#which doesn't seem topical enough

[pterrorgrine]

every rage against the machine song

[guitar riff that incites bloodthirst]

THROW A BRICK AT A COP [fills derived from riff]

THROW A BRICK AT A COP

THROW A BRICK, THROW A BRICK, THROW IT

THROW A BRICK AT A COP

GO OUTSIDE AFTER THIS CONCERT AND

THROW A BRICK AT A COP

[guitar riff]

[stripped down rhythmic part]

Throw it, throw it, throw a brick

Throw it, throw it [x2]

[rap part]

parabolic motion of a ceramic block

impact to the skull and it makes a body drop

slap chop coppers with a steel file knife

life flight fellows down the thin blue line, AAAAUUUGGHH

THROW IT, THROW IT

[riff but more atonal and with weird electronic noises on top]

THROW A BRICK AT A COP, THROW IT

THROW A BRICK AT A COP, YEAH THROW IT

COP ON THE STREET RIGHT AFTER THIS CONCERT YEAH

THROW A BRICK AT THAT COP

[spoken] here's a bunch of bricks we brought, everybody take a free brick for later! UNH!

[funk dance break]

[quiet part]

masonry unit

blue reign of terror

construction material

for the new era

aaaahhh, masonry unit

blue reign of terror

construction material

FOR THE NEW ERA, AAAAUUUUGGGHHH

[riff now fully polyphonic with vocals]

THROW A BRICK AT A COP

THROW A BRICK AT A COP

GO OUTSIDE AFTER THIS CONCERT AND

THROW A BRICK AT A COP

yeah!

[basuralindo]

Hey do you think Jamil has trouble seeing people his age as peers?

Like, growing up having to be a caretaker to a guy literally a few months older than him, always expected to act like the adult in the situation, expected to work with adults and adopt their perspectives and pick up their slack. Do you think he just, forgets sometimes?

I mean we've seen him go into caretaker mode with other sophomores, and the only people I've seen him take seriously are juniors like Vil who also act much older than they should have to (his reactions to Leona look more like a trauma response and I don't wanna get into it here). People like Malleus and Cater still somewhat get the caretaker treatment. Like I just highly doubt that he subconsciously realizes he's actually part of his age group

Aaand that inevitably brings up Azul, who also acts like he thinks he's older than he is. Whether you're looking at it from a shipping angle or not, he reacts to Azul like an actual peer. With older students, he seems more in his element but there's still a status hierarchy which he compulsively reacts to. With Azul he doesn't acknowledge any status worth respecting or see him as someone who needs to be looked after. He just bickers like an equal, in a way that implies he actually does see Azul as a real peer, like subconsciously he's categorized this guy into the same group as himself, who was previously alone on that level (he gets like this more with the twins too, over time, but it seems to start with Azul).

And my favorite part about this is, while that response stems from them both acting more like adults in general, they elicit a pettiness from each other which drags them both down to actually acting their own age, and I just love that. Their characters are perfect foils for each other and it seems to make them both less isolated in a way.

[running-in-the-dark]

.

[twig-gy]

generally it's rude to just randomly use words of languages like the words are novelties. There is history behind each word in a language even if sometimes it's lost to time like comb. There are exceptions but each language deserves dignity and consideration of the culture.

this is true

[magentagalaxies]

i really want to start making a table collecting statistics on the audience demographics i'll perform my aubrey material for (like what generation most of the audience is, whether i'm performing in a predominantly queer space, etc.) and how well the jokes land bc like. i need to collect more data points before i can properly present my findings but the results so far have been fascinating

[bookwyrminspiration]

I found the artists Instagram and I love her art but my gosh what is with the cover

For anyone curious, here's a link to her IG! She is a very talented artist, though there is a big difference between doing a single piece you can put all the thought and detail you want into it, and illustrating a graphic novel.

Between being asked to use a different style than her typical one (as she said on her tumblr), and the simplifying necessary for a graphic novel (though not as much so for a cover), and probably much more, it definitely was not what many of us were expecting.

I don't think it's bad--although I will say I think the layout of Fitz's face is wrong for the angle, a technical critique--it's just very different from the example art we've seen of hers prior. Which makes sense, but is still something to get used to.

There's also what others have said about it not feeling like it embodies keeper, but I'll go into that in another ask about the cover :)

Anyway! I want to very clearly emphasize my support for the artist, she has a massive task in front of her and a fandom with high expectations. I don't think she's paying attention to us or what we say, but either way. Even if the cover isn't what we thought or expected (honestly I forgot it needed a cover), she clearly has skill and artistic knowledge I'm curious to see in the rest of the novel--which I think will be a better judge. Covers are all played up, but the book is the real meat of it and, I think, more important.

[baekuras]

I so far enjoy Dragon Age Inquisition enough to continue on but also why is there so much of nothingness or what feels like it gsdgfh It's so different from the previous game I am surprised they are of the same series but like...aight sure let's do open world with nothing in it-I know that genre at least

Look I've played like 10 hours and I do wanna look into everything but alas every climbable looking mountain won't let me and around 5 hours were spent with the same 3 non talkactive companions so give me some time to get into it when I am used to the closeness and...chaos of Kirkwall and that crew

i JUST found Iron Bull (nice guy) after getting Sera(girl help) and Vivienne (apparently a bitch but so far I only get business woman vibes off her so....guess it fits?)

i still maintain that Solas in this looks goofy due to his big head to body ratio, mitigated by giving him bulky looking armor Varric is Varric no notes Cassandra is also cool, no notes

[capricornlevi]

nanami x reader - w.c 3k, marraige of convenience, mentions of societal pressure but everything is consensual!, nsfw, mdni!

without even meeting him, you agreed to marry nanami kento without any expectations of future love, romantic or otherwise.

the pairing is advantageous for the both of you; you get access to the impressive nanami family fortune that has grown substantially now that kento is managing it, while he gets to enjoy a close association with your prestigious family and the subsequent educational opportunities that your children will benefit from. it's sensible and by far the best option you'd been presented with.

you've exchanged letters with him, polite and concise. you can read between the lines and see that he shares a disillusioned view of jujutsu society, but is more than willing to step up for the good of his family.

you weren't coerced by anyone. far from it -- your mother and father had sat you down and asked if you were sure, that they would understand if you wanted to take more time or to choose a different path for yourself altogether.

but you know the rest of society would not be so kind or understanding. marriage between two sorcerers, as antiquated as it seems, is how you survive amongst all of these competitive, power-hungry families.

from what you've read and heard about him, nanami will provide stability. he's progressive in his thinking, and so wont expect anything from you that he wouldn't be willing to do as well. you've learned that he's a teacher at tokyo tech, and has received glowing reviews; he'll be a good father.

and so on this misty thursday morning, you lay eyes on your fiancé for the first time as he slips a ring on your finger and promises to stay by your side forever.

the ceremony is as bare-bones as your reputation will allow. the guest list doesn't hit the triple digits, a huge departure from society norms, but representatives from the major houses sit in floral-clad wooden chairs to watch you repeat the words that the officiant speaks in your direction.

nanami takes your hands in his. they're warm, which is nice. this dress isn't designed for November weather, but it's an heirloom -- and truthfully, you're glad to be wearing it. you'd never given much thought to a wedding, but it makes your mother and grandmother very happy.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't relieved to discover how handsome nanami is. you were previously shown a few polaroids of him -- staff pictures, mostly, but some with the rest of his family -- and had known he wasn't bad-looking, but the pictures weren't clear enough to give you a proper understanding of his looks.

his blond hair is styled neatly, not a hair out of place. he has nice features, strong jawline and cheekbones, and soft eyes, a good combination. you know his gaze can be piercing when he wants it to be, but now, he looks at you gently.

you know you made the right decision.

more vows, a kiss, and you're married.

___

the reception goes mercifully smoothly. the mix of guests -- powerful sorcerer family heads, rich businesspeople, and just a few of your personal friends -- didn't appear to gel too well on paper, but they mostly stick to their own factions. you greet them all until your vocal cords grow tired.

a meal is served on plates so ornate it makes you feel awkward eating off them. you nurse a glass of wine for most of the evening and nanami does the same, politely waving off the servers who approach to refill his glass.

a promising sign that he doesn't feel the need to drown his sorrows. this is a marriage of convenience, yes, but you'd like to be able to get along reasonably well with your spouse.

and, to his credit, he's been making light conversation with you all evening. he doesn't dip into deep or uncomfortable topics like your marriage or future plans, figuring that's best saved for later, but he asks you questions about yourself. by the end of the evening, you feel safe enough to allude to your desire for a future somewhat outside society's norms -- "I've always wanted to travel, honestly. maybe ... spend a few years abroad" -- and, to your pleasant surprise, he doesn't rebuff them. if anything, he seems somewhat pleased.

you have another glass of wine and before you know it, it's the early hours of the morning. you're nowhere near tipsy but feel ready for bed, ready to wipe off this makeup and slip into something more comfortable; thankfully, guests have started to slip out one by one, with only immediate family remaining.

your unpleasant and friendless older cousin makes a joke about you needing to say your goodbyes to 'go please your husband', and nanami's face sours for the first time all evening. your cousin notices and sheepishly takes a drink, mumbling something about it being his time to leave too.

with some final hugs to your respective families, it's time to leave with ...

... with your husband.

in his last letter before the wedding, nanami agreed that your city-centre apartment would be the best place to live in the first few weeks of your marriage, until you find somewhere more permanent that suits you both, and so that's where you go.

you show him around each room, including some storage space where his luggage had been delivered this morning. interspersed with some more small talk, you explain that although it's small, it's well placed for both of you to get to work. he smiles and nods, thanking you with a warmth that doesn't feel forced.

you offer him some tea or whiskey; he says he's fine.

you yawn. he loosens his tie, clearly exhausted himself.

the last room you show him is your bedroom, and it becomes harder and harder not to address the elephant in the room. there's very clearly no second bed, no room for him to stay that wouldn't necessitate a lot of closeness between the two of you.

the silence hangs heavy and loaded, both of you waiting for the other to speak.

well. this is one issue you hadn't covered before the ceremony.

you have no issue with a sexual relationship -- in fact, you're somewhat looking forward to it, having spent the evening admiring the way nanami's shirt hugs his strong arms and chest. but you're not sure if tonight, the first night you've ever met, is the best night to start.

sure, the concept of the wedding night speaks for itself, but it's not as black-and-white in your situation. he might want to spend some time settling in, first. he might not even be that interested in you.

"want me to take the couch?" he asks quietly, with no hint of resentment or offence in his voice. he makes the offer with a sincerity you haven't heard from a man in a long time.

you don't break your silence, but not because you're uncomfortable or anything of the sort -- you're just assessing your options.

"there's nothing i expect from you, just so you know," he continues, and you turn your head to face him, seeing his eyes scan your face for any sign of unease. "the last thing i want is for you to do ... this ... out of obligation or pressure. we have a lifetime to get to know each other, to reach that point -- i want you to be comfortable around me."

your upbringing has made you a sceptic, a pessimist at times, but for some reason, you believe him. maybe it's the look in his eyes, or the fact that he's taken your hand in his own, interlocking your fingers, but there's something about him that sets him aside from normal sorcerers.

he seems real. he seems as though, powers and fortunes and family names aside, he has some substance about him.

"do you want to?" you ask then, voice almost inaudible quiet from a day spent conversing with guests at your wedding.

he doesn't hear you, so he dips his head in your direction; you repeat yourself and wait, hoping you hadn't pressed the issue.

his composure doesn't crack, but something flashes in his eyes as he processes your question. he has such control over the movements of his features, over every expression in his body, except for his eyes, you think.

maybe you just happen to be good at reading him.

he mulls it over for a second, his grip on your hand never slacking.

"i want to," he finally admits. "i've wanted to for a while, truthfully. I've spent a lot of late nights picturing how it would feel to be inside you, to hear what my name sounds like when you say it. but i only want that if you want it too."

you smile without meaning to. "you imagined that from just reading a few letters?"

"yes, and it's a testament to my trust in my new wife that I'm telling you that," he replies, still polite but tinged with amusement.

it feels strange standing at your bedroom doorway, hand in hand with this almost-stranger, imagining what it would be like to indulge in these thoughts you've both been having, spending your first night together tangled up in the sheets and allowing some of the indulgence you've long denied yourself.

duty gets tiring. for a long time, you've been unsure what it feels like to genuinely want something.

now, you're pretty sure it feels something like this. it's organic and unforced, a natural desire that sends heat curling in the pit of your stomach.

wordlessly, you guide nanami into your room, closing the door behind you. there's a hint of a smile on his lips as you ask him for help to untie your wedding dress, the intricate pattern of buttons trailing up your spine proving too technical for your own hands. he's methodical in his work, careful to not damage the delicate clasps.

soon your dress is loose around your hips, your chest covered by the thin slip you wore underneath. you set the garment carefully aside before returning the favour and starting to undo nanami's shirt, avoiding eye contact as your hands expose more and more of his bare chest.

you want to do this, you know that for sure, but that doesn't mean you won't feel a bit of awkwardness at the start. you're not well practiced, having had too busy a life for romantic relationships until now. you hope that instinct will kick in sooner than later, but you've no doubt nanami will help you along the way.

when you finally build up the nerve to glance up at him as he shrugs off the shirt, he's looking at you as though you're the only person he ever wants touching him.

you hear the soft clink of metal and realise he's undoing his belt.

"are you sure?" he asks one more time.

that one question, and the earnestness with which he speaks, erases the last shred of doubt you had. you place your trust in him for the second time today.

you nod and reach across to his belt in the same breath, helping him pull it free from the loops to be tossed by the armchair near your desk.

you move as though controlled by something other than yourself, the decisions coming so naturally it feels as though you've been imagining it for weeks as well.

and maybe you have, you think to yourself, as you confidently guide him back slowly until he's sitting down on the plush armchair, his suit pants still on as you crawl onto his lap, pressing your chest against his. the thin fabric of your slip means you can feel the heat of his body against your skin, nipples hardening as they graze against his muscles.

you've just about balanced yourself, carefully perched on his lap when you feel his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that has you grinding against his thighs before you can even catch your breath.

you've never been kissed like this. the few kisses you've had before have been with partners who see you as a means to an end, be it for your family name, your reputation, or just for sex. you've never been kissed by someone who seems to get more from your pleasure than from his own.

you now know he meant it when he said he's been picturing this.

you kiss him for as long as you can, and you're not sure if it's for seconds, minutes, hours. you kiss him until there's a heat burning between your thighs you can no longer stand, that you need to have satiated by the visible, prominent bulge in the front of his suit pants.

when you finally break away, lips numb and kiss-slick, nanami's hair is touselled - you don't remember running your hands through them, but you must have at some point - and he reaches up to run his fingers under the straps of your slip, asking with his eyes if he can guide them off your shoulders.

you nod, and your chest is exposed to the cool night air for a split second before nanami's mouth is on one of your nipples, tongue circling the sensitive skin and making you cry out.

one of the words you moan must be his name, because you feel him smile as he turns his attention towards the other nipple, hands now at the small of your back to keep you close to him.

you can't take it much longer. you need to be touched so badly, you didn't even think you were capable of wanting it this much -- and you only want him to do it, now and maybe forever.

maybe he can read your mind or maybe you babbled out the request, but nanami finally takes pity on you, giving your nipple one final lick before resting his shoulders back against the cushion of the armrest and sliding his hands up your thighs, hooking your underwear with his fingers -- you lift your hips up to let him slip them off.

his composure slips further when he finally touches you between your legs, feeling how wet you've gotten for him, seeing how you react when he slips his index finger inside.

your head falls back and you hold a breath, focusing all of your attention on the sensation of him inside you, on the way he curls the digit ever-so-slightly before pulling it out and fucking you with two this time, almost -- almost -- tipping you over the edge.

"such a pretty wife," he mumbles almost under his breath, voice and gaze reverent as he watches you rock yourself against his hand. "my beautiful, perfect wife, aren't you?"

you want to answer him but can't, lungs feeling near-empty as you fumble with the buttons of his pants.

"i will never be able to think of anything else but you, i think," he muses, half-smiling. "you in my lap ... you making those pretty little noises ... i might be a ruined man, you know. and I'm glad of it."

he only stops speaking when you finally get your hand on his clothed cock, his breath catching in his throat as you trace it with your fingers.

you want tonight, the first of many times together, to start with you cumming on your husband's cock.

nanami just watches as you finally pull him out of his underwear, his length thick and hard in your hand as you give it a few messy strokes. it's all the both of you can manage before you need to have it inside you -- you shift your hips to sit on it, nanami's eyes fixed on the site of the head slipping inside.

it's a stretch, as you expected, but one you've been craving since you closed the bedroom door. you take him inch by inch, lowering yourself down as his breath quickens, clearly battling the urge to thrust up inside you.

but he's careful with you, and doesn't want to hurt you. his wife.

you lift yourself up too much and his cock slips out, slapping aginst his stomach and you nearly cry at the sudden emptiness, eager and clumsy as you guide him back inside you.

he kisses you when you sink down next, tongue massaging your own until the feeling of almost-too-full turns to a perfect, satisfying heat in your core.

eventually you're ready to quicken the pace, bouncing on his cock before long, your mind working too fast for you to keep up as you see nanami's cheekbones flush pink, his pupils dark as you ride him until your thighs ache.

you power through the sensation, nanami helping you along by meeting your hips with his, his thumb tracing uneven circles on your puffy clit. he calls you perfect and other beautiful words; you don't say anything besides more, more and, soon after, nearly there, nearly there, please, please, I'm so close --

your entire body lights up with the most wonderful sensation, hitting you like a wave and sweeping you away in its warm glow, with nanami's hands now on your hips, guiding your movements in exactly the way you need it -- not too hard, not too slow, not too fast.

you're still pulsing around him when you feel his body stiffen, his strong thighs tensing as he groans through gritted teeth. he pulls you in for a crushing kiss as he finishes, filling you up and thrusting as deep as he can until oversensitivity takes over.

the afterglow has you a contented and exhausted mess, muscles aching but satisfied in a way you'll spend forever seeking.

reluctantly, you slip off his cock to retake your place on his lap, marvelling at how undone you both have become, a far cry from your perfect wedding appearance.

you look perfect to him, though, you know as much from the kiss he presses to your sweaty forehead and the way his arm wraps around your shoulders.

"we didn't even make it to the bed," you observe, eyebrows raising as you finally return to your own body. "i ... wasn't expecting that."

"we have a lifetime to spend in bed," he replies, a smile in his voice.

and once again, for reasons you still don't understand, you believe him.

[rene-darling]

MY- lovely tutor.

Wanderer who's recently enrolled in the Akademia due to nahidas request requires some assistance with his studies, sadly he doesn't have much money but you have the perfect solution for that.

...wanderer...

This is annoying, when Nahida enrolled him into the Akademia he didn't think the work would be this hard! Reports on top of reports on topics he hasn't even heard of!

So when you offer a helping hand he's a bit skeptical. What do you want? Why are you trying to help him?

He's not sure of your motives but he has seen and read your previous works so he is confident in your abilities as someone smart.

It starts with small, innocent little touches that get him riled up, he feels like a perv! He shouldn't be this turned on by you just leaning over from behind him and whispering an explanation of what he did wrong. He shouldn't be this riled up but just the soft touch of your hand on his waist whenever he gets upset at getting something wrong.

Your hands going up and down the side of his waist, his shirt would ride up ever so slightly as you would comfort him and reassure him that it's fine if he gets it wrong the first few times, in fact, it's normal. But he's not sure if he even heard half of that as he was too focused on your touch.

How you would look over his shoulder as he wrote something, his hands would tremble as he could feel your breath on his neck your hair would tickle the side of his ear as he would get distracted from doing his work and just focus on your breathing causing him to get his answers wrong.

He swore he felt his eyes roll back whenever he heard your slight groan in response to him getting an answer wrong, so he does just that. Getting the answers wrong again and again just to see your reaction, and when you finally get fed up and place a hand on his shoulder using the other to grab his chin and turn it towards you as you cursed at him for being a dumb whore and not knowing how to solve even the basics...

Oh, archons. He knows he should feel guilty, he knows he should stop messing with you, but when he sees that pissed-off look of yours staring daggers at him. Fuck. His thighs rub together on instinct, he can feel his panties getting stained wet. Fuck, this shouldn't turn him on..but he can't help it

When your eyes sharply look down at him he can feel a slight shudder run through him "oh what the fuck...you enjoyin this? Really? Hah- you some kind of perv wanderer??"

He shakes his head furiously denying your claim but with the way his thighs clam together the real answer is obvious. "you know, we still haven't discussed how you're gonna pay me back for these study sessions.." you would say as you eye him up and down, it seems you already have an idea for how he's gonna pay you back.

..."come on wanderer. It's easy you should know this by now." he does! He swears he does! But- it's too hard to answer while you've got him sitting on your lap all spread out as his juices leak down onto your clothed legs. It's embarrassing being the only one naked!

"ah-a-..ah hah- y/n- mhfm!!" tears leak down his flushed cheeks as I slap his ass in feigned annoyance. "y/n? That isn't the answer now is it, hm,?" he nods his head up and down but still doesn't speak. You can only sigh as your hand comes to a halt and he lets out a whine back arching as he turns his head to look at you.

Your hand still resting near where he wants it but not near enough as you trace small circles in his innermost thighs which cause him to shiver

Breathy sighs leave his trembling lips as he complains "Y-y/n...come on, what the hell.." he whines dragging out the last part, his brows furrow further as his mouth twists into a pout as you laugh, you jerk your legs causing him to rub against them "ah! Y/n! I-im- fuck. Stop" he whines, he doesn't like being teased "alright, alright.." you mumble into his ear from behind

"Only smart boys get to cum. But you haven't answered a single question wanderer," you said so sternly. Fuck that was hot. he swears he started leaking more down there. He closes his legs as he blushes harder "Ya- f-fuck I'll solve one right now..then ill prove to you I'm a smart boy..who deserves to cum.." he squeaked out the last part in shame unable to say it too loud, he was too embarrassed

He leans forward crawling off your lap with shaky legs, on all fours he tries crawling forward towards the table so he can solve a damn question and finally get fucked right.

Fuck. He feels his knees buck inwards as he topples over the table across the scattered books and papers. He bites his lip to the point of bruising it. Fuck, are you crazy?

He's sure if he looked back your face would have an amused expression on it as you had just plunged your fingers deep inside him causing him to cry out as he arched over the table as you lazily pumped your fingers he was about to say something in his broken little voice but you spoke up instead "what're you waiting for darlin? Come on, solve." ah- you were so cruel. He could feel the tears prick at his eyes some even escaping them and falling on the papers below

While biting his teeth he took a deep breath as he shakily lifted his legs a bit more straight leaning against the table for support as he shakily grabbed the pen "d-dont...ah! Won't m-move too much." he whispered quietly.

He's not sure why he thought you would listen. Well, right now he's too busy getting fucked to think anyways. Limbs spread out on the table as your fingers seemed to plunge more roughly and deeper each time. He dripped on the table all over the discarded papers some of which fell down onto the floor your name leaves his mouth like a Chant as you deny him release once more he whines, cries out to you looking back at you with rosy cheeks that are stained with tears

"please- please let me cum..fuck i-i need to cum please" his last words dragged out as he whined and cried pleading desperately for his dear sweet release. He let out a surprised gasp as you pulled him to your lap wrapping your arms around him as you lean into his ear "Darling, only smart boys get to cum." ah. He's gonna start crying more you're so mean...

He swears he hates you and that he's never gonna come back, but not even a week later he's crawling back begging for your touch.

He's a good boy so he's learned your rules by now, if he gets the answers right he gets to cum, but if not...then he's getting edged the entire night and perhaps if you're feeling generous you'll squeeze one measly release out of him

Sometimes you're feeling a bit evil and you'll make the questions harder or, you'll simply lie. When he gets the answers correct you simply lie telling him it's wrong and then fucking him stupid before he gets the chance to think that you're lying.

Oh, but he takes you so well! He might be bratty but he's your smart boy!!

He'll take whatever punishment you give him for being a dumb little boy and not getting the answers correct as long as you hold him afterwards

But as soon as he comes to his senses he'll book out of that room faster than his mother left him.

He's far too embarrassed to face you after all you've done.

He'll purposefully avoid you in class but you don't have to worry, because at the end of the day he always comes crawling back.

[mayasaura]

did you see te pati maori declared independence??

I DID NOT! Holy shit! Thanks for the news!

Okay, now reporting back from one research deep-dive, the recent context as I understand it is this:

Last November, a conservative right-wing Prime Minister, Christopher Luxon, assumed office. He's got a lot of less than stellar right-wing policies, and that includes making cuts to the Ministry of Social Development and opposing co-governance with the Waitangi Tribunal and other Māori leadership organisations over the administering of public services such as education, health, and infrastructure. He's been openly critical of Māori seats in Parliament, though he hasn't (yet) opposed them. Over the course of his administration, there's been an initiative to omit or cut mentions of the Treaty of Waitangi, the foundational document of New Zealand that forms the basis of arguments for Māori protections, from official language.

Which brings us to yesterday, May 30th. Budget Day. The day the new administration would announce their first budget and a day of mass action for supporters of te Pāti Māori protesting the treatment of Māori under the new government. I don't have any concrete numbers, but RNZ reports thousands of protestors, while the NZ Herald estimates "tens of thousands" turning out nation-wide, and a walking protest that delayed rush-hour traffic in Auckland for hours.

You may have already guessed that the budget was Bad. As I understand it, the budget effectively cut any kind of targeted funding for Māori health or education, and decreased funding for Māori cultural festivals and celebrations. And again, I cannot stress enough how much I am not an expert on this topic, so there's probably a lot more in there I don't know about.

In response to the new budget, Māori Party MP Rawiri Waititi issued a Declaration of Independence to the New Zealand Parliament, (video of his speech in link) with the support of his fellow te Pāti Māori co-leader Debbie Ngarewa-Packer.

There doesn't seem to be any concrete plan in place yet for the organisation of the new Māori parliament, but MPs Waititi and Ngarewa-Packer met with protestors to collect signatures for the Declaration, which they plan to bring to a hui taumata (meeting of congress) today, Friday, May 31st. The text of the Declaration can be found on te Pāti Māori website, in the form of a petition. You do not have to be Māori to sign, but I believe you do have to be kiwi.

[txttletale]

hey what DO you watch on youtube? seems like you'd have some neat recommendations :3

i really loathe the like super-highly edited sound effect post-mrbeast slop most of youtube is now so i mostly like stuff that's like... calm and sedate. stuff i've been watching lately in no particular order:

northernlion vods and clips. he's an OG. i especially like his react court series, i must have watched all of them like five times.

speaking of OGs i've been watching zero puncutation (now fully ramblomatic) for like ten years and if anything it's only gotten better. best game review content on the internet. been really enjoying his more recent, slightly longer and more thoughtful 'extra punctuation/semi-ramblomatic' series too.

any austin's skyrim unemployment rate videos. instant classics to me, it's just a guy going around in skyrim trying to figure out the unemployment rate in every town. it's a very dry kind of humour, he plays it admirably straight, and it's weirdly calming.

kitten arcader's foot the bill videos. in a kind of similar vein, he watches the saw movies and then produces an itemized bill for everything jigsaw needed to buy to make his traps. it's kind of like... if cinemasins was fundamentally curious instead of fundamentally incurious, it scratches a similar sort of nitpicky detail-oriented quantifying itch but without inimical to the concept of art.

shuffle up and play. it's a magic the gathering play series that has enough editing that the gamestate is actually legible but not enough editing (or at least, not enough obtrusive in-your-face editing) that its annoying. i also like that they reguilarly play non-edh formats like cube and pauper.

spice8rack. i'm pretty picky about video essays but spice8rack has very obviously actually read books and has interesting things to say about the topics it discusses (mostly magic: the gathering). sometimes it has a kind of grating Theater Kid Energy but the fact that it actually meaningfully structures essays and analysis to earn the silly long runtimes is a rare delight from a video essayist.

jenny nicholson is a long-time favourite and another permanent fixture in my rotation. she's just extremely, remarkably funny which makes her the only 'basically just summarizing a thing' youtuber i think is worth the time of day.

i watch some sketch comedy, mainly wizards with guns and aunty donna, who both consistently put out really funny stuff that's kind of ITYSL-adjacent in its barefaced absurdism and contenmpt for concepts like "stopping a joke at the logical punchline". i also really like alasdair beckett-king and binging the old clickhole backlog for short-form comedy on youtube.

wolfeyvgc is right on the edge of the level of editing i find tolerable but as a long-time fan of multiple esports he Has It, he's absolutelyt fantastic at t elling the narrative of a tournament, explaining plays clearly, and generally making competitive pokemon esports thrilling and interesting ti someone (me) who#s never played it and doesn't care about pkoemon that much

i religously watch every elliespectacular/dathings YTP, the absolute best in the game right now, top tier snetence mixing and really good at actually setting up and paying off jokes in a way it feels like a lot of ytp doesn't. verytallbart is also pretty good.

trapperdapper is a channel i recently binged, it's a really fucking funny parody of minecraft challenge content that veers slowly from obvious angles of parody into pure absurdism with tons of blink-and-you'll miss it subtle visual gags.

too much future is a great youtube series where the two guys from just king things/homestuck made this world play through every fallout game and analyze them in that context. extremely funny and also just top-tier very sharp analysis. really good

another one of the rare good video essayists is jan misali. they're really funny and will go into topics that kind of seem narrow or strange to begin with in such depth and make them so interesting that it's consistently astonishing.

oh and finally sarah z makes pretty good videos. 'the narcissist scare' is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of one of the most annoying pop-psych phenomena of the last couple years. and remarkably well script supervised i think did anyone else watch it and think 'wow the script supervisor on this must have been, a mind geniuse'

ok i think that's all i've been watching lately. hope you like whcihever of these recs you check out :)

[thinkinonsense]

MY HAIR𑁍

old man!logan howlett x housewife reader

cw: fluff, minor nsfw content, soft logan

wc: 800+

part one

next part

you aren't an insecure person by any means, but that doesn't mean you don't have insecurities. whenever you even attempted to explain them to logan he always hushed you up with a kiss and whispered how he loves you no matter what. he never understood why someone so angelic would fixate on the smallest of imperfections?

the main insecurity that logan could never wrap his head around was, your hair.

growing up, your hair was always long, thick and curly. people either loved it or hated it but you always hated it. kids at school were so incredibly cruel that every summer you would cut it short. getting rid of all the heat damage caused by the constant abuse of your straightener.

logan and you met during the winter months when you usually let the curls be free, not caring much to do anything with it until the heat came again.

during the beginning of your relationship, he didn't seem to be bothered by the barrier you created around your hair. he questioned all the straightening products and asked why you always had to cut it come summertime.

over time it became logan's main obsession. he knew you were possessive of it, always smacking away his hand anytime he tried to wrap a pretty curl around his finger. he could always smell your shampoo lingering which only added to the obsession. the absolute worst was when you rode him because all he wanted to do was tug at the ends until your mouth hung open.

at every chance he could, he would offer to wash your hair or style it for you. it was painful for him to see how soft and full of volume it looked; bouncing as you walked.

for god's sake, logan learned how to do a fuckin' french braid, that's how badly he wanted to know that part of you.

yet, your walls never crumbled.

one night while the two of you were watching an old western in bed, logan decided that he had had enough of it.

"sweetheart?" logan asked, looking down at you as your head rested on his chest.

"hm?" you peer up at him through your lashes.

"can i ask you something?"

"anything."

logan took a deep breath and then asked, "why won't you let me touch your hair?"

the question sounded silly, and he knew it but at this point, logan was desperate. even now, seeing your hair caged up with a claw clip was torture for him.

"i-i didn't think it was a big deal." you stutter, caught off guard by his forwardness about the topic.

"it's not." he looks longingly into your eyes. want you to appreciate it the way i do."

there's a look in your eyes that is debating whether or not to give logan what he wanted seemly badly. you trusted logan, he would never make fun of you. maybe it was silly to keep that part of yourself hidden from him. the two of you are married after all.

logan watches as you sit on your knees in your silky navy pajamas. he can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you exhale then reach up, touching the clip in your hair. it felt borderline erotic to logan as he watched your hair fall effortlessly over your shoulders.

"i'm going to give you instructions, alright?" you warn him.

logan wanted to roll his eyes as you inform him to not tangle your hair. he knew how to be gentle, but he wasn't going to blow this opportunity.

"want you to touch softly just like how you do my mind." your voice was barely a whisper as you watched his hand lift up to your shoulder.

he nods, stroking the soft follicles from your earlobe to your waist. it was smoother than silk. every curl fit perfectly around his finger.

"it's beautiful, sweetheart." he complements, watching as a blush rises to your cheeks. "can't believe you've been hiding it from me all this time."

you climb onto his lap to kiss him when something snaps deep inside of logan. the shampoo.

"fuckin' lavender..." he groaned against your lips. "could smell it a mile away."

"love you, lo." you pull back to say. "i'm sorry that it took so long to-"

your words fade in your throat as he tugs at the hair resting near your ass while grinding up against you.

"don't apologize, just want you to love yourself the same way i love you." he says in between leaving marks on your jaw, inhaling your scent.

a moan falls from your lips, leaving logan to wonder if it was his words that caused it or the fact that he was now tugging a fist full near your neck. either way, it didn't matter because he would never stop touching your hair. at least not while you sing like a hummingbird for him.

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Batfam pining over Bruce's reluctant darling—why are you so frightened? is it because Tim is cyberstalking you?

Yandere Batfam aren't subtle about their obsessive nature. They are already aware that you are cautious around them and have tried to leave several times, so what is the point in hiding it? Every unhealthy behavior of theirs stems from their trauma and vigilante status. They hope if they are more open about it, then you'll have more of a willingness to stay with them.

Vulnerability isn't exactly a word in any of their vocabularies.

So they are reaching out and showing you their true selves. You were going to figure it out eventually, and it would have only made you more skittish.

Come on. They aren't that bad.

Yandere Batfam just has a few unique quirks. They take away any semblance of privacy you had. Whether it be stalking in the flesh or on the internet. Both a set of cameras and eyes are always trained on you.

They see it as a way to appease both of your anxious natures. They get to know you're safe. They get to learn more about you so they can better please you. You get—them.

You never have to worry about anything ever again!

Yandere Batfam makes sure to give both you and Bruce time 'alone'. They hate that word, especially Damien. What do you mean by alone time? It's asinine. You have managed all their attention and affection poorly thus far! Giving you more time away from them all is only going to decrease your ability to love them all. Which Damien is fine with, as long as your ability to love him doesn't wane even a point of a percentage.

With that in mind, they all know you were Bruce's first. If you aren't comfortable with him, then how are you going to be comfortable with the rest of them?

So they give you that illusion of you simply dating Bruce. He works on wooing you. He tries to.

He doesn't know how to react when you suddenly shut down from his advances. When you pull away from his touch, all he can feel is hurt. A type of hurt that exceeds any he has ever felt. It's like multiple knives twisting into his heart while his soul is crying out in anguish.

He still tries. He gives you your space and little by little breaks down those walls of yours. In return, you end up doing the same with him. He doesn't even realize how much he loves you until you're absent from his presence, even if only for a mere moment.

Yandere Batfam end up learning how hard it is to share. Bruce is the head of the family, so it feels natural to allow him the largest sum of your time. However, how do they split the rest of it? How much time is too much time with you? Who goes first? (Damien insists it should be Dick and then him.)

They could always ask you, but you seem hesitant enough when just asked base-level questions about yourself.

So it's often a hot topic between all of them. If you are closer to one family member than another, the other's are instantly jealous and try to copy the tactics of that member. They'll even go as far as to abuse their power in the familial hierarchy to give themselves a disadvantage.

(Jason really doesn't give a single fuck about schedules. So you'll most likely see the most of him second to Bruce. He is mostly silent in the time he spends with you. He's just content to be in your presence, even if it is farther away than he would like.)

Yandere Batfam aren't going to strip you of your freedoms, yet. You're like a fawn just learning to walk. They can't have you running. You'll get yourself hurt. You can't protect yourself.

Bruce just wants you to love him like you did when you first met him. He's still that same man, albeit a bit more stalkerish. His family is still the same bunch of loving idiots, just more obsessive.

So please join them before their patience runs dry. If you push yourself too far away, then they suddenly won't care if you have any reluctance towards them or their methods.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Wiped Out III

Fridolina Rolfö x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your first start of the season

Today was meant to be a good day.

Today was meant to be a great day.

It's your first start of the season.

Your parents are here to see you.

Your mother. Your father. Frido's parents too.

Today was meant to be perfect.

"You'll do great," Frido says, a soft kiss landing on the top of your head.

You don't answer her, suddenly feeling shy as you go and warm up.

"Which ones are your parents?" Ingrid asks as her eyes rove over the stands," They are coming today, right? I think Frido said."

"Over there." You point an errant hand over to the friends and family section.

Ingrid narrows her eyes as she takes in all the people sitting there. "I don't see them."

"There! By the aisle."

Ingrid's brow furrows. "That's Frido's parents."

She would recognise them anywhere. She's been in their house enough times to recognise them from a distance.

"No, they're mine. Papa always wears the blue shirt to my matches. He doesn't like jerseys."

"No. That's Frido's father."

"I think I can recognise my own father, Ingrid," You say with an eye roll.

"No. I'm sure-"

"Our father's are twins," Frido says in passing, handing you for bottle to drink from.

"They are?"

"Identical," You put in, passing Frido back her bottle," And our mums."

"What?"

"Our mums are identical twins too."

Ingrid looks between you and your cousin, mouth opening and closing for a moment before she sighs. "Your fathers, a pair of identical twins...married another pair of identical twins. And had you two?"

Frido doesn't answer.

But you do.

"Yeah? What's so confusing about that?"

"So you're sisters then."

"No," Frido snaps quickly, voice hard before she looks away," I mean, no. We're cousins."

"But I mean, genetically, you're siblings. If you're from two sets of identical twins..."

"We're not," Frido snaps again, shaking her head like the whole idea was stupid," We're cousins. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"Geez, Frido," You laugh, bumping your shoulder against hers," I'm trying not to be offended here. I'd be a great sister."

Frido's eyes soften like they always do when she looks at you and she fondly tugs on the lock of hair that always escapes your ponytail no matter what either of you do.

Ingrid doesn't push anymore on the topic, especially when it's so clear that Frido's got some strange hang up on it.

The match starts like any other and nothing seems out of the ordinary.

It's as intense as any other match is but just like every other match you've played in, Barcelona are solidly in control.

You frown a little as you and Mapi stand over a free kick, an odd twinge in the back of your leg that you rub. Maybe it's not in your leg actually, maybe it's actually in your chest.

A weird feeling that just won't settle.

You push it away though because this is your first free kick as a Barcelona player despite having been here a season now.

It was a new thing Pere was trying.

He'd been going over old film and came across an old set of videos of when you played for one of the Sweden youth teams. You'd been the dedicated free kick taker ever since you arrived, scoring goal after goal after goal no matter where you were on the pitch.

"Take it," Mapi says from behind her hand, trying to disguise the choice.

The twinge in your hamstring dampens as you push it from your mind, nodding.

Both you and Mapi take steps back.

She runs across you and then you move.

You know something is wrong the moment your foot touches grass.

The ball speeds from your strike, neatly landing in the top corner and passed the keeper's outstretched hand.

The team celebrate but you're on the ground.

Something between a squeak and a yelp make its way out of your mouth as your hamstring flares in pain.

The Johan erupts in noise at your first goal of the season but you can hear nothing over the roar in your ears and the pain in your leg.

Tears sting your eyes as a shadow falls over you.

Your cousin is there like she is every time you're injured like some kind of avenging angel.

But you don't want her right now.

You're in pain. You feel vulnerable. You feel like a little girl needing her boo boo kissed after scraping her skin at the park.

"Mama," You sob," I want Mama."

"It's okay," Frido tries to soothe you, something like confliction in her eyes," Come on. It's okay."

You grasp at her hand, squeezing tightly. "Frido, I want my Mama."

"Shh, shh, it's alright. It's going to be okay."

The medics rush on quickly as well and you try to kick them away with your one good leg.

"Stop...Stop!" You shriek when they touche your injury.

"We need to get her off," One of them says and Frido nods.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" You may be injured, in tears and vulnerable but you'd like to keep some essence of your already shattered dignity.

"Can you stand?" Frido asks, tenderly brushing your cheek with her hand.

"I..." You want to say yes but you know the correct answer. You shake your head.

"We're going to need a stretcher," One of the medics speaks into their radio and within a minute or so, you're being helped into it.

You catch Frido's hand as she walks with you to the touchline.

"You'll tell them to get Mama?"

Frido blinks away some of her own tears. "I'll...I'll tell them to send auntie."

It takes barely an hour for the diagnosis to come back.

A torn hamstring.

A torn hamstring that needs surgery.

Which means months out of football, months of recovery and rehab.

You wonder briefly if you'll get to go to the Euros this summer.

Sweden still haven't qualified yet. You won't be apart of the squad for that campaign but if they do qualify, you wonder if you'll be back and strong enough to join the Euros team.

Mama holds your hand though.

Papa and Uncle and Auntie are still in the stands watching Frido but Mama is with you, holding your hand as you suck on a green whistle to take the edge off.

She presses a soft kiss to the top of your head as her hands gently card through your hair.

You stopped crying a while ago as you nestle into her, head on her chest like you used to do to her and Frido when you were little.

The sounds of studs on flooring alerts you to your cousin coming and you sit up just as the door swings open.

"Hey," She says, panting.

"Hey," You reply.

She squishes onto the other side of your bed. It's a tight fit but Frido makes it work, taking your other hand. "So...What are we looking at?"

"Torn hamstring," Your Mama replies," She's going to need surgery."

"I hate it when you two talk over me."

"How long are we thinking she'll be out?"

"Six months."

"No!" You huff, drawing the attention of your Mama and Frido. "He said six months are the latest. Three months minimum. I'll be ready in three months."

Frido and your Mama exchange twin looks.

"I'll be ready then! I will!"

Mama continues to stroke through your hair and Frido squeezes your head.

"Recovery takes time," You cousin says," You shouldn't rush things."

"I'm not going to rush things. I'm not an idiot, Frido. But I will be ready in three months and I'll be healthy for the rest of the season. And then we'll compete in the Euros. Like we said we would."

Your Mama sighs. "You're both just as stubborn as each other. You get it from Frido you know."

Frido tenses a barely imperceptible amount next to you.

"How did I get it from Frido?" You laugh," Via telepathy?"

"Yeah," Frido laughs too but it doesn't meet her eyes," Something like that."

[liketolaugh-writes]

Sick Day Once A Year

I might be too much in love with the Death Echoes trope. So, have a whole bunch of Bruce taking care of Danny. It's basically a sickfic with extra hurt/comfort.

It takes place in the same verse as More Like Home but probably won't happen until after the plot of that fic is done. At this point, Danny has been living with Bruce for a little under a year.

-----

At noon, Alfred called Bruce to ask him to come home early. Bruce turned around and walked out of the board meeting without even looking at anyone, but did throw a distracted 'family emergency!' over his shoulder. He might have carefully cultivated his airheaded Brucie persona, but even then people knew that he took his kids seriously.

He ignored the board member that grumbled 'enough fucking family to have an emergency every day if he wants.'

"What is it, Alfred?" Bruce asked, once he was clear of the board room and in the elevator. Calm. Calm. No running. Brucie doesn't run.

"Master Danny declined to specify the nature of his sick day this morning," Alfred said, in a dry tone that didn't do a bit to hide the worry underneath it. "Apparently the anniversary of one's death is rather... physically harrowing for a ghost. He's admitted that he'd like to have you here."

But of course he hadn't asked for it, because that would require bringing up what he was. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Ten minutes at most."

"I'll let him know. Come prepared to spend several hours in his room, if not the rest of the day. He indicated that he may be well enough to eat by eight or nine o'clock, but even then..."

Meaning he expected to be debilitated until then. "Understood. Should I bring anything?"

"He's not aware of anything that will help, but some topical analgesic might be of use. I will see if I can find anything else to try."

"He's in pain?" Bruce's brow furrowed. Alfred hesitated before answering, which made Bruce's heart sink.

"He is... physically reliving his death, he says, and will be for most of the day. He is in quite a bit of pain."

"These kids will be the death of me," Bruce muttered. Danny hadn't even hinted at anything like this when he asked for the day off. Bruce made a mental note to keep him off patrol the next night as well. The elevator stopped, and he took off at as quick a walk as he dared. "I'll be there in ten."

"Yes, Master Bruce." Alfred hung up, hopefully to return to Danny.

On the way, he collected a few items that seemed promising: IcyHot cream in the strongest available formula, both heat and cold packs, a variety of compression bandages, and some muscle relaxers from the Batcave infirmary.

Bruce knocked on Danny's door. Cool air drifting out of it indicated either Danny or Alfred had turned the thermostat down lower than usual. Fortunately, Bruce had grabbed a jacket just in case.

"'M in," Danny mumbled, barely loud enough for Bruce to make out.

He pushed the door open and was unsurprised to see Alfred seated beside a miserable-looking Danny. He was surprised to see Danny in ghost form, as it wasn't a form he typically spent recreational time in, particularly when he was unwell. Perhaps it made the ordeal easier. Danny was curled up in his bed, on top of the covers, with his jumpsuit removed and a set of soft pajamas in its place. Alfred was running one hand through Danny's soft white hair, slow and comforting, while his other held one of Danny's.

"Hey, chum," Bruce called out quietly, drawing Danny's attention to him. "Heard you're hurting today." Danny hummed unhappily instead of denying it, which was concerning. "Think you'll be able to eat anything for lunch? Applesauce, bone broth, yogurt? Maybe with ectoplasm?" Danny didn't seem to have any intention of leaving ghost form.

Danny started to shake his head, but stopped to consider when Bruce brought up the last point. "Applesauce and ectoplasm," he mumbled. "Maybe. Nothing after like, two, though."

Alfred gave Bruce a warm smile and gently extracted himself from Danny. "I will see to it," he promised. "Do you need anything else, Master Danny? Master Bruce?"

Danny shook his head mutely, and Bruce said, "I'll text you an update once we've tried these." He hefted the bag he was holding. "If you could bring me lunch when you can, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course," Alfred promised. "I hope you feel better, Master Danny."

"Thanks, Alfie."

Alfred left, shutting the door gently behind him, and Bruce took his place, setting the bag at his feet for now. Danny didn't stir from his leaden sprawl, not even to lift his head.

"You didn't have to leave work, y'know," Danny mumbled, half into the pillow. "I'll be okay."

He didn't apologize, Bruce noted. That was progress. "I know I didn't have to. But someone should be here with you."

"I don't-" Danny choked, his hands squeezing into fists as his whole body shuddered and jerked as if tased. Danny panted through the spasm, his whole body rigid, and when it was over he slumped down and let out a weak moan of pain, making no attempt to continue arguing. It took Bruce a moment to remember to breathe, reminding himself forcefully that this was no attack.

"I brought you some stuff," Bruce said, softer. Danny grunted in discontent. Bruce leaned down and opened the bag anyway. "IcyHot lidocaine cream and muscle relaxers." Danny shook his head without looking. Bruce wasn't surprised. He hadn't realized Danny was in ghost form. "Both heat and cold packs." Danny hummed in mild interest but didn't open his eyes. "And compression bandages."

Danny blinked his eyes open to consider them. His usually neon eyes looked dull. "Worth a try," he muttered after a moment.

Good. Something was better than nothing. "Do you need help sitting up?"

Danny's mouth quirked in a dry smile. "Not yet."

He pushed himself up with a grunt, and shrugged off his pajama shirt with intangibility rather than lift his arms. Bruce had to suppress an immediate and visceral reaction to the glowing lines that coiled up his left arm, which he had only gotten glimpses of before; a telltale Lichtenberg permanently etched onto Danny's ghost form. In contrast to the rest of him, which had dimmed to about the light of a glowstick, the Lichtenburg mark was painfully bright.

"Where do you want these?" Bruce asked, lifting one of the rolls of elastic bandaging. Danny cocked his head and considered it. Then he gestured silently, indicating his left arm from his wrist to his shoulder, and twisted to give Bruce access. With the ease of long practice, Bruce started to wrap it. "Anything I should expect?"

Danny watched him unroll the bandages for a minute, around and around, getting halfway up Danny's forearm before he answered. "The pain comes in waves. They'll keep getting longer, more severe, and closer together until around four, and then they'll die down completely about two hours after that." He paused, watching Bruce loosen the bandages around his elbow before moving on. "It won't ever get as bad as actually dying, but it's still pretty bad. And I'll be really emotional for a lot of it, especially when it hits peak."

"When are you not." The words were out before Bruce could think twice about them. Fortunately, Danny laughed, tired but genuine.

"You've got me there. How many rolls of bandages do you have?"

"I brought three. Alfred can obtain more if necessary." Pretty bad, Danny said. Bruce had no desire to experience pain that Danny described as 'pretty bad.' His tolerance was high even for their family.

Danny shook his head. "That should be okay. Can you do my back too?"

"Yes, but I'll need to be closer." Danny scooted to make room, and Bruce shifted to sit next to him, then tapped a spot low on Danny's spine. "Starting here?" Danny nodded. "Alright. Is there anything else I should know?"

Thankfully, Danny seemed to genuinely think about it, but eventually he shook his head. "I've only had two of these," he reminded Bruce. "There's more stuff I don't know, probably."

Ah yes, a frustrating constant. The elusive nature of comprehensive information about ghosts. Even Constantine had large gaps in his knowledge, which Bruce would grudgingly admit was rare for the man. This? This was definitely not in the introductory handbook. Was Bruce now obligated to share information in return? Hn.

Danny squinted at him. "What did Constantine do now?" he asked.

"Constantine."

"You have a very distinct 'thinking about Constantine' face."

"Hn."

Danny smiled briefly, then yelped, curling up like a bug and accidentally dislodging Bruce's grip on the bandaging. Instinctively, Bruce tucked Danny against his side, and Danny shook and twitched against him, a desperate whine tearing itself free as Danny rode out the wave of pain. Bruce all but held his breath until Danny finally slumped again, breathing heavily. His chill crept through the jacket Bruce had slipped on before coming in.

"Ready to keep going?" Bruce prodded, once Danny's breath evened out. Danny laid there for another few seconds, then nodded and pushed himself upright with a wince. Bruce picked up the dropped end of the bandage, tightened what had come loose, and kept going. "You're sore?"

"Ha." Danny lifted his arms slightly, enough to make room for Bruce to work. Bruce shifted and encouraged Danny to rest his arms on Bruce's shoulders, and Danny did, leaning against him. "Yeah, I wake up pretty achy already, even though I don't start getting spasms until ten. Just to make sure I have a really miserable day."

Uncharacteristically bitter, Bruce noted, but unsurprising under the circumstances. He didn't comment. "Remarkably, we don't currently possess any upper back bandages. I'll ask Alfred to retrieve one if you're happy with the results. We do have shoulder and wrist bandages." Bruce finished wrapping Danny's torso but didn't pull away.

Danny turned his head to squint at the bandages peeking out of the bag. "Why'd you bring so many?"

"I know how you died," Bruce reminded Danny evenly. Electrocution implied muscle pain, and Bruce had suspected his left arm would take the brunt of it. Danny shuddered, a natural one this time, and pressed himself against Bruce for comfort. Bruce dropped an arm around his back, holding him. A minute or two passed, and then Danny pulled away with a sigh.

"Okay."

Right, yes. More compression bandages. These went by much faster, simply needing to be strapped on, and soon Danny's hand and shoulder had joined his left arm and mid-back in compression. He seemed satisfied with that and laid back down on the bed, somewhat more relaxed than when Bruce had first come back in. Bruce hesitated, then shifted closer again and set his hand on Danny's upper back, carefully trying to smooth out the painful knots that had developed there. Danny 'mm'ed softly but didn't otherwise react.

Alfred knocked on the door, and Bruce called him inside when Danny made no move to. Alfred pushed open the door and brought in two plates, one for Danny and one for Bruce. Bruce accepted his with a nod.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said quietly. "Danny, are you up to eating?"

Danny didn't answer at first, but then shifted around to glower half-heartedly at the bowl Alfred had brought. Then he buried his face in Bruce's arm, grumbling, and Bruce's mouth twitched in amusement. It disappeared when another tremor wracked Danny's body, and the young teen bleated in pain, his grip tightening painfully.

Bruce forced himself to breathe evenly this time, and massaged Danny's hand with his own, pressing through the thick bandage. Danny slumped, panting, and with care, Bruce shifted his hand to massage all the way up Danny's arm, coaxing the tension out of the muscles there until he reached Danny's shoulder, skipped past the compression bandage, and pressed his fingers into Danny's back. Danny didn't say anything, but he pressed into Bruce gratefully and stayed relaxed. Somehow, still, Bruce was startled when Alfred joined him, cupping Danny's temple in one hand.

"Master Danny?" Alfred coaxed, more firmly than Bruce had. "Can you stomach some applesauce?" Danny whined, a softer-toned protest than the low keens of pain he'd let slip. "I know, but you will feel worse if you don't eat anything. I don't think you want that."

Danny grumbled something that sounded like 'no' and acquiesced, allowing himself to be propped up just enough to poke the glowing applesauce with a spoon. He brightened a little at the reminder that Alfred had added ectoplasm, and started to eat. Bruce followed his example and worked quickly through his sandwich.

"I see you're making good use of our extensive collection of medical garments," Alfred said to Bruce, making Bruce snort quietly. "Will you be needing anything else?"

"If he's satisfied with the improvement from these, we'll need one for his upper back as well," Bruce said. "I'll let you know."

"Perhaps after this, the collection will be complete."

Danny got through about half the applesauce before he pushed it away, and Bruce set it on a clear spot on his nightstand before Alfred could pick it up. He glanced up at the butler. "I'll see if I can coax more of this into him later."

Alfred gave him a small smile. "Very well. I'll check in later to see how the two of you are doing."

Bruce nodded, and Alfred left to attend to the manor. Bruce turned his attention back to Danny and considered him. He had a few more questions - why Danny was staying in ghost form, if there were any physical effects from this - but nothing that couldn't wait until Danny was less ill. He picked up his tablet instead. "Would you like me to read to you?"

Danny tilted his head up to look at him, then nodded. It was barely twelve thirty and he already looked exhausted, pale even for his ghost form and cradling his left arm protectively. Bruce hoped he'd be able to sleep at some point, but that seemed unlikely until the pain had passed, which apparently would not be for hours.

Bruce picked up his tablet and quickly downloaded a book. Danny had mentioned wanting to read 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' a few times, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. "The story so far: in the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move."

Danny snickered softly.

As always, reading to his kids made time pass a little faster. It also gave him easy access to the digital clock, and with the note function innate to the Kindle app, he could keep track of the time and Danny's progressing condition, most importantly the interval between spasms and the relative severity of the pain.

After half an hour, he noted that the current interval period was about twelve minutes and asked Danny, "Are the compression bandages helping as much as desired?"

Danny nodded. He'd pulled a thin blanket over himself after a while, mainly for comfort, and his hold on his left arm was still loose enough that Bruce believed it was more psychological than physical for the moment. "Hurts less when I can't jerk around so much. One for my upper back would be good. The shoulder one isn't quite cutting it." He made a face.

Bruce shot off a text to let Alfred know. "Anything else you want?"

Danny wrinkled his nose. "Heat pack?" he asked, softer and more tentative, as if there was anything Bruce would say no to right now.

And that was simple enough. Bruce activated one of the handheld heating packs and handed it to Danny, who shuffled around a little before putting it on his neck, by the junction of his shoulder. Bruce picked his tablet back up and continued reading.

Alfred returned about twenty minutes later with the requested bandage, and Danny didn't protest when Bruce went to help him sit up. He wasn't weakened, Bruce judged after a minute, but there was a minute tremble in his muscles that indicated the pain was ramping up even outside of the periodic spasms.

Bruce helped him get the new compression bandage on, and then paused to smooth out some of the building tension there. Danny leaned in gratefully - he was much more physically affectionate than most of Bruce's children, he'd come to realize, except perhaps Cass and Dick. Bruce kept an eye on the clock, and made sure to get Danny down before the next spasm hit. Danny groaned, the sound drawn-out and wavering unhappily, and clung to Bruce through it before falling into a shivering, panting slump.

Alfred ran his fingers through Danny's hair, nodded to Bruce, and left quietly, as harried as ever when one of the kids was suffering.

"You happy like this, chum, or do you want to lay back how you were?" Bruce asked Danny quietly. Danny grunted, then squirmed further into Bruce's lap. It was a little eerie, Danny being so light and cold in this form that Bruce could have mistaken him for a lap full of snow, but it made Bruce smile for a moment. "Alright."

He settled down and picked up his tablet to resume reading, noting the time and event before he continued.

A part of Bruce, a not-so-small part, was furious that Danny had meant to handle this alone, without anything to even try to ease the pain; it reminded him of when nine-year-old Tim had caught a bad strain of flu, and how confused he had been when Alfred insisted on him staying at Wayne Manor to be cared for. This might not have been particularly dangerous, it was true, but Danny was miserable now and only promised to get more so through the day.

He wondered briefly how Danny had spent the previous two such events. Certainly not with his parents, there being no human explanation for this. Could he even be home for it, in the comfort of his own room, or did he have to go elsewhere? Had he been alone for either of them? It unfortunately seemed likely, especially if he hadn't known about it in advance the first time.

Even with the bandages stabilizing half his upper body, Danny's groans and whines slowly progressed into low keens of pain, and he started to clutch at himself through each one, gasping for breath like it was the only thing that would bring him comfort. Bruce shifted so one of his hands rested on Danny's shoulder, where a gap between the shoulder and upper back bandages seemed to be creating a sharp spot of pain that Danny kept trying to get at. He massaged it carefully without looking away from the tablet, and Danny relaxed a little, panting.

At two thirty, Danny started to cry, exhausted tears shining on his cheeks and faint, breathy sobs following each spasm. At three, Bruce noted that the interval had decreased to six minutes, then set the tablet aside and transferred his attention to comforting Danny.

"How are you feeling, chum?" he asked quietly.

"Hurts, God, it hurts," Danny choked out, trembling like a leaf and his better hand clamping down on his shoulder again. "'S so cold, Bruce. It's in my bones. Shouldn' be in me."

Cold. Ectoplasm? Bruce wasn't sure. Danny had never described his accident at length. "Heat pack?"

Danny nodded jerkily, so Bruce leaned forward, careful not to jostle him, and grabbed a few. He lifted the blanket enough to place one on Danny's upper back and one on his lower, then noted the time and the request. If this was indeed a yearly event, a thought that made his blood boil, they'd need to be better prepared for it next year.

A stray thought crossed Bruce's mind. Did this happen to Jason as well? Jason had never referenced anything of the sort, but he also knew that Jason never went out on the anniversary of his death. Bruce would know; he'd specifically looked out for him the first few years, before the habit became apparent, and still kept half an eye out since.

Danny cried out, no longer making any effort to muffle the noise, and seized and jerked through another long episode. Bruce counted silently. Up to thirty-three seconds. When it was over, he sobbed and curled closer to Bruce.

"Why'd they have to build that stupid portal?" Danny choked out. Bruce ruthlessly clamped down on another wave of rage at the eldest Fentons. "God. A-ah. This sucks. I wanna go to bed. I want it to be over." His voice cracked.

Sleeping pills, or a sedative? They wouldn't work on Danny's ghost form either, but depending on why he wasn't reverting to human, they could try to get him to sleep through as much of the day as possible. Something to discuss later on. "It's 3:16." Danny whined in protest. "I've got you. What hurts the most?" He checked on the heat pack by Danny's neck, making sure it was still in place.

"My chest hurts," Danny sobbed quietly, his face wet with tears. "My heart is stopping."

Unfortunately, Bruce couldn't help with that. He set his hand on Danny's chest anyway, and Danny reached up and clutched at it, apparently finding comfort in the futile gesture all the same. Even his hand trembled.

"'M scared, B," Danny confessed after another minute, almost too quiet to hear. Bruce's chest tightened, and he breathed through another wave of frustration and hatred before he could soften his voice enough to reply.

"You're going to be fine, Danny. You'll be in pain for a few more hours, but that's all it is."

"'M already dead," Danny murmured. From inflection, Bruce deduced that it was meant to be self-soothing.

Bruce's throat ached. "...Yes."

At four o'clock, the interval dropped to two minutes, counting from the end of one spasm to the start of the next. It barely gave Danny time to breathe, and he tossed and turned until Bruce moved both of them so Danny could sit up and hold onto him, crying into his shoulder. Danny held on with bruising force - and no more, as careful as Clark even now - and jerked, hands tightening and loosening in Bruce's jacket with the ebb and flow of relived pain.

You did this to him, Bruce thought at the elder Fentons, more than once.

At exactly 4:36 - Bruce was keeping as close an eye on the clock as he could manage - Danny screamed. Bruce immediately recognized the sound from an echo audible in his Ghostly Wail. Bruce's jacket tore under Danny's hands, and a horrible, quaking tremor seized Danny in an unmistakably fatal grip. Bruce counted the seconds and held Danny too tightly for him to accidentally shake himself loose.

Forty-six seconds. That was how long the worst spasm held him. Bruce assumed that was also how long it had taken Danny to die.

In contrast to the other times, when it finally released him, Danny pressed in closer instead of loosening his grip, and sobbed hysterically.

"No, no," Danny choked out, and "Please, I don't wanna-" and "Dad, Dad."

What did you say after something like that?

"I've got you," Bruce settled on. "You're safe. You're with me."

Danny calmed down slowly, sobs dying down into heaving breaths and then into a deep but labored rhythm that closely matched Bruce's but seemed to take much more effort. The next spasm that hit was much lighter, lasting only eighteen seconds, but it still sent Danny into renewed shudders and tears, holding on tightly.

When Danny seemed calm enough, Bruce shifted him enough so that Bruce could hold him in one arm, then pulled his tablet back over and logged the time of death, length of the accompanying fit, and what had followed. Interval immediately increased back to more than ten minutes (Bruce had unfortunately missed the precise time) and period decreased to eighteen seconds.

Danny set his head on Bruce's shoulder.

After that, things got much easier. At 5:15, Danny removed himself from Bruce's lap to lay down. He removed all of the heat packs and passed them to Bruce, but kept the compression bandages on. He didn't reach for the blanket but hummed gratefully when Bruce pulled it over him anyway, and Bruce sat on the floor beside him and debated returning to reading aloud.

"Whoa. You two look wiped."

Bruce looked up. Duke had opened the door to talk to them, probably too worried by what he'd seen through the door to remember to knock first, and his expression was pinched with worry. "Duke. Anything on patrol?"

"Uh, some movement I'll tattle to Jason about, but nothing big." He studied them with concern. "How's Danny doing? I didn't realize he was this sick."

Hm. Had Alfred declined to explain what had happened? Bruce glanced at Danny as the teenager hummed unhappily, but Danny didn't say anything else, so Bruce provided, "He's had a long day. I expect he'll go to sleep soon. We'll debrief tomorrow."

"Debrief?" Duke frowned at him, understanding immediately that there was more than what he'd been told, but then he glanced at Danny and just nodded. "Alright. Feel better soon, Danny. Get some rest, okay? I'll let Alfred know how you're doing."

Danny's hum this time was more positive.

At 5:30, Danny fell asleep. At 5:45, Dick came in to check on them and left once he'd come to look at Danny's sleeping (calm) face, and at 6:15, Cass came in with a plate of food for Bruce and a few granola bars for Danny. For when he wakes up, she signed.

A little while after 6:30, Bruce fell asleep without meaning to.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae since u said u would be willing to do an ED reader here's a lil idea for James or tasm Peter but them with a gf who had a really bad ED before they met (he doesn't know) and she starts to relapse and he thinks she's just too stressed to eat or something (idk u can pick how the topic comes up) and just her telling him and him comforting her (this is a bit self indulgent bc idk how to tell anyone I'm dating that I'm struggling)

Hi lovely, thank you for your request!

cw: discussion and depiction of eating disorder, anxiety

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 916 words

You don’t seem much up for talking at dinnertime. Which is fine. James can talk for the both of you. 

He prattles on about Sirius’ one-way rivalry with the temp at his work while you cast him half-hearted, flickering smiles and push your food around your plate. He’s made sesame tofu, a first for James but he thought it turned out all right. His plate is clean, whereas yours is all mixed up but he’s fairly sure you’ve only eaten a couple of green beans. 

You don’t appear to notice when he finishes his story. Your fork seems almost limp in your hand. 

“If you don’t like it,” James says lightly, “I don’t mind making you something else, lovely.” 

You look surprised, then guilty. “No, sorry, it’s good.” 

It’s not like you would know, but James isn’t cruel enough to point that out. Aside from his own ego, he has other reasons to suspect his cooking has little to do with this. 

You’ve been strung up tight, lately. There’s a lot going on at work, some conflict with your boss you don’t really want to talk about, and drama in your family you want to talk about even less. James has tried to make home as comfortable and easy for you as he can, but understandably you’ve grown withdrawn, seemingly exhausted all day long. He wishes he knew how to do more for you. Wishes he could cast a bubble of pure goodness to put you inside so the only things that could get to you were the lovely things you deserve. 

“I know you’re stressed,” he says, gently as he can, “but you’ve got to eat, you know? It’s probably cold by now, you could have something else if it’s easier.” 

Something painful twinges in your expression. James reaches for your hand on instinct. 

“I get that you’ve got a lot going on, angel. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but we could.” 

You sigh. “No, it’s…I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking, Jamie.” 

James frowns, but forces himself to stay quiet. He has the familiar sense that all he’s doing is putting his foot in his mouth. 

After a minute, you say quietly, eyes lingering to the side of your plate, “I haven’t always been able to eat properly. It’s been…I’m a lot better about it than I used to be, but it’s still difficult sometimes. Like now.” 

Your hand feels tensed inside of James’. His heart has begun to ache lowly. James thinks he knows the term for what you’re trying to tell him, but he’s not about to lob it at you now, not if it could only make you feel worse. He tries comforting you the surest way he can think of, smoothing his thumb along the side of your hand. 

It at least seems to relax you enough to say more. “You’re not too far off, I guess, because it is sometimes worse when I’m anxious.” You glance up at him tentatively, an attempt at a smile on your lips. “Food’s just a bit more difficult for me right now.” 

“I’m sorry I brought it up like that,” says James, earnestness aching in the back of his throat.

You lift a shoulder. “How could you have known? Sorry I haven’t been eating your cooking.” 

“That’s not your fault, sweetheart.” Your gaze flees his again. Guilt and shame quiet James’ voice. “I’m sorry, I thought you were only stressed.” 

You give a little laugh. “I guess I am stressed.” 

“Yeah, and for good reason, but…can I hug you?” 

You nod, and James gets out of his chair, bending awkwardly to get his arms around you. Your fingertips press into the muscles of his shoulders. 

“It’s not quite so simple as stress, though, is it?” he murmurs into your shirt. 

He feels your chest contract with a sigh. “No,” you admit. 

“What can I do to help?” 

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do, Jamie.”

“Not accuse you of not liking my cooking, though, surely.” 

Another little laugh, this one seemingly more genuine. “Yeah, that would help a bit, actually.” 

James worries about smothering you, backs up enough to see your face. His hands want to go there, too, one for each cheek. 

“Please tell me if you think of anything,” he says. You don’t agree but don’t look away from him either, which James figures is about as good as he’s going to get. “Would it be any easier if we ate in front of the telly?” 

You chew your lip. “It might, yeah. I’m not sure.” 

“You don’t have to make any promises,” he assures you, taking up your plate and bringing it into the kitchen. “Do you want me to reheat this for you? Or we could have something else?” 

You linger at the edge of the kitchen, fingers bundled up in your sleeves. “I’d like to try to finish that, if that’s okay.” 

“Of course it’s okay, m’love. More than okay.” James presses some buttons on the microwave, then turns to you, requisitioning you for another hug. He kisses your hair. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Your voice is soft. “Thank you for listening.”

He scoffs, squeezing you around the middle so that you squeal. “You make it sound like a chore. Don’t be so ridiculous.” James presses another kiss to your hair before releasing you. “Go find something good for us to watch, sweetheart, I’ll be there in a minute.”