#Why aren't they numbered for adults?

[goombasa]

Why Aren't They Numbered?

This is just a quick little fart of a rant that I had in mind while I was reshelving books at the library where I work. I noticed that we have a lot of books by the same authors, especially in the mystery and thriller section. These authors write series with recurring characters, and while a lot of the books don't directly relate to one another, there is still an optimal reading order. It's like watching a television series that might be overall episodic, but does sitll have a recurring cast of ensemble characters that shows up now and then, and may reference things that have happened in past escapades, or might even have something resembling a myth arc that is slowly built up over multiple stories.

So then why aren't the damn books numbered?

Look, when it comes to younger fiction, even going into young adult, if a book is a part of a series (that being a collection of books that follows a recurring cast of characters, even if the books themselves are not necessarily following one continuous story) you're going to know it. Every book is given a number to denote the reading order for them. I'm not joking when I say some of the most popular books at my library are the long-running series in the kids section. We're lucky if we can keep any Wings of Fire or Warrior Cats books stocked on the shelves.

Now the same can be said for prolific adult authors like James Patterson, David Baldacci, Daniel Silva, Elin Hilderbrand, and Geraldine Brooks. In fact, these authors tend to have many series going on at the same time (and some of them publish like four books a year, which is terrifying to me) but despite how popular they are, despite how often their books fly off the shelves at the library, I can't count the amount of times I've had someone approach me and ask for help in finding the proper reading order of the books because it's not made clear either on the book's cover or even on the inside itself, and it drives me up a wall.

I beg you, if you're writing a book series aimed at an adult audience, make it clear what the reading order is. Even if each book is a separate story, if it has recurring characters or makes reference to past books, at the very least indicate somewhere on the cover or on the first few inside pages before the title page what books someone should read beforehand to have a grasp on everything that's going on. Or, better yet, have a brief prelude that summarizes the last few books so that someone can keep up with plot references to them, it'd honestly be very helpful, and you'd be saving your librarians a lot of headaches in the future.

I really don't understand why it's mostly something limited to young adult fiction where books are numbered properly, and I know this isn't a universal issue, but it's a notable enough one that, at least for me, it comes up much more often than I would like.

[drdemonprince]

It’s true that America has one of the lowest voter turnout rates in the industrialized world, with only 62% of eligible adults turning up to the polls on a good year, and about 50% on a typical one. But if we really dive into the social science data, we can see that non-voters aren’t a bunch of nihilistic commie layabouts who’d prefer to die in a bridge collapse or of an untreated listeria infection than vote for someone who isn’t Vladimir Lenin. No, if we really study it carefully, we can see that the American electoral system has a series of unique features that easily account for why we find voting more cumbersome, confusing, and unrewarding than almost any other voters in the world.

Let’s take a look at the many reasons why Americans don’t vote:

1. We Have the Most Frequent Elections of Any Country

Most other democratic countries only hold major elections once every four or five years, with the occasional local election in between. This is in sharp contrast with the U.S., where we have some smattering of primaries, regional elections, state elections, ballot measures, midterm elections, and national elections basically every single year, often multiple times per year. We have elections more frequently than any other nation in the world — but just as swallowing mountains of vitamin C tablets doesn’t guarantee better health, voting more and harder hasn’t given us more democracy.

2. We Don’t Make Election Day a Holiday

The United States also does far less than most other democracies to facilitate its voters getting to the polls. In 22 countries, voting is legally mandated, and turnout is consequently very high; most countries instead make election day a national holiday, or hold elections on weekends. The United States, in contrast, typically holds elections on weekdays, during work hours, with minimal legal protections for employees whose only option to vote is on the clock.

3. We Make Registration as Hard as Possible

From Denmark, to Sweden, to Iceland, Belgium, and Iraq, all eligible voters in most democracies are automatically registered to vote upon reaching legal adulthood. Voting is typically regarded as a rite of passage one takes part in alongside their classmates and neighbors, made part of the natural flow of the country’s bureaucratic processes.

In the United States, in contrast, voter registration is a process that the individual must seek out — or more recently, be goaded into by their doctor. Here voting is not a communal event, it’s a personal choice, and failing to make the correct choice at the correct time can be penalized. In most other countries, there are no restrictions on when a voter can register, but in much of the United States, registering too early can mean you get stricken from the voter rolls by the time the election rolls around, and registering too late means you’re barred from voting at all.

4. We Make Voters Re-Register Far Too Often

In countries like Canada, Germany, and the Netherlands, voter registration updates automatically when a person moves. In the United State, any time a person changes addresses they must go out of their way to register to vote all over again. This policy disadvantages poorer and younger voters, who move frequently because of job and schooling changes, or landlords who have decided to farm black mold colonies in their kitchens.

Even if a voter does not change their address, in the United States it’s quite common for their registrations to be removed anyway— due to name changes, marriages, data breaches, or simply because the voter rolls from the previous election year have been purged to “prevent fraud” (read: eliminate Black, brown, poor, and left-leaning members from the electorate).

5. We Limit Access to Polling Places & Mail-in Ballots

In many countries, voters can show up to any number of polling places on election day, and showing identification is not always necessary. Here in the United States, the ability to vote is typically restricted to a single polling place. Voter ID laws have been used since before the Jim Crow era to make political participation more difficult for Black, brown, and impoverished voters, as well as for those for whom English is not their first language. Early and absentee voting options are also pretty firmly restricted. About a quarter of democracies worldwide rely on mail-in ballots to make voting more accessible for everyone; here, a mail-in ballot must be requested in advance.

All of these structural barriers help explain why just over 50% of non-voters in the United States are people of color, and a majority of non-voters have been repeatedly found to be impoverished and otherwise marginalized. But these populations don’t only feel excluded from the political process on a practical level: they also report feeling completely unrepresented by the available political options.

6. We Have the Longest, Most Expensive Campaign Seasons

Americans have some of the longest campaign seasons in the world, with Presidential elections lasting about 565 days on average. For reference, the UK’s campaign season is 139 days, Mexico’s is 147, and Canada’s is just 50. We also do not have publicly funded campaigns: our politicians rely upon donors almost entirely.

Because our elections are so frequent and our campaigns are so long and expensive, many American elected officials are in a nearly constant state of fundraising and campaigning. When you take into account the time devoted to organizing rallies, meeting with donors, courting lobbyists, knocking on doors, recording advertisements, and traveling the campaign trail, most federally elected politicians spend more time trying to win their seat than actually doing their jobs.

Imagine how much work you’d get done if you had to interview for your job every day. And now imagine that the person actually paying your wage didn’t want you to do that job at all:

7. Our Elected Officials Do Very Little

Elected officials who spend the majority of their hours campaigning and courting donors don’t have much time to get work done. Nor do they have much incentive to — in practice, their role is to represent the large corporations, weapons manufacturers, Silicon Valley start-ups, and investors who pay their bills, and serve as a stopgap when the public’s demands run afoul of those groups’ interests.

Perhaps that is why, as campaign seasons have gotten longer and more expensive and income inequality has grown more stark, our elected officials have become lean-out quiet quitters of historic proportions. The 118th Congress has so far been the least productive session on record, with only 82 laws having been passed in last two years out of the over 11,000 brought to the floor.

The Biden Administration has moved at a similarly glacial pace; aside from leaping for the phone when Israel calls requesting checking account transfers every two or three weeks, the executive-in-chief has done little but fumble at student loan relief and abortion protections, and bandied about banning TikTok.

The average age of American elected officials has been on a steady rise for some time now, with the obvious senility of figures like Biden, Mitch McConnell, and the late Diane Feinstein serving as the most obvious markers of the government’s stagnancy. Carting around a confused, ailing elderly person’s body around the halls of power like a decommissioned animatronic requires a depth of indifference to human suffering that few of us outside Washington can fathom. But more than that, it reflects a desperation for both parties to cling to what sources of influence and wealth they have. These aged figures are/were reliable simps for Blackstone, General Dynamics, Disney, and AIPAC, and their loyalty is worth far more than their cognitive capacity, or legislative productivity. Their job, in a very real sense, is to not do their job, and a beating-heart cadaver can do that just fine.

You can read the rest of the list for free (or have it narrated to you on the Substack app) at drdevonprice.substack.com!

[feefivefoe]

My little spinoff of the neglected Batfam idea.

Rather than being the 2nd youngest, reader is actually the same age as Jason, just a few months apart. Brought into the family years before him, being the 2nd child Bruce took in.

A bio child, and while I have my own ideas as to how it occurred, I'll leave those aside for this post.

Do keep in mind I'm not a huge DC fan, so I only have baseline knowledge of the Batfam and literally nothing else lol

Dick and Bruce aren't too interested in reader, as the troupe goes. But Jason is! There's a bit of tension at first as he assumes they're going to be a prissy spoiled brat, as Bruce's bio kid.

They don't get to be the closest of siblings, given he's busy with being the newest crime fighting vigilante. But it's the most reader has had in a long time, and at least Jason TRIES to be there for the occasional big life event, despite being a teenager like them. It's more than the adult family members of theirs do.

Then he dies. And neither Bruce or Dick even remember to tell reader when his funeral is. Even Alfred didn't mention it, assuming the death of their family member would be the one thing they speak about, even if it's just to mourn.

Years later and the butler still curses himself for assuming. He knew better, and yet still tried to have faith in the two.

That's the final straw. They missed the funeral of their only family. They had to ask Alfred where his grave was in order to say their goodbyes.

Perhaps due to low self esteem, they don't hate Bruce, or Dick, or later Tim. Of course Gotham is more important than the feelings of one child.

But they aren't family. They're just housemates.

Which is perhaps why, the first chance they get at 18 (technically 17, but nobody in the city cared enough about legalities to actually follow through with checking their ID) they get the hell out of that manor.

Discarding every connection they had to that family. Phone tossed aside, new one with a new number obtained. Even throwing out any contact with Alfred.

And as a result, they miss that Jason is revived just a year or two later.

Not that his first thought is finding them. He was just brought back from the dead, the man has other things on his mind, okay?

But once his thoughts of vengeance have settled down, he starts settling in to the new normal, only to look around and see a sibling is missing.

[prismatoxic]

you know... this is framed as such a silly moment that i didn't really consider it before but...

...laios was the only one who respected chilchuck in this scene.

and of course we know why senshi and marcille didn't. senshi still thinks that's child age, as dwarves' age of maturity is 40, a good 20 years older than chilchuck is. and senshi doesn't have the kind of worldly socialization marcille does that lets her understand in any way that chilchuck is an adult (and even then, she sees him as more of a child than she should, because elven age of maturity is 80 and, well. her relationship with time and aging is weird, let's put it that way). she treats him more like a grown man than senshi does, but it's not saying much. (this isn't a diss against either of them, their backstories more than explain why they're like this, and chilchuck doesn't seem to generally hold it against them except when senshi very openly treats him like a kid.)

laios, though. laios is a tall-man. his age of maturity (16) is only 2 years higher than a half-foot's (14). when chilchuck said "this year i turn 29," laios realized chilchuck was his senior and tried to adapt to treating him that way. (in the context of this series being written by a japanese person, this concept holds a lot of extra weight.)

of course, that wasn't actually what chilchuck wanted, and laios resumed treating chilchuck like a peer instead. (remember, chilchuck clearly defines his boundaries, and laios will happily abide by a clearly drawn boundary. a distressed and angry "quit" is taken 100% at face value.) and what's notable about that is that "laios treating chilchuck like a peer" was already valuing him as an adult. even if he didn't know the exact number, laios knew chilchuck was at least around his own age.

i imagine traveling with dandan helped him understand half-foots enough that his blunders when he and chilchuck started working together weren't generally disrespectful in nature. laios would have been able to wrap his mind around "half-foots aren't kids unless they actually say they are" because laios likes clearly defined rules. chilchuck is an adult? okay, he gets treated like one.

and i think it's just as much them both being short-lived races; if he can wrap his head around "height ≠ age" then he also understands whatever age chilchuck is has to be roughly comparable to his own.

and i just think that's neat! i think it's cool how much laios respects chilchuck and there's a sort of irony to the fact that moments like this are, in chilchuck's eyes, more of a nuisance than a sign of respect. but i mean... laios already treats him right. he doesn't need to do anything different.

[vaspider]

Measure 110, or the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

So if y'all aren't local to Oregon, you may not have heard that the Oregon state legislature just voted to -- essentially -- gut Measure 110, the ballot measure which decriminalized all drug possession and use in the state. It turned all drug use into a citation instead, and the citation and fine could be waived by completing a health screening. The entire point of Measure 110 was replacing jail with health care and services to help people instead, and while I could probably write a very long side post on the imperfections of that approach, it was at the very least a move in the right direction after decades of the pathetic failure and absolutely racist mess that is the "War on Drugs."

You may hear this pointed to in coming years as a reason why we have to just throw people into jail for using drugs, because Measure 110 failed. And like... it did fail, kinda. Sorta. It failed in that it did not manage to fix everything immediately, and it created some new issues while also exposing older issues more sharply.

It also saved the state $40 million in court costs prosecuting low-level drug offenses, kept thousands of people whose literal only crime was putting a substance into the body of a consenting adult (themselves) out of jail, put at least one addiction services center in every county in the state, invested $300 million in addiction services, and an awful lot more. See the end of this post for more reading.

But where it failed, it failed because it wasn't supported. Police and advocacy groups both asked for specific tickets for this new class of offenses which had the phone number to call to go through the health screening and the information about how going through that health screening would make the ticket go away printed on it prominently - lawmakers declined to fund this. Governor Kotek budgeted $50K to train officers on how to handle these new citations and how to direct people to the treatment and housing supports, but lawmakers thought that training officers on this new law at all was a waste of money. Money moved extremely slowly out to the supports that were supposed to come into play to help people obtain treatment or get access to harm-reduction strategies. People freaked the fuck out about clean-needle outreach, fentanyl testing strip distribution, Narcan training, and other harm-reduction strategies.

And at the end of the day, Measure 110 gets called a failure because it wasn't a silver bullet. Never mind that thousands of people are not sitting in jail right now for basically no fucking reason. Never mind that people have gotten treatment, harm has been reduced, overdoses have been prevented...

So, yeah. You'll probably start hearing this trotted out as proof that, well, we triiiied decriminalizing drugs, but look what happened in Portland! Well, what happened in Oregon is that we got set up to fail, and still didn't fail, just didn't totally succeed.

Measure 110 highlights, quoted directly from Prison Policy Initiative:

The Oregon Health Authority reported a 298% increase in people seeking screening for substance use disorders.

More than 370,000 naloxone doses have been distributed since 2022, and community organizations report more than 7,500 opioid overdose reversals since 2020.

Although overdose rates have increased around the country as more fentanyl has entered the drug supply, Oregon’s increase in overdoses has been similar to other states’ and actually less than neighboring Washington’s. A peer-reviewed study comparing overdose rates in Oregon with the rest of the country after the law went into effect found no link between Measure 110 and increased overdose rates.

There is no evidence that drug use rates in Oregon have increased. A cross-sectional survey of people who use drugs across eight counties in Oregon found that most had been using drugs for years; only 1.5% reported having started after Measure 110 went into effect.

There has been no increase in 911 calls in Oregon cities after Measure 110.

Measure 110 saves Oregonians millions. Oregon is expected to save $37 million between 2023-2025 if Measure 110 continues. This is because it costs up to $35,217 to arrest, adjudicate, incarcerate, and supervise a person taken into custody for a drug misdemeanor — and upwards of $60,000 for a felony. In contrast, treatment costs an average of $9,000 per person. The money saved by Measure 110 goes directly to state funding for addiction and recovery services.

There is no evidence that Measure 110 was associated with a rise in crime. In fact, crime in Oregon was 14% lower in 2023 than it was in 2020.

Further reading/sources:

[evilminji]

What is "A God" and does the King of the Infinite Every Between count?

The great and endless "slipped between the cracks" of everything and all things? The souls of those Death has Taken but no God can Claim? THAT King?

Is he... A GOD.

I mean... probably not? He's a Halfa. Little hungry, right now. And very, VERY powerful. Can absolutely kick their asses. But "God"? He'd honestly have to throw that one to his advisors to go look up.

Like? If we're talking Title? Maybe. There are definitely people who worship him. He wi-( ......*cough* HI Desiree, nice to see ya.) Would LIKE, people to stop? But he can't TELL them too. That's THEIR choice. They get to make it. But if we're talking the SPECIES or BEING known to you as "God"?

Nope.

He's definitely not.

But then again? There are a LOT of Beings out there, that serve that particular Role, that aren't "Gods". Does that make their work somehow less precious? Their worshipers Faith, less genuine? It's just a position, dude. Divine management.

The great and glorified Housekeeping of Creation.

In HIS experience? A whole lot like babysitting.

Though... now that he thinks about it? WHY? Why DO you want to know? If he is or is NOT a God? Furthermore, how the HECK did you even GET this "number"? This is the Zone! Did you intentionally "@Anybody"?! Kid! Kiddo, what the actual FUCK! That was SO DANGEROUS holy shit!!! (Is this karma? This feels like karma. Is this what HE was like as a kid?? No WONDER Jazz always looked so stressed)

I could have been ANYBODY!

And? A mulish AF Percy Jackson and his crowd of friends? Just stare back up in that "I DO NOT Repent And Would DO IT AGAIN BUT WITH MORE FIRE" way only highly hormonal and deeply feral teenagers can? Just >:( ×15

Danny, the only adult here, is Concerned(tm).

They? Demand he Adopt's them. They need a BETTER Divine Parent who will ACTUALLY take care of them. And according to the qualifications they carved into the REALLY smashed together, Neo-Archaic, Call Summon Boulder they collectively carved? HE has all the "Good Parent" Qualifications they want.

So congratulations!

IT'S A CROWD.

No they aren't asking. You are Dad now, FATHER. Now come and protect your adopted offspring! And give out hugs and praise! Also we made a list! And-!

*proceeds to try and menace the literal Ruler of The Infinte Zone in a crackling squeaky voice*

And like? Well, shit. Guess he's a Dad now. They're clearly too powerful to fight. Such devastating cases being made. Oh woe, he is powerless before them etc etc.

MAN, you all are tiny!

Who wants fudge?

@hdgnj @hypewinter @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @babbling-babull @lolottes @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[barleyo]

Build-A-Bride.

Enji Todoroki X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i can't stop writing broken enji... he's so depressed and lonely i LOVE it ^_^ isn't he just so dreamy? all downtrodden and sad? anyways this is so half-assed, sorry!

Tags: dub-con, forced/arranged marriage (sort of), age gap, mostly plot tbh (minimal smut), brief mentions of dehumanization, breeding, creampie, p in v, size difference, language barrier

Wordcount: 1.8k

Women don't like divorcés. It's a mark of failure. It brings down one's stock value. Enji's mistakes with Rei were numerous. He knew it was for the best, that he had nothing to fight for when she had the papers mailed to him. Why would he argue with her about it? The kids had all grown up and moved out. Their assets were easily separable. She did not ask for much in the split, and even if she did Enji would have given it up without pushing back. 

He was a man defeated. What point would there be in chasing after Rei again? He did not love her; not truly, at least, and she certainly did not love him. They had been living stagnantly ever since she was released from the hospital. It would be a feat for them to even speak to each other over breakfast. Idle chat about the weather or what their adult children were doing was a rare treat. 

Enji's life had slowed significantly. No children to fill his too-big-for-one-man house and no woman to be kept company by. Work had slowed down. Younger heroes took the top spots, slowly but surely. Even his own son was predicted to soon surpass him. Old timers, or "Golden-Age Heroes", as the media titled them, were losing fame and fortune alike. No longer the hot commodity, old was out, new was in.

He expected it, really. His goal was to be the number one hero, and he was for a while. Was it his dream to remain number one? He didn't have time to think about it before he got knocked down to a measly third place in the ranks. 

He had thrown so much of himself into the hero life. It crossed his mind a few times, it all ending, but he never realized that it would come crashing down so soon. What friends he had, using the term very lightly, were less than helpful in his condition. 

None less so than Hawks, of course. That damned fool.

Keigo had been dragging Enji out to these annoyingly quaint cafés for a while now. He'd force piles of biscotti and scones onto Enji's plate while blabbing on about some new excursion of his or the other, taking up the prime hours of Enji's day in the name of socializing. 

Seldom it was that Enji left the impromptu meet-ups with anything but slight annoyance at best and utter exhaustion at worst. He could hardly pay attention to the meaningless drivel Keigo threw his way. Sometimes it was talk of the current hero ranks, which Enji immediately tuned out. Other times it was about a concert or movie Keigo was going to. 

Lately, though, Keigo had an interest in trying to play matchmaker for Enji. 

"You should really get out there," he said, smug little smile plastered on his cheeky face while he sipped his espresso. "You aren't getting younger."

Enji's response was the same as always, in that he was too busy and too old to be worrying about such things. "I do not have time to woo a woman like a schoolboy. I'm fine where I am," he responded with his arms resting on the café's comparably small table. 

Keigo chuckled, curling his lips upwards. "You can only spend so many nights with your right hand, Endeavor."

"Shut your damned mouth."

"If you won't let me set you up with someone," Keigo said, not taking Enji's gruff tone seriously, as usual, "there is another option."

Enji pressed his mouth closed tightly, eyes narrowing into a judgmental squint. "It had better not be online dating."

Defensive hands flew up. "No, no. You've made that pretty clear, man. I'm talking about getting, like, a mail-order bride or whatever they're called."

"You do realize how much that sounds like human trafficking, right?"

"It does not! They still do it, you know. There are websites and everything." 

Enji sighed and leaned his head back to look up at the ceiling. The idea sounded horrible. God only knew how sketchy something like that would be, and besides, how horrible were the moral implications of that? Some old bastard like himself purchasing a young girl like a farm animal. 

It wasn't completely unheard of. Plenty colleagues of his had foreign brides ordered for them. Even his own cousins had done similar things. Hell, he wasn't far off from trying it out to get the perfect quirk marriage before he found Rei. 

But now? It sounded cruel. Unnecessary. He already resented himself for how he treated his family— he didn't need to ruin the life of some other woman too.

"I am not going to order a wife," he said, voice strained, "like a spare part off of eBay. Do you not see how horrible that would look on me?"

Keigo waved his hand dismissively, unbothered. “It’s not like that. These women are looking for a chance at a better life," he explained before teasingly adding, "just like the lonely men who send for them." 

Enji stared at him, trying to decipher if he was serious. “You really think I'm desperate enough to buy some random woman?"

"Don't think of it like 'buying.' Think of it as rescuing. How will the press feel about that, hm? Imagine the headline: ‘Endeavor, the hero with a heart, saves a foreign damsel in distress by bringing her to Japan to live a new life of riches and mind-blowing sex!'"

"You disgust sometimes, you little brat."

Keigo leaned over the table, teeth flashing briefly as he spoke. "Just think about it, okay? I'll send you some links tonight." He got up and pushed his chair in with his foot. "Besides, I'm tired of being your only friend. These little 'dates' of ours are cutting majorly into my work." 

Keigo had compiled a ridiculously long list of websites and companies that specialized in international marriage deals. He had definitely committed to the bit too much or he had researched this topic heavily before presenting it to Enji via text.

Either way, Enji peered at his cell phone screen in distaste. Link after link, scrolling through the masterlist Hawks compiled, he just felt more unsure of the idea. The names of the sites left a strange feeling in his gut. 

GoldenBride, Rose Brides, Latidate. For fuck's sake, UkraineBride4You dot com? "Legitimate & Cheapest Mail Order Bride Sites! Click here for more!" 

He clicked his phone off. The light from the vibrant ads and taglines disappeared from his face as quickly as they appeared, leaving him in the dark of his bedroom. He didn't speak, he just stayed in his bed, leaning on the headboard in silence. 

He had gotten used to his house being quiet. It was never especially loud, but at least when the kids still lived at home, he could hear the sounds of life. Of Shoto's feet padding through the halls. The sound of Fuyumi's books opening and closing. Natsuo's grumbling under his breath. Proof that he had gotten them all this far— that he had done something right for them. 

No. He couldn't stay this way, living in the dark silence, figuratively and literally. He turned his phone back on and clicked the highlighted link with the least concerning name. 

Well, you were just the perfect little thing, weren't you? Young, pretty, doe-eyed, and sweet. After perusing a website that looked less criminal than he thought it would, Enji decided on you. He had to have you. 

You stood out immediately from the pages of other women. All of them were, of course, gorgeous. They would not be advertised if they weren't. You, though. There was something about you. You were small—Enji liked that—but not frail. Built for carrying children was what you were, he decided, with your soft curves and buxom build. 

Your profile did not give much away. Basic information and a little greeting. It intrigued him enough, so clearly it worked. 

The two of you chatted for a few weeks, if you could call it that. There was little getting to know each other and more plane tickets being purchased and pick up times being arranged. To say that you had him hooked was an understatement, especially considering the only tools you had to connect with him were shitty translations of your language to his from Google and emojis. 

Everything about you read as gentle. Docile. Probably the only personality Enji was equipped to deal with. He would just die if married to a combative woman. His enemies would love to see him nestled up with a loud, abrasive one with a temper to match his own. 

No, you would do quite nicely, with your limited speaking and non-provoking nature. You were the perfect escape, a blank canvas onto which he could project his hopes for a new life onto. He could start a family over again. He could fix his mistakes and move on. Maybe, just maybe, he could forgive himself.

The flood of ideas filled him each time his phone buzzed with your messages, even if they were often short and punctuated by misunderstandings and screwy sentences due to poor translations. He found himself counting the days until your plane would take off to bring you to him, to his home. He had plans for you.

Things moved quickly with your new husband. Just last week your flight landed. Then you were  saying "I do," and now he had you bent in positions unimaginable. 

He worked fast. His hands were large and rough, but God, they were efficient. Thick fingers rubbed at your clit. A thicker cock  prodded at your entrance. You wriggled beneath him a bit, eyes widening at the stretch. 

You didn't have the words to tell him you were a virgin, but you didn't have the desire to stop him either. 

"Hold still, you," he said, voice gentle in comparison to how rough his strokes were. "You've got to let it adjust." 

Even if you could understand his words, the heat burning your ears drowned out any sound completely. Fullness filled you everywhere. Like a missing piece you never knew you didn't have. 

"Ah, you still aren't broken in yet for me," he muttered to himself. He watched as your struggles to swallow him into your walls. "Virgin, yeah?"

You mumbled incoherently to yourself, feeling his words cast over your face. More or less, you understood the tone of his words and hummed in agreement, hands playing with your tits absent mindedly. 

Pain tinted moans escaped you. Enji felt good, sure, but a warmth of discomfort passed through you with every inch of him. Your mind told you yes, but your body tried to reject him. He was simply too big, and too much. 

Not that it would stop him. 

He spat on his length to ease the friction. A steady hand stayed over your clit, abusing it to the point of overstimulation. He wanted this to be pleasurable for you, but he had a goal in mind. 

The load or two he had pumped into you earlier wasn't enough. He wouldn't dare give up yet, especially not with the adrenaline rush hearing you whine gave him. 

Besides, your plane ticket was expensive. He planned on getting paid back in spades.

[wileys-russo]

hihi idk if youre taking requests but i had an idea for leah kinda inspired by sockgate (💀)

so basically r plays for arsenal and theyre having kit photoshoots but the kit person accidentally forgot r’s (obviously the photoshoot isnt in colney) so she has to wear leah’s kit because r’s number is 5 and leah’s is 6 so it would be easier to edit and change the number like on the shorts (just say they didnt take any photos of her back because it would be too hard to change the name or something) ANYWAY leah is eating it up seeing r in her kit (especially if it’s like kind of big on her)

and then idk how you want to end it but maybe after the edited pictures are posted, leah cant help herself and also posts the original ones where you can see it’s her kit or something

love your writing <3

the sockgate trauma...never again the new number 6 II l.williamson

"leah catherine if you make us late again you're sleeping on the sofa tonight!" you yelled out impatiently, checking the time and rolling your eyes. "two minutes babe!" your girlfriend called back as you groaned in disbelief.

"they're dressing us and doing hair and makeup there leah, what is taking you so long?" you dropped your bag to the ground and stomped off to the bedroom. "no don't come in i'm-" you pushed open the door and your eyes widened at the sight in front of you.

"tell me that you are not doing a soduku right now." you spoke deathly calm, eyes locked with hers and narrowing. "would that make you feel better?" leah questioned with a charming smile, sat on the corner of the bed.

but the tinkling of her game gave it away as your eye twitched slightly and leah laughed nervously. "leah, i will be waiting in the car. if you do not join me in exactly two minutes, that thing you've been wanting to do?" you stated as leah nodded along.

"you can do it to yourself and this-" you gestured to your body. "-will be off limits, for a week." you warned seriously as leah scoffed and went to speak.

"a whole week williamson, shift it!" you cut her off sternly, turning on heel and marching out of the bedroom hearing your girlfriend trip over with a curse in her haste to hurry.

"ah fuck." you heard a thump and before you could even open the car door leah was skidding to your side, grabbing it for you. "after you darling." she grinned as you hummed and slid inside, tossing your bag in the back as she hurried around to her side.

~

"babe why aren't you dressed?" leah frowned as she returned to the change rooms, having finished with her own media promotion and asked to let you know they were ready for you now.

"they didn't bring my kit. there was a typo on the schedule and they thought less was coming so they've got 23 and not 5." you sighed in explanation as your girlfriend took a seat beside you.

"they just told me to wear your kit, 6 is easier to photoshop to 5 since its one number and not two like 23 is." you shrugged as leahs eyebrows shot upward. "leah." you sighed tiredly at the familiar look which settled on her face as she sat down beside you.

"be an adult and go change, now please." you ducked away from her arm which attempted to slip over your shoulders, standing up and crossing your arms across your chest. "have i ever told you just how sexy you look when you're pissed with me?" leah sighed with a dopey smile.

"yes. you make a point to remind me every time you grovel after you've pissed me off!" you threw a towel at her head and sat back down at your cubby. "no, go change baby." your foot shot up to press against her as she stood and attempted to get closer.

"reminds me of a different position baby, one i quite like." leah grinned wolfishly as she pulled your leg to sit on top of her shoulder and kissed your ankle with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"you already made me late once this morning and you're doing it again. go and change leah please!" you groaned pulling your leg back and sending her a stern look.

"i know you think this is going to work but this whole annoyed look-" leah wiggled her fingers at you "-is just making it all the more harder to leave you." leah smirked as you rolled your eyes and exhaled deeply.

"alright alright! i'm going. a girl knows where she isn't wanted!" leah spoke dramatically clutching at her chest, ducking down and stealing a kiss. "unless you'd like me to just change here and we can-" leah started to suggest but a dead panned glare had her grabbing her bag and hurrying away toward the showers.

"here you go then sunshine." a bundle of clothes hit you square in the face as you'd started to daydream only a few moments later, leah changed back into the clothes she'd arrived in.

"you are so-" you stopped yourself, leah sending you a smirk and sitting down on the bench. "eyes and hands inside the ride at all times williamson, i'm on a schedule." you warned as you started to strip off and change, feeling your girlfriends gaze locked onto you.

"leah!" you huffed as you pulled her shirt down over your head and her hand smacked against your ass. "what? it slipped babe." leah shrugged with an innocent smile as you rolled your eyes and pulled on her shorts having to roll the waistband a little so they didn't hang so low, already having your boots and socks on.

"wait! you're missing something." leah shot to her feet as you fixed your hair and turned to leave, pausing with a raised eyebrow. your lips couldn't help but curl into a small smile as leahs own pressed sweetly against them.

"sap." you teased, pecking her lips a few more times before heading out of the change rooms hearing her follow after you. "behave leah." you warned seriously as she held up her hands with a wink and you pushed your way into the media room.

"well well well if it isn't our newest number six!" beth teased as she finished up and immediately noticed that you weren't in your own number. "call me vice captain." you grinned, hugging her as you swapped positions and she spoke briefly with your girlfriend before leaving the room.

"so we're mostly shooting graphics for the screens and the lineups today, some celebrations, some serious shots. we'll do everything forward facing since there was some...issues, sorry about that again." jessica the marketing and media admin smiled apologetically.

"you're just lucky i was around to save the day jess." leah chimed in as jess shot her a playful glare and stepped back, calling out a few poses as the photographer snapped away and you moved between the different backdrops.

much as you tried your hardest to stay focused there was no avoiding the shit eating grin plastered on your girlfriends face as she sat back with arms crossed, eyes laser focused on your every move.

leah wasn't shy about how much she adored you, that was given by the constant teasings of the pining looks she threw your way during trainings or the not to subtle kisses she stole what felt like every few minutes.

leah was even less shy about how much she adored the sight of you in her clothes. early on in the relationship she did find it somewhat frustrating how you'd sneak off with her hoodies or shirts or pants hidden away in your overnight bag.

but seeing you wander around colney with what leah knew was her nike hoodie covering your top half had something stirring in her stomach she couldn't ignore.

your girlfriend by nature could be possessive, though most times it never came from jealousy knowing you were just as much as infatuated with her as she was with you, but rather that solidifying assurance that you were hers.

so as she sat there seeing you take picture after picture wearing her name, number and jersey leah was grinning ear to ear and there wasn't much which could be said to wipe it off.

"all good?" you questioned once it seemed things were wrapped up, sending both him and jess a thumbs up and stepping away, boots clacking against the hard cement floor and shaking your head at the look on leahs face.

"don't say it." you warned, snatching your jacket out of her hands and making a beeline out of the room as she hurried to follow you. "leah!" you laughed as she caught up and grabbed your hand, pushing you against a wall.

"you're like a horny teenager." you chuckled against her lips which immediately ravaged yours, her hands gripping your hips as you cupped her face and deepened the kiss.

"baby girl you know what it does to me to see you in my clothes, let alone wearing my last name on your back." leah pulled away and shook her head, making a mind blown gesture with her hands causing you to laugh again and shove her.

"we're at work miss williamson, be professional." you booped her nose and darted away as leahs kiss met thin air and she watched you dissapear into the change rooms.

"oh but miss williamson all my thoughts right now are strictly unprofessional." leah sang out happily with a cheeky grin as you shook your head. "no ring, no wife." you patted her cheek and held up your empty hand causing leah to now shake her head.

"oh no no no, no need to change my girl." leah swiftly grabbed your bag, stuffing your clothes back in and slinging it over her shoulder, holding out her hand for you to take with a sly smile.

"its time for me to make our new number six feel very very very welcome."

[star-anise]

Ask I got on my sideblog but am answering here:

Hi there! I know you're a therapist and I have a question: I saw some people arguing on Twitter about the impacts of trauma. There was a therapist among them, and they had a masters degree in social work, they post about it often. They say that people who have experienced trauma hurt other people because it benefits them or gives them pleasure, and they are disconnected from empathy and sympathy. That seems wrong, but maybe it's not? That's all, thanks!

Ooof, yeah, that's... complicated. It's technically true, but also frequently used as a lie.

Trigger warning: Child abuse, child grooming, interpersonal violence, trauma (childhood & intergenerational), true crime, totalitarianism

Because basically, that describes MOST humans who decide to hurt other humans on purpose without a strong ulterior motive. That's not a trauma thing, that's a human thing.

I babysit for a family with a 1-year-old and a 3-year-old. When the 1yo does something to upset their older sibling, and that sibling winds up and smacks them, that's the same basic thing. It benefits them (makes 1yo go away), brings them pleasure (having an outlet for their anger is very satisfying), and they're disconnected from empathy (they're often surprised and confused when the 1yo is crying, because they're 3 and THEY feel fine and they don't really understand yet that other people's feelings really exist) or even sympathy (understanding that if you hit someone, they will probably be upset). That's something we adults have to watch out for and intervene in, because empathy and impulse control take time to learn.

But as for where trauma figures into this... how to explain.

There's this old logical puzzle about categories, where you say things like:

All dogs have four legs*

A dog is an animal

And then the catch is that you can't extend that to say

All animals have four legs

*RIP to all the tripods and legless animals that apparently aren't dogs anymore for the purposes of this logic exercise

Animals obviously include fish and millipedes and whales and snakes and jellyfish. The number of legs an animal can have is HIGHLY diverse, and will eventually lead to a debate on what the definition of "leg" is.

So there is this common thing we see:

Some people are much more violent and aggressive than other people

These violent and aggressive people have almost always experienced some form of trauma/abuse/neglect

And the link people are really prone to thinking is:

People who have experienced trauma/abuse/neglect will go on to being violent and aggressive with other people.

This is incorrect. To some degree, I can see why it's widely believed - after all, way more people tune in to learn about a serial killer's abusive childhood than for the more common story, which is survivors of trauma slowly going about their lives in ordinary undramatic ways.

Because the thing is, trauma is REALLY diverse. Humans are inherently varied and a bit chaotic, since we can choose very different ways to live and operate, and trauma splits that variability like a prism turning light into a rainbow. Only about 30% of abused children grow up to be abusive themselves. The other 70% choose very different lives.

And yet. My eternal question is: WHY is this such a meme? Why do so many people with a shitty childhood flinch at the 30% statistic and think, "Is that me? Am I destined to be a monster?" Why does this story have legs, when so many other facts about trauma have way more empirical backing and usefulness and get very little attention?

I submit that there is one group that fucking LOVES the idea that traumatized person equals abuser. One group that pushes it into the discourse, in international media or around the family kitchen table, with great ingenuity and gusto.

Abusers.

They love it for two reasons. The most obvious reason is: It absolves them of their actions. "It wasn't ME who hit you, it was my childhood trauma!" A veritable classic excuse that takes their agency out of the equation. And it really can be hard to tell when it's a good excuse and when it isn't!

Reason two is the more insidious one: It cuts their victim's sense of goodness, worthiness, and moral certainty out from under them.

It's as simple as saying, "Look at how you pushed back at me (when I was abusing you)! You're the REAL abuser here!" It's the heart of what domestic abuse researchers call DARVO (Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender). It can be that simple, or it can be so complicated and byzantine it makes your head hurt.

I only really got a handle on understanding this thanks to a friend, who said she was okay with me sharing this story if I didn't identify her. I won't go into any unrelated details of her abuse, but for the record, hers is probably the most extreme case of anyone I've personally interacted with, and I used to work as a therapist and in domestic violence shelters. Her dad heinously abused her as a child. He'd also studied psychology in university. I have been trying to fathom how the fuck anyone could do what he did to her for YEARS, and I think I've got a few viabletheories.

So. She was an ordinary child, bright, warmhearted, well-behaved, and a bit autistic. A bit more naive and trusting than your average preschooler. I imagine that from his perspective, there was the convenient benefit that he often had unrestricted access to her, and he could relatively easily overpower and manipulate her.

But she had one serious downside: If anyone ever found out what he was doing to her, they would go fucking apeshit. She wasn't really prone to lying or acting out, so people would treat her as a fairly credible reporter; several other adults found her she was lovable, innocent, and endearing; and what he wanted to do to her was, I repeat, heinous.

So while he abused her, one of the things he said was: "I'm doing this because I was abused as a child. That's how it works. All abusers come from abuse. There are statistics proving it. This means you're an abuser too. See what society thinks about child abusers? That's what people will think about you, if they know that you've been abused."

And she was, you know, a child, not someone who studied psych research. He was her dad. So she believed him.

She thought that he was using his adult brain to correctly assess the truth about her as a person, for purely objective reasons. The way you'd try to teach a kid who talks with their mouth full about table manners. It's been a couple decades now, but she is still very slowly chipping away at her core belief that she is inherently awful and only her father recognized the truth about her.

Sometimes when we talk about it I have to bite my tongue because I'm sitting here trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with him, an adult man who wanted to abuse her because he'd really enjoy it. I think about him trying to figure out how to manipulate an innocent child into accepting being abused, and minimize the risk that he'd go to jail for it. And although I hate his everloving guts, I'm almost a bit impressed at his level of machiavellian audacity, to come up with a line that was SUCH hot bullshit that people have devoted their entire careers into proving it false, and yet, because it hit exactly the right psychological issue at exactly the right psychological stage and his intended victim was so trusting, he could get her to believe him enough to turn that lie into her core identity.

Praise be to G-d and Criminal Minds, he did not, in the end, get away with it. She got enough courage to tell people, and get free of him. And she is not, in fact, a horrible abusive person.

But I think what he did so very brazenly is what a lot of abusers do, in more disguised and indirect ways. Probably partly because it really helps, when abusing people, not to treat them like human beings with their own thoughts and feelings, but if one must posit that they have something going on between their ears, it's easiest to assume that everyone else responds to trauma with aggression and abuse. After all, considering the possibility that someone like them could choose not to be abusive takes all the fun and plausible deniability out of the whole affair.

But now I see echoes of that "my victims are just as bad as I am" tactic all over the place. I honestly think it's a very similar mechanism that Hannah Arendt pointed out in The Origins of Totalitarianism. She observes that violent totalitarian regimes routinely accuse their intended victims of the very act they intend to commit themselves, to justify a "retaliation" that's actually just aggression. Think claiming "Our opponents are rigging this election" as an excuse to rig an election in the opposite direction.)

To sum up: You're human. Humans can do good and bad things. It's not necessarily good to completely forswear anything violent or angry in you, but to come up with a framework of how to be assertive and get your needs met in an ethical fashion. There are times it is appropriate and even necessary to escape or fight against somebody else's will.

On the other hand, If find yourself inflicting pain on other people on a regular basis, get some support and take a good hard look at your life choices. Sometimes it's hard to figure out how to solve problems in your life without violence or aggression, and you might need some help with that. Maybe talk to a counsellor or learn anger management skills.

But in no way is it predestined, inherent, implicit, or doomed, that your experiences and brain wiring make you violent or evil. You always have the choice to define yourself beyond what was done to you.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 21

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: hard conversations, angst (minimal comfort), boundary breaking wc: 3.2k

Chapter Selection

A thin beam of soft yellow light spread across the bed, and I turned to face the door. Damian stood, gripping the doorknob. I sat up, gesturing for him to come in. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, but didn’t step away from the wall.

“... I need you to know that I would never have hurt you.” He whispered wetly.

“... What?” I frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“... Father told you about us. … You know I was trained to be a living weapon. A remorseless killing machine. … I broke into your apartment, and you barely batted an eye. You let me come back, over and over, and I … It is important to me that you know, I would never have hurt you. I will never hurt you. I … I’m good now. … I promise, I’m good.”

“Oh, Damian…. Come here sweetheart.” I patted the bed next to me, and he slowly approached, sitting next to me. I held an arm out, letting him decide if he wanted to accept a hug or not. He considered me for a moment before leaning in and I wrapped my arms around him, stroking his back gently. “Of course you are good! You are so, so good, Damian. I promise you, I am not afraid of you, or mad that you didn’t tell me, or anything like that.”

He slowly wrapped an arm around my back. “... You’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad at you, kiddo.”

“... You were screaming at Father.”

“Well, I am mad at Bruce.”

“Why?”

“Your safety is his responsibility, and he’s letting you spend your time fighting criminals … Jason died doing this, and Bruce did nothing about it. He let another kid come in and start the process all over again. And now you …”

Damian frowned; “Father couldn’t stop us if he tried. We choose to do these things, he doesn’t make us. If I said I didn’t want to anymore, he would be thrilled.”

“ … Then stop. Please, stop. Please, Damian, be safe, and happy, and free, let someone else clean up the messes. They’re not your messes…” Tears filled my eyes again and I shut my eyes, silently begging him to agree. “You’re not obligated to do this. You’re just a kid… You deserve to be a kid. I don’t care what anyone else tried to make you be, you are good, and you are kind, and you are a person. You aren’t responsible for the world’s problems, Damian. Please…”

“... I can’t. I’m sorry. … I have the skills necessary to help people survive the worst days of their lives. There are people who are living normal, happy lives because I made sure they survived their worst day. … I’m proud of that. I’m going to keep doing it. I’m not alone, I always have a team. We make a difference, and I … my dreams aren't filled with the screams of my victims anymore. … I don’t ever want to hear those screams again. … I’m going to keep fighting…. They taught me to be a monster. I’m going to use it to be a hero.”

I took a deep, shaky breath, kissing his forehead. “I … I don’t know what to say to that … I … nothing in my life could have prepared me for this … Just … please, please always come home to us. Ok? … I … I won’t be able to take it …”

“I will. I’ll always come home. I know how to take care of myself, you know.”

I nodded slowly. “... I know you do. ... But worrying is part of the job description for being an adult in a kid’s life. So I’m going to worry, and sometimes you’re going to entertain my worries without fighting me on it. Ok?”

He smiled a little and nodded, letting me hold him like that for a little while before he finally pulled back. “... Can I stay?”

I nodded, scooting back to make room on the bed. “I’d like that.”

The bed was big enough that we didn’t have to cuddle close like at my apartment, but Damian did set his hand near mine. I could feel his warmth on the side of my hand, like a guiding light in the darkness. We laid in silence for a long while, just existing in the moment.

“You’re going to keep dating Todd?”

“...If he’ll let me.”

“Why wouldn’t he let you?”

“... Among other things, I … I used what happened to him in the fight, and how that was making him act, to manipulate him into letting me take the blood sample Tim and Babs needed. … It was for his own good, but I still knowingly crossed his boundaries. And I … don’t know if he’ll forgive me. … I don't deserve to be forgiven.”

“... He might not remember.”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because keeping a secret like that from him would be cruel. He deserves to know what kind of person he’s dating, … if he’s going to continue dating me at all…”

He regarded me for a moment, frowning deeply. “... He’ll forgive you.”

“You think so?” Damian nodded. “... I really hope you’re right. …”

“He will. And that will make you my sister.”

I blinked a bit; “... You want me to be your sister?”

He nodded. “It’s the appropriate title, given our situation.”

“Situation?”

“If you marry him you’ll be my sister-in-law. It may not be an official title yet, but you have more than earned it. So, … unless you object, … Todd will stop making his ‘mommy’ jokes, and I will call you sister.”

I shook my head quickly, sniffling; “No, I don’t object at all!”

He nodded, gently squeezing my hand on the sheets. “.... Can Jon still sleepover next weekend?”

I chuckled, brushing my tears away; “Of course, sweetheart. Nothing about our plans has changed.”

He smiled a little and nodded. “Thank you, Sister.”

“You’re welcome, baby brother.”

Dick had been right about things looking different in the morning. But they certainly didn’t look better. In the light of day I saw Damian, curled up next to me. He was small for a fourteen year old. He could pass for ten effortlessly, younger if he played it right. He was so small, looking so fragile, and there on his arm, peeking out from under his pj top, was a crisp white bandage. That hadn’t been there when he left my apartment the night before. Which meant he had been injured fighting Mr. Freeze. 

He was injured. … And Jason was in the Batcave, fighting the effects of Mr. Freeze’s experiment. … It was morning, and my boys were going to have to deal with the consequences of last night for the next several weeks, if not longer. Was Steph injured? Was Dick? The only one I hadn’t seen on the news was the Signal - Duke. He was the only one who was definitely ok, from last night. But was he nursing any injuries from his patrols? It was entirely possible. Surely they all had some scars, but Jason was the only one of them with such obvious ones … It seemed improbable that the others had avoided being hit so much more often than Jay. … Which probably meant that most of his scars would look more like theirs if … what? … What was the missing variable? …

I slowly slid out of bed, making sure Damian was tucked in comfortably, and slipped out of the room, going back to Bruce’s office. Before I got there, I ran into Alfred in the hall. He smiled gently, calling me Miss; “is there anything I can do for you?”

“I need to speak to Bruce, Alfred. Do you know if he’s up yet?”

He nodded. “I believe he’s checking on Master Jason. Would you like me to show you the way?”

I thought for a moment. When Bruce had led me up to the mansion the night before, Babs and Tim had been stripping Jason for treatment. And he still hadn’t shown me his chest yet. I had crossed so many of his boundaries last night, I was not about to cross another. “... No, Jason wouldn’t want me down there until he’s awake. Can I just wait for him in his office?”

Alfred nodded, gesturing for me to go inside, and turned on his heel to let Bruce know I was waiting. I sat in the same chair from the night before, watching the birds outside the window. When Bruce finally arrived, he took a seat on the other side of his desk, frowning slightly.

“... Why are Jason’s scars so prominent?”

Bruce frowned more; “... what do you mean?”

“Obviously all of you get hit, but only Jason has so many, and his are incredibly visible. Why does everyone else have normal, healed scars, and he has those?” I watched Bruce’s face.

“... Jason doesn’t seek medical treatment. Not here, not at the hospital. If he can handle it himself, he does, no matter how poorly. He only gets professional care when he’s brought in unconscious.”

“Why?”

“... I don’t know. He wasn’t so opposed to medical attention before … the Pit.”

I sighed softly, nodding once. “... Ok. … You said that when I had a trajectory, you had funding available for my education?”

Bruce tilted his head, curious. “Yes?”

I nodded. “If Jason can forgive me, … if he can ever trust me again, I want to be able to help him. And the thing it looks like he needs most is someone he trusts with medical equipment. So, if he somehow finds it in him to trust me, after everything I did, you will fund my medical training.”

Bruce nodded. “You want to be a doctor?”

“No. I want to take care of Jason. And Damian. … Any of them really.” I frowned. “Dick, Steph, Tim, Duke. They can all come to me, if they wish.”

“... A sort of … vigilante clinic?”

“... Call it what you want. … But, let me be perfectly clear on one point. I want you to fund this. I do not want you coming to me for treatment. Not ever. … I will never be able to forgive you for what those children have been through, Bruce. I will never forgive you for Jason’s pain, or for how brave Damian has had to be to survive the life you have subjected him to.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “... I do not seek your forgiveness, young lady. You have no idea the choices I have had to make. … But I have seen first hand that you are good for Jason, and Damian seems happier with you around as well. And their happiness matters to me more than you could know. … So, yes. I will fund your medical education, and when you are ready I will keep you stocked with the supplies you will need for them. You'll have a salary, so you can be available when you are needed. … You will need better security as well, it will be taken care of.”

I nodded slowly. “Two more things. First, I will need more self defense training if I’m dating a vigilante.”

He nodded. “You would be welcome to join our household’s Thursday training sessions. … What else?”

“... I want to be added to the emergency contact list at Damian’s school. … Frankly, Bruce, the ways you have failed him terrify me. I can’t fix that any more than you can, but I can guarantee that at every school event parents are meant to go to, Damian will have at least one adult in attendance. I will go to his parent/teacher conferences, whether you’re there or not. I will go to after school activities, PTA meetings, I’ll chaperone field trips and dances, whatever it takes to make sure he knows that this part of his life matters… And I don’t want you to do anything to discourage him from spending time with me either. If he wants to spend the night at my place on a school night, I will make him dinner, help him with homework, tuck him in, make breakfast, and get him to school on time in the morning. And you will say nothing about it.”

Bruce frowned. “Damian is perfectly fine here on school nights.”

“Damian thought your public persona was more important to you than his emotional wellbeing. That is what you have taught him; that you don’t value him as your child, just as a soldier. He needs to be allowed to be a child. If he wants to spend time with me, I will be there. If it’s on a school night, I will make sure he’s ready and at school on time. He feels safe with me, so I will be available to him any time, day or night. Because he may be your son, but I am his adult. If you have any love for him, you will not make it harder for him to have a childhood than you already have. You will put your ego aside, and let him have this. Because you know, in the end, I will be better at this than you are.

You are consumed by the Bat. That’s the way it is, and there’s no changing it. If you were to step back even for a moment, every psychotic clown, mad scientist, and brightly colored sociopath out there would drag everyone into the darkness. That’s the world we live in, the world you have established for yourself. There is no space left in you for Damian's ordinary childhood needs. But I can and will dedicate every moment to my boys' emotional and physical wellbeing. That can be what my life is, and I will be happy to do it. So, you can be consumed with the Bat. And I will be consumed with them.”

Bruce stared me down, frowning deeply. “... You are an incredibly intense person … I hope you know what you're doing.”

“Does that mean…?”

“I’ll have you listed as the primary point of contact for Damian’s school.”

“Thank you.”

Jason woke to the smell of a sterile room, and the sound of his vital signs being monitored. He ripped the monitors off, climbing off the table. The memories from the night before flooded his mind, leaving him a bit nauseous, but he continued staggering away. He found a pile of his clothes, pulling them on quickly, and stumbled out of the room.

The cave was empty. But she said she wasn't leaving … So where was she? Was it a lie? Had she gone home? Her helmet was still on Dick's handlebars. He found his phone and checked his texts.

💖☕: Hey baby, lockdown's pretty scary, huh? Hope you're safe! ❤️

5:40pm

💖☕: Jace? You safe?

6:30pm

💖☕: … Jason? If you're getting these, I'm getting really freaked out. Please tell me you're ok.

8:45pm

Her most recent messages were all from before she found out he was Red Hood. Maybe it was too much for her … He had been so entirely out of control, maybe she didn't want to be with him anymore. God, had he really tried to get her to have sex with him? Fuck, that was humiliating. Maybe she didn't like him pressuring her like that … Maybe she hated him for lying for so long. He should have told her before the gala.

He gasped for breath, shaking. She was gone, wasn't she? She hated him now, and she was gone. He was alone … alone … so alone …

He didn't feel his knees hit the cold stone floor, or hear his screams echoing around the cave. He didn't even register the tears running down his cheeks. He only felt his heart shattering.

Small feet slowly came into view, and Damian crouched in front of him, frowning. “... I heard you from the kitchen. What's wrong?”

Jason's hands fisted in his hair as he took a gasping breath; “... Sh- she's gone … She's gone …”

Damian frowned more. “She's in the sitting room, Todd. She didn't want to check on you herself; something about you not wanting her to see your chest.”

Jason's head snapped up to look at Damian's face; “... She … she's here? She didn’t leave?”

Damian nodded, standing, and offered the large man a hand. “Breath, wipe your face, and let's go.”

Jason frowned, taking a deep breath. “... Why are you … being like this?”

“Sister thinks she broke your trust. I'd put her at five, maybe ten minutes from a full panic attack. Now fix your face, get up there, and tell her you love her. … You do still love her, don't you?”

Alfred gently pressed a cup of tea into my hands. Tim and Dick stared at me from across the sitting room, sipping from their own cups. I simply stared into mine, going numb again. It had been hours, but Jason was still unconscious.

“... You seem … upset. … In a way I wasn't anticipating.” Tim frowned.

“I am upset, Tim.” I sighed.

“... Do you want to talk about it?”

“... No.”

Babs reached for my hand. “You did well, yesterday…”

I snatched my hand away, growling; “No! No I did not! How can you even say that?”

“You probably saved Jason's life.” Dick frowned.

“I used the position of power I had over him to force him to do things he didn’t want to do! Things he wasn’t ready for. He begged in that alley, begged, no needles! And I made him give me the blood sample you wanted. … He was all over me, it was uncomfortable and weird, and I knew it was the pheromones, but I didn’t even try to stop him! It was easier to just keep him calm! … He hadn’t told me he’s Red Hood, I told him to take his helmet off, and he didn’t even hesitate. Because he couldn’t! … I took his choices from him. And I did it because it was easier. … How can he ever look at me the same ever again? How can he trust me? How can I ask him to trust me?! I’m not the safe person I promised to be! He shouldn't trust me!” I buried my face in my knees, sobbing. “I promised him, every single day since we met, we never had to do anything he wasn't ready for! I promised! And the second I had the ability to make him go against his own wishes, I broke my promise! H- how can I claim to love him when I did that?! How do I even start to apologize??”

I shook violently, sobbing into my knees, until a large, familiar pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders. Jason's chin rested on my shoulder as he pulled me close. “We talk it out. Just like everything else, we'll figure it out together. Right, princess?”

I gasped sharply, turning toward him. “J- Jason? … Y- … you're …”

He gently cupped my cheek, smiling gently. “I'm ok, doll. Come on, let's talk.”

Next->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open): @jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm

[edwinspaynes]

You know, I've been mulling over how the streaming business model - specifically the @netflix business model - actively discourages the creation of diverse shows.

Netflix's idea that everything has to be a Big Hit caters to the concept that everything that's worth making should be mass-streamlined for the largest possible audience. That audience is, of course, going to fall into majority demographics - straight, cisgender, neurotypical, probably white (though I don't really feel comfortable speaking about that so much as a white person myself. If a PoC wants to add onto this post, I'll reblog it.)

Anything with queer representation is going to be heavily watered down or tailored to a cishet audience if we are to follow the Netflix business model to its natural conclusion. Shows like Dead Boy Detectives, Ratched, First Kill, Shadow and Bone, and Warrior Nun include nuanced stories about queer characters and their journeys, and the sad fact is that many cishet people simply don't even care to try to relate to these stories. They're overlooked in favour of straight-made, straight-majority shows like Bridgerton, Never Have I Ever, or Stranger Things. All three of these shows include a queer side character, but that character is either never fleshed out or made queer in the most perfunctory and performative way possible. Straight audiences still care to watch them for the straight characters. This leads to the cancelation of authentic queer shows because they don't "have the numbers" to be hits.

(Btw, I can say with confidence that Dead Boy Detectives at least did have the numbers needed to be a hit, and they're ever-growing. But walk with me and take Netflix's stupid ass claim at face value for a second.)

No shit queer shows are going to get canceled if you're basing everything on "hit" numbers.

According to the Williams Institute, 5.5% of US adults identify as LGBT. That's a pretty huge minority, which is surprising for most of us queer people who tend to hang out in groups like little queer magnets. But it's true. Even if half of the cishet population is happy enough to watch queer shows, that's still only 55.5% of people who are maybe going to watch. And we can't expect everyone to watch every Netflix show. That's unreasonable.

So, to summarize, you're going to only make hit shows? That means you're only catering to majority-audiences. That means that we are going to have NO diverse media that doesn't get the ax.

It also really sucks that Netflix seems to use Heartstopper (a great show!) as its "bbbut we're not homophobic" billboard. Like, okay! You have one cute little coming out show. And we love it! Doesn't make you an A++ Ally, though.

But what about other queer stories? Ones that aren't about queerness? Why can't we see ourselves as supernatural detectives or vampire debutantes or morally gray psychiatric nurses?

In the immortal words of one of the best, most complex queer characters ever to exist, "it's so fucking stupid it's unbelievable."

[slurmdog]

modern businessman luo binghe is having a bad day - he's running late to his next meeting, his car broke down, his apartment has a leak, and he has mud on his shoes while walking to an important interview.

that's why when someone wolf whistles and goes, "hey sexy, need a ride?" he feels like he's going to unleash the fury of the gods on that person for catcalling him on, perhaps, the worst day of his adult life

binghe turns on his heel and walks up to the open window of the mediocre car that pulled up - the driver's face overcome with an ashen pallor the closer he gets - and suddenly realizes that this is the most beautiful man he's ever met. so then binghe finds himself leaning on the open windowframe and twirling his hair going, "yes, actually,"

the driver looks behind binghe and winces. binghe gives him his best eyes and the driver says, "i meant, um..."

"your jokes aren't funny, shen yuan," a woman says behind binghe, and then she gets into the backseat. binghe is strangely dismayed - the driver who must be shen yuan must've been catcalling her as a joke, not him. shen yuan meets his eyes, inexplicably blushes, and gestures at the unlocked passenger door.

binghe gets in. he bats his eyelashes at shen yuan and blithely gives the address of the building he's interviewing at, makes conversation, then gives shen yuan his number and name on the way out.

[ning yingying climbs from the back seat to the front passenger without opening the doors (sue her! it's a sketchy warehouse area!) and says to shen yuan, "so he's probably a murderer, right?"]

[starlightsuffered]

Be Professional (The End)

Warning - Smut, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected sex, breaking machinery, no more cocky timo

I had been avoiding Timothée like the plague since his little confession. I was trying desperately to work out my feelings. I missed the sex, a lot, however, I also found, I missed him.

I missed his stupid guffaw of a laugh. I missed the way he actually said interesting things in interviews. I missed his jokes, even if most of them annoyed me. Why did I feel like this? I was supposed to hate him. He was a rival, a rival that was good at fucking, but I wasn't supposed to fall. Arg the stupid idiot had confused me so much ! didn't know what made sense anymore.

My friend was unhelpful as shit. She suggested giving him an apology blow job and just start dating him. I couldn't do that.

Timothée had been different since that night. He was no longer jovial and cheeky, he was solemn and serious.

He used to be so social, almost over the top social. He now preferred to eat in his trailer instead of with us. He was gone the moment he was allowed to be. He didn't talk unless directly spoken to, and he only smiled if he knew it would be a bad look to frown. He was......Professional.

How had I had such an affect on him? After all, I was some nobody. He'd literally asked why I was on this project at all.

It was one of the last days of our press tour, and we were walking in silence back to the hotel. These were the times I hated the most. The director always sent us back to the hotel together, hoping to ramp up excitement for the movie by our picture being taken together. It was always an awkward and silent journey. He never even looked my way.

We got into the elevator, and he pressed the number for our floor. The elevator ran smoothly for a second then it shuddered. I grabbed out to Timothée without thinking as lights flickered. We came to a slamming halt. The doors opened an inch, but there was solid wall peeking between them. A red emergency light was all that lit the area, washing us in scarlet. The elevator was stuck.

"What the hell," I said worriedly as I pressed the button for our floor over and over.

"I don't think that's going to work," Timothée said.

"Would you shut up," I ground out. I looked at my phone, of course, no signal.

"We'll probably have to wait it out. I pressed the emergency button," he said calmly. I gave him a look of wonderment.

"Why aren't you freaking out?" I demanded, and he shrugged.

"Urrrg you are so irritating," | snapped.

"

"Maybe I am, but this time you can't fuck me about it, so maybe we should talk like adults," Timothée retorted.

"Adults?" I demanded. "Now you want to be adults? You were the one always acting like a goof ball on set, you were the one always touching me and winding me up, and you're the one who initiated the whole sex thing in the first place. So don't tell me I need to act like an adult!"

"Did you ever consider why I did those things?" He asked, running a hand through his curls in frustration.

"Because you're an asshole celebrity who can get away with anything?"

"Because I fucking liked you," he said as though it were obvious.

"You what?" I asked softly.

"I was yours from the second you walked up to me and yelled at me," he confessed, and my back thudded against the wall as I took in the information. "I wasn't even asking the director what you thought | was. I was asking if you had any history in the industry because I know your first movie can be scary. I was trying to see how I could help you."

"You were?" | asked.

"Yes, but then you thought was a jerk and you weren't backing down. The only way I could get your attention was to rile you up."

"Timothée, stop," | said, feeling too much pressure building in me.

卩

"No, I won't, I want to be with you y/n, I want to spoil you, and fuck you, nicely, and kiss you, and not worry about who sees hickeys on our necks because they know we're crazy about each other. Why are you so afraid of this?"

"Because you're you," I whispered, eyes squeezed shut.

"What does that mean?" He asked.

"You are the Timothée Chalamet. You were in Dune, Willy Wonka, Little Women, Call Me By Your Name, fucking game changing movies!"

"So you do know some of my movies," he chuckled. I opened my eyes and looked at him. His eyes were large and pleading, his curls awry from his fidgety hands. He was so beautiful it nearly hurt.

"I don't want people to say I fucked my way to the top. I've worked too hard for this. That's why you always annoyed me so much. One wrong move and I could lose my dream forever. You could do anything you wanted and they wouldn't care. Even if you had been telling the director that he made a bad casting decision, it wouldn't matter, you'd still be there the next day."

I couldn't look at his fallen expression anymore so I sunk to the floor and talked to it instead.

"You piss me off because I wasn't supposed to like you this much. I was also being unprofessional because I knew I wanted you. I've never had feelings this strong, good or bad, in my entire life, and they're all attached to you. It scares the shit out of me."

He was sliding down to the floor too. He took my hands in his and my lip trembled. He was holding me so gently.

He had never held me gently like this before.

"I have crazy strong feelings for you too, and I really don't want to ignore them. However, I one hundred percent get where you're coming from. It'll be hard, but I'll back off if you say this isn't a sacrifice you can make for me."

I looked up into his eyes. They were mixed with equal parts hope and dread. I wanted to give him hope, but could I?

Just then the doors shut. The lights flickered back on and we were moving. He helped me up as we finally got to our floor. We were greeted by a team of workers who were all apologies. I could barely take it all in, it was sensory overload after what had just happened. Timothée turned on the charm and led us through the crowd.

Finally, we were at our doors. Timothée turned to me, I still hadn't given him an answer. Would I be okay leaving things here? I pictured my life after this moment. I'd cry myself to sleep, wake up the next day and try not to look at or think about Timothée. Then we'd go out separate ways. I wouldn't see him again. I wouldn't hold him again, wouldn't hear one of his cheesy jokes again, wouldn't kiss him again, would never have him inside me again. Could I do it?

"Do you have your room key?" he said.

"Yes," | replied, turning towards him.

"Well are you going to go into your room?" He asked.

"No."

"Why?" He breathed.

"I'll tell you why Chalamet," | said with a wild grin. I saw his eyes sparkle with hope.

"Why?" He asked again.

"Because you," I said, walking to him and placing my hands on his chest. "Are the best l've ever had, and also, totally worth it."

His smile nearly split his face in two as he grabbed my face to kiss me. I was beaming into the kiss. He broke it off with a joyous laugh, and picked me up and spun me around. I was laughing now too, heart full and content.

He struggled with the door because he wouldn't stop kissing me for even a moment. When we got in the room he carried me to the bed. His lips must have connected with every part of my bare skin. I was sighing with happiness as I felt my boys lips. MY boy.

"Come here you," I said pulling his face to mine for a long kiss.

"I'm obsessed with you," he said earnestly.

"Same here," | beamed back.

"First things first," he said and his lips went to my neck. He sucked the skin into his mouth. His hands went under my shirt to brush as my nipples as he suckled. I moaned.

"There we go," he said smiling at his work.

"Does it look good?" I asked, pretending to pose with my neck exposed.

"Almost as beautiful as you" he said, and my stomach flipped at the words. I bit my lip, and he leaned down to kiss me. The kiss was slow and passionate. I did take his lip between my teeth, but it was a gentle nibble, opposed to the harsh teeth I'd used to use on him.

He sat up and took off his shirt. I let my hands lovingly caress his abdomen. His eyes fluttered shut.

"Do you know how long l've wanted you to touch me like this," he asked in a near whisper.

"Too long," | answered, and he nodded. He began to unbutton my shirt. He was moving carefully, as if scared I'd run away from him. I wasn't going anywhere. He got my shirt off and kissed my stomach.

"You have got to be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said. He unlatched my bra and threw it to the ground. He took a second to look at me before he was flattening his tongue against my nipples.

"Oh, Timothée," I sighed.

"That's it," he said. "That's how I wanted to hear you say my name this whole time."

"My Timothée," | breathed, as he began to work on my nipples again.

I felt him undo the button of my pants. I helped him get them off me. He kissed his way down my body, and took my underwear in his mouth. He dragged them down as I watched him avidly.

"I'm going to worship your pussy," he promised as he dove in. He lapped between my folds. I grabbed his curls, and he moaned into me. I didn't pull as hard as I normally did, just enough to please him.

"Fuck, right there, so good," | moaned as his tongue circled my clit before landing on it. His licks were long and loving, and the way he gripped my thighs with a gentle strength made me weak. Sure I liked being marked up, but l liked this better.

"I'm so close," | admitted. He switched up the direction of his tongue and I curled my toes. I panted as he continued. Finally, I was calling his name as I came undone.

Timothée's head emerged, face shiny with my juices, and a smile on his face.

"I always wanted to ask if you really feel as good as you sound?" He said.

"Yes, absolutely, you are a God with that tongue of yours," I said.

"Well, it's only for you," he winked.

"Better be," I said. "Now please take off your pants."

"Eager are we?" He chuckled.

"Yes, I'm addicted to your cock," I said, it was my turn to wink as I brought up his old words.

"That whole cocky thing was an act. My heart was going a mile a minute hoping you wouldn't think I was repulsive. It seemed like it was the only way you'd interact with me, so I put it on."

"That is adorable," | said truthfully. "But I wasn't lying, I am addicted."

"Fuck," Timothée said with a shudder.

He quickly took off his pants, his cock springing from his boxers. I knew he hadn't intended for me to help him, but I moved fast. My mouth was around his length in seconds.

"Ugh, baby," he groaned, and the pet name spurred me on. I bobbed my head, taking all of him I could into my throat.

"Fuck, so good, so good," he panted.

"Stop," he said, pulling me off. "I need to cum inside you, please."

"Absolutely," | agreed, and pulled him down on me. He kissed me long and hard before lining himself up with

me.

"You ready?" He asked, I bit my lip and nodded. He pushed into me.

"Merde," Timothée cursed, head dipping into my neck as pleasure over took him.

"You feel so good," I told him. He began to thrust. It wasn't fast, but it was deep and powerful, each movement hitting me in my sweet spot.

"Ah, ah," I moaned. "Fuck, Timothée, you're so good, you're so pretty, you fuck me so well."

I was whining, making the sounds l'd always wanted to make for him before. He seemed to be loving my vocalness. He was kissing me heatedly, as he swallowed my whimpers.

He reached down to knead my breasts as he fucked me. He was hitting me so deep it seemed impossible.

"I'm so close," He told me.

"Me too," I whined.

"Look at me when you come please," he begged. I could only nod, completely lost to pleasure as he his hips snapped forward. I locked my legs around his waist, wanting him deeper. I wanted to be one with him.

"Oh, Timothée, I'm gonna come," I moaned and I looked into his eyes as the best orgasm l'd ever experienced washed over me. Wave after wave of bliss was hitting me, so that I was nearly convulsing as I called his name. He came soon after me, cumming ropes of cum inside me, keeping his eyes on mine.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he confessed as he pressed his forehead against mine.

"You're not the only one Chalamet," I teased.

After hours of talking, I fell asleep in Timothée's arms. I was awoken by the ring of my phone. It was our director.

Timmy's eyes opened groggily as I answered. He smiled sweetly at me.

"Hello?" | croaked.

"You guys did it haha, the story about you two getting stuck in an elevator is everywhere!" He cheered.

"Yes, well, we make quite the team," I said smiling at Timothée. Then I hung up so I could kiss my boyfriend.

[meyerlansky]

i'm very 👀 about what bucky's family situation looks like, actually. historically, his dad died in nov '42, so he's only six months out from it at the start of the show, but it never really comes up—he doesn't flinch or offer anything back when gale talks about his dad, which... maybe he had a good relationship with his dad, so he doesn't have anything to offer. but he doesn't look at gale like he's surprised at cleven sr being a bad dad the way i'd expect a character with a fairly happy, uneventful home life to react to "my dad left me sleeping on benches"-level bad parenting. and if he DID have a shitty relationship with his dad, that's the perfect moment to empathize and bond over it. but he doesn't take it.

and then we get the revelation that he doesn't get any letters in the stalag. obviously he's not getting romantic letters, but one of the other guys mentions a letter he got is from his mom, with equivalent relief and comfort to gale's reaction to marge's letters. in so doing the show establishes that letters from family presumably count for the conversation the bucks have wrt having someone to get letters from. bucky's mom is still around. why doesn't he at least get letters from her? he's got two sisters, historically—one's three years older and the other's six years younger. both ages that wouldn't exactly hinder sending letters to your POW brother. but nothing.

initially i was gonna say i have trouble believing that bucky—who wears every emotion he has plain on his face, who's so stupidly easy to read that everyone thinks they know exactly what's going on with him in every scene, and who has a hugely visible downward spiral when his preferred options for coping with STUPENDOUS AND COMPOUNDING traumas are taken away from him—either:

has so solidly processed his dad's recent death inside six months that he doesn't need to externalize any reaction to it, or

is somehow better at keeping the details of how he feels about his family close to his chest than he is about basically every other feeling he's ever had

and it's still possible that his relationship with his family is simply unremarkable and there's nothing deeper to it. or that he had a bad relationship with his dad, but not any worse than your average "my dad and i didn't get along great" kind of deal, not cleven-level bad. but... i dunno, man, i have trouble buying THAT, more than i have trouble buying that the situation is deeper than bucky lets show.

his MOTHER doesn't even write to him. and we don't find this out until he's been stalag'd for over a year. so he... does actually keep it pretty close to his chest. more importantly, he keeps it close to his chest when it's something he could use to strengthen his relationship with gale. that doesn't really fit with the read of bucky as an open book looking for anything he can get from gale. like... it doesn't fit with that read of him at all.

it feels way more likely to me that there's Bad Shit there, and that that Bad Shit extends beyond bucky's relationship with his dad, into his relationship with his mom and even into coloring his relationship with his now-adult sisters. something like being kicked out, or disowned, or bucky deliberately going no-contact. and that's interesting on its own—what could he possibly have done to lose his entire family like that? my personal guess is he got caught with a boy and got kicked out over it, but it could be hetero slutting around too; it could be the drinking or the gambling or not going to school or his parents just fucking suck absolute ass, or any number of things that aren't Picturesque Rural Wisconsin Family appropriate

but also. i'm really fascinated by the sense of... isolation, i guess? that this confers on him as a character. he's such a loud, eye-catching presence In The Moment, and i wonder how long it takes the people around him to realize that he only seems to exist In The Moment, and doesn't have a past he's anchored in enough to discuss it even with the people he's closest to.

like how long does it take gale to realize he's spilled his guts about his dad to bucky, in a way that very clearly carries some level of "i'm letting you see something no one else has seen" feeling with it... and he got nothing back of equivalent weight wrt bucky's family, not just in that conversation but at any point that we see on screen? months? years? does gale EVER realize bucky's hidden/neglected to share his past even after gale's given bucky his?

[shinelikethunder]

i don't actually think teenage Dean Winchester would be spurned-lover-style jealous of teenage Sam's girlfriends i think based on his s1 behavior that it's far more likely he went "HELL YEAH my little brother is DATING he is going to SLAY at this and i'll make sure of it," unilaterally appointed himself Sam's wingman, had to be beaten back with a stick from micromanaging his brother's love life, and probably lovingly fantasized about all the hot chicks Sam was gonna hook up with and all the things they'd get up to because let's face it, who wouldn't fall head over heels for the guy? (speculation about kissing practice, which of course Would Not Count as anything except making sure the little nerd did their family proud, is left as an exercise to readers who are so inclined.)

also probably the closest thing to a jealous shitfit he pulled involved one (1) time Sam ditched a hunt to be there for his then-girlfriend's Important Life Event, and it'd be like 40% loudly-expressed "he should be putting his FAMILY first" and 60% ferociously-suppressed "we don't get to just DO that! if i've accepted only ever being able to date super casually for a few weeks at a time before we blow town then where the fuck does he get off thinking he can just PRIORITIZE this COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP BEHAVIOR bullshit. that i tooootally don't want or care about anyway. because it's for SISSY NORMIE LOSERS, not a tight-knit clan of ULTRA-COOL SECRET MONSTER HUNTERS like us"

like i think Dean did accept much more readily, long before he could even realize the ramifications of what he was accepting, that the way they lived meant the Winchesters' only long-term relationship option was "rampant emotional incest that we don't have to acknowledge as long as we all only bang girls," but he also canonically had all kinds of festering resentment about missing out, and was aware on some level that their lives required the sacrifice of a lot of things he secretly longed for (and made a lot of noise about devaluing in favor of What's More Important)

and the toxic cocktail of that + envy of Sam's ability to just go "nah fuck expectations i want something else" + boundary-challenged investment/enabling/policing of each other's heterosexual exploits as a bulwark between their family dynamics and The Unspeakable + freakout over the early warning signs of a difference in values on family loyalty + inchoate terror of losing him to the outside world one day + unthinking idolization and projection along the lines of "well of course this girlfriend would take him away from us and wrap her entire life around his if she could, i mean, have you met him? who wouldn't want that? this is WHY we have to keep it casual and not get girls' expectations up"...

...the entire dynamic of Dean being Sam's number one hookup cheerleader but also perceiving signs of romance/commitment as a threat... s1 Dean trying to have a hand in pushing him towards actual romantic prospects anyway, because he's worried about Sam grief-spiraling and has reluctantly accepted that the rupture in the family is about things Sam genuinely wants, even as Sam's grief is already driving him to the conclusion that they aren't worth the cost and meanwhile the brothers have spent all season bonding even closer and more claustrophobically as adults...

well, i think all that is way more interesting, and in many ways even more fucked-up, than applying bog-standard jealous boyfriend tropes to the absolute mess of their upbringing

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

✨Staticmoth wedding headcanons✨

Because I have a lot of thoughts but can't come up with the plot to turn it into fic

✨ Vox absolutely loses his shit. You would think that Valentino would be a groomzilla material but oh no no, Val just wants sexy dress and enough coke to last three days of partying. Vox needs everything perfect. He has his grand vision and is ready to tear with bare hands everyone who does not deliver. During the preparation time, he murders as many people as Val usually does. Velvette bails on being the wedding planner after just two weeks because it was seriously straining their friendship. But after a month, she's back in the game. Why? Because Vox strangled three other wedding planners in frustration, and things weren't moving forward, so Val was starting to freak out.

✨ The event is held at the Vees' Tower. I reckon they've got a venue suitable for hosting conferences and porn award shows.

✨ It's a grand event. I'm talking Grand™, like the Kim K and Kanye West of Hell kind of grand. But it's also elite, so the guest list isn't that long, around 200 invited people plus 50 ticketed spots for anyone willing to drop 100k hellish bucks to attend. Everything is dripping with gold and diamonds because "quiet luxury" isn't in the Vees' vocabulary. The whole affair reflects Val's aesthetic more, as it's Vox's love letter to him. Vox already had his wedding, and now it's time to fulfill his husband's dreams. So Val makes about 90% of the decisions without shouldering any real responsibilities. Which is fine by everyone because he's annoying as hell when it comes to picking roses, flamingo feathers, and starters. Nobody wants to put him in high-stress situations. Expect lots of red, pink, and gold, with heavy, decadent fabrics and neon lights; it's like an exclusive brothel meets the Las Vegas strip.

✨ When it comes to flowers, they settled on roses because they're Vox's favorites, which naturally made them Val's favorite too, given the sheer number of bouquets he's received. Vox, being the freak he is, counts every single bouquet he's ever given to Val. So, for their wedding, he ensures there are twice as many roses. Yes, he's a pathological overachiever.

✨ As for attractions, there’s a plethora of erotic dancers in cages and mesmerizing drone light shows. Karaoke, slot machines, live cooking stations, and all the drugs you can imagine. And let's not forget a fountain flowing with tequila. It's a true adult wonderland.

✨ Valentino skips the whole white dress thing and rocks a fierce red latex gown that's very Mugler but with a fetishcore twist. Vox keeps it sleek in a sharp black three-piece suit. His shirt's a bold blue, and his tie matches Val's dress. His shoulder pads are pointy, his waist is slutty, his ass looks divine. Oh yeah, about slutty waist - underneath the shirt he is hiding a leather corset, as a treat for the wedding night.

✨ Also none of them really have friends other than Velvette, just associates so there are no groomsmen/maids.

✨ Since there aren't any traditional churches or government officials in Hell (if there's even a government at all), Velvette takes on the role of officiating the wedding. Vox isn't entirely thrilled with this choice because there's always the risk she might crack a joke or publicly rib him, but hey, there's really no one else who could pull it off. I imagine that a wedding in Hell is also some form of magical contract but more about partnership than ownership. They do not exchange rings but blood sksksk also I don’t think that Vox can really wear rings with his claws? And they couldn't quite agree on a design that satisfied both of them. In the end, Val ends up wearing his illegally imported engagement ring from Earth, featuring four pink diamonds shaped like a moth's wings.

✨ Val's vow is, well, atrocious. It's the kind of thing that would definitely land him in one of those TikTok compilations of terrible grooms ruining their weddings. He mentions cream pieing Vox at least once. Vox at first freaks out but seconds later realizes Wow that's the man I'm marrying. I wouldn't want him any other way On the flip side, Vox's vow is immaculate. Crafted with the assistance of Voxtek's CMO and practiced to perfection, it leaves everyone in awe. He has out-of-body experience playing this role of prince charming.

✨ For their first dance, they opt for a steamy tango. Picture this: swirling red smoke on the floor, making it seem like they're dancing on the sky of the pride ring when the sun is setting down. Little do the guests know, the smoke is laced with drugs, sending most of them on a wild trip. The party quickly goes off the rails, but in the best way possible (according to the Vees’ standards).

✨ The cake is a five-tier monstrosity with five different flavors: tres leches and chocolate-cherry chosen by Val, confetti cake and strawberry cheesecake chosen by Vox and Red Velvet for Velvette because she couldn't shut up about it To top it all off, there's a big chocolate figure of Vox and Valentino dancing. Val is later caught drunk, eating it with his bare hands like the filthy animal he is.

✨ Velvette’s wedding gift is a pair of customized matching guns with small engravings that read "Partners in Crime."

✨ Valentino pulls off a surprise special pole dance performance as a wedding gift for his husband. Let's just say it's scorching hot and leaves at least 50 guests with, uh, visible excitement. Later on, things almost escalate to a full-on table bang, but...

✨ Velvette spends the entire evening reminding them that they can't just vanish to consummate their marriage because this whole party took months of preparations, and they need to be present. After all, people paid good money to be around them. The threat of cock cages hangs over their heads, but they promise to behave. However, Val being the horny beast he is, ends up taking Vox to the bathroom for a quickie anyway. Velvette decides to let it slide this time.

✨ At least 20 casualties mark the night. Vox ends up zapping one of the guests who gets a bit too clingy with Val during the dance. Meanwhile, Val gets into a brawl and, well, let's just say it doesn't end well for the other guy. Surprisingly, everyone seems to be having a great time, but hey, these are the Vees' colleagues we're talking about—they thrive on violence and sex.

✨ Yeah, there's no shortage of sex at this party. With a guest list mainly consisting of businesspeople, adult performers, and mobsters, tensions escalate rapidly. By around 3 A.M., half of the party is busy getting down and dirty in every corner imaginable.

✨ When Vox reaches the perfect level of drunkenness, he seizes control of the DJ station. Surprisingly, he's a natural, dropping beats like a pro and having an absolute blast. Val, meanwhile, goes absolutely wild watching him, thrilled to see Vox letting loose and embracing his creative side.

✨ Derek, Vox's assistant, is the odd one out, the only low-status person to snag an invite because Vox felt kinda generous. But truth be told, Derek hates the idea and wasn't keen on attending. However, when Melissa caught wind of his invitation, she practically dragged him there to be his plus one, desperate to get closer to Velvette. Derek's terrified of most of the guests, but Melissa's over the moon. She later fucks him as a reward for being a very brave boy. Angel is not invited because he would ruin mood of both grooms.

✨ Valentino had prepared the filthiest, kinkiest, most elaborate wedding night, but it doesn't go as planned. Surprisingly, things turn out very vanilla for their standards, with a lot of missionary, eye contact, and hand-holding. After 16 hours of non-stop action, they're both too exhausted to even think about getting creative.

Thank you @purrpleowl @watcherofeternalflame @canadianlucifer @aroromantic @malu897 @staticmothed @chaggieslovechild @gumm1defloor @mayflowersfly for your thoughts!