#because this REEKS of projection

[fauvester]

betazoid SIC chauncey using his telepathy specifically to inflict extremely specific psychological damage on unruly subordinates as discipline. like Hm. I sense a great deal of inner turmoil. you know your parents wont be any less proud of you if you refrain from being such a toxic bitch in the workplace. you'll be right about nobody ever loving you if you keep acting like a frat boy on off hours

[randomnameless]

What do you think about the take that there's no freedom of religion in Fodlan because there's a woman who worships a foreign deity in the abyss?

More or less the same thing than the take about Colonel Sanders being jailed in Garreg Mach because Rhea wants all those chicken tenders for herself.

More seriously,

Bar Claude speaking with his ass, and apparently Leonie being worried that the Church might be crossed with Claude mentionning he's not religious - even if in Leicester it's pretty much known far and wide that the nobles adopt a pious font for PR - I prefer believing the words of, you know, the CoS officials aka Rhea and Seteth on that matter, the CoS's doctrine - at least for the Central Church - doesn't forbid practice of other religions or faiths.

The Western Church being xenophobic most likely would be pissed at, say, random duscurian person worshiping Duscurian gods, but as for the central church? They, just, dgaf.

Now, in the Abyss, there's a pagan statue - from a Dagda deity per Shamir in Nopes! - and a woman praying there, who was apparently harassed for not following the Seiros faith.

But... if freedom of religion was banned :

1/how the fuck this 20 meters tall statue managed to be placed in Fodlan's Vatican's basement without anyone noticing

2/why Seteth and Rhea, when asked, said they don't impose the Seiros faith on people

3/why Leicesterians are allowed to be "pious for show" if religion was so important?

As always with Fodlan, we have some things told by several characters who are playable/talkable in the base game (tfw Seteth mentions how they don't force people to worship first in FEH, and then in Nopes, but nothing in FE16 + Cyril's supports that no one bothers to read because fig him I guess and ultimately they don't matter because Claude can't look like a clown in VW) and they are contradicted by either, flavor text, screening through various lines of hidden dialogue or, flat out, lines said in the gacha or the musou spin off.

Now, about that Dagdan woman, why was she in the Abyss, aka, a CoS shelter ?

Because she worships a different god and that's frowned upon by, uh, the very same church that shelters her? And this church gives her a place to worship her deity?

Or, if we take clues and connect dots from two astral planes, could it make more sense that this person ended up in the Abyss because she was Dagdan, and from Shamir's backstory we know Dagdans aren't that beloved by Fodlan people, after their multiple attempted invasions of Adrestia? Dagdan Woman must have looked for some shelter and found one - as for where or who put that statue here, I can't guess, but given how the Abyss is a place for people who cannot live at the surface without being picked on/harassed/threatened, I suppose the purpose of that statue being there was more in the lines of "as long as you're here if you want to worship your god you can do so" and less in the lines of "I'm so not tolerant at all that I will create a space in my holiest place where you can worship your god, because i hate other religions than my own".

If there is a general point to be made about "freedom of religion" in Fodlan, it's more about the lack of reliable (so, no Claude and his "I'll smash open the land and get rid of its backwards values unless I go to school") info about how tolerant the various countries that compose Fodlan are, and how some people from the CoS aren't on the same wavelength as Rhea and Seteth are.

Do they have some sort of responsability in this matter? Maybe in their hands-off approach to let the regional branches preach what they want or not adopt a stricter control on what is being taught but the game - and most likely that take - isn't bothered by all intricacies of how to conduct a faith/religion, otherwise I'd call a double standard over the CoS being BaD because they don't tell Father McRandom from Leicester to stop making randoms believe they can't have faith in other religion than the Seiros faith, but not calling out Ionius on not acting against Hanneman's brother in law when he fucked his wife so much that she died, or Lambert for Matthias keeping a kid as a hostage, or Claude's Uncle not frowning at Gloucester killing Raph's parents (the nopes retcon notwithstanding).

[punkeropercyjackson]

sorry, do you. do you think trans men WANT to be men? referring to your anti transmasc percy post. like youre transmasc so im assuming you know this already but how you feel abt a gender doesnt change shit about your gender. what does misandry have to do with trans men

I knew i was gonna get at least one person saying something like this to me over that post but ngl i did NOT see the beginning of this coming.'Do you think trans men WANT to be men?'Yes???????That's how it is in my case and it has been the same for almost every other trans man i've ever met.And i'm sorry but is that really what you took from me saying i think Percy should be a trans woman because it's canon that she's been abused by almost every older man in her life and had mostly male bullies so she canonically hates men as a trauma response and comes across that she wants to be a woman instead with how she acts so much unlike a guy because of the former and loves,respects and admires almost every single female character she comes across and that i don't like transmasc interpretations of her because they always take that away and all the other stuff that makes her compelling for the sake of f*tishizing her😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭????????

[lucy-ghoul]

................. not to rain down on anyone's parade but barely characterized 14 year old lucerys could never have the swag eleanor or henry had

[anythingforstories]

Never did I expect to share my 2017-era fanfic with 1,300 students for them to practice line editing techniques, but here we are.

[twowink]

you know what. fuck it it should be said. i think that erasing sakis illness is ABSOLUTELY ableism ESPECIALLY if you make tsukasa sick instead . i dont care if its a 'swap au' and i dont care if you make tsukasa ill but saki is a canonically disabled character (her illness reads very much like a chronic illness) and its insane how some of you people think that getting rid of that or trying to only Really focus on that ON HER NONCANONICALLY ILL BROTHER (whether its by making him ill or making him ill instead) isnt absolutely insidious

[fellhellion]

sorry im spinning miguel like a rotissere chicken in my brain and need to exocise it, some points:

that beat of silence when gwen asks if he knows for sure what will happen if miles breaks the canon <- does some small part of miguel doubt if what happened to him was truly a result of canon breaking, because otherwise why hesitate (and if so what gives him cause to think this), or is this simply a comment on the characters thinking miles is perhaps being someone who can surpass the limitations of canon. Though this second point would run contrary to the fact that Gwen’s actions alter the fate of her father. 

why does miguel’s adopted universe seem to break all at once part 1 <- was his self from that universe also spiderman and that’s what he considers his canon breaking event? you don’t get the sense that dead miguel was spiderman because current miguel was unhappy enough with his life just being his work to abandon it for the chance at a family. and all the memories he observes of himself with gabi just show him as a normal dad. You only see his spidersuit when he’s trying to save her.

why does miguel’s adopted universe seem to break all at once part 2 <- the only catalyst we’ve ever seen enact so much instant destabilisation is the collider. when itsv’s spider gang was there, the destabalisation was going to kill them personally, not the universe, so what’s the difference here? the watch doesn’t seem to displace that destablisation onto the world per what we’ve seen so. why so instantaneous. 

if the destabalisation was gradual and we simply see the final deadly result, did miguel simply ignore it? Even with the threat it posed to his daughter? 

[gaykingslayer]

sometimes i lie awake at night thinking about how they got gendry's last name wrong in S8

[sohemotional]

Another thing that’s incredibly gross in this fandom is how the same people who reject/attempt to invalidate Santana’s sexuality also absolutely refuse to acknowledge Brittany’s bisexuality at all and act like Quinn is somehow the only lesbian character in Glee. Or worse, act like the concept of Quinn being a lesbian makes more sense than Santana somehow?? How are you going to erase Santana’s sexuality and act like Quinn is more valid as a lesbian character while ignoring the entire series? Did we watch the same show? Just because they wanna change canon and pretend that Quinn never had feelings for men (her many male love interests and hookups that she always talked about idc what anyone says) doesn’t mean it’s canon. I seriously don’t understand fandom at all. They got Santana who is such an amazing gay character and they don’t appreciate it.

[king0fcrows]

.

[almondmilklatte]

you know when people talk about how bad telenovelas are because they're so dramatic and over the top and unrealistic meanwhile every tv show drama first watch ive embarked on has me pissed off 15% into the show once all the introductory expository bullshit is out of the way because it's meandering and senseless YUP YUP HOW DO U LIKE THEM TURNTABLES????

[writersdrug]

Give me Alpha!König and Omega!Reader, but they both kinda hate the situation. You were gifted to Kortac as a 'thank you' from your family for protection, because what else are they going to do with an omega? Too risky to have you there already, you'd be an easy target for a diplomatic family like yours.

So they bounce you over to Kortac. Who decides giving you to the grumpy, stressed overworked Alpha might just fix him.

But... it doesn't really (yet). He doesn't like having something that relies on him, something that his superiors said he "needed" to help soothe him (soothe him? What is he, a child?!). And you're not happy about being handed off like a gift from your family. Blood is not thicker than water, apparently.

So there you sit, opposite ends of the table with König, a scowl on each of your faces. You're supposed to be scenting each other, but all you're doing is stinking up the room with your angry scents. The poor beta has their nose pinched and their eyes watering with how sour the room is, looking back and forth between the two of you as you stare around the ground, arms crossed, and König stares at his phone, tapping his meaty fingers on the table.

"Could you two please just get this over with so I can-"

"No." You both say in unison.

The beta sighs. "You both reek. I'm getting Commander." She says, slipping out of the room.

Finally, for a brief second, you both look at each other. König huffs and you scowl, looking away. You ignore that feeling of your Omega, latching onto the one thread of curiosity in your mind. You are NOT interested in this oaf of an Alpha.

(yes you are.)

--------------------

How do we feel about developing this? Got a lot on my plate I'd need to start hacking away at but this project has been on my mind for a while. Also got the A/b/o dynamics/processes/setup (idk the words aren't wording today, the "happenings" of how this universe works?) From @soaps-mohawk, so any "this is how it works" stuff is all credited to them!

[inkskinned]

you wanted to be a good friend, because you loved your friends, but the truth was that everyone else somehow had a pamphlet on being normal that you never received. most of the time you learn by trial-and-error. you are terrified of the next big mistake you make, because it seems like the rules are completely arbitrary.

you've learned to keep the prickly parts of your personality in a stormcloud under your bed - as if they're a second version of you; one that will make your friends hate you. it feels feral, burning, ugly.

instead, you have assembled habits based on the statistical likelihood of pleasing others. you're a good listener, which is to say - if you do speak up, you might end up saying the wrong thing and scaring off someone, but people tend to like someone-who-listens. or you've got no true desires or goals, because people like it when you're passive, mutable. you're "not easy to fluster" which is to say - your emotions are fundamentally uninteresting to others around you; so you've learned to control them to a degree that you can no longer really feel them happening.

you have long suspected something is wrong with you, but most of the time, googling doesn't help. you are so-used to helping-yourself, alone and with no handbook. the reek of your real self feels more like a horrible joke - you wake up, and, despite all your preparations, suddenly the whole house is full of smoke. the real you is someone waiting to ruin your other-life, the one where you're normal and happy. the real-self is unpredictable, angry.

your real self snarls when people infantilize the whole situation. because if you were really suffering, everyone seems to think you'd be completely unable to cope. but you already learned the rules, so you do know how to cope, and you have fucking been coping. it's not black-and-white. it's not that you are healed during the other times - it's just that you're able to fucking try. and honestly, whenever you show symptoms, it's a really fucking bad sign.

because the symptoms you have are ugly and unmanageable for others. your symptoms aren't waifish white girl things. they're annoying and complicated. they will be the subject of so many pretentious instagram reels. if they cared about you, they'd just show up on time. you care, a lot, so deeply it burns you. you like to picture a world where the comments read if they loved you, they'd never need glasses to see. but since that's a rule you've seen repeated - "one must never be late or you are a bad friend" - you constantly worry about being late and leave agonizingly early. there are no words for how you feel when you're still late; no matter how hard you were trying.

so you have to make up for it. you have to make up for that little horrible real you that you keep locked in a cabinet. you are bad at answering emails so every project you make has to be perfect. you are weird and sensitive so you have to learn to be funny and interesting. you are an inconvenience to others, so you become as smooth as possible, buffing out all the rough parts.

all this. all this. so people can pass their hands over you and just tell you just the once -how good you are. you're a good friend. you're loveable.

[starry-hughes]

wonder who i’m looking for

luke hughes x ex!reader

summary: you don’t go to parties anymore but luke still looks

warnings: angst, implications of sex, mention of losing in frozen four, underage drinking, drinking in general, probably more angst

navigation

The house reeked of cheap beer. For most of the occupants of the house being taken in the NHL Draft, money wasn’t too much of a hardship, especially with the scholarships and everything else they were entitled to as student athletes, but it was still cheap beer. Luke knew everyone here, almost everyone. He wasn’t too familiar with the freshman kids that had came in after he left. He knew some names just through passing and if they were top prospects.

It felt like yesterday he was living in this house with his friends. Now, most of the friends were scattered across the country. Dylan in Tampa, Mackie in Charlotte, sometimes he got to bounce to Sunrise. Luke was leaving for New Jersey. Training camp was going to start and he was no longer on the University of Michigan hockey team. Mark and Ethan still lived in the house, but now the empty rooms were taken by other people. It was part of the life though, Luke had known he wasn’t going to be at Michigan forever.

The party drowned on around him. Cheap beer in his hands, Luke’s eyes scanned the room. He didn’t know who he was looking for. You wouldn’t be there. Why was he still looking?

Luke lived in the dorms his freshman year, as did most. But, because he was a student athlete, he still got invites to parties and events. He didn’t exactly need parties but it was a right of passage, partying in college. But he didn’t even meet you at a party. Those party conversations and meetings came later.

Instead, Luke had met you in one of the buildings he had class in. He walked out of class with Mark when you approached, immediately talking to them. “Your bag,” you handed the bag to Mark. “Thank you. Sorry about that, but I needed it for practice.”

Luke was confused. Who were you? “Oh, right, this is Luke, my teammate,” Mark introduced. “(Y/N),” you stuck your hand out, “I’m the unfortunate person stuck with Mark on our project in Intro to Business.” Luke shook your hand. “He left his bag in my car last night when I drove him to his dorm because of the rain.”

“And (Y/N) happily and graciously brought me the bag because she has class a building over.”

“I should get going, have fun with practice. See you in study group Mark!” And then you were gone. “Are you and her?” Luke finally asked when they got to Yost. “Nope, she’s all yours bud.”

Luke didn’t see you again until Mark yanked you to the group at the football tailgate three weeks later. You were dressed in Michigan colors with an M temporary tattoo on your cheek. “(Y/N)! You remember Luke right?” Mark handed you a cup, presumably alcohol since you were mostly underaged and couldn’t openly drink. “Hi Luke.”

From there, it was meetings at the library, Luke happened to always just be free to attend study session with you and Mark and your other classmates. Then it was text messages and Snapchat picture exchanges from classes when class was boring. Then after the first hockey game of the season, you finally appeared at the party.

The freshmen players weren’t drunk, they were mainly stuck on designated driver duty and bouncer duty. The upperclassmen house was full of students when you arrived. Luke didn’t see you for the first hour or so but he had to admit, he was looking for you. You finally appeared on the back porch of the house, where Luke was. Your roommate was off drinking and you needed out of the stuffy house. “Luke! You didn’t text back after the game so I didn’t know if you would be here,” you hung off his shoulders in a hug. “Are you drinking tonight?” he asked, an arm snaking around your waist. “Yes, my friend is DD!”

Luke smiled. That was the first night you kissed him. Luke wasn’t too proud of it. He felt like you were drunk and you shouldn’t have kissed him. But you wanted to kiss him. It’s why you continued to kiss him the next time you saw him and every time after that. By winter break, you were officially dating.

During the summer in between your freshman and sophomore year, Luke and you were long distance. You were living back with your family for the summer and he was busy with his family and hockey. But when the two of you got back to campus, you were immediately with Luke.

He was living with the boys and you were in an off campus apartment but most of the time you were with him. The excuse for you always being at the house was not just for Luke but also for studying with Ethan and Mark. Mark had taken credit for being the reason you and Luke were together.

At every party, Luke didn’t have to look for you. You were always next to him. Talking to friends and drinking cheap beer or poorly mixed jungle juice. Everything was perfect and good. You were always with him. Most of the times, parties ended late and you slept over with Luke, when sleeping was an option. Most of the time, the two of you were getting hot and heavy behind the locked door of his bedroom.

As sophomore year dragged on, it became more and more apparent to Luke that after the season ended, he would be leaving for New Jersey. Everyone knew it. Well everyone but you. You heard whispers about it but Luke never confirmed it. When the team made it to the Frozen Four, you couldn’t attend the game in Tampa and Luke simply kissed you goodbye and said he would see you soon. But he wouldn’t. He already had bags sent to New Jersey and had his extra sticks packed up. All his teammates knew and you didn’t. It wouldn’t make sense until a week after the Frozen Four as to why Luke had been only hanging out at your apartment, he didn’t want you to know he was packing.

The watch party of the game ended sourly when the boys lost. You texted Luke, telling him you loved him and when he got back you would come over to help cheer him up. Only Luke didn’t come back. He was in New Jersey days later, only telling you when you called crying and angry. Luke had never told you. It was the end of your relationship.

You hated hockey. You hated Michigan. You hated New Jersey. You hate Luke Hughes. Your transfer paperwork went in quickly and your apartment was empty at the end of the semester. You were no longer attending the University of Michigan and it was all because of a boy.

Why hadn’t Luke just told you he was leaving?

Luke had no idea you left. It was almost ironic, him not telling you he was leaving and you not telling him that you transferred schools. Every time he asked Mark or Ethan about you, they dodged his questions. They didn’t want him to know he had caused you so much trouble that you left.

When he finally returned this year, he looked everywhere for you. At the football games, with faces he vaguely recognized, he even debated looking at Mark’s laptop to try and see the class roster, knowing you should be in the same classes. He finally broke and asked the day of the party.

“She left didn’t she?”

“Transferred to OSU after sophomore year,” Ethan admitted. “She’s doing okay if it makes you feel better,” Mark started. Mark was going to continue on but Luke didn’t want to hear it. “No, it doesn’t make me feel better.”

At the party, Luke sat on the couch. All his former teammates and all his friends around him. Cheap beer in his hand. An impending plane ticket to New Jersey for training camp already on his phone. The knowledge that you wouldn’t be at the party, or any party for that matter. All this and more, and yet he still looked for you.

[fruitjoos]

do you trust me?

bully!patrick x reader

summary: bully patrick…. leads to [redacted] 18+

warnings friendly banter, light smut + i’m a little rusty so… be gentle

you met patrick when you were ten. he lived next door, just a skinny kid with dirty sneakers who always wanted to ride bikes. you didn’t mind. the two of you were inseparable then, tethered by boredom and proximity. you got older, though. things shift. kids don’t stay innocent, not for long.

by high school, patrick had drifted, caught up with the boys who reeked of arrogance and cigarettes, the ones who slammed lockers too hard and swaggered through the halls like they owned them. you were still you. quiet, stubborn. not the kind of person who backed down, but never loud about it either. when patrick started cracking jokes at your expense, you told yourself it didn’t matter. it shouldn’t, but god, did it sting. the way he laughed too loud, punched your shoulder too hard, joined his new friends in making you the punchline.

the first time he called you "freak" it landed like a rock to the chest. right there in the middle of a crowd, his voice sharp, eyes avoiding yours. you tried to brush it off, tried to pretend that the patrick from years ago was still buried somewhere under the snide smirks and dirty jokes. but when he started pulling your hair, burping in your face, it was harder to believe.

then there was the history project. the one that felt like a joke before it even started. partners, the teacher said, and you hoped, quietly, fiercely, that patrick wouldn’t be assigned to you. but life has a cruel sense of humor, doesn’t it? your name with his, as if the universe couldn’t resist rubbing salt in the wound. his groan reached your ears before yours even escaped your throat, and when he asked to switch partners, the heat rose to your cheeks. it was like you were something to be ashamed of, something small and pitiful.

after school, he found you at your locker, the same locker he used to stand next to, back when he wasn’t so... different. "what's up, loser," he muttered, shoulder checking you as if it were nothing, like you hadn’t spent summers kicking soccer balls in the backyard, sharing popsicles and trading comic books. now, all he had for you was sarcasm and a half hearted, "i’ll be over at six to work on the project."

he didn’t even wait for a reply. just walked off, hands shoved in his pockets like the conversation was already forgotten. his friends watched him go, smirking, like you were just another part of their cruel little game.

you got home, trying to shake off the sour taste the day left in your mouth. your dad asked how school was, but it was a formality. he wasn’t really listening, not past your shoulder, at least. "good," you lied, because the truth wasn’t worth the effort.

then the doorbell rang. you knew it was him before you even checked. he used to come over without knocking, back when things were simpler. now, it felt wrong, like he didn’t belong here anymore, yet he walked in like he still did, brushing past you without so much as a glance. the strap of his bag almost hit your face. typical.

your mom lit up like it was some reunion, like she didn’t notice the shift between you. “patrick, sweetheart,” she cooed, pulling him into a hug, her hand smoothing over his curls like she used to. it made your stomach twist, hearing her treat him like he hadn’t changed. but he had, hadn’t he?

you didn’t wait around for their small talk. upstairs felt safer, quieter. patrick followed, like he always had a right to, like he didn’t need to ask permission. he knew the way. he’d been in your room a hundred times. back then, when he was your friend. now, though, he was just the guy who sat behind you in class, yanked your ponytail when he wanted answers, and whispered insults under his breath.

funny how things turn out.

time dragged, the minutes between words heavy, like even the clock didn’t want to be there. patrick sat slouched at your desk, picking at his fingernails, bored already. he mentioned he only had an hour. just enough time before he had to meet his friends at the dump. a dive bar downtown, the kind of place that smelled like sweat and stale beer. you raised an eyebrow, asking if he was even old enough to get in, knowing full well he wasn’t. he pulled out a fake ID with a flourish, like it was something to be proud of. 23. five years older than his real age. you shook your head, a bitter scoff escaping before you could stop it.

"what?" he snapped, catching the edge in your voice. "stop being such a goody two shoes, will you?" he leaned in, voice dropping low, sharp. "no one likes a prude." his words, hissed in your own room, your space, hit harder than you thought they would. this wasn’t the boy who used to make you laugh until you cried. this wasn’t the patrick who snuck out to the park with you at midnight, just to talk about stupid dreams and shared your secrets with.

you could feel the tears gathering, uninvited, in the corners of your eyes. you didn’t want to cry. not in front of him. not when he’d see it as some kind of victory. but it was like he could sense it, the moment your breath hitched. he sighed, like the weight of your sadness was too much for him to carry. “don’t,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “don’t cry, okay?”

but it was too late, and the first tear slipped down your cheek. you sniffled, wiping at your face quickly, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening, but his tone changed. "i’m sorry," he said, almost too soft to believe. he said it again, as if repetition might make it real. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it.”

for a few long moments, neither of you said anything. you sat there, on the edge of your bed, while he fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket, the silence growing thicker, heavier.

then he spoke, too casually, too easily. “i know how to make you feel better.”

“lay back,” he said, his voice firmer than you expected, almost a command. you blinked, caught off guard. “what?” you asked, still wiping the tears from your cheeks, not sure if you heard him right.

“do you trust me?” he asked, and his eyes had that look again, the one that used to be familiar, the one that always dared you to go along with whatever half baked idea he had.

“no,” you scoffed, voice thick, still bitter from his words earlier. you didn’t even hesitate, but your chest tightened a little, because there was a time when that question wouldn’t have needed to be asked.

he tilted his head, the silent gesture pressing the question again, almost like a challenge. you sighed, exhaling the fight from your lungs. “fine,” you muttered, lying back from the edge of the bed. you didn’t know why you were giving in. maybe a part of you still believed that under all the rough edges, he was still the patrick you used to know.

his eyes scanned over your room for a second before grabbing something. “put this on,” he said, handing it to you.

you looked down at it, blinking in confusion. a pink sleeping mask, silky and soft to the touch. ridiculous, absurd. you stared at it, then at him, trying to make sense of the moment. “what... are you doing?” you asked, more to yourself than him.

he didn’t answer, just nodded toward the mask. you could tell he was waiting, watching, like the whole thing was some inside joke you weren’t in on yet. for reasons you couldn’t explain, you did as he said, slipping the mask over your head. maybe you were tired. maybe you just didn’t want to argue anymore. or maybe, somewhere deep down, you did still trust him, even if you hated admitting it.

you blinked, confused, the world blurring slightly behind the mask. there was no sound, no movement from patrick, just this heavy stillness. the quiet stretched on, unsettling, until suddenly, you felt his hands lifting up your skirt—firm, steady, grasping your thighs. he pulled them forward, guiding your legs around his shoulders.

“patrick?” your voice came out small, the confusion clear, but you couldn’t see his face, couldn’t read whatever expression he wore. just as his name left your lips, you felt him move, closing the space between you. and then, unexpectedly, a cold, slimy glob landed with a wet splat on your cunt. his lips met your soft, surprisingly already soaked pussy. soft, warmer than you imagined, pressing gently but with a certainty that made your heart lurch.

it was so sudden, so out of place in the middle of this strange, awkward moment that your mind couldn’t catch up to your body. for a second, you froze, not sure what to do or think. this was patrick. the same boy who had spent the past year mocking you, pulling at your hair, calling you names. but now, here he was, lapping up your juices, his breath mingling with the heat radiating from your core, like none of that had happened. like this was the only thing that mattered.

his velvety tongue swirled around your pink, swollen nub. your body jolted as his teeth nipped at it. your mouth hung open as you gripped onto the sheets, trying to ground yourself. the slurping sounds he made sent shivers up your spine, “fuck.” you gasped, almost uncontrollably. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing gentle kisses against your clit. almost like he was in love with it. in love with you. “i didn’t mean to make you cry.” he added, his warm breath adding to your pleasure. he asked if you forgive him and all you could do was nod, whimpering a small, “yes.” your eyebrows knitting together in satisfaction. his tongue flicked over your clit vigorously, making you come within seconds.

your hole clenched rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. your fingers tangled in a few of his curls. “when did you learn how to do that?” you panted, eyes still covered. he shrugged as if you could see him before pulling the mask from over your eyes. your cheeks instantly flushing when reality hit you. your ex best friend, bully or whatever just sucked an orgasm out of you. for fun. to please you. to make you forgive him. because he still cares, clearly.

he pressed his lips that were smothered in your liquids against your own. the taste of yourself soaking into your tongue. “you were my first experiment,” he murmured, his voice low. before you could process the weight of his words, he leaned in again, pressing another soft, almost calculated peck against your trembling lips.

[15minlatewithbatbucks]

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."