#i live in perpetual distress

[bluequillss]

// episode 109 spoilers

hey wait thats mine give it back

#jrwi riptide #jrwi fanart #jrwi #jrwi spoilers #jrwi riptide 109 spoilers #just roll with it #jrwi chip #this scene has been stuck in my brain since watching the episode #i live in perpetual distress #albatrio holds them gently #my art

[trans-axolotl]

idk i think a lot of people sort of build up schizo-spec diagnoses in their head as this example of a "clearly biomedical disease that is the scariest possible example of mental illness that is always a crisis no matter what." and i'm not going to sit here and say that schizoaffective is always pleasant to live with, or pretend that it's something that I can manage perfectly-it does cause me distress a lot of the time, and makes some things very difficult. but for me, psychosis is by far not the most difficult symptom i have to deal with, compared to some of the other things that have brought me distress. And yet it's always the symptom that is reacted to with the most fear, confusion, and disgust by other people. I hate it when people generalize psychosis as always and inherently and forever a crisis, and ignore the fact that everyone who experiences psychosis is going to have their own experiences, perspectives on how it impacts them, and that treating psychosis as a super scary, inherently dangerous symptom is incredibly stigmatizing and prevents us from receiving support and care from our communities.

idk. i just really wish people would realize that for some people, psychosis can sometimes be a neutral or even positive experience (i've had some incredibly lovely psychosis experiences), and that by positioning psychosis as a "super scary disease that has no quality of life" and only offering carceral solutions, it perpetuates a pattern where we get continually pushed into harmful treatments. Instead of a situation where our autonomy is respected, where we're offered a wide variety of treatments from meds to therapies to peer support like Hearing Voices Network to material community based support and where we're allowed to define our own experience of psychosis based on how it actually affects us. like, i don't want to deny that psychosis is often distressing for many of us--but I do think we have the responsibility to evaluate where we've learned about psychosis, what societal messages we've internalized about psychosis, what kinds of knowledge about psychosis do we not have access to, and just actually think in depth about how our biases impact how we communicate about psychosis.

#personal #psychosis #schizo spec #psych abolition #mad liberation #antipsych

[sarcosuchus]

I was gonna write up a bigger wall of text but I think when it comes down to it, all I wanna say is “no autistic person acts like this” is not the progressive take people think it is.

Often I see “there’s no one way to be autistic, it’s a spectrum!” being said until it’s about unflattering, distressing, destructive symptoms, then suddenly it’s not “real autistic behavior,” it’s just a set of fictional symptoms only existing within gross stereotypes perpetuated by neurotypical media.

We’re real people. Our existance isn’t fictional or made up to set a “bad example” of autistic people.

Some of us have meltdowns so destructive we grew up being physically restrained against our will. Some of us growl, bark, and make animal noises because it’s easier than words. Some of us have emotional outbursts, rock ourselves angrily, hide under the bed, and make upset “nonsensical” noises. Outbursts that are laughed at because of how “childish” it seems to our allistic loved ones. Some of us were stuck in abusive anger management courses because of our behavior. Some of us hurt ourselves or destroy items when we get upset. Some of us have never lived without an assistant or caretaker.

Your autistic experience is not the only autistic experience.

#💭 #🧠 #sorry this is something i'm passionate about and bwhahwguhghhhh #ableism #actually autistic #self harm mention #abuse mention

[gaypornvideoswebsite]

i’ve witnessed some organizational “failure” as a result of what i believe is this manufactured urgency and resistance to critique. this urgency also heightens isolation, and for many makes it feel difficult to voice their opinions and ideas. the result of this are movements not built to last, and shaky foundations. radical movements have been usurped by the state repeatedly through history, but many of us are now playing by the CIA op handbook on our own. read your books, engage with people, learn the history to allow ourselves to act swiftly. if we do not build something ourselves, we will end up relying on state structures to enact “change”, and further perpetuate western imperialism.

also, to be called divisive or derailing in groups organizing primarily minimally disruptive protest actions is nuts. but i digress.

—

[Image ID:

Image 1: Cartoon letters that read “manufactured urgency and resistance to critique” above a cartoon person gripping their head in distress.

Image 2: Text that reads “a term often hsed in organizational work culture, it is the pressure to act quickly instead of thoughtfully in order to meet deadlines. Corinne L. Mason also uses this to discuss the development of anti-violence policies that are technocratic, depoliticized, and ineffective towards the women they claim to help. Manufacturing Urgency, U of R Press, 2017.”

Image 3: Cartoon lettering that reads “isolation limits our ability to organize” above a cartoon person staring at their phone with a look of distress alone in the dark.

Image 4: Text that reade “manufactured urgency also makes us resistant to critique.” Below a cartoon person has their speech interrupted by other speech bubbles that read “there is a genocide! You are derailing!” and “don’t be divisive!”

Image 5: Text that reads “openness to critique is necessary to build our solidarity! We have time to…” Below is a cartoon of three characters holding hands wearing shirts that read “learn, build, and sustain.”

Image 6: Text that reads “no one is seeking perfection. We are seeking to develop solodarity that will last our entire lives.”

End ID]

#gay #not fanart #comic

[twstwinnie]

Hello, i just discovered this blog and i really want to read your work more. If you don't mind can i request malleus x reader where reader feeling empty or brunedout due to study and overblots. You can edit it as you like or write as headcanon or one short it depends on you. Well have nice day/night.

♚ Tea for the Prefect : Malleus Draconia

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, burnout, reader is the prefect, gn! reader, ch.5 spoilers!

desc: upon noticing your growing distress, malleus takes matters into his own hands and bestows a gift of relaxation upon you. sleep well, dear prefect.

a/n: finally being more consistent with posts!! thank you for the request! I thought this was a lovely concept and a great opportunity for some lovely stress comfort fluff! also, I love writing for malleus! the reader in this is the prefect, but the reader is not explicitly yuu! with that, enjoy! — winnie <3

Time is fleeting, whether he likes it or not.

Such is a fact that Malleus is painfully aware of. Every day that passes is but a fraction of his extended lifespan.

That is until he met you.

Most people talk about time flying when one’s having fun, but for Malleus, time slows when he’s with you. Being in your presence reminds him of all the little things life has to offer. Despite his extended lifespan, he chooses to live in the present nowadays simply because you’re a part of it.

That being said, he’s still able to pick up on things when they happen so suddenly.

Like your fatigue.

Malleus is unaware if your fatigue slowly built up in terms of a human lifespan, but to a fae like him, it seemed almost immediate. However, he knows full well that it isn’t without reason.

After Ashengrotto’s overblot, he conversed with you out of curiosity, questioning how you used the advice he’d given you earlier. That’s when he learned that you’d been handling student overblots since your arrival on campus. Lilia further confirmed this fact, noting your involvement in Kingscholar’s overblot as well.

He didn’t realize how emotionally taxing it must’ve been until recently.

After Schoenheit was pulled from his overblotted state, Malleus appeared. He witnessed the aftermath firsthand.

More importantly, he could see the exhaustion in your eyes. He noticed the way you tiredly limped backstage once he’d repaired the stadium, and saw the way you brushed off your situation.

When he asked you about it, you insisted that it was nothing.

After that conversation, many things clicked into place for him. Not only did you deal with these treacherous battles without the use of magic, but you did so in tandem with your studies and other responsibilities. You had an incredible amount on your plate and everyone seemed content to continuously pile more and more atop it. He had to wonder if you truly ever allowed yourself the opportunity to rest.

Malleus, in good conscience, cannot sit by and allow you to remain in a perpetual state of stress and exhaustion. You’re precious to him, his dearest treasure, and if he can prevent you from losing your luster, he will.

Given your mortal lifespan is already so limited, he refuses to watch you crash and burn out.

So, he decides he’ll lend you some much needed assistance.

After a week of testing and schoolwork, the weekend finally arrives. The first thing Malleus does is convince Grim to stay at Diasomnia for the weekend. Silver (and, begrudgingly, Sebek) agree to watch over the small feline. A promise of food is all it takes.

Then, Malleus gathers various things he remembers that you like from your various conversations: tea, biscuits, warm blankets, and a book about gargoyles that you’d wanted to borrow from him.

With that, he sets off to your dorm, announcing that he’ll return the following morning. The fae certainly hopes you won’t mind him spending the night. Either way, he merely wants you to relax. Surely, you won’t turn him away.

Upon arrival, he knocks curtly on the door. While he typically preferred strolls around the quiet forests of Ramshackle, he didn’t mind having a day in at your request. You seem to enjoy cozy things when stressed, so he hopes this is enough.

You soon answer the door, a panicked expression on your face. “Tsunotaro! Have you seen Grim? He ran off earlier, and he didn’t say anything!” you insist. Malleus gives you a simple smile.

“He’s spending time with Silver and Sebek at Diasomnia. My apologies, I thought he left you a message. He’ll be there for the weekend,” Malleus explains. You heave out a relieved sigh, leaning against the door frame.

“Thank the Seven! He really needs to tell me before he runs off… but wait. Really? He’s staying at Diasomnia? Are you sure you don’t mind…?” you ask nervously. Malleus chuckles and shakes his head.

“Lilia is in charge for the weekend. I assure you, he can handle a few unruly creatures. He quite likes the challenge, actually. He doesn’t mind,” Malleus starts. “Actually, I was hoping you’d allow me to stay with you. I’d enjoy your company.”

You regard him with wide eyes for a moment before stepping aside. “Sure, I don’t mind. Come in,” you say. “Ah, but it’s a bit of a mess. I’m sorry— it’s been a hectic week.”

Malleus walks in and glances around. Sure enough, it’s a bit disorganized. Papers are strewn across the floor and judging by the mess of blankets by the table, he’s certain that you’ve been sleeping while studying.

“No need to offer apologies to me, Prefect. Actually, it’s fitting for the topic of conversation I wanted to bring up.” Malleus continues, “from what I’ve noticed, you seem overwhelmed. I’ve even heard that you’ve been falling asleep in class. Are you resting properly?”

He watches as you deflate, walking over to the couch and sinking down into it. With a sigh, you respond.

“I’m glad someone noticed. I’m exhausted, Tsunotaro. Our useless Headmage doesn’t help with overblots or money, so I’ve been working at the Lounge on top of everything else—

“Not to mention, I need to help Grim study so he doesn’t get caught in any dealings with Azul again. With everything going on, I hardly have time to sleep! I’m so tired… I’m really sorry, Malleus. I’ve been so busy that I’ve hardly had time to spend talking with you,” you mumble sadly. Malleus walks over and seats himself next to you.

“Why apologize to me, dear Prefect?” he questions. You huff and lean against him, shutting your eyes.

“I actually enjoy your company, but I’ve been so busy. I’ve skipped so many of our usual late night walks. I miss spending time with you,” you express. Malleus can’t help but give a fond smile in response. He gently runs his fingers through your hair as he hums.

“I’ve felt deprived of your company, but I’ve never once blamed you for such a thing. Don’t you think you’re the last person who owes anyone else an apology? You’re an unwilling participant in all the messes you find yourself in,” Malleus mentions. You sigh quietly.

“That’s true, but if I don’t take care of the overblots, who will? We both know Crowley won’t do a thing,” you mutter, a tinge of bitterness in your tone. Malleus chuckles lightly.

“Forgive me if it came off in this manner, but I wasn’t suggesting that you change your ways. I quite like you the way you are now, even with your needless prying into dangerous trouble,” he teases lightly. “All I’m requesting is that, when you find it’s too much to bear on your own, you allow me to take care of you.”

You pause. Met with silence, Malleus turns to face you, shocked to find your face red with fluster. You let out a shaky breath and smile, looking down.

“Don’t say things so cryptically like that, Tsunotaro. If you do, someone might mistake it for a confession, y’know,” you mumble under your breath. Malleus regards you with a gentle expression, placing a finger on your chin and lifting your head to meet his gaze.

“Perhaps I wish for it to be taken in such a way. Have you considered that? If you’d prefer me to properly court you in order to be convinced, I don’t mind. Though, I thought it’d be best to inform you of my intentions at the very least,” he says with a smirk. You find yourself speechless, unable to tear your eyes away from his gaze.

Malleus awaits your response patiently, and once you find your bearings, you sputter out a response.

“I-I’ve never considered that, but I’d be happy to accept your feelings,” you whisper. “Oh, but no courting— please, I can only handle so much embarrassment. I don’t wanna know how far you’d go if I let you court me.”

Malleus smiles, leaning in to peck your lips softly before pulling back. “I’d only go as far as fae tradition allows. Alas, I’ll respect your wishes. If you accept my feelings, will you allow me to take care of you?” he asks. You return his smile and nod.

“Please. I’d appreciate it, Tsunotaro,” you say. With your permission, Malleus quickly gets to work.

A quick spell organizes the disarray that was once your lounging area. Then, he steeps the tea and prepares the snacks that he brought. He refuses to let you lift a finger to assist, insisting that you remain seated.

Once he pours you a cup, he’s happy to see the way your tense frame relaxes as you take a sip. Your dull eyes regain their shine as you both chatter away about whatever you please.

When he notices you yawn one too many times, he carries you to bed, much to your embarrassment. After changing into more comfortable clothing, he joins you in bed.

Sitting up, he allows you to wrap your arms around his waist and lay in his lap. In one of his hands, he holds the book you’d wanted to borrow, reading the contents aloud to you. With his other free hand, he gently runs away the knots in your back.

Malleus glances down every couple of minutes. Your expression of bliss and comfort brings warmth to his heart. It’s a far cry from your exhaustion earlier, the bags beneath your eyes slowly fading away.

“Mm… Tsunotaro. ‘m gonna fall asleep soon,” you mumble tiredly. Malleus hums in acknowledgment, shutting the book and setting it on the nightstand.

“Then sleep, my dear,” he insists, idly running his fingers through your hair. You shift your body to look up at him.

“Will you stay here? Please?” you ask. Malleus smiles, leaning down to kiss you gently.

“As promised earlier, I’ll remain by your side. When you awaken, I will be here to greet you, so fret not,” he assured gently. You grin, leaning up to steal another kiss before laying back down.

“Alright then. Good night, Malleus. And thank you for helping me.”

Malleus smiles.

“Of course. You needn’t thank me. You’re my dearest treasure, and these simple things are merely proof of that,” he says. He watches quietly as you quietly drift off into slumber, your built up exhaustion finally catching up with you. Smiling, he leans down and kisses your forehead gently, whispering one last thing before falling asleep by your side.

“Good night, dear prefect.”

— fin.

#twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fanfic #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst oneshot #twst malleus #twst malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #winnie-writes #winnie-wishes

[antimatterz]

I'LL BE BY YOUR SIDE.

dan heng x gn!reader

summary: fear of abandonment is terrible, but your lover is there for you.

cw: reader has fear of abandonment, dark thoughts, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship

enyo's note: please, just please, don't come at me saying "this is toxic" or anything like that. this work is personal, so much that i'm hesitant to upload it but i still chose to do so in case more people are struggling with this. fear of abandonment is something serious and it's super hard to deal with. we don't choose to freak out when our person isn't near. we don't choose to need constant reassurance that they won't leave us. we don't want any of that. this is what it looks like for me on a bad day. feel free to come talk to me if you're struggling with the same !!

content under the cut | masterlist

lonely.

that's what you felt when you sat alone in the empty compartment of the astral express. there was no one, and that wasn't good for your mindset. you were restless, antsy, afraid, your mind wandering off to dan heng the entire time. it was always like that when he wasn't around you, but when you were utterly alone, it got severely worse.

nothing seemed to help; seeking distraction did nothing, it brought no peace to your mind to text march or himeko or anyone else, you couldn't focus on any activities, which let your mind roam endlessly.

where was dan heng? what was he doing? why wasn't he responding? was he okay? did something happen? was he going to leave you behind? your mind paused at the last line, realization hitting you like a truck.

the possibility was there.

leaving you was always an option, right? and to you, it seemed very likely. you weren't a fun and easy person; you were troubled, broken even. tearing at the seams almost perpetually. sure, you had your good moments, but did those make it worth to stick around? you had no idea, but the longer dan heng stayed away, the more you started to doubt his return. sure, you trusted dan heng – or you wanted to, at least. your fear of abandonment often wouldn't let you fully trust him.

everything was okay as long as he was with you, but as soon as he left to do something, fear crept up your spine, leaving you short of breath and extremely worried. bad habits awoke, you kept checking your phone, the express' entrance, every single thing that could hint at dan heng's arival was on your radar. it was tiring, so tiring, but you couldn't help it.

and you felt guilty. you just wanted to let dan heng live his life without having to consider you all the time. sure, he told you so many times that it was okay, that he chose to console you as anxiety struck, that you could text him whenever you needed him. but you refused; you didn't want to bother him. that would only drive him away eventually, right?

so you suffered alone.

your heart was beating frantically, following the cadance of your unsteady thoughts. it was pointless, it was useless, you were useless, you told yourself. couldn't even stand an hour without your beloved. what kind of toxic partner were you? it was certain, he was going to leave you sooner or later, just because you were a failure who could do nothing. everyone left, so why wouldn't he do the same?

tears of distress welled up in your eyes, and your breath stuttered. you felt truly alone, as if he had abandoned you already. maybe he really did, seeing how he left the express two hours ago. yet, you still refused to text him, despite the many times dan heng told you to reach out if you needed him.

you just couldn't burden him like that.

it felt like ages when the compartment's door slipped open, and footsteps came inside. you gazed up and found dan heng approaching you, and you swore you felt your heart levitate in your chest for a moment. relief washed over you and you wanted to jump up and hug the life out of your boyfriend. he was back!

it must've been obvious that you had been crying, as a look of worry ghosted over dan heng's features. his quiet grey eyes looked right through you, and he instantly knew what was up.

"y/n, i told you to text me if this happened," he lightly scolded you, pulling you to your feet and engulfing you in a tight hug.

"don't wanna bother you," you mumbled against the fabric of his clothes. "i don't want you to feel trapped just because i have separation anxiety."

"we've been over this, angel," dan heng sighed, his puff of breath rustling your hair. "you're too hard on yourself. you're not bothering me at all. i love you on good days and bad days alike, and as we enjoy your good days, i want to help you on your bad days. never forget that, love."

you breathed in his scent, relishing in the comfort it brought to you. he was with you again, he didn't leave, and he still loved you. with your voice still muffled by the fabric, you told him you loved him too, as you slowly felt the fear that had your body rigid diminishing. darkness slipped from your mind as dan heng held you closely, until all was good again.

"listen, angel," dan heng began, loosening the hug to cup your cheeks instead. he made you look at him, and his gaze was solemn. "i won't leave you. not today, not tomorrow, not ever in my life. and i will remind you every day. got that?"

you nodded, feeling as if you were on cloud nine. dan heng was right; you've been through so much together, he saw you on your darkest days, and he was still with you. if only you would remember that as anxiety rose, but such was wistful thinking. once you were alone again, the cycle would repeat itself, and you'd be terrified once more, as if the reassurance of today never happened.

fear of abandonment was painful, it tore you apart so often, writhing in your mind like a sick disease. but you had gotten lucky to find a patient lover, one who treated you right and never grew tired of reassuring you – as much as you needed.

it was true.

dan heng wouldn't leave you.

you smiled at him, and he offered you a faint smile in return. you knew he wouldn't move from your side today, and you leaned against him lovingly. another episode had passed, peace had returned.

it was okay.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai #dan heng #— enyo writes #honkai: star rail #dan heng x reader #dan heng imagine #dan heng imagines #dan heng il #dan heng x you #dan heng hsr #hsr dan heng #fear of abandonment #separation anxiety

[theblackfemininesociety]

Why 'Hoe Culture' is a Detriment to Our Society, Particularly the Black Community.

Hey Besties,

Welcome to The Black Feminine Society! We pride ourselves on creating a safe space for Black Women to heal, grow, and embrace their femininity. Our mission goes beyond just creating a supportive environment. We believe it is our duty to have open and honest discussions about the challenges that can be detrimental to our culture, while also shining a light on the right paths for Black women to take.

At The Black Feminine Society, we are committed to holding ourselves and each other accountable. Our goal is not to tear down another Black woman, but rather to empower and uplift one another. We firmly believe that by addressing the issues within our community, we can drive positive change for the greater good.

So let's talk about it…

As 'Hoe Culture' is gaining increasing momentum, particularly within the Black community. It is a matter of grave concern that such a culture is being propagated, especially considering its adverse impacts on the perception of Black women and young girls.

The music industry, a formidable influencer of society, plays a significant role in this degradation. Many lyrics and music videos often depict women as objects of desire, thereby demeaning their worth. This portrayal of Black women is not only disrespectful but also aids in perpetuating stereotypes that have haunted the community for centuries.

The lack of genuinely empowering role models for young girls is distressing. Our society seems to drown out voices that advocate for respect and dignity, while those who succumb to the pressures of being overly sexualized for relevance are amplified. It is heartbreaking to witness the precious innocence of young minds being corrupted by such destructive ideologies.

The propagation of 'Hoe Culture' also distorts the perception of what healthy relationships should look like. It fuels lust over love, leading to superficial connections devoid of real affection or respect. This is not what relationships should represent. Relationships should be about mutual respect, understanding, and love, not superficial attractions.

Also, the media tends to glamorize 'Hoe Culture', conveniently ignoring the trauma associated with it. It is not all fun and games, as they would have us believe. The reality is much harsher, filled with emotional turmoil and personal distress.

This brings us to the concept of trauma bonding, a situation where individuals develop a strong emotional attachment to those who hurt them. It is a cycle of abuse and reconciliation that can lead to severe psychological effects, including low self-esteem and chronic mental health issues.

In the world of social media, especially on platforms like Instagram, young girls often feel pressured to participate in 'Hoe Culture', fearing that they might be ostracized otherwise. Behind the glamorous pictures and seemingly perfect lives of IG models lies a sad reality of mistreatment and deception. It is vital to remember that these are curated images, not reflecting the reality of their lives.

Before I conclude, I want to leave you with a motivating message:

To all the beautiful Black women out there, remember that you are so much more than what society tries to label you as. You are strong, beautiful, and worthy. Your body is your temple, a sacred sanctuary that deserves respect and honor. Protect your heart, keep it exclusive for those who genuinely deserve it. There is no rush to fit into societal norms; remember, it's okay to be selective. Your worth is not defined by the number of likes or followers, but by the strength of your character and the depth of your spirit. Be proud of who you are and never let anyone dim your light.

#304 culture #black culture #black woman #black women in femininity #classy black women #open discussion #ho3 culture

[katzkinder]

I love the transformation Chrome goes through by the end of the series. I love that she’s hinted to be vindictive, and shown to be greedy, and her soft spoken nature serves to hide that the apple she plies you into complacency with is full of razor blades

I love that her greed is exactly what allowed her to remain by Mukuro’s side.

She’s been a doormat for a long time. Letting people walk all over her… That’s fine. But she can’t continue to do that and get what she wants, so she changed. She transformed. She became more powerful than the man who saved her life, and she dedicates that power to protecting what she’s found.

Because it’ss not like Mukuro is all she wanted, either

If that were the case, she wouldn’t be with Tsuna, she wouldn’t be friends with the other girls, she wouldn’t have sought comfort from Kyoko after Mukuro’s misguided abandonment.

And it’s her relationship and the opportunity Mukuro gave her that’s what gave her the chance to say “I’m allowed to want things. I’m allowed to have the things I want. I’m allowed to want and have multiple things. I don’t have to choose anything except for myself”

And I think, for all the faults there are with the execution of Chrome’s story (her perpetual damsel in distress role to showcase that Mukuro wasn’t heartless pissed me off so fast), her burgeoning independence from Mukuro is a wonderful story of recovery, personal choice, and learning to love yourself.

The reason Chrome struggled to support her own body was never because she lacked the power to construct her own organs. It’s because she was afraid, and how many times have we convinced ourselves of our helplessness out of fear that once we no longer required aid, the people who supported us would drift away? She clung to Mukuro because he was the first person to look at her and say ‘you are worth something’

She learned to stand on her own because I-pin, Kyoko, Haru, and Tsuna taught her that it didn’t matter what she worth. She still deserved gentleness. She still deserved love.

And she took that lesson and used it to give back to the person who helped her to live long enough to learn it.

MM criticizes Chrome during for future arc for trailing after Mukuro, saying he only intends to use her

Chrome knows better

Because if all Mukuro needed was a body, why bother with her, who was missing so many pieces? The answer, of course, is simple

Mukuro saw something of himself in her. And through protecting him, Chrome also learns to want to protect herself.

And goddamn will she be ruthless about it

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #dokuro chrome

[librarycards]

Is there a word for like, the phenomena of many people in academia positions calling themselves "anti psychiatry" but having a really shallow take on it that is openly reactionary and hostile to disabled people. Like they'll say "adhd isn't real" not in a "the way mad people critique and reformulate concepts of adhd takes precedence over the way the medical establishment does" way but in a "stop whining addict you are not medically corrupt but morally corrupt" way that is really obviously hostile to the self-actualization of the disabled. Or they have tunnel vision on deligitimizing all pharmaceuticals. Which seems like a very unthorough and flawed way to critique the medical industrial complex. Companies are lying about drugs, mis-prescribing them, AND with-holding them. You can't just ignore the last one. Entire countries are held hostage by threat of pharmaceutical copyright embargo, and these types could care less. Anyway what's their deal. They seem like fash wellness types in "anti psychiatry" clothing.

this is a dangerous pov that has been embedded in the antipsych movement for a very long time, and continues to be perpetuated by people whose antipsych scholarship doesn't have a strong disability studies conceptual framework. the most (in)famous figure representative of these views is Thomas Szasz, who believed, in short, that "mental illness" was an abdication of patient "personal responsibility" and an excuse for "malingering." He correctly identified mental illness as a sociocultural + medico-legal construct, but chose to blame persons experiencing psychosocial distress/difference for the insufficiency and danger of pathologizing labels, rather than the structural violence that undergirds both discourses and material realities of what is understood as "mental illness."

Personally, I think that this genealogy of antipsychiatry is libertarian in origin, distinct, though not disconnected, to bodymind fascism / wellness-reductionism. Szasz and his ilk are notable in that they believe/d in absolute bodily autonomy and self-determination, with the caveat that such autonomy is predicated upon the absence of social supports for people experiencing distress, and on the absence of compassion for those using violent language in an attempt to make sense of their lived experiences. The reason that I make this distinction is that Szasz is Jewish, and fled Hungary for the US in the 30s. He made the (correct) connection between the Nazi genocide of "undesirables" (including psychiatric patients) and state classification, incarceration, and "slow" genocide of Madppl globally and transtemporally.

But to return to your question: with this, as with pharmaceuticals, there is a fundamental discomfort at all levels of scholarship and discourse with identifying neoliberal capitalism as the enemy of self-determination, joy, community, and, like, an actual future for all life on this planet and beyond. The claim that pharmaceuticals are uniformly evil is a hackneyed way of attacking capitalism for those not yet ready or willing to acknowledge that, even absent a given pill or brand name, the structural violence that we associate with them would remain and simply morph. The fundamental danger of any and all medical "treatment," particularly that which involves significant alteration to an individual's bodymind and/or potential incapacitation, is that medico-psychiatric institutions function as zones of exception for many of the "rights" we are taught that we enjoy. Under the sign of patient, typical assumptions around autonomy, dignity, and equality –– while never fully existent in the first place –– completely vanish. Of course, it is far easier to blame individual people, companies, etc. than understand that disabled/Mad liberation will never exist without total abolition.

Equally, however, it's important to understand that "academics" discussing the abuses of big pharma or questioning the ontology of mental illness, as it were, are not somehow magically separated from psychiatric survivors. The academics dismissed as being unaware of the "real" struggles of psychiatrized people are oftentimes psychiatrized themselves, and their perspectives, writings, and movements are grounded in lived experience. People with academic degrees are not immune from emotional reactions rooted in trauma and anxiety, and in fact, to try to separate "emotion" from academic "reason" is a dangerous eurocolonial practice. In short: many who write, correctly, of the dangers of pharmaceutical companies and practitioner pocket-lining are and have been subjected to these abuses firsthand. This doesn't mean that a wholesale rejection of all medication is, like, "good." But it means that scholars are people –– people with more specialized knowledge in a given area than your average random person, but people nonetheless.

So, to conclude: there are a bunch of things going on that lead to the pervasiveness of reactionary antipsych perspectives. Sometimes, in the case of libertarian or fash (to say nothing of religiously-specific fascism) approaches, there is a willful refusal to distinguish pathologization from material need/suffering, and the assumption that eliminating diagnostic markers will simply neutralize the problem of mental illness-qua-human vulnerability. Other times, conscious objection to myriad genres of oppression under the (neoliberal capitalist) Med/Psy industrial complexes are shoehorned in with these reactionary approaches.

Overall, there are longstanding movements designed to oppress/abandon/eliminate disabled / Madppl in which scholars, wittingly and unwittingly, participate, and given the average joe's utter ignorance of any kind of antipsych thought, it is very difficult to address these issues with rigor and honesty.

Lastly –– I highly recommend doing more reading in critical Mad studies if you're interested in well-thought-out perspectives on Madness, antipsychiatry, and disability justice! Scholars like Liat Ben-Moshe, Jijian Voronka, Margaret Price, La Mar Jurelle Bruce, J. Logan Smilges, sarah madoka currie, Bren LeFrançois, Alexandre Baril, Cameron Awkward-Rich, Eric Stanley, Therí Alyce Pickens, Erica Hua Fletcher, and many others do incredible Mad work explicitly informed by disability and abolitionst frameworks! (and so do I –– at least, I'm trying!)

#antipsychiatry #saneism #ableism #psychiatry #eugenics m #nazi m #ask #anonymous #academia

[chlorinatedpopsicle]

https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-023-02717-0

In an online survey of 1124 heterosexual British men using a modified CDC National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey, 71% of men experienced some form of sexual victimization by a woman at least once during their lifetime.

If men would like male sexual victimization to be taken more seriously, maybe they should start by not responding to news about instances of male sexual victimization with jokes and/or "he's so lucky!!" comments. I'm sure you already know what I'm talking about, but here's a small example:

I don't know about you, but I never see women making “I got raped by a priest” jokes, “don't drop the soap” jokes, or “fellas, how would you react if you found her? [picture of unconscious or dead woman]” jokes, etc. I only ever see men and boys doing that, strangely enough. Until men and boys stop doing that all the fucking time, I'm gonna find it hard to sympathize with their plight.

The study examines how men may feel discouraged from speaking out about instances of sexual victimization because – as a result of male socialization and male gender expectations – they are afraid of showing any emotional weakness / vulnerability; men may see any display of emotional distress as emasculating. This is true. However, one has to ask: who are the ones who perpetuate these male gender expectations in the first place? Who are the ones pushing these ideas of masculine stoicism; the idea that men mustn't show weakness? In case you've been living under a rock, liberal women have been encouraging men to show more emotional vulnerability for decades now. Liberal women push the “men's mental health matters!!! male SA victims are valid!!!” stuff harder than anyone, even MRAs. Just as men are the ones making the rape jokes, these masculine gender expectations are taught and upheld almost entirely by men. They created the stigma all on their own.

Anyway, let's address the elephant in the room: 71% is a big number! I have to wonder, though, how many of the reported sexual victimization incidents were rape, and how many were things like unwanted sexual comments, groping, and leering. Those things are definitely distressing and even psychologically damaging, but nobody should deny that they are not on the same level as sexual assault – something experienced by a staggeringly high number of women and girls. Anyway, here it is:

As I expected, forced penetration (what I would consider rape) doesn't make up a whole lot of that percentage. If you want, you can scroll through some of the tags on my blog to see how statistics for female SA victims differ. Well, probably. Tumblr's tagging system is finicky.

I'm sorry, but I'd rather focus my concern on the things that men are doing. Like mass-scale sex trafficking and prostitution. And violent pornography. And spycam terrorism / voyeuristic porn / deepfake porn. And forced child marriage and bride kidnapping. And barring girls from going to school. And female genital mutilation. And forcing women to wear head-coverings and then brutally assaulting and arresting them if they don't comply. And constant femicides. And "honor" killings. And incestuous rape and sexual abuse at horrifying rates. And brutal domestic violence. And every war in the history of humanity (and all the violence that war entails). And committing over 90% of violent crimes. And raping the female patients in their care. And raping babies and corpses and animals like it's nobody's business. And other quirky male activities. Thanks for the ask!

#asks #mine

[mccall-muffin]

The Lady and the Major - Part 3/3 // John "Bucky" Egan x OC

Summary: Bucky is gone. For Liz, a world fell apart. But being the daughter of a duke, there still are responsibilities.

Warnings: Language, loss, slight depression, family duties, family fight. FLUUUUFF

A/N: And now this little story comes to an end. It was fun :) Hope you enjoyed it!

Here is my Masterlist

Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @mads-weasley, @brassknucklespeirs, @softguarnere, @shesgonna

London, Early 1944

The vibrant correspondence between Liz and Bucky, once a source of joy and anticipation for Liz, has fallen into a distressing silence since October 1943. Each letter she sent without receiving a reply added another layer to her growing concern and heartache. Liz's letters, once filled with playful banter and teasing affection, have grown more earnest, culminating in a confession of her deepening feelings for Bucky—a letter that, like its predecessors, remains unanswered.

The once lively spark in Liz's eyes has dimmed, noted by all who know her but most acutely by Mrs. Baxter, who has served the Cavendish family for years and has come to hold a particular fondness for Liz. It's a quiet afternoon when Mrs. Baxter finds Liz in the garden, her laughter at something in a book not quite reaching her eyes, a shadow of her usual vibrancy.

"Miss Elizabeth," Mrs. Baxter begins, her voice laced with concern, "you've been ever so down lately. It's not like you to let the world weigh on your shoulders. Is it that young American soldier? You've not mentioned him in quite some time."

Liz, caught off guard, closes her book, a sigh escaping her lips. "Yes, it's Bucky. I've not heard from him since October. I fear the worst, Mrs. Baxter. But part of me wonders... what if he's simply moved on? Or found someone else? Or worse..." Her voice is a mix of sadness and fear, the possibility of Bucky being gone forever a thought she can barely entertain.

Mrs. Baxter, wise in the ways of the heart and the harsh realities of war, shakes her head. "Miss Elizabeth, the way that boy wrote to you, I can't imagine him simply forgetting about you or finding another. It doesn't sit right. Why don't you write to his superior? Just to ask, to know for certain."

The suggestion stirs a turmoil within Liz. The thought of reaching out to Colonel Harding, of whom Bucky told her, is daunting, not only for fear of seeming desperate but also for the terrifying possibility that her worst fears might be confirmed—that Bucky is indeed lost to her, either through death or by a change of heart.

"But what if I find out he's..." Liz can't finish the sentence, the fear of Bucky's potential death choking her words.

"Miss Elizabeth," Mrs. Baxter says, taking Liz's hand in her own, "not knowing is a torment all its own. It's clear you care for him deeply and living in this limbo isn't fair to you. Writing to that Colonel might bring you the clarity you need to move forward, one way or another."

Liz contemplates Mrs. Baxter's words, the wisdom in them undeniable yet terrifying to act upon. The possibility of learning that Bucky is indeed gone is a reality she's not sure she's ready to face. Yet, the perpetual state of not knowing, of holding onto a thread of hope mixed with fear, is its own kind of purgatory.

After a moment of silent contemplation, Liz nods, a decision made. "You're right, Mrs. Baxter. I'll write to his Colonel. It's better to know than to spend my days wondering 'what if.'"

Mrs. Baxter squeezes Liz's hand reassuringly, offering a smile that's both encouraging and sympathetic. "Whatever the response, Miss Elizabeth, you won't face it alone. We're all here for you, always."

With a newfound resolve, albeit one shadowed by apprehension, Liz sets out to pen a letter to Colonel Harding, seeking the truth about Bucky's fate. It's a step fraught with the risk of heartbreak but also the only path toward peace, whether it leads to closure or rekindles a flicker of hope.

Dear Colonel Harding,

I hope this letter finds you well amidst the challenging circumstances that I know the brave men under your command face daily. I am writing to you with a heavy heart and a hopeful spirit, seeking information about Major John Egan, who I believe is (or was) under your esteemed leadership.

It has been several months since I last heard from Major Egan, and his silence is uncharacteristic and deeply concerning. We had been in regular correspondence until October of last year, after which all communication ceased abruptly. Understanding the nature of his duty and the risks involved, I am painfully aware of the potential reasons for his silence.

However, the not knowing has become a burden too heavy to bear, and so I find myself reaching out to you, Colonel, in hopes that you might be able to provide any information regarding Major Egan's status. It is my deepest hope that he is safe and well, but if that is not the case, I am prepared to face whatever truth there might be.

Major Egan spoke very highly of you and his fellow soldiers, and it is clear he holds great respect for the sacrifices and efforts of the 100th Bombardment Group. It is in this spirit of respect and concern that I reach out to you now.

Any information you can provide would be immensely appreciated, not only by me but by all who care for Major Egan.

I thank you in advance for your time and assistance in this matter and for your service to our countries. Please extend my gratitude and best wishes to the courageous men under your command.

Yours sincerely, Lady Elizabeth Cavendish of Wellington

Dear Lady Elizabeth Cavendish,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you regarding Major John Egan. First, let me express my deepest gratitude for your kind words, the respect you've shown towards our unit, and the sacrifices made by our servicemen. It is the support and thoughtfulness of individuals like yourself that bolster our spirits in these trying times.

Regarding Major Egan, I regret to inform you that his plane was shot down during a mission over Münster, Germany, on October 10th. The circumstances were such that we have been unable to ascertain his whereabouts following the incident, and as of this moment, Major Egan is classified as Missing in Action (MIA).

This news is undoubtedly difficult to receive, and it is shared with the greatest sympathy and respect for your connection to Major Egan. Please know that our efforts to learn more about his status continue unabated, and any new information will be communicated to you as soon as possible.

Major Egan is remembered among his peers for his bravery, leadership, and the indelible mark he left on all who had the privilege of knowing him. In these challenging times, we hold onto hope and the belief in the resilience of the human spirit.

Should there be any way we can be of further assistance to you during this period, please do not hesitate to reach out.

With deepest sympathies, Colonel Neil B. Harding 100th Bombardment Group United States Army Air Forces

July 1945, Hyde Park, London

The park, with its sprawling greens and tranquil ambiance, serves as a refuge for her thoughts, a place where memories of Bucky feel both painfully close and achingly distant. As she walks beside Mrs. Baxter, her mind is only half-attuned to the conversation about her impending nuptials to Lord Henry Ashcroft, a man of good standing and disposition but whom Liz regards with a sense of resigned acceptance rather than love.

Lord Henry Ashcroft, chosen by her father, was a man of considerable charm and intellect, a diplomat who had spent much of the war negotiating on behalf of Britain. While Liz could appreciate his qualities and the comfort of their companionship, her heart remained untouched, locked away with the memories of a love lost too soon.

As Mrs. Baxter prattles on, Liz's attention is stolen away by a voice, a familiar timbre that cuts through the noise of the park and straight to her soul. "Planning your grand escape, Liz? Or just hiding out from all those wedding planners your father's set on you?"

The voice, unmistakably Bucky's, sends a shockwave through her. She turns, disbelieving, to see him leaning casually against a tree, that all-too-familiar smirk playing on his lips, his arms crossed as if he's been waiting for her all this time. For a moment, Liz is frozen, her heart caught between joy and disbelief.

"Bucky?" she breathes out, her voice a whisper lost in the wind. The world around her seems to come to a standstill, the chatter of the park fading into nothingness as she takes in the sight of him. He's thinner, the signs of his ordeal evident in his eyes, but it's unmistakably him.

Bucky pushes off from the tree, taking a few steps toward her with a grin. "In the flesh," he confirms, his eyes lighting up with the warmth she remembered so well. "I must say, I've had quite the adventure. But I always knew I had to find my way back to you, Liz."

Tears well in Liz's eyes as the reality of the moment washes over her. The pain of the past two years, the resignation to a life without him, suddenly lifts, replaced by a surge of hope and love so strong it leaves her breathless.

"But how? I thought you were—" Liz starts, unable to finish, the question hanging in the air, laden with the weight of untold stories of survival and loss.

"A POW," Bucky finishes for her, his voice softening. "It was... rough. But I never stopped thinking about you, Liz. Not for a single day. It's what kept me going, knowing I had to come back to see you again."

The revelation leaves Liz reeling, the pieces of her carefully constructed resolve crumbling under the weight of her emotions. Here, before her, stands the man she believed she had lost forever, a living testament to the resilience of hope and love.

Mrs. Baxter, sensing the magnitude of the moment, discreetly withdraws with the dogs, leaving Liz and Bucky alone in their bubble of reclaimed time.

Liz steps forward, the distance between them closing with each tentative step until she's close enough to touch, to confirm that he's real and not a figment of her longing imagination. Without a word, she reaches out, her hand trembling as it meets his cheek, the contact sparking a connection that time and circumstance had failed to sever.

"Bucky, I..." Liz starts, the flood of emotions rendering her speechless.

"Shh," Bucky soothes, wrapping her in his arms, his presence a balm to the scars left by war and separation. "We have time, Liz. All the time, we thought we'd lost. We'll figure this out together."

In the embrace of the man she never stopped loving, Liz allows herself to believe in the possibility of a future she had mourned as lost. Hyde Park, once a sanctuary for her solitary reflections, now bears witness to the resurgence of a love that survived against all odds, promising a new chapter for Liz and Bucky, one where 'what if' transforms into 'what is.'

In the opulent salon of Wellington House, the tension is palpable. The Duke of Wellington, a man of formidable presence and traditional values, paces the room, his anger reaching a fever pitch. The assembled group—Liz, her fiancé Henry Ashcroft, her brother Edward, her mother, and Bucky—watches in a mix of apprehension and disbelief.

"My daughter, marrying an American? A soldier with no title, no lands, no... no nothing!" the Duke bellows, his voice echoing off the walls, laden with centuries of history and tradition. "This is not a matter of mere preference, Elizabeth! It's about duty, about the legacy of the Cavendish name. An arrangement has been made with the Ashcrofts, a union that will benefit both our families."

Liz stands her ground, her resolve steeled by the love she has for Bucky, a love that has endured the trials of war and separation. "Father, I respect our traditions, but I cannot—I will not—marry a man I do not love. Henry is a fine gentleman, but my heart belongs to Bucky. I must marry out of love, not obligation."

Her plea falls on deaf ears. The Duke, red-faced and seething, turns his ire towards Bucky. "And you!" he accuses, pointing a finger at the soldier who has unwittingly become the center of the controversy. "Do you think you can just waltz in here and claim my daughter's hand? What do you have to offer her? You are a commoner, an outsider!"

Bucky, despite the hostility, remains calm, his respect for Liz and her family evident even in the face of the Duke's wrath. "Your Grace, with all due respect, I understand your concerns. I may not have titles or lands to my name, but I love your daughter and swear to devote my life to making her happy. Isn't her happiness worth considering?"

The Duke's response is a derisive snort. "Happiness? You speak of happiness in a world where lineage and alliances dictate our very existence. You are not suitable for Elizabeth. This... this farce ends now!"

Liz's mother and brother exchange troubled glances, the family torn asunder by the clash of duty and desire. Henry, for his part, remains silent, his own feelings a mixture of resignation and relief, having sensed Liz's lack of affection towards him.

The room falls silent as the Duke delivers his ultimatum. "Elizabeth, you will marry Henry Ashcroft as planned, or you will face the consequences. You will not defy the wishes of your family or the expectations of our society. This is not just about you; it's about the Cavendish legacy."

The weight of her father's words hangs heavy in the air, a gulf widening between tradition and the yearning of the heart. Liz, caught in the throes of an impossible choice, looks to Bucky, her eyes filled with a mixture of love, defiance, and the dawning realization of the sacrifices they must both be willing to make for a chance at a life together.

As she can't take it anymore, Liz flees the salon and her father and is quickly followed by her mother.

In the quiet aftermath of Liz's hurried departure, the salon becomes a stage for silent contemplation and uneasy alliances. As Henry speaks privately with the Duke, Edward shares a moment of understanding with Bucky, and the pieces of a complex puzzle begin to shift. The choices made in the hours and days to come will redefine the futures of all involved, setting them on paths none could have anticipated.

Edward, acknowledging Bucky's resolve with a nod, breaks the silence. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Facing down the old man is no small feat," he comments, a hint of respect threading through his words.

Bucky, his determination unwavering, responds with a sincerity that speaks volumes of his experience and the depth of his feelings for Liz. "I've seen too much, lost too much, to not fight for what truly matters. Liz... she's changed everything for me. This time in captivity, it made me realize life's too short for regrets. I need to spend mine with her, no matter what."

Edward sighs, a look of understanding crossing his features. "I get it, I really do. But you must understand our world... it's governed by rules, by expectations that have bound families like ours for centuries. It's a tangled web."

Meanwhile, in Liz's room, the atmosphere is thick with desperation and the weight of impending decisions. Her mother, the Duchess, attempts to provide comfort, but Liz's turmoil runs too deep for simple reassurances. "I can't do it, Mother. I can't marry Henry knowing that Bucky is alive and the one I love. It would be a lie, a life built on pretense. I'm not like you; I can't hide my feelings or live a lie."

The Duchess, faced with her daughter's anguish, feels a pang of sorrow for the constraints their world imposes. She knows the Duke's stubbornness all too well, his unwavering commitment to duty and legacy. Yet, in her heart, she understands Liz's longing for genuine happiness. With a heavy heart, she reveals the only solution she sees.

"There is one way, Elizabeth. You must elope with Mr. Egan. It's the only path to true happiness if you're sure he's the one. Your father... he may never forgive you, but this is your life, and you must choose how to live it. But you have to know, if you decide on this, there is no coming back."

The suggestion of elopement, radical and fraught with the risk of scandal and estrangement, hangs in the air like a lifeline amidst stormy seas. It's a testament to the lengths to which love compels individuals to go, challenging the very foundations upon which their lives are built.

For Liz, the idea is both terrifying and liberating. The prospect of defying her family, of stepping outside the protective yet confining boundaries of her world, is daunting. Yet, the chance to build a life with Bucky, to embrace the love they share, is a beacon of hope in the darkness of her predicament.

As the vast expanse of the Atlantic stretches out before them, the cold ocean breeze tangles through Elizabeth's hair, a stark contrast to the warmth of Bucky's arms around her. His kiss on her cheek is a gentle reminder of the new reality they've stepped into together—a world away from the grandeur of Wellington House, a future uncertain but theirs to shape.

Bucky's voice, filled with affection, breaks the silence. "You sure you're okay with this, Lizzie? Leaving everything you've known... for me?"

Turning to face him, Liz's eyes meet his, shining with a resolve that belies any lingering doubts. "Bucky, I've never been more sure of anything in my life. With you, I have everything I need. You are my home now."

Bucky's smile in response is one of relief and love, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. "Liz, you've given up so much. I promise you, I'll spend every day making sure you never regret this decision."

Their conversation, intimate against the backdrop of the vast ocean, is a testament to the strength of their bond, a love that has transcended societal norms and the expectations of their respective worlds.

Flashback: In Liz's room, the Duchess's hands are steady as she helps pack the bags, her face a mask of resolve. "Remember, you're stronger than you think, Elizabeth. You're making a brave choice, for love. That's something I've always admired in you." As Bucky is led into Liz's room through the servants' corridors, his eyes quickly find Liz, his expression a mixture of surprise and admiration. "Lizzie, are you sure? This means leaving everything behind—your family, your title..." Liz steps close, her hands finding his. "I've never been more certain of anything, Bucky. As long as I'm with you, I'm where I belong." Her mother's voice, soft yet urgent, interrupts their moment. "You must hurry, my dears. And be careful." Handing Liz some money, she adds, "This should help you get started." She puts her arm on Bucky's. "Take care of my daughter." Bucky nods. "I will. Always." The goodbye is swift, a final embrace shared with her mother before Liz and Bucky slip out into the night, embarking on their journey towards a new life.

As Liz reaffirms her commitment, Bucky's eyes soften, the weight of her sacrifice not lost on him. "Lizzie, you're my world. I'll make sure you have all the happiness you deserve."

Their kiss, passionate and full of promise, seals their vow to each other. As they stand there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the future unfurls before them—not as a path laid out by lineage or duty, but as a journey they'll navigate together, bound by love and the shared courage to defy expectations for the chance at true happiness.

"We're in this together, every step of the way. I love you, now and forever," Bucky whispers, his words carrying the weight of an oath, a pledge of a lifetime together, against all odds.

And Liz, gazing into the horizon, her heart full, knows that no matter what challenges they may face, their love will be their guiding light. "I love you too, Bucky. Here's to our new beginning."

#Masters of the Air #MoaT #John Egan x OC #Bucky Egan x OC #John Egan x reader #Bucky Egan x reader #John Bucky Egan #BoB #Callum Turner #Sorry not sorry

[odinsblog]

“I’ve been very deeply distressed in my visit to the Holy Land; it reminded me so much of what happened to us Black people in South Africa. I know first-hand that Israel has created an apartheid reality within its borders and through its occupation. The parallels to my own beloved South Africa are painfully stark indeed.” (source)

“Israel is behaving as if there is no tomorrow. Its people will not live the peaceful and secure lives they crave, as long as their leaders perpetuate conditions that sustain conflict. Missiles and bombs are not the solution. There is no military solution.”

—Desmond Tutu, August 2014

#politics #desmond tutu #palestine #south africa #israel #gaza #apartheid #israel is an apartheid state #israel is a terrorist state #collective punishment #war crimes #genocide #never again #never again to anyone #ceasefire #ceasefire now #settler violence #settler colonialism #bds #boycott divest sanction #black history #s. africa #🇵🇸 #🇿🇦

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One thing that still gets my blood boiling is some people telling the traumatised students to just 'get over it', leave their abusers, or to hurt/kill their tormentors as if it's a walk in the park. Um, hello? That's not how trauma works.

Yeeeah, I find that kinda iffy as well 😬 I don’t feel that it’s quite “right” (for lack of a better term) to judge/compare people’s (/character’s) pain resulting from trauma, or to tell them how they should “fix” said trauma or whatever bad situation they may be in.

**Please note: the rest of this discussion will include mentions of victim blaming and gaslighting; please proceed with caution.***

The problem with doing any of that (even if it is done out of concern or a desire to help people) is that it comes off as like… belittling the victim or downplaying the problem at times?? Like, if you compare traumatic experiences, it can imply that one is “lesser than” or isn’t as serious as the other when the circumstances are just as serious to each victim. (I see this happen most commonly with Vil and Azul; they both experienced bullying in their youth, but for whatever reason people tend to think Vil somehow had it "easy" compared to Azul.) That’s so disheartening and invalidating for any victim to hear. It makes them feel isolated and alone, because the people around them are implying their circumstances aren’t that bad. In reality, it’s not up to onlookers to decide how distressing or disturbing an experience is to someone else.

Telling them what to do is just as unhelpful because it takes away the autonomy of the victim, and the advice given is often unrealistic and unable to actually be carried out. (As another example, the advice I see most often is "Jamil should have just told Kalim he was unhappy with his position and Kalim would have helped him; rarely do fans consider that the Viper family's livelihood would be in jeopardy and Jamil would live in perpetual shame and guilt if he dared to speak out.) How can Jamil and Leona just “get over” a whole life of being put down? How can Riddle just walk out on his mother when he doesn’t have any means to support himself and struggles to even talk back to her? How can it be said that Vil has it better than Azul when both of them were clearly hurt by the bullying they received as children? How can one rush Idia’s grieving process or Malleus’s struggle to accept change and mortality? And if any of them are encouraged to act out in violence, what are the repercussions of that?

We oftentimes forget that, despite Twisted Wonderland taking place in a world with nonsensical elements like magic, the way it chooses to address problems is actually very much grounded in reality. For example, the end of every main story episode isn't really "the end" or a "resolution". Those terms imply that the problem is over when the episode is when it's really not. We proceed in the story with an awareness that the characters we saw last time are still struggling with the trauma they had before. They aren't "fixed" just because they were given good advice or they were beaten in battle until they came to their senses. Their problems didn't magically poof away, the victims are still working on overcoming their horrific experiences and not letting it have power over them. This is a very realistic depiction of trauma and how victims live and have to cope with it in their everyday lives.

A lot of the things the OB boys experiences are things that people irl have as well. This is, in part, what makes them such memorable and relatable characters, and why people may look to them for comfort or to help cope with their own trauma--so they don't feel alone. At the same time, it is because of this closeness and relatability that it can be hurtful when others make comments that talk down to the OB boys and their trauma. It's not always discussed in a mindful manner. Sometimes it's spoken about in a way that sounds like victim-blaming or gaslighting. It's almost as if to imply, "look, it's actually SO easy to fix your problem, so the fact that it has gone on for as long as it has is actually your fault", or, “you're in a much better situation than Person B is, so be grateful!” Unfortunately, it's reflective of behavior demonstrated in real life, with people either doubting or not believing victims,or acting like they know better than the person who has actually gone through something traumatic.

Whether you find yourself relating to the OB boys or not... Whether you have experienced something you deem traumatic for yourself or not... I think it would be nice if we were just a bit more respectful when it comes to talking about these matters 🥲 It shouldn't be a competition where we're sitting around ranking whose trauma is "the worst" (I have literally been sent an ask like this before and it made me extremely uncomfortable💦) or giving unsolicited, unrealistic advice the characters couldn't actually take. We can realize how damaging their individual experiences have been for them and wish them all the best without putting down others' experiences or talking down to them in the process.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #Azul Ashengrotto #Malleus Draconia #Idia Shroud #Riddle Rosehearts #Jamil Viper #Vil Schoenheit #disney twisted wonderland #notes from the writing raven #tw // gaslighting #tw // victim blaming #advice #Kalim Al-Asim #Scarabia

[diorsbrando]

AROMA ( addicted 2 u ). ( g.j. )

pairing ! ━━  grimmjow jaegerjaquez  x  black!fem!reader 

cw ! ━━   minors do not interact. reader is also thick-coded and has no spiritual powers/abilities except that she has spiritual pressure and can see hollows and stuff. reader is also aged up to 20+. grimmjow has a devasting scent kink (olfactophilia) so there are many instances of smelling/taking large whiffs of reader. instances of kidnapping/coercion ( dubcon ), possessive and clingy behavior from grimmy because he’s obsessed. asphyxiation kink? (reader likes being choked). explicit content & language used. nsfw w/ descriptions of smut. unprotected + rough sex, a lil bit of teasing, groping, ass + thigh slapping, mentions of creampies. dirty talk, oral (f! receiving), masturbation (m! receiving). grimmjow kindaa gets pussydrunk. really just grimmy slowly going feral n falling in love <33

word count ! ━━  4.5k

notes ! ━━  yeah i think im just physically incapable of writing anything less than 1k words bc wtf😭😭😭 the original thirst where i got this from ( found here ) wasn’t even 1k, so where did the other 3k+ words come from ;-; idek if i like ending lololol. anyway this piece is basically dedicated to @garoujo​ bc i promised her for a while i’d do this. this another impulsive bleach fic, i hope y’all enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :’) all my grimmy luvrs + fuckers wake up! i’ve come to feed you <3 REBLOGS ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED! 

      grimmjow’s adjuchas form was la pantera; a slender, panther-like animal that dominated the perpetually pale white dunes of hueco mundo. so naturally, (with my brain falling into grimmjow-specific rut) i’d like to believe that grimmy has a scent kink. and he’d never know nor expect to have one before crossing paths with you, a damned human, he’d curse in his mind.  there’s just something intrinsically wild and unhinged about grimmjow, and loving the way you smell ━ even to extreme extents ━ is just one of the ways he displays his affection for you. so, this segues into grimmjow getting very possessive over you very quickly and is almost …territorial with this pretty human girl that’s close with soul reaper ichigo and his friends.

it’s when he initially acts on his own, gathers his group of lower ranking arrancar, and invades the world of the living that he discovers you and your unique but slightly impressive spiritual pressure; impressive in the sense it was enough to see at least see spiritual beings like hollows and shinigami. during all the chaos and on his search for this ichigo kurosaki he’s been hearing about, he spots you on a sidewalk, engaging in what looked like a sprint, farther and farther away from a fight between one of his men and another shinigami he didn’t recognize or care enough to know the name of. from where he stood in the air, he could see then clear look of fear in your eyes. your facial expression was showed you were deeply distressed, your body visibly trembled━ 

then his analysis came to a pause. wait.

your body.

getting a little closer to the grown, grimmjow was able to get a closer look at what pieces of fabric were hugging that...voluptuous figure of yours. while dodging fall debris, maneuvered through the streets of karakura town in a baby blue, spaghetti strapped tank top that stopped just above your pierced, pudgy navel (the blue-haired arrancar had never seen a piece of jewelry placed there before, but found himself staring at it for longer than what was necessary), black yoga pants whose hem reached past your ankles, black ugg tasman slippers, and to top it off, your long black cardigan flew wildly in the wind as you ran. all his senses were sharper now that he was a more powerful, full-fledged espada, so he could hear the faint sound of clear beads from your butt-length hair violently bouncing against each other, giving you an individual style that grimmjow couldn’t help but find remarkable. and then without warning or a distinguishable explanation, some primal notion deep within his being, felt himself immediately attracted to you. but of course, being supercilious as he was, the thick fog of pride fogging his vision, he rebuked any and all lingering thoughts, curiosity, attraction towards you. you were a human for crying out loud. what was worse, you didn’t even have any powers like that orange haired woman orihime or that other strong guy, chad. they were human too, so what was different about you. not having the patience to figure it out, his ( initial ) regard for you plummeted and ultimately decided to ignore you so and carry on with what he initially came here for: to find a worthy opponent and fight them.

and that same wind that passed through your knee length cardigan floated irregularly through the atmosphere, making a slow and aimless ascension to the clouds that hung lazily in the navy-blue sky━ inching closer to the sexta espada. the air infused with your scent entered the vicinity in which his sharp nose was able to reach. the breezed wisped across his strong face and jaw, he inhaled it unintentionally and— God his mind literally blanked. grimmjow’s train of thought was abruptly flung off the rails and momentarily lost concentration on the fight he was about to engage in. he swore the hot blood that rushed down to his crotch from his brain was instantaneous, he almost lost balance.

what was that smell? and why in the hell did it smell…so good? his mind wandered, unknowingly becoming hopelessly enraptured by your aroma and wanting to fulfill the instantaneous urge to follow the scent, like a fucking dog or something. and when he remembered you running, panting heavily to safety ━ past his general direction ━ he put two and two together and figured out it was you. the ambrosial smell was coming from you, from that plush body of yours. it had taken his olfactory senses by the horns, and grimmjow nearly lost all his wits, the urge to abandon the whole fight with carrot top just to seek you out and take you for himself was getting stronger with each passing minute. and it was obvious he’s not good with impulse control at all, so the fact he had so much self-restraint to focus on the current task at hand was a feat in itself.

he was able to spot your figure one last time before you disappeared into one of the buildings a few blocks down. while senselessly beating ichigo into the asphalt of the street, there was a lingering thought in the back of his mind that liked seeing shade of blue against your mocha skin. 

maybe because the hue was coincidentally similar to the hair on his head.

soon enough the battle was over, and when he returned to his own quarters in las noches, laid on his bed and took a moment to really process everything? he could feel himself spiraling, but this time he didn’t do anything to stop it; he let his thoughts hurl themselves off the deep end. his senses were swirling, your pleasant odor imprinting on him more deeply than he had expected or anticipated it to. he needed to see you━ no, to smell you again. little did he know these budding desires would cause him to become enamored with every aspect of your being in the very near future. with grimmy being who he is, he already began to scheme and figure out a time when to go back to the world of the living. he didn’t even know what he was going to do but he just knew that he had to satiate these relentless thoughts. 

he could feel his member stiffening again when he remembered how just how you looked, with that frightened expression laced in your countenance. that paired with your sensual figure and how you smelled? without giving it a second thought, he scrambled to get his pants at his ankles so he could wrap his large palms around his girthy dick quick enough. he gave himself a few experimental pumps, precum was quick to bud from his slit when your round tits flashed in his mind’s eye. he then imagined how your aroma mixed with the scent of passionate sweaty sex as he fucked you silly would smell like, and just how much sweeter your voice could sound with his name dripping from your plump lips. with his mind racing, shame quickly evaporated from his body as he tightened his grip, his hand movements grew faster and alternating between different wrist movements. grimmjow cursed himself through deep groans for being aroused enough to even do something like this because of some human woman he saw on the street in the world of the living, but the poor baby couldn’t help it. 

grimmjow got so lost in the pleasure, in the feeling of how his heavy cock felt in his grasp and in his fantasies of bouncing you up and down his length, breasts jiggling in his face with his mouth clasped onto one nipple, like a baby desperate for milk from its mother. and he wanted all of your ‘milk’, and he desperately wanted to give you all of his; he wanted to fill you up with it. after overstimulating himself a little and having mind-blowing, sheet-gripping orgasm that left his chest rising and falling like waves against the seashore, his hips lazily thrusted into his fist on their own volition to prolong this euphoric sensation for as long as possible. usually, post-nut clarity was supposed to bring you to your senses, to a more rational and calm state of mind. 

and bring grimmjow to his senses, it did. because he stared at the unnatural amount of his solidifying seed in his palm, on his lap and near the hole in his abdomen, one thing became increasingly clear: releasing an abundant amount of cum didn’t make him want you less— it made him want you more. because grimmjow knew well enough he’d drive himself crazy with these kinds of perverse behaviors and thoughts of you had he done nothing to resolve the issue. with you on his mind, he wouldn’t be able to focus on the tasks as one of lord aizen’s elite arrancar.

eventually, around the time the fourth espada ulquiorra would coerce and kidnap orihime to come with him to hueco mundo, grimmjow decided that was the best time to. . . apprehend you as well. he didn’t even have a valid reason other than wanting to keep you for himself and utilize you as he saw fit. quite frankly he doubted anyone, including aizen himself, would care if he brought back a little something extra from the world of the living, especially if this ‘something’ was a human who was no imminent threat to aizen’s plans. if anything, this could only benefit him, since you were one of ichigo’s close friends and if needed, you could be used as leverage.

it would be at night when your fate would be sealed, the sky practically empty and starless. the lights from the many buildings and streetlights outshone any stellar body that hung up above besides the moon. and high in the atmosphere is where the garganta that came from hueco mundo pried itself open, like the mouth of a monster about to devour its prey. except the ‘predator’ in question was actually the sixth espada; and of course, you were the unsuspecting prey. his sapphire irises scanned over the vast area of the city, starting at the place where he last fought with ichigo.

memory served him correctly ━ probably because he was so determined━ and recalled the general area where your living space was. using his sonído, grimmjow already found himself hovering above the apartment complexes, and began to seek out your unique spiritual pressure. within seconds he was able to distinguish yours from the faint traces of the other humans living on this block, and he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating from excitement or not, but he was sure he could pick up your scent from all the way where he levitated in the air. he had to suppress a growl as he followed his senses, and made an abrupt appearance on your terrace, which you unfortunately left cracked open because your bedroom was much too stuffy and desperately craved circulation from the cooler, night air. 

the blue-haired espada let out a sort of derisive chuckle at your blatant ignorance. 

it’s only when you opened the door to your bathroom that led directly to your bedroom did you notice that a stranger had entered your apartment. your heart dropped when you saw grimmjow’s tall, lanky but muscular figure sitting on your bed, his elbows on his knees and his eyes trained on you. he was like a cat, with how his gaze was so fierce and consuming. a wave of an unfamiliar fear washed over your body and mind, completely drowning you. your legs instinctively moved backwards back into the bathroom, your flight response taking prominence and deciding you’d barricade yourself in there. you weren’t even a hundred percent certain it would work, but you couldn’t just stand there.

but grimmjow was much, much faster. faster than what you could comprehend. 

his movements were so high speed, you had almost thought you imagined him sitting there, because by the time you blinked out of your stupefied stare, he was gone.

but your horror was unfortunately realized. in fact, you were not hallucinating the whole ordeal, because an unpleasant, static ━almost booming noise ━ rung out in your ear, and suddenly the intruder was behind you, one hand gripping your throat with unnatural strength, cutting off vital oxygen supplies to your heart and lungs, and the other harshly gripping one of your arms to keep you still. 

“scream, and i’ll snap your arm like a fucking twig. it won’t be hard for someone like me, y’know.” you tried very hard not focus on his rough palm on your windpipe, and how easy it would be to delude yourself into a line of thinking that, had then circumstances been different and you were already acquainted with one another, this could have led to an entirely different outcome.

but, at the moment all you could do was gasp raggedly, your mind slowly falling into delirium because you couldn’t breathe. using what little space you were allowed to turn your head back towards your assailant, your eyes widened at just how ferocious he looked. he looked human, but you knew he wasn’t; the skeletal row of sharp, saber-like fangs on his right jaw and the concerningly large hole in his stomach told you that; it was unsettling. what was even scarier about him though, was that he looked a little familiar to you. why did it seem like you’ve caught a glimpse of his face before?

“stupid woman. . . leaving your doors open like that. don’t you know that you’re inviting practically any body into your home? you’re lucky that it was me, and not some creep.” he taunted you sinisterly as his grip on your neck and arm grew tighter, and now your struggle to breath became more obvious when you started to see blotches in your vision. the balance beam tipped dangerously back and forth between arousal and the fear that ran through your brain at the thought you might actually die.

“w━wh..who a-are. . . you. . .?” you had so much to say, so many questions. but you physically didn’t have any strength to voice them and oppose him, and you certainly didn’t want a broken arm.

“doesn’t matter. all you need to know is that you’re coming with me. and no, you don’t have a choice so don’t try and make a big fuss about it.” grimmjow stated tersely, not waiting for your compliance or a response. it’s not like you could speak clearly anyway. 

given with how close grimmjow was to you, your scent violently invaded his nostrils, and he couldn’t help but lean down slightly from his height and take a deep inhale into your braided hair that was tied down with a fine, silk scarf. even a barrier such as that couldn’t stop your aroma to waft into his personal space. standing from behind you he also got a good view of your cleavage in the v-cut oversized black shirt you wore, and how your nipples reacted to the cold air from outside. he had to physically stop himself from ripping your panties off, gagging you with them, and stuffing your cunt by confining your arm into a tighter grasp. you thought it would break if you even moved an inch. he figured he’d only suffocate you, since he admittedly preferred not use force on you; you’re too pretty and fragile for that. grimmjow shook his head at the fleeting thought. he hardly even acquired you for 5 minutes, and you were already permeating and changing his ideals.

a transient thought of how sexy the man behind you was, how nice his chiseled chest felt against your back flickered through your mind before you succumbed to your unconscious.

by the time you awoke, your eyes adjusted to him leaning over your horizontal figure on the surprisingly soft bed, his nose once again in the junction between your neck and collarbone. you groggily recalled him getting a good whiff of you before you lost consciousness, but it didn’t occur to you how strange it was until you saw his handsome figure hovering over you like this. you lifted your hands to touch his taut pectorals in an attempt to put some distance in between the two of you, but of course, he was big and strong and wouldn’t move that easily.

“h-hey! . . .where am i? and what the fuck are y—“

he stopped anymore protests from flowing out of your mouth by slamming his hand over your jugular, which caused a startled yelp— one that sounded too close to a mewl— to tumble past your lips. you stared at the tendrils of baby blue hair that fell across his forehead as he lifted his face to look at you.

you couldn’t even maintain eye contact for five seconds; his acute stare quickly overwhelming you on top of the flurry of thoughts that wanted to ponder on his mean, but ruggedly beautiful and proportionate face. you felt shame heat your cheeks and throughout your body at these thoughts.

“stop. . . moving. and watch your fucking mouth when talking me, woman.”

there was something about the dangerous glimmer in his eye, the tone in his voice, and the blade strapped to his hip that you just now noticed was nudging your leg, that told you not to say anything more. the longer you processed this, the longer you stared at the gaping hole in his abdomen, the longer you eyed the arrancar taking prolonged whiffs of your skin, the more frightened you became. you reminded yourself that this — none of this was normal.

you were kidnapped. taken against your will to come to a place you could only assume was the place where all these hollow creatures came from, and the only reason you even knew that was because you were so close with ichigo. you felt your heart tremble and shake against your ribcage at the very real possibility that no one knew where you were or just who took you. you weren’t even sure if anyone was currently out looking for you.

pure terror of all the unknowns running laps in your brain caused the blood in your veins to run cold and freeze over. clenching your eyes shut as if you were trying to block out the impending dread, you tried to ignore the heat that blossomed and penetrated your thinly clothed waist when grimmjow’s fingers brushed against the fabric and fully took hold of your flesh in his possessive grip. the guttural groan he let out against your shoulder caused your body to buzz in pleasure. “i don’t know what the hell it is but you smell so. . . fucking good.”

time gradually passed—you don’t even know how long since the sky always resembled midnight and you had no watch or your phone — but your mind started to move away from your friends and lifestyle back in the world of the living and became accustomed to this life as grimmjow’s. . . .human. too accustomed, in fact. you weren’t even sure what you were to him, other than the fact he was always with you to some extent. he was always there watching over you, glaring at you and whatnot, always smelling you. had your mind become so deprived of genuine human interaction that you found this behavior endearing?

perhaps.

in a way, his clinginess made you feel safe, it made you feel protected. like— if you really wanted to let your mind fall down that rabbit hole— that no harm would ever come within 5 feet of you, so as long as the sexta espada was looming over your form from behind. 

as for grimmjow, normally, he would have harshly judged people who acted this ill-composed, depraved or obsessive, but now he was no better than them with the way he acted around you. there was just. . . some element that drew him to you, like a moth to a flickering flame, and it all started when your beguiling fragrance wafted up to his height in the sky that night. he was turning into a feral animal that needed to be kept on a leash; if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was reverting back to his pantera form.

if anybody’s gaze even so much as lingered on you for a bit too long, he would feel offended (why? he still didn’t know himself). his short temper would ultimately get the best of him, instinctively giving them a venomous “the hell you staring at? huh!?”, paired with his irritated and equally sharp glare. he’d rest a lazy hand on your hip or draped across your shoulder for good measure. 

and that’s another thing you noticed during your indefinite stay here at las noches, the name of the vast, castle-like building you’d soon discover later: grimmjow always seemed to be touching you in some shape or form. an arm across your shoulder blades, a palm on your curvy ass, a hand around your throat— usually to threaten you but you couldn’t help but be aroused and you were pretty sure he was well aware of this too— even when you slept. he quite aggressively insisted you share a bed with him, and his muscled forearm would always be perched across your torso. it wasn’t necessarily in a loving way, but more territorial. and when you’d wake up to find him closer than when you drifted off to sleep, with his nose wedged on your shoulder and a big hand encasing your breast, you couldn’t help but wish this, was a little more genuine.

and just like the animal adjuchas he was deep down, he consistently found himself to be in something of a rut, a lust-filled heat engulfing his loins whenever he looked at you, even if it was only for a second. you could be doing literally anything or just standing there, and the urge to pounce on you, to bite and lick and inhale your skin would become too strong at times. he constantly had to fight his primal temptations to shove you up against a wall or bend you over, and repeatedly piston his hips inside your tight heat — no matter who may or may not have been around. you caused his self-control and decency to deplete at alarming rates.

but, in those moments he let those impulses take over, which became increasingly intentional, it’s the most….God, you feel so many things when grimmjow has you sprawled out or spread open for him, practically in his palm and at his mercy. you could feel the possessive nature of his personality absorb you with the way his tongue danced across the canvas of your skin, and the way he gripped your hips so hard, constantly breathed your scent —like it was the only air he needed to breathe — as he drilled his hips wildly into your dripping cunt (he’d always tease you for how easily wet you get at any little, seemingly innocuous gesture he directed towards you, despite him doing it on purpose to provoke you).

out of all the positions he has, and will plan to, put you in, his favorite is most definitely back shots because he likes to watch his cock, with a scary amount of concentration and a manic smirk on his lips, impale you over and over and over again. he also loves seeing your luscious, fat ass ripple and bounce against his slender hips. “pussy so—” he’d let out a malicious chuckle and growl before roughly planting a heavy palm on your fleshy mound, the sound resonating throughout the spacious room, “—so fuckin’ good…all this time, before i even came and got you, you were keeping her tight for me, weren’t you? yeaaaah, fuck yeah you were princess. this cunt was practically made for me, just asking to be ruined.”

he’d say the filthiest words you’d ever heard when he had your back arched in the shape of a parenthesis. missionary admittedly always did it for him too, just so he can watch your face scrunch up in overwhelming pleasure and good hear you whining his name without the buffer of the blankets beneath you. and when he’d push your thighs all the way back to feast because he was hungry? you swear you lose your vision and see stars, practically ascending to the heavens when grimmy is devouring your cunt. it really shouldn’t turn you on so much when he takes a moment to unlatch from your twitching pearl of nerves, your slick sticking to his chin, just so he can smell you while he plunged his appendages in and out of your folds. he’d always edge you like this, and you hated it, but your whiny protests were dragged back down your throat and exchanged for a moan when he landed an abrasive slap on your thigh and muttered a gruff, “shut the fuck up, brat,” against your dripping sex.

he would be seconds away from cumming in his pants untouched when he treated himself to that first whiff. you’d be so embarrassed by it at first,but would soon enjoy it as much as he does; he basically corrupted you by thrusting his own lewd fantasies onto you and implanting them in your psyche. the sixth espada gets so drunk on the taste of you and the natural perfume of your pussy, he could stay down there for hours, until you passed out from the pleasure or physically couldn’t orgasm anymore. you’d have to hit him on the head to get him to come up for some air. even when you were on your period— some bloody human thing, he’d call it— didn’t stop him from effectively eating you alive.

grimmjow would soon come to the realization one night when he was balanced on his forearms on top of you, languidly rolling his pelvis in and out—with that slight upward motion that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull—that this, that you, were all he needed. nothing, not fighting any of his ‘comrades’ or enemies, not devouring other unfortunate souls, not the thought of getting stronger, could measure up to the way your palms grasped at his brawny, taut back, the way your voice got all high-pitched and soft, crying about how you “need more, i-i need you, love yo—oooh, fuck, yes!!”, and how your intangible essence surrounded and swallowed up his very soul.

as his thrusts grew deeper, faster and more mind-numbing, he decided that ‘yeah, this is it’. being inside you and taking pleasure in invading your mind, body and heart was it for him, he couldn’t ask for more. he knew he’d do just about anything for you if you just asked or bat those long, dramatic lashes at him. he hesitantly admitted himself that you were more powerful than he originally thought you were, because only you were able to make him come undone to such a staggering degree and reshape his disposition, even if it was only a little bit, and only for you to witness.

maybe humans weren’t that weak.

あ TAGGING ━━ @yamaguchism @aaphroditeeeee @heartsfrommars @saintblk @h34rt4u @deathskid @nekoriots @hellavile @kxkyuu @eiflawriting @6kugo @izurou @bunnyyamor @garoujo @yooniluvbot444 @loyenne @satotokii @divilyn @obitohno @monirei @444yeager @sanjithesimp @cosmicdoechii @nobdytbh . . . . wanna join my taglist ? click here to join !

#sailewhoremoon #sailewhore’s ship recs! #sosa’s filez 💭 #bleach tybw #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmy <33 #i love having a bleach brain rot <3 #bleach x black reader #black fem reader #x black fem reader #bleach smut #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x black reader #!explicit content ahead #!dark content #!mdni #!nsfw #!scent kink #olfactophilia #!kidnapping #!dubcon #sort of i guess #!unprotected sex #!creampie #!oral #!masturbation #feral behavior #but we love to see it

[transmutationisms]

trying to work out some thoughts on anorexia/restrictive eating disorders as inherently “mental illnesses” so forgive me for doing that in your inbox lol. but as someone who starved myself for a while as a teenager in order to fit into the ideal of thinness i reallyyyy hate when people call anorexia/bulimia a mental illness. what i was doing was very reasonable — i was trying to get thin, fast, so people would think of me as pretty/desirable, and starving myself was a way to do that. i feel like terming restrictive eating disorders as mental illnesses in & of themselves makes them seem like, unreasonable? or like you’re biologically predisposed to starve yrself? i guess i just want to know if you have any thoughts on the terming of “anorexia” or “bulimia” as mental illnesses (sorry for the vagueness of this question)

i have thoughts lol

in general i don't actually get a lot of mileage out of the concept of 'mental illness', tbh. there are lots of different things going on here—sometimes these labels are used to pathologise behaviours and experiences that are simply normal variations in human populations (& are often experienced as impairments due to the context of a social and economic environment designed to exclude them). sometimes they're just pathologising certain portions of the population, and are a tool for how marginalisation occurs, like 'drapetomania' or 'hysteria' or indeed the racialised nature of 'schizophrenia' diagnoses. sometimes what we call 'mental illness' is what i would argue is a very reasonable response to fucked up circumstances, like what you're talking about or indeed the inherently stressful and traumatising experience of, like, surviving capitalism. you also have to keep in mind that the way the pharmaceutical industry and the psychiatric establishment work in tandem means that some diagnostic labels come into existence after a drug is discovered/manufactured, and needs an insurance billing code in order to start making money.

on top of all this, as a philosophical point, 'illness' or 'disease' in medicine has some specific meanings (contested & varied over time/place, obviously) and i'm not actually convinced that affective distress is best explained or ameliorated by this framework. the argument that affective distress is a disease state has mostly been very useful for people who are invested in claiming medico-scientific authority and prestige for clinical and academic psychiatry. interestingly ofc, they have never fully succeeded in doing this because there are no biomarkers for psychiatric diagnoses, that's not how these diagnoses are made, and it's certainly not how they're treated (despite outright lies like the 'chemical imbalance' myth still being pushed on many patients).

when it comes to 'eating disorders' specifically, one thing to keep in mind up front is that although all eating disorders are restrictive in origin, both the responses to and causes of that restriction vary widely. the 'classic' story here since about the mid-20th century has been a (white, upper-class) girl who wants to be thin and starves herself in pursuit of beauty / social acceptance; depending on how she responds to this attempted restriction, you might see further restriction, binge-type behaviour, binge-purge behaviour, &c. but this is really only one eating disorder 'story'. as i've said before, food / energy restriction can start for a million different reasons, including lack of access to sufficient food, sensory aversions, other illnesses, over-exercise, &c. and people's mental and physical responses also vary a lot. i've probably never met a disordered eater who had NO thoughts on thinness as the beauty standard and beauty as currency—because of the social context we live in, these ideas will usually at some point become wrapped up in the food restriction, and are often major drivers of the sort of guilt response that tends to perpetuate eg a binge-restrict cycle. but this isn't to say that the desire for thinness is every disordered eater's sole or even primary psychological experience.

since my own experience has always been very similar to yours, though, i can speak to that a little. i agree with you fully in how i narrativise my own self-starvation, lmao. i don't think it's ever been some kind of biological predisposition with me, or a weird or aberrant or even pathological response to my circumstances. i actually think, given the social and familial context i grew up in, starving myself is one of the more logical and normal things i've ever engaged in. it's socially rewarded (both the resultant weight loss and the hypervigilant food / body behaviours in themselves) and emotionally numbing in a way that makes literally everything else 1 billion times easier to manage.

again, there's complexity here when talking about 'eating disorders' more broadly; people receive many different messages about food and body size, and respond to them differently as well. (this is a tricky thing with any diagnosis that's given on the basis of behaviours / symptoms—ie all psychiatric diagnoses—the label is ontologically incapable of differentiating between different causes for, and experiences of, what may be externally the same behaviours.) and it's also true that eating disorders involve a biological element in the sense that restrictive food intake (or the threat of restrictive food intake, like guilting yourself for eating something you perceive as unhealthy / fattening / &c) triggers a whole complicated physical response because, yknow, humans need to eat lol. but my point stands, i think: the psychiatric discourse of 'eating disorders' is still very wilfully decontextualising them, because otherwise it would have to become a broader social justice conversation about things like poverty and weight stigma. that's not something that psychiatry is disciplinarily equipped to do!

#eating disorders #psychiatry

[ch4singchase]

The Ballad of Moths | LUKE CASTELLAN

Summary: Eurydice grapples with the recent death of her mother and the haunting memories of Viola's tragic passing. Viola's mother, Nicole, reveals a hidden world of mythical creatures and urges Eurydice to seek refuge at Camp Half-Blood.

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Violence, tragedy, emotional distress, parental loss and the death of a child.

chapter one, chapter two | series masterlist

chapter 01: The Day I Talked To A Moth

The memory of Viola's passing remains etched in the corridors of my mind, an indelible mark that time has failed to erase.

My mother, a sage of life's transience, had often forewarned me about death's omnipresence, its silent footsteps trailing each of us, patiently awaiting the opportune moment to guide us into its realm. Yet, she spared me the knowledge that age was no shield against its grasp.

In my youthful naivety, I believed Viola and I, being so young, were exempt from such somber realities. However, reality had a way of shattering illusions, and ours came crashing down during our brief sojourn in Northern California.

My mother and I were perpetual wanderers, rarely settling in one city for long. Our nomadic lifestyle changed momentarily when we found a charming neighborhood that beckoned us to linger a little while longer. Perhaps my mother yearned for companionship beyond my six-year-old self, and I, too, longed for friendships with children of similar age and energy.

In that Californian neighborhood, we discovered a temporary haven, filled with laughter and camaraderie. Viola, a kindred spirit, stood out among my newfound friends. Her mother and mine formed an easy bond, sharing the same wanderlust that defined our nomadic existence. Viola, having lost her father like me, seemed like a twist of destiny, signaling an end to our perpetual wandering.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like we had found our home.

Until we hadn't.

A seemingly innocuous day at the park, filled with laughter and games, took a nightmarish turn. Engrossed in a competitive game of tag, Viola and I reveled in the illusion of safety, oblivious to the impending tragedy. In the blink of an eye, a surreal scorpion's tail pierced Viola's chest, shattering our sense of security.

The ensuing chaos blurred the lines between reality and nightmare. I remember screams and tears, the tight embrace of my mother as she swiftly led us away from the park, leaving California behind. Our return to the road, to the nomadic rhythm of our lives, marked the end of our brief illusion of home.

Viola's mother became a distant enigma, her name slipping away like an elusive echo—Nancy? Nora? Pansy? Patricia? Time had rendered it a mere whisper from the distant past. Yet, fate had a peculiar way of weaving connections, and I encountered her once more, at my mother’s funeral.

It all was still too recent. I could still feel her blood soaking my clothes and how my hands had become red in seconds.

The wounds were still fresh. I could still feel her blood staining my clothes, my hands turning crimson in seconds. Unceasing tears bore witness to the haunting memory, the giant one-eyed man.

Yet, this time, a revelation emerged—it wasn't a man but a Cyclops.

I didn’t know how or why, there was no room for explanations. It simply was.

There were not many people at the funeral.

My mother never talked to me about her parents, so when I tried to reach for them, I didn't have a clue where to start. She also didn’t have any friends, only people she met briefly, some of them were there more for respect than anything else. Since my mom was always the kind of woman that did favors without asking anything in return.

Besides me, there wasn't anyone else that knew her who knew her besides the kind and selfless woman that she was.

No one except Viola’s mother.

I sought refuge beneath my umbrella, a futile attempt to hide the evidence of my tears and the redness of my eyes, which had been incessantly shedding tears since the moment I felt my mom's absence.

“I’m sorry about your mother, dear,” a voice sounded behind me, nearly catching me by surprise.

But I recognized that voice anywhere. When I raised my head and looked into her eyes, I wasn’t startled. Viola’s mom had always been a quiet and astute woman.

I wasn't surprised that she was there; I could wager she had been trying to reach out to me and my mother since Viola's death.

“Thank you,” I uttered, the phrase having become a constant refrain throughout the morning. Everyone present was expressing their condolences.

“I know it sounds redundant when everyone says it to you, but I truly am,” she continued. “Your mom was a fighter. I have no doubt that she didn’t give up for a moment. She always said she would do anything to keep you alive.”

There was a bitterness in her voice, as she bit something back. Every day, I remember the day Viola died. And every day, I remember how her mother could move when her eyes stopped on the motionless body of her daughter, her eyes no longer full of life.

“We couldn’t have done anything to help Viola,” I bit my lips, playing with the nails of my fingers, “That thing- Everything was too fast.”

“Chimera,” she said, her voice low as her eyes darkened in a void. I gave her a puzzled look, “The thing. It was a Chimera.”

“No,” I shook my head, “Chimeras are from fairy tales, they are made up. They don’t exist.”

“Just like Cyclopes?”

I swallowed, feeling something heavy in my chest just from thinking about yesterday. The rain, the car in full speed, the accident, the man… That eye. That one single and creepy eye.

What had he said? That we had been running for a long time? He also had called me by a name, something that I would often be called from time to time again.

Half-blood.

“Your mother never told you for the same reason I never told Viola,” Viola’s mother continued, coming closer to me until her umbrella bumped into mine, “It only makes it easier for them. If we had ever told you, it would mean we would have to accept the idea of keeping you away from us.”

None of her words made sense to me. I tried to pay attention, but each time I felt myself drifting away.

“Them? Who are they? I don’t know what you are talking about.” My grip on my umbrella became stronger.

Viola’s mother wore a strange expression, a kind of fear. Every second, she glanced around before meeting my eyes, as if ensuring that no one was eavesdropping on our conversation.

But there was no one else there, only us. Everyone else had already left after an hour.

“The monsters,” she whispered, gripping at her own umbrella, “They always find you, just like they always found Viola. I could take care of you but I can’t, not since what happened to Viola, I can’t keep you safe”

I frowned, take care of me? I would end up going to a foster house or something like that; the policeman I met that morning was just waiting for me outside. Had Viola’s mother thought of adopting me?

I almost felt outraged at the idea that the only person I had known that was close to my family had given up on me.

But… Keep me safe? Those were her words, what did she mean?

“Safe from the monsters? What are you talking about? There are no monsters, that one eyed guy probably suffered from an accident or I don’t know and that said Chimera for sure could be a giant scorpion.”

I tried to find justifications, answers for everything I had been seeing since I was born. Monsters and creatures no one else seemed to acknowledge. Things that followed me everywhere, no matter where I and my mother went, even in my dreams.

But nothing made sense.

Since my mother left, none of her justifications for what had been happening to our lives made sense anymore.

Those creatures looked too real to simply be my imagination.

I was already fourteen; I didn’t feel that creative anymore.

“You understand now, don’t you?” Viola’s mother sighed, “No matter where you go, they will hunt you down; there’s only one place where you will be safe.”

“Where? I can’t simply go somewhere now; tonight I will go to the foster system,” I glanced at the policeman in the distance, with his umbrella waiting for me.

“The Camp Half-Blood, it’s the safest place for kids like you,” Viola’s mother said, biting the tip of her fingers out of nervousness, “I can help you to get out of this town but after you’re on your own, you are better if you go alone or find others like you in the way.”

Camp Half-Blood… That, for sure, wasn’t a joke; there wasn’t any way that Viola’s mother knew what the Cyclops said to me.

I tried to focus on her face and her words, feeling the reality shift around us. Everything felt real. Too real.

I tried to focus on her face and her words, feeling the reality shift around us. Everything felt real. Too real.

I glanced at the policeman again; I didn’t want to go to a stranger’s family. I wanted to go… Anywhere, a place where I could feel home again, just like I felt when I lived side by side with my mom, Viola, and Viola’s mother.

And if that camp had people like me… People like Viola, I would take a risk. I didn’t have any hope anymore, or direction.

“Okay,” I said, for the more impossible it can sound, “Okay, what’s your idea?”

The idea involved nothing astute or well-planned for a woman like Viola’s mother; she simply grabbed me and ran away to her car, not caring about my fallen umbrella and the rain crashing into my head. She also didn’t give a damn about the policeman screaming at her and chasing us until we got into her car and she hit the car accelerator.

She kept everything that she had said. Viola’s mother drove us to the exit of the city and stopped at a random convenience store near a bus station.

She fished for her wallet in her pockets, getting twenty bucks out of it before handing it to me.

I looked at her with my mouth shut; I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t uttered a word the whole ride.

Perhaps, I was in shock at the time. Deep down, I had hoped she would change her mind and decide to help me find the place or decide to take me with her.

Which wasn’t the case.

I had lied when I said I didn’t have any hope anymore. I think there’s no such thing as a person without hope.

We can’t live without it, even when we know it’s a false hope.

“Now you're on your own,” she took a deep breath, opening the doors of her car, but not daring to look into my eyes.

As if she did so, she would change her mind and decide not to let me go away. The daughter of a mom that had gone through the same things as her, someone that could have been her best friend and now was gone.

The little girl beside her was her daughter, someone that once played with her own daughter.

And now, was a teenager.

How things could have been if anything in that day at that park went differently?

“Thank you, Mrs…” I couldn’t recall her name; I always used to call her Viola’s mother when I was younger.

“Nicole.” Nicole smiled, pressing her lips in a thin line as she glanced at me, “You can call me Nicole, dear.”

“Thank you, Nicole” I smiled back, holding back my tears and taking the twenty bucks before getting out of the car.

Before Nicole drove away from me, she rolled down the window’s car.

“Good luck, Eury” and there she went, into a journey far too different I would take.

How long had it been since someone had called me Eury? I really couldn’t remember.

I looked around, trying to trace a plan. Buy resources and a ticket for the bus, but where should I go?

Viola’s mother didn’t tell me or didn’t know where the camp was, and little I knew where it could be. I walked to the front of the convenience store, staring at the map of the USA that covered the wall on the outside. It could be anywhere.

I was at Massachusetts, Springfield. Once I found the state on the map, I looked up and sighed, where I could go from there? I tried to run my fingers through the dotted lines and the names of the most distant states to the closest ones, thinking about routes and paths that I would have taken before with my mother. Trying to remember the buses and prices, even though I still didn't know exactly where I was going.

Until a moth landed next to my finger, resting from its arduous flight just above Riverhead on Long Island, Baiting Hollow. Its wings were dark with brown details, with no trace of the rain outside.

I looked at the road behind me confused, I was in a more convenient area because of the convenience store, but still the rain outside was heavy. How was that moth so... Intact?

Again, I turned to the moth, observing it cautiously.

"Long Island" A deep voice resonated in my mind, as low as a whisper, almost making me question whether it really was my conscience or the voice of someone I had met before.

But I would definitely remember a voice as serene as that.

Looking at the letters beneath the moth, I swallowed hard. Baiting Hollow, Long Island, right? Would this be the place?

I looked around me, seeing if all this was the sign of a monster, whatever it was. Even though I didn't remember any monster that carried moths, not at that moment.

“I’m trusting you, buddy” I said to the moth, which I know, crazy. It was a moth after all, but at this point, what in my life didn’t sound crazy?

Next thing, I’m buying some snacks, bottles of water and a ticket to New Haven, Connecticut. From there, I would have to figure out what to do next.

At least, now I knew where I should go.

#pjo tv show #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #thalia grace #luke castellan #chiron #dionysus pjo #pjo series #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson and the olympians