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[neathbound-fiends]

I'm having a really good time

[caimitos]

my most self indulgent hc that is closest to my heart and haven't talked about in years is vespa ilkay filipino (her eyes have a rage you only see in 3rd world med students)

[nebulousmoon3990]

GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

II𓂃› POISON

Warning: Negligence (unintentional), Damian being Damian, violence, swearing, sensitive topics,bad things, spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), Fem reader!, use of (M/n) for his mother's name, I accept criticism but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!

Two weeks.It had been two weeks since you disappeared, two weeks in which Bruce did and still does everything he can to find you (as the millionaire Bruce Wayne or as Batman), two weeks in which he and possibly no one in the mansion slept properly, two weeks in which guilt gnawed at him in the worst possible way. But even so, Bruce is ashamed to say that in these two weeks he has only been going to his room now.

Could you blame him? Bruce didn't want to go to his room because that would be a way of saying that you died. He refuses to think that way, you are alive, he is sure of it, and he will find you.

However, Bruce's thesis was shattered by his anxiety.

That's why he goes to your room for the first time.

Bruce remembers going there only once, you must have been seven years old, what saddens him the most is that he only went there because there was a problem with the ceiling and that's why you had to change rooms. Your room was on the second floor, a little further away from the others, possibly the room closest to yours was Tim's.

Alfred had to show him where his room was, which made Bruce feel even worse. He didn't know where his own room was! Was he so negligent to that point?

Your room was at the end of the hallway, the only thing that identified it was a guitar sticker on the door, it was faded and dented, possibly having been there for years, wood splinters were visible on the door and the metals on it were very rusty.

Grabbing the doorknob, Bruce hesitated to open it, the logical part of his brain warning that you might feel uncomfortable with him invading your room like that, but his desire spoke louder, gathering courage Bruce opened the door slowly and faced the environment. He was greeted with a sweet smell that reminded him of artificial strawberries, coming from the entire room and Bruce thought that maybe this was the smell you had passed many times.

The first thing he noticed was the appearance of your room, it was smaller than most of the rooms in the mansion. Your bed was next to the window, giving you a view of the mansion's garden, next to the small bed was a nearly empty study table, on it papers and colored pencils were in the corner organized so as not to have a mess, a small swivel chair was there, there were tears and poorly washed stains, but it seemed like you used it a lot. Above the table on the wall were posters of bands and other things, but what caught Bruce's attention was not that, no, it wasn't.

There were trophies, certificates and awards on top of his shelves.

There were so many, so many, that Bruce thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but it soon proved to be true when he approached the said shelves. There were trophies for gymnastics, literature, computing, swimming, there were awards for drawing, music, and even jiu-jitsu.

Each one was accompanied by a photo of you, photos that were supposed to be taken with your family but most of them were with your instructors, it was possible to see that with each photo that there was your face changed from false joy to not even bothering to smile.

The sight of you in the photos made Bruce's heart break, the worst one of all was one that looked like you were from gymnastics, but in this one you were really exhausted. Sweat was all over your forehead, making your hair stick to it, your eyes were a little red and there was a bruise on your arm, you tried to smile but it was noticeable that the smile was fake and to top it off, to break Bruce's heart? You were holding back tears, tears shining in the corners of your eyes so intensely, but you held it tight, so as not to cry in front of the camera.

Bruce felt horrible, really awful in fact.

He carefully picked up the photo and sat down on the chair, watching you. You must have been eight or nine years old? He didn't know, but you looked so young, so helpless, but you already looked so... broken. As if you knew the weight of the world, the weight that life brought.

He straightened up in the chair and looked at the room again, seeing the back of his room where the wardrobe was. Bruce noticed that next to the large piece of furniture there was a box, almost as worn as the sticker on the door, he got up from the chair leaving the photo on the table next to him, walking over to the box and picking it up with ease. Preferring to sit on the bed instead of the chair he opened the cardboard box to find a computer and a pen drive.

Bruce, so immersed in his thoughts, barely noticed that while he was turning on the old device, someone else was entering the room.

“Bruce?” The aforementioned looked up to see Dick. Looking at his son, he realized how worn out Dick was, whether it was the deep bags under his eyes or the messy hair from so much grabbing and pulling. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” came to see my daughter’s room? Came to try to feel less guilty? Came to try to comfort myself in my pain of not having protected my own daughter? Bruce didn’t know what to answer, fortunately, Dick understood this and decided to see for himself. Carefully, Grayson entered the room and observed with interest, his gaze stopping at the same shelves of trophies that Bruce was interested in, the small smile on Grayson’s face disappeared when he discovered the real reason for the trophies being there.

“W-wait, is that from gymnastics?” Dick looked closer, seeing on the table the same photo Bruce had taken, his anxious eyes roaming the entire shelf, observing his every victory in detail. “Is that all of…(name)?”

“Yeah, and all of hers, all the effort we never saw.” Bruce turned his focus back to the computer, the anguish in his words reminding him of his mistake, while Dick sank in guilt as Bruce himself decided to look at the computer’s contents.

It looked like it hadn't been used for a while, there was dust on the computer and the screen was broken, putting the pen drive in the device a folder appeared on the screen, Bruce clicked and the loading screen appeared on the screen, while it was loading Bruce felt his oldest son sitting next to him, watching the computer next to him and as soon as the loading was finished the two men came across photos.

Very, very old photos of you.

Photos of you as a baby at various points in your childhood outside the mansion, there was a photo of you walking while smiling at the camera, a photo of you sleeping on the couch drooling all over it, a photo of you drinking while wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, and many others.

Bruce heard Dick sigh when he saw you, he had to hold himself back from melting right there, you looked so cute with your chubby cheeks and bright eyes. He wished he could be there at that moment, seeing you so cute, taking care of you, being the father he never was.

But time has passed, you've grown up and are gone now.

Bruce shook off his thoughts when he saw a different photo, in it you had the corners of your mouth covered in what he assumed was chocolate, your hands were covered in the same candy, but what caught Bruce's attention wasn't that, but the woman behind you holding you while laughing at your lameness.

your mother

(M/n) (Last name)

He remembers the woman, kind and caring, a writer from outside Gotham, and although it is strange that she preferred Gotham to live in (with so many other cities more protected than it is), she reached her peak of fame, which made them meet. Just one night with her, nothing more, an affair that didn't go ahead and in which he thought he would forget about her, only for a year later she sends him a letter, talking about you, his daughter.

She didn't ask for anything, not even alimony for herself, she just asked him not to interfere in her daughter's life, although Bruce found the request strange he accepted, being too busy with work to care, he didn't give it due importance at the time.

That was until (M/n) died, her sudden death made him bring you to his house, he fought for custody of you with your aunt, but since he was the one best able to raise you, your custody was given to him.

That was many years ago, he doesn't remember you bringing this computer.

Oh.

Do you keep the computer to remember your mother?

The articles were old, wouldn't it be better to transfer the photos to your cell phone? Or didn't you want to? Maybe you would prefer to keep the computer to remember your memories.

Dick shifted beside him, looking again at the immense trophies on his shelf. “We had her here, and we just ignored her.”

“Dick—”

“We had a diamond in the rough, shining brightly for us, and we just ignored it, and now that she’s gone…” Bruce said nothing, there was nothing to say.

Dick was right.

They had lost a precious stone.

And there was no way to get her back.

Three months.

Nothing about you, no clues, no trails, nothing made it even more difficult because the bus you were on was burned, even if it was left there were no fingerprints, DNA or anything else that would lead them to you.

Dick had to go back to Blüdhaven, continuing his own investigation there. Bruce, knowing that he couldn't do it alone (not this time), put his pride aside and warned the members of the league about your disappearance.

Clark, in an effort to find you, published an article in the Daily Planet about your disappearance, but not even that helped in his search.

The members of the League were alert in each of their cities, looking for clues about you, but nothing came to them, not the organization that kidnapped you or your possible whereabouts.

It was as if you had disappeared from the earth.

Six months.

The police were getting sloppy, probably already giving up on the case. Bruce was still investigating, but how was he going to get deeper into the case if the clues that led to you had disappeared into the wind like dust on the ground?

All he had were your desperate calls for help, your messages, but they led nowhere, your device destroyed without its location.

The family had become more depressed, as if something was missing for everyone present, the immense loneliness in the mansion showing who was missing.

You.

One year.

The case was closed, with nothing to investigate, the Gotham police had more problems to deal with than a missing and possibly dead teenager.

There was… nothing. 

Nothing to say, nothing to do, nothing to look for.You were gone.

A long time ago.

What they didn't know was that you weren't gone, but you were there.

“Alright, alright, I think we’re done for today, right?”

The iron-tasting liquid once again rose up in her bile, making the blood in her throat gush out of her mouth, choking her.

The room they were in, previously white, was now stained crimson, clinging deep into the walls as it reflected the light from the lamp.

In the corner of the room stood you, chained up like a beast (which technically wasn’t a lie now). You lay still as the toxic green liquid entered your veins, the acidity still biting your skin.

Doctor Magnus was the one in front of you, the man with long black hair and golden eyes was watching you dangerously, the loving attitude that many could see as a father educating his son was nothing more than a facade of sadistic malice from the man.

He disgusted you.

They all did.

All of them, all of them, all of them, ALL OF THEM-

Magnus watched as the syringe that connected the tube in your neck finished injecting the toxin into your veins, with the process finished, Magnus approached you and pulled it from your neck.

With the brutality with which he pulled the syringe, you hissed in pain, your abnormally large fangs showing themselves to the doctor, the protective instinct emerging in your brain. Despite the offense, Magnus just smiled at you.

Stepping away from you, he lowered your restraints making you feel a little comfortable. With his fingerprint, the doctor opened the automatic door, before leaving he stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours.

“Get plenty of rest (Name)…” the man’s smirk widened, the evil coursing through him making her stomach churn with fear.

"Tomorrow your experiments will intensify.”

Okay, I'm a little disappointed (I was hoping to write one more, but I couldn't add anything without it affecting the next chapter), well I'll make up for it in the next chapter.

Here's the tag list \(•◡•)/:

@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib

@bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93

sorry for any mistakes.

Bye

[chiyana]

While they're dating it's a romantic soulmate aspect

If/when they break up it's a feral gremlin 'I stole your deadname bc you weren't using it anymore' thing

AU where Tim is transmasc born Stephanie Drake and Steph is transfemme born Timothy Brown

this would bring timsteph to a whole other level, soulmate level dare i say. specially if they chose their names before ever meeting each other. but if you wanna be realistic and they only pick their names after they met and deliberately chose each other's name because they respect and love each other.

[oceantornadoo]

ch1 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

masterlist | next

-

“Yer gettin��� married next week.”

You scoff at your brother staring at his Scotch whisky like it holds the answers to the universe.

“And you’re the king of Egypt. Funny, Simon.” He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he glances at Johnny, his husband and right-hand man. The two have a silent conversation, a head twitch followed by a pursing of lips. Johnny’s lips are cracked and split, something you can’t imagine your brother is attracted to. Superb mental health does not run in your family.

Johnny rises out of his chair, a wooden thing that creaks with effort, and takes his leave. He ruffles your hair on the way out while you try, for the thirtieth time, to shove his side. You are, yet again, unsuccessful. He’s built like a tank.

“M serious, love. ‘Ve been in negotiations the past month. It’s happenin’ next Saturday, St Etheldreda's Church.” You run through a list of churches in your head. St. Ethledreda’s is not in Manchester. In fact, you’re pretty sure it’s not in your territory. Which means…

“Why’re you naming a church in London?” Simon’s quiet as his eyes bore holes into yours. This is one of his favorite tactics to use on his men - staying silent until they find the answer themselves. You hate when he uses it on you like you’re under his command and not his younger sister. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“We need an alliance an’ they offered.”

“Then write a fuckin’ treaty! Not a marriage certificate.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“It’s the 21st century.”

“Not in this family.”

That’s something you can’t argue against. Most people outside of your immediate circle don’t even know Simon’s married to Johnny, let alone into men. When he first came to power, you created a sob story for him - early marriage to his (female) childhood sweetheart, then fast-spreading cancer, ending with a man struck by grief. It allowed him a known reason for turning down arranged marriages while making him seem more human than your shared father. No one paid enough attention to you two as children to know the story wasn’t real, and fake certificates of marriage and death are a dime a dozen. Everyone knows he’s close with Johnny, his right-hand man, and that’s that.

“What about my bookstore?” It’s your pride and joy, plus it’s 95% legal. Mostly. 

“There’s bookstores in London.” London. Only 200 miles away, but it’s like another world. Another world where you can’t walk down the street where every single storefront owner knows who you are. Where the cops are on your family’s payroll and don’t blink an eye at the gun strapped to your hip. It doesn’t matter if you were raised away in your formative years, losing your accent and most concepts of slang that baffle you. It doesn’t matter if you only share a father with Simon, that your mother was a Riley employee and not Mrs. Riley. Manchester is your home. 

It doesn’t occur to you that you have a choice, mainly because you know you don’t. The firm, or mafia, gang, or whatever you want to call it, still operates as if women are objects to be traded and bought. Marriages are merely political agreements. Getting to run a bookstore, or cash-cleaning business, as a woman is almost unheard of where you’re from. Others might call you lucky, but it’s more like being a bird in a gilded cage. A glimpse of what a true, normal life might look like. Living in a flat above your store, hosting local book clubs, setting out free cookie samples - all to be ruined when Johnny stumbles through with a gunshot or the newest recruits are sent to grab more bullets from the basement. Every other week, you snap back from your daydream and remember that you’re a mafia princess at the end of the day, though duchess seems more adequate since the Rileys don’t have that big of a territory.

“And who is my husband-to-be in London?”

“John Price.”

“I’d rather marry Nikolai. In fact, I might just go elope.” Simon glares and you glare back. “I’m not marrying John Price.” You clarify, for emphasis. Simon leans forward in his office chair, looming over his desk like a puppet master. You’re in the chair across from him, crossing your legs casually like you’re not discussing your arranged marriage and potential future. “Contract’s done, love. Jus’ waitin’ on yer signature.” Your signature, the one change from the barbaric practices of old England. You could say no, but then Simon would have no choice but to cut you off. It would be a sign of weakness to the other families if he let a delinquent bastard half-sister run his decisions.

“I want to negotiate the contract.” It’s the closest your brother has ever been to rolling his eyes. They twitch with restraint, blonde lashes flickering. “This isn’t a TV show, kid. Yer not negotiatin’ yer bloody contract.” You uncross your legs, hands on your armrest like you’re about to leave. “Fine. Let me go call up the NCA, tell them all about my brother and his scary gang.” He sighs deeply, then pulls out his phone. “Bloody hell. Can’t wait t’ marry you off, fuckin’ arsehole.” You grab the bright pink stress ball on his desk, a stocking stuffer you gave him as a joke, and throw it at him. He doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone, huffing as the ball hits the side of his head. 

“Here.” He tosses you the phone that’s already ringing. There’s no contact name, just initials. JP. “Riley. Got a problem?” A smooth baritone emits from the phone’s tinny speakers. “Hope you’re not busy this weekend, future hubby. I can’t wait to see you.” Simon sighs at the consequences of his own actions. John’s silent on the other end, processing your words. Bit thick, that one.

“An’ why’s that, sweetheart?” It’s a term of endearment but he laces it with vitriol. “We’re having tea on Saturday at my store. Bring your contract and favorite lawyers. See you then!” You hang up before he can answer, tossing the phone back to Simon. He shakes his head at you.

“Smile, Simon. It’ll be nice to bond with your brother-in-law.”

This is going to be a very long marriage.

If you even get down the aisle.

-

Why does reader hate John? Why is she also a little shit? All will be revealed :)

[ms-demeanor]

One of the things that I would do if I had unlimited time/money and no other job is I would get as many bullshit diploma mill certifications as humanly possible to be a chiropractor nutritionist naturopath whatever with the explicit purpose of talking shit about those things after having gone through those schools.

Like, the dream is to become an actual RDN while also getting fake bullshit certs so I can have extremely solid ground to stand on and a ton of experience while calling out the bullshit certs.

Unfortunately I understand statistics well enough that I can't convince myself to play the lottery, but if there are any passing billionares looking for someplace to drop a billion dollars I would be a very responsible and effective way to waste your billion dollars.

Actually give me ten billion dollars; I will use like four million for my bullshit and the rest is for buying out and canceling medical debt.

[addie-henderson]

Jake Peralta + "controversially" younger partner (16 year gap)

ok but imagine you're 20 at a club, you used a fake id to get in and you're scared shitless. and then the fucking police show up questioning people about a drug case so you definitely decide: it's time to go.

you pack up your cute little mini backpack and say bye to your friends and you bump right into detective Jake Peralta and you see the badge and expect him to be angry and instead he just smiles at you as he helps you find your footing and you adjust the tiny skirt that suddenly doesn't feel like enough fabric. "are you ok?"

imagine you've been dating for about 8 months before you meet the squad and they start in on the jokes. "don't you have school in the morning?" "is it almost bed time?" Terry LITERALLY calls you " kiddo" and Jake doesn't understand why they're joking.

"dude they're like a college sophomore, youre 36."

"they are not a college sophomore 😮"

que an awkward conversation later that week after scheme after scheme have failed and trying to see your driver's license or birth certificate 'naturally' you're laying next to each other in his bed he just turns and says "how old are you?"

"20" you shrug and keep scrolling on your phone.

"oh my God, I'm a cradle robber."

"that is actually such a wild thing to say right now."

[humanityinahandbag]

I've explored the idea of Eddie being married to Steve without knowing it before in a story before (you can read it here), but in that one, Eddie and Steve have been together for years and Eddie is just so completely blinded by pining that he doesn't know how serious the relationship is.

So now I'd like to put forth a different take on this trope for the steddie court's approval.

Steve, who is so incensed by homophobia for his best friend, Robin, that he decides to protest against Reagan by getting married to Eddie.

The only issue? Eddie has zero clue.

Steve got certified in the mail to be an officiant. Claudia works at city hall and isn't sure why Steve wanted a marriage license, but figured he'd helped Dustin so many times that she could help out with one little favor. And Steve figures that customers in Family Video, while not totally aware, count as witnesses.

So he picks a morning where the sun is shining in an especially Fuck Reagan sort of way, gets dressed in his best polo shirt and jeans, styles his hair, and goes to work.

To be clear; Steve does not think that this is legally binding.

He's thinking that this will be a fun sort of protest souvenir to show Robin. Like "Hey, bestie, soulmate, light of my life! Tack this on the wall! I'm technically gay married to my other best friend, so fuck the haters!"

And to also be clear; he knows Eddie is gay as well. No one told him. But he sees the way Eddie looks at him. He knows Eddie's got a crush (though he doesn't know that said crush has been around since reign as King Steve). Steve knows Love.

He also knows that Eddie unlocked a whole world of bisexuality for him. In fact, he's been putting the moves on Eddie for weeks now.

Eddie is just... so shy and flustered and nervous.

Thankfully, Steve is great at romance. He can seduce. He can use the Harrington Techniques.

And he thinks that a fake marriage license might be just the ice breaker to show Eddie. Proof that he's not homophobic. So much so that he's into dudes. Maybe even get in a good laugh. Get Eddie to chill out and stop acting so skittish and just let Steve kiss him already.

(And maybe, yunno, let Steve do other things to him that probably involve candles and flowers and maybe some smooth jazz).

So to Steve, this is a two for one solution.

He gets to protest homophobia with a fake marriage license for his best friend Robin, and he gets to show the guy he likes (and who likes him back) that he's totally into him with a cute little down with Reagan ice breaker.

It's a win win for everyone.

So one day, when Eddie comes into Family Video, the poor metalhead very nearly dies on the spot when Steve, smile bright enough to light a room, pushes a paper towards him and asks him to sign.

And Eddie, lovestruck and beside himself, doesn't even register what Steve is saying. Steve is perfect and wonderful and funny and smart, and he's asking Eddie to sign something, and Eddie barely even looks down at the document before he's scribbling his name.

Steve does explain. Of course he does.

Eddie just... isn't really listening.

He does however listen when Steve asks Eddie out at the end of his shift and Steve gets to watch the other boy turn pink as a summer sky when he says yes.

And that's that.

Steve has a first date to look forward to and a fake marriage certificate to turn in. He gives the paper back to Claudia and asks if she can stamp it. Make it look real. He'll frame it when he gets it back.

The issue is, Claudia is really good at her job. And Hawkins is currently experiencing the aftermath of a Diet Apocalypse and doesn't notice the fine details of everything moving through their local government. So the paperwork processes; laws be damned.

It's definitely a fun surprise when Steve opens the mail one day (before he's even gotten to take Eddie out), and finds out that he's somehow, legally, the first gay marriage in Indiana. Or most of the United States, really.

Which is... definitely something.

But Steve loves Love. And so he processes the news pretty quick and then walks into work with the energy of an especially confused but cheerful golden retriever. "Hey, Robin!" he'd say, reading through the letter again. "You remember how I made that marriage license for you?"

She laughs fondly. "Yeah, dingus. It was sweet."

"Anything for you," he says, sincerely. And then; "You remember how I'm going to take Eddie out? And you agree? You think he likes me back?"

She snorts. "He's totally obsessed with you. I'm pretty sure we've skipped a few stages over like and moved right onto love."

Which is great. Because when Steve falls, he falls hard. He's a guy who loves Love. It's great to find someone who loves him back the way he wants!

"Awesome," beams Steve. "So do you think I should tell him we're actually legally married before or after I take him to the movies?"

[bestdcddigital]

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[sunnycantaloupe]

"Since when was this marriage valid?!" Piece 1

Leona's segment

This with Leona, where he snuck out of the castle as a kid and met you for the first time. It was a rocky start and you got off on the wrong foot, with you accidently tripping over his tail and scraping your knee. Your mother always told you to collect debt if it's due, so you said you'd only forgive him if he "married" you (you didn't think candy was enough, give yourself a break). After a lot of back and forth, he agreed.

The next time you met him, you upheld the proper proposal traditions (you asked your mom and she laughed it off and told you, not thinking anything of it). Bringing a bracelet you spent all night making, you gave it to him as a proposal gift. With some paper and charcoal, you wrote up a fake marriage certificate and you both signed your name at the bottom, your ability to read and write not very good.

With that, you forgave him. Turns out you just wanted to know what it felt like to get married. You made him keep the certificate because you knew you'd loose it somehow. Only then did you actually give him your first and last name, since he demanded it because of your poopy handwriting. You didn't think to ask for his. Surprising to both you and him, the rest of that day was enjoyable since you actually got to know each other a little bit.

After that day, your mother got a better job opportunity and you moved far away. As you grew up, you finally realized the weight of your actions. You weren't too worried though, because you doubted the both of you would even remember the entire thing and you were sure he lost the fake certificate and proposal gift. Even though life went on as normal, with you eventually moving back with your mother to Sunset Savana, you never forgot. Neither did he.

...

It's been 20 years, and Leona is 29 now. Stuff happened in life, but he got through it. That was one of the few good things about being the second born. You weren't expected to do much, which meant you didn't have to do much. Unfortunately, with him being royalty, he was expected to get married some day. With his brother getting worried about him about him ending up alone for the rest of his life (*scoff*), he was set up with countless arranged proposals with the hope that he'd find "the one" somehow.

Now, don't get it twisted. Leona didn't want to get married in the first place and he had no care for it. However, if he was going to get married, he refused to marry someone so...annoying. The first suitor was annoyingly agreeable, the second one very clearly only cared about one thing, and the third was forced into this as well and they mutually agreed not to go anywhere with it. It had been months, and Leona was tired. As he lay in bed after a date with his 4th suitor (someone who he swore wanted him dead-), he recalled a memory.

You. He was 9 at the time and snuck out of the palace. He ended up at a small park where you tripped over his tail. As compensation, you demanded that he "marry" you, stating that "My mom told me that when there's debt that's owed to you, collect it.". As a kid, he hated it and found it bothersome. As a teen, he found it embarrassing, and as an adult? He thought it was funny. So funny in fact, that it gave him an idea.

He never threw them away, your proposal gift and the marriage certificate. He was going to, but the memory of someone so bluntly demanding something of him was amusing, and it helped keep him just a tiny bit humble in some ways. So, he put both items away in a lock box, where he kept other life memories that he deemed important. He knew where they were. The marriage certificate did contain both of your signatures, and there was a proposal gift given, so technically it was valid.

To his utter surprise and relief, it worked. His brother got off his back, and all was good. Well...until the royal ambassadors and council demanded that you live in the palace, with you being his spouse and everything.

...in his defense, he didn't expect them to actually take it seriously. Don't worry though. Do this favor for him, and he'll repay this debt. He'll repay it by making sure you're taken care of for the rest of your life.

[neil-gaiman]

Dear Mr Gaiman,

In legal terms, do Aziraphale and Crowley exist in the human world? Are there any documents proving them to be real?

This might sound like a bit of a silly question so feel free to disregard it, but if for example someone questioned if they were residents or anything of the like, would they be able to prove that? Have they procured fake birth certificates, proof of residency, or anything of the like? Of the same sort, if Crowley, say, got pulled over by police, would he have a driver's liscence (fake or not doesn't matter, that isn't the question) or anything of the type to show them, or would a minor miracle be involved to avoid their attention altogether?

I know that it was mentioned that Aziraphale did in fact acquire a driver's liscence in 1935, and while you have said in a previous ask that whether he passed his test legitimately or not is up for debate, he also has legal papers for the bookshop, other shops he is the landlord of, etc. I suppose this mostly applies to Crowley, but would they ever allow themselves to be found in any instance in which either of them would ever need to show their liscences or any legal documents?

Thank you!

I think you can assume that Aziraphale has all the paperwork anyone could ever require of him and that Crowley doesn't and cannot be bothered.

[girlactionfigure]

Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott was a Torah prodigy whose cleverness and chutzpah saved thousands of Jews from annihilation by the Nazis.

Born in a Polish shtetl in 1897, Reuven was one of fifteen children. His family were Hasidic followers of the Ger Rebbe.

Reuven’s exceptional intellect was apparent at a young age. He was a gifted scholar of Talmud and Jewish scripture, so precocious that he was given rabbinic ordination when only 17 years old.

The Rebbe took a special liking to Reuven, and every Friday night Reuven sat next to the great man at his festive Sabbath gathering. Small in size - he stood only 5’1” - Reuven was known for his big brain, and big heart.

Reuven was selected by his community to represent them as the Jewish voice on the local provincial council. When the Polish president died in the 1920’s, young Reuven stood at the graveside with other clergy and delivered a eulogy on behalf of the Jews of Poland.

Although life seemed fairly good for Polish Jews at the time, the Ger Rebbe sensed that big trouble was coming. He urged his followers to get out of Poland and move to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), at that time British Mandate Palestine.

As the Rebbe’s right-hand man, Rabbi Reuven Kott threw himself into the mission of helping Jews leave Poland and return to their ancestral homeland.

The British had a quota system restricting the number of Jewish families they let in. Reuven took advantage of a bureaucratic loophole defining “family” as two parents and an undetermined number of offspring.

Reuven collected money and bribed Polish authorities to get blank birth certificates. He would then “create” new families, matching people up, changing names and identities as needed. Every “family" had at least a dozen children.

Reuven told those he helped that they must stick with their fake identity. Most people complied, but a few didn’t and were caught. Under threat of being sent back to Poland, somebody gave Reuven’s name to the authorities.

Reuven and his brother were on a train in Warsaw when three plain-clothes officers approached. After verifying his identity, they arrested Reuven for bribery and forgery and threw him in jail. As a pious Jew, Reuven couldn’t eat the non-kosher jail food, so every day his daughter brought him a kosher meal - a two hour journey each way.

After several long months, his brother finally got word that there was going to be a hearing in the case. He went to visit Reuven in jail, told him the news and asked which lawyer he wanted to hire.

Reuven scribbled something on a scrap of paper, folded it up and slipped it through the bars of his cell. Outside the jail, Reuven’s brother unfolded the note. He was shocked to read the contents: “Hire me the most anti-Semitic lawyer in Warsaw!“

Reuven’s family was baffled. With so many top-notch Jewish lawyers, why would he want an anti-Semite? Had his incarceration led to a mental breakdown? Reuven’s brother assured them that he was of sound mind, and he went to Warsaw and found an attorney notorious for his fierce hatred of Jews.

The day of the hearing arrived, and the courthouse was packed with hundreds of Hasids from Reuven’s community. Reuven was allowed only three minutes with his lawyer, and then the hearing began.

To everybody’s shock, Reuven’s lawyer stood up, made a brilliant argument, and got the case dismissed.

Back home in the shtetl, everybody wanted to know what Reuven had said to his lawyer in those three minutes. Reuven said his Talmud study had taught him that in a business deal, if you get three “Yes” answers, the deal will close.

He asked his lawyer three questions:

- You hate us Jews, don’t you?

- Do you want to see me rot and die in jail?

- Would you like all of us Jews gone from Poland?

The lawyer answered yes to all three questions. Reuven immediately shot back, “What good would it do if one measly Jew rots in jail? If you set me free, I can get all the Jews out of Poland!”

Reuven got what he wanted by blinding the lawyer with his own hate. He continued his work “creating” large families and helping them move to Palestine. The anti-Semitic attorney even helped him procure more blank birth certificates. People often asked Reuven when he would go to Eretz Yisrael. He said, “I’m like the captain of a sinking ship. It is my responsibility to get all the passengers out before I get in the lifeboat.”

Over the course of 20 years, Reuven helped tens of thousands of Jews escape Poland. Today, almost half a million descendants of those Polish Jews owe their lives to Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott.

Unfortunately, Reuven himself never made it to Israel. He was murdered at Auschwitz in 1942.

For proving that one small man in three short minutes can accomplish miracles beyond measure, we honor Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott as this week’s Thursday Hero at Accidental Talmudist.

This story was told to us by Reuven’s granddaughter, Ziporah Bank. She heard it from her mom - the daughter who brought kosher meals to Rabbi Kott in prison. 

Accidental Talmudist

[petriwriting]

Bright Future Ahead - JJ Maybank X Reader

Based on THIS request.

Summary: Reader tells JJ they are pregnant.

A/N Did not proofread, wrote this at the gym lol

“C’mon baby girl,” JJ says, the little girls footsteps thud on the floor as she toddler-waddles over to JJ, whose across the hall.

John B and Sarah had a few errands to run, so you and JJ had offered to watch over their sweet daughter Ella Rouledge while they did so. She was so sweet, an Angel with little curls and eyes like her fathers. She was bold and adventurous, taking after both of her parents in that regard. One thing she particularly liked was playing dress up with JJ. Her god father was her idol, she wanted to be just like him, even mimicking his mannerisms from a young age, it was so heart warming to see. You couldn’t wait to have your own child.

Over the last 5 years, the Pogues had given up on treasure hunting, and everyone was settled into a comfortable and safe life. You and JJ had been through everything together, and you loved him more than anyone could imagine and in return you were his whole world. You had gotten engaged shortly after Morocco, JJ had said he didn’t want to waste anymore time because he knew you were the one, and in case they were swept on another crazy adventure he wanted you to be his, officially. You’d taken his last name and had a backyard ceremony with the group with string lights and beer, and a pastor certificate pope and Cleo found online it was in fact legally binding. Since then, JJ had put a lot of his energy into his business, JJ Maybanks deep sea charters, a huge success, now with a second location opening on the other side of the island. Everyone was making enough money to live comfortably, however in Pogue fashion they certainly did not live like kooks. John B and Sarah were fully invested in their family, Cleo and Pope were doing well too, as pope was finishing his degree. All was well for those 5 years, the good and the bad. You were thankful that JJ stuck with you through it all. He had grown into himself, and matured a lot after the incident with his father. He had healed significantly. You were thankful to have seen it all. Reminiscing on the past had only further directed your mind to your future ahead of you…

“Can I brush your hair?” The little girl squeals excitedly, her mother had her hair in braids with bows and they wiggled as she moved excitedly across the playroom. “Sure kiddo, anything.” JJ chuckled and sat down on the floor while the girl brought out her play makeup and hair accessories. You approached the room, and stood in the doorway. “Whose hungry for lunch?” You say with a smile. “Me me!!!” The girl yells excitedly. “Me too,” JJ chuckles. “Well, I’m thinking tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?” You offered. “Sounds delicious!” JJ exclaimed, looking at himself in the fake mirror.

“Are you sure about this one?” He asks, playing along with the girls banter. She was desolately trying to reach JJs head while he sat on the floor and was brushing what she could reach while comparing the butterfly hair clips with his complexion. “This one,” she says insistently, settling on a blue clip, JJ had to clip it to his own hair because she struggled to do so by herself, her tiny hands weren’t quite strong enough. “Wow! This one really brings out my eyes, huh Y/N?” He turned to you who was admiringly watching playtime unfold from the doorway still. “You look so fabulous.” You reply still holding a slight smile. You would have gladly played with the girl if she wanted, but there was something about JJ that she just loved and you couldn’t blame her. She had said he has better hair the last time they played princess together, and that it was more fun to play with than your hair, you weren’t particularly offended by this though. “I’ll get lunch started, you say, disappearing into the kitchen. You didn’t want to leave, lingering for a few moments watching Ella begin to paint JJ’s nails a glittery purple color. He was no match for her.

As you prepared lunch for the three of you, you could hear the girl’s innocent laughter and JJs colliding. She was delighted her uncle JJ was playing with her. It warmed your heart to imagine how sweet and tender and caring he would be when the two of you decided to start a family. It made you flush, and you felt fuzzy and warm as if you had only just fallen in love with him, instead your were falling deeper in love with JJ.

The thing was, you had just found out you were pregnant. The morning prior, you had taken a test after not feeling too great for a few days and as if shocked, you gasped when you found out. It wasn’t that you weren’t ready for this step in your future, it was that you were slightly sad to mourn the loss of the things you were able to do with JJ alone, like showering together and having sex on the couch in the middle of the day. Sure, they were great, but that sadness and slight doubt was replaced when you saw how amazing he was with Ella, he was attentive and caring, gentle and soft. He showed his gentle side only with her, and sometimes you wanted to squeal in excitement because of how cute it was.

Pretty soon, there would be a little JJ running around causing trouble, and you couldn’t be happier to think of it. Now, you just had to tell JJ himself. You’d taken 4 boxes worth of tests to be sure, and Sarah had helped book an appintment for you later that week with the doctor that helped her through her pregnancy, you had told kie as well and she immediately bought you a pack of prenatal vitamins and healthy snacks. Something she said was absolutely vital. She even offered to show you some pregnancy yoga stretches she taught other women. Everyone was excited for you, even John B, who Sarah had told by accident. You were slightly worried you wouldn’t find the right moment to tell JJ, not that he would react badly, just that it was such a big moment for the two of you.

You were lost in your own world while you prepared the soup and made the sandwiches in the routledge kitchen, you hadn’t noticed how quiet things had gotten. It had only been a little less than an hour, so curiosity got the better of you and you wandered back into the playroom. JJ shushed you before you could say anything and your eyes met his. Ella was sleeping peacefully cuddled up my JJ’s side, she must have wanted him to read a story and had fallen asleep. The poor girl must have been exhausted from playing. JJ looked at you with a soft smile, 2 pink butterfly clips were in his hair, and he looked a bit goofy but he was still your JJ.

You smiled softly at him, “Let me,” you mouthed to him, reaching for Ella and gently picking her up in your arms to tuck her into bed. JJ pulled a soft blanket over her as she lay peacefully sleeping. You turned for the door, while JJ leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight cupcake.” He said softly, before joining you. You gently shut the door behind you and lead JJ to the kitchen.

“Gosh she is somethin’ else.” JJ says with a slight laugh, taking the clips out of his hair. “I love the nail color on you, very complimentary.” You joke. You proceeded to the kitchen, where you both enjoyed the lunch you had made in comfortable silence. JJ knew something was up since you were acting oddly in that moment. After eating, you sighed and went to clean to rinse the dishes, putting them into the dish washer.

“Hey,” you said finally. “Can we talk?” You ask, JJ smiles gently “of course.” He says. “What’about?” He asks you. “Well.” You begin, he can tell you’re upset, nervous at least. He takes your hands in his gently holding them in a comforting way he waits patiently for you to let it out, and when you are ready after a moment you do. “Seeing you and Ella makes my heart melt, you are so sweet with her and it just,” you stutter, stopping yourself. “It makes me realize how much of an amazing father you’ll be.” You look up at the ocean eyes of his, “I can’t wait to start a family with you.” He admits softly. “And you know I’m ready whenever you are.” He explains. He had said before he was patiently waiting for you to be ready, and he would support you however you needed. “Jayj,” you say gently. “I’m uh,” you sigh softly. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence, JJs expression that was soft turns into an elated smile. “Really, baby?” He asks in disbelief. “Yes.” You confirm. “Like 6 tests.” He embraces you tightly for a quick moment. “Oh my god,” he says through a smile and a joyous laugh. “We’re havin’ a baby!” He exclaims. “Woo!” He says loudly, with a fist up in victory. you shush hun reminding him of Ella sleeping a few doors down. JJ gets kinda serious for a few minutes, and leans down so he his face to face with your stomach, “hear that baby Maybank?” He says, “your mama and I are gonna spoil you rotten. I’ll give you everything I always wanted as a kid. We’re gonna love you so much,” JJ says, his voice cracks as he’s gotten emotional, teary eyed. “I love you so much.” He says, to both you and your baby. He embraces you with his head rested on your stomach.

You enjoy his touch and run your fingers through his hair for a few moments, he finally stands up fully again and wipes the tears from his eyes and kisses you deeply, you are so swept up in his embrace you don’t hear Sarah and John B coming back home with a few groceries. JJ pulls back immediately and goes over to John B, “we’re having a baby!” He exclaims. John B shares his excitement and they embrace. “Congratulations, man.” He pats JJ on the back. Sarah is excited too and smiled at you, scurrying to put the handful of groceries away. “Well I didn’t know you were going to tell him now.” She says with a sigh, reaching under the sink and pulling out a very expensive and fancy bottle of sparkling cider. “But we got this as a gift to celebrate!” She exclaims popping the bottle open with a satisfying fizz of bubbles and a pop.

The rest of the evening is spent in a happy daze, a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life. Kie had come over and hugged both of you very happily, and Pope and Cleo shortly after. The evening was spent in celebration, sharing happy memories and drinks. Nob alcoholic ones for you of course. Deep down you knew you were right where you needed to be and you couldn’t think of a better man to have as your baby’s father than JJ Maybank.

Taglist: @jsbaby

[nenoname]

the stan conspiracy board my love....

his birth certificate being marked as fake fascinates me though...... i wonder if he managed to alter it (apparently they mention if you're a twin?)

it is funny that the only thing under "illegal acts" is him trying to steal the animatronic badger but i guess that's the main thing that first caught the agent's attention (other than stan helping the kids break into the minigolf course)

(the photo of his car only shows up in that initial shot cos it's the episode's keyword btw)

[omgthatdress]

I see you're talking about something you don't know anything about, soooo let me get into the story behind all that!

A while ago, I joined a cemetery preservation society lead by a person I'm going to call A. I worked as a researcher for them, and it seemed to be going GREAT. I was really good at what I was doing and A and I seemed to be perfectly aligned in our goals.

A seemed to know EVERYONE in the city and was very good at networking and planning and social stuff, which I am not very good at. It made us a really good team.

One project had me documenting burials in a local historic Black cemetery with burials going back to 1920. I was able to get records from 1920-1939 through death certificates on familysearch.com, but for burials after that, @ye-old-news suggested I look up obituaries in my local Black newspaper. Since they only had records on microfiche in a library, I spent 5 months of a summer going to the library every day, scanning obituaries for three hours a day (there was a 3 hour time limit), and then coming back and putting the named into a spreadsheet.

In the end, I was able to document 15,000 names with an estimate of 20,000 total burials, in a cemetery with only about 7,000 marked graves.

This really came in handy when the property got sold to a property flipper who wanted to "develop" the property, repeating Tampa's long history of erasing Black cemeteries. Eventually, with a constant stream of advocacy from the ogranization I was with, prominently featuring my research, the city bought the cemetery back. (google Memorial Park Cemetery in Tampa if you want proof of all of this).

Perfect! Right? So what do I do next?

Fast-forward to about a year later, I get word that the city is working with the anthropology department at USF to document burials at this cemetery. Hey, I already did that! I should totally share my work with these people, right?

I message A, and she tells me not to share it. I ask why not? She doesn't really give me a reason. I tell her that's not fair, I worked really hard on this, and if I don't share my work, they might reproduce what I did, making the months I spent working on it pointless.

A freaks the fuck OUT. She tells me I'm out of line and being selfish, trying to satisfy my own ego. She tells me I just want attention. She then claims that the research I did doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the organization, and as head of the organization, she's the one with control over it.

We NEVER discussed this beforehand. I never signed any kind of contract or ever got paid for it. I did it believing that since A was my friend, she'd trust me to be able to do with it what I thought best.

But it turns out A wasn't the person I thought she was. She was a classic communal narcissist, a person who uses charity and doing good things to get their narcissistic fulfillment, who then turn into your worst nightmare the moment you say no to them.

So I went ahead and shared my research with the city because it was what I'd meant to do with my research all along. At which point A send out an email to the people I was talking to, along with city council members, people on the city's historical preservation committee, and several other people I straight up did not know. She claimed that I did not own the research that I had done and heavily implied that I had either faked it or stolen it. I was physically ill when I read it. I have never in my life been angrier or felt more humiliated. Needless to say, I was done working with A.

So I decided I'd start my own little research organization. I needed to get a business license for it if I wanted to get grants, which is why I started asking for donations.

I heard of another, very small rural historic Black cemetery that needed preservation work & research done, so I reached out to the person doing that. Again, it all seemed to be going great. She explained to me how to get a non-profit going and said I would be great at what I'm doing.

Soon, we're going to have a re-dedication ceremony for this cemetery, and I'm really looking forward to it as an opportunity to network with other cemetery people and to get my name out there and establish myself.

But then a few days before this event happens, I get a text. I've been disinvited. An "elder" from the church has "heard about me, and heard that I'd been disrespectful."

It was A. She was out there telling people that I was a horrible person who somehow stole my own work. I knew this because I'd seen how she talks about the people she's mad at first hand. BTW, the biggest red flag that you're dealing with someone toxic is if they're CONSTANTLY talking about the people who have done them wrong and they won't shut up about it.

So yeah. I can't go to this event, I can't do my networking, and now everyone in this small community of cemetery preservation has been told that I'm untrustworthy the worst person alive. I simply cannot move and do my own work if A is in the way, she is that nasty and vindictive.

So make the very hard, heartbreaking decision to step away. That's when I offered to refund the money. Nobody asked for a refund. If you still want a refund after all this time, give me the documentation that you donated to me, and I'll give it back to you when I have the money.

I went through a really long, really dark depression after that. I felt like I'd finally found the thing I was meant to do, only to have it ruined by someone who is genuinely the worst person I've ever met. I had to start taking new anti-anxiety meds to stop obsessing over everything I want to scream at A.

But yeah, keep saying that I just didn't want to do the work. That's one of the things that A said about me.

You don't know me and what I've been through, and I've always been honest about my needs for money and how that money was being spent, unlike the bots that spam my email box.

I've had Amal telling me five times a week for over a year that her son may die at any moment. Guys, I'm kinda starting to think that her son may not die at any moment.

And just to clarify: from this point on, when I refer to gazabots, I am referring to the bots that beg for money in my inbox. Those things are absolutely not real people because they're just really obviously bots at this point. I'm not saying all Gaza fundraisers are scams, just the ones clogging my inbox. (Zionists fuck off, BTW)

One of the things I hate, hate, haaate about the Gazabots is how they make you feel special. I see so many posts of "this mother of four reached out to me! ^_^" and like... I really hate to break your heart but a mother with four starving children isn't one by one going through people on Tumblr looking for the right kindly soul to ask for help, it's a bot program that sends out thousands of the same message at once and happened to land on your page.

When you give money to a Gazabot, you aren't keeping a helpless family alive when you give money to these things, you're finding this:

Anyway, if you want to help with Gaza, and I mean like really, actually help, consider donating to one of these organizations:

Doctors Without Borders

World Central Kitchen

Palestinian Children's Relief Fund

Palestinian Red Crescent Society