#*writ

[ohmykazuha]

which do you want first? :D

FALLING ASLEEP ON THEIR SHOULDERS

vs

JIA PLS GET TO THE 1K EVENT REQUESTS SO YOU DON'T FORGET

[tanlorin]

i may or may not have spent this evening pissing tanlorin off 😳

[volchitza]

On the Mediterranean graveyard, and indifference

For all that this website is for social justice I see no one turning to the African-European crisis that is happening right now.

To put it as shortly as I can, clandestine immigrants from various countries in Africa are being transported to Italy from Libya (a quick look at a map will tell you why there is literally nowhere else they’re going).

Who are these people? Men, women and children from Syria, Eritrea, Somalia, Tunisia and Nigeria escaping war zones and death, going after the dream of a better life for themselves and their family, often going to reconnoitre and settle to bring the whole family — the dynamic of immigrants in any time and place on Earth.

What do these people go through? Horrors so great they decide to leave their own homes, if they even have some anymore, horrors to get to Libya where they stay in inhuman conditions, paying large quantities of money to remain in a filthy room full to the brim with other desperate people, like livestock, at the mercy of human traffickers. Once they are finally granted passage to Europe, the real hell begins. We have a Mediterranean Sea no longer: it is a graveyard. These words have been spoken by the European Parliament president Martin Schulz, but to what end? They are not acting to change it. You have to understand that the passage these people buy at such a cost is not safe. The boats are old, broken, filthy, and transporting hundreds of people where the space was designated for a couple dozen passengers at most. Do have a look. It’s easy to imagine how easily these boats fail or topple. Hundreds of people die.

Read: http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/apr/19/700-migrants-feared-dead-mediterranean-shipwreck-worst-yet

After this tragedy, after 700 people died in a single incident, the hope was that at least the Italian government and Coastal Guard would get some help from Europe, since we are still a Union after all, finances, aid, men, ships — but after a few statements on the tragedy, nothing really changed.

What is happening now? These people do not want to stay in Italy, where there are no resources for them. They want to move up north and settle in other countries. France is blocking the frontier at Ventimiglia, sending back all those who successfully pass the border. This is against the Schengen Agreement, which states that within the Schengen Area all movement of persons should be free. To quote:

The Schengen area represents a territory where the free movement of persons is guaranteed. The signatory States to the agreement have abolished all internal borders in lieu of a single external border.

While the Schengen Agreement is valid for EU citizens only, France and other European countries should not be blocking passage like they’re doing; they’re leaving the whole burden to those States like Italy and Greece who are receiving migrants while unable to sustain themselves alone, because of our poor economic situation.

Europe is standing by and watching tragedy unfold; with her, the world.

[preston-griffiths]

Homecoming | Preston & Cat

General notation [I never do this, so this is obviously important]: This song is the heavy inspiration for my writing this para and I totally suggest it's yours too. Actually, it's an order. Go listen. Now.

To be completely, utterly honest, he had been lonely the past few days. It was never easy to admit he had been alone, lost without her, but he could manage it.

If she tied him down and forced it out, anyway. 

They had come to this point a few times before, the all-important homecoming. Preston rarely left Chicago, but Cat was a traveller, criss-crossing the globe and leaving him behind. It would make anyone insecure, but him in particular, nudged on by Jay's abuse [he just couldn't let it go] and then Garrett's total asshattery. 

There was the close [St Louis], and the far [London, for six excruciating days] but Preston and Cat always ended up in the same place when she came home, curled up on the battered loveseat he had insisted not come from IKEA. He would stroke her hair and breathe in her detergent [which never managed to infiltrate his clothes, for some reason] and just look at the girl he was so damn dependent on while she told him about the places she had been, the people she had met and where she would take him, "next time".

God. He was really whipped, wasn't he? His friends probably agreed that behind his back, he probably knew it in the back of his mind but he just couldn't care. 

This time, this reunion, was different. Preston knew it, he was sure Cat probably knew it too.

There was a larger sense of urgency, desperation, even. As soon as they had crossed the threshold, laughing over the Abraham Lincoln enthusiast Cat had been sitting next to on her way back, he pushed her, tugged, really, towards their bedroom, not the kitchen, not the dumb loveseat not from IKEA. 

Ignoring storytime would be what she got for surprising him at work when he couldn't really do anything like that.

[volchitza]

a Montmaray fic: you're the train that crashed my heart, Simon/Toby

title: you're the train that crashed my heart pairing/fandom: Simon/Toby, The Montmaray Journals rating:  idk man there's ~reference to sex but it doesn't go further than that. lenght: less than 500 words. notes: SPOILERS FOR THE FITZOSBORNES AT WAR. I wrote this the day after I finished The FitzOsbornes At War because I realized that if I didn't let some feelings go I would've never get over the FitzOs enough to start a new book (which I still haven't started). I hope you like it because these characters are my babiessss & this has been kindly beta'ed by the amazing Dayln!

TOBY #1 It is astonishing now - how far those bits of happiness seem. As Toby falls with his plane, he can only think of bailing out; but the moment he does, he closes his eyes, and behind his eyelids there is Simon’s face waiting for him. Simon’s face, close to his, smiling, his uneven teeth biting gently at Toby’s lower lip, and then a gush of laughter comes from both, and Toby pushes Simon against a wall with expensive striped wallpaper. He opens his eyes, and he pulls the rip cord of his parachute - a moment too late, so he’s falling too fast. He vaguely recognizes the green fields under him, and he hopes to God he doesn’t die, because the bloody Nazi can’t win, because he needs to live, he needs to live for his sisters and for Veronica and for Montmaray and to see the end of the war. He needs to see Simon again, and maybe it won’t mean as much to him as it does to Toby but hell, he doesn’t care. SIMON #1 Simon gets a twenty-four hour leave, but he doesn’t have the guts to go to Sophie, or Veronica, or anyone else he knows, so he just walks around places in London he’s never been before; when the sun starts to go down, he enters a pub, and it’s not long before a woman sits beside him. “Where are you from? Your accent’s nothing I can recognize”, she asks him as she lights his cigarette in bed, a few hours later. “You hardly could”, he answers bitterly, “I’m from Montmaray”. She doesn’t know the place. He considers himself lucky he’s smoking, so he doesn’t have to answer immediately. TOBY #2 Marie is a lovely woman, Toby knows she is; and he feels horrible, horrible, because he can’t bring himself to actually feel what he lets her believe he feels. He knows he’s only deceiving her to save his skin, and he tells himself he’s done worse - he let that family die - but whenever she blushes when he does something ordinary like smiling at her, or helping her carry something heavy, or anything, anything at all, he feels like a complete clod. It’s not like he doesn’t care for her at all - it’s that he knows all too well what it means to be loved less. SIMON #2 Simon hears Toby’s voice constantly, Toby’s voice cursing in his last moments, but as he closes his eyes, trying to calm down, he cannot recall his face. It slips away. He remembers the contours of it, details of it, but he can’t, however hard he tries, picture it in his mind. He remembers how his cheekbones felt under his lips, and the golden curls and even his muffled moans drawing hot breath on his own skin, but not his face. It makes him mad, it makes him mad because he can’t help thinking he should’ve loved Toby better.