quandaryqueen - Tumblr blog

quandaryqueen · 6 hours ago

Text

Riddler strikes again!

Batman Unburied Edward Nygma X Reader

Hiii, just a little something inspired by my time writing in my college's departmental newsletter uwu

Thursday of April 11, 2024— Edward Nygma aka The Riddler strikes once again, hijacking Gotham Broadcasting Company (GBC) live on air, interrupting the feature segment of Y/N L/N, holding them hostage.

- by Vicky Vale

More at page 5

It was funny, really. Edward couldn't help but to chuckle in amusement as he kicked his feet up, his arm hanging limply off his cell bed. He didn't expect the college reunion, but there it was... Documented live on TV. Front and center, front page, the Riddler making goo goo eyes at the hapless journalist. And had an article written by their colleague at work.

Slay, chase that clout, sister.

Once upon a college, was Edward Nygma, disillusioned by everything. Academic burnout was real, they didn't lie about that part. It wasn't that he could not grasp information, it was the workload, the mountains of research, not to mention, juggling a day job to get by.

Also, he was arrogant to think he could take more that thirty units a semester. A boy, did he collect majors like Pokémon. He was too prideful to admit that he was struggling. He was Edward fucking Nashton, for Christ's sake, of course he would have more than thirty units with mixed and matched minors and majors, plus a couple of foreign language studies, why not? Any excuse to not go back home for the holidays and breaks.

Of course he had to take student assistant for the fuck of it, extra income, right? Less leverage financial leverage from the family, too. The position had certainly made him more informed about others, it helps that he knows something from the inside. One of his task as professor's assistant was marking papers.

That was when he stumbled upon you. Well, not really you. Your name on the paper, haphazardly scribbled at the back of the A4 document, you probably forgot to put your name on it before printing it. Happens to everyone, he supposes. There, he got the sense of your character through the paper alone.

Basic discourse analysis, Edward picked up the fact that you like reading, with your usage of flowery words and metaphors. In the era of copy+paste+print, you certainly took the time to write yours down. Well-structured, coherent, a good fucking piece that was worth a thorough read than a simple skim. No doubt if it were the professor marking papers, he'd just briefly scan his eyes over it and give you the same grade as the others. Others, being the co-eds with half-assed works (though he can't really fault them, a point is a point.)

You got a high mark because of it.

Then, when he attached a face to your name, it was during Ethics. Recitations, the dreaded index card drawing and asked to recite. That was when your name was called and Edward had immediately perked up from whatever sleep deprived funk he was in.

Maybe it was hindsight talking... But that was when his life changed. At the moment, he was just seated on his desk, looking over his shoulder trying to look as though he was listening and that he was not about to fall asleep. And then there was the side of him that was wee curious whether your writing prowess were also applicable to speech.

He wished he could say what he thought about you back then, that fated ethics period. But he was just nodding off. Looking back, with what he knows now, you were enchanting.

At that present, he was nonchalant. Uninterested even, you were just another gifted kid destined for burnout in college... But he did recognise how useful you were when it comes to group activities. When the time came, he immediately called dibs on you.

"What belongs to you, but other use it more than you, what am I?"

"Um..." You were stumped, but before you can answer, he holds a hand out, which you instinctively took and shook.

"A name," he says. "Edward Nashton, compelled to meet you."

A small, sheepish smile lights you features.

"Y/N L/N." You replied with curt nod.

I know, he wanted to say, but didn't want to risk establishing his first impression as a creep. Aahh, back when he possessed tact.

"Coffee after class so we can talk about our report?" You asked. "I know a place."

Initiative... sexy.

"Flirting with me already?" He raises a brow and he watches your face flush. Edward couldn't help but to chuckle at the sight, so precious. "Teasing, teasing..."

His gaze bore within yours. Sleep deprived like any other co-eds on campus, he noted. Your eyes were just like any other, but yours begged to be explored in depth.

"We're gonna be good friends."

Edward believed that impressions do not last. However, you were an exception to that.

Coffee shop. He could still remember how cheap and overbrewed their chais were. But he was not about to complain, you did pay for it. Notebooks out, brainstorming for the assignment. He remembered how articulate you were with the assigned topic. Eloquent and thoughtful with every word, you were a brilliant conversationalist he could go back and fourth with.

Naturally, the exchange flowed to where you discussed your own personal lives. Which high school you graduated in, your majors, why you chose said majors, what you wanted to do once you graduated...

"Mom wanted me to be an engineer," Edward says, watching you from the rim of his cup. "Dad wanted me to be a policeman. Grandma wanted me to be a doctor. Ya know, just Asian family things."

"And you ended up going with your major... BS IT?"

"Stereotypical, I know," Edward rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "But I do love myself some codes and technologies. Besides, it's all the rage, these days. Lot of job opportunities. Might take up computer engineering too..."

"How did they react?" You asked.

"Like any other families in a collective society, shaming and guilt tripping." Edward shrugged nonchalantly. Though his tone was casual, his demeanour wasn't. "Ya know, just... Being subtle about it, like a jackhammer. 'Where did I go wrong?', 'Look at your cousins!', 'You're going to fail'!" He chuckles sardonically. "The most attention I received from them, to be honest."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be." Edward chuckles. Not the first impression he hoped that would last... Immediately, he pulls himself back together, brazen smile plastered on. "Well, I hope my baggage won't put you off. Am I still cute in your eyes?" Eyelashes bat coquettishly, lips puckered as he held his cup with both hands.

You couldn't help but giggle at the act, that brought a glimmer in Edward's eyes, his chest thumping harder than usual. Back then, he thought it was ye olde heart palpitations from the excess caffeine consumption.

"Well? I'm getting nervous," he probes, resuming to act coyly.

"Yeah, you're..." You gestured at him with a sheepish smile. "You are."

"Are what?"

You couldn't help but laugh, that cute little smile of yours... "At this point, you're just fishing for compliments."

The pair of you spent the afternoon at the café, having been productive with your activity and insightful with one another's perceptions. It was inevitable that you part ways, though exchanged contact information on your way out. Edward initially thought it would strictly be for the activity for your Ethics class, or just for academic purposes in general.

But he was a professional yapper who liked asking questions only to answer them. He found you to be intriguing enough that he allows you to answer as well. Now and then, he found himself popping in the chat box to say hi.

He almost always found himself texting you in the dead of night when he's done with studies, professional crammer that he is.

"Burning the midnight oil, I see." He wrote when he noticed you've yet to log off.

It didn't take long for you to receive and see the message. He felt a twitch on his lip when he saw your icon bob along as you wrote a correspondence.

"Nah, I wish I were that putting that much effort in acads," you wrote back. "can't sleep."

"Don't have a hunk warming up your bed?" He couldn't help but snort upon sending, already envisioning your response. That cute flushed face, scowling, furrowed brows, nose scrunched.

"Nah. Just my pet hogging the bed." Ah, playing it cool, huh? He could work with it, he reckons you were burning up at the other end.

"Little baby pics tradesies?"

"Bet."

You sent yours first, a photo of your adorable little guy in bed, the excited fur child obscuring the entire frame. Edward could make out your cheek outstretched with that very familiar smile, in the blurry background behind your pet.

You told him their name, how you got them. How they are... Adorable really, Edward made a note not to get delusional and meet your pet one day once you invited him back to your place.

Edward sent back a photo of his cat, a short-haired black kitty who has the audacity in life in general. It was worth it to find an apartment that allows pets in the building, even if he needed to walk and extra mile to uni.

"This is Meow Meow. Creative, I know,"

“Why Meow Meow?” They wrote back, he could swore he can hear the incredulity in his head.

“Well, my dear, the onomatopoeic name stuck because I wasn’t referring to her by her name, but communicating with.” Edward replied, his thumbs darting swiftly against his phone’s keyboard. “Ergo, the name stuck.”

“It’s adorable.” His sole light source was his phone, but the smile on his face could lit up an entire room. “What are they like?”

“Audacious. She just randomly appeared in my place one day, slept on my couch, demanded food and head scritches,” Edward wrote with a chuckle upon his recollection. “You know, how cats typically manifest.”

Small talks were nice were nice with you; you provided interesting answers.

“Say, what’s your relationship with existence and mortality?”

Of course, he had to ask heavy hitting questions.

The topic shift was entirely out of left field, but Edward dug deep. Of there was one thing he liked, it was depth. He didn’t have a better way of transitioning into the subject, so it was a massive surprise to be dropped this enigmatic bomb.

That night, you talked until the sunrise, neither of you able to fall asleep. Topics ranged from your pets, and his sudden and shift of topic. He appreciated it, being able to throw anything at your direction and with you being able to answer even if, for a moment, you were a touch flabbergasted. You talked about your views about the said matter, Edward deepening the conversation with questions and counterarguments. Then, there were the agreements, the relatability, the connection.

He caught himself finding solace with a shared feeling, same fear, similar experiences. How you wove your thoughts in a way that provided him insights about his own whereabouts, one that he had thought about, but not in the way you were in-depth and well-acquainted about it. He felt seen. Heard.

“Still can’t fall asleep?” Edward asked when the clock struck dawn.

“Nope. You?” His textmate sent.

“Neither can I.”

The sun began peaking through the windows and the college grind resumes into gear, much to Edward’s chagrin. The nights were short and the days dragged on. But at least you were there.

“See you at ethics?”

“See ya.”

Upon entering your first period of ethics, you were greeted with the sight of Edward waving at you to sit with him and a to-go cup of caffeine.

Since then, you've spent a lot of time together sporadically. Edward didn't want to be clingy, but he certainly took all the chance he could get to spend his time with you. Duo projects, going to parties, pulling all-nighters through texts. He has had the basic scope of your life, something you're mentioned in passing that he deemed noteworthy. It was easy to connect the dots from then on.

You liked writing. An outlet for that vicious mind, your musings tucked away in a journal. Occasional posts in your blogs (you never told him about its existence, but you know how Edward is.) all he had read and never let you know he had. With this in mind, he found himself nudging you to join university organizations to write.

"So?" Edward slides forward upon finding you occupied with the organisation pamphlets.

"So is used when you're concluding something. Yet some people use it as a a sentence starter." you murmured to yourself, in what seems to be a bid of evading his questioning.

"We're in the US, words lose their original function over time as language evolves," But of course, Edward could not resist to retort and see the cute face wince in resignation. "Linguistics aside, what is that?"

"Admission form for the school papers," with the manner of your response, Edward found it noncommittal. The notion of joining but a passing interest, like driving pass a billboard, the interest piqued for a flash before moving onto the road. And it was Edwards job to talk about it.

"You wanna try broadcasting? Cute guys there, with the baritones. You get to travel outside of campus too." Edward plants the seed of interest. Something innocuous, the first pebble in an avalanche. "Not to mention, the advisor is Professor Austin. Make a friend out of him and you're set for the semester. If you a have with him, that is. I heard he's gonna be a thesis advisor next year."

"No, I'm kinda looking at the writing." Bingo.

"Oh you should!" He encourages with a nudge. "What are we talking? Opinion? Literary? Sports?"

"I'm kinda thinking... Feature."

“Feature, huh? Playing safe, are we?”

“There’s just so many applications for literary, I don’t wanna clog admissions.”

“You mean… You don’t want competition, that is.” The shit-eating grin of his was granted a deadpan of your own, inspiring the thought that he was not far from his assumption. Spoken like a tragic artist… “Come on! You’re a dime in a dozen! The second coming of Shakespeare, even! Or Mary Shelley… Or Oscar Wilde… Or George Orwell… Or--!”

“I don’t really feel like writing when the prompt is hella limited. They’re probably just going to let us write about some Hallmark pieces to inspire festering students steeped in burnout and caffeine.”

Ah yes, narrative and creative control, really hard to become a literary writer when you’re writing someone else’s vision to fruition, especially when you’re not getting paid for it, either. He’s seen the literary pieces posted in the college publications; the writers don’t seem to be enjoying writing those with how corporate it looked. Touche. Thus, there he was, being watched as he nods thoughtfully, lips pursed. Spoken like a true burnt-out writer… Oh woe, the writer’s plight of being the creatively-drained artist, with the shallow capitalist baddies sucking on the remaining artistry in art for some Benjamins. All meandering aside…

You continued, “And feature’s good, lets you infodump niche topics. Gives me time to dig around for sources, learn something new, get a new hyperfixation… I’m good at research, informative topics are always the rage, especially for the campus dorks.”

Edward couldn't help but ponder aloud, finger tapping the table, “Are you doing it because you’re good at it, or because you want to…?”

“Because I want to try it out.”

What was left to do but support you, even if it's not what you really wanted, but had stubbornly stuck to it? As much as it painted him to see you in this role of researcher and informative paraphraser and trivia master, when you wanted to write literature, it was your prerogative and you were correct, you were good at it. And validation was nice, being useful was nice.

At some point in time, you graduated, constructed your resume, your portfolio and immediately got a job. Edward was oblivious to those, having been occupied falling out of college due to burnout and plotting high-stakes Television highjacking and pettily abducting greedy billionaires that fucked him over during his internship to play in a fucked up gameshow of his making, as you do. Accumulated frustrations towards big daddy corporations, how smart people were on leashes by some mogul with an ugly mug. Was certainly the best way to drift apart from a friend after internships.

Your pursuits, he only out when he was perusing through magazines during his accomodation in Arkham. He recognised the diction, the very same he had read the first time he had ever stumbled upon your writing that one fateful day when you were just a name to him.

It was melancholic in a way. You've reached the top rung of the ladder with journalism when the plan was to be a New York's Bestseller. He was happy for you still, seeing you stand in your full, pretty glory in front of a camera was surreal (even if he had to highjack during your segment, ooops, he'd always been self-centred.) Despite the gap since you silently fell off, Edward was almost certain you only pursued this was not due to you liking it, but it was because you were good at it. And people expected you to.

In hindsight, you never got to ignite the flame of your relationship despite the sparks. He left before anything can be initiated, to be admitted. Was it presumptuous of him to assume you felt the same? No. But with an all-consuming pathology that came with the compulsion to find answer, Edward was certain; you felt something for him, too.

"Nygma, you have a visitor."

Oh would you look at that...

Typically, he wouldn't have lowered whatever that was in his hands, not particularly cooperative and willing to entertain whoever wants to visit him (it's not like his family wants to see him, after what disgrace he brought to the Nashton name.) Currently, it was the newspaper, folded on Vicki Vale's article about his recent highjacking of a certain uprising Y/N L/N in the journalism sphere. Lowered it, he did. Edward has the feeling he would have a visitor worth humouring.

He was right.

"Sooo..." Edward drawls, leaning across the table, drawing closer to capture your visage, to capture your picture to accompany him in his solitary confinement. He doesn't even know what to say.

"So is used when you're concluding something." you murmured to yourself, trying to lean back and give yourself some space. The same wince. Eyes squinted, nose scrunched, brows furrowed. The barest hint of flush dusting those cheeks.

"Yet some people use it as a a sentence starter," he finishes with melancholy in his smile. "Oh, you syntactical nerd. How have you been?"

Catching up was easy despite the initial uncertainty and awkwardness in the air. On your end, that is. But it was easy to fall back on old habits, like muscle memory, you were able to move through the same rhythm and melody he used to subject you to. The profound questions, the insightful two cents he offers... And of course, the need to dig deeper, if it was possible, was possible.

“You’re still a writer,” Edward pointed out. “Feature.” Instead of literary, like you always wanted. Far from school you were now, and yet you bind yourself within invisible constraints to the whims of whatever your publication demands of you.

“That was the plan.”

“Was it?” The minutest detail of your expression he scrutinised, the tiniest quirk of the brow and your slightest purse of your lips. You didn’t like the notion being challenged, real dreams be damned, stubborn pride and ego were at the brunt of it all. He couldn’t fault you, really, the reception of your works was a goldmine for validation. No wonder you continued being a news writer after college, you perpetuate the field of writing that you didn’t like all that much. It certainly wasn’t for the pay, you get like what? The editor-in-chief’s chump change no doubts at the bottom of his drawer, proclaiming he could just put a prompt in ChatGPT to get it to write him an article. God, he hopes the writing strike gets that bastard soon--

“It is,” you insist with uncertain-footing. “I mean… You weren’t there to know, anyway.”

Touche. But…

“Y/N, come on…” Edward’s gaze bore profoundly into yours. You already know, that he knows that you know this wasn't the path you wanted to pave. You already boarded and you weren’t going to leave mid-ride. Edward didn’t need his smart mouth to spell it out for you, as much as he wanted nothing more since he wanted to hear his voice again. But he didn’t. He let the eureka come to you. Shame that he didn’t get to see that when he had to be detained again.

“We’ll we see each other again,” he says, turning over his shoulder. “What is it that you can keep after giving it to someone else?”

“Word.”

#edward nygma #dc x reader #edward nigma #the riddler #riddler #batman unburied riddler #batman unburied edward nygma x reader #batman unburied riddler x reader

2 notes · View notes

quandaryqueen · 7 hours ago

Text

Mountains

my lovelies have voted and i must listen 🗣️

“BIG BOY I NEED YOU”

- my roommate

470 notes · View notes

quandaryqueen · 1 month ago

Text

I Don’t Smoke // Jason Todd x GN!Reader

this is the last song my band covered before we disbanded so i was feeling sentimental 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ but i do not encourage smoking to be clear!! jason is a coin flip and a brick wall, a brick wall you are unfortunately attached to. this was supposed to be done alot earlier but turbulent times! ended up cat sitting for my cheater ex bc his house burnt down 😨👍

—

You remember the first time you took a drag out of a cigarette. It hit the back of your throat before you knew you were breathing it, and burned the whole way through. Bitter and brute. As you coughed your worth out of your body, expelling smoke and air and tears, you were convinced then that your lungs were blackened and would be forever. Your friends laughed and you told them you’d never smoke again.

That was ages ago. You were ashamed of it, the pack of Winston’s you always kept tucked away in your nightstand and the matchbox that accompanied it. But on nights that were long and extra quiet, like this one, you’d slip one to remember the taste.

Winston was Jason’s brand. He liked them because they were smooth, sweeter than your average while still strong enough to bite in the aftertaste. Balanced. Metaphoric in a way, for the way he acted.

He didn’t always smell of tobacco, only when he suddenly appeared to you during later hours, a visage of smoke and sweat, or when he wore that one leather jacket that the smell couldn’t be washed from. You’d get a whiff of it when he leaned over to drape an arm over your shoulder; you learned to hate it less.

But he always tasted like them, unmistakable and permanent. It lingered on his lips every time you kissed, and then it became synonymous. You learned to miss him, the sweetness and the bite.

It was hard to say you and Jason were ever going steady. There was an awkward push and pull game both of you played, and neither of you had the courage to question it; at least, you didn’t.

When things were good they were almost domestic. You went out together fairly often. He’d make you soup if you were sick, pat the sweat off your brow. You’d hold him through lightning storms, when the clash of thunder sounded too much like clanging metal and triggered a childlike fear in him.

But he’d never move in with you, he’d get defensive at the notion, and that hurt more than it needed to. You’d hinted at it before, after he’d known you long enough, but you only asked once. You knew it was a mistake when he tensed up, but at first you couldn’t tell if it was nerves or anger talking.

“What for?” Whatever playful tone he had before had a coldness injected into it now. You should’ve known it was anger, he didn’t react on nerves.

“You always stay the night,”despite the pit forming in your stomach, you tried to be lighthearted about it. You could smile like it wasn’t a big deal. “You know my kitchen, and I do your laundry. The guest room is your room.”

“So what? I leave a couple shirts and that means I live with you? That doesn’t mean anything.” There were times that felt like an unscalable wall divided the two of you, and this was one of them. It meant less than you thought it did. He couldn’t be blamed for it. You couldn’t have helped it.

“Okay. Sorry I brought it up.”

Jason had a habit of turning into smoke sometimes, very quickly out of sight and undeniably out of reach. Going no contact with the whim of the wind, it was like you weren’t a priority. You probably weren’t. He never breathed a word about where he would disappear to, and you knew better than to prod too much.

And when he was back sometimes you’d feel the wall again. Bruised and brooding, untouchable by your hands or your mind. He felt violent, the way he was rougher when he grabbed things and avoided touching you. Jason wasn’t the type to hurt you or actively lash out, but you felt the anger anyway in the glass shards you found in the trash or the tinkling sounds of trinkets against walls in his room.

It didn’t make you mad, or even scared. It just hurt to know he wouldn’t trust you with it. To know that his temper wasn’t going anywhere, and you weren’t adequate to touch it. The anger had to leave him somehow, and surely hiding it behind broken vases wasn’t enough. But you didn’t have the gall to say much about it, he was deeply distrusting and you were deeply complacent.

You weren’t yourself when you met him. That was your excuse. In a way, it set the tone for everything. After a particularly bad break up, you found yourself on the messy end of one too many mimosas and a handsome, tall stranger that was willing to listen to you slur about the cheater this and that asshole that.

The same stranger took you to his cozy apartment after you couldn’t hold your head up and decreed you’d forgotten your address.

Despite being a greek god of a man, he was awkward when you couldn’t help but cry, overwhelmed with emotion and alcohol. He didn’t touch you the whole night, just watched like a cornered dog. And he didn’t bring it up in the morning when you threw up on his carpet before passing out.

Anyone else would’ve left you at the bar, and if you were anyone else he would’ve done the same. But supposedly you were special, he said. Captivating and sincere, in a kicked puppy sort of way, and it was enough to wipe your vomit off the floor without a fuss.

It was hard not to like him after all that. And his chiseled jaw didn’t hurt either.

But sometimes you wish weren’t so casual about things when you’d met. If you explained that waking up in someone else’s apartment with no recollection was something alien to you, instead of playing it off, things might be different.

You thought he liked you because you were casual— cool, easygoing. He knew you as someone who didn’t overreact or get flustered easily or clutch caution. That’s who you were from the morning you woke up, asked who he was, and apologized for inconveniencing him. And it was the desire for consistency, fear of hurting what you built, that you remained complicit.

Your lungs were black now; jet black, like his hair and his favorite pair of boots. You were as casual as you were a smoker when you’d met, but when the smell lingers it doesn’t leave and the desperate desire to remember taste creeps in again. And sometimes you missed yourself, but not as much as you missed him in his increasing absence. The way the smoke seeped in, it clung to your walls and your favorite sleeping shirts and it was impossible now not to miss him.

You could always kick the habit, but not the taste of his lips. All of this, for him to hold you at arm’s length. After clinging to your walls and clothes and bed spreads, he had the nerve to say nothing. Sometimes the smoke was enough to kill fear for frustration, you had to deserve more than that. It had to hurt more to stay silent. He meant too much for you to be nothing.

So you ran it over again, your worth and your hurt, flicking the ashes off the half burnt roll. It wasn’t so disgusting anymore.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out behind you. You didn’t hear him slip in, silent as ever. “It’s late.”

“It is,” you affirmed. Pressing the charred end of the cigarette against your banister put it out cleanly.

“You’re not sleeping?” A strong pair of arms caged your waist as you stared out at the pitch black skyline. Jason felt warm, as he usually did, a welcome contrast to the cold of the outside air.

“Well, you’re talking to me.” He hummed in response while you flicked what was left of the cigarette into the dustbin you kept on your balcony. Then, you asked a question you knew he wouldn’t like. “Where were you?”

“Business.” The answer was immediate and final. And vague.

“Why won’t you tell me?” you probed.

Jason stiffened, you could feel his arms tense around you, a warning. “Don’t start.“

His tone was callous, like all the affection and warmth he had dried up all at once. This was a different person.

“Do you hate me? Sometimes I get the sense that you do.” He let go of you and it was cold again, you didn’t have to turn around to know he was walking away.

“Go to bed. You’re not thinking straight.”

“No. I need you to give me something.” Before he could get too far, you caught him by his hand. He had rough hands, capable of violence, you knew, but you were never scared of that from him. “I’m what you want until you disappear again and you tell me nothing. And you come back and do it all over again, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be to you.”

“Goodnight.” But he was stronger, you knew, and had no trouble ripping out of your grip to stalk off. If it ended like this you’d be at square one again. He’d lock his jaw and you’d bear the bite.

“Can’t you just yell at me!” You weren’t a beggar, but you’d never known desperation like this. That you could give someone else so much power over you. “I know you’re mad, just yell at me. It won’t hurt my feelings if you yell. Be mean. I can take it. But don’t sit with it and hate me, you can’t hate me—“

“Would you shut up?” At the very least he stopped, you were on the brink now, of your limit and his patience. You’d never seen him scowl like that, not at you, but it went as quickly as it came when he turned around. He’d never seen you cry like that, not over him.

“I don’t know where you go when you’re angry, but you can yell at me and stay. You always leave and if it’s because you’re mad at me then say so, I can listen.” You weren’t thinking, just spitting whatever bubbled up, “but I can’t be nothing to you, I have to matter enough for you to yell at me at least or tell me anything, I don’t have anything of yours and you are in everything I own.”

He paced over as you babbled, wiping off the forming tears with his thumbs. But Jason wasn’t an apologist or an open book, and once the smoke cleared from your lungs, you’d remember that. He held your heart in his volatile hands, and he’d decide how to break it. So he kissed your head and left anyway.

“We’ll talk in the morning.”

#jason todd x reader #hes so precious omg #this #this i love sm #and mitski too 💝😩#we are eating today mhmhmhmh #jason todd #the angst so delicious

95 notes · View notes

quandaryqueen · 2 months ago

Text

if you were at your worst, if you’re a villain or a screwup or whatever, there is a goth man dressed as a giant bat who keeps coming after you, bothering you. he sabotages your journey of self destruction over and over. ur ready to give up but he won’t let you. you think, today he won’t come. today he will give up on me too. he never does.

6K notes · View notes

quandaryqueen · 3 months ago

Text

#for anyone that needs it <3

203K notes · View notes

quandaryqueen · 6 months ago

Text

Tips for writing those gala scenes, from someone who goes to them occasionally:

Generally you unbutton and re-button a suit coat when you sit down and stand up.

You’re supposed to hold wine or champagne glasses by the stem to avoid warming up the liquid inside. A character out of their depth might hold the glass around the sides instead.

When rich/important people forget your name and they’re drunk, they usually just tell you that they don’t remember or completely skip over any opportunity to use your name so they don’t look silly.

A good way to indicate you don’t want to shake someone’s hand at an event is to hold a drink in your right hand (and if you’re a woman, a purse in the other so you definitely can’t shift the glass to another hand and then shake)

Americans who still kiss cheeks as a welcome generally don’t press lips to cheeks, it’s more of a touch of cheek to cheek or even a hover (these days, mostly to avoid smudging a woman’s makeup)

The distinctions between dress codes (black tie, cocktail, etc) are very intricate but obvious to those who know how to look. If you wear a short skirt to a black tie event for example, people would clock that instantly even if the dress itself was very formal. Same thing goes for certain articles of men’s clothing.

Open bars / cash bars at events usually carry limited options. They’re meant to serve lots of people very quickly, so nobody is getting a cosmo or a Manhattan etc.

Members of the press generally aren’t allowed to freely circulate at nicer galas/events without a very good reason. When they do, they need to identify themselves before talking with someone.

91K notes · View notes

quandaryqueen · 7 months ago

Note

Can I request a mark drabble w/ breeding kink 👉👈 I'd love either bff mark or sinister mark but if you go the sinister route can I be a bit of a coward and ask that he be a little. Softer. Maybe specifically for the reader bc I am a little pansy and I get unrealistically offended when I'm condescended or treated like property, and while it would be hot if this man talked down to me I would also be inclined to punch him in the baby maker and then we'd all suffer bc no smut would ensue 😭

Sorry, I just dumped a bit of unwarranted baggage on u there but you come off as really sweet in all your posts so I hope it didn't bother you too much! Thank you for all of your posts btw your writing is delicious! Also your English is very good, you have a great grasp of the language and I respect and appreciate all the effort you must put into making all of your writing so articulate. English especially is said to be very hard to learn so I immensely respect the effort that goes into it, regardless of any/how much help you require/accept to do so. Manifesting a mild inconvenience to that anon a while back who accused you of faking for some reason I hope they step on a wet kitchen tile while wearing socks or something and rethink how they choose to speak to people online. 😊♡

hello anon!! thank you so much for your considerations, maybe it is because i am emotional since i get very choked up when it is birthday season but this had made me cry happy tears 😭😭 also, i agree!! if anyone was to talk to me like i am disposable in real life, i think that i would break down and disintegrate haha!! it is not cowardly to ask for things, do not be swayed!! baggage is never unwanted here, i am the baggage 😂!! i will do the upmost of my best ability, as i have been waiting to write for s!mark again 🤭🤭 also, i do agree people should be more mindful about what they say to others! you never know what anyone is going through, just because you can hide behind a screen mask doesn’t mean you should or can be mean to people!! i do not judge those who do though, they will learn as months and years pass, people do learn and change!!

cw: mdni, smut, breeding kink, just a little drable to warm up my fingers hehe!! minor injury, reader patches him up

you could hear your husband come crashing through the juliet balcony of your bedroom, bumping into the bed and waking you up fully. you bolted up, scanning the darkness of the room and staring at the silhouette of your lover, crouched over in the shadows. “mark?” you peep, eyes still adjusting as you clicked on the bedside lamp, your eyes instantly closing when the brightness took you by surprise.

he looks back at you, pulling his mask with its flimsy broken black goggles off of his face and discarding it to the floor with a heavy sigh. mark always found it so cute how you’d gasp with your hands flying to cover your mouth when he returned with an injury, your worried eyes looking him over as you jump out from under the covers, hands flying up to cover his cheeks and observe his cut nose bridge, one of his eyes squinted due to the budding bruise on his upper cheekbone, “gonna nurse me back to health, baby?” he asks, smiling down at you and placing a kiss to your forehead. he listens to you lecture him about being careful when visiting other planets, rolling his eyes like he’d really just die like that. you knew he was tough, but it didn’t hurt to be concerned.

he sits on the side of the bathtub in the bathroom, tilting his face to the side so you could rub his injuries down with antiseptic solution, mumbling something about how he was still half human so he still had to be a little careful. he didn’t know how many times he’d had to tell you that even though he was still half human everything else was 100% brutal alien. each time he told you, you ignored it. maybe you liked patching him up, placing cute bandages on his face to stop his bleeding. he was hardly injured but he’d be damned if he didn’t let his cute little wife dote on him like this, the sleeves of your fluffy gown he’d bought home for you rolled up your arms as you fiddle with the first aid kit.

“y’know what’d me me feel better?” mark says, taking your hands into his. god, he could just crush you right now, you were so adorable. you hum in response, intertwining your fingers with his as he brings them to his lips, trailing kisses up your arm and pulling you closer, inching towards you slowly. your mouth hangs open with a breathless silent mewl as his lips stop just by your jawline, finding it hard to hold himself back from nipping your skin and marking you up. you nod at his earlier question which draws a chuckle from him, hands moving down to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, “let’s go to bed, then.”

you’ve got your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto his back as he pistoned his hips in and out of your tight heat, never being shameful of your moans. music to his ears, he thought, letting you cry out so desperately into the night. if you had neighbours you’re sure they’d complain. he groaned when he felt you clench around him, muscled thighs stuttering for a moment as you suffocated his cock within your walls. “oh, babygirl-“ he tilts his head back, holding you firmly as your legs wrap around his waist, practically bouncing you up and down on his dick himself, “m-mark..-!” you squeal, voice raspy and throat dry when you feel him buck up into your g-spot, weeping head poking at it repeatedly, trying to pull your orgasm out of you. you whine loudly, holding onto him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

“shhh, s’okay, hold onto me like that, there we go.” mark comforts you, such a strange comparison from when he’s out causing mayhem to now. if those who opposed him were to see him right now, they’d think he’d be a different person. he was so soft with you, treated you like you were made of porcelain and you loved it. you were glad that you’d somehow tamed him in a way, molded him into your perfect husband as he made you into his perfect wife. domestic bliss.

you stifle your noises with his shoulder, softly biting on it as he snapped his hips up into yours vigorously, his own orgasm approaching hard and fast. you could feel the way his cock throbbed inside of you, the way he slowed his hips a little before trying to keep up his pace. “so tight, always so perfect n’ tight f’me, aren’t you?” you nod brainlessly into his shoulder and he coos at you, eyebrows furrowed together as he gasps lightly.

“i’m gonna cum, princess.” he says breathlessly, humping against you for his own orgasm, “inside…” you whisper to him and he almost loses it right there, almost falls over when he thinks about the implications it might have. “inside? yeah-fuck, gonna let me cum inside, just for me?” mark pants, pussydrunk figure caging you in under him as he chases his orgasm, “gimme a kid… f-fuck, gimme a baby, wanna make you a mama… g’na look so perfect— fuh-uck..!” he babbles, vision blanking as he cums inside of you, wave after wave of his warm seed spilling into your cunt, seeping into your womb. he canted his hips a few more times, almost fucking himself into overstimulation as he continued talking, “..gonna give me a mini me, huh? complete our little family?” he asks as you nod in agreement, too fucked out to even process what he’d said to you just now.

713 notes · View notes

quandaryqueen · 7 months ago

Text

Sex stuff you probably won’t learn from fanfiction and/or porn:

Erotic fic and porn can be a lot of fun! But if you aren’t being provided with adequate sex ed through other channels (comprehensive sexual education, frank and open discussions with trusted adults, etc.), turning to fanfic and porn for your understanding of sex is gonna leave some major blindspots and may leave you with some unrealistic expectations. While there’s nothing wrong with these kinds of erotica, they are fictional and tend to leave out a lot of the more realistic, human parts of sex - they serve a great purpose, but that purpose isn’t primarily educational. The following is an incomplete list of some things you should probably know about sex that a lot of fic and porn tends to leave out:

It isn’t always super hot or super sweet. Sometimes it’s super silly. Or sometimes it’s sort of mundane and you’re both simply scratching an itch. That’s fine too. (Hell, sometimes you’re talking about comic books while boning and your partner is laughing that you’re getting REALLY ANGRY about spider-man while they’re going to town on you.)

You will probably not climax at the same moment. It’s a sweet idea, but extremely hard to coordinate, and if all your concentration is going into coming at the exact same moment, you’re probably not enjoying yourselves as much as you might.

Sometimes bodies make weird, goofy noises. Squelching, slapping, air-escaping, un-sexy noises. It’s okay to laugh at this.

Hell, it’s okay to laugh during sex in general.

Sometimes you fart. Sometimes you fart while someone is going down on you and it is embarrassing as hell. This isn’t the end of the world. Embarrassing body things happen. Heck, sometimes, with anal, there’s a little poo. You get over it.

Sometimes sex is… kinda bad? This doesn’t mean it’s assault, or something traumatic – sometimes it’s consensual but just kinda bleh and not what you hoped for. The best thing to do (if you’re talking about sex with a partner and not just a hook up who you can not call back) is talk to them about it. Figure out what went wrong, what you enjoy and what you don’t, and communicate what techniques you do and don’t like. Also don’t be afraid to stop someone in the middle of the sex act you’re not enjoying and offer guidance on how to help make it good for you too. (Side tip: masturbation makes great research into what you personally do and don’t enjoy sexually)

You won’t enjoy every sex act. Not every body is wired to find every thing pleasurable. You might find anal does nothing for you. You may find g-spot stimulation just makes you really anxious that you’re about to pee. You may not enjoy giving or receiving oral. You’re not broken if you don’t like something that every pornstar or smutty fanfic protagonist seems to have earth-shattering orgasms from. Everyone’s got nerve endings in a range of places – it’s quite literally, different strokes for different folks.

On that note, not all orgasms are earth-shattering. Sometimes it just feels warm and nice. That’s fine too.

Sometimes, if you’re neutral on a sex act and your partner loves it, you can suck it up for them, and they’ll suck up something they’re not crazy about for your pleasure in return. But communicate preferences with each other! Know that when a partner does that thing you love that they don’t get much from, that it’s an act of care, and vice versa.

Falling asleep in each other’s arms right after wild passionate sex seems really romantic, but dried and crusty fluids are gonna be a bitch in the morning. Also, after sex, you should both (regardless of your equipment) go pee to clear out the urethra of any gunk or bacteria to reduce risk of a UTI.

Putting a towel down on the bed before sex means you don’t have to sleep on wet funky sheets. (it’s also verrrrrry useful for period sex if you or your partner menstruate.)

A lot of people don’t like dirty talk, or rough sex. Always ask first. (Fanfic on the whole does a better job than porn at showing communication, but a lot of it is still highly fictive on this point)

PROTECTION PROTECTION PROTECTION. Use condoms, dental dams, etc. not just to prevent pregnancy, but to reduce risk of STIs. (Yes, even couples with the same genitals who don’t need to worry about pregnancy).

Lube is great and very important, but random goopy things around you are not good lube. Random oils especially, since oil doesn’t flush out well and can trap bacteria inside the body – oil-based lubricant also degrades condoms. Use lube specifically designed for intimate purposes. Water-based and silicone-based lubes help sex feel really good!

Bigger isn’t necessarily better. A lot of people with vaginas don’t enjoy the feeling of being repeatedly punched in the cervix by a monster cock. Some people enjoy a larger size when being penetrated by an appendage or toy and some don’t.

Bodies are hairy. Genitals are hairy. You may get a pube stuck in your teeth at some point. If your partner is WAY fuzzier than porn ever led you to believe they’d be, well, that’s normal.

Not everyone loves the taste of ejaculate. Sometimes it’s nasty (flavor tends to vary from person to person depending on their diet, but sometimes you just really don’t like it no matter what. Some of us hate the taste of peanut butter. People don’t always like things). It’s okay not to swallow, or to request a penis-having partner warn you so they don’t ejaculate in your mouth (in fact, it’s polite for them to do the latter).

If you’re gonna have shower sex, get one of those rubbery mats for the shower floor that gives you traction, because otherwise it’s super embarrassing to call for an ambulance while dripping wet and naked because you slipped and accidentally broke something and your partner got a concussion while you were trying to bang in the shower.

Moaning and screaming wildly during sex is fun but it will make the neighbors in the apartments adjacent to you hate you. Make choices accordingly.

71K notes · View notes