#so it's all jumbled and vague

[chungledown-bimothy]

wait hang on what was lestat's goal in going to the "trial"? he has to have known that its purpose was to kill them. was it just so he could be there to hurt louis a bunch before saving him? there certainly are other ways to do that, ways that don't sacrifice claudia.

especially if he was then just gonna let armand take credit for the rescue.

i know he had issues with claudia, even before she instigated and did most of the work for their attempted murder, but his face as she burned... i don't know if i buy that he actually wanted her to die.

there's gotta be something i'm missing/not remembering. idk maybe he is actually just that terrible, which i'm not discounting. just unsure if there's another piece that's slipping my mind.

[mechahero]

@hopefromadoomedtimeline asked- 📖 Send "📖" for a page from my character's diary (no longer accepting!)

November 15th, 2024 (12:10 PM)

Sometimes I think about you. I wonder if you're okay. You probably are though. Mom and Dad always seemed to like you more. Maybe that was because you're louder. But still. Sometimes I wonder what happened to you when I was gone. Did they start treating you the same way they used to treat me? Do you finally understand me now? Or did things stay the same and the only thing that changed was how much better things got for you? If I know our mom and dad, then yeah, it probably did. I don't know.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm a bad person for leaving you there. I could have gotten you out of there and I just... didn't. I don't know if things would have been better with you here. I'm sorry.

I still kind of miss you sometimes. Isn't that kind of funny? I hope you're alright, Ebony. Despite all the shit you gave me. I wish I knew why. Maybe someday? I don't know anymore.

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 2

Story: The Four (original) Prompts: Favourite song — Holding hands — Walking and talking

Note: The first syllable of "Myrian/Myriath" is meant to be pronounced MEER, not MIRE.

The bed was soft, the blankets warm, the darkness eased by silver bands of moonlight that stretched across the floor through the wide open windows that let in the soothing rush and sigh of waves rolling onto the beach. And yet Timor could not sleep.

The boy sat on the low bench by the window nearest his bed, hugging his knees to his chest as he gazed out over the sea. The moon was only half-full, yet it limned the crests of the gentle waves as they curled over and tumbled back down into the black depths.

For once, Timor wasn't afraid of the darkness or his unfamiliar surroundings. His heart was too heavy for fear. Too numb.

Perhaps that's the answer I've been seeking, he thought with a sigh of bone-deep weariness. The key to courage is to be so wounded you can feel nothing more.

“That is the sigh of a man twice your age,” a voice said softly behind him.

Timor's heart didn't so much leap as give a feeble lurch of surprise. It helped that he instantly recognized Farawin's voice. He didn't look up as the Myrian crossed the room on softly slippered feet. “C-Can't sleep,” Timor mumbled, still staring out into the dark night.

“I thought as much.” Farawin stopped at his side, folding long-fingered hands that almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. “That is why I sought you out.”

“Even if you t-tuck me in, I won't b-be able t-to sleep.”

“I am not here to play nursemaid, my friend. But as long as we are both awake...will you walk with me?”

Timor looked up at him. Farawin's pale skin was luminous in the moonlight, the silvery scale-like patches of skin on his cheeks and neck shimmering in a way they didn't in full daylight. His long, golden hair had been washed and pulled back in an elaborate web of braids such as Timor hadn't seen since the first day they'd met. But unlike that day (so long ago it seemed), there was nothing but compassion and understanding in those sea-green eyes.

Farawin held out a hand. With another weary sigh, Timor took it and let his friend help him to his feet.

It wasn't until they'd passed quietly through the corridors of the Myrian palace and stepped out onto the main street that Timor realized Farawin had never let go of his hand. He didn't mind, though. It felt good to have something to hold onto.

There were few people out at this time of night, so for most of their midnight stroll, there was no one to stare at the elegant Myrian prince walking hand-in-hand with a scrawny, dark-haired human boy who walked with slumped shoulders and nibbled at the finely embroidered sleeve of the tunic he'd been given.

After a few minutes, Timor realized the white cobblestones of the main street of Myriath were fading away into a simple stone-lined path. “Where are we g-going?”

“To the Ash-Phanash.” Farawin pointed along the path they followed, which led to a round building on the edge of the cliff Timor had seen out his window. The dome shone white in the moonlight.

“What is it?”

“I think you would call it a temple,” Farawin said. “It is where we sing praises to the Great Eagle, and where we hold meetings and rituals. When the moon is full, singers pass in and out in shifts, so that the building is filled with unceasing song both night and day.” He looked down at Timor with a little smile. “But tonight, we shall have the Ash-Phanash all to ourselves.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. The Ash-Phanash had no doors blocking the entryway, so they simply walked in through an archway made of marble or some other white stone. After passing through a dark passageway where Timor clung even tighter to Farawin's hand, they emerged in an enormous round room.

Far above their heads, the dome they'd seen before stretched like the sky above them. Seats rose in tiers all around them, carved from the same white stone and covered with small round cushions for people to sit on. There were no torches or candles to light the enormous room, but somehow it didn't seem dark and gloomy. There were windows all around, letting in the moonlight as well as the fresh sea breeze.

Farawin led the way to the highest tier of seats, and they settled down on matching red cushions near a window that looked back over Myriath in the distance. Timor was glad to get off his feet; he hadn't realized how far they'd walked. Not to mention that he was still recovering from their flight to the island.

Peace seemed to permeate the very walls of the Ash-Phanash. Timor closed his eyes, listening to the distant echoes of the surf crashing against the cliff far below. Something in his chest loosened. He opened his eyes again and looked up at Farawin. “D-Do you have any songs for-for...for when you've...l-lost somebody?”

The sorrow that had been swimming deep in Farawin's eyes now bobbed to the surface. “Yes,” he murmured. “Would you like to hear one?”

Timor nodded.

Instead of bursting into song then and there, Farawin got to his feet and walked back down to the center of the amphitheater, motioning for Timor to remain seated. When he finally got to the small dais they'd passed on their way up, Farawin turned to face Timor again. He looked very small and far away.

Putting a hand over his heart, Farawin opened his mouth, and a melody as pure and clear as moonlight poured from his lips, as distinctly as if Farawin still stood beside him. Timor couldn't understand the words, if words they even were, but he sat there and let them wash over him like the waves on the beach.

In fact, there was something to the music that was reminiscent of the ebb and flow of the tide, of the wind rustling the trees, of water lapping against a boat, of the swelling and diminishing of the moon.

Time rolled on. The sea was ever-changing, yet ever the same. Timor closed his eyes again, and felt something like peace fill his chest where before had only been pain.

[skibasyndrome]

So one thing I've always loved about uni/studying/learning new things is when you have different subjects or different tiny dots of knowledge and slowly, as you learn more and more, those tiny splashes of knowledge are becoming less isolated, and you realize that it's all connected and - at least with my subjects being in the humanities - you sort of “unlock” this new perspective on a certain aspect of the human condition. And like, that's fun enough and - if I'm being honest - probably my favorite thing about studying already as it is, BUT NOW, now that I've finally gotten back into writing as a hobby this is just ANOTHER dimension for me to expand that knowledge into and to use that knowledge for. And I am absolutely living for it. So happy to be back on my bullshit and so happy to be at a place in my life where these two passions of mine fit so seamlessly together and one passion benefits from the other and vice versa

[sleepy-vix]

throwback to when my teacher asked me what i would write about if i wrote a book and i told her it'd be a psychological coming of age with representations of ethnic issues and mental illness and she just looked at me blankly

[nyamcot]

Not a day where I ithink ab the silliness of meowware because Imagine fooling around in puyo puyo and then the puyo start not having eyes or having too many and now all the characters are being cliché creepy pasta tropes [it’s messing w you by fucking up your game]

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt the random card au again. Why must it go so crazy hard I miss it sm

[evie-sturns]

drunk - Chris Sturniolo

summary: you show up to you, and your boyfriend chris's home drunk after a girls night out. chris has to take care of you in your interesting... state.

contains: fluff, mentions of alcohol, vague mentions of throwing up, crying, swearing.

a/n: i wanted to do a little mature chris fic because i dont see enough of that, i hope you guys like this!!

--------------└─── °∘❉∘° ───┘---------------

tonight started as just me and 6 other friends at a club, before i left the house chris made it very clear i need to be home before midnight.

right now its 1:30 of the next morning, my friend grace is glued to my side as i cackle, watching her twerk on the dancefloor. i drag her to the bar, throwing back several more shots.

i'm not sure what time it is, or where the other 4 of my friends are but all i know is i should probably be getting home..

"graceee" i laugh, pulling out my phone and attempting to call an uber, all the text is jumbled. a girl walks by me, i grab her arm lightly and hand her my phone, "call me an uber please babe" i say to the girl, she smiles before handing my phone back shortly after,

"its coming in 10 minutes!!" she calls out over her shoulder as she walks away.

i drag grace out of the club as we laugh about nothing, the uber pulls up and we pile inside.

-

i stumble up the front porch of chris and i's house, swinging open the front door as it hits the wall with a bang, i let out a small laugh as my heels click against the wooden planks.

"chrissy!!" i yell out a stupid nickname, chris walks out from the bathroom, hes shirtless only wearing sweatpants, which sit dangerously low.

"where the fuck have you been!" chris says, his voice serious as he grips my wrist firmly.

"uh.. club? obviously," i say with an attitude.

"drop your tone, come with me." he says, pulling me down the corridor into his room.

"sit" chris says, dragging me over to the bed and gently placing me down on the end of his bed. he gets down on his knees and starts to undo the straps of my heels, pulling them off my feet. "ow christopher!! 'fuckin hurts." i whine, folding my arms

"do you know what time it is?" chris asks, "like 10pm? can you read a clock?" i reply with an eye roll, my tone slurred.

he stands up off his knees as he looks down at me on the bed, i look to the side, chris grabs my chin,

"look at me." he says, making me look up at him with the hand on my chin. he stares into my eyes,

i erupt into tears, "your mad at me and im really really sorry but i-.. i" i say as mascara starts to flow down my flushed cheeks.

chris shakes his head, closing his eyes "i'm not mad at you sweetheart." he says, picking me up off the bed and placing me on my feet,

"you wanna know what i think?" chris asks softly, i nod my head.

"i think you've had a bit too much to drink tonight, you think so too?" he says, putting my arms in the air and lifting my mini-dress up over my head,

he walks me over to his closet, pulling out a pair of my small pyjama shorts and one of his shirts, which pulls onto me.

"you look pale baby, do you feel sick?" chris says, speed-walking me into his bathroom to get off his carpet.

"yeah." i sniffle, he sits down next to the toilet on the cold marble tiles, he pulls me onto his lap where i stay on my knees.

all of the achohol i've had tonight exits my mouth into the toilet bowl, "there we are." chris says, stroking my hair as he holds it behind my head.

"good girl, your okay." he sighs, "at least all the shots are out now" he says, standing up and walking me over to the sink, leaning me over the sink and filling up his hands with water as a cup.

he pours it into my mouth with a small laugh, i swish it around before spitting it back into the sink.

"feeling a little better?" he asks, picking me up by my ass and taking me towards his bed.

"im sorry." i say, letting my head fall forward into his bare shoulder, "don't apologise, you throwing up all the drinks you've had is much better than keeping it in okay?"

i nod, he lays me down in bed before pulling the covers up over me. leaning over me as my eyelids grow heavy.

"chris.." i say quietly, my speech still slightly slurred, "yeah?" he replies "i'm sorry for being mean" i say, chris laughs,

"dont worry about it precious." he smiles, leaning down and pressing a kiss to my lips,

"chris!!! i've just been sick!" i say, pulling away.

[writella]

The Confession

Synopsis: Confessions shared with the wrong person gone so sinfully right.

Details: rick grimes x reader, afab!reader, smut—masturbation, unprotected sex, riding, both rick and reader being desperate in the dark. I made the exact reason for the confession and occasion very vague. 18+, wc: 2.6k. Proof read, but there might be some errors.

A/N: Not sure how much I like this one, but I had this idea back in early October and I wanted to finish it and give you guys something after a whole month.

I miss you, I’m sorry. Hope you’re all well!! With love from writella. ♡

Your voice is solemn and heavy as you sigh before starting, “I don’t do this very often,” you say, “I hope this is okay.” Your eyes lowering shamefully as you stop. It’s only the first sentence and you’re finding it hard to continue. It’s almost as if there are needles piercing into your throat. “I just feel so embarrassed,” you admit.

Then you pause.

No response from him comes after.

Only silence fills the dark and hallow space of the wooden confession box. Only your thoughts, every creak you made on the built-in bench, and the light wind that rustled from the cracked door were heard.

You wait a second longer.

Hoping.

But still, nothing.

Part of you was suspecting that Gabriel would have been more inviting, telling you it’s okay; and doing so with his kind and gentle voice, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t doing anything it seemed. You only saw the silhouette of his face when you walked inside— the outline of a nose and mouth, really. He seemed to be sitting as far from the small barred window as he could, but you didn’t dare look again. You didn’t even turn on the light fixture in the corner. Your fear was all too big, and his unwavering quietness made it worse.

Maybe you had come at the wrong time, maybe you interrupted him. You almost wanted to ask. But maybe confessions happened in complete silence… you didn’t know anymore, but at this point, you were hoping so. You had already wasted five minutes and managed only one sentence. Perhaps he heard the fear in your voice and was just trying to be a good listener… yes, maybe, you pretend as you urged yourself to start again:

You breathe in sharply, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The words come out in an uneasy, hushed whisper. “It happens a lot and I know it’s wrong. And you’re probably going to look at me differently after this, but I have to tell someone so I can stop.”

Your eyes screw shut, the next phrase coming out jumbled and continuous as you try to explain yourself quickly: “I’ve journaled about it and told myself it’s wrong but it’s not helping.” You start to weep, almost laughing at yourself, “I feel so stupid.”

You sigh and you almost think you hear him do so too, but you keep going.

“I’ve been thinking about someone,” you finally say. “For a long time. And I know it’s bad, I know it, but I do it anyway. It's all I think about.”

Another pause.

You catch your breath.

You wait.

But nothing.

So, you start again.

“I think I love him sometimes.” And if you couldn’t get any more timid, your cheeks flush, and your voice grows quieter, “I like his hair, and his eyes, those button-downs he always wears…” you smile at yourself, these were silly things, “Even his beard.”

And then you hear him shuffle, and a light sound is emitted.

It startles you, but silence ensues again thereafter. Maybe you imagined it.

“I like his kindness too. People would usually say strong or giving, but that’s what I like to tell him— that he’s kind. I think he’s kinder than other people give him credit for. He’s just protective. Everyone, and especially himself, we put a lot of pressure on him to make the hard decisions, but, really…” and there it is, “that's not the only way I think about him. There are things–” your throat tightens again– “ things that I think about. And things that I do.” Your eyes screw tight as you force yourself to say it, “I touch myself.”

Another bout of silence comes before the question.

One you’d never suspect.

“Can you describe it?” The voice asks, dark and curious.

The cool spring air of the night turns cold, but it adds no relief to the summer heat that burns in your heart as it begins to beat painfully. The texture in his voice, the inflection at the end that lined the sentence as a request, it rings through one ear and out the other and back again in a cycle.

You knew who it was.

“What?” You shriek so lightly as if playing dumb would help you now. He knew who you were talking about, you made it so desperately obvious.

“Can you,” he repeats steadily, “describe it?”

“I… shouldn’t.”

“What other better time could there be?” You can’t tell if he truly means it. His voice remains firm and lets out no hints of his true intentions, but despite doubt, you start anyway. He’s right after all, you’re in here because there hasn’t been a better time.

“I- I start by touching up my thighs, trailing up slowly… I always get so nervous… I never do it fast because I know I shouldn’t do it while thinking about you- about him,” you correct yourself, squeezing your thighs together, your hands gripping the bench tightly.

“But you do it anyway.”

“I do,” you reply meekly.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I can't.”

“What happens when you finally reach all the way up?”

“Gotta touch myself.”

He puts his hands on his knees, making sure his voice stays leveled. “Where do you start?”

“Rubbing my clit.”

“Do it.”

And then you do. You truly can’t help it. Your fingers slide down your hips to the front of your heat, chilly fingers pressing up against your lips over your underwear.

He hears the little sigh as you finally allow your finger to reach your clit in between.

“How does it feel?”

“My fingers are cold right now, so,” a quick breathy laugh leaves you, “ good, really good.” You rub your fingers in slow circles, but your hand and hips jerk, forcing you to speed up, but you try, try to not seem so pathetic to yourself as if there was any attempt at going back now.

His voice’s a slight strain as he asks, “And what do you think about?” He starts to rub his thighs, feeling his cock stir to the side of his jeans, making the material feel tighter than it truly was. His fingers trail closer, knuckles brushing against his erection. He’s pretending like he can stop himself too. “What does he do in your head, sweetheart?”

“He watches,” you say as your movements speed up again. You really can’t help it now, his voice edges you on. Your hand goes under the band of your underwear, fingers collecting wetness below to bring up to your clit, “He’s standing at the edge of the bed,” you tell him, “he’s unbuttoning his shirt, and then he starts taking off his belt… He’s smiling.”

If only you knew that hearing how bad you wanted him was making him do the same thing on the other side.

You’re panting now, one foot comes up to the bench as you slide yourself over to press your back into the corner of the wall, your head tilting back as well, using the assistance to grind into your hand. “He thinks I��m pretty.”

“That's cause are.” He’s lowered his pants now and takes his cock out from under his boxers. Your words make his mouth gape and his eyes close as he begins to stroke himself. “You really are.”

His smile fades as he bites down on his lip lightly. You’re so needy for him and so desperate to admit it. It makes him feel powerful. Almost God-like, despite you both starring as the other’s tempter. So sweet and sinful the sounds you’re making are. How could he not give in? How could he not make you wet for him even at church and stroke his cock as it happens? You’re making it so easy with every whine and little moan you try to withhold. He could hear you getting restless, but he wants to make you want it more, “Keep goin’,” he tells you. “What’s happening now?”

“I put two fingers in,” you whine, “not big enough. Never enough.”

You let your two fingers stay inside you as you press your palm down on your pussy, rubbing your clit with the underside of your hand. You stop for a moment to take off your pants and underwear entirely, discarding it on the floor before you return to your spot. You put one leg up on the bench as you continue to finger yourself.

“I want him so bad.”

“How bad, sweetheart? What would you let him do?”

“Anything, Rick.” You say it louder than you intend, you’re losing yourself. “Anything for him.”

“Anything?”

“Everything.”

After that only nonsense comes out, simple sounds of desire and pleads. It was becoming too much to talk.

Rick felt the same. His hand on his shaft made quick and short movements, his lips parted and pink, more red on the bottom than the top from when bit his lip again at the words anything and everything for him. He repeated it in his mind, listening to your sweet little whines in the present. His head tilts so far back that it bangs on the wooden wall and he hisses.

It reminds him to compose himself.

Even after you let out another moan of his name, and he swears he could almost hear just how wet you are now, the squish of your fingers going in and out, louder and louder.

He swallows hard and takes a breath before he says, “What if I say I want you in here right now?”

That’s when your movements completely stop. You can hear the wind swirling again. You were speechless.

He turns to the netted window. You two can’t see each other but you know he’s looking. “C’mere.” He says slowly. “Now.”

And after that, your body takes control. Swift and instantaneous you move from your door to his, shutting it hard. You don’t even take a moment to look at him, it was too dark anyway, and that’s not what mattered. You’ve already dreamed of his curls, and the pierce of his blue eyes. You knew what he looked like. It’s time to know how he felt.

Rick takes off his shoes and fully lowers and discards his pants. Before he could even consider his shirt, you’re on top of him. You’re kissing his face, your lips and tongue missing his lips by just a little, but it doesn’t matter.

You begin to rock, your wet pussy making the length of his cock and thigh slick before it's even inside of you. You couldn’t help yourself and it makes him laugh, all cocky and proud. Something that you’d cross your arms to, even quip back at in any other situation but right now, it’s so fucking hot.

His hands latch onto your hips, his legs slide back to hit the wall. He raises your frame and you grab him. Your sticky fingers lace around his dick and then you both lower yourself down onto him.

You try to bottom out fast, but his nails dig into you, slowing you down. Your face reaches back with a pout and a whine as he says, “Wait,” even after he’s inside of you.

Your pussy quakes around him. You’re both trying to hold it together, but he’s faring much better than you.

His hand holds your jaw, thumbs caressing your cheeks and a tear falls from your eye, all the sensations becoming too much.

His eyes trail the sight as it rolls down and he tells you, “You’re right. I do think you’re beautiful.”

And he kisses you. Tongue slipping past your lips just as quickly as they depart, going to whisper in your ear: “Go on now,” he smiles, “show me everything.”

You begin to rock against him instantly. Initiating the kiss this time, your tongue slips into his mouth but his goes on top of yours. He grabs the back of your neck, deepening it, and you continue to take charge below as you ride him.

You squeeze around his cock tightly with every movement forward and you hear a strangled groan come out of him as his dick twitches at the sensation.

It makes you moan so loudly, you could wake somebody up.

But it doesn't matter.

You could even come right now just from feeling him inside you for the first time.

And it doesn’t matter.

“I've wanted you for so long, Rick!” You tell him.

He’s all that matters.

“You’ve got me.” He tells you breathlessly, kissing down your neck with his hand tugging on your hair. “You always could’ve.”

Now you know you’re all that matters too.

Your head tilts to the side, eyes closed, and mouth open for each pretty sigh and slight hiss that come out as he bites and kisses.

His hands lower to the hem of your shirt and he pulls it off. You start to undo the buttons on his too.

It’s fast and rushed and messy, but now your chests can meet. You press into him. Your hips are rocking hard. Your clit meets his pelvic bone making you whine and moan again. “Really good,” you say.

Rick’s hands slide to grab your ass, helping you go faster until they rise to your hips again. His thumbs press into the crevice of your hips and legs and he starts to bounce you on him.

You grip onto his arms, assisting him in his efforts. Your eyes are still closed, you’re smiling— already in a state of bliss, yet relishing in the fact that he was pushing you further and further into the dream-like feeling that was to come: your orgasm was close, and the string of airy moans made it evident to you both.

The way his hands move to caress your waist, trail up your back, roll over your arms, and back down again feels like gliding on ice. You felt him everywhere.

“Come on,” he tells you.

“I'm trying, I want to.”

“I know,” he affirms. He takes hold of your upper arms, letting his hands slide down to yours that tightly gripped his biceps and placed them on his shoulders.

You bounce yourself down on him harder, switching it up to rock on him and give your clit attention, then repeat it again.

Once you’re back to bouncing Rick takes one hand on your hip, helping you go faster while the other rubs your clit as vigorously as he can.

Your mouth is open wide, pants and squirms, and pleads coming out wildly. You almost feel like you’re making the whole box jump along with you as you bounce, and bounce, and bounce, and then… there it is: you shout his name and he speaks back to you, you both come together and ride out your high.

A glow emits as you smile, your head crashing into his as you catch your breath.

Then a noise erupts.

The church door closes.

Steps become louder and louder until they reach the open confession box door.

Rick puts his finger to your lips, silently quieting you both. Your eyes are owl wide knowing what the person in the next section would find in there. You almost squirm but Rick slots his finger into your mouth to stop it. “Quiet,” he mouths as the person next to you drops the wet garments they just touched, almost running out of the place as fast as they could.

You lower your face to his shoulder. Embarrassed, you sigh, “What are we gonna do now?”

Rick is unfazed: “Well,” he starts, picking you up by the hips, securing your legs as you wrap them around him, “we could do this one more time.”

He locks the church door and then walks you down the aisle and onto the podium, placing you gently on the ground. He’s standing above you. Just like it all your daydreams.

It was his turn now.

[moonstruckme]

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

hii!! first off i wanna say congrats on 5k you deserve it so much!! can i do remus lupin and fake dating please and ty!

Thanks so much lovely!

cw: alcohol

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 969 words

“Your favorite color is green,” you say, passing Remus a glass of champagne. 

His brow twitches as he takes it from you, holding it by the stem like an adult. You adjust your grip on yours accordingly. “What?” 

“Your friend Sirius cornered me by the bar. I panicked.” 

“Ah.” Remus tucks a tongue into his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth, and takes a sip. “I’ve always told him I didn’t have a favorite.” 

You chew your lip, nodding. “Okay. That’s okay, we can just say you told me because you’re, like, so into me.” 

He chuckles. “So into you I divulged to you the deep, dark secret of my favorite color?” 

“Mhm. Think he’ll buy it?” 

“He might, actually.” He takes another sip of his champagne, and you remember to have a bit of yours. You could probably use it. Remus looks perfectly composed, and surprisingly dapper in his suit, done up to the top button with the collar just barely brushing a thin, pale scar circling a third of his neck. Contrastly, you’re a jumble of nerves. “Sirius likes to think I’m holding out on them, it might fit into his narrative that I’d kept it a secret all these years.” 

“And if he does figure it out, we could probably just tell him, right?” you ask, and somehow your champagne is half gone. Damned duplicitous, narrow glasses. 

Remus’ smile softens as it bubbles down your throat, and you know he can read what you’re thinking on your face. You’re a shit actress, an even worse liar. You’re going to ruin this for him. 

“We could,” he says, “but he’ll only tell James.” 

“Really?” You look at the man still standing by the bar, now chatting with a blonde you don’t know but suspect in a few minutes will have to pretend you’ve heard Remus talk about a million times. Sirius has managed to wear a leather jacket to a wedding, thrown on right after the reception in what Remus has informed you is typical fashion for him. He grins with one half of his mouth as he talks, flashing canines when he really means it. “He doesn’t strike me as a narc.” 

Remus steps closer to you as someone moves past him, lowering his voice. You can smell his cologne, woody and vaguely sweet. “He’s not. He and James tell each other everything, though.” 

“Oh. That’s sweet, actually.” 

James is the one you’re really here for. It’s his wedding, and months ago when he and his fiancee sent out invitations he’d asked if Sirius or Remus would need a plus-one. Sirius said yes immediately, and by some manner you can’t say you understand but Remus assures you is very typical of them, this evidently devolved into a bet on whether Remus could actually find a date that met his standards and that he was willing to ask to come to the wedding with him. 

As it turns out, Remus is more competitive than you would have guessed. 

According to James and Sirius, no one is ever good enough for him. You’re here to disprove that, though you don’t love that your work crush asked you out because he couldn’t find anyone he wanted to actually date. Still, Remus is your friend, and you were never going to say no to helping him. If you’d known you’d get to see him in this suit, you probably would have said yes even faster. 

“Do you want another?” Remus asks, and you look down to find your champagne glass is empty. 

“Oh my gosh, sorry.” You set the glass down on a nearby table, embarrassment a tickle over your skin. “Yeah, probably best not.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He tilts his head at you, smiling in that gentle, kind way of his. “You’re here not on a job, love, you should have a good time.” 

“I feel like I am, a little bit.” Your laugh bubbles out of you easily, fizzy like the champagne. “I want to at least act like someone your friends believe you could be interested in.” 

“Just be yourself,” Remus reassures you. “They’ll believe it.” 

Something in your gut flitters at what that could mean. You don’t let yourself think on it. “What if I wanted to dance?” 

He smiles. “Then you should do that.” 

“But would you dance with me?” 

“I would hold your things for you.” His grin takes on a sheepish quality. “Find a chair to watch with all the other lame boyfriends.” 

You tsk. “You’re not lame, Remus.” He looks like he wants to contradict you, but he kisses his teeth instead. “I think I’d rather stay with you, if that’s alright. We can go sit in chairs amongst the lame boyfriends if you like.” 

Remus considers you for a moment. The sky has turned a deep blue around you, the string lights hung up around the space casting a warm glow that filters through his hair and makes it appear more golden than brown. “I would go dance with you if you wanted me to,” he admits. 

You blink. “Really?” 

“Well, maybe not dance so much as hold both our drinks and stand near you while you danced, but I want to stay with you, too.” Remus glances away from your eyes for a moment, a shyness you haven’t seen since you first met in his expression. “If you want to dance, I’ll go with you.” 

You take his hand on impulse, the scars and calluses of his skin alternately rough and smooth between your palms. “I don’t want to make you,” you tell him earnestly, “but I really do want to dance.” 

Remus looks to the side, his smile almost begrudging. “You’re not making me,” he says. 

You end up getting another glass of champagne after all.

[sang-i-fetge]

List of Jason Todd/Red Hood's weapons/gadgets/touys

Note: This is mostly from comics written by Winick, as I refuse to acknowledge most of n52. Feel free to add more, though!

Note2: This post was originally formatted in a different way, as I foolishly forgot about the image limit.

Blades

1— His iconic dagger!

Can cut through stone, and most of Batman's gear. It's been heavily debated what kind of knife it is; wether a kris, a parrying dagger, or a third secret thing.

2— The blades he gives Mia to defend herself!

I'm not sure what kind of blade they are, they vaguely look like wakizashis? Their size varies from panel to panel so idk😔

3— The katana for the 'duel' with Oliver!

4— And to link with the next section, the exploding katana!

Yes, it's a katana that explodes. Jason baits Oliver into holding it.

Explosives

— First of all, he blows up many many things and it's not specified what exactly he uses. So the unspecified explosives that only appear as a cool fireball panel get a bullet point.

5— The jumble of explosives in the Final Confrontation™️, we can see some dynamite, C4...

6— Bomb in a crate

7— Small bomb. Not lethal!

8— Bigger bomb. Yes lethal.

9— Continuing with this absolute icon: the bomb under the Batmobile (should I capitalize that?)

10— Small Rocket, used against Brick

11— Grenade?

12— Small, cylinder-shaped explosives. Detonated upon impact?

13— Small explosive that attaches to flat surfaces, used against Dr Freeze

14— Grenade.

15— Molotov Cocktail

16— Enough C4 to destroy a whole building, modded so it explodes if its temperature reaches one point, countering Batman's method of freezing bombs.

17— My absolute favorite, the exploding helmet!

Even if it's listed under 'explosives', it's also an important piece of technology in the Red Hood's arsenal.

Firearms

18, 19— The guns in the wall from Annual #25, there's surely more.

20— Machine guns hidden in crates!

21— Machine guns hidden in cars!

22— Rocket launcher, used against Black Mask

23— Even more hidden machine guns! This time in an electricity pole.

24— Machine gun (also hidden, but surprisingly not attached to anything)

25— Handgun👍

26— AK-47, you know the panel from where it's from

27— Submachine guns, I think 🙂

28— When out of ammo he uses his guns as blunt weapons, which I wanted to note

Tasers

29— The nazi-killing taser

30— The reason for the creation of this post! The grapple line taser! Attach it to a grapple line and it will shock whoever is connected to it. Noticed it in a reread of utrh and needed people to see it

31— Bonus: the bat-symbol taser. Iconic enough to be here.

Tech & Surveillance

32— Monitor and microphone?

33, 34— cameras :)

35— thing to see the feed of the cameras

36, 37— phones :)

38— his little tech den in #650

39, 40— computers :)

41— whatever this thing is

42— The surveillance device that looks like he taped a canon camera to his face

43— Wiretaps!

44— Bugs!

He also has his evil lair in B&R2009 bugged.

Miscellaneous

45— Does his crowbar count

46— smoke bomb!!

47— Injectable adrenaline. He just has that in his utility belt.

48— His batmobile-evade suit.

49— Is saying his belt buckle mean

50— Unspecified poison! Goodbye Egon

51— This thing that attaches to its target and launches them off

Not pictured:

The fancy weapon dressing he gives onyx to patch up the shoulder wound he inflicted (I forgot to screenshot 💔)

Also, he has this whole hq-ish thing in Annual #25

(Edit: That rectangle in the gun wall kinda looks like an anti-drone gun now that I think abt it)

It has a murder board, which I think is cute.

[sydneystarlights]

The Viper | Ashur and his ties to the chantry

Wanted to compile a post with all possible references I've found (so far) to Viper being the Black Divine both in game and from other sources (I’m brainroting hard and need to ramble.)

In game connections

Starting with the most obvious connection, the Venatori Message by Bataris found during the quest “The Tempered Soul, Everlasting” to save the captured Viper that states that the venatori have heard rumours that the Vipers true identity is that of the scion of the Vesperians, the fruit of at least 4 bloodlines.

And the Cult Victim you rescue during the “Last Rites” prelude quest says that the Venatori mentioned that killing the Viper at the Temple of Andraste specifically would “suit him” thus starting the quest “The Tempered Soul, Everlasting”

Viper himself is confirmed to be a Highblood mage “Born and bred” during the argument he has with Tarquin and that fits with him being the scion of the Vesperians.

Side note-

The tile of the quest to save Viper “The Tempered Soul, Everlasting” is taken from the Chant of Light: Canticle of Exaltations 1:8 "Whatsoever passes through the fire Is not lost, but made eternal; As air can never be broken nor crushed, The tempered soul is everlasting!"

Which ties into saving Viper from being executed at the Temple of Andraste, but also could tie into his connection with the Chantry itself.

In the Codex entry: Different Flavors of Andraste Harding mentions that the current divine is Aequitas II and the youngest son of Corimer Vesperian as mentioned in the codex Neve’s Case Notes: Maevaris Tilani. Said Case note codex further elaborates on how Aequitas II Vesperian was supportive of Maevaris and Dorian’s Lucerni faction.

In an ambient conversation between Tarquin and Viper, Tarquin directly implies that Viper has at least some power in the Chantry, asking him why he cannot do anything about Knight-Commander Lenos since Lenos answers to the Chantry.

The Vesperians have ties to house Tilani. Maevaris taking the Lucerni underground and the Viper happening to be one of the leaders on par with both her and Dorian is noteworthy.

With Viper having power in the Chantry, the Venatori rumours about him being Aequitas II, him being a highblood like the Divine is, and his closeness with Dorian and Maevaris him being the Black Divine fits.

Datamines

Now, the datamined lines are cut content and not present in the final game, but with all the evidence that is already in the game they're important to note.

Firstly, a direct quote remarking on Viper being the Divine 

(shout out to amirdrassil on twitter for originally posting this script line and starting my downward spiral into the insanity of spending hours going over the script myself and going through frosty editor for the game files)

Second script thing is from a whole conversation between what seems to be Rook, Viper, and Lucanis where Viper is referred to as “Your Holiness”

The conversation is pretty jumbled with how the scripts formatted but it seems like Viper might?? of been Lucanis contact who found out where Zara was for him, since Zara is found in the Treviso Chantry. 

The Third is a reference to his “The Tempered Soul, Everlasting” quest, it's unclear who is speaking the lines but it directly comments on Vipers ties to the Chantry.

[Editing to add another script pic] While these lines from mae to viper are vague, with the codex that mentions that house Tilani has ties to the Vesperians it felt relevant enough to add.

Extras

This section is more or less unrelated conjecture but still some fun things to note.

On page 206 of the art book Docktown is described as "We thought of it like Gotham City from Batman: The Animated Series. A less-grim Sin City with magic instead of guns.”

And on page 208 Viper is described as Minrathous’s equivalent of the Shadow.

The Shadow is one of Batman's main inspirations drawing a clear parallel between docktown and gotham and Viper and Batman. The Vipers secret identity then being of someone of very high importance further fits with the Batman thing he has going on, since Bruce Wayne isn't just a generic normal rich guy he’s on another standing from that. (Also the picture of Viper no mask and with hair looks so similar to depictions of bruce wayne haha)

Bonus things I'm including for fun that have vipers religion influencing things he does: Viper repeating a part of the Chant of Light: Canticle of Trials 1:2 during the memorial for the dead shadow dragons.

And the codex on the pawn shop and how Viper totally chose it partially due to its relevance to Shartan and Andraste, adorable.

[selfishgiirl]

Home With You; Cooper Adams

You have a hard time with your job. Not because Riley isn’t a good kid, but because her father is so goddamn hot—a DILF, if you will.

#sorry if this is ass

You’re a broke college student, so naturally, you take up babysitting for Mr. Adams’—who insists you call him Cooper—little girl.

Riley is a sweet girl, plus she’s easy to watch and get along with. At times it feels like you’re scamming Mr. Adams, Cooper, just because you actually really like and enjoy Riley, plus he pays you ridiculously.

Sometimes you try to refuse some of the money—not all, you’ve still got books to pay for—but he doesn’t let you.

He works weird hours as a firefighter, so it’s usually late when he comes home to Riley asleep and you either sleeping on the couch, watching TV, or doing homework, as you are now.

It’s about midnight when Cooper opens the door, finding you at the table typing away at your laptop. At the sound of the door, your head whips up and the miserable expression you’d had previously is replaced with a soft smile and Cooper hangs up his keys meticulously before making his way to you, “Hey.” He greets, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stands over you. “How was she?”

“Good, Miste…,uh, Cooper—,” You correct your mistake, and something akin to amusement flickers in his expression, “—like always. We worked on that math she was having trouble on, I think she’s almost got it down. How was work?”

“Ah, the usual. Mostly paperwork.” He answers, eyes not leaving yours, which makes you swallow and you wanna shy away, but you don’t. “What about you, how’s your homework? You didn’t look too happy when I walked in.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, embarrassed that he’d noticed your misery in working on a paper. “Right, yeah, I’m just not having a good time writing my paper. Just a little stressed s’all.” He nods at this, and then seems to be thinking about what he’s going to say next.

“It, uh, it isn’t that boy is it?” Cooper inquires and you immediately break eye contact at his words. Fuck, you totally forgot you mentioned him. “He’s not causing you any stress, is he?”

It’s so embarrassing for your hot boss to ask you about some boy you’d stupidly told him about when he’d asked what had been going in your life a week previously. Sheepishly, you pick at your sweater. “Not really.” You shrug, and at your vagueness, he waits for you to continue. “I stopped seeing him. He wasn’t—it didn’t work out.” By now your face is hot in humiliation at confiding in him about some guy you talked to in order to get over your attraction to Cooper, which hadn’t worked and instead made it worse.

“I see.” Cooper says, and he seems to tower over you even more in the moment. “What happened?” He puts a hand on your shoulder and your eyes linger on it. You can’t help but notice how large his hand is on your shoulder, and his fingers—“Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly at your silence, assuming it was a sensitive subject. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Your eyes widen at this, “Oh no, it’s fine, really!” You jumble out and his embarrassed look shifts to a relieved expression. “He was just kinda on a different page than I was, I guess.” You stumble a bit when he begins to rub his hand on your shoulder, “W-wanted more from me than…I was willing to give.” You mumble the last part sheepishly, and Cooper’s expression is unreadable at your words. His lips are pursed and his eyes seem darker than they usually are.

“Boys your age, they don’t know what they’re doing.” He finally speaks after a moment of eye contact you find to be a little too intimate with his hand on your shoulder, and instinctively you press your thighs together. “Not with girls like you.”

Your breath catches at that, and your brain stops functioning before you snort. “And guys your age do?” The moment those words tumble out your mouth, your eyes widen in realization of what you said, mouth parting to excuse yourself, but you can’t seem to find the words.

Cooper stops rubbing your shoulder, hand stilling. “Men my age do, yeah.” You’re looking at him through your lashes, dazed at this point as his eyes bore into you. His hand trails up your shoulder, brushing your neck, before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes are searching your own for any signs of rejection as his hand gently cups your face.

Your own hands find solace in your lap as your thighs squeeze as hard as they can against each other, and you shift a bit uncomfortably at the pressure between them. “Mr. Adams…”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Cooper?” He asks in a voice barely above a whisper before his hand picks up again, fingers lightly tracing your jawline before his thumb finds its place on your bottom lip, swiping it, before pushing gently against your mouth. Your lips part in compliance, and his thumb presses itself into your mouth, to which you suck lightly. His lips quirk up, “You’re always so eager to please, aren’t you?”

As if you’d just gained consciousness at his teasing, your eyes widen, and you release his thumb from your mouth before standing up abruptly. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.” You refuse to look at him, face hot and tears beginning to form as you back yourself into the wall. “This is so unprofessional, please, Mr. Adams I—,”

“Come on, look at me—please, sweetheart?” You obediently look up at him to see him smiling gently as he steps closer. “Don’t be sorry.” Cooper whispers, towering over you before cupping your cheeks with both hands, then wiping away the runaway tears. “Say the word and I’ll stop.” He tells you before leaning in, lips meeting yours in a gentle, chaste kiss that you don’t immediately respond to as your brain processes what’s going on. Every sense of yours is on fire before you finally kiss back eagerly, hands gripping onto his—very broad—shoulders for support.

“Cooper,” you breathe out, eyes blown out as you search his own dilated eyes. His hands trail down your face, then lightly ghost over your chest, then find their place on your waist. Once again, you find yourself squeezing your thighs together to help relieve yourself of the pressure, which Cooper observes and finds endearingly pathetic. “Kiss me again.” A plead, at best.

He obliges you, but this time the kiss is more hungry as his body presses harder into your own, cornering you against the wall.

You pull away for a moment to breathe before he presses his lips to yours again, deepening the kiss when he tilts his head, and you desperately kiss back, moaning lightly when tongue gets added to the mix. Your hips buck up into his, meeting a certain hardness clothed by his jeans, earning another whine from you.

When he begins to pull away, you get bold this time, biting his lip lightly, before looking up through your lashes with those doe eyes of yours. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in deliciously, sure to leave light marks and the thought makes you shiver.

As you ponder the bruises you’re sure you’ll find the next morning, he hoists you up, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck while your legs wrap around his waist. You knew he was strong, but Jesus, to experience it this way was..well…hot, to say the least.

He presses a teasing kiss to your lips before trailing his lips down, then pressing into your chin, then your neck. First, he kisses a spot on your neck, then he sinks his teeth in lightly, causing you to gasp and your hips to buck up unsuccessfully in his hold.

His lips suction over the spot he’d bit, then his tongue presses flat against the same spot, and he continues this all over the map of your neck. “I..you can’t..I’m gonna have marks all over me..” You barely get out, voice weak in protest—you and he both know you don’t actually care.

“Good.” He mutters against your skin, nipping briefly before pulling away. “I want that boy to see them—fuck, you don’t know—,” he pauses and sets you down before nudging your legs open with his knee, then presses his leg against your center, earning a strangled noise from you, “—how I felt when you told me about him.”

Your breath catches at this. He was jealous. He was jealous of that guy you briefly even mentioned to him the week before. His thigh nudges you, and you gasp before allowing yourself relief by grinding down in response, lightly moaning. “I was only trying to get over you.” You reveal to him, and Cooper looks pleased with what you said, eyes glinting. “He tried to fuck me, but he wasn’t y-you.” His leg presses harder into you. “When he kissed me, you were all I thought about.”

“I should have taken care of you sooner.” Cooper licks his lips, keeping one hand gripped on your hip and he guides it against his thigh, and the other finds its place on your neck, before gripping your face to force you to look at him when you begin to shy away, getting embarrassed at your own grinding. “So eager, getting off on my thigh like this.”

You shudder before nodding frantically, cheeks slightly mushed together in his grip. “Please, Cooper,” You beg, “please it’s not enough.” At this point you’re close to tears at the stimulation that’s just enough to relieve a bit of the throbbing between your legs, but not enough to actually get off.

“What do you want?” He’s cruel and he knows it, a sick smirk etching itself onto his face as he revels in your squirming. You can’t even get out a sentence, growing more flustered and desperate the more friction you get. “Come on, sweetheart. You can use your words can’t you?”

“Your fingers, anything, please!” You squeak out, tears almost brimming, “Please just touch me, sir.” It’s an accident that you say that, your brain’s too foggy to really think about what you’re saying, but nonetheless his breathing gets uneven and his fingers twitch against your face.

“Say it again.” He drawls in a voice just barely above a whisper as his hand trails from your face to the bottom of your sweater. His fingers lightly trace the waistband of your jeans, lightly brushing your bare hipbone before trailing up your stomach, then cupping your breast over the flowery bra you have on. He relishes in the light whine that you let out.

“Sir, please..” you supply before pushing your hips up, and he finally obliges you, a hand reaching down your pants at first, teasing you over your panties before he undoes the button of your jeans, pulling them just barely past your thighs. You look down, embarrassed that you have on some unsexy pair of panties. You really wish you’d worn your lace panties, not the pair that read out Thursday.

“It’s not Thursday.” He chuckles, amused at your choice of panties. You’re not as amused, just desperate as you whine at his teasing, hands gripping his shirt tightly.

“Just tou—!” Your complaint is cut off when he brushes his finger over your clit over the cotton of your panties. He’s still teasing, and as your about to whine again, he reaches his hand under the Thursday panties, his middle finger beginning to rub over your clit. You let out a slightly loud whine and his unoccupied hand covers your mouth.

“Can’t be too loud, sweetheart.” He mutters, eyes fixated onto your own as your eyebrows pinch together and your eyelids flutter. “So sensitive.”

You nod keenly, a silent beg. With one hand, he pulls down your panties before pushing the pointer finger of his hand covering your mouth against your lips in a shushing motion, then he kneels down, his face level with your lower region.

You’re looking down at him in shock before his mouth latches onto your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth and his hands grip onto your thighs, spreading them further.

Your hand flies over your mouth and you close your eyes tightly as your hips begin to buck into his face. One hand stays on your hip, keeping you in place while the other trails lower, his thumb tracing the slit of your cunt before a finger enters you, stretching you deliciously.

“Jesus,” he mutters as his mouth detaches from you for a moment while his finger pumps, easily hitting that sweet spot in you, “so fuckin’ tight.”

His tongue laps over you as a second digit enters you, setting itself at a ruthless pace hitting that spongy spot inside of you. It’s almost too much and you attempt to squeeze your legs shut, but his hand tightly gripping your thigh prevents your legs from closing. It won’t be long before you cum and he knows that, slowing for a moment to hear you whine before picking it up again.

“Mr. Adams, please, sir—oh, God.” your voice comes out as quiet as you can make it, “Wanna cum.” You warble out and your legs begin to give, “Please, please..”

In response to your pleads, he curls his fingers against your g-spot, making you whine out into the palm of one of your hands while the other rakes through his hair and tugs. His mouth is still latched onto your cunt, tongue beginning to press flat against your clit.

You let out one last muffled moan before coming, legs once again attempting to shut as he works you through your orgasm, fingers moving at a faster pace and somehow reaching deeper than you believed to be possible.

His tongue also picks up, and you begin to twitch and whine at the overstimulation. “It’s too much,” you pant out between your fingers, but he doesn’t let up—even at the rough tugging of his hair. “I can’t, Cooper, please..!”

At this, he finally lets up, fingers slipping out of you and mouth detaching. You’re still panting and at this point you feel boneless, taking your hand from his hair and steadying yourself against the wall instead.

Cooper rises to your height and without warning sticks his sticky fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself as your whimper around his fingers, obediently sucking. He wears that cruel smile again before stroking your head with his unoccupied hand. “You should stay the night. It’s too late to drive.”

[thef1diary]

omg omg omg you've got me gasping at the way you ended the last dirtbag!danny and i need more.

like maybe how he would tell reader, or maybe reader would notice a slight change and maybe ask about it.

— Hi nonnie!! ahh im so happy you liked it! This thought is soo interesting because the way I see dirtbag!danny, I don’t think he is the type to sit you down and have a heart-to-heart. Instead, he’d let it build n build until it boils over, all his thoughts jumbling up together as he speaks until he’s confused, and you’re confused. Lil ramble under the cut <3

It’s not his style to just come up to you and tell you what’s bothering him. Nah, it’s going to fester, like this slow build up of little moments that just sting until he can’t hold it in anymore.

You start noticing the changes though. Like, at first, it’s subtle—he’s less cocky, not as quick to throw out his usual dirty quips. Maybe he’s pulling back a bit during the moments you’d normally joke around or tease him. He’ll still show up, still do all the things he always does, but there’s an edge to it now. Maybe he’s a little sharper with his tone when you make plans with friends and don’t invite him.

And you’re confused because this isn’t the Daniel you’re used to. Dirtbag!danny doesn’t get moody. He doesn’t sulk. So, naturally, you’re going to ask what’s wrong, right? But instead of answering, he just brushes you off with a sarcastic, “Nothing, sweetheart, you’re overthinking it,” or something equally frustrating.

But then it happens. One of those little moments that really tips him over, the tension just creeping in without either of you realizing.

Maybe it’s a random night, and you’re just talking, casually filling the quiet while he’s sitting on the arm of the couch, scrolling through his phone. You tell him about something your friend said earlier. “She was going on about how great it is to have someone stable, you know? Like, all the pros of being in a real relationship—security, consistency, all that stuff.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “She’s convinced I need to find someone like that. Like I’d even want all that right now. It was… kind of funny, honestly.”

You expect him to smirk, maybe toss out some cheeky comment about how you’ve got all the security you need right here. But he doesn’t. Instead, his whole body tenses, and he lets out this short, humourless laugh, shaking his head.

“Funny, huh?” His voice is sharp, biting, and it makes you pause, blinking up at him. “What’s so funny about it?”

You frown, sitting up a little. “What’s with you? It’s not that deep, Danny, I was just—”

“Not that deep?” he snaps, cutting you off. He stands up abruptly, running a hand through his curls, his frustration spilling over. “You’re sitting here laughing about it, like it’s some big joke, but maybe it’s not so damn funny to me.”

You’re caught off guard, the words hitting you out of nowhere. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you sit there and joke about ‘stability’ and ‘security’ like it’s some foreign concept, like what we’re doing is just…” He gestures vaguely, his voice dropping, bitter. “Just fun, nothing else.”

“Isn’t it?” you challenge, your voice softer but no less pointed.

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he just stares at you, the tension crackling between you. Then he scoffs, his voice low and cutting. “Yeah… sure, nevermind. I’m not your boyfriend anyway, right? Isn’t that what you tell everyone?”

And it’s such a Daniel way of trying to explain it, right? Like, he doesn’t come out and admit what he’s actually feeling. Instead, it comes out as anger, frustration, because he’s spent months telling himself it doesn’t bother him. That you calling this just fun was fine because that’s what he signed up for. But deep down? It does bother him, and now you know it.

You just sit there, stunned for a second, trying to process what he just said. Because it’s not like you didn’t notice the change—you just didn’t realize how much it was eating at him. And now it’s out there, hanging in the air between you, and you’re left wondering what to even say to that. Do you brush it off, like you think you should do? Or is this the moment where everything shifts?

Because honestly, even Daniel doesn’t know what he wants. He’s upset, yeah, maybe even a little mad at himself for letting his odd feelings get in the way—feelings that he doesn’t even understand yet—but he’s also scared. Scared that you’ll agree with him, that you’ll tell him he’s right, and that this really is just casual to you. But he’s also terrified that you’ll say something else, something more, and then what? What does he even do with that? It’s messy, it’s complicated, and it’s so very Daniel.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your latest thoughts n rambles and go through the #dirtbag!danny tag for any missed blurb n fics <3

[reidslovely]

Something about helping frat!blonde! Peter touch up his roots. Like he calls you and reader must think its for hooking up purposes - then he surprises her w “can you. uh..retouchmyrootsplease” and she’s like “??? 🤨wat” and you just go over to his place and spend time with him, washing his hairr, he making eye contact with reader through the mirror, etc. But he’s still stubborn about his feelings so he’s like “this was a one time thing only don’t let it get to ya head”

sorry if this was jumbled I just had this in my head for a while now

Yes this idea is so so so so so cute. I have written something vaguely similar before but I love it so much I don't care to write it again

please reblog or comment in place of liking/hearting this post 🫶🏼

“Pete?” You questioned picking up your phone, your eyes locked on the clock that read 4:00pm. “It’s far too early for a booty call..what’s up pretty?” 

“Ya flatter bashful.” His chesty laugh could be heard on the other end of the phone. It sent your heart doubling in speed, your cheek pressed lovingly into your shoulder. 

“You still with me bashful? I need you to do me a favor.” 

“So this is a hookup call..you only ask me that if-” You're cut off by him rushing out a string of words. None of which you caught. “Pete..baby. I need you to breathe and say that again.” You laughed softly, already gathering your stuff up to head over to the Theta Tau. Regardless if this was a hookup situation or not you were tired of your homework and Peter always seems to take any type of stress away. 

“Can you uh..” There's an awkward cough and sigh. “Retouchmyrootsplease?” 

The questions still came out as one word this time around but at least you actually caught what he was saying. 

“Sure, Pete.” You tried not to laugh. “Do you have what you need or do we need to run by Sally?” 

“No, no I have everything here for you. Thanks for this.”

“Course Pete, anything for you.” You hung up before you could get any type of snarky reply. 

Peter’s blond locks were a new addition about three weeks into your situation ship and you absolutely loved them. They flattered his face, and made his little baby deer eyes even more baby deer like. Which made you want to kiss him even more, and made it hard to say no when he’s asking you for another round. 

“You’re literally the best for this. Just moved up to like number two in my ranking.”

It was a joke, you were easily number one if not the only girl in Peter’s ranking but you have to play along or else you’ll scare him away. 

“Offended, whose number one.”

“May..sorry.” Peter sighs dramatically, leading you up the stairs to his bathroom. Tossing a few nods and hey’s to his brothers walking down the steps. 

“Mhm can’t be mad at that.” 

Peter laughed sitting on the chair he’d tucked away in the bathroom, pulling off his shirt. 

“Awe did you go ahead and set everything up for me?”

“No I was gonna do it myself but that's how we ended up in this scenario in the first place.”

Peter would never admit to it but he had set everything up for you. He’d done it before he even picked up the phone: not that he knew you'd say yes but he could hope. 

“Mhm I see.” You hummed running your fingers through Peter’s hair. He grabbed his phone starting his music, looking at you in the mirror as you started sectioning his hair out. 

Admittedly the whole time he was locked on you. Every move you made he was locked on you, not wanting to miss a moment. His head lolled back as you ran; you painted the bleach on his roots. Earning soft little ‘stops’ and ‘hold your head up’ from you as he relaxed. Your eyes were fixed on his hair making sure you’re applying everything evenly and correctly. Peter held his phone up in the mirror snapping a quick photo of the two of you. The photo falling amongst the others he’s sneakily taken of you or the both of you that you had no clue about. 

“Okay you gotta sit for a while and then I’ll wash it, tone it, all that after.” You said sitting on the toilet lid next to him taking the gloves off, tossing them in the trash can. 

“This is nice.” 

Peter's comment threw you off, you two only really hung out in the context of having sex or it being mutually beneficial for both. You hated to admit you had more moments like this. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm no pressure, at least not for you. I still gotta make jokes and keep you entertained.” 

“Tragic.” You tsked resting your arm on the sink hand to head as your free hand started a 30 minute timer. 

“Come on, we have enough time to watch some of that Hulu cooking show you like.” Peter stood taking your hand in his walking to his room. You flopped down on Pete’s bed watching him sitting next to you. “Careful you’ll get bleach on your..”

“No no, I'm good sitting up.”

You nodded and laid your head on his lap watching The Bear, Pete’s fingers combing through your hair switching between watching the TV and you. 

Pete’s head was tilted back in the sink, a towel under his neck for comfort. “Stop looking down my shirt, Parker.” 

“I’m not…I’m not.” He lied, turning his eyes up to look at you as you shampooed after toning his hair. “Do I look fabulous?”

“Oh absolutely.” You laughed wrapping his hair up in a towel helping him sit up. Ruffling the towel through his hair you laughed watching it sticking up every which way. You blow dried it for him smiling and singing under your breath as you fixed his hair perfectly. 

“How do you feel Parker?” 

“Amazing..I look great thanks bashful.” He says turning around, capturing your hips in his hands. “Let's get dinner, and then we can come back here.” 

“I hate sex after dinner.” 

“No, no we come back here and finish the show.” 

“Oh I get to come back to the Theta house? And not have sex?” You fake a gasp of shock. 

“I know it’s a rare occurrence. This is a one time thing though, don’t let it get to ya head.” Pete taunts, hand rubbing your side grabbing his wallet off his dresser.

“Oh baby it has.” 

Peter knew and even in his playful disdain and stubborn personality you were slowly craving a spot out in his chest and making a home in it, and at this point he had no say in it.

___________

tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @moonyslove78 @a-lumos-in-the-nox @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

[wickedsmille]

de-aged!Jason and it's tim's problem

Warnings for Jason being a wee little bean (sort of), Tim's super stellar skills with teenagers and the lack of any kind of editing. I wrote this and abandoned it so long ago but discovered it and was like aw, ok, s'kinda cute. :v

It's a tame gen fic with platonic cuddles and vague mentions to Jason and Tim's not so fantastic childhoods.

So. *vague hand wave*

He has ample reason to freak out because -

-------

“No. No way.” Tim is freaking out. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Jason demands. 

Except, it isn’t Jason because Jason is over six inches taller with over a hundred pounds of extra muscle. Jason is nearly Bruce’s size, not some long limbed, gangly teenager just starting to grow into his shoulders. Granted, the surly scowl and inner fire is all Jason, as is the narrow eyed suspicion. So is the far too large leather jacket and armor hanging off him and the domino barely holding on. It’s a small blessing he’d forwent his helmet for patrol. 

“Your worst nightmare,” Tim replies automatically. 

Realizing the inappropriateness of what he’s said, regardless of his always wanting to say it, makes him grimace because, yeah, for a while he kind of was Jason’s worst nightmare. They’ve slipped into something approaching civil co-workers since Jason decided to invade Titans Tower to test him via a vicious beatdown but they are nowhere near take care of each other after a magical mishap territory. 

At Tim’s words, Jason drops down lower into a fighting stance and squares up with Tim, unafraid and ready to brawl even if Tim is obviously trained because only the rare few decided to go out at night in a costume and mask without the skills to back it up. And Tim is bigger than Jason. By maybe an inch but he’ll take it. It’s still a victory considering adult, not magically de-aged Jason is a behemoth. 

Waving his hands frantically, Tim amends his previous statement. “That came out wrong.”

“How does ‘Your worst nightmare’ come out wrong?” Jason spits.

“Okay, tell me you’ve never wanted to quote a movie in the middle of a fight,” Tim shoots back.

Jason seems to chew on Tim’s words before he loosens up and stands though the tension refuses to leave and the wariness remains. “If you make one wrong move I’ll smack the shit out of you.”

“Been there, done that,” Tim says as his mouth gets away from him again. 

“Wait, what?”

Later, when he’s alone, Tim is going to bang his head against a wall and smother himself with his own pillow. He can’t <i>wait</i> so long as it makes him forget the misery that is this moment in which he can’t keep his mouth shut and he has a teenage Jason Todd staring him down like he’s crazy. Which, fair. None of the Bats are sane, per say.

“What do you remember?” Tim asks tiredly.

Jason chews over his words, coiled tight and still ready to strike. His gaze roves over Tim before he finally says, “I am. Was? Robin, I think. But I was just living on the street. So, I don’t,” Jason trails off, unsure. 

“So you remember some stuff from being Robin and some from before that but not everything?” Tim guesses.

Nodding hesitantly, Tim fights the urge to slap a hand to his head. Why not make things more complicated by not only taking years off Jason’s life but also jumbling the memories he does have? Tim doesn’t mind. This is perfectly fine. Without going over each detail, there’s no way to accurately tell how much Jason does or does not remember. It’s clear he remembers being Robin but not moving in with Bruce. The two things are so closely linked, it doesn’t bode well for what other holes are in Jason’s mind. But it’s fine. 

Tim decides not to say anything else and runs his hands through his hair. It’s a good thing Bruce isn’t in town, JL business as usual these days unless one of the big name Gotham Rogues starts causing trouble, or he’d be all over tiny Jason. There is one other plausible candidate to stick on Jason Duty. A candidate already in Gotham and primed for endless cuddles and forced bonding sessions since his newest victim is spending a few weeks respite at the Kent Farm. Dick is going to be ecstatic.

Reaching up, Tim turns his com back on and pretends like Jason doesn’t flinch. “Nightwing?”

“RR,” Dick greets cheerily. “What can I do you for?”

“I’ve got a situation.”

The shift between Dick the Brother and Nightwing the Protector is stark as he asks, “Are you in trouble?”

Hesitantly, Tim hedges, “Well, not <i>me</i>, but. You’ll want to see this. Meet us back at the Cave in twenty.”

“Us?”

Tim clicks off the com and mutes it. Sure, it’ll drive Dick up a wall to not know what’s going on but Tim doesn’t feel like getting badgered into telling the whole sordid tale of Red Robin and Red Hood getting bested by a two bit magician with a splintered down piece of wood and a pointed hat. Embarrassing would not even begin to cover it so he doesn’t fancy having anyone else drop into the conversation, Barbara.

The lesser of the two evils is obviously to let Dick stew in the knowledge that Tim is safe and whole but hiding a secret. There is no other possible resource. None that would save Tim’s already wounded and dying pride. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jason tells him harshly.

Tim fixes him with a flat look. “I’m not dealing with this, your brother can so you can either come with willingly or I’m tossing you over my shoulder and you’re still coming with.” How crazy is it to think he could easily carry Jason.

Jason tries to stare him down but Tim cocks a hip, crosses his arms and waits patiently. Eventually, Jason relaxes by inches. 

“Something happened to me, didn’t it?”

Tim can’t help but roll his eyes no matter how unfair it is to Jason since he can’t remember. “No,” Tim replies sarcastically, again knowing he’s being unfair but the universe started it by getting him into this mess. 

“You don’t need to be a bag of dicks.”

“You don’t need to use such language, young man.”

Jason looks like he sucked on something sour as he crosses his arms and hunches his shoulder inward. There’s a faint dusting of pink over his cheeks. It makes Tim feel a little bad. As far as he can tell, Jason is fifteen again, which sends a pang of hurt through Tim’s chest with the implications, which means he has all the false bluster and bravado that comes with being a teenager with the added bonus of being hypersensitive to embarrassment and criticism. He should stop being such an ass. 

Heaving a sigh, Tim waves Jason over as he turns his back and starts making his way down the alley to where his bike is parked. Hesitantly, Jason follows but his steps quicken as they draw near and he gets a look at Tim’s bike. The resistance is gone and replaced with awe as he circles the machine despite Tim swinging his leg over and mounting it. Patiently, like a saint, he allows Jason his moment of wonder. It is a beautiful work of ingenuity and power. 

Then the seconds drag out. Looking over his shoulder, Tim raises a brow and shrugs a shoulder towards the back of his bike. “So, I did tell Nightwing twenty minutes.”

“And the longer I keep us here the faster you’ll have to drive,” Jason replies without missing a beat, bent over and inspecting the anti-locking mechanism on the back brakes.

Tim grins, small and dangerous. “Alright. I’ll give you a couple more minutes.”

He gives Jason more than a few minutes because he knows the streets are empty and he can safely push his bike faster than he would without an excuse like chasing bad guys or coming to someone’s rescue. It took some coaxing to get Jason on and even longer to get him to wrap his arms securely around Tim but, once they had set off and Tim ran his third red light, both of them settled in for the too fast ride. Midway, Tim decides to show off and skid through a particularly sharp turn. It’s a flawless maneuver and Jason shows his appreciation by whooping loudly.

Tim does it again once they reach the cave. This time, he drifts into a narrow parking spot between the Batmobile and Nightwing’s bike. Jason’s arms tighten around him as they skirt the edges of the Batmobile by millimeters and he doesn’t let go even after they’ve come to a stop and Tim has killed the engine. Eventually, Tim has to pat Jason’s arms to get him off so Tim can breathe properly again. Jason promptly scrambles off at that. 

By the time Tim is turning around to face the main part of the Cave, Dick already by their side with a worried furrow to his brow. He blinks once at Jason, looks at Tim, blinks again at Jason then melts. 

“Oh my gods,” Dick says softly. He looks delighted and Tim does not envy Jason who’s eyeing him critically.

“When did you get so old?” Jason asks unkindly. 

Dick throws a hand over his heart and actually looks slightly offended. “Wow, okay, so I’m not <i>old</i> -”

“Yes, you are.”

“And, wow, I forgot how much of a little shit you were,” Dick finishes fondly. 

Jason bristles and looks like he wants to shove his hands in his pockets but the armored cargo pants are hanging too low for him to manage it without looking ridiculous. 

To make up for his earlier mistakes, Tim cuts in to take pity on Jason. “Turns out the guy we were chasing was the real deal. I assume you can give Zatanna a call and handle it?”

Together, Dick and Jason both ask, “You’re not sticking around?”

Tim glances between the two of them, bewildered. “Uh, no? I get enough second hand teenage angst from Damian.”

Jason doesn’t look happy about it but Dick does. He nods amicably and smiles widely. “That’s alright, I volunteer myself as tribute.” 

Without warning, he moves towards Jason with his arms raised and posed to envelope the teen in a patented Dick Grayson Hug. Swiftly, Jason side steps him and slides behind Tim so he’s blocking any other attempts Dick might make. Some of Dick’s joy falls but he looks undeterred as he lowers his arms and doesn’t move forward again. If Tim weren’t hanging onto some old hurts still and feeling petty, he’d feel a little bad for Dick. 

Tim shifts, trying to edge his way over to the computer so he can type up his report and be on his merry way but Jason gets closer and follows him like Tim’s shadow. The entire time, Dick keeps staring. The longer it goes on, the more Jason scowls at him. It is hilarious and, were Tim a casual observer, he would have burst out laughing long ago. As it is, he’s an unwilling participant in Dick and Jason’s detente and caught in the middle as Dick barely restrains himself from draping himself over Jason while Jason looks more and more like he wants to kick Dick in the nuts. 

Pointedly, Tim sits down in the computer chair which leaves Jason nowhere to go. He sticks by Tim’s side regardless, eyeing Dick who has followed them like a puppy waiting for a treat. Cuddles with his younger than normal little brother being the treat. 

There’s quiet for a few blessed minutes before Jason asks awkwardly, “What’s your name? I didn’t get it before.”

“You never asked before,” Tim says absently as he starts to write up his report. His fingers may go a little faster than usual in an attempt to hurry his escape. “But it’s Red Robin.”

“Like the restaurant?” Tim doesn’t have to look at Jason to know he’s judging. He can hear it.

“Yum,” Tim says flatly. 

“And,” Jason starts. Tim can make out Jason shifting awkwardly. “What about your real name?”

Tim cuts a glance Jason’s way and takes in the frown, the hardened edge to his eyes as they look between the Cave and Tim, the uncertainty. He shouldn’t feel guilty. He doesn’t. It’s not like he did anything wrong. But Jason didn’t either. The wannabe mage got lucky and it could’ve easily been Tim drowning in his uniform and overwhelmed by the way everything has changed from what he remembered. 

Looking back at the computer and continuing the report, Tim caves and answers, “Tim. My name is Tim. I was the Robin that came after you.”

“So this,” Jason pauses to wiggle in his armor, “was my idea when I passed on Robin?” Tim looks to see Jason giving the guns hanging from hips a dubious look. Right, he probably should have taken away the firearms.

There is so much wrong with what Jason said and has left unsaid. In no universe does Tim want to volunteer himself to answer. No amount of cutting edge tech, unlimited Zesti or epic W&W campaigns could make him handle this conversation. 

Tim searches for Dick who’s apparently made himself look busy at one of the closer work benches. His hands have stopped tinkering with the grapple gun he’d been poking moments ago and his back goes rigid. No matter how miffed he is with Dick, he doesn’t have the heart to make him handle answering Jason either. Lying is an option. Lying is a fantastic option but Jason deserves more than that.

Carefully, Tim settles on, “Yes, all that was your idea. You didn’t really pass on Robin but I don’t think we should get into it. I hope you’ll trust me and leave it alone for now.”

The silence stretches on between them, broken up only by Tim’s typing. 

“Okay,” Jason eventually answers. “Don’t get me wrong, I trust you about as far as I can throw you.”

“Let’s not test that.”

“What if I want to?” Jason asks cheekily. 

“Then we’ll see how far I can toss you,” Tim tells him simply.

“Oh, it is on, Tim.”

“Like Donkey Kong,” Tim agrees. “Later though. I’m trying to finish this and then I need to leave.”

“Didn’t peg you for a cut and run kind of person.”

“More the strategic retreat kind.”

“Sounds like you’re scared,” Jason goads him.

Tim spares him an unimpressed frown. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Jason smiles, sincere and cocky. “Is it working?”

“Hardly,” Tim drawls as he puts the finishing touches on the report.

He stands to leave once he’s saved and exited out of the file. Immediately, Jason’s hand shoots out and grabs Tim’s wrist. Surprised, Tim looks at him and doesn’t fight the tight grip Jason has on him. 

“Don’t leave me with him,” Jason mutters.

Tim looks at Dick who has the audacity to plaster on an innocent smile while leaning casually against the workbench. He can see it now. As soon as he leaves, Dick will be all over Jason. It won’t be the regular, suffocating attention Dick focuses on a sibling when he zeroes in on a member of the family. Oh no, it’ll be a hellish combination of guilt and excessive affection to make up for time lost and amend mistakes years in the past. Tim pinches the bridge of his nose just thinking about it. 

“Why don’t I drop you off with Alfred?” Tim counters.

Jason brightens but he doesn’t let go of Tim. “Alfie’s here?”

“Indeed,” Alfred says primly from his spot next to where the Cave connects with the manor. “Master Tim, why don’t you help Master Jason out of suit while Master Dick and I see to finding him something more suitable to wear and finishing dinner?” Alfred says it like a question but it’s far from it. 

Dick starts to protest but one look from Alfred has him clamming up. He scurries over to the lockers at Alfred’s prompting to change and shower before coming up where he’ll be waiting. Dawlding is strongly discouraged. 

Tim can recognize when his plans to flee have been thoroughly foiled. Looking Heaven-ward to plead the universe for mercy, Tim spins in the chair to face Jason. He looks a little terrified so Tim smiles gently. 

“He’s right. It can’t be comfortable wearing that and I’m familiar with the security measures built into the suit. Is it alright if I help?” Tim asks him first. Slowly, Jason nods and Tim watches as he swallows hard. Tell you what, why don’t I take the guns and I’ll walk you through everything else?” Tim offers.

“Oh gods, please,” Jason says quickly. His mouth snaps shut after, the flush on his cheeks moving up to the tips of his ears. “I mean, yeah, sounds good.”

Tim bites his lip to keep from laughing and silently disengages the security on the holsters and slips it off. He instructs Jason on how to do the same with the rest of the armor. He keeps his voice level and void of any condemnation or coddling as he does so. Surprisingly, it’s mostly painless. At least on Tim’s part. Jason looks about ready to bolt which Tim gets it, he does. The whole thing reminds him of school locker rooms and playing catch up on social norms in the worst setting possible.

That mildly traumatizing experience over with, Tim slaps his thighs and stands. “Why don’t we grab something to eat and get you into something less,” Tim stops and waves his hand at Jason but doesn’t continue. 

Even the compression shirt and pants underneath the suit are too large on Jason. He frowns down at the clothes and says sourly, “It’s not my fault I grow up to be a behemoth.”

“True,” Tim concedes. Again, they’re skating the edges of an endless rabbit hole he doesn’t want Jason to fall down. While he seems to be handling the situation well, no doubt prepped by Bruce for all manner of insane contingencies as a part of his training, Tim doubts a recounting of Jason’s death would go over as well. “Clothes and dinner then?”

“I’m not a kid so don’t treat me like one,” Jason snaps. 

“Stop looking like one and I will,” Tim counters. “I’m going to go change but you know the way up if you don’t want to wait.”

Although Tim isn’t expecting Jason to still be in the cave by the time he’s dressed down in sweatpants and a t-shirt after a sorely needed shower, he hurries through his usual after patrol routine. Just in case. The foresight turns out to be fruitful since Jason is meandering around the Cave, pausing to examine something he doesn’t recognize. When Tim comes out from the locker area, Jason’s head swivels around. 

This time Tim has no plausible reason for Jason to blush but blush he does as he looks over Tim. Deciding to ignore it, Tim finishes drying his hair and lets the towel sit around his shoulders. He nods towards the exit up to the manor. 

The trip up is uneventful. Alfred appears beside them as they emerge from the Cave and holds out a neatly folded pile of clothes. Jason takes them gratefully and ducks away to the nearest bathroom while Tim makes his way to the kitchen. With so few in the house, it’s rare they sit down in the family dining room and, as he anticipated, Alfred has dinner spread out on the nook tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. The food looks delicious, smells delicious, but Tim’s itching to leave and he knows, if he sits down with everyone, he’ll get wrangled into staying. 

From behind, Jason appears once more and Dick follows after, hovering as one does when their little brother has been demoted to extra tiny little brother. Jason, for the most part, takes it with grace by giving Dick only one heated glare over his shoulder. Jason comes to stand before Tim then Dick falls into line too. He descends on the food, plating it up and chattering away. Tim indulges him, hums where he needs to and answers any questions Dick throws his way, but Jason stays quiet. 

He doesn’t make a move to grab any food for himself which is not Tim’s problem. Jason has shown he remembers living in the manor, being Robin and Bruce’s son, so there’s no reason he can’t help himself. Tim leaves him to it so he can dig around in the pantry for one of the energy bars he knows he squirreled away in the back when he moved out for exactly this situation. As he’s shutting the pantry door, victorious with a couple bars in his hand, Jason is looking at him. He’s eyeing the food in Tim’s hand then looking at Alfred’s spread like it’ll bite him. 

It takes a second for the pieces to click together but Ra’s doesn’t call Tim Detective for no reason.

Sidling up to Jason’s side, he holds out one of the bars which Jason takes hesitantly. 

“I get it. I can grab more if you want,” Tim tells him kindly. 

Jason looks ready to beat him with the protein bar as he hisses, “What would you know, rich boy? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your Bristol accent.”

“Packaged food is safe, right?” Tim asks him rhetorically, his voice cold. Jason’s comment rubs him the wrong way. “Don’t have to worry about something being in it or being spoiled. Hard habit to shake when you fall back on old conditioning.”

Jason flinches back. 

“Hey, you guys coming?” Dick asks through a mouthful of food from where he’s seated at the table.

“Nah, neither of us is very hungry,” Tim lies smoothly. “We’ll probably grab a couple snacks.”

Dick looks upset about the change in course, frowning around another forkful of food. Like magic, Alfred sweeps into the room before Dick can protest. 

“Perhaps retire to the sitting room? I can have an assortment of snack items brought in. I dare say a calm night in would do this family good.” There’s a knowing glint in Alfred’s eye.

Remembering Dick’s propensity for cuddles and Jason’s resistance to it, Tim bumps Jason’s shoulder as he says, “What do you think? Or do you want to pick?”

“Library, I’d prefer the library,” Jason says automatically.

Alfred smiles without smiling. “Very good, Master Jason. I’ll bring a few things up to you and Master Tim if you’d like to go get settled now.”

“Actually-” Tim tries to interject. Jason will be fine. From what Tim’s learned, the library is Jason’s safe space, he’ll have food to eat and he’ll have Alfred to help him through. Tim isn’t needed. He’s not even sure why he’s being so nice.

It’s not them. With no idea on how to overcome the bad blood between himself and Jason, Tim hasn’t tried to repair their relationship and Jason hasn’t made any effort to either. Really, Tim should’ve left Jason to Dick and Alfred back in the cave. Putting his foot down would’ve had him gone already, sitting in his nest and ordering pizza while going over his active cases. 

But Jason looks so lost. He’s fronting, falling on the familiar anger and confidence he’s always had. He’s regressing back into a mindset more befitting the streets now that he’s so uncomfortable and likely feeling cornered. It’s so unlike the Jason Tim knows. Jason’s always been full of piss and vinegar but this softer version? It makes Tim’s heart hurt a little but in a way he can’t ignore. 

Like Jason has read Tim’s mind, his hand wraps around Tim’s wrist again and he pulls him out of the kitchen.

Leading them into the foyer and up the stairs, with his back to Tim, he asks, “How did you know? About the food.”

Taken aback by Jason’s aggressive exit and his new role as a tow-along, the truth slips out. “Uh, my parents. They left me alone a lot and forgot sometimes about the groceries. I got sick a couple times from eating spoiled stuff so I stuck to non-perishables.”

In answer, Jason grunts. “That’s fucked up.”

“My therapist agrees.”

“You have a therapist?”

Tim laughs. “Of course not. What respectable Bat does?”

When Jason laughs with him, it shakes loose something warm in Tim’s chest. He shakes away the feeling as Jason pushes into the library. Once they’re inside, Jason releases him. He doesn’t move right away, instead choosing to stand and survey the room.

Working on another hunch, Tim walks past Jason to a closet tucked away in the corner. Throwing the door open, he gatherers as many of the pillows and blankets inside as he can fit in his arms, kicks the door shut and dumps his haul on the bay window overseeing the back gardens. He arranges it all to make a comfortable looking nest. Once done, he nods in approval and gives himself a pat on the back. He cracks open the window as a finishing touch and presents his handiwork with a flourish.

“Easy exit, sight lines to all access points and extra pillows perfect for relaxing,” Tim says. Jason stays locked looking at him so Tim raises a brow. “Are you going to grab a book or stare at me all day?”

Jason jolts out of whatever trance he’d fallen into and quickly says, “Yeah, yep, I’ll go do the book thing with the reading.”

Tim smiles fondly as Jason trots into the shelves to retrieve a book. Tim can hear Jason as he searches for a book. The sounds are not encouraging. There’s a lot of murmured curses, grunting and frustrated growls. Once more, Tim resigns himself to helping out Jason. It doesn’t feel as much like a chore anymore.

“Issues?” Tim calls.

“They’re all 1st editions!” Jason yells back. “Who does that?”

“Give me a second,” Tim hollers back. 

Because Tim had a hard time leaving well enough alone as a kid, he knows Jason’s old room has several well worn copies of Jason’s favorites. Ones that could get thrown in a fire and he’d be out a couple bucks to replace it, cheap copies he can use over and over again till the pages are fraying and the spines have separated. Tim picks the lock on Jason’s old room and grabs a couple of the most worn down paperbacks. A young Tim may have been armed with curiosity and a lack of boundaries but he didn’t go so far as to read Jason’s favorites. Definitely not. That wasn’t a thing. 

Back in the library, Jason has settled into the seat of the bay window. He holds out the books to Jason who takes them and inspects each. 

“Are you a mind reading meta or something?” Jason asks him suspiciously. 

“No, nothing like that,” Tim replies.

“So someone just fucked you up real good like me?”

Grinning ruefully, Tim shrugs. “I like to think I turned out alright.”

“Yeah, you did.” Jason clamps his mouth shut after his off hand comment and his face goes red. Suddenly, he’s a lot more focused on the books in his hands than talking to Tim.

Tim’s not touching that with a ten foot pole but it’s still amusing. He settles on the floor, content to wait for Alfred, snacks and the excuse that it’s getting late so he can slip away guilt-free.

“You’re seriously going to sit down there?” Jason eventually asks to break the companionable silence between them. 

Seeing a possible out, Tim responds, “I can go somewhere else if you’d rather be alone?” He doubts it since Jason has imprinted on him or somehow deemed Tim a safe person and latched on but a man can hope.

When he looks up, he meets Jason’s eye. The blush is back in full force. “No, I don’t like being alone,” he admits grudgingly. 

The something warm in Tim’s chest is back again, stronger than before. It makes his brain soupy, or it’s the exhaustion and need for sleep. Either way, Tim tells him, “Neither do I.”

“So get up here,” Jason demands. Very pointedly, Tim looks at the bay window and the distinct lack of space to fit an extra person. Aggressively opening one of his books, scowling at the pages, Jason mutters, “Just fucking get up here.”

When Jason hops out of burrow of blankets and points at the window seat, Tim figures he can humor him. What’s the harm, after all? If anything it proves the point that although it is incredibly comfortable with the way Tim layered the blankets there’s no way they could both fit. He spreads his arms wide to encompass the fact that there isn’t enough room for them to share. 

The humor drains right out of him as Jason steps up to the window, his expression twists together in a curious mix of angry fear and climbs into Tim’s lap. Tim would like to amend that. Jason awkwardly climbs up into his lap. Actually, it is super awkward. 

Tim’s so stunned by the forwardness of the actions that all the words he wants to push past his lips get stuck and die on his tongue. 

Like this is any old day and not what’s shaping up to be one of the weirdest days of Tim’s life, Jason scooches over as far as he can till his back is pressed against the window. He’s half turned towards the ceiling but tucked tightly against Tim’s side. It’s not cuddling, not really with Tim’s arm pinned between them and Jason doing his best to squeeze back so they don’t touch even though it’s unavoidable. It is tangentially related to cuddling though. 

Jason starts reading. Tim starts staring at him blankly.

“You’re shit at cuddling,” Jason grumbles.

As if Tim’s brain couldn’t break anymore, here comes a teenage Jason to bulldoze over the semblance of a higher thinking he’d been able to scrape together. With his mind officially offline, Tim’s mouth takes the wheel.

“I haven’t had much practice.”

Taking Tim’s arm, he pulls it out from between them and sits up enough he can get it around his shoulders. Once satisfied, he grabs Tim’s other arm and drapes it around his chest as he lies fully on his side. He even nuzzles into Tim’s chest then goes back to reading.  

What.

“My mom used to cuddle me like this,” Jason whispers, eyes never leaving the pages of his paperback.

How is Tim supposed to handle that? He is not equipped for this. They have officially bumbled, dived head first, into things better handled by Dick. Or Steph. Or Cass. Not Tim. But is he mad about it? He has to stop and think about that.

Tim tightens his arms and scoots down a little to get into a more comfortable position. He’s no expert on cuddling but it seems like something that can take a while. Until Jason is back to his fire-fed-gasoline attitude, Tim can deal with this, he decides. He’s already caved to every other whim Jason has had, has helped him feel more centered when his entire world has shifted, so he may as well stop fighting it so much and get it over with before Jason gets the chip back on his shoulder. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. 

Sleepily, Jason asks him, “You keep watch, yeah?”

Patting his arm, Tim hums, “Yeah, no worries. I’ll be the look out.”