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myntrose · 2 months

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ೃ⁀➷partners in crime ︻デ═一

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ft: Alastor x gn! reader

summary: It's another night at the hotel. Everyone is lounging around the shared space, or sitting at the bar. With a boost of confidence (and a few drinks) Angel finally asks the burning question everyone had : How did you and Alastor meet?

cw: demi! Alastor, established relationship(married), Alastor and reader meet when they were alive, reader is an assassin , killing and mild gore (it's alastor yall), a lot of petnames, no use of y/n, no beta we die like men

a/n: it's the way alastor got me smiling and kicking my feet. he got me to break my 1 year hiatus LMAO. also, I am aware that he's ace. I myself am somewhere along the demi spectrum, so this fic is purely for comfort n coping. if you don't like it, pls ignore :,D

wc: 1.5 k (1,469 words)

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The hotel common was filled with low gentle music and idle chatter. Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. Nifty was running around chasing some poor roach. Even Cherri was here, with Sir Pentious attempting to flirt with her once again.

Husk was behind the bar, in ordinary fashion. Although he was mostly listening and doing his job, he would occasionally chide into the conversation the other two residents at the hotel were having. Angel was in the middle of telling you about how much of a headache Val was, while you gave him you condolences. It seemed like the only person missing was the radio demon himself, who was probably in his tower, making a new broadcast.

"Speakin of which..." Angel, who noticed Alastor's lack of presence, noted "I got a question for ya toots. How is it that tall, red and creepy managed to bag you as a partner? You're sweet and all, I get that. But how did you even meet-"

The loud slam of drinks caused the peace within the hotel to halt . Husk shoots a stern glare towards Angel, almost to warn him, be cautious about asking question's about Alastor and his darling, you never know if he's listening.

"It's alright, Husk" You send him a sincere smile. While he would never trust your husband, he can't help but believe your words.

"Well, Angel, let's start with this. If you've ever wondered why I'm down here in the first place, it's because of the occupation I had when I was alive. That's actually how I met Alastor."

Oh, maybe you were a thief and were trying to steal something from Alastor. Or maybe a detective that was on the case to solve his murders. Or maybe-

"I was hired to assassinate one of his targets."

oh.

You couldn't help but laugh at Angels' reaction. Sure, you were kind to those in the hotel, and definitely not as threatening as most overlords. He, and most people you met in Hell, just assumed you committed some mundane crime and got the unfortunate eternal punishment .

Taking a small sip of your drink, you start to recollect the unforgettable night that would define your current relationship.

It was supposed to be like any other job that you were given. Your employer would hand you a file, you would find the target, and get paid in return. Maybe it wasn't the most ethical way to make money, but hey, you knew how to kill so you made it work.

You had followed your target into the bar, while waiting away in the corner. Though your eyes were focused on them the entire night, you couldn't help but feel another pair of eyes on you.

It was probably some random patron in the bar, you guessed. It wasn't for another hour when you noticed that your target had left the vicinity.

The streets were dark, with the occasional street light every block or so. It was perfect place to finish your job. All you needed was for your target to turn into some alleyway, and as quietly as you followed him, you'd quietly go for the kill-

Quietly. Hold on, why was it so quite?

Looking up the street, you noticed that what was once where your target stood was now empty. There was no way he outran you, given that you would have heard his footsteps. To the right of you were the woods, maybe he took a detour?

No, everything felt wrong. Every single thought in your brain was screaming to run, to grab your gun that was hidden beneath your coat, to get out of here-

"Careful my dear, we wouldn't want you getting hurt now, would we?"

A cold blade found its way to your neck. Two very disturbing facts became known to you. First, was the fact that the blade was already stained red. And second, you were about to be the second kill of the night.

A million thoughts ran through your mind. Was this how you were going to die? How fast could you grab your gun? Would your employer be pissed off that you died in the job? With your eyes shut closed, you waited for the knife to make contact.

"Now now, there's no need to be so scared my dear! My, you look like a deer in headlights!"

...what?

Opening your eyes, you're met with the mysterious man who just had his weapon on you seconds ago. He seemed vaguely familiar, probably having seen him at the bar you frequent.

"It seems that I've caused you quite a scare. Do know that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to see for myself this new assassin I've heard so much about! You've caused quite the gossip, my dear. Makes good conservation."

You continued to stand in silence, with the initial shock of almost dying wearing off now. As mad as you were that you got caught, you were equally confused on just who this man was. With some more listening to his voice, the answer popped into your mind.

"You- you're that new radio host! Alastor, was it?"

Alastor's smile grew at the acknowledgment. "Indeed I am! Glad to know you've heard about me."'

Had anyone walked into the conversation you two were having, they would have assumed it was one between new acquaintances. In which one has a knife in their hand, while the other has a gun.

"You see, my dear, I've heard quite a bit about your line if work. While I am more than capable of... dealing with others, I propose that we work out some sort of deal. One where you can finally stop working for that employer of yours, and actually make a profit off your talents."

Alastor put out a hand, waiting, watching to see how you'd respond. It's been a long night for you, and you had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time you saw. Plus, if working with him meant you'd finally have to stop answering to your boss, then why the hell not. You take his hand, before agreeing to this proposition.

"...and since then, we've been business partners. Our relationship kind of just happened after a few moths."

It was nice to look back to when you first met your now-husband. Looking around the bar, you noticed that you weren't just talking to Angel. At some point, unbeknownst to you, everyone at the hotel had come over to listen to your story time.

"Well toots, I figured you had to be some sort of crazy to date smiles, but I guess it takes one to know one." Angels says while taking a shot, still reeling with that fact that someone as kind as you was a killer. Head nods and murmurs of agreement spread within the group.

Before you could say anything, a pool of dark clouds appeared to your side. From the shadows, the very man you were taking about stood before you.

"Hey, Al."

He faces you with his signature grin, before turning to the rest of the residents.

"It seems that I've became the topic of conversion while I was gone! It's quite interesting to see how interested you all are in with me and my dear's meeting."

The hint of annoyance in his voice was entertaining, to say the least. You place a hand on his shoulder, barely hovering above it.

"Aww, come of Al! They just wanted to hear how we first met! Besides, it's a fun story to tell."

"If "fun" means almost killing ya for the first time, I'd hate to know what you guys did when you started dating-" "Shut up Angel!"

You answer a few questions that were asked before everyone eventually returned back to their previous endeavors. Husk and Angel eventually sit around with the others in the common room, leaving just you and Alastor at the bar.

"It's kinda funny, now that I look back at it."

Alastor doesn't say anything, promoting you to continue.

"That night, I almost turned down that job. I was painfully tired, and all I wanted to do was go home. It's crazy to think that we wouldn't have met had I not pushed myself to take the job."

Anyone who knew Alastor would know that him asking for a partnership was simply outlandish. Hell, Alastor himself questioned why he was seeking you out in the first place.

No, underneath he knew. He knew from the first time he saw you. It was a different time from when you both officially met. When he saw you, someone so seemingly innocent, skillfully take down a man twice your size, he knew that he had to meet you.

"Well, mon chéri, it's good that you did."

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader

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the-daydreaming-show · 9 months

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❝baby mine, don't you cry❞ — Richard “Dick” Grayson

jason's version

The arrival of your first child and the chaotic energy he brings into your life (which is saying a lot, why chaos is a part of you). So imagine the gray hair you obtained thanks to your First Joy.

NOTE:

People forget that as Dick was a troublesome little sh*t and he still is. We love him but he is the chaotic son and @igotmessymind agrees with me!!!

This story is part or the BATMOM SCARLET WITCH UNIVERSE that i have create. I hope you enjoy!!!

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

WARNINGS: Dick's parents die; a boy who is very angry with the world; a very stressed new mother (you); Bruce is there, but that's not what this story is about, but he is a good father in this world.

Technically, the first time you met Dick was directly after his parents died, but he wouldn't remember that until he was an adult. And you never counted that as your first interaction with your boy because of the tragedy of the whole scenario.

You and Bruce had gone to the circus that day in the subtlest way a Wayne could go anywhere. It was a date night, one that both of you had recently defined as mandatory every week. First so that Bruce could have a break, and second because that way you guys started spending time together somewhere other than the batcave. Something that, according to Alfred, you both desperately needed as a couple.

You two were in the front row when Mary and John Grayson plummeted to their deaths in the middle of their circus act, leaving a horrified ten-year-old Dick. The boy's scream was something that, even years later, if you closed your eyes, you could still hear with terrifying clarity. Once the tent was evacuated and the crime scene isolated by the GCPD, the newly promoted Captain Jim Gordon arrived and, before you left, he very subtly approached you and your husband. He asked you if you could do something for the child. The forensics team will arrive at any moment now, and they will have to uncover the bodies. Nobody couldn't get Dick to move or to react in any way, and Jim wanted to spare the boy seeing his parents like this more than he already had.

Jim had been aware of your and your husband's identities for a while, so the request didn't surprise you. To the contrary, you quickly agreed. He took you back to the tent. Dick had been lowered from the platform, but he remained curled up in a ball on the floor, next to where the bodies of his parents were covered in white sheets, which were turning redder from day to day. Little with each passing moment. You approached him, with the most delicate step possible, and placed a hand on his hundred, entering his mind gently and gently guiding his consciousness out of the shock of the situation. It was superficial magic that didn't get you into the boy's mind very much, just enough to help him and not force him. In a few seconds the boy's head snapped up, and you let Jim quickly take control of the situation, allowing one of his detectives to guide you back out of the closed area, then back to your husband.

You had to help your husband out of his own shock that same night, forcing him to stay home and not go out as Batman, without accepting any complaints. Alfred helped, agreeing with the idea immediately. The death of the Grayson's in front of his own son was something that came very close to Bruce's heart, too many buried memories that arose uncontrollably.

The first official meeting that both of you remember is almost two weeks later. After you and Bruce had decided to take care of little Dick into your own hands. All because you find out how the boy kept sneaking out of the houses where the state put him at least once a day since that fateful night.

“Dick, this is my beautiful wife, y/n Wayne” Bruce introduced them both that day when the boy arrived with his suitcase and his eyes wide open, surprised by all the luxury that Wayne Manor represents. Smile at yourself and look briefly at your husband in reproach for his choice of words. He just shrugged, not at all sorry for his words. It's the truth. You ARE beautiful, and you are MY wife, he thought in his defence, knowing you would listen. You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to the child between the two of you.

“It's a pleasure, Mr. Wayne” The boy said suspiciously, but politely, not believing how good the situation looked for him and not trusting you or your husband at all.

“It's nice to meet you too, Dick” you told him, smiling sweetly “No need to be so formal, just call me y/n, it's fine”

Dick's mind couldn't stop thinking about how pretty you were. The way you were sweet in that first meeting was bittersweet for him, because he reminded him of his own mother, of that affection that she used to give him and that he would never receive from her anymore.

“Lunch is almost done” you tell him as you lean a little more towards Bruce for support, “Are you hungry?. Alfred prepared a buffet just to welcome you” you explained trying to push those thoughts away for now, you desperately wanted him to feel good and comfortable there.

“Alfred?” the boy asked, confused.

“Our butler” Bruce explained

“He's more like family than anything” you clarified, “Like a grumpy grandpa who won't let you touch the stove without breathing over your shoulder” you teased a bit.

“Did he say my name, Mistress y/n?” said the aforementioned, coming from the kitchen and looking at you accusingly.

“No, not at all” you denied it and Dick couldn't help but smile a little at the mischief, to which you winked at him and offered your hand.

“Come on, let me show you the dining room” you invited him and the boy left your hand dangling for a moment, thinking about his next move. But, since you didn't stop smiling or offering him your hand, Dick decided to take it last, mainly because he was hungry.

Dick let you guide him, serve him food. He talked to you a bit during the meal until Bruce had to go to Wayne Enterprises for a meeting, then you showed him the mansion and his room. You promised him that you would go shopping this week to decorate it to his liking so that he would feel more comfortable.

During that week was the honeymoon phase.

The social worker you and Bruce had meetings with before Dick arrived explained about the phase. It's when everything seems perfect and the child shares his best manners. Either out of fear of how you would react. Or hoping to see how long your stay in the house would last, if it's worth getting used to or not. But the act would end sooner or later.

And it was exactly one week later (a Tuesday to be exact), the day after Dick started attending his new school, that the boy act ended and the adjustment phase officially began.

“This stage is the most difficult, so I need you to be prepared for it, especially in a case like Richard's” the social worker explained to both of you with seriousness. You had taken every word she gave you with like it was the bible, but at the end you still weren't ready when it started and everything that happened hit you like a truck.

You were in your studio in downtown Gotham, having a meeting with the designers who work with you and discussing that winter's new clothing collection for the brand. When Nina, your personal assistant, enters the office after timidly knocking on the door with a worried face.

“Mrs. Wayne” she called out to you, to which you look at her, smiling kindly upon seeing her “I know that you asked me not to bother you unless it was an emergency” she said, remembering what you had told her, you frowned immediately worried, because Nina was extremely effective and if she was there it was because it was genuinely an emergency “Gotham Academy is on call, it's about your son” she told you, and you immediately called off the meeting before leaving on the phone.

It turned out that not only had the school called, but GCPD had called Bruce around the same time. Dick, your only ten-year-old boy, had run away from school and ended up being found in Crime Alley by an officer who recognised him from the news. The officer in turn informed Jim Gordon, knowing the proximity to the Wayne's, and he gave the order to bring the boy to his office in the centre of the city, to then call your husband. You never knew what god to thank for Dick that would have been found by one of the few good cops in Gotham, but you did anyway.

“What is he thinking?” you asked worriedly while talking on the phone with Bruce, already on your way to the police station, with Alfred driving, “Anything could have happened to him. If he didn't want to go to school he could have said, he insisted on starting this week, I don't understand!-” you stopped, passing your hand over your eyes and sighing heavily.

“That was probably the point, love” Bruce said softly. “He wanted you to leave him at school and not think about the matter anymore. It is likely that his plan would have always been to escape, surely he would have done the same yesterday if he had not been assigned a partner for his first day” he explained to you, his voice accompanied by the movement of papers on the desk in his own office.

The day before, which had been Dick's first day of school since the death of his parents, the school had assigned one of its older students to guide him on that day, so he had been watched all day. But that day had been different, and your son had gotten up in the bathroom in the middle of the first class, and had not returned to the classroom. So the school had called you when they realised the boy was missing. And Jim had called Bruce shortly after when the patrolman found him. And Dick had taken a cab to Crime Alley, of all the places.

“He's safe, you need to calm down, love” Bruce continued, getting up from his desk, to walk up to the large windows in his office and look out over the city, as if he could see you from the top of Wayne Tower “We'll talk to him when he gets home, before dinner, but upsetting you like that won't help” he advised you, even though he was just as worried about what had happened.

“Alright, alright” you whispered while taking a deep breath.

At the door of the police station you were met by a uniform who was waiting for Jim's orders, who took you to the captain's office where, sitting with his head down and his arms crossed tightly across his chest, you found Dick.

“Richard Grayson” you started in a stern tone, walking towards him and crouching down in front of him, to check that he wasn't hurt. “¿What were you thinking?¿Why do you think of getting in Crime Alley alone?” you asked calmly but firmly, looking at me as the boy avoided returning the gesture “Dick, look at me” you insisted, looking for his gaze, but the boy continued to refuse, almost tempted to close his eyes to make his denial clear.

“Mrs. Wayne” Captain Gordon called to you from his desk, where he had been watching the interaction, and you quickly stood up to greet him.

“Jim, you don't know how much I appreciate you for this. I almost had a heart attack when the school called me to say that Dick was missing” you told him as you shook his hand.

“Don't worry, your boy was just taking a walk, a bit of a dangerous adventure, but he came out without a scratch” he reassured you while looking at the crestfallen boy sitting next to you, and he did not miss the way your hand trembled slightly “Gomez” the officer who had brought you to the door looked at his boss ready to receive his order “Why don't you take little Dick to get something to eat from the vending machine down the hall?” and his question didn't need an answer. Dick left with Officer Gomez without saying a word, as you watched his back walk away through the glass in the office door.

“Y/n, please, sit down” Jim asked as he approached one of the chairs on the guest side of his desk, sitting down across from you immediately after you did.

“I'm sorry, I just-” You tried to apologise for how upset you were, but the man stopped you with an understanding smile.

“Don't worry, y/n. I was close to an aneurysm the first time my Barbs ran away from school” he told you trying to calm you down, to which you giggled at the thought of the adorable red-haired little girl who was the only daughter of the Gordon family.

“They start younger and younger” you plead, with a mixture of amusement and concern looking at the older man.

“Well this is Gotham, our kids have to grow up faster than others” he explained to you, while he served a glass of water from the jug that he had on his desk “Your butler had the same reaction when I found your husband walking in the same place years ago, shortly after the death of Thomas and Martha” he remembered, offering you the glass, which you accepted with anguish.

“God, he already acts like Bruce, and he hasn't even been with us for two weeks” you lamented, to which Jim couldn't help but chuckle a bit at your concern.

“Welcome to parenthood, your heart gets used to it sooner or later” he comforted you, running his hand down your back reassuringly.

Things got worse before they got better. Dick started running away not only from school, but from home, and he started yelling at you at unexpected times. There was no way for you to figure out what was making him mad because it was different what you did or didn't do every time he started his tantrum.

That was the case for more than two months after the first incident. Alfred told you that Bruce had been the same for a full year after his parents died. Bruce told you it wasn't your fault, despite what the kid was yelling at YOU all the time. But you could do more than feel guilty. You didn't want to fix things with your magic. When you retired you decided that your life could not be what you did with your power, it was more than just your power, and it was time to start accepting it, enjoying it. But you don't know how to help him without that power, either, at least not in a very deep way. So you did the only thing you could think of, you kept offering your hand to little Dickie, even though half the time he seemed to want to bite his hand.

It all came to a head one afternoon after you brought a very angry Dick to Wayne Manor from school. Gotham Academy had called you to talk after he tried to escape again. They informed you that maybe it was time for you and Bruce to look for another school for the boy, since his behaviour was not appropriate for the establishment.

“Dick, we need to talk” you called out to the boy, seeing him run towards the stairs as soon as you closed the front door. Alfred was shopping for dinner and Bruce was at League HQ, so you were the only one to argue with the kid that day “Dick Grayson, come back here, we're going to have a talk about this sooner or later” you said, going after the boy with a calm step, but Dick heard you coming and ran to his room at the moment he made the second floor of the house, slamming the door shut before you managed to finish climbing the stairs.

You sighed heavily as you stopped at the sound of the door slamming. You wanted desperately to go into the room and demand that the boy tell you what was bothering him so much, you wanted desperately to fix whatever was bothering him so much. But you knew you couldn't really fix the source of his problems, even if you had the magical potential to do so. You learned long ago that death is something even you must let take its course, for the sake of the very existence of the whole. You also didn't want to enter the boy's mind with magic, it wouldn't be fair to him to do that, so your options were limited at the end of the day. So you stood there, helpless.

You were having a hard time, not because you didn't want the task of taking care of Dick, but because it was a mixture of situations that seemed unfair to you. First the poor boy lost his parents together in front of his eyes, and he did so after the death of the Scarlet Witch, after you decided it was better to start a life without the chaos magic that characterised you. If the boy had crossed your path a couple of years earlier, neither Mary nor John had fallen to their deaths that day, you would have stopped it right there in that tent of the circus without much thought. But it hadn't been.

Although, you didn't need to read his mind to know one thing: Dick hated you. Totally and intensely. He had made it clear to you on more than one occasion.

And yes, he did. Dick hated everything about you. He hated the way you made his room look like the ideal in his mind of what he wanted. How you personally prepared his lunches for school. How you wore it and personally attracted you everywhere. How you smile with affection, how you patiently accept every insult and scream. I also hated how you tried so hard that he wouldn't notice that Bruce wasn't there much. Or how you always found him when he got lost in the halls. Also, when you brought him cookies and hot chocolate when he couldn't sleep, even though sugar didn't really help him sleep at all. He only made him happy for a while.

Why couldn't you be like the wicked stepmothers of the stories?

It would be easier for him.

He hated the way you loved him, because it made him want his mom back, and it made him remember that she was gone, it made him want to accept you and Bruce as his family too. But he didn't need a new family. He necessitated his family, his parents, and his circus friends. He wanted his life back.

He hated you. He hated you. He hated you.

Dick curled up on the bed, with the blankets you personally picked out with him, which were Superman, and hid his head on the pillow. There he remained. At eleven years old, Dick had never been the type to be capricious or suspicious. His parents had always taken pride in saying that his son was very well-behaved and fit in wherever they went with the show. But now he just wanted to hate and never stop doing it, he didn't want anything else because the world was cruel, and it didn't deserve more than his hate. You didn't deserve more than that for being so good that it made him want to feel like before, and it pulled his mind to a better place every time you caressed his hair lovingly and made him feel at home.

That night, after eating the sandwich that Alfred had kindly given him when he refused to come down for dinner, he went to sleep without expecting you to come and say good night, as you had done since he arrived at the mansion. Usually, he didn't go to sleep easily, but his desire to avoid you overcame the fear of his nightmares, so he quickly fell asleep.

You arrived after he began to snore softly, already sunk in sleep. You entered, opening the door as quietly as possible, to see him spread out on his bed, with his pyjamas on, and the sheets almost falling off the bed due to his movements. Likewise, you couldn't help but feel the tenderness warm your heart, thinking to yourself that this should be a good step on the right path, because the boy hadn't slept well since he arrived at the mansion and since before, according to the reports of the social worker. So that he was sleeping at that time was good. You took victory silently and closed the door to the room, using the surface of your powers to close the curtains that let the moonlight into the room before walking away.

You went down to the cave after that, where Bruce was getting ready to go out for the night.

“How is he?” he asked while putting on his gloves, as soon as he heard you walking out of the elevator.

“He's asleep” you told him with a big smile, happy for the small victory.

“Really?” Bruce asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Yes” you answer, reaching her side, unable to contain the smile of happiness, for that reason “I know it's not much considering what happened today-” you started, but your husband stopped you by placing his hands on your cheeks affectionately.

“It's a good thing” he assured you, smiling at you, and you kissed his lips lightly “We still need to talk to him tomorrow though” Bruce said, gently breaking your bubble, to which you sighed.

“If it makes you feel any better, Mistress y/n” Alfred began from the chair in front of the batcomputer “I could make you a list of the number of private schools Master Bruce was expelled from before he finally calmed down” he offered to what Bruce rolled his eyes in amusement “It's including Gotham Academy, of course” he clarified with amusement.

The night passed as normally as it could. But around one in the morning you went upstairs to check on Dick, as you always did at night when you stayed in the cave. It was the third time you'd checked, and he'd been fine the first two times, having started snoring louder on each visit.

So you expected to hear the boy snoring when you reached the hallway of his room, instead, you were met with crying. You stopped in place for a moment, because it was the first time you had heard Dick cry since he had arrived at the mansion.

“Mama” the boy cried, half awake and half asleep, “Mama” kept calling between sobs that shook her little body violently.

The most instinctive part of you walked quickly towards the door with a soft step, but the same logic made you stop at the door before even touching the handle, apart from that he told you that the boy was calling for his mom, for Mary. Not for you, he didn't want you. And for a moment you decided that you would not go in, and we let him cry all he needed, and tomorrow you would try to get him to talk about it. It might be a good time to suggest therapy. Yes, that was the best option and the best way to handle the situation.

“Mom, mom” you heard. Now fully awake, Dick continued to sob with his broken heart, and he broke yours with the sound of his cracking voice. So the institute won.

You walked into the room ready to be yelled at almost immediately. But you did it anyway, sure-footed and ready to do whatever it took to make your precious boy stop suffering once and for all. You knew that that would never leave him, but you would still try.

“Dickie, baby” you said as you approached the bed, to sit on the edge of the mattress next to him, running a hand over his back as he continued to cry and sobbed loudly “My joy, it's okay, you're-” and then the force of the child colliding with your chest stopped you.

In the time Dick had been there, he had never allowed you or Bruce or Alfred to get any closer than to hold his hand or stroke his hair. So when the boy threw himself at you crying and hugging your waist as if his life depended on it, he surprised you. He was hugging you as if he was afraid that you would disappear from one second to the next (theoretically you could do that, it was part of your powers, but that wasn't what the boy was afraid of). He sobbed into your chest as his knuckles turned white from clinging to you.

“It's okay, my joy” you comforted him, hugging him back and kissing his hair “Everything will be alright” you promised him, not quite sure what else to say to make him feel better and hugging him tighter to match his strength, so he would understand that you won't be leaving soon

“I want my mum” the boy sobbed, not with an internal intention to hurt you, but as if asking you to do something. You were an adult, you could fix anything, that's what adults do, and the ten-year-old was practically begging you desperately for a solution as he felt.

“Oh, I know, Dickie. I know” you said hugging him tighter “I'm so sorry, baby” you apologised, feeling bad for having no more than words to handle the situation, knowing that nothing will bring that child back to his parents, no matter how much you want to make it happen for him.

You would do anything for that boy. You would destroy yourself, and you would build yourself up again. Not only that, but you would empty out entire universes and kill God himself if necessary. But for now, you just held him while he cried, while he called out to a mother who lay twenty feet under. You knew, at that moment, that there would never be anything you wouldn't do for that boy. And Dick decided that night that maybe you weren't so bad.

Dick Grayson couldn't believe he was standing in the Batcave. He also couldn't believe his adoptive father was Batman. Now he understood why he was always missing for so long, it wasn't that Bruce was ignoring him, it was that he was down there, being a hero for Gotham City. His mind was racing as he walked around the place asking your husband questions and inspecting every nook, artefact, and blemish he found in the place. You and Bruce watched him from a distance, grinning like fools at the uncontrollable excitement of the boy who had long felt like he was your own.

“This is AMAZING” Dick would say whenever something particularly struck him, which means he said it every few seconds.

“See, he told you he would be excited” you told your husband while you took his hand, he smiled at you and brought your clasped hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles affectionately. A silent way of telling you: You were right, love.

“WOW” exclaimed the boy, he was now standing on the platform where the different suits that your husband had used as Batman are displayed “With all due respect, Bruce, but it's good that you left behind the combination of purple and yellow, it was too much” the boy scoffed, pointing at the first suit on display behind him.

“It was the eighties” your husband defended himself with a grimace, rolling his eyes at how similar the comment was to the one you had made the first time you set foot in the cave several years ago. You just laughed as you looked at him, happily remembering that moment.

“Purple looks amazing on you, my love” you assured him, caressing his cheek with your free hand. “Very intimidating” you said, to which both you and Dick chuckled, while Bruce continued to regret his fashion decisions.

“I tried to talk him out of it, Master Dick” Alfred commented, joining the bandwagon of teasing Bruce about his old fashion decisions. “But he insisted,” he shrugged gracefully.

“Okay, I'm going to throw him out of my cave if you don't leave my purple suit alone” Bruce complained, to which you and Dick shared an amused look before the boy returned his attention to the suits on display. Alfred smiled as he watched you kiss your husband in compensation, earning me a goofy smile from him, the one the butler had seen a lot since you two got married.

“HOLY SHIT” Dick suddenly exclaimed, to which you and Bruce turned to look at him wearing it, your husband ready to spring into action at your son's exclamation “You've got the Scarlet Witch suit here!!” the boy exclaimed excitedly, looking at your husband in disbelief before running to stand in front of the glass where your old suit is on display. Well, the word suit was an understatement, because it was a red bodysuit, with a belt, the cape, and high boots. An outfit that was not the best choice for fighting, but you never question it too much, because you were always comfortable in yourself and in that outfit, too.

Bruce and you shared a look. It was time to drop the second bomb on the boy. Now you were the one worried about her reaction.

“How did you get it?” Dick asked excitedly, his nose glued to the glass, pawing it with his breath “I thought the Justice League couldn't get her body back from the Dimension of the Damned after she closed the portal to save us” he said, thinking aloud, while analysing the garment.

Up close, he could see the details of the fabric, the way the cloak had a texture and wasn't smooth as it seemed watching it from the television. It was as if magic was embedded in the fabric, and it moved even when she was still on the mannequin. The boy was fascinated, definitely marking this as the best day of his life.

“Well that's true. The League was unable to recover her body after she closed the portal” explained Bruce, as he hugged your waist, pressing his fingers against you at the memory of those events that still haunt him “But the suit is here for its protection, nothing more, it still belongs to its owner” Bruce finished, letting the boy think a little about his words.

“Wait,” Dick said, frowning and turning away from the video, to walk to the railing of the platform. And how do you have it, if she never left the Dimension of the Damned?” the boy frowned, thinking hard that how could it be that this was the original costume.

“It's more like early retirement than death” Dick jumped in place when you appeared next to him, speaking sweetly to him “But yes, the Scarlet Witch never made it out of the Dimension of the Damned” you explained to him, while you crouch in front of him, the boy turned to face you still confused by what he was saying “Dick, do you remember that we told you that we had to tell you a couple of things?” you asked him and the boy quickly nodded “Well first we wanted to tell you that Bruce is Batman, as you already deduced” you pointed to your husband on the lowest platform “And the other one is that I'm-” Before you could say more, Dick squealed with excitement again.

“YOU ARE THE SCARLET WITCH, HOLY FUCK!!” the boy yelled with his eyes as wide as his eyelids would allow.

“Language, Master Dick” Alfred scolded absently from below.

“OH-MY-GOD” The boy yelled again, looking at me as if you were hanging the stars from the sky, throwing himself on you, hugging you with his arms around your neck “I knew you weren't dead, I argued every day with my friends about this, it didn't make sense for YOU to die just like that, no amount of spawn could kill the Scarlet Witch, it's absurd-” The boy began to ramble as you picked him up in your arms, he hug your hips with his legs intuitively, and you walked down with him in your arms. Smiling softly at the boy's excitement, it was Bruce's turn to give you the Told you so look “This is the BEST day of my life” Dick finished his ramblings as you pulled up next to Bruce, with him still sitting on your hip, and proceeded to grab your husband's neck and hug you both tight. The pull made your husband laugh at the boy's sudden outburst. “My parents are the coolest people on the planet next to Superman, this is the best” the boy declared proudly, ignoring the surprised looks you and Bruce shared immediately after that.

It was the first time his parents had called you, and Dick didn't even think about it much longer, it came out of him so naturally that you two didn't say anything else either. You were mom after that and Bruce was dad, as if the boy had forgotten how to say his name from one moment to the next. And he did it with the greatest happiness in the world.

That night, after Bruce went out on patrol, and you dragged a still very excited Dick to bed, as you tucked him into bed, tucking the covers over him, your son's face suddenly scrunched up at a particular thought.

“What's up, Dikie?” you asked, as you ran your hand over her forehead, concerned at the sudden change in expression.

“Weren't Batman and the Scarlet Witch supposed to hate each other?” he asked you confused, looking down with his head tilted from his pillow.

You laughed, relieved and amused by the question.

“That, my boy, is a story for another day”

And that was it.

TAGLIST: If someone wants to be added or removed from this list, they can request it, is OPEN.

@some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @randomboostsofmotivation @totallynotme420 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @calsjack

#batmom #all for us #batfam x reader #dick grayson x batmom #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x scarletwitch #scarletwitch!reader #scarletwitch!batmom!reader

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brodieland · 2 months

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.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 Two Starfish in a Reef ´ˎ˗

Percy Jackson x fem!reader Synopsis: Reader and Percy meet at Yancy, after getting close they find out something about Percy. Pre-beginning "The Lightning Thief" A/N: reader is not a half-blood. Word count: 2232

Best friends, partners in crime, soul sisters if you will. That's what you and Percy were, an inseparable pair.

The two of you met at Yancy Academy, a plush and expensive boarding school that rich and well off families pawn their kids off too so they don't have to pay constant attention to them. Which is why you were first sent there.

You weren't a troubled kid in the slightest, nor were you at all high maintenance. Though still being in the sixth grade, you needed a parental guide that your parents just wouldn't give. Your parents are famous and well-known lawyers in not just New York, but the country, meaning they travel a lot. With a career this successful, they never planned on kids, but that didn't stop you from coming along. They never acted toward you with any sort of hostility, but they were never loving. They'll sign you up for sports, but never come to a game. They'll say an artwork you made was impressive, but never hang it up on the fridge. You can win an award and sure they'll tell you good job, but never go bragging to their friends about it. If you had to define your relationship with your parents, the best way would probably be half-assed.

You thought there was a chance things would get better once you were surrounded by kids your own age, you sadly were wrong. Arriving at Yancy, you were always one to study hard and do well in classes. Having top marks in all classes kids are often mooching off your homework answers, but never offering to sit with you at lunch. You were fine it though, you were always quiet and conserved anyways. That was until one day your sitting in the cafeteria by yourself reading a textbook for class when this blonde boy in your English class comes up to you.

"Hey, um, your Y/N right?" He asked.

"Uh, yeah, your.. um" This is kind of embarrassing.

"Its Percy, I'm in your English class" he chuckled nervously while scratching the back of his neck "Anyways, I'm in your English class and, well to be honest, dyslexia is kicking my butt and I'm failing. So, Mr. Nicoll said I should ask you to tutor me and help get my grade up to avoid summer school. So, please help me?" He held his hands together in a pleading motion, making you cracked a smile, causing him to smile along side you.

"Sure, no problem. Let's meet after school in the library, bring your homework and a list of what you need help in and I'll have you passing in no time." You said flashing a toothy smile, which he happily returned.

"Oh my gods your the best, thanks so much. Alright Y/N, I'll see you later." He said, still smiling as he waved you off as he walked away. For once, you were actually looking forward to studying.

After your last class you pack up your stuff and start your walk to the library. To your surprise, Percy was already standing there grabbing books from his bag with his back to the door.

"Wow, someone's eager to learn aren't they" you joke.

He jumped a little not realizing you were behind him "Oh hey Y/N, didn't see you there" he smiled "but what can I say, I'm ready to be turned into an A plus student."

"Alright then, let's get started"

You guys studied for about three hours, he got distracted kind of easy but you were always able to somewhat get him back on track. Aside from studying, you guys also maintained conversations and got to know each other better and learned you guys liked each others company.

"Alright well, curfews in about an hour so we should probably get going" You didn't really want to get away from him, but you knew it was time. Though his slight frown didn't go unnoticed from you, making you slightly happy at the idea he wanted to keep hanging out with you.

"Dang, your right" he blew out air from his mouth as he said this "We should do this again, you know, studying. Or even just hanging out normally, without the studying." He rambled out a little bit.

Oh my gods, he wanted to hang out again. This was awesome, have you just made your first real friend here at Yancy, and you couldn't be happier about it. "Thanks Percy, I'd love too." You were probably grinning like an idiot.

He had the same look on his face, just as idiotic as you. No one should be this happy in a library, but you guys were. And what you didn't know was he called his mom all happy and giddy to tell her about you.

After that day, the pair continued to hang out regularly, both over the moon of having found a best friend in each other. Even if you didn't end up bringing him up to a scholar, he was okay with a C average, as long as it meant being around you.

As months passed, he began to get more comfortable with you, opening up about things he's been seeing ever since he was a kid. You were skeptical at first, but both of you met this new friend Grover who introduced the pair of you to a card game where all the characters were the creatures Percy had been seeing. This helped feel a little more normal, but you knew he wasn't fully normal and something was different about him, but you didn't care. Everyone has a background, but you didn't care what Percy's background was. He wasn't a crazy kid, you could tell. He was a genuine person who never found the fun in lying to you, and you appreciated it.

Finally, it was time for you class trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where we learned more about Greek mythology and background. You knew Percy and his mother were always very close, and that she taught him a little about Greek mythology as a kid. Being here made him think of his mom, making him zone out. You called his name out twice to snap him back to reality, yelling a little bit on the third time causing him to break the lead on his pencil, jump and yell out

"Mom!"

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow as Nancy Bobofit started teasing him behind you. Gods was she insufferable. And of course, Mrs. Dobbs got mad at Percy yet again, she was insufferable, too.

You, Percy and Grover went you eat your sandwiches on the fountains ledge sitting in respective order. You sit there zoning out of the conversation while they switch sandwich ingredients and Percy is talking about shoving Nancy in a dumpster and Grover is saying you never stick up to a bully, blah blah. You weren't thinking much of there little chat, when suddenly stupid Bobofit threw her cheese at Grover's face. The hell? Before I even fully perceived the thought of Grover getting a full slice of cheddar cheese smacked across his face, Percy was already rushing up to Nancy ready to shove her into the fountain. The weird thing was, when he reached out to push her, she was already flying and slamming into the fountain getting absolutely soaked before Percy laid a hand on her.

"What the f-" You were cut off.

"Perseus Jackson," government name, not good, "we're not fools, there was only a matter of time before we found you." Okay what the f-

Cut off from your own train of thought again when you see Mrs. Dodds transform into some giant demon thing with wings knocking Percy to the ground and landing on top of him asking, yelling by the way 'where is it.' That's when the cap of his pen flew off, turning his pen into a sword, going through Mrs. Dodds like butter, turning her to dust. Okay, what the fuck. Hey, you finished it that time!

You quickly turned to Grover frantically asking him if he saw the demon thing too. He seemed to freak out more when you mentioned seeing it.

"Wait, you were able to see it, you know still remember Mrs. Dobb-" Grover clapped his hand over his mouth, realizing he said too much, but you couldn't understand what he said to much of as he ran off to Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher. You ran up to Percy who was passed out on the ground and sat next to him slowly trying to shake him awake. He slowly opened his eyes when Mr. Brunner and Grover appeared behind you watching Percy wake up and ask for Mrs. Dodds, both of you confused because they kept claiming there was no Mrs. Dodds.

The bus ride home was quiet, nobody said a word, no matter how bad they wanted too. And waiting for Percy and Grover to get out the principles office might've been even worse. Finally, Percy stormed out with Grover walking with his head down behind him.

"Percy" you called out, but he barely stopped to look at you, as much as he wanted to stop, he didn't want to snap so he kept it quick.

"I'm expelled, gotta go pack." Then he kept walking. He was obviously upset so you'd just catch up to him later. So instead you turned to Grover and asked him what happened.

"Y/N, we need to talk."

So you guys spoke. And holy crap, did you guys talk. Greek gods are apparently real and Percy is a demigod? Demigods are kids with a mortal parent and godly parent. And you have clear sight, letting you see through the 'mist?' The mist is what covers the monsters and mythical beings from the mortal world, you can see through it though, cool..

"Grover.. I'm glad I'm getting filled in, but" you ran your fingers through your hair in confusion "why are you telling me all this? I'm sure there's a rule against telling mortals about this right?"

"Well yeah.." he replied sheepishly "but your very close to Percy and very important to him, and since you can see everything we see, you're basically are already in the know despite whether we want you to be. Good chance he'd want to tell you anyway. Plus now I can make sure you guys can stay in touch now that he has to hide out in camp" Grover shut his eyes realizing he said to much again "sorry, don't tell Percy that, let it unfold the way it was meant to. But I'll help make sure you guys stay in contact since phones aren't allowed. I gotta go, but if you wanna say goodbye, he's waiting for his ride so you should hurry up."

And with that okay to leave the conversation, you ran as fast as you could, not caring who you'd bump into. Until finally your outside and out of breathe, sliding into the seat next to him on the bench he was currently sat at.

"Hey" you said clearly out of breathe, shinning a bright smile at him. He laughed at the state you were in, messy hair, struggling to breathe but still smilingly up at him so brightly like there wasn't a care in the world.

"Hey Y/N, I'm glad you came out to see me" he looked back at you with admiration in his eyes. You loved looking into his blue eyes. You'd never say that though, the gods forbid he thought you were weird for that. "I would've swung by but I have to catch my ride you know. I'm gonna miss you most, it's gonna suck not being able to see you everyday anymore, but I'm gonna do my best and make sure we stay in touch. I promise." He held up his pinkie ready to make a pinkie promise, something only losers would break, and after reassurance from Grover, this was a promise you were happy to make.

You held up your pinkie and interlocked it with his and the pair of you leaned in and kissed your thumbs. You guys stared into each others eyes warmly, reveling in each other last moments. That's when you noticed Mr. Brunner, or Chiron as Grover called him, coming out the building, and you knew that was your cue to leave. With that, you lightly grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his cheek and held him tightly for a moment, leaving the poor boys cheeks hot.

After a few moments you leaned out the hug, saying "I can't wait till you come back and visit me, and tell me all about the trouble your gonna get into." You both chuckled, him rolling his eyes as he did.

He slide his hands down your arms and sliding his fingers through yours and hold your hands, swinging them side to side. He felt like the luckiest guy ever right now. "Don't worry, you'll know everything, because I'll make sure I come back to you Y/N."

That's when Chiron finally reached you guys. You guys let go and said your finally goodbyes, waving as you turned around. On your walk back to your dorm, just thinking how much your gonna miss that boy. Was best friend even enough to describe your feelings anymore?

..............................................................................................................................

Happy Valentines Day👿

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy pjo #percy jackson pjo

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golddust-if · 3 months

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you're a wanted person. that isn't new to you, but after years of working, someone. no. something is after you.

you were taught by the best, your mother, she was an amazing woman but she was too trusting and in the end, that was her downfall. you won't make that mistake. you're a killer, but a righteous one. you kill those who deserve it, the disposable.

with your abnormal abilities, of which only twenty-five percent of the population is gifted with. you can succeed in what she was never able to do, rid the world of sinners.

you work for the slaughterhouse, a bar... with a dark side; in a rowdy part of the city. your mother was the owner but she didn't pass it down to you, she passed it your younger twin siblings. she believed you were far too talented to sit behind a desk, dealing with paperwork.

you've traveled all over the world, exterminating. you've claimed plenty of people, but perhaps this time you went after the wrong one. having no other choice you flee back home, but you aren't safe there either, you never are.

play with a customizable mc [gender (male or female), physical appearance, personality, sexuality]

protect those you care about or turn your back on them when they need you.

romance, befriend, or make enemies between any of the sixteen characters. four gender selectable, six male, and six female.

decide what supernatural ability you were gifted with; telepathy, telekinesis, or teleportation [figure out how to develop it and what other ability you have]

define your mc's signature weapon, fighting style and overall skillset; how you feel about killing, and the supernatural abilities you were gifted with.

this story is rated 18+ for sexual themes, substance (drug and alcohol) use, explicit language, and violence. [more themes might be added later]

the tattoo artist [male or female] [ro] wren price – partner in crime. they've been by your side since you can remember. always with a bright smile and cheeky remarks, you can't think about how your life would look without them. though they act differently with others, more serious, with a glint in their eyes you can't quite figure out. they never look at you like that.

the bodyguard [male] [ro] theodore price – the older brother of your best friend. there's no doubt in your mind that they're related. he's protective over you, although you can't hold that against him as that's what he does for a living. protect people. he's hard to get to know on a deeper level and you can't help but wonder what's going on in his mind.

the detective [female] [ro] rori hayes – now, if you weren't yourself, perhaps you could have been friends with her. but unfortunately for you... she's extremely suspicious of you and set to bring you to justice. she's recently been promoted and she cannot afford to fail, not when her family is counting on her.

the chief deputy sheriff [male] [ro] charles butler – good ole charlie, you're acquainted with each other. he can't say he isn't a little impressed with you. but you're endangering the citizens of his city and that includes his little girl. he may not have any evidence on you but you need to be brought down, and he's going to be the one that books you.

the model [male] [ro] julien ripley – son of the sheriff. he always looks uncomfortable with his own father. he’s never talked to you before and you’re almost positive he has no opinion on you. he’s a very well known face, although you can tell he doesn’t like being stared at and overall talking to anyone. *male mcs only

the journalist [female] [ro] sloane campbell – she's fast alright and always seems to know your moves. too bad she isn't on your side. always trying to announce to the world, where you are and what you're planning to do next. good thing she's overlooked at her job, consistently being handed stories that, even you know, aren't going anywhere.

the bartender [male or female] [ro] hale/hart vaughn – a family friend, and your sister's best friend. with their tantalizing words, they don't know the meaning of being serious. they are quite insufferable and you can't seem to be able to get rid of them. you have a feeling if you did, your own sister would come after you.

the florist [female] [ro] paris graham– at first glance she doesn't appear to be anything special, but that would be wrong. she's a firework waiting to explode and you want to be there when it happens. her work doesn't suit her but you have a feeling, that being a florist isn't all that she does. *female mcs only

the apartment owner [male] [ro] nolan adams – he knows about you and what you do, but he doesn’t give off the feeling of someone who’d go running to tell. you’ve always come back to lay low at his apartment complex when you need to and as long as you pay on time he doesn’t care what you do.

the actor [female] [ro] ophelia wylie – a face from your past, one you can’t say you particularly enjoy facing again. she seems remorseful for what she did to you, in fact she looks like a completely different person and she’s offering to help you, but for what in exchange… after all, no one gives anything for free.

the crime lord [male] [ro] louis foster – of course you’ve heard of lou, you’d be an idiot if you didn’t. he's tried and failed to recruit you and he never fails. you’ve been warned before, it would be a mistake to make an enemy out of a king.

the informant [male] [ro] vincent sutton – it’s rare to ever see him out, only ever seen accompanying lou. if you had the ability to feel fear, you’d fear him. he shows every sign of being against you, but then again, it seems as if he does that to everyone around him as well.

the chef [male or female] [ro] mateo/melanie olsen – you see them quite often, as their restaurant is one of your favorites. they always serve you with a smile and if they do know you, they play oblivious. they're just happy to have a customer who enjoys their food.

the doctor [female] [ro] eileen yates – serene and calming, a voice who always knows exactly what to say. she may look innocent but she’s far from it, you’ve known her for years yet you don’t truly know her, for all you know eileen may not even be her name.

the accountant [female] [ro] felix price – the youngest of the price siblings, she helps out with all the money coming into and out of the slaughterhouse. she’s always been compassionate and reasonable. you can't imagine her hurting a fly.

the rival bar owner [male or female] [ro] kinslee dean – they own a bar just a couple streets down from yours. it’s always been a problem and they’re actively trying to shut down the slaughterhouse. but they’re surprisingly level-headed and want to 'handle' this problem with logic.

the owner of the slaughterhouse [male] archer – your younger brother, he’s honestly kind of a mess. he was not ready for this responsibility but he’s trying. the mischievous boy you grew up with, you don’t know where he is anymore.

the owner of the slaughterhouse [female] iris – your younger sister, she’s always been loud and bold. but she’s changed too, she’s calm and collected. she’s trying her best to help her brother along too.

the sheriff [male] lazlo ripley – a pompous man with nothing else to do but terrorize those he thinks are inferior to him.

DEMO [Coming Soon]

warning: this story is still under development, all elements are subject to change!!

#gold dust #gold dust if #if wip #writing #interactive fiction #interactive story #interactive novel #intro post #upcoming if #choice of games #cog #choice script

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saylorsaysstop · 3 months

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Cuddling | Bat Boys

The biggest question on everyone's mind is how do the crime-stopping vigilantes of Gotham City like to cuddle?

↪ My Masterlist

BRUCE WAYNE 🖤

"Brucie," you smile up at him from your spot in the middle of the king-sized bed, the television playing some show you found on a streaming service. Your eyes skated across your fiancé's large back, the muscles rippling before your eyes.

"Yeah?" He called out to him, running a hand through his black hair. His entire body ached from tonight's mishap and he didn't have to tell you about it. The look was written all over his face.

"C'mere," you extend your hands. "Come cuddle with me."

Bruce chuckled quietly. He wasn't a man who would use the term cuddle but even he wasn't going to deny that being in your arms sounded nice, especially after the night he had. "You should be asleep." He scolds you gently, making his way over after stripping to his boxers.

You smirk and open your arms, feeling as the massive weight of Bruce's body crushes you. A tiny squeak leaves your mouth at the pressure and Bruce quickly accommodates. Sometimes it was scary just how defined Bruce's body was. He had lines of muscle and curves in places you could only pin to imagination. Staring at him unclothed and in his true nature– never failed to steal your breath away.

"Don't start with me... You look like hell." You smirk, your fingertips curling around the strands of hair. You opened your legs a little more to give him some room and slowly, Bruce resumed his position with his scarred-up cheek laying directly against your stomach. He curled his arms around your frame and actually nuzzled into you.

"See? Even the Batman needs to be cuddled..." You whisper, kissing the crown of his head as your fingertips begin their descent along his spine.

"Don't you... Tell the boys about this." Bruce says, a wave of sleepiness overcoming him, much quicker than it had these last few nights.

And he knew exactly why it was easier tonight.

DICK GRAYSON 💙

"BABE!" Dick screamed from upstairs. You nearly dropped your phone at the frantic tone in his voice. You took the stairs two at a time until you reached the top and swerved to find the bedroom door sprung open.

"What?! What's wrong?!" You erupt, gripping the doorknob. But when you were met with the sight of a perfectly fine Dick Grayson, you grumbled a curse word. Your boyfriend walks over to you, his smile widening.

"You came pretty fast. Worried about me?" he smirks, deliciously skimming his fingertips over your bare shoulders before hoisting you to him with his hand on the small of your back. You try to push him off of you but it's no use.

"I should worry about my constant belief that every time you scream, something is wrong." You grimace, giving up on trying to escape his hold. "What do you want?"

Dick grins mercilessly and wraps his arms around you. In one swift motion, he has you in the air, the next your back is hitting the soft mattress. He never takes his arms from around you. Before you have time to question his motives, Dick's hard chest is pressing firmly against your back, and his warm lips are decorating the back of your neck with sweet kisses, meanwhile his arms remain locked around your midsection.

"You screamed... For a cuddle?" You giggle.

"I could go for screaming about something else if you're in the mood... But yes. I just wanted to hold you. That so bad, sweet girl?" Dick purrs against your ear, nipping your earlobe which sends a shock of electricity down your spine.

"No funny business, Dick." You smirk, laying your hands over his.

JASON TODD ❤️

He came inside wordlessly. With his helmet tucked under his arm and his leather jacket hitting the floor with a thud, you lift your eyes from your book to see a bruised and battered Jason Todd. His eyes scan the room and relief washes over him when he sees you cuddled in the sheets.

"Jaybird?" You close your book. He takes his boots off and walks over. Without a word, Jason crawls up the length of the bed until he's beside you. He wraps a strong arm around you and turns your chest to face his. "Hey, what is it?"

Jason shakes his head. "It was a rather... Complicated night. Everything's fine. Everyone's okay. But can I just hold you?" He asks, stroking his thumb over your cheek, his gaze deep with yours.

You won't ever deny him that. You know on harder nights, Jason uses cuddling as a means to exude his emotions that he'd rather not talk about.

"Of course, baby." You smile. Jason smiles in return and leans down to peck your lips.

"Thanks, baby girl." He cradles the back of your head to his neck and you smother yourself in smoke, leather, and cologne. Jason smelled wonderful. You wrap your arms and tangle your legs through his, feeling as Jason squeezes you tightly in his arms, his lips skimming your skin every so often.

He dances his fingers up and down your back and before the night grows older, Jason's softly snoring, and you're trying to wake him back up to properly get ready for bed.

TIM DRAKE ☕️

You walked downstairs to see Tim stretched out on the couch, some report in his hands. Your eyes widen at the sight. You peel your gaze off your boyfriend and to the kitchen table where... Yup. His empty coffee cups and paperwork sit.

"Are you feverish? Since when do you lay down and look over paperwork on a case?" You giggle quietly, causing Tim's eyes to drift from the papers. He smiles lazily and sighs.

"Wanted a change of scenery?" He lies with a laugh.

"Super important?" You nod toward the paper in his hand.

Tim's eyebrows lift. He liked where this was going. "Not... Really. What'd you have in mind, sweetheart?"

Nothing could have prepared him for your running start, followed by your swift launching with arms spread wide. He manuvered by throwing the folder down on the ground and caught you in his arms, where you landed with an audible thud against his chest.

"What was that?!" Tim erupts, both of you coughing and breaking into hysterics. You kiss up his neck and wrap your arms around him.

"Cuddle me?" You muffle into his throat. Tim laughs even louder and wraps both his legs and arms around you, practically bear-hugging you to his chest. Both of your bodies rattle from the laughter filling your living room.

As it slowly subsides and you two can focus on each other's breathing, Tim looks down at you and kisses your cheek softly. He moves a little so you can lay beside him comfortably on the couch where he throws his leg over yours and pins you to his chest with a strong arm and flat hand on your belly. He skims under the fabric of your t-shirt and strokes your skin with light strokes.

He knew he wouldn't get anything else done today. All of his attention now belonged to you.

#dick grayson fluff #dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader #tim drake fluff #red robin fluff #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne

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misshoneyimhome · 28 days

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Say My Name, Say My Name I Jack Hughes 🖋️⚡️🔥

Requested? Yes / No

Summary; Based on the Tik Tok trend, calling your boyfriend “husband”

Tropes & warnings; established relationship; Tik Tok trend; slight angst due to brief fight, smut 18+, oral sex (f recieving), unprotected sex (p in v), cum inside;

Other notes: So, for the third and final story of this TikTok trend, we're getting a little steamy with none other than Jack H 🌶️ This was another idea I had on how to approach this trend, and I don't really have anything to say in my defence, besides, please enjoy 😉🤍

Word count; 2.1K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

In the warmth of your relationship with Jack Hughes, every day felt like a new adventure. For the past year, you hadn’t just been lovers; you were partners in crime, best friends with an undeniable chemistry that set your hearts ablaze. From lazy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets to intense moments after hockey games, your love knew no bounds. Every day brought something different, and you never knew whether you’d be sharing heartfelt laughter and deep talks, or cutting through tension after a loss, eventually ending in a steamy bedroom scenario.

Amidst the sweet and romantic moments, it felt like nothing was missing, which often led you to feel tempted to tease your boyfriend and push the limits a little. And it was during one of your leisurely scrolls through TikTok that inspiration struck—a harmless prank that promised to inject a spark of mischief into your casual off day.

The trend was simple enough: to capture your boyfriend’s reaction as you playfully refer to them as your ‘husband’. It was meant to be a light-hearted jest, a momentary tease to evoke slight panic or something similar. And as you watched video after video, giggles escaping your lips, you couldn't shake the urge to try it out with Jack.

So, as you settled into the familiar routine of a Starbucks run, anticipation danced in your veins, fuelled by the excitement of the impending prank. With your boyfriend at the wheel and the camera discreetly capturing every moment, you couldn't contain the mischievous grin tugging at your lips.

Then as the drive-through speaker crackled, you leaned forward, all set to carry out your plan. "Hi, can I get a venti caramel macchiato for me and... a tall black coffee for my husband please?” you said, putting playful emphasis on the last word, your eyes briefly darting to Jack, waiting for his reaction.

But much to your surprise and disappointment, Jack stayed cool, his expression unmoved as he kept his focus on the road. There were no raised eyebrows, no startled gasp, just a chilly demeanour that hid the turmoil underneath.

For a moment, a wave of let-down washed over you, the excitement of the prank fading away in the face of Jack's stoic response. Had you misjudged the situation? Was this playful gesture not funny? Doubt gnawed at you, overshadowing the usual playful banter that defined your relationship.

Then upon receiving your drinks and heading back home, the tension hung in the air like an unwelcome guest. Jack's subtle change in attitude didn't escape notice, and the gap between you seemed to widen slowly, casting a shadow over what should have been a fun moment.

And as you felt a twinge of guilt, you decided to cautiously bring up the issue, yet his response left you stunned, his words slicing through the air with a sharpness that caught you off guard.

"I just don't get why you'd call me your husband when I'm not," Jack said firmly, a hint of frustration in his voice. And your attempts to play down the prank as harmless banter fell flat, as Jack's withdrawn attitude contrasted sharply with your usual playful exchanges.

Then finally returning at home, you tried unsuccessfully to ease the tension with a movie. Despite your efforts to distract yourselves, the unresolved tension still lingered beneath the surface, and unable to bear the silence any longer, you turned to Jack once more, the need for clarity outweighing the fear of confrontation. So, with hesitant words and trembling hands, you moved closer to him.

“Please, talk to me, Jack… it was just a joke.”

As you looked into Jack's troubled eyes, his struggle to express himself mirrored your own inner turmoil, and for a moment, silence hung heavily between you.

Then, like a dam breaking, his words suddenly spilled out, each one filled with raw honesty. "It just hit me," he began, his voice tinged with disbelief. "I just… I think I've realised that this... this, us, a future with you, it's what I want."

Initially, you felt a bit confused. Wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing?

But Jack's confession still hung in the air. "And it scared me, alright," he admitted, his uncertainty evident yet softening with each breath. "I've never felt like this before, not so quickly, not with anyone. So, I guess… I don’t know… I just got a little shocked that this - you and me - is real, and it’s all I want. But at any given point you can just walk away, and I could actually get really hurt." His words filled the silence that followed with a heavy weight.

For Jack, the fast growth of his emotions was both thrilling and terrifying. The idea of allowing himself to love, of exposing his vulnerabilities, filled him with a sense of panic he hadn't experienced before.

And surprised by his admission, you found yourself swept up in a whirlwind of feelings. So, without saying a single word, you simply leaned in and closed the gap between you, your lips meeting his in a tender yet fervent kiss, as in that moment, words seemed insufficient to convey the depth of your emotions.

Pulling back from the kiss, you gazed into Jack's eyes, a gentle smile forming on your lips. "Was that it?" you whispered softly. "Jack, I’m not going anywhere."

You felt an immediate sense of relief from him as you sat closely together on the sofa, his arms enveloping your smaller frame.

“Good,” he breathed out softly. “Because I just know that I love you… but I don’t think I’m ready for more yet… So, if that’s what you want to stay with me...” he let out a defeated sigh, nut you couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Don’t worry, babe, that’s not what I want… I told you, it was just a joke,” you explained softly, flashing him a sweet smile as you gently ran your fingers through his brown locks. “I love you too – and though maybe I do want that someday, we don’t have to rush into anything.”

And with those words, a sense of tranquillity enveloped both of you, the uncertainty fading away with each heartbeat. Sealing your connection once more with a passionate kiss, you found yourself melting into Jack’s embrace as he smoothly pulled you onto his lap, allowing you to nestle a little closer against his chest as the kiss deepened.

It felt almost hungry as he gently urged his tongue past your lips, a commanding gesture to which you willingly gave in to. As he explored your mouth, engaging in a sensual dance with your intertwined tongues, you instinctively began to sway your hips against his, your bodies moving together in a rhythm of desire.

Jack's hands found your hips, his grip firm as he guided your movements with a subtle urgency, indicating his own longing for more. Soft moans escaped both of you into the passionate kiss, and as your bodies pressed closer, the inevitable became clear.

With Jack's hungry lips locked onto yours, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, only briefly breaking away from the heat of the moment as he carried you towards the bedroom with purpose. You couldn’t help but smile against his lips, your hands moving from his hair to gently cup his cheek as you wrapped your thighs around his waist.

And upon reaching the bed, Jack gently placed you down, breaking the kiss to gaze at you with an expression of pure desire and darkened eyes. In that moment, you knew there was no resisting him, and just by the intensity of his gaze, you surrendered completely to him.

Your eyes were fixed intently on him as he peeled off his t-shirt, revealing his sculpted athlete's chest. Then, with a casual ease, he lowered his sweatpants, unveiling his growing member snugly confined within his tight boxers.

You couldn’t help but sensually lick your lips at the sight of your stunning boyfriend standing before you. And as he slowly moved to kneel between your parted legs on the bed, anticipation tingled through you.

A smirk played on his lips as Jack maintained his intense gaze on you, considering how to pleasure you in a way only a devoted boyfriend could. And without hesitation, he swiftly removed any barriers of clothing to your naked form, his focus solely on making you his own.

With expert precision, he leaned in, his head descending towards your throbbing core. Then planting delicate kisses along your inner thighs, he savoured the anticipation before finally allowing his tongue to explore your sweet honey, tracing the contours of your folds.

An involuntary moan escaped your lips as his mouth made contact with your sensitive flesh, your fingers instinctively gripping the sheets beneath you as Jack delved deeper. His arms held your hips firmly in place as he employed his entire mouth to stimulate your core, alternating between sucking on your clit and teasing your entrance with his tongue.

You were lost in ecstasy, your mind drifting into a blissful haze, as your senses were overwhelmed by pleasure. Your vision blurred, and amidst incoherent whispers and moans escaping your lips, you felt a powerful wave of sensation coursing through your body. And when Jack then added two fingers to the equation, gently easing them inside you to massage your walls, you knew an orgasm was imminent. Your head tilted back; your body arched as you reached to new heights of a climax.

Jack's mastery with his mouth was undeniable, and he knew it. So, with a confident smirk, he shifted position, leaning over you as his throbbing member sought entrance. Meeting you in another passionate kiss, he then pushed his length inside you, simulating every inch he could touch.

“Oh, yes…” you gasped as he filled you, your hands finding their way to the back of his shoulders as he began to move his hips, his shaft gliding effortlessly in and out of you.

“Mmm, baby, you feel so good around me,” he whispered huskily in return, desire evident in his voice as he relished the sensation of your tight muscles embracing his sensitive member with each thrust.

And as your harmonious moans filled the room and your bodies melded together, drawing closer to the peak of pleasure, there was nothing but profound love and devotion between you. The tension and fighting of earlier moments faded away, just as they had many times before.

Your bodies were like build for each other, and as the sound of your skin meeting with each powerful thrust echoing through the room, Jack then took a firm hold of your wrists, pinning them down on either side of your head, as he intensified his pace with eager, forceful thrusts that sent your mind spinning.

His movements were vigorous, yet undeniably exhilarating, as each thrust hit your most sensitive spot with precision, pushing you closer to another orgasm.

And Jack could feel the heat building within him, fuelled by the sight of the passion he was igniting in you. Though the absence of a ring on your finger signifying your commitment, he knew without a doubt that you belonged to him, and no one else could satisfy you the way he could.

His breaths were ragged, his lungs desperate for air as he maintained his rhythm. And he couldn’t deny that you were incredibly beautiful as he turned you into his very own mess, each moan and gasp driving him further into a frenzy of desire.

“Mmm, yes, baby,” he muttered, his moans mingling with yours in the air. “Would a husband fuck you like this? Would he make you feel this good?”

Though his questions were rhetorical, you were unable to form coherent sentences, your responses drowned out by the symphony of pleasure escaping your lips.

“Mmm…”

And as your eyes rolled back in ecstasy and your walls tightened around him, Jack increased his speed, propelling you into another wave of pleasure. His name tumbled from your lips in a loud, fervent cry as you succumbed to the intoxicating rush of sensation once more.

His grip around your wrists tightened, almost cutting off your blood flow, as he delivered a few final forceful thrusts. And with a deep grunt, Jack reached his climax, releasing himself into your depths.

The air hung heavy with the aftermath of their intense lovemaking; the room filled with the scent of raw, passionate sex. Jack thrust a few more times to ensure he had emptied himself completely before slowly releasing his grip, both of you now catching your breath.

It was intense, the only sounds filling the room were your laboured breaths as Jack slowly withdrew and rolled over to lie beside you. Wrapping his arm around you, he pulled you close for a tender cuddle, your warm bodies sharing sweat, and heat as satisfied smiles graced your faces.

It was the perfect conclusion to a prank gone wrong, and in that moment, you knew there was nothing to worry about. You belonged to Jack, and he belonged to you, regardless of titles.

#jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #new jersey devils imagine #nhl smut #nhl hockey imagine #nhl hockey smut

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matan4il · 3 months

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"That means that if the UN correctly represents the global population, about 1 in every 4 of its members, is antisemitic" i...hadn't actually considered that. a representative body of a world that hates jews isn't going to be fair to jews now is it

Hi Nonnie!

Absolutely it would not be.

I'm glad I can point that out. Just to repeat, a global survey by the ADL found that 26% of adults worldwide (slightly more than 1 in every 4 adult humans) responded in the affirmative to at least 6 out of 11 antisemitic statements. TBH, I think it's very possible that this is an underestimate (it's easy to only respond affirmatively to the more "socially acceptable" statements, like "Jews are more loyal to Israel than to their own country" and stay below the minimal 6 out of 11 statements required on this survey to be labeled an antisemite), but it's still the best measure we have, and it's probably very telling that it could be that easy to be antisemitic, but not be defined as such in this poll, yet 26% of all people surveyed were still classified that way.

Regarding the UN, we can talk about the fact that it has never excluded Iran, a country that officially denies the Holocaust, and has repeatedly called for the destruction of Israel, the biggest Jewish community in the world today.

We can talk about its long history of treating anything in which Israel is involved, as if it causes much graver harm than any other global crime, which means it belittles countless atrocities, ignores crimes committed against Israelis, while also blowing out of proportion anything that can be weaponized against the one Jewish state. This pattern of discrimination against the only Jewish state in the world, in a way that's inconsistent with how every other country is treated, reveals an antisemitic bias. In fact, even some of the UN's heads have acknowledged that Israel was treated unfairly there.

We could talk about the UN's 1975 resolution that "Zionism is racism" (UNGA resolution 3379, which was eventually canceled in 1991 by UNGA resolution 46/86). Because the term 'Zionism' has been distorted by so many Israel and Jew haters, let's be clear: Zionism simply means accepting the Jewish right to self determination, meaning that Jews, just like every other nation out there, have the right to self rule in the Jewish ancestral homeland. From 1975 until 1991, for 16 full years, the UN actually said out loud that it's not racist for the Irish to want an independent Irish state, it's not racist for the Germans to want an independent German state, it's not racist for the Japanese to want an independent Japanese state, it's not racist for the Sudanese to want an independent Sudanese state, it's not racist for the Kurds to want an independent Kurdish state, it's not racist for the Indians to want an independent Indian state, but it is racist for the Jews to want an independent Jewish state. This resolution, denying the Jews their right to self determination, coming from an institute that supports and recognizes the universal right to self determination for every other nation, is discriminatory against Jews. It is antisemitic. Let that sink in, that the UN did not hesitate in passing an openly antisemitic resolution, and it took them no less than 16 years to wipe this stain from the UN's record.

BTW, resolution 3379 was sponsored by the members of the Arab League and several Muslim majority countries (25 sponsor countries in total). So, the starting point was a ratio of 25 Israel hating countries to 1 Jewish state. It was then further supported by countries that were aligned with the Soviet Bloc (most of which were dictatorships with no human rights, and not caring at all about fighting racism of any kind), because during the years of the cold war, Israel was a part of the democratic west, while the USSR supported the Arab League. This anti-west, anti-democracy axis still exists to a great degree (with some changes regarding which country is aligned with which side), and is probably even more relevant today than 12 years ago, as recent events in the Middle East show. Lastly, the resolution was supported by additional anti-democracy countries. What chance do the Jews have at the UN? We are outnumbered at this organization, that applies no penalties or limitations for non-democratic or antisemitic countries. It's an example of how treating anti-democratic countries democratically is just a reward for the enemies of democracy.

And in continuation to all that, the UN has also repeatedly created bodies dedicated solely to Palestinians, their needs and rights. Again, it implies they must be treated worse than every other nation, if they get special treatment. But you're not gonna find the Palestinians on any list of the deadliest conflicts in history, or even just since WWII, or even just currently active...

Even if we were to accept every grievance the Palestinians make at face value (maybe other than Palestinian president Mahmoud Abbas' antisemitic and Holocaust distorting statement that "Israel has committed 50 Holocausts"), then it's still nowhere near many other atrocities. So WHY are the Palestinians being treated differently? There's only one thing that stands out about their grievances, and that is that they can be used to harm the only Jewish state in the world, which protects all Jews, and is home to the biggest Jewish community we have today. To use a Hebrew phrase, it's not done out of the love of Haman, it's done out of the hatred of Mordecai.

I hope this expansion on the way the UN's structure makes it inherently prone to antisemitic abuse of Israel helped a bit. I also hope you're well! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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goldsbitch · 3 months

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I could tell them where you were that night

part 3 to I gave so many signs

summary: They shouldn't. They really shouldn't...But they did.

warning: present + flashbacks, mature content, cheating, self pleasure, alcohol and smoking, typos

song fic (disclaimer: rights belong to the respectable owners)

The Alibi - Dylan delicate - Taylor Swift

But if there was a crime If there was a body, if there was a knife If you told a real good, real bad lie I'd be standing by your side

Both of them knew this was not going to end well. This screamed "bad idea" on all levels. He should have just turned and run back home. She should have gone straight back to the bar as soon as she saw his unmistakable figure. There was no one to diffuse the tension, all of her friends were back upstairs ordering another drink. Nobody to play pretend to.

"So you're a smoker now," Charles said with a hint of disgust. She'd cursed herself for ever picking up the habit. He had never made her nervous back in the day, maybe she was cashing it in all now retroactively. Stood there like a lamb waiting for someone else to decide her destiny. Totally at his mercy and he had no idea. "Yeah, for a moment I was. Now just these," she pointed to the latest trendy vape in her hand, which Charles mistook for a cigarette. "Ah. Cool." "Not really," she said and inhaled extra large dose of fruity smoke just to breathe it in his face. The regular rules of proximity didn't seem to apply to to them. If he had been standing closer to her, he'd have to be touching her. "So, you're a runner now?" she took the opportunity she looked him up and down, trying not to let her imagination run too wild. "Always was." "No, you were not," she laughed genuinely. "What are you trying to play at here?" She was right. Charles picked up running with his first real girlfriend. "And what a bizarre thing anyway - to go for a run after a night out," she pointed out and he smirked, as both of them knew she got him with that. "I should not be seen with you for long. Doubt that you'd pass as a fan." It felt like an invitation from him, but she was well aware that he was not inviting her to his home. There was a strange spark in his face, as if he dared her to ask him to come over. Like a shameless devil testing her self control. "I'll take a cab and you can run over to my place. Let's see who'll get there first," she dared him back.

If there was a way That someone at the scene had saw your face I could tell 'em where you were that night You were standing by my side

"You should have told me that you parents were home!" he whispered angrily, as they snuck in like they used to back in the day. Funny how it worked like magic and Charles felt as if he just turned nineteen, terrified of running into Y/N's angry mom. "What? It's not like your place is empty, correct?" she shot arrows at him without waiting for an answer. Shot of guilt went thought Charles and he decided chased that by lying to himself, thinking that this was just a casual catch up with an old friend.

We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

Charles waited on the balcony adjacent to her old high school bedroom, that remained untouched for years, serving as a perfect door for nostalgia, while she made their favorite Moscow mule. He had tasted many of those since they last saw each other. None of those tasted so intoxicating like this one.

"So, big racer boy. Always wondered. Which out of the cities you go to is the most fun?" "Define fun. I'm sure your taste has evolved over the years." Yes, it had. No longer was she blind towards the god like man sitting across from her. "Ok, where did you fuck the most girls?" "Monaco," he smirked at her. He realized he enjoyed teasing her. No longer was he the shy love stuck puppy dancing as she demanded. "You became quite forward, huh? I remember you avoiding these subjects," he followed up, testing the waters. She gave him a long look, before letting a loud sigh out: "Charlie, it's been years. People change. Mature. Gain experience..." "And then come back to where they started, huh?"

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

He leaned a little too close for an old time friend. Slowly, he touched her hand and waited for her to stop him. When she didn't, he tangled his fingers with hers. No longer were they soft baby hands, but adult fingers with tender touch. "I missed you," he said quietly. Old habit kicked in and she avoided his eye contact. But this time, he put his hand on her cheek and turned her face towards him, so that she couldn't just dismiss it, like she had so many times back then. "I missed you too." There was an urgency and a vulnerability that he had never heard from her before. It was addicting and intoxicating. He carefully closed the gap between them and their lips brushed so lightly that one could still pass it as friendly touch, if they really really wanted to. But with every second they kept their lips like that, the gap of morally safe evening kept closing inevitably. They stayed like that for just a few seconds, both of them waiting to see if the other one pulls away. Until finally, her lips moved slightly and then there really was no way back. Charles forgot that there ever was anyone else in his life and kissed her slowly. She took his bottom lip in and let her tongue lick it, breaking the soft kiss with urgency only years of daydreaming can bring.

Do the girls back home touch you like I do? Long night with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

This was bad. Ugly, disrespectful and not something a friend would do. Charles was locked in room again having the luxury to spend few weeks in a sunny Monte Carlo. But sunny days at home also meant that he and Y/N were spending a lot of time together. Charles knew he was head-over-heels for this girl, but kept himself at bay. But these thoughts he was having were a little too much. Inappropriate. Made him feel dirty and shameful. He was just a teenage boy and he just came back from a beach day with his crush. It was impossible to focus on anything, he was suppose be studying for his exam, exploring race strategies, anything! He could have been a good son and helped his mom out. But no, instead he was pacing around his room, desperately trying to block all the images that got burned to his memory under that day's bright sunlight. Why did he even suggest a beach day - and why would she ever agree to that. Stupid idea. Charles was mad at himself for being so stereotypically teenage. For a split second, he stopped with the self-shame and allowed himself to recall this afternoon. Perfect Monaco sunlight hitting Y/N lightly tanned skin, her hair falling out of her messy bun, just begging for him to tuck it behind her ear. This was all still pretty innocent. But then there were the shoulders. The collarbone leading way towards her boobs, covered by a piece of bathing suite fabric, that pushed her cleavage up just a little bit, but it felt like a weapon designer specifically to destroy him. He had to stop himself from looking. When that proved impossible, he opted for looking only when he had his sunglasses on. If only he could take his hand and lightly brush over her nipples, which he couldn't forget about since the Moscow mule night. And then if only he could squeeze her boobs while tracing the line of her waste and over to her ass, also barely covered by a bathing suite. If only he was brave enough to do so, to make his wildest dreams come true and to confess his feelings. To have her come over to his place, look him suggestively in the eye, lick her lips and take him in her pretty little mouth. It didn't matter that she was slightly younger, in his fantasy she was the more experienced one, the one to guide him, instruct him and tell him what she likes. And once he learned, he would make her moan like nobody before, because he would adapt himself to any style she'd want. The visuals of a daydream extension of their today's hang out crept in, and there she was, taking her bra off and inviting him to join her in the water. Free, happy and heavenly hot. By some miracle he managed to avoid having a boner in her company. What he didn't manage was to stop stroking himself while drowning in the thoughts about her and her body, no matter how shameful it was for him. The best orgasm of his life yet had his hands covered with his cum and his head with clouded with growing, never-stoping need for a touch from his crush.

It was a different man kissing Y/N than the boy who had imagined it more times that he would ever admit. Yet still, he was getting to live out his ultimate fantasy, one that he almost forgot he had, until all the desire rushed back in and screamed so loudly he couldn't hear anything else. And the best thing? The best thing was that she was responding enthusiastically, felt as if she was hungry for something only he could have. He was a different man now, experienced, understood the spectrums of what touch could offer. The confidence radiated from him and it was Y/N who was now who danced way over the line of self control. It was her, who drank so much cheap wine in the form of men bad at sex, that she could finally appreciate the Montrachet Chardonnay she overlooked the first time around.

"We should get inside, mon cheri," he whispered into her lips. She understood why and did not want to hear him say it. Because in his silence, she could insert any thought and that was probably better than the hard truth - they were too exposed on her balcony. She nodded and slowly opened her eyes. Even with the dim lights she saw the tender spark in the most captivating shade of blue the world can offer.

Oh damn, never seen that color blue Just think of the fun things we could do

He pressed her to the door frame while devouring her lips. Lines have been crossed and the room was filled with unresolved sexual tension. Charles wanted her - naked and moaning in pleasure. She pulled his hair while they made out and each pull was like gasoline to the fire of his desire. He traced her side with his cheeky finger and then slipped his hand under her t-shirt only to trace the line of her bra and then swiftly cupping her breast. "So you're wearing bras now," he let slip out of his mouth, already fucking her in his thoughts. His comment sparked a distant memory of an evening long gone by now. She was shivering his touch and wanted more and more. "Yeah...but now you're not gonna have to touch yourself alone or secretely," she said, hoping he actually had done that in the past, trying to tease him once more, while grabbing the hem of his belt and pulling him even closer. It worked. He was hard as a rock. He pressed his cock against her and started kissing her neck. She wondered if he understood the cocktail of pleasure and arousal he was preparing for her and felt even a bit shameful to crumble so easily. He felt her cave into his embrace as soon as he touched her neck and made a mental note, so come back to this spot once he was inside her. He thought about her devilish finger making her way to his cock slowly, just painfully slowly. She was teasing him and while he was loving that, he couldn't wait a second longer. He grabbed her hand pushed right onto his erection, which cause her letting out a surprised gasp. "I'm gonna fuck you, Y/N. Say yes if you want me to," he whispered into her neck. Not much second guessing went into her reply. "Yes," she moaned out, causing shivers on his neck. "Really?" he said, unhooking her bra. She smiled. This was no shy unsure Charlie. This was a confident man with intension to make her feel good. "Yes..." With that, he pulled away to help her get her t-shirt off and get rid of the cursed bra. Finally, he could stare as much as he wanted to.

He fucked her like there was no tomorrow. For them there really wasn't a tomorrow, because technically, there wasn't suppose to be a tonight. It was to stay as a blank page, moans written in an invisible ink, for no one but them to read. Morning would bring trouble, reason would wake up and start ordering around. As long as the sun wasn't watching, they were safe, hidden in each other and wrapped by desire.

Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time

part 4

--------------------------------------------------------- @linnmee @itsjustkhaos @rhythmstars @blueflorals

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lizardsfromspace · 3 months

Text

Stumbling across that weird fanatically anti-transmasc cult again and this tweet really sums it up better than anything

Trans women are defined entirely by misery and tragedy. Historical trans women all died in asylums. That's why Christine Jorgensen, the first trans woman to get gender-affirming surgery in the US, tragically *squints* spent decades as a in-demand public speaker and headlining entertainer. Because trans women literally can't experience anything other than misery

I have a book from the 70s with an ad for a speaker's agency that lists her alongside Rod Serling and Cicely Tyson. And underneath Erich von Daniken, which is irrelevant to my point but really weird. She was not wasting away in an asylum. Many trans women led tragic lives; but many is not all, and there are historic examples, even really famous ones, of trans women who were happy

Why would they erase that to tell people trans women all suffer tragic fates and must suspect everyone oh yeah bc they're a cult preying on the vulnerable and trying to convince them they need protection (but oddly enough from other trans people more than anyone else?)

The trans man thing is a reference to Victor Barker, who was, indeed, a trans man and a fascist in the 1920s. But I think another key point is, uh, that was one fuckin' guy. Why are they tacking that on, except if they're trying to imply trans men are secretly fascists? But that'd be an absurd thing to belieTHEY BELIEVE THAT. That is a real thing these creeps believe now and are seriously implying on the reg

"You must be suspicious that trans men are fascists" is now part of their ever-evolving litany of apparently endless evil from transmascs who...called a internet famous trans woman an asshole? Made a bad tweet once? Literally anything a trans man ever does (or doesn't do) transforms into a collective action on the part of all trans men in their minds. Trans men aren't just not allies in their mind, but are comically evil Saturday morning cartoon villains

Also, of course, the insistence that trans men had it much easier than trans women. If all trans women's lives weren't misery, all trans men's lives weren't happy, either. This insistence they had it "easy" is giving James Somerton on Radclyffe Hall

This is, again, A Single Guy. You have proved two white trans men are fascists, one in the 1920s and one now. Maybe. Maybe some other factor is at play, some other identity shared, by these two men, and the majority of fascists. "Why do people think I hate trans men?" says a group with a list of trans men they hate they can trot out instantly

I think people are just primed to think evidence of one member of a marginalized group doing a shitty thing is proof they all do it, or to go "that's just one guy?". In another life this jabroni wouldn't be posting about how Mao would be a Baeddel (???), they'd be sharing Fox News stories about crimes to declare we need to deport all Muslims and Mexicans. It's the same psychology, just rotted by internet discourse instead of a more traditional reactionary ideology

Also you may wonder "wait, I'm a trans woman, and trans men calling me a Nazi happens quite rarely, actually". I'm a trans woman on the internet and trans men calling me a Nazi has happened a grand zero times. So you may then wonder why, precisely, this sweet, innocent bean who's never done anything wrong is called a Nazi so regularly they think it's a universal problem.

Anyway they tweeted out the Fourteen Words, but they said gay women instead of white children. Truly, how could anyone ever get the idea they're a Nazi

#long post #transphobia cw #transandrophobia

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h0rr0rwhor3 · 1 year

Text

it looks good on you

masterlist

pairing: connor x short!chubby!female!reader

summary: (keep in mind that this is a wip that i will finish upon request!) after the android revolution and the reuniting of connor and hank, it only became a matter of time before the two were attached by the hip; whether hank was sneaking connor into crime scenes or as connor tagged along with hank while he bar hopped. as connor dealt with his curiosity and self-discovery, his emotions only got more confusing once he met [y/n], well that is, once he laid eyes on her. you would think that he and hank now being regulars at the jazz bar and café she works at would make things easier for him, but it seems to only grow his anxiousness, and even, his frustration.

warnings: size kink, dom!connor, sub!reader, uniform kink(?), sexually frustrated connor

a/n: like i had posted previously, this is a wip that i have not been able to work on due to lacking the energy and creativity to finish it. so i will leave the decision to my fellow readers on whether or not y'all would like a part 2! so if you guys would like a part two please let me know 😁! i hope you enjoy and thank you for the support on my previous smut!

it took a few months for society to recover at least a little bit after the android revolution.

protests against androids had only increased since then, many saying that the android revolution was the “resurrection of the devil”. cyberlife on the other hand had no choice but to let the deviant cases go, as the number of androids becoming deviant had increased rapidly during and after the revolution. many refunds were made to those who had immediately wanted to return androids, yet cyberlife had even requested to just let them go out, as the junkyard would only become incapable of proper cleaning at that point. cyberlife even started supplying android repair shops with extra parts, thirium, and even the more explicit parts that were originally dedicated towards eden club androids. these explicit parts were of course upon request privately.

ever since the revolution, connor really had nowhere to really go, this goes for many other androids. they had no money, clothing, shelter; so the only place connor thought of going was hank’s, as he didn’t seem to feel himself fit with markus and the others. he does not regret doing so either, as it seemed to boost hank’s mood rapidly. since then they have been inseparable, whether hank educated him on some of the best jazz songs, snuck connor into some crime scenes, or even gone bar hopping. it was a true bond.

recently both males had taken a liking to this place that had doubled as a jazz café and bar. it was android friendly which had definitely eased up connor. the owner ran the shop himself with the help of his niece.

her name was [y/n][l/n]. she was 21 and had been attending a university nearby. at least that was what connor had picked up on her. she had recently been working with her uncle as he had decided that her age was now appropriate enough to be working around alcohol. the legal drinking age was 21 after all. she had been under a few inches more than a woman’s average height and appeared more curvy. her hair framed her face in a way that almost made her appear fragile. her uniform dress reached down to her lower thighs, her short sleeves and collar outlined with a white stripe. the bottom half of her dress was pleated as her apron was tied wonderfully around her waist, defining her curves even more.

connor never identified such features actively before. hell. he’s never even spent as much time taking in the features of someone at all. when he had worked on deviant cases or looked around his surroundings it was usually a quick scan of the face and that's it. something about this woman had brought such a trance upon connor. the way she had gently moved parts of her body was such an intoxicating view. connor had no idea how to deal with these feelings of anticipation. these feelings of sublime.

hank had seemed to notice connor’s slight frustration. he had even picked on connor a few times for his obvious stares, comparing him to a lost puppy. it was hard to not notice the way he had looked at the female, you could almost see the holes his eyes dug into her, and hank wanted to put a stop to it.

“connor… look bud. it’s really not that hard. you just gotta talk to her, that’s all; ask her how she's doing, her favorite music/food… anything like that connor. just spark up a goddamn conversation with her for fucks sake. maybe even do your work with those... new fucking parts you got or some shit.” hank had been lecturing connor for the past 30 minutes now, growing frustrated with connor’s questions as he soothed himself with hard alcohol.

“well lieutenant, if it is so easy to speak to a woman, then how come you still have not m-”.

“you better not be going where i think you’re going connor. we’re talking about you here! not me. got it!?” hank immediately grew defensive with the question, causing a small smirk to grow on connor’s face.

“got it.” connor laughed softly, excusing himself to the living room as he left hank’s grumpy rambling to the kitchen.

the android settled himself on the couch comfortably as he closed his eyes, focusing on his thoughts. for once he could not analyze what the best approach would be. he could barely put together one attempt at befriending the woman. it was almost as if he was experiencing nervousness. anxiety.

no. he was nervous. he could feel his thirium pumping through his body in a way that he felt like his system would drown. it was such an foreign feeling to him, his sensors tingling at the thought of being near her.

how she would look up at him, how she would smile softly as she speaks, how she would feel when she brushes against him, how she would feel in his hands.

he could almost feel his system overheat at the thought of the sensitive sensors in his fingers brushing over the fabric of her apron, of her dress, of her skin. the way goosebumps would grow on her skin with the cold sensation of his fingers.

would her breath hitch?

would her body tremble at the ticklish feeling?

would she let out a soft sigh once the cold left her skin?

the thought of such vulnerable reactions aroused unknown feelings in connor. even though he didn’t need to breathe he felt his chest rising and falling shakily, the weight heavy on his throat. he could feel a tightening tension grow in his pants, startled by his body’s reaction.

connor was aware of the effect arousal had on humans, but has yet to experience such a thing with his own after the installation of his new parts. the feeling of restraint caused him to grow frustrated. he glanced into the kitchen, seeing as hank had passed out on the table after a few drinks; it would have been unfortunate for hank to see him in such a state.

getting up, connor made his way to the bathroom, gently shutting the door as he made his way to the lock, twisting the small knob. he thought of the best approach to handle his tension, shaking his head out of what would seem to be embarrassment.

reaching his palm to his hardening length, he gently palmed his arousal, hips bucking into his hand. his head was thrown back as he closed his eyes, guttural, soft moans leaving his mouth.

just how would she act?

would she be obedient?

would the softness in her eyes drown with arousal as she was touched?

he unbuttoned his pants.

would she be embarrassed?

muffling her sounds with the back of her palm as she was filled with him.

fuck.

would she grow a flustered expression at the thought of being with an android?

his pants and boxer briefs were pushed down mid thigh, his hand stroking his length sloppily. the sensors in his leaking cock driving him insane.

how would she sound?

how would she whimper as she's being gripped, as bruises form on her hips?

he could feel himself throb at the thought of easily manhandling her. gripping her plush hips, her thighs. the way her angelic expression would form such lewd expressions. his system stuttered as he neared his release, getting caught up in his own “imagination”.

he could only imagine how she would look wrapped in his coat.

her uniform hiked up her thighs as he towered over her.

the scent of their arousal mixed together.

the way she'd say his name.

fuck.

connor's hips stuttered as white stripes littered his hand, the lube-like substance staining his hand. his thirium pump shakily slowed down as he cleaned himself, washing off his hands.

he glanced at himself in the mirror, taking in his expression, and gave his head a soft shake.

he really needed to settle himself, and figure out a solution, because this. this is not a solution.

#dbh connor #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #dom!connor #sub!reader #female!reader #chubby!reader #short!reader #detroit become human #connor imagine #connor x y/n #connor x you #connor smut

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tobi-smp · 5 months

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[looks left, looks right]

I've been holding this one back until people got cool with a lot of things very quickly but I think nows the time

lets have a quick examination of c!allium off the top of my head

1: ranboo joins the server and is immediately heckled by dream

2: that same day he meets tommy and they have the famous exchange where tommy asks ranboo if he likes flowers (to rib him) and ranboo accidentally punches him trying to give it to him. this is cute on its own, but of course we Know that tommy loves flowers, that he covered his house in them, that he sung to the plants in l'manberg

3: and importantly, that he took the flower

4: tommy immediately taking ranboo under his wing and running off to Do A Prank with him. this is really important because this is tommy trying to go back to the way that things were Before. the way that he'd had fun with his family and what he did when he felt safe and secure. this is tommy being silly with a new person he might consider a friend, but it's Also him trying to reconnect with that happy Free feeling he'd had before

5: they'd made a bunker specifically to plan out their prank, and he'd put the allium that ranboo gave him into a chest hidden for safe keeping. And That Allium Survived. he kept it and it survived

6: when they're caught not because what they did was Actually out of line (griefing was an every day occurrence, even and Especially between l'manberg and dream's territory), tommy Deliberately Did Not Throw Ranboo Under The Bus.

he didn't take it seriously, he made fun of everyone because the situation was ridiculous, but he Never implicated ranboo. and in fact, he only started Admitting to the crime When Ranboo Was Being Implicated. he Deliberately Took The Fall For Him.

(and it's worth noting that the evidence that was used to tie to tommy to the crime in the first place were signs that Ranboo wrote).

7: and in return Ranboo Stood Up For Tommy. ranboo is a character defined by his conflict avoidance and lack of spine, But He Stood Up For Him. he admitted to being a part of it, and he pointed Out that tommy was taking the fall to try to protect him, and he did so Specifically to counter tommy being called selfish.

8: then in between the trial and exile day tommy opened up to ranboo, both about being afraid of his relationship with tubbo falling apart AND with his relationship with wilbur. admitting to having nightmares and admitting that this fear of losing tubbo is tied to having lost wilbur. this is something he'd never said out loud to anybody at this point, and it'd be Many Many more months until he'd open up about it to anybody else.

9: while there Were people who visited tommy in exile multiple times, ranboo was undeniably the most consistent (outside of ghostbur, until well. dream tried to kill him)

he visited him in person And he wrote to him regularly. dream saw this as a threat so explicitly that he tried to sabotage their writing, to which ranboo circumvented it.

he'd regularly talk to tommy and try to help him while he was breaking down. he's on the of the only people on the entire server to have a full picture of what happened and it ate at him.

10: he was Also the first person after techno to find out that tommy was still Alive.

11: ranboo's "dream is the reason" being intrinsically tied to how he's Seen dream hurt tommy and rip him apart from his friends.

12: His Speech At The Green Festival. "why can't you guys just choose PEOPLE" not direct at tommy but to Defend Him. why didn't they defend him because he was their Friend? why did the politics Matter when they all knew what was happening was wrong? (of course, we know the answer to that. but ranboo wasn't there to see it. he didn't know)

13: ranboo being there at doomsday, despite everything he was there. I Think About It

14: Ranboo Being There At The Disc War Finale, Finally Putting Himself Between Tommy And Dream. Dream Specifically Looking At Him In A Crowd Of People. I Think About It I Think About It.

15: Tommy's Death, My Fucking God Tommy's Death. him finding the allium and realizing that tommy had kept it. him openly furious at the way the server treated him, how nobody saved him and how all of this could've been prevented if people had just Acted, if they'd Cared. everyone including himself.

chewing out sam for leaving him, sam talking to him bluntly about exile, I Think About It I Think About It I Think About It

16: ranboo and tubbo shadowing tommy after his revival. killing mobs for him, putting blocks under him while he's walking, watching to make sure that he's okay. Trying To Help Him Be Okay. doing therapy with him, talking with him. so afraid that he'll just disappear. "does he make you happy?" I think about it

17: tommy having a place in the mansion, even if he'd never moved in, he was supposed to be there

18: a major part of ranboo's struggle with his enderwalking not Just being about the fear of it happening at all, But The Realization That He Might've Hurt Tommy and how it absolutely Ate Him Up Inside

In Conclusion: if beeduo marriage hadn't happened I fully believe people would've started shipping c!ranboo and c!tommy and all of the discourse about rpf would've happened about them instead, and then years later tommy would've dropped his own actual rpf featuring his real self. this alternate timeline is way funnier

#dream smp #dsmp #tommyinnit #ranboo #allium duo #for the record #in my opinion canon benchtrio is that post about a polycule except one of them is just there #tommy isn't dating any of them but he's there #again this is because this is funny to me

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ecoamerica · 24 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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moondirti · 8 months

Text

12. PUSH COMES TO SHOVE

CHAPTER TWELVE OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter eleven / chapter thirteen ⇀

summary: you cross a line you can't turn back to. miguel takes you up on a joke.

explicit (18+) | 5.6k words warnings: smut, female masturbation, sexual fantasies (including unprotected p-in-v, breeding, biting, paralysis, bondage, aftercare), everyone is bad at feelings, insecurity, fear of heights, mentions of death notes: nothing i wrote sounded right so i just had to publish before i decided to scrap it all and reqrite

It’s a shameful, awful thing to do.

One with no excuse for it – not really.

You were just bored. Pent up on an endless routine; familiar people, recurring places. Your night and day mirror images of one another. Even in the post-apocalyptic landscape of your old home did you have something to do with your spare time – wandering wrecks and cleaning the devastation left in the wake of your mistake.

But here, visiting an Earth where the expectations for your stay had never been clearly defined – where you can go, who you can talk to, what freedoms you’re permitted – you’re technically no more enriched than a prisoner, peering listlessly from their window at the bustling lives outside. And with a track record of dragging chaos along no matter your intentions, you’re much too afraid to push the hang fire state in which you live in.

So, containment or self-sabotage, it doesn’t really matter. Not when both have the same, invariable conclusion. This. Dangerous boredom; the type that always, always feeds into thoughts of him.

They’ve gotten worse too. Of late, your previously honed scorn and resentment for the futuristic spider-man has ebbed into something more… mellow. Understated. It’s a peculiar condition, hard to name. Fuzzy in the places it once stung and barrelling down an unmarked path. Confusion, maybe. Indecision. And while your chest twinges with the not knowing of it all, you’ve already decided that you hate this more than the antagonism you felt before. At least it had been logical, founded on a bank of valid evidence, with bruises and scars to show for it. This is bolstered by nothing; vague impressions of his smirk and strict approval. A pulse between your legs. Sweaty palms before seeing him, wondering what state you’ll be greeted with.

(You always hope it’s washed, snugly dressed and wounds tended to. He’s in a significantly better mood when refreshed, you find. Enough of a difference from post-fights to make you wonder whether you’ve ever known him at all.)

And it’s pathetic because Miguel has a life where you don’t. You’ve disproved your theory on his marital status, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is his home. A world where every possibility is open to him – walks in the park, ice cream from a quaint corner shop, a group of highschool friends, maybe, who he sees on occasion. Kids – you’re certain of that, the reality imbued in everything he does. The man has to be the father of at least one darling angel, someone he can dedicate all his work to. He’s too committed not to be.

So, every hour he spends outside of your meetings, he’s probably off doing something worthwhile. Daycare pickups. Stopping crime. Running a building full of spider-folk. And you–

Well, that’s the mortifying point.

You’re here, leaning against your shower wall, soaked to the bone while two fingers work your cunt. And you’re thinking of him.

Broad shoulders, packed with ineffable strength, curving down to tree-trunk arms. They man-handle you in the best of ways – clamped around your thighs, upturning you onto his plump, magical fucking lips. That mouth had been expert, quick or slow when need be, much like his touch. He’s good at working them in tandem to make a mess of you, searching for devastation somewhere in your core. He’s good at finding it, at rendering you pliant enough to spill it onto him.

Are you crossing a line?

It’s been pseudo-professional so far; sex in favour for another milestone crossed. Encouragement on the only degree you respond well to. But now you’re fingering yourself to mere notions of him, alone, for no reason other than what his imagined presence does to you.

Fuck. You’re perverse. Worse than that. There’s no verbiage available to capture how depraved you are – you’ve just never gone through this before. Everyone you’ve ever wanted, you’ve taken and promptly abandoned the next morning. One night stands. Fleeting flings. No one has ever stuck around long enough to make things complicated.

Of course he would, though. You have to laugh at the irony of it. Miguel’s always made life hard for you, whether intentionally or not. And now he’s taken root in your mind, forcing you to face all its flowering consequences.

Like how he simultaneously sates you and leaves you wanting more. You’ve had his fingers and tongue – a great deal more than you can attribute to yourself in the past year. And they’re great, brilliant. But it isn’t enough. Not when you’ve seen his cock; thick-set, throbbing, splitting your jaw open with brutal efficiency. He was big and eager and much less restrained that day than he has been since you established your new dynamic. He’d come closer than he dared to before.

Or again.

(Whatever’s changed, you’d give everything to reserve it. To feel him – not down your throat, but in you. Mushroomed head spearing you open, imprinting itself on your walls. Ramming your cervix, made easy as his large hands fold you into a mating press. The position would give him the added benefit of watching you come undone, every miniscule expression laid out to spur him on. Or maybe he wouldn’t like that – maybe he’s the type to grab your hair and pull your head back so his tongue can lather over your neck.

You’d take whatever you can get, no hesitation.)

Your index and middle sandwich your clit, scissored open as you rub the swollen bud. Blood rushes downward, fattening under pressurised pleasure. The wet smeared on your thighs is slippery, much too slick to be a product of the hot water beating down on you. It points to what you already know; that, no matter what you do to scour it off, all you’ll ever be is a wanton idiot.

Vapour latches onto oxygen, the bathroom air growing suffocating, humid, heady with the scent of sex. Nerve ends prickle at the drag of pruned skin, your orgasm on a never-ending approach. No matter what you do, you can’t seem to beckon it. You’ve been here for far too long, cycling through every trick in the book, testing sweet spots that’ve become accustomed to another’s manipulation. You’ve pinched yourself, used the shower head until its pipes hissed, stuffed your slit full and curled forward, looking for that patch of spongy tissue.

None of it works. Nothing helps you see stars, unable to drag you to the heavens you’ve reached with your mentor.

(Wanton idiot is a tolerant title, too lenient for you. At least one would be able to satisfy themselves.

But now, in the wake of your frustration, you’re reduced to a roll of drenched cotton, numb to everything but the fire at Miguel’s fingertips.)

Still, you try. You anchor a foot to the faucet, plastering yourself on the glass pane that separates the shower from the rest of your bathroom. It’s frigid, a stark contrast to the water heating your flesh, and the temperature drop strikes your senses awake, flooding you with new vigour. If it’s possible, the proof it offers to your fever – the gooseflesh that erupts at your waist or the blurry line between where sweat begins and soap-buds end – only eggs you further, hardening the truth to startling clarity:

You’re crossing a line and drawing it out with a frustration that benefits no one. Cum, that’s all you need to do. To finally be done with it and put this whole blip behind you.

Spread open, your hand returns to your cunt. You’re wet enough to do so without fuss, the fingers that had been at your clit plunging in until they’re sheathed to the knuckle. It’s a tight fit, walls greedily sucking you in, vacuum-sealed and clenching. The stretch burns and you find solace in it, the tender skin of your hole straining to accommodate another digit once the two find their rhythm.

How much better would his dick be? Would it cleave you apart like his fingers do? You imagine it so well, the reverie blossoming like second nature.

(Miguel, planking above you, hair flopping onto his forehead after being ruffled out of its usual push-back. It’d be a sight of your own doing, your nails combing through dark waves on their way to his shoulders. He’s marked you several times over now – claw wounds above your wrist and a deep scar on the back of your arm. Would he let you mark him, in turn? Scratch red lines down his muscled back, rolling as he fucks into you. Or suckle his neck, leave it purple and angry to pay back for the punctures at your collar? It’s been weeks and they’re still there.)

Your free hand finds them, smoothing over the pocks left by his fangs. The heel of your other presses on your clit, kneading the sore centre. It buckles with the abuse, pouring into your rising orgasm. The tide promises violence for when you eventually let it loose.

(In this crude fantasy, he isn’t much of a masochist. He gets irritated with your wandering hurt, turned off the pursuit in pumping you full of his seed. Maybe he pins your arms over your head, holds them down with ease to get you to stop. But he needs his palms free, your bouncing tits all-too tempting not to squeeze, so he uses his webs to bind you to the headboard. Or–)

Your core grows sloppier with every passing second. It weeps, slurping whatever you give it – the feral force of your fingers. Your knees tremble. Your pelvis aches. The amalgamation of your effort knots your organs together, weaving an impossible pattern out of desire and desperation.

(– he bites you again, injects you with venom so you stay nice and still for him regardless.)

God, it’s perfect. It’s the tart, slightly-salty pour of caramel over toffee pudding, topped with vanilla and the memory of his paralytic essence ballooning through your veins. It’d been cold and graceful, so bloody efficient you wonder how he didn’t think of it as a means of incapacitation sooner. Perhaps it’s tough to measure – how much is too much before you kill your victim, or something along the lines. But back then, despite hating no one more than he did you, he kept you alive.

Would he risk it again, if you asked?

Does he think about you? Like this, when the day drags and there’s no adequate excuse to see you through it. You quiver with the thought. Holed up in his own bath, spacier than yours, pumping his cock slick. He wouldn’t trail it out. Miguel has his own life, and if you somehow manage to worm your way into it, he’d spill himself quick. Not for disgust – it’s clear that he’s at least attracted to you. No. Just because he’s a better man than you can hope to be.

Rough around the edges but decent. Moral.

(There it is again – the apollonian. If he’s the olympian deity for the Sun, of truth and prophecy and order, then you’re Dionysus while you bring yourself to ecstasy, caught on the tip of his sharpened arrowhead.)

You groan, letting your head fall back as your efforts gain traction. The bottom of your stomach lurches, making way for the combustion taking space in your chest. It sputters, gorging on a kindling flame, and travels downwards to the pocket between your gut and pubic bone. The fulfilment borders on painful, skinned raw by your relentless assault on it. Once-warm water adds to the overstimulation, turned bitter by its prolonged use. Hair clings to your brow, obscuring your eyesight. Your orgasm snowballs, knocking everything in its determined path.

(And afterward, wrapped up somewhere in your pipe dream, he would empty himself inside you, drunk off the pleading whine that clawed its way out from your throat. He’d made you cum several times – the only addition you can guarantee would be fact – but it wouldn’t end there. Not while you remain still, all wandering eyes and diving comedowns, looking at him in your peripheral.

He’d linger, his cum dribbling out of you in thick globs, waiting by your side as the paralysis wears off. Gaining control of your body would be a slow process, as it was before, and he’d have a wetted towel to clean you off in the meantime. The room would remain quiet – founded on that same limbo state from after he ate you out – and neither of you speaking a word until you nod off, drowsy and properly fucked. If only to exchange hummed goodnights. An appreciative pat on the head, maybe. Detached praise, stunted communication.

Because even in your wildest fantasies, Miguel does not stoop to kiss you.)

You’re a wreck when it finally hits. Seized muscles release, disgorging the built-up tension of the last hour. You cum – not as powerfully as you might’ve done had he been here – though that’s trivial. He’s present in your mind, praising you through it, working you despite encroaching sensitivity. And you break down not at the thought, the sheer salacity of it all, but to the tenderness you can only imagine. Unrestrained. Given freely. Not because you earned it, but because you're worthy even when you haven’t.

A sob captures your lungs. Your skin prickles.

Phasing right through the glass partition, you fall backward to smack your temple on the edge of your sink. A throbbing pain immediately engulfs the site. Black speckles your vision.

And if it isn’t the perfect illustration of your concurrent dopamine crash, then you’ll be damned.

Curse him.

“You… You’re kidding, right?”

You don’t necessarily need an answer, but you ask to give yourself a distraction from the anxiety torrenting through you. With the way he leans on the glass railing, self-satisfied against the backdrop of Nueva York at noon, you can glean every bit of genuineness from his expression alone.

Miguel gives a vague gesture to the rooftop you stand upon. “You said it yourself.”

“First of all, no. I said I would climb up buildings, not jump off one. Second of all, it was a joke. I hope you know what a joke is, O’hara – otherwise I have a list of situations that make much more sense with hindsight.”

“I’m not asking you to jump off.” He ignores your barb, pushing off the edge to usher you closer. Your heels dig into the ground, an obstacle proved to be done in vain when his hand skims the small of your back. The heat of it penetrates your shirt, weaving its way to your dimpled flesh like it knows how much you crave it. One would think he’s burnt you with how rapidly you move to brush it off, and by the end – whether you like it or not – you find yourself peering over the palisades to the four-foot drop below. Bile spikes the back of your gullet.

“Are we here to sight-see, then? It’s an apartment complex, nothing special about that.” Breathing, you try to suppress the nausea that overrules your systems. The descent isn’t that high – about fifty feet, give or take your own height – but that does nothing to combat the fear gradually creeping up your nerves.

“Very funny.” He says, rolling his eyes at something you refuse to see. You’ve no energy to decipher it, either, zeroed in on the task expected of you. “Leaving your room got me thinking–”

“That’s dangerous.” You snap.

The man must be used to your little tantrums by now, for he continues like you hadn’t interrupted him, delineating the perplexing logic that lured him into thinking this was a good idea.

“– about what you meant by your suggestion. You’d pitched it instinctively.”

(‘If you promised this earlier, I would’ve climbed up fucking buildings to earn it.’

You remember. Somehow, it infuriates you that he does too – that even raptured in the throes of pleasure, his tongue buried between your folds, he’d been stewing over ways to better you. It pokes a fresh sore spot – like the maturating bruise on your temple, consequence of your scene in the shower – that reminds you you’re not good enough.)

“Okay, smart ass. Since you think you know everything, allow me to explain to you the definition of hyperbole. I was–”

“Exaggerating, yes. But I figured, to make that specific example during such… unsober circumstances, it must’ve originated from a sincere place.” He joins your observation of the street below, flicking over the trimmed bushes, surveying for wandering pedestrians. He’d picked somewhere secluded – a neighbourhood two blocks down from HQ, whose residents are likely employees at the bustling base. If anything, it explains their absence at twelve o’clock on a weekday. “So, here we are.”

You blink up at him, incredulous. He still hasn’t explicitly stated what he wants you to do. If this conversation had taken place on the ground, then perhaps you would’ve caught on quicker. Find your way to the top, just like he’s implying. As it stands though, you’re teetering on the crown of a stubby building that still seems too tall given your aversion to heights, with nothing but a stubborn spider-man and a locked stairwell for aid. It only dawns on you now why he made the conscious decision to close it after coming up here – to prevent your cheating.

Another strike towards his lack of faith. Charming.

In the bout of bewildered silence, Miguel sighs and spells it out for you.

“I want you to scale down the side of it.”

You could choke on your heart with how high it skyrockets.

“With what?” You squeak. The protest is weak, ungrounded as your bones start to give out. You’re not sure whether it’s mental, your brain tricking you into distrusting your body, or if you’re truly about to collapse. In either case, your distress threatens to unman you. Sickening. You’re green to your stomach.

His eyebrows raise, humoured. It’s a call to land on the solution yourself – like it’s obvious, like you’re not losing yourself just picturing it.

Quaking, you return to an age-old mantra. Miguel doesn’t know you, no matter how good he is at reading the bits he’s privy to. You’ve never highlighted to him the extent and end of your abilities – and yes, that’s partly for lack of understanding them yourself. But as it so happens, you do know a few, indispensable attributes; ones that should be considered before you’re made to defy gravity and saunter down the face of a wall.

Like how you can’t control your powers, the reigns ever-elusive, slipping from your grip whenever you actively try to run them. Or that your super-strength and enhanced healing are fickle things, arising only in impractical episodes. How your spider-sense is unpractised, severely underutilised by the mundane life you lead, and, perhaps most relevantly:

“I have no webs to harness me.” You emphasise. “And my hands can’t stick to surfaces to make that a negligible factor.”

He listens, contemplative, digesting the latter piece of information and what it means for his lesson plan.

“If they did, then I wouldn’t have been in nearly as much trouble at that quarry as I was, hanging on with just my fingers. But…” You wave your palms at him as if to punctuate your point. “Unfortunately for me, I’m normal below the wrist.”

“Below the wrist.” He repeats, picking up on the contrivance in your choice of phrase. Cringing, you scramble for an excuse, looking to get off the road he leads you on. It’s frenzied, unbecoming of this arrangement. You’ve learnt to lend your begrudging trust to his methods, their validity proved over weeks of training – but something about his current tone, the interrogative way with which he singles out faults in your diction. It sends you back to an era where all you worried about was his pursuit, about a capture made inevitable by your clumsy side steps.

You won’t forget, either. At the pinnacle of it, he was ready to step on your hold to a crane and send you plummeting to supposed death.

(If push comes to shove, would he force you to descend this hurdle – worried about a more forgiving yet just as terrifying end, given you should trip and lose pace on the right-angled wall?

But then you think of food shared over a makeshift dining table – navigating the new peace found between your legs. He’d allowed your skipping class. He took concern for your health in spite of it – and you’re reminded of another thing. One more constant, there since the beginning too.

Miguel O’Hara does not want you dead.

That, at the very most, is consolation that he won’t throw you off this ledge.)

“My feet can, from what I’ve tested. I can tread on steep slopes and hang upside down. Just… not very well.” You elaborate, then feel the urge to grant him less room for argument, just in case. “I don’t know what kind of scientists you are, O’Hara. A biologist, maybe, which would explain a whole ton, but take it from me. Physics won’t agree with this. You’re asking me to walk down a wall completely perpendicular to the ground, reliant on a weak abdomen and capabilities I haven’t taught myself to use properly.”

And when your words run their course, feeding into the husk of an alarmed echo, you can’t stop warmth from pooling behind your cheeks, or when your pulse flutters, feeble as the flap of a baby bird’s wings. You’re dangled over a branch you’ve known your whole life, nest torn out from under you. A condition of your own doing, of course, seeing as he stays quiet, compliant to your rant.

A moment later, he adds. “Geneticist.”

“Huh.”

“I was a geneticist.” The nugget of background he offers flares like a treaty, a temporary campaign for goodwill. And, as if intentionally building upon your theory of armistice, Miguel tips away, popping out your personal space. The afternoon breeze hits you then, chillier without his immediate presence. You don’t voice your wish for him to come back. “Why haven’t you?” He seeks, testing his luck now that you’re placated.

It works.

“Pushed my potential?”

He hums in the affirmative.

“I have. It helped nothing but my upchuck reflex.” You evoke. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten my doomed history with hard drops. We don’t work well, particularly not when you’re around.” Beyond the quarry, he’d witnessed your misfortunate swinging around Earth-15 too. You’d phased right through his arms, bound to solidify before splattering onto the pavement below. It’d been peaceful then only because you had so much less to lose. “Besides, I don’t see the point. I won’t be going back home to fight crime, in any case. And scaling apartment complexes won’t magically lend me enough virtue to want to return.”

When he speaks next, it’s tacitly, an intrusion to jog your memory like you did his, however subtly. “You’re okay now, though.” He says, and implies a truth too heavy to audibly assert. I caught you. Every time. The understanding lingers, oscillating between you two, before he starts again. “But I get it.”

You scoff. In turn, he sounds his question – hm? – rumbled deep from within his chest. If you focus, you can sense the way it vibrates the particles separating you.

“I doubt it, is’all.”

“That’s condemning.”

“Please, as if you need the ego boost.” Ducking from his scrutiny, you rest your elbows on the glass lining the rooftop to look out on the cityscape before you. It glitters, contemporary blue architecture slated on fields of green. This world is utopia compared to the many you’ve visited; amongst them, you’re hit with the vivid memory of your own – peppered with red fires under a perpetual cover of smoke. Blown to unrecognisable bits by a product of your ignorance.

You swallow to shake the tangent off. He’s still staring at you. You can feel his solemn study, dimmed from its previous challenge, severe enough to penetrate the marge of your skull.

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

He shrugs, not in the least bit teasing. It’s the straw that finally breaks your back – the integrity he regards you with. Sighing, you smother your pride before it can change your mind.

“Fucking look at you. You’re like… the peak of spider prowess. All muscle and righteousness. And I don’t even know where to begin, scared to even cash in on the powers I've been handed. What kind of hero is nervous of heights, for God’s sake.”

The admission escapes as hushed, warbled by string-plucked insecurity. You don’t attempt to assess his reaction to it, following the motions of a cirrus cloud instead, swaying like tufts of hair on a cerulean scalp. It makes his next course of action jarring – frightening for all you don’t expect it.

Miguel’s hand appears before you, face down so the digital suit-patterns on his palm are exposed. You half-think he’s offering you hold it, or wants to pinion you to something before he pulls you off the roof. But his body turns to overlook your side, and with a sudden schwip, his talons protrude from the pads of his fingers. Before you can fully process it, you stumble back, phantom pain pounding where he once gripped you with them.

He notices it, though doesn’t comment on your misgivings, waiting patiently until you steel yourself and return to your post. He must be used to the hesitation.

“Do you know what these are for?”

To claw run-away anomalies – you’re compelled to say, but decide against the low blow. You shake your head no.

“I didn’t either. Not when I first developed them. They seemed inconvenient and hard to handle. Got in the way of everyday life.” You struggle to picture it. Miguel, younger, troubled with defects he never asked for. Did it hurt, you wonder – the ingrowth of fangs and talons?

Does it still?

“Biology isn’t a lesser science though, despite what certain physicists may believe.” He continues, raising a brow at you. You can’t suppress the sheepish expression that threads the corners of your mouth. “I remembered the spiders I worked with, what features of theirs might come to be represented by this. The fangs I realised the purpose of much faster.”

“To paralyse.”

“Right.” His gaze flicks to the slip of neck exposed by your loose collared shirt, finding the bite marks bridged over your clavicle. You’d been good at ignoring your masturbatory fantasies thus far, yet at his cue, flashes of them occur to you. Your knees knock together, timid that he can perhaps smell the shame on you. “My claws weren’t so obvious. Not until I met another spider-man who could climb walls. It occurred to me then, the microscopic setules on the end of spiders’ legs. They create an electromagnetic charge with any molecule at their nanometric radius. And while he, like many others, gained a figurative interpretation of it, I got something more literal.”

“So, they adhere to anything.”

“No. But they help me hold on.” Miguel corrects. “I’m not guaranteed proper fixture, so climbing buildings – scaling any surface – is a labour entirely dependent on me.”

You trail over his wide shoulders – the top heavy form you’ve spent so much time revering. You’ve never so much as considered why he’s built so differently from other spider-heroes, burly in contrast to their lithe figures. (For good reason, maybe – you would’ve assumed incorrectly as recently as three minutes ago.) It’s not to set himself apart, or being that he was blessed with it. But because it was necessary. Pure proof of the effort it took to hone his skills.

Guilt is swift in sweeping you off your feet; you feel foolish for ever suggesting it was talent that got him to this point. And–

“That’s… tough.” Is the only response you can conjure.

It’s so stupid you want to punch yourself over it. Miguel, on the other hand, just chuckles. A brief huff from upturned lips.

“Sure.” He takes one last look down the verge of the rooftop before turning his back on it. You keep facing forward. “The crux is – we don’t always see the point of things, or why they are the way they are. Sometimes, we might even refuse to when all seems unfair. But the second mark of a hero, as I’ve come to know it, is having the courage to address them despite your ignorance. Firmness of mind when confronted with danger – or, in your case, a burden of great difficulty.”

And piece by piece, it starts to come together. The small revelation of his backstory as nothing more than an allegory. His bringing you here, to start from the top and not the bottom, instilling in you the fear of falling. And what it all means – courage being the point of this little exercise, a step up from resilience now that you’ve proved your tenacity. Priming you for the eventuality of returning home – a burden of great difficulty.

“Of course you’d turn this into a philosophical seminar.” You deride, rubbing the wariness from your expression. “And here I believed we were bonding.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He says. You don’t have it in you to disagree, searching for the pluck to get this over with. Yet what he adds next takes you completely off-guard. “You don’t have to do this.”

A compromise – you thought you’d have to fight for one.

“I’m a few plank-sessions short of having the core strength to walk down a wall.” You circumvent, not ready to admit your failure.

Miguel nods, yielding now that he’s gotten his opinion on the matter across. Nothing about him betrays disappointment, but you somehow still squirm, distressed at the very notion that you let him down.

As he breaks away, you catch sight of the platforms protruding from the windows below you, and a haphazard idea forms.

“But… if it’s courage you want, then maybe we can start smaller?” You raise, worrying the inside of your cheek. It’s rushed, not expertly planned through, but he cocks his head, and you’re forced to toss it out now that he’s all ears. “I can hang from the bottom of a balcony – upside down – until I’m better at trusting my powers over gravity. And, y’know, there are still the odds that I fall, just onto the deck below and not four stories. Less fatal that way.”

There’s hardly a spark of deliberation before his eyes narrow, cheekbones projecting with a smile. It has to be your insatiable itch for praise, consequence of anything over what he actually thinks – but a bright glint streaks upon those red pupils and, remarkably, it feels a lot like pride.

(You’ll take what you can get.)

“Yeah. That works.” He approaches, sinking closer once more. It’s warm again and you stand self-assured, regardless of the trepidation still bubbling within you. “I suppose not everyone has a death wish.”

“Wishful thinking on your part, maybe.” You taunt. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me for the time being.”

What feels like hours later, your head throbs violently, and under the novelty of it all, you learn of three new things.

One – an observation most idle yet, embarrassingly, the first to be made – is that Miguel looks just as handsome the other way around as he does proper side up. Elevated, too, given that you’re finally at his level like this. Staring him down, nose-to-nose, able to capture his face outside the forced perspective that comes with being shorter. He occupies the balcony below while you stand, hang, on the belly of the one above. There’s a tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mole by the corner of his mouth. He’s still smiling at you.

Two – a facet you haven’t stopped imprecating since you started, one that technically isn't even new to you – is that, while your external body seems to defy gravity, fastened in place by your feet, your internal systems aren’t granted the same luxury. Gallons worth of blood pools to your brain, distending the soft tissue until it weighs like lead on your crown. You never thought your organs would be this heavy, especially the ones that stack on top of your lungs. Your stomach, liver, kidneys, intestines. They make it hard to breathe. You can barely feel your hands anymore.

And three – perhaps your proudest realisation yet – is that this isn't so bad once you get the hang of it. Sure, your mentor is a few paces away, ready to grab you should you spontaneously collapse. And if he didn’t, then yes, the worst that could come of it is a broken arm. You certainly need more practice before you test it on taller heights, and you don’t think you trust your abilities yet to walk down building planes, but–

It’s easy. Bodily effects aside, it’s easy. Supernaturally so. In a way that bends every one of Newton’s laws and you’re left reeling trying to string together mechanical equations that could make sense of it. The tension between you and the ceiling and how great it must be to combat your weight. The equal and opposite force perpetually acting against gravity.

Because you’re upside down, despite having no cable or chain to keep you situated, no hooks on your heels. You’re stuck to a surface by just the soles of your shoes, and when you walk around, lift one to put in front of the other, you stay fixed. You don’t – can’t – fall.

(Secretly, you thank him for pushing you to this stage. The euphoria of it is just enough to supersede any nausea you worried about before.)

“How’s that?” Miguel asks, tone low and smooth like velvet. Something tugs your heart – your arteries, perhaps, shrivelling around it.

“Weird. Great. If I didn’t feel like throwing up, I’d stay here forever.”

“Try to refrain from projecting it on me.”

“Copy that.”

“But,” He says, tipping his head so he can assess you the right way around. “You’re doing it.” “Yeah.” You giggle. The bloodrush must be making you loopy. You’d have never been so animated on the ground. “I’m doing it.”

chapter thirteen

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girlactionfigure · 4 months

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Ok, you want to know from a lawyer why the allegation that Israel is committing genocide is false?

Fine.

I prefer to focus on the absurdity of the allegation, especially since it is Hamas that expressly seeks Jewish & Israeli genocide; but it's clear people want this analysis.

Genocide is defined by the 1948 UN Convention on Prevention & Punishment of the Crime of Genocide as: (1) the coordinated; (2) planned; and (3) intentional destruction, in whole or in part, of a national, ethnical, racial or religious group.

Let's set aside for a minute the fact that the the #UN Convention regarding #genocide was adopted because of what the #Nazis had done to the #Jewsthereby making its invocation here not only absurdly false, but also unforgivably offensive.

That outrageousness aside, we can analyze the elements of the crime of genocide under the present situation in #Gaza.

The requisite mens rea to find a government guilty of genocide is the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a particular group of people.

This intent to commit genocide doesn't magically come into being just because people want to believe it exists. There must be actual proof of criminal intent to destroy a particular group of people.

#SouthAfrica cannot possibly carry its burden of showing Israel "intended or intends to commit genocide"; thus, the allegation fails.

Just some of the obvious reasons intent to commit genocide could not possibly be shown follow:

- 10/7 & Hamas' words since 10/7 have proven the #terror group would, if it could, continue carrying out massacres until it killed every #Israeli & potentially every #Jew on Earth. Israel, like every other UN member state, has the inherent right to self-defense under Article 51 of the UN Charter. In this case, Israel's right to self-defense continues until it has done everything "necessary" to to ensure #Hamas can never attack Israeli civilians again because of: (1) the genocidal brutality of the #October7Massacre; (2) Hamas' 35+ years of genocidal warfare against Israel & Jews; & (3) Hamas' express & repeated commitment to repeat massacres like 10/7 "again and again." Therefore, Israel's right to self-defense includes both the right to eliminate the threat from Hamas to its civilians & to restore a sense of security to its civilians.

- The Hamas-run Gaza Health Ministry claims 22,000 #Palestinians have died. Even if that number was reliable (it is not), Hamas claims every one of the deaths was a civilian, not a #HamasTerrorist. That is obviously not the case. Israel claims to have killed ~9,000 Hamas terrorists. Even assuming the Hamas numbers were correct, that would mean about 1.45 civilians have been killed for every 1 "combatant" (Hamas terrorist). As horrible as the loss of any civilian life is, it is simply a fact that civilians suffer disproportionately in war & what Israel has done in protecting civilian lives is unprecedented in the history of urban warfare. In fact, according to the UN statistics of global conflict, the average civilian to combatant killed ratio is 9 civilians killed for every 1 combatant killed. This ratio in and of itself makes the allegation of "genocide" a complete absurdity.

- Even assuming the "worst case scenario" numbers above of ~9,000 terrorists killed & ~13,000 civilians killed still does not take into account the cause of those civilian deaths. We know that somewhere between 20%-35% of all Hamas & #Palestinian #Islamic #Jihad missiles misfire & land in Gaza (like the one that landed at a Gaza hospital that Israel was wrongly accused of bombing). So, how many Gaza civilians were killed by misfired rockets from Palestinian terror groups? Suddenly, that already incredible ratio of civilians:combatants in the annals of warfare is improving even further.

- There are at least dozens of videos of Hamas #terrorists firing at #IDF troops while wearing civilian clothing (which is itself a #WarCrime) to blend in with the civilian population. So, how many Gaza "civilians" who were killed were actually just Hamas terrorists wearing #civilian clothing? That civilian:combatant ratio is improving once again.

- We know from video, reconnaissance, audio, interrogations, & eye-witness accounts (including from #Gazans themselves) that Hamas uses both voluntary & involuntary human shields to protect Hamas terrorists & their weapons (each time they do it, that is also a war crime). So, how many Gaza "civilians" who were killed were voluntarily acting as human shields for Hamas? And while Israel has made significant efforts to limit civilians casualties, those involuntary human shields who die are legally dead at the hands of Hamas. Wow, that civilian:combatant ratio is looking beyond amazing now!

- There is video, photo, interrogation, & eye-witness accounts that Hamas uses women & children under 18 in combat roles. Therefore, not every allegedly killed woman or child counts as a "civilian."

- What kind of genocidal army would do what Israel has been doing in engaging in massive warning campaigns before it attacks via hundreds of thousands of phone calls, text messages, leaflets, & via roof knocking? Gazans are actually given so much warning & time to evacuate that the extreme majority of "civilians" who remain in a targeted area are there either because they support Hamas or because they were forced to stay & act as human shields by Hamas. Essentially, not only is Israel obviously not conducting a genocide, it has completely eliminated their own advantage of surprise that would have helped Israel eradicate Hamas much quicker by providing warnings that reach both civilians & Hamas terrorists.

- A large percentage of Palestinian deaths in Gaza have been due to their combined use by Hamas as human shields & by Hamas' refusal to permit Gaza civilians to either to use Hamas tunnels as bomb shelters or to flee via safe corridors provided by the

@IDF

(what kind of genocidal army provides safe corridors for civilians even knowing some Hamas terrorists will manage to escape by blending in with the crowd???). In other words, it is Hamas that is by far the most responsible party for putting #Gazan #civilians in harm's way; and the mere fact that civilians have died is in no way indicative of any deliberate intent on the part of Israel to kill Palestinian civilians - let alone intentionally "destroy" the population, as required to prove genocide.

- A country's intention to destroy a group in whole or in part is typically found in state policy (as it was with the Nazis & as it is with Hamas). However, no such policy in Israel has ever existed. Israel has made clear repeatedly (and its actions, with some examples stated above, show this is more than just words) that its goal is to "operate[] against Hamas & other terrorist groups in Gaza, not against the civilian population ... Israel wishes no harm to civilians & is committed to addressing the humanitarian needs of those suffering ..."

- Simply, the loss of lives in Gaza are reasonably explained by & attributable to Israel's necessary self-defense military goal of eradicating Hamas' ability to make war. The loss of lives in Gaza are not, however, reasonably explained by some claimed genocide on the part of Israel, as there is no actual evidence to support a finding of the type of criminal intent required to prove genocide.

- Israel is a straight-up parliamentary #democracy; thus, it has voices in the Knesset that can be extreme. Those voices, however, are not mainstream; and, more importantly, those voices are not the ones who are responsible for prosecuting the war against Hamas. Therefore, their words (indelicate as they may have been) are irrelevant to a finding of genocide on the part of the government of Israel. The Israeli war cabinet in charge of prosecuting the war to eradicate Hamas consists of only five people: PM Benjamin Netanyahu, Defense Minister Yoav Gallant, unity coalition member, former Deputy PM, & Minister of Defense Benny Gantz, former military Chief of Staff Gadi Eisenkot, & Minister of Strategic Affairs Ron Dermer. Attempting to attribute the words of anyone else, especially in the very fringes of Israel's eclectic democratic government, to try to show proof of government intent to commit genocide fails as a matter of both fact & law. Any comments by the five members of the war cabinet at which any dishonest person may wish to point to try to prove "intent to commit genocide," in reality can only be reasonably interpreted as statements referring to the destruction of the Hamas terrorist regime.

So, what is the takeaway?

It is South Africa's burden to show Israel had/has the intent to carry out a "genocide" of the Palestinian people in Gaza. For the foregoing reasons (among many others - but this is long enough for X), South Africa cannot possibly prove intent to commit genocide.

South Africa's allegations are defamatory & are an attempt to hold the world's only Jewish State to a different standard than every other state in the history of humankind; and, perhaps worse, to try to turn the victims of a genocide into the alleged committers of a genocide.

Were the #ICJ to find intent to commit "genocide" here, then no country on Earth would be permitted to act in self-defense in the event it is attacked - no matter how horrible the attack - if any civilians may be killed in the process.

If that were the case, Hamas & other terrorist organizations would be given carte blanche to attack countries with impunity & then simply hide behind civilians to suddenly become entirely immune from justice. That obviously can never be the law.

Captain Allen

#Education #Israel #Palestine

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rabarbarzcukrem · 10 months

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The eternal opposing relationship between the two sides of a mirror

or: In defense of Shiori

I feel like Shiori is one of the most controversial characters in Utena. Some love her, others despise her. And I don't have a problem with people having strong opinions on her character. What bothers me is the tendency to exaggerate her most negative traits, focus on her most harmful actions, completely ignore any redeeming qualities she might have and then paint her as a one dimensional villainous caricature, a mean straight girl who plays with the lesbian's feelings for the sake of it, without anything deeper going on.

I'm aware of the fact that some people refer to her like that in endearment or in a satirical fashion, and I'm not saying that you can't consider her your favorite problematic evil girl representation. I'm only trying to make people realize that it's her complexity that actually makes her such a compelling character.

I've seen people call Shiori all sorts of names, some of which were baffling enough to make me wonder if they even remembered what happens in the show, and weren't just judging a version of the character that they made up in their head.

So, let's look at the things Shiori actually does, throughout the course of the story.

Disclaimer: I'm only going to take the series into the account here, because I think we can all agree that everyone's characterization and personality differs at least slightly in the movie. Background characters also get a lot less screen time to explain their motivations in order to fully focus on Anthy's journey and struggles, which is understandable.

1. She "steals" the boy from Juri.

This is her biggest crime, which seems to define her from the very beginning. Even though Juri didn't actually have any romantic feelings for him, this action is detrimental to their relationship - it breaks the trio apart, isolates Juri from the pair, is an act of betrayal against her and proves it was done with full awareness that it would hurt Juri emotionally.

Shiori is a deeply insecure person, who constantly feels inadequate and beneath other people. The only reason why Juri seemed to actually like her that Shiori could think of was pity, and even when she found out she was the object of her romantic affection all along, she still struggled to comprehend it. Her self loathing and constant perceived inferiority make her desperate to gain any sort of control over her life and relationships, but they're also the exact reason she feels that the only way she could ever do that is by hurting others. She's always one step below and incapable of crossing that distance, therefore the only way to become equal to people is to bring them down to her level, by humiliation.

When she "steals" the boy from Juri, she achieves that. For a moment, she feels good about herself and leaves Ohtori thinking that she has found the answer, the solution. But she's wrong. From that moment on, it becomes more and more apparent to her that what she did was never out of love for the boy, even though she doesn't let herself acknowledge it fully. Because the truth is, Shiori actually regrets hurting Juri, which she admits herself during her elevator confession.

When the guilt starts getting to her, her confidence high wears off, and she ends up feeling ever worse.

That's why she breaks up with him and comes back. She's not ready to leave yet, not ready to progress. There's still something binding her to Ohtori - Juri, and Shiori's unresolved feelings for her.

2. She tries to set things right with Juri and to fix their relationship.

Even though at this point Shiori still thinks that Juri only ever associated herself with her out of pity, she still makes several attempts to get closer to Juri, who understandably (albeit coldly) turns her down ever time. This is a very clear sign of conflicting feelings Shiori has for Juri - jealousy and admiration, resentment and longing, hate and love. After all, Shiori admits that the two practically grew up together. Their friendship may have always felt fake to Shiori, but she clearly cherished it deeply.

3. The Black Rose Arc.

First of all, we should establish what is the purpose of this arc and how it functions. It explores the motivations of background characters and shows their worst side to the audience. The characters that end up in the elevator are the most unstable, vulnerable ones, with the least power in the system, in unequal and/or exploitive relationships with the duelists and their agency under threat. Mikage offers them a way to gain that power by making them follow their most toxic, negative emotions. And despite all other characters doing exactly that, from what I've seen Shiori is the one that gets the most hate for it. I don't think she should be judged any harsher for what she did under the influence of the black rose than, let's say, Wakaba or Kozue. Especially because the reason all of them ended up in that elevator is because they recognized that these urges were harmful and were seeking help and counseling.

What this arc does do is reveal how Shiori's inferiority complex drives her to act against her own desires. Even though she longs for things to be different, even though she is not happy at all with how her relationship with Juri looks like, she is unable to fix it, because that would require her to consider her own affection for Juri. And she can't do that, because it would mean admitting that she's not stronger than Juri, that she hasn't beaten her, that she's doesn't have control and an advantage over her. Although she tries to keep up this smug, self-assured facade, the reality shines through.

They key to understanding Shiori is noticing that she specifically doesn't want to acknowledge that Juri's feelings are reciprocated, and the obsession is mutual. If you paint their relationship as one sided, you're actually falling for her act.

4. She enters a relationship with Ruka.

Ruka is a handsome (arguable), respected boy who appears out of nowhere and starts showing interest in Shiori. It's obvious that for an insecure girl, who in addition struggles with confusing repressed feelings, this would be something unthinkably wonderful. The affection and praise she gets from him is exactly what her low self-esteem craves. You might be wondering why she didn't perceive Juri's feelings for her in the same way. And a part of the answer might be that, post nameless-boy-incident, Juri was nothing but cold to her. She might have been pining after Shiori from afar, but in the end she's distant and untouchable, and they're divided by their messy past. Meanwhile Ruka is a clean slate, seems openly affectionate, engaged in their relationship and he pays attention to her. But I think the main thing that makes Ruka so different from Juri is the fact that...he's a boy. Because, as Revolutionary Girl Utena establishes, gender plays a crucial role in interpersonal dynamics. Attention from a boy is fundamentally coded as romantic, desirable, necessary and most importantly: increases the girl's worth in society's eyes. It makes one a princess. Meanwhile Juri's advances could only be seen as an invitation to friendship, at best. But Juri's status and beauty make her special, while Shiori is not. Therefore, it can only be pity and mockery.

Of course, Ruka only uses Shiori to influence Juri and dumps her as soon as he achieves his goals. It's true that Shiori could have listened to Juri's warnings, but then again... why should she? From her perspective, Juri's her ex-friend that doesn't want anything to do with her, who only suddenly comes to Shiori when she's finally happy and fulfilled, and encourages her to end it. She doesn't know the wider context of the situation, nor does she remember the Black Rose arc. Juri's warnings don't sound sincere to her.

And so, Ruka gets rid of her in the coldest, most indifferent way, not explaining anything or showing even the slightest sign of compassion. Before that though, he makes an interesting remark, about Shiori putting on an act and polishing somebody else's sword.

Honestly, I don't really know how to interpret it in any other way than Shiori actually having feelings for someone else, despite trying her hardest to conceal it. Are my shipping lenses not allowing me to see any different possibilities? Am I going crazy? I don't know.

Nevertheless, Shiori begs him to stay, devastated. Her life got turned around so suddenly, she found appreciation, status, comfort and stability, and now all that's been taken away from her as abruptly as it was given. It's a public humiliation.

I once heard someone say that this would be the perfect moment for Juri to step in and defend her. And to be honest, although it may be true, I'm not completely sure. It may have been the one display of open care that Shiori needed from her, but it might as well have been interpreted by Shiori as Juri affirming her superiority over her and feeling sorry for her again. We will never know. In my opinion, so much of their relationship is going on in their own heads that the only thing that could ever cause positive progress is communication (which neither of them seem to be a fan of).

Instead, Juri only tries to console her after the fact, when Shiori's at her absolute lowest. In the context of all the assumptions Shiori holds and Juri's previous indifference, it quite understandably comes off as a sneering attempt to gloat.

That's about it. You may have noticed that I've summarized all Shiori's appearances into 4 points, and only one of them includes an instance of Shiori hurting Juri voluntarily, out of her own free will, not influenced by anyone. I'm not saying that she was forced to taunt Juri during the Black Rose Arc, I'm not trying to diminish the suffering she's caused or trying to paint her as a perfectly good person. I am trying to make it clear that she is not some cunning plotter, dedicating every minute of her life to finding ways to make Juri suffer that some people seem to take her for. I am trying to humanize people's perception of her a little bit. Especially considering the fact that last scenes of her include those when she waits for Juri and follows her so that they can go home together, and then joins the fencing club. If this doesn't show that she's capable of change, I don't know what does.

She's not an innocent princess, that's true, but she's not just an egoistical, manipulative liar either. She's a bit of both. After all, if Revolutionary Girl Utena is supposed to teach you anything, then I think it's that we're all just people, and the complexities of human experience make it impossible to fit anyone into a box, assigning them definite labels like "princess" or "witch".

And if you look at a teenage girl who, like all people in Ohtori, struggle under the system of patriarchy and heterosexuality, and all you see is a wicked, sinister witch, then you may have just fallen into the trap that the narrative had set for you.

#Shiori: I may be pathetic but you're the one who fell for me lol #no fr you don't need to make up reasons to hate shiori there's plenty enough right there in the text #rgu #revolutionary girl utena #shiori takatsuki #juriori #I guess #she's so fucked up I love her #like girl feeling delighted after finding out your bestie has a crush on you is not very straight no matter how you justify it #moje

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