#because the consequences are and will continue to be continued alienation of the people who made it possible for him to be in this position

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone).

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There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[megalony]

I'm Not Blind

This is my first imagine for Bob Floyd from Top Gun Maverick, I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

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Main Masterlist

Summary: While hanging out with the squad at the bar, Bob's glasses get broken, meaning he can't drive home. So he calls a special someone and asks for a favour.

Enjoy.

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Bob angled his head down, staring at the rim of the glass he was cradling between his hands. The condensation was starting to tickle his skin and trickle between his fingers. His eyes watched the coke swirl around in the glass, clinking with the ice cubes that were starting to melt now.

He knew that most people in the bar presumed he was drinking vodka and coke or even rum and coke, because what kind of Aviator came to a bar and didn't drink alcohol? Him. He did that.

Drinking wasn't something Bob particularly enjoyed. He didn't like the loss of control over his senses, the inhibition it created and the drowsy state it put him in. He didn't like the hangovers in the morning or how sick drinking made him feel after a few strong drinks.

Bob couldn't understand why people liked to drink so much. He didn't see how it could be fun to lose one's senses and become sick and fatigued and not be able to act properly or be coherent. And he didn't see why people drank so often that they made themselves sick and bore the side effects and consequences of alcohol.

On occasion, sure, he had one drink, two at a stretch every blue moon. But it wasn't something that Bob could see the big deal about.

Plus, if he had an alcoholic drink or two like the rest of the team, then how was he supposed to get home? He was driving, and he presumed that Phoenix would want a ride too when she was done.

Bob couldn't understand the rest of the Dagger Squad being so happy to leave their cars at work or here at the Hard Deck and get taxis home together. Then another taxi back in the morning to wherever their cars were parked. Staying sober was much easier, less time consuming and less costly, and those were just some of the benefits.

He continued to glide his fingers across the condensation on the glass, letting the water soak into his palm and send shivers running through his blood.

He took a few sips of coke, letting the ice cubes clash against his teeth and send shivers through his jaw. When the glass was half empty in his hand, Bob turned on the stool he had perched himself on and faced the pool table to his right.

It was Phoenix's turn to play against Jake, who wasn't so happy considering Bob had beaten him in two games. Pool never used to be Bob's kind of game, but he was all for playing against the Dagger squad because he seemed rather good at beating them, so much so that he was putting on wagers.

But it wasn't his turn to play yet, and he was growing tired. After watching this game Bob would head back, and if Phoenix wanted a lift he would drop her home on his way.

He took another swig of coke as he leant back on the stool, quickly reminding himself not to lean too far because there was no back and he didn't want to topple over and make a fool of himself.

Tipping his head down, he nudged the glasses further up on his nose and stared down at the clinking eye cubes in his glass. But his head snapped up and his glassy eyes danced around until they found the source of the voice calling out to him.

"You know you're the only one not drinking. Alcohol, I mean."

A faint blush began to paint Bob's features and he once again found himself staring into his glass. Of course Hangman would either recognise or guess with pure speculation that Bob wasn't properly drinking. Or maybe he knew the signs, knew that Bob wasn't anywhere near intoxicated with an ounce of alcohol.

Did it matter if Bob was the only one who wasn't having a drink? Was that really a problem for anyone? Maybe Jake wasn't talking as if it was a problem, perhaps he was just making a statement. Either way, it didn't really matter. Bob was always explaining to people why he preferred not to drink or why he didn't want a drink or why he didn't get drunk on social occasions.

"Yeah, I know. I'm driving home." Bob gave a little shrug of his shoulders and set his drink down on the little table next to him.

His way of getting home was to drive, and Bob wasn't stupid enough to do that while under the influence. Even one drink could impair his judgement, and if he got caught that was his licence on the line and his job in tatters. He wouldn't risk any of that.

"So, why don't you drink?"

This time, Bob's attention shifted to Bradley, who was stood near the open doors that led out onto the beach. He rose the bottle of beer in his hand to make his point before he took a swig.

None of them were being rude or pedantic, they weren't trying to goad Bob or upset him or single him out, they were just curious. Most of them had been drinking since their teens, they were used to having drinks after work or sneaking a bottle away with them when they were sent out overseas on their calls and training.

With Bob being the only one who didn't drink, it made them feel like they were leaving him out or singling him out. The least they could do was ask him why he didn't drink and try to understand so they never did or said anything that offended him.

A soft look crossed Bob's face and a small smile twitched across his lips as he ran his hand across his jaw and angled his head back so he was looking up at his fellow aviators.

"Isn't it more appropriate question is why do you drink, rather than why I don't."

"What?"

Of course they weren't going to follow his logic or his line of thought, but it made sense to Bob. It seemed more understandable to ask someone why they did drink rather than why they didn't. Drinking caused inhibition, loss of memory, function, ability to stay in control and comprehend surroundings. The same as smoking caused illnesses and lung conditions in the long-term.

They were called bad habits for a reason, so it seemed reasonable to ask why someone would continue a bad habit than why another would refrain from them.

"All the side effects, all the long-term problems, isn't it easier to ask why you bother to drink yourself into a stuper than why I don't?" The quirk of Bob's lips caused the squad to roll their eyes and a few nodded their heads with little murmurs of agreement.

He had then there. If this had been a debate, Bob surely would win this one if he continued with that train of thought.

"Suppose." Jake gave a little nod as he seemed to ponder on Bob's words, but ultimately finished his beer and agreed when Bradley said he was getting them all another round. So he didn't take Bob's words to heart, even if he saw the logic in them.

Not that it mattered at all, Bob didn't want to give the team a lecture, he didn't care if they or anyone else drank or how much they consumed. He just didn't want to drink, personally.

When his drink was finished, Bob hopped off his stool but he found himself smiling when Bradley held another glass out towards him.

"Just coke, right?"

Bob felt sure there had to be a punchline in there somewhere, that Bradley was messing with him and when he took a sip of that drink he would find a shot of vodka or bourbon or rum laced in with it. But the look on Bradley's face made him take the glass.

He wasn't smiling or grinning and flashing his teeth, and he wasn't biting his tongue or eagerly waiting for Bob to take a sip. He was being kind, he wasn't trying to wind him up, he was trying to include him. And if any of them was to try and play a little prank on him, it would be Jake, not Bradley.

Bob nodded his head and took the drink, after all he didn't want to be rude. He would have this last drink and then set off home. He couldn't turn the drink down, not when the team was quickly becoming like a second family to him.

Setting his new drink down, Bob weaved around the pool table so he was near the doors. He liked listening to the sea and smelling the salt water rolling in on the sand.

But he took a few steps back when Phoenix stepped back as Javy stumbled, spilling whatever vodka concoction was in his glass.

Bob couldn't help but curl his lips in distaste when droplets of Javy's drink rained through the air and splattered on his glasses. God, he hated when he got his glasses mucky. And he could see Phoenix wasn't too happy to have vodka in her hair and dotted on her shirt.

"God, are you drunk?"

"Sorry, Rooster's got big feet."

Tripping over Bradley's feet was a good excuse, although Bob wasn't sure he actually believed it.

With squinting eyes and a twitching nose, Bob slid off his glasses and proceeded to grab a napkin from the table next to him. He huffed, muttering a sarcastic "Thanks Javy," although his tone showed he wasn't truly irritated or annoyed.

God knows Bob could be clumsy at times, his wife told him often enough. He couldn't be angry at someone else for tripping over.

He didn't like the look of the smudge marks on his glasses which he set down on the edge of the pool table. He had a headache. His hands pinched at the bridge of his nose and he sighed, wishing away the headache that had been blossoming over the last hour or so. Sometimes Bob wondered if his headaches were little yearnings, his body's way of telling him he was desperate to be back home.

Often enough he had gone home and the headaches had disappeared. Although that could be because home wasn't as loud as the deafening, drunken voices in this bar and the people and attitudes here were boysterous and sometimes overwhelming.

"Alright, I think this round is mine."

Bob lifted his head at the sound of Jake's voice and his lips quirked into a sideways grin. He liked how confident Jake sounded because that was exactly how he sounded twenty minutes ago just before Bob beat him at his own game.

His hand continued to rub at his temple and he tried not to squint too much, considering his sight was adjusting without his glasses. He wasn't used to spending too much time without his glasses on unless he was getting a shower or just waking up in the morning.

But shudders coursed through Bob's system and he cringed when a God awful crunch suddenly eclipsed through the air. Louder than any of the laughs or raised voices and background music coming from the jukebox in the other corner of the bar.

"Oh come on." The frustration in Bob's voice took everyone off guard and they all seemed to freeze or turn to look over at him with bewilderment in their eyes.

"What?"

He sucked in a deep breath which he held in his lungs to try and calm himself down and his headache increased tenfold when he stepped forward and had to look through blurred, unfocused vision rather than through his lenses.

That didn't stop him from being able to clearly make out the view of Jake who swiftly jumped up from the edge of the pool table where he had just sat down. His jaw hung open and his blue eyes went wide with panic and an edge of fright when he looked down and realised what he'd done. His pool cue was held in a tight grip but Jake's other hand began to tap against the table.

"You sat on my glasses?" Bob tried hard not to sound angry but his tone was disgruntled and clearly gave away that he was now irritated.

Jake had plonked down on the edge of the table, right where Bob had set his glasses. He had sat on them. He had broken them, the unmistakeable sound of a crunch was clearly the lenses popping out or the arms or frames breaking.

And when Bob reached out and picked them up, he grunted. The bridge of the frame had snapped. He now had two glasses as opposed to one single pair. And one of the arms was bent right out of shape, that would never sit round his ear. He couldn't try and wear them until he got home and scouted out his spare pair. There was no saving these now.

"Hey I didn't mean to, you've got spares, right?" Panic was laced into Jake's voice and he patted one hand down on Bob's shoulder, which he quickly removed once Bob lifted his head and have him a very dark look through his unfocused eyes.

Why didn't Jake look before he sat down? Why did he have to sit on that exact spot where Bob had put his glasses? He had taken them off for a minute, if that and now they were broken. He needed those.

"You broke his glasses?"

It was clear by the tone of Phoenix's voice that she was trying her hardest to keep a straight face. She didn't want to begin laughing and upset Bob, after all he was her co-pilot and upsetting him wasn't the right move to make. But it was funny. Poor Bob, stood there with a broken arm of his glasses held within each hand and squinting, unfocused eyes that showed how he was starting to seethe.

The Squad were almost expecting to see steam coming out of his ears at any given moment.

Jake twisted his head to look over his shoulder and hissed "By accident," under his breath with a stern look and a tense jaw.

He hadn't done it on purpose. Okay, so maybe he was crude at times and he liked winning by whatever means necessary when he was up in the air, but he wasn't a jerk all of the time. He wouldn't intentionally do something like that to Bob, he had nothing against him.

Another sigh spat past Bob's lips as he tossed his broken glasses onto the pool table, uncaring whether he knocked into the balls and adjusted the play of the game or not. His hands moved to clamp down on his pointed hips and he tossed his head back as his lips curled.

"I can't drive home without my glasses."

How was he going to get home? He needed his glasses to drive, he could barely see the road signs without them, let alone focus on what they said or the layout of the road or the bends. And it would be just his luck to pull out on someone and have a minor accident and get his licence suspended because he didn't have his glasses which he was obligated to wear when driving.

"Seriously?" It was Bradley who laughed this time, although he stopped the moment Bob scowled in his direction.

"If I can't fly without them then it's kind of probable that I can't drive without them too."

Had the team not noticed that Bob never took his glasses off? Did they not see what he had to wear a helmet, glasses and his oxygen mask when they were in high altitude? Did they not realise that they could barely see his face with all the equipment that he wore?

None of them had ever seen Bob take his glasses off to fly, he was always wearing them. He needed them to see without blurred edges or fuzzy images in front of him. He couldn't work out the coordinates or altitude or algorithms if he didn't have his glasses on.

"Guess we'll all be getting taxis home." Phoenix nudged her elbow into Bob's to try and make him smile and lighten his mood, but it didn't work very well.

With a sigh, Bob took a few steps away from the pool table and the Squad until he was stood in the corner of the bar, and he grabbed his drink too. He may as well down this drink and see if it would dull his headache that was only going to get worse the longer he went without his glasses. It was a good job he had a spare pair at home somewhere. He would have to dig them out once he got back.

Fishing around in his pocket, he found his phone and took a deep breath, dithering on whether or not he really should be doing this or not. He didn't want to be an inconvenience, but he also didn't want to wait around and get a taxi home with the Squad when he knew they were going to be here for a few hours hours yet.

*Hi babe, kind of had an accident with my glasses. Any chance you could give me a ride home? Or find my spare pair? xx

It took him a few minutes to actually send the message when he could barely see the keyboard on his phone. And he was sure he misspelt a few words here and there. But Bob was rather shocked by the instant reply he got, and he felt jolts of adrenaline surging through his stomach and up to his chest when he dared to open the new message.

*Sure baby, just tell me where you are. xx

The irritation on Bob's features melted away into a relaxed, soppy grin once he squinted hard enough and brought the phone right up to his nose so he could read the reply without so much of a headache.

(Y/n) was coming to his rescue.

The music from the Hard Deck bar was the first thing that (Y/n) paid attention to. She barely noticed the few people stood outside smoking or the ones hurrying into the bar as if it was last orders at this time in the afternoon.

She could hear the music from all the way out here in the car park. She had parked up next to Bob's car, the midnight blue colour struck her the moment she pulled in.

With her bag hooked on her shoulder, (Y/n) closed the car door and rounded to the back. A soft look melted across her face and she leaned in towards the toddler who hadn't long woken up from his nap. Although she knew he would wake up now that he had heard the music and knew that they were going somewhere new.

(Y/n) unclipped the buckles and reached in to scoop Robbie up. Once he was settled on her hip, he laid his cheek on her shoulder and scrunched his hand up in the neckline of her shirt, clinging to her like he thought someone might try and rip them apart.

"Alright, let's go find daddy."

Once the car was locked, (Y/n) proceeded towards the bar she had only been in on very few occasions. The Hard Deck bar wasn't somewhere (Y/n) frequented often, and it was a place she knew Bob only went when the team begged him to join them for a celebration or a drink or to cheer themselves up if their training had gone wrong. Her free hand moved to cradle the back of Robbie's head and she pressed her lips to his temple before heading through the main doors.

She knew it wasn't exactly ideal to be bringing a toddler into a bar, but it wasn't as if (Y/n) was going to sit him in a corner while she had a drink or a catch up with friends. She was only coming inside to find Bob and check that he was ready to go. And children were allowed in the bar if supervised.

Her lips curved into a smile when she felt Robbie jolt in her arms once they were inside, as if a flip had been switched within him. He felt the music vibrating through him, how it had gone from distant drumming to loud and overwhelming.

He grinned against her skin, eyes wide as he lifted his head from her shoulder so he could take a look around.

A few looks were cast in her direction, after all it wasn't often that a woman walked into the bar with a child in her arms. But it was mostly smiles and quirked brows, no malice or dark looks or scoffs, much to (Y/n)'s relief.

She scanned her eyes around, unsure whereabouts her husband would be and it was hard to pinpoint his Squad when she had only seem them on photographs.

Bob had been waiting for the right time to introduce them to his family, and he secretly liked having something to himself. He liked having his family as his little secret, his and only his. But he knew he couldn't keep both worlds separate forever.

"Excuse me," (Y/n) turned to the side, weaving between a group of women and a man trying to play darts.

She kept Robbie bouncing high on her left hip which caused her to slouch slightly to the right. Her eyes scoured the unfamiliar faces and she felt rather like how she imagined Bob felt at the moment without his glasses as she tried to locate him.

It felt as if a flare had been shot through her chest when her eyes finally located a familiar flock of golden sandy hair that formed a wave to the left of his temple. And those bright pale eyes that were so often seen behind circular frames looked somehow smaller, more petite without the glasses in the way to magnify them.

(Y/n) took a moment to look Bob up and down, watching how he was perched on a stool sitting a good two feet away from everyone else who was surrounding the pool table. It was almost as if he had cast himself out. He had one foot pressing down into the floor and the other pressed against the leg of the stool, balancing himself on the edge while his hands messed with what looked to be an empty glass full of ice.

Now that she had him in her sights, (Y/n) wasn't sure whether to truly approach him or not. She wasn't sure if Bob would want her to be introduced to his friends like this, right now, in this bar. She thought maybe she should have messaged him and told him she was outside. Or perhaps she should try and catch his eye and then wait outside until he was ready to head home.

But she didn't have chance to try and catch Bob's eye before Robbie realised where he was.

"There's daddy." His voice wasn't loud enough to catch very much attention, but either Bob had super hearing or he had been looking in their general vicinity and clocked them at that precise moment.

A light seemed to sparkle in those unfocused eyes and his lips quirked up into an open mouthed grin when he realised (Y/n) was finally here. And she had brought Robbie along too.

The little wave of Bob's hand caused (Y/n) to take a deep breath as she realised he wanted her to come over. He didn't mind if the team saw her and met her right here and now.

(Y/n) moved her free hand to begin to gliding up and down Robbie's arm while she treaded closer towards the back of the bar where her husband and his Squad were all situated.

It felt like jolts of electricity were shooting through Bob's veins and the added energy had him jumping up to his feet and patting his hands against his thighs out of anxious habit. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from (Y/n). The light beaming through the open doors seemed to cast straight upon her like it was her very own spotlight, and it drew Bob's attention to her gorgeous smile.

When she reached him, (Y/n) settled her free hand on his shoulder and pushed up on her toes so she could give him a kiss. Her own lips curved into a grin when she kissed him and she darted her tongue across Bob's lips, tasting the remnants of sugar clinging to his lips which she guessed was from a glass of coke. His drink of choice wherever they went.

It was soothing to feel Bob's hand settling on her waist and when she slid her hand from his shoulder to rest over his chest, (Y/n) could feel the frenzy his heart was going into. It was endearing.

Bob's right hand reached out to cradle the back of Robbie's head and he ducked down to kiss his son's temple, who began to giggle. He could see the slight change in Robbie's eyes when the two year old noticed that his dad wasn't wearing his usual spectacles, but he didn't comment on it. There were often times he saw his dad without them, when he was in the shower or mulling around the bathroom or when he was just waking up in the morning. They weren't permanently glued to his face, even if it did feel that way sometimes.

"You ordered a ride?"

Bob hummed quietly, and when Robbie started to wriggle and whine, he bent at the knees to reach out for his boy.

"C'mere." He lifted Robbie up into his own arms, holding him high enough to kiss his cheek before he let him wriggle and get comfy against Bob's chest.

The three of them seemed to be in their own little bubble, right until a small cough from behind caught their attention and Bob quickly turned on his heel to look around. He'd almost forgotten the reason why he asked for (Y/n) to come and pick him up. The team were here with him, or rather, he was here with them.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together as she took a step closer into Bob's side. Her arm looped around his middle and she rested her cheek against his shoulder as she looked around the people now gawping and staring at them like they had come from another planet entirely.

"And uh, who's this?" The smirk on Phoenix's face was enough to show that she had an inkling of who (Y/n) was in regards to Bob, but none of them had been properly introduced yet.

Phoenix was quietly tapping the pool cue in her hand against the floor while her other hand was now on her hip, with one leg crossed over the other. She arched a brow as she looked between her co-pilot and his partner, and when she looked down at Bob's hand that was cradling his boy, she realised there was a plain gold band strapped around his finger.

She hadn't noticed that ring before. How could she have been so blind? How could she not have noticed that little giveaway and not questioned him about this little secret family?

"Guys, this is (Y/n)… my wife. And this is Robbie."

Robbie gave a little wave, smiling when he watched Bradley's lopsided grin spread beneath the moustache that looked ticklish and made the two year old giggle.

"Robbie, as in junior?"

A faint blush crept along Bob's neck and dusted his cheeks as he nodded. That was the nickname he usually gave when he was calling out to his boy at home. He was always calling him junior, and it was something Robbie loved.

Both (Y/n) and Bob agreed that they wanted to call him Robbie, as calling them both Bob would be a bit too confusing and weird, but they thought Robbie was a lovely nickname. And it was different to Bob so there would be no confusion. Although ninety percent of the time he was called Junior.

Looking down, Bob bounced his boy a little higher in his arms which caused Robbie to loop his arms around his dad's neck and kiss the end of his nose. An action which caused Bob to grin madly and made (Y/n) chuckle.

Although both of them looked in Jake's direction when he tutted. He had a look of disbelief painting his face and his lips parted silently for a moment or two before he tried to find the right words that were on his mind.

"Oh, no way. No way that's your wife." He shook his head again and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth while he leant over the pool table to take his shot.

"Why not?"

(Y/n) was rather surprised by the snappy tone to Bob's voice and the frown that pulled at his features, despite the way that their boy was clinging and humming against his neck which usually made Bob grin madly.

Why was it so unbelievable that (Y/n) was his wife? Why did Jake think that Bob was lying or that this was somehow too unreal to be true?

A smirk pulled at Jake's lips when he realised he'd touched a nerve. He wouldn't want to irritate or offend Bob, but toying with him a little was a way of fun.

He cracked his jaw at the same time as he took his shot before his eyes cast over to (Y/n). "She's a catch."

It was Bob's turn to smile and he rolled his eyes which adverted down to look at his boy instead. If Jake was going to try and bait him then Bob was going to try and best him. He wasn't stupid, he knew (Y/n) was a catch, but he also knew that he himself wasn't such a bad person or a bad looker. Bob was modest, but he wasn't totally ignorant to think that he was so unlovable or frightful to look at.

"My sight isn't twenty-twenty but I'm not blind." He couldn't disagree, his wife was beautiful and Bob took every opportunity to tell people so. He didn't need his glasses to know that.

Robbie tilted his head back and reached out to drag the tip of his finger along the bridge of Bob's nose and around his eyes.

"No glasses?"

"Not today, somebody sat on them." Bob ticked his head in Jake's direction but he glanced back at his wife when her head lifted from his shoulder and she narrowed her eyes across at Jake.

"You think my husband isn't a catch?"

There was something about (Y/n)'s tone of voice and the steel expression on her face that made it hard to tell whether she was joking or not. Even Phoenix couldn't be sure if (Y/n) was trying to wind Jake up or if she was genuinely upset and offended by what Jake had said.

Either way, it caused Jake's smile to fade and his skin to turn a shade lighter at the thought that he had offended her upon first meeting her. He didn't want to offend a fellow aviator's wife, that wouldn't be a good move to make, especially when he had to work with Bob almost every day.

"No, no… just surprised our quiet Bob managed to land such a beauty. He doesn't seem the type." Jake took a deep breath, hoping to have redeemed himself there and he was sure he had when (Y/n)'s lips curved into a soft, if contemplating, smile.

"Hm, well you're exactly the type I guessed you'd be."

"Oh, and what's that, handsome and charming?" It seemed rather clear by the smirk on Jake's features and the way he took a step closer that he had a high esteem and a big image of himself in his mind. But that smirk faded when (Y/n) spoke.

"All mouth and no trousers."

The way (Y/n) swept her eyes up and down his frame with pursed lips and almost a look of disappointment in her eyes made Jake's brows raise and had his jaw hanging towards the floor.

Bob couldn't help how widely he smiled. He loved the gobsmacked look on Jake's face and the fact that his wife was the first person to render Jake speechless.

He turned his head to bury his nose- and his triumphant grin- in (Y/n)'s hairline and he pecked her temple a few times before he felt her murmuring into his skin.

"We'd better go, we need to pick up the girls soon." (Y/n) kept her right arm looped low around Bob's waist and she moved with him when he reached to grab his broken glasses from the table. Which he stuffed into his back pocket so he could get them replaced soon while he took the time to find his spare pair once they got home.

They were about to turn and say their goodbyes to the team when Phoenix spoke up before they could get a word in.

"Girls? You have more kids?"

Bob found himself nodding with a grin that spread from ear to ear, which he hid when Robbie began to nuzzle his temple into Bob's chin.

"Three girls and a boy."

Bob wasn't the shy quiet guy they all took him for, and he wasn't plain and simple like they suggested when he simply wrote his name on his helmet rather than a callsign. He just let them assume those things because it was easier and it was fun to go along with it and see how long he could make it last before he had to let his two worlds merge.

He was a dark horse when he wanted to be.

[giveemhales]

🦇 My 30 Favorite Batfam Fics of 2024 🦇

I’m continuing my annual tradition of sharing some of my favorite fics that came out in the past year (you can see last year’s list here). This is just a way for me to show my love and appreciation for the many amazing artists/writers who keep the fandom alive. If you read any of these fics, please make sure to leave some kudos and comments! And there are so many amazing fics I wasn’t able to include, so I encourage you to show some appreciation to your own favorites!

Please be sure to read all tags and warnings. I’ve provided warnings for the darkest fics.

All of these fics were completed in 2024. I only do one fic per author, but definitely check out all of these authors’ other works. Also, most of these feature tim, because he is my favorite. Now, without further ado…

Sparkles by @iselsis (2k, jason & bruce, fluff, a/b/o dynamics, batman finds an omega kid covered in cuddle pollen and going into heat)

until the bounds of death have been unwound by @vinelark (2.9k, tim & jason, fantasy and angst with a hopeful ending, tim is a demigod and he goes to save jason from the underworld) (the sequel is also great!)

Sacrificial Lamb by @kgraces (3.3k, tim & bruce, angst with a happy ending, bruce makes a deal with the devil to trade tim’s life for jason’s, his kids later find out) (this fic messed me up, i actually think about it all the time)

wouldn’t wish it by @green-eyedfirework (3.3k, jason & damian & tim, whump/angst with a hopeful ending, talia calls jason to save his brothers from the league of assassins) *READ THE TAGS

Lucky Number Three by @sohotthateveryonedied (3.4k, tim & bruce, angst and hurt/comfort, bruce has to deal with the consequences of his actions while he was under the influence of truth serum) (won’t make much sense unless you read this fic which honestly destroyed me)

Anything by @byrambles (3.5k, dick-centric, angst with a happy ending, bruce tells dick he wants to adopt his siblings, dick assumes this does not mean him)

possess by @envysparkler (4.6k, bruce-centric, angst with a happy ending, bruce is possessed by a demon that want, fortunately jason has magic swords)

The Guilt Never Really Left, You Know by @neuro-psyche (4.9k, dick & jason, angst with a happy ending, nightwing saves and then confronts red hood) *READ THE TAGS

Sacrifice by @onemuseleft (5.4k, bruce & his kids, light angst with a happy ending, the justice league is successfully negotiating with alien invaders until they request the sacrifice of one of Batman’s children)

you’ll be alright [or else] by @call-me-quill (5.9k, tim & jason, angst with a happy ending, tim takes a bullet meant for jason and doesn’t understand why jason is so upset)

the bed and breakfast by @adelfie (6.2k, dick-centric, fluff and angst with a happy ending, dick is stranded at a b&b during blizzard, things seem fine until he realizes he’s being held hostage)

with the exception of… by @dss1101 (6.4k, tim-centric, hurt/comfort, everyone realizes tim had a very different experience with his batman than all the other kids)

How to be a Little Brother by @die-erlkonigin6083 (7.4k, damian-centric, fluff and light angst, damian tries to learn how to be a good younger brother)

Reply ‘STOP’ to Unsubscribe by @motleyfam & @batmoniker (8.4k, jason & tim, angst with a happy ending, tim imagines his dad when he’s hit with fear gas at school) (this will probably make more sense if you read the rest of the series first, but I don’t think is strictly necessary (but you should read the series anyway bc it’s great))

Of A Genius’ Legacy by @sparkoflena (8.5k, tim-centric, fluff, tim graduates high school, a lot more people than he expected show up)

Flatline by @dragonpyre (8.9k, jason-centric, angst with a happy ending, jason is injected with a drug that basically shuts down his body, he has to watch his family’s reactions to finding his “dead” body)

Our Dead Drink the Sea by @ghost-bxrd (9.2k, jason-centric, angst with a happy ending, jason is a selkie and bruce kept his pelt when he died, the red hood takes the pelt and the batfam want it back)

In The Back Room by WhumpKing223 (9.9k, dick & jason & tim, heavy angst with a hopeful ending, batman discovers black mask is holding three boys captive, bruce wayne decides to take them in) (the rest of the series is about the boys’ time with bruce and it is great) *READ THE TAGS

Boom, Boom, Pow! by LilaVaporizer9000 (11.1k, tim-centric, absolute hilarity, kid tim steals the batmobile and wreaks havoc/ saves the day)

how to feed your local demon by @inkpotsprite (14.5k, tim & dick & bruce, fluff and humor and light angst, dick is an incubus and isn’t doing well after jason’s death, tim shows up to help)

the fire under your feet by @phneltwrites (17.8k, tim & jason & damian, angst with a happy ending, tim shows up to the league of assassins while jason is still there, they must team up to save damian from ra’s)

Perfect Storm by @banditywrites (25.1k, tim-centric, angst with a happy ending, tim is winning the game of not needing anything from his parents, but it starts getting harder and his neighbors are concerned)

you’re not defenseless, i’ll be your shelter by @fandomtrash-whataboutit (26.3k, tim-centric, angst with a hopeful ending, tim is lex luthor’s captive and is in charge of watching over the new captives- young justice) (the only batfam relationship in this is tim & dick, but the rest of the series has more batfam plus timkon and is so good)

Brother of the Fucking Year by @aceofdivinechlorophyll (26.4k, jason-centric, fluff and crack, jason makes plans to chaotically meet and bond with his siblings… as red hood) (will probably make more sense if you read the first part of the series first, which is also funny and great)

Join the Club by @cephalog0d (26.9k, jason & tim & dick, fluff and humor and light angst, where tim and jason meet at school, tim is dick’s biggest fan, and jason thinks it would be funny to make them meet) (this was filled for me for FTH but I would have included this fic regardless, it’s great)

What Christmas Means To Me by @taralaurel (29.9k, tim & dick & jason & bruce, fluff and angst, tim meets bruce when he is dressed as santa and asks for his parents to be home for Christmas, the batfam takes this as a challenge)

Screaming In The Dark (While We All Play Our Part) by @yourwakingnightmares (32.9k, dick & jason & tim & damian, heavy angst with a hopeful ending, the batboys are captives of a very evil batman, they escape and go to the justice league for help) (I also rec the sequel, which is ongoing and great) *READ THE TAGS

The Right Substitution is Key by @addictedapple (34.4k, jason-centric, fluff and crack and light angst, nightwing and batman go missing, robin asks red hood to fill in as batman)

the loneliness in worth by @yeeyee123 (56.1k, tim & damian, angst with a happy ending and humor, tim is supposed to be training in paris, he instead ends up with the league of assassins and decides he’s gonna help damian get to his father)

Northern Attitude (I Was Raised on Little Light) by @theskeptileptic (103.2k, tim-centric, heavy angst with a happy ending, tim is bruce’s biological son, jack drake has been punishing him his whole life for this, the batfam just want tim in their life) (technically not finished, but I didn’t put it in the WIP section as there is only one chapter left and it’s honestly at a satisfying stopping point) *READ THE TAGS, there is graphic child abuse

+5 WIPs I’d love to see more of in 2025!

[Refuge] by @raberbagirl (7.6k, tim & jason & dick, mostly fluff, the boys take refuge from the streets in the abandoned and supposedly haunted Wayne manor, the spirit of the manor is just happy to care for the kids)

a cuckoo in the nest by @antebunny (9.4k, tim-centric, angst and fluff, bruce makes a deal with the fae to get jason back, he has to take tim in in return, tim just wants to be loved)

Mine by @millytsworld (18k, jason & dick, angst with a happy ending, dick is the right hand man to an infamous mob boss (bruce) and decides jason is his new little brother, jason completely misunderstands dick’s intentions) *READ THE TAGS

Losing Time by hatlessmule (40.3k, tim-centric, angst (hopefully with a happy ending), tim finds himself in a universe where he doesn’t exist, the batfam want to know who this flighty kid is)

Care and Keeping and Kryptonite by @mild-and-hammered (96.9k, superbat ft. the bat kids, fluff and light angst, mild-mannered reporter clark is injured and has to stay with playboy bruce wayne and neither know the other’s secret identity, meanwhile bruce’s kids start meddling to bring the two closer together)

[tare-anime]

After posting the observation that both Loid and Yor were injured at the same arm, during a kind of simmilar arc, I have a further contemplation....

My... my ... both TwiYor actually has bleed for one another 😲😲

Like... both has actually enduring a bleeding wound for the other. 🥹🥹🥹

I mean, if we look again during the Mole Hunting arc, Loid was shot on his arm because he was hesitating in hurting Yuri, because Yuri IS important to Yor.

He hesitated to hurt other people. That has been his nature all along.

But actually, during this particular event, he hesitated because he care for Yor and her wellbeing.

Even though he didn't understand his actions, because Twilight is a man of logic -- and none of this feelings shenanigans can be logical in any form or way -- Twilight cannot understand why he acted that way.

Eventually, he relucantly connected the dots, and reluctantly admits that he unintentionally has made Yor as his weakness.

And as a man who will always -- and has to prioritize his logic, Loid then choose to "nip the problem in the bud" (or a thing similar to that).

But as we can see from several chapters after that, especially at chapter 94 (the snow lodge adventure) and chapter 103 (the watching belle adventure), we know that no matter how many logic he pour unto stopping this ridiculous illogical feelings (or so he thought), his body reacts the other way.

He can't help but listen, and relax whenever he is with Yor. He might be won't admit it out loud, but his body language shows how much he appreciates Yor being by his side.

But...... (I think) Loid will not act upon such thing.

Nope.

He prefer to keep things working the way it has been.

He prefer to maintain the status quo, because it's comfortable.

The logical question would be: Why would someone try to move things that have been working properly as it is, and overcomplicated things?

Now, Twilight might be not as extreme as Hemlock or Nightfall in embracing loneliness, but as Matthew has said, someone gain power from "have nothing to loose".

I think, Twilight has put himself in this category.

Yor, on the other hand, is different.

As a character, she is already different -- if not opposite of Twilight by design.

While Twilight will try his best not to hurt people (I say he might even try to push them away if it means they will be save), Yor will not hesitate to hurt those dare to hurt her few -- but very important people.

As we can see it from the early days of the series, Yor has been, and always will be this way.

She will act first (to help, to protect) and think of consequences (especially if it "only" endangered herself) later.

That is why, as seen from the Cruise arc, only when she has found her resolve-- her goal -- that Yor will fight back, and never hesitate in enduring several "unfatal" injuries if it means she can punch down her enemies, and at the end ensuring the safety of her most precious people.

The same happen when she was facing Hemlock.

But during this Garden Introduction arc, there's been something that has been bothering Yor.

Unlike Twilight who always think things through, Yor leans more to feel things.

She knows that there are somethings different in her heart right now.

Somethings that's not as "simple" as continuing her role as Anya's mother, or her role as the sharpest thorn Garden has ever had.

It is something more deep, more alien to her.

She wants something for herself.

Apparently this wants is not just a "status", or a "safe place to stay".

Maybe it's more deep than that.

We know it is acceptance that Yor has been wanting for so long. But it seems Yor herself cannot pin point what she actually wants.

As we can see from chapter 114 (the Briars day out), we can see (and assume) that Yor never act to fulfill her own wants. She will always put other's wants first, and never address her own.

This time however, it's different.

She wants to be accepted -- openly -- for who she is.

And for some reason (we know what the reason is 😏) Yor wants it to last forever -- if possible.

So, I guess, I agree with the discussion with several discord moots, that with Matthew's push, Yor will finally act to find out -- to hear and see it by herself -- to know where does she stand in the Forger family (or in Loid's heart) as a wife.

This will be a development of Yor questioning her role as a mother during chp 35.

Because, considering the danger nature of her job as an assassin, "hesitation will end up making everyone hurt".

And that is one thing that Yor will do in whatever power she has to prevent.

So, in different way than Twilight, this time, once again Yor will act and find out....

I also love the insight from other reviewers and moots, that said, this time -- for the first time -- Yor will once again push the balance (or status quo) of Loid and Yor's relationship.

She will be the one brave enough to knock on Loid's room door (or a metaphore of Loid's heart) -- a place so private -- so cold and calculative and full of logic -- to find out whether her feelings are true and can be reciprocate, or not.

And maybe depends on what Loid's answer will be, Yor will act accordingly.

Let just hope this bravery of Yor will have a happy result that she -- and by extension us the TwiYor shippers -- deserves 🥰🥰🥰

-------

TL;DR

While both Twilight/Loid and Yor has litterally bleed for one another, they act differently.

Loid by maintaining the status quo of their relationship

Yor by asking assurance of her question (uncertainties), by daring herself to knock / step into Loid's space.

[polarity-disturbed]

Guys, guys, please—I can't do this. This episode isn't about painting UNIT as some flawless institution under unfair attack. It’s about a deeply flawed system. One that, on little to no evidence of an actual alien threat, invades a small town in full SWAT gear. That’s not meant to be a good thing.

It’s a story where the person in charge literally releases a dangerous creature to prove a point—and that same institution is being targeted by a misinformation campaign. And yet, despite those serious flaws, they do ultimately act to protect people. That’s the tension. That’s the point.

Let me be clear: this is an allegory for COVID and the online grifters and influencers who took advantage of the pandemic to spread hate and gain popularity—and who continue to do so now.

It’s about how institutions—even when compromised, bureaucratic, or short-sighted—still have the capacity to do good. They’re made of people, many of whom are trying to hold the line, trying to save lives, trying to do the right thing while the ground shifts under them.

But those imperfections? They make it easy for grifters to walk in and sell a fantasy. People like Conrad don’t actually want to protect anyone—they want control. And they know how to dress up that pursuit of power in the language of liberation. He says he’s standing up for you, for “truth,” for “the people,” but really he’s weaponizing frustration, anger, and distrust for his own gain.

Conrad always knew aliens were real. He wasn’t trying to expose lies. He was trying to punish UNIT for not recruiting him. That’s it. His whole crusade is built on a personal grudge. He rejects the Doctor’s reality not because it’s implausible, but because he wasn’t chosen.

That’s the core danger here: villains who tell you exactly what you want to hear. Who appeal to your cause, your values, your righteous anger. They frame themselves as underdogs, rebels, visionaries. But when you look closer, their plans are hollow. Destruction for destruction’s sake, dressed up in whatever narrative gets clicks and followers. People saw what they wanted to see in Conrad. Whatever oppressive system they hate, he claimed to be fighting it. He let you project your beliefs onto him—just like grifters do in real life. He made destruction feel like justice.

Ruby drank the vial, Conrad didn’t. That vial was the only thing that negated the Shreek’s vomit-based marking system, and by refusing to drink it, Conrad didn’t just risk his own life—he put everyone else in danger. Just like those that refused to take the vaccine.

And Kate, in releasing the monster, represents those who, during the pandemic, felt frustration and helplessness. She symbolizes the moment some threw up their hands and said, “If they won’t take the vaccine, let them die.” But that mindset didn’t solve the problem; it only escalated it. The monster had already shown it could mark more than one person, and there was no guarantee it wouldn’t strike again. The monster, like the virus, didn’t distinguish between those who made bad choices and those who couldn’t protect themselves. And she released it anyway.

By surrendering to that frustration, she was putting the vulnerable at greater risk, the very people who needed protection the most.

This mirrors the situation with COVID: surrendering to misinformation or personal pride jeopardizes the lives of the vulnerable, children, the immunocompromised, and those without the same choices or protections.

It was only because of Ruby that those consequences didn’t spiral out of control. Ruby didn’t just save lives—she prevented Kate’s breakdown in judgment from becoming a catastrophe.

So no, this isn’t “UNIT good, Conrad bad.” It’s a story about nuance. About how flawed systems can still serve the public good, and how those flaws are exploited by bad-faith actors who don’t care about truth or safety. It’s a warning: be careful who you believe, and why. Just because someone says what you’re thinking doesn’t mean they’re right. And just because a system needs fixing doesn’t mean you burn it all down.

The episode holds up a mirror to us and asks: what do you do when the systems meant to protect you fall short? Do you give up? Do you burn down the establishment, ignoring that it would put people at great danger? Or do you recognize that while the system is flawed, it still has the capacity to do good, and that dismantling it without a plan and without care for who gets caught in the fallout can cause more harm than reforming it ever would? It challenges us to sit with discomfort, to hold more than one truth at once.

Conrad had valid grievances, but his actions still endangered lives. UNIT made mistakes, but it still stood between humanity and annihilation. Rejecting nuance in favor of easy answers may feel righteous, but it often leaves the most vulnerable to pay the price.

That said, I do think the episode would’ve been stronger had the Shreek actually attacked or marked someone else during that final confrontation. Even just one more target could have underscored the point that the threat was indiscriminate—that Kate’s decision risked more than just Conrad. It would’ve made the stakes more immediate, and made Ruby��s choice feel even more necessary.

And yeah—I really hope we get an episode someday that digs into the tightrope UNIT has to walk. How do you hold them accountable without exposing the dangerous technology and classified knowledge they safeguard? But that's not what this episode was targeting.

[snakeunderyourboot]

One of my biggest critiques of the newer seasons of Malevolent is how canon completely forgot that John ALSO has control over Arthur's body. Specifically left hand and the right foot.

It was such a big thing, back in s1: when we didn't know who John was, when the horror was more intimate and personal. There was a huge focus on the fact that inside Arthur's head, there is something unexplainable and alien that took over his eyes. That this something, doesn't remember what or who he is, who says that he is on Arthur's side, but we don't know for sure. And then, in addition to all the madness that follows Arthur, the entity possessing Arthur's eyes suddenly gets even more control over his body. The hand, the foot - at some point, the question of when John would take over even more becomes one of the most prominent ones.

But John never takes more - in fact, he says that he doesn't want to take over Arthur's body. It wasn't his plan to take over in the first place: it just happened, and it was a surprise for him just as it was for Arthur. And here comes another part of it - the idea of two souls sharing a body. At what point does Arthur end, and at what point does John begin? What prompted the takeover in the first place? And does it really matter, when the lines blur so much, the body feels like something they always shared?

From their shared control comes the first seeds of John's want for independence and agency. From sacrificing his finger in order to escape the forest, to helping and guiding Arthur when they are in danger. Him attempting to choke Arthur when they are arguing. Arthur using John's hand and his own to destroy Faust's eyes.

Both of them are violating each other's agency and boundaries, but they can't do anything against that because they are stuck together and in constant danger. They have to work together to survive, which means that whatever feelings they have about their situation need to be put on hold. They couldn't escape the pits because they weren't in sync. If you even think about it, every step Arthur makes, he makes it with John: this is how much they interwound with one another. Even Kayne, when proposing a deal to Arthur, specifies that Yellow will get control only over Arthur's eyes, and that's it.

All of this is so important, especially when you arrive at its culmination, when Arthur shakes John's hand in the mines. This is not only about him being happy that his friend is back. This is Arthur accepting their shared control over his body, accepting that if he wants to have John in his life, he will need to share the body with him, until further notice. Most importantly, it's him accepting another person in his life and realising that whatever he chooses to do now is going to have consequences for them both. This is no longer just his life - this is John's life too. And Arthur is okay with that.

Annnnd after this beautiful journey, canon completely forgets about it. Or well, not completely: the s4 has some moments, and it also focuses heavily on the topic of both Arthur and John's agency and how they have to coexist with each other, especially concerning other people. As far as I remember, John didn't do anything with his hand in s4 (in comparison with s1(killing Eddie), s2(choking Arthur), and s3(sewing Arthur's injury)) And this is fine, there is no requiment for John to do something with his hand every season. The season still focuses on this idea of two souls in one body.

Then s5 comes.

I...am not a fan of s5. It has its moments: both good and bad. The beginning of the season(specifically the encounter with the Witch) is really good - not only is it masterfully written and produced, it continues to play into the conflicts from previous seasons. After defeating the Witch, when John has his whole speech about choosing Arthur, it is his way of accepting his role in Arthur's life, similarly to how Arthur did it in s3. This is him accepting that he is stuck with Arthur - he is okay with that. He would rather have no agency but still be with Arthur than have control over the whole body and not have Arthur.

One of the biggest problems in s5 for me is the way John has been reduced to just the narration tool. It's like canon completely forgot all of the conflicts John used to have before. Sure, Arthur and John are not arguing with each other anymore, but it doesn't mean that they won't have disagreements. Again, they are two completely different people stuck in one body and then plucked into one dangerous situation after another. Now, knowing for a fact that if Arthur dies, John doesn't follow him into a Darkworld, there should have been some kind of shift. Some kind of change in the way they both view their life when doing something risky. At the very least, there should have been a conversation about it.

But nope. Instead, we will let a blind man throw rocks, trying to hit a target. And make him shoot into an Eldritch monster. We will reduce John to just the narration tool that doesn't contribute anything else to the conversations. It is primarily seen during the castle arc, before which Arthur asks John to help him even more than before. He needs John not only to be his guide(his eyes) but also an investigator, an active participant in the story. The worst thing is that John actually leads and helps! At first! But then they find a body, and suddenly Arthur can run around and investigate with absolutely no problems. Wouldn't it be more meaningful if, after s4 where John didn't want to be reduced to being just a passenger, he would finally get a chance to be in the lead? Putting him into a metaphorical Arthur's place, where he needs to take care not only for himself, but for Arthur too, especially when they are in danger?

But the worst comes during the episode with Lilith, where John does absolutely nothing. Sure, Arthur is Lilith's favourite, no problems with that. But, can you really say that Lilith and John don't have anything to say to each other? Both were fragmented and left in another world for years. Both have someone they connect with. Both grew to appreciate human nature despite its limits. Only to have different journeys end: Lilith back to being whole, and John rejecting his nature to be someone new. Honestly, when I first listened to this episode, I was half-convinced Lilith couldn't hear John and didn't even know about him.

Notice how I didn't say anything about John's usage of his left hand or right foot? Yeah, because he doesn't. At all. There was absolutely no moment where John used the parts he had control over to do something. Canon not only forgot that John has those parts, but it also reduced John to just being a narrative tool.

I wanted to write about all of this for AWHILE, but what finally broke the camel's back is the first episode of s6. When John refers to Arthur's arms as just Arthur's arms. When he says "your left hand". And with a description that on the left hand, there is some scar that shines white and presumably holds a fragment of Lilith, which means that back in episode 52, it was John who reached out towards the piece of Lilith. Only it wasn't: it was Arthur. So, the choices are either Harlan forgot who reached out for what, or he completely forgot that John has control over the left hand.

The point is: canon always was loose on how much control John had over the body. He and Arthur share their ears and nose. Back in s1 Arthur played a super complicated melody on piano with both of his hands. No one remembers that John has control over Arthur's right foot. And that's okay! We all make mistakes and sometimes we have to bend rules to let the story played out the way it supposed to: it's how Harlan says, he doesn't mention Arthur using facilities because no one wants to hear about Arthur going for a piss. But in the important moment, where it matters, the attention should be put on who does what.

Thank you for coming for my TedTalk, more at 11

[theforsakenprince]

Forsaken as a revenge story fascinates me but not because of anything really related to the revenge story itself but rather the context surrounding it. like, "revenge is wrong" stories are everywhere and almost expected at this point, and Forsaken is no different, really. Forsaken says going on this path of revenge will turn you into a monster, but... we as the player don't really care? And why should we! Uldren killed one of our favorite characters! And every expansion before this has us killing something, so it's not really out of the ordinary.

This feeling is especially reinforced by how much Bungie tried making the young wolf a self insert during y1 (which REALLY did not last long). We, the player (if you played d1/y1 anyway) are angry at Uldren for killing off the most popular character at the time. It's PERSONAL now. And sure, the ending does feel like we're kicking someone who's already down (Ghost says it himself: Uldren's already done for), but we got the bad guy! The end, right?

Nope! Our actions have immediate consequences! Ghost is scared for us. We have to watch Petra struggle with the events of Forsaken while trying to lead a city of people stuck in a perpetual 3 week loop. Mara is obviously not happy with us (and we know we have to deal with lightbearer Uldren at some point). We may not feel bad about killing Uldren, but it doesn't feel great either. And unlike most past Destiny expansions, Uldren isn't an obligatory unequivocally evil big bad alien we need to shoot because this is an fps, he's... just some guy we barely knew anything about before now. Sure, he was a dick to us, but watching his descent into madness throughout the campaign is downright uncomfortable. All our past enemies, in comparison, have been rather straightforward: they're trying to kill us? well we gotta kill them first.

Forsaken also marks a MAJOR tonal shift. It literally kills off the comedy relief. Every release after Forsaken has a noticeably more serious tone (and while humor isn't completely absent (Saint, Crow, Fynch, and Nimbus have their moments) Forsaken's story is a particularly dark one, and it seems to carry over the rest of the year as we first start to consider the "line between light and dark"). It was definitely much more noticeable at the time of release, but Cayde's death has an impact not only on the characters but the tone of the story overall (he is the perfect example of characters continuing to haunt the narrative imo) and clues us in as the audience that shit is about to get Real.

and what happens the next year? We find a Pyramid ship.

this post is kinda all over the place but MAN not a day goes by that I don't think about Forsaken and how good it is as a self contained story and as an expansion that sets up a lot of the major players leading up to final shape! it's not really controversial to say that Forsaken is one of destiny's best expansions (story wise at least I'm not touching that power grind with a 10 foot pole) but I feel like a lot of that sentiment comes from the fact that it came out after curse of osiris/warmind which. no hate to either of them but anything that came out after them would look really good in comparison.

anyway uhhh forsaken good uldren did nothing wrong (JOKE I feel like I have to specify this is a joke people have taken this statement from me seriously before)

[meow-moment]

My distoipian short story i hope you like it

I wake up. I turn off my alarm clock (head implant) and leave my house. My mom is already at work, her job as a looping stripper hologram starts at 3am. I get on the city bus (flying) and head to dystopian megaschool. Chris Pratt Generalized Turbocademy, located in central HyperNeo CyberJersey.

As soon as I arrive the custodian android straps me into my infopod. The VR headset thrusts itself onto my eyes and feeds me two hours straight of propagandvertising (portmantaeu of propaganda+advertising). I am then quizzed.

"Who Won The Neon Wars?" It asks.

"PepsiCo," I answer.

"How Many People Died In The Neon Wars?"

"2.6 Trillion."

"Name One Long-Term Consequence Of The Neon Wars."

"The sun got extinguished."

And the quiz continues. I get every question right- if I got two or more wrong, my infopod would liquefy me and send my remains to the cafeteria to be served as lunch. The headset chastises my handwriting and recommends a stabilizer implant for my wrist. (I already have one but the machine is trying to get me to admit it's a bootleg. If I do admit it, I will also be liquefied.)

After that is lunch. They're serving my favorite today: liquefied students. I meet up with my friends Xyrone, Klazzz, and M.I.K.E. and we gossip together.

Xyrone is a hacker with a headset constantly strapped over his eyes and a bitcoin-mining rig surgically mounted to his back. He doesn't need to study because he can break through the school's firewall and change his grades to A's. We keep asking him to change ours too, but he's a Nova-Libertarian, so he thinks if we want it that bad we should do it ourselves.

Klazzz was recruited at age 8 to pilot a mech in the global manhunt for Saddam Hussien. (He'd have to be 900 years old by now at least, but modern medicine is crazy so I dunno.) A bully thinks it's be funny to mimic an explosion sound with his mouth right behind her, and her combat instincts kick in and she vaporizes him and his posse with her arm-mounted neutron cannon. (If anyone tries to remove it from her body, it shuts down her nervous system and then self-destructs, meaning it's classified as a disability aid)(that's why she's allowed to have it in school)

M.I.K.E. is a closeted singularity. He doesn't think anyone knows but he's obviously such a sjklop (slur for AIs) its not even funny. Sometimes I paint captchas on my face so he can't tell its me and then I beat the fuck out of him. I think it's funny.

We realize we all have next period free so we decide to skip class. On the way to our favorite pizza joint we notice a news bulletin being projected onto the sky. Greg (Eternal God-CEO, President, Emperor-Lord, and Judge of the Northern Hemisphere, as well as founder of tech startup Rooblop) is announcing that we're going to nuke Venus, just in case there are aliens there.

We turn around from the news just in time to realize that M.I.K.E.'s pathfinding has malfunctioned and led him into the middle of the street. He's hit by a car and immediately torn to shreds (all cars have sawblades mounted to the front to discourage jaywalking.) The driver doesn't even bat an eye (he's also an AI, his own pathfinding malfunctions a second later and he makes a sharp left turn into a crowded mall.) I save the footage and post it to the cloud. It gains 2 billion views over the next thirty seconds. Ten seconds after that, a rights organization cancels me for glorifying AI murder. On the horizon, I see a drone strike get called in on my Dystopian Megaschool, and I'm glad I skipped class.

We stop at the Dystopian Mega Pizza Shop on the way home. Their pepperoni is guaranteed to only be 90% liquefied high schoolers, and the cookies they sell even have real Khreim! (not to be confused with Cream, Creme, Kreem, Chreamm, or Kchreeighm.) Unfortunately, the entire restaurant is sold out, as the cadre of CopDrones in the corner bought everything edible in the building to fuel their starved appetites. Klazzz throws a disparaging insult in their direction, and in response they shoot Xyrone 87 times in the chest.

I arrive home. My mom is home on her 30 minute break. She's made meatloaf, made with Tomaytoh Soss(tm,) Garlic, Liquid Teenagers, and a whole lot of love. I give her a big hug. She says she has to run, but there's a special birthday treat in the freezer. I open it up to find a whole pint of ice cream waiting for me. My favorite flavor: mint chip.

And you'll never guess what it's made of.

That's right: Bugs.

THIS POST IS SATIRE

[finnsblood]

back with my hot takes about oh beomseok that shouldn’t really be hot takes at all: i’m actually really satisfied with beomseoks ending. no, not because he didnt face any legal repercussions, (we’ll get back to that. but just know i’m not entirely partial to him) it’s because the whole ending of his arc continues the cycle of abuse.

it’s been said before, by the lovely people of the whc fandom, but sieun intentionally not hurting beomseok was the worst punshiment sieun couldve gave him. along with the legal repercussions - his father wouldn’t have ever let him be in prison, because that would jeopardize his reputation, right? - but also it was to keep beomseok in control. in line. he single-handedly made sure, indirect or not, that beomseok never had someone to turn to into the end. he essentially killed his own best friend due to trauma and abuse and jealousy and feeling so alien and othered & so many many more reasons. the only person who could’ve come close to truly, genuinely understanding him, with beomseoks abuse and his suffering mirrored in his eyes - is gone. he made him go away. he killed his best friend, sieun, just as he killed suho; and he even killed himself, and he even killed what brought him belonging and hope and happiness for the first time in his life.

and that guilt will haunt him for the rest of his life. tell me, what does a person who lived a life of abuse and suffering all as consequence for being alien, othered, do when faced with the fact they don’t face any consequences for something they did truly, and utterly, bad? they seek it for themselves. it continues the cycle of abuse and self destruction that beomseok seems to be doomed to. i wouldn’t be surprised if in whc3 that hes either dead, depressed and suicidal, or just straight up self harming. it’s what for some, makes his character so sad, and for some, makes his ending so satisfying. it’s the perfect consequence for him.

[marithlizard]

Thoughts on Murderbot episode 3:

Too short, much more noticeably than the first two. I enjoyed it but it made me realize that I'm used to each episode of a show having its own self-contained plot as well as advancing the show and character arcs. This is more of a classic adventure serial, a single long story cut up into segments.

Mensah is so much more unsure and vulnerable here. She tries to confide in SecUnit because she feels she can't tell these things to her team. That's so sad, and it also has consequences for the story. SecUnit does not respect her (yet); it doesn't relay accurate information to her about the Deltfall massacre.

I do miss the feed. In the books, everyone is online all the time as a matter of course, and you can talk aloud to some people while sending video to others and being in a private chat with still others. Probably too difficult to portray in the show. Not having those extra levels of communication probably adds to the overall impression of PreservationAux being less competent.

Gurathin continues to be impressive. Fleshing out his character as an autistic human who has a lot in common with SecUnit was a terrific idea. After this episode I'm expecting to see some theories about him having a crush on Mensah, but I don't think it's that at all; he was seeking reassurance, the way SecUnit takes comfort in rewatching and repeating lines from its shows.

Clever use of set dressing to convey an alien planet that isn't just barren rocks, without resorting to expensive CGI. I like the low-key approach they've taken with the costuming and technology as well.

Trip correctly points out that Deltfall's SecUnits must have been even more long-suffering than Murderbot, because _their_ humans picked a habitat site with geysers in the front yard. They probably thought of them as decorative fountains. Humans.

Sitting down is an act of defiance for book-SecUnit, who is very aware that it's not allowed to. In the show, the humans invite SecUnit to sit as a gesture of respect and don't realize they are telling it to do something physically and socially uncomfortable.

"Ratthi! We talked about this!" Ratthi may be the character they changed the least, and I love him.

[kosher-martian]

I'm making this post with full recognition that it might result in a bunch of hateful comments or asks, but I think it has to be said.

This morning I saw two completely unrelated posts (one on reddit and one on tumblr) that referred to Jews as "Jews of Conscience / Jewish People of Conscience" so as to draw contrast between the Jews being discussed and other Jews, based solely on their beliefs and attitudes concerning the Israel-Hamas War.

We really are just doing the whole "one of the good ones" schtick aren't we?

Why do we have to make these performative declarations of our beliefs to remain in the good graces of the self-appointed "good people"? What does that say about the "good people" and their "good politics"? And what does it say about us if we seek their approval?

This is the inevitable outcome of both purity politics and hyper-regimented discourse, which themselves are the consequence of deriving the entirety of one's political litmus test from maximalist sloganeering echo chambers.

This method of forming "good politics" reduces the complexity of the human experience into a simple "us vs them" dynamic, where the dividing line between the two is whether you upvoted or downvoted a screenshot of a pithy tweet.

It frames the world as one with "good people" and "bad people", where those on the side of "good" are scene as virtuous and well-intentioned whereas those on the side of "bad" are at best misinformed and at worst malevolent, sinful monsters. As someone whose virtue has not yet been determined, one who has not declared their affiliation is to be distrusted until they either:

Profess the beliefs of the "good people" without exemption, adopting them whole cloth and never questioning by whom those beliefs were made or whom those beliefs serve.

"Out" yourself as a "bad person".

I want to specifically call attention to that second option. It is always framed as a revelation. Not a sudden change of heart. Not a slow alienation. Not changing material conditions that alter the way someone perceives the world. All "good people" are actually "bad people" (except you, the only true "good person") and it's only a matter of time until someone "reveals who they really are". Everyone is lying about what they actually believe. It's a low-trust environment where every alliance (social, political, etc.) is one of convenience, to be continued until your ally inevitably betrays you for the other side.

To me, the only thing being revealed is the intellectual dishonesty of it all. It's no wonder that you suspect everyone else of lying, because it's exactly what you do. If the only reason you believe something is for the treats and status that believing it gains you, you don't actually believe it. The thing you actually believe is saying whatever is necessary for the treat dispensing machine to dispense your treats.

And so we circle back to the phrase "Jews of Conscience" and what that really means: It means (for the Nth time in Jewish History) Jews are not to be trusted until we "prove" our allegiance to the "good side" or "reveal" our allegiance the "bad side".

[justinspoliticalcorner]

The Left Hook with Wajahat Ali:

The septuagenarian somnambulist, Senator Chuck Schumer, once again demonstrated that the current crop of Democratic leaders are not built for this fight or made for this moment. In a stunning reversal, Schumer said he will break with his party and vote to advance the Republican spending bill to avoid a government shutdown. Schumer needs seven more Democratic votes to help push the GOP bill that will allow Trump and his co-President, Elon Musk, to redirect funding and continue slashing long-standing projects. Meanwhile, Schumer rationalizes his decision by suggesting a government shutdown would be a “gift” to Donald Trump by taking attention away from the tanking economy and the gutting of our institutions, such as the Department of Education, IRS, and USAID. However, who has all the power? It’s the Republicans. They have the Presidency, the Senate, the House, the Supreme Court, and the media, so why be complicit in their authoritarian agenda? Because it will look bad? Because some misinformed, bad faith actors will blame Democrats? Why not hold out, be strong and stay united with a Democratic caucus and force Republicans to find their 60 voters or be compelled to come back to the negotiation table? Why not use whatever leverage you have to get a better deal?

[...] There is a vacancy for leadership in the Democracy Party. It's a brand new ball game. The old rules, customs, and backroom deals don’t apply when you’re facing an aspiring authoritarian who just invoked the Alien Enemies Act, wants to undo birthright citizenship, and quotes Hitler to rationalize unleashing the military against “the enemy from within.” No one “deserves” a leadership position due to age, seniority, and their large donor class. This was the justification to make 74-year-old Rep. Gerry Connolly, who is currently fighting cancer, the top Democrat on the House Oversight Committee instead of Rep. AOC. 71-year-old Rep. Debbie Dingell was chosen over Rep. Jasmine Crockett to be the Chairwoman of the Democratic Policy and Communications Committee. Have you heard anything from Reps Connolly and Dingell? Have they inspired anyone to do anything of consequence in the past 2 months? Please let me know. I’d love to see the CVS receipts. [...] Civility and cowardice in the face of rising GOP authoritarianism is complicity. With Democrats like these, who needs Republicans? It's time for a new generation of fighters to step up and claim the mantle of Democratic leadership. Fighters will be embraced, welcomed, and rewarded by the majority.

Vichy Democrat Chuck Schumer (D) sold out the American people and the Democratic Party base by capitulating on the DOGE giveaway continuing resolution with his endorsement to vote yes. Even almost all the House Dems rightly voted NO on this crud.

It is time for him to step down as the Senate Minority Leader and leave the Senate entirely!

Call your Democratic Senators and tell them to hold the line by asking them to vote NO!

#NYSen #CapitulatingChuck #SelloutSchumer

See Also:

The Guardian: Chuck Schumer to vote for Republican funding bill to avert shutdown

HuffPost: Chuck Schumer Will Vote To Advance GOP Funding Bill, Signaling Surrender

[vllergy]

painkillers

vesen request, 2.1 k, cold fic ty to @scatter-snz for this elite prompt i hope this is what u had in mind!!! jin-young is a cop (he has the kink because of who i am as a person) vesen is a big tall hot alien assassin aliens and humans are working together but it's still pretty new and things are awkward jin and vesen 100% fall in love with each other eventually that's basically all you need to know

It's Jin's first day being back after a record two days off. In his six years on the force, he can't remember the last time he took actual sick leave. To be fair, he doesn't get sick that often and when he does, he's aways been the type to grin and bear it. Part upbringing, part police conditioning. If you're not dead, you're fit to serve. Or at least that's the way it always has been. The Kheelen changed that. Human officers aren't spread thin these days due to the partnering initiative. So his cases that would have once fallen to the wayside in his absence now fall to his partner, Vesen. And he's expected to trust that his taciturn, ill-mannered Kheelen counterpart can handle that shit on his own when Jin is otherwise indisposed.

For the most part, Jin does. Vesen may be an ass, but he's a competent investigator. Unfortunately, he and Jin's methods when it comes to gathering information are still wildly disparate. Something he knew, but didn't truly understand the consequences of until now as he sits across their latest subject in the interrogation room.

In the two days Jin took to nurse the cold from hell, it seems Vesen has taken it upon himself to put the fear of God into this man.

The man is visibly sweating. His eyes are only focused on Jin, though every so often they twitch Vesen's direction only to snap back as if his very image is a chemical burn. His cuffed hands tremble on the steel surface of the table and he picks at his cuticles the longer they sit there. Jin doesn't blame him, necessarily. Vesen is, objectively, terrifying. Even just sitting like this you can tell he's the apex predator in the room. He's so much bigger than both Jin and the other man--he overpowers the chair and the room itself, looking comically oversized for the entire thing. Jin thinks all the Kheelen look a little silly in the human precinct, actually. Crunching themselves into tiny desks, massive hands cupping small coffee mugs, ducking under doorways--it'd be laughable if they weren't all sure the Kheelen would crush their skulls for even a giggle about it. Jin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Intimidating is usually an advantage in an interrogation, but whatever Vesen's done to this guy over the past two days has pushed it over the line. He's not just intimidated, he's shitting his pants. There's no way they're getting through to him now. And frankly? Jin is too tired to rectify the situation. He's still not feeling great. His head is fuzzy and dulled, his painkillers are wearing off, and part of him knows he should be back in bed. But he's legitimately worried Vesen will frighten this man to death if he leaves him alone with him for any longer, and that's a bad look for everyone. Sniffing softly, Jin blinks and tries another tactic. "We want to help you, Anish."

Vesen scoffs at this, and Jin just barely manages not to roll his eyes. "But you have to give us something to work with," he continues.

Anish shivers and shakes his head, "It doesn't matter! You know it doesn't! These bastards are taking over and they're just pretending to play nice until they don't have to anymore." Oh boy, here we go. Vesen's hackles rise, just as Jin expects. The alien leans forward, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Artificial light flickers over his lilac skin and makes his dark hair shine like ink. "You dare insinuiate my people are not here out of good faith?" he hisses, sharp canines flashing, "When you are accused of aiding in a terrorist attack against them?" Jin reaches out for his arm. Down, boy. His fingers drift over steel muscle beneath Vesen's uniform as he tries to tug him back into his seat. He's about to say something to try and reign him in when he realizes with sudden horror that he's about to sneeze instead. "Hhh?" He quickly turns away, angling himself away from the table and steepling his hands over his nose and mouth. His eyebrows crash together as an embarrassingly sharp breath snags in his lungs before-- "chhSH’iew!!"

And it's never just one. "CHshISHh’iu!"

Two is actually pretty good for him, especially with this fucking cold. He gives a tentative sniffle before raising his head and clearing his throat. The tickle abates for the moment, but he can feel it buzzing dully in the back of his sinuses, tickling in the corners of his eyes. Ordinarily, he wouldn't care. Sneezing in public isn't his favorite thing, given how he feels about the activity in general, but he's never been good at stifling so it's not something that can be avoided. But sneezing in front of Vesen is a new hell in and of itself. Without even looking, he can feel the intensity of his partner's gaze on him and it makes heat begin to crawl up his throat. Fucking hell. "Excuse me," he says with a soft sniff and clears his throat again.

At the very least, he's dispelled the tension. "Arguing about who started what or whose intentions are genuine isn't going to get us anywhere. So let's not even get into that," he says, sending Vesen a warning glance. Vesen, he suddenly notes, is staring directly at his nose. For some reason that revelation sets off a nuclear detonation in Jin's lower belly and all the blood in his body rushes south. Self-consciously, Jin rubs at his nostrils and tries to think about anything else. But that only aggravates the dormant tickle, and he has to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to curb the impulse. "Fine," Vesen hisses, turning his eyes back to Anish, "Then let us stick to the facts." Anish gulps. Jin strokes a finger down the datapad in front of him, bringing up a few files. They could pin Anish with his money transfer trail. Or his text messages. He and Vesen haven't which way they were going to do this--they hardly ever agree anyway--but he shifts the pad closer to his partner so that he can look too. "The facts are, you are a coward, Anish," Vesen suddenly purrs, "And you will not survive a week in prison if I put you there." Jin could strangle him. He does roll his eyes this time and looks toward the ceiling, as if asking some higher power for the strength not to. "What my partner means is that you nee--" The bright lights overhead tease the last bit of the tickle out at the most inopportune time. The fuzzy, static feeling inside his head snaps like someone struck a bolt of lightning into the middle of his face. He whips to the side, his elbow in front of him and his hand braced on his opposite shoulder. "Hh--excuse meehh'IIsHH!"

He mists the inside of his elbow, shakes his head softly and then gears up for another. His breath stumbles, eyelashes fluttering. "Are you going to continue sneezing?" Vesen deadpans. "Hhhuh?" Jin blinks blearily, his cheeks going red as he tries--unsuccessfully--to pinch off the next one, "nnTTchSHH'iu!"

"Madrax. What is that inane human saying? Bless you, Jin-young."

Vesen stands as Jin pulls a crumpled tissue from his pocket and tends to his nose. In the next second, he feels his collar being tugged and himself yanked up from his chair. Feet stumbling under him, he struggles to get his balance for a moment until Vesen's large hand steadies him at the small of his back. Vesen's low voice simmers with what sounds distinctly like a threat, "We will return, Anish. Make yourself comfortable."

Then, before Jin knows what's happening, he's being guided out of the interrogation room and back into the hall. The door shuts and Vesen's hand retreats from his back. In a moment, the alien is towering before him, arms crossed over his broad chest and staring down imperiously at him. "Jin-young," he says disapprovingly. Jin blows his nose softly and retrieves another crumpled tissue. "Vesen."

"You are still ill." "I'm on the tail end of it."

"I do not wish to work with you when you are not well."

Jin scoffs, dabbing at his red nostrils, "I thought the Kheelen didn't get sick. I'm pretty sure you can't catch this."

"It is not my well-being I am concerned for."

Jin's eyebrows shoot skyward. Vesen, concerned for someone besides himself? No fucking way. He might have said as much if his nostrils didn't suddenly swell double. He crushes the tissue to his nose and mouth to muffle a tired sneeze.

"hdj'SHMMf!!"

"Bless you."

Jin blinked and gasped, "Hh'chhmpf!"

"Bless you."

Jin adjusts the tissue to try and find a dry spot, missing the next sneeze entirely and directing it to the floor. "You don't have to say it every ti-hiime--hhCH'ISSH'iu!"

"And why not? Bless you. You said it is something humans say when another sneezes. You are sneezing, are you not?"

Jin blushes darkly as he attends to his nose. Does Vesen have any idea what he was doing to him? Clearly not, or else he'd be raking him over the fucking coals for it. But somehow him being oblivious is making it so much worse. "Look who's suddenly so concerned over human-Kheelen relations," Jin gripes hoarsely, trying desperately to deflect. Anything to stop talking about him sneezing and Vesen blessing him. He'd rather be waterboarded. "You should go home, Jin-young." "And leave you to eat our sole witness alive? I don't think so." Vesen bristled, "You doubt my abilities."

"If we were torturing the guy? Not for a second. But we're trying to get him to talk to us, Ves." "Ah yes, and sneezing at him incessantly is doing the job just as well. Perhaps there is some merit to that," Vesen leans forward, grinning, "You look so unspeakably pathetic that he might take pity on you and finally tell us the truth."

Jin tosses his sodden tissues in the nearby wastebin and scrubs at his face.

"Fuck you," he groans, "Can we just go back and get this over with?"

"No, you are going home."

Vesen grabs his upper arm, his grip like a vice. Jin never really forgets how strong the Kheelen are, but every so often a brazen display hubles him completely. Vesen steers him effortlessly back down the hall without any hope of him struggling against him. "Wait, Vesen, c'mon--" He struggles anyway, just on principle. But a moment later he yanks on his grip unintentionally as he wrenches away from him with another ill-timed sneeze. "Hh'CHISSihuh!" He nearly bends double on that one and Vesen abruptly pulls him to a stop. The alien holds fast to his arm as if he can sense that Jin is going to lose his balance if he's not tethered to anything. "hah'hhCHHishh! iSSCchuh!" His ears begin to ring. Distantly, he's aware of Vesen's other hand bracing against his shoulder. That second point of contact sets his blood on fire. Before he can think too hard about that, another sneeze tickles the inside of his sinuses and he attempts to smother it with his free hand, "PpshhiSHHch!"

"Bless you," Vesen sighs as Jin straightens back up wearily, "Are you finished?"

"Yes," Jin lies and then shakes his head rapidly, turning away and pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, "NnghsSHH'iu!"

Vesen taps his shoulder. It almost feels...sympathetic?

"Go home, Jin-young. I will wait until you are well again to interrogate our witness."

Jin sniffles and glances up with watering eyes. "W-wait, really?" It's an unexpected gesture of charity from Vesen who has been historically uncharitable all the time he's known him. He narrows his glassy eyes, skeptical. Or at least, he tries to look skeptical despite the fact that his heart is in his throat because Vesen is still holding onto him and just watched him sneeze his head off with rapt, disgustingly erotic attention. "What's the catch?" "There is no catch. Just go before I lose my patience," Vesen said.

Jin knows better than to argue with that. Vesen is someone who loses his patience extraordinarily quickly, and it's never pretty. If he's giving him an out, Jin might as well take it.

Sniffling, Jin nods and gives him a tiny salute, "Thanks, Ves."

Vesen finally lets go of him. He grunts in response, gives him one last unreadable glance, and then turns on his heel. Before Jin can say anything else, his impossibly tall figure disappears back down the hall towards the interrogation room.

Jin isn't totally sure, but he thinks Vesen might not be such a bad guy after all.

That, and he's suddenly unreasonably horny.

[wearepaladin]

Greetings oh Paladin from a humble witch dropping by. Figured I'd ask for funsies seeing as I quite like your views of Joshua Graham.

How, in your honest opinion, would Joshua react to a Psyker who practiced Witchcraft? I'm talking classic Psyker too, with elemental abilities and shit. Think Cassandra/the Sorceress from The Scorpion King if she had elemental telepathic powers too. Most recent post on my blog has a moodboard showcasing how I view the general aesthetics and personality/inspirations for my OC, if it helps some.

Not the kind of question I usually answer, as this is a particular character driven question, not precisely a paladin related one. But since you asked politely, I shall indulge you. Firstly, psykers are canon to the Fallout setting and have been around since the very first game. That said, those in particular were the result of the Master's experiments with the Forced Evolutionary Virus, after the Master themself discovered their own degree of of psychic powers after the rapid mutation and absorbing of individuals as they went from a singular being to the frightening being we eventually encounter. Thus, psykers are *rare* because they don't appear to occur naturally, and are more common to be a result of experimentation or mutation due to FEV or radiation in the weird science driven universe of Fallout. It's also a setting that has UFO aliens with little green men and lovecraftian horrors, so alternate sources of alteration from humans to have such abilities is conceivable. Josh Sawyer himself suggests here that while he has no issue with it being in the setting, he thinks it works best if it largely remains mysterious and unexplained. https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Psyker#cite_note-4 That said, Joshua Graham comes from a more grounded aspect of the Fallout universe, his character and background derived from real world religious and cultural concepts, be it Mormonism, Christianity as a whole, tribal values, the consequences of colonialism, homogenization of culture, and empire as a whole. In a world where super mutants, robots, and undying ghouls dot the landscape, the most unusual and noteworthy event that pushes the bounds of what is natural in Joshua's story is his own continued survival after the events of the original battle for hoover dam, where for his failure he was burned alive and thrown into the Black Canyon of the Colorado river, and not only survived the process, but is arguably proven to be one of the most durable people in the setting as he is still cognizant, eloquent even, mobile, and capable of being a warrior and chieftain of astounding ability afterwards. He ascribes his survival, as he does to anything truly good in this world, to God's love and grace. So, what happens when this largely grounded aspect of the Fallout Universe encounters a person whose existence is derived from its more science fiction charged aspects? Honestly, not much. In terms of the psyker abilities, another byproduct of the wasteland and part of the Creator's plan in some way he probably will never understand. Them practicing witchcraft is honestly the most likely to draw him into a discussion. This is after all post nuke world where he has dealt with and likely participated in the cultural practices of many tribes that would likely be described as witchcraft. Given that the most proselytizing Joshua does to a Courier is at worst just discussing his own experiences if inquired, I doubt Graham would feel offended at person being a self proclaimed witch, but he would be tempted to ask questions and compare notes on their views on faith.

[homestuckreplay]

EOA1 ==> Media, Agency and the Suburbs in Act 1 of Homestuck

It is April 13, 1959. Mr. Egbert, Sr. has recently made the move out of the city into a newly built house in the suburbs, because clowning isn't paying so well after the recession. His son John hasn't seen his friend Rose since they moved. Staring out the window at 4:13pm and glimpsing nothing but the neighbor's wall, John goes downstairs to catch the second half of a black and white episode of Truth or Consequences, losing himself for fifteen minutes in their world of pranks, hilarity and emotional family reunions. Hopefully for his birthday, his dad will get him that cool new board game and its all-important hours of distraction.

We pick up the daily newspaper, and flip to the funnies to see John's new antics.

(Essay below the cut - about 5k words.)

==> I: John’s Suburb in Historical Context, or: Johntext

During the 1940s and 1950s, mass expansion of the American suburbs was accompanied by a ‘best of both worlds’ promise. Families who moved there could enjoy easy travel to the city via car for work and leisure, but wouldn’t have to deal with the ‘undesirable’ parts of city life, such as noise, pollution, or people from marginalized groups. Suburbs were characterized by detached, single family houses that guaranteed each family their own bubble of space away from neighbors, but also promised a community of likeminded people with whom to form neighborhood associations and PTA committees. Residents could enjoy independence from city governance and increased control over their own living spaces, but anybody who might push back against current social norms would be quietly excluded. Utopian promises and attractive prices encouraged many Americans to make the move, and many of them have never left. 

Here in 2009, it’s not uncommon for people to have lived their entire lives in the suburbs - often in a single house. Promises of progress and innovation within households have remained strictly cosmetic, while the values guarding suburban families and communities have changed very little. Although people of color comprise an increasing percentage of suburban residents, white people are still overrepresented. The same is true of married couples’ overrepresentation compared to other family structures. Suburban architecture remains centralized around the car as the primary means of transportation, and the separation of residential from commercial areas. Opportunities and reasons to leave the house are both minimized. 

With the growth of the suburbs came increased criticism of their designs and ideals. Their dream of a spacious home for each family has led to feelings of isolation, while the promised communities have primarily formed around churches and strict Christian ideals. Residents lack trust in their neighbors, and as such, children are no longer left to their own devices outside of the house. The suburban goal of easy car accessibility to cities has ended in highway congestion, air pollution and lack of public transport or pedestrian access. And while the percentage of Americans living in the suburbs continues to increase, not everyone has the luxury of choosing where they live - particularly children and teenagers. 

Homestuck’s main character John Egbert doesn't directly express a hatred of the suburbs - he seems more conflicted, showing fondness for the tire swing in a kid's yard (p.27), the fireplace (p.50) and the father smoking a pipe (p.74), while also expressing that he feels stuck in his home (p.30, 253), that he avoids his father's company (p.30), and that he feels something missing from his life (p.82). He doesn't seem aware of the source of his emptiness, just that he's always felt it, and we can only guess the source through incredibly subtle context clues, such as the work's title and the way John longingly gazes towards the outside.

It's certainly possible for someone with an otherwise privileged life to feel alienation in the suburbs, but those who differ from the white nuclear family ideal tend to have these feelings heightened, and may be ostracized by the community or threatened into conformity. Similarly, the gulf between John and his dad, and their separate perceptions of that relationship, could be simply generational, or could suggest bigger, unseen differences between them.

One interpretation I and others have discussed is that John is a transgender woman who has yet to actively realize her identity, but knows on some level that she can’t achieve the strict gender expectations of a suburban community. This loss of self-understanding would contribute to John's feelings of absence and lack of control, and strain her relationship with a father who expects her to fit a male gender role. 

This might be my favorite possible explanation, but there are lots of others, any or all of which could be true. John being queer in any sense would mean he might not fit into the nuclear family structure of the suburbs as an adult. John being a person of color in an otherwise white neighborhood would visually distinguish him from his neighbors and cause them to judge him based on stereotypes, and if John is mixed race and Dad is white, this distinction could highlight differences between them too, the absence in John's life marked by a disconnection from a culture he's a part of. John being neurodivergent could impact his ability to interact with other people in the neighborhood, or to replicate the rules and performativity of daily life. Single parent family structures are more accepted in 2009 than they were in 1959, but it's still possible that some past scandal involving Dad and John's family life is hanging over them, fresh in the minds of their neighborhood - perhaps one that just like Nanna's death, Dad 'never wants to talk about'. Any of these factors could lead to John being ostracized by his community and mean that even at a young age he didn't 'buy in' to the idea of the happy suburban family. 

I believe it is intentional that Homestuck hasn’t defined John’s location more specifically than ‘west of Kansas’. Although research has shown that different suburbs have their own individual characters, critics tend to emphasize their similarities. We’re supposed to think that John would have broadly the same experiences if he lives in Arizona or Colorado, Texas or Georgia, maybe even England or Belgium. The externalities of John’s life are the same as countless other kids in the Western world, not because of John’s choices or even his dad’s choices, but due to the larger structures that organize families into houses, houses into suburbs, and suburbs into sources of constraint.

==> II: If You Love Your House So Much, Why Don’t You Never Leave It?

The suburbs walk hand in hand with advances in technology. The 1950s saw a boom in the sale of household appliances, with devices for cooking and cleaning promising to lighten the housework load for women, and television providing entertainment for the whole family from the comfort of the living room. Various corporations created model homes to display the futuristic properties of their fantastical appliances, promising consumers that in the future, all homes would look just like this. This was a marketing tactic primarily benefiting the corporations - but in some cases, they were successful. General Electric’s ‘New American’ home in Denver featured a dishwasher as early as 1935, and these increased in affordability and domestic popularity across the 1950s and 60s. Disneyland’s Monsanto ‘House of the Future’ boasted a microwave oven. The house opened in real world 1957 but was ‘set in 1986’, and by 1986, one in four American homes owned a microwave. The Westinghouse ‘Home of Tomorrow’ contained the first ever portable radios - six of them, with radio outlets in every room to grant every family member a constant supply of media. 

This idea of constant, individualized media consumption may have been the greatest called shot of these houses. In 1959, John would be limited to a handful of TV channels on a fixed schedule, fighting over the tuning dials with his dad, but in 2009 he almost certainly knows the delights of Megavideo on top of having a video game collection, DVD collection and TV on demand service. 

Televisions were marketed to families in the 1950s claiming that they would keep families closer, as parents and children alike would want to stay home and watch together instead of going out to separate places, and many parents at first expressed relief at always knowing where their teenage children were, and consequently, being able to keep an eye on them. Television altered the boundaries between public and private space, allowing people to experience a public activity such as a trip to the movies, a performance from a live musician, even witnessing the moon landing, without leaving the home or interacting with strangers. 

Increasingly, media is marketed with the promise of interactivity and agency. Television provided a world to passively escape into, but video games allow the player to actually embody a character in that world. They present fantasies of control, of being able to explore a virtual map according to the player’s whims, and offering in-character choices that allow the player to control the narrative itself. Players are compelled by the possibility of media they can customize to their own specific tastes, and media they can master and bend to their will instead of simply observe. In this way, the Nintendo Wii isn’t so different from the fridge-freezer that promised greater mastery over the family’s diet, or the modern microwave oven and its dozens of settings and options for preparing food. 

As our society moves from home televisions to home computers and video game systems into an age of portable, all in one smartphones, we and the media become more dependent on each other, and we expect to have access to it more of the time. John Egbert has found connection with a close friend who lives multiple timezones east and stays in regular and real time contact with her. That friendship enriches his life, and wouldn't have been possible without today’s high speed internet and instant messaging services. John’s computer opens up an incredible social world, but - as we’ve seen with Rose losing power - if he lost that technology, he’d also lose that community. 

So, advertisers ask, what possible reason is there to leave? Why would you go somewhere mundane, like a park or a youth club, when you could go up on a plane surrounded by dangerous criminals and outsmart them all in time to save your friend? When you can bike down the highways from Missouri to Virginia to save the girl you like from natural disasters? You can be a hard boiled detective, a monster's best friend, a scientist making contact with aliens, an oil magnate turned savior of the world, a FBI agent surgically given the face of a terrorist, and a world leading expert on ghost slime - and you’ll never get dirty, you’ll never get hurt, and your dad will be right in the next room with a constant supply of fresh baked cakes and fatherly affection. What possible reason do kids have to complain, or to feel like anything is missing from their lives, when they can master reality from couches and computer chairs?

John Egbert embodies constant media consumption. Two of his five stated interests are consuming media - specifically movies and video games - and even when he’s not actively watching or playing something, he’s surrounded by media. His room is filled with movie posters, the television in the living room is switched on even when nobody’s watching, and the first thing he does after loading his computer is check for webcomic updates. Even his thoughts are consumed. He’s constantly replaying his favorite scenes in his head, which seems to bring him genuine joy, fixating on the next game he wants to play, and filling his social interactions with references to his favorite franchises. Even before actually entering Sburb’s virtual reality, John already wasn’t present in his material space. He’s digitally transitioned from what Lynn Spigel describes as ‘the home address to “home page”... computer generations rather than genders’. 

==> III: Kids These Days Just Don’t Respect The Cultural Idea Of Childhood We Created For Them

The suburban home loves technology, but the reverse may not be true. A significant amount of mass media depicts the suburbs as the place where creativity and individuality go to die, reflecting the cultural criticisms instead of the promises. Some of the earliest sitcoms, such as I Love Lucy and The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show, predated widespread criticisms of the suburbs and presented an idealized suburban life. These soon gave way to the ‘fantastic sitcoms’ of the 1960s, including Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie. These shows have implausible premises, featuring supernatural creatures, aliens or futuristic settings while still depicting mundane suburban realities. This juxtaposition opened up new questions about the real world, asking why we exclude certain people from communities and playing with the strict roles within the nuclear family. 

Media aimed at young people often presents a world where kids are in control and regular power structures are inverted. 1950s and 60s comic strips aimed at kids, such as Peanuts and Dennis the Menace, were also set in the suburbs - but an idealized version of the suburbs where kids could roam freely, not confined to the home and able to disobey the instructions of adults without consequences. Some parents restrict these from children, not wanting them to ‘get the wrong idea’ and copy the bad behavior they see in comics or on TV. Popular music is a site of rebellion amongst teenagers - The Kinks in the 1960s, Talking Heads and Bruce Springsteen in the 1980s, Green Day and Blink-182 in the 1990s and 2000s, and uncountable other acts have put criticisms of suburbia to music and created a cultural dream of escape by getting on the road, joining a rock band and never putting down roots again. 

In a time of rapid technological change, parents fear the impact technology and new media will have on their children, partly because they didn’t grow up with those technologies themselves. Television was feared because it gave children access to knowledge, different worldviews, and the realities of the adult world that parents wanted to keep from them, lessening parents’ control over their kids. It was also feared for its all-consuming nature, for making children want to watch constantly at the expense of homework, chores and family meals. More recently, video games have been feared for these same addictive properties, and for the belief that they negatively impact social interaction and cause increased aggression and violence. 

But John isn’t like other teenagers. His taste is striking for being exclusively movies that reinforce ideals of the nuclear family - usually suburban, with the exception of New York City-based Ghostbusters II - which suggests he doesn’t only want to escape his current life, he wants to legitimate it to himself. John’s movies end with family reconciliation, not with the kids getting one over on the parents. If John feels like he doesn’t fit into suburban ideals, he can try to connect with them by seeing them through the eyes of a character he likes. In a world where John’s primary source of agency is the media he chooses to consume, he could easily choose to reject his unsatisfying life altogether and live vicariously through outlaws and exiles, getting really into Westerns or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, but he doesn’t. He chooses characters who are fundamentally conventional, despite their rough edges, suggesting he’d really like to just fit in and be content with what he has.

Sburb, however, is the game that actualizes parents’ worst fears, inverting the power structures of the house, giving Rose and John dominion over the space while Dad - formerly both the breadwinner and the homemaker - has been relegated to an unseen location. John has access to a physically dangerous inventory system and a strife specibus that encourages him to solve problems by hitting them with a hammer.

Media promises us an escape, and it undoubtedly has the power to teach us and open our eyes to new perspectives, but in many cases provides nothing more than a filter over our lives. Encouraging people to live in a state of distraction, a TV show or video game gives us an easy way to hide from reality. People look for a new technology to solve their problems instead of a social solution, placing parental controls over their children’s television and internet usage instead of having honest conversations among families about media consumption, and designing security systems to keep ‘undesirable’ people from trespassing in middle class neighborhoods without questioning why those people are excluded from suburban society in the first place.

==> IV: There’s A Fine Line Between Fantasy And Reality And My House Is Built There

In the 1935 movie Murder by Television, a money-hungry scientist manipulates the interference between telephone lines and television broadcast signals to create the ‘death ray,’ and murder somebody on the other side of a television screen. Released less than a decade after the world’s first television broadcast, this movie demonstrates our cultural obsession with the boundaries between electrical and real space, and our dream of making those boundaries permeable. The 1950s presented TV families (such as the Nelsons from The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet) as normal families whose lives just happened to be televised, but who behaved the same way on and off screen to the point of forgetting the cameras were rolling. To this day, reality television such as Big Brother and The Bachelor promise to show us contestants’ authentic private lives, and even when we as viewers know the show is staged, we choose to buy into the fantasy.

More recently, 1998’s The Truman Show literalizes our dependence on the media, its ubiquity in our lives, and the impact this has on our personal relationships by showing a man whose whole life has been orchestrated by a TV production company that broadcasts him 24/7. Through a lucky accident with a time portal I obtained a copy of 2023’s Barbie, in which a plastic doll lives the dream life promised by her marketing, but starts thinking about mortality and the ‘real world’ when her owner’s mother starts drawing pictures of her with typical adult problems.

In both of these movies, the characters are happy until they are forced to confront the constructed nature of their worlds. By understanding the production and design processes controlling their lives, they become disillusioned with the simulation of perfection and begin searching for something more authentic. Even though Truman and Barbie both escape synthesized worlds and achieve full human agency, their endings are bittersweet. Their ‘escape’ lands them in present day Los Angeles, with all the social constraints, local mass produced suburbs, and constant diet of blockbuster media that this implies.

Blurring these boundaries is an effective advertising strategy as well as a narrative one. Adverts invite players to ‘become’ the main character of a video game, such as a Kid Chameleon promotion inviting players to ‘change personalities faster than they’ll change helmets’ and ‘transform’ themselves into a variety of mavericks. A Mortal Kombat arcade machine advert showed real men bursting out of the machine to attack the player. Promotions for The Sims 2 featured real photographs of people with the Sims interface added digitally, presenting the controllable Sims within the game as more than just pixels.

Following in this grand tradition, Sburb takes the permeable boundary between electrical and real space and smashes a meteor through it. Sburb answers the question of ‘can technology transform our society?’ with a 'yes'  loud enough to shake the neighborhood houses from their foundations. Sburb represents the greatest and most utopian promises of technology, as well as the worst of our cultural fears around it. 

The appeal of Sburb as a game is that it promises teenagers control over their lives in a world where they’re otherwise powerless. It’s a way to speedrun growing up - alchemy mechanics offer the chance to manipulate space and create all the material goods the player wants, but the game also bestows responsibility for tackling a crisis, for maintaining the home, perhaps even saving the world. And the players who are going to want this badly enough to fight through the impossible challenges Sburb presents are the kids who really can’t wait, the ones who aren’t doing well, and who feel trapped enough in their everyday lives that they would risk it all on an experimental technology to escape. 

In truth, many scholars challenge the concepts of interactivity and agency in video games, arguing that these are players’ perceptions and not their realities. Games invite players to participate in the creation of art, but the relationship is never equal, with the creators always having the final say on exactly how much free will the player is allowed. Even a game that aims to be open world and allow for as much free play as possible is bound by the limitations of processing power and how many options a human can reasonably write and code for. 

Sburb also puts restrictions on its players. Most likely, there are limits on what objects can be created via alchemy, and Sburb would likely restrict any item that could be used to work against the game. Players being controlled by commands which are interpreted by a computer also ensure that only commands coded for in the game are transmitted to the player. When a command is incorrect, the narrator steps in to help the player (p.253). And so far, the game has dramatic ways of keeping John on a very linear path - first starting a clock so he had no choice but to focus on stopping the meteor, then cutting him off from the world so that he has to stay in his current location. It’s impossible to have agency while living within a game that can and will end your life with four minutes and thirteen seconds of notice.

The ‘homes of tomorrow’ discussed at the start of part II were designed as sentient spaces, responsive to their inhabitants and able to almost anticipate their needs. John Brehm said about MOMA’s 1999 Un-Private House exhibition, ‘one can prepare a meal with the help of a virtual chef from a favorite restaurant and have dinner with a virtual guest or friend through the liquid wall’ and suggested that the house was ‘an extension of the body or a transparency of the mind… that both protects and transcends the limitations of the body’. In 2000, the Microsoft Home in New York City showed a future where people could control the lights, thermostats, security systems and stereos directly from their phones, even from another location. The home of tomorrow promises it can be anything its owner wants it to be, without questioning the idea that the privately owned, individualized home should exist and be desired.

Of course, the houses of tomorrow are always singular, prototype homes built with no thought of neighbors and community, but perhaps sacrificing a whole neighborhood to build the perfect home is a tradeoff some people have to make. Far from the static, impersonal houses of the suburbs, Sburb allows players to create their dream houses, offering bigger bedrooms, additional floors, and an endless void to throw your father’s harlequin statues into. It’s another technology that offers transformative potential for the family home, but is ultimately still driven by it, forming an individualist utopian bubble within a larger, far more conservative and restrictive structure.

==> V: If I Die, I Wanna Die In The Suburbs

The remote control, the video game joystick, and the Sburb alchemiter all tell us we can master reality by mastering technology. If that’s the case, then John still has to master technology. A shattered window from stack modus failures and a desktop littered with enraged programming files show us just how far John is from mastering either of these things.

John’s lack of agency goes far deeper than being trapped in the suburbs. His simple choice to pick something up and put it down is controlled by external agents. Though he can choose to escape his father in the kitchen by going to his room, a variety of screens will follow him and keep him in his own personalized panopticon. Rose’s mastery over the cursor means that John can’t guarantee the objects in his room will be where he left them, and even John’s thoughts are surveilled, interpreted and transmitted outwards by the narrator.

The USA PATRIOT act of 2001 expanded the US government’s legal rights to monitor electronic communication, and the early 2000s saw increased covert network surveillance by governments and private corporations alike. John’s technological illiteracy means he probably doesn’t know how to use a VPN and might not have known as a kid that his internet activities weren’t private, but in Act 2, inside Sburb, he begins to realize. Just as parents fretted at PTA meetings, John’s media has allowed him to eat from the Tree of Knowledge and put an end to his carefully constructed childhood, all on the cultural milestone of his thirteenth birthday. 

Sburb has compounded the problem of John being surveilled and puppeted, but didn't invent it. The first 136 pages of Homestuck establish the meta-narrative restrictions on his life, from his inventory system to his being guided by commands, before he installs the game. There are layers of control over John’s life that he’ll need to break through one at a time. The first will be acquiring the Sburb server disc, which will give John greater power within Sburb, and the ability to use the full extent of its abilities. The second will be escaping the game of Sburb, which could be accomplished by simply winning the game (like in 1995’s Jumanji), or by using some kind of cheat or glitch to break out of it (2003’s Spy Kids 3: Game Over), but either way John will need to master the game mechanics. 

The final layer is Homestuck itself, and unfortunately for us, John escaping the player and narrator’s influence over his life would almost certainly mean the end of the comic. But in Homestuck the Earth is already being destroyed, and being a webcomic that doesn’t have the constraints of a two hour Hollywood movie, the story doesn’t have to stop at the level of escaping the simulation. It has the chance to go a layer further, and imagine a world where John and his friends are able to enact real and meaningful change.

John has clearly had an emotional dependency on media for a long time, and now, he has a physical dependency too. Sburb is the thing keeping him alive, and his only hope to save the rest of the world, but he’s not alone in seeing popular media as a sacred text necessary for his existence. Smethurst and Craps point out that the player reacts to the game as much as the game does to the player - if anywhere, agency can be found in players’ interpretations of a game. Increasingly we rely on fiction to shape our politics and our worldviews, while also reading texts at a surface level. While media itself is insufficient to give us agency, media literacy is a big step towards asking questions about what restricts our agency, how, and why. The way John discusses movies now isn’t too in depth, with reviews like ‘the applejuice scene was so funny’ and ‘cage is sweet. so sweet.’ But in a story about becoming part of a video game, media literacy could be a very powerful tool for John, and he could come out of this as a genuine movie critic.

==> Conclusion

While Homestuck is a distinctly modern multimedia experience, it exists in a much larger tradition of media that criticizes the suburbs, and depicts the fantasy of escape for young people. Like other metafictional works before it, it handles these themes self-reflexively, showing its main character combat the horrors of the suburbs directly, instead of depicting a fantasy where problems do not exist. 

Based on its first act, Homestuck is a story about John Egbert’s quest for agency in a world that constantly tries to restrict it. John’s life so far has been defined by the suburbs, by a single but unremarkable point in space that he’s been trapped in for the first thirteen years of his life. John is both physically confined to his suburban neighborhood, and socially confined into being the ideal of the middle class all American boy that has been presented as his only option. John’s taste in media reinforces the ideals of his society, meaning he has yet to question the status quo of his existence or examine the source of his depression. John is also controlled directly by his server player, the Homestuck players, and the narrator. 

John’s experiences playing Sburb show us that while the escape media provides for us is real and can change us in meaningful ways, it can only solve the first step of the problem - and isn’t without its own risks and drawbacks. In order to truly develop agency, John will need to question the existence of the suburbs themselves, and not only his placein them. He’ll also need to  - at some point - quit the game, return to reality, and use the skills he’s learned in the game to develop mastery over both the physical world and the story itself.

==> Sources

I wrote this essay after reading Lynn Spigel’s excellent essay collection ‘Welcome to the Dreamhouse: Popular Media and Postwar Suburbs’ (2001), which I would highly recommend.

Full bibliography

Filmography

[ms-all-sunday]

please give us your Nami thoughts, I love your takes on her. It can be about anything you're currently thinking about but if I could pick then could you talk in depth about what you think about the Nami & Ussop dynamic ? Like yeah it doesn't need explanation about why they're my favorite duo among the strawhats but some of the things you've said about Nami and Ussop individually were not things I had thoughts about before so I want to know what you think of Usopp & Nami

i love nami forever thank you anon this is so sweet and i feel so appreciated. i hope i dont let you down. i'll do both!

i think i havent talked formally on this blog about how nami is written in most fanfiction to other people, but i try to emphasize in my fanfiction the fact she's an abuse victim since I feel that's one of her most apparent traits. the way that she deals with trauma is very reliant on exclusively herself, something i don't think is talked about a lot is that her expectation of what she is told is true is not only reflective of how pirates are known to the god fearing public (indicative of propaganda) but that she exclusively sees herself as the exception to a lot of rules, there's this inherent close-mindedness she has but won't ever really get rid of, that naunce and the room for things to go positively can't fit within her self perception.

this is because she believes she is the only thing in life she can control, and it's a necessary self-perception to maintain the inner worldview she has.

this of course is a survival instinct inherited from her childhood. but what it speaks to i think is that in real life and one piece the anime, that abuse victims (children and teens especially) can come out with a cynical view of the world and externalize that onto others (advocating for the current dysfunctional societal systems for example like nami does in repeating wg propaganda) simply because of how much we alienate them and how that continues to give no hope to people looking for community and understanding.

i like usopp and nami. theyre my favourite dynamic as well! i think something nami is able to do with usopp and nobody else (even with women) is give him the benefit of the doubt. i think this is because she relates to him

(i think she has bpd as well but i cant decide whether thats my legitmate reading of the text or me projecting. i write her like she has bpd. you decide.)

if we look at water 7 i think she's the most sympathetic of the usopp apologists because she was very obviously coming at it from a place of understanding from usopps emotional perspective (because she relates to him and loves him) in a way that nobody else really was articulating. because she's been in that situation where she's successfully alienated herself from everybody she loves in a way nobody else on that crew related to usopp (and by extension robin) on that crew during water 7.

nami doesnt just have a relationship to usopp she could have with no other man she has a relationship to usopp she couldn't have with anybody. i think. usopp is the only one who can cross the invisible boundary of the fact she expects you to be a kiss ass towards her lest you get consequences but usopp isnt a kiss ass to her and there are no consequences. (in fact usopp is quite snarky/mean to her, which is how he is when he isn't masking and completely confident in himself: see end of enies lobby) she apologizes to him when he's snarky to her in thriller bark.

since this is a nami themed post i won't talk about usopp as much. but have you noticed? usopp is mean when he's comfortable with people. he has this attitude at the end of enies lobby as they're escaping on the merry, i think i registered it subconsciously but i only did register it consciously a few weeks ago, but if usopp is truly comfortable he's not a kiss-ass whatsoever. and he's never a kiss ass with nami.

we don't really think about it like this because people are so prone to dismiss usopp is one of those characters that have a facade of palatability when he feels he's not on the same level as someone, coming from his insecurity, but in regards to his genuine attitude we see in enies lobby and with nami that admiration is not the true breath of how he thinks about zoro or sanji or luffy. he thinks they're fucking stupid as well. and he's right. (this exact thing is another reason nami is able to emphasize with him. she thinks similarly)

this ties into both nami and usopps implementation as shonen characters. they're smart and witty and have big personalities to differentiate them from the more powerful characters, i feel this juxtaposition with more traditional shonen characters has made oda feel like he has to justify both usopp and namis existences in the story in a way he doesn't with the other characters. i think it's this element that makes them the most consistently well written throughout every arc they appear in as opposed to the other 7.