#paid fanfiction

[witchthewriter]

𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆   𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

Paid story for @yourwinchesterbros. Word Count: 2k Warnings: swears, alcohol

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

You couldn’t deny what your body had yearned for, for so long. It was like calling to like. Two souls finally merging in the most innocent yet passionate way.

   Jax’s hands were on either side of your cheeks, pulling you in close for such an intimate kiss. And you couldn’t help but melt into it. Like

 And yet you were instantly reminded that there was a room full of people who were watching intently.

You heard a cough; Gemma, who shrugged and shook her head with her hands in the air. The other Sons had stopped jeering, and funnily enough it was the silence that pulled you from the moment.

Backing away, you gently held your palm up to Jax’s chest.

 Shaking your head, face ablaze with red, you walked backwards and down the hall.

You paced back and forth, mind swirling with thoughts. Your head felt heavy, your limbs slow and aching.

How could he do this now? Was it supposed to be a romantic gesture, to show all his club that you were with him?

You were fighting with yourself. Split down the middle. One part aching for the smooth, supple feel of Jax’s lips. The warmth that spread throughout your body.

And the other half was … angry. Why now? After you proved yourself? After enduring enough trauma that Jax now knew you could handle club life?

Fuck.

                                                           - ✦ -

“Hey, what was that?”

   “Wh-“ You stopped yourself and held up a hand, while the other pinched the bridge of your nose. “What the fuck do you think it was? Am I supposed to forgive and forget everything that happened? Now you want me, now. As if what happened was some sort of fucked up test. And finally you see my strength. No Jax-“

  You barely took a breath between each sentence. He didn’t interrupt you, but shook his head with pleading eyes.

   “No – no, that’s not it at all,” Jax stepped forward and tried to take hold of your hand, but you moved it out of reach. Taking a step back you pulled at the black club shirt you were wearing and felt the urge to tear it off.

  “I am capable Jax. I always have been. Why did it take you this long to figure it out?”

Your eyes glossed over, and you damned your emotions. ‘Do not cry. Do not fucking cry,’ you said in your fuzzy head. Did you still feel this way because of last night, or because of the kiss? Either could be possible. Because both shook you to your core.

Even so, last night felt like a haze. And you couldn’t remember all the details. Only that your nails were bloodstained, even though Jax tried his best to scrub everything from you. He’d do anything to erase any hurt you held. Not just because of him, but because of the world. He hated that you ever had to endure pain. On any level.

                                                          - ✦ -

“I want to go home.” Your words were a precise demand. You didn’t want to talk any longer, you didn’t even want to look at Jax.

And he saw that. Jax knew it was pain, because he saw that same look in Tara’s eyes when he said she wasn’t apart of this family, all those years ago.

Was…was he doomed to repeat the same thing over and over again? That was apart of his fear. Why he didn’t want you close. Because too close meant danger, just like last night. Would that happen again?

So, he got Happy to give you a ride back home. And told him to stay a while, make sure you were okay. Give you some company. Even if you didn’t want any.

                                                          - ✦ -

“Happy, really, I’m okay,” you said, walking into the kitchen. The dog’s had been fed – you could tell by the way the food had been put back.

   “What if I wanted some company?” His light hearted yet gruff voice filled the room.

You huffed and shook your head. “Then go find a croweater.”

 He gave you ‘fucking really?’ kind of look and plopped himself on the couch. Picking up the remote, he turned on the television and flicked through the channels.

Rolling your eyes, you set out to find your boys. Angus and Jango were laying on the foot of your bed, and when they heard your footsteps, they lunged upward. They knew you well.

  Tails wagging and a little whining, you gave the Doberman and Border Collie good belly rubs. You got on the floor, and they surrounded you. Safe. Completely safe is what you felt. Their bodies rested against yours, and you sighed in relief. You couldn’t think about what would’ve happened to them if something happened to you.

   “Hey, you hungry?” Happy called from the living room and the two dogs jumped up and ran down the hall.

“Traitors,” you mumbled, and answered back with a hesitant yes. The dogs knew Happy, they’d been around him for many months. He would have been the one to come around and feed them last night. Or was it this morning? You didn’t know – either way, if it was any other man, he would have been ripped apart.

“Aight,” was all you heard as you walked into your bedroom and undressed. You still had on the borrowed clothing, and right now, you desperately needed it off.

 Even from your ensuite, you could hear the clanging of pots and pans. You assumed Happy would go out and get something, but apparently now, you had a personal chef.

You didn’t know what you had in your pantry or fridge. The milk was definitely expired. So, your expectations were low, but after showering and changing, you came out to the kitchen to find an absolute feast.

 “Didn’t know if you wanted scrambled, fried, or poached eggs. So, I’ve-“ there was a ding and Happy stopped mid-sentence to check on the currently poaching eggs.

 With raised eyebrows, you sat at the kitchen bench which was full of plates; toast, scrambled eggs, two omelettes, baked beans, and an array of your spreads – peanut butter, jam, well…just those two.

   “Wow Hap, this is –“

“Man, you barely have any food in this place. The dogs have more than you,” he said while straining the pot and carefully plating the poached eggs.

 You felt a little blush creep onto your cheeks, but you shrugged it off.

“Hey, don’t criticise the recent kidnappee,” you said and threw your hair from your shoulder.

  Putting his hands up in surrender, Happy smiled.

“Yes, ma’am.”

                                                          - ✦ -

The day felt long yet short at the same time. So much had happened, and eventually you were glad for Happy’s company.

But you didn’t know what you wanted. Actually, that was a lie. You knew exactly what you wanted, you were just scared it wouldn’t come true. That everything had been misconstrued in your mind; the kiss – maybe it was a façade? A way to make the club feel like Jax was still in power. That even a helpless damsel who had just endured trauma would fall into his arms willingly.

But you knew the club; you knew the club brothers. And they knew you.

Surely they didn’t believe that? No…no they couldn’t.

Happy was watching you think these things, and he could see the deliberation cleanly on your face.

   “You good?” He said after ten minutes of silence. The tv sounded in the background but Happy’s attention was solely on you.  

 The question was muffled, you were so deep in your thoughts that you couldn’t comprehend.

“Huh?” You replied. Dragging your eyes to meet Happy’s.

   “Are you okay, Zo?” His question was heavy with concern. No light-heartedness like there was twenty minutes ago.

“I-,” the words were ready on your tongue but your voice ceased to make noise. This felt too … personal. Awkward. It felt exactly like talking to your brother about romance. So, how could you talk to Happy about this?

    “If it’s because of last night; it was handled. If it was … the kiss, then you’re overthinking it.”

“What?” There was a snap in your voice. You felt a tad offended.  

   “The kiss, with Jax.” His face was stone, no humour in it at all.

“How can I not?” You said with furrowed brows and squinted eyes. You felt fire rise in your stomach, a want to aim your anger at someone.

   “It was … Jax was … it meant something. To him, he wouldn’t just do that with anyone. Not after Tara.” Happy explained, with some difficulty. His voice caught on Tara’s name.

There was a beat of silence.

 “But why in front of everyone? Why now?” You said quietly.

Another beat.

  “I-I don’t have the answer. No one can really … get inside Jax’s head right now.” It was an admittance to more than just the situation between you and the man that held the gavel.  

You sat back in your seat and rested your head against the back of the couch. Staring up at the ceiling, you let out a big sigh.

                                                         - ✦ -

When Happy left; around five in the afternoon, you got a message. In all honesty the alert from your phone gave you a freight.

You didn’t have that many contacts, and you mostly got messages from Skeeter. But it wasn’t, it was from Jax.

  ‘We need to talk,’ it read. And your heart dropped to your stomach.

It took you a while to respond. Thirty minutes of deliberating of what to say, and another ten thinking if you should respond at all.

Was now the time? For you maybe not. But for him … it was. You didn’t know this, but Jax needed to mend whatever it was between you. He needed to know where he stood. Because Jax couldn’t stop thinking about you.

  All day he was being nudged on the arm by Tig.

“You good man?” He’d say, blue eyes firmly looking into his Presidents.

   “…yeah,” was all he could reply. Because his romance didn’t seem of concern for the whole club. Funnily though, it was. And it was Chibs who told Jax to message you.

   ‘Okay, when and where?’

You hesitated a second before sending it. Your stomach churned as you waited for his response.

Luckily he didn’t need to deliberate as you, because his response was quick.

   ‘Can I come over in thirty minutes?’

God. The house was a mess. You looked like a mess. You hadn’t cared how Happy saw you (neither did he). At least Happy cleaned up after himself. But you still had to vacuum the dog hair and brush your own, maybe wash your face and put on some deodorant.

                                                          - ✦ -

Thirty minutes went by in a second.

And you heard a knock on the door.

  Then your heart nearly exploded with how fast it was going.

“C-coming,” you called and put down the brush, racing from your bathroom to the front door. You waited a moment, to compose yourself, and then turned the handle.

Even though you knew he was coming, he still took your breath away.

Jax stood before you in a white shirt, his kutte, his baggy jeans and white shoes. His normal clothes. But somehow … he seemed different. Like he dressed just for you.

You could smell his cologne – it was freshly applied, his hair was slicked back and you noted the knife attached to him. You wondered how many times he had used that knife.

   “Hey darlin’,” he said in a soft voice.

“Hello,” you said back in greeting, without a softness to it.

You stepped backward and to the side, motioning for him to come in.

    “Thanks,” he muttered and stepped over the threshold. His shoes wiping on the mat.

You didn’t know the feeling of what this conversation would be, but you knew a drink wouldn’t hurt. 

 So, you walked into the kitchen and brought out a bottle of Rye and two glasses.

[gothamite-rambler]

Duke Thomas gets added to the payroll

Bruce Wayne (seeing Duke walk past his office): Duke.

Duke backwards walked to Bruce’s office.

Duke: Sup?

Bruce: Did you check your bank account? The direct deposit should’ve hit.

Duke: The what? Oh you were serious about that?

Bruce: Of course, you’re not only my son, but you do work for me and you deserve an income.

Duke: Thanks dude, but I can’t take your money I work at the library.

Bruce: Duke, trust me. You deserve this. I do it for all my kids… except Tim.

Duke: Why not Tim?

Bruce: Long story… he owns part of my company, plus he- he definitely embezzled a lot of my funds before I noticed so him working at my company is his paycheck.

Duke (alarmed): That was him?!

Bruce: Yeah, but that’s not important currently. You enjoy your first payhcheck and I’m proud of you.

Duke: Thanks man.

Duke left the office, checking his phone as he walked to his room. He nearly dropped his phone seeing the four digits in his bank account that had five dollars in it three days ago.

Duke (shocked, happy): Three- Three thousand dollars?! Woooooooo! I’m eating good tonight! No wait, game stop here I come!

Duke ran out the house passing by Stephanie and Jason.

Duke: I can finally buy a PlayStation!

Jason: Wait until he finds out it’s a monthly payment.

Stephanie: I’ll tell him later. Want to go tell Tim about it first?

Jason: 100% yes.

[infinite-orangepeel]

i don’t want a ‘career’ ! i want to write sexy fanfiction for my internet friends <3

[maesonc-artistic-adventures]

Based on Chapt 13 of @cutebutalsostabby ‘s fanfic “Big Oof 2022, aka Whumptober”

“‘You,’ Hyrule declared furiously, ‘are an absolute, complete dumbass.’

Lying prone on the ground with a deeply pissed-off mage looming above his head, it was rather difficult for Warriors to argue the point. He gave a weak thumbs up and croaked back, ‘Yep.’

Hyrule shook his head disbelievingly and announced, ‘You and Legend give me shit for this all the time, but you’re both equally as bad.’

Warriors nodded. ‘Very true,’ he rasped peaceably. ‘Be sure to learn from our bad examples.’”

————————————

Hyrule and Warrior’s dynamic is so excellent and few do it as well as this fic!

[idliketobeatree]

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Before the Sacking, some noble houses would sponsor witcher schools. It was a show of wealth and prestige, which also had the added benefit of putting one's territories higher on the witchers' list of priorities.

Of course, the sponsors abandoned them when the witchers' numbers dwindled too low to prioritize any territory.

Thus, it was a shock to all of the wolves when they received a letter from the Viscount of Lettenhove offering them a sponsorship contract. Was this a joke? A twisted plot to kill the rest of them? Did this Viscount know they couldn't possibly offer him any sort of special treatment?

Despite their doubts, the wolves sent a representative to Lettenhove. Geralt was the most likely to survive a trap, and his reputation couldn't possibly get lower if he had to fight his way out.

Geralt braced himself for the worst. He had his guard up as he arrived in Lettenhove, as he was received graciously, as he met the surprisingly young and handsome Viscount.

"You must be tired from your long journey. I have a bath and food prepared."

"I'd rather see to the contract first."

The Viscount placed a sheet of parchment before him, and Geralt read the contract. He read it again. A third time to be sure.

"What the fuck is this?!?" Geralt growled.

"I thought the conditions reasonable."

"It's completely one-sided!" Geralt waved the contract in his face, like that would help the Viscount see the situation clearer. "You can't be serious!"

The contract, if you could even call it that, basically guaranteed an allowance for the wolf school and safe lodging for them in Lettenhove or any of the Viscount's properties.

In exchange for...stories. The wolves would have to visit the Viscount to tell him about their hunts.

What the fuck?

"I am deadly serious," the Viscount responded, and Geralt could tell it was the truth. "You see, witcher, I have an excess of responsibilities, so I lack the freedom to travel. However, I have the means to pay someone to share their experiences with me. I thought 'why not pay someone who actually needs the money?' You witchers are famously underpaid."

Geralt stared at the noble uncomprehendingly. If the Viscount was looking for entertainment, Why not hire a bard instead?

"Should you need time to consider it, you may stay as long as you like. Your rooms--"

"We'll sign."

The Viscount's proper facade cracked, and the man beamed like a child. "REALLY?!?"

Geralt nodded. He couldn't understand the Viscount, but he also couldn't deny that he and his brothers needed the money.

I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS!!!

[chio-chan2artbox]

Commission for @inators

Perry the Platypus from the fic Proselytization by @inators

Thank you for your support and enjoy your commission!

Note: Background was provided by inators

[peppermintwhisp]

Ok guys. This has been bothering me for a while, but I’ve finally had enough.

Alfred Pennyworth would not stick the title ‘Master’ in front of any rando that wanders into the manor. So please get all the “Master Kents” and “Master Harpers” out of your fics.

Hell, proper butler etiquette dictates that Alfred should not be addressing Bruce as ‘Master Wayne’ nor “Master Bruce”. As the head of the household, Bruce should be addressed as “Sir” or “Mister Wayne”

The title ‘Master’ is reserved for young male children deemed not old enough for the title ‘Mister’ and it is exactly how Alfred would have addressed a young Bruce at the time of his parents’ death. Over the years, Alfred likely kept the same address for Bruce out of affection.

The Robins too would mostly likely get the same treatment - “Master Jason”, “Master Dick”, etc, but please, please NOT any of their friends nor any other acquaintance that happened to wander in the door. They would be addressed under the proper honorific of “Mister”.

Alfred Pennyworth did not study the art of butler etiquette for you guys to shame him like this.

[chaoticallyfluffy]

Ok consider:

A new hero emerges and the Justice League watches him for a while who make sure he’s not a threat. They see this giant clumsy man who moves like he’s not used to his body, smiles goofily every time he saves someone, and is clearly inexperienced with his powers and they’re all just like. Ah. This is a child.

Except they don’t think he’s a ten year old or however old Billy is at the time, no no. Clearly this hero came into existence shortly before his first appearance, just a few months ago. They don’t know how or why but It’s not the weirdest thing they’ve seen so it’s pretty easy to believe.

But they can’t just leave this toddler with the powers of a god to stumble around and potentially hurt someone by accident, nor go down the wrong path and become a villain. So of course they decide to ‘subtly’ guide him without alerting him to the fact they’re onto him.

They introduce themselves but instead of inviting him to the league they pop by every once in a while to ‘subtly’ teach him about responsibility and power, but also about love and humanity. They try to teach him to enjoy life and that he doesn’t have to act like an adult around them, instead encouraging him to enjoy his childhood even if it’s not an ordinary one.

(Too bad the Justice League suck at subtlety.)

Billy is certain they somehow found out he’s a kid before they even met him, probably because of Batman’s freaky know-it-all powers, but he isn’t very worried as they seem nice and don’t treat him like he’s dumb or fragile. They respect him as a hero despite his age so he lets himself act like a kid around them after a while.

When he gets comfortable enough to detransform Billy thinks that’s his identity reveal. The league thinks that he magicked himself a body that’s more of a representation of his true self and fits his developmental age better, possibly as a way to blend in with humans and experience what it’s like to be a normal child. Good for him!

Basically Billy gets a bunch of super powered parents and the Justice League get a newborn man that they think they’re raising from scratch lol

[impyssadobsessions]

Characterization Post

There is so much discourse about characters being ooc. So Here's my guide IF it BOTHERS you. 1. Write. Write about the character. Reasoning why they wanna do what they wanna do. Write the stories you wanna see. 2. Actually look up how their respective fandoms see them. Ask someone to gush about them to you. That's how I learned more about Tim Drake. (Tumblr was actually my source for all of the bats, i recommend tumblr and social media a lot for this) 3. Find the piece of media that appeals to you. Whether that's the source material for the character, or some youtube video of someone analyzing the character. Whether its a video game or a comic book. Just find one that interests you. ITS okay not know every obscure lore, but knowing a basic backstory and personality traits can help a lot.

4. Enjoy the character. Whether its one you're suppose to hate or not. Enjoy writing them. Have fun with their character. 5. Understand fandom. There will always be someone that will disagree how you portray a character or there will be a story that portrays them in a way it makes you cringe. And that's okay. Its up to you whether you agree with the commenter or not. And its up to you as a reader whether to continue or not. Its okay not to like something. And its okay to like something the majority doesn't. But Also know when we try to stamp out things we don't like- it stamps out the potential for things we do like. 6. Experiment. uwub

[pittdpeaches]

Over on Twitter, some lmk artists are participating in #lmktwt4gaza, and I figured I’d let tumblr know I’m participating as well! DM me proof of your donation to an organization/relief fund for Gaza and I’ll write you a one-shot of whatever you’d like!

Keep in mind, I am a full time student, so it’ll take time to write the one shots of course.

If anyone on tumblr would like to join in, here’s a link to the template

[witchthewriter]

𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆  

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄.

Paid story for @yourwinchesterbros. Word Count: 2k Warnings: mentions of dead bodies, violence

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑆𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑘.

The men had driven off before Jax reached you, yet you could still feel your heart pumping quickly. You knew this job came with risks, but you were the clean up crew, and didn’t get involved in the politics.  

  “Zo! Zo, you okay?” You were so zoned out that you didn’t hear him. It was like your mind was working overdrive. The thoughts and ‘what ifs’ going around and around in your head – chasing each other. Wondering if now you were … fucked.

  Running over to your door, he opened it and checked your body, gently moving your head side to side; looking for signs of a wound.

  “I’m fine,” you whispered, mentally crawling out of the whirlwind that was currently your mind.

It wasn’t until you looked into Jax’s eyes that your attention fully returned. You looked at his face, seeing the faded freckles, tanned skin and beard stubble. This was closest you had been to him. So close that you could smell the cigarette on his breath. 

The smell brought you back to the other night, outside the crematorium when Jax was waiting for you. He’d told Happy to go home, that he could take it from here. The usual duty of making sure you got home safe always went to Happy, who didn’t mind the late nights. Well, technically the very early mornings.

You had locked the door, turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin. You weren’t expecting it, another person to be so close. Happy always stayed at least 2 arm lengths away from you at all times, even when you walked back to the car. There was no reason for it, you just guessed he was trying to be respectful - or seem like less of a threat. 

 Jax had only just put out his cigarette and he was already smirking. You knew exactly why.

“I finished in time because of my skills, not because of anything else, Teller.”

    “Hey, I didn’t say a goddamn thing.” He shrugged his shoulders, only making your knees go weaker. But gods be damned if you’d let him know how much he effects you.

He was silent as he walked you to his car, the familiar crunch of boots on gravel filled your ears. Crickets chirping in time, and if you looked into the distance, you’d be able to see two wolves in the fields next to the woods.

    As your finger lingered over the unlock button, Jax suddenly said, “Thank you.”

Your cheeks warmed.

“You don’t need to thank me, “ you said and pressed the button. Your car clicked and you reached for the handle, “I get paid, remember.”

Jax chuckled at your response, pulling on his helmet and clipping it underneath his chin.

    “I want to say thank you anyway, this job ain’t easy.”

You knew he was referring to your job, but there was a something else in his voice that told you he meant more. That there was something deeper in his comment. 

Guilt.

  Anger.

      Grief.

You were impressed by how well Jax was acting. Not just with you but with … well everyone. The death of his wife, it would ruin anyone. But it was like Jax had steel armour on at all times. That steel armour wasn’t just for his heart, but for every part of being a person. For his thoughts, his interactions, his opinions.

It was that armour that stopped you from getting deeper.

So, the jokes, the banter, the back and forth … it’s all he could muster up. And maybe that’s all your relationship would be with Jax; teasing and playful. A distraction.  

                                                           - ✦ -

   “Time for clean up?” Was all you said as you saw the other Sons.

“Ugh, yeah, you okay?” Happy replied, concern lacing every area of his tone. You and Happy had created this sibling-like friendship. The scary looking biker acted as your older brother, it sometimes meant him not saying much to you but always making sure you knew he was there. You guessed this was one of those times, except the way his President was acting was putting him on edge. It was putting all the Sons on edge.

  It wasn’t until you heard the Scotsman that things started making sense.

“We were double-crossed, sorry you got swept up in that, sweetheart.”

And then they all moved as one cohesive movement. The Sons got on their bikes, strapped their helmets on, Happy walked over to the driver’s side of the van and hopped in.

It only took a minute to reach the warehouse that was used as the meet-up. But what you saw made you gasp.

 You counted nine men, each laying in different positions. Blood soaked and lifeless. You had seen horrors, you had seen crime scenes, hell you had even listened to the most grizzly podcasts. Maybe it was because of before; your heart still pumping in your chest. 

So, your shock turned to anger, not at the reasons why these men were dead but the blatant lie you had been told. As each member arrived, your anger grew and grew.

   “A few men-“ you said, getting out of the car and slamming the door. “I was told, a few men.”

“Look sweetheart, if you can’t handle-“ Jax started to say, looking at you through his black sunglasses. A similar pair were pushed upwards on your head, keeping your hair out of your face.

   “I can handle the dead fucking bodies. But I wasn’t told how fucking many there would be!” Your hands reflected your speech; animated, emphasising your words. “But I’m in this now. So, you’ll stop calling me sweetheart. My name is Zo. And you won’t leave out fucking details when I ask about them.”  

The words came out as fierce as fire raging through a forest. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and listened. No one dared whistle, nor make any sort of movement (or comment).

   Funnily enough it was Juice who spoke first, “she’s right. We’ve trusted her with everything so far.” The core Sons nodded in agreement while Jax rolled his eyes.

He walked up the dried grassy plane, kicking dirt behind him with each step.

  Jax’s voice was low, gravelly. His accent so prevalent as he spoke, “once you agree to this, there’s no turning back. You’re apart of this now.”

It took three heartbeats for you to respond. His gaze not leaving your own.

  “I’m a part of this.”

                                                            - ✦ -

With the amount of Sons present, it didn’t take long to hoist the bodies into the van and drive off. Happy was silent, one hand on the wheel and the other flicking through radio stations. You lit up a cigarette, taking a drag every time Happy scoffed and turn over the channel.

  “They talk so much shit,” he complained, settling on a station that had just finished playing a Johnny Cash song.

“Who? The Sons or the radio presenters?” You said while blowing the smoke from the corner of your mouth. The window was down – just a crack; it wasn’t allowed down anymore than that. Wouldn’t want to attract too much attention in traffic. Even if you did take the backroads.

     “I meant these radio shitheads, but Tig could talk the ear off of a deaf guy.”

You scoffed but didn’t disagree.

There was a beat of heavy silence. Unsaid words lingering in the air – from both of you.

 Funnily enough, it was Happy who cracked first.

 “You mean it? You really want to be apart of the club? Because that’s what this means. Doing more jobs, being told intel.”

 You took another drag, a big breathe in and let the smoke gather before blowing it out.

       “I guess so.”

 And then something switched in Happy that caught you off guard. He hardened. His tone going an octave deeper, harsher.

  “There’s no guessing, Zo. You’re either in or you’re out. Skeeter has ties to the club but he doesn’t ask for information. He just lets things be. You can still do that, but something tells me you ain’t gonna.”

Y ou didn’t expect such a big brother speech from Happy. Yes, you had that type of relationship, but he was never harsh with you.

  “Okay maybe I do want to get deeper into the club? Why is everyone trying to push me out? I don’t have family out here, I’ve been on my own for years. I work in a fucking crematorium for fucksake.”

 You threw the cigarette out the window and wound it back up. The anger was still palpable and Happy was not helping.

 You hadn’t opened up about your family in … years. Not to Skeeter, not to any of the Sons. You only said they lived out of state and that was the end of it. You had your dogs and that was enough for you. But lately you wanted more. You wanted someone … more.

                                                          - ✦ -

The drive back to the crematorium was silent. Even the radio was switched off after five minutes. Nothing good was being played anyway.

 What you didn’t expect, was to see a particular Harley sitting in the parking lot. It’s rider leaning against it, taking slow draws out of his cigarette.

      “Didn’t think Jax would be here,” Happy said, parking and pulling up the handbrake.

 “Me either,” was all you said before jumping out of the passenger seat and taking out your keys. Practically ignoring the President of the club, you unlocked the garage doors and pulled them upwards.

 You couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, and pretended as though you didn’t care. Even though inside you were desperate to hear the conversation. In a manner of moments you heard your name being called and you moved out of the way to let the van back up into the garage.

    “Yep, yep, a little further,” Happy was good enough to direct Jax so you left them and unlocked the doors to the incinerator. Looking around you saw everything in its place, Skeet must’ve been in already. He likes keeping everything ‘proper’, not that you don’t, but he takes it to a new level.

 You wheeled out the stretchers, and watched as Happy opened the doors to the back of the van.

  “I thought the President of the Sons of Anarchy would have more important things to do,” you said to Jax, pulling the body onto the stretcher.

 A side of his mouth quirked upwards, “just getting back to my roots, you know. Can never forget where you started out.”

  “At the bottom?” You replied, lumping another body onto the stretcher.

 “Doesn’t feel like the bottom when it’s with you.” Like a leak, Jax had let the words slip from his mouth. ‘It was simple flirting, nothing more,’ you told yourself. Willing your cheeks not to go red. Maybe he’d think the blush was from the physicality of what you were doing.

  “I’m gonna take these guys inside…” Happy trailed off, moving as quick as he could  

(𝐿𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝑇𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝐼𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑎 𝑟𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤-𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠)

 Jax’s mind was a mess of filthy thoughts and desired actions. He wanted you so badly. Even watching you now, with your hair barely out of your face, sweat gleaming off your forehead. He thought of what it would be like to be the reason you were sweating. To be the reason you were so out of breath. His mind was so engrossed in … you, that he didn’t hear what you were saying. The only thing he was focused on was your body; the tinge of red on your cheeks; the tattoo on your arm.

    “Jax!” The urgency in your voice brought him out of his trance.

 “Yeah,” he looked into your hazel eyes and followed your line of sight. A car and four bikes were heading up the driveway. And you knew exactly where you had seen that car before.

 Everything happened so quickly.

One moment it was fine and then everything went to shit.

  “Happy!” Jax called out in his gruff voice, his phone was out in a second and he was calling Chibs.

“They must have followed us here,” you said in a slight whisper.

[gothamite-rambler]

How Bruce was able to convince Jason to stop killing bad guys

Context here: Bruce saved Jason from being shot at on Ra's island. Ra had tricked them into going there as a way to kill Jason and Bruce, toss them in the pit and have new allies. That failed, Bruce saved Jason, now they are at Wayne Manor and Bruce is discussing options to get his son to stop killing people.

Bruce Wayne: I’ll pay you to stop killing people.

Jason Todd: Mm… nah.

Bruce: You’d actually pass up seven thousand dollars every month to kill people for this fruitless journey?

Jason blinks, looking up from his gun.

Jason (shocked): Seven thousand dollars… a month?!

Bruce (nonchalantly): I can increase it.

Jason: You can increase it?

Dick Grayson fell from the side of the door where he and Tim were eavesdropping.

Dick: I wasn’t even paid that much until I left home.

Tim Drake (peeking from his corner): You're getting paid?

Dick: You can't be paid, Tim. You get money from your trust fund and... He found out you were embezzling money from his company.

Tim: I needed a skateboard and a laptop. It happened the one time.

Bruce: No, it didn't! I checked the books!

Tim hides back behind the corner of the wall. Dick ignored Tim.

Dick: I think I get why you're giving him so much money… you actually care about him again. That's so sweet. I’m pissed, but so sweet.

Tim: Yeah… great… cotton candy sweet… no, but seriously, I want to get paid!

Bruce: How did this come up in the conversation?

Jason (realizing this as well): Hmm, admit it. You care about me.

Bruce: I’m not… that is not… justice matters here. I am simply teaching you that true justice is not killing people, and seeing as you won’t listen to reason, I thought I could give you something better. That way, you quit doing this and you don’t get hurt—or worse.

Tim (stunned): Oh my God, you do care.

Bruce: Wh-Where did I say I care about him? I want to protect this… man. He is a grown man who I adopted when he was a child, yes. I do appreciate him being around and don’t want him to die... again. I have him back in my life, and I want to keep it that way.

Dick (crossing his arms): That was a long-winded way to say that, yes, he does care about you. Aww!

Jason: I’m so torn. On one hand, jeez, that's a lot of money... on the other hand… guns? Tsk, tsk. Okay, say the words, point blank, that you care about me, and I’ll stop killing people I see that deserve a bullet through the brain. Or pay me. Tick tock, detective.

Bruce (visibly embarrassed as his tough-guy persona begins to slip): Seven thousand, and I’ll send you weapons every month to end this conversation.

Jason: All right! I’ll do it; just sign this contract.

Jason pulls out a contract from his backpack.

Bruce: You have a contract? I… You… I need a moment.

Bruce turns around, pretending to think but trying to hide his smile.

Bruce: Okay, sure, I’ll look over this. I’m impressed; did you type this?

Jason: Wrote it by hand. Calligraphy practice paid off.

Bruce: I’m not saying it… but thank you for showing this side of yourself. I will read this in my office, alone.

Bruce walked off with a smile as the Batboys stay in the kitchen. Jason and Dick high-five while Tim walks off, upset that Bruce is still holding the embezzling scheme against him.

[katherynefromphilly]

I don’t know who might need to hear this announcement in this Virtual Chili’s tonight, but:

The goal of your first draft isn’t to make the story GOOD.

It’s to get the story TOLD.

[north-peach]

Y'ALL GOTTA STOP THROWING TANTRUMS FOR STUPID SHIT

Mind y'all's own damn business!

Fanfiction is free!

The author posted that out of their own time, effort and passion!

People write shitty stuff!

They don't use proper tags! Warnings! I know! It sucks!

A, "hey, you need to tag this, you didn't, thanks!" wouldn't be a miss, but leaving hate and your own stupidity only displays your own ignorance and idiocy!

The back arrow exists for a reason!

Stop being shitty people!

Write your own fic if you don't like it! Oh wait, you don't want to because it requires effort! Passion! Energy! Time! Y'all are too busy being douchebags to write your own shit! Too busy not exiting outta the fic!

I'll throw hands all day long, I'll make you die on every single hill, but maybe y'all should check yourself before you decide to be a fucking moron!

No one cares! Fuck off!

I don't like shitty spelling or punctuation, walls of text, weird grammar!

I do this simple thing! It's called, DON'T LIKE DON'T READ!

[cepetriwrites]

In case you ever wonder how serious fanfic writers take their craft… I just emailed three different colleges of atomospheric sciences & multiple people with doctorates in meteorology to find out what it’s like inside a hurricane