#neuroses are exactly the same

[toyotacorolla2008]

.

[umbrellacam]

okay so if we were slotting the Wayne kids into the Summer Olympics:

Dick - gymnastics obviously, but you could also make an argument for diving (NTT 16 my beloved), and come to think of it trampoline would also be exactly up his alley?? 👀

New Teen Titans (Vol. 1) #16

Jason - shooting obviously - pistols at dawn

Batman (Vol. 1) #410

Tim - skateboarding :))) it's too bad there's no staff-fighting, but I'm imagining him going as some kind of Mr. Sarcastic-ass alias and having a great time teasing/cheering for Cissie over in archery :3

Robin (1993) #75

for Cass and Damian they would crush in some of the same arenas, like judo/karate/taekwondo, but that's the batfam's wheelhouse as a whole, so.

maybe Cass would also like to take a stab at artistic gymnastics? or would her competitive neuroses mean that for the Olympics she would prefer the more direct 1v1 martial battles rather than something more interpretive…

Azrael: Agent of the Bat #61

of course the obvious choice for Damian would be fencing, though we most often see him using a katana when it comes to blades. He's also good at archery...and somehow I could also see him getting a gleam in his eye and tackling triathlon; a wildly physically demanding sport requiring demonstrated superiority in swimming, cycling, running and overall endurance seems like his idea of a good challenge

Robin: Son of Batman #5

[drdemonprince]

Tiktok is an evil place where people go to make their social neuroses worse.

I was just on there and this Autistic guy I know with a really huge account is talking about how he modulates his voice and facial expressions to make himself seem more broadcast worthy and fun. Instead of allowing his natural monotone to come through he does jerky comedian voice with lots of forced emphasis. Instead of letting his face be flat he holds a ton of tension in the middle of his face and raises his eyebrows to the damn ceiling. He is masking just to be liked on the image-consciousness platform.

He has a million followers. He has PTSD. He was exploited by a US war machine that knowingly recruits Autistic soldiers. He got out. It fucked him up. He is about to close on a six figure book deal and will probably become a Beau Burnam type figure soon with at least that level of notoriety. He will be masking constantly. He will be a very lucrative product. It will not be good for him. It won't be sustainable. But I understand the temptation. You learn the system, you game it, it pays the bills. But this is not good for us. If he is like most of us he will have horrific burnout within a few years.

I scroll on. The next Tiktok is a cute normal schlubby trans guy, as perfect as god made him, performing the anxious adjustment of his posture so as to seem more masc. He is worried about the angle of his ankle and the tilt of his head to a degree of specificity that borders on the paranoid. In the comments dozens of trans people laugh and say they catch themselves not standing in a passable enough stance all the time, in exactly the same way.

What the fuck is wrong with these people. This is not a good place.

[wordstome]

Single Dad!König (Dream Daddy au)

(+ a bit of Ghost under the cut)

Thank you to everyone who indulged (said exactly what I asked them to say 😅) me.

Here’s the paragraph I wrote:

I imagine his heart sinking when Ava comes home sad and quiet, unwilling to look her dad in the eye. He recognizes what that means: that used to be him as a kid. His worst fears are confirmed when Ava admits she's being harassed by a boy at school, replaced by anger when Ava says her teachers simply shrugged and told her that boys will be boys, and has she considered that maybe he just has a crush on her? Needless to say, by the time König's walking out of that school, nobody will ever be hurting his little girl ever again. Honestly, one glimpse of Ava's dad by her classmates will keep her free from bullying for the rest of her life.

Now here’s a bit more about single dad König, namely, how he came to be a dad…and single :( Angst and death tw ahead (nothing graphic)

With Ghost, I said he would only have had Caden due to an accident, because of Simon’s previous trauma involving his family. He was firmly in the mindset that he would die in the field, he’s just not built for civilian life anymore, he's a danger to everyone who loves him. However, when Caden shows up at his doorstep, all he can think about is Tommy and his nephew Joseph when he looks at the boy. He probably does his best to get Caden sent to a different family member, but let’s suspend our disbelief that any responsible social worker would leave a kid with Simon “Ghost” Riley for a moment and say that the social worker is like “It’s you or the foster care system.” Realistically, Simon would probably be like “foster care is safer than living with me” but for the purposes of the AU, he took the kid in.

With König, he doesn’t have the same trauma/hangups regarding kids and family. He’s in the same boat as Simon: he’s a human weapon, and can’t function properly in civilian life. For König, his work is an outlet and keeps him stable. I’m gonna have to sit down and make a proper post about my König’s character (Alexander), but for my König, violence is a method of regulating his emotions and a way to manage his anxiety. Having power and being hyper competent in the field is key to his mental stability. However, I think he would be able to settle down, it would just take a very patient, special woman. (For the purposes of the AU his first partner is AFAB she/her.) Here’s where I start breaking hearts… 🤭

In Dream Daddy au, König considers his first wife the love of his life. She deeply understood him as a person and wasn’t afraid of him, even when he was socially awkward and intimidating. They were honestly kindred spirits: both of them had their neuroses and flaws, but instead of trying to fix each other or mold the other into some ideal partner, they accepted each other and thus were able to grow together. (And tbh they were already a match made in heaven anyway.) König’s wife never asked him to quit, and was completely ready to raise a child with him frequently being gone. She was a badass woman, and she really, really wanted to start a family with him, so they had Ava.

For three years, König was probably the happiest he’s been in a long time, and if you asked him he’d probably say it was the happiest time in his life. He was moving up the ranks at work, his mental health was in check, and he had a wife and adorable little daughter to go home to every leave. He started planning to transfer to a safer/more stable position, because as much as the military has done for him, he’s ready to step up as a father and a husband. Then he gets a call that changes his life forever, and suddenly he doesn’t get a choice anymore.

(I'm eternally sorry to the little fictional people I made up in my head because I entertained the idea of putting the Brooklyn 99 "Guess who got murdered!" gif here...)

One thing y'all need to know about my man Alexander is that he is the embodiment of "I am not meant for casual. I was born for soul-crushing devotion." His problem is that he never had devotion before his wife: he craved it like a starving man, and it engulfed him like water flowing into a basin when he got it. He had it for a handful of years (I'm thinking 6 but that's a flexible number), and now it's gone again. You know in movies when something horrible happens and they cut all the noise and there's just a high pitched ringing sound? That's König getting that phone call.

God. All I can imagine is König dropping everything and taking the next flight home. He’s in a daze, in a way that he’s never quite been before. His mind is finally quiet, but the emptiness is not peaceful. Then he finally sees his little girl, she runs into his arms, and the dam bursts. He just holds her and cries. He’s numb, a dead man walking throughout all the business that needs to be taken care of after his wife’s death. The only thing that brings him back to the land of the living is Ava. She’s so small, so sweet, and she doesn’t really understand what death means: all she knows is that her mama’s gone somewhere, and her dad is so, so sad all the time. She’s all that keeps him going, and the only reason he keeps himself alive.

By the time you come into his life, it’s been several years, but Ava is still a little girl. She doesn’t remember her mother at all except what König tells and shows her, because he’s determined to keep her memory alive. König’s been slowly rebuilding who he is as a person from whatever scraps are left. There’s a gaping hole inside him, and he’s reconstructed himself around the hole. In some ways he’s a totally new man, in other ways, he’s gone back to who he was before his wife came along. He’s bitter and angry at the way his life has treated him just as he was as a young man, but now he’s swallowed up by guilt and self loathing. He's gotten better at coping and functioning as the years have passed and life has continued on, but his grief has never really gone away.

(alexa, play "right where you left me" by taylor swift)

[safarigirlsp]

Happy Fuckin’ Birthday

Happy Fuckin' Birthday

Flip Zimmerman x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Angst, maybe? Comedy. Abuse of process. Hazing Flip for his birthday, as one should. Birthday pranks. Bitchy Reader. If you want a sweet, submissive, shy reader, my fics are never for you xD

AO3 Link

A little birthday celebration for Scorpio season! I had this written timely on November 19, but just forgot to post it. Whoops!

Turning forty wasn’t something Flip Zimmerman was overly excited about. It had nothing to do with the usual dramatics and neuroses that plagued most people. He didn’t have any deep regrets in life; he hadn’t taken any stupid turns or failed to seize any major opportunities; he didn’t have a ‘one that got away’ – the things in life that can add up to a mid-life crisis or make a man dread the passage of years. He had the woman he wanted, the job he wanted, and for the most part, the life he wanted. Flip didn’t give a damn about the number of candles on his cake. What annoyed the hell out of him was the production everyone else in his life had to make over it. That might rank as one of his bigger regrets in life, telling people close to him when his damn birthday was. His birthday would be a perfectly fine day, if no one else knew about it.

To Flip, his birthday was just another day on the calendar. But could everyone else in his life ever treat it that simply? Fuck no.

Flip never took the day off for his birthday. He immediately lost respect for any man who did that. Women got a pass with such frivolous and indulgent things, but men had no business pampering themselves like candy asses. This year was poised to be a little extra good for Flip since his birthday fell over a weekend. He could guiltlessly spend it exactly how he wanted, which was also how he’d spend every other day of his life if he was free from all financial, vocational, and social obligations. Flip wanted to spend his birthday weekend hidden away in his cabin, sleeping, eating, and fucking just as much as he wanted, and not doing a damned thing else or talking to a damned person other than his girl.

So far, Flip’s birthday weekend had been precisely what he wanted. Starting Friday night, he had gotten his birthday wish in quantities sufficient to appease all his ravenous hungers. Saturday had been the same, and it had been glorious. He had put on a damn fine show for his girl, if he did say so himself. He figured it was the best way to demonstrate he was a vigorous man in his prime, not a doddering old bastard. Flip had allowed his lady to finagle him into sharing a steaming hot bath with her after dinner to break up the pattern. He didn’t want to admit how good it felt on his aching muscles. Even though it was only due to all the extra use over the past two days, or rather, due to the gross lack of use during the other days of the year, Flip knew his sore muscles would be used against him on his fortieth birthday. All the running and weightlifting in the world wasn’t really the same as the workout a man gets from a marathon between the sheets. He knew he was in for a generous ration of shit for his birthday, not least of all from his girl. He’d wonder what was wrong if she wasn’t giving him hell. Still, it was best not to load the guns for her.

Flip defined ‘sleeping in’ differently than most. He had been conditioned by his days in the military to be up before sunrise and ready to meet every battle with the dawn. He felt extremely lazy and indulgent when he let the sunrise wake him as it first peaked over the mountains and into his bedroom window. This attitude was in stark contrast to his wife, who considered mornings in general to be a vile institution and often bitched about how morning people were given entirely too much power in society.

Dawn on Flip’s birthday was one of those crystalline winter mornings where the light was tinted a soft pink-blue-white and frost coated everything in sight like icing on a diamante cake. It had snowed several inches during the night and outside the window, the mountains were gleaming spires, the ground was covered with fresh powder, and the pines wore a layer of snow like fancy ladies swaddled in white mink. Snowy mornings like this were Flip’s favorite kind of morning, when everything was still pristine and sparkling with promise. Before any bullshit settled in.

Groaning contentedly, Flip stretched as the sunlight danced across his face. He was still a little sore in all the places he wanted to be, and he was rock hard and ready for a proper good morning.

So far, forty felt great.

Half asleep, he turned and nuzzled his nose into the soft warm body lying curled next to him. A soft, warm, furry body. Grumbling and pulling his face away, Flip opened his bleary eyes and glared through his disheveled hair at the fat, black cat he had inherited when he had begun living with his girl. Some men have worse step kids to deal with, he reasoned now as the adorable black asshole looked back at him through slitted green eyes, as if she was just as entitled to sleep in his bed as he was. Narrowing his own eyes back at the cat, he asked her, “Where’s your mom at?”

His question was answered by the clanging of a pot on the stove downstairs and a couple choice curses in a familiar feminine voice. Now fully awake, Flip became aware of the scent of bacon, eggs, and pancakes – his favorites – and strong black coffee just how he liked it. This was a rare treat. Flip usually assumed the duty of cooking breakfast on the days they could enjoy it together. Hearing his girl down in the kitchen, slaving away over the stove at such an unconscionable hour, as she deemed it, made him grin at the effort she put in for him.

“Your mom’s a keeper,” he confided to the cat and patted her round belly. “But you’re a sorry little porker.”

Flip stretched again and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He thought he should brush it before going downstairs, but he knew how she liked it when he looked a little wilder than usual. She liked him best when he smelled fresh from a shower but looked unbrushed, unshaven, and what he thought was mildly unkempt. Women are nonsensical creatures, he had realized early in his dating career. He damn sure needed to brush his teeth and wash his face though. He pulled on the pair of jeans he wore the day before and the flannel shirt he had thrown across the room the night before, only bothering to button two of the center buttons. The phone he’d left in his jeans pocket buzzed insistently against his ass.

Should have turned the fuckin’ thing off, he lamented as he retrieved it and saw the tirade of missed calls. He knew what all those calls meant. But as long as he ignored them, he had plausible deniability, as the bloodsucking lawyers say. As his girl would say. He lost his phone; his battery died; service is bad out at his place; his wife threw it at his head and it broke against the wall.

Against his better judgment, and because it was Stallworth calling and Flip didn’t feel right about ignoring his best friend, he answered.

“What,” Flip grunted, leaving no doubt as to his feelings over this intrusion. He thought to himself, This is the beginning of a bad fuckin’ day.

“Good morning to you too,” Ron said in his easy, affable tone. “It’s a beautiful day out, isn’t it?”

“I have a feelin’ I’m not gonna think so after you tell me why in the hell you’re calling.” Flip walked sullenly to the bathroom while Stallworth ran through some pleasantries. Thankfully, he didn’t lead with Happy Birthday. Flip would have hung up on him. Flip lifted the toilet seat and unzipped his jeans.

“We just got a big break in that jewel heist case. Actually, I did. On a stakeout last night,” Ron said proudly, then paused. “Are you taking a piss while I’m talking to you?”

“We’d both be happier if you weren’t talkin’ to me, but you called,” Flip muttered and flushed the toilet. He held the phone toward the bowl so Stallworth could hear the rush of water, mimicking Flip’s interest in the matter.

“You’re a barbarian, you know that?” Stallworth laughed despite himself.

“Flattery don’t do it for me,” Flip said as he ran the sink, letting the water warm. He noticed four angry red scratches on the side of his neck from his girl’s fingernails and felt a rush of pride. “Go out and catch your jewel thief and take all the glory. Girls love that shit.” He splashed his face with hot water and lathered it with his soapy hands. “I’ll read all about your heroics in the paper.”

“It’s not that simple,” Ron said regretfully. “We need you on this one. You know I wouldn’t be calling if we didn’t.”

“I’m off. It’s a Sunday. And it’s,” he just stopped himself from saying my fuckin’ birthday. “Too fuckin’ early.”

“You think I like being the guy who has to roust the bear out of his cave?” Ron tried to joke to his entirely unreceptive audience. “We need you. Get dressed and get your ass out here.”

“God damnit.” Flip hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Oh yeah, it’s gonna be a great day, he thought. Aloud, he grumbled to his reflection in the mirror, “Happy fuckin’ birthday, you old bastard.”

*******************************************************************************************

A scalding droplet of bacon grease jumped from the sizzling cast iron pan to land on your exposed thigh, making you cuss under your breath as you quickly wiped it away. You were always extra prickly in the morning. Flip deserves a nice birthday breakfast, you reminded yourself and inhaled deeply, deep enough to force a good mood down your throat along with the chilly morning air. Also in honor of his birthday, you opted for a casually sexy look as opposed to something more comfortable like pajama pants and a tank. You wore only one of his favorite shirts, worn until it was soft as velvet, and slippers. Early on you had realized he liked that look on you and something about seeing you in his clothes appealed to his innate possessiveness.

It was chilly inside the cabin, save for the heat from the stove. On cold winter mornings like this the little cabin furnace had to work overtime just to keep the pipes from freezing. To really get the temperature up in the cabin, a fire needed to be lit in the living room fireplace, but you were not that ambitious before sunrise and would leave it to Flip.

As you thought of him, you heard the wooden stairs creak and knew he was descending them. His footfalls were always light, he moved agility for such a large man. You pretended not to hear him and moved to the side of the stove, leaning forward in a provocative invitation under the guise of fiddling with the coffee maker. Predictably, Flip took the bait and wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing his chest against your back and molding his body against yours. But his arms enfolded you chastely around your waist and his hands didn’t roam higher or lower to seek out their favorite places.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you purred, rubbing your ass back against him. You felt he was wearing jeans and turned inside his arms to face him. He was fully dressed, right down to his boots. “You’re violating your own self-imposed dress code, or rather lack thereof, for this weekend.”

“I have good news for you, sugar,” Flip told you with a grin and kissed you deeply. “You get to sleep in today after all.”

“You mean after we succumb to a food and orgasm coma in a couple hours?” You grinned back. “I’d call that a nap, but suit yourself.”

“I got a call,” Flip started.

“We agreed no phones this weekend!” you cut across him, instantly bristling. “That was your rule. I have a big trial Monday and I’ve been ignoring my phone for a day and a half already. You better be joking.”

“You of all people know rules are made to be broken,” Flip tried again, still maintaining his grin that now looked moronic to you.

“I’m sore everywhere from you wanting to act like a horny teenager all day yesterday.” You raised a dangerous eyebrow. “I got up when it was still dark to freeze in your kitchen and get burned by grease to cook for you on your birthday, and you’re taking calls?” Your voice had dropped an octave and sounded deceptively calm. Flip knew these were very bad signs.

“I didn’t even take my phone out of my pocket yesterday. Ron caught me off guard this mornin,’” Flip used a reasoning tone, like he would when talking to a jumper. It didn’t help your darkening mood. “But listen, there’s been a big break in that jewel heist Ron and I’ve been workin.’ He got a tip, a hot tip, on where we can catch the bastard. But it’s tonight.”

“And Ron needs you to hold his hand for this escapade?” you asked testily.

“Well, he’s still a little green on things like this.” Flip rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor. He always did that when he was in trouble, like a grounded boy trying to look contrite. “I can eat breakfast real quick with you before I go.”

“Real quick?” you laughed sarcastically. “Just what every girl wants to hear?”

“How about I eat somethin’ else before I head out.” He winked at you, trying his best to lighten your mood.

“Yes, I’ve always loved the wham, bam, thank you, ma’am approach.” You glared at him. “How long will you be gone?”

“Well, I have to go in now to go over everything and get briefed before I go out to nab the bastard.” Knowing he was digging his hole deeper, he muttered the next confession. “And it’s at some fancy party down at the Broadmoor tonight. They figure I’d be better to walk in there and get the job done. That reminds me, I’ll need you to pick out a nice suit for me.”

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly.” You stepped away from him, beyond arm’s reach. “You’re leaving me alone today – on your day off, on a weekend, on your birthday – to go out to a swanky party at the Broadmoor while I wait here until you decide to show up again?” You raised your eyebrows. “And then, let me guess – when you get home, late, I’m sure, you want me to feed you dinner and fuck you all night again. Or will you have eaten dinner at your soiree?”

“Sugar, you know I can’t control the timing of these things,” Flip said regretfully. “Breakfast looks great. You look delicious. I don’t want to leave, you know that.” He shook his head and asked exasperatedly, “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s your birthday.” You crossed your arms over your chest and narrowed your eyes. “So, it’s your choice.”

Flip had been in enough life and death situations to know he was approaching one now. But he didn’t have much choice. “I have to go in. But I’ll be as quick as I can and I’ll see you tonight. I’ll make it up to you tonight, sugar.”

“This is such bullshit, Flip.” You were fully angry now. Flip knew he was going to be in trouble for a while. “I blew off my responsibilities to let you fuck me as much as you wanted this weekend, and what do I get? You blowing me off to run out and try to catch some petty thief? What happens if you don’t catch this guy today? You have no personal consequences. If I screw up at my job, I lose business and lose actual income, and still, I’ve been blowing off my duties for you this weekend. But you have to strut out to make an arrest now, just so you can dick wave.”

“C’mon, darlin,’” Flip pleaded, holding his arms out, as if you’d run into them. “It’s not like that.”

“No, it’s exactly like that.” You shook your head and shoved past him toward the stairs. “If you’re going to work today, so am I. I have a hearing to prep for, and at least I can bill three-fifty an hour. I’ll be late too.” You paused at the bottom of the stairs to twist the knife a little more. “Since you let these criminals interfere in our lives, maybe I’ll take your thief’s case pro bono after you arrest him and get him off in court instead of getting you off in bed.”

“Calm the fuck down!” Flip lost his temper and instantly regretted it. He calmed his own voice and added, “It’s not that big of a deal. Quit pullin’ your lawyer shit on me.”

“Are you having a senior moment? You must be getting old, after all,” you snapped and stormed up the stairs. “Don’t worry. Maybe we’ll celebrate your birthday next year.”

“You don’t think you’re overreacting just a little?” Flip asked foolishly.

“Not just yet, I’m not.” Halfway up the staircase you turned, pulled off a slipper, and threw it across the room at him. Flip ducked just in time to avoid a perfectly aimed headshot.

“You missed!” Flip bellowed triumphantly then added a cocky laugh.

You didn’t miss your second shot. You whipped your other slipper with more sting, sending it flying right into his chest with a satisfying whap. Then you turned on your heel and trotted up the stairs.

“Love you, sugar!” Flip shouted sarcastically after you. His face was hot and the thick vein in his neck pulsed angrily.

“Happy fucking birthday!” You slammed the bedroom door.

*******************************************************************************************

The drive into the station seemed longer than usual, possibly because Flip spent the better part of it grinding his teeth and strangling the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. He was not at all amused when Stallworth met him at the station door holding a cane.

“Take it easy, old guy,” Stallworth said, offering him the cane. “Need a hand getting to your desk?”

“You’ll need a hand pullin’ that cane out of your ass if you don’t get it out of my face.” Flip shoved past his friend and made his way to his desk, waving off several other old jokes and happy birthdays. His menacing glare would be enough to make strangers piss their pants. Sadly, his co-workers at the station knew this was mostly posturing and it did little to deter them.

Chief Bridges was waiting for Flip at his desk, leaning against it intrusively. He wore a shit-eating grin and said with every indicia of seriousness, “Forty, huh? You know what that means, Zimmerman. It’s time to re-take your firearms training. Maybe driving too. Make sure you’re not slipping as an old man. A man’s aim is the first thing to go.”

“Fuck you,” Flip growled irritably. “I’m in better shape now than I was in my twenties.”

“It’s worse than I feared.” Bridges grinned. “Sometimes, the mind goes first.”

“Forty’s not all that old,” Stallworth came to Flip’s defense. “For a tree or a tortoise.”

“Don’t let me catch you trying to get little blue pills off any trafficking suspects.” Bridges waved a finger at Flip. “I’ve had to write up more old farts for that in this department than you want to know.”

“Not one of my complaints.” Flip smirked. “You sound like you have some personal experience in that department, Chief.”

“I’m glad you’re a cocky sonofabitch, Zimmerman. And a ladies man. It makes this part of the job a helluva lot more fun for me,” Bridges said and Flip’s smirk melted away. “A ladies man is just what the doctor ordered for this sting. Turns out our jewel thief is a broad! Can you believe it? Word says she’s going to the event at the Broadmoor tonight and she’ll be wearing a black dress. All you have to do is sidle up to her, blow whatever smoke up her ass you need to, and get her to waltz right out of the party with you and up to the room we have setup. Stallworth will be there to help make the arrest in case you need backup. You think you’ll need a hand putting handcuffs on a woman once you get her into your bedroom?”

“I can’t fuckin’ do that and you know it!” Flip exclaimed angrily, on the verge of shouting. “I’m already in deep shit with the little woman over comin’ in at all today, and you think I’m gonna go out to a party and then bring some floozy back to a hotel room? I’ll do stupid things in the line of duty, but that’s a death sentence. No fuckin’ way.”

“Scared of a dame, are you, Zimmerman?” Bridges poked.

“I’m scared of the one I have at home,” Flip huffed indignantly. “I’d be a fool not to be. She’d string you up right alongside me, Chief. Find someone else. Ron’s single.”

“Our thief’s a tall gal. A woman won’t be interested in a man who’s shorter than she is, now will she? You’re the only man in the department who’ll be taller than her in heels.” Bridges looked at Stallworth and shrugged. “There’s a height requirement on this ride, and Ron’s several inches too short.”

“Just put a tail on her and grab her when she goes to the ladies room,” Flip suggested. “Easy.”

“If you haven’t noticed, the CSPD has been written up in the paper about once a month this whole year. All you overeager assholes making scenes and causing property damage during arrests,” Bridges chided both men, who had each been featured prominently in various articles. “The last thing I need is some big public scene at the Broadmoor to kick off the holiday season. Do you think this is a fucking negotiation, Zimmerman?”

“There wouldn’t be any negotiation if I told you to shove it up your ass along with my badge and gun,” Flip grunted, thinking that his job was interfering too much in his enjoyment of life.

“What else are you qualified to do? Public relations? Customer service?” Bridges laughed. “Being shacked up with a high-power lawyer the way you are, you should thank me every day for this job. You think a dame like that is gonna want some unemployed grumpy sonofabitch keeping her couch from running away. I got news for you, Zimmerman, cabana boys are about fifteen or twenty years younger than you.”

“Nope, I’ll go over to the dark side.” Flip smirked again. “The Feds have been houndin’ me pretty hard lately.”

“You’re getting to be a crotchety bastard in your old age,” Bridges said dismissively. He patted Flip on the back as he started toward his office. “Quit your bitching moaning and go get the job done. The faster you get it done, the faster you can be back home with your wife.”

“Sometimes I envy those whiny bastards who call in for their birthdays,” Flip groaned to Stallworth when they were alone.

“Too late for that now,” Stallworth said brightly. “Man up.”

“Manning up has never been a problem for me.” Flip glared at him and sat down heavily in his chair.

“What happened there?” Stallworth eyed the scratches you had left on Flip’s neck, pulling his shirt collar back to get a better look. “Are you being abused? Do you need a safe house interview? Was there some animal control problem with a bobcat I missed over the weekend?”

“I guess I’ve still got it,” Flip said proudly.

“Wow, and you left her on your birthday to come down here for me?” Stallworth batted his eyes and teased, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I feel like that’s a big step in our relationship.”

“She already calls you my work wife.” Flip shook his head. “Watch your ass, rookie, or there’s gonna be some domestic violence in our relationship.” Flip slumped in his chair, highly unamused and gestured for Ron to get on with it.

“Want me to talk slow when I go over this, old timer?” Stallworth teased, holding the casefile.

“Not in the fuckin’ mood.” Flip glared at his friend, not teasing at all. He snatched the file from Stallworth and slapped it down open on his desk. He was going to get this shit over with as fast as humanly possible. He retrieved a pair of glasses with large lenses and tortoise rims from his shirt pocket, a new addition to his wardrobe. He only recently capitulated to wearing them on occasion. But only for reading. He narrowed his eyes at Stallworth in anticipation. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

Before Flip could take in much on the first page, a commotion from the front of the station drew his attention. An argument and raised voices along with the shuffling of papers, all boded nothing good in a police station. Flip shoved up from his desk and hurried to see the cause of the uproar. Several officers argued with a fat little man who was so short Flip could only see the shiny top of his greasy bald scalp hovering chest level to the average sized officers around him. Dan Goldleaf was a private investigator who served papers in his spare time, one of the lowest forms of ilk to a cop, just above pedophiles and traffickers. Worst of all, the human shitstain worked for most of the defense lawyers in town.

When Flip approached the unruly spectacle, the trollish man excitedly waved the papers in his hand. He was gelatinously fat, and his whole body jiggled with the movement. He flashed a golden smile as he waddled to Flip. He pushed the papers into Flip’s chest and announced, “Here ya go, Zimmerman!” Quick as a ferret, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of Flip holding the papers in a clenched fist, a deadly glare on his face. Goldleaf straightened to his full height of around five feet and popped the lapels of his brown jacket, crackling a fresh mustard stain. The gaudy gold rings on every fat sausage finger glittered in the fluorescent lights. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Flip wanted to squish the greasy troll like a slug, but there were too many witnesses for that now. He looked at the crumpled papers he held in his fist and backed to the wall until his back was pressed against it. It kept him from pacing like a caged animal. He had been served with a formal looking document consisting of several pages. The papers had been sent by the law firm of Dewey, Cheatum & Howe. It began with:

CANDICE GOODING,

                        Petitioner,

 Vs.                                                                             

PHILIP ZIMMERMAN,

                        Respondent.

VERIFIED PETITION TO ESTABLISH PATERNITY

            COMES NOW the Petitioner, Candice Gooding, by and through undersigned counsel, Rob Cheatum, and in support of her Verified Petition STATES THE FOLLOWING:

“Christ, it’s a fuckin’ paternity suit from some bitch named Candice Gooding. Says she has a five-year-old kid and it’s mine! She’s comin’ after me for goddamn child support,” Flip gritted through clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body contracted and he shook with rage. He wanted to break something, or at least punch through a wall. He managed to grate out, “I don’t even know this bitch!”

“Candice Gooding,” Stallworth said slowly, enunciating every syllable, as if speaking to an idiot. “That doesn’t ring any bells?”

“It sure as hell doesn’t!” Flip was fuming, his chest flushed hot.

“What else could she call herself?” Stallworth mused, pretending to consider the issue. “Candy maybe?” Slowly, the red flush drained from Flip’s face until he was unusually pale. “Candy Goodie, maybe? Ring any bells now? Wasn’t she an ex-girlfriend some five, six years ago?”

“Motherfucker,” Flip groaned. He suddenly felt very old, as if he had aged a decade on his birthday. He leaned against the wall and knocked his head back against it roughly, as if he could bang some sense into his younger self. “She wasn’t my goddamn girlfriend, and you know it. She was just a slutty little cocktail waitress whose big dream in life was to be a stripper in Vegas where she could make the ‘big bucks.’ She was hot and easy and I fucked her a few times when I was hard up. Big deal. Any port in a storm, you know? Every girl I banged when I was footloose and fancy free wasn’t a girlfriend.”

“Guess you should have used some rubber to weather that particular storm,” Stallworth quipped, studying the papers more closely. “That candy must have been good if you went back for seconds.”

“Fuck you, buddy,” Flip said, really and truly wanting to punch something now.

“Better call your wife,” Stallworth suggested.

A look of pure terror flashed across Flip’s face for an instant before he could mask it. “Don’t you dare call her. Or tell her anything about this at all! Christ, you want to get me killed?”

“She’s a lawyer. Who do you think will be handling this for you?” Stallworth tried unsuccessfully to be helpful.

“Just haul me out back and shoot me now. Get it over with quick.” Flip dropped his head into his hands, shaking his head. “She can’t know a thing about this until I figure it out.”

*******************************************************************************************

“Hey, Sugar,” Flip crooned into the phone when you answered. “I was thinkin’ that since I have to get dressed up and put on the ritz tonight that you could get all dolled up too like you like and meet me after. I’ll take you out on the town and show you a real nice time.”

“I’m not in the mood,” you said, your tone told him you were far from appeased. “I thought you decided we were working today. And tonight.”

Flip had called while he was changing into his suit, a black one with a button up shirt in a dark shade of charcoal. He realized you had picked out one of your favorites for him that morning and it made him feel even guiltier. A nice suit usually had the effect of making him feel dashing, now it felt like he was dressing for his own funeral. Maybe I am, he thought to himself with a rueful smirk. Aloud, he said, “I know you’re mad as hell, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. I love you, sugar.”

“I’m on the clock, Flip,” you said sternly. “Something you know a lot about, right? We’ll catch up later. Whenever that might be.”

*******************************************************************************************

On the drive to the Broadmoor Stallworth informed Flip, “I called a clerk I know at the court who can verify the paternity suit on a Sunday. It’s real.”

“It’s like all my birthday wishes are comin’ true.” Flip glared out of the window, particularly eyeing the couples walking down the street, having a much better evening than he was.

Stallworth had informed Flip of all the details of their sting, how the event was in a private room of the Broadmoor, how they had booked a suite under the name of Frank Zeiss, a cover name Flip often used. All Flip had to do was find the mark, lure her up to the suite, and help Ron make the arrest. Flip didn’t even want credit. He wanted to forget everything about this day and pretend his fortieth birthday was limited to the nearly perfect Friday and Saturday he spent with his girl. Before he had to leave on call. Why in the fuck did he have to answer his damned phone this morning?

Flip stopped in at the hotel bar before seeking out the private event room. He needed a drink for this shit. He ordered an Old Fashioned and swirled the tawny liquid around in his glass. He thought of the way you always laughed at him like he was an idiot instead of suave when he tied the cherry stem in a knot with his tongue for your amusement.

As he thought of you, to his horror, you walked into the bar and aimed right for him. Wearing a sultry blue dress that hugged your curves in all the best places, he thought his girl had never looked like more of a knockout. But…

“What the hell are you doin’ here?!” Flip grabbed your arm when you got close to the bar and yanked you to him.

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said with only a hint of warning in your tone.

“I’m glad you’ve retracted your claws a bit from earlier,” Flip said in a quick, agitated voice. “But it’s not nice to see you. Not now, not here.”

“If you’re here looking for someone, shouldn’t you have your glasses on, old man?” you teased.

“Watch it, sugar.” Flip stepped closer to you until your bodies were nearly touching. “This old man was still goin’ strong when you threw in the towel last night.”

“Nice suit.” You ignored him and ran your eyes over his body. “You clean up alright.”

“This isn’t a game.” Flip fought to keep his voice low. “You could get us both hurt.”

“So serious,” you chided dismissively and placed a hand on his chest. It was endearing how nervous he was at the concern for your safety. A bead of sweat ran down from his temple. “Relax, handsome. All you have to do is stand there and look pretty, right?”

“Funny,” Flip said edgily. “Now get the hell outta here and I’ll call you when I’m done. I don’t want to be distracted by you and I don’t want you mixed up in all this.”

“Actually, I wanted to find you sooner rather than later because I got a call from a colleague. It made me think you might be in some kind of trouble.” You watched him closely as you spoke. “Or should I say, opposing counsel. A lawyer named Rob Cheatum.”

Oh, fuck. Flip’s mouth went dry and he fought to keep his expression stern and to give nothing away. “Must be important for him to call you on a Sunday.”

“Actually, he called me Friday after work. But unlike you, I followed the rules you wanted for your birthday and didn’t look at my phone until I was driving in today. That’s when I saw it. He said he’s representing some woman in a case against you.” You looked straight into his eyes. “What the fuck is he talking about, Flip?”

“Sounds like some bloodsucker out to sue the department again,” he deflected unpersuasively. “Isn’t that how you people get in the holiday spirit, by drumming up business?”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you lost your temper and punched a suspect again,” you sighed exasperatedly. “It gets old seeing your name in the paper.”

“We all know the only animals worse than lawyers are reporters.” Flip looked around, scanning for his suspect. “All the more reason for you to get outta here until I get this thing wrapped up. You don’t want to be included in a cover story with me when I cause a scene at this party, do you?”

“I can see it now.” You spread your hands like a banner. “Grouchy old man snaps at the younger crowd out having fun.”

“I sure don’t love you for your mouth, sugar.” Flip shook his head. He saw a tall woman in a black dress walking purposefully and fixed his eyes on her like a hunting dog. But there were several women in view wearing black dresses. And what was tall, anyway? The woman was probably five-eight, although heels always threw him off. Was that tall enough to be described as very tall? Probably not. Flip had been staring at her while running these mental calculations.

“Like what you see?” you asked, more to poke him than anything. You knew he was here under the guise of working.

“Not particularly. I’d give her a seven at best,” Flip gritted out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got a helluva lot better at home.”

“Speaking of, how long until the woman you’ve got at home is going to get some time with you?” you asked.

“Not long.” He shrugged.

“Not an answer, Detective,” you quipped.

Flip knew you only called him Detective when you were feeling flirty or feeling as mad as a wet cat. He knew which this was. Best to remain silent, he concluded.

“You’re here to grab some suspect, a woman, I gather from your roaming eyes,” you accused and Flip’s eyes darted immediately back to you, a little wider than usual. “You’re getting served papers from strange women, too. Is this some half-assed midlife crisis? Is it time for you to embarrass yourself trying to pick up eighteen-year-olds in a new convertible?”

“Whoa, pump the brakes on the crazy train.” Flip held up his hands in surrender. “I’m innocent until proven guilty.”

“Oh, you think this is a democracy?” you scoffed. “I don’t think so. This is a monarchy, and all ways here are the Queen’s ways.”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise.” Flip tried a calming tone that had zero effect. “Just let me find this woman and then we can get outta here.”

“Fine.” You put your hands on your hips.

“Don’t fine me, darlin.’” Flip mocked your posture, also putting his hands on his hips. “I know what fine means.”

“This is ridiculous. I’ll find this damn woman in black myself.” You turned on your heel and walked away.

Flip took a bounding step after you and grabbed your arm roughly, stopping you. “You’re making a fuckin’ scene.”

“Is this guy bothering you, miss?” The bartender asked, a clear warning in his voice.

You looked at Flip’s hand where he gripped your arm and cocked an eyebrow. Flip slackened his grip and you yanked your arm free. You strode purposely through the bar and toward the series of the Broadmoor event rooms. You looked over your shoulder once just to make sure Flip was following you. He was, of course, walking stiffly a few paces behind with his shoulders set and eyes narrowed, looking ready and eager to bust some heads. The hotel was crowded with holiday traffic and you both knew he couldn’t grab you again without making an even bigger scene.

At the door to the private room, Flip caught you again, grabbing the door handle in front of you and pinning you close with his body from behind. To an observer, it might look affectionate but his body was rigid against you and his tone angry, “This isn’t the time or place for you to act like a goddamn prima donna. Knock it off.”

“Just think, all this because you had to answer Ron’s call this morning.” You grinned and before he had time to process the implications of your words, you pushed his hand down on the door handle and leaned into it.

Flip stumbled into the event room right at your back, a little off balance and fuming.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices shouted inside the room.

Flip was nearly stunned by the cacophony of light and movement and shouting assholes inside the room. He stood, still gawkily positioned mid-stumble, blinking like a deer in the headlights. There were sparkly lights and girly decorations done in black and gold, and a table set with a giant cake and a few buckets of champagne. Music blared noisily from somewhere. All his traitorous friends smiled at him, Stallworth leading the charge of ingrates. Festive lights even shimmered on the greasy dome of Goldleaf’s head. The group of traitors yelled “Surprise!” again and then broke into a terrible round of Happy Birthday. Flip straightened and smoothed a hand over his suit, trying to look dignified while feeling like an absolute jackass for falling for this shit.

There was little Flip hated more in life than surprise parties. He forced a smile and thought that maybe it wasn’t as bad as those times he’d been shot. But no. The first time, he’d gotten some really good drugs. The second time, he got six weeks off and left the hell alone. The third time had given him one of your favorite scars that made him feel even tougher than he was. No, a surprise party was far worse than getting shot.

Flip squared his shoulders and put on his game face, steeling himself to endure a long night of socializing. He pulled you to his side just a little roughly and joined his own birthday party.

*******************************************************************************************

“That party must have cost a fortune,” Flip bemoaned. “I hope you didn’t foot the bill just to torture me.”

“Not a dime, actually. The owner of the Broadmoor is a client. Or rather, his son on his eighth DWI is,” you said nonchalantly. “He’s innocent, of course. Or rather, he will be once I’m done with him.”

Flip made a noncommittal grunt, still in the throes of post-party-trauma.

“He also threw in a free suite.” You looped your arm through Flip’s and steered him toward the elevators. “I’m sure you’ll like it more.”

The suite was equipped with a private balcony and hottub for guests who liked to enjoy the snowy alpine winters along with a steaming soak and a glass of wine. Flip held the door open for you like a perfect gentleman before slamming it closed behind him after following you inside. He held you at arm’s length when you tried to close the distance between you.

“I need a shower. I’ve been sweatin’ bullets all day thanks to you.” His lips were poutier than usual as he unbuttoned his shirt. Shrugging roughly out of it, he balled it up in his hands and threw it into the furthest corner of the room. Flip paused to glare at the shirt where it landed on the floor and huff a few breaths before storming into the bathroom as he unbuckled his belt. The slam of the bathroom door reverberated through the room when he kicked it closed. He continued to grumble and cuss under his breath inside the bathroom. The few words you could make out seemed to be in vehement criticism of birthdays and surprise parties and pondering the eternal question of just how much bullshit one man can take.

Smiling to yourself at his grouchiness, you decided to wait for him in the hottub on the balcony. Steaming jets and your warm touch would be just the ticket to turn his anger into something a lot more enjoyable for you both. 

As you peeled your own clothes away, you could still hear him bitching from inside the bathroom and it made you grin. The icy air hit you when you stepped naked out onto the balcony. Goosebumps rose across your skin, breath fogged from your lips, and your nipples peaked instantly at the chill as you quickly covered the few steps to the hottub. The crisp winter air made the hot water even more welcoming, and a cloud of steam surrounded you when you lowered yourself into the bubbling water. Leaning your head back against the edge of the hottub, you felt all the tension leaving your body as you waited for Flip. 

“I’m out here,” you called when you heard him emerge. “Come keep me company.”

Flip’s face and chest were still flushed from the heat of his shower when he walked onto the balcony, scowling. Pausing to linger in the doorway, towel slung around his hips, he leaned against the doorframe. He had to fight to keep his face stern as he looked down at your bare curves sitting tantalizingly amid the steam. 

“You’re not bad lookin’ for a double agent,” he told you, sucking at his teeth.

“Evil machinations are much easier when you’re pretty,” you teased and beckoned him to join you with a curled finger. “Don’t just stand there gawking about it, handsome.”

His scowl turned into something far more devilish as he tossed his towel back into the room and lowered himself into the hottub beside you. Slinging one arm behind you along the rim of the hottub, Flip wasted no time in pulling you close. Beside you, he turned to kiss your cheek, to nuzzle his nose softly against your skin along your jaw before he moved his lips to the place below your ear. Inhaling your scent, he began to lose himself in you. His kisses drifted to your neck and turned more biting and heated when you raised your hand to stroke his cheek. 

“I’m sure sorry for takin’ that call,” he mumbled against your skin. 

“Are you?” you asked with a laugh. “We’ll see if you learn anything from it.”

“I’m a quick learner.” Flip couldn’t help but laugh as his hand trailed up your thigh. 

Turning into him, you met his lips while he teased you with his fingers. Flip kissed you hungrily, his lingering anger coming out in his eager tongue licking into your mouth, his teeth clicking against yours, and his thick fingers pushing into you. 

“We’re not done celebrating yet,” you whispered into his kiss. “Your real birthday present is that I took next week off and arranged with the chief to note you as staking out a cabin for the week.”

He laughed when you told him the location, “That’s our address.”

“Is it really?” you feigned ignorance. “I’d call it a paid vacation on the taxpayers. As someone who gets shafted by Uncle Sam almost as often as I get it from you, I see no problem at all.”

“I thought you had work tomorrow?” Flip asked, looking at you with deep lusting respect.

“You thought so, yes,” you teased. “I’m off too.”

“So, you have to put me through the ringer first to earn it, huh?” He nipped your neck.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a grouchy bastard, you wouldn’t invite being screwed with, hmmm?” You twisted your fingers into his hair. “But we’ll never know.”

“A surprise party is playin’ dirty,” he said against your neck. “That’s hittin’ below the belt.”

“Funny thing is that I agree with you.” You tugged his hair sharply enough for it to be a reprimand. “Ron badly wanted to throw you a surprise party for your fortieth. I told him that I was giving you what you really wanted for the weekend, and that you would absolutely hate a surprise party. After a debate, Ron and I agreed that if he could entice you away from me today, he could inflict his surprise party upon you and I’d help lure you into it. It was insultingly easy for him, I might add. I really thought he’d have a harder time. So, I think it’s only fair to make you suffer a little on top of it. Serves you right for leaving me for your work wife.”

“So, you all gang up on me, huh? Wonderful.” He grinned. “You almost gave me a heart attack with that fuckin’ paternity horseshit. You arranged that awfully fast.”

“I thought it was nice icing on the cake,” you grinned back. “How long do you think it takes me to type a paternity petition? Fifteen minutes tops. Goldleaf is always happy to screw with you and so is Cheatum. A good time had by all. And just think, you chose all this.” You gestured grandly to encompass the enormity of the shitshow Flip had gotten himself into, “instead of staying shut in in bed with me all day.”

“I’ll never answer my phone again unless it’s you,” Flip huffed a laugh.

Deciding he had suffered enough for now, you slung your leg over his lap to straddle him. His cock was already deliciously hard and ready for you when you sank down onto him. No matter how many times he fucked you, it was always wonderfully intense before you adjusted to accommodate him. Flip’s hands smoothed down your sides, caressing you gently now before his fingers would grip bruises into you as you rode him. He kissed your neck and rolled his hips beneath you, groaning in that heady way of his when he was losing himself in the pleasure of your body.

The water sloshed in the hottub and steam whirled around you both as he fucked an orgasm out of you and followed you down into a warm, blissful afterglow. After several moments, cock still buried inside of you, he kissed your neck a few final times and raised his head to look at you with a satisfied grin.

“I hope this birthday was one to remember, old timer,” you teased as you moved your hands to rub the knots in his broad shoulders. “Forty’s a big one.”

“I really hate birthdays,” was his only grumbled response. 

“Spoken just like a grumpy old man,” you said amid a fresh stream of soft laughter. 

“Real funny, sugar.” Flip nipped at your skin before pulling you close again for round two. “Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

*******************************************************************************************

© safarigirlsp 2023

Tagging some buddies! 

@babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland @reveluving @vedavan @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus @looking4mymagicshop @lumberjack00fantasies

[sweetsummersemen]

Damn Lois is so wrong about her kids in the Malcolm in the Middle finale it makes me think she hasn't really revised her plan since before Jamie was born.

Malcolm as president is... He's got book smarts but that's it. Look at the situation:

Malcolm has contempt for just about everyone he meets and he doesn't hide it. He has contempt for the Krelboynes because of their neuroses, but when he spends time with normal kids, he can't stand them because he thinks they're beneath him (and he makes sure they know it). You can't make it in politics without making connections. Unless he can learn to keep his mouth shut (and considering it never lasts when he tries) he'll never get the allies he needs. You need to be able to bullshit *somebody* if not everyone.

Malcolm has no connections now. He isn't from a political family, he doesn't summer with rich kids. The only moderately well off person is Stevie and he only seems to be upper middle class. Working part time as a janitor will help him fund himself but it'll stop him from joining fraternities and societies. Which is where he'll meet the people he needs to propel his career.

His subject. Malcolm is studying some kind of biology when we leave him. His talents are STEM. Not law, or political science, or international relations or history. Honestly I think he'd be best as an academic. At least his abrasive personality would help him fit in.

His personality part 2: Malcolm suffers and feel sorry for himself, not others in the same situation. He's the same as the other Krelboynes: high IQ, overbearing mother, bullied by the other kids. But he doesn't empathise with them. He only feels sorry for himself. Which with his contempt issue won't make him the candidate for the workers. He'll be the "fuck you I got mine candidate".

His strategy: Malcolm has one political strategy: when things go wrong and he has to fix it, his instinct is to bring everyone down to nothing. He does it when he makes the Krelboynes have a breakdown, he does it when he tries to make up with Reese and reads out everyone's files. Even when he's trying to do the right thing, his instincts are destructive.

His impulsiveness: especially with girls, even before he hits his teens. He sleeps with his own brother's girlfriend! He'll have a sex scandal before his political career gets off the ground. He also has no verbal filter which won't get him very far.

And Lois's summary of Dewey makes me think she definitely hasn't been paying attention to him since Jamie came along (which, she definitely hasn't).

Dewey hasn't been a happy go lucky little weirdo since season 4. His big arc was the Busey class where he did exactly what Lois wants from Malcolm, on a micro scale. He suffers with the special kids and he becomes their leader because he knows he is the only person willing to help them. He doesn't spend that time feeling sorry for himself and lashing out at the Buseys, like Malcolm certainly would. He has contempt but for the system and actors causing the issue, not the victims.

Even putting aside the morality of what Lois did to Malcolm, she was wrong. She backed the wrong child.

[souvlakicocaine]

I don’t believe “cis” women exist. no one organically aligns w an artificial design that males spent hundreds of thousands of years emasculating subjugating and starving female humans into. the organic woman is literally just a “man” (connotatively known as the neutral default) w a vagina (+ female sex characteristics etc). honestly and unfortunately I believe the most promotive thing women can do in earth’s current state is transition. this way you’re demanding humanity regards u exactly the same as a man, but w a vagina. females are starved thru diet culture, shaved like mole rats, and preen themselves 2 b sexually selected by men through either rape or manipulation who produce traits men want to see in female offspring this way. we gotta eliminate sexual dimorphism honestly. we’re already the species with the lowest degree. women take roids grow beards bulk up eat more abandon feminine neuroses dress normal unlearn that stupid high pitch 2 ur voice in fact actively make it lower get more violent commit more crimes right now. leave women addicted 2 acting subhuman n braindead in the dust we have no time 4them

[libbee]

Surviving Rock Bottom

🌼 For inner planets in 8th house natives; after crisis - before transformation = the stage of neuroses.

🌼 Before every transformation for 8th house natives, they are trapped by neuroses; they shed their skin after neuroses to reborn - this is almost constant in their life, but also happens at least one major rock bottom stage that they must learn to handle. Whatever may be the trigger, these natives face intense emotional crisis. Their life begins to get out of control - heart break, job loss, divorce etc. They fall into a downward spiral of ruminations, before they are consciously aware of it, they spend hours everyday thinking about the past with painful emotional outbursts. Ruminations are repetitive thoughts revisiting the same events from past. As we all know that 8th house placements are hallmark of intergenerational trauma, this crisis is the call for healing. This stage of life is called neuroses; it was also called hysteria in old days.

🌼 Carl Jung has said "in all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order, in all caprice a fixed law for everything that works is grounded on its opposite". The natives are yet to know the reason behind their suffering. Unfortunately, if they are lonely, it can take years for them in rock bottom, spending each passing day in the insanity. It is not so simple to get out of this obsessive rumination for the natives - otherwise they would do it already. They cannot just "choose to not think these thoughts" - this is what makes the rumination so powerful, this is what feels like fate, a doom, a curse.

🌼 The reason why these natives fall into this spiral is the heightened negative feelings. As we know that the 8th house signifies the territory everything that is hidden and unknown. This uncertainty of who they are (lack of sense of self) and where they are going (life path) compels them to seek certainty in life. 8th house placements are unfortunately not gifted with a "sense of self", they feel like invisible energy, like a jellyfish they feel transparent and attach themselves to people, things, interests, addictions and make it their whole personality. When in relationship, they mirror and depend on their "favourite person" for the validation of their existence. This relationship must break at some point in their life because they are also prone to invest themselves in wrong type of people, ignoring red flags and being irrational rather than logical about life choices.

🌼 Apart from astrological view, in the words of science, they are genetically predisposed to such neuroses states. In addition to this, their parents also create disturbing environmental influences for them to develop chronic emotional illnesses. These disorders are inherited - what we call "ancestral karma". 

🌼 When the child never learned emotional regulation from their parents and also genetically prone to neuroses, they recall the negative material, negative "autobiographical memories" of the past and negative emotional state all the time.  Gradually they fall into depressive states, ruminating about the events of childhood and fixating on negative emotions. If you are an 8th house native, you know exactly what it feels like - no words can describe what is only experienced by the fallen hero.

🌼 Some symptoms of this spiritual crisis are 1. Obsessive rumination 2. Compulsive behaviours as a routine 3. Depression 4. Apathy towards life (Nihilism and hopelessness) 5. Negative intrusive thoughts 5. Phobias 6. Perpetual anxiety state.

🌼 Lots of natives go to therapy and hospital in emergency to protect against suicidal ideation, self harm and self destructive addictions. Indeed in such cases, pills and medicines are necessary to rescue the natives from their crisis. However, Carl Jung writes that this crisis is the harbinger of soul transformation. He writes that anxiety is the attempt by psyche to self cure the trauma. He writes to 1. Experience the trauma rather than numb the symptoms with pills; 2. Identify the meaning of neuroses; 3. Understand what the neuroses is trying to tell/teach you; 4. Identify the purpose of neuroses in your life; 5. To go from infantile attitude to psychological development. 

🌼 Unfortunately, I have seen natives with these placements never being able to cure their neuroses and instead fall into lifelong alcohol addiction problems that spoiled their family life and caused many miseries like road accident and early death. This shows how powerful and strong the anxiety is. If they belong to below middle class sections in society, they can even end up homeless and helpless (though 8th house is also connected with other people's money  so they could be supported by spouse income or parental income).

🌼 There are some reasons why natives fail to get out of neuroses or delay it: 1. Laziness; 2. Lack the courage to face the challenge of life; 3. Lack of awareness or support system; 4. Fear of change. Though this is not a definite list. Never underestimate the power of neuroses; 8th house transformation doesn't always mean "something beautiful is born out of the mess". A lot of natives simply "transform for the worse" - they do not improve, they do not actualize, they just remain there in self destructive cycles. It is that scary. It is survivorship bias to assume that all 8th house planets will become spiritual and awakened - a lot of them do not and we never hear their story. So, if you are one of those who find themselves near self awakening, please grab the opportunity and get your life on track.

🌼 Therefore, it is crucial to understand that this neuroses is the urge to develop your own personality. It is a call to change your attitude towards life, to change your way of life, to not conform to the herd mentality, to focus your energy on living in the world rather than in your head, to attain psychological independence from your parents, to contribute to community as a responsible worker, to find a purpose in life. It is the call to do self actualization and attain self knowledge, although it is dressed like a nightmare with a hidden gift.

🌼 Do not waste anymore of your energy on internal conflicts, reliving the past memories and processing the trauma that happened to you. There is only one choice in life - to move forward or to regress to the immature and infantile mode again. Your are intuitive, you KNOW the answers in your heart. I always read about the "transformations" of 8th house natives but never really found an answer for what exactly transformation means? Is it magic?  Or is it some legitimate process? I finally found the answer.

This video describes the concept:

Here is quotes from the video:

“What direction the patient’s life should take in the future is not ours to judge. We must not imagine that we know better than his own nature, or we would prove ourselves educators of the worst kind…It is better to renounce any attempt to give direction, and simply to try to throw into relief everything that the analysis brings to light, so that the patient can see it clearly and be able to draw suitable conclusions. Anything he has not acquired himself he will not believe in the long run, and what he takes over from authority merely keeps him infantile. He should rather be put in the position to take his own life in hand.” - Carl Jung, Some Crucial Points in Psychoanalysis

“Only boldness can deliver from fear. And if the risk is not taken, the meaning of life is somehow violated, and the whole future is condemned to hopeless staleness.” - Carl Jung, Symbols of Transformation

This transformation can take years and this is the rebirth of the Phoenix. Rising from the ashes into a new life. Starting from scratch. Shedding old skin. Burning bridges. Reborn. So many names.

[theminecraftbee]

"Pick 2 fics and I'll combine them somehow"

Attempt 33 and solving counting sheep?

(was going to ask scs + boatem roadtrip, but that was answered by a crystal clear mental image of the meme "gee Three, how come you get two crises of selfhood after being changed into something eldritch by forces beyond your control")

okay so there are two directions to take this one--actually no hold on make that three:

three stuck in a time loop, we write about the thirty-third attempt to escape this time loop. interestingly, i think that while three wouldn't have the SAME neuroses about it as joe hills (fewer groundhog day references, for one, but also three has less of a painful need to help people to its own detriment), it would have a similar problem of "constantly approaching the goal line and refusing to entertain getting off of that path". this would be a fic in which three has a few brand new existential crises, for sure! i think that three would like... be less transparently SAD about everything? but also would be a lot more. this would be a fast way to get three to descend into mission mode. it'd be fun!

joe hills turned into a watcher weapon. to be honest, i don't know where, exactly, to take that one; i knew what i wanted from three because i was playing in the territory of a bunch of existing tropes. i knew what a typical watcher!grian looked like, i knew what a typical winter soldier fic looked like, and i knew what themes of identity i wanted to play with. joe hills would be a bit more uncharted, partially on the front of "there really aren't as many joe hills whump tropes for me to play around with unfortunately" and partially on the front of "well, three ISN'T grian, and i'm not sure what shape i'd make the person who isn't joe". so, there you go there.

but then i remembered another old fic idea i could mention that, in a literal plot sense, doesn't combine these two fics that much, but in a THEMATIC sense, very much does. anyway a while ago i had this fic idea i never wrote out where, one day, traffic!cleo wakes up in hermit!cleo's place, in a universe where we assume those are two different people who live two different lives, and the fallout from that is Messy To Say The Least. this is one of those fics i have a title from a song for in my head--"To a Poet"--and a few VERY STRONG scenes in my head. for the record the themes here that combine are "joe's inability to stop helping people even to his own detriment", "dealing with people seeing you for someone you aren't and expecting you to remember things you don't", and "oh my god all of these people have so much trauma and that affects their relationships so bad". man i should pull this fic out of the back burner again sometime, it really was a good idea...

[chronicangelca]

rhapsody in green

Link to this fic on AO3. Words: 2786 Date posted: May 30, 2024

Summary: He tries to tell himself that he’s not being stood up. They said around six, and it’s only ten minutes past the hour. Around doesn’t mean six exactly, and sure, Lex got here half an hour early because he was worried he wouldn’t be able to find the place or something else would make him late, but Jimmy probably doesn’t have the same neuroses that Lex does. Maybe Jimmy hasn’t texted him saying where he is or what the hold up is, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it?

Lex hasn’t been back to Suicide Slum since he left for college when he was 16, and every time the door to the bar Jimmy picked out opens up, he half-expects his father to walk in. It’s mostly college students, though, some sporting the traditional yellow and red of Metropolis University, many crowded together at one round booth in the corner and laughing loudly. There’s a TV playing some show that Lex doesn’t recognize and isn’t really paying attention to, and there’s outdoor seating with a pool table that no one has touched all night. He guesses six o’clock might not be the right hour for the pool crowd.

“Ya wan’ another water?” The bartender asks in something resembling a Boston accent, and Lex nods rather than answering out loud, jumping and turning to look when he hears the door open again. It’s just another college student, smiling and waving at her friends in the booth.

He tries to tell himself that he’s not being stood up. They said around six, and it’s only ten minutes past the hour. Around doesn’t mean six exactly, and sure, Lex got here half an hour early because he was worried he wouldn’t be able to find the place or something else would make him late, but Jimmy probably doesn’t have the same neuroses that Lex does. Maybe Jimmy hasn’t texted him saying where he is or what the hold up is, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it?

Face it, Lex, he thinks as an older pair of men walk up to the bar to order a pitcher of beer. Jimmy probably realized that you two were incompatible and decided not to go through with the date. He’s probably sitting in his apartment trying to figure out how to text you to cancel. You don’t even know why he was interested in you in the first place.

The door swings open again, and before Lex can even turn to look, the bartender grins and throws his arms up in the air, his green sweater untucking from his pants to reveal the hairy bottom of a fat belly. “Jimmy! I ain’t seen ya in months! I was startin’ to think ya forgot about ol’ Bibbo Bibbowsky.”

“I graduated, Bibbo!” Jimmy laughs, and he sounds somewhat breathless, like he ran to get here. “I’m working at the Daily Planet now, it’s not a 10 minute walk from the apartment to catch a quick drink anymore.” There aren’t any chairs at the bar, so Jimmy leans his elbows on it, one of them bumping up against Lex’s.

“Well I never understood the college types,” Bibbo dismisses with a wave. “Ya still drinkin’ a starry night?”

Jimmy gives a thumbs up and then turns to Lex. “I’m so sorry that I’m late,” he starts, bowing his head down in what Lex assumes to be shame. “My last meeting of the day ran over and then I walked all the way back to the apartment and realized I forgot my jacket at the Planet and--”

“It’s fine,” Lex dismisses, with a sort of casual coolness in his voice that he thinks doesn’t betray the fact that he was totally panicking about whether Jimmy was ghosting him or not only a few minutes ago at all. “So this was the bar that you hit up in college?”

“This is the bar that everyone hits up in college,” Jimmy corrects while Bibbo slides him a glass of the same dark liquor that they were drinking when they first talked (really talked). It doesn’t look exactly the same, the gradient less smooth and fewer gold flakes suspended throughout. He guesses it’s probably cheaper. “You didn’t go to MU, did you?”

Lex shakes his head and takes a sip of his water. “The last thing that I wanted to do was lock myself in Metropolis for another five years,” he says. “I thought about going to Gotham U, but the crime rate is way too high to live there sustainably unless you’re super rich and can afford the nice neighborhoods. I ended up going to Columbia.”

“Up in New York?” Jimmy asks as though there’s another one. Lex nods anyway. “My parents went there. That’s where they met. Mom always told me that I shouldn’t put myself into so much debt for a journalism degree that I’d never be able to use to pay it off,” he says, rolling his eyes. Lex attended on substantial scholarships, but he has to admit that it was more expensive than staying at home would have been. He thinks MU even offered him a free ride. “So what brought you back to Metropolis then?”

“My sister. She’s five years younger than me. I started college a little early, but after I finished my master’s degree, I was pretty much just working some deadend job at a tech startup in Manhattan debating if I wanted to go for the full PhD or not. When she told me that she was starting school down here, I knew that our parents weren’t going to do anything to support her, so I moved back and took the job at AmazoTech.”

Jimmy stares at him for a second, and Lex would be anxious if not for the little smile just barely visible on his lips. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, and he’s sure his cheeks are pink again. “Y’know, you’re a really nice guy, Lex,” Jimmy says, and Lex wants to argue, but there’s another loud burst of laughter from the college students in the booth that cuts him off. He levels them with a glare, and Jimmy rests a hand on his shoulder. “It’s pretty loud in here. Why don’t we step outside?”

The outdoor portion of the bar is simple. Much like the outdoor dining in a restaurant, there’s a cement floor and a few tables with umbrellas. There’s one long table in the middle, which houses another large group of college students, but they’re passing around a cigarette (at least, Lex hopes it’s a cigarette) and speaking in more hushed tones. In the back, there’s the pool table, with a ratty couch seated a few feet away from it under an awning. Next to that couch is a window which leads back into the bar, presumably to order drinks without going back inside.

Jimmy drags him all the way to the back, plopping down on the couch next to the pool table. Back here, it’s almost quiet, the chatter at the other tables not carrying too far. “Is this better?” Jimmy asks, and Lex nods. Then, hardly a beat later, “Do you know how to play pool?”

Lex, in fact, does not know how to play pool. Based on how the game goes, Lex thinks that Jimmy probably guessed that. Jimmy breaks, the balls shooting around the table in a scattershot, two solids immediately getting pocketed. He manages to get a third before missing his fourth shot, the cue ball barely whiffing by a solid yellow ball. Then, for Lex’s turn, Jimmy presses himself up close behind him, grabs both of his hands, and carefully helps him aim the shot, murmuring some sort of advice about how to line it up in his ear that Lex does not hear at all over his heartbeat pounding against his eardrums. He’s sure his face must be bright red. The rest of the game goes rather similarly, with Jimmy pressed up close against Lex and holding him for each of his shots, until eventually Jimmy scratches (Lex learns what scratching is in that moment) and apparently the game is over.

“I think you should do a study with that big science brain of yours about whether or not beginner’s luck is a real thing,” Jimmy says, in remarkably high spirits for having lost.

“I don’t know how--” He starts, but Jimmy holds up a hand to cut him off and then leaves him there to go to the window and get them some more drinks. Lex takes the opportunity to lean against the table and take a deep breath. He’s not sure he’s ever had that much sustained contact with another person, and if he has, it definitely wasn’t positive.

There’s a tap on his shoulder, and he turns around to see a behemoth of a man with dark sunglasses and hair slicked back with so much hair gel it seems like the guy has probably never used hair gel in his life. He’s got the Superman body type, and it immediately sets Lex into mild fight or flight. “Excuse me, are you using this table?” The guy asks.

Behind him, Lex can barely see a tiny yet familiar woman, also wearing dark sunglasses. “Um, I think my friend was about to--”

“Are you guys serious?” Jimmy yells, loud enough that a few patrons at other tables turn to look at them. He stomps over, setting their drinks on the nearest table. “This is seriously not cool! Lois, I know this scheme was your idea, but Clark, you shouldn’t have let her drag you into it!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the woman (Lois?) says, at the same time that the man (Clark!) says, “I’m sorry, you’re right, we should just go now.”

All three of them stare at each other for a second, and Lex feels distinctly left out of the loop. “Um, hi,” he eventually says, and then all three of them turn to stare at him and he suddenly feels like that was definitely the wrong move.

Jimmy pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and uses the other hand to gesture at the couple. “Lex, you’ve met Lois. This is Clark, my idiot best friend.” Clark waves meekly, and Lois grins entirely unabashedly, like she doesn’t understand what she’s done wrong. “They came here to spy on our date like children.”

“We weren’t spying!”

“Um, Lois, you called it a spy mission.”

Lois turns to (presumably) glare at her boyfriend, and then both of them reach up to take their sunglasses off. “It’s nice to more properly meet you,” Lois says, holding out a hand.

“Right,” Lex says skeptically, eyeing the both of them up and down as he shakes her hand like it might go off if he touches it wrong.

“They’ll be leaving now,” Jimmy says, shooting the both of them a look. Clark brings up a hand to rub at his neck and Lois glares right back at him.

“Oh come on! Clark says that you’ve never gone on a date with anyone in all the time that he’s known you!” Lex blinks, and Jimmy pulls both of his hands up to bury his face in them. “We were curious! Just one game of pool and then we’ll leave.”

Jimmy drags his hands down his face with a groan and then turns to look at Lex, like he’s silently pleading for him to send them away so he doesn’t have to. Lex can’t help but smile a little bit to himself. He’s never seen Jimmy really interact with his friends before, and he thinks that it could be interesting just to observe him in something at least resembling a more natural environment. Maybe he’d prefer that wasn’t their first date, but oh well. “One game couldn’t hurt anything.”

“See? One game couldn’t hurt anything!” Lois repeats, grinning at Lex, and he thinks he can feel the credit he’s earned with her. He can’t help smiling to himself a little.

“Fine,” Jimmy groans in obviously reluctant agreement. “But I’m breaking,” he insists, grabbing the stick he’d used in the last game and taking a long drink from one of the two bright pink drinks he had brought over for them. Lex takes a sip of his, watching Jimmy line up the shot and send the balls flying around the felt. They’re stripes this time, it would seem.

With his friends here, Jimmy doesn’t help Lex line up his shots like he had in their game, and he has to admit that he likes pool less this way. He bends as far over the table as he can, narrowing his eyes into tiny slits at the balls as he tries to calculate the best angle to hit them at. Admittedly, the physics of this game aren’t as straightforward as they seem.

He hits the ball too hard, and the one he tried to pocket goes tumbling around the whole table like a rocket before stopping against a wall.

Lois and Clark debate for a minute who’s going to take the first shot, and then Lex and Jimmy are treated to the comedic sight of Clark bending his hulking body over the table and Lois pressing her body against his the same way Jimmy had to help him line up the shot. Her hands don’t even reach his from behind, landing more at his elbows than his wrists, and even standing on her tiptoes she’s murmuring whatever advice she thinks is going to help him out into the base of his neck. He must be at least a foot taller than her, and Lex wonders for just a moment how that must work before realizing he absolutely does not want to know. But it does work, apparently, because Clark manages to pocket two balls with one shot.

When it’s Lois’ turn to shoot, Clark contrasts her so completely by standing at least three feet back, his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted like he’s trying to actually watch her-- not just take her in, but observe what she’s doing. “Take a look at this, Smallville,” she exclaims enthusiastically as she takes the shot, only to not only not sink a ball, but to miss any contact with every ball in front of her. Lex coughs a laugh, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. “I’m going to get a drink,” Lois announces with a pout.

One game turns into three, until Lois, Jimmy, and Lex have all had much more alcohol than they reasonably should and Clark has started forcing his friends to drink water and gently pleading with Lex to do the same (fortunately, he doesn’t have to fight too hard; Lex is still not really a drinker). It turns out that Lex and Lois are both awful at pool, and the games are mostly between Clark and Jimmy, with their respective partners just slowing them down. This doesn’t really stop Lois and Clark from winning all three games.

“Okay, I should really get these two home,” Clark tells Lex apologetically, with one arm around Lois’ waist and the other around Jimmy’s shoulders.

“Nooo, Clark, c’mon! One more game,” Lois pleads.

“We have brunch with your dad tomorrow,” Clark says, with a tone like the last thing he wants to do is actually go to brunch with Lois’ dad. Lex assumes there’s a history there that he doesn’t know about. Then, eyes widening a little, Clark slips his arm off of Jimmy’s shoulder and says, “Well! Lois, we should really go close your tab.”

Lex and Jimmy stand across from each other, alone in a sea of strangers. “I’m so sorry about them. I thought they might do something like this, but then it just seemed--” He cuts Jimmy off with a kiss, and their mouths slot together like puzzle pieces. Jimmy is warm and smells like campfire and alcohol, his lips wet and plump. He brings his hands up to cradle Jimmy’s cheeks, which practically burn under his palms. Jimmy’s hands come up to his waist, sliding under his letterman jacket from a high school he hated going to.

When they pull apart, Jimmy’s eyes are half-lidded and his mouth hangs open just a little bit. It’s adorable, and Lex wants to kiss him again. “I had a good time,” he says instead.

Jimmy clears his throat and pulls away the rest of the way, shoving his hands into the pockets of his puffy blue jacket. “Right,” he says. “Well, let’s make sure to do it again sometime soon then, huh?” Lex nods, and Jimmy rushes away to join his friends. Lex can see him starting an argument, but he can’t hear him over the other people still populating the terrace.

Lex stands there for a minute just trying to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest and his cheeks burning. That went… better than he ever could have imagined. He went out with Jimmy, they had a good time, they kissed, and it was amazing. And he even thinks his friends like him which is… well, it’s more than he could have ever asked for.

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

normally I only do these for OCs (like... one time) but I decided to doodle some touch maps for the windowverse versions of Peter and his clones... Somewhere between a reference and a curiosity.

Obviously this is very AU-specific. it's not 616 at all lmao

Kaine's and Ben's I didn't mark a particular timespan because they're generally consistent over the years, though Kaine does very slowly relax a tiny bit (over the span of like two decades...)

Peter's is a lot more variable over the years because of his journey with uhh PTSD but—

(~roughly where he's at during "creep" — he's mostly functional but obviously has some specific hang-ups and isn't the most friendly to being touched by random people)

(almost exactly the same but a little less averse to some stuff. he loosens up a lot around 2009, for a few years, but still doesn't like being touched by people he's not particularly close to)

(the worst year of his life happens and it takes him until 2015/"the curse of the man-spider" to gradually start relaxing again)

(did not make one for post-2015 but it would probably be similar to the 2007-2009 one, but with added "no touchy" around his wrists, neck and ankles)

Peter himself is very touchy feely, it's just that there are certain times in his life where—while he may do a lot of casual touching with friends and family—he does not himself like or want to be touched, because of PTSD and neuroses.

[iambic-stan]

can anyone relate?

My doctor broke it to me at my last appointment that she won't be seeing patients for the foreseeable future. Her (personal and professional) reasons aside, I had a difficult time with it for a couple of days, and I'm still not happy about the news. I made great strides with her--more than I imagined I would. I never told her about my love of hearts, at least not exactly. I did tell her that I think hearts are awesome, but didn't elaborate. I didn't want to force it in an unnatural way and make anything awkward for either of us. But I thought that eventually, having a chance to explain to her the paradox of my fear/hatred of medical things but love of stethoscopes and hearts might help her understand me and give me a little more ease and confidence when seeing her. And being able to be open about something that I've been full of anxiety about in recent years is always nice. I don't think I regret not explaining myself fully, because the timing wasn't right. She did recommend another doctor to me, one that she knows personally, and I feel good about that. BUT, I'm not looking forward to starting at practically zero and having to explain my neuroses to another medical professional. At the same time, I feel like I have nothing to whine about because receiving good healthcare is all about explaining and advocating for oneself, and everyone has to do this at some point, including those with more medical challenges than I currently face. Still, a lot of mixed feelings going on.

[abarbaricyalp]

Hi again. For the kiss prompt: #4 + SamBucky

Hiiiii! And bless you for specifying the ask meme 😭😄 I didn't think through reblogging two on the same day. Thanks for sending in a prompt!

#4: A kiss where it hurts

Sam was alone in the fight. Which, yeah, he knew better, but it's not like he'd exactly gone out planning to make contact with the man he was tailing. It was just intel, until it wasn't.

He was alone until just before the last connection of brass knuckles and his temple. In those hazy, pained seconds, he saw a familiar silhouette stalk towards the altercation with a surety and prowess that make Sam's heart cinch for a second before everything went black.

He woke up in a slightly less familiar room, but one he still knew. It was one of the only safe houses Bucky had used in the United States when he was on the run. Sam and he had utilized it several times. Bucky had never been around when Sam woke up, but he was now, with his back to Sam while he washed something in the sink.

Sam took him in silently. Since Bucky's assignment to the Thunderbolts, they'd hardly seen each other. In passing at a function. Separated by a conference table in DC. In the midst of a battle they were both assigned to. As far as Sam knew, Bucky was supposed to be somewhere in Africa. Not saving his ass in New York.

Still, in all these fleeting moments, Sam had seen instantly what the assignment was doing. Had watched the warmth in his eyes fade as they went back from blue to grey. Had watched his shoulders tighten. Had seen the way muscle had appeared on his frame practically overnight. His scowls got deeper and meaner. He avoided cameras when he could and Sam had seen him flinch at someone's hand on his shoulder in a broadcast a few weeks ago.

Sam saw it all because he knew it all. The same tics and neuroses he'd had after the Triskelions.

And then he saw none of it when Bucky turned around, wiping his hands down the front of his shirt exactly the way Sam hated. The man in front of him was the same one who had pouted on the couch while some suit in a black car waited in the driveway. The same man who hauled Cass over his shoulders and ran into the ocean to a soundtrack of screeching laughter. The same one who swore revenge on the possums and raccoons that ate the garden.

Sam let out a long breath and smiled at him.

And then all the pain set in.

Bucky was next to him instantly, kneeling by the bed as damp hands found Sam's face and tilted his head back.

"How are you feeling?" he asked lowly. His thumb swooped over the temple that didn't feel like an overripe fruit. "You didn't wake up. I thought..." Sam watched a tendon in Bucky's jaw jump as he looked away.

Sam leaned forward to kiss it softly. "Better than I ought to be," he answered. "Thank you."

"Poetic," Bucky complimented gruffly. "But I need a real answer."

Sam tried to turn over enough to sit up, but it sent a wave of nausea through him, so he stopped. "My ribs and head are killing me," he admitted. "My knee too, but if I don't move, it's fine."

"There wasn't a lot of morphine here. I need to restock the medical bag," Bucky rambled as he gently pet his hands over Sam's chest and arms, not looking at his face. "You were unconscious, so I didn't give you a lot. I can up it some now. Head out when you fall asleep again."

Sam hummed in response and brought his fingers up to Bucky's jaw until he finally lifted his gaze. "You know what else might help?"

Bucky perked up at the opportunity to be useful. "Anything, Sam," he promised.

Sam pushed his fingers back into Bucky's hair. It had gotten longer again, all shaggy and in his face, curling around his ears. Sure, it added to his whole regression thing, but Sam still liked it. There was smear of blood down the side of Bucky's neck, but Sam ignored it. He very much doubted it belonged to either of them. "You could try kissing it better."

The hope on Bucky's face fell away and was replaced by an irritated fondness that Sam was very familiar with. But he leaned over and pressed his lips against Sam's swollen eye anyway.

Sam could feel how warm his skin was against Bucky's mouth. He knew the bruises must be a sick tension, vivid and angry. But Bucky was gentle as he moved from Sam's eye to his temple and down his jaw.

The kisses scratched against Sam's stubble and Bucky pressed new ones down to make up for it. He skipped Sam's mouth-- which wasn't fair because Sam knew there was a split in his lip that needed attention-- and dropped to Sam's ribs. There were no bandages wrapped around them, so Sam was able to feel Bucky's breaths as they stuttered briefly when he found Sam's heart beat. And when he snorted after Sam's hips rolled against his waist unintentionally.

He kissed the gash in Sam's side and each of the scars around it. He was being careful not to put his weight against Sam, but the heat of his body was radiating against Sam's stomach and legs and Sam felt like he was close to melting into the bed.

Instead of continuing to the bone deep ache in Sam's thigh, Bucky lifted Sam's hand to his mouth and kissed each bruised and scraped knuckle individually. Now he couldn't keep his eyes off of Sam, watching him with such an open adoration it almost made Sam want to look away this time. He kissed the cut in Sam's palm and then held his hand there, eyes shutting as he took in a deep breath, fingers slotted between Sam's.

"This is working really well," Sam breathed. "I basically don't feel anything. Am I laying on a cloud?"

"You'd know that feeling better than me," Bucky pointed out. He gave Sam his hand back and shifted down his body to kiss over his thigh.

His legs felt like he was going through the worst shin splints of his life. Like his bones were literally splitting down the middle. Bucky's fingers curled around his knee and that warmth alone was enough to make him start to relax though. Bucky's kisses turned open mouthed, traced familiar paths where he'd pulled countless hickeys to the surface of Sam's skin. He didn't get rough today, no possessive marks that Sam would spend the week running his fingers over mindlessly, but his mouth was still drawn to the same spots. If Sam's legs didn't hurt so much, he'd get them over Bucky's shoulders. Probably what the hand on his knee was for.

Bucky turned his attention to Sam's knee then, kissing a swooping arc under what Sam could tell was a wicked bruise. He couldn't even feel the pressure of Bucky's touch on his knee cap beneath all the swelling. Then he kissed Sam's ankle. Sam hadn't even realized his ankle hurt until Bucky was soothing the pain away, breath warm as he murmured something Sam couldn't hear.

"You missed a spot," he said when he started to miss Bucky's face.

Bucky looked up at him, had to kneel a little taller so Sam could actually see him. "Oh yeah?" he asked. "Where's that?"

Sam brought his fingers up to his mouth, traced one over the split in his lips. It lined up with his left fang in a particularly irritating way that he constantly caught his tooth on the tear inside his lip or the scab outside of it.

Bucky obligingly moved back up the bed. He cupped his hand against Sam's cheek and turned his head to get a good look at the injury. "You think it needs a kiss too?" he asked. Even with his eyes closed, Sam knew he was grinning.

"Yeah," he breathed and nodded. "I really do."

"Alright," Bucky agreed. His mouth came down on the corner of Sam's lips, the far side from the split.

"You missed," Sam murmured.

"Let me try again." This time his mouth came down on the other side of Sam's.

"No, that wasn't it either," Sam pointed out.

A kiss to his eyebrow. His nose. The bow of his lips. His chin. The corner of his eye. The lobe of his ear. His hairline. The bridge of his nose. The soft skin under his eye.

"You know," Bucky eventually said, sitting back just enough that his breath was a tickle and not a furnace. "Maybe you should just guide me."

Sam forced his eyes open, far too content and drowsy and safe for someone distantly in pain. He let Bucky's face swim into view, looking young and boyish for a moment with his dopey wolf grin. He managed to get his hand out of the blanket and up against Bucky's cheek, smoothed his thumb over Bucky's cheekbone for a breath, before urging him down into a proper kiss.

Bucky kissed his lower lip first and then the upper one. His tongue pressed against the split in Sam's lip gently, tracing the odd curve of it, soothing the angry edge where it met the sensitive skin above his mouth. When it reopened, Sam tasted the blood on Bucky's tongue before his own lip.

Bucky made a pained, needy noise and shifted over Sam, properly over him, for the first time all afternoon. The heat difference was instantaneous. Both of Sam's arms went around Bucky's shoulders, even though one elbow protested, and he bent the leg without the busted knee up to sit against Bucky's waist.

"How are you feeling now?" Bucky asked, voice husky and low, mouth so red Sam wanted to bite it.

"I think it's working," Sam murmured. "But we better not stop treatment until we're sure."

"You're right," Bucky agreed. "Who am I to disagree with a pararescue?"

Sam let Bucky kiss it all away.

[crimeronan]

I see all your little owlhouse guys being so so fucked up and also alll your madokaposting and all the wires in my brain going crisscross. Who would be the funniest owl character (canon or princess au) to ask their good friend Homura for genuine advice?

i lay in bed thinking about this for like 15 mins and this is gonna sound like a weird pull, but hear me out.

it is 100% willow.

willow and homura have very different personalities but exactly the same fckn neuroses. time to stuff all my feelings down and keep pushing onward and pretending i'm not angry and pretending i'm not grieving and pretending i'm in total control because if i pretend hard enough then eventually i will be and i am NOT going to have a vicious breakdown where i do catastrophic damage with a bunch of out-of-control magic. I'm Fine !

willow and homura are an endless sisyphean spiral of enabling each other's completely insane bullshit. Please Never Let Them Be In A Room Together,

[artekai]

tag game (Horizon)

Thanks @nerd-artist for tagging me!! I am flattered :3

1. ride or die ship (your otp): GAIA/Lis ❤️ I felt so validated when Sylens said the "two moms" thing, you have no idea.

2. most annoying ship: I plead the fifth

3. second favourite ship: Erevad! I never considered them until I read a really good fic about them and I was sold lol.

4. favourite platonic relationship: Hmm 🤔 I really enjoy Aloy & Sylens :D I missed him a lot in HFW (given he wasn't in our Focus any longer). mlm-wlw hostility real. Also, Aloy & Gildun and Aloy & Morlund are both very sweet but I suppose they have similar vibes lol.

5. underrated ship: Any of the ones I mentioned lol, I feel like they don't get as much love as others, haha. Which is understandable because it makes sense to gravitate more towards the GAIA gang! But other than that 🤔 I think Aloy/Zo and Aloy/Alva are pretty cute and underrated, even if I don't exactly ship them myself c:

6. overrated ship: I plead the fifth

7. one thing i would change in canon: *side eyes HFW hard*

Just one thing, though? I'd have to concur with most of the people I've seen do this tag game so far and say it's Varl's death. I'm pissed about that.

8. something canon did right: Other people have also mentioned it before me, but I think Horizon's writing excels at the datapoints. Just slowly having to figure out the past, putting the pieces together, getting glimpses of the tragedies (and the little joys) that once happened in those places, filling in the blanks... The environmental storytelling is amazing 👌. The intrigue, the curiosity, the mystery. It really scratches the urge to explore abandoned places and imagine what it was life was like for the people who once lived in them, so close yet so far away. HZD really did it well with the Zero Dawn facilities and I think HFW captured that magic again with Thebes. I crave more of that.

9. a thing i'm proud of creating for the fandom PLEASE BRAG ABOUT YOURSELF I WANT TO SEE/READ YOUR ART: I'm not sure I can say anything I make is "for the fandom" since I only make OC stuff 😭 Believe me, I want to be more integrated in the fandom, but not as much as I want to focus on the blorbos from my brain 😔

I guess I can mention To Err is Human, my vampire AU fic, since, if all goes according to plan, that should be relatively fairly split between my OCs and canon characters. Sorry that it's taken me so long to update tho :( As for art, please look at my man :) And here he is again with my favorite Aloy I've drawn lol. I also still really like this one! Also this. And this. And this. And

I've realized I could go on all day actually so I'll stop myself now lol.

10. a character who is perfect to me (wouldn't change a thing): Sylens. I love him, crimes and all.

11. the character I relate to the most and why: Beta. Something something about characters who have the same neuroses as you but in their world their neuroses are justified (sigh). And Gildun! His quest in Burning Shores really grabbed me by the throat, oof. In some ways I also relate to Aloy but not as much, I think.

12. character(-s) i hate the most and why: Well, I could just name the usuals, Ted Faro, the Ceo, Lansra, etc. But they're the characters we're meant to hate, so, ironically, it doesn't feel right to say I hate them, you know? I appreciate a well-crafted villain, and I definitely appreciate their role in the narrative. So, do I really hate them? Yes but actually no.

It's like that one post that goes "I don't care if a villain is redeemable or not but by god please make them interesting." I would be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little bit insane about the likes of Faro and the Ceo lol, so I'd say they did their job. I actually enjoy them being in the narrative.

As for the Zeniths... I used to just hate them straight up, not just for what we're meant to hate them, but for what they did to the narrative. I then started my quick descent into madness until I came to love to hate them lol. But I still think they deserve this spot more than anyone else given that they still make me see red half of the time.

13. something i've learned from the fandom: uhhhhh I'm not sure? Interesting to see the differences between the Persona fandom and the Horizon fandom I guess. In a lot of ways they have the same issues all fandoms have but idk, it's different. I'll leave it at that.

14. three tags i seek out on ao3: I don't really read as much fic as I would like to because of readers' block... But when I do, I feel like I tend to look for Beta-centric stuff. And Nemesis stuff hehe but there's very little of that. I feel like, at least in this fandom, I tend to gravitate more towards genfic instead of ship-heavy stuff. Those aren't three tags but still three things so fair enough.

15. a song i strongly associate with my otp/favourite character: I have a few playlists but I'm not sure any songs in particular jump out to me as much as Sad Machine by Porter Robinson, which has been my quintessential Horizon song from the moment I finished HZD. It still gives me the same chills that going through ELEUTHIA-9 gave me... God, I really wish I could go back to when I was first playing it and experience that feeling again. I might actually cry listening to it now.

Tagging: @banukaihelpme, @cicadaknight, @thatpunnyperson, @snorkeldays and @hartlesshart, but absolutely no pressure to do it! I guess this is more of a [insert your fandom here] thing, so, for any other mutuals who see this, if you wanna do it for your fandom, please tag me as your tagger, I would love to see it 🙏

[roamwithahungryheart]

Sleepless in Richmond: Ted Lasso is a Classic Rom-Com

We've all seen 2x05 'Rainbow' and pointed enthusiastically at the screen when we recognized a rom-com reference. That episode was purposely packed full of them to remind you that Ted Lasso is the best football rom-com Nora Ephron never wrote.

The cultural imprint left by those classic 80s & 90s films we know and love, that same storytelling DNA, is present in everyone's favorite slow burn hit. The reason those movies still resonate with us is the pure and simple fact that, at their heart, they focus on raw human connection. They don't shy away from the ugly and sad parts of life. That's what makes the characters so well-rounded, so recognizable.

Ted Lasso is, at its heart, a show about raw human connection and the good, bad and ugly parts of the lives we lead.

So, how exactly does Ted Lasso mirror the iconic work of Nora Ephron beyond the things we see in 'Rainbow'? Read on...

What we think of as fate is just two neuroses knowing that they are a perfect match.

In Sleepless in Seattle, Sam Baldwin, a man who has just lost his wife, moves across the country with his young son and finds love again with the help of radio host Doctor Marcia Fieldstone.

Ted Lasso, a man who is in the midst of divorcing his wife, leaves the life he knew with Michelle and their young son Henry to move to London and coach a football team. Later, with the help of Doctor Sharon Fieldstone, Ted's growth is evident, and by the end of the second season, we find him more open to the idea of maybe - just maybe - falling in love again.

The first time we met, we hated each other...

There are multiple references to the movie which in my opinion (and also Brett Goldstein's) is the greatest rom-com of all-time - When Harry Met Sally. That infamous question "can a man and a woman every really be 'just friends'?" threads through every single interaction between Ted and Rebecca.

From the moment Rebecca meets Ted, she hates him. She goes out of her way to find small, petty reasons to justify her annoyance, knowing deep down - as we eventually see - that she never really hated him at all.

Then, there are the biscuits.

In a moment that mirrors Sally's performance that shocks Harry at Katz's Deli, Rebecca sinks into her seat and moans as she takes a bite of one of Ted's now-famous shortbread biscuits.

Ted sits in Sharon's office, staring glumly at the drinking bird on the desk. Just like Harry.

Ted sits alone in his apartment, thinking about his failed relationship while throwing tiny plastic darts at a tiny dartboard. Just like Harry throwing playing cards into a bowl in his empty apartment.

The 'semantic satiation' scene mirrors Harry and Sally's stroll through the MoMA in which (ingeniously improvised) he asks her to "partake of my pecan pie'" The back and forth between Ted and Rebecca over the word 'plan' holds the same amount of joyful tension, and it's incredibly fun to watch.

It only took three months...twelve years and three months.

Early in season one, Ted holds the door open for Rebecca. He doesn't realize how far down the hallway she really is. So he waits.

"That's a long time to wait, Ted."

“Well, I respect you didn’t hurry.”

Will season three be Ted and Rebecca's very own twelve years and three months? It certainly feels like we've been waiting that long.