#hn fics

[hournites]

I saw Hournite and immediately rushed to send in an ask! 😁 "Is this a date?" -Rhuben

Homemakers

Beth wiped silky cobweb film on her patchwork jeans. Mindful to not let her upbringing with wealthy parents and a spotless home cloud her judgment, she stepped away from the giant 80s curtains, continuing to meander through the fixer-upper. The wooden floorboards were swollen with old water damage and spreading apart by the front foyer, creaking beneath her tennis shoes. A stubborn stale smell lingered in the air, even after Rick opened windows to stop her sneezing.  

“I know it needs work.” Rick glanced around at the stains and barebones furniture, seeing his home through her eyes for the first time. “A lot of work.” 

“That doesn’t matter.” She turned around, full with so much gratitude. To her knowledge, Rick had never let anyone visit his house. When he casually suggested they stop by because he forgot his hourglass in his room, she nearly kicked her feet with giddy. She was happy just to be on his property for the first time, she didn’t expect him to give her a private tour. “I think this place is wonderful.” 

“It’s a shithole,” he corrected, shrugging a shoulder. “There was a pipe leak just last week. You don’t have to lie.” 

It wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t about to deny that it needed serious TLC. The rugs could use a good beating and every room she saw was practically begging for a deep clean. The only mirror was dirty and cracked in the bathroom. The couch could at minimum use a cover, but honestly needed to be replaced…Swiffer could do a commercial here for their mops. No dishwasher and a clothesline for his flannel to dry. At the same time, in all its depressing neglected glory, many trinkets belonging to Rick’s parents were left behind by Matt Harris, writing them off as worthless in value. It was humbling and reassuring to see the reminders of the house this once was. It brought Rick’s past alive. 

In fact, she was certain she could transform this into a rustic, positive and hospitable space Rick wouldn’t have to feel ashamed of. With some flowers in window planters and a few fruit trees for Grundy, they could even revive the farm and make it beautiful again. 

“Nonsense.” Sitting down on a soft duvet in the room they ended up in, she slipped her hands behind herself to curb the itch she had to fetch her goggles and measure dimensions. She flashed him a grin instead. “It just needs a trip to Ikea.”

“…Ikea?” he repeated, like it was a foreign word. 

Beth gave him an excited nod. “Mmhm!” 

Rick crossed his arms with a strange look on his face, leaning against the doorpost as she looked around, noticing a mismatching vibe she couldn’t quite place. She sniffed after another tickling sneeze, nose no longer quite so clogged with dust mite. An earthy scent greeted her at last. A hint of sandalwood and trees.

 “It smells so good here.” She settled in, crossing one leg underneath the other and pulled out her phone for Ikea’s web browser while ideas were still fresh. “Best spot so far.” 

“This is my room,” he told her, amused. “And that’s my bed, so you’re smelling me.” 

She gaped at him, ignoring the flush warming her cheeks. “Your room?” 

But there wasn’t a single personal item here on display! No books, snack wrappers, or any pictures…There was the bed and a chair, and, yes, admittedly now she did see his phone charger plugged into the outlet in the corner, but…she at least expected the hourglass to be somewhere noticeable. 

“What?” he teased. “Didn’t think my bed would be made?”

She stood up, sensitive to what was growing between them and unsure how to proceed. “I didn’t say that!” she protested hotly. 

“I know, B. I’m kidding.” 

His tone went soft. Like he loved to ruffle her feathers for the opportunity to gently set her at ease. 

Opening his door to her also opened a part of  himself that Beth always craved after. As guarded as he first was that she knew everything about where he came from, he’d quickly adapted and affirmed her presence much like the baby steps it took for Rick to invite her to sit shotgun in the Mustang. And now it was her unofficial official seat. 

“But why is it always you now,” Yolanda used to whine when Rick picked them up for school. Beth would shrug innocently, like she hadn’t been aware their dynamic was charged from the start. 

She wasn’t sure how long he’d ever had the peace they fostered in the Mustang, knowing this was the very place he’d used the car for to escape. It wasn’t lost on her that their friendship filled a lot of voids. Connection, solidarity, and, well, partnership. Which, at first, worked in the traditional sense on the team, but had now sailed into the uncharted gray area beyond intense friendship. She couldn’t help longing for more. And, she knew, she was the one that usually tested the boundary as the extrovert of the two, but it secretly thrilled her when it was Rick’s doing, which he was more often. 

It had only occurred to her that she’d never let Rick into her bedroom all the times he’d stayed over. Why was that? Her parents never set out any ground rules. And there she was, curling up in his private space–She could only dream what was running through his mind. Was there such a thing as too comfortable? How much was too much?

“And—” she continued to justify, even though Rick never asked. “I likely have your scent memorized because I’m familiar with your car. Or something.”

“Sure.” Rick lifted an eyebrow at her, and kept going. “Or, you just really like my aftershave.” Bending down, he pulled out a storage container from under his bed with a padlock and that had all his stuff. 

Beth glanced out the window at the field of dry grass, hoping he’d open it too when the room only grew warmer as more unwarranted thoughts of Rick shaving leisurely swirled around her head. 

Meanwhile, Rick latched onto the golden chain of the hourglass and slipped it round his neck. She decided she’d rather be embarrassed about finding such random things Rick does attractive than stay sad about the state of his living habits, clearly developed from living with his uncle. He deserved a teenage room, not a hotel safe. Now that thought drove her to wrap her arms around his middle. 

“Thanks for bringing me here.” 

Rick returned her hug hesitantly, genuinely confused. “Is this just an excuse to smell me?” 

“No,” she said with a roll of her eyes, a teeny tiny fib–she’d already buried her face into his shirt. But this was not the time for that, so she sacrificed the sandalwood for propriety and regretfully pulled away. “I know it matters, that’s all. You could’ve told me to wait in the car but you didn’t. So, thank you.” 

He nodded and Beth stepped back, folding her arms.“So, Ikea after training?” 

She watched him nervously rub his jaw and added, “We can set a budget. And you get veto power over anything we get.” She crossed her heart but in their business, didn’t think it prudent to hope to die. 

“Okay, but I veto.” 

Her hand is still over her chest. “You veto.” 

“It’s my budget not yours.” 

“Okay, but can I buy a few things?” 

“Define a few.” 

She held out a hand. “Ten things?” She saw his face twist and quickly adjusted. “Five things! Five things you really want!”

“One thing. Maybe. I’ll pay you back later. And, I’d need your advice anyway so don’t give me that look. And this is my house, not yours.” 

She saluted as he shepherded her out of his room with a hand on the small of her back.  “Message clear and understood.” 

-.-

“Is this a date?” She peered into a display box with a dozen different door knobs in one of the Ikea showrooms. Rick gave her a long sideways glance as he pushed a cart twice the length of Courtney’s staff. 

“What?” She laughed in his pointed silence. “People go on Ikea dates all the time! They browse interior decor, ask probing questions to get to know each other, share Pinterest ideas to share their dream house aesthetics, and find pieces that fit both styles. There’s a restaurant to eat Swedish meatballs for dinner…Not to mention the teamwork required afterwards for assembly.”

“You think building furniture together with wordless instructions is romantic?” 

“It can be with the right person! And a pair of very useful AI goggles. Or a guy with very convenient strength.” She picked up an eight dollar lampshade. “This one?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Does it come in black? And I thought you were very against using JSA stuff for non-JSA things.”

“Exceptions can be made–Are you sure you want black? That’s a depressing color.” 

“I’m sure.” 

She sighed, resigning to the unforgivable fact Rick was a monochromatic minimalist by default. She noted it down to collect in the maketplace. “So, is this a date?”  

The long cart came to a stop. Rick rested his elbow against the metal grate handle. “Believe it or not I do have standards. I’m not having a first date be a trip to Ikea because my house is so ugly it rendered you to tears.” 

She laughed again in disbelief, having so much fun. “I did not cry!” 

“You hugged me!” 

“Because you smelled really good, and I was in your room, which also smelled really good, and I was happy,” she explained, gesturing wildly. 

“You’re going to bump into that dresser,” Rick warned her, avoiding a backwards collision with the KOPPANG by tugging her close just in the nick of time. 

Greeted by sandalwood yet again, she whispered, “So a first date in your books would not include Ikea at all?”

“Not a first date. Not any date.”

“Noted.” She peered at him quickly, then glanced away to watch other families and couples shop, clasping her wrists behind her back as they walked along the long natural way. Rick strayed away to pick up a few things.

It was when she got lost going through the Turkish rug samples hanging from the ceiling that an arm wrapped around her and she got a kiss on her cheek felt all the way down to her toes. 

[hockeynoses]

Something inspired me, and I wanted an "I Told You So" situation, so I wrote this. It's only a teeny bit D/s, with a sweet ending.

“Aww, sweetheart, you look miserable,” says A.

“SNF. I amb,” B responds, their words thick with congestion.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling poorly. But you know, this could have been prevented.”

A miserable, viscous sneeze is B’s only response. It fills the tissue that’s held desperately to their face, a constant presence under their red, streaming nose.

“Like I said, if you had only…” A looks at B expectantly, prompting them to finish the sentence.

“If I had… ha… ha’ERRSSHH’IUE!” B groans miserably into their mangled tissue. “If I’d have godden bmy flu shot.”

“Yep. Then you wouldn’t be…”

“Ha’IIGHHH’SHUU! Ugh. Sigg.”

“With?”

“The… huh- the -heh’AAIIEEH’SHUH! With the flu,” B practically whines into the tissue.

“Correct.” A can’t control their smug, satisfied smile. “Now, are you going to listen to me next time?”

“Yes. ihh-KIIISSSHH’iew!”

“Good,” says A, their smile turning sunny.

“Can you brigg bme sobme tea now?”

“Of course, love.”

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

Hide-n-Seek

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader Word Count: 3.9 K CW: 18+, minors DNI. (spoilers) fake weapons, tight spaces, alcohol consumption, minor character minor injury, some steaminess, but no smut (in this part). {Author Commentary: Here's my (belated) Halloween party fic! I hope it can offer a pleasant distraction. Here's an 80s/90's music playlist I listened to, to give the party vibes. I still ended up writing myself into a part two, oops. I hope you all find this brief trip (back) in the closet enjoyable. (tell me you laughed.)}

“Because the 80s just understood horror. The 80s were the HIGHT of horror-”

“Josh might argue that with you, but I see the vision…”

You stood next to your friend at her kitchen island, looking out at the gaudy Halloween decor expertly placed in every corner, and along every wall. The atmosphere was made complete by a series of alternating colored lights, and scattered light-up decorations, beaming through the generally dark apartment, -and a booming 80s rock/ballad playlist. It really did feel like a movie.

Because you’d had work that day, you’d arrived a bit later than some, but not the majority. Some friends had arrived early to set up, and others to help each other finish assembling their costumes. The energy was immaculate as you’d strutted in in your costume. The lights were already down, the music loud, and your friends had turned from pouring their drinks in the kitchen to greet you jovially, and squeal in support as you gave a twirl.

A ‘Huntress’ was the title you’d officially given your costume, though it wasn’t based on a particular franchise character, just a high fantasy concept you liked. You’d landed on a long, dark green dress, with high, high slits up both thighs, a fitted bodice, and draped sleeves that hung around your arms in a goddess-esque fashion leaving your shoulders bare. Of course, the key accessory was a faux gold archer’s bow that you wore over your shoulder, cross-body style, and a quiver of arrows ‘-a clever disguise for a purse-’ , all complimented by your smokey metallic eyeshadow, delicate gold hair jewelry, and body chains. You loved Halloween, and your friends knew to expect nothing less than an all-out costume. 

You’d joined them in the kitchen to secure your first drink of the night. As you were laughing along and adding a silly eyeball candy and gummy worm garnish to your drink. Another gaggle of people exited the bathroom down the hall. Amid the mixed chatter you heard Jake’s distinctive soft rasp, laughing in mock distress “no, really- I think it’s enough- please let me go free- this outfit doesn’t even require makeup-” and a responding laugh “Yeah, but of all the days to wear makeup- how could you deny me??” Your other friend, a big makeup enthusiast, and nothing short of an artist, followed him down the hall, giving him a playful shove. 

The group all ended up in the kitchen, to refresh their drinks. “Oh yay!!” they welcomed your new presence, and you mutually geeked over each others’ costumes. “You two!” The host jokingly huffed, gesturing with her raised glass between you and Jake, who was in the corner, filling a flask he’d pulled from his pocket, avoiding the swarm of welcomes, “Leave it to you two to go the hardest, in your own fucking direction.” You and Jake took in each other’s costumes, laughing along. They were certainly of a similar genre, and in sharp contrast to the general decor. 

His knight costume consisted of a shiny silver gorget and pauldrons, adorning his chest and shoulders, and a chainmail mesh top that barely covered his midriff. One of his beloved swords was secured by a leather belt on top of his dark, drapey, high-waisted trousers which were cuffed just over his signature boots. Your eyes made their way back up, smirking again at his midriff, before properly seeing his eyes. They had the faintest smudge of charcoal grey concentrated around his water line, expertly blended out by your friend to be almost unnoticeable, blending seamlessly to the faintest shift of iridescence around his eyes and the highlights of his face. It didn’t even register as makeup, alongside his already distinguished features, and long half-waved hair, it simply enhanced his mystical aura, making him look like a character from a fantasy game. 

He grinned after giving you another once over while screwing the top on his flask and slipping it in his pocket.

“Damn, maybe I should’ve let her go full smokey eye on me, if im up against you” He made his way around the kitchen island to properly greet you in a half-hug, careful not to spill the drink in your hand. 

“Hmm, are you sure you’d want to compete with me?” You narrowed your eyes in a playfully challenging way.

His smirk twisted to the side before he deftly slipped your drink from your hand and took a sip. 

“Mm. Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

He returned the drink to you, drying his mustache with his free hand before giving your arm a final squeeze with the other and following the crowd to the living room. You laughed and shook your head, turning back to your friend who was hosting. 

“Damn, he’s really dialed up to 11 tonight.” You chuckled, glancing back towards him before making your way to the buffet covered with snacks. Your friend just raised her eyebrows and smirked at your turned back. You stocked up a little plate of snacks before the two of you went to find a comfy seat among your friends in the living room as the apartment filled with people.

Several hours, and many rounds of drinks later, you were sat in an armchair, almost falling over the arm in an enthused conversation with a friend of a friend you had recently bonded with over an underrated album preference ‘-and a decent level of tipsyness.’

You paused as you heard a group of people enthusiastically cheering. You looked up at the group as the host stepped toward the middle of the living room.

“Ok, party people! Who’s ready… for Hide-n-Seek?”

Normally getting a group of adults to play Hide-n-Seek would be a hard sell, but the energy in the room was just right, and loud cheers could be heard from around the apartment. The host announced she’d be seeking first, and that would be starting “riiiigghhhhht.. Now.” with a clap of her hands and som gleeful shrieks, people began darting around. The apartment was nice, thanks to her success in the arts. It had multiple floors, and even guest rooms, perfect for a game like this. You giggled to yourself after waving to the person you’d been talking to and scurrying off to find a spot. You made your way upstairs, as many others had. At the third and final landing, facing down the hallway of the smaller third floor, you saw a double-door closet but walked right by it. ‘Wayyy too obvious.’

You passed a bathroom and heard some muffled giggling. You made your way to the spare bedroom at the end of the hall. You opened it and instantly heard a yelp. You quickly stepped back into the hall, slammed the door closed in front of you, sparing the blur of two people, that had apparently been making out in the room. You backed away from the door, giggling and covering your reddening face. “So sorry!”, you called before making your way back down the hall. The seeker’s countdown was already nearly over, causing you to quickly settle for the closet.

You suddenly realized your drink was still on the coffee table in the living room. However, ywour thoughts of sneaking down to get it were cut short. You heard footsteps climbing the stairs, and you instantly felt crestfallen, knowing it was likely the seeker, and of course, if they came to this floor they’d be checking the closet first. You found yourself holding your breath as the footsteps approached. One of the doors creaked open, and you were ready to let out a defeated groan when a finger pressed softly to your lips. Your eyes widened as a grinning Jake stepped in. He effectively backed you into the other half of the closet as he hastily pulled the door closed behind him. Your brow creased in annoyance as you realized what was happening. You pulled his hand away, removing his shushing finger from your lips as you whispered indignantly; 

“Jake, this is my hiding spot.”

“Yeah I’m kinda surprised by that, actually, it seems kinda too obvious to be your first choice…”, he whispered, still grinning at you. You rolled your eyes, “And what? Were you too busy batting your eyelashes at someone to secure a better spot?” you snarked back at him. His eyes narrowed curiously, his smirk remaining.

“I was gonna ask what could’ve possibly stopped you from getting a good spot, but now I’m much more curious about that little statement… Why does the thought of me flirting with someone ruffle your feathers so much?”

Your face reddened, thankfully he couldn’t see it in this lighting, right? You didn’t want to validate his implication with a response. 

“Did you at least fill your flask before coming to commandeer my hiding spot?”

He smiled at you devilishly, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling it out. He unscrewed the top before handing it to you.

“How chivalrous” You took a sip, your eyes taking him in before meeting his smirk with a challenging one. “Tell me, was it customary for knights to wear eyeliner?”

“Hazards of the side gig,” he joked, “something of a habit I picked up on the last tour… and a lot of warriors historically wore face markings and stuff…” 

He unsheathed his prop sword, resting the dulled tip on the floor, striking a knightly pose; chin held high, his lips pursed slightly in the same way they often did when he was playing, and his chest puffed exaggeratedly. You giggled slightly, covering your own mouth to stifle it.

He smiled down at you, satisfied that he’d made you laugh. He let his eyes run down you slowly in the dim light. 

“And for …Archers…?” 

You were about to correct him but you inhaled abruptly as he skimmed the cool flat side of the blade along the exposed side of your upper thigh.

“Is this… ‘customary’?” His voice was still low and soft as his eyes trailed the tip of the blade.

You swallowed, looking down at the blade. His eyes flitted to yours. “It’s a prop sword, it’s not sharp, you can touch it.” He assured you. You hadn’t been worried about that, but still, the invitation intrigued you. You reached down and lifted the the tip of the sword, experimentally pressing the pad of your thumb to the thin, but inevitably dull edge.

“Hmh.”

You lifted it to your eye line, inspecting the dulled tip before pressing the pad of your thumb over it. 

“Careful now…” His voice was hushed and deep. His warm hand rested over yours, gently prying your fingers off the blade. He chuckled at you as his other hand sheathed his sword. You retrieved your hand, clearing your throat as you adjusted the string of your bow. 

“Just had to verify, I do have the superior weapon.” You shrugged one shoulder matter-of-factly.

“Pardon?” He raised an eyebrow at you, tilting his head in a challenging manner. 

You smirked, deciding to push it. “Not just in prop form,either. Swords have no range, they’re only good if you want to walk right up to your opponent.” 

“And what’s that bow gonna do for you when there’s someone right in front of you?” 

The two of you had grown closer, “Hmh, I don’t know, I’m pretty good with my hands. …And legs.” Your leg swung around to playfully hook the back of your calf around his. To your surprise his warm, calloused hand caught your leg under the knee, hiking it up so your leg hooked around his hip. The silky fabric of your skirt slid back, parting fully and leaving your entire upper thigh exposed. You’d reached for him as your balance wavered. One of your hands had grasped the back of his neck, the other landing on his waist -half of your palm met the fine chainmail, half met his warm, soft skin. He was already holding you steady though. His other arm had wrapped around you, holding the small of your back. 

“Jake- ‽” you gasped in surprise.

Your faces are now inches apart. The sound of each other's breaths become the only audible thing. A streak of golden orange light from between the double doors illuminated a segment of his face; a fanned dark eyelash, a golden streak in his deep brown iris, the peak in the bridge of his nose, and the seemingly permanent upward curl in the corner of his full lips.

“fuck-” it escaped you in a hushed exhale, though not for entirely the same reason you'd previously been whispering. Jake's head tilted ever so slightly as he took in your reaction. You gathered your wits before he could open his mouth to say anything.

“Jake. We’d be heard.” -‘Certainly not a circumstance you'd ever thought you'd have to voice that sentiment to someone.’

His smile widened, as you confirmed what you’d been considering. He pivoted smoothly till your back was pressed against the back wall of the surprisingly shallow closet. As he leaned in to speak close to your ear the side of his face brushed yours, so, so, tantalizingly.

“You don’t think you could stay quiet? Is that all you’re worried about?”

As he spoke lowly, his thumb began trailing back and forth across your thigh. A suppressed but undeniably desperate whine sounded from you. 

“If I recall,” his hand had started gliding up the back of your thigh, “you’re particularly competitive…” his grip tightened slightly, gripping the fullest part of your thigh, “and you love a challenge…”

His words trailed off as he inhaled your scent and slowly exhaled, his warm breath cascading down your neck. Your hand that had held the back of his neck now found his jaw. You urgently lifted his head so you could finally press your lips to his. God, his lips were like nirvana, full and soft, and fervently melding with yours as he kissed you.

Your hand gripped his side, pressing the chainmail into his skin momentarily before you adjusted your grip to sink your nails into the lush curve of his waist unobstructed. He hummed against your lips as his hips pressed harder into yours. Your bow pressed sharply into your upper back but didn’t register as a problem. His hand that was still resting on your lower back kept it from the wall, furthering the sweet pressure of his hips against yours.

You’d just pulled your lips from his to take a desperate breath when suddenly a tumbling crash and an obscene exclamation came from the stairs.

You both jumped apart as your heads whipped around. By the sound of it, someone had fallen down the top flight of stairs. Instinctively you both stepped through the doors to go help your friend. As you peered down the stairs, the bathroom and bedroom doors down the hall both opened and your friends poured out of their hiding spots to see what had happened.

You and Jake had made your way to the landing, urgently attempting to assist your friend who’d landed on the second floor. A gaggle of people had gathered around as they’d made their way up and down the respective staircases to the landing. Several voices called out asking what had happened, and if everyone was ok. Someone had paused the music so you called out “It’s ok, we’ve got her.” Your friend had tried waving you off saying it wasn’t bad, that she’d just slipped on a portion of the string lights that were woven between the balusters. You refused, asserting that you were going to get her some ice as soon as she got downstairs. After she’d stood up and waivered from a clear pain in her ankle, Jake eventually convinced her to let him help her down the stairs.

You watched him shift his belt so his sword was out of the way and he stooped to lift her -her arm around his shoulder, and her legs draped across his arm. He made his way slowly and steadily down the stairs. The colored lights glinted off the armor still adorning his shoulders, and his hair that fluttered behind him as he descended. ‘He really is a knight in shining armor…’. You snapped back to reality as you all got to the ground floor and Jake swiftly turned towards the couch. You headed to the kitchen and got a soft ice pack before hurrying back to the living room. Jake had set her on the couch and she was chatting and giggling with the people gathering around.

The crowd parted for you and gradually people dispersed to other areas of the room as the music started up again and the party resumed. You knelt by the couch, gingerly resting the pack on her ankle. You looked at her and shook your head with a light laugh. “Do you have an ace bandage or something? This is gonna need some compression unless you want your ankle to swell up. ” She sighed exasperatedly, not one to accept doting. “Yeah, it’s in the bathroom cabinet.” You glanced over your shoulder at Jake, who’d stepped aside for you to apply the ice pack. “Can you grab it? And an aspirin or aleve or something.” Jake nodded and headed off.

When you looked back at your friend her eyes were locked on you. Knowingly. She broke out into giggles as you looked around curiously.

“You know… I wouldn’t judge if the two of you wanted to slip out early.”

“--What?” You practically spluttered.

“You. And Jake.” She stated she stated with a self-assured grin.

The question of how she knew formed on your face, but before you could ask she pointed to your thigh. “It left a mark.” You looked down and saw a wide pink stripe across your exposed thigh, mirroring where Jake’s sheath had pressed into it while you were against the wall. Your face instantly heated up. 

“That and the tension is THICK, tonight, like even worse than usual.”

“Usual?”

She gave you a deadpan look before chuckling again. Jake had returned with an ankle wrap, a bottle of painkillers, and a cup. “Here we are.” He handed the wrap to you with a quick smile before handing her the cup and opening the bottle, beginning to shake two pills into the cap. “Ooh, a drink?” she took it before looking into the cup and frowning. Jake just chuckled “That’s called water.” You chuckled as you gently wrapped her ankle, and secured the end. She took the pills from the cap in his outstretched hand and downed them with the water before holding the cup up to him “Now can you get us a real drink, pretty please?” 

He pursed his lips, glancing at you. You nodded and he bowed his head with a pursed smirk. “Alright, what d’you each want?” “Something strong, whatever inspires you when you get to the kitchen,” she waved him off as he chuckled and shook his head, heading for the kitchen. 

The moment he was out of earshot she locked in on you again. “I’m serious, you should give it a chance. I’ll be fiiinnne. I’ll find someone to help me to bed, -you should have him help you to bed- ” You scoffed and swatted her leg as she giggled. “Uegh, that was bad.” “Yeah, yeah, …but you’re thinking about it.” You sighed exaggeratedly. She reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. “He’s a good one. Gallant. Noble.“, you both giggled before she continued in a genuine tone, ”And not just as a knight. I’ve known him a while, this isn’t even the first time he’s saved my ass. If you’re interested, you should go for it.” You chewed on your lip as Jake rounded the corner of the couch. He handed your friend her drink, then you yours, smiling down at you. 

“How’s our patient?” 

You couldn’t help but smile back at him. Your friend’s knee nudged you and your eyes snapped back to see hers smirking over her cup at you as she took a sip. You took a gulp of your drink -strong but sweet, perfectly blended as usual- and stood off the couch.  

“She’ll be fine.”

You took Jake’s hand and abruptly started towards the door. You could hear your friend giggling into her cup. He fell into step with you without question, despite the slight bewilderment in his face.

“-Where…?”

“We’re leaving.“ 

“Oh- good.”

You set your cup on a random surface as you grabbed your bag from the hooks in the front hall. You turned to see Jake taking a large black corduroy jacket from the front hall closet. He curled a finger around the string of your bow. “May I…?” You nodded and ducked your head as he lifted it up and off of you. You held it as he placed his jacket around your shoulders. Your eyes gleamed up at him as he straightened the collar.

“Did you drive here or-?”

“Yep.” he nodded.

“And are you…?”

He chuckled, “Yeah, I’m good to drive.”

As he closed the passenger door behind you, you marveled at the car’s interior. ‘It’s definitely vintage…’. The seats were black and teal leather, bench-style -‘maybe a Mustang, or a Camero…’. The back door on his side opened, startling you. Jake leaned in, placing his armor in the back seat. “Just me,” he reassured, “want to put that back here?”. He held out a hand for your bow, and you nodded, handing it to him. 

As soon as he settled in the driver’s seat and pulled his own door closed, you leaned over, holding the side of his face and kissing him urgently. He kissed you back, and you felt him smile against your lips. His hand turned the key and the motor rattled to life. A soft rock ballad started from the radio as he lifted his hand to mirror yours, gently cupping the side of your face. You shrugged off his coat, as the car started warming up significantly. His kiss was slow and sweet, even as you shifted to face him more fully, kneeling on the seat next to him. 

You pulled away, resting your forehead against his. 

“Mine? Or yours? Or we could just find somewhere to par-?”

“Taco Bell?”

“What?” you pulled back slightly, giggling at his suggestion. 

“Are you hungry at all?”, he offered, "I’m happy to sleep at either of ours, I just thought I’d get something to eat before we head home.” His free hand stroked your upper arm as he waited for your response. You deflated slightly as it registered. 

“You don’t want to…”

“Of course I want you,” his thrumb stroked your cheek, “but you’re drunk, darling. You don’t want it like this, trust me.”

“Why’d you agree to leave with me then?”

“Well, I’d still like to hang out with you… but if you want to be dropped off, or you want to go back into the party, that’s obviously fine too.”

You considered for a moment. Being away from the loud music and colored lights of the party atmosphere, you were acutely more aware of just how much the alcohol had caught up with you. 

“...Are tacos still on the table?” you met his eyes again.

 He nodded “Of course.” 

You grinned at each other before you leaned in and pecked his lips again. 

“...and a sleepover?”, you asked quietly.

“I’d love to.” He placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

{Thank you all for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think!}

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[starry-bi-sky]

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch2

[My parents don’t get up until seven, and they’re in the lab by eight. They typically don’t leave the lab until after I get home.] Danny says as he leads Damian into the kitchen, the automated voice of the translator AI cutting through the air easily. Damian stuck close to his side, eyes narrow and a snooty look of disdain stamped on his face like a printing press while his eyes flit around the room.

The kid had woken up immediately upon Danny shuffling out from beneath his desk, and he had to scurry back to avoid being skewered by Damian’s katana. He bumped into his desk in the process, and the muffled thud it made against the wall had Danny praying that his parents wouldn’t wake up from the noise.

(“I should’ve confiscated that.” He muttered, gripping the table with white knuckles and mouth pursed into a thin line. The business end of Damian’s katana staring him in the nose.)

(He should’ve expected the baby assassin to sleep lighter than a feather. His mistake, of course. Damian realized quickly after where he was, thankfully, so Danny didn’t have to fight him off in his room. The noise and mess that would make would have surely woken up his parents, and he still hasn’t come up with an excuse as to why Damian was even there.) 

So now with Damian awake, Danny decided to just go ahead and give him a quick tour of the house so that he knew where everything was. Fuuuck, it was only setting in now that he had to leave the kid home, alone, all day.

(Maybe things will be fine. Murphy screwed him over already with this, he has other people to torment, surely. Like the other heroes, for example.)

Wherever Damian’s ‘League of Assassins’ was situated, it was probably ten times nicer than Danny’s house. That is, if Danny’s assumption from the look on Damian’s face was correct. 

Breathing out through his nose, Danny leads Damian over to the fridge, his fingers digging into the phone screen again. [I don’t have an excuse ready for why you’re here, so please don’t get seen by them. They spend all day in the lab so you should be able to roam the house freely.]   

He feels like the butler from a period drama set telling the down-on-her-wealth noble lady the rules of the manor, while she was staying with a fabulously wealthy nobleman of higher standing. It felt ridiculous. But it was unfortunately necessary, he can’t imagine what kind of reaction his parents would have to Damian — and what kind of reaction Damian would have to his parents. 

Damian scowls at him and says something in Arabic, spitting it out like acid while his arms cross over his chest grumpily. Danny stops and turns to him fully, raising a deadpan eyebrow. Damian repeats what he said, looking at Danny like he wants him to spontaneously burst into flames. 

They stare at each other for thirty, uncomfortable seconds, with Danny keeping his deadpan steady, before finally he silently holds his phone out. Damian breaks their staring contest to look down, and his surly expression deepens. 

Grumbling under his breath, Damian snags it out of his hand. Danny counts his fingers as he pulls his hand away. 

(When he counts all five still there, he drops his arm back to his side.) 

[I will stay hidden, for now.] Damian spits out, looking supremely disgruntled. It’s kind of endearing, but endearing the same way a tiger cub was. Cute, but undoubtedly dangerous. Rather than handing back his phone, Damian speaks into it again. [But figure out what to tell them. I am above hiding.] 

“Planning on it.” Danny mutters, nodding sharply before taking back his phone and turning back to the fridge. Before he even takes the handle, Danny pushes his hair from his face and leans forward, pressing his ear to the door. The metal is cold on his cheek, but he barely pays it to mind. 

Ecto-contaminated food didn’t have nearly enough of a signature to fully trigger his ghost sense, but it did make a strange, buzz-humming sound that felt more internal than external. Like the sensation that Danny himself was humming instead.   

From his peripherals, Danny can see Damian staring at him with unconcealed bewilderment, his apparent surliness temporarily forgotten in favor of looking at Danny like he was an idiot. “Madha tafaeala?”

In lieu of answering, Danny just holds up a finger at Damian. Something the little dude really doesn’t appreciate, as he immediately scowls at Danny and makes that ‘myeh’-like expression that kids do when they’re trying to give someone they don’t like attitude without actually saying anything. The one that, as far as Danny is concerned, doesn’t have a real term for but everyone knows what it is anyway. 

Either way, Damian makes a face at him that does, briefly, succeed in irritating Danny. He says nothing and cranes his ears instead, trying to catch if there’s any internal buzzing coming from inside the fridge. His hand drifts instinctively to the counter, where he and Jazz had moved the knife block for this exact reason. 

…Will he have to hide this with Damian here? He hopes not, the last time the knife block got moved he forgot, and had to strangle a half-eaten chicken from the fridge after it came back with fowl vengeance. 

When he doesn’t hear or feel anything out of the ordinary, he leans back and swings the door open with ease. Rows upon rows of liquid-jellied-solidified-whatever-it-was-feeling-at-the-time ectoplasm sat in glass canisters, tupperware, and bottles on the shelves. Glowing green in between the stuff that was actually food, and washing a buzz over Danny like someone just draped him in a weighted blanket. 

(He should clarify. Ectoplasm does exhibit its own signature that’s too weak to signal his ghost sense, but that buzzing-humming feels more like the painless tingling of when part of his spine falls asleep. Except everywhere, and the feeling is heavier in his head. It’s oddly comforting. Nostalgic; like the smell after the snow’s freshly melted and the weather is warm. It is very much not like the ominous, buzzing-humming-intent of a partially reanimated chicken that’s regained some of its sentience and wanted revenge.)  

Behind him, Damian makes some kind of squeaking sound. Or maybe it’s more like a yelp. Either way, it’s alarmed and loud enough that Danny turns around with half a jumping heart and a ‘shush’ on the tip of his tongue. 

“​​Ladayk ma' lieazir!” Damian hisses, pointing behind Danny at the canisters behind him. Damian’s eyes narrow into slits, and he hunches up like a stray cat that’s been cornered. “Min 'ayn hasalt ealaa ma' lieazir?!”

Danny follows the point of his finger, and sees the ectoplasm canisters behind him. “The ectoplasm?” He asks aloud, looking back at Damian in bewilderment.

Apprehension tightens slowly in his chest. Damian used that word again — and Danny only catches it because it was what Damian had been calling him last night, in the warehouse. He thought it meant ‘stranger’ or something — but, he glances back at the ectoplasm in the fridge.

Was Damian calling him ectoplasm? 

He knows what ectoplasm was? 

What had been a steady tightening in his chest suddenly fastens like a noose. Danny reaches for one of the canisters just to make sure, and Damian watches him tersely as he curls a hand around one of the canisters and pulls it forward. He doesn’t take it off the shelf, but he does gesture slightly with it. “This?” He asks, “The ectoplasm. Is this what you’re talking about?” He knows he has a translator on his phone, but he doesn’t think he’ll need it for this. 

He recalls the word Damian used, and frowns. “The- the lazeer? Laziere?” It’s an embarrassing attempt at trying to repeat it, but Damian understands what he’s saying anyways and nods sharply.  

“Niema, ma' lieazir. Kif lidayk.” 

Danny really doesn’t like that Damian knows what ectoplasm is, and he really doesn’t like the idea that his League of Assassins place knows about it too, and seemingly has access to the physical stuff. This feels too much like going swimming in the ocean and feeling something brush against his foot. 

Now he really needs to make sure that Damian never makes it back to the League. The idea of a bunch of assassins finding out that his parents can make ectoplasmic weapons terrifies him, just a smidge. (Just what has he gotten himself into?)

Putting the canister down and pushing it away from the ledge, Danny reaches for the milk instead, his heart beating uncomfortably in his ears. A discomfited “Hn.” comes out under his breath as he plucks the jug off the shelf and shuts the door, it closes a little more forcibly than normal. Danny reaches for his phone. 

The word ectoplasm doesn’t translate into Arabic, he checks before he says anything. Danny reaches over Damian to put the milk on the table as he types, still frowning uneasily. [It’s ghost stuff.] He says, and then says aloud: “Ectoplasm.” 

“Ec-to-plasm.” Damian repeats curtly, lip curling. Danny nods curtly.

Rather than repeating himself, Danny types into his phone again. [You’re not allowed in the lab without me. Don’t touch the ghost stuff in the fridge, it’s dangerous.] He says, [I was listening to the fridge because the food likes to come alive and attack, if you need food from the fridge, grab a knife.] He’ll try and show Damian how to listen for reanimated food later, it’s a little harder without a ghost sense but the food moves, so he’ll show him how to listen for that.  

Damian scoffs; “'Adhhab hayth 'urid 'ayuha almuhtal.” and reaches out to take the phone from his hand. 

Rather than letting him, Danny pirouettes away, holding his phone over his head, “Nah-ah-ah.” He says, watching Damian’s face twist indignantly into anger. [We’ll talk more later, I want breakfast and you’re probably hungry.] 

(Is he avoiding? Absolutely, he is. But it’s early, and Danny is much too tired to entertain the impending doom sinking into his chest like snow caving in a roof. He needs to do something about the information that a league of assassins has access to ectoplasm, but that something is… being put on the backburner for now.)

(Maybe he’s just catastrophizing — he’s gotten pretty good at that over the years. Maybe he’s putting too much weight on the idea; maybe he’s just sleep deprived. No, he’s definitely sleep deprived. Either way, he’s putting a pin in the murder group for now.)  

Danny turns for the pantry, and takes about one step before he remembers the phone in his hand. Twisting around, he plops it onto the table for Damian, and then marches over to the pantry for the cereal. 

The oven clock reads six-twenty-eight, and that doesn’t have Danny feeling all that great. He said earlier that his parents got up at seven, so they only have thirty-two minutes before then. Then another ten or so before his parents come down for breakfast. Mom takes the shower first, and dad comes downstairs to get started on breakfast. Sometimes it's cereal, but he likes making eggs if they haven’t been irradiated.

The pantry swings open and Danny pulls out a box of cereal, his brows furrowed in thought. Dad will want to talk to him if he sees him — so it’s for the best that Danny and Damian finish eating before dad makes it to the hallway. He turns and glances at the time again. Six-thirty. Thirty minutes. He puts the box onto the table and grabs their bowls and spoons. 

There’s a look of apprehension on Damian’s face as he puts everything down, his fingers curled around Danny’s phone. His eyes flick up to Danny, and then he holds up his phone. [Is this what you eat?] He asks, before eyeing the table again. 

Danny can’t stop the quiet snort that escapes him, his thoughts quieting for a moment as he slides into his chair, before reaching over and plucking the phone out of Damian’s hand. [Sorry bud, it’s all we’ve got time for before my parents get up.] 

Damian makes a disgruntled face, and sits down. 

(He idly makes a mental note to wrangle out of Damian later what kind of foods he likes. He’s not too bad at cooking. He’s better than Jazz, at least.)

—-----

They make it back up to Danny’s room by six-fifty-two, just as Danny hears his parents shuffling around in their room. They’re up a little earlier than normal. His mom’s limb, quieter footsteps already padding for the master bathroom. Danny is closing the door when he hears a familiar thud, and the low, sleepy groan of his dad sitting up and putting his feet on the ground. 

Damian bounds away and is already situated on Danny’s bed when he turns around, fingers snatching his katana from beneath the pillows before he turns and sits stiffly with it in his lap.    

It was a bit of a ridiculous sight: despite being awake for nearly an hour, Damian’s bed-head hadn’t changed a bit, with a tangled bunch of curls jutting out from one side of his head. Pair that with him still wearing Danny’s NASA tee (and being swamped in it), and the katana, and Danny was half tempted to snap a picture. Again, he was finding himself endeared.

He does end up sneaking that picture as he strides over to his closet to rummage for clothes. 

[I’ll try and think of a way to get you home.] He lies as he shifts through the shirts on the hangers, typing with his thumb, and tilted halfway with his phone jutting out for Damian to hear. [But that’s gonna take a while, so we should get you some different clothes soon.] There was no way he was letting this kid wear the same thing every day, this might take weeks. 

He yanks a yellow turtleneck that Tucker got him off the hanger and tosses it out onto the bed. It lands next to Damian with a quiet thump, and the kid shuffles away from it with a glare as if it's personally offended him. Danny stifles a smile and walks out, grabbing his hoodie-jacket from its spot on the door and tossing it onto the bed as well. 

Damian grumbles something, then holds out his hand for the phone. Danny hands it to him as he passes by, going over to his desk to pick up his gloves and grappling hook, before turning to his bag. 

[I am not worried about the time, Mother will come looking for me.] Damian tells him, sticking his nose up into the air and missing the cold seize of Danny’s heart and the tensing up of his shoulders. His mother. Who was probably also an assassin from the assassin club Damian was made from. 

(A blood rush sends stars spinning around in the corners of Danny’s vision, and he pauses in order to stare blankly at the top of his half-opened backpack. He quickly blinks it away, and unzips his bag fully to shove his gear into one of the larger pockets.)

He hums low, turning to look at Damian with a fake smile plastered on his face. “That’s great, bud.” 

(It should be a good thing, but he can’t quite shake the whole ‘assassins’ thing. Specifically… well, all of it. It’s all giving him a headache to sort through.) 

Damian scoffs at him, [I cannot understand you.] 

Danny snorts unwittingly, turning and shoving his gloves into an inside side pocket just as Damian throws his phone at him. He catches it before it can slam into the wall — or Danny’s head, and puts his grappling hook into his bag before typing into the translator. [I said that it’s good. I’m glad your mom is looking for you.]

That was another lie, and he felt bad that it had to be. Damian rolls his eyes at him, and Danny stuffs his phone into his back pocket and grabs his hook. 

When his bag is accounted for, Danny finally focuses on getting dressed. He moves out to the bathroom to change, admittedly hot-footing it a bit so that Damian is alone for the least amount of time possible. He passes a sleep-mussed Jazz heading for the stairs, and she pauses to mess with his hair.

“Did you stay up all night again?” She mumbles, her fingers catch on a few tangles, but slide out at the end easily. “You don’t have bedhead.”  

Danny pauses, half-distracted by the feeling of her hands in his hair and the urge to hurry through getting dressed. “Only a little.” He says, scurrying away and opening the door to the bathroom. “Was workin’ on a case.” 

Jazz frowns at him, and he closes the door before she can say anything. 

(He’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when he remembers that Damian will need other essentials than just clothes, and immediately starts compiling a mental list.) 

He’s got half an arm through his jacket when he leaves the bathroom, his attention split between getting it on and typing into his phone. When he opens the door, there’s quiet, rapid footsteps shuffling before he sees Damian hopping back onto the bed, staring at him stonily and like a kid who was acting like he hadn’t been doing anything. 

A smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, and he types into his phone to add something before hitting play on the translator. [I have to head out now, you can look around my room if you’d like. Don’t touch the brown files on my desk, I’ll be back after school ends. I should have a game plan by then. Don’t be seen by my parents.] 

As it speaks, Danny strides over and grabs his backpack. Damian’s eyes follow him the whole time, and Danny slings his bag over his shoulders and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. 

Damian nods curtly at him, and before Danny leaves he reaches over and plucks a hairband off his dresser, pinching it between his teeth. 

“Okay, I’m off.” He repeats, voice slightly muffled by the hairband as he starts pulling his hair up. There’s a huff from Damian and a knowingly annoyed look, and Danny’s smile grows a little out of amusement. He tugs the tie out from his mouth and twists it around his hair. “Be good, Damian.”

Green eyes narrow at him, and Danny hurries out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

(He was a little — no, scratch that, a lot apprehensive about leaving Damian here alone for most of the day. He was worried about his parents, perhaps a little too much, and he was worried about Damian recognizing the ectoplasm in the fridge. He’s worried about the whole thing with these ‘League of Assassins’ people, and he’s worried about how he’s going to explain Damian’s presence to his parents. And he’s most especially worried about how on earth he was going to convince Damian to not return home.) 

Instead of going for the stairs, Danny turns and hurries over to the end of the hallway where the ladder to the rooftop is. There’s a lot he needs to think about, too much for him to want to walk with Sam and Tucker.

The nice thing about people is that they don’t really ever look up.

—----------

Danny: hey i’ll meet you guys at school

Tucker: did something happen during patrol?

Danny: something like that

Danny: i’ll tell you in class

Sam: alright. Hop safe

[Danny liked Sam's message]

—-------------

(if continued)

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“Dude!”

“I know!” 

Danny drops his head onto his desk with an unceremonious thump, groaning low with his nose smushed into the wood. Sam’s hands, buried in his hair and in the midst of messing with it, stills to let him. Some of the strands slip out of her fingers and pool around Danny’s face, causing a curtain. It tickles a little. 

Maybe he should have just walked to school with them, telling them about Damian probably would’ve garnered less attention that way. He can feel the gazes of their classmates — or at least, the ones not slowly filtering into the room — turning onto them, and burning into his head. 

But running over the rooftops, albeit only until the residential area ended, was sorely needed. It didn’t help clear all of his thoughts, or really much of any of them, but it’d chased away the worst of his anxieties about it. Like a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room. 

(This has been, officially, the longest… five hours of his life. And he’s had many, many long five hours in the last two years.)

(Pariah Dark and his evil future self are tied for the record of being the longest twenty-four hours of his life. Finding out he was a clone doesn’t count — it was still ongoing, and distressingly permanent.) 

Tucker makes a noise, and Danny turns his head just in time to see him drop into his desk beside him, lifting his hat to run his hand over his curls with a look of disbelief. He’s staring unseeingly over Danny’s head for a whole of two seconds before looking back down. 

“So he just — what, popped out of the ground? Like a daisy?”  

Sam continues with her ministrations, and her fingers brush against his neck as she straightens his hair down his back. It’s soothing, enough so that the sleep-soreness of his eyelids becomes a lot more evident to him. 

“Hn. Something like that. If the ground was a once-in-a-lifetime portal and the daisy was a murderous six year old.” He mutters, blinking slowly to try and keep himself awake. Sam’s nails scratch behind his ears, gathering up his hair again to finger-comb out the tangles, and he sighs quietly in content. 

He sees Tucker suppress a smile, and he can practically sense Sam doing the same thing. Danny stares, did his ears do the thing again—? 

“You don’t think a ghost had something to do with it?” Sam asks him, her voice staying low as she tugged out the knots in his hair. “It’s really strange that…” She pauses. Danny can feel her lean against his chair, and he lifts his head slightly as Tucker leans in too. “..that Damian just appeared in front of you right after you got done with fighting a ghost.” 

Hrm. She was right. It was weird. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He says quietly, “I was too busy trying to get him to stop attacking me.” And after that he was busy trying to get them both home in one piece, and then after that was the whole identity crisis—

And he’s gonna stop there before his tired mind latches onto that spiral again. 

Sam and Tucker’s mouths press together worriedly, and Danny finds himself frowning too. “Maybe I can sneak into the Zone sometime this week and ask one of the Ancients.” Frostbite knew a lot about the Infinite Realms in general, but Pandora might know more about strange magic. 

He could try Clockwork, but finding the clocktower always feels like a scavenger hunt, and getting straight answers out of the ghost is like trying to catch the wind in a bag. Danny normally wouldn’t mind, he kinda likes the challenge, but now is not a good time for that. 

Either way, it was just another thing on his long list of things to do this week, on top of everything else he had to do since acquiring Damian. He could feel a stress headache coming in, and it was only — he takes a quick glance at the clock — eight-fourteen. Yeah, longest five hours of his life. And counting.

Hrrm. “I just can’t believe my luck.” He complains, of all people to clone, of all kids to end up being cloned. It had to be the one kid who, by technicality, was his biological son. That thought alone felt like a tsunami about to swallow him whole. It was confusing, and complicated.  

It shouldn’t have to be.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t view Damian Wayne as his son. Not by a long shot. Damian Wayne was Bruce Wayne’s son. But just like how Ellie isn’t Danny, and Danny isn’t Bruce; Damian is not Damian Wayne. And Danny still doesn’t view him as a son, and obviously Damian doesn’t view him as a father. But it all feels like a strange gray area, like a merry-go-round that’s not turning off, and it wouldn’t have to be if his parents hadn’t been fucking careless with their DNA samples— 

It’s been four months why does he still feel so raw— 

Tucker snorts roughly, bringing Danny out from his head. 

He breathes in deep, blinking quickly, as Tucker leans back into his chair. Sam starts sectioning off Danny’s hair. “Yeah, fair enough,” he says, “bad luck is my schtick though, Danny, so don’t go start encroaching on my brand.” 

“Your brand?” Sam repeats, voice lilting upward. Danny can imagine she’s raising an eyebrow at him, and he snickers both at the thought and at Tucker. 

Tucker’s eyes light up at the sound, and he grins like he’s won a prize. “Yeah, my brand! You know, Bad Luck Tuck?” 

Danny snickers louder, adjusting to sit more comfortably. “I thought your brand was Too Fine Foley.”

“I can have more than one brand.” 

Sam snickers this time, in the midst of braiding Danny’s hair. It feels fantastic, Danny hums lowly, sinking like putty into his desk. “I’m pretty sure that’s called a monopoly, Tuck.” 

Danny laughs quietly, blinking lizard-like. “Tuck Driver.”  

Sam barks out a harsh laugh, and it trails off into stifled chuckles as Tucker’s jaw drops. The wide grin on his face betrays any potential upset he might have though. “That’s the mania setting in.” He says, voice thick with laughter, “That’s the fucking sleep mania talking right now. Take a nap, dude, we’ll wake you up when class ends.” 

Sleep sounds great actually, and he’s gonna do it soon anyways with Sam still doing his hair. But— “I’m not done talking about Damian.” He protests, but his eyes are closing on their own, as if all they needed to hear was him agreeing to sleep to do it. 

Tucker waves his hand, “It’s not like we can’t talk about him later; nap first. Your eyebags can’t get any darker.” He assures, “Don’t worry, we’ll take notes for you.”

“Hnn… fine.” Danny says, and lets his eyes close. He’s out like a light in minutes.  

[give-bucky-his-boyfriend-back]

Writing the second chapter of my fic on 4 hours of sleep, fueled by nothing but cafeine and my undying hatred for John Winchester

[phanboyo]

Captain Marvel had been left on monitor duty on Saturday night. Again. He couldn't really complain, since he'd started to try going back to school his availability for JL duties had been limited a little bit on weekdays. Not that he wouldn't cut school to help out if he were called, but the JL generally tried to be pretty accommodating when it came to civilian identity stuff, even if they didn't know his. And it's not like he usually had any weekend plans as Billy, anyway. Besides, the Watchtower had better food than the stuff he could usually scrounge up himself on the weekends.

Admittedly he hadn't been paying much attention to the monitors. Most of the JL were on Earth in their respective cities doing whatever it was they usually did on Saturday nights, and though it may be irresponsible, Marvel figured they could handle things as usual.

This is how Marvel justified taking a short break to grab a snack from the cafeteria, empty save for Hal, who had microwaved a burrito and left. This is also how Marvel let his short break turn into a long break while he read through a couple of the comic books Freddy had leant him. This long break is why Marvel had completely missed the entire earth being engulfed in supernatural plants.

Staring out the large window in the monitor room at the big green ball that had been his planet, Captain Marvel dropped the blueberry muffin he had brought from the cafeteria.

"Oops."

Marvel flew to the monitors and flitted from screen to screen, trying to figure out what had happened. There were a few short calls that had come through from Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Superman, and a few others inquiring what was happening. Marvel hadn't answered because he had been in the cafeteria. "Crap, crap, crap," he muttered, "I am so going to get in trouble for this."

The timestamps showed that the calls began to peter out until stopping entirely, the last one from the Flash, a little over 40 minutes ago.

"-ny input from the Tower would be helpful, no one's answering my calls. I don't know how long I can outrun these vines, they're everywhere and they're taking pe—whoa!" There was a crackle of wind, Captain Marvel thought he heard an echoing voice saying something about "feeding the children," straight out of a horror movie. "Man, she's creepy," said Flash under his breath, "the vines are—ah!—Taking people's minds or some—" there was another crackle and the recording lapsed into silence before cutting off entirely.

Captain Marvel hit the call button to the Flash. With each ring his heart climbed higher in his throat, no answer. He called the Batman, no answer, Wonder Woman, Superman, Cyborg, Aquaman, no answer. The planet had stopped emitting signals of any kind, and it seemed that no one was receiving them either.

"Holy heck," Captain Marvel muttered, staring at the hologram of Earth, a big green ball that had gone completely dark.

"Lantern!" Marvel shouted, flying out of the monitor room. "Lantern, there's an emergency!"

The Green Lantern popped his head out of his quarters, his expression turning serious as he saw the panic on Marvel's face as he shot down the hallway. "Cap, what's happened?"

"Mind controlling plants or something?" He said quickly. "No one's answering their comms, I didn't mean to—I didn't think anything would—I just wanted a muffin!"

"What?" Lantern asked, "a muffin?"

"Okay maybe I read some comics too, but it's not even a full moon—weird stuff usually happens on fulls moons and solstices—and with the Tower so empty I didn't think anything bad would—"

"Cap!" Lantern interrupted, "slow down, what happened?"

Marvel took a deep breath. "The Earth has been overtaken by mind-controlling plants?"

Lantern blinked and the two of them sped to the monitor room, a green planet sitting innocently below the Watchtower with the darkness of space as its backdrop. "Well... that's new," he said, his hand coming to scratch at the back of his head. He turned to look at Cap. "Do you know what it is? Or who?"

Marvel shook his head. "It happened too fast, no one knew what was going on. His face suddenly brightened. "Maybe there's something at the Rock of Eternity," he said. With a muttered word an a wide gesture, a portal opened, showing a stone room with glowing arches.

Marvel stepped towards it, but the Green Lantern grabbed his arm. "Wait," he said, "are those vines usually there?"

Marvel looked into the portal and saw fat green vines crawling out of one of the archways. "No," he said, eyebrows furrowing. The vines began to creep towards the portal, spines on the tips glowing green as if in anticipation. "How did they...?" The vines picked up speed and shot towards the portal.

"Close it! Close it!" Lantern shouted, leaping back, hand out, ring glowing green.

With a snap, the portal shut, cutting off the tips of the vines. In a second, they were enveloped in a translucent green sphere, containing them as they grew to fill the small space.

"I don't understand," Captain Marvel said, "the Rock exists in its own realm, it's supposed to be separate from Earth."

"Can't really help you with the magic stuff," Lantern said, examining the ball of vines in its green cage. "Who else is on the Tower tonight?"

"Uh," Captain Marvel shook himself and went to the screens to check. "Plastic Man and the Atom?"

"That's it?" Lantern asked.

Cap shrugged. "It's a Saturday night."

He hummed in acknowledgement. "Well, I guess we'd better let them kn—"

There was a light crackling noise and the vines in the green sphere shriveled. Lantern and Marvel both stared at it.

"Did you do that?" Cap asked.

"Don't think so," he answered. They stared at the black shriveled vines a little longer. Cautiously, Green Lantern opened the top sphere. When the vines didn't move, he dissolved it entirely, and the vines fell to the floor with a wet smack. The two stared at them a little longer.

"So... are they dead?" Captain Marvel asked.

"I think so?" Green Lantern replied.

Captain Marvel looked up out the window at the planet again to find it more or less back to normal. "Oh, I—huh." Another glance at the monitors showed that the planet was transmitting radio again, and signals received were back to normal range. "Crisis averted?"

The Green Lantern looked from the planet to Captain Marvel. "Guess so. Good job." His ring glowed and the blueberry muffin floated up from the floor. "You gonna eat that?"

[theofficialuriel]

does anyone remember that one Naruto fanfiction from 2019 called “I’m a God!!!” where the male oc gets hit by a truck and wakes up to Saiki K. just… dumping all his powers onto the OC? and then he woke up in the womb with Sasuke and he kicked the fetus so much that people in the comments thought it would come out deformed.

then the author posted a chapter that announced that they were abandoning the fic because they wrote it when they were 10

[batw1nggg]

nothingggg more annoying than the chapter in a kmhn slowburn where chiaki and hajime are platonically doing something together as buddies and theres a misunderstanding and komaeda thinks theyre on a date and that hajime doesnt reciprocate his feelings . Get A New Jealousy Sub Plot. Please

[dirtyoldmanhole]

you know i'm surprised elise remembers gunter well enough in conquest (first, at all period, considering she's fourteen when the game happens), and then additionally, well enough to remember him reasonably fondly when she has her dream about him in the bottomless canyon and not as like, yet another stern vague adult

you know what i bet happens

i bet once or twice when she's over at the northern fortress her siblings are busy with corrin or other stuff and she's lonely as she often does in her supports, and she drags gunter into having a fake tea party b/c he's like the one random trusted adult that's always around

and i bet that old man is strangely tickled and plays along with her whimsies there better than any other adult did and they totally trade the best juicy court gossip over tea. ;u;

[papaiyatree]

hello sonadow folks, do yall have any fic recs that have sonadow have like. the same kinda dynamic they had in the archie comics??? i'm too lazy to continue the archie comics but i want to consume sonic media So.

[hournites]

25/26 with hournite 😌

Hournite + "I don't care that you're hanging up lights. Get off the roof!"

~.~

Beth wakes up on Christmas morning early, as she always does. For the last few years, she'd always be the first one up, dragging her exhausted parents to the kitchen to whip up the biggest breakfast menu imaginable. This year, it's different. She scrambles out of bed rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, greeted by the sweet smell of coffee and bacon.

She glances out the window when she peeks out her curtain. There's barely any snow. There usually isn't, but it didn't hurt to check. Most of the houses lined up across the street have their Santa and reindeer inflatables swaying in the wind and their twinkling lights going. They don't have any. Her dad was meaning to go out and buy some more this year, but everything with Rick temporarily moving in scattered the priority list order for needed household items. A bright smile breaks out on her face as she quickly gets dressed. That's right. Rick is here with them this Christmas--Never in her wildest freshman year dreams would she have imagined spending her holiday season sidled up on her couch with hot chocolate and Rick.

"Merry Christmas!" Beth almost bounces on the spot with excitement when she gets downstairs. Under the Christmas tree is littered with gifts for everyone, and their dining table is set with poinsettia plants, Christmas tree plates and Mr and Mrs Claus salt and pepper shakers.

Her parents poke their heads out from the kitchen in matching pyjamas and spatulas. "Merry Christmas, baby!"

Her dad waves his spatula. "I'm making my famous waffles!"

"Yummy!" She hugs them quickly, so thankful once again that this is how she's spending her holidays. With them. Together. She pulls away and frowns, just slightly. Someone is missing.

"Where's Rick?"

Her parents look at each other.

"He's outside." Mom pours out the coffee in a fancy carafe for the table. "Something about a surprise?"

"What? For me?" Beth abandons the slice of bacon she started nibbling on, running for her coat and boots.

"Don't forget your scarf!" Dad calls, chuckling at her.

Outside is bitterly cold and not nearly as snowglobe-y it had looked like from the toasty inside of her bedroom window. She cups a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the sun's deceiving glare. Rick's car is still in the driveway. And it's not like much is open on Christmas Day. She twirls around on her front porch, wondering where he could've gone. And what did her parents mean by a surprise?

"Rick?"

"Hey. Up here."

Beth jumps down the front steps, backing away to crane her neck up at her house. Her jaw drops at the sight before her. A huge ladder is propped up against the side of her house and Rick is waving down at her from the slanted roof in his coat. He's got a cardboard box beside him, spilling out a tangled mess of blinking lights.

She claps her mittens over her mouth. "Rick! What the heck are you doing?!?"

He laughs at her shock. "You said you wanted lights!"

She can't believe it. Rick's climbing up a two-storey house to give Beth her perfect Thomas Kinkade house for Christmas.

She can't tell if she's deliriously happy or furiously mad. Probably both. "I did!" she admits.

"Thank you but I meant like, for our bushes or the windows! This is a little extreme!" Heights are still one of her greatest phobias and the snow dusting the roof is slippery. There might be ice. Fear plunges to her gut. Rick could fall. "It's dangerous up there!"

"I'm good." He waves her off, continuing to detangle the wires. "It's almost done." He stretches across, balancing precariously to wrap the rest of them along the other downwards arch of their victorian architecture. Beth can't deny that they're very beautiful, a crisp and bright light that outshines even her flashy neighbours. It's just...Rick. And it's a bit silly, there's been way scarier situations they've both been in together. True life and death moments. But somehow Beth standing in her earmuffs, steadying Rick's ladder has her heart up in her throat. "I don't care that you're hanging up lights, get off the roof!"

Rick double-takes at her sharp tone. He stops, piling the rest of the lights in the box and carefully climbs his way back down. Beth sighs with relief, crushing him in her hug the second his cold hands are removed from the metal ladder.

"I didn't mean to worry you," Rick huffs out, voice laced with concern.

Beth squeezes him tight and doesn't let go. "Beth?"

She takes a deep breath and tilts her chin up, gazing up at him. "Hi."

His brows furrow together, but he's wearing a smile. "Hi."

"I'm good now. Sorry."

"I forgot you got scared of that. I'm right here. Merry Christmas, Beth." Rick shakes his head at her. "So I take that you don't like your present?"

"What!" She pushes his chest back to look up at the lights. "No, I love it! The lights are beautiful. It's stunning! The house looks amazing!" Now that she has the time to take it all in, she notices the Christmas wreath and more lights in matching golden cylinder pots by the front door. "You really decorated it all this morning for me?"

Rick smiles at her. "You like pretty things."

Beth lets out a long sigh. "I love pretty things." She shivers in the cold and adjusts her scarf. "You know what else I like?"

"What?"

"You." Beth darts up and presses a kiss on Rick's cheek before she loses her nerve. "Merry Christmas, Rick."

Rick’s cheeks grow redder than they ever were from the cold. The light dancing across his face is better than anything he could ever string across her roof.

Beth giggles and reaches for his hand. She shakes his grasp in hers. "Where are your gloves, mister?"

“Um.” He glances up at the roof. Beth tugs him along before he gets any ideas of going back up there. “We can ask Courtney to grab them with her staff.”

They return inside to peel off their outerwear and meet her mom and dad at the breakfast table.

“So?” Dad couldn’t mask his excitement if he tried. “It’s spectacular, isn’t it?” He lifts his plate full of waffles. “That’s a real gift, I always say. An act of service—Straight from the heart.”

“I certainly did almost have a heart attack,” Beth jokes.

Rick chuckles, slipping his arms around her from behind. He hooks his chin over Beth’s shoulder, eyeing the array of food. “Please tell me you all eat before opening the rest of the presents.” It still doesn’t cease to amaze her how comfortably affectionate Rick can be. She told him she liked him—He obviously knows, and he doesn’t even need to say it back for Beth to know he feels the same. She can sense it in Rick’s reluctance to let go. His confidence in touching her in front of her parents. The happy grin on his face he can’t seem to wipe off.

“Don’t worry.” Beth reassures him. “Us Chapels prioritize good food.”

Mom shakes her hand. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Beth is a little sad as the heat of Rick’s body pulls away from her when he finds his chair, but she quickly finds joy again when their eyes meet across the table. Somehow, some way, Rick fits in like he’s always been a part of the Chapel holidays. Maybe, Beth gives in to the quiet part of her that wonders, maybe he always will.

[hockeynoses]

"miserable groan" my beloved

[tigerdrachin]

never thought the day would come that I would update my neglected oldest child(fic)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48639172

but here we are apparently

comments do work wonders

[nbstevonnie]

not someone tagging my fic as ace friendly 🥺🥺

[hurlingdown]

Grr i love your zoro fic, do you write for ftm character? If you do please ftm sanji x domtop male reader 🫠🫠🫠 WANNA EAT HIM OUT SB

I WANT MORE! — TOP MALE READER X VINSMOKE SANJI

synopsis. sex with sanji always feels good. it's exciting. and fun. there's an issue though: it's just good, but never too good. well, here's the thing — sometimes, overwhelming pleasure bordering on overstimulation might be a good way to spice things up . . . wc. 1.7k

tags. ftm! brat! sanji, dom! reader. cunnilingus, squirting, multiple orgasms, cum eating, overstimulation, choking with thighs, reader's a little little mean, fluff!

Sanji gasped into the back of his hand, panting desperately. 

Two warm palms had reached between his thighs and gently pried them open, a wet sensation digging into his clothed cunt. 

“F-fucking hell, sweetheart,” Sanji muttered as your tongue drew up to swipe against his soaked clit. He let out a sharp exhale as you mouthed him through his boxers, wetly sucking at the fat nub. “What—what is this? Where’d you learn this from?” 

You didn’t respond, too occupied with what was in front of you. The stain only grew in size as you buried your face into the sweet, musky scent, and you hummed with satisfaction, making him jolt with a whine as the vibration sent a shockwave of pleasure straight into him. 

“Answer—hn, me!” Strong thighs clamped down around your head as he mindlessly rutted back against your mouth, making you see stars. “Who taught you?” 

“No one,” you said, or at least tried to say, as your mouth was muzzled by Sanji pushing his wet cunt at you, smearing your face with saliva and slick. You had read about it in one of Robin’s books, and had wanted to try it. 

“What? Who?” he asked dumbly, throwing his head back onto the pillow as he rocked his hips against your mouth, trying to coax your tongue out. “It better not have been those—hngh, women at the island!” 

You almost wanted to laugh at how ironic it was, that the infamous Vinsmoke Sanji—known for being a womaniser—was now jealous of the women he usually fawned over. 

“Hn, hah, this ain’t half bad—” 

You growled, annoyed at him for using your mouth like one of his toys. You held his thighs still over your shoulder to stop him from moving, lips curling with amusement at the way his hips bucked, not understanding your displeasure. “What?” Sanji panted, raising his head to glance at you irritatedly. “Get on movin’!” 

You frowned. Who did he think he was? 

With measured strength, you pulled back just enough to show him a sickly sweet smile. “Shall I help you take it off, Sanji?” Fingers grasped the hem of his boxers as you pressed two thumbs into his lower crotch, enjoying the way he squirmed at your touch. 

“Y-yeah,” he muttered. “Take it off already.” 

What a brat. Perhaps you spoiled him a little too often. 

You peeled the clothing off, revealing a lovely, fleshy pink cunt, its lips parted and drooling all over the sheets already. It was always a sight to have him under you, his hole pulsing around you as you drilled your thick cock into him, but this—this was something else entirely.

“Hold your legs open for me.” 

“What?” 

“Do it, or you won’t be coming tonight.” 

Sanji frowned, opening his mouth as though to argue back but then deciding against it, that getting to come was far more important than any sense of self-worth tonight. He reluctantly brought his legs up and slowly spread them for you, flushing and trembling as the action exposed the entirety of his pussy to you. 

Sanji thrust up against you impatiently and you immediately grabbed his hips, tight enough to bruise. You glared up at him with a warning, to which he completely ignored. “Hurry up, sweetheart,” he griped, rubbing his wet folds on your lips. “Wanna come.” 

Oh. So that was all that he thought of you: something for him to hump on. You were going to teach him a lesson. 

“Yeah?” You grinned. “You wanna come?” 

“So bad,” Sanji whined, hips bucking as you held him still. “Just fucking go already!” 

You pretended to frown and pull away, only to have him whimper, eyes widening and shaking his head frantically. “You want me to go? I’ll go.” 

“No! Not what I meant—goddammit, sweetheart, you know what I want, so give it to me already.” 

You barked out a laugh. “I’m not a mind reader, am I? How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?” 

Sanji glowered at you, almost shivering with frustration. He knew what you wanted. You wanted to see him beg, to come undone before you even touched him properly, and he was so close to doing whatever you wanted him to if it meant he would finally be able to come. He squeezed his eyes shut, sparing them of any humiliation. 

“Please,” he whined your name softly. “Fuck me with your tongue.” 

You smiled, pleased. “Fine with me.” 

Without wasting a moment, you shoved his hips up at the same time as your tongue plunged down, sliding between the slick folds of his pussy to penetrate him. Sanji jackknifed off the bed with a hoarse scream, one hand letting go of his thigh to blindly grab for your hair, tugging at the strands painfully. 

“Oh fuck—please!” he cried out, legs spasming as he shoved your mouth deeper into his cunt. You lapped at his insides with abandon, drinking and swallowing greedily the slick that drenched his hole, enjoying the way the salty tang of it rolled deep down your throat and left a fragrant aftertaste. 

Drool dripped down your chin as you ate him out messily, loosening the most tender parts of his insides the way you had never been able to: by pounding your fat cock inside his pussy, or having him take your thick fingers as you stretched him out—those were good, too, but no, this was so much more sensual, and tasted so much better, and you were almost angry at yourself for not trying this sooner. 

Sanji was a sobbing, whining mess when you raised your head to look at him again, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he cried out your name, begging you to take him and then take more of him. “So fuckin’—good!” he moaned loudly. “I want more!” 

It’s filthy, humiliating, and so fucking arousing, and before he knew it, he was rutting back against your face, lost in so much pleasure, all at once way too much and not nearly enough to satisfy just yet—

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come!” Sanji screamed, back bowing off the bed as he came all over your face, thighs involuntarily clamping down hard around your neck, choking you so hard you blacked out for a second. 

The next thing he saw when he came to his senses was your face, shiny with his come and slick, edging toward his pulsing cunt again. 

You grinned at him, almost wickedly. 

“No, no, no.” Sanji shook his head wildly. “No more. I just came, please, sweetheart, please—” 

“You said you wanted more.” 

“Just give me a second—I’ll be ready for you in a second. Please, baby.” 

You ignored him. “I’m going to give you what you want, since you’ve been so good for me. Right, Sanji?” 

Without waiting for his answer, you grabbed him by the ass and hoisted him up into the air, sucking eagerly at his oversensitive clit as his breath seized up, lips parting and yet unable to make noise anymore, just trembling and convulsing as the muscles in his thighs continued to spasm with too much pleasure it nearly bordered on pain. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks as Sanji gasped and shuddered, clutching your hair so hard you thought you felt them getting torn up by the roots. And then you committed the next atrocity. Instead of diving in and slurping his pussy like you did before, you stuck your tongue out, using the hands gripping his ass to slowly push his cunt up your tongue, and then down, and then up again, repeatedly—fucking your tongue with his hole. 

Sanji gave a helpless whimper that sounded suspiciously like your name as he writhed on your tongue, pupils so dilated you could barely see their rim. “Please,” you thought you heard him sob faintly, as though he wasn’t sure what he was begging for anymore. 

“Please what?” 

This was his last chance to stop you—you weren’t that cruel, after all. 

“Please,” he cried weakly, “make me come again!” 

You grinned, a sense of pride overwhelming you as you dove back in to finish the job—he was so well-trained, so good for you. And who were you to deny him? He was begging so nicely, after all. 

Sanji let out a stream of broken moans as you continued your assault on his pussy, his thighs clenching around your head so tightly that stars pooled at the edges of your vision. Your tongue reached deep inside him and caressed a spot so good and fucking right that the coil of pleasure in his stomach started to get looser, and wetter, like a dam being driven to burst—a feeling he scarcely ever felt, but whenever he did, whenever he did—

You latched your mouth over his entrance, sealing it properly as he squirted down your throat. 

His lower half went limp in your arms as he continued to tremble and whimper, and you feared for a second that you might have broken him. But when he opened his half-lidded eyes to look at you with a tenderness that you rarely ever saw, you knew that wasn’t the case. 

“Never knew—” Sanji panted for breath, “that you could be so mean.” 

“Did you like it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Want to do it again?” 

He snapped out of his daze, eyes widening with horror. 

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. “Not now. I meant after.” 

“Oh,” Sanji said, softly. “That would be wonderful, sweetheart.” A second shock seized him as he looked at you, almost guiltily. “What about you? You haven’t come yet.” 

“No. Making you feel good was enough.” You smiled reassuringly, despite the fact that you were so hard it fucking hurt, aching with the need to feel his cunt tightening around it, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to take it. You’d take care of it later, in the shower, maybe, jerking off to thoughts of earlier. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Go sleep, I know you’re tired. I’ll clean you up. And, I love you.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he mumbled tiredly. “So much.” 

masterlist! # i apologise for accidentally blue-balling the reader again it was not my intention; also i love you anon i didn't know i needed this until i started imagining it

[phoenixcatch7]

Lmao I'd love to see a fic where batman like. Doesn't talk at all. He just 'hn' and 'hrm's his way through the story like a Minecraft villager. All the bat kids understand him perfectly.

I actually know people irl who can do this, and I've done it myself during bad migraines, it's practically a second language, so I know it's totally possible to have full conversations between two speakers XD!

It'd be another degree of separation between Brucie Wayne, the ditzy, breathy playboy and batman, who used up all his vocal spoons for the day and now communicates solely through unintelligible grunts and sharp hand gestures when he doesn't need to talk to strangers.

Unfortunately, the best way to learn grunt speak is the same way most languages are learned, and there's no written word (outside of emoji, of course): immersion. And the justice league are no longer considered strangers.

This leads to:

Hal: which way do we go, spooky? Where's the tracker pointing?

B: *grunt*

Hal: what?

B: *insistent grunt*

Hal:..... Can we point?

B: *dour look* *slowly raises arm to point left down the street* *sharp, insistent grunt*

Hal, dryly: don't strain yourself.

-

Damian: greyson. I am calling because father has had an injury and is bed bound for tonight, however Alfred is downstairs and the rest are still on patrol. I am still in the early stages of learning father's intonations. Please translate.

Nightwing, eldest, regularly called for exactly this reason by just about everyone Bruce has ever spoken with since he was a kid, ranging from arkham guards to jl members: *heavy sigh* put him on.

Bruce: hrng...

Nightwing: He's telling you to close the curtains and keep the noise down, he's got a headache.

Damian, over the sound of footsteps and fabric rustling: it truly is just like another language.

N: nah, it's a lot of probability. I've known b for years, I can guess pretty well. There's a lot we can say. For example, that grunt actually carried a lot more meaning, I just trimmed it down.

Damian: truly?

N: yup! If I had to be pedantic, it actually meant 'I am in quite a lot of discomfort, the cause of which is my head, and I am struggling to manage it on my own. Please aid in my cause, my darling sons whom I love dearly -'

Damian: *muffled noise through the phone*

N: that'll be him telling us to shut up. But you can see why I asked you to close the curtains.

Damian: fascinating. I shall take this under advisement.

-

B, exhausted after a long day of board meetings as Brucie: *moody silence*

Gordon: Batman, how's it going?

B: *glower* *drawn out grunt*

Gordon: that bad, huh?

-

Supes, during a briefing: I believe it would be best if we attacked from the north, we've enough flying members to crest the mountains and ambush then that way - Batman?

B: *quiet grumble, with pointer fingers moving in semicircles*

Supes: ah, I see. You're right, we'd be too visible if the sun rose behind them*turns to see the other members standing behind him* what?

Flash, bowing at the waist, palms together over his head: teach me your ways, oh mighty bat-speaker.