#maybe I should listen to . I don’t know. a money podcast

[sanchoyo]

annoyed I’m not getting as many hours as I’d like at work bc when I started they were giving me mad overtime 😔 ik it’s probably the holidays but at this rate it’s gonna take me (materialistic) forever to get the things I want and actually need ☹️ tentatively once again considering if I’d have enough self discipline to do something like a patreon before remembering I hate putting stuff behind paywalls 😭

[psychovigilantewrites]

Sunshine's Shadow - Chapter 2

WordCount: 10k

Ao3

A/N: I didn't realise how much of a slow burn this was. Also, this is unedited for typos and grammatical errors OOPSIES my adhd chaos just NEED TO POST THIS

Having your best friend back was a type of happiness you never knew you could ever experience. Especially after grieving him. There were no words to describe the way you just wanted to cling on to him, scared he would be taken away from you again.

The week went on with the both of you spending almost all of your waking time together. You had burgers during your stakeouts, listened to comedy podcasts, and you even taught Jason how to use your camera. You hadn’t noticed how much you were devoid of laughter until you started spending time with Jason and laughing until your stomach hurt.

There was definitely a pull, and you noticed the looks Jason had given you. You wondered if this was okay. You knew he had a crush on you from before, but you didn’t expect for him to still like you right now. You didn’t want to lead him on. You couldn’t lead him on.

You were with Dick, after all.

You sighed loudly.

“You okay there?” Jason asked from the passenger seat, mouth full of french fries. You couldn’t find much illegal activity from Thorne’s phone, as you suspected, but you did get to know of his accountant. It made sense for Thorne to have a personal accountant to deal with the money flow. Now the both of you were staked out of Mrs. Eriksson’s house.

“Oh- sorry,” you hadn’t noticed that you let your shadow grow. You closed your eyes and reeled the darkness in.

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Jason protested, “We’re staking out in the car at 12 AM. Some darkness would be a great cover.”

He was right. You let yourself go.

“What’s on your mind?” he prodded.

You bit your lip in contemplation. Should you bring it up? Or should you just leave it be? Jason was a smart, grown, adult man. He didn’t need to be told the obvious, right?

What was the obvious anyway? That you didn’t have feelings for him before he died? That wasn’t true. That you got together with Dick in order to replace the emptiness he left? How did you feel about him now, that he was back?

“Dick said you used to have a crush on me,” you said.

“That damned snitch,” Jason cursed.

“To be fair to him, you were dead when he told me,” you assured, “Plus, it’s not like I didn’t know. You know I can read people.”

Jason shifted in his seat. He was wearing a long sleeved gray Henley that did nothing to hide his muscles. Unlike Dick, Jason rarely styled his hair. He let the fringes of his straight dark hair down in front of his eyebrows and would occasionally push his hair back with his fingers.

“Yeah, I know,” he was running his hand at the back of his head, messing up his hair further, “Yeah, I had a crush on you. So what?”

You turned towards him and leaned closer, trying to catch his expression in the dark. You tried his method of intensity, piercing his eyes with yours. “How about now?”

You saw the minute details of his microexpressions. He blinked once, his eyebrows drawn together, his eyes darted to the left and you noticed he clenched his jaw. Finally, he smirked and looked at you again.

“You’re the one who can read people. You tell me.”

You could have said that you noticed the way he tries his best to not reach out and hold your hand, the way his eyes dart from your eyes to your lips from time to time, how he couldn’t stop looking at you, how he licked his bottom lip when you leaned in close. You could have said that all that points to at least some level of attraction, and maybe even more. You could have said that maybe you caught yourself doing those things too.

Instead, you said, “Anna Eriksson’s light switched on.”

You both turned towards the house and waited. Anna Eriksson was a wife and a mother of two. She exited her town house and unlocked her car, her long straight platinum blond hair held high in a ponytail.

“Finally, some action,” Jason said excitedly.

You tailed her dark sedan expertly until it slowly came to a stop beneath a complexity of overpasses in southwest of Old Gotham heading to Tricorner Yards. You drove a few blocks away further down the road and turned into an alley and parked the car. You could still see Eriksson from the zoom lens of your camera.

“I wanna see too,” Jason whined.

“You should have brought binoculars,” you rolled your eyes. “Really, aren’t you all a family of vigilantes? To think you’d be more prepared.”

Eriksson was leaning against her vehicle. Dressed in an all black pants-suit and smoking a cigarette, you thought she looked pretty cool.

“Oh, another car is coming,” you told Jason.

Another black sedan arrived and stopped right in front of Eriksson. You started snapping pictures.

“Who is it?” Jason demanded.

“Fucking hell,” you swore in surprise. The short, bald and overweight man who wore the tophat was known to anyone in Gotham. “It’s fucking Cobblepot.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Jason crossed his arms. “Kinda anti-climactic to be honest. Such a predictive plot.”

You ignored Jason and kept snapping photos. Oswald Cobblepot, the wealthiest criminal of Gotham City wobbled towards Eriksson and passed her a briefcase. Jason was right that it wasn’t surprising because it probably was not Cobblepot’s first play in politics. The exchange itself was brief, where Cobblepot said a few words to Eriksson who was nodding intently. Then, both of them left.

After tailing Eriksson back to her house, you called it a night and drove away.

“I wonder what the deal is,” you pondered out loud.

“Probably if Thorne becomes mayor, he would have Cobblepot’s funding in exchange for immunity in the underground,” Jason answered.

“But why Thorne and not Hill? What does Thorne have that Hill doesn’t?”

“Control over Gotham’s largest shipping company?” Jason offered.

“That may be it. We need more evidence,” you concluded. “Drop you off at yours again?”

Jason was staying in an apartment in East End on Kitt Street. You haven’t been inside, and he has not invited you in. You didn’t ask.

***

“Stake out with Jason again?” Dick’s voice made you jump.

You had just reached home and Dick was still in his Nightwing suit sans the mask.

“Yeah,” you walked over to him, “Found out Cobblepot is sponsoring Thorne.”

“Kinda expected, huh?” he smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist. “We found some blackmarket items at Dixon Docks the other day in Triton shipping containers. You think that’s related?”

“Definitely,” you agreed, “Just gotta get evidence. But enough about work, how are you?”

“Better now that you’re here,” he leaned in to kiss you.

“You’re all sweaty,” you half-complained as he started down your neck.

“You didn’t complain the first time,” he smirked, “Or the second, or the third, or the-”

“Okay, I get it,” you giggled.

He kissed back up to your lips and settled on a slow, gentle pace. He broke the kiss and said “Get in the shower. I’ll be there soon.”

Your eyes widen at his command and you immediately head to the bathroom and took off your clothes. The water temperature was just right and you stepped in and sighed, washing off the fatigue of the day. A pair of hands snaked around your waist from behind and Dick got wet with you.

He pressed himself against you and you could feel his hardening cock heavy on your back.

“Dick,” you whimpered, grinding your ass on his length.

“Nuh uh,” he teased, “Gotta clean you up first.”

He reached for the body wash and started lathering up soap on you. His strong fingers gently rubbed and slid on your body, down your tummy, in between your legs. “Dick,” you whined.

His fingers parted your lips and found your clit, immediately circling and putting just the right amount of pressure. He knew your body almost better than you knew yourself. All the times he experimented with you and pleasured you meant he knew which buttons to tease and which to push.

“Need- you,” you panted at him.

“Hold onto the wall,” he instructed. You pressed both your palms against the wet tiles and bent over. His hands were placed on your hips to give you support. You trusted that he would not let you fall. This wasn’t the first time you had shower sex with him after all.

“Fuck,” you moaned when you felt him fill you up to the brim. You were familiar with his cock, and how he liked to still inside you after the first push, to get you adjusted to his size but also to tease you. You got yourself ready for what was to come.

He slid out, and with the strong grip on your hips, he fucked you hard back on his cock, forcing the air out of your lungs. You never had time to scream when he was like this with you, because he would pummel into you relentlessly. All you could manage was eyes rolled into the back of your head, and an open wide ‘O’.

In no time at all, you came, and he still fucked you while you got down from your high before pulling out to finish on your ass. The water immediately washed away his cum. Dick was a silent lover, the only sounds he made were soft and quiet moans, a few gasps, and a small groan when he came.

You lost your grip and almost collapsed back onto him.

“You okay there, darling?” he held you up by embracing you in his arms.

“Mmm,” you hummed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled and kissed your temple. “Let’s get you all dried up and tucked in.”

You laid on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. Your eyes were droopy.

“I’ll be going on a mission for a few days,” he informed you. “Leaving tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” you responded, slightly disappointed. “Batfamily or a team thing?”

“Team thing.”

Your chest squeezed.

“Will she be there?”

“Not sure.”

Liar.

“Jason will be there, though,” he added.

That surprised you. “Oh? How come?”

“I asked him if he wanted to do something with the others that didn’t involve Bruce or Tim,” Dick explained, “He agreed. I think it’d be good for him, don’t you?”

“The fact that he agreed means that he is trying his best,” you agreed, “I’m so proud of him.”

“I think spending all that time investigating with you helped him,” Dick said, “Like it was the first step to getting out of his rut, you know?”

“He didn’t even seem like he was in a rut when he was with me,” you wondered back, “I mean- I knew that he was struggling in general with the whole guilt and self-loathing. But I didn’t know he was completely cut off from everyone else.”

“Not completely,” Dick sighed, “But he might as well have been. He tries, though.”

You smiled. Jason always tried his best at anything. “How long will you be away for?”

“Just three or four days. We’re going somewhere south this time. Nothing too big. Bane sighting, so just a recon for now unless we hit something big.”

“Looks like I’ll be on my own for a while, then,” you thought out loud, “I think I’ll just send in my first round of evidence and report to my client. It’s just Thorne’s accountant that is linked to Cobblepot for now, so if they want a deeper investigation linking back to Thorne, they’ll have to wait a little longer while I figure it out.”

“Try not to stir up the pot too much with Thorne, please,” Dick insisted, “I know you can take care of yourself, but I also know you don’t want any attention. It’ll be harder to do future jobs too if everyone knew who you were.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you conceded. You were getting sleepy again. “I’ll figure it out without exposing myself. Considering that I’m high in demand right now means that I should start laying low.”

“They should pay you more,” he stated. “Sleepy? Goodnight, darling. I love you.”

Your eyes closed as you mumbled back a reply.

***

The days that went by were uneventful, but that meant that you had time to sit back and reset.

Dropping off the evidence and report at a different locker from the first, you now had to wait a day before Dick and Jason came back from their mission. You usually dealt with being alone well, but for some reason you felt a tension in your shoulders. This usually happened when Dick was on a mission that lasted more than a couple of days, and especially if she was involved.

Unpleasant memories gnawed at your mind, so you forced them away by reorganizing your case files, your liquor cabinet, and your wardrobe. These were basically the only things you had in Dick’s apartment. You didn’t get attached to things, so the clothes you owned were just the essentials based on occasion- for when you needed to be professional, for when you needed to dress up, for when you needed to seduce, and for the everyday casual. You noticed a lot of dark colors. Navy, midnight, dark brown. Those were the colors you felt most comfortable in. Muted, and in the shadows, where you felt like you belonged.

That was how you kept yourself busy until both of your boys came back. You were anxious and on edge even worse than before, your gut making you feel uneasy. Intuition was one of your strengths, and that made it easier for you to tell what other people are thinking.

Dick had texted you before he returned, a ritual of his. He would always let you know when he was on the way home, safe. A portion of the tension was relieved, but you still felt like a rubber band stretched and waiting to snap.

It was sunset when you heard the familiar jingle of keys muffled behind the door. You stood up from the sofa and straightened your clothes, ready to greet him.

When you saw his face, you gasped.

“Dick! What happened?” you rushed to your partner. He had a large bruise forming on his left cheekbone, spreading to his slightly swollen eyes. “I thought you said it was just a recon.”

He averted his eyes from yours as he closed the door. You went to the freezer to get an ice pack you always kept handy and went to press it on his face.

“I’m fine, really,” he tried to awkwardly smile.

“It’s not everyday you come back with a bruised face,” you worried, “Who managed to hit you? Bane?”

“No,” he couldn’t meet your eyes again. He took the ice pack from you and sat down on the sofa. You took a seat next to him.

“Then?” you persisted. “Tell me.”

Dick closed his eyes and sighed. “Jason did.”

“Jason? What do you mean Jason?” you questioned, perplexed. “Jason punched you in the face?”

He turned his head away from you. It was obvious based on his body language that he was extremely uncomfortable and was hiding information from you. You didn’t need to be a pro to tell that.

“Yeah.”

You blinked. “Dick. I want to hear everything.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied quietly, “You should know.”

Silence.

“Well?” you probed.

“It was, uh, after the mission. Everything was done and everyone had packed. We were at HQ,” he began, still speaking quietly and averting his eyes. “I was in the living room with Kori. We were just talking.”

At the mention of her name, you now knew where this was going. You felt a heat creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks, burning. Your heart started racing. Your chest tightened until it started to hurt. Suddenly, all the memories you wanted to push away came flooding back.

Her touch on his shoulder. His eyes lighting up at his phone. You mistaking his phone for yours and seeing her messages. You crying, him apologizing. Nothing has happened between us, he promised. They’re just text messages. We’re just good friends. She’s hardly even on Earth these days.

You bit your lip and turned away, eyes brimming with tears you did not want to let fall.

“…one thing led to another, and,” he continued, “We kissed. Only for a moment. It was less than a second, I swear. Jason walked in on us and he just- he flipped. He grabbed me and punched me in the face. Said a lot of nasty things to both of us. Roy had to break it up, or things would have escalated.”

You remained silent, not knowing how to respond, not knowing what to even feel.

“Darling?” he turned toward you this time to look at you. You were staring straight ahead. “I promise, it meant nothing. It hardly even counts as a kiss. Nothing happened after. I didn’t even say goodbye to her, I haven’t said anything to her after I left.”

You turned to him, now feeling something. Heat, and anger. How dare he.

“It was just a short kiss?” you asked.

“Yeah-“

“But it would have been longer if Jason had not interrupted,” you stated.

“W-what-“

“But it would have possibly led to more than just a kiss if it weren’t for Jason,” you monotoned.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Then, Dick Grayson,” you stood up, “We are done.”

You stormed off to your room, Dick following behind you.

“Darling, please!” he called, “Let’s talk about this. Please.”

You grabbed your phone and sent a quick text to Jason.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said coolly. You opened your closet and reached for your backpack.

“Where are you going?” he asked, eyeing your overnight bag.

“That’s none of your business,” you fumed, walking past him toward the door. “There are so many things I want to say to you right now, but I am not in the right mind, and I will end up saying things I will regret.”

“I deserve everything you say to me.”

“You self-pitying bastard!” you turned and roared at him, “How dare you use your own guilt on me. You manipulative piece of-“

You stopped in your tracks, trying so fucking hard to reel in your shadow, to control yourself. You counted backwards. Dick knew not to disturb you at this state.

With one last deep breath, you left.

***

coming over. be there in 30.

Jason had not expected that text from you so soon. He knew you would have found out eventually, because if Dick had the nerve to lie to you, then he would be the one to tell you. It must have been difficult for Dick to tell you the truth, Jason thought. But Dick must have weighed out his options. His older brother knew that lying would have made him looked worse because there was no way Jason was going to keep you in the dark about something like that.

He was worried. Any other man who was in love with you would have been happy to hear that you were coming to them teary and heartbroken by your boyfriend. Any other man would have taken advantage of your vulnerability.

But Jason genuinely did not want you to feel that kind of pain. He wanted to protect you, he wanted you to be happy. You were his best friend. Which was why he was so fucking angry with Dick. How dare he.

He waited outside by the road for you and saw your familiar black sedan pulling over. The next thing he knew, you were in his arms, sobbing into his shirt. He placed a hand on the back of your head, and the other on your waist.

“I know, sunshine, I know,” he whispered to you. The both of you just stayed there in that position for a while. The streetlights were on, and the working class were heading home for the day. Some stared, but quickly averted their eyes when Jason glared at them.

Once you calmed down a little, Jason guided you up to his apartment. “It isn’t much,” he said, anxious about you seeing his tiny place.

It was a single bedroom, with a small battered up sofa and an unplugged TV on the floor. The kitchen area consisted of a single stove next to a small sink with overhead cabinets. One lone fridge stood next to the stove, and a circular dining table with a plastic chair was placed in between the kitchen area and the living room. He hadn’t invited you in this whole time because he didn’t want you to see the sorry state of his current home.

“I haven’t had time to properly get furniture or like, decorate or anything,” he continued. Not like he thought that you were going to judge, but Jason was proper in that sense, where he felt like his guests needed to be comfortable. He did eventually want to do some interior designing, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to put in effort into a temporary space. He eventually would want to move to a bigger apartment.

“It’s fine, Jay,” you sniffled, moving towards his sofa to sit down. Jason gave you a glass of warm water and sat down next to you. “Thanks. Sorry to barge in on you like this.”

“You can barge in anytime, you know that,” he nudged you with his shoulder. “So, come on. Talk to me.”

You looked at him with large watery eyes, and a trembling lower lip. Jason’s heart broke for you.

“He told me why you punched him,” you started, “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I would have done more,” he grit. Roy shouldn’t have stopped him.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“You already know what happened.”

“Not all of it,” you bit your lip, “He said that you were cursing at them. And Roy had to break it off.”

’You piece of shit, Grayson. What is wrong with you? Who do you think you are where you can do anything you want?’ Jason had said to a guilty looking Dick who was massaging his face after the punch. Starfire was next to him, silent. ‘Your whole Golden Boy persona was just to fool everyone around you, after all, huh? No wonder Barbara left you.’

‘Jason-’ Starfire had interrupted.

‘And you,’ he turned towards her. ‘You’re supposed to support other women, not sabotage them and tear them down.’

‘Don’t bring her into this, Jason,’ Dick defended, ‘You know her customs are different.’

‘Bullshit. You don’t get to use that as an excuse anymore. You’ve been here for what, a decade already? You know how we are. You can feel how we are. Time to stop fucking playing dumb, you’re not fooling me.’

‘Jason,’ Dick angrily stepped up to him, ‘Take a walk.’

‘How about you go fuck yourself, you cunt,’ Jason shoved him back, ‘Do you have any idea how long it took for her to trust anyone? Do you have any idea how much of a fucking asshole for you to be in order to hurt someone like her? You’re a fucking sham, Grayson. You’re a narcissist who manipulates people into doing whatever the fuck you want them to.’

‘What’s going on here?’ Roy had stepped in.

‘That’s what you did, didn’t you?’ he went on, ‘She was grieving, and one day she was crying and I bet you swooped in just to fuck her-’

‘You going to tell her, then?’ Dick had smirked. He had fucking smirked at Jason. ‘Isn’t this the perfect opportunity for you? You wanted her all along, right? So you’re going to tell her so she can finally see you as her knight in shining armor? Because whatever you did wasn’t working, trying to sweeten her up by calling her- what was it? Sunny, and Sunshine-’

Jason had it, then. He looked at Dick straight in the eye and-

“I spat at him,” he told you, omitting the rest. “Roy had to stop us then.”

“You didn’t,” you gasped. “Oh Jason, you really didn’t have to.”

“It just happened,” he said honestly, “Everything that happened, it was just instinct to me. I couldn’t let him get away from hurting you.”

You stared at him, and then tackled him into a bear hug.

“Jason, you’re the best,” you said into his chest. “I’m so glad I have you.”

Jason’s chest tightened with longing.

“I know, Sunny. I’m pretty awesome.”

You giggled.

Jason loved making you laugh.

“Could I stay here for a while?” you looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Just a week or two. I’m going to talk to the landlady and see if my old place is still available.”

“Stay as long as you like,” he smiled, caressing your hair.

“I’ll take the couch.”

“What? No. You take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“I can’t take your bed,” you rolled your eyes at him, “This is your place. You’re doing me a favor.”

“I’m not letting my guest-” he booped your nose, “take the couch.”

“I’ll just sleep here then and you can’t do anything about it,” you insisted stubbornly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jason stood up without warning, and then grabbed you by the hips, lifting you up and throwing you onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Jason- what the fuck!”

“I’m doing something about it,” he chuckled.

“Jason, put me down!” you slapped his back.

He carried you to his room and-

“Put you down? Okay,” he threw you onto his perfectly made king sized bed. He stood looking down at you with his hands on his hips and grinned triumphantly.

You pouted at him. “Fine. How about we both take the bed.”

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. “What? No.”

“There’s plenty of space for the both of us!” you argued. “And we used to have sleepovers all the time.”

“That was before!” he argued back, “We can’t share a bed now.”

“And why not?” you demanded.

“It’s inappropriate. You’re a girl, and I’m a guy.”

“It’s only inappropriate if you’re planning to do something inappropriate. Which you aren’t, are you?”

Jason felt heat in his cheeks and silently cursed himself for acting like a school boy.

“Of course not!” he huffed.

“Then there’s no problem, is there?” you gave him a smug look.

Jason silently scowled at you. “Fine.”

“Great, now I call dibs on the bolster.”

Jason didn’t bother arguing with you, because whatever you wanted, he knew he couldn’t say no.

***

In truth, you didn’t want to be alone.

It was funny how you were so used to being alone, and have always found comfort with your own company. Yet this time, the loneliness scared you. You didn’t want to be alone anymore, and Dick doing that to you triggered a kind of fear that you didn’t know existed.

A long time ago, Jason had made a joke about how sharing a room with you meant he could get better sleep since you made it dark and he didn’t need blackout curtains. You realized now that everything he said to you was a way to make you feel better about your shadow, even if you didn’t show any insecurity. He found little ways to let you know how much better it was with your shadow.

After dinner, which was just instant ramen and eggs that Jason had overcooked, the both of you watched a movie on your laptop in bed. Jason had fallen asleep halfway, and you suddenly felt bad for imposing on him. He must have been tired from the mission. You put your laptop away and layed next to him, attempting to fall asleep as well.

But there you were wide awake, suddenly hyper-aware of your own looming darkness around you and Jason’s back facing you. Dick was not your first, but he was your first serious partner. You really loved him, even then as you lay heartbroken.

Fighting back tears, you tried concentrating on Jason’s steady breathing.

He was breathing. He was alive. This time last year you were still mourning him, trying to move on by clinging onto Dick.

Was that what Dick was to you? Were you with him just so you could have an idea of how it would be like if you were with Jason?

Then why did this hurt so bad?

You woke up the next morning to Jason still sleeping next to you. His slight frown that was ever present relaxed slightly while he was asleep. You used to do this last time, too. Whenever you had sleepovers, you would observe him. How his lips were slightly parted, how he would bundle up in the sheets like a burrito. He hadn’t changed in that aspect.

Small scars littered his face, more than before. His eyelashes were slightly longer and darker, as were the circles under his eyes.

He stirred. You quickly turned to lie on your back.

“Hnggh,” he stretched and yawned, “Oh, you’re awake. Mornin’. Sleep okay?”

“Mhm,” you nodded and moved to get up, “How about you?”

“Not so good,” he rubbed his eyes and looked at you, “Someone was snoring super loud.”

“I do not snore!” you hit him with a pillow.

He laughed.

You cooked breakfast this time, scrambled eggs on toast while Jason waited. While you were eating with him, you asked, “Hey. Do you think you can come with me to Dicks’? I told him to pack up my stuff. It’s not much, but I’d like the company.”

***

Jason noticed you were biting your nails as you drove to Dicks’.

He felt bad for you in your anxious state, the interior of the car much darker than outside. He would have to keep a cool head while he was there, because it wasn’t about him. He was only with you for moral support.

You unlocked the apartment door with your key and turned the knob.

“Baby!” Dick approached you but paused when he saw Jason. “Oh, you’re here too.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“I told you not to be here, Dick,” you groaned. “Did you even pack up my stuff?”

“I did,” Dick followed you into your room, “But I wanted to talk.”

Jason let you and Dick have some space, but hovered closeby to make sure you were okay.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shoved a box into Jason’s arms. “Could you help carry a couple of these? It’s not much, I promise.”

“Sure,” he mumbled back as you stacked another box on top.

“You can bring these to the car first?”

He glanced at Dick. “You going to be okay on your own?”

“I can take-”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but that’s not what I meant,” he said sternly.

You paused. “I’ll be alright. Thank you.”

He left and loaded the car. He walked back to the apartment.

“-you know how I felt about you. How I still feel about you,” Jason overheard Dick. He entered the apartment quietly to watch the two of you talk.

“No, I don’t. I have always felt insecure about her and you knew that. I always suspected that you guys weren’t actually over,” you put a box on the counter and crossed your arms at Dick, lips trembling.

“I’m really sorry that I made you feel that way,” Dick replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But we were there for each other. We both mourned together. That’s not something I shared with anyone else.”

You turned away and glanced at Jason for a moment, who gave you a small encouraging smile.

He hated seeing Dick touch you the way he was.

“And I cared for you and stayed with you,” Dick continued, “Even though I knew that it wasn’t me that made you stay. Even though I knew the whole time you wished I was Jason.”

Jason saw a flash of anger in your eyes, and you slapped Dick’s hand away.

“Richard John Grayson,” you fumed.

Jason recognized the change of aura even though he had not felt it in years. Suddenly, the room grew dark, as if an eclipse were happening right outside.

“How dare you insinuate that I was thinking of another man while I was with you,” you growled, “How dare you think that I stooped that low. That you think I have no decency and dignity to do that to you, when you were the one who kept on running behind my back.”

Behind you, a darkness grew and grew, distorting the lighting in the room in impossible ways. Dick took a step back from you. This was what scared everyone else away from you.

But to Jason, this was one of the most beautiful forms he saw you as. A dangerous, powerful dark queen. He stared in awe at you, his heart racing because he forgot how much he loved seeing you like this. It was as if he had fallen in love with you all over again for the very first time.

Then, Jason remembered where you were, and he knew you would regret it if you were to accidentally cause any harm to Dick.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he stepped in, “The car’s all loaded and ready to go.”

Your eyes snapped back at Jason, and then darted towards Dick. There was a slight panic on your face before the room was bright again.

***

There was a specific kind of anxiety you felt when you feared judgment coming from someone you love, and whose opinions matter to you. You noticed that Jason had been sneaking worried glances at you as you drove back from Dicks’, and even as you both carried your things up to his apartment.

Was he wary of you now? You had lost control of your shadow for a moment when you were angry at Dick. Jason had snapped you back to reality, but you saw the look on his face. Eyes wide with shock and worry.

“I understand if you don’t want me to stay here anymore,” you said when the both of you finally put all your things down in Jason’s apartment. “I have money and I can find a place to stay.”

Jason crossed his arms at you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” you hesitated, looking anywhere but his piercing gaze. Suddenly the peeling paint on the walls felt more interesting. “You saw what happened. I understand if you don’t want that kind of danger around you.”

“That kind of danger?” Jason repeated before realizing what you meant. He sighed and walked toward you, skipping past the boxes on the floor. Towering over you, he lifted your chin up with a finger. “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”

“You looked like you were…”

You saw his frustration. “Tell me, amongst the both of us, who here has actually hurt Dick?”

You blinked at him.

“You have this- this darkness, right? Do you think getting beaten to death, resurrected in some weird magic cartoonish toxic waste looking pit and then brainwashed wouldn’t affect me and make me have some kind of darkness as well? Between you and me, I have caused way more destruction than you have. Way more. Do you really think I’d be afraid of you?”

“Well- but- you don’t have this uncontrollable power that could hurt the people you love at any time!” you argued.

“Sunny, listen to what you’re saying!” he responded incredulously, “I literally tried my best to hurt the people I love. You have been trying your best to protect them. Haven’t you?”

You avoided his piercing gaze by looking away. “I guess.”

“So don’t be silly,” he booped your nose, “Put away your things and stay as long as you want. Make a grocery list to stock up the fridge, and maybe help decorate the place a little, huh?”

“Yeah, okay,” you smiled sheepishly at him. “But I don’t want to stay for long. Just until I get somewhere more permanent. There’s only one bedroom and you snore.”

“I do not!” he huffed as he helped pick a box of your clothes to bring to the room.

“Jason?” you called out. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

The days flew by and you found it hard not to enjoy this new routine that you and Jason had built. It wasn’t dissimilar to Dicks’ as Jason also went out at night for patrol. The only difference was that he didn’t have a day job, which made you question how he could afford his bills and rent.

“I have my ways,” he simply replied when you brought up the subject. It was dusk on the eighth day you were there and he was armoring up for the night, double checking his weapons and gadgets.

“Are you still doing illegal nightly activities?” you asked.

“We’re a family of vigilantes,” he managed to give you a roll of his eyes before putting on his helmet. “Everything we do is illegal.”

You approached him and placed both your palms on either side of the shiny red metal helmet that were littered with scratches and scuff marks. You could hear his crackled breathing through the built-in voice changer.

“You know what I mean,” you said, rubbing off a mark where his brow should be.

A pause. “Yeah, I have some arrangements with some contacts. But it’s nothing that can harm anyone. No drugs or trafficking or anything. Some smuggling of rare goods. Antiques.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, “I’ve dabbled in some black market antiquities myself.”

“You have?” you heard the surprise in his mechanical walky-talky like voice.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, “For a client a couple years ago, and only for a few months. I enjoyed the research, but I find that investigating interpersonal relationships and people was more fulfilling. Which is why I try not to take cases that want me to help take down someone’s competitor. Unless it’s a whistleblower type, then it would be my number one priority.”

“How honorable,” he joked.

“Shut up, Darth Vader,” you laughed, then without thinking, tip-toed to place a peck on the cool metal. “Stay safe, Jay.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and the only thing you could hear was his breathing. The silence made you anxious. Perhaps you shouldn’t have done that?

“Good night, Sunny,” he finally said, and then left through the balcony.

***

It was 6 in the morning on the eleventh day you were staying at Jason’s house when he returned from his night out. His shoulders and neck ached, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to eat or sleep. But the thought of getting under the covers with you by his side helped him with his decision.

He climbed down the fire escape and jumped onto his balcony, avoiding the new potted plants you had gotten him just a few days ago. He slid open the door and started to take off his boots at the same time before pausing at the sight of his dining table.

You were asleep with your head rested on your crossed arms on the table, papers scattered everywhere. He made you promise that night before he left that you would sleep early and take it easy with your work, but since the published article and the following public statement from Thorne, you heard back from your client to go harder.

He took off his helmet and threw it on the sofa. Approaching you quietly, he tip-toed to the dining table and smiled softly. He contemplated carrying you to the room, but he knew he couldn’t pick you up without waking you up.

“Hey there, sleepy head,” he softly whispered and put a hand on your back. You stirred awake.

“Jason?” you mumbled, lifting your head up and blinking. “What time is it?”

“Just after six,” he answered. “Go to bed. Come on. I’ll join you in a sec, too.”

You nodded and yawned, then stumbled to the room. Jason held back a chuckle when he saw you sprawled on top of the sheets.

He washed up and looked at his own reflection in the foggy mirror. He frowned at the hideous scars on his body. Mostly old, some new ones. A bruise was forming across his left rib where he got punched the day before. He quickly put on his shirt, trying his best to hide his ugly body from you.

***

Your neck was stiff when you turned to your side and saw Jason sleeping soundly next to you. He was on his back, his head turned away to the other side. You watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath. You smiled to yourself when you remembered he had woken you up and made you sleep in bed. You needed to move out soon. You felt bad for taking up his space.

As you were watching him, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that his shirt rode up slightly, revealing his tummy that you knew were hard to the touch. You frowned at the faint scars that littered his skin. You had always liked that about him. Scars on a man was so badass, and you knew Jason was very very skilled at fighting. Those scars showed experience in hand to hand combat with multiple weapons and tools, something you respected.

Your eyes trailed down to his sage green shorts. It wasn’t your fault, you were just following his happy trail in that direction. Your eyes widen and you blushed at what you were seeing. Was… was he hard? No. Not fully. But still, you could see the loose fabric of his shorts stretch out and form the silhouette of his bulge. Your heartbeat quicken and you felt a familiar warmth at the base of your stomach.

Men often got hard when they slept, and contrary to popular belief, it sometimes did not have anything to do with spicy dreams. As their body phased into the rest and digest state, their heartbeat slows, their breathing deepens, and well, they get erections. So now you found yourself breathing hard through your nose at the sight of Jason’s chub, his semi-boner, his leaning tower of-

You closed your eyes.

You had a crush on Jason before, yes, but that was before your sexual awakening. You never had dirty fantasies of him. Just holding hands and kissing in the cinema. And when you were hanging out with him, perhaps you had forced those thoughts away since you were with Dick and would have felt bad for thinking of his brother that way.

But now there was nothing stopping your thoughts from running wild. You opened your eyes again, but looked upwards instead, to his neck stretched out and bare to you. Subconsciously, you licked your lips at the sight of his jugulars, the curvature of his well-developed SCM muscle that made you want to litter little love bites on-

You got ahead of yourself for the first time regarding Jason. And now that you have, you knew there was no way your overactive imagination was going to calm down everytime you looked at him.

You spent the next couple of hours outside on the sofa with your legs up and stretched, switching back and forth between reading a dirty novel to scrolling on your phone. Around 4 in the afternoon, Jason woke up and took a seat next to you with his own book and phone. You curled your legs to make room for him to sit, which he did, but then he took your calves and pulled your legs to rest on his thighs.

You tried hard to read the paragraph you were on. ‘His chocolate brown eyes burned into hers as she watched him crawl between her legs-’

Suddenly you felt the skin of your lower legs burn as Jason rested his forearms on them to read his book. You peeked at him from above your novel and saw his messy bed hair and frown and oh, God he was looking at you.

“What’re you reading?” you quickly blurted to cover up the fact that you were staring at him.

“Middle Eastern history,” he replied, “You?”

Oh, no. You hadn’t thought this far. “Oh. Just a novel.” You hid your face behind your book again.

You felt Jason shift closer to you. “Ooh, a romance novel?”

“Yes.”

He was leaning nearer to read the synopsis at the back. You quickly closed the book and glared at him.

“What’s wrong?” he chuckled, “I just wanted to see what it was about.”

“You wouldn’t like it anyway,” you crossed your arms.

“Or, you don’t want me to know you’re reading smut,” he grinned.

“Am not!” you huffed, putting your knees up in a fetal position, but with your back leaning against the sofa arm.

“I think I saw the word sexy and breathless there,” he teased, reaching out to grab the book from you.

In panic, you threw the book across the room. Jason’s eyes widened in shock at where the book landed. Then he looked at you. And then he burst out laughing.

“So it was smut!” he guffawed.

“Shut up!” you yelled.

He rested his chin on top of your knees and watched you. “Aww, you’re blushing!” he teased again, “No, no, don’t cover up your face, you’re cute when you blush!”

That made you blush even harder. You peeked at him through your fingers and saw that he was still resting his head on your knees with a massive grin on his face. “Don’t call me cute!”

His grin turned into a soft smile. “But it’s true.”

Now you felt like it was your eyes that were being burned into by Jason’s blue ones. His stare had always been so intense, even back when you were teens.

The both of you suddenly were staring at each other for what felt like eons. Suddenly you felt awkward, and you broke eye contact.

“Anyway,” you looked away and got up to a proper sitting position, causing Jason to resume his as well, “What’s for dinner? Wanna go out? I feel like going out.”

You couldn’t bear to be in close proximity with him any longer. You felt like you were going to explode into flames.

“Oh, finally leaving the rabbit hole of old corruption cases, are you?” he retorted.

“You can’t blame me, Jay,” you pouted, “Didn’t you read what they said! It was so infuriating. I would have preferred if they came up with a lie instead.”

After sending your client the photos of Thorne’s accountant meeting up with Oswald Cobblepot, the article made the front page of Gotham Gazette, the author under a pseudonym. The relationship between a well known criminal and the mayoral candidate’s accountant was reported along with the photo you took. There was an uproar on social media and a press conference. Two days after that, another report.

Thorne basically didn’t bother to cover anything up but denied it with a smirk on his face, ridiculing the journalist. Whoever wrote that he had said, has been skulking old internet forums full of conspiracy theorists- and probably has seen one too many YouTube videos on Photoshop. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were a Flat Earther. However, I must express my disappointment in Gotham Gazette. I thought they were a proper news source and not a tabloid magazine.

Along with his smile, charm, and wit, his statement won over everyone again. The next day you received another text promising even more money if you get concrete evidence, bank and witness statements, audio or video recording, or official documents from legitimate sources incriminating Thorne.

“I get it,” Jason nodded, “And the offer for help is still up.”

Jason had suggested breaking into his home.

“I know. When the time comes, Jay. Not now. I still need to piece some things together. And his security is tight. We might need another method.”

“Just let me know when, and I’ll drop everything to help you,” he said seriously. Before you could protest, he continued. “All this Middle Eastern reading makes me want shawarma before going out tonight. I have a… business meeting.”

“Antiquities?” you asked.

“Yeah, some stone inscription.”

“Can I tag along?” you inquired excitedly. “I need to take a break from the cases and come back with a fresh perspective. Only if you’re okay with it. I know there’s probably some hierarchy thing going on.”

“Hierarchy thing?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’re the boss man aren’t you?” you poked him. “You can’t just bring some girl to a business meeting.”

“Because I am the boss man, I can do whatever I want,” he shifted towards you and booped your nose. “And you’re not just some girl.”

You looked away to hide the creeping blush again. What was wrong with you?

“Anyway, sure you can tag along.”

“Yay!” you got up and grinned. “Let me find something to wear.”

You dug through your box of clothes and found black tights, a form fitting black jersey jacket and a black mask that covered your mouth. This was what you usually wore when you had to sneak around.

“Uh,” Jason scratched his head, “No. Wait, turn around.”

You obliged.

“Yeah, no,” he stated, “That material is too thin. Do you have a kevlar vest or something?”

You frowned and went to dig up your old kevlar vest from another box.

“Perfect!” he clapped, “No, hold on. Here.”

He forced you into his oversized black hoodie over the bulky vest. “Now it’s perfect.”

“Jason, I look so chonky!” you complained. “Why can’t I be cool and stylish like you?”

“Because my outfit is already bullet-proof,” he said smugly, “You need to be protected just in case. Now stop pouting and wait here while I change.”

After the both of you got ready, he took you down to another alley into a garage he bought and revealed his 1969 Chevrolet Impala.

“We’re not taking your bike?” you asked, slightly disappointed. You sat in the passenger seat and heard him turn on the engine, the loud rev making you jump.

“We have precious cargo,” he explained.

“Oh, right! The slab,” you facepalmed.

“That, too,” he smirked, “But I was talking about you.”

***

You noticed that Jason changed his body language when he was in Red Hood mode. He stood up straight with his head held high, asserting dominance in the way he walked and moved. You would be lying if you didn’t think it was hot.

“As promised,” the tall and slender man with olive skin and dark facial hair said with his heavy accent. “6th century Byzantine inscription.”

He opened a heavy duty black metal briefcase that showed a gray stone slab with carvings on its surface. You were next to Red Hood, who took a closer look and nodded at you to come closer.

Upon better observation, your eyes widen. No… It could not be.

“Is your consultant satisfied?” the man asked.

Red Hood had introduced you as his consultant in Middle Eastern antiquities for a second opinion. You nodded at him curtly.

“Yes, she is satisfied. As am I,” his distorted voice agreed, “Here is four hundred thousand. As promised. You did well, Malik.”

“Thank you, sir,” he nodded, taking the duffel bag of cash that Red Hood had handed to him.

The both of you exited the dark building where Malik was running his business next to a dodgy law firm and got into the car.

“Jason!” you immediately squealed as he turned the engine on. “How much are you selling that for to the auctioneer?”

“A Byzantine slab would go for eight hundred, probably,” he shrugged.

“Jason, that’s not a Byzantine slab! That’s the ancient Sabaean alabaster stone inscription from the third century. Its last known location was at an auction in Paris, but it originates from The Awwam Temple in Yemen-”

You didn’t finish your sentence because you had noticed Jason’s body language. He hadn’t reacted to you at all. “You knew what it was.”

“Of course I did,” he said. And even though his whole head was covered, you knew he had that smug smirk on his face.

“And you let Malik think it was Byzantine,” you stated, “Because, of course. If he had an inkling of what it was, the price would have went up.”

“You knew what it was too, and you let Malik believe it,” he shrugged, “Proud of you, Sunny, my little con artist.”

Jokingly, he patted you on the thigh to commend you. It was only a few seconds, yet your heart had started racing.

“Who is this auctioneer? Does he know what he’s getting?” you quickly tried to distract yourself.

“Harry Willowman,” Jason replied, “He thinks he is getting a sixth century Byzantine slab, and he is going to try to get away with buying it for less than what it’s worth.”

“Willowman,” you repeated to yourself.

“You know him?” Jason made a right turn into a large estate.

“I’ve dealt with him a few times in the past, but it was a while back. I don’t think he would remember me.”

“Would it be bad if he did?” he inquired, driving the car to a stop in front of the large mansion.

“We’ll just have to see.”

It was weird, going up to a mansion and ringing the doorbell, as if it wasn’t three in the morning, as if you weren’t wearing a kevlar vest underneath the atrociously large hoodie, and as if you weren’t accompanied by the six foot something vigilante wearing a red motorcycle helmet.

You were greeted by the butler, because of course these people had butlers, and the interior really did remind you of Wayne Manor in its classical finishing, but this place had many more things.

From vases and pots, to paintings and tapestry, to old cabinets and random statues of forgotten Gods and Goddesses, the hallway into Willoman’s office itself already looked like a museum. The butler, an old man about sixty years of age, led you up the marble staircase to the second floor and knocked at the first door, the largest.

“Come in,” said the muffled voice behind it.

Red Hood entered first, and you followed behind him.

“Red Hood,” Harry Willowman acknowledged, “And you brought company.”

Harry Willowman was an Englishman in his mid-forties, and was wearing a beige waffle sweater and khaki slacks. His salt and pepper hair was styled back, and he was as handsome as you remembered.

“This is my associate. She is my consultant during exchanges to make sure items are what they say they are.”

Harry leaned forward from his leather chair to get a closer look at you and frowned. “Have we met before?”

“No time for introductions. Here’s your slab.”

Red Hood set the case on Harry’s heavy wooden desk. Harry proceeded to click the locks open. “Ah, my Byzantine-”

You noticed the way his eyes sparkled just for a moment when he saw what was inside.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “This is a beautiful Byzantine specimen. I shall offer you eight hundred for it, like we promised.”

“Ah, but you see, Mr Willowman,” Red Hood protested politely, “We agreed eight hundred for a Byzantine inscription.”

“And you brought me a Byzantine inscription,” Harry acted confused.

Red Hood turned to you and nodded. You knew what he meant.

“Red Hood will take no less than two million dollars for the third century Sabaean alabaster stone inscription,” you said curtly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at you, and proceeded to laugh. “My dear, you don’t think this is the inscription from Awam Temple? The script here is clearly Koine.”

“I am not your dear,” you snapped, “And Koine is a Hellenistic script. As you can see here, it is clearly Middle Persian, or more specifically Sabaean. Some Parthian scripture has Hellenistic influence, but Sabaic specifically, since it is derived from ancient Aramaic, utilizes mater lectionis- a common variable in Semitic languages. Not Hellenistic.”

Harry stared at you in wonder, but then his eyes narrowed, and a smirk appeared on his lips. “I couldn’t recognise you with that ridiculous outfit you have on, Jade. Whatever happened to the tight leather?”

You clenched your jaw. “Two. Million.”

“Downings,” Harry called to his butler, “Fetch our friends here four of those bags, will you? Turns out one of them is an old associate.”

The room was suddenly tense. You could almost feel Red Hood next to you, coiled up and ready to spring.

“Jade The Judge,” Harry recited again, “What a surprise. How did you get her out of her little hiding hole, Red?”

“I don’t make comments about her outfit,” Red Hood snarkily replied.

Harry laughed. “No, Red, you don’t get it. You didn’t see Jade when she was in her prime. What was it that people used to say? When Jade The Judge walks, darkness follows. People used to be terrified of her. But I was completely infatuated. She left as swiftly as she arrived. But we used to have some fun didn’t we, Jade?”

You felt an icy cold shiver run down your spine in disgust. It was before Dick, when you were still mourning Jason.

You noticed Red Hood’s fists clench.

Before anyone could say anything, the butler arrived with four briefcases, struggling to juggle them in his arms.

“You’ll find that every dollar is accounted for,” Harry explained, the mischievous twinkle in his eye still ever present. “Because I know you will have my head if any small amount is missing.”

You picked up two briefcases, and Red Hood picked up the other two. Without saying any goodbyes, the both of you turned and left the room, but not without hearing Harry’s voice in the distance calling out to you. “I’m looking forward to more leather tights, Jade!”

The ride back home was silent. Jason drove into the garage and parked, taking off his helmet. The both of you walked to Jason’s apartment, and upon entering, you took off your mask, the hoodie, and the uncomfortable vest.

Before anything else was said, you quickly blurted out. “We did.”

Jason turned to you with his eyebrows raised. “Hmm?”

“Harry and I. We slept together. A few times. It was a long time ago,” you shuffled your feet. For some reason, you felt like you were a deer caught in the headlights of a car. You didn’t know why you were confessing this to Jason, and you didn’t know why you felt such shame doing so.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” he came up to you and smiled softly.

“I know, but you were thinking it.” Tears were brimming. “It was before Dick, when I was mourning you still. I was in a very dark place, and I was reckless for the sake of being reckless.”

Jason then frowned. “Does he know your real identity?”

“Oh, God, no!” you shook your head furiously, “I had my mask on, or it would have been in the dark.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your feet. “I figured I might as well get it out of the way.”

“Well, thank you for telling me,” he replied. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you forced a smile. “Go shower first. I need a drink.”

You downed a shot of vodka and took a long, deep breath. After a while, you heard the shower turn off in the room. You head to the shower.

You opened the door to Jason’s room and was greeted with him shirtless with only his sweatpants on. He was drying his hair with his towel, but droplets of water fell onto his skin, running down his body. You gulped and blushed before saying “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”

Jason’s eyes widen when he realised you were there. “Sunny! No! I’m sorry. Fuck! Let me put on a shirt real quick.”

He rushed to his closet and put on his shirt, but not before you caught a glimpse of his toned back muscles flexing with movement. Fuck.

“I’m really fucking sorry,” Jason said.

“What? Jason, no. I’m the one who intruded. I’m sorry, I know you’re shy,” you exasperatedly tried to calm him down. But Jason looked like he was in pain.

“No. I know how fucking disgusting my body is. You weren’t meant to see it. Sorry.”

You were shocked into silence. He was standing in front of you, but his head turned away.

“Jason,” you gently approached him, “Who told you that?”

“No one,” he denied, “But I know how I look, and I don’t want you to have to see that shit.”

“Oh, Jason,” you sighed. “I don’t find you disgusting at all.”

“You don’t have to be nice,” he grit, “I saw you looking.”

Suddenly, you felt the familiar heat creep up to your cheeks. “I- uh, I. I was looking. Yes. I was. But not because I think you’re disgusting. I was- uh. I was… admiring…you…”

“What?” he frowned.

“Look,” you gathered your courage and pierced his eyes with yours. “I’ve seen your scars, yes. And the way I see it, your scars means you are a skilled fighter. All those lessons learned. All that experience. I wish I had your skills. But I just have this stupid shadow. So I respect it. I respect your scars, and your body, and you.”

Jason was still quiet. You could almost see the gears in his head turning as he contemplated on your words.

“And,” you decided to come out with it. “I think. That. Your body. Is. Superhotorwhatever.”

Now you were blushing furiously, but was still watching Jason’s expressions. His frown subsided, and then the corner of his lips twisted upwards in a smirk. “You think I’m hot?”

“Ugh, I should not have said that,” you groaned and turned to walk away.

“No, no, tell me more about how you like my body,” Jason laughed.

“Stop!” you whined, “I’m going to shower.”

“Wait,” he stopped you in your tracks. “Thank you. Really. I wouldn’t have believed you if you hadn’t been blushing.”

“Go away!” you ran to the bathroom and closed the door on Jason chuckling at you.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, processing the day, the night, and the feelings that you felt since the day before. You groaned to yourself when you hit the realization.

You had a crush on your best friend. Again.

[lunas-side-anime-blog]

Modern College Student/BF Armin Arlert Headcanons

(rewatching aot and damn I forgot how much I love armin.  someone pls put me onto some good armin fan fiction?  this boy doesn’t get anough attention honestly, lemme know if you guys want me to do anyone else, im thinking eren next?)

Pre law student

I think in the modern world, Armin would only look at his love for the ocean and nature as hobbies.  When it comes to investing in his education and making money to support himself and his family, he’d go into a major he’s good at just to be safe.  And that’s persuasive arguments, crazy attention to detail and maybe a little manipulation for the greater good so yeah…lawyer it is 🙂

Currently focusing on political science for his BA before law school

Shares a small apartment with Eren and Mikasa cuz they all looked at dorm life and were collectively like “yea, fuck that”

Armin and Mikasa are up first every morning, and they usually share a lil breakfast together before deciding which one should dare try to drag Eren out of bed

Has the best color-coded notes, the type of student to type into the chats links to resources he found helpful when doing the homework, pulls thru with the quizlet right before quizzes

Heavy on that study beats, listens to it even when not studying

Has canva pro and no you cannot use it 🫶🏻

Strict study schedule but he doesn’t go overboard like other honor kids.  He gives himself plenty of breaks and plans his workload so he can enjoy his weekends bc he knows he’ll be useless all burnout 

His Starbucks order is an iced brown sugar oat milk shaken espresso, sometimes with a blueberry muffin, boy likes his sweets

The Starbucks staff around the corner knows him personally and even have a lil crush on him since he's there so often, polite and always puts something in the tip jar (he may get a few free cake pops here and there)

Loves the sims and doing little legacy challenges, the type to get emotional when his sim gets married or has kids because he fr raised them

Deep into the lore too, has his theories about Bella Goth and hates Don Lothario with a passion

One time Eren deleted his saved family and Armin didn’t speak to that man for two weeks

Secretly loves fanfiction but only found family fanfiction bc it reminds him so much of his relationship with Eren and Mikasa. Soft spot for anything Harry Potter tho (proud ravenclaw)

I don’t think he’d smoke weed bc I feel like he’d be a paranoid high so it’d be more stressful than relaxing tbh

But he always trip sits his friends!  

Will go to parties if dragged along but the most he’ll drink is like a twisted tea or white claw and just kinda watch his friends get hammered like 🫣

The type of guy at the party who’ll get dragged into some drunk crying girl’s story about her bf and he’s just sitting there with his one drink, sober asf like, “omfg bestie! you need to dump him, like i’ll help you draft that text rn”

Smells like Johnson and Johnsons baby soap and like he’s so embarrassed about it but his skin is so sensitive he has to use the goo goo gaga stuff

Other than that he kinda smells like fresh laundry?  Uses too much detergent and dryer sheets so his clothes smell like extra good and he doesn’t wear cologne so yeah, hope you like Tide bitches✌🏼

Very loyal to the vanilla bean burts bees chapstick

Has a blue hydro flask that he always has with him, also constantly reminding his friends to drink more water

Totally has scared Eren by telling him about kidney stones and how the dumbass might have to just pee out rocks if he doesn’t drink sum fucking water.

Eren now takes hydrating v seriously :)

Most of his friends will go to him more than their actual advisor bc Armin is just much more helpful tbh and he loves telling them which classes or internships they should take.  

Actually prefers articles and podcasts over books bc of practicality and he already has to read so fucking much for school

But is lowkey one of the annoying ppl where like any conversation you’ll have will end with him like, “Oh earlier I was listening to this one podcast and-”

Has painted his nails a few times but I think he’s a nail biter so he kinda stopped after unintentionally eating so much nail polish

Secret passion for skin care, may or may not be a skincarebyhyram stan

Tried countless times to get Eren to at least wear spf everyday but yea, that bitch don’t listen

Mikasa does tho and they actually go to sephora together once every month for lil skincare hauls (baddie w her baddie friend)

Calls his grandpa everyday, even if it’s just for a few minutes bc he knows his grandpa is all alone now that he left for school and armin just wants him to know that he’s doing fine and making him proud

As your Bf

You guys probably met thru a friend of a friend, most likely you befriended Mikasa or Eren and they started bringing you over and eventually Armin would meet you

Bc in no way would Armin actively search for something romantic when his main focus rn is getting his degree but like damn you were just-

Wow

Anyway, as your bf expect literally so many forehead kisses

Kinda clingy bc he is indeed a scorpio, once it’s official between you two every night he’s like “so we sleeping at my place or yours?”

Bc why would you guys just sleep apart from each other?  

Armin fr forgot how to 

Fav cuddle position is you on your back and him with his head on your chest and arms around your waist

Bonus if you play with his hair and whisper sweet nothings by his temple

I’m on team soft dom armin, boy is a ppl pleaser for sure but still a dom

He’s pretty vanilla and heavy on praise, but if you want him to go hard and degrade you or manhandle you, he would as long as you guys set up a safeword first

His post nut clarity would hit hard tho and he would be so afraid you saw him as some sort of sexist pig afterwards

“WOMEN ARE BEAUTIFUL AND STRONG, IN NO WAY DO I CODONE-”

“Babe chill all you did was spank me.”

If you have a vagina, he is like super educated on the anatomy🤓

Fr makes you pee after sex

Washes his hands before fingering you and you’re just sitting there trying to stay in the mood like “😀”

Tbh the only things I think would be off the table for Armin is anything unhygienic or like anything involving other ppl bc boy is too insecure and possessive for anyone else to be seeing you like that

Sex on the beach isn’t happening either.

If you try to convince him he would just be like,”Sand will end up everywhere (y/n)!  Honestly, it’s like you WANT a yeast infection!”

Having a pre law bf is literally having your own attorney at your beck and call

If you have a problem with a teacher for example, Armin would fr hop on a call with the college and be like “sweetie, who was the head of your department again?”

Next thing you know the poor teacher is fired lol

Can and will fight all your battles

The perfect study buddy, like he'll make flashcards for you without you even asking or telling him what the next test was about?

You never have to edit or revise your essays again, Armin is just proud that you wrote it all out, he’ll take care of it from there so all you have to do later is submit

Armin made one day of the week your guys’ date night and literally someone would have to die in order for him to reschudle bc the boy takes it sooo seriously

Literally Eren can call from the hospital and Armin will just be like “you know what day it is?  Right, it’s Thursday.  Which is date night for me and Y/n.  So unless that broken arm turns into organ failure, don’t call me!”  

Date nights are museums, cafes, planetariums, sometimes you guys will even take a class together

But honestly, the best dates are the ones you guys have at home bc he likes just having you all to himself

Boy is jealous, but more so possessive

Like, it takes a very certain action to piss him off enough to act outwardly bitchy

Boys can make you laugh, they can compliment you, they can try to impress you

But if a boy were to try to protect and care for you?

Armin will snap

Thats literally his job and he sees it as a threat

Will go out of his way to make the dude look really incompentent.

Your study partner brought you a snack bc they know you missed breakfast?

“Y/n doesn’t like that brand, it hurts their tummy.  Maybe you should ask before just shoving whatever in their face😒”  

Its cold out and some guy offers you their jacket?  

“Woah there, prince charming, I don't think your 10 dollar Old Navy hoodie is gonna cut it. Darling, why don’t we head inside and get you a hot drink? 😇”  

A guy friend stops by with some medicine bc he heard you were at home sick?  

Armin’s there at the door like, “My baby’s immune system is really weak right now, the last thing they need is strangers just coming over and making them sicker.  How thoughtless are you?🤬”

Fights don’t really happen bc Armin is so good at de escalating situations, he’s also just such a simp for you that you’ll always gets your way

The only fights he won’t back down from are the ones where he feels like your safety is at risk

Over his dead fucking body would you do anything even remotely dangerous

This is where I see manipulative Armin.  He’d use his skills to convince you that you didn’t even care about what you were arguing for in the first place

At first he might feel a little guilty but after realizing you’re objectively safer from his manipulation, he doesn’t feel as bad

Kinda yandere tbh, but really soft and not dangerous

Your location should always be on tho☺️

Fav Nicknames for you: darling, baby, princess/prince

Songs that fit the vibe: Turning Page by Sleeping At Last, Bad Habit by Steve Lacy and As The World Caves In by Mat Maltese 

“Yes, it’s you I welcome death with, as the world caves in.”

“Nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart.”  

“Thought you were too good for me my dear, never gave me time of day my dear.” 

[goth-pod]

Goth-Pod Ep 6: Bruce Wayne

Welcome back to goth pod! Come with Juda Boone to start the discussion on Gotham's most well-known name.

[goth-pod is a fictional in-universe podcast based on the DC comics universe. Juda Boone is an original fictional character, not based on any real person or known comic book character.]

Transcript under the cut

Hello everyone and welcome back to Goth-Pod! Your Gotham based podcast. You're listening to cape supremacy believer and host, Juda Boone.

Gotham, we have a problem. A problem that we have let run loose and unaccounted for for far too long. 

That Problem? Bruce Wayne. 

I know I said I wasn’t going to explain who Bruce Wayne is, but the man has been running rampant in our fair city and I finally feel the need to speak my peace. 

Did you know that Bruce Wayne gives a major portion of Wayne Enterprise profits to local charities? Actually- he’s responsible for all the major renovations and expansions of the children's hospital for the past decade. 

I mean, I can’t believe no one is talking about how ridiculous that is. He could obviously be putting that money to better use elsewhere. Like a private jet. 

Or maybe- maybe he should lose his ludicrous petitioning for keeping the City park clean and instead fashion a huge W-shaped building over it. 

It’s just hard, as a Gotham citizen, to see this man be so annoyingly good at being a Father. Doesn't he know that there is a very lonely office that he should be attending to? Keeping vulnerable children out of the vulturous media is truly just inconsiderate to his many raving fans.

I’m concerned about what sort of precedents this could set for other people in his position. Celebrities, CEO’s, Billionaires- with a B. They might start getting ideas to act as people and treat others as people should Wayne continue this kind of behavior!

Free Resources for the Gotham community, healthcare and livable wages for his employees? Who does this man think he is? 

And I want to say that this is not coming from a completely outsider perspective. My family has been personally effected by this. My uncle used to be at an entry-level position at Wayne Enterprises. And thanks to W.E’s scholarship program for all employees, he was able to go back to school with a full ride. 

Gotham City, with it’s grime and criminal underground and villains, shouldn’t have Bruce Wayne.

But we do. And if it wasn’t obvious, I have been sarcastic for most of this episode.

Bruce Wayne, behind the glitz, is someone who cares deeply about the city. I don’t feel entirely comfortable pointing at a rich man and going “Don't worry, he's one of the good ones!” Which is probably why I formatted this episode the way I did. 

Bruce Wayne isn’t the “Prince” of Gotham for nothing. Now, I feel like there's an old adage about.. Heroes.. And what they may or may not wear.. Huh, I can't think of it right now. Let me know if you guys remember it. 

Thanks for joining. I’m Juda and you’re listening to Goth-Pod. Until next time, stay safe, Gotham.

[eardefenders]

Hey maybe you shouldn’t be sharing any form of content that is paywalled for the purpose of generating financial support for smaller creators? It’s almost like they’re not sharing it publicly for a reason? It’s really disrespectful to Joel and the whole team, and if you’re just going to be in the patreon to leak the exclusive content so people don’t join for themselves then you should just leave :/

Fundamentally, I agree with you. Patreon is essentially a marketplace for people to support the artists and creators they love, financially, so they can keep on creating. To generate that support, they will paywall some of that stuff to create incentive for fans who don't yet contribute financially to do so.

However, when you start talking about a company such as Goalhanger then I think you're getting into a much greyer area of the purpose behind the Patreon. I mean, on a basic level, yes, it's for money, but on a podcast like this which is averaging 10s of thousands of downloads a month and contains ads (and household names, not just local mom n pops or sex shops, but like Tide Laundry Detergent), they aren't really propping the show up with Patreon supporters. They aren't indie; they aren't a small creator.

(In fact, I'd be downright shocked if there wasn't upfront payment from Goalhanger to commission the show from Joel and his team, or at the very least an agreed upon payment schedule with set bonuses should subscription/download targets be achieved.)

I'm not so sure I agree with you on the whole disrespectful bit. Downloading the audio from Patreon, stripping it of the DRM and releasing it is disrespectful. Me taking my personal time to listen to the same episode over and over and carefully write out the dialogue as I hear it so I can share it and discuss it with others would seem the opposite of disrespectful, it's the kind of dedicated worship and time giving creators generally think is neat in their fans (if sometimes worrying).

For what it's worth I did ask. If it was truly troubling, I would have received a takedown notice or at the very least, a strongly worded email that suggested I take the transcript(s) down of my own accord. (Which I also told them I would do if they found any issue with my creating transcripts down the line.) For now, they don't see it as an impact to their business. If anything, they likely think it provides a driver for people to sign up because the joy isn't just in reading in John and Sherlock's voices (if that were the case, we wouldn't care about the show and we'd all be blissfully on AO3), it's in hearing them. It's hearing them and making our own interpretations of every little hitch and stutter and breath. We want to hear the words spoken in their inflection and tone.

Lastly, your final line comes across a tiny bit rude and presumptuous. I'm not in the Patreon to simply leak exclusive content and especially not to purposely prevent people from joining. If that were the case I'd simply leak the audio and/or bash the shit out of the show. I also haven't transcribed all of the exclusive content they've posted, only the mailbags.

The reason I'm in the Patreon is because I love their show and the adaption. I think they're doing a wonderful job and that they should be paid for it and I'll happily give them some of my money for it. (I also want the free merch, tickets to a live meetup, and a personal message from John and Sherlock lol.)

Not every person will join the Patreon. A lot of people don't have the money to commit to a Patreon every month and I'm pretty sure the creators know not every single person will join. (Generally, your looking at a conversion rate between 1% and 5%. So, lets say that the 1 million downloads of Sh&Co represents actual unique listeners. That means even with 1 million people actively listening to the show, they're only expecting between 10 and 50,000 patrons on Patreon tops. ((Looking at the discord server which has 234 members currently and lets say that's every subscriber to Patreon that's a listener base of 5k-23k, but we know that it's much more likely that they're listener base is closer to 25k-50k given the numbers on other Goalhanger podcasts and that this is a Sherlock Holmes thing which is near universally a gold ticket project.)))

I'd add tone tags to this whole thing but I'm not actually sure how to/where to. Please consider the tone of this answer ranging from vaguely dispassionate to mildly miffed, but with nothing but respect for you Anon as you aren't the first person to bring this up and it's a, well, not entirely valid, but nonetheless reasonable thing to ask.

[re-dracula]

Hey friend! Just wanted to check - you’re with Dracula Daily right? I don’t want to listen to the show all year and then have them say they’re done due to lack of engagement with the emails

Hey Hannah here. Interesting question!

We're not with Dracula Daily, BUT we're also not competitors.

Dracula Daily is an automated mailing list. Matt Kirkland set it up and let it run. I don't know if he makes changes from year to year or not, but I know that it's not a process he has to actively engage with, nor does he make money off of it (except maybe as a launch for his upcoming annotated book version). AND a lot of people listening to the podcast are doing both anyway. Dracula Daily will carry on as long as Matt does.

We also asked him permission first. Like technically we didn't have to, but we wanted to anyway, for the exact reason you're worried about. Matt didn't have any concerns, so we didn't either.

We're not trying to drive Dracula Daily out of business. We just wanted to reinterpret some art in our medium. The good news is, Dracula Daily isn't a business, and we love and support Matt's work. And you should too! Go pre-order the book!

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Head-Wigs and Not Even an Inch

Abigail Thorn made me cry last night.

I mean, I knew this was not outside the realm of possibility. I presumed she would produce a work of stunning artistic beauty and overwhelm my jaded brain with some Profound Meaning. Or, fat chance, maybe she’d trip over something I’d written and tear it to pieces like a hamster going to town on a cardboard tube. Or maybe I’d go back to London, and spill my drink on her shoes in a dark club, and she’d thrash me with a riding crop — that’s slightly more likely than someone with a decent platform noticing my writing, at this point.

But, uh, no. That’s not how it went.

We pay money to get the bonus episodes of Kill James Bond. You should too. In fact, if you don’t, you’ll be lacking some context for this. But most of my work goes out into the void without context, so to hell with it. You can watch a theatrical version of Hedwig and the Angry Inch for free, on YouTube. Or you can probably pirate the film version with a clean conscience, I don’t think any of those performers are seeing much compensation from sales at this point.

We haven’t been listening to the bonus episodes in order. We often try to watch something close to the version of whatever-film they’re doing, and then listen to the episode with context. We’ve heard them mention Hedwig, and it seemed to be a profound, emotional experience. I really wanted to see Hedwig first. Well, we found a Hedwig available for free and we watched it. They tried to update it a bit, and I found that off-putting. A lot of the tropes in play are dated — “#problematic” in some ways, and genuinely hurtful in others. If you’re going to update something like that, you can’t just throw in a reference to Harry Potter and Title 42 and call it good. Preserve it in its original messy form for us, or rewrite the whole thing — if they’ll let you.

The way the actor playing Hedwig moved and sat in her (the character uses she/her and I have no idea about the actor) short skirt bothered me too. She had shorts on underneath, but I don’t think we were supposed to know that yet. “Nobody has ever told this person how they’re supposed to sit in a skirt,” I said to the spouse. Like, it wasn’t even as if she knew and had decided to ignore it. If one were transfeminine, or faking it to get out of East Berlin, someone would’ve mentioned it. “Maybe it’s for the character,” he said. Maybe it was. You could read it that way. But there’s a read on this where transness is artifice, and I don’t like that read very much. I hope that wasn’t what they were going for.

The ending could be read that way too. It’s all very surreal and that has the potential to be read a lot of different ways, but a male (or male-presenting) actor winds up bare-chested in shorts and the female one ends in a wig and a dress and they both seem very happy about it. One could say, “Well! Glad all that gender confusion’s cleared up! Now they’ve stopped pretending to be something they’re not!” I don’t like that the possibility is left open like that. It feels slimy and centrist.

But the music was great and there were some excellent moments and I was eager to hear the whole thing get dissected by some trans folks.

About a half hour into it, they were discussing John Cameron Mitchell, who identified as a gay man at the time and has since refined it to nonbinary with he/him pronouns. Hedwig’s gender is messy — she’s a fictional character written by an enby who was still in egg form, from a time before people were expected to define their transness as binary or nonbinary. Abi acknowledged the nonbinary actor/writer/director, and mentioned that there’s a lot of pressure to define your gender neatly these days… And said, “No.” That’s not it. Hedwig is a woman like her. Period.

I had been saying to the spouse (we talk over the podcast; we get excited) that I saw a lot of myself in Hedwig’s disaster gender, and in that way you could read the ending as her deciding to stop splitting herself between her popular, cis-passing, sellout persona, and the real, messy her. And then Abi cut me off, and I said, laughing, “Oh my god, just hip-check my identity right into the orchestra pit! What… What…” And I started to cry.

I didn’t have my guard up. I didn’t expect it. And I’d never taken a hit quite this way before. This wasn’t being denied the validity of my existence, this was the validity of my artistic merit. Abigail Thorn, a demonstrably smart person with a lot of theatre experience who loves writing and acting, will not be requiring me or John Cameron Mitchell for her interpretation of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Not even as a possible read. Please, go find yourselves in some other character, enbies. Let the transwomen have her.

…To the point where “Hansel” is treated like a modern-day deadname of a real person, when all we know for sure is that the character got rid of it to get out of East Berlin and she doesn’t use it anymore. It could be like that, but by the end of this, “Hedwig,” another name and gender she did not choose for herself, might be a deadname too. I’m not saying it has to be like that, but it’s not so ridiculous that we need to dismiss it unsaid, is it? Especially given that the goddamn originator of the character has been on a similar journey and decided to keep “John” and he/him for the moment. A person can do that and still kick their assigned gender to the curb, you know?

I didn’t need Hedwig to be about me and only me, I just needed the possibility to be left open and discussed a little bit. Another trans egg movie, but perhaps a nonbinary one this time. Like Speed Racer, it went hard and fell short! That’s all. I didn’t even know I needed that! Until Abi said I couldn’t have it.

The spouse stopped the podcast and comforted my surprised tears. He gave me a nonbinary read — which is not hard to do! — and said I deserve to be seen. I said, “I know why she said it. I do. It’s too close to their (hers and Alice’s) own experience and they don’t want to see anything else. It’s emotion-based. But… But… Nonbinary actor (and writer/director/producer/singer)! …What about Dev?” Dev really took a backseat on this one. They saw themself in Yitzhak, and Yitzhak isn’t the main character, and Abi and Alice were so into Hedwig, and they’re all friends. Yeah. I mean, I understand that too. Back off and let your friends have this one, it’s clearly important to them both.

I wanted to hear the rest of it, because it made Alice and Abi feel seen, and a lot of other trans folks too. Yeah, there’s a lot in it that aged like milk — cringy and outdated even when the film was made — but there’s a lot of valid queer experience in there, too, warts and all. I was surprised as hell that, in the end, Abi supports the “Tommy isn’t real” theory and believes this is a story about uniting one person and making yourself feel whole. And yet, she reiterated, “No.” It’s not about being nonbinary. It’s about reconciling with the male-gendered stuff you try to cut out of you when you transition. Dev and Alice were at least willing to allow that nonbinary was possible, if not quite willing to delve into it, but not Abi. Splitting yourself in two is a binary trans thing! As are many, many other things about Hedwig that I related to.

As an enby who came up with the “splitting yourself in two” metaphor while still in egg form, for a fictional character of my own who is also still in egg form, please let me tell you — please let me tell someone — that that’s not true. I didn’t meet Hedwig until last night, but I know about performing your acceptable, cis-passing, assigned gender and hiding all the “garbage” that doesn’t fit. I know what it is to be crammed into a false persona that gets a lot of love, while the real you, when you let it out, is only worthy of snarling punk lyrics into a mic at a dingy seafood restaurant with a hostile audience.

And, oh my god, do I know what it is to have a piece of you that will not come off, and prevents you from fitting fully into either binary gender. It can feel like a broken piece, like a scar, like a botched surgery you didn’t need that was inflicted on you… But it doesn’t have to be literally that. Hedwig, both the play and the person, doesn’t seem to have much use for physical reality. She’s here to unload her emotional reality, and she doesn’t care about any other real things she might damage along the way.

KJB were rather amazed that Hedwig chose to redefine herself by a (medically impossible) surgical accident. How brave of her to own her trauma like that. But I wonder, is it trauma? Or is it the only path a nonbinary egg in 1998 could see to gain an outside that expressed his inside? This isn’t what any of you wanted me to have, this isn’t even what I want to have, but it’s still me. It’s what I have to work with. (All signs point to “Tommy,” as a character, being at least a closeted gay guy who would’ve been fine if the “front of” Hedwig had been a penis, but it isn’t. It’s not quite anything at all, and he flees because that’s just too much for him to handle. Hedwig already is one of those androgynes she envies; she doesn’t need an Adam, she doesn’t need him. But she loves him/her cis-passing self, and she’s not yet ready to let him go.)

I don’t know what it is to actually try living as the other binary gender, I wasn’t active enough in queer circles to really feel that pressure to conform to the binary before I hatched. But I see it now, and I feel the same instinctive revulsion that Hedwig feels about being a divorced housewife in a trailer in Arizona. That’s not me either! Did I spend all this time and energy escaping one box, only to be trapped in another? Must I content myself with this simply because I don’t want to go back to the way I was? Is this only way I can get a green card that lets me access a queer space? To put on an ugly wig and pretend I’m more palatable?

To me, the revelation about wigs is not “I could be happy as ANY woman!” but, “This is a performance… This is all a fucking performance! This isn’t me, this is a hat someone put on my head. It comes off! I can have another hat! I can have all the hats!” And, selfishly, she denies Yitzhak that same joy, because he wears it better and seems happier. Hedwig clings to her suffering so tightly, it’s such a fundamental part of her identity, that she can’t bear to be around trans joy. No. There is no room for trans joy here, only trans spite. This story is about me. I don’t like transwomen, I don’t like transmen, and I sure as hell don’t like myself (yet)! In the end, after a lot more suffering, she’s willing to let that go.

In the end, Abi says she knows a lot of transwomen who seem to model themselves on Hedwig, and she wants them to know that isn’t how they have to be. They don’t have to choose between being just like a cis woman, or being a monstrous, chaotic, damaged other. You can be… Better than cis! Yes, says the cast of KJB, laughing, we are better than you! We are THE FUTURE! Three friends, having a ball on a podcast, trans joy at its finest — but you don’t find humour in feigning cruelty if you haven’t had some of that cruelty directed at you. This joy formed around a grain of spite. Not only does one often feel they have to be better than cis people, but when you’re still unhatched and stuck on the outside looking in, trans folks really do seem better than you. At least they know what their deal is.

I get it. I do. Because Hedwig fits me too. We all have our reasons to put on that perfectly ridiculous blonde wig and take the form of Hedwig, the Destroyer. Hedwig, the Chaotic. Hedwig, the Liar. Hedwig, the Truth. Hedwig, the Unrepentant Disaster. Hedwig, give me strength! But, it comes off. Look. It is literally a head-wig, a costume for your brain. I know sometimes you find a new wig and you really, really like it, and you become very attached and you want it to be just yours forever and ever, maybe even to the point of calling it your real hair, but… Someone else could still wear that same wig and feel just as happy as you, or maybe even happier. Maybe you’ll find a wig you like even better too. Transitioning isn’t just one and done, and Hedwigs don’t have to be forever. We do know this, don’t we?

Gender is a performance. Gender is a Hedwig. A lot of other things that you consider immutable parts of your identity are Hedwigs too. They are as real as any other social construct, but if you don’t like them or need them, you can just take them off. Sometimes it’s hard and it hurts, but I promise you can. Like Hedwig the character, or whoever that is, does. Inevitably, she must pick some new clothes, maybe new pronouns and a new name, too, but she’s not obligated to do that on camera for us. We can’t force her to say “Aha, see? This identity suited me all along!” No. We’re not entitled to know her or define her. She will be doing that for herself, later, as a whole person. What is so scary about the ending, what makes it look like a detransition instead of a synthesis, is that we insist on gendering her naked body as a male head-wig. Wouldn’t she wear something else if that wasn’t who she was? Well, maybe not. Or maybe so, but it’s her decision, not ours. Self-expression is not the Self, it just helps to define and validate the Self. Hedwigs are extremely fucking important for defining and validating the Self!

So, you know, you have to be willing to share.

[artemis1214]

La Petite Sirène : Chapter Two

( A/N: Let me explain, this is a mini story of Alastor and Esme's lives together in the modern world. This is basically an ongoing fic but lives in my AU as it's part of multiple different AUs that I have for them.) 

You can read more of my one-shots and AUs here!

La Petite Sirène : Modern AU (Chapter Two)

══•●•══

Esme began to drive away back to her Airbnb, a small house nuzzled in the French Quarter. It had Victorian-style archways and cream-colored shutters. She found this place on her phone, and it was not cheap by any means, but she had the money and would often go for the most luxurious spaces when traveling.

Growing up, her parents often gave the two of them the best things money could buy, but Esme still had a need to explore the world. She could easily afford anything she could get her hands on, and she loved the fast pace of Manhattan, but there was only so much she could experience from her penthouse. She enjoyed how the streets of the French Quarter came alive with magic and joy.

Sure, most people were on their fourth hurricane by 3 pm, but hey in New York you’ve seen it all.

She pulls up to her Airbnb and puts her car in park on the sidewalk, turning off the engine and stepping out in her wet clothes. She sighs and walks to the front door, opening it with her key and stepping inside. Once alone, she quickly begins to strip out of her clothes, putting them in the washer and closing the machine door.

She made her way to the bathroom and began to run a deep warm bath in her tub, going through her phone contacts and facetiming her best friend.

Velvette, who also happened to be her social media assistant, always guiding her through the best ways to promote herself on her platforms.

Esme steps into the bubble bath, laughing at Velvette snapping onto the screen, ranting about how slow tourists walked on the sidewalk. “I mean, these fuckers just won’t get outta the way.” She huffs, “I hate the city.”

“Oh, come on Vel, you don’t mean that. After all, Manhattan is the best place for you, with the fashion industry and all.”

“Oh, please, where I really should be in Paris.”

“Why, so you could just travel back for the Met?”

Velvette continues to ramble on as Esme listens with half an ear allowing the warm water to climb up to her collarbones before stopping the running stream. She thinks back to her encounter with Alastor in the park, and how she wishes she wasn’t so nasty on impulse.

“Plus, the F isn’t running AGAIN, so I have to walk to Soho a-”

“I met a guy.”

There’s a silence,

“A guy? Within the first 24 hours of your trip? What the fuck?!” Velvette grumbles and rolls her eyes, “You pull them everywhere, don’t you?” She groans.

“I was a complete bitch.” Esme begins, “He scared me and I dropped my camera, oh yeah that happened, so you won’t get any content from me unless it’s from my phone…”

“Shit….that was a new one too….”

“I know, and I was a complete ass. I’m pretty sure I came off as a spoiled Fifth Avenue princess.” Esme huffs, leaning further into the water, it now reaching her neck, “He was cute…in a mysterious southern hospitality way…”

“What he look like?”

“Tall, really tall. Like, I only reach his chest tall.” Esme laughs, “Curly brown hair, kinda looked like one of those dudes we’d catch in Barnes and Noble in the mystery section. Ya know, dark academia vibe.”

Velvette watches Esme closely as she speaks, stepping off to the side and sipping on her macchiato. She notes how Esme’s eyes glaze over as she speaks of him, staring in front of her as if she’s remembering a scene from a movie, “He’s a radio host, which is weird given that interview I have, but I doubt it’s the same one. But, I think I’ve heard his voice somewhere.”

“Could be a podcaster…”

“Maybe…I do listen to a lot.” She flips through her apps and opens Spotify, looking at her different saved shows, “But I don’t see his name on any of them.” Her eyes catch the clock at the corner of her screen, “FUCK! I’M GONNA BE LATE!” She hurries out of the bath and Velvette is careful to hide her phone from onlookers as she does so, “Talk to you later, love you!”

They hang up.

An hour and a half later, Esme puts her car in park in front of a tall radio building. She sighs and steps out, dusting off her new attire, a small blue Valentino dress with diamonds encrusted on the neck with a small bow. She adjusts her headband and locks her car before heading inside.

She enters the main lobby area. In the center, there was a reception desk, and to the left and right, there were long corridors leading to more areas.

The staff at the front desk, an older looking man, glanced up at Esme and smiled.

“Hi, ma’am. Can I help you?”

"Hi there!" She smiles, "I have an interview today on WOZ. Esme Rose.”

The gentleman's eyes light up upon hearing that name.

“Ah! Miss Rose! Of course.”

He then stands up and walks over to her.

“Mr. Alastor is waiting in his studio, he’s been looking forward to your arrival. I’ll take you there now, right this way, ma’am.”

Her eyes widened, "Alastor?”

“Oh yes, have you heard of him? He’s the host of that particular station, and the manager of the department.”

He gestures for her to follow him to the elevator.

“But please, follow me. Mr. Alastor is waiting.”

She shakes her head, "I....I did not know that..." She follows him slowly and unsurely.

They take it up.

The older man guides her down the hallway to one of the studio rooms. They approach a specific door with a gold plate on the exterior that reads ‘Hartfelt’, he looks over at her.

“I should mention… he has quite the interesting personality, so don’t let him get to you…” He said jokingly, then knocked on the door.

She chuckles, "Don't worry, I think I'll be fine."

The door opens and Alastor stands on the other side, grinning widely,

“Ah, right on time, perfect!” He exclaims, standing aside the door to let her in, “Come in, come in!”

Esme raises an eyebrow and walks inside, he closes the door behind her, "You didn't tell me you were my interviewer.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that little detail?” He teased, stepping further into the room, “My bad~”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, "I should've guessed…”

Alastor stops in his tracks, feigning offense, “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I could be a good enough host for you?” He says in a mocking tone, crossing his arms and letting out an exaggerated huff.

"No no! I didn't mean it like that!"

He continues to put on a mock upset expression for a few seconds more before bursting into laughter.

“Oh relax! I was only teasing you, sweetheart~” He said in a cheerful tone, then gestured to a nearby chair. “Please, have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

She pauses for a moment before smiling and sitting down, her eyes skimming across the equipment.

“Quite the set up, isn’t it? That’s the best technology you’ll find in this city, probably even the state. The other station hosts are envious I’m sure, but there’s only one station that’s the best!”

"It's up to date." She smiles, "Nice."

Alastor grins and then takes his own seat at the table, facing her.

“Now, how about we just get some business out of the way, hmm?” He reaches below the soundboard and grabs two bottles of water from a small mini cooler that he had sitting there.

“I'm assuming you're thirsty after your walk in the sun.” He tosses her one and she quickly catches it.

She twists the cap off and sips, "I came in my car, but thank you." She puts on the headset. She looks around, "No camera?”

He shakes his head.

She smirks, "I take it you don't include your face anywhere? Not even YouTube? For promotional purposes?”

Alastor smirks back at her and shakes his head with an amused chuckle.

“No, cher, this face was made for the radio after all. I’m quite private about my personal life.”

He takes another drink of water, and sits up in his chair, taking a minute to snap his neck and shoulders.

“Now, are you all settled in? It’s about time to start the interview, I assume you’re ready?”

She nods, "Ready, Freddy.”

Alastor lets out a laugh, then looks over some notes on a piece of paper in front of him. “Excellent. Well, just follow my lead and we’ll have this interview done in no time.” He says with a smile, then moves forward and presses the ‘On Air’ button.

A small light on the soundboard turns red, signaling that they were live.

“And we’re on!” He says in his chipper radio host voice. “Hello, New Orleans! It’s that time again for my weekly interview with a star! Joining me today we have an amazing young singer, a beautiful up and coming talent in the music business! Please welcome, Esme Rose, to the show~”

She chuckles, "Hello, happy to be here~”

“And I’m happy to have you here. It’s a pleasure, truly. So, Esme,” He looks over some more notes on his piece of paper, and gives her a little glance.

“I’m sure most of my listeners know you as a singer, but how about we start off with a few personal details, hmm?”

“Sure, so I'm from New York, I'm 25 an-”

Alastor interrupts by letting out a dramatic gasp and placing a hand on his chest.

“Oh my, you’re still such a baby, aren’t you?” He laughs.

“I'm not that younger than you.”

“Oh ho… and how old would you assume I am?”

Esme takes a sharp inhale through her teeth and grimaces, "Yikes, this could go bad." She jokes

“Hmmm… take a wild guess. Go on, I’m all ears. I won’t be offended, I promise.”

"30?”

He pouts his lips in mock disappointment and slowly shakes his head, then raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Nope, keep guessing~”

She tilts her head, “Higher?” He smirks and makes an upwards motion with his hand. "Thirty.........one?" She smiles innocently.

He bursts out in laughter at her guess, finding it amusing that she picked a number just one digit higher. He shakes his head and grins with a chuckle.

“Come on, you’re closer. Just go a bit higher~”

"Alastor I don't want to offend you!" She laughs.

“Oh come now darling, you won’t offend me, I assure you!”

"33!”

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! Well done~”

"See?! That's only..." She counts her fingers, "8 years older!” He laughs in response, “ONLY eight years? The way you were acting before made it seem like you thought I was, like, 40. Hahaha~”

"Hahaha nooooo!”

“Ah-ha, so you have a thing for older guys. I can see now~” The radio host teases with a wink.

"Oh my god, no!" She covers her mouth laughing while shaking her head.

Alastor grins smugly with a chuckle and raises an eyebrow, enjoying this back and forth banter they have going on.

“Oh, come now. You can be honest with me~” He says in a taunting tone, “I’m your type, aren’t I? Older, classy gentlemen?”

She narrows her eyes and breaks into a mischievous smirk, leaning over the soundboard.

"Why don't you take me out later and find out~" She whispers sultry, forgetting she's on the air. When she sees the red light shining in front of her, she gasps and covers her mouth, her cheeks turning red.

“What was that? Care to repeat that? One more time into the mic?”

"So anywayyyyy my new song is called Siren~”

The conversation quickly changes course and Alastor guides her through some different questions.

“Siren… interesting title. Mind giving a brief summary on what the song is about?”

“Yeah!” Esme smiles, "So, sirens are mythical creatures similar to mermaids who are said to lure sailors to their deaths with their voices." She clears her throat for a moment, "I've always found them to be cool, so the track is just a jazz overlay with simple vocalizations to the notes."

Alastor nods in approval, “Ah, jazz, I see. You have no idea how refreshing it is nowadays to hear a song with just the simple basics. So many modern songs are too over exaggerated and complex, they drown out any real talent a singer might have under loads of extra noises and distractions. Bravo, dear, I’m thoroughly impressed.”

She chuckles, "Thank you, I appreciate that."

He studies her face for a moment, just for a split second.

Interesting.

“Just out of curiosity, what inspired you to write the song ‘Siren’? It’s oddly specific.”

She takes a long inhale and sighs, "Well, I'm getting pretty tired of how women are seen as objects for the male gaze. So I wrote a song to play on their own disgusting nature. Thought it would be a nice thought for a woman to lure them to their death. Sorry, to all the guys listening, but I'm picking the bear."

Alastor lets out a genuine laugh and raises a hand; he doesn't understand her reference, but knows that men in fact are disgusting.

“Ahahaha! Don’t worry darling, I get it!”

He takes a brief moment to compose himself, then clears his throat.

“Anyway… I must say, you have a very strong, admirable mindset and message in regards to feminism, that’s for sure.”

"Of course. There's so much going on in our country with women's rights continuing to get squashed and I just wanted to play with the irony of it all."

Alastor’s smile widens and he rests his chin in his hand.

“Your strong sense of empowerment and willingness to speak out about women’s rights is very admirable. You are a very unique individual, that’s for sure. I’m getting a bit off track but can I ask you a few slightly unrelated questions?”

She tilts her head, "Oh?"

“Well, for one… I’m assuming your previous songs have similar themes, yes? I haven’t heard them all, unfortunately, but I’m sure you have a habit of writing songs that are based around your feminist views?”

"Actually, this is my first."

“Your first?” He asks with a subtle hint of shock in his tone. “You’ve never based a single song of yours around a feminist topic till now?”

"I've never had any original song."

“I'm sorry, what?”

"I've spent years doing covers online, eventually my father had connections and I got picked up."

“What type of godly connections made you skyrocket so quickly?”

She sighs, "I'm a nepo baby I guess..."

Alastor’s expression remains shocked and in disbelief, but slowly he relaxes into his chair, seemingly accepting what she's saying.

“A nepo baby….so you only got your success because of your parents?”

"I think that it was much easier for me to take off with my career because of my parents, compared to those who may come from different backgrounds."

He takes a moment.

She's….strangely real for someone of such a background.

Most celebrities, rich people in general, are assholes.

But she is acknowledging her privilege and using it for a good cause.

Hmm.

“I suppose I could agree on that statement. Your background, whether it was poor, average, or privileged, certainly has an impact on the start of your career. However, the way you are acting now during this interview, the way you speak and behave… doesn’t seem at all like a typical ‘spoiled rich girl’ type.”

"Hmmm...I was earlier though." She says softly for him to hear, referring to their time at the park, "I met a man earlier at the park this morning and I was....bitchy....I hope if he's listening I just wanted to say I was sorry...." She clears her throat.

Alastor’s eyes widen slightly at the mention of their interaction from earlier at the park, his heart skipping a beat as he listens to her apology. He clears his throat, trying to maintain a natural, calm look on his face to not give away that he was the one she met prior to the interview.

She motions him to keep talking, sensing he's lost in thought.

“Ah…yes…well…”

The two finish the interview and Esme takes off her headset, "Thank you.”

Alastor smiles and nods his head in reply.

“Thank you, cher. It was a pleasure to have you here.”

He stands up from his chair and offers his hand for her to shake. "Pleasure was all mine.." She places her hand on his.

Her hand is much smaller than his.

He looks down at her hand as he shakes it, then up into her eyes, unable to look away. Her beauty was so captivating - her eyes, her hair, her face… if sirens did exist my God she would be the poster child.

He had to be careful not to get lost in her features and quickly let go of her hand before it could linger for too long.

She smiles sheepishly and looks down, picking up her purse, "I enjoyed your company during the show, that was very fun." She looks down at her phone, "I'm probably going to head out.”

“Ah, heading out so soon? Well, I suppose we did finish the interview after all, there isn’t really much of a reason for you to stick around.”

"Well, it's almost dinner time. I'm getting hungry, I'm probably going to find something to eat."

Alastor’s ears perked up slightly, an idea suddenly coming to mind.

“Dinner? Well… I couldn’t possibly let you go and hunt for food on your own, now could I? Not at this time of day… there’s lots of… uncertain things that could happen to a pretty girl like you, all alone.”

Her eyes widen and she laughs, "I'm from New York, I think I'll be fine." She smiles, "Think a woman can't handle herself, hmm?" She teases.

“Oh, no no, I’m not doubting your abilities, I know you can hold your own. I’m simply saying it’s dangerous in general for anyone to walk alone in this city, especially a young woman like yourself, who’s got… certain things that might attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Her eyes widen, "My designer?"

Alastor’s expression morphs into a sly smirk and he chuckles, letting his eyes briefly drift over her dress.

‘Yes, let’s go with that…’ He thinks before actually speaking,

“After all, designer outfits are so expensive and fashionable, you wouldn’t want someone to attempt and rob you of them, now would you? Who knows what people would do to get their hands on such quality, expensive clothing.”

"Well, this is Valentino." She grumbles, "I guess, but do you have a place in mind?" She blinks.

“Just the one.” 

══•●•══

🖤Words: 3052🖤

~ Artemis🦌💗

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Normally at work, if I have a break or an admin block, I barricade myself in an empty classroom with my headphones. There’s a break room where most people go for those bits, but I find it difficult enough to be around people all day, and some time off from people is really the main thing I’m looking for in a break. I am lucky enough to work in a centre that’ll have at least a couple of rooms empty at any given time, so spending my breaks there is an option. It’s really hard and it pays almost no money, but there’s one advantage, I guess. Empty rooms.

But this week they had me working extra long hours, and that shared staff room has a couch in it, and it was empty during my break, so I decided to just sit down on the couch in there and be comfortable for a bit. Put my headphones on, of course. My quite good noise canceling headphones. They don’t pay me a lot of money, but I will use what money I have on headphones that cancel out noise (also on a large trip to London and Edinburgh for which I’ve been saving all year, I just went to the currency exchange place today and took out some British pounds, this is fucking happening in two weeks from tomorrow).

I had my headphones on and was listening to the second-last episode of this Godforsaken radio show, and Ray and Ed were doing their child voices that make me laugh really hard, and I think I sort of forgot where I was. Normally, when I’m in an empty classroom, I make an effort to avoid laughing out loud because the walls are pretty thin, but I will laugh visibly. I sort of forgot, today, that while in the shared space I should try to be less visible about it.

In the middle of the laughter I definitely stopped to visibly wince a bit, because there’s a party where Ray suddenly stopped and told Ed, “The only thing I’ve not had enough of is you,” and I think he just meant that Ed Gamble was the only thing about FUBAR Radio that didn’t make him want to quit that job, but he said it really soon after reiterating that he’d had enough of everything in the world and that’s why he actively wants to commit suicide, and I took a moment from the laughter to wince at what a wildly intense thing “The only thing I’ve not had enough of is you” is to say in that context. So my reaction was laughing, wincing at the incredibly messed up thing that got said, then laughing again. The last few episodes of this radio show have induced a lot of that back-and-forth. Laughing, Jesus Christ Ray maybe take it down a notch, laughing. (Obviously… obviously I do not actually go around prescribing “take it down a notch” as a cure for mental health crises. But also, most mental health crises are not broadcast on live radio. If someone is broadcasting their mental health crisis on the radio, the best advice for their own sake is probably to take it down a notch while live on air, even if that might happen at the expense of some funny stuff, hence me occasionally feeling slightly conflicted for laughing at parts of the show.)

For about one minute of this I could vaguely hear a voice behind me, but I’d sort of forgotten I wasn’t in an empty classroom so I figured I was just hearing other therapists with their clients like usual. Until I heard my name, turned around, it turns out my coworker had been standing there for an entire minute, trying to talk to me, watching me listen to this podcast. I quickly paused it and apologized and explained about the noise canceling headphones. And she said oh, it’s fine, she didn’t need to say anything important, but since she first tried to get my attention, she’s become more interested in just watching me laughing but also wincing, and wants to know what I’m listening to.

And I didn’t want to answer that question. Because she hadn’t planned to have a whole big conversation in which I explained a whole big thing, neither of us wanted that. I hate being asked to explain hobbies in casual conversation with people I don’t properly know. The worst is when people ask about music I’m listening to, if they ask at a time when the answer is some Nova Scotian folk music, which it frequently is. Because they don’t want me to explain who this Nova Scotian folk singer is. They don’t actually want to get into that. But they also don’t want me to just say the name of a singer they’ve never heard of and then move on without explanation, that’s weird. And I definitely can’t say “You’ve probably never heard of it.” I was allowed to say that until about 2010, when there was this whole big backlash against hipsters, which mainly consisted of people making fun of the idea of someone being asked about their music taste and replying “You’ve probably never heard of it.” I don’t think I qualified as hipster at any point, but the backlash greatly annoyed me, because, well, you probably haven’t heard of it. It’s fine, I don’t think I’m better than you for that. Quite the opposite, I was self-conscious about my music taste for years because I got made fun of for it at school by people who hadn’t heard of it. You don’t have to have heard of it. I probably haven’t heard of your stuff either. But let’s not try to get into a whole explanation of it in a twenty-second work chat.

When she asked me this, I briefly thought of the last time this came up at work, a month or so ago. I was in a session, client had a meltdown, I work at an autism centre so that is pretty common. This client was often soothed with music, I put on a particular song that I knew had been working lately, he calmed down instantly. Another staff member had come in to assist with the meltdown, and she asked me what the song was. I said oh, it’s some Welsh folk music (a really lovely song, if anyone's interested). She asked me where I got it, I said a radio show recommended it, she asked which one. My brain automatically did the thing it always does when I’m asked about a thing someone’s probably never heard of, and I don’t want to explain it from scratch, so I try to find some connection to something they probably have heard of. In this case, I was exhausted from dealing with the problem, not really thinking straight, so made the connections in my head without thinking about whether they were relevant or how weird a thing this was to say, and offhandedly told her, “Okay, you know John Oliver? This song was made by his ex-girlfriend’s finace’s friend. Yeah the guy with the late-night show. It’s not important. The point is it’s working. Let’s turn up the volume a bit.” She didn’t ask any follow-up questions.

Today, when my co-worker asked me what I was listening to, I briefly thought of that. I wondered what the shortest route would be if I wanted to again draw connections to something she’d have heard of. “Okay, you know Mr. Bean? Well, his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend does a podcast with a guy. And that guy used to do a podcast with a different guy. And after that podcast they made a radio show on a pretend radio station in 2014. That’s what I’m listening to. Any questions?” That’s what I immediately thought of, though to be honest, I think we’re getting fairly close to the point where I could cut out the first couple of links in that chain. Where I could say James Acaster’s name to most people in Canada, even ones who aren’t comedy nerds, and they’d know who that was. I’m quite sure this co-worker of mine doesn’t know who James Acaster is. But a lot of people do these days.

I did not explain to her anything about Mr. Bean or James Acaster. I briefly thought of that, but what I actually said was that it’s a British radio show from 2014. She said, “Oh, is it really dry humour?” I guess because her association with comedy from Britian is that they do dry humour there. Normally in that situation I’d just say yes whether it’s true or not, because that’s the answer that’ll end the conversation without requiring further explanation, but in this case, calling mid-breakdown Peacock & Gamble “dry humour” was so incredibly inaccurate that I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so I said no, it’s not. And she said “Oh,” because I’d kind of shut down the conversation, and it was kind of awkward, as I’d just told her she was wrong but couldn’t think of a socially reasonable way to offer further explanation. Then she went to set up for her next session.

I’d argue that her asking “Is it dry humour?” just because I told her a show is British is a sign that she probably doesn’t know who James Acaster is, even if he is breaking North America, fame-wise. I hope I don’t come off as judgemental for making that assumption, because I certainly don't mean it as a negative judgement. I am definitely not better than her because I’ve heard of James Acaster. She’s always showing up to work with stories of cool social things she did, and events she attended. She is objectively doing life better than I am. Doing much more important things with her time than listening to a British radio show from 2014.

I think when I started this post I thought I was building toward some sort of point, or at least conclusion, but I can't remember what it is now. I have one episode left of the radio show. The second-last one was pretty bleak; I'd say it was the first time they hit a point where Ray Peacock got so rough, mentally, that he stopped being funny for a bit. Which is fine, by rights that should have happened way earlier. And it was only for a bit. As my co-worker saw, lots of that episode was still very funny. This is why I barricade myself in empty classrooms.

[gutwrenchflowerbomb]

This post is just me sort of rambling about the thoughts surrounding my new job so feel free to scroll past.

New workspace. This machine was installed a few weeks ago and a few of use were trained in it but I am the primary operator. They haven’t installed my work table yet so I’ve been using that cart. I’m two months into the drastic change in careers and it’s been strange - not just the obvious difference in what I’m actually doing but the shift as well. I don’t have weird start and ends times that change daily. But my set shift begins at 5am, meaning that I’m waking up at 3:30am. That’s the middle of the witching hour. I keep expecting to sit up and see some kind of demon ghost thing looking shocked like “the fuck you doing awake?”

But I’m less stressed, I think. I miss my clients dearly but now I no longer have to be responsible for the lives of 12 people. I can actually focus on myself. And the fact that I can do this job while wearing headphones has allowed me to catch up on podcasts and shit I’d long abandoned due to lack of time/energy. I’ve even made it a goal to listen to at least one new album a day from an artist I like but only know a song or two. I have 10 hours a day to fill so it’s not that hard to do. (I’m open to suggestions btw so if you have a fav band/album you think more people should hear, let me know! I don’t really *hate* any genre, except 90% of the new bro country shit)

My medical insurance kicks in on July 1st, so I can finally go to the doctor and dentist. They’ve had some overtime available that I’ve taken advantage of, and will continue to do so as long as it’s there. Mostly because I need all the money I can get and also - I don’t mind the work. It feels good to be physically doing stuff. I’m not like, building houses or anything but there I’m for sure getting more movement than I was previously. The ONLY downside so far of this job is that it’s very hard to regulate the temperature. I’ve had to buy my own fan to bring in and honestly I’m about to get a second one so I can have it blowing on my from both sides. Ya girl STAYS hot.

I’ve been staying with my mom and it’s been rough. We don’t have the most loving relationship, she gets on my goddamn nerves but I try not to get to frustrated with her because it will only make things worse. Maybe one day I’ll write some essays about it, as my upbringing with her was anything but “normal” but I digress.

The most challenging thing has been the lack of *silence* in the house. Before, I had my roommates. Ut they were hardly home when I was and then they had their room upstairs. We never really got in each others space. Here, that’s not possible. I’m literally sleeping on a twin bed that’s been set up in the dining room since it’s a tiny 750sq ft one bedroom house. And my mom nor Mo work, so they NEVER LEAVE. And neither of them have much variety in the food they eat so I’ve had to adapt to eating much of the same bland poor southern shit I grew up with. Which is good occasionally but man. I can’t wait to have my own kitchen again and cook some Indian food. Or Mediterranean.

My goal is to have my own place by the first of August. Thats plenty of time to have the money for the first few months plus deposit. The biggest issue is not knowing what’s gonna be on the market. Rent, while not nearly as high as places like Chicago and Austin and huge cities like that, it’s still unreasonable for a single income person. Especially when that income is just under 40k a year, pre tax.

Anyway, my hope is that once I get moved into my own place I can finally have the energy and focus to do more creative shit. I have TONS of ideas written down but with no space to do any of them, it’s been depressing. I’ve got buttons and magnets and silly shit all in my big ass head. And not all of it is wrestling related.

Alright I’m gonna stop now. But yeah if anyone read all this I apologize haha. It’s not my usual shit of making jokes about AEW and posting too many pics of Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy.

[monstersinthecosmos]

When you rbed my vampire psych post, you tagged something about Armand’s “trauma hole.” I must know - what is Armand’s Trauma Hole? Devastate me, Kacy.

I WANNA SAY BEFORE I START btw if I had money and wasn’t in the US I’d go to college for psychology strictly to write vampire meta lmfao but yknow what, I don’t have a formal education and I just listen to a lot of psych podcasts and I AM, MYSELF, SOMEONE WITH A TRAUMA HOLE so that’s my qualifications here LOL. 

So I have sort of a running headcanon called The Trauma Hole Theory and like it’s not completely solid so don’t take my word on this but it’s a fun thought experiment.

It comes down to two questions: Do vampires have neuroplasticity? and: Does The Blood know to fix neurological differences? *

*(This point in particular is a whole separate topic because I’d said that the vampires’ neurobiology IN ITSELF makes them neurodivergent, as in, operating differently from the average human. But neurodivergence isn’t a thing that needs to be healed or cured, simply a difference in structure, but I wonder if The Blood categorizes differences in brain structure due to trauma as an injury?)  

And the thing is like, we’re never going to have an answer because it’s not something Anne planned around. Even like starting with the Mayfair books and going into all her weird cosmic questions in her later life she always talked about biology & medicine like it was magic LOL so who knows. I wish I’d had the chance to ask her this!

But to be more specific, I need to know: Is the Blood able to cure what’s wrong with your brain, or does it freeze your brain exactly how it is?

I can make arguments for both because there isn’t an answer in canon and if you start fine combing you’re going to find a lot of conflicting evidence. We can also handwave this away as “the Dark Gift is different for everyone!”

Claudia is one of my favorite examples to look at, because we have to ask: Is she a monster because she doesn’t remember being human or is it because her brain development got frozen where she wasn’t awesome at empathy yet? A lot of studies say children have empathy by the time they’re 4, so maybe she’s in the clear! But how much of her early life and development were stunted by malnourishment?

This also gets into the canon that some of the vampires who were turned younger are a bit wilder, less impulse control, etc. Lestat, as an example of a permanent 20 year old with poor decision making faculties, vs. Marius who although sometimes cruel, has the patience to play the long game. In canon it often gets framed that it’s about the deeper experience of being human but I wonder a lot about how it interacts with brain structure. I’d also ask how much of this is simple behavior that they can learn to correct if they want to. Like, is CBT effective for vampires if there’s nothing physically wrong with their brains? 

(Anyway I need a psych degree to understand more about how brains work and like, the nuances of how undead vampire brains work where they still clearly FUNCTION but like, I need to know which parts are frozen, how their emotions work, why do they have super photographic memories and telepathy and new powers but we assume their prefrontal cortex is stuck at their mortal age of development how does that affect the overall brain function!?!?! I'm making shit up to fit my angst headcanon needs to don't @ me LOL.) ((Hekate you in particular should weigh in with your headcanons bc you're smarter about this stuff than me!!!!!! I'm just a lowly angst headcanon troll!!!))

So anyway like, trauma causes neurological damage/structural changes to the brain. It reshapes your ability to see logic. I’m sure if you’re having sort of acute panic in the moment of being turned, and your amygdala is poppin and your brain is full of cortisol, maybe the Blood takes care of that because it’s temporary. But when you look at someone like Armand, who had endured years of trauma before he was turned, I wonder how much of that more complex/long term trauma is just wired into his brain.

SO THE TRAUMA HOLE AND THE QUESTION ABOUT NEUROPLASTICITY IS:

If the Blood fixed Armand’s brain where it was, can he ever truly heal from it? 

There’s a thing in real life with HUMANS recovering from trauma that sometimes we are so unable to accept that Things Are Okay that we’re constantly on guard or create problems. If Armand permanently has that space in his head telling him that it’s dangerous, that something is wrong, that people are using him; is he always going to find ways to fill that hole and create drama?

Living in squalor for 300 years in a cult felt like a way to stay with this feeling, to not allow himself to even try for safety and happiness. In the Theatre, even trying to be better, he still allowed himself to partake in atrocities. 

And with Daniel? Gradually allowing himself to feel things even though he’d been reckless with his pet? But really trying? 

Even after finally turning Daniel it became a self-fulfilling prophecy; he believed he wouldn’t be a good maker and I have to wonder if he actually tried or if he just allowed that anxiety to dictate his behavior.

In Trinity Gate it’s like he’s doing his best to be domestic but still takes this role of running the household and keeping everyone safe. He’s got these crazy secure crypts in the basement. He’s the only one who wants to kill the replimoids. 

Marius tells him that he has the ✨savage & ignorant soul of a child✨ AND ?????? HE’S NOT WRONG? EXCEPT IT’S SUCH A SHITTY WAY TO PUT IT. He’s just still very much his wounded inner child trying to navigate danger at all times. 

CBT could still work on vampires, I think, in terms of teaching them a set of rules to follow. It wouldn’t be unlike teaching them to mask. But if it’s not something that can be healed, we can always assume that if Armand is behaving, he’s just going through the motions for the benefit of the people he loves, and not that he’s less hurt and uncomfortable on the inside. 

:) 

[mag200]

what's your favorite tma quote? :O also have you ever listened to the penumbra podcast?

my favorite tma quote? yeah its uh

I itch all the time. Deep beneath my skin, where the bone sits, enshrined in flesh, I feel it. Something, not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free. It itches, and I don’t think I want it. I don’t know what to do.

You can’t help me. I don’t think so, at least. But whatever it is that calls to me, that wants me for its own, it hates you. It hates what you are and what you do. And if it hates you, then maybe you can help me. If I wanted to be helped. I don’t know if I do. You must understand, it sings so sweetly, and I need it, but I am afraid. It isn’t right and I need help. I need it to be seen. To be seen in the cold light of knowledge is anathema to the things that crawl and slither and swarm in the corners and the cracks. In the pitted holes of the hive.

You can’t see it, of course. It isn’t real. Not like you or I are real. It’s more of an everywhere. A feeling. Are you familiar with trypophobia? That disgusted fear at holes, irregular, honeycombed holes. Makes you feel that itch in the back of your mind, like the holes are there too, in your own brain, rotten and hollow and swarming. Is that real?

I’m sorry, I know I’m meant to be telling you what happened. What brought me to this place. This place of books and learning, of sight and beholding. I’m sorry. I should. I will.

I… I haven’t slept in some time. I can’t sleep. My dreams are crawling and many-legged. Not just slithering and burrowing,. though it is the burrowing that draws me. They always sing that song of flesh. I hope you will forgive me for such a rambling story. I hope you will forgive me for a great many things, as it may be I do worse. I have that feeling, that instinct that squirms through your belly. There will be great violence done here. And I bleed into that violence.

Do you know, I wonder? As I watch you sitting there through the glass. Eating a sandwich. Do you know where you are? You called me “dear”. “Have a seat, dear.” “You can write it down, dear.” “Take as much time as you need, dear.” Can you truly know the danger you are in?

There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. A fat, sprawling thing that crouches in the shadowed corner. It thrums with life and malice. I could sit there for hours, watching the swirls of the pulp and paper on its surface. I have done. It is not the patterns that enthral me, I’m not one of those fools chasing fractals; no, it’s what sings behind them. Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me.

I don’t know how long the nest has been there. It’s not even my house, I just live there. Some sweaty old man thinks he owns it, taking money for my presence as though it will save him. I used to worry about it, you know. I remember, before the dreams, I would spend so long worrying about that money. About how I could afford to live there. Now I know that whatever the old man thinks, as he passes about the house with brow crinkled and mouth puckered in disapproval, it is not his. It has a thousand truer owners who shift and live and sing within the very walls of the building. He does not even know about the wasps’ nest. I wonder how long he has not known. How many years it has been there.

Have you ever heard of the filarial worm? Mosquitoes gift it with their kiss and it grows and grows. It stops water moving round the human body right, makes limbs and bellies swell and sag with fluid. Now, when I look at that fat, sweaty sack, I think about it, and the voice sings of showing him what a real parasite can do.

How many months has it been like this? Was there a time before? There must have been. I remember a life that was not itching, not fear, not nectar-sweet song. I had a job. I sold crystals. They were clean, and sharp and bright and they did not sing to me, though I sometimes said they did. We would sell the stones to smiling young couples with colour in their hair. I remember, before I found the nest, someone new came. His name was Oliver, and he would look at me so strangely. Not with lust or affection or contempt, but with sadness. Such a deep sadness. And once with fear. It didn’t matter, because no-one in the shop wanted to hear about the ants below it. I tried to tell them, to explain, but they did not care. The pretty young things complained and I left.

That was when I still called myself a witch. Wicca and paganism, I would spend my weekends at rituals by the Thames. I wanted something beyond myself, but could not stomach the priest or the imam or pujari of the churches. I knew better. I knew that it was not so simple as to call out to well-trodden gods. I never felt from my rituals anything except exhaustion and pride. I thought that those were my spiritual raptures.

I wish, deep inside, below the itch, that they were still my raptures. I have touched something now, though, that all my talk of ley lines and mother goddesses could never have prepared me for. It is not a god. Or if it is then it is a dead god, decayed and clammy corpse-flesh brimming with writhing graveworms.

When did I first hear it? It wasn’t the nest, I’m sure of that. I never went in the attic. It was locked and I didn’t have a key. I spent a day sawing through the padlock with an old hacksaw. My hands were blistered by the end. Why would I have done that if I didn’t know what I would find? The face of the one who sang to me dwelling within the hidden darkness above me. I had seen no wasps. I know I hadn’t. There are no wasps in the nest. So how else would I have known that I needed to be there, to be in the dark with it, if it had not already been singing to me?

No, that’s not right. The nest does not sing to me. It is simply the face. Not the whole face, for the whole of the hive is infinite. An unending plane of wriggling forms swarming in and out of the distended pores and honeycombed flesh. The nest is nothing but paper.

Was it the spiders? There were webs in the corners, around the entryway into the attic. I would watch them scurry and disappear in between the wooden boards. ‘Where are you going, little spiders?’ I would think. ‘What are you seeing in the dark? Is it food? Prey? Predators?’ I wondered if it was the spiders that made the gentle buzzing song. It was not. Webs have a song as well, of course, but it is not the song of the hive.

I used to pick at my skin. It was a compulsion. I would spend hours in the bathroom, staring as close as I could get to my face to the mirrors, searching for darkened pores to squeeze and watch the congealed oil worm its way out of my skin. Often I would end with swollen red marks where it had become inflamed with irritation or infection. Did I hear the song then?

Was it when I was a child, such a clear memory of a classmate telling me a blackhead was a hole in my face, and if I didn’t keep it clean it would grow and rot. Did I hear it then, as that image lodged in my mind forever? Or was it last year, passing by a strip of green they call a park near my house, after the rain, and watching a hundred worms crawl and squirm to the surface.

Perhaps I’ve always heard it. Perhaps the itch has always been the real me, and it was the happy, smiling Jane who called herself a witch and drank wine in the park when it was sunny. Maybe it was her who was the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what I am. Of what we all are, when you strip away the pretence that there is more to a person than a warm, wet habitat for the billion crawling things that need a home. That love us in their way.

I need to think. To clear my head. To try and remember, but remember what? I was lonely before. I know that. I had friends, at least I used to, but I lost them. Or they lost me. Why was it? I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned. No idea why. The memories are a blur. I do remember that they called me “toxic”. I don’t think I really knew what that meant, except that it was the reason I was so very painfully lonely. Was that it? Was I swayed and drawn simply by the prospect of being genuinely loved? Not loved as you would understand it. A deeper, more primal love. A need as much as a feeling. Love that consumes you in all ways.

You can’t help me. I’m sure of that now. I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that I itch. Because ‘itch’ is not the right word. There is no right word because for all your Institute and ignorance may laud the power of the word, it cannot even stretch to fully capture what I feel in my bones. What possible recourse could there be for me in your books and files and libraries except more useless ink and dying letters? I see now why the hive hates you. You can see it and log it and note it’s every detail but you can never understand it. You rob it of its fear even though your weak words have no right to do so.

I do not know why the hive chose me, but it did. And I think that it always had. The song is loud and beautiful and I am so very afraid. There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. Perhaps it can soothe my itching soul.

and no i havent listened to penumbra yet!

[tacosaysroar]

13, 15, 16, 33 and 45 🌻

What do you like about yourself?

I’m quick with a quip. Smart. Funny. I can find something to like or admire about almost anyone (and so find it easy to get along with other people.) I’m an accomplished flirt. Strongly independent. Adaptable. Confident. Other people’s pets like me. And I love that I have no trouble coming up with a list of things I like about myself. I could also give you a list of things I need to work on as well, but overall the positives far outweigh the negatives.

How do you show affection?

Hmmm. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought much about this. Definitely physical affection and teasing/inside jokes. I’m a shameless flirt in a relationship. I also tend to be free with a compliment. And I’ll offer to do things. Pick up that dry cleaning. Make those brownies you like. Text to make sure you didn’t sleep through your alarm. If I like you, you’ll know it. But generally, I think I just pay closer attention to people I’m close to. I remember things they like. Ask how that meeting went or how their sister’s sick dog is doing. (And btw, I’m NOT always great at these kinds of things for other people. I wish I were, but I tend to only put energy into relationships/inner circle people.)

What have you been listening to? Name one song from each of your 5 recently played albums.

I’ve been listening almost exclusively to podcasts, Audible, and Christmas music since the beginning of November, so I had to go pretty deep to get this. And a few of these were for Adelaide’s benefit.

1) “Linger” The Cranberries

2) “Sortie d’Escamillo” (from Carmen) Orchestre National du Capitole de Toulouse

3) “Bloodbuzz Ohio” The National

4) “Dead Roses” Weezer

5) “Little Bit” Lykke Li (a forever favorite)

An artwork that makes you feel things.

I’m not at all a religious person, but I love religious art. Paintings. Sculptures. The older the better. Including churches. The Saint Chapelle in Paris took my breath away when I was 15. Sacre Coeur. St. Peter’s Basilica. I actually got a little teary looking at Michelangelo’s Pieta, which surprised the hell out of me. I find the love (and money, in many cases) people pour into making something beautiful in the name of their deities to be so compelling.

Tell me about a time someone was gentle with you.

Oh, boy. I don’t like how hard it is to come up with an answer for this. All of my examples are pretty lame and definitely things that should be normal kindnesses rather than a memorable moment of caretaking. I think maybe I don’t allow a lot of gentleness. Or I don’t pick people who offer it.

[prettysureitsprettycure]

Status of the Podcast

Hey y’all. @timemachineyeah here to talk about the podcast.

There are still many unedited episodes. We managed to watch through to around the first batch of Splash Star and I still have all those recordings from years ago sitting and waiting to be edited.

As many of you know, but most probably don’t, I have CFS/ME (or some other chronic illness that mimics it - I still hold out vain hope for a more treatable diagnosis). This often got in the way of my ability to record, as I get sick more often, get migraines, and can’t always regulate my energy.

Then many things happened in my personal life and though I had intended to get back to the podcast, as time went on it fell further and further to the wayside. And I got to know my illness better, it became clear that the fewer scheduled commitments I had, the easier it was to maintain health without crashing. At this point I make as few regularly scheduled commitments as I can, and it sucks, but it’s also way better for my ability to do things.

It’s worth admitting at this point the podcast is not coming back.

I still do hold out hope that one day I can at least edit and release the episodes we already recorded (or pay someone else to in an imagined future where I have money). There’s something like 30 unreleased episodes and we had so much fun recording them. I’m sure some PreCure fans would have fun listening to them. But for now the podcast remains on indefinite hiatus, and should it return it will never cover all of Pretty Cure, instead stopping suddenly.

Though if we are lucky enough to be able to edit and release the episodes, maybe we can get back together to record some kind of retrospective or some other send off. These are daydreams right now, though, as I have no immediate plans that would get the episodes ready for release.

The failure to maintain the podcast lies basically entirely with me, Cure Jessica.

Cure Frank ( @drasnianfrank ) and Cure Jade ( @theneptuneviolin ) were always incredibly patient with me and my many Life Things and remain awesome people and cool friends.

That being said, I still want to watch Pretty Cure, so am taking it up casually as a fan. I’m no longer watching on a schedule, just when I’m in the mood.

I’ll be keeping this blog up and might even post here occasionally. Just wanted to let everyone know belatedly what’s gone on, because while our podcast only ever released a handful of episodes, I know people listened to them and enjoyed them and I’ve always appreciated that. Thank you all for your warm reception and support. The PreCure fandom really seems like a lovely corner of the internet.

Thank you again, and all the best 💗

[bloodstone-knife]

Girl help I am having big gay collaring thoughts.

I need to put all of these thoughts SOMEWHERE so on the kink blog it goes, but. I can’t stop thinking about collaring my sub. I want to. So badly. I want to be dramatic and spend a little too much money on them and be heartfelt and even a little awkward. I’m not coming right out the gate with collaring, there’s a process, and a year might be a little fast. But a stepping stone, some kind of declaration of intent? That I can do.

I need to plan. I’m good at planning. I want to take them somewhere nice, maybe out to eat, but I have no idea what to do because museums are very much my thing and I want it to be about them and it’s not like I know anywhere that does aerial silk shows or something. They’ve mentioned the aquarium before but do they actually like those or do they just live close to one??? They like cats, should we go to the lion rescue??? Should we get pizza because it was the first thing I got them on a date or should I- I don’t even know if I should go fancy or hole in the wall cheap but good. I am trying to be thoughtful and I am making noises of immense suffering because it needs to Show How Much I Care and I care So Much.

It’s going to be dramatic and I’m going to be extremely honest and I’m probably going to die of fluster, but I feel like if I make this move then I have to be that genuine. We’ve talked about it enough that I don’t think it’ll be a complete shock, when it happens, but I still want it to be a happy surprise. And if they’re not ready for something as serious as a declaration of intent then okay, I can handle that, but. Gods preserve me I can’t stop fussing over if I should take them to a live music night or something. Or maybe we stay home and listen to their favorite podcast.

Being a dom is actually just screaming into the void about how precious your sub is and then quickly putting yourself together again because you are Cool and Charming and not a squishy marshmallow wreck.

[00bummer]

i stopped using this blog like 4 years ago bc i became less catastrophically depressed and also i felt that after my last major breakup i was using it in a really self destructive & self flagellating way, & i pretty much stopped using twitter like a year ago too because i could feel myself becoming a certified Boyfriend Girl and it was annoying. and i haven’t been journaling for a few years either. idk why, i think maybe bc i was just sick of thinking & talking about myself. i haven’t been in therapy or taken any medication in like 3 years either. idk, i’ve just been trying to live my life & it’s mostly been working. i don’t live with my mom anymore. i have a really wonderful partner and we’re very in love, & it’s been two years & i haven’t done anything to blow it up yet. i have a semi-grownup job that i make like zero money at & i’m way too emotionally entangled with, but it doesn’t make me want to kill myself, so it beats making lattes. i still feel a white hot lance of panic in my brain when i think about the future, but there’s nothing i can really do about that. i’m like a “normal” weight now, which upsets me if i actually think about it, so mostly i just lock that part of my brain in a cage and call it a day. idk. maybe that’s “recovery” maybe i’m just being a coward about it. i feel a lot of guilt bc i used to pay attention to the world and what was happening in it, & i had a lot of opinions about justice and fairness and the fate of humanity, and now i pretty much just play d&d and listen to podcasts of other people playing d&d. i only want to listen to the same albums and watch the same movies i already like. i think i should probably make new friends bc all my old ones keep moving away, but the thought of doing that makes me really tired. i’m only 27 which feels too young for my personality and interests to become this fossilized.

& i know this all sounds like complaining, but i’m mostly pretty happy these days. things are more good than bad.

idk why i felt the need to write this all out, i think i’ve just been feeling like… intellectually flat these days. like i used to spend a lot more time thinking about. uh everything i guess. i feel like i sacrificed my interest and curiosity for the world in exchange for being less miserable and it worked but now i’m kind of bored.

i really don’t know what the point of this is!

i guess if you’re out there, so am i, & i hope you’re doing well.