#There’s so many things to say about rogue one but it’s about people who loved their descendants they didn’t know who’s never know their nam

[rotzaprachim]

The thing about writing a post apocalyptic sw au (station eleven and TLOU) is that it helps anúnciate the reality that the sequel trilogy is a post apocalyptic narrative. Like, the sequel trilogy is really, really bad, and one of the places it’s so bad it becomes fascinating is in the gap between the Light Action Adventure corporatized media Pew Pew Pew series it Thinks it is with all its product tie ins and Lego sets and the knock em out balls to the walls Hopeless post apocalyptic narrative it actually is. Never is it convinced that anything in the galaxy improved or rebuilt after the return of the Jedi. Because it is not a Series Smart enough to come up with it’s own plot lines it simply regurgitates the original trilogy plot lines without the intelligence to make a nuanced commentary about intergenerational trauma or way survivors of fascism must continue to fight new forms. The sequel trilogy is a hamster wheel. The war never ended. Everything is the same. The Death Star is the same. The rebellion is now the resistance, a far more splintered, shatter shell that can fit into and out the back of a single hangars. The weapon that killed a planet now destroys a planetary system. And what gets me is the individual stories. These are the children of an apocalypse. Finn was taken from his family as a child to become the next round of stormtrooper canon fodder. Rey scrabbled for survival by physically tearing sustenance from the carcasses of a war. Poe was born during the last war and lives to see his adult live suited up into the same conflict his parents fought. Rose is a refugee of a planet destroyed like alderaan and kenari. Every one of them is born on this hamster wheel without a way off. It’s why I have a hard time reconciling rogue one and andor as existing in the same universe as the sequel trilogy, because I think RO and Andor are both so much more cuttingly brutal and so much more hopeful that what the ST provides. Finn and Rey and Rose and Poe are way some substantiation of Andor’s worst nightmares. They’re literally each living the lives Cassian and so many others died to prevent from happening.

[varpusvaras]

An AU in which Jason, upon returning to Gotham, gets really swept up into the whole crime lord thing, and never gets the time to go through with his revenge plan.

It starts small. He comes back and gets to work, and after a while, he has managed to carve out some of the crime from crime alley. This gets him noticed among some of the people there. One night, a group of thugs approach him, but instead of wanting to fight him, they want to work for him.

Jason, still fresh, with not much revenue coming for him yet, tells them that he isn't hiring because he cannot exactly pay them much. The thugs say that it doesn't matter, because they like what he is doing, and would like to be in on it anyway, and, well. If Jason has help managing other things, he can dedicate more time on his bigger plan, right?

Wrong. Things start to move much quicker now, and that means that more people come in and want to work for him. At this point Jason has money coming in, and he starts paying them, too, which makes more people come in, which in turn makes more money to come in as well. Jason can pay them more, and suddenly he notices a difference in many of the goons he has on his roster now. They seem happier. They joke more, many of them have better clothes on them, and they don't look so gaunt anymore, either.

Jason asks about it, once, and the goon tells him that they have had the money to buy actual groceries and new pair of boots, which makes living a lot more comfortable. They even got to buy their kid a new winter jacket! Now, if they save up a little bit, they will be able to get their kid new school books as well!

And Jason, Crime Alley boy Jason, who loved school and reading, feels his heart strings being violently yanked. Don't worry about the books, he says. I will take care of it.

At the end of the month, he has managed to organise a book delivery system for all the Crime Alley kids, where they get school books and picture books and science books about dinosaurs and angient Egypt and all that. He tells his goons that for every kid that stays in school for the semester, he will give them a bonus.

It works wonders. The amount of kids dropping out from school gets cut by 60 percent just during the first semester. The book system grows, and suddenly Jason finds himself pushing some money to get the old local library running again, to make things a bit easier. He even hires some people to run the system for him. Suddenly, he is like actually employing people. He needs an accountant. He hires one for himself, and then another one to run other funds.

Things just keep escalating after that. Local parent group starts to have meetings in the new library, and they put up a babysitting club and start a clothes exhange program as well, where you can bring all the clothes that are too small for you, and people get to take what they need home. A soup kitchen starts as well, first because the kids need snacks, and then it grows so much that Jason needs to find a place for it to run effectively and safely. Many local restaurants get into it as well, and their business starts to rise as well, because people who are fed and have warm clothes have more time and energy to seek for jobs. Many of them are still employed within just Crime Alley, though, because jobs elsewhere require an adress, and some people don't have those.

Jason thinks about himself, after his parents died, on the streets, trying to survive, and thinks never again. He tells his accountant to start budgeting for housing.

He needs to hire more people for it. He needs to run his crime empire, after all, he doesn't have the time for this.

He has so many people working for him now. There are a few thugs that were previously employed by other Gotham Rogues coming in as well, because they have heard good things about the Red Hood. The other Rogues are in and out of the prison or Arkham all the time and the pay isn't reliable and there is a high chance that you will get beaten up by one of the bats as well, and they don't really get offered medical services by their bosses, you know?

There's another thing. Jason now has to organize people to get first aid-training. And also get some sort of vaccination program going. And also get everybody dental.

It's all getting too much for him, really. He doesn't even have a high school diploma.

He mentions this to one of his goons one night, because they said that he looked stressed. Don't worry boss! The goon tells him. We will take care of things, if you want to go back to school! It would be a good example, too, for the older kids, who are still dropping out more than the little kids, you know?

So Jason goes back to school. God he loves school. He barely even thinks about his revenge plan anymore, because he is busy running his programs and studying and making plans with his goons.

He gets his diploma and then starts a community college so people can get degrees.

He then runs into an entirely new problem. The people look up to him, especially the kids. And now the kids also want to help him.

Jason, the second Robin, the bird with clipped wings, tells them no. Absolutely not. You are kids, go back to school, your bedtime is at nine.

He cannot control the older teens, though. They just tell him to fuck off and accept the help. Now train us, so we can start running the more specialized missions too. You can't be the only person jumping on rooftops. If you don't train us, we will do it anyway, dipshit. We ain't scared of you.

And suddenly Jason has his own vigilante team with him. His workers are unionizing. Some of them are actually running for the city council to get things addressed that need to be done the legal way. Crime rates have dropped by 70 percent around Crime Alley.

They can't really call it Crime Alley anymore, can they? It's Park Row again.

The bats are extremely confused by the new team. The Hoods, they call themselves. All of them with a red bat painted on their chests and fighting in an eerily similar manner to them.

Jason is not there on Thursdays. He is busy getting his English degree.

[pinkiemachine]

I’ve only done some light reading on Selina, but even so, details on her past seem few and far between. Maybe there’s a reason, maybe I just haven’t looked hard enough, whatever. Someone can enlighten me in the comments. What I do know, however, is that she’s eluded to have experienced some form of abuse as a child. Now, this research came on the heels of brushing up on the rest of Batman’s rogues’ gallery and I gotta say, abuse as a backstory comes up a lot. And I’m just sitting here, like, “There are so many unique people in this world with unique traumas and hurts that this feels almost cookie cutter.” Am I wrong? I just wanna be more specific and explore problems more intimately. So… Selina Kyle. What to write for her backstory? I thought a lot about who she is as a character present day—her playful aloofness, her decision to become a cat burglar, breaking rules as if they don’t exist, always on the run, never settling down with anyone long term, stealing nice things for herself—it led me to this backstory: When Selina was a child, she was horribly neglected. Her father was almost never around and her mother was depressed, anxious, under the influence of alcohol quite often, and wished she never had a daughter. Selina found that it was always easier to live as though she were invisible. If she never got caught making a mess or being noisy or causing problems, her mother would never get mad at her, or even a acknowledge her, and neither would her father if he ever showed his face. She never received birthday gifts—or if she did, they were pitiful—and all of her attempts of reaching out via gifts to her mother and father were rejected. She was never loved and grew to believe that the only way she would ever feel cared for is if she just took care of herself and only herself. She was good at being invisible, and so she became good at stealing. She treated herself to nice things whenever she felt like it, and she rarely ever got caught. She never made close friends. She never really fell in love. She built up walls so high that no one could ever break them down… until she met Bruce. Suddenly, here was a guy who could consistently catch her red-handed. Who told her she needed to stop robbing people. Who believed she could be better. Who saw her. And even though she kept double-crossing him, escaping his grasp, and escaping justice, she found that it was a little bit harder to return to crime every time. She had always found him attractive… but the longer they chased each other around Gotham, and the longer he showed that he wasn’t going to ignore her or give up on her, the more that attraction turned into a deep feeling that Selina had never felt before. True love. She was scared of it. She didn’t know what to do with it. It was completely the opposite of everything she had ever known, and she secretly didn’t think she deserved it. After all, she was a criminal. She was a “bad guy.” Someone who stole from others for pleasure and profit. And yet Bruce believed she was a good person deep down. He believed she had the capacity for change. And in time, he would find himself falling in love with her too. By the end of their story, naturally, those walls had come crumbling down and they had each learned how to love again, something they both thought would never happen to them. 💜

[thatbirdrestaurant]

ʚ fairy tail headcanons ɞ

ʚ these all range from canon-compliant to pure fanfiction lala land ɞ

ʚ this ended up being so much longer than i planned ɞ

ʚɞ

the b team from the gmg hang out regularly and are all very good friends. mirajane, cana, and juvia have special "making fun of laxus" privileges that not even bickslow has.

laxus is genuinely embarrassed about how he used to talk about erza and she uses it against him very often. "oh, yes, because how can i - a mere woman - possibly accomplish this task myself?" "fine! i'll open the pickle jar!"

cain instinct is strong in the fairy tail guild. everyone is resisting the urge to smack each other, and most of them aren't very good at it. even laxus can be a target, especially after he chilled out. the most surprising display was when levy smacked him square in the head with one of her books, and he just yelled at her, or when cana stared at erza for a few seconds before smacking her across the face.

sex education was, probably, the worst thing to happen to those who grew up in the guild hall. either makarov didn't give enough details or he gave way too many.

lucy and gray are the biggest gossipers in the guild. they know everyone's secrets and while they don't blackmail people, they never hide something from the other. if they're staring at you and whispering, they are talking mad shit or they found out something about you.

juvia and natsu get along alarmingly well. they're not even sure how it works, just that they're so different that it kind of makes them perfect for each other (as friends).

natsu is sting's celebrity crush and he thinks he's doing a great job at hiding it. he's not. everyone knows. rogue knows, lector knows, all of sabertooth knows, all of fairy tail knows, sorcerer weekly knows, natsu knows. no one has the heart to tell him.

juvia doesn't have romantic feelings for lyon but she wants them to be friends so badly. not to get closer to gray, just because she thinks he's really cool and easy to talk to. lyon is so smug about it and gray wants to throttle him for it.

erza and mira's rivalry is alive in the tiniest of ways. they're always having small contests like "i bet i can wash this cup faster than you," or "i bet lucy says hi to me first." there's no hard feelings involved, they just can't help but be a little competitive with each other.

erza was illiterate for a really long time, way longer than she should have been, and makarov felt awful for not realizing it sooner. she was just looking at the reward numbers and going with the flow. on top of that, she has really bad dyslexia, something that somehow went under the radar.

related to the previous headcanon, lucy eventually realizes that the reason natsu has such bad grammar and reading comprehension is because he was tutored by erza, and erza's so bad at writing and understanding big words because she has undiagnosed dyslexia. so takes the time to slowly teach them how to read more complicated things, showing erza ways to read with her dyslexia, and giving them handwriting lessons. the first time erza writes a comprehendible letter is to jellal, and she's absolutely ecstatic about it. natsu is thrilled that he can finally read lucy's book without feeling stupid.

gray teaches wendy a lot about social cues and how to survive in a city as big as magnolia. she grew up very sheltered in a tiny village, so it makes sense that she struggles with "big city living." she's very appreciative and gray is just happy he can be of use.

gray stopped smoking because he heard lucy say she finds smokers unattractive. (gray, in the manga, smoked for a bit, and it's explicitly stated that, at least for the first handful of arcs, he was interested in lucy).

natsu started having romantic feelings for lucy during their fight against kain, but he didn't realize he was in love with her until he watched future lucy die. lucy didn't realize she had feelings for natsu until she realized she was in love with him, which was after the events with the eclipse gate. (the specific moments i'm talking about: kain | future lucy | post-eclipse gate)

between her and gajeel, juvia is the older one. she doesn't give it much thought but gajeel sees her in a big sister role, and has found himself accidentally referring to her as his older sister. which he would rather die than let her find out about.

when asked who she would go after if gray wasn't in the picture, most people expect juvia to say she could never picture a world without gray, but she will look you dead in the eye and, without any hesitation, say, "erza."

gray and loke had something very gay going on before loke went back to the celestial spirit world. the sexual tension between the two of them in this scene is too strong, they've fucked, kissed at least.

when gray realized he liked juvia back, he had a full mental breakdown for several reasons. a fear of intimacy, a fear of losing her like he has every single woman he's ever cared about, and because he just couldn't believe her very weird and very aggressive flirting tactics worked.

in the same vein, evergreen was inconsolable for days when she realized she was in love with elfman. laxus, freed, and bickslow have never been more worried about her mental well-being.

all of crime sorciere have a betting pool on when jellal and erza will get their heads out of their asses. they've had to place new bets several times because they're still dancing around each other. at this point, the betting pool is getting tense, and someone is going to lose so much money.

cobra and jellal kissed once because they were both extremely drunk and extremely sad about their respective crushes. neither of them remember it but the rest of crime sorciere can never forget watching cobra shove his tongue down jellal's throat.

makarov has said "you're like the son i never had" way too many times for it to be an accident.

elfman wants to be a girl dad so bad. he absolutely loves having sisters and he's obsessed with the idea of having a daughter to spoil and dote on.

gray and juvia have a kid before getting married...whoops.

going against the grain and literally what mashima has said, and saying that natsu and lucy have a son before having a daughter. he's a lot like lucy while their daughter is almost exactly like natsu.

yukino is a raging lesbian and is endlessly distressed by how many people think she's in love with sting. her month was ruined when minerva congratulated them on their relationship. completely ignoring the fact that sting is a gay man and is openly down bad for rogue.

rufus and orga have been dating for almost three years and literally no one knows.

lucy cried for three hours when she found out about anna and ichiya.

laxus and freed are in a queer-platonic relationship. laxus is aroace and has no interest in being romantically involved with someone, but he likes the dynamics of dating someone, and freed just likes having someone to spoil (back massages, compliments, all the things freed does in canon).

natsu has ended up in so many situations where he's put in feminine clothing, that he's actually started to kind of like it. he really doesn't mind the idea of wearing a skirt or letting lucy do his makeup. lucy is obsessed with it, and they sometimes do each other's makeup.

romeo is a trans boy and canon is my enemy. macao is extremely supportive and is always introducing romeo as enthusiastically as he can. "this is my son, romeo. isn't he so handsome? just the most handsome boy out there. i'm so proud of my son. he's the best." it's as embarrassing as it is endearing.

gray gets really bad joint pain after using his demon slayer magic, because the demon ice is so cold that it hurts him. thankfully, juvia is always happy to give him massages and crack his back.

natsu had the fattest crush on laxus from the age of thirteen to the very end of the battle of fairy tail arc. everyone just thought he had too much faith in his guild mates, but it was actually because he was so horrendously down bad for laxus that he couldn't accept that he was kind of a psycho.

gray tries so hard to seem cool and nonchalant that he accidentally flirts with basically everyone he interacts with. he thinks he's being cool and mysterious, instead he's making people fall in love with him.

loke tells lucy she's beautiful all the way into her sixties, and he means it every single time.

jude, technically, didn't take layla's maiden name, they just had the most unbelievable coincidence in the world where layla's last name was "heartfilia," while jude's was "heartphilia," so neither of them really saw a point in changing their last names.

juvia and gajeel were not only introduced to the wonders of genuine friendship and family after joining fairy tail, but also the amazing world of weed by cana and bickslow. laxus will never forget walking into his apartment with the thunder legion for the first time in years, and being met with juvia, gajeel, and cana on the couch, passing a blunt, while bickslow was raiding the kitchen.

gajeel and levy elope, only bringing lily and juvia with them as their witnesses. lucy was a little (a lot) insulted by it, but she eventually understood why levy did what she did when her and natsu decided to do the exact same thing, and only bring along their team. basically, elfman and evergreen, and gray and juvia are like the only couples to have a ceremony.

fairy tail has a lot of lawsuits and property damage bills, and freed, levy, and lucy almost had collective aneurysms trying to get through and organize them all. the guild has never spent more money on coffee.

lucy eventually takes advantage of the fact she has a very powerful kick and gets a black belt in taekwondo, a type of martial art that focuses mostly on kicking. her raw leg power combined with knowing what she's doing AND her heels? deadly.

(cw for child abuse on this one, skip if needed) minerva has such a massive appetite because jiemma would starve her both as punishment but also to "make her stronger." her body just never feels full, like the food will be taken away from her again.

sabertooth members calling minerva "m'lady" started as a serious thing to show respect, but now it's a running joke where everyone is trying to be as obnoxious as possible with it.

it's kind of implied that rogue is (at least) sexually attracted to minerva, and the fact larcade's "find out who's a virgin" spell hits him right after seeing minerva being affected by it, makes me think he lost his virginity to her. it was awkward and objectively bad but he's still glad it happened. sting drank an entire bottle of tequila when he found out about it.

getting 1 v. 2-d by natsu was the biggest ego crash sting and rogue have ever, and will ever experience. they will never be able to live it down. it will follow them to their graves. please never talk about how egotistical they used to be, they will cry from embarrassment.

minerva calls everyone's boyfriend their "boy toy" because, and i quote, "i don't respect men."

juvia is the best gift giver you will ever meet. she just has a way of always knowing what's perfect for someone, and it's a mutual agreement to always make her go last for gift giving so everyone else feels better about their gift for at least a few minutes.

natsu is the kind of guy to remember something someone said to him once in passing and randomly bring it up weeks or months later. his brain is a library of miniscule information about the people around him.

gajeel talks trash about levy's romance novels but will also be sneaking peeks over her shoulder and trying not to react to various moments. he is deeply invested in the plot twists and the main characters' romance.

while he's traveling, gildarts will buy cana a gift from every town his visits, which results in him having about a pound of knickknacks, clothes, and alcohol for her when he comes back. she pretends to be embarrassed about it but she secretly loves being spoiled by him.

gildarts and cana go on daddy-daughter dates and she'd rather drink bleach than let other people find out about it. gildarts is just happy to be there.

natsu and cana have had this conversation: "so, are we, like, siblings now?" "excuse me?" "because, like, gildarts is basically my dad, and he's your dad. so..." "we are not siblings, natsu." "okay, didn't know you liked being an only child so much." "go fuck yourself."

gildarts knows lucy is going to be his daughter in law. he doesn't know if it's going to be from her marrying natsu or from her marrying cana.

wakaba would sneak teenage gray cigarettes. erza, mirajane, and makarov almost killed him when they found out about it.

mira is aroace, feeling absolutely no romantic attraction and being sex repulsed, but she is absolutely obsessed with other peoples' love lives. she thrives on it.

lisanna is fairy tail's resident lesbian and is a little in love with every girl she meets.

[mokulule]

Dead on MAYn Day 1 - still untitled.

Prompts used: Dinner interrupted by a rogue/gang fight, courting rituals.

This thing keeps growing so I figured I should just post the first part. It will be continued eventually it’s kinda going places I didn’t expect. I am also using the flickering prompt, but it doesn’t appear in this first part.

Danny dug into his burger with gusto. It was not Nasty Burger, but it was greasy and cheesy and juicy and definitely hit the spot after a whole day walking about Gotham taking in the supernatural sights.

Sam was entirely less impressed with the vegetarian option and had set it down with a grimace and was now just picking at her fries. Tucker had taken it as a personal win for the Meat Team™ and was lording it over her with his eyebrows - thankfully he was too busy eating to actually say anything, which Danny was very glad of. You could only hear the same arguments so many times. At least age and maturity had assured they didn’t end their friendship over it.

“So,” Sam said, “What’s next after this?”

Danny finished chewing his mouthful, before speaking. “I’m not sure, I figured just go back to the hotel for a bit, chill until nightfall? Gotham’s court won’t be in session until then.”

“Seconded. My feet hurt,” Tucker chimed in.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend all your day sitting in front of a screen all day-”

And they were at it again… Danny tuned them out with the practice of years of being on the sideline, humming in agreement when prompted. He loved his friends dearly, but arguing was a part of their love language that he didn’t feel like participating in.

He let his eyes wander around the small diner, and found himself frowning as a group of men hurried inside.

If Danny had been less used to his ghost sense warning him of trouble, maybe he would have reacted in time - or at all. As it was he found himself frozen in shock when he saw the guns - regular human guns, not ecto-guns, ecto-guns he knew how to react to.

It was strange to realize that nobody had ever pointed a normal gun at him before and someone was pointing a gun at him right now - of course it would be in Gotham he got that experience.

“Hey you, stand up slowly and get over here. Hands where I can see them.”

Oh.

Danny’s brain suddenly caught up to the events.

A group of five armed men had entered the diner waving guns. Three kept their eyes on the door and windows as if they expected someone to follow them. One was moving behind the counter towards the back, maybe looking for the waitress who had skedaddled as soon as the armed men entered and the last one had his gun trained on Danny, who of all people in the diner he’d figured was the best option for a hostage.

Danny resisted the urge to laugh.

Slowly he did as bidden, raising his hands and standing up.

On the surface he wasn’t an unreasonable choice. He was short and lean, if he was completely honest he looked like a stiff wind could blow him over. Sam in contrast looked like trouble and Tucker had grown up annoyingly tall, and if Gotham police was like most places it was probably wiser to pick a white boy as hostage anyways. The rest of the people in the diner were two heavy set construction workers and a lady with arms broader than Danny’s thighs, like damn. 

So yeah, Danny was apparently the best choice. 

Regretfully, he left his dinner to cool on its plate as he took carefully measured steps towards the… what? Mobster? Gang person? 

A part of him was wondering how much a gunshot could hurt him. Would it hurt him? In human form probably, as long as he was tangible. Would it kill him the rest of the way? He wasn’t particularly keen to find out.

His eyes flickered to the other armed men when one of them hissed at the guy at the door. “Do you see him?”

Danny considered doing something for about three steps, but he wasn’t experienced enough with real guns and fighting humans that he thought he could risk it. He’d also prefer to fly under the radar while he was here. He was on vacation, not here to mess with anyone.

There was a familiar feeling in his throat, wanting to be let go. His head snapped towards the kitchen. What! That couldn’t be right?

The man grabbed him and put the gun to his head just as a crash sounded from the kitchen and the wisp of cold breath escaped his mouth. Everyone turned towards the noise. The man who held him tightened his hold and pushed the gun so hard against his head he had to tilt it. 

Something black came flying out the door and the jumpy gunmen shot at it, but with their attention on the object (a pan, it was just a pan) they didn’t notice the man who followed behind. He was fast, not much more than a red brown blur, shooting the furthest man in the arm so he dropped the gun and then coming in close, punching the first man and kicked the next in the belly. He moved so smoothly, effortlessly. 

Danny forgot to breathe. Because that there was the source of his ghost sense. Because that there was also a human.

Another halfa.

Here in Gotham of all places! 

His heart gave a hard thump in his chest and he gasped, remembered breathing was a thing he sorta needed as a human. He still couldn’t take his eyes off the other halfa. Now there was someone who knew how to fight. His core hummed pleasurably in his chest. The other halfa had taken care of those goons in less than ten seconds. The fourth one was probably dealt with in the kitchen. And the fifth-

Danny was abruptly reminded of how the fifth had a gun to his head, as he annoyingly poked him with that barrel and pulled him backwards towards the door.

“Not another step or he gets it!”

Danny grimaced. He finds another halfa and he’s a fucking hostage? Stellar first impression, right there! Someone please shoot him- or wait, considering the situation that was probably not the wisest turn of phrase. 

“How about you let the civilian go, and I won’t break your kneecaps.” The voice was menacing though clearly modulated and there was a delightful, almost cheerful undertone.

Now that he was standing still, Danny could better appreciate him. He was a big man, probably near a head taller than Danny and so much wider. Death had clearly not stopped him from putting on muscle. Normally Danny might have been jealous, but honestly he was too busy appreciating the other halfa. 

He was wearing a red helmet, faceless except for a pair of glaring eyes and he had a large bat symbol across his chest. This last bit should put Danny off. There were very good reasons Danny didn’t want to catch any attention here. He couldn’t think of them right now. But there were… reasons… yes… and thighs walking towards him-

“I swear I will shoot!”

Oh for fuck’s sake! There were too many people involved. Danny promptly stepped down on his captor’s instep, ducked and twisted out of his hold. 

Red Hood, because that was his name, Danny suddenly remembered, promptly shot the gun out of the man’s hold and took him down with a punch and a crunching kick to the right knee. 

Shit, Danny was jealous, not of the broken kneecap of course, but he also wanted to throw down. He could show the other halfa what he could do, make friends, or more? Would it be too forward to gift him one of his moon rocks?

It probably was too forward? This was the first halfa he met who wasn’t a fruit loop or related to him. At least he hoped he wasn’t a fruit loop.

“Are you alright?”

Danny shook himself out of his thoughts to find that he’d been approached.

Now that he was up close Danny could really appreciate how those arms looked strong enough to bend him in half and- Danny’s gaze stopped at his waist. Was he actually wearing a leather corset? It did great things for his-

“That was either brave or stupid.”

The words had Danny’s eyes snapping back up to the glaring helmet. Danny was frozen. How was he supposed to talk to him? His mind reeled. Do something! Anything!

“How’s this for stupid?” Danny blurted and promptly punched him in the gut with a good deal of ghostly strength. Red Hood bent over with a pained oof.

Fuck! Danny’s brain screamed at him in despair. He could not believe he’d done that! Glancing around he couldn’t find Sam or Tucker so he quickly ran out the diner. 

He was grabbing for his phone in his pocket while running, when he was pulled into an alley. He was so wound up he nearly threw another punch, but then he realized it was just Sam and Tucker.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Danny!” They spoke in eerie unison. Tucker snorted, but Sam continued, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Danny shook his head, realizing he must look a little dazed. He felt a little dazed. He didn’t even feel like taking the obvious bait.

“I punched Red Hood,” he admitted.

“What!” There they went again I unison, almost as if they practiced it.

“Do you think he’d like a moon rock?”

The looks they sent him then, they were indescribable. Absently he padded his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t grown a second head.

“Are you sick, Danny? Was there something in the food?” Sam put her hand on his forehead checking his temperature, even as she looked at Tucker, “What are the chances there’d be blood blossoms in a random burger?”

“Extremely unlikely, more likely something new, never seen Danny react like this.”

Danny grumpily pushed Sam’s hand away. “The food was fine. I’m fine.”

They gave him twin dubious looks.

“Look, let’s just go back to the hotel room. I just need a little rest and I’ll be fine.”

-

Jason gasped in pain to the sound of laughter in his comms. What the Hell was in that guy’s food that he could throw such a punch?

“What did he did the little guy do, Hood? Kick you in the jewels?” Dick managed to ask through laughter.

They didn’t have visuals, small mercies, but Oracle the traitor had let on to the former hostage’s scrappy stature in the run down of the situation.

“He did not.” Jason growled and turned off the comms, done listening to those idiots. Shit, fuck. Definitely a meta, that had been super strength. Keeping one hand over his pained abdomen he walked over to kick the goon who had decided to crawl for his gun in Red Hood’s apparent distraction.

“Don’t even think about it, I am not in the mood for it,” he growled and the goon whimpered.

When he finished securing the goons, of course the meta was long gone. Jason sighed in annoyance. Just his luck.

[dairy-farmer]

Tim is the prosecutor who successfully argues that the Joker should get the death penalty and Jason is completely enthralled by him

!!!!!!

the problem that jason and the other bats face with many of the rogues, not just joker, is that it's hard to change a courts decision that someone is NOT criminally insane. because the things that joker, poison ivy, mad hatter, two face, or any combination of the arkham crew do are very clearly rooted in insanity. who would create a gas just to make people laugh themselves to death if not an insane person? who would make man eating plants if not an insane person?

and so the revolving door of arkham is hard to stop. dangerous inmates are sent there, dangerous inmates escape, cause havoc, kill and traumatize the general population, they're captured, sent back, and wash and repeat.

jason attempting to kill the gotham inmates no matter how much people say they deserve it is opening a huge can of worms. bats running around killing the legally declared mentally ill? not a good look because arkham is the butt of every joke in gotham in its conversation about crime, news anchors love to deride it when complaining about how the city and state spends millions on it. but it DOES work.

not for joker or the other rogues, but they make up less than 1% of the facility's residents. its those that are sent there for a year or so because of the mental breaks they suffer from living in a place like gotham that benefit. arkham's max security inmates are essentially a lost cause, low hope of ever rehabilitating and even if they did their sentences state they they will die in those cinderblock rooms and be buried in arkham's unmarked cemetary. but the minimum security inmates? gotham funnels millions to arkham because its one of the few, if ONLY, well funded sanitariums for psychiatric illness on the entire east coast. arkham's minimum security produces the lowest rate of reoffenders in the state, is a major reason the poor and underinsured are able to recieve quality mental health care at all, and helps make sure that blackgate doesn't become over saturated with people who only committed crimes because of psychiatric issues.

politicians running for reelection use keeping arkham funded as a way to gain and maintain support. because gotham leads the country in rates of violent crime, drug use, and homelessness. all of which are contributing factors to worsened mental health. and in gotham? everyone knows someone or is related to someone who has been or interacted with arkham in some way whether its a six month hold at their facility, a 50 step program, or some other way.

and having people turn on the nightly news and seeing the headline 'gotham inmate killed by red hood'? it's not good. it scares people away from seeking help and makes things worse in the long run.

it's why jason has never gone after any of the arkham crew with intent to permanently put them down. and so joker gets to keep breathing. until tim.

and tim does not have an easy battle to fight because hundreds of lawyers before him have tried. but being able to successfully argue that the joker ISN'T insane and is, in fact, fully aware of his actions and so he no longer qualifies for arkham? it's a hard thing to do. to make the argument that joker is essentially a fraud who has exaggerated and faked mental illness to avoid jail. those who have done so before have personally gained joker's attention and ended up dead during the nest breakout. and those that weren't stll didn't succeed persuading a court because...joker's got a good lawyer.

because it's a mob lawyer and mob lawyers are fucking good. it's why other arkham rogues also successfully plead insanity. the mob knows that if the rogues weren't around batman would be solely focused on them and so they always pick up the tab on legal fees and joker stays in an arkham cell waiting for his next taste of freedom.

but tim is different. tim does not focus on joker, the clown prince of crime. he focuses on something else. jason's not sure how long tim spent on the case, on the lengths he had to go to to track down witnesses, gather statements, find age old security footage that had sat rotting in police stations in the middle of nowhere.

people like joker don't just magically get good at killing, at holding people hostage, at building bombs. however or whenever the joker had gone insane- it wouldn't have magically imbued him with the knowledge to cause chaos the way he had. he had to have learned it somehow.

and tim finds out how. before databases to categorize evidence existed, most police stations just stored samples they found in evidence bags and left them in a storage room until time came to test them against a suspect. but never getting a suspect meant that the evidence just sat unused.

when batman first caught joker the first thing he did was store his blood and dna on the computer to match up with any future crimes. but he hadn't found any past crimes, mostly because the evidence batman could have used was sitting in a police station whose most technologically advanced equipment was a new coffee maker.

people like joker don't appear out of nowhere. and he didn't.

tim finds trails of crime dating back a near decade before "joker" appeared in gotham. only he didn't go by joker. he went by jack napier. some failure, drop out chemistry student that made money by building bombs and stealing chemicals for low brow gangs. murdered security guards, dead gas station cashiers, a high way patrol officer. bodies and crime from philadelphia, to trenton, to atlantic city, and ending in gotham where jack had remained ever since.

joker had been declared legally insane. but jack napier? after getting expelled for trying to steal from the chem lab, one of the university's psychologists had evaluated him and recommend the school press charges. because during their talk it was revealed that jack was no more a slave to impulse than he was. that he'd gone in with clear intent and planning, that he was aware of consequences, and that he was not an individual that could be trusted to remain on campus. the university called the police but by the time they arrived jack had cleared out his dorm.

from there the crime spree was traceable. with eyewitnesses and dna putting him at the scene of where a 17 year old cashier was shot in the face so jack could leave with a full tank of gas and $45.67 in money from the register. the car he was using that matched the description of where a highway patrol was mowed down during a traffic stop. more dead cashiers and dead security guards at chemical supply companies, including one less than 5 miles from jack napier's university that was robbed the same day he was expelled and where a student id had been found at the scene.

it was sloppy work, buckets and mountains of evidence tying jack to all those crimes. it's something a prosecutor could only DREAM of.

and tim had found it. and could use it. because both new jersey and pennsylvania had no statute of limitations on murder.

but there was still one key difference between the two states that swayed tim's decision on where to take the bar exam to get licensed.

it was something that made jason pay very close attention when yet another prosecutor wandered into the gotham courthouse with papers to begin an Interstate extradition for joker from new jersey to pennsylvania.

it was important that joker be tried in pennsylvania.

because unlike new jersey, pennsylvania had the death penalty.

and joker may be legally declared mentally ill, he was not mentally incompetent.

so, if found guilty, the state would kill him. he would die.

he would die and pay for crimes he comitted decades ago under a different name. crimes he probably didn't even consider as 'worth' the joker.

and jason sees how that starts to settle in for him when joker's face twitches as the courts start referring to him as 'mr. napier' and 'jack napier' instead of his preferred title.

barbara had always said calling the rogue gallery by their stupid made up names like joker or mad hatter or poison ivy just further reinforced and encouraged them. but using civilian names always tended to make them all angry or violent so the bats refrained from it.

and yet here jason was in the raftors of the court watching the sweating judge, the clerk, the court reporter, the lawyers, and tim drake hesitantly use joker's real name and then grow more confident and then boldly turning to a furious joker and asking "mr. napier do you understand the proceedings happening here?"

jason's at the courthouse along with the rest of the bats.

when bruce had caught wind of the extradition going through he'd gone quiet and then, in a strange toned voice, told the rest of them they'd be on protection detail at the courthouse and escorting the prison transport until jok- bruce had stopped and then said "jack napier" was in custody at a philadelphia prison.

it's a tense few months. once out of gotham joker doesn't have his connections not with guards or goons and can't stage his usual breakouts. bruce is out of gotham through the entirety of the trial, setting up camp in philly because he wasn't going to be taking any chances.

dick said he thought it was because bruce still didn't quite think it was really going to happen. it's like all of gotham was waiting with bated breath over the outcome of the trial. every update was plastered all over the news and on the radio. a few of gotham's hometown news stations had even begun making the drive to the courthouse to film as much of the proceedings rather than using shots made by other and more local news crews.

in gotham everyone is restless especially the capes. this is a case none of them have had a hand in. and its not like gotham's legal system is fully incompetent it was just that everyone knew things went smoother if the bats were involved. but here not a single one of them had touched decades old murder cases comitted alongside and on a stretch of empty road.

bruce was stepping on more than a few tail feathers, strongarming into someone else's territory. based on what dick said the capes from the philadelphia area were none too happy over his prescense but willing to give him a break given everything.

jason knew more than a few capes were paying close attention and that clark even did frequent checks of joker in his cell on bruce's request.

it's a high stakes situation. if it doesn't work it'll be the biggest disappointment any of them have ever felt. so they try not to get their hopes up.

but still.

[rey-129-fan]

Well, it's been a while since I've posted any fanfic... Let's change that.

Good news! I'm not dead! My brain did try to get me to do things that could unalive myself for a bit, and then I lost nearly an entire side of my family over the span of 3 years, but I'm still here and still kicking! And I have two new puppies who are adorable and so loving.

Now for this story, this is inspired by a few posts I saw on @theglamorousferal, mostly the one about Amity Parkers going to college in Gotham and buying a hotel (I'm making it a co-op student house, but I've never lived in one, so if something's unacceptably wrong, tell me, if not, artistic license), but also the one where our main Trio buy a building to set up shop there, and wind up adopted my Jason (I swear, I saw that post after I wrote the first chapter, but it just fit so well).

***

Honestly, Amity Park was weird long before the Fentons moved there- the original settlers named the nearby lake Eerie, and it wasn’t after the Great Lake.  It’s just that before the Fentons’ machine punched a hole through reality and created a permanent doorway to the land of spirits and ghosts, the weirdness was not as blatant.

Prior to that, Amity Parkers were some of the few that could move to Gotham without suffering a breakdown that was common for new arrivals.  Now there was a slight dip in newcomers for about a decade or two after the Bat made his debut and then the crazies that followed him, but then Amity Parkers got used to the spirits of the dead wandering around following the aforementioned punching through reality.

All this to say that Gotham Universities were a rather common destination for young Amity Park adults seeking higher education.

Now because of this, there were always apartments advertising themselves for people from the small town.  They, after all, tended to not have a breakdown after their fifth rogue attack and just pack up and leave halfway through their lease.  But it got very annoying having to sift through all the advertisements when looking for a place to stay- something Danny Fenton saw his older sister go through when she got in to Gotham City University.  The boy then shared what he was witnessing with his two best friends- Tucker Foley and Sam Manson.  Tucker offered to help filter out the spam, which Danny’s sister Jazz thanked him for but turned down.  Sam… Sam instead got thinking.

Sam had been to Gotham a few times in her life.  She had an idea of the areas closest to the schools and how much those should cost.  And looking at the letters Jazz was getting, the offers were a little too high for a regular college student to afford.  Sam was also familiar with how many hotels were not being used in Gotham- people building them in hopes tourists would come to stay while visiting the East Coast, tourists that could not be convinced to visit due to the high crime rate and the lack of activities or places of interest in the city itself.

She quickly went to work, looking in to these empty hotels.  She was rather upset by their numbers and put together a spreadsheet of them, with details like number of rooms, any amenities they may have, and nearby landmarks.  She then grabbed her two dorks and marched to Casper High’s Community Outreach director.

Now Sam’s presentation raised a few eyebrows, mostly because it was in a completely different state, but Sam shot back that because of the efforts to incorporate the town’s new ghostly residents and provide them with helpful ways to feed their obsessions- efforts led by the Fenton family- Amity Park had very few homeless, and those that were had a huge community safety net to help them get back on their feet.  Additionally, with how many people moved between the city and the town, helping the city could be argued to also be helping the town.

The Outreach Director just sighed and gave Same the green light to at least draft and send out a proposal to the powers that be in Gotham, saying that there wasn’t much that could be done before they got backing and approval.  Sam thanked them before leaving, Danny and Tucker trailing behind.

She was back the next day with a draft of her proposal and a list of who to send it to.

***

Since returning from the dead in the eyes of the public, Jason Todd was often contacted by groups trying to use the Wayne fortune to fund their own personal projects.  They thought Jason would be the easiest to con- sorry, persuade- since he was a former street kid unlike the rest of his family.  Thus surely he would know just how much this new building with low income housing would help the people of Gotham- it even came with a pool and gym!

Yeah, he did know how much the people of Gotham needed housing, but $2K a month was not affordable when you’re barely making $30K a year!  Oh and the pool and gym were only available for those who could shell out an additional $2K a month.  Jason knows, he read the whole document carefully.

God, sometimes it was hard to tell who was worse, the psychos in Blackgate or real estate investors.  And sadly, he couldn’t just pop a bullet in their heads and be done with it because 1) it would raise too many questions and 2) it would make Bruce get all sad and mopey- again.  Jason just did not have the mental energy to put up with that on top of the rest of his life as a crimelord/vigilante/long-lost adoptive second son of a billionaire.

All this to say, he was not impressed when he first glanced over a proposal to convert the unused hotels around the city into housing units- especially since it was from someone that did not live in Gotham.

Manson?  Wasn’t there a family with that name that would attend some of Brucie’s galas?  Oh yeah, their family made its fortune off patenting the machine that wrapped toothpicks in plastic, as well as a couple others.  And they had a daughter around Repla- Tim’s age.  Hopefully this wasn’t her trying to be a kiss-ass like her parents.

Jason finished reading and sat back.  The proposal wasn’t too bad.  Converting hotels into apartment buildings would be easier than office buildings, and the suggestion to use ex-convicts that wanted to turn over a new leaf as building managers certainly wasn’t the worst.  Also creating a fund for those that couldn’t afford rent, as well as community kitchens and gardens were certain plusses, though would need to have the right people in charge to make sure they actually worked as planned, and to keep the Court of Owls from messing with it.

Overall, it was something Jason would consider, after some research and maybe talking with the rest of the Bats and Birds.  And if this was from the Manson kid, maybe get Dickie or one of the others to talk to her next time there was a gala in town.  Or talk to her himself, if the Pit wasn’t too loud.

…Dick was probably the better option to talk with her if it came down to it.

***

There's the first chapter. I'm going to go write the next one. When I have a good log of them, I'll then go and edit them and put them on AO3.

This has no title yet because I suck at naming. Feel free to comment with suggestions for a name, both for the fic/au and for the eventual hotel/co op. As well as any shinanegans and majors/colleges/universities for our liminal young adults.

Part 1/? Next >

[ilovehugslikealotalot]

Caught in Your Focus

sum: Emily Prentiss, one of the most famous photographers comes to Iverson University, home to the NCAA’s pride and joy, Y/n Y/l/n. What was supposed to be a 2 month long documentary turned into a scandalous affair.

(not proof read)

WARNING: jealous!emily, photographer!emily, D1 volleyball Player!reader, cheating, cannon!jemily, athlete injury, slight angst, age gap, a tad of smut (ik im feeding you guys finally)

The smack of volleyball’s hitting the court never got old, after hearing it for almost all of her life it felt like home. The court was her therapy, her escape from reality. Her whole life that’s all that she wanted to do, be a volleyball Player, and that’s what she got and more. She was considered one of the best Libero’s in the nation and still people expected more from her.

But, she couldn’t cared about that now, not when the best photographer in the world is infront of her. On her knees for that matter.

“Em, faster” y/n groaned, gripping onto the sink in the bathroom. Her knees seemed to buckle as Emily lapped at her like it was the last thing she’s taste. The photographer slapped her thigh, “what did I say, baby?” She half groaned, only burning her face deeper in y/n.

A knock was heard from the door and one of y/n’s teamates voices called out, “N/n? It’s almost game time, we have to warm up!” Nicole yelled, y/n could barely speak without moaning so she prayed that her voice wouldn’t betray her.

“I’ll- be right out!” She squeaked out, as she put her hands on Emily’s shoulder’s bringing her closer, chasing her high. “nuh-uh, sweet girl, you’ll get your reward later,” she smirked, rising to her feet and fluffing out her curls. Y/n whined, pulling up her sweat pants. She looked as if she’s already played the game.

“Fine..” she grumbled, hugging Emily from behind. “Y’know, if JJ finds out, we’ll both be in trouble” Y/n chuckled, looking at the sparkling rock on Emily’s finger. The guilt ate away at her, but she needed Emily so bad that at this point she didn’t care who got hurt. “Hey…she’s not gonna find out,” Emily cooed, turning around to hug the younger woman, “If she does then, we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, focus on your game.” She assured, pecking her forehead sweetly, and giving her a few more kisses on her face careful not to leave a stain. It would be quite the story to tell if y/n had a lipstick stain on the semi-final championship game. “Now go, before your team wonders where you are”

Y/n nodded, reluctantly leaving, she never loved anything more than her sport, but if she ever needed to she’d quit in a second to be with Emily. This woman had affected her life in so many ways that it made her head spin, what made the whole affair scandalous is that Emily was married, to Jennifer Jareau no less. Y’know, she’s only one of the biggest movie stars on earth.

Emily stood in her bathroom fixing her makeup and clothes, she held her letterman jacket close to her. It had the University colors on it with y/n’s last name and jersey number on the back. It looked good on her, she knew that her marriage had been in shambles so y/n had been her way out. She had no plans of falling back in love with someone but the bright woman had changed them. “Prentiss! The game is starting in 30, we need you!” One of her colleague’s, Tara Lewis, called from outside the door. “Coming!” She replied, opening the door with a smile, Tara had filled her in on what type of shots they’d be needing, and told her about the magazine spread that she needed to shoot with y/n. Emily mentally took notes as her and Tara’s team was already assembling equipment and trying hard not to get hit with rogue volleyballs.

————

The game was heated, with Iverson up by 5. If they managed to take another point they’d move into the next set. Y/n kept getting dig after dig and was beggining to get tired. It wasn’t until the Outside Hitter had hit the ball over. It was so fast that Diana, the Leftback DS couldn’t get to it in time and shanked it. Y/n ran as fast as she could, her lungs screaming for air. She manage to pass it in, which made the crowd burst into a rapturous applause. But that was cut short when, y/n slipped and fell over some tables, her ankle twisting.

She wanted to get back up, she really did. But the pain shot through her and she screamed in pain. Her teammates didn’t notice that she wasn’t back and made the point cheering in Victory until they realized why the audience had gotten to quiet.

They all gasped, seeing the medics rush over to Y/n, her hands on her face as she wished every camera and person would just go away. They propped up her ankle and people began to murmur and worriedly converse amoungst themselves.

“Hey, y/n, come on, breathe, you’ll be just fine” Coach Oaklyn said, consulting with the medics and worriedly asking if it’ll be fine if she continue playing.

Emily was in the crowd, she watched the whole thing happen and she couldn’t help but felt her heart drop, leaving JJ in the stands calling out to her, she raced down the stairs and onto the court pushing past the security. They yelled at her to freeze but she didn’t listen. The press is sure gonna have a field day, she didn’t even care that they were broadcasting live.

****

“It looks as if Y/n Y/l/n has been injured, medics are consulting with Coach Oaklyn to see if she’s still fit to play, we all are keeping her in our prayers.” One of the announcers, Tom, said into the microphone.

“Yes, everyone is wondering if the all-star athlete, y/n y/l/n is okay. Right now, we are all praying that she is safe.” The other announcer, Beca agreed, some commotion began to happen and people began cursing as someone ran through the Stadium. “Folks, we are sorry for the Fruity language, but it seems as though world renowned photographer, Emily Prentiss is running through the Stadium like her life depends on it.” Beca continued, looking at the scene, Tom tried to understand what was happening and it wasn’t until she pushed through security that they realized. “Oh, looks like we have a photographer gone rogue, Prentiss has just pushed through security and headed straight for…y/l/n!” He smiled, impressed with her determination.

“Tom, to me it kinda seems like they’re more than just friends, but she just pushed passes those muscular guys like it was nothing!”

****

“Hey, she’s fine!” Oaklyn screamed at the security, as Emily went beside y/n, “Are you okay?” Emily panicked, holding her face, “Em…it hurts, I- can’t-” she gasped, unable to catch her breath the loud voices and screaming seemed to Echo and get 10x louder than they were. She covered her ears and whined, “It’s okay, sweet girl, I’m here, you’ll be alright.” Emily comforted, holding her close, the medic informed all of them that y/n to make it to the bench for them to wrap it.

“No, no, please, I can’t- It’s too hard“ she begged, looking at her coach for support on it. But Emily refused to let her give up on herself. “Y/n, look at me, I know it hurts so bad, but you have to fight, there’s a reason they call you the best, are you really gonna let those stupid girls beat you at your game?” She stated sternly, y/n shook her head ‘no’. “That’s what I thought, c’mon, let’s get up” Emily gave her a hand and assisted her to the bench. She had a grade one sprain that was pretty bad but not so much where she had to sit out for too long. She would surely have quite a few bruises, and her arm was a little cut up from getting caught into table,

“Y/n, if you play this, you might not be able to play for the rest of the season” Oaklyn tried reasoning with y/n, only to be met with a hand. “Then let this be my last game”

She walked onto the court with a limp and got onto position, Oaklyn sighed, giving Emily a shrug of defeat, y/n could be really stubborn when she wanted to be.

———

The game ended with Iverson winning, rightfully so. Y/n collapse onto a seat and whimpered, her ankle killing her. The medics gave her another check up and said that not much more damage had been done and told her that around 5 weeks of rest.

Y/n sighed, it wasn’t that much time, plus the March tournament wasn’t for another 3 months due to Basketball. As they all left, y/n saw Emily and Jennifer talking they seemed happy. It made the younger woman a little jealous at the fact Jennifer could make Emily laugh like that, even if they were married. Emily was y/n’s.

“Hey, y/n, you okay?” Nicole asked, placing a hand on y/n’s thigh, it broke her out of all her thoughts and she shifted her focus. “Yeah, I’m just scared, y’know. There was so many things that could’ve gone wrong, Thank the Lord that it was only a small sprain” she chuckled, Nicole laughed with her, “Well, if you ever need anything you know I’m always here for you”

ahem.

Both women looked up to see Emily with her arms crossed, her face was clearly jealous. “Well, I need to take this one home now, have a good evening, Nicole” The older woman said hurriedly, grabbing her arm and helping her out. Once in the parking lot, y/n huffed, feeling the comfort of Emily’s jeep. The silence gave you peace, but Emily not so much. You knew her by now, and she was pissed for what ever reason.

”I saw you talking to JJ, you two seemed quite happy” Y/n said, no idea what she was trying to say. “Yeah, because we’re getting a divorce” she deadpanned, never once looking over at y/n. “Oh…I’m sorry” Y/n frowned, lowering her gaze to her lap.

Emily and JJ were once happy, but that isn’t the case anymore, not after Will LaMontagne entered her life. They’d been seeing eachother on the side for months, what was the point of marriage then?

“It’s okay, really, it was a mutual agreement.” She said, placing a hand in her thigh, “She found out, about you, I mean” Emily smiled, the car stopping slowly as she pulled into y/n’s drive way.

“Was she mad..?” Y/n murmured, looking up with a slight sniffle. “No, baby, she was happy, actually, she said that she always knew that from the moment she met you…I guess we weren’t so sneaky”

The silence wasn’t awkward, it was awfully comfortable, it scared the volleyball player. Her whole life the screeching and screaming on courts and audiences was the norm, she didn’t have too much silence in her life. It was her last year playing at the collegiate level, she didn’t know what to do after this, she was pursuing a Career in arts so maybe something like that. She’d never been on a path she was really sure on. Volleyball was her life and now that it was almost over, she was lost. “We’ll figure it out. together.”

——————

Anyways, this was in my drafts a for a long while 🥲

There was a part two but I’ll have to hunt for that

@mxmmyprentiss

[ghost-bxrd]

The thing is...the whole Bruce cutting Jason's throat thing?

In canon Under the Red Hood, the infamous Jason Bruce confrontation happens right after Bludhaven gets nuked.

And Dick has rushed off to Bludhaven, and is practically killing himself via exposure to radiation - he is trying to rescue people, or so he says, but it's obvious no one is left to rescue and Dick is either straight up delusional or literally trying to kill himself.

After dealing with Jason and the Joker Bruce rushes off to Bludhaven to find Dick - at that point Dick is almost dead from exhaustion, injuries and radiation exposure.

While Jason and Bruce are confronting each other, at that point they just know Bludhaven has been nuked - they don't know what happened to Dick.

They do know, if he was there during the explosion, he is dead.

And Red Hood Jason straight up mocks Bruce about losing another son and continues on with his mind game with the Joker.

The thing is... if this happens in an AU (the kind of AUs we all want to substitute for canon) where Jason is at least half way decent and cares at least a bit about his brother...

I'm imagining Red Hood and Batman having geared up for the fight... Then, just as they are about to begin in earnest, they hear about Bludhaven.

Jason: Um. G..Goldie wasn't there, right?

Bruce:... I don't know.

Jason: What the hell you mean you don't know?!?

Bruce: (about to have another breakdown) Oh God, a nuke, if he... I..

Jason (having forgotten in his panic that he's gotten Joker tied up): What you waiting for, let's go!

Both leap into the Batmobile and drive away, leaving Joker still tied up.

Cue hurt/comfort scene at Bludhaven, Dick convinced Jason is a hallucination... Everyone ending up in the Batcave. Everyone kinda forgetting about Joker in the panic.

Later someone - probably Tim - remembers the Joker, and they go to check on him. Jason and Bruce still arguing, but not quite at fighting level.

And find some of the folk in Crime Alley, finding the bastard who has made their lives hell in one way or other tied up and helpless, have decided to enact some justice of their own.

Joker, when they catch up, is very very dead.

Bruce and Jason looking at each other. Tim rolling his eyes in the background.

Jason:... that's one way of settling that issue.

Bruce: You did agree most of the Rogues - except Joker - may be redeemable...

Tim: Great, now can we all go home? I want a rematch.

See? So many better ways to handle the situation. Even if Jason did use the opportunity to shove his worry aside (assuming he didn’t hate Dick in that moment as much as he hated Bruce, but nonetheless-) and taunt Bruce with it, leaving Jason to die in favor of saving the Joker—- like, duuuuude. 🫠

Love this version way more

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED FOR THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER MAGAZINE.

THAT EPISODE IS GOING TO SATISFY SOME DRAGON-HUNGRY FANS. RHAENYS CERTAINLY MET HER DEMISE, BUT AEGON'S FATE WAS LEFT A LITTLE MORE VAGUE.

"It’s a seismic event that’s changed the future going forward with these characters."

"Aegon’s fate remains unknown."

"I don’t want to spoil anything for anyone."

"But going into episode five, you are going to see the fallout of Rook’s Rest, which I can’t wait for people to see."

"It’s a massive blow for Team Black."

"The line in the sand has been drawn, and Aemond just crossed that line."

"And there’s no going back. I’m sure there will be retaliation."

WHAT ARE AEMOND'S TRUE MOTIVATIONS IN THIS WAR? IF NOT LOYALTY, WHAT IS IT THAT'S DRIVING HIM?

"I think there are many things that are driving him, but one of them that I loved to play with and explore was this idea that he wants his mum."

"Every time I shared a scene with Olivia Cooke around the council table, every time I looked at Alicent Hightower, I very much imagined Aemond and Alicent sitting on a Dornish beach, far from war, sipping on piña coladas [...]"

"Aemond having become the war hero and managing to make his mum happy, in his eye, so to speak."

"Whether or not that’s Alicent’s version of happiness is another thing."

"But that’s how Aemond sees it. So I think that’s one of his is driving motivations."

"Also, what Alicent does in episode seven of season one, that’s something that Aemond doesn’t forget."

"When they’re all arguing about where Aemond had heard this illegitimate [child of Harwin] Strong [rumor] from, Alicent went back to the idea that this kid had been physically damaged and changed for life."

"She was the only voice that was backing him up in that moment."

WHO DOES AEMOND BELIEVE BELONGS ON THE IRON THRONE?

"You don’t necessarily know what is going on behind Aemond’s eye."

"He’s a very calculative person."

"He’s not just your one-dimensional black cat and mindless sociopath kind of character."

"He is thinking at all times."

"You see that in the first four episodes — in so much of them he operates from the peripheries."

"But, does he even want the throne? (Shrugs)"

HAS HE FALLEN VICTIM TO THE "HEIR AND THE SPARE" RESENTMENT, LIKE DAEMON?

"He feels that Aegon lacks the perseverance to be king."

"Aegon says it himself: He has no wish to rule."

"Whereas Aemond, he’s been studying with the masters."

"He’s been training with the sword, so he very much feels like he would make a worthier king, whether or not that’s what Aemond wants."

DOES DAEMON SEE HIMSELF IN AEMOND?

"That’s a good question."

"I don’t know if I could answer it."

"Maybe it’s one for Matt [Smith, who plays Daemon]"

"But I think a part of Aemond would wish that Daemon saw Aemond in himself."

"There’s so much of his image that lends itself to that idea that Aemond is very much paying homage to a young Daemon Targaryen, with the Targaryen black and the long hair."

"It’s very reminiscent of the rogue prince. Aemond being Daemon’s biggest stan, he would definitely want to live in Daemon’s head rent-free."

DO YOU THINK SEEING AEMOND IN A MORE VULNERABLE LIGHT SOMEHOW MAKES HIM MORE FRIGHTENING? IT'S LIKE THE PERSONAL VENDETTA — WHETHER IT'S AGAINST HIS BROTHER AEGON, RHAENYRA OR ANYONE ELSE — BECOMES A LITTLE SHARPER.

"I very much wanted to portray the image of someone who had manufactured their body into a lethal weapon."

"This kid doesn’t need armor. He doesn’t need to be brandishing a Valyrian steel sword to appear like he could ultimately end those characters’ lives in those moments."

"There’s something powerful in that regard. Me and Geeta Patel, we always talked about the possibility, up to that scene, of maybe Aemond wrapping a blanket around himself as he was leaving, or maybe using his hands to cover himself as he was leaving."

"But we were very-like minded in the respect that this is a character who does not care what you think about him."

"And that carelessness, it’s quite scary."

"Talking about that code coming into place, he cannot be seen as weak at all costs."

"Love in Aemond’s world is seen as a weakness."

"And so he has to put duty above that."

"He puts strength above that."

WOULD AEMOND BE IN THE SAME DANGER THAT HE IS WITHOUT VHAGAR?

"Probably not."

"He recognizes that he’s a young man who possesses a power that no one else has in Vhagar."

"He can do things that no one else can do, and she very much shapes the dynamic of any room that he walks into."

"He doesn’t need to be anything, because her shadow looms so large behind him."

"And so if he’s being threatening, it’s not because he needs to be — it’s because he wants to be."

IS IT WEIRD TO SEE SO MANY FANS CRUSHINT ON YOUR CHARACTER? THEY HAVE BEEN DEBATING WHO IS MORE 'BABYGIRL': DAEMON OR AEMOND.

"I haven’t got social media, so I don’t see it. But one of the results of not having social media is that it produces these beautiful, badass, fun letters from people from all across the globe."

"To read that, I take it all as motivation, whether we’ve had a good reaction or a negative reaction."

"I never take it for granted."

"But is Aemond babygirl? I don’t know."

"It’s a dilemma. What’s the definition of a babygirl?"

I THINK IT'S AN ATTRACTIVE CHARACTER THAT PEOPLE TAKE PITY ON A LITTLE BIT. SENSIBLE, A BIT VULNERABLE. MAYBE THEY THINK HIS HEART'S IN THE RIGHT PLACE.

"Like maybe there is good underneath it all."

"I’ll take the compliment."

WHAT'S TO COME FROM AEMOND THIS SEASON?

"I don’t want to spoil it, but it’s going to be good."

WOULD YOU SWITCH TO TEAM BLACK?

"No, no — I’d want to stay on Team Green."

WHAT'S TO COME FROM EWAN MITCHELL? HAVE YOU GOT ANYTHING IN THE PIPELINE THAT YOU'RE EXCITED ABOUT?

"Nothing is set in stone yet."

"I’m down to the last few for something that I really want and I’m not going to say what it is because as soon as I do, I won’t get it."

"[I’m up for] any challenge, any character."

"I love horror, horror is definitely a genre I’d love to venture into."

[zeroslashsix]

Following my Gambit post, I love love love the way Rogue's powers are handled in X-Men Evolution. Like Gambit, Rogue tends to have a certain set of 'roles' when she's in a show/movie: she's focused on inner torment about her powers, on being a Spicy Southern Belle, or her romantic connections. Which is to say, her stories are usually about emotions and relationships, which is fine, I love those parts of her as much the rest. But if she's not fighting, her powers are only really viewed through a lens of how she feels about them, and how they impact her ability to connect with others.

And here's X-Men Evolution, fully leaning into the fact that Rogue’s power is one of the most dangerous in the entire show. I love the s3 ep "Self-Possessed" so much because it takes the brakes off her, and really commits to the idea that stacking powers is catastrophic when you consider she can wield multiple omega-level powersets at the same time. Her main limitation is that she doesn't want other personalities in her head, she limits her power usage because she just doesn't like it, and yeah, totally fair, but Rogue could absolutely wake up one day, go through the mansion and decide to be an omega squared. X-Men Evolution is about teenagers who are still figuring out their abilities, even at the end of the series when they're a year (two years?) older. By the finale, they have more control and training, but they are absolutely still growing into adulthood and have not reached full potential.

Which is why I think "Self-Possessed" is such a fascinating look at Rogue's powers. Every iteration of Rogue imposes a time limit on her absorption, meaning that any powers she absorbs will only stay with her for a short time. But in that episode, when she's succumbing to all those personalities in her head, her time limit stops existing. She can access powers for months, maybe even years after the initial absorption. Mystique's powers couldn't have given Rogue that ability; the only way Rogue could do such a thing is if that potential already exists inside of her. This implies that when she absorbs a power, that power stays inside her as long as the personality does, and her "time limit" is just a matter of control, or lack thereof.

This seems to be backed up by the s3 finale, where Mesmero and Mystique mind control Rogue to gather powers, and Rogue proceeds to SWEEP the X-Men, Brotherhood, Acolytes, and Magneto in less than 24 hours. By the end of it, she seems fully capable of using any and all their powers at will, ignoring any sort of time limit. Mesmero can mind control others, but he can't enhance them. He cannot give someone powers they don't already possess. The only reason Rogue could do all that is because she was already capable of it, and the fact Mesmero could mind control this out of her seems to imply that Rogue's limitations are entirely self-imposed, mostly mental/emotional, or maybe a lack of experience. (Similar to the season four finale where Rogue seems to use Leech’s power better than he does, probably just because he’s a little kid and she’s an adolescent so has a better grasp on powers in general)

Like, no wonder Mystique and Destiny wanted her powers. No wonder Magneto was so thrilled to have her in the ranks in the first season. No wonder so many people in the world want to use her; she is the all-mutant, the living multi tool that can gather multitudes of power in one place and then combine them. The only reason she isn't considered omega-level is pure technicality; in terms of destruction she could actually lay down, Rogue is absolutely as dangerous as plenty of omegas. The requirements for an omega are 1) infinite power, and 2) limitless power. Rogue has the first one; she can stack an infinite number of powers. But she lacks the second; all her powers must come from the outside, and she cannot generate them herself. But if she has access to multiple omega powersets like she does in Self-Possessed, that technicality kind of stops mattering once the punches actually start flying.

Which all leads into Rogue's main emotional journey through X-Men Evolution, which is perhaps my favorite she's ever had: being used. That's why she was adopted. That's why she was raised being unable to touch, being lied to by both her moms. That's why she was taken into the Brotherhood, and it's why Mystique will never leave her alone. Extra fascinating because after the reveal in season one that Mystique is Kurt's mother, Mystique leaves Kurt completely alone for the rest of the series, while simultaneously stalking and manipulating Rogue. Why the difference? Because Kurt is not a useful tool. Not compared to Rogue. And I think Rogue sees that difference, which makes for such a juicy dynamic when Kurt is so interested in actually loving Mystique, for insisting that Rogue should forgive their mother and 'let hatred go,' because he genuinely thinks that anyone can be saved with enough love. Whereas Rogue, who has seen Mystique's 'love' up close for her whole life, is desperately trying to get away from that, with good reason.

One of the reasons I wish we’d had more seasons, or at least more episodes in the last season, is how seamlessly Rogue’s feelings about her powers flowed into her feelings around being used, her feelings around family, and being dehumanized to the point of mind-wipe by her own mother. Yes she’s sad about the no-touching thing, but that’s nothing compared to being seen as a literal object in the eyes of others, because her powers are utterly perfect—for someone else to use. Which flows into questions of bodily autonomy, of who her powers “belong to” vs. who they “should belong to.” Especially considering that Rogue is only at full power when she loses control/is under someone else’s control, which could lead someone to conclude, “Well of course Rogue should be under someone’s control, preferably mine. She’s so powerful when someone else is controlling her, and so weak when she controls herself. It’s honestly such a waste for Rogue to be her own person when she could be so much more. She needs to be used to reach her full potential.”

In a perfect world, we’d have way more X-Men Evo than we got. More seasons, more episodes, more time to explore whatever the hell Rogue had going on. And if I was allowed to pick, I would have loved to see Rogue with a character arc of self-ownership. In particular, it would be so cool to see her powers develop to the point she can have a “Self-Possessed” crisis and control it, fully aware of herself and all the powers she holds. I’d love to see her use those powers for her own benefit, on purpose, independent of both her mother and the X-Men. I’d love to see a self-serving Rogue in the XMenEvo. Not necessarily evil (though it would be a fascinating villain arc) but a Rogue who chooses selfishness as an act of rebellion. Who can use all those powers simultaneously, consciously, and disobediently. Vengeance, maybe? Or something that heightens humans’ fear of mutants? I’d love to see Rogue become inconvenient to the X-Men, at the very least, either physically or philosophically. Certainly nothing so dire as the Phoenix saga, but something that uses her powers to their fullest extent. (Damn could you imagine Rogue as the Horseman of Death if this went in the opposite direction. How fucking overpowered would Death!Rogue be, how the hell would the X-Men deal with that)

Anyways. Fanfiction is the folklore of the now or whatever. And XMenEvo was already a crazy high school AU anyway.

[musouie]

੭ simon loves to play cat-and-mouse with the lovely little publican | suggestive language, 1.0k wc, angst if you squint, fem!reader

It’s at a dingy hole-in-the-wall pub where Simon found he spent most his time. In a dodgy part of the city, one that perpetually smelled of tobacco and car-exhaust; nestled between a boarded-up shopfront and a seedy hotel that any out-of-towner wouldn’t give a second glance.

There was no sign, no windows — just a lone, flickering porchlight glowing above a decrepit old door, looking so worn and dilapidated that it could fall off its hinges at any moment. It all seemed more like the cover to a bando than an actual pub with scarcely decent ale, but he minded that little.

It meant not too many people frequented it — that he saw the same lot everyday — faces so familiar they blurred and meshed together most nights —

— which was just the way that Simon liked it. Inconspicuous. Subdued.

No one here batted an eye at him, the boulder at the end of the bar, who nursed his drink between a huge paw and sat by his lonesome. Who would? No one here was quite the saint. Otherwise, they’d have long left, made for the hills when they heard half the conversations that went on:

Of rogue smuggling. Gun trades. Dirty deals. Attempted hits.

It was only a plus, Simon mused solemnly, eyes lidded and trained on the bird before him, that you were here. The pretty little publican, as sweet as a fig in the midst of summer, plump and dangling from the vine.

(He wanted to sink his teeth into you, peel your flesh back, savour you to your core.)

Your hands were nimble, fingers rolling around bottles and skimming against ice as you poured a golden light ale into a chipped, glass mug. A flick of your hand and a fizz bloomed atop the drink, foam ebbing at the sides, flirting with the rim before settling. A fair pour, he reckoned, no ounce wasted. It was one of your virtues, really. An eye for a measure and a patient pour.

Simon caught you in his periphery, saw your head was tilted to the side and his lips pursed. Had you said something?

He cocked his brows up at you, inquisitive, glancing away from his drink. (It was only you he’d do this for. A sacrifice of the greatest kind, he’d wager.)

“Havin’ a night?” you hummed, leaning against the counter. You were close enough that he could see down your shirt, your dainty, little breasts outlined with the help of your nude brasserie.

No, yes.

Maybe. Could you see the weariness in his eyes? The lilt of the bags underneath them? His posture was slouched, but with an undercurrent of tenseness, the type of rigidity that clung until it was instinct — ran clear down to the sinew, blood…marrow.

You were perceptive. Maybe a bit too much so.

What could you glean from him now?

He shifted in his seat, drumming his thick, misshapen knuckles against the countertop. “Wha’ would make you say tha’, dove?” Simon hummed, low and sonorous.

A pause. Fingertips danced on the glass bar top, tapping in a cadence that suggested you were deep in thought.

“You haven’t flirted with me all night.”

He smiled behind his mask, crow’s feet crinkling as his mouth twisted peculiarly, mirth so foreign his lips couldn’t even lift without a fight.

“Tha’ makes it seem like all I think about is fuckin’ you.”

He ignored how his chest thrummed, pulsated, rumbled, alive and aflame. (A rare occurrence, a rare fusion.)

“Don’t you?” You glanced over, furtive — shy almost, if it weren’t for the coy little smile across your lips. Smug, self-satisfied, beguiling, bewitching; your mouth, your mouth, your mouth.

“May be a lad, but I think ‘bout other things.”

(The odious squelch of blood. Explosions that shook his ribcage and rattled his teeth — strained his maw. Gristle and flesh and innards and brimstone, the stench of them rife when they were raw and unburnt, prodding at his feet.)

“Oh, really?” You leaned further, breasts pressed against the lip of the counter and met his hooded eyes with your sceptical ones. Curiosity danced in your irises, untamed and bursting at the seams. “Like what?”

His gaze briefly flitted down to your cleavage, the supple skin of your breasts plumped between your arms, rising and falling with the jagged rhythm of your breaths. “Brews, birds,” — this, punctuated with a shrug of his broad shoulders — “bike engines. Bein’ of good company.”

“Bloke like you? Company?”

“‘m sure there’s good blokes even in the bowels of hell,” Simon huffs, lightly chagrined.

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Napoleon,” he provided with a crude grin, amused and impious. “Lucky fuck could nab a cunt like Josephine.”

“A dead cunt’s nuthin’, yeah?” Simon snorted; it’s low and gruff, but his eyes gleamed — danced with humour and the unbridled joy of provocation, dark and bottomless, obsidian pits that pulled and pulled and pulled, further and further. “Only you would think he’s good, bein’ a military bloke like yourself.”

Simon smirked, loosened his grip about his glass. “You ask me wha’s wrong just to insult me, dove?”

“But you offer yourself up so willingly, Si.”

He tried not to dwell on how sweet his name sounded tumbling off your tongue, like honey. Sugary sweet nectar that caused a swell in his veins. “Bugger off, bird.” Simon thumbed the edge of his glass. “Shitty service and rude staff. Remind me why I keep comin’ back?”

It was the little quirk of your lips that got him every time.

“‘Cos you love the ale.”

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

[star-anise]

So I've been watching this series of videos where a research-focused psychologist goes through Jordan Peterson's work to see which of his ideas and arguments are based on solid empirical evidence. I love it, even though she does mistakenly say his background is in counselling psychology (my field) when he's actually a clinical psychologist.

Anyway, that's got me thinking about Jordan Peterson, and how his response to criticism is, "People have been after me for a long time because I’ve been speaking to disaffected young men — what a terrible thing to do, that is. [...] I thought the marginalized were supposed to have a voice.”

So, here's my theory: Young men of the 21st century have grown up in a culture that is specifically hostile and punitive towards them. However, I think that while girls and women can participate in this culture, it is as much or more the work of boys and men. And I think that the problem with Peterson is that he's not particularly good at helping his audience escape the maze they are trapped in--and he's absolutely opposed to any attempt to dismantle a maze that is actually of fairly recent manufacture.

Case in point: The metrosexual.

The word "metrosexual" was coined in 1994 by Mark Simpson, a gay writer whose settings seem to be perpetually fixed at "critique the shit out of it".

"Metrosexual" describes heterosexual men who might be mistaken as gay, because they are interested in things very common among gay men, including: Caring about whether they're attractive; caring about how their hair is cut and what products they use in it; caring about what clothes they wear; working out to make their bodies look better; frequenting nightclubs. To be "metrosexual" was, in some people's opinions, to be a "man-boy" searching for his "inner girl".

To be metrosexual was, in some ways, to be called someone who looked gay.

The term didn't really catch on until the early 2000s, when media became briefly obsessed with talking about which celebrities were "metrosexual" or not. In that era of hotly divided opinions over the acceptability of homosexuality and queerness, it was implicitly asking, "Who looks gay? Is he gay? Tell me, fellow broadcaster: How gay does this guy look to you?"

(They got to have their cake and eat it too. A liberal audience, desperate to gather as many LGBTQ+ people and allies as possible in their race for 50% acceptance of gay marriage, cherished any signs that people with social clout might be on their side. And a conservative one, watching the same discussion, would heartily enjoy seeing a rogues' gallery of degenerate Hollywood types paraded before them, their every effeminacy pointed out in loving detail.)

Which of course got us: The Retrosexual!

When everybody's helpfully compiling lists of all the things a man can do that look gay or unmanly, dudes who don't want to get the shit kicked out of them by homophobes know all the things not to do!

Therefore, being "manly" became strictly defined by what was off-limits. To be a Real Man meant you shouldn't care about whether you're attractive, or what soap you use, or how your hair is styled. You shouldn't enjoy dancing or get too enthusiastic about music. A Real Man cares about sports and beer and being on top! Dominant!! A WINNER!!!

And, so like, here's a secret: In Anglophone culture, we are very affected by the Puritan legacy that says pleasure is inherently sinful. Vanity and pride--caring about how you look and whether you're attractive--are literal gateways to the Devil. Gluttony, and therefore seeking pleasure at all, is another such. And in Puritan religious theology, women are inherently more sinful. Yes, it goes back to Adam and Eve, and how Eve was tempted into sin first. Long story short, things associated with women became associated with sinfulness, and sinfulness became associated with effeminacy. And for centuries, you haven't even needed to be religious to drink these attitudes from the groundwater.

Okay, that's not the secret, this is the secret: Pleasure is not inherently sinful.

And liking how you look and feeling attractive and paying attention to your sensuality and your emotional life and connecting with art in a real and vulnerable way can feel really good, if you're able to handle it well.

Being raised to be a Real Man in a world where masculinity is perceived to be actively under threat is so uniquely painful, I believe, because every attempt to define yourself as "not gay" means denying yourself one of life's pleasures, and telling yourself you never even wanted it in the first place.

And then those desperate to be Real Men found a way to take some of those things back in what is surely the most painful context possible: They are allowed strictly as tools of your heterosexuality and masculine need for dominance. You are allowed to care about grooming and dancing, etc, purely as a strategy in playing a game called "Getting Girls", where you either score or you don't, where not scoring means you're worthless and unlovable, and scoring is often... strangely unfulfilling and certainly not enough to fill the aching void inside of you.

The mistake both Peterson and his fanbase make is that they get to this point, and then think: The reason I feel so empty inside is... I just haven't gotten enough girls!

Maybe some guys get out of the maze by finding a woman who is allowed to care about things like affection and love and dancing and looking nice, and their connection with her lets them express all the other parts of their souls that didn't fit in the Real Man box, but can come out in roles like Boyfriend or Father.

But humans aren't telepathic, so relationships can only "fix" you so much as you're willing to do the work of nurturing your own soul in a safe environment, so for a lot of men the maze never ends, and sometimes they don't even get the fleeting joys of relationships or sex, since they're so fucked up about them!

At this point, I as a queer woman am like, "Solution's obvious! Dismantle the maze."

And Peterson, who has worked his whole life to achieve the status of Best Maze-Runner in All of Christendom, is clinging to it like, "NO! DOWN, YOU DARK CHAOTIC MOTHER! THIS MAZE GIVES MY LIFE MEANING! THIS MAZE CONNECTS ME TO MY FOREFATHERS! I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT THIS MAZE!"

At which point, like... what can you do but just leave him there?

At least he's not in my area of specialization. The world would be too unkind if I had to deal with him in any professional capacity. I wish Clinical Psychology all their continued joy of him.

[frenchie-simone]

Awoken

almost pg

tags: confession, x-men 1 Logan, kinda angsty but not really, mutant & immortal reader

a/n: first time writing fanfiction on tumblr!! i didn’t do smut for this one because it would’ve been to long but just say the words and i’m on it

You wouldn't have confessed to Logan if he hadn't been on the verge of death. You would've stayed silent your whole immortal life and eventually forgot about him. That's what you told yourself: it will pass. Somewhere in you, you knew, these feelings would always linger.

Now, there he was, laying on Jean’s table in medical, nearly all life sucked out of him by Rogue. You wanted to blame her, blame him, but you couldn't. Not when you knew it was what needed to be done.

Everyone had already gone to bed hours ago. You’d been sitting next to his limp body for hours on end, squeezing his hand so hard you were breaking his bones. Seeing him like this made you scared that his healing powers weren't enough, that they couldn't save him. You were seriously afraid that he might die that day. Assuming he was unconscious, you began speaking: “Logan… fuck, I can't- even when you can't hear me, it’s so difficult telling you. I know you care about me, and I care about you, but for your part, I think it’s just friendly. We’re friends, yeah? You've saved me so many times, nearly as many times as I've saved you”, you chuckled, “and God, it kills me that I can't help you now.”

Logan’s finger twitched in your hand, but you thought nothing of it. You knew that people twitch in their sleep. You continued: “We got a good thing going on, you know. People tell me that they've never seen you care for someone as much as you care for me. That warms my heart so much, and you have no idea how hard it is to keep my face neutral. I think that in a way, Logan, we’re so similar. We both endured horrible things, and in an attempt to keep us shielded, we've shut off everyone who’s tried to care. And I tried shutting you off, and I know you tried to shut me off as well, and fuck, I did my best. But I can't anymore, because every single interaction we've had just stays in my mind and only leaves until I've seen you again. I wish it was just attraction, a little crush, but I crave to be near you, Logan. Every single sign of affection you show me leaves me wanting more. I can't look at you, let alone be within five feet of you and function normally. You are a distraction, the worst kind. But I need you there, everywhere, to distract me. Logan, I need you. I want you. I… I love you, you fucking idiot.”

With those words off your chest, even if he didn't hear you, you just began weeping and buried your face in him. Your tears were soaking his arm hair and running down his skin. For just a minute, you stayed like that.

All of a sudden, you felt a hand on the top of your head. You jumped at the touch, but then understood. He's awake. Logan is awake. Alive. Healed. His large hand stroked your hair until going down to cup your cheek. You finally gathered yourself from the disbelief and raised your eyes to meet his. He was smiling gently, a warmth in his hazel eyes you'd never seen before. He wiped away a tear that had fallen down to your lips. His touch against your mouth warmed your whole body. Just a second ago, you didn't even know if you were going to see his eyes open again. “Logan,” you managed to whisper shakily. His lips had formed a grin that told you he heard you. He knew how you felt. In embarrassment, you tried turning your face away from him, but his strong hand held your face in place, forcing you to look at him.

“Darling, you should’ve told me sooner. Now we've just wasted time,” he said, lowering his hand and pulling off every cable attached to his bare chest. He noticed the slight confusion on your face and laughed. Before you could even react, he stood up from the table leaving you sitting at the edge. He came to stand before you, opened your legs and pulled you closer to him by your waist. You were pushed against his hard chest, your hands being confused about where to land. “How haven't you realized? You drive me insane, woman,” he said in a low voice, almost growling, before connecting his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle way. Your body felt like it could combust in sparks just by his lips being on yours. You were caught off guard at first, but then you eagerly kissed him back and grabbed his face in your hands. His grip around your waist tightened when you subconsciously slipped your tongue into his mouth. You moaned against his mouth as his tongue fought back, almost hitting the back of your throat. You grabbed onto his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself upright. He groaned, and the sound of it just made you even crazier. You tried squeezing him closer, tugging at his body everywhere you could and practically ate his mouth for dinner. He answered your body’s request with almost double the intensity, lifting you further up the table and then crawling on top of you, positioning his knee right between your legs. You tried to muffle a pathetic whimper, but failed. He chuckled against your mouth and lifted himself just enough for you to look him in the eyes. The yearning look on your face was just enough to push him over the edge.

“My room, now,” he purred.

[seancekitsch]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a John allerdyce x reader where they were friends back at Xavier's school and they meet again in the void. They have one night stand because of how lonely they feel there and then John confesses that he was in love with her at school

hehehehe hi i loved this one

I still don't know who you are, I only know that I'm still lonely

warnings: smut with feelings, smoking, reader in her feels thinking about the implications of the multiverse, ambiguous but fluffy ending

The void is cold at night, but sitting out on the roof of your trailer, you barely feel it. You stare up, stars dotting the sky, something you hadn’t seen in years before being sent here. It still tripped you out, the silence of the void most nights, compared to living in New York after graduating Xaviers. You can hear some kind of revelry going on from deep within the giant skull, but you don’t move to join them. What would be the point? These were all people you’d fought at one time, many of them also trying to kill you at one point. You don’t want to drink with them, as much as you miss that kind of camaraderie. Too much blood had been spilled for your liking, too much of it your own. 

“Green thumb!” That voice calls, and you roll your eyes at the nickname. 

“What do you want, firebug?” you respond, leaning over the edge of the roof to look at John. You already know what he wants though, one hand already pawing through your bag.  There was a strategic reason Cassandra didn’t feed you to that creepy fucking thing in the sky. You can grow plants out of even a drop of water, and now you’re the cash crop in exchange for safety. Food, tobacco, alcohol. Funny how that works. Do any of them know you could poison them all? Does Cassandra know you’ve considered it?

John swings himself up the ladder to join you, plopping himself down as you finally fish out the baggie of freshly rolled cigarettes.

“You better light me up too,” you mumble, putting a second one to your lips. 

“Why don’t you ever hang with us?” he asks, ignoring your plea until you tug his wrist so the flame is close enough to put your face against. You take a long drag, biting the edge of it as you let the smoke drift upwards from your lips, french inhaling.

“Okay, then I guess,” he pulls the cigarette from his mouth, “Why don’t you ever hang with me?”

You sigh, leaning back on your arms, plucking the cigarette from your lips.

“It’s weird. The last three times I saw you,” you sigh again, “It’s like, one day we were playing seven minutes in heaven at Bobby’s birthday party, and then the next you left us for Magneto, and then… years passed the sentinels were after you and I could do nothing. Or at least, my John was. But now apparently there are infinite versions of us and maybe you didn’t even do any of that, does it matter?”

You shrug, almost despairingly. The John you remember is not unlike this one. The John you knew was a friend, an almost something, until he wasn’t. One day the mansion was raided, and then all the sudden he was the enemy, and then Rogue and Bishop held you back as sentinels closed in on him. You hadn’t watched him die, you couldn’t. It’s for the same reason you forgave him for his part on Alcatraz instantly, even if that had caused a rift in your friendship with Bobby and Rogue. 

“Hey I get it,” he says, fingers twitching as if he were to reach out to you, “but it gets lonely out there. Maybe I want a friend.”

“A friend?” you scoff, “You’ve got a bunch of them down there.” 

You motion down towards the faint noise with your cigarette, biting your lip. A friend; what a weird concept for the void. 

“Yeah, none of them will play seven minutes in heaven with me,” he scrunches up his face in mock disgust. And maybe another timeline where you’d waken up after Bobby’s birthday party you would have told him you had a crush on him, and then maybe he wouldn’t have left. Maybe there were even several timelines where that happened. You look to the stars, foreign in pattern. No constellations you can make out. 

“Is that your attempt at flirting?” you ask, not wanting to actually dignify it with an answer. You pull smoke through your lips again, the cigarette now half done. And it’s the spent ash falling from the tip of it that signals to you how long you’ve been talking to the man next to you. A physical timer to signify the longest conversation you’ve had since Cassandra let you into this little club of hers. 

“I dunno,” he leans in close, warmth radiating through the cold desert air between you, “is it working?”

You scoff at him again, not giving him an answer, but you lean closer. Your shoulders now touch, and the chill of the air leaves you. Heat glides across your skin, melting into your pores, gentle warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. Without thinking, you lean into the touch, pressing your arm against his to chase the heat. John says nothing, for once having the foresight to know words aren’t needed or wanted, and instead envelops you in an awkward side hug. God, how long has it fucking been since you’ve been hugged? You wrap your arms around his shoulders, a gesture he also chases, grip on you tightening as he rests his cheek against the curve of your bicep. You rest your own against his head, savoring the feeling of a simple embrace. His hands start to trace circles on your back, fingers drawing patterns on your hip. You hum in appreciation, his touch a salve on a wound you don’t recognize. You move in closer, your cigarette now abandoned to grasp and map out the expanse of John’s shoulders, straining against the awkward side hold to get even closer to him. One of your hands moves up to the base of his skull, fingers tangling in his hair. 

John groans. 

“Thats a dangerous move,” he warns you, but then you feel his lips brush against your arm through your tee shirt. Returning the motion, not even thinking about it, your lips find the crown of his head. Your bodies move involuntarily, seeking the closeness, affection between you. He groans again, and clumsily pulls you onto his lap to straddle him. Before either of you can think too hard about it, you come together in a kiss, a searing, messy thing. He holds you tight, pressing your chest to his, molding your bodies together. A strange noise leaves his mouth, a half moan half whimper reverberates against your lips as your hips make contact with his.  

Curious, you grind your hips down, firm against his lap. Another whimper-moan escapes him, this time, desperate and hungry. His lips move against yours harshly, as if this is a last passionate kiss before an execution. You gasp as teeth graze your lip, stubble burns your chin, intoxicating as your bodies move. 

“Fuck,” he pants, breaking the kiss only to still speak against your face, “I need you.” 

You’re both breathless, moving in tandem rubbing against one another. 

“Where?” you tease him, and then drag your hand down between you to land on his crotch, “Here?”

He hisses as he nods. He’s hard and hot against your palm, already straining against his pants. A bold surge of confidence has you moving your hand against him, almost studying how he reacts. You feel his cheek heat up against you, certain an adorable blush creeps over him. Fuck, you want more. 

“Never took you for a fuckin’ tease.”

There’s laughter in his voice, and he squeezes your hips hard trying to urge you to keep touching him. 

So he’s thought about this before. 

“What’d you take me for, then?” Your voice sounds foreign to you, strained and thick from emotions you won’t dare let out. 

“You know I’m kidding, right?” he asks, then presses a kiss to your jawline, “I thought you’d be meaner.”

He continues to kiss up your jaw, stopping only to nibble on your earlobe. You giggle as you try to push him away, girly and vulnerable. 

“We should go inside,” you sigh, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and that’s that.

Your trailer is simple, enough room for a table, a hot plate, a cot, and a jug of water. Last time John had been in your space, it was a teen girl’s dorm filled with stuffed animals (some of which he had won for you), trinkets galore, plush blankets, cd collections, and polaroid collages documenting all of your friends and their antics. Though even in its scarcity, you’ve managed to make it your own. You’ve made paints from berries and flowers you’ve grown to paint murals, to write on the walls. It had become a hobby since photography was out of the question. You look at John almost nervously, wondering what he must think of all of this. His hands move at your waist, pulling up your shirt to explore bare skin. 

“Get your pretty ass on that bed,” John commands you, hand snaking its way down to grab a handful of asscheek. You yelp at the harsh contact, but oblige him, turning to plop yourself down on the bed. Weak old springs creak under you, and you kick off your loosely laced boots to bring your feet up onto the bed. You scoot back onto the bed, beckoning him as bent knees fall open. 

John wastes no time joining you, undoing his own boots to climb on top of you. His hair tickles your face as it dangles in anticipation of a kiss, his hips slotted between your thighs.

“Point of no return,” you warn him. Impulsive, selfish John; Protective, lonely John. There’s no conflict in his lust blown eyes, no questioning or hesitancy. He cups your cheek gently, and presses a languid kiss onto your lips. 

You follow that one with a much more aggressive kiss, all but yanking him down onto you as your tongue moves against his bottom lip. His hand moves from your cheek to the base of your neck, thumb pressing just ever so lightly on your throat, and you whine at his touch. Heat floods to your core, every nerve in your body begging for more of him. 

John understands, and moves accordingly, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hands travel further south. One of his hands finds purchase again on your hip, while the other drags between your thighs. 

“Am I your friend yet?” he asks against your lips, and you nod desperately. You’re sure you’d agree to anything right now as long as he keeps touching you. 

He pulls away from you, his eyes studying you as his fingers make contact with your clothed core. You sharply inhale as your hips buck at the contact, John’s hand steadying you at your hip. He presses harder against you, smiling as he’s given another buck of your hips. 

“How ‘bout you let your friend John make you feel good then?”

“Please, fuck,” you gasp, your hands reaching up to try to pull him back down, “John, I need you to-“

He shushes you, and pulls further away, hands trailing down your form as he sits back on his heels. John unbuttons your pants before leaning back over you.

His hands work quickly unbuttoning your shirt, pushing it hastily out of the way to reveal you to him. You cringe slightly when you remember that the flimsy bra you’re wearing is stained; old blood discolors the top of each cup, a reminder of a scuffle you’d gotten yourself into. If he notices, John makes no mention, instead just groaning appreciatively as he replaces the cups with his own big hands. His lips move from your neck to your collarbone, mapping out your skin like new territory. You arch your back into his motions, unable to stop the whining keen from your mouth as he sucks a possessive hickey right where your collarbone meets the front of your throat.

He runs his fingers down your stomach, feather light touches that tickle you and leave trails of goosebumps in their wake. 

His rough hands feel like home against your skin, hands that hold memory and shared history, maybe even multitudes of them. In all the other timelines, does John undress you as hastily as this? In other timelines, are you with John? It’s a stream of questioning that blurs and muddles like the ripple of a wave, disrupted by your pants being pulled from your legs, your underwear following shortly after. 

He’s extremely ungraceful removing his own clothes, clamoring off the bed to shimmy out of his pants and boxers, practically whipping his shirt off over his head. You’re certain you hear a button pop somewhere. This eagerness is easily the sexiest thing about John, just an absolute need to do this to you. If his kiss was a spark, this move right here is a wildfire. You start to sit up, legs still open and inviting as you raise a finger to beckon him back over. Only, He practically tackles you back onto the bed. You’re thrown into your pillows, plush cotton and down cradling your skull as he eclipses the little light that exists. 

“John!” you giggle as his frame covers yours again, his hair falling down and brushing your cheeks. 

Your hands meet each others, then dance past, traveling across bare shoulders, traversing bare chests. Panting, moaning mixing with the air between you. He presses his hips into yours, his hardness against you. 

“John,” you gasp, your hips jerking against his, instant friction blazing. It’s intoxicating, the John of it all surrounding you, his body against yours. 

“Do that again,” he begs, and your hips comply, this time much more intentional. You drag yourself against him, his shaft getting caught in and splitting your lips. You gasp sharply, stopping in your tracks as he makes contact with your clit. Fuckfuckfuck. Your vision goes white for a moment, heaven behind your eyelids. John groans, dipping his head low to nip at your jaw. His hands find your chest, kneading and groping you, encouraging you to keep moving. The friction of the drag becomes less and less as your hips move, and if this were another time and place, you might be embarrassed at how obvious your want was growing; but here, here you feel emboldened by it, encouraged by John’s hips trying to meet your motions, moving himself through that want just as needy and desperate. He gasps and groans against your ear, and you swear, you’ll finish just like this. 

“On top,” John pants, “Need you…”

He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. You nod, kissing him again as you grab onto his shoulders, a silent urging for him to flip your position. His arms wrap around you, hugging you close as he turns himself. It’s like a muscle memory, the way the two of you work together seamlessly in this way. Suddenly, the idea that this John is your John isn’t such an insane thought. Your John was intuitive like this. 

You tilt your hips into hip, his cock now resting against his stomach, a much easier angle to grind yourself down onto him. You test the waters with the first stroke, a loud appreciative groan responds. The second one is shallow, technically several mini grinds, stroking yourself up and sown his shaft, clit catching along the head and making your shudder. Johns fingers dig into your thighs, his teeth gritted and brow furrowed in concentration. 

“You’re a lot more patient than I thought you’d be,” you mention, though your voice shakes and clearly youre hurtling towards losing your resolve yourself. 

“Please,” he begs, “Please, baby.”

And at that you’re a goner.  You nod, lips falling open as you maneuver yourself over him, his hands immediately helping, grasping the base of his shaft in one hand and rubbing gentle strokes on your waist with the other. 

Two gasps fill the air as his tip meets your entrance, and as if shocked, Johns hands move back to your knees, holding them tightly as if bracing himself for impact.

You ease yourself onto him, an involuntary hiss between gritted teeth as you adjust to the size of him. Fuck, he hadn’t felt this big when you were groping him earlier. The stretch is divine, though, your lashes fluttering closed as your hips meet his. Both of you sigh, a seal of heat and need bonding the two of you together. His hands move from your knees, trialing up your thighs to find your hips again. His thumbs dig into your skin, and for a moment it feels like pain, breaking through to something else. 

As if compelled, you find yourself moving, not caring about getting comfortable and adjusting. Shallow thrusts; ripples in the tide. You grind down as you hips kiss his again, slow and deliberate. Teasing.

John practically whimpers below you, his grip on you tightening and loosening as he flexes his hands against you, clearly attempting restraint. How out of character for your John, you think, not even bothering to remind yourself this probably isn’t yours. 

“You don’t have to hold back,” you tell him, your voice watery and wavering, “Y’won’t break me.”

His eyes leave your chest to meet yours, asking permission through a bitten lip. 

“Fuck me,” you say, resolve returning to your voice. You grab one of his hands, and move it to your ass, pushing his palm into the meat of one cheek until his fingers dig themselves in. At this rate, trails of his fingers with stay bruised on you for a week. Good, you think.

John breathes out, a half sigh half chuckle, and then nods as if you’ve challenged him; and maybe you have, with the way that he looks at you the way he looked at battle twenty years ago. 

His grasp on you never moves, but his hips buck up into yours, his heels dig into your mattress. You bounce up, thrown from stability at the movement, a yelp turns into a laugh, and you plant your hands on his chest. 

“Hang on,” he jokes, and then thrusts again. 

John sets an agonizing pace. He is neither slow nor gentle; forceful movements, energy buzzing in every muscle. He fucks fast, and hard, but his face is one of pure delight in the starlight. He smiles up at you like you made the stars yourself. You find yourself struggling to catch your breath under the heat rising in your cheeks, little keens and moans leaving a smile that rivals his. 

He breaks his pattern by rolling his hips, a loud moan ripping itself from your throat as your body jolts, a clear warning you won’t last too much longer.

“I’m- I-“ you try to warn him, and he nods knowingly. 

“I got you,” he assures you, his own voice sounding as out of control as yours. He tilts your hips in his hands, the next thrust now coming pelvis to pelvis, your clit bumping against where hair meets the base of his shaft. Your fingers curl and dig into his chest, begging to leave bruises of their own, to mark him the way he marks you. Something, if even temporary, to show that the desolation was staved off for at least one night. Something that, every time John looks in a mirror, he can trace the patterns of you in his skin. Each thrust earns a moan from you now, any semblance of control or shame gone now as everything becomes John in your world. 

He speeds up, his own moaning mingling with yours, chasing his own end, a mutual high. His thrusts begin to lose their rhythm, speed and that delicious bump of his pelvis against your clit becoming his goal more than consistency, chasing the way you jolt and whine in his grasp. 

“Gonna let me have it?” he asks, hand flexing, but never leaving your ass. You nod, head bobbing wildly with desperation. John lifts his hips fully off the bed, his thrusts wild and harsh; the need to have you come undone on his eclipsing anything else. 

He babbles praise, half sentences of sweet nothings and encouraging, begging for you to come on his cock one moment and then telling you how pretty you look the next. He moans, cutting his own sentences off, switches up his stroking, interrupts himself in the desperation to please you. 

You hold on for dear life, pleasure spiking with each of John’s thrust. Your peak meets you quickly, John’s body a lightning rod for your ecstasy. 

“Fuck!” you come with a cry, shoulders crumpling as you begin to shake. Your hand planted on his chest curls, your nails digging into the smattering of hair between his pectorals. John’s lips are parted, eyes concentrating on you, taking in every second of this; the way your face contorts in pleasure, the way your body responds to his thrusting below you. You ride it out, John’s hold on your hips and his thrusts upward both becoming more gentle, your body contorting and contracting around him.

He pulls you back down, strong arms holding you to his chest. John presses sloppy kisses to your face, no real rhythm or pattern; just holds you as you come down from release, the aftershocks of pleasure. Your end triggers his, lazy shallow thrusts meet a shuddering groan, and heat spills against the inside of your thigh. Your hands find his hair, smoothing and combing through it, a grounding gesture as you lay folded above him. 

You stay like that for what feels like an eternity, until he mumbles something about your knees and moves you off of him. However the cold air of the night has no time to sink into your bones before he engulfs you in an embrace, snuggling closely into wordless comfort. 

When you wake up, your shades are drawn, only lines of dawn’s light shining through and replacing last night’s starlight. The first thing you notice is the streaks illuminating your little den. 

The next thing you notice is the quiet snoring of the body next to you. But, as if on cue, he wakes at the slightest shift of your body, still wrapped in his arms. Instead of letting you go, or moving, he just pulls you closer, snuggling in under the thin sheet, his skin warm on yours. 

“Quit moving, babe,” he mumbles, pressing a placating kiss to your forehead.

“You’re still here,” you say, sleepiness not hiding the surprise in your voice. 

He chuckles, and presses another kiss to your face, closer to your brow.

“Mhm, ‘course I am,” his lips drag across your face as he repositions, leaning over your frame. His hand moves, and replaces itself to rest on your chest, a teasing squeeze as he kisses your nose. 

“I’m glad,” you tell him, pushing him until there’s a bit of space for you to breathe, “I missed you.”

John searches your face, noting every crease and smile line, eyes darting from one feature to the next, soaking you in. You feel studied, like a bug pinned and flat; every bump and flaw and scar from a lifetime of fighting and running laid bare for him. 

Before you can retreat inward, John opens his mouth. 

“You know I loved you, right?” 

Your breath hitches, a ghost of a gasp. A distant memory of fumbled kisses in a closet; of putting a cold spoon against a hickey, a chorus of teasing from friends. 

You want to remind him he’s probably not even the one from your timeline, that your John was probably dead. But in infinite timelines, how many ways could that not happen? How many timelines have John staying, have John finding you again?

Your hand finds his cheek, calloused fingers dancing over his stubble. He’s handsome in a way you never imagined when you were doodling hearts next to little flames in your notebooks in class. Rugged, desert worn, masculine. Fuck it.

Is this not John finding you again, timelines be damned? 

“I had a feeling.”

You smile as you pull him back down for a kiss.

[mogamuncher]

An exhaustive headcanon post about Bruce Wayne's unhealthy mentality.

trigger warning for: mentions C-PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, shitty dietary habits, insomnia, self-ableism, masking, workaholism, somewhat shady parenting, technically self-harm, and passive suicidal ideation.

Ok, so:

•Bruce def feels like he has to earn things. Like affection, respect, or just any form of a good thing happening to him.

•He earns his life, or so he says, but it's more like he's trying to earn the right to be alive, which is a wild thing to believe.

•Bruce is autistic as all hell, right? Diagnosed and everything, his parents used to pay for private treatment since the mental health system in Gotham is so ass. Well, after they died, Bruce just, doesn't do any of that anymore, he avoids therapists or psychologists like the plague, even ones outside of Arkham. He has a whole lot of Other Things™ outside of autism now, but he still refuses to go get proper help.

•Similarly, Bruce would rather die than to actually mention it to anyone. Like, yeah, as Brucie Wayne he's definitely masking hard (to the point where it's kinda upsetting and he gets overwhelmed), but like, he also doesn't tell shit to the whole rest of the Batfam, or the Justice League. The only person that knows that Bruce is autistic AND just generally mentally ill/traumatized, is fucking Alfred.

•This causes people to misunderstand him a lot, but part of him feels like that's more "deserved". Like, he thinks that he'd hate to be judged by his mental illness because he he dislikes the idea of his actions being justified retroactively of excused by his illnesses, not being self-aware enough to notice that this horrifically heightened sense of hyper-responsability about just fucking everything in his life is itself, a trauma response. Also, he's the world's biggest hypocrite, who famously believes that other rogues and people like Jason Todd need to be helped instead of killed or put down, going directly against his own attitude towards himself.

•He genuinely believes that whole "[insert mental illness here] is not an excuse to [insert a behavior or symptom of aforementioned mental illness here]", but like, only towards himself. To everyone else he rightfully thinks that stuff is bullshit.

•Bruce puts himself up to some crazy standards, actually. He works non-stop as both Brucie, Bruce, and Batman, always doing something, unable to stay still or even sleep. He skips meals, neglects his well-being, he puts everything on the line and expects himself to do it everyday, every hour, without fail, every single time.

•His kids think that he's neurotic, they're kinda right, the Justice League think he's too paranoid, they're right too, Gotham city thinks he's a saviour, it's true, the rogues think he's a monster, that's fair as well. Alfred? He just thinks Bruce is hurt, he's the most right of all.

•Part of this is a form of punishment, atonement for being alive, for surviving that fateful night when his parents didn't, for daring to go on with life when they're both sixteen feet under, for having the audacity to raise a family, the gall of having friends, the sheer nerve to even consider having a romantic relationship, when his parents couldn't even hug him. Not anymore. He's here, not them.

•And it kills him, because he saw it, saw them die, saw them gurgle on their own blood and sat with their bodies until the police arrived, this is what led him to become Batman, to mask as Brucie, to guide so many young people away from being like him as Bruce. So how dare he, how dare he be happy when they died? How dare he forget that alley, for even a second? How could he? Didn't he love them? Didn't he make a promise to live out the rest of his life in a mission to prevent events like this?

•It's like he's in a toxic relationship with two corpses, they're cold and their eyes follow him, he's hollow and blind to anything but them. Part of him would love to argue that his parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne themselves, would prefer to see him happy and fulfilled. Another part of him remembers gunshots, blood spatter, and the sound of choked gurgling, and Bruce spirals all over again.

•Perhaps he's waiting for this life for kill him, finish the job that gun didn't do years ago, kill him like his parents, hurt him so deeply he can't recover, destroy him until he's repented for being so inherently horrible. Because he is, he knows he is, he's neurotic, paranoid, a saviour complex having monster, this is what he aimed for, he seeked out this outcome, just waiting to be put down like those before him.

•He's passionate about his cause, sure, but that's surface level. The front used to keep the image of an asshole neurotic paranoid man that has a saviour complex, instead of exposing the truth behind himself. Who he really is.

•A child, that's who he is, a kid reliving his worst bad day over and over and over again.

•He earns his life, he'd earned this.