#i have survived worse and i can deal with a man not being in love with me and just wanting sex

[honeyjuice]

being horny and a hopeless romantic has blinded me to the fact that he actually might be more in it for the sex

which like that’s fine but unfortunately i have developed Feelings and he says he has but i feel that that might not be the case and maybe he is saying it just bc he likes sex and someone who really really likes having sex with him

and again. that’s perfectly fine. i can learn to be happy with an arrangement where im hanging out at my best friend’s house and having sex with her roommate because honestly that is not a bad time overall

i think i’m just crazy

[asha-mage]

BingLiuShen au where Shen Qingqiu's fevered heteronormativity poisoned brain decides that the best way to avoid dying for the crime of being a heterosexual male in a stallion novel is to pretend not to be heterosexual and thus not a threat to the protagonist's harem. He figures if he can hit that sweet spot where his (supposed! Not real at all!) sexuality is just a quirk of the beloved mentor then the narrative will have no choice but to keep him alive. Airplane might be a hack, but he's exactly the sort of hack who would put in a token gay character, then shunt them off to the background, only to be trotted out again when he's getting flack in the comments for sexist, homophobic, and/or generally shitty writing decisions.

And for Shen Yuan, whose stated life goal is to idle away the hours in luxury and occasionally bask in Binghe's protagonisty coolness (in a very heterosexual way of course!) that would be the perfect out. There's just one problem- how does he demonstrate his (definitely fake!) homosexuality without playing into homophobic tropes and getting himself killed for offending the genre's aggressively het sensibilities?

The answer? Pretend to be pinning away silently in unrequited love for another man. It's perfect! All he has to do is drop a few extremely subtle hints in Binghe's hearing implying having feelings he would never act on for say, Liu Qingge, and he'll be golden. After all, what person attracted to men (which he isn't!) wouldn't fall immediately in love with the Bai Zhan War God? It has the added benefit of proving what a good Token Gay he is by the fact that he saved Liu Qingge's life without any expectations or hopes and without ever even revealing his (supposed!) feelings.

Shen Qingqiu gets about a week of feeling like a genius after putting this plot into motion before Liu Qingge starts showing up at Qing Jing with small gifts and pastries and asking to spar, and well. In between melting down (because how on earth did he put it together from the grand total of three entirely ambiguous hints he dropped!) and trying to stay composed (because even the straightest guy- which he is!- would get flustered by having Liu Qingge smiling at him Like That) he figures the only rational thing to do is just Commit To the Bit, resign himself to one day becoming cultivation partners with Liu Qingge and retiring together into the background of future plot shenanigans. Their are clearly no other possible ways of dealing with this situation, and hey being with Liu Qingge of all people isn't bad. That's a fan favorite character and he's stupidly handsome and brave and kind! Shen Qingqiu could do a lot worse, especially in a world like PIDW. In fact given the alternatives, Shen Qingqiu's could probably consider himself incredibly lucky. Objectively that is. From a purely 'guy trying to survive this dumb novel' point of view. It would be an honor to have Liu Qingge's arms wrapped around him. If he where into men of course.

Meanwhile you have Luo Binghe in the background of every scene the two are in with a forced smile, internally speed running the '*fork in garbage disposal noises*' to 'I just want my Shizun to be happy! I swear!' to 'actually Liu-shishu is really nice I can see what Shizun sees in him' to 'oh no I think I want to be in the Middle Of Whatever That Is' arc.

(And of course, Binghe at the end of the day IS the protagonist, and after much trial and tribulation, is supposed to get exactly what he wants...)

And all the while you have Liu Qingge, utterly oblivious to the mental anguish and gymnastics of his shidi and shizi, who just keeps turning up at Qing Jing, because he really does like Shen Qingqiu and even if that first date was his sister's idea he's found he really does enjoy spending time with Shen Qingqiu, and also Shen Qingqiu's sticky first disciple who despite the crocodile tears is actually clearly pretty strong. He has no idea that Shen Qingqiu is silently picking out drapery for the future house while Luo Binghe tries to rationalize his out of control heartbeat as a completely normal side effect of the sparring match they just fought (Which he only keeps challenging Liu-shishu to make sure he's strong enough to protect Shizun! He swears!).

WIll the three of them ever figure it out and get their act together? Sure. Will they do it before the Conference/Abyss arc upends everything? Absolutely not.

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑪: 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

Troy Saga ❛  do what i say and you'll see them again.  ❜ ❛  what do you live for? what do you try for?  ❜ ❛  say no more, i know tat i'm ready.  ❜ ❛  the blood on your hands is something you won't lose.  ❜ ❛  is the price i pay endless pain?  ❜ ❛  something feels off here, i see fire but there's no smoke.  ❜ ❛  we should try to find a way no one ends up dead.  ❜ ❛  why should we take when we could give?  ❜ ❛  i see in your face, there's so much guilt inside your heart.  ❜ ❛  have you forgotten the lessons i taught you?  ❜

The Cyclops Saga ❛  it's almost too perfect, too god to be true.  ❜ ❛  what gives you the right to deal a pain so deep?  ❜ ❛  your life now is in my hand.  ❜ ❛  remember them, we're the ones who carry on.  ❜ ❛  what good would killing do when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?  ❜ ❛  i am your darkest moment.  ❜ ❛  i don't know where i went wrong but i warned ya', and you failed the test.  ❜ ❛  that's just like you, why should i be surprised?  ❜ ❛  unlike you, every time someone dies i'm left to deal with the strain.  ❜ ❛  i'll remind you i saw you as a friend but now we're done.  ❜

The Ocean Saga ❛  at this rate, we won't make it out alive.  ❜ ❛  please don't tell me you're about to do what i think you'll do.  ❜ ❛  yes, but how much longer til your luck runs out?  ❜ ❛  you rely on wit, and people die on it.  ❜ ❛  you're like the brother i could never do without.  ❜ ❛  and suddenly you doubt that i could figure this out?  ❜ ❛  keep your friends close and your enemies closer, never really know who you can trust.  ❜ ❛  'cause the end always justifies the means.  ❜ ❛  do you know who i am?  ❜ ❛  you are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great.  ❜

The Circe Saga ❛  whatever you need to say can wait some more.  ❜ ❛  there's no length i wouldn't go if it was you i had to save.  ❜ ❛  wouldn't you like a taste of the power?  ❜ ❛  don't thank me friend, you very well may die.  ❜ ❛  did you do something to them?  ❜ ❛  if you make one wrong move, then you're done for.  ❜ ❛  you and i are now evenly matched.  ❜ ❛  you've given me no reason to bestow you with my trust.  ❜ ❛  who's to say, with the mistakes i've made that they will be the last mistakes i ever make?  ❜ ❛  this is the price we pay to love.  ❜

The Underworld Saga ❛  all i hear are screams, every time i dare to close my eyes.  ❜ ❛  i no longer dream, only nigtmares of those who've died.  ❜ ❛  when does a man become a monster?  ❜ ❛  now you tell us our effort's are for nothing?  ❜ ❛  how has everything been turned against us?  ❜ ❛  do i need to change?  ❜ ❛  i'm the only one whose line i haven't crossed.  ❜ ❛  what if i'm the problem that's been hiding all along?  ❜ ❛  what if i've been far too kind to foes but a monster to ourselves?  ❜ ❛  if i became the monster and threw that guilt away would that make us stronger?  ❜

The Thunder Saga ❛  you wouldn't have spared me. i made a mistake like this, it almost cost my life.  ❜ ❛  i've got a secret i can no longer keep.  ❜ ❛  you know that we are the same.  ❜ ❛  we must do what it takes to survive.  ❜ ❛  tell me you did not know that would happen.  ❜ ❛  if you want all the power, you must carry all the blame.  ❜ ❛  how are we supposed to trust you now?  ❜ ❛  how much longer must i suffer now?  ❜ ❛  someone's gotta die today and you have got the final say.  ❜ ❛  please don't make me do this.  ❜

The Wisdom Saga ❛  you've made your worst mistake here.  ❜ ❛  this cruel world doesn't give out presents just for being good.  ❜ ❛  you're my friend, i couldn't ask for more.  ❜ ❛  did you know you talk in your sleep?  ❜ ❛  i'm what you want here, i'm what you need here.  ❜ ❛  you don't know what i've gone through.  ❜ ❛  i know your life's been hard, i'll stay inside your heart.  ❜ ❛  life would be so much worse if you had died.  ❜ ❛  you dare to defy me, to make me feel shame?  ❜ ❛  no one beats me, no one wins my game.  ❜

[onehundredelevven]

I love what you did with Toji during y/n’s birth. Could I maybe request one where y/n breaks the JJK men’s hand from the labor pains? I’d love to see their reactions lol I feel like Nanami and Sukuna would take it like a champ but Satoru and Toji’s voice would crack 😂

U ask, I give

---

Chaotic labor room scenarios for the JJK men.

cw. JJK men being chaotic and Satoru's dramatic arse, and broken hands

---

Satoru Gojo

“Babe, you’re doing great—OW, OW, OW!”

Satoru’s voice cracked like glass as you crushed his hand with a strength you didn’t know you had. He winced, his signature cocky grin wiped clean off his face.

“Are you seriously whining while I’m the one giving birth?” you snapped, glaring at him through your contraction.

“I think you just shattered my bones,” he whimpered, blinking back tears like a kicked puppy. “Do you hate me that much?”

“Right now, yes!”

He pouted dramatically, but when he looked down at you, sweat on your brow and pain in your eyes, his expression softened. “Alright, alright. Crush my other hand if you have to. I can survive for you and the kid.”

You didn’t hesitate to grab his other hand as another contraction hit. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

☆☆☆

Suguru Geto

Geto didn’t even flinch when your grip tightened like a vice. If anything, he just smiled down at you with that calm, reassuring presence he always carried.

“Do you want me to get you some ice chips?” he asked, his voice completely steady despite the audible pop from his knuckles.

“ARE YOU EVEN HUMAN?” you screamed, half in agony, half in disbelief at his composure.

“I’ve been through worse,” he replied coolly, brushing your hair out of your face. “Though you are quite strong, I’ll give you that.”

You let go of his hand, panting through the contraction, and saw his fingers twitch slightly. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Only a little.” He smirked. “But it’s nothing compared to what you’re doing right now. You’re amazing, you know that?”

☆☆☆

Kento Nanami

Nanami’s hand was practically vibrating under your grip, but he sat stiffly beside you, not a single wince or grunt escaping him. The man was a fortress.

“You can… let go if it hurts,” you offered between labored breaths.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said firmly, though the sweat beading on his forehead betrayed him. “Focus on yourself.”

Another contraction hit, and you let out a guttural groan, clamping down harder. This time, Nanami’s jaw tightened, and his free hand gripped the armrest of his chair hard enough to leave marks.

“Okay, maybe I’ll need a splint later,” he admitted, voice as calm as ever.

☆☆☆

Ryomen Sukuna

“You call that a squeeze?” Sukuna barked out a laugh, sitting beside you like this was all a walk in the park.

“I hate you,” you hissed, crushing his hand harder out of pure spite.

“Go ahead, brat. Try harder,” he taunted, his grin widening as you gave it your all. “You’re going to need more than that to—”

CRACK.

His smirk faltered, his eye twitching as he pulled his now-clearly-broken hand back. “...You’re lucky I love you.”

“Shut up and hold my hand again!”

“Yeah, no.” He offered his other hand instead, still smirking through the pain. “I’ve got two. Let’s see if you can break them both.”

☆☆☆

Toji Fushiguro

“AH, SH—” Toji’s yell was cut short as your grip sent a sharp pop through his knuckles.

“Toji, don’t you dare yell louder than me right now!” you growled.

He bit his tongue, gritting his teeth against the pain. “Alright, fine, but damn, woman. How are you this strong while pushing out a kid?”

“Because I have to deal with you every day,” you snapped.

Toji let out a strangled laugh, his voice wobbling. “Tch, fair enough. Just... don’t tell the kid their mom broke my hand, alright?”

[i-cant-sing]

I can’t get this scenario out of my head with yan!batfamily in which Bruce worms his way into a depressed reader’s life by marrying their mother and slowly taking over the role of parenting reader while dealing with the depression.

No because Bruce would do that. In his head, its just another mission to "save Y/n" and sure, your mother isn't exactly his type, and your depression isn't exactly her fault- the poor woman just works day and night for you both to survive in this outrageous economy, she doesn't have had enough time to see you not doing so well mentally.

Bruce and his sons, by whatever sequence of events, are now infatuated with you. What started as concern for your well being has now turned into obsessive need to control your life to make it better. So, yeah... Bruce decides to marry your mom, who is more than happy to finally find a chivalrous, handsome man... who just happens to also be very rich.

Meanwhile, you hate him. It's stupid, but you hate how filthy rich he is and even though you know that he donates a lot to charities, you still hate him because Bruce thinks money can solve everything (and in your case, it almost can), but you can't help but feel insulted everytime he offers you a cheque, a wad of cash to pay off your bills and loans, or even a $20 bill to get yourself some snacks. It feels... abnormal. You're not a charity case.

Perhaps your socioeconomic status isn't the only reason you're depressed. Maybe it's just you missing your father (could be dead/murdered/suicide/just moved far far away).

The moment Bruce finds out that your dad is the reason why you're so depressed, oh it's "I WILL FATHER ANOTHER CHILD IN NEED OF PROFESSIONAL HELP" time. He's doubling down on his paternal instincts and he's just mentally smacking himself like "ofc you need a father figure in your life. Who better than me????"

And it just makes your skin crawl at how nonchalant Bruce is about all this- about incorporating himself into your and your mother's life. Treating you both, especially you like you're actually related. Like he's been around with you two his entire life. You lose your appetite when he stays for dinner, but you sit at the table for your mother. You try to make excuses when your mother tells you that you have to go with her at the Wayne Manor because "Bruce wants to spend a day with family". You can't help but look at your mother in wonder at how she is comfortable when you both pull up at the manor. You thought things would be easier if Bruce's sons were also uncomfortable or even hated you and your mother (or thought that your mom was a gold digger), but no, they're just as worse as Bruce. Dick being particularly the worst in the sense that he's more affectionate and his love language is physical touch, so you get squished to his chest everytime he sees you, with a small cry "my baby!" Sometimes, "sis" would be added.

You didn't like either nickname.

Then there's Jason, who is the most normal one of them all, perhaps because he isn't around much and when he is, he just makes small talk.

Tim doesn't talk much either, but he stares a lot. Somehow you feel like he knows something about you, at least more than he's letting on.

And lastly, there's Damian, that pompous little shit. You know he's being amicable for Bruce, but his eyes look at you like he's judging you- thinks you're beneath him. Which is true, in the sense of finance. Despite all of that, Damian still wants to show you off his interests/things around the manor. He's still being arrogant ofc, "Look at this oil painting- it's a Van Gogh original. Van Gogh is a famous painter- he's dead though. I'm sure you aren't familiar with his works. I can take you to the Gotham gallery to show you more paintings. Father owns it, so it can be just us two without other people bothering us." He's nice but also not nice. But at least he's not doing it intentionally.

Then there's Bruce. Who is always looking at you with a small smile, but his eyes are always analysing you, even when he's not looking at you directly, you know that he's watching your every move like a hawk. He tries spending time with you, often he succeeds, only because your mother makes you go. He's a good man, hasn't done anything exactly inappropriate, but... even something as small as making you walk on the inner side of the sidewalk so that you're safe from the cars... it doesn't sit right with you. Why is he being so paternal? You certainly have been rude to him on purpose. Always giving him one word answers when he asks you how your day was.

Then one day your mother returns home with a beaming smile.

"Bruce proposed to me! We're getting married!"

After only 3 months of dating? It's what you wanted to say, but you held it back when you saw how happy she was.

The next day, Bruce held a dinner at the manor to celebrate the engagement. Surprisingly, that was the first time you saw Damian looking mad at you and your mom.

It was a reasonable reaction. Acceptable to you, instead of the overly excited yell of Dick "WE'RE GOING TO BE SIBLINGS! That means we can have slumber parties and pillow fights and-"

Your mother and Bruce were shopping for the wedding, looking at dresses and venues and all the shenanigans while you were at the manor, moving your and your mom's stuff in with the boys. It was the last thing you wanted, but your mother.... she insisted on it. Or at least that's what she says, you know Bruce insisted.

Doesn't matter because by next year, you'd be moving away to college anyways.

You just need to put up with this for a little longer and see your mother finally be happy.

You didn't expect your mother to be dead a week before the wedding.

It was out of the blue. You were sitting in the library at the manor because Dick refused to let you be alone in your room all the time, so he was making you some cookies while you read. Then he and Bruce came together, their faces pale as they looked at you.

"Y/n... your mother, she... she got in an accident."

She was driving to some restaurant, wanted to get you your favourite fried chicken and spend some time with you alone. But on her way, a truck crashed right into her car.

She died on the spot.

Whatever little improvement you had on your mental health went straight down the drain. You locked yourself in your room and just cried quietly. They left you alone the first few days, but then Bruce and Dick tried to persuade you to come out, that they were concerned for you. You did come out the day the funeral was held. And it hurt you... it hurt you so deeply when you found out they were burying her at the Wayne cemetery.

She wasn't a fucking Wayne.

If you had any strength, if you had any energy at all, you would've taken your mother and buried her someplace else.

But you didn't.

When you returned inside the manor, you went straight to your mother's room, which was also Bruce's room but you didn't care if he saw you in there or not. You just started packing all of your mother's stuff, her clothes, her jewellery, her photos, everything she came here with, which wasn't much to begin with but still.

"Y/n?" You stiffened when Bruce called you, but you didn't pause on packing. "What are you doing? Looking for something?"

You sighed. Might as well get this over with.

You turnd around, not looking him in the eye.

"I'm moving out. And I'm taking mom's stuff with me. You can check, I'm not stealing anything that belongs to you."

Bruce looked at you in confusion. "Moving out? Where are you going?"

"College. I'll be going there soon anyways, so I'm moving to an apartment with some friends."

"Oh, but you don't need to move out. You can stay with us. Youre family-" you cut him off.

"Bruce, let's not." You finally look at him. "We're not family. I never was, I never wanted to be. Mom's gone now, and I have no reason or desire to be here. Thank you for letting me stay here for as long as you have, but I will be moving out by tomorrow, if not tonight." You said picking up your mother's bag of stuff and walking out of the room. Bruce followed you to your room.

"But I don't want you to move-"

You dropped the bags. "I don't care what you want!"

Bruce looked at you with his brows furrowed. He didn't get why you were acting like this. Your yelling had gotten the attention of the boys too, all looking in confusion at the bags.

"I don't want to be a part of this family. I never have, and I never will. I never liked you or anyone in this family. And if you're concerned about me speaking to the media about you guys, don't worry. If it helps you, you can make me sign an NDA!"

Damian narrowed his eyes at you. "Dont talk to father like-"

"Shut up!" You yelled harshly. You didn't care who you were hurting. Your mother was gone, you had no reason to be amicable to them anymore.

-

They left you alone that day, and by the next morning, you were ready to leave. At 6 am, you walked down to the main door, with your bags. You weren't expecting them all to be waiting for you, but here they were. You took a step towards the door, but Dick stopped you.

He cleared his throat. "Um, this is the NDA... if you'd just sign it here." He handed you the papers.

Unbelievable. They actually drew up a contract. You took the pen from his hand and signed at the dotted lines.

"Bye." You took another step, except Damian and Tim blocked your path.

"What now?"

"Where are you going?" Tim asked.

"Do we have to go over this again?" You grumbled. "College." You answered.

"You can't." Damian said smugly. What's he smirking for?

"You're gonna break my legs?" You scoffed.

"No, you just signed a document saying that you're a part of this family, and Bruce Wayne is your guardian and has authority over all decisions concerning you like going to college, or even... going out of the house." Damian replied.

You looked at Bruce, because there's no way Damian is being serious. But there were no signs of joking. You looked at Dick, at Jason-

They were all dead serious.

"You cant- you can't be- you can't keep me here." You said.

"You signed the documents. It's your fault for not reading them." Tim said.

"Bruce-"

"I really do believe that it'd be better for you to stay here." Bruce said, taking ahold of your shoulders. "At least until you're doing better mentally."

"I'm fine-"

"I don't think so. And I could even take you to a psychiatrist, they'd agree with me." Bruce cupped your cheek as you flinched away. "You'd be happy here. I promise you that, you'll be safe and happy with us."

You'd try fighting, but you already knew you were outnumbered.

Besides, even if you weren't, even if you were alone with the smallest one of them, you still wouldn't be able to leave. You have no idea what Damian is capable of.

After all, he's the one who had your mother killed.

[leighsartworks216]

Scar Tissue

Sylus x gn!Reader

Eyyyyy @comatosebunny09 I finally finished it >:3

Based on this post

Title from "Scar Tissue" by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Warnings: cuddling, early relationship, intimacy, injury, guns, knives, semi-nudity

Word Count: 2,421

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Speak.”

The generic carpet muffles his footfalls as he crosses the room to the oversized floor to ceiling windows that peer out over Chansia City. You follow behind him until you get to the dresser, lined neatly with your clothes.

The hotel is very nice, especially high up here in the presidential suite. Though, you haven’t had much time to actually enjoy it. You got here yesterday, and it feels like all you’ve had time for is sleeping and getting dressed. It’s all been meetings, deals and exchanges otherwise. The only reason you’re back here at all is to change clothes to go to dinner with another client.

Sylus sighs, irritation painting his face with a scowl. You can just barely hear Luke’s voice on the other end. They’ve been holding down the N109 Zone in Sylus’s absence. “More petty land grabs?”

“Nah, from what we’ve heard it sounds like an affair came to light and now they’re duking it out to win their love.”

You snicker as you pull out a clean shirt. You turn and drop it on the bed, back to Sylus as you take off your shirt, bloody and torn from your earlier meeting. He turns to shoot you a half-amused half-annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Have Mephisto-”

But the words get stuck in his throat. Time seems to slow down as he stares at the bare expanse of your back. Your skin looks like a well-used cutting board. Scar after scar, criss-crossing over each other, fundamentally altering the appearance of your flesh for years to come.

He can pinpoint which were from missions he’d sent you on. Jobs that put you in the line of fire, where you had to fight your way out to survive, where someone got a surprise jump on you.

Others are completely foreign. Cuts and bullet wounds and burn marks, all unfamiliar to him. What secrets from your past do you keep locked away from him? How safe are you from the ones that hurt you? Would you ever tell him if something was wrong? If something cropped up from back then, from a time he’d never know enough of? Perhaps not.

Somehow, the former was worse. Knowing he was the one that sent you into trouble. Or those damn injuries you earned from taking a hit intended for him. Being the root cause for your pain aches more than never knowing the damage you incurred before.

You slip your shirt on, hiding the marks from view, and peek over your shoulder at him, confused by his silence. Time speeds back up.

He schools his features into something neutral, hiding the regret and hurt, and burying it deep down within him. He looks out the windows once more. Luke asks if he’s alright. Sylus ignores it, speaking as if nothing ever happened.

-

Dinner was dull, for the most part. The client didn’t seem to understand that you weren’t there for conversation, repeatedly prompting you to answer questions. You’d have signaled Sylus to put the man in his place, but it was all too amusing to see him flounder.

“What kind of gun do you use?” You’d slipped it from its holder mid sip of wine and dropped it onto the table with a heavy thud. That’d taken him by surprise. He recovered quickly enough, spewing off facts about the make and model that you already knew.

“Has it been modified?” You broke it down and separated the parts that had been replaced or enhanced. He’d curiously reached out to inspect them, but you put it back together before he could touch anything. He paused, but put on a slightly strained, polite smile as he awkwardly sat back in his chair.

“How good is your aim?” You shot the end of his cigarette when he went to tap the ashes into a dish, scaring him so bad he shook the entire table and had to rapidly keep his drink from tipping into his lap.

He seemed content to leave you be after that.

You fall back into the bed, arms spread out wide and still in your dinner attire. Sylus chuckles. “Have fun?” he teases. He sits down beside you, leaning on his arm with an amused grin.

You shoot an unimpressed glare his way. Fabric rustles as you slide your hand along the bed to hold his arm, caressing the tensed muscles of his forearm. “Don’t worry, you can make it up to me.”

His grin turns into a salacious smirk. You smack his bicep. “Not like that.”

“You don’t know what I was going to suggest.” Nonetheless, he kicks off his shoes by the side of the bed and lays down beside you. With one hand acting as a pillow, the other rests comfortably on your stomach. You wrap your arm around his neck to play with his hair. Content, you close your eyes.

The last vestiges of the sun filter through the window. Combined with the few lights in the room, you look… peaceful. It’s starting to become a common sight, and he takes great pleasure in being the one allowed to witness it. These times when you trust him enough to relax. When you stop listening out for the slightest hint of danger. When your body releases the tension constantly preparing your body for an attack. It’s a privilege. He hopes never to take it for granted.

Your fingers flit lazily through his hair. His body still tenses on the onset of your touch. His natural instinct yells for him to pull away, go on the defensive, protect himself. It’s always a battle to fight against them and allow himself to completely trust someone. As this - cuddling together, the small moments of physical intimacy and skinship - become the normal, the fight gets easier and easier.

He wonders if that same defensive instinct wars on in your head when he slips his hand under the hem of your shirt. The first brush of his fingers on your flesh, the flinch of muscle away from the contact, that eases back into his touch after a pause. If it does, you say nothing of it. Rather, when your stomach flinches away, you tug on his hair. An equal exchange. And perhaps a reminder of the lengths you have both gone to expose yourselves to each other.

Calloused fingertips dance across your belly, hidden by the fabric of your shirt. Soft ridges and toughened skin of layers of damage done across the years. His mind is shot back to the thoughts he had earlier. You can feel the shift in his touch. The way his fingers lift to barely ghost over your skin, as though you’re as thin and fragile as wet tissue paper. You open your eyes to watch him.

His face is stern. Like when discussing a difficult deal, his brow is furrowed and his eyes are dark. He slowly pushes up the shirt until it rests in a rumpled heap around the bottom of your ribcage. The shift in your breathing latches on at the edge of his senses. Just as with your back, scar after scar decorates your skin. But one stands out from the rest.

Along the line of your hip is a cut. It’s shallow. The skin it tore apart is irritated from lack of care and not having a moment to rest properly.

That’s his fault, too. Dragging you out to a dinner you didn’t really want to go to instead of giving you the opportunity to sleep and heal. Technically, you’re his bodyguard - his guard dog, always by his side, defending him from anyone who you deem a threat. Yet, he’s discomfited by just how quickly you step in to protect him. That’s what this scar is the result of.

The meeting this morning. A fight broke out. He was aiming a gun at the other group leader. One of their lackeys came up from the side with a knife. And you got hit. It had bled, but you’d brushed him off so easily when he mentioned it. You weren’t doubled over, nor were you in a rush to patch it up, so he trusted your judgement. Without a second thought.

Fortunately, your judgement is dependable. All it really needs is a bandage to keep the skin together and bacteria out while it heals, and yet he doesn’t get up. He doesn’t move. All he does is trace alongside it, feeling how it becomes intertwined with the scars before it.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says, but the tone of his voice is odd. Teasing, edged with something raw. Something more vulnerable. Something that you two have been dancing around for weeks. “Tell me the next time you’re hurt. I’ll patch you up.”

You brush the hair from his face. His red eyes shift first to the bunched up fabric of your shirt, then to yours. His eyes are soft. The deep maroon of before has melted into a bloody crimson.

“I can patch myself up.”

He scoffs with a smirk and the slight tilt of his head. “I wasn’t asking, sweetie.”

You quirk a brow up at him. “Does it bother you?”

“Yeah,” he agrees readily.

Your fingers falter. He brushes his thumb more firmly along the edge of the cut, still light enough that it doesn’t hurt, but with enough force that it no longer feels like he’s treating you like something fragile.

You frown at him, tapping three times at the base of his skull, a silent request for more information. He pushes himself up onto his elbow. It should be salacious, even intimidating, for him to hover over you like this. But it’s not.

His eyes follow his hand as he traces other marks on your belly. A bullet entrance wound here, a Wanderer’s blade there. The ones he caresses are newer. They haven’t yet faded into your skin. Of all of them, he’d only helped treat one or two. Some, he never even knew about, but he could trace back to when, what mission, they were received from.

“How many of these are from protecting me?” he asks lowly. “You do realize I can heal from all of these much faster than you can, don’t you, sweetie?”

You tilt your head. “It bothers you… that I do my job?”

He chuckles, but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. “You could stand to be a little less efficient at it.”

The world falls quiet. The sun disappears, leaving darkness in her wake. The orange glow of the hotel lamps forms mountains and valleys along your skin. You study him, searching for answers.

Over your lifetime struggling to survive, you’d gotten good at reading people, Sylus included. Of course, he had broken your assumptions and expectations. If he hadn’t, you’d never have let him get so close. Never have allowed him to touch you like this, see your skin like this.

Right now, you can’t understand him.

He hired you to be his bodyguard, to protect him. To be his own personal shield when shit hits the fan. But he doesn’t want you to? A lingering fear in your mind worries for the end of your partnership. Would he really touch you like this if he wanted to fire you? Besides, when you made the damn deal, he said only you would have the power to call it off. He wasn’t someone to go against his word.

You drop your hand from his hair. His eyes snap to you, a flicker of fear that is snuffed out when you touch his chest. He’s still wearing his nice dress shirt, jacket discarded elsewhere. You play with one of the buttons. “How many times have you stepped in to protect me?” you ask.

Countless times. More and more frequently.

“Do you let any of them scar?”

He slowly shakes his head. It’s always second nature for him to use his Evol to take care of any and all injuries. Anything that could scar is gone before he has a chance to think about it, so long as he’s in the right conditions to use it.

“Then you can’t understand.”

He hums. “Enlighten me.”

You grin. Gliding your hand from his chest, down his arm, you hold the back of his where it rests on your stomach. It doesn’t take much effort to guide him. He watches, feels the scars that scrape by, as you bring it back back down to your hip, until his palm rests over the cut. It will heal within a couple of weeks, probably less. Once it’s healed, it will scar over. Once it scars over, it will be nothing more than a lasting memory embedded in your skin.

“They’re badges,” you say quietly. When he looks back up at you, you’re watching his hand, trailing your fingertips over the veins that decorate them. “I earned them from protecting you.”

So why would I not want them?

It goes unsaid, but he catches it anyway in the gentle reverence of your carress, the quirk of your brow when you look at him wordlessly asking if he can understand now. It doesn’t need to be said.

He slips his hand out from under yours. The bed shifts with his weight as he turns and gets up. You feel the loss immediately. It’s easy to hide the disappointment, but it churns over in your gut, more distinctly than you’ve ever felt it before, as he disappears around the corner of the wall. Did he really hate them so much?

He returns a minute later when you’re considering fixing your shirt with a medkit in hand. He sits on his knees, sets the kit down beside your body, and opens it up to get what he needs. The disinfectant stings as he wipes it along the cut, but you hardly feel it when he just looks so beautiful. So focused on taking care of you.

“Tell me when you're hurt,” he reminds you. He unspools a length of gauze and wraps it around your midsection securely. He glances at you with a slight grin as he grabs a roll of bandages from the kit. “They won’t scar well if they get infected first.”

A week later, you’re the one patching him up. He sits calmly on the couch as you draw a needle through the skin of his bicep. It’s just a knife wound. Earned from stepping in to protect you.

He can’t wait to see the scar.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip

[kevin-the-bruyne]

one of the things that I loved about the fadelstyle stalker date was that despite all of the conflict, style seemed to be the first person that showed an interest in fadel's life - like a genuine hey are you having a good time with your activities level of interest.

He showed up to the restaurant to watch him prep and make commentary. Fadel went all brooding and knife-ey on him sure but we dont see him pull out those biceps that we already know can drag style out.

He calls him chef and helps him out, doing exactly the job that we see Bison abandon earlier in the episode - when was the last time someone made fadel feel like he was something other than a cold blooded killer?

And then you remember that style and fadel have already had this heartbreaking interaction in episode 1

[Screenshots from Ep1 of Style asking Fadel "You do everything yourself?" and Fadel responding "I do."]

I was never convinced that that interaction was just about the heartburgers management for fadel lol

style is going to figure out they're assassins, style tries to backtrack from the car deal when kant agrees. i think asking for the car was style's way of refusing that favor but when kant agrees he gets curious or really starts believing that kant is in love.

style is probably the most intelligent of the four but he's definitely the most emotionally intelligent of the four though it's masked by his carefree personality - and he has figured out for better or for worse that fadel is lonely, desperately so.

style asks for a list of things that fadel likes doing and the best bison comes up with is his schedule which is exactly the same everyday but bison doesn't even know. and style makes it work. he tries to create intimacy at the burger shop in ep1 with fadel and it fails and when he's handed a schedule that is 70% fadel either prepping for or being at the burger shop, style comes back with companionship on offer.

when bison said fadel's insides need a beating, style correctly interprets it as put that man through the mortifying ordeal of being known and he really does it in a way that's not random. The random method failed so now he's trying to understand fadel, something that fadel hasn't experienced in a long time if he ever has.

And the cookie crumbles in less than a day. fadel should feel some embarassment for how easy it was?

look at fadel - he's confused. error 404 not found expression on a man if i've ever seen one. there are no internal protocols of handling this situation, so for the first time he has to rely on his instincts, instincts that were forced into ignoring and mistrusting this sort of stimulus.

fadel simply wants. the comeback of what he thought his long, dead desire (bison is the only person he's convinced himself he needs!!) and those hardened, survival instincts are at odds, and the struggle to push that impulse away, to jerk off angrily in the hopes its flushed out of his system - oh fadel i love that you're so un-normal about this.

style sets the challenge in the pursuit of fadel for himself in a way. despite having almost no information and this probably being a slightly hyperbolic statement style has surmised the stakes of this mission much better than even kant has.

style has him and im fairly certain style knows he has him...if he wants him. you've thrown your own gauntlet style so just how far are you going to go to meet that challenge?

[ademonsscreams]

you reek of my scent, yet also anger for it ... (pt. 2)

︻デ═一 synopsis . ❝ ..and when you managed to fight off our bond like the enemies you encounter on missions, when you managed to make me feel nothing, i bounce back, seething and lusting over your blood being shed by my own hands—the very same hands who felt how cold you were, who felt your warmth soon enough, and the very same hands who explored your own with love. ❞

︻デ═一 pairings . simon ghost riley x gn ! reader

︻デ═一 contents . angst , swearing , murder , mentions of gore ( how reader kills someone ) , a literal death tournament , part 2

︻デ═一 masterlist . click here !

june 27, a month after the incident.

price had received a report from kyle when he sent him on a solo mission—and a fortunate report at that. in his desk, while he was dealing with his papers and the grief of ‘losing’ you, someone came knocking on his office door. “who is it?” the bearded man calls out, with kyle then saying his own name.

as kyle steps inside, price is met with him frowning, yet his eyes are brightening up. “how’s the mission, soldier?” he asks, and kyle looks excited to answer that.. “good news and bad news.”

“..good news first,” the captain mutters, looking up at kyle curiously. “our friend is alive, they’re not six feet under.”

without thinking twice, price immediately calls the rest of the 141 to tell them about this—he could no longer stand a depressed simon walking around the base, not any longer. “lads,” he starts, looking around the group especially on the uninterested lieutenant, “they’re alive.”

“you’re fuckin’ with me,” simon speaks up, not believing the very words that came out of his captain’s mouth. he definitely said that to make everyone happier—it’s not real. “nah, LT, gaz has some proof, ’m guessing,” soap chimes in. “they’re gone, i don’need to get reminded of that anymore,” the masked man huffs.

but after seeing you in the photo, yes, still alive and breathing with a tactical vest and big guns, he couldn’t believe his eyes; you were really alive. though, his emotions were mixing with a flood of joy and a hint of sadness when he realized—why do you have a tactical vest and weapons? are you back on duty or..

“..bad news, they were caught guardin’ the enemy site—they’re one of them now,” and with that, kyle ruins the relieving moment and makes your situation far worse than your death.

because, let’s be honest; what is worse? simon’s little thing dying with his love, or simon’s little thing alive, harnessing hatred for him, desiring to snap his neck in half and he has to fight back too?

may 24, the tournament.

rifles, snipers, pistols, molotovs, knives—the terrorists who practically took you in gave you every weapon you could need. but in order to get these weapons.....you have to win in a small little tournament they specifically designed! ofcourse, your opponents are all desperate soldiers who just wanna get the fuck out of here.

“whoever wins will be spared.. and can even join our little group if they want to survive,” a voice calls out from above your cell. looking outside, you see nine more people here with you—it was a fight to the death, and only one can win.

“please, let me out!” one of them cries out, and the sound of gunshots hitting the wall definitely silenced them. “chicken out and you’re gettin’ fucking killed, yeah?” one of the terrorists growled, and that was enough to silence everyone.

“begin!”

now, killing innocent people? it was not something you were deployed to do—you were meant to kill bad people, not others who just wanna do the same as you; cleanse this world of the dirt that is not buried underground—but are in the very humans that walk around.

guilt was all you can feel—their tears and agonizing screams as your knife gets buried deep in their skull? it’s not something you’re used to. you can only replay their last words in your head, some even wanting to come back home to their families.

“alright, we’ve reached our tournament’s finale with two players left!”

fuck, but you needed to do this to survive. what the hell were you supposed to do? how else were you gonna come back to simon?

..but do you really want to? after everything that happened? he left you to die, can’t you see that? he doesn’t give a double fuck about you enough to check if you were even still breathing; he left you. they left you—all of them did. did he even love you; were all of those times he kissed your forehead fake? were all of those times he made you coffee in the morning fake?

whatever the case, you needed to win—to get back at them; at the very least, you wanted his bloody heart on your palms. will it still beat for you, even as you’re holding it severed from its usual place in his chest?

a knife and a pistol were given to you for the finals, and you were sent to a random, stranded place out of town. “your enemy is all the way back over there,” one of the ‘hosts’ points to a long road of houses at the end, “shoot them clean in the head, and you’ll win.”

..okay, you can do this.

a/n . rushed, but i think it’s a bit solid :) (i may start to post less because of school, i’m graduating elementary soon!)

[yoonyeon0]

Hi, could you write headcanons of Raian Kure in a relationship? Like when he likes someone and doesn't know how to approach them?

original asker most likely couldn’t find my ask box so I did it myself 😭

also, my ask box is always some type of song/lyric so just look for that!

RAIAN KURE RELATIONSHIP HCS

“i hate you, i love you.”

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ raian is a very..peculiar lover. maybe not weird, but definitely out of the normal range of lovers. and trust me, it’s even worse when he has feelings he can’t exactly express.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ you gotta be one damn cool and special person to even grab the attention of raian in a romantic sense. you have to be careful and very cautious - someone that doesn’t deal with bullshit and is quick to shut things down. basically someone that is stronger than him mentally but not physically. even with all of your strong points, raian will always somehow be more dominant.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ raian is surprisingly awkward. its the first time he has felt love in a romantic sense and the way it is so intense it takes him off guard which is surprising. obviously his type of awkward isn’t the same as a normal awkward person - it’s wayy more aggressive.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ because raian is so awkward, he doesn’t even know how to go along with his feelings - he most likely doesn’t even realize that he’s in love. he probably treats you like everyone else - insulting, annoying, and more. but he puts a strict ‘no’ at threatening you. he, for some reason, doesn’t want to see you hurt in any type of way and definitely avoids even play fighting with you.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ trust me, if raian has a crush on you, he will pick on you more than he does for anyone else. honestly i feel like that’s why he wants such a mentally strong person, someone that will snap back if they’re insulted because its so much more fun that way!

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ contrary to popular belief, i feel like he shows concern but to an extent. when he has a crush on someone, he will definitely notice new things - whether they are bad or good.

“oi!”

you rolled your eyes and let a loud exhale, obviously irritated by the voice you registered as the man you despised. you don’t know why he was intent on bothering you when your just trying to survive without him being at every corner. you slowly turned around to see the man looking at you with his classic smirk, obviously ready to give you hell.

“hi. what do you want?”

his shit eating grin slowly faded when he looked you up and down before locking on to your broken arm.

“hey. what happened?”

the both of you looked down to your broken arm and prayed he wasn’t going to bring it up but who were you kidding? he always does and you always want to punt him 30 yards.

he slowly started chuckling before breaking into a loud cackle.

“hey! you’re weak as hell! do your bones break when you pick a 5 pound dumbbell or some shit?”

your face obviously scrunched in anger and with a glare that even the birds around you noticed, you went up to him and grabbed his collar.

“shut the hell up. only reason I have this broken arm is because i was busy beating up bitches that wanted you gone.”

he raised an eyebrow before softly chuckling before leaning so close you could feel his hot breath on your eye lashes.

“oh really? what do you want as a reward? maybe a kiss? maybe you want me to get on my knees and thank you, kissing your feet and slowly going up to you thighs and-“

your hand immediately moved from his collar to his face before you gave him a hard slap with your non-broken hand which obviously didn’t even phase him.

“shut up you loser! ugh, i can’t fucking stand you!”

you immediately turned away and walked away, trying to make it seem like you didn’t want to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

unknown to you, raian was behind you chuckling some words while rubbing the slap on his cheek.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ everyone in Kure family can obviously tell that raian’s feelings for you are different than most people around him. it probably became a joke in kure family that you and him were dating because of how obvious it was.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ the person to tell raian that he is very much in love with you is no one other than his own sister, fusui. this probably happened when he was having one of his yearly meetings with her.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ he most likely thinks that she’s just being a dumbass 😭

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ he would have to get near you one more time after fusui telling him that he’s in love to really believe her words.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ i won’t even lie, he would either never tell you he likes you or he would tell you as soon as he realizes. of course when he does tell you, its not a normal confession.

˚꩜ .ᐟ˙ he def asks fusui for some advice that he tries to take. keyword: tries.

you were so confused right now. there was raian kure, asking you to train with him, knowing damn well that he was so much stronger than you.

“hell no. i know you hate me but i never knew you wanted to kill me.”

he seemed to take a deep breath before looking at you, dead in the eye. he seemed to be looking for something in your eyes. if you hadn’t moved you head slightly, you two would have probably been standing there staring at each other.

“i..don’t hate you.“

he said the sentence so quietly, which was so sudden and surprising, you almost didn’t hear him.

“what did you say? speak up.”

“ugh, you fuckin’ complain too much. cmon, you don’t have a choice. i said i want to train with you. what more of a reason do you want?”

“why? so you can break all of my bones?”

you started getting closer and closer to him, as if to mock or intimidate him.

“huh? what’s wrong? come on say something!”

you stopped right in front of him, now looking up into his eyes. you couldn’t decipher what he was thinking about, what was bugging him. you thought that maybe he was finally going soft on you so you started smirking.

“wipe that fuckin smirk off your face you crazed bitch. making me feel all types of ways, you did this on purpose right?”

your smile faded as raian’s smile came into your sight. he started slowly approaching you while you stepped back, little by little.

“all you want is my validation right? what a whore. well, you got what you want so don’t pussy out now.”

˚꩜ .ᐟ when your relationship with raian finally starts, he doesn’t know what to do. this is most likely his first rodeo and he probably think relationships only consist of fucking and kissing so it’ll be a little hard to teach him that relationships are more than that.

˚꩜ .ᐟ raian is terrible at anything romantic. not that he can’t be romantic, but it’s more of him just doing his own thing.

˚꩜ .ᐟ once a blue moon raian will get you flowers and invite you to train with him because that is his idea of spending time together.

˚꩜ .ᐟ i dont think raian reminds you that he loves you unless you are in a really messed up mental situation but even then he’s hesitant.

not because he doesn’t love you, he just thinks that you already know this. like you being with him isn’t already enough?

˚꩜ .ᐟ i’ll be honest, if you thought that raian would be mentally available; you’re wrong. if you feel like you guys aren’t communicating enough, you’re gonna have to force him to sit and listen to you and and what the two of you should do.

˚꩜ .ᐟ you don’t even suspect raian to be cheating. like not only because of his terrible behavior, he just doesn’t show any interest in people other than you.

˚꩜ .ᐟ you two do get in fights. more than normal. mainly because raian refuses to cooperate and/or communicate with you. he also kinda disrespects and disregards your feelings in fights because he is kind of a dick.

˚꩜ .ᐟ don’t think that he’s like akoya, he definitely notices his wrongs and he always apologizes, even if the apology is just not really him saying sorry. he’s trying okay?

˚꩜ .ᐟ you will NEVER catch him in a submissive way outside of your relationship. but inside the house, he is kinda of a piece of mold. insufferably clingy.

˚꩜ .ᐟ he’s never home. but he always asks to call you and send texts which is adorable in a way. sometimes when he’s feeling extra lonely and romantic, which is rare, he’ll write you a letter that has spots of blood on them. and people say that romance is dead.

˚꩜ .ᐟ no body knows you exist and are in a relationship it’s raian if they haven’t been in the kure village until you two get married. he keeps you secret because he knows how many enemies he has so he doesn’t want you hurt.

˚꩜ .ᐟ does raian want kids? no. does he end up getting them anyway because he doesn’t pull out? yes! but don’t worry, he does love them even if it doesn’t seem like it.

˚꩜ .ᐟ doesn’t like matching things but has a photo of you in his wallet that he FORBIDS people to look at.

˚꩜ .ᐟ will and would buy you whatever you please, just don’t ask him much or it’ll irritate him.

dividers from both @plutism and @aquazero 🥰

𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙤𝙣! 𝘿𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠.

[spottheantisemitism]

Filler Essay: DC Legends of Tomorrow is Antisemitic

A lot of Science fiction tv shows that deal with conspiracy theories or alternate history are antisemitic, usually adding a Jew to the cast will compensate for that but only if the writers actually know how to write it

In Warehouse 13, a x-files style artifact of the week show where the premise is the government is hiding cool but dangerous tech created accidentally or deliberately by history's greatest minds has the dangers to fall into antisemitic conpiracy but it never does, partially because of the Jewish writers and actors. The man in the chair to our generic brand Mulder and Scully is a Jewish man whose checkered past and clear intergenerational trauma are potrayed sympathetically and his knowledge of Jewish folklore actually comes in handy once or twice. There's even the hannukah episode where the other characters force him to talk to his family. It's great. While having a VERY similar tone and premise, Legends of Tomorrow isn’t like that.

so ummm Legends of Tommorow doesn't do that with it's token Jew character. Despite having him state multiple times that Martin Stein is a Jew and have his wedding flashback be in a synagogue and have him wear a Hannukah sweater through the the writers JUST DON'T GET that a Jewish man traveling back in time is in pretty big danger even when the time period isn't Nazi Germany. One episode has Stein be confused about why a sundown town would be dangerous and has his black teammate, Jefferson Jackson whom he has to stay close to in order to have powers, has to explain to him. A man named Martin Stein would be in as much danger in a sundown town as a his black teammate

The show also starts with Martin drugging Jackson and dragging him onto the Time Machine since Jefferson didn’t want to travel because a) he had a life and a hero career and a girlfriend in the present and b) he wasn’t keen on traveling to periods where he would be in danger or wouldn’t have legal rights. Since Jackson and Martin share a powerset, Stein does the most unethical thing possible and drags Jefferson into this against his will. Some “unsavory jew preys upon the youth” trope straight out of 19th century pulps and 20th century propaganda.

I promised nazi earths but I will admit I dropped the show before I got to those myself but apparently there is: Stein falling in love with a woman who turns out to be a nazi spy, a nazi earth that’s actually good because they’re keeping back aliens that far worse, and one where the protocols are real. Adding insult to injury Stein eventually dies after succumbing to the wounds from being shot by a nazi on one of the many nazi earths because apparently that’s shocking and ironic and not cheap. That would be like if some white writer did a shitty remake of Octavia Butler’s Kindred and had the time traveling black protagonist die in the slavery era for “extra irony”.

Lastly is all the “antagonists try to burn Stein and/or Jackson alive” plots. Since the shared powerset of firestorm is well fire, they can easily survive upon merging and the drama becomes for one to get within merging range of the bonfire/furnace ect where the other is being burned. It’s still pretty disturbing to watch. I’m not the kind of writer who says “don’t do fucked up thing”, I’m the kind of writer who says “acknowledge the thing was fucked up and might have messed up the characters”. Which they don’t.

I will now hand over the mic to @aleph-sharp who requested this topic and watched the entire show

[wolven91]

Drought vs Flood

Cat calls.

Being called 'cute' or showered with compliments.

Paul had never really considered these an annoyance before. Hell, if he though back to his time on Earth, he couldn't remember the last time when he'd ever received a compliment from a stranger before.

No, that was a lie he realised.

Many years before, an older lady once stopped him to compliment him on a jovial Christmas jumper he'd worn. She said she liked it and that he was handsome in it too. He vividly remembered having a great day that day, despite having to deal with a queue of irate customers throughout the afternoon.

That compliment had kept the man sated for years!

As a man, Paul had never really understood the frustrations of women when they bemoaned the fact that they received compliments and manners from random strangers every day. The man would always hasten to add that he understood them from a logical point of view, but there was always a part of him that had wanted a taste of that life for a while.

Sure, maybe getting them every day might have gotten old, but after over a decade of surviving off one compliment? The man didn't *understand* the frustration. The isolation had to be worse right?

That was until the Earth was destroyed and Paul ended up like a few of his fellow humans, lost amongst the stars as a human, alone in the void.

At first, Paul thrived. He'd lived alone for seven years and with his friends moving away, getting families, or just losing touch; there had been times in his life where he'd gone whole weeks without saying a single word out loud.

After that initial period of learning the ropes, figuring out where he could get a job, food, even the stuff that wasn't quite 'legal' like a drink, Paul settled into what he expected would be a quiet life.

Only, every time he spent time out in public, like when he went to sit in the tiny bar that would serve him under the counter, it wasn't that quiet.

"I just love your fur; can I touch it?" Asked the bull-like alien as they had already begun reaching out and touching thick leather pads to the crop of hair atop Paul's head. The man shoved the alien's wrist away from him.

"No, thank you." He grunted, still hunched at the bar, uncomfortable about the two aliens that stood either side of him. Both were, alien, they had the heads of bulls but bodies that he would have given his left arm for back home. But regardless of their physical attraction, this was week three of not being able to have a single moment's peace outside of his own quarters.

"Oh come on, I read you love it when someone pets you?" Smarmed the second, quoting some bullshit, pardon the pun, text that Paul himself had read. Apparently, a few of the survivors had let slip that they were touch starved, so now every alien and their mother was quoting this as if gospel.

If Paul ever got his hands on the moron that uttered those...

"Not all humans are the same." He growled back, gripping his drink.

"Well, what if I showed you a gun? You like guns, right?" Offered the first taurian, briefly turning their hip and displaying a holster.

"I repeat, not all humans are the same." Paul was British, he thought guns were a tool and nothing more. No more exciting than a pen or a pair of expensive scissors. More than a handful of Americans made it out and had made a huge scene when they found out guns were illegal to humans. Yet more misinformation chumming the water.

"Aww come on, we're just being friendly. It's okay! I also read that your society said you had to be prudes; it's not true, you can relax." The alien explained as if she wasn't taking a big dump on the entire human civilisation and its history.

Paul sneered at the fact that he mildly agreed. The odd concepts that were considered fact back home were outright frowned on up here. With all the fur and lack of breasts on those without; clothes were almost optional by those not actively working. Granted Paul wasn't a nudist and didn't have the body to want to flaunt it, but it was a breath of fresh air to not be so gummed down with social rules.

"I was relaxed," Paul sniped, but the jab went well over the two female taurian's horns. "I just want a quiet drink." He reiterated, breathing deep and remaining calm. The sluggat barkeep watched him carefully, his eye stalks watching the taurians and the human independently. He was hanging around by the bar's emergency distress button.

"We can drink with you." Offered one of them, Paul didn't even bother looking now, instead attempting to drill a hole in the opposite wall with his eyes.

"I don't want company." He explained clearly.

"Why not?" They prodded.

"Because I said so."

"That ain't a real answer, just let us-"

"Can you actually fuck off?!" Paul snapped, turning his body to the last one to speak. "I don't want company, I don't want a drink from you, I want to be left alone!"

"Alright, fuck us, right? We were being nice and now you're acting like we're attacking you. We're the nice ones, but I guess you'll only learn that when you meet the other kind."

Paul just rolled his eyes as the pair stepped away from the bar and, as one walked past, clipped the leg of the stool Paul was sat on, jangling his already on edge nerves.

They grunted something as they passed that the translators flagged as an insult.

Paul rubbed a hand over his face as he sighed and tried to relax. The sluggat slithered over and asked if he was all right.

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine." The man replied absently, using a thumb to wick the moisture off the side of his glass.

A drought, versus a flood.

That was how Paul now considered the perspective from before. How he would explain the difference of perspectives to a younger self.

How could the drowning woman understand the dying man in the desert?

It was great to be the centre of attention for a week or two, but the way they got handsy? If he didn't actively stop them, and make it clear he wasn't 'playing hard to get' that they'd start groping him?  The way they didn't give him space or even listen when he said 'no'?

Even when they were weird... and smelt bad... Not all the creatures up here were attractive.

"Fuck." The man drew the word out with a breath he only realised was shaking as his voice shuddered. With a guilty grimace, the man reached into his pocket and retrieved the data slate. He scrolled through the minimal contacts and selected his guardian.

It rang once before being answered by a near frantic voice that was obviously being kept neutral.

"Paul?"

"Hey Shu'ba. I fucked up... Can you... Can you come get me please?" The man asked humbly.

"Is everything alright?!"

"It's fine, nothing's happened, but I'd feel safer if you were near."

"I got your location, I'm two minutes away."

"Thanks, Shu'ba."

"Don't think anything of it."

"I'm sorry."

The voice of the ssypno sighed through the speaker.

"I get it's hard to have a babysitter, but we're here for a reason. It's okay, I'm almost there."

Paul stayed on the line, even though he and the sluggat were the only patrons of the bar, but when the neon green scales of his guardian slithered into the room, a wave of relief washed over him.

Perhaps it was time to stop giving the serpent the slip?

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[darylbae]

Pls could you write daryl dixon x fem!reader at the kingdom? carol and ezekiel took in a worn out and struggling woman and have been helping her get back on her feet. daryl comes along and teaches her to hunt and maybe r lost some memory but got a bit back when she shot her first animal w daryl maybe she’s actually a vvv good hunter

crack shot — daryl dixon 🩰

in which you find the kingdom, and an archer who's willing to train you.

note: love this, going to make a lil drabble of this.

You'd been alone for a long time. You'd survived with your stealth and trusty knives, but it was getting harder. Your backpack of supplies were low, you hadn't found a proper place to settle down, and you'd recently injured yourself trying to hide from a horde of walkers. Until you'd been found passed out from blood loss sat on a branch in a tree. A man, who spoke as if he'd been pulled from a fantasy book, and a woman, who seemed the exact opposite of him. And yet they worked together well enough to get you back to wherever it is they call home. The Kingdom.

That was almost a month ago. You'd spent a long while recovering, getting to know the Kingdom and it's people, and helping out with your very minimal mobility. Turns out your injury had been worse than you or anyone had thought. When Carol, the woman who found you, had sat at your bedside to question you, you appeared to have lost any knowledge of what's happened. Memories muddle into one, not being clear enough to decipher. You'd forgotten a lot of your life before this, but you assumed that was because the world had changed so drastically. You remembered some long-term things, like family members you had, what was happening in the world at this point in time, and where you were born, but everything else had fallen short. It was time to start building you back up. Carol would visit you a lot, bringing you things to eat, taking you around on walks to show you how things are going, and today she had other ideas in mind. "So," Carol sighed, sitting next to your bed once again, "I think you've recovered enough to start doing something. I've asked a friend to train you in dealing with walkers. Just to make sure you can defend yourself still." You nodded, finishing lacing up your boots and getting out of bed. "Who? Jerry? Because I love Jerry." Carol laughed. "No, an old friend of mine offered to help actually. He's waiting outside."

Carol had taken you outside, and stood in front of the both of you, was God himself. Everything you'd liked in a man, he was here. But you pushed those thoughts to the back of your brain, focusing on learning. "This is Daryl," Carol introduced him, and he held the strap of his crossbow on his shoulder, giving you a quick look up and down, and a nod. "He's going to take you hunting today."

The two of you had left the Kingdom, quietly walking towards the woods. "Carol said you forgot everythin'," he mumbled, his voice gruff but it pushed a few buttons for you, "that sucks." "Yeah. It's a strange feeling. I don't really remember much except the family I had, and how the world turned out like this." You explained. "So you're a hunter?" He nodded. "I'm good at it. Been doin' it all my life." "Well I hope I catch a good deer or something for Carol and Ezekiel."

It had been a long, slow day. You'd spent a long time just walking through the woods silently, trying not to scare any wildlife away. With the occasional "come 'ere" from Daryl. But you'd finally found a deer; stood gracefully between two trees, sniffing at the ground. Daryl raised his crossbow, explaining how to use it. "Wait," you exclaimed in a whisper, "can I do it?" Daryl handed you his crossbow, and before he'd opened his mouth about how to hold it, you'd fired the arrow and it landed perfectly into the deer, killing it in the most humane way. He was in shock, analyzing your features for any signs of shock. "You done this before?" He asked, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder again before following you towards the deer. "Maybe? I don't know. It just felt natural to me." You answered, and he was still reeling from how impressed he was. "Have to take you huntin' with me all the time now, crack shot."

[dustcrumbs]

I love the idea of Dust just having a gun. I personally see Dust as a guy who fights far distance. And being forced into close combat, while not bad at it, it restricts him a lot. Even worse when it comes to hand to hand combat since he probably isn't physically strong. He's fast but not necessarily the strongest.

So, having a gun would cover his weakness.

And also to add more on how i believe the gang fights.

Horror would rarely strike first. He's probably more of a defensive player. He blocks blows and keeps the stars from getting close to Dust. It's hard to fight when someone(dust) is shooting blasters and bones at you. And being unable to knock that problem out when you're being continuously shoved further away by a brute with immense strength. (Horror can pack a PUNCH. I PROMISE YOU.)

Also because I believe that Horror, being the defense, matches my HC of his urge to protect and shield people. And not wanting to necessarily kill unless provoked or necessary. Horror is even given permission by Nightmare to not kill anyone unless deemed necessary for survival.

Now, onto how Killer fights. He'd prefer to fight in close combat, not necessarily hand to hand, though. Killer would struggle to fight far distance because of the issue with his vision. With the tears flowing out of his eyes, he'd struggle to see things from far away. Which can allow his target to escape if he struggles to spot where they are from a far. He also isn't very strategic with his blows. He'd be the opposite of Dust, who fights with strategy and logic. Killer fights with luck and opportunity. He prefers his fight to be fun without thinking or processing the possibility of failing. He also likes to confuse his victim, pulling out random jabs at them or teasing. His idea of a fight is excitement, not if it's life or death. He doesn't take fighting seriously unless he gets badly injured or someone else in the gang is almost ripped apart. Killers' unpredictability would give him an advantage in fighting. Since you don't know if he's willing to risk an arm of his own. Or yours. Also one more thing.. Killer, if not already fighting someone, he'd take on whoever Horror is dealing with. Ya know, making sure the defense isn't forced into the offense.

I fully believe that Nightmare has crazy strength in both physical and magical compartments. His preferred fighting tactic is close combat, and he'd only get into hand to hand combat when pissed off or forced into it by a stronger force. Far distance is when he doesn't necessarily take his victim seriously, that he doesn't have to get down there to fight them. Or that he's injured badly or too weak for his opponent at the moment.

That's kinda it..

Dust is like a sniper (He'd probably have a revolver or pistol and an actual sniper depending on the mission.)

Horror is the defense and also keeps people from getting to Dust.

Killer is close combat

Nightmare is able to fight no matter what. That old man can throw hands, trust 🙏

I wrote this down in case I wanted to draw it later. But also if you guys have your own personal ideas.. Let me know, I'd actually love to read how you guys think they fight as a team. 😼

[notmorbid]

fringe, season 1.

dialogue prompts from the first season of fox's fringe.

you said you loved me. that was a big deal.

you were very lucky today.

sweetheart, we all care about someone who's dying.

call me 'sweetheart' one more time. i'd really like that.

be careful what you wish for.

so much happened here, and so much is about to.

i'm usually pretty good at reading people. that's sort of what i do.

whatever you think you said, you didn't say it.

please try. try and remember.

you should know what you're getting into.

i just want to go back to before.

i had a dream about you.

you're not married, are you? not that it's any of my business.

i just want to take a shower from the inside out.

could you just talk like a person?

when was it that you lost your imagination?

you should have let me die.

are you in some kind of trouble?

sometimes i don't tell you everything. for your own protection.

you can be truthful. i won't judge.

i was hoping i'd have an excuse to see you again.

open your mind, or someone else may open it for you.

must you always be such a smartass?

i know you have questions.

don't beat yourself up. you're good at that. it's a character flaw.

i thought you left hours ago.

you don't have any reason to trust me, but that's what i'm asking you to do.

i know you don't like to celebrate, but happy birthday.

no man is untouchable.

when did this become the world we live in?

look at me. i'm right here with you.

you got superpowers you're not telling me about?

you never did lose well.

you think too much. it's the family curse.

none of it happened. it was just a dream.

you ever wonder how we survived as a species without drugs?

don't bother making up a story.

if i can find you, they can find you.

nothing changes with you, huh?

it'll be worse for you if you stay.

did you ever have any feelings for me at all?

no need to tell the police.

your pupils are dilated. it's a symptom of high stress.

i gotta tell you, i never forget a face.

is that a dare?

imagine yourself then, imagining yourself now.

don't pry into things you couldn't possibly understand.

don't take this the wrong way, but i don't think about you all too often.

i honestly wouldn't know what to tell you.

i don't know how to do this alone.

you've always been the strong one.

i've only done one thing right in my life.

whatever you need, i'm here.

is there something else? something you're not telling me?

play nice. i come bearing gifts.

i can't believe you kept it.

people don't understand ____. they don't take the time.

is it any consolation knowing you were right?

i understand. sometimes more than i want to.

whose side are you on, anyway?

i used to look up to you.

if you need me, i'll be right here.

i've had a couple of drinks, but don't worry. i walked over.

if you want me to believe you, i need you to prove it to me.

being fearless doesn't mean you're being safe.

i was just about to read a bedtime story.

i'm getting too damn old for this.

i always imagined getting a tattoo would hurt real bad.

did i miss you last night, or did you not even come home?

don't get hurt for me.

you would do the same for me.

if you live through this, i am gonna kill you myself.

you were brave today.

it's like listening to a broken record, but the lyrics keep changing.

we're as safe as houses.

it must be a terrible thing to not be able to trust your own mind.

why do i get the feeling you're not telling me everything?

i have to die, or i will keep hurting people.

sometimes what we wake up can't be put back to sleep.

if we get caught, i don't know you at all.

do you have anything stronger for my coffee?

[colossrat]

superbat?

It took me a while to think about them, sorry-- and at the moment I think I'm pretty influenced by the young Batman with eye makeup who still doesn't know how to deal with a crowd, plus Clark Kent, the Daily Planet intern who isn't Superman yet and has trouble dealing with the big city stuff

Clark, a young man who just joined the Daily Planet, and Bruce, who just returned to Gotham after years of barely interacting with another human being :D also clark is not superman yet and bruce is not brucie yet

Clark recently moved to Metropolis and, despite the challenges, remains optimistic. He’s working as an intern at the Daily Planet, and that’s a big achievement for him! But he wants more, he doesn’t want to just sort papers and serve coffee. So, he embraces every journalism opportunity he can to prove to his superiors that he’s good at what he does.

But that leads him to cover for Cat Grant at a gala and he was in no way ready for that.

His day overall had been terrible. Besides adjusting to the big city, it was hectic at the office and he hadn’t had time to eat anything. Even though he doesn’t need to eat to survive, it’s a way he deals with anxiety and helps him feel a little more human. But at this gala, there’s only rich-people food! Tiny portions of weird, expensive things. He doesn’t like that. he prefers homemade food, meals made with love or at least with fewer pesticides and edible paints.

Cat Grant made him wear a suit, which didn’t seem so bad at first. But inside the large ballroom full of local celebrities, he realized how faded and outdated his suit looked. He felt like everyone in the room knew his sock had a hole in it and was silently judging him.

He’s feeling pseudo-hungry, awkward, and of course it gets worse. He keeps tripping over people’s feet or bumping into shoulders. But come on! Can you blame him?! He’s a farm boy, he’s a big guy, and these people around him have zero spatial awareness. Not only do they keep bumping into him, they don’t even apologize, just look at him like he’s some dirty stray dog. And it doesn’t take long for him to start feeling that way too.

His super hearing, which he usually prides himself on being able to control, won’t stop expanding without his consent, catching snippets of conversations directed at him, about his clothes, his posture, how awkward and oversized he is, how he seems out of place, questioning who invited him, whether he’s even a real reporter or just crashed the event… Everything becomes too much when he hears some voices getting a little too personal about his body.

“He’s awkward, sure, but look at that tan! I’d pay triple whatever he makes just to have him work in my garden.”

“Haha, true. If you stripped off that boring suit, those glasses, and, well, if he stopped acting like such a droopy puppy, he’d be kind of cute.”

Enough!

Clark bolted from the ballroom as fast as he could. He couldn’t take it anymore. The cacophony of cruel, shrill voices mocking him overstimulated every sense. The fabric of his suit felt like it was burning his skin with embarrassment, and he wanted nothing more than to take off his glasses and throw them off the balcony where he found himself.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t afford a new pair. So he gently removed his glasses and buried his face in his hands, groaning as hot tears streamed from his eyes.

One moment, he was crying in frustration; the next, he spun around abruptly, startled by a calloused hand resting on his shoulder.

When he turned, he was surprised to see a man a little shorter than him, slimmer, and though the deep eye bags were hidden with makeup, he had a graceful, elegant look.

The man didn’t seem to know what to say, he simply offered Clark a handkerchief with a gentle gesture.

“No need to be ashamed. I know how suffocating these events can be,” was all the man said, his voice rough, like even speaking was something outside his daily routine.

Clark didn’t know why, but he chuckled softly at the interaction. He accepted the handkerchief and wiped his cheeks. Not that it helped much, as the tears kept falling.

He took a little more time to study the man. His suit was a deep black, though rumpled. He didn’t seem to have brought anything with him… Maybe he was a waiter?

“Did you come out here to hide from the rude old ladies too?” Clark asked, and that got a small smile from the man. Even though it was subtle, it felt like a lot coming from him, and so it made Clark happy.

They stayed out on that balcony for quite some time. The stranger tried to cheer Clark up in his own way, gossiping about the socialites inside, pointing out who had a fake purse, who was cheating on whom, and who was secretly broke.

They talked about how awful and noisy these parties were. Clark learned that the man was still adjusting to this lifestyle and often stepped outside for air, and even though he liked being alone, Clark was good company. Very polite, too! My god, how rude those other rich people were.

Eventually, Clark sighed and said he needed to head back in to get some quotes. He’d calmed down from the earlier panic but was hesitant to leave the man behind. Still, Cat would kill him if he didn’t get a quote from the guest of honor. Bruce Wayne, thought to be dead after his disappearance, was making a surprise appearance at tonight’s gala.

“I could give you a quote, if you want,” the man offered. If Clark dared to guess, he’d say the man was nervous about offering it.

Clark thought it was a joke and decided to play along, pulling out the little notebook he always carried and readying his pen. The man cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and began to speak seriously about business issues, local politics, and respecting loyal clients. He spoke so well and with such confidence that Clark actually wrote it all down. Felt like a waste of good words not to.

“And whose name should I put with this quote?” Clark asked, realizing that throughout their whole conversation, he hadn’t once asked the man’s name. How rude of him! But maybe the man would forgive the slip… Clark had really enjoyed their interaction, and after all the crying, he felt bold enough to add, “Do you think I could get your number too? To talk more later?”

Clark saw the man’s eyes light up with a glimmer, then shift to confusion, then realization, and finally red spread across his cheeks.

“You really don’t know who I am?” he asked softly. Clark felt shame hit him like a brick wall, he should have asked for this man’s name earlier!

“Bruce Wayne,” he added, and it made all of Clark’s thoughts freeze.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, the realization hitting Clark like a kryptonite rock, while Bruce looked more amused than he had all night.

Clark was so stunned he didn’t resist when Bruce took the notebook and pen from his hands, scribbling a number before handing them back.

“It’s nice to know the Daily Planet is hiring such polite people these days. For most of our conversation, I thought you were just being nice to me for the quote…” he explained like it was nothing.

Clark felt his cheeks heat up too. He let out a small laugh as he adjusted his glasses, trying to hide the giddy smile on his face while looking down at the phone number.

“You’re the first rich person who didn’t treat me like crap today too,” he said without thinking, nerves bubbling back up again. He quickly shut his mouth in embarrassment, while Bruce simply laughed, covering his mouth as he looked the reporter over again.

They exchanged a few more words, Clark feeling like a doofus and Bruce assuring him it was fine.

Eventually, they had to part ways, but after spending the whole evening talking so easily, neither of them could shake the feeling that the next time they talked, it was going to be the best conversation of all