#love her but what the fuck was she thinking with the fucking turkey(?chicken??) she found in the garbage 😭

[deadpanwalking]

“No, I brought my own food. I brought pieces of lightly fried whiting. Chicken schnitzels in an egg batter. Tomatoes, which I ate like apples. Fried cauliflower. Pickled garlic. Marinated peppers, though these could be leaky. Sliced lox. Salami. If plain old sandwiches, then with spiced kebabs where your turkey would be. Soft fruit bruises easily, but what better inter-meal snacks than peaches and plums? (You needed inter-meal snacks, just in case.)

[...]

One of the few things that seem to make Americans even more uncomfortable than being very close to each other for six hours in cramped quarters is when the next person over keeps pulling tinfoil bundles smelling sharply of garlic out of his rucksack. (I was kicked out of a bed once for radiating too much garlic under the covers. It was my father’s fault, I tried to explain—in America he had converted to saltless cooking, and now garlic was his one-to-one substitute; I had just had dinner with my parents. “Downstairs,” she commanded.) With the extra peripheral vision that is a kind of evolutionary adaptation for refugees, persecuted people, and immigrants, I would sense, on the plane, sideways glances of savage, disturbed curiosity. Sometimes I swiveled and committed the unpardonable sin of gazing directly at my neighbor, whereupon her eyes broadened, her forehead rose, and the rictus of a stunned smile overtook her agony.

Sometimes we ate raw onions like apples, too, I wanted to tell her. Sometimes, the tinfoil held shredded chicken petrified in aspic. A fish head to suck on! I was filled with shame and hateful glee: everything I was feeling turned out at the person next to me.

I was the one with an uncut cow’s tongue uncoiling in the refrigerator of his undergraduate quad, my roommates’ Gatorades and half-finished pad Thai keeping a nervous distance. I sliced it thinly, and down it went with horseradish and cold vodka like the worry of a long day sloughing off, those little dots of fat between the cold meat like garlic roasted to paste.

I am the one who fried liver. Who brought his own lunch in an old Tupperware to his cubicle in the Condé Nast Building; who accidentally warmed it too long, and now the scent of buckwheat, stewed chicken, and carrots hung like radiation over the floor, few of whose inhabitants brought lunch from home, fewer of whom were careless enough to heat it for too long if they did, and none of whom brought a scent bomb in the first place. Fifteen floors below, the storks who staffed the fashion magazines grazed on greens in the Frank Gehry cafeteria.

I was the one who ate mashed potatoes and frankfurters for breakfast. Who ate a sandwich for breakfast. Strange? But Americans ate cereal for dinner. Americans ate cereal, period, that oddment. They had a whole thing called “breakfast for dinner.” And the only reason they were right and I was wrong was that it was their country.

The problem with my desire to pass for native was that everything in the tinfoil was so fucking good. When the world thinks of Soviet food, it thinks of all the wrong things. Though it was due to incompetence rather than ideology, we were local, seasonal, and organic long before Chez Panisse opened its doors. You just had to have it in a home instead of a restaurant, like British cooking after the war, as Orwell wrote. For me, the food also had cooked into it the memory of my grandmother’s famine; my grandfather’s black-marketeering to get us the “deficit” goods that, in his view, we deserved no less than the political VIPs; all the family arguments that paused while we filled our mouths and our eyes rolled back in our heads. Food was so valuable that it was a kind of currency—and it was how you showed love. If, as a person on the cusp of thirty, I wished to find sanity, I had to figure out how to temper this hunger without losing hold of what fed it, how to retain a connection to my past without being consumed by its poison.”

Boris Fishman, Savage Feast: Three Generations, Two Continents, and a Dinner Table (a Memoir with Recipes)

[slurpeesoverromance]

[me with 1 hp] mari save me… mari.. save me mari..

[phoenixkaptain]

I love Stardew Valley and I love the community and I love how we all bond over pixelated chickens like we’re seventy-year-old women bonding over grandchildren- - -

But I get so annoyed with the character hate, like!!! All the characters are great!! All the romance-able characters are great!! I keep getting recommended videos about the bad parts of characters and I just want to scream!!

Penny: lovely. Charming. Kids are a big part of dating her because she teaches kids, of course she’s going to react a bit badly if you hate children. She is trying to teach kids so that they don’t have to have the same life she and her mother do, why do you hate this woman who is just anxious?

Shane: lovely. Charming. Perfect. “He still drinks after we get married, which ruins the whole story” NO. No. Shane is an alcoholic, and a severe one. If he quit cold-turkey, he would fucking die. “Harvey pumped his stomach” HE WOULD DIE. And I don’t care that my husband is messy, he has his own room and I don’t have to go over there!!

Maru: lovely. Charming. She hates working. She loves working on machines. She thinks about machines to build for you to make life easier. She’s adorable. She has a complicated relationship with her brother and I want to help them fix it goddangit because I love fictional siblings.

Elliott: lovely. Charming. An artist. He only leaves his home for like four hours a day. I can really relate to the desire to shave off all of one’s own hair. I feel that in my bones. Also, is friends with Willy and I fucking love Willy so A++

Leah: “she’s a lesbian” She’s fucking bi stop erasing bi rep in Bi Rep the Video Game

Sam: he’s a musician and a skater. This is what the perfect man looks like.

Emily: just the most charming. She has a complicated relationship with her sister because she takes care of her. She works at a saloon, how can someone not love a literal saloon worker? She’s crazy, she’s wild, she’s a flower child, I’m in love with her

Harvey: glasses. Doctor man. Occasionally puts on headphones to not so subtly hint that he doesn’t want to talk to you. This is what the perfect man looks lik-

Abigail: I don’t see a lot of people complain about Abigal, but I’ve seen a few and it just feels like- you guys love Sebastian so much but don’t like Abigail? What type of double standard is this?

Alex: everyone always says not to date him if your playing a female farmer, but honestly, his dialogue only cuts out parts if you play male. Like, he still says he felt different about you from day one even if you’re playing as a girl. The character affected the most by your gender choice in regards to dating Alex is George, and if you’ve already befriended George, he’ll apologize for being mean about your sexuality when he never even said anything mean about your sexuality, which is kind of funny

I never see people complain about Haley or Sebastian, which is fair, because Haley has a cute character arc and Sebastian loves frogs (this is what the perfect man lo-) My only problem is that people praise these two but rag on everyone else when I feel like all the characters are balanced pretty evenly in terms of good-bad traits.

Which trait is which is dependent on the person playing the game anyway, so when someone like me plays, I can’t help but find the characters perfect because I’m very forgiving when it comes to fictional characters’ undesirable traits. I mean, my favourite trait of all is stupidity, pure and unbridled, I’m talking facepalm-inducing, groan-worthy, the type of character people complain about the most; the type of stupid that makes people stop enjoying things. How can I dislike these characters who are cute and a bit awkward and so ready to bed the first hot farmer they come across even when that farmer sifts through their trash and passes out three steps away from their own house and drinks mayonnaise and would eat hay given half the chance. Like come on. They’re all moron-sexual. I can relate to that.

In conclusion: your favourite bachelor and/or bachelorette is as wonderful as you think they are and screw the people who try to tell you otherwise. The characters are great because they appeal to different people. Enjoy the game and enjoy the dating and I swear to God if I see another person say that certain farm layouts are bad because they don’t make enough money- the game doesn’t have a time limit! You can make as much money as you want! You could sell one sap everyday and nothing else and you would still be able to make it to however much money you desire to have. There’s not really a fast way to make ten billion gold, that doesn’t mean that the farm layouts you don’t like are bad and yes I’m ranting just because I love the slopes of the mining farm its layout is chamrjng and picturesque and provides a unique challenge to decorating and placing buildings and it’s actually the BEST farm layout because I just decided so and-!

Stardew Valley is a great game, 10/10 would recommend, and the new update is already great because I found carrot seeds and I like carrots :)

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Since you're doing that game too, how about 25, 1, 7, 17 and 10 💘

Hiya Vilandel~! ^^

Sure thing!

25. That I consider a favorite

Oh I have many favourites, but for different reasons. Maybe this one though. It is a gem I like bringing up

“Your needs don’t count. And the public? They must not know. There needs to be a scapegoat for this all, because we can’t lose a captain. Someone needs to pay, but not the culprit. You must understand! So… keep quiet. Swallow it. Swallow the pain, the treachery, and the betrayal… Swallow it! Just follow the rules and keep your mouth shut.” The system, told him. Is this… what I serve? Is this… what I’ve devoted my life to? The life of a sheep. The life of a lamb in lion’s coat…. But… What can I do? Tell the public and cause havoc? Drive the masses that are only beginning to heal against the… king… against… myself? Cause… more pain?…. No…. That I can’t do… He glanced at his hand. The mark of his shame and his weakness. The mark… of a lamb that would be slaughtered if it spoke.

That makes me smile

This one because it's stupid, and it's supposed to be stupid

“Chickens are domesticated dinosaurs as much as dogs are domesticated wolves,” Nozel continued. “But even if you go with the answer of ’genetics’, genome is composed of a lot of genes, and since those genes are measured in quantities of a certain number of genes. Then how many of those genes would you need to alter in order to make a chicken a not-chicken? Because there needs to be a line. Change enough and it becomes a pigeon, or a turkey,” Fuegoleon argued. “For heaven’s sake Fuegoleon. They’re all birds!” “BUT WHEN DOES A CHICKEN LOSE ITS INHERIT CHICKEN-NESS?” Fuegoleon stood up. “IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER!” Nozel mirrored. Charlotte took a sip of her tea. “THOSE ARE JUST WORDS WE MADE UP TO DISTINGUISH THINGS THAT LOOK DIFFERENT FROM EACH OTHER,” Nozel shouted.

7. That I nursed in a daydream before finally writing

Basically Chapter 15 of Embers of Sun and Flame in its entirety, but this wee snippet of it:

She wrapped her arms around him, letting him sink into the embrace before laying down on the soft sheets. What nightmares he might’ve had, were forgotten as all that now existed was her heartbeat piercing through the darkness. Her hand ran across the skin of his back as she hummed a tune, pressing her head against his as he closed his eyes and listened. This must be heaven, he thought as he felt sleep creeping up on him. He pulled her closer into his embrace, wrapping his arm around her before dispelling his fire arm, and allowing himself to drift off. Her warmth, her voice, and her gentle heartbeat banished all the wrong in his world and silenced his racing mind. I love her…was the final thought that ran through him before sleep took over, but his embrace never faltered.

17. From an unpublished WIP

This one starts off mean, but it's from a hurt-comfort fic that is only tipping its toes into the comfort part as we speak (but I will write it to the end)

The flames, the fire, the ever-present reminder of… his failures. And with the flickering flames, another memory surfaced. Perhaps one of the most vicious statement that had ever been uttered to him. Wives in unhappy marriages usually rely in artificial … extremities... to keep them satisfied. But what a sorry excuse is it when the husband needs to do the same.  It had been a cheap shot. And one that had barely made sense. Barely but… it had stricken a nerve in him.

10. With characters I struggle with

I think I struggle with a lot of characters (as BC has many) but a snippet with Langris

He gave you a defiant look, as if to tell you that this place was still to public for such behaviour. But the faint blush on his cheek told you about the flicker of joy that he felt; the joy that made him allow such displays of affection to an extent. You sat down, order dinner and began small talk, but throughout the conversation you began feeling that there was something bothering him. Or not, necessarily bothering per se, but he was getting restless and anxious. And yet, he tried to keep up with the conversation the best he could.

[yappingmoxie]

made a birthday post for my grandma yesterday since no one else remembered it and immediately afterwards my sister made one and really drilled in hard about how she named my newest niece after her. and idk. I’m still upset. I’ve been crying off and on about it because like. I know it wasn’t right but my grandma would tell anyone who listened how I was her favorite grandchild (and tbh I think besides it just being true she did that bc she knew how awful my mom and sister were to me) and would brag on me constantly. and my sister did nothing but talk about how annoying my grandma was and say the worst things about her right before she died. but yet she loved her so much that she forgot her birthday 2 years in a row so I mean clearly she just had to take the name I fought with her over during her first pregnancy. I’m so glad I’ve had my cousin throughout all of this because otherwise I’d feel legitimately insane. She’s been amazing at reminding me how much grandma loved me and helping reinforce that grandma and I DID have an agreement that she wanted ME to name my daughter after her if I ever had one. Everything my sister does though feels so spiteful. Like I love my niece so much and it just sucks that I can’t even spend time with her without being reminded of how much my sister wants to hurt me. I don’t blame the baby though. Like it hurts and makes interacting with her a little difficult but she’s innocent. And the thing is I wouldn’t have even minded if she named her that out of genuine love and respect for my grandma but I know she didn’t. From not letting anyone be with my grandma in the hospital when she died to putting her ashes in my fucking mailbox to telling me that my grandma hated me and I didn’t do enough for her to telling me how awful I was for taking a week off to implying I should’ve been there even tho she lied to me about her being in the hospital to withholding photos she promised me of her to ruining my grandmas house (she lets my 5 year old niece write all over the walls and keeps a million fuckin farm animals like ducks and chickens and turkeys inside when grandma didn’t even let dogs in) to asking the preacher at her funeral to say some pointed remarks about me being no contact with my mom to now using her daughters name as a direct slight against me I can’t help but feel like all she wants to do is weaponize my dead grandma against me without even worrying about how disrespectful she’s being to her as long as it hurts me. I haven’t even tried talking to about my nieces name because after confronting her about my grandmas passing I know it’ll do nothing to actually remedy anything and will just lead to even more explosive fights where I know she’ll just double down on saying things she know will hurt me. And I don’t want to argue about my grandma. I don’t want to use her memory for something disrespectful. It doesn’t feel right and doesn’t feel like honoring her in any way that she’d appreciate. I just want her to be respected. I want her name to be used for something kind and loving instead of spiteful. Because ultimately that’s what she was. My kind and loving grandma. Not a tool to cause arguments and tension. She was always the mediator in the family and I can’t help but think how disappointed she’d be to know her passing has been used in the way it has to further drive a shift in the family.

[unnervinglyferal]

I love my dad, I truly do as much as we clash

But oh my fucking god I hate the way he treats animals

He’s not mean, he loves animals, he spoils the dogs

But I just had to pick up Tootsie and put her back into the house because Dad decided to let her out to hang out with him while he grilled

She just walked over to the chicken coop

He wasn’t even outside

He’d gone back inside and left her out there without her leash

I wish she wasn’t outside without a leash at all but if he was outside then at least she was supervised

But noooo he went inside and left her outside

And he had the gall to be surprised that she didn’t stay put!!!

No shit we suck at training dogs

He does this constantly

He over humanizes animals to the point that he expects rational human thought processes from them

He spoils them to the point that he gives her full treats for him (dad) going outside

I can’t even try to train her out of demanding treats when someone goes outside because he won’t stop giving her stuff

He refuses to walk Nebula in his harness because it makes Nebula upset to put it on, fine his choice he can get yanked around all he wants, but then when someone else walks him he pouts and guilt trips them

Granted he doesn’t do that last one as often now, really only when he’s drank or when he’s high

He complains over how badly behaved the dogs are when he’s in a bad mood but as soon as he’s in a good one he’s actively teaching the dogs bad behavior and refuses to see it as a bad thing

He’s like this for everything!!!

Last spring there was a wild mama turkey on the property and he literally went out to protect her from deer

But he completely glosses over legitimate concerns over my chickens safety because he’s too embarrassed to admit he’s not the best at building things

He always has to be right and he pouts when you point out that he’s not, god forbid he’s right one time

He doesn’t listen when someone sets boundaries and then acts offended when they snap at him

I try my best to never disagree with him because I can’t have a civil disagreement because he takes everything the wrong way and refuses to listen to me when I tell him he misinterpreted what I said

I know how his brain works, I have a very similar one

I know when he backtracks and says he said something he never said it’s because he said it in his head or something he previously said meant that

But he never admits that he worded it oddly or just never said it

I do

I admit when I think I said something and realize I didn’t

I admit when I thought something I said was clear in what it meant but it turns out it wasn’t

I rarely apologize to him, I should

I know I snap when I shouldn’t

But I’m not fucking apologizing to someone who doesn’t apologize to me

When he does apologize I do to

But I refuse to apologize when he doesn’t because it feels like he takes an apology I give freely as permission to not listen to me again

And wow this started as me just being pissed because he left Tootsie outside without supervision

The consequences of bottling this up because I know if Mom or I mention it to him he’ll get closed off and defensive and we’ll never get anywhere

P.S. I know what you’re talking about, it sucks ass, always hits at what feels like the worst time too

Some people never learn from their mistakes because as far as they're concerned, they never make mistakes. You can't reason with people who won't reason themselves. I guess that observing what he does and making sure that you won't do the same is the best you can do. Hope your chickens will survive whatever might happen next.

[bunnyb34r]

So weeks ago I suggested we have steaks for Thanksgiving instead of turkey or chicken. Had a whole plan of a menu, was actually excited. EXPLICITLY asked mom to NOT invite DogCousin. She said no why would she? Besides DC is probably going to another cousins house.

So it's 3:30pm mom puts the potatoes on. Cool, I'm in my room watching TV waiting for those to boil. Took my meds at 3 they're kicking in. Starting to feel okay enough to get up and cook. Starting to feel excited. Thinking ab pictures to take of Bean, what goofy ones ill take as private ones to share with friends (this year was gonna be catnip weed themed last year was baby's first Vegas trip)

Mom comes in my room. This fake smile. She sits down and says she loves me. Okay what's wrong??

"DogCousin is coming over."

I fucking lost it. I start crying as a panic attack emerges. Any excitement, any appetite, any joy, leaves my body. I don't want dinner period. I tell her I'm not coming out, I'm not helping cook, just leave my steak in the fridge I'll eat tomorrow alone.

She starts crying. She did this to help me, she said. To make Thanksgiving less lonely. To break up the anxiety by having someone here.

When have I ever been excited when DC invites herself over? When have I ever expressed anything but pure DREAD?

I specifically asked her not to do this. She forgot.

Worst part is she never ASKS ME when DC invites herself over. It's always "sorry. I'm sorry. DC is coming over. Sorry"

Never once giving me the chance to say no. Never once asking me first.

Midway through the breakdown I ask why she was so determined to ruin my Thanksgiving? Why can't she see that DC has no sense of awareness of herself/others? Why doesn't she understand?

Finally she agrees to turn DC away, but gives her a steak and a raw baking potato. A normal person would deny this. Would say no you don't have to do this.

Nope.

Finally she leaves. Continue the breakdown. Continue the argument. We're here now.

Idk if we're even gonna bother with dinner today. My appetite is ruined. Any excitement, any special holiday meal feelings are gone. It's just a normal steak dinner now. I don't care.

[belethlegwen]

What does Henry think about Human holiday traditions? 💜

I was LITERALLY just having a conversation with Zip about this re: Henry and Atticus hahahaha Ok, SO

Please let me apologize for not answering multiple asks about this

They are sittin' in my queue staring me down only because I'm a weirdo with some personal hangups (nothing major or whatever I just... have not put a ton of thought into this).

What I am about to write is very long, winding, and personal. There'll be a TL:DR at the end for the ACTUAL answer to this question, but for now, have a read more:

In the real world, I don't do like... Traditional Christmas for myself. Born and raised Christian/Catholic, of COURSE my family (all of it. So much of it. There is so much family I get two god damn turkey dinners tomorrow. One at lunch and one at dinner) does Christmas and always has. Back in about the mid 2010s I was working with a local non-profit/charity organization and all of my friends were like, 3-10 years younger than I am, all in school, all making ends meet barely kind of deal. I stopped doing Christmas gifts. It started slow and awkward; I got my family who were doing well for themselves and didn't need anything a bunch of those like, "Gifts of Hope" with the money I would've spent on gifts for them. My friends I got basically nothing save for one or two. My sisters' gift money bought a whole bunch of chickens or ducks for a family, my parents bought a goat I think? I can't remember, it was basically a billion years ago now in my brain so I don't fully recall what I got them.

Then I just... stopped getting gifts. Every now and then I'd really spring for something if it jumped out at me or seemed important for someone, but most of the time I would do like... alright cool, I will pay for lunch for everyone at work. I will take someone out for a nice drive. I want memories, I want to give you nice memories. I like giving gifts, but the pressure at Christmas time is UNREAL, and that was one of the real reasons I stopped doing presents. Friends who straight up did not have the money were getting me gifts because they were expecting some from me and I had to put my foot down and tell them No, do not buy me shit. I ain't gettin' you shit, please stop stressing and harming yourself emotionally or financially for me, I don't need anything. So I don't do gifts anymore. I have a little gay Christmas Tree with Bernie Sanders on top, it's out year-round because me and my cousin gay'd it the fuck UP for valentines in 2021 and it became a Pride Tree and so it's just there, always. For Christmas I move it from the corner to the middle of the livingroom window. That's all the decorating I do. In The Rescue, Melanie is still very much grieving the loss of her Father and Step-Mother, who were the people she celebrated a lot of the holidays with. She still does SOME holiday stuff with Laura and Dyna and Mark (sort of on Mark. More like he's around, and she does little things to keep him from feeling excluded) and chats with a few estranged friends rarely, BUT for the most part... holidays just glide by. She was, until Henry arrived, only going to care about Christmas and the lead-up to it in the sense that it would've opened up a bunch of Christmas markets and stuff for her to sell some of her driftwood art pieces at. I have not thought extremely hard on HOW it's going to come up initially in The Rescue, but yes. At some point Melanie will probably celebrate a real Christmas again with Henry and her close friends.

[TL:DR] As for how he FEELS about Christmas:

Henry loves it. They have similar gift-giving or family-get-together holidays near the solstices every year. The Winter Solstice is specifically a food-oriented holiday where the weeks and everything beforehand are people preparing to either host extremely LARGE meals for as many friends/family/neighbours as they can cram in, or if you aren't hosting, you're doing as much long-shelf-life food prep as you can. Henry and his Mom used to do a LOT of bottled chicken/meats, and jams/jellies for their neighbours. In rare years where the harvest wasn't strong enough for there to be a large surplus? Socks, mittens, hats, and so on. His Dad actually used to be phenomenal at mending boots, and apparently a lot of the neighbouring farmers/farm workers begrudged the years that the Lemuels had a great crop year because it meant that his Dad probably wasn't going to be doing his "Bring your boots to the house and I'll have them leak free before the holiday is done". As a boy, Henry hated the fact that he felt he knew all of his neighbours' footsmells individually. When his father passed, because neither he (nor his mother, for that matter) ever knew how he had done it, it was one of the things that made that holiday feel even more hollow in the loss. No smell of old, well-worn boots in the house. Henry thinks the trees and decorating them is "nice" but also "...Why?" and he could do without a good number of the Christmas songs that get played over and over again on the radio. Melanie introduces him to a number of Christmas movies that he enjoys as much as any other movies, but mostly he just loves the atmosphere of friends and loved ones coming together for gifts, joy, food and warmth. It's very nostalgic for him.

Thanks so much for the question, Ozzy! So so so sorry for the immense and possibly heavy answer. AND SO SORRY TO EVERYONE WHO HAS ASKED ABOUT MEL/HENRY AND HOLIDAYS WHO I HAVE JUST LEFT HANGING THERE, I AM A MONSTER.

[regicide1997]

This is in reference to the reddit post I reblogged a couple hours ago. Making my own post because this is going to be a very much Christian-ish perspective and since OP of the other post is Jewish I'd rather not clog their notes with this stream-of-consciousness rant.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around how someone can fuck up that badly.

Sure, Peter's vision in Acts 10 allows you to eat otherwise unclean meats, that's one valid interpretation—I recently learned it's not the only interpretation, but it is probably the interpretation that Paul was following when he wrote this to the early church in Rome:

13 Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister. 14 I am convinced, being fully persuaded in the Lord Jesus, that nothing is unclean in itself. But if anyone regards something as unclean, then for that person it is unclean. 15 If your brother or sister is distressed because of what you eat, you are no longer acting in love. Do not by your eating destroy someone for whom Christ died. 16 Therefore do not let what you know is good be spoken of as evil. 17 For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit, 18 because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and receives human approval.

19 Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification. 20 Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All food is clean, but it is wrong for a person to eat anything that causes someone else to stumble. 21 It is better not to eat meat or drink wine or to do anything else that will cause your brother or sister to fall.

22 So whatever you believe about these things keep between yourself and God. Blessed is the one who does not condemn himself by what he approves. 23 But whoever has doubts is condemned if they eat, because their eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin.

(Romans 14:13-23)

TL;DR: In the presence of those with religious/moral/ethical dietary restrictions stricter than your own, follow their restrictions; and above all else, don't be an asshole. Now, I'll admit, I'm not the biggest fan of Paul, but he really hit the nail on the head with this one.

I'm reminded of a few minutes I glimpsed of an episode of The Big Bang Theory (back when I had cable, and before I had gained the common sense to change the channel when The Big Bang Theory was on) in which Sheldon's very much Evangelical mother comes for a visit and prepares food (it might have been turkey? or chicken? [looked it up, it was chicken]) for the protagonists, and she said to the one protag who was visibly of South Asian descent [looking it up: Raj], "I hope it's not one of the animals you people think is magic."

Yeah, it left a bad taste in my mouth, too.

Although it was written in a way that makes clear that this character is coming from a place of ignorance and Christian supremacism, she at least demonstrates a (half-hearted) attempt to be accommodating of other people's religious dietary restrictions (or at least what she assumed might be there; I might be wrong, but if I recall, the punchline was that Raj was an atheist. not going to bother looking it up, this post isnt meant to be an analysis of a fucking tbbt scene). Even though the wording is disrespectful of the beliefs surrounding the dietary restrictions, and even though the question of dietary restrictions (religious or otherwise) should've been addressed to the whole room (and not just the one person whose ethnicity reminded her that foreigners exist), she nonetheless acknowledged and was somewhat prepared to accommodate such dietary restrictions.

All of this to say: Imagine being worse than Sheldon's mom. Imagine not only knowing ahead of time that your guests (in particular, your son-in-law and his children, whom you invited for a meal) have dietary restrictions, and not only failing to prepare a meal that meets those restrictions, but purposely preparing a meal that violates those restrictions, and presenting it to your guests as if it satisfied the restrictions. Imagine being so disgustingly hateful, and claiming to act in love's name. Imagine having the audacity to demand an apology when the clanging cymbal of your hateful acts is met with similarly harsh words.

may god have mercy on your wretched souls, for were i in his place, i sure as hell would not.

If those parents-in-law had actually followed the New Testament guidelines they professed, then there should not have been any pork on the table, at all—not even as a side option for the sake of the Christian side of the family. When you (Christians) invite people for a meal, and all or the majority of your invited guests are Jewish, you don't take the non-kosher food out of the fridge; you prepare a kosher meal for all to enjoy. (Even if they say ahead of time that it's okay, you still do your best to go the extra mile to make your guests comfortable.) And above all, you don't be a fucking asshole.

And that's just the religious aspect of it. Religious aspects aside, the violation of trust, the violation of basic hospitality, the violation of consent entailed in preparing food that contains ingredients your guests have told you they cannot consume—regardless of reason—and serving that food to those guests under the pretense that it does not contain such ingredients... I'm not a lawyer, but I'm pretty sure that qualifies as assault.

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

ohh ohh i wanna hear your rant on the dog food industry

FUCK.....ok... well ill try to keep it short but basically its like....most dog food is pure sawdust, most dogs have chronic inflammation and spend their entire lives in a malnourished state, which results in disease, and their lifespan being shortened. the other week when i took pochita to the vet, they said, oh she has terrible allergies, you need to start giving her benadryll immediately, then when shes 6 months old we'll switch her to apoquel. and i just laughed, cuz i already KNOW about apoquel, from my last dog. APOQUEL is a very harsh allergy medication that not only absolutely fucks your dog's internal organs, greatly shortens lifespan, but it costs around $80 a MONTH. at least, thats what it was a few yrs ago. and people will just trust the vet, take the apoquel, think they're doing the right thing. so i say to the vet "yeah actually from her tear stains i can tell its a food allergy. because she's still on chicken puppy food which most dogs are allergic to *vet is nodding* so im going to try switching her to a different protein and see if that helps." and the vet's like ohh..yaa.. *caught off guard* i see youve dealt with this before...well you should try this purina special ingredients food blahblah.. im like, yea yea sure thing lady *looking around seeing all the purina posters on the wall so i know this bitch clinic sponsored by them*.. (purina is an awful fucking brand i would never feed anything i love purina). but see, notice how she didnt suggest anything about switching food until i mentioned it? she purposefully didnt mention it, because she wants my sweet sweet $80 a month from that apoquel script, plus whatever bonus she gets from prescribing it to enough patients. and not only does she want that monthly $80, she wants to profit off of all the other health problems that will arise from ongoing years of apoquel usage. all under the guise of being the nice veterinarian who just wants to help ^_^ there are some good vets out there, dont get me wrong, ive been to more hollistic vets who are good. but a lot of conventional pets are working hand in hand with dog food companies to keep pets sick, keep their profits up, and they rely on you having no idea whats going on in your dog's body to ensure this works. i am now feeding pochita blue buffalo limited ingredients food that has only turkey, no chicken by-products, no corn wheat or soy (which are in almost every dog food), and its not any more expensive than iams or purina or whatever. and shes doing SO much better, her tear stains are fading by the day. oh, another fun fact, is that there's NO LAWS about what you can say on a dog food bag! you can literally just advertise it as anything! so always read to ingredients cuz thats the only part thats real. ok im gonna leave it at that for now and prob delete this later but yea... whatever kind of pet u have, just always do ur research and cross examine ur vet lol catch them off guard its funny.

[serenity-bitty]

THIS IS A MOMENTOUS OCCASION HOLY SHIT.

Okay. As an autistic person, I have had texture issues my ENTIRE LIFE. And I have mourned for so many foods that TASTE and SMELL absolutely fantastic, but my body refused to swallow. Mourned. Grieved these foods. I can't eat mashed potatoes, I can't eat applesauce, I can't even have a French fry too thick because the texture of mashed potato happens inside the fries.

And I certainly can't eat ground meat.

That's right. Be it beef, chicken, turkey or any other meat, I cannot eat ground meat. No sloppy joes, no hamburger, cheeseburger, big Mac, whopper. NONE OF IT.

Barbeques and cookouts are a special kind of hell for me, to say the least.

And don't get me wrong, sometimes there are moments that give me a small sliver of hope.

On rare occasion, I will outgrow my issues with one type of texture.

I couldn't stand avocados until I was 25 years old. But now? I LOVE them.

After so many years, though, I had given up hoping.

But tonight.

Tonight I was blessed.

My roommate, Maddie, has a good amount of money. Not like rich, but enough to be considered stable and she has the help of her family as well. She can afford nice things.

And one of those nice things was a package of on-sale wagyu ground beef.

And if you don't know what that is, come back to this post after you've gone down a YouTube/Googling rabbit hole about it, and you will understand.

Even if it is discounted, frozen grocery store brand beef, you do NOT disrespect the fucking wagyu. Don't even risk it.

So my roommate is lying on the couch and she isn't feeling well, there's a shortage of her blood pressure medication, so she's having a bit of trouble doing things.

So she asks me to do her a favor and check if the meat she was gonna cook was defrosted yet.

I checked, it was upside down in the bowl, and it was defrosted, but when I turned the package around to see what it was (plastic was too foggy to see) I nearly screamed.

"YOU GOT FUCKING WAGYU BEEF!?!?! HOW MUCH DID THIS COST YOU?!?!"

She seemed a little sheepish for a second, and I kinda felt bad for blurting that out, so I quickly moved on to offering to help her cook it. Because I can't eat ground beef, however, I never really cooked a burger before, so she has to teach me a bit.

I helped her off the couch and we decided it would be less labor-intensive on Maddie if we broiled it in the air fryer.

So she seasoned it and got it started, splitting it up into two halves. I cut up the ingredients and put away the other half of the meat while the patty cooked and she rested in the office. She didn't even ask me to do all of those things, I just did it to help. I flipped it and double checked with her to make sure it was properly cooked.

It came out medium.

I was honestly excited to see her try it, like it is NOT every day you get to see this kind of delicacy.

I'm so broke even seeing someone eat fancy food is an event for me 🙃

(but in my defense, I was pretty fucken high when this happened.)

Anyway, so she eats it and I'm asking her how it is, give us the juicy (pun intended) DEETS.

And she is thorough in her description. And even MY mouth starts to wonder at the thought of tasting it.

And then. I had a thought.

If she lets me try a bite, I can do a bit of an experiment.

If even the texture of a WAGYU. FUCKING. BURGER. Makes me gag.

I would give up on ever enjoying the texture of a burger.

But if not, ohohoho.... I would never stop searching, never stop struggling, never stop trying to find a burger with a texture and budget I could stand.

So I start to work up the courage to ask if I could try a bite.

But she actually offered it to me before I could even get the chance!

I explained what I was thinking to her, and she was a bit interested in my little experiment.

So she hands me the burger.

It's on a bakery bun, with Mediterranean Cheddar (FANCY AS FUCK BOII), Whataburger ketchup, mustard, and some good ole Texas Pickles.

I let the smell hit my nose, and almost audibly gulped.

I took the bite.

Oh. My. God.

It was the best damn thing I'd ever eaten, let alone the first burger I could ever truly enjoy. Holy hell.

I felt like Squidward after his first Krabby Patty.

I had to break into a vault. I needed more. I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes out of both pure joy and deep despair.

I wasn't about to eat more than the one bite I was given. That would be incredibly rude and also just plain mean.

I handed it back to her, desperately hiding my urge to eat it.

I don't know if she noticed, or if she's literally just that fucking nice (and believe me she has shown me nothing but kindness) but she literally offered me the other half of the meat to make my own burger.

I could have cried.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yes, my mom gets me this kind of stuff all the time! Go ahead!"

Bruh.

Avocado, bakery bun, onions, ketchup, and that Mediterranean Cheddar.

Hooo boy. The only thing that would have made this better would be if I had toasted the bun.

Even the grease tasted good. THE. GREASE. Autistic people and grease don't exactly tend to mix!!!! And usually, I don't like too much grease. But this was amazing, an explosion of grease mingling in with the juice of the meat. And the way it interacted with the toppings and the bun.... Oh fuck.

I now understand what Gabriel Iglesias meant when he talked about food. I sounded like I was making love to that burger, and I didn't care.

I may as well have been a judge in shokugeki no soma.

It was glorious. I still can't get the taste out of my mouth. I could die happy.

Also it makes me more like Sans Undertale and that makes me happy.

[leonicscorpio]

Batboy Headcanons because I made this for me but you all can enjoy this too if want. (May contain mild NSFW)

Dick:

Has a weird relationship with unwanted gaze and the attention he receives because of his physique. He genuinely likes the attention but he draws the line when people start getting touchy. Just because he's shirtless working out doesn't mean he gave you consent to touch him.

Has good dieting skills but he's in his mid-late 20's and his metabolism has 0 signs of slowing down. He once ate a whole xl bag of M&M's in front of Steph and Babs and both said they wanted to murder him because he won't gain a pound.

Dick has ADHD and I'm sorry if you don't think otherwise. He has hyperactive type ADHD and while he's gotten better at controlling his symptoms he still stims stretching and flexing his arms and shaking his arms.

While not so much in Gotham, Dick is very politically active and volunteers at voter registration and working with organizations with the mission of police demilitarization in Blüdhaven.

Dick is a very sexually driven individual. However, I don't think it's entirely healthy. His ADHD also comes into play with this but Dick just needs to have a release at least twice a day or he'll feel physically sick.

I don't know if you all have seen male gymnasts. But Dick, like the rest of them, has FREAKSISHLY large biceps. Everyone talks about Dick has the best ass in the bat family and while Jason may be larger and stronger, Dick has the best physique.

Dick's apartment is littered with sticky notes in places such as the fridge/in front of his computer. If it's not written down and in a place where he can't ignore it, it's not going to get done.

I'm sorry I know everyone says his birthday is in March but I have to go to the older Nightwing comics and say his Birthday is December 1st. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me this man doesn't give off Sagittarius energy. You can't. I respect you but you can't look at that and tell me that man isn't a Sagittarius or has super heavy Sag in his birth chart.

Dick's at home doing nothing but chilling? You best believe he's gonna be shirts off, tits out, and rocking some blue flannel PJ's.

Dick is currently the only member of the family asides from Barbara who is regularly attending therapy. And he actively encourages each of his brothers and sisters to go every time.

After his Agent 37 days. He sits down with Jason and talks about having to use a gun and how hard it was. And how having to kill people has affected him. When he had to kill the KGBeast (Agent 37 days he snapped his neck) I headcanon Dick just trauma v*mit*d. Jason hugged him and just consoled him.

It's canon that Dick has anger issues but to me, it's not explored or talked about enough and not a lot of people like to talk about it. Dick is very much the 'if I ignore it it'll go away' type when it comes to his anger and he can brush most insults or harassment off fine enough. But when he breaks, he makes Jason look like a saint. I'm talking slamming you into a wall and screaming in your face angry. He'll be profusely apologetic afterward but still.

Despite popular belief, I don't think he's that bad of a cook. He's just not very experimentative. He can follow a recipe and does look at some guides. But to me, Dick Grayson just is that guy who is like Chicken veggies and rice are a meal that I can cook 4-6 times a week.

Dick has a slight fear of dentists. He doesn't have bad teeth and has good dental health. He just doesn't like the idea of a drill going in his mouth and the few times Bruce has to take him to a dentist he had a panic attack every time.

Everyone lives for the fics where Jason beats the shit out of Tim and everyone is just like lol well Bruce and Dick just forgives him. No. When Dick found out it was Jason who beat Tim to the ground, Dick was literally seething and told Jason "Pick on someone your own size or else I'll make you wish you back in that f'ing coffin."

Dick's favorite foods (some based in Canon*): Milk Chocolate*, Cereal*, Asparagus, Bananas, Banana flavored candy, Hawaiian Pizza* (suffer its canon) Rum, thanksgiving Turkey.

Jason:

He may be the self-diagnosed black sheep (rightfully so) of the family, but Jason does genuinely love spending time with his siblings. Whether it be sharing memes with them on social media or just randomly showing up where they are and abducting them to go get ice cream/coffee/snacks.

He'd probably attempt to harm you if you told him this to his face. But he is the closest acting to Bruce out of all of the family. In terms of mannerisms and inherent warmth and kindness behind a dark façade.

Has two moods: either exceptionally, almost neat-freak levels of clean, or his life is completely falling apart and Jason can't tell you for sure what color his floors are because there's so much stuff scattered about.

Despite their initial hatred of each other, Jason truly feels closest to Tim and Tim is the only person asides from maybe Barbra who he can just talk to without feeling any judgment.

Jason only smokes when he's extremely nervous about an operation or a hit. For those who don't know criminal justice cigarettes are the fastest way to get genetic material on someone. That being said he does still like to smoke occasionally.

Me, plus a lot of people give him this sort of 'Lazarus Rage' as I like to call it. When he's in the heat of a mission or if he's getting upset/angry his vision will get blurred with green, and it feeds on his anger and just gets perpetually harder to contain until he releases it. Jason has gotten much better at controlling it. But as he will tell Tim or Babs, he's "seeing green" which means they need to be careful because Jason could kill.

Everyone says Dick is the mother hen. I see you, I accept you, but let me raise you. Jason came to realize that he died because of his rash decision to go after The Joker alone. If Jason finds any of his siblings out acting alone, or even at the very least without Oracle. Jason WILL forcefully interject himself and ask them what the fuck they think their doing.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Trying to get close to Jason is hard. He will degrade you can attempt to try to get you to hate him before he lets you in (that cheeky Tsun of him)

He genuinely cares for and supports all of his siblings but has been rough on them needlessly. But if Bruce is being the distant or absent parent he is, you better believe if any of the siblings drops him a text or a call, Jason will be there in a heartbeat.

He's the most physically powerful of the whole Bat Family. You don't understand because of his time in the League, his time with the All-Caste, and having abused Venom for a time, he can snap an arm bone like it's a carrot with little effort.

Everyone in the family likes dogs and goes out of their way to gush over a dog, but Jason takes it to a whole new level. And even when he's masked up dogs just gravitate to Jason.

Can and has grown a beard in a matter of a few days. He usually likes to be clean shaven but some days he likes to wear a beard just to throw everyone off.

One time him, Steph, Tim, and Duke all went to a restaurant (Red Robin lol) and the waitress got his order wrong and his burger had raw tomatoes on it, Jason took the tomatoes off and ate it while looking absolutely miserable. Tim: Jay why did you eat that you didn't have to you know you could have asked the server to fix your burger. Jason, almost in tears: "She works really hard and she tried and I'm a scary dude I don't want to make her upset.." Duke: "... Jason you literally shot at a cop for looking at you funny the other day. But you're afraid of upsetting a waitress?!? I mean ACAB but dude.. "

Jason's happiest big brother moment™ was taking Tim and Damian to the shooting range and watching them both get their first bullseye.

You can't tell me Jason Todd was into the Emo/Screamo/Warped-Tour Scene. His favorite bands/Albums in no particular order, That's the Spirit (Literally the whole album is Jason Themed and I'm gonna die on this hill) & Sempiternal by Bring me the Horizon, Digital Renegade & Everyone's Safe in the Treehouse by I See Stars, The Resistance: Rise of the Runaways by Crown the Empire,

Jason Todd's favorite foods: (Also some based in Canon*) Burgers, Chili Dogs*, Lager-style beers, Freshly baked bread*, Neopolitan ice cream, grilled corn, and Chinese Chicken noodle soup with Duck.

Tim:

This boy *slaps car roof* gives off so much asexual energy. I know New 52 exists but I just feel like Tim is the person who really, REALLY has to trust you and like you before he's sexually active with you.

HYPERFIXATES. You also can't tell me Tim isn't on the spectrum/or has ADHD.

Is the only member of the family who regularly checks up on Jason and talks to him every day via text message. The two are memelords together and love to play pranks on the other members.

While Dick may give the most frequent hugs and Jason gives the tightest, most secure hugs, Tim's hugs are always the warmest and make you just feel good.

Tim's birthday is July 19th. Meaning he's a Cancer. Let that sink in.. no, really let that information just soak. (Note I have nothing against Cancer women, cancer men however....)

All of the bat boys really struggle with talking about their feelings. Dick will manipulate you into changing the subject via twisting it to be about you, Jason will just cut you off or will ignore you, Damian will deflect everything and harass you until you stop, Tim however, Tim is very emotional and while he's very calculated about who he's emotional with, he's not afraid to break down and cry if he trusts you.

Everyone who says he's the level headed Robin haha how's it feel to be WRONG. Tim is at best the least functional college student and at worst a lemming. 'No Tim, coffee isn't a meal I'm going to make you some food or I'm going to stick you in a room with Damian for an hour.' Richard (Dick) John Grayson.

People overblow how addicted to caffeine Tim is. But it's true. Just overblown. You can talk to him before he's had his caffeine just don't expect him to be anything but curt and blunt.

Everyone says Jason would be the worst at texting but it's Tim. He's the master of leaving you on read. While Jason may do it on purpose, Tim is just really bad at texting people and while he always will read your messages he forgets to respond unless it's really funny or really pressing.

Everyone sees Tim as this bean pole super skinny boy Robin. Tim may not be stacked like Dick or a freaking tank like Jason, but Tim is NOT super skinny. He's just as muscular and likes to work out as anyone, but he just is super lean, so he looks a lot bigger and his muscles are more defined because of how thin his skin is. He has those almost disgusting spider veins on his arm. Kind of gross to look at, but he's the dream of any nurse. This means Tim is also the king of accidentally sending/posting thirst traps.

He really is the glue of the Bat Family. Everyone kidnaps Tim for 'Tim Time'.

Dick likes to spar with and in general just hang out with Tim. Tim tried to teach Dick how to skateboard and you'd think the boy who mastered the trapeze would know how to skateboard but you'd be wrong.

Babs and Tim always hang out and talk about computer stuff and Babs knows she can vent to Tim about anything and he won't say a word.

Tim and Steph were a thing for a while and even though they're just friends now, they still are very close and the two have a very deep bond, liking to shop with each other and watch movies,

Cass just loves to be around Tim because of how calming he is but also she knows she can spar with him AND Cass can also skateboard with Tim too.

Even though him and Damian are always fighting, the two still end up being together and have this unspoken bond. They work great together on a team but other than that they still hate each other.

And while everyone still is hesitant around Jason, and despite the fact that Jason literally beat Tim to within an inch of his life, AND would still trigger Tim and taunt him about it. The two have this odd closeness that rivals even him and Steph. Tim will always be the first to bat for Jason. Jason was Tim's Robin. And despite the fact Jason literally beat it into Tim's head to "never meet your heroes." Tim will always be there for Jason should he ask. The two are just close. And it's hard to describe. Bruce has caught Tim and Jason just platonically sleeping next to each other or just doing their own things shoulder to shoulder silently, just enjoying each other's company.

Tim and Duke also have a really positive relationship with one another and the two can stay up all night just talking about anything. Their minds just mesh well together. The two also love to team up and prank the other members of the Batman Family.

Tim's favorite ASMR/Stim? Watching those Tik Toks of people cleaning computers or cleaning phones. The sound of an air duster is like music to his ears and if any of the Bats need their technology cleaned it secretly makes Tim so happy to help them.

Wear his hair up or wear his hair down? It depends! While Tim likes his long hair he also has gotten plenty of compliments for his short hair and likes to style it to suit any occasion.

My one pet-peeve with Tim is that he probably is that person who lets his privilege show from time to time. While he was essentially raised to just sit down, shut up, and be a perfect trophy son to the Drake's. The Drake's were in the same tax bracket as Bruce and Tim definitely was a rich kid. He never means to come across as spoiled, but sometimes Jason will give him harsh looks if Tim just throws away food he doesn't like or says things like Chipotle is 'poor people food'

Tim Drake's favorite foods (you know by now*) Donuts*, Shallot and Artichoke Pizza with Canadian Bacon* (odd choice but it could work) Artichokes in general are his favorite vegetable, Strawberries, and Beef Pho.

Damian:

I headcanon that he has the worst teeth of all of the Bat Boys and he actually has to use lingual braces. (Hence why you can't see his braces)

Canonically is a very good artist and while him and Tim don't get along, Tim introduced Damian to digital art and gave him a photoshop pack and a nice tablet for his birthday one year and Damian loved it so much.

Damian is a capricorn and I will die on this hill. A January capricorn too.

Now you want a good chef? You've got Damian. Having converted to veganism Damian has had to get creative whenever he goes out to eat so he tends to like to eat more home cooked foods. Damian loves all matters of mushrooms, eggplant, and bell peppers.

Damian really struggles the most with his wanting to just be a normal kid. Despite the fact he will dismiss you for it, anytime he gets to spend at Gotham Academy with Jon and the rest of the kids he's naturally the happiest.

Damian LOVES to give gifts. He loves the look on people's faces when they are shocked when they actually get something from Damian.

Despite the fact that he's been traumatized from both his times with Ra's and Talia as well as with Bruce. He just wants Bruce and Talia to be together because he loves them both equally.

While he's the least flexible and least gymnastic of the Robins do let your guard down around him. He is the fastest runner and the guy is rivaled only by Jason in terms of lethality.

So someone (Jason Todd & Duke Thomas) introduced Damian to trap music and ever since anytime his phone gets stolen people will be shocked to find he's listening to some combination of Lil' Yachty, X, Kendrick Lamar, Wiz, and Kodak.

If any random person tries to hug Damian he'll immediately push them away, he'll bitch and moan about just about anyone hugging him other than Bruce & Dick.

Damian loves to go to the beach/the ocean. He just thinks it's so vast and he loves the brineness of the air. Also being half white, quarter middle-eastern and quarter Chinese (Yes everyone forgets Talia is half Chinese) Damian gets DARK. And although he's just okay as a swimmer he still likes bogeyboarding and eventually wants to learn how to surf.

I'm genuinely afraid once Puberty is done with this kid and everyone in the family is. He has Bruce Wayne AND Talia Al-Ghouls genes and those are two SEXY human beings. Damian's gonna grow a beard one day and people aren't going to know how to act.

Damian secretly plays Fortnight and not even Jon knows. He doesn't want to get shamed. He'd rather lose a match and ruin his streaks than deal with the shame of anyone in that family finding out he plays Fortnight.

Damian Wayne's favorite foods (canon*) Cereal*, Avocados, Grilled Tempeh, his mom's Tabbouleh, Mushroom Tacos, and Vegan Sushi rolls, and grape juice.

Duke Thomas

Duke is like, freakishly good with a piano, and he picked it up naturally!

Also everyone says Tim brews the best pot of coffee in the Bat Family, cue to everyone's surprise when Tim was sick one day and couldn't make a pot. Only to find the coffee was freaking amazing. Duke didn't take any credit at first until Alfred let it slip that Duke was the one who brewed the pot.

Duke being the only Meta of the family originally thought he was the double-token because he was a Meta and a black boy. Needless to say his fears were seriously unfounded the moment he got to know everyone.

Although he somewhat fears Jason and his temper initially, he and Jason have one of the closest relationships in the family. If Tim isn't around to bat for Jason, Duke will happily take his spot. The two work on each other's bikes and grew to share the same taste in music.

Duke uses his Photokenetic powers as a force for good and for shenanigans. Jason wants to play a prank on Dick and Damian while Dick is reading Damian a story? Duke will hide Jason in the shadows and will cover up his shadow. Alfred dropped something in the dark? You better believe Duke will find it in 3 seconds or less.

Duke makes it a point to visit his parents every weekend to talk to them. Although they are making some progress in their recoveries, it's still slow going. Eventually, he starts bringing members of the family to see his parents. It started with Cass, then Jason, and the rest followed suit.

Duke loves playing video games with Damian and even helps Damian beat some tougher levels when Damian is about to rage and destroy the console.

Duke is into Magic the Gathering and you cannot tell me otherwise. Duke also is the DM for the Bat Kids annual D&D games. I can and will make a D&D Batfam Headcanons if asked.

Loves Pho just as much as Cass and Tim and they all call it a date night every now and then where they can go to a hole in the wall pho place. It's really a secret between the three of them.

DUKE THOMAS IS THE BEST SWIMMER OF THE BAT BOYS AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL. HE JUST THRIVES IN THE WATER.

Finding out his birth father is a supervillain was really tough for him. He went into a shell for a little bit afterwards. Cass and Steph were there to help talk him out of his funk.

Duke Thomas's favorite foods (lol what canon DC hasn't acknowleged our boy in a while..) Chicken Pho, Thai Iced Tea, Papaya, Crab Cakes, Italian Hoagies, his mom's Lemon Poundcake, mint chocolate chip ice cream.

I hope y'all enjoyed! Up next (eventually) will be the Bat Girls!

[elisela]

do you know how to do take-aways? (read on ao3) derek x stiles, g, 2.2k, au, meet cute, fluff, kid fic

prompt: call me for @tylerhunklin

--

"Hey Scott," Stiles says, jamming the phone receiver between his shoulder and ear so he can go back to typing with both his hands. "Desk duty is killing me, man, do you know how much of a backlog on paperwork there is in this place? Fucking ridiculous—"

"Stiles," Scott cuts in, “I have a call I need you to take."

Stiles sits up straighter and frowns. "We've got people out on patrol—"

Scott's laughter is warm and familiar in his ear. "No, it's not a patrol thing. I'm gonna transfer it over to you, okay? And I’m still coming to bring you dinner tonight."

"Roger," Stiles says, lazily snapping a salute despite Scott not being able to see him. There's a pause and a click, and he slips back into his professional mode—the one his dad definitely wishes he would use more often. "Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department, this is Deputy Stilinski, how can I help you?"

"Hi," a small voice says. "Do you know how to do take-aways?"

He frowns, glancing over at the display on the phone screen. He'd think it was a joke except he doubts Scott would patch that through, and there's a childish tone to the voice that's difficult to fake. "Like subtraction?" he asks.

"Yeah," the voice says. "We learned it today but I don't remember and I gotta do my homework."

He presses his lips together so he doesn't laugh and slouches, relaxing a little in his seat. "Sure do," he says. "What's your name?"

"Talia Marie Hale," she says promptly, and Stiles scribbles it down on a piece of paper. "How do I do five take away five?"

"Can you put up five fingers?" he asks, and she makes a noise of assent. "Okay, now put five of them down." He hears her counting in the background and he copies the number the shows on his display underneath her name, then clicks over to run it through the system. When she stops, he says, "okay, how many fingers do you still have up?"

"I don't have any," she says. "How do you write that?"

"Zero," he says. "Do you know how to make that? It's like a big o." He waits another moment before asking, "is anyone in the house with you, Talia?"

"Yeah, my auntie," she says. "But I can't ask her questions while she's writing unless it's an emergency."

He can't catch himself before he laughs. "What made you decide to call 9-1-1?"

"My teacher said if you ever need help you can call," Talia says. "And I really need help. What's seven take away three?"

--

The second call comes in three days later. He's peeling apart his turkey sandwich and layering Doritos on it, providing much-needed crunch, when his phone rings through from dispatch. "Sup, Scott," he says, because Scott's the only one who ever bothers to call him directly.

"Sorry, Stiles, just me," Kira says. "I have someone on the line for you. Given that she asked for you by name, maybe you could remind her that this line is for emergencies and talk to her guardian?"

He presses the top slice of bread back onto his sandwich and leans back in his chair. "Got it," he says, and waits for the click. "That you, Miss Hale?"

"Hi, Mr. Deputy Stilinski,"  she says, tiny voice chipper in his ear. "I'm really confused about this take away."

"Hit me," he says, and she giggles.

"Ten take away six," she says. "I put up all my fingers but I got confused."

He hums and glances around his desk. "Are you with your auntie again today?" he asks, and when she confirms he adds, "do you have any toys at her house?"

"I'm at my house," she says. "Auntie watches me while Daddy's away for work, but she's busy writing her thesis so I can't go in the office."

"What's your dad's name?" he asks.

"Derek Samuel Hale," she says. "And my auntie's name is Cora Elizabeth Hale, and my other auntie is Laura Margaret Hale, and my dog's name is Ruffio Hale. Like from Hook. Auntie Cora named him because she said Daddy was scared of Hook when he was my age and she likes to make fun of him. Daddy tried to rename him but he only wants to answer to Ruffio now."

He writes it all down with a grin—even the unasked for information—and flicks at his mouse to wake his computer. "Your aunt sounds pretty cool," he says. "Okay, go get ten small toys and we'll get your math done. Blocks, if you have them."

He runs Cora's name through the system as he waits, just to make sure Talia isn't being left with someone irresponsible, and finds nothing of consequence. He keeps the list, though; he'll tell Talia not to call 9-1-1 anymore unless it's an emergency, and if she does, he'll get in touch with her dad then.

--

"Little red h-hen makes s-sop," Talia reads, and pauses. "That doesn't sound right. What's ou?"

"Spell the whole thing for me," he says, and corrects, "soup," when she does, spearing a piece of microwaved chicken and popping it in his mouth. He's quiet while she reads, only interjecting when she needs help, trying to eat silently in the background. She mostly spells the comprehension questions for him and he reads them to her, and when she finally thanks him and hangs up, he looks up to see his dad standing over his shoulder.

"Hey, Pops, I finished the file on—"

"When did your desk turn in to the homework helpline?" Noah asks, frowning, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"She only calls on my break, it's fine," he says, waving a hand to brush away the question before picking up the file. "Anyway—"

"Are her parents aware?"

"I left her aunt a voicemail on Monday," he says, and when his dad just looks at him, he sighs. "Fine, I left her a message last Monday and I haven't heard back, but she's not alone in the house, nothing bad is going on, she's just—lonely, I think." It's something he understands; after his mom passed away, he'd started calling Edith, who worked the front desk of the station when he was a kid, every night his dad wasn't home.

"Call again,"  Noah says, "and next time, make whoever is home with her aware of it. Once or twice is fine; every day for weeks is a problem."

--

"Here," he says, and Talia gives him the first letter promptly before pausing and spelling out the rest. "Good job. Um, said."

He might be extending their time on the phone, just a little. He likes talking to her; she reminds him of himself, her elementary drama always makes him laugh, and she likes asking him questions about being a deputy. So he’s not really looking forward to asking to speak to her aunt and put a stop to all this.

When she seems like she’s winding down, he sighs. “I know you’re not supposed to interrupt Auntie Cora,” he says, “but I was hoping to talk to her. Can you tell her Deputy Stiles is on the phone?”

“Oh, Auntie’s not here,” Talia says, and Stiles feels the beginning of a heart attack coming on before she adds, “Daddy’s home now. I’ll go get him.” He hears a thunk and then little feet running, her calling out for her Dad before there’s a muffled thump.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi,” he says, “this is Deputy Stilinski from BHSD—is this Mr. Hale?”

“This is,” he says, and if it’s possible to fall in love with a voice, Stiles does so right then. Soft and gentle, just a bit of concern, and he has to stop himself from running Derek’s name through the system to get a photo. His dad is already irritated with him for encouraging Talia’s calls (and, you know, for the whole stopping a bank robbery in progress thing that led to the injury that landed him on desk duty), he doesn’t need to add misuse of resources to the list. “Is everything okay?”

He takes a breath and explains, starts from the beginning and includes how he gave Talia his desk number so she would stop calling 9-1-1, makes sure to add that he’d tried to get ahold of Cora—and leaves out the fact he hadn’t called Mr. Hale directly even though he could have easily done so—and when he’s finished talking, he adds, “I didn’t mind, honestly, she just told me today that you were back in town and I wanted to let you know.”

There’s a pause where he holds his breath and hopes that Mr. Hale doesn’t think he’s a creep, or doesn’t demand to speak to the Sheriff—but he just lets out a breath and says “I am so sorry, I’ll absolutely talk to her, it won’t happen again.”

“I really didn’t mind,” he says again, because he also doesn’t want to get Talia into trouble. “She must get home from school at the same time my break starts because she always called at the same time, I wasn’t busy. Just making you aware.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Hale says. “Deputy—” and isn’t Stiles going to have dreams where his name is said like that, low and grateful and—

“Sorry?” he asks, flushing when he realizes he’s lost track of the conversation. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I appreciate what you did,” Mr. Hale says. “I’ll talk to her.”

--

Talia doesn’t call the next day.

She shows up instead.

“Mr. Deputy Stiles!” he hears from the front, and his head snaps up to see a little girl with long dark hair looking around the room, envelope clutched in one hand, the holding onto the hottest man Stiles has ever seen and holy shit, he suddenly believes that karma is very real and he has clearly done something good in his life to earn this kind of reward.

He starts to stand, and her eyes catch his and light up as she tugs her dad towards him. “Miss Hale?”

“Hi!” she says, flinging her arms around his waist. He hugs her back and looks over at her dad, who gives him a sheepish look and shrugs. “I got a hundred percent on my sight words test and Daddy said we could go to ice cream to celebrate and then when we were at ice cream he said we should do something nice for you because you helped me so so so much and I really wanted to come here anyway because I want to see a real jail and Daddy said if I was really really nice and asked politely then maybe you could show me some handcuffs—”

If this is what he’s like, he’s starting to understand why it was difficult for him to make friends in school, because she just does not stop, and doesn’t leave an opportunity for him to get a word in. He crouches down so he’s eye-level with her and waits it out, accepting the envelope when she finally runs out of words and beams at him. “Thank you,” he says, and when he opens it up to find a drawing and a handful of gift cards, he looks up to Mr. Hale. “You really didn’t have to, Mr. Hale,” he says, wrapping one arm around Talia’s shoulders when she darts in to hug him again.

“Derek,” he says, and when he smiles, Stiles is pretty sure he’s found God. “We don’t want to take up your time, I just wanted to thank you.”

“But—” Talia starts, and falls quiet when Derek looks at her again. “I can’t even see the people in the jail?”

“It’s not really a jail,” Stiles says, shrugging, “just a holding cell. And there’s no one in it right now.”

“Boo,” Talia says. “Can I meet your Sheriff?”

“Lia,” Derek warns, and she sighs explosively. “Sorry about—all this. I talked to Cora and she knows to give Talia a little more attention during homework time, so she won’t—she shouldn’t—be calling you again. Talia, we need to get home. Say thank you and goodbye.”

“Bye, Mr. Deputy Stiles,” she says, and he knows—he knows—that her sticking out her bottom lip and pouting is nothing more than a manipulation tactic, but it hits him all the same. “Thank you.”

--

“Deputy Stilinski,” he says before he fully has the receiver to his ear, wadding up a piece of scrap paper and tossing it at Jordan’s head to get his attention. He motions to the pizza box laying on his desk—dinner for the station courtesy of Derek, who clearly didn’t know the going rate for tutors given the sheer amount he’d dropped on gift cards—and makes a grabbing motion. They’ll be having station dinners for weeks—so long as they cater to his busted foot and bring him what he wants. Otherwise, he’s spending it all on himself.

“Hi,” someone says, and “sorry, this is Derek Hale, Talia’s dad?”

“Hey,” he says, sitting up straighter. “How can I help you?”

“I—” there’s a pause and a muffled sound, a conversation happening just outside of what Stiles can hear. “Sorry, I—I wanted to ask if you would be interested in getting coffee on Saturday. With me,” he adds, and Stiles can hear it when he cups his hand over the microphone and says, “Talia, stop.”

It’s like a record scratch in his brain. “Coffee?” he repeats. He’d thanked karma for smiling down on him, but he’d figured the encounter with Derek was one and done. “You want—with me?”

“Yes,” Derek says, “although my daughter is also extremely interested and I believe is willing to fight me for you.”

Laughter bursts out of his mouth before he can stop it. “You know, I think Talia did call dibs first,” he says, grinning. “What if we all got coffee and then you and I went for lunch?”

“I can work with that,” Derek says. “It’s a date.”

[afrival]

what are the scouts' and warriors' least favorite meals / what will they refuse to eat under any circumstance 💋

fucking BLESS 😩🙌💕 this took a lot of brainpower

no warnings except maybe mention of vomit

•=======================•

Eren:

- steamed vegetables 😐 regular raw shit is perfectly fine or even fried he just cannot stand steamed veggies

Mikasa:

- turkey??? literally thinks it’s the worst fucking type of meat

Armin:

- LMAO SEAFOOD HE FEELS SO GUILTY even tho he actually really likes sushi. he hates red lobster bc of the goddamn lobster tank they keep up front it makes him feel worse

Jean:

- DESPISES sour cream do not fucking dare put it anywhere near this man he will vomit

Connie:

- eggs 💀 especially scrambled

Sasha:

- almond milk is so disgusting to her bye but food wise she is NOT picky at all

Ymir:

- okay maybe this is dumb but like literally hates all breakfast foods. Pancakes, waffles, bacon, sausage, etc

Historia:

- man I lowkey see her being a vegan so probably just meat in general (she would be 100% chill abt it tho)

Levi:

- PIZZA BC ITS SO FUCKING GREASY. He hates messy foods in general like you will NOT catch this bitch boy anywhere near a bbq place

Hange:

- bananas are the worst fruit to ever exist. banana flavored anything. pudding, bread, muffin— get that shit away from her rn

Erwin:

- lasagna ✌️

Reiner:

- mashed potatoes again w the goddamn texture thing like he just hates it

Berthtoldt:

- nature valley granola bars which sucks bc reiner absolutely loves them and just wants to share

Annie:

- HATES PEANUT BUTTER it’s sticky and gross and eugh she just would rather eat a jelly sandwich

Porco:

- soft tacos the texture is absolutely horrendous for him. actually just don’t take this mf to taco bell he hates it

Pieck:

- eggplant parmesan ☝️ actually just hates anything with eggplant

Zeke:

- any kind of fajita ever but especially chicken, also not a fan of quesadillas bc it reminds him of public school 💔

Apologies for this being short and not specific I just— these are funny idc

[spaceorphan18]

99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story #54

A/N: The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

I started something like this a while back - and now I’m taking the idea and really running with it. Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character at a different point in Kurt and Blaine’s life - documenting their love story. This starts in Audition, and each chapter will be paired with a different episode until reaching Dreams Come True.

[Ao3]

A/N:  When I first started this project, I sat down and figured out who I wanted to go with each episode. This one had me stumped for along time. I mean - Burt I'm using elsewhere. :) And there isn't really anyone else in their story. So, I based this off a real life event that happened to my brother. He actually did propose to his wife at a skating rink - and these photographers, who were waiting for friends of theirs, caught their proposal on film by accident. An interesting serendipitous moment. And so, I had my inspiration for this chapter. Thanks so much for reading guys - happier times are afoot!

***

The Photographers (Glee, Actually) 

“This looks like a good spot,” Nate drops the equipment down next to him.  Shouldn’t take them long to get ready, and their view of the park is pretty spectacular.   Nate takes out his camera, putting it together, and aiming it at the skaters on the rink.  

“Doesn’t this job feel a little, I don’t know, weird?” His good friend Carla says as she helps him set up.  “I mean, normally both parties know when they’re being filmed.”  

“Hey, the dude wants his proposal on camera, but it’s supposed to be a surprise,” Nate argues.  “Besides, he paid double my normal rate, so we can’t really fuck this up.  I gotta pay rent.”  

“But you haven’t even met this guy,” Carla argues.  Nate knows she’s more annoyed that he dragged her out in the cold on Christmas Eve.  But it’s not like either of them had any actual plans outside of their annual turkey and stuffing dinner they get at the diner every year.  “How do you know we aren’t secretly working for the government?  Or the mafia?  Remember the Palmer job.” 

He winces at the memory.  “Look, the guy promised me he’s legit.  Just some dude excited to be finally asking his boyfriend to marry him.” 

“The gays don’t usually do this in public, you know,” Carla eyes him suspiciously.  “Seems fishy.” 

Nate side-eyes her before looking through his camera - scanning the crowd for his target.  A job’s a job, he figures.  He doesn’t care if the Queen of England decides to pose nude on top of a horse.  If it pays, he’ll take the job.  And right now, his job is to find a dark haired man who plans on proposing to his boyfriend in the middle of the ice rink.  Apparently, it had been their first date, and he’s trying to recreate that.  

Nate scans the crowd, not really finding anyone who fits the descriptions he had been given.  Until he sees a couple of younger guys, holding hands, skating together, laughing and giggling as they did so.  They’re a bit young - considering the message Nate was given said that the couple had been together for nearly a decade.  Hell, maybe they met as kids.  

Time passes slowly.  Carla shivers next to him, throwing him skeptical looks.  Nate follows the kids with his camera for a bit, taking a few candid photos mostly to fill the time.  And hey, maybe the couple will give them more money if they like them.  As midnight approaches, Nate wonders if this is even going to happen.  Maybe it is all a joke.  Or maybe the dude is chickening out?  Based on the ecstatic looks on the kids’ faces, he doesn’t see anything to indicate that they aren’t happy together.  

Eventually, the darker haired one of the two starts being fancy with his ice dancing skills, twirling around the other one.  There’s a bit of laughter as he eventually falls to his knees.  Thinking this might be it, Nate readys his camera - taking shot after shot as the kid looks up to the other one.  It’s a fast moment - he’s not entirely sure what is going on as the two of them seem to be talking.  He doesn’t see a ring, nor is there any jumping for joy moment, but the kid on his knees is helped up by the other one.  

And then something strange happens.  The lighter haired one sees him.  Looks directly at him with narrowed eyes.  

“Oh no,” Nate mumbles.  He shakes Carla who is sitting on the ground half asleep.  “I think they saw us.” 

“Isn’t that part of the plan?” Carla grumbles.  

“Based on their faces - I don’t think so,” Nate says.  

Nate barely has time to put away his camera before the boys come to the edge of the rink.  

“Hey!” the lighter haired one yells.  “Hey, you with the camera!” 

“Whadda ya want?” Carla snarls.  

Nate backs her down.  “Can we help you?” 

“Yes, I want to know why you were taking photos of us.”  The kid demands.  

The darker-haired one puts a hand on his arm.  “Kurt, calm down, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.” 

Kurt, however, looks incredibly upset.  “No - these guys were taking photos of us.” 

Nate gives them a confused look.  The darker-haired one doesn’t seem to know what’s going on either, but at least he’s more polite about it.  “Look, we were paid to alright?  You are Alex?  The guy who hired me to take photos of his proposal?  Said in your letter you’d be proposing to your boyfriend in the spot of their first date around midnight on Christmas eve.  Well, here I am - doing what you asked.”  

The darker-haired one, smirks.  “I’m so sorry, that is not us.” 

Shit.  

The lighter-haired one, Kurt, isn’t backing down either.  “Don’t you tihnk we’re entirely too young to be getting married?” 

“It was an honest mistake, Kurt.” 

“We’re not even a couple, Blaine.” 

“Well, the two of you fooled me,” Nate grumbles.  

Carla’s standing behind him - howling with laughter.  

“Well, I’m sorry for your trouble,” the darker-haired one, Blaine, says. “Maybe that’s your couple there?” 

He points across the rink to a couple of middle-aged guys with their arms around each other, both of whom look way closer to the descriptions given than these kids.  

SHIIIIIIIIITT!!!

 “Uh, thanks kid.  Sorry for the trouble.” 

Later… 

After he thankfully is able to save his own ass by capturing the proposal he’d been paid for, the darker-haired kid from early approaches him, this time alone. 

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to trouble you, but can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks.  

“Sure kid,” Nate says as he packs his equipment up.  Carla’s busy in the bathroom, so he has a few minutes anyway.  “What?” 

“Um, I know this is weird, or whatever, but did you actually take photos of us?” 

“Yeah - I’ll make sure they don’t get on the net or anything,” Nate says.  What a waste of film.  

The kid bounces in his place.  “No, actually, I was wondering if I could have them.  I’d be happy to pay you for them - I have a couple hundred bucks I could give you.” 

Nate eyes the kid suspiciously.  “Really?” 

The kid nods eagerly.  

“What the hell, why not?” 

“Thank you so much,” the kid says, his eyes wide and happy.  

There’s a quick exchange of information.  It’s been a weird night, but at least it’s not a total loss.  

The kid, however, lingers just a bit once they wrap up business.  

“What?” Nate asks.  

“I know this is a weird thing to ask but -- did we really look like a couple out there?” 

Nate gives a hearty laugh.  “Yeah.” 

The kid bites his lip, trying to downplay his excitement.  “Thank you.  Thank you so much.” 

“Merry Christmas, kid.”  Nate says.  I hope whatever it is works out for you.  Now, to find Carla and get out of this frickin’ cold… 

[bluegarners]

By popular demand, I have written a Part 2 for mainstay for @viceturtle. Thank you so much @newsical for being an immense help with this!!

Part 1.

This chapter was inspired by this conversation between @bigskydreaming and @fuyunoakegata

ao3

There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness. 

He thinks everyone has at least some degree of it within themselves. A refusal to move or consent to something. Sure, some don’t hesitate long. They give. They bend. They break. But the stubbornness is in that hesitation. That moment of ‘Am I really doing this? Should I be doing this? Why in the world should I do this?’. It’s about the pause, is what he’s trying to get at, that makes stubbornness so inherent to each individual. 

It breathes in the form of grudges. Arguments. Games of she-said-he-said-they-said. Right or wrong. I told you so’s and I’m not sorry’s. 

Jason does all of those things like it's second nature. He’s not going to pretend like he’s some saint who can understand the other side and reason with them. If he thinks he’s right, it’s not a matter of if the other person is actually right or wrong. He knows he’s right, so it doesn’t matter in the end. He knows what he knows, and if he doesn’t— whatever. Immovable object and all that.

So, yeah. There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness. 

He calls Red Robin anyway.

“He’s gone.”

“Sorry, what? I need context for this. There’s a lot of people this could apply to—”

“Dick. Dick is gone.”

“Oh. Like, just now he left?”

“I don’t know. Some guy came and took him.”

“As much as I love vague conversations, this isn’t helping me and I don’t understand why you’re calling in the first place.”

“Dick is fucking. Gone. What do you not understand about that.”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Jason. What, is he not supposed to be gone? He said he was going to leave again. He already said ‘hi’ to Damian, so I don’t see why he would stick around any longer.”

“Hm.”

“Fuck me, didn’t you know? This was all just- just some visit for him. Sure, he’ll be back eventually, but fuck knows if he’s actually—”

He hangs up. Pockets his phone. Listens as the rain continues to drench the world outside of his little apartment. His shoulders hurt. There’s a bruise on his chest. Right between his fifth and sixth ribs. He has a split lip. He put ointment on it earlier but it still stings. His knees ache. He has a distant memory of his mother complaining about her knees too. Something about the weather making them act up.

He’s twenty-three.

He’s getting old.

On the table next to him is a box of cigarettes. Low-tar. Filtered. In his right pocket, there’s a lighter he got from someone years ago. He doesn’t know. Maybe he stole it. Found it. 

He pulls it out. Shakes a cigarette out of the thin box. Holds the paper wrapped nicotine between his lips, lifting the lighter and thumbing the flink strike. 

Click. 

He shakes the lighter. Tries again.

Click.

Gotham hasn’t had this much rain in a long time. It’s nearing October. Maybe it’s in season or whatever weather does. He doesn’t know the term.

Click.

It’s raining outside. Jason can see it. There’s raindrops on his window. He can hear it clattering against the fire-escape. Gray and black and mixes of yellow from street lamps below. Jason is inside on the comfort of his couch. Sure, it’s not the best apartment, but it doesn’t leak. The ceiling is fine and he hasn’t had any problems with it before. His face is wet though. He doesn’t know why.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The cigarette falls from his lips and lands with a thud on the stained carpet. The T.V is on. Says the storm over Gotham will last for the next few days. An unprecedented seven inches of rain predicted. The GCPD is advising everyone to stay indoors. Crime is expected to rise with the water levels.

Click.

His clothes are still soaked. He’s probably ruining his couch. He can’t remember if he took his boots off or not. 

Click.

Jason sighs. His chest feels heavy, like someone is sitting on top of him. It’s just him though. Only him in his apartment. He likes having his own space. The neighbors get loud sometimes, but it’s not as if he’s a five star resident either. It’s always been like this. He is…. Alone.

Click.

Dick was gone. Came back. And now, Dick is gone again. Did he do that? Did he drive him away? Is this his fault? Jason doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t know if he doesn’t care at all, but at least the rain is nice to listen to. Yeah. The rain is really nice. Consistent. Steady.

Click.

He didn’t take off his boots.

 ~oOo~

One month is all it takes. 

One month and Nightwing is out spotted in Bludhaven, his photo splashed across every news outlet from Gotham to Metropolis. New Jersey missed its boy in blue and cheers at his return.

Nightwing stays in Bludhaven though. Red Hood stays in Gotham. Just as it used to be. Back to normal. Yeah.

The rain stopped a week ago.

Jason misses the noise.

 ~oOo~

“Won’t you come?”

“No.”

“Please, Master Jason? We would love to have you here. It has been too long.”

“I can’t.”

“I thought you loved turkey. There’ll be plenty of leftovers and I know you’ve been meaning to return the tupperware from last time. It’ll be good for you to leave that apartment of yours.”

“I have better things to do than play nice and talk politics in Brucie Wayne’s mansion. I’m not coming.”

“I know you have your own quarrels with Master Dick, but—”

“It’s not about him. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing or what stick Bruce has up his ass this time. I am not walking into the line of fire just to save everyone else an evening of beating around the bush. I. Am. Not. Going.”

“. . . Then won’t you at least visit? I miss you. I worry about you.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“I am too, my boy.”

  Click.

 Jason spends Thanksgiving out in the Narrows. He’s not rich, doesn’t want to be, but he has money. Plenty he doesn’t need to spend on himself. He goes grocery shopping. Fills two, three carts worth of canned food and rotisserie chickens. Goes home, carries the bags in all at once. Organizes them. 

Single. Partners. Family.

He leaves his apartment. He is not Jason Todd. He is not Red Hood. He’s just some guy out in the Narrows. 

He hands out the bags. Has the decency to look the people in the eyes, knowing he was that street kid once. Seeing his mother in each dirty, beaten face he comes across. Pitying the drunken men and the addicts. They accept his offerings. It would be stupid not to. No one says thank you. He doesn’t need them to.

He goes home. His arms are sore. The bruises have completely faded.

The apartment is empty.

  Click

 Sometimes, there are days where he doesn’t know why. 

That’s a big concept: why? 

He thinks it carries too much weight. Maybe if he had survived past tenth grade, he could’ve signed up for a philosophy or debate class, maybe shed some light on that particular question, but he didn’t. Survive. So, he only has his own mind to ponder the concept. He’s read a couple books. Never fully understood the words he read though. He would’ve liked to, but he didn’t. Understand. 

But it’s up to interpretation right? So, here’s where he’s at.

Jason doesn’t understand or know why sometimes, and it becomes a problem.

He doesn’t understand why he got such a bad hand for parents. Why Bruce didn’t grieve like Jason wanted him to (so desperately yearned for, screamed for, died for). Why someone thought it was a good idea for him to live out a second-still-the-same life. Why he came back so different. (Was he? Different? He doesn’t think he came back wrong but he doesn’t know a lot. Well, he does. But, if he came back wrong then that means he wasn’t right to begin with and he’s always right and if he’s wrong then—). 

He doesn’t know why he punched Dick. He didn’t want to. Not really. But he did. Want to. Badly so. Wanted proof, wanted penance, wanted forgiveness, wanted retribution, wanted that sting that comes with reality and the regret of a little something called mortality. Horse drawn carriage alongside Death, patting the seat next to it. 

Okay, he knows why .

He doesn’t understand why, though.

Jason doesn’t understand why he gets so angry sometimes. It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel right, like he’s supposed to be feeling something else but he’s just flipped upside down so there’s no point in trying to right himself. He’s always right anyway. Yeah. Yeah.

He doesn’t understand why he says things, why he opens his mouth at all when he regrets them so quickly after. He yells a lot. Raises his voice and spits mean words and cusses worse than anyone else he knows and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. But he doesn’t learn. Doesn’t rethink it, doesn’t look back and remember the lesson he taught himself. You can’t be taught if you’re always right anyway, so what’s the point? Why regret it when he’s just going to do it again? 

That’s a big word: why.

There are answers attached to the word. Reasons for the question being asked. Explanations and solutions and resolutions.

Jason is good at solving problems, is quick to work around it and get the job done. And a question is just a problem being asked, right? It’s verbal, that’s the only difference, so if he’s such a good problem solver, if he’s such a goddamn good thinker and understands things like philosophy and literature and great big concepts and words—

Why did he do that? Why did he say those things? Why can’t he make up his fucking mind? Why is he the way he is? Why does he just push and shove and drive away everyone and everything? Why did he come back different? Why did he come back wrong? Why didn’t Bruce love him enough to end things? Why was he worth a second chance when he screws up and regrets so much? Why do people still fucking try with him? Why can’t he get one goddamn thing right? Why is he always—

Click.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

Click.

Red Hood is in Gotham. Nightwing is too. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The air is cold and there’s ice in the wind. It’s a clear night. A quiet frost coats the rooftop and Jason can hear his brother’s footsteps.

“We missed you, you know. Here, Agent A wanted me to give you these.”

Jason turns. Dick is holding out a duffle-cooler. He stands six feet away.

“They’re just leftovers. Turkey, sweet potatoes, casserole, pie; the fixings.”

Jason doesn’t move. Neither does Dick. To anyone else, it would look like a stand-off between Nightwing and Red Hood, neutral ground tensions. They both know it’s not.

It is cold and there is ice in the wind and the rainy season is long past. When they breathe, it erupts out of them in the form of white vapor and Jason can only think of the fact that it looks like smoke. His lighter still doesn’t work. It sits in his right pocket. He wants to take it out. Hear the click. 

“There’s some beer too,” Dick adds softly, voice carried away and twisted in the sharp air. “I have a bottle opener.”

Nightwing walks a few paces away to sit against an A/C unit, shielding himself from the wind. He sets the cooler down beside him, unzipping the duffle and pulling out two bottles of a brand Jason doesn’t recognize, and pats the space next to him. Horse drawn carriage. 

Why is a big concept. A big word. Maybe one of the bigger questions in the repertoire. 

He doesn’t know nor understand why he takes the offered seat. He just does. It feels right to do so. Jason takes the offered bottle too and opens it himself. Hands back the blade. Takes a sip.

It’s cold. It warms him. 

He doesn’t understand:

“Why?”

Dick swirls the alcohol around, bubbles rising to the surface. “Why, what?” 

There’s a lot of things Jason could say. Could ask. He’s had two months to think about a question that would fit the answer he’s trying so hard to get; one that would satisfy the cavern that just keeps getting wider and wider, this empty presence that digs deeper inside him. He likes to think it would be a really intelligent question, one that would stump his all knowing brother; the one with all the answers in the world and a smile to accompany it. Dick had been on this pedestal for as long as Jason can remember. Had been placed so high above himself, even now, it’s impossible for him to reach, fingers a thousand miles away from ever grazing the top.

A lot of people would tell him he’s done this to himself. That the things he decides to do, his actions, what he says to other people and what they do as a consequence; all a product of his own creation. Even the cavern inside of him, filled with stalagmites and cobwebs and so many empty boxes, perhaps he did that to himself. He— He did that. To himself. 

But Jason doesn’t like being wrong. Doesn’t like the fear that invades every nerve in his body when faced with the possibility of being so far off from the mark that it comes back and strikes him in the face. He’s paid the price for being wrong, has the scars and the memories and the stories to prove it, but he’s also been right, over and over again, and it feels so good to be right.

It felt good to punch his brother.

It felt good to have a reason to do so. 

The anger, the fear, the possessive guilt that clung to him in those months where Dick was dead and he was at the wheel, knowing he was going to crash and burn eventually and probably take everyone with him. He played the long game and knew the end result. Jason had fooled himself with the thought of taking Dick’s place, thinking he could climb up that enormous pedestal he had placed there himself all those years ago. Torn down and resurrected today.

He doesn’t have a question though. Not a singular, all encompassing question that would piece together every missing hole inside of him and fill the void. His mother used to tell him he talked too much, that a big mouth like his would one day get him into trouble. She also told him that he was smart and curious and kind and so much more than anything she would ever be able to give him. Jason doesn’t understand why she said so many contrary things.  Wishes he could ask her, have the opportunity to finally get the answers he wanted from her when he left everything behind just for a chance to do so. He can’t though. She died. He died too.

Dick didn’t.

“Why did you leave?” 

His brother stops swirling the contents of his bottle, choosing instead to release a heavy sigh that travels into the air in a thick cloud of tired gray and remorse. “I wasn’t in a good place at the time. Leaving felt like the only good thing left I could do. Batman gave me the mission and I… I took it.”

“What part of letting us all think you were dead was ‘good’? How does that translate to ‘good’ in your world?”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision,” Dick says pointedly, setting down his beer and thunking his head back to rest against the unit. “I was still comatose by the time Batman had broken the news to everyone else. I told you, Hood, I had no choice. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was all that made sense to do.”

He pauses, a hand coming up to scrub at the sides of his face. “Robin had just… died. Protecting me. I got captured by people with faces I’ve known my entire life and couldn’t escape them. I let myself get hooked up to that- that machine and exposed my identity to the entire world. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to you all, had I stayed? Everyone knew who Nightwing was under the mask. It would’ve— People would have figured the rest out soon enough. When Batman offered me the opportunity to at least make something right, I took it.”

Something unsettles inside Jason’s chest. Leaking, fracturing. It feels wrong. He feels- “So, what? You left because you felt bad ? Gallivanted off as soon as the opportunity was presented? Oh, I’m sure you’d love to do that again. Hey, Nightwing, tell me, are you feeling bad right now? Would you like a one-way ticket to Spain? I bet that’d make you feel much better.”

Dick frowns, head swiveling to look at Jason. “If that’s how you’d like to picture it, then fine. Yeah, I felt bad about exposing my entire family’s identities. I felt bad about letting down Batman and getting myself taken. I felt bad about dying and not being—”

“Quit fucking saying you died! You didn’t. You put on a good show, I’ll give you that, but having a model that looks just like you being buried in the ground doesn’t qualify as you dying. Get the fuck over yourself.”

A sharp crack meets his words and Jason snaps his head over to see Dick’s bottle broken against the ground, the older man having knocked it over with his hand.

Nightwing’s white lenses are staring at him and Red Hood meets his gaze unflinchingly, if only for the reason that he can’t see his brother’s eyes. There was something to be said about clear eyes in a city full of smog and endless voids, and Jason has looked enough people in the eye to know when to blink and walk away. The dark does not have a gaze to collapse within and yet there is empty white surrounding them.

“Come with me.” 

Why is too big of a word.

 Jason follows anyway.

He’s at the end of his rope in asking questions he knows no one will be able to answer. Knows that the answer he wants is not one anyone is willing to give, or even can give. See, Jason knows why. Has an understanding with the concept in a personal way unlike anyone else will ever have. He knows, understands, gets exactly what the question demands with all of its little fallacies and conundrums and ever so many follow ups. If he could, Jason would shake hands with it, an agreement to never speak a word of its existence ever again. But, how could he ponder the question when he himself cannot bear to fathom his own existence?

Nightwing is already scaling down a fire-escape, duffle-cooler slung over his shoulder, and Jason watches his head disappear below the roof line. He stands up, feet numb and hands feeling bitten, and side glances the broken bottle and the one he’s leaving behind. Even with the bleak, gray weather, the glass twinkles and shimmers in the ice, and, just faintly, Jason can smell the alcohol in the wind. Gotham is a city filled with muck, grease, scum, and litter. There is no difference in adding their own to the ever increasing pile, and yet Jason cannot help amend himself with the thought that at least their trash is beautiful in the cold.

He walks over to the edge of the roof, peering down to where he can see Nightwing traveling up a different, rusted ladder, ready to seek a new vantage point for wherever it is he’s decided to lead Jason. He doesn’t have his helmet on tonight, just a plain domino to hide his face, and the frost cuts against his nose and lips. A shiver runs through his body and Jason slides down into the alleyway below, keeping his brother in eye-sight. Nightwing launches a grapple, clinging to another building about 200 meters away, and Red Hood follows suit, the chill buffering inside of his jacket.

They arrive at one of those motel looking buildings, the outward appearance completely abandoned. Bruce had built this many years ago, one of the first of several safe-houses, and for all intents and purposes, it served to only attract the kinds of people that knew how to keep their mouths shut. The “general office” is where Dick walks into, a separate facility from the boarding rooms. He waits for Jason to enter, having taken a back door of four inches of solid steel, and locks it behind them once the younger has entered as well.

Dick throws the duffle onto one of the chairs inside the room, and rolls his shoulders in a circular motion, a long sigh escaping him. Somewhere, Jason can hear the heater kicking on.

He thumbs his lighter.

Click.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing, waiting by the door for Dick to make the first move. His brother says nothing though, continuing to move his joints around and rub his hands furiously together. He doesn’t even glance at Jason as he leaves the main room, entering another side door and into, what Jason assumes is, a bathroom. Left alone, Jason keeps his boots on and sits down.

Click.

He waits. Peels off his mask and winces at the pull on his skin. Rubs at his eyes and forehead. Sighs.

Click. Click.

He stares at the domino in his lap, regretting having taken it off. Dick could look him in the eye now. He didn’t— He doesn’t like that. You only look people in the eye when you want to convey something, be it emotion, honesty, or purely how much you don’t give a shit. Jason doesn’t know what it meant when he looked at all those people in the Narrows a few days ago. Doesn’t know what it meant when they looked at him. Who was he, then? He was no one. No one. 

Click.

The bathroom door opens and Dick steps out wearing a thick tank top and a long pair of joggers. Just beyond the cracked doorway, Jason can see his Nightwing suit hung up against a rack. The remnants of irritated skin also pepper his brother’s face, red and splotchy. 

Dick looks up and meets his gaze.

Click.

“This the part where you try to argue yourself right?”

His older brother frowns. “No, it’s not.”

Jason looks away.

Click. Click. Click.

“What’s that in your pocket?”

“Just some old lighter. It doesn’t work.”

“Ah.”

The stiff silence reverberates between them. Normally, when conversation isn’t invited, Dick would go off somewhere and find something to do; something in his head urging him to seek out an offering. It was a tactic the older man used often, something to hold or something else to focus your attention on making an otherwise shaky atmosphere comfortable. When he was still Robin, it was a ploy Jason found himself enjoying sometimes, where Nightwing would meet him on some pre-designated roof carrying hot chocolate or donuts and Jason would gripe to the older man about Bruce’s latest restriction or Batman’s newest growl. Their conversations would last well into the night and it was their secret they kept together, a fall-back to go to when things were too uncertain or days were too long.

Those memories were nice. Fond, even. 

Dick does not have an offering this time.

“Did you believe I was dead?”

Jason sucks in a breath, fingers stilling against his lighter. “Yes.” Pause. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Jason fires back. “It was on live television for Christ’s sake, Dick! Half the world watched you die.”

“It’s not as if doctored film has never been done before, even if it was live. At some point, it cut off too. I’ve watched the video myself. My death wasn’t shown on screen.”

“There was audio. I could hear your heart stopping on the machine.”

“There was a lot of fighting going on. It was chaos.”

“Fine, I didn’t see you die and the video was shit. But Bruce told us you were dead. Batman told us you had died.”

“And Batman doesn’t lie.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick sighs, leaning back against one of the walls. “Look, I’m not trying to pick another fight with you. I don’t want to.”

“Then what. Do. You. Want,” Jason grounds out, rising from his chair. “I’m sick of this. I am so sick of not knowing what the fuck is going on with you and Bruce, with all of your little secrets and fake-deaths and—”

“It wasn’t fake,” Dick interrupts, standing his ground. “It may not have been for long, but my heart did stop. I died in that machine, Jason, and I’m upset you guys accepted that.”

“Well, what the fuck else were we supposed to do?” Jason erupts, flinging his arms wide. “Fucking poke at your body until you were alive again? Wait next to your corpse in the morgue with your suit on hand, just in case you decided to wake up?”

“You could’ve at least doubted, ” Dick hisses. Jason can hear the heater still humming. The room is cold though. Bitter. “At the very least, you guys could’ve looked into it. Bruce isn’t the perfect, untouchable beast we’ve made him into. He left a trail. A trail that would have led right to the fake body he created while I was comatose. A trail that would have shown the Batmobile needing repairs it shouldn’t have needed. A trail that would have shown the documents he forged to get me into Spyral. There were so many things, Jason! So many goddamn things that would have shown you guys I wasn’t dead!”

“If you wanted to be found so badly, why didn’t you tell us?” Jason snarls, that leaking fracture in his chest pooling into his lungs. “Why didn’t you say a single word if you were so desperate for someone to notice?”

“I already told you,” Dick says quietly. “I needed to make things right. Bruce offered a way to do it and I needed that; the space, away from everything, everyone, in my life that I knew I had failed. I don’t regret it, and I am sorry it caused so much pain, but—”

Click.

“—was it really so wrong to want someone to save me?”

The leak implodes and Jason stops breathing.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. I should be able to handle these things, but I— there was this moment where I convinced myself that none of what was happening was real and that it was all some nightmare I was watching.”

The blows had stung and burned in the way only rusted metal against bone and flesh could. His left eye was bleeding and his nose had been broken long ago. After the thirtieth strike, Jason had somehow convinced himself it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t there, in that old warehouse, and that he wasn’t some child-soldier-hero being beaten to death by a maniac who laughed and giggled at his pain. 

“When I woke up, I really believed that. I-I was so convinced and then Bruce showed up and gave me this mission and, god, Jason, how could I have ever said no? I had failed. Bruce told me I failed. ”

He remembers that sadistic clock in the corner. Silent up until the last ten seconds. It had its own little tick, a click, and it was the stupidest looking bomb Jason had ever seen, bright red and just any old alarm clock with a few extra wires. A nightmare. All just a nightmare and Jason had begged the universe for him to wake up. For someone, anyone, to save him. For Batman to come swooping in and rescue him from his stupid fucking mistakes but—

Click.

Dick breathes out, a shuttering exhale that rocks him to his core. “Spyral, the mission, everything after… It was my penance, I think. Bruce’s way of forgiving me for failing. There was just no other way, Jason. It was all I had left. I guess I had just hoped someone was still in my corner, even after fucking it all up, you know?”

He does. Jason does know with a clarity that haunts him every morning he wakes up and finds the events unchanged. There are cobwebs and old boxes inside his cavern, the place where his soul used to be, but he knows. He knows he came back wrong. That he came back different. That something inside of him was missing when he opened his eyes to mystic green and an emptiness that plagued him until he came back to Gotham; rage, fear, and a deep sadness taking up that empty space inside of him. He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked himself ‘why?’ only to ignore the answer given to him. Too many. 

And maybe Dick has asked that same question as well. Maybe he has his own cavern deep inside of him, filled with his own fragmented cobwebs and starved crates, ghosts that continue to follow his every step, and whispers that forever ring in his ears. Perhaps the dead carry memories and questions wherever they go, and perhaps that is their sole purpose. They only stay to recount and wish and want and only breach the word “if” and “maybe”. 

But they are alive now. They live. They breathe. 

Jason thought death connected himself to his elder brother, but perhaps it was the voids inside of them both that bound them together. The desperation that clung to their beings, seeking approval, seeking retribution, seeking out anything that’ll make them feel whole once more after having been stripped bare and left in the throes of Death's carriage. This was the tie that bound them together. It wasn’t Bruce. It wasn’t Robin. It wasn’t death.

It was simply the missing pieces inside of them. Brothers not by blood, but by the very nature of their search for meaning. And that was all.

“Yeah,” Jason says, the molten gravity of this answer leaving him boneless. “Okay.”

Dick stares at him with the same clear eyes he’s looked at his younger brother with since day one. Something passes behind those eyes, a shift in the monumental focus that is Dick Grayson’s ever present gaze, and the heater continues to thrum in the background, just as ubiquitous as Gotham always was and always will be for them. There was a fundamental alteration inside them both, something taken from them that can’t be replaced, and Jason feels as though he is not alone anymore. There is another presence, another existence, in his life full of betrayal that shares the same scars and the same emptiness that has captured him since the day Bruce stopped hoping for him.

“Okay?” Dick repeats quietly, and Jason can hear the echo inside his chest. “Is that all?” 

“No,” Jason murmurs, easing back into the chair he had left. “No, it’s not. But I… I can’t do more of this right now. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” Dick sighs, the exhaustion from his own ordeals weighing down his shoulders and causing him to slide down the wall. “It’s— I never wanted to, Jason. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I guess- We deal with it, right?”

Jason wants to laugh. Maybe give a little less weight on his back to the warm air around them, but it sounds like a lot to do. He exhales instead, something maybe interpretable as a tired grin lifting his mouth. “Another time, then?”

Perhaps that is a statement that can’t be guaranteed nor promised. Time is scarce in their world, more so than anyone else's, but it is a scarcity they are well accustomed to. Death had departed in Its carriage, the seat left warm by their presence, but for now, they had left and that was all that really mattered. Why they left, why they need time they don’t have, why the caverns inside of them exist. All questions that have been answered before. Maybe when the sky isn’t gray, or when the rain isn’t pounding against fractured ceilings, they can begin to make amends and go from there. But the safe-house is warm.

It is warm.

“Another time.”