#[I think I have a better recording device to use for this]

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[reidmotif]

I’ve Got My Eye On You

Summary: Reader is a Special Surveillance agent assigned to spy on Spencer. He manages to see through her cover, and thoroughly enjoys the confrontation that follows.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, f!masturbation, slight dubcon regarding recorded sex, heavily based on that one scene in scandal, iykyk.

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

I’d always been good at watching people. 

My life had been spent mostly to myself, divulging the information people offered without even realizing. When you talk less, you learn that body language, passing remarks, or even the quirk of an eyebrow gives away more than anyone ever realized– maybe more than an actual conversation at times. 

And I took it all in stride, not a single detail left unanalyzed. People were always surprised when I’d mention my observations, finding a way to explain a seemingly unexplainable situation, those around me wondering how on Earth I could’ve been privy to that. I’d always shrug at their queries. 

Pay more attention, I guess. 

It wasn’t a surprise that I’d ended up here, I suppose, in the end, as an Investigative Specialist for the FBI. I doubt that my listening skills were exactly what landed me the job, but I’d like to believe they contributed more than they actually did. Regardless, I’d never expected the result of the decisions I’d made over the years to lead to this– involved in spying on an agent of our own. 

The infamous "Dr Reid".

His specific circumstances had been shrouded in secrecy and mystery, apparently having just been let out of prison. (Prison? How’s he an agent then? Anyway, not my problem).

 The Bureau had been curious about erratic behavior on his part, and the string of discrepancies involving the unit he was involved in. Apparently, there had been multiple unforeseen and unprecedented events all occurring under the same team in a relatively small time-frame, and despite smaller investigations, nothing came out of them to warrant any real disciplinary action.  Probably why they brought me in, in the hopes of changing that. 

I’d been assigned to put up small, virtually undetectable cameras and listening devices within his apartment. 24/7 home surveillance, no exceptions. I couldn’t help but think that the guy really should invest in better apartment security, despite how easy his naivete made my job. His lack of caution surprised me, given the details I’d been given. For a guy who had a penchant for being framed by the ghosts of his past, he sure didn’t live like it.  Even as an FBI agent, he essentially had no technology to counter my own, and the height of his protection was a standard deadbolt. Was he insane? Unaware, somehow? Only time would tell, I suppose. And I had plenty of that, to watch and deduce the nature of his mind on my own terms. 

My time spent with Spencer resulted in one, overwhelming conclusion. Spencer Reid lived a relatively quiet life. His apartment was barely used, honestly, given the sporadic nature of his job. (Which was a shame, in my opinion, because it’s a nice apartment).  When he was at home, he seemed to remain quite unassuming. The positions I’d see him assume often were that of being hunched over on an aging leather sofa, pouring himself into grading papers, or creating lesson plans for his students. Oh, right. Did I mention he was also a professor? He is. I’d assume he likes the job, given how much of himself he gives into it, or maybe that was just who he was as a person. I wasn’t sure yet. 

I monitored his life outside of the apartment occasionally as well, just to see what intel I could gather with further investigation. There wasn’t much. Coffee shops. Book shops. Coffee. Books. Coffee- God, does the guy do anything else with his life? 

Most days, though, I’d liken him to butter spread too thinly over toast. Sleepless from nightmares that would have him walking around his apartment until daylight broke through the window panes. I felt exhausted just watching the guy, and it seemed insane that he could continue to live on when he left that apartment at the break of dawn. It didn’t seem like he had anyone to talk to, honestly. From what I was seeing, he wasn’t a threat to the Bureau, just a sad, middle-aged man who’d been dealt the most unfair of hands in life. 

I’m sure there’s a moral somewhere in all that. To waste your potential on something that gives so little back. Oh, well. My report was nearly finished at this point, and the most I could recommend the higher-ups was to get Spencer a better therapist, maybe. This one wasn’t really helping, it seemed. Besides that, his personal behavior wasn’t indicative of anything worrying to the interests of those managing him. 

At long last, it was my final night of watching him. Coincidentally, the date lined up with Halloween, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to finally be free of this specific survey job. Don’t get me wrong, Spencer seemed nice- but God, his life was boring. I don’t want to say it was like watching paint dry,  out of respect, but previous targets had offered at least some part of their life to be interested within. Spencer had nothing. No friends over, no gossip-like phone conversations, no drunk wanderings home. Nothing! I know he didn’t sign up to be watched, but God. 

Like, come on. Give me anything here. 

Needless to say, I’d become accustomed to the quiet, and this night was no different. If he was following schedule, he should be home right about … now. 

Now? 

Now… 

Silence. 

Spencer was definitely a creature of habit, so to not see him adhere to the routine he’d so meticulously stuck to in the past was a bit jarring, but I assumed he was just running late. 

A few hours later, I reasoned he must be running really really late. It was bordering on midnight, and he still wasn’t home. I checked train schedules, possible reports of a car crash, just about anything that could keep him from his scheduled appearance at home. 

I was just about to call my supervisor to look into whether or not he’d been called out on a surprise case, but that’s when the door of his apartment creaked open, and I felt my shoulders deflate in relief. Okay, he was home. He was going to go to bed and- 

He wasn’t alone. 

Spencer was dressed in all black, a leather belt adorned with a gold belt buckle being the only color his outfit brought. He wore tiny devil’s ears upon his head, the headband pushing down on the mop of curls that sat atop his head. He looked absolutely delicious, if I must say myself, and it seemed the woman in his arms would agree with me. 

He practically pulled her into his apartment, kicking his door in with his leg before slightly fumbling with the lock. As soon as the mechanism slipped into place, his hands were all over her, pressing her flush against his body, as if he couldn’t bear to have any space between them. 

For all the time I’d been watching him, none of his behavior indicated the presence of any kind of significant other, so this girl must be a stranger. If this is how Spencer treated strangers though, I was surprised he didn’t have a barrage of women lining up at his door every night. 

His lips absolutely devoured the girl, his hand cradling the side of her face, before his thigh slipped in between her legs, possibly to soothe a building ache that had built up there in the time they’d spent together, which I found entirely possible, considering I, personally, was heated from simply watching. 

I watched the pixels on the screen with such precision, innocuous shades of red, green and blue painting the most sinful of images. I found myself noting the way his hand snuck up the girls’ dress, the way her breathing hitched as she pulled back, watching as Spencer presumably played with her clit. I could feel myself squeezing my thighs together, recognizing just how wrong it was to be turned on by the scene in front of me, but I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t as if this was the first time a target had behaved sexually in front of me. (Or in front of the camera, I suppose.) I’d seen and heard just about anything you could think of, but this was different- in a way. To see Spencer so filthy, so confident, so- interesting. It lit a fire in me that burned with every passing moment he touched this girl. 

I’m able to watch him circle over her panties in a way that has her groaning directly into his ear, a smug grin plastering his face as he watches her every reaction. 

“Like that?” He murmurs, and I’ve never heard his voice so fucking deep.

She nods frantically, and it only serves to widen his grin. I can feel myself rocking slightly in my own chair, doing anything to try and soothe the fast growing arousal within me, unable to stop from imagining myself in her place. His hands, the feel of hot breath down my neck- 

I’m stopped dead in my tracks, however, when his eyes suddenly shift to the camera closest to him, his eyebrow raising, as if in challenge. He continues to whisper in the girl’s ear, and has the galls to wink. I’m horrified, a very sudden and intense heat rising to my cheeks. I can only watch for a second more, before he’s suddenly pulling her away, and I realize he’s taken her  within one of the only blind spots within the apartment. 

I’m scrambling to turn off the feed, stunned into silence whilst, my heart beating uncontrollably and eccentrically. Oh god. He knew. He knew and he did that?! 

I stare into the empty space, a multitude of thoughts inhabiting my brainscape. On one hand, the aplomb shown in that situation was commendable, since most people would react to the knowledge that they’d been secretly watched in their own home for the past few months in a much more hostile way. On the other hand, how did he even acquire that knowledge? The cameras were virtually undetectable, and he’d never let on that he was aware of their presence, and I’d know, considering how closely I’d watched him. 

I shake off the thoughts, focusing on something other than the overwhelming mortification coursing through me now.  

Alright, tomorrow, get into his apartment, remove the cameras, and hopefully never have to look at the man again. In any capacity, honestly. 

When daylight broke, I turned on the cameras for the final time, a bit more sheepish, knowing he was aware of the devices plaguing his home. However, it seemed like he was once again pretending like he wasn’t aware of the looming existence of them, sending his female companion off her merry way once they woke up, before going about his normal routine, heading out of the apartment for what was most likely his morning coffee and then afternoon lecture at the university. 

That was my cue. I turned off the cameras,  quickly making my way out to sneak into his residence, the heavy door offering little resistance to my advances, my movements quiet and undetectable. 

I’m  in the process of removing the final camera I had placed in his bedroom, hidden behind a copy of  The Sign of Four. Doyle. He had good taste, I could give him that. 

I’m just about to turn around and get the hell out of there, when I hear a voice behind me. 

“I noticed that one first, you know.”

I turn around slowly, embarrassed and slightly fearful to find Spencer’s eyes meeting mine. I’d watched him for so long, but seeing him now– his eyes were so beautiful. The camera didn’t do him justice.

He continues, despite the silence. “The other ones were harder to spot, I’ll give you that, but once I knew where they were, it was a bit obvious, don’t you think?” 

I’m speechless. My mouth is agape, and all he seems to do is smile at my lack of prose. 

“Don’t look so surprised. I know this apartment. I’m not here a lot, but I spend enough time to know when things have been shifted around.” His tone is cheeky, and he pauses, almost theatrically to add on:

“I’m sure you knew that though.”  His smile turns into more of a smirk. 

God, did he have to be so hot?

“Are you going to complain to the Bureau?” I manage out, keeping my eyes steady on him. 

“Did you find anything of note to tell them?” He responds, tilting his head with curiosity. 

I shake my head vehemently. “No, um. Nothing pertinent to say.” I get my words out in a hurry, my gaze continually trained on him. 

He meets my eyes with the same stare. “Then I don’t have much of a reason to complain.” 

I nod solemnly. I’m wondering where this situation will lead- what either of our next moves are. Before I can ponder long though, he surprises me and takes a step closer.

“I saw you, you know.” He says. “Thought I was going insane when the same pretty girl kept showing up at the bookstore and coffee shop out of the blue, but I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences.” 

“Oh.” I whisper. I really wasn’t as good as I thought I was. 

“You really shouldn’t beat yourself up.” He says, chuckling with some mirth. “Again, I’m observant. I notice these things. That, and you’re pretty.” He says, forward. “So, more of a reason to notice.” 

“Oh.” I reply, yet again, dumbfounded by the events currently transpiring. 

“Yes, oh.” He chuckles, before he starts to move closer yet again. “Tell me. Were you watching last night?” He murmurs, his voice dropping a bit deeper as he directly addresses the elephant in the room. 

I give a movement of affirmation, because at this point, what could he do? What could I do? 

“So you saw.” He mumbles, moving to position himself right in front of me, his eyes darkened and laser focused on my figure. 

“Yes.” I whisper, my voice hushed as our proximity decreased, his breath fanning out over my face now. I’d be uncomfortable, if I wasn’t so distracted. 

“Tell me.” He whispers, letting his calloused finger finally touch my skin, running down my neck. “Did it turn you on? Watching me with her?” 

I feel the familiar heat of embarrassment rise to my cheeks, my eyes suddenly widening not only due to the sudden proximity, but also the scandalous nature of his words. Did he mean for me to watch? Was that his plan all along? What was this sick and twisted game he was playing?

“Did it.. get you off?” He whispers, his lips leaning in to kiss lightly at the side of my neck where his finger once was. 

I freeze, leaning into his touch and going statue-like all at once. I can’t help the shakiness of my voice when I reply. “I.. wasn’t neutral.” 

“Mm.” He murmurs, kissing now at my jawline. “Did you get off? When she did?” He whispers.

“I didn’t watch that long.” I reply, helplessly, as I feel his hands start to envelop my waist, pulling me closer to him. 

“What a shame.” He mumbles. “I think you would’ve liked the show. I did it for you.” 

At this point, I can barely speak, a slight moan escaping me instead of a coherent reply as his lips continue to leave warm, wet kisses on the expanse of my flesh. 

“I’m sure you’re curious.” He says, his voice soft and seductive. “Would you like me to show you what we did?”

There’s no hesitation, finally, a resounding thought I can translate from brain-to-mouth for him, in complete certainty.

“Yes.” I manage out, breathlessly. 

He makes a noise of satisfaction, quickly pushing me onto the bed. 

“I’d already gotten her wet by touching her before, but if my suspicions are correct.” He murmurs, his hands working deftly to undo my jeans and feel the wetness that had accumulated in between my thighs. “You already are.” He finishes. 

I let out a small whimper as his fingers touch the heated flesh, unable to help my sensitivity to his small, calculated strokes over my clit through my underwear. His fingers starts to move a bit more aggressively, upon feeling the wet patch that had formed there, the flimsy fabric doing little to hide the stickiness he was now collecting on his fingers. He quickly pulls them off as well though, bringing his slightly damp fingers to his mouth, tasting the hint of my arousal that had accumulated there. His eyes were dark, watching my face for any reaction, and in that moment, I know all he can see is pure want. 

I can see the same hunger within his eyes, and I feel a rush of pride as the approval radiates off of him. 

“What next?” I whisper, already desperate for his next slew of ministrations. I don’t care how needy I looked. I was needy. I’d spent so long watching him, and now he was here.

“She wanted my mouth.” He murmurs, kneeling at the edge of the bed. His thumb brushes over my clit, his tongue running against plump, pink lips, wetting them, watching over me with a predatory gaze. 

Before I can respond, he’s suddenly everywhere, ducking his head and allowing his tongue to brush over my sex in broad, wet strokes. My response is immediate, my hips bucking up to meet him in a frenzied motion. It seems that he relishes in whatever control he can have in this situation, because he quickly holds down my hips in a firm grip, squeezing the fat there while he continued to ravage me. 

I can barely look at him, pretty brown locks splayed in his face, his lips moving hypnotically against my cunt. Little whimpers escape me, absolutely aching for more. He seems to catch on, and flicks his tongue over me, before suckling against my clit. It’s wet, messy, and the picture of debauchery– and it’s enough to drive me over the edge, my hands gripping the sheets as I cry out his name. 

He seems to be unaffected, getting off his knees, his mouth glistening with my release. The sight makes me wish he could do it again, but before I can get a word in, he’s positioning himself over me, caging me against the bed. 

“Then I fucked her.” He whispers, starting to undo his belt with his free hand. “Can I?” 

I nod, feeling a wave of anticipation, before registering the sensation of the head of his cock nudging my entrance. I feel my chest tighten, watching him with bated breath, absolutely exhilarated. 

“Relax.” He whispers, kissing the lobe of my ear. “You’re in good hands.” 

He utters the last word, before sliding into me, a hushed gasp leaving the both of us. He groans in pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the feel of my warm, wet cunt around him. He takes a moment, before he’s setting a steady pace, his hips bucking rhythmically into me in a way that’s designed to bring us both so much pleasure. 

I can’t help the string of moans that come out with every slide of his cock inside me, my legs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer than he already is. My hands grip onto his shirt, clawing onto the fabric to find any purchase, wanting– no, needing him on me. 

Is it odd to wish a stranger could crawl into your skin itself? 

“Fuck, Spencer.” I moan, unabashedly. “You feel so good.”

“You do too.” He groans, his arms braced on either side of my head before gently lowering himself to crash his lips against mine in a messy kiss. 

I can feel myself barreling towards release, as is he, if the twitch of his cock inside me were to mean anything. It’s not long before his hand reaches in between where our bodies are met, rubbing my clit in fast, small circles. It’s intense in the best way possible, my body barely being able to process how good it felt in the moment. 

“Come for me.” He moans, in between kisses. “Wanna feel you around me. Please.”

I can’t help but obey his words, my cunt convulsing around him in obedience as he subsequently finds his release inside me, groaning loudly as his hips thrust erratically. 

He pulls out, and we’re a tangle of limbs, sweaty and sated, breathing heavy. 

Of course, it’s him, yet again, to break the silence. 

“Two things.” He mumbles, breathlessly. 

“Mm.” I reply, weakly, my head a mess of airiness and complacency after the orgasm he’d just brought me to. 

“One. I want your name.” He says, rolling to his side to get a better look at my face. 

“That can be arranged.” I murmur, nodding dreamily. 

“Second.” He whispers, kissing my cheek. His voice takes on a teasing quality to it, before leaning to brush his lips against my ear.  

“You missed a camera. Behind the plant. They don’t stop recording, do they?” 

okay wowww. clearly this was meant for halloween, if you couldn't tell! this is one of those pieces where i'm like.. hmm .. do i like this? question mark? do i want to put it out? hmm .. but regardless, i hope you guys enjoyed it!! please, please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed!!! it is sooo important as an author that i get some feedback and know what you guys think, in any capacity. i truly appreciate all of it <33 thank you for reading, thank you for everything!!!

[requiemforthepoets]

hey, are you still there? 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you know yourself that it’s sad that you settled on being a backburner, but you didn’t mind crisping up on lando’s backburner as long as he still think of you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, unrequited love(?), open ending, insecurities, reader being treated as a backburner, childhood best friends, christmas angst, luisa, typos, and few grammatical errors.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i had always wanted to write this for so long, but i’m not sure how to pen it, but finally, here it is! so far, i’m satisfied. i don’t know much about luisa, but i’m sorry that luisa is kind of villainized in this 🥲 i’m sorry. this is like another christmas one shot, sooo haha i intentionally made it as an open ending bc i want to leave the ending to you, and let me apologize now bc this one shot won’t have a part 2. it just felt right for me to leave it as an open ending and leave the ending up to you. so i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The glow of the snowy afternoon sun filtered through your apartment windows, casting long, golden shadows across the floor as you sat cross-legged amidst a pile of forgotten keepsakes.

Your plan was simple, really. To declutter, toss out what no longer sparked happiness, and finally reclaim some much-needed space in your small New York apartment. But simplicity soon faded the moment you stumbled upon a memory box that was buried beneath old blankets in the closet. You hadn’t thought about it in years, the worn out wooden edges now slightly faded, but just holding the box again made you feel something deep in your chest.

Sliding the lid of the box open, the faint scent of nostalgia greeted you. There was a mixture of paper and dust that carried you back to another time, another place. Polaroid photographs, ticket stubs, concert tickets, and tiny trinkets spilled out as you began to sift through the box’s contents, fingers brushing against fragments of a life you had once shared with someone who knew you better than anyone. Then you saw it—the camcorder.

It sat nestled at the bottom of the box, its black casing slightly scuffed but still intact, as though it had been waiting for you all these years. The sight of it made your breath catch, fingers hesitant as they wrapped around the familiar shape. A small laugh escaped you, soft and bittersweet, as a wave of memories washed over you.

The camcorder had been a gift from your parents, given to you when you were just a teen. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the thought of having a camcorder. You were not exactly the type to obsess over gadgets or record everything, but your parents had insisted, saying something along the lines of making memories worth keeping.

You hadn’t even opened the box properly before you had told him about it. Lando had always had a thing for photography, an almost childlike fascination with capturing the world around him. Naturally, he had lit up at the mention of the camcorder. You remembered the way his face had brightened, how he had practically snatched it from your hands when he saw it, excitement radiating from him like it was Christmas morning.

“Trust me,” he said, voice brimming with certainty as he flipped the device open with ease. “This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see.”

And it was.

The camcorder had quickly become his, in everything but name. Lando had used it more than you ever had, his artistic streak shining through in the way he would capture the smallest, most mundane moments and make them feel extraordinary. But what stood out the most was his favorite subject. You.

Every time you hung out, or visited a new place, his focus would inevitably turn to you. At first, you had protested, laughing and batting the camcorder away, but over time, it became a rhythm of sorts. Lando, behind the lens, coaxing your laughter and teasing your smile, and you, rolling your eyes but secretly loving the way he saw you. Through the lens, even the quietest days seemed to feel alive.

You traced a finger along the camcorder’s edges, the faint outline of his fingerprints etched invisibly into its surface. Four years. It had been four years since you had left the UK—four years since you had left him. You told yourself that what you did was for the best, that you needed to grow, chase bigger dreams.

Part of it all was true, but the other part, the one which you didn’t say out loud, was the reason why your chest tightened even now. Was because Lando made you feel too much, and you were not sure you could bear it any longer.

You grabbed your laptop, briefly hesitated over the laptop’s keyboard before finally connecting the camcorder. The familiar chime of recognition echoed through the room as your laptop detected the device, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of nervous anticipation.

It had been years since you last thought about these videos, let alone watched them. As the files began to load, thumbnails filled the screen—tiny, burry windows into the past. You clicked on the first one, and the second is the screen lit up with a younger version of yourself, smiling awkwardly into the lens. Lando’s voice filled the room almost immediately.

“Come on, you can smile better than that!” he teased from behind the camera, chuckling.

Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched. The video playing one after another, each one showed a snapshot of your lives back then. There were clips of you on spontaneous trips—forests, city streets, karting, and endless car rides with Lando singing loudly and off-key while you laughed at him.

There were also quieter moments—rainy afternoon when you were sat by your bedroom window, lost in thought, while he filmed you from across the room, calling it aesthetic. Lando captured everything, from the highs to the lows.

The memories felt vivid, almost too vivid, as if you could reach through the screen and relieve those moments. It was the year he had started his Formula 1 career, and the first time you saw him truly chasing his dreams with everything he had, and were beyond proud of him. At the same time, it was also the year you were filling out endless applications to universities in America, unsure of where you wanted to go or what you wanted to do in life. It was like you were both standing on the edge of something new, something big, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.

It was also the year you finally admitted to yourself that what you felt for Lando was no longer just friendship. You had been so close for so long that the shift felt almost imperceptible at first—lingering glance here, flutter in your chest there. But you acknowledged it, there was no going back.

You found yourself looking at him differently, noticing the little things about him that had always been there but suddenly felt so significant. The way how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, his curly hair, aquamarine eyes, the quiet focus he had when working on something he cared about, and most of all, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better.

But you kept it to yourself. You couldn’t tell Lando, not when he had told you so casually, like it was nothing that he liked someone.

“I don’t even know if she feels the same,” he had said, voice laced with uncertainty.

For a brief moment, a hope sparked in you. Maybe after all this time, Lando felt the same way about you. Maybe this was the moment that you had finally been waiting for.

But that hope shattered almost immediately when he pulled out his phone and showed you a photo. The girl’s name was Luisa, and she was stunning. She was everything that you were not—model, successful, gorgeous, has a radiant smile and a presence that seemed magnetic. Luisa was exactly Lando’s type, and you knew it.

The realization hit you harder than you had expected. You felt dumb and foolish, for even thinking one second that Lando could ever see you that way. You were not like Luisa, you were not the kind of girl who turned heads or made people stop in their tracks. You were just…you. Lando’s best friend. The person he could have a joke with, confide in, and lean on, but will never see you anything as more.

So you stayed quiet. Buried your feelings deep, gaslighting yourself that everything was better the way it is. The less you talk, the less you risked losing him. Maybe if you kept on pretending that everything was fine, you could learn to let him go.

A new clip began to play. You were seated on the edge of a bench, face scrunched in frustration as you ran a hand through your hair. The sound of Lando’s laughter crackled through the speakers, light and teasing, as he zoomed in on your expression from behind the camera.

“You’re such a drama queen,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

It was clear that from that clip that he was trying to cheer you up. It had been one of those moments when everything felt overwhelming. Your plans, future, and feelings. Yet, even in your frustration, Lando had managed to make you laugh. He always did. Watching it now, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how young and naïve you looked.

But the video carried more weight than just a frustration afternoon. That day, you had a front-row seat to another chapter in Lando’s pursuit of Luisa. It was the day he told you that he finally confessed his feeling to her, and you could still remember how his voice sounded. It was a mix of hope and vulnerability as he recounted every detail, but his excitement had quickly dimmed when Lando explained how his confession had met an uncertainty from Luisa, not really sure how she felt about Lando.

You remembered how that hurt him, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. It was one of the few times you had seen Lando genuinely shaken, his confidence chipped away by a single sentence. Still, it did not stop him, if anything, it only made him more determined to win her over.

This is exactly what Lando is—relentless, persistent, unwilling to let go of something he wanted.

Then there was you, caught in the orbit of it all. A pattern had started to form, one you did not want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore. Whenever Luisa turned her back on him, when his texts went unanswered, or her attention drifted elsewhere, Lando would always find his way to you. His calls would come late at night, voice low and tinged with sadness as he stumbled through excuses to keep you on the line, and you, despite knowing better, would always answer.

Those were the moments you chastised yourself for loving. When Lando was hurt, when he felt small and alone, he always came to you. You were the person he confided in, one he leaned on. It almost felt like you mattered to him in the way you wanted to. Even if you knew, deep down, that it was not that. That it was temporary, a band-aid for his bruised ego—you couldn’t help but savor the attention.

But then, inevitably, Luisa would give him the smallest bit of her time, and you would become invisible to him again. The calls would stop, texts would taper off, and Lando would be lost in the glow of her half-hearted affection. You would feel the ache of being left behind, sting of knowing you were nothing more than a safety net, a placeholder, a convenient fallback plan.

It was a never ending cycle you despised, one that made you look at yourself with pity as you played into it. But whether it was out of hope or some cruel sense of inevitability, you stayed. You let it happen. Time and time again, picking up the pieces when Lando fell apart, only to watch him hand them back to her the moment she glanced his way.

It was always like this. It had always been like this, and somehow, despite everything, you definitely hadn’t learned your lesson.

The video continued to play, the faint static of old footage mixing with Lando’s voice can be heard, his laughter like a distant echo from another life. As you watched yourself on the screen—smiling, frowning, existing in a world where everything felt so much simpler—memories came rushing back, faster and heavier than you had expected. They were not just simple memories of moments, they were reminders of how deeply you felt, how much your life revolved around Lando without you even realizing it.

Your feelings for him had always been the silent undercurrent of your friendship, unspoken but ever-present. You had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that you would grow out of it, but you never did.

Instead, those feelings rooted themselves deeper, becoming a part of you. You wondered if the reason you hadn’t moved on was not because you could not, but because you hadn’t really tried at all. Maybe you were afraid, maybe life felt easier when you let it stay messy, undefined—when you clung to the hope that Lando might see you differently someday.

But the reality of it all was far less romantic. You had become his backburner, a place he turned to only when he had nowhere else to go, and the most pathetic part? You didn’t even mind. You let yourself burn quietly on his backburner, knowing full well you would never be the main thing in his life.

No matter how many times you say to yourself that it was okay, that you could handle it, deep down it ate you. There wasn’t anyone else you wanted, there hadn’t been for years. It was always him, it will always be Lando—his laugh, his voice, his stupid smile that made you forget the pain he caused by just being himself. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t even let it go.

Your memory reeled in to that one particular night, a night etched into your memory like a scar. Lando had called you on facetime, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. His eyes were red, voice trembling with raw emotions as he told you what happened with Luisa.

She had hurt him again, made him feel small in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. Lando looked so broken, so unlike himself, that it made your heart twist in ways that you did not want to admit.

And yet, you couldn’t help but tease him. You told him how he looked ugly when he cried, masking your own hurt with humor. But inside, there was a flicker of something else—something cruel and selfish. You felt happy that he thought of you in that moment, that you were the person he called when everything else in his life fell apart. It was sick and twisted, and you couldn’t have hated yourself more for it, but it was the truth.

At the same time, you felt conflicted, torn between two versions of yourself. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt you by treating you like an afterthought. But the other part of you, the part that still believed in him, in the friendship you had shared since you were kids—wanted to comfort him, to be there for him even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.

You always knew how it would go. In a week or so, Lando would be back on his feet, back in Luisa’s orbit, and you would fade into the background again. He would stop calling, texting, and you would be left alone again, waiting for the next time he needed you. You wished you could stop caring, that you could let him go and just move on, but you couldn’t. You cared too much, loved him too deeply, and it was destroying you.

You stayed. You stayed because even though it hurt, even though it made you feel small and invisible, there was still a part of you that believed in him. In the boy who had once held your camcorder, laughing as he filmed you spinning in circles in the park. In the friend who had always been there, even when it felt like the rest of the world wasn’t. You believed in him, even if it meant you couldn’t believe in yourself.

You checked the timestamp on the video and realized it was nearing the end. The final clips began to play, taking you back to a day you remembered so clearly—the beach trip. The screen filled with bright sunlight and sand, camera jerking slightly as Lando filmed you running along the shoreline, wearing one of his bucket hats and sunglasses, your laughter ringing out over the crashing waves.

You watched yourself as if through someone else’s eyes—carefree, alive, darting back and forth like a puppy with boundless energy. Lando’s voice came from behind the camera, teasing you for your antics, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the memory.

It was one of those days you had hoped would change everything. Lando wasn’t thinking about Luisa then. He was with you, laughing, joking, making you feel like maybe you mattered more to him than you let yourself believe. You had clung to that slight flicker of hope every time he drifted back into your orbit, telling yourself that the moments he spent with you would eventually outweigh the hold Luisa had over him. But you know then, deep down, you knew better. You had always known better.

The last clip began to play. The two of you were in one of his cars, the camera shakily capturing the scene as he handed it to you. Lando had insisted you try driving it, grinning with the kind of reckless confidence that was so quintessentially him. You know that he hated someone driving him, especially that it was his car, but he didn’t even hesitated when it came to you.

The video was cut to him standing outside, filming you through the windshield as you tried to maneuver his car into a parking spot, and it was a disaster. He zoomed in on your face, flushed and irritated, as you waved frantically at him to get back inside of his car and help you. Your lips moved as you shouted something at him, your expression twisted in mock anger, but it only made him laugh.

That sound, the sound of his laughter—echoed through the room as you watched yourself scowling at him, completely oblivious to how the moment would look years later.

When the video finally faded to black, you sat there in silence, staring at the black screen of your laptop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a sad smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The memories left a bittersweet feeling in their wake, filling your chest with an ache that never really went away.

You always knew the truth. You would always be in Lando’s corner, even when it felt like he had forgotten you existed. You would stay, waiting in the shadows, knowing full well you were his second choice, or maybe not even a choice at all. Yet, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, you had settled on being Lando’s backburner long ago, content to exist where he had placed you, because even the smallest scraps of his attention felt like more than you deserved. You knew it would never be enough, but it was all you had.

When you left the UK, you had never properly said goodbye to Lando. You couldn’t face him—not after everything. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done, leaving the place where you grew up and leaving the person that mattered to you the most.

The day you were about to board the plane to America was supposed to be the start of something new for you. But it also turned out to be the same day Lando and Luisa had finally gotten together. It didn’t make sense at first, you had been too wrapped up in your own plans to notice anything strange.

You were so focused on your own future, dreams, and adventure that lay ahead. But the moment you realized what had really happened, the gut-wrenching truth hit you all at once. Despite everything, despite all the years of friendship, despite the deep feelings you had kept buried, Lando had never said a word to you.

The first sign came two weeks before your departure, when you noticed he had not contacted you. Not once. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken, and then, one evening, it hit you. While youwere scrolling through instagram, lost in the sea of photos and videos, you saw it.

Lando and Luisa standing together in a sunlit paradise. They were everywhere—clinging to each other, smiling like they had always been this happy. Their arms wrapped around each other, looking like the couple everyone thought they were meant to be, living out the kind of romance you had always imagined for yourself—only, it was not with you.

It stung more that you could have imagined. It felt like a cruel grip and punch to the stomach—seeing them together, seeing him in a way you never thought you would. There they were, living life, having fun in Dubai, while you had been silently fading into the background, unable to say anything, unable to be anything more than just a shadow.

It suddenly made the decision easier for you. Maybe it was petty, or childish. But at that moment, it felt like it was the only way to protect yourself. You didn’t need to say goodbye, or talk to him again. You didn’t think that talking or saying goodbye to him would even change anything. You didn’t want to face the truth anymore—didn’t want to admit how much it hurts to be forgotten, be pushed aside while he moved on.

So, you did what you had to do. You packed up everything, every piece of your life that had been tangled with Lando’s, and left. You left without a word, without any explanation. The silence between you felt so final, so complete, as if you were never even meant to matter.

When you landed in America, you didn’t waste any second. You changed your number, blocked him on social media, deleted every trace of him from your phone, from your mind, from your life. It was easier that way, right? No more reminders of what you could never have. No more wondering if he still thought about you. It was better to start fresh, even if starting over meant leaving everything you knew behind. You never looked back, at least that’s what you told yourself.

You gently closed your laptop, the soft click of the screen snapping shut, and disconnected the camcorder. You wanted to throw it away, erase it from your life entirely, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the hope that one day, you could look at it without all the pain attached to it, or maybe it was the attachment to something that had once meant so much.

With a deep sigh, you placed it back in the memory box, careful not to let it settle to heavily among the other momentos you had packed away. You knew you wouldn’t be able to part with it—not yet at least. Instead, you pushed the box deeper into your storage room, where it would sit quietly for now, out of sight but never far from your mind.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the box as if it might somehow speak to you, but all it did was remain silent, like everything else in your life that you had tried to put behind you. The soft sound of snow falling outside caught your attention, and you moved toward the window, your gaze drawn to the soft flurry of while blanketing the streets below.

Christmas was approaching in just a week, and for a brief moment, you wished you could go home, back to your family, to the familiar comfort of the holiday season. But the thought quickly passed. Home felt too far now, and you had your own life to navigate, a life in New York that, for all its challenges, had become a place you had grown to love.

You turned away from the window and began to change, pulling on warm clothes fit for the snow outside. It wasn’t much, just a quick errand to stock up on groceries before it got too dark. You didn’t mind the task, it gave you a reason to get out, to take in the city and its wintry charm. The air was fresh and crisp as you made your way out of your apartment, locking the door behind you with a soft click.

The world around you was calm as you stepped out into the quiet of the snowy streets, snowflakes falling gently around you, almost like a veil between you and the hustle of city life. New York felt different in the winter, quieter somehow, even as the holiday decorations began to shine brighter. Streetlights casting long shadows across the snow, and you admired the festive cheer that the city wore like a second skin. You had seen the Christmas tree lighting at the New Haven Green just last week, a tradition that always brought a sense of warmth despite the chill in the air.

Walking through the snow, you felt a small sense of contentment, something you had been searching for but hadn’t fully realized was within reach. The lights, crisp air—all of it made you feel like you had carved out a space of your own here. You hoped that it would stay that way, that the peace you had found wouldn’t be disturbed, even as the holiday season and all its chaos loomed on the horizon.

The grocery store was just a few blocks away, but your thoughts drifted to other things—nothing too heavy, just the soft hum of city life. It had been a peaceful walk, but then, you froze.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of something, or rather someone, someone so familiar in the distance. Curly hair that you could picture in your sleep. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, a resemblance that your mind conjured up after hours of rewatching old videos. You quickly dismissed the thought, trying to shake it off. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be here.

But then, as if the universe had conspired to pull the past back into your life. The person looked up, and everything in your world stopped. It was him.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The air around you seemed to thicken, sounds of the city dimming in the background as you took in the sight of him. Lando. In New York. Of all places he can be in right now, why was he here?

It had taken a long time to convince yourself, year after year, that you were fine, that you had moved on, that everything was better this way. Yet here he was, standing only a few meters away from you, the same familiar figure that had been a part of your life for so long.

You both stood there, frozen in place, just staring at each other as people around passed you by. Neither of you moved, as if the moment held too much weight to let anything else happen. It was like time had bent around you, your mind racing, questions swirling, but none of them found their way to your lips. You couldn’t speak, you weren’t even sure you could breathe.

Lando stood there too, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that everything else feel irrelevant. You knew he hadn’t expected to see you. Not here, not like this. Yet, there he was—right in front of you, a ghost from your past made flesh, making the familiar ache in your chest resurface.

You had thought you were done with him, that you had moved on, but standing here, with him so close and yet so far, you realized that maybe you had not moved on as much as you thought.

The world around you seemed to hold its breath.

[gamblersdoll]

You should make a Drabble of katsuki looking so vulnerable and saying cute things to reader and doesn’t know she’s recording him and when he finds out he jumps off the bed and starts yelling at her and acting all manly 😭 I Just saw this on TikTok and wanted you to write it bc I love ur works

“whats up with you, baby?” you finally look down at him, hes been knocking on your book for five minutes. “whatt?”

“miss you.” he mumbles, digging his head from your stomach to your lap. “give me attention.” he feels seen, in a way. he also feels embarrassed, embarrassed about asking for such a thing.. he shouldnt have to! youre his girl now, so he demands your eyes and thought process on him. “what could be more important than me in yer book?”

“nothing, my love. you know we both read.” he does forget that, and surprisingly— he is a book worm. whether it be romance or a action book. hes also a big mystery person, some of the things being applied to real life.

“… am i boring to you?” he asks, finally looking you in your eyes and he looks like he could break at any point. “do i not make you happy anymore? is it because of my ranking?”

oh, baby.

you toss your book, cupping his face in a swift motion. “why do you think that?!” now you’re panicked, because you know what its like to feel that way.

“i dunno, just thought..” he trails off, looking away and fidgeting with his thumbs. “just thought that i lacked in some areas, yknow?”

no, you dont.

“bakugou,” you start, him pouting when you use his government. “youre my favorite person, of course i still love you—“ it would be sweet, but it was ruined by his ridiculous attempt to not smile. “youre a dick.” he laughs, pulling your hands into his hair. “boy— thats what you wanted?”

“got yer attention now.” he giggles, his foot twitching and he softens up. “it feels so damn good.”

you smirk, his eyes closed and relaxed. “you going to be a good boy now?” you ask, his face turning red and he nods. “yeah?”

“mhm..” he mumbles, his head following your fingers at each scratch. he was no better than kirishima. “just fer you.”

“hm?”

“— be a good boy just fer you..” he repeats, opening his eyes to the worlds biggest betrayal. your phone hovering over him and he glares at you through the device. “im going to jail.”

“for what?”

“beatin yer ass, thats what.” he has yet to move, still kicked back into your lap. “you better not post it. i swear i will beat your bitch ass.”

“yeah? what happened to my good boy?”

he stammers on his words, the evening of today ending in him biting your ankles and knuckles, and also tossing you around until both your brains were spinning.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

There's just so much potential for platonic !yan Tim Drake that isn't really explored. This post may flop but I like to imagine that yan! Tim Drake is actually the worse out of all his brothers...

Masterlist

Requests: always open

Look...you and i both know that Tim is canonically unhinged. But Batsis!reader doesn't. It's so easy for you to forget that your brother Tim is so dangerous. I mean he doesn't really seem all that different from any other nerdy 19 year old. His body doesn't loom over you like the more bulky of your brothers, and his presence is rather...calming? I mean there's still a bit of uneasiness there but it's so subtle that you can brush it off

He's normal when he interacts with you. He doesn't bug you to spend time with him or uncomfortably touch you like Dick does. He is sweet and gentle...He knows how you prefer to be engaged with and respects what you don't like.

But, that's what makes him so dangerous. He knows you. Every. Last. Detail. He's gotten so good at being a nasty little fly on the wall that sometimes you forget he's even in the room. He's always around you, observing and collecting data. He's got you wrapped around his fingers and you don't realize it.

But it's not your fault. It's hard to even imagine that someone as mellow as Tim could ever share the same traits as his brothers.

Yan! Tim fully picked up just how intuitive you are and how you can spot red flags easily. He's so calculated and careful with every interaction. It's amazing how natural he makes these conversations flow. Well, they better. He's spent hours analyzing and practicing how to speak to you. His heart is pounding with anticipation, as every shred of information you give him is going right into his files on you.

Oh! The files he has on you? When Jason and Dick asked him about how many he had, he said only 4. Which is true. but those 4 files have much more information and pictures of you than they could comprehend. ...and he wasn't accounting for the hard drives and physical stacks of papers he stole. I believe Tim knows more about you than you do. When was the last time you've seen your medical records? Passports? Birth certificate? Is your ID even in your wallet? Don't worry, your brother Tim is keeping them safe for you.

Yan! Tim is a little stalker who may or may not have put a tracking/listening devices in your bag so he can keep tabs on you. <33 That's why he's always wearing headphones so he cab listen in. A small piece of missed information could cost him so much. Don't be mad, batsis! He cannot risk making you suspicious of him by asking you invasive questions so this is the only way.

I Like to think you automatically sit by him. whether it be during breakfast, watching a movie or in the car. You feel safer with him and it's a better option in your head than being with Dick who will be overbearing. Tim always acts cool, even a little annoyed by you at times but inside he's screaming. Your scent, your small smiles at him and nudge his shoulders when he makes a funny remark all send him into overdrive.

But i must say, it's exhausting for him to hold back his obsession all of the time. Sometimes he envies his siblings and how shameless they are in their obsessions. Tim Drake thinks about how great it would to be to just be hugged by you or for you to want to fall asleep on him like you do with Jason.

Sometimes, our creepy detective will slip up. He will say or do something that is odd to you

"I cannot remember the name of that song i used to listen to...what was it.."

"It's this one by that local band, sis."

"oh, yeah! wait...how did you-"

"I know you better than i know myself..."

"...what?"

*an incident happened where dick basically forced you to say i love you back. Tim was there and he was so so jealous*

"You love me the most though, right?"

You laughed, thinking it was a joke\

"Sure, Tim. You are my favorite Robin."

*Tim is very visibly becoming feral. Almost in the same way as Dick and you are slightly alarmed*

"...I'm your favorite Robin? So you do love me more than them."

"0-o"

He repeats it over and over again in his mind. If he was recording it like he does with many of your interaction, it will be on instant replay every morning as an affirmation.

That one time you were chilling in the study with Tim. His head was ducked, low into the computer. It was super late by this time and you didn't really want to bother him so you ended up leaving without saying anything, and headed to your room. Tim was beyond hurt that you were breaking his version of bonding time and you had the audacity to not even announce your exit. He's so swift that it startled you when he grabbed your wrist from behind. His grip was....strong.... to say the least..... and he questioned why you were leaving him.

speaking of his strength, Tim is so skinny that you forget he is well trained with a nice bit of muscle. Maybe not as strong as his brothers or Bruce but he can easily subdue you.

He's definitely broken a lock or two, to get into your room at the dead of night and watch you sleep. This is the only time when he can be as fucked up as he wants to. The unhinged look in his eyes while going through your things and taking what's interesting..The adrenaline that you might catch him, excites him. He can't help but to sickly smile as he makes his way over to you and observes. A gentle hand caresses the sides of your face. You're so perfect. He whispers on and on things he wishes he could tell you while you were awake and wouldn't think it was weird....

Maybe even once he's crawled into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. So happy to be able to finally be able to cuddle like this.

And if you happened to wake up, and realize your dear brother, Tim was there...he has a plan for that. He knows how to play mind games on you and makes you seem like the crazy one. No one would believe you anyways. The locks are all fixed by the morning.

[fishfission-dc]

Batfamily Powerpoint Night! (Part 9: Barbara)

<<Part 8: Duke    |    Part 10: Alfred >>

[Masterlist]

Barbara: Alright, my turn!

Tim: Frankly I’m terrified for what’s about to happen

Dick: Oh Babs will be nice, don’t worry :)

Dick: I stand corrected

Steph: Oh god

Bruce: [sighs and puts his head in his hands]

Barbara: I organized it roughly from newest vigilantes to oldest, since more patrolling means more room for spectacular failures

Duke: It was a bad day for me

Jason: HA

Steph: Been there, done that. Not on TV though that really sucks man.

Steph: NOOOOOO

Tim: ONE SQUARED?

Steph: I GOT CONFUSED

Jason: [Hysterical laughter]

Damian: One multiplied by one?!

Steph: I THOUGHT IT MADE TWO I UNDERSTAND MY MISTAKE

Duke: From this mask view footage Batman is just watching this go down

Bruce: He said he didn’t want help. Felt like a teaching moment.

Damian: (muttering) I was fine.

Dick: Damian we were not going to drive you to 5th grade with a knife in your liver.

Steph: You’ve had this footage for four years?!

Barbara: I keep a file for blackmail. Cass doesn’t really have much, though.

Cass: (signing) I did learn the dance. Eventually.

Tim: WILL THIS TORMENT EVER END

Jason: YOU CRASHED THE BATMOBILE INTO A WALMART, TIMMY.

Steph: You deserve every joke we make about this

Damian: Your idiocy must be remembered

Dick: Yeah Tim this is pretty bad

Jason: Can I have that mask view footage

Barbara: I got ya

Tim: I hate it here

Jason: I really can’t defend this one

Dick: Why...? Did you shoot the trashcan?

Jason: I thought it was looking at me funny

Damian: The trashcan?

Jason: I was up for 52 hours give me a break.

Barbara: Do you want to tell them why you pulled two all-nighters in a row? Or should I?

Jason: You are an evil, evil woman. How do you even- nevermind. Of course you know everything, why do I even wonder. And for the record, the first night I stayed up for a case.

Barbara: And the second night was for Animal Crossing.

Jason: ...perhaps.

Duke: Oh my god.

Steph: And you laughed at me?

Bruce: (sighs)

Steph: Stop you were adorable in high school

Barbara: Thank you, but the braces? The acne? The bangs? 15 year old Barbara had no idea what she was doing.

Dick: I for one thought you were very cute in high school.

Jason: Stop flirting or I will leave

Bruce: Why were you both on a roof at night in your school uniforms?

Dick: I think let’s move on

Dick: Nevermind nevermind go back

Tim: Oh my god, Dick.

Duke: ”Purposely” ?!

Dick: I was nine

Damian: I knew better by age 9.

Bruce: Lessons were learned. I hope.

Jason: I’m starting to think I was one of the better Robins

Dick: I felt like I see sounds for three days...

Bruce: All traces of this were wiped from the internet.

Barbara: Oh Bruce, you know I’m better than that.

Dick: Hold on, hold on, we need an explanation.

Alfred: (as he walks by) A little too much to drink goes a long way...

Tim: YOU WERE DRUNK? ON PATROL?

Jason: No way. Even I haven’t been that stupid.

Duke: What did you buy at CVS

Bruce: ...apparently... I bought lollipops.

Steph: “Apparently” as in the next morning you didn’t remember putting on the Batsuit, going to CVS, buying lollipops, and talking to a guy with an audio recording device?

Bruce: ...yes.

Cass: (signing) Very bad. Very funny, but very bad.

Damian: Also an ineffective use of a smoke bomb if this civilian saw you walk away...

Bruce: Barbara, you have made your point.

<<Part 8: Duke    |    Part 10: Alfred >>

[Masterlist]

[siderealcity]

More Dawntrail narrative thoughts, this time about the Golden City. Spoilers below.

There are several layers to the Golden City as a plot device in Dawntrail, and I think they're interesting enough to just unpack them all and look at them.

The first time we hear the term, it's from Hades in Endwalker:

"Tell me, have you been to the ruins beneath the waters of the Bounty? Or the treasure islands beyond the frozen waters of Blindfrost, in Othard's north? The fabled golden cities of the New World? The sacred sites of the forgotten people of the south sea isles?"

It's telling that he groups that with the sacred sites of the south sea isles. The plot later tells us that they are explicitly connected to one another, but why does it call them "citiies," plural? Where's the other one, Hades?

(Also, we haven't yet been to the treasure islands in the north, but every one of those locations in the quote above has to do with cross-rift travel. Every. One. So, that may be something we see again later.)

But apart from their lore and plot significance (and potential foreshadowing), the Golden City is, from the first time we hear of it, a lure. Bait, dangled before an explorer, enticing them to go onward. It is, for lack of a better word, a promise of things to come. In the specific case in Endwalker, it's a promise that your story isn't over yet, there's still more to come. Even though you are, at that moment, standing in front of the amassed dead of countless worlds. Death is not the end, it's the beginning of new life.

The second time we hear the term, it's from Wuk Lamat. Who is, again, using it to entice us to join her. We don't know at that point that her actual title is, in fact, Promise. And that is significant.

It is, likewise, the bait for Krile's involvement in the story. The thing she knew her grandfather had been asked to study, the secret he'd kept out of the records of the Students, the promise of a connection. To the past, to someone she loved who is now gone.

But then there's the Rite of Succession. And it changes the meaning of the plot device entirely.

The Rite is structured to follow the Tulliyolal saga--the journey Gulool Ja Ja undertook, over the course of who knows how many years, to unify the peoples of Tural into a single nation. A journey which notably has nothing to do with the Golden City. To the Turali, it's a fairy tale. It is so detached from the story of Gulool Ja Ja that Koana immediately has to ask if the city being the final goal means his father actually has some proof it exists.

The Rite itself, as Gulool Ja Ja later admits to us, is meant to be instructional for his children. They are not meant to simply find and cross the finish line, they're supposed to be learning how to be the rulers of Tural.

As we complete feats in the rite, we are awarded stories of the Golden City by each of the races in Yok Tural. And they all follow a significant pattern: The Golden City was the literal dream of the Yok Huy. The conquerers of every single people in southern Tural. The stories we are given are the stories shared by colonized people of their oppressors.

The conquest of Yok Tural is mentioned repeatedly. Every group we meet was displaced and enslaved by the giants during their empire, and the ultimate goal of that empire was to find the Golden City--a paradise of eternal life without pain or suffering. It is at this point that the Golden City becomes a warning. It is the promise of self-destruction. Searching for it ultimately toppled the Yok Huy empire and changed the giants forever. It displaced and disrupted numerous cultures and started centuries of war.

It is, ultimately, the reason why Gulool Ja Ja ever had to play the role of peacemaker and unifier in the first place. The divide-and-conquer tactics employed by the Yok Huy created every problem he set out to solve.

Why did he choose to make it the final goal of the Rite of Succession? A place he famously did not find before becoming Dawnservant? Was it, perhaps, as a lesson to his children, his Promises? Especially his son Zoraal Ja who had dreams of empire?

But interestingly, the Golden City was also set forth as the specific goal for Erenville to find by his mother. Cahciua wasn't present in the flashbacks to Galuf and Gulool Ja Ja and Kettenram viewing the gate, but we know that she met them afterward, and had Erenville with her. Was she with them the first time they'd found the gate? I have to think she was. The only people who seem to have known for sure about it, among Gulool Ja Ja's circle of friends and allies, were the explorers. The ones who would have been interested in searching for it purely for the joy of discovery.

I think it's safe to say that for Cahciua, at least at the time that she gives her son his quest, the Golden City is the Almost Impossible Dream. One that can, in fact, be found, but crucially, not alone. The Yok Huy, who searched for it for generations, and crushed everyone around them trying to get inside, had it in their possession all along. But they never even saw the gate. It took Gulool Ja Ja, who had friends to help him, who actually discovered the way in. It is the promise of discovery through love and fellowship, for her only son who was withdrawn and antisocial.

And then we actually find it.

It is not an accident that the way to reach the Golden City is through a cenotaph of lost hope. We literally pass through waters littered with the bodies of children who were never born--promises never fulfilled--to get to its gate.

And it's eating the Yok Huy ruin. The electrope spreads out from the gate like an infection, over-writing the Yok Huy stonework, erasing their culture.

And it's still... oddly beautiful? But in the way a poisonous mushroom is beautiful.

And it's closed. We don't go through it at this point, though we walk right up to the seal on the doorway. Because we're alive.

We're told by Erenville that many people have sought the Golden City, never to return. And of course they didn't.

Because this is the gateway to death.

Zoraal Ja is the first person we actually see go through it. The False Promise. Just to reinforce that this is, in fact, Zoraal Ja's role, Sareel Ja leads him to the gate and hands him the key with a speech that is wholly constructed of the same false platitudes about Zoraal Ja's magical birthright that have driven Zoraal Ja to be this self-destructive and miserable in the first place. And we can see how much the speech upsets Zoraal Ja, who just lost the contest to both his siblings. He knows every word of his inherent greatness and destiny is a lie. Sareel Ja hands him the key, and he grips it like it might be a bludgeon without even looking at it. And the second time Sareel Ja makes a "Resilient Son" speech, Zoraal Ja literally stabs him in the back.

Having skipped all the lessons and warnings about the danger of pursuing death and destruction, Zoraal Ja walks through its front door.

And I don't think it's accidental that the dome appears in Xak Tural, even though the gate itself is located in Yak T'el, far to the south. Xak Tural is the land that defeated the Yok Huy advance without a single battle. The unconquerable land. This is the part of Tulliyolal that Gulool Ja Ja didn't have to fix because it was never broken in the first place. They very notably do not live in the segregated societies the people of the south do, because nobody imposed that on them. The towns we see are a mix of races living together, and probably served as the inspiration for Gulool Ja Ja to build Tulliyolal in the first place, differing people pursuing communal and sometimes conflicting interests together. These are the people Zoraal Ja has been rambling about nonsensically, "teaching the value of peace by the misery of war." The ones who don't need Tulliyolal, but merely want to be part of it.

He can make his mark here because his father never did.

When the dome appears over Yyasulani, we, the players, know it's Zoraal Ja's passage through the gate that caused it, but the characters don't learn this until after he's brutally slaughtered people. We players see the sequence of events as: Zoraal Ja, the Promise of Death, walks into the land of death and carries it out with him. But the characters are instead following the trail of death back to the land of the dead. We don't enter Alexandria through the Golden City. Not at first. We enter it through a swathe of destruction and desolation and a storm that never ends. That's our first view of it. The promise of ruin. We do not see the paradise that led the Yok Huy to their doom until after we know that Sphene, like the Yok Huy, is willing to lay waste to the lives around her to have her Golden City.

And then we have the vision.

I don't think it's an accident that the only people who have ever seen anything come out of the gate to the Golden City are the Warrior of Light, Gulool Ja Ja, Kettenram, Galuf, and indirectly Cahciua. All characters who inherently understand that life comes from death and the balance between them is vital. And it's symbolically significant that it's a child who is delivered from the land of the dead. Her parents don't come with her. The dead don't get to return, we get new life instead.

And then we go there. And it looks like Amaurot.

We call it Living Memory, but the resemblance to Amaurot, and the knowledge of what's actually here means that we immediately understand the lie. The Golden City, the cloud, the twelfth level of Everkeep, all of it has always been a false promise. Zoraal Ja, the False Promise, walked into the land of False Promises and became its king.

And Sphene, the Queen of False Promises, has always had the impossible task of keeping the dead alive.

As we make our way through Living Memory, it's notable that what we actually do is remove the beautiful, golden veneer from the land of the dead. The city is still there when we're done with it. We walk back outside through its gate. We do not have the power to remove death any more than we could destroy despair. But we take the lie out of it, we free the stolen life force to become life again. It's now just dead. No more promises of paradise or ruin to fulfill.

[beomiracles]

Hi bby Serene 🤭

For kinktober I’d like to request taehyun + voyeurism maybe also some kind of camera usage too so he’ll use it to stalk (?) or film them, reader being a girlie girl too tehee

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

DAY 19 : KANG TAEHYUN + VOYEURISM / CAMERA USAGE — Your face is the star of the show, and he always saves it for last. Wanting to catch you right on the edge, teetering on the brink of climax as your face flushes with pleasure. His hand cups your cheek and you nuzzle into his palm, sighing as he brings the recorder closer. — “Smile for the camera, angel.” And you do.

Voyeurism is the practice of gaining sexual pleasure from watching others (or oneself) when they are naked or engaged in sexual activity.

pairings taehyun x fem!reader warnings porn-making kind of, camera usage, scratching, unprotected sex + pullout, tiniest bit of nipple play, mentions of masturbation (m), softdom!taehyun.

#serene adds ✎ I also really really like this one heh. pt.2 of my moms birthday gift :3

EVENT POST

“Come on angel, look at the camera.” 

He urges as a pair of slender fingers hook around your chin, pulling your cheek to rest on the side of the soft pillow; your eyes easily falling on the small and red blinking dot, indicating that the device was recording. — With a shaky exhale you swallow as you will your gaze to stay trained to the camera as he’d instructed. Taehyun liked it the best when he could see your expression clearly, to rewind his favorite moments as your face scrunched up in pleasure. 

The room is dark, but not enough to where the outline of your perky tits couldn’t be made out on the recorder. They bounced with each thrust of Taehyun’s thick cock as he shoves himself deep inside of you; drawing as many high-pitched and strained moans from you as possible. — The pad of his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, gently tugging it down, making sure not to smudge your makeup. Red and bold lipstick, shining under the faint glow of the moon. You had picked it out carefully, knowing what he liked and what he didn’t, and most importantly; what showed the best on camera. 

Taehyun liked having you prettied up whenever he brought his recorder along. Getting ready was part of the foreplay; the way his hands would sneak down your sparkly skirt as you applied blush in the mirror. His eyes locking with yours as he presses wet kisses to your exposed shoulder and neck. The subtle point of his finger, indicating which eyeshadow he wanted you to use; and who were you to deny him. 

“Show me how good you feel, angel.” His voice is raspy, breathless, and you fervently nod, one of your hands cupping your tits as you pinch your nipples between your thumb and index finger. A whine passes your lips as your back arches off the mattress and Taehyun leans back to make sure the camera catches all of you. — “Fuck, you look gorgeous, angel.” 

He especially liked how you sounded on the recordings, the slight modification of your voice that came with the old device, the way it sounded when he increased the volume, when he replayed the sequence over and over. — The footage was for him to see, for him to use. It was sacred, it was his and no one else's. He would use them to get off, sometimes just to watch when he missed you, or when he was bored. 

With his hand on his cock, the other gripping the camera tightly, he would replay the scenes of your previous night together. Finishing all over himself when you turn toward the screen, watching him through the lens with lidded eyes as you tell him how much you love him. — Just thinking about what he would do with the tapes the next day got his mind reeling as he snapped his hips against yours, making you choke on your moans as your hands reached for his shoulders; pulling him down on you. 

Your nails scrape across his back, leaving red marks in their wake. Tilting your head to the side, you watch the way he looks on top of you through the small recorder. Even better is it when he sits up, one hand on your hip to keep you in place as he leans over to grab the small device in his hand, plucking it off its stand as he prepares to get close-up shots of your fucked-out expression. 

He starts where your bodies join, focusing on the way his thick cock slipped past your folds, wet cunt engulfing him like it was made for him only. His thumb circles your clit, the action makes you shudder, a hoarse whine escaping from deep within your throat as your thigh twitches. — “Such a pretty pussy”, he sighs, getting as many shots of your legs spread for him as possible. 

When he’s satisfied he moves to your tits, pinching and rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers, letting the recorder capture it all, every rhythmic bounce; the way his hand gropes at the soft flesh. He makes sure to highlight the splotchy red marks his lips and teeth had left, the pads of his thumb tracing across them as he tells you how beautiful you are. 

Your face is the star of the show, and he always saves it for last. Wanting to catch you right on the edge, teetering on the brink of climax as your face flushes with pleasure. His hand cups your cheek and you nuzzle into his palm, sighing as he brings the recorder closer. — “Smile for the camera, angel.” And you do. 

Lips pulling into a shy smile before they part, eyebrows drawing together as you finish on his cock with soft cry; one that undoubtedly sounded heavenly on tape. Taehyun’s gaze flits from your face through the small screen and that of the one before him, torn between the two enticing sights as he feels you clench around him. 

“Fuck angel”, he grunts, hips jerking forward one last time before he pulls out. He tilts the camera down, making sure to capture himself spurting his release all over you throbbing cunt, coating you in a shiny layer of cum. — He drags it out for as long as possible, not until his cock has fully softened in his hand does he pan out, getting a full shot of your spent body. 

From your spread legs to the mess between them, your bruised tits and neck, your disheveled hair but so perfectly put together face, shiny lipstick sparkling as you smile for the camera one last time. — “Fuck you’d be famous like this”, he murmurs, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to your inner thigh and you giggle. 

But Taehyun wasn’t planning on sharing you, not now, not ever.

kinktober taglist (send an ask to be added) — @sweetpotatogyu @aduh0308 @joieouioui @inkigayocamman @bambammtori @hkplushier @gyusoulz @eliluvsjjunie @velvetmoonlght @izzyy-stuff @hwanghyunjinismybae @lunathewritingcat @ninitorih @run4gyu @beestvng @bamgeutsz

© all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

[signedkoko]

You are such a sweetie! Since your requests are open, if you feel inspired and motivated by this (otherwise you can 100% ignore it, writing is hard - I know), could I request a one-shot for Vox who falls in love with a imp!reader? Would love to see how you write their "forbidden" love, how would Vox feel and what if the other Vee's found out about it. It doesn't have to be a story, you can do it in headcannon format if you feel like it suits better! Just try to have fun ♡ -Nia

Intern [Romantic]

In which the techy overlord falls for one of his new hellborn employees, much to his dismay. Reader is genderneutral.

Song - Break My Heart by Dua Lipa

Any hellborn would die for the opportunity that graced you. Well, graced was not the right word; you fought for months against many candidates, beefed up your resume, and pulled some strings to get an unpaid internship for the Vee's. More specifically, a three-month internship at VoxTek with the potential to be hired in immediately after. 

It was a position people could only dream of, especially hellborn. Sinner-based companies had a tendency to place sinners above hellborns, but you knew that and used it to your advantage. You couldn't go in as equal; you had to know you were less and make up for it. 

The job itself wasn't all that bad, either. It was a lot of unpaid hours, from the crack of dawn to the dip of the sun or later, but it mostly involved the small details. Coffee, sorting, and delivering mail between sections were hard to mess up. 

There was the rare extra task where someone messed up and they needed someone to cover quickly. 

Today was one of those days. You were at the right place at the right time, sitting by the coffee machine, grabbing yourself your first cup of the day. 

That was when he entered, his shoes tapping on the floor with confident clicks, and when he spoke it commanded attention. 

Mostly because he spoke through every speaker in the building at once. 

"Who here can follow me? No questions asked."

Before anyone could chime in, his monitor did a full rotation of the room, his eyes narrowing when they landed on you. 

Your ear piece buzzed to life. 

"You, follow me. Now." The overlord spoke directly into your ear using the device, and knowing this may be an opportunity of a lifetime, you followed. 

There was no question about who it was: a monitor for a head, control of all technology, and a towering seven feet tall. Vox was the top of the top, and it was hard to believe you were allowed to so much as stand next to him. 

It was hard to keep up with his speed-walking pace, but he eventually led you into the mail elevator, hitting the twelfth floor while he muttered something about incompetence amongst hires and how he always had to take control of every production if he wanted it done right. 

With a ding and the slow release of the elevator doors, he took the lead once more, though this time he was walking slower and backwards, navigating with ease despite looking directly at you. 

"Alrighty intern, ready for your shot at becoming something more? Because our previous voiceover person just walked out on us, and now you'll be covering for them." He stopped with his back against a door, grabbing the handle and awaiting your reply. 

"But I only just spoke to..." 

"You're cute, you know that? How many videos do you think are out there with your voice? I listened to them all the moment I saw you." Vox only smiled wider when his words sunk in; he saw the usual flash of embarrassment as you pondered what he might have seen. Without waiting any longer, he pushed the door open, spinning so he was finally walking normally. 

It was a recording studio, and there were several other employees waiting, mostly those handling the recording equipment and some holding papers. 

Vox sat himself in a comfortable rolling chair in front of the glass window that overlooked the recording studio, spinning to hand you some papers that he took from a demon next to him. 

"Here is your script; all you have to do is read. Make it sound exciting! Something new, something beyond anyone's imagination, is now available to the public!" He put on a voice as he continued, demonstrating what he hoped you could manage. Someone ushered you into the booth and plopped some headphones over your ears. 

"From the top! 3...2..."

The whole process was a thrill, but you managed to run over the script in three separate recordings, of which Vox cited them all as 'stunning' or 'absolutely perfect!', though the producer claimed to need multiple for any potential recording malfunctions. 

For an overlord, he had been oddly kind and encouraging throughout the process, and he walked you out himself when everything wrapped up. 

Vox continued to speak about what the script was for and how excited he was for the launch, all while leading you through parts of the building you had never been to before. You thought after that he would have sent you back down and forgotten everything, but eventually you found yourself in front of your supervisor. 

"Vox! Sir- oh no, had our intern upset you?"

"No, no, not at all. Sorry, what was your name again? Ally? Yeah, listen, Ally, I need you to handle the paperwork they were assigned. Oh! And I want them promoted to my personal studio for tomorrow, too."

Before you or the sinner could ask questions, Vox was already out of there, chipper as ever. 

That evening, you went home with an upgraded badge and access card, along with details on your new position and expectations. It was a lot to get through, but you felt extremely proud of yourself for doing so well. Hell, you met THE Vox, and he wanted you to be the voice of VoxTek? 

While flipping through the pile of information, the most surprising aspect was the six-figure salary you were about to get started on. 

. . .

Surrounded by monitors, Vox watched various camera feeds as they traced your steps home. Vox saw you smile from several angles, the electricity between his antennae flickering. Each monitor had some kind of file or piece of information on you, and he was only pulled out of his trance when he got a call from Velvette. 

"Hello there, Velvette! What can I help you with today?" Leaning back in his chair, the overlord flicked his wrist, which shot the call from his monitor onto one of the many others displaying you. 

"I need your guys for a sh- wait. Vox, what the fuck is all of that?" While the fashionista originally had her eyes elsewhere, her gaze quickly fixed on his background, which was quickly followed by all the screens going blank with his logo. 

"That? Oh, oh no, its nothing at a-" 

"That's the imp you were talking about last week! The one you were trying to get to apply to VoxTek!" 

"Well, maybe, but-"

Once again, she cut him off with a gurgling groan. 

"Listen, I don't care who or what you fuck; just get your camera crew here and we'll talk about this later. Kay? Kisses!" Before she abruptly hung up on him, he could have sworn he heard a small 'at least they're hot' before the call disconnected. 

Tensed from the interaction, Vox could only groan and dramatically fall back into his chair, tapping his claws along the armrest. 

So what if he scouted you out? You didn't know that, and you were happy about it anyway! One by one, each monitor opened back up on your data, the overlord grinning. 

It was better this way; everyone would think it was the intern going after him, so nobody knew one of the top overlords in hell was dotting on some helpless imp.

Author's Note - I love Vox so much...hes so obsessive but he denies every accusation (its the same w Alastor lmao) like its going to hurt him! But thank you so much for the request Nia, I hope this interests you 🖤

Word Count - 1,219

[giddyfatherchris]

I can't sleep

pairing: bang chan x reader

type: not requested

warnings: none, pure fluff baby

word count: 1k

requests: open for stray kids and bts

a/n: i thought of this when i had an insomnia episode for a few weeks and it always helped make me feel better, i hope it does the same for any night owl out there xxx

summary: the reader cannot find sleep, but instead finds comfort in the arms of her sweet sweet sweet partner

You awoke for what felt like the millionth night in a row. Eyes wide open, a little hot, and completely lucid. You stared at the ceiling, praying you would fall back asleep, but nothing.

Lately, you felt like a broken record. Almost every night, you would have the weirdest dreams and wake up every hour, struggling to get back to sleep. You would either end up on the couch reading a book or stay in bed trying every trick to reach a peaceful slumber once more.

Some nights, Chan was right by your side, and you cursed him for being asleep while you weren't. Of course, you immediately chased the thought from your brain every time. You knew how much sleep evaded him. The rare nights he could get were a blessing, and you would be a horrible person if you ever were mad at him for recuperating all his missing hours.

You checked your phone, hoping the time on your device would be decent enough for you to get up. You let out a growl of disappointment when you saw the numbers 3, 1, and 0 flash on the screen. You couldn’t help a spasm of frustration only to stop the motion dead in your tracks. You winced, praying you didn’t wake Chan up. After a few seconds of statuesque immobility, you realized your Aussie boyfriend was not in bed. You patted the blankets, searching for his muscular frame, but found nothing. You sat up and noticed the door ajar with a feeble light filtering through the crack.

You got out of bed, not before wrapping yourself properly like a burrito, and went out. Unsurprisingly, you found Chan in his office, gaze focused on the screen before his eyes. His hair was disheveled beneath the hood of his sweater. He wore his favorite pair of sweatpants and looked cozy as all hell. It seemed you weren’t the only one sleep eluded tonight.

You observed him for a few seconds, admired his handsome features, and marveled at his concentration. You felt your heart flutter with love for the man before you, gently humming to some mysterious song only he knew about. You shuffled to him, attracting his attention.

"Oh, hey baby. I didn’t know you were awake." he smiled at you like you were the best thing in the world, and you felt a herd of butterflies take control of your stomach but pouted at the mention of your insomnia.

"I think I caught your illness," you whined with your lower lip deep set in a pout. "I can't sleep well lately." He looked at your moody expression with a small smile illuminating his bare face. God, you were cute.

"Poor baby," he cooed, "I'm sorry to hear that." He opened his arms, motioning for you to sit on his lap.

You did so happily, sitting on his thighs and facing him like a koala. He stroked your back and held you tight.

"I'm sorry for saying I caught your illness. I feel so guilty telling you I can't sleep knowing you've been dealing with insomnia your whole life. I sound like a bratty kid, I'm sorry," you mumbled on his clothed shoulder.

He pulled back enough to meet your face. "Hey, I never said anything like that and didn't even think it. I get how frustrating it can be. As you said, I can't even remember a time when I didn't have insomnia. I'm so used to it that I don't really care anymore, but that doesn't mean I can't show you compassion for going through something similar. Okay? So I don't want to hear anything more about feeling guilty."

You nodded shyly before letting your head fall on his shoulder.

"My beautiful angel", he whispered while kissing the side of your head, just above your ear. You nuzzled in the crook of his neck, took a deep breath, and inhaled his familiar scent, appreciating the calming effect it always had on you.

You finally looked at his screen, wondering what he was working on. As usual, when Chan couldn’t sleep he used that time to work. He figured at a young age that if he couldn't use the late hours of the night to rest, he might as well put that free time to good use. He quickly explained the new song he was working on, inspiration striking in the dead of the night. You nodded appreciatively before settling your forehead on his chest.

You stayed like that for a little while, hoping sleep would find you, as it sometimes happened when you were cuddling with Chan, but nothing. Not the faintest sign of sleepiness.

"You really can’t sleep, uh?" he asked when you wiggled on his lap for the third time. He also hoped the cuddles would have lulled you to sleep as it usually did, and wondered if he had lost some of his effect on you.

You sighed deeply, "I don't know what's happening to me."

He sat back in his chair, hands on your thighs, to face you. He gently lifted his hands to cup your cheeks. You leaned into the touch and almost started purring like a kitten when he stroked the side of your face.

"I think it’s time we use the big guns," he suggested magnanimously.

He carried you to the couch and gently laid you down before disappearing. You heard him rummaging in the kitchen for a little while before he returned with two steaming cups of tea.

"First, a little chamomile tea. It helps to relax and fall asleep." He smiled before handing you the cup. "Careful, it's very hot."

He disappeared again and reappeared with more blankets, his Wolfchan plush you loved, and his laptop in one hand.

"What are we doing?" you stared curiously at him, the hint of a smile playing on your lips.

He sat down next to you and grabbed the remote.

"Now, we put on one of your favorite movies, and you just relax. I have to finish this tiny thing for work, and then we can cuddle. Does that sound good?"

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you looked at your oh-so-caring boyfriend. You grabbed his face and kissed him deeply. You loved the way his lips just seemed to fit perfectly with yours. Once you pulled back, he seemed a little dazed but stared at you adoringly.

"Woah, what did I do to deserve that?" he whispered, gaze still going back and forth between your eyes and lips.

"Oh, not much. Just being the best boyfriend on earth."

He smiled shyly and kissed your forehead before putting the movie on play.

You cuddled into his side, lightly playing with his free hand. You watched the first movie, sipping on your comforting cup of tea while he worked. Once done, you watched another together until sleep finally graced the both of you with its peaceful embrace.

[angelyuji]

You say “goes with you to doctors appointments” but I hear “lurks outside with a listening device” like a true nerd 😭 also bet he’s getting a copy of your medical records for “”””emergency”””” (aka obsessive curiosity) oh my god you can’t convince me he wouldn’t have a few of your x-rays saved somewhere too. just the worst combination of nerdy, dangerous and in love

tw // kidnapping, stalking, general yandere stuff, sort of breeding kink and pregnancy under the cut (also implied noncon) (kinda dark)

18+!!!! minors dni!!!!!

absolutely he would use listening devices and cameras when ur at the doctors (before dating/kidnapping/wtv) after tho, i feel like he’d be insistent on going with u to the doctors and generally being a freak.

i believe ford to be more biology, evolution, and space kind of nerd than technology however, he’d probably make whatever he needed to keep an eye on u.

also imagine ur doctor getting weirded the fuck out by ford’s insisting to be with u during the check-up that they’re gonna pull u aside and ask if everythings okay at home. which pisses ford off so much that he decides the doctors are stupid and u dont even need to go anyway like u have him!! plus, now he gets to conduct more experiments to better understand how u work. he convinces stan to rob ur ex-doctor’s office so ford can have whatever he needs to look after u.

also smth else ive been thinking abt, i feel like ford would be super interested in pregnancy. in like a “how does it work” way. not in a “i want kids” way. like he would get u pregnant to see how ur body and mind changes. he would monitor u with his own tech and the stuff from the doctor. but also i dont think he would want kids.

kinda super dark but imagine he gives u smth that imitates pregnancy and u dont find out until its ur “due date” and u go through all that just to give birth to nothing…. he would definitely use that mind-breaking situation to continue to use u as his personal guinea pig

[yzzart]

day off, and just enjoy!

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.

summary: you and Tom try to enjoy your free time with each other's company and competing against each other.

word count: 1.315!

notes: a more domestic, relaxed scenario ran through my head and i felt i needed to write it down. — i hope you like and enjoy

"The right amount is seven cards, right?" — Shuffling the cards, trying to adjust them to be distributed in a random order and not letting any go uncontrolled, your boyfriend asked.

Replying to some messages, and some tweets that Rachel chose to make and tagging you, and then, sharing your latest post on your story, — Coincidentally, in the same second, Tom's cell phone vibrates with a notification. — you take your attention away from the device, turning it off, and direct your eyes to your boyfriend.

"Right!" — Your head nodded in confirmation, and your fingers tapped, lightly, on the wooden table. — "There is another way to play with more cards but I think this is better." — And it seemed to be more complicated and a little more time-consuming, like that, you thought.

It was their time off, some moments of rest and focusing on things and opportunities that could distract your minds. — Since the premiere of 'The ballad of songbirds and snakes', there have been extremely long and very busy days with so many interviews, presentations, participation in programs and premiere nights; which were incredible, brought different emotions to each of the cast and so much pleasure and happiness. — The union, the feeling of everyone being together was unique and inexplicable.

Mentioning that your work schedules are still full was not some kind of exaggeration, and that, with each event, more plans were planned in the future. — After all, it wasn't a lie to say that you were already used to all of this. — Therefore, a few days of rest were more than necessary.

"Here it is." — The cards were distributed in the correct manner and quantity, and those that remained, and which would be used to be bought, were left next to you. — "Just wait a minute, darling." — Tom warned, while taking his cell phone.

While you were organizing and judging your cards, wondering if they could actually lead to a good game for you, your cell phone vibrates as a sign of some notification and, instantly, the screen lights up showing you what it was. — A like on your story from such a familiar profile. — Your lips curved into a genuine and beloved smile, feeling like a teenager in love.

The fact that you and Tom kept notifications on, from your profiles, from each other was cute; at the same time, without wasting a second, as if you wanted to break some kind of record, in any post, among the first likes and comments, your users were there. — Fans thought this was one of the funniest and most beautiful things.

And things like you and Tom were each other's fans were always mentioned in tweets and compilations.

Leaving his cell phone near the group of cards and before picking up his set of cards, Tom looks at you and winks in your direction; you laughed, unable to contain yourself.

"Who goes first?" — You asked, slightly swinging your legs under the table, moving the cards again and waiting for the first round of the game.

"Oh please, ladies first." — Supporting his cards, already organized, in one hand, Tom made a reference to a knight of a certain era with his other hand; your foot poked his calf, finding his act funny.

You started the game with a green card numbered two, after all, it was the color that was most present in your cards. — A possible strategy, perhaps? And you hoped it would work. — Quickly, Blyth opted for a card of the same color but numbered five.

"After the winter camp…" — Tom's voice in a concentrated but so soft tone exclaimed in your ears, taking away, a little, your attention from choosing the card. — "What will be our next trip?" — Still in the same color, you add a number four.

"We need to go through there again." — You commented, reminding him that you said the same thing when you were with him at the table. — "Let me think." — Tom put the same number but in blue, you clicked your tongue, unhappy with the absence of the color in your set.

"So that means you don't have that color." — He laughed, fixing this information in his head; Ignoring his provocation, you bought a card and, coincidentally, it came with the same number but, again, in a different color. — Yellow.

"I'm thinking about spending time in a forest, that has a cabin near a beautiful, huge river." — Indicating, directly and indiscreetly, a reference to the movie's scene, you suggested. — "And an opportunity to fish and jump in it." — Understanding what it was about, Tom's laugh settles in the room and warms your heart.

"Not including hair being dyed blonde, i will be by your side, my love." — Tom bit his lip, continuing to vibrate his laugh, and provoking the fact that everyone was asking, or rather begging, for him to definitely become blonde. — "And it wouldn't be a bad idea, really."

During his answer, he had placed a card with the same number but, of course, with a different color, it was red; and a simple, brief moment of relief because you had a yellow card disappeared into thin air. — Once again, you drew a card and once again, out of pure irony, you draw a card with the same number but colored green.

Maybe, your game was on a good track. — Or your luck was definitely in an ironic direction.

"That's not possible?" — Complained the oldest, with his eyebrows arched and his mouth half open; you shrugged, causing a smug frown. — "Can you tell me." — He placed a card numbered eight and colored green and, quickly, you added another green card with a different number.

And so, the game arrived at a time when there were only two cards left in your hand; accompanied by the intriguing information that they were the same color, green. — Finally, you had an opportunity to play that yellow card, which didn't have a good moment and was prevented from being used.

In Tom's hands there were also the presence of two cards; If they were identical in color, you didn't know that and had no idea whatsoever. — But his eyes were focused on your cards and, soon, he paid attention to your face, observing every point and expression that existed on it. — Along with that sideways smile, without showing his teeth, anxiously waiting for your move.

You weren't betting anything, but in the next round, you will probably go, let alone compete, seriously; however, if an outsider saw the current situation, they would automatically think of a competition. — And without joking or exaggerating.

In a delicate and risky moment, you played one of your green cards; leaving just a card between your fingers and looking deeply into those blue eyes, waiting for his turn. — Tom took, at least a little longer than usual, to play; as if he was thinking about what, exactly, to do. — Oh, another heavy mind with strategy.

However, those two cards, which were left in your boyfriend's hand, form just one thin and small set. — As if it were just one. — And, slowly, they are positioned on top of the card you had placed. — They were two blue cards, twins and with the same number as your card.

"I won!" — Tom exclaimed, with a triumphant smile and moving, just a little and dramatically, the chair away from the table; as he tilted his head in amusement and waiting for something from you. — "I feel like we should have bet something."

"I don't believe." — Leaving the card on the table and crossing your arms, thinking about your mediocre strategy, which passed on a gravel path, apparently, you spoke. — "The chance was between my fingers!" — Tom laughed shamelessly at your reaction and received another poke from your foot on his leg.

"Ready to lose again, my sweetheart?" — He asked, crossing his arms on the table, looking at you.

[tj-dragonblade]

[Connect 4 FIC] Mementos

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 1243 Tags: fluff, pre-relationship, future fic, photography

Notes: For the @sandman-connect4 prompts Goldfish and Photography

Summary: Hob waxes nostalgic about an old hobby that's also his newest career.

On AO3

"Photography is such an amazing innovation, yeah?" Hob snaps another photo as he speaks, capturing the elegant swish of orange and white fins just breaking the pond's surface. "Still marvel over it, sometimes, used to it as I am."

"Indeed." Dream is drifting along at Hob's side, interested and attentive, and Hob knows by now that no one nearby will pay any attention to his ramblings so long as Dream is here with his notice-me-not aura. He's free to speak of whatever he likes without fear of being overheard.

"Couldn't imagine, first I heard of it—a device to take your portrait, without having to sit for a painter? Unthinkable! But it was true!" He snaps another pic as a particularly elegant fantail wriggles past a lily pad. "Couldn't wait to get a daguerreotype taken; I still have it, stored away for safekeeping, along with every other portrait I had done in the nineteenth century. They just kept refining and improving on the process—it was amazing, y'know? How marvelous, this ability to capture an image exactly as seen, and it just kept getting better. Had plans to show you the latest I'd had done at our meeting in 1889, if I hadn't put my foot in it first." He snaps another photo, two fish swimming past one another in a graceful floating of fins, and keeps right on talking before Dream can offer any commentary on that particular phase of their friendship. It's water under the bridge, done and gone and forgiven and he doesn't need an apology every time it comes up.

"And then personal-use cameras became a thing, and the tech just kept improving. It was so exciting to have the ability—I could just, y'know, pick up a camera and take pictures of whatever I liked! Any time! People I'd eventually have to leave behind, I could keep pictures now, if I wanted. Don't always, y'know, I've gotten very good at picking up and moving on when needed and not pulling a bunch of baggage after me, but it's nice sometimes to have those photos there to look back on when the memory starts to fade."

Dream makes a soft sound of agreement as Hob crouches by the edge of the pond, snapping a few rapid-fire shots from the new lower angle.

"And then Polaroids! Didn't even have to send those out, just wait a few minutes and wave it about a bit. Instant pictures. Fantastic. And then digital cameras? Phone cameras? Video, of course? Nowadays everybody's got hundreds of photos in their pocket at any given second, everyone can record or commemorate anything in their life that they want at a moment's notice, and I think that's just brilliant." He grunts as he rises back to his feet, steps away from the perimeter of the pond to capture a wider shot.

"Spent a lot of time on photography as a hobby, middle of last century," he continues as he works. "Amazing how accessible it was. Learned how to develop my own film, which lenses could do what, played with anything I could get my hands on. It was just so cool."

"It was this time as a hobbyist that led you to your current career choice, then," Dream says, in a tone of dawning understanding.

"Yeah, more or less." Teaching had lasted him another decade and a half after Dream's return before he'd needed to pull up roots and reinvent himself, and his old hobby had called to him. "With the trending interest in reviving analog photography it seemed a decent choice after retiring 'Professor Gadling'. Wasn't hard to get hired; most of what I shoot for the magazine's still digital—most of their subscription distribution is digital—but they've got an analog branch catering to collectors and enthusiasts and lucky for me I'm proficient in all of it."

"The luck perhaps belongs to your employer, in securing your skills," Dream offers, with one of those little smiles that Hob so loves to collect. He offers a grin of his own.

"I'll be sure to tell them you said so in my next appraisal."

"And do all of your assignments involve photographing fish?"

Hob laughs. "Nah, course not—it's a lifestyle-and-interest publication; I wind up shooting all sorts of things. This guy's been maintaining his ponds here for decades—probably knew that already, didn't you—and they wanted to do a feature on it. I was chuffed to get the assignment; I've been fascinated by pond building and maintenance for a few years now and I'm pleased to see this fabulous setup in person."

Dream says nothing, studying the pond in uncanny stillness as Hob takes a few more photos.

"Lovely creatures," he says at last.

"Aren't they?"

"They remind me of my sister."

"The one who—?" Hob makes a sweeping gesture with one hand meant to indicate himself and his whole still-alive thing.

"No; the youngest." Dream crouches, dangles fingertips in the water. "They often feature in the way that perception alters around her."

Hob waits to see if anything further is forthcoming, then tucks that small piece of information away to hopefully be expanded upon at a later date. He's learned much about Dream in the last couple decades by paying attention when these little dribs and drabs of personal information are offered and waiting patiently for the next.

He pauses in his photographing, glances sideways down at his friend. "What do their dreams look like, then? Do fish even sleep?"

"Not as such. Not as humans do." Dream wriggles his fingers, once, the surface rippling gently in their wake. "Their dreams are fleeting, gossamer; ephemeral wisps of comfortable waters, of safety, of plenty." There are fish approaching to nibble at Dream's fingertips, orandas and comets and ryukins; Hob watches for a moment then pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, for himself.

Dream catches the change of equipment, glances up with another of those little smiles—indulgent. Hob snaps again, pleased to have proof of that smile, pleased that Dream is present enough in the Waking today to be captured by the camera.

"Oh, look at this fellow," he says, motioning to a large black moor that is swimming up to investigate Dream's fingertips, and slips his phone back into his pocket.

"A beautiful specimen," Dream allows, holding perfectly still while the fish mouths at one finger and then another. "His color is exquisite."

Hob grins. "Must sense a fellow goth in you." He lifts his work camera again, snaps a few of the lovely black fish after Dream has reclaimed his hand.

"Perhaps." Dream's still got that little smile, and Hob remains absolutely delighted to see it.

"C'mon. Let's go see what Mr. Goldfish-Enthusiast has got in his koi pond, over here."

The rest of the afternoon passes pleasantly, more fish photographed, more stories of Hob's past told. And in his pocket, safe in his phone, there are two new pictures of Dream to remind him of his friend when absences stretch long, as they sometimes must. It is comforting, after everything and all these centuries, to know that he's allowed these mementos. He's confident by now that Dream will always return; they have met more in the last twenty years than in the six hundred before and Hob is elated that the friendship he'd recklessly claimed in 1889 has blossomed so wonderfully in truth.

But it's nice he's got the pictures to prove it.

= Started: 11/21/24 Drafted: 11/29/24 Posted: 11/30/24

[brucewaynehater101]

Tim bullied Bruce into joining the justice league properly because it was basically arranging playdates for him and expanding his social circle

Tim doesn't entirely approve of Bruce's friendship with superman because superman a) technically saved the joker's life b) was of no help in keeping bruce from spiraling into a extreme violence and passive suicidal behavior c) is a jerk to tim's own best friend, kon, who superman named abomination in kryptonian and so tim is hoping that Batman being part of the justice league will allow for better influences in Batman's life like Wonder Woman

Tim, who has famously embezzled enough money to build and ship a batmobile, is actually the one who arranged for the financing and building of the watchtower, like a parent would build a tree house for their kid and their kid's friends, and generously let Bruce think it was his idea, prior to this they were using the hall of justice on earth like american centric losers

I love this vision of Tim so much. I also bet that he carefully plans Bruce's trips to the WatchTower to avoid him being alone with Clark. If Clark has to be there, Tim tries to arrange someone from his approved list also being there (WW is obviously his top choice).

Tim also has access to all of their cameras/recording devices. He gives access to Alfred as well. They don't usually use them, but they will if Bruce is being a jerk recently or they have concerns over his decision making abilities.

After the 16th Birthday incident, Tim created a project that automatically analyzed all video and audio recordings to notify him when they viewed something suspicious Bruce is doing. It doesn't work perfectly, but it helps him catch the man preemptively most of the time. Tim can then go lecture Bruce until the man stops whatever dumb thing he was going to do (Bruce is confused on how Tim now has a pretty accurate "dad radar" for when Bruce is about to do stupid shit [although Bruce doesn't call it a dad radar. He just mentally compares it to Alfred]).

[moonchildstyles]

if I think I know what curious gazes is, I would love to see what rosemary/ex-hitman would look like in that lens! he's just so moody compared to her, it would be cool to see them how others do! thank you :D

wordcount: 2.2k+

—————

Scrolling on her phone, Denise jumped and almost dropped the device when she heard the bell above the door tinkle in greeting. She wanted to stare down the new patrons that crossed the threshold, maybe they would get the message that she was not in the mood today. It had been completely dead her entire shift and she would prefer it to stay that way instead of pretending to be pleasant for the sake of a meager tip. 

Lifting her sharpened gaze, she thought better of her initial instinct as she slid her phone into the pocket of her jeans before approaching the pair waiting by the front door. The man stood tall with his head slightly ducked to his partner's height, turning an ear to her as she shared something quietly with him. He smiled in response, his gaze brightening as he turned to mutter something back. 

Denise's jaw tightened. It took everything in her not to blurt out and ask if they were aware that love didn't exist, that everything they were going through right now was nothing more than a passing fantasy before one of them would go off and meet someone new—maybe even the other's best friend—and fuck them behind her back and—

Taking in a deep breath, Denise reminded herself that she came to work today to forget. At least this way she could be paid for her moping. 

"Hi, how are you today?" she sounded once close enough, decidedly less perky than her usual customer service persona. The kitchen staff was going to be extra annoying today if they overheard her.

"Good, thank you! How are you?" the girl asked, her hand clasped tightly in her companion's. A bright smile covered her features, matching the bubbly inflection of her voice. She was just the kind of person that would have a flouncy bow in her hair, Denise thought bitterly. 

"I'm doing okay, thank you. Just the two of you?" she quickly moved on, reaching for a couple of flimsy menus from the half-assed hosting station. (She lodged a complaint at least once a week over this podium, citing how unnecessary the whole thing was for a diner like this. Her manager never seemed to receive them though, if the fact it was still here meant anything). 

"Yes, please," the girl chirped, her polite smile never waning. 

"Perfect," Denise deadpanned, already growing tired of the fluffy energy radiating off the pair of them, "This way, then." 

Denise didn't bother to check over her shoulder or make small talk as she led them to the booth in the farthest corner away from the bar top and kitchen window. Given the size of the restaurant, it wasn't very far, but at least this way she could strategically hide by the register and scroll on her phone or talk shit with the kitchen staff without prying eyes. 

"This work for you guys?" she asked out of habit, stepping aside in presentation of the booth. 

"This is perfect, thank you," the girl smiled, looking up to the man at her side as if to verify. He didn't do anything other than give a private smile to her, barely even glancing at Denise or the seating arrangement. Denise held back a huff. 

Leo used to look at her like that too, but then he fucked her best friend for six months. 

With that, the pair of them scooted into the vinyl seating across from one another, finally dropping their clasped hands. Placing the laminated menus in front of them, Denise rattled off the lunch specials from memory, barely registering her words as they fell from her tongue. A faux smile decorated her face as she asked for their preferred drinks.

"Um," the girl floundered, attempting to sweep over the menu in record time, "Just a lemonade, please?" 

Denise nodded before turning to the man, ensuring she didn't narrow her eyes too much at him. She saw the way he looked at his girlfriend with adoration in his eyes before realizing it was his turn. The gentle curl to his lips melted away when he looked up at Denise, voice flat as he ordered, "Water." 

A less than discreet scuffle from under the table sounded in the quiet diner. 

"Please," the man tacked on at the end. 

Better, Denise thought, a slight curl tugging at the corner of her lips. 

"Alright, I'll be back with those drinks in a minute and take your order," Denise explained, slipping away not a moment too soon.

As she left them behind, she could hear the traces of a quiet conversation.

"Sorry," the man's deep voice mumbled, "I forgot." 

"It's okay," the girl answered, ever-so-patient, "I know you're still getting used to it. You just have to talk to people like you talk to me, and you'll be okay." 

A humph sounded. "But none of them are you." 

Denise had to keep from rolling her eyes. She wanted so badly to believe that sincerity she swore was laced within his words, but today was not the day for believing in love and genuine relationships. Today was for being bitter while her ex cleaned his stuff out of her apartment.

Out of nothing but the need to wait on them as quickly as possible so she could go back to stewing, Denise quickly collected their drinks and returned to the booth in record time. After distributing out the glasses with a practiced smile, straightened to the full of her height and pulled out her pad. 

"Ready to order?" she recited, lifting her eyes only minutely from the page. 

The man piped up first, "Yes, please."

The girl smiled at him with a brightness to her gaze. Denise held back a scoff. 

They prattled off their orders in quick succession, the woman with a pleasant smile and the man with over-polite manners. With every please and thank you, his girlfriend looked that much happier.  

"Alright, I'll be back as soon as everything's ready," Denise smiled, itching to pass the order to the kitchen before hiding in her favorite spot. 

Striding through the small diner, she passed off the ticket to the lounging kitchen staff before breezing by to her own hiding spot. Tucking herself by the register just out of sight of the single filled booth, Denise scrolled on her phone. Angling herself just so, she was able to peek at the table without being obviously spotted—her favorite place to stowaway without missing out on taking care of her tables. 

Pulling up her photos as she had been before the couple's interruption, she attempted to delete as much evidence of the last year as she could before she was too annoyed to look at Leo's face anymore. 

Unsurprisingly, it didn't take very long for the sight of his stupid, lying, cheating, smiling face pushed her to lock her phone to keep from calling his mom to tell her what he did. In search of a distraction, she peered over the screen, finding the only available entertainment being the couple she currently despised.

It was with narrowed eyes that she watched them interact. Their voices were too low to be heard over the quiet music and the distance between them, leaving only the sound of small mutters as they sat in their private bubble. With the position of the booth, Denise was only able to see the face of the man and the way he looked at the woman across from him, how he reacted to whatever it was she was doing.

Denise saw the way the grim set of his features loosened and melted when the woman laughed, how the tense line of his shoulders settled when she reached out and touched his hand across the table, and the way his body curled towards her as if the table was an obstacle for where he really wanted to be. Parts of her thawed as she watched, as much as she hated to admit it. 

They were cute—even if the thought was stamped with bitterness. 

Putting her phone away and tearing her eyes from the couple, Denise deigned herself to clean up. It was an easy enough, boring task that would keep her occupied, even if she would rather sit on the floor behind the bar and mope instead. With a spray bottle and a rag in hand, she worked her way through the aisles and wiped down tables and the vinyl seating. It was mindless and a little too easy to get distracted, but this was better than spying on some couple or going through her photos and remembering her own relationship. 

Meandering through the tables, she eventually made it within earshot of the quiet conversation cuddled in the booth. Denise attempted to keep her ears to herself, not necessarily wanting to hear what she didn't have, but it was hard to tune them out with how minute her cleaning was. 

"You really like your bow?" the man had asked, his voice a low grumble in song with the music, "Y'don't have to be nice if y'don't, peach." 

"No, Harry, I love it. Seriously," the girl answered back, her voice light and convincing, "I didn't mean it as a bad thing that I have a lot in that color. Obviously, I like it if I buy it all the time." 

When a pause sounded between them, Denise had to keep herself from peering around to see what was taking them so long. 

"I wanted this one to be special," he finally mumbled. 

Turning to face another table that needed to be wiped down, Denise glanced up at them without a thought. The man had a slight tilt to his head as he gazed at his girlfriend, his eyes incredibly soft with every sharp edge of him rounded out. Reaching out, he had one of the tendrils of her bow pinched between her fingers, fondly tugging on it. 

"It is special, H," the woman insisted, "because you got it for me. Thank you—I really do love it, even if you're not sure." 

Denise could only watch a moment longer, catching the woman placing her hand on his as he played with her bow. She had to turn away then, feeling more of that ice thaw from her chest. 

Just in time, the bell at the kitchen window rang through the space with Kyle peering out towards her with an expectant look. Denise headed towards the kitchen, dropping off the cleaning supplies on her way. 

Collecting the dishes, she strided towards the only occupied table. When the man saw her approaching, particular ticks and stiff sets returned to his bones though she could tell he was trying to keep the pleasant expression on his features. He hadn't been bluffing when he had told his girlfriend that no one else was her—he didn't know how to act that way with anyone but her.

Though it did appear he was trying, just as she wanted. 

"Here we go, guys," Denise muttered, dropping off the correct plates in front of them (they both had ordered breakfast dishes, though it was too late in the day to still even be considered brunch and too early to be considered breakfast for dinner). "Everything look okay?" 

"This is perfect, thank you," the woman smiled, her bow slightly askew on the back of her head. 

A beat later, the man parroted, "Thank you." 

The woman's smile beamed brighter when she turned to face him. 

"Awesome," Denise posited, "I'll be by to check on you in a few minutes." 

With that, she skittered away, leaving them to the relative privacy of their booth. In her hiding spot, Denise hesitated to pull out of her phone. She wasn't sure if she was ready to feel the icy chill of looking at Leo's smiling face in her camera roll. 

She couldn't help her eyes from dancing up towards her patrons for a peek. 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, Denise saw as the man reached across the table with a fork aloft in his hand. He fed his girlfriend a bite of his meal before he had even tried it himself, awaiting her reaching. She saw the way his eyes scanned over her features, a soft smile replacing that of contemplation as he watched over her reaction.

"Good?" she could see him saying. 

Whatever response she gave him was enough to have a smile blooming over his face, complete with dimples and creases beside his eyes. 

More and more of her thawed and she saw the absolute joy that crossed the man's face as his girlfriend extended herself over the table, lifting from her seat. His hand coming to rest on her cheek, he welcomed her in for a small kiss. Though it was a quick contact, Denise caught the way his eyes lingered closed, soaking in the moment for just a breath longer before he was dropped back in reality. 

He was in love with her, no doubt. As bitter and frozen as she felt today, it was hard to imagine these two ending up like herself and Leo—one heartbroken and changed, while the other a liar with a smug face. 

Icicles fell from her heart as she watched them share food and quiet conversation meant for just the two of them. 

Maybe they would make it. 

—————

thank you so much for reading!! sorry for any mistakes and please lmk if you have any fun ideas!

[redflagshipwriter]

Young Lovers shot by Cupid ch 3

(Damian/Danny dpxdc fic, Damian and Stephanie buddy cop fic)

Masterpost

Brown was a somewhat agreeable partner to travel with when she was not aiming to irritate him. She made no side trips, unexpected stops, and she certainly did not feel the need to show off world-class acrobatics when they were aiming for speed.

Begrudgingly, Damian admitted to himself that she was not entirely terrible. The revelation that she felt some competitive spirit in regards to Drake was good information. That could improve their working relationship considerably. Perhaps he would allow her more grace.

They arrived at the mall in short order.

They looked up the blueprint from outside and quietly conferred on a plan. The large building was closed, dark, and quiet. There was a single security office, and it seemed that the mall did not employ anyone overnight. Damian pried open a vent on the roof and slipped inside silently. Brown was at his heels a moment later. She hit the ground with a soft tap of her boots.

Imperfect, but excusable, Damian generously allowed.

The office itself was a damp little nest of filing cabinets with a lingering and unpleasant aroma of popcorn butter and coffee. Damian wrinkled his nose through the task of sorting their security tapes.

The food court tapes from yesterday had already been removed, labeled, and put away.

Unfortunately, they were literal tapes. Damian huffed in disbelief at the bulky VHS units.

“Holy moly,” Brown muttered. “I thought the old man was the only person who still used these.”

Indeed.

Damian suppressed a sigh. “I think it unwise to linger here and watch all the footage,” he said, but he hesitated to take them. It would have been much better if they could simply make a copy. But these? Impossible. Wasn’t it?

…Batman would know. Damian crossed his arms unhappily. The oldest members of the family would hold this knowledge. “You are too young to know these devices?” he confirmed.

Brown huffed a little laugh. “Yeah, but how hard can it be?” She tapped at the likeliest tape with a gloved finger. “There has to be a way to make copies. We can look it up. But we could just watch here. You know what time the incident was, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Damian admitted begrudgingly. “But it would be optimal to watch the entire day’s footage to ensure that nothing else happened.”

Brown blew out air between her lips. “Alrighty then.” She dug out her nightphone and apparently started searching for tutorials.

Between the two of them, they managed it. They slipped away with two recorded tapes. They made a detour to deposit them in Spoiler’s bike storage before returning to their patrol. In between normal activities, they quietly debate their next challenge: watching the tapes. Obviously, Batman was the only person in the world paranoid enough to retain such ancient technology. They needed to use his equipment. But how to do it without being seen? It was kept in the entertainment room closest to Father’s bedroom, so that he could watch his childhood favorites if the nostalgic urge struck. He occasionally did so as background noise for filling out paperwork.

“The easiest time would be when he’s at work,” Brown recapped thoughtfully. “But there isn’t much of a window between when we get free from school and when he could come home from work. It would take weeks to watch it all that way even once, and by then Valentine’s Day would have passed.”

Damian made a tsk of disgust. It was true. Unfortunately, the fastest way to draw attention to their operation would be to forgo school. That would invite scrutiny from Pennyworth.

“Oh look, a carjacking.” Brown threw herself off the building and screeched like a bat as she fell. The sound rang out and echoed across the cold, dark streets.

It was a bloodcurdling sound. The guilty man looked up with amusingly wide eyes and a pale face. Damian suppressed an amused snort and came down in silence at a different angle.

After they had apprehended the fool and left him with a stern warning to follow the law or else face the pain of losing a hand, the two returned to the skies.

“That was pretty metal,” Brown said, in a tone of ardent admiration.

Damian cast a look back at the building they had been passing. He hadn't noticed anything in particular. To what was she referring? The window grates? Something inside the windows? He chose not to respond other than with a grunt.

Brown laughed again.

He ignored her harder and channeled his tenseness into an unnecessary flip before landing. He stood and put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the city. “Your Mother is frequently at work while you are imprisoned in school.”

“...Yes.” Brown cocked her head to the side.

He nodded briskly. “You will give me a disease,” Damian instructed. “Of course you may not malaise without supervision. You must come to the manor.”

“Oh, fake a sick day or two,” Brown breathed. She clasped her hands together. “You're becoming such a real boy, d’you know that?”

“Tt.” Damian turned away with disgust so that he did not have to see Spoiler bouncing on her heels.

“Alright, symptoms. Can't argue with diarrhea!”

He cringed hard.

“There's a good reason for no one else to see it,” Spoiler justified. “We can't fake a fever. We could maybe manage clamminess, red eyes, etc.” She paused. “But honestly, the two of us being sick at the same time would go a long way to convince, since we have a history of antagonism.” He could see her make a face under her mask. “Tonight could work against us for that.”

Damian nodded. “We will have to invent a conflict,” he said. He immediately started picking through their patrol for a premise.

She blew a raspberry. “Nah, adding details gives them something to unpick,” she said.

He was struck by the unwelcome realization that she was not wholly unintelligent. His mouth felt glued shut.

“I'll just go back in a bad mood, make a couple faces and sigh loudly once,” Spoiler said airily. “You put on your little thundercloud face and storm away, give crisp answers to anyone who asks if there's something wrong.”

“...And in the morning, I will sleep in,” Damian said. “Past my alarm. Pennyworth will note it as a matter of concern. I will get ready for school.”

“I'll call and ask if I can malaise at the Manor, since my mom is at work and she's worried,” Brown continued easily. “Alfred will put two and two together and tell you to stay home.”

Damian hesitated. “I think that if you had given me some low-class disease,” he started.

She cut him off with a lifted hand. “You get that illness isn't a class related thing, right?” She huffed. “Maybe you got me sick with your elementary school germs. Little kids are disgusting.”

…His peers were upsettingly unhygienic. He gritted his jaw.

Still, he had his self respect to maintain.

“I would never pass a contagious disease,” Damian vowed. He had too much self discipline for that. “The origin must be you.”

She hummed.

“Robin and Spoiler, you two are closest to Red Hood. Care to lend a hand?”

The two straightened into professional posture that Damian didn't remember leaving. “What's the situation?” Brown asked.

“He shook a bush and a lot of creepy crawlies flew out,” Oracle drawled. “Danger is minimal, but containment is impossible with one. Dropping coordinates.”

The next hour was spent dragging dregs of a gang from Bloodhaven out of dumpsters and other such crannies in order to escort them to city limits. They were aurally assaulted by Todd’s idea of a motivational speech and his puerile territorialism. “Stay out or I'll cut your hands off and sew them onto your ankles, blah blah.”

Damian tuned it out. Mother had truly wasted her time on him. He was so dramatic.

The rest of the night went as planned. He and Brown returned to the cave in a pointed silence, wrote professional reports, and stalked to their respective showers without exchanging a word.

He went to his room and picked up his alarm clock. Perhaps he ought to adjust the time?

‘No. If Pennyworth is passing and does not hear it at the usual time, he will note the irregularity.’

Damian willed himself to sleep. When the alarm did go off, it took his finely honed discipline to turn the machine off and then lie back down in bed. It was… uncomfortable. he laid there stiffly, looking at the ceiling.

He forced his eyes to shut. He matched his breathing to a pattern for sleep. And he waited to see how long it would take for someone to notice that he had slept in.

His punishment for childhood began at 8 am and released the prisoners at 3 pm. Therefore, he habitually awoke at 6:30 am. After an agonizing wait Damian peeled open an eye to see that the time was 7:12.

…It was past the time that he would normally have arrived at the breakfast table. He weighed if he wished to hurry downstairs or let Pennyworth come to check on him.

Something felt like a rock in his stomach. Damian sat up and put a hand to it, frowning at the sensation. What was this? When he had thought about his actions causing Pennyworth to abandon his post and trek up a flight of stairs the odd feeling had emerged.

There was a knock on his door. Damian's head shot up as it opened. Pennyworth peered in and his eyebrows went up slightly at the sight of Damian still abed. “Good morning, Master Damian,” he greeted.

“I apologize.” Damian took the hand off of his stomach and all but leapt to his feet. “I have- overslept. I will be but a moment.” He paused, genuinely flustered. “Good morning, Pennyworth.”

“Your breakfast is ready,” Pennyworth said mildly. “Excuse me.” He closed the door.

Damian raced through the bare minimum of his routine and pulled on a school uniform. He made it to the kitchen at 7:20. He faintly heard a phone ring in the other room. His heart gave just one undisciplined leap. Was it Brown, telling their story?

Drake was slouched halfway over the table, cradling a hard-boiled egg in his hands. An otherwise empty plate had been pushed into the center of the table. He had kicked his chair out quite far and was leaning directly forward, his entire upper body on the wood. He contemplated the depths of the egg with a wrinkled brow and eyes halfway hidden under bangs.

Damian edged around Drake to his seat, careful to avoid physical contact.

“You're late,” Drake said to the egg.

Perhaps it was his egg, Damian thought snidely. He was an oversized duck, was he not? Perhaps he had laid that egg and that was why it was so fascinating to him.

“Oy,” Drake drawled. He sniffled as he turned to look at Damian. “What's wrong with you? Forget a project?”

“Do not be foolish,” Damian forbade. He picked up his silverware and set it on his breakfast.

Drake regarded him for a long time. “Are you sick?”

…Why did he think so?

“No, I am not,” Damian snapped back, before he could think better of it. Perhaps he ought to have let Drake establish his alibi.

“I don't know, you look kinda off,” Drake said. He let the hand cradling his egg hit the table and he squinted.

“Master Timothy,” Pennyworth said.

Damian did not jump.

“Ms. Brown has just called to say that she's quite under the weather. I will be retrieving her shortly. How is your condition?”

Drake sat up. “I'm fine, Alfred,” he said formally. Then he blinked. “I think Damian is sick.”

He bristled. “You will bite your tongue,” Damian snapped back. “I am- I am no such thing.”

He could see the moment they both decided that he was, in fact, too ill for school. That was the goal: but he could not accept it calmly. They would assume he was on death’s welcome mat. Therefore he hissed and protested and derided Brown’s name with only a distant smidgeon of guilt.

But eventually, Damian was ushered to a quiet and dark room to wait while Pennyworth informed the day prison that Damian would be absent from Geology, Geometry, and all manner of vile variations on how one might ensure misery for a lone intellectual in a flood of brainless oafs.

Success.

Brown was delivered and managed to appear in the same room that Damian had been consigned to. She had managed to contrive an unusually poor condition of her normally lustrous hair. That, combined with shapeless clothes and smudged eye makeup, served to make her appear quite terrible indeed.

“You look terrible,” Damian told her, because she had done a good job.

A muscle twitched visibly under her eye.

“Is Bruce gone yet?” She asked.

Damian shook his head. “He will leave at 9:30.”

Brown sucked on her lower lip for a moment and wiggled into the crack of the sofa cushions. “I think we should go to his VHS room before he leaves, so when he notices someone was in there he doesn't see a reason to investigate.”

Damian shook his head minutely. “No. He will take the opportunity to spend the day with his ailing children and watch his favorite childhood show. We will have no opportunity to watch the security footage.”

“Not his kid,” Brown muttered. “But you're right. The chance is too high.” She let her head hit the back of the sofa. “That would be a good way to spend a real sick day, I think.”

Was she wistful?

Damian eyed her in bewilderment. Was she aching for bonding time with Father?

“I shall inform him that you want to watch his detective show at a later date,” he decided generously.