#comic book and aren't pretending to do so

[qcomicsy]

Lately I've only been wishing to grab a comic about my favorite character and just have a genuinely good time reading it.

[jasperxkuromi]

Play ideas for chronically ill, disabled, or otherwise bed bound/low energy littles

Hi all! I am chronically ill. I am not comfortable sharing my specific diagnosis, but I am more than okay with talking about disability in general. Everything below is based on my own personal experiences and activities I like to do while stuck in bed. Everyone's body and experiences are different. I may list some things that just aren't an option for you, and that's okay. You are more than welcome to add on to this post with activities you do too!

🐛 Open the curtains and cloud watch! I like to look for clouds that remind me of animals or characters and day dream a story about them. If the weather is nice, consider opening your window a little bit and letting some fresh air into your room.

🐦 Bird watch! I have a bird feeder outside my window that I painted myself from a kid's kit. There are also bird feeders that have suction cups that can be stuck right on your window. You can also make your own seed ornaments. You could pick yourself up a kids book or two on learning to identify birds.

🌷 Get a window planter. You may need someone's help to set one up, but once they are in place they are fairly easy to care for. I like pansies and marigolds because they remind me of childhood, and they are low maintenance and do well in containers.

📖 Audiobooks are great for middles who want to read chapter books. If you have a library card you can borrow tons of audiobook, ebooks, and comics through hoopla and Libby for free. There are some audiobooks for younger kiddo books, but honestly I think YouTube is better for that.

🖼️ Scrapbooks and journals! Being penpals with another little is also an option, but I do recommend using basic internet safety and common sense. (I don't think you should do this if you are under 18). You could always scan/take pictures of your letter and send it digitally to your penpal instead.

🛏️ If you spend a lot of time in bed, and have the money to do so, I really recommend getting items to make your time in bed more comfortable. Extra pillows, or even a reading pillow can be helpful. Lap desks or bed tables can give you space to color or set up play scenes with small toys.

🌟 You can also decorate the area around your bed to make it more child like! Fairy lights, glow in the dark stars, bed canopies, posters, and the like.

🪑 I have a floor chair I use for times I am playing outside of my bed. Being close to the floor helps me feel small, but not having back support hurts after a short while. I have an adjustable one that I can lay flat on the floor as a sleeping mat. Very helpful for the times when I need a quick nap after playtime.

🎨 Check the seasonal and kids sections at dollar stores and Five Below. I usually find fun craft kits that can keep me occupied for a bit for really cheap.

🧶 Do your own crafts! I like the knit and crochet. Some people can do them in bed, but I find it difficult to find a comfortable way to do that. However making friendship bracelets in bed works out pretty well. They make great gifts, even for non little friends. Or you could make matching ones for you and your CG or favorite plushie!

🪀 Make your own sensory bin! You can find tons of tutorials and ideas online. Bonus is you can get most of the items you would use at the dollar store. There are tons of other DIY sensory toys you can make as well if you look around. Glitter/shaker bottles are pretty popular too.

🐇 Cuddle with your stuffed animals. Tell them stories. Play pretend. Read to them. They will appreciate all of it.

🎮 If you have an old 3DS stuffed away in a drawer somewhere, pull it back out. 3DS are fairly easy to install homebrew and there are toooons of kiddo friendly games you could get (check 3ds.hacks.guide for this, do not follow tutorials on YouTube or random websites as they very well could be outdated)

💊 Decorate your medicine organizers with stickers. If you use mobility aids you can decorate them as well! Fake flowers are great for decorating mobility aids and there are tons of ideas you can find online.

🍼 I have stomach problems that makes it hard for me to eat enough. I often drink Ensure to make sure I am getting enough calories/nutrients. I get the strawberry flavor and sometimes put it in my sippy cup and pretend it is strawberry milk 😋

😴 If you need rest, rest! You deserve to get as much sleep as your body needs. Babies and toddlers take naps all the time! Trying to just exist with chronic health issues is difficult enough. You don't need to push yourself.

[shemybitchhh]

𝕀 𝔾𝕠𝕥 𝕐𝕠𝕦☆

HEADCANONS of you taking care of injured Ellie.

<<Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader>>

☆Ellie, who the first time you two would talk, she would have a rather serious wound on her side. You, being the daughter of one of Jackson's doctors, were always interested in medicine and learned quickly from your father. "What happened?" You asked her, worried as you saw her clutching the side of her muscle shirt that had a huge red stain on it. "Nothing, mind your business." She told you coldly but you stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. "Aren't you going to go to the infirmary?" You asked and Ellie turned her head to look at you angrily. "You don't care what I do." You bit your lip, still worried. "If you don't let some nurse take care of you, at least let me do it."

☆Ellie, who from that day on would notice your presence in every place she went, and when she didn't see you she would look for you until she found you, without knowing why she needed to keep you in her sights.

☆Ellie, who would find you one day treating the wound of a little boy who was crying because of a scrape on his knee. "Shhh, easy little one. Everything's okay." You assured him as you gently disinfected the wound with a cotton ball. "That's it. You're very brave." You told him, making the boy smile a little. Ellie felt her heart warm when she saw that scene.

☆Ellie, who wouldn't know how to start a conversation with you so she would pretend to get hurt just to have an excuse.

☆Ellie, who would start asking you anything no matter how stupid it was just to hear your voice. "So, do you swab the wound with alcohol before bandaging it?" "What's worse, a knife or gun wound?" "Can I drink booze after antibiotics?"

☆Ellie, who would look for supplies during her patrols to surprise you. "Where did you get these?" You asked, looking in surprise at the empty blood bags and clean gauze she had gotten. "They were inside an ambulance a short distance from our checkpoint. Nothing out of the ordinary." She said downplaying it, when in reality she had entered an abandoned hospital full of clickers and runners completly alone, just to get them for you.

☆Ellie, who would invite you over to her room for the first time and you would end up reading her comics together.

☆Ellie, who would ask you what your favorite band is and a few days later a CD of it would appear on your doorstep. She would never take credit for it, although it wouldn't be too difficult to guess.

☆Ellie, who would invite you to have lunch with her in the dining room, after seeing that you were too shy to sit next to anyone besides your dad.

☆Ellie, who would stare into your eyes while you told her the plot of your favorite book. She wasn't listening to a single word that came out of your mouth. Her mind was lost in the vibrant and full of life color of your gems.

☆Ellie, who would tell you her stupid jokes just to hear your laugh.

☆Ellie, who would ask you to teach her first aid so she could take care of herself. Although she would never apply the theory since she preferred to go with you and have you take care of her.

☆Ellie, who would arrive from a patrol almost fainting from the number of infected she had to kill, and you would run up to her so that she could lean against you. "Shhh, easy, I got you." You whispered to her before she passed out.

☆Ellie, who would wake up exalted on the stretcher in the infirmary and the first person she would look for would be you. She would see that it was your father standing next to her, taking her pulse, and she would instantly be embarrassed. "I'll tell her you're awake and to come see you." Your father said with a kind smile, without Ellie having to say anything.

☆Ellie, who would accept your hug without second's hesitation after you ran in to check on her.

☆Ellie, who would start spending some nights at your house, listening to music, talking about irrelevant topics to pass the time, and sometimes even cooking with you.

☆Ellie, who would stare at your lips while you chewed the chocolate she had brought you as a gift. "Want some?" You asked, extending your hand with a generous piece.

☆Ellie, who would act without thinking and would pull you towards her by your outstretched wrist and kiss you, tasting your chocolate-flavored lips.

☆Ellie, who couldn't stop telling you how beautiful you are, loving how you looked away with an involuntary blush.

☆Ellie, who would promise to take care of you from everything, just like you took care of her when she got hurt on her patrols.

☆Ellie, who would hug you from behind with her folded hands after you disinfected her knuckles for the thousandth time, and would fall asleep smelling your scent and pressing you against her.

☆Ellie, who would let you know how important you are to her. "I got you, love."

[spidernuggets]

i’ve had this idea for so long and i really feel like you can do it justice because i LOVE your writing style so…

reader that knows jason’s identity but he doesn’t know that they know, so reader keeps teasing him. i think it’d be ESPECIALLY good if reader goes out of their way to buy nightwing merch or talk about how red robin is their favorite

that’s just the main idea you have full creative license over it 🫶🫶

Jason Todd x Reader

def not doing this to avoid studying chem...

"Hey, Jay, lookie!" You called him over as you entered the door of your apartment.

Jason had his nose stuck in a book as you walked in. He turned his head over to see you with a cheerful smile and a little paper bag in your hand.

"What is it?" He asked, bookmarking his novel, carefully setting it down on the coffee table.

I quietly snorted to yourself, eager to see his reaction as you pulled out a little Nightwing plush.

"Isn't it so cute!" You cheered, practically shoving the blue and black toy to his face.

Jason mentally grumbled at the sight of the plush. "Is that supposed to be Nightwing? You chose the lamest vigilante, babe," he says as his eye twitches.

You shrugged. "He's not lame! If you think about it, his ass does look good in that suit," you smirked to yourself, knowing it would get a rise out of Jason. "And besides. I mostly only got him because the stores aren't releasing a Red Robin version for another month. So I'm gonna save up some money before them," you tell him, hugging the plushie.

It seemed as if Jason's face went comically red, as you mentioned his own brother's butt. He wanted nothing more than to throw the plushie out the window, rip it apart, set it on fire. Anything to get your hands off that damn doll.

"They sell Red Hood plushies!" He tried not to complain. "Why not buy them? It's better use of your money," he grumbled, folding his arms together.

"I don't really like Red Hood," you carefully said, watching every twitch of his reaction while petting over the Nighting plush.

Jason felt like a bullet went through his heart, and he felt like hunching over to clutch his chest in agony.

"Why not! He's the best one!" He said in disbelief as you tried not to laugh over his reaction.

You shrugged a shoulder. "I dunno. He's just not a favourite of mine. Althought the thigh holsters looks great on him, woo!" You cheekily smiled, fanning yourself with your hand and biting your bottom lip as you put the plush away.

Jason felt heat rise up in his neck at the comment, ready to just blurt out that he was, in fact, the Red Hood.

"Maybe it's the giant red helmet that throws me off," you tap your chin, pretending to think as Jason made a mental note to have his helmet potentially be redesigned.

"His big red helmet is the best part.." Jason muttered to himself as he slumped on the couch. And you could've sworn you saw a pout form on his lips.

"Anyways, this toy is gonna be a great part of my collection!" You cheered as Jason perked up.

"Collection? You have more?!" He asked, disgust written all over his face as you tilted your head to the side.

"Well.. no, but I wanna start one! Oh! And I want to start a collection for Red Robin, too! I saw somewhere that they're selling a similar costume online!" You say excitingly. "I might be his biggest fan," you say while suppressing a laugh.

Jason was now on his feet, standing right in front of you. "Why not be Red Hood's biggest fan?" His pout was way more obvious now. You were surprised that he wasn't more discreet about it.

"Why are you so caught up with Red Hood?" You asked innocently.

"Uh, let's see. He's skilled, he's smart, he's strong, he's muscular and he's gorgeous!" He practically yelled as he towers over you.

You rested a hand on your hip as you leaned on one leg. "How the hell would you know he's gorgeous? He never takes his helmet off," you asked, rasing an eyebrow.

"Well- I- You know, he-" you giggled as he stammered and tripped over his words.

You decided to finally put him out of his misery, standing on your tio toes as you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"Calm down, lovely, I know you're Red Hood," you muttered against his skin.

Jason's brows scrunched together, pushing you back. "Wait, wait, wait- you knew?! And you didn't tell me?" He said in absolute shock.

"I wanted you to tell me at your own time.. but at the same time, I wanted you to tell me sooner since someone keeps showing up late to our dates for some unknown reason," You raised an eyebrow at him, not pleased with the fact that he was recently showing up pretty late to some of your dates because of his patrols.

Jason awkwardly chuckled while scratching the back of his neck. "Uh huh.. yeah- I'm.. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to be late, baby," he muttered. But you quickly placed a soft peck to his lips.

"It's okay. You can make it up to me," you smiled in reassurance.

"But - but how did you even find out? How long have you known?"

"Uhh.." You looked up, trying to remember. "Around two months ago? And you left your holsters here. You know. The one that looks real good on your thighs," you smirked, leaning up to him as you teased him.

The heat returned back to Jason's neck, now reaching up to his ears. "Fuck.. I left them here? There weren't any guns in them, were there?" He asked with concern.

Your hand caressed his cheek. "No, don't worry. I kept the holsters in your closet."

Jason kissed your forhead as a soft thank you.

"So.. are you actually gonna keep that plushie?" He asked, referring to the Nightwing plushie you bought, a rumbling of jealousy rising in him.

You snorted as you shook your head. "No, I kept the receipt. Besides. It doesn't go with my collection."

His brows furrowed. "Collection?.."

You smiled, taking his hand and bringing him into your bedroom. You opened the closet and reached to the back, pulling out a big, brown box.

Upon opening it, the lid flew open, hardly abke to keep in the many plushies, figures, and clothing items, all based on Red Hood.

Jason's jaw dropped as he looked at all the Red Hood merchandise that you kept.

You pulled out a brown leather jacket that had the red bat symbol at the back of it.

"I've waited forever to finally wear this around the house." You say, putting on the jacket, giving Jason a twirl as yoh showed it off.

Jason breathed out a chuckle, placing his hands on your hips, pulling you close. "You look good, babe," he mumbles, his nose tickling yours. "Should wear it more often," his voice dropped, a suggestive tone laced within it.

You smirked back. "Yeah, that was the plan."

MAN HAVE I MISSED WRITING

okay, back to studying because i can practically hear Missy telling me to go study

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

Im owning up to this one lol

I don't get Cattail hate. Like why she should care about Clay, Mudwings allow there dragonets to raise themselves and the parents don't take a big role in there upbringing . It's just how her culture works. She is not a bad person for not acting like the average mother meeting her long lost son. And sure maybe selling him off wasn't the nicest thing to do knowing he would grow up away from his tribe and sibs but I'm sure the Talons would have stolen him anyway and she assumed Asha would be watching over him.

And I know when you read it from Clays perspective she is single handedly crushing all of his dreams about his parents and family and not the kind of mother he expected or wanted. She is not likeable to him because therefore she is not presented as likeable to us because the book is written in his perspective. But she is not a bad mother for Mudwing standards.

She is not mean or rude to him in any way she tells him the truth about what happened to his egg and how Mudwing culture works. She is kinda cold but its what Clay needs to hear. She's not going to pretend like she missed him or that Mudwings are loving parents to spare his feelings. She never uses her son's fame for her own gain or tries to take advantage of his attachment Not a big fan of her design in the comics tho.

I have also heard the take that Glory should have made the Rainwing keep and raise their own eggs After she became queen. I believe that there is nothing wrong with the way Rainwing raise their dragonets. None of the dragons in the rainforest seem neglected, unhappy or even care about their bioparents. (Except Glory but she got over it)It's much better then Sandwings that have starving orphans running around the Scorpions Den.

I would go on but this is getting long so I'll just say that Rainwings and Mudwings aren't bad parents.

.

[alexihollis]

The Initiate

"You aren't going to like this," were the first words out of Cleon's mouth when Swan got home.

Swan blinked. Closed the door behind her. Began to shrug off her jacket and vest. "Hello to you, too."

"We have a guest. On our couch," Cleon said, voice quiet.

Swan nodded. When Cleon did not continue talking, "All right."

"She won't tell me her name."

Huh. "New recruit?"

"I'd like her to be."

Again, Cleon stopped talking when Swan did not expect her to. "You're Warlord."

"She's fifteen."

Oh.

Fuck.

"We said no kids," Swan said.

"She doesn't have anywhere else to go," Cleon hissed. Swan looked around her to look at this supposed guest.

Jesus. They were lucky if she was fifteen, the girl was tiny, even tinier the way she sat hunched on their couch, bag in her lap, like she was ready to take off at the slightest hint of trouble. Her leg was bouncing.

"We said no kids," Swan repeated.

"I didn't actively recruit her," Cleon said. Cleon never actively recruited anyone, not really, though Swan chose to keep that little tidbit to herself. Cleon's Warriors was an interesting gang in many respects.

"Where did you find her?" Swan asked instead.

"The arcade," Cleon said. "I heard security call the cops to report a truancy. I pretended to be her older sister."

"Fuck, Cleon-"

"You were a kid, too."

"I was kicked out," Swan corrected. "That's different."

"How different could it-"

"My parents weren't looking for me. People look for runaways."

"Hardly," Cleon said. "Rembrandt was a runaway."

"Rembrandt graduated high school. It's different."

"She's got comic books in her backpack. And bubblegum. Right next to all the clothes she owns and she doesn't want to get another bag, because its hard enough keeping track of one when she spends the night at the youth shelter." Cleon was not playing fair. In the least.

"Do you remember how long it took us to get me a legit ID?" Swan asked. "How much more difficult its gonna be if we have to deal with a missing child case on top of that? What kind of charges we could pick up if she's caught in this house?"

"I'm not a runaway." Holy shit the kid could move quietly.

Over the few years with the Warriors, Swan managed her startle response, but her breath still caught when the words came from far closer than she expected. The girl stood there, clutching her backpack to her chest, looking at Swan and Cleon. She was tiny, short with birdlike bones, like Rembrandt almost.

"Kid," Swan sighed, guilt tugging at her just a bit about the kid hearing what they were talking about.

"I'm not," she insisted. "My parents are dead. I was living with an uncle and he said I could leave if I wanted. So I left." Then, when Swan looked at Cleon and Cleon looked at Swan, "You can meet him. If you want. If I can stay."

...Huh.

"You don't even know us," Swan said.

The kid shrugged. "Cleon saved my ass and- well. I've heard good things. I'm fast, too. Quiet. I could be a good scout. I've been watching the Riffs' scouts, to figure out the best times to go through their terf."

Swan's eyebrows raised. "You can spot Riff scouts?"

The kid's eyes narrowed, her head cocking just slightly to the side. Like a puppy, Swan's mind betrayed her. "...yes?"

As if the kid did not realize how impressive spotting a Riffs scout was. They were practically ghosts in the city, the shit they got back to Cyrus. The Warriors barely managed to breathe in the vicinity of a recruit before Cyrus knew they had added to their numbers again. Pissed off Rembrandt and Ajax to no end, as they never managed to spot a Riff scout on their terf.

"Do I even have a say?" Swan finally asked Cleon.

Cleon clapped her on the shoulder. "Not really, but its nice to get you on my back for this."

Fantastic.

Cleon decided to give the kid a week of sleeping on the couch, before they moved forward.

"Shouldn't she be in school?" Swan asked that first day.

"We'll figure that out if she stays," Cleon said.

"...I really don't want her to not be in school."

"We'll figure it out," Cleon repeated.

On the third day, it became pretty clear the kid wasn't going anywhere. That day started with Cowgirl and the kid sitting cross-legged in front of each other in the living room while Cowgirl did the kid's eyeliner and ended with Rembrandt showing her how to sketch characters from her comic books.

"Ajax seems to like her, too," Cleon said as her and Swan washed the dishes, after Swan reported how the others seemed to be warming up to the kid.

"Ajax wasn't a question," Swan said, because Ajax wasn't.

"...fair enough." Because it wasn't. As much as Ajax tried to pretend, as much as Swan did not see it in the beginning, Ajax had a protective streak larger than the city itself and the kid on their couch needed protecting.

On the seventh day, Swan looked at Cleon and asked: "So where is she going to sleep, now?"

Because it wasn't like they had an extra bedroom in their apartment. No one they trusted did, either.

"My room has space for a twin," Swan said after a moment.

Cleon raised her eyebrows, "Are you sure?"

Swan shrugged. "I'm the youngest besides her. Makes the most sense and I'd rather have her here than anywhere else." Then, "But we're meeting that uncle first. And getting her documents."

"Documents?" Cleon's eyebrows furrowed.

"Birth certificate. Letter from him stating he's chill with her living here. All that," Swan said. At Cleon's continued confusion, "We need it to enroll her in school."

"Oh," was Cleon's only response.

"She's going to school," Swan said after a moment, firm.

Cleon just looked at her, though. Then, "I didn't realize how important school was to you."

"The kid's smart," Swan said. "And we're going to need to stop calling her Kid. She won't be one forever and I don't want that name to stick."

Cleon winced. "Yeah. Good point. Good luck getting Ajax off that, though."

Ajax still called Swan Stray when she thought Swan was being annoying.

Later that day found the kid leading Cleon and Swan to Staten Island, of all fucking places.

"I hate boats," Swan grumbled as they finally made it to land.

"Had to be Staten?" Cleon teased as they got onto their second train of the damn trip.

The kid scowled, like a true Staten Islander, "It's not that bad."

The uncle was, though. Considering the man didn't blink twice, barely noticed the clearly displayed colors and waved his hand in the general vicinity of where he thought important paperwork landed, Swan considered it a miracle the kid survived as long as she did with him. He signed the necessary letter and Cleon managed to find the kid's birth certificate and they were on their way back to Coney Island.

"He wasn't horrible," the kid said to Swan, Cleon off to get some air - she hated being trapped, could barely stand trains, and boats freaked her out a bit. "Not really, I just- I couldn't be there anymore."

"Was that your parents' house?" Swan asked.

The kid scowled. "It's supposed to go to me, when I turn twenty-five. He's wrecked it, though."

"When did they die?"

"Four years ago," the kid kicked lazily at the junction between the floor and the wall, scuffing the white rubber of her shoe. "Car accident."

"Sorry to hear that."

The kid looked at her out of the corner of her eye. Shrewd. Discerning. She was smarter than she seemed initially. "Yours are still alive."

"Mm."

"You said you got kicked out," the kid continued. "Why?"

Swan moved her jaw to the left. To the right. "My dad found out that I'm gay. He thought I was a bad influence on my younger sisters."

"Oh." The kid blinked. "That sucks."

"Yeah."

"Ajax and Rembrandt are dating right?"

Swan laughed, a small, huffed sound. "Yeah. Yeah, they are. A long time now."

"Thought so," the kid nodded. "I don't want my name to be kid."

"It won't be."

"I want it to be something cool," the kid said.

"Like one of your comics?" Swan raised an eyebrow, checking the kid's shoulder with one of hers.

The kid rolled her eyes. "No. Like yours."

"Mine?"

"Yeah. Swan's are cool."

Later that night, after they showed the kid her new bed in Swan's room and the kid had fallen asleep, Swan retold the story in the living room.

"Fuck that," Ajax scowled. "My name's way cooler. Mythology, like Athena or something."

"You are such a nerd," Cowgirl whined, causing Ajax to throw a pillow at her.

"Let her pick her own, that's what I did," Rembrandt said.

"Because you nearly killed me when I suggested Van Gogh," Cochise reminded.

"He cut off his ear-"

"I was thinking Fox," Cleon said, as the others descended into bickering.

"Fox," Swan repeated. Feeling the name. Pictured the flighty, intelligent kid. "Fox."

"Keeps the animal theme."

Swan's eyes flicked to Cleon. "You recruited her."

Cleon shrugged. "Still."

Fox liked the name, in the end. Though they got little time with her excitement before they got to learn exactly how miserable an unhappy teenager can make everyone around them.

"Wait, I have to go to school?" Fox stared at Cleon and Swan like they sprouted three heads.

"You're fifteen," Swan deadpanned.

"School?! I'm in a gang and I have to go to school?"

"Okay, maybe don't mention that at school," Cleon said.

Fox narrowed her eyes. "Will that get me kicked out of school?"

"Graduating's your initiation," Swan said. The look on Cleon's face was priceless, if not for the fact that, technically, this was not a Swan decision and she had not cleared it by Cleon. It got the proper reaction from Fox, though, wide-eyed and quiet. "No graduation, no colors."

"But I'm years away from graduating," Fox gaped.

"I got my colors when I was eighteen. You'll still be the youngest person initiated into the Warriors," Swan said, silently begging Cleon to go along with this. To see what Fox would do in seconds of being enrolled if Cleon did not make this a requirement.

"Yep," Cleon said after a moment. "You'll be protected, though. Live here. You'll do some light work to cover your rent and expenses. And you'll get to wear colors, it'll just be...semi-probational."

"And you are not wearing them at school," Swan said. Because that would be another disaster.

"Absolutely," Cleon agreed fully on that at the very least.

But, boy, did Fox make sure everyone knew what her initiation was.

Ajax was less than helpful, laughing as Fox recounted the trip to the registration office that day and looking at Swan, "Isn't that a bit hypocritical of you?"

Swan could have killed Ajax, her hand tightening around her fork as Fox's head snapped to Swan.

"What do you mean?" Fox asked.

"Swan didn't fucking graduate," Ajax said.

"Ajax!" Cleon hissed.

"She didn't!" Ajax exclaimed. "She doesn't even have her GED- Jesus Christ, Rembrandt, ow!"

Rembrandt had jabbed a very pointy elbow into Ajax's side.

"Why do I have to graduate, then?" Fox gaped.

"Because you have the opportunity and it's important," Swan said.

Fox stared at Swan. The rest of the Warriors. "No one is ever going to believe me if I say that my gang initiation was graduating high school."

She worked hard, though. That first progress report, Fox brought it home all smiles, As and Bs all the way down.

"Is that good enough?" Fox asked, after she pushed the paper at Swan.

"It's great," Swan said.

"But is it good enough?" Fox pestered.

Swan gave her a look. "Have you graduated?"

Fox frowned. "No."

Swan ruffled her hair. "They're good grades."

"Swan, seriously-"

And Swan knew that it was largely a sham. Fox worked hard in class, but she didn't stay after school. As soon as the bell rang, Fox ran back to their apartment and donned her colors, patrolling the boardwalk and bouncing between Warriors. She read her comic books still, but Ajax taught her to throw a proper punch and Swan helped her learn how to fight. Fox never asked Cleon for money to buy a dress for a dance. But when they moved to a new apartment and Fox got her own bedroom, she proudly displayed her comic books and the stuffed toys she won on the boardwalk and Swan knew they did the right thing with her initiation.

Then, her senior year, it started getting a bit dangerous.

Gangs were getting restless, a strange energy that even the Riffs couldn't keep a lid on. Fights along borders were becoming more violent. Seventeen was an age that many gangs saw as prime recruitment and Fox's school bordered on the territory of at least four separate gangs, not even including the Warriors, so that year saw Swan walking Fox to and from school every day.

Over the years, Fox changed. She rankled against being the kid of the group, took it less light-heartedly when people teased her about still technically being an initiate, and she started poking harder at Swan for her initiation. She talked a bit less, stared a bit more, and hit way harder when Swan and her sparred.

On one of these walks back home, the spring of her senior year, Fox broke their comfortable silence. "Why didn't you get your GED?"

"Hm?" Swan looked out of the corner of her eye at Fox. "My GED?"

"Yeah."

"...I never actually went to school."

"What do you mean?"

"My parents' homeschooled my siblings and me," Swan said, staring straight ahead. "They were really religious. When my dad kicked me out...I tried, at first. One of the first youth shelters I went to gave me a placement test. I was seventeen performing at a fifth grade level in all subjects, maybe sixth in math. Even to do my GED...that's a lot of catching up."

Fox was quiet for a long while, before all but whispering, "I didn't know that."

"No one does."

"Not even Cleon?"

Swan shook her head.

"That sucks," Fox said, with all the righteous fury of a seventeen year old.

Swan laughed, a short, bitter thing. "Yeah. A bit."

The night of Fox's graduation, the Warriors celebrated. They ate and drank and played music way too loud and Fox beamed from ear to ear. Cleon kept talking about framing her diploma on their living room wall. Ajax teased Fox about being the longest initiate in history.

As the night wound down, Fox found Swan on the roof, smoking.

"Can I have one?" Fox asked, because she always asked.

"Nope." Swan said and Fox laughed.

They stared out at the city. Companionable silence between them.

"You could do it, you know," Fox said.

Swan looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "Do what?"

"Get your GED," Fox said. "I could help."

"Hm."

"I'm serious," Fox pressed. "You're more than capable of it."

Swan hummed, looking out at all the lights.

"I really think I could help you study," Fox said. "And I found a group at the library. They break during the summer, but they have a study group and assistance things starting back up again in the fall."

Swan didn't say anything.

Fox didn't either, for a moment. "I only recently started realizing how many jobs require a diploma. Or a GED."

Way too fucking many.

"Thank you," Fox said. "Even though I gave you shit for it."

Swan chuckled, just a bit. "I'll think about the study group."

"You have the opportunity and it's important," Fox teased and Swan considered tossing the kid off that roof.

Swan did consider going to that study group.

But by that fall, there was an empty bedroom in Cleon's apartment that they pretended didn't exist. Filled with comic books no one would ever touch and stuffed toys that gathered dust and a diploma still waiting for that frame and no one to walk with Swan to the library.

----------

I think I might need Witness Protection after that last paragraph.

Does it help if I say I made myself cry?

[patricia-taxxon]

im sick of the made up "art snob" character that doesn't understand simple emotions like love and joy. whether its imagined snooty film critics who can't loosen up and have FUN, or imagined suspender-wearing hipsters telling you about bands you've never heard of, it's all fake. these aren't real people. they're as real as the kids in those boomer comics that are so phone-obsessed that they don't know how books work. it's a fantasy dreamt up by the masses who are so insecure about their lack of knowledge that they'd rather pretend that they have something the knowledgeable do not.

you need to have an eclectic media diet in order to be my friend, but to say that I and my friends are incapable of experiencing simple joys in *everything* we engage with is just insulting. There are simple joys to discover, there are also simple sadnesses and simple discomforts or even simple revulsions. It's all feelings. it never stops being about feelings no matter where you go.

Honestly, the pattern that I've noticed is that people with eclectic media diets are *more* receptive to unadulterated trash, we're the ones going up to bat for Aquaman, we're the ones who think the chainsmokers weren't all that bad, we have awfuller trashier opinions than any of you lot. You don't possess anything that the ~snobs~ are incapable of accessing, it's over.

[rei-ismyname]

X-Men #8 - Raid on Graymalkin

I think I've come to terms with the fact that the target demographic for the line is quite a distance from my desires and expectations. I'm still grieving Krakoa and the kind of follow up we could have had but I've accepted it's not happening in any form. If anything, I'd call From The Ashes the anti-Krakoa. With that in mind, X-Men #8 was pretty damn good!

Uh oh.

The issue has an unknown timeskip from where #7 left off, but it's implied that it's a matter of days not weeks. As shown in solicits, Beast is in Graymalkin prison and the president of Terra Verde is there to hold him accountable for the genocide during Krakoa. What's made explicit is that Warden Ellis is going to sell him to them for a show trial and execution. Why a show trial? Hank McCoy did those things. Not this one, but is that common knowledge? Either way everyone's motivations are clear.

Especially Cyclops', as he is not happy about Hank getting snatched and declares they're breaking the prison. Psylocke tries to calm him down, suggesting he's not thinking clearly, but despite some justified anger I'd say he's clear-headed. It would have been wise to talk to Rogue (something they're capable of doing instantly) but it's a crossover. People don't communicate in those. The X-Men figure out exactly what happened very quickly and form a plan.

Warden Ellis hasn't had any page time in this book, so it's necessary to show how awful she is for folks who only read adjectiveless. We also get a better idea of how many inmates they have - at least 30 but likely more. Hank, Jubilee and Calico aren't delighted to find themselves in a prison drama mess hall, and find the time for some light inter-team rivalry. I had thought Jubilee was working with both teams but it seems she's picked a side. This Beast has never met Jubilee, but they make nice.

Ellis tells Calico she'll be free to go due to her family donating to the prison. She accepted her mutant status very suddenly during the last issue of Uncanny, but there's a reason she fled - they're the kind of people who donate to a gulag. Unless Ellis is lying here to break any solidarity she formed with this affidavit. Wouldn't surprise me. Calico isn't having it, chowing down on the gruel that is 'mutant food.' Saucier would be horrified by that but it's a nice character beat here.

Her tears definitely help sell it. Calico has had a very sheltered life up until she ended up here, escaped (I think,) lived in the woods for who knows how long, and now she's back here. Ellis orders her beaten but Hank steps up and absorbs the beating for her.

'Is that all you've got, screw?' is an excellent line and declaration of defiance. Fuck prisons and the people who run them. The guards beat the shit out of him though he doesn't try to defend himself at all. Ellis leaves to deal with a commotion and orders the guards to keep beating him. It's brutal and it shows Hank at his best.

Said commotion is the X-Men, who teleported the Marauder into the yard and trashed a lot of their ordinance as well as the main power. My purple prose makes it seem slower, but this happens early in the issue. One of my issues with this book so far has been one of pacing. There's been so many disparate threats and plot elements plus an entire issue dedicated to a Morrison/Quitely psychic rescue homage - but the pacing here is sharp and purposeful.

Magik's reinforcements are demons from Limbo and she explicitly asks what the murder parameters are. Scott insists on no killing. Appropriate character beats for them both and even a nice nod to their war-forged friendship. Rule of cool is absolutely in play, adding to the beats as opposed to standing in for them.

Here they are! I wonder what the deal is with Limbo right now. Maddie Pryor was in charge in recent Infinity Comics after Magik gave her the crown, but I can't pretend to be an expert on Limbo demon politics. It shows Cyclops' pragmatism as a commander, using all resources at his disposal, and the guards are delightfully terrified. Good.

Cutting to Ellis frames it as a contest of commanders, zooming out from the battle without losing either side's front line POV. With so many characters in play I think this kind of formalism is necessary and it works well here. That they're ideological opposites heightens the tension and drives the conflict forward. Nobody is backing down here.

I wonder how Juggernaut feels about his childhood home as a gulag he's about to break into. I hope that's touched on.

One of the big challenges with set piece battles is keeping track of where everyone is and what they're doing. If a character just appears at an objective there's no tension, whereas showing us where each combatant is and what they're attempting sets up the spoken plan guarantee so it can go wrong. We know where the pieces are so when something goes wrong the heroes have to improvise and pivot with the unexpected.

The X-Men have momentum and the advantage right now, but Ellis has further assets to deploy.

Gotta love the coordination of the psychic Discord allowing Temper and Psylocke to take advantage of vertical space so Cyclops can unleash an optic blast. It's sharp, kinetic action as well as a display of competence before the unexpected flips everything on its head.

Using Psylocke to get up to date intelligence on enemy tactics reinforces this while signalling that the turn is right around the corner. They don't want to fight mutants but they may have to. Ellis' trustees have been seeded all through Uncanny and it's horrifying to learn the extent of it. The X-Men know before we do, so our imagination briefly goes wild before we turn the page.

Blob AKA Fred Dukes has been wonderfully rehabilitated in the last five years, first in Age of X-Man and then as the dutiful, friendly barkeep of Krakoa's Green Lagoon. Seeing him like this sucks, but it's earned and should concern Scott who's been fighting him since he was a teenager. They don't want to hurt him though they do know how to neutralize him.

Then the action and adrenaline screeches to a halt as they come face to face with the Uncanny team. It's an effective cliffhanger to end on and the first explicit scene to say 'yes, this is a crossover.' It speaks well of the issue that Mackay waits until the last page to show that the Uncanny team are doing the same thing as the X-Men - a prison break.

I don't love that the tension between the teams has not been built aside from Logan (whose eyes are healed!) inexplicably hating on Scott. Rogue is effectively calling Scott out for standing by and poor communication, but both apply to her too. It's a cliffhanger within a crossover, so it's doubly unlikely they start fighting immediately, but I do wish we'd been given more reason for them to be at odds. Solicits suggest they don't come to blows until Uncanny #8, so hopefully they're able to cooperate in the short term. There's been a lot of editorialising about an ideological divide between the two, and a heated, dangerous situation is a good place for that to happen.

I've made no effort to hide my disappointment in this area, but the slick execution of this issue gives me some hope. Time will tell. I'll be frank and say that crossover events are often rife with needless conflict and mischaracterisation. However, so far so good, as Jed Mackay has had a great week of X-Men. He nailed Avengers #21 and X-Men #8 was a huge step up from the tenor of the run so far. The pacing is top notch, the characters are acting like themselves, and all the pieces are in place for some messy escalation. I've been harsh on his work so far, so it's only fair to give credit where it's due. X-Men #8 is a banger well worth reading.

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  4 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: guilt is heavy on your mind, but when given the opportunity to confess, things escalate to an admission you weren't expecting. it would seem you aren't the only one who deals with temptation.

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

You were pretty used to people wanting to have sex with you - boys at the club that danced too close. Or the library in college, checking you out from behind when you returned books. You’d learned to ignore the stares, the not-so-subtle advances, the occasional grope on a crowded dance floor. It was just part of being a woman, you had told yourself. And truthfully, being desired felt good, even if it sometimes manifested in inappropriate ways. 

It had a specific power, especially when you often looked at your hips in the mirror. Even when you felt bloated or your skin was breaking out, catching an appreciative glance from a cute guy perked up your mood. It was a reminder that despite your insecurities, your body was beautiful and alluring to others. There was something deeply validating about that.

You had seen the restraint in Zayne’s eyes, the way he had held himself back the moment he met you. It was different from the hungry leers of other men. There was a respect there, a reverence almost as if he never quite believed that you were real. 

But you felt the sweat-slick desire coursing through his veins whenever he fucked you. Fucked you against the wall, the desk bent over. You had smelled the lust on his skin - his need to claim. This led you to believe there wasn’t much in his own life he had much control over - though you never asked. 

Most times you were with him, you didn’t try to distract him. You pretended not to care when he slipped the wedding band off his finger and tossed it somewhere out of his line of sight. Being wanted, needed, and craved so intensely always took priority in your mind of what was right or proper. The way he touched you, kissed you, and drove into you with such fervor. 

You didn’t let the ring distract you, considering it was just an object. 

Until one morning, it caught your eye. The simple gold band rested on the nightstand as you sat against the headboard. You blinked and glanced over at Zayne sleeping next to you - his defined shoulder blades and strong muscles, the smooth curve of his body leading to narrow hips. 

At that moment, you wished you could start over and stay in this life forever. Maybe he would have come with you if you ran away. Maybe you could have convinced him to protect you, or you could have made up an excuse for why he needed to stay by your side. Deep down, you knew those thoughts were selfish and even comical. You had been desperate and needy yet appreciative of how he had made everything else disappear. 

Maybe you were his way of breaking free of the monotony of his own life. Like a character in a novel or a television show - just another man’s object of lust and curiosity. But this man was kind, intelligent, decent, and honest from the start. 

And yet, in those cramped quarters of that hotel room, staring at the wood grain of the nightstand, you couldn’t imagine a single scenario where things ended anything other than badly. 

It had all been so simple, falling into bed with the good doctor who worked nights - whose marriage didn’t matter or had seemed not to. Maybe, in another life, he would have swept you off your feet and carried you far away to far-off places, like Scotland, where you always wanted to visit. With all his money and experience, surely he could’ve whisked you away to somewhere beyond…

Letting your fantasies consume you as you looked at him again, dark hair against the pillow, lips parted slightly in slumber, he looked more vulnerable while asleep. The hard lines on his face softened, and the ever-present intensity drained away. It would have been so easy to wake him and lose yourself in the fire again. 

But something held you back, causing your gaze to land back on the ring. You envisioned a woman with vibrant red hair who was solid and straightforward. She could be a doctor too, or maybe a real estate agent who worked 60 hours a week. 

You looked toward the nightstand drawer and knew what book would be inside—one that every hotel room seemed to have. Reaching out, you opened the drawer, examining the well-worn blue cover. Quietly, you took the Bible out and flipped through its thin pages in your lap, illuminated by the soft morning light through the crack in the curtains. Without even looking, you found the page you were searching for, mouthing the passage you had read countless times before. 

‘Though the Lord is great, He cares for the humble, but keeps His distance from the proud.’

A strange, eerie feeling washed over you as you thought about your own humanity, that ring on the nightstand. In that moment, a wave of self-pity but you as you realized how simple and insignificant humans really were. But you kept flipping through the pages anyway.

‘Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble at heart, and you will find rest for your souls.’

“D-does that include me?” You whispered to yourself, breaking the silence of the room. Of your thoughts. “I'm carrying a lot of garbage with me.” You snorted, bringing a thumb up to swipe at a tear that gathered in your eye. You smeared your face across your arm, sniffling, trying to suppress a tight sob. 

Whatever this was, whatever you had gotten involved in, there were no solutions or promises. Talking to God seemed as futile as ever. 

“I think it's best if I go home for a little while,” you said, loud enough to startle Zayne out of sleep. You closed your eyes and shut the Bible, wishing for some kind of miracle to wash away the guilt and confusion - the sin that had entangled itself around you. “I need to visit my dad,” you added, trying to steady your voice. “Get my head straight.”

Fully awake now, Zayne sat up, turning to face you. “Alone?”

His features were pinched, concerned. There was a flash of regret in your stomach, and you laughed. 

“No.” You answered. Then you shook your head. Your eyes were stinging again, but you clutched the edges of the Bible and breathed deeply. “Yes, of course, alone. God, I can't believe you just fucking asked me that.” 

The words were spoken harshly, but they were truthful and full of shame.

Zayne held his head high, revealing the internal conflict he may have been struggling with. He leaned back against the headboard, and you could see him trying to figure out what to say next as he gazed into the distance. Then his eyes closed, and when they opened and locked with you again, the hazel color seemed to dance in the dimly lit room. He swallowed hard before saying, “Maybe you shouldn't sleep around if it's going to upset you.”

“I'm upset with you, ” you stated firmly. Your thumb began tapping the side of the Bible. “I'm upset with myself.” 

Zayne shook his head in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. The look on his face made you want to reach out and comfort him. But you knew you shouldn't. That feeling of despair washed over you again, but you welcomed it this time. It was a harsh reality and a reminder of the situation. The bitter taste of logic told you that you'd been used and that despite any genuine feelings from either of you - the actions had still been wrong. 

It was a sobering realization that you loved this man, the same one you'd been sneaking around with behind his wife's back. Over and over again. Your sense of morality has failed you in the end, and you couldn't help but feel dirty, tainted, maybe even a bit worthless. You couldn't justify your actions or rationalize them anymore. 

The affections of one man had caused a tectonic shift in your being, a deep rumbling that shook you to your very foundation. Your faith in God, the same one who had taken your mother from you, was wavering even more. 

In a fit of emotion, you had quit your job that afternoon and impulsively bought a plane ticket. It was a familiar pattern - escape was the default when faced with overwhelming loss. And as you sat in the exit row, surrounded by strangers, you couldn't decide which scenario had felt more devastating - losing your mother or potentially losing yourself. 

“Remember, honey,” Your mother's words echoed in your mind as the plane took off. “A man can make you feel like the most special woman in the world. But only God can fill that hole in your heart. Don't look for love in the wrong places, alright?” 

You had pressed into the seat, tears prickling in your eyes that you blinked away. You had refused to break down here, 30,000 feet in the air, with nowhere to hide. 

Walking was always your go-to activity to clear your head. Whether it was with a destination in mind or not. Your dad had offered you use of his car plenty of times since you got home, but you declined - appreciating the privacy of walking. He hadn’t caught on how much you wanted your privacy yet but hadn’t bothered asking. Or ask why you hadn’t gone to church with him since before the festival. 

Since your conversation with Zayne, a heavy sense of something that felt like a weight clung to you like a dense fog; each step feels like a struggle, as if trudging through mud. But really, what had you expected? Your mind was clouded by the usual clarity that came with walking. But you knew you couldn’t stay in your room forever; eventually, your dad would catch on. Maybe he had learned from the experience with your mother how to catch onto sadness, and you couldn’t have that happen.  

So you did what she used to - you drank half a bottle of wine and left the rest in the fridge before heading out into the night. You had no particular destination. While drinking, you did your best not to think about your mother or whatever else was troubling you. But that’s not what makes you feel guilty. It’s a mix of everything: your secret, Zayne, and the fact you thought alcohol could numb it all away. 

As you continued to walk, the rec center by the church gradually came into view. The sign proclaiming a Bible study catches your attention and a stream of teenagers exiting the building.  They had an unmistakable energy about them, with their trendy and vibrant clothing. It was intriguing, something worth pausing to observe. Life carried on, even after you stumbled down a path and nearly fell off track. It was absurd to think about how one man’s deception could cause so much…UGH! 

You heard a familiar voice call your name from the building's steps, and you turned to see Xavier. He adjusted his jacket as he descended the concrete stairs, passing by a group of teenagers who chatted on the sidewalk. 

“Hey,” you forced a polite grin, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Aren’t you a bit too old for youth group?”

He rolled his eyes. “I help out the Father from time to time,” he explained. “But when it’s these guys…yeah, kinda does feel like middle school over again.” He gave a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m so busy, I barely make it to church or anything. This was just convenient.”

“Teaching kids about the Bible, huh?” you offered, trying to keep the conversation light. The last thing you wanted Xavier to do was pick up on your melancholy mood. 

Xavier nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s nice to give back, you know?” 

“Well, aren’t you lucky?” You said, admiring Xaviers' easy smile. He had always been reliable, especially when it came to helping his parents and now working for your dad. He certainly seemed to have matured more than you and understood the importance of responsibility. 

Perhaps he could sense something was amiss, and hopefully, he couldn’t smell the wine on your breath at all. Regardless, he took the opportunity to shoo away some of the kids still lingering around before it got too dark for them to walk home safely. Once they were out of sight, he turned back to you. 

“So, how have you been? You look a little…off.” 

“Long day.” You admitted, not wanting to burden him of all people, but in some way desperately craving a scrap of real attention. “Talking about it would be too much of a hassle. I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Xaviers' brow furrowed with what appeared to be concern. “You know, sometimes talking about it can help. Even if it’s just a little bit.” He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I’m here to listen if you want…” 

You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to open up. Something about Xavier's presence, the sincerity in his voice, made you feel…safe. Maybe it was the fact that you’d known him for so long, or maybe it was how he always genuinely cared about others. He was so sincere and sweet, and your shoulders slumped because you couldn’t even fathom where to begin - not wanting to. 

“I’m good, promise.” You forced another smile, and that seemed to do the trick because Xavier nodded slowly, though his eyes still flickered with concern. 

“Alright. If you say so.” 

An awkward silence hung between you both for a moment as you stood on the sidewalk, the last rays of the sun casting long shadows on the pavement. Xavier shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly wanting to say something but unsure how to proceed. 

He cleared his throat nervously and rubbed the back of his neck again. “So, I was thinking…Maybe we could grab dinner sometime while you’re here? Catch up properly?” He chuckled, an apparent attempt at hiding his nerves. 

You felt your face grow warm as you bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to contain the smile that threatened to break out. Of all the times he could have asked you out in school…

“Sure,” You stammered. “It’s been a while since we’ve just talked.”

“No, I mean, sorry -” Xaviers' eyebrows furrowed. “You know, like…a date?” 

“A date?” you repeated in surprise. 

Your laughter bubbled out of you as you looked away. After worrying for so long about being alone forever, it was strange to hear someone offer themselves to you in a way that wasn’t hinting at anything sexual—especially someone who you used to have feelings for in your youth. A tiny thrill of hope-filled your stomach. But then the guilt was quick to rush in, along with shame. It weighs on your spine and makes you force in a breath. 

You met his gaze earnestly. “Are you sure?”

“Uh, well, why wouldn’t I be? You don’t think it would be awkward, would it?” 

You shook your head, trying to push away any doubt or insecurities that threatened to overwhelm you. “No, no, it’s not that. I just…” You trailed off. 

Xavier's expression softened, and he gently touched your arm. “Y/N, it’s fine. We don’t have to. I just thought it might be nice to spend some time together, you know? No pressure.” 

You nodded, grateful for his understanding and that he was still as sweet as the day you graduated. You also didn’t want to ignore the part of you that still felt like a teenager, the small voice that begged you to say yes. 

“I’d love to go out with you, sure.” You gave in and reached into your pocket, retrieving your phone and holding it out. “Can you send a text to yourself?” 

He accepted it and began typing with his thumbs, the bright screen casting a glow on his nose. Once he was finished, he handed it back to you. 

You tucked your phone back into your pocket, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. Despite the heaviness in your heart, the prospect of a ‘date’ seemed to lift your spirits, if only a little bit. 

“I should probably get going,” Xavier said, glancing up toward the sky. “Early start at the shop tomorrow.” He looked as if he was about to say more but then seemed to think better of it. “I’ll text you soon about dinner, okay?” 

You nodded. “Sure. See you later.” 

Xavier gave a small wave and stepped off the curb to cross the street. When he was around the corner and out of sight, you felt the embrace of the fall evening again, and everything around you went silent.

Until you heard the gentle sound of a piano resounding from inside the rec center, the front door was still partially open, and the chords flowed from somewhere within; the melody was haunting and gentle. Sticking your hands in your pockets, you headed up the cement steps into the building, pushing the squeaky door open a bit more as you were greeted by the soft, dimly lit lobby. You followed the sound to one of the rooms in the back. 

Father Sylus was too focused, slender fingers moving across the keys and producing that haunting melody that you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. Yet, you found it strangely comforting. Your feet remembered how to move, stepping forward and muffled by the thick carpet and the perfect rhythm. 

You finally recognized the tune, and a slight snort escaped your nostrils. You had been trying to find where you had heard the hymn before, but it wasn’t a hymn; it was Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera. 

He caught your eye and abruptly stopped playing, and even though you tried to suppress your amusement, he must have noticed because a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth - one that made it hard for you not to smile back. 

“I didn’t realize anyone was there.” He stated, posture stiff as he sat up straighter, making you wonder if you had interrupted him. What you really should have done was not be nosy and go home. But no, now you were forced to speak to him. 

“You, uh, a fan of musicals?” You chuckled a bit, taking in his expression - one of a man caught doing something they would have preferred someone not seeing. But there was something deeper to it as his expression darted to another part of the room and left yours as if looking for an excuse for something completely different. 

Father Sylus cleared his throat, running a hand back through his hair. “I’ve…seen some here and there.” He moved down on the piano bench, patting the spot next to him. “Sit if you’d like.” 

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it. 

But you went over, settling onto the cool leather of the bench, arms folded. The sheet music for Amazing Grace that had been taped in place for years was slightly curled up in the corners and soft with age. It was a relic that someone had likely tried to care for, but there were pencil smudges. You reached out and tapped a key absentmindedly, just as a distraction from how close in proximity you now were to Father Sylus. 

“That was, uh, really good.” You spoke, crossing your legs at your ankles and tucking them under the bench. “I never really caught on to the music stuff.” 

“I can’t take all the credit.” He gave a small chuckle, watching your movements, hands now folded perfectly in his lap, and his eyes settled back on the keys and the markings someone had left on the notes. “I did take piano lessons up until college.” 

“What did you study?” You felt compelled to ask this question. Mainly because all your prior talks have been surface-level, skimming the waters of who you both were. But sitting here next to him, you caught on to his confidence, an educated air. 

“Music theory,” he replied, the words soft and straightforward. You watched his body language. While his posture remained still, he moved a hand around in front of him in a ‘roll over’ motion. “Then eventually theology, religion, philosophy. Mostly, I wasn’t sure what I would do in the future.” 

“So one day you woke up and said, ‘I’m gonna be a priest?’” You joked, not waiting for a response before formulating your next question. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you? You don’t seem that old.” 

“Twenty-eight.” He told you, turning his head to look toward the stacked chairs against the walls. “I didn’t expect to end up where I am. I think that’s what often happens in life, though. You don’t have a plan ahead of time, or perhaps, have the expectations of something that doesn’t always end up as a concrete idea." He chuckled, "Like studying music theory.” 

“And your family was on board with it?” You asked. 

“More or less. Sometimes, I still wonder, if I had to do it again, would I?” 

Your brow arched curiously at his questions of himself, the wonderingness of his tone. 

“That’s a little deep for a regular Tuesday evening.” You managed a half-smirk, trying not to invade his space with the turn your conversation had taken. 

“Is there a set day for discussions such as these?” He countered, turning to look at you, red eyes almost glinting in challenge. His tone was almost teasing, and nerves sparked in your belly. 

“I think late Saturday evenings work,” you decided with a short hum, “Though I hear Sunday mornings are very convenient.” 

“That’s fair.” He mused with a short laugh. 

Taking a risk, you let the urge grip you and reached out, laying a hand on his arm. For a moment, the touch felt wrong, the thoughts swirling. But it was almost too perfect, the way he was just sitting there. Then it hit you what you were doing, and you pulled your hand away. 

“Sorry,” you sputtered. “I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” he insisted, still looking at you. You looked away, unable to keep eye contact and rubbing your arm nervously. 

“No, it was,” you murmured. You felt ridiculous, getting way too close to the goddamn priest. You wanted to smack yourself with the disappointment that you’d just tried to flirt without realizing it. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me lately.” 

“You’re human,” he stated, and his expression was sincere as you looked back at him. “There’s something about you,” he tried to smile, but it fell flat. Instead, a slight frown formed, an almost curious look coming into his features. “Nothing’s wrong with you, truly.” His voice faltered, nearly a whisper at the end, and he laughed gently. “You’re just flawed; everyone is.” His eyes went back to the piano keys. “Even God himself isn’t perfect.” 

“I…guess that’s true.” 

Your eyes prickled. There was nothing truly remarkable about what he had said, but you dug your nails into the fabric of your jeans as you remembered your mother. You took a slow, steadying breath to try and stop the tears from coming, from recalling all those unanswered questions. 

Because, like everything else that had happened in your life recently, it was vague - only a tingle of existence in a reality that didn’t feel entirely real. One that couldn’t have been planned out by a force you couldn’t see but were supposed to feel yet hadn’t in a very long time. 

A hot tear escaped as you focused on the wall behind the piano, your voice cracked as you sought to get out an explanation for your sudden emotion. “I can’t - I did something and can’t tell you.” You sucked a shaky breath as you shuffled on the bench with the intent to stand. “Something really messed up, and I -” 

You were stopped by Father Sylus reaching a hand out, catching your own in a grasp that felt like a flame. A grasp that broke your words as you looked at his hand around your own. When you were finally able to meet his gaze, his features were relaxed and patient, willing you to speak. 

“I can’t tell you,” you repeated. “If I tell you, it means that it’s real and he exists and I - I potentially ruined everything and that I’m just a slut and a homewrecker and a sinner and I’ll go to Hell and -” 

“Stop.” 

It was a single word. Uttered with such confidence, it made you go still, frozen, and quiet, save for the deep breath you now forced yourself to take that didn’t entirely fill your lungs. You worried briefly that you’d scared the man away with your panicky ramblings. But he simply held your now trembling hand in his. Constant. Grounding. It was enough to make you realize the depth of emotion he spoke with. 

“I’m sorry.” You forced out the words, glancing down at the floor and how his feet were directly towards the piano, his attention again on the instrument. Your next question found its way past the tightness in your chest, a sudden flare of hot guilt welling. You knew the answer; it was all fire and brimstone either way and perhaps you were looking for sympathy with how he could answer in his calm and smooth voice. “What does the Bible say about adultery?” You asked.

Father Sylus may have been of the same religion. Responsible for leading the good people of this town from whatever chaos they experienced in their personal lives, or at least not eating meat on Ash Wednesday. Still, he sat silent for a while before finally turning to you. 

“I’m afraid if you’ve come to me for forgiveness, you’ll receive none from me.” 

“And what the fuck is your problem?” You stood, anger and resentment rising quickly. You crossed your arms over your chest and glanced at the ceiling. “Your whole job is to - guide people!  Something, instead -” 

“I can’t.” He stated firmly, standing and taking a step back from you. “Because I’m guilty, too.” 

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Your body tensed as you watched him suck in a sharp breath and grip at his hair, tangling his fingers through the silky strands. 

“I’m sorry,” he spoke softer now, another exhale and another step back. “I am, Y/N.” The way he spoke now was measured, perhaps even a bit apprehensive. “We all make mistakes. We all sin. Especially me.”

He looked at you, his crimson eyes burning into yours. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Y/N. I haven’t been able to stop.” 

His whole body tensed at his confession. The silence hung between you, heavy, and you realized he was waiting for your response... Not just waiting, but needing your response.  

“Why?” You breathed out, heart thudding loud enough in your chest for you to feel it. “If you felt that way, why -” You paused, deciding to let yourself admit the truth. “ I - I’ve been thinking about you, too.” 

The truth made your face feel hot and filled you with the most dreadful sense of shame and need - something inside you longing. You couldn’t fight the urge to keep talking, unable to hold back. “Maybe I’m just too messed up in the head. I need some fucking validation that every relationship isn’t destined to end up in disappointment that I create. Convince myself I’m more than a sex-crazed person or something.” 

You wanted to say more. You tried to open up and let it all out, but you were caught as you looked into his eyes. Ones that, for a fraction of a second, not easily caught, seemed to mirror yours as he allowed himself to come closer. 

It was impossible to stop yourself from stepping closer. The warm hand that reached out and cupped your cheek made any rational thought simply vanish from your mind. But you did manage to ask your question, albeit a little breathlessly: “What am I supposed to do?” 

“You’re asking the wrong person.” Father Sylus released a quivering breath, hand moving down your cheek to cup your jaw, but the grip wasn’t firm or demanding but - careful. Almost hesitant. 

Tilting your head slightly, the kiss was light – just the sweetest brush of heat. It sent a jolt along your skin, making it almost impossible for you not to melt into the action. 

“Please,” you heard him beg, whimpering against your mouth as he pulled back just a fraction, “please tell me that I’m not a monster for this.” His voice was husky and tinged with desperation. It sends a surge of heat straight to your core.

“No.” You found the word as you pulled back, locking your gaze. “You’re not.” 

The vulnerability he exudes is incredible, the words he speaks settling like a stone in your stomach as you process them. You found yourself torn between desire and shame. It was a feeling not unlike what you felt when you had first started seeing - 

You stepped back, releasing the hold as breath reached your lungs in a much shorter supply. How was this any different? This was far worse, if anything. 

“I - I can’t do this again.” You admitted, and in a way, your own words were painful. 

The priest didn’t move from his spot, brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m sorry, did I -” He raised a hand, not touching but hovering over your arm like he meant to. His expression was ridden with anxiety now, perhaps worry. 

His uncertainty made it all the more confusing. 

“I thought…” You stammered, unable to collect the fragments of your thoughts. “I thought that…I don’t know what’s going on.” You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.  

You took another step back, fighting the fear that encased your ribs, the twist in your gut. It was not because of his presence but what was coming to the surface now, whatever feeling was developing. “I have to go,” you breathed. 

“Wait, Y/N.” Father Sylus lifted his hands helplessly, his voice turning back to the one that offered guidance, eyes scanning the floor momentarily before looking back up. “You’re not the only one that feels or gives into things they’re not supposed to.” His brow creased while his eyes glinted with a sudden passion. He shifted his weight and stuffed a hand into his pocket, the other swooping the air lightly as he continued as if he needed to move his hand to formulate his words. “It..It doesn’t make you a monster.” This last statement was said with a sudden firmness. 

“Maybe not.” You replied, the head of tears forming a blurry haze at the edges of your vision. “But, no matter what we want - there will always be constraints.” The nightmarish cloud that had begun to permeate your mind ceased. “How do I keep ending up in these situations?” You forced out a laugh. “Is this what God wants for me?” 

“I don’t know.” His face took on a solemn expression as he swallowed harshly and cleared his throat. “The only thing I know is that…Whatever happened before, whatever you did,” he sucked in a sharp, sudden breath—no more nervous shifting. “Regardless of the sin you confessed, I don’t believe you to be a monster. Do you hear me? I’m telling you you’re not.” 

You looked at the deep set of his expression, the tender way he reached his hand up and tapped it against his chest right over his heart. The sentiment made a new swell of warmth radiate from him. He looked so earnest as he smiled, making your skin prickle again. 

“T-Thank you.” You answered him slowly, a small wave of unease settling as you struggled to respond. “That’s…very kind of you to say.” 

You weren’t sure if you should take his words as comfort or not as you turned, intending to leave, but there was no doubt in your mind that you felt slightly different from hearing them. “Have a good evening, Father.” 

“Wait.” A sudden neediness in the soft plea made you want to scream. 

Taking a deep breath and holding it tight, your eyes clamped shut, and for some reason, you were almost terrified to look back. You were terrified because you wanted to stay there, touch him, and claim every inch of him, body and soul. 

Something settled, the overwhelmed feeling easing into sadness, and you turned to him, tears clouding your vision. 

“What would it take to ease your pain?” He asked, watching the tears roll along the curve of your jaw as he waited for an answer. His expression had turned hopeful, as if he might be able to do something beyond everything else. He had asked the question like he genuinely wanted to know the answer. 

“I don’t know.” You forced your mouth to move. The words were honest, and the agony was unrelenting. 

Without waiting for a response, you turned and left. 

Tag list: @celestialforce

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[ineedmorevat7kinmylife]

Captain Underpants and related works rant.

I've gotten real fucking tired of people shiting on these books. I don't know if something like this has been done before, but I've seen too many parents not let their kids buy them, or kids who love to read call them stupid. More in depth under the cut.

First of all, I don't know who decided that "rude humor" in something made it of less value. That's stupid. Tons of people enjoy sex jokes, fart jokes are kind of just the kid-friendly version of that. And don't pretend that you've never enjoyed a fart joke. Some of them are objectively funny.

And do you know why Captain Underpants, Dog Man, and The Cat Kid's Comic Club books have that style of humor? It's to get more kids to read. Most eight-year-olds won't read something they don't think is funny. Those books are getting kids who might not read anything else to pick up a book. If you don't like that, I don't know what to tell you.

Also, it's not like that's the only thing those books contain. There are other jokes in there. And they're chock full of good messages. Stand up for yourself. Authority figures, even your parents, aren't always right, and can sometimes be outright cruel. Being creative is just as, if not more, important as being school-smart. Drawing and writing are important skills. Criminals can change. People can get better. If you focus on the bad things in life, you won't get anything done, and will be miserable. The books also bring to light the unrealistic expectations we place on children. They encourage people to let their kids have fun.

The Captain Underpants books, especially later on, use complex storytelling, and could even be considered science-fiction.

These books put on a cover of being just about fart jokes, get kids who don't like reading, who are told they aren't smart enough for sophisticated books, to pick them up because they like the drawings and the titles. And then they shove reinforcement after reinforcement that they are smart into the kids brains. They show them characters that are just like them, and show them saving the world.

So fuck you if you think Captain Underpants and Dog Man and any other thing like them aren't important. Dav Pilkey gives me hope for our world because he's still out there making it better.

TLDR: Captain Underpants and other things like it get kids who think they aren't smart to pick them up, and then the book teaches them that they're wrong. (along with various other messages)

[comfortmechsforverystablepeople]

The Mechanisms cheer you up

@yourlocalmechanism-dr-carmilla

Jonny

Would probably encourages you to say fuck it to whatever is bothering you and go doing something recklessly fun. If it doesn't work, he would resort to his other passion: storytelling. Afterall, he mentionned that he knows a lot more stories than he tells. So get ready for story time with great dramatics!

Nastya

Nastya notoriously doesn't like organic being. They can't be fixed with machines. But she woukd lied if she said if she doesn't know how to handle this kind of situation. Centuries with the mechs do that. And she likes you enough to try. No pressure, but will check on you regurlarly, bringing you food, water, and other stuff you could need until you get better.

Ashes

They grew up in an orphanage and then in a the mafia, they know how it can be. Of all the mechs, they would be the best at knowing what you would need nefore you say it, quatermaster and all that. They probably would try to keep you active, and would certainly defend you against whoever tries to bother you.

Ivy

Ivy often checks her options with statistics. But in case like that, she knows it wouldn’t be effective or tactful. She would let you in her archives, reading whatever books/comics/magazines you want besides her in her personnal pillow forts.

Brian

Brian may has two moral systems, but in case he cares deeply about you. He knows how it feels and how hard it can be. He would a silent presence near you, being sure that you are not alone and taking care of. Would do anything for you if you ask nicely, from cudding to go killing anyone.

Toy Soldier

Not sure what is going on with you, it never pretends that before. But it doesn't like to see you upset or just off! Time for a tea party with cucumber sandwiches! It would remind everything great about you even if you don't believe it. Would gladly sings lullaby when you are tired.

Tim

Tim usually deals with this kind of stuff with mindless violence, guns, and explosions. He would let you borrow whatever guns you want in the armory for a shooting contest. Or shooting at Jonny too, it's fun! If you don't feel up to it, they know the best octokittens to cuddle with!

Raphaella

You know what is fun? Science! Science is the answer because you can do anything with it! You can go turn an octokitten into your favourite colour or sticks really strong and cute magnets on Brian's back. She would try everything to keep your mind occupied until you get better.

Marius

As the ship's doctor, he will take your problems very seriously. You are not everyone, so he would do right for you. Is a great listener whenever you need to vent or just talk nonsense. If you feel up for some cheering up, he would take his violin out of from the most random places to amuse you.

Aurora

Aurora wouldn’t like to see you like that, she cares deeply about you. She's no stranger of those problems, since she's the ship. But she also knows her limit. Will likely make an extra effort to keep your room at perfect temperature and humidity and will search for planets you would like to visit for some fresh air, no matter what Jonny says.

Scuzz

Will drag in the most comfiest spot and will prptect you from anything and anyone, standing guard. Take advantage of it and do anything you want, they will allow it.

Carmilla

She had been there. So many time. But she's a doctor! If there is a way to fix it, she will find it. Therapy? Medicine? A hug? Nothing is too much if it can help you. She's proud of you and love you dearly, she won’t let you be hurt in any way alone.

In general

They aren't stranger of this kind of situation. So, they would be extra nice and caring to make sure you get better. They know it takes time and that not everything can be magically go away... but they are immortals and you are important! So they will do all the efforts!

[coraniaid]

More than any specific plot details, the whole concept of the post-Chosen comics as published by Dark Horse simply doesn't work for me in principle.

Partly that's because the idea that they are, or could ever be, meaningfully "canon" continuations of Buffy's story strikes me as almost offensively absurd. Buffy was a television show and so its characters were a collaborative creation on behalf of both the writers and the actors who play them. The actors aren't just there to read out the scripts the writers came up with; they played a fundamental role in bringing their characters to life.

Surely an attempt to film a putative "Season 8" that recast Buffy in SMG's absence wouldn't have been accepted as canon by most of the audience? But then how can a Season 8 that effectively gets rid of not just SMG but all of the other actors be any different?

[Although worth acknowledging here that the show actually did recast Nikki Wood between Seasons 5 and 7 -- and did so despite the original actor wanting to come back as well -- and nobody seemed to particularly care about that. But I think the general point stands anyway.]

Since comic books and television are very different mediums, the Season 8 comics can either choose tell stories that make sense in that medium or it can pretend to be a glimpse into what the show would have been like if it had continued beyond Chosen. (Or neither, I guess.) But it can't really do both: and once you start telling stories that would never have worked on the screen it becomes harder still to pretend that this is in any sense "canonical" or that it somehow reflects the way that the story "would have" gone if Buffy had had additional seasons.

But also, and even more fundamentally, the post-Chosen comics don't work for me because the whole point of Chosen is surely that Buffy escaped the narrative: she doesn't have to be The Slayer anymore. She changed the rules of the game; she broke the cycle. She won!

Which doesn't really work, as an ending, if it turns out she's still trapped in the role of the Main Character after all, still having to live separate and apart from the rest of humanity -- arguably, in the comics, even more so than she ever was as a high school student! -- and that she's doomed to have to save the world from supernatural horrors on a regular basis again and again and again. The whole appeal, to me, of the Season 7 finale is that it leaves Buffy at a moment of almost infinite possibility. She doesn't know what she's going to do next, or where she's going to go, or who -- if anyone -- she's going to end up with romantically. As she tells us herself, she still hasn't figured out who she's going to be. That's why the ending works: because it's a beginning to whatever direction you want to imagine Buffy's story going from this point on. And that simply doesn't work at all if you then insist there's a "canon" answer to the question of What Happens Next? It robs Chosen -- or at least, it attempts to rob Chosen, if you take it seriously -- of something important.

On the other hand, the premise of the more recent Boom! comic series is a lot more appealing to me. A full reboot, starting from the begining of the show, not claiming to replace the original but telling a parallel story alongside it? A version of Buffy with, from the start, a much better idea of where it's going or what type of stories it might want to tell, which can introduce minor recurring characters and prophecies and foreshadowing early without having to worry about the vagaries of casting actors to play the roles? A story in a different medium that can play with the audience's expectations and flesh out minor characters or bring them into the story at a different point or give them a different fate than they got the first time around? More Kendra? More Robin Wood? That sounds like exactly my thing. I love that.

And yet, genuinely, I don't think I've heard a single specific detail about the Boom! comics -- and over the years, without really trying, I've picked up a lot of details -- that hasn't made me think: well, no, that's really stupid, I don't like that at all.

[randomthefox]

If there were supposedly Sungazers on the island the whole time, and the only reason they weren't seen was because they were hiding due to Eggmans presence on the island, then why are they still nowhere to be seen AFTER EGGMAN LEAVES THE ISLAND?

Trip's story takes place AFTER the main story featuring Eggman. Eggman is NOT PRESENT during Trip's story. There is no longer any reason for them to be in hiding

So where are the Sungazers?

Do YOU see any Sungazers? I sure don't see any Sungazers.

What about after the conclusion of Trip's story, where she has booted Fang off the island?

I don't see any Sungazers. Do YOU see any Sungazers? It sure seems like there aren't any other Sungazers to me.

What about after the Final story with the giant evil black dragon that Super Sonic fights?

I don't see any Sungazers here. Surely, if there were other Sungazers on the island, they should be present to address the giant evil black dragon that showed up, right? Surely they should be contributing in some way to the threat of the island, shouldn't they? And if not, if they are content to hide away and wait for Trip to handle it, then SURELY they should at least come out to CELEBRATE after the evil has been defeated?

So where are the Sungazers? Do you see any Sungazers? I don't see any Sungazers.

You know why you don't see any Sungazers?

It's because there ARE no other Sungazers.

And I'm sure defenders of this PIECE OF TRASH FUCKING COMIC BOOK would brush aside these points by saying what would basically amount to "Sonic Superstars was a bad game." Like "Oh the game just couldn't depict them." Or their favorite hobby of hating on SEGA/Sonic Team by saying something like "well they retconned it, they're always changing their minds" perhaps throwing in some cock stroking for Ian Flynn while they're at it by saying he's "improving" or "fixing" the game/franchise by "making Trip less of a Knuckles clone" and "subverting expectations." And of course the good ol' fashioned "SEGA approved of the comic therefore they're obviously fine with what the comic included, so you're not allowed to complain about it!"

Because people who pretend to like this god awful comic are incapable of actually praising or defending the comic. All they know how to do is shit talk the video games.

[witchofanguish]

I think this is worth digging into because... yes. In the arguments which feed the roots of Vs Debates this is easier to ignore - if you're ultimately arguing about metal cans shooting each other in space then you can pretend they could exist in the same world, that what they are is comparable. However, this is a pretense. We can see it shatter obviously in cases like, say, Mage the Ascension, where the entire debate hinges on which cosmology you're accepting, because mages are only limited to relatively (by Vs Debates standards) limited feats due to an actively hostile environment, or TypeMoon. Is the Death Star an A-rank mystery? Would a Space Marine landing in MtAsc Manhattan explode from paradox? The answer is asking there questions marks you as deeply deranged. Okay, but Batman is a human, right? Supposedly made out of atoms and whatever? Why can't we compare him to humans? Well, no. To sound utterly pedantic, he's a fictional character, not a human. If a human kicks a tree and it bursts apart, we can conclude 'holy shit I do not want to be kicked by them, they've got TNT thighs'. We live in a world ultimately dictated by the standard model and general relativity. It has rules. The force it takes to blow apart a tree and to cave in a man's chest are relatable. If Batman kicks a tree and it flies apart, and you flip the page thinking 'oh man, oh man batman is going to cave in a man's chest in his next fight' you'd be wrong, you fool, he's going to get held up by a bunch of untrained dudes in sweaters holding pipes. The tree is for aesthetic, for looks and metaphor and style. It's an RPG character getting an unopposed roll against a piece of scenery and the GM saying 'yeah, go for it, break apart that tree in your rage, i'm not giving you a bonus to your attack rolls in the next fight'. Now, granted, if you saw Batman get held up by a couple dudes with lead pipes and figured a squad of ten ninjas or Darkseid, evil alien god, would destroy him you'd also be wrong. This is why 'feats' and 'calcs' for Batman don't matter. They aren't predictive. The aesthetic is. Some stories have calcs which meet their aesthetic decently well - the Culture, for example - and so we can use the calcs as a lesser substitute, sometimes. Other stories, like Mage the Ascension, have feats so contextual that a Vs Debate always starts and is mostly decided by which aesthetic you're letting predominate. So what's the aesthetic of Batman against 160,000 nerds? Well, it's... nonsense. That's not a number even the most ambitious comic book writer would throw at him, just use a decently big crowd of a couple hundred, and it's such a bizarre set-up that being 'in-character' is actively confusing things. But if Batman did have to fight a big crowd, how would he do it? Probably not with his fists. If he was in an enclosed area and it wasn't 100,000+ he might punch them out, one or two at a time, ending with a panel of the bloody, bruised Caped Crusader limping out of the basement of some seedy nightclub only to collapse into the Batmobile, which drives him back to Wayne Manor. If it was a bit more open - like a theatre, huh wonder if we've seen that - he'd fight for a bit and find some trick to escape and possibly trap/disable them. If it was really open he'd grapple out or call in his Batmobile's Tesla Autopilot Mode for pickup. If it was maze-like he'd use stealth. But in a big open arena, against 100,000, it's not in Batman's aesthetic to fight them at all. Edit: If the question that comes to you after reading this is 'why are you in Vs Debates, then?' And the answer is I'm looking for a good story about who would win. Or a good joke about how. The problem is a six megajoule kick, in this thread, is a joke being treated like a story.

[bluegarners]

for a moment, let's pretend that batman is a little more than a fictional character and analyze it between the realm of reality and comic books

i think it's not a rarity to have a batman, or to become a batman. obviously what first needs to happen is conviction, and specifically a conviction in the possibility for change. bruce wayne isn't very special for having that conviction, and even a 10 year old bruce wayne isn't very special for having it. little kids have very headstrong beliefs all the time, a lot of them nonsensical and phase-ish. even more to the point, bruce wayne has never been the only little kid to witness a brutal crime against their family. that unfortunately happens every day, a hundred times over. so 10 year old bruce wayne forming the conviction that he can change gotham, that he can change the way the world works, is not altogether that unusual. it's reactionary and a direct result of trauma. going beyond that, kids believe they can change the world all the time because impossible has not yet confronted them yet via the power of their caregivers and the adults around them. there are a lot of things little kid's believe they can do due to who's around them. however, where the divergence begins, is that not every little kid has that. not every 10 year old has a loving family or support network. and, especially, not every 10 year old inherits millions

so, to that end, although bruce wayne is not supremely special in his convictions or in his becoming of batman, the resources he had before and after the trauma that took his parents away from him, are

i say all this to communicate that bruce wayne's circumstances are only special due to his wealth. every other aspect, all of his convictions, all of his training, all of his hard work- they're all quite typical and achievable. and i argue that as a form of encouragement

batman is possibly the biggest inspirational figure, outside of superman, for those struggling in an unjust world. bruce battles the unjustness of a law system that doesn't combat crime effectively, but he battles as a rich white man

the rest of the world, who aren't rich or white or a man, battles the same system with even more wrong doings up against them. there are a million real batmans out there, all doing what they can in small ways to fight against corruption. my local batman volunteers at marine wildlife centers and is majoring in political science to become an environmental lawyer. my university has hundreds of batmans showing up to protests and signing petitions and making sure people are registered to vote. there's a batman on facebook who gives out free cpr lessons and certifications

my point is, with all the real cheesiness and "you can do it" cat posters, is that although there doesn't exist a real bruce wayne, and all the rich white men in the world combined could never create a batman even if they tried for the years their money adds up to-

it's not difficult to be batman. you just have to have the conviction for it.

[whywhywhymoney]

Okay this is gonna be such a weird and niche post and maybe a sign I'm not neurotypical (idk never been tested lol) but like, DC comics have such a *vibe* around them that it's hard to explain?

Like, pre-crisis and post-crisis DC is still relatively on the same level in terms of how large the universe feels, especially endgame post-crisis DC. It feels like one long story, with post-crisis gradually becoming more serious and gritty and serialised (although comics were already doing this in the 70s and 80s).

90s and 00s DC universe feels so HUGE and lived in, its like hard to explain? Like any random issue from any run from that time, you kinda get the sense that there's so much else happening than just the story you're reading, it's like you can hear and feel that buzz of life. I know it's weird to think that way about an era of comic books but that's just how it feels. Also, the multiple DC Cartoons coming out at this time and "sharing" a universe in a very gentle way really helps with this feeling. It just feels like this is a really rich place where so much happens and every character means something.

I still remember pre new 52 Captain Marvel, with Billy, Mary and Freddie all turning 18 or 19 and thinking about college etc and dealing with the loss of their powers, plus what it meant for Billy to "grow up" for real. And it was heading in such an interesting direction, just like so many comics runs were! Heroes were having kids, they were growing up, they were working with one another.

Then the new 52 comes along, "simplifies" everything and says heroes have only been around for 5 years and it feels so.... quiet....

Everything feels uncanny, bizarro. There were some good stories for sure, but the good ones you feel like "we could have had this just fine without a reboot".

I think the worst part was that it reset everything to zero in a way DC thinks it needed to compete with manga but was COMPLETELY unnecessary. Everything you loved about these characters abd their decades long growth and history was either gone or compressed. Everyone felt like a shadow of themselves, like they were parodies.

It felt really unnatural when they finally did start making homages to post-crisis continuity, I think the best example are those 2 issues of Batgirl where Barbara teams up with Canary and Helena W Huntress, and it's supposed to be "look guys, remember Birds of Prey? We remember Birds of Prey! Look!"

Except it feels like children pretending to be their older siblings or something and absolutely nothing comes of it. Like yeah. Neat homage. Doesn't make a lick of sense.

I think only NOW are we finally getting back to that frame where the DC universe is so big and populated that anyone can meet anyone but frustratingly there's still some books and characters who just aren't hitting the highs they hit or even following on from where they left off.

I do wanna say I think it's all due to Lian Harper coming back. DC died when she died and came back when she came back and no this isn't self indulgent at all