#i think maybe we are all always grieving.

[inxamista]

Okay now, imma gonna rant a bunch about x-men 97, Gambit, lazy writing and the culture of "plot twists and shock value" to engage the audience in a show.

So, yeah, spoilers ahead, proceed with caution, etc.

First and foremost: Gambit DID NOT HAVE TO DIE to put Rogue in a spotlight. Actually, this is the whole "Wanda and Vision" story and an actually shitty trope of "the woman who overcomes herself through grief and denial of her love (and, at some degree, her womanhood). Like, it's been done a fucking lot of times already and in each and every new try it just gets stale to me. Now we'll have Rogue grieving and suffering and raging until she overcomes this *bad feelings* and finds her center, sublimating the loss of her one true love. At the top of my head I can tell at least three women heros (and anti-heros) with the same bullcrap background.

Second: Gambit is, and always have been, a fan favorite. Back in the day, he even had his own monthly title with very interesting story arcs. So, killing off *Gambit* has a weight. It has the "WOW! PLOT TWIST!" effect to the show. Like, "oh, game of thrones!" kinda show, "no one is safe" and blah blah blah. Which grants a show buzz, clout and engagement. Look at us: they've killed Gambit two weeks ago and here we are, raging at that, so mission accomplished. Lazy as fuck, but effective, right?

And last, but not least: it's been said by the showrruners themselves that "an important character would die in the 5th episode" (just as mentioned before, quod erst demonstrandum and all) but they were debating who this character would be and weighing their options. And - oh, snap! - they've decided to kill off the Thief Cajun with a no-so-family-friendly backstory. You know, Disney being Disney.

So, yeah. I was stoked to see the X-men again, back in their old glory from my early days and all, but then again, this one show don't seem to me to make those beloved characters of old me justice. It's the times we live in, perhaps.

Gambit is a complex character that goes WAY BEYOND his relationship with Rogue. So is Rogue. But I genuinely think a Disney show won't touch Rogue’s terrorist past, her inner conflicts and debates in a way that will make her real justice. And, about Gambit, they won't even BEGIN to make him justice if being Rogue's love interest and occasional comic relief is all they have in store for him bc his backstory as a thief with shady connections with Sinister and Marauders is off limits.

Maybe he's better off dead on that.

[ghostzzy]

anyway. last week my therapist told me i was grieving and it only just hit me how true that is.

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

maybe all I want in a relationship is, as Gerard Way so eloquently said, I never really wanted more than what I ever really needed after all: someone who hates to see me go

[palebloodpresence]

what if i said my genuine opinion of "rom the vacuous spider" is that she's actually not like, peaceful because she's stupid, she's just extremely fucking chill bc she's so enlightened. like she WILL defend herself but really she just wants to hide in her cool lake world and hide dark rituals

[transphilza]

tis missin techno hours it seems

[pepprs]

omg i was feeling better for like 2 hrs but then i saw a post on here that is like maybe the worst thing ive read all day. and now i am feeling despair again

[mxdotpng]

and of course, i think ff15 could have actually been something great if we, over the course of the game, had seen anything to make the tragedy worth it. to make it cathartic, and have there be some closure to the end.

[byeolhwan]

.

[tokyoteddywolf]

...I'm not as sad as I probably should be.

It hurts, its understandable, but it's resignation too.

I won't cry over it.

I'll just accept what I'm dealt and move on.

That's all I can do.

[alexlwrites]

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Jungkook x Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:  The one where everytime you get dumped you pretend that you never met the guy before to mess with their heads. To the point that if you run into them somewhere you reintroduce yourself and act like you’ve never seen each other before.

Enters fuckboy Jungkook who disappears after your night together, not knowing how much he was about to regret that choice.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, College AU

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I’m truly sorry for this sad excuse of an update.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲, 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

(<<< part one)

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again” Jane’s voice rang through the phone as you walked down the streets towards your desired coffee spot.

You also couldn’t believe you were doing that again. You tried your best to live your life with no regrets, but men made it very hard.

“Have you seen him since he fled the crime scene?”

“Stop calling it a crime scene” you snapped.

“Well, have you?”

Your silence was enough of an answer. No, you had not seen or heard from Jungkook since he ran away from your bedroom in the dead of night, leaving behind only the smell of cologne and, funnily enough, a single sock. When you woke up that day to an empty bed, sheets crumbled and a mattress indented on the side where he had slept, all you could muster was a tired sigh of disappointment. 

And to be completely honest, you were disappointed with yourself, not Jungkook. You expected nothing less than a quick escape of him. But you should’ve known better than to hope for anything. Despite everything, you were still an idealist at heart and you thought that maybe just this once…

You shook your head obstinately. You had learned early on that no good would come from moping around for men who would never once feel any regret for their thoughtless actions and if your pain were to be always one sided, then it was better not to feel any at all. Not to dwell on it, move on, learn from it and be better. Or be worse, sometimes, as self-improvement was not always your goal.

Sometimes, you chose to listen to the tiny revengeful angel on your shoulder - who kind of sounded like Taylor Swift - that screamed for violence and vindication.

As your failed relationships started to pile up, you did reach a point where you had to wonder if you were the problem, as it was the canonical event of all 20 something women. But observation, therapy, critical thinking and hereditary pettiness brought you to the decision that it was not, in fact, your fault. At least not all of it. 

With that in mind, you left only the smallest of time slots in your booked and busy schedule to ponder and grieve over the fickle nature of boys’ interests. You had better, more important things to do, such as mindlessly scroll through Minecraft/AITA videos and save pilates routines that you were never gonna do. 

Still, in an experience intrinsically feminine, you allowed yourself a little treat to cope with the slight burn of despondency in the back of your mind. 

And so you directed yourself to the bougie coffee house near campus, hoping to drown your sorrows with an aggressively sweet and overly caffeinated drink. 

“You should slash his tires”

“Jane, please, we have talked about this.”

“You should totally slash his fucking tires!"

"Saying it louder is not gonna make me agree with you! Jane…"

Suddenly your eyes found Jungkook's across the room filled to the brim with depressed, financially irresponsible students, making you pause and hold back the urge to curl your lips in distaste. It bothered you that even with scared eyes as big as saucers and hunched shoulders to appear smaller, Jungkook still managed to look good. 

But you knew better than to let him know how much his presence and pretty face annoyed you. Boys like Jungkook only cared about having an impact on people’s life, very rarely caring if it was good or bad. He wanted a reaction out of you and you learned better than to give those away so carelessly.

So you frowned and looked away, the words practiced on your lips as you said “Some guy is staring at me.”

Jane laughed loudly on the phone “You’re a psycho, you know that?”

“I don’t know who it is, Jane, some dude” you stole a quick glance at him, finding vengeful glee at his shocked expression.

“Send me a pic of his reaction, I’m posting it on TikTok.”

You continued playing your part, ignoring your sister’s interruptions as you usually did “Of course I’m carrying a taser, Jane, I’m not an animal…”

“I’ll give you 5 bucks to tase him.”

“You know what, this coffee is not even worth the visual harassment, God I hate men…”

You walked out of the coffee house, hand empty but with a fulfilled sick sense of accomplishment as you stepped out into the street with a shit-eating grin.

“I hope you know what you’re doing” Jane said and you could hear the smile in her voice. Out of your two sisters, Jane was never the one to tell you to not do something, preferring to let you make your own mistakes.

And boy, did you. 

You left your big, beautiful, tattooed mistake behind you, ready to move on to something less prone to disappointment, such as fictional men and your Stardew Valley husband “Dont worry” you told your sister “I don’t.”.

—

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asked, left eye twitching slightly at your unbothered expression.

After your confusing exit from the coffee shop and a good amount of jabs from his friends, Jungkook had to hunt you down across campus, finding you sitting under a tree with a book in your hands, looking way too peaceful for someone who just had humiliated him.

You looked down at your book with an arched eyebrow “Kegels, clearly. Why?”

“No, I mean…” Jungkook’s frustration was rising by the second, the vein on his neck jumping out “Why are you acting like you don’t know me?”

You frowned.

 “Do I know you?” you asked, face doubtful.

“We have classes together?”

You blinked, impassive.

“We went on a date?”

A head shake.

“We slept together!”

“Nope, can’t say it rings any bells.”

That’s it. Jungkook was actually convinced you were clinically insane. 

“How can you not remember?”

“How can I remember something that never happened?”

“But it did! You’re crazy! I chased you for weeks!”

You smiled, a trap.

“So, you're, like, in love with me?” you ask, tone condescending. 

Jungkook scoffed and you weren’t sure if it was at the idea of love or loving you. “No, of course not.”

“So in this dream scenario of yours, we had sex but we weren’t together?”

“Trust me, this” he gestured between the two of you “is no dream scenario.”

“Well, aren’t you a charmer” you crossed your arms in front you, defensive “Let me get this straight. You, allegedly, chased me for weeks, but don’t really like me. Then, we had casual, out-of-relationship sex and then what? You banged my head against the headboard so hard I completely forgot about it? Your story is full of holes, my dude.”

You had to fight back the urge to smirk, energy spiking from feeding off of Jungkook’s stupefied confusion.

Nail in the coffin, you shrugged, turning your eyes back to your book “Maybe you weren’t that memorable and my mind deleted you like a childhood trauma.”

A slight left eye spasm was all the reaction you got at first, evolving to the pursing of pouty lips and the clenching of fists.

“You are insane” he said at last after seconds of turning clogs in his barely filled mind.

“Finally you said something true.”

Jungkook was equally bewildered and furious. He didn’t know what your deal was or what you were getting out of this, but your refusal to admit you had sex pissed him off deeply considering how much time and effort he put into getting you together.

“Also, I have to ask” you continued, clearly not done with your pursuit of driving him up the wall “what was your goal with this conversation? Chasing me for weeks to then sleep with me and then come here and tell me you’re not actually interested in me, but being upset when I don’t remember something that didn’t happen… What’s the point?”

Jungkook paused. Truly, he didn’t have much of an end goal in mind, actions fueled only by a bruised ego and a childish, borderline pathological need to prove himself.

When he didn’t answer, you stood up and gathered your things, keeping your head down to hide your poorly concealed satisfaction “I’ll let you ponder on that” you said “Don’t worry about reaching out with an answer, though.”

Finally, you looked up at him, face masked with faux awkwardness. “Anyway. Nice to meet you, I guess? No, actually, not really, this was weird as shit. You seem to have some things to figure out. Get help and take care, my dude.”

And so you left, leaving behind only a cloud of your bergamot perfume and a perplexed Jungkook blinking owlishly. 

There was a sudden influx of thoughts rushing through his usually much less busy mind, the general tone of confusion ringing amongst humiliation and frustration.

When Jungkook first set his greedy eyes on you, he had an inkling that you’d be a handful and in the beginning, you truly were. You took pleasure in making everything much more difficult for him, running from his presence like the plague and approaching the whole subject of him like one would the subject of warts - reluctantly and with caution.

And if he were honest, he wasn’t too sure on why he insisted, but one would be surprised at how far Jungkook would escalate things out of spite and resentment.

It was that same sick combination of flavors that drove him insane for weeks, moving him to pester you until you gave him a chance. And he took it, lord, did he take it.

That night, he made every possible effort to please you, cloaked in his best, non-ranch stained clothes and best non-arrogant behavior.

And when morning came and he opened up his eyes before you did, tired out from the epitome of his bestest behavior, there was a moment of quiet as he watched you eyelids flutter delicately, soft arm draped lightly over his waist.

The night before had been… Fun, he thought, even before you had reached your bedroom. You were weird and used a bunch of words he didn’t know, but you also made him laugh and listened to him babbling about his interest without once looking bored, even going as far as asking questions about his farfetched MCU theories.

And despite your many (too many to count, insurmountable really) differences, you had… Chemistry, one could call it. Thick chemistry, palpable tension, pushing you towards each other despite your previous attempts to go the other way.

But no amount of chemistry could break Jungkook’s routine as inertia pushed him out of your bed, practiced steps light as feathers as he escaped your apartment with one last look to your sleeping form and somehow one less sock on his feet.

And as he left, there was an undiagnosed pounding in his heart he tried to chalk off as the result of his Dorito and monster drink based diet, but his eyes kept flashing back to where you rested even when he was miles away.

He tried to make sense of your persistent presence in the back of his mind. You were cool, he’d give you that. Hot too. But it didn’t matter how your body fit his like they were manufactured together or how your passive aggressive way of flirting (or insulting, he had a hard time telling them apart with you) never failed to steal a snort from his lips. And yeah, it was kind of nice when you called him cute everytime he didn’t understand something you said. It brought a blush to his cheeks and wild butterflies to his stomach, because… Well, no one had ever called him cute after middle school. Hot? Yes. Sexy? Once a week. Biggest dick ever? Yes, both meanings.

But not cute. And deep down, under layers of aggressively oversized shirts and muscles… Jungkook kind of liked being cute.

Jungkook shook that thought away. Despite all that, you were a point he had to make.

And he did! Point proven and undisputed, up until you looked at him like he was a silly little kid throwing a tantrum (which he kind of was) and questioned him and his sanity,

But Jungkook was obstinate and, even more, the sorest of losers. He had proven himself once and would again! He was a man on a mission, he decided, watching you walk away from him while mouthing the words “I’ll pray for you!”. And the mission was to either send you into a psychiatric hospital or get you back into his bed.

And if the butterflies in his stomach fluttered excitedly at that second prospect, he didn’t allow himself to ponder on it for a single second.

°•. ✿ .•°

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[eelhound]

"I think Homer outwits most writers who have written on the War [fantasy archetype], by not taking sides.

The Trojan war is not and you cannot make it be the War of Good vs. Evil. It’s just a war, a wasteful, useless, needless, stupid, protracted, cruel mess full of individual acts of courage, cowardice, nobility, betrayal, limb-hacking-off, and disembowelment. Homer was a Greek and might have been partial to the Greek side, but he had a sense of justice or balance that seems characteristically Greek — maybe his people learned a good deal of it from him? His impartiality is far from dispassionate; the story is a torrent of passionate actions, generous, despicable, magnificent, trivial. But it is unprejudiced. It isn’t Satan vs. Angels. It isn’t Holy Warriors vs. Infidels. It isn’t hobbits vs. orcs. It’s just people vs. people.

Of course you can take sides, and almost everybody does. I try not to, but it’s no use; I just like the Trojans better than the Greeks. But Homer truly doesn’t take sides, and so he permits the story to be tragic. By tragedy, mind and soul are grieved, enlarged, and exalted.

Whether war itself can rise to tragedy, can enlarge and exalt the soul, I leave to those who have been more immediately part of a war than I have. I think some believe that it can, and might say that the opportunity for heroism and tragedy justifies war. I don’t know; all I know is what a poem about a war can do. In any case, war is something human beings do and show no signs of stopping doing, and so it may be less important to condemn it or to justify it than to be able to perceive it as tragic.

But once you take sides, you have lost that ability.

Is it our dominant religion that makes us want war to be between the good guys and the bad guys?

In the War of Good vs. Evil there can be divine or supernal justice but not human tragedy. It is by definition, technically, comic (as in The Divine Comedy): the good guys win. It has a happy ending. If the bad guys beat the good guys, unhappy ending, that’s mere reversal, flip side of the same coin. The author is not impartial. Dystopia is not tragedy.

Milton, a Christian, had to take sides, and couldn’t avoid comedy. He could approach tragedy only by making Evil, in the person of Lucifer, grand, heroic, and even sympathetic — which is faking it. He faked it very well.

Maybe it’s not only Christian habits of thought but the difficulty we all have in growing up that makes us insist justice must favor the good.

After all, 'Let the best man win' doesn’t mean the good man will win. It means, 'This will be a fair fight, no prejudice, no interference — so the best fighter will win it.' If the treacherous bully fairly defeats the nice guy, the treacherous bully is declared champion. This is justice. But it’s the kind of justice that children can’t bear. They rage against it. It’s not fair!

But if children never learn to bear it, they can’t go on to learn that a victory or a defeat in battle, or in any competition other than a purely moral one (whatever that might be), has nothing to do with who is morally better.

Might does not make right — right?

Therefore right does not make might. Right?

But we want it to. 'My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure.'

If we insist that in the real world the ultimate victor must be the good guy, we’ve sacrificed right to might. (That’s what History does after most wars, when it applauds the victors for their superior virtue as well as their superior firepower.) If we falsify the terms of the competition, handicapping it, so that the good guys may lose the battle but always win the war, we’ve left the real world, we’re in fantasy land — wishful thinking country.

Homer didn’t do wishful thinking.

Homer’s Achilles is a disobedient officer, a sulky, self-pitying teenager who gets his nose out of joint and won’t fight for his own side. A sign that Achilles might grow up someday, if given time, is his love for his friend Patroclus. But his big snit is over a girl he was given to rape but has to give back to his superior officer, which to me rather dims the love story. To me Achilles is not a good guy. But he is a good warrior, a great fighter — even better than the Trojan prime warrior, Hector. Hector is a good guy on any terms — kind husband, kind father, responsible on all counts — a mensch. But right does not make might. Achilles kills him.

The famous Helen plays a quite small part in The Iliad. Because I know that she’ll come through the whole war with not a hair in her blond blow-dry out of place, I see her as opportunistic, immoral, emotionally about as deep as a cookie sheet. But if I believed that the good guys win, that the reward goes to the virtuous, I’d have to see her as an innocent beauty wronged by Fate and saved by the Greeks.

And people do see her that way. Homer lets us each make our own Helen; and so she is immortal.

I don’t know if such nobility of mind (in the sense of the impartial 'noble' gases) is possible to a modern writer of fantasy. Since we have worked so hard to separate History from Fiction, our fantasies are dire warnings, or mere nightmares, or else they are wish fulfillments."

- Ursula K. Le Guin, from No Time to Spare, 2013.

[thurstonwaffles]

I know some of you have probably been curious how Shelli and I have been doing since we lost him. I’m sure it wasn’t a secret that we had a very strong bond with Thurston. When I say he was my best friend, that wasn’t an exaggeration. And to Shelli he was her baby. Suffice it to say we grieved hard. Things got bad for a while, to the point that our lives fell completely apart for a little bit there. I guess that’s a story for another day, but suffice it to say that, along with help from our families, one of the last gifts Thurston gave us is that we both finally sought treatment for our long-term issues with mental health. And things are going pretty well now.

I feel like we have both reached some measure of peace with his passing. It’s been hard and I still struggle just to see his little face sometimes. I definitely want to keep posting on his YouTube, but going through his videos is really hard for me as I’m sure you can imagine. I am getting closer to being able to do it though.

Thurston was not only a cat but a person to me. Maybe some people would say that are having this level of bond with a cat is unhealthy, but I’ve always believed that when you love it is something you should give freely, completely unrestrained. Because the consequences of regret from holding back love are far greater than the pain of loss later on when you’ve given with your whole heart. It’s worth it to just give! The love I have for Thurston still gives me joy to think about. It’s more important and stronger than the pain of his loss. And that’s really how I would like him to be remembered as a beautiful creature, a beautiful PERSON, that gave us lots of joy.

Every cat is spectacularly special and beautiful in their own way. Perhaps some of Thurston’s beautiful qualities are things you see reflected in your own cat. Or maybe your cat has their own special beauty that no one can see but you. So all I can say, is treasure that animal, and give them all your love. As every cat knows: they totally deserve it 😽

So after a lot of reflection, Shelli and I found we had more love to give. Our new house was completely cat-ified for Thurston anyhow, so we adopted two cats from local shelters. We are learning more about who each of them are so they can show us their own unique personalities. Their names are Nanners and Moon Pie

Anyhow, I hope this post finds you well! How was your year? Have any thoughts to share? I hope you’re doing well.

[homoeroticbetrayal]

Iconic Homoerotic Betrayal: Finals

Poll Directory

Context:

Anthy/Utena

Summarized by Anonymous Contributor

THE blueprint for homoerotic betrayals of the canonically gay (as opposed to interpretive, certainly there are older iconic examples for that) variety. listed as #2 in the infamous top ten anime betrayals video, iirc.

it is about akio pushing anthy to utena. it is about utena’s protective stance, misunderstanding. most of all, it is about anthy kissing utena’s shoulder before stabbing her.

the story has been leading us to this the whole time — utena assuming once again the protective princely position; akio, always playing divide and conquer, unable to manipulate utena to betray anthy, now reliant on anthy betraying utena; the game being rigged from the start, true victory impossible (for the duelists, who will always lose the game proper to akio, the rule maker, in one way or another; for akio himself, just as obviously); utena’s love for anthy within the princely stance; anthy’s love for utena and anthy’s fear (of the world beyond; of utena loving her truly; of utena not loving her truly but just projecting onto her still as any prince does, and turning out to be the same (as akio) in the end) and akio (framing himself) as the only one who will love her no matter what because friends turn away from you and only connections by blood are forever, the two of them are the only ones who’s real in this projected world, so on and so forth, and anthy’s bitterness towards utena (“do you know, utena-sama, how i always despised you” from that one “in the next episode” bit) and her princeliness and her being not that impossibly unlike akio (all princes are the same). everything has lead us to this moment. and yet we are shocked.

personally, i’ve never moved on from how she kisses her shoulder.

See a whole dissertation on Utenanthy here

Judas/Jesus

Summary by @this-is-a-name-dont-worry

We of course have Judas betraying Jesus, with a kiss like a last goodbye, maybe a mockery of their love, maybe a grieving goodbye. In the end it doesn't matter, because Judas would rather hang himself than to keep going. The money was unspent or returned, a change of heart from regret, or maybe a sign it was never about it

But the betrayal is also from Jesus; Jesus, who knew who Judas was, who knew what he'll do. Jesus who still let Judas be an apostle... an act of love, but also, isn't it so cruel to make it look like there was a choice, a chance at another ending for Judas? This is a story where it being a story is part of it, and the writer inserted himself among the characters, and doomed one of them to eternal hatred from everyone. And he dared let the one who will be doomed think he'll ever be saved. Jesus knew what would happen, knew what Judas would do, yet he still let it happen, because the story is more important. After all, at the Last Supper, isn't it Jesus who tell Judas to go and do what he must do?

Judas betrayed Jesus, but Jesus sacrificed them both

[lovebugism]

shy!reader wiggling her way into eddie lap bc she had a hard day 😫

You don’t know how to tell Eddie you miss him.

He’s sitting in bed right next to you, scribbling down notes in a worn composition notebook. You don’t even know why you miss him, only that the couple of inches separating you from him feels cavernous.

You don’t know what to say, so you sigh. A big, deep exhale that makes your chest deflate like a popped balloon. It’s sort of what you feel like, anyway.

Eddie’s chin brushes his shoulder as he turns to you, chocolate eyes wide beneath his clear-framed glasses. 

He knows that certain sounds mean certain things, kind of like a baby’s cry. You don’t know what you want a lot of the time — you know less how to express that you don’t know what you want — so Eddie’s learned to read you like a book. Most of the time, he knows what’s going on in your head before you do.

But the grieving breath you let out now is too ambiguous for him to understand. It’s too soft to be one of frustration, too drawn out to be contentment. He decides to check the boxes.

“Are you hungry?” he murmurs.

You shake your head in response, focusing on the book in your hand but not any of the words.

“Sleepy?” he asks. “‘Cause I, for one, could totally go for a nap right now, princess.”

You shake your head again, smiling a little this time at his word choice.

“Bored?”

Another head shake.

Eddie gives up. “A feeling neither of us can name because we don’t know what it is?”

You nod.

“I don’t think it even existed before now,” you mutter, half-joking.

The boy laughs. His pink lips match the apples of his cheek. You don’t know how to tell him you want to press your faces together until you’re made of the same vibrant colors he is.

“Is it cabin fever, you think? I’ve kept you hostage here for, like, two days now. Maybe you’re gettin’ sick of me.”

“You’re not holding me hostage. I asked to come over,” you remind him, giggling softly to yourself. “And I could never get sick of you, Eds. You know that.”

You lean over to nudge his shoulder with your own. Instead of sitting back up again, you linger just against him. You find you feel a lot better now, finally touching him. The gnawing feeling is less loud but still there.

Eddie smiles in silent understanding. “Wanna hug?”

A beat passes. You feel a little bit lame for wanting it so desperately. You nod anyway.

Eddie sighs as he sets his notebook on the mattress beside him. It’s not an unhappy one. It’s not an underwhelmed one, either. It’s just a breath, really — a clean, deep inhale-exhale he can finally take, knowing you’re about to be in his arms.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he ushers with his arms spread open. “My body’s always free real estate for you.”

“Ew,” you giggle at the unintentional connotation, sliding closer to him. You duck your burning face away from his in attempts to hide the wide smile on your mouth. Eddie sees it anyway and grins back.

He lazes against the headboard while you settle against his chest, one hand wedged between your bodies and the other curling around his side. You tuck your face into the curls at his neck. He smells like nicotine and floral shampoo and skunk weed. You don’t know how to tell him you need him to lay all his weight on top of you until his natural scent becomes your own.

His chin rests on the crown of your head. He smooths a hand up and down your back. “Is this what you wanted? Just needed my strong arms to feel better, huh? Is that it?”

You know he’s joking, but you don’t laugh. You shrug. “Kinda…”

“Kinda?” he echoes. His contorted face is audible. “Do you need something else?”

He’s not bothered by it, the fact that you want something more — just curious as to how he can make you feel better.

“I don’t know…” you murmur, wriggling against him like you can’t get comfortable. “It’s just… I need to be closer, I think.”

“Closer, huh?” Eddie muses, wrapping his arms more intently around you and squeezing you tight. He presses his lips to your hair. “Honestly, I don’t know if we can get any closer than this… Well. I mean, we could, but I have a feeling that’s not what you want…”

You shake your head against his chest at the implication. You need everything but the sex right now — the holding, the contact, the tangled limbs.

“No, I just… I think I just need to… I don’t know…” you mutter, almost inaudibly into his chest. You hold him tighter. “Would it be okay if I…”

Eddie’s brows raise beneath his bangs as you trail off. You’re getting better at it, at vocalizing when you need something, but the words are hard to form sometimes, and he gets it. He did fail senior year English two times, after all. 

“You don’t have to ask for anything, you know?” he assures, practically cooing, punctuating his words with a kiss to the top of your head. “Whatever you want, you can just take it. It’s all good with me, babe.”

His words give you a minimal boost of confidence. 

You part from him, lips pursed to the side of your mouth. Eddie eyes you attentively with slow and owlish blinks behind the thick lenses of his glasses. You don’t know how to tell him you want to swim in his chocolate syrup gaze or taste the stars that twinkle inside them.

“I just wanna, like…” you trail off. You never end up finishing your sentence, actually. Without words to describe the overwhelming, unnamed feeling, you just crawl into Eddie’s lap and wrap around him like a koala.

Your thighs settle on either side of his hips, arms curling around his neck as you tuck your face into his wild hair again, pressing your chest intently against his own. 

Eddie sighs into your shoulder; it trembles like a faint laugh. His palm smooths over your back, pushing you further against him until the laws of physics prevent either of you from coming any closer.

You exhale slowly. For the first time, Eddie feels you relax against him.

“Is this better?” he mumbles into your cheek.

You nod into the side of his.

Your chests move together with each of your slow, even breaths — rising for a few seconds, stilling for a moment, then falling for a couple more. You think your hearts might be beating in the same rhythm, too.

That gnawing feeling behind your ribcage turns to sunlight.

[sully-s]

Batman Quest To Get A Birkin Bag

Ok so I have a very indulgent, SuperBats head fanfic that keeps me company on days that I forget to charge my earphones while walking my dog and to bore my wonderfully accommodating friends over dinner.

Long story short it’s a character study about Clark after his death. Doomsday kills him becuase we do not subscribe to Synder movies in this household.

Mostly its about Bruce grieving and reflecting on his ten+ year marriage with the man of steel with a large helping of the Justice League members bonding and finally getting to know Bruce and in turn Clark. (Kal never really got to say specifics about his life because Bruce wanted to keep his identity secret therefore a lot of Clark's life was private.)

For most of the fic Clark’s dead. But I'm one for angst with a happy ending so he comes back. How he comes back I have all kinds of versions but I just want to share this really silly one that I’m slightly obsessed with.

It’s about two years after Clark died. Currently, Bruce and Hal are off-world for a two-month mission. Shortly after they leave the League are battling some sorcerer who's in possession of a Jinn. During the battle two of the three wishes are used and at the end it's Flash who gets to use the last one.

He wishes for Clark to be revived back to life.

Jinn says he can't do that

Flash thinks of course just like in Aladdin you can't bring the dead back, make someone fall in love or wish for more wishes.

The Jinn is like how dare you think that's not within my power of course I can bring back the dead, I can't bring back Superman because Clark's not dead. he's just in his grave too weak to break out of his grave due to the lack of sunlight.

Flash hears this and immediately rushes over to dig up Kal.

The next month and a half are all about Clark adjusting to the changes over the last three years (Like having a new kid at the manor: Tim) Meeting new members (Green Arrow, Martian Man Hunter), and really bonding with his teammates ect.

While waiting for Bruce's return Clark asks Barry what he'd like.

Barry is confused

Clark clarifies that Barry was able to bring back one of Bruce's loved ones “to life.“ That’s never happened and for a man like Bruce who loves deeply for his family he going to be very grateful and he will not take “I’m just glad I could help” for an answer. So Barry needs to think of something or Batman will.

Barry doesn't know what to ask for but knows that Bruce is rich. He figures this would be a great time to get that designer bag that Iris always wanted but they could never justify ever buying. (Listen I don’t know if Iris is a designer girly but in this fic she really just likes this one bag.)

So Bruce and Hal get back and after the big celebration party, the JL held for Clark and Bruce's reunion. Bruce approaches Barry thanks him and asks if there’s anything he can do.

Thinking Barry is going to ask for a house, pull some strings with his Brucie persona so he can better his life at his job or status. Maybe ask for Bruce to fund or set up a wellness program for people in Central City.

But Barry is just like: Uh well Iris has always liked this bag.

And Bruce is thinking Really Barry You brought the love of my life back to life I’d move mountains (without Clark’s help) for you and you want some designer bag for your wife?

Bruce: Do you have a picture?

And as soon as Barry shows him the bag Bruce knows moving mountains would be so much easier.

The bag Barry wants to get is a Birkin Bag.

Now if you know anything about Birkin bags 1. they’re stupid expensive. 2. If you can afford one that doesn't mean you get to buy one. Hermes the company that makes them has this irate practice that you have to work up a good relationship with the store and the sales associates in said store to even get the privilege to buy a Birkin (usually by buying a ton of other Hermes products you don’t want.) Sometimes you buy half the store but if you’re not a high-profile client or they don't like your image they just brush you off and postpone your chance to ”buy” a Birkin. And if you do all of the above prerequisites You don't even get to pick the bag they "give" you one. Want a pink colorway? Sorry here's lime green you're welcome.

Now Barry has no knowledge of any of this and just thinks a Birkin is just some overpriced bag. The problem is Iris only likes this one colorway ( Size 35cm, Red Alligator Exterior, Gold hardware, Yellow Slik interior ect.)

This is going to be near impossible.

But In Bruce's mind, Flash did the impossible in bringing back Clark (Bruce thinks Clark was wished back to life because that's the story everyone is sticking to. Because the emotional trauma of letting Bruce know that Clark was alive the whole time rotting away in a grave for 2 years is not on anyone’s todo list.) So he will get this bag Even if it kills him. He's the goddamn Batman.

And all this lead up is to what I'm actually obsessed with

I just love the idea that Bruce is running around Brucie-ing it up to try to get in Hermes' good graces but his image of being a drunk playboy is activity stopping him from buying any bag.

He calls up the Daily Planet and starts setting up all these puff PR-boosting articles to up his image. Which starts rumors becuase Burce Wayne doesn’t do interviews so why now?

Gotham elite catches wind that Burcie Wayne wants a Birkin richest man in America can't get one. So they all start getting Birkins. They ware them to his galas, just to troll Burcie. The elite jump on the waitlist inflating the list to stupid long. Hermes starts to wear the exclusivity of Brucie Wayne as a sign of good taste and prestige. Bruce searches the second-hand market and can't find the colorway Iris's wants.

Bruce goes undercover as a worker for a local Hermes store to become his own sales associate just so he can get around the prejudices of Bruce Wayne image and start racking up a sales history. (He just selling and buying to himself lol.)

So Bruce is playing a luxury salesman using his background of old money and Alfred’s butlering to woo potential buyers. Working his first retail job ever. Having to suck up to management so he can plead his case about Bruce Wayne. Using his access to get informed on what bags are currently available, who’s on the waitlist, where they rank, and criteria on how and what moves you up the list ect.

After months and becoming the number one salesman, he makes his case to allow Brucie Wayne to buy a bag.

It’s declined.

So he switches tactics.

He just makes a new cover as a recently won lottery winner looking to burn cash and wants to burn it with Hermes. And starts a new sale history. Using all of his knowledge and intel about what gets you on the waiting list.

He gets stonewalled a few times by former co-workers that he gets around by blackmailing them with gossip and infractions he witnessed or was told In confidence when he was a fellow sales associate.

Finally, his lottery winner persona is put on a waitlist. The only problem is he’s at the very bottom.

So what does he do?

He suties up As Batman and starts intimidating all those who are higher on the list than his lottery winner cover rocketing him up the list.

He hits a roadblock when he tries to scrace a woman on the list who doesn’t believe he’s actually Batman becuase “Why would Batman even want with a Birkin?”

Which leads to an escalation that gets him an earful from Superman who’s called to the scene by said woman whos terrified after Batman strings her upside down over the edge of her high-rise penthouse.

Clark offers to buy the bag becuase who wouldn’t want that kinda of PR endorsement?

Which Bruce vittamently refuses becuase it would cheapen the gift.

Finally, after a week of terrorizing wait-listers, his lottery winner persona is “given“ the opportunity to buy a bag.

But disaster strikes when that lucky break he thought he got because he was next on the list was actually bad luck becuase the person was bumped off becuase they bought the bag that Bruce had painfully calculated to purchase which was the only bag that would be made in the next 3 years that has the colorway that Iris wanted.

So Bruce tracks down and comforts the buyer in the dead of night as Batman. The buyer freaks out and says they didn't even want this colorway and really wanted a Caranery yellow ostrich skin colorway and if he could get her that one she'd trade for it.

This leads Bruce to play matchmaker for a series of buyers that have Birken Bags they don't love and would trade for their dream bag. And after months of fetch questing and matching sad Birken owners around the world with their dream bags Bruce he pulls it off. He finally gets a Canary, yellow ostrich skin colorway Birkin bag trades it for Iris’s dream bag. Only to find out it was ruined in a car crash that was caused by an alien invasion 2 months before that the JL had a particularly nasty time with and it was Bruce’s Batmobile that was thrown into her parked car.

The bag is a mess the zipper borken, missing hardware, leather scratched. But Bruce so done with everything accepts the trade and takes it back to the cave. Where he proceeds to 3D scan the bag then composite a CAD model and starts to collect all the raw components of the bag himself.

Getting only the best materials (much better than what Hermes was using) Talking to Killer Corc on how to find the best alligator pelts. Flying to India to personally pick out the red dye for the color. Mining the gold for the hardware from an asteroid that was threatening the Watchtower.

After he has everything Bruce proceeds to by hand construct an exact replica of Iris's dream bag. Essentially making the most over-budgeted fake to exist. Where he finally gives it to Barry (who has no inkling of the time and effort Bruce has put into this side project that has taken the better part of a whole year) who jokes in saying “Oh wow takes 12 months to run to the store huh?”