Your compliance and silence as well as the compliance and silence of your ancestors is what allowed these schools to open and kill first nations children. The children of MY people.
Dont follow me if you cant reblog this post or the one with sources to your political blog or your most popular blog. Add trigger warnings if you must but if your political blog is only focused on the harms you personally face like being lgbt then you need to see some bigger pictures and stop being afraid of angering your racist mutural or actually saying some shit about racism. If you can reblog some antifa graphics or add blm to your bio to be a surface level ally, you can reblog some sources on the genocide first nations people faced and still face today.
i just had the weirdest moment, i was feeling my front teeth with my tongue because they’re the tiniest bit crooked, and then i had the thought “i’ll check if they’re also crooked in my other mouth” and then i realized to my shock and confusion that i have only one mouth, leading me to believe that in a past life i was a terrible monster with two mouths
A few months ago, I thought to myself “Mmm I’m so tired… how much longer in this one again?” and I knew instinctively what I meant by ‘this one’ was this body and this life. I then spend a few wide-eyed moments having an identity/existential crisis like how many times have I been on this earth to have such an instinctive response to being bone-weary to my soul? No one can really answer, especially not me.
In July 2017, one night I woke up around 2 a.m and blurted out in a quasi professorial voice “the Equinox Bird has infinite beaks, all in the wrong direction, and infinite eyes” and I don’t know what the fuck I was dreaming about but it still haunts me. It seemed like a very important information for a few seconds.
i really appreciate the last commenter giving us an exact date and time like that information needs to be preserved
One time I passed out on the couch after going a few days without sleep, and when I woke up mom said I had been speaking in German in my sleep, and it sounded like I was ordering people to build something
When I was like 5 my mom took me to the grave of her friend that died of cancer and I asked what happened and my mom explained that she died and i fucking said “I died once” and my mom asked me to explain and I went into pretty detailed explanation about how I died in a war because “I got stabbed by a gun with a knife at the end” (my exact words) and I met god and she (she’s a woman obvs) asked if I wanted to stay or go back to earth and I said I wanted to go back so I chose my mom cause she was struggling to have a baby (she had me through IVF) and lemme tell you that changed her like nothing will make you second guess your religious beliefs like a five year old explaining heaven and god to you
this post is a fucking ride and it reminded me of something i forgot
one time i was playing on my wii (like 5-ish years ago) and i thought to myself “i haven’t checked on rowan in a week, has he died from the plague? :(“ and i didn’t think anything of it for a bit until later when i had a “what the fuck” moment
I love this kind of shit because it happens to me all the goddamn time. Like:
-The other night I rolled over in the middle of the night to shake my partner awake, proceeded to tell him how I was glad that ‘this time round we would truly have the freedom to love each other properly’ and how his hands belonged to his last self, but his eyes had never changed in all the lives I’d known him. And he just laid there in the dark like wtf because I was asleep. Like I’d woken him to tell him that all in my sleep and then left him to have a crisis.
- Watching the history channel with my Pop on the couch, tender age of 7, and they’re talking about crucifixion. And my pop, ever the funny man, is like “that looks like it aughta hurt”. And I just turn to look at him and without hesitation reply “only at first”. And he’s like “what do you mean” and tiny me just shrugged and said “well there’s a place beyond the hurt where everything just stops” and he turned the telly off and left the room.
- night before Christmas 2012, dreamt I’d been stabbed in the lungs by an angel with the face of a falcon. He looked at me and told me he had to do it, so that ‘my next breath would come as a rebirth’. When he started to glow so brightly that it burned my eyes, I woke up to all the lights in my house on and a dark bruise beneath my rib cage. Will admit, that one freaked me out.
- walked past a graveyard with a friend back in middle school on the way to her house, and mid conversation I stopped talking and stood stock still, looked over at the walls,and quietly said “I have a friend in there”. Then picked up the conversation and continued strolling like nothing had happened. To be fair, I didn’t realise what I’d said. She still tells me I’m the reason she can’t walk past that graveyard anymore.
- a couple of years ago when I was in Wales I walked past an old stone house just outside of Aberystwyth, and just started to weep. I had the overwhelming thought that I needed to be in there to get dinner ready for the children, but in a different life so long ago and so impossible to reach, that thefeeling of loss was instant and overwhelming.
- was about to use a pedestrian crossing, when my whole body just sort of went hey don’t do that, and so I stopped and put my arm out to stop the woman who was crossing behind me, and 2 seconds later a car came skidding around the corner and crashed into the tree on the other side of the crossing, and I just whispered “ha, not this time” and didn’t really think about it until later when I realised I’d nearly died again. (Btw i waited for th ambulance to show up and the dude driving the car was fine, just hit his head and was drunk af at 10:30am on a Thursday).
- another dream I had just this week, I was sitting in an otherwise empty cinema with a tall, thin man. I can’t really recall what he looked like, except he was well dressed, impossibly pale, and he kind of blurred when you looked directly at him, so I mainly watched him out the corner of my eye and looked ahead at the blank movie screen. He was holding my hand, and he asked me if i enjoyed my life. I said yes and explained why. He then said, almost verbatim, “And how does this one weigh against the last? Can it tip the scales, or is it, at last, to be found lacking?” And I replied, almost verbatim “I weigh my lives against my joy, and each life I find there is more joy to be discovered.” He replied with a laugh, lifted my hand to a kiss and said “till next time then” and disappeared. I woke up in the dark with both my cats sitting on me, alert, and staring out my bedroom door.
So many more, but these are the first that come to mind.
When I was little, my mother, my sister and I would dream in unison so often that one time when my mother was having a rather dull dream about golf my tiny 3 year old self shook her awake and told her to stop because it was boring. She dreaded having nightmares because both of us would wake up shrieking.
My sister and I have also been known to argue in our sleep. Witnesses assure us that whatever made the shouting start, we both knew what it was and were mad about it. We don’t need to be in the same room for this.
We also stayed in a haunted house for a while. An old lady had fallen in the chilly hallway just outside the warm kitchen, broken her hip, and couldn’t reach high enough to open the door, so she died of hypothermia a foot away from a telephone and warmth. Without fail, every person who stood in that spot and tried to open that door - the single most used door in the house, being between the kitchen and the bathroom and front door - felt cold and found themselves scrabbling frantically at the door handle, which was always strangely hard to open from that side. You got used to it to an extent, but it always hit strangers hard.
Ok I just have to add my own experiences on here so I’m chronological order…
I’ve always had déjà-vu, it’s always super real and I always try to do something weird to “snap out of it”, but sometimes it “predicts” the weird thing too.
When I was 8-9 ish, I had the really vivid dream. I was tired and groggy, my mom and I were at a stake n shake (a very sentimental place to me), we were sitting in a booth and in a booth across from us there were like 10 people all crammed into one. They were having a good time and not harming anyone so I didn’t care. We were waiting for the food to arrive when my moms phone rang, when she picked it up she said “hey…. oh my gosh” (or something along those lines). She kept talking and hung up the phone, she then looked at me and said “papa died”. It was a weird dream and I kinda brushed it off as one of my “acid trip dreams” (where everything’s really weird but makes complete sense at the same time). A year or so later, there we were, at that state n shake, and my mom got the call. But this time I knew what was happening so I was already crying by the time she hung up the phone and she looked at me and I just asked “papa?” And she nodded. I was crying obviously, I was a kid who just lost a grandfather, and the group looked at us and just became very sad all of the sudden.
Next, in 5th grade, it was really late (or early) and I was trying to go to sleep, but I had this feeling that something was WRONG. So I stayed up pacing my room until I heard my dad slamming open the door to his room and going into the living room (he went out sometimes to watch news in there but he was always trying not to wake my mom). And I had the feeling like “ok it’s over now” and went to sleep. The next morning I found out that my grandpa had fallen, hit his head, and fell into a coma where he died a week later.
In 8th grade I was sitting awake one night, reading my book (Simon vs the homosapiens agenda, 10/10 would reccomend) and I got this string feeling that I was gonna die the next day. Like I was freaking out, writing a makeshift will, whatever when I texted one of my friends and told her. She responded “oh yeah, this dude threatened to shoot yo the school tomorrow”. I had not heard of this before then but I said to myself that I was gonna finish the book before I die no matter what… so I did. There was not a shooting the next day but a bunch of people left early and my only thought was “I have to stay to protect my friend”.
These are more recent and a lot less weird. So at the beginning of the pandemic (February ish, there weren’t any cases in my state), I was going to this church event/concert. While I was there waiting, the crowd began to gather so I just kinda noped out and went to the bathroom and started having a panic attack. The next day I felt sick, like REALLY sick. And I was sick for ~2 weeks, coughing, not being able to breathe, runny nose and congestion like you wouldn’t belive. Later my doctors said i most likely had COVID and my mom said God was trying to keep me from infecting more people. Lastly, I was at another church event (again, what is it with me and church events?) and I was hit in the head really hard during a game. I felt woozy and my head hurt a lot so I sat down for a bit and went home early. The next day we had a lake retreat for a day and all the boa ta we were gonna use for tubing either fell through or broke the day of. They said it was the first time in 20 years anything like this happened. So I didn’t go tubing, which is a shame cause I love it but when I do I go HARD, like I have a death wish levels. (I actually got a concussion from it one time and a girl that went to the lake a few days before us had also gotten a concussion from tubing…) the next day I started feeling foggy and my head hurt with light and stuff so I realized I had a concussion but my only thought was “God made it so the boat wouldn’t work so I wouldn’t be dumb and get hurt worse”.
Happy Valentine’s Day @redeadepression! I was your secret cupid for this year’s @rdr-secret-cupid. I hope you like the piece I made for you.
After brainstorming for a few days I remembered a quote from Martin Luther King, and I was inspired to do a piece based on that quote, as I thought it really suited John’s final minutes. And sorry for being a bit late.
[ID: Two pages of fan comics for Undertale. The first page has a black background and has two panels. In the first panel, Frisk is crying and hugging Sans, who is entirely in silhouette except for his smile. On either side, stained glass windows with the delta rune can be seen. The second panel shows Frisk in the same position, except this time jolting backwards in alarm. Sans’ silhouette is now red, and five huge red bones protrude from Frisk’s back. The second page is a full panel spread. The camera is looking down on a scene of Sans standing over Frisk’s body. Sans is smiling and his left eye is glowing blue. Frisk is lying face down on the ground, with many bloody bones protruding from their back and a pool of blood beneath them on the floor. Sans says: “Get dunked on! If we’re really friends… you won’t come back.” Sans’ dialogue is in Comic Sans and all lowercase. End ID]
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geeeeeeettttt dunked on!!! frankly, it’s only karma for the number of times you’ve betrayal-killed other monsters, frisk.
This is not a headcanon, and may be considered a controversial idea, but rather than looking at a piece of fictionalized media as a factual reference source, we as a fandom need to separate the source material (aka the strike) from the fictionalized media (the movie and stage production). If you would like to include more women in your fanfiction or productions, you do you, go right ahead, but don’t claim historic accuracy. If you are looking to romanticize the poverty and hardship the boys went through by reducing them all down to children, this blog is not going to give you the basis for that.
When wanting women and girls to be included among the historic newsboy strike or among fandom spaces, we need to acknowledge that our labor laws we have today in the US were created based on the abuse and the deaths of millions of lower class, primarily immigrant women who worked in factories and sweatshops. Women were the ones to effect change in strikes, to hold the picket lines, to bring attention to the injustices that were faced.
Just one example, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory tragedy, of the 146 deaths, 123 of those were women. They were literally locked inside a burning building, and forced to jump out of a 12-14 story building or be suffocated or burned to death. This history is horrifying. It makes my stomach hurt just to think about it, because at the end of the day, realistically, many of us on this website would have historically been there, working 14-18 hour days for pennies.
As for divorcing the source material from the show or movie, the newsboys lost their strike. No matter what the musical may say. They only got one of their demands, and at the end of the day, it took adults to make the changes. This is a much more depressive view of the events than the musical portrays. When studying history, it is important to keep in mind that even if you do not like how something turned out, you can not deny it. You can not change something just because it does not fit how you would like it.
The newsboys should not be romanticized. Hundreds, close to a thousand, of CHILDREN, CHILDREN died each year as newsboys. And that is not counting those that fell sick or were injured in other jobs. Boys living in the lodging houses who passed were placed into blank pine boxes, without their names attached, without anyone there to mourn them and their small pine boxes were stacked in wagons just high enough to not tip on their way to mass burials. Here is the source for those of you who want to read, unfortunately, it’s behind a paywall that I get access to through my work. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3790564?seq=1
This stuff is depressing as F&%#. And I’m sorry for this long post but it needed to be said. Though Newsies is a musical, it is not a Disney-perfect story.
One time when I worked at the Dollar Tree a man came in with a little boy and he said to me, “This is my adopted son. He’s autistic.”
He told me this story. “When he got to be about 4 years old his mother realized he was growing up autistic and she didn’t want to raise him any more. So she drove out to the middle of nowhere and pulled over on the side of the highway and put him out of the car. On her way back in to town she was driving behind a van with a two story ladder tied on top. The ladder got loose and slid through her windshield, killing her instantly. They found her head in the backseat.”
I was like “your total is 13.95”
lies, ill be so invested in hearing the rest of that story
The rain is mercilessly pounding against me, cold and bitter and hard as it soaks me completely, chilling me to my core in the night-time wind that gushes through the trees here. It’s cold, so very cold.
But I can’t stop running.
I can barely see 10 feet in front of me, and that makes every single tree root a potentially fatal hazard. My feet are screaming in the shoes I’m wearing, simple black pumps that are absolutely not designed for sprinting through dense woodland after sunset. It’s very dark, in combination with the clouds that block the moon completely from view, as well as the night sky a deep black above and beyond those same clouds. I have no point of reference for where I am even going, I barely even know where I am.
My feet are in control, taking me anywhere, trying to get me away from there.
My lungs are on fire, and my breathing is deep and ragged from my constant and current exertion. I can’t seem to run fast enough, and I feel my heart beating furiously in my chest. My legs feel heavier and heavier with every step I force myself to take in such quick succession.
The man behind me is getting closer. I can hear him.
My feet crunched the leaves and twigs on the forest floor, all damp with the pouring rain yet still barely audible above the rumble of thunder in the distance.
I daren’t look back, it would only slow me down. My only chance is to outrun him. I can’t stop, I won’t stop, I need to keep going!
I can hear him yelling through the environmental chaos at me, but I can’t make out a single word that he’s shouting at me. I don’t want him to get any closer for me to find out. He knows, he knows who I am. He knows, and he wants to take advantage of that. He wants to take me away, send me back, but I don’t want to!
The woodland thinned out a little as I sprinted straight, not noticing the dip in the ground until it was too late. I hadn’t expected the drop – it wasn’t much of a drop – but it was enough to cause me to cry out in surprise. I ended up with my foot submerged in a shallow stream, and I felt my ankle land awkwardly against a rock. Shock from the cold and a sharp pain coursed through me, but it did not stop me. Not because I wanted to, because I needed to.
I was out of the stream within another step yet the momentary hesitation had slowed me down, and that was a few golden seconds that I could not afford to waste. I hated the feeling of my wet feet, I’ll get ill if I don’t – no. Not important. I’ll die, let alone get ill, if he catches me!
Splashes behind me barely a second later told me that he was right there, having just crossed the stream too. I can’t even process what the environment directly in front of me is like because all I can think about is how close he is now. I had not gone far, and I was struggling to breathe now. No amount of casual training with Anja had prepared me for this, and the already waning power of my adrenaline has only gotten me so far.
Not far enough.
I was still fighting to stay ahead of the man, but when I felt a brutal hand pull at the back of my shirt, and I screamed.
“I’ve got you now, you little –!“ I can hear him growl into my ear, something sharp at my side, and the way his voice sent a shiver through me in combination with the bitter air was almost unbearable.
His violent attempt to pull me to a halt, and my own attempt at keeping running, was thwarted by me losing my footing completely. I somehow escaped his grip – at the expense of tumbling down the hill completely out of control.
He seemed to fall immediately after me, but I couldn’t tell. I had screwed my eyes shut, trying to fight back the dizziness from the beating my body was taking. Hitting every single rock and branch. Thankfully no trees.
It’s a brief stumble, but still enough to wind me once the slope levels off.
As I finally roll to a stop at the bottom, well and truly battered by the fall, covered in dirt and soaked with rain, I expect to hear my pursuer recover faster than I and grab me, to try and take me away.
But it doesn’t happen.
I look around for him, and he’s some five feet away from me, behind me, shaking and convulsing, lying on his back staring up at the sky, not knowing or caring that I’m even here. There’s an awful gurgling sound and it takes me a few moments to realise what it is.
As I get up to my feet and step closer, looking over him, I can see clearly what is causing the awful sound.
The man is clutching at his throat, eyes wide with panic and coughing up blood so fast I’m surprised he hasn’t choked. I see the blade embedded in his throat, deep and deadly.
I can feel the colour drain from my face, and my vision dims with a fuzzy feeling, like I’m going to pass out. My legs give in beneath me and I collapse to my knees clutching my stomach. My insides churn and twist and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I can’t look away, somehow. Watching him bleed out in front of me, those awful sounds as he tries to breathe, to speak – something.
The man’s convulsions suddenly stop, and he stills, the blood from that gaping wound spreading onto the ground where he lay, unmoving, lifeless.
Dead.
I can’t hold it back anymore, and I retch up what little I had eaten earlier. My hands are shaking so hard that I grip onto the grass to try and stop them trembling, but even then I can’t.
My throat hurts with my wrecked sobs that I manage to choke up after spitting up all the bile. It hurts, and even breathing hurts here.
I can’t believe that just happened. I can’t believe it.
I killed a man.
What did I -? Why -?
I didn’t mean to do it, but… I didn’t know he had a knife! I didn’t know he would – I didn’t know he would fall like that, that he would –
The crack of lightning that strikes, and the deep rumble of thunder jolts me back to my senses, clearing my thoughts enough to realise I am still in a lot of trouble.
I stumble backwards, trying to get to my feet without looking at the man’s fresh corpse before I throw up again.
I’m lost, I don’t know where I am, I don’t even know where I can go to from here, but I have to keep going.
Theres a serenity that comes with taking care of smth dead like yes this is how its always been and will always be. Something dies and something alive takes care of it - there is no other way
⇝ childe x gn!reader (can be read as platonic/romantic)
⇝warnings:implied suicidal thoughts, multiple possible impliedmental illnesses.
liyue has never felt so dull.
your legs shift beneath you, the fabric of your clothing catching on the splinters of wood that stick out from the railing. the wind sifts past you then, a cool breeze that makes goosebumps rise on your skin; desperately chasing warmth. it finds none.
the ground is far, perhaps too close. the cracks in the pavement, oh so subtle, scream at you. memories of moments long ago; the fall of a brick, heavy, easily shattering the concrete. shattering itself in the process. you wonder, just briefly, how easy it’d be to tip over the edge, how simple it would be to do the same—how simultaneously excrutiating but painlessit would feel, making contact with the ground.
the breeze picks up, much like a warning. the careful slamof the entrance to northland bank feels like a slap to the face—what time is it? what are you doing here? you need to leave, you need to get away before it’s too late, before—
“what are you doing out here, comrade?”
“looking,” the answer comes too quickly as you wave up at the sky.
childe spares only the smallest of glances towards the view; nothing new, liyue always looks like this so early in the morning. he, however, can focus clearly on the intent behind your words—it’s not unfamiliar, the way your voice rises in pitch. he knows why, hell, he knows all too well. looking,you’d said?he grimaces, looking for? looking at? perhaps you’re not really looking at all.
“hmm.”
you try not to cringe; old habits die hard. childe is as embarrassing as ever.
pairing + wc: parental erasermic + reader, midoriya izuku x reader in future chapters just not in prologue; 3.7k
specific tw: discussions of human trafficking + child abuse by villains, mention of foster system, mentions of death, mentions of chronic pain, collapsing buildings. see masterpost for genre + general tw.
notes: i’m rlly happy to be re-releasing this w gender neutral reader + some minor tweaks to the style! <3 pls enjoy!
your chamber is cold, dimly lit, and soundproofed. there’s very little for you to draw energy from, but there’s no worry of you getting too cold – the faint lights, far above, are enough for you to generate heat using your quirk. just not enough for you to get out, and just enough to make you strain as you force your quirk to keep running.
sensei stops outside your chamber – you can feel the buzz of electricity in his cells, and you press your tiny hand to the wall, trying to figure out exactly where he is on the other side of the one-way mirror. the warmth of your hand drags against its cold surface, a blur of barely-there fingerprints, the lines of your palm smeared with the motion.
