#should i just add every tag ever to this
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anemonet · 8 months ago
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thinking about portraits of young ladies with their cats. and Also suns robes
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vivitalks · 10 months ago
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more adhd jason grace or die by my sword
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hogoflight · 10 months ago
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also maybe you could make hunting gods react VERY ferally and wild animal-ly to being restrained in any way. Anything from calm, sly threats -> GRGRGGRGRGARAGARG BITES YOU!!!!!!!! SNARLING!!!!! AARAAARARRARARAGGG!!!!!! To “LET ME OUT. LET. ME. OUT.” -> straight up biting off restrained arm to get out w a very very haunting look in their eyes (looking into the eyes of a coyote.)
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devotedlystrangewizard · 7 months ago
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the school arc to me is so good because it drags ciel out of his position as a powerful figure and literally places him in the shoes of the person he could have been. the circus arc ALSO drags him out of his position as big bad queens watch dog/head of the phantomhive estate but the school arc feels like a mockery of a future that never was. this is what he could have been had his parents not died. and even then its NOT because he will never be that kid.
he never was.
#ramblings#incoherent beyond belief its 4 am#and im trying to avoid manga spoilers#might add a reblog with more coherent thoughts when i wake up but im off my meds so i cant promise anything#actually correction im being vague w the manga spoilers#manga readers know whats up#idk if there are any anime only ppl who havent been spoiled on The Plottwist Ever yet#but i figured there will be new fans and though im not tagging this it might still get seen so#cant WAIT to see our boy absolutely miserable in animation form should they recreate that arc LMAOOO#which ofc is after the germany arc so thats still a long time away#but STILL. itd be fun i need to see this young teenager lose his mind in color with sound#him relying on sebastian to do all his fag duties (sorry. dredge) so he can work his way up the social ladder#trying to gain power while simultaneously proving that he cant do anything but rely on others#hes always needed help in basically every way and he hasnt CHANGED he just got a demon to do it for him#he learns to lie and charm and cheat and all the while hes a fucking CHILD WHO STILL STRUGGLES WITH NORMAL THINGS#ciel is my little baby and i love him deeply no matter how much of a little bitch he can be#his helplessness isnt just 'oh he was raised in british high society' its also that he never got the chance to learn anything#which to elaborate on that id also have to go into manga territory. iykyk#like absolutely at this point he just refuses to learn how to do things he has a pet demon to do it for him#but.#hi the phantomhives backstory is killing me again its so late#both atlantic and the school arc are just setup for the Big Arc but theyre very good in their own right i SWEAR#also when i rewatched the circus arc a while back and i realised how some scenes were shot#the heavy foreshadowing that i didnt realise. yk. 7 years ago or however long its been since i first watched it#CRAZY#if you are new. to kuroshitsuji. and you havent read the manga. dear god. read the manga#ALSO GRELLE IN THAT ARC IS SO BEAUTIFUL & OTHELLO IS TRANSMASCULINE. OKAY GOODBYE
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gr8stoneddragon · 6 months ago
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I saw @skrunksthatwunk made a shipping chart for yyh and immediately jumped on that shit like you would not believe. They made blank versions of their own charts here, and you should definitely check them out, but after messing around for way longer than I'd like to admit, I eventually broke down and made my own.
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Blank versions included under the cut, except for the Yusuke one I ended up making because I'm Yusuke polyshipping trash.
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minakoaiinos · 8 months ago
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ALSO adding on to my last post I have seen a bunch of people around all social media say things about the state of shoujo anime in recent years all along the lines of saying there are less shoujo anime bc women's perspectives and stories are viewed as less profitable than shounen and that's probably not untrue in terms of executive's reasoning but also every time there is a shoujo anime made literally all I ever see people talk about are the guy romantic partners and if anyone says anything about liking the woman main character it's always through the filter of saying things like aww the guy loves her so much and it's like. The girls on the shows aren't talking to each other about anything but men the audience isn't talking about anything but men etc. You want women's perspectives. But the only perspective you want is to only keep talking about liking men.
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veradragonjedi · 4 months ago
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tumblr really is the web site of why tf did you add that to this post.
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icewindandboringhorror · 1 year ago
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I’m always paranoid of my tumblr being deleted or malfunctioning or something like that someday, so here’s other places to find me/follow me, just in case lol
~ instagram - https://www.instagram.com/lucalicatte/
~ main youtube - https://www.youtube.com/c/LucaLiCatte
~ games/sims youtube - https://www.youtube.com/@cloudycatte
~ facebook page (I rarely use this because I hate facebook but.. it at least allows text posts better than instagram does, so idk maybe I’d use it more if tumblr went away? lol) - https://www.facebook.com/cloudycatteart/
~ Other Links (stuff I don’t use often/isn’t Main enough to list here, like twitter, neopets, other tumblr sideblogs, youtube channels, etc.) are here - http://icewindandboringhorror.tumblr.com/otherlinks )
#An updated version of this since some of the links on the old one are no longer the same lol#I might make a website website one day (not with a custom domain since I'm not paying for that/dont have the money lol#but like a 'my name.weebly.com type thing lol) but I haven't had the time recently. If I ever get around to it I'll update the post and#reblog that version. ANYWAY.. I just like to have one of these written out to reblog every once in a while. During the once ever few months#when poeple are like 'tumblr is failing again! it wont survive!' which has happened like 80 times but I'm still always like :0c what if!#also love the ms paint art done with a mouse ghhj#ANYWAY.. also if you want to see the stinky game I made that's not actually related to my own worldbuilding really (why I have never#posted anything about it publilcy because it's like.. how do I talk about it lol) I have my itch.io linked in the 'other links' page#as well as my General Projects blog. which talks about all the ongoing and upcoming projects I want to do that are#actually set in my world and can give you previews of some of the things I'm working on. Currently resuming my Game after abandoning it#basically for the entire pandemic and a little before that - as mentioned before - so that's OUgh.. in terms of A Lot Of Work#Especially since while kind of 'revamping and updating' I want to add a few features which are mostly easy but every once in a while#I don't understand something and it's like....... hGGhh...... Ironically despite Blogging I just hate talking to people in public open foru#.. I love privacy and security lol.. and I always feel that ONE day I am going to have a question that has not already been asked on a foru#somewhere and I am going to have to post myself and.. no.. I shan't even imagine it.. It's not even really social anxiety it's just like..#efficiency.. instead of wating like days to get an accurate response and resolve the problem with the general public I would rather just ha#e a one time 30min conversation with an expert and resolve it quickly. PLUS then I also only interact with One stranger instead of Many Of#Them lol.. any 6+ yrs of experience Ren'py experts hmu so I can pay you like $50 to have a single 45min conversation#with me over an insanely simple question and then never talk to you again until a year later when I have a second question. hhjb#ANYWAY.. I still really don't like instagram or it's layout and I never understood how it works like.. if I should be tagging photos or wha#or how you really use it and I just... euGH... stimky.. but it is one of the most popular so I feel obligated to link it. I wish facebook w#sn't such a nasty poo poo because I do actually like the variety of posts you can make and how Pages on facebook operate. In the scense of#it being similar to tumblr that you can make a VARIETy of styles of post. not just Only Post Photos or Only Short Text or Only Video which#is still like.. how the funk does sutff like that even get popular lol.. the Limited nature.. hewwo.. but alas.. and NO way I'm touching#fucking Threads please do not make an account on there and don't let your friends do it and don't let that shit catch on lol.#BUT YEahg... links...... just in case.. i hope tumblr stays aroundin it's current format forever though lol..#I'm pretty sure even facebook doesn't have audio posts. or tags the way this does. or CHRONOLOGICAL FEED. custom html for pages.. aaaaa
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elenadoeslife · 1 year ago
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your first love hits different
#another day another vent-in-the-tags post#i came across a picture of me and my fiest boyfriend of five years today. picture must've been 10 years old at this point#found many more pictures of him and us on my dad's old pc#i can just feel my body pull and heart ache when i look at him in the pictures#wondering what my life would've looked like if i hadn't broken things off between us#we tried to stay friends and a couple of months later we went for a drink. when daying goodbye he moved in to kiss me#i was hesitant and stepped away. he couldn't bare having me in his life while not being together so he cut off all contact#don't get me wrong in any of my thoughts- i love babe whole heartedly and he's the only man for me now and in my future#it's just that nagging feeling burried deep. the 'what if's. what if i felt more confident about my body back then?#what if i hadn't moved on so quickly? what if i had let him kiss me?#i tried texting him telling him i was approved for gbp surgery (i broke things off because i was very insecure about my body)#he congratulated me and sincerely wished me all the happiness in the world but also asked me not to contact him again after this#it's been 7-ish years but every now and then i wonder how he's doing and what he's up to#he doesn't really have social media apart from facebook (and that page is private) and i only stayed in touch with his former best friend#but i'm not gonna ask him because i know they haven't spoken in years either#i've had plenty more relationships after him but i rarely ever think about those guys#am i okay? is this normal? lol#i should get my head out of this rabbit hole asap#add: the picture is almost 15 years old lol. my math ain't mathing. we met in 2009. not that it's important#i think i just moved on too quickly and didn't allow myself time & space to grieve. that's why he keeps popping up in my thoughts now & then
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starlooove · 2 months ago
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Also what’s the difference between them and superbat in which ur not demonizing the brown boy quickly
#like Im sorry if I go into the superson tag it’s like 2 minutes and you’ll find Damian with fangs and on a leash or smth#It’s the same as tim where it’s not all of y’all but y’all definitely made the ‘minority’ of y’all popular so now what#and It’s just. idk I keep saying it’s not Interesting and to me it’s not bc they’re literally carbon copies of their dads but Damian gets#exoticized#like It’s mean aggresive brown kid and all American white kid and it’s so. bland. like It’s everywhere I saw it on Fox News last night#the only thing that hooks me with Jon is the age up sorry#like idk I used to say I hated it but I was glazing new Trinity#giving Jon heavy trauma is the best thing they could do#now or they’d acknowledge it#and u already know how I feel about the regression of Damian’s character with every single new comic#where we have to go over the same fucking points over and over again and make it seem like he’s never had a friend ever#and It’s never to add anything interesting it feels like every time they find a new way to say Damian was born evil or Bruce is the best#white savior ever#and It’s not even regurgitating the actual issues between him and his family members bc it’s difficult to blame a 10 year old for why his#dad won’t fucking talk to him like a human being - not for lack of trying tho#so It’s like moving forward they’re making Damian snarky arrogant super loyal to Bruce and chalking the past up to his own failures and#wrong doings with ZERO mention of the adults in the situation unless it’s to say Bruce can’t communicate but aren’t we glad he saved Damian#from his nasty evil family. he’s so much better with us white folk instead#like Damian is a fave but I don’t like shit written for him bc it’s so skewed from where we should be#but thats like comic book things the point is#u can Tell they’ve only watched supersons on Netflix and read tweets on Damian and Jon#they still say they hate the age up and don’t know the age gap is exactly the damn same#which actually nobody on here is any better for that either
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tkbrokkoli · 4 months ago
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been thinking abt... following... less ppl
#this is not abt my mutuals!!! actually ive tought abt having one day dedicated to interact w you guys more#being on your blogs sending you messages etc. mutual sunday or smth. gonna have to bring the social back for this media. for me#i follow almost 2k blogs btw#and ive noticed whenever im on tumblr im basically just doom scrolling instead of having fun w the posts that the blogs i rly care abt post#i also have just as many drafts as i follow ppl and im always like ah surely one day ill have the energy to tag my drafts or add an id#but i never do lol. should just make short work out of it and delete all my drafts#personal log stardate#not fandom related#also had a kinda horrible kinda nice shopping trip today#was so enthralled in trying on all kinds of jackets that i did not check the price tags anymore and bought one that was. waaaay too fucking#expensive. at the register i died inside. then the ppl i was w roasted me for buying an expensive jacket 😭#they were like how can you not check the price tag of smth you're buying?? and they are right lol i feel so bad now. gonna wear this jacket#every day now so that im at least making the most out of it#since i dont earn money anymore ever since i started university i feel guilty every time i spend money#also some of the ppl i were w were absolute fucking assholes to a grocery's shop employee??? absolutely disrespectful and embarrassing.#they complained abt how complicated one of the self check out registers was and how long it took. as if this was the employee's fault#me and the ppl of my group who simply minded their own business were dying of second hand embarrassment there#we scolded the others afterwards and told them they behaved like assholes#now im back home trying to study 🫠 im tired
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passthroughtime · 5 months ago
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the update postponed indefinitely because i suck the biggest ass apparently 🤣
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sanguineterrain · 22 days ago
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knight in shining helmet | jason todd
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Summary: You're a princess who's visiting Gotham City. You weren't loving it to begin with—then you of course had to get kidnapped. Needless to say, your expectations of the night are in hell. You're hoping, at least, that you'll be rescued by the famous Batman. Instead, it's the infamous Red Hood that finds you.
Pairing: Jason Todd x princess!fem!reader 
Word count: 6.6k
Warnings/tags: kidnapping, rescue, reader and jason don't get along at first, violence, drugging, meet-ugly, 7-eleven food as a courting strategy, kissing, softie jason (he always makes an appearance somehow!), strangers to...not-so-strangers.
the divider
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You suppose that, for a princess, you ought to have expected a kidnapping to pan out at least once in your life. 
You just didn't think it would happen tonight. In Gotham City. A place you weren't loving to begin with. 
“Unhand me!” you scream as soon as your taker's filthy, sweaty hand leaves your face. “You'll be executed for this!”
You're not actually sure of Gotham's death penalty policy, but you feel like it's something you should throw in. In any case, the three men who've dragged you away, tied you up, and bruised you in the process, should be a little more afraid of getting caught. 
“Batman will find you,” you add. “He'll save me.” You've heard great tales of Gotham's hero. If anyone can help you, it's him. 
That makes one of them pause. But the ringleader sneers at you. “If he finds us. He's got a lot on his plate every night, ya Majesty.”
“I am a priority guest in this city, of course he would—”
“Shut her up,” the leader snaps, and suddenly, you're being gagged. Disgusting. Completely unsanitary. You don’t want to imagine if the gag has ever been washed.
You keep screaming and fighting through the gag until a needle pricks your neck. Your terror spikes as you realize there's suddenly an ultimatum to fear: what if Batman doesn't reach you in time? 
That's your last thought as the drug renders you unconscious. 
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When you awaken, it's still nighttime. Nearly pitch black, except for a dim lightbulb in the center of the room. It looks like you're in some kind of warehouse. You can't see much of anything and it makes you claustrophobic. Your head aches and your vision is blurry, and your cheek is pressed against a grimy floor. You just want to go home.
You try to sit up first, but that nearly makes you throw up, and you do not want to throw up through this ratty gag. So you swallow the feeling and close your eyes, waiting until the nausea passes. You open your eyes and they begin to adjust to the darkness. You’re alone, which confuses you.
Then you spot the explosives hooked up at the bottom of your dress.
The good news is that your kidnappers aren’t here. The bad news is that the reason they aren’t here is because they can remotely explode this place and you inside of it. If they don’t get the ransom they’re no doubt demanding, tonight will be your first and last night in Gotham. 
Another thought chills you to your bone: what if the explosives are set to go off whether they get the ransom or not?
You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears come. You’re going to die.
But wait. Maybe not. Surely, Batman is looking for you. And his young, brightly-colored companion. You never understood that color palette choice.
They’ll save you. Your father has no doubt alerted authorities. You’re the most important person in the city tonight! Of course people are looking for you. 
Yes, you’ll be saved, the criminals will be punished to the highest extent of the law, and you’ll be escorted back to your hotel where you can take a long, luxurious bath. That’ll be very nice. 
You’ll also never visit Gotham again, that is for sure. 
The door to the warehouse rolls open with a boom. You flinch and squint, trying to make out the figure. If it’s your kidnapper, you want to act like you’re still asleep. You think you saw that trick in a film at the cinema you snuck out to watch when you were young. You didn’t catch the whole film, though—you were found out by your guards before you could. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d watched the whole film!
As the figure gets closer, you realize firstly that he’s a lot bigger than your kidnappers. You sigh in relief. Batman.
“‘Lo?” asks a gruff voice. “Anybody here?”
You shout through your gag. You can’t make out a face, but it’s alright. Relief floods you. You’re saved.
Your savior jogs to you. You tilt your head as you make out a… red helmet? With glowing eyes?
Wait a minute.
“Holy shit,” Not-Batman says. He pulls out your gag first. “Y’okay?”
Realization strikes you; you recall a story one of the party guests shared earlier in the night about a crime lord and his terror on Gotham.
"You're that terrible gangster that left a duffle bag of heads!" you blurt.
"In the flesh," he says, tapping the barrel of his gun to his helmet in a salute. Red Hood. “You don’t look very happy to see me, all things considered.”
“I don’t want your help!” you say, wriggling away from him. “I’m in an alliance with The Batman!”
He tilts his head. “‘S that so? What alliance would that be? Beauty Pageant Runaways For Bats?”
“I am not a beauty pageant contestant,” you say hotly. “I am a princess, and I have a small militia looking for me.”
He kneels in front of you, holstering his gun. His one of many, many guns. Your skin itches with sweat and adrenaline as he approaches. Those glowing eyes in his helmet flip your stomach. This is all wrong. You're supposed to be saved by a hero, not an outlaw. A criminal.
“Princess, huh?” Hood nods. “Ah, yeah. I heard somethin’ about that. They took you from the Plaza. Just my luck that I’d run into ya.”
“You mean, you weren’t actively looking for me?” you ask in a small voice. 
“Nope. You’ve got every vigilante and cop in the city looking for you, Your Highness. I came in here ‘cause I smelled motor oil.” 
Now that he’s found you, what does he plan to do?
“Are… are you going to release me?” you ask.
“Depends. Is this place rigged to blow?”
“My dress,” you say, unsure whether you should let him know about the explosives. A man who leaves severed heads in a duffel bag doesn’t seem wrapped up too tightly. 
“Hm?” Hood lifts your skirt slightly. He whistles. “Damn. This is some excellent work. Whoever did this is a pro demolitions expert.”
His praise doesn’t comfort you, oddly enough.
“Is it live?” you ask.
“Doesn’t look like it. And I’ve got a lot of experience with explosives. Just stay still for now.”
Hood squats and pulls out a knife. You shift. He's bigger than you even like this, crouched at your level. His shoulders nearly block your entire view. 
“Who were they?” he asks.
“Who was who?”
“The people that took you.”
“I don't know. They were wearing masks. Three men,” you say, frozen as he takes the knife to your feet.
“Mm.”
Hood begins to cut the ropes around your ankles. You delicately point your feet, unsure if he'll slip and get you. 
Your lip curls. "Where's Batman? Or that boy who works with him? Aren't they in charge of this city? I want to speak to one of them."
“I don’t work for the Bats,” he says, an edge to his words.
“Well, I don’t feel comfortable with you rescuing me,” you say. “You’re a criminal.”
Hood stops cutting and looks at you. "Y'want Batman? Fine. I don't mind letting you wait around for the Bat.”
He pockets the knife and rises, walking out of the warehouse and disappearing. Just like that. Your heart jumps.
"Wait!" you shout, squirming in your binds. "Wait, come back!"
But it's silent. Panic digs its claws into your chest.
"Red Hood! Red Hood, come back! Please!"
You begin to cry out of desperation, tears dripping onto your already soiled dress. You try to pull your feet apart, but the rope isn't cut enough and all you do is worsen the burns around your ankles.
You bow your head and cry onto the floor. You just want to go home. You want your goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton ten-thousand thread count sheets. More than that, you never want to return to this stupid city.
"Are you cryin'?"
Your head shoots up. Hood stands over you, arms folded. 
"You-you came back," you say, voice wobbly.
He shrugs. "I had an inkling that you had a change of heart, princess.”
You look away. "You left me.”
"I did,” he says. “But as much as you might deserve abandonment, I'm duty-bound to rescue everyone. No matter how obnoxious of a Batman fan they are."
"I'm not a fan. I just didn't want the morally corrupt, violent drug runner to save me."
He leans down and snaps away the ropes from your ankles—a feat of strength that doesn't go unnoticed. Then he saws the ones around your wrists. "Yeah, well, I don't do that anymore, and for such a pretty face, you suck at sweet talking."
He tosses the rope aside and pockets the knife. You rub your wrists and attempt to sit up. This time, you don’t want to throw up. Success! 
“Anything hurt?” he asks. 
“My legs,” you say miserably. 
“Okay, let me rephrase: anything that'll make you bleed out in the next ten seconds?”
“Um… no.”
“Fantastic. I can probably getcha back to your hotel in an hour.” 
You hold out your arms expectantly. He tuts.
“I don’t give hugs until the third kidnapping. Fourth one is free.”
You huff. “You expect me to walk like this? They took my shoes! Gotham is so uncouth.”
“And what am I s’posed to do about that?” Hood asks. “I look like a Payless to you?”
“I don’t know what that is,” you say. “Don’t you vigilantes have a protocol to follow? I cannot possibly walk through this filthy warehouse on my bare feet. I’ll catch a virus! You’ll have to carry me.”
Hood lets out a full-bellied laugh. It’s somewhat eerie through his modulator. You lift your chin, maintaining your composure. 
“Oh my God! Highness, you’re a diamond-encrusted piece of work. I don’t carry anybody unless they’re unconscious and I like ‘em a lot. It’s a short list.”
Your brows furrow. “I’m a guest in your city, and I’ve been kidnapped! The least you can do—”
“The least I can do is leave you to rot here,” Hood says, tone cutting. “Or let your kidnappers come back and finish the job. You aren’t in whatever palace they carted you out of; you’re in fuckin’ Gotham, and if y’want my help, you’re gonna suck it up and walk.”
You look away, tears brimming once more. You sniffle. 
“You don't have to be so mean,” you say, voice watery. “I’ve had a difficult night.” 
It's quiet for a few moments. You've never cried as much as you have tonight, especially not in front of a stranger. A dangerous stranger. 
“...Look, I think I got some spare boots,” Hood finally says. “Stay here.”
“Where would I go?” you mumble. Whether he hears you or not, he doesn’t reply, stalking out of the warehouse. He returns thirty seconds later with a pair of ugly, black, man boots. 
“Used?!” you ask, voice high.
“Lightly, Your Majesty. They’re my spares. Here.”
Hood tosses the boots at you. You stare at them like he’s flung a pair of rats at you. He taps his wrist.
“Time’s a-ticking, princess. I’m on a schedule. I can always let you wait for Batman. He’ll find ya. Eventually.”
So you put on the boots. 
You attempt to stand next, but the drugs and binds have made your limbs weak. You try and fail to get up twice before Hood hooks his arms under yours and hauls you up without a sweat. You squeal, fingers digging into his brown leather jacket. 
He towers over you, doubly intimidating now that you're standing. 
“Got it?” he asks, arms slipping away. 
You definitely don’t have it, and you wobble backward. Hood grabs you again, hand on your back. 
“Whoa. Easy.” Hood cups your face, a little rough. You squirm, mind flooded with all the germs that are probably on his gloves. “Look a'me. Look—stop fighting, Jesus Christ.”
“This is no way to treat a princess!”
“Yeah, I missed that day of training,” he says dryly. “Stay still, I'm tryna see if your pupils are dilated.” 
“Your grip hurts!”
Hood loosens his grip and manages to keep you still long enough to examine your eyes. He hums and lets go.
“Seems like you’re still feeling the effects. Should wear off soon. Now…”
Hood steps back, but not so far that you can’t grab onto him should you fall again. He gives your dress a onceover. 
“So that’s not gonna work.” He takes out his knife again. Your eyes widen. 
“What on earth are you doing with that?” you ask, taking a small step backwards.
“Cutting your dress,” he says, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.
You gasp, backing away. “No you will not!”
“Princess—”
“This dress is one-of-a-kind, handmade for tonight’s gala. You’re not going near it! It cost seventeen thousand euros!” 
“Is it worth more than your life?” Hood snaps. “I don’t have any spare clothes and I’m not dragging a ballgown with three pounds of C-4 attached to it around. You have to be able to move and you have to get on my bike. Now quit whining.”
You sulk as he cuts and tears the bottom layer of your gown. He isn’t as savage about it as you expect: the cut is neat and could even be salvaged in the hands of a good seamstress. The night air makes your legs prickle with goosebumps. Then his words register.
“Bike?” you ask as Hood sets your dress remains aside. You’ll grieve for your dress privately.
“Mmhm.”
“I thought you had a Batmobile.”
“That’s Batman’s car. Hence the name. I have a bike ‘cause I’m a morally corrupt, violent, drug runner.”
Your nose wrinkles. “Can’t we take a taxi? Or call a car service?”
Hood snorts. “No one’s driving to this part of Gotham at this hour. It’s my bike or nothing. Or, of course, you can wait for Batsy.”
He starts walking and you hurry to follow. Hood’s strides are long and you’re unsteady in his too-big boots.
“Can you please slow down? These boots are enormous!”
He doesn’t say anything, but he does slow down, waiting until you catch up before leading you to his bike. It’s a nice motorcycle, you suppose, if you were into that thing. You’ve always thought motorcycles were a stupid risk to take. Being on the road is dangerous enough—why remove the comfort and protection of a car?
Hood’s bike is shiny and cherry red, just like his helmet. He produces a proper motorcycle helmet from nowhere and hands it to you. 
“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask, inspecting the helmet. It looks fairly clean and unused. 
“Hasn’t killed me yet, and I’ve been dead once.”
Is that his idea of a joke?
“You’ll be fine,” Hood says at your silence. “I’ll go slow.”
“Alright,” you say, putting on the helmet. It smells oddly pleasant, like spicy cologne. “Very slow.”
“Yeah, yeah, very slow. C’mon.”
Hood kicks a leg over the bike and straddles it, all muscle memory. His muscles flex as he bends his legs. He pats the space behind him. 
Cautiously, you attempt to do the same, but you soon realize that doing that exact move in a dress is probably not the smartest. You hold onto the seat with both hands instead and clumsily try to fold a leg over. It doesn’t work.
“Yo, Bambi. This century would be good.”
“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle!” you say, glaring at the back of his helmet. “You could help me.”
“For fuck's—” 
Hood turns around, grabs the back of your calf, and pulls. Your legs part and you shriek, certain you’re about to flash him. He holds your waist as you flail so that you don’t bang into him as you sit. 
“What is wrong with you?” you hiss, smoothing down your dress.
“Re-lax, I didn’t see anything.”
“This is highly undignified—”
“Yeah, we don't really do dignified in Gotham, princess. Comfy?”
“No.”
“Mm. Hold my waist.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Beg all ya want.” Hood takes your arms and wraps them tightly around his waist. He’s warm and, oddly enough, soft despite his bulk. “You’re drugged and unsteady. If y’don’t hold on, you’re gonna fly off. Press up against me and hold tight.”
“Go slow,” you say again, obediently holding his waist.
“Yeah, I’ll go slow,” he says. 
“Do you promise?”
“Promise.”
Hood turns the ignition. The bike roars to life, louder than you expected. You suck in a breath as he revs the engine and starts off.
True to his word (and what a flimsy word it is), Hood goes slow. He takes gentle, easy turns and breaks at all the stop signs, even though this part of the city is essentially abandoned at this hour. You’re able to study the streets, twinkling streetlights a little too bright to your recovering eyes. But you look anyway, shocked at the dilapidated buildings and uneven pavement. You’re definitely not in the Gotham you were earlier tonight. It hardly looks like the same city.
You turn your attention to your savior. It feels like an odd word to use for the Red Hood, whom you’ve heard enough about tonight. Your father had warned you excessively about what a dangerous area this was, and who exactly made it so dangerous. 
But a savior is exactly what Hood has been to you. You decide that, despite his roughness, he still deserves a good reward. Perhaps a Hoodmobile. Or new boots.
Your rescue is going smoothly until you cross the bridge. That’s when another biker turns onto the road behind you. 
“Shit,” Hood says, and you’re startled that you can hear him so clearly despite the noise. It’s like he’s in your head. “We’re being tailed.”
Well, that’s not good. You turn around briefly but you can’t make out your follower; you’re too scared to move on the bike.
But then you hear the bike behind you speed up. 
“Motherfucker,” Hood says, and speeds up. Your arms tighten into a death grip. 
“Hold on,” he says, like you'd do anything otherwise. 
Hood speeds up and takes a sharp left turn. You tense and yelp, squeezing your eyes shut. He takes several winding turns and you keep your eyes shut through all of them. The nausea has returned and you’d prefer not to ruin the inside of his helmet with your stomach contents.
“We lose him?” he asks when the road levels off and it doesn’t feel so much like you’re on a rollercoaster.
“Um…” you begin, and chance turning around.
It’s clear for a few seconds until…
Well, to echo Hood’s sentiment: motherfucker.
“He’s there!” you yell, and Hood growls.
“The helmets are mic’d, you don’t have to shout,” he says, leaning into a left turn. 
“I see him!” you say, and grab one of Hood’s holstered guns. He scrambles to grab it but misses, surprise slowing him down.
“What the fuck are you doin’?!”
You ignore him and take off the safety. Moving your free arm up to Hood’s neck, you fire. He curses up a storm, throwing in a few words you’ve never even heard. 
The shots go wide; one dents a parked car, and one hits a stop sign. 
“You’re fuckin’ nuts!” Hood yells and snatches the gun out of your hand. 
But your tail falls back, evidently spooked enough by you and your poor aim. He turns on a side street and disappears.
“He’s gone! We’ve lost him!” you say happily. 
“Are you insane?” 
You wince at his volume. “The helmets are mic’d, you know.”
“You’re so—”
Hood cuts himself off and pulls sharply onto the sidewalk. He dismounts and pushes the kickstand down hard. Then he turns to you, chest heaving.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again. Are you crazy? You could’ve gotten us killed!”
“It worked, didn’t it?” you ask, putting out your arms. “We lost him!”
“No, we didn’t. All we did was throw him off our trail a little. We gotta walk the rest of the way now because he probably fell back to get more guys to follow us. But that’s not the point: what you did was insanely risky and stupid. You don’t know how to use a gun and you could’ve hurt yourself.”
You stay silent, chewing on his words. Hood isn’t wrong, he’s just… loud about it.
“Do you understand me?” he snaps. 
You don't reply. 
“I need a yes.”
“...I wanted to help.”
Hood sighs. “Yeah, well… just don’t. I’m good at what I do and I’ll get you back in one piece. But you gotta trust me.”
“Okay,” you say quietly. You feel small, but you don't want to cry in front of him again and confirm that you really are just a spoiled, whiny princess. “I'm sorry, Red Hood.”
You sit down on the curb, feeling exhausted. Tonight is awful. 
It's quiet for a long moment. Then Hood says, “Don't cry.”
Your jaw works as you swallow hard. “I'm not.” You turn your head so he won't see.  
“Christ on toast,” he mumbles above you. “This is exactly why I don't do rescue missions—”
You sniffle. “I'm not crying.”
“—’Cause I'm the world's biggest asshole,” he finishes, voice miles softer. 
Hood sinks onto the curb next to you. He scoots in just enough so that your shoulders brush against each other. 
“Look, ‘m a jerk. The Bats are better at handling civilians and being nice. You got the potty mouth with a bad attitude.” 
You rub your eyes. “I don't like yelling.” 
“Yeah,” Hood says quietly. “Okay. I'll try not to yell unless you're in immediate danger. But you can’t pull stunts like that. Deal?”
You nod. “I won't fire any more of your guns.”
He snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. Where’d you learn how to shoot, anyway? I mean, y’didn’t do it well, but you did it. Not half-bad for your first time in Gotham.”
“My father wanted me to learn gun sports,” you say. “I learned how to take the safety off and point and shoot, but I refused to do any more lessons after my instructor shot a duck for target practice. I think guns are uncivilized and destructive, and I don’t condone killing animals for sport.”
“Uncivilized unless you're getting tailed by kidnappers?” You think you detect a smile in his question. 
“Everything has its exceptions,” you say primly. 
“Ain't that the truth. C'mon, we should get moving. We're, ‘scuse the saying, sitting ducks out here.”
Hood stands first and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you up. He does that so easily. It makes your spine tingle. 
“How far are we from my hotel?” you ask.
“‘Bout two miles. If I had my gear I'd call for an assist,” he says apologetically. “Wasn’t planning to save lost princesses tonight.”
“I don't suppose there's any chance that you'll carry me, is there?”
“Pretty and funny,” Hood says. “You're the whole package, beauty queen.”
Your snarky reply is cut off by your stomach growling. Your eyes widen. 
“Pardon me,” you say, mortified. 
“What, ‘cause you're hungry?” Hood asks. “‘S a normal human condition.”
“You don't know anything about royal manners,” you say, but you're relieved. Your father would give you a tight, deadly look if you were hungry in public. 
“No, I really don't. Born and bred Gotham, baby.” 
“Showing any signs of hunger or thirst around company is highly undignified,” you say. 
“Being a princess sounds exhausting.”
No arguments there. 
Hood starts walking. You scramble to follow, and he seems to remember your shorter stride and slows down. 
“There's a pretty decent 7-Eleven nearby,” he says. “I'd take ya to my favorite diner, but we're on a tight schedule. Those guys won’t be far behind.”
“A seven and eleven? Oh, I've heard of those!” you say. 
“I’m… glad you're so excited about convenience stores?”
“I saw it in a film once. My father didn’t catch me watching this one. It looked so rugged, eating in a convenience store and fighting crime afterward. I've never been to one.”
“I know I shouldn't be surprised considering how much your dress cost but it does kinda blow my mind that you've never tasted anything but the finest cuisine,” Hood says. “Wait, did you say your dad didn’t catch you?”
You hum. “He doesn’t like me watching films that aren’t pre-approved.”
“Wow. Y���know, I could pirate you some movies if y’want. I know a great website for it.”
You laugh. “That’s alright. I manage to sneak out to the cinema more than I used to, now that he’s older.”
“Pretty sneaky, beauty queen.” He sounds impressed. 
You shrug, trying to hide your pride. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
You turn on the corner and he leads you through a residential area. A few people outside of their apartments stare at you, but when they see Hood, they relax. 
“Red!” a little boy shouts from a fire escape. He waves excitedly. Hood waves back.
“Hope you’re listening to your ma,” Hood calls to him, mock-stern. To anyone else—to you—it would be unnerving. 
But the boy grins. “I am!”
“Then why aren't ya in bed, huh?” 
The boy shrugs. “Not tired. Who's the lady?”
“The lady is a princess, so be nice,” Hood says.
“Whoa!” The boy gapes at you. You wave at him and he jumps up from the window. 
“Mom!” he yells. “Red Hood found a princess!”
You giggle as Hood leads you away. 
He shakes his head. “Kids.” He sounds terribly fond. 
You stare at his back for a moment. 
“They like you,” you say. “You keep them safe. But you're also a friend.”
“Helps to earn their trust,” he says gruffly. 
You walk a little more in silence. 
“I was wrong about you, Hood,” you say. He doesn't look at you. 
“Lotta people are. Nothin’ new.” 
No, it probably isn't. 
“‘Kay, here we are. C’mon. We gotta be fast, alright?”
“Alright,” you say, following him into the 7-Eleven. 
“Hey, Benny,” Hood says to the tired cashier behind the counter.
Benny nods. “Long night?”
“You got no idea.” He gestures to you. “She’s a princess.”
“Sweet,” Benny says. “What’s up?”
“How do you do?” you say politely. 
Hood leads you to the rolling hot dogs and other cylindrical foods under the heat lamps. You frown.
“I have had a hot dog before,” you say. “I’m not that sheltered.”
“Yeah, but have ya had a buffalo ranch roller? My brother and I used to get these after patrol. That with a blue raspberry slushie? Heavenly after getting thrown into a dumpster.”
“Well, you’ve gotten me this far, so I suppose I’ll trust you,” you say.
“I’m flattered. Benny, my usual.”
Benny gives a thumbs-up and puts the ‘roller’ in a paper bag. Meanwhile, Hood takes you to the back where the slushie machine is. You watch as he fills a plastic cup with electric blue sludge. Your brows raise.
“Why is it that color?” you ask.
“Tasty chemicals,” Hood says cheerily. “It won’t kill ya, I promise.”
“That would be counterintuitive at this point,” you say. 
“I appreciate your faith in me, princess.”
You return to Benny, who rings up the food. “Five twenty-seven.”
Hood looks at you expectantly. You look at him.
“What?” you ask.
“This is the part where you pay,” he says.
“A princess never carries money on her person,” you say, like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.
“You–” Hood looks at Benny and sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”
He pays and you take your treats, trotting out the door. 
“Thank you, kind sir!” you say as Hood waves. 
“See ya, Ben.”
You hold out your slushie for Hood to take while you work on your fried goodie.
“I’m not a cupholder,” he says, but he takes the cup anyway.
“It’s warm!” you say, delighted. “Let me take a bite.”
Hood patiently waits as you bite and chew. You hum.
“Good?” he asks.
“I like it,” you say. “It’s unusual. Is this chicken?”
“So they say,” Hood says. “Try the slushie.”
You take the cup and first take a small sip. It’s cold and sweet and slightly sour and probably full of enough sugar to rot your teeth out of your head. You love it.
“This is wonderful,” you say. 
He laughs. “Yup. Told ya, nothin’ like this combo. It’s a classic. C’mon, let’s get moving.”
You walk and eat, and it definitely improves your night, having something in your belly. 
“This is just like Roman Holiday,” you say.
Hood snorts. “I don’t think we watched the same movie.”
“It has a likeness. You’re Gregory Peck.”
“Yeah, sure. If Gregory Peck was a street fighter, then yeah. I’m Greg fuckin’ Peck.”
“No, you’re right. You’re much younger than he was in that movie. How old are you?” you ask.
“Twenty-four.”
“Really? Why are you doing this?”
“Took a career test.”
You bump his shoulder. “Seriously, Hood. You’re young. You’ve so much potential. I can tell that you’re smart.”
“Maybe I like doing this,” he says.
You tut, shaking your head. “That’s ridiculous. You could do more. Be more.”
“You’re just fulla charm, aren’t ya?” Hood says. 
Your next step is hesitant. Hood keeps walking. 
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” you say. “I guess I assumed…”
“Yeah, I know. You assume a lot, princess. And you’re wrong.”
“You made assumptions about me! You thought that I was stupid and naive and I’m not.”
Hood stops, turns. “Maybe I like doing what I do, huh? Ever think of that? I meant it when I said I’m not a criminal anymore. I help people.”
“I know that,” you say quietly. “I see how the citizens treat you. They like you. You care for them greatly. I just… I just meant that you could try new things too. If you wanted to.”
He’s quiet for a bit. You keep walking. 
“I didn’t think you were stupid,” he eventually says.
You scoff. “Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t. Yeah, I thought you were a little… sheltered. But you’re smart. You’re certainly tougher than your dad gives you credit for.”
You roll your eyes. “He still thinks I’m six years old. It takes me getting kidnapped to see a city.”
“Pretty shitty tour.”
You smile behind his back. “Oh, I don’t know. The tour guide is alright.”
Hood stops. When he doesn’t speak, you approach.
“Hood?”
He suddenly puts a hand over your mouth and drags you backwards into an alleyway. Your yelp is muffled. Hood puts a finger to where his mouth would be under his helmet.
That’s when you hear voices.
“—single fuckin’ clue. She could be in the fuckin’ Atlantic by now. Halfway to China!”
“China’s on the other side, dumbass.”
You look up at Hood, eyes wide. 
Those are your kidnappers' voices.
He seems to understand and nods. He squeezes your arm and removes his hand from your mouth. He points to himself and points outside, then points to you and points down. 
You assume that means stay put and don’t try to shoot anyone with his gun. You can take a hint.
Hood slinks out of the alley. You peek your head out to look, curiosity overtaking fear. Besides, you trust Hood. You figure with a reputation like his, he can more than handle his own. 
“Nice night, ain’t it?” he says. 
The two men turn, looking close to pissing themselves. Good.
“Hood, we weren’t doing nothin’!” one says.
“Yeah, Ricky and I are clean!”
“Oh, really? So you had nothing to do with the kidnapping of a certain visiting princess.”
“We was nowhere near the Plaza!” Ricky cries.
The other elbows his friend. Before you can blink, Hood has them both down on the ground, pistols pointed at their necks. 
“You were gonna hurt her,” Hood says, and now there’s no trace of humor in his voice. “That poor, sweet princess. Strapping C-4 to her like a fuckin’ bank vault. Drugging her, tying her up. You fuckin’ animals.”
“It wasn’t our idea, it was Bobby’s!” Ricky cries. 
“Shut up, Ricky!”
A shot rings out and you flinch. Ricky starts sobbing. Red seeps from his leg.
“The only reason I’m not killing you two right now is because I want a word with your boss. But make no mistake.” Hood leans in. “You’ll pay for hurting the princess. I’ll make sure of it.”
With two final hits, Hood knocks them out cold. The sudden silence is loud. 
He looks at you then, those eerie eyes glowing. He beckons you out. You go. 
You look down at the unconscious bodies. “You don’t have to kill them.”
“What?”
“I mean, I’d rather you didn’t. You shouldn’t have that on your conscience.”
“They kidnapped you. They would’ve hurt you had their boss ordered it.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t want you to bear that burden, Hood.”
“‘S not a burden,” he says, gently taking your wrist. Your eyes fly open. “If it’ll make you feel better, safer, anything. It’s no burden.”
“Okay,” you say quietly, frightened at how pleased a part of you is at his words.
“I’ll tie ‘em up and send for ‘em when we get back. One second.”
You watch as Hood drags their bodies into the alley like they’re sacks of feathers. He handcuffs them to a drainpipe and ties their feet and gags them. 
“So they can see what it feels like,” Hood says, dusting his hands. You can’t help your small smile. 
“Ready?” he asks.
You look up at the starless sky, suddenly exhausted. Your limbs feel like lead. “I guess so.”
Hood looks into the distance, then back at you. He sighs.
“Climb on my back.”
You blink. “Pardon me?”
“You’re pardoned.” Hood shrugs. “I can tell you’re tired. We don’t have far to go.”
“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask. “All that way…”
“Princess, I’m honestly offended. I once carried Batman and my brother to Bludhaven. I’m more than capable.”
“But what about your rule?” you ask. “About carrying people.”
“Turns out you’re not so bad,” he says. “Get on ‘fore I change my mind.”
So you climb onto Hood’s back. He secures you easily, and you wrap your arms around his neck.
“Don’t choke me out,” he says. “Otherwise we’re both goin’ down.”
You smile and relax on his back. “Thank you.”
“Mm.”
At first, it feels like an eternity, waiting for the familiar Plaza sign. You can’t complain, though: Hood is warm and being carried by him is even better than riding on his bike. 
You blink, startled at the thought. What are you even talking about? This is the Red Hood. You were terrified of him a few hours ago. 
And yet, the rhythmic bumping and Hood’s solid figure lulls you to sleep. You don’t even realize until you’re being nudged and a voice pulls you back to consciousness. 
“Hey.”
You’re gently jostled awake. You blink blearily, yawning into Hood’s shoulder.
Oh. Right. You’re on his back.
“Hm?” 
“Ride ends here,” he says. “We’re at the Plaza.”
“Oh.” Sleepily, you try to climb off. Hood sets you on your feet. Embarrassment fills you as you become more awake.
“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. You could’ve woken me! I—”
Hood holds up a hand. “Hey, chill out. ‘S fine. You had a long night, I get it.”
“Right. I, um…” You look up at the hotel. The top floor windows disappear in the layer of fog that’s settled over the city. You wonder what Hood’s windows look like. 
“I’m gonna track down your main kidnapper and make sure they don’t hurt anyone else. I’ll kick his ass, at the very least.”
You look at Hood, blinking. “Oh. That’s very nice of you, thank you.”
He shrugs. “‘S my job.”
You nod clumsily. “Right, of course. I could give you something in return, though. Money or, um, firearms. A car, perhaps?”
He snorts. You smile shyly. 
“Cute,” he says, but he’s not being mean. “No, that’s okay. I’m pretty set, actually. Doing what I do is surprisingly lucrative.”
“Surely there’s something—”
“Seriously, princess, no charge.”
You bite your lip. Is this too bold? Yes, definitely.
“What about a kiss?”
At first, you think Hood hasn’t heard you. Then he turns to face you in a way that tells you no, he definitely heard you. 
“Ex-cuse me?”
“Um.” You scratch your neck. “Well, princesses kiss their knights goodbye, don’t they?” you ask, but it’s weak. It’s stupid. You’re so young.
You think he’s going to just walk away. That would be the kindest thing to do in response to your blunder.
“I’m sorry, forgive me. That was a terrible joke,” you blurt.
“No, it wasn’t.”
He steps forward, close enough to kiss you if he didn’t have the helmet. You look up at him, heart pounding.
“Wasn’t terrible or wasn’t a joke?” you ask, blood roaring in your ears.
Hood’s quiet. 
“Haven’t done much kissing, to be honest with ya,” he finally says, not answering your question. 
You shake your head. “Nor I.”
“Mm. And y’wanna kiss me? Don’t offer ‘cause you think you owe me.”
“I want to kiss you, Hood.”
He tilts his head. “Y’wouldn’t be kissing a knight. More like kissing a toad.”
You frown. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m no Greg Peck. And I’m no hero either.”
“Do you give this speech to everyone who wants to kiss you?”
“You’re the first one who’s wanted to,” he says.
You inhale sharply. “Oh.”
“Uh-huh.”
You wait. He waits. You both wait for the other to back out. You don’t. Neither does he.
“Can’t believe a princess wants to kiss me,” he mumbles.
And then he covers your eyes with his hand.
You blink, lashes sweeping over his glove. You hear a click, then a hiss of air. His helmet hits the ground with a dull thud. 
Hood gingerly holds your chin with his free hand. You keep your eyes closed even though he’s covering them, out of respect.
His mouth is warm and so, so gentle. You barely feel his lips at first, so you press a little harder. Hood doesn’t know what to do with his mouth, resting it on yours, so you take the lead, following what you’ve seen others do and what you’ve watched on television.
You reach up and hold his face. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. You stroke his stubbled jaw, feel strong cheekbones and the ends of curls above his ears. 
“Your Highness? Your Highness!”
The hand leaves your face so quickly, your eyes stay closed for a second longer, slow to react. Then you open your eyes and see the empty street.
Your lips tingle with heat. It’s all noise around you, policemen and your guards flitting around you, asking questions, alarmed by your torn dress. 
You exhale, disappointment overtaking you.
Your father is in front of you, taking your wrists. “Can you hear me? Doctor, I need a—”
“I’m fine,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m alright, Father.”
He exhales and pulls you into a hug. It startles you. He pulls away before you can hug him back.
“I am so glad you’re alright,” he says. “The police say they saw a figure with you. Who was that? Was he your kidnapper?”
“No, not at all,” you say, staring out into the street beyond. Your lips are buzzing. “He was my hero.”
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leowifefang · 2 years ago
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ugh. ough.
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duckprintspress · 1 year ago
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Just to chime in briefly on the "libraries pay authors" as an indie press - yes, we get money (that, as appropriate, gets paid to authors as royalties) every time a library buys our books. We also get money every time someone "borrows" one of our e-books - there's a per-read payment system for a lot of e-book library lending apps.
And also another small addition - I need to make it clear that small indie presses like mine aren't "big pub" even if we're technically legally a corporation (in my case, a "limited liability corporation," which just means "if the business folds they can't seize all my family's personal assets to pay my debt, so like, my kids won't be left homeless because my business failed" - my personal liability is limited/separate from my liability as the owner of a corporation.) I am NOT saying that Joy or Alex said this, to be clear, but I've noticed a huge number of people seem to think that ANY business that isn't "sole author publishing" is the same as Big Pub and like. We're so not. Small press people are generally only a handful of employees at most (Duck Prints Press has one employee - me) and we work our asses off to try to scrape by in an incredibly hostile general world environment. Every small press person I know is right on the limit of giving up, not because we don't love the work, but because we can't earn enough to pay our authors and ourselves. As a business owner who, ya know, has some actual fucking ethics...the owner gets paid last. I make sure the editors, the authors, the artists, the graphic designers, everyone else, gets paid, before I take a cent.
And as a result, I haven't taken a paycheck in the almost three YEARS I've been running this business. I haven't earned a penny from this business, even for my own writing - when me-the-author or me-the-editor might have gotten paid if I was an outsider, I don't take the money, I just leave it in the business pool. I'm currently working as much as 60 hours a week for zero pay and zero benefits, and I take maybe a dozen days off all year, and I still am a mom, and a member of fandom, and I wish I could still be an author but I don't even have the energy left for my own writing at the end of the day, and this is all because I believe that the people we work with, as a group, can potentially do better if we collectivize and publish TOGETHER than any of us could do alone if we tried to go the solo self-pub route.
To be honest, so far, I'm not sure that's true, because there's so much stigma around "it's a corporation" that people act like we're the same as a Harper Collins or something. WE'RE NOT. Small Press ISN'T THAT.
Okay, this didn't end up a small addition, and I could probably keep going, but coming from the small press angle...we're drowning too. Big Pub is trying to kill indie publishing - and that means self-pub AND places like us - and when people pirate from us, when people go "eh, they're a ~corporation~, they must be fine," when people just...assume that any collective (as in, any group of authors trying to work together to make this work) are Just As Bad, you really screw us, and it's so exhausting to constantly see people act like "everyone who isn't a single, solitary, starving artist is Part Of The Evil." And, like ariaste says, this is ALSO while we fight against the "self pub is all crap/impossible to succeed at/not worth paying attention to" stigma that exists in more traditional circles. People who want to "support small" think we're big and people who think only big exists assume we're only doing this because we suck, and so we get it from all sides.
(And again: This is NOT something I've ever seen thebibliosphere do, this isn't about OP or the other commenter ariaste, it's about general trends I observe in how people act toward DPP and other small presses. We're. We're working so hard y'all, and we're so tired, and it's so insanely difficult to even get enough traction to publish the stories that I see so many people on Tumblr claim they want, but when we actually make them, all we get is crickets.)
(really shutting up now. sorry. sweatdrop)
I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?
I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.
I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.
We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.
If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.
Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.
They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.
And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.
The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.
So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.
That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.
Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.
They're not.
If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.
Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?
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zepskies · 6 months ago
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Wanderlust
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Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader
Summary: Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.
AN: My nightly daydreams led me to Soldier Boy this time. 😂
I was imagining the Break Me Down-verse for this one (shortly after Checkerboard), but it can also be general Soldier Boy x Reader.
Word Count: 650
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Fluff, innuendo, Sleepy Ben, implied smut.
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You traced down his back with light, trailing fingers.
Lying next to him in bed, with scraps of moonlight filtering through the closed blinds in the window as your only guide, your mind was still drifting even though you should’ve been sleeping.
You couldn’t help yourself.  
You drew invisible patterns across his bare skin. Ben was warm, always warm, even though the AC was making the room almost frigid. You knew it was the ever-present radiator in his chest that made him your own personal heater.
You propped your head up better with an elbow on your pillow as you laid on your side. You then let your hand drift over every dip of muscle between his shoulders, every small freckle you knew just from memory, then down and down his spine.
You flirted with the idea of inching down the sheets, where his bare ass would greet you. From there, you supposed you'd decide what wandering direction your hand took next.
“If you don’t go to sleep,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’m gonna wake up and fuck you again.”
You bit your lip against a giggle, but you didn’t quite succeed.
“It sounds like you’re already awake,” you remarked.
Ben grumbled incoherently in response. He was tired, you knew. He’d just come back from a week-long mission with Butcher and Co. for Supe Affairs. Hence the long night you two spent catching up.
If you were honest, you were still tingling between your legs. Your thighs and ass were a little sore too. Likely they’d be sporting a few fingerprints tomorrow.
You didn't mind it so much though. You two now had a safe word for that kind of thing.
You smirked, sifting your fingers through his hair. It was getting long again. Maybe you’d trim it for him tomorrow, since you both had the weekend off.  
Your hand meandered down the back of his neck, just to begin dragging your nails up and down the slope of his back.
“What does that feel like to you?” you asked curiously. You often wondered how much his invulnerability affected the way he felt things, especially the way you touched him.
“Like a tease,” he muttered.
You applied some more pressure with your nails. Not the way you’d scored his back about an hour ago, when he’d had his sinful mouth all over your body, but enough to be more than a tease. Enough that it would’ve left an angry, red trail on your own “fragile” human skin.
Still, you weren’t able to leave any marks on him. Just a faint whiteness of pressure against his skin that soon returned to normal when you moved your hand away.
“How about that?” you asked.
“Like you’re playing with fucking fire,” Ben said, though you heard the smirk in his voice. “Go to sleep.”
You smiled too.
“We'll pick this up in the morning,” he made sure to add, though he was already halfway back to slumber, from the sound of it.
“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, laughing lightly. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder. “G’night, babe.”
“Mhmm,” he responded.
He groaned deep in his throat and turned over onto his back. Your smile remained as your body tensed in anticipation, but all he did was slide an arm under your waist and curl you towards him, trapping you against his chest. His hand splayed against your lower back, heavy and warm.
His lips brushed your hair away from your forehead and lingered there. He closed his eyes and let out a deep exhale. You did the same, relaxing against him. Your hand came to rest against the steady thrum of his heart.
Moments like this with him still managed to surprise you…but admittedly, less and less the longer you lived and shared together.
A girl could get used to it though.
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AN: Lol should she have pressed her luck? Let me know what you think of this one! 😉💚
Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:
Next we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty Christmas special, Love Actually:
Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.
▶️ Next Story: Love Actually
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Ko-Fi Me ☕
Break Me Down Masterlist
Soldier Boy Masterlist
Main Masterlist
BMD Tag List (Part 1):
Including the BMD tag list on this, since that's what my heart was imagining. 😂
@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26
@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort
@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28
@nancymcl @ashbatz @vavafaure1994 @kristophalis @wonderland2022
@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow
@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky
@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun
@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2
@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420
@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx
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