#it’s like herding cats man

[malcolm-reeds-pineapple]

Being the only diagnosed and medicated member of your intensely ADHD/autism family is so fucking funny cuz it’s like

Me: hey guys what’s up?

My mom, who has been cooking lunch for three hours because she keeps forgetting that she is cooking supper because she is still hyper focused on the craft she was making before she started cooking and keeps going between the craft room and the stove, she is blasting a Facebook livestream about crafts: HELLO!!!!!! I was just researching [xyz] and i learned… wait, your glasses are filthy let me just… [takes my glasses off my face and cleans them] anyway I need your help I’m stuck on my craft [drags me to the craft room, my eyes lingering on the fucking pot that’s boiling over. I will end up cooking lunch undoubtedly]

My 80 year old nanny who was given 4 years to live 8 years ago and is baffling the medical world by continuing to live, scrolling the obits in between Wordle guesses, adding names to her “outlived list”, she has an entirely rooster themed house and if she doesn’t have lunch at exactly 12:13pm her day will be thrown off entirely, but she didn’t have all this autism stuff back in her day: Maureen died, [mom’s name] do you remember Maureen Smith? She was the church secretary in 1973? She died, the funeral is on Wednesday.

My brother, who has been making feats of engineering in Minecraft for the last 6 hours, coming in from his daily wake and bake he does to self-medicate for “whatever’s wrong with him”, the same man who built his first PC entirely from YouTube tutorials at age 13: [Infordumps at me about Warhammer lore or Minecraft while I pick up where mom left off making lunch while the chaos unfolds]

My dead Grampy who was a civil engineer who collected hobbies and hoarded building supplies and Weird Shit like it was a full time job who also could not cook without dirtying every single dish in the house, haunting the house he built as a fucking side quest in 1993: [dirties a pot from the beyond somehow]

My dad, 4 hours away who started a business because he was so fucking bored after he retired who used to call me out of school if my grades were good so we could hang out and collect rocks at the beach: [texting] hey this is the red hot chilli peppers song I was talking about a month ago, also, here is a link to a video about space that I thought was really really cool that I want you to watch so you can also think it’s cool! Also just finished season 6 of Stargate, was hoping to call to discuss after work.

My step mom, 4 hours away: [knitting a the sweater The Dude in the Big Lobowski wears without a pattern at lightning speed because my dad mentioned, in passing, that he has a cool sweater this morning. It will be done by 3pm. She is also monitoring a dashboard she coded to link up her numerous excel spreadsheets that run an entire city on her iPad while she knits. She is avoiding making a phone call. She has invited me to join a social media platform exclusively for knitters to share projects and patterns. I do not knit but she is god to me so I join. She is an influencer on the platform]

Me: yeah don’t know what I expected

[the-crooked-library]

what I learned from season 2 of IWTV is that a distressingly large amount of people cannot tell the difference between a consensual BDSM dynamic and assault/abuse, nor do they know anything about how kink actually works

it’s not unhealthy for Armand to be submissive or delve into maître/slave kink dynamics. in fact it’s something people do to explore and get past their traumas all the time irl. additionally, he is like five times older and more powerful than Louis, he wasn’t being forced to do anything, nor could Louis ever actually force him. the kink was probably the healthiest aspect of their relationship, what fucked them over was a jumble of commitment issues, a lack of trust, and eventual murder - which is something that would cause problems in any relationship ever, no matter how vanilla.

the Point of the tragedy is that they were on the precipice of something happy, but Louis hesitated for too long and Armand couldn’t recognize when he was loved, and the kink had nothing to do with it, for fuck’s sake. Louis wasn’t abusive and it’s not bad or wrong for Armand to want to be a sub -

[fire-eyed-raven]

Usually I'm all for not treating two characters as a one inseparable unit. I'm all for exploring them separately from each other or considering some interesting rare pair options for them.

But not with Madara. I love Madara very much but I'm sorry his canon obsession with Hashirama can't be ignored by me. I can't separate it from him. Their bond with Hashirama is completely something else. It's a very integral part of who Madara is.

He wants his attention even if it will be in a fight he wants everything Hashirama can give him. He'll recognize him in any situation. He'll be happy to see him even if the last time they have seen each other Hashirama killed him. He talked about uniting Ying and Yang and clearly meant Hashirama as Yang to his Ying. He ended up merging a part of Hashirama into himself in a most literal sense. He can't shut up about Hashirama when we see him as himself and not an impersonator (obito) or through other's memories.

[technicoloranimalviolence]

so, between cuddles toothy giggles & lumpy. who hates Kyle the most and who hates him the least? and the two in between?

FINALLY i can GET TO THIS ONE. lets go on a sliding scale of "thinks he's stupid" to "thinks he's an asshole."

Lumpy thinks he's just kind of an idiot. he believes Kyle is well meaning, but is fumbling through life blindfolded with his hands behind his back, in need of a little guidance.

Toothy thinks Kyle just isn't the brightest and needs some guidance as well, but also thinks he can be unfair and a little rude.

cuddles thinks he's paranoid and pushes it on other people. in his mind, kyle is actively stopping people from doing things that could be dangerous, with no real proof that they are.

giggles thinks he's sometimes purposefully obtuse. what shes SEEING has to be on purpose. shes smart enough to recognize that he's acting with deliberateness. but hasn't quite picked up on the rhyme or reason.

for the most part they are all, of course, entirely wrong.

[poppinelle]

It’s very telling that all of the Democratic fundraisers are still using images of Obama in their solicitations.

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

second one of getting to last light inn. i am turned on by an old woman, scorned by a naked cat, and almost start a bar fight with a devil.

[jewishbarbies]

a dumb bitch on tiktok literally pulled over by a fucking farm pasture and stole a cattle dog because it ran up to her looking excited. she lies in the video she posted about having “overgrown nails, fleas and ticks” when she actually shows his nails in multiple clips and they’re not overgrown at all, and his bath she gave him showed no fucking fleas or ticks. she claimed because he wasn’t microchipped that means the owner didn’t care about him, and he didn’t have a collar so she gets to keep him. working dogs often don’t have collars depending on their tasks so they don’t get fucking strangled in the brush. anyone from a rural area can see she’s stolen someone’s dog. the thing had to be COAXED into her house. I’m so fucking mad.

[mysdrymmumbles]

I need Blizz to release an age chart for all the black dragons. This is vitally important.

[gayabeilles]

favorite people at the farmers market this morning, in no particular order:

guy banging out the shire theme on the xylophone

the most exhausted looking person I’ve ever seen in my life with crocs the exact shade of red as the frame of their power chair

someone had just brought a spinning wheel and was camped out on a bench making yarn??? iconic

person walking in front of me telling their friend that their farm is currently being taken over by kittens

The Bees

least favorite people:

person walking their bike through the market

cop swarm?????

[dilemmaontwolegs]

You Came, You Called || LN4

Summary: when strangers follow you from the nightclub there’s only one person you want to call.

Warnings: angst, threatening behaviour, fluff

WC: 2.4K

Lando stirred at the sound of his phone ringing on the bedside table. There were few people who could get past the ‘do not disturb’ setting that came into effect after midnight. With bleary eyes he reached for the phone and cringed at the bright light in his face but the sight of your name chased away his exhaustion.

It had been 162 days since you last spoke to him. It had been 162 days since he had ruined everything. He regretted his foolishness for every single one of those days and his stomach flipped at the thought of hearing your voice.

“Hey,” he answered, a flinch following as his voice cracked from lack of use while he slept. He quickly cleared it before trying again. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby.”

Alarm bells rang in his head and he sat up straight. Had you called the wrong man? That thought soured in his mouth.

“I’m on my way home.”

It wasn’t your unsteady voice he was focused on but the male voices that sounded far too close for his liking. “Aw, don’t call your boyfriend. We only want to talk.”

“Where are you?” Lando was already pulling on a pair of sweatpants and grabbing the first shirt he came across. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you whispered with a tremble in your tone. “I miss you.”

“Tell me where you are, sweetheart. I’m on my way.”

“Come on, gorgeous, it’s just a bit of fun,” a man called out and Lando saw red when he heard you choke back a sob. He knew the sound because he had been the reason for it before, and it had haunted him ever since. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“I’m heading towards Chocolat Boutique, please hurry.”

“I’m coming, sweetheart. I’m on my way.” Lando was already racing down to the garage and jumping in his McLaren. The engine roared loudly in the underground space before he tore out onto the street. “Keep talking to me, okay?”

The small store would have closed hours ago, but it was down the street from Jimmyz nightclub which was where you probably had been. He didn’t even know you were in town, and he didn’t have a right to know your whereabouts anymore.

“I’m scared, Lan.” The pain echoed around him as his phone connected to the car and played in surround sound.

“I know you are, but it’s going to be okay. I’m almost there, I promise.” He didn’t care about speeding tickets or running red lights. He flew through the narrow streets as he was forced to listen to the cat calls.

“I didn’t know who to call,” you admitted as you tried to walk faster but your heels hindered any escape. The three men were getting closer but they were in no hurry as they prowled both sides of the street to herd you along.

“You can always call me, love,” Lando swore, taking the last turn fast enough for the tires to squeal in protest. “And I’ll always answer.”

He found you on the footpath clutching your phone to your ear, hand cupped over the microphone as you spoke to him. Fear had widened your eyes and your normal stature cowered under the gaze of the men behind you.

Twisting the steering wheel, Lando skidded to a halt beside you and threw the door open. You had seen him angry before, when races don’t go his way, but this was beyond anger. Waves of rage rolled off him as you leapt into his arms, your trembling form finding itself molding perfectly back into his body. Two puzzle pieces slotting back together.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he soothed as he cradled the back of your head and glared over your shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

He might not have been the most imposing figure but you knew Lando was strong and regularly had boxing lessons for training. You had no doubt that if anything escalated he would use every lesson to protect you, but the cowards shrank back into the shadows of the shops.

“Let’s get you home.”

You were in such a state of shock that you didn’t see Lando wince at his mistake. You hadn’t called his apartment home for 162 days, not since you packed your bags and left. But right now you longed for that place where you had felt so safe and secure, tangled in his sheets and he curled his body around yours.

He opened the passenger door and reluctantly stepped out of your embrace to guide you into the seat. The doors locked as he started the engine and you exhaled a heavy breath of relief when the street was left behind.

Tearing your eyes away from the tinted window, you looked at Lando properly and saw his disheveled appearance. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I’m not.” He took his eyes off the road for a second before reaching over to take your hand. “You’re freezing.”

He couldn’t tell if you were shaking because you were cold or if it was the adrenaline leading to shock. Dropping your hand he reached behind your seat to grab a hoodie that was always left in the car. The material was soft and smelled like him as you pulled on, inhaling deeply at the familiarity of the scent.

“I miss stealing these,” you whispered as you buried your cold hands into the front pocket.

Lando chuckled at the admission. He missed seeing his hoodies on you and asking if you knew where his favourite ones were. You would lie and he would smile at how terrible the attempt was.

“You can steal that one, if you want. I have too many now that they don’t mysteriously disappear.”

The car pulled into the garage and you found the space where your car used to park now filled with a pretty Lamborghini. A new sense of sadness hit that of course everything could be upgraded and replaced. “You can take me to my hotel. I wasn’t thinking clearly, you probably have company.”

His lips turned down at the thought and he shook his head. Lando understood why you would assume that, after all it was the reason you had left. What he had thought was harmless flirting had wrought destruction on his relationship with you. He knew he should’ve deleted the messages as soon as they were received but a moment of weakness when he was away from you led him to reply.

He betrayed your trust and he had regretted it ever since.

“There isn’t anyone,” he said as he parked. “There isn’t anyone ever, just to be clear.”

You mulled over his words as you stepped out of the car and accepted his hand, trading the warmth of the pocket for his palm. You kept hearing the insinuation echo with each step in the empty garage.

“Did you go out alone tonight?”

You shook your head. “Ana felt sick so she left. I should have gone with her.”

“So why did you stay?”

You weren’t ready to admit there was a slight hope you would see him so you just shrugged. It was Saturday night in Monaco and Jimmyz was the place to be - especially for a handsome, single man like Lando. You hadn’t wanted it to be this way though.

“I stopped going there after…a couple of months ago,” he said as he unlocked his door.

“Why? You loved that place.”

“I loved going with you,” he corrected. “I got to hold you and dance, show you off to everyone. When I went back, everyone just wanted to use me.”

You could imagine the women fawning over him and the men trying to be his next best friend. Sex or money, it was all they wanted from him.

“I’m sorry, Lan.”

“Lan,” he chuckled, following the light down the hall to his bedroom. The blanket was tossed aside and his charging cord was half hanging from the wall, a testament to how quickly he had left his bed to rescue you. “No one else calls me that anymore. It’s always Lando Norris, full name, so fucking weird. It’s Lando Norris getting out of his car. Oh, look, it’s Lando Norris scratching his nose.”

You laughed at his impersonation and sat at the edge of the bed. It was such an innocent thing but it brought back a million memories made in this room and he was seeing them all too as he stood frozen.

“Are you going to stand there all night, Lando Norris?”

His eyes traced your lips that mocked him before he shook his head of the thought that entered his head. Going to his wardrobe, he grabbed a loose shirt and tossed it to you before turning his back. “That’ll be more comfortable to sleep in than your dress.”

You laughed to yourself as he turned away, despite intimately knowing every inch of your body, until you found his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His tortured eyes dared you to tell him to look away, but they begged you all the same. Maybe you were feeling grateful for the rescue, or maybe it was just an old habit that you held his gaze as you rose to your feet and let your dress fall to the floor with his hoodie.

His eyes darkened and he groaned, but the sound woke him up from his stupor. “I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

“Wait.” You took a step towards him as he stepped towards the door. “Please stay.”

He heard the fragility in your tone and the residual fear from the evening creeping back. He knew it was a bad idea but he couldn’t find the words to voice them as he gripped the door handle.

You watched his fingers release their tight hold before he nodded. “But please put the shirt on,” he pleaded as you tested his self restraint.

It was summer and the air still held warmth despite the early hour, but you dutifully pulled it over your head and climbed into the sheets. Lando waited until you were completely covered before he walked around to his side of the bed and curled up at the edge.

You both lay in silence, back to back, watching the shadows on the wall as the minutes ticked away. Lando was like a heat seeking missile and he was fighting an internal battle to keep from rolling over and curling his body around yours. You had always loved physical contact, it was comforting to be wrapped in his arms.

You knew he was awake and uncomfortable.

He knew you were awake and uncomfortable.

A few more minutes passed and you could no longer pretend he didn’t exist, or that you didn’t want the comfort he could give. “Lan?”

“Yeah?” His response was instant and you felt the bed shift as he rolled onto his back.

“Stop being weird and just cuddle me so we can get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You giggled and reached blindly for him. “I am already.”

Your hand found his arm and he shimmied across the space until it curled around your waist. His knees tucked behind yours and his breath warmed your neck as he whispered, “I’m sorry. For everything. I know you hate me, but-”

“I don’t,” you interjected, twisting your neck to look at him in the dim light. “I did, I really did. But I don’t anymore.”

“You should. I hurt you so bad. I deserve your hate.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and looked away as you admitted aloud what you had known for a while. “I can’t hate you, Lan, not when I still love you.”

Lando froze still behind you and you weren’t sure if he was even breathing. “You still love me?” Disbelief, wonder, hope - it was so saturated in that question.

“I thought something terrible was going to happen to me tonight so I called you in case it was the last time I could. I didn’t want ‘I hate you’ to be my last words to you.”

Lando’s gut clenched at the thought and his arms tightened around you, crushing your back to his chest. “I wish you called sooner, I would come day or night to get you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” he said sadly. “Every weekend for the past five months I wonder if you are out drinking and clubbing. I know it’s not my place, and I lost all right to know where you are, but I need to know you safe, sweetheart. It kills me to think that there might be someone else looking out for you, because that was my job. It should still be my job, to protect you, because I love you too. I never stopped loving you.”

You squirmed in his arms but they were too tight to move. “Lan, I need you to let go of me,” you murmured.

“I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t give up on us.”

“Lan.”

His breath was shaky but he released his tight grip on you, despite his desire to keep you close. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

He started to pull away but you finally had room to move and followed. “Lando! Come back, you muppet. I just wanted to see your face without breaking my neck,” you laughed.

He paused, a little from appearing between his brows. “Let go…oh…” His eyes lit up even in the dark room and he bundled you back into his arms. “Muppet is my word.”

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent. “I stole it too, like your hoodies.”

“I was a muppet so you can have it this time.” He pulled back so he could find your eyes. “Where does this leave us?”

“You broke my trust.” You felt him deflate at the words. “But when I needed you, you came.”

“You called.”

Your chest felt light with emotion those two words brought and you combed your fingers into his dark curls. “I don’t know where this leaves us but what I do know is that I really want you to kiss me.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Now? Are you sure? It might just be the adrena-”

“Shut up and kiss me, Lan.”

He didn’t need to be told a third time.

[magicmagica]

And now that I have cometh out, radio silence

[ddejavvu]

Hiii! Could you write a Spencer Reid x fem reader who are dating & she’s super drunk, he needs to take care of her and she’s all “no I have a boyfriend who I love so much” and goes on a ramble about Spencer, not releasing she’s talking to him & he’s all heart eyes and giggly at her whilst trying to take care of her? Lots of fluff? Thank you!

The minute Spencer tries taking your hand to help you down from the booth you're squeezed into, you push his hand away, "No."

"No," You repeat, shaking your head with all the coordination of a baby deer, "Nooo sir. I am not going to be partaking in anything with you, because I have a boyfriend," You announce, your voice spanning over the entire table, even reaching Rossi who's at the head, "And I love him, and you're- just- fuck off."

Spencer's mouth falls open incredulously at your expletive, though a laugh escapes it rather than one of his own. "Oh, really? You've got a boyfriend?"

"Mhm." You nod proudly, settling back into your seat and burrowing away from his waiting hands into Emily's side, "He's tall, and he has a gun, so don't-" You choke on what Spencer presumes is a hiccup, but could very well be a belch, "Don't mess with me."

"You tell'im," Emily laughs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and rubbing the chilly skin beneath the cutoff of your sleeves, "Do you want me to call Spencer for you, sweetheart? Have him come pick you up?"

"Yeah," You nod easily, your eyes set greedily on your friend's drink now that yours have been downed, "Can you tell him to bring me a blanket, too? I'm cold."

Unbeknownst to you, Penelope herds Spencer away to the edge of the patio your team is seated on, and there's a lingering smile on his face as he listens to what she whispers in his ear.

"I have a blanket in my car," She tells him, "It might have some cat hair on it, but you can totally take it! Go get it, and you can come back like we called you."

"Okay," Spencer's eager to take Penelope's keys from her when she shoves them into Spencer's hands, "Thanks, Garcia. Just make sure she doesn't drink any more, okay?"

A quick glance back at your table reveals Emily holding her glass to your lips, helping you tilt it backwards to dump the concoction down your throat.

"Uh- any more than that." Spencer clarifies. Penelope nods, rushing off to make sure you don't find Rossi's scotch.

Spencer returns barely two minutes later, discreetly dumping Penelope's keys back into her purse. Hotch and Morgan share a knowing smirk when Spencer pats you on the shoulder, and JJ pinches your side from across Emily to get you to notice the man standing beside you.

"Hi angel," Spencer croons, and your face lights up, shining brighter than the fairy lights strung above you, "Emily called me, she said you wanted me to come get you?"

"Spencer!" You cheer, and Emily shares her strength with you to hoist you into his arms where you cling to him like a koala bear, "Spence, you're here! There was this guy, and he tried holding my hand, and-"

"Oh, no," Spencer scrunches his nose, unable to stop himself from laughing when you take it as an invitation to smear yours against his own, "Not a guy! Are you okay, angel?"

"Mhm," You hum, tucking your face into his shoulder, "You're here now, Spence. And you brought a blanket, just like I asked."

"Of course I did," He beams, wrapping his arm tightly around your back as you settle over him like dead weight, "Uh- guys, can we get a bill?"

"Just go," Rossi waves him off, patting his pocket where you all know his rather thick wallet lies, "Take her home now, so that she can't run up my card with any more drinks, and I'll pay for the ones she already had."

"Thanks Rossi," Spencer grins awkwardly at him, flashing the man a strained thumbs-up before he has to use that hand to support the backs of your thighs once more, "Okay, honey, ready to go?"

You don't answer, and Derek leans sideways to peek at you.

"She's out," He snickers, "Pretty boy, make sure she's still breathing when you get home, alright?"

"Got it," Spencer chuckles breathily, "Okay, uh- bye guys."

There's a chorus of send-offs, and Hotch tilts his glass at Reid with an amused twinkle in his dark eyes, "Make sure you're both on time Monday. Hangovers don't excuse you from duty."

[cordeliawhohung]

*taps mic*

shy!reader getting drunk with prices wife maybe i the club cuz its prices wife’s birthday? and then when simon arrives she’s giddy and all over him

this kind of turned into a drabble because i thought the idea was cute. however i am writing this past my bedtime so... enjoy :)

"come get your girlfriend."

those words hardly processed in Simon's mind no matter how many times he repeated them in his head. with a groan, he rubbed his eyes before he pulled his phone away from his ear to check the time. 1:07. the one time the man tried to go to bed early, of course he would get a phone call from his boss. he just didn't expect it to be about you.

"she alright?" Simon asked as he returned the phone to his ear.

"she's fine, just properly pissed at the moment. trying to get the wife home and it's like herding cats when those two are drunk," John sighed. a fit of laughter sounded on the end of his line, and even through the fuzziness and poor quality, Simon was able to pick out your giggles like it was his favorite song.

"i'll be there in ten."

Simon wasn't all too surprised to find you, John, and his wife holed up in one of the VIP rooms, and if anything he was a little relieved. the thought of you so exposed and not in your right mind around a bunch of strangers made him a little anxious, but he knew you wouldn't be caught dead in a situation like that. yet there you were, sitting in the conversation pit chatting away with your friend who wore some cheesy birthday girl sash and a dollar store crown to go with it. the way you talked and gestured was so... unlike you. it was more confident, less stiff and more fluid, like you didn't have a care in the world.

on the other hand, John looked like he was ten minutes away from falling asleep. his shirt was ruffled, and there were slight lipstick marks along the side of his chin. work of art from his wife, no doubt. Simon couldn't help but smirk at the sight of the mess that had been made, and he was just glad he wouldn't be expected to clean it up.

"hey sweetheart," he greeted as he stepped into the pit.

your eyes slowly flickered around the room until they landed on him. a glossy sort of drunkenness clouded your eyes and yet they shined just as bright when you grinned up at him.

"baby! you came to hang out with us?" you asked as you hopped off of the couch.

Simon watched you stumble toward him with arms ready to catch you, and not even a moment later you collided with his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist. caught off guard but still pleased with your reaction, Simon chuckled as he settled his arms around you to return your drunken hug.

"i came to take you home. it's gettin' late," he explained.

"home? like to my place?' you asked.

Simon shrugged. "or you can stay the night with me, if you like."

"yes," you said, drawing out the last letter to the point you nearly sounded like a snake. "i like sleeping in your bed, it smells nice."

taken aback by your unfiltered comment, Simon couldn't help but smile and shake his head slightly. he rubbed your back in an attempt to coax you into relinquishing your grip on his torso, but you wouldn't budge.

"c'mon," he urged with a small chuckle, "let's get goin' yeah? it's late."

"but this feels nice," you retorted.

"i'll hug you all you like when we get home."

you hummed for quite some time as you swayed back and forth, forcing Simon into your movements. eventually you gave in and pulled away from him just enough to look up at him with a sleepy smile.

"okay. but you have to hold my hand when we walk out of here because i think i'll cry if i walk through that crowd," you relented.

John was right about one thing: getting you home really was like herding cats. you clung to him as if you were a parasite and you chatted away the entire ride back to his apartment, and though he was surprised it wasn't unwelcome. things got easier by the time he got you settled in bed. burrowing underneath the covers, you breathed in the musk of him and the faint hint of cigarettes as you hid your face in his chest.

"i love you," you mumbled as you settled further into him.

"i love you more," he countered.

"impossible."

[raptorific]

I have this really weird pet peeve in comics fandom, which you can't really Talk About without it being mistaken for opposition to those headcanons in the the way certain Spider-Man fans were so opposed to a black Peter Parker that the writers invented Miles Morales about it, with the way Diverse Headcanons form, become popular, and occasionally even become mistaken for canon.

A lot of the time these headcanons are built on a combination of ethnic stereotypes and an outright refusal to engage with existing characters who actually have those identities in a way that generates the money that gets those characters further official content

The core example is the common headcanons about Robins prior to Damian-- the most popular headcanons about them are that Jason is Latino and Tim is Asian. And, like, I'm not necessarily opposed to them being Robins Of Color, and I'm not even necessarily opposed to those headcanons, but their popularity largely comes from unexamined biases and ethnic stereotypes about Latino and Asian men. The aggressive, hot-headed, violent Robin who came from a poor neighborhood must be Latino, and the well-off, nerdy teacher's pet Robin who's known for being good at computers must be Asian. I've seen Bat-fans balk at the suggestion of headcanoning Tim as Latino, or headcanoning Jason (or god forbid Dick) as Asian, often saying the quiet part loud: "it just doesn't fit their personality." They cast a black actor as Tim on Titans and I actually saw people who bill themselves as progressives complaining about it, because it ignores the popular Asian Tim headcanon

And the thing is, there actually are a fair number of fun Latino and Asian characters in DC canon! They're nowhere near as prominent, but, when you ask these same fans to maybe pay some attention to them, they make excuses and hem and haw and stick to making comic panel edits "correcting" the skin tones and facial features of their favorite canon white dudes to align with their headcanons. But if you ask them to make fanart or talk for even a second Jaime Reyes or Renee Montoya or Cass Cain, it's like herding cats

[frudoo]

Slasher 141 again, sorry to bug, I'm chomping at the bit. She meets the others? I humbly ask for more pleaseeee

Can y'all tell I'm horny for slasher Johnny

Warnings: Smut throughout, so MDNI. Fingering, strange men, reader is just getting a taste of what she signed up for. Fem!Reader obvs.

     Simon doesn’t talk much. Maybe it’s because Johnny’s got his hand down your pants and he doesn’t want to interrupt, but even so, he just gives off that kind of vibe. Johnny’s trailing kisses down your neck and you’re whimpering, just trying to get the two of them to make small talk.

“S-Simon, are you… do you also- um… you know. Kill people?” You wince at your poor choice of words, but the kisses from your date don’t let up, so maybe you’re alright.

     Simon’s beady eyes meet yours through the rear-view mirror. Fuck, if he’s not a serial killer, he should be. Those dark brown eyes are deeply unsettling, making you nauseous. He nods in affirmation before turning his eyes back to the road.

"We all are."

Well, shit. Is there such a thing as a murderer-radar? Because if so, yours is in mint condition. 

     Johnny bites down on your neck harshly at the same time his middle finger slips inside of your pussy, and you squeal. Is this what they do? Seduce a vulnerable woman with deadly curiosity such as yourself, just to take her away and dice her up? God, you really should have paid more attention to the warnings in all those true crime documentaries. Now you’re going to end up in one. 

     “Are… are you going to kill me?” You sigh—rule number one: don’t question what the big serial killers are going to do to you while you’re in their truck.

     Johnny grins against your neck, his hot tongue soothing the bite he’d just left on you. He inserts another finger, and, well… maybe getting the best finger-fuck of your life before you die isn’t the worst way to go out. You mewl when he curls them right up against your g-spot and almost miss Simon’s low voice answering your question.

     “If we wanted y’dead, y’already would be,” he shrugs, pulling onto a long dirt road that leads to a large farmhouse, past herds of cattle and fat pigs who look like they’ve never missed a meal. 

     Simon’s answer does nothing to settle your nerves, although the orgasm that Johnny coaxes out of you works well to distract. There’s a black cat waiting by the front door when they guide you inside, and your head starts pounding. If that’s not an omen, you don’t know what is. Damn Johnny and his beautiful, charming self, and damn you for not being bothered enough by his career choice when you should have been. Now you’re not even sure what you’ve gotten yourself into.

     It’s warm inside. Inviting, despite everything, with cozy furniture littered across the den and taxidermied animals decorating the walls. Extravagant chandeliers hang from the ceiling, lighting up the area with a dim yellow aura that helps remind you to breathe. The walls are painted a dark green and the fireplace is going, and on the largest couch sits two more men—one with blue eyes nearly as piercing as Johnny’s, and another with the prettiest lips you’ve ever seen.

     Now that you can see him better, you realize that even Simon is ridiculously handsome, with short blonde hair and a scar across his lip that must have been the result of repairing a nasty split. More white marks are littered across his face, but the honey of his brown eyes don’t seem nearly as cold under this warm light. It almost makes you forget what they do for a living.

     “I’m guessin’ this is her, since she’s not hog-tied,” the one with blue eyes speaks gruffly, standing from his seated position and slowly stalking closer.

     He’s taller than Johnny, but not quite at Simon’s height, and his hand is rough against your skin as he cups your cheek in his palm. His thumb runs along your bottom lip, eyes taking in every inch of your person. The man hums thoughtfully before removing his hands from you, looking between the men who stand by your side.

     “Pretty thing, ain’t she? Nice and soft, too,” he concludes, calling the other man over to check you out as well.

     Your breath hitches in your throat as the new man smiles down at you, those luscious lips spread across a perfectly straight set of white teeth. He doesn’t touch you, just gives you a once-over before nodding.

     “She’s perfect,” he confirms to the previous man before looking to you again. “M’Kyle. Tha’s John, and m’sure y’know those two already.”

     You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. You still have no idea what the hell is going on, or what they mean by perfect. Perfect for what, exactly? More taxidermy? Pig food?

     “Glad ye approve, Cap’n, Gaz,” Johnny beams, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Knew ye’d love her.”

     Your eyes widen slightly when Simon leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, followed by Kyle, then John. You’re frozen in place, but Johnny just chuckles and scoops you up into his arms, strong legs striding down the hallway into one of the bedrooms.

     “Dinnae be afraid, hen. They like ye. Ah told ye, ye’ll ge’ along jus’ fine,” he presses his lips against your temple, then lays you on his bed. 

     “We’ll ge’ yer room set up in the mornin’, but ah need tae taste tha’ sweet cunt reit fookin’ now. Dinnae be quiet, lass, let ‘em hear yer bonnie moans."

[notaplaceofhonour]

it’s october 7th. you hear about the attack by seeing people you followed glorifying the terrorist attack—a massacre, a pogrom—as victory & justified resistance, glorifying a terrorist group that was founded with the explicit intent to kill your entire people

you make a post in which you make it clear you support palestinians and oppose the ways israel has wronged them, explaining that the terrorist group is still not good. you know you will probably get some flacc from the pro-Hamas side, but naively underestimate how much.

you get thousands of notifications on that one post, the majority of them hateful comments.

some of the response is positive. multiple messages thank you for the post, expressing bafflement that it’s controversial.

a few Israelis are upset at the loaded language in your post, but explain their problems with it civilly. you called Israel “apartheid”. they ask you what apartheid laws Israel has. you admit you honestly don’t know.

your inbox is flooded with anonymous hate from anti-Israel leftists.

over the course of a few weeks you have received hundreds of death threats, a dozen rape threats. people accuse you of being pro-genocide. you’re a literal Nazi. you’re racist, you thirst for the blood of Palestinians. you’re brainwashed by propaganda, a shill for The Zionist Entity. a few of the hate messages are from literal Neo-Nazis; the overwhelming majority are from leftists, many of them queer.

you are considering suicide.

you see footage of the october 7th attacks. you see footage of the bombings in gaza. you see footage of a Jewish man being murdered at an anti-Israel rally.

a popular creator you follow posts in support of an antisemitic hate group that masquerades as a Jewish organization. this organization regularly posts blood libel and other antisemitic rhetoric, works with groups that are even more explicitly antisemitic, including celebrating October 7th, holocaust inversion, blood libel, “Khazar theory” and others. more than one of the orgs they work with is pro-Putin.

your former roommate liked the post.

graffiti appears on a street you frequent that says “#freepalestine” and “end settler colonialism”

the boyfriend of the friend you spent most of the summer with makes his first post about the war. it’s a reposted comic that mocks and downplays the october 7th attack.

you doubt he’ll be receptive to criticism. he’s shared leftist memes about “monied elites” pulling all the strings and evangelicals being modern day “pharisees” in the past, and getting him to understand why that was antisemitic was like herding cats. you try anyway.

another of his Jewish friends also pushes back. he smugly dismisses her, tells her she’s falling for Zionist propaganda and uses several antisemitic tropes. you go off on him. he just deletes your comment.

you give up. you’re done. you block him.

you see anti-Israel posters and billboards around town

you mention what happened with the guy you went off on to his girlfriend—the friend you’ve grown very close to, who you’ve been listening to as she unburdens her fears for the future and complains about her bf’s BS over the last year. she doesn’t respond to you.

a friend of a friend shares posts tokenizing fringe groups that spread blood libel and have collaborated with holocaust deniers. you know they don’t know what you know, so you explain what those groups are. they seem somewhat receptive, apologize, and take it down

the next day they share several more posts that dip into antisemitic tropes. you mention this to your mutual friend, that you’re worried about them being radicalized. you’re not sure how receptive they’ll be to continued criticism

you have a confrontation with the foaf. in the meantime they’ve shared even more antisemitic posts. they say they didn’t mean to cause you distress but instead of stopping they effectively block you.

the “end settler colonialism” vandalism has been counter-vandalized with the words “commie propaganda” in place of “settler colonialism”. you don’t know if this is an improvement.

a month passes. the friend whose bf you went off on still hasn’t spoken to you. you see she shared a post defending an SJP chapter that posted Nazi cartoon caricatures of Jews repurposed in “Anti-Zionist” memes. you unfriend her on all social media platforms but you can’t bring yourself to block her number.

you see a friend of someone whose couch you surfed when you were homeless harassing Jewish celebrities with “Free Palestine” comments. you block them.

you’ve lost count of how many people you’ve unfollowed or blocked, or who’ve blocked you. friends, content creators.

when a friend takes an unusually long time to respond you worry if it’s because of your posts about antisemitism.

most of the podcasts, youtube channels, and other content creators you regularly engaged with no longer feel safe. you wonder who will be next

a couple friends wish you a happy hanukkah. you don’t celebrate much aside from lighting the hanukkiah and making some latkes.

you see posts about a destroyed chabad menorah, antisemitic comments on Jewish celebrities’ Hanukkah posts.

your neighborhood is covered in pro-Palestine & anti-Israel posters. some are seemingly innocuous, some are JVP “not in our name” posters. some call for intifada. “globalize the intifada” “Zionists fuck off!” “solidarity means attack!”

a man kills himself shouting “free palestine”. you learn about his suicide by seeing posts from several popular accounts you followed glorifying it.

you follow a bunch of jewish accounts on social media and commiserate with them about everything happening

your jewish friends post screenshots of the dead man’s antisemitic, pro-Hamas views. you look at his reddit and find even more horrific shit: anti-Ukraine posts. mocking Zelensky. “elites” are “lizard people”; the only named individual he calls a lizard person is Jewish. you start to notice a pattern: a lot of the people he dislikes just so happen to be jews.

several people you know share a post glorifying this man’s suicide. most are acquaintances, one is someone incredibly important to you.

you wonder how they would respond to your suicide.

you tell the close friend that shared this post how it scares you. you show them the receipts of the man’s antisemitism. their response is a single sentence. they didn’t know about the antisemitism.

they don’t apologize.

you notice none of your irl friends, even your closest ones, interact with your posts about antisemitism. you are able to vent to a couple friends, but no one has reach out to you

you try not to read into it. you try not to take it personally.

you haven’t slept well in months. you’ve always been an insomniac but not like this. you’re not sleeping until 4am, 6am, even 9am. even when you get to bed at a decent hour and get a full night’s rest it takes you hours to get out of bed.

a few weeks go by. the friend with the single sentence response shares a post saying they’re excited and proud to join a group to help palestinians. you’re excited and proud for them.

a couple days later, they share a post about a fundraiser to help a palestinian family get out of gaza. you note to yourself this is a much more effective & less concerning form of activism than the pro-suicidal antisemite post.

your friend shares another post about the fundraiser. it’s a joint post between their group and another group.

you open the other group’s page

the page is just a wall of signs from rallies. you swipe through one after another: “from the river to the sea”, “by any means necessary”, justifying/denying the atrocities of october 7th, calling for violent revolution. anything done in the name of resistance can’t be terrorism, all Israelis are terrorists. Jews aren’t indigenous; they’re white colonizers. holocaust inversion. other vile, thinly veiled violent rhetoric

you feel sick to your stomach imagining talking to your friend about it.

you already feel like you’re burdening the few friends you can talk to about this. you already feel like you think about it too much, talk about it too much. but you can’t not think about it; it affects every aspect of your life.

you’ve filtered out relevant keywords on more than one social media site to avoid the worst of it. some still manages to leak through.

there isn’t a single friend you regularly interact with that you don’t fear the moment when they will switch from listening to your concerns to seeing you as the evil zionist or indoctrinated hasbaranik they’ve been warned about.

it’s not an irrational fear. it keeps happening. you knew it would then, and you were powerless to do anything about it before, and you continue to be as it happens again and again.

you don’t know what to do about any of it.