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Bruce Wayne at the circus, seeing a shocked eight year old little boy kneel on the ground in a puddle of his parents’ blood, and rushing from the stands to wrap him in his coat and carry him away. Bruce Wayne tucking the boy’s face into his shoulder and whispering as calmly as he can, “Don’t look. You’re going to be okay, I promise you’re going to be okay, just don’t look.”
Detective Gordon, watching as he walks by, being transported to twenty years prior when he was a rookie cop first on the scene for the Wayne murders and finding a shocked eight year old little boy standing in a puddle of his parents’ blood. Remembering how he wrapped his jacket around him and carried him away in a hurry, tucking his face into his shoulder and whispering, “Don’t look. You’re going to be okay, I promise you’re going to be okay, just don’t look.”
Gordon watching as the supposed playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne does everything he can to comfort Dick Grayson, this little boy from the circus he’s never even met before, because he knows exactly the kind of pain he’s going through in this moment.
Gordon realizing that his moment of panic when trying to get little Bruce Wayne away from his parents’ dead bodies had more of an impact than he ever could have imagined.
Finally a hand sewing tutorial on a hemline that isn't just the ladder stitch! the ladder stitch disappears when you tighten it, but it's not meant for hemlines because it breaks really easily! The overlock stitch is more stable, so it holds much longer, and it won't pucker or warp the fabric!
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Hey, if anyone’s curious, this IS making a serious impact — this handbook was taught as standard practice for my EMT license course, as well as several other programs. A lot of new providers are being taught this as a matter of course.
It’s important to know that hijab is banned in schools in most of the european countries, such as france, belgium, switzerland etc. Millions of girls have to take their hijab off everyday in order to have access to education, and I am one of them. Please spread this as much as possible, it has become so normal here that I feel like a fool for even mentioning it, but I’m pretty sure it goes against the human rights. This senseless law has been on since 2004 and pretends that all the students have to be “equal” and it is prohibited to show that you belong to any religion, any religious sign must be set aside. However, most of us have to take our hijab off in schools where you can clearly see a christmas tree or a christian cross. “Yeah but it’s not the same”, they say. Tell me about double standards. I pray for days when we don’t have to chose between religion and education.
The issue of trans women being sent to men's prisons isn't brought up as being a monstrous thing because of the misgendering, it's monstrous because we're sent there to be legally sex trafficked.
That's what V-coding is. That is why they are so adamant about sending trans women to men's prisons, because sex trafficking trans women within the men's prison system is an essential part of that system. Being misgendered by this isn't even an issue that's on our radar!
holy shit, to say it "keeps the violence rate down", when these women are being violently raped. aka they dont count it because they dont care when it happens to trans women.
in 2026 let’s start actually noticing and taking seriously the true scale and impact of jkrs transmisogyny and how she’s been funneling decades of royalties and ip owner cash directly into anti trans lobbying thats been making the uk hell while gradually worsening conditions elsewhere through impacting the zeitgeist
[ID: tumblr tags reading #she effectively venmo'd a known hate group 70000 usd equivalent on a whim #she personally bankrolled the political campaign to keep Scotland from gaining independence over their intention to legalize(?) trans people #she started HER OWN hate group last year which intends to "protect" women and girls from having their "autism exploited" by trans activists #she used to slip off Forbes' richest person list bc she gave so much money away #she hasn't slid position in YEARS because she has started entrenching herself in transphobic investment funds effectively #she's worth some shit like 1.2B now because of that #she has explicitly stated that engaging with - even on a fandom only level - her works makes her money that she then uses to do all of this #we cannot just let people remain ignorant to the damage she is intentionally doing #and we cannot let people forget that she got her bc she befriended an echo chamber of radfems who never criticized her in order to do this #do not let that shit slide. End ID.]
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my name's cougar but my friends call me mountain lion and my mama calls me puma and today's my first day at big cat high. i'm so nervous i hope they don't realize i'm not panthera >ܫ<
emo cheetah jughead smoking behind the school: it's hopeless, catamount. they'll never see us as 'real' big cats... us outcats gotta stick together -ﻌ•
the legally blonde mentality isnt just for law students. u can bring that attitude with you into every field of work. be the whimsical force of positive change. wear that neon outfit. snaps for us all.
this post was inspired by my boss telling me she couldnt "take me seriously" in a pair of dinosaur print overalls. sorry i have two degrees and a dope wardrobe. you dont need to take me seriously but You Will Take Me.
1. Tommy finds the photo in his mom's sock drawer because sometimes she hides sleeves of Sixlets in there where his dad won't look for them. He sits against her dresser and studies it for a long time. His mom looked so different—young and happy, her hair swept into a big wave, wearing a big smile and an even bigger coat. She looked like an old movie star. He stares at the coat, trying to figure out what it's made of, but it's like it changes every time the light shifts. If he tilts the picture to one side, it looks almost like feathers, but if he tilts it another way, it looks like velvet. If he tilts it into the light, it almost ripples like water. He's never seen anything like it, and something inside him pulses the longer he stares at it.
2. He brings the photo out to his mom, who's lying in the backyard, staring at the sky. She does this sometimes, usually when his dad isn't home, because it makes him mad. Her shoulders tighten a little as he pads over the grass, but they relax when she turns her head and sees that it's him. She smiles the way she always does and his belly hurts to look at it the way it always does, and she holds an arm out, her wrist delicate and beautiful, inviting him down with her. He clambers down onto his knees, getting grass stains on his jeans that his dad will yell about later, and then tucks himself against her side. He places the photo on her chest. She takes it between her fingers and studies it for a long moment—she doesn't breathe the entire time—then lets it flutter to the grass, like it's too heavy for her to keep holding. He asks why she's never worn the coat before, because it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. She exhales, long and low and unbearably sad, and says that she doesn't know where it is. She tells him that his father took it from her a long time ago and hid it. She's never been able to find it, no matter how hard she looks. Tommy doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing, and as his mother goes back to looking at the sky, he rests his head on her shoulder and vows silently that he's going to find it for her. Maybe then she'll smile for real, like she did in the photo.
3. When Tommy starts asking if he can go with his dad on the day-long fishing trips he takes on the weekends, if he can help his dad fix the old Cutlass in the driveway, if he can bring his dad another beer, if his dad needs a hand cleaning out the garage.... his dad doesn't seem to find it suspicious. He just says it's about time Tommy stopped being such a pussy and started acting like a man. For the better part of a year, Tommy is his dad's shadow. He follows him around and does everything he's asked and laughs at his dad's mean jokes and tries not to see how sad his mom gets when Tommy chooses to spend time with his dad instead of with her, but he can't help it, because his dad never lets her take the car anywhere by herself or go for walks with her friends without him, and sometimes he holds her too tightly and leaves bruises and never says sorry, and now Tommy is making her feel even lonelier. She'll understand when he surprises her with her beloved coat. Except no matter how much time he spends with his dad, who he hates more and more with every passing hour, he can't find it. He looks in the Cutlass, in the gear box on his dad's little motorboat, in every nook and cranny in the garage, in his dad's closet, in the basement.... it's nowhere to be found. Maybe his dad sold it—maybe that's how he was able to afford the boat—or maybe he burned it. Tommy suddenly understands why his mother had been so hopeless, because it's like it just got up and flew away, leaving his mother behind. But he refuses to give up. He just needs to go straight to the source.
4. Tommy plies his dad with at least four beers a day, because his dad gets talkative after four. When his dad hits that point, he doesn't get mad when Tommy asks about his mom. It takes another few months—almost a year to the day since he found the photo—before four isn't enough and his dad's hands shake if he doesn't have at least five, and he's handing his dad a sixth when he finally works up the nerve to ask how his dad met his mom. Practically puddled on his work bench, his dad rumbles a laugh and says that he saw her in the woods behind their house, bathing in the same creek where Tommy used to catch frogs and fireflies before his dad said only pansies did that, and thought she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. He mumbles a word that Tommy doesn't understand—a hag-something—and snorts another laugh, muttering, "'s right under her nose. She'll n'ver find it." Tommy stares at his dad, who can barely keep his eyes open and keeps bobbing his head like he can't hold it up, and then quietly asks where the coat is.
5. It's nighttime when he shakes his mom's arm to wake her up and presses a finger to his lips, beckoning her to get out of bed and come with him. It takes a few minutes for her to slip out from under his dad's heavy arm without waking him. He takes her hand in his and they sneak downstairs; they don't put their shoes on until they get to the bottom step of the basement stairs, and then they sneak out the door that leads to the backyard. He uses his dad's Rayovac to light their way. She doesn't ask where they're going. Maybe she's just as afraid of making a sound as he is, even though they're far enough away that they could throw a party and his dad wouldn't so much as stir. She lets him pull her through the tree line at the edge of the yard and into the woods; together, they climb over fallen trees and tromp through mud puddles and jump every time a raccoon shrieks. He doesn't know how long they walk in silence, hand in hand, but finally the beam of light hits the creek. He pulls her over to the big tree by the edge, where lightning had cracked a hollow in it long before Tommy was born, and then lets go of her hand so he can crawl inside. The dead wood scratches him and he accidentally gets a spider web in his mouth, but it's all worth it when he squirms back out with his arms full of soft, soft fabric that glows like the moon. She's holding the flashlight, so he gets to see the shock and relief and joy on her face when she sees what he's holding, and it's worth every single horrible second he's spent over the last year with his dad. It was all for this. He did it. Panting, he grins at her, wiggling in pleasure when she wraps him in her arms and holds him and cries.
The bits of sky they can see through the canopy is starting to pink up, and finally his mom lets him go so she can take the coat from his arms. It looks like a sky full of stars reflected in the surface of a lake when she slips into it, rippling like water, and she is lit up almost from within, beautiful and terrifying and unfamiliar.
"M-Mom?" He's never been afraid of her, and he isn't now, but when she cups his face in her hand, his heart pounds the way it does when their neighbor's rottweiler barks and growls through the fence when Tommy walks by, or when his dad yells.
Her hair falls out of the scrunchy and falls in waves around her face and down her back, and then floats up. Not just her hair. She's floating up. Away.
She smiles, like in the photo. His eyes fill with tears.
"If you ever choose to give it to someone, please be sure," his mother says, and her voice echoes through the trees and flows in the creek and rides the wind. "Otherwise, you can never come home to me."
He watches her rise up and up, until she slips through the fiery pink lines between the treetops, and disappears.
When his father wakes up and starts tearing apart the house, howling for his wife, Tommy's in bed, hiding under the covers and sobbing into a leather coat that's as soft as clouds and warm as his own blood.
6. Bonus!
By the time Buck walks the four blocks from where he parked to Maccheroni Republic, he's glad he decided to wear a jacket. It's unseasonably cold for November and the jacket had been a gift. It would be more insulting if he didn't wear it. At least that's what he keeps telling himself when the guilt threatens to sweep his legs out from under him.
He swallows the sour taste in his mouth and enters the restaurant where his date is waiting for him. Her name is Melody. According to her Hinge profile, she's a florist who recently moved to Santa Monica and is looking to make a connection. Buck doesn't know shit about flowers, but he knows about wanting to establish something special with someone. The dates he's been on lately have been one disappointment after another, but maybe Melody will break the losing streak. Maybe she'll have all the answers.
Thank god she looks just like her profile picture. He spots her right away: riotous curls, large eyes, and a dazzling smile... that disappears the moment he approaches the table.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Buck says. "I had to park on the other side of the world. Hopefully you haven't been w—uh, is everything—?"
Because Melody is staring balefully at his chest as she gathers her purse and phone.
"Whoa, hey, I-I didn't think I was that late," Buck appeals.
The glare that Melody levels on him would fell a lesser man, but Athena has trained him up well over the years. He's able to withstand it with only a small wince.
"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" Melody snaps. She's practically shaking with rage. The people around them are starting to stare. "Going on a date wearing someone else's—god, you asshole."
Blinking, he glances down at himself. "Wait, do you—are you talking about the jacket? I'm not sure what the big deal is, or how you even clocked it, but, uh, my ex gave it to me. I can... take it off? I was gonna take it off."
At that, she pauses, squinting at him with an insulting amount of distrust, even for an internet stranger. "Your ex? Then why do you still have it?"
Buck ducks his head and stares at the zipper pull on his chest, shrugging. "H-He didn't want it back."
After the breakup, the jacket had taken up a permanent spot in his Jeep, then the truck, which had a setting he couldn't turn off that registered any added pressure to the backseat and reminded him to check anytime he turned off the car. It was supposed to keep frazzled parents from forgetting their kids in the car on hot days, but all it did was serve as a painful reminder that he still had a piece of Tommy.
He'd caught up with Tommy after Bobby's memorial service and haltingly offered to give it back. That kind of buttery, almost liquid leather? It had to have cost a fortune. It didn't seem right to keep it.
"It was a gift," Tommy had said softly.
"A-Are you sure?" It took every drop of willpower not to throw himself into Tommy's arms and beg him to hold him for a minute, because the jacket was nice but it didn't smell like Tommy anymore and it was a poor substitute for his hugs.
But Tommy had mustered up a smile that made Buck's stomach hurt to look at, and said, "I'm sure, Evan. It's yours."
Melody stares at him for a long moment, then blows out a breath and takes her seat again. She gestures for Buck to do the same, which he does, although he feels a little bit like he's about to be put through a deposition.
"Let me make something perfectly clear: this isn't a date. I'm not dating someone who has one of those," Melody says, gesturing to his jacket.
"Is it, like, Gucci or something?" Buck runs a nervous hand down the length of one soft, soft sleeve. "There isn't a tag. I think he cut it out."
She shakes her head, then sighs. "Okay, so, I'm not an expert by any stretch of the imagination. I recognize it because... my uncle married a woman who has one. Except hers looks like one of those robe coats from the '20s. You know: big sleeves, fur collar, dragged on the ground. She gave it to him."
Buck waits for her to continue, but that seems to be the end of her thought.
"Oh, uh, that... was, uh, nice of her?"
Melody rolls her eyes, then leans forward like she's thinking about reaching across the table and shoving whatever she's trying to say down his throat. "The coat's—special. I don't know how to explain it. My uncle says it's... it could give my uncle, like, an insane amount of power over her, but he's a pretty good guy so he doesn't ever use it. It's the ultimate gesture of trust. It's like my aunt gave her soul to him."
His eyes are as wide as the bread plates on the table. He can feel his brows kiss the edge of his hairline. His fingers are buried in the jacket's cuffs.
"I-I don't... what is it? You recognized it, like, right away."
She shrugs. "I've read some—I guess, myths? In the stories, they're made of feathers, sometimes silk. My aunt and uncle ended up having my cousin Katie, and she has one, too. Hers is wool, though. Pink houndstooth, with a skirt that kinda flares out. I think it's different every time? Like, it adapts to the owner and their circumstances, that sort of thing."
Buck looks down at the camel-colored leather and thinks of how easily Tommy took it off his own body and draped it over Buck's one chilly night. How Tommy smiled and murmured, "it suits you."
"So, the fact that he gave this to me—" He can't get the rest of the words out. They're blocked by a lump in his throat that feels like it's growing by the second. His eyes burn.
For the first time that night, Melody smiles. "He must've really loved you."
+
When Buck pulls into the driveway, he's shaking so hard he can barely get his hand around the shift lever to throw the truck into park. There are no lights on in the house.
Exhaling, he opens the door and spills out into the night, which feels even colder than it did earlier. The jacket isn't doing anything to block the chill. Or maybe he's just sweating and his body can't compensate.
He starts heading up the walkway toward the porch, then stops. Something in him pulses hard, and he turns his head in the direction of where the path splits to head to the backyard. There's no cogent reason to check there first, but his heart starts pounding like he's just ran a marathon.
Buck approaches the gate and peers over the top of the door. The yard is wide open and dark; the flood light is off and all he has to help him is starlight. But there, in the grass, is a swathe of even darker darkness. A silhouette.
Swallowing hard, he gently unlatches the door and walks through, shutting it behind him. His hand trembles on the metal lock.
It's the ultimate gesture of trust.
Closing his stinging eyes, Buck takes a moment to breathe. Another pulse, deep in his chest, spurs his feet into motion. He walks slowly over the grass to the shadow lying in the middle of the yard. It isn't until he's less than a foot away that he can actually make out more than a fuzzy outline.
Even in faint starlight, Tommy looks incredible. Almost otherworldly. He's staring up at the sky like he's trying to work out a puzzle, but after a moment, he turns his head and looks at Buck. He smiles the way he always does and Buck's belly cramps.
Wordlessly, Tommy lifts an arm, his wrist thick and strong, inviting him down.
Choking on a sob, Buck clambers down onto the grass and tucks himself against Tommy's side. Tommy's arm wraps around him, warmer than anything else in the whole world.
Buck settles his cheek on Tommy's shoulder and whispers, "Did you know what it meant? When you gave it to me?"
"Yes."
"Then why give it to me?"
"Because I was sure," Tommy murmurs. "I still am."
Dragging in another shaky breath, Buck closes his eyes. "I'm sure too."
The arm around him tightens and there's a brief, warm pressure against his hair. After a moment, he hears the grass shift under Tommy's head as he turns to gaze back up at the sky. Buck doesn't know what he's looking for, but he hopes he finds it, whatever it is. Maybe he's not looking for anything in particular.
You gotta be able to take an L if your moral and ethical belief systems are to be capable of guiding you. Otherwise you just have an idealized self where you get really mad and scared when anyone points out it isn't actually you. How the fuck are you gonna walk the walk if you can't handle being told when you are not, in fact, actually walking it
you cannot just socially transition into being a good person you are going to have to settle for being a messy human being who has to try and fail and keep trying to get better like everyone else. yeah even when it's embarassing and sucks for you a lot.
for years now my laptop charger has reliably broken every 6 months. admittedly i keep replacing it with the cheapest possible generics, but I've tried differed brands and ALWAYS, 6 months in Death knocks impatiently at my door, its skeletal hand outstretched demanding yet another goddamn power cable. the only feasible explanation is i pissed off a witch. the alternative is that i'm the problem, which seems unikely
Humor aside. Don't buy another USB-C laptop charger. Buy a USB-C power adapter rated for the same power needs as the laptop, Anker makes high quality ones. Then you can easily replace the cable if it wears out.
The power adapter is the expensive part, the cable is cheap, but the cable is always going to fray first. Plus, you can buy a braided cable, or a right-angle cable which are less likely to break in the same way depending on how you use your laptop, and you can get whatever length of cable is convenient for you.
holy shit you've circumvented the witch's curse. yeah it's the same cable that gives out on me. replaceable parts that so fucking sexy. I'm assuming I just buy one that's the same wattage (65W) as my laptop needs? damn that witch is gonna be PISSED
You can buy one stronger than your laptops needs if you want. Devices these days are smart enough at power management to only take what they need, so a 100w charger won't brick your laptop or anything, but 65w will work perfect.
The only other thing is that not all USB-C cables are created equally. The form factor is standardized, the insides are not, some shitty, cheap, cables are only rated for data not power, or for low power needs. You can search for charging cable to make sure you get one intended for power transfer.
This witches curse effected me for years on end before I discovered this. I'm happy to foil their efforts once more.
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It’s funny because this scene must be based on the memoir Special Agent by Candis DeLong. In it she describes being out looking at clothes at a department store on lunch break with another female agent and overhearing a conversation between a man and a woman in which he says he’s an FBI agent. They peer around some clothes racks thinking that they’re going to see one of their fellow agents trying to get a date, and when they don’t recognize the guy they go over and pretend to be interested in the big strong FBI agent themselves and ask to see his badge. The guy actually pulled out a fake badge, whereupon they said “Huh, that doesn’t look anything like ours…”, produced their own badges and arrested him for impersonating an FBI agent. (I remember this bit from a 25 year old book because I actually stole it myself for a fic)
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