#just take them to therapy for fucks sake

[girisstuxxd]

WHAT NEEDS TO HAPPEN IN SOLAR OPPOSITES SEASON 4

*terry and korvo to resolve their dispute from the little mountain lake episode*

*the replicants (or pupa) to call terry and korvo “dad” or “dads”

*The valentines special to LIVE UP TO ITS NAME JESUS CHRIST DONT DO THIS TO ME, PLEASE LET THEM BE ROMANTIC PWEEEASE I BEG*

More yumyalack moments! Poor emo boy:((

Jesse focused episode

TERVO WEDDING TERVO WEDDING TERVO WEDDING

What will probably happen in solar opposites season 4

The dispute will be brushed off but then later on they come back to it and make up/ just burry it

The pupa will mistakenly call them dad or dads and then terry starts crying

Mayhaps ONE ounce of romance….pwease 🥺

Yumyalack does his own thing/ side mission

More screetime dedicated to the wall (which I’ll happily take as well)

(Might come back to this post when the episodes actually release to see what I got right, lawl xD)

Solar opposites season 4 ‼️SPOILERS‼️

*typing on August 14th, 11pm*

Okay so…I was only right about a few things XD

Their specific dispute that we saw last season (little mountain lake) WAS actually talked about/ mentioned? But mostly through the red goobler (Chris) explaining it to Jesse when she had her own goobler. I actually liked that him and korvo actually met again so it could be explained that for korvos goobler to disappear he has to get over that specific issue he has (like Jesse did).

Pupa hasn’t called them dads yet, but he acts more of a toddler (and they acknowledge that what their family needs to do is important for the pupa and I like that structure they had) which is AMAZING, because holy shit they act like a family so many times this season 😫💝💕💕 (and call each other a family and it’s amazing 🥺💕💕)

ONE OUNCE OF ROMACE?!?!!?! ERmMMMM more like 10 cups of it 0//////0 we were FED a BOUNTIFUL this season and the village is thriving.

Cough cough pinroll

Yumyalack does do his own thing and gets a bit of characterization but nothing else really. The birth a day episode was like a little glimpse of it, however it was very nice :3 and I like the way they’re taking his character.

More screen time DEFINITELY, and FINALLY A MOMENT OF FUCKING PEACE AND TRANQUILITY IN THE WALL THANK FUCKING CHRIST IT WAS A RELIEF. The silvercops also got alot of attention here as well! And it was pretty good; the world that was created by symbolically establishing anti-cop messages (which I LOVE) was amazingly done and I appreciate that they didn’t shy away from showing the ugly side of things (ie. discrimination, violence, gentrification, etc).

The ending of the silvercops plot kinda confused me though like wtf? Uhhhhh what’s happening….?

❤️ 💕bonus stuff!! 💝💞

Canonical terry dyscalculia? FUCK YES YESSS

WE GOT MORE SHLORP WORLD BUILDING YESS

Aisha characterization yayyyyy!!! I love her so much 🥺

Jesse and yumyalack sibling bonding!!!! Yippie yippie yippie

Not gonna lie the way korvo acts this season makes me wanna punch him, like why is he a dick?? Sure his character in early seasons was grumpy but he never really went out of his way to be an ass, just controlling or salty, but no! The whole goobler thing with him and Jesse and him roasting yumyalack went way too far (in my opinion) and it also just made me uncomfortable like dude, that’s ur kids SHUT THE FUCK UPPP rahhhhhh.

Terry and korvos relationship definitely improves though.

The ending of the season…..*deep breath* I’m mixed about it, like I know it’ll be solved in the upcoming valentines special but a little part of me is worried that it’s just gonna be a “hahah we got you, they’re actually gonna be humans and get discriminated against again” and that makes me scream.

I’m mixed about it because I’m curious about how this’ll work yet I fucking hate how they couldn’t just talk it out at home (like they usually do)

I just *hhHHYGYGYGYgy* I..I’m scared, but also excited.

Overall, I did really like this season, a lot of the parts made me happy stim and about make my heart skip beats. I’m so ecstatic for what’s next 🥺💕💕

[unopenablebox]

ok i actually seriously can’t handle the fact that that post was in the second person. “when i see people who i’ve smugly decided are less functional or well-adjusted than me, i want to impose my will on them and make them into productive citizens by sentencing them to TWO YEARS OF HARD LABOR ON THE OCEAN”

are you a press-ganger trying to justify kidnapping street urchins onto your ship? are these the wilde trials??? come the fuck on!!!!

[panspaming]

Don't mind me I'm giving myself therapy in the tags

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

love that Vaggie had ZERO fucking idea how much of Adam and Lute's brain space she was apparently taking up

legit she has NO thought of herself being important enough for them to have noticed. meanwhile, Adam, Lute, and the other Exorcists were just like

Vaggie: "Yeah, I'm pretty sure my old coworkers won't recognize me."

Adam: (instantly recognizing her) "ITS ON SIGHT BITCH ITS ON SIGHT!!!"

Lute: "SIR I AGREE BUT THERE ARE WITNESSES!!!!!!!"

-

Vaggie: (answers door and comes face-to-face with them) "Charlie's not here. Leave a message after I slam the door on you."

Adam: "???? I'm here to see you???"

Vaggie: "Why."

Adam: "Why? WHY? YOU LEFT THE BAND! YOU WENT YOUR OWN WAY! YOU FUCKED OFF TO GO BE SEXY WITH MY EX'S HOT DAUGHTER!"

Vaggie: "And?"

Adam: "? AND YOU WERE ONE OF MY BEST MURDERERS?????"

Vaggie: "So?"

Adam: "?!?!!??!?!?!?!??!!?!???????!?!?!"

Lute: "You're gross and we hate you."

Vaggie: "Is there a point to this."

Adam: "Sure there is! Betray the woman you love or else."

Vaggie: "Nah."

Adam: "IM SUING"

-

Adam: "Okay Exorcists! Who here remembers Vaggie!"

ALL the Exorcists: "BOO!!! HATE HER!"

Lute: "GOOD THEN GO RIP HER A NEW ONE AND SHOVE IT DOWN HER THROAT!!!"

Adam: "???? just cut off her head?? can we just cut off her head like normal people with a normal weird obsession over someone???

-

Lute: "I hate you so much I'm gonna rip my own arm off and throw myself at you!"

Vaggie: "Oh for fuck's sake- I wouldn't have spared your stupid life if I'd known you didn't even have one!"

Lute: "IM GONNA TAKE YOURS"

Vaggie: "YOU fired ME like three years ago! Where the hell is this even coming from???"

Lute: (ineffectively throttling vaggie with her remaining hand) "YOU SHOULD'VE KILLED ME WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE!"

Vaggie: (wheezing) "WHY THE FUCK AREN'T YOU IN THERAPY???"

[gay-dorito-dust]

Dick loves your plushie collection.

He doesn’t find it embarrassing in the slightest! If anything he finds it more offensive that you’d think it embarrassing having plushies as an adult. After he himself has a plush bunny dressed in his nightwing attire -escrima sticks and all- that he won at an arcade game a while back perched on the top of his bed back home.

He calls it dick jr and cuddles it when he has a rough night of crime fighting.

So he’s the last person to ever cast judgment on your plush collection.

If anything he lets his imagination run wild with them and takes full advantage of them. So if the instance came where you weren’t home, Dick would always send you photos and mini videos of him taking excellent care of a plush hare called Sir John Roderick Wellington the third by tucking him in bed at night, pretending to brush his teeth, etc

Or he’d make enact a photo shoot with a couple of them and send the results to you as your left asking where’d he manage to get all sorts of accessories for them…you’re still awaiting the answer to this day. Another thing he’d do with them is take them with him as company while he’s doing mundane chores in the apartment and act as though the plush is helping him.

You were quick to catch on that Dick having a hell of blast with it with how often he spammed your phone with a plethora of photos and videos that kept you up to date with the daily misadventures of your plushy. And yet you weren’t any better either as you kept them all in a album in your phone and are still wondering why your phone keeps informing you that you are running low on space…

Your favourite picture of your plushy was one where Dick had it tucked in bed, a picture of you on its lap, meanwhile Dick’s face could be seen peaking up from the bottom corner of the screen followed by the caption; ‘he misses you and can’t wait for you to come home and cuddle him. Oh and also me. :(

It’s became your Home Screen now and it was the best decision you’ve been made because it never failed to make you smile even on a bad day.

Jason loves it when you wear his clothes.

It’s free therapy for the man seeing you in his clothes and you can quote me on that.

He fucking loved coming home to see you do your own thing while looking all comfortable and relaxed in his shirts or hoodies doing so. For all Jason could ever want for you was for you to feel comfortable with him however you saw fit.

Also it gives him the more reason to stare at you shamelessly, well more than he did already, but you get the point. Jason is a simple man who’s not above letting it known how much he absolutely adores you.

So you wearing his clothes only added onto that adoration that he had for you. No one else could be more perfect in his eyes then you and he stands by that that statement.

‘You look perfect.’ -Jason

‘Jason, I’m wearing sweats and one of your shirts while eating pizza.’ -you

‘Yeah, perfect.’ -Jason

‘Doofus.’ -you, smiling.

Some days Jason would even go out of his way to leave his clothes on your side of the bed as a hint that he wants you to wear it for the day. Other days however he would be outright and blunt with the fact that he’d rather have you in his clothes than your own at this point.

‘Why are you wearing your clothes?’ - Jason

‘Because they’re my clothes and I feel bad wearing all of yours all the time.’ -you

‘Well I on the other hand don’t, take this shirt and go back into our bedroom and change.’ - Jason says as he takes off the shirt he was wearing and hands it to you, uncaring of the fact that he was shirtless in the living room.

‘You’re being dramatic Jason.’ - you as you take the warm shirt from his hands.

‘No I’m not, I just like you in my clothes a lot better than anything else.’ - Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘You’re getting jealous over clothes now?’ - you asked, raising a brow.

‘Yes.’ Jason responds instantly. ‘Now for the sake of my sanity go back and put my shirt on please.’

You kiss his cheek before leaving for the bedroom to change. ‘If you insist.’

‘I heavily insist chipmunk.’ - Jason says as he watched you walk away before following after to grab another shirt.

Jason loves it when you’re in his clothes. It’s his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.

[northwest-cryptid]

I wanna prefix all of this by saying I agree with the core message but not the way I've ever seen it handled and also that I don't intend to spread any misinformation so I urge everyone to do research into this topic if it's something you actually care about (please) do not simply take my word for something because of a 2 second google search I did ya know? I'm not an expert in this field I'm just trying to offer people some insight

So hey hi I know I'm probably gonna get some backlash from this (even though I agree with the core message entirely) but if you're like me and you still use Chrome in 2023 for whatever reason and you'd like to switch but you're not the sort who likes to be peer pressured into stuff or told what to do because of some deep rooted shit you probably need like clinical help to get over and you might know is a problem but you can't do anything about it right now (this is not a joke) so you've sworn off Firefox because every single person on the face of the earth is trying to shove it down your throat (probably because it's actually good but like it was different when it was my choice and not what everyone else decided I needed to do)

You should probably do your best to actually try to find an alternative. From what I understand Firefox does have a lot of the same features as chrome but without a lot of the annoying things Chrome does, which to be real; I don't know enough to tell you about in detail (wish I did) but you know; I just wanna give you the information I have been made aware of so if you're anything like me and are looking for alternatives you can arm yourself with some knowledge.

Firstly, here's the web browsers that seem to use chromium; which is bad because reasons that I'm unaware of but you know google or whatever, like genuinely if you care about it PLEASE do your own research into it:

and here's a quick list of browsers google gave me with the ones that seem to use the chromium framework highlighted in red, others may use it but they're not showing up on the list of chromium based browsers; also side note this is not at all an extensive full list of any and all browsers it's literally just what I got from a 2 second google search:

Do they all have the same functionality as firefox? Nah probably not if I'm being honest, couldn't tell ya; should you (and I) honestly probably just use firefox? Yea probably if I'm being honest couldn't tell ya.

But hey, just thought I'd tell ya that just because ya should leave Chrome doesn't mean you HAVE to go to Firefox, it's your choice.

It's your choice.

It's a "you don't have to go home but you can't stay here" situation, you don't have to go to firefox specifically, but you shouldn't stay with chrome.

Please just remember it's a fucking choice, you have a choice and you don't need to listen to everyone screaming at you about how you're morally bad and wrong and burning orphanages because you happen to use chrome.

You shouldn't use chrome, and you probably shouldn't use Chromium based browsers; I know enough to know that. However you don't HAVE to choose Firefox, it doesn't seem to be the holy one the chosen one the one and only that doesn't use Chromium which is what I keep hearing.

tl;dr please remember that no matter how loud people get you ultimately always have a choice, you get to choose where you go and even if that happens to be firefox it is because you decided that was the best move for yourself based on your own personal interests and ideals for what you look for in a browser, not because everyone everywhere all decided to cram it down your throat that this is the only path towards enlightenment blah blah blah. You Choose. If you want to go somewhere else, that's your choice too, and dear lord; remember that if you for whatever reason keep using chrome you're not some morally bad person for it. I do believe it's objectively the wrong choice based on what little I understand about the situation but I also understand why that's not so easy for everyone and why some people just won't do it.

IMPORTANT NOTE HERE: This is not an attack on OP, their cause is important and I agree with the idea behind what they're saying; I just also happen to know that there are people out there like myself who likely have hesitation about moving to Firefox if not all but exclusively because of posts like this and people who talk like this about it. So I want to give you a solid reminder that yes, this is your choice, this is something you do because you want to. Not because someone forced your hand. I swear to god if I get hate over this shit it's going to tell me that A. someone didn't actually bother reading this all and B. they care more about shouting at me than about getting people to stop using chromium based browsers. Because at the end of the day we want the same thing, so lets please work together towards our common goal by whatever means necessary for the most people.

GOOGLE IS NOW BEGINNING TO ENFORCE INTERNET WIDE DRM ON CHROME AND CHROMIUM BASED BROWSERS

This will allow websites a method to block incoming traffic based on their environment. Like other browsers, other operating systems and locations.

SWITCH TO FIREFOX NOW

Btw almost all browsers are chromium based, including Brave. Use firefox!!!

[therainscene]

I've described myself in the past as "overly-queerbaited" as a way of explaining why it took me so long to come around to Byler endgame as a legitimate possibility... but that's kind of a misleading way of putting it.

Truth is, I've always been too much of a cynical fuck to fall for queerbait... or any other story that promises positive queer rep.

[Sherlock couldn't touch me; I saw this cringe homophobia coming from a mile away. Fans mistaking straight anxiety jokes for meaningful gay subtext was clearly doomed to end in mockery. Nobody deserved to be treated like that... but god, it was easy to predict.]

I think it's a symptom of having grown up under Section 28 -- feeling like I'm being unreasonable for wanting to see queerness normalized is such an ingrained habit that even today I instinctively recoil like a vampire touching sunlight whenever an optimistic queer story falls unrequested into my lap.

But I'm hardly alone in feeling this way -- many queer Millennial and Gen-X fans of Stranger Things are against the idea of Byler because it would ruin the catharsis of watching the gay boy growing up in the same era as we did slowly succumb to the same despair that we did.

[For those who haven't played the VR game: Vecna is speaking in this screenshot.]

There's genuine comfort to be found in painful stories -- this type of catharsis is practically the cornerstone of horror as a genre -- so I can't really fault myself or anyone else for wanting it, despite the obnoxious oversaturation of disappointing queer endings in media.

This is the nostalgia show, after all -- and like it or not, for many middle-aged queers in the target audience, nostalgia is shot through with the pain of homophobia and loneliness.

But do you know who else is a hurt queer(-coded) adult who resents happy endings? This cynical fuck:

Henry personifies despair and loneliness and the dark urge to take our pain out on others -- and when Will is in the picture, I would argue that he also represents internalized homophobia.

Will might represent who we were -- but Henry represents who we've let ourselves turn into.

And I don't think many of us want to admit to that, because that would involve questioning why we have so much in common with the literal villain of the show; why we're still so consumed with self-pity after 20+ years that we're obsessing over the fate of some kid.

I'm not suggesting that wanting a less-than-fairytale ending for a fictional gay boy is equivalent to being a child killer lol. It's perfectly valid to want to see your pain acknowledged, and stories which appeal to that desire deserve to exist.

But between Henry's connection to Will and the cycle of abuse themes of the show, it's clear that this particular story simply isn't about wallowing in the bleakness of growing up gay in the 80s, but about self-actualizing in spite of it all.

So I just can't bring myself to want a "relatable" ending for Will.

As much as I struggle to enjoy positive queer rep, I don't want to be so cynical. I'd thrown up so many walls to protect myself as a teenager that I forgot how desperately I wanted to see just one of those painful queer stories end on the same uplifting note that straight stories were always entitled to: with true love overcoming the odds, saving the day, and living happily ever after.

[But I'm A Cheerleader, a surprisingly fun movie about conversion therapy, is proof that stories like this did exist when I was a teen... but finding them in the pre- and early-internet days amidst so much censorship was a tall order.]

What makes Stranger Things different from most queer stories -- and what allowed it to pierce through my defenses and stab me in the gut -- is that it perfectly mimics those bleak, acceptable-to-the-censors stories from my youth -- only this time, the secret uplifting gay plot twist is real.

Not for the sake of shock value or of grabbing some empty woke points at the last second, but because the plan all along was to slap the audience in the face for believing homophobic lies about the existence of queer happiness.

That's some gourmet catharsis, if you ask me.

Just the possibility that my inner child might finally be vindicated has allowed me to truly let myself want the things I want for the first time in 20 years -- and that's the first step towards finally crawling back out into the sunlight.

Happy Pride Month, everyone. 🌈

[rosesanddecay]

Pt. 2

TW: angst/comfort, reader cries a little and is mentioned to have been in therapy

<< Previous | Next>>

The silence was agonizing. The air felt drowning and heavy. It didn’t help that no one could look at each other.

Soap and you have migrated to the couch after realizing that the conversation probably should be had while sitting.

How are any of you meant to address any of this?

Each of you knew just enough to fill in the blanks, but how is-

“So…” Johnny broke the silence and your train of thought. “How do you all know each other?”

“Really, Soap? That’s how you want to start this?” Gaz remarked, letting his grievance show.

“Aye! How else ye expect this to go?! How ye think I feel knowin’ ye’ve shagged my lass?”

“Jesus Christ…” you groan as you hide behind your hands.

“Not everyone-“ Simon murmured leaning back in with his arms crossed.

“Simon!” You exclaim, revealing your warmed cheeks to everyone.

“Well with the way ye look at ‘er I would’ve guessed otherwise-“

“Okay- no, that’s it-“ you stand in front of them all, pointing as you addressed each. “You- Simon, are meant to be dead, I went to your funeral. Fucks sake, I visit those graves everytime I drive past them!”

Simon couldn’t stand to defend himself, because he knew that already. He’d seen you talking to his and his family’s graves every now and then when he went to see them himself. It had torn him apart to not reveal he was alive, but he’d convinced himself it was for your sake. Even if that meant you’d shed more tears.

“You pushed me away for months before ultimately saying that you needed to move for work, that you couldn’t be with me anymore-“ your eyes still held the hurt from long ago as you gazed at Kyle.

“It wasn’t a complete lie…” Kyle scratched at his head, his poor attempt to redeem himself falling flat.

“Shut it, Garrick. You-“ your finger landed on Price, “Why didn’t you tell me you were in town? I assume you’ve been back for a while, so why didn’t you say anything?”

John knew he had no excuse, so he didn’t attempt to deny his reasoning. “Though’ ye might’ve been with yer other man…”

A hefty exhale escapes you as you hold back from saying more. You could slap him, because how, after all this time, does he not see himself as enough? Instead, your gaze landed on Johnny.

“And you, Johnny, you didn’t really do anything, but still, this could’ve never happened if you or John just told me who else was on the team.”

“Or told us who ye were dating.” Kyle muttering was directed to Johnny, but it earned side eye from you.

“Moral of the story,” you continued, “all of you have been keeping things from me. And now we’re here… and I don’t know what to do or say…” your voice broke a little from the festering emotions. Everyone was quick to their feet to comfort you, John worming his way to the front.

“Aye, lass, there’s no need to cry. We just need to talk this out.” John’s hands cupped your cheeks as the tears threatened to spill. “Maybe we should take a break, take a breather. Later, we can talk one on one with you and each other.”

You nod as you try to calm yourself, doing the short breathing exercises you learned from therapy.

John placed a soft kiss to your forehead before being pushed aside by Johnny. His arms quickly envelop you and he kisses your temple.

“Common lass, let’s get ye out of here for a bit…” Johnny whispered and pulled you into the bedroom, leaving the other men standing in a circle, stuck their own thoughts…

————

Idk what to call this series so feel free to leave some suggestions!

Also didn’t want to make this series too angsty, but reader is definitely gonna need some one-on-one time with each of the boys…

[throneofsapphics]

Ok it only take three broke my heart. I need a reconciliation or I’m sending you my therapy bill 😭

please accept my peace offering

just one more

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel will endure anything to make you happy.

Warnings: none

You had a beautiful, radiant smile on your face, and Azriel would do anything to keep it. Even enduring this. He couldn’t quite handle it alone, so he brought Cassian with him - and threatened him to act like everything was perfect. The other male didn’t look like he’d taken his threats too seriously, but if he gave the smallest inclination it wasn’t good, he’d make sure he regretted it.

“What did you make this time, love?” He asked, your body still shielding whatever was behind you. Twisting, you brought the plate out in front of you. Cupcakes. Fuck, he’d have to eat more than one to prove it to you. It dawned on him before that maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, for the sake of the world, but he couldn’t bring himself to take that smile off of your face. 

Cassian looked excited, taking a seat at the table. Azriel slowly sat next to him, and you slid the tray onto the table, taking a seat across. Waiting for them to test it. 

Fighting the urge to cringe, he grabbed one, carefully taking a bite. You watched each movement, eyes already lit up. One bite - gods this was the worst yet. 

Azriel forced himself to down the entire thing, and from the corner of his eye Cassian was doing the same next to him. 

“It’s really good,” he told you - with a forced smile. Cass glanced at the clock and made up an excuse to be somewhere else. 

Just one more, Azriel told himself, then you can say you went out to lunch. 

The grin on your face was worth it. Azriel just needed to figure out how to get rid of the rest, before someone found them and got sick. Being with you, he’d developed an iron-clad stomach. He couldn’t say the same for the rest of them. 

-

“I just want to know how bad I can make them before Azriel stops pretending,” you told Mor later. “But now he brought Cassian in on it.” 

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

id lovee to hear ur rankings of the comic book men from appearing to be the most normal to something is obviously wrong w them (if that makes sense... like,,,, who is and isnt an obv red flag)

ur writing keeps me fed :3

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐒…

!!! GN reader, manipulation, gaslighting, mentions of stalker-ish picture-taking, mentions of schizophrenia and anxiety, poor treatment of mental illness, mentions of violent behaviors, murderous Bucky Barnes, Tim Drake (he’s just a problem), mentions of suicidal tendencies, can be translated as platonic or romantic.

EAAAAATT!!!!! EEEEAAAAATTTT!!!!!!!!! EAT MY WRITING!!!! CONSUME IT!!!!!!!!!!!

Remember, this is from least to most, meaning we’ll talk about the seemingly well-adjusted folks first and gradually move up to the, “okay, what the fuck is wrong with him” peeps.

Wally West: The way he’s playing everyone like a fiddle is downright disrespectful. He’s filled to the brim with green flags, easily appearing as one of the safest guys on the planet. Even when you start to suspect something, you have to constantly second guess yourself, because come on… it’s Wally. What the fuck can he do wrong? Don’t even bother voicing any of your concerns. No one — and I mean no one — will believe you. Having problems with Wally West? The embodiment of a warm summer evening? Damn, that sounds like a you problem. Poor Wally, having to deal with a crazy weirdo.

Dick Grayson: He’s got an amazing personality and pretty privilege working for him. At this rate, the masses manipulate themselves. Only those who are extremely perceptive will pick up on the cold glint in his eyes, and even then, the mystique only adds to his charm. By the time you realize he’s been hiding a darker side, it’s too late. Everyone’s too captivated by how endearing Dick is to hear you out. Even those who know him personally — who know about his struggles and rough patches — think you’re full of shit. Dick’s an emotionally mature man, so why don’t you just talk it out with him?

Steve Rogers: This is a bit unfair, considering the leverage he’s granted as Captain America, but hey… work what you got. While it may seem obvious to you that he’s way too overbearing and protective, good luck trying to get other people on your side. Everyone else thinks it’s a part of his 40s charm. Social norms were just different back then; why can’t you be more appreciative of his old-fashioned care? Besides, you’re probably overreacting. Is it really that bad? Steve is the leader of the Avengers, so maybe you’re just taking his authoritative demeanor the wrong way.

Clark Kent: I’m gonna be so for real, any man from a fuckass state like Kansas is going to come with some personality quirks. People will probably give him the benefit of the doubt by default. Just a farm boy trying to navigate the big city and can’t even hurt a fly. Sure, he can be odd at times, but nothing makes him an inherently bad guy. This is the same man that helps old people cross the street, for god’s sake! He most definitely means well, it’s just a matter of setting boundaries with him. What’s the worst he can do?

Remy LeBeau: Despite what differing opinions may say about The Gambit, Remy seems like he’s got his head on his shoulders. His “red flags” are more on the blurry side. Do you count excessive flirting as a red flag? What about hiding behind charisma and a fake ego instead of going to therapy? Some people may say yes, others no. But in terms of glaring red flags, Remy’s relatively clean. We’ve all got our issues, no? Being a thief doesn’t make you a psycho. That being said, due to Remy’s shifty past, people may be more inclined to listen should you ever express that something’s wrong.

Peter Parker: Honestly… he’s a bit of a weirdo. Nothing obvious at first, but the longer you know him, the more behaviors you may pick up on that make you go, “oh… well… that’s weird”. Take his Polaroid obsession, for example. He’s got at least one photo in every jacket pocket, dozens in his wallet, and a fuck ton in his desk. Poor guy accidentally spilled them all over the ground once, which naturally sparked rumors. But Peter’s a sweetheart. Clingy, but still a sweetheart. Maybe he’s just a little messed up due to everything he’s lost in his life.

Bruce Wayne: Okay. Red flags in the playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne? Absolutely unheard of. He’s an absolute angel. According to all of the stan accounts out there, he could do nothing wrong. But red flags in the real Bruce Wayne? Where do we even begin. Distrusting as fuck, paranoid, argumentative, the occasional fit of violence, a known manipulator and liar… want me to keep going, because I can. It’s very hard to rank Bruce due to the ginormous contrast between general public opinion and those who actually know him, so he goes smack in the middle. Billionaire Bruce Wayne would never be a horrible person to you, but the real Bruce Wayne 100% would.

Jaime Reyes: Because of how mental illness is stigmatized, Jaime’s unfortunately labeled to be dangerous. But it’s not really his fault. That damn scarab has him muttering to himself like a crackhead, and naturally assumptions will be made. When actually given a chance, people will learn that Jaime’s a nice kid. He just probably struggles with schizophrenia or really bad anxiety. Yes, his paranoia can get bad, but again; mental illness. He’s never proven himself to a threat, despite what others may think. He just needs help (but there’s no way to combat the manipulation of Khaji Da. Jaime lost that battle the moment he became Blue Beetle).

Hal Jordan: Oh, yeah. He’s got red flags alright. But they’re mostly normal ones, like his ego and horrendous stubborn streak. Lots of guys out there are like that, and are they considered freaks? No. Well, not all of them. However, it is a bit concerning that he’s willing to throw hands at the drop of a hat. Bro’s one major freak out away from catching assault charges like they’re Pokémon. But if it’s any consolation, it should be noted that he hasn’t gotten into major legal trouble. On Earth. Yet. Some call him rough around the edges, others call him a severely troubled individual. Either way, he definitely needs to seek professional help.

Scott Summers: MAJOR red flags. He’s an overbearing control freak that really needs to work on his… well… his everything. Emotional intelligence, temper, daddy issues… yeah, no. He’s an amazing leader, but probably someone you should steer clear from otherwise. Most wouldn’t be surprised if you two were having issues. It’s not like he wears all of his problems on his sleeve; the iceberg goes much deeper than that. Though he sure as hell doesn’t present himself as a well-adjusted member of society. Proceed at your own risk. Don’t say you weren’t warned, because you probably were.

Bucky Barnes: This is the opposite of Captain America’s case. His reputation as the Winter Soldier kind of skews the perception of him to be a walking red flag. And you know, he really is. Bucky is extremely dangerous. Down to snap necks anytime, anywhere, no amount of charm or endearing quirks will make people feel fully safe around him. His history of violence did not stop post-brainwashing. And it’s not like he’s hiding it, either. There’s this crazed gleam in his eyes that just screams “fuck around and find out,” no matter what his mood is. Who in their right mind would involve themself with THE Winter Soldier?! Yeah, no shit you’re having issues with him. He is an issue.

Tim Drake: Bro is the epitome of “you’re scaring the hoes.” He could be walking down the street — face neutral, hands in his pockets — and total strangers will get the sense that something is deeply wrong with him. The aura around him exudes the reddest of flags. Yes, his face and intelligence are attractive, but even those who have fallen for his pretty boy swag can’t help but sigh dreamily and think, “he really needs to be institutionalized.” Disturbing humor. Creepy staring. Mood swings. Suicidal tendencies. Sadomasochism to the max. The list goes on and on and on. If Dead Dove: Do Not Eat was a person, it’d be him. What were you expecting? It’s Tim fucking Drake.

[ninyard]

do you think if aaron and katelyn had kids (twins possibly?) that andrew would make a pact with katelyn not aaron to protect them if anything happened. Been considering it for a while now

I’m imagining what that’d look like and all that comes to mind is if Aaron ever mentioned something in therapy along the lines of not being able to cope if his kids grow up the way he did. They’re talking about the future and Aaron is talking about kids with Bee, and he says something like,

“I really want to have kids. I do. I want to give them what I didn’t have. But I’m afraid that I still don’t know any better, and I’m just going to fuck them up anyway.“

“And what if you did? Or at least, think that you did?” Betsy asks. “What if something happens, or you make a little mistake in raising them, what then?”

And he thinks about it for a minute. He looks at Andrew briefly, he looks at himself. He can’t look at Betsy. Maybe his eyes are glued to the ceiling.

“I couldn’t live with myself,” Aaron answers. “Knowing things could’ve been different and they weren’t.”

I think the deal that Andrew could’ve made with Katelyn, when he finds out that she’s pregnant, would’ve been to always, always, always, prioritise their children over Aaron. It doesn’t make much sense to her - why would Andrew, who has always been so fiercely protective over Aaron, now say to her don’t put him first?

No matter what happens - if Aaron relapses, if he overworks himself, if his nightmares get worse or his past comes back to haunt him, Andrew wants her to promise that she’ll never let the kids suffer for the sake of Aaron. Andrew can always look after him. He can help in anyway he knows how. But what’ll only make things worse is if Aaron starts spiralling, and now his kids start to see him as addict dad, scary dad, angry dad, absent dad. Mommy doesn’t have time to play with us because daddy won’t get out of bed. It’d kill Aaron to become the thing he’s always resented his own biological father for - not being there, not caring about his kids. To hear his kids say I hate you would destroy him.

So Andrew makes her promise to shelter them from that. Aaron will worry and scream and cry don’t you take my fucking kids if she ever takes them away from him while he’s recovering, to her moms house, or somewhere else.

He’ll raise hell so she doesn’t leave with them; but he won’t survive if they stay.

He won’t survive if his kids grow up just waiting for dad to have a bad spell again. Waiting for something to happen. Going to sleep afraid of what mood dad might be in when they wake up. Growing up remembering what it looked like when dad hadn’t showered or shaved in two weeks. What it sounded like when he yelled at mom because he’d been working for three weeks straight. The way his eyes looked when he was high, and they were too young to know what it was.

He’d rather be locked in a bathroom with Andrew outside the door for a month, his kids thinking that daddy’s on a business trip, than expose them to the life he only has because of his fuck up parents.

Maybe that’s a deal Andrew makes with Katelyn. Maybe.

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 23

Prompt: Bondage Pairing: dom!rigger!Hyunjin x fem!sub!reader   WC: 2k Summary: The contract exists for both of your comfort and safety. Sometimes that really fucking sucks. This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Hyunjin or any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

CW/TW: traffic light system, scene is stopped(red is used), subspace, shibari as therapy, vague contract mentions, dry humping, taking photos in compromising positions, dirty talk, a lot of build up for not much pay off ya’ll.

I tried to do my best with showing a scene where a safety word is used and the scene stops because I feel like we don’t really see a ton of that in smut.

 The rope is purple and silky. You usually used red, it was what you’d seen most online but Hyunjin insisted on purple this time. It would go better against your complexion, he said. Just looking down over your intricately knotted body, you could tell he was right after all.  He smirks as you look over your shoulder to make eye contact with him. “You trust me enough to tie you up in all sorts of positions but don’t trust my eye for color.”  “I’m just used to the classics.”  “Was I wrong?” He circles you, eyes tracing the latticework of your chest harness.  “No, no but-”  Hyunjin casually interrupts you, “then if you’re satisfied so far get onto the bed and we’ll do the hips and legs.” He’s not obviously dominant. Not especially tall or loud or strong. His confidence carries off his tone in such a way that you find yourself sitting into the mattress without a second thought. “You’re being so good for me today.” He quips, carefully folding your leg up to bind your calf to your thigh. Two fingers slip underneath the rope as he carefully loops and wraps the full way down, his fingers are cooler than your thighs. The methodical and meticulous manner he does each knot is calming. Or maybe it’s the hard hug of the chest harness dulling your nervous system.  Hawkish as he looks over his work. You squirm, “your breath tickles,” you offer as an excuse. In reality your heart is thumping suddenly, irrationally. You don’t trust many people but you trust him. Focusing on the way the ropes tighten across you as you breathe, you count in your head.  Hyunjin’s hand touches your shoulder. Your eyes flutter open, you didn’t even realize they were closed. “Color?”  “Green,” a whisper in your heart says yellow. It’s not the ropes that have you nervous. It’s not the restraints. The restraints are the only thing keeping you grounded. Don’t fall for your platonic rigger, you begged yourself. Don’t fuck this up. He doesn’t like you like that, it’s his job, his hobby.  “You’re not as talkative today. Is it okay?”  You try a hand wavy easy answer. “It’s been a week. I’ve been looking forward to this.” Short and uncomplicated and complimentary.  “Mhm, good to know our sessions are helpful for you too.” Hyunjin’s gaze flicks back to the ropes. Sliding two fingers and slightly realigning one of the bars of rope, generally fussing where none needed to happen. “I like these two ties for a couple reasons. Obviously both are aesthetically pleasing.”  Hyunjin slides his hands under two of the thicker knots at the center of your chest and tugs you forward, legs spreading wide and nose almost to the belt of his pants. Your mouth drops, mind slipping into a haze.  “The second reason is both are incredibly practical for positioning. I could teach you them if you want. Both you could self-tie.” Hyunjin continues to smile down at you seemingly oblivious to the mess he’s made.  You shake your head no, unwilling to use the brainpower to respond with words.  “It must've been a rough week, I don’t think I’ve seen you slip like this before.” Hyunjin’s hand cups your chin as you lay weight into his palm. You float, eyes glazed, kept safe in his warm grasp. Safe was a term you used so infrequently and yet tied up at the mercy of this man you felt it fully. A man you only really knew in this context and nothing more, only a life within the directives of your agreement. But you like the way he makes you feel small and precious, like a piece of art to behold.  Stepping back to admire his work, your chin drops. You miss the warmth. “Really my best work yet I think. The purple…” he tsks lightly. “And to think you were fighting me on the purple.” Eyes raking your body you feel it, the swell of your mound, the wanting deepening in your core. “Do you mind if I take a picture? I promise it won’t have your face in it.”

 Not a part of the contract.  Tongue numb and heavy in your mouth you nod.  The thought flits across your mind, “I’d do anything for you to keep looking at me like that.”  Hyunjin’s hand cards through your hair, gently pulling your head back with it. “Even though your face isn’t in the photos I’d love to see the column of your neck just like that. Makes the line of your body look just lovely.”  It’d look even better with your cock in it.  Heat creeps up the shell of your ears. He looks at you longer than you expect, his hand lingers just a little longer than feels necessary. Although what, of any of this, is necessary? You feel yourself going a little crazy as your ignored cunt throbs.  “Are we comfortable?” Hyunjin finally turns from you, the zipper of his tool kit jangling as he assembles his camera. You don’t respond, still posed perfectly as he’d set you. His eyes travel to your hands, still long and loose, no tapping which he’s trained himself to notice when you’re like this. Finger wiggles meant uncomfortable, two distinct taps meant stop. It had developed naturally.  Squatting next to you a few feet away the shutter clicks. You inhale sharply.  “That’s it, let me see how the rope holds you,” he encourages you as your hips tilt and your binding presses into your skin. Not so secretly you pray for some of the pressure in your gut to release, your cunt pulsing and starting to leak. A small frustrated whine sits in the back of your throat. “That’s my girl, you’re sitting so lovely for me,” his praises continue in the flurry of clicks. “Move your body really slowly for me, focus on the drag of the cables. Really focus on slowly letting them dig into you.”  As you slowly shift around you follow his instructions, feeling how tilting one way or the other will tug and slacken opposite sides. The sturdiness of his knots never feel constrictive, instead like a silken steel frame to hold you up. Like an armor almost. You barely notice the clicking has ceased and the only sound in the room is that of your small whines and his reedy breathing.

 Hyunjin knows he needs to focus. For both of you. You, who is so fragile in his hands. So willing to give in where he knows it’s hardest for you. Yet here he is, palms sweating like a schoolboy, mouth cottony dry. “I have an idea for another shot if you’re willing.”  You look at him with cloudy lusty eyes, nodding almost innocently as you slowly hump the air. He could take you so easily like this.  “Before you agree you should hear what it is,” he tsks. As much as it sounds like he’s only scolding you, most of the judgment is internal. “I need to slot my leg between yours. Your mouth, chest, and thighs will be visible. And of course, my pants.”  You nod with a whine.  Hyunjin’s stomach drops as he approaches you and slides his leg close. He’s used to being close to you. He’s used to being close to you when you are deep in subspace. Even when you don’t know how wet and glistening your thighs have become he’s never had this issue. He’s almost glad for the constriction of his pants, unyielding fabric forcing his cock to his body. The camera lens between you works like a shield, separating himself from the scene.  “I bet you’d look good grinding on my shoe.”  You moan, head tilting back as you hips move forward, threatening to breach the contract.  He gasps as the shutter clicks, both your bodies arcing together into an ambiguous darkness. Hyunjin hadn’t meant to say it out loud.  “You like that, don’t you?” He asks tentatively. This isn’t exactly against the contract but it certainly is a new territory. “Want me to tell you more about how beautiful you look?”  You moan again, collarbone broadening as your chest heaves.  “Whoever gets to cum on those lips of yours is blessed,” his hand reaches forward, forgetting his place for a moment. “They’re already so perfectly glossy just with your spit. I bet they’re soft and warm too.”  Your tongue presses into your lower lip, tip flexing to leave a small inviting reservoir that you hope he takes advantage of. Every muscle is practically screaming and begging for him to cave into your unvoiced desires. Your forehead wrinkles as your brows furrow, wishing for a sudden telepathic link to tell him everything you need.  Hyunjin’s knuckles are white as he grips his camera. The heat of your body is so close to him. It would be so easy for him to take advantage of his. His heart seizes as his cock throbs. Pliant and needy and trusting and right there in his grasp.  Neither of you are sure who closes the gap but the second you touch it feels like wires shorting. Every neuron in both of your bodies fizzles and spits. Sparking and burning as you inhale ecstatically and Hyunjin recoils.  “Red,” Hyunjin says, almost breathless. Pacing back to his bag of tools to set his camera down. “I’m sorry I need to end the session here.” The next thing you know your feel the cool metal of safety scissors cutting into the delicate rope.  Though you’re still dopey, concern bubbles in your chest. “These ropes are expensive, let me-”  Hyunjin shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that.” Guilt settles in his stomach. He was so close. That trust you both had built he was so close to ruining. His blood is icy, shocked into sluggishness. There were so many normal steps that were skipped when he called to halt the scene. Though calling to end the scene was right, he feels like crying.  You wrap the fuzzy robe set in the corner of the room around yourself. Footsteps falling softly on the floor you ask, “do you want to be the little spoon or the big spoon?”  “Can you just put your head on my chest and hold me for a bit?”  Nodding, you sit and wait for him on the edge of the bed. Your heart seizes and pangs in an un-platonic way as he settles back on the other side of the bed. Had he asked others for aftercare like this? Not that it should matter to you.  “That was intense,” you whisper, trying to sound nonchalant.  “I’m sorry. I got too-”  “I liked it. If that helps.”  He chuckles disconcertingly, eyes to the ceiling. “We have pretty specific terms of our agreement and I-” he stops and considers his next words carefully. “-I had to step back.”  You nestle closer into his side. His slight frame doesn’t make a particularly good pillow but it doesn’t bother you much. “Intense isn’t bad it’s just I-”  Quiet settles over the both of you. Now you’re the one considering your next words as you feel your heart skip several beats. “That’s why I trust you, if that helps. We can always revisit the terms. Now that we know each other. We can revise them.”  His laugh bounces your head. “Right. We can revise them.”

I tried to do my best with showing a scene where a safety word is used and the scene stops because I feel like we don’t really see a ton of that in smut.

[fanby-fckry]

You know what, I’m just gonna say it. I think that Alastor being aroace is part of the reason he’s so shippable to me.

Before you come at me, check the flag in my pfp; I’m aroace-spec.

Maybe it’s me projecting, maybe it’s because I love exploring relationships through an aroace lens, but goddamn. I ship him more than any other character and every time I do, his aroaceness is a major component in the ship.

Examples below the cut because it’s gonna get long:

📻🍎 || RadioApple:

There are so many versions of this dynamic and I am here for all of them.

We have the pre-canon kinky QPR that I show in UH3. I could talk about that all day, but to summarize:

Aroace x genuinely respectful allo is a dynamic that heals my soul.

Lucifer is less tied down by human constructs like amatonormativity, having never been human himself.

The Devil values consent.

Kinky cannibalism, kinky cannibalism, kinky cannibalism, kinky ca- *I am removed from the stage with a comically large hook*

Then we have the Evil and fucked up QPR dynamic:

And of course, trying to get along for Charlie’s sake and eventually bonding over their shared love of dad jokes and musical theatre, both being violinists (yup, Alastor plays violin too, check the wiki) with niche hobbies/interests (ducks, furby organ) and accidentally winding up in a loving, healthy QPR.

📻🕸️ || RadioDust:

There’s something about an aroace and a sex worker who very rarely falls in love.

Angel would know that Alastor isn’t with him for sex, would know that he values Angel beyond his body.

With greyro Alastor, Angel and Alastor would both be inexperienced with romance, but in wildly different ways. Angel has never had a healthy romantic relationship and therefor tries not to fall in love. Greyro Alastor has probably experienced romantic attraction like less than three times in his 100+ years of existence.

And if Alastor never gains romantic attraction for Angel, that’s a whole other level to the dynamic.

It’s got some great angst potential with Angel wondering if he’s not good enough to love romantically or Alastor feeling guilty or confused as to Why It Hasn’t Happened Yet when he cares for Angel so deeply, and eventually it gets resolved with the two of them accepting that their attractions don’t have to match up for them to love/appreciate/care for each other and they smash the amatonormative relationship hierarchy as queer platonic partners.

Or, Angel’s just totally cool with it from the start because he’s spent decades in the kink scene and has potentially been exposed to more relationship anarchy than Alastor.

Kink and queerness have a great deal of historical and cultural overlap, and that includes aroace queerness. Because Angel’s had way more canon exposure to both, it’s possible he knows more about Alastor’s orientation than Alastor does, and I love the idea of Angel introducing him to terms or just being super chill about not labeling things.

📻♥️ || RadioHusk:

Drawing like 90% from pilot dynamic and headcanon on this. They’re just two old men. They get drunk and cuddle. Alastor is one of the few people who knows Husk can purr and takes advantage of this fact. Alastor considers Husk a friend in a fucked up, possessive way. Husk considers Alastor a pain in the ass, but does care about him on some level.

It’s Fucked Up and Evil QPR: Remix Edition.

And the versions where the author puts them through fanfic couple’s therapy and actually gets them into a healthy point in their relationship? One where Alastor no longer owns Husk’s Soul? *chef’s kiss*

📻🌹 || RadioRose:

For me, personally, this is an exclusively nonsexual, non-romantic ship. They’re besties; they’re QPPs. They’re married for the tax benefits and so that they cannot be forced to testify against each other in court.

Rosie knew Alastor was aroace before he did and rather than sit down and explain it to him, she decided to make ace puns.

📻🖤 || RadioSiren: [edit, context here] RadioFemme

Ok, so this is entirely based on non-canon-compliant Lilith. Or, I guess, non-series-compliant Lilith. More of the old WOG stuff from the pilot era, with a healthy dose of headcanon for flavor.

I love the idea of Lilith and Lucifer having an open marriage; I love the UH3 style polycule dynamic.

Lilith being the original seductress and Alastor being aesthetically but not sexually or romantically attracted to her is very near and dear to my heart.

I’m an aroace with a voice kink who is aesthetically attracted to Lilith and I think Alastor is an aroace with a voice kink who would be aesthetically attracted to Lilith, ok?

📻📺 || RadioStatic:

I’m gonna be real with you, 90% of my interest in RadioStatic is in the one-sided version where Vox is a pathetic little incel simp and Alastor is either oblivious, mildly annoyed, or finds the whole thing hilarious.

Whenever there’s any reciprocation on Alastor’s part, I always imagine it being in a very aroace, very Alastor-esque way. He needs to be get something out of it completely unrelated to sex/romance. And he needs to be manipulative and sadistic in the process.

Whether that something is kink-related, a business transaction, or simply the quality entertainment provided by Vox being a cringefail TV-headed little bitch, I love to see it.

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 3 [<-Prev][]

My eyes were getting worse. There was nothing the healers could really do. Because, ultimately? There was nothing actually wrong, with my eyes. They were working exactly as nature intended. Exactly as my genetics designed. It was just... badly designed. Poorly suited, unfortunate perhaps, ill optimized in every way, for my environment.

If I had been living alone? Or in a sparsely populated, low growth environment? Subterraneanly? Well, THEN my eyes would have been perfect. Perhaps a bit on the over sensitive side, but otherwise perfect. I would have been a Sage. Elevated to Pathfinder, for my ability to safely lead my tribe through the dark.

But here? On Coruscant? Amongst the constant flow of billions? It is AGONY. A disability of the worst sort. Like two ice picks, slamming light and information into my brain. At the rate I am developing...

At... At the rate I am developing?

I may eventually be as good as BLIND. Be forced to wear a glorifed blindfold. And... and when THAT, inevitably fails? As it WILL fail? There have been... been somber, serious, terrifying talks? On if I wish to first try removing myself to a remote Temple for seclusion (and risk the lack of medical care that comes with it.) or if? O-or if?

Medically, it would be better to just... replace my eyes.

T-They can't even guarantee? That it would work. There are species that see through the Force. My problem may BE that I am somehow one of them and simply not physically built for it. That I developed the needed mutation. I... I could lose my eyes for NOTHING.

Yet...?

The headaches. The LIGHT. I can not take missions anymore. Can not even help in the Crèches. Their unfiltered, unshielded Force presences? Are like staring into search lights. I can not even help with Initiate classes, having grown too fucking sensitive! How will I EVER find a Padawan?!

I... I wanted one. Someone to guide and teach. Someone to watch grow.

Maybe that grief, (that I might never have one, that I KNOW he can do better,) is what makes me so short with Qui-gon. Obi-Wan is a youngling, damn it! Not a crutch for you mental health! Something which? Of course leads me to chasing Yan's Padawan down. REPEATEDLY. (Stop running! Boy! I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME, QUI-GON! You better STOP RUNNING!! Listen to your Aunty while she SCOLDS YOU!) Because SOMEONE needs to beat that into the stubborn, heart sick, fool's head!

Why not me? I'm stuck on medical leave! Possibly FOREVER.

(Have a treat, Obi-Wan. You're too skinny.)

It's not productive. I KNOW it's not productive. The harder I push, the more Qui-gon digs his heels in. Yan's old Padawan was many things, but weak willed? Even in the depth of his grief? Hardly one of them. The whole LINEAGE was stubbornness made manifest. Literal STONES we more agreeable and subject to change.

I just wished Padawan Kenobi wasn't the one paying for it.

So, I helped. Without judgment. No harrasing him about his weight or his injuries, no demands he explain this or that. Just... there, if he's ready. If he trusts me. Bacta and pain relief, a safe place to sleep, someone to guide a peaceful meditation. And of course, Food. Ration bars by the basket. Take and hoard as many as you need. Here, both rich and mild foods to choose from.

Hugs and safety, I could do that. Be that. Put my emotions aside, for the sake of a child. Did his mere presence hurt? Yes. A LOT. But I would sooner die then let him know that. Bright and beautiful as his soul was, young and growing as he is? There is no pain, that is merely the confusion of crude matter. I am FINE. This... is FINE.

(Dispite the drugs, the meditation, it still HURTS.)

Neither Yan or Sifo like it. In fact, Yan is? Both in turns, heart sick and furious. His old Padawan entirely too good at dodging him. Dispite Yan being on the HIGH COUNCIL. Dispite BOTH Yan and Sifo, being on the High Council. It's genuinely impressive. Alarming, yes, that he uses such skill to avoid any attempts at therapy... but, well....

I've SEEN what the Mind Healers here consider a job "well done", with Sifo. Their definition of "help". So... granted, I understand completely. But he could just as easily take his Padawan on a "healing retreat"! Sneak away to get ACTUAL help from one of the other Sects! Illum perhaps? The Whills?

He KNOWS I'm right. It's why he's avoiding me.

(The little SHIT.)

Breathing in filtered, earth rich air, I tried to breathe out my stress. The Thousand Gardens do not just extend upwards. They went down as well. And they will continue to go upwards if ever another Temple is built upon the current one. Just like the last gardens, in which I sit, the light requiring plants that can be moved will be brought upwards. Those that can't? Get solar lamp systems.

Tiny biodomes, here in the dark. We do not kill our ancient trees, after all. Our plant and gardens. They are precious heirlooms. Living, breathing, friends. And besides? In the places they abandon, for the light up above? NEW gardens can be made! Subterranean ones. Glowing lichen and mushrooms, cave shrubs and parasitic low light trees.

It is peaceful, down here. Glowing plant life and distant lamps, like so many stars in the dark. The sound of running water and quite murmurs of the few who prefer such low light meditations. There are more then a few knights napping, having found gardens that speak to them. Their various light sensitive visual organs, finally having found relief.

Somewhere above me, Sifo is pacing. Erratic. Another vision of death and despair, of clones marching upon us all. It is getting to him. Like the slow eroding of a cliff face. Death by a thousand cuts. Over and over and OVER. Despair. Won't you do something? DESPAIR. Don't you CARE? DESPAIR. I can offer the power to FIX things. Don't you want it? Don't you WANT it~??

The Dark Side is a cruel and insidious thing. A riptide. An undertow, which drags you out to sea, then drowns you. It offers sweetness, safety, freedom. Only to deliver oblivion and pain. Power without control, it corrodes you. Destroys all that you were. Giving voice to your worst impulses, silencing your better nature.

You become a mockery of yourself.

I... I am scared for him. For Yan. I can see the outline of their ends, beginning to line up before them. They are pulling away. Growing frustrated. Their discussions with me are growing less philosophical difference with the Order, and more... dangerously immoral. Heretical. Nothing actionable, of course, but... I wouldn't expect their to be.

Both are High Councilors. They, of all people, know how to toe the line.

What do I DO? I ask the Force. Meditation after meditation, seeking guidance. How can I help them? And yet... I get no reply. No insight. Only nudges towards Obi-Wan. Towards teaching and compassion. Slipping him lessons on how to help slaves cope with the trauma. Philosophical debates on the doctrine of attachments. And, of course? Showing him my completely personal project, that HE will in no way someday need, of creating lesson plans for my hypothetical future Padawn.

How VERY thoughtful of him! To help me get some of those data pads! To help me research and revise my plans. He'll make a great mentor one day~ Amused? Me? No, no, dear. I was just thinking of a funny joke. Have ever given thought to Form Three?

Also! Never trust the Senate intelligence, dear. They are full of shit and couldn't spot a slaver if the sale was happening right in front of them. Do your own research whenever possible and NEVER rush in. NEVER.

(Yan refused to rush the assignment. Was in the Process of contacting the Armorer of Little Keldab for information. A Team was sent behind his back. On the word of the Senate alone. They almost completely DIED and the rightful Ruler of the Mandalorian people? Enslaved. Force knows where. Are you HAPPY now? Was rushing WORTH it? Your "regrets" mean NOTHING to the dead.)

It's building. I can feel it. The darkness is growing, my friends drifting farther and farther from the light. All, while? I am stuck. Disabled by my eyes. By the pain my so call "blessing" gives me.

Giving up on another useless meditation, I rise. Head for the lifts. The hallways down here are... quite. The old temple towers a peace place. Filled with the ancient echos of long dead Masters. There are room down here. Apartments. They are unassigned, yes, but no one truely cares if they are used. Granted, I would have to dust them myself.

I consider it. The light, (or really, the lack there off) is much more comfortable down here. The quite, less stressful. If Sifo didn't have such traumatic associations with darkness? I would honestly suggest moving down here with me. It might do us both some good.

As the lift rises, I tap the side of my lenses. Momentarily blinding myself in preparation for the increasing light. Soon enough, vision returns. The cacophonous press of noise. Oh dear, it's mid-meal. I should have waited. No wonder it's so loud and bright. Gritting my teeth, I keep my expression calm and pleasant. My shoulders relaxed.

It is not the younglings fault, that it hurts to be near them. They should NOT have to carry that guilt nor knowledge. I walk calmly but swiftly. This is fine. This Is Fine. Ow, ow, ow, OW, OW! This Is Fine!

Relief. I get passed them. The healers are right. Damn it. It really IS not just my eyes that are growing more sensitive. I... I so badly wanted them to be wrong. But as days go by? As weeks pass? Everything has slowly gotten... gotten so LOUD. Sharp and shrill, grating and rumbling, barks and squeals. Just? Just ALL of it. Too much.

Loud.

At the rate i'm going? I'm going to end up in a Force damned helmet like some sort of Mandalorian! And... and yes, I know there is no shame in that. That each race has their own specific needs. That it is humanist to think certain traits are somehow BETTER then others. I just... just feel like I am slowly losing myself. My freedom.

I am scared.

My body feels like it's betraying me.

Somewhere, near the High Council's chambers, I can feel Yan seething. How long has it been? Since the three of us coexisted in simple peace? Before Sifo's accident? Their appointments to the Council? Or was it as recent as Xanatos and the disaster of his Fall? How... How long have I been a pillar? For the mental and spiritual strength of others?

It's grinding me to dust. I'm so tired. Just... just want to rest. For just a moment. Without the fear, that my moments weakness? Will condemn a good man. Will irreversibly harm, a growing child. I.. Force, I am so tired.

Sifo is waiting for me, in my apartments. My plan for a moments rest? A fleeting, impossible, dream. He is pacing, pacing, pacing. Lines of tension and darting eyes. Hands clenching and unclenching. Running through his already ruined hairdo, again and again. It was easy to see what someone might think him mad. He certainly looked it.

"I saw them again. Bastards! I don't-! What am I doing wrong?!" He gasped the second he laid eyes on me. Already ranting before the door even closed. "I vow not to step foot on Kamino? They still appear. Avoid Mandalorians? Still! They exsist! But, oh! What if I plan Temple defenses? Surely THEN, right?! No! They somehow get passed them! Is it me? Am I the problem!?"

"TELL ME!"

He spun, eyes wide and manic, arms spread. As though inviting a blow. Inviting his own destruction. Hair falling from his careful hairdo in mad whisps, clothes disheveled, hands faintly trembling... he did not look well. Looked near tears. Teetering on the edge of something ugly.

How long could he hold out? I wondered.

I didn't have a comforting answer for him. No sweet and gentle words. But I could offer a hug. A hand to hold, as he faced down the dark. Sometimes... sometimes there WAS no right answer, Sifo. Sometimes the pieces were all on the board yet. Or the very act of try to stop Fate, made it so. I don't know. Can't know. Neither of us can.

But I can be there WITH you, until the end. And we can do our best.

Have you eaten yet? Had any tea? When was the last time you slept? Terrible things do not become easier to bear, if you burn yourself up, trying to face them. You have to take care of yourself too. I stepped forward, into that desperate stance, and pulled him into my arms.

"You believe me. You BELIEVE me. It's just inevitabe, too you, isnt it? That's what your trying not to say, isn't it? That you've run out of options. " Sifo's arms wrapped around me in a desperate grip. Like a drowning man holding onto the only life raft at sea.

"You're just afraid. Don't want me to break myself, destroy myself, chasing something that can't happen. Because we're Jedi, and you know we have to try. Try and try and TRY! Until it destroys us. Destroys everything. Hoping against all hope that they'll just... just LISTEN! But they WON'T, will they? They won't listen. It's inevitable. A cleansing. Purging of the old, to give rise to something new. The will of the Force itself."

Cleansing? Purging?! Alarm bells started to ring in my head. Nothing good came of talks of "cleansings" or "purgings" of ANYTHING.. NOTHING. I opened my mouth to refute him. Never got the chance. Yan's Force presence slammed into ours. The equivalent of crashing open doors and stomping feet.

Startled and alarmed, I turned just in time to see him sweep into my apartment like a raging, high society, storm cloud. The expression on his face could peel paint.

"Apparently," he snarled, barely holding together. "my Grand-Padawan has SUPPOSEDLY left the Order! Despite showing no prior interest in doing so, sending no missives to friends or fellow Creche-mates, and? Of course? Let us not forget? SUPPOSEDLY doing so? For some TART in the midst of an ACTIVE WARZONE!"

Horrified, I felt the blood drain from my face. No. NO! I thought I had more TIME! Please! Dear FORCE! Tell me, Qui-gon did not LEAVE his Padawan on-!

"Oh yes! CLEARLY, this is but a childish desire to wet his-!" Yan visibly struggled to beat back the surge of incoherent WRATH and fear. The disappointment. They HORROR at a child, in such unimaginable danger. "The Council won't even HEAR that there could be anything amiss! Won't even CHECK. A supposed WASTE of RESOURCES, when already we are stretched too thin! A CHILD, potentially ABANDONED in a WARZONE! And they-!? THEY-!?"

My mind races as I pull away from Sifo's grip to face Yan. The Order won't authorize use of their ships to go check. But... But? Are we not Jedi? We serve the Force. Our mission is to PROTECT. Minimize suffering, bring Light to the universe. Take a sabbatical! NOW! In fact? We ALL will. It will be GOOD for me, to be away from Coruscant's crowded population.

Call your Family, Yan. We need a Serranian Ship. Ask if we can borrow the Senator's, since it's on planet. We aren't slaves. They can't stop us, if we simple decide to GO. Punish us? Perhaps. But not STOP us.

An almost roguish grin settles poorly, under the near manic glint in Yan's eyes. Too expressive. Too unhinged. He has never been anything but composed, he values it too highly. Sifo's answering grin is just as manic. Just as... slightly wrong. Too much. Fitting both too practiced and ill fitting on their faces.

Like they are feeding off each others madness... some part of me hisses in concern. A feedback loop, we aren't strong enough to stop.

I try to ignore it. Focus on the now. There is a child in danger. It's... it's fine. Probably. All I have to do, is keep them away from the Sith! They... they won't Fall. They WON'T.

R-Right?

Yet... watching them plan our trip? Calling in favors and gleefully plotting. Casually threatening. Feeding of each others energy, as they do. I... I am not so certain. Once again, that moment of dissonance strikes true. Like looking around and realizing I am an actor on the stage of a Tragedy, ready line after line, as we march onward to the inevitable End.

Attachments are going to condemn you. Seems to whisper the Force. Like chains that choke and squeeze.

I know, I whisper back. But I am foolish and still want to save them.

Please let me try.

Please.

Let me TRY.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

S2 Entry 2: Soothe the Goosebumps

Image credit: @neverscreens

Summary: Carmy’s girlfriend (who he calls Darling) soothes him down from an impending panic attack with apple cubes. (1346 Words) FLUFF.

Warnings: Swearing, hurt, comfort, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, finger sucking (light), impending panic attack (panic attack doesn’t happen), praise kink, feeding kink?, subby!Carmy. Mentions of Donna Berzatto.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: String Lights

“Do you not decorate for Christmas?” she asked. “Not even string lights or a mini tree?”

No. Fuck Christmas.

The silence, and the subsequent recoil evident on her face when I looked up from the apple I was dicing, is what told me I’d said that aloud. My stomach flipped. Hands abruptly turned cold for some reason. Heat flooded into my face.

I can’t even begin to explain to you the biblical level of shit I was in that week. That whole month, honestly. The review didn’t go well—we weren’t given our star, which meant that not only did all my bullshit that I pulled in the restaurant after having that mental fucking breakdown after the walk-in incident severely strain all my interpersonal relationships, it also did fuck all to give us any sort of results. If we’d gotten the star, then maybe, maybe, it would’ve stung just a little less. The wounds haven’t gone away—the repeated flare-ups of fighting between Sugar, Richie, Syd, and me are evidence of that—but the star would’ve been salve on the cuts. Maybe taken away some of the burn. No, it just redoubled everyone’s rage at me (including my own. I was getting dangerously close to hating myself more than I hate the fucking Devil at this point). So, the burst of fighting at the top of November turned into all-out war for the rest of the month. We’d found something of a balance before—minus the flare-ups—where I’d do a new menu every month using seasonal ingredients. I’d be mindful of what the kitchen staff could do, Syd and I would actually properly collaborate on them, so she didn’t feel voiceless (even if working with another person drove me fucking insane sometimes), and Richie and I would, generally, as much as we both could corral our familial trauma, try to stay out of each other’s way. Sometimes even get along a bit.

“Carmy?”

Now? Now I lost all fucking control of my restaurant. Syd and I were battling over the menu because even when accounting for her notes, she wanted to scrap whatever I did. Richie was so far out of my grasp that Sugar maintained a demilitarized zone between us, acting as the Secretary of State—or I don’t know, a fucking messenger pigeon—bringing things back and forth, all while trying not to (and failing on multiple occasions) explode at either of us for our bullshit. And it was bullshit. We’re fucking adults, I keep trying to act like a fucking adult and get a handle on myself so this doesn’t fucking happen again—I’m in therapy, for fuck’s sake!—and yet Richie and Syd insist on being fucking children about it.

In retrospect, I don’t blame Syd. If your coworker spiraled off the fucking deep end, and all you got out of that was the trauma of surviving that spiral, would you even want to fucking look at them again? She worked her ass off to make The Bear what it is, she put stock in her own identity as a chef, and wants, more than anything, to be able to take pride in her work.

I said I wouldn’t stand by and let her do to herself what I did to me, right?

Am I not her Devil?

So here we are, December three days away, still without a fucking menu.

“Baby? Sweetheart? Hey.”

Shit. Shit. Fuck. I dropped the knife onto the cutting board. “S-sorry. Sorry, I-I should explain—”

“I just wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction.” She held her hands up, palms out towards me. “It’s okay. It just caught me by surprise is all.”

“Christmas-Christmas is fucking traumatizing.” Why did it come out like a question? It’s a fact. It was fucking traumatizing. I closed my eyes, trying to retreat to the quiet dark, where it’s stable, where it’s safe. “My-my mom, she would, uh, she would do this-this big feast. Seven Fishes... And it was-it was always such a fucking disaster. And-and she would always explode at the tiniest thing. I-I hate fucking Christmas and New Years a-a-and-and fucking birthdays. Fuck birthdays.”

Something burned in my chest. A deep sort of fiery sting that took me two heartbeats to recognize as stomach acid bubbling into my esophagus. I grasped at the pain as if I could somehow get ahold of it and remove it from me, could toss it away like a wet paper towel, but all I found was the front of my apron.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Oh no, Darling sounded worried. I fucking hate when I worry her. I pried my eyes open and found her expression contorted in concern, eyebrows scrunched together, corners of her mouth turned down. “What’s wrong? Pain? Nausea?”

I tried talking, but I couldn’t produce sound past the hot iron burning my insides. Blindly reached for the quart of water and chugged a few sips down. It provided some relief initially, but the flames came right back.

“Hold on.” She rifled around the cabinet above my head and pried off the lid of the baking soda container. Put two pinches in the quart. Swirled it. “It’ll taste weird, but it should help.”

Metallic. Metallic, bitter, kind of salty? Like I licked a dirty penny or something. Weird doesn’t sum it up, it’s fucking disgusting. She rubbed up and down my sternum as I gulped this vile concoction down.

“It’s a base, it’ll help neutralize the acid,” she explained. “Just take little sips until the burning stops.” I’m sure she knew I understood the logic, but I appreciated her talking to me anyway. It was comforting. Something to focus on. Something to drown out the memories of ma’s yelling bubbling away in the back of my head.

Goosebumps exploded on my arms when I took another gulp of the baking soda water. It just kept getting worse. Now the weird taste was lingering on my tongue well after the water was gone, but my chest still burned like a brand was on it. Darling rubbed her hands up and down my forearm, trying to soothe the goosebumps away.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

I responded too slowly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Not even giving me this horrible shit; it was helping the heartburn.

“No, about the whole…” she gestured in a wide circle. Ah. About Christmas and shit. Got it. “It’s gotta be tough. With. How much those things are engrained in society and all.”

I shrugged a shoulder. Grimaced and got another wave of chills on the next sip of baking soda water. She picked up an apple cube and pressed it to my lips. It wasn’t meant to be an intimate gesture—I’m getting better at reading her face and knowing what the intention behind anything she does is—but something deep in my core tightened and warmed when she fed me the morsel of apple, when the tip of her finger rested just a second too long on my lips. I must’ve had a certain look on my face because she made the cute little cooing sound that meant she figured something out. Cupped my face with her other hand. Stroked my cheek.

“That better, pretty boy?”

She brought another apple cube to my lips, kept her eyes locked on mine—this piercing gaze halfway between interrogative and fascinated, like she was a cat observing a new toy, trying to figure out how to pounce on it. My navel flooded with heat, dick twitched in my sweats. Half of me wanted to shrink in place, become tiny and insignificant, small enough to fit in her pocket like a pathetic but endearing pet. The other half of me got lost in her eyes, in those shimmering river stones, in the perfect architecture of her eyelashes, as if admiring a fine work in some pretentious fucking museum somewhere. She let me suck the tip of her thumb clean. Dragged it slowly over my tongue.

I nodded. Yes. Yes, it’s better.

The fuck was I even stressing about before?

Tags: @carmenberzattosgf @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899

[gay-dorito-dust]

Isekai Reader, looking at the half-bitten cookie: .....

Isekai Reader, looks at Damian and Duke: Are you guys sure none of you put anything in here?

Alfred, checking their temperature: I was with them the whole time and any type of liquid that should not be in my kitchen is strictly prohibited

Isekai Reader looks at the transparent couple behind the two boys: I think I saw Bruce's parents... am I high?

Damian: what are you blabbering at?

Isekai Reader: Ya deaf boy? I said I can see your grandmother and granfather from your father's side who is behind you

Alfred, concerned(a bit hopeful too): are you sure?

Martha looks at her husband: How bout you tell him this so he can believe you dear, he is the only one who knows of this

Isekai Reader: hey Mr. Alfred wanna know what miss Martha told me?

Alfred: I'm afraid I don't know would you care to?

Isekai Reader: Wanna bet?

.....

Alfred:....

Alfred, clears his throat: Ahem, I will appreciate it if you don't tell this to any of them no matter what the cost

Isekai Reader: Don't worry I won't traumatize your already traumatized grandkids even more

.....

Bruce: should we send you to a therapist?

Isekai Reader: you're coming with me then

Bruce: absolutely not

Isekai Reader: Then no♥️

Isekai reader either high as balls or actually seeing ghosts? More news at 5.

Isekai! Reader/ you: after all you’ve been through, have any of you ever been to therapy before? Like genuinely gone and or considered going?

Bruce: I’m rich

Dick: once or twice but then I remember that I have to open up. No thanks.

Jason: why pay for therapy when killing crime lords and drug dealers is completely free.

Damian: therapy is beneath me.

Tim: what’s that? Never heard of it.

Duke: I missed one session! One!

Isekai! Reader/ you: if I had money I’d open up a hospital and shove you all inside it. not you Duke, you’re my favourite right now.

Duke: :)

…

-I love this concept, thanks anon-

Isekai! Reader/you: *seeing Martha and Thomas again as they watched over Bruce* fuck sake I’m high again.

*martha and Thomas resting their hands on their son’s shoulders, smiling at him*

Isekai! Reader/ you: *feeling a little sentimental* awww. They’re watching over their baby boy. *smiles softly*

Bruce, noticed: why you smiling.

Isekai! Reader/ you: just remembering how stupid you looked when dressed up as nightwing.

Bruce: Dick and Jason showed you the pictures?

Isekai! Reader/ you: that suit was struggling to keep itself together and I thought your whole asshole was going to fall out if honestly is what your after.

Bruce: it was a phase! *buries head into hands*

Isekai! Reader/ you: that’s what they all say, but you dressing up as a bat and beating people so bad they’re left in a comatose state has to be the longest phases you’ve been in. Ever.

…

Jason: *does anything*

Isekai! Reader/ you: I can take him.

Duke: in a fight right?

Isekai! Reader/ you: :)

Duke, scared: in a fight right?!

Bruce, from a distance: STAY AWAY FROM MY SON!

Isekai! Reader/ you: I WILL FUCK YOUR SON WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT! HES TOO FINE TO BE LEFT SINGLE! ITS CRIMINAL!

Duke: …

Bruce: …

Jason: :)

…

Bruce: what you got there?

Isekai! Reader/ you: a big ass plushie that’s half my body height. *picks said plushie up and squeezes it*

Damian: are you a child?

Isekai! Reader/you: unlike you I had actually got to experience a childhood…at least I think…I can’t remember most of it but I’m sure that’s normal.

Bruce: …

Damian: …

Duke: I’m pretty sure that having gaps in your memory in regards of your childhood isn’t healthy nor a good reflection on your childhood. I could be wrong though so don’t take my word for it.

Isekai!reader/ you: …consider this healing the inner child with a rich man’s credit card.