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dcxdpdabbles · 1 year

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The Kid of Candles

Jason Todd has been living on the streets for a while now. Ever since his mom overdosed, he's been struggling to find shelter. He was doing better in the summer and fall, but now bitter winter had come to Gotham, and it was taking everything he had not to freeze to death.

There were a lot of kids like him and even more that went to sleep but never woke up after a snowstorm. Jason is still tiny, and very new, and that means he's an easier target. He has met kids who pretend to be kind in order to steal from him but he's also met some who were willing to share what little they had.

He wouldn't call them friends. Just other survivors. He is currently in a camp created by these survivors. Street kids have carved their own place on the streets simply by staying alive the longest, and casually they allow the smaller ones in for the bad weather with the understanding that the younger ones were to leave as soon as the sun was up.

He is trying to warm up next to the lit fire by one of the older street kids when a teenager stands on a little crate. The teenager starts tapping a piece of wood against a small amount of metal like they are trying to make a toast.

He's unsure about their gender; they always tell people they are not a girl or a boy, but they are the leader of the little pack of street urchins and the only ones willing to share the small blankets.

They go by Rowan, and Rowan adores campfire stories as if they were just some rich kids paying to go out into the woods and sleep in tents instead of shivering unwanted brats sleeping on rolled-up newspapers. Some street kids groan and roll their eyes, but not Jason.

Rowan's stories are the closest he can get now to books. Before, he would read and escape to the magical world found among letters away from his mother's addiction and the worsening living conditions. Books were his comfort and one of the things he missed the most from his home.

"Gather around, gather around children, and listen to the tale of the Kid of Candles!" Rowan starts, cracking their voice into a gleeful cackle. The older ones scoff, but the younger kids all turn their attention to the ringleader.

Jason moves away from the fire to sit right in front of the crate, pulling his knees to his chest as he settles. Someone takes his spot by the fire, and he hopes the story is worth the loss. "Long ago, when Gotham was first founded by Captain Jon Logerquist, he claimed to follow a bright white light that led him right to Gotham River after suffering the loss of his entire crew to a sea storm. He would have died had he not lit the last candle on the ship- a black candle. The candle attracted the attention of a unique child, who appeared on his deck among the bright light. A boy with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and sharp teeth pulled into a kind smile."

The children gasped as even Jason leaned closer, captivated by Rowan's smooth voice. "Captain Jon Logerquist was able to rebuild his ship and return home to report the ideal location for a new city. The founding families, the Waynes, the Kanes, the Elliots, and the Cobblepots, all agreed to take the Logerquist's request and loaded their four family ships with volunteers to start Gotham. Still, they soon became lost when Captain Logerquist tragically passed along the trip. As he was the only person who knew the way, the new crew and civilians quickly panicked, getting further and further away from the location that would later be Gotham. They attempted to turn around, hoping to return home, but navigation tactics were not working. It was almost as if the waters and stars moved, wanting to claim as many victims as possible. This would later be known as Gotham's Orginal Curse."

Rowan paused to wiggle their fingers at the crowd of ten children and a few teenagers- the ones from Rowan's original gang- all made the appropriate ooooohhhhh sounds. Jason shivers as a storage sense of pressure settles around his shoulders. It felt like the city itself was listening to the tale. He wonders if anyone else felt it.

"They quickly ran out of food, and the passengers even began speaking of eating each other to survive. A young Wayne boy, one of the few who could read, found Logerquist's journal in his cabin and decided to try lighting a black candle while the adults argued." Rowan continues mimicking, opening a book, and lighting a candle. That's another thing Jason liked about Rowman's stories. They tended to act out some scenes, and it was highly entertaining.

"Just like before, a bright white light appeared before the lite black candle, and a boy with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and a kind, sharp smile told the Waynes to follow him, which they agreed to. The three other family ships reluctantly followed when the Waynes broke away from the formation and arrived at Gotham. There, they found all the resources they needed to survive and riches beyond their wildest dreams. Since then, the Kid of Candles has appeared throughout Gotham's history, leading those who are lost to their homes whenever a black candle is lit. It is said to this day if you are genuinely lost and light a black candle, the Kid of Candles will appear but be warned, his assistance always comes with a price,"

Jason gasped as the pressure increased around him. Seriously how had no one else felt it yet? "What is the price?"

Rowan snaps their fingers at him with a sinister smile. "Death. When you ask the dead for help, they will ensure you join them as a repayment. Maybe not the same day, maybe not for years, but he will claim you eventually."

A few kids whimpered.

"Oh, knock it off, Rowan," A teenage girl snaps. "You're scaring the little ones with your stupid urban myths."

"Gotham myths are not stupid!" Rowan's gasps hurt. "They are the closest accurate account of Gotham's real history!"

"Sure, just like the Court of Owls and their Talons." the girl rolls her eyes.

"Those are real. The Court's Talons should not be taken lightly. They are far worse than the Kid of Candle. At least he is benevolent enough to help you home!"

Jason retreats to his corner of the abandoned warehouse factory, ignoring the bickering of the teenage gang. He sits with his back to the wall, his feet tucked close to his chest, and all his things squished between his body and a second wall on his right. It's uncomfortable but ideal for keeping what little he has safe and making it easier to get up and run should the need arise.

He found that the need came a lot more often than he liked. He nods off after trying to squeeze his body closely together to hopefully gather warmth.

The following day, a teenager kicks him in the side, sneering that the free space-time is over and Rowan wants him out in ten minutes. Jason doesn't have to be told twice, gathering his things and scurrying to the exit. As he passed Rowan, he offered the elder a nod of thanks, and the storyteller gave him a wink and grin.

They also press a black candle into Jason's palm. "Hey he brought me to my gang, so why can't he lead you?"

Jason smiles, no commenting, and pockets the candle without hesitation. He may need to sleep here again and doesn't think calling bullshit will be a smart move.

It's best not to offend the crazy leader. A day goes by where he panhandles out of the cop's sight, wandering around the city looking for some food, and even gets a rich guy to give him fifty bucks after asking politely, but he runs when he asks if he has somewhere safe to sleep.

All in all, not the worst day. That night, he returns to Rowan's place but is told they already have too many. Disheartened, Jason wanders to sleep under a bridge by Gotham River. As he shivers near the frozen water, he thinks of the black candle.

He has a few matches on him, and maybe the small candle can help him start a bigger fire to keep warm. Jason strikes his match The pressure from before returns making him waver for only a moment before he dares set the wake aflame.

A few seconds go by with nothing happening, and he's just about getting embarrassed for believing in a stupid urban legend when he's blinded by the brightest light he's ever seen. A floating boy with white hair, green glowing eyes, and a broad smile appears before Jason.

He screams, stumbling back to fall on his butt as the boy floats to touch the ground before him.

The boy smile widens. "Hello Jason, it's time to go home."

Jason runs, but it gives chase, throwing out directions. He attempts to do whatever it is- by going the opposite direction, but it's to no avail. Jason knows Gotham like the back of his hand and swears the streets are moving. Roads that are blocks away from each other are right around the corners he takes.

Soon, an unnatural light blue fog surrounds him, blocking his view of anything more than two feet before him. He glances over his shoulder, confirming the mist is coming from the glowing figure that flies behind him at an easy, steady pace.

He picks up his speed.

Jason doesn't understand what's happening, but he remembers Rowan's voice as he pumps his legs to go as fast as they can to the point they burn. This would later be known as Gotham's Orginal Curse."

Oh god, he's been cursed by the Kid of Candles!

"We're here. I hope you have a lovely life with your new family." The being suddenly says hand on Jason's elbow, causing the boy to trip over and hit against a large metal gate. The fog disperses like a blown-away candle, and the Kid of Candles vanishes in its smoke as the gates of Intercon turn on.

"Wayne Manor. Who might you-" a voice with a British accent speaks over the speakers, but Jason cuts them off with a frightful yelp.

"Help! Help! Please, he's going to kill me!" He shouts, eyes swinging around the new place he is. He thinks he doesn't recognize this place at all, which means he's somewhere out of the city- the outskirts. Where the wealthy live.

It would take a good two hours by car to get here, and The Kid of Candles got him here in ten by bending reality or something. And now Jason owed it something.

He owed it his death.

He crumbles into sobs, so terrified his heart feels like it will escape from his chest. "Please. I don't want to die. I don't want to die."

There is a long pause, where all Jason can hear is his own uneven breathing and the beating of his chest, before the gates swing open, and a slightly older teenager- probably around Rowan's age- is offering him a hand.

"Hi, I'm Dick. I think I can help you if you come inside."

Jason stares at the hand for a few seconds, but from the corner of his eye, he swears he sees a boy watching them and quickly takes the hand.

His right elbow has a new tattoo he never paid for. It's a burning black candle, right where the Kid had touched him. It's also the same tattoo on Rowan's right hand. Jason cries for hours when he finds it.

Years later, Jason will admit that the Kid of Candles truly did help him find a home. He would come to love Bruce like father, as the man took him in, mistaking Jason as an escapee of human trafficking, and was there to buffer the misunderstanding between him and Dick.

He would point out that Dick called him dad outside the house, and Bruce would sit his eldest down to ask if he was okay with an adoption. Dick would settle with the knowledge that Bruce didn't keep him around to fight crime, and he would open his heart to Jason as a brother.

He would grow to follow in his brother's footsteps and become Robin- after making sure Dick was okay with it- and would help his new father fight crime. When Jason is fourteen, he finds out his mother is not his biological, and he learns his real mom is still alive.

He asks Dick and Bruce for help to find her, so the three load the plane as the Waynes instead of the Bats, and thus they help put her away together when the met-up goes south.

She tries to sell them to the Joker, but Bruce overhears her and gets authorities to him in mere minutes, long before the Joker can meet up with her.

She is in cuffs and being led away from the warehouse where the Joker was going to wait for her.

In the chaos, Jason notices the glowing white-haired boy smiling at the warehouse entrance, but Jason doesn't go near it. Not even after it explodes, killing the Joker who was inside. Not even when Bruce holds them close, horrified that they could have been so close to the explosion- they were in civilian identities and needed to put up a show- but he does notice that the Candle on his elbow is shorter.

That night Jason traces the shorter melted candle and he knows he escaped death once more. He doesn't know how he knows but something deep within him knows the Kid of Candles hand something to do with it.

He would swing by Rowan's place as Robin and Jason Wayne to help them and their gang get off the streets.

Rowan would one day open a bookstore, where they would hold weekly storytelling, naming the store the Black Candle in thanks to the spirit that led them to his lifelong friends.

Jason will, however, never get over his fear of ghosts, not even when the same green fog would one night lead the neighbor's boy right to their yard. His little brother, Tim, thought The Kid of Candles was kind, handsome, and awesome (might be a crush in all honestly) but Jason will always know it was much more dangerous than meets the eye.

All things in Gotham are deadly beautiful like that.

The Waynes still have a drawer full of black candles they take out in the field, just in case.

(Danny Phantom watches Jason sleep, his protection core warming as the boy cuddles with Tim after his little brother admitted to a nightmare. He's glad they found somewhere that could offer everything they needed in a home.

A house and a home are two very different things, after all.

It reminds him of when he was alive.

A candle is flickered on somewhere in the city, and he blinks out of existence, ready to help- Steph- get away from her father. Hmmm, well, Bruce does have the space for more kids)

#dcxdpdabbles #The Kid of Candles #Danny is a urban legend in Gotham #He's fully dead #And not in his world #Light a black candle and he'll lead you home #Jason joins the family early #Yes Tim has a crush

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katesimblr · 6 months

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Berlin apartment block

The Berlin Apartment Block is a 50x40 detailed lot. There are 8 apartments in different sizes and with different features.

1st apartment: two-storey, one bedroom + space for a cat

2nd apartment: run-down apartment, with moving paraphernalia in it

3rd apartment: two-storey, one bedroom, roof terrace

4th apartment: two-storey, very modern

5th apartment: semi-detached house one, one bedroom, one guest room, space for two home offices, small dressing room and fitness room, small garden

6th apartment: semi-detached house two, one bedroom, one teenager room, one children's room with a bunk bed, small garden

7th apartment: three-storey, stylish, one bedroom, gallery, large office

8th apartment: two-storey, loft, small and artistic

In addition, there are many communal spaces that may become properly playable with other mods to come. There is a laundromat, a pottery studio, a bubble teas store, a cafe, a wine store, as well as a typical Berlin "Späti" (grocery store) and a newspaper kiosk.

Thanks to all creators who made this house possible with their CC, like @13pumpkin31, @animefemme69, @billsims-cc, @chicklet, @dk-sims, @k-hippie, @kkbsmm, @lady-moriel, @liness-simsinterior7, @meinkatz, @msteaqueen, @Pocci, @radioactivedotcom, @tatschu, @thetrashisoutcc, @zxta and many many more.

Download CC

Download tray files

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jyoongim · 6 months

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~BLOOD & BLISS~

Human!Alastor x wife!Reader

Themes: 1930 based! Human!Alastor x wife!Reader, domestic life!fluff, smut, slow burn plot, devotion, slight manipulation, mention of children, pregnancy, blood, murder, secrets

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Chapter three chapter five

Chapter Four

“Oh darling look at you! And here I thought you wouldn’t give me grandchildren” your mother laughed as she hugged you.

Your mother had invited you and Alastor over since you had sent her a letter about some exciting news you wanted to share.

You didn’t know whether to take her comment as a compliment or insult.

”Why ain’t your husband with you? I know that man ain’t have you travel here all alone in your condition” she frowned displeased.

”Momma you know how busy Al is. He’s been trying to catch up on work so he can take time off for the baby” you pouted.

She sucked her teeth, before a smile dawned her face

”well that means we can go shopping! Have you decorated the nursery? Do you have a nursery? Oooh honey why don’t you come home when you have the baby? A newborn is a lot of work” she was ranting and you sighed, rubbing your heavy stomach.

”Momma im perfectly capable of taking care of my baby. I’ve read all the books” your mother gave you a funny look

”books? Oh girl those books ain’t gonna help you. You need experience. Youre a first time mom, you have no instincts in raising a youngin ”

You pouted. You felt like a teenager being chastised.

You knew your mother meant well, but sometimes you had to stop her ‘good intentions’.

”Ill be fine. Alastor’s gonna be there and Im sure we can figure it out. Aint that what parenthood all about?”

She hummed “If you say, now lets head to town. I want my grandbaby to have the best!”

—————————————————————————-

You fanned yourself as you finally sat down. The summer heat was not kind to you as your mother had dragged you to every shop in town.

The two of you had finished up shopping and were now at a little restaurant. You smiled in thanks as the waiter sat a glass of cold water in front of you.

Your mother cooed as she looked over several items she had bought.

You think she was more excited than you and you were the pregnant one.

”Momma I think you overdid it. There’s no way the baby is gonna wear or use any of that” you mused, sipping the water.

She waved you off.

”so…how has Alastor handled the news?” She asked.

You blinked “he’s very excited. He says he don’t care about the gender, but he’s taken to thinking it’ll be a girl” you giggled.

”haha a girl? Oh no you’re definitely having a boy darling” she laughed.

You titled your head in confusion.

Your mother smirked “Your belly is big and low and you’re not even halfway through your term, that means you’re having a boy. ”

She continued “Most men want a boy on the first go. A scrappy boy is the jewel of every man’s pride”

You rubbed your stomach, smiling “Well it don’t matter im sure hell adore the baby no matter what”

She hummed and picked up the newspaper that was on the table.

The headline read ‘fifth body found in canal’

”Such a shame the authorities can’t find killer. Those poor souls. This is the fifth body that’s been found and practically in your backyard. You really need to careful dear” she said grimacing.

You weren’t too worried. All the victims were random, but they weren’t pregnant women. “I don’t think the killer is slaying harmless pregnant women momma”

She shrugged “Can never be too sure dear”

———————————————————————————

Alastor whistled as he cleaned the kitchen. Bright red water filled the sink as he wronged the sponge. You would have a fit if you saw the state of your kitchen and Alastor couldn’t have an upset wife.

You had went to visit your mother, thinking it was time to tell the woman that the two of you were expecting. You had wanted him to come along, but he thought it would be better if the two of you spent some time together.

So he took the time to go hunting. It had been a while since he had a good hunt and he had a taste for deer meat.

Once the kitchen was spotless, he discarded what he didn’t need into a bag. He headed down to the cellar with the rest of the trash.

He tied the bag and reached for the other one.

Hauling it back to the kitchen, he turned on the radio to listen to some tunes as he prepared to cook. You should have been coming home in a few hours and he was sure you would be hungry. It was rather hot today, so instead of slaving too much over the stove he opted for a simple stew.

He pulled the meat out of the bag and began to cut it.

He pulled a pot from the cabinet and filled it with onions, carrots, and a little water were added into the pot as he cleaned the meat.

As the pot boiled, he plopped the meat in a pan to cook it down.

The kitchen filled with the smell of herbs and meat as he worked.

He added some seasoning to the meat and transferred the chopped meat to the pot.

He turned the heat low and let it simmer.

He nodded in satisfaction and took a look at himself. Disgusting

He was covered in blood. He sighed and went upstairs.

Light red swirled down the drain. Alastor rolled his neck, a soft pop was heard and he sighed in relief.

Once finished in the shower, he gathered the dirty clothes and headed out back in the yard.

He waved to the passing neighbors as thee fire crackled, a pleasant smile on his face.

Once the fire died down, he headed back inside to check on the stew.

He stirred it and turned it off.

He fixed a cold sweet tea and took a seat at the dining table.

His mind wandered to you. He wondered how you were fairing in this heat. He was sure you were ready to come home and relax. Your mother was a handful.

Your pregnancy was coming along nicely.

You had rounded out and now you sported a big belly. His cock twitched in his pants. He couldn’t believe how insatiable he had become since you had become pregnant. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

You had transformed beautifully. You always seemed to be glowing, though you swore it was sweat. You had become incredibly sensitive, your mood swings putting you both through the ringer.

You had voiced your concern about your image as you had filled out nicely, gaining weight from the baby you now carried. You couldn’t fit any of your usual form fitting outfits, opting for loose dresses.

Alastor reassured you that you looked beautiful no matter what. He enjoyed a little meat being on your bones.

You were softer and he loved every minute of it.

His eyes traveled to the pot, he wondered if you had ate. He really wanted to see how you would react to the meal he prepared. While you love his cooking, the baby was picking, which resulted in you being sick a lot.

The buzz from the hunt still rippled through him as his lips curled in a smile.

yeeesss how would his little wife enjoy the meal he prepared for her?

He made a mental note to take out the trash later but for now, he waited for you to return home as he opened a book about parenting.

He should ask you what color you wanted the nursery….

——————————————————————————-

Your mouth watered as you came through the door “What did you cook Al it smells really good”

Your husband chuckled as he closed the book and walked over to you. You were trying to beeline it to the kitchen, but your husband wrapped his arms around you and pressed his lips to yours. He grinned as your stomach created a space between the two of you, running an affectionate hand over the bump “Well hello to you too my dear. How was your mother? I see the two of you went shopping” His eyes took in the amount of bags you brought back.

You huffed “Yea Ma would have bought out the entire store if I let her, i tell you I think she’s more happy about a grandbaby than when we got married”

Alastor coaxed you to the couch, smiling as you sighed as he massaged your aching back. He pressed soft kisses to your exposed shoulders “I didn’t know if you had ate already, so I made a stew. Let’s hope the baby like it. I read that warm foods were better than the ice cream you’ve been sneakng” he snickered as you pouted.

”Just relax a bit and Ill make you a bowl”

You smiled at him “I want crackers too!” You called after him.

Alastor returned with a steaming bowl of stew. It smells so good and your stomach growled in hunger. “I tried a different meat but I hope you like it my dear”

You thanked him and rolled your eyes as he picked up the spoon and held it to your mouth. You blew on it softly before chomping on the spoon.

Your tongue tingled as you savored the flavor.

The meat was softer than you were use to, maybe pork or a different beef?

Whatever it was it was good!

”Mmmhmm this is so good. The texture of the meat is a bit off but its really good Al” you complimented.

He beamed at you, pearly whites glistening at you. “Im happy you like it and you didn’t throw it up im proud baby”

You quickly finished the meal and showed him everything your mother bought for the new arrival.

Alastor smiled in content as you happily showed him the baby wares; clothing, toys,and other gadgets. Seeing you so excited filled him with an unexplainable feeling. His hand caressed your belly as you ranted.

”Did you know that there’s a killer on the loose?” Your sudden question brought his attention back. Your face was filled with worry.

Alastor tensed, but relaxed “We had gotten a few reports down at the studio but no real leads. Why do you ask dear?”

You placed your hand over his that was on your bulging belly. “I-Im just concerned. I mean we do have a child on the way and i dont really feel safe walking the streets in this vulnerable condition. My mother suggested we move into the summer house.” You looked down, Alastor kissed your forehead “Im sure well be fine. Besides it seems the killer has a little mortals. No woman has been harmed. So dont fret my dear” he assured you.

You sighed, he was right. There was no need to worry.

“I would never let a soul hurt you” he whispered against your forehead.

You hummed and started giggling as he nipped at your ear “Al!!!”

You tried to wiggled away, but your husband softly pushed you back on the couch, being mindful of your belly.

”Now why dont I show you that I am more than capable hmm?” He grinned down at you.

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor smut #human alastor x wife reader #human alastor #human alastor x reader

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thisiswhereikeepdcthings · 2 years

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There's no "I" in Team but there are two in Migraine

Bruce had no issue with teamwork, despite what his children and colleagues might think. Teamwork was great. If done properly it was efficient, and it was good to have backup. Competent backup, at least.

Bruce helped found the Justice League. Obviously he was a supporter of teamwork.

However.

Some teams he really could have happily lived out his life without them ever existing.

He had a list.

One: Dick and Clark Kent

Clark had been the first hero he had introduced Dick to. It was a move he had regretted ever since.

He was glad the two of them got along, of course, but did they have to get along so well?

He could withstand torture but the two sets of sad puppy eyes attacking at the same time was on another level altogether.

Two: The Titans

Pros: Dick was making friends.

Cons: Dick was either away with his friends, or they came home with him. Really, all Bruce wanted was to spend one week without putting out any fires caused by teenage superheroes. Literal fires, not metaphorical ones. Well, actually there were plenty of those kind too.

Three: Dick and Jason

When Bruce first brought Jason home he wasn’t sure how Dick was going to react. And so maybe he panicked slightly and didn’t end up telling him for three weeks. In his defense, the voicemail he had left asking Dick to call him soon was left before the newspaper article came out.

Perhaps not his best moment.

Eventually, though, the two boys were introduced.

There was some yelling that took place, mostly directed at him, but other than that things seemed to go rather smoothly. Assuming, that is, that smoothly meant neither of them seemed to care about getting to know the other one, and mostly kept to themselves and their own activities.

And then, four months, two weeks, and five days after Jason first came to the manor, Bruce came home to discover the two of them had bonded over some unspoken activity that neither were willing to divulge. Alfred knew and didn’t disapprove so it couldn’t be that bad, but from then on out it was…well…

Bruce began the daily habit of checking his blood pressure.

Four: Talia al Ghul and Lois Lane

Bruce didn’t know how the two of them had met and he didn’t want to. See, Dick, he was okay with not knowing things. Sometimes. In this one instance, at least.

Five: Dick and Slade Wilson

Worst three weeks of his life.

Six: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn

He was happy for them, he really was. He just wished they could be happy together somewhere less structurally damaging.

Seven: Jason and Harley Quinn

Explosion therapy was not a thing, despite both their arguments otherwise. They didn’t even give him a Joker effigy to blow up. They could have at least asked. He would have happily paid for that one and all the rest of them.

Eight: Tim and Barbara

He wasn’t that old. He knew how to use his computer.

Nine: Jason and Cassandra

Too competent. They should never have been allowed on the same team for any game ever. If he heard one more complaint from any of his other children he was going to seriously lose it.

And then there was that one time the two of them disappeared for a week and no one, not even himself or Clark, could find them. They had turned back up with grins and minimal injuries, and Bruce had tried to not investigate, he really had. But he needed to know, regardless of how much he regretted it later. (A lot. He regretted it a lot.)

Ten: Dick, Jason, and Constantine

Bruce hated magic.

Eleven: Jason, Diana, and Barry Allen

No one knew how or why the three of them had teamed up. It had been four months of secret meetings and pointed looks and minor heists that couldn’t technically be traced back to them but Bruce knew. And then there was the regular day-to-day hero-ing. Diana, he could understand. That’s what she did. Jason? Had always been vocally opposed to getting too involved with the Justice League, but had also always looked up to Diana, so maybe that was understandable? Allen? The man was retired. And he wasn’t suddenly out of retirement for some reason, no. He was just there to “lend a hand” to the other two.

At least Bruce could comfort himself in knowing Jason was spending time with two respectable individuals. It was certainly a step up from his unfortunately ongoing acquaintance with Rayner.

Twelve: Stephanie and Hal Jordan

They should never have been allowed to meet. It was a disaster. For Bruce.

Jason had been the one to introduce them, as he had proudly let Bruce know after the first breaking news cycle hit.

Thirteen: Duke and Damian

Bruce would have told Jason how thankful he was that he was acting as the moderating adult influence with those two if he didn’t think Jason would start doing the opposite out of spite.

Jason would make a great parent someday.

Bruce would love a six month vacation.

Fourteen: Alfred and Martha Kent

He didn’t really need to explain this one, right? Everyone could just move on, continue with their lives and so on and so forth.

Fifteen: Damian and Batcow

Because a boy needs a cow and a cow needs an emotional support duck, turkey, cat, dog, rabbit, goat, and raccoon. Apparently. Tim and Jason were, in Bruce’s opinion, far too enthusiastic to provide research as evidence whenever needed (or not needed, as was usually the case).

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moon-simmers · 3 months

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HAPPY PRIDE MONTH

As every year this is a good date to remember the daily struggle for the rights of the LBGT+ community. It is also a time to learn about the people who made it possible for us to identify ourselves as who we are today without fear of reprisals or being punished by the law. This month I got involved in the history of Argentina and its different movements for the fight for rights through the 20th century. Here I come to share some important figures, some more known than others, but obviously there are a lot that I have left out of this publication.

Sara Facio (1932-2024) & Maria Elena Walsh (1930-2011)

A couple of intellectual artists that would need a separate publication to go deeper into the subject. Sara is one of the greatest Latin American photographers who with her camera contributed to the creation of the most outstanding photographic heritage of the country. Maria Elena is a writer, singer and composer whose children's songs resonate to this day because they are much more profound than they seem and are still relevant today.

Salvadora Medina Onrubia (1894-1972)

She was a writer, militant anarchist, single mother and the first woman to run a newspaper in the country. She was the first Argentinean woman to dare to write about double sinners, lesbians and adulteresses. One of her most valued plays was Las descentradas, premiered in 1929. There, Salvadora honors her own contradictions, narrating women who question monogamous structures, marriage and the traditional family.

Malva Solis (1920-2015)

She was a transvestite writer who lived for 95 years when the life expectancy of this community in the country was under 40 years old. In 1951 founded the first trans organization on record, Maricas Unidas Argentinas. She has the oldest series of trans photographs in the country, dating from 1940 to 1980, when simply having those photographs at home was cause for being arrested. There is a documentary based on the photographs and conversations with her at her home called "Con Nombre de flor".

Jorge Horacio Ballve Piñero (1920-?)

Piñero was a young man from a well-to-do family of the Buenos Aires society at the beginning of the century. Together with his best friend Adolfo and Blanca, he organized gatherings in his apartment in Recoleta, and was a pioneer of male erotic photography. They mixed the privileged social class with workers, dishwashers, gas station workers, sailors and cadets from the Military College. These three characters were involved in a police case involving cadets from the military college, known as the Cadet Scandal. In the police archives remain captive the photographic collection, intended for pleasure and personal aesthetic enjoyment that tragically proved key to incriminate some friends who just wanted to have fun.

Ruth Mary Kelly (1925-1994)

She was a bisexual woman, who worked as a "Wohoo Worker". Founder of Grupo Safo in 1972, the first Argentine lesbian organization, and of the Frente de Liberación Homosexual (Homosexual Liberation Front). In 1972 she wrote Memorial de los Infiernos about her experiences as a "Wohoo" worker and bisexual, persecuted by the psychiatric-prison system.

Manuel Puig (1932-1990)

He was an Argentine writer and LGBT+ activist, author of the novels Boquitas pintadas, El beso de la mujer araña (Considered one of the most recognized LGBT works in Latin America and one of the best works in Spanish of the 20th century) etc. He also fought against authoritarianism and machismo, and was one of the founders of the Homosexual Liberation Front in 1971, one of the first associations for the defense of LGBTQI+ rights.

Mariela Muñoz (1943-2017)

She was the first transsexual woman to be recognized by the state and given a female ID card on May 2, 1997. At the age of 16 she became independent, and it was then that she began caring for children, teenagers and single mothers. She cared for children who had been abandoned by their mothers, whom she loved and cared for. She raised, during her lifetime, 23 children and 30 grandchildren. In a dispute over the guardianship of 3 children in 1993, Argentina was confronted for the first time with the debate as to whether a transsexual person "could be a mother"

Carlos Jauregui (1957-1996) & Raul Soria

Carlos was a History professor and the founder of the Civil Association Gays for Civil Rights, organizer of the first Pride march in Buenos Aires and an essential figure for Argentine activism. In 1984, he broke with the schemes by appearing in the magazine Siete Días embracing the activist Raul Soria, a homosexual person assumed his sexuality in a public way for the first time. He believed that media visibility is fundamental for LGTB people. Leaving aside the fear and silence that other generations suffered for years. In 1985, Raul would present himself as the first gay candidate for congressman in the country.

Roberto Jauregui (1960-1994)

Brother of Carlos, was a journalist, actor and the first activist for the rights of people with HIV in the country. In 1989 he exposed the inequality in access to treatment at that time due to the price of medication. He played a central role in marches, actions, talks and interviews to demand human rights for people living with the virus. A well-known phrase of his is "Showing one's face is not easy in a society that discriminates, censures and separates".

Cris Miró (1965-1999)

Cris was the first visible trans people that appeared in the media and broke with the "transvestite" paradigm. A dental student, she got involved in the artistic underworld and later studied classical dance, musical comedy and acting. Her career was meteoric: the popularity of revue theater catapulted her to the small screen where she became a sought-after figure in the most popular programs. On June 23rd, a series about his life inspired by his biography was released, available on Prime Video.

Alejandro Vannelli (1948-) y Ernesto Larresse (1950-)

They were the first couple in the province of Buenos Aires to get legally married on July 30, 2010 after the Equal Marriage Law was passed. They met in 1976 because of a triple A bomb in the theater where Larresse was performing with Nacha Guevara, then he joined the cast of Vannelli. At the beginning they did not like each other because of Vanelli's appearance as a wealthy young man and Larresse was the opposite, but opposites attracted and they were a couple for 34 years.

Norma Castillo (1943-) y Ramona "Cachita" Arévalo (1943-2018)

They were the of South America's first gay marriage on April 9, 2010. Norma and Ramona were married to two Colombians, who were cousins to each other. During the dictatorship they both went into exile in Colombia and there they fell in love and lived their romance clandestinely, until Cachita separated and Norma was widowed by her husband. They lived their love freely and even opened an LGBT discotheque in Colombia. In 1998 they returned to Argentina and began to work in sexual diversity organizations.

Feliciano Centurión 1962-1996)

He was a visual artist, a Paraguayan painter professionally trained in Argentina. He grew up in a home dominated by women, where he learned to sew and crochet. Inspired by queer aesthetics and folk art, he used to incorporate household textiles and references to the natural world. She handled kitsch art and languages not considered high art with a great deal of knowledge and sensitivity.

Humberto Tortonese (1964-) , Alejandro Urdapilleta (1954-2013) & Batato Barea (1961-1991)

Batato was an actor and "literary transvestite clown" as he called himself, one of the most important personalities of the underground theater movement of the post-dictatorship years. Together with Alejandro Urdapilleta and Humberto Tortonese, revolutionized the underground scene of the 80's - in places like the Parakultural. They disguised themselves, wore make-up and improvised delirious and strident scenes for the decade.

Sandra Mihanovich & Celeste Carballo

Sandra and Celeste are two singers who were visibly lesbians during the 80s and early 90s. Together they released the albums "Somos mucho mas que dos" and "Mujer contra mujer" which became a symbol of belonging for the whole LGBTQ arc in our country. They managed to be part of the rock scene, an area historically dominated by men. Sandra among all her songs is "Soy lo que soy" released in 1984 composed by Henry Jerman.

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communistkenobi · 7 months

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I’m reading about Nex Benedict’s murder and there’s a newspaper article that explicitly states they go by they/them and Nex (as confirmed by the family, who the newspaper reached out to for confirmation about this) and yet most newspapers misgender and deadname them EVEN WHILE running the headline that Nex is nonbinary.

this is the problem with trans hypervisibility - trans people are positioned as spectacles and sites of violence in the headlines while also being unpersoned. when reporting on the death of a teenager as a result of a hate crime, the violence that allowed that to happen is re-articulated through intentional misgendering and deadnaming. It’s not as if pronouns and first names are some secret piece of personal information that can’t be shared with the public, their trans identity is in the headline - that’s the reason the media is reporting on it in the first place lmao. and in fact through this misgendering, journalists are revealing their fundamental cissexual obsession with genitals as the ultimate site of their own gendered legitimacy, announcing to the public the trans child’s gender assignment at birth - there is no argument for personal privacy here, they are in fact doing the opposite. journalists either view the pronouns and names of trans hate crime victims as unimportant or illegitimate. I mean, what self-respecting cis person would pass up the chance to misgender a trans person who isn’t there to correct them? and in either case the result is the same - trans people are murdered and then denied their humanity a second time in death. the corpse of a trans person is very handy, because they can no longer impose their delusional attempts to escape the natural truth of their genitals, and the media is thankfully there to swoop in and correct this delusional mistake by announcing it publicly to the world. when you see the media and journalists misgender trans people, transgender CHILDREN, know that they are not making a mistake, they are not protecting their privacy, they are talking about their genitals, a final ritual of public humiliation before the crowd moves on to the next one

#transphobia tw #hate crime tw #even old new york was once new amsterdam

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simsyworld · 1 year

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Reclaimed Roots, A Legacy Challenge.

One fateful day, as you flip the pages in the local newspaper, your eyes fall upon an advertisement for an affordable farm on the outskirts of town. This farm had fallen into disrepair, abandoned and forgotten by its previous owners, who had inherited the farm but chose to not take care of it. Despite its rundown state, a flicker of hope ignited within your heart. Your dream of owning a small farm to raise your future family may become a reality!

You call the owner’s of the property and they start asking for more money. This went from being an affordable farm to a pricey one! You decide to take a leap of faith and go for it. Packing your belongings immediately and setting out for the neglected farms of your dream. When you arrive, you see just how neglected the farm truly is. You find a weathered farmhouse, its paint peeling and windows cracked, surrounded by overgrown fields and rotten fences. But you see beauty hidden underneath it all.

You see a vision of what this farm could be. A fresh coat of paint, rescued animals, beautiful old oak trees flourishing, children riding their bikes and fishing in the pound. This is where you want your new life you begin.

Required Packs: For Gameplay: Cottage Living, Cats and Dogs, and a pack that allows yard sales. House is made with a bunch of packs but is mostly just all clutter! Main items are from the gameplay packs.

Rules: Aspiration must be country caretaker Start with $500 Place @simsyworld’s lot from the gallery called "Abandoned Farm" hashtag #reclaimedroots or #reclaimedrootslegacy Each generation must live on the family farm. This may call for an extension of the house, a second floor, or a basement. If your sim has more than one kid, they can move out. But the sim you decide to cary on the legacy must live on the farm. Your house has no wifi, so no computers or gaming consoles. A TV can be bought after you fix up the house. Your sim cannot have a job. Make money by yard sales or odd jobs. Your sim’s teenager sim’s can have a part-time job but they must still help out on the farm Wake up by 6:30am every day to take care of the animals (can take a nap after animals have been cared for) Cannot use “the hand of god” (selling in inventory) UNLESS there is more than 20 in a stack of crops. All other items must be sold during a yard sale. Have a yard sale at least once a week, every Sunday. If it is raining you can skip the yard sale. Sell anything you collect, baked goods, rocks, ect.

Generation One

Name the farm after your last name

Clean the house, buy a new mailbox, pick the weeds, and apply a fresh coat of paint to the house.

Find a stray cat to be your farm cat. This cat likes to live outdoors, so place a bed and food outside. If you get a full relationship with the cat, it can live indoors.

Buy 6 chickens and name each one.

Build a relationship with each animal before getting a new one

Enter a Finchwick Fair competition

Befriend the animals and complete the country caretaker Aspiration

Reach level 10 for Farming, Fishing, Cooking

Fall in love with a local farmer

Get married and have a ceremony on the farm

Have 1-2 children

When your first child is born, rescue a puppy that will become best friends with your child

When each sim ages up to a child, you must buy them a bike as a birthday present so your sim’s child can go on adventures.

Teach your children how to fish, cook, and garden

Generation Two

You grow up loving the farm and craving the taste of fresh produce. You watched your parents sell produce and baked goods every Sunday morning and thought it would be a great idea to go bigger! You decide to work towards your goal of making your name in town a staple by opening a store named after your family!

Have the Freelance Botanist Aspiration

Paint the house a new color since after all these years it needs a fresh coat.

Buy your family their first computer now that you have wifi

Reach level 10 for Cooking, Baking, Charisma

Find a stray dog to adopt into the family

Enter a Finchwick Fair competition

Fall in love, get married, and divorced. This relationship didn’t work out.

Own a bakery, store, or restaurant that focuses on the idea of selling food or produce that is fresh. You do not have to have yard sales after you build a store.

Become good friends with at least 20 sims outside of your household.

A local baby/child was dropped off at the fire station. You decide to adopt this sim to live on the family farm!

Build max relationship with your sim’s child.

Teach your sim’s child how to garden, cook, and fish.

Fall in love and get married

Have family dinner all together on Friday nights including your sim’s siblings who moved out

Generation Three

You were adopted into the most loving family. You fell more into the creative side of life. Always drawing, painting, doing arts and crafts. When you got older you fell in love with the relaxation of making floral arrangements.

Have the Painter Extraordinaire Aspiration

Reach level 10 for Floral Arrangements, Painting, Gardening

Make 3 masterpiece paintings

Befriend all the animals on the farm with max relationship

Inherit the family business and turn it into a floral arraignment store. You can also sell your paintings here.

Have 5 maxed relationship friends who you always hang out with

Enter a Finchwick Fair competition

Fall in love with 1 of the 5 friends.

Have family dinner’s on Friday nights and friend dinner’s on Monday night

Find a stray cat to adopt. This cat is obsessed with you and follows you to work at the floral arrangement store.

Marry your best friend and have a ceremony. Invite all of your friends and family

Have as many children as you feel is right.

Do homework with your sim’s children every night

Looking for a Discord server for simmers? Check out our 920+ member server called SimsyWorld! We host weekly challenges and giveaways if you're interested! Click HERE to join!

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weasleycream · 3 months

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. ୭.ᰍㅤ𝅄 ֹ " 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐎𝐏 " 🔪 Ⳋ

ઈઉ ㅤִㅤ𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 ; 𝑅𝒵!𝑀ichael 𝑀iyers 𝓍 𝐹em!𝑅eader

ઈઉ ݁ ㅤִㅤ𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; Use of bad words, mentions of blood, childhood love, quite cloying, Michael Myers is sweet, bad grammar in English.

ઈઉ ㅤִㅤ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 ; 4k+

ઈઉ ㅤִㅤ𝗨𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱

ઈઉ ㅤִㅤAnother little whim, I really love RZ Michael, since I saw him as a child and as an adult I fell in love 🤒❤️‍🩹

Her family had moved to Haddonfield, Illinois a little less than two weeks ago for work reasons, for a girl who was barely nine years old she understood it quite well, she even liked the change of environment, without a doubt for the little girl that little one The town was beautiful and quiet, he was really happy to have found a peaceful place where he would be happy with his parents.

"Y/N, Honey! Come down now, dinner's ready!" called her mother from downstairs, breaking her out of her little bubble of imagination. She opened the door to her room and hurried down the stairs, instantly smelling the pleasant aroma of freshly prepared food, knowing immediately that her mother had prepared her favorite dish, a delicious Bolognese pasta with cheese and toasted bread.

"I'm here, mommy!" She said arriving in the kitchen to sit in the small dining room for four people, seeing how her father was there calmly reading a newspaper, which he then put down when the little girl arrived.

He hummed a little with a mischievous smile on his face before he began to speak, drawing the attention of his curious daughter "Y/N Daughter, we already found school, starting tomorrow you will start your classes again, aren't you happy?" she announced and asked her daughter waiting for an answer "It's the school we saw a few blocks from here, I'll be able to take you every day before I go to work"

The little girl just smiled a huge smile to jump happily, going to hug her father. "Yes, dad! I'm very happy, I'll be able to make new friends!" She was excited, above all because now they won't have to look for a teenage babysitter who only concentrates watching pretty boys and pull her by the hand to take her to school, she loved the fact that her father was now going to take her.

After that, dinner went quite normally while they told the little girl what her school was like and that she was going to have a great time, earning a smile from her, who was surely not going to be able to sleep from excitement that night, thinking about what the other children in their school and classroom were going to be like. As soon as he finished, he left his plate in the sink and thanked for the food, went up to his room to brush his teeth in the small bathroom he had there, he changed and put on his animal pajamas, went to the window to close it. and close the blinds, but before doing so, he could see a blonde boy with hair down to his shoulders peek out. They made eye contact, and the girl shyly waved with her hand and a small smile, receiving a somewhat surprised and confused look and then shyly returning the wave with her hand, and closed the curtain, leaving the girl looking out, thinking that she could speak another day with the neighbors child.

It was already daylight, opened her eyes with extreme happiness, getting out of bed as soon as she heard her mother knock on the door to get her up and help her get ready for her new school.

Minutes passed and her mother was already combing her hair, she let her put on that cute pair of baggy jean shorts that reached her knee with the favorite band t-shirt, his mother combed his hair in medium hair ponytail the top layers of her hair leaving the lower ones loose along with her adorable bangs, then she went down excitedly wanting to see how her mother was preparing her snack for the afternoon in her new lunch box, a delicious sandwich with avocado and mayonnaise (and obviously cheese with ham) was now inside the little pastel blue box along with fresh cut strawberry pieces and a carton of chocolate milk. She packed everything into her small shoulder backpack along with her notebook and pencil, closing it to wait for her father to finish breakfast, since she had stuffed everything into her as if she had never eaten out of excitement, wanting to leave now to her new school.

He waited patiently until he saw how his father finally finished. "Hurry up dad, we're too late!" The little girl rushed, jumping desperately. 'God, Y/N, we're going forty minutes early, wait a little,' he replied, going back up to brush his teeth and get what was missing in his work briefcase, making the little girl get desperate and start to go around the whole anxious room.

When she got back down, she said goodbye to her wife with a small kiss and hug around the shoulders. The girl copied her action and hugged her mother's legs and hips and said goodbye to her with a big hug. happy smile, receiving the same from her mother. When they finally left, she ran away absentmindedly, without noticing that a boy blonde with chubby cheeks was passing by, colliding and both of them falling to the ground with a crash. 'That makes you restless! Apologize to him now, honey,' her father shouted, closing the door from the porch.

"Uhm… Sorry, I was distracted, let me help you." He apologized immediately without taking into account his now scraped and somewhat bleeding knee, he got up quickly and held out his hand, waiting for the blonde boy he had seen the night before to take it. .

The boy looked at her doubtfully for a few moments and took the girl's hand, standing up from the ground and quickly picking up the small knife that came out of her pocket, hoping that the girl or the adult who was approaching them don't had noticed it. .

"Excuse my daughter, boy, she is quite excited to enter her new school, although I believe do you study there, would you like to join us?" She finally said as she reached the children's side, inviting the boy to come with them.

Distrustful, the boy gently shook his head with a bored look, beginning to walk, leaving the other two behind, until the little girl came forward and walked next to him.

"I'm Y/N, what's your name?" She asked as soon as he got to her side and held the strap of her backpack nervously.

"Michael" He responded without faltering, paying'nt attention to the girl next to him, hoping that she would not be noisy, unfortunately, the little girl did not stop talking to him all the way to school, receiving dry and annoyed responses from the blonde [ she will will move away like the others] he thought immediately after reaching the corner next to the institute.

They arrived and the blonde boy simply entered the building quickly without speaking to the little girl or saying goodbye to the adult. The little girl just looked at him until he disappeared through the main door of the building, waiting for her father to speak and say goodbye to her, wishing her a good day.

"Well honey, I hope you have a good time here, and remember, anything ugly or bad they say to you, tell me or your mother, I love you, don't forget it." He said goodbye to her little daughter with a kiss on the forehead and a light hug, to get away from her a little, waiting for her to come in so he could leave without worries. The pretty girl walked timidly into her new school, looking for her address.

After the hallways suddenly emptied, indicating that classes had already started, the more nervously she began to search more quickly for the principal's office, finding it on the third floor where all the high school students were. She knocked on the door and waited patiently, until apparently a somewhat disheveled teacher opened it, looked down, and saw her.

"Do you need anything, honey?" She asked him with a certain false kindness, sketching a false smile that the innocent little girl did not notice, timidly playing with her fingers.

"Well… I'm new and I was looking for the principal's office to find out my classroom and schedule… Can you help me?" She said nervously, looking into her eyes as she finished speaking.

The older woman made a face, simulating a kind smile, "Sure, honey, wait a moment." He took her shoulder and made her go to a kind of 'waiting room' and left her sitting, while she saw the principal's office in front of her, where the teacher entered. A few long minutes passed and the woman finally came out with some papers in her hand and a look of annoyance on her face. "Come on, girl, I don't have all day," she urged, now in a less fake voice.

They walked through the hallways and down the stairs to the first floor again where they headed to a classroom a little away from the main exit. When they arrived, the teacher simply knocked on the door and entered, and spoke to the other woman inside, who looked at the door and gave her a warm smile, which made her nervous and she looked down at her feet.

Another tedious minute passed, the woman accompanying her came out with the papers already filled out "Here is your schedule and the list of materials you need, if you have any concerns tell your teacher" and with that she left, leaving him. she there at the door, until the woman called out to her when she opened the door.

"Okay kids, quiet!" She asked, raising her voice a little, drawing the attention of the children, who were speechless when they saw her. "This is Y/N, she will be your new partner from now on, I want their to treat her well and help her advance in her grades. Well Y/N, sit in the window seat, I will explain a bit what we were doing." He went to the assigned seat and sat down, leaving his suitcase on the small hook that was on the side of the table, and paying attention to what the teacher was saying with a nervous and shy look, feeling a small blush. on his face in the face of shyness.

They spent two hours where they saw some Language and the other where they saw Social Sciences, she took notes of what the teacher explained on the blackboard, and when she announced recess time, she didn't know what to do and stayed sitting looking the window, where you could see a road with one or another vehicle passing by. She was scared when a small group of girls and boys suddenly arrived at her seat, where they began to talk to her about trivial things, but that could not prevent her from seeing that he neighbor, the one she had bumped into hours before, was there, I hadn't noticed it when it arrived. She excitedly stood up from her seat, taking her snack without eat it, and walked to the side of the blonde boy who seemed somewhat displeased at not being alone in the classroom at recess that day.

"Michael! I didn't know you were in the same class! How exciting! Don't you think so?" She greeted the little girl, pulling a chair next to the child, sitting down, she saw that the taller child had nothing to eat and was only coloring with some crayons and colored pencils on a somewhat crumpled sheet of paper.

"Ah, I should have guessed, what a thrill" He mentioned without any interest or joy in his voice "What do you want?" she asked in a hostile manner, not looking at the girl next to her, as she continued coloring meaningless doodles on the page.

"Nothing! I just saw you and wanted to talk to you, it would be more entertaining than talking to the kids who came to my table out of nowhere, I also saw that you didn't have anything to eat, aren't you hungry? Can I share my snack with you!" offered, placing the blue lunch box on the little free space on Michael's table, opening it to reveal what her mother had packed for her.

The group of children who initially approached the little girl who had walked away from them now looked at them with great confusion. As soon as they spoke to her, they told her not to go near the strange boy of the classroom, but as soon as she saw him in the classroom completely alone, she went after him, they looked at each other very strangely and left, giving the innocent girl a confused and annoyed look.

"Don't bother" The blonde boy responded, still without turning around, remaining in great silence.

"Well, it doesn't matter, I'm still going to leave you food, even if it's half, it's bad that you're still hungry, Mikey!" The little girl answered, taking the Sandwich and biting it until she ate half, leaving the other remaining piece in the lunch box again, and then taking the strawberries and doing the same, also with the chocolate milk. All in view of the boy's surprised look at the girl's nickname and actions, he thought that she was going to leave after all, but she was still there, and her was really going to feed him.

Recess passed, and after making sure that Michael had really eaten what she left him, she returned to her seat with a smile, even though Michael was very quiet and dry when it came to talking, she did not stop talking to him, and she really enjoyed it, because she knew that despite that, Michael had listened to her at all times.

Then, hours passed until school finally ended, she turned to Michael again with a big smile.

"Michael! Do you want to go back to my father and me? Like this morning!" She offered excitedly, waiting for his response, she jumped off of happily when he gave her a vague nod quickly putting things away, afraid she would see the polaroids scattered all over he backpack.

So days passed, which turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into months, and so on until finally he had lived in Haddonfield for a year and a half. I was on mid-year vacation with Michael, they had three weeks off and I was really enjoying it, today I was going with Michael to the stream that was a few streets near his house, where I was going to give Michael a surprise, I knew that they would both They had become really close, even Michael was possessive of her when she talked to other people and she got sad when she thought that Michael was going to leave her aside when they had different people in their school work.

He happily jumped out of his bed as soon as he woke up and headed downstairs where his mother was making breakfast while his father was getting ready for work.

"Mommy, mommy! Did you make them? Tell me yes, please!" She ran excitedly towards her mother, hugging her waist while he looked at her expectantly, waiting for an affirmative response.

She laughed at her daughter's haste, turning her head slightly to look at her. "Yes, I made the cookies that Michael likes so much, just like you asked me, sweetheart," her mother agreed, receiving a big smile from her daughter, who jumped up while still hugging her.

"And, did you also receive the Ring Pop i ordered?" She asked again this time with more insistence, because it was the most important thing she was going to give to her dear friend.

"Of course, honey, don't worry," she responded affirmatively again, making her daughter jump with excitement again, this time releasing her and running through the kitchen, making her laugh with amusement, "but don't hurry, first you're going to get ready and have breakfast, otherwise "You're not going out," she said when she saw that her little girl started looking for the cookies and candy all over the kitchen.

She snorted a little dissatisfied now, but she hurried, going up the stairs again, while her father went down them, surprising him with the hurry with which he was going, he arrived at his room again, and began to choose the clothes he would, she found a Michael's t-shirt, one that he had lent him one day when he went to his house for a sleepover, since his annoying sister had intentionally spilled all her juice on his t-shirt, Michael kindly lent him one of his t-shirts (without mentioning that it was his favorite in that moment) from the band Kiss, one of the many he had. She knew he had to return it, but he wanted to wear it that day, he took it along with an equally black Bermuda shorts and some slightly worn black converse. She went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then took a quick shower, changed and quickly went down to the dining room where her mother had already served breakfast to her and her father, she sat down and began to eat quickly.

"Darling, don't eat so fast, Michael isn't going anywhere" Her father scolded, seeing how his daughter was almost choking on the food for swallowing so quickly, his wife handed a glass of water to his daughter so she could the food will pass easily.

"Leave her, she is happy because she has almost reached two years of friendship with Michael and she wants to give him something" Her mother relieved, letting her daughter be, ignoring her father's scolding, as she continued to eat faster.

She let out a sigh and smiled "Well, I'll let it go just because I'm happy that she got someone special" she didn't understand why her father said that, although Michael was special, very special to her, she saw him as her best friend and other half, and not as someone to classify as 'someone special' in your family.

She finished breakfast and thanked, leaving the plate in the sink, she quickly brushed her teeth again and then said goodbye to her parents, before her father left, she ran to the house next door, where Michael lived, she He stood on tiptoe and reached for the bell, ringing it three times. He waited a few minutes, listening to the usual screams inside the house due to the multiple fights that Deborah, Michael's mother, had with her idiot boyfriend, he heard steps approaching the door and heard how the man of the house screamed. 'Michael, you're not as much of a sissy as I thought after all!' She clearly got upset, she hated how that old man treated he dear friend, but she couldn't do anything.

The door opened and she watched as Michael opened the door with his plump lips pursed adorably, who upon seeing her, with a small smile, softening his gaze, hugged her and greeted her.

"Y/N! I thought you would come a little later, I hope you didn't rush to eat for you came quickly" guessed her dear blonde friend, stepping aside for her to pass "Sorry for the mess, wait for me at the living room, I'm going to bring something and I'll come back to lower,” he invited her while he accompanied her to the living room, leaving her sitting.

She waited until she listen choose how Michael went down the stairs and said to her mother: 'mom! I'll go out with Y/N for a while and I'll be back in the afternoon!' and with that, she took her hand and they left, before hearing her sister's constant complaints.

They walked for a while while talking about anything that came to mind until they reached the small stream where they looked for a tree with good shade to sit. When they found one, the little girl who is now 10 years old, she spoke up.

"You did bring your Ring pop, right?" She asked as took out his, it was of strawberry and the plastic of the ring was an electric blue color, and then looked at his friend, waiting for an answer.

"Ah… Yes, of course, I hope you like the cherry one, I didn't find any other flavor," he mentioned, taking the candy out of his pocket in the same way, revealing a ring of the same brand, but with colored plastic somewhat bright yellow.

"Don't worry, Mikey! You know I love cherry" Of course he knew it, but he wasn't going to reveal the fact that he only really found apple or orange candy, it took him a long time to find a one of cherry one since it was the best seller, but he would search everywhere just to find something she wanted or liked. He couldn't hide the blush on her pale cheeks at that thought.

"Well, then why did you want me to bring one?" She asked after trying to control the slight blush, and waited, watching as the girl's cheeks also turned red from her nerves, giving her an adorable sight, she tried to stop herself from cracking a smile.

"Well… You know that in a few months we will celebrate two years of friendship… And well, I appreciate you very much, and I wanted to give you something to celebrate… Here, I asked my mother to make this for you" he said, handing him the box decorated with twisted hearts and glitter. Since he came home, Michael was curious about the small decorated box, but he didn't mention anything.

He took it in his somewhat chubby hands, and opened it, he saw several homemade cookies with chocolate chips and lemon, his favorites, he also saw several packages with gummy bears and small chocolates and bonbons, next to them, a letter on a page of notebook. , folded like an envelope and sealed with a children's notebook sticker.

"Read the letter when you need it, I made it for when I can't be there for you and you miss me" The boy nodded and put the letter in the box and closed it again, leaving it aside.

"Thank you very much Y/N… I really love you very much…" He said moved as he hugged her tightly, she was very special to him and sometimes he thought that she was too much for him, but still, he needed her among so many problems .

"I love you too Mikey.." she responded, returning her hug, giving him a small kiss on her cheek, and then separating from him. "Now open your Ring Pop, let's make a promise for when we're older and twenty-one," she said, and took the strawberry candy and opened it, taking it gently without putting it on, making Michael repeat his action.

Then, she spoke again, looking him straight in the eyes with great affection "I, Y/N L/N, solemnly promise that I will be with you throughout my life, that we will be best friends and that we will be there at all times, in good times, in bad times, and be best friends forever, and forever" he said, as he took his friend's free hand, and put on the strawberry ring, intertwining their fingers, leaving each one a free hand. "Now you, Michael."

The boy, who was stunned by the girl's gaze, could not pay attention to the words she said, much less after she intertwined her hands in that cute way "I uh… I, Michael Myers… Ehm, I promise to always be with you at all times, and to be the best of friends forever, and ever" he imitated distractedly while doing the same, and intertwined the other hand, leaving them both in a nice moment.

"Well… I heard that when two people love each other, and want to be together for a lifetime, they get married when they are older, and seal their promises with a kiss, then, when we are twenty-one, you promise me that you will marry me." ?" she asked innocently, getting closer to him, staying a short distance away, making a blush begin to adorn both of their faces.

"I promise you Y/N, I promise you that when we grow up, I will make you happy and I will be with you at all times" And so, he shortened the short distance and brushed his lips with hers, in an innocent kiss, which was soon inexperienced, sealing his great promise, which would continue throughout his life.

★ WAAAHHHH I LOVED THIS WITH MY LIFE, I'm seriously thinking about making a fic of this (really, I'm strongly considering it, maybe I will).

★ Credits to the fanart, textual aesthetics and dividers to the corresponding people!

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #michael myers x y/n #oneshot #fandom #fanfic #myers #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #rz michael myers #rz myers x reader #<3 #x y/n #y/n #fem y/n

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gortash-did-nothing-wrong · 3 months

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Things Enver does as a Father:

When their oldest was four, he started to understand what explosives were, so Enver spent three days teaching him how to make fire powder because, "What's the harm? He can't reach the shelf with the ingredients. So he'll never make them without my supervision." He may not have been able to reach the shelf, but that cunning toddler learned how to climb into chairs really fast after that.

When their children started being interested in tea parties, Enver gifted their children a sturdy but beautiful silver tea set. They couldn't brew the tea themselves, nor could they bake their own pastries to go with it, but Enver instructed their servants to fill the teapot with a caffeine free tea anytime the children asked. The trays of croissants and cookies were, of course, also provided.

When Enver joined those tea parties, he used it as a time to test his children's leadership abilities. He asked them how they planned on handling fake issues in the kingdom. Often, he assigned names to fake groups of people, inventing far off countries that sent either banes or boons to their doorstep. "What shall we do about all these refugees?" "The crops from the west fields have failed. Shall we attempt to grow more before harvest, or should we depend upon our reserves?" "Two different political factions are at each other's throats. One is the farmer's guild, and one is the merchant's guild. Who should we side with?" "There's only room in this year's budget to donate to the orphanages, or the trade school programs in the Lower City. Who do we support?" His children sometimes waved his questions off, wanting only to eat the snacks and play games, but sometimes they paid attention. Sometimes they even gave insightful solutions to these problems that were simultaneously fake and yet very real. Enver was always careful to nurture any of his children that showed promise in these matters

Of course, some of his children simply weren't suited for positions of higher leadership, which was fine. He loved his children all dearly, and loving them meant meeting them where they were and accepting who they were. His children that weren't leadership material had other talents. Archery, swordsmanship, art, dance, and more. His youngest daughter, the middle child of the family, actually had a knack for making friends and organizing events. While it wasn't something most would consider a highly prized skill, in her teenage years she turned it into a passion for charity work, especially with orphans and refugees. Something that he made sure the newspapers always reported on. Why not make sure the public viewed him and his family in a favorable light with the candle of his child's charity cases?

One of his children showed a knack for archery at a young age, and Enver wasted no time in designing moving targets for her to sharpen her skills with. His wife introduced their little prodigy to that vampire friend of hers, and soon his daughter was sneaking around the castle with a bow and quiver full of enchanted arrows. The servants only complained a little.

His brood grew in number until he was often walking around the city with a gaggle of eight children at his heels, looking every bit like a proud father goose. His youngest was almost always in his arms, a young boy with chubby cheeks and his father's grin. The public went wild with love for the sight of his hoard of children, calling them the Pride of the Gate. His wife insisted nicknames didn't count if he ordered the press to call them that, but Enver disagreed.

Enver was a firm believer in raising his children with an iron fist. Not in anyway did that mean physical punishment, of course. He detested the thought. But his children had a busy routine of tutors, governesses, coaches, and many extra curriculars from very young ages. His wife was often worried they were expecting too much from them, but Enver was always quick to remind her that they lived in a cruel world, and their children needed to be ready for that. His children were loved, but not coddled.

And as Enver grew older, he felt comfortable delegating more and more tasks to his children. Until finally, at the age of fifty seven with the entire sword coast under his iron fist, he named his heir, split up responsibilities among his other children to ensure there would be no infighting, and retired with his wife to a nice little castle in the upper city. Somewhere close enough to help should his clan require it, but far enough that he and his lovely wife could relax in their old age. He loved spending his mornings sitting on the balcony and having breakfast with her while he read the paper. His middle child, the charity worker, had taken over propaganda, and she was quite skilled at it. He would chuckle with his wife over humorous tidbits from his children's accomplishments.

And of course, then there came grandchildren. Little heathens running around his home, always so happy to visit "Grandma's House". Enver often rolled his eyes at the title of his castle. "I bought the damned thing." He complained to his eldest son one day. His son laughed at him, "Father, don't pout. They may call it her house, but they're always talking about wanting to see your inventions, play with your magic items, and um... Steal your shoes." Enver sighed at that. "None of you ever inherited my glorious fashion sense, and I regret that every day... Maybe one more child-" his wife interrupted them, "No."

#bg3 enver gortash #enver gortash x reader #enver flymm #enver gortash #enver gortash imagine #enver gortash headcanon

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covid-safer-hotties · 1 month

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Long Covid activist Meighan Stone didn't want to take her mask off. After pressuring her multiple times, an ER nurse called security on her. This public health failure happened at Sibley Hospital in D.C. These incidents are happening on a regular basis now as mask bans and proposals spread from L.A. to New York. You're not going to hear much about it in the news. When you do, it's framed as a problem for the vulnerable, with blue fascists freely associating masks with crime and hate.

None of the handful of stories that discuss these mask bans mention that we're currently in the middle of a deep Covid surge, at a million cases a day. None of them talk about mask bans in the context of Long Covid in adults and children.

A widely cited study declaring "strikingly low" rates of Long Covid in children was recently retracted due to major flaws in methodology. The researchers who pushed for this retraction are heroes and champions of truth.

Is the media covering that?

Not really.

To their credit, Time did recently run a very important piece on Long Covid in children, focusing on a recent study published in JAMA.

Here's the highlight:

They estimated that 20% of the previously infected younger children and 14% of the previously infected adolescents met that threshold [for diagnosis]. Kids infected before the Omicron wave were especially likely to fall into the Long COVID category. Those numbers are higher than some previous estimates—for example, a recent U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention report concluded that only about 1% of U.S. kids had had Long COVID as of 2022. But other studies have come to similar conclusions, estimating that somewhere between 10% and 20% of kids who catch COVID-19 will develop long-term complications.

Media outlets like USA Today and NBC are also covering this study. For once, major news networks are devoting attention to something that deserves it. Of course, they're doing it after years of running stories blaming children's school performance and developmental delays on smartphones and lockdowns.

Earlier this year, The New York Times published a misleading, biased story on the "long-lasting" harm of school closures. And The Washington Post recently ran a story also blaming absences on everything except Long Covid and immune system damage. Even Education Week has run pieces attributing weak academic performance to school closures and stress, not the virus itself. It's like shooting fish in a barrel. Pick a magazine or newspaper and you'll find stories like these, but very few talking about the ongoing harm of exposing children and teenagers to Covid. The ones that do are almost always sitting behind a paywall.

Absence speaks louder than words, and not just about Covid.

In 2022, barely 1 percent of all corporate television focused on climate change. That was, in fact, a record high. A year later, it fell 25 percent. That was 2023, the year we surpassed 1.5C of warming for all practical purposes. It was the hottest year in recorded history, and also the worst year for climate disasters, costing us $600 billion in the U.S. alone. Entire countries shut down because it was too hot for work or school. All that, and the corporate media spent even less time talking about the problem. Meanwhile, one columnist after another published long screeds against doomers and fearmongers, insisting that we still had plenty of time to turn things around.

A compelling piece by Ryan Hagen breaks down the unsettling relationship between western news media and the fossil fuel industry. As he points out, internal reports from companies like Exxon celebrate their campaign to turn liberal news outlets like The New York Times in favor of their own industries, convincing the public they were working hard to shift toward renewable energy when the plan was always to use it like icing on top of a cake made out of coal.

Tireless work by Amy Westervelt has chronicled the impact of these campaigns. As her research shows, climate change has morphed from a topic that 80 percent of the public felt an urgency about to, now, a divisive issue and a point that most people would rather not talk about. On top of that, think tanks like the Atlas Network have made a major push to criminalize peaceful climate protests and turn public opinion against activists. A Yale study found that more than 60 percent of Americans hardly ever hear anything about climate change now.

And if you bring it up...

You're a doomer.

There has been a concerted effort across the internet to paint anyone who actually cares about the future as a deeply unhinged fearmonger. Meanwhile, social media giants like Meta have relentlessly censored information about Long Covid.

Have you noticed?

Nate Bear pulled the curtain back on how the media works roughly a year ago. As he puts it, "A lot of the stories you see in the headlines are the result of a PR agency. And depending on the news, the PR agent might not send out a release en-masse but “sell in” the story as an exclusive to just one outlet... Every day a proportion of all news you read starts at just a handful of these agencies."

PR firms are constantly wooing journalists, creating an atmosphere where conflict of interest is more of a feature than a bug.

Caitlin Johnstone did a thorough breakdown of mass media bias. Perhaps the most egregious example: MSNBC reporter Krystal Ball leveled blunt but accurate criticism of Hillary Clinton's 2016 campaign and correctly predicted that she would lose against Donald Trump because of all her neoliberal baggage. In response, the Clinton campaign threatened the entire network "not to provide any access during the upcoming campaign." The head of the network told Ball that she "could still say what I wanted, but I would have to get any Clinton-related commentary cleared with the president of the network."

So, she couldn't say whatever she wanted.

Right?

Johnstone cites a piece by Jeff Cohen in Salon that also outlines the peer pressure, groupthink, and careerism that dominates the newspapers, magazines, and mainstream news networks in the U.S.

As she further explains:

Journalists either learn how to do the kind of reporting that will advance their careers in the mass media, or they don’t learn and they either remain marginalized and unheard of or they get worn down and quit.

Christopher Hedges, who left The New York Times after a written reprimand for criticizing the Iraq War, has gone on to describe in disturbing detail how the U.S. media caters to the Israeli government, continually overlooking its war crimes. An outspoken critic of U.S. policy, Hedges has endured persecution for speaking the truth, including the cancellation of his news program for defending other writers and real journalists from charges of antisemitism.

Another outspoken critic, Mehdi Hasan, was dropped from MSNBC for speaking out over Palestine. As Sharon Zhang wrote after the decision, "Hasan has been one of the only news anchors on a major broadcast outlet speaking up against Israel's brutality." He was also one of the few news anchors who told the truth about Covid. As Hasan recently made clear in The Guardian, it's imperative for Democrats to take a stronger, pro-humanitarian stance on Gaza and break with Biden's approach, which has sparked outrage and disgust across the left.

Hasan makes a remarkable point in this column, looking to history for cues about how Democrats need to act to ensure history.

It's not vibes.

It's guts.

Nobody really remembers Hubert Humphrey, LBJ's vice president who lost the 1968 election to Richard Nixon by about a percentage point. It's a lesson worth talking about. Humphrey was losing badly because he couldn't stand up to his own party, the Democrats, who were actually very, very pro-Vietnam War. He managed to close the gap considerably in the 11th hour of the race, finally standing up to his own party and promising to end the war if he became president. Hasan wonders what would've happened if he had trusted his gut sooner.

Well, history gives us a few clues. After all, Nixon did end the war. In the decades since, the Vietnam War has gone down in history as one the biggest mistakes the U.S. ever made. Psychologists use it as a case study of entrapment in escalating conflicts. It's a touchstone used to rate our other failures.

Time and again, history tells us that doing the right thing actually serves political expedience far more than vibes.

Democrats could ensure a landslide victory if they would just take a clear stance on our biggest threats and challenges. They could be honest about Covid. They could stand up against mask bans. They could stand up against genocide. They could renew their promise to take on climate change.

We're not seeing that.

Instead, we see the same groupthink and indirect censorship that dominates the news media. It's not a surprise, given how entwined they've become.

Look at what's happening to Taylor Lorenz.

Outlets like The Washington Post and NPR, who pride themselves on their devotion to democracy and diversity, have assailed Lorenz for referring to Biden as "a war criminal" in a private social media post.

Here's the worst part of NPR's story:

Lorenz has also courted controversy, online, in print, and in real life. During the peak of the pandemic, and since its ebb, she has inspired mockery from conservatives over her insistence on wearing masks, even outdoors. She has cited autoimmune issues as the reason.

Look at the verbs here. Far from objective, they describe Lorenz as "insisting" on wearing a mask "even outdoors," and then frame her autoimmune issues not as a reality but as a reason, almost an excuse. For the record, multiple studies have shown that Covid spreads outdoors, especially at crowded events.

This is what writers and real journalists deal with as they try to do the right thing. It's disturbing to watch.

Both Jared Yates Sexton and Sarah Kendzior have expressed an ambivalent reluctance to get on board with the vibes as the DNC hosts their national convention. The kindest thing Sexton can say is that "It was a masterful feat of political theater" as organizers clambered to put down pro-Palestinian protests during speeches and tilted cameras away from violence and toward more soothing, therapeutic shots of Tim Walz with his family.

As Kendzior writes, "Today both the Democratic and Republican parties operate on cult logic, which means they sometimes have the same policies, but wrapped in different rhetoric--because cultists will abide anything so long as their leader is the one pushing it. Policies they would protest if they were carried out by the other side are suddenly deemed acceptable when pushed by their own."

The same goes for media coverage.

It's worth pointing out that Kamala Harris no longer supports a ban on fracking. She no longer supports a single-payer healthcare system, otherwise known as "Medicare for all" which would provide healthcare access to everyone. Her stance on border patrol and police funding have all shifted right. The media signs off on it, saying "Progressives said they’re disappointed but still support her as she works out the best strategy to defeat former President Donald Trump — even if it means leaving their cause behind."

But it's not just causes getting left behind.

It's human beings.

Is it simply a desire or a wish that nurses don't call security on us because we want to wear masks at an ER, like Meighan Stone? Do we have to leave our human rights behind so we can ensure our human rights?

Do we have to lay down our lives for vibes?

That's the current groupthink.

So there you have it.

The media doesn't report the truth. They spend about 1 percent of their time on things that actually matter. Politicians cater to an underinformed public, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy that leads to nurses calling security on immunocompromised patients for wearing a mask, while newspapers and networks fire real journalists for daring to do their jobs.

It's really something, isn't it?

It doesn't help when readers and viewers complain anytime someone salts their mood with the truth. In an era where free, independent content matters more than ever, it's also harder than ever to come by. How are content creators supposed to tell the truth or talk about things that matter when they're constantly being reprimanded, penalized, and punished every time they try?

We desperately need a free press, and we need a public that supports a free press and not silos of dueling echo chambers.

You get what you support.

It's that simple.

#covid #mask up #pandemic #covid 19 #wear a mask #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #still coviding #public health #wear a respirator

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thescribblesofreverie · 1 year

Text

WIP Excerpt - Aaron Hotchner x teen!reader

I thought I would share just a little snippet of a project I'm working on. It's a series about Aaron meeting a teenager on a case who ends up being involved, and there's just something so familiar about her...

Reader does use she/her pronouns.

Everyone had that one touchy subject that seemed to bring back memories of events and cases past. Everyone knew that J.J. was the one who was affected by cases involving children.

But this time it was Hotch who felt his chest restrict with each new fact presented. With every body found the pressure of solving this case felt ten times heavier on his shoulders.

On his nightstand, the alarm clock’s neon blue numbers read 3:22 A.M. He was pacing around the hotel room, mind racing a mile a minute. The facts and theories of the case were incredibly confusing. Everytime the team got close, something drastic changed and they were at square one.

Four young, innocent girls were dead, and a fifth was going to be soon if they didn’t shape up.

Hotch glanced out the window of the third story room to see a small diner in the plaza across the street. On its left there was a tobacco store with big yellow block lettering covering the window pains with advertisements promoting vapes and discounted cartons of Mavericks. To its right there was a laundromat, with a few letters of the sign tilted from rusted out nails crumbling away instead of holding it fast. The glowing blue and pink sign on the diner read “open 24 hours”, though it flickered out every few seconds. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he sighed.

Nothing was getting done in this small room, and the diner would have coffee. He had heard before the coffee from 24 hour diners was always better. He doubted that to be true, but at least it would be caffeinated.

He grabbed the coat off of the chair in the corner of the room, and quietly left, locking the door behind him.

It was a short walk across the street. He pushed open the door, and a bell jingled.

Soft sounds of 70’s music filled his ears. His eyes found a pastel yellow and mint green jukebox in the corner. It was your typical retro themed diner. Checkerboard flooring, blue and pink booths and tables, milkshake decals on the wall, and a long bar that a waitress was cleaning with a rag. With the typical 50’s decorations and colors, but 70’s music playing and newspapers from the 80’s on the wall, the establishment seemed to lack a general knowledge on what decade it was supposed to be emulating. Nonetheless, there was a pot of coffee sitting behind the counter, and it wasn’t like this was the strangest 3 A.m. experience he had ever had.

Hotch looked away and sat at the counter, waiting patiently for the waitress to meander her way over to him. She finished wiping down the section of counter she had been working on and dropped the rag in a basket beneath the counter. Finally, she looked over at him.

20-24 year old girl, medium build, round face, brown eyes, umber skin, and dark black waves of hair. She shouldn’t be working alone at night, he thought. Not with a killer on the loose.

“What can I get for you?” She asked, all but rolling her eyes. Her name tag said “Marisa”.

“Just a coffee please.” He said quietly.

“Black?”

He nodded.

As she went across the room to fill up a mug, he took a moment to revel in the peace he rarely got to feel while on a case.

The soft lighting and low music was almost comforting, in an odd way. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

Marisa set the mug of steaming coffee in front of him. “Just brewed a new pot, so you’re lucky.”

“Thanks-”

The jingling of the door interrupted him.

“Marisa, darling!” A feminine voice cooed.

The waitress had a look of annoyance flash across her face before she quickly covered and plastered on a smile.

“Julie, welcome in. Go ahead and take your usual booth. I’ll get you a coffee and… I’m so sorry sweetheart, what’s your name again?”

“Y/N. I’ll have orange juice, please.”

At the mention of her name Hotch looked over his shoulder. Y/N was dressed in a pair of plaid pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. Her shoulders were hunched and as she sat down in the both, she immediately curled into the corner, like it was supporting her. Dark circles hung under her eyes and as he watched, she put a hand up to her mouth to hide a yawn.

It was early Thursday morning. And unless there was something going on that he didn’t know about, she had school in four hours. What was she doing up?

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x daughter!reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x teen!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #thescribblesofreverie #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x reader #bau x teen!reader #bau x reader

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asliceofzosan · 11 months

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pspsps Zeff meeting Ayari 👀👀👀

oH YOU REALLY DONE DID IT NOW

zeff knows how much sanji loves kids.

he first noticed it when he was roughly turning into a teenager. around the age of 13-14. it isn't often that families come to the baratie. but when they do, sanji actually volunteers to wait tables when on normal understaffed days, zeff would have to drag him out of the kitchen kicking and screaming. he didn't understand it until he decided to watch sanji and everything made sense.

if one is the child of a pirate or a marine, you're bound to be a little fussy (case and point: sanji). and his boy was a natural at calming down fussy babies. those chubby little rascals would immediately stop crying when sanji would pick them up and carry them on his hip, taking everybody's order like usual. the parents would look at him gratefully, even allowing him so far as to let him wait other tables with their baby in his arms.

during sanji's break, he would play with them. if they won't stop crying, he'd ask patty or carne to heat up some milk or mushy vegetables to feed the kid. and more often than not, sanji would sometimes be seen with a sound asleep baby as he barks out the orders to a bewildered kitchen.

zeff asked him once if he wanted a baby sibling. sanji just laughed until his sides hurt.

"you can barely raise me, you old coot." he said in response with a bright grin that reminded zeff how much he loved this kid. "i'm better off as an only child. trust me."

(he does. trust sanji, that is. but he will never forget how his laugh sounded pained. like an echo of a terrible memory. he'll come to realize why after a long while.)

as sanji grew up, his natural gravitation towards children never wavered. in fact, kids often flocked towards him at the baratie, following behind him like little ducklings in a row. sanji's smile was softer on those days, the sparkle in his eyes as prominent as when sanji talks about his beloved all blue. the kids would hang onto his every word.

he doesn't know how qualified he is at knowing good parenting from bad parenting. but he did raise sanji for most of his life. his little eggplant turned out pretty decent by his standards.

so of course, it's a no brainer for zeff that if sanji would one day have his own kid, he'd be the best dad in the world.

"head chef?" patty says as he enters zeff's office. "someone downstairs really wants to meet ya."

"if they want a discount they better fuckin' run." he gruffly replies without looking up from the newspaper. "customer is always right my ass—"

"sir?"

"–and you know what's real upsetting? the fact that they think they're all hot shit! i don't care who you are. you pay to eat here–"

"chef-"

"–would be nice if i didn't get some dumbass like that for once—"

"chef, it's sanji!"

zeff has fought sea beasts, marine fleets, and pirates with a worse death wish than him. he has faced starvation, dehydration, massive bloodloss without batting an eye.

but nothing. absolutely nothing makes his heart jump more than hearing that his son has come home to visit.

"well what the fuck are you doing standing there, patty?" he bellows, standing up and stalking towards the open door. "you better be preparing a feast for my boy."

"actually, he's already in the kitchen cooking one himself."

zeff laughs. that sounds exactly like his boy, alright.

it took zeff all of two seconds to notice that sanji isn't alone.

the swordsman is there, hanging off his shoulder like it's nobody's business (and he's pretty sure sanji mentioned at one point that he had gotten his head out of his ass and finally got together with him. lord was that an ordeal). and it looked normal for a few seconds until sanji turned around to face zeff.

there was a child there.

strapped to sanji's chest with some sort of blanket-like contraption was a baby. it couldn't be more than two years old. its shrieks of delight echoed in the kitchen as it drooled all over sanji's suit. its hair was green – the same shade as that of the swordsman glued to sanji's side. and it was tied up into little pigtails that bounced as it moved.

"zeff!" sanji greeted, that same bright sunny smile plastered on his face. "come meet your granddaughter!"

his... what?

then he looked closer at her and it all made sense.

the curly eyebrows.

but it also made no sense at all. because the longer zeff stared at his granddaughter, the more confused he felt because how in the love of the all blue did sanji get a child that looked exactly like him and his idiot swordsman?

he was so much in his head that he didn't notice sanji take the kid out of her baby sling and hold her out in front of him. he was brought back to reality when one small hand wrapped around the end of his mustache with a continuous giggle. zeff stared at her, his whole world stopped on its axis. he never saw sanji as a baby. he wonders if this is the closest he'll get to experiencing that for the first time...

then the baby pulled on his mustache with a high pitched shriek that could reach the heavens.

"jiji!" the little girl squealed, now holding onto zeff's mustache with two chubby baby hands. zeff stayed rooted to his spot, transfixed by the girl's mere existence. but also there's a stirring in his heart that occurs when she smiles at him. she looks exactly like sanji. though with a lot less teeth.

"would you look at that, old man." zoro laughed as he gently pried his daughter's (????) fingers off of zeff's mustache. "you get her fifth word. congratulations."

on a normal day, (but god what even classifies as normal anymore?) zeff would have probably kicked that swordsman's chest in and sent him flying into the next room. but there's something about the way sanji's smile softens as he watches zoro play with the baby. his eyes mist over and the only reason he probably isn't openly crying right now is because zeff is right there.

there are precious few instances where zeff's seen sanji genuinely happy.

now is one of them.

he coughs roughly to get their attention. all three of them look up, sanji's gaze particularly nervous. but zeff just shook his head, figuring he'll ask all the dumb questions later, and holds his hands out expectantly.

"you gonna let your father hold his grandbaby or or ya just gonna hog her the whole time you're here?"

the laugh that escapes sanji's mouth has both zeff and zoro staring fondly at him. then when sanji transfers his baby girl into zeff's arms, sanji's smile is freer and more open than zeff's seen it in years.

"zeff," sanji says, smoothing down ayari's hair down with one hand, his other hand resting on zeff's bicep. a strong grip. a grounding force. "meet ayari. our little blessing."

ayari coos up at zeff and grabs his mustache again. sanji bends down slightly to rain her little face with a million kisses. zeff just stares at this all with the barest hint of a smile on his face.

yeah. he always knew sanji was gonna be a good dad.

genuinely i am in agony i love this family 😭 do you have any idea how much i was crying while writing this??? is it possible to get baby fever from your own oc zosan baby???

#niki's fics: she has your eyes #one piece #sanji #roronoa zoro #zosan #red leg zeff #niki's asks #oc: roronoa ayari

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 5 months

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would it be okay to ask what's the strangest misconception about sex (or sex ed) that you've heard?

it's okay but there's also not a particularly interesting answer. most of the misconceptions I correct are either a.) pretty common "facts" that get passed around due to incomplete information (see: today's discussion about peeing immediately after sex) or b.) gentle course corrections trying to help people unlearn rather narrowly-defined ideas of sex to something much more fun and expansive.

I guess there was the time the teacher who ran my high school newspaper told us that she'd known a teenage girl who'd tried to give herself an abortion by douching with mountain dew, but it's hard to say if that was even true. when I got pinkeye this same teacher also told the class that pinkeye only happens if you let people fart on your pillows, so it's safe to say that lying to children was one of her hobbies.

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sixminutestoriesblog · 1 year

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Mercy Brown: when superstitions go awry

Tuberculosis is an insidious disease that comes in quietly and sweeps away entire families, rarely content with just one or two before its run its course. This slowly dividing bacteria travels from host to host through aerosol droplets via sneezing, coughing, speaking and other airborne paths. Considering the fact that TB attacks the lungs most often, resulting in, among other things, coughing up bloody phlegm, this means its highly transmissible and yet, luckily, very slow to be caught by the average passer-by. The longer someone spends with the sick person, and the less well ventilated an area is, the more likely the disease is to pass on to the next victim. Most people that came down with TB caught it from sick family members. These days we have a vaccine against it but TB has been around for most of humanities' recorded history, with even Egyptian mummies having been found with physical evidence of it. In Victorian (and later) times the disease was referred to as 'consumption' with little understanding of its source or its cause, an unknown horror that seemed to come from nowhere, prey on an entire family or community and than vanish again just as mysteriously.

In 1883 (or 1884 or 1888 -the dates are all over the place), a woman in Exeter, Rhode Island by the name of Mary Eliza died of 'consumption'. Six months later, her oldest daughter, Mary Olive, joined her in the graveyard. The distraught husband, George, waited, one can only imagine, with terror for the rest of their children to be swept away as well but for the next several years, all was well in the family. Then, in the cold months at the end of 1891, his daughter Mercy Lena came down with consumption.

From our place, safely in the future, we can look at the case and wonder if she was exposed to a new strain that finally found a weak spot the previous one hadn't and laid claim to her. It's entirely possible however that the same bacteria that killed her mother was now killing Mercy as well. Mercy might have contracted what's known as latent TB from her mother, a case where the bacteria lies dormant in the system, the victim a benign carrier who can't infect others until something, usually an event that suppresses the immune system, triggers it into a full blow, active bought. Whatever the case, whether it was a new infection or the haunting family ghost of her mother's older one, Mercy, and her younger brother Edwin, both came down with active TB in 1891. Edwin, a teenager at the time, was sent to Colorado in the hopes it would heal him - but Mercy died in the first month of the new year, going the way of her mother and older sister before her to the grave. She was only 19.

The story should have stopped there.

I wouldn't be writing about this if it had.

Edwin returned from Colorado and his health continued to decline. Soon, if nothing changed, he would follow the majority of his family into the grave. The neighbors had a plan though. They just needed his father's permission.

What they proposed was that an evil entity was draining the life of the Brown family, picking them off one at a time and returning for each new victim. The evil that was killing the family - was a member of the family.

Here's where we get into the superstition part of things. If you read articles online about Mercy Brown you'll find the word 'vampire' thrown around a lot. It was the word used in the newspapers of the time, that caught wind of what the neighbors planned, and its also modern culture, thanks in large part to Bram Stroker's Dracula (there is speculation that his character of Lucy might have had its roots in stories he'd read about Mercy in the newspapers of his time. Dracula, remember, was published in 1897). A dark force, rising from the grave to suck the life out of its victims. Well, yes - and no. Modern vampires, the way we collectively view them now, with fangs and a hunger for blood, creeping around through windows and walking among us on our crowded nighttime streets is a new reskinning. During Mercy's time, and much much further back than that, the 'vampire' associated with disease like TB was much more nebulous. For many cultures, what was rising out of the grave to drain the life from its own family had more resemblance to an angry or hungry ghost, than a walking, talking monster. A distinction that, realistically, has no bearing on the end result but, metaphysically, the story changes. It becomes something personal, to the victim and the neighbors around the family, someone they knew in life, someone they watched die. It's the sorrow and the potential rage and absolutely the confusion of why it happened in the first place, rising like fog from the grave to whisper across the landscape, trying to take what it once had back to the cold of its tomb with it. It's the familiar knock of a friend at the door when the friend isn't there anymore. It's the smile you knew all the nineteen years of its life on the other side of the window on a moonless night. When the neighbors wanted to dig up Eliza, Olive and Mercy, there was the quiet whisper that traced back through a thousand ancestors into the far past of humanity that murmured that love doesn't die when the body does - and that that's terrifying, not comforting.

George, with his son dying, agreed to let the neighbors go digging up his family. Maybe he believed them, some accounts say he didn't, but whatever the case, he let them pull up the bodies of his dead loved ones out of their cold graves in the late winter and lay them out right there for testing. Mary Eliza and Mary Olive were safe. They were too rotted to be the hungry ghost that was trying to take young Edwin with it. Mercy however - Mercy, according to the reporter that was onsite to record all of this, looked far too fresh to be a two month old corpse. Her hair and nails had grown, her body looked unblemished, reports said her body had shifted since it had been laid out and, most damning of all, when her chest was cut open by the local doctor, her organs were found to still have blood in them. It wasn't important that Mercy's body had been in the ground during some of the coldest, and therefor most preserving, months of the year. They certainly didn't know about the buildup of gas in a body that can make it move or the way the skin shrinks and pulls back from nails and hair, making them seem to grow. No. What they saw was that Mercy wasn't content to travel into death alone. She wanted her baby brother to go with her.

So they burned her heart on a stone in the graveyard, put the ashes in a drink and had Edwin chug it down. In a move that dates back to, at least, Achilles desecrating Hector's body in the Iliad, you rob a ghost of its power by mangling the body that ties it to both this world, and its recognizable identity.

It didn't work. Within two months, Edwin was dead as well. The story however, lived on. Perhaps in Stoker's Dracula and certainly in the papers of the day. Mercy was, perhaps, the last body dug up in New England and given the 'vampire' treatment. She wasn't the only one however. There are at least six other recorded, and possibly other unmarked, instances during what came to be known as the New England Vampire Panic that swept the upper US during the 1800s. Mercy, at this point, seems to be the last, coming in on the tail end of the old century and the beginning of the new. A last flicker of the old superstitions dying out in the face of rising science.

#mercy brown #vampire #superstition #folklore #Dracula daily #Dracula #bram stoker #new england vampire panic #american folklore #american vampire

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