#men are just so simpleminded

[luvrxbunny]

patheticccc

[yellowstonewolves-main]

In a wheedling, praise-hungry tone, Prince Charming describes what he saw while searching for the foot that fit the slipper. 

Women with their toes mutilated just like the stepsisters, straining to smile, while their mothers loomed steely-eyed in the background. Maids with bruises burnishing their faces. Girls who flinched when their fathers or brothers came near.

Some were even bold enough to whisper in his ear, to beg him to pretend the shoe fit.

Royals cannot overemphathize, wallowing in others’ misfortune. At my most rundown and helpless, neither could I.

Now, things are perfect. Why risk changing?

“Poor you,” I purr into his ear, pulling him on top of me.

He’s big where men shouldn’t be. He batters my  insides. I feign ecstacy.

After, he goes to bathe. I adjust the skin I’m wearing, since his pawing misaligned it. I check the seam down the back of me, none of the tiny white stitches have pulled free.

The ghost of the real Ella appears, perched on the bed.

 I was her household’s last remaining servant, I worked for room and board, unable to find another position. (I had a magpie habit as a child, and could never shake my tainted reputation.)

I attended the ball. The prince and I danced. But I suffered twenty years of abjection to her two. 

Twenty years to degrade my skin and teeth, to rash my hands and wrists. 

When I spoke, I had no memories of the south coast in the summertime. I hadn’t read the books he referenced. I hadn’t ridden a horse, only walked my swaybacked donkey to the market.

His eyes glazed over. I saw him decide that I was simpleminded as well as ugly.

He left mid-waltz to snatch up her hand again.

I held back a scream. 

I stood in the corner watching how the chandelier light rippled over their laughing faces. Whenever the prince wasn’t looking, Ella glanced at the door.

So, I waited just outside.

She ran like the priss she was and fought like it too. 

I skinned her corpse and kept it. It felt fair. She donned the costume of servitude. I hung her in my closet.

Her skin failed to rot, too pure and delicate for the worms and bacteria to desecrate. 

The announcement came that the prince would marry the woman who ran from the ball, the woman who fit the slipper. 

Could I wear her skin to win him? No, it was too small. She was petite, childlike.

But her pelt was too refined to do something as crass as tear because the wrong person wore it.

I slipped it on and impossibly, it fit like a glove. I looked in the mirror and saw a tiny thing, with curls too golden for malnutrition to tarnish.

I saw matchstick ankles, and toddler feet. I smiled.

“He’ll catch you” Ella’s taunts. “He’ll have you beheaded.”

He won’t. Men don’t admit they’ve been tricked. Royals don’t either.

We’ll live happily ever after.

[snackara]

Underground Trails Prologue

WARNING: Descriptions of blood, dead bodies, and panic attacks

Everyone in Newbury was dead, and it was all one man’s fault. At first, he didn’t even register it. All he could feel was a deep rage, an anger so intense it made his blood boil and fill his ears with roaring noise. All he could see was red. But finally, his mind started to clear and he began to see the carnage around him.

The first thing he recognized was the fire. It crackled and flared towards the night sky, as though trying to escape. It made the buildings surrounding the man slowly crumble into themselves and charred them to their wooden framework. The heat made his eyes water, or perhaps it was the smoke that wafted above. He felt it burning his lungs and coughed.

The man next looked around and saw the bodies around him. A chill went down his spine. He knew these people. Not personally, but he was familiar enough with them to recognize their faces. Neighbors, acquaintances, men, women. Everyone. Their faces were slack or frozen in expressions of horror, and blood covered their clothes. The cobblestone streets below them were stained red. 

He felt sick to his stomach. Despite his mind screaming at him not to, he looked down at himself. His hands and clothes were splattered with crimson, as well as the knife he was gripping tightly. He dropped it, hands trembling. His breath came is short, ragged gasps. His knees felt like they were about to buckle. There was a ringing in his ears, and his mind could only repeat one thing:

Monster.

The man was a monster. He had just slaughtered an entire town. Butchered everyone like they were merely cattle.

Monster.

He had lost his temper, and now look at what had happened. 

Monster.

His heart pounded in his chest, growing faster and faster as panic flooded his entire body.

Monster.

Without so much as a second thought, the man turned around ran. He bolted out of town, weaving through the destroyed buildings and the haze that hung in the air. He couldn’t tell if it was the smoke or the wind that was causing the tears in his eyes. 

He burst out of town, the cold air and darkness of the night giving a shock to his system. He saw a hill nearby, with a lone tree standing on it. He ran towards it, not looking back for a second. He felt the long grass brush past his legs, already wet with dew.

The man slowed as he finally reached the top of the hill, panting. He stumbled and leaned against the tree as he caught his breath.

The tree was a great oak, older then the town itself, at least that’s what the locals claimed. It’s gnarled roots dug deep into the earth, and the moonlight highlighted the rough bark and the dancing leaves above.

The man had come here often. Sometimes he would come alone when he just needed some quiet and time to think. Other times he would bring his friends up here, whispering nonsense secrets or shouting bold—if not often simpleminded—jokes. 

More often these past few months he had come up here only with one friend in particular. The others teased them about it, but it was all in good fun. They would sit among the tree branches to watch the sunset, or lay in the cool grass to stare at the stars. A few times they had fallen asleep in each others arms, leaning against the trunk of the great oak. They would talk about anything, more often then not about their plans for the future, their hopes and dreams about where they might go and what they might do someday. It was a place where they could simply be.

All of that was gone now, and it was his fault. Everything he cared about was probably burned away by this point. His whole life, just…gone in an instant.

The man broke. He fell to his knees and clutched his shirt that clung to his now rapidly rising and falling chest. The world felt like it was spinning. His vision blurred. His throat closed up. A wave of nausea washed over him. His whole body trembled, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. He felt like he needed to scream. To shout. To cry. But when he opened his mouth no sound came out. All he could do was lean against the tree and try to calm himself down.

Get up, something in his mind said.

The man’s jaw clenched.

Get up, you miserable wrench.

He slowly stood up, taking several deep breaths.

You don’t get to lay down and suffer like a pathetic dog. Not after what you’ve done, you monster.

The man wasn’t sure where to go, but anywhere was better then here. He wiped the sweat from his face, smearing blood on his forehead in the process. He slowly walked down the hill, away from Newbury. He didn’t know what the future held for him, but he knew that his life would never be the same again.

[tantalizingtopi]

Amusing

Dark Urge x Gortash, first meeting

Word count: 794

Warning: blood, blades

Disclaimer: these characters are not my own, they belong to Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3.

Feedback is always appreciated!

——————————————

I hold my blade to his throat, pressing it into his flesh and earning a delicious bead of blood. The scent of his scarlet is heady, and I momentarily lose focus, having to shake my head to clear my senses. “You’ll tell me what I wish to know, and I will consider letting you walk away.”

He presents his hands to me, seemingly unperturbed by the knife. “If you are who I believe you to be, I’ll tell you everything.”

I’ve only been in the city for about a year, rekindling my father’s following within the city walls as Sarevok continues to flounder. Father had told me I could rid myself of him whenever I no longer had a need. I almost dispatched him within the first tendays, but as I quickly gathered followers for father, I grew tired of baptizing the unholy assassins in blood and gave the task to the old man. It kept him out of my way, made him feel useful. Word must spread more quickly in Baldur’s underbelly than even I anticipated, since this smuggler was asking about me. Not the cult, but me. “Have your inquiries dug up so little that you don’t have a description of who you seek, or are you so simpleminded that you just don’t recognize me?”

The pile of rags down the alleyway begins to stir, the creature underneath attempting to slink away. Stupid. Always so stupid. The smuggler notices them too, his eyes moving away from me momentarily to track the movement. Disrespectful. I grimace, a flicker of guilt, before pulling another blade from my person with my free hand and with a turn of my wrist send it into the creature, the noise it makes confirms its a killing blow before it crumples to the floor.

The admiration is evident on the arms dealer’s face, as his lips part in a smile. “You are formidable, even more impressive in person than the whispers about you led me to believe.”

“Empty praise and idle chatter is a waste of my time.” I turn the blade, pressing its wide side hard into his throat, two thin lines joining the first.

“Fair enough. I merely wished to meet you and discuss, perhaps without a blade at my neck, a mutually beneficial partnership,” his voice is still calm, his expression nothing but confident and friendly. What a smug bastard. Still, my interest is piqued.

I remove the blade, but don’t step away from him just yet, an errant desire to lick the blood from his neck. It swells within me, strange and unnatural, and I find myself leaning closer to do so. I pivot my urge and run my thumb against his skin, swiping at all three lines, collecting and smearing the deep red beads and lick him off of me, savoring his taste, the sweet metallic mixed with the saltiness of his skin. Here his eyes flash in surprise as he watches me. He’s disgusting, I can almost see his thoughts turn untoward.

I watch his reaction as I repeat the motion, my thumb sliding along his neck, the crimson staining my skin, and my tongue licking it off, overplaying a little for him. Men are all the same, driven by the things in their pants rather than the brains in their heads. Still, he tastes like fine wine, and when I reach for him a third time, he grabs me by my wrist, stilling me. “I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

Cocky. Confident. Delusional if he thinks he is my equal. I step away finally, giving him his space and he drops his grip on me. My hand twitches at my side, itches to put my blade in his belly for laying a hand on me, wishes to cut his hand off for his insolence. I assess him from top to bottom, a predator deciding if they’re hungry for another kill just yet or not.

I decide not, as I already made one sacrifice to father tonight, even if it wasn’t intentional. Too many and we will raise alarm before we are ready to sow chaos, too little and father grows displeased. I turn away from him, glancing over my shoulder as I move to pull my blade from the homeless creature without bothering to look at them. “I’ll find you if I desire it.”

I feel his eyes on my back as I stalk further into the alley. He calls out after me, “So, that’s a solid possibility then?”

Insolent. Ostentatious. Conceited. Arrogant. He repulses me. Yet, as I make my way to the underground, I find myself smiling to myself. It was the most entertaining interaction I’ve had in days. I write only ‘Amusing Man’ in my journal and the date.

Part two here

[0ystercatcher]

most interesting part of the conservative documentary im watching abt poverty in the us is how unsubtle it is about trying to make it seem like men always have the instinct to provide for their families and the current conditions make them sadly unable to and make them have emotional crisis that turn them into criminals and man whores (that last one is my addition but cmon they lowkey show it) and its all about how we must make america great again by "fixing people from the inside out". theres this little thing about how men should be employed bc work dignifies them etc etc but the same thing is never ever ever said of women. every woman in this doc is a mother. most are teen moms. most cannot work formally because they take care of their kids usually without a baby daddy in the picture which is directly related to their poverty. but every single one of them Works. every single one of them wants to provide for their family. sure they dont work at The Factory (what factory are they gonna work in anyway?? half the cause of this is america de industrialized and killed thousands of valuable jobs...), but they have part time / service industry jobs, or informal jobs like cooking meals for workers from their own homes. its just cute how much is said about mens inherent desire to provide and while there are very real problems men face w mass unemployment and feeling poopy because they feel theyve lost their value once unable to work, its never directly pointed out that they neglect and basically look down on on the work women Have to keep doing no matter what.

very annoying this mf (director) can correctly point to big awful problems but cannot move past the age old and mistaken idea that when conditions are bad, the solution is to find men "spiritual" fulfillment and jobs, and for women to just marry these "spriritually" fulfilled employed men. because women could never want these things for themselves i guess. and its crazy bc theres definitely problems and mistakes women make over and over w this bc many of us are taught we Cant want those things and so we never reach out for them. but its obviously a lie. its obviously wrong. every other problem gets pointed out ... but not that one. because i guess its easier to believe women are simpleminded fools who just go along with what were told to want. but thats a lie! and it should be our job to show other women its obviously a lie and they can and should change those attitudes in themselves

[vyrulent]

Chloe wasn't simpleminded. She may have been a virgin, but she knew what the men were getting at. She'd been truthful about the curtains. If she were truly Lucifer's wife, she'd hold that want to make any house that Lucifer owned into a home where their personalities flourished.

"Hmm," Chloe replied as she followed alongside him. Dinner would be started soon and she was more than ready to get some more food in her, especially since they took that dip in the frigid waters.

Holding his hand as they walked back to their bedroom where more amorous events had previously transpired. Would it happen again?

"I was thinking..." cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, "maybe we should sleep with our backs to each tonight?"

Oh, she hoped he wouldn't find offense in her suggestion.

"I just... I seem to be a temptation and you seem so firm in wanting to keep that promise."

The crew looked at the two of them, some of them giving pointed expressions. "Right. Curtains." Said one of them, a few muffled giggles following. One of the men nudged Lucifer and gave him a wink, like they had shared a secret. Lucifer, knowing what the men were getting at, decided now was a good time for them to duck out.

"Well with that, gentlemen, me and my wife are going to retire," He said, hastily setting down his drink and helping her stand with the hand still clasped in hers. "Do try to get us to Spain in one piece!"

One thing he was absolutely not going to do was discuss their sexual plans in front of a crew of sailors with Chloe being both a lady and a virgin. Uncouth was one thing, but that type of talk was liable to make her go green in the face.

Quickly leading the way out, Lucifer turned to her and said, "As if they've never heard of subtlety." Shaking his head, he continued along the way to their cabin.

Tomorrow. They'd been in Spain tomorrow.

[agoldengalaxy]

Blood of the Covenant

read on Ao3

words: 3166

--

Chapter 4: Thicker Than the Water of the Womb

“And then - you’ll never believe this - she found my keys under the couch. I mean, seriously! She’s got treasure hunting in her blood!”

Standing in Sully’s hospital room, Nate was excitedly telling Sam stories about Cassie. Sam grinned as he looked over at Elena, who was watching with her arms crossed but a slight smile on her lips, like she wanted to be angry about this route of conversation but couldn’t be.

“I mean, she’s low to the ground, y’know, crawlin’ all over the place. And…keys are shiny. Easy for those chubby fists to grab.”

Nate didn’t seem to be too put off by that, chuckling as he nudged his shoulder. “Well, you’re still going for shiny things. That’s not too far off, huh?”

“Okay, alright, fair point.” Sam held his hands up in a surrender motion. “We’re simpleminded folk, I’ll give it to you.”

Elena snorted, moving to stand between them, poking Nate’s chest and nudging Sam’s arm. “You two are adorable.” Suddenly, her face fell in surprise, staring at something in front of them. She blinked. “I just…I saw Sully’s hand move!”

Sam’s heart flipped. Had he really not imagined it yesterday?

Both men whipped their heads toward the bed, but Sully looked just as still as he had been. “Maybe…” Nate murmured, taking a step closer. “Maybe he can hear our voices?”

“If anything would get the old man up, it’s hearing us make stupid jokes.” Sam tried to keep his usual light tone, but it came out a little shaky. He cleared his throat, taking one of the seats by the bed. Wordlessly, Nate and Elena followed, sitting down too. “Hey, Victor. You don’t wanna miss out on our old banter, do ya?”

Elena reached forward, gently taking Sully’s hand. “I know you don’t. And I know you’re not gonna leave me alone to deal with these two idiots.”

Nate smiled, looking fondly at his wife, then glanced down at Sully’s slack face. “I think she’d lose her mind without you. And…so would we.”

They held their breath for a few moments, but nothing happened. Somewhat disappointed, Elena let go of Sully’s hand, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe later.”

Nate placed an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into the touch. Sam eyed the two of them for a moment, then stood up, stretching out his back. “Well, I’m gonna go get us something to eat. Don’t do anything I would do,” he mused, then stepped out into the hallway.

Alone, leaning against the wall, he blew out a long breath. “Alright,” he mumbled. “Alright.”

He stood up straight, and headed down the hallway.

***

The smell of a warm campfire filled the air as Sam sat on a nearby rock, placing a cigarette to his lips. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke join the embers in a quiet dance up to the starry sky.

Leaves crunched as footsteps approached. Sam lifted his gaze to find Sully, his arms full of twigs, which he dumped rather unceremoniously onto the fire. “Should be enough to keep it going for a while.”

Pinching his cigarette between two fingers, Sam removed it from his lips to lean back a little. “I’ll keep watch first.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I was gonna have a smoke first anyway.” Sully sat down in front of a nearby log, the fire illuminating his face, showcasing some of the lines along his cheeks and forehead. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, carefully lit the end, and put it to his lips. “So, I take it nothing exciting happened while I was gone.”

“Nope. Just missed your terrible cigar smell while you were gone.”

Sully broke into a grin, taking a drag. “You’re one to talk.”

Sam returned the grin, tapping the end of his cigarette to loosen it, then put it back to his lips. The quiet between them was a comfortable one, which was something they were both still getting used to. The hostility that had been there two months ago on their pirate adventure had disappeared. They were enjoying each other’s company for what seemed like the first time since they’d met.

“Y’know, Victor…” he said after a few long moments, tilting his head back to blow smoke up to the sky. “I wanted to thank you for letting me tag along on this job.”

“Whoa, a thank you?” Sully’s voice was a mix of genuine surprise and teasing. “Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

“Oh, shut up.” It didn’t quite have the bite it normally did. He lowered his gaze back to Sully, almost surprised by the look on his face. He couldn’t quite place the expression, but it was one he really wasn’t used to.

Suddenly, that usual easy smile was back on Sully’s face, like that unplaceable expression had been a trick of the light. “Honestly, kid, before all the Avery crap, I’d been getting kinda lonely.” He pulled the cigar from his lips. His voice was sincere. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Sam.”

Before Sam could react, Sully coughed on the smoke. The starry sky blurred with the campfire.

Sam opened his eyes blearily.

His arms were folded on the hospital bed, his head buried within them. Beside him, Nate leaned back against his chair, his chin to his chest, snoring quietly. Elena rested against his shoulder, her usually neat hair staticky and sticking out in random places.

Slowly, Sam sat up, rolling the kinks out of his neck, wondering how long they’d been asleep. He was about to pull out his phone when a cough, like the one from his dream, reverberated in his head.

He froze. Slowly, slowly, his gaze drifted toward Sully’s face, which no longer looked as peaceful as it had before. His brows were furrowed, his nose twitching. Sam leaned forward, his heart suddenly racing.

“Hey, Victor,” he whispered. “Hey, it’s me. Please wake up.”

He could still smell that campfire, the cigar, the night air. The sincerity that Sully really did want him there with him. His heart hurt so badly.

The familiar burn tickled his eyes, and he closed them to make sure the tears wouldn’t escape. His feelings about Sully had always been complicated, but now, all he wanted was for him to be okay.

“Hey…why the long face? You look like someone died.”

A gravelly voice suddenly reached his ears, and Sam’s eyes shot open. They met Sully’s eyes, tired and gray, just the way they’d always been. Despite himself, Sam let out a shocked laugh, nudging Nate’s shoulder. “Oh, Victor, you bastard,” he breathed as Nate and Elena stirred slowly, confusion turning into surprised relief.

“Sully!”

“Oh my God!”

Their cries of excitement caught the attention of a passing nurse, who rushed into the room to check on him. She carefully removed his mask, asked him a couple questions, and checked his vitals. Despite looking rather pale, almost the color of the sheets below him, Sully looked like his usual self. Even the nurse seemed surprised. 

It was a whirlwind of thirty minutes. Doctors and nurses rushed in, checking him over, running tests. When they had finally finished, they propped Sully up against the wall with a bunch of pillows and left them to catch up.

“I knew you’d pull through, you son of a bitch,” Nate sighed, unable to stop himself from smiling, tears stuck in his eyes.

“Ah, well, I’m not so coldhearted to leave the lovely Miss Fisher alone with you two knuckleheads,” Sully replied with a quiet smile over at Elena.

“Mrs. Drake now, unfortunately, Sully, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Sully’s gaze landed on Sam, who was standing awkwardly off to the side. “Speaking of knucklehead, what are you doing over there?” He lifted a hand, waving it as Nate and Elena glanced at Sam, seemingly just now noticing he was standing a few feet away. “Hellooo? I’m over here, come join the party.”

“Not much of a party,” Sam replied, taking a step closer despite everything in his body telling him not to. He didn’t want to intrude on this moment. It was hard to look Sully in the eye. It was his fault.

There was idle conversation that Sam could barely pay attention to. His ears were ringing again. His chest felt like he was going to explode. Eventually, he excused himself to go have a cigarette. The three of them seemed caught off guard, but didn’t ask him to stay.

Outside the hospital, the sun was setting slowly, filling the world with golden light. He leaned against the wall and drew deep breaths, as deep as he could manage, before fumbling with his pack of cigarettes. The doors opened slowly, and much to his surprise, Bianca the receptionist walked out.

“I heard the good news,” she said lightly, looking him over, perhaps seeing right through the mask he was wearing, “but you do not look happy.”

With the cigarette between his lips, Sam chuckled, bringing the lighter up to the tip. “What, are you a shrink in your spare time?”

“No,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Just someone who has seen a lot of emotions in this place. There is one I recognize in you, because I have felt it myself.”

The cigarette lit. He carefully placed the lighter back into his pocket, eyeing her. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s this, ah, emotion you think I’m feeling?”

“Guilt,” she answered softly.

Sam froze, feeling that same heaviness in his chest again. Slowly, he exhaled the smoke from his lips, feeling like they were both in a standoff. He leaned against the wall of the hospital, managing a wistful smile. “You’re good, I’ll give you that.”

Bianca seemed surprised that he agreed so quickly, and perhaps he was surprised, too. After what she’d done for him, though, he couldn’t bring himself to lie. She shifted her weight. “Mr. Drake -”

“Sam,” he corrected.

“Sam,” she replied, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Whatever happened between you and your father, you can work it out.” She took a step closer. “You may have once felt like you had all the time in the world to make things right, but we do not. Do not hold back. Do not regret. We do not always get tomorrow.”

Biting his bottom lip, he looked down at her, noticing a twinge of desperation in her tone. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, nearly inaudible. “Who did you lose?”

Bianca blanched, her eyes widening in surprise. Her shoulders sagged. “My husband,” she whispered softly, “my Esteban.”

“I’m sorry.” The air was heavy, and Sam reached down, putting out his cigarette into the nearby ashtray. “I’m sure he’d be very proud of you, Ms. Bianca. What was he like?”

She blinked, giving him a slight, watery smile. “He was wonderful. He always made me laugh. He cared for everyone. I like to think he would have let you stay here your first night, too.” She sighed softly. “Now, you should get back in there. Your family is waiting.”

Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Thanks for the pep talk, she-who-is-not-a-shrink.” They both shared a smile, and Sam drew himself up, walking back inside.

***

Things felt a lot less awkward this time around. As it got darker outside, Elena ushered Nate back to the hotel, insisting they both needed to go start cleaning things up, but Sam had a sneaking suspicion she was doing it on purpose.

The room was quiet when they left. Sam and Sully were sitting in the quiet, but it didn’t feel as comfortable as it had the night of his dream, in the light of the campfire. Sully seemed confused by the unexplained heaviness. Eventually, Sam spoke up, the words tumbling out of his mouth like an avalanche.

“Why did you do that?”

Sully blinked in surprise. “Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Victor, please.” Sam breathed in, again finding it hard to look him in the eye. “You took that bullet for me. You almost died for me. Why did you do that?”

For a moment, the words just hung in the air, unanswered. Then, Sully chuckled lightly, like the question was silly.

“Sam,” he said finally, “it wasn’t even a question for me.” When Sam looked up, Sully was staring at him, a certain look in his eyes he hadn’t seen in years. “It’s the same reason I’ve almost killed myself over and over again trying to help you and Nate. I’d do anything for you two. I can’t believe it’s taken this long for you to figure it out.”

“But…” Frustrated, Sam leaned back against the chair, blowing out a breath. “All I’ve ever done is be a burden to you, Victor.” The words out of his own mouth almost surprised him. He supposed Bianca’s talk had helped him with this ‘opening up’ thing. “I never listen to you, even to this day. You almost died because I don’t know when to quit.”

Sully raised a brow. “What, did Nate say that to you?” Surprised, Sam stared back at him blankly. Seemingly, that was enough of an answer for him. Sully sighed, like he had years worth of things to say. “Look, kid. There’s no denying you were a handful. I know you never liked me much. I was okay being the bad guy in your story if it meant you’d be safe.”

Feeling the familiar burn in his eyes, he blinked feverishly so he wouldn’t let anything loose. “Why did you…treat Nathan and me differently?”

That question seemed to really throw him off guard. Sully worried at his bottom lip, as if he was debating something within himself. “You’re headstrong. You’re stubborn. You’re angry. You’re…you’re like me.”

“What?”

“I always saw myself in you. I always worried you’d go off and do something stupid, get yourself killed. I had to be harder on you, because I knew what it felt like to have a lousy father, a lousy childhood.” Sully gave him a wry smile. “Things haven’t changed that much. I still worry you’ll go do something stupid, get yourself killed. But this?” He glanced down at himself. “Sam, this was not your fault.”

Sam opened his mouth, but no sound came out. After all these years, finding out the truth felt like a punch to the throat.

Sully reached forward, gently placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. For the first time since they started this conversation, Sam met his eyes. “This was my choice, Sam. Even when it didn’t feel like it, I have always been your friend.”

“No.” Sam’s voice was almost inaudible. Sully’s brow furrowed, moving to pull away, but Sam stopped him. “No, Victor. You haven’t been my friend. Friends don’t act the way you do. You’ve been my father.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the heaviness of the words washing over both of them like a tidal wave. Sam wondered if he was imagining the way Sully’s eyes began shining, and decided he didn’t want to know for sure. He moved forward, hugging him as gently as he could, not wanting to hurt him further. Sully returned it, almost desperately, like he’d been waiting for this for decades. Perhaps he had been.

“Okay, enough of all that.” Sam pulled away after a moment, sniffling quietly, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re gonna get my shoulder wet.”

Sully smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Yeah, you wish. Takes more than that to make me cry, kid.”

“Sure, whatever you say, old man.”

The air between them was light now. It was comfortable. The only thing they were missing was a cigarette and a cigar.

***

Five days later, Sam stood in the lobby of the hospital, finishing up his paperwork.

“Easy, Dad,” Nate said, sending a not-so-subtle wink at Sam as he walked beside Sully, who was using a cane to walk, insisting on that over the wheelchair. Elena, on his other side, had a hand on his arm to guide him.

“You seem much happier, Mr. Drake.” Bianca, from behind the desk, gave him a genuine smile. “I am glad to see it.”

“Thanks to you,” he admitted, placing his pen down. “I don’t know what I would have done without your kindness.”

She glanced toward a picture that was framed on the desk beside her computer. In it, Bianca was standing side by side with another man, both of them beaming widely for the camera. “And thank you for letting me talk about my Esteban.”

“Anytime.” He slid the paperwork toward her, watching Nate and Elena help Sully out of the hospital. He smiled down at Bianca. “Next time in Costa Rica, I’ll come visit.”

Smiling again, she took the pile of papers from him. “I’d like that.”

Sam took a step back, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the hospital.

“Get home safe. Give Cassie my love.” Sully hugged Elena, who returned it tightly. She smiled over his shoulder.

“I will. But you should come give it to her yourself very soon,” she teased as she pulled back. Sully chuckled, then turned to Nate, who gave him a big hug.

“Door’s always open, Sully. You know that.” 

“Thanks, kid. I’m sure we’ll come by soon.”

Sam stepped closer, and Nate turned to him, smiling sincerely. “Door’s open to you, too, y’know.”

“I should hope so. Cassie loves me.”

“Mm, I don’t know just yet. She did cry the first time you held her.”

“Um, that doesn’t count. She was hungry. It wasn’t because of me.”

Chuckling, Nate closed the distance between them, hugging tightly. Sam returned it just as tightly. “See you soon, Sam. Take care, okay?”

“Yeah.” Sam pulled away, then turned to embrace Elena. “Take care of him for me, will ya?”

“I always do,” she replied, and after a moment, pulled back to take her husband’s hand. The two of them headed down the street to where their cab was waiting, and Sam and Sully watched until the car drove away.

For a few moments, it was quiet. Then, Sam pulled out a cigar, presenting it to Sully, who took it with a mix of surprise and fondness on his face. He took out a cigarette for himself, and pulled out his lighter.

“So,” Sully murmured as the end of his cigar was lit, “what’s next?”

“Take it easy, Victor, you’re not quite ready for another adventure just yet,” Sam chuckled, placing his lighter back in his pocket.

“Mm, maybe. But in a few weeks, how’s about we pay my old friend Amelia a visit?”

Sam glanced over at Sully, noticing his expression was fully serious, a sparkle in his eye that hadn’t been there in a long time. He smiled, placing an arm around Sully’s shoulders, and nodded. “Sure, sure. Let’s get some non-hospital food first, though.”

Together, they walked down the street, the sun shining brightly on a new day.

[capitclkarma]

a faint blush spread across their cheeks, thankfully hidden by the moonlight that guided their path. "i'm just a very attentive waitress is all." quick to cover, not to play into his words. there were two yasmines, simply divided into before and after. they didn't miss the before. the stupid, naive version who looked at the world through the eyes of a dreamer. they'd faced the consequences of that and since adapted like a chameleon to the truth of things. but maybe, just maybe, they wished azi had known them before. when they'd smiled more freely. flirted more freely. laughed more freely. he only knew their shadow, the tv static version. "no one would kill someone who uses paper straws. they've already suffered enough."

it was only natural they leaned into his touch, warming their neck and spreading to the tips of their toes. and for a moment, they were defrosting before he pulled away and the ever present cold was evident again. yasmine pulled their jacket tighter to keep the chill from the night air out, doing nothing to protect against the chill in their bones. "spill a little coffee on you and your spellbound. men are so simpleminded," they laughed, but they were the one entranced by by him. they stoped at his touch, heart suddenly beating like butterfly. they couldn't say why, but they knew then something had changed. yasmine wanted to walk backwards, taking the time with them. back before they left the diner. back before they stepped foot into town. before they lost everything. they would keep walking backwards until they were five, sitting in their mother's lap, listening to some story about a princess named yasmine in a big castle with a hundred friends. but now, they were stuck in the cold, hands tucked into their sleeves and wide eyes searching azi's face for answers, for some kind of sign of what was about to come.

"oh."

it was all they could manage, his words ringing in their ears. stuck there, replaying like a broken record. arms moved to circle their stomach, back curving in. they shouldn't care. they didn't care. he was just some boy they used to pass the time. some boy to remind them that they were a real human being of flesh and blood. so why did they feel like they would be sick? like they saw him kick a puppy? or why did they feel like they were fourteen and their best friend and boyfriend were in the closet, playing seven minutes in heaven? back straightened up, eyes looking anywhere but his face. "that's cool. congratulations. you want a gold star? should we go out for a drink to celebrate that you got laid?" cruel words spoken with no emotion. no love, no hate, devoid of anything. "well, i hope you practiced safe sex with him. i don't want to catch anything."

i think you're fucking cool. maybe not anymore. not when they showed him the real yasmine. the one who didn't let anyone touch their toys. "you don't need to walk me home. i'm an adult. taylan might be missing you, and you don't want to let him down." they spun and started walking away, not even looking where they were going.

their  sarcasm  is  comfortable  ,  and  azi  bites  back  another  smile  .  when  did  he  become  so  familiar  with  yasmine  ,  who  is  essentially  a  stranger  ?  perhaps  that’s  why  he  didn’t  know  it  until  it  was  too  late  —  there  were  never  any  heavy  confessions  between  them  and  he  loved  that  .  a  sour  taste  fills  his  mouth  when  he  realizes  that  will  soon  change  .  “  my  booth  ,  huh  ?  so  you  noticed  i  had  a  favorite  spot  .  if  you  want  me  ,  yasmine  ,  you  can  just  say  so  .  i  don’t  bite  .  unless  you’re  into  that  kind  of  stuff  .  ”  he  snorts  .  he’s  waiting  ,  but  they  still  don’t  look  at  him  .  he  counts  the  seconds  until  they  finally  turn  to  face  him  ,  and  then  the  tension  in  his  shoulders  drops  .  he  could  drown  in  their  eyes  ,  and  that’s  the  worst  part  .  without  warning  ,  yasmine  and  azizi  settled  into  a  routine  that  he’s  grown  to  like  .  guilt  wraps  its  hand  around  his  throat  ,  and  he  breaks  eye  contact  first  .  he’s  too  slow  to  swat  their  hand  away  ,  and  winces  at  their  flick  in  his  ear  .  “  of  course  ,  how  could  i  be  so  stupid  ?  nobody  would  ever  want  to  kill  someone  who  wants  to  save  the  turtles  .  ”

azizi  swings  his  arm  around  yasmine  ,  briefly  pulling  them  closer  to  nuzzle  his  face  into  their  hair  .  their  scent  ,  subtle  and  nostalgic  ,  calms  him  .  it  only  lasts  for  a  second  ,  before  he  lets  go  and  shoves  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  jeans  .  he  isn’t  the  pda  type  and  yasmine  doesn’t  seem  to  be  the  flirting  type  ,  but  here  they  are  ,  doing  things  they’re  not  used  to  .  yasmine  was  intriguing  the  first  day  when  they  were  his  waitress  at  dolly’s  ,  and  they  still  are  now  .  he  can’t  resist  the  temptation  .  that’s  always  his  downfall  .  “  ah  ,  i’m  a  simple  man  .  it  would  be  easy  to  charm  me  .  you  would  know  .  ”  as  they  walk  by  a  park  ,  he  slows  his  steps  and  reaches  out  to  touch  yasmine’s  elbow  and  stops  them  .  “  hey  …  ”  he  hesitates  .  it  really  shouldn’t  matter  ,  but  he  still  feels  a  lodge  in  his  throat  .  like  a  band-aid  ,  he  needs  to  rip  it  off  without  thinking  twice  .  so  that’s  exactly  what  he  does  .  “  i  don’t  want  to  start  a  conversation  about  ‘  what  are  we  ’  —  i  will  never  be  that  guy  —  so  i  won’t  .  but  i  slept  with  taylan  on  halloween  night  ,  and  i  don’t  want  to  keep  it  from  you  .  ”  he  pauses  .  if  yasmine  was  anybody  else  ,  he  would  walk  away  right  now  .  but  if  he’s  learned  anything  from  his  past  ,  it’s  that  he  clearly  has  commitment  issues  .  “  we  don’t  need  to  talk  about  it  ,  unless  you  want  to  .  and  if  you  don’t  want  to  talk  to  me  ever  again  ,  i  can  accept  that  .  it  would  suck  ,  ‘cause  i  think  you’re  fucking  cool  .  but  i  would  understand  .  ”

[twopoppies]

Harry looks like a big rectangle. And he’s not pretty. He’s beefy and handsome. It doesn’t make him less gay to say that. Good lord, you’ve got the most simpleminded views on gay men.

What the hell are you smoking? He's not beefy in the least. Have you ever even seen him? He's a fucking string bean. Yes, a long, slim (very fit) string bean. And sure, he's handsome. He's also pretty. And if I want to say he's pretty IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HIM BEING GAY. Some men are just pretty. Why don't you take your homophobia somewhere else?

Why do I have so many nitwits in my inbox tonight?

[amusedyan]

Monthly Meetings

A Peaky Blinders commission!

Words: 2k

Once a month there was a meeting. It was something dreaded by both parties, but one that was necessary- it was neutral territory, where mutual suggestions were discussed, grievances were gone over and business settled. No one officially came armed- but that was never written into the deal. Just like it wasn’t discussed that both parties came with a small coterie of their most trusted, each eyeing the other and waiting for a twitchy trigger finger.

Tommy Shelby was never on time to any meeting.

He came early when he was the one to suggest it- to get the drop on the other person, to make an impression. You waste my time, and you have no right to ask anything of me, was the goal there. When told to meet someone, he always made it a point to arrive 5 minutes late, because you aren’t worth my time.

This meant that meeting Alfie Solomons put him in an uncomfortable position- he had to come on time. And sometimes Alfie was there already, smug, or sometimes Alfie was late and dismissive about it, but with a stack of papers and grievances to make up the difference.

Tommy was continually unimpressed with the Jewish mobster, though you could color him surprised when word got out through the grapevine that Alfie Solomon had started going steady with some bird from the local flower shop.

He’d never figure him to be one to settle down, but those same rumors claimed that he ws continually trailing after her. Considering how…temperamental his associate could be, Tommy could believe it.

When Alfie actually entered the restaurant, Tommy reflected that the rumors must be true because the man was practically glowing. More importantly though, his usual stack of gripes was noticeably absent.

“Tommy-boy!” The man grunted, taking his seat at the table. There was already whiskey poured- courtesy of Tommy, of course.

“Alfie,” Tommy greeted, watching the man settle.

It was such a waste of his time to come here, and it took active work not to lose his temper about it. He could be home now

“So, to business. Would you like to begin?” Tommy offered magnanimously.

Alfie drank from his glass and winced at the taste. “Shit, that is,” he mused, shaking his head. “How’ve you been, Tommy? How’s life treated you?”

Suspicion colored Tommy’s thoughts. What was Solomons up to? Small talk wasn’t part of the meeting, ever. As if reading his thoughts, Alfie chuckled. “Don’t be like that, Shelby. I’ve been advised to try diplomacy.”

“By your new conquest?” Tommy countered. The expression on Alfie’s face closed off, and no longer was he looking at a man blatantly in love and feeling charitable to the whole world for it. It made things much easier to deal with. But a moment later, a sly smile crept across Alfie Solomon’s face, and Tommy wasn’t much fond of that expression.

“You’d know all about conquests, wouldn’t you, Tom?” Alfie folded his hands across his midsection and leaned back against his seat, leveling Tommy with a look just as cold.

Fury unfolded, and beside that, fear. What did that mean? Who had talked?

Chuckling, Alfie waved it off. “Now, there’s no need for that look, my good man. There’s been whispers, same as there have been for me. About a pretty girl. What’s her name?”

“We aren’t here to discuss women, Alfie.” Tommy said flatly, trying not to growl. From the corner of his eye, he could see Finn watching intently. He was waiting for a signal. No, he needed to reign it in.

Alfie was just intent on pushing his buttons though, grinning broadly, damn near leering at Tommy. “Well, her name’s Margaret.” His finger drummed against the glass, the ring he was wearing clinking methodically. “I doubt her name’s in your network, yeah? Every fucking thing else, but not that.” He shook his head. “Beautiful name.” And there was that lovesick look again.

“Is that all?” Tommy asked. What would it take to get the meeting back on track? Alfie eyed him, and reached into his coat-

Finn and Isaiah were drawing their guns, Alfie’s men were responding-

“SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Alfie boomed, stilling the room. Tommy saw that what he’d withdrawn was his wallet.

“What are you planning, Solomons?” He asked, withdrawing a cigarette from his case.

The Camden bastard rolled his eyes and withdrew a photo. “Here,” he grunted, “have a look at this.” He handed it over to Tommy.

And honestly the last thing that Tommy expected to see was the image of a young woman posing for the camera. Rather lewdly, to put it mildly. Like a whore if you wanted to be blunt.

“My Margaret,” pride dripped from Solomons’ voice, like he hadn’t just shown off the parts of a woman that only her husband would see.

Tommy weighed his answers- would Solomons light up with fury if he complimented the woman? Or would he be offended if he didn’t? The trouble was that you never knew with him. He took a contemplative drag of his cigarette.

“Lovely,” he settled on.

Alfie scowled. “Oh like yours is any better,” he taunted. “C’mon, let’s see ‘er then.”

“I don’t have pictures of my woman on me, Alfie.” Tommy said, unable to stop the slight condescension from creeping into his tone, like he was talking to a child, or else someone very simpleminded.

“Well why the fuck not? How’m I s’posed to know if this woman exists, eh?” Alfie accused, smacking the table.

This was all very confusing honestly. What the hell was he playing at? “I didn’t claim she was real.”

“What man doesn’t have a picture of the woman he loves?”

“What man carries filthy pictures of his?”

“Oi mate, those are fuckin art!” Alfie argued with surprising vehemence. It was a strange hill to make a stand on, but hey, he could relate.

“Whatever you say, Alfie,” Tommy sighed and blew out another cloud of smoke.

It was raining now. Storm clouds had been gathering all of yesterday, and he’d been able to taste the moisture, along with the filth in the city air. Rain was ugly here, didn’t clean a fuckin’ thing. He found himself thinking, longingly of the estate. The Shelby Estate, a grander name than something like Arrow House. But little things like a name change kept your feet on the ground. Sylvia would be there, reading. It was raining, so she couldn’t ride today.

At first she’d hated being in the house. She’d wanted to be back in Birmingham. Always liked the action, wanted to support him. It had been charming before, but now that they were together, it couldn’t be tolerated. Too many risks.

“Are you fucking ignoring me, Tommy-boy?” Alfie’s voice was dangerous now, angry and short. Shit. He stubbed out the remains of his smoke in the ashtray.

“No, Alfie, I’m not ignoring you,” he said on the exhale. Clearly, he reflected, nothing was going to get done with this meeting. It was a shame, but at least that meant things were secure where they stood.

Either Solomons was happy or about to betray him again.

“So, I’ve told you about my Margaret, tell me about your girl.” Alfie ordered, pouring another drink.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tom said, but at the disbelieving look on Alfie’s face, he shrugged slightly.

“I just don’t understand how a man can have a woman and not want to talk about her. Obviously you’ve heard how proud I am, but you? Are you ashamed?” It sounded like it was amusing- the idea that Tommy Shelby would be ashamed of anything in his life.

But the idea of being ashamed of Sylvia? That struck a nerve and that pissed him off properly.

“I’m not ashamed of her.” He snapped.

Alfie’s grin was positively disgusting. “So she does exist? Well, come now, what’s her name?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he spoke begrudgingly, “Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, aye.” He nodded, turning it over. “She a gypsy like you?”

“No. She is not a gypsy.” Eye contact was key. “It wouldn’t matter either way.”

“So why don’t you talk about her? I could talk all day about mine, as I’m sure that you’ve noticed,” of course he had. “You move her in yet?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Tommy mocked, making Alfie roll his eyes.

“Neither of us are gentlemen, Tom, no matter how you fuckin’ pretend. I moved Margaret in almost right away, you know? We just, we just had this connection- I saw her and I wanted her. Sent her gifts every day, came into the store when I could- her smiles, they lit up my fuckin’ life.”

“I’ve never known you to be so open about your business, Alfie. Aren’t you worried that someone might overhear?” It wasn’t a threat, not at all, not for once. This hit a little too close to home for it to be anything more than idle curiosity, and luckily Solomons knew it.

“No, mate. I need her to know how much I love her. And I need other people to know. Because if someone thinks that they can hurt her? I will…” he laughed, and it didn’t sound sane at all, but it didn’t bother Tommy, “well fuck, I think I’d burn the fuckin’ city down. But,” and he looked at Tommy, and that affable, unstable mask came off for a moment, and Tommy was looking at the emptiness that came from the war, the same emptiness in every soldier who’d been in the field, “but I think you know that, don’t you Tom?” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured, hell, if anyone on this Earth knew what I felt- how far I’d go- it’d be you.. And you do, don’t you?”

Tommy thought about Sylvia. He always thought about Sylvia.

He did horrible things on a daily basis. What would he do if something happened to her?

And the thing was, Tommy didn’t even need to ask himself that question. He’d known the moment that he’d seen her what he’d do for her, what he’d already done. She was safe, that was what he told himself, she was under constant watch, by men he trusted, where he didn’t need to worry about someone running off with her, or an accident, or any of the things that could take her away.

“And you just keep her in an apartment?” He muttered.

“How else would I see her?” Alfie countered evenly. “I take it you don’t?”

Tommy didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, not in the context of the question.

“No, no, the way I see it, it’s better that I can keep an eye on ‘er. I get to come home to a nice meal, lovely company, and everyone knows what’ll happen if they fuck with her. You keep yours,” and he pointed at his business associate, “in some isolated fuckin’ kingdom and what happens? People get curious. You can’t see her as often. She goes missing. There’s no fuckin’ neighbors to pay to keep watch.” And hell, that was actually a very good point, but he didn’t want to hear that from Solomons.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Oh I fuckin’ disagree, mate. You don’t get that shit in hand-“

“And what might happen, Solomons?” Tommy asked calmly. He knew what this was- this was Solomons trying to knock him off his game, disturb him. And why? What the hell did Solomons have up his sleeve? “What are you planning?”

“Well I dunno mate.” The glass in Solomons’ hand was empty now, “what do you think I’m planning?”

“I think you’re just being a prick.” The other man barked out a laugh.

“Fair enough, so- grievances.”

And there it was.

When it was over, Tommy went over the meeting- all of it, bullshit included- in his head, thinking it over.

Alfie Solomons was a two faced bastard.

But Tommy found himself making plans to go visit Sylvia as a surprise, nonetheless.

[hardtchill]

I'm sorry if this is a bad question but why does the NWSL have such an obsession with bad coaches like Burke, Holly, Dames etc?

Most leagues will have a handful of coaches like that over a few years but the NWSL seems infected with them. Is it something with the culture? Why is it so prevalent in that league in particular?

I don't think the NWSL in particular has a taste for these coaches. I think Woso in particular has this problem because a lot of men who end up in Woso simply weren't good enough to coach men.

They are simpleminded, abusive and narcissistic characters who never had the talent and skill to get a big coaching gig. They are seen as 'good enough' for Woso because who else wants to coach women? Oh yeah, a lot of people actually, but those exact people are being discouraged and sometimes even prohibited from going into coaching.

It is a culture problem, but it's not just a problem in the US. It also isn't reserved for just men. Look at Diacre (all round abusive), look at Hayes (fucked a player), look at Ellis (where do i even start).

It's a problem where ever you go and it's kept going by clubs who just don't care. Watch the Spirit hire Benstiti after just firing Burke, i wouldn't be the least bit surprised to see this happen and that is what is wrong.

It's not possible to root out all the rotten apples, because even with strict background checks and policies new abusive coaches will slip through occasionally. However, what is wrong in Woso is that nothing happens after someone is found to be abusive (and reports are often ignored until the media gets involved). They move to a different league and suddenly they are all good to go again.

Until they fix that major problem, no league will be free of abusive coaches. Additionally, while this is still going on very few young coaches will actually get proper training because they will be stuck as the assistant of someone like Burke who teaches them exactly what not to do.

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Jason Todd was raised on the streets, in Gotham’s filth, but the blood that was running through his veins was everything but. Jason was the last of a line of gruesome, death stained mages, necromancers who dealt in souls and flickering images of immortality. Jason was a fifteen-year-old boy who crawled out of his grave, weeks after he died, reanimated by powers he couldn’t understand or control, and struggled to feel alive even when his father was holding onto him.

AN: I finally get to post my @batfam-big-bang fanfic! I My lovely beta readers for this wonderful project were @nycis and @queerbutstillhere while my amazing artists were @darkmagyk and @paperedking and @zannakai. Check out their stunning pieces!!!

Read on AO3

I had a night I had a day I did one million stupid things I said one billion foolish things I'm not okay

If there are two emotions Jason knows well, they are  fear and anger. Both had accompanied him since his earliest childhood memories. His father’s shouting had been a constant source of anger and fear. His loud voice had forced Jason to hide beneath the table, his bed, the closet, all spaces he had falsely assumed would be too small for his father to reach. With bated breath he had waited for the screeching to stop until only his mother’s soft sobs had echoed through the rooms. Those too had angered Jason. He didn’t know whether it was on her behalf, because he had hated his father so much for causing her any pain, or because that anger had been for himself, the poor child whose mother wasn’t strong enough to leave her piece of shit husband.

On the streets, anger had kept him warm at night and fear had ensured he stayed alive. He had marveled at the shiny tires of the Batmobile, but even then, deep down, he had been so incredibly angry. He was going hungry while another drove a car like that. He had ignored his fear then and stolen the tires regardless.

It had been the best decision of his life.

So now, when once again  he was stuck between fear and anger, he chose to dismiss his fear and lash out instead.

“You can’t be serious!” Jason hissed, throwing up his arms.

Rage boiled beneath his skin like an active volcano. It infected his voice, his stance. He rose to his full height, making him the tallest in the room, but none of his siblings even blinked at it. They were too used to such simpleminded intimidation tactics, employed similar ones in front of villains who thought they could get the better of them.

“This is the right way,” Dick said, his voice strained with finality, a kind of authority he had no right to evoke.

He was not their leader, and he sure as hell was not their father. Dick barely understood what Jason was capable of and when he did, was too scared of it. The others didn’t see it, but Jason knew a coward when he saw one. Dick always tip-toed around Jason’s room like he expected the undead to crawl right out of it and drag him into a bloody casket. Beyond that, he also always took the patrol routes far away from Jason’s apartment complex and city district. Jason didn’t mind, he preferred it when the others kept their noses out of the Narrows and Crime Alley. His people didn’t particularly enjoy it either when the other bats and birds came around to play there as they tended to mess with the wards and ask uncomfortable questions. Jason understood too well how unsettling his presence could be and therefore knew very well that Dick had no room to make such decisions or judge Jason for them.

“The right way,” Jason repeated. “Do you even hear yourself? If everything was right, Bruce would still be here!”

Tim and Steph both winced when Jason said his name and even Dick’s face fell. They all didn’t understand it. Death was so final to them instead of just another state of being, one that Jason could reverse.

“I can bring him back,” Jason continued, desperation seeping into his voice. “Everything will be alright again. It’s all in these books. I just need your help.”

Why couldn’t his siblings just understand that he would fix it and then everything would go back to being the way it was before Darkseid had torn their lives to shreds. The Cave had become messy since Bruce’s death. It had been barely a month ago but it already showed despite best efforts. Jason had dragged all his books here to study and take notes, the constant hum of the technology as much a motivational hymn as it was a lullaby. His notes now were spread out all across the table, proudly displaying the work Dick was disregarding so very easily.

Dick only stubbornly shook his head. “No, Bruce wouldn’t want that.”

This wasn’t about what Bruce wanted, he was dead. This was simply about deciding how they were going to fix it.

“You don’t know that,” Jason countered. “It’s not like he wrote it in his will.”

Dick let out a low breath and dragged his hands through his hair as if Jason were causing him a headache. They had attended the reading of the will just hours before. Alfred had made sure they had all dressed up in proper suits the way they had for the closed casket funeral because there hadn’t been a body to recover. It would make it all more difficult to bring Bruce back without his original body to tie his soul too, but Jason was confident that he would be able to pull it off. Jason had only listened half-heartedly to the reading of the will. He knew its contents by heart, they all did. Every hero had a will set up and about ten proxies who knew every word and could recite it in case their death had been unnatural.

Alfred had been given custody over Damian while Tim had been emancipated. The Wayne fortune had been split five ways between Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Damian while Steph and Barbara both got a huge stipend. It was all for nothing, Bruce would be back. Cass knew it as well, or so Jason hoped. She hadn’t even bothered to show for the funeral but had left the city the night before. Jason wished she had stayed, she would support him.

Instead, Jason had to make everyone else listen to him.

Tim was still straight up in denial and didn’t believe that Bruce was dead. His parents had died around the same time, just two years earlier. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to handle it and escape into his delusions instead. Steph, for all that she was a part of the team and family, Jason’s closest confidant out of all of them, had chosen to stay neutral while Dick protested vehemently.

Damian, meanwhile, just thought that Jason wouldn’t be able to pull it off, but that could be blamed on his superiority complex. While the kid, a perfect mix of Talia and Bruce, could imitate Bruce’s accent and body language as well as he wanted to, he still reeked of al Ghul arrogance and the Lazarus pit’s side effects. It was a foul stench, poisonous, and foreign to this world. It had hurt Bruce when Jason had told him what exactly was keeping Damian’s heart beating, but there was nothing that could be done about it. It wasn’t like anybody else besides Jason actually noticed.

“Had he wanted to, we would know,” Dick said.

“But-“

“Jason, stop.” Dick’s order, his tone couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a bark, was harsh. “Bruce is dead and he will stay dead. You will not experiment on his soul just because you think you can bring him back.”

“I don’t think so, I know so,” Jason argued. “You’re just incapable of trusting me! You still think I’m a foolish kid who is just playing around with powers he doesn’t understand!”

His voice rose with every shouted word. It had always been like this. Dick thinking that Jason was crossing too many lines, wasn’t good enough to be Robin or anything. Hell, he had accepted Tim more readily as Robin than he ever had Jason.

“Jason-“ Tim tried to speak up, but was harshly cut off by Dick.

Trust big brother to always know best.

“Because you are!” Dick shouted back. It hurt, cut into flesh like sharp knives, but at the same time it was liberating. Finally, Dick was actually speaking his mind. Honesty, so Jason had learned, was the only way to keep moving forward. They all lied, it was a part of their training, came as natural as breathing, but there was a line you had to be aware of.

“Bruce is dead and you can’t let go. Instead of helping me figure out how to keep Gotham running, you run off and bury your head in old books to find a solution to a problem that isn’t there! He’s gone. I needed you on patrol tonight and you didn’t show.”

Patrol had been just fine, Dick hadn’t needed him. Jason had kept an eye on the comms, they had done as good as they could with three men down. It hadn’t even been a busy night.

“You’re just giving up!”

“And you’re delusional!” Dick retorted.

He picked up one of the pages the closest to him. The originally white paper was covered by ink stains, diagrams smeared uncaringly all over it while Jason had been trying to figure out what exactly his ancestors had gotten up to when they tried to raise the dead.

“This is too much, Jason. You’re only setting yourself up for my failure. I let you keep researching because I thought it would help, but it’s only hurting you. You have to let go.”

“And leave?” Jason spat out. “Like you always do the moment something goes wrong with Bruce?”

Dick froze. His annoyance and misguided worry slowly twisted into dark anger. At that moment, it just felt right. Dick had ceased pretending that he was so much better than them, that he wasn’t struggling without Bruce around. Jason loathed how he sat at breakfast every day, acting as if it was all still alright and fine, smiling and lying continuously.

“I-“ Dick interrupted himself, reigning in his anger as everybody else watched him with keen eyes. “No, no, I’m not having this discussion with you. None of us are on board with your reckless endeavor, so you’re not doing it and that’s final.”

Jason turned to look at the rest of his family, but they were all averting their eyes. Of course, they would all side with Dick over him. He was older, more experienced, the first Robin out of all of them.

He wasn’t the resurrected boy who talked to ghosts and turned living beings to worthless decay with nothing more than a touch.

“I see,” Jason replied and grabbed his jacket from the chair.

Fine, it wasn’t like he needed any of them anyway. It would have been easier with more living anchors, but Batman had left his mark all over the city. Gotham was his, even the magic that buried itself so far underground that hardly anybody could see it knew who it belonged to. Jason had plenty of anchors he could use to bring Bruce back. What were five children compared to an entire city?

“Where are you going?” Tim spoke up. He had barely said a word since Jason and Dick had started fighting, but Jason supposed that it made sense given that Tim thought both of them were wrong.

“Away from here,” Jason replied. “Since Dick is so keen on running this show himself, he can do it. I’m out.”

“What?” Steph asked. “Wait! Jason, no, you have to stay!”

“What I need to do is fix this.”

Jason picked his backpack up from the ground and started stuffing his papers into it. He didn’t particularly care in which order he did it, he would have to sort through them all anyway once he was back in his apartment. He needed to toss those that were trash and copy the calculations and incantations that actually made sense and seemed like they were a good first step onto fresh sheets. Maybe he should get actual parchment. He didn’t usually work with dead writing materials, but with whatever he had on hand. His spells were powerful enough without, but he couldn’t afford any mistakes here.

Once he was finished, he threw his backpack over his shoulder and headed towards his bike, not sparing the group behind him another glance.

“Jason,” Dick started once more.

Jason just threw his hands up, dismissing him.

“Don’t worry, Richard,” he said. “It’s not like I can stay dead for long if something goes wrong. Don’t bother contacting me. I’ll come back once I’m finished.”

He couldn’t see his older brother’s reaction, but Jason would bet that he had flinched. They all hated to be reminded of Jason’s death, but it wasn’t like Jason could erase that part of him.

Jason put on his bright red helmet and turned on his bike. Then, without looking back, he drove off, disappearing into the dawn of a new day.

[lets-steal-an-archive]

Unlike their counterparts on The Definite-Indefinite Article-Team, the Robin Hoods on John Rogers and Chris Downey's Leverage aren't joyful militarists whose idea of helping people invariably involves vans and walls. Because, unlike Leverage, that other show

"was a guy's show. It was male-driven. It was written by guys. It was directed by guys. It was acted by guys. It's about what guys do. We talked the way guys talked. We were the boss. We were the God. We smoked when we wanted. We shot guns when we wanted. It was the last truly masculine show."

In the 1980s, heroism only came from the barrel of guns aimed by incompetent men at similarly scattershot adversaries—because for all the gunplay, no one was ever shot. When these world-historically poor shots grew tired of wasting ammunition, they would chase each other in vans until one of them found a wall in need of Kool-Aid, then someone would punch someone, everyone would laugh, and the day would somehow have been saved.

The Definite-Indefinite Article-Team was a male fantasy about a world in which simpleminded evil could be thwarted by brute force, the implication being that had the government allowed these clowns—who, the audience was to believe, were once ex-Special Forces—free rein in Vietnam, America would have won the war. How you win a war with soldiers who can barely hit the broad side of a barn with a van is beside the point: the 1980s needed manly men to manly deeds, and when they did, nothing made much sense, but everything worked out.

[Insert here a clunky summary of the arching plot. Describe how it's a show in which a former insurance investigator hires the talented specialists he formerly investigated to help those that corporations have rendered helpless. Maybe mention that the official website describes it as a show that features "elaborate scams designed to exact revenge against those who use power and wealth to victimize people." Then move on because exposition is necessary, but good God damn, is it ever boring.]

With Leverage, the issue isn't whether nothing makes sense and everything works out, but whether the audience can make sense of how everything worked out. According to John Rogers:

"Testing indicates—and I'm not kidding—that about 30% of our audience never understands the con at all."

Despite the fact that almost one-third of viewers have no clue what's happening or why, Americans have voted with their eyes and elected Leverage the most popular show on basic cable. Which means that Americans love something they don't understand, fully aware that they're not understanding it. Unlike Twin Peaks, where the ignorance was as collective as its ratings were impressive, Leverage is a caper show, so the visceral narrative enjoyment should come from watching the plot hatch.

Let me literalize that:

Ideally, the audience should watch a hen have sex with a mutant rooster, then see the egg appear and, knowing what's in the egg, watch with gleeful anticipation as the fox steals into the hen house and is confronted not with a delicious yellow chick, but a mutant-blue chick with the proportionate strength of an ant:

Only then should they treasure their anti-corporate catharsis.

Instead, almost one-third of Leverage's audience sees chickens having sex, is momentarily confused, but then marvels at the sudden appearance of an egg and squeals with glee when a just-born peep beats down the full-grown fox. For a caper show to be popular without being, for much of its audience, a caper show, means that its appeal is rooted in soils unwatered by Ocean's 11 and ff.

So it is.

Rogers again:

"Bernie Madoff stole FIFTY BILLION DOLLARS. In a PONZI SCHEME. Which is the criminal equivalent of convincing people you are going to fly to the moon in a refrigerator box. The single, unpleasant truth is that most people, particularly criminals, are NOT complex. They are shallow, greedy sons of bitches to whom we attribute genius planning or complex motivations in order to preserve a false sense of order in our universe."

We desperately want to attribute otherwise. We want to believe that simpleminded evils are not, in fact, simpleminded, but that we've been duped by highly competent con artists whose methods are so arcane they can only be countered by other, more highly competent con artists. We enjoy the show despite the con because we want to believe such cons can't be understood and really just want some vicarious vengeance.

Reaction to the show, then, is primal and political: we want to see for-profit military opportunists suffer for their trespasses against our soldiers, because war is more complicated now than it was thirty years ago; we want to see contractors who prey on over-extended homeowners in the wake of natural disasters be punished, because disaster relief is now politicized; by which I mean, we want to see ordinary criminals so offended by the non-crimes immoral profiteers lawfully commit that a third of us will devote thirteen hours to a show we don't understand just to watch a mutant chicken gore a cowering pro-corporate fox.

Originally posted August 4, 2009 by Scott Eric Kaufman

[alwaysbewoke]

i tweeted about this amber heard/johnny depp thing last year around march and almost no one was talking about what was going on or the evidence depp had against her and etc. the spin was still that amber was a victim and depp was some abuser who was getting away with murder for still being employed in hollywood. oh how the tables have turned BUT i bet you dollars to dimes that this won’t get nearly the same MSM coverage as did depp when the mandate was to paint him as some evil, unrepentant abuser. 

man they got her on audio confessing to abusing him. this was out since LAST YEAR and nothing. not a peep. this is how we as a society encourage women to be abusers. they know they will get away with it or at worse suffer a slap on the wrist compared to what men in the same situation would suffer. these same "equality" champions suddenly don't want equality in this arena; in these situations. 

this is how we signal to a women that when they initiate dv and are the abusers, we are going to look the other way. smfh. i'm glad the truth is coming out for depp but think about the countless men throughout the ages who had to endure this shit in silence. of course simpleminded evil people will say shit like "men have been abusing women for so long blah blah blah blah." i guess all this time my mother was wrong when she taught me that two wrongs don't make a right. when that’s your go to response to this then you're not really against domestic violence, you just hate men. you might love dick but you hate men. you are pro-domestic violence as long as they person being violent is a woman. you're not better than men who perpetuate rape culture. you and they are just different sides of the same coin. 

one more time for those who haven't heard, ABUSE IS ABUSE NO MATTER WHO DOES IT.

[girlsgonemildblog]

I Am In This Episode and I Don't Like It - Emily in Paris, Season 1, Episode 6 Recap (Spoilers!!)

Poster from IMDB

Birds having sex. That is how this episode opens. Shots of birds fucking. We then cut away from this to Emily lying in bed, unable to sleep because Gabriel and Camille are having extremely loud sex. I have heard neighbors through walls and the people above me's bed banging on the floor, but never have I heard the people who live below me (like Gabriel and Camille do to Emily) having sex. They must be really loud. Also, based on this scene, Emily sleeps with full makeup (including lipstick) and her hair perfectly curled. I honestly think the production team wanted this show to be mocked.

The next morning, Emily is again eating at a café with Mindy, who is whining about how her dad wants to buy her a BMW and a mansion. Her life is honestly so hard. She then reveals to Emily that she was on a singing competition show in China, where she failed miserably and became a meme. Not to repeat myself, but I think the show's goal is to be mocked.

Emily gets to work, and we learn that, because they are meeting with an important couture designer that day, she was told specifically to wear all black. At least the show is self-aware with how terrible her outfit choices are. They arrive at Pierre Cadault's studio, and it is clear that his aesthetic is definitely not all black - more beiges and pastels, just like the rest of Paris. I think the writers were thinking of New York when they chose all black; someone should tell them fashion isn't the same everywhere. Cadault comes to meet them, sees Emily's tacky Eiffel Tower bag charm, and calls her "ringarde" or "basic,” and then storms out of the meeting. A bit dramatic, if I’m being honest, but also, the bag charm was pretty basic:

That night, Emily is minding her own business eating dinner alone when some (not even cute) man begins talking to her about whether a couple at another table is mother-and-son or dating. After a cut to show that time has passed, Emily finishes the story of her meeting with Cadault. The man, named Tomas, says that it is "ringarde" to call someone "ringarde" and then says he doesn't think she's basic - he clearly does not know her very well. He then starts a pretentious speech about known sexist pig, Pablo Picasso, and a bunch of other buzz-word names. Tomas is a know-it-all asshole and reminds me of every guy I have ever dated. Emily is impressed, nonetheless, and sleeps with him. Do better, Emily. Also, while I love Lily Collins, she is not great at acting in sex scenes; it was unbearably awkward. By the way, even Emily's bras have pictures of Paris on them:

The next morning, she runs into Camille, who tells her that she can hear Emily just as well as Emily can hear her and Gabriel. The fact that they all hear each other, but not any of the other neighbors, is pretty solid evidence for my no-one-else-lives-there theory.

At work, Emily brags to Julien about how Tomas quoted poetry to her, and Julien rightfully says that's boring. As an English major who has had to deal with many men interested in poetry, it's only hot in theory. In practice, it's boring and annoying, and they always expect you to be so impressed that they can quote the same Shakespeare sonnet that everyone had to memorize in High School Brit Lit. Emily then learns that Sylvie is holding a meeting without her and not speaking to her because she lost them the account with Cadault, one of Sylvie's favorite designers. Apparently, Emily is not the only person at this office with no sense of professionalism.

Emily meets Mindy at their bench in the park, and they are again talking about Mindy's singing career. I cannot express how little I care about this plotline. Mindy says she has too much PTSD from her failure on "Chinese Popstar" to audition for a local jazz club, but when Emily asks her to sing for her right there, Mindy is belting in the middle of the park with very little convincing. (Here is the moment where I take a break from my criticizing everything to say I absolutely love Ashley Park's voice. Please go listen to "What's Wrong With Me?" from the Mean Girls Musical soundtrack.)

That night, Emily and Tomas run into Gabriel and Camille outside their building, because of course they do. (It was at this moment that I realized the actor who plays Gabriel, Lucas Bravo, could very easily fill the Armie-Hammer-sized hole we currently have in society.) Being her always-friendly, always-oblivious self, Camille forces Emily and Tomas to go on a double date with her and Gabriel. Gabriel sees right through Tomas's bullshit, which is probably easy to do since Tomas is blatantly rude to Gabriel because Tomas is the type to only be polite to people he wants to fuck. Back at her apartment, remembering her conversation with Camille that morning, Emily tells Tomas that they need to be quieter when they have sex. They are (somehow) even louder than before.

Because the whole premise of this show seems to be that Emily lucks herself into things, while walking to work the next day, she notices in the corner of a sign for a ballet that Pierre Cadault designed the costumes and that opening night is that night. After Sylvie refuses to go with her (and rips up the original tickets), she invites Tomas to join her.

As she's leaving for the ballet (in an absolutely ridiculous outfit), she runs into Gabriel again. Are you guys as tired of reading that phrase as I am of writing it? We may have to turn it into a drinking game. Gabriel tells Emily the truth about what he thinks of Tomas, calling him "an asshole masquerading as an intellectual." I loved that line. He also tells her that she is "wasting her time with a guy who doesn't deserve her," and um, what exactly is so great about Emily?

When Emily arrives at the ballet and meets up with Tomas, he asks her if he is playing a joke on him by bringing him to see "Swan Lake", which, according to him, is "for tourists". "Swan Lake" is actually my favorite ballet, so fuck him. Emily then has a moment of clarity and finally realizes what her horniness had kept her from seeing the last three days; Tomas is a pretentious douche. (Emily actually said "snob" but I feel "pretentious douche" is more precise). Tomas responds by calling Emily "simpleminded". When he realizes she's offended by this, for some reason, he tries to better the situation by calling her "simple but beautiful". I believe the sound I made at this point would be called a "guffaw". When she still isn't happy, he tells her to go to the ballet, and he'll meet her afterward and "treat her to some amazing sex." She flips him off and walks away, which is actually a lot more polite than how I would've responded in that situation.

She then finds Cadault and explains to him that she always wanted to be Serena van der Woodsen and would buy bag charms because it was the only thing she could afford from the designers that she worshipped. Cadault turns out to be a Gossip Girl fan, which is revealed by having him spoil Gossip Girl. Seriously, he just straight-up SAYS who Gossip Girl is. I know it's been 8 years, but there should've been a spoiler warning or something. I already knew, but what if I hadn't? It was rude. Anyway, the next day Sylvie gets a call from Cadault that he wants a meeting with her and tells her to "bring Gossip Girl". Everything always works out for Emily in the end.

[whiskehorange]

Howdy! Still a wabling duckling on Tumblr so I'll do this for now. So here we goooo! Anton is sent out to complete a hit on a target that another couldn't do. The target is now playing tag with Anton and target has enough dirt on the employer to keep their mouth shut and let target do what they want. They leave notes for him that say "Tag your it, sweetheart."?

i love lil bowl cut man

Anton

Anton wasn’t expecting such a big fight for such a small price. He figured maybe this would be an 8 hours ordeal, maybe a day and a half but certainly not a full blown chase across the country. Sometimes he wonders why he does this for a living

You, on the other hand, had known that with such a job you were no doubtfully going to be placed on another hitman’s list, hence why would had to flee ‘cross country so fast

This just got so boring sometimes for you, doing the same things over any over. Asking people what they know, who they know, where people are, yada yada. Why not spice things up a little bit this time, add some adrenaline to the pot

With your target being such a high end cartel leader, you knew that his men would hire someone. So, you left a little sticky note written in lovely cursive on the chest of your tied up hit saying “Tag you’re it, Sweetheart XO”

Anton was remarkable close behind you, only by about 20 minutes. He held the note in between his fingers as he ignored the pleads from his involuntary employer to untie him. He was out the door the moment after and in his car, speeding throughout the town

There was no doubt that the car you took had a tracker on it. It was the cartel leaders, anyways. You couldn’t be that simpleminded, could you?

But you knew what you were doing. You said tag you’re it for a reason, didn’t you? Even from the other side of town, you heard the tire screeches from your opponent far behind you

In the meantime, you though about what clue to leave when you would ditch this car for another. You had a stack of pink sticky notes and a pen lying next to your revolver in the passenger seat. Oh look, a pack of cigarettes as well, don’t mind if you do

Anton wasn’t really for the whole chasing scheme you had going on, he really just wanted to get this over with and go home, but maybe he’d use this as some good alone time, in a way. Getting out to see the country side as he searched for this mystery writer

Now just to follow the blinking light on the freeway...