#toddler writing aid

[oo60sec]

Write Like a Pro: The Benefits of Using a Writing Correction Grip for Kids!

[doctorbeth]

Henry the Penguin

Henry the Penguin came to California for the summer... not a sentence applicable to most penguins, but he didn't mind the warmer temperatures. :-)

Henry's name had an interesting origin. Apparently his human, as a toddler, sounded like she was saying Henry instead of Penguin. In any case, 35 years later Henry was his name, and his leather beak and feet were starting to have some serious issues. Here are his diagnosis photos:

His person was initially less concerned about his feet, more concerned with his beak. I very rarely work with leather, but I did know I had a good piece that should work for Henry, and so we agreed on a treatment plan and he came to the hospital.

Here is the leather I used to reconstruct his beak:

His person also opted to recover his feet. They weren't originally leather, but she did choose a white faux suede for them. When she chose it she said "Fancy, fancy, Mr. Henry-the-Penguin". :-)

Here's Henry the Penguin all better (he arrived with the blue ribbon):

Looking as spiffy as if he was really wearing a tuxedo!

When he got home, Henry's person wrote:

Henry got home safely today. He looks amazing and is getting lots of hugs to aid in his recovery, as prescribed. He would have written you himself, but he is jet-lagged. He might write you once he has recovered from the flights and the surgery.

Thank you so much for repairing my little guy!

And sure enough, the next day Henry himself emailed:

Dear Miss BetH,

THank you for taking sucH good care of me for tHe past few weeks. I was scared to fly because I Haven't flown in over 10 years. And I was scared of surgery even tHougH I Hadn't been able to eat witH my broken beak. THank you for fixing me. I feel mucH better now. My mom's friend says I look "spiffy." I prefer "Handsome," but "spiffy" will do.

THank you again.

Love,

Henry

(Apologies for Henry's punctuation--not having gone past first grade, he thinks that the letter "H" must always be capitalized since it's the first letter of his name. Efforts to break this habit have proved futile.) Henry's person

[reveryfics]

Kryptonian's

Clark Kent "Superman" x Male Reader

Summary: It turns out Kara and Clark weren't the only Kryptonians sent to Earth before their home planet fell. You'd been living a quiet life among humans, just like Clark, ezcept you keept your Kryptonian heritage a secret. But when you heard Superman needed help, you knew it was time to reveal your true self and offer your aid.

A/N: Spoilers ahead for the Superman movie (2025) regarding the opening of the movie! I was grinning ear to ear the entire movie, so excited to write more fanfiction for the movie. This could also be a over all start for any future Kryptonian reader fics I do, or end up having multiple parts if you guys wanted. Requests are open for Superman/Clark, Mr. Terrific, Guy Garner, and Jimmy Olson.

TW: Spoilers - Angst - Injury - Happy ending - Kryptonian reader

Words: 4.9k

The roar of a thousand voices, a symphony of fear and desperation, still echoed in the deepest chambers of your mind, even after three decades. The crimson sky, the crumbling spires of a dying world – Krypton. You were too young to truly remember, a mere infant cradled in a pod alongside two others, one a baby like you, the other a bit older, maybe a toddler. Clark and Kara, though you wouldn't know their names for years, nor would you ever truly know them.

Your own pod, unlike theirs, didn't land in the embrace of loving, adoptive parents. There was no idyllic farm, no gentle guidance on how to navigate a world that wasn't your own. Instead, your pod became a meteorite, crashing into a silent forest, a jarring entry into a life of solitude. A life defined by concrete and steel rather than cornfields.

The only inheritance you carried from a world that ceased to exist was a small, ornate bracelet, cool against your infant skin. Its smooth surface held a secret, one you discovered purely by accident during a particularly lonely night in the orphanage when your small thumb brushed against an unseen trigger. Two voices, soft and melodious, filled the sterile room. Your mothers.

"Our son," one voice whispered, a tender sigh. "You are meant for something great, our little star."

"No matter where you land, no matter what happens," the other assured, a steady, unwavering presence, "we will always be with you. We love you."

They loved you. They said you were meant for something. But as the years blurred into a relentless cycle of foster homes and cold shoulders, of learning to depend on no one but yourself, those voices became a cruel taunt. Your Kryptonian abilities, latent and terrifying, remained locked away. The whispers of immense power, of flight and invulnerability, were a constant, unwanted hum beneath your skin. You saw what happened to those who were different, those who stood out. You saw the fear, the suspicion, the eventual fall.

So, you buried it all. You buried the power, the heritage, and most painfully, the hope that you were ever meant for anything more than survival. You were human, plain and simple. Just another face in the bustling, uncaring crowd. You learned to blend in, to become invisible, a ghost in your own life.

Thirty years. Three decades since the fiery birth of your human existence, and still, the world spun on, oblivious to your silent vigil. Now, a new sun rose, one with an "S" emblazoned across his chest, a beacon of hope for some, a target for others. Superman, with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes, undeniably Kryptonian. He soared through the skies, catching falling debris, stopping runaway trains, his very existence a stark contrast to yours.

You watched him, often on your phone during your janitorial shifts, the glowing screen illuminating the tired lines on your face. As you meticulously wiped down another grimy surface in an office building long after everyone else had gone home, a small, bittersweet smile would touch your lips. He was everything your mothers had spoken of, everything they had wanted you to be. He was something. He was a hero. And you, with your mop and bucket, were just you. A whisper of a life that could have been, an echo of voices that still, occasionally, told you they loved you, resonated in the empty halls. You were meant to be something. You were simply human.

The day came. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. A ragged, desperate gasp that tore through the usual static of the city, bypassing every carefully constructed wall you had built around your senses. It was the unmistakable wheezing of a collapsed lung, a sound that resonated deep within your very bones, a primal echo of a shared biology. Blood. You could almost taste the metallic tang, see the crimson pooling in the pristine snow, a stark contrast to the white. He was broken. Beaten. For the first time.

Why were you hearing him? Why couldn't you tune it out, like you had every other overwhelming sensation, every other desperate plea, every other whisper of a world that wasn't yours, for three decades? Your eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into the worn fabric of your bedsheets, knuckles white. "Shut up," you whispered, the words a raw, guttural plea torn from your throat. "Just shut up." Your teeth clenched, jaw tight, a muscle jumping in your temple.

And then, it stopped. The wheezing, the blood, the pain – all gone. Replaced by the familiar, ethereal melody of your mothers' voices, clear as a bell in the sudden, jarring silence. "Our son," one said, a gentle caress. "You are meant for something great." The other followed, unwavering, "You mean something."

A silent scream tore through you, a visceral, internal agony that shook your entire body. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cheap mattress groaning in protest. Your eyes, wide and unfocused, darted from the bracelet on your wrist, its cool metal a familiar weight, to a dusty, unassuming box tucked away in the corner of your room. You weren't sure why you had it, why you'd kept it all these years. Its contents had come with you in the pod, a final, desperate gift from a dying world, from two women who loved you more than life itself.

You were moving before you could stop yourself, a puppet pulled by unseen strings. The ragged, pained breathing filled your ears again, a phantom sensation, but no less real. Your fingers, trembling slightly, brushed against the lid of the box, pulling it off with a soft click. Inside, nestled amongst folds of tissue paper, was a fabric. Snowy white, pristine, untouched. A suit. Meant to keep you safe, had you ever chosen to become something with your Kryptonian powers.

You stood before the full-length mirror on the back of your bedroom door, the harsh overhead light illuminating your reflection. Bags, dark and heavy, sagged beneath your eyes, a testament to years of restless nights. Stubble shadowed your jaw, a rough, unkempt testament to your disinterest in appearances. Your hair, a dark, unruly mess, curled around your ears and the nape of your neck. You looked nothing like him. You looked like a man who had given up on being anything.

You undressed slowly, each movement deliberate, almost ritualistic. The t-shirt, sweatpants – they fell to the floor in a heap, revealing your slim, unassuming frame. Your gaze, however, remained fixed on the bed, where the snowy white suit lay. It seemed to hum with a silent energy, a stark contrast to the muted tones of your life. It was pristine, alien, a piece of a world you'd actively denied for so long.

With a deep, shaky breath, you picked it up. The fabric was cool against your skin, surprisingly supple. You slid your legs into the form-fitting material, then your arms, the suit molding to you with an unsettling familiarity. It fit. Not just well, but perfectly, as if custom-made for your exact dimensions, despite never having been worn. It was a second skin, a whisper of what could have been. You turned, catching your reflection in the mirror again, the white a startling brilliance against your tired features. It felt... off. Like it was missing something. A final touch, a grounding element, something to bridge the gap between the fantastical and the painfully real.

You rummaged through your meager closet, fingers brushing past worn denim and faded cotton. Then your hand closed around it. An old leather jacket, a relic from a brief, misguided attempt at teenage rebellion. It was scuffed, softened by years of neglect, but the lining – a deep, almost bruised red – was still vibrant. You pulled it on over the suit. It fit snugly across your shoulders, the leather creaking faintly, a familiar comfort. It felt right, like it belonged there, a defiance against the purity of the suit, a statement that even in this, you were still, undeniably, you.

The ragged breathing, once a distant echo, was now a relentless drumbeat against your skull, an insistent pulse that drowned out all other thoughts. It was louder than your mothers' comforting voices, more urgent than the quiet protests of your own ingrained fear. There was no ignoring it now. No shutting it out. What had to be done, had to be done.

You moved to your bedroom window, the cheap latch creaking as you pushed it open. A gust of cool night air, carrying the distant hum of city life, swirled into the room. You stared down, the ground so far below, a dizzying array of tiny lights and shadowed streets. Your stomach churned, a familiar cocktail of fear and self-preservation. This was insane. This was everything you had avoided, everything you had buried.

Then, you closed your eyes. And leaped.

Your body acted on pure, raw instinct, an instinct you had suppressed for decades. The rush of air was deafening, the sudden drop a terrifying lurch in your gut. But then, it wasn't a drop. It was a glide. A surge. You were flying. Through the dark, endless canvas of the night sky, guided by that pained, desperate breathing, a beacon in the storm.

As you got closer, the desperate wheezing faded, replaced by the biting sting of the Arctic wind and the soft, rhythmic crunch of swirling snow. Then, a new sound, high-pitched and piercing, echoed through the vast, desolate landscape – a whistle, sharp and insistent. And then you saw him.

He lay sprawled in the snow, a dark, broken silhouette against the stark white. His iconic red and blue suit was torn, crimson blossoming across the chest, a stark, terrifying contrast to the pristine snow. And then you saw the dog. A large, white blur, a blur of fur and movement, pouncing, not in aggression, but in a desperate, protective frenzy. And then you saw the small, familiar red cape draped around its neck, identical to the one Superman wore. Krypto.

You landed a few feet from his head, the snow crunching loudly beneath your boots, the sound impossibly loud in the vast quiet. The dog, mid-pounce, froze. Its head snapped up, intelligent eyes, a startling human look in them, locking onto you. He stopped focusing on Superman, every ounce of its attention now fixed on your sudden, unexpected presence. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a warning.

You moved, slowly, deliberately, to stand between the fallen hero and his loyal companion. Your eyes never left Superman, even as his own, clouded with pain and confusion, followed your every movement. He lay there, a god brought low, vulnerable in a way you had never imagined. You extended a hand, palm open, towards the growling dog. "Heel," you commanded, your voice a low, steady murmur, surprisingly calm despite the storm raging within you.

And he did. The growl died in his throat, replaced by a soft whine. He sat, tongue lolling slightly, those intelligent eyes still fixed on you, a silent question in their depths. You bent down, your gaze still on Superman, who gasped, a ragged, painful sound. His lips parted, trying to form words, "W-who...?" he rasped, his eyes wide with a mixture of pain and profound bewilderment. He tried to push himself up, to move away from you, a primal instinct to escape, even in his broken state.

You ignored his attempt to scramble away, the raw vulnerability in his eyes a stark contrast to the invincible image the world held. "Don't," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "don't move. You'll only make it worse."

His struggles ceased, a shuddering breath escaping him as he lay back against the snow, his eyes still locked on yours, searching for answers you weren't ready to give. You knelt fully, the cold seeping through the new suit, a grounding sensation. The super-hearing that had led you here now picked up the frantic thrum of his heart, a desperate flutter against his ribs, and the subtle, horrifying sound of air escaping where it shouldn't.

"Your lung is collapsed," you stated, the words flat, clinical, though your stomach clenched with an unfamiliar dread. You reached out, your hand hovering just above his chest, feeling the chaotic dance of his internal injuries. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "And your ribs... multiple fractures. Probably internal bleeding."

Krypto, who had been watching silently, let out a soft whine, nudging your shoulder with his nose. You spared him a glance, a flicker of something akin to a smile touching your lips. "It's alright, boy," you murmured, "I'm not going to hurt him."

Superman's gaze sharpened, a flicker of suspicion battling the haze of pain. "Who... who are you?" he managed again, his voice weaker this time, barely a whisper. "How... how do you know...?"

You finally met his eyes fully, the blue of your own meeting the stormy blue of his. You saw the reflection of a shared lineage, a parallel universe of what could have been. For a moment, the weight of decades of denial pressed down on you. The voices of your mothers, so strong when you first put on the suit, were now a distant hum beneath the urgent crisis before you. This wasn't about them, not anymore. It was about him.

"Doesn't matter," you said, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. "What matters is getting you out of here." You moved your hand to his side, probing gently, feeling the broken edges of bone. He cried out, a sharp, involuntary sound.

"We need to get you somewhere warm, fast," you continued, ignoring his pain, focusing on the immediate problem. "Your core temperature is dropping, and that'll complicate things." You looked around the desolate landscape. No shelter for miles. No way to call for help that wouldn't bring the wrong kind of attention.

"My fortress..." he mumbled, his eyes half-closed, "it's... nearby..."

You almost laughed. Of course, he had a fortress. A place of sanctuary, of power. A place you never had. "Where?" you demanded, cutting him off. "Give me a direction."

He pointed a trembling hand, a weak, almost imperceptible gesture towards the icy horizon. "North... northeast..."

You nodded, making a mental note. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment you either continued to be the human you'd always pretended to be, or embraced the legacy you'd always denied. You looked at the red-lined leather jacket, then back at his bleeding form. The suit felt less like a costume and more like a promise.

"Alright, big guy," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "This is going to hurt." You reached out, carefully sliding one arm beneath his shoulders, the other under his knees. His body was heavy, but you felt the familiar surge of strength, the suppressed power awakening with a vengeance.

You lifted him, cradling him against your chest. He gasped, a mixture of pain and surprise, his face pale against the backdrop of your white suit. Krypto, ever vigilant, rose to his feet, nudging your leg before falling in step beside you.

"Hang on," you instructed, your voice firm, resolute. You focused, not on the fear, not on the years of avoidance, but on the desperate flutter of his heart. And then, with Krypto running faithfully beside you through the snow, you leaped, carrying him into the freezing, unforgiving sky.

You landed with a barely perceptible crunch of snow, just as the Fortress of Solitude began its majestic emergence. Below your boots, the vast expanse of ice groaned and shifted, massive crystalline structures pushing upwards, catching the faint, ethereal glow of the Arctic sky. Krypto, freed from his protective vigil, was a joyous white streak, barking excitedly, bouncing up and down as the enormous, faceted door of the Fortress glowed with an inner light, then slid silently open before you.

You stepped inside, the sudden warmth a welcome shock after the biting cold. The vast, cavernous space hummed with an otherworldly energy, bathed in soft, pulsing light. Instantly, you were surrounded by robots, tall and sleek, their metallic forms varying in design but all bearing numerical designations on their chests. They moved with silent efficiency, their optical sensors sweeping over you and the fallen Kryptonian in your arms.

One robot, larger and seemingly more advanced than the others, with the number Four emblazoned on its chest, glided forward. Its voice, synthesized yet calm, resonated through the cavern. "Intruder designation unknown. However, primary directive: Subject is critical. Once Subject is stabilized, identity interrogation will commence. Bring Subject to the medical regeneration chair."

You didn't hesitate, your eyes fixed straight ahead, ignoring the robotic forms that parted to clear a path. Your focus was entirely on the pale, pain-racked face of the man in your arms. You reached the designated chair, a sleek, ergonomic marvel crafted from what looked like polished crystal and plush, iridescent fabric. Carefully, you began to lower Superman onto its surface.

But before you could fully settle him, three other robots moved with astonishing speed, their metallic arms extending to gently, but firmly, push you back. They took over, their movements precise and practiced, positioning Superman's limp form against the plush surface. Bio-scanners extended from the chair, bathing him in a soft, diagnostic glow.

Four, still standing before you, turned its optical sensors towards Superman. "Subject Kal-El," it intoned, its voice devoid of emotion, "would you like to access the message from your parents? Analysis indicates high efficacy in promoting calm during trauma."

Superman, his eyes barely slits, stirred on the chair. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through him. A small, desperate "Yes," fell from his lips, barely audible above the low hum of the Fortress.

Your gaze, which had been fixed on the prone form of Superman, now drifted to the ethereal projection of his parents that shimmered into existence from the chair. Their faces, noble and serene, flickered with an ancient light. The female, Lara, began to speak, her voice a soothing murmur, a melody you’d only ever heard in your dreams.

"Kal-El, our son," she began, her words flowing in a dialect that was both foreign and intimately familiar.

And then, without conscious thought, you started to repeat her words. Not just in your mind, but out loud. A strange, involuntary echo. "Kal-El, our son," you murmured, the Kryptonian syllables feeling heavy and alien on your tongue, yet perfectly formed.

"The universe is a vast place," Jor-El, his father, continued, his voice deeper, resonating with a paternal gravitas. "You are its hope."

"The universe is a vast place," you repeated, your voice a strange blend of Kryptonian and the English language you’d spoken your entire life. "You are its hope." It was as if a part of your brain, long dormant, had awakened, accessing a linguistic memory you hadn’t known you possessed.

Robot Four, its sensors no doubt registering the anomaly, turned its head, its optical gaze fixed on you. Then, it looked back at Superman. Superman, still wracked with pain, his eyes half-lidded, also turned his gaze towards you. His eyes, though clouded, held a newfound intensity, a flash of recognition. It was as if your echoing words were all the confirmation he needed of who, or what, you truly were. The secret you had guarded for decades was laid bare in that single, profound glance.

You hadn’t even noticed the subtle shift in the Fortress's lighting, hadn't registered the sunlight filtering through the crystalline structure of the ceiling. You hadn't noticed the way it was being magnified, focused into a potent beam directly onto Superman's broken body. Not until you heard him scream. It wasn't a scream of pain, not entirely. It was a guttural, primal roar, a surge of overwhelming energy. Beneath the focused sun's rays, you could hear it, sense it – his body healing, flesh knitting, bones mending with impossible speed. The cacophony of his broken form was being rapidly silenced by the incredible power of your shared sun.

And yet, you kept repeating the message. Your mothers' words, intertwined with his parents', a strange, multi-layered echo in the vast hall. "You will be a beacon... they will follow you... you are not alone." The words poured from you, a torrent of ancient comfort and impossible prophecy, as Superman gasped, healed, and rose from the chair.

He stood. Not slowly, not with effort, but with the sudden, effortless grace of a man who had just been resurrected. The torn fabric of his suit still clung to him, but beneath it, the impossible had happened. The wounds were gone. The blood, the shattered bones, the collapsed lung – all erased as if they had never been. His eyes, no longer clouded with pain, blazed with a fierce, almost overwhelming clarity. He looked at his hands, flexing them, a silent testament to the miracle of his recovery.

Your voice finally faltered, the last echoes of Jor-El and Lara dying in the vast hall. You stood there, the white suit a stark statement, the red-lined leather jacket a defiant splash of your own identity. You felt a strange blend of exhaustion and exhilaration, the alien energy of the Fortress, the raw power of the sun, and the sheer audacity of what you had just done, coursing through you.

Superman's gaze, intense and unwavering, fixed on you. His parents' message, your unbidden echo, the very act of your saving him – it all converged in his expression. "You… you spoke Kryptonian," he said, his voice deep, strong, entirely healed. It wasn't a question, but a statement of undeniable fact.

You said nothing, your breath catching in your throat. There was no denying it now. No hiding. No retreating back to the quiet, invisible life you had meticulously built.

He took a step towards you, then another, the metallic click of his boots on the crystalline floor the only sound in the cavernous space. Krypto, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, remained by the now-glowing regeneration chair, watching both of you with an intelligent, focused gaze.

"Who are you?" Superman asked again, but this time, the question was different. It wasn't laced with confusion or pain, but with a profound, almost desperate curiosity. His eyes, the same piercing blue as before, searched yours for answers. "How… how did you find me? Why did you help me?"

He was close now, close enough for you to see the faint stubble on his jaw, the raw intensity in his gaze. He was a god, yes, but at this moment, stripped bare of his invincibility, he was also just a man, seeking understanding. And you, the man who had always chosen to be nothing, were suddenly the only one who held the key to his questions. The weight of his expectation, the sheer enormity of his presence, was crushing.

You looked at the floor, then back at him. The lies, the denials, the carefully constructed walls of your human existence, were crumbling around you. Your mothers' voices, though silent now, resonated in your mind, a forgotten promise finally, terrifyingly, fulfilled. You were meant for something. You meant something. And now, standing before the very embodiment of what you had rejected, you had no choice but to face it.

You swallowed hard, the silence stretching between you two, broken only by the hum of the Fortress. The truth felt like a physical weight, pressing down on your chest. You had spent a lifetime running from this, from who you were, from what you could do. But looking at him, at the man who was everything you weren't, everything you should have been, the words just… came.

"I'm from Krypton," you finally said, your voice raspy, a stranger's voice. The admission was both terrifying and liberating. "Just like you. And… Kara." You saw a flicker of surprise, then understanding, in his eyes at the mention of his cousin. "We… we were on the same ship. Or, pods near each other, anyway."

He didn't speak, just waited, his intense gaze never leaving yours, urging you to continue.

"I didn't land where you did," you explained, the words tumbling out now, a floodgate breaking. "No farm. No loving parents to teach me about this world, to guide me. Just… an orphanage. A lot of different ones, actually. I learned to survive. To be invisible. To be human." You gestured vaguely to your face, the stubble, the tired lines. "That's all I ever wanted to be. Just… human."

You looked down at the white suit, then up at him, a wry, humorless smile touching your lips. "I kept it all buried. The strength, the speed, the flying… all of it. I saw what happened to people who were different. Who stood out. I just wanted to be safe. To be normal." Your gaze hardened. "I watched you, you know. On my phone. While I cleaned offices. You were everything my birth mothers told me I was supposed to be. A hero. Something."

His expression softened, a deep empathy replacing the initial surprise. "Why now?" he asked, his voice gentle. "After all this time, why save me?"

You clenched your fists, the answer forming a lump in your throat. "Because I heard you," you admitted, the raw truth of it stripping away all pretense. "I heard you dying. And I… I couldn't ignore it. It was like… it was like I could feel it. And for the first time, I couldn't turn it off. I tried, god, I tried. But it just kept screaming in my head." You looked around the vast, alien hall of the Fortress. "And… my parents. Their message. It just… pushed me."

He took another step, closing the remaining distance between you. He reached out, slowly, as if not to startle you. His hand landed on your shoulder, a comforting, surprisingly warm weight. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere, filled with an emotion that transcended the simple words. "Thank you for not ignoring it. For not ignoring me."

You met his gaze, the weight of the moment settling heavily between you. Two sons of a dead world, standing in a monument to a forgotten past, forging an unexpected present. The hero and the human. Except now, maybe, the lines weren't so clear anymore.

His hand remained on your shoulder, a silent anchor in the swirling chaos of your thoughts. The sheer raw power emanating from him, even now, was palpable, a low hum against your skin. It was overwhelming, everything you had actively suppressed, everything you had run from. You saw a flash of understanding in his eyes, a shared burden.

"You're not alone," he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, echoing the very words your parents, and his, had once spoken. "Not anymore."

The simple statement hung in the air, heavier than any physical weight. Thirty years of isolation, of carefully constructed walls, of fierce independence, crumbled under the weight of those three words. You felt a sting behind your eyes, a tightness in your throat you hadn't experienced since you were a child, clutching that bracelet in a cold orphanage bed.

You pulled your gaze from his, looking around the vast, almost sterile beauty of the Fortress. The crystalline structures, the advanced technology, the sheer scale of it all – it was a home built by a god, for a god. And you, the human, were suddenly standing in its heart.

"What now?" you finally managed to croak out, the question raw and unvarnished. You weren't asking about him, or his next battle. You were asking about you. About the life that had just been irrevocably shattered and reborn in the same breath.

He took his hand from your shoulder, and you almost missed the contact. He stepped back, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. "That, I think," he said, his gaze sweeping over the Fortress, then settling back on you, "is up to you."

He turned, gesturing towards a section of the Fortress where various screens glowed with data. "My family built this place as a sanctuary. A place for knowledge, for growth. For… understanding." He paused, looking back at you, a profound invitation in his eyes. "You're from Krypton. This is your heritage too. Maybe… maybe this is where you start to figure out what that 'something' is your mothers spoke of."

Krypto, who had been patiently observing, trotted over to Superman, nudging his hand with his head. Superman scratched behind his ears, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You looked at the white suit, at your red-lined jacket, then back at the man who was now patiently waiting, not for a fight, but for a choice. The human part of you screamed to turn and run, to disappear back into the anonymity of your old life. But the other part, the part that had soared through the night sky, guided by a stranger’s pain, the part that had spoken an ancient language, felt a flicker of something new. Something akin to… curiosity. And perhaps, hope.

The roar of Krypton’s destruction, the whispers of your mothers, the wheezing breath of a broken hero – they had all led you here. To the heart of something immense, something terrifying, and something profoundly, undeniably, yours.

You took a deep breath, the cold, clean air of the Fortress filling your lungs. For the first time in a very long time, you didn't feel lost. You just felt… at the beginning.

[peasack]

When I was scrolling through my Tumblr feed I saw this post by @lucenorthstar and I just had to write headcanons about this.

You guys should totally check out their page since they're just so good at drawing!!!

Thunderbolts x Gn!Platonic!Reader

✦ Thunderbolts Beach Day Headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ Yelena Belova

Queen of beach snacks. She packed like three bags filled with chips, sandwiches, and suspiciously well-made pastries she "definitely didn’t steal."

Brings the most competitive energy to beach volleyball. She will trash-talk you like it’s the Olympics.

Insists on applying sunscreen for you because “you missed a spot” but proceeds to smear it on your face like a toddler with finger paint.

She’s the one dragging you into the water even if you’re fully clothed. “Come on, don’t be boring.”

Secretly makes the best sandcastles but will knock them over if anyone compliments her. “It was ugly anyway.”

✦ Bucky Barnes

Grumpy the entire car ride but secretly loves the beach. He just doesn’t know how to admit he’s having fun.

Always sits under the umbrella, fully clothed, pretending to read while occasionally checking on you like a worried old man.

Refuses to swim unless you ask him directly, then begrudgingly joins but makes sure to stay close to you the entire time.

Packs extra towels, sunscreen, and band-aids because someone has to be prepared.

Loosens up when you bury his metal arm in the sand and tell him it’s treasure. He actually smiles.

✦ John Walker

Mr. Overprepared. Cooler packed, folding chairs, umbrella, frisbee, football, you name it, he brought it.

Will not let you out of his sight. “This beach is huge. I’m not losing you in this crowd.”

Totally starts tossing you into the waves when you’re swimming. He denies it, but he’s definitely having the time of his life.

Gets way too into beach sports. He’s the guy yelling “Let’s run it back!” after winning a game of beach volleyball.

Will carry you on his back if you’re tired, 0.2 seconds after pretending to say “Tough it out.”

✦ Bob Reynolds

He burns. Badly. He slathers on sunscreen every twenty minutes and still manages to look like a lobster.

Brings books and claims he’s “just gonna chill” but ends up getting dragged into everyone’s chaos anyway.

Spends hours collecting cool shells with you and lets you bury his legs in the sand because he doesn’t know how to say no to you.

Bob is the gentle guardian who carries all your stuff without complaint and makes sure you drink water every five minutes.

Has a soft smile the whole day. He’s just happy you asked him to come.

✦ Alexei Shostakov

Absolutely insists on wearing the worst floral dad shirt and flip flops. Thinks he looks fantastic.

Cannonballs into the water and splashes everyone on purpose, laughing like a maniac.

Tries to race you in the water, fails miserably, and accuses you of cheating every time you win.

Brings the loudest, most obnoxious inflatable (like a giant pizza slice) and refuses to share.

Packs way too much food and always forces you to eat more because “you are growing child, must be strong like bear.”

✦ Ava Starr

Sits near the water’s edge, legs in the surf, soaking up the sun quietly while watching over you.

Brings a disposable camera and takes candid photos of everyone, especially when they’re laughing or mid-chaos.

Will protect you from jellyfish like she’s your personal bodyguard. “Get behind me. I’ll zap it if I have to.”

She’s the one who taught you how to skip rocks, and now it’s your little competition every time you’re near the water.

Ava packs the best music playlist and insists on having a mini dance party with you on the beach even if people stare.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Again, for the drawing full creds to @lucenorthstar!!!

Anyways I hope you enjoyed this, and if you guys want more like it and have any ideas for me to write leave a request! <33

[curly-fry-3]

can you pls do dean and daughter reader when she was younger thank you youre so awesomesauce 😽😽

𖦹Younger daughter Headcanons𖦹

pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Daughter!Reader

word count𖦹 445

notes𖦹 bro my teacher started reading this while I was writing ima kms

He would totally baby you. He would want you to have the childhood he never got to have. He wouldn't be the type to say ‘suck it up’ he would always be ready with a band-aid and neosporin (hed kiss your boo boo better)

He's such a girl dad. You wanna play princesses–he's helping you put on a dress, you wanna play dolls–he's getting way too into it, creating drama between the dolls you're too young to understand

Your safety comes first. My man 100% baby/toddler proofed the whole bunker. Every corner has padding,every cabinet is locked, and he put the heavy books on the lower shelves so they couldn't fall on you. He installed seatbelts in the backseat of baby (I don't know why but people always write that the car has seat belts in it, classic cars don't have seatbelts) just so he could buckle in your car seat. 

He keeps you as far away from hunting as humanly possible. Before you went to school, you didn't even know what monsters were. The scariest thing you could probably think of was the chuck-e-cheese animatronic.

Sam would love to read to you. You would always see him and dean researching in the library and you wanted to be included, so you would grab one of your picture books, plop yourself in his lap, and force him to read it to you.

You love copping dean. Whenever he gets a beer from the fridge, you ask him for a juicebox and sit with him to drink together. One time he caught you saying ‘son of a bitch’ in a fake deep voice while you were playing with your dolls.

When you were younger, he would freak out over everything you did. Trust, he had the video camera ready for when you started walking and talking. He almost cried when you said dad for the first time. 

Dean is a single father. In my head, you're the product of a one night stand that was left on deans doorstep. He probably doesn't even remember much about your mom. But he never felt like you would be missing out on much because he had sam and cas to help raise you (before you were old enough to understand what you were saying, you would call cas mom just because he took on the nurturing role that you would see in the TV shows dean would watch)

You are a diva. You live in a house with three men who would do anything for you–and I mean anything.  They have a hard time saying no to you so you're living like a queen in that bunker.

sorry for any typos

@mfstargirlsworld @childofjove @a-lil-pr1ncess @aetherawasneverhere

[scribbledghost]

ive been working 12 hr shifts at my job and I'm so tired I want to start crying like a toddler who needs a nap 😭 customers are mean and my feet hurt! I just want to lay in bed and EEP.

could you write Vessel just, absolutely smothering reader. kissies and cuddles and and and brushing her hair and giving her food while she's just dead weight in his arms. I have no idea what she'd be doing in the manor to make her so exhausted but I just wanna be pampered by a six-eyed sweetheart while I lay in bed and SLEEEEP pls it would fix all my problems

(in all seriousness, your writing is lovely. inhuman Vessel has been a great comfort. thank you for him.)

Note: I'm so glad Inhuman!Vessel can bring you some comfort! I think we can all use some of that right now. Also, a huge thunderstorm rolled in right as I started this, so I'm putting that in as a backdrop of sorts bc to me there is nothing more relaxing than being taken care of while it storms outside.

Sharp flashes of light pierce the manor at irregular intervals, quickly followed by low rumbles of thunder. Rain pelts the windows of your room, wind-whipped into punishing sheets against the glass.

The world outside is hostile for now, but inside there is nothing but warmth and comfort.

You'd been working hard around the manor lately, puttering around and helping the vessels in any tasks they may have had. They would tell you each time that you did not need to concern yourself with their worshiping duties, but you insisted, and they allowed you to aid them in whatever way you wished. Of course, the vessels have a much higher level of strength and stamina than your human self, and you found yourself wearing thin much sooner than they did.

Vessel is the first to notice, literally sweeping you off of your sore feet to carry you to a nearby lounge seat despite your protests. However, it never took long for you to get back up and continue whatever tasks you had been doing, leading to the cycle repeating.

It didn't end until Vessel excused himself from the rest and carried you off to bed, once again ignoring your protests.

"You need rest, beloved," he soothed as he carried you. "I will not stand idly by and allow you to harm yourself in our name."

Once he had deposited you in bed, he'd crawled in after you, intent on keeping you there by virtue of staying with you.

And that's exactly what he'd done. The storm had rolled in shortly after, and now the two of you are curled together in the warmth and safety of Sleep's manor.

"I am grateful that you've stopped fighting me," Vessel muses as he strokes your hair. He places soft kisses against your temple, keeping you close as you relax into him.

"Too much to do," you mumble.

"That is for us to worry about, my love," he replies, "as Sleep's vessels, that is our burden to carry. Not yours."

You begin to argue again, but the incessant growling of your stomach interrupts you. Vessel chuckles at the sudden intrusion, then summons one of the others to bring you food.

Something simple, he instructs. Something I can feed her myself.

II arrives shortly after with a bowl of peeled and sliced fruit, handing it to Vessel directly. He says nothing, only giving you both a light smile before turning to leave again.

"I can feed myself, you know," you tease as he grabs a piece and brings it to your mouth.

"I am aware," he says. "Though perhaps you will allow me the indulgence of doing it for you. Just this once."

It's difficult to say no when he asks so sweetly.

You relax into him further, all but deflating and becoming dead weight in his arms as he continues to feed you and smother you with affection. In between each bite, Vessel kisses whichever part of you his lips can reach, projecting soothing affection into your mind from his own. Words aren't needed here, and Vessel dares not break the silence with them. The only sounds to be heard are the rain and thunder beyond the manor walls and your own breathing.

Once you finish eating what was brought, Vessel also gives you a container of water that had also found its way to the nightstand by the bed, likely a gift from Sleep itself. Satisfied that you are well-fed and hydrated, Vessel returns to petting your hair and placing intermittent kisses where he can.

"Sleep, my heart," he murmurs against your skin. "I will be here when you wake."

As you begin to drift, you mumble a request to him.

"Meet me in my dreams?"

You are met with an affectionate chuckle.

"Always, my love."

[willofthequill]

Sleep Sweet

Welcome back to another adventures in Mouse's Mini-verse! It's Father's Day and the one year anniversary of the start of my Daddy Duty series! I cannot believe I have been writing these silly stories about Mouse and Sukuna for a year! I have had such a blast working on this series, and I have no intentions or desire to stop! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, given Kudos, likes, or reblogs! I appreciate you all and hope you have many happy days ahead!!

If you prefer to read this story on AO3 click here !

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Daddy Duty Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 3 year old daughter with reader. Monkey is their infant son.

Summary: Sukuna is home alone with both children for the first time when the battle for nap time begins.

WC: 1300+

CW: reader is referred to as 'Mama' but not described and no pronouns used for reader, use of the word 'boob' in a reference to breast feeding, kiseru smoking (outside away from kids), but it is all around fluff and SFW.

Fic Divider by: @strangergraphics

“Mama definitely does it better, Papa,” Mouse said from where she sat across from her father on a zabuton. Her legs were crossed as were her arms across her chest. Sukuna recognized the scowl across her face as being a mirror of his own. 

“Does what better, Mouse?” Sukuna asked, trying to soothe the fussy baby in his arms. 

You and Uraume had decided to go to town together, leaving him alone for the first time with both of his children. He had scoffed at you when you asked if he could handle it. Of course he could! 

A few hours in and he had already decided that going forward he owed you a night of absolute pampering for every time he was away. As the minutes dragged by he decided he owed you for all the past trips he had gone on too… How did you do this for sometimes weeks at a time without any aid? 

Every time he got Mouse occupied, Monkey cried. Every time he got Monkey satisfied, Mouse was getting into something…

“Puts him to sleep,” she said, giving him a look that questioned his level of intelligence. 

“Well, Mama has certain… abilities that I do not,” Sukuna said as he tried again to get Monkey to take the bottle.

“Yup! He likes the boob. Papa got boobs, but them not food boobs.”

“I do not have boobs. I have pectoral muscles. But otherwise, your assessment is… accurate.” Once again, Sukuna was flabbergasted by the conversations he wound up engaging in.

Mouse puffed out her cheeks and pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes on her baby brother. She suddenly sat up with a big smile on her face. “Mmmm, Papa! I has an idea!”

Oh, he couldn’t wait to hear this. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“I take a turn to try to make him go sleepy, now. Please and Thank you, Papa!”

Unless her idea was to smother her brother, she could not do worse than he was. Fuck it. “Alright. What do you need me to do?”

“Let's go to the bedroom, Papa!” Mouse got to her feet and did one of her little jumps, signaling her level of excitement. He hoped he did not regret this.

Sukuna stood with Monkey in his arms and followed Mouse to the master bedroom. She clambered up onto the bed and laid on her side. Mouse patted the bed next to her and gave him instructions. “Monkey needs to go here, please and thank you, Papa!” Mouse instructed.

He moved to kneel on the soft mattress and gently laid the baby down on his back next to his sister. “Alright, now what?”

“Papa do something else, please and thank you” she said, resting one hand on her brother’s stomach. 

“Do something else?” Mouse strikes again with her infamous audacity.

Tuna jumped up on the bed and made his way over to the two demon seeds laying in the middle of the giant bed. He moved to wiggle himself between Sukuna's knee and Monkey’s side so that the baby was sandwiched between a bossy toddler and a kitsune with a death wish. 

Mouse gave him a grin and the hand on Monkey’s stomach gave him a thumbs up. “I gots this, Papa! I the big sister, remember!”

To his surprise, Monkey was already starting to fuss less. He let out a dejected sigh and shrugged. “Fine. But you are not to pick him up and I am only giving you 5 minutes.”

“10 minutes.”

“7 minutes,” he countered.

“6 minutes!” she countered back.

“Done!” Who was he to tell her she had short changed herself? An image popped into his mind of the look that you would shoot him when Mouse told you about this exact conversation over dinner tonight… Mouse was right. You were scary. “7 is bigger than 6, Mouse.”

“Then I wants 7 minutes, please and thank you,” she said before she began shushing softly at Monkey.

“7 minutes. And-”

“I no pick him up, promise, Papa.”

Sukuna leaned over to give both of his children gentle kisses on their foreheads and he was pulling away when Mouse said his name. He glanced down to see his daughter’s eyes suddenly starting to get heavy with tiredness as well. “What do you need, Mouse?”

“I need to kiss you too, Papa,” she gave him a tired but toothy grin. She rubbed her face against the soft pillow case and lifted her hand from her brother’s tummy to reach for him.

Sukuna felt his heart melt at the sight and leaned forward. He let Mouse pull his head down so she could place a gentle kiss on his nose. He smiled softly at her and kissed her forehead again, one of his hands reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Sleep sweet.”

Sukuna moved to open the shoji door to the back yard. He stepped outside to sit on the engawa and loaded his kiseru as he listened to Mouse quietly singing the song you sang to them every night at bed time. 

He took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and breathing the hazy mist out his belly mouth. 

He smirked as he remembered the first time he had done that in your presence. He had expected you to be at least mildly disgusted or slightly disturbed. He had expected to see that adorable look you got on your face when you were perturbed by his actions.

But oh no, not his precious one. Your eyes had lit up like fire works in the dark of night and you had immediately handed the kiseru back to him, demanding he do it again. And again. And he did. 

Sukuna would do anything to see you smile and laugh like you did that night. If it meant spending several moments behaving like some damn street performer doing cheap sleight of hand tricks for a few coins, then so be it. 

The same went for his daughter and his son. Anything to protect you guys. Anything to see you smile. 

He was unsure how long he had been lost in his thoughts when his name was called softly from the bed, calling his focus back to the present. He set his kiseru down and headed inside. Noting the quiet of the room he made sure to keep his footsteps light as he approached the bed. 

“Good job, Mouse,” Sukuna praised, seeing that Monkey and Tuna were both sound asleep beside her. 

“I can’t sleep though, Papa,” she said softly. Just like her brother had not long before, Mouse was now fighting her own nap. 

“And why not?” he asked, arching his brow.

“I need Papa cuddles, please and thank you, Papa,” she said, yawning. She moved the hand from Monkey’s belly to point directly behind her at his side of the bed. 

“And why should I?” Sukuna asked, two hands on his hips and two arms folded across his chest.

“Because Papa loves Mouse!” she said, matter of factly. Monkey started to stir and Mouse rubbed his belly, humming softly and whispering. “It okay, Monkey. Oneechan is right here. Oneechan always be right here. Papa be right here soon too.”

She really was your daughter through and through. 

“You are lucky that is true.” With a sigh he laid down next to her, wrapping one large arm across his children and even letting his fingers rest on Tuna’s back, giving the kitsune’s fir a few gentle strokes. “You did good too, Tuna.”

“Shshh, please and thank you, Papa. Don’t wake the Monkey.,” Mouse said in a whisper as she  fit her head under his chin like usual. In a sleepy voice she said, “Sleep sweet, Papa.”

He adjusted his head to kiss the top of her head before resting his chin on it again. “Sleep sweet, Mouse. Now stop talking.”

“Okay, Papa.”

His daughter just had to have the last word. He grinned as he let his own eyes close. That’s my girl.

[babiestbubbles]

Jason Todd Agere HCS

The first of many, icl. I am possessed by DC demons, I have SO MANY thoughts abt them, pls pls pls hmu w/ Prompts, I am dying to write about these little bat boys

Primarily, if not exclusively, regresses when under the influence. The man is so repressed and afraid of his regression that the one of the only ways he can properly slip into his headspace is when he's drunk/high/etc.

Experiences a LOT of impure regression. Sometimes it's little imperceptible things like accidents after nightmares, so at first he brushes it off as a trauma response (which, technically it is but he doesn’t know that yet) or just a lack of bodily control that comes with revival. It slowly evolves into deep, complete regressive episodes when faced with heavy injury, fear toxin, or when he's home and safe after mission.

To expand on the previous point, he has enough control to keep from slipping during fights/high adrenaline situations, but the second his mind and body register genuine safety (ie. arrival at one of his personal/hidden safe houses or Roy's/a close friend's) he plummets into littlespace.

His close friends aren't overly jarred by it, Jason's always been a little softer, a little more sensitive after rough mission. He always meticulously checks them all over first, only allowing them to give him the same treatment once he's certain all immediate needs have been attended to. It's not their place to judge if over the months that softness has evolved from wordless whimpers and silent tears to soft babbles and tiny acts of self soothing.

If digging through his duffle and shoving a familiar stuffed bear into his arms keeps him from wiggling and whining as they attend to his wounds, just as he did theirs not 5 minutes earlier, who are they to look a gift in it's mouth? It's not like rougher, in-field Jason would take to being patched up all that better.

The process would be laced with fussing all the same, whimpers swapped for strings of curses and flinches traded for Jason brashly pulling away, insisting he could do it better himself. At least this way they can be sure his reactions are signs of genuine pain and discomfort rather than scorn and judgment for their first aid abilities.

He would genuinely rather die again then let any of his family know about his regression and makes it an active point to hide it from them, even at the expense of his health and wellbeing.

Idk much abt Steph but I think she, if anyone, would be the only one to pick up on it. I also think she's the best person of the bats to figure it out, because unlike the others who would confront him about it head on and probably scare him off, I think Steph would soft-launch her awareness of Jason’s regression.

It wouldn't be baby-talk and piles of presents. It would be keeping a few spare kids items in her pouches, a tiny teddybear, a pacifier, lollipops. Things she could easily brush off as occupational necessities.

He has almost NO gear on his own. He has the bear Talia gave him when he was first looking after him. (Before she'd thrown him into the pit back when his mind was too frazzled to recognize or comprehend most of his surroundings. When all he could rely on was his senses for comfort. She picked up on this quickly, flooding the boy with soft scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, cardamom tea, fluffy teddy bears and blankets.)

Aside from the bear all he has is a teether, a busted up old thing. It had water in it at some point, he'd found it in the clearance aisle of a Duane Reade, cheap enough to justify to himself. He'd muttered something about it being good to have for keeping toddlers quiet.

It' hadn't lasted a night in the package before he was gnawing at it, suckling on it, finally satiating the desire to nurse his thumb that he refused to indulge.

The teether had made it all of two weeks before he'd worn it out, busting it amidst a particularly bad crying fit. It only made him cry harder, and while he knew logically he should’ve tossed it the second it broke but he couldn't bear to part with his only other comfort item, and he knew he didn't have the stomach to try replacing it.

That it's for nowwww, pls gimme other characters to do!! I love writing abt them, I could honestly do another dump of just Jason hcs, I have so many thoughts about these little bat boys

Obligatory self-promo for my DC agere discord server

https://discord.gg/QwtaNKMq

Join it! Come harass me for fics, hcs, and drabbles personally ‼️ /silly

[hurtspideyparker]

⋆₊⊹˚‧✩ Masterlist ✩‧˚⊹₊⋆

My AO3: hurtspideyparker

Irondad and Spiderson

Bomb Gone Wrong

A Much Needed Hug

I'm Not Your Dad (I Know That, Do You?)

Happy Hogan vs. the Chaotic Intern

Peter Takes Tony on a Poor Person's Tour of New York (Part 1)

Tony Takes Peter on a Rich Person's Tour of California (Part 2)

An Irondad Christmas

An Irondad Father's Day

Restless Spirit Tony Stark

Toddler!Peter Loves Cuddles

Tony's Love for Peter Only Pushes Him Away

Peter Wears a Pair of Tony's Glasses in the Lab

Peter Meets Baby Morgan

Emotional Support Intern Peter Parker

Peter Finds Doctor Doom Familiar

Tony Knew Peter for 2 Years and Mourned Him for 5

Texting series:

Irondad Halloween, Peter has a Puppy, Twitter Advice

Domestic Avengers

The Avengers Think Peter is Homeless

Peter (And Alpine) Want To Play Board Games

Avengers High School AU Incorrect Quotes

Babysitter Peter Finds the Avengers' Weak Spot

Avengers' Galentine's Day

Avengers' Beach Day!

Peter Stress Bakes in the Tower

The Team Thinks Peter is Tony's Illegitimate Child

Clint Likes to Wear Dresses

Tony Is Accidentally Put on Avengers' Suicide Watch

Peter Parker Can Wield Mjolnir

If Civil War Didn't End in Divorce and Everyone Lived Together:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Ship Writing

Steve/Tony:

Asexual Steve x Hypersexual Tony Angst

Steve Yearns For a Domestic Tony

I Thought He'd Go For My Head...

Tony Shuts Up the Captain With a Kiss

Bad Witch Encounter Leads to Much Worse

Unsent Love Letters & Hate Mail

Stony Move in Together and Discover Their Differences

Steve/Tony/Bucky:

Bucky Has Feelings for Steve's Ex-Husband

Stuckony Headcanons

Peter/Johnny:

Everyone Knows They're Dating Except Johnny

Unrequited Spideytorch

Weirdest Striptease Ever (Miscom)

Clint/Bucky:

Clint Helps Bucky on a Bad Day

Fluffy Late Night Shopping For First Aid

Tony/Bucky: Tony Sleeps With a Stranger (Who Turns Out to Be His New Bodyguard)

Harley/Peter: Tiktok Famous Era

Peter/Wade: A Kiss Attack (Fluffy Morning)

Charles/Erik: Erik Loves Charles Like a Dog

Loki/Bucky: Loki Convinces Bucky He Isn't All That Bad

Other Marvel

Bucky Never Fully Comes Back

Yelena Never Answers Her Phone

JFK: The Mutant Magneto Tried to Save & Bucky Assassinated

See Also

I have tons of #incorrect marvel quotes on my blog !

My Peter Parker Spotify playlist + song explanations

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

RTA, you're gonna want to read Camilla Tominey's latest op-ed "Why Harry's Hopes For Reconciliation Are Doomed." If you get a chance to read it, can you give your 2 thoughts on your blog about this? I got the impression it might be a message to Harry from Buckingham Palace.

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/royal-family/2025/06/07/will-king-charles-and-prince-harry-reunite/

Archived Link

Some thoughts:

1. Camilla has confirmed palace sources, so this can definitely be viewed as the palace's perspective or an unofficial palace statement. And remember that The Telegraph's nickname is The Palacegraph.

2. It sounds like the fiasco around the choice of Lili's name and The Queen's reaction (which I suspect those closest to her learned ASAP - Charles, Anne, Andrew probably, William, and Angela Kelly) was the final nail in the Sussexes' coffin, which sealed their fates.

In hindsight, it does feel like this may have been when William wrote Harry off and stopped communicating. We know that William was at least...open and tolerable, I guess, to Harry's presence and speaking with Harry in April 2021 at Philip's funeral (judging by the way William walked with Harry afterwards after Kate dropped back, vs him dropping back with Kate) and per Harry himself in Spare (even though Harry is as unreliable a narrator as a toddler in timeout). But, just three months later at Diana's statue unveiling in July 2021, William was downright frosty to Harry - what changed? Publicly, the only change that we know is the June 2021 Lilibet scandal and Harry didn't share anything else about this time period.

3. This quote underscores the main issue for the BRF: ...it remains an important reminder of just how difficult it will be for the Royals to reconcile with a couple whose “truth” has often seemed to collide with royal reality. To put it another way, the BRF sees the Sussexes as being "us first," which doesn't exactly jive with what public service means (being for the people) or what the monarchy is (supporting the sovereign).

Meaning that if the Sussexes change their mindset, they're able to support The King and tow the company line, and put their focus on the British citizenry, the door may be cracked open for them.

4. This affirms what many of us have been thinking and softly speculating - that Charles's cancer is incurable and he'll be living with it the rest of his life. Given what Camilla writes and what the palace has said before, I don't believe the cancer impacts Charles's quality of life that much more significantly, but I do think it means he may not be as visible a monarch as The Queen was in her 70s and 80s. If you remember, she didn't really start slowing down until around her late 80s.

But I wouldn't say that's a reflection of Charles's cancer either. I think it's more a statement on modernizing the monarchy. Charles will still turn out big numbers engagement-wise, but I don't think they'll be like his numbers as Prince of Wales. While some of the difference could be attributed to the cancer, I think most of the difference is because of the fact that he's King, it's a different kind of work, and being King in 2025 is very different from being Queen in 2002 (when The Queen was 76, the age Charles is now).

This section also seems to set the stage for Charles to turn Buckingham Palace into more the administrative/official "headquarters" of the monarchy, versus being the monarch's home, which would probably lead to the public having access to BP via year-round tours, year-round events and receptions, etc. Instead of the palace being closed to much of the public most of the year, the palace would be open to the public most of the year and closed only on select dates (as Windsor Castle and Holyroodhouse are).

5. Palace aides are watching the British public mood around Harry. If public opinion starts to move in Harry's favor - which it sounds like the palace thinks could happen with Birmingham IG 2027 - then Charles will respond to Harry's pleas for contact.

But the key point here is public opinion. Meaning the public will decide when or if Charles will ever speak with Harry again. Which is what I've been saying all along: if the Sussexes stop talking, stop complaining, stop trying to bait the BRF or the UK to reacting, then there's a way back.

Also important, this section provides Charles's terms for a reconciliation at Birmingham IG 2027:

Archie and Lili must be there too.

It doesn't matter if Meghan is there or not.

This is Charles only - no William, no Waleses, and not the extended family either.

Harry will have to address and manage the hurt feelings he and Meghan caused in the extended BRF with their behaviors and attitudes. (It does sound like the extended family will acknowledge their mistakes too but Harry has to take the first step.)

6. There's a very direct, explicit message from William to Harry in this: William's got more important things to care about than what Harry wants so Harry can stuff it and stop trying.

7. Camilla's final paragraph echoes what's been said here before and on other blogs: there's absolutely no way back for the Sussexes to have official working roles and represent The King (current and future) but there is room for them on the family side.

[leurdhavemerky]

Funny SFW Viktor x Gn!Reader Headcanons 💖

-Viktor cannot STAND black coffee. Sometimes when you're pissed at him, you "forget" to add creamer or sweetmilk. His face is hilarious.

-He isn't an animal guy- they take lots of time to care for... which he does not have. But when you rescue some kitten off of the streets, he can't help but treat it like a baby. He bought one of those little feather shakers and spends his free time snuggling your kitty. Despite insisting he isn't emotionally attached.

"Fur baby? This is not my fur baby! He's just small and fluffy, that's all. Now stop teasing me," he says, dramatically looking up at you while gently petting the little thing.

-Terrible at interior design. Used to have only a single sad wooden chair at the "dining" table. Note: There is a small crack in the sad wooden chair due to prolonged ponderings. 🪑

"Where do you even buy these things? Most of my decor consists of scattered notes and trinkets." (He is looking at a finger painting of a bird that your toddler cousin made.)

-Viktor is a big fan of meal prepping and has a giant pot's worth of soup or pasta available 24/7. Sometimes he invites you over just to help polish off a hefty tupperware full of fettuccine before it goes bad. He's a surprisingly good cook, whipping up a mean omelet for you on lazy mornings.

-He has calloused and worn hands from writing and tinkering all day. As a gag gift, you buy him those kiddie princess band-aids... your know the ones. After a small mishap, he reaches into the first aid drawer of the lab, only to pull out a smiley anthropomorphic dog. Oh well, he thinks, wrapping it around his finger.

"I see you're wearing the band-aids I bought you, hm?" you tease.

"Very funny," he says, eyes still glued to the bolt he's turning.

-Viktor is nosy when he gets bored. He looks through your books, adding little notes on random pages.

"Spicy, don't you think? I'm sure Heimerdinger wouldn't approve. Tsk tsk, dove." - V

📖🖊

(Written in the best chapter of your romance novel.)

-During academy meetings and events, you have a subtle signal for what is essentially a side eye. Phrases like:

-"Did you hear that right?" 🤨

-"That's crazy talk." 🙄

-"Are you ready to leave?" 🥱

-"Look over there." 👀

Are expressed with two hand-squeezes.

“I love you” is expressed with three.

______________________________________________________________

Hello this is my first tumblr thing I'm scared thank you goodbye

[jasmines-library]

Hey I don't know if you've ever done a Winchester!sister story with the sister being really young and also much younger then her brothers, so I don't know if you would be able to do this request for me but I really hope you can:)

Anyway the request is 2 year old reader wakes her brothers up by crying and they get up and find her in her crib her onsie pajamas buttons is open as if she tried to get rid of it and then when Dean picks her up he feels the heat radiating from her.

Both Dean and Sam know they have to take care of the situation. Dean takes her temperature, and they find out she is sick and they take care of her and so on and so on. This is just a type of summary so you can change things as much as you like. I love a good fluff and angst story;)

Loveee your writing and can't wait for this story❤️❤️❤️

Sick Bug

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Summary: When you wake up feeling sick, your big brothers are there to help make you feel better.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Sickness

Exciting sidenote: I am 2 followers away from 1K!!

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

You were crying again. Poor baby had been restless all day, tossing and turning as if you were trying to escape a force that wasn’t there. At first your brothers thought you were just over tired: the three of you had been on the road all day. Travelling with a toddler was dangerous business, so Sam and Dean tried not to do it often, but with Cas MIA and Bobby out of town they were left with no choice.

They had lay you down to rest not too long ago, but you had been restless since then. You had protested being put to bed in the first place, clinging to Dean with your little hands but after some coaxing he had managed to get you to sleep. That and you were absolutely exhausted and struggling to keep your little eyes open.

Then your eyes had come flying open and your little whimpers filled the room. You were too hot and felt like you were going to suffocate as your squirmed, trying your unbutton your pyjamas. Your head ached and your sinuses were uncomfortably blocked, throwing you off balance.

Dean rose slowly from his slumber, altered by your cries. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he made his way to your crib where you were sat up trying to struggle out of your onesie. Sam rolled over to glance at your from his bed. He hadn’t really been sleeping, but seeing as Dean had made his way over to you he didn’t feel the need to.

“What’s the matter, huh sweetheart?” Dean frowned as he reached out to pick you up. Your arms reached out instinctively to grab him as you continued to cry.

The second you were in Deans arms he became increasingly worried about the warmth that radiated off of you and he shot a look to Sam who, at his brothers concerning lack of speech, clambered out of bed and moved cumbersomely towards you.

You buried your face into the crook of Deans’s neck trying to hide from the ache. His skin provided some relief and you sniffled. Dean further furrowed his brow. Your skin was hot. Too hot.

“Sweetheart?” Dean tried to coax your face away from his neck. He brushed away the stray hairs that your cold flush of sweat had plastered to the edge of your face before pressing his palm to your forehead. “She’s warm, Sammy.”

“You feeling poorly, kiddo?” Sam asked, taking you from Deans arms. You clung to him closely and nodded feebly.

Dean moved quickly towards the first aid kit, rummaging around for the thermometer as Sam bounced you up and down gently in his arms to try and soothe you a little. The eldest Winchester’s movements were somewhat panicked as he pulled out the glass cylinder.

“Alrighty sweetheart, open up.” He tried to persuade you to place the tube under your tongue. When you finally stopped trying to turn your tired face away and they had convinced you to hold it in your mouth for long enough, Sam pulled out to reveal that the line had skyrocketed to 101.

“Fever.” Sam confirmed, showing his brother the thermometer. He shifted you in his arms. “Explains why she can’t sleep.”

Suddenly you were overtaken by a fit of harsh, dry coughs that tore through you. Sam winced, rubbing you back gently.

“S’mmy…” you blubbered gripping his shirt tightly.

“Shh. It’s alright sweetheart we’ve got you.” Sammy moved over to the bed, still cradling you in his arms. He looked up at Dean. Realistically he knew that you would be fine, but he had never dealt with anything like this before and it worried him.

Dean on the other hand knew how to handle the situation. He had dealt with Sammy being ill plenty of times when he was younger. But when he looked at your flushed and sweaty cheeks and the way your body shivered ever so slightly, he couldn’t help but feel awful. As though he should have found someone to take care of you instead. But watching you curled up in his brother’s arms he realised he had more pressing matters to worry about.

Moving back to the first aid box, he pulled out a dose of medicine, cursing silently when you were overrun by another coughing fit. It was followed by another whimper. Sam slowly removed the outer layer of your onesie hoping that he could cool you down quicker. Still you clung to him closely, too young to understand that you might get him sick as you sniffled against him, but Sam didn’t care. He would risk being sick if it meant taking away your pain.

“Here we go sweetheart.” Dean wandered back over, a cool glass of water on one hand and a medicine in the other: one of those small sachets that they kept on hand in case of emergencies. “This will help you feel all better.” He promised.

Reaching out you held onto the cup, and with Deans help took a few sips. The icy water soothed the back of your throat and you sighed in content, setting back into Sam a little. It took a little more convincing for you to take the medicine. Tired and overwhelmed you had tried to refuse the bitter taste. But in the end Sam had promised you that you would feel much better if you took it, so reluctantly you let the liquid slide over your tongue.

It wasn’t long after that that you began to grow tired. Your little eyes struggled to stay awake as you lay curled up in Sam’s lap. Dean had perched beside him, watching shitty cartoons to help keep him awake so he could monitor your temperature in case you got any worse. Though as your ragged breaths evened out into tiny half-snores, the medicine seemed to be doing its job as your temperature seemed to slowly fall back down to a slightly more normal number.

At some point, Sam had also fallen asleep. Rubbing circles on your back and smoothing over your hair had lulled him into slumber. Dean smirked and pulled the bedcovers over the two of you. It looked like you weren’t going back to your bed tonight.

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SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr

@aestheticdaisies

@xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys

@inlovewhithafairytale

@harleycao

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[rotten-pomegranate]

Hey! I love your writings so much. Recently I’ve read your headcanons about some HxH yanderes making their Darling smoke weed, and was wondering how you think Chrollo and the Trouble Trio would handle it if it turned out their Darling was actually resisting smoking the joint because of an allergy to weed, to the point that even just smelling it can cause symptoms anaphylaxis in Darling?

adult trio and trouble trio + uvogin Reader is allergic to weed

Fallow up to this one for trouble trio + uvogin and this one for adult trio

Warnings: forced smoking, Noncon, kinda drugging?

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Chrollo

This man is ready, he has the shot, he was watching you just in case so when it actually happens he’s not all bent up

He lays you on your back and gives you the shot, brings you some water and cream to soothe your rash and then let’s you go to bed

When you wake up he’s gonna ask why you didn’t wanna smoke but the answer won’t matter to much because now he already knows

Hisoka

Hisoka knew it was a possibility so he did get you an inhaler just in case but he didn’t think you would need it

When the reaction starts to come he’s already in you and he doesn’t have plans of stopping until he’s done so he just shoved the inhaler in your mouth and continues

He might just be sadist enough to make you smoke again if he’s in the right mood

Illumi

Illumi wasn’t really thinking about that, he was just thinking about your tolerance and how much you would need

Luckily his family does have a medical building that he brought you to and they have everything you could medically think of so your gonna be fine

He wants to know if it’s curable so he can make you as calm as you were again

Shalnark

Shalnark doesn’t even notice at first, he just gave it to you so he could have sex with you without the struggle and he knows people have different reactions to sex so when your breathing gets weird he doesn’t pay much mind to it

It’s only when he sees your eyes getting red and breathing become fully difficult sounding that he thinks something might be wrong and when he figures out what he’s gonna look up stuff to do while he calls phinks to bring a pill for you

Phinks

Phinks doesn’t even know what going on when you start choking on nothing, this poor man just wanted some quiet

He goes and googles your symptoms to weed and sees your having an allergic reaction to it he’s gonna feel bad for all of two minutes before he starts yelling at you for not telling him that you could die

He gets the medicine but your gonna get a beating after you e slept

Feitan

Feitan has a pretty big first aid kit at his house, it’s not normal it has everything including allergy medicine

He’s gonna make you work you them, taunt You with them like they where candies and you where a toddler while you just sit there on the floor

He’s gonna give them to you only after you’ve begged on your knees, you don’t get a break after you take them because you on your knees like that turned him on

Uvogin

He thought about it happening but didn’t do anything about it, he figured it was a pretty low chance and it wouldn’t happen to you

He was wrong, there you are coughing and wheezing because you took one puff, eyes red, through hurting

He runs to the local pharmacy to grab you every different treatment method known to man to see what one you take and then just gives you all of them

[niiwa-angel]

Starscream and Skyfire on a date.

Starscream: So, what do you think of the Auto-scum?

Skyfire: You know, I think they might have a point.

Starscream, shoving ruststicks into his purse: I'm sorry, I have to leave.

~~~

Cliffjumper: Bad news, our Prime locked his keys inside his office

Cliffjumper: Good news! I can pick locks

Cliffjumper: Bad News. Prime now finds it very concerning that I know how to pick locks and he's given me three lectures about 'the value of privacy'.

Cliffjumper: Good news, my cute coworker saw me pick the lock.

Cliffjumper: bad news. It was Arcee, and she's already seen me fall off several ledges, cry because I saw a turbo fox that was too darn small, and knows I can ride a unicycle. She's never going to think I'm cool, that ship has sailed.

~~~

Skywarp: My great scam is that I've befriended a lot of incredibly intelligent people by concealing my indefensible stupidity Via the power of maintaining eye contact, nodding my head and going mhmm.

Skywarp: In my defense, I don't outright pretend to be smart, and if anybody challenges me on it, I'll admit that I'm out of my depth. I simply do not challenge the assumption that I know what they're talking about.

~~~

Starscream: I'm sick of hearing about which crystals will heal and cleanse my soul. I want to know which ones can hurt you and fuck up your vibe!

Sunstorm: Uranium

Shockwave: Any, if you're willing to resort to violence.

Starscream: You're speaking my language

~~~

Optimus: My toddler accidentally cursed himself into an existential crisis today.

Optimus: He's been crossing things out with his chalk and asked me to write his name for him. I did, he crossed it out, and then he freaked out because he thought it meant he didn't exist anymore.

Optimus: Every hour or so he asks me "am I still Bumblebee?" And I have to hug him and promise him he is.

Ratchet: Love the implication here that he was fine erasing things from existence until it affected him.

~~~

Mirage: I read that Capsaicin makes your mouth feel like it's burning because it increases your nerve sensitivity to heat. And methanol does the same thing but with cold. So if I eat a bunch of habanero peppers and breath mints, they should cancel out!

Mirage: Hey! Guess what hellfire tastes like!

First Aid: Fun fact! The nerve endings for "ouch too hot" and "ahh too cold" are different! Which means both can be activated at the same time, without cancelling out.

[shirefantasies]

hello :) im new on your page so im not extremely familiar with what you're going through but I'd still like to wish you a smooth recovery before saying anything else.

considering your condition you can absolutely take as long as you need on this request or just not do it at all but i just NEEDED to get this idea off my chest

so last night i read your LOTR characters and how many children they would have hcs and now i absolutely cannot get the idea of frodo with a little girl out of my head :(

just imagine a hobbit toddler with frodos curls like running around and being silly ☹️☹️☹️

anyways if you could elaborate on that or just some hcs of frodo as a dad in general would be so greatly appreciated :)

i wish you a smooth recovery and i hooe that you're alright

Thank you so much! I'm sorry this is an OLLLLLDDDD request and I can't remember when this was originally put in but it would be so funny if it was pre-emergency room trip 😂 but no matter what all healthy here finally 🥰 I hope it's ok that I decided to expand on this a little for everyone!

The Hobbits as Dads (Wife!Reader)

Frodo

✧ As I've mentioned, Frodo wants a smaller family, so you end up with two children, a daughter first, then a son. Both of whom just love their sweet father to pieces!

✧ Frodo and your daughter especially are just joined at the hip. She’ll sit on his desk swinging her legs while he writes or illustrates, asking him what he’s doing until he’s basically reading to her and working all at once!

✧ She chases him around the meadows, giggling as he lets himself almost be caught only to turn around and swoop her up into the air with a wide smile of his own!

✧ Frodo gets so soft whenever he holds your son, who looks just like you! Your daughter has his eyes, but your son is the spitting image of you and he just loves it. He could watch you just sitting there with your little boy in his arms watching forever, but in the end his feet carry him right to your sofa to snuggle in, your little girl on his heels!

✧ Dances with your daughter at every party, even when she is little and has to stand atop his feet as they twirl.

✧ Every morning Frodo wakes your children up with a kiss to the forehead and it almost brings tears to his eyes sometimes at the way your little boy absolutely leaps into his arms to be carried out to breakfast, the biggest smile on his little face, so reminiscent of his beloved wife's.

Sam

✧ The absolute king of making all his children feel heard despite having so many! He's invested in so many hobbies, but the children make him the dearest things, so it's ever so worth it.

✧ For example, Elanor pens the most amazing tales and Sam is always talking about her way with words. Saying how she certainly didn't get it from him! It must be from her brilliant mother. Having heard stories of Gandalf's fireworks, Hamfast works tirelessly to unlock their secret, creating his first little sparklers just in time for his father's birthday party! Sam tears up a little at this.

✧ The father who carries as many kids at a time as he physically can. One hanging around his neck, one on his back, and he strains to lift the ones dangling from his arms, too.

✧ So sweet whenever his children cry that they go to him just as often as you! Takes them in his arms and always has the kindest, most uplifting words ready.

✧ Has a tree, bush, or patch of flowers named for and aided in tending by each child as they chose their favorite.

✧ All the ladies of the Shire giggle at the sight of Sam wrangling three little ones at the market, trying so hard to keep his words gentle as he's holding another of their siblings and they want to put their hands on everything. "But that's simply not polite, now is it?"

Merry

✧ He’s always wanted at least one son and one daughter, and let me tell you: his daughter will have him wrapped around her finger.

✧ Even if she looks just like you, your daughter has Merry’s smile and as a baby, she mirrors his expressions exactly. You catch him playing peekaboo with her all the time and making faces just to see them spreading across her soft cheeks.

✧ Making toys for his kids becomes a passion of Merry’s. He spends hours carving a little wooden sword for your son that looks as close to the one gifted to him from his fellow soldiers of Rohan.

✧ The dad who takes his kids on outings so mama can have a break! After making you breakfast, Merry runs off with the little ones to go berry picking and brings them back a complete mess of dirt and juice splatters, but also grinning excitedly and holding up brimming baskets of their harvest.

✧ Congratulates your daughter the first time an angry mother complains to him about her slapping her son, who had pushed her down. “That’s right. Don’t let anyone treat you like that.” Turning to you, Merry grins, eyes all aglow with admiration. “Hear that? She’s a fighter!”

✧ Bedtime is a whole production. Bath time, a story, time laying with each child to talk about anything they want, tucking them in…and you can pry it all from Merry’s cold dead hands.

Pippin

✧ The dad who thinks all of his children are so neat, no ifs, ands, or buts, and is best friends with them all. Also the proudest father who cannot stop talking about them all into any remotely available set of ears.

✧ Your firstborn son is Pippin’s best friend, running as soon as he can walk and toddling after his father anywhere he can go, and Pippin always welcomes his company!

✧ Lifts his young ones up onto the Green Dragon tables too and lets them show off their moves or simply holds them while he jumps a little more gently! Your older son is jigging at his side, your second son leaping, and your little girl is on his hip all while Merry and his son dance next door and you watch with the baby in your arms!

✧ Encourages his children’s off-the-wall imaginations with all sorts of questions about their little worlds and creatures and of course taking on some of their roles when they need him for a game.

✧ Chaotic apple picking trips with the whole family, which comes to total you, Pippin, and all six of the kids running around like beheaded chickens between the trees and trying to show you the best apple! The oldest boys start tossing them back and forth like a ball, but they also help you bake pies by corralling the little ones and making the process fun for them. Pippin brings the baby in and holds him, teasingly pretending like he’s going to let his little hands steal your apple pieces.

✧ The father who learns every goofy magic trick to make the kids laugh. Always pulling something from behind their ears.

Bilbo

✧ Had you asked him only a handful of years prior, he would have said no children in the house, thank you, but here he is now having tea parties and making boats to float in the stream with your daughter.

✧ The most devoted dad, if a little overprotective. Always hovering behind her, hands raising over her curly little head the moment any possible danger could strike.

✧ Teaches his daughter all the proper tea etiquette after he buys her the perfect little set, fretting a bit when she spills but grinning so proudly as she pours him his little cuppa! They have tea parties all the time and Bilbo addresses all her dolls by name. She insists, after all.

✧ He also takes her on a lot of “adventures” that mostly consist of walking through the woods on the edges of the Shire and picnicking on bread and cold meat and cheese from your larder alongside the fruits they pick.

✧ Is very disconcerted when your daughter insists that not only is she going to visit the Lonely Mountain with her papa someday, she is also going to marry a dwarf. Guess she really enjoyed his stories!

✧ Your daughter knows how to do everything. Mend handkerchiefs? Definitely. Finally take that crack at the plumbing? She's right there with her father. Botany? But of course, for how else will they know what all the books they read are describing! Fighting? You both are teaching her that. Your daughter will never be afraid to take on anything with you two for her parents!

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[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lisa Needham at Daily Kos:

Although Elon Musk’s exit from government service was the messiest breakup ever, the multibillionaire’s legacy will live on in the so-called Department of Government Efficiency. It’s not just that DOGE personnel are now squirreled away in other agencies, though that is definitely the case. Sadly, DOGE’s real legacy is the mindset of cutting government to the bone with little regard for the consequences. 

We’re still playing the “Who Runs DOGE?” game

This is the stupidest game. Remember that the Trump administration played coy about Musk’s role, saying with great fanfare that he was the head of DOGE, yet insisting to courts that Amy Gleason, a random official who seems to have learned of her new role while on vacation, was running things, although she also found time to work at an entirely different agency.  Gleason is still listed as the acting administrator, but just as was the case during the Musk era, she doesn’t appear to be doing anything at DOGE. Instead, Russell Vought, Project 2025 guru, Christian nationalist, and head of the Office of Management and Budget, will now run DOGE from the shadows.  Where Musk was a mercurial toddler who slashed and burned his way through the federal government, Vought is methodical, steadily advancing toward his twin goals of putting federal workers “in trauma” and making America a Christian nation controlled by a conservative Christian government. Put another way, Vought is just as committed as Musk was to destroying the administrative state—and he might be better at getting that done. 

DOGE’s AI efforts still suck

Despite all evidence to the contrary, the Trump administration remains convinced that DOGE will somehow replace thousands of government workers with artificial intelligence. When they tried to let AI decide which Department of Veterans Affairs contracts to cancel, it was a predictable disaster. The AI tool hallucinated the value of contracts, deciding that over 1,000 contracts were worth $34 million each. The DOGE employee who developed the tool had no particular background in AI, but used AI to write some of his code nonetheless. Then DOGE let the thing loose in the VA, where it determined that 2,000 contracts were “MUNCHABLE” and therefore not essential. 

This is only the latest pathetic effort by the administration to push shoddy AI tools on federal agencies. One federal employee described GSAi, an AI tool for the General Services Administration, as “about as good as an intern” that gave “generic and guessable answers.” Another chatbot at the Food and Drug Administration’s Center for Devices and Radiological Health has difficulty uploading documents or allowing chatbot users to submit questions. Not a big help, particularly since humans are already pretty capable at uploading documents and answering questions. Despite these repeated failures, the administration remains convinced that AI is magical and ready for prime time. 

[...]

Some of the worst DOGE cuts are about to become law

While DOGE was given free rein to hack its way through the federal government, the administration only sent a few of DOGE’s cuts to Congress for them to be passed into law. Out of the $160 billion ostensibly saved by DOGE—well short of the promised $2 trillion—the administration asked Congress to codify only $9.4 billion.  The budget’s passing would slash $1.1 billion from NPR and PBS, eliminating all their federal funding because Trump thinks they are radical leftists, a thing that anyone who listens to NPR or watches PBS knows is not true. Trump also wants to make permanent the $9 million slashed from the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief.  Modeling studies show that the PEPFAR cuts could result in up to 11 million new HIV infections and 3 million additional deaths by 2030. By one estimate, over 63,000 adults and 6,700 children have already died because of PEPFAR funding freezes. Those deaths are on Musk, DOGE, and Trump, but none of those ghouls care. 

Feral DOGE kids remain in agencies 

DOGE is now embedded at the General Services Administration, and new permanent government employees now include “Big Balls” Edward Coristine and Luke Farritor. It’s unclear how 19-year-old Coristine’s background as a hacker for hire and 23-year-old Farritor’s background as a SpaceX intern make them qualified to work in the GSA, but LOL nothing matters anymore.  Interior Department Secretary Doug Burgum has basically ceded all his authority to former oil executive Tyler Hassen, who is now running that agency as a sort of shadow Cabinet minister after the DOGE takeover. Hassen is perfect for turning Interior from a department that protects public lands into one that exploits them by allowing oil and gas drilling instead. 

Another DOGE denizen who got a sweet government job is Airbnb founder Joe Gebbia, who is embarking on a “digital design challenge” overhauling the Office of Personnel Management’s retirement system.  Over at the CDC, all grants must now be reviewed by unnamed DOGE employees before money can be released. This occurs after review and approval by agency personnel who are public health experts rather than tweens infatuated with Elon Musk. This mandatory secondary review gives DOGE personnel the ability to block any grants based on whatever the spiders in their brain are saying at the time, which is not exactly helpful for public health. 

Even though Elon Musk is no heading up DOGE, DOGE continues terrorizing government agencies.