#remember anything about it. what should i pass on to them?'

[feminist-space]

"Joy Spence, 21, said she visited emergency departments at two hospitals in St. John's over the course of nearly two weeks this May.

What began as weakness and abdominal pain on her right side quickly deteriorated into blacking out from the agony in her torso.

But no matter how dire her symptoms got, doctors kept sending her home.

"They would just tell me, 'Your bloodwork's normal, there's nothing we can do.' They would send me home, then same thing again," she said. "I would go back again. They would get me to do the bloodwork, say everything's normal."

Ultrasound and CT scans apparently turned up nothing, but Spence, in such severe pain, says she had no option but to keep returning to the hospital, where she says she was eventually left screaming in a waiting room, ignored by hospital staff.

"If somebody doesn't help me, I'm going to die," she recalls wailing, watching doctors and nurses pass her by.

At one point, she was dismissed outright by a walk-in clinic nurse, she adds.

"Somebody said to me, 'I don't know what you expect me to do,'" she said. "'You're a healthy 21-year-old young female.'"

One night, she says, her boyfriend had to help her into an ambulance. Spence was in so much pain she couldn't stay conscious and stand on her own.

"I remember the man in the ambulance telling me … how often he sees other young women going into the hospital and seeing them be misdiagnosed and not taken seriously," she said, speaking through tears.

"He said that he would do his best to … get things going for me."

Spence says she went to an ER at the Health Sciences Centre or St. Clare's Mercy Hospital about 10 times over a 12-day period, beginning on May 21. She also visited her family doctor, who could do little except tell her to speak directly to the surgeon at Health Sciences Centre, she said.

Each time she saw a doctor, she says, she was sent home and told to dance around her living room or do yoga to cure what physicians believed was anxiety or sluggish bowels.

"I had so many laxatives," Spence recalls. "I would tell them … nothing's even coming out anymore. It's not just this, I don't think. But no, they were dead set on the constipation and only constipation. Like, it can only be that."

...

Spence says doctors only began to take her seriously once she began vomiting in a Health Sciences Centre hallway. The contents of her stomach were green and black.

An older doctor walking past her happened to notice, stopping in his tracks. Spence says he immediately identified the issue as appendicitis.

At that doctor's urging, Spence was finally wheeled into an operating room, where she says her burst appendix — now gangrenous — was removed.

"I think when I walked into the room and they seen a 21-year-old young girl, they immediately dismissed me and thought that there couldn't be anything wrong with me," Spence said.

"I was not on their minds and not on their radar. And if they didn't have that preconceived idea of me, those thoughts wouldn't have been formed and maybe I would have gotten the proper care that I should have."

...

Spence is still struggling to recover from her ordeal. Physically, she's now fine: her appendix was removed and her stitches have healed.

But she's lost an alarming amount of weight, she says, wakes up gasping in the middle of the night and can't stop herself from crying whenever she remembers the hospital.

"I've been losing a lot of hair," she said. "Mentally, it's just been a struggle."

Spence only received an apology from the health authority after CBC News requested comment and confirmed that Spence had done an interview — a move she says felt hollow and frustrating, since the manager who called her didn't give her an explanation about why she was repeatedly ignored while waiting to be admitted.

The ripple effect from her illness, and how she says she was treated when seeking care, has uprooted her life. She's taken a year off her studies in Memorial University's social work program and has lost her job. She's looking for trauma therapy, but now doesn't have the money to pay for it, she says.

"I think as young women we're always told what we're supposed to do, how we're supposed to think, and not to trust our instincts," she said.

"But most of the time … the gut instinct is right. I knew I was sick. I knew what was happening wasn't right, and I could have died if I didn't keep going back to the hospital.

"If I had listened to those doctors and went back home — what could have really happened?""

[lemotmo]

As a standalone episode I think it was good. One of the best we've had in a while. What I think is throwing some people off is just where it landed in the season. After last week, I can get why there's frustration at the lack of any movement in some arcs. It does feel very much one step forward, two steps back by interrupting the flow of some of those arcs and not addressing them at all. I get it. It can feel like emotional whiplash. Investing and then expecting viewers to pause that for a silly fun filler can throw people out the plot.

But isn't this a classic 911 thing to do though? We as a fandom, have been complaining about this problem for as long as I remember.

911 has one or two character driven episodes that give us some insight into the character's minds. And then the next episode when we all expect something to happen? Nothing.

I'm used to that rhythm by now. So I kinda knew, going into this episode that it wouldn't give us anything big. It's just the nature of 911 and... most network shows to be honest.

I grew up on network shows, before the streaming era. I remember watching 'NYPD Blue', 'ER', 'The Practice', 'Law & Order', 'Ally McBeal', 'JAG', 'Third Watch', 'The X-files', 'Stargate Atlantis', 'The West Wing', 'Without a Trace', 'Star Trek - Voyager', Star Trek - DS9', 'Castle', 'Bones' and so many other shows, and being frustrated sometimes with the fact that we got filler episodes after a really emotionally intense story arc. It's ensemble shows on network TV. That's the way it works.

Yes, we all want to see these character's personal storylines progress, but we can't see all of them progress at the same time.

Does it feel like an emotional whiplash sometimes? Especially because we love certain characters so much and we finally want to see some progress in their storyline? Well yeah, it does. But that's how it's always been.

And to be fair, we did get to see major character growth in this episode. We got to see a new facet of Athena. She is starting to realise that she's getting a little older, no longer able to do it all by herself and she wants to pass on all of her knowledge to a rookie. That's major progress for her and I'm willing to bet the Athena fans had a blast watching this episode. As they should. Next week it'll be time for someone else to have some character growth. Again, that's the way this works.

So, I'm here, I'm sat and willing to wait it out. And in the mean time? I'm just enjoying my show. You know? 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, this is just my two cents you guys. Feel free to disagree with me and ignore this. You know I don't mind. It's all good. This is just the way I see it.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

So Metallicas biography by Mick Wall states that James got more confidence after his acne went down and he got a few girls. So this inspired my idea: maybe back when he was insecure about his looks he started dating a girl who was “out of his league”, and she really loved him, they were each others firsts and other puppy love staff and she always told him how handsome he is? but he soon broke up with her because of his insecurities and cause Dave was saying that James was a “pity project” for her. So during MoP tour when they are in turn he wants to reconcile, but she’s very upset not only because of break up but because “I told you so many times how amazing you are but that wasn’t good enough but when a bunch of groupies say so you believe them?”

Omg, I love so much James with acne, he's too cuteeee. By the way, I hope you like it❤

Just the way you are

The night I met James, he wasn’t the confident rockstar the world would come to know. Instead, he was the boy who didn’t quite understand why someone like me would even look at him twice. He was still growing, not just in his music but in himself—still insecure, his face dotted with acne, his posture hunched as if trying to hide from the world. I remember how he’d avoid looking into my eyes, always fidgeting with his hands or the sleeve of his jacket, almost as if waiting for me to call him out, tell him he wasn’t worthy of my time.

But I never did.

I could see the real James—the one behind the mask he tried so hard to wear. The one who, when he smiled, looked like he could light up the darkest room. The one who was funny, kind, and so full of ideas. His eyes, though shadowed by his insecurities, always seemed to be searching for something. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was validation.

For months, we spent endless nights talking, laughing, and just being together. I told him, again and again, how beautiful he was—how his soul shone brighter than anything I had ever seen. But no matter how many times I said it, no matter how I held him close, it never seemed to stick. He would laugh it off, shrug, and change the subject.

“I’m nothing special,” he’d mutter, his voice barely audible.

I couldn’t understand it. To me, James was everything. More than just the musician everyone idolized. He was someone I saw beyond the rough exterior, beyond the acne that made him so self-conscious. He was perfect to me. But he couldn’t see it.

One night, after a particularly brutal argument with Dave, something snapped in James. The insults from Dave always made him retreat into himself, but this time it was different. “You’re just a pity project for her,” Dave had said. His words cut deep, and I could see the effect it had on James. His eyes glazed over, a storm brewing behind them.

“James… that’s not true,” I whispered, reaching for his hand. But he pulled it away.

“I don’t know what you see in me,” he muttered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m not some pretty boy you should be with. You deserve someone better.”

It was the first time I truly saw the cracks in his facade. All his doubts, all his fears, bled out in that moment, and I realized just how fragile he really was. I tried to reassure him, to tell him that I loved him, that I always would, but the words felt hollow. He didn’t believe them.

Then, it happened.

One night, right after another heart-wrenching conversation, he pulled away.

“I’m not good enough for you,” James said, barely looking at me. “It’s not right. I don’t deserve you.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to lose him, but he had already made up his mind. The breakup came swiftly, a quiet moment in the dark as if he had already been gone for so long.

I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t fathom how, after everything we had been through—after I’d shown him just how much I cared for him, how much I loved him—he couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t believe in me. He couldn’t believe in himself.

_____

Months passed. The Master of Puppets tour rolled on, and Metallica was everywhere. James became the image of confidence the world adored—his face no longer hidden behind acne, his smile bright as ever. The validation he once craved seemed to come in waves, in groupies, in adoration from fans, and the recognition of the world. He was a star. He was the rock god everyone worshipped.

But every time I saw his face on TV or heard his voice on the radio, my heart sank. It wasn’t the fame that bothered me. It was the truth I had known all along.

It came late one evening, the sound of the knock at my door startling me out of a long, restless sleep. I opened the door to find him standing there, just like he had so many times before. Only this time, it was different. He wasn’t the confident rockstar, he wasn’t hiding behind the world’s expectations. He was just James.

“Y/n… can we talk?” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

I felt a lump form in my throat. Part of me wanted to slam the door, to tell him it was too late, to shout all the hurt I had kept inside. But I couldn’t. There was something in the way he said my name—something raw that made my heart ache.

“Come in,” I whispered, stepping aside.

He walked in slowly, looking like he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His eyes were tired, sad, but also determined, like he was willing to fight for something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“I’ve thought about everything,” he started, his voice low. “Everything I said… everything I did. I was scared. I was stupid. I didn’t believe you when you told me how amazing I was. I didn’t believe I could be worthy of your love. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I felt my heart race. Those words. They were the ones I had needed to hear for so long, but they weren’t enough, were they? The damage had already been done. He had walked away, and now, months later, he was standing here with nothing but regrets and apologies.

I crossed my arms, holding back the tears. “You know, James, I told you over and over. I told you how beautiful you were, how amazing you were. I told you I loved you, but it was never enough, was it? You didn’t believe it. And now… when a bunch of groupies say so you believe them?” 

James looked at me with pleading eyes. “I was wrong. and stupid. I know I was. And I don’t expect you to just forgive me like that,” he said, his voice cracking. “But I need you to know what I said… it wasn’t true. I couldn’t see it then, but I see it now. You were never a ‘pity project.’ You never deserved to feel like that. You deserve so much more.”

The words hung in the air. I looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in so long, I saw the James I had loved—the real James—standing in front of me, stripped of his bravado, exposed, vulnerable.

“I told you, James,” I whispered, stepping forward. “I told you so many times. And I know now… I can’t just give you all of me without knowing you believe in us. I needed to know that you believe in us”

He nodded, his eyes sincere. “I believe in us, Y/n. I believe in you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it, if you’ll let me.”

My heart fluttered in my chest, emotions rushing over me all at once. He was still the boy I had loved, but now there was more—so much more. He wasn’t the same James who had walked away. This was the man who had finally faced his fears, who had finally learned to believe in himself, in us.

I felt the tightness in my chest loosen, the walls I had built to protect myself slowly crumbling. I stepped closer, my voice shaking as I whispered, “I was so scared, James. I wanted to hold onto you so badly, but I couldn’t keep holding onto someone who couldn’t see me. You didn’t see me. But I need to know—do you see me now?”

His eyes softened, and he reached for me, his hand trembling just a little. “I do. I see you, Y/n. I’ve always seen you, but I was too scared to look at what you really were. You’ve always been what I needed, but I was too stupid to understand it before.”

I closed the space between us, the weight of everything we’d been through crashing over me. My hands found his, and I could feel the warmth of his touch, the sincerity in his grip. “I’m not perfect, James. I’ve been angry. I’ve been hurt. But maybe… maybe I can try again. For us. If you really mean it.”

James pulled me into him, and I could feel the tension that had been between us for so long melt away. His arms wrapped around me, holding me like he would never let me go again. My heart swelled as I rested my head against his chest, hearing the familiar beat of his heart beneath my ear.

“I’ll never let you go,” he murmured, kissing my temple,  his voice thick with emotion. “Not this time. Not ever.”

A tear slipped from my eye, but this time, it wasn’t from pain—it was from relief, from the healing I had longed for. I felt his thumb gently brush it away, his lips pressing softly against my forehead.

“I’ve always loved you,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of everything we had been through. “And I think I’ve always known… you’d come back to me. ”

James smiled softly, and in that moment, I knew. We couldn’t erase the past, but we could build something new. Something better. The years of pain, the uncertainty, the distance—everything that had torn us apart was now behind us, and all that mattered was what came next. For the first time in a long time, I truly believed that we could make it. I could feel the love between us growing again, like a fire rekindling after a long, cold night.

[honeysghost]

In the Middle

Pairing: Lasko/Freelancer/Gavin

Word count: 1,065

Summary: Follows behind Lasko's second bonus audio, based around the poem After the Threesome They Both Take You Home by Sue Hyon Bae

The AO3 version if you prefer: In the Middle - honeysghost

“It’s getting late, do you want to stay?” Freelancer asks, warmth spreading through their body when they meet the Incubus’ eyes.

“Oh, I couldn’t. It’s sweet of you to offer, but you’re both busy tomorrow, aren’t you? If I stayed, I doubt you’d get much sleep.” There’s a coy smile on his lips that sends a shiver down both of their spines. 

Lasko’s hand finds theirs in the dark, rubbing a thumb across their knuckles. 

“We wouldn’t mind,” he mumbles, avoiding Gavin’s gaze. 

He’s grown more confident since the start of this encounter, less stuttering but still shy. It’s cute. Both Freelancer and Gavin delight in seeing a blush creep across his cheeks.

“Really, I couldn’t.”

His tone is light, still laced with flirtation, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want to stay. 

“Can we at least drive you home?”

Home, Gavin thinks. There’s an ache in his chest where home should be, unsure as to what would ever fill that void. Certainly not Aria. His gaze lingers on Freelancer for just a moment.

“You don’t need to trouble yoursel-”

“It’s no trouble at all, Gav. Please, let us do this for you.” 

It’s odd, having people constantly showing how much they care about you. It’s not something he’s used to, that’s for sure. But the Freelancer and Lasko (and Huxley and Damien) have never wavered in their intentions.

A sigh. “Okay.” 

The smile that spreads across Freelancer’s lips is radiant. So much so that Gavin thinks to reconsider their proposal. He could stay, if it meant getting to see them smile just a few hours more. 

Another unfamiliar ache.

Neither of them bother to get dressed in more than pajamas as they lead him to the car, Lasko choosing to drive as Freelancer settles into the passenger seat. 

It’s quiet and warm in the back. Gavin sprawls across the entire row, like it’s his own personal throne. 

The hazy glow of streetlights passing by puts them all in a dream-like state, time passing slowly around them. 

No one will say it out loud, but they wish this moment would last. 

Lasko laughs at something Freelancer said, and the silence is broken. 

“Come on, you really don’t remember?”

“N-no, I don’t! And probably for good reason. My mind blocked it out as an act of self-preservation.”

“It wasn’t that bad, and you know it.” They meet Gavin’s gaze through the rearview mirror, offering him a sleepy smile. 

“Did I ever tell you about Lasko and I’s first date?” Freelancer asks, and Lasko’s face turns a deep shade of red. 

“D-d-do not tell him.” 

They rest a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly. Gavin can taste his returned arousal at the touch.

“Oh, please, Deviant. I’d love to hear it.” 

Lasko groans in response, making both of them laugh. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“...and it didn’t matter anyway, because all we could taste was oranges. I swear, it was under our skin for weeks.” 

“Now there’s a thought,” Gavin ponders. “Orange flavored kisses.” 

Freelancer smiles as they play the memory over in their head, Lasko still flushed from embarrassment. 

“We tried to find the stand again later that week, but it was gone. Shame. They were the best oranges I’d ever had.” 

Gavin’s apartment building comes into view, and he tries not to linger on the disappointment in the air. It belongs to all three of them. Maybe he should have stayed. 

The conversation slows, all of them hoping if they don’t speak, the night won’t end. 

Lasko finds a space to park, a good distance away—anything to prolong this moment. 

“Let us walk you back.” 

This time, he doesn’t protest. 

When they get out of the car, the first thing Freelancer does is take his hand. Lasko is quick to take his other one, and together they walk. 

Their love is intoxicating, he thinks. He could drown in it if they'd let him. 

“Thank you both, for tonight. It means a lot that you would trust me with this.” 

“We like you, Gavin.” Freelancer rests their head against his shoulder in emphasis, slowing down just a little. “We’d trust you with anything.”

Lasko hums in agreement.

When they reach the door, none of them make a move to open it. 

“I had fun tonight,” Gavin sighs, squeezing both their hands. Freelancer stills rests against him, seeking warmth and comfort in his body. It’s odd, being touched with no sexual intent. It’s taken him a while to get used to it with. Honestly, he’s not sure if he would ever, fully. 

“Me too,” they mumble into his shoulder. 

Lasko frees his hand from Gavin’s and hesitates just a second before kissing the Incubus. It’s soft and sweet–and all too short for his liking. “T-thank you, Gavin.” 

Freelancer pouts, making both of them laugh. “I want a kiss, too…” 

“Come here, Deviant.” 

Gavin kisses them as softly as Lasko kissed him, in no hurry to stop or say goodbye any time soon. They stay like that for a while, trading kisses and hushed gratitude in the dimly lit hallway. 

“You’re always welcome, you know.” Freelancer whispers against his lips. Lasko nods, finally taking a step back. 

“I-In our bed, or otherwise.”

“We meant it when we said we like you. You’re our friend, Gavin, but you’re more than that, too.”

He fights the urge to brush it off, choosing instead to say, “Thank you,” for the hundredth time that night.  

He opens the door, lingering for just a second. “Goodnight, you two.”

“Goodnight, Gav.” Lasko smiles, pressing one more chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Sweet dreams,” Freelancer mimics him, following up with one more to his cheek. 

When the door closes, he allows himself to feel the emptiness that threatens to devour him. Being together with them was so filling it almost made him feel sick, he wasn’t prepared for the gaping hole that would be left when they were gone. 

It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to rift back to their apartment, cuddle up with them in bed, limbs tangled together so thoroughly they’re sure it’ll leave bruises where they’re pressed together. 

For tonight, it was enough. To be chosen by them, worshiped and adored. Any lingering worries were soothed away when he thought of Freelancer’s hands on him, Lasko’s moans, the way they fought over kissing him, neither one of them able to get enough.

[caninecowboy]

i'm getting so so so so angry abt the people around me. guys you are asking questions that are so fuckig google-able i found the answer in literally less than one whole minute.

[dadbots]

August… time to get spooky.

[fingertipsmp3]

The overall concept of kids bringing their phones to school BAFFLES me tbh. Like what do you mean 10 year olds have phones? What do you mean they’re allowed to bring them to school???

[keets-writing-corner]

Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room

[thelonelyjew]

Pride banned Jews?!?

So it's that time of year again that I see people circulating stuff that is completely fabricated about what they imagine happened at Chicago Dyke March in 2017.

First, Dyke March is not Pride. It is not meant to be apolitical or single-issue. It is explicitly anti-imperialist, anticapitalist, and, yes, antizionist. It's not the big mainstream pride Parade that has corporate sponsors (and ads for gay tourism in Israel), it's a small radical grassroots demonstration.

Ok now that that's out of the way, they did not "ban Jews". I was there. They did not "ban Jewish symbols". They did not ask anyone to leave because of their Jewish pride flag.

What actually happened was three women who turned out to be employed by Israeli pinkwashing operation A Wider Bridge participated in the march with a rainbow flag that featured a blue star of david in the center. I remember seeing it and disliking it bc it gave me Zionist vibes but neither I nor anyone else bothered them about it.

After the march there was a cookout in the park. The women were asked to leave by a Jewish member of the Dyke March Collective after several hours of hanging out at the cookout because they were harassing other marchgoers.

Immediately publications like Forward, Tablet, JTA, as well as more mainstream publications started running stories making wild untrue claims which you can still read if you Google it because none of these were ever corrected or retracted. It's clear that these AWB agents had press releases pre-written and ready to fire as soon as they managed to provoke any reaction that they could spin into a controversy.

The photos that ran along with these headlines were also misleading. One of them showed a photo of a rainbow flag with a white star in the center. The star on the flag I saw was blue, and the shade of the star has specific political connotations. Showing a different flag with the politically significant color removed is extremely misleading. The one that was carried in the march (and which, again, wasn't banned!) looked like this:

Another banner image, this one in a New York Times article, showed a young woman with dark curly hair holding a sign that says "this is who we are". She was clearly chosen to feature because of her stereotypically Jewish features. The article implies that she is one of the supposedly banned Jews. This is false. You know how I know? Bc that was the friend I was there with that day! She does not identify as Jewish, she looks like that bc she is Italian, and she had no idea she was being photographed!

I had a hat decorated with red and black stars of David, and the following year a bunch of us wore Workers Circle sashes with Yiddish text (which uses the Hebrew alphabet) as well. No one who wasn't employed by a Zionist organization was asked to leave or even questioned about anything related to Zionism or Jewish identity.

I'm resigning myself to the fact that this is going to get dug up and passed around every year and people will believe what they want to believe, but if you hear claims that some queer group "banned Jews" or something similar, please look at the source for the information and if possible try to talk to actual Jewish people who participate in the community events being discussed. And if you hear this about Chicago Dyke March in specific, please correct people. I feel like I'm going insane when this many people are insisting that what I saw and experienced wasn't real and pointing to the barrage of misleading articles as what I should believe over my own experiences.

[chososdiscordkitten]

Synopsis: Reader asking to watch Choso jack off ^-^

Pairing: Switch!Choso x Fem!Reader Content: porn w/ feelings, established relationship, masturbation, spit, pussy job, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms (m), rough sex, cream pie

MDNI

You had developed an enjoyment of watching Choso. Watch him talk, watch him breathe—your eyes would always be glued onto him when he did anything. And that little glimmer in your eyes would go overlooked by him. 

You liked watching him reach into a high cupboard, the edge of his shirt revealing his hip in the slightest. Or when he would talk- most of the time, the words would be spoken, but your ears would hear them without registering in your mind. 

You would only pay attention to his expression- his eyebrows furrowing with a sudden severity in his tone. Or when his eyes would spark in the slightest when you would agree mindlessly to what he was saying. 

Usually, your face showed what you were thinking. Giving hints to what raced through your mind. And any hints your low eyes provided, or every half smirk that formed on your lips, Choso wouldn't acknowledge them.

Only Choso never could tell what you were thinking. Even if your expression should have told him all he needed to know. He never knew why you would look at him like that- or what it meant. 

And when he asked you; 

"Why do you look at me like that?" snapping you from the cloud of filth you would picture as he talked. 

You only replied with an earnest smile, "I just like lookin' at you." 

And Choso stayed with that idea- whenever he would see your gaze darken, he would remember what you said. Almost endearingly scanning the look on your face, as though your lowered eyes and lightly flushed skin meant that you were only looking. And nothing more. 

So when the topic of masturbation came up- something about how he only does it when he knows you're too tired or when he didn't want to bother you. You couldn't help but ask him, "Can I watch?" 

He looked off the side- furrowed eyebrows, unknowing why you'd want to watch him do such a menial thing- everyone does it, right? It's not some marvel and you gained no pleasure from it physically. But then he remembered what you told him. 

'I just like looking at you.'

A few days had passed since that conversation- too embarrassed to tell you when he would do it- and ask if you wanted to watch. It almost felt like he was admitting that he wanted you to watch. Even if you were the one who told Choso you wanted to- coming to you and saying the words. It felt too filthy- even for him. 

You had been catching up on school assignments for most of that day. Sitting on the couch of your shared apartment with a furrowed brow. Unaware of what Choso was concocting in his mind as you read through the work. 

He had been working up the courage to ask you since the morning, along with thinking up a way to say the actual words. He mostly looked at you with sad puppy eyes, hoping you would look at him and know what he wanted. 

All but begging for you to read his mind, just so he wouldn't have to say it. 

Slowly walking past you with his eyes locked onto your expression, hoping you would look up and see the pleading look he held. 

And when he sat on the other end of the couch, the ache in his sweats was too unbearable to continue waiting for you to pay heed to what he wanted. 

Your focused gaze unmoved from the words splayed onto your screen, he called your name. Barely considered a whisper and with a sprinkle of a whiny tone- as though it was your fault he couldn't admit what he wanted. 

Looking up from your screen- "Yes?" you spoke. Your tone was far too kind and tolerant for what he was about to ask of you. 

"You remember when you." he looked away from your gaze, "When you asked if you could watch-" you raised your eyebrows- eager to hear how he would phrase it. "If you could watch, me." Bells ringing in your brain as he spoke.

"Watch you?" you asked- playing coy to what Choso tried insinuating. Looking down at your screen again and hearing a light sigh as he shifted on the other end of the couch. 

Choso clenched his teeth- already flustered from what he was expected to say. "...Jack off?" he mumbled, facing away from you in shame. 

You flashed your eyes back to him, seeing his ears flushed with a light blush. "Yes, I remember." You closed the screen of your computer, lightly tilting your head and awaiting his response. 

"I was about to-" 

You couldn't help the light grin that rose on your lips. "You want me to watch you?" spoken with a hint of tease as Choso tensed his shoulders at the words. 

Still looking away from you- lightly nodding his head up and down. "I wanna hear you say it." You tapped him lightly with your foot- urging him to hurry. 

"I would like you to watch me—" he inhaled, "Jack off." He turned over to you. You, holding the very same expression that would look back at him when he spoke most times. 

And as you instructed him to go on as he normally would- "Pay me no mind." you grinned. Taking his shirt off before he eased onto his side of the bed, avoidant eyes and nerves spasming in his sweats. 

Choso sat up halfway, his shoulders flush against the wall, his legs extended, hands planted on either side of his hips as he looked at you. 

You sat at the foot of the bed, legs crisscrossed and waiting for him to start. Soaking in the sight of him- carved torso and blushy expression on his face. 

As Choso flashed his eyes to yours- some kind of way of asking if he could start. You only raised your eyebrows, urging him to go on. He lightly gulped, placing his hands on the band of his sweats. 

Lightly wincing when he pulled his firm cock from them- bordering on a purple hue on his tip, clear tears of his precum falling from his neglected cockhead, and his shaft lightly twitching against the sudden hit of air. 

It looked pained, and based on his expression- bordering on dizzy as he took a few breaths in, he had been this way for a while. "Were you like this the whole time?" you muttered, watching his head lightly nod. 

"Didn't know how to ask you." he spoke softly, tone bordering on a whimper and placing a hand onto his base. Tingles forming on his cheeks and falling down his broad shoulders. 

You watched with intense eyes- his lips parting in a soft sigh as he slowly stroked himself. Choso's grip was light- some attempt to not cum as soon as he started. His body buzzed with shivers of exhilaration and timidity.

Soft sighs took the shape of low moans as your eyes made work of blinking down to his pretty cock. 

Surrounded by his hand and stroking lightly. Building himself up as his eyes closed, looking at the curve of his neck. The adams apple in his throat bobbing with every light breath he took. Tipping his head back onto the wall with parted lips. 

"You don't watch anything?" eyes filled with amazement, and your panties starting to soil as you watched his hand take on a tighter grip. Choso nodded his head 'no'- a little sigh leaving his lips with the upturn of a whimper. 

Choso's chest lightly caved with an exhale, "I jus' think about you." he muttered, words he spoke without filter. Your cunt spasming at the declaration, making you consider forgetting this idea of just watching- wanting to give him more than your gaze in gratitude. 

But the sound of a choked whimper leaving his throat snapped you from that thought- his hand taking on a slightly faster pace as his other fisted the sheets. Watching his hand smear beads of precum down his shaft and back up again. 

You leaned over in the slightest- watching his hand start to lose its easy glide when he began. Somewhere in Choso's mind, he had thought you abandoned the idea of just watching as you tucked hair behind your ears. Looking down at his cock with a whimper, all but asking you to help him. 

Collecting as much saliva you could on your tongue, lightly bending over, and allowing a fat glob to slip from your lips. The ache between your thighs becoming more and more apparent with every passing second.

A light huff in the shape of your name left his throat- his hand taking a faster pace from the action. Choso's tummy clenched in the slightest as he felt the start of his orgasm pool, smearing your spit with his pre in urgency.

His eyes scanned your expression- the same one you held when he would speak, only this time, he knew why you were looking at him like that.

And the slight shame of how good it felt to have you watch him with that look in your eyes- having you spit on him- made it all the more easier for his eyes to close. Huffing your name as though it was you who was stroking him. 

Low eyes watching with your hands threatening to replace Choso's as his chest rose and fell in sync with his quick strokes. 

His lips hung open in a silent moan- abdomen spasming as his tip oozed pearly tears onto his tummy. His shoulders shivered as he continued his hand's strides, slower and with a lighter grasp. 

Working himself down from the orgasm that soiled his skin, the back of his hand falling onto the bed. Even if his breathing and expression seemed satisfied with one orgasm- his cock told you he wanted another. 

Hard and twitching against his abs. At that moment- you lost the idea of sitting on the sidelines and rose to your knees. Watching Choso's expression steady with every deep breath he took. Slipping off your panties and scooching closer to him. 

You planted one leg over his hip, hoovering directly above his laid cock and looking at his eyes blink up at you. The smile on your lips churning with intent as you placed your hands onto his shoulders.

Choso's made haste in landing on your upper thighs, delighted you abandoned the idea. 

Kneading the plush skin in his hands as you lowered your cunt onto his shaft, trapping his cock between his carved tummy and your cunt. A soft sigh leaving your lips at the contact. Using your own slick mixed with his spend and pre, you slowly slid back and forth on his shaft- soaking in the expression he wore at the stimulation. 

Leaning in with a soft whine and relishing the feeling of his lips against yours- slowly frotting your cunt back and forth against his cock. Similar to how he was stroking himself. But nowhere near as warm nor as slick as your core felt. 

Your puffy clit brushing against his tip with every grind your hips made. Huffing heavily as one of Choso's hands slid beneath the band of your hoodie. His touch searing against your skin. 

Your hands on his shoulders moving onto the side of his neck, bracing as your tongue slid against his. 

Messy and uncaring teeth clashing against each other, proving to you, that the absence of your cunt swallowing his cock, frustrated him far more than it did you. 

The hand on your thigh assisting in your slow glides, the one roaming beneath your hoodie cupping your breast. 

Fervor and urgency filling every moan Choso's lips rumbled onto yours- his hold on your hip tightening to guide you into a quicker pace. 

You pulled away from him, unable to withstand the heat boiling beneath your skin as your hands slipped off your hoodie. Tossing it aside, uncaring where it landed.

Choso's hand made contact with your breast again, a light groan leaving his lips as you connected your lips with his. His orgasm building again in his tummy. His grasp against your breast turning desperate- bordering on overstimulation as you slid against him. 

You pulled away from him, looking into his hazy eyes, and raised yourself forward. His cock following your cunt as you felt his twitchy tip brush against your entrance. You huffed a flushed smile- lowering yourself onto his cockhead with a shared whimper. 

Choso's hand trailing back down to your hip- whimpering at your walls sucking him in. Lips brushing against each other- not even trying to connect them, knowing it would be cut short as his tip nuzzled against your sweet spot.

And when his cock filled you to the hilt- you slowly started grinding. Ignoring the light sting from the stretch and watching his eyebrows knit, his lips parted in a drawn-out breath. 

The urge in Choso's hips was unable to be still, causing him to place his hands on your waist, holding you still as he started rutting up into you at a quicker speed. Your hands gripping the back of his head, lightly tugging on his hair as he thrusts into you without a pattern. 

You closed the little space held between your lips and his, callously slotting your tongue against his as he nudged into your sweet spot with every grind. 

Choso trailed his hands a little higher on your waist, guiding you to tip onto your side- rolling onto your back with Choso's knees bent on the bed. Leaving him atop you with your thighs beside his hips.

Slipping his sweats lower on his thighs as he pulled back from your cunt- sliding back into you as he desperately wanted to when he was beneath you. 

One strong hand on your thigh as he rolled his hips against you, moaning shamelessly into the air as the other planted onto your tummy with his thumb on your clit. Watching your face churn with small circles drawn against the sensitive bud. 

The crude slapping of his balls against your ass, breaking up the joined whimpers that left your lips and his.

Your back arching against the sheets as he thrusts into you- so desperate for just one more as his hand on your thigh hooked behind your knee and started applying pressure. 

Your pinned thigh gave his cock a better angle to mistreat your gspot with every rough thrust. Fever-filled eyes struggling to stay open with his hips taking on a furious pace- his lips mumbling words muffled by pretty whimpers. 

Choso's face was adorned with the lightest sheen of sweat on his airline, furrowed eyebrows, and clenched teeth as he had his way with you.

His thumb rubbed harsher circles- so fucking eager to finish together as your moans drew clearer. Threats that he was close spoken in broken mutters- a breathy string of moans leaving your lips in response. 

Air being knocked from your lungs with every mean thrust against your thighs- and with one guttural groan leaving his clenched teeth, Choso spilled his thick seed into your cunt. 

His movements with his thumb refused to stop as the fulfillment of his spend pushed you over the edge.

Walls twitching around him as he slowed his thrusts, fucking his seed further into your as your breathing steadied. Choso's tired eyes looked down at you with a heaving chest- his back unable to keep his posture as he eased himself down onto you. 

Pressing his ear against your collarbone and easing his hold on your leg. Allowing your thighs to press against his hips, arms instinctively thralling over his shoulders, a sigh laced with a moan leaving his lips. 

Choso's softening cock twitched inside of you with every after-orgasm tremble that shook in his shoulders. 

"So much," he huffed heavily, swallowing lightly. "-for just watching." he smiled, closing his eyes against your chest and feeling a half laugh rumble against his profile. 

The realization of that expression you held while looking at him most of the time— meant pure filth. He hazily thought back to every time you looked at him with bedroom eyes and smiled to himself. 

-

(a.n) tarde pero sin sueno, start of Choso week hehe

[ascendedice]

STOP TREATING YOUR DR LIKE A FICTIONAL PLACE. Think in the PRESENT TENSE. (shifting tips #1)

I know this sounds like a basic tip everyone says, but "living in the wish fulfilled" is something that you need to do if you want to shift way easier. (of course, you can shift without this but why not make things easier?

"act as if"

When shifting, you aren't willing to become your "DR self", you are said DR self. Act as if you're already there, think in first person as if you're in your DR already.

If thoughts about your CR occur, that's okay. Try to let them pass, turn the thoughts into 3rd person. You aren't in your CR anymore, think of it as another place now.

"the present tense"

I AM.

Still basic, yet I see a lot of people get that wrong. Speak as you're already there.

"I will shift" = "I have shifted."

"I am a master shifter" = "I am in my DR."

Stop trying to manifest the power to shift, you already have that. You don't need to affirm 'I am a master shifter', this is manifesting the wrong thing. You should focus on getting to your DR, not gaining the ability to.

"Think of your DR as a REAL PLACE."

You ARE your DR self. Your DR is REAL. Stop thinking about it as a fictional place, it's a REAL one and treat it like that.

Instead of saying "my DR self", say you. Your 'DR self' is just another term for you, your DR is just another reality you live in. Stop treating them as something unachievable.

Remember, you don't need anything to shift. You can do it at any time no matter what. Stop limiting yourself. 111 222 333

[nightingale-prompts]

Comforting Your Batboy

First | Previous | Next

Danny slept next to Dick for a few days after what happened. He no longer felt secure about his place here. No matter where you go you take yourself with you and Danny is the problem here yet again.

Danny didn't understand affection, at least not the kind that a parent gave. The moment Danny told Dick that his parents were scientists Richard understood. Gotham had seen dozens of scientists who pushed the boundaries of morality and there was no shortage of children used to fulfill their ambitions.

Danny still missed his parents. Regardless of how things ended, he had lived his entire life with a family unit that on paper meant life was stable. He had somewhere to go and people who at least acknowledged him as family. Parents that took care of him at least out of obligation.

This story sounded familiar. Like Jason who never stopped loving his mom despite everything or Tim who accepted his neglect as what it was. They didn't know what it was like to have parents that loved them like they should. Dick was lucky to have the parent he had.

Danny remembered quiet dinners as his parents rushed to finish the food that Jazz made or them going on long tirades about their research. For 12 years they devotedly worked on that portal. Every chance they got they'd run off to the basement. Because it was their life's work, the only thing that mattered.

When it was unveiled, Jazz only scoffed. She hated the portal. Dad looked to Danny for praise and Danny didn't know what to say.

"Isn't it just the greatest thing you've ever seen?" Dad put his hand around Danny's shoulder.

"Well...its definitely a thing." Danny laughed awkwardly.

Danny had hoped that when the portal finished it would mean he'd spend time with his parents. Maybe they'd give him more than a passing glance when he brought them his report card. He could share with them his dreams and plans to be an astronaut. Show them the stars and all his research. To prove to them that he was a scientist too.

But that didn't happen. None of that would ever happen.

Jazz warned him not to hope for too much.

"People don't change Danny." She said simply.

Danny still tried. He still hoped. That hope made him try.

That hope killed him.

Danny never told Dick the specifics, about the accident. Dick never pried, but he knew something wasn't right.

Danny would cry in his sleep some nights. Dreams of a life that was far away now. Dick couldn't do much, all he could do was hold Danny's hand and wait for the nightmare to pass in hopes that Danny would forget his dream when he opened his eyes.

Danny's body was scarred. Something he used his powers to cover but they were still there and appeared when the stress got too much. Dick only saw a small part of them.

Dick got a full view once of Danny's back once when Dick left him a change of clothes. Lichtenberg scars like feathered ferns ripped through Danny's left arm and back. Danny hated it when people saw his scars and the marks disappeared the moment he realized he was being watched.

Dick didn't mention it. Not even the faint green glow the marks gave off.

"Why does Batman hate me?" Danny asked peeking out from under his blanket. He was still shrunk down

Dick bundled the toddler up in the blanket.

"He doesn't hate you. He just...he doesn't like things he doesn't understand." Dick tried to not make that sound awful.

"He doesn't understand me." Danny sighed.

"And he doesn't have to. He won't do anything to you. Not with me around. I promise. I know you've been hurt before and you must have felt alone but you got me." Dick ruffled his little fuzzball's hair.

(Ignore small errors. Have bat picture.)

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: alastor being a bit egotistical

↳ song: si j'étais blanche—joséphine baker

↳ notes: got any ideas for stuff i should do next? reblogs are appreciated

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It wasn’t your fault you’ve always had a messed up sleep schedule

• Even while living, nighttime had never been able to tame you. It was just your luck that the habit carried on into hell. Figures that the world wouldn’t give you a break even in death

• You weren’t exactly an insomniac, per se. It was quite the opposite in fact. Just a simple case of falling victim to spontaneous naps in the most random of places. Yet never at night

• Narcoleptic & nocturnal were the terms that your friends used to use for you. With grins, they’d compared you to an owl; always up at night wandering aimlessly. Sometimes for days on end you’d carry on doing this and that, only to curl into a ball the next day and remain that way

• The habit never was anything more than a nuisance until you’d started living at the hotel. The place was just so big, with so many places for you to lie down before the thought of your bedroom even crossed your mind

• Angel Dust was the first person to find you passed out. He had been strolling into the kitchen, looking for something to consume that wasn’t drugs for once, when he spied you hunched over the counter snoring softly

• In your hand was a wooden spoon covered in a creamy batter of some sort, a bowl beneath it with the same concoction. Almost as if you had been making something before passing out

• Briefly checking his phone, the spider confirmed that it was only two in the afternoon, and approached you with a sly smile

• You were promptly startled awake by a loud shout directly next to your ear

• “I’m sorry—“ Angel laughed wildly as you fumed, not sounding sorry at all. “—but you should have seen your face.” He clutched his stomach as he fell into another laughing fit

• “Hey! Watch it!”

• He ducked with a frown as you sent the spoon flying at his head, just barely missing the porn star’s styled hair

• Everyone quickly made their own discovery about your weird sleeping habits soon after. Each in their own embarrassing ways

• Vaggie witnessed you lying on the stairs looking positively drained one morning, and Charlie even found you face first on the bar counter while Husk wiped away at a cocktail glass

• “Too much to drink?” She asked the cat, lifting up one of your arms between her thumb and forefinger carefully, almost as if you’d wake if she pressed to hard

• Husk laughed to himself at the question, remembering how he had turned to make you a shot before coming back to the sight before him now

• “Not exactly.” He huffed

• Perhaps best example of just how bad your timing was came in the form of an impromptu staff meeting

• Alastor had called everyone— more like demanded them —into the main parlor for an announcement one day. A mere week after the kitchen incident with Angel, in fact

• With a flourish of shadowy magic and a twirl of his hands, the overlord presented some sort of home made commercial on the age old TV the place had, looking very amused with himself as he did so

• You tried to pay attention, you really did. But at one point the actors and stray blood splatters started to look like the back of your eyelids

• By the time it was over, Alastor was tapping his fingers along the top of the picture box rhythmically while everyone looked at him with awkward smiles

• But you? Well—

• “So!” Alastor cheered with a cheesy grin as he spun on his heel. The rest of the members in the room watched him awkwardly, not noticing that your head had hit the back of the couch at a rough angle. “What do you all thi— are they asleep.”

• Static bled into the demons voice at an alarming rate as you let out a half jolt at the shift in mood, falling off the couch with a yelp in your wake

• You took a moment to swipe at your face wildly before blanching at Alastor towering over you nervously

• “Uh, my bad?”

• Alastor’s smile strained itself so thin, you thought it would split his face in half

• “Glad to know I’m keeping you entertained.” He all but laughed happily. But the white knuckled grip on his microphone told you otherwise

• You recall Charlie telling you something about ignorance being one of Alastor’s least favorite things. Especially when it came to his little spectacles

• “Maybe we’ve had enough peer feedback for today—“ Vaggie cut in cautiously

• “I concur.” Came your quick agreement

• You made sure to avoid Alastor for a few days after that

[februarys-wednesday]

i like the idea that bruce just shows up to league meetings with his birds with absolutely no explanation offered

i mean this man frequently stalks his coworkers and knows everything that's happening in their personal lives and i think he'd forget that HE is the weird one for doing it and not everybody automatically knows when he's acquired a new child

so he just shows up at the watchtower with a new bird and literally says nothing about it . just sits at his chair with the latest robin standing next to him and literally doesn't acknowledge that anything is different and it gets even more confusing when they change their costumes and names 😭

like

20-something bruce: and containing this may be a matter of-flash did you have a question

barry: uh. yeah. sorry, what is that?

20-something bruce: (glancing at 9 yr old dick who has been next to him for 45 minutes) that's robin. obviously. as i was saying,

-

early 30s bruce, who hasn't shown up with a robin for a few years, entering with a nightwing and a jason todd robin:

barry:

diana:

hal:

j'onn:

bruce: what.

hal:

hal: do you like clone them or

-

mid 30s bruce, quietly talking with a clearly-not-sixteen-years-old robin in the corner after being without one for two years:

hal:

diana:

barry:

j'onn:

clark:

bruce:

tim:

bruce: this one followed me

-

late 30s bruce zeta-beaming in with a nightwing, a slightly older robin, and an absolutely BUILT man in a red hood:

barry: did you hire a bodyguard

bruce: no.

barry: whos mr red over there

bruce: you don't remember my second one???

barry:

hal:

diana:

j'onn:

clark:

barry: did. did that one not die

jason: got better

-

later 30s bruce, quietly showing around a blonde robin:

hal:

bruce: don't ask.

hal: i didn't say anything

-

40 yr old bruce, making intense, unbroken eye contact with a black shadow:

clark, leaning over to talk to tim: what are they doing

tim, not looking up from his fancy ipad: do i look like i know that

-

red robin popping in unnanounced in the middle of a league meeting: batman is alive.

barry: who the FUCK are you???

-

batman, some minutes later, trailed by what is CLEARLY a new robin: did red robin happen to pass through here????

barry: i have several questions

-

no-longer-lost-in-the-time-stream bruce, talking to batgirl, black bat, and the signal:

hal: did you get three more.

bruce: no. just one.

hal: i shouldn't have asked, my bad

-

mid 40s bruce wayne, stepping out of the zeta tube: sorry i'm late

diana: not to worry. let's get start-

bruce: i have a few more coming behind me

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

jason: hi

cass: 👋

diana:

diana: ok should we st-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

dick, holding damian like a scowling, sopping wet cat: bruce he's not feeling polite today

damian: HISSS

bruce: okay does he need to go back?

dick: he said he's fine but hes just not feeling polite

diana:

diana: is that the las-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

steph: b i need a hair tie

diana:

diana: so can-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

duke: b did i miss rolecall

diana: no, signal, you did not. let's-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

tim: b alf is mad at you

bruce: why

hal: it's like a fucking clown car

steph: you didn't eat breakfast

tim: you didn't eat breakfast either

steph: shut.

damian: HISSSS

jason: wing. if you do not keep that brat quiet-

dick: hes a BABY!!!!!

duke: you didn't eat breakfast either, timothy

jason: hes a BITCH!!!!!

tim: who the fuck told you????

cass: :)

hal: (storming off, in tears), YOU HAVE TOO MANY CHILDREN.

[writer-logbook]

How to improve your writing style : a 5-steps guide.

Intro : I love the 5-steps format, don’t mind me. Again, this essay is based on my personal experience.

Read in different genres. Ok, I know you’ve probably heard this advice more than you can count but did you ask yourself why it is so important ? You probably wonder ‘‘How reading some historical fiction will help me writing my sci-fi novel ?’’ For that simple reason my friend : they meet different purposes. You don’t know how to describe a castle ? It’s okay, historical fiction got your back. Because it aims at something more realistic and accurate, it would tend to be more specific and detailed when it comes to describing clothes, furniture, places and so on. Why ? Because, most of the time, THEY ACTUALLY EXISTED. Take a closer look at how it is done and draw your inspiration from it (but please avoid plagiarism it’s bad - and illegal)

Take notes and CLASSIFY them. To make reading somehow useful, you have to actually make it concious, which means you have to write things down to remember them. When I come across a description I like, I tend to takes notes of the figures of speech that are used and class them, so when I have to write a similar scene, I have an idea of what have been already used, and weither or not it achieved its goal. I am NOT talking about COPY another author’s style !!!! It’s about finding inspiration and new approaches. I also tend to take notes of the new words I wish to incoporate into my writing. The thesaurus is my new bestie.

Rewrite the same scene from different POVs. First of all, it’s fun. And it’s a really good way to spot quirky formulations. For instance, if you describe a ship, the captain’s POV should be different from that of a simple observer. The first one would be naming each part princisely whereas the other would only be admiring the surface without knowing anything. If the caption is the same for both POVs, maybe you should consider write your passage again (or have a good reason, like a strong amateurism for the mere observer). It’s go hand in hand with coherence - but it would be an essay for another time (maybe).

Read your text aloud. I put major emphasis on that one because it’s as underated as reading books for various genres. You have no idea how much we DON’T speak the way we write. Even dialogues are crafted in our stories - so make sure to give them proper attention. (i even read my email aloud but-). I KNOW how cringey it might be as I am doing it MYSELF but the benefits are worth the 35-minutes shame I endure from my own mess. Before you can shine, you have to polish (shout out to the one who said that first if it’s not me).

Take a step back. I strongly advice you to let some time pass before reading your text again and profreading it. It will cast a new light upon your work and with fresh eyes you’d be more likely able to spot what needs to be erased or rephrased.

That’s all for me today. Since I would be entering my proofreading phase for my writing contest, the next essay would probably about proofreading (with examples from my own novel ?). Unless someone wants me to write on a specific subject first.

Gentle reminder that I’m still French and not a native so please forgive my dubious grammar and outrageous mispellings.

[chelseeebe]

bump n’ grind

a lil continuation to gimme a hand wherein our lovely reader helps eddie out after an embarrassing mistake.

18+ mdni. again, mostly just smut. maybe some angst towards the end i guessss. eddie munson x female reader.

eddie’s on cloud nine.

his head floating well above the pretty pink room he was currently in.

not entirely sure how he ended up here but also not at all angry about it. a night of rum and beer had lead him to this.

sarah.. savanna.. something, sits atop of his lap, bouncing off of his thighs like a jacked up rabbit.

he’s clawing at her back, trying and failing, to keep a steady grip on her wild body. appreciating the soft squeaks that left her mouth with every bounce.

and before he can really think about it enough to stop his mouth, he says it. wanting to dig his own grave the second his lips spread.

a long, drawn out iteration of your name.

she stops, immediately. breathless as she grips his shoulders, “what’d you say?”

his cock aches and his cheeks burn, any hope that she’d just ignore it and continue had flown out of the window, “what?” acting clueless, “i didn’t.. didn’t say anything.”

eddie knows full well what had slipped out of his loose lips, muscle memory from the embarrassing amount of times he had whined your name while imagining that it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

“you said somebody else’s name,” she frowns, sounding far too close to a possessive girlfriend rather than the one night stand that she actually was.

“did i? i don’t really remember.. does it matter?” with full sincerity, wondering if she was going to stay on his dick or climb off and throw him out.

“if i’m having sex with someone, i at least expect them to know my name,” she scowls, clambering from his lap to the empty space next to him.

“shit,” he mumbles, head in his hands, “fuck. i’m sorry,” sobering up instantly, embarrassed by his blunder.

she sighs, taking pity on his pathetic self, “is she your ex or something?” re-dressing herself with an old t-shirt, rightfully putting an end to their encounter.

“no..” eddie frowns, shaking his head, “she’s my.. my friend.”

best friend actually. making it all the more confusing and complicated. he’d spare her of all the gory details, for her sake.

“oh,” the girl gawps, stifling her laugh. “you should tell her,” leaning over to grab her phone, no doubt to tell all of her friends about eddie’s embarrassing freudian slip.

he’d deserve it.

-

eddie perches on the end of your bed, not daring to move any closer for fear of losing it and touching you like he dreamed of doing.

it had been four months, two weeks and five days since you’d jerked him off in that tiny bathroom.

not that he was counting.

and still nothing more had happened between you. a few instances where eddie had thought you were close but nothing of any real consequence.

nevertheless, a day hadn’t passed since where he hadn’t thought about it at least once.

he’s memorised every single frame of that video, all the times you pant and twist your hand. the exact second his phone falls onto the counter and the video changes to an image of the back of his head.

every. last. detail.

you jab your foot into his back, peering over your phone screen to frown at him, “what’s wrong with you?”

eddie sighs, letting his shoulders slump, still staring at the torn ac/dc poster he had ripped off the wall for you. it reminds him too much of times where things weren’t so complicated.

“i hooked up with someone the other day,” he states monotonously, uncaring anymore about telling you what had really happened.

“okay?” you jab him again, “why are you sad about that?” confusion echoing.

“i’m not sad.”

you sit up, the mattress shifting behind him, “then what the fuck’s your problem?” leaning forward to rest your chin on his shoulder, in that similar position you were in all those months ago.

sometimes he wishes you’d never touched him. that he had just settled with chrissy and you had never been an option. not that you really were now, still unobtainable, taunting and teasing him.

“i said your name,” he exhales in one big breath, “i said your name while i was having sex with her.”

his shoulders felt lighter now, despite you still resting on them. something about the relief of finally letting you know how he felt. embracing his stupidity.

“really?” your mouth falls open, “holy shit, that’s funny,” he can feel your hands creep up his back, sending shivers over his skin.

eddie shakes his head, at a loss for words. he could see how you’d find it funny, but he couldn’t see the humour in it himself. in fact, it was a marker for the absolute desperation he felt towards your new complex relationship. not only had you taken over all of his waking thoughts, but you’d somehow subliminally crept into his intoxicated mind thoo.

“what were you thinking about? when you said it,” you pry, head twisting around to look at him.

“you.”

“me?” you rasp, right into his ear. “what about me?” feeling your breath against his cheek, transporting him straight back to wayne’s cramped bathroom.

his eyes fall shut, like he’s in some humiliation ritual, getting off to the way you teased him so.

“that video.. that stupid video,” he whispers, tuned in to every twitch of your fingers on his back, your soft breaths in his ear.

“oh,” he can hear the smirk in your voice, unwilling to open his eyes to see it again, “is that it? just the video?”

he doesn’t understand why you’re asking so many questions. obviously enjoying the way he squirmed under your touch, antsy and reluctant to say anything.

“i was.. picturing you were her,” he squeezes out, blood rushing to not only his cheeks, but his cock too.

“aw,” you coo, hand sliding higher, “tell me how it felt,” voice thick with desire, fingers circling around his shaking shoulders.

“good..” his eyes squeeze together, feeling his jeans shift uncomfortably, “not as good as you did,” almost begging, pleading for it.

you hum, your other hand finding the top of his thigh, dangerously close to the tent in his jeans.

if you kept this up, he’d cum all over his fucking pants.

you squeeze the skin, a low grumble from yours lips, “what position were you in?”

oh god.

“w-why?” eddie chokes, seeing stars behind his eyelids.

“i just wanna know, eds.. so i can picture the scene.”

his head tilts back, allowing you the opportunity to creep into the crook of his neck, traces of your lips just barely touching the sensitive skin.

“please tell me,” you mumble, vibrating against his trachea, making his toes curl, grounding himself with the rough carpet.

“she was on top,” he spits, balling his fist around your blanket.

it didn’t feel real between his fingers, poorly substituting your body for the cotton.

“oh,” you shift, the bed frame creaking as you clamber into his lap, resting atop of his thighs. “like this?”

he doesn’t open his eyes. can’t, not without cumming his pants right there. but he can feel you, perched just below his crotch,

“what’d she do now? hmm?” dragging your nails down his chest, your fingers prod at his skin, forcing him to flop back against the mattress.

the space allows you to shuffle upwards, your cunt brushing against his aching cock, leaving him no choice but to turn into pure mush beneath you.

“fuck,” he breathes, daring a glance in hopes to keep the image ingrained in his mind forever.

your hips begin to grind against his crotch, groaning softly with your palms flat to his chest.

“you like that?” you purr, rocking back and forth on top for he rough denim of his jeans.

“i need you.. fuck, please,” he keens, fingertips so firmly pressed into your waist that they’d leave indentations for days.

you don’t respond, sighing softly as the friction between you grows stronger, cruel and twisted in the way you tease him.

he doesn’t understand what all of these almost-encounters mean. it’s like you want him but not fully. holding yourself back for the right moment or perhaps just trying to keep him going until somebody else came along.

his hands slide around to your ass, moving with every jerk and cant of your hips. gruff, frustrated sighs leave his mouth, mixing somewhere in the air with your whiny moans. need and urgency ricocheting around the walls of your room, yet neither one of you prepared to take it all the way.

“jesus eds, are you gonna cum?” you breathe, as much as this was for his benefit, you were getting off as well.

that alone makes this other worldly. even if he was doing absolutely none of the work, you were writhing and gasping just as he was.

it’s almost incomprehensible how much you using him to get off was frying his brain.

eddie was about to combust, the closeness of it all, so near and yet still so far apart. two layers of clothes felt like a million miles. finally brave enough to open his eyes, hoping to keep this image seared into his brain forever.

“yeah.. yeah i’m gonna cum,” he whines, jerking his hips up to meet yours, rocking against each other in perfect rhythm, “please.. oh fuck- fuckfuckfuck,” his cock positioned perfectly between your folds, covering your pajama shorts with your slick.

“good boy,” you breathe, fingers twisted into his shirt, tugging at the fabric, not letting up on your torturous grinding.

your tone is somewhere between mocking and sincere, but he doesn’t care. doesn’t have the brain capacity to if he’s honest.

his cock twitches against his boxers, hips shuddering into the air as an uncomfortable warmth overtakes his crotch.

“oh god.. shit,” the sudden realisation of the mess in his pants, how grotesquely down bad he was for you, hits all at once.

your lips curve, shuffling down to the top of his thighs. you don’t exchange words, just a sly glance that erupts into giggles. leaning down to peck his lips as your hands let go of their hold on his chest.

eddie’s hands don’t move, gripping onto your hips, hoping you’ll stay there for the rest of eternity. not only had he cum in his pants, he had done so at a disturbingly fast rate. a few minutes of what was essentially dry humping had left him sticky and full of shame.

“are you ever gonna let me fuck you?” he asks, practically begging for your mercy, needing to know for his own sake.

he likes to think that if you said no, he’d be able to walk away with his dignity, to never let this embarrassing display for pathetic yearning happen again.

yet deep down, he also knows that that’ll never happen. you could string him along forever and ever and he’d never do a thing about it other than cherish the moments you let him touch you.

your laugh topples over, slinging your leg over his waist to kneel beside his lifeless body, “one day,” kneeing him softly in the side, “go get changed, i’m hungry,” climbing off of the mattress, disappearing from his eyesight.

his head flops back onto the bed, sweaty and exhausted, ignoring the feel of his boxers clinging to his skin and the inevitable wet patch seeping through to his jeans.

an insatiable churning in his stomach for more, for you.

but eddie is eddie, so instead of doing any of the things that he really wanted to do, he rolls off of your bed with a sigh, shimmying out of his jeans just as you’d asked him to.