#if he were a girl? shit would be way different

[jjscrybaby]

thinking about “who did this to you?” and frat!boy rafe 🤭 his girl is always at his frat house and one night at a party, he’s looking for her and can’t find her. He eventually finds her crying and maybe with light bruises on her wrists or something? protective frat!rafe 🥰

rafe cameron x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (creepy guy, wrist grabbing, bruising, protective!rafe, mentions of anxiety, sort of shy!reader,)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The lights were giving you a headache. Topper thought it was funny to repetitively switch the main light on and off, to try and give the room a rave vibe. Most people inside were too fucked up to be annoyed by it, but you weren’t. You’d only had two vodka cranberries, and honestly all you wanted to do was crawl into Rafe’s bed and go to sleep.

During the majority of these parties you’d be glued to your boyfriend’s side, hanging off his arm like a trophy, but tonight was different. You were trying to branch out more, stop being so anxious at these things. Rafe loves a party, and being his girlfriend you should as well. So, for the last hour you’ve been roaming around; making minimal contact with him.

You left the main room with a huff, rubbing your temple as you walked out into the hall. There was no-one in sight, and you let out a sigh of relief that you had a moment alone. You sat down on the floor, leaning your head back against the wall. The door to the bathroom opened and a boy, one you hadn’t seen before, walked out.

“You alright?” He asked, looking down at you in amusement.

“I’m fine, just takin’ a break,” you explained. You didn’t want to speak to him, but it would be rude to send him away; especially with the mission you were on tonight.

“Mind if I join you?” He questioned. You didn’t even get to respond, he was already sitting down next to you. “I’m Parker, by the way.” You introduced yourself, shaking his outstretched hand. “Ah, you’re Cameron’s girl?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, just the mention of him had your mood lifting. Maybe you should just give up with the outgoing thing, maybe you should just go and find—

“You don’t seem like his type.” The statement caught you off guard, all thoughts leaving your head as you looked at him with furrowed brows.

“What does that mean?” You wondered, trying to sound calm.

He let out a hum, as if deep in thought, before shrugging his shoulders and giving you a smirk. “Rafe’s, like, into all this shit, y’know? Parties, drinking, drugs. You’re sat in the hallway alone.”

“Opposites attract,” you shrugged back, picking at the pink nail polish on your nails.

“That is the saying,” he laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “I just think maybe, a pretty girl like you, deserves someone that’s more like her. Someone that would sit with her in the hallway, for example.”

You thought he was degrading you, like the rest of Rafe’s fanboys usually did. But, you realised now that wasn’t the case. He was your fanboy. You let out an awkward chuckle, looking to the door that hadn’t opened since you stepped out. You prayed for someone, anyone, to need the bathroom.

“I’m gonna head back in—” you decided to screw the anxiety, and just do what was necessary.

“Why?” He interrupted. He didn’t sound quite so friendly anymore. “We’re hangin’ out, don’t go in yet.”

“I need to find Rafe.” You tried to stand, but his fingers gripped onto your wrist to stop you. You winced in pain, his hold only tightened. “Get off.”

“No—” your prayers were answered as the door opened, a drunken couple came stumbling through. The sudden interruption had him letting go of you, and you swiftly rushed away.

You ran upstairs, through the corridor of boy’s bedrooms, until you reached Rafe’s. With tears in your eyes, you pushed open the door and laid down in his bed.

It only took ten minutes for the door to open again, you flinched; thinking that maybe Parker had followed you up here, but you let out a shaky sigh of relief at the sight of Rafe.

“Hey, baby. There you are, been lookin’ all over— are you crying?” He interrupted himself, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No,” you blatantly lied through your tears, voice coming out muffled.

He wrapped his arms around you, wiping your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Hey, what happened? It get a bit overwhelmin’? You could have told me, you know I’d much rather sit up here with you.”

“Not exactly…” you reached up to move your hair from your eye-line, you realised your mistake the moment that gentle look in his eyes dropped.

“What is that?” He grabbed your arm, not harshly but forcefully. Your wrist had turned a bright red colour, bruises would be forming soon enough.

“Nothing!” You squeaked out, trying to pull your arm away from him.

“Don’t bullshit me. That wasn’t there earlier. What happened?” He demanded to know. You knew he was serious, the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice.

You gave in, tears rolling down your cheeks as you explained to him what happened with the boy. He stroked over your wrist, a moment of silent going over the two of you before he leant forward and kissed your temple.

“Get changed, put on a movie. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” He murmured softly.

“Where’re you going?” You asked nervously, you were pretty sure you already knew the answer.

“To sort out that fuckin’ kid. No one puts their hands on you, get it?” He stated, pecking your lips before getting off the bed.

You didn’t argue, there was no point. Rafe was too in love with you, if someone hurt you he’d do just about anything to get payback.

[divinedelusional]

how rafe would treat his gf on her period

rafe cameron x fem reader

word count: 796

warnings: menstruation, mentions of toxic relationship and period sex

a/n: yeah this is how rafe treats his girl on her period but also how he would be like in a relationship throughout the seasons? i got carried away, sorry not sorry

s1 rafe: sooo i feel like fratboy!rafe genuinely doesn't give a fuck, i don't even know if he would be capable of being in a relationship. i see him being involved with a girl but only for sex and he would only know she's on her period bc she would just text him that they can't meet today bc of it and he'd be like "uh huh cool" and would go jerk off

s2 rafe: here i think situation would be slightly different. i think our psycho bby could acc develop feelings for a girl, it would mostly be just sex but he could start falling for someone. so i think he'd fight a battle in his mind if he should come over to the girl's house and be there for her on her period or to completely neglect her. it's just he doesn't have a clue what to do and tbh he's occupied with other shit, he uses sex with her to forget. i think it's very similar to s1 rafe but with guilt and feelings creeping in (and obvious denial for this emotions)

s3 rafe: so okay we all know the shift from curtain bangs psycho rafey to buzz cut man of the house rafe who looked like he's getting his shit together. of course that means he's different when it comes to relationships. he still deals with a lot, but he finds you. and he kinda sees you as this light. a small light who he has to be very careful with so it won't go out. he is attentive to you. treats you right, but with some sort of distance and you don't blame him. he doesn't spend every day with you, he didn't even ask you to be his girlfriend yet, didn't make it official but he will and somehow you know it. when you're on your period you become quiet. you don't text him, but he finds out as he had a feeling that he should drop by your house. he finds you on your couch with a heating bag and cookies. you told him you weren't feeling well and he ordered you hot soup and made a quick run to pharmacy for some medicine. he still was clueless and thought you caught a cold. "rafe im not sick im just on my period" "oh" it's not like he avoids you, no. he visits you everday for the next four days but doesn't stay for long, always excusing himself with some meeting or business. you know he means the best for you but wish that he's going to be able to let you in soon. you're really patient with him, but start having doubts.

s4 rafe: is now fully committed to you. you talked to him how you really felt about this relationship. that you really cared and wanted to give him as much time as he needed, but also you couldn't waste it anymore waiting for him. and rafe realized that nobody else would have such patience for him. he was thinking about you a lot and he admitted to himself that you were the one. he made your relationship official and two months later you were living together. he was spoiling you, really. taking you on dates, buying you gifts and most importantly giving you his time. getting to know you, observing your daily habits, remembering stuff you said. your likes and dislikes. no wonder he became pussy whipped. and started to feel like he knows you better than yourself.

that's why when it's that time of the month you don't have to say anything. rafe knows. just by the way you whine when you wake up, he knows if you'd be able to get out of bed and get on with your day or you'd want to stay in bed cuddling, because he's your personal heater, makes back pain go away. gives you massages. cuddles with you all morning untill your stomach start to signal that it's time for some food. oh and he doesn't care about his schedule. he could clear it off, cancel the meetings, but he doesn't bother. his girl is the most important, his business associates don't even deserve a phone call on a day his girl is in pain. also he's not opposed to period sex at. all. orgasm is a great way to reduce cramps, so if that works for you and you want him to help you, he is the happiest to do so. if you're not comfortable with having sex these days he totally understands. wouldn't even thought of forcing you to do something, on your period or not. when he discovered that he has so much love in him, his only interest is to give it to you♡

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

tagging: @sugaraanddiesel @cherrylipglossss hope they'll enjoy it and @cameronsprincess bc maybe it will put a smile on her face♡

[its-your-mind]

Something something timkon and hair and how lex lichrally programmed Kon to shave his head before he went all luthor and was forced to attack his team, his best friends, his family. and then how most of the hair on the back of Tim’s head got burned off when he got blowed up (thx Steph) and he had to cut or shave the rest of it off so it could grow back semi-evenly. and how kon was a #rebel esp compared to all-American Boy Scout Superman; Kon’s rockin around with the side cut and the leather jacket and the buckles and the spikes or the (ill-advised and made me sad) black t-shirt and jeans but even the “I am a totally normal bro” getup made him distinct and different from Kal and that is really important to Kon because he wants to be his own person, not a Superman-stand-in. and THEN fucking LEX made it so Kon would look more like Lex! his other DNA donor!!! And Tim!! He kept his hair short — just long enough to spike it up as Robin — until both of his parents were gone. which suggests to me that he kinda always wanted it long (hello Tim Drake, #1 Dick Grayson stan) but that just wasn’t an option allowed to him (not uncommon for parents who care Very Much about Appearances — my own parents were the same about my brothers’ hair growing up, not least because the private all-boys school they went to dictated that their hair couldn’t be long enough to touch the collar of their shirt (with exceptions for [insert kinda racist and vaguely xenophobic language here] hair styles). As soon as he turned 18 my baby brother got a rocker-style mane. But I digress. Anyway). Then, post-tragedy, Tim’s hair got long enough to flip down over his forehead and stream behind him when he swung through the city (perhaps one of his ways of clinging to control and his sense of self in the whole awful situation). But then… Tim got fucking exploded, betrayed by his ex-girlfriend who had only just returned after letting him grieve her death for a year, and now she’s following Tim’s dead father mentor’s instructions to challenge him or whatever the fuck bullshit Batman told her, (a young girl whose own father was an asshole criminal, who so desperately wanted Bruce to be proud of her) and now Tim has to cut his hair all the way down to the scalp again and listen. I’m sorry dc tim looks fucking amazing in adventure comics and I’m in love with how he is arted but hair cannot and does not grow back that quick!! Mf had to wait!! I bet it grew in fucking patchy!! I bet kon’s did too!! (prolly not as bad as Tim’s cuz Tim’s got scar tissue and shit.)

but I just think tim and kon deserve a chance to sit down and just commiserate with each other about growing their hair back out (growing back out a sidecut is a BITCH I speak from experience) and Tim’s prolly having to trim his own hair super often to keep it nice-ish while it comes back in, and Kon’s curls are just a fucking MESS until they grow out enough to like. Curl. (Again, speaking from experience) And they’re just shooting the shit (“well MINE was worse bc I looked like fucking LEX. LUTHOR.” / “well you didn’t have to wait to figure out which parts of your scalp we actually gonna bother growing hair again”) until it gets quiet for a minute. And then one of them asks if the hair also reminds the other one of The Shitty Thing That Happened. And then they fucking talk about it. About how they can’t look in the mirror without having a flashback of pain or rage. How it makes them feel like they don’t even get to control their own bodies, their own appearances, and how much that fucking sucks. How they go to run their hand through their hair and there’s just. Not enough of it to do that. How Kon is terrified that somehow looking like Lex means Lex will use him to hurt the people he loves again. How every time Tim sees another Bat or Bird looking at the back of his head, all he can think about is how they might be planning to lure him into another Bat-mandated trap test. How both Tim and Kon kinda really miss the feeling of people playing with their hair. How they miss playing with each others’ hair.

And maybe then one of them extends an offer and the other does the same and they agree to do each others’ hair. Maybe it’ll help paint a new layer over those awful memories.

So Kon finds Tim once a week (he’s never in the same place, he’s rarely even in the same country) and he trims the hair until it looks even, gives Tim the #sitch on how much hair is growing back in. After the second or third week he realizes that Tim’s not keeping up with his burn-care routine, so he starts bringing burn and scar cream with him too. Then he remembers Tim’s lack of a hair care routine and starts trying out different products on Tim’s hair to see what works best. Tim doesn’t say anything, but he thinks all of this feels even better than when Kon and Cassie used to twist little braids into his hair.

Kon insists that Tim doesn’t have to help until his hair’s grown out more, (that he doesn’t want Tim nearby and distracted while Kon still looks like Lex) but Tim outright refuses to let Kon push him away and he will NOT be outdone in the caretaking game. He waits until Kon’s busy fighting some giant alien robot in metropolis and sneaks in to the Kents’ house to scope out what products Kon uses. When he leaves the bathroom, Ma Kent is there, eyebrow raised. She tells him he “could have just knocked on the front door, sweetheart, we know how’ta keep secrets in this house. Now, let’s get some food in you before Conner comes home. You’re all skin and bones, hun.” So Tim goes downstairs and takes some mini meat pies for the road, and then researches the products Kon uses, what they do, what the ingredients do, if there are other (more expensive) options that people have sworn up and down are better. He amasses a collection, and the next time Kon shows up with clippers and healing creams and a new shampoo to try, Tim’s already got ten different products lined up on the sink — everything from shampoos and conditioners to serums and masks. Kon asks if these are things Tim wants Kon to use in Tim’s hair. Tim tells him that no, all of these are for Tim to try on Kon. Kon almost cries. (He does cry, he just doesn’t let the tears fall until Tim isn’t looking.) (Tim notices anyway ofc.) And Tim’s made a spreadsheet to track the effectiveness of different products, different ingredients, different combinations, so he tells Kon to start coming every 2-3 days instead, so he can establish results using a realistic timeframe. Sometimes, if Tim’s gonna be in one place for a few days, Kon just crashes with him. (Neither of them say it, but they both fucking CRAVE the old Core Four cuddle piles.) Eventually, when Kon’s hair is long enough that he’s ready to switch back to his side-cut again, Tim surprises him by not only shaving the hair down, but shaving a few racing stripes (“they’re flight patterns!” / “rob, I dunno what to tell you. everyone’s gonna think they’re racing stripes. doesn’t mean they aren’t dope as fuck, though.”) into Kon’s hair. Every time Kon’s hair grows out enough, Tim shaves it back and stencils in a new design. Kon starts making requests (“gimme the Super ‘S’!” / “It’s the House of El crest, Kon. You know that. Also, you have a secret identity to maintain.” / “C’mon, I’ll just say I’m a fan!” / “With the same El family crest shaved onto your scalp as Superboy?” / “No one’s noticed the identical head decor yet!”) but it’s the day Kon asks (with the same confident and mischievous tone as always) for Tim to shave in the Red Robin crest that something in Tim’s chest, something formless and warm that he hadn’t really paid attention to before, seers a burning path through his heart, takes root, and solidifies.

“Kon. I love you.”

Kon’s distracted, rifling through their hair-care bags for Tim’s razors. “Love you too, Robbie. Duh. That’s why I’m askin’ you to shave your cre–”

“No,” Tim shakes his head, mildly frustrated with himself for the lack of clarity. “I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a while.”

Kon is seated in the chair they’d pulled into the bathroom from the hotel room’s desk, so he has to look up to meet Tim’s eyes. The hand digging beneath sample bottles of leave-in conditioner freezes, still wrist-deep in hair products. Kon’s expression looks to Tim like one of his video games’ character builders froze between the settings for ‘bright smile’ and ‘shock and awe.’

So Tim just looks down at him. Waits. If this was anyone else, Tim would probably be losing his mind right now, but… it’s Kon. Tim’s safe. Kon would never do anything to hurt him.

Kon unfreezes, blinks a few times. “Could you–” he coughs. “Could you say that again? I think my brain maybe like, malfunctioned for a second.”

Tim takes a step closer, reaches out one hand to cup Kon’s cheek, scratches his fingertips through the stubble on the side of Kon’s head. “I’m in love with you, Conner Kent.”

Tears fill Kon’s eyes, and he blinks them away. “That’s– that’s what I thought you said.” His hand (the one not trapped beneath a sea of shampoos, some detached and unhelpful part of Tim’s mind remarks) comes up to gently rest on Tim’s hip. “Robbie, Tim, I– of course I’m in love with you. You– you’re– you’re amazing, you know that? You’re so kind and strong and you’re a genius and you’re a gift to everyone around you; I dunno how everyone else doesn’t see you like I do.”

Tim can’t help but reach out his other hand to wrap around the back of Kon’s head, to feel where the curls carve a path down through the shorter hair and come to a sharp point.

“I mean, damn Wonder Boy,” Kon tries to muster up his Superboy smirk, but the look in his eyes is full of too much genuine affection for him to pull it off. “I think I’ve been in love with you since Kauai, since you grabbed me outta free-fall and swung me to safety. You caught me. No one’d ever done that before. And then you just… kept doing it. You’re still saving me, still taking care of me.”

Kon reaches his other hand (no eruption of hairspray, thank you TTK, that same unhelpful part of Tim’s mind comments. Read the room! the rest of Tim yells at it.) around the back of Tim’s neck, avoiding the tender and scarred areas with practiced ease, and pulls Tim down until their foreheads touch.

“I love you, Wonder. I love you, Robbie.” Kon tilts his head up, waits until their eyes meet. He’s got the biggest smile on his face that Tim’s ever seen.

Tim smiles back, and Kon’s eyes soften. “I love you, Tim.”

Tim leans down and uses his hands on either side of Kon’s head to guide Kon’s lips up to his own.

This is what I want to remember, Tim thinks as he feels Kon’s fingers gliding softly against the sensitive skin of his burn, feels Kon’s TTK covering and protecting the parts still too tender to touch. Tim runs his own fingertips back and forth over the stubble on the sides of Kon’s head, before pushing them up until they’re tangled in Kon’s curls.

I don’t want to care anymore whether or not the people around me look at the back of my head and see weakness or failure. They don’t get to decide whether this mark on my body matters or what it means. I do. And I decide that these scars are important because they brought me here, to this moment. They brought me to Kon.

Kon tilts his head down to break the kiss. He stands up, and before Tim gets a chance to move away and give him space, Kon wraps his arms and TTK around him. He plants a kiss in Tim’s hair. “Damn, Wonder Boy. Having to grow all my hair back almost feels worth it if it got me here.”

Tim smiles and wraps his arms around Kon’s waist, nestles into Kon’s chest. “You know what, Clone Boy? I was just thinking the same thing.”

[lmaowhatt]

utterly obsessed? - five

summary: actress y/n I/n has recently skyrocketed into stardom after her breakout film 'castaways' alongside sarah cameron, kevin hart, chris evans and chris hemsworth. weeks after the movies premiere, she drops her debut single, further cementing her place in the spotlight. as millions of people around the world begin to idolize her, and as she struggles with her own demons, she catches the attention of rafe cameron, who doesnt shy away from becoming utterly obsessed in what seems to be the cutest way possible.

main masterlist | series masterlist

four - five - six

hellraisermovie

liked by youruser, rafecameron, jbr and 827k others

hellraisermovie out now! thank you to everyone who contributed on this project including our amazing directors @/davidbruckner and @/jbr. and a big thank you to the amazing actors who brought our vision to life.

youruser YAY!

rafecameron im so hot.

➯ user hes so self aware

➯ user some would call it cocky

brandonflynn BOW BOW BOW

user they fadiddled?!?!

➯ user using common sense isnt a thing apparently

user SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

adamfaison WHOO.

user shes so 😍😍😍

➯ user RIGHT? like fuck rafe shes so 🤤

msjamieclayton thanks for this opportunity!

user that entire scene had me like 😧🫣🫨

➯ user real

rafecameron

liked by youruser, sarahcam and 1.0 million others

rafecameron hellraiser out now!

sarahcam ur so gross ew.

➯ rafecameron puhlease im obviously the better sibling🙄

➯ jbr i beg to differ

user seriously somebody sedate me

user i js know its rough

jbr why are you always bald

➯ rafecameron thats it, where are my clippers

popeh you're getting it tn

➯ cleopatty im right here.

➯ rafecameron so?

user raw, next question.

user guys.. i fear that 'i love you' maybe didnt sound scripted

➯ user she had a line after.. it was scripted 💀

user body so tea, both of them

➯ user seriously unfair 😔

user some ppl need to be put down😧

youruser

liked by rafecameron, sarahcam, jjmay and 928k others

youruser hellraiser, out now! hope you guys enjoy!

sarahcam YES HAWT MAMA marry me

➯ jbr i object.

➯ youruser overruled.

jjmay WOOHOO.

*liked by creator*

user dont sedate me just put me down.

kiekie yo.. forget my man i want YOU

➯ jjmay something tells me he would not approve nor be ok with this. a hunch

➯ user hmm...

jbr love you!

cleopatty someone check my vitals

user the rafe likes are getting too frequent and i fw it.

popeh no cs this ate i fear.

➯ youruser you fear it ate? im appalled.

➯ popeh you can spell appalled? IM appalled.

your phone

two days into the new year, and you were navigating through the bustling airport in los angeles. you'd just returned from a brief trip to england, and while part of you was relieved to be back in your city, surrounded by your friends and the familiar chaos, another part of you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to stay longer. you had initially planned for an extra week, but life had a way of pulling you back. dressed in a matching grey tracksuit with the hoodie pulled low over your head, you gripped your phone, pressing it to your ear as it rang, waiting for jj to pick up.

"you here yet?" the mans voice was heard from the other side of the phone. you nodded, fumbling around with something in your bag before you answered. "yeah, landed about a half hour ago," you spoke, weaving through the small crowds of people as you tried to venture toward the airport entrance. "im almost there just hang tight, a'ight?" you hummed, muttering a quiet goodbye before hanging up the phone.

you continued to weave through the tight airport crowds, muttering small apologies when you bumped your shoulder or elbow into someone else. as you rounded a corner into a different hall, you harshly bumped into a younger girl who looked to be around sixteen years old. "oh my- honey im so sorry. are you okay?" you quickly muttered out as you held her hand to pull her back up. however, she didnt seem phased in the slightest, her eyes widening once she realized who you were.

"holy shit. y- youre y/n, right?" she stumbled on her words, smiling even brighter as you nodded your head with a sheepish chuckle. "uhm, sorry. c-can i get a picture, please?" she asked you nervously, constantly glancing between you and her phone as she fumbled around with it. "yeah sure," you smiled, watching as she excitedly passed her phone to her mom who was stood a few feet away, mumbling something about taking a picture.

after taking around three to four pictures, you turned to her again. "you sure you okay?" with concern etched on your face, a small smile still managed to make its way onto your face as you watched her nod profusely. "y-yeah. im okay. uhm, thank you." she smiled at your beofre muttering a quick goodbye, ruhshing away to grab her phone back from her moms grip.

you smiled to yourself, gathering your things once more as you felt your phone vibrate from its place on your backpack. "yeah?" you pressed the phone up to your ear, supporting it with your shoulder as you continued your walk towards the entrance. "im here," jj called through the phone, "lucky for you, its too busy i think you can just come out normally." you let out a small sigh, nodding gratefully. "ill be right out," you stated before hanging up.

jjmay

liked by youruser, kiekie and 1.1 million others

jjmay mi vida

jbr im offended. the only pic im in and its blurred.

➯ jjmay blame @/youruser photography skills

➯ popeh im his fav. i look hot in mine

user HELLO?? hardlaunch???

➯ jjmay oops?

youruser jj?? inspirational?? like i didnt send you that pic?

kiekie would just like to say jj was no help in winning the pool game!

user everyone SHUT UP. jj posted!

cleopatty boy knows two words in spanish and ran with it

sarahcam the shirley temples ate down tbh i wonder who made them..

➯ jjmay girl–

➯ youruser this one has a lil sass to it

➯ kiekie lets keep it

➯ jjmay im sorry, IT?

➯ jbr did they stutter?

user i love their friendship

user chat did anyone peep rage..

➯ user real like.. i didnt think they were close with him

➯ user rafe is literallly sarah's brother??

your phone

taglist: @xoxo-ada

psa: anyone else who wants to be added to the taglist, let me know!

a/n: so sorry for the very vey late upload but i slacked off 😔 its ok tho!!

[bullet-prooflove]

5500 Follower Celebration: Tears of Pearl - Eliot Spencer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @madisonbroxson1 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog  @readings-to-share  @sameenbyhat

Companion piece to:

Star - Eliot realises he's made a terrible mistake.

The Worst Thing - There's only two people that know the worst thing Eliot has ever done.

You’re wearing pearls,  Tahitian black pearls to be exact.

 It’s the first thing Eliot notices because it’s an unusual choice for a woman of your calibre. You society girls usually prefer diamonds, the bigger the better. That’s the first indication you’re not like the others, it’s not the last.

He spends a year getting to know you as your personal protection specialist. You hate the fact you have a bodyguard but he was hired by your fiancé Moreau after threats have been made by some of the people he’s pissed off.

“I can’t have anything happening to my investment.” He tells Eliot as he sits across from him at a desk that costs more than most homes these days. “This marriage opens up a lot of doors for me, gives me connections I wouldn’t have access to.”

“What does her father get out of it?” He’d asked as he flicked through your dossier.

“A cash injection into some of his more problematic businesses.” He’d said as he lounged back in his chair. “He can’t stand the shame of failing.”

You are everything that Eliot does not expect from someone whose a daughter in one of the founding families. He sees the work you do with those charities, the way you immerse yourself in it as if you’re trying to make up for the sins of those that came before you. You’re not content with cutting a cheque, you need to be involved and not in the public shit either, the stuff that would get you recognition, but the grassroots stuff. Teaching kids to read, sitting with the elderly who have no families and then there’s the homeless, the people who don’t have a voice.

The first time you sit down next to a veteran in the street Eliot almost hurls you right back up because you, you don’t seem to understand the risk that comes with being with Moreau. The fact the people who are trying to hurt him will use you to do it.

“Let me take five minutes to share a coffee and a sandwich with my new friend Joe.” You negotiate and he reluctantly agrees.

It’s not five minutes, it’s thirty because Joe, he’s non-threatening and watching you interact with him it’s fascinating. You don’t act like other people, you don’t talk over him, try to give him advice, you just listen and to a guy like Joe whose spent years being in the background, ignored, it’s overwhelming, which is why you take his hand when he gets a little upset, clasping it tightly in your own. He understands in that moment that you’re lonely, that you probably have been for a long time.

When you do come away Eliot’s silent because he isn’t sure how to articulate this new knowledge. It’s only when you get to the car that he notices your pearl necklace is gone, that you must have placed it into Joe’s cup.

“You gonna keep giving away all your jewellery like that?” He asks you, his gaze flickering up to meet yours as he watches you in the rearview mirror.

“They’re just things.” You say distractedly, looking out of the window. “Things that could help other people who actually need it.”

That’s when Eliot realises how trapped you are in this world, it’s a gilded cage you were born into, not one that you want. When he looks back he knows that that’s the moment that things changed between the two of you, he saw you for you, not the role that Moreau had crafted for you.

Six months down the line, you’re wearing a different set of pearls, a more expensive set and Eliot’s tearing them from your throat, breaking the strands because you’re in the midst of a panic attack and the damn things are practically padlocked around your neck with a gold clasp that can only be undone with a key. The pearls scatter across the floor, rolling in all directions and that lock, he throws it out the window in disgust.

It’s another Moreau special. A collar to remind you who you belong to because he saw you talking to another man at a charity event, one that had paid you a little too much attention. He doesn’t know that Eliot spends most nights in your bed, that he makes love to you in the shower before he puts on his suit and pretends he’s been in his own room all along.

“I don’t want to marry him.” You sob as Eliot uses his thumb to chase away the tears that leak down your cheeks. He despises the kind of man that can do this to you, that steals away your autonomy, that tries to stamp out all the goodness in your soul.

“You don’t have to.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he looks into your eyes. “I’ll find a way to get you out of this. I promise you I will.”

Love Eliot? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won't be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kiera-raelyn]

Yessssss! THIS. PART!

Katara may have mellowed as she aged, but I've found that tolerance for stupidity and bullshit only goes down as I get older, not up. Older women just do not give. a. single. fuck. about society's bullshit anymore. Like, if you don't think Elder!Katara wouldn't subtlely ice over the ground someone was walking on to make them fall on their ass while they were spouting sexist shit to teach them a lesson and make them look a fool, you're wrong.

And no way in hell is she leaving the fighting to a younger generation. That doesn't even match the watered-down healer persona they tried to give her in LoK! What tf good does a medic do half a world away?!

I stg these man-children just could not stand to put Katara and Zuko in the same scene together in LoK for fear of giving Zutarans more canon material to work with. They would rather spite a sizeable portion of their fan base and butcher their own character than acknowledge that Zuko was in any way important to Katara, even platonically. Honestly, it's amazing they didn't have her die of heartbreak after Aang was gone just to preclude the possibility that she ever thought about any other man.

And none of that's even getting into @sokkastyles point about Toph, which I feel is also really important*. Toph is a badass bitch, but she too ends up bitter and alone in a fucking swamp of all places. Desirable enough to have sex with, apparently (see her two kids), but not to have a fulfilling longterm relationship, romantic or otherwise. Not to do that whole compulsory marriage thing. She didn't need no man. But why was she not with her family? Her friends? And we don't hear a damn thing about Suki. It's like... Bryke paid lip service to the whole Girl Power movement, but you can tell it's lip service because none of these girls/women ended up old and happy. The narrative punishes all of them for not being the epitome of the giving, feminine woman. Even Katara, who arguably got closest to that ideal by subsuming literally everything that made her who she was, ended up alone. I just. Gosh, it's like Bryke has a misogyny problem or something.

*I really feel like I did not actually delve into this point enough, honestly. Kind of touched on it then swerved around. But I feel like you could do a deep dive type of post comparing and contrasting how the other female characters are portrayed as desirable but Toph is not. And it's not that she's portrayed without desires/crushes, either. She blushes (which in this show is used to indicate romantic feelings) at least twice because of Sokka. He's stuck on Suki, so we get it, but no one ever shows any romantic interest in Toph, arguably the least feminine girl in the show. Which wouldn't have been a problem (again, romance is not a requirement to be happy), were it not for her portrayal in LoK. Anyway, maybe a post for a different time.

People defend Katara being reduced to only a healer in LoK by saying that fighting was too traumatic for her but Katara's most traumatic moments often involved healing, like having to bring her friends back from the brink of death more than once, or discovering she could heal through experiencing intense pain and being hurt by someone she loved, or being told that healing was all she was good for. Meanwhile she looked like she was having the time of her life beating some dude's ass.

[ghostf1ux]

The Gotham River is Not Your Friend

Day 13: Hypothermia

Word Count: 5.6k

TW/CWs: Medical inaccuracies probably

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

So, here's the thing.

All things considered, Jason would not have still been here if it weren't for Tim, his replacement (so to speak, they've long since gotten past that), who insisted he needed their help. Which isn't to say he wouldn't have been here at all, he just wouldn't have been here for this long.

It was just a simple job. Black Mask was getting a weapons shipment, and Jason planned to yoink it for his own operation. It was only three trucks, nothing he can't handle on a good night, and tonight was a good night!

But then him and fucking East End showed up in a cloud of smoke and mirrors or whatever the saying is, and everything was plunged into chaos.

“I said I had this handled–!” Jason hisses into the comm, simultaneously taking careful shots at any Mask goons he can see from his place in the support beams of the bridge connected mid and lower Gotham together.

“Intel says they have more explosives and people than you were planning for, so B sent us to step in, just in case it was a trap!” Tim retorts. Jason rolls his eyes at the red and black whirl of motion that's working on the outskirts of the crowd, jumping down just in time to land on someone who was about to get the drop on Tim.

“I've dealt with a lot more in a much worse condition,” Jason snaps, not even looking over to nail someone in the kneecap with a rubber bullet. “I don't need your fucking help, so back off.”

Tim's face twists into something incredulous, gesturing around wildly with his staff. “Not even B would go into something like this without backup! It's too risky, there's too many variables–”

“Oh yeah, like your inability to cover your own ass–”

“Yes, yes, girls, you're both pretty, can you focus back in on the actual fight?” Stephanie cuts them both off over comms, a smirk evident in her voice at how both brothers snap their mouths shut. “I'd like to get home at a reasonable time tonight.”

“Shoulda picked a different job then,” Jason snarks, pointedly shoving Tim out of his way with one finger before jumping back into the fight. Tim scoffs obnoxiously, but doesn't comment further than that.

“Or maybe I should've picked different coworkers. Oh wait.”

Tim makes a noise of offense while Jason just grins. Their comms dissolve into occasional banter while they mow down the groups of Black Mask goons, splitting up to speed up the task.

This works great until Tim decides to antagonize the second truck, which just so happens to apparently have more people with bigger guns than all the others. Jason is quick to hop in to help him, but their moment of actual strategic thought makes them both wary of getting close too quickly. Unfortunately, some of the ones from the third truck are peeling off to sandwich them, so they're kind of out of options.

“Shit, Spoiler needs help, you got this, Hood?”

Jason ponders this while taking shots at the goons, just barely missing getting grazed simply because of the sheer quantity of bullets he has to dodge. “Yeah, I got it. Go save your girlfriend or whatever. I'm taking off after this, got plans, so don't expect me to stick around.”

“Ex!” Steph shouts indignantly, loud enough that he can heat it even without the comm. He snickers, ducking behind the nearest cover he can find to let them unload their bullets.

“Yeah, whatever, just tie them up when you're done,” Tim sighs.

“Overrated. I'll just make it so they can't walk. Way easier.”

Tim sighs tiredly again, his exhaustion showing through despite his small age. And yes, it is a small age, it doesn't matter that he's only two years younger than Jason.

Regardless, it's his turn to sigh when the goons are still firing. “Alright, fuck this,” Jason mutters under his breath, pulling out a grenade and flicking the pin away before lobbing it over their heads, directly under the truck. At the same time he hops the bit of concrete he'd been using as cover and rushes in while they're distracted, cutting through as many as he can get through with his knives.

It's at this moment the grenade goes off, and the words more explosives than you planned for echo in his mind.

At first, there's a wave of heat. Then there's a sense of whistling wind outside his ringing ears, and maybe he's in the air? His feet aren't touching anything, but he can't see so who really knows. Distantly, he tries to breathe, and registers that he can't.

Huh.

That… that's not good, is it?

It's a distant thought, one that flits around in his mind before dissipating into nothing.

There's something else.

He's missing something.

What is he missing–

Jason's mouth opens in a silent scream as he's enveloped in something cold– no, cold doesn't even begin to describe it. It's sharp, stabbing, like a million knives are driving into his skin at every angle, digging into every pore and shredding through his muscle until it can chip away at the bone underneath. Whatever breath he had managed to get is gone in an instant when his back hits the icy chill and suddenly he's surrounded by it on all sides, pressing in on him and suddenly everything is screaming at him– 

Water.

Bridge.

Explosion.

Fuck.

Almost on autopilot, maybe something closer to instinct or desperate habit, Jason claws his way– up? Is he going up? He can't see, his vision is still filled with white spots and everything is so cold it just drags him down, down, down– 

Hands churn relentlessly through the way with a force that borders on impressive. He's insistent in his movements despite the way the icy tendrils of water pull at him, try to slow him down, the way they fill his mouth and his nose and fuck it's just like that night all over again and fuck why is this the third fucking time he's had to go through something like this– 

Gloved fingers claw and tear against the current and now his chest is starting to burn, it's so hot despite all the cold, it makes him so tired, so exhausted and he can't kick his legs, he can't make it easier, he's trying but he can't fucking move his legs– 

He bumps against something hard above him. He latches onto it with a death grip, pulling it towards him despite the obvious resistance and shoves it under his chest and suddenly he's gasping for air as he breaches the surface, coughing up what water made its way into his mouth. He drapes himself over the piece of wood he grabbed, heaving in wheezing breaths as he tries to regain some sense of an ability to breathe.

As soon as he has even close to the amount of breath needed, he screams. It's loud, he thinks, by the way his throat is raw and hurting afterwards, but it's hard to tell with everything else. The edge of the wood digs into his (probably cracked now) ribs, and each movement in the water, each little wave, sends stabs of burning agony up and down his spine. Probably has to do with whatever is preventing him from moving his legs.

It's probably important. 

Jason dismisses it for now.

The white spots flitting across and blocking his vision are starting to dissipate, though it's slow. He's able to make out an orange glow in the distance, and has some feeling of… recognition? To it. It's weird. There's something there. Something that matters. Something that– 

Jason whimpers– he allows himself the indignity, the moment of weakness, seeing as he's completely fucking alone– when a shiver rips through his body. There's a steady pulsing– his heartbeat– coming from his body and– 

Hm. Well, at least he's alive, because if his heartbeat wasn't coming from his body, then there would be some much bigger issues than whatever he's got going on right now.

He finds himself grinning at that, vaguely aware of how his teeth chatter together.

It's about the little things, like making yourself mentally laugh because the reality of the situation is that if you laughed out loud you'd probably scream. Again.

Squinting at the dark horizon, Jason is struck with the thought of wasn't that orange blob a lot bigger a moment ago?

But, like the rest of his thoughts in recent memory, it slips through his fingers like smoke. Or, to be more relatable to the situation at hand, the thoughts slip through his fingers like little blocks of ice that shatter at the impact of them hitting the ground.

Actually, that's super accurate, because Jason just did that! Minus the shattering. Maybe. He hopes.

Jason blinks slowly as he comes to the realization that his feet and hands are completely numb, and the sensation is crawling up his legs and arms. It doesn't help with the pain much, seeing as it isn't really in his hands or feet, but hey, maybe it'll help once it gets to his hips? Those things are causing him a world of pain right now and with how the bones and joints grind together in places they shouldn't be and it would just be really helpful– 

Oh.

Maybe that's why he can't move his legs. Maybe his hips are dislocated.

Some vaguely gruff voice grunts in the back of his mind and he sags into the wood, all the fight leaving him at once. Or maybe he already did that. He takes this as an agreement, and decides to move on before he gets the urge to scream again.

Time is a weird soup and Jason doesn't have the mental capacity to unpack all that right now.

His chest hurts, a lot, but not as bad as his hips. There's the general feeling of pain that's widespread throughout his body focused on his chest, sure, but there's also little pinpricks of pain that manage to male it through every so often when he isn't nearly blinded with everything else.

Ooh, and his face is wet. Like, a warm wet. Not a cold wet. Usually. His head is laid on his arms, folded over the broken and burned piece of wood– when did that happen? Who knows, because Jason certainly couldn't tell you– and sometimes the little waves come up and splash him, washing away that warm wet with the icy cold wet, but there's a consistent flow of the warmth regardless. His eye is closed because of it, he knows that, but he can't really tell what it is because every time he tries to think about it his head starts pounding and his chest constricts further somehow and his eyes start burning and fuck it hurts, it hurts so bad, everything fucking hurts please I need help– 

Yeah, no. Not touching that with a ten foot pole. It's easier to just… drift.

Drift, with the vague feeling of agony riddled in every fucking inch of him.

Drift, with the stabbing numbness crawling up his thighs and biceps now, and he knows he should do something about that but he just can't bring himself to fucking move– 

Drift, and just let it all float away. Let it all fade to the background. Just breathe, and feel the way his heartbeat pulses as his body tries to start healing itself or keep itself warm, listen to the incessant ringing in his ears, and– 

Wait.

Is someone calling his name?

“HOOD!?”

That feels like a name he's supposed to answer to. It sounds like someone's in trouble, or hurt, maybe?

“Oh shit, yeah, okay, um– I'll get you out of here, just gimme a sec, yeah? Yeah, okay, okay…”

He'll get right on that, oh scared citizen. Just… as soon as he can bring himself to unfreeze his limbs and move.

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

Man, fuck high school. Fuck English class specifically.

Duke groans as he lets his head fall back against the shitty bench he's sitting on, a dull thunk the only sound resonating from the action. It's fuckass early in the morning and he still isn't done with his damn essay that's due today. Only reason he's out here is so he can get a breather from staring at his screen all night, and hopefully stave off the headache that's been building for the past four hours.

The crisp spring breeze floats across Duke's face, partially hidden by the coat he's wearing to stay warm. As far as Gotham goes, it's actually a fairly decent temperature out, especially considering it's late March, but he doesn't feel like being cold for no reason so the heavy jacket it is.

And really, he just needed the fresh air. Which is an oxymoron because, once again, it's Gotham, but this is the closest he can get. This park right on the edge of the Narrows provides for a great backdrop to Duke's misery, scant trees and a small field serving as the foreground for the view into the Gotham River that splits middle and lower Gotham into its respective islands.

He sighs, slumping and gazing out into the river. In the distance, there's a plume of yellowy-orange that's slowly growing smaller. Must've been an explosion, no doubt one of the Bats. Probably Hood, if he's being honest. Based on what Duke's observed, he's the most likely one to cause an explosion by far, and the Narrows being his territory definitely doesn't protect it from that. Usually he's pretty careful about it though (honestly, to a level that's really impressive) so no one really minds all that much. Not like he's killing anymore, so he's probably gotta get his fix somehow.

Not that it matters much to Duke. It's not like he knows the guy, or any of the Flock for that matter. The most he's seen is the couple glimpses here and there, and what everybody's seen whenever they're on the news.

Regardless.

He's supposed to be relaxing for a bit, not thinking about all the rampant crime in the city he (unfortunately?) calls home.

Looking out over the river, he falls into an easy trance watching the little waves rippling out over the expansive surface. For once, it's not cloudy, so the moonlight reflects off the murky grey-brown-green water. Silvery white and red shines brightly against the dark background and– 

Wait.

Pause.

Roll that back.

Duke blinks a couple times, squinting. There shouldn't be red in the water. Nothing that shines that brightly anyways. If it were blood, it would be way darker and he probably wouldn't even be able to see it. If it were some kind of cloth, it wouldn't just be that speck of color, and it wouldn't be shiny.

He rubs his eyes again, standing up.

When he looks again, he can see a dark blob mostly in the water behind the little dot of red. A little dot of red that's slowly drifting closer.

That's–? No, it can't be…

Right?

Duke finds himself jogging down to the water's edge, following the red spots path and yep– yep that's definitely a helmet, a very memorable helmet, one that everyone in Gotham knows at this point, but one a kid from the Narrows especially knows.

It's at this point that Duke starts running towards the steps leading down to the concrete beach, as they like to call it. His gaze stays locked on Hood's helmet in fear of possibly losing him amongst the waves, doubtful as it is. He nearly trips over the bottom step in his race to get down there.

By the time he's scaled the larger concrete steps, or benches, that lead down to the ‘beach’ proper, Hood has drifted closer. Close enough to be in earshot, maybe?

“Hood!” Duke yells, cupping his lips to make the sound travel further. “Hood, can you hear me?!”

He doesn't stir, from what Duke can tell. Fuck, what if he's dead? How am I supposed to tell the Bats one of them is dead??

No. No. He isn't dead. Just… just knocked out? Yeah, just knocked out. Hopefully.

“Hood, can you hear me?!” Duke shouts again in some vain attempt to get some sign of life from the guy. “HOOD?!”

It's miniscule, but his head shifts, just enough for it to have been purposeful and not just the waves. Duke smiles, but his anxiety skyrockets. Okay, okay, so he's alive, but he's gotta be super injured for this to be his reaction to Duke yelling his name at the top of his lungs in the fucking Narrows. This has gotta be some new level of stupid, now everyone who might've heard him is gonna know Hood is out here, and if they were able to tell Duke's distress then they'll know he's hurt– 

No. Focus. Get him out of the water, deal with everything else later.

The frigid water laps at Duke's shoes as he gets closer, close enough that even from where the vigilante is at least fifteen yards out, he can see the blood shining on his face where a giant gash cuts through his helmet and the domino underneath, staining the white streak red. It looks like the domino might be cut through too, based on the sheer amount of blood that still steadily flows from the wound.

When he's finally close enough that Duke can get a better look at him, he can feel his heart drop out of his chest at the man's state, at least what little he can see. There are tears in his jacket and armor where he can see all the way through to skin, and the fabric is singed, charred in some places, mostly around his shoulder and arm. His breaths are slow, shallow, wheezing things that make Duke's gut twist in worry.

“Oh shit, yeah, okay, um– I'll get you out of here, just gimme a sec, yeah? Yeah, okay, okay…” Duke's hands flutter uselessly as he decides what to do. There's a vigilante– and not just any vigilante, the fucking Red Hood– washing up practically dead on the southwest beach of the Narrows, coming from some mission gone wrong, and if he's right about the general amount of time he's spent in the water, he highly doubts the rest of his Flock knows something's wrong, and that's not even considering Hood's trademarked independence from them all (which has gotten better in recent history as far as he knows, but it's definitely still a thing).

Long story short: this is a side of Hood that no one outside his family should be seeing and he doesn't know what to do.

“Okay, okay, one thing at a time. Get him out of the water, someplace safe and preferably warm,” Duke mutters to himself. Hood is freezing to the touch, and it's no wonder the man is practically vibrating with shivers. He manages to work his arms underneath Hood's and gently– well, as gentle as he can be with someone who's way too big and way too fucking heavy– lifts him and starts dragging him out of range of the waves. His head lolls and his body stays limp, like a doll with its strings cut (and what a comforting thought that is), but his chest stutters over every inhale and is shaking in every exhale. At this angle, he can't see Hood's face, but he wouldn't be surprised to find it screwed up in pain due to whatever injuries Duke can't see.

Unfortunately for him, he isn't nearly strong enough to fully lift the– he must be pushing 300 pounds, right? There's no way he's less than 250– vigilante so he'll just have to deal with it until Duke can get him to someplace he can actually lay down.

Thankfully, even with Duke being careful, he's able to drag the man over to a shadowed corner of the concrete bench steps, where the overhang of a tree and a nearby building blot out most of the little nook, making it easy for eyes to pass over dark shapes huddled in it. It also shields against most of the breeze coming in, which is a plus.

As carefully as he can, he manages to shimmy Hood into the little nook after getting his waterlogged jacket off. He looks up at Duke with foggy, unfocused eyes that seem to drift in a haze, but still manage to convey his wariness. Duke holds his hands up placatingly.

“I'm not gonna, uh, hurt you. Don't worry. Figured you didn't want to be left in the water.” He pauses, watching Hood's half-lidded and (slightly glowing?? What the fuck???) teal-green gaze slides over him, which is, frankly, terrifying. He may have not killed in awhile but Duke still remembers the time when this was the guy who was running around Crime Alley putting heads in duffel bags.

But it doesn’t look like he’s planning to do anything like that, seeing as his exhausted gaze then settles on a point in the middle distance. 

Duke lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Okay, so um. I know you're like, injured? But how am I supposed to contact the Bats so they can pick you up? Because, uh, you're the only one that ever comes here.”

Hood's brow furrows at that, a little bit of clarity returning to his eyes. His hands painstakingly slowly drift up to his broken helmet, fingers fumbling with the back of it. Well, that's an exaggeration. His fingers aren't even moving, despite how much he's clearly trying to move them.

“Can you– can you tell me how to take it off? I don't think you're gonna be able to feel your fingers for a while,” Duke explains. Something like defeat crosses Hood's expression, but he relents.

“‘S– ‘s th’ ‘ne–” His words slur together, sounding oddly vulnerable without the voice modulator making everything sound like a menacing drawl. He breathes out a slow, measured breath before continuing. “It's– th’ one up t'p.”

The words are still slurred together, but this time Duke can actually make them out and follow the directions. He waits patiently (considering the circumstances) for the rest of Hood's instructions, breathing out a sigh of relief when the helmet latches unlock and he can work it off the vigilante's head.

Of course, that's immediately washed over with a wave of concern when his whole face is revealed to be nearly covered in blood from the gash across the side of his face the helmet was broken on. Now that he can see both eyes, he can see the pain– no, agony hidden behind that foggy exterior. Based on the constant shivering that wracks his body, Duke would guess that it's irritating whatever injuries are under his suit and making everything worse.

Unfortunately, there's nothing Duke can do about that without Hood taking off his suit, and that sure as shit ain't happening.

What he can do is help him take off the most outer layers he doesn't need right now and drape his coat over him to block out more of the wind and hopefully help him retain some body heat.

“Okay, what am I supposed to do with this?” Duke asks once Hood's a little more situated, holding up the helmet for emphasis.

“Put ‘t on,” Hood murmurs hoarsely. Seriously, what had this guy been doing, gargling broken glass? “B'tt'n ‘n ear.”

Translating that as best he can, Duke slides the helmet on (which is way too big and frankly disgusting due to river water and blood but that's not really the point right now) and taps the button as instructed. A speaker clicks to life, but all there is is crackling static that's slowly fizzling out.

“It's just static. I think your comm might be broken, dude,” Duke informs him helpfully, setting the helmet beside him but under his coat. The ghost of a sardonic smile tugs at the corner of Hood's lips and there's a sharp exhale of breath that might've been a laugh before his blood-covered jaw is clenching and his scant breaths are careful, measured, and cautious. 

This leaves Duke with his thoughts, which are steadily picking up speed as he flips through possibilities. Hood's comm is out, which means there's no way to contact his team that way. Anything else he might’ve had is clearly damaged too much to use, or he would've used it already, and even if it wasn't, he's too far off mentally to answer any questions Duke could ask.

Alright then, time for other methods. How do you get a Bat's attention?

Well, the obvious answer is crime. Issue with that is, Hood's the one who patrols the Narrows. So would that even work? Who would see it?

Duke gasps as he comes to the realization. Oracle! She watches the cameras across the city! Surely if I do something in front of one, then she'll see it and I can get a message across somehow?

He nods to himself, gathering up Hood's ripped-to-shreds leather jacket and folding it over his arm so the red bat symbol is hidden.

“Okay, Hood, I've got a plan, I'll be right back. Just like– stay here, I guess. I'm gonna find a way to talk to Oracle, so she can call your family, or team, or whatever.” 

Everyone knows they're a family, but again, Hood's whole independence thing makes Duke double-guess referring to them as such in front of him though.

Hood just lazily trails his gaze over to fix Duke with a stare, so distanced yet so heavy that despite his condition he's sure the man will hunt him down if he breaks his word. 

Duke just nods again and backs away, racing off to the nearest closed convenience store in the area.

This late at night, it's not hard to find one. He grabs a broken pipe from the alley nearby and smashes the front door in, wincing in preparation for an alarm. Nothing rings out, the night stays just as quiet as it was before.

Yeah, no shit, Duke. It's the fucking Narrows, no one uses alarms here.

He squints at the corners where the wall meets the ceiling, and the ceiling itself for cameras. Speedwalking through the aisles in his search, he pauses when he finds a shitty first aid kit. He grabs it.

The slight noise of mechanical whirring makes Duke's head snap towards the noise. A camera– one of those old, shitty ones– perched right above the doorway slowly turns to face him, to stare right at him, bore into his fucking soul– 

Duke smiles a hysterical smile and runs up to it. The lens follows his movement, zooming out when he's right below it.

“H- Hello? I don't know if you can hear me, Oracle– God, I hope I'm actually talking to Oracle and not just the guy that owns this place– Hood is injured! I found him and hid him somewhere safe, for now, but he's not doing great, so if you could like… send someone to pick him up? I don't know. But I really can't do much for him with the condition he's in?” He holds up the red bat on the jacket and points at the first aid kit, trying to convey the urgency of the situation. “So um– yeah! Please help!”

With that, and a little more gesturing, he runs back to the park with the jacket and the first aid kit, skidding across the grass until he hits the concrete steps. He lets his steps slow as he approaches, trying to avoid startling the infamously trigger-happy vigilante that's hopefully still sheltering in the shadow of that little concrete nook.

Looking around the corner, he's still there, but he's almost entirely bowed as far into the corner as he can get, as if he's trying to hide in it by curling up as tight as he can and becoming part of the shadows. It's… it's a level of vulnerability Duke isn't really comfortable seeing one of the Bats in. It's a stark, painfully clear reminder that the Bats and Birds, as tough as they are, are still probably human.

Although Hood's possibly glowing eyes from earlier might single-handedly disprove that belief. 

Duke pauses a few paces away from the man's curled up (thankfully still shivering) form. The shivers are small, though, the main movement being the shallow rising and falling of his chest and slightly shaking shoulders. His legs are still splayed out awkwardly, despite the way the rest of his body is curled in and shifted onto his side.

Fuck, that's probably not good. The lack of shivering is also probably not good.

Duke sits, half kneeling, and sets the first aid kit down beside him. “Hood? That gash on your face was bleeding a lot when I left, I was hoping you'd let me put some bandages on it?”

Hood flinches, slowly turning his head to look up at Duke. There's definitely a dim glow to his eyes, but they're foggier than before.

Another tally in the “probably not good” box.

“Y'r b'ck,” Hood grunts, just barely loud enough for Duke to hear. 

He nods, opening the kit. “Yeah, said I'd be back. I think Oracle saw me, so hopefully someone is on their way.”

Hood hums, looking slowly between the bandages in Duke's hands and Duke himself before nodding and turning his face up enough that he can put bandages on.

“I'll try to clean it, and it's probably gonna hurt, but hey, at least it'll keep you awake,” Duke jokes halfheartedly, already finding the saline and clean towel from the kit to dab at the massive cut with. Past his opposite eyebrow twitching, Hood doesn't show any reaction to Duke's actions. Just gazing off into the distance, clearly trying his hardest not to pay attention any more than is absolutely needed.

It's just as Duke is securing the gauze pads to the gouge that he hears voices drifting across the wind, coming from the park. Hood seems to zone back in as well, tensing and glancing quickly around.

“I'll go check it out, it might be them,” Duke whispers, trying to reassure him. He only furrows a brow, but doesn't try– or rather, probably can't try– to stop him.

He, as quietly as he can, sneaks over to the top of the concrete bench stairs, scanning the park for the source of the voices. His eyes land on two shadows around the edge of it that seem to be bickering? He sees red and black on one of them, and purple on the other. He can't make out what they're saying at this distance, but their walk looks strange. Less like a walk, more like they're gliding along.

Or like capes are obscuring their legs.

Duke grins, jumping up and running over to them. It becomes very apparent very quickly that the two forms are Red Robin and Spoiler. Both become guarded and suspicious when Duke approaches, but he stays a respectable distance away.

“Hood's over here, there wasn't anywhere else I could get him to since he can't walk,” Duke explains, running back to the nook with them.

“Why can't he walk?” Red Robin asks quickly. Duke shrugs.

“I don't know, man. I just know I had to drag his heavy ass over here and he hasn't moved, really.”

Spoiler swears when she rounds the corner, kneeling beside Hood's head and moving it into her lap.

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

“Oi, Alley, you in there?”

Jason grunts a vague affirmative, weakly glaring up at her through the haze of pain clouding his vision. Steph smiles, carding a gloved hand through his hair while being careful to avoid the bandages on his face. It's strained, but it's not like anyone can see that behind the half mask she wears. 

“B's en route,” Tim announces, stopping beside the two of them. He glances back at the kid who led them here. “Thanks for pulling him out. We've got him from here.”

“Yeah, just– I don't know how long he was in the water for, and I don't think he's shivering as much as he used to be. And he's got pieces of metal or something stuck in him. Just be careful?”

“We will,” Tim assures. The kid nods and walks off, wringing his hands nervously. Steph doesn't pay him much attention, trusting Tim to keep watch until he leaves. Only then does he kneel beside Jason as well, gently feeling around for his injuries. It's easy to tell when he finds them, seeing as Jason's too exhausted to keep his face under control now.

“Dislocated hips, injured ribs, but I can't tell how bad or how many with his armor in the way. Definitely hypothermia, heart rate and breathing is slow and wheezing,” Tim reports. “Scattered shrapnel from the explosion, doesn't seem like it hit anything vital.”

“Keep him awake, ETA one minute,” Batman responds.

“Robin and I will be heading back shortly,” Dick cuts in. “Don't look at me like that, this is prime family cuddle pile time.”

Cass hums an agreement. “Will prepare theater.”

“See, she gets it. Cmon, babybat. Time to skeddadle.”

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

The rest of the night is spent with Jason at the center of the family cuddle pile, much to his chagrin once he wakes up. Tim and Bruce berate him for his recklessness, he deflects, the cycle continues.

In the end, though, he gets his allotted family cuddle pile time and isn't even upset in the moment because he's (figuratively) dead to the world.

Bruce doesn't much appreciate the joke when Steph makes it.

[tanis-fics]

You're gonna go far, kid

The FBC and the Oldest House were dangerous waters to thread and Barry knew that, luckily he could find kinship in an old acquaintance, a girl he met on his former band's glory days who would grow up to be more important than any of them ever expected.

Relationships: Jesse Faden & Barry Wheeler ♦ Words: 1873 ♦ Notes: Partly based on this post by @lostinthewoodsomewhere

[on ao3] ♦ [read on site]

 The mess hall of the FBC was a crowded place, a neutral zone of sorts where people from all the different departments could meet with one another, eat and wind down. In any other moment Barry Wheeler wouldn't mind the crowd, he would quickly grab something to eat and move somewhere quiet to review what he'd worked on so far, or, most likely, he would use that time to preen and show off whoever his client was at the moment. This particular mess hall, however, was one of the very few places he didn't fear the floor would eat him alive, and it had been some time since he had any particular clients. Not ones he wanted to flaunt over, at least.

 Hard to preen when the stupid dress code kept his options limited too, he sighed, annoyed, as he tried making a beeline to the cafeteria, when a figure standing up knocked him off his feet.

 "Sorr—"

 "Hey, watch where you're fucking—" He hissed, grabbing the couple files that flew off his hands before glancing at the other person, instantly feeling the sense of familiarity attributed to a déjà vu until the realization hit him. He was talking to the woman whose portrait adorned every hall. "Shit, sh- I- I'm sorry, ma'am. Miss?" She was younger than he anticipated. "Boss. Didn't see you there."

 The Director simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed and possibly irked, and Barry cursed in silence for making a fool of himself in front of the only person here who was worth a damn.

 "It's fine. Just try to be more careful next time." Her tone was dry and he bit his tongue.

 “Will do.”

 Barry thought —hoped— that that would be it, that she would excuse herself and march forward to wherever she was going to when she bumped into him, but before she could turn away the Director did a double take and squinted. Barry stood in high alert as she scrutinized him.

 "Have I seen you before?"

 Barry stared like a deer in the headlights. If the only way he had known her face was because of those portraits the chances of her knowing him were slim at best, unless she recognized him because of what happened in Cauldron Lake, which would be potentially disastrous.

 "Nope, no, I don't think—" The Director kept squinting at him as he dragged his words, until she looked to the side for a second and then snapped her fingers.

 "You were with the Old Gods of Asgard a few years ago, weren't you?"

 Suddenly, surprisingly, Barry felt like he could breath again.

 It had been more than a couple of years, but he could work with that. A tentative smile grew on his lips, the green Communications Agent being replaced by the seasoned Band Manager.

 "I was with them, yeah!” He puffed his chest, wishing he was wearing something more impressive than a white shirt and an ugly, simple tie. “I managed the band for a couple years during their revival tour. You’ve ever been to one of the concerts? Because if you did, you’ve probably seen me there. Yeah, you definitely know me from those." The Director chuckled, and Barry could see some of her stiffness washing away.

 “I wish.” She shook her head. “I never got around to actually seeing them live, unfortunately. But one time, they… they actually showed up at work, my previous work. Got into a pretty nasty fight too.” Barry winced at the memories of having to tail them down night after night, of having to break up fights and pay for whatever was broken this time, but her smile spoke of nothing more than fondness. "You, uh, you gave me a free t-shirt back then."

 Barry snorted. Of course he did.

 Chasing that feeling of familiarity beyond the aforementioned portraits of directorial sobriety he tried recalling where exactly he saw that same red hair before, and was met with a couple matching wide eyes behind a counter. Wide eyes and a grin. Barry remembered being surprised at her happiness despite the mess. Not many people glowed whenever two ancient men started breaking tables around them.

 Funny thing was, she also seemed to be glowing a bit now. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Either way, he hummed.

 "Y’know, I think I remember…” He scratched his chin, deep in thought. “Yeah, weren’t you working at some bar? Wasn’t there a guy…?

 Who was, if memory served, very close to harassing her, or at the very least annoying her. Barry never finished hearing the full story, truth be told, the only people present being the old rockers themselves, but according to their drunken ramblings the man had been hitting on her the entire time they’ve been there despite her clear lack of interest. He remember wondering whether the reason why she hadn’t tell him off was because she really, really needed the job, because even at the time she’d seemed perfectly capable of handing herself if things got hairy.

 Which they did, at the time.

 According to Odin he confronted the man and next thing they knew all hell broke loose, a push here, a push back, a glass being thrown around and a bottle shattering against the wall. Usual Anderson stuff, all things considered.

 “Didn’t Tor smash a table on that guy’s back? I remember having to pay for… a number of things.” At least not for her silence. That was what the shirt had been for originally, of course, but Barry would be lying if he said her surprising excitement hadn’t brought a smile to his face in that mess of a night.

 Now it was her turn to wince a bit.

 "Yup. That was me behind the bar. And I’m pretty sure he had to go to the hospital afterwards."

 “Shouldn’t have messed with my boys. Or been a creep, for that matter.” Barry chuckled, before raising an eyebrow. “You... didn’t get in trouble for that lil’ stunt, did you?”

 “Oh, I did.” The woman wrinkled her nose and squinted, thinking back to that time. “Even with all the money you gave me for repairs they still kicked me out.”

 “Fuckin’ bastards.” She huffed, rolling her eyes.

 “Tell me about it. But hey,” shrugging, she pointed at the building above, “got a pretty cool promotion.” He laughed.

 "I can tell! Say, speaking of, how does the under payed waitress from some shitty bar end up as the Director of a secret organization? No offense, of course."

 After a pause, she shrugged.

 "None taken, just came knocking at the right time, I guess. What's a band manager doing in the FBC?"

 His smile cracked for a second, flashes of nightmares that might or might not been real flooding his head before coughing.

 "Oh you know. This and that. I've always been a big fan of the supernatural." He lied.

 The Director looked at him, humming, and for a second Barry thought she was looking through him. Or looking at something behind him? He ignored the impulse to turn his head. This was a test of character and Barry Wheeler could handle it, God dammit. He also knew he couldn’t tell her about his search of anything relating to Bright Falls. To Al. As much as he was fond of the woman, his smile shinning with pride despite the very short time they’ve known each other, he simply couldn’t trust her nor the FBC. Not yet at least. So many things were redacted and behind closed doors, he couldn't, as she put it, simply come knocking. Couldn't he?

 The woman finally opened her mouth to say something, when a third voice distracted her.

 "Jesse!" Jesse? A blond woman with a notepad called at the end of the hall —Barry swore he’d seen her at the Communication Department at some point. Wasn't she one of the Heads of something else?— and the Director replied with a warm smile and a raise of the hand.

 Blondie couldn’t have come at a better time.

 "Well! I won't hold you any longer, Boss." He clapped his hands with finality, taking a step back and holding out one before him out of habit. "Barry Wheeler, at your service."

 Maybe he couldn't ask her right away, but getting in the woman on top’s good graces seemed to be a good idea (better than come guns blazing to a place that could easily kill him by itself, at least). He didn't realize the small wrinkle on her forehead at the name, close to recognition.

 "Jesse Faden." She eventually replied, shaking his hand. Before she could finally make her way out, though, Barry saw a flicker of something on her eyes. "By the way, do you... by any chance do you have any Old Gods shirts left? I know it's a long shot, it's been a while, but-"

 "Hey, I get it. The only thing those rags are good for after eight years is to use as pajamas.” He reassured her. “Don’t worry, I also pop a new one from the pile I couldn’t get to sell from time to time." She —Jesse— chuckled, but a heavy shadow replaced the brief amusement on her eyes.

 "It's not for me, actually, it's... it’s for my brother. He..." For a moment, she seemed to be at loss for words, lowering her eyes for the first time in that conversation, before smiling back at him. “He used to be a big fan of the Old Gods too. I’d love to give him anything from them.”

 Barry wasn't unaware of the looks people around them have been giving them since they’ve first crashed against each other, he remembered what it felt to be around such focal point of gravity, but something about her last request stroke a chord in their vicinity that he couldn't help but wonder about. Something about her brother, clearly. Something rather significant. He'd have to check that out later, but for now, he smiled. Maybe a bit more honest at the admission.

 "I'm sure I can find a couple t-shirts left. And a CD too! If... you still have anything to listen to it."

 Jesse laughed, and for a moment Barry was taken back to that shifty dead-end bar, and the mighty Director became the girl with stars on her eyes.

 "I know someone that might. Thanks."

 "The pleasure is all mine, Boss."

 And just like that Jesse —the Old Gods of Asgard fan— —the Director— walked away with the blonde woman, and Barry finally got to grab his lunch, with the particular glow of someone who’d seen an old friend.

 It would be much later that he would come to realize that if they actually had, in fact, any information of Alan and whatever that might or might have not happened in Cauldron Lake, maybe going around saying his full name might not have been the brightest of ideas.

 Barry was lucky, then, that if there was a person who understood what it was to walk into the lion’s den for a chance to see their loved one again, it was the same girl he met by happenstance after that random pub brawl so many years ago.

[the-dalseum-duet]

there is a reason kohls is strictly yaoi and there is a divine rule that I cannot interact with any other interpretation of them. because if they were a tall anorexic bitch in designer heels and her fucked up little girlfriend in thigh-high socks with a gore tumblr blog sharing cigarettes and dark lipstick… it would have been So Over for me

[forcedhesitation]

why should it just be steve who has all the torturous purgatory realm fun?

[faunandfloraas]

inadvertently stopped using my freckle fade cream without thinking.... right around the time i started making gifs of felix.... coincidence?

[musical-chick-13]

Bro, I'm so tired.

[girlcrushau]

[stevethehairington]

also WHY is the doctor giving clara a key to the tardis after one (1) day together — and not even a FULL day either, it's only like a couple hours!!!

[mako-island-moon-pool]

Personally of the belief that live action fans who go onto animanga posts uninvited like 'I DESPERATELY NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT I THINK THE ART STYLE IS UGLY EVEN THO THIS OPINION IS IRRELEVANT TO THE POST' should be hit with a big rock. We already moved past this ten years ago, get with it or get lost. Swallow the hunger inside of you that demands everything be palatable to you. Maybe you could stand to be a little uncomfortable for a while

[cleolinda]

AITA for banning my husband and father in law from the delivery room due to their intensely stressful/creepy behavior during my pregnancy?

There’s a famous Reddit post from 2020 where a pregnant woman wrote that her husband and father-in-law were a little too comfortable with their certainty that she was absolutely going to die in childbirth just like her husband’s late mother. It was to the point where her FIL was insisting that she go ahead and put all her clothes into storage, because she was obviously going to die in the hospital and it would save them the grief of packing up her things afterwards. Like. It was WILD.

When I tell my husband [that she feels suspicious of her FIL], he calls me paranoid, but I feel like my FIL WANTS me to die; his whole life identity for the past 35 years has been “amazing single dad” (never dated or had close friends or even hobbies really), and it seems like he’s looking forward to being able to guide my husband through what he went through. At this point, I’d honestly be happy to never see my FIL again, and I certainly don’t want him in the delivery room, especially since he told me he was “putting [his] foot down” about me not being “allowed” to have an epidural…. My husband, in addition to backing his dad on everything, acts like my due date is my death date, and has completely pulled away from me.

The commenters (and me, honestly) were convinced that the husband and FIL were either going to kill her outright to fulfill this expectation, or just make decisions about her care that might conveniently let her die.

And then she never posted again.

Over the last four years, people have frequently mentioned that post, always leading to a thread of people saying, “Oh god, I still worry about that woman.” I did too. It became one of those famous unresolved posts that people always wondered about.

Until yesterday, when someone on r/BestOfRedditorUpdates dug up a 2022 update she had posted on a different account:

TLDR; I had a beautiful and healthy baby girl, and I divorced my ex-husband. I lived, obviously.

She writes that she put her foot down about having her own mother in the delivery room rather than her FIL (!), and she WOULD be getting an epidural. Her husband lost his shit. And in his outburst, he let slip--

I admittedly lost my temper, and told him that I wasn’t going to die- it wasn’t my fault his father’s trauma wormed it’s way into his head, and that he needed to fix it without taking it out on me. He yelled at me that he didn’t need therapy. That caught me a little off guard; I asked him why he went to his therapist and was given advice about my death if he felt he didn’t need it. His expression gave it away, and he caved not long after. It turns out there was no therapist. It was just his dad. During the times he was supposed to be at therapy, he was with his dad. I’m still fuming.

And that was when she got the fuck out.

I’ll wrap this up- I’ve got an adorable little toddler tugging at my leg atm. I’m alive, I’m happy, and I’ve got my baby in my arms. Life is good.

I truly never thought we'd see a resolution to this, and I feel like there's probably a good number of people who remember it, so I thought you might want to know.

ETA: Brilliantly, I put the link in at the top; here it is again for convenience.