#i see the concern. i need to know what its for

[shroomyv]

ᢉ𐭩GOOD BOY(‘S) [1]

Pairing: mark grayson x sinister mark x Mohawk mark x viltrumite mark x F!reader (god damn)

Synopsis: been awhile since the invincible war ended. A few of them ended up being captured in your world and kept in the prisons. Cecil allows you to visit them and (clearly) has not a damn clue as to what you’re saying or doing with them. Usually, it’d be complete chaos and nothing would change or happen in the room. However, you finally try something new with them…all of them…(should be good to mention here that you have powers…if u didn’t you’d honestly be stupid going into that room with confidence 🧍🏾‍♀️)

Warnings: story will lead to smut, slightly suggestive, harsh words (like bitch, pussy, or slut), not proofread, some corny dialogue (bear with me pls)

W.c: 2,086 (rlly doing my big one)

A/N: (there’s alot I have to say so pls bear with me 😭) first off, thank all of u for all the constant support on my other fics and even my shitty little doodles I posted. Means a lot to me. This is my first series/series writing and it’s also the first fic I’ve made with multiple ppl speaking let alone mark variants. So I’m begging you, please bear with me. If anything is overly fucking terrible or bad feel free to dm me advice. Also I’ll be making a master list soon for all my writings. Or wtv. This is part one to the series and it’ll get super smutty in the next one so I hope u js enjoy this one for now. It’ll be meh…(I highkey think it’s bad but wtv)

Long after the Invincible War, you were still intrigued by all the versions of your boyfriend that had come into your world to reek havoc and chaos. Most were dead, some were in prison, and some were thrown into whatever place they went to. Being a superpowered scientist under Cecil had its perks–you got to not only examine and see these variants, but you also got to speak to them (only with the supervision of your world's Mark of course). Your visits grew more and more frequent to them, it went from once a month, to once a week, to 3 times a week. They had memorized the times you visited, the clack of your heels, and your pen clicking before you entered their cell each time.

Your Mark always complained–sometimes it was genuine concern for your safety and reasoning, other times, it was clear and blatant jealousy. 

“Why do you always want to go see those bastards, they almost destroyed the entire world. Not only that one of them almost crushed you to fucking death! If this gets too bad we're not seeing them again…” he was annoyed–making good and fair points. Sadly, you were too stubborn to attempt to listen to them. 

“You've almost crushed me to death before,” you said with a shrug as you kept walking down the long hall getting ready to get to the cell that held the marks. 

“WHAT!? When was this?” Mark had stopped for a second now having genuine concern as he hadn't remembered ever doing that. He tried his best to make sure you were protected from anything and everything.

“You crushed me plenty of times in bed–it's ok though because I've crushed you back just as much so we're even.” you had one smug ass smirk on your face seeing Mark's annoyed one before you two finally made it to the room. Before you could swipe your keycard to enter the room, Mark grabbed your arm having you stop and listen to what he had to say. “I'm serious babe…let them get out of line and we aren't seeing them again, they'll just rot in here till Cecil finds something to do with them.” 

You used your free hand, swiping the keycard as the door opened. You turned to your mark lifting his chin with your pen as he looked prepared to hear whatever you had to say. 

“I will decide when this research is over. However, you know if you want it to truly end and for me to stay out of this cell, you would only need to tell Cecil you won't accompany me anymore. Until you do that…we're continuing.” 

You were stern and stubborn, meaning every single word you said. You finally pulled the pen down—giving his cheek a soft kiss before walking into the cell.

“Well, we see who wears the pants in your little relationship.” The mark with the mohawk said before he just started laughing trying to bother and mock your mark as best as he could. 

“Hey well at least I get to leave here, I'm not locked in a fucking cell with my arms hanging up!” your mark snarled back–getting closer to Mohawk Mark as they glared each other down.

Sinister Mark cut into the conversation, having a lot worse to say about your mark and his “submission” to you. 

“Hey, does she fuck you too? I just wanna get a full scope on how pussy you are! God, you're pathetic…weak…” 

They were being little assholes ganging up against your mark, all besides the viltrumite one. He was just silent, observing your behaviors. As those 3 bickered,  you walked up to him with crossed arms.

“Nothing to say?” You asked leaning in closer to his face. He backed up as best as he could, struggling to even move a bit because of his restraints but he found small ways. 

“No…bitch…” he said before scrunching up his lips. You just leaned into him closer and closer knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “Don’t your people have a thing for respecting higher-ups? Am I not higher up right now?” You were absolutely smug watching as his expression kind of dropped. He knew you were right and he hated every bit about it. 

The cell was silent now…the other marks wondered why he stopped fighting back, falling silent. 

“Don’t tell me you're all pussy now too!?” Mohawk Mark had said in a snarky tone. Your mark was walking up to you to pull you back from him. You raised your hand stopping him from coming closer as you used your other hand, softly rubbing viltrumite Mark'sk'sace. 

He jolted from your touch for a second—not being used to anything like it at all. However, he had been in that cold cell for days, weeks even, with no warmth whatsoever. He melted into your hand as you kept rubbing it softly—he felt odd…like he had never felt before. He released soft huffs the whole time until you finally stepped back. 

“W..wait-“ he exclaimed trying to get your attention again. Before he could even say what he wanted, sinister Mark butted in.

“What the hell did you just do to him!? He’s never been like that ever!” 

Your mark wanted to be filled in as well, waiting for your response.

“I just touched 'em relax.” You were honestly shocked yourself. 

“C'monn…let’s go, your mark said wanting to get the hell out of there. The other marks were getting angry and you were touching another mark…one that wasn’t yours—it made him a bit jealous. 

                                      

“Wait wait…I wanna something…” you said with a grin as you rushed to Mohawk Mark. He looked a bit annoyed but intrigued. You drew closer and closer as the other marks watched once again—it’s all they could do…

“Listen whore, I’m not your mark…so hands off.” He said in a snarky tone. You just kept moving your hands towards his face not giving a damn, you were testing every ounce of patience he had.

“I will fucking bite you! I promise it…” Mohawk Mark tried to move his head back as quickly as he could to get away from your hand. Eventually, it landed right on his forehead before moving upward, softly stroking his hair. He tried to bite you for a second so you used your powers. With a hard glare from your eyes, his body was paralyzed in mere seconds as you rubbed it softly. You released your hold on his body just as fast as you used it.

You kept stroking his head, you saw him moving his head forward as best as he could so you could keep going. Your other hand reached up to his face, squishing it softly before you began to stroke it. He let out a noise of pure satisfaction…a soft moan. As soon as he realized, you backed up satisfied with your work on his behavior. He went from snarling and snapping to melting in your hand.

Your mark grabbed your shoulder, making a notation to get the hell out of there. You just gave him a soft kiss trying to keep him satisfied as you had one more mark to deal with. You knew your mark was getting jealous quickly so you had to hurry it up.

As soon as you walked over to sinister mark in his restraints he spat on your face. The other marks watched waiting to see what happened your mark dashed over to you as he began a screaming match with sinister mark. 

Ignoring them and all their noise, you just spat right back on his face as the room fell silent. You were even now—the only difference was you could wipe the spit off of your face but he couldn’t get it off of his. Your hand reached up to his face as he prepared to bite you but you flicked his nose before continuing. You rubbed his hair—making it messy in mere seconds before you looked him dead in the eyes, smiling warmly.

“I promise you, if you ever spit on my face again I will break your face in.”

Your mark was just frozen in the spot waiting for this interaction to finish. Sinister Mark's eyes widened a bit before going back to normal—he was surprised at how you could look so gentle while threatening him. 

“Yes bitch…” he said in a snarky tone trying to get some power back in the situation. You smiled before pinching and twisting at his nose. He couldn’t do a single damn thing about it.

“Huh? What’d you say?” You waited for him to change his manner of speaking. Your mark reached to pull your arm down as you 2 shared a look. He was trying to figure out what you were even doing but you gave him a glance that said you could handle it.

“Yes…ma’am” sinister Mark said in an annoyed tone this was basically his version of surrendering defeat. Your hand went to his face stroking it just like you did to the others. At first he acted like he didn’t give a single fuck about you or your touch—seconds later he was melted into your cheek moving his own face to have it happen faster. You stroked his face slower and began scratching his hair as Mohawk Mark began complaining how that wasn’t fair. Sinister mark was losing himself—lifting his chin to have that touch and rubbed to. He bit his lip trying to keep in any sounds he would’ve made but eventually one slipped out.

“F…fuck…” he moaned out roughly before you moved your hand away from him

“Good boy.” You said back with bliss in your voice. You honestly felt aroused by the fact you had 4 Marks folding for you just at the simple touch of your hand and sternness in your voice.

“God…what did she do to us…” Viltrumite Mark said sounding embarrassed or even frustrated that that even happened. The other Marks (sinister and Mohawk) just told him to “fuck off” as they kept their heads down in a bit of shame. They were absolutely in shock at how they folded that fast but knew they wanted more. They were pissed that they clearly weren’t getting more.

You had them fold enough for the day. Plus, your Mark looked like he wanted to snap sinister Mark's neck for spitting on you. He was tired of being in that damn room for the day. Your mark grabbed you by the waist giving you a look that said “You needed to leave” You just nodded and let him lead you out of the cell. You and your mark left the cell making your way out of the building. Mark was flying you 2 home as he wanted to talk about what the hell happened. 

“So…what was that..” he asked in a genuine and jealous tone. He wanted to know what was up with all of it. Why did you guys keep going back, why were you touching them, how did you make them fold that easily? He wanted answers…

“Honestly…I don’t know. I didn't even think it’d work on the viltrumite one but as soon as it did I just had to try it on the rest of them and it worked. Guess you’re just weak for me in every universe?” You gave the best answer you could to your mark waiting for his response.

“Not gonna lie…I was a bit jealous. They practically killed everyone and now they wanted to fold just cause you touched them!” Mark exclaimed before you kissed his face softly. He had calmed down quickly just from your lips. 

“Relax... you're the one who gets to take me home. You win either way. However...I do need you to take me back there tomorrow. It’s something I wanna do with you there. All of you…” you had something a little sinister and against the rules on your mind.

“Again!? What is it…I’m so sick of that place…” your mark wanted to know what you’d do if you went back. He was tired of going there and honestly was ready to never go back again. However, he was trying his best to trust your judgment and see where it’d go. 

“Don’t worry about it…just know that you’ll have fun. All of you, trust me. You said with a smile before Mark finally landed, bringing you two to your house. You had plans…foul plans…and you couldn’t wait to put them into action tomorrow. 

[tiramissyoucake]

"Reader who fucking despises Mark Grayson but is an Invincible superfan"

Dude pleaaaaase write a small story to that, image reader even being a bitch or somewhat a bully to mark, but he can't even take her serious since shes wearing his merch

"fuck you looking at?"

"um, is that... an invincible keychain?"

"yeah. So what? Wanna choke on it?"

"no, I uh... Looks good."

– 💪🏽

This is less a story and more a ramble because GGRRRR I LOVE THIS IDEA I hope u like this <3

Mark is never going to live down the loser allegations because he knows deep down, he's too excited to be on the receiving end of your hatred.

But the thing that really made him fall in love with you is when he saved you as Invincible one day from a collapsing building, and you looked up at him with an expression he's never seen on you— god you looked so in love with him he almost ripped his mask off and revealed it was actually him all along.

You were always so... guarded around him, glaring at him and calling him a weirdo for staring at you too long and scowling whenever he'd have to talk to you, your disgusted gaze made him feel so small (regardless of whether he was taller or not) and he'd immediately look down and fidget with his hands.

And now, the tables were turned, he sets you down nearby and watches you under the guise of concern for a citizen, you were actually flustered this time, thanking him with a stutter and looking anywhere but at him as you fixed your clothes and your hair, under the layering and accessories he caught a glimpse of an Invincible shirt, god you were so cute.

"Anything for my biggest fan." He gives you his best smile while pointing at your shirt, an embarrassed laugh escapes you as you try to cover it with folded arms. "Again, thank you...! I really admire you and everything you do for the city...!"

He could die happy here and now, this was the first non-hostile exchanged he's ever had with you and you didn't even know it was with him of all people; Mark, the loser comic geek from your school.

He gave you a casual salute before flying off to deal with the rest of the threat, he could feel your gaze following him, ever since then he's been on cloud nine.

The following days since then, you're more freaked out by his behaviour, he's staring way more than he usually does. You had to restrain a groan as he approached your locker. "Hey, (Name)? I wanted to ask—"

"Thought I told you to fuck off, Grayson." You immediately responded, you could recognize that infuriating unsure tone anywhere.

"Well— I was gonna ask if you have a partner for that biology project?"

"... uh-huh, and why would I partner up with you?" You shut your locker, readjusting your bag on your shoulder.

Mark blinked before continuing. "Wh- Uh, well... because we're in the same biology class? And we.. both don't have partners?"

"Never noticed you there." Ouch, okay. Not the worst he's heard from you. "I have a partner, bye."

"Wait! Seriously..? I asked everyone and no one—" Mark paused when you groaned and whipped your head to look at him. "Can you stay out of my damn business?! My answer is no, go beg for another partner, creep!"

Your response left no room for an argument or a reply, and neither did the annoyed expression on your face. Mark raised his hands in surrender and watched you turn away, mumbling profanities about him, something something 'fuckin' geek'

He would've been dejected but he saw the cutest miniature figure charm of his hero alter ego hanging off the zipper of your bag, swinging back and forth with every step you took and he immediately remembered that cute timid girl who thanked him oh so sweetly for saving her life. He was sure if he peeked into your locker, he'd see posters or pictures of Invincible hung up for either moral support or pure admiration.

Your back was turned to him as the smuggest smile made its way onto his lips, you'd be wrapped around his finger soon enough, he just needed to play a little waiting game- him and his 'good friend' Invincible got all the time in the world.

[notaplaceofhonour]

see but I actually think this illustrates exactly the problem with a lot of GenAI discourse. this is less a case of unlikely partnership from disparate perspectives & more just people rebuilding religious (especially Christian) belief systems in secular/progressive language.

I have issues with a lot of the current implementations of GenAI—most of which stem from their origin in startups with a “move fast & break things” mentality leading to unsustainable & unethical practices—and (as a relatively new technology) the output often isn’t even good. but so much of the discourse is centered around an insistence that GenAI isn’t “real art” because xyz, and the arguments tend to boil down to “true art can only come from the divine spark of human essence” just rephrased in a vaguely secular way.

and (as a “Real Artist™️”) I just… fundamentally disagree with this need people seem to have to define art in an anthropocentric & pseudo-mystical way, centered around some undefinable human essence, or “originality”, or even intentionality.

obviously, GenAI is not actual “artificial intelligence” in the sense of a literal thinking machine—it’s essentially (and I know I’m oversimplifying) just a complex algorithm of machine learning/procedural generation that creates hallucinatory images—“A.I.” is just branding. but I have zero philosophical problem with the idea of some future artificially-created consciousness (or even an animal) creating things it would consider art, regardless of whether they have a soul/spirit, or whether their creation appeals to human sensibilities about what art requires or “should” be.

and tbh, independently of A.I. discourse, I think a lot of artists overestimate originality & the role of intentionality in art. as far as I’m concerned, nothing is new under the sun; it’s all just rearranging and stacking things that already exist in different ways. we tend to like when it’s something we haven’t seen before, or when we think the creator put work into it.

we aren’t always conscious of & don’t always intend every bit of meaning that ends up in our work. the viewer brings as much meaning into a piece of art (and thus imo is as responsible in the creation of art) as the artist; that’s what “Death of the Artist” was all about. and yeah, that exchange is often most effective when there’s intentionality behind it, but it’s not like hallucinations/dreams, random chance, procedures/machines, and sampling/collage haven’t all been part of art for decades and even centuries. it’s not like humans can’t find beauty & meaning in the purely incidental & unoriginal, and if that’s not art, idk what is.

so I don’t see why procedurally-driven machine hallucinations (which still require human input btw) couldn’t be seen as just a development & further expansion in our ever-growing understanding of art. I don’t see why we need to staunchly define art as inversely proportional to the role of technology in its creation, or in an anthropocentric or essentialist way. I don’t see why we need to pit the idea of GenAI against other more traditional forms of art.

it just seems like artists defining art in a way that flatters our egos and makes us feel special. there are actual material/ethical reasons the current manifestation of GenAI sucks, and none of them have to do with the human soul or whether it technically qualifies as “art”. but rather than actually addressing those problems in actionable ways that lead to solutions, we dig in our heels and fall into luddite culture war BS that dovetails with the exact same arguments tradcaths have been trotting out against “Modern Art” for decades

Oh damn the Catholics have joined in on the war against AI "art".

[kirain]

@sirchik Sorry to hear you've been feeling unwell. I'm glad you're back, and I hope this cheers you up a bit! Based on your beautiful posts here.

The room was dim, bathed in the deep blue of late night, but Palee could see it—Emmrich's trembling, the way his fingers clutched the pillow, knuckles white. His soft whimpers had woken the elf, but Palee felt no malice—only concern as he saw sweat clinging to Emmrich's bare skin, soaking the sheets. His breaths were shallow, panicked.

It wasn't the first time.

Palee knew these nights well. Nights where Emmrich was locked away in the dark corners of his mind, where his nightmares took pleasure in his torment. But that didn't make it any easier to watch.

Slowly, Palee pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the sight of Emmrich curling in on himself, so small, so lost. As if trying to disappear. His face contorted, teeth clenched, and then, with a rasp, he sobbed, "I'm going to die... alone..."

Palee's heart ached. They had been together for months, but that couldn't heal years of solitude and trepidation. He needed more, but Palee was happy to give. Reaching out, he brushed damp strands of hair from Emmrich's forehead, hoping to wake him, but the man didn't stir. The nightmare had its claws in him, holding him prisoner in a place where loneliness had festered for far too long.

"Cердце моё," Palee whispered, shifting closer, pressing his lips to the nape of Emmrich's neck. "You're not alone."

His hands moved gently, fingers trailing over the tense muscles of Emmrich's back, feeling the way they tightened under his touch.

"Shhh," he hushed. "It's me. You're safe."

He kissed his shoulder, warm and lingering, as if he could chase away the darkness. Still, Emmrich didn't wake, but Palee refused to let him suffer. Another kiss, softer, just below his ear, where his pulse was rapid and afraid.

"I'm here," the elf murmured, his voice soothing. His lips followed the words, pressing along the curve of Emmrich's throat, tender and devoted. "I'll always be here. You are not alone."

His hand moved to run through Emmrich's hair, fingertips caressing his scalp, easing the stress that held him captive. He didn't know how long it would take, or if it would work at all, but Palee could do this all night. His lips brushed Emmrich's jaw, then his cheek, his neck—back down to his shoulder.

Lower.

After a while, the shaking began to fade, the ragged breaths settling into a steadier, deeper rhythm. The furrow in Emmrich's brow smoothed, his clenched jaw relaxing, his fingers slowly releasing the pillow.

"There we go," Palee sighed, relieved.

He lay back down, wrapping himself around Emmrich like a shield, warding off every lonely thought that had ever haunted him.

Then—finally, after what felt like an eternity—Emmrich smiled in his peaceful slumber.

Palee smiled too, pressing one last kiss to his temple before pulling the blankets higher.

"I've got you," he whispered. "I always will."

And the rest of the night was silent.

[loulou-land]

Congrats on your milestone!!

I'm not good at giving prompts but here it is: Salbucktommy with possessive Sal and Buck over Tommy. I also want to see them head over heels for Tommy, who has them wrapped around his little finger!

Hope that inspires you to write something... and if it doesn't, that's more than ok!

🧡 🧡

Dani! Thank you so much 😭💚 You’re the sweetest and I’ll never forget you were one of the first lovely humans to welcome me into bucktommy nation and talk to me about Brilliant minds.

Thanks for sending a prompt! I swear I set out to write exactly what you wanted but uh…instead, it took a mind of its own, Sal grabbed the reins and well this happened. I really do hope you still enjoy this salbucktommy and keep an eye out because I loved exploring their dynamic and definitely plan to write some more of them.

💚💚💚

They’re at their usual Queer-friendly bar, having opted out of joining their respective teams at a Badge & Ladder. They’ve wanted a night to themselves for weeks now and after a streak of conflicting shifts and canceled plans, they’ve finally carved out a night just for the three of them.

Sal’s come straight from a shift, still smelling faintly of smoke, while Buck and Tommy are twenty-four hours into a rare shared off.

Tommy just went to the bathroom, leaving Buck mid-ramble about something—Sal had stopped tracking the topic ten minutes ago in favor of trying to keep up with the game’s score. Something about the history of…Sailors tattoos? Or was it fire codes in New York? He's not sure. Buck had a way of diving headfirst into topics like they were burning buildings and half the time Sal just lets him go. It’s distracting as hell, but also weirdly endearing.

Suddenly, Buck’s steady stream of words cuts off. Sal glances at him, concern building up in him when he follows his line of sight and ahh. Some stocky, overly confident guy has intercepted Tommy on his way back from the bathroom. The guy leans in closer and Tommy, to his credit, looks relaxed, even amused.

“Easy there, Cujo.” Sal murmurs, noting the way Buck is all tightly bound energy at the moment. “Don’t go off maiming any ankles. I like this bar, don’t wanna get blacklisted.”

Buck frowns, bouncing slightly on the barstool like he’s ready to launch. “You seriously okay with some random asshole flirting with Tommy? I mean, who does that? Just stops someone coming from the bathroom—”

Sal shoots him an unimpressed look, as he takes a long sip of his beer. “Tommy can handle himself. ‘Sides I know exactly who he’s gonna be under tonight and whose hands it’ll be on him. Don’t you?”

Buck startles as Sal’s boot hooks around his ankle under the table—slow and deliberate—and his cheeks flush red. He’s never known anyone so capable of undressing him with his eyes like Sal does. That look Sal’s giving him…makes him feel stripped bare in more ways than one. Seen in a way he never was before. Until them. Tommy and Sal.

“Y—yeah. I know that. Just…”

Buck’s eyes flick back to Tommy, tracking the way he tilts his head and nods at something the other guy’s saying. He doesn’t look uncomfortable. But Buck still bristles.

Sal watches him with something close to fondness and worry. Watching the way Buck slightly hunches in on himself, looking unsure. He sighs.

These two—emotional wreckage wrapped in muscle and good intentions—so in love with each other they lose their heads the majority of the time. They really did a number on one another. It’s a wonder Sal fits in at all with them. This whole thing working far better than they believed it would. But sometimes, adding a third to a relationship doesn’t complicate things. Sometimes, it completes them.

Besides, these two idiots need a lot of loving. And if that has to be up to him…well he ain’t exactly complaining.

He glances back at Tommy, and their eyes lock—something sparking between them, part challenge, part question. Tommy’s lips twitch, and Sal feels his own curve into a smile before he can stop it.

Bastard, he thinks, fond. Playing us like a damn fiddle.

He feels heat pool low in his gut and suddenly, he needs to be back home. With both of his men.

Time to move this along.

He reaches across the table, fingers curling under Buck’s chin, gently tilting his head until their eyes meet.

He smirks as Buck’s eyes widen and his mouth parts, pretty pink tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Baby, go get our man,” Sal says, voice low. “Time to head home.”

Buck nods quickly. “Uh-huh. Yeah. On it.”

He doesn’t move.

Sal arches a brow.

Buck jumps. “Tommy. Right. Okay.”

He slides off the stool, nearly tripping in his rush, but stops when Sal calls, “Hey, sweetheart?”

Buck turns, cheeks flushed, eyes already dilated.

“No maiming,” Sal says with a wink.

Buck visibly shudders. “No promises,” he mutters, but grins and sticks out his tongue at Sal, savoring the low chuckle he gets in return before weaving through the crowd toward Tommy. His heart hammering with all the filthy possibilities the night promises.

[mrcrawly]

Dr. House is some of the best unintentional autistic representation I have seen in popular media

I think the title is a slight overstatement, but I honestly feel this way. I'm not finished with House MD by ANY means so do keep that in mind, but I'm almost finished with season 2 so this is based off what I have seen.

Also: I am aware that there is an episode where they discuss the possibility that House has Asperger's. Obviously that term has fallen out of favor because Asperger was, you know, a Nahtzee, but I am going to emphasize that House has particularly low-support needs. My source is that I'm autistic and this is a topic I'm relatively familiar with. (Also. please take this with a grain of salt because David Shore also created "The Good Doctor" which is a comparatively pretty poor representation of autism, but I'm going to talk about House MD in its own vacuum.)

Lack of knowledge or concern for social cues. I don't really think this needs explaining, but House doesn't seem to have much regard or respect for social norms. He doesn't care much for social approval or maintaining relationships. I don't necessarily characterize this as specifically being an autistic trait, because this can greatly vary, but this is something I see in myself and other autistic people.

Strong sense of justice and morals. I see a lot of people calling House a "sociopath" simply because he isn't particularly empathetic. But the word sociopath gets thrown around a lot and it really doesn't characterize him well at all. I would argue that House feels cognitive empathy rather than the more emotional sense of empathy that most people experience, but equating empathy and morality is a big no-go. House has little concern for some ethical principles, as the show points out pretty often, but House is never looking to hurt anybody. House is always pretty dry and easily annoyed, but the only time we see him openly angry and upset is when someone endangers a patient. When Chase fucks up the angiogram, potentially putting a woman's life in danger, he holds it against him for ages. And in "The Mistake," when a woman dies and it has to be determined whose fault it was, House yells at Chase in the middle of the lobby over his negligence. Also, House does actually have empathy when it's necessary. He typically softens himself around younger patients and will make an effort to be calm, and when Stacy admits that she and Mark have been fighting and becomes upset, he tries to help her calm down and doesn't try to make the situation about himself. When he thinks that his "nemesis" from school is faking the results of his migraine medicine, he goes out of his way to prove that he's right - partially because, yeah, he wants to be right and get Weber back - but also because he sees this as cheating, and knows it's ultimately harming people.

Very few, specific interests. House doesn't seem to have a lot that he's interested in. His job is one of them, because he gets joy and satisfaction out of solving medical problems. It's also established that he's deeply invested in General Hospital and monster trucks (although I wasn't sure if that was a House thing or a Wilson thing? But he seemed pretty excited about it too). Other than that, he doesn't have many obvious or noteworthy things he's interested in.

Difficulty maintaining interpersonal relationships. Wilson is House's only friend, and House seems to be (mostly) content with that. He cares about other people, in his own strange way, but he consistently struggles to create and maintain personal relationships, whether because of his disregard for social niceties or because of his fear of vulnerability. Again, this may not necessarily be in relation to autism, but it's worth noting.

Odd speech patterns. I'm sick of media making it seem like all autistic people can't comprehend sarcasm. It is common for autistic people to take things literally, but autistic people also sometimes use sarcasm and metaphors more than the average person in verbal communication. I do this all the time. House is constantly saying weird, offbeat things, or making strange, vague metaphors, especially when he's deep in thought.

Stimming. Throwing his ball at the wall. Pacing. Spinning his cane around. Tapping his cane on the floor. Spinning it like a baton when he's alone in the room and trying to think. Sometimes he also nods his head back and forth when he's thinking.

Routine. This one is a little hard to spot, because House actually does seem to thrive when things are changing or new things happen. I see this mostly in House wearing the same things all the time. He's usually wearing some button-up and a blazer/jacket over it, and typically jeans and the same pair of shoes. The shoes are most likely for his comfort, but sometimes autistic people like to wear the same things a lot because it's what's most comfortable or they don't have to worry about unpredictability. Also, it seems like he eats the same thing a lot, since everyone knows he gets a dry Reuben sandwich.

This is just what I noticed and based on my personal experiences as an autistic person. This doesn't mean I think the show discusses autism in the most graceful or meaningful way - I just really like to break down my favorite characters and analyze them.

[softlypaintedseafoam]

it's blue hour ー 00:00 + portgas d. ace

thanks for 100 followers! ⌚requested by: @hash-slinging-slasher-trash

"You finally going to tell me what's wrong, Mr. Portgas?"

Ace winces in the dull light of Sabaody's street lights. "What do you mean?" He tries asking obliviously, voice as light as it can be considering his mood.

Earlier in the day ー well, considering the time, you suppose yesterday is more accurate now ー Ace had so much pep in his step. Had been smiling much like a child just at the sight of Sabaody from the edge of the Spadille. Had been gone in the blink of an eye even, leaving the stubborn ensign Isuka to yell at air before you and Deuce reluctantly played rock-paper-scissors to see who'd keep your fiery captain on his best behavior.

Whatever had transpired while Ace and Deuce were on their lonesome, he'd been out of it by the time you reunited elsewhere on the mangrove. Being tactful has never been your strong suit, however. You smile lightly, rolling your eyes. "How long have we known each other? I can tell when you're upset about something; my eyes know all."

Ace has many tells when you look closely. The darkening of his eyes, the quiet sighs. Even his appetite takes a hit if the ten less plates compared to his usual twenty he's eaten are anything to go off of.

He chuckles but it is humorless and brown eyes avoid your own. "It's nothing," he tries in vain to alleviate your worries. "I guess it's just a lot knowing we're finally heading to the New World once the coating is done."

You are definitely Luffy's brother, you press your lips together in your concern. You're terrible liars.

A silence not quite uncomfortable but far from cozy falls over you both.

They're not entirely rare; at least you wouldn't be arrogant enough think otherwise. These silences aren't common between you both, but you've had your fair share of them whether it be due to your own issues or Ace's. They never seem to get easier to deal with despite how they come and go.

The melodic plucking of a harp catches your ear and you glance in its direction.

"A musician," you can hear Luffy's gleeful voice. "Every pirate crew needs a musician and I'm gonna get the best!"

A live band too? This place really does has everything. Perhaps you're too impressed; you've certainly seen your fair share of performances since sailing the seas. There's something more than a bit impressive about seeing one on an island where large bubbles float through the air.

Contrast to your hometown, this archipelago never sleeps.

Windmill Village doesn't have even one restaurant that stays open past 21:00 let alone midnight. Not even Makino's bar is an exception. Yet here you are, far from home, and listening to a live band play a dreamy tune on an island made of mangroves in the Grand Line. You stand to your feet, "well then," you grab Ace's hands and tug him onto his feet with a grunt. "Let's just leave whatever's all going through you head for Future Ace deal with and, for right now, Present Ace can dance with his best friend."

There's a stutter of confusion that slips from his lips, but you drag Ace a comfortable distance from your table anyway. It's funny in a way, you giggle as you place a large hand against your midriff. You're usually the one starting parties. Often at the drop of a hat simply because he'd been in a good mood or your crew had just won some sort of battle against another. Or it had been someone's birthday. Despite that, your crew couldn't help but indulge Ace's whims.

He is the sun you all chose to orbit, after all.

This is true even when his light isn't shining as vibrantly as you're used to.

So step by step, you lead the both of you in a whimsical dance as you haphazardly hum to a song you've never heard before. "Having fun yet?" You grin widely and chalkful of mischief.

"I might be," comes Ace's reply, barely putting up a fight against his earlier frown. His shoulders are looser and his steps are lighter and suddenly, you're not quite as in control of where you're moving as you were before. You don't mind the shift in control though, giggling all the while. He's your best friend and he's your captain, you'll follow him wherever he leads.

"Good," you reply promptly, squeezing your joined hands. It's a temporary fix; you know not every dark thought he has hasn't been entirely quelled. But he's still smiling; honest to goodness smiling. You close your eyes, relishing the sound of Ace's husky laugh. Good, you breathe. He's my Ace again.

[pitch-black-angel-of-death]

Hey, there's no need to look so worried! You're growing into such a handsome boy. And I would never lie to you, would I?

Jogging bottoms suit you so well! Think how much more comfortable you are without a belt digging into that soft belly. It means you can squeeze a few more mouthfuls in without it hurting so you don't have to waste anything.

Yes, that is another new deep red stretch mark on your side, I'm surprised you could even see it with how rounded your belly is. I guess it isn't too round, then, is it?

Cutie, if they can't get you a uniform that fits, its their problem, not yours. So what if your belly is hanging out while you're working?

No, gorgeous, people are only staring because they're jealous of how beautiful you are. I know you're clumsy but no one in staring at the grease and sauce trailing down your chin and onto your shirt.

I don't know why your knees and hips hurt so much lately, but I think if you take it easy and stay at home you'll recover quicker. I'll be sure to keep bringing you nourishing food, handsome.

Don't be silly, your tummy is gurgling like that because you've not had enough, not because you've had too much. It will stop hurting when you've had your desserts, I'm sure of it.

Sweetheart, you don't have to choose between takeaways, don't worry! We can get them all, I know you'll fit it all in with my help, won't you?

Don't look so concerned, its perfectly normal to have a pounding heart after finishing your third helping of breakfast. Now, you ready for your fourth?

Darling, I'm obviously not feeding you enough, with you so tired from a minute's walk. Let's get you back in bed, okay? I'm upping your portions, get more energy in you for all you do.

Listen, its normal for a growing boy to have pains in his legs. Yes gorgeous, its normal to be unable to move them too. You don't need to move at all, what would you need to move for, I'm here.

You gasp and wheeze real adorable when I bring you more of your favourite, and it seems to get more desperate every time. Is food really that breathtaking to you?

It's okay if you can't speak cutie, I know exactly what each noise you can manage means. I love you that much. And a burp like that means you're ready for another of my special cakes, right? What did I just say? You don't need to use up precious energy to speak, just open that pretty mouth to eat, you hear me?

I know you miss them so I've brought your friends to visit. They're gonna be so shocked at your glow up. Aw, I love it when all you can do is drool and grunt like that, I know that means you're starving! You've got to look your best so have another tray of pasta, you look stunning when you're eating, darling.

Hush now, there's no need to sound so worried! You'll die such a handsome blob, I'll make sure of it. Now if you stop groaning and clutching your chest, just open your mouth, I'll be able give you your last portion. And yes, I promise it's your very last portion. I would never lie to you, would I?

[generallemarc]

Again, given what Israel has done to Gaza, Hamas doesn't need a whole lot of propaganda to get people to take up arms.

This does not change the fact that they control the government in Gaza and thus have no opposition to spreading their propaganda.

Israel is not responsible for putting rocket launch sites in civilian areas, but it is very much responsible for the strikes it makes against those civilian areas, and the casualties from those strikes.

So it is 100% Israel's fault and 0% Hamas's fault, despite Hamas putting rocket launch sites in civilian areas specifically for the purpose of creating the "do we let them attack us with impunity or do we cause civilian casualties to protect ourselves" dilemma which they can then use for propaganda purposes whenever Israel chooses the latter option? Hamas has no blame here, it's all on Israel?

You're saying that the people of Gaza, including the people working in/for Hamas, haven't recognized that Hamas leadership is not on their side?

Many of them know, but because things like this risk getting shot at by Hamas's internal police, you don't see them as often as in Israel, a country where protest is a protected right.

That Iran is propping up Hamas, and is OK with their funds going towards Hamas leadership in Qatar, rather than towards liberating Palestine or fucking with Israel?

Yes. Are you seriously denying that Iran backs Hamas when they took credit for masterminding October 7th?

That's the stuff of Saturday morning cartoons, not real people driven by material concerns. Also- "Islamic Hellstate of Iran"? I guess that's my cue to start talking about the support Isnotreal receives from the United $nakes of AmeriKKKa.

...you have no idea how unaware you are. Iran's government is one of the most evil regimes to exist in the present day. They punish blasphemy and homosexuality with death. They arrest women for not wearing hijabs, and often beat them in prison afterwards, sometimes to the point of death. They have killed literally hundreds of protestors since unrest broke out over the death of a woman who was arrested for not wearing a hijab and subsequently beaten to death in prison. They are a hardcore theocracy that enforces the strictest Sharia law upon the population, forcing all non-Shi'a to follow it despite their beliefs, and heavily persecuting all such religious minorities. They are directly supporting theocratic terrorist groups in any country they can find, chiefly Hezbollah in Lebanon, the Houthis in Yemen, and yes, Hamas in Gaza. They were the main regional backer of Assad's chemical-weapons-using regime in Syria. Let me repeat that first point again just to hammer it home-in the Islamic Republic of Iran, the laws formally on the books state that blasphemy and homosexuality can be punished by DEATH. "Hellstate" is, if anything, underselling it. I can count the number of countries that would be worse to live in and that are not also active warzones on one hand, and could probably afford to chop off a finger or two.

Have you just...never heard anything about Iran? Never done any googling about them? Does the term "Axis of Resistance" mean nothing to you? I'm genuinely amazed that someone is weighing in on the war in Gaza despite seemingly knowing jack shit about the primary backer of one of the two sides and its primary goal in life of making Israel stop existing by any means necessary.

[betterbemeta]

Trans panic is pretty much the ULTIMATE sucker bait.

Outside of unhinged personal hangups, transgender people are a concern to decision-makers like 0% of the time. That's part of the problem!

But it is incredibly easy to convince suckers that this is THE battle for CULTURE, of ALL TIME! because the barrier to enter IDIOT CLOWN WORLD is so low!!

It might be the lowest barrier to entry EVER!

You DON'T have to be a specific religious denomination, or one adjacent to the crazy pants zone.

You DON'T have to be a certain social class or race,

You DON'T have to notice music or media trends,

You DON'T have to be in a certain industry or type of worker,

You DON'T have to have suffered a specific type of pain,

You DON'T have to be a specific gender,

You DON'T have to have a house or property to protect,

You DON'T even need to have family,

the ONLY condition to buy into Trans Panic is "HAVE YOU SEEN OTHER PEOPLE?"

And even then, NOT seeing ENOUGH other real people can ALSO lead you there! If you forget what real human beings look like!

Trans panic turns every human being you see in a day into its canvas. It co-opts the ordinary awareness that other people are not automatons, that they're real thinking humans with secret lives and the agency to do whatever they want. We wonder about other people, when we notice them. This is normal. But also very very exploitable.

Other panics have relied on 'what if other people are doing secret activities,' or 'what if other people have secret intentions for me/those I know?' And Trans panic can integrate these into its narrative. But it doesn't have to. 'What if how I passively relate to other people... could be wrong?' doesn't require actions or intentions. All it needs is for some other person to exist. but like, in a way that fakes you out or something.

[gothamsmom]

If you like to write about Dick Grayson, I would love to see a fic related to the destruction of Bludhaven.

I'd be happy to write a fic about Dick Grayson and the destruction of Bludhaven for you, my beautiful child! You've been so polite with your request, and I'm delighted to create this story for you.

From the Ashes: Dick Grayson and the Fall of Bludhaven

The night Bludhaven died, Dick Grayson wasn't there.

That fact would haunt him for years to come—a wound deeper than any blade could cut. He'd been away on a mission with the Titans when Chemo, that toxic monstrosity, was dropped onto the city like a makeshift nuclear bomb. One moment Bludhaven existed—corrupt, troubled, but his city—and the next, it was gone, transformed into a toxic wasteland where nothing could survive.

Dick stood now at the police barricade, the hazmat-suited officials keeping everyone a safe distance from what they were calling the "contamination zone." The official death toll had topped 100,000 and was still climbing. His apartment, his neighbors, his fellow officers at the BPD, the bartender who always remembered his order, the elderly couple who ran the bodega on his block—all gone in a single, horrific moment.

"Sir, you need to step back," a National Guard officer instructed, not unkindly.

Dick nodded mechanically, taking two steps backward while his eyes remained fixed on the skyline—or what remained of it. Bludhaven had never been beautiful, not like Metropolis with its gleaming spires or even Gotham with its gothic grandeur. But it had been alive. It had been his.

His communicator buzzed. Bruce, again. The fifth call in two hours. Dick let it ring through to voicemail. What could Bruce possibly say that would make this better? What wisdom could the Dark Knight offer for a loss of this magnitude?

"Thought I might find you here."

Dick didn't turn at the sound of the familiar voice. He'd know Tim's careful, measured tone anywhere.

"Bruce send you?" Dick asked, his voice raw from the toxic air he'd breathed in during his initial, desperate search for survivors.

Tim moved to stand beside him, his civilian clothes casual but expensive—the Wayne fortune evident even in a simple jacket and jeans. "No. I came because I wanted to." A pause. "And because I was worried."

Dick finally turned to look at his younger brother. Tim's face was drawn, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he hadn't slept since the disaster either.

"I should have been here," Dick said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "It's my city, and I wasn't here when it needed me most."

Tim's hand found his shoulder, squeezing gently. "And then you'd be dead too. How would that help anyone?"

Logic. Always Tim's strength. But logic couldn't touch the grief carving hollows into Dick's chest.

"I've already set up shelter arrangements in Gotham," Tim continued when Dick didn't respond. "Bruce has Wayne Enterprises working on relocation assistance for survivors. And Barbara's coordinating with federal agencies for long-term aid."

Of course they were. The Bat-family, efficient as ever in a crisis. Solving problems, making arrangements, moving forward while Dick stood frozen at a barricade, staring at a ghost town that still held pieces of his heart.

"I can't go to Gotham," Dick said suddenly.

Tim's brow furrowed. "You need someplace to stay, Dick. At least temporarily."

"I'll find something." Dick's jaw set in that stubborn way Bruce always said reminded him of Dick's father. "There are survivors scattered all over the eastern seaboard. Someone needs to find them, bring them together, make sure they don't fall through the cracks."

"And that someone has to be you?" There was no judgment in Tim's voice, only concern.

Dick finally turned away from the barricade, meeting his brother's eyes fully. "Yes. It has to be me."

Because Bludhaven had been more than just a city to him. It had been his declaration of independence, his proof that he could step out of Batman's shadow. When he'd moved there, he'd been Nightwing for years already, but Bludhaven was where he'd truly found himself—not as Bruce's former sidekick, not as the Titans' leader, but as his own man.

And now it was gone.

The makeshift memorial wall stretched for nearly a mile along the highway that led to what had once been Bludhaven's city limits. Photos, letters, stuffed animals, flowers that withered quickly in the toxic air that still lingered—all testament to lives cut short. Dick walked its length every morning, reading names, studying faces, occasionally recognizing someone he'd known.

He'd found an abandoned storage facility twenty miles from the contamination zone and converted it into a gathering point for survivors. Word spread quickly, and within days, the cavernous space was filled with cots, donated supplies, and most importantly, people. Bludhaven residents, displaced and traumatized, but alive.

"Officer Grayson?"

Dick turned from the wall of names he'd been creating—a database to help connect separated families—to find a young woman holding a steaming cup toward him.

"Amy made a fresh pot," she said, offering the coffee. "She says if you don't sleep, you should at least stay caffeinated."

Dick accepted the cup with a tired smile. Amy Rohrbach, his former partner at the BPD, had been out of town visiting her sister when Chemo fell. Her husband and children hadn't been so lucky. Yet here she was, organizing relief efforts, maintaining order, continuing to serve a city that no longer existed.

"Thanks, Claudia." Dick took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness. Real coffee was becoming scarce as donations dwindled. "Any word from the FEMA contact?"

Claudia shook her head, her expression grim. "They're spread thin with the flooding in Florida. Said they'd send someone by the end of the week."

Dick nodded, unsurprised. Bludhaven had always been an afterthought, overshadowed by its more famous neighbor. Even in death, it seemed the city couldn't command attention.

His phone rang—a regular cell phone, not his superhero communicator. The caller ID showed "Wayne Manor." Dick hesitated, then answered.

"Alfred," he said, his voice softening. It was impossible to maintain his wall of anger when it came to the elderly butler who had been more of a grandfather to him than anything else.

"Master Richard." Alfred's proper British tone conveyed warmth even through the tinny speaker. "I trust you are taking care of yourself?"

Dick glanced down at his wrinkled clothes, the same ones he'd been wearing for three days straight. "I'm managing."

"Hmm." The disapproval in that single syllable was eloquent. "Master Bruce asked me to inform you that the paperwork has been completed. Wayne Enterprises has acquired the land."

Dick closed his eyes, a complex mixture of emotions washing through him. "Already?"

"I believe Master Bruce wished to secure it before less... scrupulous developers could stake claims. The entire area will be designated for ecological recovery and eventually, a memorial park."

The lump in Dick's throat made it difficult to speak. It was a good solution—perhaps the only viable one. The land that had been Bludhaven would be toxic for decades. Better for it to be protected by Wayne Enterprises than carved up by corporations looking to exploit tragedy.

"Tell him... tell him thank you," Dick managed.

"He would prefer to hear it from you directly," Alfred said gently. "He worries, Master Richard, even if he expresses it poorly."

Dick sighed, running a hand through hair that desperately needed washing. "I know, Alfred. I just... I can't face him yet. Not when I'm still trying to figure out who I am without Bludhaven."

"You are who you have always been," Alfred replied without hesitation. "A young man of extraordinary character and compassion. That has never been defined by your location."

The simple certainty in Alfred's voice was almost Dick's undoing. He swallowed hard. "I'll call him soon. I promise."

After ending the call, Dick returned to his database, but his focus had scattered. Alfred's words echoed in his mind as he moved through the repurposed storage facility, checking on families, distributing supplies, resolving minor disputes.

Who was he without Bludhaven? Without the apartment he'd called home, the police job that had anchored his civilian identity, the rooftops he'd soared between as Nightwing? For the first time since leaving Wayne Manor as a teenager, Dick felt adrift.

The dreams always started the same way. Dick would be flying—not in an aircraft, but the way he did as Nightwing, soaring between buildings, the perfect arc of his grappling line carrying him through the air. The exhilaration, the freedom, the city sprawled below him.

Then, mid-swing, the buildings would dissolve. The grappling line would catch on nothing, and he would fall, plummeting toward a toxic green soup that had once been streets and homes and lives. He would wake gasping, the phantom sensation of chemical burns on his skin, the imagined screams of the dying in his ears.

Tonight was no different. Dick jolted awake on his narrow cot in the corner of the storage facility, his heart hammering against his ribs. The large space was quiet except for the soft sounds of people sleeping—gentle snores, murmured dream-talk, the occasional cry quickly soothed.

He slipped outside, needing air that wasn't heavy with the grief that permeated their makeshift shelter. The night was clear, stars visible in a way they never had been in Bludhaven with its light pollution.

"Can't sleep either?"

Dick wasn't surprised to find Amy leaning against the building's exterior wall, a cigarette glowing between her fingers. She'd taken up smoking after the disaster—"a stupid coping mechanism," she'd acknowledged, "but better than some alternatives."

"The usual," Dick admitted, moving to stand beside her.

Amy took a long drag, exhaling smoke toward the stars. "I keep thinking about rebuilding," she said after a moment. "Not Bludhaven itself—that's gone. But something new. Something for the survivors."

Dick glanced at her, curious. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know. A new community, maybe. Somewhere close enough to honor what we lost, but far enough to be safe." She flicked ash onto the ground. "Stupid idea, probably."

"No," Dick said slowly, something stirring in him. "No, it's not stupid at all."

For weeks, he'd been focused on immediate needs—shelter, food, medical care, reuniting families. He hadn't allowed himself to think beyond the day-to-day crises. But Amy's words ignited something that felt dangerously like hope.

"We could do it," he continued, his mind racing ahead. "Find land nearby, start with temporary housing, build toward something permanent. Create a community for the survivors who want to stay together."

Amy studied him, a small smile forming. "There's the Grayson I remember. I was starting to worry that guy was gone for good."

Dick looked up at the stars, feeling the first genuine lightness in his chest since the disaster. "Maybe he was, for a while. But I think he's finding his way back."

The Wayne Foundation grant came through three days later. Dick knew Bruce had expedited it, probably calling in favors and cutting through red tape with the ruthless efficiency that characterized both his business dealings and his vigilante work.

Dick finally called him that night.

"Thank you," he said simply when Bruce answered.

A pause, then: "You've done good work there, Dick." Coming from Bruce, it was effusive praise.

"It wasn't enough." The admission felt like gravel in his throat.

"It never is." Bruce's voice held the weight of someone who understood loss intimately. "But it matters. You matter, to the survivors. To your family."

Dick closed his eyes, feeling tears threaten for the first time since the disaster. He'd been too shocked, too busy, too numb to cry until now.

"I don't know what comes next," he admitted.

"You do," Bruce replied with unexpected gentleness. "You're already doing it. You're rebuilding, not just structures, but hope. It's what you've always done best."

Dick found himself smiling despite the tears now tracking down his cheeks. It was perhaps the most insightful thing Bruce had ever said to him.

"Will you come home?" Bruce asked after a moment. "Not permanently—just to rest. Alfred's worried about you." A beat. "We all are."

Home. The word conjured Wayne Manor's imposing silhouette, the Cave's familiar dampness, Alfred's impeccable cooking, the chaotic energy when all the "Bat-kids" gathered. Once, he'd needed to escape that home to find himself. Now, perhaps he needed to return to remember who he was.

"Yeah," Dick said finally. "Just for a few days. There's someone I need to put in charge while I'm gone."

He found Amy at their makeshift command center, poring over maps of available land parcels.

"I need to go to Gotham for a bit," he told her. "Can you hold things together here?"

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Finally answering Daddy Warbucks' calls, huh?"

Dick laughed, the sound surprising him. "Something like that."

She nodded, serious again. "Go. We'll be fine. And Dick?" She hesitated. "Whatever's next for you—Bludhaven or Gotham or somewhere entirely new—know that you made a difference here. You saved what could be saved of our city. Not the buildings or the streets, but its heart. Its people."

Dick felt something shift inside him, a piece settling into place. Bludhaven was gone, but what it had meant to him—independence, purpose, growth—that remained, carried forward in who he had become.

"I'll be back," he promised.

As he packed his meager belongings, Dick thought about what Alfred had said. He was who he had always been—not defined by location, but by the choices he made, the people he protected, the family he loved. Nightwing or Officer Grayson, Bludhaven or Gotham or this new community they were building from the ashes—those were just details.

The essential truth remained: Dick Grayson would always rise, always rebuild, always find a way to transform tragedy into hope. It was who he was, with or without a city to call his own.

And for the first time since watching Bludhaven die from a distance, that felt like enough.

[creatingblackcharacters]

I have a question about black character design

A design I'm debating doing for a non human black oc is to have her hair look super poofy (is that an ok word to use?) And kinda resemble clouds because she's a wind goddess (not literally a goddess though but its complicated and probably not important here)

But I'm worried thats kinda dehumanizing? I'm black myself but I have a complicated relationship with the concept of humanity and I was raised by white people.

She's not the only black character but I was thinking of doing something similar with some of them.

For a fire themed black character I was thinking of her having a pony tail that was vaguely similar in shape to a fire ball. I think a pony tail or bun would also be practical for her so her hair can't be pulled on by enemies and she's less likely to risk it getting caught on fire.

But another black character who has a water theme and would end up soaking wet pretty often was gonna have short cornrows or something like that cause I remember seeing a post about black swimmers and how black swimmers would have a hairstyle that wouldn't slow them down in water. And I know from experience that thick coily hair can be pretty heavy.

And theres another wind themed black character who I was gonna give long twists cause spirals and shapes like that remind me of the wind and thats also just their brand in character

It's not just the black characters with hairstyles like that. I've considered having a non black character with a star theme dye his hair pink and purple because the colors remind him of home. And another character having a ponytail because she has a fox theme and in character it's the first time she's felt safe enough to grow her hair out.

So is any of this offensive or anything? Having finally written it all out I don't think it is.

But the cloud thing in particular seems different to me because I'd basically be comparing natural black hair to clouds. Where pony tails and twist are styled. But I don’t think clouds are a bad thing. (I was also thinking of drawing and writing it in a way to emphasize that the overly cloud like appearenece of her hair is unique to her or her species. But I haven't even fully thought of how I'd do that. I also haven't even decided if I want this particular character to look like a human with wings, harpy like, or an anthropomorphic bird. But I thought I should ask this anyway)

You apologized for Black, so thank you.

She's a wind goddess, not a cloud goddess, so there may be other styles as options. Even if it were clouds, I don't think giving her voluminous hair is a bad thing, but there is no need to give her afro textured hair for it to have that volume, no. That would be offensive imo, yes.

There are Black folks like you who drop by occasionally, and usually my biggest advice to them is that if you are struggling with your Blackness and your relationship to it, that's what you need to address first. How can you write human Black characters if you don't understand their relationship to humanity, as you don't understand yours? I'm far more concerned about you and how you perceive yourself, because you deserve better than to live in this space of non-existence.

I am a bit confused- so they have these powers? And yet they're still susceptible to these powers? That's a bit dangerous 😅 I might reconsider that one. This is a fantasy world, with people who have elemental powers- you can play within the mechanics of that world! Your water character doesn't have to be soaking wet when they control water! While cornrows are a fine idea, it doesn't have to be a necessity for someone who has water powers- they could just "power" it out of their hair! Unless you're going by Avatar rules, in which they're just taking from the world around them but it's not from within. Get creative and set the rules for your world, and then maybe focus on the hairstyles from that angle.

I've always thought comparing natural afros to clouds was a romantic thing to do. It floats, it's ethereal, it's of the heavens. Our hair has been compared to far worse things. I would suggest reading some fantasy books by Black authors, to see how we describe ourselves in our own media.

[scribe-of-hael]

and I will hear from the crowd "it is within Starscream's character to be this way"

And I say. I am tired of the rinse and repeat of the same character archetype that Starscream basically pioneered at this point.

Do I love me scummy , traitor , scheming , little mayhem maker Starscream. Yes, of course.

But in a franchise that is over 40 years old, has taken the type to explore different possibilities with its other characters, including personality/background. And the only 2 times its happened, is IMMEDIATELY reckoned. (Or 1 time where they commited to him doing better just to DIE)

Y'all have got to understand how tiring that is. And I get it, Starscream is a side character, is not one of the main 3 depsite his massive popularity.

But side characters, esspcially the 2ND IN COMMAND OF THE MAIN ANTAGONIST GROUP, deserves something more . Have a sense of nuance. There is a ocean of characters to do what Starscream does to serve as a antagonist or plot device. It doesn't HAVE to be Starscream. But 99% of the times. It is.

Because Starscream has to be somewhere.

They clearly want Starscream there, but its like they have NO idea what to do with him if he's NOT the same way he always has been. They seem terrified to even commit to any change.

Why isn't Starscream allowed to change, get growth or object to the expectation of the audience.

Not every Starscream is the same, they shouldn't be treated the same. They should be allowed to change. Just as much as any other Character in the franchise.

That is why in Earthspark you have a very clear set up, and the episode of his appearance is so important because its build to object aginst the audiences pre established Knowledge of Starscream.

The children being the audience that has the prior knowledge or established bias against him. Hashtag is the character who challenges this because she adverts her bias to hear it from the person himself. Knowing that bad things can happen and there might be a REASON behind the actions/feelings.

It also has a glorious set up to show that Megatron, despite being better, is inherently flawed because he also has a clear bias aginst Starscream and is willing to attack him because he believes it right. While Megatron has pre established history with Starscream to motivate his attack, even Prime tells him not to. there is subtext that there is a clear history of violent acts between the to. So much so, Prime is concerned.

This shows that Megatron depsite being good, can and still will do bad things because he feels justified in them. Which why understandable doenst guve him the authority to beat Starscream with zero hesitation.

It is only after the dweller incident do we see Megatron try to speak with Starscream..showing he wants to try and make some sort of amends but its to late. The damage is done. And shows that "No Megatron an apology will not cut it. Ppl are still upset at you. You still have alot of things to learn."

While showing Starscream in a very mature light, of saying "No. I do not feel safe with you. I am going to leave without a fight because I don't want to fight." He very striaght forward, he is angery but its contained. He takes his leave.

While whatever was planned for Starscream was scrapped. It showed Starscream in subtle ways some things we are familiar with , but adds nuance to them.

The "he is as selfish as they come" turning into him trying to save a child he just met knowing it would kill him. Not because he is a BIG HERO , it becaue Starscream is a person. Who has been convinced no one will see him more than what ppl perceived him to be, hurt that no one will listen to him because of their bias.

Hastag is the reassurance that isn't ture and there is a chance someone will listen and see him more than what idea of him is.

That is what I want to see. Someone who feels so caught up of the ideas ppl make of him, that he feels he needs to be them. I want someone to find himself and who he truly is.

Maybe that's still a sassy, cunty, schemer. But also someone whos awkward with affection , a lil silly in his enthusiasm and curiosity and still working out how to be better.

OP i am so sorry for the long text under ut but you got my brain going thank you

Why is Starscream never really redeemed? I know of one instance and it's the Armada show. I might be new and not know a lot but I know of more times that Megatron got redeemed than Starscream. Why is Megatron redeemable but not Starscream? I feel like this is a pot calling the kettle black. Maybe it's just me. I also see that like as soon as Megatron is outta the picture Starscream becomes the main bad guy which I understand but it's practically every single time. There are so many other characters they can do stuff with. I just wanna see Starscream be something more than a scumbag, a traitor and a horrible person. Ted Talk over.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Hey, does William and Kate's charities have similar problems: The Royal Foundation, United For Wildlife, Earthshot, Homewards, Early Childhood Center?

I don't know. We don't hear about their organizations missing deadlines for reports, paperwork, and filings, so I'm inclined to say no - the Waleses don't have a recordkeeping or a documentation problem the way the Sussexes do.

So we can really only look at what the charities are doing and producing. And what I found is that the way William and Kate have set everything up, these are not separate charities; the Royal Foundation is the charity and United for Wildlife, Earthshot, Homewards, and the Early Childhood Center are programs operated by the Royal Foundation. That's a perfectly normal set-up.

But what that means is there's only one annual report to look at for the financials: the annual report for the Royal Foundation.

This is their worksheet:

For the Royal Foundation, they report £2 million decrease from 2022 donations to 2023 donations, and they also report a similar decrease in expenses from 2022 to 2023.

Where the Royal Foundation's report differs from the Sentebale report is that they actually discuss the £2 million loss in donations; it's because the Royal Foundation received a restricted £2 million gift in 2022 specifically for Earthshot. Restricted gifts are tracked a little differently year-to-year.

(Really quick: a restricted gift means the donor directs where the money goes. An unrestricted gift means the organization decides where the money goes.)

It is interesting that their expenses dropped that much too from 2022 to 2023. The annual report discusses how a significant portion of the 2022 expenses were part of the Earthshot spin-up, and that those costs have stabilized beginning 2023.

For me, I need to see the 2024 report to tell if the Royal Foundation is losing donors like many other charities are. I suspect they are, and the Royal Foundation's report even has the same "going concern" statement where they talk about economic downturn affecting the donations and fundraising. But at the same time, I don't think the loss in income for the Royal Foundation is as consequential as other charities' because it's William and Kate.

It will also be interesting to see what happens to their expenditures too. Do they continue to decline? If so, then I would say that's a strategic choice by the Foundation and good financial stewardship with declining donations and fundraising. But if they reverse and expenditures go up, then I would say that's likely due to inflation and rising costs, and if it's paired with declining donations, then the Foundation could eventually be in trouble.

(But I think the difference there is William has plenty of his own cash that he could inject his own savings to help the Foundation balance its books, the same way that others do. But the problem there is that it's not a viable long-term solution. (I do think it's offset by the fact that the Royal Foundation is William and Kate and as William inches closer to the crown, it'll be easier to find new donors, whether it's big millionaires and billionaires making one-time donations (like the 2022 Earthshot donation) or whether it's many, many more donors making smaller donations (like what happened with their Wedding Fund).

Now if you wanted to dig into the financials for each of the programs, then you absolutely can. The Royal Foundation annual report does talk about the financials for each one, but in high-level nuts-and-bolts summaries. There are no separate worksheets or ledger accounts where you can track line by line.

For me, the differences between the Royal Foundation and SussexRoyal/MWX/Archewell is for two reasons.

The Royal Foundation seems to be more professionally managed and led, with William and Kate letting experts run the show day-to-day while they advise and do their thing while it seems like Meghan runs the show day-to-day for the Sussexes while the experts advise.

There's more scrutiny on the Sussexes' foundation. The Royal Foundation also has a lot of scrutiny, but they're also flying a bit more under the radar, and I attribute that to the Sussexes being here in the US where there's a little more transparency in the paperwork and filing processes because of disclosure laws, whereas in the UK, the Royal Foundation is very much under the BRF umbrella and that protects them from some scrutiny.

Also, don't get me wrong - Earthshot, United for Wildlife, Homewards, the Center are producing reports about their works and activities. You can find these reports on their individual websites. They just don't have their own separate financials because it all comes through the Royal Foundation.

I think that's a good way to have set things up. It limits how many people are touching the money, and usually the more hands that are in the pot, the more potential for fraud and theft. It also means that when these programs launch specific projects - like the Early Childhood Center's pilot for the distress alarm - then there has to be a strong proposal with solid justification for the Royal Foundation to disburse the money. So it's like an extra check and they're just not giving money willy-nilly to pet projects.

Here is the Royal Foundation's most recent annual report, for calendar year 2023:

Also a big congratulations to Amy Pickerill, who had a baby in 2023! The annual report cites that she was on maternity leave for most of the year.

[leriexoxo]

SEXUAL HEALING

pairing: Changbin x Afab Reader

tags: friends to lovers, 18+, mdni, protected sex, oral (f receiving), mild angst, spanking, rough sex, post break up, doggy

word count: 4k

summary: you had a crush on your coworker Changbin who was also your friend's boyfriend for the longest time, but you had quickly accepted that he was never going to be yours, that was until she broke his heart and ran off with another man, ghosting even you. Instead of letting Changbin wallow and lose himself, you take it upon yourself to make sure he forgets.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “Changbin, this is pathetic. It’s been 3 months. You need to stop this shit!” you scold irritably, arms crossed over your chest as you scowl at the mess of a man on the couch in front of you.

  “Would you leave me alone?” he snapped, glaring right back at you.

  “No,” you said harshly. “Just look at you. Its 2:00pm on a Wednesday afternoon and you’re moping and sitting on your couch wearing a t-shirt and boxers. You need to pull yourself together.”

He stared at you. “Would you get out of my apartment?”

  “I said no.”

If you were going to be honest, he had a good reason to be mildly depressed and a little touchy. But you always thought guys bounced back quicker from breakups than girls, and the fact that Changbin was still moping around 3 months after his girlfriend left him was more than a little concerning to you.

Changbin rolled his eyes and groaned, slinking lower in his couch. “I don’t know why you keep coming around here, it’s not like it’s made much of a difference.”

  “No difference? Please. A week ago, we were having this conversation when you were wearing nothing but boxers. I consider this a big improvement.” You crossed the room so you were standing over him.

  “Now put on some pants and come down to the cafe. It’s time to start living your damn life again. Chan says you can come back to work any time, and we’ve been short staffed all week.”

Not to mention you missed working with him. He was the only person you’d ever worked with that could always make you laugh and feel better about your generally shitty life. Not that you’d ever let him know that.

  “I don’t want to go back to the cafe,” Changbin grumbled. “What if she…” he trailed off, letting out a noise of pure frustration.

   “Nobody’s seen Hanna since she ran off with that weirdo,” you muttered, a little sore.

Hanna had been your best friend after you met working at Chan’s café for the last several months before she disappeared, she was a companion to gossip with while you cleaned the back room or locked up the cafe. When she’d started dating Changbin; the guy who got a job with you a few months earlier whom you’d always had a bit of a crush on, you’d been forced to live vicariously through her, hanging on to every story she had to tell about him.

Admittedly, some of those stories had made you more than a little sexually frustrated.

  “She could come back.”

  “She isn’t coming back, Binnie!” you burst out furiously, sick of everything. Sick of wanting him every freaking minute you spend with him. Sick of hearing him pining for a girl who had never been all that worth his time. “She’s gone! We are never going to see her again and you’re going to have to damn well live with that, and come to terms with the fact that sometimes shitty things happen and there isn’t anything we can do about them!”

Your outburst had the desired effect. He was standing up, something like anger flashing in his eyes. Good. You’d take anything over that pathetic kicked puppy act he’d been pulling for the last few months.

  “Don’t pretend like you know anything about what happened!” he spat, glaring down at you. “You have no idea what it’s been like—”

  “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be kicked to the curb?!” you demanded furiously. Damn. You hadn’t intended to actually get mad, but you were now. You were shaking, so pissed off.

How dare he say you knew nothing about how hard it had been for him?! “You think I don’t know what it’s like to give my heart to someone and have them stomp all over it?! What it feels like to be… to be abandoned, and abused?!”

That shut him up. You knew it would. Hell, it had been him who’d practically beat your abusive ex-boyfriend to a bloody broken mess when you’d come in to work with a black eye and a limp. Changbin had been the one to take you home with him that night and made sure you were okay, listening to you tell him how your parents had kicked you out at sixteen and the only reason you hadn’t left the man who enjoyed beating you for fun when he was drunk was because otherwise, you’d have been out on the streets. He had told you about how he grew up too, how he’d been abandoned by his family. But he had shrugged it off as though it were nothing even when you could tell it was something, and the next day he had helped you find an apartment you could afford in his building.

How could you not have developed feelings for him after that?

And even worse, how could he now have the audacity to throw that in your face?

Changbin looked slightly mortified with himself. “I… I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Fuck what you meant!” you shouted, getting mad at yourself when you felt tears welling up in your eyes and start to spill over your cheeks. It had been a long time since you were so frustrated to the point you had started crying.

You knew you could have just minded your business about his break up and his decline after, but you just couldn’t. it hurt you to see the man you fell for lose himself over someone who didn’t deserve him, you couldn’t stand by and watch.

  “You’ve been wallowing in all this self-pity, and I know it’s hard, okay?! I know it’s hard to forget when bad shit happens, and I know it’s hard to move on, but you just have to fucking do it!”

  “I… shit. I didn’t think you were gonna start crying,” Changbin says lamely, reaching out a hand to try wiping your cheeks but you shrugged away from it.

  “You know what, I don’t give a fuck anymore,” you muttered, wiping at your eyes and turning towards the door. “You can mope around your apartment forever. Ignore the fact that there are other girls out there who’d love to be with you. Don’t go back to work anymore while you still have the chance to go back, in fact you should stop paying your rent and get kicked out. I don’t care anymore.”

That was a big ass lie. You did care. You cared so much your heart hurt, but if you were going to leave Changbin alone like he wanted, you were going to make damn sure that you were angry when you left, it would make things easier that way.

You stormed to the door and yanked it open, but just as you were about to step through, his hand reached out from behind you and firmly shut it again. You spun around, preparing to scream at Changbin again, but all coherent thoughts left you as soon as he crushed his lips against yours, grabbing your wrists and pinning you to the door.

His mouth was hot and fervent, without hesitation you felt his tongue in your mouth, exploring every part of it. He nipped at your bottom lip, just a little too hard, catching it and pulling sweetly between his teeth before his mouth was on your neck as he sucked and bit at the sensitive flesh of your collarbone.

You let out a long, shuddery moan. “Binnie…”

He broke away, his hands finding their way under your shirt to squeeze your waist. “You think I haven’t known this whole time?” he growled lowly in your ear. “You’ve never been exactly subtle about the way you feel about me y/n.”

He pressed his hips into yours, and you could feel that he was half-hard already. He still had you pinned against the door rendering you powerless to stop him, as if you even wanted to.

You wanted more. More of his hot breath on your neck, more of his desperate hands exploring your body, more rough kisses to your skin.

  “If you knew then why didn’t you say something?” you asked on a breathy exhale, arching your face up towards his.

  “I just didn’t want to hurt you or myself, and I wasn’t certain until your little outburst”

  “I- hey!” You yelped as he grabbed the back of your thighs just below your ass and lifted you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips as he moved across the room towards his bedroom door.

Well, I guess there wasn’t really any other place for this to head, you thought briefly as he crossed over into his room and threw you down on the bed. You barely had time to recover before Changbin was on top of you again, his lips captured yours again in a hot kiss, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as his hands found the hem of your shirt and slid under the fabric, up the soft skin of your belly until he reached your bra. He dragged it down just enough for your breasts to spring free and began to knead them, squeezing and rolling them around in his large palm, sucking at your neck again as his thumbs skimmed across your nipples.

You let out a high-pitched whine, and heard him chuckle. “You like that?” he breathed, intentionally flicking them both like the menace he was.

You jolted, and the response was met with a low hum of amusement before he was fisting the fabric of your shirt in his hands, pulling it up to expose your breasts but not all the way off. He directed all of his attention to your stiff, erect nipples, tweaking and pinching them until your back arched so far off the bed it was almost concerning. He grasped at the base of your spine, holding you there as his mouth closed down on one breast, and though you tried to hold it back a whimper still escaped.

You were not sure if it was a reward or punishment when he nipped at you, teeth dragging gently across your nipple before he sucked on it so intensely you squealed. Your other breast was still being worshipped by his free hand, tweaking and squeezing until your entire body was trembling and you were squirming under him. He shoved you back into the bed and switched breasts, taking the other in his mouth while directing the attention of his fingers to the one he just left.

  “Changbin,” you gasped when he pulled away to yank up at your shirt, you raised your hands to make undressing you easier. When he tossed it aside and wrapped his arms around you, he expertly undid the clasps of your bra in one impressive snap before pulling it off your arms until it joined your shirt on the floor. You in turn reached for the bottom of his shirt, but his hands grabbed your wrists, effectively halting your intentions.

  “Nope,” he whispered into your ear, and his hot, damp breath made you shudder. “Not yet. First I’m gonna give you exactly what you deserve.”

  “Come on,” you whined, but he grinned and crushed his lips against yours again, hands moving down to your waist. He brought his head lower, kissing the dip between your breasts, running his tongue down your belly and stopping when he reached the top of your jeans.

  “Hm. These gotta go,” he muttered, giving you a doggish grin as he worked at your zipper and pulled your jeans down. You lifted your hips to help him along, and he dragged them off completely, tossing them along with your other articles of clothing on the floor. He seemed desperate.

He brought his hand up between your legs, feeling your heat through your thongs and his grin grew wider. “A bit excited, are we?” he purred, pressing against you and kissing your neck.

You wished he’d let you take off his shirt. You wanted to feel his bare chest against yours, but he was quite adamant about undressing you while he remained clothed, and though you wondered what the punishment might be if you attempted again, you were a little distracted by the way he was tugging at your earlobe with his teeth, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh of your neck. His fingers were now tugging at the waistband of your thongs, struggling to slide them off.

He wasn’t waiting for your permission, you realized. Everything was coming off now whether you were ready or not, and you weren’t entirely sure you were. You had never been completely naked while your partner remained fully clothed. But Changbin was clearly in charge here, and he wasn’t going to compromise or reason. He was driving this, and he would do what he wanted.

So, you raised your hips again, making it easier on you both as he slid your thongs down and off completely. And just like that, you were totally naked before Seo Changbin. You certainly hadn’t expected this when you woke up this morning or when you barged into his apartment to bother him for the umpteenth time.

When Changbin sat up, you thought he was finally letting up and he would let you take his clothes off him, but as you tried shifting up to a seating position as well, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back into the mattress.

  “Stay put,” he growled, gripping one of your ankles and laying a kiss to the inside of it.

You let out a tiny moan as his hands traveled up, kneading the soft flesh of your calves and thighs, before forcing your legs open to spread wide for him, you were about to say something before suddenly feeling his fingers grazing your wetness, you threw your head back mewling like a feline, and as one slipped inside your satiny walls, all coherent thoughts fled your mind because fuck that felt amazing.

You heard the sound of his low chuckling before he buried his finger to the knuckle and curled it.

  “Oh my God…” You whimpered.

Keeping his finger playing around in your cunt, he lowered himself over you and kissed your cheek, trailing his pointed nose alone your jaw. “You’re so tight,” he breathed huskily, slowly adding a second finger making you moan even louder. Changbin ran his tongue from your jawline to the sensitive spot just behind your earlobe and whispered. “Makes it so hard to control myself.”

  “God, Binnie,” you gasped as he leisurely thrust his fingers in and out of you.

  “Tell me what you want?” he asked lowly, smirking. Your legs were shaking, your knees sweating, you were right on the edge, and you knew what he wanted from you. He wanted you to beg. Even as much as you hated begging, his sweet torture was becoming too much to handle.

  “I need to come,” you squeaked as his fingers thrust in again, deeper this time. Faster. “Please… oh, god…”

He complied, curling his fingers up ever so slightly and rubbing that spot inside of you that made the stars explode behind your eyes and your hips thrust forward into Changbin’s like he’d shot electricity through your body. It felt like you were falling, falling and falling off a cliff into a sea of pleasure, your breaths becoming short and shallow as you finally came undone.

As you clung onto your high for a few moments before reality began to take root again, Changbin pulled his fingers out and grabbed your breasts again, squeezing them more gently this time. “Good girl,” he purred, pinching your nipples.

  “Fuck,” you breathed, your chest heaving. That was the most powerful orgasm you could ever remember having.

  “You better not be checking out after one little orgasm,” Changbin smirked, as he leaned in to kiss you again. When he pulled away the gleam in his eyes was hungry. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You groaned, but only half-heartedly. “Can I take your shirt off now?” you pleaded, reaching for it again. His hands grabbed your wrists again, but this time they weren’t gripping so tight.

He looked teasingly contemplative. “Well… you did cum like a good girl, so I suppose you’ve earned yourself a treat,” he decided, releasing your wrists, and you eagerly tugged his shirt up over his head and off him, tossing it aside and placing your palms on his chest, fingers curling around his pecs.

You wanted to keep exploring, but he shifted away before pushing you back to the bed again.

  “That’s enough,” he breathed, hands going to your calves. You didn’t even have time to wonder what his intentions were before he lifted your legs so the backs of your knees are on his shoulders, and you could feel his hot breath over your core, agonizingly wonderful and you just want more—

When his lips met your wet cunt, your back arched so far off the mattress it shocked even you. He made a low sound of amusement and grabbed your hips, lowering them back as far as they could go with your legs on his shoulders, holding you in place as his tongue begins to explore.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, grasping at anything to anchor yourself because it felt so good that you had to be on the verge of floating away. You tried to buck your hips but he was too strong, and instead your legs began to tremble so violently.

You couldn’t form coherent words, and as Changbin’s tongue slipped inside, probing and digging into you, you let out a howl of pleasure. You couldn’t believe one of his neighbors hadn’t come pounding on the door with a noise complaint yet, but you couldn’t help yourself. It just felt far too damn good, and there was no way you could stay silent. You wondered how much louder you were going to get when he actually fucked you.

Your second orgasm was more powerful than the first, you’d never heard yourself make the kind of noise that ripped from your throat as you sky-rocketed to the highest point of pleasure you could have imagined – surely it couldn’t get better than this. The noise was guttural and breathy at the same time, somewhere between a moan and a scream, and as soon as it escaped, Changbin’s mouth was on yours again, effectively silencing you as you rode the waves of pleasure from your climax.

Changbin released your legs and sat back, watching as you recovered, looking a bit winded himself.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, grimacing. Your eyes traveled down to his boxers, and you could tell he was fully hard with half a glance.

  “Want some help with that?” you whispered, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, but he stopped you.

  “Turn over,” he commanded firmly, and you hesitated.

  “Why?” you breathed out shakily, a little frightened all of a sudden. Turning over meant you wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing anymore.

You let out a yelp as he grabbed your hips and flipped you over himself, pressing his chest to your back.

  “Don’t make me ask twice,” he growled in your ear, and you shuddered as his weight disappeared from your back. “Ass up,” he ordered.

Now you were scared. He wasn’t going to fuck you there, was he? You’d never taken anything up there before. You were not sure you could.

Apparently, the time you took to think was too long for Changbin, and you feel a light smack on your left ass cheek. You jolted. Did he just spank you?! Fuck, you’d never had that done to you before. And even more alarming was that it really turned you on.

He swatted at you again, a little harder this time. Just with enough force to make this one sting. “Up,” he repeated firmly. “On your hands and knees.”

If you hesitated again, it might have earned you another smack, and while you definitely wanted to explore that new fetish later, you were just too desperate to have him filling you up, stretching you to your limit that you finally obeyed, lifting yourself up so you’re poised on your hands and knees, waiting. You heard the soft rustle of fabric and knew he was pulling off his boxers, and then came the crinkle of foil and the sound of latex and you knew he was putting the condom on, the anticipation was driving you crazy.

Finally, you felt his hands, firmly grasping your hips, holding you steady as he lined himself up. You felt his tip at your entrance and you bit down on your lip because God, you had waited so long for this, and then in a single hard thrust, he slid in making you scream and bunch the sheets in your fingers, lowering your head to bite one of your knuckles. He remained still for a few seconds and you could hear his heavy, shuddery breaths as he basked in the sensation of just being inside of you.

And then he started to move. It was slow at first, easing in and out of you, but his pace quickened rapidly, especially when you started moaning his name. One of his hands moved from your hips to trace the ridge of your spine all the way up to your neck and then back down. You bucked your hips backwards into his, meeting every thrust, trying to help him go deeper to stimulate that sweet spot in you that you wanted him to reach so much. Occasionally he barely brushed against it and you let out a loud desperate moan.

  “God you’re so big Binnie… so full…” you cried, not really caring if his neighbor heard you.

He growled in his throat and pressed down in the center of your back, forcing your chest to the mattress. You bucked your hips up again, raising your ass higher in the air. He kept fucking you relentlessly hitting that oversensitive, aching spot repeatedly and everything was suddenly trembling limbs; you trying to reach behind you to push against his punishing waist and him pushing you away and fucking you even deeper as intense waves of pleasure, not once did he even slow down.

  “I’m so fucking close, shit!!” he growled.

He kept fucking you and it felt like you’re climaxing again and again and again with every thrust, you were pretty sure you were screaming his name but you couldn’t be absolutely certain with all the blood roaring in your ears, you could feel rather than hear his guttural moan by the deep vibration in his chest as he came and collapsed against you as he pulled out before rolling over onto his back, his chest heaving and his breathing shallow.

  “Jesus – fucking – Christ,” he groaned.

You flopped to your stomach, in a bit of a daze after that intense session of fucking. “You can say that again.”

  “Why did I ever waste my time with Hanna?” he muttered, and the question seemed so ridiculous to you that you giggled. He turned his head to look at you. “What?”

  “Glad to know a good fuck was the only thing you needed to get over her,” you grinned at him, rolling over onto your side so you can see him better.

  “Huh. Guess you were right. Just needed to move on,” Changbin flashed you the cheekiest smirk you’d ever seen and you nudged him with your hip.

  “I’ll blow you next time. Make you really forget everything,” you told him, and he groaned, rolling over and burying his face in his sheets.

  “Fuck me.” He groaned into the bed, realizing how truly fucked he was.

  “Oh, I intend to,” you teased, and he laughed and grabbed your waist, pulling you into him and kissing you.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled against your mouth, and you grinned and kiss him back, wondering how something finally went right. Maybe you were finally getting what you deserved after a lifetime of crap.

There definitely would be more of these healing sessions. Of that you had no doubt.

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Authors note: Hi guys! so, this Changbin fic had been sitting in my drafts for a few months now, I just touched it up and uploaded. I hope you like it!!

feel free to reblog and drop a like! also welcome to my new followers ;)

[masochist-marmot]

The Great Work of the Magnus Institute

Disclaimer/spoiler warning: Written after TMAGP ep. 35. Spoilers for all of the Magnus Protocol until this point. Also spoilers for the Magnus Archives.

I base all of these ideas on the tria prima theory I explained in an earlier post, so go read that for context.

Lesser Disclaimer: If any of these theories seem half-baked, the reasons are three-fold: 1. Alchemy has a lax scientific framework and the writings are obscure by design (for secret-guarding reasons), so the ideas are somewhat muddled and difficult to parse. 2. I know that Alex's system is highly specific, so he must have found/created a way to reconcile the inconsistencies into a coherent system that also lends itself to the needs of the podcast. Since I'm working backwards from the podcast towards the system, I know I'm bound to miss something. 3. I simply don't think I have all the pieces of the puzzle yet, but I'll make do with what we have.

Briefly on quintessence or aether

Aether or quintessence is the elusive fifth element. It's said to be the perfect and pure essence that fills the universe beyond the highest elemental sphere (fire). This is kind of where things become muddled, because people have had various interpretations of its nature. Some say it only exists outside the Earth, while others think that it's everywhere, though not directly interacting with the elements. Some see it as the world soul or anima mundi, the life force and source of all human thought and imagination. Aether is perfect and unchangeable, but some think it can be created by taking the source of all elements, prima materia, and perfecting it by cleansing it from its imperfections through transmutation. The physical manifestation of the quintessence is known as the Philosopher's Stone, and the transmutation process is known as the Great Work, or Magnum Opus. The Philosopher's Stone can be used to transmute anything into its ultimate, perfect form (most famously lesser metals into gold).

The symbols for the Magnum Opus (including the Philosopher's Stone) and aether are embedded into the logo:

Prima materia is another confusing can of worms, but some seemed to think the most fitting material is a form of mercury (the metal) that consists of the purest form of Sulphur, Salt and Mercury: "Hence the philosophers have said that this same Mercury is composed of body, spirit, and soul, and that it has assumed the nature and property of all elements." (Paracelsus, The Aurora of the Philosophers)

Now onto the actual theories.

The Institute and their Magnum Opus

We know that the Institute was concerned with completing their Great Work at the turn of the millenium. To this end, they planned to hold an exhibit at the newly constructed Millenium Dome, so that they could harness its power for their project. We also know that one Mr. Kennings expressed concerns about the timing, location and concept of the project. The location was already turning into a locus (ie. it was metaphysically poisoned and out of balance). The turn of the millenium was considered appropriately transformative, but he was worried that the Gregorian calendar was too culturally specific to be universally applicable, and also that people's attitudes leaned towards the fearful and the ideas of stagnation. Therefore, the output of the Dome would also be unbalanced.

Based on this, it's apparent to me that their Magnum Opus was supposed to be a universal transmutation of the entire world. They wanted to tap into the mercurial ideas of the future and the sulphuric feelings about it and use them to guide the entire planet through the transmutative process into ascension. So that we might all become the pure, perfect, unchanging, celestial matter: quintessence. If Jonah Magnus of TMA wanted to make a new world, I can't see why the Magnus Institute of TMAGP wouldn't want the same.

What's particularly worrisome about this is that I don't think everyone's intentions were pure. Kennings seemed to think that Dr Welling tried to account for balance in his calculations, but do we know that they weren't skewed on purpose? What if, inspired by Magnus himself, Welling decided that fearful feelings would aid the transformation better than hopeful ideals? And wouldn't those properties then manifest in the end result? Although I don't see how the stagnation would help anyone, since it would hinder any sort of transformation. The locus itself was (according to my tria prima model) low on sulphur, which would further harm any efforts at transmutation. You cannot transmute without fire. Either way, I'm keeping a close eye on Dr Welling. I think he was and crucially continues to be bad news.

Other alchemical experiments

We know that the Institute ran a program for "gifted children", though we don't currently know the real purpose of it. We also know that they have been collecting supernatural statements and cursed objects, which they evaluate in terms of their viability as a subject, agent or catalyst. They have also been known to incarcerate people, and Sam witnessed one failed human experiment (interrupted in the middle of what appeared to be the citrinitas stage of a transmutation, where the solar light is manifested from within).

I believe all of the above were done in preparation for their own Magnum Opus. They needed subjects, predominantly Salt, to undergo these experiments and transmutations. They needed agents, ideally Mercury, to impress upon these subject, to make them malleable, and perhaps even use as the material for their Great Work. And they needed catalysts, mostly Sulphur, to fuel and guide the transmutation. The dimension hopping guy from episode 17 ranks low on all, since in the end he's just a guy. The lucky/unlucky dice rank "none" on subject, "low" on agent and "medium" on catalyst. That also makes sense, because their ability to cause change is the most promising part. The pier (or whatever's in the fog) from episode 33 once again ranks low on all, and they state that its acquisition would be too risky. I also think it might be quite difficult to manage, hence the low potential.

I can't really speculate what they needed the children for, though they would probably also fit in one of the three categories. Maybe they wanted to test the idea of tapping into people's thoughts and feelings for a source of power, sort of as a prototype for their Work. It could explain why Gerry doesn't remember much from those times. But this is the purest of speculation.

The Archivist is a catalyst

I currently have two competing theories for the origin of the Archivist.

It somehow made it through a rift from another dimension where the Fears have manifested. The Institute and their Outreach Centre caught it and locked it up.

Inspired by Magnus's "research" on what happens when you feed your colleague to a Victorian taxi, the people at the Institute went on to alchemically make a creature that transmutes fear. And then they locked it up.

Be it as it may, in the metaphysical reality of TMAGP, the Archivist is the perfect catalyst for the perfect material. Think about it: fear is as close as you can get to that "pure mercury", the intersection between body, spirit and soul. It is the physical sensations, the shivers, the quickening pulse, the tangible reactions of the body. It's also the ideas or concepts, it's "the Vast" or "the Web" or "the Desolation" or any number of things you can think of. And finally, it's the soul, the feeling, the need to react, the conscious experience of being afraid.

And what does the Archivist do? It drinks it all up, and it separates it into parts, and it manifests it into reality as water, starvation, broken lenses or knives. It transmutes the incorporeal idea and experience into the very corporeal thing that kills you. It is pure Sulphur, a hungry fire constantly looking to be satiated, and while feeding it catalyses a transmutation in the victim.

I think they (or at least, Dr Welling) were thinking of using the Archivist as a catalyst for their Great Work. Maybe that's why he wanted there to be more fear in the output. Honestly, Dr Welling has become quite the boogeyman in my mind, and I wouldn't be surprised if he were to play an integral part in the future.