#ask dark maga

[darkmaga-retard]

Do you have material on the Haitians in Ohio eating cats and dogs story?

[jasmines-library]

Could u pls do a Winchester sister fic like (season 10 ep. 15) but instead of the parasite going into cole it goes into the sister and Dean tries to shock it out like in the episode but then she almost dies and they have to try and find another way

The Things They Carried

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Word Count: 2284 (wow look at me go)

Warnings: Uhhh not sure how to phrase it. Overall gore, kinda throwing up?

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The woman had vanished without a trace. Well, at least at first. Her body was found strung upside down in the storage room of a remote part of the city Feyetteville, North Carolina. Perhaps one of the most perplexing parts of the victims disappearance, was that not only was she an Army Private, trained in Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu, but her organs had been drained, along with the bone marrow sucked out of her body. This is what had caught Dean’s attention. He now sat in front of you and Sam, the article pulled up on his ipad.

Sam raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he studied the article once more before handing it off to you. “So…cannibalism. You thinking a Rugaru?”

“Or a God. Maybe.” Dean agreed. A second later he was up on his feet, ready to go. Sam tried to protest. Ever since Dean got the mark of Cain Sam has been solely focused on trying to find a way to remove it. He was constantly on edge and you had to admit you were too. It seemed that no amount of research seemed to give enough answers on the mark. Eventually, with a look from his older brother and a defeated sigh, Sam let up and not even 10 minutes later, the three of you were speeding down the road.

Much to your disappointment, when you arrived in the city the first thing the three of you were told was that the local police had closed the case. However, they had given you a name, and the incriminating evidence. The sheriff; an elderly man, perhaps late 60s with white, thinning hair, had also told you that the offender had also committed suicide before the feds could lock him up. He also told you that this was the third suicide the city had seen in the last 6 months. A pattern. This was definitely something supernatural, if that wasn’t already clear. However, when Sam asked about the body, the sheriff informed the three of you that there were no bite marks, and that the victim had been killed with a bowie knife. That ruled out a Rugaru, leaving your trail dry.

The next step of the hunt was to speak to Beth, the offender's widow. She was rather distraught as she bounced her baby softly in her arms. When she glanced away from it, you could see the pain in her eyes; the dark circles that rim them. 

“Rick was a kind soul.” She insisted sadly, glancing down at the floor. The way she spoke of her late husband was filled with awe, but woven thick was pain that choked up her voice. You could tell that she still hadn’t processed her husband’s recent change in personality. 

“Did you ever notice anything strange?” Sam asked gently, his fingers clasped together as he leaned against the countertop. “Violent mood swings?”

“Weird smells?” You added.

“No….” The woman frowned. “But Rick was- he was-” she stuttered, unable to word what she wanted to say correctly, almost as if she didn’t really believe it or understand it herself. “He was thirsty.”

You tilted your head at her, her words catching your interest. “Thirsty for what?”

Her answer surprised you. “Water. He’d spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. And then, when I told him to stop it was like he couldn’t even hear me. And his skin; it got so dry it bled.”

Your older brothers watched intently. “Did he see a doctor?” Dean questioned gruffly.

The poor woman shook her head. There were now soft tears rolling down her face, mingling with the ghosts of the ones there before. “He just got put on a list to be put on a list. And then he stopped talking. He just wasn't himself–” she sniffled, shifting her baby in her arms. “I thought….maybe it was just PTSD.”

No one said anything for a moment before you broke the silence tenderly. “We’re very sorry.”

“You said that Rick had been recently deployed.” Dean said. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No.” She answered rather bluntly. “That stuff’s classified. They don’t even let the wives in on it.”

And the trail runs cold again. 

But then, just as you were about to leave and Sam left your number, Beth stopped you again. 

“There’s one other thing.” she added. “I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She’s married to Kit Verson. A guy from Rick’s team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing.”

The trail picks up again.

After a little while running around after Kit Verson, discovering that he murdered someone else the same way that his friend did, the three of you ended up in an old shack that his wife believed he might have fled to. It was dark. Eerily so. However not as eerie as the trail of dead mice on the floor. Machetties in hand and guns in holsters, the three of your crept through the darkness of the hut. You found him hunched over in the back room of the house. His breathing was rough and ragged as though he might have run a mile at top speed. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, his head whipped around, bloodshot eyes boring into you. His mouth and face was splattered with blood and dirt, and his movements were erratic as he stood up to face you. He gripped you tight, cold fingers like icicles against your skin as he pushed you back against the wall. And then his eyes were pleading with you. The harsh crease between his eyebrows softened for just a moment as he used his body weight to keep you pinned up against the wood panelling. 

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out, wrestling with you to keep you in his grasp. “I can’t stop.”

And then, you were on the floor, dirty ground rising to meet you fast as he made you lose your footing. And then, as you struggled beneath him he made this awful gagging noise as the creature slithered out of his throat and forced its way into you. You coughed, gagging yourself as your brothers rushed into the room. They were on Kit in seconds, but he was strong, throwing your brothers around before dashing out of the door. Quick on his feet, Dean followed, leaving you staggering for breath on the floor with Sam.

“Are you alright?!” Sam asked, alarmed as he rushed to your side, helping you up off the floor.

You coughed. “Some-something’s inside of me–” a grimace spread across your face as you felt it move. “It’s alive–”

“It what?” Sam blinked. “What did it look like? Do you know what it was?”

“Khan worm.” Dean answered, catching on to the end of the conversation. “At Least i think it is. Why? Did you see it?”

You groaned in pain, so Sam answered for you. “It crawled inside her.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide. “What?”

Sam nodded grimly. 

“Did you see what it was? Dean asked worriedly. 

You coughed, hands flying to your mouth. “Khan worm.”

“Shit.” Dean cursed aloud, running his hands through his hair. 

“We have two options.” You said, trying to hide the grimace on your face as you felt the worm moving, ,crawling under your skin. Neither of the two options were very pleasant at all. You and your brothers had worked a case with Khan worms a few years ago and there were two ways that you discovered the worms could be killed. And while these worms seemed slightly different to the first ones you discovered, you figured that they were similar enough that the same rules would apply. The first option was probably the most forward one, but it also involved certain death; a headshot to the infected person that would cause the worm to flee the body where it would then be crushed by Sam or Dean. Option one was very clearly off the table. The second was far more painful, but it also harboured greater chances of survival. 

Dean began to protest immediately. “No. No no. there’s got to be another way.” 

“You know we dont-”

“Kid….” Sam started. 

“Just do it. We have no other choice.”

Dean sighed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

~

Dean had managed to find two batteries hidden in the small cabin. He placed them grimly on the table with a thud before connecting two of the jump wires that Sam had gone and collected from Baby’s trunk. You were sitting in the armchair, fingers gripping the leather as you waited anxiously. Sam tried to give you some comforting words, but you weren’t sure who he was trying to comfort more; you or himself. 

“Alright.” Dean said, his voice laced thick with an anxiousness and guilt he was yet to shake. He brought the cables over to you as you took a deep breath, placing a wooden spoon between your mouth to keep you from biting through your tongue. 

Settling back in the chair, you took a moment to collect yourself. To prepare for the agony you were about to put yourself through. And then, you gave him a brief nod 

The sudden pain when Dean pressed the jump cables to your skin was overwhelming. Unbearable. A million agonies all combined to one as the electricity raced through your veins. You screamed, crying out as your teeth bit down on the wood of the spoon, which helped to muffle the sound. Both of your brothers winced at the sound of your agony as you twisted and writhed. Sam had to look away and Dean had to force himself to keep the cables against your skin though he yearned to take away your pain. But nothing happened. As soon as your brother removed the cables, you were panting for breath, trying to recover quickly from the pain. You couldn’t help but notice the looks on your brother’s faces.

“Anything?”

Sam shook his head dismally. The parasite was still in you. 

“Go again.”

Dean startled. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Go again.” You strained. 

Dean collected himself, and then; the same pain. But still as you writhed. Fists clenching and nails digging into your palms the worm remained inside you. And your brothers were growing increasingly concerned. Your movements began to slow as you grew quieter and your eyes fluttered, drooping with a sudden heaviness. Dean pulled the cables away immediately and you slumped back against the chair. Your head lolled forwards against your chest and your breathing was concerningly slow and laboured. 

“Okay….okay…” Sam said gently, slipping an arm behind your back to help support you.You whimpered slightly at the movement. “ Shh. You’re alright sweetheart.” he glanced up at Dean, fear and worry evident in the creases on his forehead. They would have to find a different way to get the worm out.

~

You were sweating. Gods….you’d never been hotter. Your body still ached as you sat in the armchair of the cabin. The old leather was flaking off and was practically covered in a sheen of your own sweat. Sam and Dean had pushed it towards the fire, leaving you to sweat against the heat. They had figured that as the parasite needed water, if they could make you sweat it all out…then the creature would leave. But now you were practically slumped in a chair, dark veins crawling up your neck as you tried to rid the worm from your body. You coughed a little, your throat dry, with no way to soothe it. Thirst…..that was the only thing that consumed your mind…you were so. damn. thirsty. Your body craved it. Anything you could get you would take….even your own brothers’ blood. The parasite yearned for something. You could feel it, squirming around inside you. Uncomfortable, you whined before coughing a little, doubling over on yourself. 

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. You have to sweat it out.”

“Can’t–” You coughed. 

“Yes you can.” Dean shut you down quickly. “You can’t give up. Winchesters don’t quit.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your head spun. You felt sick. But you knew you couldn’t give up. You were in for a long waiting game. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when you were on the verge of breaking down that you began to feel it slithering up your throat. You gagged, coughing as you tried to expel the creature from your body. 

Sam and Dean were by your side in seconds, both trying to coax you through it, ready to stomp on the worm as soon as it made an appearance. Sure enough you managed to cough it up uncomfortably. It splattered on the floor, squealing as it writhed and trying to slither off to infect someone else. It didn’t make it far before Dean slammed a heavy boot over it. And once more for good measure. It squelched under his shoe, peeling off from it as it stuck to the floor. He grimaced at the sight before moving to crouch beside you, checking on you.

You wiped the string of saliva from your mouth with a grimace before gratefully taking the water bottle Sam offered you and wasting no time before drinking it to quench your impossible thirst.

“That's it. Easy, Sweetheart.” Dean cooed. “It’s over now.”

“You did it, kiddo.” Sam said, guiding you to lean back in the chair more. “We knew you could do it. We’re proud of you.”

(A bit of a rubbish ending! I'm sorry i wasn't sure what to do)

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SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

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[intheholler]

what do you think of all of the people being scared of appalachia? i don't know if this is recent or not, but currently i've been seeing a ton of shit online like "never go to the appalachian mountains, it's so dangerous", and i just don't understand it. my family's lived in appalachia for forever, and none of us have experienced anything paranormal or endangering to us. you're one of my favorite blogs on here and i'd just like to hear your thoughts on it

first off, it means a lot that i'm one of your favorite blogs and im really happy i can contribute something to your experience here :') thanks so much for being here <333

but ok so.

my thoughts on it are many. it's been bothering me a long time and i've been meaning to get it off my chest. this will be long and probably ranty, so it won't hurt my feelings if anyone skims lol

lemme preface this little diatribe by saying the obvious: folklore is an integral part of any culture. the mythos of a place/people is tied directly to their histories and unique experiences and struggles and they are enriching. this is true of appalachia too.

oral folk traditions especially are incredibly historically appalachian.

i mentioned in a post i made yesterday about murder ballads, how the purpose of these was to warn kids away from doing dumb shit and getting lost in the hollers--falling down cliffs n mineshafts and shit at night. gettin got by wildlife.

it spooked us safe. they served a purpose, and once you got old enough to realize they're as real as the tooth fairy, they just become enjoyable and nostalgic. because they're you're culture.

probably every mountain kid has stories about haints n boogers that were told to them by their grandparents, and they grow up to tell them to their own kids, and so on. some of it stuck with me because i grew up with the folklore.

by that i mean, i'm a whole 31 year old woman and i still avoid looking out a dark window at night cause it gives me the shivers. i still get spooked when i hear a big cat yowling in the woods. but the difference is i know there's not really haints out there crying--it's just a product of my childhood. ghost stories are fun.

the problem comes in when someone outside the culture gets their hands on appalachian oral folk traditions. then, it becomes a familiar problem: outsiders cherry picking appalachia and harming us with the mess they make rifling through it all.

it's all about the surface level and the visuals. they all love a good aesthetic blog, run by some local from out west or some shit who's never stepped foot here.

but as soon as the spooky photo filters come off and the real life marginalized person is left standing there just out of frame, we go back to being disgusting examples of what not to be. decrepit churches n buildings are aesthetic and quirky until they stop being on a pinterest board, and then they just become damning images of an impoverished region who deserves to be laughed at.

now, not to holler 'splain you--this is more for anyone not from here who might read this: it's been a systemic issue for decades; there were literal government campaigns to demonize us to the rest of the nation so they could garner support to cut into our mountains and exploit our labor and resources.

well, they were fuckin successful, and we have been falsely made out to be this homogenous nightmare of a place--"welfare exploiting" maga country who deserves everything we get, and nothing we don't.

by going so far as to take appalachian folklore that we tell each other and picking out the "aesthetic" stuff--the haints and general paranormal--they are pruning what they like from our culture--the safe things, like ghost stories--for their own aesthetic use.

but not only that, they are using it to demonize us… yet again.

'appalachia is scary. it's full of things that will kill you. don't look out the window at night cause a booger will get you.' only they don't call them boogers cause they ain't even from here. ask them what a haint is and they'll ask if u mispelled 'haunt.'

it gets even worse when you consider that so much of it has roots in native american culture, and how that continues to be exploited and misrepresented.

i'm not even innocent of that. a while back i had to check myself because i made a comment on here about ~spooky appalachia~ ignorant to the fact that what i was commenting on was actually a deeply important cultural and spiritual element to local indigenous tribes. my comments were harmful by my failure to educate myself and know better, thereby saying things carelessly.

my point being--i'm from the area. i should have known better.

when outsiders start saying the kind of shit they say about what they think they hear in the woods without even knowing where such an idea comes from, they're disrespecting a displaced, abused and exploited people, harming real cultures just for clicks without even knowing. that's on top of the damage they're doing to greater appalachia.

it's fuckin gross.

i think my favorite one i ever seen was this middle aged white lady going through her pristine mcmansion somewhere in suburbia, pulling the million curtains and locking the million doors, going "nighttime routine in appalachia!! 🤪🤪"

i could be wrong about this particular person--i didn't check their other tiktoks because im sick of them accounts and tired of giving them the benefit of the doubt--but it immediately came off as a transplant because:

1) mcmansion, 2) i dont know nobody here that locks their shit down like that (not locking up could even be argued as a part of my local culture, a reflection of our deep sense of community and trust in our neighbors).

and then the comments was all like "i don't know how you guys live there" and it actually broke my heart and pissed me off because even if--especially if--you're one of us, why the fuck are you harming us for likes? why are you turning people against us in a brand new way?

and to the transplants that do this--why?

you're not even from here, you moved here to this place you hate and made it worse just so your front porch would have a nice view, and are now benefiting socially from perpetuating bullshit about us?

you buy up all the land, land we often had no choice but to sell in the first place to survive instead of passing it on to our families, land we originally took from the indigenous peoples your content comes from.

you overdevelop it and turn it unrecognizable to make it more like the comfortable cities you come from. you gut a mountain town of its local businesses and cultures, you price people out of their homes...

...and then once you settle in all cozy like, you go tell everyone else how scary it is? how you can't trust the hills? like it's a cool paranormal bravery badge to wear? fuck off entirely.

so idk, in short my personal thoughts are: i personally enjoy a little myth as a treat, because the folklore is a part of the gothic, a part of our culture and a part of my childhood. i don't (intentionally) wield it as a weapon or use it as a pedestal to get the weird brand of attention that people like them are after.

and those who do this can get got by them haints for all i care.

[ravenna-reid]

I SEE RED

[ Part 3 to Crimson Red ]

TW: swearing and violence and maybe like one suggestive line

I'm beyond glad so many of you like this series!! This one is a lil longer, so I hope ya'll don't mind. Reblogs and comments are appreciated :)

˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁

You began to pull your arms away from Jason's waist, but not before his gloved hand quickly enveloped one of yours.

"What are you doing?" His hold was eager, his voice drowning out from the rush of the cars around you.

Rain continued to belt down onto you both, the chill settling deep into your bones.

"I'm gonna need both hands for this! Trust me!" You shouted through the helmet. Jason held onto you a second, hesitant to let go until he focused back onto weaving through the cars with his motorbike.

You and Jason had found out who that sniper was that shot your shoulder and wrecked Jason's apartment. And you both decided to pay him a visit and give him a little gift. Just a mean threat, a few bruises and broken bones here and there. That's all. Actually, you had left half-way to look at the snipers impressive collection of CD's, so you didn't really know what Red Hood did to him. You figured it would have been pretty gruesome given what the man had done to the Hood's apartment, but you didn't realise that Jason was bent on rage due to the fact that the man had shot you.

Now you were both speeding down one of the back streets of Gotham on the back of Red's motorbike. Four cars followed close behind, given the sniper had about a hundred men working for him. Too bad you could only use your abilities on two people at once.

Grabbing onto the grab handle on the back of Jason's seat, you managed to quickly flip around so that your back was against his and you were facing your pursuers. Gripping on tightly with your legs, you prayed you wouldn't fall off the motorbike as you raised your hands.

You could feel every bone. Every vein, organ and muscle. With one hand outstretched, you slowly turned the other. Then, with the slight tilt of your head, you felt the men driving the two cars closest to you struggling for air. Both of the black cars swerved, taking out one another. Two down.

You actually felt that you and Jason had the upper hand. Until you remembered the other cars and saw a man hanging out of one of them, submachine gun in hand. And before you could even raise your hands to snap his fingers, bullets began to rush towards you.

Jason immediately swerved off the road, collecting trash cans and other bits and pieces as he tore down the alley way. Usually, after a while, he'd be able to regain control of his motorbike. But with his mind on you and his arm instinctively reaching to grab you, his motorbike soon began to slide on its side before crashing into a nearby warehouse.

You and Jason sat there a second on the dilapidated motorbike, limbs aching and hearts racing. "Thank the Lord." You let out in a deep breath as you threw your helmet to the ground.

The crash wasn't that bad and you'd both experienced worse. Getting to his feet, Jason looked down at the crushed metal and torn leather and let out a long sigh.

"Fuck, I didn't mean to crash you." Jason continued staring down at it, hands on hips, as you gave him a dramatic pat on the back.

Engines revving and tires screeching. You and Hood both immediately looked down the street as the two cars raced towards you.

"Quick, get in the building." He urged.

You raced in and quickly enveloped yourselves in the darkness and waited. All there was was sound. The click of Jason loading his guns. The sound of yelling and car doors slamming outside. The drip, drip, dripping of a leak in the warehouse. You raised your hands, prepared to fight.

"Do you even know how to fight?" He asked.

You deduced that he must have night vision in his helmet.

"Yes," You hissed. "I did Krav Maga for a few years."

Jason smirked. "Think you could best me?"

"I'd certainly like to try."

The men, with their torches, knives and guns, suddenly stormed the building and your first goal was to wreck the one with the submachine gun. You effortlessly did so and he now lied on the ground writhing in pain. After dealing with a few more men you glanced over at Hood, impressed with his strength and marksman skills. But then it suddenly felt like lead was seeping into your bones and weighing you down.

There were too many men. You desperately tried the best you could. Hiding amongst the shadows and harming two at a time. But they were catching on, some of them starting to realise that you needed both your hands to perform your ability.

You took a strike to the face and doubled over. Red Hood seemed to as well, judging by the sound of his pained yell. Blood stained the cement ground around him as he held onto his ribs, a ghastly gash sitting on his skin beneath his suit. He put up a good fight, but men were kicking at him. One of the men picked up a disregarded crow bar. More were closing in on you.

Fear coursed through your veins like electricity. No, it was more like an itch running through your body. Something you'd never felt before and you couldn't explain. But you weren't about to stop and question it. Instead you closed your eyes and begged that what you were about to do would work.

You elbowed the guy that had one of your arms pinned back before quickly raising them. Slowly, they stopped in their tracks. One by one. Wincing, aching, grunting in pain. Something thick got caught in your throat, and you realised it was too much, but in that moment you didn't care. Your hands trembled as you pushed forward, performing your usual poses. The hold you had over them seemed to have a hold on you too. Because as you forced them all to their knees, you began to sink down to your knees as well.

Jason watched in disbelief and awe. The men were struggling. They were absolutely helpless. Blood began to trickle from their noses and the corner of their mouths. Some were beginning to cry. But you didn't stop until you knew Jason would be safe. Until they were all out cold. And that's exactly what happened.

Pride racked your chest as a dozen men laid before you. Silent and still. You looked over at Jason, a silly smile on your face, before crashing to the floor and hitting it hard.

"Crimson!" Although in pain, Jason made it to you in no time. He quickly pushed the wet hair clinging to your face out of the way. "Hey, you're ok. You're ok." He said, noticing the blood beginning to trickle from your nose. Something wrung his heart like a wet cloth. Hood took the leather jacket from his shoulder and threw it over you. "It's ok, you're going to be fine Crimson."

He continued gripping at you, urging you to respond. But you couldn't talk, your throat burning, so instead you went with a nod. Slowly, his figure became a haze, then a sudden blur of red and grey before

everything

went

black.

You'd woken up the next day tucked into your bed. Silk doona pulled up to your chin. Two glasses of water, headache medication and chicken soup sat on your bedside table. Your fingers raised to brush against the mask that was still on your face. He didn't removed the mask. Your playful smirk soon ended up turning into a genuine smile.

"Thanks Red."

Days went by, and once you were well enough to be out and about again, Jason was ecstatic. He explained everything to you. How he ended up calling back up, how said back up helped him with the men and looking after you.

"Don't worry, afterwards I carried you home myself." He said, assuring you that your location was kept a secret, and a small flutter began in your stomach.

You asked who he had called, but he only replied with a smart ass comment about how your Krav Maga failed you. You rolled your eyes and went about your mission, and Jason smiled beneath his helmet. He couldn't believe what you had done. How you had pushed pass limits and achieved something you didn't know you could. How you had taken those men out simply with a few simple hand movements. You were a prodigy in his eyes. And he was just happy you were ok.

One particularly late night, you sat on your bed after patrol and stared out your bedroom window, letting the moon bathe you in its light before beginning your bed time routine. Neon lights were streaming on the building across from your apartment block. Cars raced on the road down below. The stars were trying hard to be seen, but that was impossible with all the light pollution in Gotham. Your mind continued wandering as you sat there, that was until you heard a squeak from one of the windows in the lounge.

"Hey Red." You said before he even entered your bedroom.

"Hey." He said, setting his helmet down onto your desk.

Jason stood awkwardly at your door, something he'd been doing a lot lately, as he watched you lean down to untie your shoes. Pausing what you were doing, you looked over at him with furrowed brows. He watched as your hair, and that red lace, fell over your shoulder.

"You can come sit down Red."

Jason nodded, cleared his throat, then hesitantly walked over to your bed. Then he sunk into your crimson bedding and took in the warmth of your room. The scent that enveloped it.

Once you finished untying your shoes, you moved closer to Jason and suddenly all the air had been snatched from his lungs. If he had no shame, or if he could actually function, he probably would have asked if you were using your abilities on him.

"Checking on me again?" You asked. It had been the third time this week.

"Maybe." He admitted looking down with a smirk.

"I'm fine now Red, I promise."

You placed your hand on top of his and immediately, he looked up at you. Did you realise what you were doing? Was this simply a friendly gesture? That glint in your eyes said otherwise, and it had him swallowing hard. Shit, could you ever really be his?

You were leaning closer, slowly, surely. Your hand running along his abdomen where the knife cut from that night probably left a scar. Chills ran down his spine, and although he didn't realise it, he was leaning in too. Admiration was evident in Jason's eyes as you stared back, a soft and loving smile adorning your face. Different from your usual smile. A smile he'd never seen before. A smile only he could earn.

"Jason..." You whispered, and shit how he loved how you whispered his name. It was like a whole drum set was now banging and bashing inside of Jason's chest. He raised his hand, warm fingers brushing your cheek before slightly slipping under your mask.

"May I?" He asked reluctantly.

You nodded. "Mmhm."

He pulled your mask off, and once he saw you he had to take a second. He took in every little feature and came to the conclusion he already knew. You were breathtaking. But maybe it was the trust you were showing him that was really making the brutal, sarcastic Red Hood so lovesick.

"Fuck, this is what you've been hiding from me?"

You gave a breathy laugh, your cheeks becoming tinted with pink. Jason leant closer, his breath fanning your skin. Hand tightening around your own, your leg now brushing against his. Until he paused.

"Can I kiss you?"

The fact that he asked made you melt.

You smiled again. "Mmhm."

And suddenly, his lips were on yours. Gentle and tender, almost as though he wasn't sure if this was what you really wanted. After a few seconds of bliss, his doubt got the better of him and he pulled back. But when you crept forward and your hand clutched at his collar to pull him deeper into the kiss, well, then he was all in. Hand gripping your waist whilst the other went to your hair. You felt giddy. Safe. Content.

And as the sounds around you drowned out and the kiss slowly progressed, his lips began to trace your skin....

[ghostlyforxst]

Could I request some fluff for the platonic yandere maga kiribaku au like if the reader was scared of storms and tu were being punished and left to sleep alone in the cold but then a storm starts and they start crying or the start to shake because the at scared .

I will understand if you can't do this but thank you anyway.

GENDER: Gender Neutral Reader

WARNINGS: Astraphobia, Snake Creatures, and Fluff

CHARACTERS: Kirishima Eijirou and Katsuki Bakugo

WORD COUNT: 325

A/N- Thank you for requesting, hope this meets you expectations!

Your hair billowed in the sighs of the intensifying winds, discerning the skies rumbling with an imminent storm and the subtle lighting zipping throughout the night sky. You curl up into your quivering body in the cusp of the nest away from the snoozing serpents. You've been awake for the past hour, unable to receive a lick of sleep. Your eyes and ears were fooling you, hallucinating hair-raising creatures in the darkness and hearing odd noises derived from it—your deceiving organs and the nearing storm had you distressed undeniably.

Admittedly it was stupid of you, you wouldn’t be facing this situation if you hadn’t said those nasty words. The guilt you felt after shouting awfully about their deceased snakelings and how much you detested them, the guilty pressure worsening when you perceived Kirishima’s lips wobbling with tears and Bakugo’s face saddening. You felt your own tears bubble up, your trembling heightening as the wind whisked the downpour into the hollow tree and onto you.

Unknowingly the two nagas laid awake with you and listened to your tiny sniffles, wrestling with themselves to not yank you into them and coddle you—it was crushing them, they themselves couldn't sleep without you between them.

Your heart quickened and your cries became more noisily as the lighting flared more frequently, yelping as it struck a tree nearby. Bakugo and Kirishima raised abruptly, eyeing your soaking form concerningly.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Kirishima asked, wincing as his fingers reached over and caressed your cold skin.

You peered up at him and whispered, "no, I hate storms."

"Awe baby…" Kirishima cooed, swooping you into his arms.

"I'm sorry." You spoke hushly, nestling into his chest with a pleased hum. "For earlier."

Kirishima and Bakugo smiled, nuzzling into you and swathing you with their tails. "It's alright, my snakeling."

[e-dubbc11]

Ericca, my love. A huge congratulations on your follower celebration. You deserve every single one and a thousand more 🥳❤️

So... I wanna push you out of your comfort zone a little and request a little drabble made from a gif and I'm gonna choose our dear Rumlow 😉

But also... can I pair it with a kiss prompt? "If you win, I'll kiss you"

No pressure at all, since you haven't written for Rumlow before, but I hope this could inspire you 😁❤️

My lovely Lily,

Thank you for being such a good friend to me, you’re always so supportive and encouraging. And thank you for following me and being a part of my celebration. It means so much to me that you read my fics and our daily chats are some of the best parts of my day.

And thank you for this ask, I’m REALLY nervous about writing for Rumlow so I hope you like what I did here. Oh and it’s a little more than a drabble 🤣

Never Again

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of domestic abuse, injuries as a result of said abuse, lessons in boxing and Krav Maga, little violent.

Word Count: 3.9k-ish

Summary: You’re relatively new in town and you start working out at a nearby gym where you notice someone there that could help you with a problem from your past.

A/N: So yes this is my first time writing for Rumlow, I’m terrified but I had fun writing for someone new. And it’s a little longer than I intended but such is life! I hope you like it. And this has a very J Lo in Enough feel to it.

*********

You passed that building every day on your way to the gym. It was intimidating to look at even from across the water, wondering what was inside, wondering if anyone was looking down at you as you drove by the large complicated building with more windows than you could count but it was the building that he headed for every day after his workout.

Well, he did on the days that you and he finished your workouts at the same time.

Sometimes you would sneak into the part of the gym that had the boxing ring and watch him while you jumped rope, not well, but it was passable. He was amazing to watch, dominating his sparring partners with what looked like a combination of fighting styles.

Boxing, Krav Maga, Karate, and probably a few more but you didn’t know the difference. You had no idea how to fight, but you wanted to learn.

It might be helpful the next time your ex finds you because you knew there would be a next time.

The daily routine of trying to cover your bruises with makeup was exhausting and you didn’t want to do it anymore, you didn’t want to be scared anymore so you decided you were going to approach him.

He had a daunting look to him, wild brown hair, amber colored eyes, days old stubble, and his face always looked like he was filled with a dark rage but you had caught him smiling a couple of times when he wasn’t busy being cranky. So he did know how to smile but it was painfully obvious he didn’t do it very often.

After an aggressive run on the treadmill, you turned to step off and crashed right into him. He looked annoyed at first but when he looked into your eyes, his expression softened. You immediately apologized.

“Shit, I am so so sorry. Are you ok?” You asked, wiping the sweat off of your face.

Anger returned to his face when he looked at yours.

When you had wiped the sweat off of your face, you had taken some of your makeup with it, uncovering the greenish-yellow bruise around your eye that you had forgotten was there.

“Who did that to you?” He asked with a gruff tone to his voice.

Not remembering you had a bruise around your eye, you replied to his question. “Did what?”

He moved in closer and feeling his breath against your eyelashes, he gently turned your face toward the mirrors along the wall.

“That! Who did THAT to you?” He repeated again.

Quickly turning away from the mirrors and breaking away from his touch, you lied to him.

“Oh I’m just really clumsy, I walked into the corner of the door.” You said.

He seemed annoyed with your answer. “Right, if you say so, Miss. Have a good day.” And with that, he turned to leave.

But you didn’t want him to. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“WAIT!” You called out.

He stopped, turned and waited for you to catch up to him.

“Teach me…please.” You begged. “I’ve tried restraining orders, the police, they won’t help me. I feel like you might be the only one who can…I’ve seen you fight.”

He dropped his bag from his shoulder, placed his hands on his hips, and glanced at the ground before returning his gaze to you. The heat coming from his body hit your exposed skin and sent a shiver down your spine.

The muscles in his arms flexed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and returned his arms to rest at his sides. Bending at the waist, he picked up his gym bag and started to walk away.

Your stomach dropped as you watched him walk away before he turned to look at you once again.

“Be here tomorrow…noon. I’m Brock…Rumlow. Be ready to work. If you are thirty seconds late, I’m walking.” He said.

“Of course, yes I will be here Mr. Rumlow.” You said in a shaky tone. “I’m y/n.”

Brock cracked a slight smile. “Just Brock, sweetheart. I’ll see ya tomorrow. And do me a favor…”

He closed the distance between your bodies so he could whisper in your ear.

“Leave those bruises uncovered. I want you to take one more look at them because after I’m done with you, those will be the last set of bruises he’ll ever give you.” He growled and he walked away without turning back.

You had a feeling you were in for a long afternoon tomorrow.

**********

The clock said 11:45.

You made sure you weren’t just on time, you were early, changed and ready to work. You saw Brock walk in and head straight for the locker room, he was dressed in what looked like tactical clothing, all black from head to toe and black boots. He noticed you waiting for him and he held up one finger as if to tell you “one minute” or “be right out.”

You had done as he requested and left all of your visible bruises uncovered. The one around your eye was going away but you could still see the greenish-yellow mark on your face and also the hand and fingerprints on your arms and neck.

Feeling self-conscious, you tried to position yourself in a way where they weren’t so visible but it didn’t do any good. You felt like everyone was staring at you, even though they weren’t. They didn’t look as bad as they did before and they were also taking a long time to fade.

He emerged from the locker room dressed in black shorts, sneakers, and a white muscle shirt, plus his signature sour look to his face. But you had to admit, that look was rather sexy.

You watched carefully as Brock taped up your hands and then taped up his own. You were a fast learner so you should be able to tape up your own hands tomorrow, if you lasted through your first workout.

“Ya ever done any self-defense or boxing before, sweetheart?” He asked.

You shook your head before answering him. “No, never.”

“Ok…well, hope you’re ready to work.” He said.

“I am.” You replied.

And he did work you, he worked you harder than you’ve probably worked out ever before. He started with the basics…how to stand, loose knees, elbows tucked in, and the basic punches.

Brock showed you the jab, the cross, and the hook. Then taught you some of the basic combination punches: 1-2 (jab-right cross), 1-1-2 (jab-jab-cross), and the 1-2-hook-2.

Your time together went by quickly. And more than once you had caught Brock looking at the blue and purple marks on your upper arms as you threw punch after punch, encouraging you and praising you for when he thought you did a good job.

During one of your water breaks, he asked you, “When did you leave him?”

He caught you off guard, you weren’t expecting him to converse except when he was giving you lessons but it was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t yelling at you. Brock was surprisingly gentle.

He would always ask and make sure it was alright before he put his hands on you to show you something and his voice was stern but he never yelled at you which was comforting.

“Oh, awhile ago but he always manages to find me wherever I go, hence these bruises.” You pointed to the bruise around your eye.

“And he doesn’t know where you are now?” He asked.

“No, not yet but he has connections and money so I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he does. This time I thought I’d try a bigger city, maybe he wouldn’t look for me here in D.C. but I’m just tired of running and being afraid, Brock.”

The man of few words had even less to say than he did before. He was silent, the look in his eyes was sad but not sorry. He didn’t seem the type to feel sorry for people but it was almost like he was proud of you for escaping, for leaving when a lot of people would just stay and take it.

You didn’t want to be one of them.

“Why does he keep chasing you then? What does he want?” He asked.

“I took something. Something that meant more to him than I ever did.” You said.

Brock looked like he was on the edge of his seat waiting to hear what you were going to say, before you cracked a sly smile and said,

“I took the cat.” Followed by a light giggle.

A smile stretched across his lips bigger than you had ever seen him smile before and he started shaking his head.

“The cat? You took the fuckin’ cat?” He asked in a surprised tone.

“Hey, Peanut is MY cat, not his!” You said, sass dripping from your voice.

Taking a sip of water, he inched closer to you while you were seated at the edge of the boxing ring and he was standing. Bending at the waist, he rested his hands on his knees so his eyes were level with yours.

You swallowed hard and heat rose to your cheeks as he continued to stare at you before he said in a low voice.

“I just don’t wanna see you get hurt anymore and especially not because of a cat, sweetheart.” He said.

His words didn’t faze you on the outside but on the inside you felt hot, and butterflies appeared from the depths of your stomach but you kept yourself calm and collected before responding to him.

“Well that’s why I have you, right? To teach me, I mean.” You said softly and trying to make it sound like you DIDN’T find him attractive, but you were pretty sure you were failing miserably.

He broke the awkward silence between you.

“Ya ready to do it again tomorrow?” He asked. “I gotta get to work.”

“Oh yes, absolutely but I’d really like to pay you for your time…please?” You asked.

Brock pressed his lips together in a straight line and shook his head furiously. “No, no I don’t want your money, doll. I honestly think you’re a natural fighter and I wanna teach you everything I know so you can be prepared, alright?” His voice was rough and stern.

You nodded and nervously bit down on your lower lip before changing the subject.

“Was that your work uniform you walked in wearing earlier? Can you tell me what you do or if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me?” You joked.

Brock smiled again. “Some other time, sweetheart. I’ll see ya tomorrow, same time.” He handed you a roll of tape. “Ya think you can tape up by yourself tomorrow?”

“I can do it.” You said, confidently.

He extended his index finger to point at you. “Ya know I’m gonna check it, right?”

“I know, I said I can do it, Brock.” You said with a slightly annoyed voice.

You hated being doubted.

“Ok, ok I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He said, throwing up his hands with a smug smile on his face.

**********

6 Months Later

“Come on, you can do better than that Princess!” He said condescendingly through gnashed teeth as you fought to free yourself from the tight grip he had you in, pinned against the wall. “Ya want his hands around ya pretty little neck like this again?! DO YOU?!!!” He yelled. “Come on, y/n!!

Six months ago, he never would have dared to grab you like that or yell in your face but you were much stronger now than you were then.

His hot breath hit against your face, and you managed to turn to the side, your elbow hit his forearm and his hand bent up at the wrist and you were able to quickly elbow him three times in the face.

In the six months Brock had been training you, you’ve managed to graduate from the basic boxing moves to Krav Maga where he really taught you how to protect yourself and how to inflict pain on your enemy.

You were making quick work of the sparring partners he had brought in for you to practice against. They were becoming less and less challenging and there was only one person you wanted to spar against to make you feel like if your ex attacked you, you would have the confidence to fight him off and that was Brock.

He had awakened something inside of you that you wouldn’t have known was there if it wasn’t for him. When he first started training you and said you were a natural fighter, you wanted to prove him right, that you could fight and you had the strength to not be pushed around anymore.

And the only way you were going feel good enough about your new fighting skills is if you could defeat him one on one.

“You’re gettin’ good, sweetheart…real good. Those guys are a little too easy for you, aren’t they. What do ya wanna do about it?” He asked.

“I wanna spar with you, Rumlow.” You said, breathing heavily.

Brock scratched his chin and playfully chuckled at you while shaking his head. “No, you ain’t ready for me yet, doll…you’re just not. You’re good but you’re not THAT good.” He said smugly.

You narrowed your eyes at him and suddenly became very agitated. The man was so sure that you couldn’t beat him, that he wasn’t even willing to give you a chance to prove him wrong.

Working out very close to Brock for the past six months caused you to develop some deeper feelings toward him too. Yes, you were friends but also you felt maybe he had an attraction to you like you had toward him.

There were subtle hints like you’d catch him staring at you while you were taping up your hands or getting a drink of water. Sometimes he’d wink at you when you performed well on a lesson he was teaching you. And he was smiling just a little bit more than you were used to seeing.

Anytime he put his hands on you during a lesson, he would always ask if it was ok or if he hurt you in any way to just tell him.

He never wanted to push too hard in case you weren’t ready for that yet. Sometimes after your lessons, you would take him out for a beer and he’d ask you questions about you ex.

“You can always tell me to fuck off if I’m askin’ too much, ya know. I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to talk about. Please don’t feel like you have answer me if you don’t want to. I don’t even know him but I wanna kill him for hurting ya.” He had said.

You gave him a warm smile. “I don’t really know anyone else in this city except a couple of co-workers. I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it, Brock. No other friends so thank you for listening.” You had said.

You had a feeling that he wanted to kiss you but he didn’t. Did he stop himself because he thought of you as damaged? Did he think he was taking advantage of your teacher/student relationship?

Sometimes it was all you could think about after you went home for the day. You had dreams about his lips colliding with yours, teeth nipping at your chin and jawline, and his calloused hands exploring your body, touching you in a way that you’ve wanted him to from the first second you saw him.

But maybe he was a betting man.

“You don’t think I can win, do you.” You said.

He thought he could catch you off guard by trying to punch you in the face but you were fast and blocked him.

“I ain’t gonna take it easy on ya, Princess. You know he won’t either.” And he threw another punch at you with the other fist, which you also blocked.

“I wasn’t asking you to.” You said with a coy smile before elbowing him in the stomach. “How about a little wager?”

“What do ya have in mind, y/n?” He asked.

You pondered for a brief moment. “If I win, you have to tell me what you do for work that requires you to wear all that tactical clothing.”

“Ok. And if I win?” He asked.

You moved in close so the two of you were sharing the same air, you were both breathing heavily and as your breath hit the skin on his throat, goosebumps skirted across his skin and he gazed down at you with a primal look in his eyes.

Looking up at him through your long dark lashes, you answered. “If you win, I’ll kiss you, since you’re apparently too chicken to do it.”

Brock wasn’t afraid of anything so now he was determined to win. The devilish smile that stretched across his lips told you he definitely wasn’t going to hold back and he would do whatever he had to make sure he wins the bet.

He had taught you to be very aware of your surroundings, aware of things that could be problematic like tables and other furniture that could get in the way if you had to fight off your ex in your own home but right now you were surrounded by gym equipment, the boxing ring, and the walls.

“You got yourself a bet, sweetheart.” He said.

“Well ring the bell and let’s go, Rumlow.” You replied.

As soon as that bell rang, he came after you and throwing different combination punches and kicks at you. Since Brock was bigger than you, you thought it would be best to try and wear him down so he’d make a mistake. You would use his size and strength to your advantage, ducking and weaving as he threw punch after punch at you.

Throwing all of his weight behind those punches was making him tired as you danced around him, punching him in between the shoulder blades and kicking him behind the knees but he didn’t stay down.

The rage in his eyes that you were so used to seeing everyday had returned as he got his second wind. Keeping his punches close to his body this time, he tried to get you to bring your hands down by attacking your body but you pulled him close to knee him in the stomach. Using all of your strength to throw him to the mat, only to watch him roll and get right back up again.

He was fast, really fast, but you took notice of his fighting patterns so you could counter with combination moves of your own.

You had to get him to the mat, it was the only way you were going to beat him. Suddenly you felt a hand around your throat like he had done earlier but this time being in the corner of the ring.

There wasn’t as much leverage you could use against the ropes as you could against the wall to try and free yourself but he left himself open, his legs were too far apart so you were able to take a swipe at his front leg causing him to fall to the mat.

Kneeing him in the chin, he fell flat on his back and you saw your opportunity to wrap your legs around his neck, in the hopes that he would yield…which he did.

“Fuck, your legs are strong!” He exclaimed, breathing deeply and trying his best to catch his breath after you climbed off of him.

You were trying to catch your breath also as you wiped the sweat from your brow. “S-so I’ve b-been told.” You said panting and trying to smile at the same time.

Brock stood up carefully so he wouldn’t lose his balance. Maybe in that brief moment in between your legs, you cut off his air supply which made you chuckle a little.

You removed your sparring helmet and started to take the fingerless fighting gloves and tape off of your hands. He did the same before he spoke again.

“Well y/n…looks like you beat me, fair and square. I supposed I gotta tell you what I do for a living now, don’t I.” He said, looking defeated.

You threw the helmet and the tape onto the mat and slowly walked over to him, still trying to catch your breath. You stopped inches away from him, the heat radiating through his t-shirt as you rested your hand against his chest and the other touched his cheek.

“Maybe another time.” You said, pushing yourself up onto your toes and gently pressing your lips to his.

Feeling how tense his body was, you pulled away and apologized only to have him pull you flush to his chest and his lips mash against yours as if he was trying to flatten and destroy your mouth.

His stubble scratched your cheeks but his lips felt so good against yours, his tongue slipped into your mouth causing you to softly moan and gasp into his mouth.

Winding strands of your hair in his fingers, he gently bit down on your bottom lip and gripped your head firmly as if to keep you from escaping.

But you let your guard down and he knew it so he swept your feet out from under you causing you to fall backwards onto the mat.

“Hey! You yielded, Rumlow!” You yelled, looking up at him. A rare genuine smile stretched across his lips. “Careful, you pull shit like that and you’re gonna end up with your head between my legs again.”

He helped you to your feet, pulling you in close and his voice sounded like a hiss from a dying fire as he whispered in your ear.

“The next time my head is between your legs, sweetheart, it will be because you want me there, trust me.” He said with a wicked smile.

His words, the gruff tone of his voice, the look he gave you…all sent delightful sparks down your spine and a guttural moan escaped your lips as he attacked your lips once again.

Caught in his firm embrace, his lips traced up and down the side of your neck before his hands gripped the hem of your t-shirt. Brock was just about to pull it over your head when you both heard knocking on the boxing ring doors and voices.

“Time’s up, Rumlow!!!” They said.

You broke apart quickly and laughed a little with each other before he yelled to the people outside the doors.

“Alright!! Just gimme a second!” He bellowed.

It’s a good thing your face was already flushed from the workout so the people that walked into the room couldn’t tell that you were blushing. Biting down on your thumb, you waited for him to come back into the ring.

“I, uh, guess we’re done for the day.” You said with a warm smile.

He replied. “Let’s go, doll. I’ll take ya home.”

After many long kisses outside your apartment door, and even though you didn’t want to, you finally said goodbye to Brock. Your heavy make out session at the gym made you realize that before having him in between your legs again, maybe a date first would be a better decision.

Smiling from ear to ear as you closed the door, you placed your keys on the table and put down your gym bag.

And that’s when he made his presence known. There was a touch of acid in that cold, hard voice of his when he spoke.

“Hello sweetheart. You’re getting better and better at covering your tracks. I’m impressed. Miss me?”

He had found you…again. And by the tone of his voice, he sounded like he wasn’t letting you get away this time.

Others that may enjoy: @fluffyprettykitty @qu1etwolf @redstarsandnightmares @gijos

[kp777]

by Tim Karr

Common Dreams

Nov. 16, 2023

Democracy suffers when a commercial media system showcases fascist demagogues for profit.

There is no bottom for MAGA’s top man. At a speech delivered on Veterans Day, Donald Trump used rhetoric nearly identical to that used by Adolf Hitler 80 years earlier.

Rather than honoring veterans as one might expect of a political speech on this day, Trump used the occasion to label his adversaries “vermin” — promising that, if elected, he would use his power to “root out” all his political enemies.

The Washington Post’s Aaron Blake found the parallels: Hitler frequently used vermin references to justify the murder of Jews and others across Europe, while “Trump has used it more broadly to suggest that his opponents are subhuman” and deserve punishment.

Without calling themselves to account for the damage they've done, media executives will never quit their Trump habit

Parroting Hitler should not be considered normal behavior in any election cycle. But the media have grown used to covering Trump’s extremism as if it’s standard political fare. This time, though, some journalists rightly saw his Veterans Day speech as very dangerous.

“It’s important to emphasize that Trump’s rhetorical excesses are not new. To know anything about the Republican is to know that he, on a nearly daily basis, finds new and needlessly provocative ways to shock, offend, insult, and degrade,” wrote Steve Benen for MSNBC.

What is new, however, is the growing number of reporters and commentators being more explicit in their use of the term “fascist” to describe Trump’s beliefs — and “dictatorship” to describe what his return to power would represent for the future of U.S. democracy.

The media aren’t sounding these sorts of alarms enough, according to Margaret Sullivan, who wrote about the mounting evidence that Trump is indeed a fascist. “The press generally is not doing an adequate job of communicating those realities,” she said. “Instead, journalists have emphasized Joe Biden’s age and Trump’s ‘freewheeling’ style. They blame the public’s attitudes on ‘polarization,’ as if they themselves have no role.”

Sullivan urges more members of the press to report on the dark prospect of a second Trump presidency. They should “ask voters directly whether they are comfortable with [Trump’s] plans, and report on that. Display these stories prominently, and then do it again soon,” she wrote.

The ‘F’ word

Sullivan is right, of course. The media need to report more on the rise of fascism in America, and they also need to reflect on their role in enabling this. For decades the former president has capitalized on the media’s obsessive attention to paint an alternative vision of himself — one in which he features not as a twice-impeached, criminally indicted sexual abuser who sought to overthrow a democratic election that he lost, but as a decisive and winning strongman, the only person with the power and charisma to make America great again.

Media execs have played along with Trump’s charade, aware that his tele-presence is a boon for ratings and revenues. In 2016, then-CBS CEO Les Moonves said that devoting so much airtime to then-candidate Trump “may not be good for America, but it’s damn good for CBS.” At the time, Moonves was praising Trump for the bumper crop of political-ad dollars brought in during the contentious 2016 election, but he was not alone.

Former media executive Jeff Zucker has arguably done more than any single person to burnish the 21st-century caricature of Donald Trump. While an executive at NBC, he greenlit The Apprentice, which remade Trump from a bankruptcy-spawning loser into a boardroom genius with impeccable business savvy.

When Trump entered the political fray in 2015, he did so with an Apprentice tailwind. Zucker, who by then had transitioned to the top job at CNN, trained the network’s cameras on his celebrity candidate while denying equal time to Trump’s Republican opponents. Ratings were also Zucker’s rationale for keeping Trump center stage in 2016.

The media chose Trump in 2016 well before most Republican voters had a chance to vote for any of the other GOP candidates in the race.

And it didn’t end there. In 2020, Mathias Döpfner, head of German media giant Axel Springer, sent a message asking the company’s executives if they wanted to “get together for an hour on the morning on Nov. 3 and pray that Donald Trump will again become President of the United States of America?” Döpfner justified this question by praising the Trump administration for supporting issues, like corporate tax breaks and reining in big tech, that benefitted Axel Springer.

The profit incentive

If you’re noticing a pattern, it's this: Democracy suffers when a commercial media system showcases fascist demagogues for profit.

That seems obvious enough, but it’s worth repeating: News media companies rely on ratings and related advertising revenues to survive. In other words, the news business is about putting on a show that will draw the largest numbers of viewers. And Trump — like Hitler and Mussolini before him — is a camera-ready showman.

More important matters like correcting Trump’s many falsehoods or reporting on the troubling consequences of a second Trump presidency are secondary for those who just want to draw more attention to their primetime offerings.

Former executives, like Moonves and Zucker (who for a variety of unsavory reasons have since left their companies), and existing ones, like Döpfner, were saying that as long as Trump’s autocratic extremism makes them richer, there’s no need to worry about the consequences. Never mind that, if elected, he’d likely use his power to undermine media freedom and silence dissenting voices.

The commercial U.S. media system needs to undergo deep reckoning for accommodating the rise of Trumpism. This atonement should be reflected in a shift in the ways large outlets report on Trump, but also by recognizing the commercial incentives that drive media to lead with the Trump Show, damn the far-right repercussions.

Without calling themselves to account for the damage they've done, media executives will never quit their Trump habit — not in 2024, nor at any point after.

Our work is licensed under Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). Feel free to republish and share widely.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Things They Carried: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Cole is back in Dean's life, not to kill him but to ask for his help. A worm is making its way through people and eventually through Cole, giving you the perfect opportunity to get the chaos you're craving.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

The room you've been trapped in is a bit lighter instead of being pitch-black darkness. There is enough light shining in to see that this room doesn't have any windows. How is the light getting in?

"Hello? Anyone there? Someone please help me," you yell.

In a fit of frustration, you send a ball of blue magic at the wall and it bounces off several before exploding at your feet. You turn and see a door with a small window on it that wasn't there a second ago. You've stared at this wall for several days and there hasn't been a door there. Now there is. Where the hell are you? What is going on? You walk over to the door and peer through the window. The window is small enough that you can't see much but then someone walks by and your heart soars in happiness.

"Dean! Dean! I'm in here! Hey!" You bang on the door to get his attention but all he does is walk back and forth in front of the door like he's on patrol. "Dean, please help me. I want to go home!" You keep banging on the door in hopes it'll get him to come over. "Please! Dean!"

Dean winces in pain and presses his fingers to his temples. His headaches are getting worse and if he thinks hard enough, he can hear you begging and crying out for him. No, he must be imagining things. He wants to imagine you near him. Your voice isn't real. It's all in his head. Through the pain of his headache, he gets dressed for the day and heads to the library where Sam is. The Bunker door opens and he pops his head into the war room to see you come down the metal stairs in last night's clothes.

"Where have you been all night?"

"You're not my mother. I don't have to tell you everything I do," you scoff.

"Hey, come check this out. I think I got something," Sam says from the library.

"A case? What case?"

"I thought you weren't interested in hunting anymore?" Dean asks as you two walk into the library.

"Well, I've got nothing better to do at the moment. Plus, I'm not interested in saving people. Hunting is a different story. I'll be in the car."

"You didn't hear what the case was about."

"I don't care," you say as you walk out of the library.

Sam shakes his head and hands over a tablet with an article about a soldier who has died.

"The vic was trained in Krav Maga and jiu-jitsu, and she still ended up with her organs drained, and the marrow was sucked completely out of the bones."

"Cannibalism? Are you thinking it's a rugaru?"

"Or a God, maybe."

"Give me ten and I'll meet you by the car."

After the long drive to North Carolina, you walk into the Fayetteville police station and are greeted by a group of police officers enjoying pieces of cake. The bell on top of the door rings and they all look at you. One of them sets his cake down and breaks apart from the group to greet you.

"Agents, l gather?"

Uh, was it the suits, or do we give off some sort of a Fed stench?" Dean asks.

"It's the suits," the sheriff stutters. "What can l do for you folks?"

"We are here investigating the death of Private Jackie Prescott."

"Sorry to waste your time, agents, but you wasted a trip. We wrapped that one up hours ago. We know the man who did it--Rick Willis."

"What makes you so sure it was him?"

The sheriff grabs the murder file and flips through the pages.

"His fingerprints were all over the storage room out on the base where he did it. He even left his dog tags by the body."

"Is he in custody?"

"No, the bastard drank a boatload of gasoline and then lit himself on fire. Helluva way to go, if I'm honest. He left behind a wife and baby. He's the third suicide we've seen in six months. Would you like some cake?"

"Yeah," Dean immediately says.

Sam stops him from grabbing it and Dean pouts slightly.

"No, uh, you know what? Uh, we're okay," Sam stutters.

"No, it's really good. My partner made it."

"It looks great, but we're alright. We do have one more question. Were there any bite marks found on the body?"

"No. The vic was killed with a Bowie."

"Thanks for your time."

You three leave and you let your hair down in soft waves. It hurts when you have your hair in a ponytail.

"Well, that's a waste of our time. I say we head to the beach," you grin.

"We're not leaving," Sam rolls his eyes. "No bite marks means a rugaru didn't do it. What are you thinking? A God?"

"I don't think so. The guy Molotov-cocktailed himself. That's bonkers. That's like demon-possession bonkers. We should talk to Rick's wife if she's up for it."

That's where you head next. You're waiting for them to royally screw this up. You're not interested in saving people. You're not interested in their lives. You're only interested in the chaos all this death is going to bring you. That's why you tagged along. If something tragic doesn't start soon, you're going to have to make your own.

Beth, Rick's wife, let you into her house to talk to her even though she doesn't seem in the right mind to answer questions. Sam and Dean handle all the questioning while you're off to the side looking at the many pictures she has of her and her husband. You're so glad you're not plagued by pictures of your past.

"Rick did it." You pull your eyes from the pictures and look at her. "I'm not trying to say that he didn't. I mean, he just got back from deployment and we've all seen what it can do to a soldier's mind. My Rick . . . when he's home and good . . . I have to kill the spiders, you know? Rick was a kind soul. He never took more life than he had to."

Did you notice anything strange or weird like violent mood swings? Or weird smells?" Sam asks.

"No, but Rick was so... He was thirsty."

"Thirsty for what?"

"Water. He'd spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. Then, one night, I caught him in the tub drinking the bathwater. When l told him to stop, it was like he couldn't even hear me. His skin got so dry it bled."

"Did he see a doctor?"

"I took him to the VA but he just got on a list to get on a list. Then, he stopped talking and just wasn't himself. I thought maybe it was PTSD," she cries.

You roll your eyes in annoyance. This is not the kind of tragedy you're hoping for.

"We're very sorry," Sam sighs.

"You said that Rick was recently deployed. Do you have any idea where?"

"No, that stuff is classified. They don't even let the wives in on it."

"Okay, we'll leave you alone now but if something comes up, anything at all, please give us a call."

Sam hands her his business card. You're the first one to the door, eager to get the hell out of here, but she stops you.

"There's one other thing. I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She's married to Kit Verson, a guy from Rick's team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing."

"Thank you."

You three leave and you turn to the brothers.

"I don't remember hunting being this irritating."

"You're the one who wanted to come with us. This is part of hunting. Either shut the hell up or leave."

You glare at your husband but don't say another word about it. Jemma, once she knows you just came from Rick's house, eagerly lets you in to tell you her story. Much like before, you let the brothers handle the questioning while you're off to the side looking at pictures of her and Kit.

"Can you tell us more about Kit?" Sam asks.

"Kit's been going through some stuff for sure. It takes him a while to get back to normal, but he always does."

"What about you? How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay, for the most part. With what happened to Rick and Beth... it's been hard."

"May we speak to your husband?" Dean asks.

"He went out last night but he should be back any minute. You know, he comes back from these deployments and he needs his space."

"He's been out all night?" you ask.

"Yeah." Both brothers look at each other with knowing looks. "God. I can't even convince myself. I'm worried. This isn't like him."

"Has he been thirsty? Like 'drink out of the dog bowl' thirsty?"

"How did you know?" she gasps.

You look out the window and see Cole Trenton, the man who has been obsessed with Dean even when he was a demon. You lock eyes with Dean and gesture to him with your eyes, and he stands up quickly. You don't bother saying anything to Jemma as you leave her house, but Sam and Dean wrap up the conversation quickly. Cole is leaning against the Impala with his arms crossed.

"I recognized your wheels."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asks.

"Jemma called me in. I've known Kit since we were military brats raisin' hell on the same base. He's a good man."

"No one's saying he's not."

"Oh, really, now? So, what are you three here for, Jemma's sweet tea? You want to tell me why you're really here?"

"You got a lot of nerve coming in and demanding answers," you glare and step up to him. "Watch yourself."

"Hey, stop," Dean whispers and pulls you away from Cole. "We're working a case."

"Kit's case?"

"Honestly, we're not sure just yet but it's looking like it."

"Says you."

"You really want to dial it back, hot shot," you smirk. You raise your hand and show off your powerful magic. It's only a wisp or two but it's enough to send a message. "Or you might not like what happens next."

"There's a murder-suicide in town. Your buddy Kit is in the same unit as the killer with the same whacked-out antics. Like it or not, we're not going anywhere. If you care about your friend, you'll let us handle this."

"Nah, I think I'm coming with you."

"The hell you are," you scoff.

"I got contacts. I can help. For example, a friend of mine works in military intelligence who owes me a favor."

"Would he know what Rick and Kit's mission was?" Sam asks.

"Sure, and he'd tell me all about it."

Sam and Dean look at each other before sighing.

"Fine," Dean rolls his eyes.

"No, it ain't. I'm going to make sure my friend comes home in one piece, okay? l know what you three are thinking, but we are not gonna hunt my best friend who happens to be a fucking war hero, by the way. We are gonna find him, and that's the difference."

"No, I was thinking how pretty your head would look like on a stick," you shake your head.

"Stop it. I mean it," Dean hisses in your ear.

"Listen, we're right there with you. Kit's a hero, but you have to prepare yourself. Kit might not be Kit anymore," Sam says.

Dean decides this is a good time to get some food so he takes everyone to the nearest joint that serves a good burger. Everyone gets something but you. You're not hungry for food. With Cole being here, it might raise the exact trouble you're looking for.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[originalleftist]

July 4th is going to feel different this year.

America has had many dark times. There have been countless betrayals of the ideals expressed in the Declaration of Independence, including by the slaving r*pist who wrote it.

But never, in the 248 years since it was written and we cast off King George, has America had a ruler who was above the law. Until now.

(This is not a dig at Biden- he did not ask for the power that SCOTUS has given the office of the Presidency, they did not mean it for him, I've seen him get more blame from Democrats and Leftists for not behaving like an autocrat to fight MAGA, and this SCOTUS would probably try to add a "Applies only to Republicans" exemption if he did. But the fact remains that, by law, the President of the United States is now, formally, above the law.)

[darkmaga-retard]

[abigailspinach]

“How often in 100 days do you get to change the trajectory of the world? How often in 100 days do you get to do something that’s going to impact generations to come?” Walz asked. “And how often in the world do you make that bastard wake up afterwards and know that a Black woman kicked his a**, sent him on the road?”

The line was well received on the call and almost immediately grabbed headlines. For many Democrats, at least, the online virality – with apologies to Biden’s “Dark Brandon” meme – was the kind they have pined for over the past few years.

Walz also has a personal story befitting the zeitgeist – a family history, as he discussed last month, of infertility troubles, with his wife of three decades, Gwen, which allows him to speak with some authority against opponents or skeptics of in vitro fertilization, or IVF.

“My oldest daughter’s name is Hope. That’s because my wife and I spent seven years trying to get pregnant, needed fertility treatments, things like IVF – things (MAGA Republicans) would ban,” Walz told Harris supporters. “These guys are the anti-freedoms.”

And to draw a bright, cheeky line under his own childhood experience, Walz – not for the last time – recounted that he “grew up in a small town: 400 people, 24 kids in the class, 12 cousins.”

Prior to Congress, Walz was a high school teacher and football coach and served in the Army National Guard. Over more than a decade in Congress, he assembled a fairly centrist voting record. As a first-time campaigner, he opposed a ban on same-sex marriage and supported abortion rights. And once in Congress, he balanced that out with comparatively more conservative positions on gun rights, which resulted in scoring a National Rifle Association endorsement. Walz has since fallen out of favor with the gun lobby over his support for gun safety actions as governor.

“I think he was a solid Democratic member of the House with a few twists - focus on ag, farmers, rural areas,” said Democratic strategist Jeff Blodgett, a longtime aide to the late Sen. Paul Wellstone. “I think that he wanted to protect rifles and things of that nature as a rural congressman.”

Walz ran for governor in 2018, emerging victorious by a double-digit margin. He won reelection in 2022 with 52 percent of the vote. As governor Walz had to grapple with divided government and slim majorities in the state Legislature. But in 2022, the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party (as the state’s Democratic Party is known) won control of both the state House and Senate giving Walz’s party a slim “trifecta” of legislative control.

That allowed Walz to sign into law a raft of expansive social welfare programs such as free lunch for public school students, expansive access to Medicaid, increased protections that allow workers to unionize and expanded medical and family paid family leave.

Through the trifecta, Minnesota Democrats were also able to codify abortion rights into law, increase transgender rights protections, pass a marijuana legalization bill and install new gun safety laws. Progressives hailed the work as an example of all that Democrats could achieve. Former President Barack Obama wrote in a tweet praising the most recent legislative session that it was a “reminder that elections have consequences.”

Walz touted the trifecta’s work in a combative 2023 State of the State address.

“There’s nowhere quite like Minnesota right now,” he told the audience of lawmakers. “Together, we’re not just showing the people of Minnesota what we’re capable of in delivering on our promises. We’re showing the entire American people just how much promise is contained in that progressive vision held by so many people.”

“As governor, he’s embraced the idea that it’s really important to invest in people and infrastructure to grow the economy,” Blodgett said. “And to do it in a way that really helps people in the middle and down below. To me, it’s just a huge focus on economic issues that are kitchen table issues that people care about.”

When speculation began about who Harris would pick as a running mate, Walz started out as the darkest of dark horses. He did get support from a few members of Congress such as Minnesota Rep. Angie Craig and Washington Rep. Pramila Jayapal of the Congressional Progressive Caucus, as well as encouragement from labor unions. In the end, Walz’s background as a governor experienced in working with Democrats and Republicans and his roots in rural Minnesota made him an appealing choice for Harris.

Walz was also a surprise to Republicans.

“Tim Walz doesn’t even register on the fear-o-meter,” Minnesota Republican strategist Kevin Poindexter said before the announcement, adding that Republicans had been more worried about Harris picking either Arizona Sen. Mark Kelly or Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro. “Him joining the ticket as VP does not bring anything.”

Democratic strategist Raghu Devaguptapu, a former Democratic Governors Association political director, characterized Walz as a “real steady hand” more than anything else as a governor.

“He’s not the most charismatic guy, but he’s a steady hand. He’s really thoughtful, very likeable. He’s done a really nice job of building a broad coalition of support. … That’s the center of strength around Tim Walz,” Devaguptapu said.

[tomorrowusa]

One word I didn't expect to hear describing Joe Biden's State of the Union speech was "energetic" – but there it was bigtime. 😎

Dark Brandon was in the House and wasn't taking any prisoners. His fervent advocacy for progressive and pro-democracy policies left no one in doubt that he is The Anti-MAGA.

President Biden sounded like an older version of Harry Truman though without swear words. And much of the speech was aimed directly at the Republicans and at the GOP Supreme Court – calling them out right to their faces.

Biden wasn't just energetic, he absolutely taunted Republicans on an issue they've shot themselves in both feet on – immigration reform.

Biden’s Border Taunts Clearly Hit a Republican Nerve

Finally, he arrived at the topic that he knew Republicans couldn’t resist, because it represents that party’s most embarrassing recent failure. He reminded the country that at Donald Trump’s direction, Republicans had killed the strongest immigration bill in years, one that would reduce the flood of asylum seekers and bolster security at the southern border. And immediately the boos poured in from the red side of the chamber. “What are you against?” he asked, finally laughing at the opportunity to expose a bit of rampant hypocrisy. “Oh, you don’t like that bill?” It would save lives and bring order to the chaos at the border, he said, reducing fentanyl smuggling and giving every president the ability to shut down crossings when the surge of migrants became too great. [ ... ] Biden’s provocation on this issue may have been the most successful moment of the evening, one that will be replayed many times in the months to come on the campaign trail. And the power of it could be seen in the downcast face behind him of Speaker Mike Johnson, who wouldn’t bring the border bill to the House floor. All he could do was shake his head and hope Biden changed the subject.

Democrats have reason to feel good about this speech and it showed. His departure from the chamber was delayed by enthusiastic Democratic House members who were asking for selfies and getting autographs from Biden while chatting with him. If they had thought the speech was a dud they would have fled immediately.

On a somewhat funny note, the extended post-speech coverage of Biden's socializing on the House floor delayed the start of the GOP reply by the rather wooden Sen. Katie Britt of Alabama. Many viewers may have tuned out before her speech finally started a little before 11 PM Eastern Time.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Cathy Wilcox, Sydney Morning Herald

* * * *

GOP in full panic mode.

June 6, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Republicans are scared. They understand that Trump's conviction for election interference is a devastating blow that threatens their prospects in November. If they lose—and they should—their eight-year delirium will come crashing to an end like a bad acid trip. MAGA extremism will not recede entirely, but its high-water mark will be in the past.

That prospect frightens MAGA to its core because they understand they have no vision, no organizing principles, no plan other than revenge—Trump's revenge to be exacted in a second term. If they lose that dark animus, the GOP’s reason for existence evaporates.

The surest sign of the GOP’s panic is the apoplectic rage that characterizes the ugly threats of Republican officials and surrogates after the guilty verdicts. They have lost their collective minds and their grip on reality, history, humanity, decency, and rationality. Their threats are a sign of weakness—not strength! Like the threats of schoolyard bullies everywhere, they emerge from deep-seated fear and insecurity; they are designed to conceal the underlying panic of imposters worried they will be found out for who they really are.

Still, Trump and his surrogates' parade of threats and lawless actions is difficult to bear—especially when they pile upon one another as they did on Wednesday. But as we review those actions, remember that they are signs of desperation and fear by a party on the run. All it took to put the GOP into full panic mode was a verdict by twelve randomly selected citizens who heard the truth about Trump's corruption.

We should not dismiss the revenge fantasies of the Convicted Felon and his pathetic homunculi. But we must keep them in perspective. For all the wild talk about retribution, House Republicans could not impeach Joe Biden despite holding control of the House for the last two years. And after a four-year investigation of Hunter Biden, the best (or worst?) the Trump-appointed special counsel could do was allege that Hunter denied he was an addict on a standard form gun purchase application and paid four years of taxes late.

So, we should take the Convicted Felon’s threats seriously, but we should recognize that MAGA has a dismal track record of delivering on their revenge fantasies.

With that preface, let’s look at the various ways that MAGA extremists are seeking to protect Convicted Felon Trump after 34-guilty verdicts.

Speaker Mike Johnson floated the idea of defunding special counsel Jack Smith, something he rejected in early May (before the guilty verdicts).

Senate Republicans have signed a letter vowing not to cooperate on any legislation that does not directly relate to public safety.

Convicted Felon Trump said that “it’s very possible that it’s gonna have to happen”—referring to locking up his political enemies.

Steve Bannon—a surrogate of the Convicted Felon—said that District Attorney Alvin Brag “should be—and will be—jailed.”

Bannon also said that “media allies” of Biden should be “investigated.”

The Felon’s architect of the Muslim ban—Steven Miller—asked, “Is every House committee controlled by Republicans using its subpoena power in every way it needs to right now? Is every Republican DA starting every investigation they need to right now.”

GOP Rep. Ronny Jackson said “he would encourage Congress to ‘aggressively go after’ President Biden and his family.”

The Felon’s judicial allies are also doing their best to protect him from further criminal jeopardy:

First, the US Supreme Court continues to delay its ruling on Felon Trump's baseless claim of presidential immunity for his attempted coup and insurrection. Every day that the Court delays its decision makes trial in the DC election interference case less likely. The Court’s glacial response to a matter of national urgency is reprehensible. And transparently partisan.

Second, the Georgia court of appeals issued a stay of the trial proceedings in the state RICO prosecution of Felon Trump for interfering in Georgia’s 2020 presidential election. See CNN Politics, Donald Trump election subversion conspiracy case indefinitely paused by Georgia appeals court.

The stay of the Georgia case is worrisome. Per the Atlanta Journal Constitution, the court of appeals issued a stay on its own motion. AJC writes:

Because none of the defendants had requested a stay, this means the appeals court decided on its own to issue the stay, leading some observers to speculate the court may ultimately reverse McAfee’s decision and disqualify Willis and her office. The appeals court, if it agrees to hold oral arguments, has indicated it will do so some time in the fall, and it must issue its decision by mid-March [2025].

As Joyce Vance noted,

“Unlike federal courts where judges are appointed for life, Georgia elects its judges in races that are non-partisan in name only, with predictable results.”

So, unless and until a different prosecutor replaces Willis, the Georgia case is going nowhere. And if Fani Willis removes herself, it is not clear that a different prosecutor would pursue the case. I do not know how Willis would be replaced if she voluntarily steps down, but per NBC,

Under a 2022 Georgia law, when a district attorney is disqualified, the case is referred to the executive director of the Prosecuting Attorneys’ Council of Georgia, who is tasked with finding another prosecutor for the case.

If Willis is disqualified on appeal, we should expect the appointment of a prosecutor who will dismiss the case.

Third, Judge Aileen Cannon has dropped all pretense of presiding over a criminal trial involving unlawful retention of defense secrets and is converting her courtroom into a theater-in-the-round for right-wing attacks on the special counsel appointment process. In a move so unusual it has never happened before, Judge Cannon invited strangers to the Trump defense secrets case to submit briefs and present oral argument over a day-and-a-half hearing.

The challenges to the appointment of Jack Smith are baseless. Similar challenges have been rejected numerous times. But Cannon seems intent on fabricating a record to justify removal of Jack Smith. See Salon, "Not normal at all": Legal experts say Judge Cannon's "absurd" ruling shows she's an "absolute hack".

Meanwhile, Cannon has not ruled on Jack Smith’s request for a protective order to protect FBI agents and other witnesses from Felon Trump's dangerous accusations that they had orders to “shoot to kill” him during the search of Mar-a-Lago.

It is difficult to describe how inappropriate and unprecedented Cannon’s actions are. While we should avoid falling into conspiracy theories, it seems doubtful that Cannon came up with the stagecraft of a right-wing assault on the special counsel in her courtroom on her own. A plausible explanation is that she is being coached by political operatives working for Convicted Felon Trump.

All the above reeks of desperation to protect Trump from further political damage. Those who humiliate themselves and undermine democracy to protect Trump will be remembered by history alongside those faithless servants who abandoned America during prior crises. In the meantime, recognize that their angry outbursts are signs that they are running scared. They can visualize life after the Convicted Felon has been defeated and they understand they have given up everything for the worst president in American history.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[juanitasupreme]

Once again i am asking for recommendations for real housewives franchise🙏 i wanna understand the memes pls

Anon after 1 year of asking me the same question over and over (I'm sorry), I will finally respond.

The real housewives of New York : old-coke(allegedly)-alcoholics-yt women. They are very entertaining so you can probably start randomly and it won't affect you that much (unless if you start by s4 because multiple gets booted after, so if you watch early seasons start from the 1st one). Right now there is the reboot which is the 14th season if you want to follow in real time (entertaining but not the og tho).

The real housewives of Salt Lake City: you are here for a ride. A few words to describe it :Mormons, alleged cult leader, defrauding the elderly and going to jail, almost getting arrested on camera, or someone married to her stepgrandaddy...Rhoslc is the perfect City to start if you want something silly (but also dark) and current since it only got 3 seasons completed and they are doing the s4 right now.

The Real housewives of Atlanta: I haven't seen all rhoa yet but I will recommend for you to start from the 1st season because it represents what true reality TV is about. It's too excellent and Nene Leakes is an icon. You will have a blast.

The real housewives of Potomac: honestly one of the best franchise. The women are very consistent and hilarious.

The real housewives of Beverly Hills: it's iconic but the past years have been boring. I will advise you to start from the beginning like Rhoa because it's what reality TV was about. It's very dark the first two seasons tho (tw domestic violence). I hope you have a blast during the Amsterdam trip.

I have no idea about what's going on in Jersey or Orange County (they all look like maga mega group not saying other housewives aren't but those are triggering lol). Dubai is here but voilà. You got some in Australia which I haven't seen. And I feel like @scortchedtoast would recommend the reboot of Miami. Now enjoy!

[meaty4spicedbuns]

How would they react if they Meow moew go feral - Bonten edition

Bonten x Female! Character

Had the hardest time writing this one, but it was fun at the end. Already done Mikey in Toman's one.

Pairring : Ran Haitani ; Rin Haitani ; Sanzu Haruchyio

Warning : Violence, swearing, (should I put Sanzu as a warning?)

Resume : Boyz always see girl as things to protect. The tales of the knight and the princess. Nails, kitty, puppy, cupcake. All that jazz.

Especially for gang members. Going out the street to protect territory isn't a cup of tea for girls. They don't want you to live that. They will protect you because they saw you as powerless.

Except they forgot a thing. You are a women before being anything else. And you take your own security as priority. Krav-maga, self defense, boxes. You took any chances you could to learn, and beat down ass to the ground. Your body isn't showing much, and it's perfect like that. A silent weapon is sleeping inside of you. You are fearless.

PS : as usual, I depicted how I see them, so if you don't agree swipe. And English isn't my first langage so peace

PPS : I can't find the strenght to correct my mistake thoses times, and it's being days i need to correct Rin's and Sanzu's part. So instead of letting this imagine died in my files, i'll post it now and came back later to correct it. Enjoy my mistakes !

Ran

Will push yours boundaries

Ran's an asshole

He would hear that you said you could God's like fight, but doesn't belive it because, to his eyes, you look so pretty, cute, adorable, vulnerable

He feel like he need to protect you

Ran's actually love to bother you until you treat to leave you for the day, but always ended finding a way to made forgive himself

So you never had been push to show him how much you can answer back

Until,,

That day, he really did breaks your balls.

Deep. And hard.

So you decided to leave him. For the day. No apologies would work. You made your choice.

" Come on my little sunshine!" He says, opening up the front door right after you closed it in his face : "Baby, it's cold outside.

" I've got my jacket on."

You get down the elevator, then the stairs from the building and finally you face the coldness of the night.

And all the way down, he follows you. Ran is still in his sleepers when he goes out, not realizing you both are getting away from his sweet home really fast. He follows you like a puppy, truly believing you'll change your mind after your tantrum, he'll just have to excuse himself harder.

At this moment he can't clearly see how much you are upset ; despite the fact you literally seems on fire. But he still doesn't wanna touch you or pull you back by fear of making it worst. Thought, on the other hand it's delightful to see you so upsety.

So he ended up just following you, putting himself next to you at a bus station. My neighbor Totoro but in the Roppongi way.

It's dark outside. Past midnight we could say. The moon is half hidden behind its big cover of clouds push-up it chin by the wind. Such a lovely position to be. The temperature has drop quite somes degrees since you both came back home so your jackets isn't sufficient to keep you warm. Your lightly shivering, standing like a stupid post. You can hear your boyfriend asking you to came back home with him:

"You're shivering sunshine."

" Who's fault, you think, playing like a jackass. " As if you wouldn't preferred being cuddle up under the sheet with that asshole. Your non answering, still seeing you shivering and all grumpy made Ran came closer.

" Baby it's cold, let's go home.

" Fuck off. I'll go back to my flat until you learn my limits with your fucking jokes.

" Come on sunshine. Show me how to learn them back in the house then, ok? It will be warmer and cozier!

" No." You lift your eyes to his, meeting some purple candy staring righ back at you. Meeting a smile make you more annoyed by his stupid face, the one you love. You wanna squish it to death from his annoyance.

"Go back home yourself I can do the way a-."

" Sht." he lefts a fingers and turns his head to his right. Suddenly he looks like a cat, looking somewhere so dark you can't see anything through. He stares at it deeply, giving you chicken skin down your arms. His voice changes suddenly, but his shoulders are still tenses. "Sorry Babe's can we go back, please?"

Now it's a shiver down your spine, you can read his feelings, almost hearing his heart beating faster.

His back is tense to made him look taller, as his arms too. His eyes are piercing to the night. He is uncertain, making your cold shiver stay.

But on the other end you don't fear anything. Reptilian reflexe maybe?

He is a man. Used to be fear by other.

You are a women. Used to fear other.

And by the time passing by, you became use to it at some point. Seeing him stress weirdly made you more aware of the situation. You decide to calm you down, breathing slowly, looking all around. You aren't a slave to them fear. The opposite of your boyfriend waiting like a training dog to jump on someone neck. He is on his guard and you don't want to scared him more so you finally sight and answer :

" You'll call me a Uber when we will be at your place."

" Good."

He is not waiting longer. Ran grabs your hand without even looking at you, still starring deep into the darkness. You don't understand why glaring down that spot would do anything until you both have to get closer.

Then it draw itself in front of you. A guys, standing still, hands in his pockets. He doesn't says anything, just looking at Ran first. But once his glare fall on you, hios eyes shine like he was starving and gotten to see the freshen meal he ever eaten.

" Is this guy's bothering you kitty?" he says.

His pet name made you almost gag. Didn't he knoews that cat-calling is hasbeen now ? You want to answer back but, on the other hands, don't want to escalated the problem. The only answer would be a calm "no".

Suddenly Ran takes a lead. He pulls you closer, making a shield of himself with his full body.

" No."

" Did I talked to you?, the stranger shout.

" I think I can answer quite easily to your question. Sir."

His hands leave your. You don't know if it's conscious or not, but he reachs his pockets where he keep his metal stick everytime he goes out with you. A hit in the head with it would be enough. Clever. But it's funnier to know he is hidding right behind him a better weapon. Standing on his two feets.

You weren't going to fight tho. Ran could easily handle the situation by himself. He is a big boy trying to protect you. And you would let him do it. You'll pamper him like a champion once it finish. And his ego would feel well.

But fate suddely decides to give you the finger when you notice something glaming a shiny light. You would handle it.

You don't bring a knife in a battle, except if you want to win in any way.

You step forward.

Ran came to push you back, but you stopped his hands. You don't even look at him.

" I don't want you stabbed."

He blinks several times. What's the voice your using? It's is harsh. Since when a so little women could use a big bad voice? You never talk to him like that.

It surprise him so much he doesn't realized yet this guy's wanted to salami him. At the same time you take off you jacket to hand him, the adrenaline's rushing making you burning hell now. Ran grab it automatically.

" We bring butter knife to fight now?" You spit to the guys facing you.

Both your hands lock together, stretching your wrist. The men look at you, eyebrows frown as he try to read you. His feet seems to lock in the ground further aftereach step you take toward him.

He is twice your size. Ran call you from behind but you lift your palm to made it shut.

Right now you are in a good situation. You know it's danger, and none of the man can read you. They are both breathlessly waiting for you to act. You've got the lead, the fear on your side.

Why a small lady's acting maniac they ask?

Because you are THRIVING.

Adrenaline rushing through your blood.

Skin shivering.

Heart pumping blood.

Tense atmosphere.

You are loving it.

Since staying with the Haitani, it made you dodge every bullets. Life became so peaceful. Nobody dare to bother you. Nothing happen anymore. And to be honest it eased your shoulders. You kind of love this peaceful way. Away from gang. Living peacefully. No gang. No fight. For so long..

You breath in. You breath out.

No.

You missed to be on the battlefields. Kind of. Okey, when it's arrange you. Yes.

You can't keep a princess away from the dragon too long if she gotten used to win.

" Sunshine it's time to go home, you're boyfriend say.

" You know what?, you say. I'll teach him a lesson. I'm fucking down of men's. They need to learn to know how it feel to fear. Ready butter knife? "

You stretch a legs, then another. You can hear the stranger's chuckles but you don't pay attention. Adrenaline's fucking high now and you can't stop yourself. Even when your boyfriend pull your shoulder you took off his hands, not stopping to stare the stranger that began to step forward.

" Get back." you order to Ran. What an annoying brat he made, as if you would out yourself in a show without being able to really fight.

You push him right when the stranger is running at you. A knife appear, shiny, sweeping your tummy area. Ran miss an heart attack, it look like it would slice your skin so easily. But you got this.

Classic. You dodge, put a foot down backward . Your eyes is following the shinying of the blade. You then grab his wrist from one hand and upper his elbow from your other, and hit right on the elbow bones.

You all could guess the pain was huge when the arms fold in a way that wasn't looking natural. The man let out an animal scream, blood flowing out the horrible injury. A small reddish bump is coming out the flesh.

But it's not your problem anymore.

When you turn around, you lock eyes directly with your boyfriend. The stranger end up passing out a few second later. You could heard him hitting the ground.

" I'll call an ambulance but we better get away now. I don't wanna have to explain anything to them.

" You'll have to explain yourself to me. Again. Even after..." he look at the guy, then you. He is taking a step forward and swipe off blood from your check. " I can't lie and said it isn't hot. But when?"

You wink.

" I'll tell you later, if you promise you'll get nicer for tonight.

" Anything. I'm sorry babe."

_ _ _

Rin

Rin would never bother you with anything that is fight related.

He is a gentleman, wich simply mean he would ALWAYS step before you if anything happened.

But, in the other hand, he would still tease you

" You know how to fight hm?" he says with a smile. " I dare you."

He would push your cheek a few times, saying " come one, show me how your little hand are supposedly sooo strong."

And he would even tease the day you don't feel like being teased

"Don't bother me." you say harshly.

It's been an hours now that Rin thinks that the best way of making himself busy when he is bored is to annoye you; Mister doesn't know why but seeing you all grumpy is extremely cute at his eyes.

So he pokes his fingers once again in your ears for the tenth times today,making you take a step forward while pushing him away. At the same time you were making yourself toasts on the kitchen counter ,and by turning away you can hear you toast falling from you pushing the knife with your elbow. The saddest fall you see after Mufasa's one..

Also, the myth is right, the toast felt on the wrong side.

You sight so loudly, it made Rin laugh so hard. So you bend down, grabbing your, sadly now, all dusted, toast to throw it on him before saying :

" Next time you doing it I'll break your fingers."

And the worst part is that you mean it. You can, and will since he is driving you so crazy. But Rin don't hear it from the same ear. The man chuckle :

" I'd like to see you. You and your littles arms and hands.

" I swear to God I'm fucking serious."

"Oh yeah??"

That smirk he is giving you just made your rage even more stronger. He doesn't imagine how many times it happen already. That, funnily, the number of fingers you've broken in the past can't be counted with both your hands, neither his.

After all you are his teddy, his plushie, his dirty racoon.

Even thought right now you are his worst nightmare. He just doesn't know yet.

" Yes."

" Ok ." Rin says, lifting his hands up as of he has been caught out of guard. He is ready to turn around, making you do the same to retry doing your toast.

But this man, your boyfriend, your stupid boyfriend, decided to pull the tail off the devil. He just came back, hands once again tries to put his finger in your ear.

Wich is enought for you.

You bend your head as a reflex. At the same time you hit his stomach with your elbow before opening your palm to grab his chin, which is right up your shoulder, with the same arms. With your other hands, you grab your toast full of your favorite topping (jelly, pls tell me it's jelly or peanut butter) and smash it right into his faces.

As he wasn't waiting for a that fast answer, he doesn't react fast enough. Not even when you pull your legs between his and pull him back with all your strength to made him fall on the ground.

The stare he is giving you when your little toast fall from his face to the ground is priceless. It even give you a big smile. His mouth do a perfect "o" shape that is really satisfying.

" Warned you."

But it doesn't stop him. He now see it as a game. In a second he tries to hit your knees by shooting it but failed as you lift yourself up from the counter. When you fall back again on the ground you push yourself so you are standing in front of him trying to stand back on his feet.

You try to armblock his neck before he stands up fully, and rotate to go behind his back but he turn with you and just face you. He put his legs behind yours and you are the one being pushed back on the ground first. Taking him with you by pulling his shirt.

His face hit the ground, giving you a second to react. As when you both laying down, you go fast enought you block both his arms in his back. You made it so you know he can't get up.

And the groan of frustration is reliving.

" The fuck." he mutter. "Babe ?"

" I told you." you grab one of his finger in your palm, feeling a little bit sadistic . "So, it's this finger that was bothering me?

" You really gonna?

" Told you I will."

You began to bend it a little,but when you hear him excusing himself from his behavior you stop your way.

" So, understand ?, you finally ask while getting up from him. When he turn to face you, the only thing he says is :

" Babe, I'm hard now."

The punch he take in his face is so fast he doesn't even see it coming.

_ _ _

Sanzu

Heard you but kind of don't care.

He is the one to protect you. And he asked you to align with that

So he kind of minimized you and your skill about fighting.

But don't get me wrong. He wouldn't be upset. It just his way if thinking.

He is the mad dog and he doesn't care. He use himself for other as his own enjoyments anyway.

Because all he sees in you is his little girly bunny.

You are used to your boyfriend shit. To be honnest, you often thought that, either his partner would ended up as crazy as him, or either would be the [cataliseur]. And sadly, the second case is yours.

But you can swear on any God, on anything on earth, on any pets you had or will have, and could fight with people on this topic : your boyfriend is an angel with you.

Not saying he stopped drugs around you.. Or that is isn't doing crazy shits. He is part of a gang after all (and enjoying it too much at your taste)

But he does not consum any substances when you are here, or ready to be around, because you asked him not to. Of course it happened that one day you saw him half dead shooted on his sofa, but it began to be less frequent than at the beginning right?

And plus, Sanzu is a praiser. Always at your feets, ready to compliment any move you do. With time you founded out how to get him around your fingers, and it's worked. A guard dog ready to jump on anybody only for you.

So yeah, he is not perfect, but with you he could burn the world and dance on it ash with your hands in his if needed to.

And he would do it twice.

" Four fucking thousand?" An angry voice echoed against the walls.

It's your boyfriend voice.

Followed by a maniac laught.

You are in the parking lot situated right under the biggest building of the Bonten. Getting a foot out of your car, you were ready to go pick Sanzu up after his long day. But you were waiting for him to still have his head in his business no matter the hours tho. It might being three in the morning that he is always still up on mischief. Usually you bring him out from everything right directly to your bed. He is insanely attracted by his work and it's a pain sometimes.

So for him to wait like a little puppy, for you to pick him up from school, in the parking lot?

Weird.

" Remember that the fucking last time, one of my guys losted his arms because of you?" shouted another voice.

" Remember last times you fucking gave me shit?! Trynna' kill me or some shit? Cutting your fucking drug with fucking flour ?!! Who do YOU think I AM?! "

The tone of voice said it all. Sanzu is ready to pick a fight. You know it. You heard it so much at the beginning of your relationship, and thoses beginning weren't bright. But it's a story for another day.

What you know is that you must prepare yourself quick. You put on a sweat you keep at the back of your car with hood on. And silently you just sneak around them. Because when you are picking out from behind a car, you can clearly see your boy is tired, and in a maniac phase.

' He IS gonna get killed. He Is gonna get killed!! , your mind is screaming in repeat. You know it. From how tense is Sanzu. How the guys around have almost they hands on there knife and guns. It's gonna turn sour in a minute.

You needa think. Fast.

" We know how your gang function, and we don't want any shit with you anymore, spit the big guys fronting Sanzu. Give the fucking money and we'll leave."

He throw a little black suitcase at the feet of the pink haired guys. The color doing a full contrast between him and all the guys in black suit.

But you are not looking. You are walking silently around, circling the boy's reunion. You are eyeing all around for a specific little white box that draw a smile on your face when you finally found it.

The little yellow thunder striking a person on it isn't appealing at all. No matter how much time you spend with Sanzu, or the Bonten in general, you are still a good person. And even a sticker can tell you not to dot thing usually. However it's an emergency.

Picking trough car window's you can see the men and Sanzu getting weirdly closed, buts it's when you see both of them grabbing they guns that you clenched the (manivelle).

All the electricity turned off. The parking lot is in plain darkness for a few minutes. Luminated only by some greens "exit" light still glowing in some corners . And it's so fainted that everybody need a minute for they eyes to accommodate. So when the shoot are shot, of course it land randomly, and a random guy's scream out of the dark.

Sanzu duck down tho. He don't even know what happened, but really do think God's is on his side (or from little he know, he got an awesome partner). His hands are looking at the ground for the suit case, taking a few second to find it laying sadly on the ground.

' What a lucky bastard I am., he thought for himself. He wasn't planning to fight, he is not totally a fucking idiot. He know they came to kill him. So he planed since the beginning to run away at the moment he could, hiding a lacrimo under his jacket to throw it to the ground at a present opportunity.

But thinking that all the light would turn off? It's even better.

When he grab the handle of the suit case, he try to pull it to him. He is ready to run away with it. But something pull it away. It take a second to stare at the other end, and for his eyes to reflect the grennish light: the big guys is bending right over him with his guns out.

" 'know you would go for the parcel. M' not stupid."

" Fuck it." Sanzu smile as he stare at the barrel.

Instantly, a loud bang resonate out the parking place. Sanzu's eyes are wide open even with the shooting. His adrenaline rush through his veine. He saw the bullet being shot, he saw the light of the deflagration. And he's also see someone hitting the big guy's arms with a fire extinctor. But he doesn't recognized you yet.

In another second you turn to face all the guys, turn the head of your weapon toward them and sprayed everybody with it. It done enought fogs for you to run to Sanzu and grabbing his hands.

" Go." Is the only words you find interesting to say. You pull him to the nearest door to get away.

Sanzu is breathless. His legs and lungs hurt as if he ran a marathon. But the smile of his face's not gonna fade away for a few days.

Once you are away, you both go directly straight to your safe place. And it's only when the door of your flat is double closed, all windows check, and light off, that you let yourself think that you are safe.

" What a piece of shit, he mumbled laying on your bed. I knew that last time he tried to screw me, but his thing is the best..."

A cigarette between his lips, he turn to look at you changing yourself. And it's when he see the bruise that his brain realized it.

" When." His voice sound hard, but his eyes are closing themself. " Who made you learn to fight like a goddess.

" A women in this world needs some magic trick."

You gave him that wink that he gonna remind a long time, so he notes in his head to ask you about more deeply once your both home.

To see in more details what you can do.

Because Sanzu is really into someone who can break his back after all.

[str8sub4domdudez]

Superboys Part Two Excerpt : Sunwing

Warning!

[Do not take anything from this excerpt as an example of a smart idea. I would not ever advise for someone to depend on their martial arts lessons take down someone threatening them with a gun. It's not smart, and it's very potentially deadly.]

«ж»ж«ж»ж«ж»ж«ж»ж«ж»

Chris and Dick fly through the city on their grapples. Chris has a tendency to float a bit, but quickly learns that he needs to keep tension in his line. It's just like the waterslides – more fun without flying. Chris half wonders if he should have some Blue Kryptonite on, but dashes those thoughts when he tries to imagine seeing the city through dulled senses.

He hears a gunshot and a woman calling for help, so he tells Dick and they head off in the direction of the gunshot and find a woman in an alley standing over a bleeding, unconscious man.

"Are you hurt?" asks Dick. "Can you call an ambulance? We can call for you if you need."

"Yes, please call for help," says the woman. "It's Nightwing, isn't it?"

"Well, that seems to be up for debate," says Dick, and he calls 911 for an ambulance.

"What happened?" asks Chris.

"The motherfucker pulled a gun on me," says the woman, "and I ain't no victim, you know. I used everything I learned from my Krav Maga classes to disarm him and slam his head into the curb."

"We were worried someone got shot," says Chris. "Good job defending yourself. Most people don't put the effort into learning how."

"Yeah well, this is Gotham. You gotta know that stuff. So who are you? You're like a better Nightwing. At least your costume is better."

"You really think so? I like it. Nightwing had it made for me, but we're still arguing over who gets to keep the name. We're both Nightwing."

"Small world, huh. Well you could be Sunwing in this costume. I don't know what you… wait a minute… are you Champion's bodyguard? That Nightwing?"

"Yeah, but don't tell anyone. Batman doesn't like metas in Gotham."

"Well if you're going for fooling the bat, something cheesy you wouldn't choose as your own name might work. At least if he knows you well enough."

"I'll keep it in mind," says Chris. "Sunwing isn't horrible. But I wouldn't want go by anything other than my name, so maybe Batman won't realize it's me. Thanks, uh…"

"Clarice. Clarice Henderson. Nice to meet you, Mister Zod."

"It's Lor-Zod," says Chris. "Mister Zod was my father."

"I thought it was 'General'," says the woman smartly.

"You pay attention to interplanetary politics?" asks Chris, suddenly finding the woman more interesting.

"You kidding? Our moon just got turned into an alien planet! Who wouldn't pay attention? Bunch of meatheads, I guess. I hope you like Earth, Mister Zod.

"I love it here."

Around that time the ambulances and a police car approach and Dick gets off the phone. He pulls on Chris' arm. "Time to skedaddle! Have a great night, Ma'am."

"Okay, you too, Nightwings!"

The duo go on to stop four muggings and a car theft before being stopped by the Dark Knight.

"Who's the copycat?" asks Batman.

"You know your own protége," says Chris.

"I meant you," growls the Bat. "Lor-Zod, I take it?"

"How'd you figure it out so quick?" asks Chris.

"I recognize your voice. What are you doing parading around in that?"

"I had it made for him," says Dick. "You don't like it?"

"Why did you put him in that?" asks Bruce. "Are you hazing him?"

"No! He just– well I couldn't take him around as a Bat if he's going all super and you hate metas, so I thought—"

"—I don't hate metas, I just prefer to be in charge of the vigilantes in my city and metas can be somewhat destructive. No offense, Lor-Zod but Kon-El, in his first six months, caused more collateral damage than all my Robins put together. Not counting the Red Hood's actions of course."

"Of course," says Chris, "Because it's always easy to contrast the two when you ignore their common ground. Tell me, how much collateral damage has Jon-El racked up? Or Kol-El? I'm pretty sure Kon-El's first six months were a difficult time, what with going through untreated PTSD and having no family, mentors or peers facing the same issues. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that his destructiveness was a product of specific factors and not because he's a meta."

"But he was capable of accidentally causing so much destruction because of his super strength and invulnerability."

"I guess most six-month-olds can't bench press small buildings. Either way, I'm kind of insulted you think I'm going to wreak havoc just because I'm Kryptonian."

"It's a general rule, not an absolutism. Wonder Woman has similar abilities and I'm not saying she's destructive. I am saying I prefer to keep things my way in my city. I don't go to Smallville and break Ma Kent's rules and I don't go to New Krypton and break their rules either. If you wanted to patrol with Nightwing, Lor-Zod, all you had to do was tell me."

"Really?" says Dick.

"Really," says Batman.

"I want to patrol with Nightwing," says Chris.

"Good," says Batman. "Of course we'll have to make sure you're really you, you'll have to be vetted for brainwashing, mind-control and pods and you'll have to be washed for lice."

"B!! You're embarrassing me in front of my friend!" whines Dick.

Batman continues, "And of course, once that's done, we'll have to take samples so we have your real DNA and hair on file—"

"—We already have that on file!" says Dick.

"And before you can patrol in Gotham, you have to be trained in various safety methods and your signature modes of transport. I noticed your grappling was a little rocky. You'll have to have a permit while a licensed grappler teaches you."

"That has literally never been a thing!" says Dick.

"And if you're going to be galavanting around with my son at night in skin tight suits, there's a slideshow I think you both need to see."

"I've heard the horror stories," says Chris. "We aren't doing that. Even if we were, I'm not watching the goddamn slideshow, but Nightwing and I are just friends."

"All the same, you must complete all of the safety orientations," says Batman.

"B!! Why are you trolling us?" asks Dick. "Just let me have some fun patrolling with Lor tonight."

"Very well, why don't you two take Lor-Zod to get changed before you finish your patrol?" says Batman, "People say I'm terrifying, but they haven't seen the horrors of gaudy yellow fingerstripes. I can't unsee it."

"You're only saying that because you know I designed it, aren't you?" says Dick.

"Absolutely," says Batman, "Enjoy your night," and Batman disappears into the shadows of the alley.

"Well, I can't enjoy my night wearing this now," says Chris. "He totally ruined this awesome costume for me."

"Does that mean we're saying bye to Sunwing?" asks Dick.

"Bye-bye, Sunwing," says Chris.

________________________

Superboys – Part Two

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334917/chapters/45993946