#writing pride tag

[the-golden-comet]

✨Friday Kiss and Writing Bliss Tag 💋🏴‍☠️✨

Happy Friday, lovelies! ❤️✨

Thank you all to the following people who have tagged me this week: @sableglass for writing share, @wyked-ao3 for a five lines tag and out of context line tag, @avaseofpeonies , @theink-stainedfolk , @drchenquill , @gioiaalbanoart , and @wyked-ao3 for a Pride of Lines tag, @jev-urisk and @pippinoftheshire for a WIP Wednesday tag, and @aintgonnatakethis and @gioiaalbanoart for a Last Line Tag! I appreciate everyone who has tagged me. Thank you so much!! 🙏💛✨

It is time to commence the smoochin’ 💋✨

Rules: From your Story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from familial pecks on the cheek, forehead kisses, platonic smooches, to full-blown makeouts.

If you don’t have a kiss to share, no worries! You can treat this tag like a writing share instead! ✨

Rules: Share a snippet of your Story/WIP!

Fives lines, where I am VERY proud of the kiss, comes from none other than Peter Hart. Some of you may remember this one from a last line tag in the past, but I think about these last five lines often, and I am very proud of these pirates 🏴‍☠️💛✨

Benjamin’s gentle voice was so sweet to Peter’s ears, that he wished to hear it forevermore. Catching that sweet tune in his own mouth, Peter’s lips sealed themselves over Benjamin’s and gulped those lilting cries effortlessly down his throat, as if swallowing the sweetest rum.

The prince was, in Peter’s mind, long overdue for some love in his life. And, as a good captain would patch up a leak in his ship, Captain Hart was set on repairing every hole in the prince’s heart….until the scarring of the hull, the weaknesses and damages……were long gone. For a bird with clipped wings cannot fly, nor sing as freely as his heart yearned to soar in the sky.

Leaving the tag +open as always and gently alerting the tag list. Happy smoochin, everybody! 💋❤️✨

Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)

@autism-purgatory , @jev-urisk , @talesofsorrowandofruin , @ragin-cajun-fangirl , @wyked-ao3 ,

@glasshouses-and-stones , @alinacapellabooks , @gioiaalbanoart , @tragedycoded , @deanwax ,

@dyrewrites , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @paeliae-occasionally , @lychhiker-writes ,

@thatuselesshuman , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @phynewrites , @zackprincebooks , @fantasy-things-and-such ,

@finickyfelix , @billybatsonmylove , @madi-konrad , @houseplantblank , @far-cry-from-finality ,

@froggy-pposto , @fractured-shield , @avaseofpeonies , @topazadine , @thecoolerlucky ,

@theaistired , @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin , @the-inkwell-variable , @seastarblue ,

@leahnardo-da-veggie , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @illarian-rambling , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives ,

@ominous-feychild , @saturnine-saturneight , @words-after-midnight , @sableglass , @cowboybrunch ,

@yourpenpaldee , @moltenwrites , @pixies-love-envy , @davycoquette , @writeahurricane ,

@nczaversnick , @greenfinchwriter , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @lavender-gloom , @smellyrottentrees ,

@aintgonnatakethis , @thecomfywriter , @pluppsauthor , @michellekarnold , @flurrysahin ,

@authorcoledipalo , @jadeglas , @spookyceph , @astramachina , @48lexr ,

@inseasofgreen , @agirlandherquill , @saebasanart , @leatafandom , @justabigoldnerd ,

@pippinoftheshire , @just-emis-blog, @aalinaaaaa , @badscientist , @dearunreliablenarrator ,

@worlds-tallest-fairy , @rhikasa , @eccaiia , @theink-stainedfolk , @theverumproject ,

@theprissythumbelina , @riveriafalll , @revenancy , @inadequatecowboy , @amielbjacobs ,

@patternwelded-quill , @sugarchains , @garthcelyn , @prettytothink-so , @the-inkwell-variable ,

@winvyre , @speaknowbuckley , @lamuradex , @wintherlywords , @sharkblizzardblogs ,

@dragoninatrenchcoat , @darekasama

[aalinaaaaaa]

Pride of Lines Tag

Share lines/an except that you're proud of!

Thanks to @seastarblue for the tag! This snippet comes from my latest Flash Fiction Friday piece :D

Death marked its first strokes on her face. Orlaith traced her fingers over the corners of her eyes, tugging at the faint lines accentuating them. If Death was a sculptor, those touched by mortality its clay. It started as it pleased, carving lines from her eyes and more across the forehead. A reminder, perhaps, of the ticking clock. Her forebearers sealed the doors for a reason, the Mark’s clause a reason more. In the mirror she saw Morilast’s legacy in her eyes.

—

Sending tags to @bardic-tales @winterandwords @finickyfelix @honeybewrites @aquadestinyswriting @gioiaalbanoart @thepeculiarbird and an open tag for anyone who sees this!

[space-writes]

writing pride tag

tagged by @aalinaaaaaa, thank you! im having a blast writing the absolutely heinous bit of Vizaeth/Pharaun toxic delight at the end of the next Obsession fic, so here’s an excerpt from the rough draft that im proud of right now:

[ID - a red decorative divider]

“So now you’re bedding halfbreeds,” Pharaun begins. “Is there anything you won’t let fuck you, or will I have a troglodyte in my quarters tomorrow night?” He’s so beautiful when he’s angry. That flush of frustration and righteousness, the way his lip curls, his chin tilts. Just the way a drow should look when insulted. “Keep sending me to steal things without giving me all the information, and it’ll be a demon in your bed,” Vizaeth says, hopping up to perch on the edge of Pharaun’s desk. He picks up the vial of violet powder, turning it in his fingers. “Did you want me caught or killed this time?” “Both would have been a rather lovely treat.” Pharaun snatches the vial from him, then sweeps up the others, shoving them into a desk drawer. Vizaeth climbs properly onto the desk, sitting up on his knees so he can meet Pharaun’s eyes. Pharaun’s hand leaves the drawer and goes to his throat. “You can’t do anything to me,” Vizaeth whispers through the grip. He lays his hand over Pharaun’s heart. “You’re mine.” “You think I won’t find a way to break a geas laid by an apprentice as incompetent as you?” Pharaun says, leaning so close their lips brush. Heat shivers down Vizaeth’s spine. “Your Weave is rotting and so will your spell.” “But it hasn’t yet,” Vizaeth whispers. Pharaun’s eyes nearly glow, dark and angry and red. “It hasn’t yet,” he grits out, and pulls Vizaeth’s mouth to his.

[ID - a red decorative divider]

Obsession taglist: @foxboyclit (ask to be +/-)

no-pressure tagging @revenancy @winterandwords @zmwrites and @cwritesfiction

[winterandwords]

✍🏼 Writing pride tag

Thanks to @aalinaaaaaa for the tag!

📝 Post a snippet you are extra proud of having written

This is the epigraph from November Breaks. I fucking love it...

A galaxy of promises is visible on a clear night. Strange how it feels like you’re looking up at something when you’re actually inside it. That’s the vastness of it, though. The illusion. Mine, yours, ours. Distant, but from within.

Tagging @thegreatobsesso, @revenantlore, @pertinax--loculos and @indecentpause if you'd like to do it, with an open tag for anyone else who wants to join in 💙

Reblogs, replies etc on my tag posts are always welcome, but if you're doing this tag yourself, please make your own post instead of using mine to start a reblog chain.

[writernopal]

Writing Pride Tag

I was tagged by @paintedbutton here, thanks so much!

Rules: 📝 Post a snippet you are extra proud of having written.

I'm picking something from Man O' War this time because I've been revisiting some of the chapters as I work on the new one and holy mama, there's some goooooood shit in there! I was explaining this to @illjustpretend the other night, but this series is really abstract compared to AASOAF and explores a lot of really big themes/ideas. Because of that I feel like I get to write in a way that I don't get to do much for other projects, its like the really prose-y bits of AASOAF turned up to 11, but like, all the time. Anyway have this sneep from Chapter 9, Apex!

But the completeness of those visions mattered little. They were like the ebb and flow of waves. The in and out of lungs. The rise and fall of the wind. To miss a rise, or any other such apex, was no great thing, for another would come after the expected fall. It was natural. It all was. Except for that feeling. The rush. It formed a strait through this existence, connecting one’s heart to that which lay beyond. A charged force, yet immoveable. Left unattended, it was dismally aimless, heralding not life but death, despite being the very source of that universal anima. And to see it was to signal violence, for how else to retrieve a thing which lay completely encased within? But to reach it was no difficulty. Anyone so inclined could root it out, but to make it bloom? That was distinguished. Artful. It meant becoming something. Something’s cadence could be heard in the roar of those big cats and in the languages formed by the mouths of men. Voices, worlds apart, yet both decrying their abounding desire to Consume—the hedonistic belief, no truth, that to ascend from this limbo, was the Right of Rights. That divinity should not be withheld nor distributed on the arbitrary design of birth. That the mere act of existing spelled a common fate—to become a grasping and blind creature. So then, why not grasp for something more? Something higher? Something beyond? For certain, what else did that unadulterated force want if not to preserve its gluttony forevermore? To make the tremulous line between this state and the one that followed fat and efficient. To lavish the tantalizing promise of unbridled feeling, no matter its brevity. To become dizzy. To become lost. To become anything but a rise and fall.

Tagging (gently): @sarahlizziewrites @thatndginger @kaylinalexanderbooks and @leahnardo-da-veggie

M.O.W Taglist: @full-on-sam @illjustpretend @sparatus @outpost51 @captain-kraken

@the-mindless @milosometimeswrites @mysticstarlightduck @tabswrites @void-botanist

@elshells @literarynecromancy @acertainmoshke

Join/leave the taglist using this Google Form.

[ladykettlechips]

✍🏼 Writing pride tag game

Thank you for the tag @rosesatdawn24, I adore you 😘😘😘

I think as writers we sometimes beat ourselves up a bit, so it's good to share with others what we like from our own writing. So I'm actually picking something from my most recent fic, Beautiful Mess, specifically from Chapter 5 and the Epilogue. Even though this was a really easy fic to write and didn't have any planning, it has a few lines I really like in it. Actually, it's the dialogue I like most of all as opposed to actual writing (lol).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my choice. You can read Beautiful Mess in full here if you wish~ ---------------------

And then he kissed her again, a breathless, wonderful assault of bruising lips as his arms tightened around her in a crushing bid to never let her go. Kate didn’t care, though; all she wanted was to be consumed by him and only him.

Pulling back, Kate watched how Anthony’s eyes sparkled for her, the pain melting away with each affirmation of love spoken and each kiss shared.

“Now you know better,” Anthony said, his voice low as he tugged he lifted a hand to cradle her face. Kate could only nod, her cheek pressing into the warmth of his palm as she smiled back up at him, happy and bright and finally his.

“Now I know better,” she confirmed, her heart swelling with nothing but love, adoration and desire for this annoying, beautiful man that held her in his arms.

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

And from the chapter that follows this one:

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

Another sigh, another tug of her waist until she was practically wrapped around him. She felt Anthony nose her hair for a moment before he was pressing his forehead against hers, his eyes boring into her own. The dimple between his brows seemed deeper, Kate thought.

“I know. I know,” he whispered, the tip of his nose gently nudging hers. “But you didn’t, and that’s okay, Kate; we all have ways to keep ourselves safe.” She could feel his grip tighten on her, his fingers digging into her hip when he took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, as if recalling the worst morning of his life.

“In that moment, running made sense. It’s how you kept yourself safe, Kate, and I can never blame you for that.”

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

I am doing a gentle tappy tag to @doodlingawaits and whoever else wishes to take part~ No pressure, of course ❤️

[cityelf]

this poem is about being nonbinary.

[the-orange-solace]

When I was a child, I watched an episode of Criminal Minds where a man had a split personality. A woman who killed other women who threatened the man she formed to protect. I remember her sitting in the dark on a couch, a cigarette in hand beside a lamp, as she spoke to an Agent about why she had to kill them, that it was to protect him. It was her entire purpose for existing.

As a child, I used to pace empty halls in the middle of the night and lay in bed, repeating in my mind that I would be the only being in my body. I will not break into multiple people. I will be in control. I have to be because, at the time, I believed I could break into those monstrous plurals you see on TV. The ones that killed their family after years of neglect, abuse, and wrongdoing. The ones you should be afraid of ever becoming, no matter who you are or your situation.

So I became terrified.

And yet, nearly every night, I'd look up at the sky or the ceiling and beg for something to change—to not be alone. I was stuck pretending I was a different character, a type of escapism that sometimes got out of hand, lost in an identity that wasn't my own. Looking up and imagining being taken away, every character I adored was by my side, caring for me in return. I had to keep going, be them, and exist in a world with them.

I'd made up stories, different realities, and places in my mind to escape to, as well as explanations for things my underdeveloped brain couldn't comprehend in the place I found myself within. I clung to concepts, characters, and situations that reflected my own, and soon, I no longer felt alone—not with all the escapism I conjured up, not with the different identities to help me face what was happening.

But I was in control. I was one being. No matter what. I had to be a single being because that was good. I had to be good.

I would never hurt anyone, and being many meant being bad. I couldn't be bad.

When I was a teenager, I started researching and getting involved in minority and disabled spaces. I loved being informed, the stories, the many perspectives, and the complexity of humanity. So it was no surprise when I shared a plural headcanon with a friend, and they felt safe coming out to me. They were many. They took my hand and guided me through a community I was fascinated with and wanted to aid and represent like so many others.

I spent years learning, staying silent as others spoke, just listening to everything I could. But then, one day, like so many others, I spoke through a different facet, a different identity I had created as a child. The many faces of me represented things I could not be, I could not hold, nor could I handle. I was struggling; some of me wanted to lash out. So she did. She lashed out.

As always, I was faced with kindness, listening ears, and aid that then pushed me more to the surface from drowning. But I never left; just another part of me was lost, right? Of course. People are complex. I deal with my emotions in a complex way. Of course.

My plurally disabled friend watched as I became more comfortable speaking through the identities I had, whether they were facets of myself or characters that helped me. Soon enough, the continuous "role-play" and "emotional processing" developed into normal conversation, a comfort, a relief.

They kindly approached me and asked if I was a system, too. They had never met anyone who spoke to themselves like I do, definitely not any singlets. None of our other friends did, in person or not, not even people in our families. It was just us.

The fear from my childhood arose. I couldn't be multiple; I couldn't be more than one. It was bad. But hadn't I learned about Plurality? All its ups and downs? Its complexities and nuances? I accepted it wholeheartedly; I learned and evolved from the demonized perception I was given as a child. So, why was it still bad?

Because I must be lying; I must be a fake, a poser. It was the only reason, wasn't it? I had seen so many conversations and arguments about fakes, those who wished to be special. Had I somehow become the harm they spoke of? How could I do this to a community I swore to listen to and fight for?

I obsessed over it, forcing the panic, dissociation, habit, and ease of speaking in multiple identities and beings of myself away. I buried it as deep as I could for the betterment of everyone else. The community didn't deserve such harm, and I wouldn't bring it to their doorstep if I claimed it to be something I'm not.

The loathing became so present it formed into tics that caused aches and disruptions in my life. Multiple stressors--along with an identity crisis--will do that to someone. So my shoulder and neck muscles ached from shrugging, flexing, and all the repetitive movements I couldn't stop without crying from the suppression. So I didn't. I let it disrupt and hurt.

Then, one day, someone, some random, unknown system to me out in the world, spoke about how it didn't matter what was real or not; it didn't hurt anyone. Plurality and the belief of it didn't hurt anyone. It hurt no one to discover themselves, to test the waters, to simply pry into yourself and learn. There was no shame in figuring yourself, or yourselves, out. There was no right or wrong, nothing to be ashamed of or fearful of. Just another part of living.

So I did. I poked and prodded. I gave my parts names, spoke to them in the middle of the night, asked questions, got to know them, and learned we couldn't talk through words at first but could emotions and sensations. I realized I couldn't find where my Plurality started or where it ended, that we—oh god, we—the idea was so surreal but...comforting—were so combined, living without specific individuality outside of me that there was no separation in sight. Not that I could figure out. For so long, I believed everything was just me. Only me.

But now it was someone else, too. These things that made no sense, these things that felt out of place or special, unique, and ever-changing could be someone else.

Someone else.

The more I reflected, learned, applied, and prodded, the more things made sense. Until one day, I looked at my friends, held my breath, and spoke. Stated that it like it was a sin for me of all people to say.

I was plural.

No one blinked an eye. No one questioned it outside of boundaries and clarification. It wasn't surprising that their childhood friend was many. How surprising could it be when they used so many different names for different parts of themselves to express hard things?

It was astonishing.

And here we are, years and years later, grown and still learning, living, fighting, but more in touch with ourselves than ever before with so many more sys friends and aquatints. More experiences, a better understanding.

It's not shameful to learn, apply, and reflect. You take nothing from anyone but your time and open-minded exploration of the world and yourself(ves). There is no evil in being human, living life, phase or not. There is nothing wrong with you, any of you, for existing or living. You just are. I embrace you, I embrace us, and I embrace everything that comes with a life of many.

So, if you're struggling, just know you're not alone outside the body. We know, and so do many others. It's going to be okay; you'll find yourself in time. Don't rush it. There will always be time.

[elysiansugar]

Blank frames for any flags I've missed or if you wanna add more than one! Go crazy

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYONE !!!

Free to use pride flag frames + blanks for all your LGBT+ needs <3

☆ credit if using or you're homophobic /hj

[lattedusks-mochadawns]

Didn’t know who to do for this, so I did 3 main versions

And this extra one too

I would’ve probably another few for Chris and Martin, but I’m too tired now

[liauditore]

Equally Invalid

[aalinaaaaaa]

Writing Pride Tag

Thanks to @bardic-tales for the tag!

Premise: Post a line/snippet of writing that you're proud of!

So the saying in this has actually been in my notes for years, but I'm now in a place where it's going to actually be used, yay

“Dad, where did Mother go?” She knew not the reason for the sadness in his eyes. “… She’s gone.” “When will she be back?” Her father strode over to the window, the sky illuminated with the blue-purple preludes of sunrise. “Ola perailta vespra.” When all the birds are free.

—

Sending tags to @gioiaalbanoart @honeybewrites @space-writes @talesfromaurea @sableglass and an open tag for anyone else reading this!

[space-writes]

writing pride tag

tagged by @winterandwords, thank you! here’s a bit i like from the current chapter i’m drafting for Awakened Witch ft uh-oh, mum and dad are fightingggg

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

“I don’t want to know where the little Prince is,” Sorrow said, tipping his chair back on two legs to prop his boots on the desk between Aspiration’s splayed hands. “I thought I’d made my stance on that perfectly clear.” “Not to his parents, you haven’t.” “Obviously. If I had, they wouldn’t still be sending us money.” Aspiration grabbed his feet and shoved, sending him toppling backwards. He rolled with the landing and came up tossing his hair out of his face, glaring at her. “We shouldn’t be here,” she said, meeting his gaze with her own pitch-black iron. “And you know it.” “We’re making allies. The Zarahmin—” “Don’t like outsiders, and you pestering the Wraith hasn’t made him do a damn thing to change that.” “They’re human. They’ll wear down. Then we’ll have them and the dracari.” “The dracari are hardly allies! You have Mehen, and that’s it. You’re stretching us too far, too fast, and in a place that doesn’t even matter. We should be back in Infernus. That’s where the Houses are.” She gave him a pointed look. “Where House Kyvelian is, in case you’d forgotten.” Sorrow narrowed his eyes, voice going cold. “I hadn’t.”

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @cwritesfiction @memento-morri-writes @aalinaaaaaa and @sarandipitywrites

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @reininginthefirewriting @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist

@at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph

@sam-glade @viscerawrites @thegreatobsesso @flower-reads @the-inkwell-variable (ask to be +/-)

[winterandwords]

✍🏼 Writing pride tag

Thanks to @tabswrites and @gaslightwestern for the tags!

📝 Post a snippet you are extra proud of having written.

This is from November Breaks (Brett's POV)...

He passes me a cigarette and turns towards me to light it. The flame flares between us and dances across his face, casting shadows of necessity and inevitability and emptiness. Hovering above the boundary between potential and decision, I am opaque. He holds me at the edge of the void and I become transparent. I wrap my bravado in ribbons of tendons and bruise-kissed skin, and even that is not enough of an offering.

Tagging @asher-writes, @sam-glade, @sarandipitywrites and @sergeantnarwhalwrites if you'd like to do it, with an open tag for anyone else who wants to join in 💙

Reblogs, replies etc on my tag posts are always welcome, but if you're doing this tag yourself, please make your own post instead of using mine to start a reblog chain.

[ananinidraws]

Fuck it, Super Mario pride HCs

Mario is that one cis guy who at first is a straight ally and thinks he's hetero but then realizes "oh actually guys are kinda cool too". Bisexual with a preference for women, but open to all

Weegee is soooo queer. Always has been, and has an incredibly suportive brother too. Doesn't have a prefered gender romantically, def not cis and on the aroace spectrum, so polysexual, genderqueer and demiaroace. And yes, those were picked specifically cuz all the flags have green in them

Bowser is very confident about his transmasc-ness and displays it proudly. For those of you who said in tags of my previous posts that the scars are painted on, correct, except they're more akin to tattoos, cuz he thought top surgery scars looked sick as hell. He's still questioning orientation wise though. Like Mario, he's always thought he was straight, but unlike him, he's finding it more dificult to nail down what exactly he is

Trans aroace Peach! Trans i will elaborate further on a diferent post (i have some theories that tie into that, but i'll post about that soon), but i see Peach as that one aroace friend who looooves being affectionate with her closest friends. Hearts and love motif characters being aroace and the love being their platonic love my beloveds

Bisexual QUEEN, with no strong preferences. Also Daisy got top surgery cuz she could and cuz she wanted to

Your honour, she loves women. And is also ace, cuz Rosa just gives off ace-spec vibes, to me at least

Pansexual, slight preference for women. After she and Mario broke up they'd go "my goodness i love girls" "me too"

I. I really don't think i need to explain this one. The Bean Kingdom's fruitiest man

Shoutout to @nartblartmallcop not only cuz they inspired me to do the pride hcs in the first place, but also because the hc of Wario and Waluigi being ALL or NOTHING really made me open my eyes to that hc cuz it's AMAZING (these two posts, if you're curious)

And lastly Wapeach, cuz i love her, her gender is No

[batbux]

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."