#monsoon issues

[townpostin]

Residents Demand Improved Electricity Supply in Bodam Block

BJP Leader Vimal Baitha Leads Protest Against Irregular Power Supply Residents of Bodam block, led by BJP leader Vimal Baitha, submitted a memorandum demanding immediate improvement in electricity supply. JAMSHEDPUR – On Thursday, dozens of residents from the Bodam block, led by BJP leader Vimal Baitha, protested against irregular electricity supply by submitting a memorandum to the head clerk on…

[janus-cadet]

The Doctor meeting the In Laws. Maestro's not impressed. They thought you had taste, Doctor.

(and that's their dad how dare you)

Lux's do be loving the gossip, tho. Spill the tea, Doctor, and try to Sherazade your way out of this!

(The Toymaker may absolutely hates Lux, but Lux can not be bothered and is too much of a little romantic to pass the opportunity)

So, the Doctor's very quick to claim the relationship. But the other two have...

Other approches. Clearly. The Master being the Master...

... And Rogue being, weirdly, the Only Normal One. A bit of actual fluff...

And little bonus! The Toymaker, surrounded by toys of everything he cares about.

(yes it's Rogue's plushie on the front. The Toymaker loved it. He, indeed, never Received A Gift Before.)

[cogs-incorporated]

womp womp

[vilelittlecritter]

I saw a thing about Russel T Davies wanting to make doctor who a "smiley show" and words cannot describe how badly that sentence irks me.

Doctor Who is a show I've grown up with since I was like 4, to say it has a special place in my heart doesn't begin to describe what it means to me.

It's a show that showed me that life is wonderful and full of so many amazing things in the most mundane of places. But it also taught me that it hurts, that no matter what there will be parts of your life were you will grieve, you'll fall, that pain might even drive you to do bad things despite your intentions.

But without that hurt you'd never appreciate everything good, you'd never learn, and that despite the pain it will pass as everything does. Taking away the drama and sad aspect of Doctor Who ruins the whole fucking point, Davies's first run was the absolute epitome of the point I'm making, episodes like fathers day and waters of mars are revered for good reason.

I just feel like this era right now is going full steam ahead on trying to be "the new marvel" and all the corporate monetized schlock that comes with it. It honestly pisses me off more than Chibnall's run.

I was hesitant with them bringing Rtd back for almost this exact reason, and frankly I don't want to see any of the old writers when the show moves on because they've had twenty years of their time. It's time for someone else to take over because one of the biggest points this show makes is change which is fucking funny because it's currently a stagnant nostalgia baiting mess.

I like Ncuti Gattwa and Milly Gibson, their phenomenal actors, but I can't say I like Russel anymore cause he just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. There's more reasons I'm not a fan of him but to cut it short I think he's trying to make the show as big as it was in the 2010's through big investments and big flashy rebrandings instead of just trying to tell an actually engaging story.

Sorry for the rant but I do really think Doctor Who needs completely fresh writers. That or as terrible as it sounds some time off the air because it feels like we're truly beating a dead horse now, doctor who is never going to be as big as it was again without actual change.

[sunshineram]

what a stunning before and after lol (august 8th-29th)

my moms mother of thousands(that was outside‚ potted) got bad root rot, so i snipped it to try and save it! it obviously worked- i swear this is the same plant LMAO look at all those plantlets!!!

[koukaaa-descent]

recently every time I listen to my silly oc Playlist I have the most vivid pseudo memories I've ever had in my life. this is all your fault monsoon

[sweetmonsooncos]

Hey pals, I haven't been doing cosplay stuff lately as I've been dealing with health issues and work is extremely busy atm with my team going through a very stressful reatructure

So I don't have a lot of motivation rn to do cosplay content as my poor brain can only handle so much at once 😅😅😅😅

Hoping that regular cosplay shenanigans will be back soon!!!

[naturalhealthandpersonalcare]

Navigating Common Monsoon Skin Issues: Acne, Rashes, Dullness, and Pigmentation

Introduction:

Monsoon, the season of rainbows and raindrops, is indeed a time of enjoyment, bringing a sigh of relief from the scorching heat of summer. It's a season that most of us eagerly anticipate as it brings the joy of sipping tea with fritters, the rhythmic patter of rain, and the mesmerizing scent of wet earth. But along with all these pleasures come certain skincare challenges.

While there's an abundance of advice on enjoying the monsoon's delights, tips on skincare often fall by the wayside. Despite the wealth of information we have access to, it's crucial to understand our skin type and texture and how it interacts with this humid weather, thus making it crucial to adapt our skincare routine accordingly.

Why is the Monsoon Harmful to Our Skin?

The monsoon can be a trying time for our skin due to the high humidity and pollutant content in the air. These conditions can cause our skin to become oily and lead to clogged pores, setting the stage for acne breakouts. Furthermore, air pollutants can irritate the skin and result in rashes. Navigating these skincare hurdles is an integral part of monsoon skincare, which requires using quality products and following a proper routine to keep the skin healthy and vibrant.

What Are the Common Skin Problems That Occur During the Monsoon?

With the monsoon comes a plethora of skin issues, including acne, pigmentation, rashes, dullness, and eczema. These problems can range from being mildly annoying to causing severe discomfort. Therefore, it's vital to address these issues promptly with appropriate remedies and treatments.

A Monsoon-friendly Routine for Your Skin

In such a challenging season, a thoughtful and consistent skincare regimen is key. With the right steps, we can ensure that our skin stays clean, supple, and glowing throughout the monsoon. By incorporating the right practices like regular washing, exfoliation, moisturizing, and sun protection, we can maintain skin health and radiance even in the harshest weather.

How Do I Avoid Skin Problems During the Monsoon?

Prevention, they say, is better than cure. This is especially true for skincare during the monsoon. Maintaining hygiene, keeping dry, not sharing personal items, focusing on a nutritious diet, staying hydrated, and using skin-specific products can all go a long way in preventing monsoon-related skin problems.

Conclusion:

It's clear that monsoon, while a favorite season for many, is also fraught with potential skin issues. But with the right precautions and daily care, these problems can be managed effectively. Moreover, if skin issues become severe, it's crucial to seek professional help. After all, skin health, like any other aspect of our health, deserves attention and care every day, no matter the season.

[darknight3904]

tommyxfemreader thigh riding🫦 maybe in her home in Jackson lowkey forbidden since he’s with Maria (love u queen but…)

Pretty Boy

Jackson!Tommy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Cursed to watch him from afar, you finally make a move on Tommy one day when he's stuck in your house due to a thunderstorm.

Warnings: Language, Smut 18+, Dom/swtich!reader, sub/switch Tommy, thigh riding, dirty talk, handjobs, cheating (don't do that irl.)

TLOU Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

I got carried away with this one, whoopsie. Went a bit off the rails, but I hope you enjoy it, anon. @xodilfluvr No pressure tag, but I think you're going to like this one.

You had a major problem. 

You couldn’t get him out of your fucking head. Tommy Miller was eating up every spare nook and cranny your brain had to offer. 

You arrived in Jackson nearly a year ago. With its quaint town and even nicer people, you were finally comfortable here at the end of the world. The issue though had started about six months ago, your first patrol run was led by none other than the ex-Firefly himself. You at first hadn’t thought much of him, probably just another guy with a big mouth and no skill to back it up. Instead, you were astounded when he brought down three infected, all head shots, from atop a large hill. Then, he’d wrapped his arms around you, repositioning your elbows in the best way to hold a gun so you didn’t get knocked on your ass by the kick back. His deep voice had your head spinning as you tried to focus on what he was saying about aiming right. 

Since then, you’d become a woman obsessed. But truly it wasn't your fault, Tommy Miller was just really fucking pretty, a pretty boy if you will. Dark curls and big brown eyes to go with, god, he was gorgeous, who could blame you for being so interested?

Now, most people would bite the bullet, ask their crush out instead of pining like some teenage girl, and you would, you really would, except there was one issue. Tommy Miller was a taken man. 

Maria had scooped him up a few months back, right when you realized your feelings, too. How convenient. You had no interest in being a homewrecker, but admiring never hurt anyone, right? You could look all you wanted, just not touch. Kind of like a fancy museum, Tommy was the artwork and you were the observer, content with staring and imaging what that piece might look like above you each night, sweaty and with loud moans coming out of his pretty- 

“You alright?” 

“Oh, yeah, m’ fine.” You say 

The loud sound of rain beating down on the twenty-something-year-old roof had you nervous, hopefully, it wouldn’t cave in tonight while you slept. The storm had come out of nowhere. One minute, you and Tommy were standing in your kitchen; he had swung by to tell you that the patrol shift was changing since Eugene had pulled a muscle in his back, the next, it was raining like a fucking monsoon was coming through Jackson. 

“Damn it.” Tommy curses as he stares out the window over your kitchen sink, “M’ gonna get drenched going out there.” 

“You could just stay here,” You blurt out, “Just till the storm blows over.” 

Tommy looks at you, obviously weighing his options: go outside, get drenched, and probably end up sick since it was a twenty-minute walk between your place and his, or sit down and just wait it out.

“Alright, fine, better than getting soaked to hell.” He grumbles 

Tommy had been in a sour mood all week, you had picked up on it after he hadn’t had his usual pizzaz during your Thursday shift with him down in the greenhouse. You motioned for him to sit down on the couch, handing him a glass of brandy. 

“Where the hell did you get this?” He sniffs the glass

“It’s a secret.” You smile, sitting across from him in the big armchair you loved, “You look like you need to relax, figured it’d help a bit.” 

Tommy sighs, sipping the amber liquid, his adams apple bobbing as he does, you squirm in your seat, fuck you hadn’t been alone with him like this since well…ever. 

“Yeah, it’s been a long couple of weeks. Maria’s been busy, council shit new buidlings and then that roof that caved in on Leona’s house.” Tommy sighs, “Haven’t seen much of each other.” 

You hum in acknowledgement, feeling sorry for how lonely he must’ve been. 

“Sorry, you don’t wanna hear my shit.” Tommy gives you a small smile 

“No!” You counter, “I like hearing you talk.” 

“Is that so?” 

True to your request, Tommy talks to you. As he sips at his drink you refill it twice, loosening him up a bit as you pour yourself some listening to him talk about how he found some fancy new scope for his gun. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” You ask 

“Tired of listening to me, sweetheart?” He smiles, a faint blush on his skin from the drink 

“Nah, just got something I think you might like,” You grin, waving a DVD case that reads Alien on it, “It’s the directors cut.” 

“Well, shit, pop it in.” Tommy grins 

The movie hazily plays in the background as you sit beside Tommy on the sofa a single throw pillow separating the two of you as he rests his arm on it. You’re too focusied on the man beside you to take any note of whatever the hell Ripley was doing on screen. You’re too focused on the way Tommy’s thighs shift every few minutes the muscles straining against the tight denim of his dark blue jeans. 

Without thinking about it, you reach out running a delicate hand up his thigh, brushing the fabric of the pocket before he jumps back. 

“What the hell’er you doin’?” His loud voice bounces off the wall

“Shit, sorry!” You fumble, jumping back as if he’s burned you, tears whelling in your eyes. You hadn’t expected him to be so well repulsed by you “I didn’t mean to, fuck.” 

Tommy eyes you, the flickering screen illuminating him for a second. His eyes scan over your figure, probably thinking you were some pathetic loser, crying cuz’ he raised his voice for second. 

“Sorry, you just uh scared me.” Tommy doubles back, “Didn’t mean to make ya cry, sweetheart.” 

Tommy’s next move has you shocked, he inches closer to you, a big hand cradles your face as he wipes a few stray tears that have escaped your burning waterline. He lets out a low hum, one that spreads warmth across your stomach and down to your lower belly.

“Pretty.” He softly whispers like it’s a secret no one can know, if only he knew you thought the same about him.

You nuzzle into his touch, elated to finally feel his hands on your bare skin again. You never want to leave this moment. 

Tommy pulls back abruptly, hands falling down, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…I should leave, got shit to do at home, theres this leaky faucet and the basement door is broken.” 

He’s rambling still as you place a small hand on his chest, keeping him on the sofa beside you. You grab the remote, muting the TV and switching it off, you’ll pop the disc out later on. The alcohol has you bolder than ever as you push him back down when he goes to stand. Your legs straddle his hips, using your weight to keep him right where you want him. 

“But it’s still raining.” You whisper, leaning in so your nose brushes his 

Under you, you can feel something hard beginning to form, his cock twitching against you as you slowly begin to shift a bit, pretending like you don’t know what you’re doing. Tommy’s hands rest on your hips, his eyes fluttering shut, a soft fuck leaving his lips as you move. 

“Darlin’ this isn’t…I’m…Maria and I…” 

You push a finger to his lips, “Shhh…It’s alright.” 

You push yourself off his lap, knees hitting the soft carpet as you pull the zipper of his jeans down, the pretty sight of his green and blue boxers greeting you, “You’ve been so stressed, Tommy, let me take care of it.”  

You push the band of his underwear down, his hard cock springing up from the fabric, it’s drooling head leaking as your eyes widen. You expected him to be big, just not this big. 

You’ve only pressed a kiss to the pink tip of it before Tommy is hauling you back up into his lap, settling you on one of his thighs. 

“What’re you doing?” You ask 

“I wanna watch you.” He mumbles, skin flushed as he stares at you, fingertips tugging at your shirt 

A coy smile lines your face, you hold all the cards now, he was yours. You free yourself from your shirt, unclipping your bra as you go and then you stand only for a second to wiggle your pants off. Your hands have just hooked under your panties when he stops you. 

“Keep 'em on.” A  deeper blush paints his pretty face, “Wanna watch you with them on.” 

You smile, pressing your lips to his as you settle back on his thigh, cunt weeping when you feel it flex under you. 

“What do you want me to do, cowboy?” You softly whisper into his ear, teeth nipping the sensitive skin there., "Hmm? Gonna ask me? Y'look so damn pretty like this, mmm pretty boy."

“Fuck…” Tommy whispers voice just barely there after all your compliments, “Ride my thigh, baby, get yourself off on me.” 

You softly hum, “What do we say? Gotta ask nicely, pretty boy.” 

Tommy’s eyes scan your face, he clearly isn’t used to be treated like this for just a split second you think you’ve over stepped but then he’s opening his mouth again, falling into your hands. 

“Please.” He softly asks 

You press a kiss to his cheek and then to the tip of his nose, “Good job.” You mumble. 

You’re not sure what’s come over you tonight, you could blame it on the brandy, the alcohol is the reason you’re dominating your crush of a whole year, the same man who was in a relationship with the literal laader of your town. Perhaps it’s just the result of buried feelings, all you know is that this feels good, and it seems like you’re not the only one. 

Each roll of your hips along his thigh has Tommy’s lips falling with a groan as his cock weeps for you. A loud moan leaves your lips when the muscle beneath you flexes, Tommy’s deep voice fills your ears. 

“Fuck you’re pretty like this. Christ, always knew you’d look good ontop of me.” 

Your head spins. Tommy Fucking Miller had just admitted to having sexual fantasies of you. You hips roll more argressively against him, the cotton of your panties is soaked, proably seeping into his jeans as you get yourself off on his thigh. 

“T-Touch me, touch me please.” He mumbles, hips jumping up towards your hand when one lands on his belly 

“You sure?” You mumble a smirk on your lips, “Thought you were a taken man, what we’re doin’ right now is certainly forbidden.”

Tommy’s head falls back onto the couch when your run a finger over the slit of his cock, a fucking whimper leaving his lips. 

“Fuck, I don’t care.” He groans, eyes squeezed shut 

“Look at me.” You say, you’re not going to miss one second of this 

The thick muscle of his leg presses up to your clothed clit and you bite your lip, Tommy’s deep brown eyes meet yours and you feel a bit sorry for him. 

Your hand wraps around his cock, pumping him at the same pace your hips roll into him. He groans your name loudly as you twist your wrist. 

“Baby, fuck…” Tommy’s forehead glistens with sweat as you press a warm kiss to his neck, nipping at his skin, “M’ not gonna last.” 

“Go on.” You smile, “Cum for me, I don’t mind.” 

“Not til you get yours.” He affirms, his stomach tightening as you steady yourself by placing a hand on his shoulder 

Big hands find your soft chest, thumbs flicking at your nipples as you try to keep your cool, wanting to maintain your dominance over him. 

“You gonna cum? Gonna cum all over my fucking thigh?” Tommy grins, your hand still pumping him, “Yeah, you are, it’s like you’re in heat, girl. Knew you wanted me, always starin’ like I’m some piece of meat you wanna strap down on your bed.” 

“T-Tommy!” If he keeps this up, you’re going to lose it 

"It's alright, I'd let ya." He laughs, "Yeahhh that's it, she's crying all over my fucking jeans, gonna havta' wash em' real good tonight."

A loud moan leaves your lips, your brain is blank as he talks to you, your climax is so close.

“Go ahead, pretty girl, cum on me,” His southern drawl fills your ears, “M’ all yours now, go ahead, stake your claim.” 

Another roll of your hips and he roughly gropes your sensitive chest and you’re gone, wetness spilling into your ruined panties and his pants as Tommy groans into your ear. Warm cum spurts over your hand as he reaches his end, chest heaving as your his stutter into his thigh. 

You bury your face in his neck, not wanting him to leave you again. The storm outside has stopped; you can tell by the way the sunlight has started to stream back through the windows. 

“You alright?” Tommy whispers into the still air 

“Fine.” You say, looking at him as he stares back 

Tommy glances around, eyes scanning your nearly nude form, his ruined jeans, the discarded pile of your clothes, his softening cock and your hand covered in his spunk. 

“Fuck.” He groans 

You knew it, He regretted it, that line about him being yours wasn’t real. You’d fucked up majorly and lost a friend, god you were so fucking stupid sometimes. You go to stand, legs a weakened mess as you stumble. Before you can get far though, Tommy pulls you back down into his warm body. 

“Where the hell are you goin’?” Tommy asks, “You’re stayin’ here with me. I’ll get you water in a minute, then we can go shower.” 

Water? Shower? With him? What the hell was he thinking? Didn't he need to get home to his girlfriend and the broken basement door?

As if he’s a mind reader, Tommy presses a kiss to your lips, “ Don’t gotta worry about Maria anymore, I’m all yours now, baby.”

Liked this fic? Check out More Tommy Here

This is the product of listening to Sabrina Carpenter while writing. I think it turned out nicely :)

Requests are open, I love getting them, so if you have anything you really want me to write, don't be shy, come chat.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

I. “the club within the club”

read on AO3 🦇 taglist 📣

parts: next

plot: Bruce Wayne is an angsty mess and you get thrown right into his tornado when you accidentally discover his secret identity.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+ MATURE! NSFW! canon-typical violence, slow burn, enemies to lovers, angst (with a happy ending!), fluff, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, eventual smut, mutual pining, dual POV, Bruce Wayne needs a hug, mental health issues (psychosis, suicidality), substance use, blackmail (or is it?), serious health issues, grief, brief mention of sa (does not occur), gaslighting, torture

words: 2.4k

a/n: this is my first fic i’ve posted to tumblr and ao3, very excited to see how people like it ✨ same user on ao3 :) comments and reblogs are so appreciated! 💖 'the batman' and 'the penguin' are canon in this fic <3 i'll do warnings at the front ends of chapters when there's potential for the penguin spoilers, and for any of the more intense cw!

"I haven't turned in the assignment yet, I'm so sorry," you fumbled with your book and it slipped forward on the desk. Already a week late, the assignment was to write a piece on happenings around the city—the city was used loosely, because it was school policy to not require students in the field for assignments. You never lingered on what might have caused the rule to be enforced.

Dr. Vry was usually the picture of impatience, but not now. Though you couldn’t see the ‘journalistic prodigy’ frame she placed you in, she had a soft spot for you. Late work, stained sweatpants and haphazardly-stapled papers didn’t exactly scream talented, but you wouldn’t complain with your grade hanging in the balance. While you’d done well in the intro courses, more complex material left you struggling. She would say it was all in your head.

You’d never been great at people, though you’d tried—even going so far as to major in them. Four years of sociology had left you still tripping over yourself. You’d wanted to pivot with your last few credits, but were unaware how much grief taking journalism electives would cause. 

"You’re overthinking it." The professor gently shook her head, her salt and pepper hair unmoving in the slick bun. "I'll extend it until the end of next week. After that it's out of my hands!" 

With that (and a thousand thanks), you hurried out of class with your book squeezed tightly to your chest. Thank god, you thought. Can’t fail my last term.

Evening rain pounded your tiny apartment window as you nibbled at leftover takeout. The Family Meal was a steal you were too broke to ignore, even if the chow mein became a bit chewy for your tastes at day three. With your free hand you texted Mar, but knew she was out clubbing. How the hell she’d managed an early graduation with her social life was beyond you. How you’d landed in her orbit when you transferred, and that she’d accepted you as a friend, was an even greater mystery. 

Less of a mystery after endless nights sharing said Family Meal amidst midnight reruns, but nevertheless.

You stared at your dry phone for a few seconds, letting your mind numb against the backdrop of the ever-present monsoon of Gotham. Companionship was a dream long forgotten; the sting of loneliness here was too great, and since you planned to leave the second that degree slipped into your hands, it was no use forging new connections. 

Mar had snuck her way into a crack in the first few months of your arrival. Back when you thought you might find something here; back before you were proven wrong, and you’d given up on this godforsaken city. Leaving everything behind hadn’t filled the void, but you couldn’t accept that it might’ve deepened it. 

Mar didn't usually respond but tonight, she did.

Get your ass to the club! I miss you.

You chuckled a little at the idea of getting all ready to be sweaty in a room full of strangers. 

No thanks, have fun!

Within a second she’d disliked your message and sent another: You'll find more inspo here than in your studio. I'm sending a taxi, be ready in 10

You groaned and threw the phone down. It nearly fell off the couch entirely, forcing a wince. Ugh. A club? On a Friday? 

Men in Gotham were nasty, taking every opportunity to get something from a woman. Plastered across downtown were blistered posters with a faded number to report drink tampering. You should have expected as much with the city's reputation, but coming from a small town left you naive with hope many didn’t deserve. 

The day's exhaustion had worn your resolve and the longer you thought about her text, the closer you were to giving in. More inspiration... she might be right. Stifling a sigh, you glanced around your empty walls and noted the waning light outside. 

Fine, only for an hour.

You reluctantly walked to your closet to pick your outfit, bemoaning the night ahead. 

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself shivering under your apartment patio in a dark mini dress. Mascara and gloss had been the only options, because you’d thought your driver might actually be on time. 

Staring out at flashing headlights threatened a migraine, so you whipped out your phone and logged onto Scypher, a Gotham-area social platform. Mar teased that you were an adrenaline junkie with how often you stalked the ‘Crime’ tab, occasionally grabbing your phone “to see if the loading screen burned in yet”.

Pretty empty. Some car vandalisms, a fire likely caused by some teens with too much time on their hands. Hmm. As unease pricked your skin, you reminded yourself that this was good, this was great. Wouldn’t want to go out during a crime surge. 

You looked up as you heard a tire tempt the curb. The driver called your name, and you slunk into the backseat. The leather was cold, rough, and generally uninviting. Classic Gotham.

The drive was quick, passing clubs practically on every corner. When he pulled up to one of the most elite clubs in the city, cold flashed through you. “I’m sorry, my friend must have given you the wrong directions—”

"It’s correct." He was stern, and when you started taking out cash, he waved a dismissive hand toward you. "Your friend already paid." 

Flustered, and frankly confused he hadn't sneakily accepted double payment, you staggered out. He barely waited for the door to shut before slamming the gas. Mar would get an earful.

The line wasn't too long, so you fell into step behind a few people laughing hysterically. On instinct, your eyes dropped first to their hands—empty—then their pockets—green. Tinfoil. Right. Dropheads. Harmless, but annoying in their glassy-eyed, inconsiderate bliss. Why couldn’t they popularize a drug that made you quiet and subdued, not screeching outside apartment buildings in the middle of the night?

You paused, the harsh reflection of your frown in an oil-slicked puddle challenging your cynicism. At least they were happy, too busy enjoying themselves to notice the stranger scowling behind. What would that be like to be completely out of your own mind? 

God, it seemed like a fucking vacation.

The line moved fast so you didn't have time to find an excuse to leave. You held out your card to the burly, tall bouncer who gave you a once-over and a smirk. Sexual harassment this time, or being denied entry for an out of state ID? No one moved to this city. No one but you. 

He handed your things back, and held out a hand for the club fee. Shit. A nervous look over his shoulder displayed a menacingly-Sharpie’d sign requiring $50 entry, and you managed three crumpled twenties from the bottom of your bag. He smiled, yanking open the rusty door for you. “No change.”

Well, guess I'm eating ramen this week.

Your ears began ringing the second you entered the club, glass-shatteringly loud speakers shoving the bass into your organs. People were packed in like sardines, and before you could even muster a thought you were grabbed fast from behind.

"Y/n!!!" Mar wrapped you in a hug while you tried to steady yourself. 

"Shit, Mar,"

"You look SO good! Fuck yeah!" She smiled and smacked your ass as she led you towards the stairs. You hadn't gotten much of a look, but her eyes looked bleary, inflamed. Not damning enough to call out, not with the beams of red stage lights flooding the dance floor.

"I met some guys that got us a lounge!" 

She was giggling, but you pulled away. You'd already been sufficiently creeped on by the bouncer, and longed for the sweet relief of your bed. "I thought this was a girl's night,"

"C'mon babe, relax!" A green hunk of tinfoil fell from her pocket when she whipped around. When you yanked your hand back, frustrated, she peeked over her shoulder like a guilty dog. It made you soften, but not by much. 

"MAR." You bent down to pick up the litter just as a man came up behind. One press of his hips to your torso made you recoil at the intrusion, and you spun around to shove him away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” A bit of his drink spilled on your side, and you grit your teeth. By this time Mar had stepped up, always a willing wingman. 

"Hey, don't fuck with a woman like that, bitch!"

BAMBAMBAMBAM. 

Impossibly loud, impossibly close popping noises whipped through the crowd like gunshots. All hell broke loose. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They were. It was. Fuck.

You grabbed the railing to pull your shaky legs to the exit when body after body rammed into you, leaving you stuck. Suddenly a kid again, ducking to your knees under the desk, shoving your hands over your head during drills. Crouched now, you wondered what the fuck a hand would do against a bullet. A cool wave of helplessness traveled your spine as someone’s knee knocked your skull against the stairwell in their escape.

The gunshots inched closer, closer, egging on your heart rate, curdling your thoughts sour. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t want to die. I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve stayed. What the fuck am I doing? Where is she? Is she dead? I’m going to fucking die, I’m going to fucking die.

You drew a shaky breath that was too loud for comfort, and forced your mind to clear for just a few seconds. What was the easiest place to hit? Images of autoplayed video after autoplayed video swirled your thoughts, trying desperately to parse which position those that survived all those mass shootings had been laying in. What had all those survivors said? What the hell had kept them alive? Luck? Silence? Luck and silence.

A rapid increase in gunfire made you shriek despite your survival instincts. One would fly through the railing, you just knew it. You knew it, you knew it, you knew, why hadn’t you stayed in bed, you’d never shit on your apartment again, you’d live and breathe and die there, no, you’d die right here, right fucking here—

Silence. 

Sweat beaded your entire body as it electrified with adrenaline; you squeezed your eyes shut, shoving yourself against the side of the stairwell in an attempt to make your body as compact as possible. The rough concrete texture burrowed into your arm as you jammed harder, harder, harder… I could be dead with just one bullet.

Before more morbid thoughts could form, you yelped as you felt your body being lifted and slung over someone's shoulder. Something was hard and slick against your stomach, and the world whizzed around you when you dared look around. The arm that held you was so strong you couldn’t slip out if you tried. Relief coated you as the chill of Gotham’s night air hit your cheeks. 

Short-lived was the relief, as a new panic settled in alongside it. Though you were fully removed from the chaos, the man wasn’t letting you go. 

An elbow was the first thing you tried, but it nearly had you choking on tears as it scraped against unforgiving material. Were they armored? 

You tensed your abs and fought to roll out of his grip. Nothing. Nothing but a grunt from the man holding you, but you couldn’t even begin to isolate the voice while your ears rang with tinnitus. 

So you shouted and wriggled, screaming “Let me GO!” until the cows came home. Or until he let you down, whichever came first.

"Stop fighting." A low, gravelly voice spoke hot against your ear, punctuated by a hard flop of your ribs digging into the edge of his shoulder. Bruises were evidence of struggle, something this dipshit probably wasn’t thinking about. You heaved a breath in preparation of another flop, but it wasn’t needed. 

Without warning the man released his grasp and you slid off, landing squarely in a puddle. If this was an EMT, they needed more training and identifiable clothing. Black on black made him hard to focus on, but the shock of a pale jaw knocked the wind right out of you. 

The Batman. 

“Oh, uh,” the tornado of panic relaxed ever so slightly, and a sliver of shame crept in. “Sorry.” You felt bad for thinking of all the ways to immobilize him, from a kick in the crotch to digging your nails into his eyeballs. 

He stood there long enough for reality to seep in. One, that you were safe, and two, that you hadn’t been. You’d finally found yourself in the crossfire and unless a dozen people died, it wouldn’t even make the news. Maybe you needed to leave before graduation.

“Turn around.”

Batman’s sharp tone burst through your reverie, and you spun around instantaneously. His word was good as gospel. In your year and a half here, a few of your classmates had spoken of being saved one time or another. “He never sticks around. Gone as quick as he comes. Thank god for him.” It was instinctual to trust him, like reaching for water on a hot day.

And his voice brooked no argument. 

The back of your head lit up in flaming pain. The edges of his gloves caught on some hair strands, and you gasped. “You need stitches.” 

A screen lit up on his arm when he stepped back. Your vision blurred at the edges, eyes watering from the pain. "Victim with head wound on Feller and Kelley." 

Head wound. Better than a fucking bullet to the chest. Never before had you swooned over the thought of a needle snaking through your scalp. You sighed out a thank you, half-wondering if he planned to carry you to whomever he’d called. You couldn’t tell for sure, vision much too hazy, but he might’ve nodded. 

In a blink, the masked man was halfway down the alley. Just when he turned out of view, police lights illuminated the space, flashing off the balmy brick. You swallowed hard, letting the shock wash through you. Part of a fucking shooting. Saved by the Batman.

And you hadn't gotten a good look at him.

[townpostin]

Heavy Rain Exposes Jamshedpur's Inadequate Drainage System

Sudden downpour causes widespread waterlogging, traffic disruptions A brief but intense rainfall on Friday afternoon revealed severe drainage issues in Jamshedpur, leading to waterlogging and traffic chaos. JAMSHEDPUR – A sudden intense downpour on Friday afternoon exposed Jamshedpur’s inadequate drainage system, causing widespread waterlogging and traffic disruptions across the city. The rain,…

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 20 - The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)

8.6K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Five months pass as you and Din try to forget one another.

Warnings: 18+ Content to be safe (MDNI please). Angst! (like a lot) Yearning, pining, mourning. People are hard on themselves in this one, folks. Nicknames (Din still thinks of you as Pretty Bird even though you're no longer his Pretty Bird; you're still Lil' Lady to Paz). And there is mild violence (of the Rory variety).

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! It's been a month since Ch. 19 and I guess this word count reflects that 😅😂 It could have been a little shorter but this ask convinced me to include the final scene instead of leaving it for the next chapter 🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ For that final scene, please imagine the suit/look from the Variety Hollywood issue shoot. The vibes of this and the next chapter is this scene in Twilight New Moon (cue 🎶it's a possibilityyyyyy🎶):

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

The week following that night at Din’s, you’re a shell of a person.  You cry for entire days but not much else - going on auto pilot taking care of Al but not yourself.  You don’t go to brunch that weekend, saying you feel disgusting, which honestly isn’t too far from the truth.  You’ve never been cheated on so you hardly know what it is you feel, only that an unyielding and tempestuous monsoon of emotions swirls inside you at all hours of the day.  You oscillate wildly between barely restrained hysteria, self-effacing shame, and sadness in an endless cycle.

To only your dog, you sometimes burst out half crying, half laughing at the absurdity of what you stumbled upon at Din’s apartment – how was it even possible?  Din, who you had loved with your whole heart, had pledged himself to you as you had him.  He had been your match in every way, and it was a tenant of his devotion that he only ever wanted to take care of you, make your life better.  How could the same man, without any warning, betray you in such an unfeeling and vulgar manner?  It simply could not be possible - it had to have been some type of cruel joke, you sob to Al. 

Then in an instant, you’ll turn your ire unto yourself: How could you have allowed this to happen?  Because it certainly did.  You stupidly let yourself be so blinded by love and desire that you didn’t see Din for what he was.  He wasn’t some honourable and noble protector; he was just some asshole who did and said what he needed to get his dick wet – and like an idiot you had fallen for it.  You were supposed to smarter than that, but it turns out you were just susceptible to a handsome face and a fat cock as anyone else.  The Din you had fallen for had been a total fabrication, and the dumbest part is that you had let him lie to you: you had blindly accepted that there were things in his life that he could never be fully honest with you about - that there were things that he just had to keep secret from you for your “own protection.”  You had accepted dishonesty as part of your so-called relationship right off the bat, it was no wonder that none of it had been real.  Stupid, stupid. 

Though you know now that it had all been lie, you still have moments, usually in the dead of night when sleepiness strips you of your ability to reason and overthink, where you simply just mourn.  Mourn the loss of what you had thought, no - felt in the very depth of your heart was a true, deep love.  It didn’t matter that it had all been an invention of your mind – the love you felt had been genuine for you, and you had cherished and held it dear.  The tears you shed during these periods of grieving are for the loss of your own false happiness and for the man that you had believed it.  It didn’t matter that they were never real to begin with, you had lost them all the same.

Your fog extends into the work week and you do something you haven’t done in ages: you take it off citing illness – you sleep, cry and try not to think of the crushing backlog you’ll face when you eventually return to work.  Near the end of the week, you make a phone call that you’ve been dreading but know is necessary.  Lala comes over the same day on her lunch hour – she thought you were just sick, having taken your excuse for missing the last brunch at face value, but when you burst into tears upon seeing her, she immediately knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Taking you straight to her clinic, she slots you in with a fellow nurse right away so you can get what you’ve been dreading over with.  During the self-blame episodes of your emotion spiral, the weight of Din’s cheating and its possible consequences aside from the shattering of your heart have started to press down on you.  You definitely don’t need one more anxiety to occupy your thoughts, and this particular problem you could do something about.  You need to do something and accordingly you find yourself sitting in the clean but impersonal examination room answering the very kind nurse’s survey questions to determine what tests you need.

“Is there any particular reason you need a screening or is this routine?”

“My boyfriend cheated on me,” you say this flat, factually.

“Oh.  I’m sorry.   How long was your relationship?” her response is similarly dispassionate.

“Nearly a year.”

“During that time, how many sexual partners did you have?”

“Just the one.”

“Had you been tested prior to engaging in sexual activities with your partner?”

“Yes, all clean.”

“Was you partner tested?”

“He said he was clean.”  You can only answer what Din told you, with no confidence in whether or not it was the truth.

“Do you know how many other partners your partner had while you were together?”

“… no.”  Tears start to line your lower lash line.

“How long was he engaging in sexual activities with other partners?”

“… I really don’t know.”  Oh no, oh no, you’re going to cry.  Because you really don’t know any of it.  It's awful enough imaging that Din had been messing around with Vanessa the whole time that you and him had been together – if he was capable of that, who’s to say there weren’t others?

“Ok.  To identify the tests you need, I just need to ask about your sexual activities with your partner over the last year.  Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kiss on the mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you engage in vaginal fingering?”

“Yes.”

“Anal fingering? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes. No.”

“Did you engage in oral sex? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Did you engage in penetrative vaginal sex?”

“Yes.”

“With protection? Or without?”

“Without.”  This is the only question you answer with shame.  Yes, everything had been consensual, but this – the decision to not use condoms was one made based on a mutual trust; a trust you gave openly and willingly to someone who hadn’t deserved it.  You had been careless in this respect – caught up in your feelings and your mistaken instinct that had told you Din was worth trusting.

“Did you engage in penetrative anal se-“

And so on, and so forth.  To the best of your ability, you answer clinically and without feeling, trying not to let the white hot flames of shame and anger simmering in your stomach boil up and over.  You had trusted Din, with your heart yes, but also your body.  One of the things you had loved about Din was how he always seemed to prioritized both your emotional and physical comfort and safety during your sexual activities, but for possibly the entirety of your relationship, he had actually been putting you in danger – taking a risk for you that you hadn’t consent to.  You don’t know how many other partners he was with when he was with you or if he had been safe with them – his cavalier approach to your health makes you sick. 

This feels good. It feels good to be angry instead of sad.

You wait patiently for the nurse to return with the swabs and containers and other equipment you need to self administer the tests.  Silently and alone, you follow the instructions while hot tears cascade over your cheeks.  It had felt good to be angry at Din for a moment, but it took more energy than you had to sustain it; the anger burned out quickly, leaving behind only sadness and embarrassment for having allowed yourself to be put in this position at all.

After leaving the samples where directed, you redress and meet Lala back in the waiting room and she takes you home.  You tell her that it’s okay if she tells the rest of the girls what happened, but you don’t know if you can deal with talking about it just yet and she nods understandingly.  You know your friends will be supportive (and possibly violent), but the strength required to feel your feelings and simultaneously express and explain them out loud doesn’t sound like something you have right now.  Not for the first time, you’re grateful that your friends are unflinchingly kind and understanding of you.

By the time the next Sunday brunch rolls around, your internal reservoir levels for self pity and destructive thoughts have lowered considerably.  You’re mainly just sad for what you thought was and what will never be, wallowing in the loss of what you had imagined would be a happy future with Din.

The girls are not quite that far along in their emotional journeys, but you’re better equipped now to answer their questions and receive their outbursts and reactions.  They all have choice words for Din ranging from lying cheating bastard to dickless waste of DNA.  Threats of violence to his personal (and commercial) property, as well as his physical being are put forth, predictably by Rory and less predictably from Katie.  Bea and Jen focus on drilling into you that you’re in no way at fault and that you hadn’t been wrong or stupid to trust and love Din the way you did.  Lala, being the only one to have seen you when you were in your darkest place, just holds your hand firmly, giving it a reassuring squeeze every so often.  You cry into your eggs and your friends shower you with comfort and support until you feel a little more like a human who is loved again.

One month ATN (After That Night)

Oof - you’re hungry.  It’s been a long morning of straight through meetings with no breaks until only now.  Well past lunch, it’s later than you would usually come, but you hope that your favourite sandwich shop still has some good options left – you’re starving. 

Walking in, the shop isn’t busy (which honestly makes sense as it’s nearing 2:00 pm) and the take away fridge is fairly bare, but with some satisfaction, you see your favourite sandwich sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf.  Hand already out as you approach the refrigerated display, you reach up on your toes, just to have a big hand dart in ahead of your smaller one and snatch the sandwich out of your reach.

Falling back on the flats of your feat, you’re comically upset – this sandwich was your reward for your overly hectic morning and your disappointment is being further fueled by rising levels of hangry.  Maybe this nice man will offer you back the sandwich if you ask kindly; ready to give this sandwich stealer the sweetest most saccharine smile you can muster, you turn to face him and…

“Paz?”

“Lil’ Lady?”

This could be awkward.  You had loved Paz too.  Part of the great sense of loss you felt when you and Din broke up was from also suddenly losing the friendships you had made through him.  The Mandos, Poe and Lisa, Cass and even Boba had made up what had become a little family to you; the sense of belonging and love you had felt when they welcomed you into their fold and treated you as one of their own was one that you had treasured – their trust in you was not something you took lightly and you had kept their secrets with pride.  You had loved them all as well. 

Of course, like a knife to the heart, you’ve since come to the hurtful realization that those friendships were not as true or deep as you had thought either.  In all likelihood, Din’s friends were probably well aware of his cheating, or at the very least that his feelings for you didn’t run as deep as yours did him.  Though it saddened you, you couldn’t exactly be mad – their loyalty was to Din, not you.  At one time you may have felt some bitterness at this, but right now, seeing Paz for the first time after so long… you feel only happiness at seeing an old friend.

There’s a beat of silence and then it seems you both reach for a hug - it’s quick but warm.

“How have you been?” you ask, simultaneously; chuckling with you, Paz gestures for you to go first.

“Oh,” you don’t really know how to answer; Paz will surely know what transpired between you and Din.  Devastated?  Crushed?  Facing a crisis of self-confidence?  You opt for a watered-down version of the truth, “I’m as good as expected.  Busy at work.”

“Same.  With work, that is,” Paz smiles warmly at you; he’s missed you too.

“You down here for work today?” Suddenly recalling that Din had been downtown for Mando work the first time you met, you try not to let the pain of the memory show on your face.

“Yup.  Work.” Paz won’t tell you that he’s on a security detail, even though its not yours (you're under the careful watch of Koska and Iggy today).

You’re not going to ask about Din.  You’re not going to ask about Din, “How is… everyone?”

Paz assumes you must mean Din but he doesn’t know how to answer your question.  A shell of a man?  A man possessed when it came to the investigation into the threat made against you?  Depressed as all hell?  Paz can only parrot back your earlier response, “Uh, as well as can be expected.  Things have been tense, there’s a lot of stuff going on.”

You obviously don’t ask for details – it’s not your place anymore, and in truth, you feel like it never really was but you try to smile anyways, “Well, you can have the sandwich then.”

Paz looks down at the sandwich he’s still holding in his hand and laughs, “Are you sure?”

Nodding happily, it feels good to joke around with Paz again, “Definitely.  I’m here everyday.  I can have it anytime.”

“Ok, only if you let me buy you your sandwich, Lil' Lady.”

Beaming, you acquiesce, “Deal.”

Grabbing another sandwich from the fridge, you join Paz in line; the two of you standing together in comfortable silence.  You don’t know how it happens but a question that’s been silently buzzing in your mind slips out without permission, “Paz – can I ask you?  Are Din and Vanessa still together?”

You regret it the second the words leave your mouth, tears springing to your eyes.  Looking up at Paz, wide-eyed and embarrassed, you cover your mouth with your hands as if trying to magically stuff the words back in, “Omigod!! Paz!  I’m sorry!  That was... oh gosh... just really, really inappropriate of me.  Please don’t answer.  I never should have asked that.  Seriously.  Don’t answer please.  Besides, I don’t think either answer would make me very happy.”

Paz gives you a warm side hug and a sad look before he says reassuringly, “It’s okay, Lil’ Lady.  Don’t worry about it.”  He insists on buying you a cookie when you get up to the counter and you accept gratefully – you need all the comfort you can get right now.

The two of you say your quiet, but friendly goodbyes on the sidewalk outside of the sandwich shop; each genuinely hoping you’ll see the other again, but knowing that you likely won’t.

---

Paz is hovering.  Din can feel it, but he doesn’t look up from his seat on the ringside bench where he’s checking through an equipment list on his clipboard.

Paz continues to shuffle around until Din sighs and gives in to what his friend so obviously wants; looking up and tilting his head as his way of saying 'What?'

“Saw the Lil' Lady today.”

Immediately, Din’s heart leaps into his throat and his now empty chest constricts painfully; forcing himself to look back down at his paperwork, Din only grunts to acknowledge that he heard Paz.  Clearly Paz has something to say and in all the time they’ve been friends, Din has never been able to get Paz to keep his thoughts to himself, so he just waits.

“Ran into her at a sandwich shop near her office.  She looks good.”

Silence.

“She gave me her sandwich.”

Din closes his eyes, “Was it the egg salad?”

“Yeah.  How did you know?” Paz can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It’s her favourite,” Din says simply. 

For some reason, this takes all of the wind out of Paz’s sails and he lays a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “She asked how everyone was, but it’s clear she was thinking of you.  Why don’t you call her, brother?”

Even if the whole point of what he had done to you wasn’t so you would stay as far away from him as possible, Din can’t imagine a world where you would want to talk to him, “She hates me.  I fucked up, and I hurt her.  She doesn’t think about me.”

Paz doesn’t want to bring up your question about Vanessa, but he can’t help but think it must mean something that you asked at all, “Maybe she’ll forgive you.”

Din is done with this conversation; he gets up and starts to head towards his office, “I don’t deserve her forgiveness.  I don’t deserve her.”

Two Months ATN

Din never allows himself to see you.  You’re a creature of habit and for the most part, your life after him has reverted to normal; it would be so easy for him to catch a glimpse of you whenever he needed to see for himself that you’re alright.  If he was lucky, he might even catch one of your many soft and sweet expressions that he misses so much and be able to pretend for a moment that it was for him.

But he doesn’t allow it.  Part of it is a means of self punishment – Din chastises himself endlessly for hurting you; he doesn’t deserve to look upon your face, he doesn’t deserve any comfort.  But ultimately, it really comes down to his own lack of self control. 

Din makes the mistake of checking in with your daytime security detail in person only once, a couple of weeks after your breakup.  Din is chatting with Mayfeld through the latter’s rolled down car window, when, as if he senses your very presence, he looks up to see you exiting your office building looking positively elated at being able to leave work at a decent hour (for you) – your quick and graceful steps towards the subway easily hold Din’s gaze through no effort of your own and his body starts to move towards you of his own accord.  He may have very well walked right into oncoming traffic trying to get to you if Miggs didn’t have a firm grip on the back of his shirt.

No, he has absolutely no self control when it came to you.  Every part of Din yearns for every part of you.  Your smile, your laugh, the sweetness of your very being and the steadfast comfort of your company.  He wishes for nothing more than to make you happy again, to be there for you to lighten your load, to make you laugh so hard you snort, the way he used to pride himself on being able to do; what he wouldn’t give to hear you coo sweetly to Al, to swim in the melodic lilt of your voice when you recall a funny story from work or your friends, or to drink in your heady moans and cries while he gave you every pleasure you deserved. 

Din knows that if he allowed himself to be in your presence for even a moment, he would throw himself at your feet and beg for forgiveness.  Plead and grovel until you took him back and then everything, the very reason for all this misery, would be for naught.  He would do anything to see you, hear you, have you again, except risk your safety.  So, he leaves the protocol for your security to others, and he never lets himself go where he knows you might be – he exercises what control he has, so that he never loses control where it counts the most.

But his dreams he cannot control.  And Din dreams of you constantly.

He comes to both look forward to and dread these dreams.  In his dreams you don’t hate him, and they almost always start off with you looking at him like you used to, with love and admiration.  Sometimes the two of you are in a memory, maybe a special date or occasion, or even better, doing something beautifully mundane like walking Al – something the two of you did a million times without thought, just a routine part of the life you had started to build together.  But more often than not, the two of you are in bed.  Sometimes his, sometimes yours, but always just looking, talking, touching.  Din could live in these quiet moments of devotion forever. 

But the dreams never end well.  He discovered that once you left the bed in the dream, you would disappear.  Getting up to find you, Din would find the apartment empty and quiet and no matter where he goes in the dream afterwards, you would be nowhere to be found.  After this happened a few times, he would try to keep you in bed or at the very least, not let you out of Dream Din’s sight, but it never works.  No matter what he does, by the end of the dream you’re not his anymore. 

A horrifying recurrence as of late is that he follows Dream You into your kitchen to find Vanessa sitting at the island while you, crying, start to cook breakfast at the stove for him and her.  He recognizes the look you give him whenever he reaches this part of the dream, it’s the same one you gave him on that last night on his apartment landing – the look of devastation, betrayal, shock.  Your unspoken How could you?  You were supposed to love me above all else, haunts him even after he wakes with a start.  Every time Din has this dream, he relives what he did to you and he feels sick.

Even when it’s not this particular iteration, Din wakes from every nightmare of losing you again sweating and regretting everything.  In these moments, alone in a bed that’s remained cold and uninviting since you last graced it with your soft body, Din tears into himself.  What the fuck was his problem anyways?  He had made his proverbial bed and now he has to lie in it.  What would have been the fucking point of putting you through all this if he was just going to be a weak ass piece of shit and run back to you because it killed him to be apart from you?  Put you through hell and then put you in danger?  No, he can't run from it anymore: this is the price he has to pay for being who he is, for having done the things he had – he doesn't deserve good things.  He doesn't deserve you. 

What he does deserve is this cruelest of ironies: that the only way he's still allowed to love you is to take care of you by keeping you as far away from him as possible.

Four Months ATN

Oy!  Din Djarin!!

Startled by the loud and sharp toned voice that carries over the noise of traffic, Din stops in his tracks; turning towards the sound of the bark, he recognizes your friend Rory barreling towards him.  For a moment, he’s terrified that she might get hit by a car crossing the street to get at him, but the cars somehow seem to understand the determination of her gait and the ferocity in her facial expression and all roll to a stop at her outstretched hand.  You always said that Rory was a force.

Din waits dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk, ready to take the inevitably beating, verbal or otherwise – certain he could not escape her wrath even if he wanted to.  Perhaps he would be tempted to try if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe that he deserves whatever is about to come his way.

As soon as Rory steps up onto the curb, two balled up fists of rage ram right into Din’s chest, the force of which, if he had not been braced for it, might have sent this former boxing champ flying backwards.

You!!! 

An accusatory finger is now poking him incessantly, over and over, pushing right into his sternum.

Din holds his two hands up, as if to surrender, but doesn’t do anything to stop her oncoming assault.  It’s starting to hurt a little, but he knows he deserves it and more.

Liar!

Cheater!

Pathetic!

Asshole.

Garbage human.

Piece of shit.

How you could do that to her?!

She did nothing but love you. 

She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person you will ever fucking be with, and this is how you treat her?

You ungrateful worm.

You’ll never find anyone better than her.

You never fucking deserved her, you twat.

Din takes every angry word spat at him with a resigned expression and downcast eyes.  Every word is true and he knows it.  He welcomes this even.  No one has been angry with him, except save himself.  Not Paz, or any of the Mandos, not even Boba.  No one has yelled at him or hurled insults at him, or called him out for the despicable person he is to have hurt you the way he did.  His sweet, pretty bird.  No, not his anymore.  He swallows every single one of Rory’s admonishments willingly and his head might even slightly nod in agreement.

Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, you fucking coward?

Arms dropping to his side in defeat, Din hangs his head and asks the only thing he wants to know, even though he's sure he isn’t allowed, “How is she?”

How is she?! What the fuck do you mean ‘how is she’? How the fuck do you think she is??

“What I mean is… I’m not still hurting her, am I?”

Silence.

“She’s okay now, right?  She hates me, but I don’t matter anymore?  She doesn’t think of me enough to still hurt her?”

Rory stops and evaluates the man standing in front of her.  He looks… broken.  She’s been throwing all her weight into every push, poke, smack she’s laid on Din and he’s taken it all.  Absorbed it along with every harsh word out of her mouth; he hasn’t fought back or even flinched - almost as if he wants her to hit him.  To scream at him.  And now, with the only words he’s spoken, he’s asking to confirm, with what almost sounds like hope, that you’ve forgotten him.  Din’s choice of words strike Rory as odd.  He wants to make sure he’s not “still hurting” you?? 

Suddenly, her mouth drops open as she retracts her hands, “… you didn’t do it.”

Din looks shocked and almost terrified.  He opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out.  No denial or refute of what Rory now realizes has been completely obvious.

“You didn’t cheat on her.  You never cheated on her,” Rory’s tone is softer now, but determined and confident.  She’s leaving no room for argument, not letting Din worm his way out of the truth.

With a sigh, Din has no choice but to confess, “How could I?  Why would I ever want anyone but her?  The most perfect creature to ever exist.”  If he had seemed defeated before, Din is now positively deflating right before Rory’s eyes.

“You love her.”  Again, not a question.

“Always.  Forever.”

“Why w-”

“Rory, please.  You must never tell her.  She has to go on hating me and wanting nothing to do with me,” fear is catching up with Din now.  If Rory tells you the truth, this plan to keep you safe will unravel.

Rory’s eyes widen in disbelief, “You have to be joking.  Do you know what you put her through?  And it’s not even true??”

Quietly, Din asks, “How much has she told you and your friends about what I do?”

“That you own a gym?” Rory crosses her arms and gives Din an incredulous look.

“What else I do.  What my old job was.  Who I worked for.  Who I’m connected with,” he has to be able to make her understand.

Rory lets these words hang in the air for a moment.  No – you were always pretty tight lipped about what Din might be involved in outside of athletics.  It did seem that in the months leading up to your breakup, you would often stress over Din’s work and wellbeing, and though your friends never asked you to expand on it, it wouldn’t make sense for the responsibilities a gym owner to give you that kind of anxiety.

“You got a knife wound once.  Lala told us,” Rory recalls.

Din nods, “And that was nothing.  That’s the least of what the people who might come after me would be capable of.  She’s in danger just by being with me.”

“You wouldn’t protect her?”

“Of course, I would.  With my life.  But why should she be in danger at all?  She didn’t choose this life.”

“She chose you.”

“She shouldn’t have.”        

“You don’t get to decide that for her?!!”

Din knows that.  He shouldn’t have chosen for you.  But he made the decision that he thought would keep you safe and now you both have to live with his mistake, “I know, Rory… I know, but it’s done now.”

“Undo it, asshole.”

Like he hasn’t thought about it a million times.  Like he doesn’t wake up and his first thought when he opens his eyes in the morning isn’t to find you and crawl on his hands and knees and admit that he had fucked up in how he handled everything and beg your forgiveness.  Sometimes Din’s halfway out the door before one of two things stop him.  The first is the very real possibility that you would tell him to go to hell – you had loved him better than anyone ever had, better than he deserved, and he had callously thrown away the greatest gift ever bestowed upon him.  The second, is the very real fear from the threat made against you; Din hasn’t eliminated it and what if, just what if, what he’s doing is actually working and removing you as a worthy target?  Yes, he shouldn’t have gone about things this way, but… what if it was keeping you safe for now?

“Someone threatened her, Rory.”

This stops Rory as she’s about to open her mouth to say something else.  Closing her mouth, she studies Din and her shoulders drop, “Who?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t been able to find out who’s behind it but I will.  Until then, I have to try and make her less of a target.  Please.  Rory.  Please.  Make sure she stays away from me.  You can’t tell her any of this.”

“But… she doesn’t know?”

“No. I don’t want her to be scared.  And she is being protected - all the time, I promise.  But the safest thing for her is to stay the hell away from me.  If whoever wants to hurt me doesn’t think they can do it through her, then she’ll be safe.  Please, Rory.”

Din is begging her now.  His eyes imploring Rory to understand and decide as he once did, that your well being has to come above all, including loyalty and love.  He sees it in her eyes as she relents, much the same way his must have once upon a time, and she nods, “Okay. I won’t tell her.  And you promise she’s safe right now?”

“I promise.  I… wouldn’t be able to live like this if I couldn’t at least do that for her.”  Is it worth it?  Yes, your life, your safety is worth anything and everything to him.

“You think you can get them?  The people behind the threat?”

Din nods, “I’m sure of it.  I’ll make sure of it.  I’ll take care of it.  That’s a promise I won’t break.”

“Okay.  You should tell her afterwards though.”

“Maybe.”

“She deserves the truth, Din,” Rory gives him one last exasperated look.

“She deserves the world, Rory.”

The two of them give one another a silent nod of mutual understanding before parting ways.  They might not see eye to eye on everything, but Din trusts that your friend will put your wellbeing and safety first; she loves you just as much as he does.  Rory leaves Din behind feeling conflicted in a way she hadn’t thought possible when she confronted him earlier – the last thing she expected was to sympathize with him, but it’s become clear to her: the only person who’s been hurting more from your breakup than you, is Din.

Five Months ATN

“I want to go out with Mark.”

Four heads look up from their brunch with lighting speed to stare at you, shocked by your sudden announcement.

Feeling a bit awkward at this reception, you go on, “… I mean if he’s even still available.  And if he’s not, is there someone else at your firm that might be, Jen?”

Jen looks at you curious and hesitantly excited, “I can check, but I don’t think he’s in a relationship?  He broke up with someone a couple of months ago.  You really want me to set you up?”

You don’t catch the looks that Rory and Lala exchange before Rory cautiously asks, “Do you even like Mark?”

“Hey!” Jen looks scandalized.

You’re slightly bewildered watching your two friends seemingly stare daggers at each other, “I don’t even know Mark? I just…” 

You sigh. 

“… I just have to do something.  Try something new.  Babes, it’s been months and… I’m still not over him.”  Your friends know that the “him” in question is not Mark.

It’s been five months and you’re still in a state of melancholy and heartbreak that you can’t quite articulate.  The days where you’d cycle through extreme emotion, be it intense sadness, justifiable anger, or self-pitying shame, have long since passed.  You burned those emotional candles to their proverbial wicks and for the time that they were lit within you, they served their purpose.  You’ve processed those emotions and laid them to rest.

What remains is a type of grief, a longing from your soul that you struggle to contain on a day-to-day basis.

The best way you can think of describing it is Hiraeth – the Welsh word that conveys the feeling of “a longing for a time, place, or person that feels like home but may no longer exist or that never existed at all”; when you miss Din, it feels like a type of homesickness.  And though far from being lonely in your life, your heart nevertheless maintains an empty chamber that you are dearly afraid may be forever reserved for Din.  Your Din.  The one you had loved and thought loved you.

You miss it all - everything that had never been real: the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of Din’s embrace.  You miss the way he looked at you and made you feel like the only person in the world who mattered; you missed his adoring touch and the way that he would be soft and gentle with you when you knew he harnessed such strength and power within those same hands.  He had made you feel cherished and special, appreciated and exalted.  Yes, it had all been a lie, but you heart had believed in it and the memory of what you’ve irretrievably lost haunts you every day still.

You’ve never been one to believe the adage that to get over someone, you had to get “under” someone else and you’re certainly not looking to replace what you thought you had or even date for the sake of dating.  You’re just simply out of ideas.  You need… a distraction.  A real-life person to think about, instead of one that only ever existed in your head.

“Don’t push yourself if you’re not ready, babe,” Lala says, gently.

“I don’t want to ‘get back out there.’ I just need…”

“A rebound?” Rory’s assessment is unfortunately, spot on.

You look sheepish, “That sounds terrible.  But something like a distraction.”

Jen is hardly bothered, “It’s okay.  I won’t tell Mark but I don’t think he would mind even if he knew.  Men are weird as hell.”

Everyone laughs and you go back to your breakfast, half listening as Jen chirps some of Mark’s merits and tells you that she’s going to try and set something up for the upcoming Friday.  You don’t notice the worried and pinched looks that Lala and Rory continue to give one another for the remainder of brunch.

It’s absolutely pouring today.  The phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’ must have been inspired by a similar rainfall, you’re sure.  You hold your umbrella as close to your head as you can while deftly trying to keep your shoes dry by doing little and big hops to avoid puddles.  It’s a relief when you finally make it to the overhang in front of your office building and can shake out your umbrella before stepping inside.  Wiping your feet on the already soaked through mats that building maintenance has put down, you wonder if the weather will clear up before your date with Mark tomorrow.

You’re slipping your still dripping wet umbrella into a plastic sleeve when you hear a commotion by the security check desk.  Gabriel, the head of security is arguing with someone who by the looks of it is soaking wet and trying to get through the security turnstiles.  As you approach with your own access card already in hand, the voices get louder:

“Dude.  Come ON!”

“Miss, like I said, you have to have security access in order to move past this point.”

“I’m not going to go anywhere in the building, I promise!  I just need to get to the subway.”

“I heard you already, miss.  You’ll have to use one of the other two subway entrances.  This one is for people who have access to this building only.”

“It’s pouring!! Can’t you see?  The other two entrances are both over a block away and I’m already soaked!  I just want to get home!”

“I won’t ask again, miss.  Please leave.  There are people who need to get through.”

You’re shocked.  You’ve never heard Gabriel get frustrated or raise his voice before.  But that’s not why you’re shocked.  It’s the girl’s voice.  You know it. 

It’s Vanessa.

In some other universe you might hail this as karma, but in truth, you only have sympathy for the girl you see before you.  It really is miserable out and you’re sure that Vanessa isn’t some corporate espionage spy – she really is just asking for a little help to get out of the rain and home before she gets sick.  Without overthinking it, you come up behind her and give Gabriel a reassuring smile, “It’s okay, Gabriel, I can take her to the subway.”

Vanessa turns and looks at you with a wide-eyed, almost scared expression on her face.  You can’t help but feel bad for her.  Obviously because she’s soaking wet and shivering, but you think she must not have been met with much kindness in her young life.

“Ma’am, that’s not really protocol…”

Your reassuring smile is now extended to Vanessa as well.  You want her to know you’re here to help her, truly, “Gabriel, it’s fine.  I know her.  And, even if I didn’t, I could never let you send a woman out into that downpour when we could so easily help her get to where she needs to go, okay?”

Gabriel nods as you swipe your access card against the reader and you gesture for Vanessa to go through before you follow.

The two of you walk silently towards the subway for a few moments.

“You don’t have to…”

You wave off Vanessa’s concern, “I think Gabriel’s watching, so I’ll just walk you all the way to the subway entrance so he doesn’t give you anymore trouble, okay?”

She nods and the two of you continue on.

“You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Your answer is genuine, “I really don’t know any other way to be towards you.”  It’s true.  Yes, Din had cheated on you with her, but you hadn’t been dating Vanessa, you had been dating Din.  He had wronged you, not her (even if she had probably been a bit smug about it).

Vanessa nods again, the expression on her face seems to relax into some kind of revelation that you don’t quite understand.  When you get to the subway entrance, the two of you pause awkwardly before she finally speaks, “Thank you.”

Again, you try to smile as kindly as you can, “It’s okay.  I meant what I said to Gabriel – I didn’t like that he was trying to send you back out in the rain.  Here.” You hold out your umbrella, still in its plastic sleeve.

Vanessa doesn’t take it, even as you continue to extend it in her direction, “I don’t know how far you have to go once you reach your stop – the rain may not have let up by then.  Really, take it.  It’s my firm’s – I have a bunch more upstairs.”

This time she does open her hands and when she grasps the umbrella’s handle to take it from you, she blurts out, “I never slept with him!”

Silence hangs between the two of you at her statement.  You don’t know what she means at all, so you just say, “I’m sorry?”

Vanessa is looking down at the umbrella in her hands, words just spilling out, “That night.  The night you ‘caught’ me and Din – you didn’t walk in on anything.  I don’t know how, but he said he knew you were coming over and he asked me if I could make it look like he and I had been sleeping together when you showed up.  We didn’t do anything.  I played on my phone on the couch until we heard you knock.  I- don’t know why I did it… actually… no, that’s a lie.  I do.”  She finally looks up at you.

“Din was so in love with you.  Like seriously, so stupid in love with you.  He hadn’t been with anyone for a while before he met you, and those of us who… had gone out with him once or twice just got used to it, I guess.  Like we wanted him but he didn’t want anyone and that was fine.  Then he met you and all of a sudden, he was the doting boyfriend, head over heals in love, showing you off to all his friends, taking you to meet Boba.  And then it was so clear: it wasn’t that he wasn’t the boyfriend type, it was you.  He only wanted you.  I guess… I was jealous.” Vanessa shrugs, ashamed, “So when the chance came up to hurt you... I jumped at it.  I’m sorry.”

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement.  There is so much to process.  You’re not sure what Vanessa is asking from you, but you do appreciate her honesty, “I mean, I guess I get why you did it.  But why did Din?”

Vanessa shrugs again, “I really don’t know, I didn’t ask.  It didn’t matter to me, I guess.  I’m sorry.  But after you left, I… propositioned him?  Thought I would shoot my shot since we were both basically half undressed.  He turned me down and practically kicked me out.  All he cared about was making sure you got home safe.  You’re all he cared about.  Always.  It was only ever you.”

“I- ” you’re speechless.  Actually speechless, “Thank you for telling me, Vanessa.  I- still don’t understand any of it, but I always appreciate honesty.  Truly.”

And with that, Vanessa gives you a little wave of the umbrella you gave her as a final thanks before she disappears down the stairs into the subway station, leaving you dumbfounded and shellshocked.

It had been a lie.

Din hadn’t cheated on you.  Not with Vanessa.  Not that night, or according to her, any other night.  You had been his one and only.  The way you had always thought.  The way he had always made you feel.

Every spiraling assumption and devastating conclusion you’ve drawn about your relationship over the past five months is now being called into question: that he never loved you, that he wasn’t the man you believed him to be, that the devotion in your relationship had been one sided.  Had it all been real?  Was your Din real?

But he had lied. 

He had made up an elaborate lie to get away from you.  To hurt you.  This revelation gives rise to feelings that you thought you had long worked through and put to bed: betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger.  On top of this fast rising tide of emotions that you’re afraid might drown you rides a question you've never felt like you wanted the answer to when it was simply that Din was a cheater: Why?

The date is going okay, you think.  Actually, it’s going exactly how you knew it would – you’re not into it.  Mark is honestly nice enough, funny enough, charming enough – you can see why Jen was always trying to get you to go out with him.  But he’s not Din.

You haven’t told anyone about your run in with Vanessa because you still don’t know what to make of it all; you have pieces of a puzzle that you didn’t even know existed, new questions, even fewer answers, and a whole new host of confused feelings.  Unsure of your own heart, you hadn’t known what to say to Jen to cancel this date that she lovingly setup for you at your request, so here you are.

Even if your overthinking brain wasn’t in overdrive analyzing and reanalyzing everything you learned yesterday, your heart, which is still working out your feelings towards Din, has unequivocally softened.  The Din of your memories, the one for whom your heart still beats deep down had been real, and he had never betrayed you in the manner you believed for the past few months.  The love you had felt with him had been true and the affection and devotion that had been cornerstones of your relationship have started making their way back into your chest.

You feel sort of bad about Mark.  Yes, you had been very clear with Jen and yourself that this date didn’t mark any great interest of yours to start dating again, but you know you could be putting in more of an effort on this date.  You try.  You really do.

After the pre-dinner drinks are finished and the waiter’s taken your dinner order, you excuse yourself to use the restroom, hoping for a few minutes alone to gather your thoughts.  Heading towards the bathrooms, you walk down a hall that opens to the restaurant’s private party rooms on one side.  All the doors are opened and you peek in to see that most of the rooms are empty, one of them being cleared from a large party that must have just left; when you get to the last doorway, you’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see who's inside.

It's Din.

He’s leaning back in a chair that’s been placed further back and away from the dining table that must centre the room; part of the meeting but not an active participant – a perimeter guard.  His handsome profile is as striking as you remember; his strong aquiline nose and cut jawline that’s currently flexing as he swallows hold your attention by their very existence - how is he here just when all your thoughts happen to be of him?  Din’s chocolate brown eyes are fixed on someone or something in the room, but he must feel your gaze because he turns and sees you – keeping his expression neutral, as if he doesn’t want anyone else in the room to notice you, you still see his eyes soften as they lock with yours and your heartbeat picks up a little.

Hi, you mouth shyly.

Hi, Din's lips curve up slightly at your sweet expression as he mouths back, you look nice.

You do too, because he does.  He’s in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and jet-black tie; the monochromatic look works for him.  Din’s slicked back hair is different – you’re so much more used to seeing his curls loose and tousled, but the change isn’t unwelcomed.  He looks professional.  Devastating.

Work?  Your head tilts a little so you can see a little further in the room and Din knows you see Paz sitting in front of him wearing a nearly identical outfit.  He nods, You?

Date.

Din nods slightly, eyes unreadable, Be safe.

I will. Not sure how much more you can communicate this way or even what you want to say, you give Din a little wave before continuing down the hall to the restroom.

---

Din cannot sit still.

Date? You were on a date?

But that’s not even the most jarring thing about seeing you unexpectedly tonight at the same restaurant where Boba’s holding a family meeting.  What’s really turning Din’s world upside down is that you didn’t look upset to see him.  Your expression was soft, kind and inviting.  As if you didn’t hate him. 

You’re over him.  That has to be it.  You were over him, wholly and completely; much too sweet to hold onto any malice towards him, you had treated him politely, like an old acquaintance.  He wants to be glad – happy that you’re no longer hurting and that his transgressions against you didn’t leave a permanent mark on your beautiful soul.  But his heart feels like it’s made of lead; dropping from his chest into his stomach when he thinks of you being on a date.  Din gets up and takes a walk towards the main dining room of the restaurant, looking to satisfy his morbid curiosity.

He sees you right away.  Your back is to him, but he knows its you.  You sit across from a perfectly respectable looking man dressed in a sharp suit – the both of you clearly having come straight from work.  The man probably has some smart corporate job like you, like a lawyer or someone who underwrites space rockets or something cool.  The man is making you laugh; Din can tell by the way your shoulders shake.  He imagines your smile and the way that your eyes crinkle when you think something is super funny but you don’t want to let loose one of those melodic laughs of yours where you throw back your head and the resulting song carries over the crowd.  Din watches as you swirl your wine glass the way he always thought was super adorable, with two of your fingers pressed against the base of the glass stem, before you lift those same fingers to make a gesture with your hand that indicates you’re adding to your date’s story with some witty comment of your own.  Your date’s face lights up and his look of admiration and joy from the pleasure of your company is one that Din knows well. 

He decides can’t watch anymore and slinks back down the hallway; heart ripped to pieces, leaving you to your pleasant evening.

Thanks so much for being patient with me - these chapters are emotionally hard to write and even harder to edit 😅 Since I'm once again yeeting this into universe on a random day instead of my usual posting date, adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (omigod if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Matt Keeley at NCRM:

Drag queens unite! Drag PAC is looking to challenge anti-trans laws and drag bans around the country.

It was founded by a number of RuPaul’s Drag Race alums, including Willam Belli, Jinkx Monsoon, Miss Peppermint, Monét X Change and BenDeLaCreme, as well as Dylan Bulkeley-Krane, according to The Hill and KFOX-TV. Bulkeley-Krane previously co-founded Disability Action for America, a PAC dedicated to disability rights. Drag PAC announced its existence Wednesday in a new YouTube video, where the queens involved spoke about why they were driven to found it. [...] The queens say that Drag PAC is the first PAC to be led by drag performers. The goal is to “motivate the LGBTQ+ voter base to create a community of empowered and informed citizens that participate in the democratic process, amplifying the values and issues that affect them as unique but equal American citizens,” according to the PAC’s YouTube page. Right now, the PAC’s website is sparse, with the YouTube video, plus links to register to vote and to donate. The PAC has so far raised $15,000 from individuals, according to Open Secrets.

A first in drag politics: drag performer-led Drag PAC is being formed to fight for drag rights as a result of the anti-drag extremism enacted by right-wing government entities, such as drag bans.

The right-wing war on drag is part of the broader war on LGBTQ+ rights and gender nonconforming expressions in public.

See Also:

LGBTQ Nation: “Drag Race” alumni form historic first-ever PAC led by famous queens

[envy-of-the-apple]

I have a question about Monsoon! What if Gojo was a platonic yandere who wanted MC to be like his mother. How would he have acted then? I have mommy issues okay-🤏

We all have mommy issues anon why do you think we’re on tumblr??? anyway ya tbh that would be great cuz The mc lowkey would’ve loved to be seen as a mother figure by him.the mc would definitely joke that “Satoru you’re my favorite child” and ya gojo would laugh it off but secretly he’d be a little bashful

I can just imagine the MC finally being like “yknow what? I think I’m gonna start dating now” and megumi is just like “proud of you 👍” and goes back to curse homework or whatever and GOJO is the guy who’s grilling the suitors with “how much money do you make??” “Do you intend to marry my mom??” “If you hurt my mom I’ll hollow purple your ass so hard” “that wasn’t supposed to sound sexual btw I will seriously kill you”

alas I wanted to write a fic where Gojo is a milf Hunter and that’s what we got….but look at what we lost in pursuit of that dream 😔

[koukaaa-descent]

something about love.,, likely incomprehensible as this is just 60% monsoon & indigo and 40% emotion

You are curled up in my arms. I do not understand how you remain so gentle. I do not think I will ever understand.

There is something on the horizon. I am afraid of it. I do not understand why I am afraid of it. I understand that it is something I must reach. But I do not yet want to.

You are here, in my arms. You are too big to fit as you used to. I am stuck here until you wake up. (I could wake you. I do not want to.)

There is something on the horizon. It is not beautiful. It is the single most awful, frightening thing I have ever seen. I have rarely known fear. You are in my arms and I begin to wonder about dying. I wonder which of us will die first. I think I know who. (It’s always me, in this daydream. It’s always you, when I am able to stop and wake up.)

There is a star on the horizon. There is purpose, devouring the piece of me that I gave to you. I do not understand it. I do not think I will ever understand it. It sears my eyes until I am blinded for minutes at a time. I still can only barely tear my gaze away from it.

There is a star on the horizon. You are in my arms. I have a purpose, and it is not you. It is not you. (There is an awful form of mourning, here.)

[sarksarkos]

Batman '58: The Franchise Loses Its Mind

This is Batman #113. Two years after this comic is published, wee little chaos wizard Grant Morrison will be summoned into in a pentagram carved into a battered pizza in a Glasgow back alley. They will read this comic, lose their goddamn mind, and make it a central pillar of the Batman mythos. God bless.

The silver age of comics can be defined by two trends: a greater emphasis on naturalistic characterization and storytelling leading to the creation of a richer and more rewarding fiction, and ALIEMS. There was an absolute fascination with shoving aliens and robots and weird space monsters into every comic regardless of if they fit the established tone. At the time, aliens weren't too far out from Batman's regular comics, and they still aren't much more outlandish than a guy with a freeze ray or a crocodile man or a dude made out of clay. But those characters can all lean into the tragedy of their existence, which resonates with the tragedy of Batman's existence. Aliens are just wacky guys from space.

This story, "The Super-Batman of Planet X" from Batman #113, is very much on the wacky guys from space end of the spectrum. Batman gets teleported to the planet Zur-En-Arrh where he meets an alien who's been observing his adventures and based his entire life off of him, becoming the Batman of his planet. He called Batman to his planet because their world is being invaded by a hostile planet, and on this planet, Batman would have superman-like powers.

This is a very odd premise, because it separates Batman from his essential Batman qualities. There's already a Batman, so Batman doesn't need to be Batman, Batman needs to be Superman. And within that, there's an interesting story of how Batman acts when he has the powers of Superman, but there's no conflict at play here. Batman just becomes Superman. There are many, many times when Batman is having issues and he thinks "What would Superman do?" The premise of the story seems to be that Batman and Superman aren't narrative foils, they are, effectively, the same person. A Batman with powers is a Superman.

Batman is teleported back to earth at the exact moment he left, with only a tiny bit of alien machinery as proof that it wasn't all just a psychotic break. Nevertheless, Grant Morrison would later write this back into canon as Batman having a psychotic break. The Batman of Zur-En-Arrh is Batman's emergency backup personality he created in case somebody started fucking with his mind. I'm not entirely up on that run yet, I'm going through things in chronological order, so it's going to be a long time, but I like the idea of taking these discarded aspects of the Bat-Canon and revitalizing them.

Speaking of discarded aspects of the Bat-Canon, let's talk about Calendar Man, who was actually kind of amazing. His first appearance, in Detective Comics #259, has him putting out a public notice that he's going to carry out five crimes over five days based on the five seasons. Five seasons? More on that later. The point is that for each crime, he busts out a whole new gimmick and a new set of bespoke supervillain gear. The spring is kinda nothing, the autumn is just a big fan, but the winter has a freeze ray and the summer can burn people to death just from being in the room with them.

Like, my god, where has this guy been? This man is creating an entirely new supervillain persona each day. You could create a new persona every day of the year for this man. I have no idea where he gets his resources or what madness drives him to his holiday crimes but I would love to explore that.

Anyway the fifth season was racism. Moving on.

Okay, for reals, the fifth season is actually monsoon season. I will grant them, this is a pretty clever trick, I would not have guessed it. It does go into a bit of an Adam West direction when Batman and Robin "deduce" that if the fifth season is Monsoon season, then Calendar Man must be this white guy dressed as an Indian, who was also going to be in town for the same five days as Calendar Man. On the other hand, that guy clearly deserves a good punch in the face.

I had a third story I wanted to look at about Bruce Wayne being invited to a costume party and for reasons best left unexamined, the hosts insisted that he come dressed as Batman. I thought there would be some good comedy from Bruce Wayne, incompetent rich fop, having to bumble around acting like a total moron and "accidentally" taking out the baddies, but there was barely anything. Instead, I want to comment about this PSA in the same issue, which is the gayest thing I've ever seen.

Like, my god. Bob and Jerry are absolutely husbands. They have the relationship I want. This is a PSA in a Batman comic, a comic that was so shockingly homoerotic that a child psychologist wrote a book about it that led to a congressional inquest and the creation of a censorship bureau! This page is gayer than anything else I saw in a comic about an unmarried man and his unrelated child who sleep in the same bedroom and wear tights.

This just goes to show that the manosphere has always existed, and it has always been a joke. Men have always been incredibly lonely, and any attempt to extol wholesome, manly values in young boys has always come out as deeper in the closet than Monsters, Inc. Men, if you're lonely, just find a real close friend and have hot straight gay sex with him. Remember, it's not proper gay unless future historians think you were platonic best friends.

Coming up, we take another look at Superman, where they unscrew the lore pipeline and let it flow. Until next time!