#let me know if something doesn't work out with this! ^^

[shouyuus]

mma!bakugo who just so happens to train at the gym that you part-time at on the weekends (front desk stuff, bookkeeping, etc) and has always been a bit scary from afar bc he's got this constant scowl as if he's got a bone to pick with just about anyone and anything who crosses his path, but his coach (also ur boss) assures you that he's a big softie once you get to know him. you tell him in no uncertain terms that you think you're good, thanks.

mma!bakugo who's always the first one in and the last one out on your shifts, who's got shit manners but always holds the door open for you and sometimes you swear you can catch him watching you as you go about cleaning some of the equipment but goes tomato red whenever you catch him in the act and immediately yeets off to work on drills for about half an hour before he'll glance at you again.

mma!bakugo who doesn't know how good he looks when he's wiping sweat from his chin or chugging water from his massive 2-liter water bottle, a trickle of cold water dripping down his chin to run down his neck, his adam's apple bobbing as he gulps down the water, smacking his lips as he wipes his mouth on the back of his bandaged hand; doesn't notice the way that every girl (and a lot of the guys tbh) are staring at him, but he'll glance towards where he saw you last, standing helping a new guy sign up for the gym membership, smiling and laughing, and he knows it's what you're supposed to do but it doesn't stop the way his gut twists or the way he goes way too hard at the punching bag, hard enough for his coach to hike an eyebrow and ask what's gotten into him today? it's not like him to "lose control" like this

mma!bakugo who never calls you by your name where other ppl can hear, always says like "hey sweetcheeks, can you hand me a water?" or "dollface, can you do me a favor?" and you'd always roll your eyes and remind him that "that's not my name, bakugou-kun," even as you're doing whatever thing he asked for anyway.

mma!bakugo who keeps quiet and watches when a guy tries to hit on you (unsuccessfully) bc he knows you can handle yourself, but the moment the guy reaches out to try and put hands on you, he's on his feet, stalking across the gym to shove his way between the pair of you like "oi. she ain't interested." and by now, everyone's gone quiet, their eyes trained on him and the guy and you; the guy sizes bakugou up, puffing out his chest for a second, but the next, he seems to notice the thick cords of muscles braiding down bakugou's arms, the expertly wrapped knuckles on both his hands, and he puts two and two together fast enough to know that this really isn't a fight he should be picking.

so he scoffs and makes as if he weren't ever really that interested anyway, turning around and muttering beneath his breath that you weren't even that pretty to begin with.

"thanks," you say, but bakugo just frowns and cocks his head.

"don't let anyone talk to you like that, got it?" and there's still that signature grit to his voice, the sharpness to his eyes, but something about it is different today -- it's ever so slightly softer than he usually is. he opens his mouth like he's about to say something more but pauses at the last second and turns around, shoulders a little hunched, and you could swear you can see the tips of his ears go red.

mma!bakugo who, after you get him an omamori from a shrine visit that says "certain victory", can only stare down at his, mouth open, a lil speechless, until he looks up to find you blushing just as hard as he is, purses his lips, clears his throat and glances off towards the side, tucking the charm into his training shorts like "thanks. now i've really got no excuse huh."

mma!bakugo who when he wins (as you knew he would), throws up his hand, the charm you gave him clutched in his palm, catches your eye in the crowd, smirks and jerks his head; when you squeeze your way up to the barrier, he boops your nose with a gloved hand before tugging it off with his teeth, letting it drop to the ground, bending down so his eyes are level with yours, his chest still heaving, his skin flushed from the recent fight, there's a cut on his lip and a bruise blossoming high on his right cheek but neither of you seem to care -- all he can see is you.

he tugs on a loose strand of hair, cocks his head, you smile and glance at the omamori clutched in his hand and say, "guess the lucky charm really worked."

mma!bakugo who hikes an eyebrow at your words before his eyes track down to your lips and he sighs, leaning against the soft barriers, not caring that there are just about seven different cameras trained on the pair of you right now, runs a finger down your jawline till he can tip your chin back --

"or..." his voice is just a little hoarse, his normally bright eyes dark, his pupils nearly completely blown out, a total eclipse of the usual ruby red of his gaze --

"maybe my lucky charm is just you."

[glypt0don]

So, this is quite a rant. You can skip to the bottom, if you want to know my opinion but don't want to read that much... But I worked hard on it and I think it's important, so it would make me very happy if you read through the whole text.

So this fits into something I wanted to post about anyway: a broader theme of why do we frame things as wars? Like, why is it culture war, specifically. First I liked the concept, I thought it described something quite complicated reasonably easily. But I pondered on it a bit more and I think there's more going on.

It's pretty trivial, that most societies went through a huge change over the last half century. It's not just feminism. I could make a whole list of things we as a people took on. Anti-racism and civil rights, religious acceptance, global trade, reinterpreting the meaning of peace, connecting the word through the world-wide web, etc. We ( or, as I am barely an adult and have no idea how to change things for the better, I should say you, or maybe chat) decided it was time for change, so change came. You brought it about.

And I agree. Change WAS and IS necessary. What that change should entail, well, we all have our ideas, right? And they have the ugly tendency to differ from each other. The question then is, how do we coincide our contradictory ideas on society? The answer is both worrying and very important.

To be fair, our race doesn't have a great track record on solving these kinds of issues. I dug into my historical knowledge, since, you know, those who don't learn from it, repeat it... The only thing I can compare to what's happening today would be the Reformation (which probably says a lot about my historical knowledge). That's the only time I know, where societal assumptions were altered so much in such a short time. That time it was specifically about the Catholic church (if you don't know, what I'm talking about, you really should, so Google it), and the result was a series of wars, that ultimately may have wiped out about a fifth of Europes population. The wars were of course led by powerful men, who capitalised on the divide to further their own goals.

As back then, now too, we can't rely on institutions to tame the public. Many media and political identities have a direct interest in polarising society. Because that's what happens. All these contentious issues about gender, class, or foreign policy become dividing lines between folks who are supposed to be parts of the same whole (call it community, state, nation or humanity, depending on how wide you can think). You know, how it works, probably saw it a few times, whatever your interests are. It's literally everywhere! We fight it out with the perceived enemy of the week sometimes, when there is an election, something notable happens, or it's simply Pride Month. Then everyone goes back to their respective corners, where they vehemently agree with themselves. We don't talk a lot, just throw words at each other, like Buggs Bunny, playing tennis with a dynamite.

I should say, this post is a notable and refreshing outlier. Thanks, @trans-androgyne , for starting a discussion for a change!

I know, it's a bit like nuclear armament. You can't just stop, because THEY won't, and then they win, and you can't allow that. It's life and death! And I don't have some magic pill to make it all go right, or believe me, I wouldn't sit here, typing this out at 3 in the morning Central European Time. But let me propose this: don't call it a war! Neither culture war, nor gender war, nor anything like that. Because this isn't a war. Just ask anyone in the middle east! They can tell you, what is war, and THIS IS NOT IT! And also, because it may not be guns and destruction yet, but nothing guarantees, that it stays that way. We already had multiple attempted takeovers of capital buildings since this cursed decade began, because our social reality became so fragmented, that you can't accept the results of a popular election anymore. That should raise alarm bells. I know it does, but it can be much worse! Learn from history, do not repeat it! Hit the Wiki page on the Huguenot war! On the siege of Magdeburg. Or, if that's not your cup of tea, watch Civil War! I genuinely think it's the best movie of the year.

Call it Social Discourse! That sounds much more manageable, doesn't it? Or you can come up with something else, as long as it isn't some warmongering bullshit. And maybe the next time you meet someone with sexist, homophobic, racist, or maybe radical left and anarchistic views (whatever you're opposing), don't attack them with your words! Those aren't weapons. Try to talk to them instead! Try talking about feelings! Listen to theirs, make them understand yours! I say feelings, because you both have those. Try finding a common ground, however small, and build up from there. Like Minecraft Skyblock. It can be hard in a challenging way, instead of making you want to shoot yourself in the head. Remember, you aren't fighting a war. You are having a discourse.

All of it is to say, the world and society are changing, wether you like it or not, and we have to change with it, to survive. That is the simple fact. If you call that change a war, that's just gonna make the whole thing unnecessarily painful for everyone involved.

This was sociopolitical advice from a giant armadillo.

Genuinely, what happened to “feminism is for everyone”?

That’s the feminism I grew up with: encouraging people to recognize that fighting sexism and restrictive gender roles helps folks of every gender. We’d push back on the idea that feminists hate men, pointing to inclusive feminist literature and how many men are feminists.

Now, there are so many people insisting that the solution to patriarchy is to openly hate and ostracize men no matter what. Why? What is the benefit? It’s certainly not effective in fighting oppressive structures to exclude half the population from your cause on the basis of immutable traits. It may feel cathartic to say horrible things about men and try to punish them for your frustrations with patriarchy. But the only actual effect I see is the increasing right-wing radicalization of young men, who are being told that the left hates them for the way they were born and presented with an abundance of proof that it’s true.

Why are we going back to treating men and women as different species? It doesn’t fix things to say “well women are the good gender and men are the bad one” this time. If you sincerely want to dismantle sexism, you’re going to have to unpack and let go of all sex and gender essentialism—even that which considers women inherently pure and men inherently immoral.

[latin5mamii]

5:42 am

genre: JudeBellingham x you; cute and fluff

summary: After a whole night of no-sleep, you decide to help your boyfriend forget about his overthinking for once.

author's note: Cute and fluffy! Didn't want to make it too depressing so i added a bit of humor; i know this is work is unexpected but i'm getting a lot of inspiration rn!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ

The world is still asleep when Jude wakes, moving with the careful precision of someone practiced in not disturbing the peace. His hand reaches for his phone on the bedside table, and he shifts cautiously to sit up on the edge of the bed.

The room is dark save for the faint blue light creeping through the curtains, a soft haze that makes everything feel slower, quieter.

He doesn’t hear you stir behind him.

The mattress dips slightly as you roll over, and he freezes. For a second, he thinks you’ll fall back asleep, but your voice—soft and warm like the blankets tangled around you—breaks the silence.

"You're already up"

It’s not a question, and there’s no frustration in your tone—just a quiet understanding. Before every match, he could never sleep. He’d toss and turn, get up for water, but he could never settle—especially now, with so much to think about.

Jude glances over his shoulder, a little sheepish as he meets your sleepy gaze.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs. His voice is a whisper, rough from the early hour.

“You didn’t.” You stretch slightly, the movement slow and lazy. “You never do.”

He smiles at that—small, almost imperceptible in the low light. You sit up halfway, leaning on your elbow as you watch him tug on a sweatshirt over his T-shirt.

“Don’t go just yet,” you say, voice still quiet but carrying a softness that stops him mid-motion. “Come back here for a minute; you have so much time left. ”

Jude doesn't hesitate even for a second as soon as he sees you—still cocooned in blankets, your hair messy and your eyes heavy-lidded but bright. It’s not a hard choice, not really.

He slips back into bed without a word, settling beside you. Your arm loops around his waist instinctively, and he leans into it, letting his head rest against yours.

The silence in the room is thick but comforting, punctuated only by the faint hum of the world outside—a car passing, the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Jude’s breathing evens out as he melts into your embrace, the tension in his shoulders softening. You run your hand gently along his back, tracing patterns you don’t think about but that he seems to feel, leaning into each movement.

“You think too much,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but close enough that he hears it.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his arm drapes over you, pulling you closer. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you feel him exhale deeply, as if the weight of what you said has settled somewhere in his chest.

“I just want to get it right,” he murmurs, finally. The words are small but heavy, like they’ve been sitting on the tip of his tongue for days.

“You always do.”

The response is automatic, and you mean it—every syllable. You wish you could pull his thoughts away, fold it neatly into something manageable. But for now, all you can do is hold him.

Jude pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. The dim light softens his features—his dark eyes are wide, thoughtful, his lips parted as if he’s about to say something but decides against it.

“You okay?” you ask, brushing a hand through his hair, which is still slightly messy from sleep.

Jude lingers in the embrace a moment longer, his face tucked against the curve of your neck, the warmth of your skin drawing out a softness he didn’t realize he needed. But when he finally shifts, there’s something lighter in his expression. He nudges his nose against your cheek, playful, and murmurs,

“You’ve turned me into a morning person, you know.”

You laugh, low and easy, your fingers pausing in his hair to tap lightly against the side of his head. “I don’t think you get to claim that title until you actually enjoy mornings, Jude.”

He pulls back enough to look at you, an exaggerated pout forming on his lips. “What if I just enjoy mornings with you?”

“That’s sweet,” you tease, your smile brightening the dim room. “But you still groan every time the alarm goes off, so I’m not sure it counts.”

“Details.” He grins, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before sitting up. The bed shifts under his weight, and you watch as he stretches, the hem of his sweatshirt riding up slightly. The sight makes you laugh—something about the way his early-morning dishevelment feels so ordinary and yet so utterly him.

He glances over his shoulder at you, catching the amused tilt of your smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head, though the laughter still dances in your voice. “You’re just...cute like this.”

His ears turn a little pink, and he rubs the back of his neck, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s make some coffee before you embarrass me even more.”

“Embarrass you? Never,” you shoot back, but you’re already sitting up, tossing the blankets aside. The cool air hits your skin, and you shiver slightly, reaching for the oversized sweater draped over the chair beside the bed. Jude is already standing, holding a hand out to help you up.

The two of you move quietly even though you're alone in the house, the soft shuffle of your steps the only sound. Jude goes straight to the counter, pulling out the coffee beans and the grinder.

“You want tea, right?” he asks over his shoulder, already reaching for the kettle.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, leaning against the counter and watching him. He moves with a kind of easy precision, his focus shifting between the coffee and the kettle like it’s a little morning ritual he’s perfected. You can’t help but smile—it’s a far cry from the nerves that had him tossing and turning earlier.

“What’s funny now?” he asks, catching your expression as he sets the kettle to boil.

“Just you,” you say, your voice light. “All serious about coffee like it’s a science.”

“It is a science,” he replies, mock-indignant. “And you’re lucky I’m good at it, or you’d be stuck drinking whatever shit they call coffee down the street.”

“Oh yeah?” you shoot back, barely suppressing a laugh. “Says the guy who puts honey in his coffee.

Jude shakes his head, chuckling as he stirs the honey into his mug. “Is it that bad?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You shrug, fighting back a grin. “I mean, I wouldn’t say bad. Just...no okay it's actually bad.”

Jude groans dramatically, hand over his heart as if your words wounded him. “Wow. First thing in the morning, and you’re already coming for me.”

After a moment, you set your mug down and glance at him. “What do you want for breakfast? Or are we just surviving on caffeine today?”

Jude’s lips curve into a small, thoughtful smile. “Surviving on caffeine sounds very me,” he admits. Then, after a beat, he straightens and adds, “But pancakes sound better.”

“Pancakes?” you say, arching a brow. “Aren't you the man who claims he doesn’t need breakfast?”

“I’m evolving,” he says, feigning a look of mock importance. “Also, I think we have chocolate chips in the pantry.”

You laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately. “Chocolate chip pancakes at dawn? I really am impressed.”

He nudges your side playfully, grinning. “Come on, let’s do it. We’ll make them quick. I’ll even let you flip them.”

“Generous of you,” you tease, already moving toward the pantry.

The only sounds are the soft clatter of bowls and utensils as the two of you work together, gathering ingredients and mixing the batter. Jude insists he’s got the perfect pancake recipe memorized, but you end up adding a little extra milk to the bowl when he’s not looking, just to mess with him.

“What did you just do?” he asks, squinting at you suspiciously as you stir.

“Nothing,” you say innocently, biting back a grin. “Just making sure it’s not too thick.”

He narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t argue, instead grabbing a ladle and heating the pan. “Alright, let’s see how this goes.”

The first pancake comes out a little lopsided, and you burst into laughter as Jude flips it onto a plate with exaggerated precision.

“Hey,” he says, pointing the spatula at you, “it’s not about how it looks—it’s about how it tastes.”

“Sure, Chef Jude,” you reply, still laughing as you lean against the counter, watching him pour the next one.

The second pancake is better—golden brown and perfectly round—and by the time the stack is finished, the kitchen smells like warm batter and melted chocolate. Jude sets the plate on the table with a triumphant flourish, and you grab two forks, sliding into a chair beside him.

Jude nudges your foot under the table, catching your eye as he chews his first bite.

“Not bad, huh?” he says, grinning.

You smile back, warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the pancakes. “Not bad at all.”

You pause eating and carefully set the little fork down on your plate. Looking at him, you offer a gentle smile, hoping to ease the weight of the long night.

“You’re going to do great today. I just know it.”

He slowly reaches out, his fingers brushing your nose and then your cheek. After a moment, his hand settles softly on yours.

"I hope your predictions are right, then"

[pankowperfection]

His to Keep

Warnings: slightly dark JJ, branding, oral (f receiving), possessive JJ, 18+

A/N: haven't written anything in a while so please be nice. Unedited

You'd hurried to keep up with him as he ran away from the council meeting, the intent to cause some trouble clear in his eyes. You knew you shouldn't leave him alone which is why you found yourself standing idly by, watching in equal parts awe and horror as he took his rage out.

You'd never seen him like this, so reckless and angry. You hated to admit it but a very small part of you was extremely turned on at the sight of him losing control.

After what felt like hours you had finally convinced him to head to your secret hide out, the perfect spot to lay low until the heat died down.

He was pacing back and forth, clearly still extremely upset about what had gone down.

"I am just so sick of this shit y/n. I never get to keep anything, it all always manages to slip right through my fingers."

He still had that wild look in his eyes. Sweat coating his tan skin, hair perfectly messy. He'd honestly never looked sexier.

"That's not true J and you know it," you attempt to reason with him. "Just look. I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere."

He gives you a dark chuckle, shadows dancing in his blue eyes in a way that makes him look nothing like the care-free surfer boy you were used to dealing with.

"Right. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before you leave too. Everyone always does."

He turns his back to you, leaning into the window frame and watching for any signs of trouble below. The way his shirt is clinging to his muscular back has your thoughts racing, desperate to find a way to calm him down.

An idea starts to form in the back of your mind, the image of him with the flame from the lighter dancing in his eyes flickering through your head, reminding you of the heat that had flushed through your system while you watched him take his own twisted sense of justice.

"I'm not going anywhere JJ. Let me prove it to you."

You quickly walk over to him, fishing around in his pocket before finding the lighter. You can see the questions dancing through his mind, wondering what you could possibly be up to. You hold it up between the two of you, knowing what you need to do to prove your loyalty.

"Mark me. Brand me with your ring so that everyone knows that I belong to you. That you own me. Permanently."

His pupils dilate, the black almost overtaking the blue as he scans your face for any kind of uncertainty. When he doesn't find any you watch the hunger take over. His lips are on you in an instant, tongue tracing the seam of your lips before demanding entry as he walks you back to the couch.

He quickly comes down on top of you, one hand tangling in your hair to angle your head just how he wants. His mouth leaves a blazing path down the column of your throat, nipping and sucking deep bruises into your skin. You know your panties are ruined, a few kisses from JJ and you could already feel the band tightening in your core.

"Fuck J, feels so good. I need you."

You feel him smirk against your skin, making quick work of your flimsy crop top to continue his handiwork. Each breast gets equal attention, teasing licks and kisses over your nipples before he sucks harshly, bruises forming instantly from the intense pressure. The build up has you babbling nonsense, begging him to please do something.

"Such a good girl f'me y/n," he whispers into your ear, his ringed fingers slowly climbing up the sensitive skin over the inside of your thigh. The cool metal makes you shiver, goosebumps spreading as he starts to slide down your body. Your knees part for him on instinct, hips arching up in search of the friction you desperately need.

He peels your shorts and panties off in one smooth motion, settling onto his knees between your parted legs. His broad shoulders pin you in place, not a single chance of getting away which only makes you wetter. You're unable to look away as his mouth trails up higher and higher, his warm breath tickling your aching pussy.

Without breaking eye contact he slides his signature ring off his finger, holding it with the end of his shirt before holding it in the flame from the lighter. The sight itself is enough to have you clenching around nothing, the warm colors from the flames bathing his tan skin in an orange glow.

"Eyes on me sweetheart," he commands, leaning down to lick an agonizingly slow stripe from your hole to your clit. Your body trembles at the simple touch, bolts of pleasure shooting straight to your pussy.

He wastes no time getting to work, his skilled tongue knowing just how to drive you crazy. The flattened surface of his tongue flicking over your clit has your eyes threatening to roll, legs starting to shake with how close to your release you are already.

At the exact right moment he presses the hot metal into the skin of your inner thigh. His free hand joins the mix, two fingers roughly thrusting into you. The pleasure mixed with the pain sends you right over the edge, falling apart with a scream as you watch him brand you.

The way his eyes are glued to his mark on your skin is one of the hottest things you've ever seen. His breathing is almost as ragged as yours, the tent in his shorts a tell tale sign of just how much he enjoyed marking you as his. By the feral look in his eyes you knew the night was far from over, hoping you had enough energy to show him just how devoted you are to being his.

[fairykukla]

Ok, let me make something clear:

Plastic cases are not the problem.

On a quality modern sewing machine, one that is sold through a dealership, there's a solid metal framework inside the machine. The plastic cover comes off, and the motor, shafts, etc are all connected to a metal (usually steel or cast aluminum) framework. In the old days, this framework was part of the shell of the machine.

This is good.

It means that it's easier to remove lint and debris, easier to access any electronic parts, and easier to check and set the timing of the machine, the hook/needle clearance, and the feed timing. It's easier to reach areas that need to be lubricated. It also makes it way easier to replace any parts that get damaged or worn out.

However, the machines you see on the shelf at w@lmart have plastic cases, but no internal framework. Service techs can open up the plastic casing, but the guts of the machine are attached to the back half of the case.

This is bad.

These are machines that won't last long. That's why they're so cheap! I think the intention is to make a disposable sewing machine for people who want to make a couple of projects and then set it in a closet for 20 years, or just throw it away. Some of those machines have a metal-tipped PLASTIC HOOK instead of a metal hook and it makes me cry.

Unfortunately, that's not how such machines are marketed. If you like to sew, if you're making things to sell, if you're a quilter or a cosplayer or a fashion designer, you might mistakenly buy one of these disposable machines and then wonder why it's a total piece of crap.

Also, the two examples given in photos are a hand-crank machine (not electric) and a modern machine with the Singer logo. The Singer Sewing Machine company no longer exists. The name was sold to a big conglomerate and exploited today to make people believe they're buying a "real" singer. I have a whole separate rant about that.

There are still hand crank machines today, in fact I own a Harris hand-crank model from the 1920s that I acquired for a Steampunk project. It does sew, but I'm faster with a needle and thread in my hand. It is all-metal and weighs enough to be a boat anchor. I can't lift it by myself anymore. It may actually be heavier than my 6 needle professional embroidery machine.

And the truth is that the machine doesn't have to be physically heavy to be a good solid workhorse of a machine. The outer casing just needs to protect the important bits inside, such as the metal framework that holds all the machine bits in place.

How do I know? I'm a sewing machine repair tech, educator, and enthusiast. I've been working for a sewing machine dealership for over 20 years.

Do you think the people who design modern sewing machines in plastic cases ever feel insignificant because of it? knowing that they're making machines with the lifespan of a dog when they could (if they'd been born a few generations earlier) be making machines with the lifespan of a Galapagos tortoise?

[alchemistc]

Buck's halfway through his third cup of startlingly bad coffee when Josh pushes the door to the breakroom open, looking mildly concerned in the half second before someone else looms over his shoulder.

He's too numb to do much more than take another sip of coffee as he watches Josh usher Tommy in.

The door clicks shut behind him. Buck wonders for a moment if Tommy's ever actually been to the new dispatch headquarters before. If he ever went to the old one, charming grin on his face while he waited for Abby to finish up so he could take her out, drive her home while her car was in the shop - but no, Tommy would have worked on it himself, maybe.

Had Josh recognized him, that first time, with half of his soot on Buck's face, and just never said anything?

The silence is tense. They're in a fishbowl, no room to lash out even if either of them wanted to because more than half the people working in this place can see them if they just tip their head to the side.

"How can I help?"

It's - his voice is strained, scared, worried. Buck doesn't have a single guess as to how he knows. Maybe Bobby. It's the only person he can think of who would have -.

Buck snorts. "I rebounded with a serial killer who just kidnapped my sister and my baby niece or nephew. I don't - I'm not sure what you want."

He glances up just in time to see the end of Tommy's grimace. Good. He's not sure how much more disastrous of a choice he could have made to try to get Tommy out of his system, but at least it hurts him to know. At least...

"Do you want me to go?"

Buck can't remember anyone asking, before. Usually they just... leave. Get up, walk out, disappear. Tommy bubbled Buck five times in three months. Buck went through seven bags of flour before he drove Eddie to the airport.

His voice shakes on his "No," and Tommy is there, all of the sudden, his hand hovering just over Buck's shoulder, like he realized halfway there it might not be welcome. "Do you still think I need to keep looking for someone better than you?"

It'd been seeing Tommy out with a guy that'd prompted him to stop fucking baking and make an effort to just...get over it But with Eddie away, and the rest of the 118 so wrapped up in their lives, there weren't a whole lot of outlets for that. And it's been easy to willfully misinterpret Tommy's breakup speech. Or - interpret it in the most hurtful way possible.

"Is this what you want to do right now?" Tommy asks, even and measured. "Will this help?"

"I want my sister back!"

Tommy takes a step back. His hands shift to his pockets, and Buck just wants -

"Why are you here?"

He tips his head up. Holds Tommy's gaze. Tommy flounders in a way Buck's never seen before.

He looks - tired. Good. White Henley under a flannel Buck had always told him brought out his eyes. The jeans Buck had stolen once or twice because they made his ass look good. His hair's grown in at the sides, and the sprinkling of greys are more obvious than the last time he'd seen it this length.

"I just... didn't want you to be alone."

Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. He wants to laugh, but he's terrified if he starts he won't be able to hold in the fear. "When did that change?"

Tommy gnaws on his cheek. "You have so many people, Buck. You have -."

"I don't want emotional repression Tommy here, so if you're just here to keep me distracted until someone else can be here you should just... go."

Something flashes in his gaze. Anger, maybe. Terror.

"Please let me stay."

It hurts, to hear it. It hurts to hear the trepidation in his voice as he says it. Buck just wants to pull him in, tuck his face into the curve of his neck, soak in the warmth of his arms.

Buck spends too long staring at his knees. Long enough for Tommy to shift, to sigh, to nod his head decisively out of the corner of Buck's eye.

The word is stuck in his throat. Has been for months, since Tommy looked at him with teary eyes and walked away.

"I won't be able to let you go again."

He's already half turned away. Buck can only see half his expression as his eyes dip closed. He swallows. Nods, again.

Buck can't watch him push back through that door, so he stares at the toes of his boots until his vision starts to blur.

A second pair of toes swim into his eyeline. A hand shifts through his curls, snagging on knots, digging towards his scalp, and he can't quite bite back the sob. The arms that reach for him are warm, big and familiar, and Buck gives himself over to the panic and the fear that have been clawing at his chest for hours now. Tommy says something - whispers it into the air above Buck's head over and over, but Buck can't - he just -

He presses his face into Tommy's stomach, digs his fingers into the back of his shirt, sucks in horrible, gasping breaths. It's not enough. Nothing will be until he's got Maddie in his arms.

But it's more than he had an hour ago.

"Stay," he manages, and Tommy's fingers curl around Buck's neck and hold.

[mwuaferrari]

FERRARI GIRL - LANDO NORRIS

summary: at carlos sainz's birthday party, lando meets a captivating woman who is part of carlos' close circle of friends. Instantly struck by her warmth and confidence, lando finds himself drawn to her in ways he doesn't fully understand.

pairing: lando norris x reader

warning: english is not my native language, so any spelling or writing error is the fault of the translator hehe.

I´M BAAAAACK

The place was alive with energy, music echoing through the spacious villa and laughter spilling out into the night air. Carlos’ birthday celebrations were in full swing, and his closest friends and family mingled effortlessly, drinks in hand and smiles on their faces.

She arrived late, fashionably so, stepping through the wide-open doors with a casual confidence that immediately drew attention. Carlos spotted her from across the room and waved her over enthusiastically, his arm slung over the shoulders of another friend.

“¡Por fin llegas!” (you finally arrive!) Carlos exclaimed, greeting her with a tight hug. “Ya estaba pensando que te olvidaste de mi cumpleaños” (I was starting to think you’d forgotten my birthday)

“Jamás” (never) she replied, grinning. “Me atrasé por el trabajo, pero sabes que no me lo perdería por nada” (Got held up at work, but I wouldn’t miss this.

He introduced her to the group around him, most of whom she already knew, except for one. Lando Norris.

Lando was mid-sip of his drink when Carlos gestured toward him. “And this is Lando—he’s part of the family now, I guess. You probably know who he is.”

She turned to him, her smile widening in recognition. “McLaren´s golden boy?”

Lando chuckled softly, setting his glass down. “Guilty as charged,” he said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She shook his hand, her grip firm but friendly. There was something about her that caught him off guard—a mix of confidence and warmth, paired with a sparkle in her eye that made him forget for a moment how to speak.

Carlos, blissfully unaware of the silent exchange, clapped Lando on the back. “Don’t let him fool you; he’s way more interesting off the track than on it.”

She raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Oh? Care to elaborate?”

Lando blushed slightly, waving off Carlos’ teasing. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to embarrass me.”

Carlos laughed and turned his attention back to the group, leaving Lando and her to chat.

“So,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “What’s it like being part of the ‘family’ Carlos talks about? He’s so annoying, isn’t he?”

Lando relaxed a little at her lighthearted tone. “Oh, you have no idea. But I guess he’s worth the chaos. What about you? How do you survive being in this group?”

“Years of practice,” she replied with a mock-serious expression. “It’s all about knowing when to dodge Carlos’ pranks and when to just give in.”

Lando laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other survival tips?”

“Plenty,” she said, her smile teasing. “But you’ll have to stick around long enough to learn them all.”

Lando felt his heart skip a beat at her words, though he quickly tried to mask it with a confident grin. “Challenge accepted.”

They continued talking, the noise of the party fading into the background as they delved into an easy, flowing conversation. For the first time in a while, Lando found himself genuinely captivated—not by a race, not by a victory, but by someone who seemed to see him as just another guy at a party.

And as the night wore on, he couldn’t help but think this might be the best birthday party he’d ever attended—not because of the celebration itself, but because he’d met her.

…

The days following Carlos’ birthday party felt like a blur for Lando. Between training sessions, media obligations, and sponsor meetings, his mind was on autopilot. Yet, every now and then, a thought would creep in, derailing his focus entirely: her smile.

It wasn’t just her smile, though. It was the way she spoke with an ease that put him at peace, the way she teased Carlos as though she’d known him forever, and the way her eyes seemed to hold a quiet depth, as if she understood the world in ways others didn’t.

He found himself scrolling mindlessly through his phone one evening, laying on the couch in his apartment, the TV murmuring in the background. His thumb hovered over Carlos’ contact. Should I? he thought. Asking for her number felt… bold. Presumptuous, even.

“Mate, just do it,” he muttered to himself, groaning as he dropped the phone onto his chest. “It’s not a big deal.” Except, to him, it was.

After another ten minutes of mental back-and-forth, Lando sat up abruptly, picking up his phone again and tapping Carlos’ name. He typed a message, erased it, typed it again, and then sighed heavily before hitting send.

Lando: Hey, Carlos. Random question, but do you think you could give me your friend’s number? The one from your party? No worries if not.

The response came quicker than expected.

Carlos: Which one? You mean y/n?

Lando’s pulse quickened.

Lando: Yeah, her. If it’s okay with her, of course.

Carlos didn’t reply right away, and in that silence, Lando second-guessed every choice that had led to this moment. He was about to follow up, maybe even backpedal entirely, when his phone buzzed.

Carlos: She said it’s fine. Here you go…

Lando stared at the screen, his heart doing an odd little flip. She’d said yes. That had to be a good sign, right? He copied the number into his contacts, hesitating again as he stared at her name.

What should he say? Something casual? Something funny?

After a moment, he typed out a message and hit send before he could overthink it any more.

Lando: Hey, it’s Lando. Carlos gave me your number, hope that’s okay. I just thought it’d be nice to keep in touch.

The seconds ticked by, and he was already regretting his choice of words when his phone buzzed.

Y/n: Hey! Of course it’s okay. I was wondering when I’d hear from you.

Lando let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a grin spreading across his face. Maybe this wasn’t so scary after all.

…

Lando was lounging on the plush sofa in McLaren's team lounge, his legs stretched out lazily as he typed away on his phone. A small, content smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he read her latest reply.

Y/n: Wait, so you actually thought pineapple on pizza was a good idea?

He chuckled softly, quickly firing back a reply.

Lando: Listen, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Elite taste buds only.

He could almost picture her rolling her eyes as she typed her response, and the thought made his grin widen.

“Alright, mate. Who’s got you looking like that?” Max Fewtrell’s voice cut through Lando’s bubble, teasing and curious.

Lando jolted slightly, instinctively locking his phone screen as if he’d been caught doing something incriminating. “What are you on about?” he asked, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant.

Max plopped down on the sofa beside him, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been sitting there smiling at your phone like some lovesick teenager for the last ten minutes. Spill.”

“I’m not—” Lando started, but Max gave him a knowing look, arms crossed, waiting. Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. It’s just... someone I met recently.”

Max’s face lit up with excitement. “Ah-ha! I knew it. Who is she? Is she fit? Of course she’s fit—she’s got you giggling like an idiot.”

Lando groaned, trying to dodge the interrogation. “Can you not make this a thing? It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, it’s a thing,” Max countered, grinning. “So, where’d you meet her? Tell me everything. What’s her name? Does she know you’re you?”

Lando rolled his eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. “She’s a friend of Carlos’,” he admitted reluctantly. “We met at his birthday party.”

Max leaned back, nodding approvingly. “A friend of Carlos’. Okay, solid start. So, what’s the game plan? When are you seeing her again?”

“Don’t know yet,” Lando said, glancing back at his phone when it buzzed. Her latest message lit up his screen.

Y/n: You’re lucky you’re funny, Norris. I’ll let this pineapple thing slide….for now.

The smile returned to his face before he could help it.

Max smirked. “Mate, you’ve got it bad. Just don’t screw it up, yeah?”

Lando shook his head, chuckling. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Max.”

Max gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Anytime, lover boy. Anytime.”

…

Then the day came. After weeks of messaging and playful banter through their phones, he was finally going to see her again. Lando had tried not to think too much about it, but now that the moment had arrived, he felt the same nervousness he had when they first met at Carlos's party.

The paddock was its usual whirlwind of activity, with mechanics, drivers, and journalists rushing around. She was leaning casually against a barrier, chatting animatedly with Carlos and another friend from their group. On her head, she wore a red Ferrari cap emblazoned with the number 55—a clear sign of her loyalty to the Spanish driver.

Lando spotted her from the other side of the paddock. His heart was racing faster than he’d like to admit. He had managed to greet her that morning with a barely audible “hi” before she turned her attention back to Carlos, and since then, he hadn’t been able to shake the thought of going up to her.

“Come on, mate, just go say hi. She won’t bite,” Max Fewtrell said, grinning as he toyed with a water bottle beside Lando.

“Easier said than done,” Lando muttered, scratching the back of his neck, trying to look distracted.

“For crying out loud, you’re a Formula 1 driver. You literally race at 300 kilometers an hour, and you can’t walk ten steps to talk to a girl? Pathetic.”

“She’s not just any girl,” Lando mumbled, his gaze inevitably drifting back to her. She was laughing at something Carlos had said, her smile lighting up the space around her—or at least that’s how it seemed to him.

Max let out an exaggerated sigh and gave him a friendly shove. “Then do something. Or I’ll go over there and tell her you’ve been standing here like an idiot, staring at her.”

“Don’t you dare!” Lando whipped around, alarmed.

Max burst out laughing, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, mate. But seriously, don’t waste time. It’s not like Carlos is going to hand-deliver her to you. Make a move already.”

Taking a deep breath, Lando grabbed his orange McLaren cap from his back pocket and started walking toward her. Each step felt heavier than the last, like he was carrying the weight of the entire paddock on his shoulders.

By the time he reached her, she was still engrossed in her conversation, completely unaware of his presence. Carlos noticed him first, a knowing smirk spreading across his face.

“Hey, Lando. What are you doing just standing there?” Carlos teased, dragging out his words with obvious intent, clearly enjoying the moment.

She turned then, her eyes locking with Lando’s. “Oh, hi, Lando!” she greeted him with the same warmth she always did.

For a moment, Lando froze, his mind completely blank. Finally, he raised the orange cap in his hand. “I think you’re wearing the wrong hat.” Before she could react, he swiftly swapped her Ferrari cap for his McLaren one.

She blinked, momentarily stunned, before bursting into laughter. “Oh, really? Is this some kind of declaration of war?”

“Something like that,” Lando replied, scratching the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks flush. Carlos chuckled and walked away, leaving them to it.

She adjusted the orange cap, looking at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Bad boy isn’t really your vibe, but I appreciate the effort.”

Lando relaxed a little at her laugh. “Well, someone had to save you from that awful red cap.”

“Awful?” she said, feigning offense, though her smile betrayed her. “I guess I’ll have to get my cap back by any means necessary.”

“Good luck with that.” Lando finally grinned, the initial awkwardness melting away bit by bit.

It was a small gesture, just a simple exchange of words, but in that moment, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in the midst of the chaos.

[reignpage]

Hi!! If you have the time- how would the jjk guys react to the reader giving them the silent treatment?

I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Gojo:

Would try to make you laugh at first When that doesn't work and he notices you're just getting more irritated, he'd start bribing you Buys you flowers, handbags, dresses, jewellery you name it If you're still silent, then he'll go deadly serious Would confront you in the dark, sitting on the sofa like he's been waiting for hours 'Is there nothing I can do? Are we done for good? Are you leaving me too?'

Geto:

Gets snarky Two can play that game He's not the calm and patient guy everyone thinks he is He just reacts in subtle ways Makes passive-aggressive comments But eventually will get tired, sighs and just asks you straight up what he did wrong 'Alright, what happened? Let me inside that head of yours.'

Choso:

Keeps asking you what's wrong Gets really sad and depressed Very much kicked puppy vibes Just follows you around everywhere Until you crack 'I didn't know what I did but I'm sorry. Please talk to me? I'm scared'

Toji:

LOL LMFAO ROFL This man would be soooo annoying He'd be smug as hell at first Says shit like 'It's nice to have peace and quiet here' 'You should get mad at me more often ma' BUT eventually realising you're not gonna crack He'll start to get nervous Starts cleaning up after himself Double checks to make sure the trash is out, he hasn't left any dishes in the sink, didn't miss any appointments or anniversaries etc etc Would send Megumi in to get a feel for your mood 'make yourself extra cute kid' 'ask her why she isn't speaking to me. no don't tell her I told you to. whose side are you on?'

Nanami:

Would ask you immediately if there's something wrong Is so mature and healthy it's irritating 'please communicate with me, darling. I can't apologise and fix whatever I ruined if you don't talk to me.' Eventually, he'll give you space But then you'll start feeling really bad because he'll assume that you hate him or something Like, he'll start buying sandwiches to take to work cause he thinks you won't make lunch for him like normal or sleeps on the couch eats dinner and watches shows by himself so you cave first and the smile he gives you is so worth it

Sukuna:

Doesn't notice a thing at first He isn't the type to be clingy, he's not the affectionate one, he mostly returns it So there'll just be a period of silence Until he begins to feel your absence in which case he'll seek you out and then becomes the clingy one 'it is a pleasant day out, would you care to join me for a stroll? gets sooo offended if you don't say anything 'no? would you prefer to stroll with someone else? tell me who and they will be killed. in fact, continue to remain in silence and everyone will be killed.'

Yuji:

Confused :0 asks Nobara for advice 'you're a girl, she's a girl. so tell me what's going on' 'is it the time of the month?' uses loads of different tricks to make you break performs dances and skits gets Gojo involved tries to get Megumi involved (no chance) he's so stupid you just have to cave and explain he's an idiot and he'll nod happily

Megumi:

yeahhhhhh you'll be having a silent off for days and weeks you'll both continue to co-exist in silence it's just not smart

Inumaki:

annoying as hell texts you shit like: 'when she copies you' 'ho is u good?' 'can you be original at least?' when that doesn't work he'll break into your social media or gaming accounts right in front of you and threatens to release a post pretending to be you like 'you know, hitler wasn't that bad' or an ugly picture of you then you'll have to cave and he gets so caught up in the victory, he'll accidentally post it yep, he's a dead man walking

[incrediblyaccuratethoughts]

Added another chapter, here we goooo ~~

-

Tim stepped out of the Batcave to grab himself a coffee. He was gone for 10 minutes.

So tell him why as soon as he closes the entrance, he's accosted with the sound of Jason and Damian bickering over the bat computer. The computer he’d been using for the past 5 hours to try and solve an ongoing trafficking ring.

“I told you my fucking number and I’m no liar,” Jason grumbles.

“Shut it Todd, I’m concentrating.”

Why does this always happen to Tim? What god did he piss off enough to regularly put him in the room when his brothers are arguing? What did he do to deserve such slander??

“You wouldn't have to concentrate if you just believed me-” Jason snaps, as Tim starts to make his way down the staircase, quietly stepping between shadows to avoid being seen.

“I refuse to believe that you’ve killed that many people since you were revived.”

“I’mma crime lord, brat. I’ve killed a lot of fucking people. Not to mention the Pit Rage.”

When Tim gets his first peak of the Bat Computer, he doesn't know why he bothered to be sneaky. At a first glance, Jason looks casually relaxed, his feet up on the desk, but his shoulders are tight and his attention is focused on whatever the hell Damian is doing.

Did Tim mention that he didn’t like where this is going? He would like it on record that he doesn't like this one bit.

“Pit Rage or not, that’s a preposterous number.”

“And that’s a good enough reason to hack into the Watchtower for all the information they have on the League of Assassins?”

Oh shit. Oh fuck .

“Father has encrypted folders stored in their databases holding detailed information pertaining to the League of Assassins." Damian sniffs, "If the information we seek is anywhere, it’ll be there.”

Nope, Tim is definitely not a fan of this development. He’d been meaning to see if he could get to that particular file and erase all mentions of Ra’s obsession with him. Tim just hadn’t gotten around to it.

“And you’re what? Going to hack past Oracle?”

“No,” Damian scoffs, “I know the password.”

Tim scrambles for his phone. It’s not his favorite device to hack from but dammit, needs must.

"How the hell did you manage that?"

"As if I'd tell you."

“Sneaky little shit.” Jason sounds begrudgingly impressed.

For a few moments, the cave is filled with the sound of aggressive typing, before Damian makes a small, pleased noise.

“I’m in.”

From this angle he can’t see what Damian typed, but Tim has been breaking into shit he shouldn’t for longer than he should have been able to. He’s just gotta get in before they can download something they shouldn’t.

“Great, where’s the LOA files? Do they even have the LOA files?”

“Of course they do, the watchtower is updated on every major server-”

Tim frantically pulls up backdoors and firewall scanners, hoping he can slip his way inside despite not being connected to a direct network.

“What’s that?”

“We have a task, Todd. Try to stay focused.”

“No, go back. I’ve never seen that before.”

Damian scoffs, but returns to a file labeled, 'The Detective - Project Failed’

See, this is why Tim can’t have nice things. Every time he lets his guard down for even a second, a meddling brother fucks it up for him. Truly a tragic life he leads.

“It’s nothing important. Clearly it wasn’t successful-”

“Open it.”

“This is not a leisurely perusement of information, Todd. We have a task to fulfill.”

“The file was created two years ago. That’s too recent to have been Bruce.”

Damian pauses, cursor hovering over the file. Tim hopes with everything he has that the kid will ignore Jason’s request.

But of course, because the universe hates him, Damian clicks it.

The Detective

Age: 17

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 131 lbs

"I fucking told you it wasn't Batman. That's Robin levels of scrawny."

"I applaud your clearly superior intellect, Todd." Damian drawls.

"Who the hell taught you sarcasm?"

“I didn’t need to be taught, unlike some.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don't see how this is relevant.”

ABILITIES:

Trained by Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, Lady Shiva

Martial arts disciplines including but not limited to:

Kung Fu, Aikido, Jeet Kune Do, Escrima, Krav Maga, Tae Kwon Do, Judo, Wing Chun, Hapkido, Karate, Savate, Kendo, Ninjitsu, Tai Chi, Leopard Kung Fu and Biangan.

Prefered Weapon

Bow staff

Highly skilled combatant

Master Detective, Tactician, and Strategist

Gifted Intellect

Excels in computer science and inventions

Firm grasp of assorted scientific techniques including biology, engineering genetics, forensic, criminology, acrobatics, stealth, disguise, and escapology.

"So I know I made a joke about this being a Robin, but…" Jason trails off.

"These descriptions are too specific." Damien agrees.

AFFILIATIONS:

Batman and his associates

Leader of Young Justice

Leader of Teen Titans

Justice League associates

League of Assassins associates

"Which fucking Robin worked with Ra's of all people?"

"I am the heir of-"

"Tell me when exactly you lead Young Justice."

“Tch.” Damain scoffs.

PERSONAL CONNECTIONS:

Janet Drake (Mother): Dead

Jack Drake (Father): Dead

Eddie Drake (Uncle): Fake Identity

"Oh fuck ." Jason breathes.

ALIAS:

Timothy (Tim) Jackson Drake-Wayne

Robin - Boy Wonder

Red Robin

The Detective

Alvin Draper

"What kind of alias is Alvin ? What the fuck?"

History:

Defeated King Snake (assisted)

Defeated Clusmaster (alone)

Escaped Bane and Killer Croc (alone)

Defeated Firefly (alone)

'Zero Hour'

Defeated KGBeast (alone)

Kidnapped by Zeus - (escaped alone)

First contact with LOA - apocalypse virus

Defeated Cluemasrer (alone)

Lead Young Justice

'No Man's Land'

Defeated Mr. Freeze and Ratcatcher (alone)

Defeated Darkseid (assisted)

'Titans Tomorrow'

Defended Bludhaven from OMAC's (assisted)

Defeated Secret Society of Super Villains (assisted)

Reassembled Teen Titans

Defeated Obeah Man (alone)

LOA affiliation - Objective: [REDACTED]

“No fucking way.” Jason breathes, and judging by Damain’s silence, he shares Jason’s sentiment.

Tim’s frantic typing is yielding no results. Fuck .

“I didn’t think the kid had it in him.”

“I was not aware that Drake was so… versatile in his skills.”

“That’s a fancy fucking way of saying he’s got a rap sheet longer than Santa’s naughty list.”

“He didn’t strike me as the type to work with Grandfather.”

“Yeah, no shit. When did that even happen?”

“By the dates, it would have been during Father’s disappearance into the time stream.”

“ Oh my fucking god .”

Classification: Potential Heir

Mission Success Rate: 98%

Active Member: N/A

Time of Service: 1y 2m 15d

Kill Count: 8,528

“That number can’t possibly be right.”

“Holy fuck, that’s a higher kill count than me .”

“I refuse to believe this. We need more evidence.” Damian states, scrolling down to the detailed notes.

“He blew up a League base?”

“Not just one. He blew up 7.”

“I don’t understand how he would have had the information-”

Tim’s phone vibrates as finally gains access to the Watchtower. It’s too late to have kept his brothers from seeing what they did, but that doesn’t mean he can’t bury his file.

“It says he that he was favored by Ra’s and… that bastard wanted him to be the next Demon’s Head? What the hell did Timmy do ?”

“I don’t understand.”

The data starts disappearing, and Tim clears his throat. His brothers turn around, staring wide-eyed at Tim’s blank face.

His heart is in his throat and his hands are shaking, but he forces a smirk.

“No one will ever believe you.”

Tim turns and sprints for the door.

Without the copies stored away in the watchtower database, his brothers will be hard-pressed to come up with proof about his crimes and really, he’s heard far too many comments about him being one of the more morally sound people in the family, so it’s not likely that his brothers will be taken seriously, but he's not sticking around long enough to get caught.

Tim’s escape lasts about five minutes.

It’s an epic five minutes, there’s a lot of sick flips and narrow misses involved, but by the end of it, the entire family is on the chase.

Which, Tim thinks wryly, is just fucking perfect as he wheezes under the weight of 200 pounds of sheer muscle.

“You have some fucking explaining to do, Timbo.” The jerk that’s currently crushing all of the air out of Tim’s lungs says, but all Tim can do is wheeze.

The weight lifts and oh . Fuck . Yeah, no wonder Tim was on the verge of breaking a rib, Jason was the one who tackled him.

Rude. Tim weighs like. A third of him. The man could at least pretend to use some constraint.

“Tell me why,” Jason starts in a dangerously low tone, “You have the highest kill count in this family.”

Tim tilts his head, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ Bull. Shit . Damian and I saw the fucking file. Deleting it doesn't change the facts.”

Tim's expression doesn't falter. He’s been rubbing elbows with high society since before he could walk. He’s well practiced in a poker face. “What file?”

Jason lunges for him.

A short scuffle later finds both Tim and Jason separated, Bruce with an arm across Jason’s chest and Dick bodily hauling Tim off the ground.

"What's going on?"

Ah shit, that's Bruce's Batman voice.

"Tim has a kill count higher than me." Jason immediately spits, the snitch.

"He worked with Grandfather."

"He blew up 7 league bases."

Every gaze in the room lands on Tim, and he sighs, admitting defeat and slumping in the hold Dick has him in. Damn the man and his octopus arms.

It was a good run. But the gig is up.

"I was in a… bad headspace." He shrugs ruefully, "Black Canary once told me that shared misery is halved misery.”

“Your ‘bad headspace’ lead to blowing up 7 League bases ?”

Tim shrugs. “In my defense, Ra’s is an asshole who has my spleen in a jar. I think he deserves it.”

The arms tighten around Tim, “He has what -”

”Your spleen ?”

“That does sound indicative of Grandfather’s behavior.”

“What the actual fuck, replacement.”

"You have some serious explaining to do." Bruce says, tone authoritative with no room for argument.

Tim sighs. He just wanted coffee.

An opinion. Jason was the only batkid who did not come with a pre-installed Kill option, that was downloaded, after death, while he was with the League. Dick, Tim and Damian, tho, they came with it, and Bruce had to learn to manually turn it off.

99% success rate with Dick and Damian.

76% success rate with Tim who has not killed anybody, but has contemplated it way too many times for Bruce to be comfortable with.

Edit: for all the people who keep saying "But Tim blew up the League bases with so many people," listen, if Bruce doesn't know, it didn't happen. Don't go snitching on my boy like that.

[r0-boat]

That time of the month guys, You know what I must do...

Whb Kings on your Period

All Kings x AFAB! reader NSFW No sex just extremely suggestive... Blame three individuals

....Wait a minute... If Lilith makes the kids does that mean demon women don't have periods? Probably looking too much into it...

Edit: This is supposed to be a fun post, But at the end of this, I went down several rabbit holes... Please don't be like me don't think 😭

Cw: mentions of pussy eating (You probably know who it is already lol), no . Suggestive,(alluding to sex on. But never happens because demons are fucking weird)

Satan

You're different somehow every month, and he can't put his finger on it. But your short-tempered rage makes him giggle like a teenager and kick his feet. You have such a low tolerance, super BS, and he loves that. And he wants to know why he never smelled this off Solomon before, so it must be you that's different. When Satan asks you, you sigh and put your hands to your mouth before giving him a 20-minute explanation.

...Holy shit? You're what now??? He thought humans creating little people it was crazy now what you're telling him is that humans have the power to shed their skin from the inside and shit it out??? Can he see it?!

... The mental image, He had and the real thing was not what he expected are you okay Oh my God there's so much again. He never wants to see that much blood come out of you ever again. The way you made this man fear more than any angel by that explanation alone. The way you have this man scampering to a human store to get whatever you ask to help ease the pain even if it's just for a little.

When he tells you that demon women don't have periods He swore your rage was emanating off you and Leviathan could probably feel you're jealousy from all the way in Hades.

Hi I think Satan using a period cramp simulator would be very funny and very entertaining...

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Satan: Would have the worst periods known to woman. The streets of Gehanna are deserted because the moment something slightly inconveniences her a whole building is collapsing. I wouldn't blame her, her period cramps will hurt worse than Gabriel stabbing a sword through her uterus before punching her in the gut.

Mammon

He'll buy you literally everything. It doesn't matter if you use tampons pads or cups because he's already bought everything. He's either got it from Lucifer or you made an offhand comment about it and he did his own research. He's very proud that he's prepared for his master.

Like he'll already get you everything But when you're on your period you actually have a reason to accept all his things especially if it's junk food. This is awesome! You're letting him pamper you!!! He wishes you can have periods all the time!

(one explanation later) What the fuck? Never mind. Aren't you scared of running out of blood?

He wish he could grant you something that take the way the pain and discomfort easily but Tartaros never really had that problem so they don't really have any solutions. Instead he'll just stick to spoiling you with food.

Watching Mamon's eyes go wide when he sees how much a tampon soaks up water is pretty funny.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Mammon: She hates it. She hates it so much that she spends the money and resources to immediately either go to the human world or recreate a Depo shot or an implant to get rid of it. And she regularly changes it when she has to.

Leviathan

He smelled blood and he thought you were going to get killed. He was literally ready to die protecting you. He was so angry that he got worked up over nothing at first until he saw how much pain you were in.

Beelzebub

Why does your body insist on doing something that harms itself Is it stupid or is your body hating you. If you insist on being useless then you can just lay in bed!

After the initial Levi snark is gone he comes back to check on you. He actually looks really worried and thinks you might die. Freaking out frantic calls tulucifer after initial back and forth Lucifer insists that what they're feeling is normal.

All of the novels will be looking after you He doesn't want you leaving the bed just in case you might trip and die or accidentally get yourself hurt. He genuinely thinks you might die.

He will silently open your door stare at you and see if you're doing all right and then close the door, Rinse and repeat until you either yell at him ask him what he's doing. He will either respond with arguing back.

Bonus non-canon:

Fem!Leviathan: when she's on her period you literally will never see her. She's so glad She connected her bathroom too her bedroom. It's because she sheds her scales she's not joking. She actually does shed her scales on her period Will she show you fuck no. The moment she starts bleeding you're never seeing her again until she stops.

Honestly he was zoning out through half of your explanation until you mention the actual 'bleeding' process. Then you just see him lean inward putting his chin on his hands. So you're telling him... There is a way to consume you without hurting you?

This fucker has to stay away from you 10 ft away. He is SOOOO on board with eating you out. Keep Guy 10 ft away from you He would be absolutely no help except for maybe eating junk food and bringing you snacks.

He will laugh at your horrid, disgusted face because he just loves your cute little reactions. He raises his hand during the lecture on human anatomy to the Kings, and you told him to put his hand back down because you're not answering any of his batshit questions because you know it's going to be the second worst thing you've ever heard.

Bonus non-cannon:

It's okay though he'll never remember you period though he will always know because he could smell it (insert that one meme) he'll deadass forget that humans can bleed like that and occasionally get scared to smell blood on you before remembering.

He's still this day wonders about us question "if He sucks it all out Would the period be over?"

Fem! Beel: she's lost so much of her cute underwear from being forgetful. I could definitely see her getting an implant or Depo so she doesn't have to remember, but she kind of already forgets her appointments, too.

Lucifer

Human menstrual cycle...He's not stupid He was part of the creation when God made humans to breed with one another. He not only sees it as a normal thing but something special that human women have that sets them apart from demons and angels.

He doesn't understand your disgust and hatred by something explicitly given to you and all human women by God.

He offers to change your mind as he gets on his knees and you start adamantly declining and screaming. Now he really is confused....

About half of the other devils are defending your case when Lucifer brings it up at the next meeting. Though it's so split down the middle they end up discussing that topic another time.

As an 'apology' he gives you a basket with a bouquet of white lilies, painkillers and some cut fruits with card telling you to not eat unhealthy foods since it tends to make the cramps worse. And he hopes you get better.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Lucifer: human female menstrual cycle yeah don't they also molt their feathers? No that's just an angel thing?? So demons also don't molt their feathers molting feathers is just an angel thing??? Other she would be super chill on her cramps, she doesn't even care.

Belphegor

The most normal, You want somewhere to rest? Lucky for you his bed is the softest in all of hell he'll make sure to take good care of you and by taking care of you he means sleeping and cuddling with you while his subordinates do all the work.

Periods actually sound like a pain in the ass He hopes he never has one You're absolutely welcome too crash at his place He understands completely about how things might be more irritating when you're constantly in pain.

Belphegor Actually really likes You're listlessness as much as he likes hard work He doesn't mind when you succumb to his sin a little bit. Especially when you're looking so cute laying on top of him. His phone screen is a picture of you smooshed against his chest with a hand on your head.

Another excuse to binge anime that he doesn't want to watch alone is a win in his book. He'll let you watch some of your favorites as well. He's not picky.

Beleth is in heaven taking care of and pampering you and his majesty. He just wish he could have you to himself for 'private' time.... menstruation? Lol a little blood isn't going to scare him.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Belphegor: Nope... The last time they had their first period was when they first woke up, never again... A thousand years of menstrual pain almost put her back to sleep. Ever since she'd been dying trying to get rid of this thing causing her pain as soon as she heard Lucifer can do implants and depots She was the first one who got it. If she ever gets off at again she'll experience the same exact piercing pain she felt.... but That sounds like a problem for her future self.

Asmodeus

He completely compliance but doesn't really understand He still doesn't. After having a wife who had to deal with periods. It's a complete natural thing for the human reproductive system. And oh boy you bet he knows all about that

"You know if you really don't like it I used to have a cure that can take it away for 9 months, Would you like one? Hahah just kidding dear!"

Asmodeus 🤝Lucifer🤝Beelzebub(I think you can fill in the blank)

In all seriousness he really doesn't understand why humans don't like something that's completely natural He understands devils because devils are just naive beings in general and only certain high level angels Who worked with God don't care...

Another Tally on the board that what Asmodeus has that human men lack. Apparently basic women anatomy knowledge.

As much as he would love to take care of you again since he hasn't done that since his last wife. He doesn't think the Kings fully trust him yet so presents it is. He can tell what phase in your cycle by just scent alone, and that's scary.

Bonus non-canon:

Fem!Asmodeus: She doesn't give a fuck You better be on top of her or else she's going to have a problem. She always feels so horny her period.She's horny all the time

"It's going to be a bloodbath >:)!"

"please stop saying that..."-MC

[ambitiousmars]

.☘︎ ݁˖ GENTLE precision

.☘︎ ݁˖ summary: viktor works in his own way. on the floor, in the dark, sometimes even in his sleep. but no matter the circumstances you'd hate for him to miss his morning coffee.

.☘︎ ݁˖ pairing: viktor x gn!reader

.☘︎ ݁˖ genre: fluff

.☘︎ ݁˖ warnings: no use of y/n, pure fluff, not proof read, based on season 1

I'll gently graze you, so you'll remember my touch. I'll softly speak to you, so you'll remember my voice while it's coaxing you rather than haunting you. And I'll remember you, so when you remember me, we'll remember us.

"Morning, Viktor." You greeted yourself as the door of the darkened lab clicked behind you, hand grazing against the wall to find the light switch.

"Keep them off," Viktor would urge, "Please." He'd mumble politely as a blue light sparked from the floor beside his chair.

"What are you working on?" You'd ask, making coordinated steps with coffee in each hand towards the sparking light.

You didn't know it could be so dark in a light room. The window looked as if it was the dead off night, and you clearly wouldn't know any better if he told you it was, in fact. Even if you were outside ten minutes prior.

One step: lies a cord notorious for being tripped on.

Picking your foot to place three more steps.

Where a table clock laid, broken glass facing down that no one bothered to pick up.

Picking up your foot, you took a few more steps before standing beside the busy man.

"I hope that's coffee I smell." Viktor whispered, not because he didn't want you to hear but because of how gentle he took your care. Whispering was a sign of vulnerability, not even he noticed about himself.

"Well, you always did get what you hoped for." You responded in the same tone, a smile evident in your voice as you lowered yourself to sit beside him.

He pulled away from whatever he was working on and removed the goggles he placed on his eyes to the floor beside him.

He reached a hand out to you, noticing you couldn't see him in the dark and you weren't even looking at him. He located your wrist to grasp lightly and slide the coffee from your hand before letting go.

"What are you working on?" You asked, moving your eyes back to him. As your eyes found his, you noticed the glisten in his eyes that still glowed through darkness, something you'd hate to miss.

He hummed through his sip off the hot beverage, letting you know he acknowledged your curiosity.

"Same thing I was working on yesterday,  and the day before..." He spoke, although not great with humor, you could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. As if he wanted you to laugh at the thing he found frustrating,  maybe to make it less frustrating for him.

"And why are we on the floor?"

'we.'

A simple word, a simple pronoun aimed at the two, now sat on the floor together.

"You can sit on a chair if you'd like." Viktor suggested.

'we.'

No one told you to sit on the floor.

"Then you'd be the only one sitting," You shook your head even when you knew he couldn't see it.

"And you'd be the only one standing." He whispered, more to himself than anything.

"Presicely."

Being alone was what he wanted, but being with you is what he craved. He didn't mind being accompanied on the floor by someone who doesn't mind accompanying him.

But it was far more than his presence, you'd hate to remember him by the man who was all alone unless you asked. You shouldn't have to ask, and he shouldn't have to answer.

Your hand found the air, with what you could see you brought it towards where you thought the shoulder of the man was. You were a bit far off until it landed on the fabric of his vest.

He didn't say anything, although he was curious he knew once you'd find what you were looking for, he'd know. Like now, when your hand glided across his chest to his right shoulder--letting your face follow where your hand went, you rested your cheek on his empty shoulder.

Which he allowed, as he sipped his coffee and thought about the question told once today.

"And why are you on the floor?"

[p0orbaby]

Can we still request blurbs???

If so, can I request something for Alessia x Reader who is Leah's sister and doesn't know they're dating with them putting in so much work to hide their relationship and slip up by kissing/making out near Leah and are just like 'oh shit, we didn't tell her...'

-

Hiding a relationship from Leah, your sister and part-time private investigator, is no small feat. It’s like trying to smuggle a giraffe through airport security. You and Alessia have managed it for six months—a masterclass in secret hand-holding, coded texts, and absolutely no public displays of affection.

Until today.

The plan is simple: brunch at your mum’s house, then a lazy Sunday afternoon spent in different rooms to avoid suspicion. Easy. Leah’s upstairs, rummaging through old boxes, and you and Alessia are in the kitchen, ostensibly “making tea.”

Except Alessia’s leaning against the counter, giving you that smile, the one that makes you forget about common sense, gravity, and the existence of Leah Williamson.

“You’re staring,” Alessia teases, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re beautiful,” you shoot back, stepping closer. It’s meant to sound cheeky, but your voice dips in that way it does when you’re hopelessly gone for her.

She laughs, the kind of laugh that’s half breath and entirely trouble. “We shouldn’t—”

You kiss her before she can finish. It’s instinctive, automatic, and utterly stupid because, in your head, the kitchen is still safe territory. A kiss here doesn’t count as reckless.

Except it does.

The kiss deepens. Alessia’s hands find your waist. Your fingers twist into her hair. Somewhere in the haze of it all, you hear the creak of the floorboards, but you don’t register it—

Until Leah’s voice cuts through the room like a whip.

“What. The actual. Hell”

You and Alessia spring apart so fast you nearly knock over the kettle. Leah’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her face a picture of pure disbelief.

“Leah!” you squeak, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly. “Didn’t hear you come down.”

“Clearly,” she deadpans, eyes darting between the two of you. “What’s going on here?”

Alessia looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole. “Um…”

“Making tea?” you offer, holding up an empty mug like it’s evidence of your innocence.

Leah raises an eyebrow. “By sticking your tongue down each other’s throats?”

Alessia coughs, going beetroot red. You rub the back of your neck, scrambling for an explanation that doesn’t sound insane.

“We were… just… um… testing boundaries?” you try, but even as you say it, you know it’s stupid.

“Boundaries?” Leah repeats, her voice climbing an octave.

There’s a long silence. The kettle boils. No one moves.

Finally, Alessia takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, so we’re together.”

Leah blinks. Once. Twice. “You’re what?”

“Together,” you repeat, because apparently you like living dangerously. “Have been for a while, actually”

Leah’s face shifts from shock to something resembling betrayal. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“We were going to,” Alessia says quickly. “Just, you know… not like this”

Leah looks between the two of you, her disbelief melting into something more familiar: exasperation. “So, let me get this straight. My sister and my teammate have been sneaking around for months, making out in kitchens, and thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“Pretty much,” you say, shrugging helplessly.

There’s another pause, and then, to your surprise, Leah bursts out laughing. It’s not a comforting laugh, though; it’s the kind of laugh that says you’re both idiots, and I’m going to make sure you know it.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” she says, grinning wickedly. “You realise you’ve just handed me months of blackmail material, right?”

“Leah—”

“No, no. Don’t worry.” She waves you off, still laughing. “I won’t tell Mum. Yet”

As she leaves the kitchen, you and Alessia exchange a look of pure horror.

“She’s never going to let this go, is she?” Alessia asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not in a million years,” you reply, groaning.

Somewhere upstairs, you hear Leah yell, “Hope the tea’s worth it!”

It’s not.

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Halo~~ can I request and Poly!Marauders (James, Sirius and Remus) x fem!reader? Where reader has recurring hypoglycemia and ends up standing the boys up on a date because her levels had been finicky all day and she forgot to tell them. So when they go find her to confront her about it they find her on the floor on like the verge of unconsciousness (or maybe she's already passed out) with dangerously low levels and help her like the good loving boyfriend's they are. Pretty please 🥺

Thank you for this request! I had fun with it, and I hope this works for you! 💞 Poly!marauders x fem!reader 💞 2.2k words

The sun dips lower in the sky, painting hues of lavender and pink across the horizon. It's the perfect backdrop for the evening you've been anticipating all week with James, Sirius, and Remus—a night filled with laughter and camaraderie. They've planned something big, no doubt; James has been jokingly boasting about his "romantic genius," while Sirius grins like a Cheshire cat and Remus rolls his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Their good humour is infectious, and you can't help but look forward to whatever they have in store.

But today, your body doesn't seem to be on the same page as your mind. You've woken up with trembling hands and a light head, your blood sugar levels fluctuating in a way that makes your stomach churn. You're not new to hypoglycaemia—you've had episodes before, each one leaving you weak and shaky—but today it lingers, refusing to let go despite your best efforts to stabilise it. You push through, hoping to shake it off, but the fatigue clings to you like a second skin, weighing you down.

"Just a little rest," you tell yourself, sinking into the couch. "I'll feel better after."

Setting an alarm, you allow your eyes to flutter closed, promising yourself that it's only for a moment before you get ready. You know you should let the boys in on what's happening, but the thought of explaining—of offering up excuses yet again—seems too daunting. Too draining. Instead, you tell yourself it will pass. It always does. A quick nap should help; then you can join them, fresh-faced and ready for the evening's escapades.

---

The air is thick with tension at the small restaurant where you agreed to meet. James sits with his back to the wall, his foot tapping out a rhythm of worry against the table leg. He checks his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, his brow furrowed.

"She's late," he mutters, though everyone at the table is painfully aware. "She's never late."

Sirius glances toward the door again, his usual swagger replaced by something more akin to concern. "Maybe she got held up," he offers, but there's a tightness in his voice that belies his nonchalant exterior.

Remus's eyes flicker between the two, worry etching deep lines in his already weary face. "She would've sent word if she couldn't make it—she always does."

James rubs a hand through his unruly hair, the action doing nothing to quell the unease that creeps into every crevice of his being. "That's what has me worried," he admits, gaze far off. "It's not like her to just... vanish."

"Then we should go and see for ourselves if she's all right," Remus suggests, rising from his seat. The chair scrapes against the floor, a grating sound that mirrors the tension threading through each man's veins. "Better safe than sorry."

"Agreed." Sirius pushes away from the table, his frame rigid with an intensity borne of concern. "Let's go."

Without another word, they leave the restaurant behind, its warmth and light becoming a distant memory as they step into the biting night air. Their footfalls echo down the empty streets, a testament to their shared apprehension.

The apartment is eerily still as they approach, the silence hanging heavy in the air like a shroud. Something about it feels wrong, disjointed, and Sirius is the first to cross the threshold, his heart pounding in his chest. "Y/N?" he calls out, his voice laced with both worry and hope. But there's no answer, just the echo of his own words bouncing off the walls.

James follows closely behind him, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of you. Remus brings up the rear, his gaze taking in every detail, a frown etching deep lines into his forehead.

"Over here!" James' shout breaks the tense quietude, his voice edged with panic. He's found you unconscious on the couch, your body too still. In an instant, he's at your side, dropping to his knees and pressing two fingers against your pulse point.

"She's breathing," he says, relief washing over him, but it's short-lived. "It's shallow, though. And her pulse... It's too fast."

Before he can say anything more, Remus is already moving, his long strides carrying him to the kitchen where the emergency kit is kept. His hands are steady as he reaches for the Baqsimi nasal spray, fingers deftly peeling away the red stripe that seals it. The lid comes off with a soft pop, revealing the small device within.

Sirius kneels beside James, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushes lightly against your skin. His face is a mask of fear, guilt, and resolve. "Why didn't she tell us?" he murmurs more to himself than anyone else, the question hanging heavily in the air.

He turns to Remus, his grey eyes hardening. "Are you ready?"

"Always," Remus replies with a steady voice that belies the tremor in his hands. He positions the nozzle of the spray into one of your nostrils, his brow furrowed in concentration. "This should help. Just hold on."

With a gentle push, he depresses the plunger, watching as the green line marking the dose disappears. There's a collective holding of breaths as they wait for any sign of change.

"We've got to hope for the best," Sirius says, though his voice wavers slightly. "She'll pull through. She has to."

"Of course she will," James adds, his fingers tightening around yours, as if he could will you back to consciousness through sheer force of grip. His free hand finds your other cheek, his thumb tracing circles over the cool skin. "She's stronger than this."

Remus is already moving again, his long fingers sifting through the cupboards for the quick sugars he knows you keep on hand. He retrieves a carton of orange juice and a box of crackers, sparing no time in spreading peanut butter across the crackers and pouring out a glass of juice. Once prepared, he places the items on the low coffee table before sinking onto the edge of the couch. "We should give her these when she comes around."

The room falls into a tense silence as they wait, their gazes never straying far from your prone form. Sirius's hand hovers over your shoulder before finally making contact, his knuckles ghosting over the fabric of your shirt. His eyes, usually so full of mischief, are shadowed with concern. "She scared us," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

"More than that," James says, his tone gruff with unshed emotion. "I can't—"

His sentence hangs unfinished, the weight of it too heavy for words. Instead, he reaches out, brushing away a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

And then, so faint it's nearly missed, there's a shift. A soft groan escapes your lips, barely audible but enough to cause their hearts to leap. Your eyelids flutter, struggling against the pull of unconsciousness.

"Finally," Sirius mutters, relief flooding his features even as his brows knit together in a scowl. "Took your sweet time, didn't you?"

James leans in closer, his breath hitching as your eyes begin to open. He presses a warm kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. "You're okay," he says, his words more of a prayer than a statement. "We've got you."

Sirius moves to help you sit up; his touch is steady, firm yet careful, like he's afraid you might shatter at any moment. The room spins slightly as you're lifted, but Sirius' presence is grounding, a reminder of reality amidst the haze of confusion.

"Easy there," Remus says, his voice soft yet commanding. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, not quite reaching his eyes, which remain clouded with concern. He picks up the glass from the coffee table, the contents sloshing gently.

"Here," Remus coaxes, holding the straw to your lips. "Take small sips, slowly."

The juice is cold and slightly tart in your mouth, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading from your core. You reach to hold the glass, but your hands shake, the tremors betraying the weakness you feel. Remus keeps his grip on the glass, steady as always.

You try to sit up straighter, to focus on the faces hovering around you, but every movement feels heavy, slow. The room tilts a little, and you wince, shutting your eyes. When you open them again, they're still there, all watching you, their expressions etched with concern.

"What..." Your voice is a raspy whisper, barely there. "What happened?"

"Scared the bloody hell out of us, you did," Sirius says, his tone equal parts relief and frustration. He leans back in his chair, passing a hand across his face. "We found you passed out. Your blood sugar was dangerously low."

"We used the nasal spray," Remus explains, his voice steady despite the gravity of his words. "You're lucky it acted quickly."

Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of the day's events. "I—" You begin, but your throat constricts around the admission. "I didn't mean to..."

"We know," James says quietly, his hand covering yours where it rests on the cup. "But you need to tell us when you're not feeling well, love. We could've stepped in sooner."

"I didn't want to ruin the date," you mumble, guilt curdling in your stomach.

"Ruin?" Remus's eyebrows knit together. "That's not how this works." His tone is stern but laced with worry, not anger. "Your health comes first, always. You could have—" He stops, a grimace passing over his face as if the words themselves are painful. "You could have taken a turn for the worse before we found you."

"Exactly," Sirius interjects, his voice softer than before. "You don't spoil anything by telling us you need help. We love you, Y/N."

A lump forms in your throat as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You cast your gaze down to the cup of juice. "I'm sorry."

"Hey." James reaches out, gently tilting your chin up until you're looking at him. The concern in his hazel eyes is almost too much to bear. "No more apologies, all right? Just let us help you. That's what we want."

The corners of Sirius's mouth lift into a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head—a gesture that feels as much a promise as it does an act of care. "Exactly. You're not getting rid of us that easily, so you might as well let us look after you."

Remus chuckles softly, though there's a tightness in his shoulders that suggests he's far from relaxed. "And speaking of which—finish the juice. Then we'll get some food in you."

"I'm fine," you murmur, but it's a feeble protest at best.

James's grin is slight, more a quirk of the lips than a full smile, but it's there, a glimmer of light amid the shadows. He picks up a cracker spread with peanut butter and extends it towards you. "Come on, open up. Don't make me do the airplane noises."

Your lips quirk despite yourself, a response to James's levity. You take the offered morsel, and for a moment, the air in the room loosens, the tension fraying at its edges as they watch you eat.

Remus shakes his head, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You're lucky we look out for you."

"And you'll never hear the end of it," Sirius adds, his grin broadening. "We'll remind you every chance we get."

James lets out a quiet chuckle, but it quickly fades, replaced by a solemn expression. "Good," he says, his gaze steady on yours. "Because we won't let this happen again."

You finish the juice and crackers, every last crumb swept away, and as the warmth gradually returns to your body, so too does a sense of calm. James tucks a blanket around your shoulders, ensuring you're as comfortable as possible. Sirius settles beside you, his arm a steady presence around your shoulders while Remus remains at your feet, gently massaging your ankle.

James sits on the floor in front of you, his back resting against the edge of the coffee table. There's a tranquillity to him that wasn't there before, a resolution settling over his features. "You need to rest now," he tells you, not as an order but as a suggestion born from concern. "We'll stay."

"Staying?" The word slips out before you can stop it, a small voice daring to hope. "You're not leaving?"

"Absolutely not," Sirius says, his voice firm and unyielding. "We're staying here tonight. You won't be alone."

Remus's eyes lift to meet yours, meeting your gaze with a gentle warmth that defies the harsh reality of your situation. "Of course not," he replies, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Until you're fed up with us," James adds, his own grin small but genuine.

A weak chuckle escapes your lips, though it does little to alleviate the tension coiled in your chest. "I don't think that's possible."

And as sleep begins to pull you under, the last thing you feel is the pressure of Sirius's hand on your skin, grounding you in this new reality. The last thing you hear is James's voice, low and steady as he whispers, "Always."

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 7]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.2K

Chapter warning(s): Y/n gets accosted twice, "panic" attack (she shuts down)

"Oh! Sorry, I thought you were someone else, you sounded like him." You blinked at the stranger. The guy laughed and shook his head, a drink in his hand. Between him and the bar counter, you suddenly felt very cornered and uncomfortable.

"I was wondering if I could buy you a drink?" He asked with a smile.

"No, thank you. I bought my own drink." You shook your glass with your drink, trying to slink away but with so many people crowding the bar, it was difficult.

"Ah, looks like I was too slow then. Can I at least have a drink with you then?" He laughed, trying to be nice.

"I really should be getting back to my friends. They are looking for me." You tried to go past him but he grasped your wrist tightly.

"You know, I tried being nice. It's not nice to be so unfriendly in a place like this." He chided, his tone suddenly changing. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Do you expect me to be honoured then? Doesn't mean you make advances means I have to accept them." You couldn't bite your tongue.

"You-" He was about to say something.

"(y/n), I've been looking for you." Now it was a familiar voice. You turned to Jihoon with a soft sigh of relief. Jihoon immediately wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to his side, glowering at the man who had let your wrist go. Looking up, you saw Hyunwoo standing there too.

"Got a problem here?" Hyunwoo raised an eyebrow. With his muscles, it was normal for the guy to be intimidated by him. You merely looked away, not saying anything.

"Let's go." Jihoon threw a last dirty look at the guy and escorted you back to the table.

"Are you okay?" He looked down at you with a frown.

"I'm fine, Jihoon. Don't worry, you and Hyunwoo came at the right time. Thank you." You smiled softly. He nodded with a hum and you went to sit down.

"I'm going to find Nana and Eve. We should go." Hyunwoo said, leaving before you could protest.

"No, it's fine! You guys should stay and enjoy yourselves. I think I'll go home." You told Jihoon, you felt bad that they had to leave.

"You shouldn't leave on your own. I'll take you home." Jihoon shook his head.

"The exit is just there. Really, I'll be okay, I'm sober to make it home on my own. Make sure Nana and Eve get home safely, hmm?" You squeezed his hand. Jihoon knew you were stubborn and reluctantly agreed. You wrapped an arm around him to hug him.

"Text me when you get home." He whispered.

"I will. Let me know when you guys are home too. And send me my portion of the bill." You hummed and grabbed your bag, heading to the exit.

"Thank you." You smiled to the bouncer who opened the velvet rope for you. He gave a nod in reply as you made your way out.

"Hey!" You were suddenly yanked away, causing you stumble. You came face to face with the man earlier.

"Oh, so where are your two friends, huh? They just left you on your own?" He sneered, getting close to your face. You leaned back as he was invading your space.

"Do you not know when to give up?" You tried to break free of his grip. You shoved him back, causing him to let go of your hand.

"You're going to pay for that. And for embarrassing me earlier." He growled.

"Leave me alone and maybe I won't go to the police." You glared at him. You were tired of arguing with him, you wanted to go home and he was seriously getting on your last nerve. But he shoved you against the wall harshly, making you let out a groan as the pain stunned your momentarily.

"I think that's enough." A voice entered and the man was grabbed by the collar, yanked back, away from you. You let out a shaky breath as a suit-clad body stood in front of you.

"H-Hongjoong..." You said shakily, looking at the back of his head. He didn't turn to look at you.

"I've watched you from earlier. You just don't know when to give up. Why don't I give you a taste of your own medicine?" He chuckled.

"H-Hey man. I was just fooling around, I'm sorry." The man took a step back in fear. Hongjoong merely laughed again before he stopped and punched the guy.

"Hongjoong!" You gasped in shock but he was not stopping, raining down punches on the man.

"Hongjoong, stop." You tried to call him.

At that point, it wasn't about saving you anymore. Hongjoong felt so much blind rage and he just couldn't stop. This man just appeared at the wrong place, at the wrong time and became the object for Hongjoong to vent his anger.

"Please." You sat on the ground, covering your ears and shutting your eyes. You were so stunned, you couldn't bring yourself to get up and leave the place.

"What's going on here?" Seonghwa came out, witnessing the scene in front of him.

"Hongjoong, what did you do?" He asked. That snapped Hongjoong out of it. He looked down at the guy's face that was bloodied.

"Shit..." He turned to see you absolutely horrified and terrified. Seonghwa frowned, unsure of what to do now. Luckily, Yunho was quick to go to your side.

"Hey, (y/n). It's me, Yunho." He gently removed your hands from your ears so you could hear him.

"Y-Yunho sshi." You stuttered, unable to breathe. Luckily, Yunho used his body to block your view. He smiled softly.

"Breathe. Let's go." He spoke softly, helping you to your feet. Your legs were so wobbly, you leaned on him, letting him guide you to wherever it was, as long as you were no longer here.

"Here." Once again, he led you up the stairs and brought you to an empty room. You figured it could be a place for VIPs to sit and drink but with all the lights on, it just looked like a regular room with couches. He grabbed a blanket from the basket and put it around you, hopefully it'll bring you some comfort.

"Let me go get you some water. Breathe, it's okay." He said. You nodded slowly, not being able to tell him you wanted him to stay.

"Be right back." He stood up and left the room to get water.

"Yun, what's happening?" Mingi asked his best friend, having bumped into him as he left the room you were in. As he walked to get you water, Yunho filled Mingi in on what happened.

"Damn... So where's the girl now?" Mingi questioned.

"In the room I came from. I left Seonghwa hyung with Hongjoong hyung. I think they'll need a clean up crew." Yunho said.

"On it." Mingi took his phone out and texted for a clean up crew. When Yunho retrieved a cold bottle of water for you, the two went back upstairs.

"I'll go let the others know what happened." Mingi said and parted ways with Yunho, who went back to you.

"I'm so sorry, Yunho sshi. This is all my fault, Hongjoong sshi was just trying to help me. If the owner asks what happened, just tell them it was all me. I didn't mean to cause trouble." You told the male the moment he entered the room.

"(y/n) sshi, it's not your fault, you didn't cause any trouble. And don't worry about Hongjoong hyung. He won't get in trouble with the owner." Yunho assured, opening the bottle for you.

"You're sure?" You asked, gulping the cold water.

"Seeing as to how he's the owner, I'm sure he'll be fine." Yunho tried to joke. Your jaw slacked slightly in surprise.

"So don't worry about him. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" Yunho questioned. You shook your head, hands shaking slightly as you clutched the blanket.

"It could be the adrenaline, that's why you don't feel any pain even if you are injured." He said.

"I-Is Hongjoong okay?" You finally asked.

Yunho was surprised by your question. He thought after what you witnessed, you would have asked whether the other guy was okay. If you did, Yunho wouldn't know how to answer that, he didn't know if the guy made it out alive. Maybe the realisation of what actually happened hasn't sunken in for you yet.

"Feel better?" Seonghwa asked, the smoking cigarette between his fingers. Hongjoong blinked then shrugged, it did feel good to vent his emotions out.

"Should have just went to the fight club." He shot his best friend a small smile.

"Clean up crew is coming. We should head in." Seonghwa said and Hongjoong nodded, standing straight and heading in with him.

"Where's (y/n)?" Hongjoong asked.

"Yunho brought her to one of the rooms to calm her down. Mingi's the one that called clean up." Seonghwa informed, walking up the stairs with his hands tucked into his pockets.

"I should find (y/n) and talk to her." Hongjoong said as Seonghwa opened the door to the VIP room that the others were in.

"Hyung, are you okay?" San stood up.

"I'm fine. I can't say the same for the other guy though." Hongjoong nodded his head, taking the glass of whiskey Wooyoung offered to him and took a sip. The other guys all had had relieved looks on their faces while some even laughed.

"Let me go find (y/n)." Hongjoong turned to the door and almost bumped into Yunho, who was entering the room.

"(y/n)'s looking for you..." Yunho informed. At Yunho's words, the rest of the people in the room, including Hongjoong, had surprised looks on their faces.

"She is?" Hongjoong blinked. Yunho nodded and held the door open for him, pointing to where you were.

"(y/n) sshi? Can I come in?" Hongjoong knocked. He heard the soft hum from you and entered, closing the door behind him.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, approaching your huddled form.

"I-I'm fine. But Yunho sshi thinks it could be a-adrenaline." You tried to look okay but Hongjoong could see how much you were trembling. He sat by you, where Yunho sat earlier.

"Drink this. It'll help." He held out the whiskey glass from his hand. With two shaky hands, you received the crystal glass and carefully took a sip. You winced at the burn and bitterness that hit your tongue. Hongjoong thought you were going to hand it back to him but you suddenly gulped the rest down.

"Woah, slow down." Taking the glass from you, he gave you the bottle of water from the table.

"What about y-you? Are you okay? W-Were you hurt?" You asked with a gulp, eyes trailing to the bruises on his knuckles. Hongjoong nodded his head.

"You are hurt." Hongjoong caught sight of your bruised wrist as you capped the waterbottle. You blinked and looked at your wrist.

"Oh." You looked at it.

"Hang on." Standing up, Hongjoong went to the door and yelled out for someone to get him a first aid kit. You couldn't see who it was but Hongjoong took the first aid kit from someone and returned to you.

"It's just a bruise..." You whispered. Hongjoong placed the first aid box on the table and opened it.

"I guess I wish I had the balm you made." Hongjoong tried to joke about small pot of homemade balm that you had given him.

"Y-You still have it with you?" You couldn't help your curiosity. Hongjoong hummed, his ears turning red. He held his hand out for you to show him your wrist. He was gently in applying a regular ointment over your wrist and wrapping it so it wouldn't smudge.

"Thank you, Hongjoong sshi." You said softly, looking at the bandage he tried his best to wrap neatly.

"No problem. It's the least I could do since you were injured in my establishment." Hongjoong replied, keeping the first aid stuff back into the box.

"It's okay, it's not your fault..." You murmured.

"I think I should go home now." You stood up and nearly fell over, feeling the throb in your ankle.

"Woah, careful." Hongjoong caught you, resulting in you leaning against his body, your face pressed into his chest. You winced as you tried to stand back up.

"Where are you hurt?" Hongjoong frowned with worry.

"It's fine. It's just my ankle." You tried your best to hide the pain but Hongjoong could see the grimace of pain.

"No, it's not fine. Let me get it checked out. Or at least sit down and ice it for a bit before you go." He insisted with a small frown. You chewed on your bottom lip. Being here was slowly making you feel more stressed and anxious, right now you just wanted to get out of here and go home.

"Hongjoong sshi. Please... I just want to go home." Tears filled your eyes. You couldn't control the way they fell down your face, they were not stopping.

"Alright, I'll take you home." He whispered, suddenly feeling a tightness in his chest from guilt as he watched you cry.

"Come on." Putting your arm around his shoulders, he helped you out of the room and down the stairs.

"Boss." The workers bowed to him as you passed them but he didn't acknowledge them. He led you to the VIP entrance in the back where the car was already waiting for you.

"Mr Kim." The driver opened the door for both of you. Hongjoong helped you in and removed his jacket, draping it over your lap.

"Hongjoong hyung." Yeosang called out to him just as he closed the door.

"I'm taking her home." Hongjoong informed. The 7 of them nodded and Hongjoong entered the other side to sit with you. You wiped your remaining tears with your hands, sniffling slightly.

Thankfully, Hongjoong didn't talk to you the rest of the trip home. You were so tired but your mind was racing. Whatever happened tonight has never happened to you before, you didn't know what to do and how to react.

"(y/n) sshi... We're here." His voice made you jump slightly. You blinked and looked up, seeing that you were indeed outside your apartment building.

"Oh... Thanks." You removed his jacket from your lap and got out of the car, standing on both legs.

"Let me escort you up, at least." Hongjoong came out from his side of the car.

"N-No, it's okay. I'd rather go up on my own." You shook your head. Hongjoong sighed and nodded his head, realising that he might be pushing you too much.

"Look, (y/n) sshi. I'm sorry about tonight and-"

"If it's okay with you, I would not like to think or revisit what happened tonight." You cut him off with a polite smile.

"Right..." He nodded. You cleared your throat and bowed gratefully to him before limping into your apartment building. Hongjoong stood there, making sure you went in safely before going into the car.

You entered your apartment and made sure to lock the door, leaning against the front door with a sigh. The first thing you did was text your friends that you were home. They may give you hell for texting them so late but you knew that they were just good friends and worried about you.

"Oh god..." You covered your mouth as you started to remember what happened tonight.

"What have I gotten myself into?" You asked yourself in disbelief. Did Mrs Kim know about Hongjoong and not tell you? Was there an underlying motive in getting to know you?

But what would Mrs Kim or Hongjoong want with you?

"No, no. Maybe she didn't know." You shook your head. Give wanted to give Mrs Kim the benefit of doubt.

"My son, he can be short tempered but underneath, he's just trying to protect everyone that he loves." Mrs Kim smiled softly as you poured more tea for her.

"He's a good son then." You hummed.

"He is. Even if I have a lot of faults and haven't been the best mother to him, he grew up to be a good man." She said.

"I hope you two can reconcile soon. It seems like you had a good relationship." You reached over to hold her hand. Mrs Kim merely shot you a sad smile that showed she thought otherwise.

"Maybe." Was all she said.

Hongjoong stood by his office window, staring out into the night sky. He sipped the whiskey from his glass, a soft sigh escaping him. As the leader of Ateez, he was never really open with his feelings. He didn't really like to feel vulnerable around anyone.

"You've been keeping everything in. So I guess it could have happened at any time when all your feelings come pouring out." Seonghwa said, sitting on the couch.

"It's annoying." Hongjoong sighed.

"Well, you're human, Joong. Even if you don't like your feelings, they'll always be there." Seonghwa chuckled.

"I don't even know her. But whenever she's around, I feel so conflicted. I'm angry and a part of me wants to resent her but I also want to talk to her." Hongjoong turned away from the window.

"Because whether you want to admit it or not, you want to know more about your mother." Seonghwa pointed out.

"This is so unnecessary, I don't need this." He groaned.

"But it is what it is. If you were to sit with her and learn more about your mother, can you say for certain that you'll be able to control your emotions?" Seonghwa asked.

"No. The mere mention of my mother by her makes me so..." Hongjoong clenched his fists.

"I'm not ready to hear what a wonderful person my mother was." He said bitterly.

"Then stay away until you are. Don't forget, it's not just about you. She has to be ready to hear your side too. To hear what your mother did to you and what your relationship was like." Seonghwa reminded. Hongjoong nodded glumly, that was another thing he didn't want to bring to the surface again.

"Look, after tonight, give her space to breathe. We just have to focus on other work for now, Ateez needs you." Seonghwa squeezed Hongjoong's shoulder.

"Mmm, I know. Thanks for holding down the fort, Seonghwa ah." Hongjoong shot his friend a smile.

"Of course. We're all behind you, supporting you, Joong." The taller hummed.

"She's not from our world, our normal is not her normal. And the less people in our world, the better." Seonghwa reminded. Hongjoong agreed, they've become so desensitised to violence and death.

"I'm worried that my mother's relationship with her has pulled her into our world, whether she wants it or not." Hongjoong said.

"Maybe, maybe not." Seonghwa shrugged.

Although Seonghwa didn't want to push Hongjoong to work more when he was already such a workaholic, he knew Ateez will serve as a distraction from you.

"About the guy from earlier..." Hongjoong's voice broke Seonghwa's train of thought.

"He's alive, in the hospital. But the police won't be investigating, they're just ruling it as a bar fight gone wrong. Even if he wanted to press charges, he can't argue against multiple eye witnesses." Seonghwa said, a glint in his eye.

~

Series masterlist

[simpjaes]

does rodeo by wayv give you best friend's husband jay vibes? like you moved away and started growing apart from your best friend but then run into her husband at a club when he's on a "business trip"?

also this is not me trying to bait you into a hard thot. just a random thot I wanted to share

this....is splendid. i personally can't write any form of sexual thoughts to rodeo tho ;-; i can, however, claim that the song red moon by kim wooseok also fits this prompt. so..... warnings: infidelity, not proof read and probably not that great to read bc im genuinely struggling to stay awake rn. wc: 687 You knew he looked familiar, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it until his fingers were in you.

~ Your eyes go wide mid-moan, noting those eyebrows that you suddenly remember so vividly. On his wedding day with your best friend, you recall the photo they sent to you after. His eyebrows were strong, almost angry looking despite the smile on his face in that photo. And no matter how close you and her were back then, you never really saw much of Jay to begin with. You never really saw much of her anymore either. Then again, you guess moving away plays a large part in that. "Jay?!" You suddenly yelp, trying to close your legs around his hand. He doesn't react though. As if you thought maybe he didn't recognize you either. He hadn't said your name at all tonight, and you can blame the drinks all you want. Both of you are well aware that neither of you are any more than tipsy. You rode in that car with him, straight to a nice hotel room. You walked right in, laid down on this bed, spread your legs, let him take your panties off, and now his fingers are splitting you open as if to prepare for for something bigger...and he hadn't said a damn thing? No, "Hey, how have you been?" Not a single "Oh! It's been a while!" And all you can do after saying his name in shock is lay here and feel the way he only moves his fingers faster. The way he hides his face from you by way of trailing his tongue down your stomach, straight to where his fingers are. All you can do is grab his hair, and grind against that same tongue that shouldn't be on you...or in you. You see his wedding ring. Fuck, you feel it when he grabs at your thighs and you just...let it happen. Thoughts of, fuck... is this why she married him? Is this why she never let you actually hang out when he was around? Is this how good he treats her? "Jay..." You trail off this time in something that sounds like a moan, rubbing your clit up and against his nose as you feel the bubbles in your gut. "Does she know?" He lends you a few more licks, a few more fucks of his fingers, and then pulls out. He looks at you for a long moment, then trails his eyes down to himself. He doesn't intend to answer your question. Instead, he reaches down and pulls his cock out, flashing it at you as if it'll keep you from asking more questions. It works, for the most part. You were going to stop him. You were going to ask why he's fucking around on your best friend. Instead, you find yourself gripping his torso much like she probably does. He plays with you longer, sliding his tip through your folds with a small smile forming on his face. "Hm?" He tilts his head in a hum, as if daring you to try asking that question again. Knowing he can easily shut you up if you do. "Does who know?" You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling of him pressing in. A thick head pulsing pre-cum against your walls every inch of the way, up until you're clinging to him so desperately that you're sure he's bleeding. "We've never met." He says playfully through a breath. God, you know you're leaving marks on him. "We were never here." You're sure he can't hide it from her now. Good. He deserves to be caught. Despite everything with your best friend, the distance, the lack of talking....she doesn't deserve this. And you'll back her up if she finds out. She doesn't have to know it's you who left those marks. She doesn't have to know you liked it either. And you do like it. Far, far too much. To the point that each thrust has you questioning why you'd care at all if she found out it was you who let her husband get his dick wet. It was you who left these marks. You who got to cum all over him. You. And what about him? Eating you out? That's intimate. Fingering you. Fucking you. Even kissing you. Surely, she's done something to have him seeking out other women, right? Surely, he wouldn't be fucking you this good if she mattered at all.

[hetrosjistin]

I've been mulling over something actionable about this because I am -really- worried that folks on this site, famous for it's lack of reading comprehension, will take what I'm saying as a #NotAllMen statement, which is not my intention here.

This is what I came up with:

I think something I want to add here is that this doesn't mean not talking about how women have to act as if any given random strange man is a threat. That's not the same thing as hating on men for being men.

It's important that young men, boys understand that bad actors among men in general. and especially the systemic expectations of toxic masculinity in particular, force women to take actions to protect themselves. It's important they understand that such actions are not directly aimed at them. It's important that they know this so that they can understand how the patriarchy does harm to THEM TOO in this manner, by preventing and harming their ability to form healthy relationships with the opposite gender. And important because in learning about these things they can TAKE conscious actions to change their behavior (example: I'm a short guy, and I got into the habit of finding ways to increase my height when arguing with some one, get them to sit down while I stood, sit on the table while they sit on a chair, etc, to loom at them both to make them take me even a little more seriously in my own head, and let's be honest, as a machismo intimidation tactic. When I finally realized how toxic that was, how it was percieved as taking a stance of physical threat against women, and how I did not WANT to do that, I worked on changing my behavior. When I'm in a argument I -try- to force myself to sit down and put myself in as non threatening a stance as possible)

But that's not the same as misandry. It's not born from the same place as someone saying 'all heterosexual sex is rape' or 'god damn I hate men' and similar things.

I hope I'm coming across as coherent here x-x

Because one of the reblogs of OPs post that I saw said something like 'it's inevitable, he WILL become a rape apologist and agent of the patriarchy, there's nothing you can do!' and that's just.

What's even the fucking point?

Why even do ANYTHING if this is an inevitability?

Why are we even FIGHTING for feminism in this case? Because obviously if you believe that then you believe everything we do is fruitless and pointless, men are biologically and socially determined to become rapists.

It is the most cynical and fucked up thing imaginable. It's every bit as fucked up as the idea that women are naturally determined to be best suited to be barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen. It means the struggle we are all engaged in for equality and liberation is pointless.

And I refuse to believe that.

I know I have fucked up shit about myself from the patriarchy. But I have to believe that I can deprogram that and change myself over time as it is revealed to me by introspection and other's actions and words to me.

We can't act like this shit is deterministic because that tears out he very heart of our cause: That we CHOOSE to be who we are, that our chromosomes decide nothing except the shape we are born into, not how we act or the way we treat one another.

And so, we must make the DIALOGUE be about people's ACTIONS and NOT the things they cannot change about themselves.

Y'all have got to stop virulently hating men. Like, I'm sorry, I fucking hate the patriarchy too, but the patriarchy isn't just men and saying it is just exculpates complicit women. I am the mother of a young boy, and I look at this precious, empathetic 8 year old boy I'm raising and I don't know where online is safe for him. Places like this will say he's evil just for his gender, and other places will say "we'll be your friend if you hate with us," and still others will radicalize him in other ways. Where is he supposed to go? Why are we saying the radicalization is the fault of the kids just trying to find a place to hang?

Like this is seriously getting urgent. You have got to fucking stop conflating the patriarchy and men. 53% percent of white women voted for Trump. Men aren't the problem. White supremacy and Christian patriarchal structures are two examples of patriarchy-reinforcing structures that aren't solely couched in maleness. Men aren't the problem, and pretending they are drives more men into more welcoming extremist spaces and also ignores all the parts of this that are forwarded by people who aren't men.

What I see happening all over is scared, depressed, lonely people looking for someone they're allowed to hate automatically, unquestioningly - someone they're allowed to place all the blame on. Fascism says people of color, non-Christian people, queer people, etc., are the ones they're allowed to hate.

And way too many of yall answer that no, it's leftist to hate men instead. You are doing *the exact same thing they are.*

Fucking knock it off.

The answer is we're not supposed to hate anyone automatically based on their immutable personal characteristics. Hate the specific people who've hurt you. Hate the self-reinforcing systems that let them get away with hurting you. Hate the strangers who prop up those systems. Hate the fascists. Hell knows I hate Donald Trump, but it's not because he's a man, it's because he's a piece of shit.

Hate the pieces of shit, not the gender.

But don't hate men just because they're men. That's unhelpful, stupid, insane, and entirely counterproductive. Fucking. Stop.