#it deserves discussion and reflection and acknowledgement

[opuntiafruit]

I just loathe the arguments of turning tragedies or things of a similar caliber into something Political, rendering any sort of discussion about it as poor taste. To me it feels like there are definitely things that are just inherently political and trying to divorce tragedies from their circumstances and instead just existing in a vacuum is insulting, to say the least

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 4

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch Y/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like they. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say: 

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better. 

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “Y/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. Were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“It was not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“Y/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, as she wrapped your smaller body than hers in a tight hug.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

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[omgshiftercat]

I have a friend whose ex, a minor celebrity in some circles, was abusive.

Shortly after she and some other women went public about it, there were some people who chimed in talking about other misdeeds of his.

Her ex was, and is, a loathsome waste of oxygen, and the words, "...who deserves every accusation leveled at him" would almost escape my lips...

...Except that some of the accusations people began throwing around because they (understandably) hated this guy weren't true.

This did not help my friend at all! It muddied the waters, and gave her awful ex ammunition for his claims that people were just out to get him, and were willing to make stuff up to smear him.

Switching gears: there's been a lot of discussion recently about how some brilliant and influential art has been created by objectively terrible people. Part of that discussion has been calling out people who say, "Their work always sucked," or "I never liked it." Not only are statements like this unhelpful, they provide cover for predators. If you insist that your tastes reflect your morality, you're giving yourself a huge blind spot, and making it easy to dismiss evidence of harm done by creators you happen to like.

This is one reason why I think exhibits like this one are important: they help teach that lesson.

Three notes on this: 1. by the time of that exhibition, Gill was long dead and therefore unable to profit from it.

2. This kind of thing isn't necessary for every artist, because not every creator does heinous things.

3. My friend's ex is nowhere near the artistic league of Eric Gill or any of the other creators I'll discuss.

Switching gears again...

If someone mentions a bespectacled British boy wizard with an owl familiar, in a modern setting with "secret world" magic, the name that springs to mind is most likely "Harry Potter", right?

But Timothy Hunter, from The Books of Magic, was published a full seven years before that. I was working in a bookstore when the novelizations for the BoM comics came out, and had to tell kids that no, this was not a HP rip-off.

I don't think the reverse was true, either: for one thing, The Books of Magic is set in the DC Universe, and I've never heard of JKR reading superhero comics. But also... sometimes completely separate creators will come up with strikingly similar ideas, utterly by coincidence. It's one reason why most authors tell fans NOT to send them ideas or fanfiction based on their work: there is rarely any good way to prove that you didn't steal a concept.

Now, obviously every creator is influenced by other people's works, and I completely agree that it's good to acknowledge that and to point fans towards your influences!

When Rowling began channeling her resources into making life worse for trans folk, I saw a lot of people saying, "Well, Harry Potter was just a mediocre rip-off of The Worst Witch anyway."

While I haven't read that series, I strongly doubt this claim. The idea of magic schools is older and more widespread than either of those series, and "British boarding school hijinks, but it's a magic school" was bound to be written more than once.

Now, some of you already know, and others have looked up, who originally wrote Tim Hunter. And... yeah, it's Neil Gaiman. *sigh*

In the last few days, I've seen some people saying, "The Sandman ripped off Tanith Lee's Tales from the Flat Earth." They cite a number of similarities: Azhrarn, the Lord of Darkness, is a pale-skinned, raven-haired Byronic figure with a sibling-like relationship to the Lord of Death and the Lord of Madness. Like the Endless, these beings are god-like, but specifically not gods. Apparently some people have mistaken fanart of Azhrarn for Morpheus. And Chuz, Prince Madness, has a bisected appearance, half his face horribly messed up, like the demoness Mazikeen.

But speaking as someone who was a fan of the late Tanith Lee years before I picked up an issue of The Sandman: I don't believe the latter was stolen from the former. Are there similarities? Yes, but they're superficial. If you've read both series, as I have, you'll know that the stories, settings, and characters are very different!

It's possible Gaiman was influenced by Lee's writing, and if so, I agree he should have acknowledged that. He did promote the work of other female creators, which is one reason why many of us thought he was "one of the good ones". But it's also entirely possible that these two authors independently came up with similar ideas.

When it comes right down to it, I think that statements like this -- "their best work was just a rip-off of something else" -- are just another variant of "their work always sucked".

It's often an easier accusation than "they've always been crap", because, as I said, writers come up with strikingly similar concepts all the time, and it's very hard to prove you didn't steal an idea. But it has the same problems, so -- barring the kind of case you could make with a college-level plagiarism-catching program -- I think it's best avoided.

Now, telling people, "Hey, are you sad about this creator turning out to be an awful person to whom you don't want to give any more money? Try this other person's work instead!" This is good! Let's have more of it!

Addendum 1: I think "separate the art from the artist" should mean, "you don't have to treat books already on your shelf as if they're suddenly coated in poison", not "I'm going to ignore this creator's actions and keep buying their products anyway."

Addendum 2: I just posted a version of this to Bluesky.

[aventurineswife]

helos fre :3 random but any thoughts on self aware hsr 🙏🙏 ngl it's absolute peak to me cuz the fics I've read about it is so good I wanna digest it into my blood cells 😍🥰🥰/hj /lh

AHHHH I HAVE FEW BUT ITS PROBABLY NOT GOOD 😭🙏 (I might need to write a series about it in the future lmaoo)

The Express itself, and the crew aboard it, start referencing an "observer" that influences their journey. They might leave cryptic remarks like, "We wouldn’t have made it here without a guiding force…" or, "Are you out there, watching us?"

Himeko and Welt have deep discussions about the metaphysical implications of being part of a "game." Welt's past in other dimensions makes him particularly reflective.

Occasionally, your Trailblazer might break the fourth wall and stare directly "out" of the screen. They’d ask questions like, "Why are you helping us? What’s in it for you?" Or even, "Do you think you’re doing the right thing?"

Their dialogue changes subtly depending on your in-game decisions, showing that they’re paying attention.

Kafka is one of the few who seems fully aware that you’re pulling the strings. She might tease, "How long will you keep playing this game? Or is it playing you?" It’s unclear if she means it literally or as a metaphor.

Pela starts digging into the concept of "higher dimensions" where powerful entities (like the players) influence their world. You might find hidden journal entries speculating about the possibility of unseen forces guiding their lives.

Characters start commenting on how often you farm the same materials or run the same domains (?). For instance, Dan Heng might say, "You’ve had me fight this exact enemy over fifty times… What are you preparing for?"

When summoning characters, some of them might react to being "chosen." For example: Silver Wolf might say, "Took you long enough. Were you saving for someone else?" While Seele could mutter, "You really wanted me, didn’t you?"

As beings tied to the metaphysical order of the universe, the Aeons might perceive your existence. Xianzhou scholars hypothesize that you are an entity akin to an Aeon of "Control" or "Fate."

The Stellaron within the Trailblazer seems to have an awareness of you, treating you like an ally—or a potential threat. It might whisper cryptic messages about your choices or consequences.

Herta becomes suspicious of the odd behaviors in the universe and starts referring to you as a "prime variable." She might even try to communicate directly through simulated events, asking for your cooperation.

Some characters, like March 7th or Natasha, might express gratitude for your care and attention. "You always bring me along… Do you think I’m special?" they might ask, breaking the fourth wall.

Certain antagonists, like Cocolia or Jade, might break from their usual dialogue to challenge your decisions. "You think you’re the hero? You’re just another player, aren’t you?"

A secret cutscene or dialogue could play if you act in unexpected ways, revealing that the characters have fully realized their reality. It could be bittersweet, with them either embracing or lamenting their lack of agency.

Aventurine might acknowledge your influence subtly. After completing a mission for the IPC, he sends a message: "Noticed your knack for efficiency. You deserve a little bonus for all the extra effort you 'inspire.' Don’t let it go to your head." He attaches an unusually large amount of credits, as though recognizing you directly for optimizing his profits.

Argenti might kneel before the screen during a heartfelt moment (or after a battle): "O noble guide, it is your divine hand that shapes my path! I dedicate my blade not just to the people, but to you. May your will continue to shine upon us!" He also gifts you rare items or sends messages of gratitude, as though you're a divine figure he serves.

AHHH I wanna write fics for certain characters or something (this could also lead to yandere themes depending if the person/anon reqs for it).

[drdemonprince]

I am able to see sex as a neutral activity (even though that's not always how I look at it!), and I DO think that helped me a ton when I experienced a sexual assault situation for the first time a year ago. Even though I was scared, it felt more annoying than traumatizing. I imagine most people would have left the scenario I experienced feeling a little more violated than I have about it. The conclusion I came to after reflecting on that whole experience was that being able to look at sex as a behavior that simply exists, without necessarily being anything special, is quite empowering for SA victims. I don't feel like something was taken from me or a long term loss of confidence by someone not respecting me, I just feel extremely annoyed at them. It feels like when you're stuck talking to someone who really won't let you leave the conversation, but more. I'm able to consider how I could stand up for myself more in the future in ways that could help prevent this from happening again, while still being able to acknowledge that person was the one fucking up.

This has been an idea I've wanted to see more discussion about! I think it would be very good for people to be able to at least explore the idea that sex can just be a behavior like any other.

Yes! None of this is intended to minimize the damage done by sexual assault, of course -- but sexual non-neutrality (what to call that?) has us treating sexual assault survivors as if they are fundamentally tainted or that something indescribably awful has happened to them, when in reality it's a highly common experience that deserves to be spoken about and destigmatized. We should treat being assaulted sexually like being jumped and beaten -- an awful violation, and violence, but something that has no bearing on the person who experienced it whatsoever.

[vilecemetery]

other people have worded it better then me, but inej's assertion about having kaz in the without armor scene was clearly not just about emotional vulnerability. it’s a powerful line in the books and a nice metaphor for emotional intimacy, (something inej deserves from kaz) but let's not shy away from the fact that she also made it clear she meant physical intimacy, as her words were "fully clothed, gloves on, head turned away so our lips can never touch" 

this nuance is important to consider, as it reflects the depth and complexity of her feelings at the time. it’s ironic that for people who apparently care so much about inej’s boundaries, the fandom rarely pays attention to what she says. inej has flaws and virtues, some affected by different experiences she's had, and that affects her choices. her words aren’t any less hurtful because of this. she got kaz in a vulnerable moment and said something cruel. later she reflects on this and admits she shouldn’t be holding kaz to standards she can’t meet herself, and she likely said that to him in the first place because she lashed out about something that’s personally a trigger for her and she’s vulnerable about. they both have a lot of issues surrounding physical intimacy. 

that’s one reason why kanej is such a good ship- one of the most healthy, beautiful and nuanced relationships ever between two children who have been through horrific things, exploited, abandoned, and put in danger every day, who have found safety and friendship and understanding in each other. they aren’t going to be speaking super politely and using sensitive, respectful, inoffensive woke therapy speak at every second because that’s not their situation or their relationship and their interactions are raw and real. sometimes they make mistakes (kaz calling inej an investment, inej saying kaz wouldn’t be able to have her if he couldn’t touch her, etc) but they recognise and admit when they do and work through that. the beauty of their friendship lies in their imperfections and their capacity to learn from each other. the bare honesty they share is a testament to their growth, even when it leads to moments of pain or misunderstanding.

to suggest that holding inej to a higher standard and not acknowledging that her words could be perceived as hurtful is akin to ignoring the very human aspects of her character. it’s essential to recognize that she is capable of making mistakes or risk turning her into a perfect fandomised queen incapable of fault. her character's journey is not about being infallible, but about growth, self-reflection, and the courage to confront and overcome her fears. strong and resilient, yet also capable of causing harm, even unintentionally. 

there’s a phenomenon in fandom spaces but particularly the grishaverse where fans have an opinion of something and then deem everyone else’s as bad or wrong, going so far as to make posts calling out other people for having different analysis. literary discussions should encourage an environment where different interpretations are welcomed and discussed respectfully, not minimised and devalued for a more popular fandom take that’s often incorrect when compared with the text of the book anyway. it’s okay for inej to make mistakes and learn from them, just as it's okay for readers to have varied interpretations of their interactions.

[bellestrinkets]

the only innocent people in read dead redemption 2 were rains fall and the wapiti tribe.

i tend to see much discourse surrounding who was really innocent in the gang, who deserved to be spared. and, while we can all come to the agreement that some indeed deserved better, we have a whole other group of people that not only got one of the worst ends of the rope but just like the characters dismissed them, many playing the game also do.

the ride with rains fall it’s such a bittersweet moment. “brutality and beauty are both around us, yet so often we’re unable to see past our own grievances…”

rains fall was innocent not in a naive way but in a way of a man who had seen destruction and brutality; from such scarring thing stemmed a more insightful understanding of human relations. his fault was peacefulness, but in order to get to it much emotional intelligence was needed; “do not mistake my strength for weakness”, he was naive in the sense he believed the oppressor to have a consciousness, which they very much lacked. eagle flies saw the latter, however missed the former. falling for the youthful spirit of a tiring fight that could not be won, because there was nothing the government was not willing to do to strip the natives from anything that kept them afloat. wee see it throughout the game, the killing of the bisons, the burning and stealing of their sacred objects, the abuse, the obstruction of the vaccines. the government were (and are) greedy for corruption, greedy for blood and eagle flies, while acknowledging it, failed to see the extent to which they could go just to get their hands tainted red. something that his father did see.

so then we got some of our main characters;

dutch, who saw the gap and took advantage of it.

arthur, who also saw the gap and while he tried to mend it he got in too late.

charles, who i believe was a balance between both viewpoints from rains falls and eagle flies.

the tragedy and reality contained in this set of missions is too grave. it is not bereft of humanity, much of it appeals to the player’s human side. they are moving and unjust, even more so knowing the ending of them.

furthermore, this missions gifts us something about arthur that helps paint him in a whole new light. the death of isaac. this missions gifts us some of the most merciless parallels between paternities, what was and could have been.

eagle flies dying after saving arthur was nothing but intentional. eagle flies dying partially because of a moral code, “you saved my life more than once… to give mine for yours… it’s as it should be” is not but a reflection of the same crafted sense of pride we will see later on being discussed. eagle flies holding up to die in his father’s arms is no coincidence.

dutch took advantage of them in some of the nastiest ways imaginable, he too sinned of perceiving the natives the same way the men, he looked down upon in this ‘new world’, saw them. his moral oratory to bill was nothing but a vice when we come to the realization that he was no different after all from the other tyrants.

they were innocent not because they didn’t knew how to fight or stand up for themselves, but because they were actively used as a weapon to weld a man’s unruly plan and were never seen by him and those who supported him as much more than that. which, yes, also happened with the other characters but this was a whole community, a community that was actively and consciously led to its demise without even the entirety of it being on board with such plan.

thing is, the gang were criminals of some kind, from petty to violent. none denounced what they did to get money because that’s how they had lived, they were all accomplices. while truth can still be held about a few being more innocent than others, perhaps because they didn’t know any better, they were all at fault of their own crimes. rains fall and his tribe were not, they were perceived as criminals but from a colonized standpoint. even when trying to resolve their issues diplomatically they were disregarded and still held in low esteem.

of course history plays a big part in this whole conversation to reach further understanding. red dead redemption 2 portrays, as i already mentioned, legit ways the government pushed the genocide of indigenous people.

so, having this extra layer of abuse painted gold in the name of ‘liberation’ imposed by dutch only deepens the wound. us as player know he does not hold them in high regard, arthur knows it. the innocence i’m referring to comes from the context within the story they’re placed at. so yes, they were innocent and remain truly some of the only irreproachable characters within the game.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

The Witch's Bodyguard

(3) I'm Bad At Love

Actress!Wanda Maximoff x Bodygaurd!Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda wants to know about your past

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: This is a hurt/comfort. Mentions of R's past relationship, abandonment issues

A/N: Wanda and R took over completely I did nothing it was all them

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @rroyale-109 @wandanat01 @scarlizziee @nixxnsworld

@snoozingredpanda @wandamaximoff-simp @mrsromanovaa @sweet--escape17

@natashamaximoff-69 @godhatesgoodgirls @kristalag @mfd-101

It's a almost a month into your job as her security guard when she finally asks, "Can I ask you something?" You look up from the book in your hand.

"You can ask me anything Ma'am." You respond, setting the book down and giving her your attention.

"When you signed the contract you corrected one of my lawyers about you being Miss. and not Mrs. Were you married before?" You feel your chest tighten at the question. It certainly wasn't the question you were expecting.

You feel your chest tighten at the question, a rush of memories flooding your mind like a relentless tide. It wasn't a topic you were used to discussing, let alone with someone like Wanda, but her gentle curiosity urges you to open up, if only for a moment.

"I was," you respond, your voice flat, devoid of the usual stoicism.

Wanda's expression softens, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sympathy and understanding. "Is it okay to ask about it? I don't want to overstep," she speaks delicately, her concern palpable.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, the weight of the past pressing down upon you. "It's not by any means a good story," you admit, your gaze flickering away from hers. "But if you want to hear it..."

Her unwavering gaze prompts you to continue, despite the reluctance gnawing at your insides. "We were high school sweethearts. Dated all four years, and when we turned 18, she wanted to get married. So we just went to city hall and did the paper thing. Said we'd do a big wedding when I was done with my tours."

You pause, the memories threatening to overwhelm you. "She was always so supportive, but when I came back from my last tour, things were different. Turns out she wasn't okay with waiting anymore, and I was in no condition from my last tour to do anything like a wedding. Came home ready to tell her about Val and the job opportunity, but she was gone... ten years, and she left me with a note."

The words hang heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of the pain you've carried with you for so long. Without realizing it, tears begin to blur your vision, a silent testament to the wounds that still haven't fully healed.

Before you can retreat into the walls you've built around yourself, Wanda is suddenly there, her arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. She's practically in your lap, her presence a warm anchor amidst the storm of emotions threatening to consume you.

Wanda's words wash over you like a soothing balm, her empathy a comforting presence in the midst of your turmoil. You're taken aback by the raw emotion in her voice, the sincerity evident in every syllable. It's a side of her you hadn't seen before, one that speaks to the depth of her compassion and understanding.

"I am so sorry, Y/N. You didn't deserve that. No one deserves that," she says, her voice trembling with emotion. "She could have at least waited and said it to your face."

Her words strike a chord deep within you, stirring emotions you've long since buried beneath layers of stoicism. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you allow yourself to be vulnerable, to acknowledge the pain that still lingers beneath the surface.

In a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, you find yourself pulling Wanda closer, your arms wrapping around her waist as she settles onto your lap. She allows your tears to fall freely, offering silent solace in the embrace of your shared grief.

For a fleeting moment, the roles are reversed, and you find yourself seeking comfort in the arms of the woman you've sworn to protect. It feels oddly liberating, this unspoken exchange of support and understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that binds you together.

As Wanda's comforting touch soothes the ache in your heart, time seems to blur into a haze of shared sorrow and quiet understanding. Minutes stretch into hours, the only constant the gentle rhythm of her hand rubbing circles on your back.

You try to apologize for your outburst, but Wanda cuts you off with a determined look, her hand cupping your face with a surprising tenderness. "Stop. You have nothing to be sorry about," she insists, her voice filled with conviction. "She broke your heart, turned your whole world upside down, and she just got to walk away like it never mattered. I don't know how she could have done that to you."

Her words strike a chord deep within you, stirring a sense of righteous anger at the injustice of it all. You find yourself lost in the depths of her gaze, her eyes reflecting a fire that matches the intensity of your own emotions.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull between you, you nod in silent agreement, a sense of solidarity forming between you like an unbreakable bond. When Wanda smiles at your acquiescence, your stomach flips with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

She's so close to you now, her warmth seeping into your very soul, and you can't help but notice how beautiful she looks in the flickering firelight. The urge to lean in and kiss her is almost overwhelming, a primal instinct that refuses to be ignored.

Your hands, which had loosened from their earlier grip, now find purchase on her hips, fingers curling around the curves of her body as if seeking reassurance in her proximity. The air between you crackles with tension, thick with unspoken desires and unexplored possibilities.

In that moment, with her so close and your heart pounding in your chest, you realize that perhaps, there's more to this connection than meets the eye.

As Wanda's gaze flickers downward to your lips, you feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins, a primal instinct urging you to close the distance between you. Her hesitation is palpable, but the hunger in her eyes speaks volumes, mirroring the raw intensity of your own longing.

You catch the subtle movement of her tongue darting out to wet her lips, a gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. The temptation to lean in and taste her is almost overwhelming, a magnetic pull that refuses to be denied.

But even as your instincts scream for release, you can't shake the nagging voice of reason at the back of your mind. You know the boundaries that shouldn't be crossed, the consequences that could come from succumbing to this forbidden desire.

And yet, in the heat of the moment, with her so close and the fire of passion burning bright between you, those concerns seem distant and inconsequential. All you can think about is the taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against yours, the sweet surrender of giving in to this undeniable attraction.

But as you gaze into her eyes, you realize that perhaps, just perhaps, this moment is meant to be savored, not rushed. And so, with a silent vow to honor the boundaries that keep you apart, you lean back just slightly, allowing the space between you to linger like a promise unfulfilled.

In that moment, with the fire still burning bright and the night stretching out before you, you find solace in the unspoken understanding that this desire, though powerful, is something to be cherished, not consumed.

"It's late, we should get to bed," you finally break the silence, the words feeling heavy on your tongue as you try to push aside the swirling emotions that threaten to consume you.

Wanda's pout is unmistakable, her disappointment evident in the downturn of her lips. For a fleeting moment, you're tempted to give in to the urge to stay, to lose yourself in the intoxicating allure of her presence.

But the weight of responsibility bears down upon you, a reminder of the boundaries that must be upheld, even in the face of temptation. You can't risk crossing that line, not when the consequences could be so devastating.

Wanda gets off of your lap, pout still adorning her face and its hard to ignore as the two of you make your way to her room, making sure she gets there safely. As she goes to enter her bedroom your hand grabs for her wrist. The action catches both of you off guard as your body moves on instinct, pulling her back into you, holding her against your chest. As you pull back you lean down giving a peck to her cheek.

“Thank you for everything tonight. It was something I needed.” Wanda’s face was flushed when you pulled back, making you smirk. “I’ll see you in the morning Ma’am.” You turned around, letting her go as you walked down the hall to your room. Maybe one day you’d be able to give yourself to her, but not tonight.

[bonefall]

You can ignore this but I was just curious. What are your thoughts on redemption? I know modern day it means "character gets absolved of all wrongdoing and sin, and everyone forgives them yay!" But I'm talking more like, redemption as "Character acknowledges their actions and worldview was shitty, has apologized to all harmed parties, some forgive and some don't, but regardless character works on their issues and strives to become better"

I know characters are writing tools, so the message here would, in short, be "No matter what you can still work to be a better person". So I suppose I'm asking to what extent you agree. Sorry if this ask is everywhere I'm very sick at the moment.

I speak harshly of redemption arcs because I am actually an aficionado. I love them. I can't get enough of them, honestly. They're like eggs to me, I like 'em in all sorts of ways, devilled, omeletted, scrambled, but rotten ones are so bad you've gotta get rid of them immediately.

What often ends up setting me off about how redemption arcs are approached (and discussed) is the pervasive fact that people are more interested in sorrowful abusers than messy victims. They'll turn out to gush about how wonderful it is that Clear Sky cries about how sad murdering women made him, while not even recognizing Star Flower is self-destructing or Thunder is deflecting and misplacing.

It's like... even in fandom you will never get away from it. Your abuser is compelling and complex (meaning "was mean and sad at the same time"), and you're whiny and annoying ("ugh why is this traumatized person doing irrational things?! Don't they ever learn?!")

So when I write and when I talk, victims are always forefront in my mind. I'm really tired of stories that center Good Intentions or "but they loved you"

But anyway, digressing,

I agree. It really is never too late to work to be a better person. It's not even about apologizing, or making up for it, because sometimes you can't. "Sorry" will never undo what happened, and "sorry" doesn't even promise that real change is behind it.

So to me, a good redemption is just about exploring change.

Not suffering, I don't entirely like the idea that pain fixes pain, because it really doesn't. Reflection does. Genuinely understanding what was wrong and why you did it does. In spite of how cathartic it is to see someone get karma, I do hope that 99% of all people could be rehabilitated.

It's why I'm not fond of the phrasing where people want to deny redemption arcs because "they don't deserve it.' The WORLD deserves it. The people they will HELP deserve it. The person they will be deserves it. The question really is-- WOULD they change?

And the answer for powerful people is usually no. Power feels good. Gets you what you immediately want, makes it easy to surround yourself with yesmen who reinforce your excuses.

I think most people want to see others get better, but it's cathartic to me when some characters don't. Redemption arcs are wonderful things, but shouldn't be seen as the IDEAL ending for every villain, y'know?

[aihoshiino]

What do you think Ai represents in the story in a thematic sense?

This is probably gonna be The low hanging fruit answer of all time but I think Ai pretty straightforwardly represents "love" and (at least in the first chunk of the manga), Aqua and Ruby's relationships to her and their memories of her are sort of, subtextual proxy for how the two of them relate to love.

Ruby throws herself into love as eagerly as she does with everything else - as a kid not only starved of novel experiences but love specifically, she idealizes it and gorges herself on it as soon as she has an avenue to engage with it. She's incredibly open and willing to love and be loved by other people, which in turn is represented by her having a relationship with Ai (& eventually, her memories of Ai) that is on the whole a lot healthier than Aqua's.

By contrast, Aqua is a person who deeply struggles with the idea of loving others and being loved in turn thanks to his absolutely dogshit self image and rock bottom self worth. @penguinkyun put it in a way I really vibe with a couple weeks ago:

i think its both that [aqua] feels like he doesn't deserve the love that he gets and that his love is "wrong" — its a bit complicated because its not outright said but aqua loves to put himself in the villain role every time because he refuses to acknowledge that hes losing the idgaf war severely and because he hates himself so much that he believes all his actions or at least most of them are inherently manipulative — exhibit a: akane and ruby finding goros body, aqua entirely blames himself for it despite having literally nothing to do with the actual corpse discovery. hes very similar to ai in that they both hate themselves deeply and believe they dont deserve love and both having similar issues with love in general, even though they're not the exact same

Obvs we see this reflected in their other relationships (as Lace points out here re: AquAka), but their bond with Ai is both formative and foundational and useful as a lens through which to analyze their other relationships.

Within the context of OnK's commentary on the industry, Ai is also the celebrity and discussions of the way idolhood and celebrity culture affected her in particular also function as proxies to discuss these issues in the industry as a whole.

As a sidebar, this is kind of why Ruby's ending of "surpassing Ai" kind of falls apart - within Oshi no Ko, Ai is THE symbol of celebrity and idolhood to the extent that every other performer in the series is evaluated by how they do and don't measure up to her legacy. The literal in-universe symbol of radiant charisma and captivating charm is Ai's symbol. She is given massive weight in the narrative as the embodiment and archetype of the perfect idol in a way that Ruby is not, so the attempts to be like "oh uh, ruby is a better idol than ai now btw" just feel sorta half assed LMAO

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Honest Conversations

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: The boys want to talk about sex. [wordcount: 2k words] Tags: fem!reader, wheelchair user!reader, discussion of chronic pain, discussions of sex, mentions of muggle birth control, supportive!marauders Series Masterlist

The bedroom is alive with the soft crackle of the fireplace, its warm light dancing across familiar faces. The armchairs are pushed aside, making room for a nest of blankets and cushions on the floor where you're settled in for the evening. Low chatter fills the space, punctuated by quiet laughter—a symphony of shared history between you and the Marauders.

But tonight, an undercurrent of something more serious tugs at the edges of your awareness. It's an unspoken question that has lingered in the air for some time now, growing heavier with each passing moment.

You shift slightly, your back resting against Remus's chest as he leans against the headboard. His arm is draped around your middle, a comforting presence despite the gravity of what lies ahead. James sits to your right, his hand resting on your thigh, while Sirius occupies the foot of the bed.

There's no awkwardness in the way you all fit together. This closeness is as much a part of you as the magic coursing through your veins.

But tonight, there's a palpable tension threading through the comfort, a silent acknowledgment that the conversation soon to unfold might change everything.

Your kisses with the boys have grown more fervent, their touches lingering, over the past few weeks. It's in the way Sirius's hand brushes against your lower back, how James's eyes linger on your lips, and the subtle shift in Remus's gaze when you're close. Something has changed, deepened. You can feel it, a thrumming undercurrent of desire and longing that threatens to pull you under. And you know they feel it too.

But something holds you back, a nagging thought at the edge of your consciousness. It's not because you don't want this—Merlin, every fibre of your being yearns for them—but because of everything else.

You've played this conversation out in your head a hundred times before, but now it feels different, real. You can't avoid it any longer; you need to talk about it—with them. They deserve to know.

It's Sirius who breaks the silence first.

"So..." He leans forward, elbows braced against his knees. A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, but it never reaches his eyes, clouded as they are with something akin to regret. "Seems we've all been skirting around the same issue, doesn't it?"

James, ever the pragmatist, quirks an eyebrow, his gaze steady and unyielding. "What Padfoot's trying to say is..." He pauses, choosing his words with care. "Perhaps it's time we addressed the fact that things are escalating."

His voice is light, almost conversational, but there's an undertone that speaks volumes. It's in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his fingers drum a silent tattoo against the his thigh. His eyes meet yours, reflecting both concern and conviction.

You feel Remus shift behind you, an almost imperceptible movement, yet so familiar that your body responds instinctively, leaning back into the warmth he offers.

"There's no need to rush into anything, love," he murmurs, his breath a soft caress against your ear. "We're here for you, whatever you decide."

A nod of understanding passes between you and Remus, and your eyes fall to your hands, picking at an imaginary loose thread on your jeans. "I know," you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. "It's just..."

You trail off, gathering your thoughts as tension coils in the pit of your stomach. This is it—the tipping point that could either strengthen your bond or shatter the fragile peace you've found with each other. "I want to move forward with this—with all of you. But there are some things you need to understand about me first."

James leans forward, his brows knitting together in concern. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

You swallow hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. Your fingers dance anxiously over the fabric of your jeans, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. "Because of my medical issues—my conditions, the chronic pain—sex will be different for me."

Sirius, typically the embodiment of reckless abandon, stills at your words. His brow furrows, not in confusion, but in concentration, as if trying to decipher a particularly tricky piece of parchment. "Just tell us what you need," he says, his voice low and steady. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it. There's no pressure."

A wave of relief washes over you as Sirius's words, genuine and warm, ease some of the tension in your body. You glance at Remus, who gives your hand a comforting squeeze, before turning back to face James and Sirius.

"I've never been able to finish by myself," you confess, your cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "It feels like hitting a wall that you just can't get through." You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. "And I rarely get wet, even when I'm aroused, because of the medication I take."

The room falls into silence as they absorb your confession, but there's no judgment in their eyes, no hint of discomfort. Only love, concern, and a deep understanding that makes your heart ache with gratitude.

James reaches out to gently take your other hand, his fingers intertwining with yours in a show of support. "That's okay, love, we'll work it out. And if it never happens, that's fine too. We just want to be here with you, no matter what."

Remus is the next to speak, his voice steady despite the gravity of the conversation. "We can use lube. There are ways to make things easier for you. And we'll always check in, make sure you're comfortable."

You nod, appreciating his patience. "The thing is, physically... I should be able to have sex. Most positions shouldn't cause any problems in theory. But I've never... well, you know. So I can't say for certain how it'll feel in practice. And I don't know if the things I'm worried about will become bigger obstacles when faced with the reality of the situation."

He moves closer, not touching but present, a comforting solidity. "What are you worried about?"

You glance at him, feeling exposed yet compelled to continue. This isn't easy, laying bare your fears and vulnerabilities, but you know it's necessary. "The pain," you admit, your voice hardly above a whisper. "Sometimes it's so bad I can't even move, and I don't know how that would translate into... well, sex." You pause, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the hem of your shirt. "And then there's the worry that I won't... enjoy it as much as I could. That I might need to stop or that something will go wrong."

James's hand comes up to gently cradle your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. His voice is steady, a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of uncertainties. "We'll go as slow as you need," he assures you, thumb brushing tenderly against your skin. "The last thing we want is to hurt you. If you need to stop, we stop. No questions asked. You set the pace."

Sirius nods, his usual playful demeanour replaced by a seriousness that underscores the gravity of the situation. "And it's not just about sex," he adds, his grey eyes locking with yours, "it's about being close to you, sharing this part of ourselves with you. If some days we do more, and some days we do less, that's okay. As long as we're in it together."

Remus, ever the voice of reason, leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "You've been open with us about everything so far, and that's all we ask. If something feels wrong, if something hurts, you just tell us. We'll figure it out together."

The knots in your shoulders start to unravel, the conversation not as daunting as you feared it might be. Their responses are everything you need—understanding, patient, loving.

"I don't want to disappoint you," you murmur, the words barely more than a breath.

James's arms encircle you then, pulling you into his chest. His hug is firm but gentle, as if he fears you'll shatter at any moment. "You could never disappoint us," he whispers back, lips brushing against your hair. "We love you, all of you. This isn't about reaching some finish line. It's about being here with you, whatever that looks like."

Sirius edges nearer, his fingers resting lightly on your knee, grounding you in their shared resolve. "And we're not the sort to leave a job half-done, are we?" His voice carries a playful note, attempting to cut through the tension that has woven itself into the air. "We'll figure it out, love."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you lean into them, warmed by their unwavering support. "I know."

Remus's hand moves in soothing circles on your arm, a steady rhythm amidst the storm of uncertainty. "It'll be a learning curve for us all," he admits, his gaze never leaving yours. "But we'll take it one step at a time. And we'll be here—every step of the way."

You study their expressions, finding only warmth and acceptance there, and something inside you unclenches. You'd been dreading this conversation, fearing it might create discomfort or distance, but instead, it seems to have drawn you closer.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice thick with the emotion of the moment. "For understanding. For being... you."

James's smile is soft as he leans in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "No need for thanks. We're the lucky ones, having you."

Sirius shifts, lying down beside you, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh. It's a comforting presence, grounding you when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control. "We'll figure out what works best for you, together. And believe me, we're going to make sure it feels good."

Remus catches your eye, his own so full of understanding that it's almost overwhelming. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of your shoulder. "You're safe with us," he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm and comforting. "We'll take care of you."

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, warmth spreading through you. It's strange and wonderful, this sense of belonging that has blossomed between you and these three men.

James' gaze softens as he watches you, but there's a flicker of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or concern. "This might be a bit presumptuous," he begins, his tone cautious, "but have you thought about contraception? There's a potion for witches, and I know the Muggle world has options."

Your nod is slow, thoughtful. "I'm actually on a Muggle method. An implant. It's more reliable than potions or the pill, and easier to manage. I haven't had a period in... I can't even remember when, but it runs out in summer because it lasts three years."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Sirius's mouth, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "That's certainly convenient," he murmurs, a lightness in his voice that attempts to lift the heaviness in the air. "One less thing to concern ourselves with."

His hand slides further up your thigh, and you can't help the sharp intake of breath as a jolt of electricity arcs between you both. Remus shoots Sirius a warning look—part admonishment, part protectiveness—but you merely laugh, feeling more liberated and accepted than ever before.

Remus returns his attention to you, his own hand finding yours atop the table. His thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, each stroke a silent promise of understanding and patience. "We'll move at your pace, love," he assures you, and you hear the sincerity ringing clear and true in his voice. "Whatever you're comfortable with, whatever you need—we're here for you."

Your heart swells with gratitude for these three remarkable men who have somehow become an integral part of your life. The future remains uncertain, but one thing is clear: Whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

[yatsurinamikaze]

Wager (first) - (second) - (third) - (fourth) - (fifth)

tw// shit show, cringe, word vomit, objectification, shitty writing, grammatical errors, curse words.

Oikawa Tooru x Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Summary: They strike a bet. The Wager? You.

The evening arrives sooner than you expected, and before you know it, you’re checking your reflection in the mirror one last time. There’s a mix of anticipation and curiosity swirling within you as you wait by the window, watching for Ushijima’s car. It’s strange, the way this whole situation has unfolded, but there’s a part of you that’s intrigued by the possibility of this.

A few minutes later, you spot his car pulling up in front of your house. He steps out, dressed simply but neatly, his expression as serious as ever. Yet, there’s a softness in his gaze when he looks at you, a stark contrast to the intensity he usually displays on the court.

When you open the door, he greets you with a slight nod. “Y/N,” he says, his voice calm and even. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re right on time.”

“I try to be punctual,” he says simply, and you can’t help but appreciate the straightforwardness.

The drive is peaceful, with comfortable silences punctuated by light conversation. He’s not one for small talk, but when he does speak, it’s with intention, making each word count.

He takes you to a small, quiet Japanese restaurant that you’ve never been to before. It’s not flashy or extravagant, but it’s cozy and welcoming. As you sit down, you notice the way he pulls out your chair for you, a small but thoughtful gesture, you think to yourself.

Throughout the meal, you talk about various things—your interests, his rigorous training schedule, and even a bit about your studies. He listens intently, his attention focused solely on you, and you find yourself smiling more than you had earlier expected.

At one point, as you’re discussing your favorite books, he mentions how he’s been trying to read more in his spare time, though he admits with a straight face, “I’m not very good at it. I tend to read too slowly.”

You chuckle at his earnestness. “Reading isn’t a race, Ushijima. It’s about enjoying the process.”

He nods, considering your words seriously. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll try to focus on that more.”

You chuckle when the waiter brings out the wrong order, and Ushijima, in his typical no-nonsense manner, calmly explains the mistake without a hint of irritation. The waiter, flustered, apologizes profusely, and you can’t help but smile at how unbothered Ushijima is by the whole situation.

As the evening winds down, you realize just how easy it’s been to talk to him. Despite his stoic exterior, there’s a warmth to him, a quiet strength that makes you feel comfortable. When he drives you back home, you’re surprised yourself at how the night turned out,

He insists on walking you to your doorstep, and as you both stand on the porch, the cool evening air wraps around you. You shiver inwardly, and Ushijima wraps his jacket around you. There’s a brief silence before he turns to you, his expression more serious.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice steady, “I want to apologize again for the bet. It was wrong, and I should have stopped it before it even started. You’re not something to be wagered over.”

You’re taken aback by his straightforwardness, but there’s a sincerity in his words that puts you at comfort.

“I appreciate that,” you say softly. “It means a lot that you’d say that.”

He nods, as if relieved that you’ve accepted his apology. “You deserve to be treated with respect. You shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t see that.”

His words hang in the air between you, and you’re surprised by the directness of his statement. It’s not just an apology; it’s not a quiet confession, it's just a simple acknowledgment of what you truly deserve.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. But quickly realize how earnest he has been the whole evening, he truly means it, you think. You step closer to him, rising on your toes, you press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He stiffens slightly, clearly not expecting the gesture, but there’s a faint blush that spreads across his cheeks. “Goodnight, Ushijima,” you say, smiling as you take a step back.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies, his voice a bit quieter than before. He turns to walk back to his car, but after a few steps, he stops and looks back at you.

“Is it… alright if I message you again?” he asks, his tone still professional but with a hint of uncertainty.

You smile, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a while. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Masterlist

[srbachchan]

DAY 5782

Jalsa, Mumbai Dec 16/17, 2023 Sat/Sun 1:51 AM

I tried , but could not .. so up and about and here with the most desired .. my Ef .. in non sleep condition ..

when work is absent , the desire is absent too .. to be occupied, to contribute to do some work differently or bring change ..

OR

study ..

With time now there is keenness to devote to some of the left over important tasks .. learning recording and satisfying the long cherished absolute firmed intent to preserve that which has been inherited , to leave and acknowledge legacy ..

the desire remains potent .. shared often with many .. but then it remains dormant in their thoughts and minds and unfinished attention less modes erupt ..

gravity respectability need judgement by them that can give it what it truly deserves is perhaps not readily ready .. that judgement shall be and should be of the 'me' .. I feel ..

But the hesitancy to execute it , and the desire at times merge into an abyss of unlimited depth .. and that is when time takes over and we are done .. for the moment ..

pushing a substance down your throat is a process, understood by the one feeding you .. there are many that profess that but the morsels are scarce and diffident .. assessed as an absence of desired grace and meaning ..

that shall ever be the gravitational pull of sensibility ..

works fine .. mostly does not work - disaster !

the fear of not working is immense , for when shared the feel is ever that the value of its commerce comes first in the mind of the proposer, not its intensity of the gravios ..

and that stops me in the tracks .. philosophical

do it your own sense and privacy .. do not give or share .. what you think and create, if that is what can be defined, then keep it closeted within ..

If the linked wires of the soul and the verbiage live apart in oblivion , then best to be in ONE than in the company that may have been desired or proposed .. to the OTHER ..

and the OTHER has a remarkable dissertative potential of doctorate assessment ..

It does .. seems odd and insignificant but it does .. the annals of the language say so and debrief ..

The word "other" is a linguistic prism refracting the complexities of identity, inclusion, and the nuanced interplay of differences. It serves as a vessel through which we navigate the multifaceted landscape of human experience, illuminating the myriad shades that define our relationships, perceptions, and understanding of the world. At its core, "other" denotes that which exists beyond the scope of the self or the familiar. It embodies the essence of contrast, highlighting distinctions and delineating boundaries. In societal discourse, it often assumes a role that transcends mere semantics, assuming a position of immense significance in discussions of diversity, belonging, and the fabric of human interactions. The concept of the "other" is intrinsic to our social dynamics. It molds our perspectives and influences our attitudes toward those perceived as different or dissimilar. This construct, while inherently dichotomous, blurs the lines between inclusion and exclusion, often reflecting societal norms and power structures. The "other" can be a means of fostering unity through appreciation of diversity or a tool for marginalization and alienation. One of its most profound implications lies in its ability to shape our understanding of identity. It is instrumental in the formation of self-identity, as individuals often define themselves in relation to the "other." This comparative element contributes to the tapestry of personal identity, underscoring the significance of context and interaction in shaping who we are. Moreover, the "other" extends beyond the human realm, permeating fields such as philosophy and anthropology. Philosophically, it raises questions about the nature of existence and the boundaries of perception. Anthropologically, it serves as a lens through which societies classify and understand different cultures, practices, and belief systems. In contemporary discourse, the notion of the "other" has garnered heightened attention in discussions surrounding inclusivity, equity, and social justice. Embracing the "other" involves transcending biases, dismantling stereotypes, and fostering empathy. It calls for a recognition of shared humanity while honoring the richness of diverse perspectives and experiences. However, navigating the terrain of the "other" is not devoid of challenges. It requires a conscious effort to transcend preconceived notions and embrace pluralism. Genuine understanding necessitates active engagement, empathy, and a willingness to celebrate the diverse tapestry of existence. In essence, the word "other" encapsulates a paradoxical duality – a divider and a unifier, a source of both division and enrichment. It compels us to confront the multifaceted nature of our reality, urging us to embrace the richness of diversity while acknowledging the inherent complexities within our shared human experience. Embracing the "other" opens gateways to profound insights, fostering a more inclusive and compassionate world.

😂

a reading to last you an entire weekend ..

🤣

Amitabh Bachchan

[awkwardchaosposts]

Dilf Chishiya

(Part 1)

Please note: this is not proofread and has a long introduction. All of this is fiction and does not reflect actual people or places

Trigger warning: mentions of absent mother and arranged marriage

/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\

Shuntaro has always been picture perfect and ensured he was successful enough to deserve Chishiya as his last name. He had a stable job,he was well educated and mannered,he married young. He hadn't even met her before their engagement party.

They weren't rude to each other. Just ...disconnected and indifferent. His now ex wife felt caged in by their arranged marriage and expectations from their families. Thus she abruptly left him and their daughter when Etsuko was only four months old. He was angry at first but in some way he understood his ex wife's pain she must've felt

"You can't have tomato sauce for breakfast" He said firmly to which his daughter protested.

"Nuh uh"

"We are not having this discussion. You can either have cereal or pb and j. Take your pick"

"I want a tomato sauce sandwich!"

Despite his stern parenting style he had a soft spot. Besides it was already 7am and he had work soon. This wasn't a hill he was ready to die on "Fine but eat your fruit first"

~~~~~~

"What you looking at?" the sound of a fellow coworker made him look up from the pamphlets. His thirty minute lunch break was the only time he really got to look over these things.

"Schools"

"So soon? isn't she like 5?"

"She's six" He corrected Kevin and hummed in response when the rookie spoke about how "They grow up so fast" He knew that already. He doesn't need a reminder

"So..." Kevin awkwardly stood there and tried to revive this deadbeat conversation "Where were you thinking of sending her? I heard Ducky's Primary is such a sweet school"

He held back a scoff. Ducky's Primary? No,no. Chishiya wouldn't send his daughter to a mediocre school. She deserves the best education so she can succeed.

"I was thinking more of something like Sakura Primary"

He didn't like how Kevin laughed at his mention of the school. Chishiya despite being a single parent earned a stable income due to being a surgeon. So why the hell was this guy laughing?

"What's so funny?"

"Nah man I'm not laughing at you I just- Sakura Primary? I mean...that place is super hard to get into. I don't think they even allow single parents" it's unfortunate but a child with only one parent was still seen as a taboo where they lived.

The problem was he'd never even thought a that.

"You ok man?" Kevin leaned in "You look a little tense"

"I'm fine"

Well that was just a lie

~~~~~~

"You know you can always lie"

"And you don't think they'll get suspicious when my supposed 'wife' never shows up for the interview or school events?"

"Touché." Kuina acknowledged. Shuntaro had a big problem. She knew how badly he wanted Etsuko to get a good education "And you're absolutely sure that Akira wouldn't agree to attend?"

"She hasn't been here for almost over six years. I don't even know where she is right now"

"I don't know. Hire an actor" she jokingly suggested

"Yeah cause that's normal"

~~~~~~~~~

"Did you have fun today?" he asked while washing his daughter's hair for her. Her eyes were squeezed shut despite it being a no tears shampoo for small kids.

"Mhm! we made paper masway hats" the kindergardener talked about her day with such enthusiasm,he couldn't help but but smile in return

"Paper masway? You mean paper mache?"

"No it's paper masway!"

With a chuckle he shook his head but kept his opinions to himself "Alright,alright. Paper masway"

He rinsed out the shampoo twice just to be sure before helping her out of the tub "Time for bed"

"I want Green eggs and ham"

He was about to tell her no since he had work that he needed to get to but the man stopped himself. "Hmm fine but then it's lights out after that"

Chishiya's aware he can't be the perfect parent. No one can. They were only human. But he always swore to himself that he'd be better than his parents were. He'd make sure she'd never have to cry about missed recitals or feel ignored. He'd ensure she knows she's loved and cared for. Always

That night he stayed up late with paper work when " Hire an actor" Kuina's light-hearted words replayed in his head.

Maybe he was desperate or tired but the suggestion didn't sound as crazy right now.

He searched for over an hour when he finally found something 'Findyourfamily.tom'

The more he looked into this the more skeptical he was what kind of website it was. Would he really stoop so low as to hire him a wife for the day. How was he going to explain that to Etsuko?

~~~~~

Being an actor hired to be people's wife, sister,mother,etc wasn't exactly your dream job but it pays well and sometimes it's kind of fun. You always get creeps with this kind of job though.

With an exhausted sigh you plopped down in bed while scrolling through your emails. Business was drying up recently so seeing a message from a new customer was a nice surprise. It was from this guy going by the email ChishiyaShuntaroCo with the subject heading reading 'I need your help'

/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\

[mentohol-blog]

I put on one of my favorite records to help me focus, but I got distracted by reflections on my long-held belief that Rooster is one of the best expressions of empathy and healing your inner child that I've ever heard put to music. Let me explain. (Trigger warnings—some sensitive topics below cut (childhood neglect/abuse mentioned in a non-explicit way, non-explicit mention of combat related trauma, process of healing also discussed).

Jerry Cantrell wrote this song while placing himself in the shoes of his father, a Vietnam combat veteran. The trauma of Cantrell Sr.’s wartime experience contributed to him being a distant, cold partner and father, and this led to Jerry’s mother, Gloria, divorcing Cantrell Sr. and taking Jerry and his siblings away from the home for their safety and well-being. Jerry didn't spend much time with his father following the divorce, and resentment towards him grew.

Now, children are good at coming up with explanations for neglect and abuse. These explanations are usually miles away from the truth (for example - my Dad doesn't spend time with me because I'm a bad kid and I’m not worthy of his time). These explanations can then impact these children’s self-esteem, self-efficacy, and ability to form healthy attachments for the rest of their lives unless they take the time to acknowledge, deconstruct, and restructure them. I’ve heard horrendous things that have happened to children, told to me by people in their 80s who are still working to heal from these psychological wounds. And forgiveness is not the answer for everyone, despite what pop psychologists may spout.

It isn't necessary to forgive your abuser for you to find healing. It helps some individuals but isn't a requisite. There is no one-size-fits-all approach to recovery. The literature indicates understanding and self-awareness as more relevant and beneficial for a broader range of situations, which Jerry was working towards in “Rooster.” He was thinking, why was my father this way? He acknowledged Cantrell Sr.’s behavior towards him wasn't little Jerry’s fault. That there was nothing he could have done to change things and nothing he did made him deserving of what he experienced. He was 7 years old when they left his father. A baby. But these babies blame themselves. I've seen it countless times. So Jerry being able to sit down and work through what he experienced and the reasons why he experienced it and creating something so amazing in the process is truly incredible.

Important to note, gaining this understanding is not providing excuses for inexcusable behavior. It is instead about empowering oneself to finally let go of the misplaced guilt and shame that often accompany these types of experiences. To realize that you are not, at your core, rotten and deserving of bad things. Rather, you are a whole, multifaceted human being, capable of “good” decisions and actions (which don't make you an overall “good”) person, and “bad” decisions and actions (which don't make you an overall “bad” person) deserving of love, care, and respect from yourself and others.

So Jerry writes this song, gaining an understanding of his father’s traumas and how they contributed to his own childhood experience. He finds healing and reconnection through the process (again, reconnection and reconciliation are not always the goal). Then Layne sings the song. And he gains an understanding of Cantrell Sr.’s experience. The song becomes a hit, and millions of people around the world hear it. Many more find a sense of understanding and healing through it. Empathy is iterative. It spreads and heals, maybe not always to this extent. But if even one person can be positively impacted by being treated/ treating another with empathy and compassion, I think it's well worth it.

[john-laurens]

Philadelphia May 17th 1780 Dear Sir, I embrace the earliest & best opportunity of acknowledging the receipt of yours, dated, Wilmington 21st April, & need not, I trust, express how much I join with you in anxious expectation of hearing the fate of our Capital, & the brave men within it.  I am, however, not without my hopes, & am convinced, that if Sir Henry has not succeeded before this time, he never will.  The Garrison & inhabitants of New York have been thrown into the greatest confusion by news received from Europe, repeated councils of war have been held, repeated expresses sent off to Clinton, & the citizens, as well as the military, are called out to fatigue duty; they are erecting works between the two rivers, and a battery at the lookout on Staten Island, whilst a number of vessels have been prepared, & are ready to be sunk, with a view of obstructing the entrance of the harbor.  These facts, joined to the information we have received from Europe, lend us to expect the appearance of a friendly force.  I thought it of the greatest consequence that our friends in Carolina should be immediately made acquainted with our expectations in this matter, as it may be attended with no small influence upon their councils.  As my Colleague Matthews is on a committee at Camp, I am deprived of his advice with respect to that part of your letter, which hints the expediency of transmitting to Mr. Adams, a similar commission, to that which you now hold, but have thought it best upon reflection not to say mention any thing about the matter, answering in general terms to all enquiries, that you were at Wilmington, & waiting for a safe opportunity to embark.  Should we be so unfortunate as to lose Charles Town, it will not then be too late to transmit a commission to Mr. Adams, but should our enemies be disappointed, you will in that case, I flatter myself, my dear Sir, be prevailed upon to make the attempt, & may do it with a far greater prospect of success, if not embarrassed with the interference of another Person._ We have had quires of paper from our Ministers abroad, but they contain little else but extracts from French & English Newspapers, except on one head which I have alluded to in the other page of this letter, & which prudence forbids my discussing on paper._ Should any thing material take place, I should esteem it a particular favor to hear from you, & will endeavor to deserve it, by giving every degree of information from this quarter. I am, dear Sir, With the greatest respect & esteem, Your most obdnt & hum. Servant, F. Kinloch. The Marquis de la Fayette is arrived, & has, I believe, some information to communicate. Governor Morris had the misfortune, to be thrown out of his Phaeton the other day, & has lost his leg by amputation. I enclose the last Newspapers, which I beg you would be so kind as to forward to the Governor.

Francis Kinloch to Henry Laurens, in a letter dated May 17, 1780. Transcribed from the copy held at the Huntington Library.

This is a fairly short letter, but there's so much going on!

Francis and Henry directly interacted several times throughout their lives, but this may be the only surviving letter between the two.

"acknowledging the receipt of yours, dated, Wilmington 21st April" - Letter not found. Henry Laurens was in Wilmington, NC at this time and was looking to secure passage to the Netherlands.

"I join with you in anxious expectation of hearing the fate of our Capital, & the brave men within it.  I am, however, not without my hopes, & am convinced, that if Sir Henry has not succeeded before this time, he never will." - Kinloch was referring to Sir Henry Clinton's siege on Charleston, SC, which lasted for three months. Despite Kinloch's optimism, General Benjamin Lincoln had already surrendered to the British on May 12, 1780. Kinloch was serving on the Continental Congress in Philadelphia at the time, so the news had not yet reached him.

"These facts, joined to the information we have received from Europe, lend us to expect the appearance of a friendly force." - This and other references to news from Europe are likely a reference to reinforcements arriving from France. The comte de Rochambeau and 5,500 men set sail for America in May 1780.

"which hints the expediency of transmitting to Mr. Adams, a similar commission, to that which you now hold" - In the fall of 1779, Congress had named Henry Laurens as minister to the Netherlands in hopes of securing a treaty and a loan with the country. Henry would never make it to the Netherlands - his ship was intercepted by a British frigate, and he was imprisoned in the Tower of London. John Adams later served as envoy to the Netherlands during 1780-1782.

"The Marquis de la Fayette is arrived, & has, I believe, some information to communicate." - A Lafayette mention! Lafayette had recently traveled to France to secure additional aid for the American cause, and he recently returned to America with news of the impending support.

"Governor Morris had the misfortune, to be thrown out of his Phaeton the other day, & has lost his leg by amputation." - An iconic story. I did not have "Francis Kinloch writes to Henry Laurens about Gouverneur Morris's amputated leg" on my 1780 bingo card, yet here we are.