#and stop paying your billionaires

[basimdasasonst]

ofmd s2 rant

so, this is my first post, and I have @ketamoru to thank for corralling (gently suggesting) me into making this. we watched season 2 of our flag means death a while back when it first came out, and i wrote this huge long rant (that I just finished editing) about it, intending to post it to twitter or imdb or something. but. due to the sheer nature of the word length, i couldn't. so, here it is.

On OFMD S2: as a viewer, I’m appalled at the season. As a writer, I could feel my soul escaping my mouth with each cringed breath I took, escaping my pores every time I had to hit the spacebar to pause and bury my head in my hands. I’ve read and written bad stories in my past, I've been on both ends of a shitty narrative, but my god. 

There's three core tenets to a story: plot, world, and characters. You can lean on one if another is lacking, absolutely, BUT YOU CANNOT SACRIFICE TWO OF THEM AND EXPECT THE OTHER TO BE ALRIGHT. THEY ARE CONNECTED. THEY INFLUENCE EACH OTHER. GOOD CHARACTERS HELP A GOOD PLOT, A GOOD WORLD HELPS A GOOD PLOT. BUT A HALF DECENT WORLD CANNOT HELP SHITTY CHARACTERS AND PLOT!!!!!!!!!!

Let me start with the simplest to talk about: the plot.

In an introductory college level physics course without calculus (bare with me), you occasionally do problems with a pulley. If you account for the mass of the pulley and the string in calculations, the problem simply becomes too complex to deal with for an introductory course. So, you call the string massless, and move on with your life. Every single episode's plot was tied together by this massless string. As in, THERE WAS NO INTERCONNECTIVITY BETWEEN EPISODES.

The three sections of plot development are (as highlighted by Brandon Sanderson, who is not writing-Jesus, but is pretty accomplished in the fantasy genre, which should speak for itself) promise, progress, and payoff. Promises are made at the beginning of a story's plot arc. They hint towards the greater plot and arcs, and promise readers a story filled with [x]. For example, if you're going to write a comedy, your opening scene (the promises) should be comedic. You don't start a comedic novel out with a tear-jerker. This is arguably the only part, in my opinion, that OFMD gets right. The opening episode is, to give credit where credits due, pretty comedic for a comedic season. The tone is set properly. 

Here come the problems: Progress. THERE IS NO PROGRESS. Stede and Ed make up WITHIN THE SAME EPISODE THEY MEET AGAIN. And then they break up in episode 7. AND THEN THEY MAKE UP AGAIN IN EPISODE 8. There is no conflict between the pairing. There is no conceivable sense of tension or drama or ANYTHING that builds up to a climax. THERE IS NO CLIMAX. It’s just a bunch of minisodes strung together by a massless string. Villains come and go within the same episode (I'm looking specifically at Ned Low). The only one that comes back is Prince whatever-his-name-is (I'll get to him in a second), and we don't see much of him. He's introduced to us as a bumbling fool in the beginning, we lose him for a long while while Ed frolics around (again, I'll talk about Ed's character too in a second), and then he's suddenly a prince (episode 6, I believe) needing to take revenge. He makes a cursory deal with Zheng, we see him for 5 more minutes, and then he blows everything up in a totally-not-seen-coming betrayal. Boring. No progress, no payoff. 

Which leads me into the final part I have to say about the plot: payoff. WITHOUT PROGRESS THERE IS NO PAYOFF. Because of the nature of the season, with things just thrown at you with no cohesive narrative the season felt like a continuous dopamine rush with no need to work for anything in return. (What was the ultimate goal of the season, do you think? Ed's reconciliation? The prince's revenge? Stede's path to being a pirate? Do you think any of them were explored? Think about it, for a second.) The climax of Izzy's death (boy do I have some key words to say about that, but that's not the point of this review, far from it) didn't feel...worth it. In fact, I'm not even sure if that was the climax, or maybe it was Ed leaving (and coming back 30 minutes later … ) or maybe it was the bombing. Who knows? I don't. You can have subplots. You can't just treat them all equally. There has to be a point to a story, and you have to favour that point over mindless adrenaline rushes. There was a point to season 1: Stede's growth as a character as he realises piracy isn't all he thinks it is, and eventually falling in love with Ed. There is no point to this season. Or if there is, it's muddled by the 20 other things happening all at once, always. There is no progress, so there is no payoff. 

2. Next, the world.

In this case, the physical scenery, the props, the costumes, the music, etc. I'm not a costumer, nor a musician, nor a lighting director, I’m just a viewer with a basic high school understanding of world history – but nothing ... changed about the world in this season. When you establish a world in the first act of a book, do you just stop establishing it in the second act? No! Of course not! You keep building it, because the world changes too. 

Every single new town the ship visited, every time they docked or got off a ship, the scenery looked and felt the same. How many times are they stranded in the exact same kind of underbrush? The exact same biome, with the exact same kinds of plants? Do they ever go further inland? Is there more to the world than just two ships, one established town and then the shoreline? Of course there isn't! Because that means worldbuilding more than what season 1 did, and that's too terrifying to think about! 

And the music. Christ, I'm no musician but did the music feel, to anyone else, passive? In season 1, at least the last time I watched it, the music fit the scene. It wasn't just there because there needed to be music. It spoke to the world, it said something about the scenery. This music, by comparison, is so tame. It's not noticeable. The only part I did like was when Izzy died in silence, because that silence let the death settle with the viewers as Ed weeps openly and – oh, here's the mindless royalty-free music again. 

3. And finally, the characters. 

Jesus Christ where do I even start with this? Let me start from the foundation of storytelling as any amateur writer understands. YOUR CHARACTERS ARE YOUR MOST IMPORTANT ASSET IN A STORY. I am physically unable to stress this enough. I DON'T CARE IF YOUR WORLD SUCKS MAJOR SHIT. YOUR CHARACTERS CANNOT SUCK. WE STICK WITH THEM THE ENTIRE WAY THROUGH. IF WE CANT STICK WITH THE CHARACTERS, WE CAN'T STICK WITH THE STORY. 

(Note: You can write characters with obviously terrible personalities, and that are meant to be disliked, without them sucking. It's about intentionality. If you write a character, and they’re meant to be likeable, and nobody likes them, that character sucks, and you’ve failed. You’ve also (usually, but not always) failed if your viewers hate your character for a different reason than intended. If you write a character you’re supposed to hate for [x] reason, and people hate them for [x] reason, you’ve succeeded. There is a difference between a bad character, and a character with an intentionally flawed personality that you're not supposed to sympathise with.)

Next question: why is everyone in a romantic relationship? The day people realise that platonic relationships are just as important as romantic ones is the day I'm allowed to rest. (I say this beyond just the fact that I'm aroace. I say this as an exhausted reader.) There were not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE relationships that were given significant (well, as significant as it gets with 8 30-minute-episodes) screen time. Except, none of them were developed. Not even Ed and Stede's. What was the point in breaking up Jim and Olu, pray tell? Their conflicting personalities were what made them so interesting – to see two opposing forces find ridges where one slots into the other, where two people so different find solace in the other? Now Jim's just got over Olu in a third of an episode and they're kissing that other person. No, I don't even remember their name, because their personality was just Jim's in a different font. You paired two similar people up with each other. Why? Not sure. (I hesitate to chalk it up to some weird exoticism going on behind the scenes, but.) Now I'm bored. There's no tension in that, no story to tell, no good reason for it happening. And Olu with Zheng. NO BUILDUP. Zheng stares at Olu working on scrolls for a little while. That's it. THAT'S NOT BUILDUP, THAT'S JUST WASTING TIME. Her relationship with Olu is so unbelievably forced. (I could feel the crickets of the writers room permeating through my screen – that one stray writer going “well, if nobody else has any ideas, then idk maybe we could … “) They share nothing in common, her "you're the break in my day," is completely unfounded (I’ll get to this when i talk about her character outside of Olu in a sec), it irritates me to no end. 

I don't have anything to say about Swede and Jackie, or Black Pete and Lucius, because nothing fucking happens. Black Pete and Lucius make up, after a little bit of progress I will say, and then it's ... a few episodes of them loving each other unconditionally as if nothing happened. It's boring. I'm bored. 

Stede and Ed. Oh boy. Ed is clearly not ready for a romantic relationship in this season, despite whatever work he did last season. (Thrown out the window by this season! Who’s ever heard of setting up future seasons in your earlier seasons? Not the OFMD writers room!) He grapples (barely) with the idea of not being a necessarily good person, and tries (in heavy quotation marks, more on that below) to redeem himself, but ultimately just ends up right where he started: Blackbeard. He ends up reversing all of his progress in terms of his character arc. Right back where he started. Christ. And he's clearly too busy grappling with this to be conceivably ready for a romantic relationship with Stede. But Stede and Ed happen anyway. If handled by someone who wanted to comment on the nature of toxic relationships and wrote this intentionally, this would have been a GOOD PLOT. But it was clearly not intentional, as nothing seemed to flow together, characters spoke like robots, and I could feel the fact that the script was obviously just a shitty first draft. Not to mention the fact that Ed doesn't ACTUALLY do any thinking on what he's supposed to be. That purgatory thing was the best we get – and it was damn good in comparison to the rest of the season where he doesn't really reflect on his actions. He has one conversation, decides he's a changed man, then goes straight back to his previous actions. 

And STEDE – man. They DECIMATED his character this season. In the beginning, in the first season, he was the gentleman pirate – two juxtaposing adjectives. WHICH IS CENTRAL TO CREATING A CHARACTER. No real person is one track (even the most stubborn of us), no real person can be effectively summed up in a few words like a bad character creation sheet. The conflicts that we deal with as humans are what make us human. Flaws, in no small part, are part of the human experience. (I could get into this, but if you’ve ever looked at AI art and felt its soullessness staring back at you, then you know. It’s too perfect. Too lifeless. Too flawless.) Every single person deals with layers and layers of complexity. Two completely opposing things can be true at the same time and that is a VERY REAL THING that we must grapple with as humans. There is no such thing as black and white on issues. Stede as a gentleman pirate was this COMPLEX LAYER that made him such an interesting character to begin with because “gentleman” and “pirate” are two very different things with two very different histories and connotations. To see the intersectionality of where these worlds collide and where they conflict was what made him so interesting in the first place. 

In this season, he’s just a bumbling fool that calls himself a pirate. His backstory isn’t mentioned. He’s stupid in a cringe-ing way (not even comedic), and is just no longer a gentleman. He’s just a bad pirate. It’s so boring in comparison to the complex characterization we got last season, that every time he spoke I had to physically restrain myself from petulantly clogging my ears and going “lalalalala!” to pretend that he wasn’t really saying half the things he was saying. He’s just a puppet, waving around in the wind, contributing nothing to conversations and existing without complexity. It makes me want to bash my head into a table. 

Zheng. Why? What was her purpose? I’m white, I should note, so I’m not entirely qualified to talk on this subject from an experiential perspective, but a great big part of her character felt like something I wrote my end of high-school thesis on: orientalism in science fiction, and specifically the pervasive notion of the “submissive eastern woman”. This isn’t science fiction, but it does employ (subtly, might I add, but still noticeable) tropes that Edward Said wrote about in his work “Orientalism” (1990) -- stuff, specifically in OFMD S2, like being the "other" (in particular, viewing the east as a "backwards west" that requires a "western touch" to correct) in the way that Zheng's ship was clearly portrayed as "abnormal" to us in every way -- the all female crew, the rigidity, the organization, etc. We were told repeatedly, time and time again, that she is powerful. But think about it for a moment, did you ever really feel like she was powerful? When she revealed she was an infamous pirate lord that made people cower, did you feel it? We saw some displays of power – but only deep into getting to know her. We never really felt this power that we were told repeatedly that she had, this fear of being some pirate queen. No, she was just a pirate with money.

(As an aside: the theme of power is notoriously difficult to get right in fiction, because it's so multifaceted. If you want my professional opinion (as some random internet nerd who spends time in a weird mix of fandoms) on who gets it right in modern fiction: I think JJK does it really well. I could go on about JJK for hours, both its rights and wrongs, but it gets the notion of power right if nothing else. For those unfamiliar, the “mentor character”s name is Gojo, who is a sorcerer born with a rare combination of techniques that makes him incredibly powerful – almost completely untouchable. To the viewer, he is silly, aloof, and overall goofy as a character (it’s actually a front, but this is an OFMD essay, not a JJK essay) which allows us to get to know him beyond his power level – but when he’s not acting aloof, when his smile deepends (or worse, when it drops) we can feel the power emanating from him. From impact frames, to the fact he’s constantly unserious, to enemies cowering at the mere mention of his name – his entire thing is that he’s the strongest sorcerer alive. Curses (evil spirits) quite literally can’t do anything while he’s around – so much so, that when he gets sealed in a prison dimension in s2 of the anime, the effects are felt quite literally all over Japan. With one simple action (the sound of the cube sealing him hitting the floor of the train station) an entire nation’s power has turned on its head – every curse, every sorcerer feels it. When his power is gone, there is such a large disparity between the protagonists and the antagonists, you can feel it through your screen.)

Zheng does not have this. She does not have the luxury of being in a story where the writers care about making her a threat. I could extend this to Blackbeard too to a lesser extent, but I won't. OFMD is a comedy. But being a comedy doesn’t mean you can’t tackle heavy topics – you can, and should tackle the heavy stuff in your comedic show. Repeatedly we were told that Zheng is powerful – but nobody treated her like that. Hell, the show didn’t give her the power that it claimed she had. We only ever saw the safe side of her, the kind side of her that (for no reason) liked and cared about Olu. Complex female character? Nah. Random romantic love interest for Olu? Hell yeah.

Fucking Christ. And don’t get me started on the costuming choices. Pigtails? Really? You had no other options? You couldn’t have dipped your fingers into any historical media for reference, like you’ve been keen to do with European references in the show? Alright man. 

Finally, Izzy. WHY did they kill him? Probably my least favourite trope in modern media is when a character finally gets some closure towards the end of their arc, starts becoming a truly better character/dragging themselves up out of a deep pit – only for them to die mid arc. COME ON. If you wanted shock value it would've made more sense for ED to die because he’s, at least, stuck in his old ways. That could’ve been interesting, seeing him stick to his old ways to his detriment. Not to toot my own horn, but in the story I’m writing (shoot me if I mention it again) one of the primary main character’s whole theme is centred around desperation, and his eventual death as a direct result of it. His death is not just for "shock value" it serves a purpose. It's to further the commentary I'm trying to speak on about how far we’ll go to live in an idea rather than the present. I really, truly, honestly think that if they did that with Ed the story could’ve been so much better; and I say this having experienced the difficulties with writing out a central character. But again, this season lacks intentionality. Ed doesn’t die, and instead Izzy does after being the only character with any sort of redeeming qualities this season. I get, to some degree, it’s supposed to be a metaphor for Ed leaving behind his past but, does he really even do that? He’s Blackbeard when we end season 2. Izzy’s death didn’t mean anything to me beyond just wishing the season ended quicker, because (as we witness with Ed’s rebounding) concrete decisions made by characters can be reversed in the flip of a second thanks to Plot™! There is no permanence to the story’s cohesion, and Izzy’s death just doesn't stick. “Okay,” you say, exhausted. Nothing feels real. Nothing is internally or externally consistent. It's just a mess of ideas poorly strung together, and that's being nice about it.

I wont say much about craft because this is getting long winded but. Fuck me, dude. Why does every dialogue happen in a vacuum? NOBODY IS EVER DOING ANYTHING INTERESTING. a lot of scenes felt like filler -- there only to extend the series' runtime. I’m tired, man. It’s sloppy writing. I'd almost give it a better rating if Season 1 wasn't so much better by comparison. Instead of just being a bad season, it now also ruins what the show built up in the first season. I'm beyond disappointed. 

TL;DR: please for the love of god start loving the stories you're writing. the future generations deserve more than money-laundering garbage edit: whoops got her name wrong halfway through its zheng not zhen my b lol

[kavehayati]

Man I just give up.

[thousandhandbrightskycannon]

Personally, I think it would be easier to Not terminate any federal employees. Elon and Jeff can just pay their taxes instead.

[iwatcheditbegin]

Taylor hate from men is such a red flag, it’s no longer even about her as an individual or even a musician. A lot of men see her as a proxy for all women

[labelleizzy]

It's important to know what is going on.

Written by US Senator Chris Murphy (D - CT)

Report from the Senate Floor:

Last night in the Senate, something really important happened. Republicans forced us to debate their billionaire bailout budget framework. We started voting at 6 PM because they knew doing it in the dark of night would minimize media coverage. And they do not want the American people to see how blatant their handover of our government to the billionaire class is.

So I want to explain what happened last night and what we did to fight back. The apex of Republicans’ plan to turn over our government to their wealthy cronies is a giant tax cut for billionaires and corporations. And they plan to pay for it with cuts to programs that working people rely on. Popular and necessary programs like Medicaid, Medicare, and SNAP, are all being targeted.

In order to pass the tax cut, Republicans have to go through a series of procedural steps. Last night, they took the first step which requires them to pass an outline of their plan, but with it, any senator can offer as many amendments as we want. So my Democratic colleagues and I did just that.

Now, we knew that Republicans would largely unanimously oppose them, but we had two objectives here. One, Republicans were forced to put their opinion on record — many for the first time — on the most corrupt parts of Trump and Musk’s agenda. Two, as I’ve been saying, I am going to make every process and procedure as slow and painful as possible for as long as my colleagues choose to ignore the constitutional crisis happening before our eyes.

So what did we propose? We proposed no tax cuts for anyone who makes a billion dollars a year. We made them vote on whether or not Elon Musk and DOGE should have limitless access to Americans’ personal data. We made them vote on whether to protect IVF and require insurers to cover it. Every single amendment Democrats proposed was shot down. On almost every single amendment, Republicans universally opposed it. Every Republican voted against our proposal to prevent more tax cuts for billionaires. The corruption and theft is happening in the open here.

The whole game for Republicans is taking your money and giving it to the wealthiest corporations and billionaires — even if it means kicking your parents out of a nursing home or turning off Medicaid for the poorest children. They know what they are doing is deeply unpopular. They are offering a tax cut to the most wealthy that is 850 times larger than what they are offering working people. Oh and by the way, any tax cuts for working people are going to be washed out by higher costs for basic necessities, like health care and food. It’s a fundamental injustice.

Thanks to your pressure and support, many of my Democratic colleagues have joined my effort to do everything we can to make sure they cannot destroy democracy and steal your money in the dark of the night. We are being loud about what is happening. I’m going to continue to grind the gears of Congress down as much as possible to make it that much harder and slower to get away with this corruption. That’s why the votes lasted until nearly 5 AM.

This is a five-alarm fire. I don’t think we have two years to plan and fight back. I think we have months. It’s still in our power to stop the destruction of our democracy with mass mobilization and effective opposition from elected officials. So we can’t miss any opportunity to take advantage of opportunities to put Republicans on the record and shine a light on what is happening.

And you have a role to play in this as well. I need you to amplify what’s happening, support the leaders who are fighting for you to make sure they can continue speaking truth to power against Musk and Trump’s billionaire cronies, and show up at rallies and town halls. Use every tool at your disposal to send a message loud and clear about how you expect my colleagues to lead and fight in this moment.

Every best wish,

US Senator Chris Murphy (D - CT)

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Platonic Yandere batfamily x

Child Girlscout reader!! Pt1 Pt2 Pt3

'In a world where you can be anything...Be kind.'

Kindness was like a sickness to Gotham.

People avoided it at all cost. And they mostly had a good reason to. Kindness could cost you your life in gotham.

So instead the people in gotham were a little harsher then most. Some were sweet enough to offer pity but none offered true kindness.

Not even the children in gotham were dumb enough to trust people. Just like their parents they hid from opportunities to be kind.

The richer kids in gotham were cruel mostly because they were spoiled. And kids who didn't have a dime in their name only cared about themselves.

So bruce was surprised when you willingly got in his car. With a smile none the less. Of course you didn't really have a choice he was going to make you get in one way or another.

But Bruce doesn't necessarily think your dumb just a little too trusting with people.

But your not helping with the way you don't even ask how he knows your address.

Alfred sent it to him of course.

You sit happily in the passenger seat with your wet red wagon in the trunk.

And as you talk about various things Bruce can't help but to imagine how you grew up to be so....kind.

Sure your still a kid. But he doesn't know one kid that smile drops at every homeless person they see.

Or how when he asked you what you want to be to grow up you say 'I want to doctor like my mama...so I can help people!' You'd say with the brightest smile.

And gods bruce would do anything to keep light in your eyes bright forever.

He knew how painful Gotham could be especially to the less fortunate and by the looks of your torn up shoes you are one of the less fortunate people.

But that doesn't stop the smile on your face from becoming bigger each time you see a kitten in a yard.

Pulling up to your small house that's in Bruce's opinion not big enough to even be called a house.

But still you smile as the car comes to a stop right infront of your small house.

Hopping out the fancy car that has no business being in a place like this you pay no kind to the nosy neighbors that whisper among themselves but Bruce does.

Walking up to your front porch and pulling out your key from your pocket ,you unlock the door and Bruce pulls your little wagon inside.

The house is small but Bruce has to give it credit it is quite cozy and neat....but far to cold.

"Oh no...." You say as you walk up to the old beaten up thermostat.

Giving the old thermostat a couple of good hits it still doesn't turn on and you sigh as you make your way to your room.

While Bruce just stands in the living room awkwardly as he closes the door.

Walking back into the living room you hand Bruce a blanket thats far to small for him but he takes it anyway.

"The heaters not working agian...so we'll just have to cover up!" You say giggling as if it's funny.

"Again?" Bruce mutters repeating your words.

But as Bruce watched you and how you comfortably sat on the couch with your cover that wrapped around you. You seemed so nonchalant about it. To nonchalant about it.

Because to you this was normal.

Awkwardly Bruce takes a seat beside you on the couch. And you unconscious snuggle up to his side closing your eyes.

Bruce can't help how his heart flutters in his chest at your cute action. None of his kids have ever really wanted to touch him.

Atleast Not without having gone threw something traumatic.

So by you simple snuggling up to his side had made the man feel wanted. No needed.

Looking at the walls Bruce sees some pictures of you and your mother and one with a man.

He doesn't exactly know if he's your father or not but either way Bruce is undeniably jealous of the unknown man.

Oh, what the billionaire would give to be your father instead.

It's not long before your breathing evens out and your passed out snuggling up to Bruce.

It's a peaceful moment but Bruce can't help but think that your still far to trusting. But he's partially thankful for that.

Because he knows if your weren't so trusting he'd never be in this situation right now.

But before bruce can even really enjoy the moment the house phone rings and you jump at the sudden sound.

And much to Bruce's disappointment you stand and up and wipe your sleepy eyes answering the phone.

It was your mom...and she did not sound happy at all.

"Baby how the heck did you get home?!" She says talking so fast you could barely understand her. But you did hear her old car as she drove.

And as you glance at the old clock you see it's 2pm yep she was definitely off her shift now.

Which meant she was on her way home.

"And please baby for the love every living thing on the earth tell me that the neighbors are lying. And that you didn't let a rich man drive you home?!"

Oh now you know she's mad. And you hear her car getting louder through the phone as she hits the gas as if she already knows your answer.

"Mama it was raining.....I was scared." You whine and your mother can't really stay mad at you because it is partially her fault.

And because your far to cute to be mad at.

"Where is the man now baby?" She asks her voice quiet so no one but you could hear.

"On the couch mama...."

She groans and mumbles a quiet "of course he is." Under her breath.

"Pass him the phone baby. I'd like to talk to him for a minute please." She says her voice shaking with fear and anger and you don't dare disobey her.

So you walk up to Bruce and hand him the phone.

Bruce being puzzled and prepared for what the women might say takes the phone and puts it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"I don't know who the fuck you are but I swear to every fiber in my fucking body if you even think of touching my baby I'll kill you!" She swears.

And Bruce glances at you and you just give him a nervous smile. And he can't help but notice how diffrent the women in all the pictures sounds then what he would expect.

In all the pictures she looks sweet. Not as sweet as you but with big smiles and happy looks. But as she screams every curse in the world at him he can't see the resemblance.

"I'll be home in literally 2 seconds you better be fucking praying to God you didn't hurt my baby." She says as she hangs up the phone and she was true to her word.

Because before Bruce can even begin to process everything she said she pulls into the driveway. And quickly makes her way to the door.

She hurriedly pushes the front door open ignoring how hard the door hits the wall.

She looks like a crazy woman furious and her eyes almost red.

But Bruce thinks he'd be the same if he where in her shoes.

Your mother's gaze immediately softens at the site of you. And she sighs as you walk up to her.

She deeply inspects every part of you and cups your face. And after she sees that your just fine and haven't been touched.

Her gaze hardens at the sight of Bruce. Bruce sensing the uneasiness of the room decides to speak up.

"Hello ma'am.... I'm Bruce Wayne," He says already prepared to be the good person he is but he's surprised when your mother doesn't reach for his out stretched hand.

And she doesn't even react to his charming smile.

Instead?

Instead she smacks him.

"I know who the fuck you are. And if you ever touch my baby again it'll be your last fucking day." Your mother says and you gasp at the sudden action.

Even Bruce is to stunned to speak. He's more....surprised....and dare be say intrigued?

"Mama he didn't hurt me! He's really nice!" You say trying to stop your mom before things exploded even more.

And as your mom looks at you her gaze softs once more and glancing back at Bruce she feels sort of bad....

He doesn't necessarily look like a bad person.....

And you wouldn't lie...but then again you trust just about anyone.

She sighs going against her better judgment and teaching and let's her guard down.

"I'm sorry....for...hurting you. But you can't just take people's kids without permission..." She says and her hand grips your arm tightly still not trusting Bruce.

And Bruce likes that she's protective of you.

Because he knows he is too.

"It's...alright...if I was in your shoes I'd probably do the same." He says calmly as if the smack didn't faze him at all.

And your mother likes that he isn't being mean about it but forgiving. But still she feels bad and you tugging at her arm and giving her puppy dog eyes isn't helping her case.

She sighs agian knowing exactly what you want.

"How about you stay for dinner...." She says her voice betraying her true want for him to leave.

And Bruce reading the room would normally leave but as he glances at you your already smiling at him silently begging for him to agree.

And of course he couldn't just let you down! So he obviously agreed. Much to your mother's disapproval.

With a sigh your mother nods and mutters a quiet 'make yourself at home' to Bruce before she goes to start making dinner.

You being the absolute sweetheart you are you grab his hand which Bruce gladly let's you take. And he lead him to your bedroom.

"This is where I sleep! This is my bed! My toys which are really my best friends!" You say and your voice gets a little quieter at next words.

"And this is my picture of my daddy....."

Bruce takes a good like at the picture seeing that the picture was recently taken since you looked the same in the picture.

Bruce could almost taste how much he hated the man he knew so little about. Bruce takes in how the man looks having never seen him before.

Since he wasn't on your birth certificate Bruce couldn't find out anything about him. But just judging the man by how he looks. Bruce is definitely not impressed. Especially by how your tone goes quiet as you talk about him.

"Here's only here sometimes...." You say and your mother who had been standing by the door.

Since she definitely did not trust the a random man to be in a room with her baby alone. She speaks up. "Bruce...can you help me out with this?" She says and it's obvious that she doesn't really need anything but you obviously don't catch on by the way you keep staring at the picture of you and your father.

Bruce nods understanding her need to talk to him.

"You just continue playing with your toys baby...foods gonna be done soon okay?" Your mom says in such a sweet tone.

You nod putting down the picture and begin playing with your toy.

Walking into the kitchen your mom hits the thermostat and sighs as it still doesn't turn on.

"Here..let me..." Bruce says and your mother moves out the way letting the man do whatever it is he is doing.

And your mother still keeps her eyes on him as he continues working on the thermostat and she continues cooking.

"How often does this thing not work?" Bruce asks keeping his eyes trained on the thermostat.

"More often then not." Your mother says sighing.

"It's not very healthy for your daughter to be in this cold...especially when she's inside the house." Bruce adds and your mother scoffs.

"Not everyone was born with a silver spoon shoved up their ass." Your mother says as she rolls her eyes.

How dare he comment on what she could barely afford?

Now usually bruce would have something even more harsh to say back. But this time he didn't. Because he didn't want it to turn into a argument.

No, he needed her on his good side.

Atleast for now.

So he'd bow his head and apologize.

"I didn't mean any disrespect..."

"I know exactly what you meant." Your mother snaps and that throws Bruce off.

Because why isn't she buying his facade?

"I'm not dumb. And your not going to stand in my house and try and play me dumb. My daughter isn't a street rat." She says and her eyes are giving Bruce the meanest glare he's ever seen.

And he's quite....impressed.

"I didn't mean-"

"And she ain't no poor kid on the street either." Your mother continues interrupting him.

"She's good. She's a good kid. My kid."

And Bruce agreed to almost everything she said. Yeah you're a good kid.

but soon enough you'd be His kid.

💗Thanks for reading! 💗

Comments, likes ,and reblogs are appreciated!

This was highly requested so I hope you guys enjoy!

Taglist: @its-simply-just-krys

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Cyberpunk Mercenary

A ruthless mercenary and you, his spoilt little catch.

Mercenaries have a reputation for being mad dogs, so pumped up with biochem they can't even think straight. And Yandere! Mercenary is no exception.

Yandere! Mercenary doesn't care who's paying him, as long as he gets paid. He's put down rebels on Titan and toppled governments on Europa - the flags they fly don't mean a damn thing to him.

Yandere! Mercenary who's spent his whole life fighting. Who dreams of gunfire and chemical weapons and burning up in the atmosphere.

Yandere! Mercenary who rolls his eyes when he gets offered his latest job. Kidnap some rich kid and hold her hostage? Talk about easy money. Hell, he can get the job done and still have time for a drink.

Yandere! Mercenary with his prosthetic arm and cybernetic implants. With his lip piercings and neon mohawk. With his bloodstained teeth and sleepless nights.

Yandere! Mercenary who finds you easy enough. Out on a shopping spree in some fancy boutique. Like you don't own enough shit already.

Yandere! Mercenary who almost scoffs when he sees you. You're everything he isn't. Wearing some pretty pastel outfit straight off the runway, your hair dyed so subtly that he knows it must have cost a fortune.

Weak, spoiled little Earthling.

Yandere! Mercenary who follows you down to the parking garage and shoots your bodyguards full of tranq. Non-lethal, his contractor demanded.

Yandere! Mercenary who grabs the back of your neck when you try to run and slams you into your hovocraft. Your shopping scattered all over the floor and trampled under his combat boots.

Yandere! Mercenary who laughs at the way you claw and scratch at him. Normal nails and not titanium claws? What are you gonna do with those, sweetheart? Tickle him?

Yandere! Mercenary who throws you in the back of his hovocraft and hightails it out of there. Shit, this was easier than he expected.

Yandere! Mercenary who ignores all the threats you spit at him. He doesn't give a damn who your mother is or how rich your daddy is. He doesn't care how many people they send after you. He's getting this job done and getting paid and that's all that matters.

Yandere! Mercenary who realises he should have listened when the first team of guards show up. They almost blast him out of the sky and it's only his quick thinking that gets him out of there.

Yandere! Mercenary who swears as he hauls you out of his wrecked craft and through the neon soaked streets of the slum district.

Yandere! Mercenary who grabs your shoulders and shakes you like a rag doll until you confess that you have a tracker in your neck.

Yandere! Mercenary who pins you against the wall and grabs the knife strapped to his leg. Who wraps his hand around your thigh and pulls your leg around his waist so you have no choice but to press against the concrete.

Yandere! Mercenary who carefully cuts the tracker out of your neck.

Yandere! Mercenary who mockingly apologises when you flinch.

Yandere! Mercenary who licks the cut he left behind. Who sucks at the blood until you stop bleeding. Who trails his lips up your neck before pulling away.

Yandere! Mercenary who's titanium teeth glint red when he grins at you.

"Look at that blush. Did ya like that, pretty thing?"

Yandere! Mercenary who loves the dazed, bashful look on your face. Billionaire princess getting all hung up on herself cause of him? Ain't that a sweet piece of irony.

Yandere! Mercenary who stashes you away in a safehouse while he waits for his boss to contact him. Who realises he was wrong about you. Spoilt, yes. Arrogant, yes. But innocent too. Naive.

Yandere! Mercenary who spends hours telling you stories about the colonies he's visited. And you sit engrossed, eating it all up like you've never heard anything so fascinating, instant ramen bowls scattered across the shitty linoleum.

Yandere! Mercenary who watches your fear of him fade a little with each passing hour. Oh, he still frightens you. But your curiosity outweighs that fear.

Yandere! Mercenary who takes every opportunity to touch you, to reach over you. Who loves the nervous little glances you aim at him, the way you blush when he catches you staring.

Cute. And tempting too.

How long has it been since he's had a woman? Yandere! Mercenary who looks at you and wants to sink his teeth in.

Yandere! Mercenary who catches his breath when you grab his hand and ask to go with him.

"Please," you beg. "I want to see the galaxy."

Yandere! Mercenary who knows that he scares you. He ain't easy on the eyes and anyone with sense can see the notched dog tag he wears - one scratch for every kill.

So why the hell are you asking him to run away with you?

Yandere! Mercenary who finally realises the gold you wear is nothing more than a collar and chains. You're a pretty bird in a gilded cage.

Yandere! Mercenary who, for the first time in his career, decides to run out on a job. Who chooses you over profit.

Yandere! Mercenary who grins down at you as he straps you into the copilot seat of a stolen space cruiser. Nervous and innocent and all his to corrupt.

Sure, he'll show you the galaxy. He'll show you the whole damn universe. All from the comfort of his bed.

[hanniebaeee]

Clueless: Arranged

Seungmin x fem!reader

Warnings: making out, some suggestive content MDNI

Genre: childhood/best friends to lovers, fluff

Summary: You and Seungmin were best friends since childhood - both heirs to your separate family businesses. Your parents are trying to get you married, and Seungmin for once, is absolutely losing it.

Clueless Masterlist

The problem with being in love with your best friend for over a decade is that, at some point, it becomes something like an illness. And in Seungmin’s case, it was serious. Life threatening even.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Not Kim Seungmin. He would rather perish than confess to being hopelessly (pathetically) irrevocably in love with you. 

You, his childhood best friend and the only person who found his savage insults... cute. 

Right now, Seungmin was suffering in silence as your parents casually tried to set you up with some budding businessman (budding on his family business most likely). Which, to be fair, was just another day in the life of the elite.

But Jeongin - bless his meddling little soul - clocks Seungmin’s silent meltdown from a mile away. It’s a random Thursday night, and you were over at Seungmin’s place (so was Jeongin), sprawled on his leather couch in a tight little skirt that’s riding up just enough to make Seungmin’s left eye twitch. You were ranting about your mom’s latest matchmaking plot, oblivious to the way Seungmin’s gripping his whiskey glass.

---

Jeongin: 🚨 CODE RED 🚨

Jeongin: SEUNGMIN’S GIRL IS GETTING MARRIED.

Jeongin: HE’S NOT OKAY BUT HE WON’T SAY ANYTHING BECAUSE HE’S A PSYCHOPATH.

Jisung: LMAOOOO STOIC KING IS MALFUNCTIONING?? SEND PICS I NEED PROOF 

Chan: WHAT?

Changbin: EXCUSE ME??

Hyunjin: Rich people problems.

Hyunjin: Seungminnie, blink twice if you're in distress, babe.

Felix: Oh no, Seungmin!

Minho: Oh, this is delicious. Seungmin’s been eye-fucking her since the dawn of time and now he’s gonna let her waltz off with some crusty businessman? Pathetic.

Felix: Guys be nice, he’s probably crying into his pretentious alcohol rn

Seungmin: I'm literally right here. Shut the fuck up. 

Jeongin: BRO. You’re not fooling anyone, you look like you’re gonna hurl. 

Jeongin: SHE'S ABOUT TO BE DEALT OFF TO SOMEONE.

Changbin: WE CAN’T LOSE HER TO RANDOM BILLIONAIRE DUDE!

Jisung: SEUNGMIN CONFESS ALREADY OR I’M TELLING HER YOU JERKED OFF TO HER INSTA PICS  

Seungmin: I will end you.

Hyunjin: Seungmin, ew

Felix: OMG

Minho: Do it, Jisung. I’ll pay you.  

Changbin: I’ll hold him down. CONFESS OR PERISH  

Felix: Guys come on

Seungmin: I’m leaving this chat.  

Chan: NO YOU’RE NOT. WE’RE STAGING AN INTERVENTION. YOU’RE CONFESSING

Hyunjin: We will literally kidnap her from the altar if we have to.

Seungmin: Oh my God. Stop.

---

Seungmin's head was pounding. His heart was pounding harder. His entire existence was pounding with some kind of helpless rage, watching the love of his life get arranged-marriaged off.

---

Meanwhile, you were sipping on your iced americano, watching him.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, eyeing him. “You’ve been weirder than usual tonight.”

“Nothing,” he muttered, voice tight. “Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” you teased, shifting closer. You’re in his space now, close enough that he can smell your sweet perfume. “You’re hiding something. Spill it, Minnie.”

He clenched his jaw so hard. He’s Kim Seungmin - he’d rather skinny-dip in lava than admit he’s been fantasizing about pinning you down and kissing you senseless.

“I said it’s nothing,” he snapped, but his voice cracked just enough to betray him. His eyes flicked to your lips for a split second before he caught himself and looked away, cursing internally.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Fine, be a grumpy asshole. I’ll just go flirt with my mystery fiancé then. Maybe he’s hotter than you.” you said with a shrug. 

Seungmin’s eye twitched again. He wanted to say something clever but instead, he just scoffed, turning to grab a glass of water he doesn’t even want.

“Do whatever you want.” he dismissed you, and you shrugged again, oblivious to the war raging inside him.

You sauntered out of the living room, hips swaying in a way that was absolutely going to haunt his dreams tonight. The second you were gone, he slammed the glass down, dragging a hand through his hair and muttering, “Fuck.”

Jeongin, who had been eavesdropping like the little gremlin he was (from the study), poked his head in. 

“Bro, you’re so screwed. Should I tell the others you chickened out?” he asked, and Seungmin grabbed a cushion and hurled it at him.

“Get out.”

---

Hyunjin: SEUNGMIN YOU EMOTIONALLY REPRESSED GREMLIN, GET UP AND GO CLAIM YOUR WOMAN BEFORE SHE'S DEALT OFF LIKE A STOCK OPTION.

Changbin: Oh Lord

Chan: Guys, focus. We need a plan.

Chan: Preferably something that won't get us  arrested, I am getting married in another month.

Hyunjin: Seduction arc.

Minho: We need to elevate the sexual tension. 

Jisung: Let's lock them in his penthouse. Followed by the fan favourite - striptease.

Hyunjin: With mood lighting.

Felix: One bed with silk sheets.

Jeongin: I'm here, I can lock them in. 

Seungmin: I told you to fuck off, Jeongin! And I’m blocking all of you.

Seungmin was already one minor inconvenience away from a full blown breakdown when you asked him to go for midnight boba the next day. It was kind of your thing - you and Seungmin, sipping bubble tea, making jokes only you two would laugh at - yeah, that was your thing. 

Now you were sitting on the hood of his car, under the soft glow of the streetlights, while the cool night breeze played with your hair. 

“I swear to God. I’m thinking of running away and joining a cult. I'm terrified of meeting this ‘perfect match’. Mom’s taste in men for me is tragic.”

Seungmin snorted, but it was a strained sound, like he was trying to laugh but also choking on his own soul. 

“Sounds like a real catch,” he deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Inside, though, his brain was frying. Who the fuck is this guy? His fingers twitched against his thigh, itching to do something. Anything, to save you. 

“Seriously, Min, why can’t I just marry you? We’d be perfect. You’re hot. I love the broody vibe. Plus, you’d never bore me to death.” you said all of a sudden, catching him completely off guard. 

Seungmin’s heart did a full-on somersault, and for a split second, his mask slipped. Eyes widened, lips parting like he’s about to say something stupid. 

But then he caught himself, muttering, “Yeah, right. You’d drive me up the wall in a week.”

“Rude,” You said, shifting slightly, your skirt hiking up just enough to show a sliver of thigh, and the way you’m were sipping your drink - lips wrapped around the straw, eyes half-closed in bliss - was straight-up torture for the poor man.

He leaned against his car next to you, clutching his own boba, trying so hard not to stare. But he was failing. Miserably so.

His eyes keep darting to you. Your lips, your hair, the way your blouse clung to your curves in the moonlight - and his heart hammered so loud he was convinced you could hear it. 

Get it together, Seungmin. She’s your best friend. Stop being a creep.

“God, this is so good,” you moaned, sucking down another tapioca pearl with an exaggerated slurp.

He tried to play it cool, nodding like he’s not internally combusting. He took a sip of his own drink, but in his distracted state (too busy watching your lips around that damn straw), he sucked in a cluster of tapioca pearls that shot down his throat. More likely down the wrong pipe, because suddenly he was choking. Full-on hacking like he’s about to cough up a lung.

“Shit! Min, you okay?!” You dropped your drink and started slapping his back, hard enough that he stumbled forward. When that didn’t work, you whacked the top of his head.

“Spit it out, you idiot!” And he did. 

He gasped in a breath, eyes watering, face red, and slumped against the car, mortified. No one said anything for a moment.

“I’m..*cough*...fine,” he wheezed, but he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. 

You hovered over him, one hand on his shoulder, the other so close to his face like you wanted to cup his cheek.

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed finally, ruffling his hair.

“Shut up,” he muttered, voice hoarse, shoving your hand away. But his ears were burning, and he was pretty sure his dignity was lying in a puddle among the boba. 

---

Seungmin: I just choked to death in front of her. Kill me.

Hyunjin: Choked on your emotions or boba?

Jisung: LMAOOOOOO YOU WHAT??

Changbin: Bro you’re supposed to SEDUCE her not ASPHYXIATE yourself

Minho: Ok, so you are running for the 'most embarrassing' contest I see.

Felix: Oh nooo Min are you okay?? I hope she didn't laugh at you. 

Seungmin: Yes she laughed. This is so embarrassing. 

Hyunjin: This is not the sexy bad boy vibe you need here. Step it up, loser. 

Jeongin: Still no confession. 

Chan: Seungmin, did you choke on purpose to avoid confessing?

Seungmin: I hate all of you.

It was Friday morning, and Seungmin was still recovering from the boba incident - both physically and emotionally (his ego was in tatters). He was sprawled on his couch, scrolling through his phone, when it rang.

His mom. Seungmin froze, staring at the screen like it was a live grenade. If there was anyone Seungmin was scared of, it was his mom.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, voice flat, bracing himself.

“Seungmin-ah,” his mother’s calm voice flowed through the speaker, terrifying him further. “Come home this weekend. There’s something important we need to discuss.”

Seungmin’s soul left his body.

“What… kind of important?” he asked, his voice suspiciously higher than usual.

“You’ll find out when you get here,” she replied cryptically.

“Is it… bad?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why do you sound like I’m about to be disowned?”

“Seungmin, just come home. And bring a nice shirt.”

“…Can I get a hint?”

“No.”

The line went dead. No explanation, no elaboration. Seungmin stared at his phone, heart rate spiking. He was lowkey terrified, imagining everything from a surprise wedding to his parents selling him off to some shady business deal.

He tossed his phone onto the couch and dragged a hand down his face, muttering, “What the fuck is she planning?”

---

Seungmin: My mom just called. Wants me home this weekend for “something important.” Won’t say what. I’m stressed.

Jisung: OH SHIT. YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED!

Changbin: BRO THIS IS YOUR MOMENT. CONFESS TO Y/N BEFORE YOU GET DRAGGED OFF TO THE ALTAR 

Minho: Wow plot twist

Felix: Min don’t panic!! But you have to talk to Y/N. Make a move before it's too late!

Seungmin: She said “bring a nice shirt.” That’s not a family thing. That’s a trap. 

Hyunjin: “Nice shirt” = you’re meeting your future in-laws. Or future wife. Or both. 

Jeongin: LMAO

Chan: Seungmin, you HAVE to talk to Y/N before this weekend. What if you're engaged by Monday??  

Seungmin: I’m not confessing shit.  

Jisung: COWARD ALERT. 

Minho: I volunteer to tie him up and drag him to her place. Who’s in?  

Changbin: ME. I’ll bench press him into submission  

Felix: Guys stop he’s having a crisis! 

Seungmin: I’m fine.  

Jeongin: “I’m fine” says the man who’s about to puke from anxiety  

Hyunjin: Imagine Seungmin in a tux, choking on his vows like he choked on boba  

Jisung: 🤣🤣

Seungmin: I hate you all.  

Chan: CONFESS OR WE’RE CALLING YOUR MOM AND TELLING HER YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH Y/N  

Minho: Do it. Do it. DO IT. 

---

Seungmin muted the chat again, his pulse racing with pure, unfiltered anxiety. Was he about to be forcefully married off to some chaebol heiress? 

Seungmin pulled into the driveway of his parents’ sprawling estate on Saturday morning, dressed impeccably, ready for battle. Or at least whatever cryptic nonsense his mom was about to throw at him. The second he stepped through the door, though, he knew he was screwed.

His mom was waiting in the foyer, arms crossed, that smug look plastered across her face (the one she got when she had already won and he didn’t even know the game).

It was terrifying, as her eyes flicked over his outfit, and she nodded approvingly.

“Good to see you, son,” she said, lips twitching. “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” he replied, voice flat. “So what’s this ‘important’ thing? Can you just tell me now?”

She tilted her head, smirking wider. “You’ll see. Be patient.”

“Mom,” he pressed, leaning against the wall with forced nonchalance, “just give me a hint. I’m not in the mood for surprises.”

“Oh, you’ll love this one, darling,” she said, her tone dripping with glee.

Then she turned on her heel and walked off, leaving him standing there, palms clammy and heart racing. He dragged a hand through his hair, and sighed. 

The day dragged on with more of the same. His dad was no help either, just chuckling into his coffee. Seungmin’s stoic mask was slipping; he was pacing the living room, imagining every worst-case scenario.

Then, his mom dropped the bomb out of nowhere. She caught him in the kitchen as he was grabbing a glass of water and said, “You’ve got a lunch meeting in an hour. It’s someone important, and I want you to make a good impression. The car's waiting.”

His blood ran cold. “A meeting? With who?”

“You’ll see,” she replied, patting his cheek like he’s five years old. “Now, get going. And smile, Seungmin. You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

---

Seungmin: I AM IN HELL.

Hyunjin: SHE DID THE ‘SMUG MOM’ FACE, DIDN’T SHE?

Seungmin: She’s setting me up. Lunch with “someone important.”

Jisung: HOLY SHIT IT’S HAPPENING!! ARRANGED MARRIAGE ARC UNLOCKED  

Changbin: BRO

Hyunjin: I bet it's Y/N, and his mom's been  planning this since they were fetuses  

Felix: Omg omg omgggg!! I really hope that's it!

Seungmin: I’m gonna throw up. 

Changbin: This is worse than Squid Games.

Hyunjin: LMAO 

Jeongin: Told you this weekend was gonna be wild. You should’ve confessed yesterday, dumbass  

Chan: Seungmin if it IS Y/N you HAVE to say something tonight. This is your shot  

Seungmin: I can’t confess if I’m dead from anxiety first  

Jisung: I can't wait for your wedding bro, it's gonna be an anxiety fest

Minho: I’ll officiate. “Do you take this choking hazard to be your husband?” 

Changbin: CONFESS OR WE’RE CRASHING THE DINNER WITH A BULLHORN 

Felix: It'll be ok, Min! Just be yourself ok? 

Felix: Ok, maybe not. But you know what I mean

Seungmin: Oh my God. 

---

He tossed his phone onto the bed, pacing again. His hands were trembling, his throat was dry, and he kept adjusting his shirt like it was strangling him. He was terrified because he knew this wasn't random. 

His mom was too calculated, too pleased with herself. But what if he was wrong? What if it wasn't  not you? He’d rather die than sit through that.

---

Meanwhile, on your side of the world:

You stood in front of the mirror, curling your hair with unnecessary aggression. Your parents had refused to tell you who this “perfect match” was.

“Someone you already know,” your mom had said. “Someone who will fit perfectly with our family.”

“What is this, Bridgerton?” you’d groaned.

But here you were, putting on a sexy black dress, and mentally preparing to reject another soulless rich heir. 

---

You: I’M GOING TO THROW UP.

Jennie: Who even is this guy??

Maddie: I'll be there. If he pulls some weird shit, I’m  dragging you out.

You: What if he’s mean? Or boring. Or

Jennie: The question is, what if he’s hot?

You: What 

Maddie: Babes, the actual real question is, what if he’s Seungmin?

You: Shut up.

---

Jeongin: RADIO SILENCE FROM Y/N’S SIDE.

Jeongin: I tried texting her and calling her, but nothing

Seungmin: I AM LITERALLY HAVING A PANIC ATTACK.

Hyunjin: Seungmin, listen to me. If it's her, I want you to go and kiss the fuck out of her. Like don't think. 

Jisung: SEUNGMIN, listen to Hyunjin for once. 

Felix: No but imagine walking into the restaurant and seeing her waiting for you? 

Changbin: I would actually scream.

Minho: This has some scope. 

Chan: Seungmin, just confess.

Seungmin: I wanna die

---

Ten minutes later:

Seungmin: I’m in the car.

Jeongin: WE’RE FOLLOWING YOU IN A SEPARATE UBER.

Seungmin: STOP.

Hyunjin: WE’RE HIDING IN THE BUSHES OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT.

Jisung: I’M GOING TO LIVESTREAM THIS.

Meanwhile, you were already at the restaurant, sipping on a glass of wine, nervously tapping your heel against the floor.

“Your guest is arriving, Miss,” the waiter said politely, and you turned toward the entrance. 

You nearly dropped your glass when Kim Seungmin, your best friend, your emotional support human, your secret crush for YEARS, walked through the door in a white suit, holding a bouquet of white tulips, looking equally shocked. 

Your heart stopped.

---

From the bushes:

Jeongin: OH MY GOD.

Jeongin: IT’S HER.

Minho: IS HE GOING TO PASS OUT?

Hyunjin: GET YOUR SH*T TOGETHER SEUNGMIN! I THINK WE NEED AN AMBULANCE

Jisung: OMG IT'S LITERALLY HER. 

Felix: KISS HER ON THE MOUTH. 

Changbin: I'm calling the ambulance just in case, because I don't think he's breathing. 

---

Seungmin froze in place. You stared at him, eyes widening, and he stared back, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

Your lips parted. “Seungmin...?”

His voice cracked. “Y/N.”

---

Seungmin was genuinely questioning reality at this point. Was this... real? Were you actually here, in front of him, looking unfairly beautiful in that very dress that always drove him insane - staring at him with those eyes that had been haunting his dreams since you both were sixteen?

(He was absolutely clueless about the fact that Jeongin, Hyunjin and Jisung were huddled behind a decorative plant, shoving each other to get a better view through the window. He didn't think for a minute that they were actually serious.)

---

Jeongin: OH MY GOD THEY’RE JUST STARING AT EACH OTHER.

Hyunjin: SOMEONE SAY SOMETHING.

Jisung: I'M LITERALLY ABOUT TO THROW A BRICK THROUGH THE WINDOW.

Chan: Jisung, we don't wanna get arrested, mate. 

Felix: NO ONE MOVE. 

Minho: This is so stressful. 

---

He barely had time to brace himself before you slammed into him, arms wrapping around his neck, hugging him so tight you were half-convinced you'd fuse into one person. 

Seungmin, for once in his life, didn’t hesitate. He dropped the bouquet as his arms snaked around you, pulling you flush against him. The restaurant faded away and it’s just you two, chest-to-chest, hearts hammering in sync.

---

Jeongin: SHE’S HUGGING HIM. SHE LITERALLY FLEW INTO HIS ARMS.

Changbin: Oh God

Jisung: I'M ACTUALLY CRYING. OUR PUPPY. 

Hyunjin: HE’S HUGGING HER BACK. FULL BODY CONTACT. CHEST TO CHEST.

Felix: I'm so happy 😭

Minho: Huh

---

Seungmin buried his face in your hair, and said, “I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes wide, lips twitching into a grin.

“So you finally admit it?”

He huffed a laugh, but it’s shaky, raw, like he’s spilling his soul and doesn’t know how to stop.

“I’ve wanted to for the past ten years. Couldn’t figure out how to say it.” His grip tightened on your waist, eyes dark. “Better late than never, right?”

You didn’t even dignify that with a response. You just grabbed his face, thumbs brushing those stupidly sharp cheekbones before kissed him like the world’s ending.

---

Hyunjin: OH MY GOD.

Hyunjin: THEY’RE KISSING.

Jisung: OH FUCK. NOISES.

Felix: OH MY MINNIE 😭😭😭😭

Changbin: Congratulations bro

Minho: I'm actually so proud of him. 

Chan: Stop watching them like creeps and get back here. 

Chan: JISUNG DON'T TAKE A PICTURE YOU ASS! 

---

It’s messy and chaotic - all teeth and tongue and pent-up tension exploding in one glorious, unhinged moment. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and he groaned into your mouth. You were practically climbing him at this point, and he’s matching your energy, kissing you back like he’s starving.

The kiss broke with a gasp, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together. You smirked, breathless.

“I never wanna stop. I wanna do this forever!” You mumbled against his lips. 

Seungmin made a sound that sounded so much like a growl. And dived back in, nipping at your bottom lip just to hear you squeak. It’s sloppy, ridiculous, and so stupidly hot. And you both hold on to each other like nothing else mattered in the world. 

Jeongin: SEUNGMIN FINALLY WON

Hyunjin: I always knew he would win

Felix: THE SHIP HAS SAILED.

Changbin: So that's all of us. 

Minho: But also, are they just gonna keep making out in front of everyone?

Jisung: Bro, let him cook.

Chan: We should probably leave coz the security is looking at you guys now. 

Jisung: Oh fuck

Jeongin: Channie hyung

Chan: Ok bye

Hyunjin: COME BACK HERE YOU COWARD! 

An hour later:

Seungmin: You stupid fucks got arrested?! 

Divider: @saradika-graphics

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[szftzy]

yandere batfam concept!

okk so what if, batfam! but mc is a senior, around 18, about to graduate. they work a part time job paying off expenses, while cramming studies and what not. quite a productive life style right?

well, it most definitely gets tiring. thing is, mc knows two brothers around their age, and knowing them for quite a while. sure they were intimidating at first, but you grew to like them as good friends! the younger brother being feisty, while the older one witty.

now you forgot to bring up a fine detail, they were billionaires. more specifically— waynes.. now i know that was a crucial detail but bare with me here!

now, the mc is not a leech. they would enjoy treating themselves, but their dignity as a hard working person doesn't let them! that includes asking of anything from their filthy rich acquaintances.now, when the brothers had invited them over on their behalf, after a while of knowing them, it was pretty awesome.. like not to be dramatic.

now as they had kept sleeping over one or two times, they had meet the rest of the siblings. they had quite a big family, (5 brothers, 3 sisters, a butler and their dad.) of course having equal excitement for each member they had met, but definitely not amounting to the adore they had for their dad! I mean cmon, he built this empire by his bare hands! you'd like to know if you could get a tip or two on how to be successful, ya know.. for the near future.

now that you think about it, that makes you more excited to hang out with them. their family dynamic is so bizarre and so full of life, you do get a bit jealous at times— but never in any bad intentions, you are more than happy for them! plus if it gets you free delicious cookies from the butler, your more than down!

hanging out more around them makes you notice all their little ticks, everything that they like, anything that puts a frown on their face.. even though thats routine for some of them. ahem ahem.. now at a point it can get lonely, like your so invited in the family, but not at the same time..? its sorta difficult to explain, so just never-mind.

now it does get to a point where the mc, gets their own room! now you definitely had a guest room, but at some point your room starts to have life. its not a guest room anymore, little by little it fills up with your interests, your favorite colors, anything that you would like. although subtly gets noticeable over time. now it definitely had a bit of childish tones about it, which was weird considering you were about to be a legal adult.. but okay?

Now at this point, Its nearly graduation. now this would be a joyous event, if not for the fact you were planning on leaving for metropolis.(of all places?) as a kid, you always knew you didn't wanna stay in Gotham, it being the dangerous and gloomy city, although it had its pros, the cons were way more.

And you definitely had grown to adore your friends, they almost feel like family at times, but life has to go on. right?

when they heard about this, they were not elevated for sure.. for a while after that it was just awkward smiles and weird tensions, neither side being happy with what was gonna happen, but you had to.

before school got too busy, you decided to go out with them more! they insist on sleepovers instead of going outside, which you don't really understand why since it wont make a difference. maybe its because they were billionaires or something.. Man rich people are weird.

Anyways, when it came time for exams, you had nearly stopped going out at all. concerning them immensely, but it had taken you a while to assure them you were studying. much to their dismay. (weird, that was something they always detested? their not setting a very good example.) now when you finished up exams, and your graduation ceremony occurred, of course they had to be there!

and after that, they would start bombarding you with text messages, each text had a personality where without even looking at who sent it you could tell who it was from, each text begging you for something. it was always something about— come over! stay! dont go! say goodbye! yada yada yada..—

now it gets annoying at a certain point. but you had decided to pay them one last visit, having packed your stuff and everything done early, you decided it couldn't hurt— oh really now?

your last dinner with them, was interesting! at first the tension was as thick as a wall. for the most part it being small chit chat. but over time, you guys had regained your flow of conversations, everyone chatting and laughing actually having a good time. now their dad doesn't join in alot, but when he does, he also does have fun! which is a bit odd, but its adorable.

when he kindly offered you chamomile tea, you politely refused, but since he insisted, you decided to take him up on his offer. now this wasnt anything weird since the waynes were very generous, but now for some odd reason everyone was staring.. which you tried to pay no mind to.

but as you continue drinking the tea you felt more and more woozy, knowing to just stop and put the tea down..

suddenly a rough hand from behind firmly grabs the cup and gently peers it up to your lips, in total shock you had tried to push the hands away, but it was to no use. you could only watch as you kept drinking the obviously drugged cup, feeling the other hand rubbing against the small of your back soothingly..

you were only a little bit conscious here and there.. enough to feel someone easily carrying you, leading you somewhere, and tad bits of conversations that slipped your mind before you could comprehend.

now waking up in this room, the room you had a bad feeling about.. surrounded by comfortable pillows, big cute plushies, and soft large sheets. to your surprise you were also changed in the most comfortable silk pajamas. it almost coerced you to fall back asleep but you knew better!

you immediately jumped up and ran up to the door, quite obviously secured with locks from the outside.

you tried pushing the doorknob but to no avail, now due to your panic you just froze. immediately lying down on the floor from shock, tears bubbling up.

you buried your face into your knees, and just started sobbing your heart out— why now?! why now of all times to ruin your life? just when it started to get good for you..

you then hear the sound of keys being forced open, and then the door gets kicked down. did someone come to save you? at the doorway, their was the brothers! both with worried looks on their faces, the two ran up to you and immediately locked you in their warm yet suffocating embrace

they immediately start apologizing, for not being there when you woke up.. wait what? they're not here to help?

then it all connected, you were an idiot.. yesterday.. this room. it was obviously their doing. you attempted to sprint off the minute they loosened their grip, bad move.. they were gonna let you explore the manor. but now they knew you need a few months to get adjusted.

now they had tried to not overwhelm you too much, their precious baby, only a few batfamily members being there at a time. sometimes all of them would be there, but at that point you would be napping. unaware to the eyes adoringly watching you drool on whoever had the fortune to carry you that day.

they're so affectionate towards their sibling/kid to a point where its infantilizing. like they will just hold you down for hours, whispering sweet nothings as you lay down in the comfiest bed you can imagine of.

of course sometimes you can still leave your room here and there! ljust not the manor itself. (like you cant leave, ever.) and yes you can still do all your favorite hobbies, darling.. but I'm a little afraid its too grown up for you.. how about we lay down for a nap, okay?

not to mention— you used to have a job, before they confined you. you used to have studies, responsibilities and issues— all that? no more, we'll take care of all that.

don't start questioning them why you suddenly feel lightheaded and tired right after waking up from another nap. its definitely not the tea they just coerced you to drink! again! you probably just thought a little too hard for your fragile brain.. its okay, just rest your head in their lap and let all your worries go away. <3

and you couldnt even fight back! you were not blessed with the best height or physique, and not to mention even the members who didn't fight as much, still had years of technique and experience! yeah.

and now all of a sudden anytime a conversation gets even the slightest bit mature, they'll cover your ears and act like your not there, or have another member of the family escort you to your room for a nap. you don't need to know any of that, sunshine. and if you try to insert your own take on the topic? they'll just laugh, no baby.. your too precious to actually understand these big conversations. maybe when your older?

on the topic of your room again— it is the cutest, most comfortable room someone could think of! filled with your favorite colors, big pillows and plushies.. way too childish for your tastes.. but at first when you had slept over you didn't mind. the room had no windows, you didn't think much at first. not until they had started adding more locks to your door? and apparently your room is soundproof?

no wonder any guests they have over cant hear your pleas of help, thats even if you were allowed to be awake when they came over! please forgive them.. they're just so overprotective, and feel so jealous if someone comes near.

oh and if someone questions whats the door with alot of locks, positioned right next to your dads, was for? well they'd either just change the topic as quick as they could, or give them a filthy look that would make them reconsider ever asking that question.. poor guy.

It evolved from just staying over at your rich friends house, to being under lock and key, as their little baby for them to cherish and adore.

soo this was jus a lil drabble, but lemme know if you guys want a part 2 or something longer!

[shewrites444]

pretty [ art donaldson x babysitter/age gap! reader smut ]

[ Hiii me popping up on here for the first time in forever lmao. I've been on a Challengers kick lately, let me know if I should write more on Art perhaps. :D ]

WC - 3.5k (unedited story, so apologies for any errors)

[ Summary - The reader and Art have been having an affair for the past few months after she became the Donaldsons' occasional babysitter. A lot of porn with a slight plot. ]

[ Warnings - Age gap (reader is college-aged, art is in his like mid-thirties), cursing, cheating/affair, oral (m&f receiving), dirty talk, tiny breeding kink mention, unprotected sex ]

-

It's not like it mattered to Tashi, well, anymore, what her husband did in his free time. A year or so ago, when Art found out about Tashi and Patrick's on-going affair at their challenger, he felt crushed, defeated, sickened, all emotions jumbled into one component, knowing what his wife was doing behind closed doors since they were teenagers. No amount of "I love you's" could make her drawn closer to him, no amount of care, compassion.. nothing. I mean, it would only make sense that an affair that lasted over ten years, especially with his former best friend and teammate, would fundamentally fuck up their marriage.

Tashi tried to fix it, she really did, by cutting off all connections to Patrick, promising Art she'd be better for not only him, but their daughter, Lily, and the careers and finances they shared together. She knew all the logic behind an affair was unjustifiable, and it made sense to fix a marriage with someone who genuinely cared for her and the family, careers, and finances they created together.

Art stopped playing tennis that year, and like they had promised each other months before, decided to work on the foundation full time, and with newer responsibilities, came the need for a sitter that wasn't only one of their parents when Art had a game or two.

That's where you came into the picture.

You were an undergraduate student at NYU, about to graduate in the spring with a heavy need for any sort of finances to help you afford your rent the rest of the semester. Knowing that your niece was in class with Art and Tashi Donaldson's daughter, that set up a fairly easy connection to a potential babysitting gig. They were millionaires, hell, maybe even billionaires at this point, so you'd be bound to get a pretty solid paycheck.

You were in luck. They needed an occasional sitter on the weekends, and a handful of nights during the week, and given that they both knew your sister, you were already trusted. Easy money.

You got along with Lily pretty well, too. Not to mention the Donaldsons were kind to you as well, and the amount of money they gave you for watching their one daughter, who was pretty self-sufficient other than needing to have a bedtime story or two read to her each night, was fucking ridiculous. Not like you were rolling in dough, but they surely overpaid you. Not like that was a problem for either parties, though.

Overtime, you talked more to Art when Tashi was starting to have more meetings, interviews, and other miscellaneous tasks that required her attention as they expanded connections to the foundation. At first, it was a bit awkward, given that when babysitting, usually the dad was a bit more absent, or quiet, but he warmed up to you after a few nights. He'd ask you about how Lily was, even ask you about school, or what you wanted to do after graduation, pay you, and that was really it. It was simple, really, until it wasn't.

And here you were, months later, standing at the small kitchen island in your apartment, which was, frankly, a bit inhumane in size for an inhabitant, but it's New York City, and it's what you could afford, even on the Donaldson's payroll. You had a small salad bowl in front of you, sliding the grape tomatoes off the cutting board in your hand into the mixture, as no other than Art Donaldson stood next to you, the tongs in his hand as you handed him the bowl.

Playing house with a married 35-year-old man wasn't on your list of things to do this year, but it's not like you were complaining.

From an outside perspective, it felt wrong, but to you, it felt just right. It was cliche, and well, bad, being apart of an affair for a multi-millionaire last name, and a man that was married, with a whole family, but you tried not to think about it.

Did you love him? You had never been in love, so you didn't really know, but probably not, at least not yet. Did he love you? You didn't think so, but he definitely favored you more than his own wife, and you weren't even thinking that because of the situation, you genuinely knew he preferred you.

"You want me to put a show on?" Art asked softly, glancing down at you as you walked over to the kitchen, rinsing off the cutting board. His eyes averted to your ass, glancing at the sweat shorts that hugged your figure, before looking up to meet your eyes when you turned around.

You knew he checked you out, it's not like that came to a surprise. Art was sweet, really, but it's not like he wasn't a sexual man because he was older. If anything, that made his sex drive higher. You shrugged, sliding past him to open the fridge and grab the salad dressing. "Eh, I'm good with whatever."

You can hear him set the bowl down, and his free hand travel to the side of your waist, over the thick cotton of your sweatshirt, as you grin to yourself, shaking your head while you set the dressing on the counter. "Shouldn't we eat first?"

"Just missed you today." Art muttered, lightly turning you around to face him before giving your forehead a light peck. "Haven't seen you all week, pretty."

Your cheeks redden, and the familiar pit in your stomach follows directly after. Fuck. Art was older than you, yes, but an emotional man at the fact of it, but he was so fucking needy. He'd come see you, not even two or three days between, and act like it had been two months without contact. He'd lay his head on your chest, play with your fingers, tell you how much he missed you, all because you hadn't seen him in not even a week. From the outside, that probably looked pathetic, a married man, who had a wife and child at home, coming to a college-aged girl's apartment, not even the size of his bedroom, cuddling her like he was a teenager. It was fucking toxic, actually, but again, you tried not to think about that part of it.

"Well, why don't we eat, and then you can show me that you missed me later, hm? That okay?" You step back slightly to look up to him, reaching forward to cup his rose-tinted, pale cheeks. You lean up to kiss him, pulling away to slide out of his embrace, your eyes following the meal you had just made together.

Art was pouting, basically, as he frowned at the corner of his mouth, walking towards the other side of you and gently taking the tongs out of your hand. "I'd rather show you now. You can't tell me you don't want me to fuck you right here, sweetheart."

"Art." You purse your lips together, shooting him a glare. You could pretend to be annoyed all you want, but he knew you weren't aggravated with him. It's not like you didn't enjoy him fucking the shit out of you on your kitchen counter, or anywhere, matter of fact. He'd fuck you right in your car when he walked you out of his house after babysitting, he didn't give a fuck. He liked you a lot, way more than he should, even in the given scenario of an affair.

"What?" He tilted his head, looking down at you with that stupid cheeky-ass grin he'd always give you when he knew you were fibbing. You wanted him, obviously. Sometimes, he didn't know why you even pretended to act like you didn't want it right then and there.

Art really wasn't even the most dominating guy, but if that's what you wanted, he'd put on a fucking show. He'd bend you over and fuck the shit out of you if that's what you wanted him to do. He'd make it hurt, if that's what you wanted him to do. But again, he liked you, so he'd never actually hurt you.

You glance down between you, the obviously erection in his sweatpants pointing right at you. You look back up to him, that look of pure want on his face so obvious. You glance to your bedroom. You don't have to speak, he already knows, and he listens so fucking easily.

The chemistry between the two of you was a fucking pain sometimes. You'd be so wet when he'd do as much as touch your back, it would piss you off sometimes, and you would think that after fucking him for a few months now, that feeling of freshness would go away, but it didn't.

You'd do more than just fuck, too. If he wasn't such a public figure, he'd take you out on real date, probably try to pursue you in some way if he wasn't married, and just a more normal-status guy, but that wasn't the case. He would make efforts though, buy you flowers sometimes when he'd come over, order the two of you something to eat, whether it was Chinese takeout or a 5-star review restaurant steak, he didn't care. He just wanted to please you, the best he could. All the time.

Right now, his definition of pleasing you was gesturing for you to lay down on your twin-sized bed, and plant his face between your legs, eating your pussy until you were begging him to fuck you with something other than his tongue.

You wiggled yourself out of your shorts and underwear in one, Art assisting you by pulling them off your ankles and onto the wooden floor. He spread your knees apart, kneeling on the hard ground before his hot breath was planting kisses between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

You gulp, averting your attention to his mouth. You watch him get closer, and you can only gasp when he latches onto your clit. You feel him move his hand onto your thighs, wrapping around them from the back and holding your sides, his pale, calloused hands digging into your skin. It didn't hurt though, not at all.

"Oh my god." Leaves your mouth without a single thought. Art knew exactly how to please you. "Art, you're gonna make me cum before you even fuck me."

He looked up to you, lips still pressed against your pussy, his eyes locked with yours for a moment, before he focused his attention to your body again. He didn't care. Guess that was the point.

You shake your head in disbelief, your back naturally arching as he pressed his tongue harder against you. God, you couldn't even imagine what it was going to be like when his cock was inside you, even though you'd slept together plenty of times before.

His tongue kept pace on your clit, as he moved one of his hands off your thigh and closer to your pussy, gently pushing his middle finger through your folds. Fucking hell, as if he couldn't make you more turned on.

"Art." His name rolled off your tongue. "You're gonna make me cum. I wanna finish with you."

He listened to you, and he obliged, despite how much he wanted you to cum now. Art slowly pulled his finger out of you, and his mouth away from you. He leaned up, motioning himself on top of you, before you moved your hands to lightly push him off.

"What's wrong?" He asked, almost immediately, his eyes dropping, almost disappointed. You knew his cock was aching to be inside you.

You lean up, your hands traveling to rest against the sides of his broad shoulders. "Here. Lay down."

Art wasn't going to fight that. He eagerly nodded at your request, your positions switching in seconds as he laid down on your bed. Your hands began to pull at the waistband on his sweats, and his underwear, sliding them off his body in one.

You weren't one for sucking cock, but with Art, you fucking adored it. You liked to watch him fall apart at just your mouth, knowing that he'd crumble once he fucked your pussy. You liked edging him to the point he was whining, begging, pleading to fuck you, or you to fuck him. Just depended on the day.

"You gonna suck my cock, pretty girl?" Art asked you, softly, a half-smile on his pink lips as he moved one of his hands to cup your cheek, his elbow propping his body up slightly. "Gonna let me fuck your mouth?"

"Mhm." You murmur, nodding as you move down to spit on his cock, wetting the tip before you peck a few kisses against his tip, glancing up at him as you laid on your stomach towards the end of your bed, front of your body aligned with his middle. "Gonna let you fuck my throat, Art."

Art's grin followed the rest of his lips, his cheeks dark red as his mouth hung open. He watched you lean down, his cock enveloped by your mouth. You had pretty, plump lips. Pretty and full lashes you'd bat when he fucked your throat. He could watch you suck him off all day. He could just be with you all day.

"You're so beautiful, [Y/N]. My pretty girl." He praised you, his hand still glued to your cheek, bits of spit against his thumb as you bobbed your head, his cock hard and full in your mouth. "Gonna let me fill your mouth up, hm? Or should I fill your pussy instead? What do you want, baby?"

It's not like you could answer the question. You keep sucking him off, looking up to his blue eyes, before you force him down your throat, muffling any sort of gag that your body desperately wanted to let out. You wanted him to know you could take his cock.

"God." He moaned, his eyes never leaving yours. He rubbed your cheek. "Your mouth feel so good, but I really wanna fuck you. Please, baby. I wanna cum in you. That pretty pussy, please."

It didn't take you much convincing to slide his cock out of your mouth and lay down on your bed. It made you feel embarrassed, desperate even, with how eager you were to have him stuff his cock inside you. Not like he judged you for that at all, just internal thoughts you'd have occasionally.

He sat up, his cock hard and straight, as his knees dug into the mattress. He took his shirt off in one pull, tossing it into the pile of your combined clothes before he moved you more towards the middle of the bed. He aimed his cock at your pussy, your legs spread wide for him, before he leaned forward, slowly pushing himself inside you, the both of you moaning at the raw feeling.

Art could be rough if you wanted him to, and you'd do the same for him, but typically, he savored the moment he entered you each and every time. He'd told you several times, that you were no where near in comparison to any woman he'd been with. No competition. You were it. In every way. Part of him wished he had met you earlier, maybe at Stanford or even grade-school. God, he would've worshipped you back then, all the way to now, and the future. You checked off all his boxes, physically, emotionally, sexually, everything. In a different narrative, he would've married you and had a life with you. Fuck tennis. Fuck everything. He'd rather whatever life he could've had with you.

"You feel so good, pretty. You always do." Art leaned down to press a hard kiss against your lips. He pecked your cheek, his lips moving to your ear. "I'm gonna fill that pussy. Gonna make you mine, baby, my sweet girl.. You want that? You like that?"

You nod, your mouth open as you moan, rather loudly as he picked his pace up the more he talked to you. "Y-Yes, baby, fuck yes, fill me up. You're so fucking sexy.. You fuck me so good, Art."

Art groaned at your response, moving his head back to align above yours, his overgrown curls bouncing with his movements, the bed squeaking underneath you. He'd let his hair grow out a bit more lately since you complemented it awhile back.

"Gonna fill this pussy, pretty girl. Gonna give you my cum." He muttered, almost to himself, as he looked between your bodies at what he could see, watching himself fill your hole. It was obvious you were fucking a former pro-athlete. He could fuck you for hours if he wanted to with the amount of stamina he had, regardless of his age. It was fucking hot, how much, and how long, he could fuck you.

You could feel your orgasm increasing the more he penetrated you, the more he pulled his cock nearly out of you and forcing it back inside you, sending jolts through your body. You were already overstimulated enough from just slower sex, him fucking you like a bunny was almost too much for you to take. Not like that was a bad thing though.

"Come on." You talk to him, watching between the two of you, too. "Make me cum, baby. I wanna finish with you, Art. Please, baby. Fuck me so good."

He nods, his body rocking against yours, your legs moving up to wrap around his hips, keeping him closer, and more inside you. You wanted him to fill all of you, not missing a drop of his cum. You wanted him to make you ache when you woke up tomorrow morning.

"Fuck." He groaned, moaning into your mouth as he kissed you, his tongue sliding against yours as he came inside you.

You felt your body jolt, finishing at the same time, as he filled your pussy up. It felt so good to be on the same level, the same energy, as him. So fucking good.

He gave it a few seconds before he pulled out of you, sitting back up, making sure he fucked your right. He rolled to the side before he pulled you closer to him, his hand running through your frizzy hair, kissing the side of your forehead.

You smirked, looking up to him, a small laugh leaving your lips. "What? You can't be shocked, we've had sex so many times I can't even count it at this point."

"I'm not shocked." Art laughed, playing with your hair as he looked up to the ceiling. "It just feels so different with you. You know how much I like you, [Y/N]. Just feels good is all."

"Hm." You watch him look up. You wanted to bring something else up, more emotional topics, but, as much as you knew he did fancy you, you didn't want to fuck up the moment. "Feels good to me, too." Is all you say in return.

Art looks down at you after a moment. "Yeah?" He grins, moving closer to you as he kisses your lips. "Good."

"Yeah." You return his kiss, slightly leaning up as you look to the door. "You wanna eat now? Got your energy out?"

Art shrugs, sitting up. He pecks your bare shoulder. "Maybe not. Maybe can let the rest of it out later."

"God, you're hornier than me." You scoff, pushing him off with a red face, laughing to yourself at the man before you. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

"Whatever you say." He smirks, clearly teasing you, before stepping out of the bed, grabbing his clothes and tossing yours to you.

And that was what was odd about you and Art. It was casual, but not in a hookup sense. Casual in the way that you could sit down and eat with him, make a meal with him, watch shows and movies together, like a normal couple. It drove you insane sometimes. He felt the same way, but how the hell could he tell you that, when he could never actually be with you? He'd have to mask it some type of way, and usually that was through sex. Not like he didn't enjoy it solely for sexual reasons, because, god, he enjoyed fucking you, but he also enjoyed you.

He watched you finish your plate as you sat on the sofa together. You were gorgeous, the perfect picture of the woman he'd want to be with for more than just this. But that was something you'd have to figure out later.

[deadsetobsessions]

Woo! I’ve finally got time to write! Had to go to a wedding, suffered through eight whole hours of pure disorganized mess, and got mad about it. Emphasis on the disorganized part. So, I bring you: party planner!Danny Phantom.

——

If anyone was to see him now, they’d definitely think that it was odd that Danny was the one in the party planning field. They wouldn’t be surprised if it was Jazz, but Danny ‘wing it’ Fenton planning things? Never.

But here he was, clipboard in hand and checking off hors d’œuvres from the list.

“Anton, could you do a check of the sound system? Make sure everything’s working?”

“Got it.”

Danny lifted the buffet table, laden with heavy food, and used a bit of his ghostly strength to move it over.

“Perfect.”

He double checked the seating chart, and readjusted the miniature ice sculpture centerpieces he made for the party.

Wayne Manor was all lit up and perfectly dusted. Danny ran through his mental checklist. Tabled? Check. Dance floor clean and scuff free? Check. DJ booth and open bar running without issues? Check. Live band setting up with back up instruments and strings? Check. Decorations on point? Oh, he’ll have to get the team to readjust those.

Time to check-

“Danny! How’s it going?” Bruce Wayne beamed and slung an arm around his shoulder.

Danny smiled politely. “Mr. Wayne. Everything is going smoothly. Would you like to check the food the chefs have made?”

“Sure, sure! I definitely need to eat before I drink, haha!”

“That’s a good idea! Good thing you’re about to try a bunch of food.” Danny matched the billionaire’s energy. He’s going to get paid so good.

“So, Danny, are you going to college?”

Danny passed him a small sampler. “Ah, I can’t. Some stuff happened in high school and I don’t really have the grades or the money to.”

Plus, his credentials were in another plane of existence and he hadn’t figured out how to transfer those records yet.

“You could still attend college, I’m sure! Your parents might be able to help pay?” Bruce nommed on the food. He gave a thumbs up.

Danny sighed. “It’s not always an option. Plus, my parents are dead.”

In this universe. His own? Alive and kicking GIW ass.

“Oh, I see-”

“Father.”

“Woah!” Danny blinked, looking down at the baby Wayne the popped up next to his father’s elbow.

“Damian! What’s wrong, kiddo?”

Damian shot his father a flat glare and dragged the laughing billionaire away.

Danny snorted and returned to his tasks. He has to check the speeches and the lighting. Hm… he doesn’t have time to adjust everything how he wants it.

Good thing he knew a guy that could stop time.

“Hey, Clockwork?”

——

“Father, I understand your inclination towards adopting poor black haired and blue eyed orphans, but I would like to remind you that I have far too many siblings to be adding yet another bumbling buffoon.”

“I was not considering that, Damian.”

Damian let go of his wrist with a grimace. “Denial is not becoming of a Wayne, Father.”

“Yeah, B. I could see you grab the adoption papers from all the way over here.” Tim adjusted his tie. “Anyways, Dick is on his way. He’s running a little late because of some stuff in Blüdhaven.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

——

“Batman.”

“Oracle.”

“Look at the footage of Wayne manor.” Oracle pulled up the video surveillance scattered through out the manor. Specifically, the ones of the west ballroom. Daniel Fenton stood in his spot, looking down at his clipboard but a second later, he's moved three inches to the left and the decorations had subtly been moved more aesthetic spots. "I think Danny might be a meta. We'll have to look into him."

Batman stood up, allowing the fondness he had for Danny as Bruce Wayne drain away. This is a potential threat, and Batman will treat him like one. (Danny will remember this.)

"Contact Flash. I need him to scan for any temporal disturbance."

"Understood."

——

"Brucie!" A socialite squealed as she came to bestow hugs upon a long suffering Bruce. "My god, this place is gorgeous! You must give me your planner's number. I could absolutely use some fresh eyes for the Annual Spring Party."

"Awe, Janine! I gotta keep some of the good things to myself!" Bruce whined, inwardly smirking as he saw his kids mock-gagging behind the lady's back. "What if your party's cooler than mine? What should I do then? You're already so gorgeous! Why, is that a Birkin?"

Janine lit up and all but forgot about getting Danny's contact information. Bruce patted his own back for a job well done, even if he had to listen to Janine's itemized list of random luxury goods she had to buy before being offered a bag.

He's a Wayne. The Gotham Hermes wished they could partner with the Waynes. Plus, he's pretty sure he's got at least three of those bags somewhere in the manor to bait out Selina.

Catching Danny sliding in between the servers and going towards the kitchen, Bruce quickly excused himself with a disarming himbo grin.

Time to subtly grill the kid.

——

"Hey, Timmy?"

"Hello, Dick," Tim smiled elegantly at the couple who's companies he was about to bring six feet underground and excused himself. "What's up?"

"Have you noticed that the ice sculptures haven't melted at all?"

Tim blinked, eyes sliding over to a harried Danny being followed by Bruce on a mission. Oof.

"Freeze?" He asked mildly, face innocent of any nefarious thoughts.

"That's what I'm thinking." Dick smiled sunnily, throwing an arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Heard the guy's living out near Crime Alley. We should get Jay to check it out." Tim pretended to laugh, grinning as his brains made plans for a stakeout.

"Heard, my ass. You totally stalked him, didn't you?"

"Got proof?"

Dick snorted, removing his arm. "Nope. I'll let Jay know. You should probably help Danny out, though, he looks like he's about to lose his temper."

"Bruce is at it again." Tim sighed. "Yeah, okay."

[republicansaredomesticterrorists]

☠️☠️☠️

He can now turn the money flow for all government payouts on or off at will. All the money disbursements from all Federal Departments and agencies run through him. He can make any payment in any amount to whoever he chooses for any reason. He can block any payment to anyone at anytime, whether it be a social security payment to a citizen or money owed to a federal contractor. He can shut off payments to any department or branch of the government he chooses. He can put individuals, departments, or contractors on permanent np pay lists.

He can shut off money to your local school department or shut off all monies earmarked for your entire state. If he doesn’t like what an agency is doing he can immediately shut it down. If an individual citizen or individual government employee runs afoul of him he can cut off their checks. Conversely he can reward any agency or any private or public figure he chooses.

I don’t think anyone grasps how serious this is. He literally has control over the entire government and everyone and everything dependent on it. A madman hopped up on Ketamine now can dictate everything to every individual, agency, municipality, state, or elected official in the country.

Donald Trump has made Elon Musk the Dictator of America and we are all at his mercy. This is highly illegal and even the courts told Trump he could not stop federal payments or re-allocate money already designated by Congress there is nobody to stop him. He literally seized the spigot that controls the flow of money. Nothing like this has ever happened in the history of the world. Two deranged drug addicted billionaires can destroy anyone and anyone through the power of the government purse. This is unprecedented and we are no longer a true democracy but a fascist oligarchy.

The media needs to make clear to the public just what the implications of this are but so far few are even mentioning it.

[ohmy-gojo]

(i saw one of my followers post of them wanting to dance in the rain w someone so i HAD to write this😭)

the moonlight shone just on the table they were seated on. and on the table there was a clear vase, in which laid beautiful red roses. the clear windows allowed them to see the starry night in front of them.

"woah.." you marveled, looking around the restaurant in awe. this was indeed a 5 star restaurant and even by its standard it seemed high. you suddenly gulped, realizing the bill must be high too

nanami chuckled at your expression, "its on me (name)."

"oh nonsense!"

"i insist. besides it was me who invited you here."

thats right. he was the one who invited you after the previous 4 dates you went on. he actually paid during those times too, what a man.

"you shouldnt," you shook your head. "you paid for the previous dates too- at least lets split the bill! i have a job too you know, i can pay!"

"hm.." he seemed to be deep in thought as if contemplating, "no, i cant allow you that." he added with a chuckle

"youre so stubborn!" you playfully furrowed your brows

"besides," he added "i wouldnt let you pay even if you were a billionaire."

at this, you hid your face with the menu as if you were browsing through the list to hide your growing blush. whats up with this man! unfortunately for you, nanami could see through your bad attempt at hiding your blush, as you were holding the menu upside down. he chuckled, which made you blush harder

the rest of the date went smoothly, if not nanami occasionally being all gentleman-ly and making you swoon, which also made him tease you. the bells above the door chimed as you both left the restaurant, laughing and giggling with each other carefreely

"careful," he said as you almost stumbled to a tree, holding you just in time. "wouldnt want you to get hurt now, or i will have to carry you." he said playfully, but still not wanting to see you get hurt

"bet you actually want an opportunity to carry me though." you teased back

nanami laughed, he just cant seem to stop himself from laughing so freely with you.

"that, i do."

he picked you up so easily as if you weigh nothing to him. you were surprised he actually picked you up, but quickly composed yourself and circle your arms around his neck, giggling all the while.

"how long are you gonna keep me in your arms?" you laughed

"if possible, forever." he gave you a charming smirk

you were about to get reduced to a blushing mess once again, when you suddenly felt a drop of water fall over your nose.

"its raining!"

"oh.." nanami looked around to see the rain continuing to become worse "we should head back to the car."

"no way!" you said "lets stay, please?"

nanami looked at you with softened eyes. "if you wish so."

you quickly left his embrace to enjoy the rain. he just continued to watch you silently and contently until you invited him to dance in the rain with you

"i always wanted to dance in the rain with someone," you said bashfully

well who was nanami to refuse your adorable request?

he turned on the music from the car. the rain only continued to grow

he held his hand in front of you, "may i?"

you nodded your head, laughing at his gesture and giving him your hand all the while. "you may."

you both continue to dance to the beat of the romantic music nanami played, laughter muffled by the sound of rain.

at one point, nanami grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. the minimized gap made your noses touch, you both could feel your breathes mingling.

"may i?" he asked

you smiled, the smile he fell in love with at the moment. "you may."

there was no gap anymore between you too now.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103

---‐------------------------------------------------------

Tw: cussing, tension, description of Hydra tortures (if you squint)

Part 10

Words of command - Part 11

The kitchen gleamed in the sterile kind of way only billionaire kitchens do—glass, chrome, and tech woven into every cabinet.

The sun poured in through the massive windows, streaking golden light across the countertops and the back of Bucky’s shoulders as he stood, stock still, facing a cutting board like it might explode.

You stood to his left, a good half a head shorter, sleeves rolled up, voice guiding him.

“Hold the onion like this,” you said softly, demonstrating. “And curl your fingers under, so the knife doesn’t catch.”

Bucky's expression didn’t change, but his eyes—cold steel rimmed with caution—locked on your hands. He mimicked the movement with uncanny precision, down to the slight shift of weight in your stance.

He didn’t breathe.

He didn’t blink.

His metal arm hovered just slightly, tense and unreadable.

“Good,” you offered, reaching out to nudge his wrist slightly to adjust his angle. “Just like that.”

Tony strolled into the kitchen like he owned it—which, to be fair, he did—with a half-drunk coffee in one hand and his usual exasperated swagger.

“Oh good,” he drawled, leaning against the island. “I see we’ve reached the 'culinary assassin' phase of rehab. What’s next? Battle baking? Murder muffins?”

Bucky’s head snapped up.

The knife paused mid-slice, his entire body tensing like a drawn bow. His expression didn’t change, but his pupils narrowed slightly. Assessing. Calculating.

You reached out and gently placed a hand on his forearm, just enough pressure to signal.

“Non-threat, Soldat,” you said quietly. “That’s Tony. He likes to run his mouth, but he pays my wages too"

Bucky looked at you. Immediately, his shoulders eased—just a bit.

“Understood,” he muttered. But his hand didn’t leave the knife.

Tony raised a brow. “Y’know, if looks could kill, I’d be halfway to a death by now. He always this… stabby in the morning, or is that your influence, Dollface?”

You shot him a look. “Don’t you start that shit too”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to Tony again.

“She’s Doll. To me.”

For a second Tony Stark actually stopped speaking.

Bucky’s metal hand was hovering uncertainly over a carton of eggs.

The other hand now gripped a wooden spoon like it was a combat knife.

You moved slowly, always narrating your actions, never touching him without warning. He still flinched if anyone else came too close.

But you? He leaned into your presence like a plant seeking sun.

“Okay, ready?” you asked, sliding a bowl in front of him. “You’re going to crack the egg like this—not too hard, just a little tap on the side.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed in deep focus. “Like a pressure point?” he asked, staring down at the fragile shell like it might explode.

You bit your lip to hide a smile. “Kind of, yeah. But just a little tap.”

He nodded. Took a breath. Then—

CRACK.

The entire egg shattered in his grip, shell and yolk crushed into his palm. It slid through his metal fingers, gooey and viscous.

You heard applause as Tony’s voice floated from across the room.

“Well done, that egg’s dead. Good work, Terminator. Want me to get him a frying pan or a flamethrower next, Thumbelina?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched. He looked to you immediately, awaiting your reaction.

You just ignored Tony and gave Bucky a soft, reassuring smile. “That was a good first try. You’ll get it. Want to try again?”

His tense shoulders eased just slightly. “Yea, please.”

You guided his hand over the second egg, placing your fingers lightly on his. The difference in size was striking—your hand so small, his flesh palm practically engulfing yours.

“Let me show you,” you whispered.

He watched you carefully, eyes tracking every tiny motion. This time, the egg tapped lightly on the side of the bowl. A clean break. He tilted it just the way you showed him, letting the yolk slide out without spilling.

He looked at it. Then at you.

“I did it,” he said, almost surprised.

You beamed. “You did.”

Tony, mid-sip of coffee, raised a brow. “Great, now teach him how to make toast without treating the toaster like a bomb.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

While you whisked the eggs, Bucky watched your hands move, his voice quieter now.

“I think I remember something…burned toast. Steve made it. Said it was ‘perfectly fine.’” His lips twitched into something almost like a smile. “It wasn’t.”

You looked up quickly. “That sounds like Steve.”

He nodded. “I don’t remember everything. Just… pieces. Smells. The way someone laughed. Cold mornings.”

You didn’t say anything—just listened. Encouraging without pressure.

Bucky's gaze shifted and fixed on the scrambled eggs wherever they went. “ I like this Doll, its quiet. Warm. I think I like the way you… are.”

You hesitated, then touched his hand gently, curling your fingers around his flesh ones and giving them a quick squeeze.

Tony walked past again, intentionally dropping a dishtowel in your direction. “Just make sure he doesn’t use the whisk like a tactical baton. And maybe warn me next time the terminator gets cooking privileges. Stark Tower’s insurance premiums aren’t infinite.”

The island counter is now cluttered with mixing bowls, a half-dozen eggs, and two kinds of cheese—because you weren’t sure what kind Bucky would prefer.

Bucky's metal fingers are twitching slightly at his side, the other hand hovering above the whisk like it’s a weapon he hasn’t figured out how to disarm yet.

“Like this?” he asks, the words a little more fluid now, though his accent still shadows every syllable. He watches you closely, mimicking your motion.

“Perfect,” you murmur with a small smile, reaching up instinctively to adjust the bowl under his arm. “You're not going to break it. Just be gentle.”

He watches your hands again—small, soft, and completely unafraid of him. That still confuses him. No one’s hands have ever touched him with that kind of absent affection, at least not that he remembers.

Tony takes a dramatic sip of his coffee. “God, this is precious. Should we all hold hands and sing Kumbaya next? Maybe teach him how to use a dishwasher without stabbing it?”

"Jesus Tony, I know where free entertainment but give it a rest" you quipped.

Bucky narrows his eyes slightly. “The machine hissed at me. I don’t like it.”

You stifle a laugh, which makes Bucky tilt his head toward you, eyes flickering with curiosity like he wants to keep making that sound come out of you.

Tony’s already halfway out the door, waving over his shoulder. “Just don’t burn the place down, lovebirds.”

You glance up, expecting a flare of confusion from Bucky—but he doesn’t seem to register the implication. Or if he does, he’s pretending not to.

When it’s just the two of you again, the kitchen suddenly feels smaller. Quieter. The whisk clinks gently in the metal bowl as Bucky stirs again, this time slower, more natural.

“Hey Doll,” he says softly.

You look up from where you've turned a pan on, on the stove.

“Why does he… say things like that?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like we’re… more.”

Your breath catches. Not from fear—just surprise.

“He just teases. That’s how he talks to people. He’s not serious.”

Bucky stares at the eggs, then at you.

“But I don’t think I'd mind,” he says slowly. “If he was serious... your ... kind to me.”

You freeze—not because you’re afraid, but because something in his voice has changed.

Less mechanical.

More his. There’s a quiet pull behind his words. Not fully formed, not romantic exactly. But raw. Almost.

You open your mouth to answer, but he takes a step closer, something unreadable in his eyes.

He’s close enough now that you can feel the heat off his skin, see the faint scarring at his collarbone, the way his jaw tenses like he’s bracing for something.

“Soldat…” you start, voice trembling just a little.

But he interrupts.

“I like hearing you laugh,” he says. “Even when I don’t understand why. I think… maybe I did that ... made people laugh once.”

You say his name again, this time softer.

He’s so close.

So close you can feel the warmth from his chest and the faint scent of old leather and soap rising off his skin.

There’s a tension in the air, soft and dangerous, like something fragile perched at the edge of a knife.

His metal fingers curl slightly where they rest on the counter, not in threat but in restraint.

“Doll…” he says, low, and there’s a crackle in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Like a wire shorting out. “You make me feel—different.”

You swallow, heart thudding. “Soldat, do you know what that feeling is?”

He tilts his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he studies you. “No.”

Then, the smallest shift—his flesh hand lifts toward your face.

Trembles slightly before it even touches you.

He’s not sure if he’s allowed.

Not sure if this is part of the program.

His fingers hover just above your cheekbone.

You don’t move. Not forward. Not away.

“Hey,” Bruce’s quiet voice cuts into the moment, followed by the distinct shuffle of shoes. “Sorry—am I interrupting something?”

You blink and take a quick step back from Bucky, your cheeks warm. Bucky's hand lowers slowly, mechanically, as his gaze flicks to Bruce, all warmth wiped from his features.

Bruce holds up a tablet and gives you a tentative smile. “I ran another scan this morning. His neural pathways are stabilizing in some areas. I think I might’ve found something that could help trigger more of his long-term memory. Safely.”

You blink in surprise. “You did?”

Bucky’s gaze sharpens. He doesn’t move, but his stance shifts ever so slightly—too still. Too alert.

Bruce steps in closer, holding out the tablet to you. “It’s a low-frequency transcranial stimulator. Not invasive. It mimics some of the electrical patterns from sleep cycles and REM states—what helps memory form and reconnect.”

You see it—the soft, hopeful data on the screen—but Bucky doesn’t.

He hears only one word.

Electrical.

A noise escapes his throat—sharp, guttural. Not quite human.

“No.” It tears from his lips in a ragged breath, his eyes wild and suddenly gone again. “No electricity. No chair. You said—no chair.”

His hands slam down on the counter, hard enough to rattle the bowl.

You flinch instinctively, and he sees it.

That’s when he panics.

He backs up like he’s been shot. “I didn’t mean—Doll—I didn’t mean to—”

You move forward quickly, voice low and steady despite your heart thudding in your chest.

“Soldat. Look at me.”

His chest heaves.

His fists are clenched.

His metal arm twitches with barely controlled adrenaline. But he locks eyes with you, like you’ve just thrown a lifeline into the storm.

“I’m here,” you whisper. “I promised you—no chair. No pain. No one is going to hurt you. Do you trust me?”

He swallows hard, lips parted slightly. The panic hasn’t gone, but he’s trying to hold it back—for you.

“I don’t… understand,” he murmurs, softer now, as if ashamed. “But I trust you, Doll.”

Your heart aches at the way he says it—like it’s a truth he doesn’t fully comprehend, but feels all the same.

You glance at Bruce and give him a small shake of your head. “Not yet,” you mouth. “Give us time.”

You find Bucky later, curled in one of the chairs on the balcony just outside the rec room. His knees are drawn up, arms wrapped around them.

He stares at nothing.

You step out into the cool air and sit down quietly beside him. No words. Just your presence.

Eventually, he speaks.

“I don’t like electricity,” he murmurs. “I remember… metal. Pain. Then forgetting. I dont want to forget.”

You nod, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

A long pause. Then—

“But if you ask me to,” he whispers, “I will.”

And that—hurts more than anything else.

Because he still thinks he has to.

You slide your hand over his. He stiffens, then relaxes.

“You never have to do something just because I ask.”

The lab is lit low, the usual sharp white lights dimmed to a softer gold that Bruce said might make things feel less clinical.

The transcranial device sits on the medical bench—more like a padded headband than the hulking mechanical monstrosities Bucky remembers from before.

You can hear the low hum of the cooling system, the soft hiss of hydraulics in the walls—every little sound feels louder with the way Bucky's breath holds still in his chest.

He stands just inside the doorway, like a man staring into a cage.

The chair in the middle of the room looks innocuous now.

Padded headrest, ergonomic design, subtle LED lights rather than cold metal restraints. But Bucky’s eyes don’t see any of that.

They see the chair. They see Hydra. The screams, the static, the burning nerves and ripped memories.

His body language is screaming tension. Rigid shoulders. Chin tucked slightly like he’s protecting his throat. His left hand—the metal one—is half-raised, twitching like it’s already calculating escape routes.

But his flesh hand… his right hand hovers, almost uncertain, before curling into a trembling fist.

You walk slowly up to him. You don’t touch him yet. You just stand in front of him, letting your frame create a space where his fear can breathe.

“Doll,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse. “I don’t know if I can—”

“You don’t have to,” you say gently. “I’ll go first.”

His eyes flash toward you, full of panic.

“No.”

You pause. He almost never says no—it’s fear.

“It's ok Soldat, I need you to see that it’s safe,” you whisper. “You don’t trust the chair. But I trust Bruce. And I trust you.”

“Banner,” Bucky snaps, his voice suddenly cold. “What does it do?”

Bruce looks up from the console. “The device emits a low-frequency transcranial stimulation—non-invasive, non-painful. Think of it like acupuncture, but for the brain. It promotes neural plasticity and helps reactive suppressed memory pathways. There’s no electricity. No shocks. Nothing painful. And nothing remotely like Hydra’s machine.”

He walks over to the chair and lifts the headpiece. It looks more like a padded visor, a soft halo of tech with small light sensors and cooling gel pads.

“See?” he says, letting Bucky inspect it. “No wires. No needles. It just sits on your head and… helps open a few doors.”

You reach out now. Slowly. Carefully. Your hands find his flesh hand—and you take it into both of yours, gently wrapping your fingers around his. His hand is rough, cold with adrenaline, and shaking faintly.

“I’ll sit down first,” you say again, eyes on his. “I want you to see exactly what it does.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand as you move, and you have to ease away carefully to take your place in the chair.

His entire body follows you—watching, tracking, trying to prepare for the worst.

"You hurt her, I hurt you" his eyes are on you, but his words are for Banner.

Bruce give Bucky a reassuring smile before moving to set the device on your head. It emits a soft whirring sound, like a cooling fan.

"If she forgets m—" Bucky murmurs.

"I'm ok Soldat, that wont happen" you say squeezing his hand as you cut him off gently.

There’s no shock, no jolt—just a gentle pulse behind your eyes, like a flicker of warmth moving across your skull.

You smile.

“It just feels like… like a tingle,” you say softly. “Almost like soda bubbles in your brain.”

Bucky’s brows knit, his jaw still tight.

“No pain?” he asks, voice thin.

“None,” Bruce confirms, monitoring the screen, and showing Bucky. “Her vitals are normal. Brain activity looks calm. This is actually encouraging—it’s exactly the reaction I hoped for.”

You glance back at Bucky.

“I’m okay. You don’t have to do this today. But if you want to try—just try—then I’ll be right here the whole time. I promise.”

He hesitates for a long moment.

You can see the war behind his eyes.

Fear.

Conditioning.

The ghosts of command protocols.

He swallows hard.

Then he nods once, slow and sharp.

“…Okay,” he breathes. “But you don’t let go. Don’t leave me in that thing alone.”

“Where you go I go, Soldat”

Bucky moves toward the chair like a man walking into a fire. Every step is a silent scream of resistance. His body sits stiff, muscles clenched so tight you can see the tension trembling in his thighs, his jaw, his neck.

When Bruce tries to approach with the device, Bucky tenses violently, eyes flashing wide with remembered pain.

“Don’t touch me,” he growls.

“Hey,” you murmur gently, stepping into his line of sight. You kneel beside him, taking his flesh hand again. You cup it in both of yours, thumb softly stroking the back of his hand in slow, rhythmic motions.

“You’re safe,” you say quietly. “It’s just me. You don’t have to hold on so tight.”

His fingers twitch, then curl around yours in a slow, deliberate motion. His grip is terrifyingly strong, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“I’m here,” you say again. “I’m not leaving.”

Bruce, carefully watching, steps in again.

“Just putting the band on. It’s going to hum a little. No pulses. No shocks. You’ll feel pressure—not pain.”

The device is secured around Bucky’s head. You see his breath hitch—chest rising sharply as the hum begins.

His eyes flash wide.

“Doll, I'll remember, you promise” Bucky almost whispers to you.

“Yup, no ones taking anything away, promise” you say immediately.

You press both your hands around his hand and lean closer. “Focus on my voice. It’s just static. Like soft rain on a roof.”

His eyes dart between you and the ceiling. His grip tightens. His mouth opens—then closes again. But he doesn’t scream. He doesn’t break.

“You’re doing it,” you say softly. “That’s all you have to do. Just let it be. I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, eyes wet. “Don’t be proud of this.”

“I am,” you whisper. “Because this is you, choosing something for yourself. Not because someone made you. Because you wanted to try.”

His breath breaks—just once. A faint exhale, a soft tremble, and a barely audible

“…Okay.”

When the hum fades, Bruce gently removes the device. He gives you both space, backing away to the monitors without a word.

Bucky blinks. Looks around. Waits—for pain, for punishment, for someone to shout again in Russian.

But nothing happens.

He looks at you. Eyes exhausted, but clear.

“…That wasn’t the chair.”

“No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”

His hand is still in yours. He doesn’t pull away.

“…Can we do it again sometime?”

You smile. “Whenever you’re ready.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Of course we can tax billionaires

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

Billionaires are pretty confident that they can't be taxed – not just that they shouldn't be taxed, but rather, that it is technically impossible to tax the ultra-rich. They're not shy about explaining why, either – and neither is their army of lickspittles.

If it's impossible to tax billionaires, then anyone who demands that we tax billionaires is being childish. If taxing billionaires is impossible, then being mad that we're not taxing billionaires is like being mad at gravity.

Boy is this old trick getting old. It was already pretty thin when Margaret Thatcher rolled it out, insisting that "there is no alternative" to her program of letting the rich get richer and the poor go hungry. Dressing up a demand ("stop trying to think of alternatives") as a scientific truth ("there is no alternative") sets up a world where your opponents are Doing Ideology, while you're doing science.

Billionaires basically don't pay tax – that's a big part of how they got to be billionaires:

https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files

By cheating on their taxes, they get to keep – and invest – more money than less-rich people (who get to keep more money than regular people and poor people, obvs). They get so much money that they can "invest" it in corrupting the political process, for example, by flushing vast sums of dark money into elections to unseat politicians who care about finance crime and replace them with crytpo-friendly lawmakers who'll turn a blind eye to billionaires' scams:

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/10/14/silicon-valley-the-new-lobbying-monster

Once someone gets rich enough, they acquire impunity. They become too big to fail. They become too big to jail. They become too big to care. They buy presidents. They become president.

A decade ago, Thomas Piketty published his landmark Capital in the 21st Century, tracing three centuries of global capital flows and showing how extreme inequality creates political instability, leading to bloody revolutions and world wars that level the playing field by destroying most of the world's capital in an orgy of violence, with massive collateral damage:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/06/24/thomas-pikettys-capital-in-the-21st-century/

Piketty argued that unless we taxed the rich, we would attain the same political instability that provoked the World Wars, but in a nuclear-tipped world that was poised on the brink of ecological collapse. He even laid out a program for this taxation, one that took accord of all the things rich people would try to hide their assets.

Today, the destruction that Piketty prophesied is on our doorstep, and all over the world, political will is gathering to do something about our billionaire problem. The debate rages from France to dozen-plus US states that are planning wealth taxes on the ultra-rich.

Wherever that debate takes hold, billionaires and their proxies pop up to tell us that we're Doing Ideology, that there is no alternative, and that it is literally impossible to tax the ultra-rich.

In a new blog post, Piketty deftly demolishes this argument, showing how thin the arguments for the impossibility of a billionaire tax really is:

https://www.lemonde.fr/blog/piketty/2024/10/15/how-to-tax-billionaires/

First, there's the argument that the ultra-rich are actually quite poor. Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg don't have a lot of money, they have a lot of stock, which they can't sell. Why can't they sell their stock? You'll hear a lot of complicated arguments about illiquidity and the effect on the share-price of a large sell-off, but they all boil down to this: if we make billionaires sell a bunch of their stock, they will be poorer.

No duh.

Piketty has an answer to the liquidity crisis of our poormouthing billionaires:

If finding a buyer is challenging, the government could accept these shares as payment for taxes. If necessary, it could then sell these shares through various methods, such as offering employees to purchase them, which would increase their stake in the company.

Though Piketty doesn't say so, billionaires are not actually poor. They have fucktons of cash, which they acquire through something called "buy, borrow, die," which allows them to create intergenerational dynastic wealth for their failsons:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/buy-borrow-die-rich-avoid-140004536.html

Billionaires know they're not poor. They even admit it, when they say, "Okay, but the other reason it's impossible to tax us is that we're richer and therefore more powerful than the governments that want to try it."

Piketty points out the shell-game at the core of this argument: the free movement of money that allows for tax-dodging was created by governments. They made these laws, so they can change them. Governments that can't exercise their sovereign power to tax the wealthy end up taxing the poor, eroding their legitimacy and hence their power. Taxing the rich – a wildly popular move – will make governments more powerful, not less.

Big countries like the US (and federations like the EU) have a lot of power. The US ended Swiss banking secrecy and manages to tax Americans living abroad. There's no reason that France couldn't pass a wealth-tax that applies to people based on their historical residency: a 51 year old French billionaire who decamps to Switzerland to duck a wealth tax after 50 years in France could be held liable for 50/51 of the wealth tax.

The final argument Piketty takes up is the old saw that taxing the rich is illegal, or, if it were made legal, would be unconstitutional. As Piketty says, rich people have taken this position every single time they faced meaningful tax enforcement, and they have repeatedly lost this fight. France has repeatedly levied wealth taxes, as long ago as 1789 and as recently as 1945.

Taxing the ultra-rich isn't like the secret of embalming Pharaohs – it's not a lost art from a fallen civilization. The US top rate of tax in 1944 was 97%. The postwar top rate from 1945-63 was 94%, and it was 70% from 1965-80. These was the period of the largest expansion of the US economy in the nation's history. These are the "good old days" Republicans say they want to return to.

The super-rich keep getting richer. In France, the 500 richest families were worth a combined €200b in 2010. Today, it's €1.2 trillion. No wonder a global wealth tax is at the top of the agenda for next month's G20 Summit in Rio.

Here in the US – where money can easily move across state lines and where multiple states are racing each other to the bottom to be the best onshore-offshore tax- and financial secrecy-haven – state-level millionaire taxes are kicking ass.

Massachusetts's 2024 millionaire tax has raised more than $1.8b, exceeding all expectations (it was originally benchmarked at $1b), by taxing annual income in excess of $1m at an additional 4%:

https://www.boston.com/news/business/2024/05/21/heres-how-much-the-new-massachusetts-millionaires-tax-has-raised-this-year/

This is exactly the kind of tax that billionaires say is impossible. It's so easy to turn ordinary income in sheltered income – realizing it as a capital gain, say – so raising taxes on income will do nothing. Who are you gonna believe, billionaires or the 1.8 billion dead presidents lying around the Massachusetts Department of Revenue?

But say you are worried that taxing ordinary income is a nonstarter because of preferential capital gains treatment. No worry, Washington State has you covered. Its 7% surcharge on capital gains in excess of $250,000 also exceeded all expectations, bringing in $600m more than expected in its first year – a year when the stock market fell by 25%:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

Okay, but what if all those billionaires flee your state? Good riddance, and don't let the door hit you on the way out. All we need is an exit tax, like the one in California, which levies a one-time 0.4% tax on net worth over $30m for any individual who leaves the state.

Billionaires are why we can't have nice things – a sensible climate policy, workers' rights, a functional Supreme Court and legislatures that answer to the people, rather than deep-pocketed donors.

The source of billionaires' power isn't mysterious: it's their money. Take away the money, take away the power. With more than a dozen states considering wealth taxes, we're finally in a race to the top, to see which state can attack the corrosive power of extreme wealth most aggressively.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/15/piketty-pilled/#tax-justice

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

"In a world where you can be anything......

..............be kind"

Pt1 Pt2 This is part three. Girlscout reader! III

If someone asked you what the cutest thing in the world was you'd probably say otters ,or pandas depending on the day.

But as Bruce looks at you from across the table he could almost swear on all his money that nothing in all the world was cuter then you.

You ate happily and babbled about your favorite Powerpuff girl not noticing the tense atmosphere he and your mother noticed because of their disagreement moments ago.

It was funny how one moment you had been dropped off to sell your girlscout cookies like usual. And the next you have a billionaire super hero absolutely wrapped around your finger.

But you pay no mind to that fact as you continue with your ranting and your mother doesn't seem to stop as she peaceful eats her food.

This must be normal for the both of you Bruce's thinks to himself.

Both talking -well more like you talking but her listening to your every word. Even as you talked about things that didn't make a link of sense she'd happily agree with you as she ate her food.

You and your mother must've had dinner together every day. That was pretty clear on how natural this seemed for two of you. Bruce never had all his kids at dinner. And on the rare occasions that he did it'd always end in a fight or disagreement.

But you and your mother had none of that. No, this dinner was very diffrent then the dinner that took place at the manor. This dinner was...calm.

Even if the food would in Bruce's eyes be considered a 'struggle meal' and nothing like the lavish food Alfred prepares ,you both ate it happily. Just grateful that you both had food. Watching the small interaction of how you and your mother were content with your small life simple life Bruce had begun feeling overwhelmed with.....jealousy?

Some might laugh at the thought a billionaire being jealous of a nurse that make minum wage and her daughter? What foolishness they might think.

But it was clear as day to Bruce how jealous he truly was and if you or your mother had known him well enough you'd see it too.

His jaw was clenched tight something that not even his kids worst attitude could bring was the lump in the back at his throat from trying not to scoff.

What would he scoff at? He doesn't even know but he was angry. Not at you or your mother but at himself.

Because he's one of the richest men in the world and yet he can't have what you and your mother so simply have.

A simple dinner with his family.

"Who's your favorite my little pony character?!"

Your excited voice and question snaps Bruce out of his trance.

"I...I've never watched that movie." Bruce says which earns an amused laugh from your mother and a fits of giggles from you.

"My little pony isn't a movie ,silly!" You pause and think to yourself before you continue.

"Well it does have some movies ,I guess..." You mutter the last part looking deep in thought almost like you couldn't decide if my little pony was a show or movie.

But Bruce just felt like an idiot. Especially because he could see your mother trying to muffle her laughs. I mean I how was he supposed to know it was a show? He has all sons! And they literally never watch TV with him anyway....

The dinner went on almost in peaceful silence other then you babbling about just about anything.

And though the dinner isn't as extravagant as his usual dinners he finds himself becoming addicted to love ombroded into it.

It was a simple life you and your mother lived and probably a hard one too. But Bruce couldn't deny the fact of how the family atmosphere in your house. Or the way you respected and loved your mother.

No matter how bruce looked at it your house unlike the manor at times was a home.

Not a nice or big one but a home.

The dinner has soon came to an end and despite Bruce's disappointment it was time for him to leave.

You hugged him right before he left looking up at him with big puppy dog eyes.

"I'll see you Saturday...." You say quietly and he smiles softly at your words. It was like one of his kid actually wanted to see him. It was like you were already one of his kids.

Your mother holds the door open for him and as he's walking out he can't help but think.... how can he just willingly leave you without a fight?

But the cruel reality of you not being his child hits him. But still.....so he thinks fast. And before your mother can close the door he puts his foot infront stopping it from closing.

"Actually....my..my sons birthday is tomorrow....I'd love if you guys could come." Bruce says and now he's the one looking at your mother with pleading eyes.

Hoping she wouldn't deny the offer. She sighs and you know that sigh. She's about to say no. So just like bruce you think fast!

"Can we please go mommy? Tomorrow's Sunday you don't have work and I don't have school... pleaseeeeeeeee?" You whine and beg.

And she curses your smart brain for memorizing her schedule before she sighs but this time it's a defeated sigh and you smile knowing you won.

"I'll think about it....it'll be at your house right?"

Your mother says already dreading the thought. And Bruce nods with his charming smile. "Yep 2pm....don't be late." He says smiling as he turns around acting like he already one. (Which he kinda did.)

Your mother scoffs watching him walk off like he made a statement.

"Idiot." Your mother mutters under hear breath but she smiles as she hears your excited squel.

"We gotta go mama! We gotta!"

And gosh she can practically already see your happy smile before she even turns around.

But she isn't complaining especially when your this happy.

Much to your mother's dismay you and your mother are both standing outside with a gift bag in hand outside the manor the next day.

It's a pretty gloomy day so it's obvious the parties inside. Your mother is pretty confused as to why there's really no one here because the son of a billionaire has a birthday party and there's not hundreds of people? That's crazy...and very unusual.

But she ignores that as the door opens and you both see the big kiddish birthday banner that's hung up near the chandelier.

"I'm so glad you two could make it....please come in." The sweet old butler you had told your mother so much about says.

And you were right he does seem pretty sweet your mother thinks. Walking in ,there seems to be about two or three other family's inside but other then that it's just you guys and the Wayne's.

You look around excited and let go of your mother's hand before she can react.

"Kitty!" You yell squealing as you chase the cat to the kitchen.

Your mother tries to grab you but stops when she sees its useless. Bruce seeing the whole interaction walks up to your mother before she can go looking for you.

"She'll be fine..." Bruce says before clearing his throat. "I'm...um glad you two could make it." He says his usual confidence faltering.

Your mother bods giving a awkward smile.

You on the other hand are having an absolutely wonderful time as you pick up the surprisingly calm cat.

"Good kitty..." You say softly to the cat as you gently rub its back not noticing the confused and slightly irritated preteen walking up to you.

"He's not a kitten anymore. He's a cat." Damian says sternly looking at you up and down trying to figure out who you were.

"All cats are basically kitties...." You say and damian looks at you like your ridiculous because to him you are.

Dick the ever golden child tries to defuse the fight before it happens.

"Hey there sweetheart....who's your parents?" He asks putting a hand on Damians shoulder to calm him.

"Yes who is your parents? I specifically told father ,I didn't want anyone other then family at my party." Damian says before you can answer.

You giggle as the cat begins to purr from you rubbing it.

Looking at you and your behavior Dick can't help but guess.

"Is your dad Clark? Like Clark kent? You don't look like him...did he adopt you?"

You giggle again at their confused faces and shake your head.

"No? Well thats unfortunate.....Clark usually has the happy kids....anyway who is your parents then?" Dick says now very curious.

Now you have Damian and Dick both curious but before you can respond Bruce steps up out of nowhere.

"This is the kid I was telling you guys about....remember?" Bruce says putting a hand on your shoulder and you look up at him smiling. Which really throws them off.

"Bruce...can I talk to you for a moment?" Dick says sounding worried. And Bruce nods confused did you not make a good first impression?

Walking to the side Dick speaks up.

"So that's the kid your planning on adopting?"

"Yes....is there a problem?" Bruce says utterly confused.

"Well no....but usually the kids you adopt...are different....." Dick says motioning his hand around to make a point.

"Well yes she will be the first girl but...."

"No she's the first kid not traumatized ,father." Damian says interrupting Bruce.

"Oh......."

Bruce takes a good glance back at you as you carefully continue petting the cat with a smile....yeah you were definitely different then his other kids....

"Well I think it's a good thing!" Tim says with a smile popping out of nowhere.

"The hell did you come from?" Dick says taken back.

"Don't ask stupid questions." Tim says rolling his eyes.

"I just told her about quantum physics and she actually listened! She didn't call me lame or anything! She actually told me I was smart like twilight...and I have no idea who that is....but they sound smart!" Tim says happily as if he just won the lottery.

"See atleast one of you already likes her." Bruce says trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't not like her....I just didn't know you chose her is all...." Dick says shrugging.

"Impossible" Damian says and all eyes turn to him.

"What's impossible?" Dick questions.

"That." Damian says pointing to you.

And low and behold what you are currently doing is nearly impossible. You still holding the calm cat in your arms have begun talking to the one an only red hood. Or like he told you Jason Todd.

And not only are you talking you have him....smiling? Damian is right.....it's impossible.

"When the hell did he get here?" Tim asks confused.

To which dick shrugs and replies.

"I stopped asking those stupid questions a long time ago."

Bruce just stares in disbelief...and happiness.

"That's no fair...he's stealing my future favorite sibling away from me!" Tim say throwing his arms up dramatically.

Damian scoffs rolling his eyes.

"Oh please drake don't humor us. Everyone knows that she'll favor me."

"And how exactly are you sure of that little wing? I mean the youngest usually favor the oldest...." Dick says with a mocking smile.

"Well she is holding my cat." Damian retorts.

"That doesn't count." Tim says putting his hand on his hips.

"Well it looks like she already has a favorite...." Bruce says looking as he looks at you and jason from afar... It was a quiet a sight a big druglord smiling and having a calm conversation with a little girl in a puffy pinky dress.

But Bruce loved the fact that you and jason were getting along and he could see why. You had that special spark about you. That made you light up a room...just like jason had when he was robin......

Jason finally seeing that the others are watching him he kindly ends your conversation and walks over to them.

"Who's the kid?" Jason says gesturing back to you as you continue petting Alfred the cat.

"That's the kid Bruce plans to adopt." Dick say with a smug like smile.

Jason's eyes narrow but not enough to be considered a glare. "Hell no, Bruce." Jason says his voice firm and Bruce shoots him a puzzled look.

"Not that one....you don't get to ruin that one." Jason says and Bruce can't hide the fact that Jason's words sting.

"Don't be ridiculous Todd...it's already being done." Damian pipes up clearly eager to have you in the family.

"Actually no it's not....this one actually has a family....a mom. A good one too." Tim says in a 'know it all way'.

"Well that can be easily fixed....." Damian whispers shrugging as if it's simple problem.

"You see what I mean! Even the biological one is fucked up!" Jason says pointing at Damian.

"Now let's all calm down... I'm sure Bruce has a good reason why he feels the need to adopt her." Dick says trying and failing to calm everyone down.

"Is her mom abusive?"

"A drug addict?"

"Neglective?"

"Irresponsible?"

"Well no.....she's a good mother..." Bruce says awkwardly. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Have you ever heard the term if it's not broke don't fuckin try and fix it!?" Jason says sighing and rubbing his face.

"Alfred wants her too." Bruce defends quickly.

All eyes turn to him in shock. Because Alfred had never told bruce to adopt one of them. Sure Alfred loved all of them the second they stepped foot in the manor but he had never told Bruce to get them.

"Your lying....." Dick mutters in disbelief.

"Sadly he is telling the truth." Alfred says walking up to them.

"Well I change my mind. I'm in." Jason's says which makes everyone more confused.

"Why are you in now?" Tim asks.

"Well if Alfred wants her....she must be pretty special." Jason says shrugging.

"She indeed is." Alfred clarifies with a smile.

"In what ways is she exactly 'special'." Damian questions confused.

"I believe she could....fix us." Alfred says nonchalantly.

".......huh?"

"Alfred's right.....we could use some help...." Bruce says nodding.

"Well I won't speak for all of you ,but I do speak for myself when I say I personally don't see anything wrong with me." Damian says raising his eyebrows silently daring anyone to tell him he's wrong.

"You literally just offered to kill the girls mom so we could adopt her." Dick says shaking his head like a disappointed mother.

"I was trying to be a good big brother ,and offer assistance. You should try it some time ,grayson." Damian says scoffing.

"See what I mean where fucked up!" Jason says groaning and shaking his head.

"Well I wouldn't say she'd be helping us improve. I prefer to call it needing light in a time of darkness." Alfred says calmly putting his hands together but he isn't looking at any of them.

They all trace his gaze and look the way he's looking which leads back to you.

Looking back at you they see your mother already scolding you for running off but there's no true bite behind her words and they can tell.

I mean who could yell at you when your pouting so cutely?

"What about the mom?" Jason asks not taking his eyes off of you.

"Like I said that can be arranged."

"No Damian!" They all say in sync.

"Well then pennyworth....since this is your idea. What do you suggest?" Damian asks quietly so you and your mother don't hear.

Now all eyes are on Alfred but Alfred doesn't take his eyes off of your mother.

And like always the butlers words are calm ,and surprise everyone.

"Marriage."

Thanks for reading!!

Likes reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

Notes: this is not proofread please do not judge!

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