#WOMAN NOT TODAY EPILEPSY SHIRT

[estellan0vella]

Face It Together ❀ SatoSugu Masterlist HFBU

You sit in the sterile, overly bright doctor's office, your fingers anxiously twisting the fabric of your shirt. The familiar clinical scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils as you wait for Dr. Kuroda to enter. You've been struggling with your epilepsy for years now, and your current medication isn't working as well as it used to. Seizures have become more frequent, more intense, and you've been feeling increasingly desperate for a solution.

When the door finally opens, Dr. Kuroda walks in with his usual confident stride. His white coat flutters slightly, and he offers you a cursory smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Good afternoon," he says, glancing briefly at your medical file. "What brings you in today?"

Taking a deep breath, you explain your situation, your voice wavering slightly as you describe the worsening seizures and the toll they're taking on your life. "I really need to try a different medication," you finish, looking at him with a mix of hope and apprehension.

Dr. Kuroda leans back in his chair, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "You know," he begins, his tone condescending, "we have to be careful with changing medications, especially for young women like you. You might want to have children someday, and many of the more effective medications can cause complications with pregnancy."

You feel a flush of anger rise to your cheeks. "But I'm not planning on having children right now. I need to be able to live my life now."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Women often change their minds about these things. It's important to keep your future options open. Besides, you need to understand that your worth as a woman isn't just about your career or personal achievements. Motherhood is a beautiful and fulfilling role."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, incredulous. "Are you saying that my life and well-being right now are less important than some hypothetical future children?"

Dr. Kuroda's expression hardens. "I'm saying that we need to consider all factors, including your potential role as a mother. Let's not make any hasty decisions. We'll have a follow-up appointment for when you're feeling less emotional"

The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. You feel numb, your mind replaying his words over and over. By the time you leave the office, your anger has given way to a deep, aching sadness. The sun is setting as you make your way home, the sky a beautiful wash of orange and pink that you can't bring yourself to appreciate.

When you step into your shared apartment, the familiar warmth and comfort of your home does little to alleviate the weight pressing down on your chest. Satoru and Suguru are in the living room, their faces lighting up when they see you. Satoru's white hair is slightly tousled, and Suguru's long, dark hair is tied back in a loose ponytail. The sight of them usually fills you with a sense of peace, but today it only reminds you of how helpless you feel.

"Hey, how did it go?" Satoru asks, his blue eyes scanning your face with concern.

You force a smile. "It was fine," you lie, dropping your bag on the floor and slipping off your shoes. You walk past them and head to the kitchen, needing a moment to compose yourself.

Suguru follows you, his brows knitted in worry. "Are you sure? You don't seem fine."

You busy yourself with making tea, your hands shaking slightly. "Really, I'm okay. I just... need a moment."

Satoru and Suguru exchange a worried glance but give you the space you need. You lean against the counter, taking deep breaths, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. The kettle whistles, and you pour the hot water over the tea leaves, the familiar ritual grounding you somewhat.

Finally, you carry your cup to the living room and sink into the couch between them. The silence stretches out, heavy and uncomfortable. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "You know you can talk to us about anything, right?"

The tenderness in his voice is your undoing. You burst into tears, burying your face in your hands. "It's just so unfair," you sob. "He wouldn't change my medication because he thinks I might want to have kids someday. He acted like my whole worth is tied to being a mother."

Suguru's eyes darken with anger. "He actually said that?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

You nod, wiping at your tears. "He said we shouldn't make any hasty decisions and that motherhood is a beautiful and fulfilling role."

Satoru's grip tightens on your shoulder, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. "That's bullshit," he says bluntly. "You're worth so much more than just the potential to have kids."

Suguru takes your hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "We're going to find you a new doctor," he says firmly. "Someone who will listen to you and take your needs seriously."

The warmth of their support begins to chase away the chill left by Dr. Kuroda's words. You sniffle, looking between them. "Thank you," you whisper. "I just feel so powerless."

Satoru brushes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "You're not powerless," he says softly. "You've got us, and we're going to fight this together."

Suguru nods. "You're strong, and you deserve to live your life on your own terms. We're here for you, no matter what."

Their words are like a balm to your wounded spirit. For the first time since the appointment, you feel a glimmer of hope. You lean into their embrace, the weight of their love and support easing the ache in your heart.

The next few days are a blur. Despite the reassurances from Satoru and Suguru, a lingering sense of dread keeps you from sleeping well. Your symptoms persist, and the frustration mounts. A few days later, you schedule another appointment with Dr. Kuroda, feeling like you need to give him one last chance before moving on. You decide to bring Shoko along. She's known you for a long time, and her medical background means she can advocate for you more effectively.

When you arrive at the office with Shoko, the atmosphere feels tense. Dr. Kuroda's condescending smile returns as he sees the two of you. "Good afternoon," he greets, though his tone is less than warm. "I see you've brought a friend."

Shoko's presence bolsters your confidence. "Yes, this is Shoko Ieiri. She's a medical professional and a friend."

Dr. Kuroda's smile tightens. "I see. So, what can I do for you today?"

You take a deep breath, summoning the strength to speak up. "I've been thinking about our last appointment, and I really need to address my current medication. It's not working, and the seizures are getting worse."

Dr. Kuroda sighs, leaning back in his chair. "We've been over this. Changing your medication could impact your ability to have children in the future. It's important to consider that."

Shoko interjects, her voice calm but firm. "Dr. Kuroda, while it's important to consider future fertility, the primary concern should be her immediate health and quality of life. There are alternative medications that can be explored."

Dr. Kuroda's eyes flicker with irritation. "With all due respect, Miss Ieiri, this is a matter for a qualified physician to handle. The patient needs to understand that her priorities might change."

Shoko's expression hardens. "And with all due respect, Dr. Kuroda, I am a qualified physician so it's Dr Ieiri, and I'm here to ensure that my friend gets the care she needs. It's clear that her current treatment is insufficient."

Dr. Kuroda's demeanour shifts to one of open hostility. "I appreciate your concern, but women often regret hasty decisions about their reproductive health. It's essential that we don't close any doors."

You feel a surge of anger at his patronizing tone, but Shoko beats you to the punch. She stands up, leaning over his desk. "What is essential is that she doesn't suffer from untreated epilepsy. Your job is to treat her medical condition, not to impose your personal beliefs about her reproductive future."

Dr. Kuroda's face reddens with anger. "I don't appreciate being spoken to in this manner."

Shoko's eyes blaze with fury. "And I don't appreciate your blatant disregard for your patient's well-being. If you refuse to adjust her treatment, we'll find someone who will."

You feel a rush of gratitude and empowerment at Shoko's fierce defence. Dr. Kuroda glares at both of you, but you no longer feel intimidated. "We'll be seeking a second opinion," you say, standing up beside Shoko. "Thank you for your time."

As you leave the office, you feel a mix of relief and lingering frustration. Shoko puts a comforting arm around your shoulders. "We'll find you a doctor who actually cares about your health," she assures you. "No one should have to put up with that kind of treatment."

Back at home, you relay the encounter to Satoru and Suguru. Their anger mirrors Shoko's, but their support is unwavering. Satoru pulls you into a tight hug. "You're not alone in this. We're going to find someone who listens."

Suguru nods in agreement. "You deserve the best care, and we'll make sure you get it."

The intensity of the moment softens as the three of you settle into the cozy living room. Satoru shifts so you can nestle more comfortably against his chest. His arms are secure around you, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a grounding presence that makes you feel safe. "You know," Satoru murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face, "you're the strongest person I know."

You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I don't feel very strong right now."

"That's because you're tired," Suguru says, sitting down beside you and Satoru on the couch. He places a gentle hand on your knee, his touch warm and reassuring. "But strength isn't about never feeling weak. It's about pushing through, even when it's hard. And you're doing that every day."

Satoru nods, his eyes full of unwavering confidence. "Exactly. We're so proud of you, and we’ll be here every step of the way."

The warmth of their words begins to dissolve the lingering tension from your appointment. Satoru's fingers trace soothing patterns on your arm, while Suguru's steady presence beside you provides a comforting anchor. You lean into Satoru's embrace, feeling the weight of the day's stress slowly lift.

"Let's do something relaxing tonight," Suguru suggests. "How about we order some takeout and watch a movie? Something light and funny."

Satoru perks up at the idea, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "I've got just the movie in mind. You guys are going to love it."

You can't help but smile at their enthusiasm. "That sounds perfect."

As the evening unfolds, the apartment fills with the comforting aroma of your favorite takeout. The three of you gather on the couch, a tangle of limbs and shared blankets. Satoru insists on picking the movie, and soon enough, the room is filled with laughter as a ridiculous comedy plays on the screen.

Every so often, Satoru and Suguru exchange knowing glances, silently checking to make sure you're okay. Their concern is palpable, but it's wrapped in layers of affection and camaraderie. They make you feel like you're not just a patient or someone who needs protection, but a beloved partner whose happiness matters deeply to them.

As the credits roll, Satoru nudges you gently. "Feeling better?"

You nod, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "Yeah, a lot better. Thanks to you two."

Suguru wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "We're a team, remember? We're here for the good days and the bad ones."

Satoru plants a playful kiss on your forehead. "Exactly. And we'll always make sure there are more good days than bad."

You close your eyes, basking in the warmth of their presence. "I don't know what I'd do without you both."

"Luckily," Satoru says with a chuckle, "you'll never have to find out."

Suguru squeezes your shoulder gently. "We're in this together, always."

The three of you stay curled up on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. The conversation flows easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. Every word, every touch, every glance reminds you that you are deeply loved and supported.

As the night wears on, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. The world outside might be uncertain and sometimes harsh, but here, in the safety of your home, you have everything you need. Satoru's playful banter, Suguru's calm strength, and the unbreakable bond you share make you feel invincible.

"Let's get some rest," Suguru suggests softly. "Tomorrow is a new day, and we'll face it together."

Satoru stands up, stretching his arms above his head. "Agreed. And who knows, maybe tomorrow we'll find the perfect doctor."

You rise from the couch, feeling lighter than you have in days. As you head to bed, sandwiched between Satoru and Suguru, you realize that no matter what challenges come your way, you have the best possible support system by your side. With them, you know you can face anything.

The next morning, you wake up feeling refreshed, ready to take on whatever the day brings. And with Satoru and Suguru by your side, you know that you'll never have to face it alone.

This is actually a genuine struggle young women face when getting placed on meds for any form of epilepsy. So you get given the ones with worse side effects that make you depressed and sick because who cares how we feel right? Inspired by this

[storm-angel989]

how would vox and the other vees react to the school calling voxs ohine saying his daughter had a seizure at school? Btw I love ur writing keep uo the good work bbg.

Hi there! So I actually have a similar request that I’m working on parallel to this. So consider this one reader’s origin story in a sense. I don’t have epilepsy myself, but I do have folks in my life who do so I hope I did your request justice! 

The spike in her vitals sent the instant alert to Vox’s phone.

At first, he thought it was a glitch. After all, his daughter seemed fine when he dropped her off at preschool that morning. Same as every other day, she had hugged him goodbye and ran into the school eager to begin the day. When he saw the school’s number, he assumed she had gotten hurt on the playground. Scraped her knee maybe, or worse case- a broken arm. But as he sat in the limo that raced towards the hospital, he wished that had been the case. 

We always call an ambulance the first time a student has a seizure at school, the school nurse had told him. I understand your preference to treat her at home, but this is our policy. 

Part of him knew she was doing her job. The other part of him was livid that his daughter was sent to a hospital. As if she was a commoner and not the daughter of one of the most powerful overlords in hell. He pushed his way inside and shoved those in line out of the way. 

“My daughter has been brought in and I need to know where she is right now,” Vox growled at the receptionist. “And then I want her discharged and sent home.” 

“You’ll have to wait like everyone else in line…” the nurse began.

Electricity crackled. He grabbed the counter and glared at her.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” he snarled. “Bring me to my daughter, now.” 

To his utter dismay, the nurse looked completely unbothered. 

“I couldn’t care less who you are. We have rules that need to be followed. Get in line behind everyone else and wait your turn.” She told him calmly. 

Vox’s anger boiled. Just as he was about to make every piece of data on this woman vanish, a familiar voice pulled his attention away. 

“Daddy!” a little voice called from the stretcher. 

He raced over to her and one of the nurses began to tell him to step aside. Vox turned around, eyes glowing red.

“You can fuck right off. This is my kid, and I want her discharged immediately.”

“Sir, you can’t…”

“It’s kidnapping if you don’t. I said, stop touching my kid,” he snapped, “release my kid, now. Or I will have you charged with assault.” 

Less than a half hour later, reader was settled into the familiar hospital room in her Uncle Valentino’s studio. Around her, her Aunt Velvette and Uncle Valentino fussed, fluffing her pillows and straightening her blankets as they waited for the doctor and Vox to come back in. 

“Babygirl, how do you feel?” Valentino asked as he smoothed back her hair. “Can Uncle Val get you anything?”

Reader shook her head. “Tired, Uncle Val. I want to sleep.”

“In a few moments baby, lets hear what the doctor has to say,” Velvette replied quickly. 

The door swung open and both Vox and the doctor stepped in.

“Hey baby,” Vox said quietly as he sat down on the bed with her. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she replied as she reached for him. “Daddy, I want a hug.”

Vox carefully took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Daddy’s here. Let’s listen to what the doctor has to say, okay?”

Reader nodded and turned her attention to the doctor. 

“Reader, your tests show that you have epilepsy. Epilepsy is when your brain sends too many electrical messages at once and that causes seizures, which is what happened to you today. It’s almost like…” the doctor paused and looked to Vox. “Almost like when your Dad gets mad and his screen fizzes out for a moment. Your brain does the same thing, and it can make you forget what’s happening and make you quite tired.”

“Am I going to die?” Reader asked fearfully. 

Vox felt her hands grip his shirt. He shook his head no and hugged her tighter. “No, baby. It’s serious, but at the core it's just something unusual that happens in your brain. We can treat it, to an extent, but we’ll teach you what to do to keep you safe, okay?” 

“We can talk more later on, and come up with a plan,” the doctor added. “For now, you’re clear to go home. Sleep in your own bed. You’ll see me again tomorrow for a few more tests, and we can discuss what to do next. Sound good?” 

Reader nodded. She laid her head on her father as he scooped her up and carried her back upstairs, Velvette and Valentino close behind. 

“Daddy, Auntie Vel, Uncle Val? I’m scared. Stay with me?” Reader asked once the elevator door closed. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

“Always baby,” Vox replied with a kiss to her forehead. “I think we could all use the rest.”

[thetravelerwrites]

Eli (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Rabbitman Additional Tags: Exophilia, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, Second Person POV Content Warning: Epilepsy, Partial Mutism, Facial Scars, Nearly Fatal Accident, Seizures, Myoclonic Jerks, Absence Seizure, Head Injury, Sex Words: 4255

The finale part of @littlemissmonsterfan​‘s commission! After a day out at the market with Eli, he and Winnie finally confront each other about the truth. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

After a breakfast you barely touched, Eli arrived. He was dressed a bit nicer than normal, which perplexed you. After greeting your mother, the two of you left and went to Market Row, where many vendors had set up stalls in between the established local stores.

Despite being a small town, Coleville was known for its diverse, well-guarded marketplace and friendly attitude toward traveling merchants, as long as they weren’t doing anything shady or selling anything illegal. There were always new vendors selling new things, so going to Market Row was a different experience every time you went.

Though, you didn’t go often. With your condition plus helping at the store, going to the market was difficult on your own. Doing most things was difficult on your own, if you were honest. Since you couldn’t talk, many people were hesitant to work with you and often shied away from interacting with you. It was exhausting. The stares at your scars didn’t endear you to strangers, either. Without the buffer of your mother, Eli, or another of your friends who knew sign language, dealing with other people was a chore that you often avoided.

Eli seemed in good spirits today; chipper even. He was smiling at people and being much chattier than normal. You weren’t sure if you were enjoying this weird out-of-character mood of his or if you felt jealous; he normally only acted like this with you.

Well, and Marnie, too, probably.

Alright, you were jealous.

There was a candy stall set up that you’d never seen before, selling honeyed nuts and caramels and candied fruit. It was all crazy expensive, but the vendor seemed to be doing well for himself. Considering the price of sugar, candy was a rare treat usually reserved for the very rich. It seemed many people in town felt this novelty was worth the splurge, including Eli.

“Let’s go get some,” He said.

“But!” You protested. “It’s so pricey!”

“When’s the next time we’ll get the chance? A little bit won’t bankrupt us,” He said. “It’s a special day, after all.”

“Why?” You asked, dreading the answer. “What makes today so special?”

He simply laughed and pulled you by the hand toward the stall. He bought a small bag of honeyed walnuts for himself and several crystallized fruit sugar sticks for you. Despite the astronomical cost, he refused to let you pay for yours.

Your anxiousness was growing steadily throughout the day. He bought you things all the time, but it was usually small things, bits and bobs he thought you might like. The candy and the perfume from the other day were the most expensive things he’d ever bought in his life, as far as you knew, and he’d given them both to you. Why? Because he was leaving? Were these presents to soften the blow? If that were the case, you wanted to tell him to take them back, but you also didn’t want to hurt his feelings. It was clear he was trying to make your last day together special.

He took you to the pub for lunch, where you saw Marnie and Theo. She winked at you from across the room, although you weren’t certain why. When you asked them to join the two of you, Marnie declined, saying they had an errand to run before forcing Theo out of his seat and dragging him behind her out of the bar. Theo seemed as confused by Marnie’s behavior as you did, but Eli didn’t comment.

Just before sunset, he took you up to the hill that overlooked the town where you and he had often played when you were children, and the two of you sat there with the dinner he’d packed for the two of you: fruit and cheese and ham cooked into bread. It was another costly thing in an already extravagant spread that had been this day.

While you ate, the two of you sat and talked. It was a long, deep conversation, the kind the two of you often had, just discussing everything and nothing. Eli was the only person you could talk to like this. Gods, you’d miss this.

“You know,” He said, popping a piece of the candy into his mouth and crunching noisily. “I do love this town. It may be small, but it’s home. I’d be terribly sad if I ever had to leave.”

With those words, the dam of anxiety you had been holding back all day broke, flooding your body with panic. As hard as you tried to stop, you couldn’t keep the tears from your eyes, and they fell down your cheeks unabated. He was looking out over the valley that cradled Coleville, staring at the sunset, so you didn’t think he noticed you at first, but perhaps you made some small sound without meaning to, a gasp or a shuddering breath, because you suddenly felt his large hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” He whispered softly, a degree of alarm in the deep timber of his voice. “Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong? What is it? Are you feeling alright? Tell me what’s wrong, love. How can I help?”

For a moment, you were crying too hard to allow coherent thought, so he put an arm around your shoulder and snugged you into his side, letting you weep piteously into his shirt. Once you’d calmed down, you looked him square in the face.

“Are you going to take the job in Dunmountain?”

He seemed taken aback. “How did you know about the shop job? Did Marnie and Theo tell you?”

“It doesn’t matter how I found out, why didn’t you tell me?” You asked him, a frown on your face.

“Because I wasn’t sure how to feel about it and wanted to get my thoughts in order first.” He studied you pensively. “Do you think I should go? Be honest. Your opinion matters to me, so I want to know what you really think.”

You took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “The part of me that is your best friend says… yes. Of course you should go. It’s a good job, a great opportunity. I mean, running your own shop! You wouldn’t be Mama’s carthorse anymore; you could be the boss. And you’d get to move to the city, a big place that has everything you could ever need. Compared to that, Coleville is just a hole in the ground. The part of me that wants what’s best for you thinks you’d be so much better off if you went.”

“But?” He pressed.

“But,” You said, staring out over the valley, the tears falling anew. “But there’s another voice. A voice I don’t listen too as often as I should. One that’s usually quiet and easy to ignore, but now it’s screaming so loudly that I can’t hear anything else.”

“What does that voice say?”

Sobs wracked your body as you forced your hands to say, “Don’t go. Please. Please stay. You’re the only reason my life still has color. If you’re gone, everything will be gray and cold. I don’t want to lose you, not to anything. Stay.” You covered your face in your hands, unable to stop crying.

He pulled you into a tight hug and held you. “Shh. Shh, love, it’s alright. Don’t make yourself sick. I wish I’d known you were so worried, I’d have told you sooner.” He pulled back and tilted your chin up so that you were looking in his eyes. “Winnie, I didn’t tell you about the job because I never intended to go.”

“What?” You asked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” He replied. “Yeah, it’s a good opportunity and it’s a change of scenery, but who cares? My home is here, my life is here. I have no higher aspirations than to live out my life in our pretty little hole in the ground, as you said, surrounded by our friends. That’s all I want. And besides,” He said, laying a hand on your cheek. “No matter what I decided to do, do you really think I’d ever leave you behind? You’re stuck with me, love, no matter what happens. I’m with you for life.”

You blinked. “Me? Why?”

He gazed at your face for a moment before answering with an affectionate voice and a tender smile.

“I think you know why, Little Bear.”

Your heart sped up so fast that it felt like your chest contained a hummingbird, flitting about your ribcage as if it were a garden of flowers in full bloom. You shook your head, disbelieving.

“No? You don’t know?” He said, his smile becoming a little sad and rueful. “Well, if you don’t, it’s my fault, isn’t it? Forgive me. Allow me to be crystal clear.”

He bent his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, hesitating to deepen it in case you pulled away. Elated, you responded by grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him harder. You hadn’t hoped for this. You hadn’t even dreamed of it, but it was happening. His lips tasted of honey.

The two of you broke apart and he laughed at your exuberant reaction. “I hope that means you accept,” He said, wiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs

“But what about Marnie?” You asked.

“I talked to Marnie last night,” He replied. “We’ve broken up. She’s going to take over the store instead of me.”

“Wasn’t she upset?” You asked with concern.

He shook his head. “It was a mutual decision. I told you, Marnie knew what our situation was from the start. Our relationship was fun, but I could never have with Marnie what I have with you. I love Marnie, but I’m in love with you. She knows that, she always has. This way, she gets the big job and I get to be with the woman I love. We both get what we want.”

“I still want to talk to her and make sure she’s okay,” You said with a worried grimace.

“Of course,” He replied, running a soothing hand through your hair and pulling you closer. “She and Theo will be leaving tomorrow afternoon. They’ll both likely want to say goodbye to you before heading off.”

You sighed, placated but not convinced. “Eli,” You asked him curiously. “Why did you ask me to come out today, if you were never going to leave?”

“Because I’ve always wanted to take you on a proper date, and I never could until today,” He said, smiling the sweet, warm smile he only showed to you. “I’ve always loved you, Winnie, ever since we were kids, but I was never sure if you felt more than friendship for me, so I always hesitated to make a move. I started dating Marnie in the hopes that I would move on and get over you, which is a terrible reason to start a relationship, I know. It didn’t work, anyway; I never stopped loving you. Breaking up with Marnie and turning down the job finally gave me the courage to act on my feelings. Even still, I wasn’t sure how you felt about me until just a minute ago.” He grinned ruefully. “I’m glad you didn’t smack me.”

“I might still smack you,” You said, your hands moving sharply in annoyance. “You should have told me about all of this a long time ago. At the very least, you should have told me about the job.”

“I know,” He replied regretfully. “I just didn’t want you to worry yourself to sickness over it. You’d already had a bad fall. I didn’t want to add to your stress, but it seems I did anyway. I’m sorry for not being more forthcoming. I’m sorry for not trusting in you.”

“Well,” You said. “If we’re going to be together, there’d better be no more secrets, mister.”

A slow smile spread like a sunrise on his face. His long ears twitched, one after the other, as they did when he was excited. “You’ll be my girl, then? Officially? I can shout to the world that were together?”

“Only if you promise not to hide things from me anymore, not matter what it is,” You told him sternly.

He kissed your temple. “It’s a promise, love.”

“Good,” You said. “Now take me home.”

He seemed disappointed. “Alright. Are you tired? I suppose it’s been a long day, though it’s been so great I don’t really want it to end yet.”

“No, I don’t mean the store,” You said. “Your home. Your room above the pub. I haven’t been in it before. Take me there.”

“...oh,” He said. He actually gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah. Sure, of course.”

It was actually adorable how nervous he seemed. He packed up the picnic and took your hand, leading you back into town.

It was after dark when the two of you got back to the pub, so most of the stalls had shut down and the pub was packed with people. As such, no one noticed the two of you walk through it, hands clasped, and head to the stairs at the opposite end. He stopped in front of the fourth door on the right in a long hallway on the third floor, letting go of your hand so that he could pull a key from his pocket and unlock the door.

The room inside was tidy and small, with a bed and a table on one side, and a wash basin and bureau on the other. There was a small fireplace on the opposite wall and a candelabra on the mantle. Eli set down his basket of food on the table and went to light the candles while you explored. The room was bare of personal belongings besides his clothes and a few books, although you did notice a little wooden rabbit, faded with age, sitting on his bureau.

“I can’t believe you kept this,” you told him.

He smiled. “Of course I did. It was a present.”

“I remember,” You said, returning his smile. “I scraped up every penny I had to get it for you. It was hard because I had to go to the market and try to get the vendor to understand what I wanted, even though I couldn’t talk to him.”

“All because I told you I’d never gotten a present,” He said, coming close and taking it from you, turning it over in his hands. “A lot of the kids at the orphanage never got presents, you know. Why did you only get one for me?”

“You were special to me,” You told him, looking up into his sweet brown eyes. “You still are.”

With his eyes locked on yours, he set the rabbit down and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tight against him. You stood on your tip-toes to kiss him, kicking off your shoes. His hands reached for the ties of your bodice, untying the knots and pulling the strings loose. You started on the buttons of his shirt.

It started slow, but as more and more clothes fell to the floor, the urgency became more intense, the kisses deeper, the clinging more insistent. By the time both of you had shed your clothes, you were gasping so hard you could barely catch your breath. You fell onto the bed together, and the sound of his antlers knocking against the wall brought you both back to reality. The two of you laughed self-consciously.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

“Don’t you?” You asked in return.

“Oh, I’ve dreamed of this,” He replied emphatically. “I just don’t want to rush you. I know this is all a bit sudden, so if you want to wait…”

“I thought I’d never see you again after today,” You told him. “I was fully prepared to pine for you for the rest of my life. I’m ready for this. More than ready.”

“If you insist,” He said with a grin, maneuvering the two of you to the head of the bed so that his antlers weren’t scraping the wall anymore and bent to kiss you again.

His hands, the pads of which were rough like sandpaper, roamed your body, touching every hidden inch. When they grazed your breasts, you made a noise involuntarily, a soft whimper. Eli popped up on his elbows and looked down at you.

“Did you like that?” He asked. You nodded. “Can you do that again? Make that noise?”

Since the carriage incident when you were little, something in your brain prevented you from being able to form words, but you could make sounds. You didn’t like to do it around other people because it made you self-conscious, but Eli seemed to be enjoying it. As Eli kneaded your flesh, you did it again. Eli bit his lip, his hand moving further south.

“If I do something you don’t like or feels wrong, or if you start to have an episode, push me away, alright?” He said as he reached down to open your legs, throwing one over his hips as he lay beside you, and you nodded again.

He flipped his hand so that his knuckles caressed down your belly to your core, the back of his pointer finger slicked down your slit and back up again, rubbing against your clit and beginning to move in slow, tight circles like a gentle massage. You tried to keep your eyes on his face, but they closed on their own as the pleasure began to flow through your body. More of those sounds he liked so much issued from you as your breathing became uneven.

You were on your back, and Eli was on his side next to you, caressing you and watching your face. You hand was down by your side, and you felt something nudge it. Your head came up and looked down, and you were shocked to realize his cock was fully erect and right next to your fingers.

He looked down as well. “Oh!” He said, pushing his middle away from you. “Sorry.”

You shook your head. “Touch?” You asked with one hand and pointed at his organ.

“If you want to,” He said, returning to his previous position.

Looking down over your body to his, you reached out and touched the head of it, hesitantly at first but with growing confidence. It was smooth and silky, the same dusky grey as his fur with a blush pink tip. Eli buried his face into your hair and inhaled deeply, sighing with satisfaction. His massaging sped up, and your legs began to twitch.

As the two of you touched each other, you kissed lovingly and lasting. You pulled up your knees instinctually and he moved his hand to reach underneath your thigh, continuing the pressure against your clit. Your pelvis moved against his hand and the pitch of your noise increased. Eli responded positively to that, moving his lips to your nipples and taking them into his mouth, circling his tongue around them.

A crash of explosive bliss rushed through you, your muscles tensing and your back arching.

“You’re alright?” You heard Eli ask anxiously. His voice was a little distant, due to the rushing sound in your ear. You turned and cuddled into the fur of his chest, nodding happily. He wrapped his arms around you and snugged you in tightly, his nose pressed into your neck.

“I can’t believe this is really happening. I’ve loved you since we were little kids. I never believed you’d love me back.”

“Why?” You asked him, looking at him curiously. “Why would that be so hard to believe?”

He shrugged and avoided your eye. “I don’t know. I… I guess maybe… I felt like you blamed me for what happened with the carriage.”

You sat up in shock and stared at him in disbelief. “What? I’ve never blamed you, not once! How could you possibly think such a thing?”

He sat up too, pulling his knees up and resting his elbows on them, his head down. “I was right there, right next to you. I could have pulled you out of the way, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

You pulled his arms away and tugged his head up, climbing into his lap. “Have you been shouldering the idea that this was your fault all this time? No wonder you’re always so grumpy. It was no one’s fault but my uncle’s, you know that, Eli. He was a cruel, selfish man who will got what was coming to him.”

“I’d have killed him if you’d let me,” He said darkly.

“Well, I didn’t. Forget him. I have.” You kissed him again. “He’s gone. Let’s not think about him. Think about us, about where we are right now.”

His guilty frown transformed into a bright, lovely smile. “Happily.”

The two of you took your time, kissing and touching while you were straddling his lap, and when you asked him to, he reached between you and pressed his cock to your entrance, carefully guiding you down onto him. There was a sharp pinch, but it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would.

He grasped your hips and showed you how to move as he thrust into you from underneath. He kissed your face and neck and chest and whispered how much he loved you over and over. You grunted and moaned and made more noise than you likely had in your entire life. When you came again, it was like fireworks, like sunrise, like every beautiful thing. He pulsed inside you and threw his head back, wheezing unsteadily.

You went limp in his arms with your head resting on him. He pressed his lips to your shoulder and went still as well as the both of you recovered in silence. Eventually, he lay you down on the bed and covered you both with the blanket.

“It’s gotten late,” Eli said, yawning. “I’d love for you to stay the night with me, but do you think you’re mother would be upset?”

You snorted. “Are you kidding? I think she knew this would happen eventually.”

“Your mother is a smart woman. She always has been,” He said.

“She’s smug about it, too,” You gestured snidely, and he snickered.

“In that case, sleep, love,” He said. “I’ll be right here.”

With your face nestled into the softness of his chest fur, you were happy to comply.

The next morning, Eli ordered in breakfast and the two of you lounged until noon. It was the closest thing to a vacation the two of you had ever had. You started to feel guilty around lunchtime, though, and headed back to the shop. Your mother had a smug smirk on her face as the two of you came inside, which you ignored.

An hour later, after you changed clothes and helped with the sweeping, Marnie and Theo came by to purchase some provisions for the road. After they made their purchases, you and Eli followed them to the woodcarving shop and met with Cetzu and his father in law, who were loading up two covered wagons that were full of inventory for the new shop in Dunmountain.

You gave Theo a hug and kiss and then stepped back for a moment so that Marnie and Eli could talk privately. Their farewell was brief, and after a short hug, Eli waved you over and went to bid Theo farewell. You went to Marnie and pulled her aside, out of earshot of the others.

“Are you really okay with this?” You asked. “Breaking up with Eli and moving to a new city?”

“Yeah, it’s exciting!” She said, her face bright. “I’ll have my own store, just like you will someday! It’s wonderful. I get my fancy life in the big city, and you get Eli, like he’s always wanted. Everyone wins.”

You felt like her words were sincere, but also like she was overselling it.

“Marnie,” You pressed. “Do you love Eli?”

She continued to smile at you, but it had changed almost imperceptibly. She pulled you into a tight hug.

“Don’t look so sad,” She whispered gently into your ear. “Everything is as it should be. Be happy. Take care of the big guy for me, eh? And take care of yourself, too.” She pulled away and continued to smile kindly. “If anything happens to you, Eli won’t know what to do with himself. He loves you more than anything in the world, you know.”

You nodded, unable to keep the regret off your face. “I’m sorry, Marnie.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. I’ve got a new job to keep me busy. I’m happy about that. And I’ll send you letters telling you all about it.” She hugged you again. “Be well, little sister.”

You wrapped your arms around her tightly and squeezed for a solid minute. When you released her, she kissed your forehead before taking a step back and swinging up into the driver’s box of her covered wagon next to her hired escort. Theo followed suit in his. Marnie snapped the reins and the caravan took off toward the glittering city.

Eli came up and wrapped you in his arms.

“You alright?” He asked. “You look sad.”

“I’ll just miss them,” You said.

“Me too,” He said. “Maybe I’ll take you on a trip one day to visit them. Maybe it could be our honeymoon.”

You turned with a shocked look on your face and he chuckled.

“In time.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[wndmxmffs]

@evilregal2002: Hey, I’ve never done anything like this but I’ve always loved readers inserts so I though I would give it a go. I would really love a Marvel reader insert and because I’m gay I would love for it to be with a woman. I have extremely dark brown hair, almost black. Light brown eyes with flecks of green and gold. I’m only 5ft but curvy (in all the right places 😏) sorry had to make a joke. I love music and I play saxophone, piano, trumpet, and cello. I’m a total nerd and love to read which means I’m a ravenclaw. I’m also pretty shy and don’t really like confrontation. I know this is greeting pretty long so sorry. I’ve always had body issues and still to this day I’m very self conscious about my body. I’m a Sagittarius, born December 2nd. And when I was 13 I got diagnosed with Epilepsy and started having seizures. I’m sarcastic and I like to take charge when it comes to things outside, but when I’m with people I love or close with I rather be the “submissive” one. Oh and I have ivory skin.

I ship you with…

Jane Foster

okay so you come off as a very intelligent bae?

and honestly, Jane would be head-over-heels for you from day one

she would love listening to you talking about anything that you have to say

you would also give her private concerts and she would adore the fact that you can play so many musical instruments

Jane would love playing with your beautiful hair and have your head in her lap while both of you would be reading

she would help you a lot with your epilepsy and seizures and you’d know you could always count on your gorgeous girlfriend

she would love your height, because you’re just so cute and sweet and Jane would want to be hugging you all day

you would constantly tease her with your sarcasm, making her roll her eyes and smirk at you

and last but not least, soooo much body worshipping

It was the first rays of sunshine flowing into your room that woke you so early in the morning with your right arm casually thrown around Jane’s waist. You slowly sat up, trying not to wake your girlfriend as well and looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. It was way too early for you to be up on a Saturday morning when you had no paperwork to do, but you still decided to climb out of bed and maybe even get dressed in your girlfriend’s comfortable clothes. You opened the doors of the wardrobe slowly so they wouldn’t creak too terribly when you heard Jane shift in your shared bed.

“Don’t you even dare climbing out of bed, Miss,” she said with her raspy voice and you turned around with a big smile on your pretty face.

“I was going to treat you with something special as breakfast, but okay, let’s starve all day then,” you replied, already choosing an oversized shirt as your outfit today when Jane lifted the blanket all the while blinking innocently at you.

“We’ll get to breakfast later, but first, I need my cuddles,” Jane whined, pouting at you. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes but eventually putting the overused shirt down and giving in to your girlfriend’s wishes.

“Okay, then. But only for a few minutes. There’s still  work to do today, you dummy.”

Jane just hummed and buried her face deep in the crook of your neck, slowly falling back to sleep again. 

When you woke up later, it was already past 11 am, but you simply couldn’t help but smile as you saw Jane peacefully sleeping with her mouth slightly open.

your playlist:

lp - lost on you // onerepublic - counting stars // lana del rey - young and beautiful // ed sheeran - give me love // birdy - skinny love // coldplay - the scientist // the neighbourhood - flawless // the chainsmokers feat. coldplay - something just like this

A/N: hey there! hope you liked what i came up with for you, and i’! m terribly sorry for being so freaking late! Please, leave your feedback in my inbox. It would honestly mean a lot. Have a fantastic day, cupcake! 

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED (any requests sent will be deleted)

I DON’T DO SHIPS ANYMORE

[brainbuffering]

Not epilepsy related, I know, but please bare with me. I made a joke on Twitter about how I could probably write a 2 page essay on the title page for Grayson #8. 

The tweet was liked by Grayson Creatives: Jackson Lanzing, Tim Seeley and  Mikel Janín. I intended to leave it just there, however, I couldn’t get it out of my mind, and apparently I have no self control because 3 days later I had written a five page essay on it, and well once you’ve written 2894 words on a subject you may as well publish it somewhere. And because I might as well say it here, if you ever want to read more essays like this, let me know, and you can support me on Ko-Fi if you’re feeling extra generous <3 

So after a quick shout out to my sister Ruth for reading it over and providing invaluable feedback, and the wonderful Wednesday Club discord for helping me brainstorm titles and providing general encouragements, I present:

Climbing the Eiffel Tower: Dick Grayson as a feminist sex icon

Tim Seeley and Tom King’s 2014-2016 DC Comics series Grayson follows the story of Dick Grayson as he infiltrates the spy network known as Spyral and travels across the world chasing one adventure after another. Making his first appearance in 1940 as Batman’s sidekick and protégé, Robin, he became just as famous in popular media as the Batman himself. Unlike most comic book characters, Dick Grayson was allowed to age, going from the eager child circus acrobat to a teenage superhero leading his own team. He later went on to find a day job as a cop, whilst still moonlighting as a superhero under the new name Nightwing. For a short time he even picked up the cowl and became Batman following Bruce Wayne’s apparent (nobody stays dead in comics for very long) death and adopted Bruce’s son Damian as his own Robin. In 2014, following his own apparent death, he was granted the new moniker Agent 37.

Although Seeley and King’s Grayson series was very much grounded in the DC Universe, (where Super-powered humans saves the day by running backwards through time and green shape shifting aliens attend high school) the series had just as much in common with 60s Spy films. Nazis were punched, skimpy swimsuits were worn, and the day was saved again and again thanks to a handsome man with a dashing smile. Yet one of the distinguishing features of the much applauded series was the presentation of Dick Grayson as a sex icon. In an industry berated for its sexualisation of female characters, where a teenage girl is put into a purple metal bikini and it is called liberation, Grayson brought a rare respite for female fans. Suddenly the object of affection was male.

It is a running joke amongst DC fans that Dick Grayson is the sexiest man in all comics (at least from an American perspective). In 2013 Dick Grayson even gained the number one spot in Comics Alliance’s list of 50 Sexiest Guys in Comics, beating fellow former Robin Jason Todd (Ranked No. 23) and the Batman himself (ranked No. 46). It was in the 1980- 1984 New Teen Titans series that Dick Grayson was able to step out from the shadow of the Bat, and start to become the sex symbol he is known as today. Along with starting to appear shirtless, he was also shown to be in a sexually active relationship with his girlfriend, Starfire: a teenage alien princess clad in, yes, a purple metal bikini. Perhaps when created in 1940 he was meant to stay the eager young boy, that is not the character we see today, as one internet commentator described him, he’s “that kid at thirteen who’s hot at twenty-one” (Jaffe, 2017). Dick Grayson is now one of the few male comic book heroes who is deliberately designed to be a sex icon aimed at women. He’s the heir to a fortune, he’s charming, he respects women and he’s got an amazing arse. He’s the sort of non-threatening pin-up model you’d be happy to take home to meet your mother. That is, if you weren’t concerned your mother might not try and take him for herself.

This side to his character is demonstrated in Mikel Janín’s illustration for title page of Grayson #8: “Cross my heart and hope to die” published in 2014. The image depicts Dick Grayson demonstrating a gymnastic maneuver to seven teenage school girls during their gym class. He wears form fitting leggings and a sleeveless shirt, displaying his muscular physique. Meanwhile, the students wear a standard uniform for British Private School Girls: a red rugby shirt and white gym shorts. This helps depict both their social class and their social position. There is a text box at the top of the page which reads “...That doesn’t stop me from wanting to climb up on its Eiffel Tower.” Lower down on the page, a speech bubble depicts Dick saying “Ladies? Are you even paying attention? I swear.”

Janín’s layout is deliberately designed to draw attention to Dick’s butt. The support beams of the wall follow from the text box at the start of the top left of the panel, along to the right of the page and then straight down to the buttocks. The viewer then follows Dick’s legs down to take in the school girls whose attention is firmly set upon said buttocks. It is then their gaze that visually leads you down the rest of his body. The entire set up of the image is for the viewer to see Dick Grayson in the same sexual light as the teenagers do. It enforces Dick’s role within the DC Universe as a teenage heartthrob by showing just that, a line of teenaged girl whose hearts (and other parts) throb at the sight of him.

The fact that Dick’s legs lead you down along the line of students demonstrates that they have just as much importance within the image as Dick. Some would argue that this is an example of fan-service, that is to say, images simply put in place to titulate the consumer. However Janín has not drawn Dick with just the viewer in mind. He wants you to take in the school girls too, and see Dick from their point of view. Whilst this is still asking you to see him as a sexual figure, by having the overall view point be from above, the viewer is able to take step back from the scene, and allow us to also side with Dick. The viewer is meant to see the whole situation from a third-party perspective, yet still asks us to sympathise with the teenage girls crushing on their attractive gym teacher. If the purpose of the piece was for the viewer to sexualise Dick for themselves, his body would have a far more prominent feature, blocking out the girls entirely from view and posing in a more deliberately sexualised fashion, as opposed to the actual image where Dick is just going about his job in a conventional fashion, meaning there are no purple bikinis or broken spines in sight. Dick’s ignorance to the girls attraction towards him adds humour to the image, where his frustrations at their lack of attention are juxtaposed with their very real fascination with his body.

This use of humour helps to set a tone for the comic, wherein the reader is made to feel relaxed and amused by the content before it swiftly changes to something more serious. In the case of Grayson #8 it is one of the girls’ other mentors, a middle aged woman, screaming for help. While some might argue that the clear focus on Dick’s buttocks is purely for fan service, and so is an act of objectification on par with that shown towards female characters, the fact that the image genuinely helps progress the story suggests otherwise. The panel of Dick Grayson teaching gymnastics provides the reader with further insight into the characters’ personalities and roles within their society, whilst the general page layout sets up the pace and rhythm for the plot of the book. If it were just for fan service, it would have been easily removed from the story with no consequence.

However, it is true that one of the selling points of Dick Grayson is his sex appeal. Writers Gail Simone and Devin Grayson have both spoken about how they deliberately write Dick Grayson to have sex appeal. Simmone, who is probably most academically sited for her her women in refrigerators campaign (in which she points out the distressing prevalence for female characters to be brutally murdered in order to progress a male character’s story) as a comic book writer has often included sexualised male characters in her work, Dick Grayson being one of them. She argues that since there are enough female characters who are sexualised in the media, she therefore has said she needs “to have sexy characters who might appeal to more people” she wants “there to be characters for everyone” (Simone, 2014). It is important to note, that Simone does not specify that only women are sexually attracted towards these men, nor indeed that all women would be, simply that there in order to diversify audience, one needs to diversify character appeal. Whereas Simone’s approach may stem from a socio-political form of feminism, Grayson has a more capitalist approach. In an interview discussing Dick Grayson as a sex symbol, she suggested that not using the character as such is a serious marketing failure: “It’s astonishing to me that sexy male superheroes aren’t marketed as aggressively as sexy male vampires or sexy male boy bands. There’s obviously tons of money to be made there. There is no one on the planet that will devote more energy, social media advocacy, and money to a favoured cause than a smitten teenage girl.” (Grayson, 2015). Indeed, in editor Kate Kubert’s original pitch for Grayson, she described it as “a cool, slick, sexy spy book starring Dick Grayson” (Seeley, 2015). Dick Grayson’s sex appeal was always meant to be integral to the story.  

Therefore, it is not really a surprise that it is the the title page for Grayson #8 that draws such attention to Dick Grayson’s sexy arse. This could be interpreted as male objectification, since it is Dick’s highly attractive body that is being used to draw in readers to the series. Indeed, the bottom panel in particular is designed to make the reader turn the page and find out what is happening. The viewer is only shown a hint of what the woman is possibly holding, and that she is in complete distress. She is asking for help, and the reader assumes that Dick Grayson is going to be the one to provide it, though one would have to buy the book to find out more. It would naturally appeal to a female heterosexual audience to have an attractive male hero go and rescue a woman in need of aid. It is important to note, that whilst other comic series (and indeed spy films) also have attractive men saving women, what makes Dick Grayson stand out here is his more nurturing role. He is in the middle of teaching a class, not sipping a martini in a cassino. Furthermore it is the female gaze depicted here (almost literally in this case since the audience is partially sees Dick through the eyes of teenage girls) and not the male gaze. This is not a power fantasy where a strong dashing man jumps in and saves the simpering young blonde woman, this is a fantasy in which you witness the nice, handsome teacher come to the aid of a grey haired middle-aged woman. The first fantasy is decidedly that of a heterosexual man, the second of a heterosexual woman. Therefore, if the fantasy that is being presented revolves around Dick’s personality and abilities, it cannot be objectification, since you cannot objectify someone who has personhood.

Yet, even if this image is an example of objectification, the question arises of whether it is harmful objectification, or whether it is acceptable given the context. The sexual objectification of a character takes away their agency, their personality and treats them as nothing better than a particularly life like sex toy. The prevalence of this in female characters reflects upon a society that does not value women, or even consider them as people. Therefore, if Dick Grayson is being objectified, is it as dangerous as when female characters, such as Starfire, are objectified? Dick Grayson already has an established character that goes back over 75 years, and as a rich white-passing (Grayson confirms him to be Romani in decent) cis-man has been granted narrative privileges that other characters have not been. Dick Grayson has always been empowered and valued by readers and creators, so objectifying him every now and then is not going to do too much harm to his overall characterisation, nor help maintain an existing real life precedent for a social inequality.

Dick Grayson’s sexualisation in Grayson #8 is a satirical commentary based upon just that. The book came out in an environment where criticism of female objectification and sexualisation in comic books was starting to become a more publicly discussed issue. 2012 saw the beginning of The Hawkeye Initiative which looked at how female characters were drawn in comics and parodied them by drawing Marvel’s Clint Barton (A.K.A Hawkeye) in the same pose. The campaign was widely celebrated across the internet, though many creators (predominantly male) were insulted by the disrespect shown to the original creators. Of course, part of the project was to disrespect the original creators by displaying how sexist their original drawings were, so to that extent, their reaction was incredibly valid. However, the spirit of the initiative was always to encourage conversation in a light hearted, humourous fashion that did not single out any one creator. Grayson #8 demonstrates the exact same humorous approach. The image does not speak to how Dick Grayson is purely a sex object, or oppressed in any way, it speaks of an understanding that it’s about time the playing field was evened out; that heterosexual women and gay men should have someone they too can fantasise about. It welcomes you to join the teenagers in admiring Dick, and let’s you understand that doing so is harmless and fun. This also helps to subvert a classic spy movie trope, where the male protagonist treats the female heroine as nothing but an object of desire, and she is shot from angles that only accentuate those elements. It is clear that when Kubert asked Seeley to create her a “sexy spy book” (Seeley, 2015) it was Dick Grayson who would be providing the sexy, and not his female co-stars.

As discussed in Camille Bacon-Smith’s seminal 1992 work on Fan Studies Enterprising Women, fandom has often been used as a tool for female sexual exploration, and though Bacon-Smith views this from a slightly more critical outsider’s perspective, more recent studies that have come from within fandom itself, and have shown the way it can help people develop an understanding of their sexuality in a safe manner. This has become particularly true for teenage fans, who often use fan-works to explore these parts of themselves. It is especially important to have these spaces celebrated, since teenage girls’ sexuality is often ridiculed elsewhere in popular media. From Stephanie Meyer to Ringo Starr, actors, musicians and writers have all been pushed to the side as irrelevant just because they’re popular amongst teenage girls, and the quality of their work is assumed straight away to be nonsense just based upon their fanbase. Yet, as Grayson said, it is these same fans who will show the utmost dedication and passion (Grayson, 2015) for works that speak to them, and treat them with respect. That is exactly what is being shown in Grayson #8, teenage girls who have sexualised fantasies about non-threatening men, where it is not presented as a set up to a Lolita-esc story of peodophillia. Dick Grayson is not interested in these girls sexually, the girls understand that they will not be entering into sexual relations with him, but that does not stop them from enjoying looking at him and fantasising about him in a safe manner.  Even if their attention is unwanted, the girls cannot harm Dick Grayson and Dick Grayson will not harm them. It could be argued, that the humourous feel to the piece is mocking the girls for their sexuality, and asking the reader to laugh at them, not with them. However, the fact that the layout of the work has such a focus on Dick Grayson’s bottom, and that the page begins with one of the girl’s own comment of sexual innuendo about him as a sexy Eiffel Tower she wishes to climb (King, 2014), it is clear that the viewer is being asked to side with these teenagers and agree, that yes, if Dick Grayson was the Eiffel Tower, you too would gladly climb up it and enjoy that glorious view.

To conclude, Grayson #8’s Title Page is an example of how female sexuality (in particularly, that of teenage girls) can be celebrated in comic books in a fun and safe manner. The title page treats the character with respect and dignity, whilst still nodding to an fan base that have dedicated entire blogs to pictures of his butt. The image is tongue-in-cheek about it’s approach to the celebration of Dick Grayson’s bottom, however it is done with respect to both character and reader. Whilst some might argue that this is objectification, the existing social and historical structures within the industry and western society as whole negate this. It has now become an important act of feminist action to have such characters within comic books. Equal opportunity between the sexes, requires equal opportunity to celebrate sexuality. Dick Grayson’s butt in tight lycra is not going to change the world over night, but it is certainly a very good place to start. Grayson is not the first series to celebrate Dick Grayson’s bottom and share it in all it’s peach like glory, and it is unlikely to be the last, yet, much like Dick Grayson, it is still a beautiful piece of work that shall no doubt be cherished for the ages.

References:

Holy Robin Batman! The Wednesday Club, 9th August 2017 (Available on Geek and Sundry’s Twitch and Projectalpha.com)

http://comicsalliance.com/tim-seeley-grayson-nightwings-dc-comics-interview/

http://comicsalliance.com/why-is-nightwing-hot/

http://comicsalliance.com/comics-sexiest-male-characters/

https://www.themarysue.com/gail-simone-nightwing-butt/

https://www.cbr.com/seeley-king-enter-the-dcus-espionage-world-in-grayson/

https://journal.transformativeworks.org/index.php/twc/article/view/460/384

http://www.upenn.edu/pennpress/book/77.html

[frozentee]

Woman Not Today Epilepsy Shirts

[usashirtstoday]

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BLM is just an explosion of injustice that YOU never cared about, now since George Floyd’s death was so GRAPHIC the Currytee – Pretty black and educated dillard university shirt world is FINALLY putting two plus two together. The Sales Manager Because Freakin Awesome Isn't An Official Job Title T-Shirt many first you haven’t heard of about our history probably bc it’s not in YOUR history books. If yes, will you mind sending me a friend request because I don’t want to send you a friend request without your permission.

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[teenwolimagines]

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

So you and Derek, no matter how much you would have liked to, couldn’t just say you were dating now and live happily ever after.

No, you had to talk about things like what all does “dating” mean for the two of you. Like what counts as cheating, does this mean Derek would be moving back in, and the most important.

What are you doing for your first date?

First you thought a simple dinner and movie, but Derek said it was too cliche for his taste. He suggest a date in the park, maybe a little picnic, but you were more of an indoors-y type.

“How about a cooking date?” you had said.

Derek’s whole face lit up at the idea and he immediately agreed, it only made since to have it here.

Your house had been considered home to him for years, plus here it was just you two. No waitress at a restaurant, or random park visitors, just you two in your natural habitat.

So today was the day of the date and you were currently making a mess of your room trying to decide what to wear.

Should you dress down as in sweats, which Derek basically always sees you in, or casual jeans (another thing you often wore around Derek) or maybe a little more effort and go for a cute little dress?

You had never worn a dress around Derek before, other than like Easter when you were kids and his mom made you for the sake of photos. Even then you changed back into jeans after pictures were taken.

On one hand this date was all about comfort, sweats are the ultimate comfort, but its also very lazy and sloppy looking. Jeans show some effort but not enough for a date, then a dress is a special thing. But what if it’s too much effort?

Finally you decide to put on your big girl pants and just throw on the dress, if it was too much you could just change. 

You pick the most simple dress you own, its light pink with a red rose pattern and you put on some white flats. You looked in the mirror and you are absolutely sure this was the best choice, it showed effort but not too much.

Now it was time to debate rather or not you’re gonna wear make up or not. You never wear the stuff, what with how busy you always are.The only make up you actually owned was a basic tube of red lipstick and some matching eye shadow.

You look back up at the mirror and decide that you looked great without make-up, so you declare yourself ready.

You hear Derek knock on the door and you head downstairs to let him in.

You opened the door and reveal Derek with arms full of plastic grocery bags and even holding one in his mouth.

‘Ish gaah ge schaah.’ (I got the stuff) he said as he walked in and headed to the kitchen.

‘Making two trips won’t kill you Derek.’ you said as you followed.

Derek put all the bags on the table and stood up straight.

‘Two trips is for the weak.’ he said as he turned to face you.

He finally looked at you and took in what you had on, and you also took in his white button up, black jeans and boots.

‘Wow, you uh you look great (Y/N).’ Derek said as he gave you a hug.

‘Thanks, so do you.’ you said as you hugged him back.

You pulled back and smiled, it had been SO long since you had been in a relationship it felt so nice to just say you were dating again.

‘So did you get everything we need?’ you asked.

‘Yeah I think so.’ Derek said as he turned towards all the bags.

For this date you two were going to be cooking and eating dinner, spaghetti, home made cheesy bread, a ceaser salad and your famous banana split pie.

You go through the bags and confirmed he got everything you needed for the meal.

‘OK, now all we need is some aprons.’ you smiled as you pulled out the two aprons Melissa got for you in the secret santa.

You hold up one apron with the image of a woman’s naked torso, and another with a naked man torso.

‘I am not putting that on.’ he laughed as he pointed at the male apron.

‘Fine wear this one.’ you smiled as you put the woman’s apron around his neck.

‘And I will wear this one.’ you giggled as you put on the man’s apron.

You tied each other aprons and spend the text five minutes making silly poses and jokes.

‘Come on you foxy lady, lets get started.’getting to

You both wash your hands before you assign the task of getting the noodles ready for the spaghetti while you started getting the ground beef ready for the sauce.

It all felt so domestic, like it had been all those years ago. You couldn’t image making dinner with anyone but Derek.

While the noodles and sauce cooked you were spreading the cheese over the bread while Derek washed the lettuce for the salad. After that was done and the spaghetti was ready, bread cooked and salad made you started on the pie.

The base for the pie was actually not ice cream, but cream cheese and crushed pineapple. You put it in the graham cracker pan and put it in the fridge to cool, you and Derek would add the topping after dinner.

You and Derek sat the table and sat down to eat the meal you had cooked.

‘So what’s been going on? As your girlfriend I demand you keep me updated, none of that one call a week crap anymore.’ you said pointing at him with your fork.

‘Alright alright, daily phone calls, I can do that. If you can promise you’ll get at least six hours of sleep every night.’ Derek bargained.

‘Five.’ you tried.

‘Seven.’

‘Fine.’ you said before he could up your required hours of sleep.

‘And as far as what’s going on it’s actually something I wanted to ask your opinion on something.’ he said after finishing his spaghetti.

‘Sure.’ you said as you handed him the large bowl of spaghetti.

‘I was thinking of growing a pack, with troubled teens.’ he said as he sat down his fork.

‘Like a werewolf upgrade that doubles as a mentor group? Maybe, but it can’t be a large group of teens running around all wolfed out and out of control. Draws too much attention, you could have what...two maybe three if you can train them fast.’ you answered thoughtfully.

‘Now I just have to find  the lucky three.’ he said as he continued eating.

‘Well I know of at least two kids who I think really need your help, Erica Reyes and Isaac Lahey. They need actual help Derek and no matter what me or the other nurses say no one seems interested in helping them.’ you said as you finished your plate and pushed it aside.

‘What’s going on?’ Derek asked.

‘Erica has epilepsy, seizures almost three times a week, her family is affording her medicines but they wont be able to get her next refill since her dad got cut off. She won’t make it two days without her meds.’ you said.

‘And Isaac?’

‘His father beats him.’ you sad sourly.

‘That boy is as sweet as candy and his drunk of a father...his mother died, all he has is his dad. No matter how many times I have patched him up he wont go to authorities, and if he won’t say anything they cant do anything. That boy’s gonna get himself killed if someone doesn’t reach out.’ you said.

‘I’ll look into them, now onto dessert.’ Derek said as he stood up.

You followed suit and headed into the kitchen and you two both begin  decorating the pie.

And just like always you both ended up having an epic fight, eating the pie with no fucking toppings sitting on the floor, and your kitchen being a mess.

‘I wish I didn’t wear white.’ Derek said looking at his chocolate syrup covered shirt.

‘I wish I hadn’t just cleaned this kitchen.’ you smiled as you leaned against him.

‘Wanna know what I really wish?’ he asked as he turned toward you.

‘What?’

‘That you’d let me kiss you again.’ he said as he looked at your lips.

‘I can make that happen if you let help me clean up.’ you blush as you lean up and give him a  quick peck on the lips.

Well you meant for it to be peck, but before you knew it you and Derek were laid back on your dirty kitchen floor making out like teenagers.

[anon-e-mous]

Falsely accused of being a thief

  i haven’t been well the last week or so and have had problems with my stomach and conjunctive itis. went to the doctor today to get it checked out . got a prescription so i went to collect that plus my regular epilepsy meds form my small local chemist .  Bloody cheek of a woman there.  She lost her wallet and understandably got very upset . she claimed she left it on the chemist counter and wouldn't take any advice to check for it in other places. she saw the bulge of the phone and my power bank in my t shirt pocket and asked me what was in it. I showed her my phone and power bank and emptied my jeans pockets at her request. She wasn't happy with that. She called me a thief because i wouldn't let her look In my backpack , a backpack that had been on my back the whole time I was in the Chemist which staff could verify . also i was rushing for a bus . there are only 2 an hour available in each direction through my part of Dublin ,  She even made me empty my pockets again just before i left . Connor the pharmacist on duty was trying to play peacemaker bless him , he is a lovely guy who knows me well as i and my family have been using this one chemist for years ,  the woman would not be calmed down . she even said the woman at the counter before her picked it up and brought it home by mistake before she turned on me .  I lost my own wallet last week but I didn't go round making false accusations. Just replaced my cards and got on with it. Thank god the staff knows me in there. Felt sorry for the staff members trying to keep the peace between me and the lady but she needs to learn she can;t accuse anyone of thievery out of the blue  . in the end i got as phone call from Connor to say she found her wallet in the shop she went into after the chemist and to say Connor was sorry for my accusation  which he did’nt need to apologize for as it was not his doing and he tried to stop her form mouthing off at me and that the woman also apologizes . i had no argument with the staff in the chemist they did their best  , but the woman can go to hell .

[brainbuffering]

So I’ve been working on this for a while, but the problem with producing comics about intrusive thoughts is that you end up triggering more intrusive thoughts and you have to take a break so get yourself back into order. 

But yes, if anyone knows where I can trade my brain in, I would be most appreciative! 

If you want to support me in making more comics, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi, or checking out the products available on my  redouble. You can also follow me on Twitter and Instagram if you are so inclined =) 

As always, Transcript under the cut

A Life With Seizures #9

Panel 1

A cashier in a black shirt talks to a woman in a coat and hat (the blogger) carrying a paper carrier bag. 

Cashier: Hello Mam, how can I help you today?

Panel 2

The Blogger: *reaching into the paper carrier bag* I’d like to return something 

Panel 3

The Blogger: *holding out a brain in her hands* It’s my brain!

The Brain, it’s speech bubble dashed and not whole: Why are you bothering this guy? Nobody cares!

Panel 4

The Blogger: *looking dubious* I think it’s faulty?

The Brain: Stop complaining, people have it worse!

Panel 5

The Blogger: It’s stopped producing serotonin, 

The Brain: because you don’t deserve to be happy

Panel 6

The Blogger: and it keeps randomly shutting down and making things jerk about. 

The Brain: That’s not REAL Epilepsy though!

Panel 7

The Blogger: *angrily shouting at the brain* And it won’t SHUT UP!

The Brain: I’m only telling the truth!

Panel 8

The Blogger: *grinning and holding the brain forward* So I’d like to exchange it for a new one, please!

Panel 9

The Cashier:  *concerned and throwing slightly* Um Mam...

Panel 10

The Cashier: This is a record shop.

The angle pulls back now to reveal a small room filled with CD racks. There are 3 posters on the wall: ‘Pop Band’, ‘Metal Band’ and ‘80s celebrity super star’

The Blogger: *hesitant, thrown off* Oh. 

Panel 11

The Blogger: *grinning, seemingly unaffected* So you’re saying I should try the bakery!

The Cashier: *Tired and unimpressed* Sure. 

Panel 12

The Blogger looks down trodden and quiet. The background is now light grey.

The Brain: Told you that nobody would ever care about you

Panel 13: 

The Brain: You can’t do anything right these days, can you? Totally useless.

The Blogger: *looking down pleadingly* Can you be quiet for a bit please?

The Brain: Nope!

The Background gets darker

Panel 14: 

The background is a dark grey, the blogger stands there alone. 

The Blogger: All right then.

Panel 15:

The Brain: Hey, hey, you wanna have a seizure? 

The Blogger: *Angrily* No! 

Panel 16:

The Brain, a purple spiked speech bubble with white text: Too late! 

A Dark spiked action bubble expands beyond the page. The Blogger is in the centre of it, holding the brain as it becomes surrounded by purple lightning bolts. The Blogger has purple lines surrounded her head and has white sightless eyes 

Panel 17: 

An entirely black background, there is nothing but two speech bubbles. One closed and one dashed. 

The Blogger: I hate you so much

The Brain: Not as much as I hate you. 

[p-artsypants]

320 State Street- 7 (July 4)

AO3 | FF.net (I forgot to post 6 on here, but it’s on the two sites)

Sorry for posting late. Finals. And there’s a lot of drama in my personal life. 

—

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Astrid read the numbers on the screen, the total price of the purchase, but it never left her lips. She knew the number, but the words just weren’t there. “It’s um…uh…” She blinked a couple times, drawing a blank.

“Look, I want to talk to someone who’s not retarded. Where’s that other kid?”

It felt like the whole world slowed down. Her cheeks glowed with a quiet rage. “Excuse me?”

“Are you disabled? Is that why you can’t pay attention? Let me talk to your manager!”

Alvin entered the store, and the customer began conspiring with him. She could hear the phrases “worst employee,” “unbelievably stupid,” and “belongs in an institution.”

It was then that she realized that who she was looking at. The customer that was slowly ruining her life, the woman with the bleached bangs and black undercut. There was some reason this woman was trying to ruin her life.

“Hofferson, you’re fired.” Alvin’s voice was like a gun shot.

Hiccup stood in the background, shaking his head. “You’re such a disappointment. You couldn’t even do this simple job. What are you going to do as a nurse?”

Gobber came out from the back room. “No point in going to see your father, you’ve dishonored him. He doesn’t deserve you as a daughter. You’re just like your mother.”

The floorboards started to shift and open up beneath her.

The last thing she saw before falling was Hiccup’s disappointed scowl.

Astrid jolted out of bed with a yelp. Her dream had been all to vivid and real. She laid back on the pillow with a sigh and tried to relax.

Today was her day off, and she sorely needed it. The stress of work and daily life was really getting to her. But today, it was relaxing and kicking back with friends and family.

The thought alone brought a smile to her face.

She turned and looked at the clock.

11 am.

It would take a little to get her dad situated, if he even felt up to the party, so she supposed she’d leave early.

Hopefully, everyone would understand.

—

It was a wonderfully perfect day. A perfect, slightly breezy 72. No clouds in the sky to hide fireworks at night. The deck was filling up. It was a strange crowd, a couple of police officers, a couple of wealthy business owners, and a healthy dose of blue collar workers, all gathered around a grill drinking beer and laughing without abandon. Not an overwhelming number, just a group of unlikely friends.

“So the reason I threw up in front of Jimmy Johns was…well, I do drink a lot. Not while I drive, and I’m over 21!” Tuff sat on a cooler and loudly told an anecdote. Everyone was listening, whether they wanted to or not. “What was different about this time—and there was something different—cause I threw up on myself this weekend, but this time…this time I was walking and right when I started to feel like I had to vomit, you know you do that thing like, HRGH HRGH HRGH, like it’s in the back of your throat? Right when that happened, I turned and made eye contact with a lady sitting outside a Starbucks. And then proceeded to keep eye contact with her as I vomited.

“So there she was, drinking her mocha-frappalatte, or whatever they have there. And suddenly she sees the guy across the street just look at her and he just AGGHHHHHHH!!” He fake vomited on the deck, the assembled crowd laughing or ‘ewing’ respectfully. “Can you just imagine what she was thinking? Like, ‘oh my god Becky, I was so ugly today, I made a man vomit.”

While everyone laughed and pushed Tuff around, the doorbell rang.

Hiccup was the only one who heard it and hurried to the door.

Whatever he was expecting, this wasn’t it. Sure, Astrid was there, and her father was in a wheelchair. But he wasn’t prepared for Mr. Hofferson to be a shrunken man, sitting blankly in his chair. His neatly trimmed blonde hair and beard had white streaks in it. His eyelids drooped slightly and hid his striking blue eyes.

“Dad, this is my good friend Hiccup. I work with him. He’s also taking care of Stormfly until I can get a bigger house.”

“Hello sir,” Hiccup smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.”

The man’s eyes slid over to make eye contact with him, and his mouth moved, but nothing but a soft mutter came out. He did hold out a jittery hand, though.

“He doesn’t talk,” Astrid whispered. “Not anymore. But I’m sure he’s pleased to meet you.”

Hiccup smiled nonetheless and shook his limp hand. Then helped them into his home.

“I’m glad you could both make it.” He grinned.

“Yeah, dad was having a pretty good day, according to the nurses.”

A squawk came from the rafters before Stormfly landed on Axel’s shoulder. “Hello, Handsome.”

Astrid smiled, “honestly, as long as he can get out of hospice and be around people for a while, he’ll be happy as a clam.”

“I didn’t realize clams were happy.”    

On the deck, everyone stopped to look at them when they entered. “Uh, hi!” Astrid greeted, nervously. “I’m Astrid, and this is my dad.”

Almost immediately, there was a delighted call, “Axel! Why you son of a gun! You made it!” Followed by several others, “Axel! Why you dirty old bastard!”

“Why, would you look at that!”

“If it ain’t ole Hoffmaster!”

Again, Mr. Hofferson said nothing, but something behind his eyes lit up and Gobber came over and clapped his shoulder. “What, has it been over five years now?”

“Wait, you guys know each other?”

Stoick laughed from over by the grill. “Anyone who doesn’t know Axel Hofferson must live under a rock! Best electrician in the tri-city area!”

“Wait…” She narrowed her eyes, “Then did you know who I was when you hired me?”

Gobber chuckled. “Of course lass, I recognized you from the photos your dad carried around with him…though I couldn’t remember your name…”

It wasn’t long until Axel was absorbed into the crowd and everyone began filling him on all sorts of gossip and what changed in their little world.

It was like he wasn’t even sick.

“Hey Astrid, this might be kind of rude…” Hiccup began, coming up to her side. “But uh…”

“Parkinson’s,” She answered shortly. “Usually you get it when you’re old, but my dad got it early. Some doctors think it’s genetic, others think it’s from insulation in walls and ceilings.”

“Is that the one where you have seizures?”

“Sort of…it’s not like epilepsy, but you lose control of your muscles. My dad sometimes has tremors.”

“Oh…so, was your dad always have this?”

She sighed, “As long as I remember, he had to have my mom button his shirts for him. He was fine for a really long time, but had to retire when I was in eighth grade and then had to go into assisted living a year after I went away to school.”

“That’s why you came back.”

“And why I went into nursing.” She crossed her arms and spoke softly. “My mom and I never got along, but my dad always treated me like a princess. So I want to do my best to take care of him.”

Hiccup looked to her, and then to her father, who was surrounded by his friends and had just a hint of smile on his face. “I think you’re doing fine.”

“Well soil my britches!” A familiar friendly voice called over from the door. “When Hiccup said he was working with Astrid Hofferson, I thought he was just trying to impress me.” A bulky young man, tattoos on his arms and dark hair in a ponytail, approached the group with a smile.

“Eret!” She greeted, “It’s been a long time.”

“What happened to you? I distinctly remembered you telling me you were going to kick the dust of this crummy town behind you. New York, baby! That’s where it’s at!”

“Well, life sometimes throws you curve balls. What about you? I thought you were going to the NFL. You were at U of M, right?”

“Like you said, curveballs.” He pulled the collar of his shirt down and showed a long scar on his chest. “Open heart surgery. One minute, I’m heading to the end zone and no one can touch me, the next I’m waking up in a hospital a week later. Apparently I had a heart aneurysm right in the middle of the game. I’m not allowed to play anymore.”

Astrid grimaced. “That sounds awful.”

“Not entirely. I had to change my career path though. I’m going into Wildlife and Fisheries.”

“Speaking of wildlife, where’s Toothless?”

Hiccup chuckled, “look up.”

A long black tail trailed over the edge of the roof, flicking pleasantly.

“Oh. Of course. Why does that not surprise me?”

Fishlegs and another girl approached the group. “What’s going on over here?”

“Just a class reunion,” Eret answered.

��Oh, Astrid, this is Heather, my cousin…sort of.”

“Sort of?”

The dark haired girl gave a short eye roll. “I’m married to his cousin.”

“Oh, I get it.” She chuckled, “I’m Astrid, we work together.”

Heather smiled, like she knew a great secret. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“So…” Fishlegs rubbed his hands together. “What are you guys doing the 16th?”

“What day is that?”

“It’s a Sunday.”

“Probably sleeping.” Astrid answered, to which everyone agreed.

“Well, I finally finished my campaign, and I’m just itching to try it out.”

“Sure.” Said Hiccup.

“I’m in.”

“Sounds fun.”

Astrid, on the other hand, was confused. “Campaign?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.” Heather clarified.

“Well,” Hiccup added, “we call it Dungeons and Dragons, but it’s like a watered down version.”

“It’s really fun.”

Astrid scoffed. “I thought only nerdy kids who live in their parents basement play that.”

Fishlegs looked embarrassed, “I do live in my parent’s basement.”

Stoick called over the crowd. “First round of hot dogs and hamburgers are ready!”

—

After dinner, the assembled group sat in camping chairs, enjoying the sunshine and the company. Toothless had finally humbled himself to come down from the roof and laid at Hiccup’s feet.

“Hiccup, every time I see that cat, I’m amazed.” A man said. “Even knowing the full story, I just think it’s so weird you have a pet panther. Weird in a good way, though. Don’t get me wrong.”

“Aye, you’re telling me.” Expounded Stoick. “The full first year we had him in the house, I carried a baseball bat with me everywhere. Never had to use it, or even felt like I would, but I confess I was a little terrified by him.”

“So was the mailman.” Hiccup added. “In Tanzania, he’d always fetch stuff for us, so it was natural that he’d see the UPS driver come by and go and greet him.” He chuckled. “We lost over a dozen packages like that.”

“What did you end up doing? Does he still do that?” Asked Astrid.

“No, a woman took over the route, and she loves Toothless.”

The conversation changed to politics, then to cars, then to a comfortable silence.

“Well,” began Gobber. “My burger finally finished digesting. I think it’s about that time.”

“Yeah?” Answered Stoick, standing up. “I think you’re right.”

“What’s happening?” Astrid whispered.

Hiccup smirked, “Do you drink?”

“I…yeah?”

“We’ve got some beer from Founders, apple ale, and cherry cider.”

“Uh, I’ll take the cherry…what’s going on?”

“We’re going to do the drinking song.” He said cryptically as he also stood.

Stoick returned to the deck with a fiddle in hand. Eret was getting out a guitar.

“You going to join us this year, boy-o?”

“I’ve been practicing, but I’m just going to play softly until I figure it out.”

Hiccup returned with two cherry ciders in one hand and a weird instrument in the other. It was small and had flat metal bars coming off of it.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a Mbira, a hand piano.”

“Oh.” That didn’t really answer her question.

It looked like everyone else gathered was grabbing something to drink.

Stoick played a few notes on the fiddle. “Hiccup, you’re doing the last verse this year. Okay?”

“Alright.” He leaned in closer to Astrid, “let it be know that this song is super racist. You have to be drunk to enjoy it.”

She smiled uneasily. “Okay…”

Stoick struck the first note and immediately the deck thundered with clapping and stomping.

“One and two and three and four,

and one and two and three and four.

And one and two and three and four,

and one and two and three and four.”

Everyone sang together at first, swinging there arms and slapping their legs. Then Stoick sang with a rich baritone.

“Love makes one blind until the fiddle breaks.

Old notes are played by a new hand,

It's a tough blow for any fiddler,

He’s trying his best, but is both scrawny and bland.

On the hunt for a beard and a mustache,

Should have brought a map for this quest.

Zero discoveries are made,

He’s trying his best, but he’s as bare as his chest.

He tries to propose, he’s finally brave,

His tongue is wet, but his money is dry.

He immediately gets the feeling,

That this something he shouldn’t try.”

Hiccup and Gobber joined in.

“She started to flirt with more handsome men.

So I traded away that cow

and got the fiddle back again.”

Then everyone, including the women, joined.  

“So now there will be no shortage of women and money.

because he traded away that cow,

and got the fiddle back again.”

Astrid found her self starting to clap along. The song was terrible, but very catchy.

“One and two and three and four,

and one and two and three and four.

And one and two and three and four,

and one and two and three and four.”

Gobber had the next verse.

“A bachelor like him has to keep his head,

he wants to win her over by singing her a song,

But nothing is going to happen,

is being poor so wrong?

So she slips away to the bathroom with a braver man.

One who walks around with his gold in plain sight.

Our fiddler was not interesting enough for her,

So he farts in her direction just out of spite.”

Hiccup and Stoick joined again.

“Because life is like a violin

with the need of a violinist

So I traded away that cow and got the fiddle back again.”

Astrid joined in on the chorus this time.

“So now there will be no shortage

of women and money.

because he traded away that cow,

and got the fiddle back again.”

Hiccup’s turn had come.

“Now he's both rich and handsome,

but even that doesn't seem to aid.

The fiddle has gotten a different sound,

a hardened heart is the price he paid.

This girl is different, of this he’s sure,

So he introduces her to his friend.

They go to speak for a moment,

Five minutes quickly turned to ten.

He sought them out with question,

But what met him behind the door,

made him want to cry out his eyes.

They were laying together on the floor.”

The group sang together.

“I saw her together with my best friend.

So I traded away that cow,

and got the fiddle back again.”

Everyone was singing loudly together.

“So now there will be no shortage

of women and money.

because he traded away that cow,

and got the fiddle back again.

One and two and three and four,

and one and two and three and four.

And one and two and three and four,

and one and two and three and four.

So now there will be no shortage

of women and money.

because he traded away that cow,

and got the fiddle back again.”

Astrid laughed after it was over. Really, it was a terrible song but the sheer volume of drunken rhapsody filled her with joy. “Do you guys do this every year?”

“Every year!” Hiccup laughed back.

Astrid looked over to her father who was clapping. Her heart clenched at the sight of him moving fluidly. Even if it was a little. She vowed to bring him to more events if possible.

—

Sunset came, and Axel and the adults stayed behind as the kids and Toothless walked down the road to the lake. There, they boarded Eret’s boat and jetted out on the lake. Not without lighting a post on the dock first.

There’s something about the lake that just soothed the soul. When you’re speeding through the waves, you can’t hear anything but the deafening wind thundering against your ears. The air around you feels like water parting around you. Each wave the boat cut through, sends a jolt through your body and a pounding in your head.

Then finally, they stopped about a half mile out from the beach. The light house was just a sliver in the distance.

“Are we going to be able to see the fireworks from this far away?”

“Yeah, totally. They’re huge.”

Toothless hopped up on the back of the boat and stretched out lazily.

“Watching the fireworks has become way more enjoyable since I joined you guys out here.” Heather commented from the front. “Scott and I used to go down to Silver Beach and watch there. I mean, it was incredible. But we would get home at like, 3am because they closed traffic down town and you had to detour around the whole city.”

“Your husband’s name is Scott?”

“Yeah, Scott Jorgenson.”

“Oh, my boyfriend’s name is Scott too. Scott Loud.”

“Oh too funny!”

Everyone fell into a peaceful silence as they watched the sunset on the lake. Everything blossoming into purples and reds.

“My dad and I would go down to the pier on the north side. There’s little cement wave breakers cut into the pier that you can climb into. We’d sit in the one directly across from the symphony pavilion. Right in the middle of the 1812 Overture, they’d start shooting off the fireworks. Then after, they play the Star Wars theme. We’d eat cherries and spit the pits at ducks. And we’d wave to all the boats going out to the lake.” Then she ‘hmph’ed. “It did take forever to get out though, since everyone and their mother tried to leave that way.”

“If it makes you guys feel any better,” Hiccup began, laying down next to Toothless. “I didn’t see my first firework until I was 5. I was on the back deck of my house and I thought the lighthouse had blown up. It was very scary.”

“Aw, I love baby Hiccup stories.” Heather smiled.

“So…where’s your husband, Heather?” Astrid asked, politely.

Hiccup answered. “He and I don’t get along, but Heather and I have been friends for a while.”

“He had to work,” Heather added. “But even if he didn’t, I doubt he would have come.”

“Well, his loss.” Fishlegs commented.

The sun had disappeared over the horizon. But it’s light remained.

“In truth, it’s been a while since I got to see the fireworks. I always worked downtown, and Fourth of July is one of the busiest times down there. So, I’m kind of excited.”

“Come sit up here with me!” Hiccup beckoned.

Astrid laid down on the back, separated from him by Toothless.

“Thanks for inviting us, Hiccup. Today was…really great.”

“Yeah? Thanks for coming.”

“It’s been a while since I saw my dad so active. It was nice. I had a lot of fun.”

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, the first firework launched.

[futuregazed]

ORACLE

Sybll’s head slams down on the classroom’s tile floor as he falls from his seat, body going rigid, then spasming. His tattered sneakers kick at his chair, his desk, and the people around him scoot away on instinct, metal legs scraping, shuffling against the floor. The clock at the back of the class shifts to display 12:25 PM.

“Aw shit,” someone from the back echoes in the tense silence that follows.

“Language, Trevor.”

Brakes screeching, people screeching.

“Are we supposed to hold him down or something?”

A high, loud cry, one that rings over the rest of the crowd.

“No, you idiot he’ll just hurt himself more.”

Metal, silver or chrome, smudged with something dark.

“Does this mean we get to get outta class early?”

Sybll’s top teeth bite down on his bottom lip, splitting it. Blood runs down his chin, his neck. The students form a ring around him, more of a gawking exhibit than any form of protection. The boy’s service dog is absent, a bystander of high school bureaucracy. We’re getting all the paperwork done, Sybll, his parents had told him at the beginning of the week over the phone. You can get through the first couple days of high school without Sadie.

Talk about high expectations.

He wakes up, sore, in the nurse’s offices twenty minutes later. She hands him an ice pack for the knot on his head and a washcloth to rub the dried blood off his face. When she asks if he wants her to call his parents, if he wants to go home, Sybll shakes his head. There’s red crusted on the neck of his shirt, drying brown under the fluorescent lights. He leaves to go to 4th period and shrinks under the eyes of his classmates.

Time to check First epileptic seizure of high school off his milestone list.

The seizures themselves had become more bearable once he’d gotten Sadie. His parents, both psychologists, diagnosed the epilepsy early, when he was five or six, and twitched on the floor of their living room in front of the television. Dozens of tests and seven months later they gave him a dog, a Great Pyrenees named Sadie who’d been trained to detect when Sybll was about to have a seizure and either guide him down into it safely or get someone who could help him.

And she was good at her job – the number of bruised elbows and carpet-burned knees Syb had to deal with diminished exponentially in the first few weeks with Sadie, and even made the aftermath of coming out of a seizure easier, too. She was an anchor he could hug, hold onto when he was still weak and shaking and surrounded by the curious, scared eyes of his classmates.

That didn’t make the visions any easier to deal with.

The first one he can remember with clarity came in first grade, where he’d stiffened and dropped out of his chair, hitting his face on the corner of his table as he fell. Images flashed in his head, flipping by in jagged, halting movements, like from a movie projector that was broken, ready to eat up and burn through the rest of its film at any moment. A window. A bird. A blotch of red across the glass. He came to, crying on the floor, staring up at the rest of his classmates through blurred eyes. Once the teacher had calmed everyone down, Sybll at the front of the room in the comfy chair Ms. Wilkinson sat in for reading time, she’d tried to get class back on track. They were on five minutes into working on their cursive writing when a bird had hit the room’s only window, the loud crack of it startling some of the first graders into tears once more. Sybll’s gaze had been glued to the long smear of blood it had left behind, the only hint the bird had been there at all.

His high school is just down the street from his old middle school, so he follows the same path walking home at the end of the day, two miles down the road, past the K-12 Catholic Prep Academy that gets out at the same time he does.

“Still hanging around here, freak?” Sybll doesn’t even have to regard the group of older boys that stalk down from the front entrance, resigning himself with a sigh as he stops, waits for them to approach. One shoves at his shoulder. Another yanks on his backpack, hard, forcing him to stumble back. He’s learned the hard way that there are three types of kids that go to Catholic school: the ones that actually believe in Jesus, the ones that are forced to attend by their parents, and the ones that don’t actually give a shit about following any Christian tenets.

One guess what category these guys fell into.

“Find me another way home and I’ll gladly take it.”

They seem impressed by his retort, or more likely his bravery for letting it loose, and reward him with a volley of gum wrappers in his hair, saved in their trouser pockets all day for this certain moment. One of the younger boys, a freshman just like him, from the looks of it, opens up the waste side of his wooden pencil sharpener, lets a rain of shavings fall onto Sybll, running a rough hard through his curls, tangling them in there. They laugh, ugly and loud and spent, and jog down the steps to their parents, waiting at the road in expensive cars.

Sybll shakes his head. Wooden flakes flutter down to the pavement at his feet.

“You shouldn’t let them pick on you.” Davey bounds down the steps at the front of the school, gripping the straps of his backpack at his shoulders. His pressed shirt is crumpled where it comes untucked from his slacks, and his navy tie is crooked, has a smear of chalk towards the bottom, like he’d used it to wipe off an incorrect math problem from the board earlier in the day and hadn’t bothered to clean it off. “Giving in just makes them bolder.” He settles at Sybll’s right side, picking a few pieces of gum wrappers and pencil shavings from his hair, then peering over at the empty space on his left. “No Sadie?”

“No Sadie,” Sybll confirms, grimacing. His head still aches where he smacked it against the floor during 3rd period, and getting roughed up hadn’t helped it either. Under dark curls there must be a knot, comically large, perhaps on the scale of cartoon injuries, protruding from a character’s noggin after an unfortunate run-in with a misplaced anvil.

“Well, shit,” Davey sighs. A girl with long, dark plaits passing by to their left shoots him a dirty look that he ignores. “Anything happen today?”

“Nuh-uh. Not really.” Sybll’s tongue flickers out to taste the split in his lip. “Hoping the superintendent’ll let me Sadie to school next week, ‘case anything does.”

“They better,” Davey scoffs. “Isn’t it like, illegal to ask people for service dog documentation or whatever?”

“I guess it’s different for schools? ‘Sides, it’s not like I’m blind or anything.”

“Uh, yeah, but you could end up wigging out and biting off your tongue.” Davey mimes it, sticking his own tongue out, one hand guillotining in front of it.

“I guess.” Sybll smiles, barely, but there. “You walking home?”

“Nah, my mom is making me to go Bible Study at her friends’ house.” Davey clutches his stomach, like just the thought of it is making him nauseous. “And these kids really need it, too – they’re dumb as rocks. They can’t even remember the shortest bible verse.” He gives Sybll a side glance and tries to wink but ends up with both eyes closed for a moment. “It’s Jesus wept, by the way.”

Down the road a minivan honks, window rolled down as an immaculate blonde woman waves to Davey from the driver’s seat. He rolls his eyes. “My chariot has arrived.” Davey hugs Syb with one arm, still firm, and hops his way down the rest of the steps, climbing into the back of the van. From behind the window Davey waves at him, never pausing, even as they pull away from the curb and disappear around the corner.

The walk to his aunt’s house is only 10 minutes longer than the one to his, but Sybll knows that once October hits its stride the jaunt would become much less bearable, every footfall punctuated with stinging numbness, the kind that worked its way up through your bones and stayed there even after you got inside, got warmed up again, lightning strikes of cold. He rounds the corner of her neighborhood, crunching leaves underfoot, and takes the red paint-peeled steps of her front porch two at a time, toeing his shoes off at the doormat until WELCOME become WE       ME. Before crossing the threshold Sybll shakes his hair out again. Two more silver wrappers fall out, bouncing at his feet. Wooden flakes have turned to snow on his socks, and had they been reflective they could’ve passed as glitter.

“What have you seen, Sybll?” His aunt smooths down the thick hair on his forehead as they sit on the couch hours later, his curls bouncing back into his eyes as soon as her hands pass by. She and his mother look like twins despite the six year age difference – his aunt’s eyes are younger, kinder. Alice brushes aside an empty microwave meal container on the coffee table in front of them to prop her ankle up, leaning her cheek against Sybll’s head.

“I saw a car, or I heard it.” He shakes his head, scooting closer to her on the couch. Aunt Alice’s house always feels cozier than his own. Sybll tucks his head beneath her chin, glazed eyes looking past the television, through it. Gene Kelly dances on, unseen. “Slamming on the brakes, people are shouting.”

“Did you recognize any voices?” As a child, Sybll had confided about his visions to anyone that would listen, and most of the adults in his life indulged him for a while. His parents had thought his imagination was exceptionally vivid and his teachers had been impressed with the amount of detail he’d pour into his explanations, but as he grew older their tolerance had waned. You’re too old to be making up stories, Sybll. We don’t want to hear any more. Don’t bring this up again. The only person who had ever believed him, had scooped him up in her arms even after he’d hit his sixth grade growth spurt, had listened and had nodded along and had let him confess everything was his aunt.

“I used to get visions, too,” she told him one day after middle school when he’d just washed up and was helping dish out balls of peanut butter cookie dough onto stained, scratched baking sheets. Her tone of voice had been casual, like she was talking about the weather, or some book she’d just read and thought he might enjoy. “My father, your grandpa, had ‘em, too. I think we get ‘em generationally, have ‘em for a while, then grow out of it. Maybe your kids will have them, too. Maybe they’ll be able to see just as much as you can.”

Sybll closes his eyes. On the floor he can feel Sadie rest her chin on the top of his foot, heavy, warm. “Maybe one of them,” he says, shaking his head. “Everything is out of focus. Fuzzy. Like a bad VHS tape.”

“Aren’t you a little young to know about VHS?” Alice digs her fingers into Sybll’s side, soft, playful, and only relents when he gives a high bright laugh, one that breaks the hard look of concentration on his face. “And you’re too young to be so serious, Sybbie. If you keep scowling like that your face is gonna get stuck that way.” Alice demonstrates, pulling a strained expression, jowls tight and low, mouth set in a pained sort of grimace. It makes Sybll howl once more and she seems satisfied with the progress they’ve made tonight. She switches off the television sends him to the guest room, tells him to take Sadie out, then take a shower, then go to bed.

His parents call right before bedtime and say everything they’re supposed to. The conference is going well. They miss Sybll. They can’t wait to come home. Sybll half-mutters his answers back to them across the receiver. Alice’s landline is the only phone in the house, and it sits in the downstairs hallway, just around the corner from the living room, with a cord just short enough that Sybll can’t stay on the line with them and reach over to pet Sadie where she rests on her mound of blankets in the back of the room, closest to the door to the backyard. He presses his forehead against the doorjamb instead, stares at the slow rise and fall of his dog’s chest and repeats back to his parents that he loves them. His father says it back one more time before hanging up but his mother has already walked away from the phone and it goes unheard.

Sleep comes like a wet washcloth over his nose. Since he’d hit puberty normal dreams had become less regular, replaced by a deep, cloying sort of darkness that he swam through until the morning, or by a highlight reel of what he’d seen this week, pieces of images, noises repeated so many times they ceased to seem real, to belong to anything tangible, believable. Sybll hears brakes screeching against pavement he begins to imagine the car leaving behind images in its wake, skid mark art black across greyed asphalt. The car draws pencil sharpeners, and packs of gum, and a crude outline of Sadie. It traces the sharp planes of Sybll’s own face, framed by an unruly twist of dark hair. In the same stroke it outlines Davey’s face, smiling, smiling, winking. Amidst the chorus of tires, a voice rings out. A scream. Davey’s scream.

Davey’s scream.

Consciousness sits heavy in his chest and even after Sybll wakes, breathing hard in the stale air of the guest bedroom, he can’t move. His eyes dart across the ceiling, following a light crack in the plaster. In his chest, his ribs ache, and when he shoves blankets aside, jolts to the edge of the bed, they twist in his chest, agony.

He doesn’t stop to check the time but can tell it must be some time before seven as he yanks on his jeans from the day before, sun smudged grey across the sky, behind the clouds. From her sleeping spot in the corner Sadie lifts a head, concerned, and regards him with furrows.

“I don’t know how much time I have,” he explains to her, peeling off his sleep shirt and digging out a new one, pulling it on with such ferocity that he doesn’t realize it’s inside out. Sybll doesn’t pause outside his aunt’s door, doesn’t wish her a good day or wait to hear it back. He stays on the porch only long enough to pull on his shoes, too loose and perhaps on the wrong feet, before bounding down the steps, feet smacking the sidewalk hard enough to send an echo between the houses, shockingly clear when it reverberates back to him. Faster. Faster.

The line of cars on the other side of the street grows longer as he gets closer to the Academy and Sybll navigates around other pedestrians, catching uniform-clad boys and girls with his bony shoulders, going too fast to throw apologies behind him. His heart crawls up to his throat, beats there loud and solid. The front steps of the Academy filter into view from behind thick residential trees. Closer. Closer.

“Davey!” Sybll’s voice is hoarse as he calls out, thick with disuse. God! There he was! Just a few meters in front of him on the sidewalk, crowded against the rest of students waiting at the crosswalk, ready to pass over to the other side of the street. “Davey! Hey!”

He looks up the second time, and though it takes him a moment to find Sybll Davey still breaks out into a grin at the sight of him, unaware of what is to come, unaware of the tightness of Sybll’s chest, of the urgency burning in his limbs. Four strides away. Davey begins walking toward him, breaking apart from the rest of his peers. Three strides away. The other boy’s face begins to fall, eyes darkening, brows meeting. Two strides away. Sybll opens his mouth to call out once more. Stay there! Stay there! I’m saving you!

A hand catches the back collar of Sybll’s shirt, and only for a moment is he able to appreciate the irony of being clotheslined by his own clothes before it digs into his throat, choking him.

The same ugly laughter from the day before rings through his ears and though they must be on holy ground, or at least vaguely holy ground, Sybll finds himself cursing God for letting this happen. He’s swung around by the back of his shirt and the Catholic bullies jeer and jest as they yank him off-balance.

“You late for school, freak?”

“Watch where you’re fucking going!”

“The poor loser can’t even stand up on his own!”

“Quit it, you assholes!” He knows that voice. Davey. Davey. He doesn’t know when it’ll be too late to save him. He has to get away.

Sybll wrestles the hold off from the back of his shirt, blind and disoriented and shoving at all the hands and arms nearest him. He stumbles. He trips. He falls.

Sybll lands in the street, all the force on his side, his elbow, his hip. The world goes fuzzy and dim, bad VHS quality, and when he looks, hears the tires on the pavement, feels the pierce of Davey’s voice through the morning air, Sybll sees silver, silver, chrome.

[kickstarter-promotion]

Another Amazing Kickstarter (Beautifully Gifted) has been published on http://crowdmonsters.com/new-kickstarters/beautifully-gifted/

A NEW KICKSTARTER IS LAUNCHED:

About this project

Beautifully Gifted represents people who face different challenges and struggles in their day to day life. Challenges that are near and dear to our hearts are epilepsy, autism, lupus, and diabetes. Unfortunately there isn’t one brand that links all disabilities together this is where beautifully gifted comes to life. Our goal is not only to strive for excellence while facing these challenges but to remind others that no matter how hard your life may seem you can always overcome. This movement represents inclusion, you don’t have to be facing an illness you may have a family member that is beautifully gifted which still links YOU. What symbolizes this brand are chain links, linking everyone together including ALL walks of life. Who linked together to make you the man or woman you are today ? 

•DEC 2016 B&G was created

Where it all began! The blueprint! We originally had colors on the chainlinks and opted to all one color.

I’m no artist but it doesn’t mean I can’t dream. The best part about a blueprint is nothing is set in stone. Whatever is put into this book our designer takes it and brings our vision to life.

The first shirt! Couldn’t have been more proud!

•FEB 2017 T-shirts were given out locally to friends, family and supporters. 

Family, friends & co-workers showing their support!

What we are asking from YOU is support to ensure we have the means to not only to produce different products but to share with your  loved ones what this brand stands for. This is a test run and if all goes well, we will order in bulk & sell under our Shopify account. We also plan to have more colors & options for our clothing.

Risks and challenges

The risks and challenges we face is not reaching the public the way we plan to. Not meeting our 7,500$ goal could cause serious delay in being able to produce our products in a timely manner. To overcome the set back we would have to refer to our social media sites which would take longer to reach out to the world. We ask for your support because without YOU there is no US.

Learn about accountability on Kickstarter

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