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tropes-and-tales-archives · 24 days

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More Precious Than Rubies: Part 5a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 5223

TW: Idiots in love; smut (drinking but not impaired; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

AN: The prompt was "How about you make me?"

If Barba had been irritated by how much space you were taking up in his head before, he was doubly maddened now. You weren’t just taking up space at this point – you were moved in and living rent free.

Your case load with SVU waxed and waned. Sometimes you had a whole slate of cases against him, and other times he went for stretches without facing off against you. Still, he saw you all the time at the courthouse, and you were usually arguing with some other ADA. Barba usually felt a sting of jealousy when he did. He wondered if you called Niles “Yale Law” or if you smirked at Cox.

He was still nettled by your comment about O’Dwyer being a better ADA than him, even if he was mostly certain that you were just teasing him.

At least you shook his hand after trials now. He had hated it when you’d pointedly ignore him, but it was his own fault for taking a shot at your age by calling you “Girl Wonder.” He knew how hard it could be to be a lawyer fresh off the bar exam, and he assumed it was twice as hard for a baby-faced young woman.

You didn’t seem to mind being called “Fordham Law,” and you always responded with a grin and rejoinder of calling him “Harvard Law.” And you never said it with a sneer – usually, Barba’s opponents used his Ivy League education against him, implying that he was some sort of out-of-touch elite.

----

The New York City Law Association was holding its annual charity event. Barba could think of a million things he’d rather do on a Saturday night other than socialize with other lawyers, but networking was part of his unofficial job duties, and McCoy made it clear that he expected all of his ADAs to attend. Barba put on his tuxedo and got a taxi to Brooklyn.

The only thing that the NYCLA had going for it was its commitment to out-of-the-way and unique venues. The District Attorney’s office stuck with the usual hotel ballrooms for their events, but the NYCLA always found some new place. This year was the New York Transit Museum.

He made his way to the bar and snagged a scotch, then made a quick sweep of the room. He saw some familiar faces but no one he wanted to talk to, so he wandered off to look at some of the exhibits.

There were people milling around and looking at the offerings – the old subway cars, the old maps and photos of the subway construction. Then Barba saw you. You were in a deep oxblood cocktail dress, so dark is was almost black, and your hair was down and loose. You had your back to him, but (he was ashamed to admit), he’d know your ass anywhere.

He strolled over and pretended to look at the same exhibit that you were engrossed by – old fare boxes through the years. You turned and looked at him, and smiled when you recognized him.

“Barba,” you said, and you looked him over. “You clean up nice. A far cry from your usual off-the-rack sackcloth.”

“Counselor,” he replied. “I’m surprised to see you here. Shouldn’t you be off visiting some serial masturbating client in prison?”

You pouted at this, and Barba tried to ignore how kissable you looked in your deep red lipstick. “My serial masturbating client isn’t in prison, Barba. Remember? I won him a ‘not guilty’ verdict, from you, if I recall correctly.”

“One of your rare victories.”

You took a sip of your drink; it looked like cola and something, in a rock glass with a twist of lime. “Ah, but those rare victories against you are so sweet. The sound of you grinding your teeth when I win…it sustains me through the lean times.”

Barba scoffed. “I don’t grind my teeth. Besides, get ready for another lean period. The Alexi case…I’ll have a guilty verdict within an hour of the jury retiring.”

You polished off your drink and turned to walk to the bar, and Barba followed. “We’ll see,” you said as you strolled beside him. “I think Judge Catalano will have some thoughts about the integrity of the lab once I talk with him.”

At the bar, you made eye contact with a bartender and tapped on your glass, and the woman nodded at you in understanding. You turned to face Barba, leaning back against the bar. “We all know that the medical examiner’s office is compromised after the Rudnick disaster.”

Barba groaned. “Oh, don’t start with that.” He reached across the bar to hand you your drink, and you both settled at a nearby table. “You know damned well that Rudnick was an anomaly…”

“How can I know that? How can anyone? Any single case he oversaw could be compromised…”

“…but you know that’s not the case….”

“All I know is that a crucial link in the chain of custody was being overseen by an actual serial killer, Barba, and…”

He sat his scotch down specifically so that he could throw up his hands. “You’re impossible! You’ll only be happy when the prisons are empty and every bad guy in the world is released with a hug and an apology!”

This made you burst into a gale of laughter, so loud and unexpected that you placed a hand over your mouth. He watched you laugh for a long moment, smiling a bit at the sight of it. Once you calmed down, your laughs trailed to the occasional hiccupped giggle, you took a deep swallow of your drink and grinned. “That’s what you think of me, Harvard Law?”

He polished off his own scotch and flagged down a wandering server to order another. “I think you’ve got a good head for law and a soft heart. I think the world hasn’t worn you down yet, but in public defense, it seems inevitable.”

Your wide grin faltered a bit, but before you could refute his claim, two women made their way over to your table, waving and calling you. You looked over at them and your smile returned.

“Who let you in?” you teased. “This exclusive organization has clearly lowered its standards.”

The taller woman scoffed and leaned in to hug you, but the shorter red-head looked hard at Barba before turning to hug you too.

“Barba, these are my friends from Fordham,” you introduced. “Chauncy and Sarah. Guys, this is ADA Rafael Barba.”

There was a flurry of handshakes, and Chauncy’s seemed especially firm. “You handled the Jackie Walker disaster,” she said. Barba winced to remember the flubbed case against the innocent man, and the red-head saw his discomfort. “Don’t sweat it,” she continued. “I’m representing his civil case against the NYPD. I’ll get him a nice payday to soothe the fact that his career and reputation was destroyed.”

The tall woman laid a gentle hand on Chauncy. “Play nice,” she warned.

You had just watched the interaction, then offered to go get drinks for everyone. Before anyone could object, you were off to the bar, and the remaining three exchanged wary looks.

You returned laden down with an armful of glasses and a wide grin that he recognized. “Open bar, guys,” you said. You plunked down another scotch for Barba and then everyone else’s drinks. “Drink up. I got shots.” He watched you place an electric pink shot glass in front of everyone, him included.

Sarah laughed at you. “What’s this shot called?” she asked.

You shook your head at her. “You know what it is.”

“Say it.” Sarah said. She and Chauncy started chanting “say it, say it” until you were ducking your head in embarrassment.

Chauncy looked at Barba and explained it to him: “She tried to order a certain drink when she turned twenty-one and we took her out to celebrate.”

“It’s the only alcoholic drink she knew,” Sarah added.

“But she was too embarrassed to say ‘sex,’ so she called it ‘Love on the Beach,’” Chauncy finished.

“And these jackals picked up on it immediately,” you said with a rueful shake of your head, but you refused to quite meet his gaze. “And they spent the next four years – and apparently this evening – making me order drinks and shots based on how filthy the name was.”

Barba picked up the shot glass with its nuclear pink liquid, playing along. He’d never seen you look so discomfited, and he loved it. “So what’s this one called?”

“It’s got peach schnapps, coconut rum, cherry vodka….”

“He didn’t ask what was in it, Sparky,” Sarah teased, and Barba gave a bark of laughter at your apparent nickname.

“Sparky?” he asked incredulous.

You heaved a heavy, beleaguered sigh. “They called me ‘Sparky’ because a professor called me a sparkplug once when I got worked up and argued a case in class.” You picked up the shot and regarded it for a moment, then mumbled in a rush, “and this is called a Killer Pussy.” You stuttered on the last word, scrunched your face in embarrassment, then threw back the shot. Then turned on your heel and marched off for more booze, the laughter from your table at your back.

-----

This is how the evening progressed: you got everyone drinks, socializing as you came and went to the bar with people you passed. Your friends ordered different shots and tried to make you say what they were. Sometimes you muttered it in passing, other times you dug your heels in and refused to say it, making your friends howl with laughter. It wasn’t mean spirited though – you laughed and relaxed with each drink you threw back. You only did about half of the shots, preferring your mixed cola and whatever.

Every time you wandered off, Barba asked general questions about you to your friends, and they (lawyers in their own right) saw right through him.

“Why do you care?” asked Sarah. “You like her?”

“I just face off against her a lot in court,” he offered. “Might help to know her weak spots.”

Chauncy scoffed at this, like she didn’t believe him. “Sure. We wouldn’t help you beat her in court.” A sly look crossed her face as she looked Barba over like a butcher appraising a cow. “Maybe if you had more…personal reasons though…”

He felt his face grow warm, but you came back just then with another round (you wouldn’t name the shot, so Sarah said it and Barba heard you audibly wince when she did). Then dinner was served.

A relative silence descended over the table as everyone ate, and Chauncy took the opportunity to ask you, rather pointedly, if you were seeing anyone.

“No,” you replied with a shake of your head. You sawed off another piece of steak, happy to leave it at that.

But your friend persisted. “Maybe you could find someone here,” she tried, and Barba shot her a glare across the table that she only batted her eyes at.

“Doubtful,” you said around a bite of steak. You glanced around the room. “Though I see the Bronx ADA that I went on a date with once. Not my type.”

Barba glanced over to where you were looking – he knew the Bronx ADA you were looking at. ADA Williams and Barba had started in New York together. He cleared his throat when you casually brushed off his colleague. Likely you had an upper age limit on potential suitors. “Why isn’t he your type?” he asked.

You shrugged and moved onto your mashed potatoes. “He’s a jerk, and I found out after the fact that he’s still married. He obviously struggles with the fidelity thing. It’s a deal-breaker.” Then you wiped your mouth with your napkin and excused yourself to use the restroom.

Your friends clucked in sympathy and filled him in. “Her first boyfriend, Jason, cheated on her for a year before she found out. And her last boyfriend, Dom…well, the working theory is that he cheated too,” said Sarah.

“He’s a cop. He had a cute little blonde partner that apparently came between them,” Chauncy added. “Missed their anniversary dinner.”

Sarah sighed. “I remember that. She called me, crying.” She glanced over at Barba and pointed at him. “This is top secret. You’re in the inner circle now, so don’t repeat it.”

Chauncy pointed too. “Inner circle. You drink the Killer Pussy, you’re in the club. The only way out of the club is death.”

He held up his hands in surrender. You eventually returned to your seat, and Barba looked you over. If your eyes looked a little watery and red-rimmed, he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or if you’d been crying.

You were a fierce competitor in the courtroom and an irritating presence besides, but he felt a sympathetic comradery with you. He’d been cheated on when he was around your age, and he had thrown himself into his work. Like you seemed to be doing. He pretended to be uninterested in romance, as you seemed to be now. And he knew where that sort of life would lead: you nearing forty, alone and bitter and convinced that you’d never find anyone. Caught in a terrible limbo of being lonely and wanting love, but too terrified of being hurt again.

Suddenly your reaction at the 16th precinct made more sense. He also knew that if he ever got the chance, he’d kick Carisi’s skinny ass down the courthouse steps.

-----

After dinner, there were the usual speeches about it being another great year. There was a slideshow of all the conferences and opportunities they’d created, how membership grew, how so many law articles had been published and legislation drafted. Then the lights were turned down a fraction and the music was turned up. Sarah and Chauncy drifted off to dance and mingle with other people, but Barba was perfectly content to pick up the dropped thread of your earlier conversation. You both stood and went to the bar, got fresh drinks, then lingered by the edge of the dance floor.

Arguing with him seemed to revive you – you’d been unusually quiet ever since dinner, but as soon as Barba brought up the Alexi case again, you got that glint in your eye again.

“Forget the tainted lab results then,” you said. “I have serious doubts that the rest of the evidence was even legally attained.”

Barba rolled his eye elaborately, which made you roll your eyes at him. You continued, “there’s a lot of established case law regarding non-English speaking suspects being Mirandized in English only….”

“Your client speaks English, Sparky.”

You narrowed your eyes at him until they were slits, and your scrunched your face up again. It was probably supposed to look mean, but you looked charming. Barba wanted to kiss your frowning mouth until your lipstick was smeared and you were smiling at him.

“Don’t scowl at me,” he continued. “It’s a great nickname. It suits you.” Your eyes narrowed even further, so he plucked your empty glass from you hand and pulled you onto the dance floor before you could protest.

Your dress was off-the-shoulder, and it revealed an expanse of your soft-looking skin – far more than you ever revealed with your courtroom suits. But Barba was a gentleman, so he laid a hand lightly on your waist and led you in a simple box step around the floor.

“Kadyrbayev versus the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,” you continued. “Knowing some English isn’t the same as having a competency of English.”

He snorted. “Everyone knows the Miranda rights,” he started, but you cut him off before he could continue his train of thought.

“Solid argument,” you agreed sarcastically. “You write about how ‘everyone knows stuff’ for your law review article?”

Barba gritted his teeth, caught himself when you smirked at him knowingly, and felt his irritation rise. You were closer to him than you’d ever been; you were close enough that he could smell your bright perfume and feel the stormy electric front he always felt when you were near him and fighting. But the irritation was stronger than any desire he might feel for you.

“You’re so annoying,” he bit back lamely.

“Solid,” you repeated. You tilted your head at him and smiled. “You’re just mad that I win against you.”

“Rarely. You rarely win against me.”

“But it stings, doesn’t it? You’re used to public defenders who barely try, and here comes this girl wonder…”

“Girl pain in the ass,” he grumbled, and you gave another loud laugh at this that startled him into a smile.

“If you would just be willing to compromise on plea deals, it’d go easier for you.”

“It’s not my job to get plea deals,” he retorted. “It’s my deal to deliver justice.”

You looked at him, staring straight into his eyes and giving him a jolt at how close your face was to his. “Define justice, Barba.”

He twisted his mouth into a smirk and stared back at you. “You need me to give you an introduction to justice? Plato and Nicomachean ethics? You skip that at Fordham so that you could go comfort people in jail and tell them it wasn’t their fault because a study once said that people who didn’t get hugged three times a day are more likely to…”

“God, you’re the worst.” You dropped your hand from his shoulder and pulled your other hand from his grasp, and you marched off the dance floor. You were slightly unsteady in your high heels, and Barba was at your elbow, following you. You turned and glanced back at him. “I meant utilitarianism versus retributivism, and you bring up hugs again. What’s your deal with hugs, Barba? You sound like every crusty old white guy ranting about how kids today are too soft….”

“That’s completely unfair,” he barked back, stung at the insinuation. He wasn’t a monster; he was completely sympathetic to the challenges that poor people faced in the justice system. You likely didn’t know that he grew up poor in the Bronx, and he was insulted that you thought he didn’t care about the people from his neighborhood…and all the other disenfranchised in the city and beyond.

“I’d slap you,” you replied, and you stopped and turned to look at him. “But you’d try to twist the simple assault charge into attempted murder, probably.” You paused, then added, “for justice’s sake.”

“It’d get you off the street at least,” he snapped. “You could stop menacing the city with your fucking irritating mouth.”

Your eyes widened at his sudden use of profanity. “Are we actually fighting now, Barba? Is this us having a fight?” You pointed between the two of you in disbelief.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked at you again. “You just never stop. You always have some convoluted study or obscure case from some 1930’s backwater jurisdiction…”

“Like you ever stop!” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “You find the most tenuous ways to link a date-rape case back to Constitutional law, practically.” You went on, made some claim that Barba would eventually cite the Articles of Confederation in a cyber-stalking case, but he was barely paying attention. He couldn’t tell if you were really mad or not. He’d never spent so much time with you arguing, so he wasn’t sure if this was its logical outcome. You were ranting but punctuating your words with light laughs. You were gesturing wildly but gifting him with half-smiles.

He wanted to kiss you desperately, but he wasn’t sure if it was because you looked like the sexiest woman he’d ever seen or if because he just wanted you to shut up for a minute.

You were winding down now, and like in court, you linked your conclusion back to your opening statement. “You never stop either, Barba,” you finished, and you squared off in front of him like you were expecting to actually fight him at this point.

He waited a moment, then simply said, “The Articles of Confederation didn’t outline the court system, so your analogy is very weak.”

You replied by growling at him, “just stop!” and he swore he saw actual murder in your glaring eyes. He never got to see you thrown off your game like you seemed to be now.

“How about your make me?” he teased.

You reached up, and for a split second he thought you actually were going to slap him. Instead, you clasped a palm over his mouth, silencing him. But he ducked his head out of your grasp with a chuckle, and the next thing he knew, your mouth was on his, cutting off his laugh as you pressed the length of your body against him. All he could do was groan against you and snake his arms around you. And then kiss you back.

The rest of the reception fell away, like the world always did when Barba was with you. He felt you wrap your own hands around the back of his neck, tugging him closer to you. You parted your lips and ran the tip of your tongue against the seam of his mouth, and he opened himself to you.

You slid your tongue into his mouth, and he groaned again to taste you. He could feel his blood – already heated from dancing with you and teasing you – start to pool in his groin, and he pushed you away gently, breaking the kiss and looking at you.

Your pupils were huge, and your lipstick was blurred around the edges in that just-kissed look that drove him crazy. Otherwise, you seemed sober – or sober enough to consent, or at least he convinced himself that you were. To your credit, you weren’t slurring your words or stumbling or acting drunk. Aside from kissing him out of nowhere. That was unexpected, and possibly the result of impaired judgement.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, and you drew your brows in confusion before you nodded.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you…do you want to get out of here?” He could barely look at you; he wanted you so badly but wasn’t sure you were sober enough, but you seemed in your right mind. But you had to be intoxicated to kiss him…maybe?

You cut off his circuitous thinking by reaching down and grabbing his wrist, and you tugged him towards the nearest exit, and Barba was too far gone himself, drunk on the sexual tension and/or murderous rage (Liv could never, ever find out), to do much higher thinking after that.

-----

You were silent as you led him to the street, then you muttered that you lived a few blocks away. Barba just nodded, but he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him as the two of you walked to your place. When you had to stop and wait for a light at a crosswalk, he pulled you back to him. He kept waiting for you to push him away, to stop the whole chain-reaction that you’d started when you kissed him at the reception, but you didn’t. You leaned into him and kissed him back just as fervently.

Your apartment looked like a Victorian rowhouse, chopped into units, and as you led him up two floors, you informed him that Sarah and Chauncy lived on the second floor. At the third landing, you pulled a bundle of keys from your clutch. Your hands shook a bit as you tried to unlock the door, and Barba took the opportunity to sweep your hair away from the back of your neck and kiss you there, drawing the tip of his tongue along your heated skin and making your breath hitch.

Once inside, he practically kicked the door shut. You knelt down to undo the narrow ankle straps of your shoes, and once out of them, you were much steadier on your feet. When you turned to face him, he felt suddenly nervous.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

You nodded and reached for him, but he held you at arms’ length. “Did you have too much to drink?” he asked.

You pulled a face at this, then took a step backwards to balance on one foot in a semblance of a field sobriety test. “I do solemnly swear that I am well within the legal limit of alcohol intake, and am furthermore consenting to the activities about to occur in this apartment.”

He smiled weakly. “It’s just that you’re not my biggest fan usually….”. You took a swift few steps over to him and placed your hand over his mouth again.

“You’re a pain,” you said softly. “You constantly fight me at work, you smirk at me, you called me Girl Wonder. But I very much want you right now, if you want me.”

He did. Very much.

He kissed the palm that covered his mouth, and when you pulled it away, he dipped his head and kissed your crimson lips, parted them to plunge his tongue and slide it against your own. And from there, you both got increasingly desperate, pawing at each other and tugging at clothes and gasping each other’s names until it felt like you were both drowning and you were each the only chance of salvation for the other.

Barba shucked his own tuxedo as fast as he could as you shimmied out of your dress, revealing a sweetly sexy strapless black bra and panties. He pulled you back to him, savoring the feel of your nearly naked frame pressed against him, and you buried your face in the sensitive juncture of his neck and kissed him while he fumbled with the clasp of your bra. Once undone, he tossed it aside and then cupped your breasts in his big hands, and you arched yourself into him with a moan.

You pulled away from him with a sultry smile, then took his hand and led him into your bedroom. He lifted you up with a grunt – you were deceptively heavy – and tossed you onto the bed, and you laughed until he joined you and latched onto first your left nipple and then your right, suckling them and then nipping at them with his teeth, and then swirling his tongue around them to soothe the sting of his light bites. You tangled your hands in his hair, sometimes tugging him upward, sometimes pushing him into the valley of your breasts, and he grinned against your warm skin that smelled faintly of vanilla. He worked your panties off of you as far as he could reach, and then he felt you kick them off into some shadowy corner of the room.

He wanted to take his time with you, but it was all too much, and he let you tug his head back up to yours. You kissed again, nipping at his lower lip and sucking on it. He slid his tongue into your mouth and felt your sharp intake of breath and then your groaning sigh as he reached down to the junction between your legs and slid one of his fingers into you. He muttered a curse at how wet you were, how unbearably hot, and he wondered if it was all because of him.

You wriggled under him until he was completely on top of you. And when you opened your legs to him, he removed his hand and replaced it with his cock – so hard that he could practically feel his heartbeat in it. But despite the spinning room and the heady unreality of having you naked underneath him, he managed to pause and ask you if this is what you really wanted.

“Oh, yes,” you whispered, and your eyes had that same gleam in them as they did when you argued with him at work, so he gazed into them as he slid into your depths in one even motion. Your eyelids fluttered and you moaned something unintelligible, so he paused again when was buried to the hilt and asked if you were okay.

To answer him, you wrapped first one leg and then the other around the small of his back, granting him an extra inch to sink into you as you pulled him closer. He dropped his head beside yours with a growl, and he let your small heels dig into his ass and guide his thrusts until he found his own rhythm. It wasn’t long before you were gasping his name, and then arching hard underneath him, so hard that you nearly bucked him off of you, and then squeezing his cock as you came against him. And then he followed, unable to hold back, spilling himself deep inside of you.

And from there, the alcohol and sex and maybe the exhaustion from your evening of bickering put you both to sleep before any awkwardness could descend. You were both sprawled out at first but then drifted in sleep towards each other until you were curled against him, and his arm held you there.

Hours later, before sunrise, you both stirred and came awake in degrees. Barba’s erection pressed against your hip, and he tried to pull away from you, embarrassed. But you pressed a finger against his mouth to silence him before he could talk. When he kissed it, you tilted your head at him and leaned down to press your own lips to his, and without a word exchanged, you straddled him, running your slick parts against him.

“Is this really what you want?” you whispered, echoing his own question to you earlier. He could only reply as you had.

“Oh, yes.”

You lowered yourself onto him, but it was less frenzied this time. In the dim light, he could make out your outline as you rode him gently, sliding yourself off of him nearly all the way before impaling yourself. Over and over and over, until he had to reach out and grab your hips to guide you in a faster pace, bouncing you onto him until you came. You gasped his name again, and he felt his own orgasm coil up and then snap, and he came too.

And then another few hours of sleep. When Barba woke up, fully sober and a little hungover, and the soft grey-pink light of dawn creeping through the blinds, he felt a sudden horror at what he’d done. You were dead asleep: your lips were parted as you snored lightly, and your hand was laid across his arm. He moved it carefully to not wake you.

He should have never come to Brooklyn, he should have never drank at all, and he certainly should have never come back to your place. And to have sex with you twice, when he wasn’t sure if you could really consent? A terrible dread filled him, and he did the only thing he could do: he slid out of bed, got dressed as quickly as he could, and fled.

He was halfway back across the Brooklyn Bridge when he second-guessed himself, but by now you’d be awake and realizing that he’d left you. And fleeing was useless anyway: your respective work heavily overlapped, and he’d have to face you sooner or later.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tro

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dairy-farmer · 1 year

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Because I love angst....

There’s some fics where Tim tries to help Jason to kill him so that he can rejoin the family, where he assumes Jason and the rest of the family won’t miss him and he is passively suicidal.

Usually, it goes that he’s mistaken. I want a world where’s he not.

Jason brutally murders Tim in Titan’s Tower...maybe even worse. (R*pe) Then, he destroys the body, and sets off to rejoin the batfam.

Bruce and Dick, are, predictably, overjoyed to have Jason back. They don’t know he killed Tim—he’s gone missing, but nobody really cares too much. Why should they? It’s a miracle. Jason’s back.

Sure, Kon and Bart care, but they die soon after, in manners similar to canon.

Time goes on. Jason tells them the censored story. They weep and hug him. All is well. He doesn’t regret killing the imposter.

But it starts to feel a little strange, because he thought he’d have to try a little harder, if you know what he means. Bruce takes over a month to actually open a case regarding Tim. Nobody opens it for weeks at a time. No one is really *looking*— it seems they’re content to let it lie.

Tim’s school eventually reports his drop in attendance. The Drakes take a month to return home. They pay off the police to keep the investigation hush-hush— Drake Industries might not be able to tank the bad publicity if it gets out that their son is likely dead due to their negligence.

They leave again, for Peru, or Ecuador, or Suriname. Jason can’t keep it straight.

He kept one trophy. A single tooth, from the back of the mouth. He had knocked it free with a crowbar sometime during the killing. He keeps it in a false bottom in his sock drawer. There’s nothing else. The acid made sure of that.

Meanwhile, he gets used to the evolution in operations down in the bat cave. There’s a few new rogues, a few new allies— Cass is pretty cool, he supposes. The bar computer is a lot better than he remembers. It’s a bit like the internet before and after google, the difference is so stark— messy, poorly formatted files are now neatly saved and backed-up and cross-referenced.

He asks Oracle about it. She mentions it being the work of— she pauses here, not wanting to say ‘the previous robin’.

Eventually, she says, “The Substitute”, even though Jason isn’t Robin anymore, is working on his own costume and identity with the help of his family. Red Hood is a dusty secret, not entirely MIA, but operated remotely so as to not draw the suspicion of his family.

It’s the first time he ever feels something about the boy that isn’t rage. It’s something else, gray and shriveled in his gut. He doesn’t know a word for it, and he doesn’t need to. He pushes it aside.

But he’s always had an addictive personality. A week later, he’s the only one in the cave. The bat computer just sits there, calling his name in a voice he doesn’t want to recognize. He heard it before, sobbing mostly.

He finds the old ID. When he logs in, the setup takes several minutes to load, which is strange, because everything is so much faster now, loading in milliseconds.

There’s files. More than Jason can even fathom. Case files, photos, and video footage from the Robin mask. Even a few AI chess-games with game times going into the months-long territory, differently coded ‘players’ wining or loosing matches against each other into perpetuity, with nobody left to witness them.

There’s a lot of side projects like that. They’re usually quite strange, technically complex, and Jason slowly realizes as he pores over them in between watching the trackers for Bruce and Dick’s return, bloody brilliant.

Weirdly, it just breeds a sort of awe in his chest. No anger.

And there’s the footage. It takes him bags full of high-storage flash-drives to get all of it. He watches it alone in his room. Tim Drake in black and white security footage in the cave, quietly cleaning up after Batman or sitting hunched at the bat computer— looking so small, hunched over with his legs tucked in like he’s cold.

Footage from his Robin encounters— he’s quiet, speaks far more rarely than Jason or Dick had. He’s got this sweet, soft little voice that Jason actually finds quite relaxing. Sometimes he mutters to himself when he’s solving a problem faster than Jason can believe, always sounding a little unsure of his own brilliance.

Jason’s always had an addictive personality. It’s why he killed Tim, in a way. He just gets obsessed.

It happens all over again, in reverse.

He starts seeing Tim in his dreams, in the corner of his vision when he’s tired. He doesn’t speak, and when Jason reaches for him, he’s always drifting away, his expression blank.

He runs out of footage. The dreams turn into nightmares. He’s running, screaming, crying, begging for a companion in a vast void, and there’s Tim, off in the distance, hunched over., never able to see or hear him.

Sometimes, he finds Tim, after wandering in the rocky hellscape for hours. Or, what’s left of him. It’s never a skeleton, always a fresh corpse— mangled almost beyond recognition if not for the tatters of red and green. It’s a familiar sight.

Back when Tim was reported missing to the Police, somebody— probably Dick— was sent over to the Drake manor to collect all of Tim’s things, hopefully clearing anything incriminating.

Jason checks the evidence storage. There’s long rows of it, shelves leading into the darkness of the vast cave tunnels. It takes him several nights to find the sealed plastic box.

DRAKE MANOR it is labeled in neat, blocky letters. In the notes section of the item sheet, it mentions a loose floorboard and a false panel in the wall. It’s clinical. The paper is damp and dusty.

When he opens it, he finds notebooks, stuffed with sticky notes and yellowed with use, and more than that, *photos*. His heart nearly stops, desperate for a new hit of his newest drug.

When he begins to look through them, he has to sit down, because— because they’re *old*. Really old.

He stares at a photo of himself as Robin, silhouetted proudly by the Gotham moon. It’s a great shot, perfect in composition and and coloring. He can’t imagine how long it took Tim to get it.

He couldn’t have been older than 11. He pictures the School photo-day records he had dug up, that even smaller, paler Tim, with his shy, gap-toothed smile.

His hand curls into a fist. There’s something wet in his eyes. For the first time, he allows himself to acknowledge its more than the dust.

He’s in love with Tim Drake, he thinks. He thinks it again. It’s stronger each time, more and more sure, until it’s a crescendo pumping in every inch of his body. It’s like the hot twin of the Pit, but somehow *more*. He can barely stand it.

He sends Bruce a note over the Bat-Chat about the status of the missing ‘neighbor’, as they tend to refer to him.

Bruce seems surprised he asked, and then reassures him that he always viewed Jason as the proper Robin. That boy didn’t mean anything to him, he says.

He gets an even more flippant response from Dick, punctuated by an octopus-hug that Jason has to excuse himself from to go vomit in the bathroom.

Because he knows that. He knows Tim didn’t mean anything to them. He can see it, in the old footage. In the way they treated him like a servant at best, a crutch, and a scapegoat at the worst.

He sees the shake of his skinny little limbs as he hauls himself out the back door in the snow back to the empty Drake Estate, his bruised ribs trembling in the cold.

He sees the glitzy press conference recently held by Drake Industries, where the only mentioned of their missing son was a token used to bolster their story of ‘resilience in the face of challenges’, garnering more donations to their nascent technology fund.

He knows Tim didn’t mean anything to them. He didn’t mean anything to anybody.

All alone.

Something in Jason curdles for the second time. This time, he needs no pit to grant him rage.

(Im going to continue this, but my phones dying lol. Expect a contusion In the coming days, but Id love to hear ur thoughts!!!!)

tim!!!😢😢😢😢 the fact that no one cares that tim died, no one looks into it at all!! jason slowly falling in love with tim through the little things about him that were left behind!

that line!! where jason realizes that both dick and bruce along with tim's parents don't care to know what happened to the boy that jason killed and whose body he destroyed. "He knows Tim didn’t mean anything to them. He didn’t mean anything to anybody."

😢😢😢😢😢

fics where tim gets the short end of the stick just hit so much harder because he's my fav and seeing him suffering!!! tim hasn't even suffered for long here and he's not present to see how unmourned he was but it's just so tragic all the same and heartwrenching!! that the only person genuinely upset by tim's death is the person who killed him.

and you feel for jason, despite the fact that he killed tim who was innocent. you really feel for him because as his state of mind becomes more steady you can see how the regret and horror slowly seeps in. he's being haunted by the horrible guilt and disgusted realization that even if he confessed and told what he did...nothing would happen. part of jason is still that boy, that robin who fought for justice and now here he is, the person who comitted a heinous act that can't be taken back and it's just so horrendous. because he didn't just stop at killing tim, he erased every bit of evidence of what happened to him, he destroyed his body- there is no trace or bit of tim drake left in the world aside from the few words he left behind.

and the absolutely gut-wrenching tragedy of jason falling for tim, of having been probably the only person to care for tim but that care coming too late to save tim.

it's just so sad!!!!! 😢😢😢😢 i'm happy you wrote and shared it but it really is the most angsty thing i think i've read in a while!!!

#anonymous #asks #answered asks

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yeommijeong · 2 years

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How do you get your gifs to look like that? The quality is amazing. Do you have any tutorial video suggestions, maybe?

Thanks in advance

OH WOW i genuinely still struggle with making high quality gifs, so i’m so touched that you think they look good!! i learned everything from tumblr tutorials, so sadly, i don’t have any videos to share

but! i’ve always wanted to share my process, so here it is, if you’re interested (or if anyone is, really!)

i’m constantly changing up my sharpening settings and coloring process, but here are some processes/tutorials that i (mostly) stick to nowadays, with this gif as my example:

i chose a difficult gif to color because that’s how universal this process is for me (usually)!!

base gif

load video into frames, cropping, resizing

this is all standard, so i'll just share the tutorial i follow: lizzo @ tumblr (steps 1-7)

sharpen smart object

i forgot where i got this, but essentially i use the basic Sharpen command then lower the filter’s opacity (25-50%). here’s where you can adjust smart filter opacity btw:

it doesn’t look like it does much, but i usually use this to finely sharpen the gif (by changing opacity) since i try not to mess with the Smart Sharpens

smart sharpen x2

from buckysbarnes @ tumblr, here are my changes: Smart Sharpen 1: 500%, 0.3 px, reduce noise 20 Smart Sharpen 2: 20%, 10 px, reduce noise 4

these settings look good for this show, but i sometimes change the opacity of these filters for different shows if the gif is smaller (268px wide), i would reduce the opacity of these filters to 50%

noise

my favorite thing, i can’t live without it now!!! thank you to cuddlybitch @ tumblr for sharing this technique; i use option 2 with these settings: intensity 10; contrast 50; grain type soft; opacity 25-50%

base coloring

yay it’s the fun part!!

brightness/contrast

honestly, i just press Auto and let photoshop do its thing! i’ll adjust from there, and i rarely ever adjust this

photo filter

deep blue, preserve luminosity on, then i play with the density (maximum 50%) in this gif, it’s at 32% because it’s very yellow

i sometimes add other filters depending on the mood i’m going for (usually yellow or cyan)

levels

this usually makes or breaks the gif! i start by pressing auto:

then i adjust: move highlights (rightmost arrow) to start/rise of the histogram to its left move shadows (leftmost arrow) to the start/rise of the histogram to its right i adjust midtones (middle arrow) based on the general brightness i want for the gif

color balance

i generally like my highlights more blue, but this entirely depends on the gif! i just play around until it looks more neutral

in this gif, i added more cyan & blue to the highlights and more cyan & yellow to the midtones/shadows

vibrance x3

i follow this tutorial from s-k-y-w-a-l-k-e-r @ tumblr (just the part about vibrance/saturation)

in ths case, i removed the color burn/color dodge layers because it was a little too saturated i just kept the vibrance +50 layer

hue/saturation

in this layer, i eliminate colors that don’t really add to the gif to reduce colors and increase the quality! i check where the colors are in the gif by increasing saturation to +100, then reducing it to -100 if it seems negligible. here’s what each color looks like

obviously, reds/yellows/magentas are important, but greens/cyans/blues could be removed i also reduced reds and yellows -10 because it was a little too saturated there

selective color

first, i adjust the black level of each color to adjust the contrast of colors (not the cyan/magenta/yellow yet)

and when i feel like it, that’s when i add subtle changes to the colors in this case, i only touched red, magenta, and white

vibrance +25

i usually add a little vibrance +25 at the end for fun haha

additional coloring

this is where i do all the gradients & text layers, but i think the base coloring is always more important!

once again, we started from this

to this

…… and that’s it!

there are probably ways to make it more efficient and use less layers, so i’m still constantly playing with these! this process also tries to preserve the original colors as much as possible, but i’m also able to wildly change colors with photo filters/color balance/selective color, if needed

hope this is helpful to you or to anyone!

#ask #hiswonderfulworks #tutorial #gif making #gif tutorial #forever grateful to everyone who's ever posted a tutorial online #so i swear i'll never gatekeep this stuff #y'all are great <3

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guytheporn · 1 year

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Usasexguide

The USA is a vast, fun, and mysterious place that just happens to have some of the most beautiful and nastiest chicks on earth. Some of these chicks like nothing better than to sit on an iron-hard dick and wriggle their fanny like they intend to confuse a heat-seeking missile or something like that!

If you are in the US to get laid, a good option might be to go to sites like USA Sex Guide and see what’s up. It is a rather big forum organized according to states, cities, and towns. All these cities and towns have related threads and sub-threads focused on topics that are of an adult nature. That means if you are in a specific city you can simply go to the city thread and find out what sexy fuck is happening there that your dick needs to be acquainted with….. Here’s my USA Sex Guide review.

A Guide On All That’s Cumming!

The USA Sex Guide homepage looks as inspiring as a cold plate of porridge! The colors used are lackluster and the page could have been designed a century ago. But then that might be part of its charm!

The top right of the page has a search button, while to the left are the registration and login options, plus direct links to the site photo gallery, and off-site cam girls and escorts, commonly used site abbreviations and the newest site content of all. There’s also a Forum button and a click on this lets you see all active users, cities, topics, and the like. Do note that while you can see image thumbnails in the photo gallery section, only site members can click on and view these.

Everything here is generated by users themselves, which comes with its pros and cons. Topics mostly focus on escort reports, which is where users judge the performance of this or that escort in a variety of cities and let their fellow wanksters know if the escort was a good lay or not. Think of the site as a place where users come to discuss their sexual experiences with escorts and call girls and direct their fellows to the best sexual experience to be had in virtually every American city.

Members made easy!

Membership here is free and easy to set up. The only reason you should be a member is if you are going to be posting and commenting on the threads found on this site. If not, you might choose to simply watch and learn and see which escort suck the best dick in the opinion of the site members!

Being a member also lets you view all video content and videos in the Photo Gallery section. With that being the case, membership might be worth it for the chance of seeing fresh poon you won’t be finding anytime soon on sites like XNXX or XVideos.

What I Think

There is a shit load of active members here who spend their time reviewing escorts and ranking their performances. That means USA Sex Guide can help you immensely if you are looking for an escort wherever in the US you might be. On the other hand, I don’t like the fact that you need to be a member to get the most out of the site and the fact that the site design is not intuitive nor good looking is a downer.

Overall though I think USA Sex Guide might be worth a shot. Just line up your cock and let it rip!

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incorrectjane-andthedragon · 2 years

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How the JaTD kids would text

Jane: she’s a multi-texter. Don’t start a conversation with her unless you want your phone to blow up with a million little messages that could’ve been one big one. Often does this for emphasis, and since she’s a rather emotional person, this happens a lot. Uses lots of emojis, and takes and sends loads of pictures to her friends, especially pictures from up in the air.(the sight of her aerial photos never ceases to make Rake have a mini heart attack no matter how many times this has happened.)

Jester: Tends to send massive essay texts and lots of voice/audio messages, usually responds within 0.3 seconds of being texted, typically with one of those little reactions you can do on an iPhone. Hearts or thumbs up basically every single message.

Smithy: Always uses proper punctuation and spelling, and likes to use emoticons and internet spelling to express himself better. Ex. “Y e a h it was driving me insAne :(.” He expresses himself better through text than in person, and much prefers texts to any other method of communication. If he ever willingly calls someone, it’s an emergency.

Rake: Has never used auto-capitalization or proper punctuation in his life and has no intention to start now. Likes to send people pictures (mostly, if not entirely, of his plants or cool birds he sees). He finds voice messages an inconvenience.

Pepper: mostly types in lower-case, but makes up for it by emphasizing her messages with lots of punctuation and emojis. Ex. “!!” “???”. Also reacts to messages by loving/giving a thumbs up all the time.

Gunther: Uses proper punctuation and spelling unless he feels playful/goofy, in which he starts using more slang and erratic capitalizations.

#not doing lavinia or cuthbert because I feel they're too young to text #also i feel like the adults would text exactly how you would expect them to #dragon cannot text for he has no thumbs and there are no phones big enough for dragons to use #anyway #source: my brain #jane and the dragon #jatd jane #jane jatd #jatd gunther #gunther jatd #smithy jatd #jatd smithy #pepper jatd #jatd pepper #jethro junior #rake gardener #pepper salter #jatd rake #rake jatd

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beardedhandstoadshark · 2 years

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What OC of yours always carries their cellphone- more than others, fully charged ready to go?

Red- refuses to go anywhere without maps and music available at all times, and also because of the camera- the storage is quite packed with loads of photos. (loves seeing new places but absolutely sucks at navigating through them). Plus games to pass the time.

As for the others:

Second place goes to Mage, he needs to search things up they don’t know, but his phone battery keeps dying so he waits until they find a place to load the phone and searches it the moment it turns on again. Violet used to have one of those indestructible old Nokia-types she‘s only ever used her phone for business stuff and kept around fully charged for safety, but she‘s lost it some time ago. Yel‘ gets annoyed by all the notifications and doesn’t get a signal 2/3 of the time anyways, so it’s mostly just to check the weather (if it loads) and Blue/Deniz/I seriously can’t decide a name never gets a signal either but does keep it aroud in case of emergency and for offline games. Learnt to never give Yel, Mage, or Red his phone because they‘ll get too competitive playing pass-n-play games.

…I have no idea why they‘ve got so much phone lore but nothing on allergies. The human mind works in mysterious ways ~

#another anon ask #original character do not steal [tm]#definitely not just projecting my own experiences with phones nope #yknow originally this post was only supposed to be reds part #but then i thought I have these ideas - what if I forget about them #by the time I‘ll write them down #…so this became about all chaarchers again. Sorry

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bendtsengreene3 · 3 hours

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Where to Buy the Best Replica Designer Bags

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lightning-kachow · 6 months

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Friday, November 10 – Love Is Stored In The Garlic: Write about 10 significant meals that your character has had in their lives. Is it their favorite pasta dish? Is it the meal they were broken up over? Up to you to decide! Bonus points for images.

A Life in 10 Pizzas | Self Para

Pizza Hut original recipe pan pizza, 1988

Monty’s falling asleep in the back seat of his parents’ new car, his muddy sneakers ruining the vinyl and stinking up the small space. He barely notices. He’s just gobbled down a whole pizza, complements of this new program at school where you get a coupon if you read a bunch of books. The Martinezes don’t need coupons, of course, but Monty likes winning, and that tastes even better than greasy, cheesy, bready goodness would on its own. “Best thing I ever ate,” he mumbles as he drifts off to sleep, and by the time the car pulls in, he’s out. His dad carries him inside, dreaming of pizza.

Luigi’s, 1991

“You have to- no, don’t throw it that high, Monty, you’re going to- alright, just be careful!” Marylou can’t contain her laughter as Monty throws the dough, higher and higher and higher. It’s Friday night and Luigi’s up the road has just started selling their dough that you can bake yourself at home. Monty’s just on the cusp of having cooler things to do on a Friday night, or more important things to do, really— he’s on the cusp of having practice every Friday night, like every other night. They pull the pie out of the oven together and Monty remarks that it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled. Marylou laughs. He always says that.

Domino’s pizza, 1996

It’s the worst pizza Monty’s ever eaten. It’s delicious, hot and fresh with fluffy crust and loaded down with pepperoni and sausage and mushrooms, but it tastes like Chick Hicks just outran him and he landed off the podium for the first time in his career. His parents try to tell him not to put so much pressure on himself, but he doesn’t want to hear it, so he hides away in the locker room with his pizza. Yeah. Still tastes like losing.

Chicago style, 1999

The cheese is under the sauce, apparently, and Monty’s apprehensive at first, but it’s a photo op, so he goes for it anyway. Can’t offend the Chicago Grand Prix boosters, after all, who are all very enthusiastic about the fact that they have their own version of everything: hot dogs, popcorn, and pizza, apparently. It’s not like Lightning can be precious about it. He’s from California, whose only claim to pizza is a mall chain restaurant. So Lightning tries it and it’s weird, but it’s good. Kind of like fame, he thinks.

It’s Not Delivery, It’s DiGiorno, 2001

He has his own apartment downtown now and he realizes, staring into his empty refrigerator, that he never learned how to cook. On the road, he has a nutritionist that tells his personal chef what to make him, but it’s the off season now, and for the first night in a week, he’s forgotten to order delivery. So it’s just him, his empty fridge and… oh yeah, Mom did give him that frozen pizza “just in case.” He’s hungry, and if you turn up the temperature, it cooks faster, right?

It tastes burnt.

Zizzi, 2003

Bessie takes him here because she wants “the American perspective,” but she actually doesn’t, because she argues with him every time he makes a critique. But she actually does, because she can’t hide her big, million-watt smile every time he argues with her and neither can he, and it’s not long before they’re drunk on cheap wine and cheap pizza and mostly each other. They say a lot of stupid things. But everything is funnier when you’re drunk, and everything tastes better when you’re in love. (That’s what they say, right?)

Dollar slice, 2006

New York pizza is overrated if you ask Lightning. Everything here is overrated, overpriced, overcrowded. There’s not even a proper course nearby, which is why Lightning’s here in the off season, when it’s also too cold and too dark. And nobody even knows who he is. He walks into this dollar pizza joint across the street from his hotel and the guy calls him “boss,” but he calls everyone boss, doesn’t he? Lightning has a meeting with Sports Illustrated tomorrow and they’ll take his picture and ask him questions and feed him actual food and then he’ll feel like a star, but right now, at the peak of his career, Lightning chews a dollar slice and it tastes like being forgotten.

Neapolitan-style, 2010

So this is real pizza. That’s what Lightning tells Monica as they take their seats that overlook the Amalfi coast, the best seats in the restaurant, of course. It’s his thirtieth birthday! And the end of his most successful season yet, and sure he’s only been hooking up with this woman since the beginning of the summer, but what’s the point of having money if you can’t fly beautiful people around the world and introduce them to real Italian pizza?

It tastes… expensive. It tastes… like culture. It tastes… okay, actually, it kind of tastes like Pizza Hut.

Pizza Planet, 2022

No way is Lightning eating dinner cooked by a ghost. Are you crazy?! His first night in Swynlake, Lightning orders Pizza Planet, because at least he can get that here in this middle-of-nowhere little English town. No breakfast burritos. No sushi. No açai bowls. But at least they have pizza, and at least it’s been created by an actual living person.

Although… as the delivery driver turns around and heads back to his car, Lightning’s pretty sure he sees… are those antennae, sticking up out of his baseball cap?

Get him out of this place!

Pizza bagels, 2023

Lightning told himself he wasn’t going to stop by the practice. He’d sent snacks over, but Cruz had already seen him in the athletic office once and he didn’t want to be a weirdo lurking around and waiting for people to thank him for his generosity. It wasn’t about that. It was about making up for what he’d done, in as many ways as he can. But the Pride U athletic director calls him up anyway and lets him know there were leftovers, and invites him over to his office for a cup of coffee now that practice has wrapped up and everyone has gone home. Pizza bagels and coffee don’t really go together, but pizza bagels and coffee and company do, and mostly, they kind of taste like hope. Like maybe cycles don’t have to repeat themselves forever.

#swynwrimoemma #swynwrimo2023 #self para #this is inspired by a few things #the pizza hut book it challenge that i went on a wikipedia deep dive about the other night #that line in set it up where he says the best meal i ever ate was a pizza thrown up a fire escape #and obviously my Culture #mamma mia pizza pie live love new jersey etc

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seeklovenet · 1 year

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Honest Secret Benefits Evaluate: The Reality About Secret Benefits

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arabellaflynn · 1 year

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Well, I survived Thanksgiving. The rat photos all went up on my Instagram, where I would recommend you follow if you want to see more small fuzzy animals. I don't really post photos of me too much, but I do occasionally show you all my handsome collection of vermin. The new cage set is a hit, including a new design of under-shelf toob that gives Les Fromages great joy and keeps them from tearing the shelf cover off, which they normally do.

Mickie spent the rest of the weekend scaring the hell out of me. He didn't really want to come out for Ratsgibing dinner, hence why you did not get the usual sweet sweet Toon Bros mukbang video. The next day he was clearly in a lot of pain -- didn't want food, didn't want water, breathing hard, nose all red and crusty with porphyrin-snot. I couldn't find any wounds or any spots that made him jump, so I don't have any idea what he did. It might have been a soft tissue injury that didn't hurt unless he moved a certain way; Mickie is a magical combination of dim, arrogant, and inattentive that leads him to doze off on the edge of their shelf and then roll over in his sleep. Or, as he didn't want to groom me when I pet him like he normally does, he might have jammed an incisor or otherwise hurt something inside his mouth.

In any case, I did the only thing you can do when that happens: Give him a load of painkillers and some valerian-laced frosting, so he could nap until it all kicked in. Even if I could figure out what he'd hurt, you can't really splint or bandage a rat. They just chew it off. Some people have had some success building them a tiny Cone of Shame post-surgery, but that's actually pretty difficult. They're not built like cats and dogs, with a neck significantly smaller than their head -- a rat can squash their entire body through any hole they can jam their skull through, so it's a tricky to get the thing tight enough to stay on without hurting the rat. Plus they have the cat thing going, where either you would have to be omnipresent and omnipotent or the rat would have to be heavily sedated to keep them from climbing things, and there's a good chance the cone would get caught.

Fortunately, a bolus of Tylenol and a good night's sleep did him a lot of good. I still have no idea what was wrong, but it's mostly not wrong now, which is pretty common for injuries. Rats heal up fast. He seems a little awkward when he climbs around, especially in the back end, but I can't tell if he's favoring a leg or if he's just a clumsy middle-aged little (big, squishy) fucker. He got woken up for ibuprofen/Tylenol q6h the first day, q8h-ish the second, and now he's getting ibuprofen morning and night for a bit just in case. It's not uncommon for big rats to develop weakness/stiffness/arthritis in their hind end when they get older; just like humans, the more weight you put on a joint over a long period of time, the more it wears down. This is about the age Tseng started needing NSAIDs bid, and he got another solid six months or so with excellent QoL, so assuming Mickie doesn't break his neck falling off some shit he'll be around for his second Ratmas.

Aside from that, I'm my usual level of disintegrating. A lot of what keeps me functioning is having a regular schedule. This time of year, a lot of classes and work/volunteer shifts get canceled, either for travel or because the people involved are getting ready for special annual events. The events all cost money, so I don't get to go unless I'm involved as tech or talent. I try to make sure I have one day completely off every week, but not too much more than that, because if I have too much time to sit around and contemplate my navel I start losing my mind. Things being closed mean there's a block of days at the end of the year when I have no outside workspaces, and that plus the weather mean I'm pretty much stuck in my apartment.

I love the rats, but they're not very good conversationalists, yannow?

I try to have plans set up, but being sad and adrift makes me tired, and being tired makes it harder to pretend I'm not sad and adrift. I do pick up some extra bits of work, but my regular work closes for the holidays, and things I do for the holidays don't pay out until afterwards, so money gets tighter than usual. It's a lot of wandering around, seeing nice things that I would love to have and having to ask myself, "Do I really need that to survive?" The answer is always no, and I know that, but it's really tedious to have that conversation with myself over and over again.

The thing that actually bothers me the most is gifts. I don't necessarily miss getting a lot of stuff. I don't need all that much, and if I do need something I eventually figure out how to buy it for myself. Having people hand me stuff that signifies they thought about me, at least a little, when I wasn't right there in front of them, I kind of miss. I don't care if it's a candy cane with pipe cleaner antlers and a pair of googly eyes stuck on it. That means they remembered I eat candy! The cost is not the point. But what I really miss is having the resources to give things to people. I am frighteningly good at putting together gift baskets that are appropriate to both the recipient and the occasion. I find it fun. It's a pleasing kind of puzzle-solving: Given everything I know about this person, and a budget to stick to, what collection of items would be most appreciated and look prettiest in a bag or basket? If I get it right, somebody's happy. None of them are expensive -- I don't think any one basket has ever topped $30 -- and I get most of the detail doo-dads at the Dollar Tree, but it's a lot of my entertainment over the holiday season, and I don't get to do it anymore, and that makes me extra sad.

[Gifts in general can be fraught for me. I always got big ticket items from my parents growing up. And frankly after I passed the age where my taste in toys was easily predicted from the contents of that year's Montgomery Ward catalog, the only reason I got anything I could use is because I wrote down the exact item I wanted, including model number and specifications, and handed it to my mother. After the invention of Amazon, she got emailed a link every year. I always picked a piece of consumer electronics between $100-200, and holding my mother down to that amount of money was an epic struggle that deserves an essay of its own. People paying enough attention to give me something I would actually want, without me having to point and ook at it first, is something I didn't get until I was old enough to handle my own gift exchanges with friends.]

Most of my holiday spirits get channeled into the rats. I can give them a used teabag for Christmas and they'll be delighted, which is good, because that's about my budget. Basically everything that makes them happy in life, and everything I need to decorate their cage, is available at the local Dollar Tree. Their holiday tchotchkes this year have a red buffalo check theme, which conveniently matches both a blanket I have and some fabric I have leftover from Ratmas past, so I'm running with it. I dug around in my sewing stash and got their holiday hammocks done over the weekend, plus a second stuffed tree, so I'm ahead of the game.

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whateverthebeeswant · 3 years

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How The FUCK Do You Mistake Your Glock For A Taser: A Crash Course In Gun Anatomy

Ok listen up ladies and motherfuckers ‘cause I’m about to learn you on why anyone who says that they mistook a Glock for a taser is a fucking idiot. I’d like to dedicate this to the stupid fucking Republicans who, although they love talking about guns apparently don’t know a damn thing about how they work.

Warning: This post contains screenshots from the bodycam footage of the murder of Daunte Wright. The only objects shown in these screenshots are a gun and a taser; I have cropped Mr. Wright out of the image and there is no graphic content.

How the FUCK do you mistake a Glock for a Taser, Lesson 1: Basic Fucking Eyesight

[IMAGE 1: Left photo from this NYT article shows the Glock 17 model and the Taser X26P beside each other. The Glock 17 has a longer grip, is darker colored, and is more rectangular. The X26P is bright yellow and has a curved grip and trigger space. Right photo from the bodycam footage video linked beneath the cut, timestamp 1:24, shows a fellow cop with a yellow taser similar to the X26P.]

Look at the pretty colors. Now listen to me very carefully, Blue Lives Matter: yellow is the color of the sun and also this taser. The Glock is the fucking black one.

Lesson 2: Basic fucking touch

Now, let’s say you can’t see. Well, even if it’s not color coded and you’re either blind or stuck in a cave and can’t see your hand from your face, that shouldn’t matter.

Humans are incredible in the animal kingdom because we have an extraordinarily developed sense of touch. Some researchers have proven that humans can feel the difference between a level of molecules.

Which is why it is so incredibly fucking stupid that Potter allegedly didn’t realize that she was holding a gun.

Look at the basic differences in the shapes, the grips, the trigger. I’m pretty sure the outside is made out of plastic or some other lightweight, matte substance. Grabbing a Glock instead of a pistol should be like reaching in your backpack for a pencil and grabbing a banana. And that’s ot even factoring in the weight.

Lesson 3: Guns are fucking heavy

If you’ve never shot a gun, then you might not realize how heavy they are. Hell, I can shoot a lightweight pistol and my arms will still be sore. This is partially because I’m a twink, but mostly because when you hold a chunk of metal for an extended period of time your arms get tired.

Although the NYT article I stole that picture from states that although the exact model Potter is holding is unknown, standard issue for the department are the Glock 17, 22, and 26 Models.

([MAGE 2: The Glock 17, 19, and 26 Models side by side (source) with a screenshot of Potter’s weapon from the body came footage (timestamps 1:30 and 1:31 in the video linked below). The Glock 17 is larger than the 19, which is larger than the 26. The body cam footage shows a gun that resembles either the 17 or the 19. Potter is holding her gun in a loose grip. A caption says Do not hold your fucking gun like this. You are not tomb raider”.]

Now, unless Potter has a rare condition where her hands did not grow past the age of 6, there’s no way that the grip of that gun belongs to a Glock 26 (yes, there could be another grip on it, but I digress). To me, it looks like a Glock 17 because of the length of the grip, but I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not an expert on Glock models.

So let’s say it is the lighter of the two, the 19. The Glock 19 weighs 670g unloaded and 855g loaded. The X26P Taser used by law enforcement weighs 213g unloaded and 338g loaded.

Don’t know the difference between those two weights? Okay, well first pick up this cute little copy of “If You Give A Mouse a Cookie” (weight ~345 g.)

[IMAGE 3: Picture of “If You Give A Mouse a Cookie”, a popular and very short children’s book]

Now, pick up the 752-page monstrosity that is the entirety of The Divine Comedy (weight ~794)

[IMAGE 4: Picture of a large copy of “The Divine Comedy”)

The weight difference between those is still smaller than the difference between a Glock and a Taser.

Or go pick up 3.4 apples and 8.5 apples. The list goes on. The point is that it takes an extraordinary lack of care and critical thinking to not realize the difference.

And Potter is holding the gun with one fucking hand.

Lesson 4: The Safety

This is maybe the most important part of the whole situation.

[IMAGE 5: A picture from the X26P User Manual, which displays a safety trigger than must be flipped up for the gun to work].

All tasers have a safety. You have to flip it up so you don’t accidentally shoot yourself in the ass. Now, I’ve only ever owned stun guns and never actually used ones, but I do shoot. When I’m shooting say, a shotgun, it’s an automatic instinct to undo the safety before I shoot. Close, shoulder, aim, safety. Fire. Fire. Close, shoulder, aim, safety. Fire. It’s automatic, but at the same time if I went to flip the safety and my finger ran over where the lever should be, I’d be pretty fucking confused.

And I don’t even going shotgun shooting that often!

Now let’s look at a close-up of the triggers of the Glock 17 and the X26P.

[IMAGE 6: A close up image of the Glock 17 trigger, the X26P trigger, and a diagram of the inside of a Glock 17.]

Glock’s don’t have the standard manual thumb safeties that come with other guns. Instead, they have a trigger safety. It’s hard to see in the first image, but there’s actually a second trigger/piece of metal protruding from the center of the trigger. This way you don’t have to deal with a manual trigger, but the gun won’t go off unless you pull directly back on the trigger.

Again, tactile sense. If you’ve trained with a weapon, a musical instrument, a piece of sports equipment, you know that object inside and out. You might be amazing with a tennis racquet, but if your shorter friend hands you her’s it’ll take awhile to get used to.

Now, it could just be that Potter is incredibly fucking stupid. Let me rephrase that: Potter is definitely incredibly fucking stupid. It’s not just the things she didn’t notice; besides her lack of protocol, she holds her gun with one hand. Maybe you can do that easier with a taser, which doesn’t have this nice little thing called “kickback”, but it’s still bad practice. She fires when one of her coworkers is close to Mr. Wright—generally, it’s a bad idea to fire a taser in an enclosed area.

I can’t speak on the sheer malice or racism in Potter’s own views, but I can say this: Potter was no rookie. She had spent 26 years as a police officer. She was training others. She was head of a fucking police union. So even if she is incredibly apologetic and pro-BLM, even if—this is who the policing system puts their trust in. This is the standard you get, after over 2 decades of experience. A mildly confrontational situation, an officer who doesn’t know her fucking weapons, and a man dead, and a child without a father.

Fuck the police. There’s nothing to reform here.

Body Cam Footage for Screenshots: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdv03O23vRQ

Edit 15/4/2021: mistakenly referred to a taser as a stun gun. In case anyone was wondering, a taser shoots and a stun gun looks more like a cattle prod.

#police brutality #blm #black lives matter #kim potter #fuck kim potter #daunte wright #blue lives murder #defund the fucking police #anarchism #tw gun image #tw police violence #if I need additionally warnings pls lmk

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tommeraas-cc · 3 years

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A warning about high polycount custom content - for downloaders and creators

I don't claim to be an expert on custom content, but I've been making CC for nearly 4 years now and I think I've learned a thing or two about how to spot custom content that might not be best for your computer/game. I only recently got a computer that can handle some of the CC out there, so I wanted to make a guide on how to spot CC that might not be right for you if you want fast loading times, minimal overheating, or your computer isn't as powerful. This guide will mostly be about clothing, but I'm sure most of these things can be applied to other types of CC.

Disclaimer: Absolutely no hate to anyone who makes CC that is high polycount -- I am guilty of doing this without disclosing it earlier in my CC making journey. We are all learning and improving every day and we all have different preferences for our own CC making which is the fun part of this community :) If you are a CC creator who needs help avoiding high polycount please message me and I would 100% be willing to you help you

High polycounts

3D content is made up of vertices that connect to each other to create a 3D model that can be molded into different shapes (the small segments that make up these larger shapes are called polygons). The more little dots you have, the more detailed the item can be. However, there are ways to include detail without using a high number of these vertices and polygons, it just takes time and practice.

Why should I be wary of downloading CC with a high polycount?

There is a reason that clothing made by EA/Maxis has a limit to the number of polygons they can use in their meshes. If an item of CC has too high of a polycount, it could drastically slow down your game, overheat your computer, cause your game to crash, or even permanently damage the hardware of your computer. Of course, there are different tolerances for high polycounts based on the specs of your computer, so be aware of this before downloading. If your computer cannot run smoothly on the ultra graphics setting without CC installed, you should probably be proactive about the kind of CC you download to avoid these issues.

However, even those with high end computers can run into issues when trying to play with a lot of this kind of CC, so it is up to the individual player to decide what they want for their game. I permanently damaged my last computer by busting a fan due to graphics rendering in the Sims 4. Please do not make the same (very expensive) mistakes I have.

The case for high polycounts:

There are certain clothing items that would not be possible to model in the sims without a high polycount. The creators who make these very detailed meshes are super talented and have my utmost respect, but my old computer just couldn’t handle them! My rule of thumb for my own personal game is that if I’m going to download something with a crazy high poly count, it better be something special. In my opinion, there’s no reason a simple tank top should be 3x the polycount of an average EA mesh. A handful of high polycount items aren’t going to crash your game (probably-- know your own computer’s limits), but considering most people will download many items from the same creator, the collection of all of those items may cause issues.

CC creators make their meshes for fun and creativity, and many don’t create for the express purpose of having many people use a bunch of their meshes in their games at once. It’s totally fine to make high polycount custom content, but if you’re a CC creator it would be respectful to people who download your items and support you to be warned of these possible issues (especially if they are paying for them!!!). Most CC creators have high-end computers, but downloaders might not, which is something to keep in mind :)

How high is too high?

This is honestly a personal preference. For me, anything with more than double the average polycount is “unacceptable without disclosing” and must include a disclaimer when I post it. For toddler full body outfits, which is what I normally make, I would consider this to be around 10-12K as the max acceptable polycount to post without a disclaimer. This number varies based on the type of CC, with adult polycounts being higher usually (given that items are quite literally larger than toddler items). For adult full-body outfits, I try to stay under 15K, and anything over 20k I would consider needing a disclaimer. But, again, this is up for personal debate, and there are a lot of factors that go into this. I am just basing this information on EA’s limits and my personal experience from playing this game on lower end computers.

How to spot high poly-count CC

So, you’ve decided that for your personal game, you want to avoid high polycount CC. Unfortunately, many creators do not disclose when their CC has an high polycount, so it’s up to you to figure out which is which.

Before you download the item: for clothing, the easiest way to spot high polycount CC from preview photos is to look for folding in the fabrics. I don't have a high polycount CC of my own that is completed to show you, and I don’t want to put another creators CC here out of respect, so here is an example of an unfinished mesh that can get the point across.

As you can see, the folds in the sleeves look like they are mostly physically present, and that the folds aren't a result of the texture. This often results in sort of a "bumpy" look to the CC. If you're seeing clothing that has this tell-tale bumpy look with many folds that you can tell are 3-dimensional, you should probably avoid this CC (if you have decided to avoid high polycount CC). A small amount of bumps is normal but as you can tell by this skirt it's a little more extreme.

Below you can see the low polycount version of this cc item where the folds look much smoother and are not as 3 dimensional. I added details like the folds in the sweater and at the top of the skirt with textures and mapping rather than a high polycounts as you might be able to tell by the fact that there are smooth edges rather than 3D folds. I have a small section of ruffles on the sleeves that have maintained a higher polycount which you can see by the physical ruffles. Details like this are impossible to do with just textures.

There are many CC creators much more talented than I that are very good at using texture images to give off the illusion of detail without high polycounts. Look at the edges of the item where folds appear and if there’s a smooth line there, the creator might be using textures and mapping to give the illusion of folding!

After you download the item: Of course, you can always download Sims4Studio, the program CC creators use to import their meshes into the sims format, to check polycounts. If you open CC in this program and click the meshes tab, the polycount will be displayed here. I only do this for items that I think might be insane polycounts (like 100k+ or something ridiculous for clothing, which is about ten times higher than I would recommend) that might crash my game, otherwise, I usually just go by how the item looks in the previews with the tips I just told you.

There are some CC items that are pretty much guaranteed to have high polycounts. The vast majority of alpha hair will have high polycounts -- this is unavoidable and does not mean the CC is not high quality, it is just a necessity for that kind of CC. Just be aware that having many alpha CC hairs in your game might cause slowdown/overheating.

I am a CC creator who wants to start making lower polycount stuff that still has detail. How do I get started?

I started figuring out how to do detail via textures and normal mapping about two years ago. The main resource that helped me was this fantastic tutorial by SLYD. The main thing you need for this method is a lowpoly AND highpoly version of your mesh. It takes more time to do this versus making a highpoly mesh but I think the payoff is worth it to make good quality cc that everyone can enjoy :) (Also, another benefit is you won’t have to spend so long waiting for sims4studio to import your mesh) If you would like some tips on how to do this or have questions from that tutorial feel free to message me anytime! I also have a discord server where you can get help with CC making. Again, I am not the best expert around but I might know enough to help you.

Here is another discussion on this topic that I think is a really good read if you are interested :)

TL;DR if you’re a creator who makes high polycount stuff, please put a disclaimer on your downloads. If you’re a downloader, be aware of what your own personal game and computer can handle.

#sims4cc #sims 4 cc #sims 4 custom content #s4cc #ts4cc #sims 4 clothes #ts4 #the sims 4

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kkusuka · 3 years

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Hi Wifey!! Congrats on 2k I’m so proud 🥺😫💖 anyways I would love a smut number 3 with Bakugou, Ushijima and Bokuto plleeeaaasssee my darling -✨Puppy🤩

“We’re really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?”

Fem. anatomy!

genre: smut

characters: Bakugou, Ushijima, Bokuto

cw: public sex

an: i totally forgot to post this yesterday lol

Bakugou Katsuki

The Back Alley

Patrol is simultaneously the best and worst part of being a pro hero.

Some days it was where most action happened and it was nice to see some fans every once in a while. Others, it was the most boring experience of his life, no villains, no robberies, not even a purse snatcher!

The plus-- if he could even call it that-- was that he was alone today. So what does a bored man do whilst they are alone? Scroll through all of his hidden photos for every single video or picture that you're stuffed with his cock.

Now not only was he bored and alone; but also horny and has a lot of time on his hands. He could approach this two ways; stop watching videos of his cock pounding you to hell as you cream like a whore for him and calm down or send you his location and fuck you agist the wall of the alley he currently resided.

The morally challenged being he was, choosing the latter was not difficult.

“Katsuki! Are you ok? You just said to come as soon as possible, you scared me!” your voice rang ten minutes after his cryptic text.

“Fine, just c’mere.” he led you into the small distance between buildings, tucking your body into him. Within a moment his lips were on your neck, bringing to light the reason you were called here.

His hand finding its way to your clothed pussy, singling your clit out through the thin layers of your clothes. Almost melting into his touch, you almost completely forget that you’re standing within view of anyone who walks past.

“We’re really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?” you push yourself away from his hands only to be violently pulled back into him. This time, his fingers going beyond the bounds of your panties, thrusting a finger into your already dripping hole.

“Let them” he states maneuvering your shirt into your mouth as a makeshift gag as he pushes your bra below your tits, “plus, if you don’t want to then why is your cunt fucking dripping on my fingers?”

Switching your positions, he kicks your feet further apart trapping you between his body and the wall. Sliding his fingers out of your clenching walls, relocating to your clit you feel something much bigger press against your folds.

Letting you settle for a brief moment, he presses his entire length into your heat. Pulling his hips back only to fuck it back into you forces you further into the wall. You can feel the slick running down your thighs as the sound of skin slapping rings through the alley.

“Fuck, you’d let me use you anywhere, look at you getting dicked in an alley where anyone can walk by and see,” he growled, holding up your falling hips, pulling them into his hips forcing his cock deeper than he was.

Your orgasm overtakes you as your legs collapse into his hold, his thrusts becoming sporadic as he leans to your shoulder and bites down to prevent the groan as he cums in your spasming cunt. The mix of your cum drips down your folds as Bakugou slides your panties back up your leg.

“I’ll be home soon, be ready.” he kisses your cheek and sends you wobbling out of the darkness.

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Celebratory Car Ride

Ushijima is a silent force.

Unless you can read stone, knowing what he wants is nearly impossible until he tells you. You had to give it to yourself, knowing him since you were kids makes you a bit better at reading him than others.

Still, at times his stare unnerves you just a bit.

Like when you had gone to his class for the lunch break and he didn't say a word for the first twenty-five minutes. You thought he was going to break up with you, for what? You had no idea, but maybe he was having second thoughts about you, you’d only been dating for three years--since the second year of middle school if that counts--, maybe he got bored. His stare cut through your very soul.

He had you in a full panic only to tell you how cute you looked in his jacket. It was adorable that he spent all that time just trying to talk to you, but it bothered you that he could make you panic like that with just a look.

Luckily, you made it past that stage of your relationship and understand that his stares are mostly sweet and he’s just trying to convey his emotion in a way that isn’t words.

But, even with all that, you had no idea what this stare was. If you could call it a stare, his eyes were following everywhere you went, which isn't the best considering this was one of the most important games in his career.

This stare was more intimidating. His lips pressed into a straight line, eyebrows tilted down, eyes seemingly looking right through you. It was his normal face but, he was sending chills through you every time you connected eyes.

They’d won, but Wakatoshi’s eyes didn’t lighten a bit, up close it sent waves of heat through your core. He looked at you like he wanted to swallow you whole.

“Wait for me in the car, I will be quick.” making due on his promise he meets you there a swift ten minutes later, surprising you when he swings the backdoor open. “Back here”

Following his command you slide next to him, a second after you’re throwing into his lap, hands already working to push your shorts out of his way. Not waiting a second before pulling your shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere into the front. Making quick work of your underwear by tearing it from your body, something you had stopped reprimanding him for, he’d buy you more if that’s what you wanted.

Watching him throw the shards to the side thrusts you back into the reality of where you are, “We’re really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?” you frantically begin to look at the vacant parking lot in case someone has already seen.

He answers you in silence and a mouth to your nipple, rolling it between his lips sucking like it would give him something. Placing you onto a thigh so he can release his cock from his shorts, moving your core over his tip.

“Who...who cares if they see. You are mine, they can watch all they want but they will never be able to touch.” his voice vibrates in his chest.

You breathe before Toshi pushes your body onto his, slamming his cock into your pussy. Running his hands along the curve of your waist his eyes train on how your head is thrown back as he presses against your cervix.

Not wanting you to wait, he lifts your hip then releasing letting gravity plunge you back onto his length. Taking control of the pace he begins to thrust up into you, his finger meeting with your clit, building the coil in your stomach.

Steading yourself on his shoulders, you angle your hips so his cock hits a particularly soft spot in your depths. Collapsing onto his chest he continues fucking your cream back into your pulsing hole, restuffing you with his load.

You close your eyes and feel yourself being covered with some jacket, then being moved to the front, waking up in your bed at home cuddled into your boyfriend's chest.

Bokuto Koutarou

Locker-rooms

Koutarou could convince you to do anything.

It was almost embarrassing at this point, you should really talk to him about it. You can remain strong when he’s not with you but the second he looks at you with those wide eyes and sweet smile, you fall apart. (like a nature valley granola bar)

So now you’re standing in front of the doors leading to the boy's locker room with an armful of random sweets to soothe your seemingly upset boyfriend. Knocking on the doors you hear him allow you to enter, immediately you see him lying over a bench.

“Are you ok, Kou?” you question only getting a peek of his eye before a wave to come closer. Once you were an arm's length of him he pulled you to lay over him. Wrapping him in your arms you ask what was so wrong to make him like this, but you only receive him pushing further into the crook of your neck.

Before you could ask again you feel a pair of lips sucking on your skin. Pushing his hands under your shorts.

“We’re really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?” pulling away you try to make a move to leave, stopped by his arms encircling your waist keeping you pressed onto his bulge.

“No! They won't come in I promise! We’ll be quick!’ he speaks as he starts pulling clothes from your body leaving you in a bra and pushes aside underwear. He barely gave you enough to realize he was lined up with your entrance.

Steadily fucking yourself onto him, his hands holding your hips almost bruisingly. Once you were fully situated on him, he switched your positions, throwing your legs over his built shoulders.

Bending an arm to lean on the lockers for leverage he pounded into your cunt, intertwining his other hand into your hair.

Fucking you through your orgasm, you clenched so hard he could barely move, your hole milking him for his load. Slumping over you he connected your lips in a sloppy, tired kiss, almost walking out of the room butt naked with you in his arms.

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samwisethewitch · 4 years

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Cults? In my life? It’s more likely than you think.

In my last post, I talked about how the Law of Attraction and Christian prosperity gospel both use the same thought control techniques as cults. I’ve received several public and private replies to that post: some expressing contempt for “sheeple” who can be lead astray by cults, and others who say my post made them scared that they might be part of a cult without knowing it.

I want to address both of those types of replies in this post. I want to talk about what a cult really looks like, and how you can know if you’re dealing with one.

If you type the word “cult” into Google Images, it will bring up lots of photos of people with long hair, wearing all white, with their hands raised in an expression of ecstasy.

Most modern cults do not look anything like this.

Modern cultists look a lot like everyone else. One of the primary goals of most cults is recruitment, and it’s hard to get people to join your cause if they think you and your group are all Kool-Aid-drinking weirdos. The cults that last are the ones that manage to convince people that they’re just like everyone else — a little weird maybe, but certainly not dangerous.

In the book The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple, author Jeff Guinn says, “In years to come, Jim Jones would frequently be compared to murderous demagogues such as Adolf Hitler and Charles Manson. These comparisons completely misinterpret, and historically misrepresent, the initial appeal of Jim Jones to members of Peoples Temple. Jones attracted followers by appealing to their better instincts.”

You might not know Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple by name, but you’ve probably heard their story. They’re the Kool-Aid drinkers I mentioned earlier. Jones and over 900 of his followers, including children, committed mass suicide by drinking Flavor Aid mixed with cyanide.

In a way, the cartoonish image of cults in popular media has helped real-life cults to stay under the radar and slip through people’s defenses.

In her book Recovering Agency: Lifting the Veil of Mormon Mind Control, Luna Lindsey says: “These groups use a legion of persuasive techniques in unison, techniques that strip away the personality to build up a new group pseudopersonality. New members know very little about the group’s purpose, and most expectations remain unrevealed. People become deeply involved, sacrificing vast amounts of time and money, and investing emotionally, spiritually, psychologically, and socially.”

Let’s address some more common myths about cults:

Myth #1: All cults are Satanic or occult in nature. This mostly comes from conservative Christians, who may believe that all non-Christian religions are inherently cultish in nature and are in league with the Devil. This is not the case — most non-Christians don’t even believe in the Devil, much less want to sign away their souls to him. Many cults use Christian theology to recruit members, and some of these groups (Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, etc.) have become popular enough to be recognized as legitimate religions. Most cults have nothing to do with magic or the occult.

Myth #2: All cults are religious. This is also false. While some cults do use religion to recruit members or push an agenda, many cults have no religious or spiritual element. Political cults are those founded around a specific political ideology. Author and cult researcher Janja Lalich is a former member of an American political cult founded on the principles of Marxism. There are also “cults of personality” built around political figures and celebrities, such as Adolf Hitler, Chairman Mao, and Donald Trump. In these cases, the cult is built around hero worship of the leader — it doesn’t really matter what the leader believes or does.

Myth #3: All cults are small fringe groups. Cults can be any size. Some cults have only a handful of members — it’s even possible for parents to use thought control techniques on their children, essentially creating a cult that consists of a single family. There are some cults that have millions of members (see previous note about Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses).

Myth #4: All cults live on isolated compounds away from mainstream society. While it is true that all cults isolate their members from the outside world, very few modern cults use physical isolation. Many cults employ social isolation, which makes members feel separate from mainstream society. Some cults do this by encouraging their followers to be “In the world but not of the world,” or encouraging them to keep themselves “pure.”

Myth #5: Only stupid, gullible, and/or mentally ill people join cults. Actually, according to Luna Lindsey, the average cult member is of above-average intelligence. As cult expert Steven Hassan points out, “Cults intentionally recruit ‘valuable’ people—they go after those who are intelligent, caring, and motivated. Most cults do not want to be burdened by unintelligent people with serious emotional or physical problems.” The idea that only stupid or gullible people fall for thought control is very dangerous, because it reinforces the idea that “it could never happen to me.” This actually prevents intelligent people from thinking critically about the information they’re consuming and the groups they’re associating with, which makes them easier targets for cult recruitment.

So, now that we have a better idea of what a cult actually looks like, how do you know if you or someone you know is in one?

A good rule of thumb is to compare the group’s actions and teachings to Steven Hassan’s BITE Model. Steven Hassan is an expert on cult psychology, and most cult researchers stand by this model. From Hassan’s website, freedomofmind.com: “Based on research and theory by Robert Jay Lifton, Margaret Singer, Edgar Schein, Louis Jolyon West, and others who studied brainwashing in Maoist China as well as cognitive dissonance theory by Leon Festinger, Steven Hassan developed the BITE Model to describe the specific methods that cults use to recruit and maintain control over people. ‘BITE’ stands for Behavior, Information, Thought, and Emotional control.”

Behavior Control may include…

Telling you how to behave, and enforcing behavior with rewards and punishments. (Rewards may be nonphysical concepts like “salvation” or “enlightenment,” or social rewards like group acceptance or an elevated status within the group. Punishments may also be nonphysical, like “damnation,” or may be social punishments like judgement from peers or removal from the group.)

Dictating where and with whom you live. (This includes pressure to move closer to other group members, even if you will be living separately.)

Controlling or restricting your sexuality. (Includes enforcing chastity or abstinence and/or coercion into non-consensual sex acts.)

Controlling your clothing or hairstyle. (Even if no one explicitly tells you, you may feel subtle pressure to look like the rest of the group.)

Restricting leisure time and activities. (This includes both demanding participation in frequent group activities and telling you how you should spend your free time.)

Requiring you to seek permission for major decisions. (Again, even if you don’t “need” permission, you may feel pressure to make decisions that will be accepted by the group.)

And more.

Information Control may include…

Withholding or distorting information. (This may manifest as levels of initiation, with only the “inner circle” or upper initiates being taught certain information.)

Forbidding members from speaking with ex-members or other critics.

Discouraging members from trusting any source of information that isn’t approved by the group’s leadership.

Forbidding members from sharing certain details of the group’s beliefs or practice with outsiders.

Using propaganda. (This includes “feel good” media that exists only to enforce the group’s message.)

Using information gained in confession or private conversation against you.

Gaslighting to make members doubt their own memory. (“I never said that,” “You’re remembering that wrong,” “You’re confused,” etc.)

Requiring you to report your thoughts, feelings, and activities to group leaders or superiors.

Encouraging you to spy on other group members and report their “misconduct.”

And more.

Thought Control may include…

Black and White, Us vs. Them, or Good vs. Evil thinking.

Requiring you to change part of your identity or take on a new name. (This includes only using last names, as well as titles like “Brother,” “Sister,” and “Elder.”)

Using loaded languages and cliches to stop complex thought. (This is the difference between calling someone a “former member” and calling the same person an “apostate” or “covenant breaker.”)

Inducing hypnotic or trance states including prayer, meditation, singing hymns, etc.

Using thought-stopping techniques to prevent critical thinking. (“If you ever find yourself doubting, say a prayer to distract yourself!”)

Allowing only positive thoughts or speech.

Rejecting rational analysis and criticism both from members and from those outside the group.

And more.

Emotional Control may include…

Inducing irrational fears and phobias, especially in connection with leaving the group. (This includes fear of damnation, fear of losing personal value, fear of persecution, etc.)

Labeling some emotions as evil, worldly, sinful, low-vibrational, or wrong.

Teaching techniques to keep yourself from feeling certain emotions like anger or sadness.

Promoting feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness. (This is often done by holding group members to impossible standards, such as being spiritually “pure” or being 100% happy all the time.)

Showering members and new recruits with positive attention — this is called “love bombing.” (This can be anything from expensive gifts to sexual favors to simply being really nice to newcomers.)

Shunning members who disobey orders or disbelieve the group’s teachings.

Teaching members that there is no happiness, peace, comfort, etc. outside of the group.

And more.

If a group ticks most or all of the boxes in any one of these categories, you need to do some serious thinking about whether or not that group is good for your mental health. If a group is doing all four of these, you’re definitely dealing with a cult and need to get out as soon as possible.

These techniques can also be used by individual people in one-on-one relationships. A relationship or friendship where someone tries to control your behavior, thoughts, or emotions is not healthy and, again, you need to get out as soon as possible.

Obviously, not all of these things are inherently bad. Meditation and prayer can be helpful on their own, and being nice to new people is common courtesy. The problem is when these acts become part of a bigger pattern, which enforces someone else’s control over your life.

A group that tries to tell you how to think or who to be is bad for your mental health, your personal relationships, and your sense of self. When in doubt, do what you think is best for you — and always be suspicious of people or groups who refuse to be criticized.

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