#sex ed mention

[certifiedsexed]

Just to be clear, sending me hate anons [including those with slurs? wtf y'all] arguing that misandry is a real type of oppression, not a dogwhistle and that I'm just a bitch does not send the message some of you seem to think it does.

I will not be publishing any of them.

[many-gay-magpies]

god what really gets me about dead boy detectives and what i think i love so much about the show and the relationships in it is that like. the romantic and sexual relationships aren't portrayed as being more unique or important than the platonic relationships. they're all just RELATIONSHIPS.

charles and crystal's attraction to each other and eventual hookup isn't this big end-all be-all relationship that shatter charles and edwin's friendship and draws charles' attention away from edwin; it's just a THING that happens. they're just two people that care about each other and happen to also be attracted to each other, and a hook-up happens, then they decide that neither of them are in the right place for it and it's nothing awful. crystal kisses charles, but it isn't some big spectacle of her declaring her love for him; it's just her saying goodbye and that she cares about him, like her hugs with niko and jenny and her handshake with edwin.

edwin realizes he loves charles romantically and tells him, and charles says he doesn't really love edwin romantically BACK, but it's okay, because they still love each other so much in so many other ways that this one tiny difference could never change them—and it doesn't!! they're still just as close, still care for each other just as much, still SHOW that care for each other just as much. their relationship didn't completely end because edwin loved charles in a way charles couldn't reciprocate, but at the same time it isn't "solved" by edwin getting over it, because there's nothing TO solve. it's just another type of love, added to everything that already exists between them. and they have LITERALLY FOREVER to figure out what it means.

the relationships between edwin & niko, crystal & niko, and crystal & edwin aren't given any less weight for being solely platonic, just as charles & crystal's relationship and edwin's feelings for charles aren't given (that much) MORE weight for being romantic. crystal and charles' conflict in the closet is about EDWIN, about how they're BOTH his friend and BOTH want to get him back; it has very little to do with the feelings between THEM, romantic or otherwise. similarly, the weight of charles' and edwin's relationship isn't diminished in the LEAST by charles not reciprocating the romantic side of his feelings (or SAYING he doesn't reciprocate, at least—we can all argue about the legitimacy of that in the notes).

i'm sure there are more examples than this, as well as probably some examples that CONTRADICT this, but like... by and large, it feels like dead boy detectives is a show where all the relationships are given equal weight regardless of platonic, sexual, romantic, or familial status, and as someone on both the asexual and aromantic spectrums who has struggled time and time again with shows casting out the importance of all other relationships in favor of prioritizing romance, that is INCREDIBLY refreshing to see.

[rainandsugarcane2000]

sure they "teach about consent" in sex ed but when have they ever taught you how to say no? and that it okay to just say no. you can say no.

but seriously why dont they teach you how to say no?? what if im making out with someone and i just wanna kiss them and cuddle and stuff and they start getting handsy and i dont want it? they dont teach you how to say no in sex ed. in that situation i wouldnt even know what to do and i would continue to let it happen even if i didnt want it. they need to teach actual good sex ed. "its not appropriate to teach that stuff!!" okay so you want your kids to get sexually assulted? or hurt themselves by not properly taking care of personal toys? or get sick because theyre doing something dangerous? why is it not appropriate huh? nobody is jacking off in class calm down. and teachers need to stop with the "kids shouldnt even be having sex we shouldnt teach this stuff its sexualizing the kids" or whatever bullshit, we arent freaking out cuz youre teaching us about intercourse. no, you the ADULTS are unnecessarily sexualizing kids, why are you thinking like that? nobody is getting all hot and bothered cuz youre teaching us how to be safe, we were gonna fuck anyway might as well not get hurt. please do better.

[loverboy-hearts]

My name is Damien, welcome to my hard kink blog (block don't report please)! Before I get into the meat of my post, you should meet me some. (Get out of here if under 18)

I'm a 20 year old transman, I'm mostly t4t (trans men and nb people romantically anyway) with some exception for lovely femme fatales, and I'm also strictly a dom but may post about other fantasies. (Single/unclaimed)

My Dnis are few, minors fuck off, offending pedophiles or zoophiles fuck off, TERFs- I simply won't engage if I don't fw otherwise.

Anyway, my purpose for creating this blog is to find some friends and potential fun, looking for potential "found family" & fuckbuddies.

Now the fun! My reason for creating this blog is my paraphilias around;

Cannibalism, snuff, violence, r>pe, suicide, and some necrophilia type shit.

Some potential recurring themes for your digresssion; Stalking/obsession, abuse, torture, cnc, s/h&mutilation, drugging, gore, blashemy, somnophila, humiliation/degradation, forced fem/masc&forced detransition, ana/malnourishment, brainwashing/hypnosis, training & breaking, and much more!

Open asks or dm. To the people who enjoy literate deprived kinky rp, hit me up.

Preferred terms (not exclusive to these call me what you'd like): Sir, Master

-

Other relevant information; I highly value consent and bodily autonomy. This account will likely touch on this, but this shit manifested from trauma. I'd imagine it's the same for a section of people in this community, if you are one of those people, I would love to chat.

-

Tags for this blog;

#sweetloverboy - For fantasies that aren't terribly vile

#loverboyhearts - Tag for fantasies that I consider reproachful

[haystarlight]

Friendly reminder that condoms aren't just for people with dicks. Like, there's the big condoms that are made to put on vaginas but also:

People that use straps/dildos/toys sometimes put condoms on the things to keep them clean. (Cause it's important to keep those things clean, that stuff goes inside people! Keep it clean!)

People that cut up condoms with scissors to make homemade dental dams.

Anyway have fun and be safe.

[the-one-true-nobody]

It's funny listening to people complain about their Baldur's Gate III companions being a bit too forward in the romantic-advances department, and then deciding at random to read Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters by Ed Greenwood and realizing:

No, no, even accounting for borked romance flags making the companions pushier than intended for some players, that over-thirstiness is pretty on-brand for the Realms.

[zful]

you either stop or you die

[scumtrout]

I have so many questions that will never be answered.

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

The press went NUTS when they found out the Dick was working as a pole dancer. It was big news, and everyone wanted to know how Bruce Wayne felt about his Baby Boy working as a stripper. B was… well, he was ticked. Not at Dick, no, he was just proud of him for getting a well paying job in an area he enjoyed. No, B’s fury sat squarely on the press. Papers that had gleefully printed sexual photos and articles about him were now aghast about Dick.

See, B’s whole “playboy” cover wasn’t originally exactly Bruce’s idea. He remembered vividly as a teenager the perceived humiliation of these adults sexualizing every little thing he did and of the constant anxiety of trying and failing to control his image; the way they seemed to pounce on any tiny flaw in his appearance or behavior and the paranoia that developed after the first of many photos of him was published of him just… going about his day, paired with a big red headline blasting him for daring to be a teenager. He remembered being terrified of being seen wearing a swimsuit and refusing to eat in public. So eventually, him leaning into this sexualization as a cover story wasn’t so much because he liked it, but because he knew how eagerly everyone would eat it up.

Now here was Dick, making an informed, consensual choice about how he wanted to be perceived, and they wanted to vilify him for it. So yes, B may have flew off the handles a bit, and yes, it probably wasn’t the best move to punch a reporter, but he had fought Hell to protect his kids from what he had gone through, and that sure as fuck wasn’t going to change any time soon.

[whoviandoodler]

one of the things that makes mdzs SUCH a great story is the fact that it's a tragedy with queer protagonists, but their queerness isn't the cause or the center of the tragedy. it's not even related, really. it's a story about love and loss and wrong and right, about what we owe each other and what we owe ourselves, about how you can find joy even amidst chaos and grief; its complexity and tragedy is what makes it so profound and touching. sure, there's 'casual' queerphobia in the story, but with everything else going on, it's not really relevant- wwx's mostly like, 'oh, i like guys? i like lwj? i love lwj? fuck, what if he doesn't love me back? am i being presumptuous to think he returns my feelings? what do I do now?' followed by 'wait, he loves me back??? we're getting married IMMEDIATELY', and that whole attitude is very refreshing because sometimes you just want to read a queer story that isn't about queer suffering but that's still incredibly miserable, and i think we as a queer community deserve it

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

We Are More Than the Choices We Made - Chapter One Pulled From the Web...

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Clint Barton made a different call. Distrustful and suspicious of the people around her, Natasha begins to find herself settling into the Avengers team despeite herself, largely due to the influence of a highly persistent archer. But nothing in the Avengers' lives is ever simple and straightforward, and Loki is coming.

Or: Natasha finds a sanctuary, and Loki burns it down.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 3415

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (M) Distrust, automatic self-injury, trauma mentions, punishment mentions, implied eating disorder, implied abuse, attempted sex as payment/gratitude.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. Check it out below, or on AO3 here!

The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

- ‘Humiliation’ – @anyfandomgoesbingo (Kink); - ‘Non Consent’ – Any Fandom Goes Bingo (Dark); - ‘Organ Theft’ – @badthingshappenbingo; - ‘Bow and/or Shield’, ‘Bucky Barnes and/or Natasha Romanov’, ‘SHIELD and/or Carson’s Carnival’, ‘Solo and/or Team’, ‘Spy and/or Assassin’, ‘Vigilante and/or Agent’ – Clint Barton Celebration Bingo; - ‘Forced Surgery’ – @fandom-free-bingo (Flight); - ‘Made a Different Call’ – @hawkeyebingo; - ‘Found Family’, ‘The Friends Stage’ – @julybreakbingo (6x6); - ‘Bleeding Through Bandages or Arm in a Sling’, ‘Broken Rib(s) or Bludgeoned’, ‘Hiding or Invisible’, “What’s Wrong With You?” – July Break Bingo (7x7); - ‘Unwilling’, “Are You Really Just Gonna Walk Away?”  – July Break Bingo (Flash); - ‘Refusal’ – July Break Bingo (Mini);

I didn’t trust these people.

They clustered together, far too close, smiles too wide and voices too loud.

They are faking… Aren’t they? Nobody cares for each other this much – not really.

It had been several years since I’d be exposed to the façade of the perfect American family, but it seemed little had changed in my absence. They sill sat around the table together, pouring over shared dishes and laughing in unison, just as I was trained to do.

Automatically, I reached out, filling a serving spoon with salad and adding my own forced chuckles to the cacophony.

I knew I’d fucked up when every set of eyes around the table turned to me, and I winced instinctively, hand snaking up to wrap around my skinny bicep, fingernails carving chasms into the soft flesh hidden from view.

It took a few heartbeats for the group to look away – a few pounding, miserable heartbeats that made my stomach churn. Only the purple-clad archer kept his eyes on me, boring into the side of my head and making my skin prickle uncomfortably. “What?” I snapped eventually, not looking up as I speared a piece of cucumber violently on my fork, chewing 1234567 and swallowing without tasting.

“You don’t have to do that,” he replied eventually, his voice low. My gaze flicked to him at last, and he offered me a soft smile. “Put on a show, you know? You can be yourself here. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

I felt my expression flicker, surprised by my apparent transparency, before I arched an eyebrow coldly, inclining my head toward the animated gathering. “You think this isn’t pretending?” I scoffed, shaking my head. “The whole world’s a stage, after all…”

He looked around slowly, a soft smile tugging at his lips, a curious look on his face. “No… No, I think this is just about the only time that they’re not pretending. This is the only place we can be ourselves, away from the eyes of the world,” he replied quietly as he glanced back to me. “You’ll learn to relax in time, Natasha. You’re safe here.”

My eyes lowered, flitting between plates piles high with pasta and bread and buttered potatoes, and my own meagre salad.

No. No, I don’t think I am.

He’d been sent after me on a mission, handed down by SHIELD. He was supposed to kill me – eliminate the threat. He made a different call when he found me – a skinny rat of a girl that he felt pity for.

I had my own mission, too. Eliminate the threat.

But the opportunity for escape presented itself. The opportunity for freedom, for surcease from pain and torture.

The first thing that happened to me, after a flurry of talks and paperwork and being forced to make promises of good behaviour, was an examination. The dark-haired doctor, Banner, had a gentler touch than I was used to, fingertips light as he probed my bruised and broken ribs. I didn’t flinch as he felt his way along my fractures, giving nothing away, and his eyes flickered an ominous green as they shifted to mine.

He'd ssat me down afterwards, running through the list of things he’d deemed wrong with me. Along with a litany of scars and bruises, he held up x-rays that showed my entire body, pointing out old fractures that never healed right.

“Most of these don’t pose a significant problem, but I’m concerned about this wrist.” He gestured to the bones of my left arm, a ragged and poorly-fused line across the end of my radius dark in the brightness. “It must be painful, and that’s not to speak of the mechanical limitations.”

I’d winced and looked away, fingers curling around the permanently-aching joint beneath his desk. “It’s fine,” I lied, voice flat and emotionless.

“Well, either way – even if it doesn’t cause problems now, it certainly will later. I’d like to put you under so I can-”

“No,” I interrupted, a snarl creeping into my tone, eyes narrowing with suspicion. I’ve only been here for five minutes, and they think I’m stupid enough to let them perform surgery on me? My eyes closed briefly, flashes of blood and pain passing before my lids, and I swallowed hard before meeting his gaze once more. “No. No surgery.”

He’d simply watched me in silence for a moment, making a note on my chart. “… You know it’s my duty to make sure that you-”

“I’m fit for whatever mission they want to send me on,” I snapped, jaw set, arms crossed across my chest. “I’m not letting you poke around inside me, and that’s that.”

Two weeks later, and here I was, shifting through a salad while they pretended to be happy. Pretended that they weren’t just as trapped as I had been, albeit in a nicer cage. The bowman’s eyes never strayed from me, drawing lines from my sparse portion to the curve of my ribcage hidden by second-hand clothes that hung too loose on my lithe frame. I couldn’t help but draw myself up taller, crossing my legs as I leant back, letting the witch’s skirt fall higher up my thighs, and smirked internally when I saw him gulp.

I know what I am.

I’d been seducing men since my Breaking, using body and skill to lure them in before taking them out. This archer was nothing special, and I could win him over just as easily. I stretched my arms high over my head, chest pressing against the button-down I wore, letting out a soft, sensual sigh as my gaze moved to his.

“See something you like?” I purred, looking up at him through my lashes as my body relaxed. His cheeks were pink, and he seemed unsure as to where he should look, fingers flexing uncertainly against his thigh.

“You wince.”

Surprised, I blinked, recoiling a little in my shock. “I… What?”

His face had already returned to its normal hue as he gestured at my arms now folded tight across my waist. “Your wrist. The one Bruce wanted to fix. Whenever you move it, you wince.”

My mouth moved wordlessly for a moment, stunned into silence, before my expression creased into a scowl as I recovered. “What’s your point?”

“Why won’t you let him fix it?” he asked softly, turning to face me more fully, pale eyes locked on mine in a manner so encompassing I found myself unable to look away. “He just wants to help.”

I snorted, one eyebrow arching. “Sure.”

Silently, he watched me for a moment, thoughtful. “… I don’t know much about where you came from,” he started eventually, head tipped to one side. “Nobody does. There’s rumours, but nothing concrete. But I have a faint idea of the sort of things you’ve been through, and I’m not surprised you don’t trust us. I hope you will, in time. We really do just want to help you.”

“Why?” I pressed, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why do you care? You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

His brow creased in surprise. “You don’t have to matter to us on a personal level for us to want to help you, Natasha. You matter. You’re a person, and you deserve not to be in pain.” He offered me a soft smile, and I looked away from the pity in his eyes.

“… Fine,” I agreed at length, returning to stabbing my lunch vehemently, anger bubbling in my veins for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

It was in this way that I found myself sat on the edge of a medical bed in a gown that made me feel humiliatingly exposed.

“You’re not going to steal my kidneys or anything, are you?” I teased, my voice just a little too terse, treacherously betraying my anxieties.

Bruce’s eyes raised from where he was drawing on my arm, hazel gaze steady and warm. “I won’t make a single movement you haven’t agreed to.”

I nodded stiffly, watching through narrowed eyes as he continued his dotted lines. “… Why are you all like this?” I asked, the words coming soft and quiet despite myself.

He paused once more, but didn’t look up this time, contemplating the question silently. “… We have all done some terrible things,” he murmured after a moment, the hands on my skin gentle. “I suppose one could argue it’s penance. We help to heal the damage we’ve done.”

“What if there’s been too much?” I pressed. “What if I’ve hurt more people than I could ever save?”

“I don’t think that’s true of anyone,” he offered, tipping his head up to meet my gaze once more, the sincerity in his eyes startling me. “I need to believe it isn’t – or else more than one of us is irredeemable.”

I considered him for a moment – this kind, mild-mannered doctor carefully probing at my arm and determined to make me feel as safe as possible – then shook my head once. “I can’t imagine anything you’ve done could even come close to-”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

It wasn’t delivered as a threat, or arrogance; there was a degree of sadness to his tone that hit me square in the chest, breath catching as I shook my head. “No, I… I guess not.”

“I’m only Bruce to those who know me. The media tends to refer to me by a different name.” His eyes lowered, shameful but resigned. “Most people have only heard of the Hulk.”

I frowned for a moment, confused, before comprehension dawned. “The big green guy? That’s you?” I clarified incredulously, one eyebrow arching as he nodded. “But you’re… Not - I mean…”

He flashed me a weak smile, shrugging a shoulder. “I transform, in a way. It’s a long story involving a lot of quite interesting science and gamma radiation, but I’ll spare you the details. Suffice to say, I fell victim to my own hubris. And when I’m him, the green guy, I can’t… I can see it all happening, but I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Surprise flickered across my face, and I felt my own sympathetic smile form, slow and hesitant. “That sounds… Horrible,” I murmured, mind flashing through all the times my training had taken over while I screamed in the background – flashing through all the times before my training when I’d watched the people I cared about suffer, powerless to stop it. “It sounds like hell.”

He nodded once, sitting back in his seat. “It is. But doing this, just being a scientist, helping people… It goes some way to paying off my karmic debt, I think. I hope so, at least.”

My head cocked thoughtfully, assessing the man before me. “… I think so,” I agreed softly, nodding. He seemed too tortured by the things he’d done to be damned for them, after all.

It wasn’t his fault. He had no choice.

When I woke in an unfamiliar bed, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling through hazy eyes, dressed in an unfamiliar gown, my heart rate spiked and I struggled upright, my movements clumsy and sluggish. There were wires protruding from under my clothing, and a heavy cast encasing my left arm. The sight of the plaster calmed me, memories flooding back into my clouded mind. My gaze trailed along the edge of the bed and up the curve of my feet beneath the sheet, a frown creasing my forehead. I hadn’t any idea what I was searching for, only that I hadn’t found it yet.

A sound beside me startled me from my investigation, and I turned tooslownotfastenoughnotsafe, wide-eyed, toward it.

The archer was snoring in a chair beside my bed, his head back and jaw slack. My eyebrows rose in surprise, and I cleared my throat pointedly, biting back a laugh when he jerked awake. “You’re here,” I noted, my tone carefully neutral. He yawned and nodded, stretching his arms high overhead.

“Didn’t want you to wake up alone,” he grunted, pushing a hand through sleep-mussed hair. I hummed an acknowledgement, picking at the cotton appearing from the edge of the cast. My refusal to let him see how slow and lethargic I was had me sitting further upright, shaking my head to clear it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I replied, the words coming harsher than I intended, but he simply shrugged.

“I know.”

My lips parted to tell him that he was free to leave, but the sound of the door opening interrupted me, muscles tensing. I relaxed infinitesimally as the doctor stepped inside, a gentle smile crossing his face. “Welcome back, Ms. Romanoff. Surgery went well.” He moved to the end of my bed, eyes assessing my expression carefully. “It’ll take a few weeks for you to recover, and it may take a little while for your grip strength to be back up to the standard you’re used to, but you’ll get there in time – better, most likely.”

I nodded once, my eyes still on the archer. “What do I have to do?” I asked automatically, unthinkingly, and Clint frowned.

“‘Do?’”

“For this,” I clarified, raising my encased arm and the wires hooked up to me. Clint’s eyebrows dropped further, confusion flickering across his expression.

“You don’t have to do anything. We told you… We just want to help.” He spoke softly, his tone sincere, but I snorted, my inhibitions lowered by the anaesthetic still coursing through my system.

“Is that why I’m in this little gown, hm?” I probed, my voice light and innocent as I pushed back the blankets to reveal my bare legs, marred with scars as they were. “Because I don’t have to do anything?”

Clint blushed heavily, averting his eyes, but Bruce moved closer, frowning. “It- It’s standard medical procedure, Natasha. We talked before your surgery, remember? If you had any concerns, I asked you to tell me… You seemed to consent quite readily.”

“Where does consent ever come into it?” I snapped back, jaw set. “Just do what you have to do, okay? I won’t fight. I’m too tired.” My body sank willingly back against the sheets, and I closed my eyes against the silence around me, resigned to my fate.

My body has always been used for payment. At least this time it’s benefited, too.

“Natasha… Nobody’s going to… We’re not…” Bruce’s stammer trailed off with a helpless sigh, and I winced at the sound of Clint getting to his feet, muscles stiffening pre-emptively.

His hand in mine startled me, surprisingly soft and gentle, and my lids snapped open once more in surprise. “What are you-”

“We didn’t do this for any form of payment, or gratitude, or quid pro quo,” Clint interrupted quietly, azure gaze locked on mine. “We did this because you were hurting, and you shouldn’t have been. Nobody here will ever expect that from you, Nat. Never.”

I watched him in silence for a moment, eyes narrowed as I assessed his open, honest face. “They don’t?”

He shook his head firmly, glancing at Bruce, who echoed a confirmation. “See? You’re safe here.”

The lump forming in my throat was beginning to make it difficult to speak, so I simply nodded, letting him pull the sheets back up until they sat around my waist, his other hand never leaving mine.

Bruce allowed me to head back to my room – third floor, two doors down from Clint and with an empty space either side of me – late in the evening, my bare feet padding almost noiselessly on the hard tile. I still couldn’t get used to having my own space; the only time I was alone at the Academy was when I was in Isolation. It was strange to try and sleep without the breathing, snoring and sounds of pain from a dozen other girls – to not wake to sobbing from a nightmare muffled by a thin blanket that did little to keep out the chill.

They never lasted long, those girls.

Widows don’t cry.

But now I had more space than I knew what to do with – and the permission to do with it as I wished. After two weeks it still sat exactly as I’d found it, the bed made with military precision and the dishes unused, with almost no sign of life save a pillow ferreted away from a sofa downstairs and hidden under the small table.

I liked it under there. The bed was too exposed, too open – there was too much to look for and too many places to guard at once. But under the table, the four chairs, carefully positioned, could act as a barricade in three directions, providing a moment’s warning against attack.

A moment can be the difference between life and death.

No sooner had I shut the door behind me lockedboltedchainedsafenotsafeneversafe than a soft rapping sounded on the wood, making me tense.

“FRIDAY?” I called uncertainly, still unused to speaking to the bodiless entity.

“Yes?” replied the dulcet tones, intended to be soothing – but I only found it creepy and unnatural.

“Who’s at my door?”

“Agent Barton, Ms. Romanoff.”

I blinked in surprise, turning back to stare at the wood hesitantly. The chain was still on as I cracked the door open, finding the pale blue staring back at me and accompanied by a soft smile. “Hey. Uh… I just wanted to see if you need anything. You know… Painkillers, or…”

“I’m good. Bruce has it handled,” I replied shortly, surprised and thrown off by his arrival. He nodded once, still hesitating at my door.

“Okay, I, uh… I guess I’ll leave you to it. Wake me if you need anything, yeah?” I nodded back, but still he didn’t move, his eyes flickering between my face and the room behind me. “How’s the room? Comfortable, or…?”

Another curt nod, flexing my fingers at the end of the cast. The sling was uncomfortable and disarming, and the longer Clint kept me talking, the longer it would be until I could disobey the doctor’s orders in private and remove it. “It’s fine.”

His head bobbed jerkily, and he stepped back, reluctance evident.

… Maybe I don’t owe him anything, but maybe he still expects…

I leant against the doorframe, head cocked, smiling softly. “Did you wanna come in, Barton?”

His eyes widened in something akin to alarm, and he swallowed. “I- Uh… I…”

“We can talk some more. Or we don’t have to talk at all, not if you don’t want to…” I added, peering up at him demurely through my lashes as I offered him my free hand.

His jaw twitched, and he took another, stumbling step back. “I-I should… I… I should get to bed. And you need your rest, too.”

I blinked in surprise, standing stiffly upright. “I- Oh. Sure.”

“Goodnight, Natasha.” He half-turned, and I baulked, brow furrowing.

“… Are you really just going to walk away?” I clarified incredulously, unimpeded arm curling protectively around my waist. Is it me? “What’s wrong with you?”  His eyebrow raised, and I scowled. “Nobody walks away.”

He shrugged a shoulder, offering me a weak smile. “I don’t want that,” he replied gently. “I just want to be your friend, Natasha.”

“But this is how it is,” I countered hotly, an edge of judgement creeping into my tone. “This is how it works. This is how good things happen, and how we avoid the worse things.”

His eyes softened as he considered me, head tipped slightly to one side, thoughtful. “… I can’t imagine what those worse things were,” he murmured, grimacing, “but I can promise that you never have to do anything you don’t want to in order to avoid punishment.”

My eyes narrowed, suspicious and uncertain, and I watched him for a moment, considering his open,  honest expression. “… Whatever you say,” I conceded eventually, stepping back into my room a little. His face lit up, and I scowled, unimpressed by the joy he found in the beginnings of my trust.

Why is he so eager for me to trust him?

“Goodnight, Nat,” he said again, more brightly this time, and I offered him a curt nod before I closed the door.

It wasn’t until I stood staring at the wood, processing what had transpired in the corridor, that his words sunk in, and I blinked in surprise.

He called me ‘Nat’. … He did that earlier, too.

… I’ve never had a nickname before.

[shyjusticewarrior]

Harley Quinn the Animated Series Incorrect Quotes Pt 9

Harley: The saddest part of being a shark must be never experiencing the crispness of a Pringle.

King Shark: Sometimes we eat sand dollars.

King Shark: And just when you think you've hit rock bottom, you want to fuck a blonde guy.

Riddler: Sorry if that came off abrupt, I'm autistic and also a bitch.

[bpdorexic]

you’ve probably forgotten all about me, and oh how i wish i could say the same. you’re always going to be a part of me. i can’t starve long enough or cut deep enough or scrub hard enough to wash myself clean of what you did to me and no matter what i do i’ll always be 17 and crying on the couch because i couldn’t stop you, not because you were literally forcing yourself on me, but because i just froze. that makes it my fault, right? i have no right to claim rape or trauma - i’m just an attention seeking whore. it doesn’t matter that i was asleep; there’s absolutely no reason i couldn’t have stopped you when i woke up.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

Sometimes I think about the good touch-bad touch class I had as a kid. And how they specified between “bad touch” and “confusing touch” which is so so important because even CSA that isn’t physically painful is still dangerous and kids needs to understand those gradients of “bad” in cutting detail. And how they told us that bad touches could come from anyone, even a parent or a babysitter. And how they told us that if an adult doesn’t believe you when you talk about this stuff, you should tell another adult, and another adult, and another adult until someone does believe you, and how that told us there was someone out there who ultimately, inevitably, would.

And then, even though nothing actually happened to me, I’m so so so fucking grateful I got that talk, that I got those resources, that I went to a school with books I could learn from and teachers who were legally permitted to, you know, teach me and our talks were so much more complex than “stranger danger.”

And when I think about the fact that this kind of talk isn’t a fucking iron mandate for every child in the country, on the planet, I feel like I’m gonna throw up.

[psilocybn]

the reason I wanna get skinny is partly bc i wanna lose my virginity. it wouldn’t feel right to do it unless I could actually feel comfortable enough with myself to do it at all. I’ll let someone hit when my hipbones are showing.

[letterbombbreakdown]

oh! luxon is gonna become 100x worse :)