Discrimination - Blog Posts

I think the reason a lot of leftists struggle with disability justice is that they haven't moved past the concept that discrimination isn't bad because it's objectively "wrong." yes, sexists are objectively wrong when they try to claim women are dumber than men. yes, antisemites are objectively wrong that jewish people are inherently greedy and run the state. yes, racists are wrong when they try to claim that white people are the superior race. and so on.

but then with disabled people, there are a lot of objective truths to the discrimination we face. people with IDs/LDs do fall behind and struggle with certain concepts. physically disabled people are often weaker and less capable of performing demanding tasks than able bodied people. many of us with mental illnesses are more reckless and less responsible. a lot of us are dependent on others and do not contribute much "worth".

and guess what? disabled people still deserve a place in the world. disabled people still deserve the supports they need. because they are people, and that should be enough to support them and believe they deserve a place at the table.

if your only rebuttal against discrimination is its objective inaccuracies, you are meeting bigots where they are at. you are validating the very concept that if and when people are truly incapable of being equal to the majority, that means they are worth less. this causes some leftists to then try to deny the objective realities of disabled people and/or become ableist themselves.

your rallying behind marginalized groups should start and end with the fact that people are completely worthy of life and equity, because they are fellow human beings and that should, frankly, be enough.

Reading about how intersex athletes have been treated is so fucking horrible. The countless lies and human rights violations. The discrimination and how it's ruined the lives of so many people is so awful. There has been no apologies from any athletics comptetions or organizations. They have blood on their hands. Just a tw for intersexism and mental health issues and suicide in the next paragraph because it can get pretty heavy.

Annet Negesa, who was a middle distance runner. She was suddenly barred from competing due to her hormones. No one told her why. She was then told she needed to take medication to lower her testosterone, then what she was told was switched. She was lied to about a surgery that she was told was like an injection and would let her compete again. She woke up with scars and had had a gonadectomy. That violation of basic human rights and medical ethics combined with inadequate postsurgical care basically ended her career. She deserves justice. She deserves apologies from the Olympics and everyone single doctor who was involved in it, and compensation and the promise that it should never have happened and will never happen again. She. Needs. Justice.

Pratima Gaonkar needs justice. She was a rising track and field star. After forced sex verificatiom she killed herself. The way media and news treated her after her death was disgusting. She deserves and needs justice. Her family deserves justice.

Santhi Soundarajan had her medals stripped and was treated as an outcast after forced sex verification showed she had androgen insensitivity syndrome. She was treated as an outcast, her gender was mocked. She's spoken out about how much discrimination she's faced, and how badly she's been treated. She now works as a coach, but was barred from competing. She deserves justice.

Caster Semenya deserves justice. Francine Niyonsaba deserves justice. Margaret Wambui deserves justice. Barbra Banda deserves justice. Beatrice Masilingi and Christine Mboma deserve justice.

The racism and intersexism and horrible human rights violations and medical abuse these women have faced for the supposed crime of being intersex and good at a sport is horrible. They deserve justice, but the organizations that perpetuate these atrocities don't seem to care. It's so fucking horrible.

Two of a Kind

by: fairystar111

Rating: Gen

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Summary:

Everyone make mistakes

We all have our moments of weakness whether it be due to a bad headspace or loneliness

We try our best to rectify those misjudgment's

But some aren't as willing to forget

No some think that decisions are forever and aren't ever willing to let go

Lord help those stuck in their clutches...

Characters: Spinner | Suuichi Iguchi, Asui Tsuyu

CW/Tags: Kidnapping, Lima Syndrome, Dehumanization, Hurt no Comfort, Mutant Discrimination, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulative League of Villains, Brainwashing, Possessive Behavior.

Start/Previous/Next

All his life Shuichi Iguchi has never had someone truly understand him. He was born a heteromorph to two “normal” parents and was subsequently dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage. They didn't even give him a chance when he was dropped off at a day old. The orphanage he spent his childhood in treated him sub-human because of his mutation. He was fed scraps off the floor like an animal while the other children were fed at dinner at the dining table with plates and silverware. While the other children were dolled up shown off to families looking to adopt he was hidden in the attic only allowed out once all the guests had left. 

He was lucky the orphanage was required to send him to school by law; he doubted they would have ever let him go if not. Though school wasn't any better, he had an endless supply of bullies just for being born different and teachers who turned a blind eye to the harassment. His teachers treated him like he was stupid often not listening to a word he said or answering any of his questions. He often had to be his own teacher throughout his schooling. He struggled a lot but managed to get good grades in hopes that after he aged out of the system he would be able to attend university and leave his past behind him. He probably would have been able to pass highschool and get into a good university if it wasn't for the incident.

One day after a long day at school he had walked into his bedroom ready to pass out only to find the headmistress of the orphanage there. She had thrown a button up shirt and pair of slacks at him and told him to get ready. He had initially gotten excited thinking that they had finally found a family of heterotrophs that wanted to adopt since those are quite rare due to the low percentage of heteromorphs in Japan. He had gotten ready quickly and followed her to the main office where interviews are held only to find himself completely horrified. 

The “couple” that wanted to adopt him weren't heteromorphs, they weren't even a couple and they didn't want him as their son. They were rich investors who wanted to put him in a new exotic animal exhibition they were creating. Apparently they have been all over the world collecting children for their exhibit. They wanted him to be part of the rainforest section. They explained to the headmistress, talking as if he wasn't there, that they find it easier to acclimate children into the exhibits rather than adults and would like him to be their gecko. The woman had found their idea delightful and had signed the papers without even asking his opinion. When he had spoken up and protested the decision all the people occupying the office acted like they couldn’t hear or understand him. After the pair left he was told to pack his belongings and that they would be here for him the following morning. That night he packed what little belongings he had and escaped through the third story window using his quirk to scale down the walls. He was done being treated like a pet. He was not going to grow up in a glass cage be cooed and awed at by rich elites in a foreign country. He abandoned the name Shuichi Iguchi and set out to start a new life as Spinner.

He spent a couple of years homeless resorting to small acts of petty crime to get by since no one wanted to hire a mutant and when he did actually want to buy anything at a store they would mark up the price once they saw his features. Once he was sixteen he heard of a group wanting to change the world for people like him and with nothing better to do he joined. It was the best decision he ever made. He helped win a war, changed society, and gained a family but sometimes he still got a little lonely looking at the others.

He never had a place to belong until the league and he doesn't want to sound ungrateful; he really does love them all. They're the first real family he’s ever had, it's just they don’t understand. And he's happy that they don't, really he is, he would never want them to be treated like he was. But they just don’t get what it's like to be treated like an actual animal as if they were a pet that could be bought or sold or they wouldn't be doing it to their kids. Hawks somewhat understands but the difference is he is pretty. He’s in the lucky percentage of heteromorphs that are pretty enough to be considered socially acceptable. He doesn’t understand what it's like for those like Spinner. That is why despite his better judgment he decided to take a child too. He saw the little frog girl and thought she would understand him in a way none of the others could. He never thought things would turn out this way. He was so sorry.

=====

When Asui awoke she found herself in a large plain room. She was in a large bed wearing the same clothes she was taken in. As she looked around the room she couldn't find anything particularly evil about it. The room was fairly unremarkable aside from the monitor on the wall. It wasn’t a concrete cell nor the lab of a mad scientist like she had been expecting; it was more like a plain guest bedroom. While that is good she can't help but wonder why she was brought here and what they were going to do to her. She decided to be rational rather than panic about what was to come and called out to her captor. Better to get things over quickly than stew in her anxiety.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Kero”

Soon after the door opened revealing the green gecko man that had taken her.

“Hi Asui, my name is Spinner. Um, I'm going to be taking care of you now.” The man spoke awkwardly, trailing off into silence and he fidgeted with his claws.

“If you don’t mind me asking: why me? Why are you doing this?” She asked. Her captor almost seemed nervous or uncomfortable in a way. It was strange.

“Well in your files I saw that you were also a heteromorph and thought we might get along. I’ve never had any siblings and wanted one so I picked you.” Spinner winced, when you say it out loud it sounds so bad. It sounds like he went shopping for a pet. It's not like that though he promises. It couldn't be. He would never do that. 

“Oh…” While it is sad the young man never had any siblings of his own she can't stay here she has a family to go back to. Who is going to watch over her little brother and sister while her parents are working? Who is going to help her little brother with his homework? Who is going to take her little sister to her ballet lessons? She needs to find a way back to them. 

“Anyway I left the room plain so you could decorate any way you want. I didn't know any of your preferences and didn't want to assume. We can order things together later if you'd like.” The man offered.

“Sure, kero.” The girl croaked moving her legs to rest under chin when she felt a strange tug. She lifted up the covers to see a padded cuff strapped to her ankle.

“Oh sorry about the leg. Shiggy and the others said it was mandatory to tie you guys down at first as a precaution.” 

When he had first brought up the idea of taking a kid himself. The others had been very skeptical of his ability to take care of a child since they still thought of him as one. They lectured him about all the work and training that goes into having a child. And gave him a lot of advice that he is secretly going to ignore. He’s never been a fan of dehumanizing and demeaning behavior and would never do it to another person let alone to Asui. But they were very strict stating that if he did not follow their rules he was not going to be allowed to train the girl himself. So he decided he would follow them but just barely enough that he wasn't technically breaking any rules but also not being terrible to Asui.

“It’s…alright. kero”  It's really not though. How is she going to escape with a chain constantly tying her down? She's not a powerhouse like Bakugo or Todoroki; she can't destroy the chain with her own power. She’ll just have to stay calm and wait for an opportunity to arise. Who knows how long that will take?

“I’ll take it off as soon as I can, I promise. I didn't want to restrain you in the first place but the others said it was necessary for me to do so or they would take over your training.” Spinner explained, emphasizing how much he did not want for that to happen.

The others tended to treat him kinda childishly and could be a bit overbearing. Probably because he joined when he was sixteen so they did help raise him a bit but they tended to treat him like a kid. If he was struggling with a task one of the others would always be happy to butt in and help him or do it for him. He did not want them touching his little sister. While he loves his family, their methods are harsh and borderline torturous. He does not want any of that near Asui.

“Can I be alone for a little bit? Please? Kero I’m still a bit tired from the sedative.” The girl lied, she just needed a moment to wrap her head around her current situation. 

“Of course,” the man said as he walked toward the door before muttering a small “Welcome home.”

Huh she hadn’t expected him to actually say yes. Her captor is very strange.

=====

Over the next couple of days they settle into a sort of routine. Her day starts with her alarm going off at roughly around nine thirty each morning, signaling it's time to get up. She then either takes a morning bath in the huge bathtub, seriously it was like a pool, or spends time in the sauna hydrating her skin after hours of sleep. Spinner had said he had gotten it all specially made for her amphibian traits, so whenever she feels her skin drying out she can pop in and out of the water at ease. Then she gets changed into whatever she’d like. Since Spinner made sure the temperature of her room is always very warm even though it is winter she can wear a t-shirt and shorts if she’d like.  

Then they have breakfast together and she does her online schooling. The man had told her that they have an actual school where all the kids they took will go once they are settled in. And that if it was up to him she would already be learning there but the others would be too suspicious of his training if he put her in school so soon. So for now she will be doing online learning until a believable amount of time has passed to convince the others she is fully trained. That was something she found quite odd about her captor. All her life she had assumed all villains were evil and found it easy to do evil things but Spinner doesn't seem to like to at all. In fact he’s very vocal about being against the behavior of the rest of his family. Despite kidnapping her and taking her away from her family he does not actually want to treat her badly. It hurt that she found it hard to hate the man. He wasn’t evil, he was just lonely and in search of companionship even if he went the wrong way about getting it.

After school she is allowed to do whatever she wants and if Spinner is not busy he’ll come over to hang out with her. They usually play video games together or bake something together. In the evening he lets her help make dinner most days since the young man is kind of a mess in the kitchen. He gave her lots of things to entertain herself with: a computer, tv, game consoles, a phone though it couldn't call anyone except the man himself. Despite having anything she could ever want she found herself longing for her real family more than anything. 

The more time that went on with no chances to escape appearing the harder she found it to indulge in the man's whims. She wanted to get along with the man she really did. She honestly felt a little bad for him; the only reason he took her was because he was lacking connection with other heteromorphs. Which she could relate to up until UA she had been the only heteromorph in both her elementary and middle school. 

She wanted to help him because at heart she is a kind person but it was hard to play and laugh along with someone who is holding you against your will. She wouldn't say she hated the man, he reminded her of her relationship with her little siblings except she’s the younger one this time. He was a nice caring older brother, it's just they aren't really family. This isn’t her home. He abducted her. He took her away from her siblings and parents. She just wanted to go home.

=====

As the weeks turned to months Spinner watched as his tadpole became more and more subdued. Whenever they spoke she sounded so sad and whenever he would check on her through the monitor when he was away she was always crying. He thought if he waited it out maybe it would get better but the longer she stayed here the more depressed she got. He thought she might be feeling a bit homesick, maybe UA had had better facilities that suited her amphibian needs he could copy. He decided to look into her past to see if there was anything he could do to maybe make her feel more at home. 

Now he’ll admit his decision to adopt the girl was a spur of the moment kinda deal. He had been feeling lonely and saw her picture in the list of students and decided to pick her without researching her past. He had assumed she was just like him and that she probably came from a foster home like he did. He was so wrong, he thought as he stared horrified at the file.

He had made a mistake. 

She’s not like him. She has a wonderful family with two mutant parents and two little siblings. He took her from them. His eyes filled with tears as he realized he was no better than the people that tried to buy him as a kid. He should have listened. He was not ready for a kid. 

He had to make things right. He had to send her back even if it meant he would be alone again. Even if he loved his little sister. He had to let her go. 

=====

Spinner paced around the room as he tried to hype himself up to talk to his family. He just knows they are never going to let him live this down. He’s going to be getting told I told you so by everyone for the rest of his foreseeable future. He honestly already knows how they are going to react to his request but he’s hoping for the best. His family are very serious when it comes to those they consider part of the family. Once you are in you aren't ever allowed to leave. But she hasn't been here for very long so maybe they won’t be too possessive.

Earlier he had asked Shiggy to call for a meeting so everyone could come listen to what he was going to announce. He didn't want any of them to assume Asui had escaped and have them drag her back to the mansion when he lets her go.

He felt like his nerves were connected to a live wire as he watched each member of his family walk through the door before seating themselves in the large sofas in the living room.

“So Spinner, what did you want to talk to us about?” Shigaraki asked, as the heir, all requests regarding his family have to go through him before they are finalized. A family is built upon order and it is his job to bring rules and structure to their home. 

“Do you need help with Tsu-chan?!” Toga squealed hoping she could get a peak at the only other little girl in their family besides her and Ochaco of course. “Ooh pick me! Pick me!”

“Not quite. I wanted to ask if I could send Asui back to her family. I made a mistake bringing her here. She’s not happy and I don’t want to keep her somewhere she is miserable.” Spinner mumbled eyes falling to the ground not wanting to see the looks of disappointment he knew would be on their faces.

“You don't have to give her up just because she unhappy, dummy!” Toga giggled.

“Yeah we know an amazing doctor that can help with that if you’d like! He’ll make her brand spankin’ new, better than ever!” Twice added.

“Spinner dear, are you sure about this? We can always find a way to make her happy here.” Magne asked gently, concerned for both the young man and the girl. 

“No thanks, I'd rather not keep her away from her loving family.”  Spinner grimaced, he knew they would suggest something like that. Asui is not a pet, she will not be trained and conditioned to like something she does not. He won’t allow it. 

“We are her family now” Keigo argued, mostly because he wanted to keep as many playmates as he could for his chicks. The more kids around the happier his babies will be.

“You can't just take our niece away from us. Give her away for all I care!” Twice shouted.

“We haven't even gotten to meet her yet!” Toga pouted.

“We could always just train her for you and give you the finished product. If you don’t want to see all the rough parts of training.” Dabi offered. 

“Yeah I have time,” Hawks chirped.

“I’m always happy to help!” Mr Compress added.

“No! That's not what I want at all! You’re not listening!” Spinner shouted tears of frustration starting to accumulate in his red eyes. This meeting was not going at all how he planned. 

“Alright settle down!” Tomura barked at the other member before continuing. “You guys know that Spinner has always been a bit softer than the rest of us. If this is what he wants then so be it.” 

“Thank you Tomu,” Spinner answered, only mildly offended. He didn't think it was soft to not want to be a horrible person but whatever… 

“How can I say no to my first little brother. I will allow this on the condition that she is monitored to make sure she won’t start up any trouble and sent through the rehabilitation program. She can complete it in her family home but she must do it like the rest of her classmates.” Tomura answered though he doubts she will be able to finish any of it before she is right back in their arms. 

“That's fine I can send my guard to watch over her.” He should probably save the I don’t want to keep my guard conversation for next time considering how bad this went. For now he can send the red head away and pretend he doesn’t also belong to him.

“Anything else?” the pale haired man asked.

“No, that's all. Thanks again Tomura.” With that said the reptilian fled the room rushing back to his floor to make the preparations for Asui’s departure not hearing the conversation he left in his wake.

“Are we seriously just going to let him do this?” Dabi questioned his brother. In all his time staying with All for One and Tomura they have never just let anyone they consider family leave just like that. 

“That girl is part of our family. We can't just let her go.” Mr.Compress argued.

“I don't want Tsu-chan to leave,” Toga whined.

“Spinner loves her like she’s his own. She can’t leave, he'll be heartbroken.” Magne added.

“He hasn't even put any real effort into training her.” Keigo pointed out.

“I know I've been watching him. He hasn't been listening to the rules we gave him. This whole situation is the result of that. This will be a lesson in itself. Once he lets the girl go she'll never come back willingly. He’ll have to resort to our methods and learn to listen properly to what we say to get her back.” Tomura explained. Family is forever you can never leave once you are a part of it. The girl will be back whether she and Spinner like it or not. 

=====

Over the next couple of days the man dwelled on how to tell the girl the news without breaking down. He didn't want her to go but it's for the best. She actually has a family that loves her and must want her back. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves before he opened the door and walked to her room. He looked around the room for the girl only to spot a lump underneath a pile of blankets, gently moving up and down releasing a sniffle or hushed sob every few moments. 

“Asui can you come out for a moment? We need to talk.” The girl remained a stubborn lump underneath the blankets.

“Come on tadpole, please?” he said resting his hand on the girl, “Alright you can stay where you are just listen.”

“I know you're sad, you're hurt, you hate it here and it's all my fault. If i hadn't selfishly decided to live out my fantasy of having a sibling this would have never happened. I’m so sorry Asui, I never meant to hurt you. I was reckless and stupid and didn't realize I was taking you away from your family.” 

“Then why did you do it? Kero” The girl croaked, voice strained from her sobbing.

“I just wanted someone to understand me. I wanted to be close to someone else who knew what it was like to be treated like an animal. I didn't realize by taking you away against your will I was treating you like that.” 

“Just leave me alone. I don't want your empty apologies.” The girl snapped; she was sick of this; she just wanted to go home. 

“You can leave. I promise I won't stop you.”

“Just if you ever find it in your heart to forgive me. Which you don't have to forgive me. I know I was terrible to you. Just if you ever do please visit. I promise I won't try to keep you. We don’t have to be siblings. We can just be friends. Just…don't forget me please.” Spinner cried, despite his mistakes he really did come to love the girl like she was his own blood.. 

There was a long pause before the girl mumbled “Alright kero”.

And with that conversation over they started the process of moving her out and then in less than a day's time she was gone. He was alone again.

=====

Spinner hasn’t left his room in two months. The others come over every so often to try and cheer him up or offer solutions to his “problem” but he just ignores them. He deserves to be in pain, this is how Asui felt when she was here. Why should he get to be happy when he made her miserable?

He knows the others are going to start to get restless with him ignoring them but he doesn’t care. He doesn't want to see them or interact with their brainwashed pets. He doesn't care anymore, he just wants to be alone though he doubts his suffocating family will allow him. 

He’s allowed one more month to mope before his family gets fed up and forces him out of his floor. He’s been forced to move into Magne’s floor so someone can watch over him and make sure he doesn't spiral. He continues to rot away in his new room despite his family's pestering. 

Until one day Magne knocked on his door announcing that he had a visitor. He had initially been annoyed until he realized Magne would never refer to their family as a visitor and his family usually just barged into his space with no forewarning it had to be Asui. He ran out the door only to find a sickening imposter in her place.

“Hi Spinner-nii! I'm back to stay with you! I didn't like life on the outside and decided to come back home.” The girl spoke vibrantly but her eyes were foggy and glazed over like she wasn't quite all there. She had a couple of suitcases with her and a visibly uncomfortable Kirishima. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked bewildered. The girl's tone and speech were completely different to what she used to sound like. It was off and almost robotic. This was not the tadpole he remembered.

“I couldn't stand being away from you. I hate the place you sent me to and the people that lived there. I wanted to come home with nii-san so here I am!” Asui pouted up at the man like she was taught.

He knows that's not true. The girl loved her family, especially her younger siblings. She would have never willingly left them behind like this. This has his family's “help” written all over it. For now he'll just swallow his pride and keep her until he can find a way to get her out. God this is all his fault if he had never put his mark on her she would have been able to live a happy normal life.

“I'm glad you're home,” The gecko man replied through gritted teeth and a tight smile.

I wish I never took you. I'm so sorry. I'll make this right, I promise. I’ll find a way to get you home…all of you.

Start/Previous/Next

Note To Society #32

Nobody should ever have to fear public officers because of their race. That’s fucking insanity.

Note To Society #27

Racism absolutely exists, and there are thousands of articles and videos out there that prove it. Before arguing that a minority (especially one you aren’t a part of) doesn’t suffer from discrimination and oppression, do your research and educate yourself. Just because you don’t experience it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.

My first animation I know it’s really short only 22 seconds actually. But I hope you guys like it anyway（´∀`）.

My very last comic for The Nib! End of an era! Transcription below the cut. instagram / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my book / redbubble

The first event I went to with GENDER QUEER was in NYC in 2019 at the Javits Center.

So many of the people who came to my signing were librarians, and so many of them said the same thing: "I know exactly who I want to give this to!" Maia: "Thank you for helping readers find my book!" While working on the book, I was genuinely unsure if anyone outside of my family and close friends would read it. But the early support of librarians and two American Library Association awards helped sell two print runs in first year.

Since then, GENDER QUEER been published in 8 languages, with more on the way: Spanish, Czech, Polish, French, Italian, Norwegian, Portugese and Dutch.

It has also been the most banned book in the United States for the past two years. The American Library Association has tracked an astronomical increase in book challenges over the past few years. Most of these challenges are to books with diverse characters and LGBTQ themes. These challenges are coming unevenly across the US, in a pattern that mirrors the legislative attacks on LGBTQ people. The Brooklyn Public Library offered free eCards to anyone in the US aged 13-21, in an effort to make banned books more available to young readers. A teacher in Norman, Oklahoma gave her students the QR code for the free eCard and lost her job. Summer Boismeir is now working for the Brooklyn Public Library. Hoopla and Libby/Overdrive, apps used to access digital library books, are now banned in Mississippi to anyone under 18. Some libraries won’t allow anyone under 18 to get any kind of library card without parental permission. When librarians in Jamestown, Michigan refused to remove GENDER QUEER and several other books, the citizens of the town voted down the library’s funding in the fall 2022 election. Without funding, the library is due to close in mid-2024. My first event since covid hit was the American Library Association conference in June 2022 in Washington, DC. Once again, the librarians in my signing line all had similar stories for me: “Your book was challenged in our district" "It was returned to the shelf!" "It was removed from the shelf..." "It was moved to the adult section."

Over and over I said: "Thank you. Thank you for working so hard to keep my book in your library. I’m sorry you had to defend it, but thank you for trying, even if it didn't work." We are at a crossroads of freedom of speech and censorship. The future of libraries, both publicly funded and in schools, are at stake. This is massively impacting the daily lives of librarians, teachers, students, booksellers, and authors around the country. In May 2023, I read an article from the Washington Post analyzing nearly 1000 of the book challenges from the 2021-2022 school year. I was literally on route to a festival to talk about book bans when I read a startling statistic. 60% of the 1000 book challenges were submitted by just 11 people. One man alone was responsible for 92 challenges. These 11 people seem to have made submitting copy-cat book challenges their full-time hobby and their opinions are having an outsized ripple effect across the nation. WE NEED TO MAKE THE VOICES SUPPORTING DIVERSE BOOKS AND OPPOSING BOOK BANS EVEN LOUDER. If you are able too, show up for your library and school board meetings when book challenges are debated. Send supportive comments and emails about the Pride book display and Drag Queen story hours. If you see a display you like– for Banned Book Week, AAPI Month, Black History Month, Disability Awareness Month, Jewish holidays, Trans Day of Remembrance– compliment a librarian! Make sure they feel the love stronger than the hate <3

Maia Kobabe, 2023

The Nib

“The most disrespected person in America is the Black Woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black Woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black Woman.”

-Malcolm X (1962)

(Originally made on insta by @michaelabalogun)

[Multiple people have pointed out that the Sojourner Truth speech isn’t accurate. Interesting none of you bother recommending other resources to spread awareness of what it’s like to be a Black Woman while you are pulling attention away from the main point–Black Women need to be recognized. If you have such a problem with how accurate the speech is, just know I looked into it and apparently she approved the second version which also expresses how she’s feeling. Let’s move on or pm me and I can list some alternatives if it’s weighing on your mind.]

not to be that one person but casting a colored actor in the role of a white character previously played by a white person isn't progressive. it's a deliberate cash grab. remakes, unnecessary sequels, and new spinoffs for characters are prone to flop. To make as much money as possible, they cast colored people in the shoes of white people. The result is widespread applause and rage on social media, which does the marketing. People who initiate boycotts inadvertently cause others to watch the show out of curiosity, and people who hail the 'progressive politics' of the show on social media influence others with similar values to watch the show.

DON'T BE TRASH

T - Transphobic

R - Racist

A - Ableist

S - Sexist

H - Homophobic

nothing hurts more than finally understanding your best american girl personally

Injustice

The problem is that people have no problem with injustice as long as it's to their benefit or has no expected direct effect on them personally, and that's the problem.

It’s uncanny how similar Trump is acting like Hitler. People are now doing the Nazi salute. They’re drawing the symbol. The KKK was seen in Kentucky asking people to join them. ICE has been ripping families apart. Companies have pulled back Diversity Initiatives. We’re no longer part of WHO and there won’t be any communication from the CDC at least until February 1st. We’re being censored and the news can’t be trusted. Thousands of Americans didn’t know there were protests against Trump yesterday outside the U.S. Quotes from The Handmaid’s Tale and Anne Frank have been compared to what’s going on right now.

According to The Lemkin Institute for Genocide Studies and Prevention the U.S. has officially been given a red flag alert for Genocide.

I’m exhausted but I will never stop being angry.

If there's one thing I want you to do as the world gets colder, get kinder. They will comment on things that don't make sense just to be mad. They will start fights just to see you get mad.

They are mad. You might be mad. But you don't have to be mad at one another.

Just...don't participate in petty debates that you will never win. That aren't meant to be won. Especially as we descend again into the hellscape that is this type of rhetoric and cold world.

Be nicer to neighbors, friends, family. Take losses. Be the bigger person even when it HURTS. And when it comes to family and friends, it will. Of course don't concede your values. But don't push people away you depend on and rely on and want in your life either unless you have no choice.

Love yourself more than anyone. If there's any time to be selfish it's also now. Save your grace and ignore trolls. Ignore people and conversations and communities that don't serve you. If you have hobbies that don't serve you anymore, cut them off. Social media you don't use? Delete it.

Lastly, don't spend the next four years wishing you did more. Do more. Or do as much as you can. Your best is good enough. Stay in the moment. You don't need to dwell on the past, and you don't need to have a five year plan. Don't let the trauma of your environment shut you in. That's what I did during the last Presidency of this type, and I do regret it. Because I burnt out.

I love you. One day we will be able to love and live with reckless abandon again. With freedoms and liberties assured. Until then, we are here for one another, and we will get through it.

We did it once, we will do it again.

CW: This is a vent post.

Someone fucking blocked me because I was trying to have a civil conversation with them.

I FUCKING HATE EVERYTHING.

derangedfujoshi.tumblr.com

Cureaesthetic nasty confessional

Nene or FuMomo | 28💞 | Proud yaoi lesbian | bigender she/he | Proship/Profic Fujo | CEO or Risem and...

Why the fuck would you do this. I did NOTHING to you. ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING. I guess that's what I get for trying to ask a simple question. Wouldn't be the first time someone referred to me being gracious as "odd", and I have a feeling that both times they didn't mean it as a compliment. I'm absolutely powerless to do anything about this. That's what bothers me most. I HATE feeling powerless, because I am. I ALWAYS WILL BE. THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO BUT CRY ANYMORE. ALL OF THIS BECAUSE I SAID THAT THE IDEA OF "HUMAN EMPATHY" IS ABLEIST TO PEOPLE WITH LOW/NO EMPATHY. GUESS WHAT, FUCKER, I'M ODD AND PROUD OF IT. USE WHATEVER LABEL YOU WANT, "WEIRD", "ECCENTRIC", "STRANGE", "ABNORMAL", "R3TARD3D", IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE. I AM HERE. I AM LOUD. I AM ALIVE. AND I WON'T ALLOW MYSELF TO BE WALKED ON LIKE I AM NOTHING. This is what I get for being hopeful, for being kind, and for being passive.

Nothing.

YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

The prefix is about men because our society has deemed it masculine. If a girl sits with her legs apart she's told to stop because she is sitting like a man. If a man sits with his legs crossed he will be shamed for being to feminine. Femininity and Masculinity are social constructs made to force men and women to act in favour of certain stereotypes.

Men get hurt by sexism too. Feminism is equality for men and women. A man should be able to do what a woman can and vice-versa. This is what feminism promotes, not a women are better ideology.

You know if we're going to use "man" prefix like "mansplaining", "manspreading", "manthreading" and so on, then we should be able to use "fem" as a prefix as well like "femsplaining", "femspreading", "femthreading" and shit like that. It's only fair. And isn't feminism about equality and fairness?

But not THAT kind of equality!!1!

Okay, time for some house cleaning. If you disagree with any of these then get off my blog

Trans women are women

Trans men are men

Nonbinary people are nonbinary

Bisexuals, pansexuals, and omnisexuals are valid

Arospec and acespec people are valid

Trans women deserve to be included in women spaces

Trans lesbians deserve to be included in lesbian spaces

Trans men deserve to be included in men’s spaces

Gay trans men deserve to be included in gay spaces

Black lgbtq+ people deserve to be included in our community

Indigenous lgbtq+ people deserve to be included in our community

LGBTQ+ people of all races deserve to be included in our community

You’re never too old to transition or discover your sexuality

Respect is not given but earned

Polyamorous relationships are valid

Monogamous relationships are valid

And lastly, but sure not leastly,

IT IS NEVER OKAY TO DISCRIMINATE AGAINST SOMEONE FOR THINGS OUT OF THEIR CONTROL. RACE, SEXUALITY, GENDER IDENTITY, AGE, DISABILITY, ETC. AND THIS DOES INCLUDE DISCRIMINATION AGAINST PEOPLE SEEN AS THE STANDARDS

I pray this won’t lose me too many followers. Not because I care about followers but because I hope not many people disagree with this

Echo of Humanity

It is never great where creator is oppressed

Where girl is killed in the womb, where aspiration of women are brought to dead.

It is never great where majority dominates minority,where pluralism is not spread.

It is never great when a country plunders another country because it want again to be great.

It is never great when a human kills a human because he belongs to some superior race.

It is never great when peoples are displaced from their homeland and walls at the border is erected

It is never great when childrens are drowned crossing the sea and conscience of civlised is not shaked.

It is never great when a zealot kills an innocent bcause he feels his belief is great.

It is never great when 9 percent of world sleeps hungry and 1 percent have half the world wealth.

It is never great when a person is discriminated on gender,class,caste,colour because he is not dominantly privileged.

It is never great when conscience is at slumber and humanity is poisoned to slow death.

Seneca Village

NO. 1

The history of Seneca Village is fraught with history, opportunity, and endurance against racism and white supremacy. In 1825, a ‘‘25-year-old African American shoe shiner named Andrew Williams bought land in the middle of Manhattan, two years before slavery was abolished in New York. More free Black Americans followed, fleeing the disease and discrimination of downtown, and together they created the bustling settlement. The village was home to the most significant number of African American property owners in NY before the Civil War. Because those black men possessed property, they were allowed to vote. Irish and German immigrants could also live there, and white and black churchgoers often side-by-side.

NO. 2

As you can see, Seneca Village was a thriving community, living far from the dense population of downtown, despite NY's abolition law in 1827, discrimination severely limited the lives of the African-American populace. Seneca Village provided access to more space from the unhealthy and crowded conditions of the city. ''By 1855, there were 52 houses in Seneca Village. On maps of the area, most of the houses were identified as one-, two-, or three-story houses made out of wood. Archeological excavations uncovered stone foundations and roofing materials, indicating that they were well-built. Some of the houses were identified as shanties, meaning that they were less well-constructed. Land ownership among Black residents was much higher than that in the city as a whole: more than half owned property in 1850, five times the property ownership rate of all New York City residents at the time. Many of Seneca Village's Black residents were landowners and relatively economically secure compared to their downtown counterparts in the Little Africa neighborhood by Greenwich Village.''

NO. 3

Unfortunately, Seneca's village’s demise had to do with the construction plans of what the settlement is today, Central Park. William Cullen Bryant, ‘‘the editor for the New York Evening Post at the time, and Andrew Jackson Downing, an English landscape architect, started the park project together. The Special Committee on Parks was formed. They surveyed possible sites before selecting Seneca Village, even getting NYS officials to legislate the Central Park Act in July 1853, authorizing a board of five commissioners to start purchasing land and creating a fund to raise money and donations for the plan. Before the acquisition of Central Park, Seneca Village was referred to with derogatory and racial slurs. Advocates for Cental Park used the media to describe Seneca Village and other communities like them as ‘‘poor squatters living in shanties’’.

NO. 4

The residents fought against the city’s planning as they were legally entitled to do so as landowners. But the Central Park Act set aside the 775 acres of land in Manhattan from 59th to 106th streets between 5th and 8th avenues to create the country’s first major landscape public park. ‘‘There were roughly 1,600 inhabitants displaced throughout the area. Although landowners were compensated, many argued that their land was undervalued. Ultimately, all residents had to leave by the end of 1857.’’ The settlement was discovered in 2011 when archaeologists from Columbia University uncovered artifacts such as an iron tea kettle, a roasting pan, a stoneware beer bottle, fragments of Chinese export porcelain, and a small shoe with a leather sole and fabric upper. This article is dedicated to the people of Seneca Village and other ‘Little Africa’s’ settlements all over this country that historians and archaeologists are finding in recent times who have continuously fought against the struggles of race, class, and economic opportunities that this country’s governmental systems continuously try to sweep aside.

Artifacts and Archives: The Rediscovery… | Central Park Conservancy (centralparknyc.org)

Discriminating against people based on their religion, ethnicity, skin color, or anything else is just as wrong in the QUILTBAG community as it is anywhere else.  The ways some members of a religion use it to justify doing terrible things to other people is horrible, whether that’s Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, atheism, or anything else.  However, that does not mean that the religion itself is horrible, or that all of its followers should be blamed for those people’s actions. 

anyway here’s your reminder that lgbt muslims exist and islamophobia shouldnt be tolerated within lgbt communities!

shout out to lgbt muslims living in places where our identities are still criminalised. 

(source)

Digimon GhostGame ~ Episode 45 ~ Hiro Amankoawa (on Publimon)

(+ Speaking for an entire Fandom, Probably)

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Remus Lupin

Unlike Hagrid, Lupin, had a very hard time getting over eveything that happened to him, which is part of why I’m always very sad when I think of him. Similar to Harry and Hagrid, Lupin’s life started out with difficulty and made him more of an outcast than either, getting bitten by a werewolf. 

Going to Hogwarts, he made good, true friends, but had to keep this secret from them; when he tells them, they accept him but then he deals with the guilt of betraying Albus and allowing his friends to break every benefit and precaution that allowed him to come to Hogwarts, along with the reputation and status of the school if anyone else found out. Then the First Wizarding War came but during that time his friends got married and had a child and the war only ended with the murder of his friends, the orphanage of their son, and the betrayal of another. 

The majority of Lupin’s life was between the two Wizarding Wars, when he was all alone. For over 10 years Lupin believed that one of his best friends, had betrayed not only his friends, but for power and out of hate, while he was left all alone. While the truth was similar, considering the bond Sirius and James had, and the possibility that they knew Peter wasn’t always at their level, there was a small reprieve when Lupin learned the truth. But again, the return of his friend lasts only two years before he is murdered and in that time the Second Wizarding War had begun. Again overcome with loss, loneliness and guilt, he holds himself back from love and happiness until he accepts, continues to feel guilt and shame when his child is born and soon after he and his wife are murdered.

There are many things that were so great about Lupin, he was honest, a good man, a good father, great friend and teacher. He was strong, brave, compassionate; he is a man who deserved and should have had it all but whose life was plagued, and spirit his overshadowed by ridiculous judgement and personal grief. Today is Trans Day of Visibility, a day dedicated to celebration of one’s true self and highlighting the cruelty and misguided hated those who are Trans receive. When I speak of Hagrid, I speak of how he was able to overcome his misfortunes, but Lupin was not; this, is not on Lupin. He should have had it all, he deserved to have an amazing life but was never given the opportunity to truly shine or love himself. It was not planned that I’d write about Lupin on Trans Day of Visibility, but the message I would say about both are linked.

Do Good, Be Good. While we can learn so much from Lupin, what the world needs to understand is how much they miss out on by judgement, prejudice, hate and fear. Bullying and discrimination do not bring peace, safety or justice, but they do put people at pause, holding back so much from the world and stealing from us all true love, prosperity and happiness. 

REBLOG 👏🏽 TO 👏🏽 SAVE 👏🏽 A 👏🏽 LIFE 👏🏽

PLEASE

Listen.

EVERYBODY knows (or should) that you DO. NOT. STOP. in Vidor, Texas. 

It’s best to just run out of gas elsewhere. Whatever you do, black folks, DO NOT STOP IN VIDOR, TEXAS. 

There’s a good chance you’ll get lynched or just come up missing - and I’m not joking.

also do NOT stop in Harrison, Arkansas!!!! (relatively close to OK and MI) a nazi town with a BIG KKK organization.

Reblog To Save Life

Stifling Resistance

Original Writing Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This was something I wrote quite recently for a project of mine.

Summary: A short story about the life of a 16-year-old weaponsmith in Mughal India.

Word Count: 9410

Sweat ran down her brow, and she wiped it away with a hot hand. A wisp of midnight-black hair entered her vision, and she brushed that away, too. Blasted long hair that her mother insisted she keep. Crafting swords was gruelling work, and despite her father’s initial protests, she’d convinced him to let her work in the family business. 

It had been difficult adjusting to the job in the beginning, but what she lacked in skill, she made up for in sheer grit and determination. Staying up later than what was needed and doing her absolute best to ensure that no material went to waste, she’d practically lived at the workshop for a while. She’d spent increasing amounts of time there, forging and welding swords of all kinds. She’d started with the talwar, a simple, basic sabre that didn’t have any complicated hilts. Versatile and easily maneuverable, it was an ideal blade to start off with. She’d quickly learned that it was only to be sharpened on one side: curved blades sharpened on both edges were more likely to break, that too much quicker. Eventually, she’d expanded her skill set enough to be able to work on nearly anything, no matter the absurdity of the request. Shields and spears and odd-looking maces that had a chill crawling up her spine; it was all second nature to her now. 

Eventually, she’d gotten used to it. 

The constant, relentless din of hammers and steel clanging rhythmically had initially irked her, but she’d made do. She’d had no other choice, after all. Now, it was a comforting sound, one she had found that she couldn’t live without. It brought her a sense of comfort, that no matter how chaotic the outside world was, she would always have a methodical, organised way of working. That was one of the many things she loved about her family business. 

The same had happened with the heat. What she’d once found stifling and suffocating now became her haven. When she was away for too long, she found she craved the warmth of the kilns and fires over everything. She had always despised the cold, despised all that turned her limbs numb and the harsh winds that blew over the mountains. It was never cold enough to actually snow where she and her family lived, but she had heard stories of those who lived in the Northern mountains that it snowed all year round; blizzards and snowstorms frequent enough to warrant worry as they covered the land in a blanket of shining, iridescent silver.

Slowly but surely, her bank of knowledge regarding swords and weaponry had grown significantly. Learning about hilts and grips, blades and angles, and everything in between, her love and determination for the profession had only grown. Now, she frequented the workshop, spending hours in the stifling heat welding and forging weapons of all kinds. 

Blinking, she realised she’d been unfocused, and the molten metal she held in a ladle was about to drip down onto the floor. Hastily straightening her arm, she poured the mixture into a mould.

As experienced as she was at forging weapons, she was also sixteen. Most of the equipment in the workshop was made for grown, muscular men, and she was neither. Panting as she lifted the bucket to pour the metal in, she heard her father’s amused voice from the inner parts of the workshop. “I can hear you panting from out there, you know. Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“I’m sure,” she grunted. Apart from being ‘too stubborn for her own good’, as her mother liked to say, she was also extremely curious. It was what had led her father to eventually relent and allow her to work as a weapons-forger. 

He was a kind man, hardly ever raising his voice. But he was also protective of his daughters. Protective to a fault, she sometimes thought. She knew that it came from a place of love, a place of intense care for his family, but that didn’t stop the choking feeling of being trapped under his ever-growing expectations. 

Traditionally masculine and overtly loud, her father tended to place the stereotypical gender roles on his family members, too. Indeed, the only time her mother stepped out of the house was to go to the market, and always with her head covered. It was one of the many things she didn’t like about being a girl; how restrictive everything tended to be. How they were expected to do quite literally everything at home, while also managing the little education they sometimes managed to receive. 

She had a vague memory of objecting once when she was younger. Of rejecting the stifling stereotypes that plagued her life, that her father tried to shove down her throat as soon as she was old enough to understand. The same memory housed feelings of fear and unease, too. Her father had shouted at her, the only time he’d truly shouted, and told her to keep her mouth shut if she knew what was best for her. The words still haunted her on nights when she felt too alone for it to be healthy, but she had never told anyone. 

Who would she tell, anyway? Her sister was too young, and her mother had enough on her plate without having to worry about a couple of words said in anger. She didn’t even know why she was so resentful towards her father for a few words that he’d said, but she also had enough dignity to admit to herself that the words had indeed hurt.

Shaking her head in an attempt to clear the thoughts, she refocused on her work. 

The bright sunlight filtering in through the creaky wooden windows awoke Savahi. Rubbing her eyes lazily, she groaned and turned over, hoping to catch a few more moments of sleep before she truly had to get up, before her mother forced her to.

Her mother was strict in that regard, always ensuring that both her daughters woke up before the crack of dawn to complete all the housework in time. She prided herself on disciplining her daughters, on making them experts at the domestic chores they’d been trained to do.

She wouldn’t let Savahi go to the workshop unless she’d finished her chores. What good is a girl who can’t even take care of the house? She’d asked when Savahi had objected and pleaded to be allowed to hone her craft. It’s not like you’ll be running the shop when you’re older anyways. It’s better if you don’t get too attached to it now. It’ll only hurt less in the end. As harsh as the words had been then, they had only led to Savahi savouring the time she did get before she was forced to give it up entirely. No matter who she ended up being married to, there was no way he’d let her continue doing something so…traditionally masculine. Then again, it would be a miracle if she found a good husband at all. She’d learned not to be too picky a long time ago. Anyone that treated her with some semblance of respect was good enough.

Running a hand through her tangled hair after having forgotten to braid it the night before, she rose and began getting ready for the day.

Squinting at the bright sunlight overhead, she raised a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes. The bustling market was a kaleidoscope of colour and life. Wares and goods of all sorts were sold here, from spices and fabrics to accessories and books. 

Head covered and scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth so as to keep the ever-increasing dust away, she approached a vendor. “How much for these?” she asked, voice muffled. “Seven dam for the cabbage, nine for the aubergines.”

“Fine.” Begrudgingly reaching into her coin purse, she handed over the money. The prices were much higher than what she remembered them being, but then again, she hadn’t ventured into the market for a while. She’d left this particular job for her mother to do, seeing as she had always been better at social interactions and…people in general. She somehow always knew the right thing to say or do to comfort and encourage someone. It was why she fared better at the markets than Savahi herself, a few smiles and kind words doing more than one could have expected.

Stuffing the requested goods into her satchel when the man handed them over, she made her way around the market as she simply observed. 

New books and perfumes were on sale, and oh, what she wouldn’t give to buy a few? Savahi’s family had never been particularly rich, but that didn’t stop her wanting all these coveted goods. Unfortunately, these were all wares requested for the disgustingly well-off and wealthy, a group that didn’t include her. Of course, the people who had that sort of money would rather swallow sand before they were ever caught dead in these village markets. They preferred the opulence and charm of the lavish city bazaars.

Ducking under an awning to avoid a small squad of soldiers, she unconsciously adjusted the scarf covering her nose and mouth. It was best to avoid being recognised, especially by the soldiers who were mere lackeys of the Emperor, sent here to do his dirty work and lord over the rest of them. They relished in it too; relished the torture and oppression of the native people as their land, resources, and families were stolen away from them. Right. That was why Savahi hadn’t wanted to go into the markets. Something similar had happened the last time she was here, accompanied by her mother. She’d been absolutely terrified, and hid behind her with trembling hands and tears in her eyes.

When she’d gone home, she’d cried. She didn't know why. Her mother had warned her that the soldiers seemed to be doing nothing, but that was what they wanted you to believe. They were always doing something.

She’d started hating the soldiers soon enough. 

Every child was practically raised on hatred, fed it from the moment they were born. She knew of many who thrived on it like beasts craving violence. Stories were told of what horrors had transpired, drilled into the head of every child until it became second nature for them to fear the soldiers. But then again, this fear was necessary, she thought to herself. It was what kept them safe and away from any real trouble. It allowed them to stay unnoticed and lead their lives in peace. 

Deciding she wasn’t going to get much more at the market anyways, she began making her way home. At least she’d help out there. Taking the more discreet alleyways and streets that weren’t known to many, she managed to avoid any more guards until the familiar door of her house came into view.

One seemingly uneventful afternoon, her father entered the house, taking off his sandals as he flopped down onto the ground. “What’s wrong?” came her mother’s voice from the kitchen. Her father didn’t reply immediately, instead running a hand over his tired face.

Savahi sensed that something was wrong. Her father was never this quiet; he never hesitated like this. He was a firm believer in saying whatever it was that needed to be said, and doing so efficiently. At the same time, she couldn’t help but note that his eyes, her lovely father’s eyes had lost their light. They were dimmed, she realised, as he gazed at the ground. He was here physically, yes, but it was clear something was bothering him to the point where he shut down. In fact, they all knew how rare it was for him to go mute and not say a word. He tended instead to explode in anger, a supernova of emotions, leaving everything else in ruin after the storm had passed.

Finally, he broke the tense silence, and said glumly, “They’ve decided that they want to pay us an even smaller amount than what they already do. Said our weapons weren’t the best quality, and that they shouldn’t be forced to pay for something so disgustingly overpriced.”

Each word somehow managed to rile her already irritated self up even more, and it took nothing short of a miracle to avoid exploding in a fit of rage. Thankfully enough, she managed to keep her composure, only raising her eyebrows with pursed lips. “What do you mean?” 

Her father sensed her irritation, and instead tried to diffuse the situation, looking at her with an expression she was sure mirrored her own. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal-”

That was the last straw. “Of course it’s not ideal! It’s a disaster! We’re already getting underpaid, we can’t-”

“Quiet!” She flinched, not expecting the harsh command from her father. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Just…just don’t do anything stupid until I figure out what to do. I can’t deal with any of your trouble right now.”

She wanted to retort that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something rash or gone through with an idea she hadn’t thought about at all, but decided it was best she held her tongue. Her father was already in a lousy mood, and all the offhand comment would do was rile him up even further and quite frankly cause more trouble than what was worth. 

“What do you mean?” Her mother had exited the kitchen now, and had a similar look of skepticism on her face as she wiped her hands on a rag. “We already get underpaid. We can’t afford to stop providing them with weapons. And besides,” she added, her voice softer this time, “Who knows what they’ll do if we suddenly reduce the weapons supply with no forewarning, no reason? Surely it’ll come across as suspicious?”

Indeed, the Empire was ruthless, with cruel rulers who stopped at nothing to ensure that the people worked themselves to their deaths. Expendables, they called them. Worthless vermin. It didn’t matter to them if her family lived or died. All that was important was the supply of weapons. So long as that did not stop, they didn’t care what became of her family.

Deciding she’d be better off outside lest she say or do something she would sorely regret later, she put on her sandals, and left the house.

A letter arrived exactly two weeks later, the family name written on the envelope in an elegant scrawl she didn’t recognise. The rim of the envelope had gold patterns across it, delicately crafted. The family name was written on the front, and Savahi couldn’t help but wonder who could have sent them such a fancy letter. She didn’t have any friends who lived far away, certainly not far enough to warrant sending letters.  She didn’t even know anyone past her village. Thinking it must be something for her father, (though she couldn’t figure out for the life of her what it could be), she pocketed it, and decided to give it to him when he came home.

Evening rolled around, and there was still no sign of her father. Maybe he was still working late today?

Unable to wait for him any longer, she dug up the envelope from her pocket, and tore it open.

Her eyes widened as she read it, a small gasp escaping her. This was clearly addressed to the wrong person.

The moon shone brightly in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the tops of the houses and illuminating her home in shades of a iridescent, pearly glimmer. All was quiet.

“Thank you for coming. We know how difficult it must be to get away from…” the voice trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the village beneath them. To get away from prying eyes was what they meant to say, but couldn’t do so lest some eavesdropper realised what they were up to. “It’s alright. I managed,” she said tightly, desperately wanting to get this entire ordeal over with.

“We’ll make this quick,” said the other figure; shorter, and yet no less intimidating. “We need you to supply us with weapons. As many as you can make. How big is your store?”

“Not-not huge,” she managed to get out as she stood there, shellshocked. It was true; it wasn’t a large shop by any means, a small storefront facing the secluded street and the forge in the back. It wasn’t as much space as they would have liked, but it did the job.

“But you will have to fund us for the raw materials,” she said quietly. “We don’t earn nearly enough to spend our own money on a project as large as this one. We’ll need some sort of advance payment.”

“Consider it done,” the taller one said smoothly. “How much do you think you’ll need for two hundred swords?”

“I’m sorry, two hundred?” she breathed. Was this a sort of one-time thing, then? “If we need more, we’ll let you know well in advance,” the shorter one said. “How long do you think you’ll need to make two hundred?”

“A couple of months at least,” she said. “But we’ll make sure that we get them done as soon as possible. It’ll take at least a month and a half, two if you want refined or jewelled hilts.”

“As long as the blades are functional, it doesn’t matter how the hilts are. Preferably as basic as possible, but comfortable enough to hold and fight with.”

Savahi listed the price, and they only nodded in unison. Gods, they really were rich if they could agree to such an inflated price with no bargaining. Or, a small voice in the back of her head said. They’re really desperate and willing to agree with whatever price you say. They want these swords badly. Deciding she’d think about it later, she shoved those thoughts away.

“I could send you a note once I fin-” she cut herself off. Of course she couldn’t send notes or any other form of correspondence to them in case it was intercepted or found, even after this entire affair would be finished. It would be enough to get them imprisoned, or whipped publicly at the very least. Offences against the state weren’t taken lightly, and the punishments were severe. 

The muffled voice she heard from behind the scarf seemed…masculine? She couldn’t tell, not with the way the clothes flowed loosely around the figure’s body, preventing any accidental revelation of who this mystery person was. No jewellery or cosmetics adorned the eyes, the only open part of the figure’s face. Then again, that didn’t do much to either confirm or deny her suspicions. Either they were too poor to afford such luxuries, or they simply decided against them. Even the figure’s hands were gloved, truly leaving no room open for discovery. 

Glancing around, she shut the door behind her with a soft click.

She’d debated it for weeks, whether or not to accept this deranged offer. Was whoever had come up with this insane plan high or something? Did they really think someone would be able to smuggle such a large amount of weapons unseen? They were raving mad; more so if they didn’t see the lunacy of their own plan. It would get them killed if she wasn’t careful; her and however many more people were involved in this death wish of a plan. Then again, she supposed, there weren’t many royals or nobles in positions of power who actually knew what was going on. They had a vague image, yes, cloudy at best and completely opaque at worst, as they saw her world through a rose-coloured lens.

Ensuring the scarf was wrapped tightly around her mouth and nose so as to avoid being recognised, she carried the satchel like her life depended on it. She supposed it did. Tiptoeing over the harsh ground, she gazed towards the horizon. The mountains she saw in the distance was where she had to be by moonrise. Indeed, the glistening moon was already quite high in the sky, illuminating the roofs of the nearby houses, casting a silvery glow over the ground. Meet Devyani’s closest friend on the highest point of Hasta. The words resonated in her mind, echoing as she tried desperately to comply with the instructions she’d received on an anonymous note of paper, the writing foreign and curled in a way that told her it was not a native speaker of her tongue who had written the mysterious note. No name, no signature, and no indication of who, exactly, would be picking up the weapons she’d forged. 

The orders were absolute insanity, she’d thought when she first received them. She didn’t think it was even possible to craft that many weapons in under a month, but working beside her father for days on end with little to no breaks had allowed them to finish just in time. Some had been cooling yesterday, and she’d been on the edge up until this morning, not knowing if she'd somehow managed to mess up her first orders. 

She hoped this wasn’t a hoax or some trick to get them to go into a financial loss. If no one showed up, it would be no one’s burden and loss but her family’s. Few would care, and even fewer would help them out. We must fend for ourselves, her mother had told her when Savahi had once asked why they couldn’t all help each other instead of gloat at one another’s misery. She’d been young then, not really knowing how everything worked. Foolish, childish ideas, she reprimanded herself.

Savahi backtracked a little, going over the same path she’d taken just a few minutes ago. She had to periodically ensure that she wasn’t being followed. Not only would it be catastrophic, she’d also have to find a way to deal with the stalker. Not killing, of course, but something severe enough that the person would never dare look twice in her direction. This needed to be carried out smoothly and with as little suspicion as possible. That was also the reason she’d volunteered to go instead of her father. A grown man with a bag looked far more suspicious than a girl. Indeed, girls her age had lovers all the time. In the unlikely event that anyone would approach her for conversation, she always had that card up her sleeve. Play the simpering, girlish role she was expected to play, stay away from suspicion, and get the job done.

Her hair soon became damp, small strands clinging to her forehead, made worse by the tight, suffocating feeling of the scarf around her mouth and nose. The crisp night air did nothing to help her cool down. Her thighs burned as she made her way up the hill, and she did her best not to pant lest it give her away. She really was out of shape. In reality, it wasn’t that steep, but she had to take the further side of the hill that no one bothered to venture through. Another way to avoid being spotted. 

Stepping carefully, she dodged roots and loose rocks as she slowly made her upwards. As soon as she crested the hill, she saw a hooded figure lounging on a fallen log. Having strategically sat down in the shade, she wouldn’t have realised it was sitting there, silent as a cat, until it jumped up and began making its way to her. A calm, controlled, and sauntering gait, command lacing its every step it approached. She could see as it made its way closer that this mysterious person had to have some sort of noble standing. The clothes it wore, polished and regal, screamed elegance to her from miles away. No patterns adorned the figure’s robes; no flag or banner or sigil, not even a coat of arms to showcase their allegiance.

Standing her ground and refusing to bow her head, she spoke. “Devayani.” Andromeda. She waited a moment before she heard the correct response. “Sharmishtha.” Cassiopeia. The voice seemed gruff, though she couldn’t quite discern much beyond her own muddled suspicions.

She’d been instructed to say a code word, and only give the package to the person who said the correct response. If they faltered or hesitated for even a second, she would know to get away immediately.

Savahi extended the satchel to the figure. Nodding curtly towards her in acknowledgement, it grabbed the rucksack with a black, gloved hand, and disappeared with a swoosh of their cloak as if they melded into the night itself. Breathing a sigh of relief, she began making her way down the slope, occasionally stumbling and tripping over stray branches and loose rocks. 

She didn’t quite register the walk home. All that was running through her mind was the exhilarating thrill of participating in something bigger than herself. As cliché as it sounded, it was true. She’d never had to work together, certainly not in matters like these, and it gave her a sense of accomplishment to know that she was helping the Resistance. To know that the weapons she made were being used across the Deccan. 

As miserable as her life was, she was using it to do something; something that didn’t require bearing children and being trapped indoors for the rest of her life. She would savour this freedom, she realised, long after she was married and given away like cattle.

The soldier patrols had increased recently, especially around their area. It had been putting everyone on edge, and she didn’t want to think what would happen if someone was found guilty of whatever new crimes they kept coming up with. First, it was the possession of certain books, then it was the local herbs that were used for healing and medicine, and now? Well, they couldn’t punish her for trekking up to the nearby hill or talking to her neighbours. Could they? She just had to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and avoid any trouble.

Unfortunately for Savahi, trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went. Today, it had arrived in the form of a gathering. Everyone in the village had been asked to gather at noon in the village square. For what, she didn’t know, but they had all made their way there regardless. 

Technically, girls weren’t supposed to go outside in large public places, and certainly not to bold village gatherings. Then again, there was no one to enforce those rules other than her parents, and she could always duck out of their sight or blend into the crowd if need be.

There were already quite a few people crowded around, standing in clumps with worried expressions as they conversed in hushed tones. She couldn’t make out what anyone was saying, but it was abundantly clear that whatever was going on couldn’t be good. 

Just as Savahi turned to her mother to ask her something, a shehnai (a sort of oboe-like instrument) sounded. Signalling the arrival of whichever official would taunt them today, then. 

A man stepped up to the small dais erected in the centre, originally intended for the village chief to announce important events or similar. It seemed, however, that they didn’t have any regard for that, instead using the platform as their own.

“Did you really think you could plot treason so openly and we’d never find out?” he sneered at no one in particular, presumably their commander. “I knew you were foolish, but for an entire neighbourhood of you lot to do something like this is beyond even us. We will find whichever one of you is doing something so utterly unacceptable, and you will be punished for it,” a second added. He wasn’t on the platform, but seemed to be the right-hand man of whichever roguish commander was speaking right now.

“If none of you step forward right now and preserve what little dignity you have left, it leaves us no choice but to label this entire, rotting scrap of a village as a guilty party. You’ll all be thrown in the dungeons, and the butchering blocks if you’re lucky.” A glint of a smile caught Savahi’s eye, but it was just the guard speaking. Another one of the Sultan’s subordinates, grovelling like a dog. She couldn’t help her face as it turned up into a look of disgust, and rolled her eyes.

Of course their grisly deaths would bring these monsters joy. Of course they would relish in it like some sort of delicacy, some noble deed that they took great pride in.

She didn’t hear the rest of whatever nonsense they were spewing, but jerked out of her stupor when everyone began scattering and shuffling away like mice trapped in a labyrinth with no way out save for death.

Savahi had been ordered to keep quiet these next weeks, to avoid suspicion and unnecessary arguments at all costs. Of course, Savahi being, well, her, had found it immensely difficult to do so. Being cooped up in the house for longer periods of time was certainly not helping, either. If anything, it made her more irritated and likely to snap or lash out at something, or someone. As much as she wanted to get out of the house, if only for a little while, she knew she couldn’t. Girls, especially young girls like her, were expected to stay at home and help their mothers like the obedient daughters they were expected to be. This also meant that she wasn’t allowed to go to the workshop, for fear that someone might accidentally catch wind that a girl, that too one of marriageable age, was working at something so physically gruelling. 

To make matters worse, curfew had been enforced, and had made it harder for her to sneak out at night. She’d been asked to deliver weapons twice more, and her poor father had been working himself to the bone. Normally, she’d do some of the more gruelling work. Over time, she had developed the muscle and brute strength to be able to do the hauling, pouring and welding. Her father always remained close by in case she needed help. She hardly ever did, managing most things on her own.

It wasn’t as if her father didn’t know how to forge weapons. But he was now aging, and his back pain sometimes prevented him from lifting heavy loads. It grated on her to know that her father toiled away, sweating by the forges as he poured his dedication into his work, while she sat around at home, peeling stupid carrots. She could have been of help, she could have done something.

She was, eventually, let out of the house, though her mother had warned her not to cause any trouble and come straight home if she caught the slightest whiff of something going on. Biting back the urge to say she wasn’t likely to be attacked at the market, which was filled with people at all times of day, she sighed, parotting, “Yes, mother,” before she put on her sandals and left the house. 

“Get up,” her mother hissed, rousing her from sleep and shaking her awake. The sunlight filtered in through the window, casting a bright glow over the opposite wall. Blearily blinking her eyes open, she started. “What-”

“No time,” her mother interrupted. She looked to be in a hurry, almost frantic, hastily trying to clean up the mess Savahi had left in her room the night before. “Gods, girl, do you ever clean your room? It stinks terribly.”

“Didn’t you just say we don’t have time to do anything else?” No matter what she did, Savahi’s room was something her mother never ceased nagging about. 

“We have to clean because the guards are here.” Her mother glared at her. Savahi jumped, exclaiming, “Now? What business do they have in our home?”

“They think we’re doing something we’re not supposed to be doing.” Her mother shot her a knowing glance. The entire family knew what they were doing was illegal, but there was no other way for them to make the money they were steadily losing with their deals and trades that were less than fair with the Empire. They had to make ends meet somehow, and besides, desperation did funny things to people, driving them to the brink until it was all they could think about. Perhaps this was what it had done to her family. 

“Well have we hidden the-”

“Quiet,” her mother snapped, smacking her lightly on the head. “Do you want us all to be rotting in prison until the end of our days? Because I certainly don’t.”

“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll-”

“You’ll keep your mouth shut, that’s what you’ll do,” she chided. “They don’t like being talked back to, and certainly not by unruly, undisciplined girls like yourself. Just answer when spoken to, and try not to get into trouble. Is that too much for you to do?”

“I promise I won’t say anything that’ll piss them off,” she said. “Now will you please let me go?”

Indeed, her mother had been trying to tame her hair that had been in a loose braid from the night before. She had pins in her mouth as her skilled hands tried hastily to fashion her mane, as she liked to call it, into a more presentable form. 

“Remember, mind your language. Certainly none of that vulgarity when they inspect you.”

“My language isn’t that bad,” she protested weakly. Even she knew how much she swore. While Savahi did try to dial it down at home, some words did tend to slip out on the rare occasion she was mad or frustrated. 

“Yes it is, and you know that,” mumbled her mother. “Oh, and they’ll be inspecting you. It’ll be quick, but just don’t slap anyone across the face and I’ll consider this entire ghastly ordeal a success.”

“Yes mother,” she parrotted, her voice already bored to tears.

“Now go.”

Stepping out into the living room, she expected her sanctuary, her safe place, her home, where no harm could come to her to at least be free of the asphyxiating sensation. Instead, she saw half a dozen encircling the door and blocking it. This was a new, fresh hell. Her mind was buzzing with a newfound haze, one she didn’t think she’d be able to get rid of should she try. She couldn’t even leave should she wish it. Her only mild consolation was her mother who followed behind her. At least she wouldn’t be alone. It was bad enough that she had to be subjected to their inspections, but her mother deserved none of that.

Both had their heads bowed low and eyes trained solely on the floor. Pushing Savahi forward, her mother backed away to watch from the other end of the room. Savahi stumbled slightly but managed to catch her step right before she saw the shoes of the closest guard. Their leader, most likely, seeing how he managed to dominate the entire room with his presence and hulking form which seemed to eat up all the light that had managed to make its way inside.

“And who are you?” the guard sneered, clearly trying to intimidate her. As scared as she was, she couldn’t let it show. She had to act as if everything was normal; like she wasn’t smuggling weapons to the Resistance, the very people these guards despised with their very being. “She’s just my daughter, sir,” her mother said nervously, wringing her hands together.  “Shut up,” he barked instead, not even bothering with a glance towards her mother. Her mother flinched, moving a step back, almost as if she was trying to melt into the wall, and Savahi felt rage rise in her heart.

Her mother, who was a kind, sweet, caring woman, who would sacrifice everything for her children, was treated like this. It made her blood boil, and she dug her nails into her palms. She’d have small, crescent-shaped scars on the palms of her hands later, but it didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t blow up in front of these people, it was fine. Everything was fine. She was going to be fine. 

“Enough of the pleasantries,” he said instead, his voice rising a note higher. “Come here,” he beckoned Savahi with a finger. Shuffling forward, head bowed, she stepped in front of the man as if she was being examined for a disease.

Savahi could hear their foreign accent, how they rolled certain letters and cut others off. Anyone could tell they weren’t from here, even without hearing them talk. The clothes they wore, the permanent sneer they donned on their faces, their greasy hair that looked nothing short of horrid and the perpetually yellowed teeth that seemed to be the stuff of her nightmares.

Rough, sweaty hands grasped her face, turning it this way and that. She knew that the guard could see the fear in her eyes, clear as day, as his own, black as slits, bore into her brown ones. 

He probably thought she looked absolutely pathetic, nothing more than a simple village girl. Just because that’s what she was didn’t mean the stupid guards needed to rub it in their faces all the time, she thought grumpily. 

Despite her instincts telling her to get away, to run, she did neither, letting them examine her like a bag of broken goods. An enigma, that they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, a mystery that could attack them at any given moment. 

Well, they weren’t wrong about that. Not entirely, anyways. 

She could imagine how she looked: eyes blown wide and trembling like a fawn. He was at least a head and a half taller than her, and dwarfed her easily. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to pin her hands behind her back and have her on the floor in a few skilled maneuvers that she had no doubt he could execute with deadly precision. Their threats were never empty.

The hands moved down to pat her sides, her thighs, her legs, staying in certain places for far longer than they were needed. Prodding, poking, twisting, squeezing, her stomach lurched and she felt bitter bile rise in her throat. Promptly swallowing it down, she tried to breathe. She could smell their horrible breath, see the food from breakfast covering their teeth, and had to stifle a gag. The irony of being called uncivilised by the same people who refused to take care of themselves or their bodies was overwhelming.

But she couldn’t say anything, do anything, even as she felt the grime coating their hands on her own skin. She’d need to take a long bath after this. She’d travel to the far well on the other side of their village if she had to, but she would be taking a bath today, come what may.

A grunt told her they were done with their inspection, and she stepped back, never showing her back to the guards lest they think she was deliberately trying to disrespect them or their bullshit status. It was something they’d made up to feel better about themselves, then declared themselves the Emperors of this land that was never theirs. As much as she was aware the land belonged to everyone, she didn’t think these sacred rules applied to a heap of men with egos bigger than their heads and a superiority complex to rival any decent person’s.

It seemed that they were far from done with their little inspection, as they called it, as their self-proclaimed leader with a head full of cow dung began barking orders, pointing to certain areas of the house. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were going to search the house for any contraband.

What they didn’t know was that they’d made procuring any materials extremely difficult, near impossible, so it took more than a couple of bribes to smuggle something over from the South or from the sea. It didn’t help that her village was in the middle of nowhere, and yet it was large enough to be recognised by the Empire. That wasn’t good; not at all. Being noticed was never a good sign. People spent their entire lives trying to stay hidden, to hide themselves and their children from the horrors the Empire inflicted on them. Fleeing across the country or even across the sea was how desperate people had gotten to outrun the tyranny of the Empire. Then again, it was only the rich who could afford such luxuries, leaving the rest of them to be condemned by their tyrannical rulers. 

The clatter of metal shocked her out of her stupor, and she realised been standing around like a purposeless corpse, waiting around as they wrecked her home. She whipped her head around to find that one of the mindless buffoons had spilled their entire rice storage on the ground, the grains littering the ground like small white shards of glass scattered over the ground. Bastards. They’d done that on purpose, knowing that most people were already short of food. Her family had been doing a little better recently, being able to afford more of the slightly expensive grain and millets. But they had to be careful not to flaunt the money they were being paid by the Resistance lest someone take it away. 

Indeed, everything seemed like it would end in imprisonment or their imminent deaths, the possibility of either looming over them like a dark shroud. Certainly not pleasant, and certainly not where she wanted to end up. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” the guard mocked, a lilt in his voice that told Savahi he couldn’t be enjoying this more. “How unfortunate that you lost a month’s worth of grain supply.” She knew she’d have to go out tomorrow, possibly even today to buy the rice that now lay there, inedible. 

The guards’ guffawing receded as they proceeded into the inner rooms, perhaps suspecting that they’d hidden something in the wardrobes. Her mother promptly followed them inside. Savahi, however, stood in the living room, and to rack her brains for anything that they’d forgotten to hide. Matches, small knives, and books. Those were the only things she could think of that would cause outright displeasure with the Emperor’s little dogs. Because that’s what they were. Marking their territory and attempting to establish dominance over the rest of them like animals, they truly were no better than hounds. 

Despite that, they were also afraid. Scared that the possession of books would allow the people here to finally educate their daughters, to finally have women aware of what was going on and what was being done to them. It was a wild notion, even now, to have women outside the household for reasons other than to run errands. They were scared someone would accidentally set something on fire with the matches she knew many kept at a finger’s reach, or attack them with small kitchen knives or daggers. 

Rhythmic, fading footsteps were the only sign that they’d left, and she let out a sigh. “Glad that’s over with then,” she said in a voice that sounded fake, even to herself. Immediately, her mother was upon her, hugging her and kissing her forehead. “Oh, my sweet, are you okay? Did they-”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, brushing off her mother’s hands and refusing to look at her, instead finding the ceiling far more interesting. Not yet. She didn’t want anyone’s touch. Not now, not until she’d bathed.

The sun’s baking heat was enough to piss anyone off, she thought grumpily as she hauled in a sack of rice. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, and she immediately noted the tense atmosphere as she entered her home. “What’s going on?” Her smile quickly faded as she saw her family’s concerned expressions. They were all sat around the food, though no one was eating. Odd. “Did someone die?”

Her attempt at humour quickly fell flat as her mother shushed her immediately, and ushered her inside. “Don’t say things like that,” she scolded. “But no. No one’s died.” She let out a sigh, and it was then Savahi saw how tired her mother was. Dark circles under her eyes, her face wan and utterly distraught. It was clear that her mother was exhausted, and was trying immensely hard to not let it show, least of all in front of her children. Her normally well-kept hair had lost its shimmer, becoming dull and matted in the last few days. It was no surprise the recent days had been hard on them all, with the decreased prices for their goods and the steadily mounting prices of materials that they desperately needed.

“You know the neighbours?” she started. When Savahi nodded, a slight frown creeping up on her brows, her mother continued. “Well, their daughter was taken.”

“What do you mean, taken?” She could tell her mother was trying to let her down in the easiest way possible, and she wasn’t making it any easier for her mother at all.

“You know what I mean,” she whispered, looking around to see if anyone was listening.

Her eyes widened slightly. “Zahra’s not coming back, is she?”

“I think it’s better for all our sakes she doesn’t. It’s not like she’ll come back in one piece anyway.”

As much as it hurt to hear it from her mother, Savahi knew it was true. They were ruthless in their reign, killing for sport and sheer entertainment. It would be a mercy if she got a quick death, but being a woman, Savahi knew that her friend would have to endure a lot before she met the sweet relief of death. It was all anyone seemed to be hoping for, anyway. 

The next few days were fairly monotonous. A little too calm, if she was being honest with herself. Something was always happening; torturings or whippings, supposed criminals that never got fair trials paraded in the streets like animals to gawk at.

The silence and inaction put her on edge and made her restless, and she didn’t know what to do with herself besides continuing with her routine as it was. It seemed odd that after what they’d done, no angry guards were chasing after them; no wanted signs posted with her face on the front. 

Her mother, however, was unphased by this, and carried on with her routine as though nothing was amiss. One peculiarly sunny day, Savahi found her rummaging through a wardrobe that they’d long since stopped using. “What are you…doing?” she asked skeptically, standing by the door frame as she leaned her hip against it. “Packing,” her mother responded tightly, not bothering to look up or grace her with an actual response. There was an undeniably large heap of…everything by her mother’s side, it seemed. Pots and pans, stray clothes, and the few rare pieces of jewellery they possessed took over the already miniscule floor area. Most of it was already occupied by the divan and the wardrobe to one side. “Do you need help?” she asked again, not quite sure what was going on. “Talk to your sister. She’ll explain everything,” came the blunt response as her mother’s brow once again furrowed, presumably to find another article of clothing in the chaos reigning over her bedroom floor.

Looking around for her sister, she found her in the kitchen, tending to the firewood stove. “Hey.”

That didn’t seem to get her attention, though Savahi could tell Tara was listening. “Why’s mum packing? Are we going somewhere?” Savahi tried again. That made Tara turn. Abandoning her duties in the kitchen, Savahi was ushered out into the backyard. “How much do you know?” she asked. “N-nothing,” Savahi answered. “Was I supposed to?”

“I’m surprised mum didn’t tell you anything. Point is, we’re leaving.” That startled her. “What the hell do you mean, we’re leaving? For good? We-we have a life here. We have our store, our customers-”

“We won’t be much good to our customers if we have our innards hanging out to be picked apart by the crows, will we?” Tara snapped, eyes gleaming. Savahi had never seen her in such a foul mood. Something was really wrong.

“Obviously something is wrong!” Tara seethed. She must have said the words out loud without realising in her shell-shocked state. “Everything is wrong! We have to move away to God knows where, we don’t even know how far we’re going or if we’re even going to make it, we’re just done for!” 

As Tara buried her head in her hands, a few curls falling free from her braid as opposed to Savahi’s ramrod straight tresses. Savahi cradled her as they stood there for a while, each processing and letting the other simply…be. “It’ll be okay,” Savahi finally said, breaking the tentative silence. “No, it won’t,” came her sister’s muffled voice. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll be together. There’s nothing more that we could have asked for or done, you know that.”

Refusing the Empire’s demands would have them rotting and festering in the lord knew which swamps. Perhaps they’d already be sentenced to the gallows, but Savahi wasn’t keen on finding out; now or ever.

Likewise, rejecting the polite but firm offer to make weapons for the Resistance would have meant that her family would have starved like the rest of the village’s inhabitants, being forced to pay more taxes than what they earned. More than what they earned in a month, actually, seeing as the commanding officers for this area had decided to reduce all their salaries, no matter that most of the village’s professions weren’t under their jurisdiction. 

“Let’s go inside,” she muttered to her sister. “Let’s get you something to eat.” For once, she didn’t object, didn’t say that the coddling was unnecessary. For once, she let Savahi take care of her.

She barely remembered packing that night. Her mother had thrown in clothes while she sat with her sister, trying to comfort the poor girl. As disoriented as they both were, she knew she had to be strong for her sister. Her sister, who looked up to her, near-idolized her, because she was the oldest daughter in the family. 

Flashes of throwing clothes into trunks, her mother and father arguing, and everything being hastily cleared away or packed flew through her mind. She wasn’t too sure what was going on, and she didn’t know if she’d remember this at all.

One last chance, she thought to herself. She had one final chance to meet with them before her family disappeared for good. Hastily scrawling a note in what she thought to be the right amount of desperation laced with urgency, she folded it in half, and sent it away.

The two figures she had come to recognise by now stood in front of her, black fabric billowing in the wind so as to conceal themselves like always. 

“Well?” The taller one asked impatiently. “You called us here. Why?” Straight to the point then, she thought. They really don’t want to stay here a moment longer than they need to. She supposed it was because they risked their lives, risked being caught every second they spent here. That was what had happened to Zahra, after all. Flower. That was what her name had meant; her namesake would be on her grave a couple of days from now. 

Of course, there was no body to bury. There never was when one, especially a young girl, was taken away too soon. Instead, it was a more…symbolic gesture that allowed the family and loved ones a place to mourn the deceased. The ceremony would be taking place in a few days, and Savahi, for one, did not intend to miss it. 

Savahi didn’t even know how to start. Where to start.

“That-that girl,” she managed to finally get out, voice thick with emotion. “My neighbour. She was my friend. She was taken.”

“We know,” one said tightly with a brief nod. “We were the ones who made sure that it was her, and not you.” Already noticing her shift in mood, and that she might consider attacking them (despite her hand-to-hand skills being non-existent), the other figure tried immediately to diffuse the situation. “Think about how disastrous it would have been if it was you,” he added gently. “Your family would have been devastated.” The words meant to calm her had the opposite effect, only serving to rile her up even more. 

“And hers isn’t?” she seethed. She couldn’t believe them. They were talking about her and the people she cared about as if they were pieces of meat to be sacrificed, pawns in a chess game that would meet a grisly fate no matter what they did or who they met. They were doomed from the beginning. Her father had always said that, but she hadn’t understood to what extent he meant it until now. Now, the truth sank in, burying its claws in her heart as she fought to keep her breathing steady.

“You’re no different from the Empire!” She hissed. “Treating us like filth and using us for whatever the hell it is you do besides sit in your fancy palaces, drink, and gamble.” Neither objected as she began trudging down the hill.

She was seeing red, and she knew it. She also knew that it was a rash, ill-thought out decision that would definitely come to bite her in the ass one day, but right now, that was the last thing on Savahi’s mind.

They left under the cover of darkness, their father having paid their surrounding neighbours and friends a few days prior so their locations would be hidden. Corruption was rampant, and who knew what the soldiers would do to their friends if they found out a family had fled without knowing? Besides, the Empire seemed hell-bent on keeping everyone as poor as possible, and the money they’d saved up was helping someone, at least, even if it couldn’t be of any use to them. That was what she kept telling herself as they walked on, their escape witnessed only by the blanket of stars that watched over them like angels. 

Her throat was parched, and her vision had begun swimming. They’d had to carry as few supplies as possible when leaving, and yet every step she took made her blistered feet, peeled raw by days of walking, ache like they’d never hurt before. 

Unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth, she rasped, “How much longer?”

“Just a little more,” her mother encouraged, laying a gentle hand on the small of her back and urging her forward. “When we get past these mountains, we’re safe.”

Everyone knew that was a lie. The colonizers’ realm stretched far and wide, past the mountains, nearly all the way to the coast and to the South. But morale had to be kept up somehow, and her mother had always been good at that. Intricate at weaving webs of white lies. Not enough to hurt, never enough to properly wound someone, but a lie enough to give them a much-needed kernel of hope.

As they made it over the final peak, heaving great breaths of exhaustion, what they saw made their breath catch in their throats. A city, sprawled out before them, unblemished and untainted by the shadows of their colonisers. A free city, one of peace and justice.

Even from here, the stunning architecture was visible.

Spires and domes, bridges and piers, it was a city of prosperity. One where they could start their lives anew. 

Deep in her heart, she knew this place. It called to her, perhaps the same way it called to the thousands before her, who had lived and died in this very jewel of a city. Satara. Yes, this was familiar to her. If not to her mind, then at least to her heart.

Whoever they were, whatever they’d endured, and wherever they’d come from, this city would give them a fresh life. A new start, where she wouldn’t be recognised. She’d be no one and nothing, and have a new, blissful beginning. She’d find peace in the anonymity this new life gave her.

Her family walked a little further, finally stepping past the gleaming gates. Mentally thanking the Gods, she smiled to herself, ready for a new chapter.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

As someone who has taken college courses on colonialism, can I just say that the idea that colonized groups or groups that were forced into slavery lived in these perfect societies where no one was discriminated against and everyone was happy until the white man came is literally based on racism. Like, it’s LITERALLY the myth of the noble savage. It’s the same concept that led to things like the Disney version of Pocahontas and other offensive misrepresentations of Native Americans and Africans across popular culture. It’s an incredibly harmful stereotype. No race, ethnicity, or group of people was ever perfect. No one had the answers. No one had everything figured out. Colonialism was BAD, but it wasn’t bad because it ruined paradise. It was bad because it killed and hurt people, destroyed culture, and had harmful impacts for generations to come. So can we stop pushing racist stereotypes as some “woke” ideology, please? Thank you.