#they caught the mugger though so it's all good

[fazbearsecuritycrew]

How did Marie Schmidt die?

She was about to get off of work at 8:30 PM when her supervisor pulled her aside. He told her that partner, William, called and said there'd been an accident, and that their son was in the hospital. She was too frantic to wait for a bus, so she instead rushed to the hospital on foot.

On the way, a mugger dragged her to an alleyway, stabbed her, and quite violent took everything she had before leaving her to die. She was so weak and sore from blood loss that she couldn't even call out for help, and without anything to stop the bleeding, she bled out and died.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 1

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

A concept I've been toying with. Will probably post the complete fic to AO3 once I've got a few more chapters written, but though I would share some of the chapters here first to see what people think. This fic is inspired by the (musical mostly, but also novel) of Daddy Long Legs.

Warnings: Implications of SA - nothing graphic

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 1

Eat the rich.

Seriously.

But what about Bruce Wayne? He does so much good for Gotham. He’s so handsome and tall. His philanthropy has… Shut up. Bruce Wayne didn’t get a free pass just because he was pretty. He was still a billionaire who needed a healthy dose of reality before you even considered calling him a good guy. Rich people were fucking weird, and you were a true victim of the elite and those weird habits.

Sure, their lavish parties paid your bills, if just barely, but that didn’t mean you had to like being a pawn in their game. This party lasted later than you wanted it to. They always did.

Ice sculptures weren’t cheap. Usually, they cost a quarter million to make depending on the time of year and whether Mr. Freeze had recently wrought havoc on Gotham. You counted eight in total as you wove through the crowds with a silver platter laden with aged beef sprinkled with edible gold leaf. It didn’t even taste good, but they were a hit.

One couldn’t account for good taste in these circles.

You still smelled vaguely of expensive hors d’oeuvres as you trudged up the stairs that emptied onto Park Row. A still quiet greeted you on the street. You were alone. No oddly built young men with an affinity for classic literature and Amazonian superheroes nipping at your heels like an eager puppy. While not the most unpleasant encounter you’ve had on the Gotham subway, you learned quickly it was better to be wary and take the kindness of strangers with a grain of salt.

A midsummer breeze rustled your hair as you drew the hood of your yellow jacket. Yellow was a bold choice for this side of town, but it also diminished your chances of getting taken out by a speeding vehicle on your walk home. Safety and preservation at all costs—that’s what you’d been taught.

Puddles rippled under your feet, pooling between the cracks and potholes that littered the street. A storm passed during the party, leaving the sky clear and a half-moon to light your way.

Silver linings. You could have been caught in the rain.

Hugging your bag closer to your person, you ducked down a side street. Darkness enveloped you like a shroud. You might have disappeared entirely if not for your obnoxious hoodie. The narrow alley had just enough room for you to walk, brick and mortar scraping your palms as you pressed past a dumpster.

You wouldn’t usually take a shortcut this late at night. Keeping to the main arteries of Park Row were safer, if just barely, but you were also anxious to get home to finish your—

“Drop the bag.”

Something solid pressed against your spine. A gun? A knife? It was hard to tell through your jacket, and it was the unknown that tightened your chest and throat. Given the narrow alley, you were more likely to get hurt if you fought back, and if he had a gun, it was over anyway. You could scream, but no one would come. You weren’t completely helpless, but you also knew when to cut your losses. It’s not like you had much on you anyway.

Lifting your hands in defeat, you slid the bag off your shoulder and set it on the ground.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Nice and easy.”

A shiver crept up your spine, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see you shudder. You waited, hoping he would take the bag and bolt, but you were never that lucky. He pressed the object more firmly against your back as he snatched the bag. Not a knife, you decided, given that it didn’t feel all that sharp.

Your mind raced as you considered your next move. Muggers didn’t usually stick around unless they had an ulterior motive beyond theft. Dread bloomed heavy in your chest. You were a woman, alone at night, walking in a dangerous neighborhood.

It was bound to attract some attention because men like this one sucked. People would say it was your fault for taking a shortcut, your fault for wearing yellow, your fault for deigning to be a woman trying to live her life. You, alone, would bear the consequences and the blame. It wasn’t fair, but it was how society treated its victims.

You swallowed your vitriol and said, “I don’t have anything else on me.” The waver in your voice betrayed your fear, and you hated yourself for it. “Just take my bag and go.”

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s your rush? I thought you and I could have a little fun before we called it a n—”

Bang.

Your ears rang as the bullet sent bits of brick raining down over your heads. The pressure on your back disappeared. You felt no pain, but you patted yourself down anyway. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug, after all. When you concluded there were no extra holes to concern yourself with, you whipped around to face the man. It would have been smarter to run, but you’d be damned if you left without your bag.

A young man with gaunt cheeks and sandy blonde hair gripped your bag in one hand and a rusty lug wrench in the other. His attention settled on something over your head. You shoved aware your embarrassment as you followed the line of his gaze.

Red Hood stopped on the edge of the roof with a gun held aloft in one hand. He whistled sharply, the noise distorted by a modulator in his helmet. “Drop the bag. If you want to fuck around, I promise my next shot won’t miss.”

You blinked up at him in disbelief. Most dubbed Red Hood the hero of Park Row—at least to those that needed it. He was more of a thorn in the side of the crime syndicates that operated out of here. You were convinced he didn’t really exist. You’d never seen him, only the evidence of his work, but there were enough vigilantes traipsing about to make you question his existence.

The leather jacket over his plated uniform was a choice, but who were you to question the fashion choices of the man holding the gun.

Hood whistled again. “Last chance.”

With gritted teeth, the man tossed you bag and sprinted off. Its contents scattered across a nearby puddle. Your catering apron, a beaten wallet, and some loose-leaf paper. Your heart leapt into your throat.

Your paper!

You dropped to your knees to salvage what you could as a pair of heavy boots hit the ground behind you. Misery swirled in your chest as you wiped away the muddy water with the sleeve of your hoodie. To think, you’d been swindled by a coward with a lug wrench.

“You should be more careful.”

You licked your teeth as the ink bled before your eyes. Not only was the paper ruined, but Red Hood saw fit to lecture you. Could this night get any worse?

“Maybe that guy should learn not to mug people.” You turned to face him, undaunted, even when he towered over you like a titan loomed over mortal men.

He hesitated, his expression hidden with his helmet, but you saw the way his shoulders tightened under your scrutiny. His broad frame blotted out the moonlight. You mirrored him, clinging to a shred of self-preservation in the face of a very real threat. Hood wasn’t good. He wasn’t bad. He just was. He might have saved you this time, but that didn’t mean you would stay in his good graces.

A beat of silence passed between you two before he knelt beside you to pick up the last of the sodden pages. There was no saving them. With a heavy sigh, you set them aside.

“Fuck.”

He took the pages and scanned their contents, not even trying to play it coy. You swallowed your protests in favor of a displeased glare. No one said vigilantes were well-socialized. If they were, they wouldn’t be parading the streets in costume.

“Is this… homework?” His modulator grated on your ears, but he sounded genuinely curious.

You didn’t expect follow up questions. From the sharp breath that crackled through his modulator, he didn’t know either. Knowing that his question caught him off guard amused you, so you decided to humor him with an answer.

“It’s an essay for a scholarship,” you explained, “Gotham University has one of the best writing programs in the city. I know I can get accepted, but I can’t enroll unless I have a scholarship to pay for it.”

“That’s shit luck.” He sounded upset, angry even. You might have been too if you weren’t still processing the situation. “Does that mean you have to rewrite it?”

“Next year, I guess.” You stuffed the rest of the things in your bag, shouldered it, and headed toward your apartment. I didn’t expect him to follow you, much like you didn’t expect him to have questions. It shouldn’t have surprised you when he did, still clutching your ruined essay in his gloved hands. Even standing, he felt like an indominable presence.

“Next year?”

“The deadline is tomorrow morning, and I don’t have time to rewrite it.”

“Couldn’t you submit it online?”

“Can’t. Electrocutioner zapped the foundation office last week and online systems are down until further notice. They refused to extend the deadline, so we’re forced to submit by mail or in person.” You decided to write yours by hand to stand out from the other applicants, a decision that you were now kicking yourself for.

Hood scoffed. “That’s stupid.”

“That’s Gotham,” you deadpanned, “Our city can’t shut down every time there’s an incident between Batman and the villain of the month. This was my last-ditch effort to secure money before the start of the new semester. I’ve tried the usual avenues with little success, even Wayne Enterprises despite being fundamentally against him and the expectations set by his foundations.”

Most came with an unpaid internship within a branch of the company. The experience alone would launch most student’s careers, but unpaid work did more harm than good for someone like you. Besides, you had no interest in business or medical research. Honestly, you should have never applied in the first place, but desperation drove people to do stupid things.

“I’ll try again next you,” you finished with another disinterest shrug. You prayed it looked convincing. “The writing program isn’t going anywhere, and I don’t need it to make it in the industry.”

Your stomach lurched. That program, Gotham University, could open doors you could only dream of knocking on—especially when it came to making connections. This industry was about who you knew rather than what.

You stopped and Hood stopped with you. Hood didn’t need to join you in your pity party. Your apartment sat around the corner. The fact that he had followed you this far should have unsettled you, but you felt oddly empty as you turned to face him.

Your eyes locked, even with the helmet shielding his. You wished to see his expression. Or know what his face looked like underneath. Were his eyes blue or brown, his hair light or dark? You didn’t even know what his voice sounded like without the modulation. Did it matter? He saved you. He empathized with your situation. It was more than you ever expected.

“I can make it from here,” you assured him, “I live around the corner and if someone jumps me between now and then, well, I know you’ll hear me scream.” You laughed, trying to make light of a situation that weighed heavily on your chest.

“Thanks for saving me,” you added when he failed to respond.

He offered the papers and the weight on your chest increased tenfold. “Are you sure you don’t want them? You could copy the part you can still read.”

You shook your head. “I’m not going to sweat it.”

But you would cry over it, probably into a bag of chips or a pint of ice cream while Bridgerton played in the background, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Sometimes these things aren’t meant to be.”

Hood inclined his head as if he wanted to say something more. You waited, more curious than anything. Another beat passed before his hands fell back to his side. “Try to stay out of trouble. I won’t always be around to save you.”

But he was tonight and that was all that mattered. You were about to tell him as much, but he had already turned to walk away. You watched him go until the shadows swallowed him, and only then did you turn to go home.

[moonlight0934]

Trust Issues

Damian watches through half open eyes as his family eats breakfast around him. He keeps his guard up, a feeling of anxiety and immanent threat choking him. He hasn’t slept in days, the smallest noise snapping him back to full awareness. Bruce looks over at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Why aren’t you eating, Damian?”

“I am,” Damian immediately lies.

Bruce looks confused at that, because of how obviously not true it is. Damian puts a singular piece of strawberry from his fruit salad into his mouth. Then he stands up, slipping out of his chair.

“Come on, Damian. We’re doing so good this morning. Tim is even eating.”

“Father, Tim agreed because he’s still asleep. He was eating, then he fell asleep with his bite of eggs half out of his mouth.”

Bruce turns to Tim, who is in fact asleep with his spoon only half in his mouth.

“Tim, dear, you’re going to choke,” Bruce says, taking the spoon out of his mouth.

Tim startles, pulling back.

“What? I didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

Damian slips out of the room while Bruce is reoccupied with Tim. He heads up to his room to get dressed for school, though that’s the last thing he wants to do right now. He sighs as he walks into his room to grab his uniform. It’s only a few minutes before he’s coming back down the stairs, and heading for the door. Damian can hear Bruce trying to get Tim to fully wake up so he doesn’t fall face first into his eggs.

Damian walks out without letting anyone know that he’s leaving since someone will insist on driving him to school. The walk is quiet, though that’s only because it’s so early that no one with good intentions is out right now. Most kids aren’t allowed to walk, that’s why Damian usually isn’t either. It’s not that they don’t know he can take care of himself, but they have appearances to keep up. They have to look like they’re prissy rich kids, though Damian hates how he has to act every time he leaves the house without being in costume.

A few of the small time muggers eye him as he’s walking past, but his glare is enough to put them off till he gets past them. It’s still quiet as the light manages to get past the clouds, lightening the sky. Damian keeps his hands in his pockets.

The school is empty too since he’s early. The teachers are the only ones there, and they all seem surprised to see him as they pass him in the halls. He heads straight to the cafeteria to wait on everyone else to show up. It’s quiet, so he pulls out his drawing pad and colored pencils.

A feeling of apprehension creeps up on him even though he’s alone, almost as if something is going to jump out of the shadows. After a few minutes, Damian jumps to his feet. He looks around wildly, but doesn’t see anything. He darts out of the exit attached to the cafeteria, leaving his bag, and not even sure where he’s going.

His vision starts going in and out, his hearing cutting out completely. He redirects himself to head back home, but doesn’t even get a few feet before passing out. When he wakes up, he can’t recognize where he is. It looks like a booth of some sort. People are talking right outside.

“Man, it sure took a long time for that toxin to kick in. We had to follow him for almost eight days,” one complains.

“He was in his house for a lot of that time, shut up,” another replies, sounding annoyed.

“Still, you’d think it wouldn’t be that useless. That’s a long time.”

Damian blinks, looking down. He’s zip tied to a chair, rope wrapped around his wrists and fingers on top of the zip ties.

Someone kidnapped me? They gassed me with some sort of toxin? That must be why I was feeling the way that I was.

He pulls one hand out of the ropes with a smug grin.

Now, time to get out of here discreetly so as not to ruin my secret identity. I need to call in backup.

He pulls the other one out, then begins taking the zip ties off of his wrists.

As long as I don’t get caught, I should have no issue with this. Even if they think I escaped somehow, I could still come back in costume with my family. However, there’s only one door.

Damian walks over to the door, feeling much heavier than he normally does. He cracks the door open soundlessly. It’s dark outside, but it’s not hard for him to tell that they’re in an abandoned amusement park. The Ferris Wheel is looming over the buildings, stalls, and shut down attractions.

The guards are less than a foot away from the door, still distracted with their conversation. Damian slips out of the doorway, making a beeline for the next attraction. He makes it there without incident, giving him time to look for his emergency beacon. Luckily it’s there, still tucked into the heel of his shoe.

He clicks it before straightening back up. Then someone grabs him by the collar. A large man shakes Damian. He almost punches the man in the throat, but remembers why he can’t in just enough time to pull back. The man punches him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He feels the man throw him towards the two guards that were watching him originally.

One of them kicks him in the face immediately. This goes on for a while as they take turns hitting him while he just has to lie there and take it. Eventually he tastes blood coming up his throat, and at this point, he’s not even sure where it’s coming from. Though it doesn’t really matter if he’s throwing it up or coughing it up, either one is pretty bad.

I wonder what they wanted. They sure did do a lot to just kill me.

Someone stomps down on his fingers, breaking them. He doesn’t let out a single noise.

That’s probably why they’re still going. I haven’t screamed or cried like this is a big deal. I wonder if they’re going to figure out how badly I’m already hurt.

It’s only a minute later when exactly that happens.

“Hey, I think you’re going too far. He has to be alive to use him for ransom,” the second man calls, sounding worried. He also sounds far away, and Damian doesn’t feel like listening anymore.

A few more sounds bring him back from the edge, even if just a little bit. It sounds like a scuffle of some sort. Then someone grabs his head, startling him. He cracks his eyes open, seeing Dick above him. He’s in costume, his mask covering his eyes.

“Hey, Baby Bird. Just hold on, we’re going to get you to a hospital. You’ll be ok.”

“You came,” Damian whispers, blinking his heavy eyes.

“What do you mean? Of course we did. Don’t you trust us?”

Damian doesn’t respond, letting his eyes drop closed.

“No, Damian, open your eyes!”

Dick shakes his shoulders, but everything continues to fade. He doesn’t feel it as Dick keeps shaking him, and eventually stops hearing him too. Then nothing.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Babbling ~ P.P.

A/n: Sorry for missing Monday, but here’s this <3 Another request done :)

Request: “Tasm!Peter x male reader where reader gets invited to a party and brings Peter as his plus one or whatever and Peter getting drunk and touchy and confesses and saying how he wants to be with him and spend the rest of his life with him...” by anon

Word count: 2700+

MASTERLIST

Peter Parker and Y/n had always been a story for the ages.

It hadn't been life long friends, and their meeting hadn't been all that important. They'd had a class together and as both of them engaged with the content and asked questions and did reports and read out loud, their faces became familiar with each other. Then Spider-Man had gotten caught up in a fight and his mask had come off. Y/n had been stunned to see the big brown doe eyes of the cute guy in his AP bio class.

It had been the most anti-climactic thing, truly. Y/n had discovered a sight dedicated to "fangirling over Spider-Man" except that they didn't do much discussion or giving of content. However, when Y/n went through the internet looking for pictures with Spider-Man's face, there was a startling very few available. For how many hungry reporters and shocked civilian or eager tourist was here and with how often Spider-Man lost or destroyed or just straight up took off his mask, there should be more.

When he found that there were images, they were just unavailable, he deep dove it and used his skill witch coding to figure out what happened. And what he uncovered was stunning - the website "dedicated to fangirling over Spiderman" was either a cover, or they believed that the best fans were dedicated to keeping Spider-Man's secret identity a secret. Peter Parker was New York's little secret.

It made Y/n so curious to meet the man. So of course they had to.

Asking for notes or a pencil or complimenting a sweater or giggling at his jokes that he said under his breath turned into lunches together for convenience and then studying together and then suddenly they were friends. Exchanging phone numbers and inside jokes and nicknames.

It was obvious that he was Spider-Man if you knew what you were looking for. His poor excuses and his sudden exists and late entries. Cancelled plans right when Spider-Man was needed, and all for a job that didn't even pay that well.

Peter was fairly good at hiding it. He was a disaster - a mistake waiting to happen - but he had a whole city behind him so it was okay.

It made Y/n fall in love with Spider-Man even more.

And maybe Peter Parker too.

There was something about the boy though. Something darker that he shook off when he had the mask. Something heavy that was easy to miss when you couldn't see his facial expressions. There was a distance when Y/n would jokingly flirt or be physically affectionate. He offered to take Peter to meet his folks once and Peter had seemed... to not like that. He had squirmed and wriggled, desperate to get away. When he came up with an "emergency" and Spider-Man stopped a mugger and got a kite out of tree Y/n knew that he shouldn't bring it up again.

It was obvious that Peter had lost someone, so Y/n tucked away any realizations or feelings and let them stay casual friends. Not best friends, not truly close - always at an arm's length. But friends.

Until, of course, Peter got drunk.

Peter never wanted to go anywhere or do anything. Y/n was pretty sure he was depressed. Which had driven him to try and get Peter out more, to find him hobbies and past times. Peter had come to the parties and gatherings and slam poetries and walks and clubs Y/n had dragged him to, just like tonight, with the understanding that if he needed to leave he could at any moment.

It didn't seem that moment would come tonight.

At some point Peter had put down his phone and walked away after having a few drinks, getting looser and more relaxed. He never went far from Y/n but seemed to have a hard time sitting still or staying in the same place. They paced or walked in circles and that seemed to do the trick. Y/n had noticed the other man put down his phone after checking the time and walked away again, so Y/n had snagged it for safe keeping. He would give it back tomorrow morning.

It took a lot or drinks for Peter to get proper wasted, but it happened. It seemed to be absent minded and on accident. He kept talking and walking, keeping his voice above the music in the room, and Y/n found himself trailing after in a love sick haze. Peter was gorgeous on his own, but the way his face light up and his hair got messier and messier... he was breathtaking when he went on rants, and Y/n was more than pleased to listen.

So he didn't stop Peter from drinking. And to be fair, neither did Peter.

Y/n knew they'd both made a mistake when Peter stopped walking, leaning against a table behind him and sighing. Y/n came closer to check on him and Peter reached out, fingers wrapping around Y/n's waist and face pressing into his shoulder. Y/n's body blossomed with heat and something akin to a buzzing, making him tense but giddy.

He tried to ignore that.

Peter sighed, leaning against Y/n, and the more sober of them gave a little chuckle. "You okay, Pete?"

"You're so comfy," was all Peter had to say. His voice was soft and airy, almost sleepy. But he had no problem mostly keeping himself up, nor did he seem to sway or buckle. He was just... drawn to Y/n. Like a magnet.

Y/n blushed. "Thank you."

Peter stared, for a long time, not saying anything. Y/n got nervous, shifting. The look was full of adoration and warmth. Admiration simmered at the edges, a sappy smile smearing across his face. "Did I ever mention that you look really attractive when you get all..." he tilted his head, searching for a word. "Blushy." He giggled. "Shy? No. Not just shy, but reserved too. Nervous." His face flitted briefly into a scowl, but when he went from trying yo grasp the word in his mind to admiring Y/n again, the smile came back. "I'm glad we met."

Y/n couldn't get the courage to look at him. "So am I." He cleared his throat, melting under that gaze. Under those words. "Perhaps we should get home."

Peter nodded. "I don't want to be here anymore. Let's go somewhere - just us." He took Y/n's hands, taking longer to do so as he traced Y/n's fingers and sighed blissfully at the contact. Like he was relieved after so long wanting it. Like how Y/n did when he felt the touch.

"Yeah. If that's what you really want." Y/n closed his eyes, chastising himself and forcing himself to stay focused. "Tomorrow. Tonight you need sleep." He began walking, keeping an eye on if Peter needed help walking, but he didn't. Not surprising for the same Spider-Man that could balance on a string that seemed thin as hair, or cling to any surface.

Peter whined and Y/n had to hide a smile with his free hand. "Not tomorrow," he begged, tugging on Y/n's hand. It was almost like a child begging for candy in the store, but less dramatic and much mote desperate. The thought of leaving Y/n seemed to genuinely upset him... Y/n didn't know how to feel about that. "I'll go to bed if you spend the night."

Now that was dangerous.

Y/n only hummed in thought, actually considered it. Drunk people were hard to handle and even if he didn't, he would need to lie to Peter to get him home. If the superhero genuinely didn't want to go or decided that messing around with Y/n to prolong their time together it would he near impossible to get ahold of him again...

They got all the way to Peter's door before he spoke again. "Are you staying?"

Y/n gave him a sideways look as he pushed the door open, having snagged Peter's keys from his pocket. He'd thought he's gotten away with it after such a long silence, but it seemed Peter was eternally patient even drunk. He sighed as they moved into the apartment, Peter always snatching Y/n's hand the second they were free. "Why does it matter so much to you that I stay, hm?" He pulled himself away from the drunk man again, closing the door and putting the keys away. Pulling Peter's jacket off and removing his shoes and grabbing a glass of water and Ibuprofen for tomorrow morning, setting it on the table at Peter's bed. It was only when he seemed finished, about to head out again, that Peter caught him.

Holding one of Y/n's hands in each of his, looking deep into his eyes, Peter didn't just seem genuine, he seemed raw. Exposed. "Y/n. I've been punishing myself for so long... always alone. For so long." He closed his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. "It's suffocating me, the loneliness. And you make it easier to breathe. So... stay. If you want." He swallowed before adding a breathless, "Please."

Y/n's heart was ramming in his chest. "If you need a friend tonight, I can of course stay." He added friend on purpose this time - to remind himself.

That seemed to upset Peter though. "Don't call yourself that. Please, please don't-" he closed his eyes tightly. "I know we're friends. And I'm goad we're friends. But don't remind me we're friends when I want to kiss you so badly. Please."

Y/n's breath caught. "Pete-" He stopped himself. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

Peter chuckled, shaking his head. "Drunk words are sober thoughts. That's a popular saying for a reason."

Oh god.

"You- I-" Y/n's face was burning and he was running out of reasons to go. Ways to deny it. Peter was Spider-Man. There's so much Y/n still wasn't supposed to know. They'd been friends for a while now, and they were just getting close. There was still that gap though. That space that Peter kept.

Now he was throwing all of it away.

Peter didn't wait for Y/n to form thoughts. He let go of Y/n's hands, reaching up for his face instead. Peter's face trailed Y/n's jaw. "Can I kiss you? I... I've wanted to kiss you for so long. If you felt the same way. The way your heart is racing, I thought you might."

Y/n's eyes widen. Of course he can hear heartbeats. The world wouldn't be as unfair as it was if he couldn't.

But also, how could be lie now? When Peter knew he was? And maybe it was selfish, and he'd get his heart broken in the morning, but Peter was begging and god if Y/n wasn't just as eager.

"Okay."

There was no hesitation after that. Y/n had expected raging fire, or fireworks, but there was none of that. It was relief, cool to the touch like a breeze on a sweltering day, or a breath after drowning. It was laying in bed after a long, exhausting day or drinking something warm and sitting by the fire after a day of ice and snow.

Y/n did more than just stay over. It happened so fast, each kiss getting more and more desperate until their hands were wandering and they were falling back onto the bed and Peter didn't stutter a single second. He didn't stumble or hesitate. He had seemed to drink so much but all his words came easily, any slur he'd had before completely gone. He seemed sober.

Y/n was an idiot.

He tried to leave, but Peter had gripped onto his arm and begged him to stay. So Y/n woke up next to him in the morning, slipping out of bed and wandering into the living room.

Okay so that had just happened.

He felt like a villain. He felt like a moron. Peter had been drunk. FUCK he was a horrible person.

Out of part guilt and part anxiety, Y/n tidied the living room and kitchen before beginning to make breakfast. He couldn't in good will just leave Peter alone that morning, but he also couldn't stay in that bed. See Peter panic when he woke up and realized what had happened.

Would he panic? Would he be angry?

He would be justified to feel angry.

Y/n jumped when a set of arms wrapped around his waist from behind, a face burying into his shoulder. "Smells good," came Peter's muffled voice.

Y/n wordlessly finished the food, plating it and turning off the stove before turning to Peter. The brunette seemed weirdly unphased, taking each thing and making two plates, then wandering into the living room to set them down on the clean table, plopping onto the couch. He smiled. "And you clean? I'm spoiled."

Y/n crossed his arms over his chest, a little confused and a little annoyed. "Peter. We need to talk about last night."

The smile faded off of his face and it happened so easily that Y/n was stunned to realize it had been more fake than he'd realized. "I'm sorry."

That came as a shock too. "You're sorry? You? Peter, I'm sorry."

Peter looked up at that, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "I'm the one who was pushing you into-" He looked away. "You obviously regret it, and it was stupid, and I'm sorry I just-"

Y/n scoffed. "Peter, you were drunk. You were more honest than you usually are. That isn't a bad thing. But you were drunk, and I wasn't, and I completely took advantage of you and-"

Peter tilted his head. "I wasn't drunk."

Y/n froze. "What?"

Peter blushed. "Well- I was drunk at first." He looked away, fiddling with a couch pillow. "But by the time we got here I was pretty much sober. I have some what of a healing factor, so-"

Y/n's eyes widened. "You have a what?"

Peter looked back, his expression dripping with amusement. "Y/n, I'm not good at keeping secrets, and you're not good at it either. My mask is hanging up on the hook by the door and you hung up my keys next to it and didn't even blink."

Y/n's head whipped around and - sure enough - there was the mask.

Damnit.

He looked back sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... just..."

Peter laughed, standing from the couch. "It's okay. I... appreciate it, honestly. Most people demand explanations or details or ask an overwhelming questions. When I realize you knew?" He shook his head. "How long have you known?"

Y/n pursed his lip, shrugging. A... while."

Peter snorted. "Since the beginning then."

Y/n winced. "Not the very beginning."

Peter laughed again, this time closing the distance between them. "I don't know what you were beating yourself up for but I hope you realize that you don't have to. I was drunk, and that made me much more affectionate than I usually am... but, it was the affection itself that drove me insane.  It was likeI'd been starving." He shrugged. "I probably was. But kissing you..." He smiled sweetly.

Y/n blushed. It was quiet for a moment before he asked, “So you’re glad last night happened?”

Peter grinned. “Yes. I am.” He shuffled, as if he wanted to ask something but felt too silly to do so.

“I’m glad it happened too,” Y/n eased. Peter melted in relief, his expression blooming with adoration - so close to the way he had looked at Y/n last night. Y/n took his hand, tracing the bones and veins. “Do you… want to be my boyfriend?” He cringed - it felt so silly to ask. Like he was in middle school all over again.

A chuckle came from Peter, but his answer didn’t follow in the form of words. Instead he reached over, catching Y/n’s chin and leaning into a kiss. They sighed blissfully at the same time, and Y/n divided that was answer enough.

-

Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

[booksapphic]

for the fuzzy sweater prompt: fratt get caught in the rain and go back to matts, matt's only clothes that will fit frank are the sweaters that his kind old lady clients knitted him that are a few sizes too big

ANON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT!!!!!!!!

(1k words, stupid disgusting amounts of fluff, no warnings, not edited, written at like twice my normal speed so sorry if it's bad, I'M SO SOFT FOR THEM!!!!!!)

By the time they started the walk home, it was pouring. Frank pulled up his hood and waited to see if dinner with their friends had put Matt in a good enough mood to not call him on it.

They made it a block. “It’s still fifty degrees out,” Matt said, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I guess you didn’t need a coat after all.”

Frank shot him a look. “It was clear when we left.”

“I said it was going to be raining on the walk back, not the walk there.”

“Next time I’ll ask if you smell rain before I go anywhere, yeah? That what you want?”

“It was the atmospheric pressure, not the smell,” Matt said easily, like Frank didn’t know what revealing any detail about his senses cost him. Frank shook his head, huffed in annoyance when rain fell from his hood into his face.

Matt grinned then offered out his hand, stopped moving his cane. Frank put it in the crook of his elbow and gathered Matt close, feeling the welcome heat of Matt’s body against his own.

Still, by the time they made it the few blocks to Matt’s apartment, Frank was freezing. Frank stripped off the drenched hoodie on the way to the bedroom, tossing a mild “fuck off,” behind him when Matt laughed. He pulled open the dresser drawer Matt had given him, then remembered he hadn’t done laundry in a week, and hadn’t moved enough of his things here to have more clothes. He’d gotten the key six months ago, kept a toothbrush here for much longer, but Matt hadn’t asked him to move in, and Frank hadn’t brought it up. He didn’t want to ruin whatever this was by putting a name to it.

If he asked Matt to borrow something, Matt would tease him about it for the next fifty years. If he took something from the laundry, Matt would refuse to sit to close to him until after he changed and showered. He put the drenched hoodie back on.

“What are you doing?”

Frank glanced behind him, saw Matt had already changed into a pair of sweatpants he’d kept on the bed, the jacket and button-down replaced by the ratty Columbia sweater Frank wasn’t allowed to mention whenever Nelson was around. The one time he’d asked Matt if he’d wanted it, the debate over whose it was went on for an hour.

 “Nothing,” Frank replied. “This actually’s the warmest thing I have right now is all.”

He began moving back to the living room, planning to take the side of the couch closest to the radiator and steal the throw blanket. Matt’s head tilted, then he sniffed. “You don’t have anything else clean, do you.”

Matt walked over to stand next to him, rifling through one of his drawers until he offered Frank a bundle of bright red fabric. It was a cable knit sweater, a little on the larger side, but right now Frank didn’t care. He changed into it, closed his eyes when the warm, dry yarn hit his skin.

Matt handed him an extra pair of sweatpants to replace his jeans, then lead them back to the living room. He took a seat on the couch and then gestured at Frank to join him. Frank ended up half on top of him, chest to chest, and Matt grabbed the blanket off the back to cover him with.

“Warm enough now?” Matt said, just enough teasing in his voice for Frank to catch.

“For now,” Frank said. “Patrol’s gonna be hell tonight, though.” Matt hummed, noncommittal.

Frank pulled back enough to glance up at him, trying to read his expression. “Thinking about staying in?”

Matt did his best to shrug, beginning to card a hand lazily through Frank’s hair. Frank grunted and dropped his head back down in content. “I’ll keep listening, see if we’re needed. But with the weather…” There would be fewer muggers and rapists out in this kind of downpour, and they didn’t have anything larger planned.

Frank was alright with that. He didn’t mind taking a night off, and Matt could use the extra sleep.

They laid there in silence for several minutes. The chill had been all but chased from Frank’s skin, and he said, “Never seen you wear this sweater before. S’warm.”

“Yeah, it’s wool. Took a case a few years ago, suing a doctor for medical malpractice. Our client was retired, but she knitted each of us a few sweaters. That’s the black one, right?”

Frank hesitated. It was as black as a fire truck, or a Santa hat. “Yeah.”

Matt stayed quiet for a second, then sighed. “It’s the one that Foggy said I should start wearing over my suit.”

Frank half-smiled against the side of Matt’s neck. “Yeah.”

“I guess I should be grateful. Karen said she could be mistaken for Barbie in one of hers.”

Frank huffed a laugh. “Would take it off her hands if I could fit in it. Wool’s expensive. You don’t wear it ‘cause of the color?”

“It’s wool,” Matt said in a disgusted voice.

“Yeah?” And?

“It itches.”

“Huh.” Now that Frank was paying attention, it was a bit itchy, but the feeling faded with his concentration. Still, if he could feel it, must be much worse for Matt. “Next time, ask your client to use cashmere yarn.”

Matt laughed, and Frank smiled again, broader this time. There was so much blood on his hands, but he could still make his—boyfriend? partner?—laugh.

Frank was half-asleep when Matt said quietly, “I can clean out another drawer if you need.”

Frank blinked open his eyes, pulled back to watch Matt’s face. “What?”

“So you don’t have to do laundry every week. It gets expensive.”

Frank glanced away and then back, trying to decide how to ask the question. “A drawer?”

“Two? A closet? Some space under the stairs for your weapons?”

Frank blinked, swallowed. “I mean, uh. I got a safehouse with all my shit in it.”

Matt nodded. His eyes flicked towards the floor, pointedly away from Frank, then back. “You can keep it, if you want. But you don’t have to. If you want.”

Frank looked away this time, trying to decide. “Yeah,” he finally said, then shifted closer to kiss him, once, gently. “Yeah, alright.”

[rose-of-oz]

𝐑𝐄-𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑

❝ Eddie Baker’s first encounter with a criminal was indirect. He was nine years old, and had come home from school eager to show his parents the math test he had aced, only to find his mother sobbing at the kitchen table and be told that his aunt had been killed by a mugger who had attempted to steal her purse. Eddie had never been that close to his aunt - she loved her sister, his mother, but had never really liked kids - but seeing his mother so broken because of something someone else had done had ignited a fire inside of him, a desire to one day get a job that would help make people who would do such horrible things pay for what they had done.

As Eddie grew older and his home life grew worse, that fire inside of him had steadily flared brighter and brighter. As his mother spiralled deeper and deeper into her grief over her lost sister, turning to alcohol to numb her pain, and his father had completely burned himself out trying to take care of two people at once and earn enough money to pay the bills, the young boy swore to himself that even if he couldn’t make the man who’d killed his aunt and caused all this misery (who’d never been caught by the police since the only witness to the crime was dead) pay for what he’d done, he would one day spend his entire life putting away anyone else who would do anything similar.

Eventually, Eddie fulfilled his promise to himself, getting a job at the FBI and working his way into a good position in the Critical Incident Response Group. He thrived in this job, treating every single case like it was the most important one he would ever work and revelling in the fact that he got to send some of his country’s worst off to prison where they belonged. He’d never exactly meant to make work his whole life, but he’d never really had any friends and his only hobby was tending to the many plants in his apartment - there had never really been a chance for him to have anyone in his life.

Until Eddie is required to correspond with the Behavioural Analysis Unit for a case, and quickly makes friends with the crazy, chaotic found family that is this team. Though Eddie likes his position in the FBI too much to even consider transferring to the BAU, he genuinely appreciates and cares about every member of that team, relishing his friendships with all of them for bringing some genuine happiness into his work-centred life.

And if he has started to have feelings for Aaron Hotchner, the stoic and courageous leader of the BAU team… well, Hotch is married with a kid and will never return Eddie’s feelings, but that’s fine. Eddie can endure this stupid little crush until it goes away, can’t he? ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

[butchrobin]

"don't move" || spidermike au oneshot

based on @drangues super cool au, specifically this post regarding wheeler sibling angst <3

~~~

All things considered, it had started as a pretty good day.

Not necessarily normal, no, things hadn’t been normal for Mike ever since he’d got bit by that spider that had granted him his powers. Now it seemed everyday was a new challenge to overcome, or more specifically, more bad guys he had to take care of. Just an ordinary day for Spider-Man, really. In the short year he’d been in the mask too much had happened for him to comprehend, part of him was still struggling to accept that he was different - though, truthfully, he had always been rather different to start with. 

The spider bite had changed a lot of things, but not everything. He wasn’t sure how many changes he could handle, the stability of his life was already long gone, a new less stable routine had taken place. One he wasn't sure how he felt about just yet, but was used to nonetheless.

So that’s where Mike found himself, webbing up the last unconscious criminal to the wall for the police to find and take away. There had only been a few, four muggers who had attempted to rob a man only a couple of years older than Mike himself. It was something Mike found he’d come to view as part of his new routine, he’d patrol often whenever he had the time to spare, which happened to be mostly at night. Student life be damned, he thought. So he found the night to be, well, normal he supposed. He’d stick around and make sure until the cops arrived and the thugs were in custody before resuming patrol. 

But then his spider sense, a buzzing feeling all around his body alerted him to danger behind him just as his ears picked up the sound of a gun being loaded. He swiveled round, body tense as he prepared to web up any thug he’d missed, assuming they must have called for backup. But nothing could have prepared him for who was holding the gun, he lowered his hand, the lenses of his mask conveying his shock and growing wide as he gaped, horrified.

Because it was Nancy. His older sister Nancy. And she was holding him at gunpoint, her knuckles pale with how tightly she was gripping the pistol, which she had aimed right at the spider symbol on his chest.

“Don’t move.” Nancy snarled. Mike couldn’t even if he tried, or wanted to. His body had seized up entirely. He couldn’t breathe either, his breaths caught in his throat as he stared.

“Wait-” Mike blurted, but Nancy silenced him by taking a deliberate step closer, the gun clasped firmly in her hands. 

“Don’t even try it.” Nancy hissed darkly, her eyes flashed coldly, holding an icy glare Mike didn’t know she was capable of. “It’s about time you answered for what you did.”

“I-”

“Everyone thinks you’re a hero. But you’re not, I know what you are and I’m going to show them.” Nancy went on, her voice never wavering. “You’re a murderer.”

Mike exhaled shakily, not moving an inch as he eyed the gun warily. Right, that brought him back to the complications with being Spider-Man. The complication being that his sister hated his web-crawling persona, ever since the untimely death of her best friend, someone Mike had known well with all the time she’d spent at their house.

Barbara. The thought brought back a string of painful memories, followed by immense guilt. Nancy had blamed him and sought to avenge Barb, she’d grown bitter and resented him for it  and it seemed the hate she felt for Spider-Man that had taken root since had never quite let her go.

Now she was here, gun in her hands and ready to shoot. And Mike? Part of him that felt the most guilt for what happened to Barb wanted to let her.

The spider part of his psyche however screamed at him to do something. To disarm her, run away and to not look back. But the other part, the part who had always looked up to his sister with nothing but admiration all his life, could only remain fixed in place, stiff as a board and speechless as she seethed.

“I won’t shoot you, if I don’t have to.” Nancy spoke again, her voice hard. “You’re going to stay here until the police arrive and then you’re going to hand yourself over to them.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “But if you try to leave, I will do it. I have a good enough reason to and I know how to use this.”

Mike didn’t doubt that. He would’ve laughed if he weren’t so goddamn terrified right now, he knew how skilled Nancy was with an assortment of guns, Hopper - the Chief of HCPD had taught her himself.

Mike finally found his voice again. “Please just let me-” in doing so, he finally seemed to snap out of his frozen trance, moving forward slightly but retreating just as quickly when Nancy jabbed the gun forward in his direction. His sense was buzzing worse now, but it was confused, it had never before perceived his sister as a threat. It was disorientating, with the pure panic overwhelming him in that moment he could barely think.

“I said don’t move.” Nancy repeated, her words firm.

A breathless sound almost akin to a sob escaped Mike’s lips. “Nancy please.” Usually he would have hated how feeble and weak he sounded, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that right now.

A look of confusion flashed within Nancy’s eyes at that. Her breathing hitched and her expression then solidified once more. “How do you know my name?” She demanded harshly. Mike’s gaze was still fixed on the pistol, unmoving.

He wasn’t thinking clearly right now, he knew that much with how everything around him had muted - which is why he wasn’t sure why he did it. But he dragged his gaze away from the gun, to his sister's enraged look, then back to the gun and his fear spiked. It was a split second decision based solely off adrenaline alone and he regretted it the moment he’d done it.

He ripped off his mask.

“Nance…”

Nancy went completely still.

Mike used her reaction to finally get the words he’d been wanting to say out.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you ever since… but I… I didn’t know how. I thought about it everyday but I just couldn't…  Just please listen to me Nance. I didn’t… I didn’t murder Barb. I swear I… I tried so hard to save her. You have to believe me, I-” Mike fumbled with his words, still stricken with panic. “Can you… Can you please just listen to me?” He pleaded, “I’m your brother… Do you really think I’m a murderer?” His breaths came out short and ragged, he was finding it increasingly more difficult to compose himself.

Nancy didn’t reply, she still didn’t look up to meet his eyes.

“Nance please, please listen to me. I would never murder anyone I didn’t… I didn’t kill Barb, you don’t understand just let me-”

A thundering gunshot filled his ears. Mike’s jaw snapped shut. Nancy lowered her hand from where she’d fired the pistol into the sky.

When she finally looked up to meet his gaze, he really wished she hadn’t. Her expression was pained, but her eyes were colder than he’d ever seen. It was a look he thought he’d never see on his sister's face, especially directed only to him.  Mike’s heart raced, his body had shifted without him knowing, his instincts locking him into a defensive stance. The spider screamed at him to run, get out of here, go.

He ignored it.

“Nance, please…” Mike begged softly, hoping she’d listen.

Nancy drew in a deep breath that didn’t sound too steady, the pistol shaking as her hand trembled. “You need to wait for the police to get here.” This time her voice did waver, but her words were the only thing Mike could focus on. He stared at her, dark eyes wide and filled with disbelief, brimming with tears.

“Nance stop.” He begged, a sob catching in his throat as he desperately tried to get through to her. He took a step forward, Nancy took one back, he looked down at the gun still pointed squarely at his chest. His eyes found his sisters again. “Are you really this afraid of me? Please don’t… Just-”

He stopped short when registered the sound of sirens a block or two away, the police were almost here and Nancy…

Nancy was willing to turn him over to them.

When the sirens got closer and the sound of a car skidding to a halt at the end of the alley was heard, Nancy looked away at the direction of where the noise had come from, distracted. And Mike, still so scared and hurt and betrayed and panicked, took his chance. He shot his wrist outwards and a web shot towards the pistol, he yanked it from her hold before she could even look back.

Mike stayed in place for a few moments, eyes locked onto Nancy’s own, he didn’t have time to catch the look in her eyes before his spider sense buzzed frantically as approaching voices grew louder and without a second thought Mike launched himself into the sky, finally allowing the tears to fall. He kept swinging, the city a mere blur around him, no real destination in mind, no goal other than to get away from there. 

Away from the piercing look of cold hatred in his sister's eyes.

[lifeontoast]

Have I Found You?

 

Edward Nashton x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used)

 

SUMMARY: Edward thinks he has found his soulmate at long last.


A/N: a little something for my Eddie/Riddler fans - enjoy! I’m pretty proud of this one. Feel free to drop me any other Paul Dano requests if you have them.

 

Trigger warnings: traumatic past mildly implied, mugging

 

…

EDWARD’S POV

 

It’s her. I know it. She’s my angel sent down from Heaven. She’s made for me. Me, who has been so loveless my entire, miserable existence.

 

When I saw her in the diner yesterday, I am not at all ashamed to say I was absolutely transfixed by her totally mesmerising beauty. She was the purest, prettiest creature to bless these disgusting Gotham streets. What on earth is she doing here? Still, I can protect her from that. Well, Edward might not be able to, but Riddler certainly can. Just as soon as I get her to notice me. I know that she’ll love me when she gets to know me! There’s a word, a word I can’t quite grasp…

 

I’m going back to the diner tonight; she might be there again.

 

NORMAL POV

 

It’s him. You know it. He’s your angel sent down from Heaven. He’s made for you. You, who have been so loveless your entire, miserable existence.

 

When you saw that cute guy at the diner yesterday, it took everything you had not to go over and introduce yourself right away. He was far too good looking for someone like you, or so you thought. His transparent glasses rested on his nose in such an adorable manner, and even from a distance you could see his forest green eyes sparkling magically. Soft brown hair flopped over his forehead as he bent over his pumpkin pie, and what looked to be a puzzle book. Gorgeous and smart. He was perfect. All too aware that you were gazing shamefully, staring even, you looked away, a slight blush on your cheeks.

 

You’re going back to the diner tonight; he might be there again.

 

TIMESKIP TO LATER THAT DAY…

 

It was time. You were going to head to the diner, in the hopes that the gorgeous man would be there again. He had to be. The servers always seemed to know him by name (he was a regular!), though you didn’t know what name. You’d have to ask him that later. Walking down the streets (carefully, always carefully, as who knew what was lurking in those dark alleyways), you noticed a scuffle up ahead of you. Approaching cautiously, you tried to assess the situation. It was a mugging! Some poor guy was having his wallet stolen right in front of you. 

 

Sprinting up to the guy, you prised the mugger’s huge hands off the man and took the wallet back, finally punching him square in the face. He fell to the ground groaning. It was only as you looked at the man who had been victim to the attack that you realised who it was. It was the man from the diner, shaking like a leaf and looking astonished. Even when scared he didn’t look any less gorgeous. His green eyes were wide behind his wonky glasses, and even wider when he noticed it was you who stood in front of him. He bent his head to look at the grimy pavement instantly, cheeks turning red as a tomato.

‘Thank you!’ the man said, daring to steal a glance at you at last. ‘You saved me!’

‘It’s no problem, really.’ You smiled back. ‘Hey, didn’t I see you at the diner yesterday? Let’s go there now, to recover a little.’

The man nodded shakily. ‘Actually, I was heading there when that scumbag attacked me. By the way, I never caught your name... I, um, I’m Edward.’ 

‘Y/N.’ you said simply, starting to walk towards the diner. Edward followed behind you, smiling to himself. Pretty name for a pretty guy, you thought.

 

EDWARD’S POV

 

I was just on my way to the diner to see if that ethereal angel would be there when some idiot decided to mug me for my wallet. It was just a shame that Riddler wasn’t there; he could have killed the man in seconds. Instead, weak, puny, Edward had to cope with him all on his own. I was so tired, I was about to just give him my wallet when someone came running over, and started fighting the guy for me! Finally, punching the man to the ground, I turned to look at my saviour, when I saw the woman from the diner yesterday. So she was an angel! She had been sent there to save me, I just knew it. My eyes widened in disbelief, and I blushed terribly, looking at my feet. She saved me! I thanked her, and she offered to take me to the diner to recover. I asked her name, and she replied with the most heavenly name I’d ever heard: Y/N. It suited her perfectly. 

 

I felt myself fall for her straight away, my heart pounding crazily every time I looked at her beautiful face. When I saw her for the first time yesterday, I just knew she was the one for me! She could never like someone like me, though. I was ugly, and she was stunning. I was weak, she was strong. I was a devil, a worthless sinner, she was an angel. My angel. There was that word again, still just out of my reach…

 

We started on our way to the diner.

 

NORMAL POV

 

You sat down on one of the stools in front of the counter, and Edward sat beside you.

‘Edward, hello! Pumpkin pie?’ the friendly server asked him with a grin, and he nodded.

‘One for Y/N too, please. And two coffees.’ He replied quietly. Looking at you for approval of this order, you smiled gracefully. She nodded, and turned to get your food and drink. You and Edward whiled away the hours chatting about your lives, in between bites of pie and sips of coffee. You felt sure that you were in love with Edward, but were worried that he didn’t feel the same way. Your heart sped up, and your palms were clammy with nerves. All your life, you had never met anyone quite like Edward. He was quiet, yet charming and chivalrous. Beginning to let your mind wander, you pictured your and his life together. Edward would definitely make a brilliant husband, father, grandfather. His shy kindness endeared you to him infinitely, and you saw that he would never let you lift a finger while you were with him. No, that’s ridiculous! You told yourself to get over this pathetic little crush, not knowing that he felt the same way entirely. He definitely had a nice girl waiting for him at home, right? In fact, you probably shouldn’t be keeping him from her.

 

You decided not to pursue your feelings any further, not wanting to ruin your newfound friendship. Well, there are certain things you cannot share with another person without becoming friends with them, and saving someone from a mugging is one of them.

‘So, Edward, anyone waiting for you back at home?’ you asked, as casually as possible, secretly desperate that there wasn’t anybody. You just had to know.

‘Me? No, of course not!’ he laughed a little too loudly, seemingly wanting to prove eagerly that he was single. Strange. Now that he mentioned it, he did give you the slight impression that he had never been with anyone at all. Something about the twinkle of innocence and inexperience in those emerald eyes.

‘What about you?’ he asked, an audibly sad note in his voice.

You’d been free as air for a while now. You told him so. He looked strangely relieved. He smiled that beautiful, shy smile again.

‘So, Edward, what do you do for a job?’ you asked curiously. You couldn’t work out just by his appearance what he did, although you were sure it would be something nerdy.

‘I, um, I’m a forensic accountant, yourself?’ he replied.

You knew it. Edward was a little nerd! This endeared you to the man even further. You told him what you did, and he nodded, looking a little tense, zoned-out even. You were slightly worried, and were about to ask him if he was okay, when he suddenly exploded.

‘But I hate it there! They all call me Ed-weird, and make fun of me for liking puzzles and “being weird”. It’s not fair! I always have loved my riddles, but they just don’t understand them like I do. They’re so exciting, it gives me such a thrill when I solve one, makes me feel so powerful. Powerful enough to shut them up, to tell them that I’m not who they think I am. I’m not weird! Even in school they’d make fun of me, and at the orphanage too. It was so horrible there! We were always hungry; there was never enough for everyone, and in the winter, it was so cold… if only the Gotham Renewal fund had been used as it should have been, instead of a private money tree for those rich scumbags we call politicians and leaders!’ he seemed like he’d wanted to say all that to someone for a very long time. Breathing heavily, he glanced up at you carefully over his glasses, wincing slightly in embarrassment at his outburst, trying to gauge your reaction. Risking everything, you reached out and placed your hand over his shaky one, to comfort him. You threw him a sympathetic glance, and he blushed and smiled ever-so-slightly in return.

 

EDWARD’S POV

 

I was having such a great time at the diner with Y/N. I was falling deeper and deeper with every passing second, and felt ashamed at myself. How could she ever like me back? She asked me what I do, and I told her. But there was something I wanted to say to her, something to tell her. Something I’d wanted to tell anyone, anyone at all who would listen, to be honest. Anybody else would look at me like a rat and get up and leave in disgust. But she was different. She wasn’t like all my co-workers (if you could call them that; they hardly did any work) or strangers on the street. I had a feeling that Y/N would understand me, after all, she was my angel. Of course she’d understand. 

 

It all came out in a rush. I hadn’t meant it to be like that! She looked a little stunned when I’d finished, but, surprisingly, she placed her warm, soft hand over mine. She smiled, and I melted. My heart blew up in a supernova. She was just perfect. She looked into my eyes like she loved me, loved me! I finally knew the word I had been grasping at for hours now. 

 

Soulmate.

 

…

 

A/N: as usual, thanks so much for reading! You guys rock! Once again, feel free to drop me any other Paul requests if you have them.

[spookyson]

Hiiiiiii wrote something on my ao3 and decided to post it here!

Jason’s legs are only steady because of experience, otherwise, he had no doubt he would be on the floor and shaking.

“You disregarded my orders, jumped in without thinking, and nearly compromised the entire mission!” yells Bruce. “Exactly what was going through your head?”

Jason fights to keep from fidgeting and focuses on one of the ears of the Bat-cowl. “I saw an opening and I went for it.”

“You entered the fray and almost got yourself killed,” snarls Bruce. Jason’s never been scared of Bruce. Not after those first few months where he was convinced Bruce was going to kill him or do worse. He wouldn’t say he’s scared of him now either, but the fine trembles in his hands indicate otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” he says because what else is there to say? It had been a good night. Batman and Robin were on a mission, a drug bust. They had studied the case for weeks and trained and practiced until both of them knew exactly what to do. It should have gone perfectly. It did not. In between the fight, a fight that Batman had explicitly ordered him to stay out of, Jason had spotted the opportunity to knock out one of the leaders of the whole operation. If he could just get to him then they could learn where the other warehouses were.

Jason has to admit it did not go that way. He’s nursing bruised ribs, black eyes, and a bullet graze on the side of his stomach. Worst of all, he’s getting yelled at by Bruce. Bruce who never so much as raised his voice at Jason. Who always always preferred to talk things out. The guy who had to get Alfred to give Dick and Jason punishments because he couldn’t bear to even ground them for a week.

That Bruce, the gentle one, was furious at Jason. “Jason, I don’t know how we’re supposed to work if you can’t follow basic instructions.”

“Bruce, I’m sorry!” blurts Jason. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m benching you,” says Bruce. Like he didn’t hear Jason at all. “For a month.”

“What?” exclaims Jason. The shock momentarily overrides Jason’s fear response. “A month? Bruce, I can’t be out for a month. Gotham needs me. You need me.”

Bruce aims a disdainful glare at him. “I don’t need you like this,” he informs him coolly.

—

I don’t need you like this. I don’t need you… I don’t need you.

Jason gulps back the sobs threatening to escape his mouth. He’s already thrown the dark hood of his jersey over his head to cover up the tears but he knows that wailing in the middle of the night on a Gotham street is the fastest way to get mugged.

He moves quickly, not eager to get caught out by some opportunistic mugger but with no real destination in mind. Jason just can’t stay at the manor. He knows that much. He knows that leaving now will save him the pain of listening to Bruce kick him out and he doesn’t know if he can survive that.

Before, when he was on the streets, he didn’t know what a warm home and a kind family were. His father was in and out of prison and more often than not stuck with his dick in a hooker or he wandered around the city with a gang. His mother spent half her time high on heroin and the other half wishing she was. And all this was before he had to live in the alleys of Gotham City, America’s crime capital. But he had been able to survive because he didn’t think there was anything better. Now though, after having experienced kindness, affection maybe even love, however little, Jason knew he was too weak.

Maybe he should cry. He should scream loud enough for the entire city to hear him. Some rogue could take him out before Bruce’s words did him in.

The chill of the night air penetrates Jason’s hoodie, cutting him to the very bone. He knows it used to feel worse when he was all skin and twiggy limbs, but he can’t ever remember being so cold. Jason rubs his hands up and down his arms, hoping to generate some semblance of warmth. It doesn’t do an awful lot.

He heads further into the city. There’s nothing else he can do. Gotham nightlife is not for tourists, it’s barely for the locals. Jason has to shake off 3 tails in the span of an hour and all because the hoodie he’s wearing is one of the new ones Bruce got for him. It’s expensive and he guesses that people picked up on that. Jason will probably have to rough it up a bit if he wants to keep it. He instantly rebels at the idea of ruining the clothes. If he recalls correctly, Dick gave it to him for his birthday.

Thinking of Dick only makes it worse. Bruce’s eldest son is… perfect. He’s tall, handsome, smart, charming, and everything Jason’s not. Every night when he puts on the suit he can feel the ghost of Dick Grayson haunting him. An invisible presence that judges every move he makes and every word he says. He knows that Bruce can hear it too. It’s obvious on the training mats when he takes too long to pick something or when he doesn’t smile enough or talk enough or-

It would be so much easier if he could hate Dick, but Jason can’t even manage that properly. How can you hate someone when they make the people you love happy? Bruce’s smile is always brighter when Dick visits. Alfred has that pleased look on his face when Dick informs him that he’s sticking around for the weekend. Jason’s not cruel enough to hate that. He just wishes that was the end of it. But it’s not. He doesn’t hate Dick, rather he wishes Dick loved him. Because Dick is amazing, just like everyone says he is. He’s clever and funny, and Jason knows he only throws out stupid puns so people don’t know that. He’s the most talented fighter Jason knows, better than Bruce or he’s going to be and Jason wants to be just like him. Dick is caring. He loves people with such strength that it leaves Jason breathless.

Jason also knows that Dick hates him. For taking Robin when he had no right to and Jason understands. He gets it, okay? Dick doesn’t want some no-name street trash taking the mantle he made legend. Fair enough. But someone has to do it. People will say Gotham needs Batman to fight the darkness but it needs Robin to shine the way just as much.

Jason knew Dick would hate him for that. He wishes not to care so much.

Jason almost trips over his feet, Robin training be damned, when a scream slices through the night. He grabs a wall to brace himself and idly wonders if that was him and then it comes again. Loud and scared. They sound young.

Jason’s moving before he knows it, running at top speed down the street and the source of the noise. He was good at navigating Gotham by streetlight years ago but Bruce’s training has toned the muscles in his arms and legs. He’s only slightly hampered by his injuries from earlier.

Another gut-wrenching scream later Jason finds what he’s looking for down an alley. A group of men are gathered in a half circle around a smaller figure pressed to a wall. He slows his approach, even if he’s raring to rush in and smash their heads in. Bruce’s words from earlier replay in his head. Think, Jason, think. Almost all of them are taller than Jason but he’s willing to bet that he’s the only trained fighter here. Then again, they have the advantage of numbers and he has someone to protect.

He creeps closer, near enough to hear the exchange.

“Stop screaming will ya? Ain’t nobody gonna come running ta help,” drawls a pale guy in a green beanie. There’s a lewd smirk on his face that further unsettles Jason’s stomach. “So why don'tcha be quiet and let us have our fun, eh? Promise it won’t hurt too much.”

Now that he can see more clearly, Jason realizes that the victim is a dark-skinned female, maybe a few years older than Jason, with an expression that alternates between a scowl and a fearful frown. She’s frightened but she doesn’t want them to see that. “Fuck off,” she spits. “Before I bite your dicks off.”

Another man with a red jacket slams his hands onto her mouth. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

His friend, Green Beanie, tugs his arm away. “Shit, dude. Don’t fuck her up yet.”

“Let the rest of us have a taste first, eh?” adds another guy.

Jason doesn’t need to hear anymore. He waves a hand and captures the girl’s attention, gesturing for her to run. She locks eyes with him and shakily nods, fear finally breaking through her bravado. Jason keeps the scowl off his face as he silently picks up the lid of a trash can. He creeps a few steps closer and slams the lid down on the biggest guy’s head. It works like a charm, he drops to the ground.

The rest of the gang paused, shock coloring their faces. The girl uses it to escape, dashing out of the alley with impressive speed. That seems to wake them up.

“Oi,” says Green Beanie. “Fuck do ya think you’re doing, runt?”

Jason lunges at the guy nearest to him, a strong punch to the gut and the dude keels over. “Beating the shit out of you.” Yeah, he doesn’t really have Robin’s penchant for puns and jokes.

They collectively realize he’s a threat and finally, run at him.

He ducks low to avoid a punch and kicks his attacker’s legs out from under him. The man goes flying, conveniently tripping up another of his friends. Jason’s already moving to dodge a kick coming for his thing. He swings a punch at Red Jacket, the dude who hit the girl and winces a little when his fist meets solid muscle. It does the trick and Jason’s sure it’ll leave a nasty bruise, but his estimation of the skill level in the alley may be a little off.

He’s got no time to regret it though, because Green Beanie procures a wicked-looking baseball bat and lifts it high to bring down on Jason’s head. He throws himself to the side, rolling to recover and Red Jacket’s in his face with a mean smirk and a meaner-looking fist. Jason. A silver knuckle buster decorates his thick fingers. Jason knows this will hurt.

He cries out, gasping in pain when the metal connects with his ribs. Fuck, the bruises. Jason slumps to the ground, almost blacking out because it hurts too much. He hears a scattering of footsteps around him. Fuck, they have him surrounded.

Jason weakly lifts his head and looks right into at Green Beanie, who tosses the handle of his bat from hand to hand and grins. “Well, well, looks like you’re the fun for tonight, buddy. ‘Specially ‘cause you let the whore run off.”

He only has enough breath to pant, “Fuck you.” before the bat connects with his shoulder.

Jason feels every single blow on his softened skin. It hurts more now as if his grueling training as Robin had somehow softened him. Every brutal kick from someone’s shoes that bore metal studs cut into his skin. The bat came down relentlessly, ruthlessly slamming bone harder into the unforgiving concrete. Jason couldn’t hear a lot more above his own screams and grunts and how it hurt so fucking much.

He tried to reason the hurt away. It would be like this more often from now on since he would need to head back onto the streets prior to finding a job. Jason’s older now, but in no less danger of being jumped. If he couldn’t take a beating now then he wouldn’t survive long in Crime Alley.

It only makes Jason cry. If only Bruce loved him. If only Dick loved him. He wouldn’t be here. He could go further back. He wouldn’t be here if his mother had loved him more than her drugs, he wouldn’t be here if his father had cared for anyone other than himself.

But that’s the kicker, isn’t it? The punchline of the tasteless joke that’s Jason’s life. Nobody loves him. It’s time he accepts that.

Jason almost doesn’t notice when they stop hitting him. Trapped in a haze of hurt and pain as he is, it takes him a while to realize that it’s oddly silent. Jason has just enough common sense to excruciatingly push himself up on his elbows. They’re shaking and he’s not confident in his ability to stand but he knows he has to get up.

Jason looks up to realize the men attacking him and unconscious and on the ground. A lone figure stands between them, cloaked in darkness and for one wild second Jason thinks it’s Batman. Come to save Jason Todd from himself again. The person steps closer and Jason falters when he recognises them.

Nightwing slowly strides closer to Jason, every powerful muscle in his body subtly angled submissively, just enough so that a victim (and Jason registers that he is the victim right now) remains calm enough for him to administer any first aid.

But Dick can’t see him like this. He can’t know just how stupid and pathetic Jason really is. Dick would hate him more than he already does for sullying Robin.

Jason uses his relatively unharmed hand to pull his hood up and scrambles backward, wincing when his skin rubs against the alley concrete. “Don’t-” he cringes at how broken his voice sounds but is grateful for it all the same. It covers up his natural cadence. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Hey, kid, calm down. My name’s Nightwing, I’m with Batman. I’m here to help,” says Dick. “I need to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Jason lies. “Please just. Leave me alone.”

Something sad flashes over Dick’s face but it’s gone as quick as it came. He takes a step back, giving Jason more space, but he knows the older vigilante well enough to know it’s not an out. “Alright. Walk out then.”

Jason glared through the hood. Dick must know he can’t stand. He’s probably waiting for Jason to admit it.

“I’m not showing you where I live,” he says instead. It’s a little hard to talk though. Jason feels tired.

Dick easily grins. “I won’t follow you, scout’s honor. So long as you can get up.”

He knows it’s a lie. He knows that. Jason still tries to stand. He grabs the wall with one hand and heaves himself upward, pointedly ignoring the potent ache in his gut. Fuck, what if his ribs are broken? He takes a deep breath and almost kneels over. It hurts so much. He needs- He needs to go to the Cave. But he can’t, so he’ll have to make the trek to Leslie’s clinic. She could recognize him though…

Jason’s not surprised when he trips and hits the ground. His head slams into the concrete, along with his tender abdomen and he can’t hold anything back as he screams.

Dick’s on him in seconds, his gentle hands quickly lifting him off the ground and flitting up and down Jason’s body to catalogue all the injuries he has. It’s a lot, Jason would know. Dick’s hands reach his hood, probably to check his head and Jason cannot stop him. The last thing he sees, just before he blacks out, is Dick’s gaping mouth.

“Jason?”

“Jason!”

Jason jerks awake only to be pushed back into a soft surface. There’s a face floating above his face but everything’s so blurry.

“Jason? Jay, how are you feeling?” Their voice sounds as though Jason is underwater. “Hey, Little Wing. C’mon, tell me how you’re doing.”

Dick? But that’s impossible, Dick’s not nice to him. Jason decides it’s a dream and it can’t hurt to talk to the Dick-whose-not-real. “I’m okay. What about you?”

Nightwing laughs, the sound accompanied by strong fingers threading through Jason’s hair. “I’m okay, but you took quite a few hits, huh? Wanna tell me what you were doing out there?”

“I was going back,” mumbles Jason, suddenly saddened.

“Back where?”

“Back to the Alley.”

The hand in his hair stills for a fraction of a second before Dick continues his grooming. “And why were you going to Park Row?”

Jason doesn’t want to talk about it yet he doesn’t want to make Dick angry. He likes nice Dick, he doesn’t want him to go away. “Bruce don’t want me anymore.”

“What?”

But Jason’s eyes are growing heavier and he can only hum in response as sleep claims him once more.

The second time he wakes up is less pleasant than the first. For one, there’s no one by his bed. Secondly, the pain that was blissfully absent at his first waking has come back with vengeance. His chest and arms throb with pain and he can barely reach for the water bottle on the table next to him without crying.

He’s also in the Batcave. The medbay to be exact.

He can’t hear much beyond his own heavy breathing but Jason’s learned to pick up other signs of Dick and Bruce’s arguments. Whenever Batman and Nightwing fight, one can see it in the Batarangs that Dick tosses around in frustration. It’s obvious in the way Bruce opens up cold cases to wind himself down. Jason can just barely see the Bat-computer screen from his bed and groans when he reads that the murder dates back to 1943. Of course, the family deserves justice, but Jason wished it wasn’t at the expense of his family.

He digs his nails into the flesh of his palm. This is not his family. He should remember that.

Jason feels steady enough despite the aches to try standing. He’s pleasantly surprised when he manages to stay upright and even elated when he learns he can walk. Jason should be able to move quickly enough to avoid any more potential beatdowns.

He walks to the med bay doors and catches the sound of Dick’s voice. It’s low and furious and Jason is not surprised. He must be talking about Jason.

“-him? What the fuck is wrong with you? He was, oh my god, his ribs were broken!” yells Dick. He’s shedded the Nightwing suit and is clothed in a loose Gotham University hoodie and sweatpants. Dick had probably gotten showered and changed while Jason was sleeping. He pauses and turns around, meeting Jason’s eyes. “You’re awake.”

Jason ducks his head. “Uh, yeah.” He makes himself meet Dick’s eyes. “Thanks for the save.” Jason looks to Bruce. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come back. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Jason’s not even given the opportunity to face the Batcave exit. He knows Dick’s not a speedster, that’s the Flash 2.0 he hangs around with, but he swears that no human should have been fast enough to cover the distance between them in 2 seconds flat.

Dick is mindful of Jason’s injuries but firm when he grabs Jason around the waist and yanks him to him to Bruce. “Where do you think you’re going, Little Wing?” he asks, false humor in his voice.

“Jason,” interrupts Bruce. He’s never looked more forbidding than he does right now, even though he’s dressed in civvies. An impassive stare resides on his face. It doesn’t help Jason’s nerves one bit. “What happened?”

“I was at Crime Alley, I uh, got jumped,” responds Jason. He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “It’s fine, it happens.”

Bruce reaches out with a shaky hand. Jason stays still. He knows Bruce won’t hurt him but it has not been a good day. The tips of his fingers lightly brush over the swollen areas of Jason’s eye, so gently he can’t almost cannot feel them. Jason relaxes, Batman won’t hurt him, even though he is about to fire him.

Dick softly pushes Jason into Bruce, who envelopes him into his body. The hug is harsh and unyielding but arranged so it does not aggravate Jason. He can smell the soap from the showers and the detergent Alfred useless from Bruce’s clothes, as well as a faint hint of expensive cologne. He would say it smells like his father and just for this second, he can pretend he has one.

“Never do that again,” says Bruce, whispering right into Jason’s ear.

Jason can only agree because he doesn’t want this to end, even though he’s not sure he knows what Bruce is talking about.

Bruce’s larger form abruptly scoops Jason up and for once he doesn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed about it. He still hides his face away when he sees that Dick is still there.

“We should ice his ribs, B,” says Dick. “They must be hurting by now.”

Bruce only grunts in acknowledgement but Dick’s exasperated sigh is practically a flag of peace. Jason smiles a little.

They sit him down on the same bed. Bruce squeezes his hand once more before leaving to alert Alfred and fetch an ice pack. Dick elects to stay behind with Jason.

He defensively hunches up a little. This must be when Dick rails at him for ruining Robin. He knows he deserves it but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. “I’m sorry,” he says instead. “I know I fucked up.”

“Kid.” Dick sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think we gotta clear something up.” Jason doesn’t say anything, Dick continues. “I’m not going to be mad at you for getting beat up by a pack of thugs. I know it’s probably not your fault and no way am I going to yell at a kid with broken ribs. I’m not B.”

“Okay.”

“And I also think that B’s gotta clear somethings up too. I know he’s a dumb jerk sometimes but he probably didn’t mean to kick you out for one little fuck up on a mission,” finishes Dick.

“But I’m not you,” exclaimed Jason. “He loves you, he doesn’t… he doesn’t think like that about me.” And if Bruce doesn’t love him then he must hate him because if his own parents didn’t care enough to stick around for him then a wealthy man who is better of in every single way probably resents him for taking his real son’s place. Fuck, Jason just had to agree to Bruce’s proposal, didn’t he? He couldn’t tough it out for a few more years, find a job and maybe not feel so fucking pathetic right now.

There’s wetness on his cheeks. He’s crying. He’s crying in front of Dick Grayson. He’s crying in front of Robin. Maybe Willis was right. He might’ve been a good-for-nothing asshole but he obviously knew something if he managed to survive to adulthood in Crime Alley. Whereas Jason almost had his fucking head busted open, he was only alive because Nightwing decided to step in. He really was worthless, wasn’t he? A waste of space just as bad as his father.

Who the fuck had he been kidding? He didn’t belong here. Jason was the son of gang member and a drug addict, not Batman, not Bruce Wayne. And he definitely wasn’t Dick’s brother.

Nightwing looked surprised. “Uh kid? I mean Jason. Jason, what’s wrong?”

Jason doesn’t even know what he says next. It’s probably something cringe-inducing, considering his emotional state at the time. All he knows is that one second he’s weeping out his heart on the med bay bed and the second he’s wrapped up in Dick Grayson.

At first, he doesn’t quite compute it. Jason’s always reckoned with the fact that there will be some things in life that will be unattainable for him. It used to be his parents and college when he was on the streets, and though some things are within reach thanks to Bruce, a hug from Dick Grayson never registered on that list. It was too far-fetched, even for Jason’s dreams.

It feels real now though. It smells like old clothes and feels like hard muscles and it sounds like someone slowly breathing and encouraging Jason to slow down.

“Jason. Jay, slow down. It’s okay,” says Dick. “I got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Jason nods from where he’s pressed into Dick’s shoulder. “Okay,” he breathes.

Dick slowly pushes away a little, just enough for them to make eye contact. “Hey, listen. I know I haven’t been the best brother.”

Jason can’t help it. “We’re brothers.”

“Yeah, Jay.” One of Dick’s hands reaches up to brush Jason’s cheeks. “We’re brothers. I’m sorry for being an asshole, it wasn’t your fault.”

Brothers. They are brothers. Jason always wanted a sibling.

“And I won’t ditch you. No matter what you do. Bruce won’t either, but I’m not him, I don’t have all his million rules and hang-ups.” Dick leaned in so their foreheads touched. “When I say you’re my brother, I mean that it’s all that will ever matter.”

Jason was a street kid, one needs a hefty amount of paranoia to survive that. But it also taught him how to differentiate the truth from a lie. Nothing in the determined set of Dick’s lips and earnest expression in his eye spoke of falsifications.

He meant it when he said he cared. He meant it when he said nothing else was important.

“Okay.”

Also link to ao3

Alsoooo opening up requests, if anyone has a gen batfam prompt I'd be happy to write it!

[syntia13treeman]

Case files 13.01

CAT3RB4622-17092023-14032024

what I think happened in:

Case 13.01, the case of "The Zorrotrade App" or "Play stupid games, win stupid prizes: Cryptobro edition"

What we know about the Zorrotrade App:

It likely has no government oversight.

It does some weird background checks of new users.

It allows users to engage in highly profitable and borderline illegal financial exploits.

They have some shady experimental features that are not advertised, hidden under a tonne of submenus and must be found and opted in by the user. (Free will, babey).

They have an Adjustment Department.

What we suspect about the Zorrotrage App:

It's magic.

One of magical perks is protectingusers phone from being stolen;

One of magical cons is compulsive truth spell included in their support line answerphone.

Another magical con: the Adjustment Department.

So let's meet a Zorrotrade user. Darrien Laurel (account number 428813). He had no shame, no self-awareness and no sense of decency. Also not a shred of common sense.

He came from a poor family (though considering his definition of 'broke' I'm not sure if his parents were actually poor, or just 'won't buy me a porshe' 'poor'). He went to private public expensive high school thanks to a scholarship, which – props to him, for this thing and this thing only. Boo to anything else he did with his life.

After school he took student loan, and instead of spending in on studying, he sunk it all in financial speculations (This has to be illegal, right? Aren't there stipulation in the contract about the permissible uses of the loan?) He used every trick in the book (specifically, the "book of things that are shady as fuck and are only technically legal because rich people benefit from them"). Shorting (and possibly indirectly bankrupting) startup companies and trading in cryptocurrency among them.

He used the funds he acquired this way for the ever so important business of impressing his former classmates, getting plastic surgeries, and buying excessive and excessively expensive shit. (Your suitcase does not have to cost a 1000 dollars, you prick). (Why are you buying in dollars, anyway? Did you have that imported from USA? Use pounds or euros like a proper European, asshat).

Then, in 2020, a tragedy: while he was peacefully sailing with his good friend Oli somewhere south of France, one bad investment left him broke – that is to say, just with a few thousands worth of clothes on his back (and in his 1000$ suitcase) (and the watch on his wrist) (and just a few thousands of savings to throw away on a whim).

Truly, a more devastating blow has never been dealt to anyone in human history.

This is when he discovered that his rich 'friends' really did hate him all along. More importantly, he discovered the experimental feature on his favourite app, "Personal Projection Short Selling". There were no instructions, but by stroke of bad decisions and bad luck (blindly investing most of his remaining money + getting drank + braking his friend's TV, and getting kicked out of Oli's yacht, + getting kicked in the face by some muggers respectively) Darrien worked out that it was functionally a wager against his own good fortune.

Another entry into Things that Darrien Did Not Have: a drop of self-preservation.

Imagine stumbling into an illegal casino in an alleyway somewhere, winning your first game by chance, and immediately deciding to start playing there every night, with loaded dice, winning a lot and occasionally getting caught and getting your teeth kicked in.

Darrien did this, but he skipped a few steps. His new business plan went like this:

Put in a wager that he'll have a Bad Day.

Arrange to get seriously hurt and/or destroy one of your relationships, therefore having a Bad Day and winning the wager.

Profit

He spent several weeks knocking around the south of France, purposefully getting into fights (arguments with friends and brawls with strangers both) and accidents. He was getting harmed and isolated and felt it was all worth it because he got paid every time.

I'm going to give him a pass on never questioning how this worked, because at this point I'm fairly sure it's influence off the app itself. It's not constant supernaturalsurveillanceyou're looking for /Jedi hand-wave/ It's perfectly normal for your life's misfortunes to be monetizable. /Jedi hand-wave/ It's all good! Chill! /Jedi hand-wave/

What I can't just hand-wave is Darrien's grand finale. His famous One Last Job, then I Retire I Promise.

He 'invested' a million pounds (£ 1 000 000), burned all the bridges with his family, friends and even strangers on the internet, and then jumped off a cliff. A literal, honest to gods, not metaphorical cliff.

Sir. SIR. There's gambling with your life, and then there's this.

He lost one leg, along with structural integrity of several pretty important internal organs and bones – and he was happy upon waking, because he was (doped up on painkillers) already counting the money he was surely going to get.

Alas, reality check – this was the Find Out part of his ultimate round of Fuck Around.

He loaded his dice, he stacked his deck, he used his cheatcodes – it was only a matter of time before somebody noticed and demanded refund. (somebody knew all along – they were just waiting for the stakes to be really worth it).

This time, the app did not pay up. This time, the app called foul and demanded that he pay up – or be Adjusted.

Predictably, Darrien Laurel was not happy with this outcome and he wanted to Speak to the Manager of this Application.

He called the support line. He threatened the answerphone with legal consequences. (now they hear you). He told the answerphone his life story, up to and including his current hospitalization. (now they know you). And at the end, almost as an afterthought, he said his full name and app account number. (now they own you).

The answerphone dutifully transferred the call to adjustments department. Somebody from adjustments department crawled out of the phone and onto Darrien's bed. The call got disconnected. Darriel Laurel… got Adjusted.

Well. That sure was something. Final thoughts:

Remember when I yelled about Fae rules in case file 05-01? Do not take their money food, do not give them your name. Darriel broke those rules, and just look what happened! Well,

we don't actually know what happened. My first knee-jerk reaction was to say 'he got eated', but Personal Adjustment sounds… much more painful than just death by Mrs. Spider's mandibles. (I keep calling her that, but for some reason my mental image of that last scene is a weird metal centipede skittering out of the phone speaker that's much too small to fit it). I wonder if we'll meet Darriel, or at least some of him, again somewhere down the line. (Would he be like Needles, or more like Not-Arthur?) The incident happened about 6 month prior to Sam hearing it. Is that enough time for a new unholy abomination to incubate? Or… ripen? Whatever the 'adjustment' process entails.

This is the third time we've seen a man changing their fortune through pain. And we know it's possible to game the system successfully, because the 19th century violinist did it – he died of old age, more or less satisfied with his life. Mr. Die and Darrien could never. (Smh. Kids these days. No patience, no self-discipline).

This is… how many times now that we've seen someone's body being transformed? {Not-Arthur, RedCanary (? missing eyes at least), Daria(? - partial, self inflicted), Dr. 'Jasmine bush' Samuel, Cinema Tom(? - potentially), Needles(?), Mr. Bonzo(?), Error(?), Crypto Darrien} That's 3 up to 9, I think. Something definitely likes to play play-do with human flesh.

[illarian-rambling]

Questions from this ask game!!!

I want to know more about Mashal!!! (I understand if you don't want to answer them all, haha, feel free to just pick a few!)

1, 4, 9, 10, 24, 31, 35, 40, 41, 47

Oh boy, you get to hear about my boy! For context, Mashal was a knight who was kidnapped and had his mind transplanted into a robotic body as a test run for a mad mage's try at immortality. He doesn't remember much of his life before, except for the fact that he was human and that he'll kill whoever did this to him. That said, let's do these asks!

What is your character's reaction to a minor inconvenience? Such as getting their jumper caught on a door handle?

Mashal is remarkably patient, so he probably wouldn't let it ruin a good day. However, if he's already having a bad day, something is probably getting broken. Not necessarily out of anger, but if we're talking about the example of getting his coat caught on a doorhandle, he's just gonna keep walking until the coat or the doorknob goes. Then he would feel bad and try to guiltily fix it.

What do they consider to be an unforgivable action? Why?

Being lied to. Mashal is very honest, mostly because he himself can't stand it when people conceal the truth. Betrayals also cut deep since he trusts people so completely. Also, if you're hurting innocent people, prepare for the full Terminator experience. He always stands up for people who are trapped in awful situations like he was.

What is your character's trigger point? What makes them angry, sad or makes them go off?

Oh boy. When Mashal gets angry, it's a zero to sixty flip, full transformation. Being around the mage who basically murdered him will cause him to lose his shit, focused on nothing but trying to kill her. Magic, in general, can also flip that trauma trigger. He gets very paranoid and twitchy around large rituals, though he gets better about this as the series goes on.

What kind of jokes make them laugh?

Anything unexpected or out-of-pocket will get a shocked gasp, then a laugh. He thinks Astra's wacky metaphors and Ivander’s snide sarcasm are hilarious.

What are your character's special skills?

Killing? That's only mostly a joke - Mashal is a very skilled swordsman who is only made better by the fact that he's made of metal. But he wouldn't include that in his talents. He would tell you first that he's a decent artist. Landscapes are his specialty, but he's been getting more into portraits lately. He also likes to cook. Yes, he has no sense of taste, but the process itself is enjoyable and he likes feeding his friends.

Your character has been invited to a masquerade ball. What mask do they wear?

He would be so indecisive lol. I imagine he'd just ask Astra what she's doing and match her. However, if forced to pick, he'd choose something that looks like an impressionist painting of a human face. Then he'd chicken out and go with a sun motif instead.

What attracts your character to another person? What kind of person do they go for?

Confident, good at telling stories, adventurous enough to drag him out for shenanigans, not afraid to be brash, passionate about something. Actually, Astra's intro is linked to my pinned post if you want any more descriptiors for what Mashal is into ;)

Your character's friend has just been mugged. What's their reaction?

First things first, he'd make sure the friend is ok. He'd walk them home, make dinner, and stay with them through the night. Once they're in a better state of mind, he'd ask them what they want him to do, be that go to the cops or go after the mugger himself. He probably wouldn't want to kill some random mugger, but depending on if his friend was badly hurt or not, he might put the fucker in the hospital. If not, he'd just intimidate the hell out of them while dragging them into a jail cell.

Your character has been punched into the face. What's their reaction?

"Oh gods, is your fist alright? I mean, why the hell did you do that, but gods beyond, all your fingers are broken!"

Punching a robot is a bad idea lol, even if he's an apologetic one

What is your character's reaction when someone does something nice for them?

Mashal has a bit of a stutter in moments of high emotion, so he'd probably just be doing that for a while. Then, because he's a knight at heart, he'd give them a proper courtly bow and probably a very awkwardly formal thank you. He carries every kind turn in his heart for ages, so he'll remember the gesture forever, no matter how small.

Also, I know you didn't ask, but here's some Mashal art!

He's my sweet, killer robot boy and I adore him. Thanks so much for the asks!

[transandersrights]

Happy Friday! How about Anders/m!Hawke, 'taking a break/relaxing' for dadwc.

(I take prompts! See info here)

Ahh ty for this prompt for my beloveds! For @dadrunkwriting, ~750 words of early relationship mHanders, rated T. Content warnings for minor references to offscreen violence + rather less minor references to sex.

“Anders, it’s getting late. Maybe you should—”

“Mmm, not yet.” Anders waved him off almost without looking up from his work, his hand aside from the paper only for the moment as he dipped his pen back into the ink. There were sheets of paper scattered all over the floor, and he’d replaced the candle recently. He wasn’t thinking about finishing up any time soon.

“I’m not going to ask you to come to bed, I think I’m smarter than that.” Hawke laughed, and Anders still didn’t look up, but he didn’t return to writing either. “Just wanted to take a break. I brought some food?”

Anders chuckled. “A sandwich?”

Anders smiled back, eyes creasing at the edges. “Hey.” He looked tired, like always, but not quite as frustrated as Hawke expected. “Oh, that does look good. Can we…?” He inclined his head towards the balcony.

Hawke grinned; he’d won, then. “Not quite. Some fruit and cheese from the market.” And yes, Anders set the pen down and left his papers behind, turning to face Hawke for the first time that evening. “Hey.”

Anders joined him by the time Hawke had set out the tray and pulled the knives from his pockets (Mother would whinge about holes in the fine fabric, but what was he going to do? Hold them when he needed hands for the tray and door?). Under the moonlight, Anders looked almost like a cat as he took up his usual spot in the chair closest to the door back inside. He tilted his head up, eyes catching the stars.

“Of course.” Hawke crossed half the room to offer Anders a hand up, and then the other half while the man took a moment to stretch. Cool night air fluttered the papers on the desk, but Anders paid it no heed — clearly, it had been one of those writing nights.

“What time is it?” Anders asked, voice half-absent.

“Past midnight,” Hawke confirmed.

Anders winced. “I didn’t realise. Have I kept you up?”

“I only got back in half an hour ago.” Gang-busting in Lowtown again; Anders had opted to stay in, and Hawke was glad to oblige. Foolishly, he’d thought that Anders might actually take a break, but no such luck. “I’ll go to bed after this, but I’ll sleep like a log. You can keep working if you want.”

Anders let out a long exhale, then plucked one of the cherries from the tray. “I’m not sure if I’ll get much further tonight,” he confessed. “I don’t think I got very far today at all.”

“Want to talk about it?” Hawke was… well, he wasn’t half as educated or a third as articulate as Anders, but he could be a sounding board, at least.

Anders chuckled. “No, we’re taking a break. I can stop thinking about it for a bit.”

Hawke couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face at that. He’d hoped Anders would say it, really, but he never knew what was best for him. Where he should push, where he should hold back… this was all still so new.

Good new. Scary new. He’d learn in time, and he’d learn after plenty of mistakes. For now, though? He could sit with Anders in the evening light and be a good excuse to stop staring at words that didn’t want to be written just as much as they demanded to be heard.

“Tell me about what you did tonight,” Anders said instead. “Best moment. Or top three, if you can’t pick.”

It was tearing a new one for muggers, but alright. Hawke closed his eyes to cast his mind back over the night, and when he opened his mouth to speak—

Oh, that was cheese. It might have been late, but Hawke still had it; he closed his mouth again quickly, letting his tongue linger on Anders’ fingertips as Anders pulled away. And yep, there it was — Anders’ too-breathy exhale. He had caught him out.

“That’s a dirty trick,” Anders complained.

“Dirtier than putting your hand in my mouth when my eyes were closed?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Want to put something else in there?”

Anders spluttered, and Hawke opened his eyes again, letting a grin spread across his face. “I thought we were eating fruit and cheese like fancy nobles.”

Hawke laughed, and this time Anders laughed with him, the sound spilling forth so easily. Fuck, Hawke really might be in love with him. “We can do whatever you want. It’s your break.”

“Cheese and fruit it is, then,” Anders answered, his tone lightly smug as he said it. But he was still smiling, reaching for another cherry, and that was exactly what Hawke wanted; Anders, happy, doing whatever he damn well wanted.

[bbwritesmuchstuff]

Magic and Sunlight

Being involved in both the Second Titan War and the War with Gaia, the last thing I wanted was to get involved in more of the gods problems, but such is the life of a demigod. Especially when a got lands in my dumpster. My bleeding heart is going to get me killed. Welcome to the dumpster fire.

Chapters; 1(You are Here), 2, 3

1 I Adopt a God and a Feral Child

Meeting a god in a dumpster alley was not in my plans for the day. I was studying for my driving test, which was murder on my brain. Studying with ADHD and dyslexia was already hard enough, but with a subject as boring as traffic laws, it was mild torture at best. I was rubbing my temples due to the swimming letters when there was suddenly a loud thud from outside my window. I jumped and immediately slipped my bracelets on my wrists, the Celestial bronze decorated with my mother’s symbol. 

Leaning out the window, I frowned in confusion. There was a boy in the dumpster beside the bottom of my fire escape. At first, I thought that maybe he’d fallen from a window or something, but then, that wouldn’t have explained the smoke coming from his body. Given that my mother was in charge of controlling the Mist, I was very good at seeing through it, so I knew this guy wasn’t a monster. He obviously wasn’t human either, so I was cautious as I crawled out the window onto the fire escape. 

“No!” The kid cried, “No, it wasn’t! Please!” 

Pity and sympathy churned in my chest. Poor kid seemed delirious and was talking to himself. Now that he was conscious, he struggled and pulled himself out of the dumpster. He collapsed onto the asphalt. I carefully started down the fire escape. Whatever was up with this guy, he needed help. The boy from the dumpster fumbled around. I was so distracted that I didn’t notice the two idiots coming down the alley until one of them spoke. 

“Hey, Cade, take a look at this loser.” One of them jeered. A blonde and a redhead. The redhead one looked at the wallet the dumpster kid had in his hand and grinned. 

“Now, be nice, Mikey. This guy looks friendly enough.” The redhead, Cade, apparently, pulled out a big hunting knife. “In fact, I bet he wants to give us all his money.” 

I cursed under my breath and shuffled down the fire escape as fast as I could without slipping. The wet, icy weather of January was not helping that endeavor. The dumpster kid stood up and tried to square his shoulders confidently. His lanky body type and boyish curly hair wasn’t helping whatever intimidation he was going for. 

“I am Apollo,” the dumpster kid announced, “You mortals have three choices: offer me tribute, flee, or be destroyed.” 

His voice cracked on the word ‘destroyed’. A ball of dread settled in my stomach. If this kid was serious, this was bad. Apollo had disappeared shortly after the Seven had defeated Gaia according to Percy and Annabeth though we hadn’t heard from him for some time before that. Then Olympus went silent AGAIN. 

“What do you think, Mikey?” Cade grinned mockingly, “Should we give this guy tribute?” 

“Not feeling the tribute, Cade.” Mikey sneered sarcastically, “What are the other options?” 

I fiddled with the ladder that was meant to drop to the alley floor. It was rusty so it was stubborn and not unlatching. 

“Fleeing?” said Cade. 

“Nah,” said Mikey. 

“Being destroyed?” 

“How about we destroy him instead?” Mikey snorted. 

I finally got the latch undone and the ladder dropped with a clang as Cade flipped his knife and caught it by the handle. The muggers glanced at me but quickly decided I wasn’t important. 

“I can live with that. After you.” Cade said. The dumpster kid, maybe Apollo, raised his fists. I slid down the ladder. 

“I warned you,” said the dumpster kid, “My powers are far beyond your comprehension.” 

As soon as Mikey got close enough, Dumpster Kid swung. Unfortunately, Mikey ducked and kicked him in the back. I winced as I heard Dumpster Kid’s head strike the asphalt with a crack. 

“Hey!” I shouted. “Back off, jerkface!” 

The boys laughed at me. I picked up a nearby loose chunk of broken asphalt and chucked it straight into the side of Mikey’s head. The guy cursed loudly as he crumpled to the floor. I darted over and put myself between Dumpster Kid and Cade. Cade swung the knife at me. His aim was shoddy though and I moved, grabbed his arm and used his unsteadiness from the swing to fling him into the brick wall. After years of fighting monsters, street thugs were relatively easy to deal with. Mikey tried to get up, his head bleeding where I’d hit him with the asphalt, but I stomped on his head before he got far. He lost consciousness. I glanced back at Dumpster Kid, who was sitting on his knees, nose bleeding and swollen, and staring at me with a mixture of confusion and awe. 

“You little-” Cade started, but I quickly cut him off with a swift kick to the gut. I kneed his head into the wall which knocked him out too. I turned to Dumpster Kid and picked up the wallet he’d dropped. I handed it to him. 

“You okay?” I asked, “Sorry, dumb question. You just got mugged. Of course you’re not okay.” 

I grabbed a pocket package of tissues from my back pocket. I kneeled down and tried to clean as much blood from his face as I could. He flinched and blinked rapidly, seemingly just processing what just happened. 

“Aphrodite…?” He croaked. I shook my head. 

“Nope. Sorry.” I told him. “I’m Celeste.” 

“Apollo.” He said. I couldn’t find any trace of a lie. Before I could ask any more questions, I was interrupted by a shout. 

“Hey!” I looked up to see Meg. She scrambled down a fire escape. Meg was a kid who seemed homeless but hung around the alley a lot. I’d slowly gotten Meg to like me, mostly through offering her food. Kinda the same way you’d tame a feral cat. 

“He fell in MY alley!” Meg whined, “Whatever he has is mine!” 

I sighed. 

“Meg, I just stopped the guy from getting mugged,” I said, “Please don’t start anything.” 

I didn’t see Meg kick the apple but it smacked me in the forehead nonetheless. I grimaged and shot her a glare. Meg crossed her arms and pouted. She skipped over and inspected Apollo. 

“This loser is supposed to be Apollo?” Meg snorted. 

“Why is everyone calling me a loser?” Apollo lamented. 

“You crawled out of a dumpster and looked like a mess.” Meg said. 

“I am not at my best.” He explained, “My father, Zeus, has exiled me from Olympus.” 

“That explains a lot of what just happened.” I said. 

“I may need assistance.” Apollo said hesitantly. “I need to become a god again.” 

“If I remember right,” I said, “you’ve been turned into a mortal before, right? What did you do then?” 

“You’ve done this before?” Meg snickered, “How many times?” 

Apollo gave Meg an irritated look. 

“Usually, Zeus requires me to work as a slave for an important demigod.” Apollo explained, then perked up as though something occurred to him. “Like Percy Jackson! We are in Manhattan, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah,” I said then hesitated, “But Percy isn’t going to be super thrilled if you try to push him into another quest.” 

“Nonsense,” Apollo said, “Everyone is happy to see me!” 

“How do you even know?” Meg asked. 

“Know what?” Apollo asked. 

“Which demigod you’re supposed to serve, duh.” Meg said and rolled her eyes. 

“I… uh. Well, usually it’s obvious. I sort of just ran into them. That’s why I want to find Percy. My new master will claim my service and-” 

“I’m Meg McCaffrey,” Meg blew Apollo a raspberry, “and I claim your service!” 

“Meg!” My scolding was cut off by thunder rumbling overhead. Apollo’s face fell in a look of shock and horror. Then he grimaced and glared at Meg. 

“I walked right into that, didn’t I?” Apollo grumbled. 

“Yep!” Meg chirped cheerfully. “We’re going to have fun.” 

“Are you sure you’re not my sister in disguise playing a cruel trick on me?” Apollo groaned. 

“I’m that other thing you said,” Meg said, “a demigod.” 

“How do you know?” Apollo questioned. 

“Just do.” Meg said cryptically with a smug smile. “And now I’ve got a sidekick god!” 

“I’ve seen her get targeted by monsters before.” I told Apollo. Meg’s shoulders slumped when I explained. Apparently, she’d been getting a kick out of being unhelpful. 

“Please, Father, I get the point. Please, I can’t do this!” Apollo pleaded to the sky. If Zeus was listening at all, he ignored Apollo and showed no signs of response. 

“Either way,” I said, “we’re going to need to see Percy. If for no other reason than that Percy can drive us to camp. You guys are going to be a huge target if you don’t get somewhere safe.” 

Meg groaned. 

“I’ll be fine.” She protested. We’d had this argument before. I’d been trying to get Meg to come to camp with me since finding out she’s a demigod. She’d been weirdly against the idea. 

“Maybe, but now you have a god turned mortal with you and he’s going to attract more than just monsters who are going to want to have a crack at killing him.” I told her. “Plus, you can barely feed yourself a lot of the time. Camp can give you food and shelter for both of you.” 

“Good food?” Meg perked up. I figured that’d get her attention. I nodded. 

“Most of the time, yeah.” I said, “You don’t have to go dumpster diving for it, at least.” 

“Let’s go!” Meg said quickly. 

“Let me grab something from my apartment. Do not go anywhere.” I said and quickly went back up the fire escape to my window. I shut and locked my window. I grabbed my emergency quest back which had an extra dagger, mortal money, drachmas, some Nectar and Ambrosia, a first aid kit and a change of clothes. I left a note for my father so he wouldn't freak out as badly when he got home and saw me gone. Slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I left and locked the door behind me.

[nightmaretist]

TIMING: Recent PARTIES: Cass @magmahearts & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Somewhere outside in WR SUMMARY: Cass wants to steal Inge's bag to nab her cash. Inge does not want Cass to steal her things and chases her. A supernatural stand off leads to leaking lava and no one getting anything, at the end of the day. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

There had once been a time where Inge had been afraid to walk around late at night all by herself. But things had happened since — her transformation and the subsequent boost in confidence, the lessons in martial arts she’d followed and the comfortable blanket of supposed invincibleness that she lived under. Truth be told, she was safest at night, where there was no sunlight to give her head aches and she could slip into the shadows and astral at will.

So she wasn’t being overly cautious as she walked the streets of Wicked’s Rest, sundown having occurred a while back. She was on her way to follow a whimsy, this whole online-dating thing something worth exploring in a town as interesting as this. In her bag, she carried her most valued essentials: cash, gum, hairbrush, a few trinkets from odd countries, that one picture of Vera she never looked at and, of course, her sketchbook. Filled with references from nightmares and other things, the basis of all her work.

She was not afraid, nor worried, nor cautious, so when her bag was snatched, it was safe to say Inge was surprised. Whipping around, she heard footsteps smacking on the dark, wet Maine streets. “Oi!” Sometimes the British inflections returned, despite her being neither a Brit or an American. “Get back here!”

—

She didn’t usually do this. At night, when Cass wandered the streets, she usually did so with the intention of stopping things like this. But money had been tight lately, and her stomach clenched with painful hunger cramps and sometimes, a kid just got desperate. The woman she spotted walking down the street looked well off enough to not be concerned and, tonight, that was good enough.

Cass ducked by the stranger, grabbing her bag as she did so and taking off into a sprint. She felt bad about it, but what could she do? Her stomach was rumbling, and while she had people she could ask for food… she didn’t want to be an inconvenience. She didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to abandon her. This was better. This worked better.

Or it would, if the woman would stop chasing her.

The oread’s feet pounded against the pavement as she ran, searching for a place she could use as a cover to slip out of sight. She should have done this closer to the woods, where she could have found a cave to slip into or a mine entrance to retreat to. Most people wouldn’t follow you there. But Cass wasn’t really thinking clearly, and they were far from her chosen element, so… Running. Running was what she was doing.

—

This kind of thing happened in New York and other large cities of the world, and perhaps Inge had been foolish to not think Wicked’s Rest the kind of place where muggers ran rampant. It was, after all, a small town – almost too small for comfort most of the time – and the risk of being caught by something supernatural or other was als pretty big.

Speaking of, she was hardly a helpless human! It was night, even, and her vision in the dark was better of that of any mortal. Inge started running after the thief, keeping her red eyes focused on her — her sunglasses abandoned, her supernatural nature exposed for all to see. What did it matter? She wanted her bag back. No, more pressingly, she wanted her notebook back. Money mattered, but her drawings? Those were priceless.

She did have her weaknesses, though, and not being very fast was one of them. And so she was soon losing the other. Once Inge felt she could anticipate where the other was going, she let her body leave the earthly plane, slipping into the astral and following her there before reappearing about eight feet in front of her. “Give that back.” Eyes glowered red. She was pissed off, to be honest. She wished she had vampire fangs. “Now.”

—

It wasn’t a surprise that the woman chased her. After all, most people would pursue things stolen from them, especially if the thief wasn’t particularly physically imposing. Cass hadn’t used a weapon against her victim — she’d never do that. She wasn’t very large, either, her small frame obvious even in her dark clothing that she hoped would help her blend into the night a little better. She expected to be chased.

But she was pretty good at running.

She’d been living in Wicked’s Rest a while now, and a lot of that time was spent on the streets. Sure, she lived in the woods, but you couldn’t stay out there all the time. Not when you were someone like Cass, who loved humanity so much that she couldn’t bear to be separated from it. Losing this woman would be easy. All she had to do was slip down the right alley, get herself out of sight, and —

The woman appeared in front of her, out of nowhere. Like a ghost slipping in between the shadows, absent one moment but present the next. Cass stumbled backwards, the black bandana she’d pulled over her nose and mouth slipping just a little. The woman’s eyes were glowing, and she looked mad. Cass held the stolen bag close to her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie twisted her stomach, made her nauseous. But there was nothing in her stomach to protest, nothing to expel. That was the whole problem. “Leave me alone.”

—

Wicked’s Rest had been telling her, time and time again, to be more careful. That this was a town that attracted the supernatural and with it, hunters. And yet here she was, mare powers on full display, dragging her mind and body into the astral only to pop up further down the street. But Inge wasn’t thinking about who might see her, moving from one place to the other, eyes burning bright in the darkness as she looked down the other.

She was short, so it was a miracle her legs had gotten her as far as they had. At least she was not turning around and running again — though if she did, Inge would just slip back into the astral and follow her. Maybe she’d reappear right above her and use gravity to her advantage. She wasn’t a fighter, per se, but she was good at using her gifts. Fights with hunters would hardly be evenly matched if she had just her strength to rely on, but with her sleep-touch and astral-jumping, Inge could at times be a formidable opponent.

Usually, though, her aim was to disrupt and then run. Now, she wanted something. “Leave you alone? You just stole my bag! Open it and you’ll see my face on the driver’s license, you dim —” She swallowed, moved forward towards the other, outstretching her hand. If this was a dream, she’d transform it into a claw. In stead there was just her perfect manicure. “Give. It. Back. It has my stuff in it. Mine!” Honestly, Inge could respect the grind. Just not when it affected her.

—

It’s my bag, Cass wanted to claim, but the lie she’d already told was clenching in her gut and she wasn’t sure she could handle adding to it. Desperation clung to her, whispering for her to do things she knew were wrong. There’s rock under your feet, deep in the earth. You could call it up, could split the ground with it. There’s lava under your skin. You could dispel it, could melt the flesh from her hand. Why was she thinking these things at all? Was the hunger really getting to her that much? She’d been hungry before, and she’d never wanted to melt anybody.

Well, except guys in front of her in the line at cafes who yelled at the baristas. She still wanted to melt them a little bit.

But not now. To want to attack someone just for asking for something she’d stolen from them back… That was shitty, wasn’t it? So was the way she clutched that stolen bag protectively to her chest, taking a step backwards. Her stomach rumbled. To her, it sounded loud enough to shake the alley, like a lion roaring behind her to scare the woman away. In reality, it was a pathetic thing.

“No. I — I need it.” She needed something. She couldn’t keep begging meals off Jonas or raiding Leila’s fridge for snacks, because then what would she do when they were gone? If she let herself keep relying on other people the way she had these last few months, where would she be when those people left her? No one stayed with her forever, no matter what promises they made. No one had ever been able to manage that. “Why can’t you just let it go? You’re being seriously uncool about this.”

—

Wasn’t someone supposed to fold when caught in the act? Inge was getting more and more frustrated as the other kept talking, rather than giving her her bag back and scurrying off. She wasn’t even going to call the cops! She just wanted her stuff back and keep going with her night, still half-interested in meeting the woman she’d been chatting up online. But here was this annoying obstacle.

She needed it! Oh, that was almost funny. A stupid, silly excuse. Look, it wasn’t like Inge didn’t understand necessity — there had been the days in Amsterdam, where she and Sanne had been dirt poor. She’d ran from hunters in southern Europe once, having to leave all her belongings behind and thus having to start anew. She grifted, she lied, she scammed — all to get her life to be comfortable again. She was stingy when she needed to be. 

She understood necessity. But there was more in that bag besides petty cash. There was inspiration, there was memory there was … well, sentimentalism, even if she didn’t like to admit to it. 

“You need my hair ties? My crumpled receipts? My notes and my Werther’s? Forget it. You are the one being seriously uncool, stealing people’s possessions.” Forgive her hypocrisy. Inge moved in closer. “This really doesn’t have to be a whole thing. You give it back. You scurry off. I forget all about it. I think that’s what you really need, right now. Some fucking grace.” 

—

The woman didn’t understand, because no one did. That was what Cass told herself in moments like this, at least. She knew, on her best days, that the world was full of people who had struggled the way she was struggling. She knew that everyone was in pain, that she wasn’t the only person starving on the streets. On her best days, she understood that she was just one of many people in just one of many terrible situations.

But today was not her best day.

On days like today, she was selfish. She was so sure that no one else alive could possibly understand what she was grappling with, was angry that they’d even try. What did this woman have that was so important? Why shouldn’t it belong to Cass instead? What would this woman even do with it? Go home to her nice, quiet life and share the story with the people who loved her? Cook a hot meal on a stove that worked, fetch a cold drink from a refrigerator? Cass didn’t have any of those things. This stranger could stand to part with her bag, Cass thought. She probably had more bags. But what did Cass have?

Her eyes flashed the dangerous orange of the magma beneath her glamour, and she wouldn’t usually allow such a reveal but she was hungry and angry with it. “Do you think I’m scared of you? I’m not. I said I needed it, and I do. I need it. You scurry off.” 

—

Red glowing eyes met glowing orange ones and Inge’s eyebrows raised, face nearly brightening. So this wasn’t just a normal thief. She was something not entirely human, those eyes burning in a most literal sense. It was quite beautiful, admittedly. But that didn’t take away from the fact that that was her bag with her stuff in it, and she would not lose it.

“You need my personal affects? Bull-shit.” She liked the display of bravery, though. Besides, Inge knew she wasn’t the most threatening presence when it was just her in her earthly body. It was in dreams where she was her best self, something transformative and terrifying. Here, she was glitter, skin and bone. Red glowing eyes. A sleepy touch. If the other was afraid of her on this boring, limiting plane of existence, that would be pitiful.

She considered her options, then slipped back into the astral. There were a few options now, and Inge wasn’t a fighter per se — her methods of violence were different, more subtle yet more intrusive. But she’d faced off her fair amount of hunters. She’d picked up some things. Reappearing behind the other, she yanked at her shoulder to twist her around and made to grab for her bag, faces now close together. “It’s mine. All you need is some cold hard cash.” If she was a proper robber, she’d just take out the wallet and drop the rest, but she couldn’t even do that. 

—

She didn’t even know why she wanted the bag so badly at this point. Was it just because the woman didn’t want to let her have it? Was it the glowing eyes, was it the brash attitude? Cass clung to her stolen goods like they were a lifeline, refusing to let go even when she knew she was the one in the wrong. She didn’t even know what was in the stupid bag. Probably nothing worthwhile. But she needed it. Her heels were dug in deep to the proverbial dirt, stubborn and determined.

The woman disappeared, but Cass wasn’t stupid enough to think that meant she’d won. Sure enough, she felt the presence reappear behind her just a moment before a hand yanked at her shoulder, spinning her around. The oread took a stumbling step back, still clutching that bag close to her chest. 

“I said leave me alone!” In her frustration, her glamour dropped fully. Her veins glowed with red hot magma, eyes still burning that dangerous orange. “You’re right, I do need cash. If you hadn’t chased me, I would have dropped your stupid bag after I got the wallet out. But you know what? You suck!” 

—

Inge let out a laugh, something cruel and hardly-amused. Something that had no emotion behind it at all besides indignation and disbelief. “Leave you alone? You stole my stuff and  now you’re fucking victim-blaming me for being too fast in catching up with you and that’s why you feel entitled to keeping it? If you were a proper mugger, you’d have already done that, but nooo. All my fault? Do you hear yourself?”

The other was not human, that much was clear, and Inge would have appreciate her natural form if she wasn’t so pissed off. Glowing, like embers or the pictures of magma she had seen in books and online. Dangerous, most likely. She pushed forward, however, trying to snatch the other’s wrist.

As finger’s snaked around her glowing skin, Inge tried to hold on despite the warmth, tried to make her tired. She wanted her bag back. She would not stop until she had her bag back. “I suck? You’re not even good at being a thief!” 

—

This lady was mean, and Cass didn’t feel bad for stealing from her anymore. Everything she said was cruel and harsh, like her stupid bag was more important than Cass’s empty stomach. The oread felt her control slipping more and more, and when the woman reached out to grab her wrist, the fire in her chest burned hotter.

“Let go of me,” she snapped, yanking on her wrist. The woman’s grip was tight and Cass, in response, flared. The magma beneath her rocky skin burned hotter, heating up the area gripped in the woman’s hand. It wasn’t entirely intentional, but it wasn’t entirely accidental, either. The motivation lay somewhere between the two.

“You do suck! You’re mean and stupid and I don’t even want your dumb bag, anyway!” The magma that flowed down her arm and into said bag was unintentional, but Cass didn’t exactly feel bad for it.

—

Her touch seemed to only awaken rage in the other, which was completely the opposite of what Inge was trying to achieve. Pulling back her hand, she hissed and stared down, wondering if blisters would form. Glittering wounds, shining in the bright fiery light — fucking shit. The skin already shone silvery. 

She would be in awe, if she wasn’t so pissed. Inge’s red eyes stared down the other, mouth opening to protest until she saw magma – yes, actual fucking magma – flow from the girl. “No, no —” She flew forward, wanting to grab for her bag but the heat that radiated making her jump back.

It wasn’t just anger now, but something more honest, something almost vulnerable. Those were not just her things, not just materialistic bits and bops but things she cared about. “Stop it, you  Jesus, you can have my money but that’s my stuff! Drop it!” Her octave had shot up an octave and later this would embarrass her. For now, however, Inge didn’t much care about her emotions taking the upperhand. 

—

Glitter. There was glitter on the wounds left by Cass’s smoldering skin. And Cass knew what that meant, stared down at it with wide eyes. She didn’t know a lot about mares and what they could do — Ariadne didn’t like to talk about it and after the mare had attacked her in her cave, Leila didn’t seem fond of it either — but she knew this much. She knew what that glittering wound meant. The stranger was a mare, like Leila, like Ariadne. And Cass had hurt her. 

She stumbled back, uncertain. The magma still poured from her and into the bag, and the mare looked desperate at the sight of it. She tried to make a grab for it, and that was stupid because it was lava. Thankfully, she jumped back without taking it, without hurting herself, without making Cass hurt her.

But she looked upset, and Cass felt guilty. The magma stopped flowing, though the searing liquid already in the bag bubbled and hardened around its contents as the air cooled it. Cass dropped the bag, taking another step back. “Sorry.” She sounded small now. “I’m sorry.”

—

The bag dropped between the pair of them and Inge stared at it for a moment before looking at the culprit, feeling no satisfaction at the resolution. The thief sounded small and young, rather than a proper hardened criminal who was easy to villainize and even worse, it seemed the contents of her bag had succumbed to the actual lava that had been poured in it.

“Jezus Christus,” she cursed in her native tongue, eyes rolling as she crouched near what remained of her bag. Inge didn’t know a whole lot about lava, but she had a feeling that sketchbooks and other things were not going to hold up against it. Even if it looked like a pretty snack sometimes.

She tried one of the handles, realized the bag was heavy and hot and decided to let go of it for now. “You’re sorry?” She lifted to her full height (which wasn’t a lot, but still more than the other had) and raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. All of that — most of my stuff is melted now. Can you at least … try to save my sketchbook, assuming none of this heat bothers you? That would be a good way to show how sorry you are.” 

—

She wanted to warn the stranger to steer clear of the bag, but she was afraid of drawing attention back to herself. She was afraid of facing the consequences of what she’d done, even if the consequences only went as far as a stranger’s disappointment. She couldn’t stand the thought of someone being angry with her, even if that anger was deserved. Even if that anger came from someone she didn’t know.

Looking down at the bag, Cass nodded. The sketchbook, she suspected, was ruined. Paper and cardboard wouldn’t even hold up against a match, let alone the magma that had unintentionally dripped from the oread’s hand. But she was sorry, and she could prove it.

Carefully, she reached into the bag, digging around carefully. When she removed the notebook, there wasn’t much left of it. It was tattered, shambled, barely held together at all. But she held it out to the woman, anyway. “You shouldn’t touch it yet,” she said hesitantly, “but, um, I can put it on the ground for you or something.”

—

This was annoying. Inge wanted to be angry, the way she thought she deserved to be, and rage at this magma-filled child who had ruined her notebook. But she was trying, digging around for her notebook and saving whatever was left. She was apologetic. Inge would definitely prefer it if she remained proudly defiant, so her anger would feel more warranted, but alas.

She watched, discontent and frustrated, arms crossing and pinching into her own skin. It seemed they were both losing, and for a moment she wondered if the other would start crying. That would be even more annoying.

“Oh. Okay,” she said, staring at the sketchbook. So much work, gone. “Just put it on the ground. And — well, try and save whatever’s left.” Inge thought of her wallet, with all the cards she’d have to reapply for, which was going to be annoying what with her identity being a farce. She’d have to waste money on forgeries again. “Happy now? You didn’t even get any money.” 

—

Cass complied with the request, which seemed reasonable enough. Setting the ruined sketchbook on the ground, she winced at the way some of the pages crumbled against the concrete. She looked back to the bag — already, the magma inside had hardened against the much cooler air. Even in summer, Maine’s temperature was far, far colder than magma. Most things were, as it turned out. Still, Cass reached a hand inside the bag.

It was mostly for show, really; she knew there was nothing left to save, but she didn’t want it to look as if she’d just given up, either. Privately, part of her still thought that maybe the woman had deserved this, somehow. She thought it was a very nymph way of thinking, and she wasn’t sure she liked it, but… Well. Some habits were hard to break, weren’t they?

Admitting defeat, she pulled her hand from the bag with a shrug. “Nothing left,” she replied, almost apologetic. But, like the magma, she hardened a little against the stranger’s cold words. “If you hadn’t yelled at me, I would have just dropped the bag when I got the money out,” she mumbled. It was technically true, though she omitted the part where she likely would have taken more than just the money. The sketchbook was cool.

—

Inge was starting to think that she really, truly hated this town. From the dogs that people failed to control, to the plethora of hunters that hid in nooks and crannies, to this — being robbed by some kind of spellcaster or fae. Sure, she liked her job, and some of the people, but Jezus Christus, this was just getting ridiculous. 

She was watching the other sharply, her red glowing eyes narrowing as the other gave up. She almost looked defeated, this tiny little criminal, but Inge had little empathy for someone who had stolen from her. Besides, she thought guilt one of the more boring and annoying of human emotions. She couldn’t relate to it because she refused to, so she just wanted to roll her eyes.

“Uh,” she began, tone still sharp, “I’m sorry? Are you blaming me for not standing idly by as you robbed me? You know, if you hadn’t taken my stuff, I wouldn’t have yelled or chased you.” This was lacking in logic. Inge stared at her bag, rubbed at her hand, shook her head. “Well, it’s done now. I don’t assume you’ve got the cash to help me replace my lost cards and other belongings?” She crossed her arms. The girl seemed sorry. But she didn’t say she was sorry. “People barely carry cash these days anyway.”

—

“Oh,” Cass said, perking up a little as… ‘controlled listening’ allowed her to pick up only on parts of what the woman was saying, “apology accepted.” Logically, she knew that the apology had been sarcastic, but she felt bad and she didn’t want to, and this helped. Accepting an apology that wasn’t genuinely given eased some of the guilt in her chest, made her feel a little more of that slippery confidence she’d been chasing all her life. 

She shrugged at the request, because of course she didn’t have the cash to help the woman replace her lost cards. If she had, she wouldn’t be stealing in the first place. “I’m not very liquid right now,” she replied. “You, um… You can have some lava?”

—

“What?” She looked at the other with a frown. “I wasn’t — Jesus, forget it.” She wanted to jab a finger at the other, but resisted. Inge didn’t want to be called a Karen by another zoomer and so she refrained. “You owe me an apology too, you know. For the thieving and the destruction of property.” 

A laugh slipped past her lips, but it wasn’t a sound of amusement. It was something colder. “You seem … pretty liquid. What even are you? Spellcaster or nymph?” Inge would be more appreciative of the other’s powers and its potential scariness if she wasn’t so pissed off. “Keep your lava. I have no use of it, clearly.” Her gaze dropped to her sketchbook, and she looked almost mournful as she nudged her back with the toe of her boot.

—

“I already apologized for that,” Cass pointed out, “and you yelled at me.” She didn’t really want to be yelled at again — who did? — but the woman seemed… maybe not less mad, but a different kind of mad now. Like maybe she was finished yelling, at least. Like maybe she was willing to recognize that there was nothing more to be done.

The question stung a little, if only because it seemed harsh to ask. What are you? It was the what that brought on that quiet sting. Cass didn’t particularly want to be a what. She much preferred to be a who. “Nymph,” she replied, because it didn’t feel worth the lie and the woman knew enough to guess it, anyway. “You could make art with lava, you know. But whatever.”

—

“Just saying sorry isn’t an apology,” Inge said in return, but she didn’t go much further than that. Part of her wanted to yell again, to grab the girl and shake her as if that would make her see sense, but her hands was still aching. Apologies took stupid work, and neither she or the nymph seemed inclined to put in such labor.

Maybe the largest insult of the entire interaction was this: a nymph insinuating that Inge should make art with a substance she’d never be able to touch without getting hurt. Because God, would she like to! To create a sculpture with such a thing. “Why don’t you, huh? Go make some art with your lava rather than pour it into people’s bags. Maybe you’ll make some money that way.” 

She bent down, snatching up her bag and the ruined sketchbook, intent on claiming the hardened lava if anything. “Don’t try to rob me again, lava girl.” She prodded one finger towards the other, poking the air and after those final words, Inge disappeared into the astral, going home to assess the damage to her belongings and hand.

[idk-bruh-20]

Hi! I was watching The Good Nurse when i had this idea. It's kind of different from the movie but some aspects will the be the same.

May works in a hospital as a nurse. She is really passionate about her job though it's hard. With Tony paying Peter's college tuition it's been easy but she sometimes takes the nightshifts. In the hospital they start getting Code Blue a lot, almost every day. The hospital is obviously trying to cover it up. May has never stood by while something wrong is going on. She conducts a little investigation of her own by looking at the reports and notices something off. There is an unknown drug that she does not recognise. The police is also investigating but she knows that they will do nothing. She can't just stand by while something wrong is happening and it's killing innocents. She goes to Tony, they look over the reports together. Bruce Banner also joins the team because he is an actual doctor. Eventually so does Stephen Strange. They try to figure out what is going on but they legal advice too because the hospital is hiding so Matt Murdock also joins the team.

May does not tell Peter about it because she does not want him to worry. But he saved a Professor's life from a mugger but Peter's spidey sense warns him about the Professor so Peter, MJ and Ned conduct their own research about him. The two story lines will connect at the end.

Also Jefferson Davis (Miles' father) was the one that was incharge of the case and he wanted to solve it because a lot of people would die if the murderer was not caught. But his hands were tied by the corrupt system and the Hospital was not cooperating. So, when Tony Stark approached him personally about the case, he was wary and did not reveal much but when he discovered that there was a team that included one genius, two doctors, an attorney and a determined nurse who wanted to catch this murderer. He was in. Also I think Rio Morales was a Nurse or an Doctor. Jeff does not tell her where he goes at night because he does not want to worry her but when she discovers she joins the team and helps them with her knowledge.

Bonus : what if May and Rio were friends in college.

Double Bonus: After the case is solve they have a small party with their families in the avengers tower. MJ and Ned are also invited. Peter and Miles meet for the first time.

dude it has been such a long time and I am only just getting into my asks I am so sorry

this fic idea is GREAT (as all of your fic ideas are) and thank you for sharing it!!! I am so sorry!!!!!!!

[mstopportunity]

You know what, no. Tim can have the Batfam emotional brain cell for a minute.

Tim considers the situation and decides that, if things were reversed, he'd be more upset at Danny not telling him there's nothing for him to worry about. And the longer this goes on, the worse it'll get. It's not like he doesn't trust Danny with his life or his secrets (Danny's shown he's good to keep at least his own identity secret enough).

Tim might cut in.

"It sounds like you really love your husband. I think you should talk to him about it. It might go better than you expect. No really," when Danny seems skeptical "If you're talking about who I think you're talking about - and come on I'm the world's other greatest detective, I figured Batman out at like age 8 - he won't love you any less for it. Then you can tell Constantine to fuck off." After a moment "I mean, you wouldn't love him any less if he was keeping something like a vigilante life secret from you, would you?"

Danny considers this. He concedes that he would still love Tim, even if he were keeping a second life from him. Tim... was kind of angling to get Danny to confess first, give him that level of autonomy over his own secrets. But it also gives him a plan B, in case he can't wait.

And Danny takes too long. A week later they're each prepping for a space-ghost mission, and Tim can't stand the idea of Danny being so close but so far, for the extended time of a space mission. And what's worse is that Danny would be there under coercion, when there's no actual risk.

Tim sits his husband down.

"Shouldn't you be preparing for your business trip?" Danny asks

"Yeah, I am. There's something I need to talk to you about before we leave" ('uuuh, I'm going on a different trip from you tho') "Look, Danny, I really should have told you this before but I. Just. I didn't know how to bring it up and by the time I could you'd made your opinions Very Clear. But. I." Tim had a whole speech prepped, but he's forgotten all of it, in the moment. But he does have one of his Red Robin patterned birdarangs on him. So instead he just shows Danny that.

"..." It takes Danny a moment "Tim are you."

"Yeah."

"Red Robin. You're cheating on me with Red Robin. Of course."

"Ye- wait what."

"I knew it. I knew this was too good to be true." Danny stands. He starts to pace, like the revelations are too much to contain while stationary.

"I'm not cheating on you with the Red fucking Robin!"

"No - no, you said it like this has been a thing for longer. Am I the other woman?? No wonder he thought he knew I was talking about you!"

"Danny will you sit down! I'm not cheating on you, I'm trying to tell you that I am Red Robin."

That actually stops Danny short.

"You." Tim nods. "Are a vigilante." still nodding. "Bullshit" what. "You, Tim Drake-Wayne? CEO of Wayne Enterprises? You'd be more likely to end up on the Fruitloop end of cape-life."

"Rude. I'm not lying though."

"Why would you? You're super rich, you could solve the problems in Gotham financially!"

"Can't throw money at muggers. Or the mob. Or corrupt cops and politicians," ("I mean you can but") "And you can't throw money at interdimensional tornado ghosts hell-bent on destroying the earth."

"Oh."

"I just. I wanted you to know. That I know. Before we leave."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I. Wanted to wait for you to be ready. But. I can't. I can't go up there with you, knowing it's you. Without you knowing it's me. And I can't let you go, not if you're forced to. Not if I can help it."

"Oh. So this. This isn't about you being Red at all. This- This is about me."

"I wanted to let you tell me. I wanted you to know you'd be safe to. But. I just thought. If it were me, and it were you. How I would feel."

"How long have you known?"

"A while" Tim scratched the back of his neck "Your accent is actually pretty unique, and once I caught that, you and Phantom really only differ in your colors."

"The occult books - You were trying to tell me."

"Eh, to let you know I wouldn't mind. Maybe do a bit of research on what sort of thing to expect when my husband is an Eldritch Abomination."

"Heh, husband?"

"I mean. Unless me keeping Red a secret from you is a deal-breaker. I was kinda worried it would be, at the start."

"It isn't. Okay, wow. That's. That's a load off. But I think I'm gonna have to lie down for a minute."

"Do you need space or-"

"Timberlake if you don't come cuddle me right now you're going to have to look for a new Eldritch Abomination to husband."

---

And they (un)lived happily ever after.

Halloween prompts year 2 day 23

Au where Danny hides his powers and eldrich nature from his husband Tim and Tim hides his vigilante career from Danny.

Both are very successful and neither suspects a thing. Tim had originally planned to admit to being a hero at some point but they were always either interrupted or it just wasn't the right time and then Danny had mentioned a few times during thier engagement and marriage that he couldn't handle being with a superhero or vigilante and that it was a deal breaker. Unfortunately Tim was already deeply in love and couldn't bare to break up with him so now he lives in fear of Danny finding out and blackmailed the rest of the family into never letting it slip.

Danny is in a similar situation, ever since the portal incident people were afraid of his other half and no matter how hard he tried they always ended up hating him. He loved Tim and couldn't bare the thought of his husband having that same look of terror. Of hate. So he hid. Its all he could do. Back when he and his friends went on that road trip and gained the power of the reality gauntlet he had tried to undo his undeath entirely only to find out Danny had glitches spacetime enough that even if he undid it (which the gauntlet was incapable of doing) he would eventually wind up with the portal opening up on top of him at another date. Call it fate or destiny or whatever you like. He was stuck like this.

So he did the next best thing. He erased any proof he had ever existed. Even from the minds of his own friends. He then skipped town-or in this case universes- and used the gauntlets power to carve out a false identity in this new world full of heroes and hope

Luckly there was no one who could rat him out...until some blond guy in a trenchcoat started following him around the grocery store and talking to him. At first Danny was a little confused and annoyed but when he asked what the blond guy wanted he asked, "I wanna know what you are." And Danny went pale.

Constantine then proceeded to blackmail Danny into helping him with a case or else he would expose his dirty little secret to Tim.

Danny made the a deal, ensuring that it would only be this one time. He told Tim that he was being blackmailed but insinuated that it was something petty between him and some of the other high society house spouses. The kind of drama that Tim always made extra sure to steer clear of. He swore to Tim he was this close to spiking Bethanys muffins with a laxative in retaliation for something and Tim gave helper suggestions for how to do it without being caught while they got ready for the day.

Ever since Alfred passed away it was up to Danny and a few other people to keep the Waynes from falling apart. Honestly, no one realized how much that man did until he wasn't around anymore.

To be fair he pretty much spoiled Tim by picking up after him to the point the man can't function after a few days. If Danny ever had to leave Tim alone for prolonged periods of time he would return to a giant mess and something burning in the kitchen.

Danny would clean, Tim would spew a fountains worth of apologizes, he would forgive Tim (as if he was ever mad in the first place. This just reaffirmed that Tim needed him to protect and care for him, making his core vibrate in happiness) then they would...reacquaint themselves. He nearly shifted forms the first few times this happened. That would be one heck of a way for Tim to find out about his ghost half.

Danny smiled, thinking about those memories. He truly adored Tim and couldn't imagine a life without him. He would just have to make sure this trench coated guy never came anywhere near his precious husband.

John would really like to know what this entity was and what it wanted with the Wayne brat. It couldn't really be in love with the kid, could it? He had personally seen these relationships work out before but there many more he had seen that hadn't. He didn't want to take that risk, so he needed to get close enough to evaluate the situation himelf.