant more to me than you could know. I would’ve given my life if it could’ve saved his.”

Sarek essentially forcing Kirk to relive the worst possible moment of his life, and Kirk tearing up all over again

Jim saying he has a responsibility to Spock’s eternal soul “as surely as if it was his own” (if this isn’t admitting they’re soulmates idk what is)

Jim directly being told that if he goes through with this, he will never sit in the captain’s chair again which has always been shown as the most important thing to him, yet he completely ignores that and goes to warp speed because now nothing matters more than getting Spock’s soul to its resting place

Even in the middle of an intense confrontation with the Klingons, Jim’s face still betrays his hope and joy after he hears about the “Vulcan scientist [he’s] acquainted with”

Jim BLOWS UP the Enterprise instead of surrendering to the Klingons because he can’t give up on saving Spock now, and barely even mourns since he’s already lost someone more important

Jim demanding that Spock get beamed up and the Klingon captain refusing because he can tell how much Jim wants it/cares for Spock

Jim immediately rushing to Spock’s unconscious body and shielding it with his own, draping Spock’s body over himself in a protective “white knight” stance

Unlike everyone else, Jim is restless during the fal-tor-pan, wanting to be with Spock but being prevented from doing so and resorting to pacing instead

Jim not even asking about how Bones is faring but immediately wondering about Spock

“I had to do [it]. If I hadn’t tried, the cost would’ve been my soul.”

Sarek even points out that Jim paid with his ship and his son, but Jim genuinely feels it was worth it

Spock, having just been revived, is supposed to leave to get healed but is compelled to turn back — he cannot recognize any of them (not even McCoy who he literally cohabitated in the same body with) except Jim

Spock asking why Jim came back for him, and Jim responding “because the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many” (the reverse of the Vulcan philosophy—he’s saying it was illogical but he needed Spock back and Spock too needed him)

Spock parroting the “I have been and always shall be your friend” line, then finally identifying him as “Jim”

Jim’s face melts into the biggest smile ever seen on his face, even as he’s tearing up from joy

Suffice to say, I love this movie and will be considering it a romance with a side of action from now on.

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1

Silently, they swap seats. It feels ridiculous, how perfectly the whole exchange goes, how no-one else stirs, how the RV glides smoothly with Eddie's hands on the wheel.

“What about, uh, the walkman?” he asks, tries to sound matter-of-fact. Time for a new plan, time to think.

“No,” Steve says. There's a finality to his tone. “Max should keep it.”

Eddie exhales. “Okay, okay. There's—here, there's a radio.” He doesn't mention the fact that he's closer; knows that his hand would shake if he tried to reach for it. “Be great if you'd develop an emotional attachment to, like, all of the Top 40 right now, Harrington.”

There's a soft sound that might almost be a laugh. Eddie listens to Steve quietly moving around then returning to his seat, hears the static of the radio being turned on—volume low, as if Steve doesn't want to wake anyone up. The thoughtfulness, even now, makes something in Eddie's chest hurt.

But there's nothing, not even a whisper of a song, and then even the static stops. Steve has turned the radio off.

One second.

“No signal,” Steve says, and even though he's not looking at him, Eddie knows he's shrugging again, like it is what it is.

The panic Eddie had briefly kept at bay while trying to strategize comes flooding back. “Jesus Christ, this—this can't be happening.” There's another long pause, and Eddie inhales shakily, remembers how he hadn't noticed when Chrissy fell silent. “Hey, man, you've gotta—keep talking to me, okay, or I'm gonna lose it.” Let me know you're still here. Please.

“Sorry,” Steve says. “Talking. Um.”

“Um,” Eddie parrots. “Wow. Didn't finishing school teach you conversation skills?”

Steve laughs again—hushed but real. “Fuck off.” He sighs, then says, “God, this might be a weird thing to say—”

“Colour me intrigued.”

“—but I'm so relieved, dude, you have no idea.”

“You're right. That's an extremely fucking weird thing to say.”

“I didn't want it to be Max,” Steve says, so heartfelt that Eddie tightens his grip on the wheel. “Didn't want it to be... anyone, you know? It's—yeah, it's better like this.”

“‘Better’ is a strong word for it.”

“Mm. Like, come on, what's the worst he could have in store for me? The summer our AC broke, that was pretty rough—”

“Don't,” Eddie says sharply, and all at once the joking tone they'd built up evaporates. “Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don't...” Eddie swallows. Recalls when he'd cut through the gym to get to Drama Club, how he'd glance over at Cheer Practice and think, They've all got it made, haven't they? Shiny fucking picture-perfect lives. “Don't bullshit me, all right?”

“...Okay.”

Eddie scoffs weakly, tries to regain the banter they were sharing. “Hey, if you can't be honest now, when can you?”

“Sure, that's—that's fair.” Steve shifts in his seat. “I was talking to Max, about the... when it happened to her. And she said she thought of happy memories, so. Got an idea of what to expect, at least.”

“Cool,” Eddie says, the mild tone only barely covering his anxiety. “Know what you're thinking about, then?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies. He's smiling; Eddie can hear it. “Got a few things in mind.”

“Good, that's... that's good.”

The road is getting more familiar: it won't be long until they're nearing the Welcome to Hawkins sign.

“Kinda impressed with you, Munson. Was expecting you to drive like a bat out of hell.”

“Ha, ha. Special occasion, and all—”

A pained gasp cuts through the air, and Eddie's stomach lurches. “Shit, shit, Steve—”

“I'm fine,” Steve says quickly, “I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.”

“Tell me the fucking truth. Please.”

“It's just my head. Hurts a bit. Not a big deal, I've had worse.”

From the clipped way Steve is speaking, Eddie knows it's more painful than he's letting on.

He slows and brakes at a stop light before taking the chance to, finally, look over.

Steve is staring straight ahead, eyes in focus, and Eddie suppresses a sigh of relief at the sight. But then he sees how Steve's jaw is clenched.

“How's the clock?” he says cautiously. Prays for a miracle.

“Still there. It's closer. And, um...” Steve's mouth opens, closes, opens again. “I'm guessing the black widows on the dashboard aren’t actually...?”

God, he says it so easily. Eddie can't comprehend the bravery of it. “No, there’s nothing there,” he says.

“S'okay,” Steve says, “I'll just look at you.”

“I've been told I'm a sight for sore eyes,” Eddie says dryly.

“Oh, I’d believe that,” Steve returns, somehow both matching Eddie’s tone and sounding completely sincere. He turns to Eddie and smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“This bit really isn’t so bad, Eddie,” Steve says gently. “Just some spooky pictures, really. That’s kids’ stuff. And you’re—you’re good company.” The light changes. Eddie looks away with reluctance, starts up the engine again. “I try my best,” he says lightly, and wonders how someone can be so close to… to… (he can’t say it; he won’t say it). So close to that, and still smile about it.

You’re incredible, Steve Harrington.

“Home sweet home,” Eddie murmurs as they pass the Welcome sign. “Hey, we made pretty good time, too.”

“I didn’t mean to be late,” Steve says nonsensically.

“What the—?”

“I didn’t, Dad, I didn’t. I’m not lying.”

There’s ice in Eddie’s veins. “No, no, no, stop—stay with me Steve,” he says, which is so fucking stupid, what, did he think he could solve this through sheer force of will? No matter how many times he begged, Chrissy never woke up.

But then Steve gasps, and it sounds like he did at Lover’s Lake, just before he got dragged back under. “Sorry, sorry. I’m still here.”

“Jesus. We’re—we’re here.” “We’re…? Right, yeah.” A deep breath. “Okay. New plan. My place first,” Steve says firmly. “We'll drop the kids off.” There's an unshakable resolve in his voice.

Eddie takes the next turning, doesn’t even enjoy the double take that Steve does at that, the fact that Eddie already knows his address. When he glances over, he sees beads of sweat on Steve’s face. Eddie speeds up.

Please, please. Just hold on.