please read this even if you're not indian. especially if you're not indian.
you've seen the jokes. india is "dirty", indians are "everywhere", why don't they fix their own country. ok. let me tell you why, and what's happening right now while nobody's watching.
first, the history you skipped: britain ruled india for two centuries and drained it. economist utsa patnaik's research estimates around $45 trillion in today's money was taken. the india that got independence in 1947 was one of the poorest countries on earth. every "why is india like this" question starts there. you don't get to profit off a robbery and then mock the crime scene.
now, what's happening RIGHT NOW:
in may the question paper for NEET leaked. that's the national medical entrance exam. over 2.2 million students took it. cancelled. years of studying, families' savings poured into coaching, gone overnight because someone sold the paper. students died by suicide after. these were kids who wanted to be doctors.
and out of that came a protest movement. a gen z group called the cockroach janta party, started by a 30 year old named abhijeet dipke, got 22 million instagram followers within DAYS. they've been doing a sit-in at jantar mantar in delhi demanding education minister dharmendra pradhan resign.
and then there's sonam wangchuk. if you've watched 3 idiots, he's the real engineer the character was based on. built solar schools in ladakh. invented ice stupas so himalayan villages have water. spent his whole life on education. he's 59 and he's been on hunger strike for 17+ days now. reporters went to see him this week and he was too weak to talk. and the troll armies are calling him "anti national" and "foreign funded". a man starving himself for other people's children. that's the thing here, anyone who asks a question is suddenly a traitor.
it's not one incident, it's everywhere you look:
• infrastructure worth thousands of crores failing within months of the ribbon cutting. tunnels collapsing in regions where heavy rain is a guarantee, not a surprise.
• youth unemployment near 10% for ages 15 to 29, 13.6% in cities. in a country of 1.42 billion where more than half the population is young.
• only about the top 3% of indians earn above 10 lakh a year. meanwhile billionaire wealth keeps ballooning and the headlines celebrate it.
• manipur burned for over two years. an ethnic conflict, tens of thousands displaced, and the prime minister barely said the word manipur while it happened.
• journalists raided. critics' houses bulldozed. activists sitting in jail for years without trial under laws like UAPA. our press freedom ranking has cratered.
• even the petrol is a fight now, ethanol blending pushed through while drivers complain about their engines and get no straight answers.
and through all of it, the PM, who came to power on religious polarisation (americans, sound familiar?), travels abroad for photo ops and has not held one single open press conference in over a decade. not one.
what i'm asking:
if you're not indian: share this. our media mostly won't cover any of it because the big outlets are owned by the same billionaires the government serves. the only reason wangchuk's fast is getting any coverage is people refusing to look away.
if you ARE indian: speak up even if you're comfortable. especially if you're comfortable. join the protests. add to this, correct me, translate it. staying quiet is a choice when nothing in this post touches your life.
india is not "dirty". india was robbed, and it's being robbed again, from the inside this time. but it's also the country where a 59 year old will starve for strangers' kids and 22 million young people will rally behind a party literally named after cockroaches, because cockroaches survive everything.
Recently discovered that Apollo’s voice actor in Epic the Musical plays Nighteye in Mha and Gyutaro from Demon Slayer…WHAT THE HELL?!!!!
Like, if you told me that Nighteye’s va was Gyutaro’s, I would already be shocked, they sound nothing alike, but then add Apollo?! Like this man has serious talent to be able to have such a wide range of voices, it honestly shocks me.
I really hope we can see more of Brandon’s voice in Illium because he has shown interest in coming back, and in the Illiad, Apollo plays quite a role in the story.
Joker Junior Tim but Tim's afraid of Harley and JJ loves Harley because that's his mom.
When Harley first found out that Tim was JJ and that the bats were the Waynes, she was torn. She wanted so bad to spend time with her son and to apologize, but she couldn't. She felt horrible for what she did.
Reason being is the first time she confronted Red Robin, or Robin at the time, while on patrol. She had found him on a roof and he had been so terrified of her he was shivering. Her heart hurt for Tim, who was scared of her.
She left him alone after that, always choosing to avoid the bird's line of sight and hearing range so he wouldn't be scared. It wasn't until one of the other bats talked to her, Oracle, that she decided to try to get close to Robin.
At first she started by sitting at the farthest end of the building where Tim was perched. She watched him for a few minutes before looking away. This happened several times.
At the point he stopped shivering and looking as tense as he used to be, she moved closer. Day by day, week by week, month by month, she got close to him till she was sitting next to him.
They had started up a friendship then. She would do most the talking, making motherly gestures here and there, till one day, he fell asleep on her. She had taken him to her house that winter night and tucked him into bed, kissing him goodnight and setting out breakfast, hot chocolate, and fresh clothes along with a bag the next morning.
He was scared, of course, this was a villain's anti-hero's house, you couldn't drop your guard too much.
He knew he shouldn't have trusted her.
"Goodmorning, kiddo. I made you some pancakes and hot chocolate. There's some clothes on the bedside and a bag for your costume, Timmy, that way you don't have to go home in that."
He stood frozen as he stared at the large stack of pancakes laid out. He slowly moved forward, taking the fork next to the plate and took a piece off of it.
He hesitated when biting it, but when he did, nothing was wrong with it. It tasted amazing.
He had almost choked several times when he scarfed down the pancakes, the best pancakes he's ever tasted if he does say so himself(sorry Alfred), and thanked her.
He changed and put his stuff in the bag before getting ready to leave, but he stopped himself.
He looked at her, and she looked confusedly at him.
"About the Joker.."
He didn't need to finish his sentence, she already knew.
She sat down and motioned him to sit in the seat next to her, so he did.
She didn't look him in the eye when she spoke. She talked for a while, told him about her relationship with the Joker, about how sorry she was about what she helped do to him, everything.
After that talk, their relationship changed. They became closer, the bats noticed.
Alfred, Bruce, and Barbara seemed indifferent to the change in their relationship, because they knew what happened. They were happy about it, even, about how well their relationship has grown.
At one point, though, things changed again. Red Robin was taken and electrocuted, triggering JJ to cone out. The bats were stuck, unable to do anything without JJ doing something in return, Red Hood was frozen in place despite himself.
It wasn't until Harley entered the scene that JJ ran to her, hugging her, calling her mama that he calmed down enough and started crying.
"Oh Junior, it's okay baby. Mommy's here."
Harley kept saying those comforts until Ivy arrived and swept them away.
"Hey!" Nightwing called out, prepared to go after them. Batman, however, stopped him, stepping up to Ivy.
"Have you got him?" he asked her. "Yes, we'll take care of him until he's better. Tomorrow's your only time I'm allowing you in my place to give him things. Your next visit is when he asks." She warned him. He nodded in return, unphased by her threat.
"B, why did you let them take him."
"There are things you don't know, about the time when Red Robin started out as Robin." Was the simple answer Batman gave them before he left, clearing out the area.
Do you think Illumi sometimes misses being Killua's big brother ? Sure, training the next Zoldyck heir is an honor and all, but he got parentified in doing so and that changes the whole dynamics. Especially in a family like theirs where parents are de facto abusers.
Like, how is it that Sylva can be the cool dad in his son's eyes while his big brother has to bring him back home by force?
Do you think he misses the short period of time we he could be a brother first, and an authority figure second ?
a drabble with mama Bruce trying to sleep but every hour a new puppy is clambering into bed and waking him up?
Bruce had never been more exhausted in his life.
For two gruelling days, he’d been locked in a battle of wits with the Riddler, whose twisted games threatened to turn half of midtown into rubble. The bombs had been hidden with horribly cryptic clues, and finding their locations had been a nightmare of detective work. In the end, it took him forty-two hours to find and disarm each and every bomb.
Forty-two hours without changing out of the batsuit or brushing his hair. It was forty-two hours without the creature comfort of his perfect, beautiful nest.
He shuffled his way up the staircase, creeping through the dark manor. It took him ages, it felt, to climb his way up to his room. When he managed to make it to the door, the sight ahead almost brought him to tears. His large, plush nest was exactly as he’d left it. It was a masterpiece in his eyes, lined with the softest, most plush blankets that money could buy. But what made it special wasn’t only the materials; it was the personal touches interspersed throughout. Little things, of course, that wouldn’t be noticed, like Alfred’s handkerchief or one of Damian’s tiny sweaters.
There was nothing more soothing than being surrounded by a cocoon of his pack’s scents. Of being reminded that he had a pack.
With a low groan of relief, he kicked his slippers off and sank into the plush nest, sinking into the soft cushions immediately. He could have sworn that he was asleep before his head even hit the pillow, far too exhausted after his ordeal.
But in Wayne Manor, peace never lasts too long.
He jolted awake sometime later, the room barely lit by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. For a moment, his muscles tensed, sensing an intruder. In the darkness, he could see a shadow close to him, small and hesitant. Seconds later, cold toes were being pressed against his thighs, a familiar sensation that brought a smile to his lips despite his exhaustion. With a soft huff, he reached forward with one arm to wrangle the pup who had snuck in, pulling her close to his chest and pressing an adoring kiss to her head, inhaling the sweet scent of his quietest pup. His Cass.
The next time was shortly after. He couldn’t see who was climbing in, but it wasn’t hard to tell from the familiar sounds of struggle. His oldest, Dick, was dragging his thick Superman blanket into the nest with him, doing his best to settle in without disturbing anyone. He pulled it over himself as he snuggled in on Bruce’s other side, gangly limbs flailing as he tried to mould it into the nest with him.
Lately, Dick’s own nesting instincts had been kicking in, leading to a desire to fix the nest. At twelve, he was approaching the age where he would be presenting soon. Already, his milky pup-scent was beginning to change into a sweeter, candy-apple scent.
Bruce was devastated that his pup was growing up.
Dick, oblivious to his plight, whispered a soft “Love you, mama.” Only then was he able to drift off again.
The third time, he awoke to whispered fighting. “You’re a blanket thief, Jay; you gotta share!” Duke whispered, the nest shifting as the two pups argued.
“Am not! There’s a ton of blankets, get your own!” Jay shot back, letting out a tiny pup-like growl. The sound instantly made Bruce’s instincts flare up, letting out a soft, sleepy croon to check on the state of his pups. Immediately, both Jason and Duke let out soft chirps in response.
“Sorry, mama,” Duke whispered, releasing his half of the blanket he was holding. Jason tumbled backward, landing half on top of Bruce’s legs with a soft grunt and a mumbled curse under his breath. The moment that Bruce’s hand reached down to stroke through his hair, his fiestiest pup immediately melted into him, leaning into his touch.
From there, it didn’t take long for the door to crack open, right as he was about to fall asleep once more. He didn’t need to think about who it could be now, not when the room filled further with the sweet milk scent of pups. Cracking one eye open, he was able to see the exact moment when Tim placed the littlest pup into the nest, before climbing into it himself. He slotted himself effortlessly onto the other side of Cass, chirping as he cuddled into her. Damian, on the other hand, was eager to curl up in the corner, surrounded on all sides by the walls of soft, comforting scents and the protection of his pack. Dick, however, would never let a nestling remain uncuddled. Ever.
In a heartbeat, Dick’s arms wound their way around the little pup and pulled him close to his chest, even as he squawked indignantly. With some light maneuvering, the toddler was pressed between him and Bruce, and rapidly dissolved into soft, sleepy, puppy purrs as their scents smothered him, turning him into a puddle of sleepy, scent-drunk pup.
Now that all his babies were in the nest with him, there was nothing that could stop him from getting a good night’s rest for the first time in days. Exhaling slowly, he closed his eyes to drift off once more.
Only to be awoken moments later, by a tiny foot kicking him in the ribs.
He doesn’t look up from where he’s mending my chlamys, great brow made heavy with concentration. It’s probably the needle. Chiron keeps them blunt so we boys can’t skewer each other when we start playing around. Father’s probably used to metal so sharp it cuts through space and time. He’s probably used to servants doing his mending for him too.
Maybe he’s mad cause all this parental duty is beneath him. Maybe that’s why the gods so rarely raise their kids. I wonder if he’s making an exception for me since I have no mother to do such things for me instead.
I don’t know about any of that. My father is busy but he comes when I call for him. He corrects my form when I fumble with the bow and smiles at me when Chiron compliments my writing. And he’s here now, divine hands fumbling through mending torn wool while he sits on the rocky ground, no more the vision of a god than shepherds picking straw from their rams.
“Father?” I call again. This time, I hear him hum, low and questioning. He puts the curved needlepoint between his lips and the metal comes away gilded and sharp. When he puts it to the frayed fibres, he does some godly magic that ties the broken ends back together again. I gasp and quickly lean over his shoulder to closer watch him work. All my words disappear beneath my wonder.
He laughs - just a soft puff of air and the smallest quirk of his lips - but does not shield my view. It must be magic, the way he binds it as though a sword had never pierced through. We stayed like that for a long while, him and I on the cold ground, my eyes glued to his deft mending like I could decode his secrets if only I focused long enough.
In the end, it’s Father who breaks the warm silence.
“Tell me again,” he runs the back of a painted fingernail up the freshly mended strip, a lightness to his voice that makes the skin on the back of my neck and arms tingle, “who tore your chlamys?”
“I did,” I lie, quick and confident. “It caught on a bramble while I was gathering fruit and — “ The weight of Father’s gaze is always heavy but now it seems immense. A burning, scratching thing that scalds me from the inside out. A boulder trapped in the small space of my throat. My mouth snaps closed, my tongue clammy and too warm in my mouth. I don’t know what my father will do if he learns the other boys don’t like me much. I don’t know what he’ll think of me that I couldn’t stop them.
Father averts his gaze for a moment, unfolding himself so he can fasten the cloth about my shoulders to study the drape of it. All of him is so warm, like a fever constantly burns his blood, if gods even have blood. His big hands tell me to be still and when he taps my calf, I know he wants me to stand at my fullest height so he can see just where the lowest folds fall against my skin. The boulder stays in my throat through it all, my chest pounding with the weight of my anxious heart. Don’t cry. Father’s hot fingers burn the line of the cut into my side, right there from knee to hip where Ion had slashed my chlamys. Don’t cry, don’t you dare cry.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the silence settles like ash around us.
“A bramble?” he says, flat with disbelief. It’s a question and a warning all in one. The cut was too high up for any natural thorns to have reached. The line too straight by far to have been made from pulling.
Still, I nod, careful to not meet Father’s burning gaze again, “Yes, sir.”
One long moment passes. Then another. I wonder what Father’s face will look like twisted in rage. I wonder if he’ll punish me with lashes to my calves like all human fathers seem to.
Instead, Father slips the mended cloth from my shoulder and begins folding it, all the room’s hot tension disappearing like clouds blown away by the summer breeze. “You’ll have to be more mindful,” he says, and my heart still races endlessly in my chest, mind abuzz with the wrongness of this dismissal, “this is the only time I will mend it for you. Next time, you’ll wear it torn ‘til Chiron grants you a new one, understand?”
I fix my eyes to the rug beneath my father’s feet, “Yes, sir.” He puts the chlamys on the tabletop then silently makes his way to where my practice tablets are stacked. He doesn’t touch me when he passes by.
Immediately, those stupid tears are prickling the back of my eyes again and the boulder triples in size and drops like an anchor to the pits of my stomach. Wrong, wrong, wrong. My face and arms burn like steam has scalded my skin. Worse than any anger or disappointment, Father’s quiet distance feels like rejection. I rush forward and hold his thigh, uncaring of the way my clumsy fingers wrinkle the fine cloth of his skirt. “Are you angry with me?”
Father does not pause in his checking over the tablets, sparing me not one reassuring glance or the hint of an amused smile. My heartbeat races up my windpipe ‘til it's pulsing in my mouth, all my teeth rattling behind my shaking lips. Father may not like me for being a coward but he definitely despises liars. I don’t even know why I lied in the first place.
“Father!”
Finally, with a deliberate sort of slowness, he puts the tablet down and turns to face me, eyes dull with disinterest. I pull at his skirt so he will kneel and meet me at my height but it’s like trying to move one of the great stone statues that decorate Chiron’s garden. Fat tears roll down my cheeks. Ion was right, I am just a spoiled baby. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”
Father’s head tilts, dog-like, inhuman, “Why should I be cross? I can hardly blame a bramble for growing just as I cannot blame you for being caught in its thorns.”
“Not for that!” I cannot meet his eyes. Not even Chiron could meet Father’s eyes when they smoulder with such darkness. Maybe human fathers discipline with whips because they cannot steal the air from a room with just the tilt of their chins. “I — I lied.”
“Hm,” Father gently pulls my shaking fingers from his leg and folds himself onto the floor again, bending his back so he can meet me eye to eye. I rush into his broad chest, making myself small. He still isn’t smiling, but he adjusts my legs and props my back against the broad side of his arm, cradling me the way boys my age must never be held. “So you have. Still, I do not see why I should be angry.”
Confusion stills my tears. I keep my ear pressed to Father’s warm chest, devoid of heartbeat or the sound of rushing blood but full of familiar comfort all the same, “You don’t like liars. You punish them harshly.”
“And yet, you came forward and confessed. Why?”
Father’s hands rub soft circles against my hip. I sniff, loud and ugly and full of phlegm. “It’s only a lie if I never tell the truth.”
I feel it before it happens. The way Father’s stomach sucks in and his chest gets wide with air. He laughs; full and musical, all his jewellry tinkling like bells. He leans over me, bright gold hair like sun-streaked clouds at twilight and presses his forehead to mine. In the dark of his body’s great shadow, the gold flecks in his eyes glimmer like little stars. It’s beautiful and horrible, like the full weight of the sky is staring down at me, like Father can see everything I am, was and will be.
“I always know the truth, Asclepius. There is nothing beneath the sky that you can hide from my eyes.”
If it’s meant to comfort me, I feel none. Curled up in his arms, eye to eye under the sprawling weight of his divinity, I feel picked apart. Raw. Ashamed. There’s no way to run so my tears begin anew, innards trembling and limbs weak. “If you already know, why bother asking?”
“Because, child,” and Father blinks, breaking the spell. He kisses my forehead, then each of my cheeks, then my chin. My skin floods with heat then tingles from the magic resting there. “I am also your father. It would be nice if you’d confide in me from time to time. All my wisdom and power is meaningless if you never ask for help.”
[ For @superkooku who is constantly in the Asclepius pit with me]
She is put to work cleaning, and is enamored with the luxury life that the madame leads
She especially loves her Rococo dresses and fabulous kimono
Her time at the manor teaches her proper manners and etiquette, as well as how to dress properly
When she is 14 the madame passes away, and she leaves the manor
Kikyo wants a job that will pay well so she can live lavishly too
She is recruited to join a crime syndicate, and hones her fighting skills there
Her Nen fully awakens from the vicious effort she puts into her training
(She is a Manipulator, and her ability is centered around her eyes - making eye contact with her leaves you open to persuasion/hypnosis 👁👁 however, her temper makes her aura surge, and she has been known to literally pop her enemies head's on accident 💀)
Kikyo becomes skilled with assassinations, but she’s not satisfied with her income
She pays her way out of the gang, and moves to Yorkshin to work solo
By the time she is 17, she is living in a very expensive apartment in Yorkshin
