#there really is no point in bringing any of this up either because of the obvious current logistics and situation

[the-indigo-symphony]

I don't think I'm gonna really say this better than the Jewish folks I've already seen talk about this, but I kinda feel obligated to on some level, so here we go

"Punch a Nazi" is all well and good, but over the past few years, I've seen lots of otherwise respectable and kind people drink the antisemitism juice until they become Nazis in all but recognized name. And I say "recognized name" because people have somehow forgotten that the core of Nazism is Jew-hatred, and not just being an extreme bigot (or even just a run-of-the-mill asshole), so people refuse to look at what's in front of them and name it (Nazism) for what it is. So many would rather use that serious, specific term as a general insult for anyone they disagree with online. Ignorance is bliss, after all, even if it means looking the other way as a mere mention of someone celebrating Hanukkah brings out accusations of blood libel from your fellow activists. (I'm not exaggerating with that example, btw, I've seen simple posts just about celebrating Hanukkah get filled with comments accusing the poster of supporting child murder. And a lot worse besides.)

If you want to punch a Nazi, if you're concerned about parallels to the years before the Holocaust... learn to recognize a Nazi before they get on national television and """throw their heart out to the crowd""". And perhaps more importantly, learn to keep yourself from going along with their shit for even an inch.

Listen to Jewish people. And when you do, be aware – there will be a part of you that is biased, that is antisemitic, and you have to pay attention to when it rears its head and you have to kill it where it stands. You have to listen to Jewish people, you have to have an open mind when you do it, you have to remember that you are not immune to subtly internalizing the idea that you, too, should be biased against a group that has been hated and scapegoated and lied about and cast as the root of all evil for centuries upon centuries.

The point of punching Nazis is to stop Nazism. And the first step to accomplishing that is keeping yourself from joining them because you didn't catch your bias becoming prejudice becoming discrimination becoming hatred becoming... any of the bullshit I've seen, any of the bullshit that Jewish people have had to put up with as antisemitism rises over the past few years.

No one is immune to propaganda. I know I'm certainly not. And none of the formerly respectable and kind people I've seen fall to hatred over the past few years were, either.

You want to be inclusive? You want to be accepting? You want to minimize harm and help bring about a brighter tomorrow?

Then make sure you stand alongside Jewish folk as you do it.

Name and kill the Nazi in your head before you go out punching the ones around you, or you may find yourself marching with them without a second thought.

[hiraethwrote]

miracle

contents : gn!reader but written with f!reader in mind, hurt/angst to somewhat comfort?, established relationship, slight toxicity but not really, depictions of a verbal fight, little bit of a self insert, very emotional reader, timeskip, no use of y/n — wc 1.2k

heart pounding, blood rushing, hands clenching. and silence. complete and utter silence, standing frozen still in your bedroom — your shared bedroom — after having slammed the door in tobio’s face.

trembling hands came to wipe your wet cheeks. you weren’t entirely sure when you had started to cry, only that once the tears had started to fall, you hadn’t been able to stop them.

you sniffled quietly, taking a look about your surroundings.

a long time ago, you and tobio had promised each other to never taint the sacred space of your bedroom. it was to remain a place of absolute solace and comfort for the both of you. any negative feelings were to be left at the door before entering.

but tonight’s events had made you break that promise, standing in the room that now felt unrecognisable by the dark and cold atmosphere. it somehow felt like it was swallowing you, threatening to pull you under completely.

and as the loud bang from the door still echoed in your mind, you regretted all that you had said.

you and tobio had been apart for longer than preferred this time around due to conflicting schedules — you had been pulled out of town for work for an extensive period, while tobio had finished his first season for ali roma in italy. you had both booked a ticked back to your home in tokyo the second your schedules allowed it.

both of you had endured a long and exhausting day of travelling, and after having worked yourselves to the bone, it was only to expect your patience was running low.

but the seemingly straight path to that logic reason was nowhere to be found in your mind in this moment, hidden behind thick clouds of tired fatigue. and now you were also too worn down from the worst fight you could ever remember the two of you having, simply leaving you fragile in the shell of your body.

it had never been as bad as tonight.

would you be able to take back what you had said?

did he truly feel so strongly about the things he’d thrown in your face as he let on?

would you be able to recover?

you hated the fact that you couldn’t answer your last concern with a confident of course.

because you were both so extremely stubborn, to the point where you had a cruel tendency to let petty grudges linger longer than either of you wanted — you just couldn’t help it.

and was this the event — this horrible fight — the trigger that would cause your childish stubbornness to lead to your relationship's demise? the straw that broke the camel’s back?

there spawned an invisible pressure on your chest, suddenly struggling to draw enough oxygen into your lungs as the fear of a breakup slowly started to tangle you in its thorns.

however, three weak knocks was placed on the bedroom door, instantly halting the weed's growth for a moment.

you spun around to face the door, once again feeling the overwhelming silence suffocate you as you waited for his voice to seep through the cracks.

“you’re coming out.” his voice was weak, lacking the aggression that had been present not even ten minutes ago. but there was a strange assertiveness to his demand that had your hand instantly hover over the door handle.

you swallowed the lump in your throat before gathering the courage to creak it open, standing face to face with tobio again.

his eyebrows where just ever so slightly pinched together in frustration, and his lips were tilted down in a strict frown. but his eyes — his oh-so-beautiful, blue eyes were just sad.

“you’re coming out,” he repeated, the faintest tremble to his voice. “you’re not bringing this in there.”

you nodded slowly in agreement and blinked away the tears, guilt building up in you with what you had done. “i’m sorry,” you mumbled.

he didn’t respond, only stepping aside to let you walk past him and into the living room.

suddenly the atmosphere had shifted into something... awkward? an unfamiliar feeling in his presence, standing an unnatural three feet apart. you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, while he, on the other hand, had his arms tensely pressed along the sides of his body.

his eyes traveled the floor, working so hard to find the right words to say. “we’re tired,” he said and took a deep breath. “i think we both said things we didn’t mean.”

“are you sure?” you hated how it came out almost accusatory — it wasn’t intentional, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t spewed just as mean statements as he had. it was just that flaw in you that puppeteered you with ease when your body didn’t have the ability to fight it.

you drew a sharp breath when your question instantly had his eyes lock with yours.

“i am, at least.” you deserved that one.

you let your arms fall to your side and straightened your posture. taking a deep breath, you decided to find the single shred of strength you had left in you to actively push your stubbornness aside in order to approach the conversation the way you both wanted — the way you both deserved.

“you’re right,” you said. “sorry.”

“it’s been a long day. for the both of us.”

“that doesn’t excuse it-“ you cut yourself off, the tears threatening to come back again. “it doesn’t excuse what i said.”

his shoulders relaxed. “me neither.”

for a moment you just stood there, looking at each other. you knew the same thing was running through your minds — how embarrassing, that something as mundane as exhaustion had brought you to a point where you had expressed mean remarks beyond your wildest imagination to the person you loved the most in the world.

and you felt your heart break by the mere thought of how you had hurt him with your recent words and actions. you didn’t think you’d ever be able to sink so low — yet here you were.

“i’m sorry,” he said. he fought to keep his voice strong and steady so you’d be able to see how sincere he was.

“i am sorry too,” you managed to force out before the tears came streaming back, accompanied by loud sobs.

it seemed to break him out of his own mind long enough for him to walk up to you and quickly envelope you in his secure embrace.

your arms instantly laced around his torso in return, feeling like you couldn’t bring him close enough to you. his grip on you instinctively tightened, hoping that his steady frame pressed against you would eventually fill you with a sense of safety.

“you’re my miracle, you know.”

another loud sob seeped from your lips, digging your face further into the crook of his neck, letting his deceleration marinate in your mind.

you’re my miracle.

it was probably the most beautiful thing you had ever heard, quickly erasing the pain he had caused earlier.

tilting your head ever so slightly, you opened your mouth to speak, “you’re-“ was all you were able to get out before the sobs kept on tumbling. you so badly wanted to tell him the same thing. of course he was your miracle too, and you needed him to know.

the words continued to die on your tongue before you felt him squeeze you even tighter.

“i know,” he whispered, followed by a quiet sniffle, which led you to believe his eyes weren't completely dry either. “i know.”

slowly the warmth started to creep back into the apartment.

an : hea lore drop, i stole the line "you're my miracle," from my ex which he said to me not long before our breakup became final :,) comments and reblogs are appreciated

tobio nation : @hiraethwa . @shouyuus . @yogurtkags + honorary new member maybe @lale-txt

©hiraethwrote 2025 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[rei-ismyname]

How Nightcrawler did NOT become a priest

In X-Men vol 2 #100, Chris Claremont showed us Kurt Wagner wearing a priest collar and reading from scripture. Before he had a chance to follow up on that, he left the book and it was just a weird thing that happened for 3 years. In 2003's Uncanny X-Men #423-424, Chuck Austen revisited the idea. TW sexual assault mention, religious trauma.

The X-Men return from a mission to find everyone left behind has been crucified on the front lawn. They didn't do a very good job (the nail goes through the wrist, not the hand) and almost everyone survived. Still, everyone was shaken up.

In trying to get to the bottom of this hate crime they identify The Church of Humanity as the culprits. It comes out that Kurt has been studying to be a priest for years, was ordained and walked away (because he was too horny lol) - except nobody else has any idea what he's talking about. He remembers a ceremony with the X-Men there, they do not. What is going on?

The X-Men decide to track down the Church of Humanity and put a stop to whatever they're up to. They'd also like some answers.

They find Father Whitney, who is a member and the dude who was training Kurt. Instead of being a frothing bigot, he seems genuinely remorseful. Jean Grey figures out there's secrets to be uncovered and Phoenixes the floor open, revealing a bloody lab. The plot thickens.

He's not exactly innocent either. 'They' were angry that Whitney failed. Failed to keep him in the priesthood, failed to curb his lustful desires (good luck with that,) and he failed at remaining a hater. He liked Kurt despite being a 'mutie' but he still did his part in a scheme to make him POPE. Yes, fucking really. He's repentant but fuck this guy.

The X-Men have a location and they close in on The Church of Humanity's Montana HQ. Turns out they have a psychic mutant they've been forcing to brainwash people. The boss is actually mad about the whole crucifixion thing. Meanwhile the X-Men are fighting their way through illusions and bullets.

After a pretty rad moment where Jean claims to have a message from God (it's Phoenix fire) the X-Men make their way in and find an imprisoned human priest who is 'on their side.' He exposits the plan to destroy the Catholic church by installing a 'demon' as pope and then rapturing everyone. It gets sillier.

How were they going to rapture the faithful, to make it appear they'd ascended to heaven? Exploding communion wafers, obviously. We get proof of that when Father Exposition raptures in front of them. He'd been fed the ballistic body of Christ. At this point the ringleader starts ranting at them, making very little sense. My understanding is that The Rapture is a very fringe belief, one that people keep predicting unsuccessfully. Perhaps it's not surprising that the leader is into Deuteronomy (one of the harsher Abrahamic texts, super popular with right wing extremists.)

Kurt basically enters a scripture rap battle at this point, with Havok chiming in every so often. He was adopted by a Catholic family and retained some knowledge. That actually explains a thing or two, but back to Kurt. They fight, find out the leader is a woman, and then she blows herself up. Or maybe she was raptured.

With all that figured out it's revealed Kurt was never a priest. If this fringe sect can even ordain Catholic priests, it was still an illusion - one that Kurt bailed on because of the vow of chastity. He was also brainwashed. The leader, sigh, was once a nun. When she was raped by a priest and victim blamed out the Church and her job, she decided to bring the Catholic Church down. She still loved God but not the religion. This whole plot was her way of achieving that.

I really hate that unnecessary revelation of rape as motivation. The Catholic Church clearly has a history of systemic sexual abuse and cover-ups but this is a clumsy and frankly offensive way to touch on it. It turns a survivor into a mass murdering bigot and makes little sense. Instead of being silly comic book nonsense, it becomes a callous use of real experiences and problems to provide an ex post facto explanation that wasn't really necessary.

Anyway, yeah - Nightcrawler was never a priest. He's Catholic but even in a brainwashed illusion he decided it wasn't for him.

[hbpseverus]

at this point i just find it so ridiculous how often this fandom talks about the infamous boggart scene. i mean, if you ask any snape hater for reasons why they don't like him, chances are they will say "well because he was nevilles biggest fear!!" and it's so funny because by doing that you're kind of missing the entire reason why this scene exists.

the point of this scene was to show that all of the students in harrys year had completely normal, childlike fears: spiders, bad grades, and yes, scary teachers. these are ordinary fears that many readers can relate to themselves. all of us have been scared of a spider or a strict teacher at some point in our lives. these fears are not some kind of serious, debilitating, life-long trauma. which is shown in the way neville himself is hesitant to admit that he is scared of snape, because he knows it's a bit silly, and he laughs about it. it was quite literally never that serious to even neville himself!

these normal fears the other kids, like neville, have are there to show us the contrast to harry, who has experienced actual lasting trauma and whose boggart has a much bigger impact on him, which is why lupin decided to step in for him. you straight up can't compare nevilles fear of snape to this, because it's nowhere near as serious as harrys trauma. but in the way many readers talk about this scene, suddenly every boggart represents life-altering trauma. and sorry, but that's just. plain wrong. you are misinterpreting it.

furthermore i'd also argue that nevilles boggart being snape was never meant to give us any deeper insight into his character anyway. it was meant to be comedy. because snape, the evil brooding scary teacher, is suddenly wearing a dress and a silly hat. it's supposed to be funny, not something to (badly) over-analyze as some fundamental aspect of nevilles character. it's just, haha snape in a dress, funny! oh no harry is having a panic attack. end scene.

now, i won't pretend like i'm the #1 biggest neville fan or that i care deeply about his character (i think he's cool but i'm not obsessed with him, you know?). but even so i feel like it honestly does injustice to his character to constantly only bring up this scene. he has much more defining traits than being scared of snape as a kid. hell, in 7th year he is actively going behind snapes back (well, he thinks he is) to run a secret anti voldemort organisation and he is honestly fucking badass and clearly couldn't care less about headmaster snape. he overcame his fear and grew so much as a character, i don't believe it's fair to wash him down to that one trait. just like it's not really fair to erase all of snapes good deeds because he was some kids boggart. i'm not saying children should be scared of their teachers. but i am saying that this little boggart scene shouldn't be considered a character defining moment for either snape or neville. it was never meant to be that.

[up-beattt]

"In 1985 I was touring with Bruce Springsteen, who was playing a series of dates in the UK. The shows were mammoth, both physically and in length, running three hours plus. By the time we hit Wembley Stadium in London, I'd hit a creative wall and was trying to come up with an idea that would bring a different look to what I'd been shooting - something, anything, out of the norm. [...]

"I knew from previous shows that Bruce would always go out to the pod at stage right at the exact same point in every show during (if memory serves) "Hungry Heart,” which was the third or fourth song after the intermission. During the break I clamped a Nikon onto the rear railing of the pod stage, with a full frame fisheye lens looking out towards the crowd, and a 10 foot long remote cable hanging underneath the small stage so I could fire the camera from directly underneath Bruce - who wouldn't be able to see me. Of course, I wouldn't be able to see him either, so I needed to talk to him first to prep him on the shot. I pre-focused the camera, set the exposure and made a beeline for Bruce's dressing room. "I know you've got a few things on your mind," I said, "but I've mounted a remote camera on the rear railing of the pod on stage right. You'll barely notice it, but if there is any way that when you're out there you could turn around and play to the back of the house, I think I can get a great shot of you with all of Wembley Stadium in the background - but I really wanna see your face in the shot, so that's why I'll really need you to have your back to the audience." Bruce let me run through my whole speech without saying anything or showing one bit of interest. Then just before I turned to leave he suddenly said, "Yeah, I think it's ok.” I was stunned. I was thrilled that he'd said yes but I thought there is no way in hell Bruce is gonna remember. Like I said, the guy had a lot more important things to think about than my little set-up. 

"When the time came I stood underneath the stage with my remote trigger dangling in my hand. I couldn't really see what was happening above me but through the slats in the wooden runway I suddenly saw a pair of black boots running to the spot directly on top of me. I took a deep breath, counted to 10 and kept the button pressed on the remote cable, firing off 36 straight frames. This was gonna be a hit-or-miss situation, no two ways about it. After Bruce finished the show I ran over to the Nikon and made sure that the camera had even fired - and it had. I pocketed the roll of film until I got it to the lab the next day. 

"I got everything wanted, and more. Bruce had followed my directions perfectly, and for most of the roll he had faced the back of the house, which was empty because they hadn't sold those seats. He had essentially mugged for my camera with his back to the audience, dancing the exact same way he always did during that song. The crowd must have thought he was crazy but he really came through for me. We ended up with a truly memorable shot that could never have been made without his willingness to just go for it and trust my instincts."

- Neal Preston, Exhilarated and Exhausted

[blueskrugs]

I Know I Could Have Loved You | Brock Boeser

at long last, it's here! this is my fic for @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange, written for @one-night-story! Once again, I am SO sorry this is a bit late, but I had a really brutal week.

I hope you enjoy!!

length: 2000 words

You met Brock Boeser in 2015 when you were both freshmen at the University of North Dakota.

He wasn't your best friend at first. 

In fact, he'd rolled his eyes and when you were forced to partner with him for a stupid project in your intro to stats course. You don't remember exactly when he did become your friend, but  before you knew it your weekends were spent watching hockey games, then going out for fast food french fries with Brock, or lounging in each other's dorm rooms while you did homework. (Or while you did homework, and Brock pretended to do his own.) 

You don't know when you fell in love with Brock Boeser, either, just that you did.

Brock dated a few people while at UND, like most of the hockey players did. They stuck around for a few weeks or months before disappearing. Brock never bothered to introduce you to any of them. You tried to not let it bother you. 

“You should move to Vancouver, "Brock said suddenly one summer day. He'd signed his ELC just a few months prior—instead of returning to UND with you in the fall, he’d be off to Vancouver for training camp with the Canucks. 

You were both tanning by the lake, and you lowered your sunglasses to look sideways at Brock. He wouldn't meet your eyes.

"Brock, some of us have to actually finish college before getting a job," you said. You still had 2 years before graduation. "And why the hell should I move to Vancouver?"

Brock shrugged, all forced nonchalance. "Well, I'll be there."

You scoffed. "Sure, from October to April." You didn't know anyone in Vancouver, excluding Brock, who only counted during hockey season anyway.

"But I'll miss you," Brock argued. "What am I supposed to do without you?"

"I think you'll manage just fine, Boes," you told him. "You survived this long without me before we met, didn't you? You can keep surviving now, too."

Brock pouts at you, but doesn't argue the point further, so you think that's the end of it. You put your sunglasses back in place on the bridge of your nose and settle back against your chair. You can’t deny that it leaves a nice fuzzy feeling in your chest that Brock thinks he’ll miss you so much that he’s begging you to join him in Vancouver.

Brock doesn’t bring it up again that summer, or for the next two years as you’re finishing up college, and you forget about the whole thing. The years pass; you graduate. 

Brock comes to your graduation party, kisses you on the cheek, and spends the afternoon charming your parents and your friends from high school and from UND. Brock always manages to stay within your orbit, never more than arm’s reach away from you. It’s nice, to have him back at your side like this. 

It's only when the party is over and Brock is helping clean up that he springs the question on you again.

"Have you thought about it at all?" he asks, apropos of absolutely fucking nothing.

You've had a few drinks, and it takes your brain a few seconds to catch up. "What?" you ask. "Thought about what?"

“Moving to Vancouver with me."

You already have a job lined up in your hometown. You haven't thought even once of moving to Vancouver instead.

"Brock, I can't just move to another country."

"What if I want you to?“

"Oh, sure, that will go over well on a visa application. ‘Because my bestfriend wants me to.’"

Brock sticks his tongue out at you.

"You should at least come and visit me," he pleads, "I really think you'll love it."

You roll your eyes at Brock. "I guess I can make time to visit,” you say, ignoring Brock's exaggerated cheer before he squishes you into a hug.

Brock manages to talk you into visiting him in June, because—in his words— "It's prettier in the summer."

He's not exactly wrong, you have to admit, after a week of traipsing around the city with Brock. You're watching a firework show with your head on Brock's shoulder when you realize you're starting to picture yourself in Vancouver, starting a real life here.

"D'you really think I could get a job here?” you murmur to Brock during a pause in the fireworks.

"What?” Brock asks. He turns to you. His blond hair glows in the light of the fireworks overhead. "Never mind,” you whisper back.

You begin searching for jobs in Vancouver that night, in the quiet darkness of Brock's spare bedroom.

Before you know it, you've lined up the perfect job—even better than the one you'd originally found back home, not that you'll ever tell Brock that—and Brock has helped you find an apartment in the city. 

"It's not far from me,” Brock had told you when he was helping you move in, "so you can come over and walk Milo and Coolie whenever."

"Oh, is that the real reason you wanted me to move out here?” you tease. "Free dog walking?"

Brock shrugs innocently but chuckles. "Well, I need someone to watch them when we're on road trips and stuff.”

You throw a wad of bubble wrap at him.

Later, while you and Brock are eating pizza on your living room floor, Brock flops into his back and sighs. You poke him in the head with your foot.

"You good, buddy?” you ask.

"What do you think of dating apps?” Brock says, which isn't really an answer.

You've always been too scared to try dating apps yourself. Instead of telling Brock that, you say, "You're a professional athlete.” And a very attractive one, but you don’t say that part. "What do you need dating apps for?”

Brock looks up at you from his sprawl on your floor. "Because I'm tired of being single?” he asks.

You flip him off. You don't say, I'm single, too, you could always date me. You got used to putting aside your feelings for Brock a long time ago.

"And you think dating apps are the solution? You didn't have any issues getting people to date you in North Dakota.”

Brock rolls his eyes. "I didn't play for the Canucks, then. It's all people I meet now seem to care about.”

You're still not sure how dating apps will solve that problem.

As if he hears your unspoken question, Brock continues. "At least this way, I can weed out puck bunnies or whatever a lot faster, instead of wasting my time.” He cranes his neck around so he can look at you directly. "So will you help me or not?” 

You think you'd rather get stabbed directly in the heart than to help Brock date someone else, but you never could say no to him.

"Fine, whatever,” you say. "Gimme your phone.” 

You're already regretting your decision less than ten minutes later as you watch Brock scroll through his camera roll to add pictures to his profile.

"You can't use your official headshot!” you tell him, trying to snatch his phone. "People are going to think they're getting catfished.”

"I don't have a lot of good pictures of myself!” Brock protests.

You've nixed three more photos—all pictures Brock has evidently stolen from the team's social media—("Why the hell do you save all these, anyway?”)—when Brock throws his hands up and passes you his phone.

"You do it then,” he tells you.

Brock's own camera roll is obviously useless, so you pull out your own phone. It only takes a few minutes of scrolling for you to pluck a handful of good photos out of your camera roll and Airdrop them to Brock. He's looking at you a little strangely when you hand his phone back.

"What?” you ask.

"I didn't know you took so many pictures of me,” he says. 

"I don't take that many,” you defend weakly. It's not like you have an entire album on your phone of pictures of him, or anything. 

Brock drops the subject, but you still feel uneasy as you continue helping him finish his profile. The two of you spend almost an hour bickering over which prompts to choose or the answers Brock writes for them before Brock deems his profile "good enough”.

"'Good enough?'” you argue. “This profile is a masterpiece,” you declare. "We'll get you cuffed in time for Christmas.”

Brock snorts at you. "All thanks to you,” he says, smacking a kiss to your cheek.

You try not to feel any particular way about it.

Brock spends the next few weeks bringing you his dating app matches to "approve.” He even shows you some of the funny ones—mostly girls tripping over themselves for the chance to sleep with The Brock Boeser of the Vancouver Canucks. He gets a lot of matches. 

You try to muster the appropriate enthusiasm for Brock, as he seems to be throwing himself into this endeavor with all the energy he throws into hockey.

It's hard, though, when all you can do is compare yourself to them. You wonder what Brock sees in them that he’s never seen in you.

Brock never seems to notice if your encouragement is lackluster.

Matches turn into a revolving door of first dates for Brock. A few times, first dates turn into second dates, and even into a third date or two. 

You force yourself to stop obsessively keeping track of his dates, and to pretend like each date he goes on doesn't drive the knife even deeper into your heart.

Brock's in the middle of telling you about his latest date—you think he’s been seeing this person for nearly a month—when he stops abruptly in the middle of a sentence.

"Are you okay?” he asks.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?” you say. It doesn’t sound very confident, even to your ears. 

"You've got that look on your face, the one where you're mad at me, but trying to pretend that you're not.”

You try to arrange your face into something more neutral.

"I'm not mad at you, Brock,” you say. You don't think he believes you. 

"So why do you always get all—” Brock gestures vaguely at your face. “—pissy whenever I talk about my dates?”

"I do not! And besides, I didn't know moving to Vancouver meant a front row seat to your dating life! Don't you have teammates to talk about this shit with?”

Brock scoffs. "They don't care about my dating life, and, apparently, neither do you.” 

"Brock, it's not that I don't care—” 

Brock cuts you off. "Then what is it?”

"I care too much!”

"What?” he says.

"Dammit, Brock, why don't you want to date me?” you snap.

Brock shakes his head. You probably shouldn't have said that.

"What do you mean?” he asks slowly.

"You heard me the first time, Boeser. Why are you searching all over Vancouver for someone to date when I've been here the whole time?” 

Brock takes a step closer to you. You take a step backwards; your kitchen is small, and you end up trapped against the counter.

"The whole time? "Brock repeats dumbly.

You could slap him. "Yes, Brock. Boy, it's a good thing you're pretty and good at hockey, because you can be really stupid sometimes.”

"Hang on,” Brock says. He's moved even closer. "How was I supposed to know?”

"Do you think I'd more to another country for anyone?” you ask.

"Oh,” Brock says. Then he says, "For how long?”

"Huh?”

“How long have you been in love with me?” Brock asks.

“I don't know, sometime freshman year, I guess.” There was never really a lightbulb moment for you; your feelings for Brock grew and morphed so slowly you almost didn't notice until it was too late.

Brock kisses you then, crushing you up against the cabinets with the force of it. His hands are warm on your hips, his lips gentle and firm against yours.

You pull away, a little breathless.

Brock grins at you. “If I had known this was an option, I would have kissed you a long time ago.”

"So, can we delete that dating app now?” you ask, forehead resting on Brock's shoulder.

"We can do whatever you want,” Brock says, leaning in to kiss you again.

You suppose deleting his dating profile can wait a little while.

[anamericangirl]

Long message ahead (sorry about that LOL):

It's so insane to me how the left will constantly claim to be the pro-woman party and then turn around to tell any woman who disagrees with them that they hope said woman dies in some way or gets raped, and I'm not just talking about that repulsive ask you got. They'll say disgusting things like that even to other leftist women who disagree with them on only a handful of issues. But yeah, sure, they 100% care about the rights and safety of women. Totally.

If I'm honest, that's what "woke me up," so to speak, and I know I'm far from the first - the realization that they claim to want to protect "marginalized"/minority groups until someone from said groups disagrees. Then out come the violent threats and slurs that they reprimand others for or claim that conservatives are doing, thinking they can "revoke your [minority group] card" as if someone will stop being female or POC or homosexual/bisexual or disabled simply for disagreeing. Personally, I think it's them admitting that they use these characteristics as shields, so "revoking" them from those who dare to disagree makes them feel stronger. Since they put so much weight on the "community" aspect, they think kicking out anyone who disagrees will leave the opposition destitute and are implying minorities can't stand on our own.

I'll never stop pointing out that the only people who call minorities "marginalized" (defined as being treated as insignificant or peripheral) are leftists. The only people who are openly treating us as an unimportant second class are leftists, and they are the only ones who have ever consistently implied we are such in society ("you can never escape what we labeled you so that means we gotta either tear everything down and start again, or you can just live in fear").

Like I said, it's nothing new, but it's stopped shocking me when something makes them show their true colors. It just happens to be the election right now.

TLDR: minorities aren't "marginalized" because of Western society, leftists just labeled us that to say exactly what they think of us, and realizing this has freed me.

Also, your blog is awesome.

Well I am very glad you have escaped that toxic mindset and your eyes have been opened to how destructive and despicable the left really is.

They parade identity politics and thrive on the idea that how a person identifies themselves is the end all be all of their entire being and thus they present themselves as a group who is pro-every identity to look like they accept you based on identity alone. But that mask falls off once you dare disagree with them on one thing. Then you are the enemy. And that's because they really don't care about identity. They care about ideoloy and if your ideology doesn't match theirs, then they try to revoke your identity as if they own it and get to decide what it's acceptable for people of certain identities to believe or not believe.

And, as someone who fits into more than one identity they claim to be "pro", I have never been welcomed, accepted or tolerated by them because I don't have the opinions they want me to have.

When you get down to it, if you disagree with them, they are racist, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, xenophobic, ableist, etc. and they collectively use more slurs than any other group I have ever seen. But they think it's ok because they're using them on people they don't like.

They aren't good people and I think more and more people are coming to that realization. They are their own worst enemy and their behavior will turn more people away then it will bring to them and that is the only good thing about them.

They attract a lot of people because they are good at publicly playing the empathy card and looking like they care but it doesn't take long to see the that's all bs when you really start watching them.

I am glad you have been freed from that and I'm glad you think my blog is awesome! I think you're awesome :)

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[singsweetmelodies]

Shipping real people is so gross TF get a life

sending anon hate is so gross TF get a life

[misskamelie]

Wrt the situation(tm), I managed to resolve the communication issue between us and it's been pretty chill since then. I care about them a whole lot, but there's still something I cannot quite grasp about what I feel towards them

[000marie198]

I've grown up in a desert. Temperatures go up to 44 during daytime on a normal day, no matter the season besides winter.

I can handle 35 no problem.

I remember in high school my geography teacher said humans will choose to live in unbeatable heat over unbearable cold, but nearly every single person I've met in my life has said they'd rather die in the cold than live in the heat, so now I thought to myself why not outsource this question!

no fahrenheit because if i have to google the answers on polls with no celcius, so do you

[muntitled]

Tic-Tac-Toe

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night.

Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Insertion, Fingering, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Gunplay, Deepthroating, Breeding Kink, Unprotected sex

A/N: Hell is empty

4k Words

You're strapped in a chair, like always, and you are blindfolded because he doesn't trust easily.

It's terribly annoying.

At any point of during and after your little 'arrangement' you could have called the cops. Doesn't he understand that?

Every Wednesday, you're taken from the warmth of your apartment, and you're delivered right back at 00:00 on the dot, every Thursday with barely an inch of life left in your bones. You'd either always come back wet, with semen sliding between your thighs, or with mysterious marks- old and new- crawling underneath your sweater. Whatever mood he was in, he'd always leave you feeling sore.

It should have bothered you.

The thought of seeing this large, domineering shadow-in-a-suit every Wednesday should not overwhelm you with all these feelings of excitement. Instead, you should do like all the mentally ill girls do and just get some fucking help.

But you want him to trust you, for some reason.

Which was utterly ridiculous considering the fact that to him, you were something akin to a porcelain wind up toy for his amusement. You had no business requesting he remove the blindfold aspect but still, you asked anyway. Toy's couldn't be trusted, could they?

"I'd really appreciate it if I didn't have to wear one of these everytime I visit your place." He removes the blindfold, and in a second, your vision is filled with nothing but him. One moment you were in the cozy warmth of your dorm room. Curled up on the couch while your roommate spends her youth effectively- out with boyfriends and friends and everything you didn't have. You answered the front door when you heard his special knock, like you always do. You walked with him to the cab. You let him put on the blindfold. You said 'I'm fine’ when the taxi driver got a little too nosy and you let him lead you away from your boring life.

If only for a few hours.

You'd let him do whatever he wanted for those few hours because such surrender was almost sacred. You forfeited your safety in his hands, to do with it whatever he pleased and in that, you found rest. Whatever happens, happens.

Forget this room- what was essentially his personal dungeon, windowless, red and boasting various torture objects- your eyes are only on him.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to kidnap me anymore? We do this every Wednesday," You become more childish around him and he lets you. Like you forgot you are a fully autonomous university student. There was power in that too. "Surely we've established some sort of trust?” He doesn't respond to you immediately. You crane your head up at him, hungry to lock eyes with his cold, empty slits that enchanted you body and soul.

You are in love with him, perhaps.

That's a logical response isn't it?

You laugh almost.

Listening to yourself try to rationalize your fondness for such a horrible man.

Said horrible man is silent. All you hear is the clicking of his dress shoes as he moves to the leather seat directly across from yours. Your eyes scan over all his movements.

The right corner of his lip quirks up. A small coffee table creates the only distance between you and he bends over to pour you both a generous glass of Brandy on the rocks. You don't drink it. Ever since he's been bringing you here, you never do. He knows this, yet still he pours.

"This relationship isn't about trust." He says finally. Something inside you, that is perhaps a little broken, actually purrs at the sound of his voice. You're hyperaware of your thighs squeezing together on the leather seat. They're spilling out of the sundress you purposely wore today.

Lots of your clothes were for the function of comfort. Your body was full and curvy and not always something to be advertised, unless you wished it to. Tonight, you wanted to show off as much as possible.

A thick leather band is keeping both your wrists locked to the armrests, while he sits back, free and so irrevocably in charge it should scare you. It should. But the sick and incredibly deranged thing is that it doesn't.

Outside, the rain is beating down on whatever building you're in, casting a thick veneer of grey all across the city.

But inside this velvet room... your heart is hammering inside its cage as you watch him undo the buttons of his crisp suit. A black one today. Jet black like his hair.

Although-

"You've got more grey in your hair than last week." You can't help but say.

He tilts his head in inquisition. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"

"I'll leave that up to you to decide," you shrug your shoulders as much as you can under these limited restraints. At least he hasn't restrained your ankles this time. Progress. "In here, you're the boss. Right?"

He takes a sip of his drink until finally, you've finally locked eyes. Your bare toes curl and your back arches slightly as you sit a bit straighter in your seat. Like you're in a lecture hall, although he is far more interesting than any of your professors.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," he finally says as he takes one more sip of his drink before bringing his briefcase onto the coffee table. Its presence is ominous and so horribly loud for an inanimate object. It kickstarts all your dormant nerves, revving up all the rest of your senses that have yet to catch up to the fact that you were facing the man of both your desires and nightmares once again.

"Who have you told about our arrangement?" The question causes you to roll your eyes. He watches the petulant movement with that same, silent smile and blank eyes. He unclicks the briefcase. Your stomach lurches and your thighs squeeze together. Pavlov's dog.

"Every time you ask me-" an object clinks onto the table. A butcher knife.

You try to pull your eyes away from the objects he's placing on the table, one by one. "Everytime you ask me if I've told anyone about our arrangement-" another object. A wooden spoon beside the knife. "Everytime I tell you the same thing."

Your throat closes when he uncovers a dildo. Bright pink and fucking menacing. "Carry on talking." He says, snapping your gaze away from the objects lining the table.

"I don't have any friends." Your voice is wobblier. You try to deny the sight of the rabbit vibrator, "It's the reason you picked me." You clear your throat as you hoped to clear all the nerves beginning to fog your mind. "Someone could've followed me here. B-But I don't really know anyone enough to care." The final object that clunks onto the glass coffee table and this time, you're unable to look away.

"Are we ready to begin?"

The metal revolver laying quiet and undisturbed beside the rabbit vibrator makes everything else on the table look like children's toys. Even the butcher knife.

You pull at the restraints, your legs quivering slightly as you shift and writhe in the seat. He studies you as closely as you were once studying him. You can see the excitement begin to flood his eyes at the physical manifestation of your discomfort.

"Now you're getting it." He nods sardonically, taking another sip from his glass before placing the briefcase on the floor beside him. "You were a little too happy to see me," he joked, letting out an airy exhale of laughter.

"You wanna hazard a guess as to what we'll be playing today?" He's smiling, genuinely. With that look in his eyes you can tell he's hovering in the clouds. Meanwhile you've begun to feel real fear. No matter how regular these visits might become you'd never get used to him. It's impossible. Not when he found new and daring ways to torture and pleasure you every single week. You couldn't get used to something as brash and unconventional as him. Like the conditions of a child in a broken home, he kept his tactics inconsistent so that every week is a new hell or perhaps- depending on his mood- heaven.

"If I guess wrong?" You swallow thickly and something dark in him settles. He spreads his legs more, there's a twitch inside his lips before he smiles again.

"Well, guessing isn't the game, so you'll be fine."

You nod your head... assessing the objects. There's menacing objects and household objects. Even just looking at them you can tell what they all have in common.

"Am I going to have to insert-"

"You're not guessing." His voice booms. He rests his elbow on the armrests, his hands corded with veins seem itching to do something, you're not sure what. "I said guess." He commands.

"Hide and seek?"

He snickers, "A favourite-"

"More like your favourite." You snip back, "I couldn't sit down the whole week." You frown at the memory. That week he'd brought you to an abandoned warehouse, letting you run the entire perimeter full.

"It's in your best interest to keep coming to our sessions-" he reminds you, snapping you back into the present.

"You're paying my university fees, I'm not complaining." You nod, before plastering a thin smile on your face, "All I have to do every week is prostitute myself to a literal sadist-"

"Have you given up on guessing today's game?" He didn't like you making him hyper aware of the fact that this dynamic, whatever it is, is considered objectively bad. And so you're not surprised when he swiftly moves past the topic.

He leans forward. His large hand disappears under his chair before uncovering a small whiteboard. Four lines- 2 horizontals are running across 2 verticals, creating 9 blocks. He stands up, while your eye is still focusing on the board. From your point of view it sits underneath the row of objects on the table. You don't even realize your right wrist strap is being untied.

"Colour?" He asks, pushing a crate of whiteboard markers towards you. With your now free hand you pick the pink one.

He snickers. "Predictable." He whispers before placing a large, domineering hand on your head. He presses down your braids, patting you like a stray he's rescued from the cold. You stare aimlessly ahead, fearing you won't be able to contain everything you've begun to feel for him if you lock eyes now.

"We're playing tic-tac-toe," he relents. His hand lingers on your head a bit longer before he's stepping away.

"With a twist, I presume?"

"Clever girl," he nods, walking back to his seat. "So you're aware of the objects."

"Place a gun in front of a girl and she's going to notice."

"Paranoid girl." He tsks before leaning forward.

"You want to start or should I?"

"Wait-" you swallow, "What happens if I win?"

He smiles that dazzling, debonair smile.

"You pick which one goes inside you."

Lightning cracks across the sky. A chorus of thunder roars all at once like some kind of phenomenon and your lips stutter open.

"Th-That's insane I-"

"I shouldn't have to remind you that you came here out of your own volition. "

"What happens if you win?"

"Then I choose." He says.

Your eyes skate over the object. It doesn't take an ivy league graduate to hazard a guess as to which of the objects he's itching to stick inside you.

"There's a fucking knife here-" You're trembling. Tears are pooling in your eyes. It doesn't even matter that you're a somewhat decent tic tac toe player. It doesn't matter that you're confident in this game. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"And there's also a spoon," he nods, neutrally, "And a vibrator, and a dildo. Etcetera. Etcetera." He leans forward, unclicking his whiteboard pen, "your words are just words, Darling. You're just listing things. Start," he says, with a deadly lilt in his voice. "Or I will."

You scramble to uncap your marker with one hand, all while he watches with dead and black eyes. You knew that whoever starts the game was placed at a big advantage and so you're nearly scrambling to place that dignified X in the center block.

"Clever girl." He says once again, drawing his blue 'O' directly beside your pink 'X'. You aim for the block above him. He blocks it. You aim for the block beside the center. He blocks that too.

Your victory comes too quickly. You barely feel it as you strike a line vertically through the blocks. 3 X's.

Relief washes over you but it's overcast with doubt. Like you're celebrating in trepidation as you watch him stand up.

"Congratulations! Which do you choose?"

"I can pick anything?" You ask, staring up at him, bright eyes wild with the adrenaline that comes with wanting to preserve your organs.

"Anything you want, my little winner."

You begin to lean over. His eyebrows quirk up when you wrap a small hand around his wrist.

"I pick that." You say breathlessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands at his side. And you watch as he walks towards you, as if compelled by an unforeseen force. His palms are calloused underneath yours and you blow out several unstable breaths as he stands above you. So imposing it's breathtaking.

"You sure?" It's the way he asks it that has you second guessing. And perhaps he sees the caution seeping into your eyes because there's excitement lurking in his. Before you're even able to formulate a response, his hand is locked tightly around your esophagus, vacuuming all pathways shut until you're writhing for air.

"A fine, fine choice," He's becoming more and more riled up the more you writhe in your seat, trying to scrounge for a single breath of air. He doesn't let you. Instead he moves behind you, before leaning down.

If you could breathe, you would shiver at the feeling of his lips behind your ear. "Here we go-" he whispers, before reaching around your torso with his free hand before forcing your legs open. The second he lets his three digits stab into your cunt, he uncurls the grip on your throat as you make a horrid sound somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a haggard gasp. "FUCK- Sl-Slowdown-" you knew better than to request something like that. All you hear is a snicker from behind you as pain blossoms all across your nether regions. He's not gentle. He's not kind. He doesn't allow you to adjust to his fingers before he's scissoring them inside you, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip itself out of your throat. Your back is arched and you're trying to get away from him but the fucking persists.

"You've been wet like this for me the entire time?" He sounds absolutely demented, behind you, "You wanted this didn't you?" He bites at your ear as the first tears begin to pool at your eyes, "My little winner."

"P-Please stop-" His fingers are restless inside you. Curling and uncurling. Scissoring and stabbing as if wanting to open you up and split you all the way in half.

"What a pretty little pussy, huh? Look at what a mess you're making."

"When-" you can't form words. "When- Stop?" It's all you're able to say as your nails dig into the material of his suit.

"The sooner you cum the sooner it stops."

You doubted your ability to cum under these circumstances. He's setting an ungodly pace and it's all so hurried and in a frenzy, it's like your brain does not have time to understand if you even like what's currently being done to you.

"What- Do you want you want my help?" you begin to shake your head. "I'll help you, baby-"

His other hand reaches over and pinches your clit.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm is quite literally forced out of you. Your hips writhe and your ass tries to leave the seat as the first feelings of pleasure rip through you by force. "That's it, Clever girl," he coos, still curling his fingers inside you, "That's my Clever girl." He says once more before stilling his movements. For a second you just sit there, trying to collect your breath while he's still inside you. All at once, his hands are removed from your body.

He grabs a handkerchief from his breast pocket and you watch him clinically wipe his hands before erasing the marks on the board with the same cloth. A very clear boner pushes against his black slacks yet still his face is calm.

"Alright, My turn to start-"

"WHAT!? B-But I won." You scream, absolutely seething with desperation.

"You know everyone who plays 'X' has a significantly higher chance at winning-" You say with your eyes narrowed. He nods.

"And you know that too, which means we each should be granted alternating times to play ‘X’. Regardless if you won or not." You slump in your seat, suddenly far too aware that your bare cunt is exposed.

"Don't mope." He says, "It's not cute." Before drawing his 'X' in the center.

You close your legs, sitting upright with a new zeal of self preservation as you grab ahold of your marker.

You draw your pink 'O' underneath his.

You both play many more rounds. All ending in ties. This is how you play- with a frazzled grip and closed legs. A shiver every now and then overcomes you with the gravity of your aftershocks. His snickers bring your eyes up to his. He speaks as he makes his move.

"You're so focused on blocking," he sighs, "You're not even trying to win anymore-"

"I'm not letting you stick a knife in my cunt." You nod in finality before blocking another move.

"Not even if I say please?" He asks, making a faux pout.

"Fuck off."

"In that case, I have to win."

Your heart kickstarts as he pushes his pen to the board. Images flash across your mind. Blood splattered across his gorgeous face. Your blood as he fucks the sharp end of a knife inside you. You nearly vomit while he speaks. “Easy as-" you block him.

"Tic-" you block him again.

"Tac-" you block him some more

"Toe- I Win."

A victory that somehow escaped your vision. He strikes a line diagonally through the squares and your stomach sinks. He stares at you from across the room. His eyes so deeply satisfied you can feel it radiating off of him in waves.

You lower your teeth to the other restraint, violently trying to free your left wrist from its oppressive hold. And you watch as the devil slowly rises.

Your heart aches. Your brain is sent into complete alarm as your flight or fight kicks in and your sympathetic nervous system fires.

"Now, which one would look pretty inside you?" He drags his fingers along the objects, undoubtedly an act of taunting. You stomp your feet on the ground. You try to push the chair underneath you but it's plastered to the floor.

"Please!" Tears are running thickly. They cloud your vision. You don't even see the way his smile falls enough for him to rub over the bulge in his slacks.

"Fuck," he says gravelly as he relents and picks up the gun. "You're so fucking pretty when you're scared out of your fucking mind. You know that?"

You shake your head as he nears, wondering if this might really be the end. Has your body become too worn out by his games? Has the time for him to discard his toy finally dawned on you both? Is he all grown up with no need for such things as toys?

"PLEASE-NO-"

"Open your mouth." He's standing in front of you, your head directly in front of his raging bulge.

You shake your head, trying to move away but he rips your face towards him. "Listening to me is the only choice you have to make it out alive, Baby. You wanna live, don't you?" He's nothing but a tall figure, with the overhead lights shining around his head like a halo. Your face right by his bulge.

"Little girl needs to go to school." He nods, eyes fluttering shut, "She needs to complete her studies and get a good job so she wouldn't have to meet with scary men like me- Fuck-" it riled him up to no end to have you scared of him. You suppose it triggered a part of him that craved attention. He needed to feel like he existed and if that was reeped from fear then so be it.

"Stick the barrel in your mouth," the bottom of his hand coaxed open your jaw, and, as if on autopilot, you listen. Perhaps there is a way out of this. Perhaps you should just listen.

"That's it... Fuck," he brings your free hand up to rub his erection "That's it, Baby, stick it inside your mouth." Cold metal hits your lower teeth, "Stick it in like you would a cock." He says, looking down at you intently as your tongue unfurls and you suck the barrel in. "Shit-" he places his other hand on the back of your head before forcing you to take the gun deeper down your throat. He's trembling. Far too badly. And so is his finger on the trigger.

"Fuck, you're such a fucking whore, you know that?"

You're gagging and flailing around the barrel, saliva slides down.

So desperate to please him.

In your hast you don't even realize your left hand that had been restrained is now free. Your eyes are closed.

Please him.

Just please him and you'll live.

"That's my brainless girl..." he praises and that rouses something in you. It has your hips bucking against nothing.

"Such a stupid girl..." he continues, "You're gonna ride me, aren't you? You're gonna fuck me so good-" You're not about to tell him that sex wasn't supposed to be apart of this game. You're not stupid.

You faintly hear the sound of a belt unlooping. A zipper siding down. "You're making me so happy, baby." He admits before effortlessly lifting you from the chair until you're straddling him.

You're free.

When did that happen?

"F-Fuck, I need you to ride me." His head is leaning back against the chair. His tie hangs messily from his shirt that has two buttons undone.

You're free.

"Don't try anything," he warns, as he lifts you enough to pull his cock out of his pants. "Matter of fact. Keep it in your mouth while you ride me-" He slams you down onto his cock the very second those words leave his mouth. He's fucking into you with recklessness and fury and violence. His hair falls in his face but the gun is too heavy, without a hand there, it nearly slips from your mouth.

He's careful to catch it, forcing the barrel back in your mouth as he places a hand on your ass, controlling how your ass bounces on his lap. The gun offers motivation like no other. It has you arching your back and swirling your hips as you tighten your cunt around him.

He sticks the gun down too far and you gag. "You trying to get me to cum, huh? You little slut-" you nod, the tears still spilling as pleasure begins to stream through your brain. It has you excited by the prospect of being held at gunpoint. You realize with grave certainty that you've arrived at the point of no return.

"What a good girl- fuck-" he's ramming up into you, his hand on the gun twitching like his cock does. "I'm gonna fucking cum- FUCK-" he does and your orgasm immediately barrels into you at the exact same time. You try to ride him, to milk it as much as you can, to continue to make him happy.

"Such a stupid fucking slut-" he whispers, eyes hooded as his hips still spurt cum into you.

Your ears perk. You see his finger on the trigger move. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear a click.

"Such a silly girl." You hear him say. "Don't worry, Baby, it isn't loaded." You're still in your body. You're still alive, on his lap, your sundress unfurling around you both.

"Not yet anyway."

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[consultingfujoshi]

inconsolable over irving in this episode. no nuance here, irving is straight up suicidal in this episode. essentially placing him in the same circumstances in which mark chose to become severed - suffering unimaginable heartbreak and seeing switching his brain off as the only viable option for coping with it - and giving him that same choice at surface level to be relieved of it - except it's NOT the same at all, because innies don't get to compartmentalise, they ARE the compartmentalisation, if they choose to switch themselves off, they DIE. the illusion of choice here. irving can either suffer mindless torture of monotony every day with the knowledge that the man he loves is dead and never coming back, or he can fucking DIE. and he genuinely sees that as a viable option. as his only way out of this pain. because even if he did make it out, if he somehow against all odds gained his freedom in the outside world, he'd still have nothing. burt would not be waiting for him.

"I should be happy he's happy" and the way he doesn't even feel entitled to his grief?? like he has no right to be feeling the pain he's feeling right now? innie indoctrination goes so hard he's incapable of seeing that the very fact he's grieving innie burt, a hypothetical life they could have had together, is proof that he's just as real as his outie counterpart! he has just as much right to that life as anyone! like, NO, irv! you have been wronged, you have been so deeply wronged, they made you capable of feeling these things and forming this relationship and falling in love and then systematically removed every tool you could have had to pursue it, and then effectively handed you a length of rope and made you feel like the only empowerment you can find is in the act of hanging yourself with it.

"if he's gone and I'm gone, then somehow, we'll be together" broke me because he really has been so beaten down by this point at the hopelessness of it all, realising that there is no scenario in which he can be with the man he loves, that his only hope at finding any triumph or meaning in this is to die along with burt. at least in chasing him into oblivion, he will have made the one choice he could have to follow his heart. and that as a queer-centric narrative specifically is actually devastating.

SUCH an insane and heavy thing to come straight out of the gate with in the season premier. immediately cementing irving as one of the most masterfully complex characters I've ever seen - i can only hope his arc this season is in finding strength in the act of defiance at last and making good on his promise to burn lumon to the ground for what they've put him through. to carry that grief and channel it into bringing the system that has wronged you down. I believe in the power of queer rage and vengeance!!!!

[genderqueerdykes]

i feel like it's really important to point out some really transphobic and dangerous rhetoric that we've just accepted as the norm in online queer spaces.

if you believe that in order for a trans man to talk about their experiences with trans manhood, they must also talk about how bad trans women have it or else they're being transmisogynistic, you're being transphobic. these are two separate conversations and not all trans men can accurately tell you what trans women go through. not all trans women can accurately tell you what trans men go through, either. you can't expect someone to have every conversation about transness at once when they are just trying to give anecdotes about their personal lived experiences. trans men are allowed to talk about trans manhood as much as they need to... that's their lived experience.

expecting one side to talk about how the other has it worse in every conversation they have about themselves is hostile behavior. it's not holding trans women down for a trans man to talk about their experience with trans manhood and don't mention how bad other queer people have it. those are separate conversations. don't expect trans women to have to bring up the struggles trans men have in order to talk about their own experiences, and don't do this to any other group of queer person, either. don't do it to anyone. it's okay to have one conversation at a time. not every conversation can represent every single group of queer person at once, nor should they have to.

there's a time and a place for all of these conversations. there is just as much time to be had having conversations about trans womanhood as there is trans manhood. it's okay to have these conversations separately at the same time. it's alright for someone to only comment on what they know. it's not great to force people to comment on experiences they don't understand because it leads to misrepresentation. let trans men talk about their experiences with trans manhood without expecting them to talk about a bunch of other queer identities, too. you don't have to drown out the voices of trans men in order to lift someone else up. we can have these conversations, separately, at once.

[ellana-ravenwood]

“Batman, you need to-IS THAT A BABY ?!” - Batfam x Fem!reader

Synopsis : Bruce and Batmom bring their newborn daughter to the Watchtower, so she can meet their friends (or vice versa). Includes an overprotective Damian, League members who cannot believe the Batman is smiling, and other shenanigans.  

Oop, I’m back (?). My dudes. It’s been TWO YEARS since I last posted here. Two. Years. I posted like, two life update...don’t know if some of y’all saw it, but long story short : I got married, I have a son now, and everything is going so well in my life that I didn’t really need the validation I got from writing online...Buuuuuuuuuuuuut, I still love writing. And so, after quite a long break, here I am :). Hope you will enjoy this, don’t hesitate to let me know if you do : 

Please, do not repost my stories anywhere else, under any other form. Do not translate and then repost them either. Thank you.

My masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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“You’re evil, you know that right ?” You say, raising an eyebrow.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my love.” He answers, a small smile on his lips. You turn to him and...Oh that smug look, that smug look you loved so much. He definitely DEFINITELY knew what he was doing. 

And that it was utterly...evil. 

“It’s going to be FUN !” 

Ah, and here’s his little devil. Damian himself. He loved this. Partly because he thought it was funny to mess with everyone, partly because he liked showing that you guys were a family. 

“They won’t believe their eyes !” His little voice kept going, followed by a big roar of laughter that sounded, by all means, more childlike than devilish. 

“That they won’t, they always seem so surprised when Bruce acts like a human.” 

Jason. Still not calling Bruce “dad” (except sometimes, by “accident”, and even him don’t realize he did), he’d only slowly been back at the manor, with all of you. And, for sure, a certain important event which happened about four months ago made it so he came back to live at home.

Dick chuckled and added : “Who would blame them ? We’re talking about a man who eats his burgers with a knife and fork !” He gestured to his father with his left thumb, his other hand shielding part of his mouth as if he was telling them all a secret, as if he was trying to be discreet, so his dad wouldn’t hear...Always quite the little clown, that eldest son of yours. With his exaggerated mannerism, and that sparkle in his eyes, in his smile. 

“I’m certain some of them thought he was genuinely a cyborg for YEARS” Tim added, quite seriously, his tone the opposite of his older brother (and that was just his way of joking...you think). And honestly ? Yeah, you were pretty sure some of your friends at the JLA thought your husband was a robot, at one point. 

Oh yes. That’s where you were going, to the JLA’s headquarters. To execute Bruce’s plan. Quite the evil plan indeed. 

“Hell, even I thought he was one before I met you guys !” Duke chimed in, and that made Cassandra smile widely, as she shook her head up and down pointing at Duke as if to say : “what he just said”. 

And in a very Bruce manner, your husband kept a straight face, ignoring his children’s teasing. Only you, saw that twinkle in his eyes, that smile that might not reach his mouth, but was definitely dancing in those bright blue eyes. 

Oh yes. Yes, your friends were in for quite the surprise. 

************

Meanwhile, in the Justice League headquarters : 

“Oh, hey ! Look, Batman’s zeta tube is turning on ! We haven’t seen him in a while right ?”  

Indeed they haven’t. Because, well, let’s put it this way : Batman’s wife just had a baby. 

A baby girl (finally, right ? You and Cass weren’t TOO outnumbered anymore). 

And Batman had been VERY busy doting over his baby girl. 

Batman had been busy being Bruce Wayne. 

Just a man, who thought he’d never be happy again, not knowing how to handle all those feelings he had for his wife (for you), for his children. 

That was happiness then, right ? 

So, yes. Batman hasn’t been much at the JLA’s headquarters lately. But your husband thought, it was finally time to go see his friends a little bit. He knew they were all up there, because it was their monthly reunion (once each month, they gathered to talk about the state of the world, the universe, what threat lingered, what lurked beyond...and to get very drunk, and see their friends, the only ones who knew what it meant to be a “hero”). 

And that what’s made him particularly evil. 

He knew, they would all be there. He knew what their reaction was going to be. After all, his memory was amazing, he definitely hadn’t forgot the way they reacted the first time they saw you, the first time they learned he had children (childrEN, plural !). 

And he knew they were a little worried about him. 

He had missed their last three reunions, and only answered : “Everything is ok” to their messages asking if he was alright (they hadn’t dared to go see if he was indeed ok, because last time they did that, they found him bed ridden with all the bones in his body broken, and he got so mad at them for butting in his business he worked twice as hard when he was fine again, and didn’t talk a WORD for months...that was, of course, years ago, before you were in his life, but the experience was still in their minds and so, they decided to respect his privacy, he would come to them when ready). And he never pushed his “red button”, him, or anyone in the family. 

They just assumed he was busy, they hoped it wasn’t anything bad. 

Yes. They were worried. For him. For you. For your kids. For Alfred. For your dogs, your cats, your cow...They. Were. Worried. 

And Bruce knew. 

You told him, when your pregnancy was confirmed, to tell his friends. That they would be happy. But after his own initial happy thought, his surge of hope and love at knowing he was going to be a dad again, he started to make his plan. 

Why tell them, when you could toy with them ? 

“They deserve it.” He told you, and you weren’t sure if they did, but you weren’t about to fight him on that. After all, you too, thought it could be amusing. Amusing to hide your pregnancy, making up excuses as to why they couldn't come see you, and you didn’t come up the headquarter. Amusing, to even hide it quite expertly from any form of news (Bruce was a MASTER of disguise, not only for himself), so it would be a real surprise. 

Amusing, to have your little girl in secret, with only your family. Amusing, but also what you wanted. For this good news to be just between you, your children, and Alfred. Your close family. Because you had too few things that just were yours. 

This had to be yours. Your thing, your secret, your own happiness. Yours, and only yours. And you found it was good, that you guys spend the first few months of your daughter’s life only between yourselves. 

It was nice, to go out “disguised” as a normal couple, and show your daughter Gotham (and how her little eyes already tried to take the entire world within them). 

It was nice, to live in total privacy for a little bit. 

So, yes, you had been a little selfish. And he had, too. You knew it wasn’t just to prank his friends, he kept it all a secret. That it was also to have some quality time with his family. To spend the first few months of his daughter’s life being the only one being utterly smitten with her. 

Though, this last thing wasn't true...You were, too. And your children ? Let’s just say your daughter had not been alone ONCE since she was born. And she seemed to love it. 

Whenever she made the slightest sound, smiled, laughed (or cried), they were there, Bruce was there, absolutely loving that little baby. 

She was almost 4 months old now, and Bruce thought that the gist had to be up. What scale did he use to measure this amount of “readiness” ? You had no idea. You thought he was just now ready to share his happiness with his friends, and not just his close family. 

And so here you were, after months of secrecy carefully crafted and orchestrated by your husband, in the JLA’s headquarters, along with your family, the little new addition to said family in your husband’s arms. 

Evil. Your husband was downright evil. 

He knew that what was about to happen would have a massive impact on his friends. He. KNEW. 

And as the zeta tube brought all your family up there, you knew that as he saw their faces, your husband was a little TOO happy with himself for his little “prank”. 

************

“Batman, are you al- IS THAT A BABY ?” Very typical, very in character : the first to react was Flash himself. 

None of the other noticed, and they seemed inclined to think Barry had lost his mind but then...

Bruce’s face didn’t move an inch, he just held that little “package”, and had his same stoic expression except...Except there was a little hand grabbing at his chin. 

Then another hand appeared out of that bundle Batman carried, with a bat plushie bunched in a tight fist, shaking it and...Cooing. 

Cute little sounds, and the way- EXCUUUuuUuuuUSE ME ?

The way Batman just softly looked at her, the way his cold expression was replaced by a tender one as he lowered his eyes to her ??

WHAT ?! 

They knew. They knew he had THE softest spot for his family. They knew his scary aura greatly dimmed when he was around his wife and children. They knew that when they weren’t there, he was only made of shadows. They were his light, his salvation. 

They knew he didn’t have the same face expression, when they were around.

Well, when they were looking at him...Barry swore that Batman loomed around his family, standing menacingly behind them, his eyes cold and calculating as if he was ready to fight any seconds to save his loved ones, and then whenever they turned to him his feature would instantly soften. He will ALWAYS remember the first time he met little Dickie, 9 years old and so full of joy and life, and how whenever he would look at Batman and talk to him, said Batman got a softer expression somewhat, but then when Dick turned around, Batman looked about to murder them whenever they came too close from him. 

Once, Tim, also 9 at the time, years after the JLA met Dick, told Barry matter of factly : “He doesn’t kill people. He could break your knee caps though” in a very Tim fashion. The kid was serious. And had noticed the aura surrounding his dad, how it changed when he was around (he noticed more than his siblings, because for a while, Bruce had been really cold and distant with him, since he met him not long after Jason’s death..understandable. So he was the only one who had this sort of behavior aimed at him, the shield Bruce put in front of him to keep everyone away so he wouldn’t be hurt, the shield that now was lowered for them and only them). 

It was his eyes. His eyes that were always hard and cold, became different when looking at you or his children. 

Not to say that his family never exasperated him, or that he never had his “mask” around them. After all, Bruce’s stoic expression was his face by default. It’s just that he was often too focused. And that he spend years practicing hiding his emotions, practicing keeping a blank face. Because Barry also remembered seeing Dick perched on his father’s shoulders, letting himself dangle in his back, his head upside down, whistling and kicking his feet, and Bruce having this stoic mask on, concentrated. 

Anyway, they knew all that. It had been years, since Bruce finally trusted them enough to bring his wife here, and his kids. But yet, yet they were still surprised sometimes.

Like today. 

The picture of Batman holding a baby was...a little weird. 

Even if he opened up to them over the years, he was still mostly very cold, distant and aloof. You know, Batman. That’s just who he was. So sometimes, to see him so devoted to his wife or kids, it was odd to say the least. 

And right now, as he walked towards them with a baby in his arms, the shock was real. Damn it, will there be a day when the Bat didn’t surprise them with something ? 

How did none of them notice you were pregnant ? Proof again Batman was a master of his craft. And that little girl...

Oh your daughter was such a beaming ray of sunshine, that in his arms it was particularly a jarring image. 

The big scary bat, tall, broad shouldered, muscular in every way, his face void of expressions, holding a tiny baby who kept smiling at everyone around, and playing with her plushy. 

Odd. 

Yet, sweet. 

Were they surprised ? Yes. 

Were they a little mad he hid something (AGAIN) this important from them ? Definitely. 

Were they shocked that his daughter was so darn cute and smiling and laughing that much ? Not really, because you were his mom too. 

Were they happy for him ? For sure. 

Were they going to adore that little girl ? Probably as much as they adored his other kids already, which meant...yes. Yes they were going to. 

Damn that bastard Bruce. Always so sneaky. 

Hal, couldn’t help but think : “First, he’s not a vampire, then, he’s married with children, and now, he has that cute baby. This guy ??!!” 

***********

The initial shocked passed, and only after your children MOCKED all of your friends (you had to give it to Dick, he knew how to imitate them so well..and when Damian joined in ? Oh, oh it was a fit of laughter impossible to fight that attacked them), did they approach your daughter. 

“Her name is Martha.” Bruce said “We named her after my mother.” and it wasn’t his usual flat tone he used as Batman. No, it was a soft voice he usually only reserved for his kids. And the reason he was using it now ? Well. He didn’t want to scare his daughter, as he still held her. 

She beamed at him when she heard her name, and babbled some baby nonsense. She then turned towards all those new faces, and you saw Bruce’s hand hold her a little tighter. 

Your beautiful, sweet soul husband. He clearly was worried she’d be scared, meeting all those new people. Especially since they all wore mask. But Martha-

Martha let go of her bat plushy (which Damian caught before it touched the floor, rolling on the ground in a way you thought was quite comedic. Oh, that boy), and lifted her arms up towards- 

“What a sweet little girl !” Diana said with a voice you NEVER heard her use. You realized it was her “voice reserved for babies and domestic animals”, and it made you smile. It was higher than her usual voice, and full of softness. 

You thought your daughter reached for her because she could feel the warmness in your friend. And after all, amongst all of those gathered here today, she was probably the one that adored babies the most. 

Diana looked at Bruce, who only inclined his head a little to give her the ok to lift her from his arms but-

Another arm stopped her, and took the baby away. 

Damian. 

Damian, the one who took his role as a big brother a little too seriously. 

He held Martha protectively against him, and literally sneered at all your friends. 

************

Damian deemed most of them unworthy to hold his baby sister, and only Clark ended up being allowed to carry her. And that was partly because Clark was the only one who knew about Martha, the only one who saw her already, and he had months to convince your son to trust him with her. 

Being an extremely close friend and all, you just couldn’t hide this from him and... no, really, you literally couldn’t hide this from him as he was the immediately noticed that second heartbeat when he listened in to make sure you and your family were safe. Bruce hated when he did that, but Clark wasn’t about to let them be in danger without moving an inch.

Anyway, Clark was allowed to hold her, but he gave her back to you rather quickly because your son’s stare made him uncomfortable. If eyes could kill, right ? 

Damian took his job as an older brother very seriously. He would protect her at all cost. And you had no doubt that he would be the kind of person to burn the entire world down if it meant saving his family. 

Damian only glared at everyone, letting them approach ONLY after they put on a surgical mask so they wouldn’t give her their “viruses or whatever”. 

You had to admit he was a bit much, and you asked him nicely to calm down a little. He relented on the face masks, but made them all wash their hands (twice). 

You ruffled his hair affectionately, what a sweet little boy. It broke your heart, how so many people judged him too fast. He really was, a nice kid. With a heart of gold. He just didn’t have much luck for the first few years of his life. 

But he chose to be like this. Chose to love, instead of hate. Chose to protect, instead of attacking. 

Although, right now, as Diana came back towards his sister, he definitely seems ready to high kick her (which definitely wouldn’t have hurt the amazon). 

************

It was a hassle, to convince Damian to let go of his sister so they could hold her. As per usual, it’s Dick who managed to convince him, saying Martha was all soft and cute, and everyone deserved to hold her at least once. Adding that if one of them dropped her, he would be allowed to do whatever he wanted to them. 

Some of the mightiest heroes of the planet were gathered hear, but the threat didn’t fall on deaf ears. Damian could be a little intense, and scary sometimes. 

They weren’t fooled by Dick’s agreeable smile either. A smile that didn’t always reach his eyes. They knew if they messed up, he would find every way to rip them to shreds. Dick was often seen as the calmest of your children, but his anger issues from when he was a child were never far. And he could be ruthless.  

Diana held her first, and your daughter babbled to her excitedly. 

Of course, being only 4 months old, she just talked gibberish. And it was so sweet, how Diana answered her : “What ? *babbles from your daughter* Noooooo. *more babbles from your daughter* I can’t believe he said that. And then what ? *babbles babbles babbles*”. 

After that, Dick took her back, and asked if someone else wanted to hold her, under yours and Bruce’s watchful eyes. 

Then again, in the room, many were also already parents and knew how to hold a baby. They weren’t too worried, except-

Except Dick, that little sh-, had found a new game in recent weeks. Whenever he gave his little sister to someone else...he pretended to drop her. 

And it made him laugh and laugh and laugh, to give mini-heart attacks to EVERYONE whenever he gave them his baby sister to them, as they always all panicked and screamed seeing her dropped (Dick always had her secure, he only pretended to drop her of course). 

“Oh no careful !” He’d scream, dropping his arms suddenly (she looooved it) while still gripping her, and they’d scramble to catch her, and he would just laugh. 

“You little-” Hal’s colorful words were...imaginative. And Damian was inclined to agree, since his brother pranked him oh, I don’t know, only about A HUNDRED TIMES since their little sister was born. 

You wouldn’t admit it, but it made you laugh a little too. Even if he got you a few times as well, pretending he was going to drop her. Then again, you trusted your eldest son. Once you and Bruce wouldn’t be around anymore, you knew he would hold this family together. 

************

Martha was a calm baby. She let people hold her, curious enough to not fuss and watch them all intently. It made Barry uncomfortable, how she held his gaze and would just stare at him. 

She would stare, and stare, and stare, and her bright blue eyes were EXACTLY like Bruce’s, it felt like being stared down by a miniature version of Batman. 

He didn’t like it. So he gave her back to whomever was closest, which happened to be Jason

Jason, who was always very delicate with his little sister. He handled her as if he’d break her. It broke your heart, to know he probably literally thought that. 

He refused to hold her at first, sure he would hurt her. But she kept reaching for him, crying when he wouldn’t take her, and she was so adorable and-

He caved, of course. After a little while. And he was oh, the fixture of a patient older brother. You knew he would ALWAYS be part of her life, and step in whenever she needed to. 

Right now, she was grabbing his hair, which were getting quite long, and pulling hard on them as babies do and- He didn’t say anything. He just let her do it. 

You really hoped she wasn’t going to take advantage of this when she’d get older, even if you already had visions of her having her brothers and father wrapped around her little finger, having her sister too, and...apparently, the entirety of the JLA. 

************

“How can such an a-hole make such a cute baby ?” Hal said, looking at the little girl he held. She was sort of dozing off, which for sure was adorable. 

Bruce only glared at him, which amused Hal greatly. He just gave him the shock of his life, he could laugh at his expense a little, right ? 

“I believe, to make a baby, you need to-”

“Um, no, Jon, please, I know how to ! It’s just-Oh, forget it.” 

Flustered, Hal Jordan was flustered. Jon J’onzz didn’t seem to get why, but then again, human sarcasms and irony were still very foreign to him. He always answered pragmatically to people. 

Talking about pragmatism. Hal handed back your daughter to Tim, who slipped her in his favorite new contraption : the baby carrier 3.0 (of his own design). Made so he could do all sort of work while having her strapped to him. Keeping an eye on her at all time. 

Tim adopted the use of a baby carrier, so he could still work while taking care of her (he stole the idea from his dad, who definitely hung around with his daughter EVERYWHERE with that thing...which was the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen, this tall broad man and this tiny baby attached to his chest). 

It was so cute to see her little feet dangling while he was working. Damian nearly lost it when he found Tim WELDING two pieces of metal together with the baby carrier on his front. Tim merely said : “I made her baby sized goggles and a fireproof pyjama, she’s fine, and she likes it” and indeed, your daughter didn’t have a scratch, and cried when Damian hauled her away from the sparks. Ooooh the smug look on Tim’s face as his brother gave her back reluctantly. Damian’s was utterly vexed. 

Vexation he forgot just a few minutes later, when Martha decided she had enough of sparkles and made little sounds of protest (not quite cries), and reached her little arms to him. 

As of now, Tim had her in this baby carrier again, and was strolling around the JLA headquarters, showing his new little sister to everyone. 

************

Cassandra didn’t say a word, as per usual. She never liked big crowds, only spoke to those she trusted the most. Her brothers, her parents. 

She only gestured to others. Remained quiet. But she monitored every little movements. 

Hawkgirl approached her sister ? Noted. Carefully studying every move. Martian Manhunter asked if he could hold her ? Noted. 

Superman made little babbling sound at her, while her dad held her ? Noted, with amusement. It was funny, to see one of Earth’s mightiest hero grimacing to a baby to make it laugh, while said baby was held by another mighty hero who was utterly stoned face. Cass’ smiled at her dad, who smiled back for a fraction of seconds before Clark shifted his head up to look at him too, and Bruce went back to his : “ -_-” face, by reflex really. 

Cassandra never spoke much, but she loved a lot. And her way of loving her little sister ? It was to always keep a watchful eye on her, so she could react to whatever she needed. And give her space when she needed to. 

She had many brothers, she often joked that if she lost one, she could just replace him (a joke you didn’t like much, because you knew it was just a self-defense from her, to shield her heartbreak at the mere idea of loosing a sibling), but only had one sister...

Yes. Your youngest child definitely held a special place in everyone’s heart. 

And you could see her slowly creep in every members’ of the Justice League’s heart too. 

Gods, you couldn’t even imagine what would happen to the person who would one day try to hurt her. You could bet, though, he wouldn’t get out of it unscathed (to say the least). 

************

Martha was particularly fond of Duke’s inuit kiss. He had the capacity to instantly calm her, and he could easily feel her inner emotions. 

As she was passed around everyone, and she started to be tired and cranky, he simply retrieved her and brought her to Bruce, because he knew that was her preferred spot to fall asleep. 

He kissed her on the forehead, and sure enough, she was asleep before he could pull away. Your husband put a warm hand on Duke’s head, a warm smile on his face. That boy could always tell what others felt. It was a gift, really, and sometimes a curse as others’ feelings could leak into him. Which is to say that sometimes, when others were sad, he would be too...

But for now, he felt content. At peace. Because his dad was, too. 

And indeed, Bruce, holding his sleeping daughter against his heart, his hand supporting her head gently, was utterly at peace. 

He loved the idea that his arms were his daughter’s favorite place to sleep, and never refused to hold her to help her sleep. You sure were a little jealous, but he told you : “They all always come to you when they need comfort, one kid out of six, you surely can give me, right ?” and though you knew he was joking, it broke your heart a little. 

So, you let go of your jealousy, and let him have this indeed. Martha was definitely a daddy’s girl. And that was good. You could see the impact on your husband, how having a baby in the house soothed him. 

He loved his kids so damn much. He often said they were his lights. And the fact Martha found comfort with him ? 

It reminded him of his own parents. How he would go to his mom, a Martha too, to find the same comfort. To fall asleep in the same way. 

You let go of that small jealousy, as you saw her falling soundly asleep, cuddled up against her dad. And it was funny, how Bruce would take his usual Batman persona, stone faced, standing straight and- 

Having one of two fingers held tightly by both of his daughter’s little hands. She grabbed them as he took her, one hand holding her (she was so tiny...and he was a big dude), the other, she used as a sort of comfort plushy. She held them with all her might, as she slept. 

And Bruce was speaking battle plans, and you had to fight the laughter in you as all your friends couldn’t help but stare at the scene, not knowing how to feel. 

Hal snickered at one point, and he made a gesture for him to zip it, and it was quite an odd scene, as he held his daughter and did that childish gesture. 

Seriously. That guy !! 

************

Batman smiling was...different. 

They all got caught staring at him, when he had his daughter in his arms. Staring because his broad smile was-

Well. Broad. 

It wasn’t his signature smirk. It wasn’t a soft smile. It wasn’t a half-smile. It wasn’t a smile that you could only see in his eyes. 

It was a full on big ass smile (as Barry would say). 

And sure, they already saw him smile like that (although he schooled his face back to “stone mode” when he noticed them looking), never that much. 

As if the birth of his daughter gave Batman another new light, and it was just impossible to yield to his old demon, to brood, when holding that ray of sunshine. 

It made them all feel...soft. And warm. 

It was nice, to know the bat wasn’t just a machine. They forgot it sometimes, that he was, in the end, “just” a man. They forgot why he became Batman. The pain and guilt he held inside. But moments like this, they were reminded of it. 

That the Batman didn’t exist because of hatred, but because of love. 

Because he loved his parents, his city, and now- 

His family. 

It was nice, to get reminded that there was a man below the mask. And though he could be an “a-hole” sometimes, there, holding his baby, he was just that. 

A loving man, who wanted to protect others. 

************

You made a note of every moments you would cherish forever of you introducing your daughters to them all : 

1. The shock on their faces as they beheld the sight of THE BATMAN holding a baby against him, and being so delicate. 

2. Your daughter being the star of the show, all of them smitten with her !

3. Your friends wanting to hold her, and how they beamed at her (and she beamed back, except with Barry, whom she only stared at for some reasons). 

4. Dick’s “game” of pretending he dropped her, and their panicked reaction. 

5. The success of Tim’s baby carrier, and how now, there was always one up in the tower. 

6. Diana and how it definitely seemed like she would move mountain for that child. 

7. How Clark’s eyes filled with tears again, as he looked at Martha. Because it made his friends so happy. You and Bruce. And especially Bruce. And Clark was an emotional man, who suffered too, and was just so happy “The Batman” was happy. 

8. How Jason seemed at peace with his little sister, and how whenever he held her, he seemed less weary than usual around everyone. Like Cass, he didn’t like much being amongst too many people. But now, it felt like he had an “emotional support baby”. Ah. 

9. Their reactions, past the shock, welcoming that new life in the world. 

10. How Bruce monitored his daughter being held by his friends, holding your hand. Even after all those years, when he acted close to you in his Batman costume, it made you...feel things. He always kept a facade as Batman. A facade that would crumble with his kids, and especially with you. PDA weren’t rare. And even after years at his side, it always made your heart beat wildly when he showed affection towards you in public, because it meant- 

Oh it meant so much. 

And you had so many more moments forever ingrained in your heart from that day spend up at the JLA’s headquarters. 

Too many to count. Some sweet, some hilarious- 

All positive feelings. 

And as you and your family stepped back in the zeta tubes, your friends saying “byyyyye” to Martha especially, with their baby voice (making Bruce roll his eyes), and as she waved at them- 

Waved for the FIRST TIME ever oh. 

Oh it felt like you would die of happiness. 

And still, Bruce’s hands held yours tightly. 

He knew. 

He knew, you were the source of this happiness he thought he could never find again. 

He knew. 

He never loved like that before. 

Yes. It felt like you could just die of happiness.

__________________________________________________

And here we are. I hope you enjoyed this. Don’t hesitate to comment and/or reblog, it’s always greatly appreciated :). 

Also, initially, the child was going to be Thomas (their son in my “main” storyline, if you already read a few works from me), but last minute, I was like : “wait no, I want to give Bruce a daughter, and the boys a sister. Also, poor Cass eh ?” and here we are. I really hope you liked this; I’m nervous for some reasons. Anyway. See you soon with another one ? 

[readwritealldayallnight]

“But what if you hate it?”

“I can tell ya I wouldn’t, because it’d be yours.”

“Okay but what if you actually do really hate it, and you can’t tell me because you just said that?”

“Love, ya don’ have to do this. I didn’t wan’ this to stress ya-”

“No! No, Simon I want to do it. It’s such a sweet idea you had, I’ll do another one.” You finally decide, putting the pen back to paper, unable to bring yourself to actually draw.

“Could always take any o’ the ones from the bin.” He offers, nodding his head over towards the overflowing waste basket surrounded by crumbled up pieces of paper, evidence of your many previous attempts.

When SImon had brought up the idea of you drawing something for him to add to his sleeve to represent you, you’d jumped at the opportunity, loving the idea. However, you’d all too quickly discovered that you were having issues committing to the idea of what to draw, and Simon was refusing to offer any ideas, wanting the idea and design to be entirely yours.

Appropriate to his call sign, your first instinct had been to try drawing different versions of ghosts, but each one felt too cartoony, too childish, and you passed on that idea.

Then you thought you would draw your own little skull, something that could more easily be incorporated into the images and not be totally out of theme. But the next issue to come to light though, was when the connection between you brain and your hand apparently forgot entirely how to draw a skull, and you hated everything that came up on paper.

“S’that a lightbulb?” He’d asked at one point, and the skull idea was quickly out the window too.

From there, you were worried he wouldn’t like any of your drawings, as you couldn’t bring yourself to like any them either. You’d both agreed to put a pin in it for the time being, and as the weeks passed, you nearly forgot about his request.

That was until, he came home with a plastic wrapping around his forearm.

“You hurt?” You ask him, immediately spotting the darker bandages peeking out from the edges of his sleeve as he removes his jacket.

“Nah, just got somethin’ done.” He replies, sauntering over to you, slowly folding up his sleeve to reveal more of his pale skin.

“Huh?

Instead of answering, he carefully unravels the outer layer of bandages, before slowly peeling back the bandage to show you the skin underneath, an overly pleased grin stretching across his face, chuckle bursting through as your stunned gasp echoes through your shared flat.

Forever on his skin, Simon has tattooed something you’d drawn in the first birthday card you ever gave him. In your handwriting, he can always glance down at himself and see both your and his initial with a plus sign between them, surrounded by a little heart with an arrow going through it. When you’d drawn it for him, never in a million years had you thought he would be etching the corny doodle onto himself permanently, but now, that same doodle is his favourite thing to look at when away on deployment.