#I had a lot of fun with a lot of this issue

[stxrkiss]

𓈒⠀݁⠀﹙ 𝓢﹚𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 ☆ ₊⠀ ៸៸៸

君を愛しすぎて、 恐ろしいくらいだ。

# 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝒞𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ☆ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ¹

# 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 : 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳... 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

# 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱, 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳/𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘋𝘕𝘐 ⚠

# 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦.

The first time he met her, he had smiled—all warm and friendly, kneeling slightly to meet her gaze.

"Hey there, kiddo," he had greeted, holding out a hand for a handshake. "I’m Clark. It’s nice to meet you."

She had looked at his hand. Then at him.

Then she slapped it away.

"Don’t touch me, you giant farm freak," she had huffed, crossing her arms with the most dramatic pout he had ever seen.

Bruce had sighed in the background, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sweetheart," he muttered, rubbing his temple.

Clark, ever the optimist, had laughed it off. "That’s okay, I get it. You’re shy."

"I’m not shy, I just don’t like you."

Oh.

Well. That was… blunt.

Bruce had sighed again, clearly exhausted.

"She’s a little difficult," he admitted, shooting Clark a look and said, Don’t take it personally. She’s like this with everyone.

But Clark did take it personally.

Because why didn’t she like him?

Every time he visited, she made it her mission to make his life miserable.

She refused to be in the same room as him.

She glared at him when he tried to talk to her.

She scoffed whenever he spoke—literally scoffed, as if the very sound of his voice was offensive to her.

But the worst part?

She hit him.

Not in a playful way, either. No, she slapped him.

Like the time he tried to ruffle her hair and she smacked his hand away so hard he actually had to take a step back.

Or the time he tried to pick her up and fly her around Gotham for fun, thinking maybe she’d like to see the city from above—only for her to kick him in the chest with all the force her tiny body could muster.

It didn’t hurt, obviously.

But emotionally?

It hurt a lot.

"Bruce," Clark sighed one evening, after yet another failed attempt at bonding. "Why does she hate me?"

Bruce, sitting at the Batcomputer, barely looked up. "She hates everyone."

Clark frowned. "No, she doesn’t. She loves Alfred. She loves Dick. Hell, she even tolerates Jason."

Bruce exhaled through his nose. "She’s… selective."

"Selective?" Clark echoed. "Bruce, she tried to bite me yesterday."

A pause.

Bruce rubbed his temple. "She has… behavioral issues."

"No kidding," Clark muttered.

And yet, despite everything, despite all the slaps, the glares, the insults—

Clark still tried.

Because deep down, Clark just wanted to be the cool uncle she could count on.

Even if, right now, she wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face.

She was nineteen now.

Not a bratty little girl anymore—at least, not in the way she used to be. She had grown into her attitude, into her wicked little smirks and sharp, teasing words.

And Clark?

Clark had never stood a chance.

"Come on, Clark," she hummed, tugging on his tie as he stood behind her in the luxury boutique. "Be a good boy and carry my bags."

There was nothing sweet about the way she said it. No hint of genuine affection. Just amusement, like he was some plaything she enjoyed toying with.

Clark exhaled slowly through his nose, the fabric of his tie clutched between her fingers. She smelled expensive—velvet and jasmine, something rich and indulgent.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

But he still took the bags from her hands without a word. Because she expected him to.

Because she always expected him to.

And God help him—he never had the strength to say no.

It had started gradually.

One day, she called him to help carry her shopping bags. The next, she was dragging him into dressing rooms to critique her outfits.

She’d smirk at him through the mirror, knowing damn well what she was doing when she turned too slow, when her fingers brushed his as she adjusted a strap.

And he?

He tried—God, he tried—to be good. To be the man he was supposed to be.

But she made it so difficult.

Because she was Bruce’s daughter.

Because she was forbidden.

Because she wasn’t a child anymore—and she wanted him to notice.

And he had noticed.

Every time she crossed her legs just a little too slowly.

Every time she leaned in, speaking so close to his ear.

Every time her lips curled in that smug little smirk, like she knew exactly what kind of thoughts were crawling through his mind.

Clark felt sick.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

He was supposed to be better.

But she… she made it impossible.

And she knew it.

"You’re staring, Clark."

Her voice was smooth, honeyed with amusement. She leaned against the railing of balcony, sipping from a champagne flute like she owned the world.

Clark tore his gaze away, clenching his jaw.

"I wasn’t."

She laughed—soft, teasing, utterly cruel.

"You’re a terrible liar."

And then she turned to him, slow and deliberate, like a cat playing with a mouse.

"I like it, you know."

His breath hitched.

She tilted her head, her smirk widening as she caught the way his hands flexed at his sides.

"Knowing that even you aren’t so perfect."

Clark should have left.

He should have flown away, should have ended this madness before it spiraled even further.

But instead, he stood there. Still. Silent. Waiting.

Because she was right.

He wasn’t perfect.

Not when it came to her.

Never when it came to her.

Clark tried.

God, he tried.

His hands were on his wife, his mouth on her skin, his body moving inside her—fast, hard, like he could pound her out of his head.

Like he could fuck her out of his head.

It didn’t work.

No matter how tight his grip, no matter how deep he buried himself in the warmth of the woman he swore to love, it wasn’t enough.

Because she was there.

Not in the room. Not in his bed.

But in his mind.

"I like it, you know."

Her voice curled around his brain like silk, soft and sweet.

Clark clenched his jaw, his rhythm faltering.

He couldn’t think about her. Not now.

Not with his wife’s nails dragging down his back.

Not with her soft, breathless moans filling the room.

Not with her beneath him, giving him everything, and yet—

Yet it still wasn’t enough.

His fingers dug into the sheets as he thrust harder, desperate, as if he could fuck his way back to sanity. As if he could drown out that voice, that goddamn voice whispering in his skull—

"Knowing that even you aren’t so perfect."

Clark growled, pressing his face against his wife’s shoulder, biting down as he spilled inside her.

He didn’t moan her name.

He barely moaned at all.

Because deep down, in the filthiest, most twisted part of himself—

He knew who he had been fucking in his mind.

Later, when his wife lay naked on his chest, fingers lazily caressing his skin, Clark stared at the ceiling.

What was wrong with him?

She was here. The woman he loved, the woman he married, the woman who had given him her body, her vows, her whole damn heart.

And yet, all he could hear was her voice.

All he could see was her smirk.

All he could feel was the way she had pulled his tie, the way she had toyed with him, knowing damn well she had him by the throat.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, his breath tight in his chest.

It was wrong.

It was so fucking wrong.

And yet—

When he finally drifted off to sleep, it wasn’t his wife’s warmth he dreamed of.

It was hers.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the quiet space of their dining room.

Clark should have been present—should have been engaged, smiling at his wife, asking his son about his day.

Instead, his thoughts were somewhere else.

Or rather, on someone else.

Her lips.

Soft. Smirking. Painted in that deep, wicked red she loved to wear.

For God’s sake, she could be his daughter.

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to focus on his plate, on the sound of his son talking about his day, on the warmth of Lois sitting across from him.

Then—

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

Lois stood, her brows already furrowed as she moved to open it. Clark exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. Maybe it was Bruce. Maybe it was anyone else.

But when he heard Lois’ voice—tight, cold—he already knew.

"What are you doing here?"

And then—that voice.

"My father wants Clark to take me shopping. He’s the only man he trusts, after all."

Clark’s stomach dropped.

Slowly, he turned in his chair.

And there she was.

A tight black dress that hugged every curve. The hem too short, the neckline too low, her makeup subtle, like a trap waiting to be sprung.

She smirked at him, as if she knew exactly what kind of thoughts were twisting in his mind.

Clark could see the way Lois’ jaw clenched. She didn’t argue, but she didn’t have to. Her silence was enough.

"Give me two minutes," Clark muttered, pushing away from the table.

She only smiled as he brushed past her, heading to grab his coat.

The silence in the car was thick.

Clark kept his hands on the wheel, his knuckles white. He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t.

But she?

She watched him.

Legs crossed, lips curled, one manicured finger tracing patterns on her bare thigh.

He cleared his throat. "So… where are we going?"

A slow, lazy hum. "Oh, nowhere in particular."

He frowned. "I thought Bruce wanted—"

She laughed. Soft. Sweet. Cruel.

"He didn’t say anything, Clark," she admitted, voice syrupy with amusement. "I just thought we should have dinner. A little apology, you know, for my behavior the other day."

Clark finally glanced at her, suspicion in his gaze.

She smiled.

"I was rude. And my father always taught me to respect my elders."

The way she said it made his stomach twist.

Her eyes flickered over him, slow, appraising.

"So let me make it up to you."

Clark swallowed, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

This was a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

And yet—

He didn’t turn the car around.

The restaurant was lavish—gold-trimmed chandeliers, soft candlelight flickering over polished mahogany tables, the air thick with the scent of fine wine and indulgence.

Clark felt out of place.

Not because he wasn’t used to luxury—Lois had dragged him to a fair share of high-end places before—but because of who he was here with.

She sat across from him, poised and elegant, her black dress clinging to her like it had been poured onto her body. Her hair was sleek, her lips painted that same sinful red, her nails tapping against her wine glass as she gazed at him with something dangerous in her eyes.

Like a cat watching a mouse.

Or worse—like a predator watching prey that didn’t know it was already caught.

"Order whatever you want," she murmured, voice light, playful. Too easy.

Clark’s throat was dry. He glanced at the menu, barely able to focus on the words. "This place is expensive," he muttered.

Her smile widened, lazy and amused. "And?"

He sighed, setting the menu down. "I can pay for my own meal."

A small, soft laugh. "I know you can," she mused, tilting her head, studying him like he was a particularly interesting specimen under glass. "But I invited you. That means I pay."

"That’s not necessary," he muttered.

She hummed. "Just let me take care of you, Clark."

He tensed.

Because the way she said it, the way she let his name slip from her lips like silk, was wrong. Too intimate. Too indulgent.

Still, he said nothing as the waiter approached. He ordered something simple, quick, something to get this dinner over with. She, of course, ordered the most expensive wine on the menu, smiling sweetly as the waiter practically tripped over himself in the presence of her beauty.

Clark stared down at the table, willing himself to act normal.

She was Bruce’s daughter. She was half his age. She was off-limits.

And yet—

She made it so damn hard.

Conversation came easy. Too easy.

She asked him about work, about Smallville, about Krypton—things she had no reason to be interested in, and yet she listened, really listened, her chin resting on her palm as she sipped her wine and smiled.

Clark hated how good it felt.

Hated how, for just a moment, he almost forgot that this was dangerous.

And then—

Her fingers brushed against his.

Clark’s breath hitched.

It was soft. Barely there. A fleeting touch as she reached for her glass, her fingertips ghosting over the back of his hand, warm and delicate.

He tried to ignore it.

Tried to pretend it didn’t happen.

But then she did it again.

And this time, she let it linger.

Clark swallowed hard, staring down at the table, at the way her slender fingers curled around his own, as if testing, as if seeing how far she could push before he pulled away.

He should have. He should have yanked his hand back.

But he didn’t.

Because his body—traitorous, weak, craving something he shouldn’t—refused to move.

"You’re so tense," she murmured, voice smooth as silk, as warm as the candlelight flickering between them.

Clark’s jaw clenched. "This is inappropriate."

She laughed—soft, amused, unbothered.

"Inappropriate?" she echoed, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand, slow, deliberate. "Clark, I’m just holding your hand."

He inhaled sharply. "You know what you’re doing."

Her lips curled. "Do I?"

"Yes," he ground out.

She tilted her head, her nails lightly dragging against his skin. "Then tell me to stop."

Clark finally looked at her.

She was waiting.

She knew. She knew damn well.

That he wanted to.

That he should.

That he couldn’t.

And that—

That was what made her smile widen.

The drive was silent.

Not peaceful. Heavy. Suffocating.

Clark kept his hands tight on the wheel, his knuckles white as the city lights blurred past. She sat beside him, her posture relaxed, her scent curling into his lungs—velvet and jasmine, warmth and sin.

He needed to take her home. Now.

His body felt wired, skin too tight, thoughts too loud. He needed to get away from her. Away from the way she made him feel. Away from the things she made him think.

And yet—

“Take me here,” she murmured, tapping a name into his GPS.

Clark’s gaze flickered to the screen. A hotel.

His jaw clenched. “No.”

A soft laugh. “Just drop me off, then.”

Clark should have refused. Should have said no, should have driven straight to Wayne Manor and let Alfred deal with her.

Instead, he turned.

He didn’t know why.

Or maybe he did, and that was the worst part.

The hotel was opulent, grand, the kind of place meant for people who could afford indulgence.

Clark felt wrong being here with her. Felt sick.

And yet, he still walked her inside, following her through marble hallways, past velvet-draped corridors, his mind screaming at him to leave, leave, leave.

But he didn’t.

She stopped in front of her door, swiping the keycard, the soft click of the lock echoing too loud.

Clark took a step back. “Go inside.”

She turned to him, tilting her head. “Walk me in?”

“No.”

A smirk. “Why? Afraid?”

Clark exhaled sharply. “Go inside.”

She didn’t listen.

Instead, she stepped closer—so close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his throat.

And then—

A kiss.

Soft. Feather-light. A touch of silk, a whisper of warmth against his lips—like a butterfly’s wing, there and gone in an instant.

Clark froze.

Wide eyes peered up at him, watching. Waiting.

He could still feel it. The ghost of it. The soft press of her lips, something innocent yet tainted—something so terribly, horribly wrong.

She leaned in again.

And this time, he kissed her back.

God forgive him.

He let her.

For a moment—just a moment—he let himself fall.

And it was wrong. So, so wrong.

But she tasted like everything forbidden. Like something that would ruin him completely.

His hands should have pushed her away. Instead, they lingered at her waist.

Her fingers traced his jaw, trailing down his chest, toying with the hem of his shirt—and he let her.

Clark felt sick.

And yet—

He still didn’t stop her.

Because maybe—deep down—he didn’t want to.

And that?

That was the worst sin of all.

The first thing Clark felt was warmth.

Soft. Smooth. Wrong.

His eyes snapped open.

And there she was.

Curled against his chest, her breath slow and steady, her fingers still faintly gripping his skin. The sheets tangled between them, silk pooling around her bare shoulders like some cruel parody of innocence.

Oh, God.

He sucked in a sharp breath, nausea curling in his stomach.

What have I done?

Slowly, carefully, he untangled himself from her. Every movement felt like a sin. His limbs felt heavy, his body aching in ways he refused to acknowledge. He swung his legs off the bed, planting his feet against the cold floor, trying to breathe.

He needed to leave. Now.

But then—

A sleepy murmur. The rustle of silk.

"Clark...?"

His shoulders tensed. He didn’t turn around.

The bed shifted as she sat up, the sheets sliding against her skin. He could hear the way she clutched the fabric to her chest, could feel the weight of her gaze pressing into his back.

"What are you doing?"

Her voice was soft, uncertain. Almost pleading.

Clark clenched his jaw. His hands trembled as he reached for his shirt. He needed to get dressed. He needed to get out.

"This..." His voice came out raw. Ugly. "This should have never happened."

Silence.

Then—softly—"Clark—"

"No." He snapped, whirling to face her. Her eyes widened at the fury in his voice.

"This was a mistake," he hissed. "A disgusting, unforgivable mistake."

Something flickered in her expression—something fragile, something almost wounded.

Clark didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care.

He yanked his coat over his shoulders, moving toward the door.

But before he could reach it—

Arms wrapped around his waist.

Clark froze.

Her body pressed against his back, her grip tight—desperate.

And then—

A choked breath. A broken whisper.

"Please don’t go."

Clark’s entire body tensed.

Her voice—so different from its usual teasing cruelty—was shaking. Unsteady.

"Please... please don’t leave me alone."

And then—wetness.

Soaking into his shirt. Silent tears.

Clark stared at the door, his hands clenched into fists.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

She was lying. She had to be lying.

But her grip on him only tightened.

"I feel so lonely without you."

Clark’s breath hitched.

For a moment—just a moment—he thought about turning around.

Thought about holding her.

Thought about whispering things he shouldn’t.

But he didn’t.

He pried her hands from his waist.

And he walked out the door.

Leaving her behind.

Alone.

© stxrkiss ☆ don't copy, translate or use my works here or any other websites.

[insanescriptist]

Okay, let's see how long my internet lasts this time.... also, everyone is eavesdropping on everyone. They're all rather aware of it to some degree or another. So it's fun writing that!

Flip the Expectations

Dinah Lance was many things, but she was not an idiot. She had taken risks for friends and family, some worse than others. Maybe she had married one, but she had married a human man. Show her a person who wasn't an idiot sometimes.

She had never met Jason Todd, but she had heard a lot about him. How he was once a cute little Robin who'd seen too much darkness, from Oracle, reminiscing about her time as Batgirl. How he was cuter and quieter than Dick Grayson, unused to the Titans' more bombastic personalities, but still able to support Wonder Girl -Troia- as she struggled to lead the Titans on a diplomatic protection mission turned disaster, from Roy. How he was reckless and increasingly violent, how that got him killed from the later Batgirl-chatter. How he came back from death but was missing his moral compass. How he bombed Mia's school and ran drugs. How he saved Roy, who's mercenary work the Arrows had not agreed with -but he had needed to do for funds at the time- nearly lead to his death. How he'd given Roy a safe space. How he had returned Lian to him, the teleporting power from Chesire now no longer keeping father and daughter separated. How the Gotham Sirens spoke fondly of him.

No matter what was said about a person from other people, she liked to judge them herself. To help them, if she could. If they'd let her.

She'd been a rising rock star, a femme fatale of a superhero and was able to bring down a house and more, if she really pushed her vocal limits. She'd had plenty of ups and downs, ways to relate to others. Still, Dinah considered herself to be a good friend, so when Oracle had asked, she hadn't hesitated to get herself to Vegas and one of the Birds' safehouses with Roy. Lian and Mia were off having a girls' day out, Conner had Star and Dinah could make the time.

And it was only after she was there, in the little suburban house with a privacy fence that Dinah asked Oracle why she was there.

Stupid of her maybe, but she felt it spoke more to her character.

"Okay, O, why's he got Bat problems?"

"Beyond Batman's many issues?" Roy snorted behind her, as he settled in with some groceries, also tuned into one of the Bird's frequencies through his own tech. The coffee pot sounded like it had finished; it got started the moment they'd walked in, coffee pulled straight out of the grocery bag.

"Going off of what I can see in the casefiles? B thinks he's up to human trafficking," Oracle, in her all-knowing way paused long enough for Roy to say 'bullshit' in the background. "Which isn't impossible, but would be so wildly out of character that I'd suspect Hood to be a victim of coercion or mind-control first."

"Hardly call returning Lian human trafficking," Roy retorts, setting a cup of freshly brewed coffee on the coffee table, as he picks up his own laptop. Dinah's not sure if Oracle is going to send Roy the details, or Roy's going to hack them himself. Oracle might be all-seeing and all knowing but when Arsenal tried, he was no slouch either. "Human liberation and libation to all free from a life of captivity."

That last part sounded like a quote from somewhere. Maybe not though. Roy could be poetic.

"How is Jason?" Roy asked. "Before I call him up myself to ask, if I need to."

"Suspiciously honest." Oracle answered. "Going to play a clip; he's with a new, uh friend. Meta. Dan Nightingale, last name is an admitted alias. He's visiting too."

Another complication, Dinah thought. Roy chuckled.

"More stalker fruitloop family trouble?" A midwestern accent asked, deep polished voice. A little rasp.

Dinah took note on that. More likely to have a higher economic background.

"Got a friend to help run interference. Knows things are complicated."

And that would be Jason's voice. He sounded casual, in a way Dinah knew wasn't. Hard to get that anywhere accent. He sounded young.

"Complicated he says. As if the asshole in the cheese suit's vibes weren't of the controlling asshole type. Good friends with your trouble. That's even more trouble." "Friends of a sort." Jason hedges. "Rich people friends, where they're useful to each other and cover for each others for dubiously legal hobbies. Up to and including the potential abuse and exploitation of their charges. Bet he's got a weird basement of a man-cave."

Oracle, again in her blessed wisdom paused the audio clip. Because this Dan wasn't entirely wrong. And Roy really was laughing.

"So why so much interest in you? And not your siblings?" Jason heaved a heavy sigh. "It's a bit of a story. Local rich guy picked me up off the streets after his first adopted boy moved out. He was lonely and didn't wanna admit it, and I wanted a place to call home again. He wanted his older boy back, since that bridge was burnt at the time. Which was fine when I was smaller, we noticed that less, but I got to high school, took control of my education, was passing my accelerated courses, taking AP classes on most of my subjects and doing a few college classes on the side? All that school work and I still found time to help out in the community. Food pantries and such. Meanwhile, he's now somehow thinking I've got the reasoning capability and motivations of an eight year old child, because I had recently learned my biological father had passed on ages ago, so we're obviously arguing about seemingly everything. Patronizing as fuck." "While you're in high school and taking college level classes?" Dan asked in disbelief.

Academic achievement was one of the barometers for healthy childhood psyche; same with community involvement and support networks. High achievement was fine, but this had the framing of using academics as avoidance. People didn't want to disturb someone studying or working on a project or who was busy. Stay busy enough and they learn to not bother you at all.

"Exactly. Not just STEM classes but literature and philosophy. Rhetoric. Getting the gen eds over and done with. On track to graduate high school before seventeen and getting an undergrad degree before I'd be nineteen. It was less about my dad being dead and more about rich asshole not telling me that my dad was dead. For years. Followed by the patronizing shit, because he's suddenly acting like I'm a small grieving child, not a teenager who was a caretaker to his mom when she was in and out of the hospital before he was double digits. I know how to manage my grief. Especially that of a parent dying. Dad at least died quick. Caretaking means you get to see the decline up close and personal. It's a crash course in adulting and I took care of her, the apartment and the bills because she couldn't. Not physically, nor mentally by the end. No matter the medication or the drugs. Did it suck that he was dead? Yeah. Did I already know so and got my suspicions confirmed? Also yes. If I could survive on the streets after my mom's death, I could survive the confirmation that he's dead."

Actually, that was so, so many red flags. Dinah wasn't a child psychologist, but even so, any psychologist took classes on childhood psyche and development before getting their degree. In short, there was no way Jason Todd wasn't a little fucked in the head before he had been adopted by Bruce Wayne. Parentification alone usually did that, but add on living on the street? Dinah loved Mia, but there were lifelong marks left on her health from doing so. Dinah didn't really know much about Jason's personal life, but she wondered how many habits he and Mia shared. Did he always look around warily before eating? Did he cut into his fruit? Smell anything before he consumed it? Did he sleep better on any surface but a soft bed?

"Broken trust, and grieving that more than someone who defined your life more by his absence than his presence." Dan pointed out, carefully.

If Dan didn't have some psych training or coaching, Dinah was incapable of doing simple math. That was insightful.

"Bingo. So now I'm thinking about pulling what my now older brother did and moving out early, before local rich asshole kicks me out and cuts me off, but I've got less friends than he did and those I had all had circumstances of their own."

There's a brief pause, so Dinah used that time to think. Circumstances of their own, sounded much like "shitty home lives," and his own low self-esteem. An unwillingness to reach out for upsetting whatever peace they did have.

"My best option for space had just been traumatically paralyzed. My second best option was my adoptive older brother, who was traveling with friends. They all pitched in on a place and were in and out on trips when they could afford it. On one hand, empty place to myself when they weren't there and on the other, a number of people I wasn't close to would be in my space, watching the local rich guy's adopted child drama play out, the sequel. The third factor there was I was still fifteen." Another pause.

Dinah was taking mental notes. Flight risk. Planning. So the constant arguments meant Jason saw his living situation as precarious. Something he needed to be prepared to leave. Resources he accounted for in preparation. Money was a resource. How much money did it take to cushion a Robin's nest? How far could someone used to being homeless stretch however much money?

"Laws had changed a bit, so I had to consider that, factoring in that I was younger than his first boy when properly moving out, instead of just lots of sleepovers at friends. A flag that people ignored because the older boy was just that outgoing. There's further consideration because rich men always have the money to bend the law to their side. So it was a waiting game if I went that way. Which couch surfing, short term it's not the end of the world, but it's annoying and better than the streets. Which honestly, the streets weren't that bad but it's the loneliness that gets to you and I wanted to keep up with the friends I had. Be there when and if I can. At least be an ear to listen." Yet another pause. With the biggest sigh yet. "So the local rich guy and I get into our biggest argument yet and I take a walk, talk to old neighbors and such. Scout out what I'd need to prepare for if I decided to take to the streets once more, couch-surf or get kicked out; whichever happens first. Then I discover my biological mother's actually alive; that I had been raised by my father and step-mom. Both had perished before local rich asshole picked me up. Local child services was absolutely a shitshow and still is, so running to the streets was the better option than that. Since the arguments between me and the local rich guy are getting worse, I reach out to meet her. Travel all the way over to the refugee camp she was a volunteer doctor at, because local rich asshole hadn't cut me off yet, like he had my older brother at one point. I get to know her for all of a few hours before she gets murdered and I get seriously injured in a terrorist attack. Local rich guy obviously thinks I'm dead. Later, after some serious veg time, surgeries and healing, I reach back out and he's been freaking out ever since. Which purposeful. Somewhat. Got pissed at where I'd been 'laid to rest,' for reasons, and how he had taken in another kid that looked similar but from a better economic class than dirt-poor before even a year was up. More impressively fucked is that he blamed me for dying, used it as a cautionary tale for the other teenagers he's amassed around himself when the point of a terrorist attack is to promote fear through death and violence. So they don't you know, run off either."

And that was an entire mine field of red flags. Dinah knew the narrative was missing details and was biased, but it was far far more honest than she expected from any Bat. And yes, she had had her suspicions that all was not wholesome in the Bat-clan, but yikes.

"Sounds like a genuine fruitloop problem." Dan elaborates. "Rich stalker, poor boundaries since he can't back off, controlling tendencies and manipulative. Sounds like a fruitloop." "Fruitloop?" "Nuttier than a fruitcake, each psychosis feeding into each other like a mobius strip? A complete and utter creep that others are blinded to because of their wealth and charisma? Also past experiences where he was less of a creep, explained his sob story and because he passed that charisma check, everyone close gets a negative modifier for their perception checks of him. Those pretty rose color glasses making all the flags look just like flags. instead of warnings." "Sounds like experience on your end." "A little. Yours is still ongoing. But you said you had place to crash?" "Yeah. Gonna crash with the friend of a friend; let her lie to the asshole that I'm not there if he happens to ask." "That'll work?" "It's plan A." "And plan B?" "Got more than just that."

"Wow." Dinah remarked at the end of the clip. "Wow." Because it needed to get said again. She was going to want to listen to that in full again. She wanted to take notes, but she wouldn't. "Roy, your take?"

"We ought to get more prepared. Jason's a lot more scared than he's letting on. He's being honest without being pressed, so he's going to clamp up here. Not sure how he's going to do that; he's adaptable and also whimsical. Dan's perceptive, potentially some sort of empathetic power as well and I'm going to put him at closer on the Wonder Woman level of enhanced strength, instead of could probably bench a bus."

Wonder Woman level strength. Lovely. "Any particular reason for that?" Another person with 'could probably evenly fight a Kryptonian under Yellow Sun,' level strength. Lovely. The things she did for friends.

"Looking at the cams of the cafe, how careful he was with his chair and movements. How he grabbed his shake. He didn't always have perfect control of his powers, probably still doesn't going by the hair, but he's got good habits to prevent messes, accidents and embarrassment in public."

Dinah added that to her mental profile. "O?"

"I'm still running through various data bases trying to find his real identity, along with coordination and identification of those at the ritual site. So far he's clear of the national data bases." Which meant clear of any criminal charges. Or at least not arrested for them.

Roy snorted. "Probably won't find him. Jason likes him and trusts him and while that's gotten Jason burned before, he has a type."

"What's that?" Dinah asked. Type how?

"Survivors."

Ah. Just fucking lovely.

Flip the Table

Casually eavesdropping on what should be highly secure frequencies, Jason sipped his beer in a sleezy saloon style sports bar somewhere on the Vegas strip, nominally watching college(?) football; he's a hockey fan because baseball's boring as shit to watch and he's never got the appeal about American football. Football to the rest of the world was at least worth watching for the drama. Something had the Justice League in a tizzy and Zatanna -the one who normally covered Vegas when it came to the costumed crazies- was off world; Jason didn't have the details exactly but it sounded like Zatanna was dealing with some magical planar stuff and was not expected back for at least six more days. Assuming all went well.

So like any reasonable person who's going away for a time, she turned on her home security, had the alerts wired over to a friend -in this case Justice League Dark- gave a list of what was needed to be done and when -the pick up my mail and mow my lawn equivalants- went on her trip, trusting that the JLD were watching over her city and it wouldn't be on fire when she got back.

Such glorious hope.

And thus something happened so when Jason pulled into Vegas proper to investigate a desperate -read last hope- lead on a missing person's case, Jason happened to spy one of the lesser members of the JLD losing their shit in the sky. And so in a moment of civic duty, Jason started spying on them.

Magic was not something anyone trained by the Bat really ever got comfortable about, but chances were magic bullshit was going to intervene in his case. Justice League shit spilled over everything, all the time. Ghost cultists tripping Zatanna's necromancy alarms or whatever they were, was not Jason's business. Not unless the presumed cultists -those that had survived- had the person he was looking for.

No, he was looking at a missing person's case and his lead was 1. cold and 2. a longshot and 3. in a city full of tourists and catering staff, where "seen anything unusual lately" could be "there was this trio of tourists arguing how sex with your best friend doesn't count as cheating," or "someone having a meltdown over the delayed shipping of organic blueberries to the hotel," or "Sarah Maria got murdered a couple weeks ago on the job, but I haven't seen any notice about her funeral stuff on her social media, why yes, I do know she's dead, oh, she's dead and I'm an idiot for expecting someone dead to post on their socials their funeral deets."

Point was, he could look and ask all he wanted, beat feet for days, but the chances of this lead panning out were basically so minuscule that Jason could treat this more as a hobby case while on vacation. He still did his due diligence, asked the staff a few questions, called the guests on the same floor during the time period of their stay about how they found their stay, ran into the dead end of shitty business practices -they recorded over their own records every two weeks- and so unless Jason got the ability to do magic and do a "point me!" spell, the case would turn cold. It sucked when it happened but sometimes the evidence wasn't there. Or wasn't noticed or was destroyed before it could be collected. Sometimes people just didn't remember shit until three weeks later, which with some follow up digging gave him the lead to the hotel. Which got him nothing after that.

As Jason Todd didn't gain an innate ability to do magic that he was aware of that actually counted as magic bullshit magic instead of a couple cantrips, all he could do was get a beer and some food in a Vegas style Texas saloon bar. Which not his first choice, but it was full enough no one really paid attention to anyone. Technically a sport's bar but also very much was not. It was also busy enough that Jason ended up getting asked if someone could set with him at his table -which real Jason said hell no to, but cover Jason did agree to-

Oh. Meta. Jason realized quickly. Oh no, he's hot.

His hair is on fire!

How did the server miss that? Most metas don't casually out themselves like that! Too many people willing to target them for whatever power.

That hair was flaming, tied back in a low tail; Jason blinked and the hair flickered color, looked like normal hair -black- and then back to white fire, then black fire, some tv static abomination of color, white hair and then black hair. Another blink and it appeared to be black flames for hair and yeah, Jason closed his eyes. Pointedly ignored the hair thing. If the meta asked, Jason was judging him for the stupid little goatee.

The rest of the meta was built along the same lines as Jason himself, tall, broad and built. Packed with muscle, which was something to make note of; metas usually were more durable and could hit harder, so Jason casually made note to not get hit if a fight broke out.

Which it might, or probably would.

That's just how Jason's luck ran. To shit.

Said meta also ordered food and a beer, didn't even get asked for ID -unfair bias- and judging by the sound, turned in the seat to look at the American football screen that Jason had been ignoring. His hair had at least settled to black flames instead of the glitchy hair.

Of course as this was Vegas, people gambled on outcomes of games too. Which is how Jason learned the meta was rich enough to blow a couple grand -not expensive in the world of supers- but more than what the average person would be comfortable betting.

There were better ways to piss away money than gambling on sports. Like on over priced burgers and onion rings with an order of mozzerella sticks. The burger was good, admittedly Jason's had better and then some party of guys was yelling at the ref on a screen. And yup, that's some altercation with another table but the barman broke it up with a couple of words.

His tablemate muttered something about the ref having made the right call if one of the players wanted to continue a career professionally and Jason used that as social leverage to get a name -Dan, no last name given- and a bit more in-depth explanation on what stakes were going on; he's a hockey guy, not a football guy.

Some time later, Dan had caught him up on the football drama -nothing compared to the hockey drama- and conversation had drifted significantly from sports, lightly touched on family -Dan had siblings he shared little about other than they existed, which fair, they could also be metas and at risk- much like Jason did -he had siblings that existed, no further details- and parents weren't mentioned. Instead a lot of engineering talk, a slide into ethics -Dan's opinion on killing super villains was very much that some people needed Ended- and some small talk about how Dan's high school English teacher cursed in classical book titles.

Soon the easy joy of potential friendship ended when his phone rang; that was the Batman ringtone and Jason felt no guilt hanging up on him. And again. And again.

Then Dick rang and nope. He was not dealing with their shit. Dick would just sweeten up whatever shit B wanted to shovel.

And then Oracle's ringtone rang. Oh, now that was serious. Justice League shit spilling into his life again. No fucking doubt about it.

"Uh-huh, so what's up? Because I gotta say, I am a couple drinks in and the whole bar is waiting for one of the football teams to fumble or foul up their next play so they can throw down."

"Jay-" She started because much like Bruce, she would rather go straight into the mission, and Jason absolutely had wrong-footed her. Because instead of making excuses to leave, Jason had absolutely stayed. So now she had to rephrase things on the fly because who knows who might be listening in. "Hey, it's on the news that the Justice League is showing up in Vegas; something about investigating something magical showing up."

"Uh-huh, that's not a surprise. There was some magic ninny flying in a panic earlier. I decided it wasn't my business."

"I hadn't heard that," -bullshit, she just hadn't double-checked that herself yet- "but what I did hear that some cult might have succeeded in bringing something over."

"Uh-huh. Well, no one's praying to Cthulu yet, there's been no troublemaking beyond the usual human malice and nothing's on fire."

"We were just concer-" And Jason hung up on Oracle.

He'd pay for that later, but petty was satisfying now.

"Sounded important."

"Was bullshit."

"So an entity summoned by a cult that tripped a bunch of magicians into a tizzy-"

Yeah, those sharp ears were not for show. Enhanced hearing check. "That's a bunch of incompetents panicking." Time for his good guess to hit or miss. "You're not going to decide to destroy Vegas, are you?"

"Done it before, doing it again seems pointlessly petty." Statements Jason wasn't going to prod further right now.

"And what if Wisconson University loses?"

"Might flip the table." Dan shrugged.

"More beer?" Jason asked.

"Sure."

[burning-omen]

With Everything I Say and Do (part 1)

Jason Todd x Male!reader

(A/n: Unrelated to the fic but I love Jason's fuck ass hair from utrh. Also, this isn't meant to be one specific version of Jason, I pulled from several different canons and also made shit up while writing this. Also, also, peep the title, Brokeback Mountain reference, I know I'm so cool)

Ao3 ver.

Summary: Jason isn't stalking you, stalking would imply something more sinister than what he was doing- he was just...watching you in a completely non obsessive, platonic manner.

W.C: 6,486

Warnings: THIS IS A FLUFF FIC I SWEAR, PTSD, childhood trauma, mommy AND daddy issues (both reader and jason), child abuse, mentions of Jason and Bruce fighting, depressive episodes, anger issues, murders, child death, bombings, canon typical Gotham violence, stalking (affectionate), breaking and entering, Y/n's friends being cringe but I love them so shut up about it, Barbara and Jason being friends, homelessness and being kicked out (reader, pre-fic) mentions of Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Bruce Wayne (not really a warning just wanted to mention it), also, I didn't send this to my proof reader beforehand so if you see a fuck up feel free to mention it.

God, you forgot how ridiculous you were in middle school. Reading through your old journal- which had been shoved in a box once it was full, then shoved in another box when you moved out of your parents house-it really just showed that your avoidant tendencies had been festering for far longer than you’d care to admit. Seriously, were you actually that concerned about- you re-read the chicken scratch that was your writing back then, squinting slightly- the fucking moon landing of all things? No, you weren’t, but it had been April 28th and the day before had been a lot. So now you have a passage about the moon landing.

It had been closer to the bottom of the box, covered by old memorabilia from your early teen years. With a trash bag to one side of you and a pile of things you were keeping on the other.

It’s about time you went through it- the box has been sitting under your bed long enough, and really, when were you ever going to need an old hoodie from Gotham City Middle School? Never, so it went in the trash pile. You, of course, got distracted by your diary and have been reading through the pages for the past half hour- you really don’t remember being this edgy- good fucking lord. You flipped through the last couple of pages until you landed on what was supposed to be the blank, white card stock at the back of the book- only to see the word “LOSER” written in big, red letters. You blinked, now who the hell did that? Defacing your perfectly good diary. Under the graffiti, in smaller letters, was “-Jason”

You closed the book. Of course. Who else? 

Really. He’s the only other person you’d let have the book long enough for this kind of vandalism to make sense. He’s the only person who your adolescence self wouldn’t have thrown a fit at for touching your property- or making fun of you, even in a joking fashion. You smiled down at the book for a second before tossing it in the keep pile.

You pulled the next item out of your little memory box. It was your senior portrait- sorta. It was just a picture of you in your cap and gown- you’d skipped school the day the actual senior portraits were taken- not intentionally, you just skipped school a lot then, and happened to hop the gate that day- and every other day that week. You were smiling in the picture, but your eyes were far too dark and far too tired, you weren’t standing straight, slouching and leaning slightly- but it was good enough for your mom, so it hung in the living room of your parents house for the next 3 years. She’d tried to put makeup under your eyes, fussing with your hair and your gown until she decided to take the photo as you were. Some days you wonder where that patience had gone- that forgiveness and kindness that she showed to you that day. You sighed, you could reminisce and lament about your parents later, for now you needed to go through the rest of this shit.

You flipped the frame over, bending the little metal pieces back, and taking the picture out. Folding it down the middle and sitting it on your night stand- you’d find a place for it later- the frame went with the rest of the trash.

The box was almost empty- small knick knacks at the bottom, some more clothes, an umbrella- you picked it up, checking for holes in the canopy. It was old, but it was better than any other cheap umbrella you’ve ever had. Resisting the pestering urge to run your fingers over the bronze “J.T” inset in the handle, you set it in the keep pile. The rest of the box was pretty much trash- buttons and pins, crumbled class notes, more school spirit wear, and Gotham High School's Library’s one and only copy of Pride and Prejudice. Oops- you hadn’t meant to take that. Letting out a quiet sigh into your empty room, you thought, ‘oh well’ you doubted they wanted it back after the years it's been rotting- and you really didn’t want it either, it was dirty and had something inappropriate written on nearly every page. An unsalvageable childhood artifact- now bagged up with everything else you deemed trash.

The sun had set hours ago, and it was a weekend- Gotham’s crime scene was always overly active on weekends, and you’d rather not get mugged on your way to the trash shoot-

‘Not like I’ve got anything to give..’

–Still, you sat the bag by your front door. Walking through your dark apartment, the only light coming from the desk lamp in your bedroom, the loud, creaking floor covering the sound of your footsteps. You weren’t afraid of the dark- but you did live in Gotham- so you were more reasonably cautious of the dark than anything. You should be- you’ve had the literal Batman in your apartment before. Why that freak was in your bedroom, you may never know, but he left as soon as you woke up so you decided- after changing the lock on your door and buying a gun and deadbolts for every window and door in your house, that you weren’t going to worry about it. 

Even if you’re 90% sure he bugged your place- you’d just have to deal with it. He is Batman- invasive and mysterious is kinda what he does according to the Gotham Gazette. 

Back in your room, you shoved everything from the “keep” pile back in the box to be dealt with…eventually. You’ll get to it by the end of the week- probably- no, nope, no more procrastination, you’ll put it away in the morning- after breakfast and a shower.

Kicking your slippers off, stepping onto the freezing, wood floor for just a second before crawling into bed- your heater was broken and the city was just as cold as it always was, so you wrapped yourself in every cover and blanket you had in a nearly successful attempt at comfort. A bit of cold air would seep in every couple of minutes, but you could handle it, at least for the next few days until the building manager is able to get it fixed (turns out it's not just your heater, no it’s everybody's heater. So your entire apartment building is freezing, but you’re freezing together- how touching). You rolled onto your side, sticking an arm out of the burrow of blankets you’d created and turning off the lamp on your night stand, pulling your arm back in as fast as you could to keep any more heat from escaping before settling in for the night.

—

‘Damn, It’s cold out,’ Jason thought for the millionth time tonight, crouching down on the dingy, rusted roof of yet another warehouse- fifth one tonight- watching from the skylight as nothing happened. His helmets night vision didn’t show the slightest hint of movement, not even a fucking rat scampering across the ground. Just like there had been nothing in the last 4 warehouses. At least this one is somewhat familiar- his gaze wandered over to warehouse A-9 for about the hundredth time since they arrived. He knew the night crew was in, only a handful of people occupied a handful of buildings, mostly in the A buildings, where all the important shit was kept- Red Hood and Nightwing, however, were stationed on top of the B-16 building, as instructed.

Rising from a crouch, catching the attention of Nightwing, his knees popped.

“Feeling restless?” He asked.

At first Jason just grunted- obviously- he’s been sitting in one spot for 40 minutes and the hunch that Batman had them working off of seemed to be a dud, but he can’t just leave. He could, Bruce doesn’t control him- but after a few too many dramatic family feuds and attempted (and successful) murders Jason is just really, really fucking tired of constantly arguing and fighting. 

He’s “back to being the favorite” Dick had joked a couple times- after he decided that maybe there was some merit to a no-kill-rule, and maybe Tim wasn’t so horrible, the kid’s kinda funny actually, smart as shit too. And Bruce..things were..fine. For the most part. It wasn’t entirely Bruce’s fault- he still held a grudge- the clown lived entirely too long after, but Jason already knew that Bruce had no interest in playing executioner- judge and jury was fine- but he wasn’t going to kill. Jason could understand that, especially after going off the murderous deep end himself- once you start it feels like you can’t stop, like there’s no point in stopping. So sure, he gets why Bruce didn’t- doesn’t make it hurt less though.

“Any word from B?” He  mumbled, his voice made robotic and stiff by the modulator in his mask.

Nightwing silently fell back, sitting with his legs crossed, his attention now fully on Jason, “Nothing yet.” he sighed, stretching his arm, a amused grin on his face, “Not trying to jinx it, but I think we finally got a calm night in Gotham, who would of thought-?”

Right on queue, a deafening, blinding explosion went off- about two hundred feet away. Jason barely managed to not be fully knocked off his feet, couching down near his brother, one hand gripping his arm as the aftershock sent strong winds their way- mostly a comfort for Jason, but there was no time to think about that- because what the fuck just exploded and why?!

He glared at his brother through the helmet- and no, Dick couldn’t see it, but he still deserved it.

“See what you did? Now we have to deal with this shit.” Jason said, no real malice in his voice, mostly annoyance that his already long night was about to get even longer.

“Me?” Nightwing gasped.

“Yes, you- stop testing the universe, you know it doesn’t like us.”

The conversation ended there. Jason hopped off the roof, landing in an uncomfortable crouch- ‘My knees were going to be demolished in the morning...’ he thought before heading in the direction of the explosion- hearing Dick following behind him with his near silent landing.

__

Waking up to a hundred texts and calls was…new. Your friends, people you hadn’t talked to in ages, and most noticeably, your estranged parents. You blinked at the screen as more text rolled in. You decided you weren’t dealing with that. It’s entirely too early. Breaking free of your cover cocoon and rolling out of bed, phone discarded..somewhere in there.

You showered before anything, letting the shower run long enough for the entire bathroom to fill with a heavy fog before stepping in. Taking as much time as you physically could, until your skin was steaming and tinted red from the heat. Not even bothering with a towel as you walked straight back to your room, dressing warmly before flopping back down on your bed. You had a shift today. You used to take night shifts- sleeping through the day like a true night owl. But, in a desperate attempt to regain control over your life after what felt like a never ending downward spiral, you switched to the morning shift.

It was a win-win scenario, really. It paid just as much as the night shift, and you’d have the entire afternoon to yourself, and you would sleep at night, like normal, well adjusted people did.

You had planned on having a serene morning- getting to that box, having a nice well balanced breakfast, then heading to work, but your phone would not stop buzzing. Even under a mound of covers it was distracting as all hell.

“Ok..” You muttered as you dug it out, “What do you want?”

‘Y/n bby if you can see this I love you <3’

‘He’s in a better place now (hell)’

‘PLEASE stop joking like that its stressing me out’

Seems like your friends groupchat, aptly named “Gotham’s prison for whores”, was having quite the morning, hundreds of messages ranging from genuine expressions fear to half hearted jokes.

‘‘Tf are y’all going through???’’  you texted back

A collective group response came instantly.

‘‘He’s alive????’’

‘‘OH THANK FUCK YOUE NOT DEAD’’

“LETSGOOO”

‘‘*you’re’’ you responded without thinking, before fully processing what you’d just read, “why would I be dead??’’

‘‘Dude.’’

You waited for them to continue.

“GHL blew up last night, thought you worked the night shift????’’

Oh.

Ok, so you don’t have a shift today. 

“WTF no I switched to the morning shift a couple weeks ago what happened”

“Idk man shit blew up, Nightwing and the red one were out there.”

‘The red one?’ you paused to think of who The Red One was, not even near processing that your job had blown up- wasn’t Robin, he knew that one- and his cape covered most red in his costume anyways. Red Robin, despite his name, his costume was more black than red, and your friend was more likely to call him CondomMan or something, because of his head piece thing.

“Bitch, do you mean Red Hood??”

“IM NOT FROM GOTHAM LEAVE ME ALONE”

Followed by-

“THERES TO MANY OF THEM I CAN NOT REMBER THEM ALL”

You laughed for a second, before remembering that your mother had also texted you and suddenly any joy you felt was sucked away- fuck, why wasn’t she blocked.

“Are you ok?” She asked

“I’m fine.”

Simple, blunt, and definitely not an invitation back into your life. You closed out of her contact and moved onto the mountain of text you still had. How did this many people have your number- how did this many people know where you work- worked, past tense.

After an hour of assuring dozens of practical strangers and distant relatives that you were perfectly fine and no you didn’t need anybody to check on you- you decided to get to the bottom of your sudden popularity. Seriously, none of these people reached out when you got kicked out, or worse, some outright denied you when you asked for help. They weren’t obligated to, but they can’t come around acting like their hearts were absolutely broken and bleeding at your supposed death. 

With minimal digging, you figured it out. All you had to do was open any social media your mother had- it’s been, what? 4 hours since she first texted you, and she’s got two dozen posts about you up, with your number and your job posted for the world to see on each one, half of them posted over 5 hours ago, the others posted at random with the latest being only 12 minutes ago.

‘Fuck, this was so her, why the hell would she think this was ok?’ 

Another way to garner attention and sympathy and now she’s dragging you into it, like sure, you could have been dead, but her text didn’t exactly scream “I’m worried about you”.

You opened your messages with her again,

“Take the posts down, mom. Thanks.”

___

Why was the sun in his face?

Jason made sure the curtains were drawn so he wouldn’t have this problem. Cracking his eyes open he spots his brother- the traitorous bitch- standing by the window, opening the curtains just enough just to peek through. His personal cell phone pressed to his ear, talking quietly to somebody.

“I’ll uh- I’ll go check on him later today Mrs. L/n..”

‘L/n..?’ Jason pushed himself up. ‘Ah, fuck. Please let it just be a god damn coincidence.’

Dick glanced back at Jason, a tired smile flashed across his face. Jason let him stay at his safe house for the night so he wouldn’t have to travel all the way to the manor, or worse, all the way back to Bludhaven. Laying back, Jason continued to listen in to the half of the conversation he could hear.

“No, sorry, of course not- I’ll call him right-” Dick let out a frustrated sigh.

“I will try Mrs. L/n. Right, thanks- bye.”

Despite the nagging feeling he knew exactly who was on the other side of that line, he asked, “Who was that?”

Dick sat on the edge of his bed, another irritated sigh leaving him.

“Remember Y/n?”

Ah, fuck.

“Yeah.” he said, doing his best to give the impression of disinterest and flippant-ness . 

“That was his mom- Y/n works over at the GHL Warehouses- well, he used to before last night. His mom wanted to make sure he was ok.”

Jason breathed out- you were fine. He knew you were fine because you don’t work the night shift anymore- when the bomb went off you should have been safely at home, sound asleep, trying to get some rest for your morning shift.

“Is he?” The deception in his voice was blatant this time, his thoughts having drifted to you and away from the mask he had perfected literally a second ago. Dick turned to look at him, a grin splitting across his face. Dick, who was just as much of a detective as the rest of the family, clocked that something was off immediately. 

“What?” 

“Oh Jason,” He said, all too happy to have been just talking about you potentially getting blown up. “Are you still into him?”

“Get out.” Jason responded, which only made Dick happier.

“You are, aww Baby Bird’s got a little crush-”

“Fuck off, I’m serious.”

Years ago, before his death, Jason had confided in his brother. During a quiet moment in the library of the manor, Jason told Dick that he liked guys, well, one guy, so far. He didn’t know what he was then and doesn't have the energy to label it now, but he does know that at 14 he had a massive crush on a boy his age that he went to school with– which only became a hundred times worse when he actually became friends with said boy. Y/n. You. One of his few attachments outside of his family.

When he came back he didn’t think about you for years, revenge, rage, and violence were the only things on his mind- but when he settled, you popped back into his mind. Just as much of a stalker as the rest of his family, he did some digging on you. It was invasive as hell, as he went through every bit of public (i.e., the stuff that was only slightly illegal to obtain) information about you before asking Barbara for more private(super illegal) information. 

Barb- whose closeness to Jason surprised everyone, including themselves (paralleling traumas, they supposed)- was more than willing. Her moral compass was a bit sideways, understandably,  but she couldn’t help but “play match-maker” as she had put it. He intentionally ignored that comment from his accomplice.

It’s how he knew about your work schedule, and just about everything else about you- and why he really, really hated your fucking parents.

He was…captivated. It wasn’t love, he didn’t love you. He didn’t even know you anymore. 

…

He should check on you, though. Losing your job so suddenly couldn’t have been easy for you. Finding a legal job in Gotham was hard enough as it was- he didn’t want you spiraling, or worse, getting involved with criminals- except for him. He huffed out a short chuckle. He wished you could get involved with him. He was, legally, still very, very dead. And you had no idea he was back. Which he’s somewhat happy for.

He killed…a lot of people, he got his ass handed to him in public by his father, and had lost his shit in PTSD fueled episodes of rage multiple times.

It was better if you stayed as far away from him as possible. Your life was just getting good, you had friends, an apartment of your own, you could probably fuck anyone you wanted- an unsurprising amount of people were into that independent, blue collar thing you had going on- Jason sure as shit wasn’t immune to it. He wouldn’t be mad if you did- you don’t. He has his ways of knowing. (your entire apartment is bugged thanks to Bruce’s almost unfounded paranoia, which was only a bit fair, Jason and Bruce were still on new ground in their… reborn relationship when he broke into your house for the first time, B probably thought he was trying to kill you, which- if it had been any other member of the family- would have been outlandish and entirely unfounded. But it was him, so…yeah, wasn’t really coming out of left field with that one) Which was a surprise, but a relieving one. 

Fucking hell, Dick was still looking at him with that stupid smile.

“You’ve got a boyfriend.”

Jason, as he did everytime a conversation steered in a direction he didn’t like, brought up his own death.

“I don’t have anything, Dick, can’t be anything to him if he still thinks I’m dead.”

“..right.”

A moment passed before Dick spoke again, “He’s fine, by the way. Barb sent a list of the confirmed victims earlier. He wasn’t on it.”

___

Fuck Bruce Wayne. No, really. This guy fucking sucked, you hated him and you hated that the only way you’d be keeping your apartment was by signing up for his stupid unemployment program. You’ve reloaded your inbox a dozen times waiting for the confirmation email, after spending hours upon hours reading through fine print and having to dig out your own documents, send proof of unemployment- you’re brand new letter of termination had been emailed to sometime earlier- and digitally signing your signature with your mouse pad and just wading through piles and piles of exhausting corporate bullshit-

You were really sick of this shit, to say the least.

‘It's been five minutes..’ You thought, glaring at your laptop screen.

Trying not to think about how this was literally the only way you’d be keeping your apartment and not go back to living in your car, you reloaded the page again.

And again and again until finally-

“Congratulations! You have been accepted into the Wayne Int…”

You didn’t even need to open the email, the preview told you all you needed to know, a long sigh of relief leaving you as you shut your laptop. 

Well, that’s over, now what. 

You’ve worked nearly every day since you’ve got this apartment, and when you weren’t working you were either catching up on sleep or, well, that’s it really. Despite planning on “having afternoons to yourself” when you switched schedules, you haven’t actually done anything with those afternoons, cleaning, watching TV, and texting more than anything. Because of course none of your friend schedules aligned for more than a couple minutes a day- usually early in the morning or really late at night.

You breathed in again- looking out the window, you could see the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, mostly hidden by the typical gothic skyscrapers that were found all over Gotham. Another heavy breath, you rolled out of bed, feeling a sudden pang of hunger after neglecting yourself all day. 

You didn’t bother taking your phone with you, even though your mother had pretty much announced to her loyal 1,267 followers that you were okay, you were still getting text and calls at random- you needed to take your mind off of all of this for at least a moment, cooking and then maybe a long, long sleep could help. You did a mental coin toss on what to eat, burger or pasta- either would do, really- conjuring up a slow, dramatic coin toss in your head, letting your subconscious decide. 

Heads. Pasta it is.

Rummaging through your cabinet until you pulled out the little pot you were looking for, perfect for a single serving. Filling it with water from the sink- completely forgetting for a moment that this was Gotham and you probably should have checked to see if it had been poisoned or tampered with- it was such a common occurrence that there was a whole app for it…Created and funded by Bruce Wayne of course. You sighed for about the millionth time today. That fucking jerk has his hands in everything- can’t even be in your own home without running into the motherfucker.

You huffed, it’d be fine. If there was something wrong with the water you would have seen it on the news. 

Putting the pot on the stove, repeatedly turning the knob until the fire lit. Putting a bit of salt in the water as it heated- staring into the pot for who knows how long as bubbles started to form. Thinking about things hurt right now. You lost half of your co-workers, your income, the first thing you felt you earned on your own, and on top of that you had to indirectly beg a man you couldn’t stand for money. It would only get worse from here. That was guaranteed- but you couldn’t spiral- because that would only make things so, so much worse. So, you’d face whatever the next couple of weeks brought with maturity and strength and when it was all over things would be semi-normal.

Hopefully.

You moved to the cabinet and pulled out a half empty box of bowtie style noodles and dumped them into the boiling water- then moved over to the fridge to see if you had any jarred sauce.

___

Barbara was just about the only person Jason actively texted- he didn’t need casual conversation with anybody else, not yet anyways. Roy maybe could have been the exception, but Roy barely responded, Jason doubted he even kept his phone on him. 

Leaving his bike in the alley before scaling your building- resting on the roof for a short moment as he texted Barbara.

“Think you can keep B out?”

She didn’t respond instantly, but when she did,

“You know he’s still home, right?”

‘Obviously, Barb’ he thought as he typed out a response

“I’m just checking on him.”

Then,

“He won’t see me.”

“You’re getting bold, thinking of saying ‘hi’ soon?”

No, definitely not. That would be a horrible idea. It would blow up in his face and he’d not only freak you the fuck out but would piss off his entire family (excluding Barbara, and maybe Dick- now that he’s thinking about it Tim would probably have been a good accomplice too- no, he’s not forming a little stalker crew, not gonna happen). It was, definitively, a terrible idea. Even if the infinitesimally small chance that you wouldn’t lose your shit and he was able to have any semblance of a relationship with you was calling his name like no other, he wasn’t going to take that risk. Stalking you- no, watching you in a completely non obsessive, platonic manner, would be all he did- and an occasional breaking and entering. But that was all.

“No” he finally responded.

She sent a sad face emoji back, then a middle finger, then,

“You’ve got 5 minutes.”

That jolted him into action, the sun quickly setting over Gotham as he crossed the building. He’s done this enough times to know just how to get through your window. Using a rope to scale down to the 4th floor windows- stopping right next to yours, closed, but unlocked for once. Good, he wasn’t looking forward to picking the lock.

As quietly as he could, he pushed your window open, cursing at the small creek it made about halfway up. Slipping inside, landing silently on his toes, pausing before pressing forward. Pressed against the wall of your nearly pitch black room, your bedroom door cracked open he could see the yellow-ish light emitting from outside it, he could hear you shuffling around out there, the faucet running for a second, and the ticking of the gas stove as you turned it on and off and on again. You were fine, you were up and active, cooking, not sulking. You were fine. 

Mission complete. 

Time to go..

He heard you open the fridge, let out a small sigh before closing it.

He leaned closer to the door, peaking through the small opening- your apartment small enough for him to see everything from his place in your room, including you standing in the kitchen standing over a boiling pot of whatever it was you were cooking. Ok, seriously, you were ok, he needs to go- he’s already been here for too long- he’s sure his time is up. You were fine, you are fine. 

“Fuck, ow-” You muttered to yourself, barely audible in the already near silent apartment. 

He pressed forward again, taking a step, then another, until he was standing just behind the door- half hidden in the dark room, illuminated by the kitchen light. 

—--

‘Stupid fucking cheap pot, why the fuck is the handle so hot?’ You thought as you checked your hand for any actual burns. You were fine, but dammit that hurt- first thing you’d when you got a new job, buy better pots and pans- ones that didn’t scorch your hands when you touched the handle. Turning around to face the sink, and run some cold water over your flushed hand-

What the fuck was that.

You paused at the sink. As you turned, you caught a glimpse of something…red. Just barely illuminated, standing in your bedroom. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, a feeling of impending doom washes over you as you turn to stare at whatever it is you just saw. Red and shiny, with stark white eyes- the rest of whatever the hell it was is hidden by the darkness of your bedroom and the door. 

A part of you wants to run- out of the apartment and into the street, scream for help at the top of your lungs until either whatever it was caught you, or one of many vigilantes showed up. Unfortunately, you lived in the absolute shit hole that was Gotham- so you were more likely to be an unsolved case than actually get saved. You really, really didn’t want to join the billion of unsolved cases already plaguing Gotham- you had so much more life to live, and shit was just getting good, well- not really but you still didn’t want to fucking die. Shit still could get good in the future! As long as you don’t get murdered tonight.

‘Ok, time to think rationally,’ You thought, eyes still locked on the whatever-the-fuck-it-is standing in the doorway, ‘I’m not dead yet, so maybe it doesn’t want to kill me, maybe it’s..I don’t know, trying to rob me or something.’

Robbed was probably the best possibility, considering all the other things that it could be. 

“I do not have any money, I’m poor as fuck I swear, can you please leave?” You tried.

You nearly tripped over your own feet, clambering backwards as the thing moved forward, stepping into the light and-

…

…Somebody is fucking with you, you almost immediately decide as your brain finally processes what you had been seeing this entire time. Fucking Red Hood. Every bit of fear is replaced with frustration and annoyance.

Taking a deep breath, you put your hands over your face, letting out a groan that quickly turns into a small, muffled scream.

Why? Why you? Huh? This is the second vigilante home intrusion you’ve experienced. You weren’t afraid of vigilantes, you had no reason to be- you aren’t a criminal and unlike certain organizations, they actually protect the innocent and whatnot. So, for you at the very least, seeing them was less of a terrifying experience than it was a wonder to behold…as long as they’re not in your fucking house. You just wanted to eat dinner. You just wanted to eat dinner and go to bed and then watch stupid 2000’s shows in the morning. But no Red Hood is in your house, and now your whole night is interrupted and you’re stressed and irritated and you really want to throw the nearest thing at him- but that’s rude and he might actually be here for a reason so you should really get out of your own head and hear him out.

You bring your hands down to your side, take a deep breath, and stare right into the eyes of his helmet.

“What do you want?”

—--

Jason has a very inappropriate answer to that question- he doesn’t say it, he doesn’t even give himself the chance to fully think it. But he does need to find an appropriate answer as to why he was in your house.

“You work at GHL?” He asked, his voice unwavering.

You rolled your eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck in the back of your skull. Fuck, you’ve always had a bad attitude, he hasn’t seen it up close in years. He hasn’t seen you this close in years either. During his…other illegal excursions in your house, he always kept a respectful distance from you, mostly out of fear of waking you up, but also because standing over you while you were asleep just felt…wrong.

You groaned, crossing your arms as your glare set on him.

“Yes, I worked at GHL before it blew up, no, I don’t have anything to do with the explosion, I was here all night, there are cameras in the halls, feel free to check them if you think I'm lying. Is there anything else or can you go now?”

Fuck- uh.

“No.” He said, before he could even come up with a reason why.

“‘No’?!” You were, reasonably, upset by this, “Why the hell not?”

‘Good question,’ he thought.

“I know-” Jason started without actually knowing what he wanted to say, his voice modulator making him sound a lot more sure of his words than he actually was, “-you’ve been very..vocal about your disapproval of the police in Gotham, they were temporarily holding a shipment of weapons and ammo there.”

Accusing you of being a criminal maybe wasn’t the best option, definitely wouldn’t get him into your good graces, but it was believable- his preexisting knowledge of you made it just that much easier, even if you look offended by the accusation.

“So what, you’re stalking me?”

You don’t even know the half of it..

“Investigating you.” He responded sternly.

You nodded, so clearly on the verge of losing your shit, “Right, right, ‘investigating’. I don’t care what you call it, I already told you I wasn’t involved in whatever happened so can you please-”

A sudden, blaring alarm shocked both you and Jason. You stormed back into the kitchen a pot of what was previously edible pasta sauce having been reduced to a soldering, smoking mess. Frustrated mumbling filled the space, you groaned and growled as you grabbed the pot handle with a towel and damn near threw it into the sink, turning on the faucet and letting it run. You turned to him, thoroughly pissed off at this point, so many thoughts and words festering in your mind- probably vulgar and violent- but you said nothing, clenching your fist at him and staring at his mask with an nearly dazed but somehow still enraged expression before turning to handle the fire alarm. Using a towel to fan smoke away from it until it stopped beeping. 

Then, you sat on the floor, facing away from him. Breathing deeply, rocking slightly. Jason just stared, there wasn’t much else he could do- 

He heard you sigh, the tension in your shoulder reducing until you were slightly hunched over.

“You owe me dinner.” You said, calmly.

Jason blinked behind his mask- that’s it? You were over it? Just like that?

He halfway expected to be yelled at, hell, he’s surprised you didn’t throw the pot at him. But the ability to just calm down wasn’t something that came easily, if at all to Jason.

“I can do that.”

You sighed again, pushing yourself up off the floor. Turning to him, you face tired and your eyes dark- he knows he just made an already hard day even harder for you, he knows the guilt is going to crush him later, too.

“I know you’re just doing your job and all but you’re kinda a jerk, you know that, right?” Your tone was flat and dim, “Look, I don’t know anything about what happened. I’m just…really fucking tired now so can you just go?”

I know

“I believe you.”

You sighed, “Good, I’m going to bed now, good night.”

He watched as you walked past him, your shoulder bumping him and he tried to ignore how his heart clenched at even the briefest touch from you.

“Oh, and-” you glanced over your shoulder at him, “-if you’re going to come back, use the door.”

You didn’t give him time to respond, closing the bedroom door behind you.

He stood in your apartment alone, a minute passes, and then another as he attempts to process what had just happened and just how fucked he was when Bruce inevitably found out. But…

A small smile crept on his face, could have been a lot worse, you don’t hate him, hell, you invited him to come back in a way. Bruce might scream his head off at him and he’d likely be placed under some kind of suspension and heavily monitored for the foreseeable future. But none of that mattered right now, because he’s seen you, he’s talked to you, and suddenly he has a goal. 

—-

Last night felt like a fever dream, but you could tell it was real. Early in the morning, when the sun was just barely peeking through your window, there was a knock on your door- your bedroom door. You should have been freaked out by it, but you had a sneaking suspicion that a familiar red jerk was on the other side. Stretching  and yawning before getting up, your body was more tired than you realized, feeling heavy and anchored as you dragged your feet to the door. When you opened it, there was nobody there, but a little white paper bag sat on the floor just outside. You looked around, the living room and the kitchen were both empty and the big red jerk was nowhere to be seen.

Taking the bag in your hands, the familiar logo of the 24 hour cafe down the street plastered on it, as well as a note. Taped to the bag, a torn square of paper read,

“Not dinner, but I figured this was close enough. 

And I used the door this time. You’re welcome.

-R.H”

And for some stupid, unfortunate reason, you found it charming.

“Fucking stalker..” you muttered, fighting a smile as walked back to your bed with the bag.

[messrsrarchives]

Hello! I adore your blog and your yaps so much I’ve been following you for a few months now and I first wanted to tell you that you do so much good! So, a huge thanks to you for using your platform for trans topics/Palestine/as well as fandom etiquette/awareness and for just being amazing!

All things aside though, I do have a question! I was wondering what your opinion on @the-dead-gay-oscars was. I stumbled upon it recently and felt kind of an icky feeling about it, because it just feels like another way of comparing fanfic to mainstream media when fanfic isn’t really meant to be like that? It’s also putting a bunch of fanfic out there for people to vote on/critique publicly, and I cant find whether or not the fanfic writers are asked for permission for their fics to be included in such an event- especially when I know a lot of people have boundaries over that kind of thing. I just wonder if it brings back that almost expectation for fanfiction to be like published modern literature/movies. I doubt anyone had the intention for it to be like that but I just don’t really like it?

Idk, it just left me feeling weird about the whole thing, but maybe I’m being over dramatic and critical over something meant to be fun, which could totally be the case. 😅

Anyways, thank you so much for what you do! Have a nice day!

hiii !! first of all!!! thank youuu 😖😖🫂🫂

and yeah,,, not a fan. idk if this mention tags them and if it does, sorry!!! just some gentle opinions 😖

idk like,, "best" categories in fandom really ick me out. and i think it can be very discouraging to others? like how does the voting work? do they select nominations and then others vote?

oh you've said they do! so yes, then it turns into "oh my work wasnt as good as the one that won" etc etc - i just think there's better ways to show appreciation than creating more pedestals in a fandom that already has a massive issue with idolisation, imposter syndrome, etc etc

and whether the authors are asked permission or not is irrelevant to me (actually,, probably worse if they are and agree in my mind)

idk. good concept, poor execution that i personally think is just discouraging and competitive when this space is for everyyyyyyone to create and enjoy without worrying whether you're better than someone else or the "best" etc etc. and yes, 100% brings expectations.

i get it was for appreciation, but i dislike the notion when really you could just comment on a fic and say you liked it, and then make a post recommending it, or rec it to your friends etc etc. you know??

we don't need awards and competition, we need community and an encouraging space where everyone feels confident to engage and write and draw and edit and do whatever it is that they do without worrying about whether they're the best at it or if they're as good as someone else

unless i get best rant poster. then it's okay. (I'M KIDDING THAT WAS A /J. THAT WAS A JOKE.)

[redux-iterum]

I’m a little more sympathetic for Rosy- she was under a lot of duress when she gave Cloudpaw up. It very much is akin to “teenage girl being forced by parents to give up her baby” to me. Honestly, what choice did she really (at least in her mind) have? Fireheart came and saw her a decent amount, if not exactly often. Cloudy can just do the same! But then he does, and she gets to experience, at least in some small way, being the mother she wanted to be… combine that with “this is the only child I can ever have a relationship with” and I completely get her reaction. No, she doesn’t get to swoop in after someone else has raised him and get him back no questions asked, but it wasn’t like she made the choice to give him away out any unwillingness to raise him. Her hand was completely forced and this was the best of worst options. Yeah, Fireheart was all like “oh it’s different in the Clans, there are rules, it’s not what you think…” but he was also perfectly fine going against those rules himself to see Rosy whenever, so really, that precedent was established well before it became an issue with Cloudpaw. Honestly part of me wonders if Fireheart had such a strong reaction because it was at least partially aimed at himself, because it was his example of “yeah the rules can be bent or broken for good reason” that influenced both Rosy and Cloudpaw to think they could do the same. Idk, terrible situation all around, but I think this is different than the family member that ditches their kid with another member out of prioritizing their own wants and only wanting the “fun” parts of parenting on a whim- it’s “I would do anything I possibly could to keep my child, but external forces are forcing me to give him up, so I will try to make the best of this terrible circumstance.” Rosy, in her limited worldview, was led to believe that sending Cloudpaw to the Clan would let him be with his family, something she always wanted for herself, and that she could get a piece of that dream when he came to visit with her brother, and maybe she could be content with that. Reality differed of course, because it was naive to think that that would actually be enough in the face of her desire for family, but I can’t really blame her for being hopeful and making decisions on that hope.

I appreciate this take! Sympathy for the Rosy, and all that. I personally feel bad for her, knowing as her writer where she's coming from. The girl definitely didn't know what she was getting into the moment she sent Cloudy away, and I don't think she does even now. Desperation makes us all fools, in the end.

[hawker-the-gary]

Hawk, you doing okay? You haven't posted an Incipere page in a while.

Hey, things have been busy and...now very chaotic. So I'll take the chance to respond your question to make two announcements, one that people on my patreon already know:

I'm working on a new comic project! It'll be a one shot with over 70 pages and I've been working on it non stop for the past month or so. I'll be honest here, Incipere is not doing well, it has very little engagement, very low update rate due to it being colored, and I know a lot of people don't find it as fun to read since it's an extremely flawed series. In turn, I also don't enjoy working on it as much as I used to either. It makes sense I mean, I wrote it when I was 16, it makes sense I've changed the way I tell stories now, heh.

So, I'm taking the chance to work on something new, something that I know I will enjoy at the very least. Even if it doesn't get lots of support, I'll be happy that I was able to finish something that I feel satisfied with. I don't plan on abandoning Incipere though! I just feel like I need to make a step forward to improve as an artist and story teller.

-Now, for the second announcement. This one is more important than the first as it happened so recently.

A lot of people may know about my little sister, and I'm heartbroken to say that she passed away this weekend...

It happened so suddenly, it was something everyone in my family knew it would happen due to her complicated health issues, but even then...one is never truly ready for these things when they actually happen. I can say that she passed away peacefully. Because of everyone's support via commissions and patreon, and even sharing my art, it all helped so that my sister could have the best quality of life she could.

Thanks to this platform, my sister's medical expenses were paid whenever our insurance wouldn't cover everything, I had been able to make hospital trips, buy medication, donate my own blood so she could live another day. It was all thanks to you.

I know I said I was working on a new project, but my sister's passing hit so suddenly, so hard, that I need to take my time to be with my family and friends. It's ironic, because my new project has elements of loss and grief as part of its main theme.

I apologize that I don't have the strength right now, I'll come back for sure, but right now my heart is shattered, and picking up a pen is hard.

Thank you all for your patience, I'll come back <3

[ethicstownpod]

The show seems (please correct me if I’m wrong) to have been cast pretty gender blind. Talking of gender roles in the Q&A, was it ever a possibility that January was a woman/non binary?

You are indeed (pretty much) correct! The entire show was cast gender blind aside from January*. I don’t have the exact disclaimer on me, but the casting call said something like:

“Anyone who feels comfortable playing a character who identifies as a man and uses he/him pronouns is encouraged to audition for this role.”

January was always written to be a cishet white man from England. I was very open to people who didn’t match some, or any, of those characteristics playing the part (Rhys does not in fact have a wholly English accent, but unless you’ve spent a lot of time where his family’s from you’d never be able to tell. Also, straight? My brother??), but he was written to be a really stereotypical Bad Politician From A Small English Town**.

But, you cry, that was S1 January! If he can be a little homosexual, surely he could have transed his gender?

True! Ish… January potentially being played by a trans actor was always a ‘this is a conversation to be had post-casting’ kind of thing. It would entirely depend on what the actor was comfortable with.

Say, for example, January had been played by a trans masc person. That would be a difficult thing to bring up in a later season, after January has already robbed two women of their bodily autonomy and ruined a little girl’s life… Not really the commentary I was going for! And you don’t even know what he’s going to do in S3 yet…

So in that situation I would have suggested it just doesn’t get mentioned; nothing to confirm January is a cis man, but nothing to imply he’s trans either. Of course, had someone not been comfortable with that I’d have worked with it.

If he’d been played by a trans femme/nonbinary actor the above isn’t so much an issue. Obviously I’m not saying it’s okay to imply trans women steal from other women, but it would be much easier, with the way the narrative is designed, to say, “Well, January did those things because she was written to be a cis gender man and a villain. Now that’s she’s starting to develop a sense of self she’s still a villain, just in a cool and sexy way now.” (Obviously this is paraphrasing/a joke. Cisgender man January isn’t even really a villain). And then S2/3 January could have a fun little gender arc with Noah.

But honestly, everything in this hypothetical would depend on the actor. Rhys is amazing, obviously, and while we may not be getting 🏳️‍⚧️Trans Rep🏳️‍⚧️ from this specific character I don’t feel like January having any kind of queer arc is hindered at all by him being played by a (umbrella term) bisexual actor.

Much like what I was saying about January wrt gender roles in the Q&A, Rhys likes sewing and crafts and girly pop music and kids’ cartoons and baby animals and childcare and cooking and (once every 9 months when the planets align) talking about his feelings.

He also rides a motorbike, likes to make his own electronics, and talks really, really loudly in the pub even though everyone he’s talking to is within a half metre radius. Y’know, guy stuff.

It’s great that there are so many micro labels available to people who want them, but, “I don’t really feel like a very guyish guy, and that’s because straight men have historically set the standard for what it means to be a guy. I’m still a guy, I’m just having a queer guy experience,” is still a totally valid gender take, and I feel like that’s much more where January-played-by-a-cis-man sits. So, y’know, that’s actual January that we actually have.

At least, until he commits his next crime and totally forgets about being gay.

*At this point you may be thinking, “But if January was a heterosexual man, surely his spouse would have to be played by a woman?” Mayhaps! January’s spouse would have to be played by someone who was comfortable portraying a woman for ~1 episode. But there was absolutely no reason “Al” couldn’t have transitioned in any way shape or form in S2 onwards. It just so happened L killed it ridiculously hard and also uses she/her pronouns.

**There are absolutely bad female politicians from small English towns. There are also bad politicians of colour from small English towns. And bad queer politicians, usually not from small towns but sometimes. But statistically it is cishet white men. Currently, 68% of UK mayors are men. 88% are white. 60% are white men. And that’s in the year of our lord 2025.

[gimpwithoutorgans]

Thots on Louis domming Lestat post modern day reunion? Will it make them better worse or a third thing

I’m picturing Lestat poking fun at the D/s dynamic he had with Armand and Louis saying, if you’re so curious, I can show you exactly what it was like😌.

How would it effect their dynamic? I’ve been going back and forth on that a lot.

Unlike Armand, Lestat is a brat( I need to see Louis “brat tamer” Du Lac immediately!) which I think fits Louis better. Loustat’s relationship is all about the push and pull. BDSM would add even more complexity to their relationship. Would it amplify their issues or cure them? I honestly don’t know😭. I’m gonna go with secret third thing lol😇

[batmanfruitloops]

update and whatnot

I've already mentioned I'm back in school, but I just wanted to mention some more specifics about that and how it'll affect my contributions to this blog. This semester I'll be starting my animation program. So I'll be doing major-focused classes until I graduate. I knew going in that animation is very time and energy-consuming work. So I just want to be clear that I'm not going to have a lot of time or energy for things outside of school. I'm unfortunately still also dealing with health issues but as always I'm still trying to work it out and get the help and treatment I need.

When I was off school for fall I mentioned wanting to get out consistent updates to the comics, and I'm very sorry I couldn't do that. I still want to make consistent updates. I was just in over my head and I still don't know what I'm doing. All I want to do is spend my time making art but so much has been going on in my life and I'm very frustrated I can't just do the things I want to do for one reason or another. I'll try my best to continue working on this blog because I'm very passionate about it and it makes me very happy. I'm just not sure what that's going to look like going forward.

Animation is my dream job, so I'm going to have to prioritize school more but if I'm lucky I can combine work for school and for this au and hopefully make something even better for me to share with you! Even if that doesn't happen, I'll have learned and grown to make my art better. I also have access to better programs and I can make more animations for this au, which I'm very excited about! I didn't script the comics ahead of time and did them as I went, but I plan on writing ahead as much as I can when I have time so when I'm out of school for breaks or summer I can just work on the pages and hopefully update consistently like I wanted to in the first place. The updates themselves will also likely be shorter instead of the 7-9 4-panel strips I do at a time. The updates themselves will be shorter but they'll be posted more consistently. So hopefully for all of summer, maybe once a week or every other week you'll get a part of the comic. My classes mimic working in a studio so not only will I learn technical and aesthetic things I'll also learn work ethic and I can gauge a lot better how much I can handle. I think that will be very beneficial for me.

As for while I'm in school, I'm likely going to be pretty quiet on here. I'll do my best to at least answer ask. There are a lot of bigger ask that I still haven't answered and it's stressing me out, and I'm very sorry that I'm not answering all in a timely manner. If your ask hasn't been answered yet, please do not think we are ignoring you! I promise we are not! Since I know I'm going to be very busy I'll answer ask that need more attention, there's a few that need comics and there are a few I'd like to do some animation for. Unless it's something very simple then I might answer that one quicker. I'm going to try to be a bit more organized. It's not likely I'll have time for any other art related to the au, unless by some miracle I have extra time and energy.

Lastly, I would really like to be more involved and more active here. I would love to interact with you guys more and make more mutuals and friends. I see all your art and I love it all, I just haven't had the time to interact with it. This fandom is so lovely and has been so kind to us and I really appreciate that. From the bottom of my heart thank you for being here at all! Thank you for sharing your love! When I have time not only do I want to work on this story but I want to do more fun interactive stuff with the blog and get to know some of you better. I really want to build the community aspect more.

Even though I'll be busy, I'm still easily reachable. I'm happy to talk with y'all and my DMs are open if you want to shoot a message and like, show me your pets or something. I'm a shy person but I'm not opposed to interacting with any of you. You have all been very kind and respectful and I trust that you already know the rules and boundaries you and I should have on the internet. My main is @fluffysnowball13 and if you want I can shoot my discord. I'm going to continue to do my best to be a part of this community regardless of my schedule or health because it brings me a lot of joy.

I'm sorry this was so long, thank you to everyone who reads this. Thank you all once again! I'll be here for as long as I can!

-Fluffy

[rom-e-o]

So, like, I know Rook and Emmrich are supposed to be "moving fast" in their relationship. But what does that mean for Belismrich? What's their timeline for relationship markers?

For Guineverich it's, of course, the first kiss/makeout session on their first official date. Which is practically recklessly fast for G'iney, considering the best outcome for any of her first dates previously was the guy giving her a handshake as he dropped her off home before vanishing into the night to leave her to her life of health issues, never to be seen again. The second date already has Emmrich bringing food to her place and them getting hot and heavy with him sucking on her tits and both their hands down pants at the very least. So there's quite an amp-up there in that extremely short time span. (Girl even has a mini identity crisis in front of friends, wondering if she's "that type" of woman: "Is that what I am--the fast girl? Easy? Loose? Is that who I am?" To which friends suggest: "This seems less about who you are and more about who Emmrich could be." [i.e. The One]). Then three months of varying degrees of sexual experimentation and fun before they finally go all the way. Which might not be particularly fast for a lot, but for Guinevere, who thought she'd never even lose her virginity because she would never give it up to anyone who she wasn't sure was her true love but had little hope of ever finding that, it's practically breakneck.

Oh, those Ravens? Get it, you two. It is very, VERY much deserved.

I was thinking about this ask as we discussed the other one, specifically regarding how "fast" Emmrich and rook really move in their relationship, and how quickly things come to fruition, are consummated, etc.

For G'iney to take the plunge into making out on the first date is a pretty dang big deal. We've established that they have a good foundation of friendships & communication (not to mention Manfred being an adorable matchmaker that ties them together as a family unit from the get-go). The second date, the fact that they're already getting hot and heavy to that degree is a testament to how compatible they are.

I can see where G'iney's worry comes from. I mean, you're going from 0-100, so pausing to think for a minute is a good sign. I can only imagine Neve brings her back to reality. "This has never happened before, like you said. So, that tells me that this specific time is special. That he is special. Trust what you feel, Guinevere. You're cautious and careful. If there were red flags, you're not one to miss them. And I must say ... you two are very cute together." ;)

Emmrich might even do to some companions of his own for advice. He doesn't have many close friends (academia kept him distracted) but it would be fascinating if he went to Lucanis. Harding, as well, who seems to be the one he opens up the most to about relationships/marriage.

"I do worry, I confess. Are Guinevere and I moving too quickly? I don't want to push her, but everything just feels so natural and right."

H: Really? Sounds like there's no issue.

L: I agree. If things were moving too fast, Guinevere would tell you. She is capable of speaking her mind, as I'm sure you know. Keep your ears open, my friend, but otherwise, embrace it. You both deserve it.

For Belismerich? Ohoho. Well~

So, their first time having sex is in the coffin in the Necropolis. It any universe, I think it take about 6 months for them to sleep together.

Ebenestance and Belismerich both sleep together on the third date, technically, haha.

Belisma isn't a virgin, but she has ... things to work out. She's a sweet, wonderful, kind woman (I'm bias, haha) ... but she has a lot of rage inside her. Not at Emmrich, but at life. It hasn't been kind to her. At all. She realizes she's maybe a little emotionally immature as well, and wants to work on it.

She needs time to unpack all that before diving in deep with a man who, in her opinion, deserves the world. She is not a woman that will throw her heavy baggage to a loved one and yell "CATCH."

Emmrich deserves more.

Still, I do think Emmrich and her move fast. Not necessarily sexually...but intimately.

After the first kiss, they can be found necking in the dark corridors of the Lighthouse, or embracing each other frequently. Or even reading love poetry to each other in the library.

I think they sleep together (as in they literally ONLY sleep) after that dinner date. They make-out, she feels his erection, and then go back to her room and just...unwind. Make-up/jewelry off, pajamas changed. They see each other casual and bare-faced. They read to each other. They talk. They make shadows with their entwined hands against the candlelight. It's lots of honeyed words and softness. Some groping, but nothing too crazy.

After that, they get each other off with handjobs/blowjobs (which is when Davrin's 'tugging at the old bone' comment comes in, haha).

By the third 'date', it's clothes off and full coupling. It may be their first time in bed, but also by then, they've seen each other nude and satisfied another in bed.

After that? They're off to the races. Post-game, she and Emmrich immediately move in together, travel with Manfred (when he says "There is so much I want to show you" <3) and are...pretty frequent in bed. Marriage and babies follow shortly, haha.

[blairdii]

sooooo i was thinking thoughts

and i was thinking of how lando has said that he uses the hate he receives as fuel to do better. 2024 was obviously very negative in terms of how lando was perceived, but otherwise a very positive year for lando overall.

i was thinking of how lando had gotten pole in the past five races or something and lost the position at lap 1, and then he performed singapore. and then i was thinking of how everyone wanted ferrari to win and mclaren to lose, and when lando was on pole, everyone acted like ferrari had basically won, and then he performed abu dhabi.

if lando uses the hate as a fuel, it would be good to a certain extent. but, you add the overthinking habit of his, and thats where it all goes down. cause, then, you need to be careful of that fine line of where he can use it as a motivator and where it starts to bring him down.

like, before brazil, the usual comments about him were about his starts, about his teammate being better than him, about his ego. after brazil, it became about losing six positions, and the out of context quote, and the championship slipping away completely.

and then i was thinking and connecting it to andrea. about how he never praises lando and maybe that makes lando want to work even harder, do even better. i dont remember if mclaren did a post race debrief on instagram, so i can't tell for sure if andrea said anything about lando then. but, what i do remember is the interview that lando did with the telegraph after his birthday, the painful one, the one where he was talking about how he hadn't slept for 48 hours. i remember lando mentioning in that interview that andrea did help him out of that spiral.

im not praising andrea in this, i promise. he may have gotten us the wcc win, but he, in no way or form, backed lando for the wdc when it mattered. i honestly dont even know the point of this rant, i was just thinking thoughts and im telling you cause we're married now so you have no choice but to read all of these.

i remember reading about interviews and general norrussell lore about how george would jokingly make fun of lando and his races, and lando would use that as a motivator. i remember reading about how george had made a joke in sochi, and lando had taken it harder than george thought he would, so he checked on lando himself and made sure that lando understood that he didn't mean it in a malicious intent, but rather in their usual banter way.

this did not have a point. im sorry. i was thinking thoughts. i guess, the end whatever of this is that lando needs to play jumprope with that line between motivation and overthinking.

but yknow what the thing is. if (read as: when) starts winning every race or every other race, its not like the hate comments are going to stop. theyre going to continue, and as long as theyre about the usual things (ego, pia>nor, blah blah blah), lando can very well use it as a motivator and win more.

also, praying that mcl fixes their starts issue, because we know lando's gonna have a lot of poles this season, and we need that start issue FIXED.

i think it's a veryyyy big risk take to use hate as fuel sometimes, but then when i do think about it, the more lando's gonna win, the more hate he will get (i guess that's just how it is in sports, notwithstanding the unnecessary, quite immature vitriol tho). and, you see, when that does happen, i hope he uses it more as a 'i'm too good and they still can't accept that' instead of a 'what am i doing wrong?'

unfortunately he'll never be everybody's cup of tea (that is the case for all drivers, however, more evidently for lando than anybody sadly), but that doesn't mean he's nobody's cup of tea, and i do hope it gets to a point where he uses his support as his catalyst, than just the hate. i mean, at the end of the day, lando has absolutely nothing to prove. he finished almost 100 points ahead of his teammate, went from 0 wins to 4 in a matter of one season, out-qualified oscar 20-4, helped mclaren really take that wcc for themselves— it's all there for people to see. fans who have rocks for brains can still spew the whole 'oscar is better than lando', and whether they truly believe that or not, i don't care, but it's simply not true. perhaps they say it out of spite, just so they have something against lando, but i'll be damned if someone who finished that far behind their teammate... is better than them? yeah okay. (also perceive this how you want, but i am far from an oscar hater, and the truth is gonna be the truth no matter how you interpret this.)

anyways anyways i'm going off track. lando can certainly use the 'who's better?' debate as a motivator, absolutely. as for andrea... i need that italian hobbit to pattern up and show support to the driver who completely deserves it, instead of being apathetic in public, and consoling in private. it does nothing but fuel the antis, that even his own team principal isn't backing him. and it'll continue to push the pia>nor rhetoric no matter how good lando performs.

[wrongtvrns]

It was kind of fun for Sunny to stand there and witness the beautiful woman before her; with her accent, gorgeous hair, and stunning green eyes as her worldly self tried to fit into this northern town. Plus, the brunette just kind of liked the free opportunity to look at her without being a creep. "It's not a terrible town. I'm only from Detroit and it's much more beautiful here," especially with you in it now, Sunny thought, "but yeah... for as big as it is it still has such a quaint vibe to it." Which as a woman from Detroit it was something that had taken quite a while to get used to. Even now, she was still trying some days. Though as this woman rattled off where she was from she could only stand there impressed. The accent had given her away, but hearing the details was something else. "Ahh yeah..." The brunette chuckled a little. "Woodside is definitely not going to compare to all of that. I can't imagine what would draw you here versus all of that..." Not outright a question if the woman chose to avoid it, but Sunny left it open. Still far too curious about the attractive stranger.

"Good," Sunny smirked when the other said she liked her. If anything she damn near said, 'mission accomplished'. When they reached the counter she ordered her coffee and informed that whatever her company wanted would be on her. As she went on about budgets and the economic issues of the US, Sunny could see the near terror fill the Turkish woman's eyes. It made her smile a little. Sunny appreciated that she wasn't ashamed to be herself. "Pretty much. The middle class is being erased here little by little. At least you can buy a lot of designer stuff for cheaper here. I know that's what most tourists do..." Part of her was curious if that's all this woman was, just a visitor, or if there'd be another chance to see her. At the question, the brunette glanced down at herself, loving the compliment in there from the fashionista, then found those green eyes again. "I do pretty well for myself." In fact she had a ton of money but couldn't acknowledge that. Sunny kept it all within means of a busy dental hygienist salary but just barely. "Thank you, though. I like to look good and since I spend most of my day in scrubs, I definitely enjoy a good outfit when that's not required." After the order was made, Sunny tapped her phone to pay, and then moved aside with her company. "Nice to meet you, Hazal. Pretty name for a pretty girl," she couldn't help complimenting. "I'm Sunny, the midwestern girl with more dollars than sense."

Hazal had found that most of the people in Woodside would agree that it wasn't the ideal place to live, even with the picturesque views of the mountains and the lake surrounding them. It may have been good for those with a small city mindset, but both herself and the woman before her didn't seem like they fit in here. "Well, I'm thrilled that it's not just me who sees how tragically lackluster this place is." She teased, though she wasn't wrong there. The only plus side she could see now was that since her last visit here, Woodside's residents seemed to be a lot more attractive. Maybe they had been that way before, but she'd been a taken woman and hadn't ogled any of the women since she'd been pretty enthralled with Tomiko then. Being single this time around had her eyes wide open, and the woman before her was breathtaking. Breaking out of her brief trance as a question was being tossed her way, Hazal smiled. "I was born and initially raised in Turkey, but then my mom moved to France and it became sort of a dual citizenship thing until I just moved there full time. Now all of Europe feels more like home." She explained with a small smile as they walked inside.

Although she'd already had one coffee this morning, Aleria was like a little piece of home, her dad's home anyway, so she wouldn't turn down another latte, but definitely not when she had company this time. She found herself giggling as the woman dismissed the thrift store assumption. "See, now I like you." She couldn't handle someone else shipping her off to a thrift store, not even close, so this was a refreshing opinion. She nodded along as the woman talked about budgets, which sounded like the plot of a horror movie for her. "Right, because the economy here sucks if you're not some sort of affluent person?" At least that's how Americans were portrayed in most shows she had seen in passing. The American economy was quite confusing otherwise, and she was just grateful that she wouldn't be having those issues herself. "Judging by your style, and your approval of these higher end boutiques, I'm guessing you have money too, correct?" Hazal asked before she stepped up and ordered her latte, sans the Turkish baked goods this time around. The woman didn't have to pay for her, but she wasn't going to say no either way. "Sorry, I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Hazal, or the ostentatious Turkish-European tourist."

[age-of-moonknight]

What If…? Dark: Moon Knight (Vol. 1/2023), #1.

Writer: Erica Schultz; Penciler and Inker: Edgar Salazar; Colorist: Arif Prianto; Letterer: Cory Petit

[chloesimaginationthings]

This could be a kart if FLAF wasn't fucking around..

[fycoren]

Fearless: Year of Shadow

...I just like Shadow ok?

some close-ups under the cut

[honey-flustered]

Loved playing a SULTRY game of WIP word tag Thank you @the-unforgivenn for tagging me. This was super fun! And I look forward to your works 😋🔥Here’s some WIPs from mostly my main page and one from my side blog. I have tons more I haven’t shared here but these are the ones I’ve been bouncing around between so don’t be shy to take a look ❤️

S

“Sweet. Just like you,” Logan comments before whispering into your ear. “But we’re not looking for ‘sweet’ right now, are we? Again.”

You’re taken aback for a moment but you persist, going in for another kiss. This time it lasted slightly longer than the first.

You search his eyes for approval only for him to say, “Again.”

Excerpt from ‘Naughty Lessons’ - OldMan!Logan Howlett x Virgin!Reader

Quick synopsis: You run into the former adult film star!Logan Howlett and ask him to teach you how to be desirable.

U

“…Use me, Breed me. I’m yours. Forever and ever.”

“Sugar…”, is all Eddie could groan out. You’re driving him crazy. He shouldn’t be so eager to fulfill your demands. Use you? Breed you? It’s all too much.

“Please...Mr. Munson,” You whisper hotly in his ear. “Oh, Mr. Munson…”

Excerpt from ‘Along For The Ride 2’ -Older!Beefy!Farmer!Eddie Munson x Mean!Rich!Reader

Synopsis: After the kiss incident, you develop a HUGE crush on Eddie and pretending you don’t is becoming a lot harder to keep up. Luckily for you, Eddie doesn’t intend on denying his feelings any longer either…not even when your father’s on the other side of the door.

L

…“Long as you’re payin’ attention.”

“Since we’re making some observations,” You begin, “I noticed you were a little tense throughout the hour. I hope everything’s okay. I know I can be harsh at times but I’ve got a soft spot for those I can tell are having a bad day. Maybe I can help you. I’ve got some great advice of my own I can share.”

“Yeah and what would that be?”

“Troubles shared are troubles halved.”

Cooper can’t help but chuckle at your indiscreet attempt to learn of his issues. “How convenient. Nice try, honey pie. But I ain’t spilling my guts to the likes of you.”

“Mr. Howard,” You taunt with the dramatic disappointment of a frustrated parent, hands on your hips. “Are you really that trivial of a man that you’d deny me camaraderie simply because I dare to challenge you at times?”

His eyes widened at this. “Challenge me? Lil’ miss, I’ve known you for three weeks and I do believe you're responsible for my chronic migraines. I’ve never had a student quite like you.”

Excerpt from ‘Mr. Howard’s So Hard To Tease’ - Pre-war!Cooper Howard x Virgin!Reader (on side writing blog- usetheeauthor)

Quick Synopsis: Barb Howard hires you to bring the passion back into estranged husband, Cooper Howard’s life.

T

“That’s alright, babe,” The sultriness of your voice hits him hard enough to send a jolt throughout his body. His eyes travel up stilettos, nylon-clad legs, an alluring figure and finally…the face behind the voice. YOUR face. Your smile is so sweet; sun shining from behind you and wind blowing in and around you. You were like an angel sent and he swears he can hear the heavenly violins.

“Will you be dear and hand me that love apple there?” You point at the fruit beside his feet.

Eddie breaks from his trance, retrieving the fruit resting at his feet though perplexed at your name for it. “Th-this?”

“Yes, sir,” You beam. “The French once called the tomato ‘pomme d’amour’ which translates to ‘the love apple’. They believed tomatoes had aphrodisiac powers.”

As you reach for the fruit in his hand, your fingers lightly brush against his and he shivers at the contact.

“I’m inclined to believe they’re on to somethin’,” You quip with a smirk.

Excerpt from ‘I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)’ - Gross!Perv!Incel!Eddie Munson x Older!Professor!Reader

Quick Synopsis: Wayne Munson seeks your services to free his reclusive adult nephew, Eddie Munson, from utter loserdom.

R

Ready to face the world as an item? That’s easier said than done. You’ve never been the center of the public eye before. But here you are stepping into the limelight with your rockstar boyfriend and it’s fucking terrifying.

Excerpt from ‘Cruel Little Vixen 9 1/2’ - Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Journalist!F!Reader

Quick Chapter Synopsis: The tabloids want to know the hottest rockstar’s girlfriend and you’re going to play the part.

Y

“You don’t…” He shakes his head in disbelief, voice trembling. “You don’t love me anymore.”

You swallow the hard lump in your throat, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. “No, Steve. I don’t.”

Excerpt from ‘You Don’t Love Me Anymore’ -MindFlayed!Yandere!Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Quick Synopsis: While on a romantic getaway, you decide to break up with Steve Harrington…big mistake.

No Pressure Tags: @munsonmuses @25bohemianmoons @seatnights @strangererotica @trashmouth-richie @littlexdeaths @ali-r3n

Your Word Is SINFUL

📚 WIP word game 📚

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

Thank you (I think 😏) to the lovely @indulgence-be-thy-name @idontgettechnology for the tag, my word is WANDER (side note: who knew how many sentences of mine would start with S, H or Y???)

W

“What’s going on? Mike and Jane went all… funny, and then just got up and left.”

You don’t know what to tell them, so settle for conveying Eddie’s orders.

“You need to hide. There’s something out there, and you need to get out of sight and stay quiet.”

You pull off Lucas’s blankets and shake Mike’s shoulder, whisper-shouting ‘wake up’ as loudly as you dare to try to rouse Dustin. The teens complain, but when they spy your serious expression and the fear in your eyes, they do as you say. They begin to move the sofa for at least a couple of them to get behind, and start to brainstorm ideas for other hiding places.

From Knock At The Cabin, Part Three

A

And, somehow, you don’t mind it one bit.

You attempt to keep your composure, but your shaking hands betray you and the spoon you're holding clatters to the worktop.

Eyes a richer ochre hue than the coffee you were failing to focus on bore into yours, as Eddie suggests,

“Y’know what? Screw the coffee, Duchess. I’ve got something I think you’ll find far more… stimulating.”

From Good Things (Come In Threes), Chapter 2: Home Alone

N

“Need your words, sweetheart. I need you to tell me.”

You gasp as he places a gentle but firm open-mouthed bite to your covered shoulder, the damp heat of his breath passing easily through the thin fabric. His grip tightens, making you gasp and hold your breath, but you somehow manage to stammer,

“Yes, Eddie. I want this.”

Turning so you can just see him over your shoulder, you add,

“I want you.”

From Damsels & Debauchery: The D&D Chronicles; Part Two: Two Player Game (link to Part 1 as this doesn’t have a series masterlist yet)

D

“Do you… like what you see, Princess?”

Your eyes continue to scan his chest as you hum in approval.

“Oh yes, definitely…”

You bring one of your hands up between you and run the tips of your fingers over the tattoos on his pec. Eddie shivers and inhales a shaky breath, and then whines a little as you flatten your hand over the muscle.

Your other hand traces up his waist and abs, making him stutter out a bashful giggle as you hit a ticklish spot, until both hands come to rest on the upper part of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your palms. You look over his torso, his neck, his throat, before your gaze reaches his eyes again.

“You’re really pretty, Eddie. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Uhh, nope. No, they haven’t. But from you, I believe it.”

From The Biology Tutor: Lesson Three

E

Eddie wouldn’t choose to come to an event like this, but the money on offer was too good to pass up. The theme is Glitz and Glamour, the assistant who booked him insisting he went all out, a dangerous thing to say to someone as dramatic as Eddie. But, if he’s honest, the opportunity to get super theatrical with his performance was actually really appealing.

As part of the deal, a makeup company has given him a load of free stuff in return for promoting the brand. Way more than he’d use for a single event, and in far too many shades, but, again, he’s not complaining. Free glitter is free glitter.

From Stevie White & The Seven Nerds [working title], WIP for the @strangertales2025 fairy tale event (don’t hold your breath - we have an entire year to write these 😜)

R

Reclining against your headboard and clutching your coffee, you recall how he’d looked as he glanced out of your bedroom window the morning he was due to leave. How he’d peered through the thin blinds and the sunlight had caught his features perfectly and illuminated the ochre of his eyes. He’d looked distant, pensive.

From an untitled WIP about JQ’s unnamed Warfare character, because I can’t find anything else in my WIPs that begins with R 😄. I wrote a blurb after getting this ask about him and people asked for more, but I don’t know if I’ll ever finish or publish this because of the divisive subject matter. I’m absolutely not pro-war (and I have little knowledge or interest in the military as a subject group), but I’m concerned that publishing it will imply that I am. So, for now, a WIP it will stay. Perhaps I’ll revisit it once I’ve seen the movie.

Anyone can join in with this, but I’m tagging @the-unforgivenn @mediocredreams @rebelfell @storiesbyrhi @jamdoughnutmagician @munson-blurbs @joejoequinnquinn @katethetank because you know I’ll go feral for any tiny smidgens you give me (single sentences are allowed) 😉 Your word is HOLIER

Also tagging @airen256 and @80s-addict in case you want to have a gander 🥰