#written at the barr

[roseworth]

honestly i don't think any jason after his death seems to really match the one before it? hard to say he's in character at any point then. they might as well have introduced some new guy and told his story through flashbacks. at least the new guy would presumably have someone that cared enough about their oc to give them consistency

can i say something controversial. i disagree with this

i think you have a great point about how robin jason is a lot different than red hood jason, bc a lot of robin stories have him as just an average happy kid so the whiplash from barr tec jason -> utrh jason is insane

on the other hand,, that adds to it for me. this was not winick's intention but i love the idea that jason was just a happy robin that loved his dad & loved being robin then immediately gets crushed because he was living his happy life and thought everything was great, then went through an insane trauma and realized that everything was not as great as he thought so he decided to start killing people. in my head theres a great narrative where he basically becomes unrecognizable to who he was before because thats how bad his death & resurrection fucked him up

but also heres where im gonna get even more controversial! i dont think hes that different!

i loooove barr tec but i think barr has specifically said that he wanted to be writing dick so he just pretended he was. a lot of robin jason writers didnt bother to give him any character of his own, he was just dick 2.0 until starlin

i dont love how starlin wrote jason because his only reason for writing jason like that was that he hated him and wanted to kill him. but. starlin's jason was so distinct from dick that its one of the only times that it feels like jason. honestly if you take early post-crisis robin jason and compare it to starlin jason, its not that different. hes a little aggressive & angry but does it for a good reason, he fights with batman and can be impulsive but has strong morals even if his morals arent always what batman believes, which is very similar to who he was when he first became robin post-crisis

and because starlin jason is one of the only times that jason is distinct from dick (not to mention, in terms of general robin jason knowledge, most of jason's iconic robin stories come from starlin), it makes sense that that version of jason was used in utrh. and the version of jason that had empathy for victims to the point that he wanted to kill the perpetrators makes so much sense for red hood jason. he believed that the best way to get vengeance for the victims was to kill the person who did it, which is why he was so mad that bruce wouldnt do that for him after he died

in my mind there is a very clear progression from the version of jason that died and the version that comes back to life. he had a lot of empathy for the victims when he was robin (to the point that bruce told him that he should sit out the garzonas case bc he got too emotionally invested in it) so it makes sense that when he is the victim of a gruesome murder from someone like the joker, who has killed and done horrible things and isnt going to stop, that he would be extremely pissed that bruce wouldnt let his morals go just to kill the person that killed jason, since thats what jason, even as robin, believed was the best way to get vengeance for the victims

[cosmos-dot-semicolon]

was scrubbing through some clips of ninjago season 2 - specifically looking at how that scene where garmadon immediately orders his wife be freed and stutters over every other word.

came to the conclusion that these two could've objectively been the funniest couple in the show if the writers were competent, given she's a historian and he's a dramatic threatre kid who has been through all of history.

(and also if they didn't make misako try to date his brother. why did they do that.)

Kathleen Barr, Mark Oliver, and Jay Vincent and Michael Kramer are absolutely CARRYING

[boyfridged]

red hood jason being written following his characterisation as seen in barr's tec and ntt... red hood jason acting like a polite young man... red hood jason sometimes flashing the most innocent looking shy smile because he's feeling awkward... but it coming off as scary because of the violence he incites on daily basis. yes i would enjoy it...

[supernova-stardust]

No One Has To Know What We Do

jegulus | 18+ | 5,602 words | kinktober submission

@jeguluskinktoberr day 26 - mirror sex

Regulus has worked his entire life to earn a spot at Juilliard in their ballet program, but one day he's late to class and is forced to teach the Columbia football team their monthly ballet lesson. Enter James Potter: handsome, cocky, and annoying. Obviously, Regulus hates him immediately and can't resist his charm.

OR

Regulus and James hook up in the ballet studio after class and make a mess of the mirror (and each other).

This fic was written specifically for Jegulus Kinktober 2024 and contains the following prompts:

cunnilingus/deep throating, marking, impact play, semi-public sex, punishments, praise kink, mirror sex, breathplay

entire fic after the break or read on ao3, minors: dni

Regulus had never been late to class in his entire life. In fact, he typically showed up at least a half hour early to warm up, stretch, and make sure that he always got his favorite spot at the barre. Ballet was a wonderful discipline and he prided himself on being the most disciplined. He was never, ever late. That’s part of what had earned him his spot here in the first place. Very few people made it to the college level for ballet, let alone men. Nevermind Juilliard. He had goals, namely to be a part of the NYC Ballet Company and perform until he physically couldn’t anymore.

And so, the fact that he was running late today felt so unreal, it was like an out-of-body experience. Of course every single thing that could have gone wrong did go wrong and as he entered the room huffing out of breath with everyone staring at him, he knew that he was in for the worst class of his life.

“Lovely of you to join us, Regulus. I was just telling everyone who arrived on time that the studio will be closed to private practices this evening to allow the Columbia football team to have their monthly lesson,” his instructor explained as he set his belongings down on the floor in the corner and made his way to the barre. Thankfully, his spot was empty. Dancers were creatures of habit after all. “I was going to ask for a volunteer to stay tonight and teach their lesson, but since you’re late, I believe you should have the energy to stay late today.”

Fuck. Of course the only time he was late he would get saddled with teaching the football jocks. It was well known that none of them took their lessons seriously.

“Of course, I’d be happy to stay,” he said instead of voicing his honest thoughts. He’d rather drown himself than stay late for people who didn’t even respect the work they did, but saying no wasn’t exactly an option if he wanted to maintain his instructor's respect.

***

As the football team filed into the studio, Regulus felt more nervous and exposed than he expected. Growing up, he always knew he was a man. He started testosterone the moment he turned eighteen, despite his parents disowning him for it and in his everyday life he never thought about ‘passing’ anymore. He rarely, if ever, experienced dysphoria anymore. No one he knew before transitioning went to university with him and really the only person who knew and he saw regularly was his older brother, Sirius. Despite all of that, being surrounded by muscular and extremely masculine men had him questioning his ability to 'pass' for the first time in a long time. Every guy who walked in made him feel more and more self conscious. His body was toned and muscular, he couldn’t dance for hours on end if he wasn’t fit, but where he was all lithe limbs and grace, these men were bulky muscles, sharp jawlines, and reminded him of the picture-perfect portrayal of masculinity. 

“Please spread yourselves out on the barre along the wall and stretch while we wait for everyone to arrive,” Regulus announced. He heard murmurings of jokes and complaints but didn't deign them important enough to respond. He scrolled through the music app on his phone, searching for his preferred playlist that he listened to for warmups when he was alone. He hoped that it worked well enough for the class today, but figured that the jocks in the room wouldn’t notice if it didn’t anyway. As he connected his phone to the bluetooth speaker in the studio, a man with dark, messy hair and richly tanned skin ambled into the studio. The man’s warm brown eyes crinkled behind golden framed glasses as he laughed loudly at something one of his teammates said as they came into the studio together, not caring about the etiquette of staying quiet in the studio to avoid disruptions.

Regulus hated him immediately.

The two men shoved at each other a bit before Regulus cleared his throat. The two of them froze and looked at him, the one wearing glasses raking his eyes up and down Regulus’ body. “There’s a time and place for… whatever it is you’re doing,” Regulus snapped at them. “This is neither. Please, take a spot at the barre so we can get class started. Might I remind you that this is a requirement for your training and your coach relies on my feedback to know whether or not you're participating properly.”

They went completely stone-faced and found their ways to the barre at Regulus' scolding, clearly wanting to make sure that they didn't need to repeat this lesson in order to continue to be a part of the team. Regulus went through the motions of showing the team a very basic combination to start and pressed play on the music. “Five, six, seven, eight,” he counted out and led the class into their warmup. Once he was sure that they had the basic combination down, he began making his rounds down the barre, offering subtle corrections and moving their bodies as needed. When Regulus made his way to the man with the golden skin and messy hair, he placed his hands on his hips and adjusted him properly.

“At least ask my name first, love,” the man joked, his eyes crinkling in that annoyingly cute way as he smiled wide. 

“Does it matter? Neither of us wants to be here,” Regulus retorted.

“Aw, c’mon. You don’t know that.” He tilted his hips again and Regulus swore it was intentional. “My name’s James, by the way.”

“James, you know what I want you to do?” Regulus asked as he corrected his hips again.

“What’s that, love?”

“Shut up and hold your hips properly.”

James hummed and looked as though he’s deep in thought for a moment before he replied. “I’d prefer if you held them, I think.” 

His teammate behind him at the barre stifled a laugh and looked away quickly when Regulus glared at him. Regulus groaned in annoyance and walked away, figuring that ignoring him was the better option for class to be able to continue with as few disruptions as possible.

After what Regulus swore was the longest hour of his life, he dismissed the class and informed them that he would be emailing their coach to confirm that they all completed the class and to schedule their time for the following month. The men all nodded and said their thanks as they grabbed their belongings and shuffled out the door. All except for one. When only Regulus and James remained in the studio, Regulus walked over to his bag on the floor and pulled on his oversized sweater and baggy sweatpants. He sat on the floor and peeled his black ballet shoes off his feet while watching James standing in the middle of the studio. His entire life he’d been under a microscope, having his body analyzed and critiqued for every slight imperfection, but he’d never felt more heavily scrutinized than while James was staring at him alone in this space. 

“You can leave now,” Regulus snapped. After ten hours in the studio, he was ready to leave and he didn’t want to entertain this immature man any longer than he had to.

“I just— You never told me your name.”

“That was intentional.”

James stepped closer to him and while normally being alone with a man like this might make him uncomfortable, Regulus couldn’t help but feel drawn to everything about him, his casual confidence pulling him in. If they were in different circumstances and had met in a more controlled setting where Regulus could make sure that he was cool with the fact that he was trans before any flirting happened, Regulus might have even wanted to date this annoying man. Or at least fuck him. He hated James for it.

“Are you really gonna make me beg? I’m not above getting on my knees, you know.”

Fucking hell, this guy.

“Regulus.”

The corner of James’ mouth quirked up in a smirk and he took another step closer. “Regulus,” he said in a way that made his name sound like sin. “I’ve never met anyone named Regulus before. A unique name for a unique beauty.”

Regulus scoffed as he stood, grabbing his bag and slipping on his slides as he tried to step around James. “Thanks. Picked it out myself. Are you done? I’d like to go home now.”

“Picked it out— oh, that’s cool.” James stepped into his path and walked backwards as Regulus continued walking towards the door as if James wasn't even there. When they reached the door, James pressed his back to it and smiled down at him. “Look, I’m gonna be really honest with you, I think you’re hot.”

Regulus glared at him in response, crossing his arms and pushing his weight into one hip. He said nothing while James seemed to squirm under his cold eyes before continuing on.

“I, uh, I don’t date,” James explained. “Too busy between football, school, friends, and work. Feels rude to demand someone’s attention when I can’t give them mine.”

“I have a hard time believing you care about being rude.”

“Says the meanest guy I’ve ever met, I mean, fuck. You didn’t even give me a chance to— anyway, you’re hot. For some reason, I think I’m into the whole mean thing. We’re here all alone and I’m sure you’re the one with the keys to lock up.”

“Are you trying to hook up with me?” Regulus raised an eyebrow in question.

“Are you flattered?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” James whined as he banged his head on the door behind him. “Have you ever had a hot quarterback want to fuck you in the dance studio? You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t think about it at all during that class. You had us all bent over, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is a learning environment,” Regulus replied. “I’m a professional, you know.” He refused to admit that he absolutely was staring at James’ ass every time he passed by, but now he wondered if the man had seen him in the mirrors lining the walls.

“Please, you’re not as subtle as you think.”

Regulus’ cheeks turned pink at that and he felt the blush all the way to his ears.

“I’ll move so we can both go home if you can honestly tell me that you don’t want to hook up. But I have a feeling that you want this as badly as I do.”

The silence that stretched between them was charged with desire. As much as he hated the guy, Regulus wanted James so badly it hurt. But he was also terrified of, well, everything. Being a gay trans man came with a lot of disclaimers beforehand, in his experience. He tried to hint at the fact that he was trans earlier and James said he was cool, but did he really know what he was getting himself into by continuing to hit on Regulus? If he told James outright, would he be safe here alone with him? 

Regulus let out a shaky breath before he spoke again. “I— I don’t usually hook up like this.”

“It’s fine, it can stay between us.”

Oh, why did that hurt? Why didn’t he want to be kept as a dirty little secret? What was it about James that made him… want? He’d never wanted anyone like this before. 

“It’s not that, It’s— I’m trans.”

“Okay?” James’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure why that matters?”

Regulus gaped at him, unsure how to even respond to the confusing man before him.

“I think you’re hot,” James continued, saving Regulus from having to formulate a response. “I’m pretty sure you think I’m hot, though you haven’t admitted it. If I was a more self conscious man, I might feel a bit inadequate if I’m honest. We’re young and we have this place to ourselves for the night. I’m clean too, if you were wondering.”

“I’m clean,” Regulus responded without processing the rest of what James just said. 

James smiled at that. “So?”

“So?”

“You want to go home or can I kiss you already?”

Regulus dropped his bag on the floor next to him with a loud thud and crashed his lips onto James’, crowding his body against the door. Their first kiss was a cruel thing, the building energy between them finally boiling over into something physical. James’ arms wrapped around Regulus, one snaking down to his lower back and the other gripping the nape of his neck. When Regulus brushed his tongue along the seam of James’ lips, he opened for him and Regulus allowed himself to indulge in exploring James’ mouth.

Regulus reached a hand down towards the knob of the studio door near James’ hip and clicked the lock in place while they continued kissing. He felt James smirk against his mouth and pulled back, glaring at the taller man he had pinned against the wall with his body.

“What?” Regulus snapped. He would never admit it outloud, but really wasn’t sure why this man’s cocky attitude was so attractive. That smirk on his face made him melt and Regulus knew that he was in for a world of hurt after this was all over and James wanted nothing to do with him again.

“Planning on more than a kiss?”

“You were the one who—”

“I know, shh, I’m just teasing.” James placed a quick peck on Regulus’ lips. “I feel like I’m pushing my luck here by asking, but do you have a condom?”

Regulus felt his face heat. He normally wasn’t embarrassed by sex, honestly. There was just something about this Adonis of a man trapped against the door in front of him asking him for a condom that felt like an out-of-body experience. “Uh, I think so, let me check.” He dropped down to his knees and rifled through his bag, trying to ignore the heavy weight of James’ gaze on him. When he found the condom, he grabbed it and looked up, holding the condom up like a prize. James’ eyes were heavy with desire and when Regulus went to stand up, James buried a hand into his hair to hold him in place. 

“You look so pretty on your knees, Regulus.”

“I’d look prettier with your cock in my mouth.”

“Oh,” James tightened his grip in his hair and Regulus let out a wanton moan at the feeling. “You are a good boy, aren’t you?”

Regulus hummed in response and reached for the waistband of James’ shorts, tugging them and his boxers down just low enough to free his hard cock. Regulus leaned forward against the resistance of the hand buried in his hair and lapped at the precum beading at the tip. James groaned at the feeling and pumped himself a couple of times in front of Regulus’ face. Regulus raised himself up higher on his knees and dragged his hands up under James’ shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen and back before he licked at a vein along the underside of his cock and then sucked him into the back of his throat, taking as much of him in his mouth as possible. 

He bobbed his head a few times, relishing at the feeling of James’ hand threaded in his dark curls guiding his movements, then pulled back and ran his tongue up his entire length. He swirled his tongue around the tip once, twice, then pushed his tongue at the slit, moaning at the unique salty taste that was James. When he looked up under hooded eyes, they locked eyes and James gave him a pleased smile.

“Fuck,” James breathed. “You’re so good for me, you do look so pretty just like this, I knew you would. Can you be such a good boy and let me fuck your throat, hm?”

Regulus squirmed as he opened his mouth with his tongue flat, feeling hot wetness pooling between his legs. When he felt James slide his cock back into his mouth, he relaxed his throat and surrendered completely to the pace that James set. He felt James shift so he had one hand on both sides of his head and Regulus adjusted so that both of his hands gripped James' hips. He was slow at first, unsure of how Regulus would handle his size, but grew more confident when Regulus moaned around his cock. Soon, the pace was unrelenting and Regulus felt his eyes watering, tears streaming down his face. Spit ran down his chin and he found that he didn't care at all. He dug his fingers into James' hips, hoping to leave bruises. Evidence that he had James, if only for a little while. He barely had any room to breathe between the strokes as James continued to thrust into him, focused entirely on his own pleasure.

Before he knew it, James pulled himself out of Regulus’ mouth. He bent down to wipe the spit off of Regulus' chin with his thumb then languidly sucked at it before pressing the pad of his thumb against Regulus' bottom lip. Regulus swiped his tongue out and caught James' thumb in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the digit. James smirked, pulling his thumb away and wiped at the tracks of tears on Regulus' face with his thumbs. Regulus whined a needy sound at feeling so empty, rubbing his thighs together in hopes that any form of friction would bring him relief. James leaned in to kiss him before pulling Regulus to his feet as he tucked his erection back into his shorts.

“Shh,” James soothed, pushing his hair away from his face and placing soft kisses on his cheeks. “Let me return the favor, c’mon.”

James grabbed his hand and dragged a boneless Regulus to the center of the room. When he got there, he held up one finger, signaling for Regulus to wait a moment. Regulus wanted to pout, but watched as James went to the corner of the room where a stack of folding chairs leaned against the wall. He grabbed one and carried it back to where Regulus stood, opened it up, then pushed Regulus into the seat facing the mirror covered wall. 

Regulus reached his hands out towards James’ hips and tugged him closer, hoping to return to having that beautiful cock in his mouth before James clicked his tongue softly. “I said I was going to return the favor, baby.” James knelt down and looped his fingers under the waistband of Regulus’ sweatpants. “Can I?”

“In front of the mirror?”

“Why not?” James shrugged. “It’s hot. Plus it’s not like there’s anywhere in this room without a mirror. Might as well make good use of it.” James playfully tugged at Regulus' waistband with one hand again as he removed his glasses with the other and set them to the side on the floor. “Are you gonna make me beg or can we continue?”

Regulus nodded as he shifted his hips so James could pull at his baggy sweatpants, then he heard James laugh as he pulled at the baggy shorts underneath his sweatpants revealing yet another pair of shorts, these ones much tighter and shorter. “So many layers,” James huffed. “Why do you need so many layers?” He pulled down the shorts and finally got to Regulus’ underwear. Pulling those down, he unbunched all of the layers of pants from around his ankles and threw them to the side. The cold metal of the folding chair bit into Regulus’ skin as he sat there in just his baggy sweater feeling extremely exposed.

“Keeps the muscles warm in between—” All thoughts of the logistics in layering clothing during ballet were lost as he felt James spreading his legs apart. James bit down on the soft skin of his innermost thigh as he slid his hands up to Regulus’ hips. He allowed James to pull him towards the edge of the seat, tilting his hips up to give James better access. 

Regulus writhed at the first feeling of James’ tongue on him and he let out a shameless moan that echoed around the room. He tilted his head back and allowed his legs to fall open in pure pleasure. James grabbed under his thighs to hike his legs up over his shoulders, giving himself more access as he continued devouring Regulus, licking and sucking at him. When Regulus glanced up, he looked at the two of them in the mirror. Watching James on his knees worshiping his body, he understood immediately why James said it would be hot. He had never seen a sight quite so erotic and between the feeling of James sucking on his most sensitive nerves and the reflection before him, he climaxed hard and fast. His orgasm rippled through him and James reacted by moaning as he pushed his tongue inside him, lapping at his release. 

As he came down from the orgasm, James slowed down and started kissing down his thighs, sucking small bruises along the way. Normally, Regulus would ask his lovers to avoid leaving marks like that, especially since they were so visible in classes, but something about James made him want to be claimed. He wanted people to know they were together, and for a time, be able to say that he belonged to James.

Just when he felt like he was coming back into his body, James pushed two fingers inside him and curled them up at the perfect angle, hitting the sensitive walls inside his body. Regulus felt his entire body jolt with pleasure as James’ tongue returned to between his thighs, circling the sensitive nerves and flicking in time with his fingers. 

“Fuck,” Regulus whined, feeling his body climbing rapidly towards another orgasm.

James pulled back to gaze up at him, his fingers continuing at a punishing pace. “I know you can cum for me again, baby. Show me what a pretty boy you are while you cum on my fingers.” He bit into his leg just above his knee and sucked a bruise, watching his fingers pumping in and out of Regulus’ body. His orgasm crashed through his body again and James moaned at the sight, dipping his head between his legs again and giving him one languid lick before pulling back and smiling up at Regulus. He sucked on his fingers and made a show of licking off every drop, giving Regulus a visual reminder of how skilled he was with that tongue.

“Think you can go again?” James asked from between his legs. Regulus had no doubt in his mind that if he said yes, the man would sit between his thighs all night long, and maybe if they hooked up again he’d get the opportunity to experience it, but for now he really wanted to know what he felt like buried deep inside him.

Regulus shook his head and pulled off his oversized sweater, then the white tee underneath until he was sitting in the middle of the room, fully exposed. “Your turn, you have a criminal amount of clothing on your body.”

James barked a laugh and practically ripped off his clothes as he stood. He grabbed Regulus’ hand and hoisted him to his feet, pulling him in close to his naked body. The feeling of their bare skin brushing against each other was enough to set Regulus’ overstimulated nerves alight. He moaned as he leaned in for a kiss, tasting a heady combination of the two of them on James’ lips.

“I’m going to grab the condom,” James said against Regulus’ lips, his breath hot. He kissed down Regulus’ jaw and neck before he continued. “Go stand facing the mirror for me.”

“I—”

“If you don’t want me to take control, tell me now sweetheart.” James said softly. He placed a quick peck against his lips. “Otherwise, I’m going to get a little bossy from here on out.”

Regulus nodded, then moved to stand facing the mirror while James dug through their discarded clothes for the condom Regulus had found earlier. When he returned, James stood behind him and gently grasped at his jaw, ensuring they made eye contact through the mirror.

“Familiar with the traffic light color system?”

Regulus nodded again and James clicked his tongue. “I’m going to need verbal confirmation here, baby.”

“Yes.” 

“Good, so if you want me to stop immediately you say?”

“Red,” Regulus answered without hesitation.

“And if I check in and you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Green.”

“Good boy. Last one, then we can continue. If you need to pause or something doesn’t feel right?”

“Yellow.”

James kissed his neck from where he stood behind him and smiled. “Very good. Now, hands against the glass for me. And they’re not allowed to move at all. Your pretty little ass will get a beating if they do. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes… Sir?”

James clicked his tongue and Regulus could tell that he was disappointed. "Come now, you can do better than that."

Regulus wracked his brain searching for whatever it was that James was asking. Finally, it came to him after he reflected on all the times James had called him 'baby' and a 'good boy.'

"Yes, Daddy."

James let out a groan at that, moving his hand down from Regulus’ jaw to his throat and squeezing slightly. Regulus keened and pushed his hips back towards James, searching for friction. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” James said as he pulled back and ripped at the condom wrapper. Regulus whined at the loss of the hand around his throat and turned around. He draped his arms around James' shoulders and sought out his lips for a kiss.

With the condom not fully unwrapped, James froze and gripped Regulus’ throat, stopping him from the kiss he was seeking. “What did I say, baby?”

“Oh, please.” Regulus scoffed when James loosened his grip just enough to allow him to reply. “We hadn’t even started yet.”

James’ eyes darkened at that. “Did I or did I not tell you that if you moved your hands from the mirror, you’d be punished?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Do you want to push me to find out how serious I am?” At the silence hanging between them, James smirked. “Now, turn around. Hands on the mirror. I’m going to spank you five times and you’re going to count out each one, thanking me for every one. If you stop counting or lose your manners, you’ll earn five more. Understand?”

“Yes.” Regulus followed his instructions, placing his hands on the cold mirror and breathing as evenly as he could.

“Yes what?” James kneaded his ass, making him even more sensitive to the touch.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy. Color?”

“Green.”

James hummed in acknowledgement before his hand slapped Regulus’ ass. Regulus let out a surprised yelp. 

“Count, baby. I won’t remind you again.”

“One,” Regulus cried out. “Thank you, Daddy.”

James’ hand smacked down again, the sound echoing in the room, and Regulus gasped at the shock of pain that rippled through his body. “Two. Thank you, Daddy.” Regulus looked up into the mirror, taking in James’ hungry face. 

“Maybe you can be trained, baby. Three more. You’re doing so good.”

With each slap to his ass, Regulus became more sensitive and felt himself slipping into a hazy headspace where everything felt like pure pleasure shooting to every nerve in his body. When he finally reached number five, James dropped to his knees behind him and rubbed at his cheeks before pulling them apart and licking all the way from his sensitive nerves to his ass. He circled the ring of muscle with his tongue and pushed in slightly.

“Fuck,” James breathed hot against him. “You did so good, baby. You’re fucking dripping for me. Have you learned your lesson? Will you be a good boy and let me fuck you now?”

Regulus nodded, a whine escaping his throat that he would normally feel embarrassed about.

“Words, baby.”

“Yeah— Yes, please. Please fuck me, Daddy. I need your cock inside me.”

James bit into one cheek of his ass before he stood up, grabbing the condom and rolling it on. “Anything for you,” James murmured as he lined himself up with Regulus’ entrance. They made eye contact in the mirror as James pushed in slowly, using both hands to grip onto Regulus’ hips and position him perfectly. “Color?”

“Green. Fuck, so fucking green.”

Finally, James moved his hips. Regulus had never been a religious man, but he swore that he found a new religion at the feeling of James inside him. James moved his hips in purposeful, deep thrusts, making Regulus see stars with each shift inside him. Regulus’ eyes closed and his head tilted back as he relished in the sensation until he felt a strong hand on his jaw. The grip was unyielding and Regulus knew that he’d do whatever the man this hand belonged to said.

“Eyes on me, baby,” James purred. “I want you to watch me ruin you for anyone else.”

Regulus cried out a moan and opened his eyes, taking in their bodies in the mirror. His hot breath fogged the mirror in front of him as James pounded into him from behind, both of them glistening with sweat. James’ face was smug as he continued to hold onto Regulus’ jaw, not offering him any way of avoiding watching their bodies. 

James’ pace started to slow, but he somehow managed to make it feel like he was impossibly deeper inside Regulus’ body. He snaked a hand down towards the bundle of nerves between Regulus’ legs and rubbed in confident circles, pushing Regulus closer and closer to the edge. Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly experience more pleasure than he was already tasting, James’ hand slid down from his jaw to his throat and squeezed. The restriction of blood flow to his brain made Regulus feel fuzzy as he dissolved into pure pleasure. His knees buckled and he arched his back, pushing his ass into James’ hips as his orgasm washed over him. A moment later, James let out a moan and Regulus felt him pulsing inside of him as he followed him over the edge.

James ghosted his fingers along the side of Regulus’ neck as they rode out the last of their orgasms and he kissed his shoulder. When he pulled out, he took off the condom and tied it off, then walked over to toss it in the trash can next to the door. Regulus turned to lean against the mirror, watching James stride back towards him. Regulus gave him a weak, hazy smile.

“You okay?” James asked. He placed a quick peck on Regulus’ lips and rubbed soothing circles on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I—” James interrupted him by kissing him again. “I thought you said this was a one-time thing?” Regulus questioned.

“That doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated like shit, Regulus.”

Regulus gave him a flat look before he pushed off the mirror and walked to where his clothes were piled on the ground. He started pulling on his many layers and by the time he was fully dressed again, he glanced over to see James standing watching him, still completely nude. Regulus bent over to grab his glasses on the floor and handed them to him. “What?” Regulus asked.

James pushed his glasses on his face and for the first time, Regulus witnessed a flustered James. “Look, I know what I said, but can I have your number anyway?”

“I won’t be your late night, drunk booty call, James.”

“I just…this was a lot of fun. It’d be nice to do it again sometime, that’s all.”

“So, a sober booty call?”

“No, I—”

“Listen, how about you give me your number? If I’m ever feeling like having you boss me around again, I’ll give you a call. How’s that?” Regulus raised an eyebrow as he pulled his cell out of his sweatpants pocket and held it out to James in offering.

James hesitated to take the phone from his hand, clearly playing a game of mental chess on how to obtain Regulus’ number, but Regulus refused to be a pawn in his games. “This is my only offer, it expires once your pants are on. Take it or leave it.”

Sighing, James grabbed his phone and created a new contact with his phone number, then handed it back to Regulus.

“‘Daddy,’ really? You seriously put your name as ‘Daddy’ in my phone?”

James smirked, then began dressing himself. “I figured you’d remember me that way.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but internally he might as well have been giggling and kicking his feet. He stepped forward and placed a chaste kiss on James’ cheek. “I’ll consider calling you, Daddy,” he said and then he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Clean the mirror and take that trash bag out with you, yeah? I can’t have my teacher finding out about this.”

“You got it, baby.”

As Regulus walked out of the studio, he thought to himself that he should absolutely not call James again. He made a bargain with himself anyway that if he was still thinking about him in a few months, he’d gladly fall back into that man’s arms again.

[idksmtms]

Plié, Jeté, Relevé (Ballet Master!Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!reader)

A/N: Here you go my lovelies! I have literally never done ballet in my entire life, so any knowledge of this has come from watching tiktoks of ballerinas, movies with ballerinas in them, or my best guesses… anywaysssss, I hope you enjoy it! 

Also, would highly recommend watching the performance of Still Life at the Penguin Cafe on youtube, the music and the dancing is *chefs kiss* 

Summary: You were ready to admit that you hadn’t been at your best the past week or so, but surely you hadn’t been so bad as to deserve this much wrath from Mister Murphy… 

Word count:  3,750 

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mean!Cillian, SMUT, dub-con bc of the power imbalance (?), fingering (technically?), humiliation (not as a kink tho), only reader orgasms, depiction of toxic teaching environment, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

If anyone out there believed in the stereotype that all Irish people were happy and jovial then they clearly hadn’t met your ballet master. The man may speak with a lilting musical accent but there was not a thing jovial or happy about him. The master was harsh, verging on cruel. If anyone was caught slacking even the littlest bit, something that would go unnoticed by the rest of the troupe, his voice would crack like a whip through the studio. 

Recently, that whip had been directed at you. You knew you weren’t doing your best. You had hit a rough patch in your entire life. You had been late more times than ever before, more times than you ever would usually be, more times than you would like. And your dancing had been affected as well. Your posture wasn’t straight enough, your pliés weren’t deep enough, your toes not pointed enough. Everything was going wrong, and while you had hoped it wasn’t noticeable, Mr Murphy never failed to find every SINGLE one of your mistakes. 

Today differed in no way. You had dilly-dallied a little too long while getting ready in the morning, only to end up running late for rehearsal. It was no more than five minutes, but from the start of training it was the rule that all ballerinas must be lined up by the barre at exactly ten o’clock every day. For every minute you were late, the worse your punishment got. Usually if someone hit the five minute mark, they went home and sprained their ankle on purpose for an excuse. 

At four minutes, you had run into the hallway outside the studio and thrown your bag onto the ground, disregarding the sound of your water bottle rolling away and one of your keychains cracking under the weight of your things. At five, you were throwing the door open and running inside, slipping into the back of the line and getting into first position. 

Mr Murphy paused in his speech to gaze at you. You stared straight ahead, refusing to look directly at him. Slowly, his eyebrow rose, scrutinising you with a frown that made shame curl in your stomach and tears make themselves known behind your eyes. He slowly brought his hands together, rubbing them as he sighed and began shaking his head. 

“Kind of you to join us,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he made his way closer to you, stepping leisurely, dragging out the fear that made your throat hurt. He stood a few feet away, staring at you in that impenetrable way of his, ice eyes sharp and painful wherever they gazed. He clapped his hands once. “Girls, turn and look at Ms. Y/L/N.” He waited until each of them had turned in their spots, some craning their heads to the side to make sure they were looking at you lest they somehow disobey him. You could see the pity, the sympathy, the smug triumph in each of the girls’ eyes, the frowns and subtle smirks, and you could do nothing other than keep staring ahead of you as your hands and knees suddenly began to tremble. “What is wrong with her?” 

He didn’t ask it in a rude or incredulous way, but as if you were a diagram in a textbook, and this was simply an exercise the students were completing. You were sure your shame was visible on your face, the embarrassment turning your spine to liquid. One of the girls put her hand up, near the front of the room, and you only recognised her for the little kiss-ass she was once she spoke. She had always been that way, desperate for Mr Murphy. Always at the front of the line, always gleeful at the downfall of others, always ready to point out any mistakes. And you were always happy to watch her desperation help her in no way whatsoever. A lot could be said about Mr Murphy, but favouritism was not something he had ever displayed. Whichever ballerina was doing well, recognisably well, was given her dues, and it was left at that. 

“She’s not wearing her tights and leotard, or at least, she’s wearing sweatpants over them. Her pointe shoes are dirty, and her hair isn’t in a bun.” You could almost imagine her satisfied little smirk when she finished speaking, that evil little smile that you had always wanted to punch off her face. One swing, you thought, just one swing… 

“Correct,” he simply responded, threading his fingers through each other and raising his eyebrow at you again, as if confused and annoyed at you for not doing something. “Leave, get your shit together, and then come back inside. If you have not returned within ten minutes, don’t bother returning to rehearsal ever again.” He nudged his chin in the direction of the door and you nodded obediently, eyes downcast as you stood up straight and slowly walked back out. 

When the door was closed behind you once more, you stood silently for a minute, eyes clenched shut and hands curled into fists at your sides. You pressed out a scream behind your pursed lips, teeth clenched so hard your jaw began to hurt. You slammed the heel of your hand against the side of your head again and again and again until your shoulder hurt a little from the motion and your brain felt sufficiently jumbled. Your chest was heaving and you were overwhelmed with rage. You wanted to kick something, to throw something, to go back in there and rip that bitch’s hair out of her bun. You resolved to pulling your pointe shoes off and lobbing them across the hallway as hard as you could, letting out another clenched scream before walking all the way down to pick them up and bring them back. 

You stood in front of your bag and took three deep breaths. You picked up your water bottle from where it had rolled between another two of the ballerinas’ bags, and took huge gulps of water until you felt a little less sweaty with anger. You checked the time on your phone to make sure you hadn’t wasted your ten minutes, then set about carefully pulling off your joggers, folding them up, and placing them inside your duffel. You pulled out a new pair of pointe shoes, cursing yourself for not having prepared them in time and preemptively wincing at the blisters you knew you were going to get by the end of rehearsal. You walked down to the bathroom at the end of the hall in the pointe shoes, hoping to at least break them in a little bit with the short time you had, and used the mirror to quickly pull your hair into a bun, securing it with pins in a practised dance you had learned from years of repetition. You checked yourself once more in the mirror and then looked down at your phone before sprinting full on back to the room and sliding through the doors. You made it just in time. 

Mr Murphy glanced at you as you slipped into position at the back of the line, following the exercises he had been calling out to the ballerinas while you had been out. He methodically looked at every inch of your body, from your pointe shoes to your pink tights and black leotard, from the careful set of your bun to the determined set of your brow and sheen of sweat on your temples. He didn’t say anything directly to you, and you took it as a win. 

At the halfway point, you were all allowed a little break to drink water and have a rest before you switched from exercises to rehearsals for your next performance. You were all practising for your various roles in a performance of ‘Still Life at the Penguin Cafe’, and though you would have to wear a huge mask of a ram on your head, you were ecstatic for the performance. While it wasn’t technically a solo, you were the centre of the piece, being the only one not dressed as a penguin. Now, everything felt so precarious. You couldn’t quite be sure Mr Murphy wouldn’t take the role from you after the past two weeks spent in a slump, and the worry was becoming your ever-present companion. 

Just as the girls were all leaving the room to get water and lounge around on the floor of the hallway, Mr Murphy cleared his throat and snapped his fingers at you. 

“Ms. Y/L/N,” and he pointed at the spot right in front of him. It took everything within you not to sprint to the spot. You took careful, measured, steps and stopped a few feet in front of him, spine straight and head held high. You weren’t sure where to look. You could never meet his eyes, something in your soul was opposed to it, so you chose a spot on the wall just next to his head. 

“You will stay for another hour at the end of the session to make up for your failures this morning, understood?” He raised both his eyebrows, hands on his hips. You closed your eyes, trying not to burst into tears like a child throwing a tantrum on the spot. You nodded, whispered a ‘yes, sir’ in a clogged voice, and waited until he dismissed you to walk out of the room. 

You sat down by your bag with a sigh, arms slung over your knees as you cradled the water bottle close and pressed your face to it. You closed your eyes and allowed your head to dip down as some of your friends came to sit around you, offering pats of sympathy and words of comfort. You tried to smile, nodded in thanks, but you just wanted to curl up into a ball and never get back up. 

The next few hours were spent going through each section of the dance. You felt lucky that you didn’t get to the Ram piece, you were sure you couldn’t hold it together long enough for that, only to be doused with cold water at the thought that you needed to stay longer afterward. 

When rehearsal was over, Mr Murphy dismissed everyone right on the dot. He didn’t acknowledge you as the girls started leaving, the chatter slowly beginning to rise as they reached the door. For a moment you wondered if you could get away with leaving with everyone else, but just as you reached the door he called out “ten minutes at most, Ms Y/L/N, then I want you back in here.” Your bones seemed to disappear and you thought you would collapse to the floor in a heap of mushy flesh. Instead you nodded and wobbled your way outside to chug what was left of your water bottle, refill it, then chug the contents again as tears of exhaustion slipped from the corners of your eyes and mingled with the sweat dampening the hair by your temples and ears. 

The ten minutes were up far too quickly and you stood with a groan, heading to the door once more. You gazed at the room from the door, the light hardwood floors, the wall of mirrors and the bar spanning the length of the room, the huge windows letting in swaths of natural light. You often forgot how beautiful the space was. 

You walked slowly to where Mr Murphy stood, typing something on his phone and moving the speaker to face the room again. You stood before him, hands clasped and eyes downcast, waiting for instructions. For a while, he didn’t say anything. He was no longer on his phone, his hands hanging by his sides, and he stared at you. Every few seconds you glanced, trying to glimpse what was going to happen, but he just continued watching you, stoic as ever. 

You could never tell what he was thinking. Never once had you been able to guess at his thought process, to figure out what was going on in his head. Maybe that was one of the reasons he intimidated you so much. 

He walked closer, so close the toes of his shoes almost touched the toes of yours and you gulped, staring at the contrast, the black and the pink, the background of wood. His hand came up and he tapped up under your chin with the side of his index finger, waiting for you to lift your head. When you did, your entire face felt hot under the skin. He was so close, you could see the freckles splashed on his skin, the careful set of his cheekbones and jaw. You gulped. His eyes were so much more terrifying up close. 

“You’ve been given a gift,” he began, slow and firm, “your ability, your natural rhythm, that is a gift. Unless you put in effort to finetune this gift, it goes to waste. Do you understand what I’m saying?” You nodded but he shook his head once. “Speak.” 

“Yes sir,” you breathed out quickly, gulping when your mouth was closed again. 

“I’m not sure you do, though,” and it felt like the hammer falling. His eyes seemed to harden a little, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “The past two weeks all I have seen is a sloppy, unprincipled, uncommitted dancer who deems merely showing up a success.” Each word was a stab to some part of you, and it took everything not to wilt completely to the floor. “You have been given one of the more difficult roles in the performance, and I once believed you deserved it. For the life of me, I cannot remember why.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you closed your eyes, throat bobbing as the despair that felt inevitable finally began to land. 

He went silent, and that felt worse somehow. The backs of your eyelids began to burn and you clenched your hands tighter around each other, hoping the little pain it brought would distract from the tears. You berated yourself in your head. You yelled in your mind that this was a pathetic display, that it would be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done if you began to cry in front of him. He would think less of you, it would only confirm what he believed; you were weak. When you opened your eyes again, one traitorous tear slipped out and down your cheek. You could feel the hot, ticklish track it made down the skin. If you didn’t know better, you thought you saw Mr Murphy’s eyes soften. 

He breathed out, long and tired, and reached up to gently wipe the tear away with his thumb. Your breath caught in your throat. His hand was warm. Your chest felt tight. His skin was soft. You stared into his eyes. He left the side of his hand against your face, as if allowing himself to feel the skin. Something in your stomach writhed impatiently. Everything seemed to have changed within a second. Some deep seated urge whispered in your ear to open your mouth and lick his thumb. You shivered. 

“Turn around,” his voice was low, rough, and you almost moaned at the sound. You gulped again, but obeyed almost instantly. You heard some shuffling, and then the music started, the slow long notes interspersed with the quick little strums, a beautiful, almost joyful piece of music. Then Mr Murphy was pressed right against your back, and suddenly the music was secondary. His chest, firm, solid, was moulded to your back. You could feel the soft fabric of his black shirt, the puffs of his breaths against the back of your neck. Your entire body shivered. He was warm, like a heater on a middle setting, and if you weren’t so tense, you would melt against him. You could feel his nose against your head as he bent slightly. You could feel his lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispered “relax.” You tried, forcing your muscles to loosen like you would before a performance. 

His hands trailed down your arms, his fingertips running down your biceps, then your forearms until you shivered against him again. When he reached your wrists, he hooked his own hands under them and began raising them in time with the music. You turned your head to the right, watched his hand raise your own, your lips parted and breaths heavy. You couldn’t move past the feeling of him pressed to your back. 

You almost missed the cue to move, almost, and pulled away from him slowly, carefully, using the measured steps required by the music. You left your right hand in his, just the barest touch of your fingertips against his, the illusion of contact as you moved to the left, feet lifting high. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, and suddenly you enjoyed the feeling in a sick, scary way. You walked forward until you were in line with Mr Murphy, still an arm’s length away before he stepped forward and your arms moved to a waltz position. He settled into the space, gripping your hands firmly in his. He was pressed as close as he could be, closer than your actual partner would be for the dance, and you set your eyes on his face. Your pulse thrummed in your ears, you were in your element. 

You went through all the steps of the dance like you had been born knowing it. Your bodies were like water as they moved, smooth, graceful. You hadn’t felt this intune to the music in a long time, hadn’t felt this much like a dancer in a long time. You could almost see the crowd in front of you, the blinding lights, the smooth fabric of the dress. 

At the final step, Mr Murphy gripped your hand and spun you into him, changing the ending of the dance. You gasped as you leaned back into his chest. His head was bent down, pressing his face into your hair. You were panting, torso moving up and down quickly but trapped in the confines of his arms crossed over you. You leaned your head back a little, pressing the curve of your skull into the curve of his neck as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head. The music was fading out, and the only sounds in the room were your mingling breaths, heaving into the air of the room. 

His left palm pressed against your stomach, firm and insistent, but you couldn’t be bothered to look down. It seared into your already boiling skin and you closed your eyes. You tuned into the sensation of his hand slowly sliding down, bit by bit, inching down over your stomach then pressing against your pelvis. You gasped as you felt his fingertips brush over the leotard just at the top of your pussy. Your hand moved behind you, gripping his sides, clenching into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against the side of your head, and you didn’t stop him. His hand moved farther down, pressing against the softness atop your core. Gently, his index finger moved to the centre line and began pressing in. You lifted up on your toes a little when you felt the pressure through the fabric, the indent of his finger pressing against your clit. You were hot and wet, he could feel the heat emanating from your core against his hand.

He kept his finger pressed there until you became restless, impatient, pressing your hands a little harder against his ribs. Slowly, keeping the pressure, he moved his finger down until he was pressing against your hole. The warm tendrils of pleasure slowly undulated up your insides. He repeated the motion, up then down and pressing a little harder against your hole. 

You breathed out heavily, shakily, and bent your knees to press a little harder into the feeling. 

Up, down, press. Up, down, press. He circled your clit through the fabric, pressing against the pulsing little bud. Up, down, press, drag up, drag down, press. You were panting into the air, face contorted, mouth up and head tilted up, resting against his shoulder. Your eyes were screwed shut, hips moving to chase the motions. He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against your ear, held you tighter against his body. 

You were both standing in the middle of the large studio, bathed in the early evening light. Your hands clenched a little harder against his sides. The warm tendrils were lasting longer, becoming more frenzied, curling up into your stomach and making your hole flutter. His right hand moved up and cupped your breast, gripping firmly and burning the heat of his hand into the flesh. 

You were engulfed by him, wrapped up in both his arms as he pressed his fingers harder and quicker against the seam of your core, moving up and down, pressing and releasing. He ran the edge of his thumbnail against the fabric over your nipple and your pelvis shook. You writhed in his arms at the spark it shot to your core, at the electric pulse it created and ultimately pushed you over the precipice. A moan, a high-pitched whine shot from your mouth, echoing in the room. You pressed yourself so hard against him he almost lost his balance, moving one foot back to keep the two of you upright. Your hands hurt from how stiff they became clenched into the fabric of his shirt. 

Slowly, he released the pressure against your core. He grazed his finger up until he could press his hand to your stomach again. He left it there and the two of you heaved breaths in sync. You began to flutter your eyes open, still lost in the blood rushing through your head. His right hand came up and gripped your chin, pushing it so you faced to the left where his head had dropped down. He leaned back a little, you tilted forward a smidge, your eyes met. Your lips were still parted, his mirrored. Then he surged forward, pressing his mouth to yours, his nose sliding into the crease between your cheek and nose. He tasted warm and minty. His lips were plush and cushiony soft. He pulled away and you looked into his eyes again. 

Neither of you said a word.

Taglist: @4ria790

[fancyfade]

As much as damian is my favorite dc character, to appreciate talia you really got to read comics before he was created. Like where is talias conflict with her father afterwards? Robin 2021 had her leading the league while ras didnt.... even when she's written sympathetically it's still generally either with less agency or going against previous characterization...

Denny oneils talia is decent (and the creator of her character), Mike barrs talia is good, batman chronicles #8 perfect, and lexcorp talia.... THE talia of all time I miss u babe

[roxxyhoney]

loustat fanfic recs

Just wanted to make a list of some of my favorite loustat fanfics so far. I'll definitely be adding onto this list as I continue to read more.

Anything by cherhorowitz8. This person's writing style is so amazing and every single fic that has been written has had me hooked. I recommend checking out their page, but a few of my personal favs are:

like you mean it in spite of all my faults eligible once more, with feeling of bruised egos and preconceived notions

pocketusn i try to be chill girl, but honestly, i'm not it's like a sucker punch straight to my heart

lesfleursrouges the last day of summer like time stands still

anonymouswords123 none of them your true nature

canonthatdivides je t'ai dans la peau

dirtygoldensoul the saint

pasterquesix before you see me come (back) to me

vitamin_kay cheerful oblivion you sip what the devil's drinking

emblue_sparks reviens, mon coeur

introruins silk chiffon

louisredsuit his rightful home

prouvaireafterdark burning in water, drowning in flame

Post reunion fics we'll be diamond when the golden days are done by rickybobby mon by lydia_eve you are the moon that breaks the night for which i have to howl by peacefrog inertia by chinxe

Also, honorable mention to meet me at the barre by dancermk. I'm not sure what happened, but I no longer see this fic anymore and it was one of my absolute favorites.

All these fics are absolutely amazing and beautifully written in my opinion. There are more that I plan to add that I wasn't able to get around too just yet, and again as I read more I will add as well.

[littledesertfox]

Historical Fiction Recommendation

A bit of an unusual post, but I recently learned about the existence of the Desert Peach comic series created by Donna Barr and I need more people to know about it because it's a true gem. A big shoutout goes to @darksideoftwenty who introduced me to this comic, otherwise I may have never even knew that it existed!

To put it simple, the story is about Rommel's fictional gay younger brother called Pfirsich (sidenote, this is literally just the German word for peach and not actually used as a name, but it's still cute😅). He is the leader of a small support unit of the Afrika Korps, which consists mostly of people that are considered "misfits" in other parts of the army. The individual stories consist of all sorts of adventures and shenanigans but also have overarching plot points.

I think it's important to not let yourself fool by the potential first impression with this comic. At first glance, Pfirsich may seem like the absolute stereotype of the effeminate gay man, but there's actually so much more to him. This applies to the other characters too, as the story goes on and we get to know more about them, their personalities just become more and more well-rounded. At least since issue 3 I've been absolutely hooked.

For a comic that was written in the 80s and 90s, I was also extremely impressed how delicately it touches on and handles topics that are still relevant today, and manages to balance chaos and silliness with more serious and darker moments. Of course, not everything may be politically correct by today's standards and you should keep that in mind, but honestly I think there are pieces of media that are far more recent and still did things like this much worse.

The comic is available entirely for free on Webtoon, so if WW2 fiction is something you're into you should definitely give it a try. Apparently there was also a musical made back in the 90s that was based on the comics, but I could barely find anything related to it, I wish there existed recordings😭 Please note that although there aren't really depictions of sensitive content - injuries and (partial) nudity may occur but are usually quite simplified thanks to the art style - but due to the subject matter, it is targeted at adult audiences.

I'm currently at issue 18 and can't wait to continue reading! Here's just one small excerpt showing Pfirsich and Erwin (dancing together and I love how small it makes Erwin look xD), their brother relationship is hilarious and just absolutely adorable <3

[profeminist]

"A little-known feminist of the seventeenth century, Poulain de la Barre, put it this way: 'All that has been written about women by men should be suspect, for the men are at once judge and party to the lawsuit.'"

Simone de Beauvoir, in her introduction to The Second Sex

[covid-safer-hotties]

ARE YOU SERIOUS? COVID-19 HASN’T GONE AWAY?

John Snow Project - 3 August 2024

Talk to most people about COVID-19 risks and a common response is, “If it was that bad, governments would do something about it.”

We’ve written previously about the analogies to smoking and the historic role governments played in normalizing harm even after the risks were well proven1.

While COVID-19 has been causing disruption at the Olympics2-4 and regions around the world report sustained high rates of transmission5-7, just this week three studies have been published demonstrating COVID-19’s role in increasing the risk of deafness8 and harming the vascular system following acute infection9, and causing immune dysregulation and cardiovascular damage in people with Long Covid10. These join the many thousands of studies evidencing the short and long-term harm of SARS-CoV-2 infection.

Some people will decry the sheer volume of such studies saying it is improbable a single pathogen can cause such diverse damage. SARS-CoV-2 doesn’t care about probability or people’s expectations. It is a virus that infects cells using one of the most common receptors, a receptor that is expressed almost everywhere in our bodies. It can infect many types of immune cells and has been demonstrated to persist for years in the gut and spinal fluid of some people11. SARS-CoV-2 has also been shown to cause chronic activation of the immune system and play a role in driving new onset allergies, allergic diseases and autoimmunity12,13.

People in the Covid cautious community often wonder when governments will finally take this pervasive virus seriously. For the uninformed, COVID-19 is akin to a cold, and some particularly ill-informed people believe the virus has gone away entirely. There are still some people who are shocked to experience reinfection.

With Long Covid remaining a significant risk14,15, and promises of protective immunity, hybrid immunity and super hybrid immunity receding into the rearview mirror of ignorant and unfounded optimism, it seems people must simply accept the roulette of repeat infection. But should they? For some COVID-19 will pass with symptoms similar to a cold, for others it will be fatal. For a significant proportion it will be debilitating. And we still haven’t seen the long-tail risk. It is entirely reasonable to expect that like Epstein Barr Virus, Cytomegalovirus and HPV, SARS-CoV-2 will cause damage years or decades after infection16.

There is another way. Instead of blithe nihilism and the abandonment of principles of public health that have advanced human society for centuries, governments could instruct their public health and regulatory agencies to insist on cleaner air policies, mandating air quality that protects human health, in the same way we mandate water quality. Malaria prevention is not perfect, but that doesn’t stop us using every possible tool at our disposal to minimize the impact of the disease around the world.

Many engineers have decried the idea of needing a random trial to prove physics, but a Norwegian team did one anyway, examining whether surgical masks help prevent infection by respiratory viruses.They found surgical masks were 30% effective at reducing symptoms of respiratory infection17. This is no surprise. It’s long been established that surgical masks have a minor impact on airborne infection control, but they aren’t worn by anyone who is serious about avoiding SARS-CoV-2 or any other respiratory pathogen. A 2008 UK Health and Safety Executive evaluation demonstrated that surgical masks provide a 6-fold reduction against aerosolized virus, while respirator masks provide at least a 100-fold reduction18.

Perhaps one of the biggest calamities of the COVID-19 pandemic was robbing people of one of the most effective forms of protection: respirator masks. Many people believe masks don’t work, or if they do that they primarily protect others from infection and don’t protect the wearer. This belief is completely unfounded and wholly wrong. Respirators have long been used to protect people working with some of the most dangerous pathogens imaginable, and FFP3/N99 respirators have been shown to offer up to 100% protection against SARS-CoV-2 in healthcare settings19. Imagine how many lives might have been saved and how many cases of Long Covid could have been avoided globally if people had been told that a well fitted mask of the correct grade (N95/FFP2 or higher) can offer complete protection against infection. We don’t need a magic bullet to solve the problem of COVID-19. We need to end the denialism that afflicts us and confront reality. We need to stop living in a comforting delusion and use the tools we already know work to minimize the impact of the disease. Masks, ventilation, filtration, vaccination, isolation, and therapeutics. As this study of hospital admission protocols clearly demonstrates20, we have the tools we need to protect human health. We need to start using them.

Reading Time 4 minutes Author John Snow Project References Merchants of Doubt johnsnowproject.org/insights/merchants-of-doubt/

German decathlete Eitel to miss Paris in latest Covid-19 case sports.yahoo.com/german-decathlete-eitel-miss-paris-163813910.html

Covid cluster worsens in Australian Olympic camp as Zac Stubblety-Cook reveals infection www.theguardian.com/sport/article/2024/aug/01/covid-cluster-worsens-in-australian-olympic-camp-as-zac-stubblety-cook-reveals-infection

Is there a COVID outbreak at the Olympics? At least 9 athletes test positive in one week www.today.com/health/coronavirus/covid-olympics-2024-rcna164070

COVID Map Shows Surge in States With 'Very High' Levels in Wastewater www.newsweek.com/covid-19-map-wastewater-levels-1932576

COVID surging in California, nears two-year summer high. ‘Almost everybody has it’ www.latimes.com/california/story/2024-07-29/covid-surging-in-california-as-virus-levels-in-sewage-near-two-year-summer-high

Wastewater COVID-19, Biomathematics and Statistics Scotland www.bioss.ac.uk/collaborate-us/wastewater-covid-19

Incidence of hearing loss following COVID-19 among young adults in South Korea: a nationwide cohort study www.thelancet.com/journals/eclinm/article/PIIS2589-5370(24)00338-9/fulltext

Long-term effects of COVID-19 on endothelial function, arterial stiffness, and blood pressure in college students: a pre-post-controlled study bmcinfectdis.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12879-024-09646-w

COVID-19 related myocardial injury is associated with immune dysregulation in symptomatic patients with cardiac MRI abnormalities academic.oup.com/cardiovascres/advance-article/doi/10.1093/cvr/cvae159/7723296?searchresult=1

Long COVID and SARS-CoV-2 persistence: new answers, more questions www.thelancet.com/journals/laninf/article/PIIS1473-3099(24)00216-0/fulltext

Incident allergic diseases in post-COVID-19 condition: multinational cohort studies from South Korea, Japan and the UK www.nature.com/articles/s41467-024-47176-w

High risk of autoimmune diseases after COVID-19 www.nature.com/articles/s41584-023-00964-y

Long Covid risk has dropped over time but remains substantial, study shows edition.cnn.com/2024/07/17/health/long-covid-risk/index.html

Postacute Sequelae of SARS-CoV-2 Infection in the Pre-Delta, Delta, and Omicron Eras www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMoa2403211

Is SARS-CoV-2 an oncogenic virus? www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9361571/

Personal protective effect of wearing surgical face masks in public spaces on self-reported respiratory symptoms in adults: pragmatic randomised superiority trial www.bmj.com/content/386/bmj-2023-078918

RR619 Evaluating the protection afforded by surgical masks against influenza bioaerosols www.hse.gov.uk/research/rrhtm/rr619.htm

Efficacy of FFP3 respirators for prevention of SARS-CoV-2 infection in healthcare workers www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8635983/

Admission screening testing of patients and staff N95 masks are cost-effective in reducing COVID-19 hospital acquired infections www.journalofhospitalinfection.com/article/S0195-6701(24)00236-6/fulltext

[garadinervi]

Sarah Neufeld / Richard Reed Parry / Rebecca Foon, First Sounds, (Double Black Vinyl, Double Limited Edition Coloured Vinyl, CD, Digital album), One Little Independent Records, 2024

All songs written by Sarah Neufeld, Richard Reed Parry, and Rebecca Foon

Sarah Neufeld: violin, vocals Richard Reed Parry: double bass, guitar, drum machines, percussion, vocals Rebecca Foon: cello, vocals Shahzad Ismaily: percussion on 'Maria' Andrew Barr: drums on 'Day Three'

Artwork: Olafur Eliasson

[boyfridged]

I think an really interesting thing about when they have the character's say that Bruce was saving Jason a life of crime or teaching Jason to be good is that it not only isn't true, it directly contradicts other canon.

We have at least two separate alternate time lines (caused specifically by time travel events where the consequences included no Bruce adoption) both of which were Jason was still a moral person. In Flashpoint he is a priest who believes in helping people not matter if they are church goers or not. A world without young justice has AU Jason die trying to do the right thing.

On top of that Jason is at the very least strongly implied to have taken care of his sick mother and the more recent portrayals of him meeting people from his pre-Bruce life also portray him as a caring person.

This adds up to although the writer means for the character to be right, and that Bruce is so noble for helping (failing) this poor child. They are actually being canonically classist towards Jason as what they are saying is an untrue assumption based on his background.

Selina in Gotham War saying he taught Jason to be good is her being classist. Alfred treating Jason like he was just a bad seed Bruce couldn't save is classist. Bruce and his whole reasoning that it is okay for Jason specifically to be endangered because of his background is classist.

Obviously that isn't the intent but when writers who are less classist about Jason write him these classist things aren't be true. It doesn't matter if Zdarsky retcons Jason being such a 'bad kid' when there are a bunch of other writers who didn't do that.

(Zdarsky: Look at this 'bad kid' before Bruce taught him morals. Ignore all the times he was portrayed as a good kid, those aren't canon anymore. Bruce is the source of all his morality. Bruce is actually less classist than Jason. This is definitely not classist writing.)

you summarized it excellently. i think it is also related to bruce projecting both his own trauma and his own worldview on jay and his background. i have written a very long post about this exactly, with receipts too. you can find it here. oh and another one, in which i explain why it would be more interesting to allow bruce to be wrong too.

and as i cited it in the above post – bruce is wrong and that fact is quite evident in-text, at least in the early versions of the story. this is also what i love so much about barr’s detective comics run – because barr calls bullshit and gets leslie to tell bruce his reasoning behind putting jason in field are unbecoming and that he is “doing it for himself.”

of course, post jay’s death that awareness has evaporated and instead we got revised versions of the story that were more than ever deadset on proving that jason did possess some fatal flaw, a violent seed that bruce did not manage to eradicate (like the issues of gotham knights, which again, i have no idea as to why they are so popular, given how malicious they are in the evaluation of jason’s fate). the latest retcons such as zdarsky’s work also fall into the trap of attempting to justify bruce’s decisions irt jason & his role as robin by diminishing jay and rewriting his story to be tainted with inevitability. even a death in the family (2020, the animated movie) provides the audience with plenty alternative endings, all of which are to make a murderer or a villain out of jason.

that is not to say that i think there should not be a sense of inevitability of jay’s tragedy at all – but its source is stubbornly misplaced for bruce’s benefit despite even the actual aditf storyline and barr’s run before placing the responsibility for it in bruce’s inability to compartmentalise his parental and vigilante duties (the chapter of aditf titled choices relates to bruce’s decision to go after the joker instead of jason; it does turn out it did not matter as jason has long been tied up in that family-vs-heroics conflict.)

bringing up the alternative versions of jay is a good way to illustrate it; in the world in which he does not meet bruce, he is not damned to participate in the cycle of abuse forever. i’m not gonna lie, i also wish countdown went in that direction and has given us more glances at realities like that. because i do believe that jason’s resolve to stop at nothing when faced by crime, the sense of obligation to do so that leaves his hands bloody, is something that was cultivated in him primarily by the robin training.

[batbabydamian]

DC April 2024 Solicitations - Comics Featuring Damian! 🦇

BATMAN AND ROBIN #8

4/9/24

Written by Joshua Williamson

Art and Cover by Simone Di Meo

Variant Covers: Kael Ngu, Ejikure, Jim Lee, Nikola Čižmešija (1:25)

As Batman finds himself in the clutches of a new cult that worships Man-Bat, Robin continues his own investigation into his High School's connections to Shush! Can the father and son dynamic duo uncover Man-Bat and Shush's master plans before Gotham pays the price?!

WONDER WOMAN #6

4/16/24

Written by Tom King

Art by Daniel Sampere and Belén Ortega

Variant Covers: Julian Totino Tedesco, Pablo Villalobos, Joshua “Sway” Swaby (1:25)

Wonder Woman vs. The Sovereign! After being captured by a team of villains, Diana finds herself at the mercy of the scariest of them all. Unbeknownst to our hero, the Sovereign has been pulling her strings since the very beginning of our tale, and now it's time for her to see the world his way as she falls under the influence of the Lasso of Lies! Plus, Trinity visits the past and unexpectedly changes the future!

NIGHTWING #113/Legacy #300

4/16/2024

Written by Tom Taylor

Art by Various

Variant Covers: Bruno Redondo (original cover+1:25), Dan Mora, Jim Lee (Artist Spotlight), Jamal Campbell, Serg Acuna

Since the 1940's, you've seen him go from acrobat to orphan; from Dick Grayson to Robin; from Robin to Nightwing. You've seen him work alongside the universe's most powerful heroes, against existence's most sinister villains. You have seen Dick Grayson do so many things, but now, in his 300th issue, you will see him.. well, you'll just have to pick up the issue and find out. Join us for this legacy 300 milestone!

*DC’S SPRING BREAKOUT!

*Cover feature - Damian hang gliding in the bg :)

4/30/2024

Written by Meghan Fitzmartin, Cameron Chittok, Joey Esposito, Morgan Hampton, Patrick R. Young, Tom Krajewski, Mike Barr, and more!

Art by Kenya Danino, Vasco Georgiev, Paul Pellietier, Nico Bascuñan, and more!

Cover by John Timms

Variant Covers by Dan Mora

Spring has sprung! Flowers are blooming, bees are buzzing, Harley is breaking King Shark out of Belle Reve prison. all is right in the DCU as both heroes and villains face all sorts of different spring breaks. Breaking out of a coffin? Lex Luthor has that covered. Spring break training? Send in Superman! Breaking out of your shell? Batman and Mr. Freeze explore that possibility through a connection in their shared past. Breaking down a worthy adversary? Katana and her sword of souls might just be able to tackle that. And it wouldn't be a spring break without a Teen Titans beach trip! All these and more in DC's Spring Breakout! -eight breakout stories to put a spring in your step (is there a zit breakout story? You'll have to read to find out!)

TEEN TITANS: STARFIRE

7/2/2024

Written by Kami Garcia

Art by Gabriel Picolo

Kori Anders' summer job at a ritzy Santa Monica beach club is fun, but she doesn't care about keeping up with the current trends, and she's not interested in rushing around to all the parties. She'd rather explore her inexplicable draw to the stars or hang out with her new friend, Victor Stone. Her sister, Kira, on the other hand, is the most popular girl around. With the hottest clothes, an even hotter boyfriend (the Tate Fairweather), and a take-no-prisoners attitude, she's Kori's opposite in every way. Their summer heats up when Tate's uncle asks the girls to participate in an EDS study his pharmaceutical company is running. During treatment, Kori develops some strange powers she never had before...and she might not be the only one. Can Kori persuade her sister to trust her before it's too late? And when a carload of teens with their own powers come looking for her to warn her about a creepy stalker, she'll learn that trust is a two-way street!

[why-i-love-comics]

DC's Spring Breakout! #1 - "Soul Survivor" (2024)

written by Mike W. Barr art by Kenya Danino & Emilio Lopez

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 38: THE EXECUTIONER’S HEIR (2013)

1. The Introduction

Greetings, Citizens! Welcome back to Jacobin Fiction Convention!

So, we have a new book on display today, and luckily not on the chopping block, but more on that later.

This book was actually recommended to me a long ass time ago by @maggiec70 in the comments section of my announcement that I was NOT going to review Shinichi Sakamoto’s manga “Innocent” due to the detailed visuals of gore and torture depicted there and a barrage of inaccuracies that even I cannot stomach.

Luckily, @maggiec70 turned out to be my savior in recommending that I review THIS book instead. “The Executioner’s Heir”, written by Susanne Alleyn (yes, I AM using the author’s name because she deserves to be known!), tells the story of Charles Henri Sanson, an infamous executioner who had to execute many prominent people before and during Frev. While this book takes place before Frev and serves as an origin story for Sanson, I am counting it as Frev fiction anyway because it talks about someone who lived in that time period.

The book can be found on Amazon and Kindle, or borrowed on archive.org for up to 14 days at a time for registered users. Is it worth the money? Spoiler: It is, but let’s find out why.

Let the Jacobin Fiction Convention open!

(This review is dedicated to @maggiec70 , @montagnarde1793 and @on-holidays-by-mistake .)

2. The Summary

As mentioned above, the book tells the story of Charles Henri Sanson, the famous executioner who would go on to behead quite a few other Frev figures. This book is his origin story, showcasing how he became the executioner and the struggles he faced in his early life both from his lack of desire to do that job and society’s prejudices towards his profession.

3. The Story

I’m not going to spoil anything, but at first there are two concurrent storylines, one from the POV of Sanson and another from the POV of a young aristocrat called François Lefebvre de la Barre. Both are historical people, so those who know La Barre might know what will happen already, but I sure did not while reading.

Again, without spoilers, while their stories start out being simply parallel to one another, which might confuse uninitiated readers (like me) at first, this narrative decision pays off towards the end, when the stories of these young men finally overlap, so the decision to include both POVs retroactively makes a ton of sense.

The pacing does include time skips, but they are not jarring at all and the characters develop in a very organic way that makes sense for them. Speaking of which!

4. The Characters

I do like Charles Sanson’s character. He is a kind man who inherited his father’s trade of executioner simply because he doesn’t have a choice in the matter and he has to commence the gruesome duties at a young age due to his father’s unexpected stroke.

While at first Charles does wish to escape his duties and study medicine instead, he eventually has to accept his role in society and simply tries to make the best of an awful situation by trying to make sure that the executed people don’t suffer too much before dying. He also never fully comes to terms with the brutal methods of torture and execution used at the time and begins to question the status quo, wondering if he is an instrument of justice or a tool of brutality and oppression of Ancien Régime in general and the monarchy and clergy in particular.

Charles’s father, Jean-Baptiste, is a strict but caring father, protecting his younger children from the scorn of the society that treats them as pariahs, while also preparing his sons for becoming executioners because he knows they would have no other option and someone simply has to do that job. He also tries to shield the children who are too young from the entire truth of his profession until they are older and can comprehend more.

Jeannette Sanson, Jean-Baptiste’s second wife, is a secondary character who is more in the background, but she does have her role. Jeannette is as far from an evil stepmother archetype as you get and she too tries to shield Charles until he is older. She is a homemaker who finds her joy in motherhood and marriage, but she is also Jean-Baptiste’s confidant and cares for her family, including her stepchildren.

Marthe Sanson, the paternal grandmother of Charles, is a harsh woman who rules the household with an iron fist, but she is a realist who correctly points out to Charles that if he refuses to take over when his father is sick, the family will not have enough money to survive and pay the servants. While manipulative, strict and rude, Marthe is simply a realist who thinks she is doing what is best. It’s still satisfying when Charles finally stands up to her though.

Charles’s full sister, Madeleine, is his closest confidant while they are growing up. She is a realist like Marthe, but in a more gentle way and she matures rather quickly too.

François Lefebvre de la Barre, the second protagonist, is the 18th century equivalent of a drunken frat boy, constantly getting into trouble and doing stupid shit like mooning (showing his bare ass) the town’s mayor at night. He is simply a stupid kid but relatable as a character.

In general, Susanne Alleyn really knows her stuff when it comes to writing complex characters.

5. The Setting

Oh my goodness, the setting! The vivid description and the obvious enormous amount of research pay off and make the story that much more realistic and entertaining to read.

6. The Writing

The writing is superb. Luckily lacking modern slang that wouldn’t realistically belong in the setting, but not being too complicated for the modern reader. There are some French words used in the story, but their meanings are organically included in the narrative to avoid confusion.

7. The Conclusion

I know it’s entertaining when I trash bad fiction, but I’m very happy to say that this one is a book I actually enjoyed and read from cover to cover. So please, if you aren’t very squeamish about scenes of execution in France before the invention of guillotine and before the abolition of torture (during Frev), do check it out!

As for me, I am going to respectfully bow out and work on my university research paper. Thus, I declare today’s meeting concluded.

Stay tuned for future reviews!

Love,

Citizen Green Pixel

[ghost-bxrd]

Dear GhostBird,

I’m genuinely considering writing a love letter to Owlsong because I simply cannot get over how much heart and care you’ve poured into it—especially into Jason. The way you’ve portrayed Bruce, Dick’s trauma, and most of all, Jason, is nothing short of breathtaking <33 I’m only a few chapters in, but I had to pause and write this because it moved me so deeply (I’m not yet ready to face his death LMAO)

There’s something incredibly compelling about stories where Jason’s virtues, particularly in his pre-Red Hood days, shine so brightly. He’s cautious and wary, yet hope and trust come so naturally to him. You’ve captured that beautifully, portraying him with such compassion and love. He’s witty, charming, and as someone who’s been a long-time fan of the comics—especially Barr’s run of Robin Jason—I’m beyond charmed with how you’ve written him.

Jason, despite everything that’s happened, remains kind. He loves Dick, teaches him, learns to communicate to him, and actively works on being able to make Dick live and survive with him. He’s still a bit reckless (as all Robins are!), but it’s done in such a believable, nuanced way. I absolutely love love love it <333

Personally, I feel that it is so unfair when his younger days are only viewed through the lens of the Red Hood narrative :/ You’ve struck a perfect balance between his struggles and his inherent goodness. He has attachment issues, sure, but despite everything he’s been through, his innocence survives. (Of course, that easy trust and attachment issues are what cost him everything with Sheila ;-;)

And just INCOHERENT SCREAMING ABT Dick and Jason’s brotherly relationship? It’s so precious to me, both in canon and in your rendition of it here. Your writing is gorgeous, and I’m in awe of how well you’ve explored grief—how Dick and Jason grapple with it both alone and together.

This story is truly wonderful, and I’m so grateful for it. Thank you for writing it, muah <3333 🌸🌸🌷🌸🌸

This might be the sweetest thing ever omg 🥹💚💚💚💚💚💚

I’m so happy Owl Song is giving you so many feelings! It’s honestly one of my fave Aus and every time I hear people enjoy it so much and give me such a detailed analysis of their interactions I’m just over here, tearing up with joy, unable to articulate how much it means to me 😭💚💚💚💚

It’s genuinely mind blowing how far this AU has come. I didn’t think it would get more than a couple readers at best with how niche it is. But evidently, im not the only one who digs those crazy levels of devotion and loyalty ksksksks ✨ It’s a shame we don’t see more of them working together (and actually being a family instead of uneasy allies) in canon. 🥲

I’d love to give you all the home baked cookies and cakes I can in return for this wonderful ask, but since this is the internet let me just say I love this letter like this cat loves their dog buddy 💚💚💚✨