#i have a moral obligation to reblog this now

[lunasfics]

Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it? 

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back. 

“Good. Nightwing?” 

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent. 

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for. 

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom. 

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.” 

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.” 

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read: 

Attempt 1: G6B24 

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown) 

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass. 

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did. 

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick. 

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind. 

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him. 

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you. 

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file. 

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?” 

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.” 

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?” 

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised. 

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected. 

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up. 

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’” 

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on. 

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.” 

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave. 

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?” 

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry. 

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?” 

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.” 

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well. 

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.” 

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different. 

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first. 

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile. 

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.” 

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.” 

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you? 

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state. 

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”  

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.” 

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile. 

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.” 

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.” 

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.” 

“Wayne.” 

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares. 

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response. 

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.” 

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…” 

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper. 

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.” 

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement. 

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.” 

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you. 

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.” 

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day. 

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain. 

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.” 

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.” 

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change. 

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over. 

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you. 

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase. 

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first. 

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.” 

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.” 

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own. 

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there? 

“How?” 

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first. 

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.” 

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.” 

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.” 

Bruce simply gave a nod. 

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all. 

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian. 

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe. 

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest. 

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, “This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!”  he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you. 

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.” 

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?” 

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.” 

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own. 

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.” 

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.  

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her. 

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.” 

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey. 

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.” 

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.” 

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front. 

“This better be good.” 

Tim mumbled, “Finally” 

“Miss me Timmy?” 

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away. 

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce. 

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.” 

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.” 

“Holy shit, man.” 

“Jason, will you shut up?” 

“Never.” 

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.” 

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.” 

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.” 

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.” 

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.” 

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you. 

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her. 

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit. 

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-” 

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled. 

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.” 

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.” 

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone. 

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.” 

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied. 

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.” 

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.” 

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.” 

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do. 

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered. 

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.” 

“I want time with her, Bruce.” 

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.” 

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer. 

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?” 

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile. 

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless. 

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face. 

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.” 

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away. 

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?” 

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.” 

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.” 

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.” 

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–” 

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news. 

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him. 

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated. 

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done. 

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.” 

You nodded, “Yes, please.” 

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.” 

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement. 

“We’re just buying training clothes.” 

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.” 

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.” 

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site. 

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that. 

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself. 

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself. 

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about. 

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings. 

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere. 

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off. 

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.” 

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.” 

He nodded, walking away to change as well. 

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill. 

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.” 

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense. 

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.” 

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.” 

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing. 

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine. 

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite. 

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit. 

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying. 

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction. 

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.” 

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?” 

You nodded. 

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds. 

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you. 

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner. 

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking. 

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case. 

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor. 

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother. 

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in. 

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there. 

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough. 

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled. 

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances  where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal. 

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it. 

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine. 

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow.  Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

Taglist- @one-green-frog @bonniecat @minnieearsposts @chickentenderx @murkyponds @loserwithnofriends @ilikefanfics4 @fangirlvibez @instantplaiddream @lovelywritersgarden @calicocat45 @strawberrycreamh @sappynappysworld @zyuuuu @allycat4458 @lovelypitasworld @batfamlover @pterodactyl-hater @american-idiot21 @starlets-things @th1s-b1tch-1s-dead @dontgivemeyourname @normal-internet-user @sillyfinn @lostgirlsstuff @llvmakk @princess76179 @vanessa-boo @1lellykins @blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings @samibrewss @pickyblue12 @thetiredtoad0-0 @lacklustertrashbag (I'm not sure why some people's tags didn't work,, I am very sorry, if anyone has suggestions onhow to fix that i'm open to fix them)

[azuremist]

A message to Twitter users coming to tumblr: a message from your local duel-hellsite citizen

So, I’ve seen a ton of Twitter users talking about making and sharing their new tumblr blogs, to escape Elon Musk’s “anti censorship” bullshittery. First of all: welcome! I know it’s looking bleak over there; especially for trans people. But, now that you’re here, I’m here to tell you all about tumblr etiquette, how this website works, and how it’s different from Twitter. Because you can’t come onto here acting like it’s Twitter, lest The Beast get to you.

First, here are a small handful of tips and tumblr facts!

Your likes and who you are following are automatically set to public. You can make them private in your settings!

You can block tags from the settings, too.

There are lots of bots on here. If you’re not careful, you could be mistaken for one! The main way you can avoid this is changing your icon and header from the defaults. Adding a bio helps too!

You can queue and schedule posts so that your account posts throughout the day.

Like Twitter, tumblr has a radical feminist and TERF problem. However, they’re pretty easy to spot. There are lots of guides out there to help you learn how to spot tumblr TERFs!

Tumblr, for the most part, does not have any celebrity or brand accounts.

Your tumblr follower count is private.

You can have multiple accounts with the same email, and they’re very easy to switch between! These are called “sideblogs”.

Your main page is not a “timeline”. It is a “dashboard”!

You can have a custom desktop theme using HTML! Think like ye olde MySpace days. There are tons of pre-made tumblr themes available, if you’re not already proficient in HTML; including free ones!

Now, let’s talk tumblr etiquette and how it’s different from Twitter. You’re a tumblr user now! It’s time to start acting like it!

Don’t just like posts. They don’t increase visibility whatsoever. The way that you can help posts that you like is reblogging them to your blog. Especially for art!

We don’t say “oomfs” or “oomfies”. Just “mutuals” is fine, thanks!

Adding onto a post with pointless comments is frowned upon. If all you have to say is “this is so true,” or something else to that effect, you should put that in the tags of your reblog.

Most people don’t have carrds or rentries on here. Some of us do, but it’s not an obligation like it is for Twitter.

Similarly, we don’t censor words like “die” and “death”. Posts about wanting to brutally murder people in power go viral all the time, and it’s completely allowed. I’m serious! Enjoy your newfound freedom!

Blocking isn’t a big deal here. Get rid of any weird notion you have that morality is linked to blocking certain people.

But lastly, and most importantly:

Drop your discourse at the door.

If you try to post about most of the things that Twitter users discourse about, you will be laughed off the site. Especially Twitter LGBT+ discourse. Posts actively mocking topics of Twitter discourse go viral on here regularly.

Tumblr has mostly healed since its discourse-ridden days, and it’s now much more chill. Of course, discourse still happens, but it is so easy to avoid now. For a lot of us, tumblr is the last pleasant social media site left, so don’t ruin it.

Here is a list of discourse-related things that tumblr users don’t do:

Most of us don’t do callout posts, unless it’s something actually serious (like that one blog that had a human slave).

Everything that you heard on Twitter was “exclusive” to certain LGBT+ groups is used by just about everyone on here. Bi women use the double venus symbol on here. You’ll just have to learn to live with that.

In particular, I want to emphasize how much we don’t do flag discourse. To the point that somebody caring about flag discourse of any kind is how we tend to identify an ex-Twitter user.

On here, you will never have to see another slur discourse post again, unless you actively seek it out.

You’re free.

You’re welcome. And enjoy your time on here! If you have the time, please consider watching StrangeÆons’ Tumblr Etiquette Manual on YouTube, as well.

[ohlawdthebirds]

For my fellow ocd-sufferers, especially those with moral ocd who feel obligated to reblog EVERYTHING right now:

-you don't have to reblog everything

-you can take breaks

-you not reblogging a post does not mean you've harmed someone. You are not harming anyone by not reblogging a post, I promise you.

This isn't about excusing inaction, it's about recognizing that having ocd makes it difficult to realize what's actually helping versus what's a compulsive spiral.

Your ability to do good does not hinge on how much you reblog things. Educating yourself, donating when you can afford to, and calling your representatives helps a lot more than doomscrolling.

[kairiscorner]

potential request: The reader has been dating Miles for a while and after having a particularly rough day, then being comforted by Miles, decides to thank Rio for raising such a lovely son and just expressing how grateful they are to call Miles their partner.

E-42!Miles and Rio would be preferred since I feel like that version of Rio, would appreciate the sentiment more (due to being more stressed as an overworked single mom). Although E-1610!Miles and Rio would work too.

aww, i love that idea <:)) i hope you like this anon, fuck, i truly love this what 😭😭💖💖💖

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

he was definitely raised right. – miles 42 x reader

art creds: @1_0T0R on twt !!

as you two were heading home for the weekend, miles didn't move his arm away from your shoulders–not one bit. he stayed there, holding you close to him, and letting you lean against his shoulder as you two listened to the playlist you both made together. today wasn't very good, it was okay but... it was tiring, uneventful, and it felt like it was dragging on longer than it should've. luckily, your boyfriend miles had caught on to your not so happy attitude and wanted to fix that the best he could.

he helped you out with your homework assigned today so all weekend-long, you'd be clear of work. he also carried your bag and books for you, even though you told him he didn't have to–he insisted; and when miles gonzalo morales insists on doing something, he'll go through with it and do it. as you two got off the bus and headed down towards his neighborhood, he offered to get you your favorite drink at a local bodega you guys frequent whenever you visit him. he let you look around for a bit, let you choose what you wanted to drink this time. you hesitated because the drink you wanted to get this time around was a little pricey and you didn't have much cash on you after the bus ride.

miles noticed your hesitation and asked you if you wanted it, with you saying yes, but putting it back on the shelf because it was too expensive. "nonsense." he said as he took the drink and walked up to the register with the snacks you two were going to share. you tried to take the drink away from miles and put it back on the shelf, but miles insisted to you, yet again, that he wanted to buy you that drink. "please, mi cielo, don't feel bad. as your boyfriend, it's my obligation to do this for you–and besides, it makes you happy, doesn't it?" he asked you with a smile as he thanked the cashier and handed you the drink he bought you on the way out. "if it makes you happy, then i'm already the happiest guy around, mi vida." he said as you gently smiled and took his hand in your free one, clutching the drink he bought you in your other hand as you sipped on it, feeling a lot more lighter and happier than you did earlier today.

you walked with miles, hand-in-hand, all the way back to his place. he carried all your things and the snacks he bought for you all on his own. every time you asked him if you could help, he'd gently reject your offer to help and insist that he's got it–all that matters now is that you're much happier than before. his mother greeted you two by the door, with her kissing miles' cheeks a 'welcome home' and her smiling and wrapping you in a tender hug. as miles went to the kitchen to get you some food that his mom cooked for dinner tonight, you and rio talked all about the events that unfolded between you and miles today. you went on and on to her about how sweet miles had been all day; how he offered to do things for and with you, buy stuff that'd make you happy and comfortable, and just how he'd stay with you all day to keep you happy.

rio smiled widely as you two sat at the dinner table, with you clutching her hand in yours as you spoke. "ay, my mijo's quite the gentleman, isn't he? he takes that after his father." rio said with a soft voice as she looked down at her hand being clutched by your own. she reminisced the happier, simpler times when miles' father was still around–when he and miles would be each other's allies when nobody else would be there for them, save for her and uncle aaron. she knows that miles still misses him like she does everyday, but to know that miles turned to be a very good, sweet, caring kid despite everything that's happened to them... it's enough to keep her heart warm.

you smiled as rio lifted her head up to face you, with slight tears in her eyes. "i guess so, but, mrs. morales... i think miles is this way because of you raising him right. and for that... thank you. thank you so much that you raised him to be the most loving, caring boy i know. no one can hold a candle to the love miles gives me and his friends, nobody is as caring as he is. i hope you know just how much he cares about you, as well, mrs. morales; not a day goes by without him worrying about you and thinking of calling you to say hi, tell him how he's doing." you said with a broad smile on your face as rio's smile fades; her mouth slightly agape as a few drops of tears fell from her eyes. you scrambled to get her a tissue from your pocket, since she hadn't wiped them away yet; oblivious to the sensation of her own falling tears at your sentimental words. "oh, no! no, no, i-it's okay, dear." she said with a smile as she wiped her tears away, sniffling the remaining ones back as her smile returned.

"i'm so glad... i'm just so glad. thank you..." she muttered as the tears came back again, but she wiped them yet again with a small chuckle as you grinned at her, sharing her happiness in that small moment when rio realized all her efforts, hard work, and everything she's ever done for her boy had paid off more than she expected it to. as miles came back with the dinner now served for all three of you, you let go of rio's hand as she nodded at you, thanking you for your assurance to her that she was doing a good job as a mother, and wrapped miles in a big hug. he was embarrassed at first since you were here, but as rio murmured to miles that she's glad the little boy she's cared for never left and remained as humble and gentle as ever, miles returned the hug and held his mother tightly.

you gazed upon the two with sheer adoration in your eyes, loving how even though this family had experienced a tragedy, how miles experienced a tragedy in his life... you were still loved wholeheartedly and endlessly by this boy, who always put those he loved first and would go beyond any and everything just to see them all smile and be happy.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless @euphovlq @q2ie @zalayni @conitagray @anikaluv

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Nine (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Shorter chapter this week (be warned, next week's will be the heftiest yet), but I hope you like this next instalment! It's really gearing us up for the FINAL TWO! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. If you've read this far, THANK YOU! ILY :-*

Word count: 3.8k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Today is a new day. It’s a new day and you’re done crying. You’re done holding on to anger and resentments. 

Besides, you feel as though you gave Santiago everything you had last night, and - at least for now - there is nothing else left to give. 

So, instead of wallowing, you plod downstairs to where Frankie is stationed in the kitchen, offering up your favourite pastries, coffee, and even pulpy, freshly squeezed orange juice. You pull up to the breakfast bar, hopping up on a stool to survey your extravagant pity platter. 

It’s true then. “He’s gone.” 

Frankie nods solemnly, leaning into the other side of the island like he’s a sympathetic bartender in some old Western flick. He claps his palm to your shoulder in a supportive gesture. “I’m sorry, chiquita.”

You shrug. 

His face twists. That’s not all there is. “Don’t shoot the messenger, but…”

“What, Frankie?” 

“He had to bounce but he didn’t want to wake you. Said you looked far too peaceful sleeping for him to come along and fuck that up.”

Your brow notches, absorbing all of that with a contrived neutrality. “How did he… seem?”

Frankie’s eyebrows raise lightly as he ponders, thinking back over prior events. “Calm, actually. Happy, even.” 

“Hmm.” You smile softly to yourself. Makes a change from lately to hear that. You get it though. After last night, you can’t feel anything else either. Even if he technically didn’t say goodbye in words, you get it. You aren’t mad. Chances are one or both of you would have fucked it up this morning. This way at least, it leaves the night you spent together untarnished. Makes it feel like holding on to a good dream, before the realities of the day can set in and make things fraught. 

Frankie’s face crumples with concern as you gaze wistfully into the middle-distance. “You gonna be alright?” 

You pump your eyebrows. Search yourself for feelings. “You know what? Yeah. I am. I’m okay.” 

Frankie’s eyes glint playfully then. “Oh. So you won’t need alllll o’ these yummy pastries?” 

You laugh as he eyes the pain au chocolat pointedly. “Get stuck in, Morales,” you invite fondly, and he obliges, scraping up a stool and wiggling on his ass until he’s comfy. 

“Hey. So,” he says through mouthfuls. “Did you two figure anything out?” 

You groan at the sheer complexity of Frankie’s simple question. Did you? Or are you still going around in circles? “We know we love each other. The rest? Uh. I still don’t know.” 

“He’ll get there.” 

You puff air out from between your teeth. 

“You don’t think so?” Frankie interprets. 

You wrap your arms around your middle. “It’s not that. It’s… I don’t think it was all on him.” You don’t have any blame or accusations left. No grudges to hold on to - your hands are open. You’ve both made mistakes. Manufactured this distance, in your own ways - sometimes literally, sometimes not. You were both just trying to figure all this out as best as you could. 

Frankie’s brows notch and rise with a silent question. How so? What do you mean? 

The thoughts form as you speak them. Clumsy yet intrepid. “I guess... It just feels like we were… Both waiting for the other person to get somewhere, you know? But this whole time, we should’ve been heading there together. Otherwise, how the fuck were we supposed to know where to end up?” You slide a palm over your face. “Christ. Does that make any fucking sense?”

Frankie ponders. “I think so. Like trying to meet on the highway without a time or a place or directions?” 

You reach out and clasp his hand. “You get me, buddy.” 

Frankie blinks, tangling himself up further in your metaphor, but valiantly trying to muddle through. “And so… do you…?” He scratches his chaotic mop of hair. “Do you have a map now? A meeting point? I mean… What happens next? On the highway?” Your mouth lilts into a gentle smile at Frankie’s earnest question. He notes and feeds your amusement, going off the deep-end with this metaphor now. “Are you driving in shifts, chiquita? Grabbing cheez-its for the road?”

You laugh, the musical sound mingling with Frankie’s throaty chuckle. “What happens next?” You repeat the question out loud, carefully, posing it to yourself. Hasn’t that always been the question? However, the very sentiment which used to scare you now feels a lot more like potential. Like possibility. 

Still, you feel -for the moment- like leaving that question hanging. You leave a pregnant pause. You let it breathe. 

For now; you let it go. You let him go. 

“Where are the other guys at, anyway?” 

Frankie rides your tangent with ease. “Packing shit up.” 

“We should help them.” 

“Yeah, we should,” Frankie grins mischievously, and yet neither of you make any effort whatsoever to mobilise. 

Instead, Frankie pours you a cup of coffee from the pot. 

“You wanna call off the hike today?” he asks hopefully, Frankie increasingly a creature of comfort. 

“No. Hell no. I need to move.” You lock your fingers and stretch your arms above your head, a satisfying stretch extending down your spine. 

Frankie’s eyes sparkle across at you. “Just not in aid of helping the Millers pack their trunk, huh?” 

“Exactly! What did I tell you, bud. You get me.” 

You do though. You need to move. You need to move forward. No more standing in place. No more moving in circles, always repeating. 

Still, when you think about it. When you think to what is ahead, to what is next, your stomach drops. You feel overcome by a sudden anxiety which you can’t place at first. Like having misplaced something dear to you. Like having done something wrong but not being able to recall exactly what. Then, all of a sudden, you understand it entirely. 

“Listen. Tell me about this job, Frankie.” 

He immediately tenses up. “What job?” 

You take a bite of your pastry. “The one with Lorea’s cash house.”

Frankie simply groans. He always knows more than he lets on, this one. About everything. Everyone. 

“Is it true? That you and the boys are in?” 

You can plainly see his reticence to respond. But you know for a fact that he’s about to cave. 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

“They need a pilot,” Frankie states, looking up at you with guilty, puppy dog eyes. 

“Fuck me. He dragged you back in too, huh? You know… Sometimes I wonder if any of us are good for each other.” Your tone grows mildly irate, your heart quickening, but you recognise it for what it is. It’s simply anger veiling worry. You love these boys. 

“Come on, don’t say that,” Frankie bargains. “We’ve dragged each other out of hell.”

“And back again.”

Frankie takes a deep breath. His tongue pokes around the meat of his cheek. “He says it’s simple recon. In and out. No mess.” 

You jut your chin up. Stare at him levelly, unblinking. You know that Frankie will give it to you straight. Know that he can’t help himself. “And you buy that?” 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

“Not for a fucking second.” 

You scoff, shaking your head. Not when it comes from Santiago, no. After all, you’ve fallen for Santiago’s bullshit plenty of times yourself. It’s the fact that Frankie would wander in with his eyes wide open to it that really gets you. It’s something else. 

Still, before you can chastise him for being so stupid, Frankie glumly offers up some explanation. “Look. I need the job. I… I got my license revoked.” 

Your heart drops - and your face with it. Your hands clamp over your mouth. “Frankie,” you say softly, with empathy. “Fuck.”

He hunches in on himself despondently, his hands disappearing up his sleeves, his fists clenching and his gaze cast downward. “I fucked up, man. Cassie has a baby on the way and I fucked up.” His eyes swim with a deep shame. 

“Coke?” you venture, tentatively.  

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

Slowly, he nods. 

“Frankie.” Your hand swipes over your face, and your eyes fill with concern for him. His palm waves in the air, however, quickly dismissing any sympathies you may care to bestow. 

“I’m back on track. Getting there. I am.” His eyes are nothing but determined. Sincere. “But I need this gig. No matter how fucking hare-brained a scheme that pendejo is cooking.” 

“Think of the baby, dude.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Frankie says forcefully, in a harsh tone he rarely uses, and you know in no uncertain terms that the conversation is done. That he’s made his mind up, and that he won’t hear you out any further on the matter. 

You swallow. Regroup. You chew on some platitudes, but none of them feel quite right. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Frankie says after a stretched, tense moment. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

“It’s okay,” you jostle his shoulder, and it shakes a little of the tension from him and the room. “I get it. And shit. I’m sorry for putting all of my bullshit on you this weekend. I wish you’d said something, Cat.” 

He shrugs. Speaks with finality. “There’s not much to say. It’s done. I just need to make it right. And I will.”

“I believe it. But you do know that I’m… If you need… Anything, Frankie.” 

He looks up at you then, the warmth back in his eyes as your voice cracks, searching for the words. But, he already knows everything you could ever say. You’ve said it before, a hundred times. He knows you love him. Knows you’re proud of him. Knows you’d do anything for him. Knows you want the best for him. He knows it already. 

In turn, you are sure that he already knows everything you could possibly call him out on. That he’s already thought about it. Weighed it up. Thought about the risks. About the possibility that he’s acting out of desperation. The possibility that he’d probably be better off staying the hell away from Pope’s schemes. 

He scrapes his stool back and comes to you, bundling you into a tight, warm, big brother hug. You tug in a deep breath, and you let it go. You’re done trying to control everything around you. It never really got you anywhere. 

Still, there’s an undeniably uncomfortable knot in your chest as you think about them all gearing up. Strapping on their tac vests. Shoving clotting pads into their med packs. It makes you feel physically ill. And so, you can’t help yourself. “Do me a favour, Frankie? Don’t take Tom?” You muffle the words into his shirt, half hoping they will get lost there. That maybe he didn’t even hear you. But, you know when he braces his hands on your shoulders to get a good look at you, that your game is up. 

“Why not?” 

You see it then, in his eyes. That Tom is not a risk Frankie has considered. His presence not something he has weighed up. 

You deliver your words as plainly and transparently as possible. “He’s too hungry, Cat.” 

Frankie simply locks eyes with you, as though trying to weed out your motives. Shrewdly trying to assess your conclusions. Is this just your petty vendetta talking? Is this intelligence? Is this coming from your gut? 

“Please. Just trust me.”

“I do,” he nods eventually, but you should know better than to feel any relief. And next, there it is. “I do but it’s not my call.” 

Well. You’ve said your piece. You guess that’s all you’ve got. Absent-mindedly, you tug on Frankie’s lapels. “You’d better come back to me, Cat,” you plead plaintively. “And by God, you’d better bring those other fuckers back with you to boot.” 

With a wistful affection, Frankie tugs you to him again and you stand there in silence for a few more moments, the sounds of the other guys evident in the background. In time, you and Frankie release each other and gravitate towards them, tucking yourselves under the porch to survey their efforts packing up the trucks. 

“We should probably help,” you repeat again, and, to your side, your hear Frankie’s murmur of agreement. However, when you glance to him you see his long, lean frame stretched out up against the wooden porch post. He looks like a man with nowhere else to be in a hurry.  

“Fuck,” he curses at nothing in particular, surveying the animated bodies of his buddies before him with both awe and trepidation. “How did we get here? Years of service and none of us have anything to show for it.” 

That’s a Santiago sales pitch, through and through, you reckon. You recognise his propaganda. Funny, since he used to swallow the flag for breakfast. Is that how he got to him then? Convinced Frankie he could finally make bank? Take what he deserved? Ah. Or give his family what they deserved? Frankie is all about family. 

A sad smile twitches your mouth. “Well. That’s not entirely true, is it? Not nothing.” You think of what you’ve gained from all of this. “I got a gaggle of weird ass brothers. A suitcase full of trauma. A fucked back. And! An array of unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Despite the darkness of your statement, Frankie’s eyes crinkle. What else is left to do but laugh, anyway? “Maybe Will should put that in his speech.”

You belly chuckle at that, moving to lean up against the opposite post. “Yeah. Scare those poor recruits off before they can end up like us, huh?” 

Frankie looks wistful again. “It hasn’t been all bad.” 

No. It hasn’t. He’s not wrong about that. 

You ponder on it. If you could go back and change your path - would you? But, despite everything, your squad would be far too much to lose. “Sure. The weird thing is, as shitty as it’s been at times? I wouldn’t change it for the world.” 

There is a beat, and Frankie reaches out across the space between you and wordlessly clasps your hand. 

“Listen. You gonna be okay, Frankie?” He looks down at his worn sneakers, contemplatively, as though he really doesn’t know the answer yet. You give his hand a squeeze, trying to let him know that’s okay. “We’ll talk more, okay?” 

He nods - a subtle, concessionary thing, like maybe he could really do with that. 

“I get why you didn’t tell me. But I’m sorry. That I didn’t do a better job of asking.” 

“It’s not on you,” he says generously. A little too generously, in your estimation. You’ve been rather wrapped up in your own shit. A little too self-involved. “I know I can talk to you. I just… I, uh. Didn’t want to ruin the weekend.” The irony of that statement causes a throaty chuckle to bounce in Frankie’s neck, and your palm slides over your face in regret even as you laugh in reciprocity. 

“Christ. I did a great job of that all by myself.”

“Well,” Frankie says good-naturedly, shifting to bump your hip with his. Wrapping his crooked arm over your shoulder. “You had some help.” 

It is your turn now to look wistful, as you contemplate the storm that is Santiago, and all the rubble he left behind. “He’s really gone again.” Frankie simply squeezes you a little tighter. “Hey. Anything else I should know, by the way?” you needle. “You’re not holding out on me?”  

Frankie sucks air through his teeth. “Tom and Molly. She finally served him papers.” 

You fold forward, hinging to collapse your upper half onto the porch rail. “Fuck. Shit. I really need to start being nicer to that shithead.” Still, from behind, Frankie’s familiar chuckle buoys you, even as you inwardly berate yourself for getting wrapped up in your own business. “We’re all messes, huh, Frankie? Do you think we can fix it?” 

“Yeah. Yeah. I do.” 

“Truly?” 

“Truly.” 

You toss him a soft, grateful smile, which extends as Will makes his way over to your position, greeting you “Hey, slackers!”. You and Frankie share a conspiratorial glance. 

“All set for the hike, Captain?” 

“No thanks to you.” 

“I had an alternate mission. Ranks of pastries to deplete.”

Will feigns tiredness, but his baby blues sparkle even as he rolls them. 

“Anyway. Didn’t need you. All set to head out as soon as you slackers get your act together. You wantin’ to do the usual route, hon?” 

You brace your arms against the porch rail. Dig your fingers into the wood. “No,” you say, the words a little tight in your chest, but they feel good. “Not today. There’s somewhere else. Somewhere I always wanted to go.” 

Somewhere new. 

“Fine by me,” Frankie offers. “Just let me grab more pastries.” 

***

You relish the hike, when it comes. You relish walking a path that is -to you- entirely untrodden. That he can’t touch. You walked the old, familiar trails for too long, and the only place it ever got you was right back where you started. 

The bullshit ends here. You’ve decided. 

And so, you turn your attention away from your sun, and to the wider constellation of stars around you. To yourself. 

You even do your best to make peace with Tom. To put old grudges to bed. 

You relish the hike. Enjoy the undulating landscape. You don’t know for sure what’s next, or where you’re going, but the difference is that for once, that feels okay. Full of potential. 

You walk until your legs burn, and when you get to the summit you take a moment to drink in the crisp, clifftop air. To look out across the ocean. To see it from a distance and to know that this time, it cannot break you over and over and over. 

Still, when you’re at the top, as if by providence, Santiago texts you. 

“Hey. Sorry I had to take off early. I wanna say… Thank you.” 

“For what?”

“For the best night of my life.” 

“Ah. Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself, and you press the button to call him. You immediately call him. He immediately picks up. “Hi.”

”Hi. What’s up? They just announced my gate.”

”That’s okay, I’ll be quick. I, uh. I just needed to tell you too. Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For a proper goodbye.” 

“Look, I’m sorry that I-”

“-I’m not mad, Santi. I think… I think we said everything we have to say, right? I think it was…”

”…Perfect?”

”Yeah. Yeah, pretty perfect.” 

“Listen. It’s selfish, but. With everything coming up. The Lorea job and… I needed it, you know? Needed that image of you sleeping.” 

There’s an ache in your chest and it’s bittersweet. 

He cares for you in every way he knows how, doesn’t he? In every way he can. He’s not perfect, but hey, neither are you. You’re both a little bit broken, but that doesn’t mean you can’t heal. And most of all, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love while you’re doing it. 

One day, he’ll turn up at your door, and he’ll be welcome. Whenever that is. Whenever it happens. But until then, you can’t just wait for him. 

Until then, you’ll love him; from a distance. 

No longer can you leave him in anger. No longer can he break you. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Maybe one day, that will even be enough. 

“Would you promise me something?”

“Sure.”

“Come back and visit soon, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”  

You conclude the call, and you stretch your arms above your head. A pleasant tingle snakes down your back as it cracks. You haven’t felt so relaxed in a long time. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such peace. 

The path that you are walking is yours, and you implicitly trust where it’s taking you. 

***

You are grateful to slip into the passenger side of Frankie’s car, beginning the drive back to the city and signalling the end of your stay at the beach house. Still, there is something bittersweet there too as you leave behind the site of so many memories from over the years - and now, the site of your most perfect night with Santiago. 

It reminds you of all you’ve been through. The ups and the downs and plenty of things which went sideways. You are starting to realise though, that perhaps the landscape of love is undulating. That sometimes the terrain is tough. It shouldn’t have been quite so tough though - so steep and unforgiving; and so, you hope for gentler, easier paths ahead. 

It is bittersweet then, as you leave this place behind. 

As you look forward, having said goodbye. As you wrestle with your past, future, and present. 

Frankie swings the car out and onto the highway, the Millers up ahead and Tom behind, your vehicles forming a convoy through the dark, the glow of headlights illuminating the route ahead. 

You sit in silence, eyes and thoughts unfocussed, in abstraction, as you watch vague shapes and colours slipping by the window, your own face occasionally reflected right back at you. You look older than you used to. More tired. But you don’t dislike that. 

After a while, Frankie’s robust voice slices through the dark, his eyes on the road and hands threading the wheel. “I don’t know if this will make things better or worse but… Do you want to hear it?” 

You swivel your head towards him, fractured, liquid panels of light slipping over the planes of his face as your surroundings pass by in a haze. “Hear what?” 

“Pope’s heartbreak playlist?” 

Your hands dig into your thighs where they rest. “Do I?”

“Well?” Frankie asks, his finger poised over the button, and evidently not willing to make that decision for you. 

“Yeah. Fuck it.”

You brace a little, in all honesty. A tightness takes hold of your chest as you wonder if the first track to befall your ears might be angry. Resentful. Full of blame or sadness that you can’t hope to wrestle with and come out on top. But, as the first notes of the track sound out, you are surprised to find a full, unfettered laugh rises from out of your throat. The tears swell in your eyes next, for it is nothing if not bittersweet. 

“That dickhead. I can’t believe…” 

You can’t believe it. The fact he has chosen a song which reflects your life together? Which reveals a happy memory? 

He loves you, doesn’t he? He has for a long time. And you can’t help but hope that maybe one day, that will even be enough. For tonight though, it will definitely do. You’ll take it. You’ll treasure it. 

“Whiskey in the Jar,” Frankie scoffs as he catches on to the song, even if his fingers are drumming against the lip of the wheel involuntarily. “I mean. What the shit’s that all about? He’s a weird kid, I swear.” 

“Frankie,” you laugh brightly, turning once again to look wistfully out of the window, as the view of the beach house and the ocean recedes into the distance. You catch another glimpse of yourself in the pane, and this time you look younger, you think. More alive. “Did I ever tell you about that night in Philadelphia?”

[qqueenofhades]

Maybe this is a controversial opinion, but its one that I've been reminded of in the few weeks since things have escalated so severely in Israel and Palestine-- I feel like the pressure for random, average individuals online to be vocally political is not only entitled and uncomfortable, but also just an example of misplaced priority.

Like, I have people on twitter right now that are flat out saying if you don't talk extensively about I/P you're truly, irredeemably evil. I've had mutuals say that silence means you're complacent in genocide, that you have blood on your hands (exact words). But it just doesn't make sense? Most of the people who I've seen being flat out harassed for being silent are teenagers who don't have money to donate, working class folks who don't have time to spare, and normal people who just don't have enough of a following online to even spread any word effectively. Of course, the ones doing the harassing are also poor/busy/not-popular, but they don't see the irony. (I've also seen them say that talking about war constantly is taking a toll on their mental health, saying they've cried, had nightmares, panic attacks, etc...but they also say that taking a mental health break from social media is "selfish" and genocidal, so.)

The whole interaction leaves me with so many questions. If stepping away from social media because politics are stressing you out (which they are known to do), are you obligated to use social media? Do you have to use twitter to be a good person? What does that say about people who can't afford a phone, or live in a country where it isn't quite possible? (Are homeless folks inherently genocidal, or is that an "obvious" exception that was never clarified because no one uses nuance anymore?) If you have to talk about world events, lest you side with the oppressor, at what point is something so catastrophic you *must* talk about it? Is there a number of lives lost that is low enough you can get away with being quiet, and a certain amount too high that you're obligated to talk about it? Is it your duty to have the news on 24/7 to make sure you don't miss anything and catch all the global disasters as they happen? How much do you have to talk about something for it to be considered "enough"? Is there a quota??

It just feels like a lot of people are acting as if people who aren't chronically online aren't 1. doing any activism, because the only important activism is social media networking (sarcasm), or 2. are inherently bad people for *not* spending 6 hours a day on their phones. Like, I had someone I thought was a friend say I was a bad person because I was trying to cut down my social media usage, because the timing was "too convenient"... as if that's a normal thing to say to someone, ever. Sorry if I went on a little bit of a rant, it wasn't my intention. I dunno, maybe it's just me; I've seen a lot of people saying this sort of stuff so maybe they are the majority. It just feels really weird to let people that are addicted to social media take charge of who online is "good" or "bad" based off their internet usage. As if we were all catholics or something. If I were to say that current takes on morality were very catholic-seeming, would you know what I mean?

As recently noted, I am myself on an embargo from answering asks related to this topic. I will make one exception because this is important. Please note that any wank in replies or reblogs will be instantly blocked (and I won't hesitate to disable reblogs if necessary). I will not be answering follow-up asks or getting drawn into Discourse. I do not want to do it and it will not be happening.

I have said it before, but it bears saying again: thinking that the only way to Do Activism is to be constantly on social media and immersing yourself in terrible things nonstop and then posting the Most Correct Opinions (and then viciously attacking anyone who is even slightly Not As Correct as you) is absolutely bullshit. If you're engaging with this content so much that it's giving you a mental breakdown or otherwise plunging you into a spiral of anxiety that you take out on other people who are just as far removed from actually doing anything about it as you: why? Do you really think that you and you alone, one random person on the Internet, are the only way anyone else is going to find out about these things? Or do you think you have to perform the Most Correct Opinions nonstop, viciously harass anyone who isn't responding in exactly the same way, and this is the sum total of what your response should be? Especially in a situation as bloody and complicated as this, dealing with reams of religious, social, cultural, and political history where the average commentator on this conflict knows only what's been fed to them by propaganda on TikTok? How the fuck is that useful or constructive for anyone, aside from perpetuating the idea that you have to be angry all the time on social media about things you essentially know nothing about? I can't see that it does.

What's happening to the Gazans right now is no qualification or equivocation, a genocide. It should rightfully be opposed and called what it is. But unfortunately, I have spent too much time around Western Online Leftists to believe they actually care a whit about stopping genocide as a fundamental principle, and only want to be seen to loudly care about what their Ideology has told them to care about. If it means hand-waving aside genocide and atrocities when committed by their preferred polities, so be it. Why haven't these same people been wall-to-wall up in arms about what Russia has been doing in Ukraine, or for God's sake Syria for the past ten years, if they're really concerned about the rights of innocent Muslim civilians attacked by a far-right imperialist power? Why not the Uighurs in China? Why not [insert the blank] of all the terrible things happening in the world as a result of far-right fascist genocidal imperialism? Why only this conflict? Why now? Why does it involve so much excusing of terrorism as long as it's committed for the Right Ideology? Why are some of the most loudly pro-Palestinian accounts on here also the most rabidly pro-Russian? How does that make sense? To put it bluntly, those genocides are being committed by nation-states that Online Leftists like for being "anti-Western," and therefore their activities are actually fine and should even need to be defended.

My point is not to say that what's happening to the Palestinians is not bad. It is. It is awful and inexcusable. However, I seriously doubt the motives and morality of those who are being the loudest about screaming on social media and attacking everyone else for not instantly repeating their views. I seriously doubt that the Online Left actually opposes genocide and accelerationism as fundamental principles, because they proudly demonstrate every day that they don't. Until those vast factors can be dismantled and shown for what they are, and this can be placed into its larger context, I don't buy it and I don't believe this wall-to-wall social media outrage factory is actually aimed at helping the Gazans or anyone else suffering the most as a result of this. It is just to show that they can be counted on to Perform Outrage and harass anyone else who doesn't do the same, and that does nothing for anyone whatsoever.

[oceansssblue]

100 CELEBRATION — PROMPT 14. TELEPATHY

TECH / F READER 💖(🔥)

WARNINGS: BRIEF MENTIONS OF INSECURITIES, SEXUAL THOUGHTS BUT NO PROPER SEX SCENE.

NOTES: Here we have a fluffy and sweet/sensual one for our dear Tech. Oh, how I love that man... Let me know if you' ve liked it and reblog if you can. We've only got 3 more prompts for the 100celeb left (with our boys Rex, Cross, and Echo). See you on the next one! Xx, Blue.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tech had a strict rule; he would not use his mind-reading ability on anyone if not for safety reasons exclusively. That meant, for example, that he was able –and would– use his telepathy to find out Cid's ulterior plans –plans the Trandoshan never mentioned to Hunter– ; but he would control himself and refrain from reading his brother's minds outside of missions and the like. If Tech didn't consider someone in danger, he would silence the thoughts that so often slipped uninvited into his mind.

However, even his own strict rule had to be broken on the rare occasion. Sometimes, the few people he cared about weren't in inminent physical danger; but experimenting some sort of emotional stress that they couldn't always resolve by themselves. Watching them suffer in silence when he might have been able to help if only he had been informed of the nature of their affliction... Well, in those cases, Tech felt morally obliged to intervene.

All this considered, there's no valid reason for him to use his telepathy on you today; but he can't help himself. He had tried to reach a logical conclusion for your behaviour around him lately; to no avail. What he knows is that you can't stand to be in the same space as him for more than a few minutes at a time. He had brushed it aside as mere coincidences at first -you had forgotten something, or had to help Omega with another-; but after a whole month of quiet observation, Tech can't deny the truth any longer. It hurts, the thought of you finding him so irritating or disliking him so much that you inmediately shied away from his presence; but he wants to know what exactly you can't stand about him. Perhaps he can find a solution to it... Tech isn't fond of many people; but he is of you, and he values the friendship that had slowly blossomed between the two of you. He thought you did too, he was sure of it. He needs to know what has changed.

And so the next time you rush out of the cockpit to the sonic, after putting an abrupt end to your conversation with him once again, Tech tunes your thoughts in. Your voice echoes inside his head in a series of stressed whispers. He has to concentrate to discern the jumbled words from one another; your mind is working light speed.

"Oh my god, will I ever stop messing up my words every time I talk to him? With how impossibly smart he is, he probably thinks I'm stupid by now!"

Then, a firm, clear sentence -Tech can imagine you pointing at yourself at the mirror, frustrated-.

"Get your shit together!"

He hears the door of the sonic opening and your footsteps moving in the direction of the bunks.

Alone with his own thoughts again, Tech ponders the new information around. He's relieved to know that at least you don't seem to be angry or irritated at him per se. You just seem to be intimidated by his intelligence; which is more of a compliment than anything else, really. Still, he can't help but feel guilty. Had he ever acted in a way that has made you feel undervalued? Had he off-handedly critiqued any aspect of your psyche? Made an unfortunate comment on how your mind processes things? He doesn't believe so; but it wouldn't surprise him either. For all the intelligence he posseses, he knows he often lacks of emotional tact; something that his brothers -Wrecker, in particular- seem to be well versed in.

Ah, there's always things to learn, mm?

He'll try to make you feel more at ease next time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tech is pleasantly surprised to have you tagging along in his exploration of Arkana's forest. The rest of The Batch had decided to stay in The Marauder, catching up on some sleep; but he had prefered to take the chance to observe the planet's rich ecosistem before they had to make their way back to Ord Mantell the following morning. You had inmediately jumped at the oportunity as well. Tech would have thought that an hour expedition would have been too much for you to be in his presence; but you had joined him with a bright smile, and half an hour later, your mood is just as friendly.

Arkana's forest is a surprising mix of bright colourful flora. There's not as much green as one would have expected; but instead, trees and flowers grow in vibrants blues, pinks and yellows. Your eyes widen in awe at a bright neon magenta flower that is as tall as yourself; steps slowing down to admire it.

"What's its name?" you ask him, curiously.

Tech doesn't need to consult his datapad; he knows exactly what it is.

"Fluoridium flowers. Their shine is not a property of the plant per se, but a result of different kinds of neon-like minerals in Arkana's soil. It is often used as..." Tech notices the way you're silently staring at him, an almost lost expression on your face.

He remembers your thoughts on him; and the rest of his explanation quickly dies on his throat. He doesn't want to overwhelm you with unnecessary information. He ends his info-dumping -as Crosshair used to call it- with a few brief words.

"Let's just say it has a lot of uses".

He nods to himself, and then re-starts their walk through the forest. You follow him inmediately, frowning in confusion at his interrumpted explanation.

"For example?" you ask him, and Tech shoots a carefull glance back at you.

"I didn't think you'd be interested in knowing that".

His words bring a honest, surprised expression on your face.

"Why not?" you sound highly confused.

You can't help but think you've done something wrong. It had looked like Tech had wanted to share the information with you; and then he had stoped himself from continuing after taking a look at your face. Had you done something you weren't aware of?

Tech's eyes flicker around the forest almost avoiding you.

"I wouldn't want to bore you" he answers, voice quiet and hesitant.

Tech is never hesitant. He might not know everything; but even then, his usual way of talking is always confident and self-assured. He has no problem in admiting a lack of knowledge in something; he'd admit it in the same firm tone he uses for everything. Why is he acting so strange now?

His words tug at your heart. Perhaps something has happened without you noticing it. Perhaps there had been some sort of discusion between the brothers; or some fleeting comment Tech had taken too personal.

You are enamoured by him; he could never bore you.

For the first time in perhaps forever, you reach your hand towards his wrist; tugging him into a stop and looking up into his eyes with your cheeks lighted up in a faint blush.

"I find all your explanations interesting" you sum up the courage to add "I like hearing you talk, Tech".

You shoot him a small, soft smile; fingers squeezing his wrist softly before letting him go.

Tech is momentarily stunned. He is first confused by the contradiction between your recent afirmation and the thoughts he had heard from you just a few days ago; he is also surprised by the tender affection he reads on your eyes. Your honest little admission sends a warm feeling to his heart.

You're still looking at him; perhaps waiting for an answer, a reaction from him. Tech's heart speeds up. He feels the need to listen to your mind tingling through his veins; and he allows himself that little exception again, just this time.

"How could you ever be boring? You're like a living encyclopedia. And you look so adorable when you're explaining something, specially when you raise your index. I like seing how excited you get, how you come to life. Ah, Tech, if only you knew... I could hear you talking all day".

Tech blushes instantly; slipping out of your mind and trying to hide the way hearing you "talk" about him is making him feel. He must have gotten something wrong. You evidently still enjoy spending time with him; you... Care. Those first thoughts he read from you last time must have been born of your own insecurities; insecurities he would try to help you leave behind.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You like when the cockpit is at it's maximum capacity. It means you're able to watch Tech with other posible distractions claiming his attention; masking your unwavering interest. Right now, for example, he's listening to Wrecker's and Omega's chattering; making a few brief interventions here and there. He's also piloting The Marauder back to Ord Mantell; and shooting some carefully concerned glances at Hunter, who was injured in The Batch's last mission in Targa. He has always been an expert at multitasking.

You, on the other hand, are focused on just one thing; Tech himself. How his hair is slightly ruffled after the mission, and the way his eyes seem to softly shine with the hyperspace lights. His pouty lips; and the way his long legs look when he spreads his knees apart, turning in the direction of his brothers once The Marauder is set on autopilot.

Fuck, how you wish you could be standing -or kneeling- between those legs...

Tech suddenly stutters in his speech, his cheeks blushing perhaps as a result of something one of his brother's had said. It pulls you out of your thoughts for a minute; your eyes focusing on how cute he looks with the soft tint of embarassment on his face. It's not an expression you often see on him.

You're really helpless when it comes to Tech. Your mind inmediately swings to dirty thoughts; pondering wether he'll get a similar expresion if he'd get flustered at sex. Would he be shy, cheeks set on fire and a timid, adorable wide-eyed expresion on his face? Or would he be as confident and firm as usual, making you melt at his feet with a few caresses and well aimed words? You'd be eager to please him either way, that's for sure.

Tech stands up abruptly; clearing his throat nervously, face impossibly flushed now. His eyes flicker everywhere around the room, and he inmediately makes a hasty exit muttering a rushed excuse. Your eyes trail after him in concern; asking the rest of The Batch about him in case you got lost on something important that would explain his sudden and unexpected retreat.

"What was that?" you whisper to his brothers, half confused and half concerned.

Hunter's eyes snap back at you. He looks uncomfortable; shifting in his place.

"You tell me" he answers, criptycally, inmediately turning his attention to Meg.

What does that even mean? He... He couldn't have known what you were thinking about, could he? Well, with how perceptive he is, perhaps he might have guessed the direction of your thoughts with those heightened senses of his... But certainly not Tech, right? He's smart, yes, but you hadn't been that obvious, had you? Or were your thoughts so clearly written in your face?

Wrecker bumps his shoulder into yours, trying to integrate you into the conversation and diffuse the sudden weird atmosphere that had set around you. You shoot him a soft smile; though your mind is still being pulled in Tech's direction, who had all but ran away to hide in the bunks.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tech had been fighting your thoughts for one whole month now. And fighting was the apropiate word; because it had been madenning difficult to focus on anything else but the way you seem to lose your atention on the outside word when you focus on him. It had been a complete shock at first; his mind needing a few days to process this change of perspective. The realisation that your only problem with him was that you liked him a bit too much, that he made you impossibly nervous, had been hard to accept. Tech would have thought you'd go for someone like Hunter; but no, you were utterly interested in him. He didn't really understand why at first; but as weeks passed, he had listen to all kind of thoughts about him -from sincere admiration to soft tenderness to hungry lust-, and he guessed he could understand your reasons now.

Needless to say, he had been a mess. He was always so composed; but your thoughts about him had shattered his control to pieces. He spent most of his days either flustered, or lost in your own thoughts; to the point the rest of his brothers had noticed it. Hunter, who knew exactly what was going on, had encouraged him to bring the conversation to you; but even if he knew how you saw him, he was still a bit unsure. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable; and he still felt guilty of invading your privacy. What if you got furious at him? Never wanted to see him again? That would be heartbreaking.

The situation couldn't continue for much longer, though; he was distracted, and he needed to be focused on their missions -to keep all of them as safe as possible-. He had no other option than to confront you. Though perhaps... perhaps his way of going about it wasn't the most wise.

Hunter had gone to Cid's to deliver their part of the deal; while Wrecker and Omega had decided to celebrate with a few games of dejarik and Mantel Mix. Echo, though tired, had tagged along as well; if only for keeping a responsible eye on them. You had claimed to be tired as well; so you had stayed in The Marauder with him.

You were currently sitting next to Tech; watching him tinker about with an old datapad of his he was trying to fix so Omega could have her own one. He could feel the weight of your stare on his face; momentarily glancing down at his hands each handfull of minutes. The tension was palpable between the two of you; and Tech couldn't help but tune in into your thoughts once again. You were practically screaming them to him...

"Fuck, look at those fingers... So long and skilled... He really does have beautiful hands. If only I could feel them on me..."

Tech feels a small rush of excitement slowly igniting inside of him. He tries to focus on the task at hand; a futile attempt. Your thoughts keeps slipping onto his mind.

"Inside me. Fuck, wish I could feel them inside me. Clench on them while he licks my clit with his tongue and I could dig my fingers into his hair, push him against me, and he'd get me ready for his cock and... Oh, god, what would his cock feel like?"

Tech is so dizzy with the raw hunger and need laced in your words he blurts out an answer without wanting too.

"I wouldn't be opposed to trying that".

He realises, far too late, that his thought hand't stayed in the safe privacy of his mind; but exposed out loud for you to hear as well. His eyes widen in surprise.

"W-what?" you stutter, terrified of having spoken your own thoughts out loud.

Tech blushes and watches you nervously. The cat is out of the bag, now.

"I-I... Please forgive me, you were thinking very loudly and I could not help but listening in and..." he explains hurriedly, your expresion only switching from confused terror to terrified surprise.

"What do you mean? You... You can read people's mind?" You almost squeak, shocked at not having heard of any of this until now.

Tech nods, guiltily, and the realisation of your crush being aware of all you've fantasized about him makes your cheeks burn in pure embarassment.

"I'm sorry!" you inmediately apologise, wanting nothing more than to stand up and run away. "I-I..."

"It is not your fault" Tech inmediately cuts in, taking a deep, calming breath as if he is nervous himself. "There is nothing for you to apologise for. In fact, I am the one who should. Please forgive me, mesh'la. I did not intend to invade your privacy like this. I first thought you had a problem with me, and so I peaked into your mind twice to figure out why, and... And I should have stopped there, but the way you continued to stare at me made me curious and... I'm sorry, mesh'la".

You soften at the honesty of his words; and the affectionate way he calls you beautiful in Mando'a. You glance up at him cautiously; embarassment slowly melting away with his positive reaction.

"So you're not... You're not uncomfortable, then?"

Tech's cheeks are still slightly red; though he forces his eyes to stay on yours.

"No. It was a shock at first, I must admit; but your thoughts have never made me felt that way. Nervous, distracted, turned on... Yes, but not uncomfortable" he pauses and carefully adds "like I said, I wouldn't be opposed to try any of them".

You almost jump at the chance; but there's something else holding you back. You don't want this to be a one time thing. You don't want this to be merely sexual. He knows all your thoughts on this; it's just fair you get to find his.

"Did you... Did you hear all the non-sexual thoughts about you too? About us?" you ask him quietly.

Tech responds to your vulnerability with a warm smile. His hand slowly reaches down to yours; sending a shiver through your spine.

"I did. And I'd like to try those as well, cyare" he whispers, a confesion that stays just between the two of you.

Your heart soars; the explosive rush of happiness pushing a radiant smile on your face, happy tears on your eyes.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes" you chant in your head. And then, in case he's listening... "Kiss me, Tech".

You catch a brief glimpse of his answering smile before his lips join yours in a soft, passionate kiss. You sigh into him, melting against the carefull hands that slowly come up to craddle one side of your face and your left hip. Tech hums in contentment. His own swirl of excited, tender thoughts mix with the ones that slips from your mind into his. You kiss and kiss; and the passion and affection burning in both of you is so similar he does not longer differentiate in between.

THE END.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You can read the other prompts for the 100celeb here:

And you have a lot of other clone wars and bad batch stories here:

[toxicpineapple]

hello my loves!

this week i will be joining the global strike for palestinian liberation and i invite you all to do the same by skipping work, school, attending protests, not spending money, not posting on social media unless it is palestine related, etc. PLEASE consider doing whatever is in your power to stand in solidarity with the lives being lost right now in palestine. we have a moral obligation to stand up against what is quite literally a genocide playing out in real time.

i will not be reblogging, posting, or retweeting anything unless it is related to palestine this week. i encourage you all to do the same. please feel free to follow me on twitter (@/toxicpineapplex) and tiktok (@/whotftooktoxicpineapple) where i keep up a steady influx of reposts about the situation. if you need to reach me you can shoot me a message on discord where my username is toxic.pineapple i’m practically always online there lol.

the strike will run from january 21st through the 28th. here are some sources about the strike as well as how you can be involved and how you can help:

https://x.com/sitcomabed/status/1747629920962945337?s=46&t=mVSnjT_CF1edcgeQRSftsw

https://x.com/cloudbrush/status/1748745668162621596?s=46&t=mVSnjT_CF1edcgeQRSftsw

https://x.com/imzaytri/status/1748091387084673230?s=46&t=mVSnjT_CF1edcgeQRSftsw

companies to boycott and how:

https://x.com/catherinesclaws/status/1748479096256909740?s=46&t=mVSnjT_CF1edcgeQRSftsw

causes to donate to:

https://x.com/careforgaza?s=21&t=mVSnjT_CF1edcgeQRSftsw

https://x.com/animalfriendsaf?s=21&t=mVSnjT_CF1edcgeQRSftsw

i would encourage people who are on the fence about this matter to really look into it. really. and i would encourage you to take a stance. there are people dying, innocent people, while you contemplate the “complexities”. this is not a war or a conflict, it is a genocide. it is a moral imperative that we not be silent.

consider contacting your representatives this week and letting them know what you’re doing and why. whatever ability you have to do the right thing, please use it to its fullest extent.

free palestine.

[whatever-you-can-give-me]

i was talking about this in a reblog, but i decided to make this its own post, because i've seen some conversation that's expressing discomfort with stampede asserting that dependent/bulbed plants don't have souls, and that's not what's being conveyed in the slightest.

tl;dr: conrad's speech about souls is not something we're supposed to take as objective fact about the stampede universe — the thesis isn't dependent plants don't have souls, the thesis is oh holy shit, they're doing eugenics.

conrad's not an unbiased narrator. he's a half-dead, guilt-stricken eugenicist parroting the talking points of an obsessive cult leader whose history book was the bible.

so let’s break down exactly what the fuck we’re being told, because it’s not exposition we’re meant to take at face value.

(under the cut for length, spoilers, and discussion of eugenics, ableism, christianity, cults, experimentation, and sexual assault — both as metaphor and taken literally, as seen in ep11)

first, some context. we can't trust the exact visuals of what we see in the flashbacks in ep11, given that what knives is doing is explicitly memory manipulation, but we can get a few broad strokes about knives' childhood experiences:

a significant, memorable source of his understanding of humanity came from the bible. now anyone with even a passing knowledge of the bible (especially raised-xtian kids who had the opportunity or the obligation to read it at a young age, possibly to the exclusion of other, secular entertainment) will understand how much that explains. 

what the scene with the bible is also conveying, is that knives' mental/moral framework is a christian one. which, obviously — the eye of michael is evangelicalism but even more of a death cult. this also explains knives' fixation on the concept of "souls", but put a pin in that, we'll come back to it. 

knives and vash are painfully recognizable as gifted/neurodivergent/disabled children. vash is the underperformer, the high-needs kid — treated gently, told how he’s loved for how he is, but always aware of his own shortcomings. and knives is the golden child, the gifted one. he has powers (special powers, rem tells him, that he should hide from everyone, because if Anyone But I Knew, They Would hurt you — put a pin in that, we will come back to it)

finding tesla cements knives’ worldview that humanity will hurt and exploit plants given the justification, which makes him fear for vash, who can’t provide anything for humanity — but tesla also teaches knives that there is something particularly special about independents. something worthy of study. (see: knives still allowing experiments with presumably plant tissue to continue for 150 years)

and then we meet knives as an adult, and conrad tells us what knives believes: that he has a soul, and vash has a soul, and dependent/bulbed plants do not, that their souls are on some higher plane, and if knives gives them souls, everything will be okay. they won’t need humans anymore, because he doesn’t need humans. he doesn’t need to eat or drink. he can make all his sisters Just Like Him, and that will fix their exploitation.

this is, of course, some fucking bullshit. there’s a reason, narratively, we see vash communicating with his sisters before this reveal — they’re not “husks” or “soulless”, they move and react, they’re clearly conscious and sentient. they don’t speak, but they communicate, they act willfully.

so, what is knives thinking, where did he get it, and what’s actually happening?

our Context Pins, for context:

as much as knives believes himself separate from humanity, his view of the world is very human, albeit held at a distance from humanity, and very specifically christian

knives was told, over and over and over by rem, that he was special. that he had special, wonderful powers, and that made him different from everyone else. his brother, and other plants. he’s special.

so the train of thought goes like this:

plants are exploited by humanity (a true statement) => the only way for plants to not be exploited is for humanity to not exist (an understandable conclusion, given his experience with tesla) => but plants need humans to survive => knives is completely self-sufficient => if he makes the other plants like him, they’ll survive on their own.

add the golden-child personal superiority from rem’s… interesting parenting (believe me, she’s a whole different post on her own) and the concept of souls cribbed from the christian framework he was raised in, used as a placeholder word for whatever knives believes he has that his sisters don't, and it starts to makes sense how knives got from point A to point E(ugenics)

and it’s pretty clear we’re supposed to find this framework horrifying even before anything else happens, because — what about vash? what about the percentage of independents who don’t produce anything? who are conduits, specifically “useful” for communicating with dependent plants, who can’t communicate like humans. who eat food and drink water to survive.

that could be up to 50% of independent plants. who would die without humans regardless of whatever knives does to them.

and speaking of what knives does to them…

stampede is not a subtle show, especially not with its visual language. we aren’t supposed to listen to a word knives is saying, or take anything he says (or his lackeys/cult members say) at face value, because what knives is doing, in between breaking vash’s brain to get him to sit and stay, is using vash to assault his sisters.

there’s a reason the visual language of that scene is forced impregnation — whatever knives is doing to them, “souls” or otherwise, he certainly didn’t ask what they wanted before he did it.

[scoobydoodean]

absolutely obsessed with your dedication to the kevin poll, it’s so funny lmao. idk if you’re keeping it up just for shits n giggles or if deancrits/samgirls are like keeping you involved by tagging or messaging you, but it’s very amusing and you’re awesome and also fully right so standing ovation for you 👏👏👏

Just trying to protect our 8 point lead to the very end as sometimes sudden surges occur 😒 But also just because this whole thing amused me.

Dean being commandingly in the lead at first and then within like 10 minutes of Leyla and I reblogging the poll Sam rushing ahead.

A samgirl accusing Pollsnatural of cheating (???) when Sam surged ahead.

Pollsnatural trying to explain to the samgirls that Sam surged ahead because of Leyla and me and all the samgirls had to do was look in the reblogs to see that and them refusing to look or believe that because it hurts their fragile egos too bad.

Me realizing that one of the samgirls who didn't believe Pollsnatural couldn't see my reblogs because I've had them blocked for months so to them Sam's commanding lead really did come out of nowhere and they are genuinely flabbergasted by my vengeful ghost in the notes 👻

Me having blocked the blog above because they came onto one of my deancas posts to make it about salmon dean and call Dean "the little black dress" of the SPN fandom who SAM gets to wear and now I’ve been unwittingly exacting double revenge via memes. 👻

"Mental health break"

"Proxy war over rape" what the actual fuck.

Do... do we remember this poll is about Kevin Tran? No? Okay.

Disk horse about how a poll blog has a moral obligation to keep samgirls from seeing the opinions of other fans.

[thedreadvampy]

look I do not want to have this argument in the notes of a 5k+ post bc I will get crucified and so will the person who I'm arguing with

but see I made this post about the use of language and said I thought that words like rape or abuse or suicide are extremely necessary and that they can be uncomfortable words but that's because they're uncomfortable things?

someone in the replies said, quote, "that doesn't excuse y'all reblogging this without trigger warnings"

and like, far be it from me, a guy who spent a non-zero amount of time having panic attacks if I saw Chewbacca merch and once had a day-long dissociative episode because I saw someone carrying a guitar, to say what acceptable triggers are or how people should respond to them

but in this instance. I'm pretty clear that yeah actually it does excuse reblogging it without trigger warnings

because in this post I didn't at any point actually talk about rape, abuse or suicide, I talked about the words "rape", "abuse" and "suicide".

in fact in the original post I don't think I want into any more detail than I would in the tags "tw rape" "tw abuse" or "tw suicide"

which gets under my skin, right, because while there's no problem with choosing to trigger tag that post of you think it's helpful, demanding that this is such an Obviously Triggering post there's a moral obligation to tag it (because it contains the Bad Words) is uhhhhh kind of exactly what I'm talking about?

Language here is mistaken for the thing. Saying the word "rape" is construed as unambiguously harmful in a way that talking about rape without naming it isn't.

I have literally heard people begin to describe a rape, a domestic violence case, a murder, a suicide, in those terms - then stop themselves, change their language, and carry on describing these really specific, upsetting experiences with the clear understanding that they've removed the Problematic Part (now that they're saying "special cuddle" and "adult time" instead of "rape").

Part of what I'm reacting against in that post is exactly that - the idea behind the cutesy euphemisms and the censorship of important words like "death" and "rape" (and frankly "lesbian". and "sex" and "kink" and "porn"), which is this tendency to displace the discomfort caused by the word onto the word itself.

Obviously everyone's experience of trauma is different. But as a survivor I'm not triggered or disturbed by the word "rape", I'm triggered and disturbed by the act of rape, and potentially by conversations which describe or explore or evoke that act or experience.

And frankly I find it hard to believe that a significant plurality, let alone a majority, of people with PTSD connected to rape or abuse are so sensitive to the Word Itself that they must be protected from even hearing it named.

I am particularly clear on this with "rape" and "abuse" because, as I said in the post described, those are unambiguously words coined to create purposeful discomfort, because they're words coined to recognise the harm in very common and normalised actions.

If you've experienced rape, abuse, or whatever, and the words alone for those things are deeply distressing, I'm very sorry for you. That must be awful and I wish you well.

But a lot of the time I think when people start linguistically self-censoring (not "you can't talk about this topic without a trigger warning" but "you can't use this descriptive word without a trigger warning") they're not actually reacting to a debilitating trauma response, but to the fact that hearing the word inspires discomfort, because it puts an appropriate amount of weight on the topic.

you have to trigger tag for "suicide" but not for "unalive yourself" "sewerslide" or "kys"

you have to trigger tag for "death" but not for "no longer with us" "left the world" "unalive"

you have to trigger tag for "rape" but let's be honest not for a description of having sex with someone against their will, as long as you don't call it rape.

(btw people will blame this on the Algorithm but it goes back way further, we were having this Acceptable Words Discourse on Tumblr in 2012, you know? it's definitely accelerated by algorithmic control but this list of Bad Words as a shibboleth for Caring About People is old old bullshit)

(also the idea of trigger tagging on the basis of words rather than meaning strikes me as uhhhh suboptimal? especially when it comes to words created to talk about our experiences? like maybe there's a significant textural difference between a post which uses the word "rape" in a list of words that exist, a post saying "if this happened to you it may have been rape," an exploration of survivor feminism and the political positioning of rape, a list of rape prevention and recovery resources, and a graphic rape fantasy. like any of those might be things I don't wanna see, but they're very different in relation to each other and to my trauma, you know? and not wanting to see explicit discussion of rape doesn't necessarily mean not wanting to Ever Hear The Word. but that's another conversation.)

anyway this is all academic frankly because the thing you're objecting to is that the words are in the post. bc again, trigger tags on this post entail Exactly The Same Amount Of Exploration Of These Topic as the post itself

[akiacia]

Hi! Sorry to bring up politics on your blog—I know it's not your job to talk about these issues since it's an art blog. However, I've been thinking about this because I've seen other artists in the same fandoms as you speak up, and I noticed that you haven't. Why haven't you mentioned, talked about, reblogged, or in general, been quiet about Palestine?

Again, I understand you're not obligated to do so (and you can even delete this message if it makes you uncomfortable—I'll understand). It's just that I like your art and think you're nice, but your silence could be interpreted (and I really hope this isn't the case) as either indifference or siding with Zionists.

I truly hope that's not the case, and even if it were, you don't have to answer such questions. However, I've seen too many cool artists be morally awful regarding this situation, and not seeing your voice on this matter raises some questions for me.

I'm not sending this message to make you uncomfortable; I'm sending it because I want to clear my mind about supporting someone who may not support humanitarian causes. I hope you'll understand that I'm not accusing you of anything—I just want to know your opinion so I can align it with mine.

Wishing you a good day, and once again, there's no pressure to answer this. Just know that someone is noticing your silence.

hi! i'll say at the outset that i support palestine wholeheartedly. the reason i'm not vocal about much of anything on this blog is because i only use tumblr to host my art (+ to respond to the lovely folks who engage with me). i don't really interact with this platform otherwise.

that said, i have an audience now, and it's fair to want to know where i stand. i'll share some of the offsite resources i've used for those with the means:

gazafunds aggregates campaigns in need on their site and twitter account. care for gaza is a direct donation channel to on the ground aid. the crips for esims for gaza fundraiser collects monetary donations for esims, and their accountability document is regularly updated.

[terrible-child-tournament]

do you per chance have a terrible child?

COME MAKE THEM FIGHT!!!!

rules for submissions:

no real people, obviously! fictional characters played by irl actors are cool though.

the character does not necessarily have to be a child but they must be disproportionately young compared to the rest of the cast

the character does not have to be morally evil (though that is encouraged) but does have to cause trouble, be mean, be excessively childish and/or immature, etc

the number of competitors will vary based on how many submissions i receive, but will be even for match-ups. if you have any questions on whether a character would count, feel free to send in an ask!

submissions will be closed in one week, on wednesday 4/5 :) update: submissions are now closed! watch for the bracket coming soon :)

SUBMIT YOUR BABIES HERE!

characters that are auto included because i love them:

elise (bungo stray dogs) [who is also the mascot because she's like the quintessential problem child] the collector (the owl house)

here are some tournaments that i'm tagging for visibility! (these are all tournaments that i am personally following and very excited for though, so you should definitely follow if you haven't already :P)

ps. if you're tagged below, please feel no obligation to reblog or do anything at all, and just message me if you'd like to be untagged! &lt;3 /gen

@black-cat-showdown @chuuyaswag @favevoiceactorbracket @divine-swag-summit @dead-character-showdown @pinkhairswagtourney @problemgirlbracket @prosekapolls

[damnfandomproblems]

To 4992

Alot of people in the reblogs are missing the point.

OP isnt saying no one can write the things they are complaining about.

Regardless of if they were or not, the points op has made and "do what you want forever" are both things that can and should co-exist.

Everything has become about representation now. Ive realized this alot more recently due to my own planning to make an original game with an original story. Everytime i think about an OC of mine i always have to remind myself to take a step back and ask myself if this character is actually interesting or if they are starting to exist solely as a representation checkbox for people that think they matter too much.

Its hard. Its grown so prevalent to just react to things and care only about these certain things, that ive found myself, everytime i think of something story, character, lore, setting, ect. I begin to think about how certain people would react to it and automatically try to change it. And i do that without realizing thats what im actually doing and at some point i just realize.... Wow this is so tiresome. This is not what i wanted this to be like at all. This has become something else entirely due to made up "problems" hypothetical people might have and i no longer enjoy this.

And in a way its a good thing. Now that i realized my mistake i can learn from it and know what i should not do

But a lot of other people dont realize this. They want to make stories like what OP has described because they think they have a moral obligation to do so. Because its what will get them views and praise. And if they dont do it "right" they risk being shunned or worse harrassed and driven out entirely... Sometimes out of living too.

Yes you can right whatever you want. But you also cannot deny that it's become "write what you want, so long as it contains *things we like* written in a way we don't find offensive or else you can rot in a ditch" because we all know how much the fandom purity police actually care about letting people do whatever they want in fiction.

To fandom these days, if your fan works dont fit some kind of agenda then you may as well not make anything at all.

And if you cant see the problem in that then you are most likely part of the people perpetrating the problem

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[mx-werebat]

Hi ! I have a question about what you want to be filtered tagged /lh /gen

For reblog bait , would that include posts like "the person you reblogged this from is [insert thing]" or something along those lines or just "reblog so [insert thing] happens" ? /genq /nbr

Hihi! Reblog bait (at least to me) is anything that makes you feel pressured to reblog. For example "reblog if you support [insert minority]", "reblog if you don't support [bad thing]", "reblog this now" and things of that likeness.

It makes me feel morally obligated to reblog those things and that I'm a bad bat for not doing so. I also struggle with pathological demand avoidance and tend to not do what others demand of me either. /lh

[juliens-bakery]

hi sorry this is so long ! this question may seem out of the blue, apologies, but why are so many boygenius fans on here, like, shameless liberals who won't tolerate any criticism of Biden? to be clear I'm not talking about your blog, I scanned it and it was so refreshing to see someone actually critical of the Dems and their instrumental role in the genocide. like, I see popular blogs in the fandom making aggressive posts that are basically “you HAVE to vote blue” and *yet, crucially*, they haven't reblogged anything actually critical of Biden? it seems the only time they talk about politics is to proselytise about how you HAVE to vote blue despite the *genocide*, and nothing negative about the actual policies, just scolding anyone to the left of them and saying hey biden's actually not that bad domestically !

i'm a POC boygenius fan from the global south and it's just something I've been observing keenly knowing that the external policies of that country will always hang over my head like a looming threat, whether blue or red is in power internally. and when young voters in that country do, for once, take cognizance of the devastation enacted on *our* countries by their govs, these liberals crawl out of the woodwork to scold them, then go back to posting about the latest julien-lucy sighting or whatever. it's surreal to see.

again, sorry for the unprompted rant, it's just been eating at me for so long and this blog just seems like one in the fandom that I can still trust. I just needed to get this off my chest. i fell in love with bg in 2020 I'll go back to streaming them now <3.

hi! thank you for this ask, it's been very thought-provoking for me, and i really do appreciate the trust. and no worries about the length, i'm about to one-up this shit.

it is a little hard for me to answer this question fairly. for one, the boygenius-sphere has changed a LOT since i started here (7 years! it's a long time!), and so a lot of my mutuals that i've had since are no longer here (shoutout @remembermydog though, we still here <3) and a bunch of new people have come through. so i'm really not as plugged in with the broader fandom space as i used to be, and i don't really follow a ton of new blogs these days, so i can't really say that i've seen everything that you've seen for myself.

that being said, even if i've had less ability to share your experiences, i do think what you're saying has a lot of truth to it. the obvious thought is that boygenius fans are disproportionately white, which naturally lends itself to that sort of optimism about the extant systems of power. fundamentally, i think, it is very difficult for a white person in that country to reconcile themselves with the idea that the extant systems of power were always bad to begin with and have never been fit for purpose, b/c they've always worked well enough for them. like, there's no innate moral value with being white or not, but it's not the most surprising correlation either. (and yes, i'm aware that boygenius fans are also disproportionately queer women, which counterbalances that optimism to a very real degree).

the frustrating thing is that there are so many people who refuse to even entertain the idea that some people have a moral line over which they will not cross. and i do think that there can be a moral obligation to do an unpleasant distasteful or "bad" thing in order to achieve better ends. but there's always balance between the depth of the wrong and the value of the ends. and everyone has to decide for themselves where that balance lies for them. if i was american, i don't think i would vote this year, for a bunch of reasons. i don't think i would begrudge anyone voting for biden, especially if they thought that trump would send even more bombs (although frankly i have no fucking idea what trump would do). i've voted for trudeau in years when i really didn't want to because of the voting patterns of my particular district. i am about to be an extension of the canadian legal system, which has inflicted incredible amounts of harm to indigenous people and many others.

voting for biden and not voting for biden are both moral compromises. the only question is: how much blood are you willing to get on your hands as you fight for a better world? everyone's line is different (and not everyone's line is acceptable). i think i'd be more comfortable with not voting, because i think joe biden is among the very guiltiest people for this genocide. so maybe i don't want to support and reinforce that guy! and fundamentally, a party that wins elections has much less incentive to change. and the thoughtless and condescending dismissal of these ideas that really infuriates me. so i am really sorry that your experiences of this space have been tainted in this way. there are lots of good and thoughtful people, and these years have been the most fulfilling period of my internet life. but it's a space full of people on the internet just like any other, and so i don't really think it's uniquely bad, but neither is it uniquely good. i've made a nice little space for myself, and i really hope you can find that too <3.

thanks for the ask. there were a lot of things i needed to get off my chest.