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#there is a small contingent of people

marypsue · 14 days

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When Nelson came back from his minute as a dead man, he didn't bring all the secrets of the afterlife with him. But he did come back...different.

Sexy zombie cannibalism fic is live! Hope you all watched and remember this one 1990 Joel Schumacher film, because I did.

#this is mary's fic tag #flatliners #flatliners 1990 #i always feel a little weird barging into the tags for a very small fandom with something...uh #outre?#extremely specifically targeted to an audience of Me?#however. i never feel weird enough about it to like. stop doing it #so hello tiny contingent of people who are still thirsting over twentysomething kiefer sutherland kevin bacon and/or julia roberts #have a thing

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eastgaysian · 10 months

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ok i’m new to ur account so i’m genuinely so curious. you used to be a tomgreg enjoyer right? can u share your #story of evolution from enjoyer to hater..?

not a tomgreg hater but i do believe in their beliefs. eh i can talk about it, it's just not very fun lol and is mostly about out-of-fiction fandom or actor stuff, not really the characters themselves

strike 1 is sometime early 2022 i think? people got extremely mad at me for saying i think some tomgreg posts/fics/etc treat shiv in a pretty shitty way by either completely villainizing her as the Evil Bitch Wife or just quietly removing her from the picture, which isn't as overtly misogynistic but still feels very unfair to her character and discounts the importance of tom and shiv's relationship both to tom's character and to his relationship with greg. people continuing to be extremely mad at me for this has been a recurring theme since and left a really bad taste in my mouth wrt tg and posting about it ❤️

strike 2 is that my blog got terminated, which meant not just my succession sideblog but multiple years of my posts and art across blogs that i'd been making since like 2017. what did i get terminated for? i got pissed off that everyone was passing around an article written by a journalist too transphobic for the guardian who was interviewing nick braun and clearly allowing her obsession with greg/tomgreg to overstep professional boundaries. and everyone was just fine with it because 'omg the author is clearly a tomgreg XD' as if it wasn't an incredibly inappropriate and unprofessional way to conduct an interview. the response to the article was disturbing enough wrt displaying how people's opinions on shipping fictional characters influence their views on the real people involved. but then i got reported for pointing out the article was creepy and getting mad, and my blog was deleted. :)

final strike is that i just really can't stand looking at nick braun's face at this point. i completely sincerely and genuinely hope he dies

in a general sense, most of the posts discussion etc surrounding tomgreg are just not interesting to me/don't engage with the aspects of succession or even tom and greg's relationship that i want to talk about. which is fine i'm a hater but it's never that serious it's just Not 4 Me, godspeed, etc. the fact i have a kneejerk unpleasant emotional reaction to 99.99% of tg content is purely a me thing and not a value judgment, but yeah i just don't want to see it LMFAO

#mingbox #it just sucks to have a very real sense that there is a contingent of people - even a small one #who hate your guts enough to continually talk shit about and harrass you for literally no reason👍#leaves a bad taste in your mouth! negative emotional associations even!

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probablyasocialecologist · 24 hours

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The Israeli army justifies its attacks on healthcare by alleging that Hamas is operating from hospitals. However, in order for a hospital to lose its protected status under international law, it would need to be used to commit “acts harmful to the enemy.” Hamas fighters sauntering through a hospital to get a hostage treated hardly constitutes an act harmful to the enemy, nor does the strange presence of guns behind an MRI machine (surely the worst place to store a metal object), as they could easily fall under the provision of “small arms and ammunition taken from the wounded and sick…not yet handed to the proper service.” If such arms were to be found in a hospital, they would not deprive the hospital of its protected status under international law. The bar for losing protected status is set very high. The International Committee of the Red Cross states that, “In case of doubt as to whether medical units of establishments are used to commit an ‘act harmful to the enemy’, they should be presumed not to be so used.” The Israeli army attacked all 36 hospitals in Gaza, such that there are no longer any that are fully functional. Not even one of those hospitals had been shown to meet the criteria needed to lose its protected status, let alone all 36. Moreover, even on the rare occasion that a hospital loses its protected status, the military would still need to protect patients and staff, make contingency plans to address the disruption to healthcare, and help restore healthcare services after the attack. In light of the scale of human suffering during World War II, the Geneva Conventions of 1949 were created to provide better protection to civilians. Article 19 of the Geneva Conventions states that medical establishments, staff, and patients should not be attacked. The Conventions became a cornerstone in international humanitarian law and medical ethics, but recent conflicts show how easy it is for states that flout them to go unpunished. In Gaza, it is not that hospitals have suddenly changed their mission such that they can now be used as weapons of war. Rather, their mission to save lives is precisely what renders them so vulnerable in conflicts when the aim is to kill as many people as possible. This vulnerability is being exploited in Gaza to the greatest effect and means that no one, not even an individual seeking medical care, is safe.

#israel #palestine #zionism #gaza #war crimes

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robintherobiner · 7 months

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Superman meets Batman for the first time and, because of his superhearing, he can tell that the man’s heart is pounding. Gosh, the poor man must be terrified, after all he does have a rule about no metas. For a human superhero, knowing other people are much stronger must be so scary! So Superman tries his best to seem small and less overwhelming, but Batmans heart rate just keeps going up! Luckily, the man seems to be speaking normally, so maybe its not a big deal? How brave of him, ignoring his fears to help people.

After the Justice League is formed, Clark finds out about Bruce’s contingency plans, and unlike the others, he’s not surprised. He’s already such a paranoid man, but being on a team full of metas, well, Clarks shocked he’s not shaking in his boots. Bruce hides his fear so well! If it wasn’t for his super hearing, he’d never know that Bruce takes a sharp inhale every time he uses his super strength, or that the mans heart starts beating like a million times a minute whenever he enters the room.

Then one day, they’re all in the Watchtower, Bruce drops the pen he was using to write out the plan for their mission, and Clark happily picks it up. As soon as he bends down, Bruce’s heart starts beating rapidly. When he straightens back up, Clarks face is bright red and he can’t meet Bruce’s eye. Is his butt scary?!?!??!

#Clark: omg he’s scared of me!! lemme soften my voice and sink in on myself to seem smaller #Bruce: fuck he’s so hot and he doesn’t even realise. i wanna ruin his innocence.#Clark is an innocent farm boy and Bruce is attracted to people who could kill him in two seconds.#dc comics #dc universe #batman comics #justice league #superman comics #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne #superbat

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darlingofvalyria · 9 months

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❝I am going to make him bow to me, brother. Mark my words.❞

[ Jace does not yearn for you. Does not wish for you. Does not want you. But oh, lies are bitter and brittle under a tongue that yearns to taste. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,753 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), might be small aegon ii x reader but it's one sided on aeg's behalf, sorry.

contains— manipulative reader, targarcest, mild nsfw, angsty - CANON DIVERGENCE - use of bastard, mentions of alcohol and slight phys. abuse (otto's a dick) - sort of non canon compliant, timeline is loosey goosey; in the books, rhae & dae visit kings landing frequently even after moving to dragonstone, so im going by that - nsfw: male masturbation, strong allusions to sex but no actual woohoo, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas. unedited.

a/n— for my boy jace, the prettiest dark haired prince there is. simp!jace you will always be loved by me. comments, reblogs & like at will! + dividers by @danowh0re + accompanied song: SWEAT— HAYZ.

Aegon, under the guise of weighty cups and half-mast eyes, slides beside you, following your gaze as you appraised the entrance of the Strong bastards into the courtyard.

"Are you sure about this, sister?"

"Does wine taste like heaven under grandsire's scolding, brother?"

Aegon snorts. As your twin, the difference between the two of you are more stark than people might think. Though you share the childish, almost babe like features that usually got women to bow down to Aegon— with your doe eyes, the soft cheeks, and the curled pout — where people think Aegon is a horrible mess of a git, your shared grandsire the forefront of this slander, you are quite the opposite. Beloved, dutiful, and innocent in the eyes of many.

It didn't matter that you wore green as prettily as your mother, or that your twin is a mess of wine and women— you were different. You were kind, pretty, and enticing.

A precious flower among green thorns, the smallfolk whispered.

People had even commiserated how, despite the typical Valyrian looks of silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, your Hightower lineage softened your edges. Your looks.

Your personality.

Snort.

"You know Aemond would rather see you insult the little bastard in half, than whatever it is that you are thinking of doing."

You hum as you don't remove your gaze from the dark haired prince, making jokes with his younger brother, Lucerys. From the corner of the courtyard, you and your twin could see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston with more vigour than he usually did, especially at the time of day. Occasionally, he spared the younger Strong bastard a glance that spoke of trying to unearth his insides from his body, no doubt imagining the very same as he swung his blade.

Aegon and you shared a look, stifling laughter, before you focused back on your prey. Jacaerys Velaryon. A name he uses like a shield despite having not a single drop of the sea in his blood. All you had to do was look at the dark hair, the skin and the nose of the First of Men before him.

How your half-sister Rhaenyra can say he was a Velaryon with a straight face is beyond you.

Your gaze might be searing as Jace looks up at the balcony from where you had been idly staring at him for the better half of the time, and you give him a wry sort of smile. A soft sort of smile. An acknowledgement. Just as he makes a nod of hesitant acknowledgement— unlike your brothers, you had not join in on the hostility and mean-spirited comments — you had already turned fully to Aegon as if you are enraptured by conversation.

"It's a contingency plan, my darling Aeg," you say softly as you brush the back of your hand to his face. You are aware of Jace's gaze now focused on you and your twin and you make it good for him. You make a performance. You follow the steps you've practiced so eagerly.

And eager for your soft touch, Aegon's eyes flutter in response. Ever since you were young, and seeing how harsh everyone is of Aegon and his failures, you decided you would be the kindness to him.

Though you do like him, another contingency plan for him wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, you can bet on a lot of things, but your grandsire's award-winning thirst for power and your mother's malady to anxieties are good tidings to see them planting Aegon on the throne and usurping everything from your dearest, oldest sister.

Aeg didn't need to know that, of course.

What he can know and what he can help with, is making sure Jacaerys was looking as you smiled softly at your brother, your gold and silver spun hair bathed in morning light, and in one of your favourite dresses— a white silver dress lined with black lace and green embroidery of dragons — you were angelic personified. The Maiden come to gather and soothe your dearest brother.

You capture Aegon's face in your hands, ever soft, ever sweet, as you smile at him. He's so deprived of physical touch that doesn't harm him that he sighs against your palms. You do feel a little bad, but you need this plan to work.

"I am going to make him bow to me, brother," you whisper, giving him a soft kiss to his temple. He shudders, hands placing them on your waist, enunciating the kind curves you sport. "Mark my words, that boy king will stifle under my hand and foot. Mother's fears will not come to fruition. All will be well."

"I am older than you," he says softly, half smiling.

A gaze sears at the side of your face, as strong as the concussive heat radiating off a dragon's maw as your thumb brushes across your twin's cheek.

There is that, you think amusedly. No one can deny the little heir is his mother's child. Bastard he maybe.

"And I am better," you whisper, snickering.

"That you are." But his gaze is past you, back at the courtyard, at the reason for the heat in your skin. A spark of jealousy is quick in his mulish blue eyes but you only laugh. Light but loud, echoing.

"Come," you say with finality, taking a step back and offering your hand as you make the conscious choice of not daring even a peripheral glance, and heading back inside the keep. "We shall see them at dinner. The king's orders."

Your brother makes a sound crossbred from a huff and a groan, and you are already making plans to ensure his wine is controlled for the night, lest he makes a fool of himself in front of the King— or gods forbid, your grandsire — and mayhaps ensure the seating arrangement once again with your mother.

But everthing else is background noise; your schemes and your plots, your facades and faces, because a faux Velaryon has made it known that he cannot keep his gaze away from you.

Everything else is moot.

Jacaerys Velaryon, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, soon to be Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, does not understand himself.

Perhaps you are just eye-catching. Your hair is more gold than silver, but it shifts like a mirage against sunlight. You yourself seem to change under shadows and light, as if you're casting a new spell again and again. Your eyes, your lips, the slivers of presented skin (have you really shown this much skin, all this time?), and your hips.

They sway, like a panther's.

Like a dragon's.

Jace has always known you to be pretty; Helaena has always been his favourite aunt with the fact that she's quiet and doesn't antagonise him like your brothers. Because Helaena simply cared little for him not because he was Rhaenyra's son, or that he didn't look like his father, or because he was a prince of the realm set to become heir once his mother was crowned.

Helaena simply just didn't care about him as a human not as hisn ame or his blood, her thoughts lingering more in her bugs and the fat babes she had with her brother, humming nonsensical under her breath. Not insults.

You were different. You looked. Jace knew you looked but he had never caught you before. It's a dance, he later realises come dawn he is awoken and there is a weight on top of him in rings of gold and silver, breathing softly— alive and so very warm, and from that moment, his — but for now he doesn't know.

Doesn't understand.

Your gaze is weighty, leaving searing imprints like a dragon marking it's favourite horde. But it's so hard to catch.

It started at the training grounds. As if his Uncle Aemond's wasn't enough, there was yours. He knew but could only see once, and even that felt like it was deliberate, a mere nod. As if you controlled how he worked around your sphere, and by gods, were you beautiful. Then you had turned to your twin brother as if he was nothing to you— really, he was, in the scheme of things, you were the secondborn daughter of the Queen, no matter how pretty your visage or blood is, you are a woman and a third child (right after the firstborn daughter and son), and in the other end, Jacaerys was the first son and heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, soon to be Queen. In fact, you should be nothing to him.

He was to become King, and you to be offered to a lord. To be someone's wife, to relinquish your surname and become someone's mother. Rear your new lord husband countless of babes and live your life having fulfilled your sole duty.

It is a fact that tasted brittle and bitter in his tongue, like soot and ash, and he doesn't understand it. You had crossed his mind, idle as it maybe, from time to time, but nothing concrete. You are pretty, you are kind, mischievous at times, playful, and you purposefully don't keep him long in your orbit.

You were just another aunt. Aegon's Twin Flame.

Misbegotten to not even marry your brother.

It was at dinner that night, amongst clinking goblets and fat foods spilling the edges of the table, his grandsire having arrived, even Aegon, rumpled hair and sunken eyes but dressed and suspiciously sober— and you, your mother's favourite, her most affectionate daughter, late.

"Where is she?" Jacaerys heard the Lord Hand asked, but the Queen had no reply, as confused.

And then you arrive, not ten more minutes later, and Jace's entire body had locked.

Though he did not know why or what, he knew you were up to something. You arrived in a new dress from this afternoon— close to it's style, nothing like the Queen's or Helaena's, conservative high necks and pious ever green— no, you came as a surprise with a flutter of a silken hand and an embarrassed laugh, tipping to your father a kiss on the side of his good face.

Even as you sat, it took a good, long while before the chatter would arose again (from your gracious laugh at your father's compliment no less), before everyone's eyes— even Criston Cole's, ever loyal rat — would lift from your visage.

You were ethereal, simply put, in a dress that is not of pious ever green or high collar trim; but in a flutter of what Jacaerys remembers as his mother's gown when she was pregnant with Aegon, and the days got too hot. When the babe inside her, made of pure dragon, had made her a furnace burning from the inside out.

It was the same lightweight material draped over your skins, a thin material bunched up several times so it is not too sheer. Not too inappropriate. Jace doesn't know what the fabric is, doesn't care to, but it looks like flowing water against your body. It moulds to your movements. Your shape is obvious, so are the expose arms, collarbones, your chest dipping low, too low sometimes when you lean over and laugh, eyes alight— Jace's eyes cannot stay away, they are glued to your necklace, to the top of your smooth breasts — and the dress is held together in links of golden dragons, your hair made up in braids, in pearls and small emeralds, with curled strays framing your cheeks and smile, your exposed neck.

It was meant to garner looks, compliments.

But it was the colour that Jacaerys knew it was meant for him.

At the centre of your chest— your bosom that dips, two mounds, so soft looking and the urge to reach over and press his fingers down, see how soft and pliant you really are, hear the kind of noises you make, in pain or pleasure, his thoughts make him hiss, tightening his hold on his wine, pinching nails to skin to ground himself — it starts off a darken green, shifting, blending to a winter green, a bluer green, a seafoam that he is more than familiar with, before escaping the edges in deep water blue.

The colour of his father's house had never looked so good, so charming, so sinful before.

He tears his eyes away from you because it is improper to be staring so, to be looking at you and feel like he is feasting when he is rooted in his chair and still so hungry, especially with the plans of betrothal with Baela, his mother had already asked him if she is ever in his thoughts.

Baela who sits beside him, ramrod straight and keen-eyed, respectable Targaryen lady, a confidant and a good friend. She would make a good queen in the future, he had thought so before. Respectable and fearsome, the best parts of his stepfather and the late Lady Laena.

He shakes his head, swallowing down his slice of veal before he kicks Luke's leg under the table.

His brother yelps, a mournful irritated sound for his eyes had ogled far longer (just like he, but would never admit) on you than was proper, reminding him, and yet when you look up at the sound, your eyes— have they ever been so violet? — lands on him. Again.

When your gazes meet, he is enraptured, but he clears his throat and nods. "You look good, aunt." And because he cannot step, because his thoughts are cloudy and you are looking at him as if you know he can't stop looking at you, as if you can read each filthy thought he tries to stifle, as if you like it, he continues, "The sea green is a nice colour on you."

He can feel eyes on him, even the Lord Hand's. Even Aegon, goblet pressed against his lips, hiding a smirk. He burns, but he doesn't burn as bright when your smile stretches, your lids lower, and he burns so bright he fears he might be on fire.

The flames are licking him and he does not mind, so long as you keep your gaze.

"Thank you, nephew," you hum. "That is so very sweet of you to say."

And Jacaerys blushes, coughing once when he notices his lady mother giving him a look. Knowing. Curious but not probing, not yet. What he doesn't notice is the Queen's perceptive frown as she gazes at her daughter, the Lord Hand's raised eyebrow, or Aegon trying so very hard to stifle his laughter, turning to Helaena as if he is saying something to her.

But what Jacaerys does see is Aemond's intense glare, sharpened and rekindled and suspicious, and Daemon... The Rogue Prince is eyeing you differently. No longer just another Targaryen bleeding Hightower green, no longer just another offspring of the Hightower cunt.

No, Jace can almost see inside his stepfather's brain and see the Valyrian looks. The body of a woman freshly sloughed off the body of a child.

You are pretty and young and Daemon Targaryen is looking at you.

It shocks Jace how much he despises it.

It is for my mother, his thought persists even as he looks at you again and his insides whirl. I am upset for my mother.

Daemon Targaryen can see plainly what you are doing.

You've always hated that about men with good insight, who do not care for what is between your legs, only for your actions. For what it might do for what he cares about.

And Daemon cares for Rhaenyra, for Viserys, for the Targaryen legacy, pure and untainted.

(As if the blood of the First Men is okay to bastardise his bloodline but gods forbid the oldest and greatest of the Great Houses).

And he is now looking at you as if he has noticed the steps and webs you have spun around for his stepson, the direct legacy, and he is amused.

The dinner comes to a conclusion to a small dancing, and your twin, dutiful to you and your orders you had told him as you cleaned and prepared him for dinner; stood up, brushed himself off, and politely asked Baela for a dance— the latter looking so surprised he was fully sober, much less asking for her hand — that she found no excuse, and reluctantly accepted as they pivoted to the centre.

As Daemon continues to look at you, to unravel you as if you are an enemy in a battle map, you stand up quickly and turn to Aemond, smile wide and fake.

Jacaerys won't ask you to dance. He had drawn looks with his compliment, suspicion. Grandsire was right, they are planning to marry him off to Baela to strengthen their cause. Jace will not entertain anything anymore publicly.

Duty bound, honour bound.

But, but, but.

you are not a fool, you know men and their pissing contests. You are a daydream hiding a nightmare.

For the past few minutes, he had noticed Daemon's inquisitive, amused appraisal of you, and his brown eyes (pretty for a bastard's; Ser Harwin's lashes must have been long) had burned a different fire and it gives you an idea, an exhale of relief.

Jealousy can salvage anything.

You just need to push him.

And Aemond is beautiful, a true Valyrian King in visage, the Warrior come alive. You look so much softer when you are beside him.

"Sister?" Aemond looks up at you, curious, confused since the beginning of the night. There is a plot he isn't privy to, and he has been spearing glances at you, at Aegon, at his grandsire just in case he knew anything.

You were unmarried while Aegon had married Helaena. Your time is coming, and he loathes the idea of a betrothal to the Strong Bastard. He had made his complaints known when the missive came from your sister, asking sweet Helaena's hand for your son thinking your mother would have surely betrothed you to your twin.

Neither side knowing you had almost sent back your name, offering your hand.

"It has been a while since you had asked me to dance, little brother," you say, hands behind your back, framing yourself soft and playful. There are so many gazes on you, you play with it well.

"I was ten and one then, mandia sister, a boy."

"Too long," you tease. "Kessa ao daor lilagon lēda aōha mandia, valonqar? Will you not dance with your sister, little brother?"

He hums, acquiescing easily, and standing up. You peel a laughter that attracts a chuckle from the king. This is how you dance around the palm of Viserys I. Men like it when you play a part. Not to cost trouble, not to step over the line.

You aren't the elder sister, the firstborn child. You are means to further a line, not to have any important position. Rhaenyra is the exception only from the womb that bore her. You, like Helaena, are likened to fall in line and act like you like it. Like being a fat, old lord's wife has always been your dream. Bear his babes and suffer the trauma of hanging your life in the balance to produce them into the world.

It makes you burn with rage most days.

"What are you doing, mandia sister?" Aemond whispers against your cheek after having brought you close, dancing through the steps swiftly, keenly. It truly is a shame that Aemond doesn't dance oft.

"Won't you just believe and put your faith in the sister that you adore?" you snipe playfully. It's easy to use Aemond's hair to hide the glance you drop Jacaerys and see the seething glare he burns through your baby brother's head. Lust, yearn, jealousy— they dance and cook in his gaze. You giggle despite yourself.

"Grandsire will not allow you to marry that bastard," Aemond hums, unable to hide his irritation. You roll your eyes. Clever little brothers.

"As much love as I can grasp from my heart for our grandsire, valonqar, I am a dragon. I will take what I want. A tower is nothing to dragonfire. Grandsire oft forgets I am a princess of the realm and he is only a lord." You step back and bow as the song ends, as your father tires and wishes to go to bed. He only stays this long, or even leaves his chambers, when Rhaenyra decides to deign Kings Landing with her presence.

Always more for the heir. More effort, more love, more care.

And what is left for the other daughters of Viserys I?

He remembers Helaena's existence less, and if you do not make it a point to visit him everyday— to entertain him, read to him, laugh at being mistaken for Rhaenyra — you are sure you will be nothing more than a faint dream to him.

Your anger licked dark and green. Inside, it rages.

You watch as Jacaerys Velaryon says something to his mother, a rushed farewell, an excuse— a press of your fingers against your lips as you catch his breeches are tight, that his jaw is clenched — you step closer to Aemond once more, Aegon now drifting away from Baela and back into your orbit.

"Don't worry, little brother, I do not actually desire the Strong bastard. I want his crown."

Aegon giggles breathlessly, eyeing as Aemond's eye widen a fraction before he composes himself. "And what do you need now, sister, to accomplish such a beguilingly easy task?" Aegon snorts softly. There is only a faint scent of alcohol on him. You take it as win. "He's like a green boy from a quick flash of your chest. What more your tits in full display?" He leans close, mean and adorable. "You do not want a husband who is too quick for your own pleasure."

You swat his arm, pinching the soft flesh of his stomach before Aemond fully throttles him.

"Watch your tongue," Aemond hisses, fists clenching.

"It is okay. I take no offense, he is just being silly to rile you up," you placate him, pulling your twin closer to you just as Helaena approaches, shuffling close to your other side, burying her head against your collarbone. You hum, letting her quietly choose which physical affection she can take from you.

The four Green children, missing one. Scales of the dragon they may have, green fire burning from their maws. The four Green children, miss one. Sons and daughters of Viserys I. Nothing more than wombs and seeds for his legacy.

You finally turn to Daemon's probing stare and you keep it. "Keep his family away from him," you whisper to your siblings. You do not care if he understands. At this point, even your grandsire may have an idea for your plots.

And for the crown, for his lineage, no ambition is too small.

If he can send your mother to an old, grieving man after he had butchered his first wife, what ease it is to send a granddaughter willing to dance a scandal?

"I need him alone tonight."

You do not come to him immediately, more than knowing what he is doing. Maegor's Holdfast is a fun little place, with its secrets and tunnels. You had already studied the path to his apartments beforehand, and you are there, against the hidden way, hearing him fuck his fist to the vision of you, your name dripping and spitting from his pretty red lips.

You catching him after the high, chest up and down breathing hard. There is a self-loath, a disgust. You can just read his thoughts. When you enter, he is alarmed, a sword in his hand, guarded replaced to shock at the sight of you.

"Aunt," he whispers, appalled. Lustful. Righteous.

You tilt your head, unsmiling. You guard your thoughts as you approach, hands behind your back, voice soft. "Do you always reach to completion with my name in your tongue, nephew, or is today an exception?"

Jacaerys Velaryon flinches, sword hand dipping. "I—"

You are close, a hair's breadth away. Amusingly, he is struggling with himself. His honour in one hand, his desire in another. He wants to leap away from you and pull you close.

His choice is still open.

You answer for him.

"Would you like to know whose name falls from my lips when I reach completion?" you whisper against his lips. So close but still so far. Your fists are clenched behind your back, nails drawing blood. You cannot fail now. The Rogue Prince might be wandering now, ready to yank you or kill you.

You are a viper in a vipper's nest, and Daemon Targaryen is too late to realise you only want one true victim.

Jacaerys is drawn, the shock of your words melting to make way for the flutter of his eyes and the full shudder of his body as you lick a strip across his bottom lip, staining him.

Break yourself for me, Strong Boy, you think as he opens his eyes and stares at your lips. Break your oaths, your promises.

"Whose?" he asks, voice hoarse.

The surrender is at the hands he has brought first to your hips before he rose it slowly up and up, until his warm palms cupped your jaw, your face, swallowed in his hold. It is a delight to know his hands are bigger than your face, that he is told to tower over you. A boy king grown.

"Yours."

He groans but does not let you go. "I am betrothed."

You still. Such a Good, Strong Boy, resisting until the very fucking end. "I have not heard of such announcements, nephew."

"Mother will announce soon."

"Is that what you want then?" You grip his hands and stride forward until your are chest to chest. Until he can feel every outline of your body against his, until you can feel the hard line of his manhood against your stomach. Until he feels his own body breaking his oath.

"Please, Jace," you whisper, you beg. Your eyes begin to water. "I want you to take me... Only you. I have longed for you for so long. Your mother— my sister betrothed you to me first." He leans back, surprise flitting. "Yes, my love. But my mother had refused. I— I thought you would see it nevertheless. The affection in my gaze, the smile I give only to you. That I am offering my heart, my soul, my body to you. Only to you, Jacaerys."

Your tears are running down now, your voice so soft and so desperate. Where lust had clouded him, it is now tinged with a flattered adoration.

Men are so simple. Boys far simpler.

"I thought you knew," you say at last in a voice as broken as your heart. You take his hands away and step back. He grasps but you turn away, a sob wracks from your chest as fake as when you were a child, trying not to get in trouble with your mother so she can fire the septa that you hated. She had sneered at Aegon's drunken folly and was disgusted by Aemond's fresh wound.

You wanted her gone.

"Aunt, I—"

"It is alright," you cut him off. You turn back slightly, your smile watery, your gaze to the floor. "Aegon did not choose me either, unlovable as I am. Men only want me for my body and nothing more. I-I'll leave you be. Good night—"

You never finish your spiel because he had yanked you, hard, against him, his lips moving against yours— clumsily, not enough practice but aggressive in its desire — pressing you against him as if he is trying to swallow you whole.

Jacaerys is not bowing, not yet. But that night with his seed warm and full inside your womb, his body encased against your own, tightening whenever you made a movement, as if in fear any step you take away from him would slip you so freely from his fingers— his mouth, his lips, bruised by your own making, pressing featherlight soft against the side of your head, your hair — it is not too soon to think the boy king will bend the knee to you and only you.

And maybe the babe you bear him, but there is no need to rush. These steps are delicate but sure.

After all, he has only just cemented the thought that he will whisk you both to Dragonstone at first light, a traditional Old Valyrian wedding.

He will bow soon enough.

For now, you will enjoy your glowing win.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys smut #targaryen reader #jacaerys fanfiction #jacaerys fanfic #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#manipulative reader #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #jacaerys angst #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷

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disillusioneddanny · 4 months

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Tim watched with an amused smile as Danny stomped around their apartment, his bottom lip pushed out in a pout. He had made an agreement with Bruce and was now spending a week going on patrol with the Bats of Gotham and the halfa was not happy about it. In Tim’s opinion, though, Danny should have known better than to make an agreement with the Batman of all people.

It didn’t make it any less funny watching his boyfriend pout and mope about the fact that he was going to be coming out of retirement for a week.

“Do I absolutely have to do this?” Danny asked with a sigh as he flopped onto the couch that Tim was currently lying on, his head now pillowed in the vigilante’s lap as he stared up at him with the most adorable pout on his lips. It was taking everything in Tim’s power to not kiss those beautiful pink lips. How the hell did he get so lucky to have such a beautiful boyfriend?

“Yes,” Tim murmured, brushing his fingers through Danny’s hair. “You made an agreement and if you don’t, Bruce isn’t going to give you his blessing to marry me and you know, I kinda want that.”

Danny let out a loud groan, rubbing his hands against his face. “Why does his opinion have to matter so much?” he bemoaned, rubbing at his eyes.

Tim let out a hum. “I mean if we really want to get into it, it’s probably because I spent most of my adolescence trying to get the approval of Jack and Janet and then Batman and while I never got it with my biological parents, I eventually got it with my adoptive father. And now I just have an unhealthy desire to constantly have his approval,” he said with a cheeky smile.

Danny let out a huff. “I hate you,” he said. Tim smiled, leaned down and gave him a soft kiss

“You love me and you want to marry me,” Tim sang, combing his fingers through Danny’s hair lightly. “Now, are you going to go out as Phantom or do you want to go out as something else?”

Danny let out a huff of a sigh. “Phantom, I’m not subjecting myself to being a fucking bat or a bird,” he said with a grumble.

Tim just gave him a small grin. “If you say so, Boo,” he said before kissing Danny once more. “Have I mentioned how much I love you and how excited I am to go on patrols with you for a week?”

Danny let out a grunt and buried his face in Tim’s stomach as he continued to comb through the halfa’s hair. Danny had gone to Bruce to ask for his blessing in marrying Tim and Bruce had said he would only agree on the contingent that Danny had to prove that he could handle the life of being married to a vigilante. And not only that but Tim could rely on him if he was ever in trouble. Tim was pretty sure there was a comment or two about the vigilante being a trouble magnet and needing to be bailed out of situations. Tim was also pretty certain that Bruce was worried that Ra’s would find out about Tim getting married and get extremely pissed off. Which was… fair.

Danny would probably have to fight off the Demon’s head for Tim’s hand in marriage and if he spent a week on patrols in Gotham it would likely make Bruce feel a little better about siccing Danny to the wolves.

So far, Ra’s hadn’t done anything about the fact that Tim was in a relationship but he had a feeling that would change as soon as he learned about the marriage.

Eventually, the sun set, and the couple made their way down to the basement of the building where Tim shoved his boyfriend into the Nest.

“Alright, I’m almost ready so you know, change forms whenever,” Tim said as he pulled on one of his boots. Danny let out a huff and a bright ring of light wrapped around the halfa. Once Tim blinked the spots out of his vision, he smiled at the man in front of him.

Danny was beautiful when he was in his Phantom form. His white hair floated around his head in a beautiful halo, and his green eyes seemed to shine like the brightest of stars. He was magnificent and he was all Tim’s.

“I’m so excited,” Tim said, pulling his bot all the way on and tying the laces. Danny just gave him a less-than-impressed look as he crossed his arms. He watched Tim as the vigilante made his way towards his bike before he clicked his tongue.

“Nope, not using that tonight, Timmers,” he said with a small smile. Tim scowled and turned to face the man.

“One, don’t call me that. Two, what do you mean not tonight? I always use my bike on patrols,” Tim said with a sigh, he rested one hand on his hip as he looked over his boyfriend. “You’re not trying to get out of this, are you?”

Danny just gave him a shit-eating grin. “Because we’re not going to drive or grapple to do your patrols, Birdie. We’re going to fly,” he said before waving his hand. Tim felt himself get shoved into Danny’s arms before the halfa turned them both intangible and flew straight out of the nest and building.

“Phantom!” He screeched, holding onto Danny’s middle for dear life as Danny soared through the skies. “You have to at least warn me before you do this! I keep telling you that, you asshole!”

Phantom just let out a soft chuckle and spun them around in the air, his arm wrapped solidly around Tim’s waist. “Sorry, sorry,” he said before he pressed a kiss to Tim’s cheek. “Now, where does your patrol route start?” he asked.

Tim just heaved out a sigh before he pointed Danny in the right direction before he patched into the comms.

“Finally! We’ve got the wonder duo with us!” Nightwing cheered. “How’s the night looking for you two?”

“We literally just started,” Red Robin said with a laugh. “Phantom, what do you hear?”

Danny let out a hum. “Mugging three streets away,” he said before he started flying in that direction.

“This is amazing,” Tim swooned as Danny landed in front of the mugger and immediately hopped into action, leaving Tim to simply watch his boyfriend take the guy down with relative ease. “He’s so hot like this, B, I think I owe you one. I mean getting to see Phantom in action? Amazing. He just took down a guy three times his size with his fists. I mean he’s not even using his powers. Oh my Ancients, now he’s comforting the victim. How is he so perfect? I might have to force him out of retirement permanently.”

“What have you done?” Red Hood hissed through the comms. “We’re going to be stuck listening to the Replacement simp over Phantom for the rest of the night and it’s your fault B.”

“I am starting to realize that now,” Batman said with a forlorn sigh. “I highly doubt that they will do this all night.”

Tim just let out a happy sigh as Phantom came over and took his hand before they started to fly together once more. This was actually heaven on earth if Tim was going to be completely honest. He smiled over at his boyfriend and future husband as they soared through the skies, Danny using his powers to keep an ear out for any possible crimes or issues on their patrol route.

“You know, this is so much different from when I was a vigilante in Amity Park,” Danny said as they landed on the top of Wayne Enterprises and looked out over the city that Tim loved so dearly. “In Amity, I was scared constantly, I had ghosts that I thought were trying to destroy me, parents who were trying to catch me and experiment on me, and the people in the town pretty much hated me. Hell, there was a whole ass hero who was dedicated to hunting me down. I felt like a villain more often than a hero,” he said with a soft sigh as he looked out over the city. Tim squeezed his hand lightly as Danny gave him a small, haunted smile.

“It’s different here,” Tim said softly, asking a question but also stating a fact.

The halfa hummed in agreement. “It is,” he said, the green in his eyes shimmered and glistened, glowing in a way that eyes didn’t naturally do. “People have been thanking me when I save them. They aren’t scared of me, they don’t run away. It’s so different.”

“I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been for you, Phantom,” Tim said softly. “I’m sorry it was such a bad experience. I don’t fully understand but I do get it in a sense. There’s been times where it just feels like the most thankless job in the world.”

Danny nodded. “It does,” he murmured. “I don’t think I want to patrol every single night like you do. But I don’t think I’d mind helping out if things get bad. Like an Arkham breakout or if there’s a big mission that you all need my expertise,” he said, giving Tim a wry grin. “Maybe we can get an Arkham breakout during my week on patrols and I can really prove to Batman that I can handle myself. Or, maybe Ra’s can come and attack me or something and I can prove to him that way.”

Tim let out a laugh and wrapped his arm around Danny’s waist. “Please don’t jinx us,” he said, pressing a kiss to Danny’s cheek.

“I’ll try my best,” Danny said with a chuckle.

“Red Robin, Phantom, there’s some movement around one of the Joker’s old bases, I need you two to check it out for me. I don’t know if we’re gearing up towards another breakout and they’re preparing for their boss or what. But I’d like to be as ahead of it as possible.”

“On it Oracle!” Phantom said before he gave Tim one more deep, loving kiss before the two took off in the sky to go see what was going on.

————

Bruce Wayne stared down the man that his son, his baby boy had been dating for the last handful of years, his arms crossed tight over his chest.

“I did what you asked, Bruce!” Danny said petulantly as he stood across from him, his arms crossed over his chest in a mirror to Bruce’s. “I fought the Joker and I didn’t even kill him like Jason asked me to. I think I proved that I can hold my own against Tim’s enemies and I’ve been proving the last few years that I can take care of him. So, can I please marry your son?”

The World’s Greatest Detective gave him a steely look. To his right, Dick let out a soft chuckle.

“You do realize that Tim’s his favorite right?” Dick asked, shaking his head. “He’s not going to just let anyone marry his sweet little Timmy.”

“Hn,” Bruce said in response. He was not going to confirm or deny that Tim was in fact his favorite child. It would only start arguments between the rest of his children. Besides, Dick was correct in his assumptions. Tim was, indeed, Bruce’s favorite child. And he needed to be absolutely sure that Danny truly was worthy of his son’s hand in marriage.

Danny simply let out a groan. “What else do I have to do to prove myself!” He whined, stomping his foot in frustration. “Because I’ll fight Batman himself if it means I get to marry Tim.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Bruce said with a smug smirk.

“Bruce!” Tim exclaimed. “Will you please quit being mean to my boyfriend and just give him your blessing?”

Bruce made a face and looked between the two men before he let out a sigh. “I suppose. Danny, I give you my blessing, you can marry Tim.”

Danny’s shoulders drooped in relief. “Thank the ancients, I didn’t think Tim would appreciate me beating up his dad,” he said before he wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulders and kissed the top of Tim’s head softly.

Tim just let out a soft laugh. “He’s right, B, he would eviscerate you,” he said with a snort.

Bruce simply scowled at the couple. “I’m going to the cave,” he grumbled before stomping away. He couldn’t believe this, his precious little boy was getting married. To a boy who could fly.

Because it was always the metas, every damn time.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dis writes #dis dreams #batman #danny fenton #dc x dp crossover

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bourtange · 7 months

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i spent most of the day on sunday at a march in support of the palestinian liberation struggle. the march had families, children, seniors, all coming out in support, with strong and touching multinational solidarity from non-palestinians who understand the significance of the palestinian movement. i didn't have the opportunity to listen to any of the statements speakers were making, however, because i and dozens of other people had to form lines and actively prevent a small but belligerent contingent of zionists from breaking into the march and attacking us

when i hear people claim that zionism isn't racist but anti-zionism is, i'll remember the racist bile the zionists screamed in our faces—about palestinians, and also about other people of color working to protect the march from zionist attack

when i hear people claim that israel is progressive and peace-loving and the situation could be solved with "dialogue", i'll remember the zionists shoving their phones in our faces, shouting inflammatory and dehumanizing bullshit to try to get a rise out of us so they can edit together a youtube video about it, just like every trump supporter i've ever had to go toe-to-toe with

when i hear people talk about israel as a helpless victim of palestinian violence, i'll remember aggressive self-identified idf soldiers shoving us and then shouting "don't touch me!!" and deliberately trying to escalate the situation into outright violence

when i hear people talk about israel as the only safe place in the middle east for women and lgbtq people, i'll remember the zionists shouting homophobic and transphobic hate speech at us and making threats i can't even repeat against women working on the security line

zionism is racism. we know this from political analysis — where did it come from? what are its objectives? who does it be benefit and who does it attack? — but we also know this from listening to the words of zionists themselves. this includes the israeli government and idf generals, who refer to palestinians as animals and call for their extermination, but it also includes regular everyday zionists like the ones who were trying to invade and attack a crowd of families just a couple of days ago. there is no "progressive" zionism. there is no way to make the subjugation of another people polite. there is no justice in apartheid. there will be no justice until palestine is free 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸

#palestine #zionism

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yak-leather-whips · 3 months

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You know, one thing I think Fantasy High, and also kinda DND in general would benefit from is having a more nuanced understanding of how worship and belief works in a polytheistic world. Like, I’m not a scholar of religious studies by any means, but the way DND does polytheism sometimes really reeks of monotheism. Specifically the kind that comes from failing to realize that there’s a lot of variation in how people choose to interact with gods that isn’t really covered by “which god do you choose to worship?”

Like, my understanding is that in polytheistic societies, while many people will still have a patron god that they primarily worship, unless you’re a priest or a member of a cult of some form, my understanding is that its a lot more likely that you will just worship, like…The Gods™. Like, if you’re praying for something specific you would offer prayer to whatever god is in charge of that for whatever pantheon or collection of gods happened to be popular in your immediate circle. There was even a lot of overlap and you might end up offering prayers to more than one god for the same thing. Like, say your son is going on a long sailing voyage. You might pray to Poseidon for clear seas, and Hermes for safe travels, and one of the various wind gods for full sails.

Like, the fact that gods in the DND verse need dedicated followers who specifically worship them seems to put them very at risk, and leads to the status quo where evangelizing is seen as one of a clerics core duties. Like, its cool that we’re getting introduced more to gods like Osmir, who rather than evangelizing to a huge crowd of believers has a small contingent of incredibly devoted followers, but even then, I hope they explore the possibility that in a world where the existence of multiple gods is a 100% true statement, some people might just…pray to the god they need in that moment, and that Cassandra’s power might come from helping all people who are in need of her power, in addition to having a devoted flock of followers who study the mysteries like Osmir.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #d20 #fhjy spoilers #religion #dnd #polytheism

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pinktom · 4 months

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i was smeared on twitter! xD

This morning, I was delighted with a series of fascinating screenshots.

I'm being smeared on Twitter! By someone I don't know, who hasn't even read Lover's Spit, because I do not want to spoil aspects of my own fic.

And it didn't stop there, friends!

Obviously you can tell by the "18 Likes" there were at least 19 people outing themselves as haters. 😔

Let's be clear: if you're twiggered 👉👈 by seeing Tom Riddle bottom, block me and move on

Not because I'm out here publishing smut left and right (I'm not even a smut writer), but because there is absolutely no way you could possibly enjoy my content if you're a fixed shipper.

Is it about who tops and who bottoms? I don't know. Really, at least half of the time, I prefer top!Tom. My enjoyment of a fic is not contingent on whether one character or the other gets dicked down. Of my top favorite fanfics that I can think of offhand, Tom doesn't even bottom in any of them.

That said—I am drawn to stories where Tom Riddle is in a central role, and nobody fixated on bottom!Harry could ever possibly deliver. So yeah please go ahead and block me. ಠ_ಠ

Also, the accusation that I "want engagement" is goofy

If I was driven by engagement, the fic would be straightforwardly on the Top Tom tag, feature a lot of smut, and probably have twice as many hits.

I don't write for engagement; of the 6 fics I have published, 2 are rated G and only half of them even have ship tags at all.

And regarding Lover's Spit specifically, it would absolutely spoil the story if I went on Tumblr rambling about how they're going to fuck. I have more respect for the lovely people who read the story as it is than random potential readers who feel they cannot engage with a story on the off chance their t/b preferences aren't met after 150K of non-smut content.

Yes, fixed shipping preferences can be sexist and homophobic

If your preferences are informed by your belief that Tom Riddle is "too powerful" to ever bottom (!!!) and "submit" to Harry, you're embarrassing and regressive.

You're tacitly admitting that women—that people without penises—are fixed in a state of submission; and you're also insinuating the same of gay men who prefer to bottom.

Sex is a lot of things - not just a power exchange. Sex, as I see it, is about intimacy, vulnerability, and expressing love. That is how I write it, and why I do not want to share "spoilers" about how sex will play out in my fic.

Ultimately this slander is just the product of entitlement

Though Lover's Spit has a lovely, inspiring, and engaged bevy of readers, it is by no means a popular fic. It's a wee little niche fic.

I can see no reason why someone would bother publicly slandering me except that they're just deeply entitled and butt-hurt that I'm not complying to their whims, even though I am a teensy weensy small-time fic writer with no following whatsoever. It's so batshit.

If fixed shipping matters to you, block writers who don't tag. Simple as that.

Anything you'd like to add my dear @k3uuu?

#lover’s spit #tomarry #harry potter #tom riddle #harrymort #tmrhp

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amaramizuki666 · 1 year

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Dp x DC crossover

So we all know how batman has this file of contiginceys for how to take town all the other heros in the league right. And I remeber an episode I think of where the JL just found out about the folder and was upset about it. Ok now onto the prompt

So phantom just joined the JL after everyone found out about the folder and are pissed at batman. The thing is nobody tells danny why they are mad at the bat so danny ignores everyone's warning to stay away from batman and befriends him.

So after awhile of watching all the tension and distrust everyone has around batman danny finally asked why everyone disliked batman. And they told him how he cept plans to stop them and take them out, and how it was a whole invasion of privacy and trust.

So at the next JL meeting that they wernt discussing an immanete threat, danny infront of everyone walked up to batman holding a bright green file and held it out to him. "This is a file of contingency plans to take me down" phantom states flatly holding his gaze with the bat.

Batman takes the folder gently. Superman stands from his seat abruptly. "phantom what are you doing, he could use that to kill you why would you hand him ways to hurt you!!??!" Superman questions, the rest of the league agrees with him.

Phantom stares at them blankly. "Because unlike you I understand this is necessary" danny says coldly. "What do you mean necessary?" Wonder women inquired. "Think about it how often dose a league member get brainwashed, how many times has someone been possessed, do you really want to go up against one of our own without a solid plan" danny sighs.

"That dosnt mean he needs to have plans like that-" green arrow tried to say but was cut off "actully it does, witch is exactly why I'm handing him the information to take me down". "Phantom your one of the kindest in the league, one of the most reliable, you would never-" flash tried to say but phantom interrupted again "but I have".

The whole league was in silence including the bat staring at phantom in confusion. "I've been mind controlled and hurt a lot of people" phantom says "so that's in the past and we've all been mind controlled at one point or another" flash says.

"That's not all though" phantom states his voice lased with frustration. Everyone looked at phantom "what do you mean?" Aquaman asks. "First I'm going to say I've had these plans written down since I was 14, second the reson I have these plans to not only take me down but destroy me is because I've seen what happens when I turn" phantom hissed coldly.

"Explain" batman says, straight to the point "when I was just starting out the hero thing a sister happened that would have killed everyone I love, it did kill everyone I love. I was hurt and turned to my nemesis and had his destroy my humanity. I then whent on to kill him, kill anyone who stood in my way, till the only people left where in a small town who had anti-ghost tech. Thankfully that future was avoided because he came back in time and tried to insure he happened, but I stopped him and changed the timeline. That is why I'm ok with handing batman the means to destroy me. Because I've seen how much I'd hurt people" phantom says.

Everyone looked at him in pure shock "get over yourselves and move on" with that phantom disappeared leaving the JL In chaos.

#dp x dc prompt #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc batman #justice league #dp #ghost king danny #danny phantom #writeing #writing prompt

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actual-changeling · 4 months

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Crowley does NOT want to run - A Summary

A small while ago, I wrote an extensive meta post about why Crowley's primary survival response is not flight, why exactly it is fight instead, and how it shows up throughout the centuries.

You can find the original post here, which is quite long but goes into way more detail than I will here.

I'm frankly getting tired of people claiming that Crowley always wants to flee, that this makes Aziraphale "right" in going back to heaven, and using it generally put Crowley down. It's a fundamental misunderstanding of who he is as a character and what that means for their relationship.

So, because long posts can scare people off, I will provide a summary.

Now, let's get into it, here are the reasons why Crowley is not a runner:

the Starmaker fought for their stars and against heaven in the revolution, which ended up with them falling and Crowley the demon emerging

by opposing existing rules and defying heaven's authority, he automatically started a fight; you cannot not fight under those circumstances

he continues to question God and defies both heaven's and hell's commands repeatedly, see Job, the subtextual implications that he saved children from the flood, hanging out with Jesus and taking him traveling, proposing the Arrangement, and acting based on what HE decides is the moral thing to do over and over

just because a fight is not physical doesn't mean it isn't one

Crowley's first response to the impeding apocalypse was to start coming up with a plan to stop it, Aziraphale had to be talked into it and only agreed for selfish reasons

to quote myself: The reason why both heaven and hell absolutely loathe him is not because he is a runner; it's because he constantly and consistently defies them. He fights.

Crowley wants to deal with the Gabriel problem and attempts to come up with plans over and over again while Aziraphale shoots him down and solves exactly nothing

Crowley is the one who wants to fight the demons outside to protect the humans inside the bookshop, meanwhile Aziraphale is abusing his powers to put on a puppet show with human beings

in the final fifteen, he does not suggest running away, he suggest finding a new safe space, because the bookshop can now be accessed by both sides without problems

the one and ONLY TIME Crowley actually wants to run away is not at the bandstand—he is talking about 'if' and running as a contingency plan—but later when he finds Aziraphale on the street; in that moment, he is 100% certain (and correct) that hell is about to drag him down to torture him for all eternity. Who wouldn't run from a fight you cannot possibly win?

When Aziraphale refuses to come, he STAYS AND FIGHTS despite everything, because freedom means nothing to him without Aziraphale there.

Questions? Feel free to ask them (politely), but please read the original post first and see if I answered them there.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #crowley #crowley meta #good omens meta #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen

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dairy-farmer · 3 months

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just saw the normalized public sex au and I'm just stuck thinking about the canon!batfam stumbling into this universe.

there's so many ways the reveal could go like maybe dick goes and checks his phone only to see a video of this world's dick and tim fucking splattered all over twitter's trending page (not the first time too apparently, if the top tweets were any indication). Dick is a bit mesmerized by the glazed look in Tim's eyes. He finds a part of him twitching. But upon catching the eyes of his Tim's, he immediately shuts off his phone and boots himself away guiltily. He wasn't fast enough to miss the knowing look in this world's version of him.

bruce finds out by scanning a contingency folder on the batcomputer. It didn't exist in their world, so he considers that perhaps he missed planning for an unexpected event or villain or one that could currently be unique to this world alone. Bruce is greeted with several videos of Tim's sweaty, red face and choked off moans as he visibly struggles, cheeks bulging, to fit a large cock in his mouth as petite fingers hurriedly rub against his own clit.

cass only has to look at her own doppelganger's face to understand the strange circumstances of this world. She sees the way her other self glides around tim—too familiar—and the brief, controlled flashes in her eyes whenever tim leans towards her or brushes against her.

jason finds out when he opens the library door. he hears sniffles and muffled gasps from behind one of the bookshelves. He snorts to himself, largely ignoring the part of his brain screaming in affront at the fact that there were people tarnishing the place. Not his universe, he has to remind himself. He grabs a book and makes his leave, but is stopped by a whining, "Jason, no more. I-I can't—"

"Shh, baby bird. It's almost in."

"Hnngg."

He feels the hair on his arms stand up at the familiar nickname and jumps into the river of denial. Because, surely, there was no way...?

Against better judgement he peeks the corner of the book shelf. And there, pressed up against the wall by this world's Jason, was Tim. His legs slung over the larger man's shoulder. He was practically folded in half. Jason's cock disappeared into the boy, a bit of his size poking through Tim's small stomach.

Jason's throat dries because his face—the only word to describe it would debauched. Dried tears ran along the boy's blushing cheeks as shiny drool slipped out of the corners of his ravished lips. Hickeys decorated the sides of his neck, ugly and numerous.

He makes eye contact with this world's Jason who, without breaking it, pulls almost completely out of Tim and suddenly thrusts back in, making the other boy moan helplessly and scramble in overstimulation.

This world was fucked up. Jason already kind of knew from talking to this world's Damian.

"Jay?'

Behind him, hidden from the view of the two who were back to aggressively fucking, stood Tim in oversized sweatshirt—

"Tim." Jason says blankly.

—a sweatshirt was clearly not his own.

"Oh, my bad. Have you seen my Jason?"

!!!!!!!1 that twist!!!!!!!!!!! of jason thinking he's watching the incesty versions of him and tim fucking when it's HIS tim and that jason!!!!!!!!

i am obsessed with how jason would absolutely spiral after learning this!!!!! if tim was willing to fuck this alternate version of him does that mean he'd be willing to fuck HIM? who even started it??? if jason was able to initially mistake his tim for the tim of this universe did the other jason make that same mistake? did he try pulling jason's tim into a kiss, groping and touching him and then tim just...went along with it???

or...did TIM start it. did he seek out this jason to fold him in half and pump into him until he was fucking tim's stomach?

or were the two completely unaware that the other was from a different universe. did that jason think he was fucking his own tim and did tim think he was fucking...him.

jason would absolutely go feral at the revelation. alternate tim gets concerned and brings him to his room to lay down and jason maybe ends up shooting his shot with this tim 👀👀👀👀

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #jaytim

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gaysails · 1 year

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"When the first contingents of U.S. troops were being sent to Saudi Arabia, in August of 1990, Corporal Jeff Paterson, a twenty-two-year-old Marine stationed in Hawaii, sat down on the runway of the airfield and refused to board a plane bound for Saudi Arabia. He asked to be discharged from the Marine Corps:

'I have come to believe that there are no justified wars. . . . I began to question exactly what I was doing in the Marine Corps about the time I began to read about history. I began to read up on America's support for the murderous regimes of Guatemala, Iran under the Shah, and El Salvador. . . . I object to the use of military force against any people, anywhere, any time.'

Fourteen Marine Corps reservists at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, filed for conscientious objector status, despite the prospect of a court-martial for desertion. A lance corporal in the Marines, Erik Larsen, issued a statement:

'I declare myself a conscientious objector. Here is my sea bag full of personal gear. Here is my gas mask. I no longer need them. I am no longer a Marine. . . . It, to me, is embarrassing to fight for a way of life in which basic human needs, like a place to sleep, one hot meal a day and some medical attention, cannot even be met in our nation's capital.'

. . . When President Bush attacked Iraq in 1991, claiming that he was acting to end the Iraqi occupation of Kuwait, a group of Native Americans in Oregon distributed a biting and ironic 'open letter':

'Dear President Bush. Please send your assistance in freeing our small nation from occupation. This foreign force occupied our lands to steal our rich resources. They used biological warfare and deceit, killing thousands of elders, children and women in the process. As they overwhelmed our land, they deposed our leaders and people of our own government, and in its place, they installed their own government systems that yet today control our daily lives in many ways. As in your own words, the occupation and overthrow of one small nation . . . is one too many. Sincerely, An American Indian.'"

-Howard Zinn, A People's History of the United States

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frownyalfred · 4 months

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What if bruce had an abusive childhood ( i love thomas and martha but WHAT IF) and the batkids and clark just find out

I actually have lots of thoughts about this, anon. Not abusive in the sense of like, really overt hidden physical abuse, but the abusive-adjacent childhood of someone growing up into a ultra-wealthy family and all of the emotional distance and insane boundary crossing that happens in those kinds of situations.

Some initial thoughts (not that this is canon or even something I hc, but still pop up in my mind):

Distant parents (Bruce never saw them, except for when they were going to events together)

Bruce was raised by nannies and Alfred (first steps, diapers changed, fed and bathed, etc only by servants)

Strict behavioral expectations even in early childhood (language and music lessons, various etiquette courses for dinners, events, etc. Sitting still for long periods of time without moving or speaking)

Being ignored and/or referred to but not allowed to speak. Paraded out for events as a toy, essentially.

Missing out on childhood experiences like playing outside, getting dirty, playing with other children.

Being sent away from home at an early age to various boarding and preparatory schools, year-round.

The pathway to college, a job, a career was purchased for Bruce before he was even born, and there is no room to deviate from that path.

Punished for normal reactions (getting clothes dirty, making a mistake with cutlery, forgetting to ask permission for something)

Approval from his parents, when he does see them, is contingent upon how he performs for them while they are in public.

An absolute lack of almost any physical contact/affection.

If this was Bruce's childhood (I'm glad it wasn't in canon, it sounds awful) then his parents' deaths must be such a mindfuck. Because those memories are so tainted by his childhood upbringing, but at the same time -- were they good people? Beloved by the public? Was the show they put on in public convincing enough for people not to peek behind the curtain? Did Gotham society treat all ultra-wealthy children like this? Were the Waynes special because of their status?

How did Alfred feel about seeing this happen? Was there an awful feeling of relief when Martha and Thomas died, and he became Bruce's custodian? Maybe he snuck Bruce hugs over the years, here and there -- small cookies or permission to run outside once or twice.

Now, there are far fewer rules. But the damage from those rules is hard to undo, even at such a young age. And the first time Bruce asks him for a hug is the day that nearly breaks Alfred.

#wow sorry this got angsty #thoughts #bruce wayne #batman #dc #batfamily #asks #anon #thomas wayne #martha wayne #alfred pennyworth #tw discussion of child abuse #tw emotional abuse

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