#to vent my feelings about them that is all

[zynwarrior]

Effects of @n@ that shouldn’t be romanticized:

There’s been a few minors lurking around my page and I just want to say GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN. I cannot enjoy my life anymore because losing weight is all I think about and my entire life revolves around it at this point and I would never wish something like this on anyone. So many relationships of mine are strained because of what I’m doing to myself and how much I isolate because of it. This account is for my personal use and to be a safe space for me to vent about my ED. If you’re new to this please do yourself a favor and seek help if you’re having a hard time.

Fainting (in the shower mostly)

Feeling cold all the time

MASSIVE headaches

Increased body hair

Bald spots due to hair loss caused by undereating

Nails breaking (this doesn’t seem bad but if you hit your hand you will bleed and bruise because your nails become so thin that it literally cannot protect your fingers)

Blurry eyesight

Stomach aches

Laxative addiction (if you abuse lax you permanently damage your colon/ intestines and are unable to poop without them)

Bloating

Nausea/ vomiting bile

Constipation

Brain fog

Tiredness (so bad that you physically cannot do anything)

Insomnia

Aching joints

Teeth chipping

Cuts on your tongue

Dry, cracked and bleeding lips

Please do not choose this life, it becomes an addiction. Get help before commiting to something you will never get out of.

[lnfours]

i feel like youre the only one who could understand my thoughts rn, hear me out: uni student who is having a hard time being motivated and is justt feeling overall down about school and such. THEN, lando comfort, just being there and being so comforting (this is not at all inspired by my life or anything...truth, ive been having such a shit week and i just know that this week is going to be bad too and i really need comfort, but am lacking in the friend/boyfriend department and my phone calls with my mom are simply not doing it for me anymore. okay enough with the venting.)

i definitely, 100% understand your situation. school is stressful and hard, especially when you’re feeling unmotivated. remember to give yourself breaks as needed, and my messages are always open if you need anything ❤️

‘feeling 22’ birthday sleepover

the sound of the front door opening sounded through the apartment before his voice did, "hey, baby."

you looked up from your laptop, smiling softly at him from the spot on the couch that you had realized you'd been at all day. the sun was beginning to set, peaking in through the curtains in the living room. he walked up behind the couch, wrapping his arms around you, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"it's five already?" you asked, glancing up at the time in the corner of your screen. sure enough, it was a little after five. you had quite literally been working on this final project all day.

he hummed, resting his head on top of yours, "mmhm," his nose absentmindedly nuzzled into the hair ontop of your head, taking in the smell of your shampoo, "have you been working on this all day?"

you nodded, sighing before pulling off your glasses, rubbing your eyes, "yeah and i feel like i've barely made a dent in it. i feel like no matter what i put, my professor isn't going to be impressed."

"he'd be an idiot not to be impressed with anything you do."

"yeah, but it needs to be perfect if i want to land that internship," you said, "and it's nowhere near perfect. no matter how hard i work i feel like it's not good enough and i just... i don't know what to do."

"take a break, baby," he said, "you've been at this all day. rest the rest of the night and have another go at it tomorrow or the next day. little by little."

you knew he had a point, but you sat there defeated as you tried to get yourself to close your laptop, "okay, yeah, just let me read it over one last time and then i'll be done for the night."

he nodded, "okay, just once though," he said, standing up again, "i have an idea, actually. i'll be right back,"

you nodded, letting him venture down the hallway and into your bedroom. he made quick work with his actions, gathering candles from your bedroom before placing them on the bathroom counter and lighting them. he started the faucet for the bath, making it the temperature he knew you liked before adding some of your body wash to the water.

once it was set up to his liking, he made his way back to the living room and you were still invested in the project on your laptop. he stood in front of you. gently closing the lid, which made you stop reading as you let out a soft sigh of defeat. there was no getting around it with him.

"c'mon," he smiled softly, reaching out and offering his hand for you to take. you placed your hand in his, rising from the couch as he led you down the hallway and to your bedroom.

"what're you up to?"

"nothing in particular," he smiled, and when you saw the bathroom you immediately almost broke down into tears. the candles dimly lit the room and a bath was drawn.

"lando," you gasped softly, his thoughtfulness making your heart flutter against your chest and reminding you why you fell in love with him in the first place.

he smiled, "you relax, i'll order us some food. how's that sound?"

you nodded as wrapped your arms around his neck, "have i ever told you how much i love you?"

he smiled, "once or twice, i can't quite put my finger on it though."

you laughed softly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "i love you."

"i love you more," he smiled.

you nodded in the direction of the tub, "how about you join me and then we order dinner?"

"i like the way you think."

[ari-sa]

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roommate!geto x reader. part two

cw: mdni. suggestive, masturbation, a little bit of choking?, oral (m!receiving)

a/n: got a little carried away here so it’s kind of long, also this is only my second time writing so I’m sorry if it’s bad!

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roommate!geto who lays in your lap as you run your nails thru his long hair, pretending to be asleep so you won't get up~

roommate!geto who catches you staring at him after he’s walked out the shower with nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, beads of water clinging to his body. “like what you see princess?”

roommate!geto who listens to you vent every time you and one of your situationships don't work out "you deserve so much better baby" he says as he pulls you into a hug, planting kiss on your forehead >,<

roommate!geto who becomes more touchy since you started going out on dates again-

randomly cupping your face with one hand and squeezing it gently to make you pout mid conversation;

hugging you from behind while you cook to 'thank' you for making breakfast. "thanks for always cooking for me doll" he says as he wraps his arms around you, feeling his bare chest press against your back~

roommate!geto who when you're bored you go to his room to hang out with, but end up falling asleep on his bed-

roommate!geto who's mesmerized by your sleeping figure and doesn't have the heart to wake you up when he wants to sleep so he ends up climbing into bed with you.

suguru is hyper aware of EVERYTHING. how your hair smells, how soft your legs feel, the fact you aren’t wearing a bra- it all he can think about all night.

in the early hours of the morning when he absolutely cannot deal with his morning hard on anymore he goes to get up, but you grab his wrist, "sugu don't go" you whisper, dragging him back to bed~

roommate!geto who makes you getting ready cocktails <3

roommate!geto who you 'platonically' ask to practice kissing, because you haven't kissed anyone in a while and you don't want to disappoint this 'guy that you really like'-

roommate!geto who actually kisses you <3

as the cold metal of his piercings brushes against your lips, you lean deeper into him. his hand snakes up to wrap around your neck and you feel a wet patch forming in your underwear.

as the kiss turns into a full blown make out session, he notices you squeezing your thighs together- his hands move to cup your face and he swipes his tongue over your lips willing you to part them further. your hands begin roam, while his tangle in your freshly curled hair. instinctively you cup his erection through his pants. he let’s out a moan- almost a whimper.

he needs you so bad. he thinks about how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. how cute you’d look all messy and drooling over his length, batting your eyelashes up at him. he’d scoop all your hair up and push your head down further onto his erection. watching your makeup you spent so long on get more and more messed up eventually cumming undone in the back of your throat~

the kiss is languid, feverish and messy, but ends when the door bell rings and your date is here.

he watches you get up from the couch, tugging from at the hem of your dress, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and attempting to smooth your messed up hair.

“have fun baby” he says with a smirk as you slip on your shoes~

roommate!geto who actually dies inside when you actually start dating this guy you met on tinder.

roommate!geto who just lets out a scoff when you open your birthday present from your boyfriend and it's a gold necklace- you ony wear silver.

"here princess," he says as he hands you a small jewelry box with a little bow on it. opening it to find a silver necklace~

"thank you sugu i love it!" you say leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. he doesn't miss the way your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your reaction.

roommate!geto who “borrows” your dirty panties when you’re not home~

laying in your bed, he wraps a lacy thong around his cock, slowly fucking his fist, thinking about how much better he is than your asshole boyfriend.

roommate!geto who cums in your panties and then puts them back in your laundry basket- who would ever notice?

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a/n: sorry it took so long to get this out haha, I was kinda scared to post it 😭

Im super open to feedback so please lmk if I should’ve done anything differently

I have part 3 almost ready, but it’s gonna be more of a drabble/one shot format!

[dukeofankh]

I mean, nothing I said was suggesting that nothing can or should be done. I have a couple things I can think of but people are already rightly pointing out that my experience, like all experiences, isnt universal. Calling out a shallow take isn't something I'm doing because I'm so so wise and I know how to fix everything.

I have heard the take that part of the fix for this will probably be a lot more white men with podcasts, and that is almost definitely *part* of the fix. It is legitimately difficult for young men to find content about random ass basic hobbies that isn't being served to them by low-key fascists. That needs to change. When talking with other progressive men, something that came up a lot was after school programs, especially ones that bring boys in more contact with their communities and expose them to different kinds of people in positive ways. Hate breeds in ignorance and isolation.

You already seem very anti-terf, which is great. That is also part of it. I don't honestly think that women are the cause of this problem but like, in terms of fixing this and convincing men that feminists are on their side, yeah, some small part of it is probably looking at the state of feminism currently and recognizing that it has devolved in many very public online spaces into reactionary gender essentialism and that radical feminism takes up a lot more air than anyone would like to pretend it does. "Sure I wholeheartedly reblogged something that claimed that any man who seems decent is just trying to let women's guards down to make it easier to assault them, something all men are trying to do to women at all times, but that's just venting. Ignore that broadside that me and my friends just unloaded on you and everyone who looks anything like you, if you think that your hurt feelings about that matter, that's on you for not recognizing that our pain justifies saying literally whatever we want" (to call up a random example) is certainly a standard that it is possible to enforce in some more isolated corners of the internet, but there has been a serious breakdown between the personal and the public, which is hell for messaging as a movement. This is no longer drinks with friends, this stuff gets broadcast worldwide to men who are trying to get a sense of what feminism is about. At some level, what is cathartic to say will have to give way to what is tactically wise to announce. The only men who will willingly share space with that sentiment if it is core to this movement are either convinced that they are personally exempt from examining their own privilege, which is its own problem, or men who agree wholeheartedly that all men are evil, them included, and are trying to atone. I've interacted plenty with both in male feminist spaces. It's not a winning team. I am aware how hard that will be. 4B type political lesbianism/lesbian separatism seems to be having a moment (at least as a meme) right now as people process their grief in this moment. That's understandable. But it's not wise.

Considering this is happening in the wake of the US election, and I'm saying this as a Canadian, it's also worth gently and precisely noting that even if the harm is the same, someone who voted for trump didn't necessarily do it because they despise women. If we're just looking at the raw numbers and saying "we're doomed", that's probably not helpful or, luckily, accurate. The project of changing the cultural narrative is huge and depressingly long. The rise of reactionary right wing populism when a society starts failing its young people economically isn't. That is a different, and much easier project. If you don't want people to vote for right wing populism, you need to give them left wing populism, and infiltrating the democratic party and pulling all the same tricks the right did but towards economic policy that will provide the next generation of men with the opportunity to own homes and pull their weight supporting families will do a hell of a lot more in a much shorter time than systematically changing each and every man's heart, especially considering a lot of the people who voted for trump weren't men. This project will outlast us, but MAGA doesn't have to.

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.

[revelboo]

I went 50/50 with my brother on a full set of blokees just to ensure I got starscream and Cliff jumper (i got bumblebee too little cutie) I will be going absolutely feral with their transformers one starscream when he drops

They’ve taken over my computer monitor shelf and I can’t understand why there’s no advertising for them to speak of aside from their Insta account.

Fun fact: Everything is Alright was originally going to be a reverse harem including Megs. Reader just collecting the Decepticon high command one by one

Everything Is Alright Pt 54

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Servos trace over your jaw, up to your temple to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear just to prolong the contact with you, because even knowing he has to go, his spark aches. No matter how many times he reassures himself that you’ll be right here, that you’re safe with the SIC, that uncertainty is still there. You reach up to tangle your little fingers with his servos and it almost breaks him, the bittersweet sorrow of your emotions washing into him. Making him wish he’d found you that day on the road, not the Seeker even as he wonders if he’d have taken you or if he’d have left you there hurt on the side of the road, never knowing what he was leaving behind. What he was missing.

• It hurts your heart when Soundwave mass shifts back to his full size and leaves, that unsettled misery in your chest spreading as you watch him go. Knowing how awful you are for wanting them both and how unfair it is to both of them. No matter how you feel about Soundwave, safe, cherished, you can’t hurt Starscream. Not after he’s let you see glimpses of who he really is under the sneering and dismissive scorn he wears like armor. That aching vulnerability he’d shown you had struck a chord inside you, driving home how lonely you’d been before him. He tries so hard to do right by you, take care of you. Sometimes he’s absolutely awful at it, but there’s never any doubt that he’s doing his best. That fragile feeling in your chest unfurls a bit more. Something that might be love, but you’re too scared to examine it too closely. Drawing your knees up against yourself, you pull that blanket he gave you around your shoulders, burying your face in it to inhale the scent of him. Of home.

• Striding through the base, he’s aware of Skywarp trying to greet him and brushing past his brother. He’ll make up for it later, but right now he needs to see you, touch you. Distract himself from the horror Thundercracker has driven into his processor and that’s threatening to drag him into a panic. Letting himself into his quarters, he finds you and your head lifts from where you’re sitting cocooned in that blanket. And he’s reaching for you, curling his servos around you to carefully press your warmth against the sensitive mesh of his neck so he can feel you there. Hating that he doesn’t have the energy to mass shift again yet. Wanting to hold you and frustrated by how tiny you are as you reach to touch his neck and he vents deeply. “Star?”

• “You stink like Soundwave,” he grouses without any real heat his voice. His servos are trembling against you, though. Upset about something. Before you can ask, he lifts you higher to brush his lips against your jaw, neck, and shoulder. There’s a melancholy in his expression that twists through you. Makes you want to hold him to you, because something is clearly wrong. The worst part is knowing he won’t volunteer whatever it is and prying will only make him distance himself. “I can’t mass shift,” he finally says.

• “It’s okay,” you say, leaning in his hands to press your cheek against his chin. Grounding him with that touch, because it’s not okay at all. He’s coming apart at the seams. Cradling your little form, he settles himself on the edge of his berth and gently pins you against his chassis alongside his canopy. As close to his spark as he can get you without exposing that vulnerable part of him to you. If you were Cybertronian, he’d be able to feel your spark if he did. Claim not only your body, but all of you. Bond himself to you. Except there’s no spark for his to entwine with and the compulsion is crazy. The urge to feel your soft hands stroke over his spark, to trust himself so fully to you, giving you the power to destroy him if you wanted to. Even knowing you wouldn’t, he just runs his servos along your spine. And he’s right back to wanting things not meant for him. Wanting everything.

Previous

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Holiday Blues - Wade Wilson x bunny mutant!Reader x Logan Howlett

A/N: *deep breath in; deep breath out* there are so many things about this fic that I despise. I want to put so many disclaimers about bad writing or sloppy endings or heavy angst. But I said I’d post it if there was interest so here we are. However, THIS IS NOT MY BEST WORK!!! I really just wrote it as a way to channel my anxiety, so if it’s shitty or just bad I won’t be surprised

No taglist for this one

Reader is vaguely implied to be ftm trans during one paragraph of the fic. But it also can be read as a cis male!Reader too

There are a lot of internalized feelings in this, some toxic masculinity, and other uncomfy things. Please read all the warnings and take them seriously before reading

Also, very important. While it’s never directly stated in the fic, I wrote this Reader based off my experiences with RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria). However, there’s a lot more going on with me than just that, so I do have to say this is only indicative of my experiences, not experiences with this as a whole. Other things may have crept in as well, simply by the nature of basing this off of me

CW: Reader is dating both Logan and Wade; Reader loves the holidays; Reader comes from a family with holiday traditions; Logan comes off as a bit rude, but it’s for reasons I don’t elaborate on; Reader is a bunny mutant; Reader is sensitive to rejection; Reader spirals fast in this; angst; anxiety; panic; hiding; Reader is hit with a lot of emotions all at once; negative thought spirals; internalized emotions; toxic masculinity moments; crying; humiliation; shame; guilt; Reader’s family is mentioned as a guilt trip; comfort seeking; more shame; there’s lots of shame in this one; prey instincts contributing to the negativity; hugging; comfort; problems are not addressed; Reader bounces back fast; Wade gets Reader’s brain; Wade has implied mental health issues as well; soft moments; quick ending; mild allusions to sexy things; god this reads so bad; okay, here are my disclaimers: bad writing, vent writing, fast-paced writing, sudden ending, and highly-charged emotional states from the Reader

1641 words

It’s no secret among your boyfriends that you love the holidays. Any chance you can get you’re constantly hanging up decorations, planning parties, and preparing food,

It’s some of the few times a year you truly come alive when doing something. It’s your time of the year. Holidays have always been your thing.

It’s tradition, from growing up in your burrow. Everyone would help out, making the holidays a time of family fun and chaos and celebration.

So when you come home to Wade decorating your apartment, you immediately want to help. You’ve barely taken off your sweater before you’re bouncing up to him. “What can I do?”

He gives you a grin, gesturing to the kitchen. “Ask Wolvie. He’s been baking all day.”

It both excites and confuses you. You’re not hosting any parties or going to an event today. So what’s going on?

Still, you head into the kitchen. Logan’s working on a pie, carefully making a beautiful lattice of crust on top.

You place a kiss on his cheek. “Can I help?”

“Ask Wade.”

His answer is short. Quick. To the point. Almost brusque even. You know he’s just concentrating, but it still makes you falter. “Um… alright.”

You head back to Wade, but he just gives you a shrug. “Sorry, handsome, but I think we got it.”

You stand there for a moment before nodding and heading into the bedroom.

You sit on the bed, staring at your hands. Normally, you’d just brush off their responses and find something else to do. But it’s the holidays. You’re supposed to be out there helping.

Their rejection of your help hurts more than you care to admit.

But it’s stupid. It’s just decorations and food. They’ve got it all covered.

You try to tell yourself that, but the hurt still wells up in your chest. You can feel it rising, making your breathing quicken. You grip one of your bunny ears, stroking it in an attempt to calm yourself down. It’s what Wade always does.

Maybe you did something to offend them? Or maybe they were trying to surprise you and you ruined it by coming home early?

You try to think of anything and everything as a reason for their dismissals. It has to be something. It has to be.

Anxiety spikes in your chest and you burrow under the covers. It feels comforting, like you’re back in your home warren for a moment. You curl into a ball, tucking your knees to your chest.

You count your breaths, struggling to slow the beat of your heart. But it’s no real use. The wave of emotions is already here. It crashes into you, drowning you in reasons why and what you did wrong. Over and over, your thoughts spiral.

Your eyes prickle, but you refuse to cry. The only thing worse than feeling like this is having Wade and Logan think you’re dumb for it. You’re a man. You can handle it.

You press your palms to your eyes, but the wetness still seeps out. You can handle it. You can handle it. You can handle it.

You don’t sob. Thankfully. You just cry in silence. Stuttered breaths in and out. In and out. It feels humiliating. You, crying while your boyfriends decorate.

You should be better than this. You should be better than this now. What would your family think if they saw you crying instead of celebrating?

That thought only adds to the shame in your chest and you scrunch up even tighter. You’re not some dumb flopsy bunny anymore. You’re a rabbit. A man. Crying is for flopsy bunnies.

The thoughts continue. Eventually, your silent crying turns to soft hiccups. Your tears dry up, leaving your eyes puffy and itchy.

You don’t get up until you hear the timer ringing in the kitchen. Logan’s pie is done. You can smell it. Apple. Your favorite.

Slowly, you uncurl yourself. You crawl out from beneath the blankets. You change into a pair of boxers and one of Wade’s sweaters. Your comfort outfit. You know it’ll be a tell that something’s wrong, but you need the safety of the fabric.

You open the door to the bedroom and shuffle out. No Wade. You hear him in the kitchen.

You take a moment to use the bathroom. To stare dully at your reflection in the mirror and splash water on your face to try and reduce the puffiness. It… sort of works.

Wade’s knock on the door has you startling. “Oh, bunny boy! Dinner’s ready!”

You flinch, curling into yourself a little. They’re gonna know you were crying. They’re gonna know you were upset over something so stupid. They’re gonna think you’re dumb.

You’re shaking as you open the door. You know it’s your prey instincts. Programmed to carry you away, to keep you safe from any harm. But that doesn’t make it feel any better.

Wade blinks at you as you emerge. His whole body seems to soften. “Hey… What’s wrong?”

He’s always so soft with you whenever you’re upset. Occasionally silly, but so soft. Sometimes you love it. Right now it just makes the pit of guilt in your chest bigger.

“Nothing…” you mumble.

He frowns, but pulls you into a hug. It helps. It loosens the ball of shame, slowly soothing it apart. You take a deep breath and hug him back.

“Everything alright?” Logan, from the kitchen doorway.

You think Wade gives him a look, or maybe he just picks up on the clothes you’re wearing. Either way, you’re enfolded in another set of arms.

“Hey, bunny. What’s wrong?” Logan’s often gentle too. It helps you relax the last bit of the way, the knot in your chest finally unraveling.

“Just… my brain…” You’re now more embarrassed than anything. Why would they think you’re dumb? They’ve always been understanding and loving, especially with you.

Wade strokes one of your bunny ears, the action immediately calming your frayed emotions. Bringing back your peace of mind. “Being a bully again, huh?”

You nod.

Logan rubs your back, his touch gentler than normal. “Was it something we said?”

Damn his perceptiveness. You were hoping to get out of this without an explanation.

You sigh and rest your forehead on Wade’s shoulder. “I just… I wanna help too…”

There’s a moment of silence, then Wade hums. “You can wrap the gift I got Wolvie. It was supposed to be a surprise, but it’s the last thing to do.”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your entire self perks up at the idea. You grin, already straightening up. “You mean it? I can help?”

Logan chuckles while Wade matches your grin. “Absolutely, handsome! But first…”

He takes your hands and gives them a squeeze. “Let’s eat. You’ll feel much better once you have food in you. The surprise can wait for later.”

Logan agrees and you give in quickly.

Dinner goes by fast and soon you’re in the bedroom again, this time with a box and gift wrap in your hands. You focus on wrapping the present as Wade sits on the bed. Logan’s busy with food clean up, bustling away in the kitchen.

“We'll always love you,” Wade says, startling you from your task. You look up at him. “What?”

“Whatever your brain says while you’re upset. It’s not true.” He looks at you intently. “We love you.”

You swallow and look down. With anyone else, you’d protest. But you know him. You know him. He’s speaking more than just to comfort you right now.

“I love you too,” you say quietly. “Even on your bad days, I love you too.”

His shoulders relax but his gaze stays on you. He doesn’t say anything more though. He just watches you. It’s a little intimidating, but you let him.

You finish wrapping the box and place a nice big bow on the top. “Done.”

Wade smiles. His expression soft once more. It relieves a burden off your shoulders in some way. Some lingering guilt or whatever weighing you down.

You love him. He loves you. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know he gets your mind almost as well as you do. He struggles with his brain too.

You hold out the box to him, a silent acknowledgment of each other in the air. He takes it, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re adorable in my sweater, you know that?”

It pulls a laugh out of you, lightening the air. “Yeah. I know. Why do you think I wear it all the time?”

He smiles. “Careful, buns. You know how your sassiness gets me going.”

You roll your eyes and grin. “Yeah, yeah.”

You eye the wrapped box in his hands, a spark of curiosity in your mind. “What’s in there anyway? And what’re we celebrating in the first place?”

Wade smirks. “We’re celebrating us. And this?” He shakes the box a little. “This is for later. Consider it my gift to you and Wolvie.”

Celebrating us. The idea warms you like nothing else. Nothing else seems to matter except that. They planned a small thing just to celebrate you and them.

You lean in and kiss Wade. “Thank you. For all of it.”

He softens despite himself, his smile turning warm. “Hey, don’t thank me yet. Wolvie still hasn’t opened his gift yet. Thank me then.”

But he seems to understand. For a moment. Before he smacks your ass lightly and points towards the kitchen. “Let’s go, buns. The Readers and Wolvie can’t wait for the ending forever.”

You blink, but don’t question his words. He’ll explain eventually. For now, you’re just ready to enjoy some pie and find out what’s in Wade’s gift.

After all, knowing him, it’s probably something raunchy. And you could do with something a little stronger than cuddles.

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[zarathelonewolf]

Some people need to write in this absence of courage though, and purely because of it, and purely FOR it.

Not to say that I don't get your point: it is a good point and I would like to see more hopeful dark stories, stories similar to what you prefer. I would prefer them too, ideally.

However sometimes people really do not have the courage to "want something better, to know that it was wrong"... Because to THEM (and I say this as someone who is similar to them to an extent, though I fight everyday to be hopeful) it does not seem like an act of courage, it seems like an act of insolence.

Why insolence? Because of a lot of things.

"How dare you (general you, not you, OP) want something better? The result of what was done for you is a negative thing that pushes you to do negative things, how dare you think that you should want something better?"

This is the insolence I speak of. The insolence they think they are culpable of. Sometimes people really do need to show the trauma "bare". They need to write out the negative voice. It's what they know and they feel isolated because people keep telling them it'll get better but they are not there yet, so they want to show their frustration. They may want to reject the idea of not taking up space, alternatively, when they show their trauma: so they show it in a gritty manner and without solution to spite the people that tell them they should just keep it all in unless they have healed, or unless they have the intention of doing so.

It may not be hopeful dark art, that's true. But that's not what dark stories HAVE TO be in order to be "good art", either. They don't want to fix something. They just want to show it. They are "vent art".

And it is needed. By people that don't have the "courage" yet, that maybe won't ever have that courage. They need to see something other than their mind crumble... something other than their body, something other than their voice, something other than their memory while it's crumbling. They need to see a story that crumbles without getting back up. That way they feel less alone, perhaps. They feel that the suffering is real and that it does not need healing to be considered suffering. Especially when others interact with the story and cry alongside them while in a similar situation.

A weird broken sort of solace so to speak.

Is it nice? No, not really. But in certain moments of people's lives it's what they need. In a twisted sense, for some people, all they will ever want to experience. It's not just insolence after all. For certain people, darkness itself is the refuge, because the world outside is too bright and a lot people want to be rid of their dark thoughts and want the victims themselves to be rid of the dark thoughts and find a solution for them, whereas these victims just CAN'T, they can't manage yet and they feel inadequate so they produce something that makes them feel like they matter for something.

Something dark and gritty and hopeless.

Art isn't good due to the fact that it expresses correct values. Art is good because it makes you feel, or merely because you feel drawn to interacting with it. Same goes for dark art. It is good dark art when it makes you feel dark stuff, whether or not it heads towards a good or bad ending.

I say this as someone who is hopeless about herself and himself and hopeful for others. Weird right? But it's how I exist. People's comfort sometimes makes me feel even lonelier. I would prefer silence and reading dark content AND hurt/comfort most of the time.

I come from a place of being pressured into healing. I want to heal on my own now, I don't trust therapists for shit. I will find my hope but not now. And dark content with hopelessness, vent art done purely for the vent and not for the healing helps me immensely because I feel my resistance to healing seen without someone telling me that I can heal because I know I CAN, I just don't want to because people have all sorts of expectations about how my healing should be, but while people can object to my healing not really being healing, they can hardly disagree that the dark stuff I write isn't dark. At least in my experience.

People have differing types of sensitivity, and not all people who are lovers love themselves. Love doesn't have to be total, not all people experience it like that. Sensitivity does not have to make you like dark hopeless stories, but it does not mean you are sensitive only if you prefer hopeful stories OR when you reject completely dark stories. People can be "lovers" and sensitive in all three of cases. So I agree about being frustrated for people saying "you're not sensitive enough" because that's not true, your sensitivity simply differs from theirs.

Vent art can be self care just as much as hopeful art. And dark content does not have to be vent art, it can also just want to make people witness gross stuff because they enjoy gross stuff being depicted for the sake of it (to make an example: people with certain laraphilias that cannot be explored safely in real life).

I am merely playing devil's advocate, with the devil being something I love: my only chance at venting without feeling pressured into a reaction. So I will concede this exposition may seem personal, almost too personal, and angry, but I tend to be passionate about the things I love.

I hope I didn't anger people with my response to this. But then again, I should take up space more often...

too much to say in a post but i re-read (partly skimmed) my manuscript of my book from a year and a half ago and it's so fucking good and also feels like a hemisphere of my brain has been returned to me. like oh yeah. my creative self. the fullness of my being. i missed you

i need to fucking talk about it but it's intimidating

[lost-seal]

I wanted to analyze all the bedrolls in mouthwashing. Why? Because something is bothering me so I'm reaching out for opinions. SPOILERS FOR THE GAME, btw.

Now I haven't searched through the whole game for every single instance of a bedroll, I'm just looking at the main ones we see. Any images are screenshots from a video so sorry if the quality is bad.

Swansea's

His is surrounded by bottles (can't tell if empty or not), and is outside Utility. Most likely so he can guard Utility better. Interestingly enough, this was the bed that Daisuke was placed on after the vent incident. I guess Swansea had no more reasons to guard Utility anymore, or even sleep for that matter. Plus I think it's closest to where they found Daisuke. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Anya's

Her's is next to the Polle statue. I read a theory that she put her bed there because it goes off automatically when someone goes near it. That way it alarms her and potentially wakes the others up if someone gets too close. I think that's very plausible, and makes Jimmy breaking it sad.

Another thing that caught my attention is that she's sleeping away from Jimmy. I don't know the term, but like, her head is furthest from Jimmy while her feet are closest. Once again, maybe so that she really hears Polle when someone gets too close.

Daisuke's and Jimmy's

(because they're so close together I might as well mention them together)

This one makes me feel the most anxious, given what we know about Jimmy... He's also close to Anya's too, but not one toss-and-turn away like he is with Daisuke. They are so close that when Jimmy wakes up because Curly's cries are echoing through the halls, you can hear Daisuke breathing without needing to get up. Not snoring, no, small shallow breathes through the mouth.

Which also means Daisuke is a mouth breather but let's not get side-tracked.

They sleep next to each other before AND after Swansea and Anya's talk. Which either means that A) Anya didn't tell Swansea about what Jimmy did to her and her current situation, maybe instead discussing how she thinks Jimmy was the one to actually crash the ship. B) She did tell him and Swansea didn't tell Daisuke because he thought Jimmy wouldn't do that to him. That's all sorts of messed up, especially when we know he's much younger and is easy to manipulate if you say the right words. As we learn how Swansea was able to keep Daisuke away from helping with the foam, he doesn't tend to question things if it's from someone he views highly (With Swansea > Jimmy in the hierarchy).

It makes me feel nervous about what could have been, or even possibly about what's already happened and we'll never learn about it.

Also Daisuke sleeps with his boots on. What. Why? Is it dev reasons? Wild.

All in all neither Anya or Daisuke should be close to Jimmy there's so much space there please move away.

[stackslip]

so after a second watch, the thing with arcane s2 so far is that near all the plot beats are really good and exactly what i wanted, but they also almost all desperately needed more buildup. it's like we're missing 10-15 extra minutes an episode for the scenes that would really flesh out a lot of the characters' motives for the choices they make and to build up the world! it's so painfully obvious that they're craming in plot bc they're missing a season or have cut time per ep, and as a result while im ecstatic at a lot of the developments v few of them feel earned!

vi choosing to become an enforcer, her agonizing feelings re jinx in particular feel like they're missing. we should have seen the moment cait chose to use the vents to target the undercity and others' reaction to this, especially vi. it's great to see the hole silco left, but we needed to see the underground falling apart in something that's not a shiny league amv. we needed to see the kid spend more time with jinx for her choice to defend jinx to hit harder. we needed to see more of jinx's suicidality and her voices disappearing. i would have been so grateful to see mel trying to do more to rally to counter her mother's influence and being foiled at every turn. more hints of ambessa's manipulation too! would have loved to see ekko and his peers rescuing undercity people and dealing with the aftermath of the war there directly!

and like tbc i think they v clearly considered what they did have the time with and chose to trim or cut off near anything that wasnt a super cool fight scene or important plot beats. the ACTUAL beats are near all a win to me tbh! i am ecstatic about cait's character arc, her using the vents made me gasp; the mel and ambessa situation is sooooo fascinating and fucked up; i love the revelation about hextech poisoning the ground; sevika and jinx dealing with the gaping wound of silco's death is so good; viktor's ominous messiah arc is hitting for me; i loooooved cait hitting vi and vi just breaking down.

in terms of missteps, i wish ekko didnt feel like he's just being explained plot at (i like his dynamic with jayce so far tho), i think vi of all the characters suffered by far the most of the sacrificed time to make her choices and words mame proper sense, caitvi kiss felt far more like they had to kiss before they broke up but in context did not work, and made me roll my eyes so hard, we did not need a five minute cait angst montage, i did not care for how "league" the zaunite chembarons felt instead of an organic part of zaun like they did in s1, half the songs are a complete miss to me, etc etc

i dont think the season is a loss and again im interested in the actual beats, and tbh i kinda feel sorry for fortiche and the writing team bc it's obvious that this is less like, active clumsiness on their part or shite writing and far more that time was a deeply limited resource for the story they wanted to tell and they had to make choices. you could argue if it would have been better to drop some plot threads entirely and focus more deeply on others but imo it wouldnt work for a series like arcane where the cast' actions have such massive ramifications on each other so. i get it. it's just really unfortunate considering how tightly written s1's tragedy was

[is-this-yuri]

so, no shame, i had a meltdown in response to that video i was working on getting disappeared by a crashing app. i'm autistic and emotional overwhelm is to be expected. ESPECIALLY given the stress i'm under being homeless.

i was crying quite loudly for about half an hour, and this is something i can soothe and guide myself through to vent my emotions. it's nessecary and, at this point after years of implementing coping strategies, a pretty harmless regulatory activity.

however, since i'm homeless and i live in my car, i have no private space to go through these meltdowns. they can be disturbing to witness or hear from a distance, i mean for me it often involves screaming and sobbing. but i reiterate they are not an immediate sign of danger.

apparently, someone thought a child was crying in my vehicle and called the police.

since i'm at a state park, a ranger came by to check on me and warn me the cops were coming, so i got out of there.

my question is, if you're so concerned about a potential child in distress, why wouldn't you go up to the vehicle and check on them yourself? why hide behind the police like a coward? such an 'innocent act of concern' could have really put me in danger.

police are not understanding about autistic meltdowns. they, and frankly the general public, see them as potentially dangerous. while it isn't unheard of, reports of autistic meltdowns resulting in violence are very overblown and used to fear-monger. i've never acted violently toward anyone during a meltdown, ever. but i HAVE been a victim of violence from both people i trusted and police attempting to control my meltdowns.

i'm constantly checking my surroundings to make sure i'm at least somewhat alone before having one of these meltdowns. i can't always contain them until i get to a place where i can be alone. it's not always safe to drive myself anywhere when my emotions are hightened. there is no stopping a meltdown, it WILL happen once i reach a certain emotional tipping point. a tipping point my stressful life places me right at the edge of all the time.

i don't feel safe anymore. anywhere. i'm not allowed to and cannot safely regulate my intense emotions, and there's a real risk of me being imprisoned, restrained, hospitalized, hurt, or killed because of this.

the ironic thing is the topic of the video i was working on is very relevant to this experience. this is my real, every day life, and i'm fucking exhausted of it. i'm angry. i deserve to feel safe.

[leavemurph]

sometimes i get so upset thinking what if hotch wants to come back cuz like jack’s in college and he’s home all the time, he’d need something to do?? and the fact that the writers still didn’t use this one excuse to bring him back to emily is just… ugh.

a few comments here and there about his life while he was gone, laughing with old friends who are still friends no matter what, teasing him cuz he tries to call his son and gets constantly ignored with the “dad, please, i’m busy”. then jj’s like, oh yeah, i get it, teenagers gonna be teenagers, and emily’s kinda feeling left out? but it’s cool. it’s just that time’s passing and she doesn’t have that for herself, which is strange, since she always thought she would. but then again, time sucks, this job takes so much, and yeah, maybe it’s too late.

no kids, nope, well, she’s busy. really busy. this thought keeps looping in her head, and a few situations end up making her rethink it, over and over—did i do this on purpose? did i avoid making any decisions that could’ve taken me down that path because, deep down, i felt like i didn’t deserve it?

hotch finds her in her office, asks if she’s okay because she seems so distracted all the time. of course, she doesn’t say anything, she’s not big on venting, but she does ask him if he ever thought about what it’d be like if they’d made it differently all those years ago.

he’s… confused at first, mostly because he’s not sure if this is her way of allowing them to talk about all the stuff they never said, couldn’t say, or were too scared to. so he asks, what do you mean? emily’s tired of dancing around it, they’re older now, more mature, there’s not much left to lose, so she just says, “you knew how i felt about you. that’s fine. i know how you felt about me.” hotch gives her a small smile, and she gets it. she really gets it. “i can’t believe i even considered going with you. like, a part of me really wanted to, so badly. i talked to you about work every day, told you things you didn’t even want to hear, didn’t care. and i kept hoping, hoping that one day you’d ask me to, or even just… i don’t know, say you missed me. my god, i would’ve dropped everything, run off into witness protection. with you. with jack.”

“emily.” hotch looks genuinely surprised, and maybe it’s because she’s holding back tears. “you had all these things here, things you built for yourself. look at you now.”

“right,” she mutters, waving it off with a comment about their previous case, because why get into that now? it’s a waste of time.

aaand…

they kiss for the first time on new year’s, in their natural habitat—at work, of course. everyone but emily is ready to party, but at midnight, hotch brings her a glass of champagne while she’s scribbling reports. she looks up and says, “are you guys going out? i’m gonna have to pass this time, i’m so busy,”

and he laughs because, “you sound like me ten years ago,” while gently coaxing her out of her chair. she tries not to freak out, laughing nervously, rolling her neck to release the tension from hours of sitting and staring at fine print. hotch brushes her hair back, studying her face, and she lets out a deep sigh, touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth. “a little nervous?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips. “still the same tell, huh? some things never change.”

“i really can’t go with you guys,” she insists, eying his lips, almost on the edge of feeling butterflies for the first time in over a decade.

“heard you the first time. so i’ll be your first new year’s kiss, and then i’ll get out of your hair.” okay, butterflies all the way down to her toes. she barely nods, just a slight movement, before he leans in and kisses her. it’s the best kiss she’s ever had, hands down. my god, she can’t stop thinking about it.

he literally left her to do her job and went out partying with the others. he’s learned to live more than she has over these years, and honestly, it’s not bad. it’s not terrible. it’s nice.

their relationship grows through little moments scattered throughout the season—tender touches, good morning kisses, emily jumping out of bed late, the looks they share. they talk about the moments they’ve lived, the times they wanted to say something and didn’t, or do something and held back. “do you remember that time we…?”

the first time emily faces any life-threatening situation, hotch’s immediate reaction when he sees her getting her cheek stitched up is: “that was really brave of you to do.”

“hotch,” she winces, frowning through the pain as the stitch hurts. “really?”

“okay, what, are you out of your mind? didn’t you wait for backup?”

“that’s much better, thank you. and, no, it’d be too late.”

“almost died,” he crosses his arms, and emily is doing everything she can not to bite her nails. “i’m gonna need you to marry me. is that okay with you?”

and emily’s like, “what?”

“you heard me right. i want you, and i want to do this, all of it. you’ve always wanted kids, and you’ve been thinking about it, don’t lie to me, and it’s not too late. and we’re gonna do it, you and i. there’s surrogacy, adoption… we can—”

yeahh…. so.

gimme gimme.

bye.

[crimsonwolf715]

What Have I Done?

{I know canonically that Dick’s fears are all mental hurdles (failure, his family not loving him, etc), but I like the idea of that soul eating guilt. So enjoy this definitely far (maybe not really far, but still far) from canon fic about Dick on fear toxin 🫡}

Scarecrow’s been out of Arkham for three days. Tim managed to find his location and the Bats are at the place so they can get him back to Arkham before he causes a major incident. 

“Scarecrow’s in the warehouse, so proceed with caution,” Bruce says. 

“You got it, old man,” Jason says. 

“I’m always cautious,” Damian says. 

“That is a lie,” Tim replies. 

“Don’t fight, you two,” Dick says. “Focus on Scarecrow.” 

The five split up and start searching the warehouse. 

Dick’s cautious when walking into each area, making sure he has an exit route. After searching half of his area, he walks into a room with his escrima sticks at the ready. There’s nothing in the room beside a large bookcase partially against one wall. Dick checks behind it for anything, then turns to leave. The door slams shut and he hears some kind of click. He runs over and starts trying to open the door. 

Gas starts coming in through the vents and Dick pulls his mask on. He keeps trying to manhandle the door open when something comes flying at him. He ducks and realizes that it’s a small rock. He turns the way it came from in just enough time to see another rock hit his mask. His mask cracks and he starts cursing. Gas fills the room and Dick continues to try to get out, but the door stays firmly in place. 

He’s holding his breath, trying to avoid inhaling any at all, but that doesn’t work. He can’t hold his breath long enough. He breathes it in and starts coughing immediately. It feels like it’s burning his nose and throat. He keeps trying to get out the door until he hears it. 

“Richard.” 

Dick turns and Bruce is standing there in full Batman uniform, giving Dick the full power of the Batglare™. 

“You’re a disgrace, a plague on this family,” Bruce says. “You failed me. You’re not a part of this family anymore.” 

“No, don’t do this,” Dick pleads. “I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“You should be. You’re a sorry excuse for a partner and a son.” 

Tears well up in Dick’s eyes. “ Please, stop. ” 

“You should just go back to Blüdhaven and never come back.” 

Dick starts crying. “ Dad. ” 

Bruce starts shouting that Dick needs to leave and Dick claws his comm out of his ear so he can better cover his ears. He hears his family start screaming in pain. He opens his eyes and sees all of them being brutally tortured by Joker, Two-Face, and Scarecrow. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to believe that’s what’s happening. A loud bang interrupts his family’s screams. Dick turns and Scarecrow’s there with a big ass sword. Dick pulls out his escrima sticks and attacks Scarecrow. The two start sparring, Dick having the upper hand. 

“Dick, snap out of it.”  

Scarecrow’s not going down with the usual amount of force, so Dick stops pulling his punches as much. 

“You’re worthless. You’ve failed the city and your family. My toxins will turn this city into a hellhole of despair.” 

Scarecrow uses his sword to disarm Dick. Dick throws a kick at him but he manages to dodge it. Scarecrow raises the sword and Dick grabs the knife out of his boot that he only keeps for emergencies. He throws it and it nails Scarecrow in the side. Scarecrow drops as Dick’s vision blurs. 

“No, I need to get him into custody and stop the bleeding.” 

Dick’s body gives out and he passes out. 

Dick wakes up and he’s in the warehouse. He sits up and Tim’s beside him, bleeding. It seemed like he was trying to stop the bleeding, but he passed out before he could. Dick goes over and realizes that he can’t move his right arm without excruciating pain. He ignores it and starts putting pressure on the wound. Jason runs into the room. 

“What the hell did you do?” Jason asks. 

“What did I do?” Dick replies, confused. 

“Tim was fighting you, so yes I’m asking you.” 

Dick backs away from Tim, realizing that he wasn’t fighting Scarecrow. He was fighting Tim. Jason rushes over to Tim. 

“What is wrong with you right now?” Jason asks. 

Dick’s back hits the wall and pain shoots through his shoulder. He ignores it as tears well up in his eyes. 

“What have I done?” Dick asks. 

Dick runs out of the room and he hears Jason shouting his name but he ignores it entirely. He makes it outside and trips. He lands on his knees, then throws up. Once he finally stops throwing up or dry heaving, which takes almost ten minutes, he looks for his comm. He doesn’t find it though. 

I must have left it inside. I remember I took it out because all I could hear was Bruce saying that I was a… I am a failure. I almost killed my little brother. Tim’s been through so much and I probably just gave him so much more trauma. He’ll never trust me again.  

Tears start falling and Dick quietly sobs there, unsure what else to do. 

“Dick.” 

Dick turns and even though he can barely see past the tears, he recognizes the outline of Batman. He starts crying harder, all of the things Bruce said earlier rushing back into his head. He feels Bruce’s hand on his good shoulder and he tries to push the hand away. He doesn’t deserve any kind of comfort. 

“Jason’s gotten Tim to Leslie and he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “We need to get you there too.” 

“No.” 

“Tonight isn’t your fault.” 

“Yes it is. I’m supposed to protect my siblings, and I almost killed Tim. How am I supposed to live with myself, Dad?” 

Bruce pulls Dick into a hug, careful of Dick’s shoulder even though he didn’t tell him about the injury. Dick hugs Bruce back tightly and the sobbing resumes. 

“You’ll take it one day at a time, like we always do.” 

Bruce rubs Dick’s back until a small beep sounds. 

“I hear you. We’re on our way back now,” Bruce says to whoever’s on comms. 

“I… I can’t face him, Dad.” 

“I’m gonna take you to Leslie. We can discuss you talking to Tim once you’ve completely detoxed. I’m going to pick you up now, is that alright?” 

“Sure.” 

Bruce gently picks Dick up and takes him to the Batmobile. The drive is silent, Dick silently crying. When they get to the Cave, Tim’s nowhere to be seen. Leslie’s waiting for them though. 

“Go see Tim, Dad. I’ll be fine,” Dick says. 

“Are you…?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Leslie gives him a checkup and aside from having to bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood when she checks his shoulder, she doesn’t seem concerned. Dick’s barely hearing what she’s saying, but nothing concerning. 

“I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with your shoulder.” 

Dick turns to look at her. 

“I want to take you in to get scans,” Leslie says.

“Great, sounds perfect,” Dick replies.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me.” 

“I’m not. Get off my ass about it.” 

Leslie looks surprised and Dick sighs. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. I just… I don’t really want to be around right now, and I don’t really want to go to the hospital.” 

The elevator opens and Damian comes out. Dick watches as Damian makes a beeline for him. He braces himself for a lecture or criticism, anything to live up to how people should be treating him. 

“Are you alright, Grayson?” 

“God only knows what’s wrong with my shoulder, but other than that I’m peachy. Is Tim alright?” 

“Yes, Timothy’s fine. He didn’t lose too much blood thanks to the three of you and I apprehended Scarecrow with Father. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“I hurt Tim.” 

“Under the influence of fear toxin. You clearly thought that you were protecting yourself from someone that would cause you permanent harm. No one blames you.” 

“Other than me,” Dick says. 

“Other than you,” Damian echoes. “I’m going to stay here with you for a while. Father’s speaking with Timothy and Alfred’s otherwise occupied.” 

Dick notices that Leslie’s in the elevator, but he doesn’t care to say anything. 

She’ll be back.  

Damian sits in front of Dick and leans against him. Dick runs his hand through Damian’s hair, quietly humming. 

“What song is this?” Damian asks. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “My mom used to sing it but I can’t remember the words well enough to look it up.” 

“My mother used to sing to me as well.” 

“Yeah, it kinda seems to be a thing that moms do. Jason said that his mother always used to sing this one song to him and he always knew that it was time to settle down. He didn’t tell me what song it was because I would abuse that, which he technically isn’t wrong about, but even Tim said that his mother sang to him when she was around.” 

Damian nods and Dick goes back to humming. Damian falls asleep after a short while and Dick keeps running a hand through his hair, trying not to cry again. Jason comes down with his hands in his pockets. 

“What the hell did you do?”  

Dick looks back down at Damian so Jason can’t see the tears starting to fall. 

“My sweet baby,” Dick whispers. 

“Hey. Can we talk, Dickie?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Sure,” Dick answers, surprising himself with how steady his voice is. 

“I… You…” Jason takes a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

Dick looks up at Jason. “For what?” 

“I… Tim told us that you possibly had been affected by some kind of drugs and I blamed you the second I saw Tim’s condition.” 

“It’s my fault, Jason.” 

“It was the drugs.” 

“It was me. Drugs or not, it was my hands that hurt him. That wasn’t Scarecrow.” 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Jason says. “That’s not how this works. Those drugs make you completely hallucinate something different than what’s really there. As someone who’s killed people on that before, it’s not black and white. Tim’s fine and that’s great, but you need to get out of your head.” 

Dick goes to snap back at Jason and he finds he has nothing to say. Jason’s not wrong, but all Dick can think is that he hurt his little brother. That it could have been Damian. That Tim could have been a little less prepared and died because of him. 

“Jason…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I forgive you. You took the exact approach I did.” 

“Thanks. Leslie’s probably gonna be storming down here any minute.” 

“Did she tell Dad that I was refusing the hospital?” 

“Oh, she was going when I saw her. If that approach doesn’t work, then she’ll just come down here and give you a lecture.” 

“Yeah, sounds nice. As long as she isn’t too loud and wakes Damian.” 

“Oh, Damian got the normal fear toxin and the cure administered. He’ll be sleeping till morning regardless.” 

“Well, that makes him falling asleep in this position make more sense.” 

“He likes you.” 

“I’m sure he does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s sleeping on me in a way that was perfectly normal for me with Bruce.” 

Leslie comes down with a triumphant look. 

“Bruce must have told her that you should go,” Jason says. 

“When was the last time he was the boss of me? I’m not moving.” 

“Alfred said that you had to get your shoulder checked out,” Leslie says. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Dick says. “Jason, can you take Damian?” 

Jason gently picks up Damian, who huffs, but doesn’t wake up. Dick gets up and follows Leslie. She drives him to the hospital and she must have called ahead because it was ready when they got there. Dick goes through the process without complaint, even though he’d rather complain a lot. 

“How did this happen?” Leslie asks as she looks over the scans. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “I barely remember most of tonight. That probably won’t stick, but I don’t know.” 

“Alright, I’ll see if Tim can let me know. If not, that’s fine. Your injury, thankfully, isn’t as bad as I thought it was. You’ll still have a recovery time for it, but it’s not too bad. No working while this is healing.” 

“I think I’m just gonna stay at home and hug my baby brother.” 

“I doubt Damian will let you hug him that long, but feel free to do that with one arm.” 

She goes through the plan with him and gets his arm in a sling, which is annoying. She takes him back to the manor and when he walks in, Bruce is sitting at the dining room table. 

“Hey, Dad,” Dick says. 

“Hey,” Bruce replies. “How’s your shoulder?” 

“Fine. I’ll be in this thing for a little while, but that’s not the end of the world. Why aren’t you with Tim?” 

“Tim wants to talk to you, so I was waiting for you.” 

Dick takes a breath, then nods. The two walk upstairs and Tim’s arguing with Jason about the proper way to hold Damian. 

“I am holding him just fine. He’s still asleep and he’s not complaining,” Jason says. 

“Hey, Dick,” Tim says. 

Jason turns. “Hey, Dickie.” 

“Hey, you two.” 

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Jason says. “I’m gonna get Damian into his bed.” 

Jason heads out and Dick takes a seat. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says. “I know it wasn’t you.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m sorry that I hurt you,” Dick replies. 

“Did I hurt your shoulder?” Tim asks. “I don’t really remember the end of the fight.” 

“I actually don’t know. I don’t really remember my shoulder getting hurt. I’ll be in this for a while and be fine, so it doesn’t really matter who hurt my shoulder.” 

“Hey, Dick?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You still see us as equals, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“So no hard feelings then. Batman’s kicked the shit out of ninety percent of the Justice League and they still don’t hold a grudge, much.” 

Dick nods. “Okay, deal. I didn’t think of it like that.” 

Tim shrugs. “Sometimes you need a more objective view. I’m trying not to be so objective about my relationships with you guys, but it’s good for things like this.” 

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “Alright, I’m gonna try to get some rest.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Dick.” 

“See you in the morning, Tim.” 

Dick heads to his room to try to get some rest.

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

Tw vent su*c*de mention ableism generally a very unhappy rant because some stupid dipshit triggered me thanks to a "how to hurt a narcissist" article.

Npd culture is being pissed at the fact that people

people wish such awful things to people with npd

"i hope they eat a bag of nails and die a slow agonizing death"

sounds 'right' when told to a pwnpd.

the basis of this ill fate they wish upon me is the fact that my symptoms, as a pwnpd, inconvenienced them in some way.

with that logic, they curse me because of my disorder.

following that logic then, why does it seem so immoral to wish a person with depression to kill themselves already for being sad all the time?

The reason is simple. Because it is immoral.

Wishing a person an ill fate because of their disorder is immoral. I don't know why pwnpd are exempted from the rule

As in, it is okay to curse us, okay to make us feel pain. Hell, have you seen forums about npd? "how to hurt the narcissist's feelings" "how to disarm the narcissist" "how to break the narcissist"

you could've just said how to deal with a narcissist but headlines suggest something 'better' and that is to inflict damage on us, huh.

Is it fun to intentionally hurt someone? Because i guarantee you the 'narcissist' who inflicted you 'narcissist abuse' don't twirl their mustaches evilly while plotting your demise. Most of us have no capacity to obsess over someone else's life. So more often than not, the 'narc' that you hate so much has no fucking clue about your plight or whatever and if you're hurt we actually don't even know we did it.

So if you abelist pieces of shits 'disarm' and possibly trigger the living shit out of us because you think pwnpd are subhuman and therefore okay to intentionally emotionally torture,

Congrats, that makes us better than you fuckers making sure that we hurt.

wow i was mad im so sorry... 🙏

.

[revelboo]

AAAH!! I wasn't expecting you to actually do a story for Rumble 😭 I squealed when I saw it on my timeline 💙 thank you so much and every blessing upon ye, I hope your crops are flourishing, skin is clear etc. etc.

🤣 18+ content 🌶️

Alcohol Eyes Pt 2

IDW Rumble x Reader

• Almost groaning when the little human leans back to put some space between them, his servos flex against soft skin, wanting to pull you back to him. Wanting more as he drops his head against the crook of your neck, mouth finding and chasing the quick beat of your pulse. Hearing that husky laugh of yours that runs electric through him to wind him tight as his palms slide over your soft body. Why had he been so against coming here? He loves it here, loves the noise and press of bodies. Especially yours as he does drag you back to him. “Maybe we can make this a private party?” You ask and he’s not entirely sure what you mean by that, but he’s hoping his guess is right.

• Your stranger’s mouth is on your neck, his lips branding heat over your skin, feeling the barest slip of teeth threatening to nip sending need shivering through you. Forget taking him home as your blood heats. You want this. Pulling away makes him make a low noise that’s almost a growl of protest as you grip his hand and tug him along with you. Half your attention on keeping an eye out for your ex to avoid a fight as you lead your new friend toward the back storage room. You’d worked in the club right out of high school and knew no one ever bothered to lock that door, and you thank every deity you can think of when you find it still unlocked now. It’s darker in here the one bulb hanging from a bare socket doing little to chase away the shadows as you turn to lock the door behind you both.

• Reaching as soon as the lock clicks, Rumble pulls you back into him, servos sliding over you. Venting roughly against your throat, as you reach back to loop an arm around his neck. “Slow down, I’m not going anywhere,” you say, reaching back your other hand to run warm fingers over his thigh. “You want to take off the costume?”

• “No,” he growls, his own hand sliding down your belly, exploring with hesitant touches along the waist band of your jeans. “No.” The word is more insistent, almost desperate when you catch his wrist, like he thinks you’re about to stop him. Shuddering against your back when you guide his hand down the front of your clothes, showing him where you need him.

• Venting raggedly, he cups slick, warm flesh and finds your core to slip a servo inside, feeling the way your heat grips him. “That’s good,” you whisper, leaning your upper body across a container, thighs spreading to give him more access to stroke deeper, his spike aching to be freed. Pulling his hand free to try and figure out how to undo your coverings has you laughing again, the sound stroking over him. “No chill at all, huh?” Shifting to undo that little button and push your pants down. No, he doesn’t have any chill or restraint, wanting this. Needing it as he nudges you back down on your front over the container, freeing his spike to grip himself and slide his length against your slickness. “Wait, my purse. I think I have some-“ you’re saying as he finds you and buries himself inside that wet, welcoming heat that fists his spike, hearing you moan. “Never mind.”

• So much for condoms, but as he rocks his hips, that thick length stroking slowly inside you, there’s no worrying about anything beyond him moving. “Frag, you’re tight,” he snarls, that rough accent you can’t quite place right in your ear as his big hands tighten on your hips to the point you know there’ll be bruising, but he’s still not moving, so you do, rocking as much as you can with your hips up.

• You move against him, pushing yourself back and then he’s thrusting into that wet heat despite wanting to savor the feel of you wrapped around him, that sense of connection he’d been sure he’d never have because of his size, because of his modifications. You’re so small under him as he ruts against you, using his grip on your hips to pull you back to meet the urgent drive of his hips. Hearing the wet sounds of your body taking him and your low, needy sounds that are only for him, because this? It’s his. You’re his.

• He’s not holding back, hips slapping against you, moving hard and deliciously fast. And he is growling, hands flexing on your hips as his frantic thrusts drive you to that peak, then over as he drapes himself against your back with a deep drive of his hips, his mouth against the back of your shoulder, his hips moving in sharp, shallow thrusts as he releases and you tighten on the thick length of him inside you, milking him. “Rumble,” he groans against your skin, hips still moving in shallow, lazy thrusts and you can feel his excess on your inner thigh.

• You lay your cheek on your outstretched arm, head turning to look back at him from the corner of your eye. Smiling when he hesitantly reaches to slide sweat slick hair back from your temple, the intimate gesture stealing your breath for a moment. “Hi, Rumble,” you murmur, laughing softly when he presses himself tighter against you, sheathing himself deep and savoring it as his spark twists with a hunger that’s new and consuming. He’d never really paid much attention to organics before aside from Starscream’s and they were more like a particularly helpless sibling needing protecting. Nothing like this.

• He hasn’t taken off any of his costume except what he’d needed to free himself to fuck you. It’s weird, but not a deal breaker. Not with the lazy way your thighs are trembling or how he’d felt, still feels, inside you. “Can we go again?” He asks so earnestly, so hopefully, and you rock yourself against him in answer. Because while you’d only wanted a quickie to thank him, you’re wondering, praying, he’s single. Because the almost reverent way his big hands slide against your skin, the press of his mouth against your spine in a hungry kiss? This guy’s going to ruin you.

Previous

[devirnis]

Okay, after having a few days to process, I am allowing myself one vent post to get it out of my system and then it’s back to ✨positive vibes✨ only

If I see one more goddamn smarmy post about how “the writing was on the wall the whole time” (with the undercurrent of “you were too stupid to see it, I have the only valid interpretation”) I’m going to lose it

Had we not had 8x05, the breakup still would have bummed me out, but I would have said, you know what, fair, we didn’t see a whole lot of their relationship, a lot of it was fanon and headcanons. We had a good run. But we did get 8x05, apparently some of it filmed out of order knowing a breakup was coming, and what was the point? To be cruel? It felt like a slap in the face to people who liked that relationship.

They could have laid some groundwork to show some cracks in the relationship, but no. Ignoring disingenuous interpretations from people who have been rooting for the ship to crash and burn since day one, 8x05 established Buck & Tommy as a solid couple. Tommy gets along with Eddie, the three of them had great chemistry together. Tommy takes care of Buck when he’s hurt. Tommy thinks the curse is a bunch of bs (as does Eddie) but still went with Buck to have a funeral for a mummy. It’s like I watched someone cook an elaborate, delicious dinner for me and then they immediately threw it in the trash, and other people around me made fun of me for being blindsided and upset because I should have seen that coming.

I won’t pretend the general audience is a monolith who all have the same opinions. I’m sure there are people who don’t care and just shrugged their shoulders that another relationship of Buck’s fizzled out. But I have 2 friends who watch the show and aren’t Fandom Fans, and they are always my barometer for how people who don’t have brain rot (affectionate) feel about the show. One really liked the relationship, the other was neutral to mildly negative on it, and both of them agreed that it felt like the breakup came out of nowhere and made no sense given the context of the previous episode. So please stop pretending that it’s only BT fandom fans who have their knickers in a twist about how it played out.

If this isn’t leading to buddie, then I don’t want to see another love interest for either Buck or Eddie for the rest of the show. Tommy had so much potential to break the cycle of Buck’s love interests (and interviews from last season seem to support that they were aware of this and planning on utilizing that) and throwing it away feels like such a waste.

So yeah, instead of being just bummed, I’m pissed. I do not know if there was BTS drama or if Tim got some other grand idea for Buck’s storyline this season — but given how plots are adopted and dropped at rapid fire pace this season (something I was willing to forgive last season because of the shortened production timeline and fewer episodes), I’m highly skeptical that there’s any sort of overarching plan here.

I’ve never thought buddie would actually happen on the show, but I also never thought either Buck or Eddie would ever be anything other than straight, so I’d be happy to be proven wrong. I’m just a little jaded by seeing people doing a victory lap convinced that buddie canon is imminent when I think that they are giving the writers a lot more credit than they deserve for supposedly crafting this epic love story for the last five or so years when a lot of that is also just generous fanon interpretation. I need explicit confirmation within the show by the end of this season that at least one of them has caught feelings or I’m over entertaining the possibility it will actually happen.

I know the joy will come back. But I really hope the same plot lines playing out ad nauseam for every character stops because I’m getting a little tired.