#and i like sharing very true facts about him and threatening to hit him with my car

[number-one-hog-hater]

Little known fact about sunnyblr!

Everything you see someone get shot at the end of their post it's actually Rob McElhenney executing them! He sure does love his fans!!

[schrijverr]

It Just Hits Different When It’s Batman

5 times a League member heard Batman use slang + 1 time they knew where the fuck he got it from.

This fic is based off this post by @wednesday-if-it-was-tuesday bc it was just too good! Hope you don't mind :D

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~~

1. Flash

Barry is pretty sure he has to get his hearing checked as he speeds through a city, trying to find a series of bombs, courtesy of a new alliance of villains. He and Batman are on bomb duty, thus sharing a private com line as to not distract the others or be distracted as they coordinate.

However, Barry is very much distracted by his own partner in this whole mess, because unless he’s gotten a few too many hits to the head in recent years, he’s pretty sure Batman just reported: “The bombs look like yassified thermos flasks.”

“What?” Barry chokes, nearly tripping over his own feet as he does.

Batman doesn’t seem to notice, instead explaining the bomb, not his wording: “The casing looks to be made from plastic, likely to escape Superman’s notice. Start checking water pipes, I found this one near a toilet. I’ll report again once I figure out how to disarm it.”

Okay, questing his sanity later, finding bombs, now.

So he zooms off again, having to agree with the fact that the bomb does look like a yassified thermos flask. He wonders if he can use that in his report or if Batman will scold him for language. He has worked with the man for long enough that he knows Batman isn’t above hypocrisy.

Then he wonders again if he even heard it right. In the heat of battle, the brain sometimes does weird things, especially when someone thinks at the speed of light. Or faster.

He’ll put it out of his mind for now, maybe tell Hal about it just so he’ll have someone to share the bizarre experience with.

Clark probably has a thesaurus, he should probably also find a synonym for yassified. Does a thesaurus have slang too?

2. Green Lantern

It’s true that Barry had told him about Spooky saying yassified in that one battle, but Hal hadn’t truly believed that Bats was capable of something like that. I mean, look at him. The guy might be a weirdo who dresses up as a Bat, but he’s not a weirdo who says shit like yassified.

However, at the moment it is starting to look more and more likely. Fuck, Barry is gonna give him so much crap for not believing him.

The moment in question is Batman working with him on the stealth mission. It’s one for the Green Lantern Corps, so Batman is doing him a favor. Though Hal is starting to wish that he hadn’t done him that favor, because Batman has just said: “It looks like Luthor is being thristy for Superman again. For someone who hates the guy, he sure wants his attention a lot. That’s Kryptonian honing device.”

Hal doesn’t react, still thinking about the fact that he’s just heard Luthor, thirsty and Superman in one sentence. In Batman’s voice no less.

“What?” he says.

“A Kryptonian honing device,” Batman repeats, sounding as if he thinks Hal is stupid, not uncommon. “So he can hone in on Superman, find him. Something we need to do something about.”

Hal decides to take the smart way out and lets the whole thing drop in favor of focusing on the mission. He’s not just telling Barry, but Ollie about this as well.

3. Cyborg

Being in the Justice League isn’t much different than being on the Teen Titans. Like right now, being in a building that could explode at any moment unless he hacks into the system and stops that from happening.

Ah, good old life-threatening pressure.

Batman is fighting some of the goons in the background. They’re on their own here, with the others fighting through an army outside to get to them. But it’s mostly up to them. Batman yells: “Cyborg, status.”

“I’m getting through, but something is bugging me about this whole thing,” Victor calls back. “I think there is someone I’m missing that will allow me to crack this.”

There are a few grunts in the background as Batman fights on, while Victor starts to scan through everyone who worked for the organization, trying to find the missing link.

He is interrupted by Batman, who says: “I took a tour here once. There was an intern, Kyle Paulson, he was kind of sus. Look him up.”

For a second, Victor is thrown by the sus in that sentence, but he quickly focuses back on what’s important. Indeed finding Kyle to be the missing link that gets him to disarm the bomb. While Batman is taking out the last of the bad guys.

In fact, the whole thing slips his mind until he’s writing his mission report, going through the footage to get accurate information in there. Then he pauses again, before dismissing it. Those who trained under Batman are always prepared, maybe it’s not slang but shorthand to be useful in the moment. Or he’s trying to include him, sweet, though unnecessary.

Victor puts it out of his mind.

4. Green Arrow

Ollie doesn’t believe Barry or Hal for a second. Like, really? Batman using slang that the sidekicks are using?

Sure, Nightwing sometimes uses some here and there, but Red Robin is always very professional and Robin is closer to a Shakespearean actor than a TikTok teen. There isn’t anyone else he could have gotten it from and it doesn’t make sense with his whole ‘I am the Night’-persona.

Victor suggested it was to make the newbies more comfortable when he overheard them talking, but that’s even more ridiculous in Ollie’s opinion.

So, he’s not at all in the slightest prepared for Batman’s reaction when he shows him the new arrows he developed. Because Batman’s reaction is: “Hm, serves cunt.”

“Excuse me, what?” Ollie says, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

Batman just stares at him, then in a confused sort of voice goes: “You know, it slays? It’s, you know, good? Positive.”

“Huh, what? No, I- I know what that means. How the fuck do you know?” Ollie splutters.

“I’m Batman,” is all he says. Then he walks away and leaves Ollie to stand there, still frozen in time, because what the hell was that? Batman can’t just do that, can he? That’s illegal. How does he even know that?

What Ollie doesn’t know, is that this was a calculated move. Bruce had overheard the three talking as well and decided to have a little fun. All the times before, it just slipped out in the heat of battle, but this one was purposeful.

Bruce knows Ollie would know what it meant, because billionaires Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen have done TikTok trends in the past and try to keep up to date, despite their age. Not that Ollie knows it’s him under there.

And last gala, he left Bruce for the wolves – Vicky Vale – so now Bruce is dealing psychological damage to him as petty revenge.

5. Superman (and Practically the Entire League)

They’re in a meeting with most of the Justice League members that are present on earth at the moment. It’s not often they hold such meetings, since they are a little overwhelming and tend to drag on more than be productive.

However, Clark thinks it’s important to ensure there are avenues through which ever member can state their piece and be heard. So, here they are again.

Booster Gold is complaining about always being on the sidelines and never in the heat of the action, even though he’s a great hero. He’s claiming that there is a bias against younger heroes, despite the fact that the ‘old guard’ will have to give it up eventually.

Apparently, Batman has had enough, because he gets up and snaps: “We don’t have bias based on age, we have one based off skill. Maybe if you stopped abandoning your post and being someone reliable, you might get put out in the field more often. Now stop being salty about it.”

It’s silent.

Clark is scrambling his brain, to figure out the meaning. As a journalist he tries to stay up to date on current language use, however, the only person he’s heard use that word is Jon. The boy never explained, but Clark guessed what it means. Doesn’t explain why Batman knows it.

Then the silence gets broken by a snort, everyone’s head whipping towards the source. It’s Nightwing, a newer addition and one affiliated with Batman himself. The only one there brave enough to laugh at Batman, mirthfully asking: “Did you actually say salty?”

There is no change on Batman’s face, but as a longtime friend, Clark knows he isn’t emotionless. Indeed, when he listens close, he can hear the blood rush to his face, blush hidden by the cowl.

“That was not the point of the sentence, Nightwing,” Batman counters, the name a little bit pointed on is tongue.

“Okay, okay,” Nightwing grins easily, showing his hands in surrender, an act which is made null by him adding: “Just pointing out that this is an official meeting. You’re on the record and you know I’m reporting this to the others.”

Red Robin and Robin, Clark fills in mentally, the other two known associates. Everyone already guessed that Nightwing must be close to them as well, since the younger two are closer to being Batman’s children. Now that is confirmed.

“Thank you for reminding me,” Batman says tersely, before quickly pivoting to the next point on the agenda. No one calls him out for it.

However, just because no one calls him out on it, doesn’t mean they drop it. In the weeks after the incident, whispers make their way through the halls of the Watchtower as people speculate why or how Batman came to use the word salty and how out of character it is.

Clark can hear the gossip all over the Watchtower and he’s sure Batman is aware of it too, because some brave souls have asked about. Especially when some of the others talked about the incident not being the first one.

Batman hasn’t replied yet to any of the questions or rumors. Clark thinks he likes the mystery and chaos, likes that they don’t know why the hell he sometimes lets slang slip. Even Nightwing has been seemingly silenced, never commenting with a sort of professional ease at evasion.

Nightwing is the only clue they have, along with Robin and Red Robin, but none of them seem like the culprit.

It just doesn’t make sense and Clark can’t help but have his reporter brain itch.

+1. The Batfamily

There is going to be an attack somewhere in a major city in America tonight. They cannot figure out where, so there is a nation wide stake out at all the important places. Nearly the entire Justice League has been pulled out for it and even then they don’t have enough.

Batman insists on having a skeleton crew remain on the Watchtower in case the threat turns out to be a distraction. And when it is protested, he pulls out an army of associates none of them have ever heard about to fill out the last gaps in their observational net.

The sudden introduction of about six new Gotham vigilantes, which have apparently been operating inside the city as well as outside of it, would have been the main shock if it weren’t for how they are on coms.

Red Robin and Nightwing are known as professionals like Batman, while Robin isn’t a known entity in missions, though those who have met him, know him to be serious. However, with the introduction of the others all of that professionalism melts away.

It starts about 45 minuted into their mission when Spoiler’s voice suddenly crackles over the coms: “I fucking hate stake outs, they’re so boring.”

“I know right, my ass is starting to hurt,” Red Robin – to everyone’s surprise – replies.

“No chatter on the coms,” Batman dutifully reproaches like he always does, but he sounds less stern this time. It’s as if he knows they won’t listen, but says it because it’s his role to do so.

Red Hood ignores Batman completely, idly commenting: “I don’t know, stake outs always hit different for me.”

“That’s just because you’re boring AF,” Spoiler says, an eyeroll practically audible.

“Oi, take that back,” Red Hood says, offended. “I didn’t die to have you slander my name like that!”

This is horrifying news for most of the other people stuck on the coms, however, there is a cacophony of annoyed groans as well. Why anyone would be so blasé about someone mentioning their death, they don’t know.

Until, Robin says: “Cease mentioning your death as excuse. It’s unbecoming to be so reliant on one measly event. You’re not the only one who has died, don’t be – what was it? – ah, yes, don’t be basic, Hood.”

“Yeah, Hood, don’t be salty just because you’re becoming a boring old man,” Red Robin pipes up, sounding smug. That solves the salty mystery.

“Shut up, Replacement,” Red Hood huffs. “I can talk about my death as much as I want to and you can’t stop me.”

“Hood, please, stop talking about your death, you’re going to make B sad,” Nightwing suddenly interjects, stopping the conversation before it can get out of hand.

Those with super hearing will hear Barry mutter in a shocked manner: “Is he talking about Batman?” But he is overshadowed by most of the newly introduced (and already) known Bat-associates booing loudly.

“Don’t be a fucking suck up, Dick” Spoiler hollers, only those in the know picking up on the fact it’s his name. It’s the only time Batman won’t correct them, because not everyone will know it’s a name unless it’s pointed out.

“Periodt,” the quiet voice of Black Bat supports Spoiler.

“Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, BB,” Spoiler cheers when she hears the other girl.

“That was the correct usage?” Black Bat asks.

“It was, well done,” Oracle’s kind voice comes over the coms, from where she is in her lair helping with coordination.

After that it all quiets down again for about half an hour, then Bluebird breaks the quiet again, complaining: “I can’t believe I had to stay behind in Gotham of all places.”

“You live there. Willingly,” Signal answers. “And I had to stay behind too, you know.”

“They’re sleeping on us, Signal, be upset with me,” Bluebird exclaims, indignantly.

“Okay, but tea though,” Spoiler says, most of the Justice League listening in are starting to learn she likes stirring the pot a little.

“Don’t be a simp, Spoils,” Red Robin says.

“Oh, look who’s talking about being a simp,” Red Hood snorts loudly. “I observed you, loser boy, you’re the simp.”

“It’s not as much of the serve you think it is to admit to stalking me,” Red Robin deadpans.

“RR, not to be that bitch, but you’re the OG stalker, maybe- maybe don’t do that,” Nightwing says cautiously, which is apparently funny enough that multiple people start laughing.

Meanwhile Red Robin complains: “Stop laughing at me, when I did it was totally different, I didn’t plan on killing any of you.” Which is mildly disturbing

“Oi, I never planned to actually kill you-kill you either,” Red Hood protests, even more disturbing. The Justice League is starting to wonder why Batman works with the man.

“Stop with the chatter,” Batman interjects again, before it can go further. “It’s not just us on the com lines now. At least try to be professional.”

And much to the horror of the League, who could never imagine doing such a thing, Batman gets booed. Again. This time directly.

Then to add to the horror, Batman doesn’t explode in anger, like everyone would have imagined, instead he just sighs. Defeated. Batman is like a cockroach, he doesn’t get defeated. However, these kids are managing.

Batman remains defeated too, because the Gotham vigilantes continue to idly chat all throughout the next hour. They are definitely bat associated, because they never reveal any information that could be tied to their civilian identity. Instead discussing other missions, general news, funny things they saw on patrol and personal grievances with the others on the line.

If this is what Batman deals with on the day to day, some are starting to see why he would prefer the heroes of the Justice League to keep their mouths shut on missions unless it’s important.

Most try to tune it out and focus on their own stake out, though the voices keep them awake. But they notice when Spoiler’s voice suddenly becomes serious as she reports: “Sus individuals moving towards the Mayor’s office.”

“Received, getting visual on your location,” Oracle’s voice replies, also snapped back into professionalism.

Spoiler reports their appearances and currently location, until Oracle has them, running a check on them, before confirming they have a criminal record and might be thugs for hire. Spoiler says: “I am going to move in.”

Batman says: “Do not engage, Spoiler, they could be a decoy. Try and get more information first.”

“Alright, alright,” Spoiler huffs. Then adds petulantly: “I’m not gonna do it, I was just thinking about it.”

Which sounds pretty reasonable for most listening in, who aren’t of the right age group to know the meme. Batman, however, does know, because he’s been subjected to it multiple times. So, he yells: “Spoiler, no!” startling some members.

A second later, there are sounds of a fight and Spoiler gleefully saying: “I did it.”

Batman lets out a frustrated growl, but Spoiler pays it no mind and she can’t truly get chewed out, because more and more start to report suspicious individuals moving in on the targets they’re watching.

Within minutes of it starting, Nightwing reports: “They’re decoys with targets. Not the main attack, but will do damage if they succeed.”

“Everyone make sure to take out the decoys,” Batman says. “Those without decoys, keep your eyes peeled, you might be at the real target.”

“Done with my targets, moving to help the others now,” Nightwing reports seriously, before he adds: “And can I just say that I’m the GOAT. Dibs on cookies for finishing first.”

“Okay, shade much,” Bluebird says.

“Don’t be arrogant, it’s unbecoming,” Robin retorts as well.

“Yeah, stop flexing,” Spoiler adds. “I’ve wrapped up too, by the way. You’re not special.”

“Let me have this,” Nightwing complains. “You already took all my shit, let me be cool. You all used to think I was cool.”

“Yeah, used to,” Red Hood scoffs. “Then we all realized you’re a looser.”

“Ha, get wrecked,” Red Robin snorts.

“Baby bird, wasn’t I your favorite?” Nightwing asks hurt, though over the top enough to show he is faking it.

“No, sadly, that was Hood,” Red Robin replies, sounding a little like he’s grimacing.

“No cap?” Red Hood asks, surprised.

“No cap,” Red Robin confirms.

“Now I feel kind of bad for you,” Red Hood says, before some bullets are fired. “Wrapped up here, moving to help.”

Red Robin seems glad to not have to reply and none of the other Gothamites do either. With what the League has heard so far, they’re also kind of happy the topic is being dropped, unsure what to think.

Batman’s associates are among the first ones cleaning up, however, soon others are joining them and the true battles grounds – yes, there are multiple targets, these people are organized (Batman will likely obsess until he has tracked down their organization afterwards) – are discovered and heroes move in to fight them.

Throughout the battle, everyone catches snippets of this strange, newly introduced group. A group, who works well together, like an oiled machine, yet obviously made up of highly competent parts that can act on their own as well.

Like Black Bat calling out: “Red Hood, yeet,” before those fighting alongside them see Red Hood boost her into the air, so she can come flying at the terrorists.

But they also make comments about the people they’re fighting and the others that are fighting alongside them.

Signal calling out: “Bluebird is pulling some sick ass moves. Another one for her on the slay-board, Oracle.”

Or Spoiler commenting: “Okay, not to be like that or whatever, but these terrorists are kind of looking snatched.”

To which Batman sighs: “Spoiler, please, no chatter,” in a vain attempt to get them under control.

“What?” Spoiler says. “I can appreciate when they’ve at least tried to pull a fit instead of that usual para-military, ninja type BS.”

“Go off,” Black Bat pipes up again and Spoiler cheers while Batman drops it. Defeated again.

They also check in on each other, with Red Robin hissing in pain, which is immediately followed by Nightwing going: “RR, you good, fam?”

“Gucci,” Red Robin replies. “Just low-key got stabbed.”

“There’s nothing low-key about getting stabbed!” Nightwing exclaims, getting called a hypocrite by many people, while Batman is already calling for Oracle to get a visual and for a medic to head Red Robin’s way.

By the time the battle is over, the Justice League understands how different the team is that Batman usually works with. If they were surrounded by heroes who talked like that continuously, they would have probably picked up some things here and there too.

Still, it fucking weird when Batman checks over his horde, before declaring: “You were all lit out there,” causing multiple of the kids around him to groan loudly, with Bluebird calling Batman a boomer.

Clark, however, sees a small uptick in Batman’s mouth. And in that moment, he knows Batman is doing it on purpose, that he’s enjoying it. That he’s fucking with them. He doesn’t know what to do with that, nor does he think that anyone will believe it. So, he decides to share the amusement and drop it.

They’re never going to figure out Batman.

~~

A/N:

This work is going to get dated so so so fast lmao, but it’s fun rn (if ur commenting in the future, welcome to outdated slang vibes from someone who wasn’t that up to date with current slang when writing it, bc im secretly a grandpa).

Hopefully I didn’t overdo it to an unrealistic degree, but if I did, such is the story that was being told oops

Also this whole fic is just an excuse for me to write batfam banter bc I love it lmao

I didn’t include Batwing, Batwoman and Flamebird here, sorry, but writing the batfam is always so hard bc there are so many characters T-T

[scekrex]

How about Adam x Tall!Male!Reader?? You can do whatever you want with this, I just thought it would sound tooth-rottingly fluffy.

(Like maybe y/n is around the same height as sera, or maybe a little taller).

I did not specify how tall reader is but it's implied he's about the same height as Sera :3

Part 2

All I want is all you've got

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: beta read by @drxgonspine

For Adam it was extremely hard to get used to the fact that his boyfriend was taller than him - the only angels that he regularly met and that were taller than him were the seraphims. Yes, there were other angels taller than him, angels above the seraphims but those weren’t creatures the first man often interacted with.

It was also not that he felt threatened in his masculinity by the fact that you were quite taller than him, no, it was just that he was not used to it that angels close to him were taller. All his exorcists were smaller than him, they always had been. The winners roaming heaven’s glorious streets were smaller than him. Basically every mortal soul that had arrived after Adam had been smaller than the first man.

Expect you.

And no one really had an explanation for that either, most of the winged souls in heaven had simply accepted it as it was - the seraphims had not.

But that was not Adam’s problem to deal with. The seraphims still treated you respectfully and for as long as they would continue to treat the first man’s boyfriend well, he could not find it in himself to care any more or any less about their conflict with his partner’s height. He himself - despite not being used to it - found it quite relaxing to have a lover taller than himself. Because different from Adam, you were a warmhearted soul who wore his heart on his sleeve. You were a rush of sugar, a bright light in the dark and a kind soul through and through.

While Adam was loud and roughless, you were quiet and calm. You were his safe space, his home. You were the person who knew the true Adam, the Adam who could be quite soft and gentle, the Adam who loved unconditionally. You knew sides others would never get to see because the brunette felt comfortable enough around you to show you these sides without hesitation.

A thing you would have not expected when the both of you had started dating, was that the first man preferred to be the little spoon when it came to cuddling. He would press his face against your chest, inhaling your scent deeply with every breath he took as if it was what kept him high, as if your scent and your warmth were his own personal drug that kept him going. Sometimes, during nights when he was not feeling well or when the both of your schedules had forced you to be apart for longer than expected, he would gently grab one of your wings and wrap himself up in it like a burrito, he’d roll closer and closer to your body until his back would hit your chest. Then he would free one of his hands to reach out for your arm and wrap it around his in your wing covered body.

He was quite a touchy guy in general. In public he would sometimes sit proudly on your shoulder as you would carry him to your shared destination. He loved being close to you even though he would never admit to it out loud. But that was more than fine with you - you knew he felt safe around you, that you and your body were a comfort zone the first man never had before but always craved.

He did not need to admit it, not when his actions made it so obvious that he craved you in more than just a sexual way.

A thing the first man also adored was to simply lay on top of you, either on your chest or on your back - he really did not mind both. Though you had come to notice that he liked it better to rest on your chest because that way it was easier to kiss.

Whenever you were sitting somewhere, he would surely climb into your lap, using you as his very personal seat, sometimes he would even bring his guitar with him, depending on the situation of course. You loved listening to his tunes, though sometimes you thought of them as a little extreme. But it made Adam happy to play them for you and you enjoyed listening to them so you were not really complaining. Especially because you were not able to argue against Adam’s one and only, “That’s fucking Rock ‘n’ Roll, babes,” argument. Because it was and it's a good kind of rock too. So mostly you simply enjoyed the tunes he would play for you on his guitar and listen to his rough voice singing harsh lyrics.

Being taller than Adam also had the upside of being able to carry him home whenever he was too tired to fly himself - which happened more often than someone would think. He was unable to hold back during concerts and whenever those were over, you would gladly carry home a sleeping Adam who would curl up against you and mumble sweet nothings in his sleep. He was adorable whenever he had the opportunity of powering himself out entirely. That was until the morning after - then he would often complain about how his entire body hurt and how he was growing old - bullshit in your eyes but that thought you kept to yourself.

[faces-ofvenus]

Hii, love everything you write! What about Aegon/Aemond having a crush on the same girl? ;)

Thank you for loving my writing, I hope you enjoyed it.

This would almost be a war, especially if we think about Aemond's point of view, he could very well in extreme situations try to kill his brother, that is if it was something Yandere (until when it is not, this boy is a Yandere even if he doesn't want to).

Both of them would try everything to fight each other, especially since childhood, in childhood it was much easier for Aegon to flirt and hit on you, he was like sincerely a breath of almost freedom running away with you right and left, he would provoke his brother in every way, stating several times that he would marry you, and not Aemond, it is pretty easy to know the little relationship between the two, even though Aegon is Aegon, you treat him with such kindness and gentleness, that maybe Alicent never gave you, so he would not be willing to give in or share that with his brothers, (another Yandere).

As I said in another blog, Aemond's flirting methods in childhood were quite simple, he would give you small things, none as extravagant as Aegon, something like flowers etc, he is shy, but what brings you two together, maybe it is the love for reading and art, usually Aegon doesn't even know about your relationship, he doesn't know about the sweet words Aemond speaks to you in the readings, and maybe it would be better this way, if not physical fights between the two would break out, they try to show each other how much better the other is.

In adult life everything tends to get worse, first because Aemond is no longer the shy and cute boy he used to be, and this kind of makes him open space for several provocations, and even wedding jokes, something that irritates his brother too much, Aegon wanted to be the only one who could have this affection, the only one who could draw smiles from you, the only one who could attract looks from you, no one else, and your brother wouldn't change that, your outings would really change, both of them on different nights calling you to fly with their dragons, no wonder both Sunfyre and Vhagar love you, the familiarity even allows you to pet them both, which makes them both jealous of each other.

If you in the end chose Aegon, Aemond would be devastated, he still had certain insecurities towards all this, even if his poker face, and his confident personality disguised a lot, but in your presence he could take off his eye patch, talk like the shy and gentle child he was, and he honestly as I said in the beginning thought about killing Aegon, but he knew for sure that you would never forgive him, and he wouldn't have it anyway, that doesn't stop him from threatening your brother, Aegon would be totally virtuous at that moment, to feel your lips knowing that you belong to him, the next day there's a beautiful emerald necklace on the headboard of his room, with a small letter that is very badly made, but that he tried very hard to be romantic.

If you chose Aemond, Aegon would be almost in a blind rage, most of his furniture ended up broken, he would drink more than before, which in itself is already worrying, more and more lascivious what kept him sincerely from not being with the maids was the fact that he thought that in the future he could have you, but now he'll never have you, all because of that damn one-eyed man, comments can be unleashed, some not so nice, he just holds an eternal grudge, both for Aemond and for you and everyone who influenced his choice. Aemond would be in the clouds, he would literally fly you out with Vhagar, they would land in a flowery field with some books in a small briefcase you brought, he would kiss you in such a shy way he just wasn't used to it, being king didn't matter so much anymore, he would have you, his queen at least in his mind, you were like a queen a true goddess.

If you happen to decide to stay with both of them, your beastly competitions never ceased, obviously you had to marry one, but in both of their mouths you were theirs, what is better than the protection of one dragon is the devotion of two, they are overprotective, and extremely competitive, like who leaves the most hickeys on you and etc, I don't doubt that one or two of their children, are either with Aegon or Aemond, and honestly neither of them could know whose is which, and I don't think they would care, you were theirs, and only theirs, anyone who dared to get in your way, could be burned and seconds.

[lovemari]

Punishment

Warnings: Bullying, Teasing, Tight clothes, Threats

He knew how to push your buttons, make you talk, play with your emotions. Scaramouche is quite familiar with all the nooks and crannies you bring to him. To put it simply, he knew how to control someone as unique and uncontrollable as yourself.

Now, you’re slouching on the chair in his very own office. You know better to keep your mouth shut for two reasons: fear of telling him what he wants and fear of Scaramouche himself.

Of course, it isn’t easy. You fiddle with your hands or avoid eye contact but it isn’t very effective against someone like Scaramouche. Especially when he wasn't in a good mood and had enough of your tricks.

Scaramouche grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. You gave him a scowl to which Scaramouche scoffed, “Frowning won’t do you any good. If you want to get out of here quicker, I suggest using your mouth. Speak.” He ordered.

You didn’t say anything so Scaramouche decided to pull up his trump card early, “Ha! Is the little softie afraid again?” He taunted, mocking you about your past. You looked away, “Shut it..” You gritted your teeth. This is what you hated about him. He knew every single thing about you.

He was right, though. You’re only putting a tough act in front of everyone to hide the fact that on the inside, you’re nothing but a defenseless cutie. Scaramouche continued mocking you after he successfully managed to hit your weak spot.

You sighed in defeat, “Stop using this against me.” You protested, “I was bullied for so long because of it.” You recalled your memories of people making fun of you because you were such an easy target.

Truth be told, you don’t even know how to act tough. You just say mean words so people stay away from you. You never actually had a true friend. Scaramouche was well aware of this.

Scaramouche got up from his chair, “How about you be a good girl and come over after school?” He commanded. You were familiar with this. Whenever he asks you over, you have to clean his room or make him food. Of course, anything was better than detention so you agreed.

After school, you went to Scaramouche’s house. He opened the door and brought you to his room. You groaned, “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll clean.” You complained, to which Scaramouche stopped you.

He grabbed your hand and made you sit on the bed, “I have different plans.” He smirked, as he got out some ‘cutecore’ clothing. He handed it to you, “Put it on. Let me see how you look.” He ordered. You were reluctant at first but it was better than cleaning so you did it.

Making your way to his bathroom, you put on the clothes. You noticed they were purposely small, making them quite tight on your body. You walked out and showed Scaramouche yourself. He patted his lap, telling you to sit on it.

You knew you shouldn’t do it, but you did it anyway. Why did you did it? Well, you didn’t know either. Scaramouche took photos of you on his lap, “Don’t worry. These aren’t going to be public.” He reassured you, “After all, why would I share something so tempting with the world.” He teased.

You didn’t know what would happen next but you did know that you were definitely staying the night. Scaramouche treated you like a barbie doll, dressing you up and telling you what to do.

It’s not like you could object. After all, he eventually threatened that he would make the video go public unless you listen to him. That’s why you’re wearing somewhat revealing clothes. A tight pink shirt with bows and the smallest skirt you’ve ever seen.

It’s exactly 4:32 AM and you’re just waiting for your new punishment to be over.

[our-chaos]

consider: Kaz Brekker with the "who did this to you" trope

this is making me sad because of the fact you could play it both ways :(

The crew had been stuffed into a cargo ship for a week, so far, with another week to go. Everyone was getting irritable, angry, claustrophobic, and especially seasick. You were up on the deck trying to keep Jesper from hurling himself overboard. He was going mental, to put it lightly.

“I can’t stand this anymore, I’m going to float back to Kerch on Kaz’s suitcase.” Jesper threatened, bent over with his elbows on the wooden railing of the boat. He had his face in his hands, the only thing keeping him from being sick was the feeling of his cold rings against his skin.

“I’m not sure if he’d like that very much.” You lazily protested, because as long as Kaz’s temper wasn’t focused on you then you were fine. You reached over to place your hand across the sharpshooter’s back, to which he groaned and rubbed his eyes. You felt bad for him, he seemed to be having the hardest time with the sea.

“Promise me you’ll take the blame if I throw up everywhere?”

“No, Jes.. I won’t.”

You could hear him sigh, then he shook his head in defeat.

“You’re no true friend..”

You couldn’t help but have to stifle your laugh at Jesper’s dramatic rendition of sea sickness. If it weren’t for you to watch him, who else would make sure he didn’t go on a shooting spree due to this form of restless cabin fever? Your back was tired, though, and your feet were sore from all the standing and walking. For tonight, Jesper might have to find solace in something else.

“I have to go to bed or I’ll end up like you tomorrow..” You told Jesper, patting his back and walking back toward the sleeping quarters of the ship. It was smaller, with only three open rooms that the lot of you had to fight over. You were sharing a room with Kaz, which in retrospect was probably the best person to have to be cramped in a room with. Besides the fact he was irritable and grumpy and hardly spoke, you didn’t mind being in there with him. Plus, it meant you could be around him just a little bit more, even if it meant just mumbling out a tired and lazy goodnight and having him hardly groan in response.

You knocked on the creaking door of your room, waiting once for a response. When there was none, you tapped your fist against the wood once more just in case. Nothing. The rusting hinges of the door squeaked when you entered, and the lock clicking back into place was just as loud. “Dammit..” you muttered, reaching for the lantern that you kept beside the door on a table with a broken leg. This entire ship was falling apart. You weren’t sure why the lantern was burning, though, you swore you hadn’t lit it this evening when the sun was beginning to set. Nonetheless, you walked to your side of the room where your bed, a horrible excuse for a roll-out cot, was placed. All you wanted to do was get out of these horrible and stiff clothes. They smelled like sea salt, a common occurrence you noticed in all your clothes now that you had been on the ship for so long.

On the other end of the ship, Kaz headed to his room. He ran over the list of endless tasks in his head, what weapons he had to count and how many days until his crew arrived in Shriftport. The air was muggy, and damp, his bad leg leaving him with a more pronounced limp than usual. Like everyone on the ship, he wanted to be back in his own quarters, hunched over a blueprint with a glass of something bitter and cold.

Once he arrived at his door, your door, he noticed the handle wasn’t stiff. It was unlocked, meaning nobody was inside. Actually, you had just forgotten to lock it up once you had arrived only moments before he had. The door squealed with a high whine and Kaz’s cane hit the ground. Considering the combination of the two he assumed if anyone was hiding inside they’d surely know they were about to get walked in on. Kaz wasn’t prepared for what he was about to see once he walked into the small room.

Your torso was bare, leaving you in only the black pants of your once put-together outfit of the day. Your back was turned, but when you heard Kaz come in you tilted your head to the side to see.

Scars. There were scars that adorned your body in particular places Kaz did not remember you ever being wounded. He knew of each cut, each bruise, each goddamn strain or sprain his little Crow had endured. He didn’t recognize these. He had piercing blue eyes, ones that felt as if they’d leave their own scars if he wasn’t careful. You could see him, you knew he was staring, and if you weren’t frozen in place you might cower away. He dared to take a small step closer, barely inching toward you. You did not flinch.

“Who did this to you?”

You broke the eye contact, looking away as you held your top close to your chest. There was no answer you felt like sharing, but Kaz could see that. He knew that from the way your eyes shifted to the floor and you held your breath. Maybe you’d never answer, but Kaz demanded them.

“Your hip.” He pointed out with his gaze, and you didn’t have to look where he was staring to know what he meant.

“Yes..”

“Who-“

“Nobody, Kaz.. Nobody.” You forced him to stop, to keep his mouth shut for Saint's sake. It was silent for a moment, the both of you debating what to say.

“And your arms?” He spoke again, his rough voice going dry as he counted each discolored patch of skin across what was exposed. You shook your head, and Kaz found himself almost losing his breath with relief. Nobody. Then what? What happened?

“It’s best you don’t tell me.” He revealed, his eyes finally drifting to the floor below him.

“Why?” You asked, finally looking back to him again, clutching your shirt harder without even knowing. You were tiptoeing on the edge of each breath, your heart racing with the intimacy of the moment. Although, it always seemed like that with Kaz.

“Because if I found out what did this to you I wouldn’t rest until it was destroyed.” He didn’t look up, still, and part of you was grateful for that. If he would have looked up he would have seen the way your eyes went unfocused with the fog of new-coming tears. You took in a breath, one that felt dry in your throat.

“What’s done is done, Kaz.. Not even you can change that.” You replied almost regretfully like you wanted to believe that there was maybe a chance this stoic, bloody-minded, clever, handsome fucking asshole could change anything you’ve gone through. You could wish, and he could plot, but the scars would remain and you’d still remember how they got there.

[thatseventiesbitch]

Eric Defending Donna

A rabbit hole I went down for... reasons. Decided to share for funsies.

Season 2 -

In Eric Gets Suspended, Donna is smoking a cigarette on school property and when a teacher catches her, Eric says it's his. He is suspended as a result.

Mentioned in a diary entry that I think is meant to take place sometime in season 2 or 3 - Eric and Donna go to a dive bar to watch the superbowl, and a big, dumb guy starts hitting on Donna. Eric comes to her defense and asks the guy to step outside - while he and Donna slip out the side door (😂).

Season 3 -

At the end of the roller disco episode, Eric comes into the basement and starts whaling on Kelso (and the guys gleefully join in). He shouts, "Donna told me what you did, you dillhole!" Eric was hitting Kelso because he'd made a pass at Donna at the roller disco.

In the ice shack episode, Eric and Donna play the Newlywed Game vs. Jackie and Kelso. Through one of the questions, it is revealed that Donna's told Eric she hates her huge feet. He insists in front of everyone that he doesn't think they're big, and then pivots to insisting that big feet are actually a good thing (😂).

Eric also defended her after he pantsed her in the driveway and Hyde was teasing Donna and calling her Granny Panties. "So what if she wears big panties?" 😂🤣😭

Season 4 -

Eric believes Casey Kelso is manipulating Donna. He tells him not to let Donna believe he cares about her if it's not true, and to let her go rather than hurt her. When Casey disregards his words, Eric threatens to kick his ass (if he makes Donna cry).

He is also very protective of her after the incident with Casey Kelso at the Le Motel. He tells her that he thinks Casey's all wrong for her and that they're moving way too fast.

Season 5 -

When Bob enrolls Donna in the Catholic school, Eric 'marches' over to talk to Bob and try to convince him to let Donna stay at school with him/her friends. He brings a crumb cake to bribe him. He even says he is "prepared to fight this with every fiber of my being" - until he sees her uniform. 🤣

Eric's Grandma Bea is rude towards Donna, seeming to imply that Eric can and should find someone better to marry. While Eric initially enjoys the fact that someone thinks Donna's the lucky one and he's the catch, he eventually tells his grandma that she has got to give Donna a chance, and that if she does she will love her. (Though unfortunately it doesn't work, *lol*)

Jackie's upset with Eric and Donna for threatening to tell Kelso about her secret relationship with Hyde, so in a snappy moment she refers to Donna as a 'big red whore'. Eric tells her to watch what she says.

Season 6 -

When they have their pregnancy scare and their parents confront them in the living room, Donna has to ask him to step in (*lol*), but he does, and says, "Look, whether we're pregnant or not, Donna and I can run our own lives." Unfortunately the next sentence out of his mouth was... utter crap.

After Mitch takes Donna to his brother's wedding and then lied and embarrassed her in front of everybody, Eric was going to fight him. When Mitch tried to weasel out of it, Eric's response was "Donna was really nice to you and you humiliated her - I can't let you treat people like that."

Season 7 -

When Donna's boss at the radio station fires her for refusing to wear a bikini to promote her show, Eric backs her up. He even 'cusses out' her boss and then storms out, taking her with him! Then he comes up with a devious plan that ultimately helps Donna win her job back.

*Note: I purposely did not include the scene where Eric confronts David Millbank in season 1, because although Eric wanted to fight him for Donna, it wasn't on Donna's behalf but because of his own insecurity. And we know for a fact that Donna didn't like it.

[babblingbonnie]

PARASOL

CHAPTER ONE: Peculiar Parcel!

when a peculiarly shaped package arrives on Scrooge's desk, he takes some time to reminisce about the day he arrived in Louisville to find that dinky steamboat on the Mississippi river and the ducks that took him in. Albeit one seemingly reluctantly...

note

hello - I'm very much in love with 2k17 ducktales as well as the older versions! I wanted to try and merge some of the complete life and times of scrooge mcduck by Don Rosa with 2k17 ducktales because for some reason I adore ducks that also happen to be sailors.

There is a major spoiler warning for 2k17 ducktales season 3 finale, though it came out a few years ago I wanted to add this just to be sure you're aware. This is cross published on Quotev -- I also apologize for any inaccuracies, I really hope you enjoy this silly little story! :-)

CHAPTER ONE: Peculiar Parcel!

A PARCEL HAD FOUND ITS WAY TO SCROOGE'S DESK THAT MORNING. It was long with odd bulges along its surface and seemingly insignificant. It sat, and sat, and sat.....then sat some more.

In fact, the sun was already setting slowly in the foreground behind wide windows by the time Scrooge had actually taken a look at it.  

It had been a busy day full of mundane meetings and even more soul-wrenching interviews for a new Board of Director as his old one turned out to be evil.

Figures, with a name like Bradford it was only a matter of time before something mildly evil became of him.

The children were lively as ever, an occasional scream and the sound of something thumping on the ground could be heard outside his office. Shenanigans afoot.

Della's voice seemed to carry throughout the whole manor, and it was assumed that she was an avid player of whatever game the children were participating in as the duck's battle cries rang across the air with promises of multiple darts to whichever body part was exposed if she caught them.

Scrooge had passed Donald in one of the numerous sitting rooms before he had retreated to his study, sharing a few exchanges of words and his one daily comment about his nephews free-loader status.

By the sounds of furious quacking it seems like the rambunctious group had roped the sailor into their chaos.

Scrooge chuckled into his work, cringing ever so often at the sounds of crashing followed by 'oops!' every time, without fail. Usually he would go out there and wave his cane around like a true old man telling dastardly kids to get off his lawn, threatening them that they would be the ones paying for everything with a crack.

But that afternoon paperwork demanded the McDuck's full attention, he couldn't go on any longer without a Board of Director. Mostly because he had taken up the duty himself and he was very much over it. Just because he was willing and able to put in the hard work, doesn't mean he enjoyed it.

The Scottish duck could only hope with all his heart that Beakly or Duckworth would step in and tell his family to STOP BREAKING EVERYTHING.

Trying to push all that, as well as the nagging thought of how much the damages were going to cost, to the back of his head Scrooge hummed a small tune that sounded vaguely familiar.

But he couldn't put a finger on what exactly while he began to hunker down and start reading through words printed in a font size that shouldn't be legal to use.

Something about racecars...lasers...airplanes maybe? It was all a blur, really.

Sifting through the sea of papers, his hand eventually hit the previously mentioned package after a quite violent display of signing a document for the hundredth time. The hand that held a golden ball tipped pen tightly froze midair, a couple inches from the table while Scrooge blinked out of work mode tiredly.

Glancing at the clock that hung just above the study doors it was no wonder why the brutal festivities had died down, leaving the manor deadly silent. It was almost two in the morning.

Had time really passed so quickly? Bah, of course paper work would keep him beyond the hours he could be sleeping.

Tugging the signature black top hat that had suctioned its place on his head from extensive use off his skull, Scrooge flipped it over and placed it beside him on the table before returning all attention towards the brown package that now sat before him.

A hint of confusion mixed with a healthy dose of suspicion took over the duck, after all the richest duck in the world has many enemies and those enemies try all sorts of tricks and schemes. Perhaps it was Flinty sending him some sort of deformed bomb just to inconvenience the McDuck.

Not that it would be the first time. Probably not the last.

Poking the hazard with his pen, the Scottish duck was able to determine it passed the first test of not exploding immediately.

Closing his eyes with a tired sigh, Scrooge almost left the mysterious item alone for a problem to deal with in the morning....well it's already morning. Fine, that afternoon.

That of course, was the original plan before his eyes caught hold of the particular handwriting scribbled on it's rough surface. It was small, almost as small as that blasted font on the multiple resumes he just read.

Slightly shaky, but with beautiful penmanship nonetheless and a unique lettering for the first initial of his name that only one person had ever done for him.

Despite the excitement (one that he would never tell anyone about) that bubbled up through his webbed feet and to his hands, Scrooge jabbed the package one more time in cautious habit before nodding to himself with a confident smile that this was for sure not a bomb.  

Sitting back in the chair he had stood from in order to glare at the now-safe package properly, Scrooge sat with his back straight and hands folded in front of him in an attempt to regain a dignified appearance despite no one else being in the room.

It didn't matter anyway, as the next moment consisted of the McDuck leaping forward in his chair and ripping open the wrapped item like a duckling on Christmas morning.

Shredded bits of packaging laid about the table and floor, the now uncovered item placed delicately over a thrashed background of brown and torn paper with paper work thrown about.

A fond smile found its way to Scrooge's bill, running a feathered hand over the top with a ghost of distance between it and his hand.

"Well...Bless me bagpipes."

Scrooge laughed quietly, brushing off some loose dust and strands of fabric that no longer clung to it's original place. The quiet moment felt slow, and moonlight poured in around him like a thin blanket. Specks of dust seemed to shine in the light like diamonds, while the item before him looked like it almost glowed like magic under the light.  

The item in question was a vintage parasol -- a white base with beautiful blue lace work over it. Lace that use to be pure white hung along the edges for a couple inches, now a tiny bit darker in coloring due to its age.

Something that Scrooge himself wouldn't have paid more then a few seconds attention to back then, and probably wouldn't now if the duck hadn't happened to know the history behind this specific sun blocker.

A small part of Scrooge couldn't believe that the thing was sitting on his desk right now, he thought it was long forgotten or turned to dust by mere age.

A bigger part of him use to stew in disbelief that his uncle hadn't included the parasol in the inheritance, but he had gotten that years and years ago so this showing up now clued him into the bigger mystery that he was pinning down in his head.

Eyeing the umbrella with a scrutinizing gaze that only an old miser could perfect, Scrooge took mental notes about any rips or snagged lace admonishing the top layers of the parasol with an intention to get it fixed as soon as possible.

During his search of fixable imperfections Scrooge came across a small note on some stiff stock paper that was stuck in one of the folds of the parasol, and the McDuck's interest peaked immediately.

Plucking it from its place, Scrooge took a few moments to adjust his small spectacles that sat snug on his beak and began to scan the card.

'Dear McBrat,

Wasn't sure where to send this to where it would reach you personally. Your mailing system is ridiculous and I want to send a formal complaint but your HR is just as, if not more, preposterous. I'm sure this is by design, but jeez kid it's like you expect bombs in the mail. Ha!

Your aunt wanted this sent to you with Pothole's things, but it got lost due to some sort of events that I couldn't relay to you because I have no idea how it ended up in the Forgotten Brewery Caves. I knew it was hers because of the stitching, I'd recognize that nuisance of a last name anywhere. I'm only sending this because I unfortunately owed one last thing to your uncle.

If you're ever down in Kentucky, come finish that race that old Pothole was too cowardly to finish. You'll win me that Southern mansion.

regrettably,

Porker Hogg.'

The idea that Porker was even still alive shocked Scrooge almost more then anything else described in that letter. He had already finished the race anyway, with the guys nephew.

What's with the information about the parasol being found in the Forgotten Brewery Caves anyway? That was one of the few caves located along the Mississippi, and even then most of it is blocked off.

How was it even lost in the first place, and now that he really thought about it how was it that Porker had found the parasol without packaging as stated in his letter but Scrooge received it in a package with his aunts handwriting?

Immortality for the first problem...maybe time paradox for the second...? Rubbing the bridge of his beak, Scrooge groaned into the open air and let out a deep sigh knowing he would end up checking whatever was happening down there one way or another.

If one thing as important as this was lost, imagine the other heirlooms that could be scattered in some other cave without his knowledge. The idea sent chills down Scrooge's spine.

An almost silent sound of the door being pushed open brought Scrooge out of his deep contemplation, eyes snapping towards the entrance that was now cracked open.

One of the many ducklings that resided in the mansion poked her head through the doorway, curious eyes glinting in the dark while she looked around the room before landing on the older duck.

"Dad...?"

Scrooge straightened at the title, if the McDuck claimed he was use to being called a 'dad' he would be absolutely lying through his teeth.

He didn't detest it, obviously. The duck was more then overjoyed to learn that the duckling in front of him named Webbigail was of his own flesh and blood, but that didn't make the title any more normal to him.

He'd gone through life without any real thought put towards having kids of his own, he never settled down quite enough for that and by the time it was even a feasible idea, he had all his other free time taken over by nephews and nieces and other family members.

"What're yew doing out of bed, Webby?"

Scrooge pushed on through his slight dilemma of the title that was bestowed upon him only a couple months ago.

"I was just thirsty, but now I'm thirsty for whatever you've got on your desk!"

Webby gasped, having noticed the blue umbrella that her dad placed a hand over. Scrooge smiled in response, lifting the laced parasol with both hands under it, making sure it was secure before shuffling over to Webby who bounced around on her feet.

It was an ongoing mystery to how she had any amount of energy this early in the morning, and Scrooge was sure he'd never truly find out.

"Now...careful dear, this is my Aunt (Y/n)'s beloved parasol. Technically I own it, she never did pay me back."

Scrooge mused, the last bit of the sentence hushed under his breath while he counted up the combined interest of what he should of been paid by now. Not that he ever forgot, every year he counted up what his aunt and others owed him. Like his uncle Jake who owes $8362 of accumulated interest.

"Aunt (Y/n)," Webby repeated quickly, excitedly looking over the parasol "Pothole McDuck's wife! Originally daughter of Blackheart Beagle, but after she married she took the McDuck name! She saved you and Angus during a steamboat race against Blackheart and the Beagles."

"Aye, she did. She jumped into the muddy Mississippi just for me dime too."

Scrooge added onto the list of facts that Webby was enthusiastically reciting from memory. Letting his shoulders relax as the duckling with messy white hair took the parasol from his hands and held it delicately in her own.

Reaching into his coat Scrooge pulled out the familiar dime that hung around his neck 24/7 while talking about the experience.

"Thought she might not come back up after she went headfirst in," Scrooge murmured, the vague feeling of terrified desperation that his younger self had been frozen in was crawling up his neck as he turned the dime over in his feathered hands.

It's face was a bit rough but that would be expected for how long Scrooge has kept it. The fact that it was still shiny and readable was a miracle.

Holding it in front of him the older duck briefly thought over just how much panic he went through when the dime had rolled off the edge of the boat all those years ago.

"Both my uncle Pothole and I couldn't believe it, but she managed to grab it in time and then single handedly stopped 'em from throwing us over!"

"Wow, she sounds so cool! I've been wanting to learn more about aunt (Y/n) and uncle Pothole - I mean I know they lived in Louisville for awhile and Pothole sold his steamboat to you but I couldn't find anything about the actual race itself-- ...."

Webby trailed off, noticing the cane wielding duck was only half-heartedly listening.

Gazing at the shiny silver coin, Scrooge let a fond expression take over his features before moving the dime out of view to focus on his daughters face again, noticing her abrupt silence.

She was watching him closely, hugging the parasol closer in an upright position and probably wondering where Scrooge had just gone to in his memories.

A hopeful grin tugged at the corners of Webby's beak, having recognized the mood that her father was in. A story telling one.

She quickly grabbed his hand, rushing them both back to Scrooge's desk without any warning. Webby always knew when the billionaire was stuck in reminiscing something that had happened years and years ago in his oh-so daring life, a telltale sign being when Scrooge had his eyes glued to his number one dime.

A piercing but glazed over gaze, when ranges of emotion from sadness and happiness and everything in between suddenly became very apparent on his face.

"Tell me everything," Webby all but squealed, a dash of wonder sprinkled her eyes and wide smile.

Almost shoving her father back into his large lounge chair, Webby plopped the parasol down before scrambling after it onto the desk. Completely oblivious to the previously important paperwork that was now rather unimportantly laying on the ground.

Chuckling nervously at just how much joy seeped through Webby's small body at potential McDuck information, Scrooge took a few moments to get comfortable in his chair.

It was moments like these that the small girl loved, moments that were few and far between where she would spot Scrooge staring ahead (usually at his dime,) but in his head he was far away. She would practically corner her dad and lovingly ask (force) him to tell her about whatever memory he was thinking about.

Moments when it was just her and Scrooge.

"Well, what do ye want to know, lassie?" Scrooge asked slowly, stuffing the precious dime down his red coat.

Placing his cane on the ground so it leaned on the chair, the McDuck reached out over the edge of the desk and grabbed Webby by the armpits and dangled her in the air like a wet cat for a few moments before placing her on his knee with an expectant stare.

"Everything! Tell me everything -- oh oh! How'd you meet them? Were they nice-? How about every single detail about the race, how did you guys find the treasure in such muddy water-?! Uhm- also what about the parasol? How'd aunt (Y/n) get it -- what was she like? Why did she jump into perilous waters for your dime? Was uncle Pothole really a writer? Is he as stingy as other McDucks? How did he know the location of the Drennan Whyte? Did he really sell his steam boat to you at a cheap price?!"

Webby rambled on, intense hand motions flaring everywhere while squirming in Scrooge's lap.

"Well-!"

"And who's Porker Hogg?!"

Scrooge stared down at the duckling bewildered, not because he was cut off nor was it from all the overwhelming questions. He was far use to that, it was mostly because she mentioned Hogg. He wasn't aware Webby even knew vaguely the name, let alone the guy.

The white feathered duckling in his lap craned her neck slightly to look up at him, blinking a couple times before pointing behind her at the somewhat crumpled letter Scrooge found in the parasol that sure enough had Hogg's dastardly name signed at the bottom.

Forming his beak into a slight 'o' shape, the older duck nodded in understanding.

Clearing his throat after a couple seconds had passed by of more winded questions, Webby stopped short and excitedly began to shake about a bit in her seated position.

She looked like she was going to burst at the seams with more questions if Scrooge didn't start talking now. So he did, placing a comforting hand behind his daughters shoulder as a support while she leaned into his side.

Scrooge let her settle down a little more before he used his other arm to spread out as far as it would go, pointing to a slightly large round oak picture frame that held the image of two white feathered ducks on the wall, just to the left of his parents grand photo.

One duck, the taller and gruffer looking one, had a scruffy white beard under his beak with eyes that looked permanently grumpy, much like his fathers stern face in the aforementioned picture next to this one.

A long wooden tobacco pipe was held between his beak, and a sailor outfit adorned his body. A bright blue sailor's captain hat sat perfectly on his head, tuffs of short feathered hair poked out slightly.

The boatman had an arm in a bent position, having offered it to the other duck in the photo who had her dainty arms wrapped tenderly around his. She had a large giddy smile and kind eyes, long lashes curled a bit above them.

Her hair was short and a little wild, and she wore a short sleeved blue collared dress that was buttoned up on the right. A blue lace parasol was held tight in her hand, casting a shadow above her in protection from the sun that beat down that day.

Both ducks were facing a little tilted from the camera in a candid sort of way as if just having noticed the camera during a normal walk, and despite the gloomy attitude of the sailor, Scrooge knew he absolutely adored the woman next to him more then anyone else.

His uncle Pothole was happiest with (Y/n)…and maybe a little money here and there that he horded. Mainly aunt (Y/n).

Webby followed Scrooge's hand all the way to the photo, beaming as she noticed who it depicted.

"Let's start with meeting my uncle Pothole and aunt (Y/n), eh?" Scrooge began, restating their names as if introducing characters in a book.

A playful tone went along with his words and he leaned forwards slightly again to fondly touch the parasol one last time before diving into retelling the long and daring adventure of childhood memories.

Tilting backwards, the old miser thought for a bit before opening his mouth. Webby sat impatiently by his side, fidgeting with her hands as she anxiously waited.

"It all started when I got a job as a cabin boy on a cattle ship from Glasgow, heading to New Orleans."

Scrooge spoke, and with each word Webby saw her father become more and more sucked into the past. Starting to truly relive past events, and the white feathered duck swore he could smell the ocean salt that wafted in the wind while he stood on the deck of the boat.

He was suddenly there, transported to the stylish streets of New Orleans and feeling the murky river water of the Mississippi that he travelled up. Hearing the constant chatter and buzz of enthusiasm upon reaching the dock in Louisville, Kentucky.

He made sure to tell Webby just how marvelous the gala he had docked on was, how the air tasted of fortunes being made. How exciting the view of this bustling town meant to him.

Scrooge chuckled, recalling his wonderment for the whole event that never really did stop phasing him. Glancing down, the duckling that was stuck between his side and the firm armrest could bearly contain her excitement any longer, and Scrooge knew he should probably get on with the tale.

"Quite a sight for a penniless lad from Glasgow, but I still needed to find my uncle."

END . next chapter: Bet on Drennan Whyte!

note

I'm going to be changing around certain aspects of each story to try and fit, so this is very much canon-divergence in both universes. Keep in mind, some parts about reader are already predetermined but other things are customizable!

Thank you so much for reading, I have no idea how to tag things :)

[one-abuse-survivor]

Ice Anon -

Oh my God, I think my dad is going to hit me later. For context I just had a breakdown again because I was going to be forced to church again, I was fighting going, I told mom how going makes me want to die/kill myself, and even explained some stuff to my father.

I felt like throwing up, I was shaking, my breathing was not right, even my heartbeat was fucked up. I was getting vivid images on how to kill myself, I actually picked up some scissors and tried to cut into my neck and wrist but they were too dull.

He kept preaching to me about how I was a slave to fear and how I needed to stop, how I needed to go cause it was the right thing to do and how I might miss something. How the devil is trying to attack me by making me feel this way. He kept talking about love and how I need to go.

I can't stand it, people like him make me hate church, they preach love but hurt me all the time. Mom actually listened to me and was trying to convince dad to not make me go, she seems worried and I even admitted to her while crying that I fucking hate him.

The reason I'm scared my dad is going to hit me when he gets back is cause the more I refused to go, the angrier he go, and right before he left he said, "I'll deal with you when I get back." I'm so scared, I don't know what to do.

My tears have dried by now, but I don't want to deal with that man when he gets back, I have the door locked but since we're traveling we all share a room. My sister said if he goes to hit me she will jump in front, but I told her that she should record it instead, and she agreed and asked me to charge her phone for her cause it's dead. She went to church with our parents and was very concerned.

I'm going to try and not think about it anymore

Ice Anon - Update, he didn't hit me but the fact that both my sister and I's first thoughts was that he was going to hit me isn't great. Also doesn't help that last night I realized I might have delusions sometimes.

To elaborate sometimes I will be convinced the world is ending and nothing I, or anyone else does can convince me other wise, and since that is a big fear of mine I freak out. It goes away on it's own eventually but in the moment I am convinced it is true, even if I tell myself it's stupid while it's happening. (Meaning when in this state I sometimes know this thinking is bullshit but I am still convinced)

So I don't know how to feel anymore

Hi again, nonnie. I'm so, so sorry this happened. This sounds like an extremely traumatic and distressing situation, and one where you needed your safety to be put first. Instead, your dad decided to overstep all your boundaries and abuse and threaten you. I'm so sorry he said those things about the devil; I frankly can't begin to understand how horrible that must be to hear when you've already gone through this kind of abuse/trauma. You have every right to hate him for what he's put you through.

I'm really relieved to hear he didn't hit you in the end—but that doesn't make his threats and verbal abuse any better.

You deserved so much better than this, nonnie. I'm truly sorry you've been put through so much.

I don't think I've ever experienced delusions, so I can't help with that; but I hope you find answers and support in that regard as well.

Sending so much support your way ❤️

[the-firebird69]

7'-4" and muscular. almost nobody can tell who he is. And the talking real loud is it being rude but it's on stupid. The point is that you don't know who this guy is and they trade off at times as a will or Bill. The women s to threaten our son. With several things the different order of magnitude

- personally it is identity. You can't tell who he is he could get in trouble on the street baby laughing if he's telling people off or any altercation or driving or confused of bullying and then from there I might Cascade

-if they say it's not him and say they can't verify it the question whether social security is fraudulent and stuff like that

-after that it's increasingly awful but there are other things that would happen first they're trying to say to Ken it's not him and the landlord although his son told him that he's he's growing and people will try and imitate him more because he'll look different and people aren't used to it and they keep come around but say they're not trying it's been happening it's not the main thrust cuz it kind of looks the same but when he gets big like this it will be different and much more harsh

-along with identity issues do women like the fact that they think that he would get lost and they could run off somewhere with him and produce offspring and return them and nobody would know which ones then he would be hit up for child support and other things would make more product lol it's not really funny but he's laughing at it

-but these people didn't think it through and women know about it cuz they're doing it all the time actually the men are too doesn't work as great but it works and then it's starting to get psyched they're getting in tanked. And Tommy f and Trump are sharing with Glee and her idiots.

The max wanted to happen because they want to see what we're using if people can't tell who he is and they interview people that go buy him or are near him involuntarily

-but really the whole thing is a woman want him to lose his income so they can snatch him up pretty gross and use them and then bring him back and use him and stuff like that. I think it already happened they're trying to compete with someone when they can't find them so they're going to the old girlfriends and getting the s*** kicked out of them and they're hard to find and then they're everywhere it's a nasty nasty thing there's a whole bunch of this going on it's not true and it won't help with the social security they might get a little bit but dual diagnosis might work and he's got to try and find someone to do that but that's only I think when you're 8 in over so he has to be 6'5 and that's roughly 8 inches taller and it's a little over and it has to see how tall his dad was but that's not too hard towards the end there is Dad shrunk but they don't count that. Huge numbers of people are counting on it working I don't see it happening he says an exercising too much not feeding right there's a bunch of reasons the above and beyond so and they're not doing anything with the money or investments just sitting on it we'll see it works we do have a comment about that

Thor Freya

We're in the bottom part

The very bottom

Frank Castle hardcastle

We're going to get on with it

Duke Nukem Blockbuster

Olympus

[imarawbu]

He knows now.

I don't know exactly what happened but I woke up with him super suspicious. He accused me and knew details or was just fishing for details. Maybe the person who sent the anon message to me told him because he knew too much for it to be suspicion alone.

I knew when he found out that it could be one of two things, as he is a narc, I know he is going to do whichever option will be the most difficult for me. That's what he did. Instead of just leaving once he found out I told a couple friends, he yelled, screamed, hit and threatened me for several hours. Got all the information and plans I made, threatened to make life more of a hell than it was before and ultimately decided it's time to pull religion in and used this as the first Talaq. There are three of these before divorce is finalized in Islam. The rest of the day has been him saying he will stop insulting and threatening me, will help and do basic adult things if I don't raise my voice to him (this is him tone policing me, if I don't talk super even or quietly then he says I'm yelling or raising my voice, etc.) and "be respectful." If I am caught telling anyone about this again, it will be the second Talaq. I also had to message the two friends who reached out about meeting with me and tell them that I made "a mistake posting about private family matters on social media," and that I'm immature etc. One friend remained adamant she didn't know what I was talking about lol and the other said ok but she hoped to get together soon. I only told him that I told two people where in reality it's more like 6-7. All people I have been close to in the past or that know my past situation. I know only of 4 who I know for sure saw it. I am to no longer be friends with, or interact with, or meet the two friends he knows I told, because I embarrassed him. If I am caught doing this again, I have to delete all social media, and no longer talk to my friends at all nor leave the house.

I have still secretly arranged to meet with a couple friends tomorrow where I will be handing out flyers as part of my job.

Unfortunately he knows all my plans, told me how dumb it was to think I can support myself on a second job, and he now has time to plan to make it harder for me to stay here in the end. Since I have agreed to everything and we are "trying things again" he is all nice and acts like this morning-afternoon didn't happen, bought me a bunch of food I like, etc. Love bombing. Something that's not happened in awhile. Meanwhile I have majorly dissociated today which hasn't happened since before I got married the first time.

Ultimately what has deeply shaken me up and hurt me very much is that message from last night. I have no proof who wrote it but I know with a large degree of certainty who did. It has been bouncing around in my head the repercussions of what this message is saying. And the person I suspect is behind it has revealed themselves to be exactly like my husband and maybe worse. I have never seen this side of him in person, even if I have somewhat become aware it's there. We are talking about F.

He thinks he's doing from some other number that I have no proof, I can't call him out or tell his wife or whatever because she has apparently been sharing private information that I have shared with her, and giving it to him. His mother did this and I thought it was very weird. Why is this happening again with her, why does he care so much. Why does he think he can throw my past in my face and talk down to me and belittle my experiences. Your wife is a few months older than me, if this is how you talk to a woman who isn't a part of your family, imagine how you talk to your mother and wife. Even more so, the fact he is so brazenly defending my husband and calling me nothing, acting like I ought to kiss the ground my husband walks on, and doesn't even consider what I'm saying is true. He should know how much my husband thinks F is a total hypocrite and joke. He has zero respect for him and frequently gossips about him, his stupidity and hypocrisy. How I have been the one to defend him but I have come to realize awhile ago they are basically the same people- yesterday I learned they are the same, most likely narcs incapable of empathy, complete hypocritical backward assholes, extremely controlling, and knowing exactly how to deeply hurt people they know too much about and yet so I don't know it's him he doesn't block me, don't have his wife remove me as a friend- she probably doesn't even know what he said to me- doesn't remove me as admin from the group he runs page nor remove me from that whatsapp group.

I have fun story.

When I was seeing my husband, before he was my husband, when he showed his true colors, the first time, I told F's mother. Because we had been really close back then and I am a complete idiot. According to her, he "overheard" our conversation. So he removed him from the meetup groups WhatsApp, removed him from the meetup group itself. His mother said, because we don't need men like that in our group. Which is an appropriate response, if he truly overheard, then he'd know what he said to me, the extent of it, and know I was crying. What he said and did wasn't much different than the stuff he's been doing more recently. The difference is apparently F thinks they are good friends now and my husband is a covert narcissist who has helped create the image of being a perfect husband.

My husband convinced me to marry him by love bombing me and saying he'd "changed" and showed results, if you want to judge me.

Joke will be on F, I will make him come back and beg forgiveness for what he said and how he tried to act anonymous and say such things to me, for spying on me, and using extremely person problems against me. Maybe not in this life, but he will certainly hope so because if he's called into account in the next it will be much worse. But I admit I get what I deserve because I trusted his wife and I got sucked into another sick family. And I got what I deserve for telling people when I knew better. I accept whatever happens. I am not afraid of any one human. I know I am not perfect but I did nothing wrong to deserve this no matter how much anyone may try to convince me and break my spirit otherwise.

[chaosincurate]

The Bigotry and other evils of The Monster Mash By Bobby "Boris" Pickett

I've been listening to a lot of Bobby "Boris" Pickett lately, and I gotta say, the Monster Mash lore is fascinating, yet despicable, like a good true crime story. There is a lot of very compelling lore to the universe of The Monster Mash, but be warned, it is quite revolting and will likely irreparably damage your perception of Bobby "Boris" Pickett. No longer can I view him, as billion's of others around the world do, as a relatively noble entertainer, worthy of his success.

For those who are unshaken by such a warning, you may proceed, albeit with some caution, but for those who don't think they can take such a painful, earth-shattering revelation, turn back now. There is no shame in knowing your limits.

So the first awful act occurs in the hit song Monster Mash from the 1962 album The Original Monster Mash, it is established that Bobby "Boris" Pickett is not the creator of the dance, but the creator of the monster (Igor) that made the mash, which was actually plagiarised from Dracula's Transylvania Twist: "What ever happened to my Transylvania Twist? // (Its now the mash)". 

Considering the fact that Dracula was reported to be "part of the band" at the end of Monster Mash (no doubt as an inferior form of hush money), you may believe that Drac and Bobby "Boris" Pickett are on good terms. There is still tension, albeit one-way, present on next track Rabian - The Fiendage Idol however, as Dracula politely asks the famous thief for a favour: to give his friend Rabian an opportunity to show his worth and hopefully collaborate. Bobby "Boris" Pickett responds with his soon-to-be characteristic egotistical response, lamenting that since he had a hit record and "made all this bread" his monsters have been asking for favours from their selfish master. He then hits Drac with another "bl**d-s*cker" slur as he relents and gives Rabian a chance. After being impressed he threatens to gentrify Rabians image and condescendingly sends him away with a "don't call us we'll call you". Horrific behavior.

What ever happened to my Transylvania Twist?

(Its now the mash)

Blood Bank Blues is performed by unproblematic king Dracula, so it is relatively controversy-free to begin with, as he simply opens up about the challenges of vampirism, but Bobby "Boris" Pickett refuses to give up his spotlight for even a single song, so he does make an appearance in which he threatens to singe Dracula's wings. Dracula, who is rightfully upset but still displaying his famous composure, shares with the world via Bobby "Boris" Pickett's own album, that "[Bobby] "Boris" [Pickett] put a stake in my girl's heart", which, given his blatant racism towards vampires throughout the record is undoubtedly a hate crime.

Then the album explores another aspect of Bobby "Boris" Pickett's cruelty, as he forces Igor into work in Graveyard Shift. It isn't clear whether Igor (or any other monster that is confirmed to be working for Bobby "Boris" Pickett in this song) is getting paid, but given they are in a band with a very successful hit song and Igor expresses anxiety around the idea, it isn't much of a stretch to assume that this is at least some form of exploitation.

Next song Skully Gully is frankly hard for me to dissect. I feel as though there is some skelephobia here, but I'm honestly not well educated enough on this topic to expose it. If there are any skeletons reading this, I'd love to hear your perspective on this song if you'd be willing to share.

More monsterism follows as the album reaches Wolfbane, a song in which Bobby "Boris" Pickett spouts every anti-werewolf stereotype going, from the notion that werewolfs only want to "chew people up", to the infantilising idea that they just want to play but can't keep themselves from getting carried away. Not just that though, he ridicules the features of werewolves and depicts them as ugly and undesirable, criticizes their clothes for not being "continental", and makes the assumption that a werewolf is related to the only other werewolf he is known to have interacted with at this point, Rabian. And while we are on the topic of Rabian, this song surely retrospectively casts some light on Bobby "Boris" Pickett's treatment of him in his eponymous song. It felt like there was something off about that, and I think this is why.

This next one gets ugly. Real ugly. Monster Minuet opens with what seems to be Bobby "Boris" Pickett apologetically reaching out to Dracula by giving him and his wife a warm welcome to the former's party, but things quickly spiral out of control. Natural charmer Count Dracula then compliments the "ladies in waiting", calling them "beautiful", to which an endlessly despicable Bobby "Boris" Pickett interjects referring to them as "slimy old ghouls". The discomfort continues as Bobby "Boris" Pickett asks Vampyra for "the pleasure of this minuet", which neither Vampyra nor Dracula feel very comfortable with, judging from the Countess' silence (not to mention the fact that Bobby "Boris" Pickett is reported to have tried to kill her) and Dracula's protestations.

Admittedly, Dracula didn't need to make things as tense as he did with his comment "There could hardly be any pleasure dancing with you", but his being on edge is totally justified considering the host's previous behaviour, which he was all too willing to revisit as he responds with a slur, biting back with "who asked you, f*ng-f*ce?"

The creaturism continues with Bobby "Boris" Pickett going after the fact that Dracula sleeps all day (a natural result of being biologically unable to leave the house in the daytime), and reusing his favourite ant-vampiric slur "bl**d-s*cker", and the "song" eventually ends with Bobby "Boris" Pickett referring to Countess Vampyra as a "snaggle-toothed bag of bones". A disgusting display of bigotry all round from Bobby "Boris" Pickett on this one. It's a very difficult listen.

The next song is a defiant instrumental from Dracula, the long awaited redebut of Transylvania Twist. Bobby "Boris" Pickett tries to deny its boppiness, but by the end even he has to admit "its a rocker!" It's not much, but it's good to see the true creative genius of the album get a win, despite such a powerful man trying to keep him down.

The record doesn't stay positive for long though, as Bobby "Boris" Pickett shamelessly pens a song with a thinly-veiled dancing metaphor for killing his workers, in particular Yanwish the Ghoul, as both a form of punishment for minor failings and just for sadistic fun. This is truly a whole new level of evil from Bobby "Boris" Pickett. Of course, we know that he attempted to murder Countess Vampyra in a hate crime, but this song displays such a shamelessness and lack of accountability that it terrifies anyone who cares about any of these workers.

Me & My Mummy is worth a brief mention, as Bobby "Boris" Pickett adds nuance to his character with an anthem about loving, and being attracted to those who aren't conventionally attractive. He still manages to be a bigot about it, but this is at least some growth that warrants a mention. If he keeps this progress up for a millennium he may not be a despicable person.

Unproblematic king Count Dracula returns to demonstrate true leadership credentials in contrast to Bobby "Boris" Pickett's totalitarian approach. He continues to innovate as Bobby "Boris" Pickett continues to rest on his laurels after the success of Monster Mash, with Drac flying out to Transylvania to work out a new dance, The Monster Motion. He consistently provides calm, constructive criticism as he works out the kinks of their new project. Yet another win against the odds from the hero of this story.

In the next song, The Monsters' Mash Party Frankenstein, here nicknamed "Frankie", opens the song by begging to be unchained so that he can Mash. Bobby "Boris" Pickett cruelly refuses to free him in a harrowing opening to another despicable song. It doesn't end there though, as Bobby "Boris" Pickett in the next verse greets Drac's statement of preference for his own people's dance with a condescending and hateful "Who asked you, bl**ds*cker?", the third instance of that slur in the album, and fourth anti-vampiric slur out the mouth of Bobby "Boris" Pickett by my count.

The next song is Irresistible Igor, which expresses very minor evils compared to the rest of the awful behaviour on display in this album. Bobby "Boris" Pickett takes a shot at Igor's looks, while praising his ability to break hearts, by seemingly leading women on for one night stands and then ghosting them. A cruel thing to do, for sure, but not particularly noteworthy amongst so much immorality.

In the next song Bella's Bash, he continues to berate and slander Dracula while again taking credit for a dance that Igor stole from Dracula,

After that, he then appears to visit Dracula, who is also apparently having a party, and judgementally asks to see his dance, which it appears he has had to modify since the original was robbed, decredited and sold to widespread acclaim. To make matters worse, Bobby "Boris" Pickett chooses to judge Drac's new dance (as a wrongfully respected choreographer) in front of Dracula's own children. Then he disrespects his dance by claiming that its not accessible to people outside of his creature group and is supposedly therefore inferior, contributing to a general theme in this album of Bobby "Boris" Pickett being in favour of total cultural assimilation.

Hope they didn't bring Drac, he's no friend of mine

His jealousy is widely known

Doesn't dig my Mash he's got a dance of his own

Also, for those keeping count, there is yet another use of the bl**ds*cker slur from Bobby "Boris" Pickett in this track.

Trigger warning on this next song for non-consensual pornography. Bobby "Boris" Pickett continues to demonstrate his exploitation of his spooky subjects, and particular bullying of Dracula as the next "song" on the album Let's Fly Away appears to be a recording of Dracula making love to Vampyra, likely without their consent, with them moaning each other's names.

Thankfully, the album comes to a close now with Monster's Holiday. It starts as an act of resistance against discrimination from Santa, who presumably ignored them up until that point. To retaliate, the monsters planned to rob Santa's sleigh, but as they were about to act on it, Santa actually gave them gifts, putting an end to that particular form of discrimination. It's nice to have the album end on such a hopeful note, following such an inundation of bigotry and harm.

So basically *The Original Monster Mash* is the best concept album ever made, with complex storytelling on display, with the clearest example of subversive writing being that of the evil protagonist Bobby "Boris" Pickett. 10/10 must listen

[lifeasatargetedindividual]

My enemies: "You're fighting a losing battle."

Me: "If that's the case, then shut up about it and let me find out on my own. Seems more to me like you're growing a little intimidated over the steps and leap of effort I'm now putting into this." 🤔🤨

This is MY life, and at the end of the day, I'm the only one who has to live it, not those looking in from the outside who choose to share their daily dose of criticism and discouragement. The fact my life was completely hijacked out of my control during a time when I'd finally gotten on my own two feet and was doing much better for myself will never sit well with me. Lynn Brinley knew exactly what he was doing when he had my name added into the TSDB. Despite my past, NOTHING started happening to me until AFTER he made his threat that he would destroy my life. A coincidence? I think not. What stands out even more, he felt so "wronged" by someone he'd met online, yet where was that same intense hatred when it came to his ex Katy Childers, a woman he knew from online AND in real life who he claimed wronged him and played his feelings? Allegedly, he hates her guts and even went so far as to make a video over how narcissistic of a person he believes her to be. Yet did he have HER name added onto the list? Did he threaten to wreck her life as he had threatened me? Nope. Why? Because Katie Childers has the same connections he does, THAT'S why. She even managed to, at the time of their fallout, get his probation violated. Like geez, you'd think he'd have more beef with a woman who fucked around in his REAL life, rather than some chic from online who never even knew where he lived. And let's not forget Tiffany Moser, another woman he knew online and in real life and had sexual relations with, and another woman he tried to have labeled as "narcissistic" after she made it clear she does not want to be with him. See the pattern? I guess all women who turn him down in any way are narcissists right? Yeah 🙄 Out of all the times he claimed she did him wrong as well, where was that same outrage toward her that he expressed towards me? She, like Katie, is also a free woman. And I'd be a fool not to mention Louise, his ex-wife who not only divorced him but also took custody of their child from him and only let him see her when she wanted to? These are all women who did worse to him than I ever could. My only "crime"? Challenging and defeating his so-called "gangster manhood" on an online forum. I suppose the shit hits differently when I can see through you, even from online, and can cut you down with TRUTH rather than the typical lies trolls use to try and bury you. I will never forgive him, because he went into complete overkill mode just to make a point over who has the biggest balls! You can't go after the women who totally screwed you over in your REAL LIFE, making you out as the biggest punk ever, but you can go after a girl online you never even met and KNEW had no protection, no connections and a history of being used and abused by others. We both did each other wrong, but did you ever catch me running around trying to find ways to make you miserable? Did you ever catch me trying to involve other people to get back at you? Never once. Why? Because I'm a SOLO fighter, unlike you, I don't need a crowd to beef me up and make me feel better about myself. That's why even with all the enemies you've gained me, I'm STILL shining bright. THAT is the true story. Just wait till it's all been exposed and it's forever over, you're going to have a very rude awakening, and it's going to cost you EVERYTHING. You started this war, now I'm going to finish it, not just for myself but for ALL T.I.'s, especially those who are survivors of a cruel revenge, like me. Just you wait. Should've just personally came after me yourself. This one's gonna cost you majorly.

[notdonebeingmessy]

FUCK, I HATE THIS DUDE

I just want to tell him:

I don't think I've been unreasonable. I say sorry easily and admit when I'm wrong and I don't get upset easily. But when you say a bunch of stuff to the tune of "no, see, you're unjustified for feeling any sort of way because I'm fucking doing a bunch of stuff and you're just living in the past", it feels pretty invalidating.

And I'm not crazy.

You said I have BPD. As I said, I've looked into BPD before and I don't have any of the characteristics. I'm not promiscuous, I don't do drugs or drink, I don't engage in self-harm, and I don't have unstable relationships. Even though I have suicidal ideation from my depression, the only time I've ever attempted suicide was when that whole thing happened when I was 19. I maintain friendships that stretch back pretty far too, some from [another state], some from when I first moved to this state.

You're the only person I act like a fucking abused animal with because you are how you are.

So, no, I don't have BPD. I do have anxiety, depression, and PTSD due to my upbringing with parental abuse and neglect. And I'm starting to suspect that I have PTSD from when that ugly chapter happened years ago with you.

Another thing that I don't understand is why you get mad when I say things that are true regardless of how true they are:

-[Name] gets mad easily. This is true. You acknowledged that she gets really jealous. I told you about the story where she yanked a game controller out of my hand, in a church, no less. I've seen her yell and act like she would want to fight people.

-Your mom could be manipulative and abusive in the past and indirectly contributed to my mental breakdown. She used to hit you, threaten you, forced you to shave your head, slap you in the face. Of course I don't like her for those reasons and think she's a nasty person regardless of the fact that she's your mother.

-You can be a jerk. You know this. You've said it. Everyone who knows you knows this. You can be very cold and dismissive and you go there quick. And your unwillingness to share even minute details like your job communicated to me that you aren't really interested in opening up, regardless of how vulnerable I made myself. So, why would I keep trying when I was the one who consistently tried sharing things about myself from the very beginning? With the exception of the paintings, you didn't seem to really be invested at all. Even with the paintings you didn't say anything other than asking if it was one type of paint and asking how long I've painted twice even though I had already told you I hadn't painted before.

-I say the n-word. You assumed I don't have any Black in me and disregarded my heritage just because I don't have enough African traits for you. But even if I didn't have any Black in me whatsoever, I come from the perspective that everyone should be able to say it regardless due to this very line of thinking. You can't expect everyone to whip out their "I'm Black enough" certifications to justify saying a word to you. And when people use a word enough times it loses its power. You don't have to agree but I'm being true to my own beliefs, so don't police my speech.

Rather than becoming offended and saying nothing only to bring it up later passive-aggressively, why can't we acknowledge these things or at least acknowledge my right to have my own justified feelings about them due to my experiences? I don't think it's a sin to be honest about things. I shouldn't have to assume from your silence that you were offended and then scramble to figure out why you were offended, or risk waiting until you save up enough things to be mad over to hit me with them when you feel like it.

I know your perspective was that I'm stuck in the past but I don't really see it that way because I had shown in every way that I wanted to have a friendship and I didn't hold anything against you. But when things started following that old, familiar pattern of me being vulnerable and receiving next to nothing in return, that spoke to me. Apart from the paintings, scroll up and see how many times I tried to engage you and was met with either "I don't want to talk about that" or was just straight up ignored. I shared so many things about myself and decided to be vulnerable. I was even honest about how I felt unimportant to you, hoping to address that rather than be told "I don't know why you're feeling that way. You're living in the past and you probably have BPD."

When you showed a bunch of signs of being angry and didn't want to give the slightest verbal admission like "[Blogger], I care about you even in the smallest way", and started bringing up stuff I profusely apologized for, it just served as confirmation for me that you're still the same old person regardless of whatever you say. And you didn't have to make extra jabs out of spite when I decided to be done. It just really cemented the fact that you're incapable of displaying any sincere empathy (at least towards me).

I'm the one that went in with a good attitude. I'm the one that took a chance and reached out in the first place. One of the first things you did was state how people just use you and leave. Do you see the difference in my approach every step of the way?

I tried as hard as I could to be honest about anything I've ever felt while you just save up slights and decide to use them whenever you feel like deflecting and wanting to seem like the bigger person.

I already know what you think of me but also one of your other exes was "pathetic" and you also don't have any friends through no fault of your own because it's all just "good riddance" left and right. Look at your life. It's not me who has the problems. It's not me who's negative and stuck in the past. I've been married since 2016 and for some reason my husband just can't get enough of me even though my heart hasn't been in it for like 2 years now. Because regardless of anything I try and try and try.

But the common denominator in your miserable life is YOU. You don't think it's a coincidence that you end up evoking this feeling of intense dislike inside of everyone who gets to know you? Even the ones who WANT to try to like you? You think it's a coincidence that the only people who put up with you are the ones who are bound to you by blood?

And no time spent in one religion or another will help you if you refuse to face the fact that you can be awful to people who have good intentions.

[raideneiseuthymia]

Crimson Eyes

Summary: Basically, Diluc finally lets his emotions show and wonders if you wish he was a different person and you reassure him that you love him just the way he is. 

Warning(s): Crying, Hurt/comfort 

Pairing(s): Diluc Ragnvindr X GN!Reader

Word count: 800

Inspiration(s): A random prompt I found > “Do you wish I was different?” 

A/N: Basically, something is wrong with me, and I love this man. I saw a dialogue prompt and decided I was gonna write for Diluc ‘cause perhaps behind his facade he believes something is wrong with him. This is also very short I’m SORRY!! Also if yall didnt know i suck so bad at titles LMAO 

---- “Do you wish I was different?” 

The question had come out barely above a whisper, if it hadn't been silent you were sure you would have missed it. The quietness of the words didn't lighten the weight they held. Your heart ached at the words you heard your lover speak. Had you made him feel like that? 

“Diluc…” Your voice was soft as you slowly approached him. He sat in a chair that had occupied a portion of your shared room, his back facing you and his face buried in his hands. Carefully placing your hands on his shoulders then letting them slide down his chest before resting your chin on his head. “I don’t wish you were different, never have I wished for that.” 

You could feel the wetness of his tears falling upon your knuckles; he was crying. The outburst he just had made him upset with himself. His outbursts were scarce, you never blamed Diluc for them. Sometimes he couldn’t control it, and sometimes he was just so worried he couldn't think before speaking. He had always taken accountability for the things he said when angry, he had always apologized and they were always sincere. It wasn’t like he had them on purpose, he would never hurt you intentionally. Never. 

“But I–” 

“No, Diluc do not go down that road,” Your tone was stern, concern laced in it. “There is nothing inherently wrong with you. There is nothing to want or wish to change about you. Sometimes… sometimes you just get overwhelmed and I understand that. You are only human, a very kind one at that.” 

You placed a kiss on his head before moving around his hunched form. Crouching in front of him you grabbed his wrists and pulled them away from his face. Red strands of hair had messily fallen around him, sheltering his eyes from yours. His upper body shook as he tried to hide the fact he was crying; he had such a hard time opening up and letting you in. You tucked the loose strands of hair behind his ears, giving him a soft smile as he finally looked at you. 

“I know that it's hard for you sometimes, and perhaps because of the things you have gone through you think you are inherently unworthy of love but Archons, that is not true.” You tilted his chin up and placed a soft kiss on his lips. 

Placing your forehead against his you let out a soft whisper, “If only I could change the way you see yourself, then perhaps you wouldn't wonder those things. If you could see yourself through my eyes, then you would truly understand.” Your hands found their way to his cheeks where you wiped away his tears. “I love you, Diluc Ragnvind, I love you. There is nothing that can change that. I do not wish you were different, I love you just the way you are. I always have.” 

Diluc let out an airy chuckle as he put his hand over yours. Somehow you always knew how to make him feel better when he got himself in these moods. “I’m sorry, my love, for my outburst. As well as having you see me cry.” 

“You don't have to apologize for being human Diluc, you are allowed to show emotions with me. I will never hold that against you. I will love you even when you are at your lowest.” 

Diluc bit his lip as more tears threatened to spill, those words hitting him hard. He had always locked his “bad” emotions away until he was by himself, afraid they would scare you away but here you were. You were here, by his side comforting him. Nothing but love and kindness in your eyes as you looked at him. 

Warmth filled his chest as he stared at you, his thoughts running a mile a minute. You made him warm, he didn't even know that was possible. How could your love for him make him warmer than his pyro vision already did? How could someone love him so much even in his broken state? And how was it humanly possible for him to love you just as much, if not more than you loved him? 

Panic erupted in your chest as you watched new tears spill from his eyes. Had you said something wrong? “Hey, hey, Diluc? Why are you crying again?” Your thumb wiped away the tears just as they fell from his pretty crimson eyes. 

“It's nothing,” He laughed, sniffling as he tried his best to get himself to stop crying; he was failing horribly but this time he was not crying from sadness. He pulled you close to him and placed a hasty kiss on your lips before smiling at you softly. “I just love you.” 

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too.