#and b) the person who was upset with me was SUPPOSED TO TRAIN ME

[madaqueue]

i only cried once today after being yelled at/scolded for two hours straight!!!!! i would like my hug and pat on the head for being so good now please!!!!!!!

[thevoidstaredback]

Saturday's at Wayne Manor are family days. The whole weekend is reserved for the family to come and go as they please, but the biggest events are the Game Days on Saturday from 11:00 to 16:00 and Sunday Dinner at 18:00.

Every Saturday is a Game Day, but the third Saturday of each month is Competition Day. The kids all choose their favorite games, and everyone competes against each other. It's very rarely missed by anyone, but there have been times when someone has had to tap out for one reason or another. Alfred keeps track of who's missed how many days. Barbra keeps the tally of who's won what and how many times. At the end of the year, on December 31st, the scores are announced.

Sunday Dinners are sacred. No one ever misses a Sunday Dinner. The last person who did Jason is still getting subtle jabs and looks from everyone and that was a year ago and he had a very good reason, thank you very much! Everyone is always present for Sunday Dinner because everyone still has a room and the option to stay the night between the two days. Most usually take up the offer, but there have been extenuating circumstances that have pulled someone from the Manor.

No matter any of that because everyone is here and everyone is staying the night. That means everyone is patrolling Gotham tonight. Almost everyone. Batwoman has offered to take over Bludhaven for the night, so that's where she's gone.

Bruce plans to present his idea of messing with his coworkers when everyone gets back to the cave after patrol. All his kids know who they all are, having been trained by him, so there's no risk or accidental reveals on his part. In actuality, the kids thought of it like a game. They even had a folder for it on the Bat Computer and everything!

Yes, that night, after everyone returned to the Bat Cave, he would gather his Chaos Gremlins and invite them to mess with the Justice League with him. He'd also try and get Alfred in on it. Family bonding, and all that.

Though, making his kids sweat was its own form of amusement for him. It was 3:00 when everyone finally returned. They all ran their own routes, watched over by Oracle, and their own times, but everyone was always done no later than 3:00. It was a rule that the Gotham Rouges had yet to pick up on because Batman went back out until dawn more often than not.

Anyway, Bruce has been the first to get back and had put on an act of being upset. He usually kept his Batman persona with his suit, so he was rarely ever this stoic while he was Bruce Wayne. He hid his smirk as he sat at the head of the meeting table in the Cave, waiting for his children to change and sit with him. Duke normally was asleep by now, but he'd asked the boy to be there, letting him in on the harmless prank while they waited for his siblings and Stephanie to arrive.

Once everyone was seated, he waited a total of thirty seconds, meeting eyes with every one of his children, before he spoke. "I'm very disappointed."

Dick's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He'd known Bruce the longest - aside from Alfred - and had likely picked up on something the second he saw Bruce and Duke at the table. "At who?"

"The Justice League," It was amusing to watch the tension melt off of all of them when he shook his head, "We all know who all of them are, as well as everyone who trained under them, but they don't know who we are."

"Except Wonder Woman," Jason pointed out, "She figured me out when I came back."

Fair, Bruce supposed. Jason was always Diana's favorite. "I think they need some help," he said, "A push in the right direction, so to speak."

Stephanie had a smile on her face that promised mischief. "We're not telling them, right? 'Cause that'd be no fun."

"Course not!" Duke yawned, "B said we'd give them a hint."

"What did you have in mind, father?" Damian asked, stoic as always, but matching the gleam in Cass's eyes.

"We invite them to the Bat Cave," he said, "Show them around a bit. The only exits we tell them about, though, should be the Lane," How the ground vehicles get in and out. "-the Zeta Tubes," Obviously. "-and the elevator. But, we don't tell them what's upstairs."

Alfred seemed very amused from where he had taken his seat at the other end of the table.

"From there," Bruce continued, "We invite their civilian identities to the next Gala. Meet them. Hint about the Cave without actually saying anything. If I know Clark as well as I know I do, then he'll, at the very least, piece together that the Bat Cave is under Wayne Manor."

"And if we play it right?" Dick's grin was manic, "They won't connect who we are."

"Won't that be suspicious, though?" Tim spoke up for the first time, "They may not have put things together yet, but they aren't stupid. They're heroes. If we give them the pieces, they're gonna piece them together."

Damian was the one to answer him. "Batman and Bruce Wayne hate one another, though there is a grudging acknowledgement and respect."

"Give them the right pieces, with a few from the wrong puzzle, in the wrong order, we could totally have them fooled!" Jason explained.

The group shared looks between each other. Nothing needed to be said because the looks and movements said everything.

Alfred smiled and shook his head fondly. "You may plan this in the morning. For now, go to bed and get some sleep."

Part 1 Part 3

[witheredoffherwitch]

Y'ALL CAN EXCUSE RACISM?

Let's get one thing straight: I have no part in this chaotic mess (infact, I have blocked all the accounts mentioned below), but it's grinding my gears how it's devolving into another petty fanfic drama: case 607. I know this drama is getting the attention for certain individuals who are demonstrating mean girl behaviour and gossiping about other writers behind their backs. However, I am solely focused on addressing the racist and discriminatory remarks made by these individuals in the leaked text messages.

For those not in the loop, there's been a huge drama in the fanfic community involving leaked text messages from a group chat of four prominent members. In these messages, two users - Fae and Bel - have admitted to sending hate anons and talking smack about other writers behind their backs. Two other members left the group after it was revealed that B tried to make amends with someone who these two, Em and Ange, don't particularly care for. As a move to clear their names, Em exposed all the texts, trying to prove that Fae and Bel are the real villains here.

But wait, there's more! In these same chats, Bel not only mocked fellow non-English speakers but also bragged about sending rat emojis to an 18-year-old Pakistani writer who was already receiving racist anons. While everyone is focused on getting back at these two women for being shady af, it's mind-boggling how Em and Ange are suddenly jumping on the anti-racism train.

These two ladies stayed in the same chat as a fellow Pakistani writer was driven away because of racism, knowing full well that one of their own was contributing to it, and said NOTHING! Zero discouragement, no condemnation - they only hopped off when things got personal.

So here it is… I've had it with all of you hypocrites. You praise and encourage these women at every turn, feeding their egos like they're the second coming of Beyonce. But let's not forget who's always stirring up drama in this fandom - hint: it's these same people with a sense of entitlement the size of a planet. The issue is groupthink and y'all have all jumped on the bandwagon. You're worse than HBO's marketing department because just like their shitty teams, everyone involved here SUCKS ASS. You don't have to pick a side because they are all petty, mean losers. Bel and Fae are facing the consequences of their actions, which they rightfully deserve.

However, Em's exposé on Bel's racism seems more like an opportunistic move and it's disappointing that so many of you are supporting it. It's a predictable cycle now; there will be a half-hearted apology, an announcement of a hiatus, and then tons of people will flock to their inboxes to shower them with praise and excuses. It's ridiculous! I know there are many who feel the same way as me but are afraid to speak up because they don't want to upset the "village elders" and risk losing their connections and engagements. It's a joke atp!

Instead of taking responsibility for their own wrongdoings, they will come up with a list of 10 different cyber crimes by others to divert attention from their own nonsense. These very same women have confessed to creating multiple fake accounts, secretly stalking servers without mods noticing, and constantly harassing individuals through anon messages.

Yet, we are supposed to consider them as examples of moral integrity and ethical behavior? 😒

[empressgeekt]

Trolls - Branch and Keith Brothers AU

HI!!! I'm back! With more Trolls plot bunnies. This one does not take place in the Prince Char Au, or the Veneer re-carnation one. It's completely separate and closer to canon.

Pre-movie.

Keith is the little trolling who likes to watch his parents sleep, and it's clear by the reactions from his classmates that he's not the most popular kid. A bit of a odd outsider, that finds happiness in things that others don't. There's another troll in Pop village who's a bit of an outsider, our favorite grump, Branch.

Branch would be in the village market one winter day, making some rare purchases rather then getting them from the wilds, when he first comes across Keith. The trolling would've been lost, left behind by his classmates. Branch would be a little confused by the kids blankness, but he isn't going to leave a kid lost in the snow, and helps Keith get back home to his dad. One the way he asks if this, keith getting left behind, happened often. Keith would blankly gripe about it, and how he thought his friends didn't actually like him, and he didn't think he liked them. Branch says that friends should like each other.

Couple of weeks later, Branch is working on gathering supplies, and Keith appears out of no where, then continues to follow the grey troll. When Branch asks what Keith is doing. Keith says, "You said befriend people I like." "Yeah so?" "I like you."

It throws Branch off, no one liked him.

Keith would continue to find and follow Branch for the next few days, it's only after a chance run in with a predator, that the grey troll realizes this kid isn't going away, and he starts training Keith in the ways of survival. Even more shockingly Keith listens to him when he's teaching. Everyone in the village always called Branch crazy with his survival bunker and apocalypse prep, but Keith listens intently. Even if it doesn't appear like it. Branch teaches Keith about, the forest, which fruits were safe to eat and where/when they grew. How to defend yourself from different type dangerous predators. And even about some of the extra traps and defenses Branch made for the village.

Branch gets used to his new little protégée, and honestly likes being able to pass on his knowledge to someone. He eventually learns to read the subtle differences in Keith's expressionless expressions to know how the kid's mood is, whether it's happy or upset. One day, Keith comes to visit Branch upset. Seeing the kid angry makes something in Branch's stomach turn, and he has this need to fix it. He doesn't know how, he hasn't comforted someone in years. So, pulling from vague memories of Floyd helping him when Branch was upset, he asks Keith what's wrong. Keith's upset about the other kids calling his school project weird. They were supposed to make a short presentation on people, they care about and Keith chose Branch. None of the kids would listen to him and said, that Branch was weirdo, and Keith was weirdo and they deserved each other. It made Keith Mad, because, he doesn't think Branch is weird, he thinks the Grey troll is cool and he doesn't want people to be mean to him. Branch does his best to console, Keith saying that sometimes people just don't agree with you no matter how hard you try to convince them, sometimes people just can't hear you.

K: Some times it feels like no one hears me

B: Yeah, I get that. it sucks, Makes you think their something wrong with you. But there isn't. Different doesn't mean bad, it just means you see things other don't.

Keith hugs Branch, and he can't turn the kid away. It's the first person the grey troll hugs in nearly twenty years.

K: Thank you, Branch

B: No problem kid, I'm always here.

K: I've always wanted a brother.

After this, Branch fully is attached. He goes all out for Keith any chance he gets. He's always there if Keith is upset, or to help with home work. Keith is one of the few people Branch allows in the Bunker. Branch makes sure, that he'd be the brother to Keith that his own were never to him. Always there.

Especially when Keith suddenly loses his dad. Branch fights and fights hard to keep Keith, knowing just how much the grief of losing a caretaker is crushing the kid. Unsurprisingly, the Pop trolls foster system fails Keith and eventually Branch gains his custody. "Let the outsider raise an outsider." Keith moves into the bunker, and Branch is with the trolling no matter what, making sure that this kid never goes Grey like he did. Though, waking up to Keith just staring at him is a little startling at first, but branch gets over it, anything to make the kid more comfortable.

By the events of the first movie, Keith has fully moved in with Branch and stays with him during the Chef's attack. And after the whole village is hidden in the bunker by Poppy, Keith pushes Branch to go after her. Peppy stepping up to watch over Keith while Branch is gone. All through out the mission Branch is thinking about Keith, worried how he's fair one his own, because while he can trust Peppy to make sure Keith doesn't die, he doesn't' trust the king to take care of Keith's mental health. They're reunion in the bergan pot is a hard one. On one hand, Branch is happy to have Keith back in sight, but on the other he feels like a failure for not being able to protect Keith from getting eaten. And When Keith goes grey in his arms...let's just say Branch isn't going down with out a fight.

I have no plans for World Tour, other then the possibility of Keith ending up captured with Poppy, and Barb mistaking Keith as her and Branch's son.

Its in Band together that things get a little more interesting...

Keith is Gristle and Bridget's ring bearer, though the rings are to big for him to hold, so he just stands inside of them to keep them from rolling away, with a very flat smile. Poppy and Branch end up dating in this two, and she does put in effort to get to know Keith, understanding that the trolling would be in branch's care for years to come. She's not as good at reading him, but she's getting better at it. And she finds Branch's caregiver side, adorable.

"Stop the Wedding!"

When John Dory shows up, Keith leaves his post, and runs to Branch after the elder troll was finished being man handled, bY JD. John is thrown off by the sight of a tiny Trolling in Branch's Arms. Seriously, when did his baby brother get a baby? Or a girlfriend? Was the kid theirs? Oh crap he missed a lot....

Keith is angry, through out the course of the third movie. Branch had already told him about their (yes, their, Keith is branch's brother now, which sadly makes him also related to these idiots) brothers, and how they all walked out on him. Keith has seen how much this hurt Branch, and how much they are hurting Branch now, he's clinging to his older brother all through out the mission.

Bruce is also shocked, and kind of feels bad, because Keith would be in Branch's hair when Bruce tossed him jostling the trolling. But he likes kids, so quickly warms up to the idea of Keith being a new baby brother. Even if he creeps Bruce out. And Keith is constantly creeping him out on purpose...thought Bruce doesn't realize it.

Keith doesn't like the hustle button.

Clay is scared of Keith. Because thanks to living with Branch the trolling can point out all of his safety measures and traps, understand how the work, and how to out smart them.

While practicing, John tries to get Keith toe join in but the trolling will only sing the words in the same flat stale note. Branch knows he's messing with john (Keith naturally sings flat but he's not that tone deaf) but doesn't say anything. Keith is hugging Branch all through out the fight, and along with poppy promises to not leave.

Floyd's too tired to really notice Keith until after he's rescued, however he's curious about the trolling. He feels proud watching Branch take care of trolling, but it also makes his stomach churn. Watching Branch with Poppy and Keith it feels like he's looking in on a family that Branch built and he missed it. Floyd would move into the bunker continuing his recovery, and during that is where he really interacting with Keith. He finds the kid adorable, not in the sparkly eyes way that Branch was but utterly adorable none the less. Keith becomes family to him too.

The fic would conclude with All the brother's accepting the fact that Branch and Keith are a package deal, and apologizing to branch for abandoning him (Keith and Poppy don't let them get away with shit). There's no long five brothers in Brozone, but six....and at least three sister-in-law...

-----

This now has a fic of the beginning

link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/55380961/chapters/140510860

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Hidden Sparks (Kate Bishop x Reader)

Summary: Kate has had enough.

Words: 1347

Warnings: Language, the team being kinda judgy.

A/N: First story for Kate. We’ll see how I feel about her after this.

Taglist: @natasharomanoffswife​ @natasha-danvers​ @aaron-despair​ @username23345 @xjiasx​ @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova​ @summergeezburr @imnotasuperhero @miscmarvelwritings @captain-josslett @onlyafewfindtheway @hayleyokami @b-5by5  @evilcr0ne​  @everything201197​  @lostandsearching​ @marvels-writings​​

-X-

Becoming an apprentice with the Avengers – with the Hawkeye – had been Kate’s dream for longer than she was willing to acknowledge

(Because, you know, she wasn’t a creep, they were just all so super impressive and to train with the man himself? It wouldn’t look good to tell him she often dreamed about him. Not in a weird way! But getting to learn from him and everyone else. Not that he wasn’t handsome! But he wasn’t her type. And…wow, she even rambled in her brain. That’s sad.)

“Yes, you do,” Wanda joked as she passed her a plate of food, bringing Kate back into the present. “Quite loudly, in fact.”

Kate’s face went hot, staring at the delicious meal and wishing it would swallow her whole or become a portal to another planet. Whichever was the fastest option to wipe away her embarrassment.

“Be glad (Y/N) cannot read minds or your little secret would be out already.” Wanda’s tone remained teasing but the affectionate undercurrent was obvious as she chuckled at Kate’s pained groan, her powers sliding the plate away seconds before the younger woman’s head hit the counter with an audible thump.

“How long have you known?” Kate’s question was muffled but Wanda heard it clear as day.

“Since your first day at the Compound. Clint was showing you around. She exploded the punching bag in the training room and -”

“Oh god, please stop.” Kate could easily remember what thought had crossed her mind at the overly attractive display. She didn’t need the pretty, sweet witch repeating her thoughts. Especially out loud.

Wanda smirked. What Kate didn’t know was that your little display of power had been a complete accident. You’d been distracted by her appearance and lost control for a split second, sending your heated fist through the material like it was nothing.

It was also the reason you were under orders to stay away from the new apprentice. The amount of distrust directed at you by most of the team was disheartening. Wanda had once been in your shoes and she hated how little you were given still.

“Don’t give up on her,” Wanda advised after a moment of silence, voice softening noticeably.

“She hates me,” Kate whined. “I’ve been training with everyone for months except her. The longest conversation we’ve ever had was her asking if I was going up or down in the elevator, pressing the button, and then leaving to take the stairs. Like, who does that? We were going to the same floor!”

Wanda sighed heavily and Kate’s head rose, brow arching as she scrutinized the youngest Avenger.

“What was that? What do you know?” Kate inquired deliberately, gaze narrowing into a pointed stare. If there was something she didn’t know, she deserved to be in on the secret. Especially if it involved her.

Glancing away, the Sokovian chewed her lip as she considered her options. Telling Kate could be disastrous but she hated how badly the team treated you, isolating you despite the expectation that you were supposed to have their backs if something were to happen. The only person who truly spent any time with you was Bucky, which only served to garner more scrutiny from the others – aside from herself and Steve.

“Seriously, Wanda, do you know why she runs away from me like I have the bubonic plague or something? Did I do something? Or offend her? Because I know I talk a lot and I don’t always think before I speak but I never meant to upset her,” Kate babbled, her hands flailing as she grew more animated and concerned. “If you know, then maybe I can apologize for it…”

A calming hand wrapped around Kate’s wrist and Wanda squeezed reassuringly. “It wasn’t you, Kate.”

Freezing, the younger woman peered up in confusion at the redhead. “Then why?”

“Clint told her to stay away from you. Both he and Natasha threatened to speak with Fury about kicking her from the program if she dared to venture too close to you. The others either backed the threat or kept quiet, so now she –”

“What?!” Kate trembled with fury at the thought of you so lonely and defeated, staying away from her to keep your place among the Avengers. “Are you serious? And no one stopped this? Even you?”

Bowing her head shamefully, Wanda released her quaking wrist and clasped her hands together, fingers caressing her thumb ring. “I was in her shoes not too long ago. If it wasn’t for Vision, they would probably still look at me the same. I tried asking Vis to help her but he said she was too dangerous. I try but there isn’t much I can do. Her friendship with Bucky has only made her seem less than favorable in their eyes, but they have an understanding.”

Shoving up from the table, Kate’s body vibrated with unbridled anger as it washed over her in never-ending waves. She wanted to be furious with the chagrined witch but she couldn’t blame her for the position she’d been forced into.

She could blame everyone else though.

-X-

It didn’t take much to find Clint sparring on the mats with Natasha, briefly spotting you tucked in the corner of the room with the fireproofed punching bag Banner had crafted. It was apparent you’d seen her but you couldn’t escape without passing her, which kept you essentially trapped for the impending show.

Good.

“Morning, Bishop,” Natasha greeted, her smile fading at the stern expression the younger woman wore, reminding her vaguely of Yelena. “What’s wrong?”

“You two have some nerve,” Kate snarled, glancing between the former assassins expectantly. “I will have you both know that I am not a child and you have no right to threaten someone away from me! Yes, I’m younger and you seem to think I’m a naïve kid but you never should’ve endangered (Y/N)’s place on this team. She’s saved both of your asses so many times – and that’s just what I’ve seen! That’s really shitty and honestly, I had expected better from you.”

Clint’s cheeks went red while Natasha glanced away, unaccustomed to such passionate dressing-downs from someone other than Fury.

“I had to find out from someone else why she hides from me! I thought it was something I had done, but no. It was you. All of you. You trust her to keep you alive, so maybe you should trust her to be a part of this team! God!” she shouted, shaking her head in absolute disgust. “The next person I’m scheduled to train with better be (Y/N) or so help me, you’ll really find out how good my shot is now.”

Nodding his head meekly, Kate could see the silent apology shining in his eyes – the same look he often offered his children when he broke another promise – but she wasn’t the person he should be apologizing to and they both knew it.

Stomping over to you, still tucked awkwardly in the corner, Kate stopped inches from you. Arms crossed and a fire in her eye, you stared fearfully at her, awaiting her wrath.

“And you! You should’ve told me about all of this nonsense.” Her features softened slightly, gaze tracing the quiver of your lips and the worry glistening in your eyes. “You’re going to make this up to me. Starting with a date to that fancy ice cream shop a few blocks away. Understood?”

You nodded dumbly. “R-right now?”

Her silence was deafening as she playfully considered her answer. “Yes. Right now. Go shower and I’ll see you in the living room in an hour. Deal?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, wiping away the sweat lingering at your brow. “I’ll uh… go do that.”

Scrambling out of the room, you refused to look at the assassins as you stalked past. You couldn’t bear to see the judgment in their eyes anymore, knowing they’d probably kill you if the situation was different. But you also couldn’t stop grinning, a little bounce added to your steps as you realized something spectacular.

You had a date.

[mod2amaryllis]

just gonna sliiide into your inbox to be like. got any complicated relationship with motherhood recs?? cause I'm👀

👁️👁️ b i s c i a.

the first rec is always for all time The Broken Earth trilogy by NK Jemisin

talk about books that changed my brain chemistry and boosted my writing, especially the fifth season, which pulls a narrative trick with its 3 main character perspectives that still has me reeling and makes me resent the fact that not every protagonist is an exhausted middle aged mother who's haunted by choices and horrors of her own making!!

The Devourers by Indra Das

a take on werewolves that's at times genuinely sickening to read, esp for my body-horror-scawy ass. lot of upsetting themes fyi, like. all the themes. are upsetting. but i was left feeling like I'd just gotten the world's most dire hug. also trans allegory out the wazoo.

i feel like this one is really obligatory like yeah no shit Beloved by Toni Morrison but still: Beloved by Toni Morrison

I've never felt smart enough for this book but i think about it constantly, not just because the contents are so traumatic but the way it's written..... even now i feel like such a dunce trying to say anything about it but it's like. it broke rules in my brain about how books are supposed to be structured and understood. there's a chapter that ends in a stream of thought that's borderline incomprehensible and it's in my head forever.

ok little different now and largely positive mushy gushy mom stuff, but a lot of Brandi Carlile's songs, especially The Mother:

and her whole In These Silent Days album. particularly it's celebrating lesbian motherhood. Mama Werewolf is awesome and introduces that complication that makes me ravenous, but my favorite is her love song to her wife, You And Me On The Rock

there's a song exploder podcast episode about it. she talks about how it's an homage to her good friend Joni Mitchell, how it's about this very feminine love she shares with her wife and daughter (and now also her son) and how she spent some of her youth grappling with that femininity.

speaking of song exploder!!!!!! the episode for Song For Our Daughter by Laura Marling

Laura Marling and her partner don't have children. this song is a hypothetical about the trauma of being a girl and having your boundaries crossed when you're young. but what absolutely destroys me is that there's a string section, which was written by a violinist to whom she gave creative liberty, and in his strings he says, "i wrote this to be the character of The Daughter, so she's here in the song soaring over everything" and it just. hearing the context and then listening to the song........i show this episode to anyone who's stuck in a car with me 25 minutes.

on the subject of music, of course there's Florence + The Machine's 2022 album Dance Fever, particularly King

like hell yeah let's get primal with it

and ok this is gonna clock my grew up as a theatre kid ass but still, to this day, Next To Normal.

listening to this show as a teenager who was just starting to hate my (wonderful awesome love her) mom was like......hoooooo. it blew open the my-parents-are-human empathy. idc about like whether or not this musical lives up to the insane hype it got in the late 2000s it just meant a lot to me personally.

also there's movies i guess! but if you're not already on the Everything Everywhere All At Once train idk what we're doing

then my oldest mom-centric media of all, so old that I'm not even sure how well it holds up to my current person sensibilities, Fruits Basket

the way her death is the inciting incident for everything that happens after, and how she's a ghost that haunts the rest of the story, at times a protective spirit and at other times a traumatic poltergeist, is like. i thought i was a 13yo reading a magical high school romance what's happening to me.

then of course the current rec, Priestdaddy by Patricia Lockwood

Lockwood is a poet and this is her memoir about growing up with a Catholic priest for a dad, something that in itself seems contradictory. it's phenomenal. i can't believe someone exists who's this good at writing. her relationship with her mother is hilariously, tenderly depicted and it's questioning and resentful and loving and there's a chapter about them called the cum queens of the hyatt palace and it's the funniest thing I've ever read

oops too many words

motherhood in media borders on fixation for me lol i don't always seek it out but when it's there I'm like AAAAAAAAH, AAAAAAAH AAAAAAAAAAAAH AAAAAH IS ANYONE ELSE SEEING THIS GRAAAAAHHHH!!!!

........oh and undertale. how could i forget Undertale.

[johanna-swann]

White Collar is really one of those shows I love to hate/hate to love (settle in for a rant). Everytime someone breaks a law they're immediately painted as unethical and morally wrong. Even if they had a good reason to commit the crime. Even if they had no choice. Even if nobody was harmed. Even if the only person who suffered financial loss is an asshole millionaire. There's sympathy for the perpetrator's situation, but they're still always painted as being in the wrong. It's all black and white.

I'm rewatching season 4 right now and Neal's mother figure who he has lived with all of his childhood, who raised him and who was a better mom to him than his biological mother just got murdered. The only way to get any leads is to gain access to the US Marshals' files on the case, but they won't co-operate with Neal's FBI friends. So Neal considers to obtain the information he needs - to solve his (kinda) mom's murder - by stealing it. Which I wouldn't judge him for in the first place because his mother got fucking murdered.

But Neal shows incredible restraint and strength of character: He decides against the B&E and even when another thief offers him a deal à la Patricia Highsmith (Strangers on a Train) he refuses. He wants to "stay clean" and knows any mistake he makes would also reflect badly on his FBI colleagues. He would not be the only one to suffer the consequences if things go south.

The other thief is resourceful though, she steals the files anyway and plants fake evidence to frame Neal. Which forces Neal to play along since she has the power to send him to prison now. There's damning evidence against Neal, nobody would believe he didn't do it. But even while he plays along he still finds a way to get the other thief arrested, the stolen items seized by the FBI and confesses the entire story to his handler Peter immediately.

Peter is upset about this. He thinks Neal should've trusted him from the start instead of waiting so long and I kind of get this part. They're best friends in a way and Neal didn't trust Peter. Reminder though: Neal was blackmailed, his mother just got murdered and nothing he did inflicted lasting damage on anything or anyone.

And here comes the real kicker: By having the other thief arrested by the FBI while in possession of the files, the files became evidence in an FBI case - meaning Neal and Peter (who wants to help Neal with finding the murderer) now legally have access to them. And Peter is somehow angry about this???

Again: Neal's mother figure was just violently murdered. Neal only stole anything in the first place because he was blackmailed with the threat of prison. Peter has arrested Neal and put him in prison twice before btw. Neal found a way to legally search previously inaccessible files for leads in an open murder investigation which Peter wants to work with Neal. And Peter is upset. Because? Is he seriously angry that Neal is trying to solve his not-bio mother's murder?

And I'm supposed to sit here, do what the show wants me to do and relate to both of them equally? Bc that's not what's happening here.

The longer the show goes on the less I even like Peter, much less relate to him. If the show was any good, yes, they'd have Neal learn that actions have consequences, but at the same time have Peter learn that the system he is a part of is far from perfect. But no. Peter learns nothing and Neal never catches a break. Fucking copaganda.

[ominoose]

Your Blue discourse is excellent! Ngl, I took that one line so differently when I saw the movie first time around.

Here's my thoughts: I had a headcanon/theory that orderly Blue was originally a patient, one that either a) got released wayyyyy before he was ready, b) somehow took over the place from the original head orderly and just made everybody think he was supposed to be in charge, or c) it was originally for men until one of them (Blue) got out, disposed of everyone else, and freed the rest of the patients to be his minions essentially. Overall... I've put way too much thought into this.

Another thought/hc i have, especially for that scene when he's upset over everyone else "playing with his toys" but him, he a) calls everyone 'toys' because he's been treated like one as a child or possibly because if he starts viewing them as human beings, he'll lose control over his own emotions even more, b) he actually craves something more than what he's got (maybe a fucked up version of a romantic relationship with one of his patients) because I see him as someone who if he caught feelings, he'd become the most possessive fucker there is, or c) back the the childhood trauma theory, and now it's his personal mission to never lose control over anything ever again, because he can't even get control over his own self, so he gets it over everyone else.

One more thought/hc for now for Blue's childhood, he was never loved the way he should have been, and that was out of his control. Maybe one parent was abusive to the other while the other was too distant to be there for him (why he freaks out when Babydoll goes into her mind) and now, subconsciously he craves that feeling of love that he's convinced himself he'll never get so he gets power and control over anything/everyone he can because that's what he can control. If someone did show him any willing submission I honestly think it'd probably ruin him.

I cannot describe how happy this ask makes me, I cannot explain how giddy I am getting into and dissecting this horrid mans life.

My personal little hc for his childhood is that his mother worked at the hospital and slept around a lot, he never had a real father figure. She spent most of her time at the hospital, which we know is out the way and in some woods, so with no one else to watch him he was stuck hanging around there too and seeing his mum not so subtly be passed around the men working.

He was neglected, his only example of relationships were sexual, transactional, a power play. Its likely he saw the old head orderly there, someone his mum had to suck off up to for more shifts. Somewhere along the line, when he's old enough, he just ends up working there. It's mostly cleaning or running small errands, but as he gets older the head orderly takes him under his wing a little, showing him the ropes, letting him have a proper job.

At some point his mother would die of an overdose or something, the head orderly dies or retires and Blue is left in charge. Remember at the end when he says "You're stuck here with me, in all this shit", he says it with such venom. Stuck here is such a particular phrase, like he's just as trapped as the girls staying there. I think he is, at least mentally. It's all he's ever known, he has no power outside of Lennox House, he probably lives there too, meaning any power he has is central to there. It's his to own, play with, make it how he wants. It's his prison as much as his home.

Thats also likely reflected in how he treats the girls. Jointly stemming from resentment towards his neglectful mother and from the only way he's seen women treated, his relationship with the girls is one where he feels powerful and treats them as objects. To him, they aren't anything more than an object to make money off of, sheep to be herded and trained.

Switch to the Club version of Blue, and again Oscar himself says this version of Blue is as much of how Blue see's himself, not just how Babydoll see's him. We can apply the hc backstory here too. His mother was a dancer, he spent his childhood here, he saw the women being used. The brothel owner takes him in and then Blue ends up with the business, etc, etc.

Why would Blue see himself, picture an idolized version of himself as some glamorous brothel owner? Likely because it's a world where the few skills and assets he have are more than a depressing, run down mental hospital full of depravity and hopelessness. Here, it's more than selling mentally ill girls to his fellow slimy workers, now it's having pretty girls do elaborate dances to high class clientele.

All that aside, I really love the idea that he used to be a patient that was let out early. What would he be in for? It works because he'd known the ins and outs, he'd know how shit the staff is, he'd be in with some of the worst of them. Him taking over from the head orderly is the most likely though. We know he can forge signatures and documents, would've been not too hard for him to pull the credentials needed for the job outta thin air and make up some story to sack the former head orderly.

I genuinely do think he craves a person to love him unconditionally, in his own twisted way. Someone that see's and acknowledges how deprived he is and is happily willing to put up with his abuse. He's possessive, and Club Blue likes to look his best, so why wouldn't he want someone obsessed over him?

Would he love them back? I'm not sure. I don't think he has enough control or attention to direct to a single person, but he might have favourites. Overall he would just love the feeling of someone worshiping him.

Also how did you take the line first time around?

[onmymasa22]

So this is the time in this apartment. Its been a ride. Year one of waking up to go to sculture class in my pajamas, changing to go to work, then 1am car rides with people till like 4am all to wake up at 8am the next day. Breaking my face on the door in apartment 3. Hanging out in the "lobby", doing schoolwork there. Moving to apartment 5 and spending most of my time on that balcony. apartment 4 which i wasnt supposed to be but we all became a family. Then back to apartment 5, most of us stayed together. Sleeping in the lobby, sleeping everywhere, dealing with crazy ppl, enjoying the year, food runs, shared dinners, coffee dates, going to restaurants. We were really a family at this apartment. Helping eachother through dates, lying on the carpet. Watching tv, ice cream in our coffee. When theres no light or hotwatwr in the bathroom so u put spamusic on ur phone and pretend ur in a cold water spa bath. This building, although it sucks and the people who run it suck, it made the last three years of college entertaining, and it brought me to live with people i really love.

Last night in the building I've lived in for the past three years... started here not knowing if I was meant to be in art school.

This is it. My last noght in the building ive lived in for the past three years of college life/art school. It's been a ride. From apartment 3 where i was working 6 shifts a week and going to school,

So i think i had a magical date with zev.

We took the train and had dinner and wine, then went out fir drinks, then watched a movie ahd cuddled. So jm thinking a out him alot lately. And hes texting me so its not just me. So i love everything abd my feet r pretty

So i went to yaakovs to see him before i leave. But i fekt weird. Chz im w him but fir some reason im thinking aboht zev. How i dont wanna kiss anyone else since we kissed. Like im interested in him, so i dont want to do the sane things with anyone else.

Im ok. All this stuff is replacable. I can 100% buy stuff before i need to be back

Someone asked me what i feel about finding someone. So i said my grandmother has told me since i was five ur pretty, ull never have to worry about boys liking u, u just work on ur insides. And so thats what ive been doing. Ill find the right person when im supposed to. Until then, im just trying to b a goood person, a decent human.

Is it weird that im not upset that druze kids were killed. Like let their nation mourn for them. I have too many jews in hospitals and dying to care about that. Anyone who isnt a jew, i just dont care if they die in this war.

I want a home where everything in the fridge belongs to everyone. If something runs out, let them just make more. I might tell my kids who want something to leave some for me, or that its their responsibility to make more that night. Which is fine. But they should live in a house where its not my food versus not my food. Its everyones food, everyone can take anything. If im home, whatever is in the kitchen i can use. Im supposed to clean it and im supposed to make it, but im not gonna get yelled at for taking something. Its all everyones.

[tennesseewalkinghorse]

posting about getting hurt by a friend on sideblog because i am like deeply wounded and don't feel like i have a right to be and don't want to hurt her so i can't talk to her lol

i feel really awful because one of my best friends really hurt me without really directly meaning to and i feel like i don't have a right to be upset but i'm like. really wounded and heartbroken. like in a way that makes it worse? short version is friend and i have been planning to watch glee together for like. literal years. like i'm a media sociologist who does a lot of research on that time period of tv and part of that is my attachment to blaine specifically. and for years i've said if you watch season one i will jump in at never been kissed because that's where i start so you should start and stop there. and she's always been like yes i will do this.

so this friend started watching season one with me and i was like you can keep going with your other friend (staying with her rn) until you get to [episodes in late season one]. she watches the first episode and i go ok well she'll probably stop before the second one. i go away on a trip. i come back and say lets pick the show up again. turns out she's gotten halfway into season 2 without me and WITH THE OTHER FRIEND. WHO HASN'T SEEN THE SHOW AND HAS NO ATTACHMENT TO IT.

and so i feel like essentially what's happened is one of my best friends has taken this experience that is not only like, intimately personal to me because of how that season affected me personally, but something we have talked about doing together for ages, and gave it to someone else who it literally doesn't matter to out of ?? convenience?? callousness?

like a friend who i've always trusted to be there for me for the first time actively chose someone else in something that is supposed to be about me sharing a part of myself i can't often articulate without like, blaine anderson doing it for me, with this friend. and that's not something you can really get on a rewatch because by then you've already had your first impressions, and further when you've watched it with someone else you've had THEIR first impressions. and so this friend is like we can rewatch it and you can tell me all the lore but i feel like. physically ill when i think about that and also just very upset at how she's misunderstood why it's so important to me. it's not about the lore it's about me.

i'm never really the kind of person who likes to ruffle feathers, and i'm more often than not the kind of person who will say something isn't a big deal and take it in stride (this is horse training in action lol). but i'm honestly so brokenhearted about this, like i've been crying on and off since this happened yesterday and i can't think about this friend or that show without feeling like crushingly depressed. but i know this friend is having a hard time right now and i don't want to pile on to that, because if someone did that to me i'd never get out of that headspace. there's also the fact that even if i did explain to her why i'm feeling so awful like, it might feel better to be understood, but the damage is done she can't unwatch it with the other friend. so all i'd be doing is making her feel worse. and then there's a part of me that goes well good! she should feel as bad as you do! but like, that's not a part of me i want to drive the bus.

then of course there's the way in which i'm disenfranchising the whole thing because like it SHOULDN'T be a big deal. it's a fucking b rated tv show. but it is. like it feels so so awful. i don't know what to do except give it time, but i don't want to give it so much time my friend thinks i hate her.

[poorsapadvocate]

Look obviously I'm upset about now it due to stuff going on in my own life but companies are going to need to start reevaluating their hiring policies real quick because this shit aint sustainable. I can't count how many jobs I've applied to without even a stock rejection letter. I've made it to a few interviews where they told me they'll make a decision next week and then just. never heard from them again. If I do get rejection letters, they're 4 months after I applied and got my hopes up on it. I've even gotten one rejection letter that was 2 sentences long and had a typo in it. And that was a state job paid for with my tax dollars!! I'm at least worth a callback for all of these jobs. Not even getting around to rejecting me properly is just such a sign of distespect.

I was told I wasn't hired for this job despite a) being recommended by the person leaving, b) already being trained for it, and c) absolutely crushing it in the interview because I "didn't have enough experience." But if nobody's willing to give experience, then what the hell am I supposed to do? What's going to happen in 10-20 years when the people who already had experience get to retire and the only people left are the ones who weren't given a chance to gain experience?

[dzpenumbra]

4/21/23

I'm upset and in a bad place, so I'm going to get this out. I have been trying to shake this crap since like 6:30, it just keeps coming back and invading my mind over and over. It's obviously very important to me, so I'm going to allow myself to explore it here.

I had a difficult interaction in therapy today. It was about my panic around the pain in my leg the other day. To refresh, I had gone for a walk for the first time in a very long time the day before, and I was rushing to get out the door to walk again, because the sun was going down. I had just gotten out of the shower. My foot and ankle felt a bit swollen and had like patches of burst capillaries on it that I just noticed for the first time. I tried to move past that, despite the swollen feeling. Then I started feeling a very deep pressure and sharp pain right where my quads met my inner thigh, around halfway up my thigh. And the pain reminded me a lot of the blood clot I got in 2010. The one the ER almost took my leg off for. Same leg, too.

So... in that moment... I noticed the evidence on hand. Swelling in ankle. Burst capillaries. Pain in an area that, given my admittedly rusty anatomy knowledge, was somewhere in the region of my femoral artery. I don't have the best diet. I don't exercise as much as I should. I spend enough time sitting every day that my spine and hips have gotten fucked up and even daily yoga is struggling to correct it. Logic was pointing towards blood clot. And... if it was... I would need to act pronto. Like... do not wait. Because if that slips? I'm dead.

That's my understanding of it. It's not a MD-level understanding of blood clots, but I think it's based on logical deduction given the information at hand. And at that point, I really didn't know what else to look for. What am I missing? How do I disprove that this is a blood clot. Where is the evidence against it?

So I go, "maybe this is just a weird cramp from my walk the other day". I start massaging it. It hurts. Then it eases. Then it comes back. I just... couldn't make sense of it. "Is me massaging it... if that's a clot, could that make it slip?" I just didn't know what to do. I felt out of my depth.

I ended up in a situation where essentially... I was facing mortality. And I tried really hard to take that seriously. To not be some stoic, macho "whatever, nothing can hurt me" Man, but to actually look at the evidence on the table and make an informed decision. And I had swelling and deep pain in the location of an artery (2 pieces of evidence) in Column A, and weird pain that might be cramp in Column B. Do I roll the dice on that? For real, do you roll the dice on that one?

If I were coughing and having trouble breathing, do I take a Covid test? I mean... I really feel like erring on the side of caution is the smart thing to do in that scenario. Am I fucking wrong? With how insanely neurotic every single member of my family is, I genuinely don't know!

I started to panic, I didn't know what to do. I did not want to doom-Google some webMD shit. I wanted the honest opinion of another person, a human, who has the ability to ask questions and let me know what they think. That's all I wanted. "Hey, can you look this over and tell me what you think." That's it. That's literally all I wanted. And it's all I've wanted for like 4 fucking years. With anything in my life. I wanted the participation of another person in very important moments in my life. Support. Perspective that I genuinely don't know how to give to myself.

Let me elaborate on that last point. How the fuck. Do I give myself. More perspective. In that moment? Seriously! What question am I supposed to ask? I had hit a fucking wall, I hit the end of my questions. If I had medical training, I might've thought to check if there were swelling at the site of the pain, but... I'm not a fucking doctor. And it's 7PM on a Saturday. You think the Health Center is picking up the phone when I call? You think I can even get to an Urgent Care? I run through every goddamn option I can think of before I look for help. Which... has actually been a serious problem in my past. Not asking for help. Being prideful and stubborn and suffering in silence, which is like carved into my fucking family crest.

Why am I this upset? I brought it up with my therapist because that was a really scary moment. And I said that I truly believe that if I had anyone in my life to fill that role? To just... get a fucking second opinion on shit? To help me process those emotions and figure out what's going on in an incredibly scary moment? Most of my mental health problems would be pretty well moderated. Stable, at very least. And I still genuinely believe that. If I had emotional support during any of my big freak-out moments, I would feel much more safe in this world.

But I know that if I hear a sound in the night, I'm 100% alone. I won't even be able to speak to another human about it until Thursday at 6PM. Imagine living alone. It's a Friday night. And you hear someone jiggling your handle at 2AM. And you have literally no one to call, let alone text. And you can't even share that moment with anyone until NEXT FUCKING THURSDAY.

And my therapist... responded by pushing back. He was treating me like my expectations of others to manage my anxiety was unreasonable. And I started physically shaking. I started trembling. I started flashing back to other therapists telling me almost verbatim the same thing. It doesn't matter how afraid you are. I doesn't matter how scary the situation is. You can NOT. Expect. Another person. ANYONE. Not friend. Not a loved one. Not family. Not your brother. Not your girlfriend. Not your mother. To comfort you, and reassure you, and help you through a scary moment. It doesn't matter if you were consistently neglected in scary moments as a child because your parents are both extremely emotionally inept, and you, by some fluke, are extremely emotionally sensitive. It doesn't matter if you've endured every scary moment of your life - near-death experiences, systemic abuse, actual real-world crises - entirely by yourself. You have not earned the right to have emotional support. Because it is not available. It's not real.

Then I look over and see people who are afraid of fucking spiders. House spiders, that I pick up with my hands and play with and say "hi little guy, how are you today?" And they, without even thinking to check the species, or what it's doing, where it's coming from, where it's going... they scream, and they murder it. Or they hide in a corner and lose their shit, and demand someone else kill it, and they will not be satisfied until the poor thing's life has been terminated. I have witnessed this countless times. And THOSE PEOPLE get sympathy. They get compassion. They get someone helping them, and reassuring them. And they aren't even fucking trying!

And here I am. Trying my very best, every goddamn moment like those I have, to not fucking bother other people. To not burden others with my freak-outs or problems. To not burden others with... you know... the opportunity to be a comforting rock for me in a very difficult time. Wouldn't want to put that on them, right? God, what a punishment it is to be someone's hero...

And I remember clearly saying, "Well... like... what's the fucking point of connecting with people then?" I actually said it, I remember that vividly because of how intense it was, and how meaningful that was, and how flat it fucking fell. What I meant was... if people are only going to be involved in my life in a superficial way? Like... fair-weather friends? And the second I have any kind of real problem? Like... I need help deciding if I need to take my pet to the vet. Or I need advice on whether I should go to the hospital. Or if I think this water damage in my ceiling is something I should talk to my landlord about. The second I run into something that I know I can't handle myself, that feels out of my depth... where I don't feel qualified, where I don't feel like I can handle it alone. Those are conveniently the exact moments that are unreasonable for me to ask for support. ... WHAT?! So... I can only get help with things... I don't need help with?!

I still don't understand it! I legit have no idea what to make of what my therapist was saying there. He tried to clarify to me that like... he thought he misread what I said? Or something? And he reacted the wrong way, or something? I'm trying to remember, the adrenaline was really strong at that point. I think he was imagining me going out and meet a new person and like... within the first week... expect them to come and sit with me while I get chemotherapy or some shit. That was the vibe I got from it. Which... is like... pretty extreme. And honestly, I don't really think I'd be comfortable calling or even texting someone that I had just met, and trusting them with something that personal and vulnerable.

I was talking about like... life-goals. I was saying... in the grand scheme of my life... if that piece was present in my life... If I had a girlfriend, a best friend, a healthy friendship. Ideally multiple, so the pressure isn't on exclusively one person. So, at 7PM on a weekend, when no one is fucking working, I can just text someone "hey, I'm having some pain in my legs and I'm kinda freakin out a bit, and it's reminding me of really scary memories and shit, so... can I walk you through what I'm going through and you tell me whether you would call a doctor or not?" And I'm gonna say this outright right now. If that friend says "No, and you really can't ask me for shit like that, that's a bit unreasonable. I'm not responsible for your mental health." Then... they are not my friend anymore. That's a fuckin acquaintance. Full stop. And I will stand by that statement.

I have a lot of emotions running through my system just reliving this. Me and my therapist got on the same page after he clarified that he might have misread what I was saying and responded to something different? I don't remember his phrasing. But we got more... dialed in. I think he's more worried about like... right now. Like mitigating immediate crisis. Which would make sense since he has an extensive history of working in crisis work. So that might have been a... maybe a reflex or something? Idk.

The best I can figure, he thought I was going to go out and meet someone new on the street and then start spamming them at 3AM because I'm hearing noises in the hallway and freaking out or some shit. Which... wouldn't happen, tbh. Like... since I've been moved in here (about 5 months now) I've had maybe... 2 times that were urgent to the degree that I would contact someone like that. The leg the other day and my cat the night before she died. But, I can absolutely see what he means by that... ending poorly... XD Like, if that's what he's seeing, I get that shit.

These moments don't happen that often. They happen more often when I smoke weed, but I have been holding off on that specifically because I don't have emotional support resources or remedies. They tend to happen more often around this time of the year - around March-June, and in the Fall. They are not restricted to those times, but those are when they are most memorably frequent.

Okay, let me take you where my mind is going right now. I have wanted for a long time to plunge into the depths of the unknown, into my own subconscious, into my dream world, into my nightmares, and integrate that into my artwork. It calls me, it draws me in, and it comes to me through vivid dreams and surreal emotional moments that just... feel super important and... that's where my art identity was born. And I don't have a good process in place for that kind of spirit-based work, really. And, I don't feel safe doing it. Not in a mortality way, in a... how do I put it... being scared to go to sleep alone because you just watched a horror movie and you know you're going to get super intense nightmares. Having just taken mushrooms and everyone wants to do a horror movie marathon and you just go... "yo, this is not a good idea, man." That. I don't have words for that. I can't sum that fear, that avoidance, into one word. Dread? It's not avoiding physical pain or physical harm, it's avoiding emotional pain or emotional harm. Right? Right?

So like... if you were emotionally numb... or at least like... emotionally detached... and you watched a horror movie... it would maybe hit you at like a 2 on the fear scale? You would probably spend most of the movie critiquing the logical decisions of characters, or scrutinizing the monster design, or the choices the killer made, whether it was plausibly believable, shit like that. It would be viewed as though you are a human looking at fish in an aquarium. But something clicked in my brain a while back where I... start getting really immersed in narratives, and really attached, and that can vary in degree, but fictional scenes in stories and games and whatnot can get very visceral and immersive for me. And I am so glad for that! I experience these stories at such a deeper level than I ever had before! These fictional people become... real people!

I tried to capture this shift when I did my Rimworld series. I didn't even know it was what I was doing, honestly. When I look back at that, that is probably one of my best attempts at a fine art project that shows how different I see the characters in that game than other people. How invested and immersed I am in that storyline, how those aren't little cartoon cutouts in a video game... they are so much more than that, they are actual people. With relationships, with backstories, with needs and desires, with hopes and dreams, they have mortality, their existence is finite, they make their own decisions. I simply... give them suggestions... and narrate their story. And I got so goddamn frustrated that no one that I showed this to (none of which played games, and just superficially judged the series because it was told through the medium of a video game) saw these as real people. They saw this, quite bluntly, as a grown man doing the equivalent of playing with action figures and acting out a story. Instead of "working".

And I'm going to say this right the fuck now. If Stanley Kubrick made a movie by doing stop-motion with action figures, it would be fucking art. If George Lucas wrote a short film and had actors animate action figures, it would be art. If I did it? I need to get a real job. So... fuck those people. I'm gonna play with action figures until the day I die, you can't kill my imagination that easily. I have Star Wars action figures in my kitchen in a little still-life with my fruit basket right the fuck now! XD Bib Fortuna's there, Admiral Ackbar's there, Lando's there, even Nien Nunb! Just because those motherfuckers decided to kill off their inner children, doesn't make the incredibly immersive and powerful story of Bowman and her colony any less valid. In fact, it kinda proves my point.

My whole project, the whole point, was to try to share this with others. To share how deeply I connect with these characters, to help them see what I see, feel what I feel. Because I know I'm different, I know I experience this more than they do. I would like to see that as a gift, not an "error" to be "corrected". And with some, I actually did succeed on sharing my perspective. Somewhat, I think. But I'll take it.

Here's an example of a success on that front. In a prior playthrough, I had a colony that had a Great Dane. Maya, that was her name. Good lord, it was winter 2019 and I still remember the name of that dog. I would play that colony on my laptop in the common room in the retreat, it was a place where I could escape a bit and... tend to a colony-garden, see what story gets thrown my way. And after several years in the colony, and getting to have a breeding partner (Duke), and 2 puppies (Abbie and Sneak)... Maya was killed in combat. She went out to save someone when they were being raided and caught a stray bullet, a complete fluke. It was tragic. It made my heart sink. And no one around me felt that, or even really gave one modicum of a shit about this story or these characters. So, I grieved that loss alone, in the same way I have grieved the loss of beloved characters in TV shows. And I was trying to get my Instagram back up and running again by doing like... character sheet illustrations of the colonists, with their stats on the page next to them, to tell a little bit about them. And I decided to do an illustration, a memorial, for Maya. So I pulled up a reference picture I liked of a Great Dane that looked like what my mental image of her was and I drew it, and wrote "In Loving Memory" above it. And years later, my mom told me that sketch was one of the most memorable pieces that I had done, one that stuck with her. Like she could feel what I felt with that. That it was mournful, yet beautifully honoring them. I felt like that was probably the biggest success I had made with any Rimworld-related thing.

So... my theory on all of this... to try to tie my tangent back around... My theory is that I get much more emotionally invested, and emotionally overwhelmed. That emotional pain can almost be worse for me than physical pain. Actually, I think that's way more than almost. I will gladly subject myself to physical suffering for months to spare myself from humiliation, or from... what's the word for someone looking at you like you're trying to trick them into giving you a prescription for Ritalin?... Suspicion? It feels stronger than suspicion, like being put on trial, and made to defend myself. Like inquisition or something, like I'm already guilty and I haven't done anything wrong. Does that make sense?

Like... wow, this sounds so fucking stupid but let's put this out there... XD I'm more afraid of the emotional experience of having a gun pulled on me than I am of being robbed and losing all my shit. Okay, so you get my phone with a cracked fucking screen, you get my AirPods with no charging case (lol) and you get my keyfob to a building you don't know and an apartment you don't know. And I'll just go right to the building, buzz the on-call person and tell them the whole story right away. Like, at a practical level, it sucks... but it doesn't fucking ruin me. They're material possessions. It's just a matter of time before they're replaced, and... if I'm being 100% honest with myself, I don't need a phone. It's true. What I am terrified of, is the emotional shock. And the toll it takes on me. I'm scared of the feeling of facing mortality again. For the umpteenth time. And how a moment like being mugged, for me, can be like throwing a rock into a pond - the reverberations and ripples last a very, very long time. I'm still getting over my ex, we broke up summer of 2018. Only now are those ripples like... 1-2/10 in magnitude. And the ripples interfere with sleep, which affects everything. They interfere with my ability to focus and work. They interfere with home care, chores, cooking, just daily fucking functioning. For weeks, to months, to years. And that can sideline my life.

All I want is fucking peace. And it seems like so many people out there have no desire for that, they want outrage, they want justice, they want more. I dunno.

So I really do stand by my statement in my session. I really do think that if I, a super emotional person, had an emotional support system for when I get so overwhelmed with emotions that I struggle to find a good solution? So I can get a balanced logical perspective from someone who is not imminently experiencing those overwhelming emotions? My anxiety would be deeply lessened. I would feel much more safe and secure on a daily basis. I would feel less alone and depressed. My trauma would likely remain the same, but I would have more emotional energy in reserve to be able to converse with it, and I honestly feel like I've been doing a good job with that lately.

All I'm looking for is a second opinion on really scary shit, and maybe a pat on the back, or some words of reassurance during difficult times. That's really it. I try really hard to not ask for much. And to have my therapist (again, due to a misunderstanding, but this was my experience of it) tell me that basically... if I want that, I have to provide that for myself? That it's simply not available from others. Where my head went? The whole world is my emotionally unavailable family. The whole world is my unsupportive former friends. The social support I'm looking for... doesn't exist. And it made my vision go all high contrast, and it made my skin tingle, and it made me start to tremble and tense up. I got scared, and frustrated, and I pushed back.

The session went well after that, I mean that. He gave me resources that I didn't know existed, like mental health crisis lines to call in a moment like that, where it's okay to call when you're having a panic attack like that, to get help. And I feel so fucking horrible calling the same line as someone (forgive my lack of tact in how on-the-nose this next image is, I do it to provide a visual analogy for where people are emotionally) with their neck in a noose. I feel like I shouldn't waste 911's time. I feel like I shouldn't call the police's after-hours numbers. I feel like I shouldn't go to urgent care. And I have been in situations similar to this where I did have Rescue Squad come over to my house and check on me. And it was fucking humiliating. Why? Because I had a rash on my leg. And I was on a medication that said "if you develop a rash, call a doctor immediately" and the nearest hospital was over an hour away and it was like 11PM. To me, I was doing what the fucking warning label said to do. But I get treated like a dumbass. I get shamed and humiliated. If only I had someone I could run it by who could tell me... "hey, I think they mean like... if you get a rash when you start taking the medication, not when you've been on it for over a year. Let me look that up with you real quick." Instead, I get treated like I'm some paranoid nutjob asshole who's wasting everyone's time.

God, I slip back into frustration with that shit so quick! What I was saying was... he gave me resources that seemed like they were more suited to... people who are freaking out. I guess more of a... "warm line" than a hotline? And that would be a good solution for me. Just someone to share that space and that survival moment with me and help me sort out the facts from the emotions, look for clues that aren't apparent to me in the moment, and help me formulate a plan. I hope it's an appropriate resource for what I need it for.

We later talked about... meds. And given the context, I wasn't as enthusiastic as I was last night. Weird, right? I wrote on here last night about how I wanted to pursue as-needed meds to help mitigate anxiety attacks. My primary reasoning being... to help provide security and a plan B if I freak out from smoking weed, as a way to help me get more sleep. Because I have strong suspicions that sleep deprivation is playing a big role in this. But also, just to help with those overwhelming emotional moments.

But when it was brought up, I was already in shaky-hands mode. I was on alert. And when he asked me how I wanted to go about it? I... had no idea. Because I don't... I don't want to fucking be accused of drug seeking again. I have had so many bad experiences with people looking at me like I'm a hedonist trying to manipulate them for access to self-indulgence. Or a con artist trying to swindle them into making a profit. And I devote my entire life to being an ethical and wholesome person, to being mindful and intentional. I would be literally seeking out these medications specifically to use them as intended. But this guy has known me a grand total of maybe 34 minutes. You know? And that feeling of scrutiny? Of... inquisition? God, I fucking hate that feeling. It feels like... home. Not the good "home", like... my family. In a lot of cases, I'd rather have the panic. It's really weird to say that, but like... if given the choice between that being subjected to interrogation/skepticism feeling plus not getting the meds and having to deal with panic attacks... or just having the panic attacks? When you frame it that way, it's a no-brainer.

So I've had to develop ways to finesse my emotions, to create scenarios where I can optimize my chances of success, and create a little buffer of emotional stability. Meaning... create some lead-in interaction with that person to get my emotions acclimated, then transition into bringing up the scary one. That was my solution, because it's worked for me in the past. I offered to follow up with the doctor about the labs he ran on my scalp swab, which they never followed up with me on. Then transition into saying... "so... I'm having some pretty debilitating panic attacks again... and my therapist is recommending we look into as-needed medications to help get through it, and he's very willing to talk about this with you, would you like to arrange a time to discuss that?" I think that should be okay. But I just, from extensive experience of people being suspicious of me, feel super uncomfortable calling out of the blue and saying "hey, I want to get pharmaceuticals for panic attacks, can I make an appointment?" I mean, it's literally drug-seeking. It's legit drug-seeking, but it's drug seeking nonetheless. And given really fucked up situations I've had with that in the past? I'd prefer my way.

Good lord, I'm goin off tonight. I think I've gotten most of that out of my system.

It sucks, because I was doing good this week. Besides the sleep shit and that panic. And even those, I managed them surprisingly well, and have been able to function through it, get work done, get stuff done around the house, even get out into the world more often too. I don't want to glaze over that.

I'm just really upset that this is still happening. That I've worked so hard for so long developing skills and tools, relaxation and grounding techniques, critical thinking, questioning the fear, and I feel like I'm doing it right? And it still ends up feeling like I'm staring death in the eyes. And I just don't know what else I can do? Like... with the leg thing, if I rabbit-hole on webMD right there, it 100% will make it worse. I'll come out of that thinking I have viral meningitis or some shit. If I force myself to ignore health symptoms like that... and I live alone... it just doesn't seem intelligent. I'm just really struggling to figure out, skill-wise, what I need to do in that moment to clarify "do you call the doctors or not?" If the thought "check for local heat and swelling" does not pop into my head because I don't have the medical training to even know to look for that... then... I've simply run out of criteria to check. As far as I knew, clots = deep pain + pressure + swelling at extremities + time-sensitive/urgent. And, as far as I could tell, it ticked all the boxes. So... if I have no more boxes? What do I do?

I'll tell you what I did do. I said "welp, if it's a clot, I'm dead in a few minutes anyway. I said I was going for a walk. If I keel over and die here, it'll be at least a week before anyone finds me. If I keel over and die in the stairwell, at least someone will find my body." And I went. And I had a nice walk.

My therapist commended me, sincerely, on my bravery for that. It meant a lot to me. I credit skateboarding for helping me with that "fuck it, send it" skill. I'm just not convinced it's the most intelligent way to deal with medical stuff. Because if I did that way back with my shin, and it was compartment syndrome? I would've died 13 years ago, in an apartment, alone with my cat. I wonder if that's my trauma talking... Hm...

On the work front, I got started on the topographic map animation section. It's basically a topographic map that I sourced from the internet, and then I drop the AI creature sketch I made yesterday onto the map, then draw a destination marker, then send the AI on a simulated pathfinding journey towards the destination. Then I pepper trees and rocks in and send it out again for a new path, and then the path leaves a trail at the end, like a pheromone trail. Then I'll do a third one which makes its own path until it collides with the pheromone trail, then it joins that path. I got as far as spreading the pheromone trail, but I struggled a bit with figuring out how to disperse it aesthetically over the course of several hundred frames, because I drew it manually. And I kinda tapped out at that point. The whole animation is going to be at least a minute and a half, at 60fps, it's a lot. But I got a ton done and it's lookin pretty snazzy. After this, I just need to do an animation showing me doing the same thing but with a ballpoint pen... then the topo map kinda tilting so the camera goes down to first person... then crossfade into the Minecraft footage.

After that, the only thing I need is the IRL hike footage, which should be a great excuse to get myself back out in nature. The trees are already budding, it's not a bad time to get out there.

So yeah, as tricky as today has been emotionally... with that frustration and... just like... the echoes of that conversation knocking on my mental door every hour or so... I still accomplished quite a bit. And the session was good. It just hit several of my most sensitive spots. And I came out of it on good terms, with new resources and a plan. That's a first. And as much as it's understandable that I'm frustrated with all of this, and overwhelmed, and sad, and all that chaotic energy around it... I can't let myself overlook that this was the first time anyone has discussed this with me... and this misunderstanding happened (this is at least the 5th time this has happened with this exact topic, the first with this therapist)... and the conversation actually turned around into practical solutions, real tools and an actual plan. I have to keep that in mind! It's like... the most important part!

Maybe I'll "treat myself" to a trip to the skatepark if it's nice tomorrow, sleep-dependent. Or maybe I'll limit my work hours and let myself just chill and play games a bit. But for now? I need to order earplugs for sleep that I was going to order last night, and then head to bed.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Who's a character you feel that Canon Miraculous Ladybug does the most disservice to? How would you fix it?

You ready for this?

It's not going to be who you think.

(Takes a breath)

Sabrina.

She's essentially Chloe's minion and canon keeps zig zagging back and forth on whether this is supposed to be a bad thing or not. Canon also can't seem to make up its mind on whether they're actually friends given how Chloe laments that she has no friends and nobody likes her while ignoring Sabrina crying over her leaving and getting upset enough to become akumatized when they have a fight. But it will sure go out of its way to force things back to that status quo where Sabrina is subservient to Chloe and Chloe is outright abusive to her. And no, it isn't funny nor does it give me any warm feeling seeing Sabrina be "accepted" back as Chloe's underling in Evilustrator or Antibug.

It also says something when out of all the classmates, she is the only one who didn't get an akuma episode that was fully her own. Her first akumatization, Vanisher, was just a lead up to Chloe's own akumatization in the episode "Antibug". And her second akumatization in "Miraculer" only happened because Hawk Moth tried to target and akumatize Chloe.

Sabrina clearly has no life that isn't centered around Chloe, and it's either played for laughs or portrayed as a GOOD thing by the other characters around her and in the show itself. In "Star Train", Sabrina was shown carrying luggage for Chloe including things for a spa treatment, and her own FATHER not only was aware of this, but encouraged it. This kind of feeds all the more into the issue that the adults of this show are incredibly stupid and useless.

She gets no personal focus. Whatever focus she DOES get is usually secondary to Chloe's issues of the day. Plus her subservience to Chloe is treated as a joke rather than an actual problem that should be addressed. Which is par from the course with how Chloe get away with everything in the show itself, but I digress. Sabrina is a lot of potential that much like everything else in this show, goes nowhere.

Evilustrator remains one of my least favorite episodes precisely because of how they did the B plot with Sabrina. It was the one time the series gave her focus and it gave some insight into the issues that Sabrina has, but rather than DO anything with that, it was played for laughs and ultimately went nowhere except right back to where things were at the start of the episode.

It kind of goes in lines with how the series itself never allows continuity, personal growth, or deviation from the status quo. It's also part of the reason there's a problem with Marinette being the only one to have to learn lessons.

Sabrina deserves better.

[youandtom2]

CONTRABAND PART 3

MILITARY!TOM HOLLAND X READER (NOT BASED ON CHERRY)

Summary: You've always known Sergeant Holland to be cold and apathetic from the very first day you met him. You told yourself that he would never change, but he was more than willing to prove you wrong.

Themes: smut (18+), depictions of violence, and gut-wrenching fluff :)

w/c: 7.2k

a/n: Ah it is here! The final part of contraband!!! I really liked this little story and I hope you did too. Let me know what you think!!! I always appreciate it! Also shoutout to 'SAS: Who Dares Wins' for the inspo

PART 1 // PART 2 // MASTERLIST

It should’ve came as no surprise to you that the week Sergeant Holland fucked you for the second time that he promptly left for a 6 week transfer to another base further north. What’s worse is that it was voluntary. He chose to go there to spite you, knowing the torment you’d be left with. Days after he left, you decided that you weren’t going to bother lying to yourself about the situation and openly admitted that he didn’t care for you as much as you cared for him. That was that. Sergeant Holland wasn’t capable of sentiment; the sex was for self-gratification and those kisses were empty. All it was was a last chance to get his fill before he left. He saw weakness and he throttled it with his bare hands.

You are beyond being upset because there’s no point. Where is it going to get you? You are just angry now.

With yet another weeks’ reprieve to go before his return, you wake up on a damp and dank morning. It had been pouring all night and the rain had turned the practicing grounds into a thick and slippery marsh. There isn’t a clean uniform in sight nor is there a footstep without a sickly squelch trailing behind it, meaning that you have to use twice the effort to pull your foot from the ground. Neither of you have seen the practicing grounds in such bad condition. Nevertheless, the lesson goes on. Nothing excuses the need to train, death being the only exception.

You’d think that since you are within weeks from finishing military training you would feel stronger, braver and smarter than when you first started, but there’s a difference between feeling and being. When squadron B alongside squadron A, supervised by Sergeant Osterfield, step up to the knock-out ring, being that of a flat piece of land with a ring of ribbon around the perimeter, you feel stronger, braver and smarter, but ultimately, it’s the Sergeants that put those feelings to the test.

The ring, aptly named, is circular in shape and no bigger than the 10 foot trampoline you used to have as a kid. Sergeant Osterfield takes centre stage, standing between the two squadrons. “This is a test of your ability to channel your strength and aggression, and to do that, you will be fighting against each other in head-to-head combat. Today, you are no longer friends, you are no longer team mates, that person you face is your enemy. When you are out there, you don’t get a choice in who you fight; small, tall, male, female,” Sergeant Osterfield throws you a quick glance; it’s a warning. “That doesn’t matter because they won’t give a fuck who you are either. It’s all about aggression and being able to turn it on and off with a flick of a switch. Jamieson-” he’s one of the tall lads from squadron A, “choose an opponent from your own team.”

Jamieson chooses Hardy, someone with a similar build and he accepts the challenge. You watch the two boys step into the ring, each taking a side of their own, and wait for more instructions.

“You will fight until someone gives up, steps out of the ring or until I say stop. Understood?”

In essence, you've been instructed to sumo-wrestle each other. However, it’s a very dubious definition of sumo-wrestling because you don’t think it’s supposed to include violently tackling each other to the ground, burying faces beneath the mud, and ending the match in a river of blood to claim victory. Horrified eyes watch as the two boys brutally fight without hesitance, throwing punches and landing kicks as if they are truly enemies.

Jamieson claims an early lead by delivering a powerful blow to the side of Hardy’s head, however Hardy steadies himself, making a quick comeback with a final mighty push and Jamieson is forced out of the ring. They retreat back to their line with bloody noses and mud splattered across their faces, panting and twitching with high doses of testosterone raging through them. Despite the harm done, and in Jamieson’s case, defeat, there isn’t an ounce of bad blood spilt between them and they return to normal, turning the aggression off as quickly as they turned it on.

“Well done,” Sergeant Osterfield congratulates. “Squadron B. Sanders, choose an opponent.”

Fuck, Sanders would’ve been your choice if Sergeant Osterfield gave you it; he’s the smallest out of the group - besides you - and your easiest target. Now, you aren’t weak, you know you aren’t weak; you could throw a swing that could knock someone clean out if given an easy chance, but considering your options for opponents, suddenly you aren’t feeling so strong.

Sanders chooses Stevens and they fight like the pair before, scrapping wildly like feral animals until Sanders is knocked out of the ring. Much to Clark’s dismay, he is quickly defeated by Archer, and the fights continue until all but you and Harvey from Squadron A, a big brute of a man, are yet to fight. Two pearly whites amongst the rusted browns.

You and Harvey are as close to strangers as you could be, and it’s for that reason that you feel yourself becoming slightly apprehensive about your fight with him. If it had been any of your own squadron members, their hesitancy would show, fighting their friend, a girl no doubt, would be reason enough to hold back. But Harvey exhibits no clemency and certainly holds no obligations to take it easy on you. And he has every right to be that way, because as much as it pains you to admit, Sergeant Osterfield’s statement is true; no matter who the enemy is, it’s inevitable that you fight them to the bitter end. That’s the brutal morale of the story.

It’s a truth you swallow the second you step into the ring with Harvey and his shadow just about eclipses your own standing in front of him. Instantly, David and Goliath springs to mind. This right here may be the truest depiction of what your future as a soldier out in the battlefield may look like.

You take a breath, preparing for the result you know that’s coming, and thanking every god up in the sky that fucking Sergeant Holland isn’t here to see your defeat.

“Fight.”

Harvey pounces like a horse released from its gates, running with you in sight. You dodge him at the last second, the tips of his fingernails only just grazing your arm. It might’ve been worse had he not slipped to the ground. He remains in the ring nevertheless, and it gives you that extra second you prepare for his offences again but sadly, you’re not so successful the next time round. He hooks an arm around your neck and the lower half of your body swings with momentum, legs kicking high into the air before you are slammed to the ground. With your wits still about you, you roll among the mud to avoid the kick that was heading directly towards your stomach.

“Come on, soldier! You are not supposed to defend, you’re supposed to attack! Channel your anger, use that aggression!” Your eyes are glued to Harvey while you listen to Sergeant Osterfield shouting beside you. He’s right. You’ve been on the defence since this started and it’s gotten you nowhere, your enemy isn’t any closer to being defeated.

“C’mon, you’ve got this.” You hear Archer’s supportive voice behind you. “Aggression, remember.”

You raise your fists, spitting the mud that splashed into your mouth during the fall and focus. Anger. Anger. Anger. Channel your anger.

Fuck you Sergeant Holland.

This time, you charge with a scream, stopping the arm that was already swinging towards you and deliver a fist to his jaw and Harvey recoils sharply, groaning and wincing, but he doesn’t give up.

Haplessly, you start swinging your fists, indifferent to whether they do any damage because your anger has taken control. There’s only one thing on your mind that fuels your aggression and you take the opportunity of the human punch bag in front of you to finally release the tension that’s been building up.

Fuck - punch - you - punch - Sergeant - punch - Holland!

The pain throbbing in your knuckles and your thumb numbs your hand that you can’t squeeze them anymore.

“Don’t let that bitch beat you Harvey!”

Harvey recovers quickly in front of you, his masculine ego assaulted. With either of you yet to give up or step out of the ring, and Osterfield yet to call it, the fight must continue. You internally groan in exhaustion, feeling nothing left of the spark. The flame has burned out but Harvey’s roars like a fire in his eyes. You yelp as Harvey reaches for your leg, arms tightly wrapping round it with his shoulder agonisingly colliding into your pelvis with an unstoppable force, rendering you completely off balance and once again slamming against the wet, muddy ground. The blunt, hard-hitting fall punches out all of the air in your lungs, dry heaving to retain some oxygen. What makes it worse is that Harvey’s personal vendetta refuses to let go. Red, fiery eyes burn above you while his hands hold you hostage by the neck, keeping you still while he passes a punch directly across your cheek bone that’s bound to puncture your skin. He physically restrains you, taking you once again in a chokehold and squeezing until the very last particle of consciousness slips away from you.

“Sir!” You hear Archer’s concern swim through the ringing in your ears. “You have to stop this!”

Black spots start to flash in front of your eyes.

“Sir, look at her, she’s done.” Even Squadron A realise that the match has come to its end.

“Alright, stop!” Osterfield’s voice blares loudly, but the hold is just as strong. “Soldier, stop!”

Your face feels like it’s swelling…

“Harvey, let go man-”

Your grip is starting to loosen around his arms.

“Soldier that is enough!”

“Get him off of her!”

Someone please save me…

“STOP!” A voice thunders around you, resounding enough that everything else surrounding you falls into a stunned silence. All except the fast, angry treading of boots approaching the ring. The vigorous grip around your neck finally releases and your body slumps to the ground with a small splash. The cool pillow of mud beneath you catches you, and a small wash of relief drains the panic. Your chest starts immediately convulsing to get air back into your lungs, but with your collapsed airways it's stuttered and unsteady, coughing with every second breath. However unsettling it may be to listen to, at least it’s a sign of life.

The ground begins to tremble as the rumbling footsteps lurk nearer.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” There’s a scuffle between two people, one presumably Harvey, but the other, you can’t tell yet. “You were to fight her, not kill her!”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me. I…I couldn’t stop! I’m so sorry. Please, I-I-I’ll take her to medical-”

“You fucking touch her again, I’ll kill you.”

You’ve heard that stern tone before, but the abhorrence is new. It’s raw, unfiltered, scratching its way out of his throat in a harsh growl. A growl that could only belong to Sergeant Holland. Hearing his voice again ignites the spark inside you and as it flickers to life, you begin to roll onto your side, slowly pulling yourself from the mud's tight grip. Confusion swarms your brain but you don’t stop to give it a moment of your time as your priorities lie at the sources of pain up and down your body. Knuckles, hand, back, head, stomach…

“And you-” The footsteps are just off to your right, where Sergeant Osterfield is. “You should’ve stopped this sooner.”

“Tom, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

You pay the conversation no mind as you try to perch yourself up onto your knees, grubby hands splayed in front of you as strands of mangled, mud-ridden hair dangles in front of your eyes. No one seems to pay you any mind as you helplessly roll in the mud. Nobody seems to want to touch you given it will be at the expense of their life if they do.

“The rest of you back to the barracks.” He barks and feet start quickly scuttling.

“Archer, Clark, take her to medical,” Osterfield instructs, but there’s no assertion, just plain guilt.

“No. I’ll take her myself.” His voice is lower, closer, intimate with you as he does his best to pick you up from the ground. Even with the weight of mud, water and dirt clinging onto you and your uniform, Sergeant Holland hauls you up into his embrace and starts walking towards the barracks with an arm hooked under your legs and another behind your back. The force of his arm digs into the pain, burning at your spine and you let loose a feeble whine. “What hurts?”

Your heart, your soul, your feelings…

“Everything.” It isn’t entirely true, you just didn’t have the breath to say specifics.

As you lie there in his arms, swaying with the gentle pace of his tread, you begin to question his presence. Why is he here? Why is he not up north where he’s supposed to be? Why couldn’t he have just stayed up there so your big dumb heart didn’t have to start beating so erratically knowing that he is here?

Your pupils constrict as the light floods in through the narrow slits of your lids, just wide enough to see his jaw tensing, teeth grinding as he charges down the hallways and barges into a room you don’t recognise. Although you’ve technically never been to medical, you know that’s not where he’s taken you; it’s far too quiet.

“Can you stand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Stand there. Don’t move.” He settles you down carefully onto your feet, and your eyes fall on anything but him which is hard given that he’s standing right in front of you, inspecting you from head to toe. His eyes pick up on your eyebrows pinching together. Why are you in a bathroom? “What?”

“This isn’t medical.”

“No it’s not.” He deadpans. The statement passes through his lips so flippantly, his mind centred on checking every inch of your skin for every and any injury. For some reason, he’s being particularly meticulous with you, following every possible medical procedure that pops into his head and you can’t fathom why. He’s already tutted at the cut on your cheek, still, your head follows the instructions of his hand curled under your chin, turning you left, right, ow, up, down, ow! He orders the same instruction with your eyes, checking very closely to see how well they respond to the light.

It's almost as if he's...worried.

He checks each ear, tucking away your dirty hair as he does so.

“Any headaches?”

“Just at the back of my head.” Instantly his hand gently cups the curve of your skull, pressing and feeling for any lumps or bleeding, not satisfied until he’s certain there’s nothing there. It’s strange how calm he is when he’s focussed, and it’s even stranger that you find comfort in it, even though it’s entirely uncharacteristic of him. By now, you’re less reserved, examining the features on him just as carefully as he examines yours. He has that damn army cap on, the same one that hides those beautiful brown curls. You wish you were brave enough to take it from him.

He remains clean shaven, skin golden and glowing that jealousy holds you captive, envious of the way he always looks like he’s just been to the glorious beaches of Barcelona rather than 80 miles up the road of miserable England. At least there’s the small little scar on his chin to prove that he does in fact have some imperfections. And it’s barely an imperfection at that.

Why does the man you’re supposed to be angry at have to be so fucking attractive?

“Look up for me.” You let out what little scoff you can. For you. Everything’s been for you hasn’t it?

In an attempt not to frighten or hurt you, he slowly coils his fingers around the column of your neck, thumbs running down the length of your trachea in the centre of your throat, occasionally pressing into its grooves. That’s when you notice his jawline pulse again, presumably at the sight of the collar of bruising that’s starting to arise. A vexed sigh washes over your features. Nevertheless, he keeps his cool and continues his examination. “Can you swallow?”

“I can but it hurts.” His thumbs bob as you swallow, releasing a contented hum when you manage to do so.

“Well, he hasn’t completely crushed your trachea so you’ll be alright,” he assures, turning to grab a first aid kit from the cabinet. “Can’t say the same for him…after what he’s done.” Your lips part at the threat, suddenly realising the extent of his grievance towards Harvey and the incident. He…he wouldn’t go that far to actually follow through with that threat…would he? Sergeant Holland has broken the rules before, who’s to say he won’t do it again?

He ignores your scrutinous glare, unzipping and unbuttoning every layer of clothing you have on, easing it from you as if you were made of glass, paranoid that any tug would break you.

“I’m fine. I can do it myself.” He stops as you take a step back, his irritation blatantly shown when he folds his arms and leans casually against the sink behind him. Right there. That’s the Sergeant Holland you know better.

“Yeah?” He juts his chin, challenging. “Go on, then. Get yourself unchanged.”

You’re left standing, shivering with nothing but your thermals and underwear on, soaked through and through. You had been lying in the wet mud for so long it had seeped itself way into your under armour. Annoyingly stubborn, you reach for the hems of your thermal vest and with everything you can muster you begin to lift it above your head, naively blind to the unforeseen pain that erupts from your back, and weirdly, your thumb when you get halfway. Your arms drop, groans of agony fill the room, slowly overtaken by groans of frustration when you prove his point.

“Okay, okay, fine. You win. I can’t. It hurts too much. You were right. You happy?”

Where you expect to see a smug grin is actually a frown. Sergeant Holland stands up straighter, arms dropping heavily by his sides. He pinches your chin with the slightness of his finger and thumb and tilts your head upwards.

“No. You’re in pain, of course I’m not fucking happy. And it doesn’t make me any happier knowing that you think you can take care of this yourself.” How something as simple as the disdain in his voice can change you from someone stubborn enough to endure pain to prove him wrong, to the insecure, dependent, wobbly-lipped girl you are now, is frightening.

You always hated letting people down, even from childhood you feared disappointment for the way it made you feel so belittled.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to stop the quiver, but Sergeant Holland drags it out again with his thumb. Thankfully, his voice reduces down to a calmer whisper now that he’s even closer, the tips of his lips ghosting over yours.

“Let me help you.” The words are murmured into your mouth before he tenderly presses his lips to yours. They’re warm, dangerously soft and puckered that you barely feel them. He keeps them there for no longer than a couple of seconds, telling you that he’s there, to feel him, to use him as he offers himself, and the couple of seconds he kisses you is all he needs to persuade you.

It wasn’t empty and there was meaning, one that you could find solace in and realise that maybe, just maybe, what you assumed about Sergeant Holland wasn’t entirely true.

Lighter than a feather, the word flows from your lips. “Okay.’’

With nothing more than the gentle hum of the light above you filling the air, Sergeant Holland helps you to take off your dank and muddy clothes, stopping only when he gets another chance to inspect your body in its entirety for other injuries. His hands run down the length of your arms; shoulder, biceps, elbow, forearm, wrist, knuckles, fingers; squeezing, moving, twisting, left first then right.

“Ah, fuck!”

He carefully holds your hand up in the air between you and him, a sinking scowl evident on his face.

“Broken thumb.” He declares, pointing to the swollen joint. “You punched with your thumb enclosed in your fist, didn’t you?” You might’ve done. Force of habit. So what? You weren’t thinking straight! He shakes his head dejectedly, sighing, exuding all the signs of disappointment, but the small smile curling at his lips immediately eradicates the idea. He taps your chin. “Have we taught you nothing? Thumb outside the fist when you punch. Outside.”

“Sorr-OW!”

“And you’ve broken a knuckle on your other hand, Jesus, what were you punching? A brick wall?”

“I don’t know. I might’ve been. I was too angry to care.” Your stomach sinks at the tilt of his head as he disappears behind you, because you know he’s going to ask.

“We don’t teach you to be angry, we teach you to fight.” You shiver at the first touch of the grip on your shoulder, keeping you stable as he runs his fingers down the length of your spine. It’s completely chill inducing the way his fingers skim so lightly over you. “So why were you angry?”

“Um…I was…I was angry at…you.” The movement stops and he waits until your eyes find his in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. There’s a long silence, one you would rather have continued on forever if you had the choice. Sergeant Holland isn’t blind to the dip in your head or the way you fiddle with your fingers because he’s seen you do this before. You were never one to hide your nerves well during confrontation and he’d always used that to his advantage.

He’s not going to put that extra strain on you. Not today.

He sighs and resumes his inspections on your back, fingers grazing over the blue and purple blemish arising at your coccyx, hoping that it would disappear if he wiped it away, but it remained. He can’t bear to imagine what you must’ve gone through in order to have such a serious bruise on such a fragile area.

Your ears perk when he clears his throat. “Back’s okay. Nothing broken. Badly bruised but it will heal. Arms up.” At the touch of his hands curling around your ribs, your body twitches, squirming the slower he trails down towards the curve of your waist and hips where his hands buffer. Suddenly, magnetism draws your bodies together until your back is pressed against his chest and his lips are just inches away from your ear. You gasp, loud and raspy, all for him to hear how he makes you impulsively shift when his fingers curl into your waist and electrocute the sensitive muscles inside you. He gropes and squeezes, rolling your hips backwards until you feel the press of his crotch push into you and he releases a groan, small, subtle, but it swims through your ears all the same. You can’t help but close your eyes at the sound, dreaming of the times when you used to hear the sound come from him all those weeks ago.

“Hips working perfectly,” he whispers. The warmth on your hips spreads to your stomach where his hand is splayed out right across your abdomen and his fingers gently knead the area. You hiss slightly and he responds instantly. “Where’s the pain?”

“Further down, right…here.” You guide his hand to where Harvey’s shoulder collided with your lower pelvis, sitting just above the seam of your underwear. His chest hums, fingers exploring the area in a soothing massage, sinking lower and lower until they skim your panties, testing the waters. It’s been weeks since he last touched you, he would like to think that you would still respond to him exactly the way you did before. In the reflection of the mirror you see those dark, cumbersome eyes watching your every movement. Your hips roll fluidly, chasing the touch of the palm of his hand resting against your pelvis, reaching out to him and guiding him where you want him most.

He’s seen what he’s needed to see.

“Hot compress. Every night. Avoid solid foods for a while.” Just like that, his hands whip away from you to turn on the shower, leaving you in a small, contained fluster which isn’t helped by the steam slowly rising into the air. What this man does to you…

Silently, he unclasps the hooks of your bra, sliding them from your arms and promptly crouches behind you, moving with that same tantalising pace as he slides your panties down your legs. Exposed, and slightly on the colder side, you huddle yourself together, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Sergeant Holland ignores it.

The water is warm when you ease yourself in, of course with the help of Sergeant Holland. The worst of the dirt starts to dissipate when you fully submerge yourself under the stream, a pool of brown puddling at your feet. Sergeant Holland has you stand until the water runs clear, only then does he plug the drain and wait for the water to fill the tub, instructing you to sit. Meanwhile, he sits patiently by your side, perched on the toilet pan with the first aid kit on his lap.

“Give me your hand, I need to put a splint on your thumb.” It’s captivating to watch him immediately tend to your wounds, fingers working expertly to tie the gauze around the splint. You notice the fleeting touches, or the grounding support of his hand gracing your skin, and while you lie submerged in the warmth of the bath as a mere observer to his movements, a burning question starts to surface in your mind.

“Why are you doing all of this?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because this...isn’t you. You’ve never done anything for me, you’ve only ever done things to me, for you.” The slight raise in volume in your raspy voice catches his attention so he stops what he’s doing and turns to you directly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well what am I supposed to think when you fuck me more than you kiss me, that when you do fuck me you’re quick to leave and avoid me like the plague weeks after. You’ve been gone for 5 weeks, and I’m not even going to bother asking why you’re back a week early, and now all of a sudden you won’t leave my side. I just don’t understand-” Your voice crackles and breaks into nothing, cutting you off. It physically hurts to speak.

Sergeant Holland stares at you with that expressionless gaze, the one that shuts you out and leaves you wondering what he’s thinking or feeling.

His head ticks. You’ve seen him do that before. “That’s a lot of words for someone with no voice.”

You continue to stare back at him, refusing to break contact until he gives you your answer. It doesn’t seem to intimidate him in the slightest, in fact, he coolly resumes aiding your broken thumb, working on it as if he’s creating a piece of art. Regret consumes you, the embarrassment of your laughable attempt at intimidation heats your cheeks. Your squadron members would ridicule you if they heard you tried to intimidate The Dutch. Nothing could.

“So that’s why you’re angry at me.” He passes you a side glance for confirmation, but you offer none. You don’t need to because he already knows. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or ashamed that you carelessly chose to break a knuckle and a thumb with me in mind. Yet here I am, fixing your mistakes-”

“What, like how disappearing fixes yours?” He suddenly yanks at your wrist to pull you closer and your body slams into the wall of the tub. Your jaw is snatched up by him, silencing your words.

“I don’t make mistakes. That’s the difference between you and I. I think and I plan so I know. But you still don’t have a clue, do you? You’re always asking questions, always wondering, always looking for an explanation because you can’t come up with the answers yourself.” Your breath quivers as his voice drops. He watches you, like he’s waiting for something like a predator waits for his prey to take the bait. But you bite your tongue through the pain, holding your position until he can let go. “No witty comments this time? Good. Fine, if you need to know I’ll tell you.”

Your jaw slacks back into place when he lets go, but your body can’t rest until he releases your wrist. His gaze still burns just as intensely as before, invading your personal space like it’s oxygen to his lungs. It becomes more and more apparent to you why he keeps a firm hold of your wrist, because when his hand dips into the water and slips between your thighs, you can’t move away as easily. The flat pad of his thumb presses a firm pressure onto your clit but refrains from moving, all the while his fingers sink further into your cunt. Air catches in your throat, your free hand reaching to hold his wrist while he curls his fingers into you. However, with your broken knuckle, the grasp is weak.

“You think you can still listen while I fuck my fingers into you? Because I’m only going to say this once. Did you think that I didn’t plan to wait until 10 at night to bring you into my office the first time, when there was no one around to hear? Did you think I didn’t plan to deliberately ignore you so that nobody grew suspicious? I don’t ‘avoid you like the plague’ because you were a mistake, I do it to keep us safe. I do it to keep you safe. But you’re so fucking impulsive it drives me crazy.” Your chest raises higher into the air the harder his fingers thrust into you, the more his thumb runs laps around your clit. It’s too perfect to suppress the bubble growing inside you. “You’re a thorn in my side, do you know that? You have no fucking idea how many times I think about you, how many times I’ve struggled to sleep at night because all I see and hear is you. You make my job so much harder than it needs to be. I just want you all the bloody time and sometimes I can’t stop myself.”

Sergeant Holland’s nose sweeps against your temple, peering down to his fingers submerging further into your cunt until it teases a whimper from your broken throat. He can feel the blood rushing to his cock, growing harder with each twitch and quiver of your body. The sight of you lures a quick whispered ‘fuck’ from his lips.

“So fucking needy all the time, it’s why I had to leave because you’re…just…so…tempting.” True to his words, Sergeant Holland can’t resist the urge to press his lips against your skin, anywhere that you’ll allow him; your neck, cheek, jaw, ear, temple, just as long as he can feel you more than he already could. The desperation is growing inside you, spreading like hot lava through your veins until you’re flushed in a low simmer. Your cunt squeezes his fingers in a plea, begging to let you cum before you completely buckle, but he’s decided that you aren’t finished listening.

“Oh my god…” you whisper, rolling around in the tub. Your brain’s yet to decide whether it’s because of the pleasure or because of the sheer shock of his words.

“I couldn’t last another fucking week without seeing you, and it’s just as well I came back. Seeing that bastard beat, no less touch what’s mine…” Frustration and possibly something darker rumbles in his growls, motivating his thumb to swirl faster. “I can’t let you go.”

Your mouth gapes open, eyes tightly shut and reaching out for release. There’s a crash of water, droplets trickling down the side of your skin as your hips rise higher, tightly clutching onto the last of your self-restraint. Your heartbeat’s elevated, rising with the temperature that’s got you both working up a sweat.

“Cum for me, I wanna feel you cum on my fingers.” The bubble bursts, stars shooting behind your eyes and you sink back down into the warmth of the water. Sergeant Holland chases the taste of your lips, sinking his head low to catch you in a kiss and letting his tongue slip in, yours instantly returning the same fervor.

With the steady easing of his fingers, now coaxing you into the blissful aftermath of an orgasm, his kiss becomes softer, slower, more passionate that you completely forget about the buzz of pleasure and pain shooting all over you.

He pulls from the kiss, but his lips still graze yours.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

With a sigh of what you think is relief, he sits back beside you still holding your wrist but with a more endearing hold. Your eyes are still closed, bracing for the wave of desire that’s bound to wreck you for the next few days because you won’t be able to stop thinking about what he said. Fuck, he thinks about you all the time, and he can’t stop. And now that he still tends to you, knowing that information, you can’t help but reciprocate that feeling. Your search for reassurance is over. You want him more than anything now.

The consuming buzz that was at your cunt now resides in your stomach, reduced to a mere fluttering that keeps you from opening your eyes just a second longer. You simply fall into a state of repose in the water until you eventually work up the courage to look at him. With that courage, a small smile emerges on your lips when you remember something from earlier.

“What?”

“Your name’s Tom.” He huffs, but reciprocates the smile nonetheless. Hearing his name in your voice creates a deep pit in his stomach. “I’ve yet to decide whether you suit it or not.”

“It’s hard to suit any name when you’ve been calling me The Dutch since you arrived.” Your eyes grow wide, as does his smirk. “Yeah, don’t think I wasn’t aware of that one, you idiots aren’t as slick as you think you are.”

You bite your lip, cheeks burning. “You can blame Clark for that.”

“I intend to. And I’ll let him know who informed me.” You panic for a second, but his chuckle calms you slightly. He’s kidding…right?

Your hand’s now bandaged with a wooden splint taped to your thumb, and he finishes his treatment with a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. All for you.

Wordlessly, he pulls you from the tub, lifting you until you’re standing with a towel wrapped around your shoulders in the middle of the bathroom. Sergeant Holland mentions something about getting some dry clothes for you and disappears through the door, leaving you with nothing but your own reflection standing in the mirror. The reflection looks back at you and sighs dejectedly as you study her. She looks exactly how Sergeant Holland describes her: clueless, always questioning, always wondering. You give her a look, telling her that all is not lost if she can admit to her mistakes, taking that extra step and fixing them herself. It’s only right that she does.

Sergeant Holland enters the bathroom again, taking the towel from your shoulders and begins dressing you with that same delicate manner. Albeit, you realise it’s much more agonising getting changed than it is undressing.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak. Quite literally. Your throat is like sandpaper. “You’re right, I was being an idiot, I didn’t…I don’t think things through-”

He stops you with a kiss, short but purposeful. “Don’t speak. You’re on vocal rest and that’s an order.”

“But-”

“Defying orders now, are we?” Gulping, you shake your head, accepting that your apology will have to wait. “Come with me.” You nod, following him through to where you realise is his dorm. Bigger in size, it’s a room that better suits his authority. “You can rest here for a while, but I’ll have to send you back to your dorm before lights out.” Now with a little more insight behind his reasoning, you find it easier to accept that being with him all the time isn’t a possibility. That he doesn’t mean to be cold and harsh and kick you out so soon, that it’s because he cares for you too much to risk ruining what he has with you.

~~~~~

Sergeant Holland’s idea of resting consisted of you lying on his bed, lips clamped shut as you tried your best not to ruin your voice even further, with his head between your thighs. It was his only resolve as he didn’t want to injure your pelvis even further, knowing that if he fucked you like he was desperate to, he wouldn’t be able to hold back. Instead, he had you rest your hips on some pillows, raised higher into the air while he swam his tongue deep into your cunt, arousing your juices to drench his mouth. He didn’t stop until the pleasure blinded the pain, until you were so numb with lust that you couldn’t hold back the weak mewl scratching at your throat. He immediately chastised you for disobeying his order and the slight nibble of his teeth to your clit was your only punishment. He refused to let you go until you had given him another 3 orgasms on top of the 4 he already took from you.

You blamed your slightly wobbly and disjointed walk on the pain, but really, the truth was far more lecherous. Oblivious, Archer, Clark, Stevens and Sanders believed you given that your injuries were far more extensive than the ones they had, being that of black eyes and bleeding noses.

Albeit, everyone had healed in time for the final drill before officially completing military training.

All of you are standing to attention in the courtyard, the only place big enough to sit the proud families watching, waiting for you to graduate. Sergeant Holland yells the final order from the front stage, and with a synchronous left turn, those who have battled their way through early mornings and brutal instruction from the equally brutal Sergeants, survived barbaric methods of teaching and discipline, graduate from recruits to soldiers. As you stand, chin high with pride, you’ve never been more thankful for the grim but vital lessons taught over the months. You can’t deny that, of course, it was incredibly fucking hard, but having overcome those challenges, you can now graduate being stronger, smarter and braver than you were to begin with.

Ending the drill with a salute, Sergeant Holland officiates your success and soldiers around you disperse to find their families. It’s lovely to see Sanders smiling with glee as he envelopes his mum, speaking to her with such pride and enthusiasm. Seeing where Archer gets his sensitive emotions as his father cries against his shoulder. Seeing Clark, being the cheeky lad he is, congratulating his mates, and seeing Stevens embrace his younger siblings as they race towards him.

As elated you are for them, you’ve never felt more estranged from your own family. After all, it was why you joined the army in the first place.

“Congratulations, soldier.”

But it doesn’t matter, because you have everyone you need right here.

You turn to face Sergeant Holland, a smile beaming across your lips. “Thank you, sir.” It’s amusing to see him fight the smile, hiding his pride from everyone else to uphold the reputation of his otherwise imperious personality, however no matter how hard he suppresses it, you know it’s there.

“No family, soldier?”

“Um, no, sir. It’s just me. Always has been, always will be.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Your eyes narrow, brow twitching inwards. “Sir?”

“Follow me,” he instructs, giving nothing away and curious, you follow. He leads you to an empty briefing room, away from the crowds until they are a dull noise in the background. It’s only until the door shuts completely that he enlightens you of his mysterious behaviour.

“Do you know why I was away for those five weeks?” You shake your head. He continues, folding his arms and stepping closer towards you. “I was offered a position for a mission in Mali; Operation Newcombe. It’s low-intensity, non-combative and primarily peacekeeping, gathering intel for the UN about how to keep the peace. Nothing I haven’t done before." He releases a breath. "So I accepted.”

You swallow a growing lump in your throat. Mali. Africa. It’s so far away. Despite what you think is a final goodbye, you force a smile onto your lips. “Wow, Mali. That’s…that’s good, right?”

“Mh-hm.” His eyes twinkle. He’s glad, you can tell. You just have to pretend to be the same. “When they offered me the position, they also asked if I had any recommendations of soldiers from the base to go with me, take them out on their first deployment.”

You interpret his silence as an invitation. Recommendations? Who would you recommend? Suddenly, your mouth’s gone dry, babbling your way through the slight sadness arising knowing that he’s leaving.

“Um, A-Archer would be useful, he’s strong, like…emotionally strong, y’know? And empathetic. If it’s peacekeeping, he’s in his element. Who else? Oh, Stevens is good with younger children. Also very clever, and is handy with-”

Sergeant Holland takes you by surprise, encasing your face within his hands and pulls you closer, melting his lips onto yours. He swallows your gasp, forcing out another when he presses you against the wooden door, not in a way that’s reckless or desperate, but with such passion that he can’t contain himself. His thumb glides over the slight scar on your cheek given to you by Harvey, lulling you into the gentle caress of his lips as they move against yours. Teasing, his tongue only just breaches past your lips, skimming the edge of your own before he retreats. His fingers sidle into the roots of your hair until they find rest at the nape of your neck.

“You.” He kisses your nose. “I’m taking you.”

“Wh-what?”

“Come with me.”

“You…you want me?”

“Are you doubting my decisions, soldier?” There’s that tilt of the head that has your heart pounding and you race to explain yourself.

“Oh-oh, no, not at all! I…I didn’t think you would-” Sergeant Holland stops you again with a shorter, sweeter kiss, lighter than air itself.

“Good, so you’ll come with me.”

It really is far away. A new environment, new faces, new experiences, new challenges, but who better to show you all of that than Sergeant Tom Holland himself?

You sigh, your answer waits for him on the tip of your tongue and he’s eager to take it from you. “You’re not going to take no as an answer, will you?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

You smile, reaching up onto your tiptoes to kiss him once more, ripping that damn stupid army hat from his head and indulging in those curls of his.

“Mali it is.”

[wonderfultoweird]

I've seen some people upset about Bruce Wayne's portrayal in Harley Quinn Animated Series, specifically about S3 ep8 where Harley goes inside Bruce's mind and I just wanted to give my thoughts on it.

I actually really liked the idea about Batman just having to relive his parent's death every moment of his life, and that kind of being why the way he is. It does really paint kind of this awful picture though when it comes to him as a dad and the idea that like, none of the moments he had with his children were important enough to stand out or be his happiest moments. It also kind of seems like all of his love for his children didn't really matter because he just cares about his own parents. While I agree to some extent (like the fact that he didn't even think about resurrecting Jason?? tf is up with that) I also think it's a bit more complicated than that.

In the show he has shown obvious care for at least one son (arguably two since he did make effort for dick to get along with the batfam), as he has a bonding moment with damian after harley accidentally puts him in danger.

As we all know, Bruce's love language is mainly Acts of Service, protecting those he loves, providing for them, training and teaching them. But after this scene Damian is still upset and Bruce goes out of his way to comfort him.

[Because the captioning is awkward I've also put in the scipt here:

Bruce: Damian, I made your favorite.

Damian: You didn't make that. Alfred made that.

B: I made him make it. Are you mad because I had to save you from Joker?

D: No. I'm livid because everyone in Teen Titans is getting a nemesis, except me.

B: I'm gonna say something embarrassing here. I didn't have a nemesis until my late 20s.

D: Don't patronize me, Father. It's unbecoming.

B: It's true. I wasn't ready for one. You want your first nemesis to be special. Someone who you could see being your nemesis for the rest of your life.

D: I suppose you're right, Father.]

I think it isn't that he doesn't love his children or care about them, it's that his memories and his emotions are corrupted by that singular memory, and that when he tries to be happy, to run away, to move on there's that older Bruce who believes he doesn't deserve to be happy, he doesn't deserve to not look.

Like it's quite literally written out for us right there, he can't ever escape his parent's death. Also on top of that I also wanted to point out what Harley says here:

When I first saw this panel my immediate conclusion was that it was because Harley was there, but earlier in the episode it shows that she actually really can't change his memories that much, she can only change one small thing, which was that he didn't have to look.

In this I think that Harley being there has nothing to do with the shooter being there and tainting his memories and everything to do with the fact that bruce is inside another memory, where he isn't constantly rewatching his parents murder.

I believe this is why Bruce's happiest memory can't be with his children or any time after his parents died, because in his mind he is just a scared child rewatching his parent's death over and over. When he tries to live in a world without them the guilt pulls him back to that memory.

I just believe that he does love his children a lot but his own personal happiness with them is hard to think about without feeling guilty about his own parents. Hopefully, Harley will be able to knock some sense into him now that she's his official therapist :)

[thatfanficstuff]

Saving Me - Klaus Mikaelson

Pairing: Klaus x Friend!reader; implied future relationship

Warning: This fic deals with abuse. Reader's responses are those of someone suffering long term abuse. If this will bother you, Do not read.

A/N: First, go back and read the warning. Second, I don't know what this is but here. Have a thing. Filling two requests from wattpad. First is that person A finds out person B's significant other is abusing them. Second is Person A gets upset and only person B can calm them.

You weren’t quite certain how you’d become friends with Klaus Mikaelson and his siblings. You’d been drawing in the quarter one day and he’d stood behind you to peek over your shoulder at your work. Then he’d sat beside you on the bench and started a conversation. Suddenly, it was as if he had always been part of your life. You met the others soon enough and they’d just accepted you into their world.

Currently you and Nik were sitting on the couch in his library sharing stories over a drink. Your gaze fell on the clock on the other side of the room and a fissure of fear shot through you. You stood in an instant. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to go.”

Nik frowned. “Just stay here. You know we have the room.”

“I can’t. I told Luke I was going to Cami’s. He doesn’t like it when I see you.” You didn’t think about the words before you said them. You were too panicked about what you’d be returning home to. Maybe Luke would be out with his friends and he’d never know how late you were.

“Who gives a shit what he likes, love. Get rid of him. You can move in here if you need to.” His gaze ran over you and the concern there nearly brought you to your knees.

You looked away so you didn’t have to meet his eye any longer. “It’s not that easy.” Luke already told you what would happen if you left. First, he’d kill you then he’d go after the little family you had left. He stopped short of threatening the Mikaelsons. He may not know about the supernatural, but there were enough rumors around town about what happened to those that crossed them.

You would find your way out. You were working on it. Part of you knew Nik would take care of it for you but that would mean telling him everything. Everything you’d let Luke do to you. Everything you’d kept quiet about for so long. And you just knew if you proved to be troublesome, they wouldn’t want you around anymore.

They’d see how weak you really were and all the kindness they’d shown you would disappear. You weren’t certain you could live with that. Plus you weren’t sure Luke deserved to die just because he smacked you around a little. Most of the time you deserved it. He didn’t ask for much, after all. You shook the thought from your head and moved toward the door.

As you passed Niklaus, he grasped your wrist to pull you to a stop. You yelped in pain as his grip found the bruises from the talk you’d had with Luke the day before. Nik instantly released you. “What’s wrong?”

Tears came to your eyes and you shook your head. You backed away as he stood.

“Stop,” he ordered.

You obeyed. After all, that’s what you’d been trained to do.

Nik reached out and took your hand gently in his. Your breath caught as he slid your sleeve up to reveal the dark bruises ringing your wrist. He hissed in a breath. “What happened, love?”

You shook your head again, panic flooding you. They couldn’t find out. He couldn’t find out. You needed to get out of here. Needed to get home. “It was my fault. I’m a klutz is all. I need to go, Nik. I have to get home. Luke will be angry. I’m so late.”

He didn’t let go of your hand. “Did he do this?” His voice was low and tight.

You tried to pull away from him but he wouldn’t release you. Wouldn’t let you escape.

“Did he?” He yelled this time.

You turned your head in shame and the tears escaped your eyes to run down your cheeks. Gods, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. But wasn’t that the story of your life. You jerked your hand again and this time he released you. “Please just let me go,” you begged without looking at your friend.

“What’s going on in here?” Elijah’s voice caught your attention. You sucked in a breath and you chanced a glance at the doorway to find Kol and Rebekah there as well. Great. They could all witness your humiliation.

“Show them,” Nik ordered.

When you hesitated, he closed the distance between you and pushed your sleeve up. He lifted your arm gently in spite of his obvious anger.

“What happened, darling?” Kol asked. “You can tell us.”

A moment later found Rebekah by your side. She cupped your face in her hands and lifted your face to look you over. “Oh, sweetheart.” She wiped your tears away. “There’s no going back now. What’s done is done. You might as well tell us the truth.”

You nodded slightly and she stepped back so she no longer filled your vision and you could see the others. “Yes. It’s from Luke.”

Nik gripped the back of the sofa. “Why?”

“Why?” You weren’t certain exactly what he was asking.

“Yes, love. Why. Why did he do it? Why didn’t you tell us? Why?” The anger in his voice made you flinch though you were pretty sure it wasn’t directed at you if he was still calling you love.

You shrugged. “I didn’t ask permission before I went to the store. It’s my fault. I know the rules.”

“Rules?” You weren’t certain you’d ever heard the tone in Elijah’s voice before. His gaze was narrowed as he looked you over. “What kind of rules?”

“There aren’t many. Get permission before I leave. Be home by nine. Do what he says. Most important, don’t spend time with the Mikaelsons. I don’t follow that one, obviously.” You hadn’t been willing to give up your only friends so you lied to Luke about where you were going and who you were seeing.

“Do you have any other injuries?” Elijah asked.

Nik jerked his head to the side to watch you. You wrapped your arms around your stomach and nodded once. “Fuck,” he growled and his grip tightened on the sofa. He was going to have to replace it at the rate he was going.

Rebekah stepped forward and laid a hand on your arm. “Can I look?”

Again, you nodded. There was no point in hiding now.

She moved behind you and lifted your shirt so she could see your back. “Jesus,” she hissed.

The men straightened and you sighed. “You can take the top off. I’m in a sports bra.” You might as well go all in.

Bekah carefully lifted the top up and over your head. You closed your eyes and fought the desire to wrap your arms back around you. To hide the smattering of bruises you knew they were seeing. They were all quiet. So quiet. Rebekah turned you carefully so they could see your back where Luke had kicked you the night before. His heavy boots had obviously left dark bruises. Not a sound drifted to you and you wondered briefly if they’d left.

Then warmth and the rich scent of Nik enveloped you as a shirt slipped over your head. You slid your arms into it and turned to face him. He was bare chested having literally given you the shirt off his back. Tears flooded his eyes, one escaping to slide down his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me? You have to know I won’t let this go unpunished.”

You cupped his cheek and used your thumb to wipe away the tear. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. You can’t do anything to him, Nik.”

He jerked away to stalk across the room. “You can’t be serious. You would protect him even after this.” He gestured angrily in your direction as he yelled.

“He said he’d kill me and my family. But even if—”

“He won’t have the chance, love,” he cut you off.

“You can’t kill him,” you said with a sigh.

When he looked ready to yell again, Elijah held up a hand to stop him. “Why do you insist we not harm him?”

“He’s the mayor’s son. He’s not someone who can just disappear,” you explained.

“So, you have endured this to protect us?” Elijah’s voice was quiet, hurt.

You shrugged again. “The only way out without getting killed was to tell you. But I knew what would happen if I did. And I couldn’t let you get in trouble for me. It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

Nik yelled as he launched something across the room. It hit the far wall and shattered. You blinked as you looked between it and him. “I don’t care who he is. I’ll see him dead for this.”

He grabbed something else to throw and you slid your arms around his middle without thinking about it much. He sighed and sat down the glass he’d been about to destroy. His arms found their way around you and he kissed the top of your head. “It’s okay, Nik. He’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.”

He leaned back, grasping your arms to keep you close while he looked you over. “I want you to forget everything he’s ever told you, love. You’re worth everything. I would destroy cities for you.” He pulled you back into his chest before you could respond.

You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his chest just enjoying being held by him. You’d examine his words later. Right now, you were simply reveling in the fact you felt truly safe for the first time in months. You opened your eyes to find Elijah and Rebekah watching the two of you with a smile.

You lifted your head. “Where’s Kol?”

He was the most unpredictable of the siblings and the most likely to go off half-cocked.

Elijah slid his hands into his pockets and rocked on his feet. “I believe he went to compel your boyfriend to drive his car off a cliff. I do apologize for your loss.”

You blinked at him. You should have known they’d find a way to be rid of him that would keep the suspicion off them.

“He could have waited for me,” Nik grumbled as he pulled you closer, still being careful of your bruises.

Elijah’s eyes shifted between the two of you. “You are needed here, Niklaus. Kol can handle it.”

Rebekah smiled at you though her eyes were sad. “We’ll collect your things tomorrow.”

“Don’t you think I should at least wait until he’s buried to move out of his house?” you asked. There was a part of you that wondered what kind of person you were to not care at all that they were essentially murdering your boyfriend of over a year.

“No,” was Nik’s answer. “As of now you live here where I can keep an eye on you. And when they ask where you were, you tell them the truth. That he was an abusive asshole and you broke up with him.” He was getting agitated again. Angry with a man who may already be dead.

“Okay, Nik. I’ll stay here. If I let go are you going to stay calm?” you asked.

“Best not risk it,” he answered with that cheeky grin he seemed to only give to you. He did turn the two of you so his arm was draped over your shoulders as you stood beside him. “If you two will excuse us for a moment.”

His siblings nodded and stepped from the room, shutting the door behind them.

Nik steered you to sit on the couch and sat beside you, lacing his fingers together with yours. “If it’s not abundantly clear by this point, I’m rather attached to you, love. You can stay here as long as you want. No strings. No rules. Just heal. And someday, when you’re ready, maybe you’ll let me show you how a man in love is supposed to treat his girl. And if not, that’s okay, too. I’ll still be your friend.”

You looked him over, ignoring the butterflies that seemed to have taken up residence in your belly with his confession. “I’ll stay on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You let me steal your shirts whenever I want.” You didn’t mention you intended to steal the ones he’d already worn. His scent comforted you but you weren’t willing to admit that to him just yet.

He smiled. “I think I can handle that.”

He squeezed your hands and when he went to pull away, you stopped him and slid closer. You snuggled against his chest and smiled when he wrapped his arms around you with a sigh. “Thank you, Nik. Thank you for saving me.”