#Red Hood strangely approved

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Dead on main. Singer! Phantom x Red Hood!Jason

Laws are easily changed if businessmen smell money.

Paulina and Sam suggest Danny to try to become a singer in order to change society's opinion about ghosts a little. In the end, the otherworldly sound of his voice can at least be used for the benefit of Realms.

And it seems like the Everlasting Trio is really liked by the public. At first they just release a few songs (Exams kill, Battle with myself, What an Autopsy Won't Show, Among the stars). But a mysterious atmosphere mixed with understandable teenage problems begins to take over teens playlists. Their fans want more and more.

So, when under the pressure of the public and profit-hungry bigwigs all bans on the presence of ecto creatures in the United States are lifted, the Trio goes on their first Tour.

~~~~~

Jason stumbles upon Phantom's songs completely by accident. It was painful to hear them for the first time but at the same time it was as if he could breathe again because he had found someone similar. Someone who understands, and who doesn't judge him for coming back wrong. Jason listens to his voice on repeat and the rage seems to recede and subside. There is sadness of loss and fear in the songs but most of them end bringing some hope and this thought gives Red Hood more strength not to break down for another day. and then another, and another..And one day, the green eyes in the mirror do not scare Jason but shows him that he belonging to something more. Todd can't explain it more precisely, but it was as if the waters of Lazarus inside him had calmed down and he was no longer enemies with them. He even jokes with Tim that he is finally rest in peace and ready to live a full undead life when his brother (God, his lil brother whom he wanted to hurt recently because of his own stupidity), asks him about his strange behavior.

~~~~~

Jason forgets how to breathe again. His favorite band, and most importantly his favorite vocalist, is coming to Gotham with a concert. For many years now, none of the nonresidents have dared to take such a risk, but it seems like Phantom has absolutely no instinct for self-preservation. Well, as a true fan, Red Hood will do his best so that none of the gothamites spoil the Trio's impression of their first concert here. Danny is beside himself with excitement. Their concert in the hometown of the Red Hood was approved. Of course, there is no chance that he would be able to meet such a busy vigilante but Phantom continues to dream. If he'll fly a little over the city instead of sleeping after rehearsals, maybe he'll get an autograph from at least one member of the bat clan.

~~~~~ Phantom: Thank you very much Mr. Nightwing sir. Just sign it for.. Nightwing: For a Phantom, right? Huh, I recognized you, my brother has poster in his room. Nice hairstyle by the way. Danny*urgently*: Which one of them?

Nightwing: Jeez, and I thought it was just a stage image. Ghosts are kinda creepy. Terribly persistent, to be precise. And yeah, Jason, he absolutely not against you as a vigilante. You can safely ask Phantom to sign your helmet, I promise. Man was so happy when find out you're listening to his songs, you have no idea.

Jason *holds out a hand*. Nightwing: What? Jason: If you dared to meet Phantom before me, then where is my autograph? Nightwing: Em..oops? I gave him mine if it helps.

Jason: *sounds of an angry lazarus demon*.

[narxcisse]

★ — Mama's boy Jason Todd headcanons

Jason Todd x Mother/Mother figure!Reader

CW: mention of Jason's death (+reader blames Bruce for his death), fluff, I did my best to keep it canon without romanticizing or fanonizing anything. 😭

English isn't my native language

Jason met you before his days as Robin, back when he was still living on the streets. You were one of the rare adults who didn’t look at him with pity or disdain but instead treated him with quiet respect. Maybe you ran a small diner, a shelter, or worked as a social worker with no patience for bureaucracy.

The first time Jason came into your life, he wasn’t looking for help. He was scrappy, full of fire, and incredibly proud, but you saw past the bravado to the hungry, clever kid beneath. You offered him food without strings attached, and from then on, he kept coming back.

When Bruce took him in, you were one of the few people he trusted enough to talk to. He didn’t tell you about being Robin outright, but you noticed he’d sometimes show up with bruises or a limp, his explanations half-hearted at best.

Jason sought your advice on everything—from school troubles to navigating the strange dynamics of the Wayne household. You often found yourself acting as a translator for his emotions when he struggled to articulate them.

He valued your opinion deeply. If you told him to apologize to Bruce for a fight or to take a break when he was pushing himself too hard, he’d grumble but almost always listen.

Even as Robin, Jason was fiercely protective of you. If he thought someone was giving you trouble or you were in any danger, his sharp instincts kicked in. “No one messes with my mom,” he’d mutter, even if you insisted you could handle yourself.

Jason’s growing disillusionment with Bruce often spilled into your conversations. You tried to mediate, understanding both sides but always prioritizing Jason’s feelings.

When he died, it broke you in a way you didn’t think was possible. You immediately blamed Bruce for letting him take on so much danger, not even letting him explain everything that happened. (Over time you apologized to him for what happened and understood that he was just as devastated as you were by Jason's death.)

When Jason came back as Red Hood, he avoided you for a long time. He didn’t think you’d accept him, not after everything he’d done. But when he finally worked up the courage to see you, he was stunned to find you opening your arms to him without hesitation.

“You’ve been through hell, Jason. I��m just glad you’re alive.” Those words stuck with him more than anything else anyone had said since his return.

You didn’t sugarcoat your disappointment in his methods, but you also didn’t try to control him. You understood that his pain and anger needed to run their course. Instead, you focused on reminding him that he still had someone who believed in him.

Jason acts tough, but around you, he’s a little softer. He loves the comfort of having someone who doesn’t expect him to be anything other than himself.

He calls you more than he calls anyone else. Sometimes it’s to rant, sometimes it’s just to check in. “You eat yet?” he’ll ask, even if he’s halfway across the world.

Whenever he’s in Gotham, he always makes time to visit you. He’ll bring little gifts—books he thinks you’ll like, a weird trinket from some mission, or your favorite snack.

Jason craves your approval more than he’d ever admit. When you compliment his growth or tell him you’re proud of him, he practically glows, even if he rolls his eyes and pretends to brush it off.

He’s fiercely protective of you, more so than anyone else. If he even suspects someone’s giving you a hard time, he’ll show up unannounced, ready to “handle” it. You usually have to calm him down before he goes full Red Hood.

You’re one of the few people who can challenge Jason’s darker impulses without him lashing out. “You don’t have to agree with me, but at least think about it,” you’ll say, and he actually does.

When he’s struggling with his identity—whether he’s a hero, an anti-hero, an anti-villain or something else entirely (bro seriously thinks he's Barbie. 😭🙏)—you’re his anchor. You remind him that he’s more than his past, more than his mistakes.

Jason often credits you for keeping him grounded. He’ll never say it outright, but you’re one of the reasons he hasn’t spiraled further.

Jason fixing things around your home without being asked—tightening loose hinges, replacing lightbulbs, and even rebuilding your bookshelves because he “didn’t like the wobble.”

Late-night phone calls where he opens up about his fears and frustrations, his voice quieter and more vulnerable than usual.

Cooking together when he visits, even if he claims he’s “not great in the kitchen.” He loves hearing your stories as you work side by side.

The rare moments when he lets his guard down completely, resting his head on your shoulder or letting you ruffle his hair like he’s still the scrappy kid you first met.

Jason may be a complicated, broken man, but with you, he finds a sense of peace he doesn’t get anywhere else. To him, you’re not just a mother figure—you’re his family, his safe place, and the person who never gave up on him.

The first sign something was wrong was the way Jason entered your apartment—quiet, almost hesitant. He was usually a storm of energy when he visited, slamming the door behind him and announcing his arrival with some sarcastic quip. But today, he just slipped inside, set his helmet down carefully on the counter, and stood there, staring at nothing.

You didn’t need to ask if he was okay. You already knew he wasn’t.

“Jason?” you called softly from the couch, setting down the book you’d been reading.

He didn’t respond right away, just shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. His movements were slower than usual, less precise. It was like the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders, and for once, even his stubbornness couldn’t hold it up.

You stood and approached him carefully, giving him space to come to you if he needed it. “Rough day?”

He let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Something like that.”

You waited, not pressing him to elaborate. Jason had always been like this—he’d open up when he was ready, and not a second before.

For a moment, you thought he might brush you off entirely. But then, with a deep sigh, he turned to you, his expression a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “I don’t know. I just…” He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

That admission made your heart ache. Jason, who always acted like he didn’t need anyone, who carried his pain like armor, had come to you because he didn’t know what else to do.

Without a word, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened for half a second—old habits, you supposed—but then he melted into the embrace, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I’m just so tired,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles on his back. “I know.”

He held onto you like you were a lifeline, his broad shoulders shaking slightly. You didn’t push him to explain, didn’t try to fix it. You just held him, letting him unload the weight he’d been carrying for who-knows-how-long.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Time didn’t seem to matter. Eventually, Jason pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red but a little clearer.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He huffed out a small laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Yeah, well, don’t go getting used to this. I’m not turning into a softie or anything.”

You smiled, tapping his chest lightly. “Don’t worry. You’re still the toughest guy I know.”

Jason rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned into your touch again, letting his head rest on your shoulder. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to just be—a son needing his mom. And you were more than happy to give him what he needed.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

AN: I wrote this for my bestie, I hope you liked it. 💗🤺

[cakypa120]

I have noticed Danny/Bill and Jason/Billy content innyour account. THAT summoned me. NICE TO MEET you. I am your loyal follower from now on. YOU WILL NOT GET RID OF ME.

Love you already stranger from the Internet that shares my interests.

I would like to ask about Jason and Billy. Who says Batman does not know who Billy is? He is Batman he senses black haired blue eyed orphans like a metal detector. He knows and he is happy. Because Billy "pure heart, pure soul, precious baby" Batson is not only good for Jason. He escaped his adoption schemes all these years. But Brucie is happy. Because if he is not going to be his adopted son, st least he could have him as his son-in-law.

"Part of the family. Part of the family!" Says a tiny voice in the back of his head.

It bruised his ego to be rejected by Billy. What can I say?

I'm glad you like my content!

Batman didn't know Billy's identity until he was fourteen. And that was by accident. After that, Bruce started following Billy around asking him to sign an adoption document. Billy ran. He ran faster than Flash. You have a son? I'm sorry, but I have a hard time making friends with new people. Are you rich? I eat your kind for breakfast. Will I be safe and loved? With all due respect, sir, you live in Gotham and dress up as a furry at night and beat people up with a traffic light boy.

Bruce grits his teeth, but accepts all the excuses. But he didn't give up. And so, Billy shows him a copy of the adoption document. Billy, where did you get your guardians? Oh, they found you. Who are they? You mean the rich people of your city?! I thought you eat the rich! Oh, they're active in charity and helping families. They have a daughter! Is this your missing sister? Congratulations on finding her.

Billy 1: Batman 0

Bruce stared into space that night while his son was wreaking havoc on the estate. Bruce really wanted Billy in the family.

And so, years later, Jason says he found himself a guy. From Fawcett. Named Billy Batson. Bruce then chokes on water and nearly dies of suffocation.

He looks in shock at Jason, who is looking at him defiantly. He clearly expected Bruce to disapprove of his choice. Only Jason didn't know that Bruce was all for it.

Bruce: I approve of your relationship.

Jason: I don't care if you don't.... Wait, what?

Bruce: Billy Batson. He's Bromfield's son, right?

Jason: Yeah. He's adopted. How do you know that?

Bruce: I met him once at a charity event. He seemed like a really nice kid. So, I approve of your relationship, and I wouldn't mind if Billy came to meet us all.

Jason nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. The other kids were betting on how quickly Billy would dump Jason when he found out about their double life. Bruce, meanwhile, was smiling brightly, already imagining the two of them getting married.

Meanwhile, in Fawcett:

Mary: I can't believe you fell in love with the Red Hood.

Billy: He's a good guy.

Mary: He's Batman's son. Who you've been avoiding for years.

Freddy: You're going to join the Bat clan after all!

Billy: You'll have to live to see that happen. Unlike me, Jason doesn't know about my second personality.

Freddy: Gods, I can already picture his face! He'll die on the spot!!

Mary: I won't cry at your grave, dear brother.

Billy: That's nonsense. Besides, Captain Marvel can't be killed.

Mary: But Billy Batson can.

The meeting with Billy's family was very calm. The Bromfields are real saints, and Mary is the devil in angel's clothing, but Jason doesn't mind. Apparently the only brain cell was transferred to Mary. There's no other way to explain the adventures Billy got into even after he was adopted.

But the meeting with Jason's family was strange. Very strange. At first everything was going well, but then Bruce and Billy started talking. Everyone felt like they were missing some context.

Bruce: You've grown so much since we last met, Billy.

Billy: You're right. Good nutrition works wonders.

(They saw each other at the League meeting today.)

Bruce: How are your parents and sister?

Billy: They're fine. My sister protects me from everything.

Bruce: Really? What was that?

Billy: Scammers. I was once tricked into signing a contract. If it weren't for Mary, I don't know what would have happened to me.

(The time Bruce almost tricked Billy into signing a joint custody agreement with the Bromfields. Mary saved the day.)

Bruce: What about your hobbies? I think you were into something. (Hints at Captain Marvel.)

Billy: Yeah, radio. I don't mean to brag, but I have my own show. I even got to interview Captain Marvel and some of the Justice League.

Bruce: Yeah, I heard something about that. I was wondering why you didn't interview Batman? (No, Bruce isn't offended, he's just a little upset that everyone was interviewed, but he wasn't)

Billy: He's very hard to get to. Captain Marvel said he asked Batman for an interview, but he refused. So I didn't insist. (A nasty lie, Billy was just offended by that trick with the contract.)

Bruce: I understand. Batman is a very private hero.

Billy: Yeah. I remember when I was still living on the streets, Captain Marvel told us that when we saw Batman, we should close our eyes so he wouldn't see our eyes.

Bruce: *with a forced smile* Weird. And why is that?

Billy: So that we wouldn't be taken away and carried off to a cave, where they would turn us into traffic light children. (Jason and the others choke, looking madly at Billy, who continued to eat with a sweet smile.)

Bruce: And you believed that?

Billy: Batman almost took me. If it weren't for that villain. I think I would join the Bat Clan.

Jason and the others look at Bruce, who shifts slightly, with a smirk.

Bruce: I don't think he wanted to take you, Billy.

Billy: I was a homeless orphan. Of course he wanted to take me back to his lair. Good thing he didn't.

Bruce: You're right. You wouldn't be sitting here if he had taken you.

Billy: That's right. I'm so lucky to have met your son. He's so nice and sweet.

Jason: *blushes* Billy, I asked you to.

Billy: I know, but I can't keep quiet about you, honey. You're the light of my life. You're like a hundred dollars in an hour of need.

Jason grumbles. Billy smiles. Bruce looks at Billy and Jason with satisfaction, trying to ignore the subtle glances the others give him.

Dick: What are you hiding, Bruce?!

Tim: You wanted to steal Billy?

Damian: I think Batson and Father know something and they're not telling us.

Cassandra: It's true. They're hiding something.

Stephanie: Did you see those looks?

Duke: Guys!! Bruce is avoiding answers!

Dick: Freeze!!

Bruce quickly jumps into the Batmobile and drives away.

There is a strange atmosphere between Batman and Marvel. They talk about very strange topics. From candy to some meetings that they can’t organize with someone. Flash put forward a very strange theory that they are in a relationship with a third party. Everything hints at it! Marvel and Batman were in a polyamorous relationship!! This theory is crazy. But most accepted it after this dialogue.

Marvel: Sir, you should reduce the time a little.

Batman: Why? I think we came to a compromise.

Marvel: Yes. Without my knowledge. You know, I need attention too. Travel time is very long.

Batman: I'm sure if you stayed there, you would have time for everything.

Bruce loaded Jason with work. He could not come to Billy, so Billy had to go to Gotham. Often. Very often. Bruce really wanted Billy to stay in Gotham longer and more often. Although Billy was the protector of the city. Billy does not like this. So he tries to do something to get Jason to come to Fawcett for a vacation. Bruce is stubborn.

This rumor reaches Bruce's children. They are shocked.

[jjwolves]

PROPER DOCUMENTATION

What: 5 Part ENA the Worker X Reader Imagine Where She's Really Curious About Your Bod

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~1000 words, ~5 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G, Divider -> @uzmacchiato

Warnings: NSFW (Smut, technically.)

ENA doesn't know much about your body, but you get the feeling that she really, really wants to. Almost worryingly so ever since you declared that you were hers and she was yours. Before, ENA's eyes would simply linger. The way your muscles would tighten when you lifted something heavy. The warm beads of liquid that would form on your skin when you were somewhere hot. The soft, subtle grooves between your torso, arms and legs. They were all apparently worthy of her... Well, staring. And now that you've given yourselves to eachother, looking isn't enough. She wants to explore you firsthand.

She picks up a weird new habit where she'll begin playing with and prodding your body when the work day gets slow. On a break, when sitting on a bench next to each other, ENA prattles on about business deals and new hires while a curious hand gropes at the muscles in your leg. "You're built so sturdy!" In a cramped cave where those robotic racketeers live, she does not hesitate to subtly pull at the back of your pants or shirt in the hopes that she'll see more, if only just a little more. It's like she takes little individual peeks in the hopes that she can reassemble you in her mind.

"What in the world was that?" ENA seems startled by your stomach grumbling. It's embarrassing, even more so when she has to stand in place, baffled by your biology. But she doesn't know, so the reaction is probably appropriate. You guess you're just not a big fan of being a weird alien in a world of weird aliens. Well, the sooner it's explained, the sooner you two can get breakfast. You begin to explain how your stomach is empty and so gases and fluids have to move around and make noise, but ENA places a gentle red hand over your mouth. "Hush now, littlest employee. Spoilers tank ratings, you know." Before you can react and show how confused you are, ENA hoists you up and carries you somewhere private: some sort of abandoned cafe with tessellating neon lights on the outside. She places you on a table big enough to fit you and lowers herself to your level, hands snaking under your shirt. Your skin prickles with excitement. "Is this observation approved by the higher-up?" You nod, and ENA begins running both soft and sharp hands over your stomach, gently kneading into the organic flesh and lowering an ear to its surface in order to "make sure the factory is in running order." Your pulse quickens.

You can never be sure if ENA knows, but something about her excites you and frightens you at the same time. You think it might be because of how strange she is, yet how similar she is at the same time. You also think a big part of it is the things she says, like right now, her hands are on your hips and holding you still as she grumbles in your ear with a gravelly voice, "I think your chest has a drum in it. Hah! Trying to distract me won't work. Now, you better produce some other kind of reaction or else... Hmm, maybe I'll just cut you open like the toad you are and root around under the hood for a while!" Your heart starts hammering harder as ENA traces gentle lines on your skin. Is it fear? No, no, it can't be--she'd never hurt you. So it must be... Something else. Something a little more shameful. You suddenly realize that ENA is holding you in a somewhat suggestive pose, leaning over you while her core presses between your legs. You don't think that she notices when they curl around her. Suddenly, her gravely voice gets low, lower and quieter than you've ever heard it. "You're pretty soft if I'm all it takes to get your tempo rising. You know what? Shouldn't you know how your body works if you live in it? So, tell me where else to look before I start coming up with scary ideas." Panting under her, you wiggle out of the modest workshirt you've been wearing and lay your chest bare to ENA, whose head rotates into a smoother approach. You didn't know that her red could get... redder. You were both learning things about each other today. "H-oh, oh my. I expected... Just, how elegantly crafted."Had she said anything else, you think you would be just fine, but having that be the first thing to come out of her mouth sends you over the edge. You surge forward to kiss her, to which she startles before returning it.

You tell ENA to keep going. She really seems like she wants to, her hands hovering over your chest. With your affirmation, though, she swiftly continues her analysis. Your favorite polygon seems to take a great enjoyment in just running her hands over your chest, feeling the beat of your heart underneath the swell. ENA blinks her eyes and shakes out of her stupor for a moment, attempting to force some formality into her voice. "Ahem. You have a very addicting product. Hats off to the manufacturer." Attempting (and failing) to channel an aura of detached curiosity, ENA begins circling the more sensitive parts of your chest. You inhale sharply underneath her ministrations. The colored walls of the room start to warm and wobble about as if coming to life. Something is about to happen, it's about to--Ring ring. ENA, once again ripped out of whatever trance she was in, hesitatingly brings her cup-phone to her ear. You think you hear chattering. Nevermind, that's shouting. It must be Froggy. "I think we'll need to pick this up at another time," ENA says, helping you get your shirt back on. It's not fair, you were just getting somewhere! You tell her that next time, you get to analyze her. "... I know a good deal when I see one! Yes!"

[mikami1992]

Finally, after some missions through time, Dan has managed to be approved as "Officially Reformed", and only with some supervision from Clockwork and Danny, will he be free to return to live in the human world.

So with the help of Clockwor, Tecnus and Tuker, an identity was created for him as a Young Adult, who after a few years of traveling around the world, returns to the United States to begin his University studies.

Dante Jackson Nightingale is a Young Adult recently enrolled in Gotham University to study Business and Finance with some elective classes in Engineering, being the place chosen for the high educational level as well as the level of ecto of the city… but the Phantom of the future has other hidden intentions.

During his 10 years of rampant destruction, Dan had a period of "calm", the reason, the strange relationship he developed with Batman, a relationship that was about to bring the angry spirit back to sanity by focusing his obsession on something else…

But it all ended when a surviving and better-funded group of GIW caught Red Hood to experiment on him, so the Batfam immediately went looking for him, and at first the rescue everything went according to plan, but it was until the end where everything went off the rails with the appearance of the Joker… it was never known how it all ended with the explosion of the bat, but it ended up costing the lives of the Bat and the Clown, and some permanent damage to some of the Batkids.

The death of the Knight of Gotham City ended up reviving and fanning the flames of anger and destruction within Dan, which would cause a destruction greater than anything known before.

So, in this new reality, Dan plans to continue with his original intentions with the bat, this time proving that he was a worthy partner for the Dark Knight.

[shayesinterlude]

Duke putting the batfam onto 90s and 2000s R&B

Like him bringing the seasoning to the Batfam’s music taste

Now you got Tim hacking whole overseas Government Agencies while humming Replay by Iyaz.

Red hood going 110 mph on his bike blasting Bust the Windows by Jasmine Sullivan.

Duke got Alfred cooking Sunday morning breakfast to Golden by Jill Scott (He’s ironically already a huge fan of neo soul?)

Bruce taking the long way home and listening to Ex Factor by Lauren Hill after an argument with Selina.

Just for him to be FLOORING it to Selina’s apartment to Faith Evans’s As Soon As I Get Home, to in fact, “make it up” to her a weekend later.

Duke has put on Bartender by T-Pain at a Wanye hosted gala at least once. Hired DJ was taking a bathroom break and Duke seen a opportunity.

Steph going around the Wayne manor talking about, “I remember when you laughed when I cut my perm off and you rated me a 6 😐💔..” to everyone for a straight week.

(And out of all the songs Duke tried to put Steph onto, It was Jeanelle Monaé’s Like That, that strangely stuck??)

Duke introduces Damian to Michael Jackson and now he’s having the canon MJ fixation all 2000’s kids had growing up.

Everyone’s spying on him from behind the stair railing (Bruce and Barb through surveillance storing this away for his graduation) while he plays the Michael Jackson Experience dance game in the living room. Duke couldn’t be prouder.

Human nature’s on loop at max volume he’s in the shower because it “relaxes his nerves” Not even Tim’s cruel enough to tell him MJ’s passed on years ago.

and EACH and EVERYTIME Duke catches them listening to something of his taste he MUST hit ‘em with the “AYE, NOW WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT 🤨??”

But his greatest influence would be on Cass

He has Cass wearing matching Soulja Boy fits with him to spirit week at school for 90’s day.

The two of them come down the staircase that morning. Boombox on Duke’s shoulder blaring Turn My Swag On for their grand entrance. Alfred does not approve.

And while Dick tests Duke’s ability to truly “Crank That” over breakfast.. Jason hovers over Cass.

Inspecting the ensemble of the polo, baggy jorts-that are basically pants-, and a sideways fitted cap all hanging off her. And upon the realization that it’s all his clothes; Jason’s frown becomes completely forced.

He also snorts a little after noting Cass’s unlaced shoes are actually Tim’s dunks with socks stuffed at toe box for a more comfortable fit. Tim who had already clocked that almost immediately on her way down the stairs doesn’t hide his amusement at this whole situation.

Bruce, hading already witnessed the giggling pair sneak into his closet the night before on the Manor’s surveillance. Watching Duke insist they “gotta be iced out” before picking a few very expensive pieces of jewelry to borrow. He sips his coffee without a word; their smiles are worth more.

Alfred draws the line at “bumping” Pretty Boy Swag while in the car riding line at school drop off

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, firearms, knives, captor transport, cuffs, hoods, intimidation

Part 6

Novel Attraction - Part 7

The party outside the Mayans lot had bloomed into full chaos by the time you stepped out of the trailer.

Smoke curled up from fire barrels. Bikes gleamed under string lights. Music pulsed from somewhere you couldn’t see—something low and bass-heavy that made the ground buzz beneath your boots.

Laughter cut through the air like sparks—sharp, bright, and too fast for your brain to catch.

You stuck close to Angel, half a step behind.

His beer swung lazily in one hand, the other resting lightly against your lower back. Enough that people knew not to look too long.

“You good, querida?” he asked, head ducking closer as the music swelled.

You nodded. “It’s kinda… a lot.”

He grinned, all teeth and charm. “Yeah. Lotta leather. Lotta testosterone. Welcome to a Mayan party.”

You smiled back. “No red carpet?”

“Nah. We don’t believe in ‘em. Just beer and bad decisions.”

He steered you toward the edge of the lot, near one of the stacked crates being used as makeshift seats.

You perched on the edge, trying not to make eye contact with anyone for too long. Angel leaned against the crate beside you, legs stretched out, his body angled just enough to keep you half-hidden.

For a moment, it did feel normal. The kind of normal you’d catch in a dream. Warm lights, laughter, music vibrating against your skin. Angel sipping his beer, cracking a joke that made you actually laugh.

No locks.

No trailers.

Just air.

But then the laughter shifted.

A ripple of noise moved across the lot, and the crowd began to part. You turned your head just as the ring came into view— a strange fenced in pen with a single door illuminated by string lights, a circle of bodies forming quickly around it.

Someone clapped Angel on the back. “You’re up, Reyes.”

He swore under his breath, straightened. The shift in him was immediate. The relaxed posture tightened. His expression flattened into something cooler—harder around the edges.

“Fighting ?” you asked, looking down at him from the crates.

“Yeah. Some dumbass tradition. Bragging rights. Blood. Whatever.” He looked up at you on your perch, suddenly serious. “Stay right here, querida. On this crate. You hear me?”

You nodded before you even processed it.

“Not just ‘cause I’m worried about you,” he added, softer now. “But ‘cause I don’t want you to see me like that.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “like what ?”

He hesitated—just a flicker of something behind his eyes, something unspoken.

“Nah querida ... like the pendejo I gotta be sometimes.”

You watched Angel step into the ring, his own hoodie still unzipped halfway, beer passed off to someone as he rolled his shoulders.

The crowd surged forward. Cheers. Jeers. A few catcalls. The other man stepped into the ring—bigger, maybe older. You couldn't tell. The music faded into the background beneath the sound of fists slamming into flesh.

Angel fought like he had something to prove and something to protect. Every punch was deliberate, every dodge tight and calculated. He was grinning, laughing even—but his eyes kept flicking to where you sat at the edge of the lot.

Like he was making sure you were still there.

You folded your arms tight across your chest, unsure of how to breathe. This version of Angel was different. Lethal. Controlled violence wrapped in denim and tattoos.

You’d seen a few fights in your life— schoolyard scraps, boys pretending to be men. But nothing like this.

Angel’s opponent landed a blow that sent sweat flying, and the crowd roared in approval. You flinched, your fingers curling tight around the edge of the crate beneath you. It was the sound of bone-on-bone, the dull crack of flesh being punished, that did it. That made it real.

This wasn’t fun.

This wasn’t tradition.

This was violence.

And no one flinched but you.

The deeper Angel sank into it, the more you saw that sharp glint in his eyes. That switch—flipped. You’d been around anger before, but this was different. Controlled, calculated, and encouraged.

You wrapped your arms around your stomach, suddenly cold despite the heat of the crowd. You tried to remind yourself that Angel had been kind. That he was EZ's brother, that he’d helped you laugh when things felt too heavy.

But the way the others watched the fight—like it was entertainment, not consequence—made something twist tight inside your chest.

They could do that to me, too? I'm not a guest.

That’s when you saw it.

Half-shadowed behind a row of parked bikes, past a group of men laughing around a fire barrel—

The gate.

Heavy.

Rusted.

But open.

A truck had just pulled through, music blaring. Someone yelled for a case of beer to be unloaded. The distraction held the crowd’s attention like a magician’s misdirect.

Your heart beat so hard you felt it in your fingertips.

Now or never.

You slid down off the crate, your shoes barely making a sound on the packed dirt. You kept your eyes low, your body tight, trying to fold yourself into shadows.

The party felt like a wave crashing behind you—so loud it muffled the thunder of your own fear.

Each step toward the gate felt impossible.

Like gravity was thicker here.

Like someone would notice.

Angel was still in the ring, fists flying, blood blooming.

Angel had the upper hand now. His opponent was breathing hard, one eye already swelling shut. The fight had drawn every eye in the yard—including Bishop’s, watching with that unreadable stare.

The Mayans lot disappeared behind you, swallowed by dark and distance. The further you moved down the cracked, weed-lined driveway, the quieter the world became.

The music from the party dulled into a heartbeat behind you—pulsing, then fading, until it was only a memory.

Each step felt like freedom.

You didn’t look back.

Your breath steamed in the cool night air.

You didn’t stop. Not when you were this close. You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere had to be safer than the place that locked you in a trailer and turned men into cheering shadows around a ring.

You didn’t hear the approach. Not until it a hand wrapped around your mouth, just behind you.

You froze.

And then— right by your ear.

"A'ight, if I let go you ain't gonna scream.”

The voice was low.

Calm.

Too calm.

You nodded.

You turned slowly. Coco stood there, leather kutte hanging open, cigarette tucked behind one ear, and a pistol—unraised, but present—in his hand.

You barely breathed.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t threaten. But his presence was steel in the air. Measured. Careful.

He nodded toward the yard. “Let’s not make this worse than it is.”

You didn’t speak. He didn’t either.

The trust between you was thinner than smoke.

When you reached the lot again, the party was still burning at full blaze. Laughter, music, the occasional whistle from someone watching the ring. No one noticed your return. No one cared.

Except Coco.

His eyes were sharp now—watching angles, sight lines, shadows. One hand stayed near his sidearm. Not aggressive. Just... precautionary.

"C'mon keep moving” The words carried more command than menace.

He didn’t take you back through the main crowd. Instead, he led you around the side of the trailers, behind the burned-out husk of an old SUV, the firelight from the yard barely reaching you.

"You got guts, I’ll give you that,” Coco muttered. “But you’re dumb as hell.”

You didn’t reply.

He didn’t shove the gun in your back. Just held it low. Present. Like a leash you couldn’t see.

Coco opened the door and stepped inside first, eyes sweeping the space like a soldier entering enemy ground.

You followed—heart hammering, legs shaking now that the adrenaline had started to burn off.

He stalked through the trailer, eyes narrowing, looking for weak spots

“Shit,” he said quietly, almost admiringly. “how'd you get out ? Pick the lock ?”

You looked down, nodded, letting him believe the lie.

Coco turned back to you, his face unreadable. There was a flicker of something human there—something almost like respect. Then it vanished.

"You weren’t supposed to see the gate open. That’s on us.”

He shut the blinds. Every one. Drew the curtains. Then he crossed the room and flipped the lock on the trailer door with a sharp click.

“Sit.”

You didn’t move.

He raised the gun slightly—not at you, just up. “I said sit. Don’t make me a arsehole tonight.”

You sat.

Angel came back with his knuckles wrapped, a towel over his shoulder, and sweat still clinging to his skin. He was laughing—until he saw Coco through a crack in the blinds in the trailer, gun at his side.

And you.

Pale. Sitting on the couch with your arms wrapped around your knees like a child trying not to vanish.

“What the fuck—”

Coco held up a hand. “I found her halfway down the damn driveway.”

Angel’s expression broke into something dark all at once. He stepped closer, fast, hands out like he wanted to touch you—reassure you—but didn’t know if he deserved to.

“Querida…”

His voice dropped low, a thousand feelings crushed into one word.

You looked up, eyes glassy.

He turned to Coco. “Man, put the fucking gun down.”

Coco stared. For a beat, neither moved.

Then Coco nodded, almost like he was tired of the whole thing. He clicked the safety and holstered the weapon.

“She’s your problem, Reyes. But I’m tellin’ you right now, if someone had caught her first…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

The door closed. The trailer fell silent.

Angel knelt in front of you, his arms braced on his knees, his head tilted so he could look up into your face. “I thought we agreed you wouldn't run.”

You blinked, stunned. “Angel, its not like I'm here by choice.”

His jaw worked. Muscles tight.

The sun hadn't yet risen. The lot was quieter than usual—party ashes smoldering in barrels, a few scattered bottles catching the low light, wind stirring up the dust.

The van was parked just beyond the fence.

Black.

Nondescript.

The kind of van you don't notice. EZ leaned against the hood, arms crossed, eyes following every movement without expression.

Angel stood by the side door, hands on his hips, head down like he was trying to slow his own heartbeat.

Inside the trailer, you sat on the edge of the couch, trembling, eyes wide and locked on the duffel bag one of the them had tossed by the door. You’d seen it before—when your world had been torn from one shape and shoved violently into another.

You were going somewhere.

But no one would say where.

“Querida…”

Angel knelt in front of you. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a plastic zip tie. White. Innocent-looking. Until he held it up and you flinched.

“I’ll be gentle, okay? I gotta do it. You know I gotta.”

You didn’t respond. But your wrists extended slowly—like some broken thing trained to obey.

He wrapped the tie around your wrists, slow and careful. His touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to, like he was trying to say something through skin contact alone—the shrill sound of the rapid clicks filled you ears as it was pulled around your wrists.

Angel grimaced as he pulled back. “Not too tight?”

You said nothing.

But your breathing started to pick up when he picked up a black hood.

Your legs shifted. Shoulders stiffened. Breath caught.

You backed up.

Not fast. Just one small, instinctive shuffle. But it said everything.

Angel held out a hand.

“Querida. Hey. Look at me.”

You didn’t.

He moved in slow, like you were a deer that might bolt.

"It’s just a for the drive. Just ‘til we’re clear of the roads.”

You whispered, voice cracking, “I don’t want it. Angel, Please.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes flicked to the others—EZ, Bishop, Coco standing by the van.

All watching.

All waiting.

“I know,” he said. “I hate this. You gotta believe that.”

You looked up—eyes wet now, lip defiant but trembling. He looked wrecked.

Angel stepped in closer. Kneeling like he wanted to level the world between you.

“I’m gonna put it on slow, alright? No surprises.”

You nodded once. Barely.

He paused—his hands hovering—just to give you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he gently pulled the hood down over your head.

Your breath quickened immediately.

Angel could hear it. Could feel it. “Querida. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

EZ shut the van doors behind you both. Inside, the space smelled like leather and oil. You sat with your hands in your lap, head bowed under the hood, legs drawn in small and tight.

Angel sat across from you, arms resting on his knees, jaw locked in that way he always did when something didn’t sit right in his gut.

The van started moving.

You jumped slightly. "Still here,” Angel said. “Just me. You’re not alone.”

You gave the tiniest nod, as if that mattered.

EZ watched from the passenger seat through the rearview mirror. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes—sharp, knowing—was enough.

“You getting soft, hermano?”

The interior of the van was dim, lit only by slivers of early morning light bleeding through the cracks in the frame. The engine thrummed beneath you like a distant heartbeat. You sat hunched near the wheel well on the floor, the black hood still over your head, wrists zip-tied in front of you.

You couldn’t see, but you could feel the cold ridges of the van floor beneath you, the rubbery bite of the zip ties digging into your skin, the way each bump in the road jolted through your body like a quiet reminder—you weren’t in control.

Angel sat directly across from you. His knees spread, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in front of him. He was trying to look relaxed.

“You okay?”

You shifted suddenly at a bump in the road, tipping off balance. Your zip-tied hands shot out instinctively to brace you, but you couldn’t catch yourself. You let out a tiny noise when your shoulder bumped hard against the metal wall.

Angel was on moving instantly.

"Hey—hey, it’s alright.”

He moved carefully toward you, crouching down. He didn’t touch you—not yet. Just held a hand out like you might feel the nearness.

“I got you,” he said low, like a promise. “You're okay. Just the road.”

You didn’t reply. But you didn’t flinch either when his hand barely grazed your arm as he steadied you.

Angel sat down cross-legged on the floor next to you. Not too close—but close enough that if you wanted, you could lean in.

He didn’t speak again for a while. Just sat beside you in silence, hands loose on his thighs, watching the way your chest rose and fell beneath the fabric. Noted every time your breathing skipped.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in the Galindos' warehouse, casting harsh shadows across concrete floors that looked like they'd been recently hosed down.

You were led through long halls, Mayans flanking you like shadows. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you sat in the stiff pew the cold seeping through your jeans.

The entire Santo Padre Charter was present now, their kuttes adorned with patches forming a wall of leather and denim around the perimeter of the room.

You recognized faces that had become familiar during your captivity—Bishop's stern glare, Coco's unnerving stare, Taza's quiet watchfulness. Gilly and Creeper stood near the entrance, while EZ remained close to his brother Angel, both leaning against a support beam.

Miguel Galindo paced in front of you, the yellow raincoat he wore seeming absurdly bright against the grim surroundings. His leather shoes clicked with each deliberate step.

He looked—more Wall Street than street enforcer—but the casual way his men deferred to him told you everything you needed to know.

Behind him, a man knelt. Bound. Eyes wide, pleading. Maybe a worker, maybe someone like you.

"Por favor no hagas esto, no sé nada, lo juro.," the man begged. You didn't understand the words, but the tone—

You looked at Angel.

His face was stone. But his fists? Clenched. Knuckles white.

Miguel turned to you, hands outstretched like a welcoming host. "Welcome, your reputation preceeds you, your quite the Archivist."

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "We have certain... documents. Certain data. That needs to be corrected— or buried."

He motioned to a tablet. It was placed in front of you.

Files. Numbers. Names.

"And you going to help us."

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "I'm just a librarian. An archivist. I preserve things, not erase them."

Miguel smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. He spoke rapidly in Spanish to one of his men standing off to the sides in the shadows.

Angel was watching you from his position, his dark eyes filled with concern he was trying to mask. The leather of his kutte creaked as he shifted forward slightly, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light as his hand curled into a fist.

EZ noticed his brother's tension and shot him a warning look. Angel reluctantly settled back, jaw clenched.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order," Miguel continued, switching effortlessly back to English.

Then Miguel turned.

A nod.

Two cartel soldiers dragged the man behind him forward. There was a flash of a blade. A gurgle. A body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

You gasped. Moving backward on instinct. Your back hitting the pew hard.

Angel took a step forward instinctively, but EZ grabbed his arm. Held him.

Miguel turned back to you. Calm. Cold.

"Do you understand that, querida?"

Angel flinched like the word had been stolen from him.

You stared at the blood pooling on the floor. Your knees would have buckled if you weren't already sitting.

"This individual shared information with people who should not have received it," Miguel explained conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "In my business, information is either an asset or a liability."

Your stomach lurched as Miguel nodded again, and his men dragged the man's body toward a plastic tarp spread in the corner that you hadn't noticed before.

The implications were horrifyingly clear.

Miguel turned back to you, removing his gloves. "Now, about those files I mentioned."

Your hands trembled. "I—I ..." Your throat became impossibly tight around your words.

Miguel's smiled as he adjusted his yellow raincoat. "I believe I've just demonstrated what happens to people who don't cooperate with my requests."

He paused. "The beauty of your situation is that no one would miss you if you were gone. You're new to Santo Padre. No family in the area. No real connections." His eyes flicked across the Mayans before returning to you. "You'd simply... vanish. Like the files I want delt with."

You glanced at Angel, searching for reassurance. His posture had tensed, eyes darting between you and Miguel, clearly fighting the urge to intervene.

Miguel laughed, a sound that was somehow worse than any threat.

He leaned closer, the smell of expensive cologne filling your nostrils. "All I require is your expertise. Your skills for your safety. Simple."

You'd spent your career preserving history, making information accessible.

Now they wanted you to do the opposite

[wormswurld]

okay hear me out....

thinking of Art who, maybe through some kind of accident/illness, becomes incontinent. and maybe he REALLY doesn't want Patrick knowing, because that's so humiliating, he can hardly stand it.

but there's not much else to do, is there? he can try to make it to the toilet all he wants; half the time it just doesn't work like that anymore.

the first time it happens in front of Pat, he ends up sobbing, nearly having a panic attack in the bathroom, trying and failing to clean up the pee from his shorts.

the second time it happens, Patrick is somehow both more and less surprised than last. Art finally musters up the courage to actually tell Patrick what the problem is, and he expects teasing or joking or even just Pat being uncomfortable and changing the subject.

that is, of course, NOT what he gets.

instead, he gets a trip to the pharmacy with his best friend, watching Patrick stride up to the counter so unbothered while Art hangs back, hood pulled all the way up. the package of diapers in Pat's hands makes him want to sink into the floor and suffocate.

when they get back to Art's dorm, he starts to get in his head about it all over again, frowning and trying to convince Pat that he actually doesn't need this. it obviously doesn't work.

so he slinks off into the bathroom and tears open the package, and he's so bright red that he's almost glowing. he pulls up the padding, quickly donning a pair of sweatpants before he can get too much of a look at himself in the mirror.

he's probably only hard because of the different kind of friction, that's all.

he walks back into his dorm, beet red and a bit panicky. Patrick barely looks up from his laptop, too immersed in whatever he's doing on it to even care. meanwhile Art is hyper-aware of each movement he makes; he can feel the diaper around him and hear the soft crinkles when he takes a step and sits down.

he doesn't actually use it for a while after that. in fact, he kind of forgets it's even there, immersed in the shitty TLC reality show on the TV. Patrick lays beside him, messaging some girl in between the good parts of the show.

and then it happens.

Art doesn't realize right away until he hears it. he looks down, shivering when he feels the warmth around his cock. the sensation is so associated with shame and humiliation for him that he starts to cry on instinct.

Patrick looks at him, lips parted.

"are you peeing?" comes his quiet voice. he almost sounds a little breathelss.

Art nods, unable to find the words, still emptying the contents of his bladder into the diaper. when the stream tapers off, he's left sitting there, the wet heat around him, tears dripping down his face.

"hey, man, come on. it's okay. better that than the bed, yeah?"

Art nods shakily.

and despite the strange, foreign sensation of the whole thing... he might be able to get used to this.

at this point we already know who this is, faistoconnors at your service 🫡

omowitty I saw your reblog, I hope you like this one too 💋

I have so many more ideas for this AU in my head

this is……..worm approved!!!!! i was wondering where you were going with the original diapers idea but this is cute tbh! i’m all for art being a bed wetter so seeing in inna different way is interesting,, love u faisty 🫶

i have something for youuuu @omowitty

[sleepingdeath-light]

the difficulties of a (not so) long distance relationship ; 18+

kinktober day eleven

pairing ; billy lenz x non binary amab!reader insert

fandom ; slashers / black christmas

masterlists ; fandom | kinktober | ao3

content ; dominant!reader, submissive!billy lenz, phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk, praise kink, likely very ooc!billy

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

Billy Lenz is a strange man. You love him, of course you do, but even you can’t deny how… eccentric he can be sometimes.

Right now you’re being subjected of one of Billy’s more enjoyable habits: his petulant insistance that you help him get off over the phone when you’re unable to climb up to the attic and help him in person. And, of course, being the oh-so-loving partner that you are, you’re all too happy to lend a hand — even if you do wish he’d stop calling the landline when your housemates are literally only a handful of feet away from you and could very easily walk into the hallway and catch you red-handed.

But the scolding can wait for another time, when you don’t have a needy, whiny boyfriend on the line waiting for your attention.

—————————————

‘Billy, baby, are you really that desperate that you can’t wait a few minutes?’ You tease, smiling against the receiver of the phone when you hear a shaky whimper through the speaker. ‘Need me that bad, huh honey?’

‘Mhm,’

‘So are you gonna be a good boy for me? Gonna be quick and quiet? Don’t want anyone else to hear us do we, baby?’

Another shaky gasp echos through the phone before he all but shouts his next words out, forcing you to pull the phone back a few inches to protect your hearing. ‘No! No! Billy will be good! Billy is good!’

‘Yeah?’ You laughed affectionately in response, fighting the urge to shake your head as you continued. ‘Well then, let’s make this quick and then I can come up and take care of you properly. How does that sound? Good?’

The only confirmation you get is the sound of Billy’s pants being shoved down to his knees and a throaty groan when, you assume, he finally wraps his hand around the base of his aching cock. And that’s more than enough for you to finally start giving him what he wants — after a cursory look around to make sure you won’t be interrupted, of course.

‘Are you touching yourself, sweetheart?’ He grunts his affirmation into the phone and you hum your approval. ‘Are you doing what I do, baby?’

‘Mhm,’ he affirmed in a gasp, ‘but your hand feels much — ah — nicer than Billy’s,’

‘I know, baby,’ you reassure breathily, before continuing in a lower tone, ‘maybe you need some more lubrication. Spit on your hand and use that to jerk off — can you do that for me, honey?’

Immediately you can hear him following your instruction, quickly followed by the lewd wet sound of him fisting his cock.

‘Good boy, Billy… fuck…’

From the shameless sounds he’s making you can picture exactly what he must look like right now and it takes every ounce of self control in your body for you to not hang up the phone and run up to the attic to join him: you can see his brows furrowing and his jaw clenching as he works himself closer to climax; you can envision the delectable bobbing of his Adam’s Apple as he throws his head back and swallows and gasps through all of the delightful moans and groans and grunts you’re hearing; you can imagine how his cock, angry red and drooling, must look right now — curving up towards his clenching stomach as he fucks his own trembling fist; you can picture, clear as day, the trembling of his lips and the unfocused teary look in his hooded eyes as he begs and pleads for you to keep talking. Predictable. Desperate. Perfect.

And you tell him as such, praising and degrading him in just the way he likes as you talk him through to his climax.

‘Keep going, sweetheart,’

‘That’s it, good boy, let me hear you,’

‘Why don’t you play with your balls, sweet thing? You love it when I do that, maybe that’ll get you off faster,’

‘So desperate for me, I fucking love it,’

‘You close yet, baby? Gonna cum from my voice? You’re so shameless, I love you,’

‘Go faster, Billy,’

‘Think you can be a bit rougher with yourself, sweets? Good boy,’

‘Ah ah ah! Don’t be too loud or my roommates will hear you and know what’s going on. Unless you want everyone to know what a needy little pervert you are?’

‘Fuck you sound so hot right now,’

‘Is your hand over your mouth right now? Stop that. I wanna hear you, baby,’

And for his part, naturally, your Billy is as vocal as ever and makes no effort to hide exactly how much your words are affecting him: shameless moans, throaty groans, stuttered grunts, sobs, whimpers of your name and his favourite little pet name (‘piggy’, of course), pleas for something he never quite gets around to specifying, and repeated loud calls of ‘gonna cum’ and ‘close’ that have your dick hardening and aching in your pants. Frankly for how loud he sounded over the phone you’re shocked that you can’t hear him through the ceiling — but, then again, you know that this isn’t the first time he’s gotten himself off in the attic so you’re sure he’s found all sorts of ways to keep you all unaware of his activities up there.

From there it only takes one more sentence from you to have your sweet little Billy falling apart at the seams with your name and a string ‘thank you’s on his lips that manages to be as endearing as it is arousing.

‘Alright then, pretty boy, go ahead and cum for me,’

Yeah, Billy is a real handful sometimes. But, as you’ve found over the years, he’s more than worth the trouble.

[writingescapades]

Book Lover P

I love how we all came as a community and agreed that Pinocchio is a bookworm. As a fellow bookworm, this worms my heart!

It was Lady Antonia who really introduced P to the library. Well more like she said the entire hotel was his to explore, and explore he did.

His desire for reading really came from a desire to be like his father. Get his approval. The big thumbs up from Papi.

He prefers to read at night, everyone is asleep and he has nothing else to do with this time. At first, he would just go out and continue to destroy puppets, but something changed after that first book.

The first book happened to be The Ugly Duckling. He would read and reread that story. Not fully understanding why he kept doing so.

It was in this state you found him. You promised yourself a night of reading as a reward for doing boring tasks around the hotel. Lo, and behold there was Pinocchio… reading.

He immediately gets up, thinking you had a task for him. Poor boy. You inquire into what he’s reading and he hands it over, as if guilty.

Reading the cover, you smile and give it back, along with another book. It’s a book of fairytales. Needless to say, Pinocchio devours this book. There were more books of this nature??

Thus starts a bond between you two. Late night reading sessions. P eagerly tapping your shoulder when he sees something interesting. You reading aloud passages.

Many times the hotel residents would find you asleep on the floor  while P sat beside you and silently read. Lady Antonia asked him to move a sofa into the library, so that you could at least prevent catching your death of cold.

That scared P, who then always ushered you to the couch once you got your reading material for the night. He wasn’t killing puppets just for you to die of a cold.

As P grows and understands emotions, he would often bring a book to you, point to a passage where a character felt something he felt and then point to himself. It helped when you put words to define his emotions. He would store away that knowledge.

There were moments when P would come home after a late night of stalking, and instead of just spending time in the library, he would wake you up and silently point to a page in a book. He never said anything in those moments but the passage he pointed you told all.

He’s very adept at matching the people he meets (their stories) to the fairytales he reads. It became a bit of an inside joke between you too, such as thinking of red ridding hood when Alidoro appears.

And yes, as you two grow closer and he gains more humanity, he really relishes the closeness reading brings the two of you. Sitting together reading often ends up being wrapped up in blankets, sleeping (resting in his case). And he loves how you never seem to stop analyzing the books you read. Sometimes when he’s bored or needs to get through some chore, he likes having you around to fill the silence.

Loves to rest his head in your lap, around your chest and listen to you read. It’s not just your voice, but the vibrations he feels as he listens. It just makes him feel nice inside. If you fall asleep, he likes to pretend he also fell asleep, just to hold onto the moment longer.

Most of the relationship is you giving him books to read, but every once in a while, he’ll surprise you with a recommendation. It’s not always something he read, but something he thinks you might like.

And yes, any book he finds outside comes straight to you.

Imagine teaching him to write down his thoughts and make his own story! That thought really hits him when he denies his father and the fight happens. It’s the first time he chose his own path.

You can always tell what mood he’s in by what he’s been reading.

The day that made you cry though was several weeks after Geppetto’s death. P was strangely quiet about his father’s secret and subsequent death, and though you pressed him to communicate something to him, you also knew he needed his space. So you took to seeing what he had been reading. But there was only one book, The Little Match Girl. He had been reading the story over and over again, seemingly lost in the young protagonist’s visions. You cried hard that day. How must he feel after being betrayed, insulted, and rejected by his father as both Carlo and Pinocchio?

You hugged him hard that day, and told him that he is not doomed by a fairytale narrative.

You knew you had your Pinocchio back when you hugged your back and you could feel just a few drops of tears on your neck.

[breakfastteatime]

Cal wakes up from a nap. Oops, fell asleep on the couch again. He's so dozy, so comfy, maybe he'll drift off again and...

Wait.

Something feels different about his head. He stirs, brushing the blanket pulled up to his chin.

"Shhh. Go back to sleep." It's Merrin. She must be sitting next to his head. "I am not finished yet."

Her fingers are in his hair, brushing through and separating small handfuls into trios. The feeling is familiar, a distant memory from so long ago. He feels himself relaxing. "Why're you braiding my hair?" he asks, although it sounds more like "whyybraidnmuhheyh?"

Somehow, Merrin interprets his mushy words. "It is shiny. And pretty."

"S'not."

"Oh, yes, it is." There's a gentle tug as she deftly braids. "Fiery. Like my magicks."

"S'green."

"Hush, Cal. Let me finish."

Cal zones out, drifting into memories of Master Tapal patiently plaiting his braid, tying it off with the finest of thread. It never seemed possible for someone with such huge hands, and yet Master Tapal managed it every time. Sometimes he would tug on it to get Cal's attention. Other times, if he couldn't grab the hood of Cal's robes fast enough, he'd grab Cal's braid instead, and that never failed to bring Cal to a sudden and complete halt - usually before he wandered into traffic in the Brave's landing bay. He smiles at the memories, at the warmth, the tradition, the simplicity.

Merrin probably isn't going in for simplicity. Maybe he'll look like Cere did in that echo he picked up from Trilla's lightsaber. She looked so awesome with her hair like that. Could he grow his hair out that long? His pictures it - autumn reds, oranges and golds trailing all the way down his back, tied in intricate braids...

...who is he kidding? He'd sling it back in a ponytail and be done with it.

He giggles to himself.

"You are strange, Cal," Merrin tells him.

She has no idea.

A few minutes later, Merrin's fingers pull away. "Done. You may wake up. BD? You can come and look now."

Familiar feet tippy-tappy their way over. BD gives a long, slow beep of awe, and then the light of his scanner shines through Cal's eyelids.

Pretty, BD declares.

"I am not pretty," Cal grumbles.

"You are. You are a pretty princess," Merrin says. "BD, quick, make a recording."

"Excuse you, I'm no princess, I am a queen," Cal corrects.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty," Merrin says.

Curiosity wins and he opens his eyes, sits, frees his hands from the blanket, and explores his head. What he finds is a series of small, tight braids encircling his head - much like a crown. He leans forward and catches a glimpse of his reflection on the table. "Huh."

"You like it?" Merrin asks. "Cere explained to me how to do it, but it is easier to practice on somebody else."

"I do like it," Cal says. "It's really practical. Keeps it out of my eyes, too."

The hatch opens. Cere and Greez board the ship, both carrying several grocery bags. Cere clocks Cal first, nodding in approval. Greez does a double-take, puts down his bags, and moves in for a closer inspection.

"Well?" Cal asks, moving his head to really show it off.

"I love it!" Greez gushes. "I mean I really love it. I want it. I want that style right now."

"When you have more hair, I will teach you how," Merrin says.

He grins. "It's a deal. You heard it here, folks, Greezy is officially growing his hair out."

[malulls]

Sweet Nothings

Manorian one shot

Masterlist

Manon was almost certain that the same song was being played for the third time, but the nobility of Adarlan did not seem bothered, and for each of the almost identical melodies, there were slightly different dance steps. She didn't know exactly what she was doing there, hiding in an alcove where some of the chandeliers were conveniently dimmed. The rest she had unlit on her own, just enough to hide herself without the darkness drawing attention. There was something interesting about the scene.

The hierarchy of humans was so different from the witches', or at least from how it used to be. It was based on silliness and futility, so it was surprising to see the presence of people who clearly didn't have a single trace of nobility in their blood and didn't seem to bother pretending they did. She wasn't the only one who had noticed the citizens present in the castle. It only took a bit of searching to find men and women looking disgruntledly from the people to the king in the center of the salon.

That's where Manon had been looking at most of the evening, as had half of the ladies and peasants who were enchanted by him. As if she had nothing better to do. She knew that the presence of those people was one of the many changes he intended and would take time to realize, but the few times she had been in Adarlan, she had limited herself to her chambers or his tower, and hadn't seen much. Now she thought maybe she should see more of the city. And maybe invite Dorian to know hers.

Not that there was much to see. But she was proud of every detail, every change, the smallest it was, even when it took her too long to recognize them. The king had seemed interested in the few things he'd gotten from her when they talked for real, but they both knew he wouldn't offer to go knowing the situation they were in. Dorian would go with her and only when Manon asked. Only when she wanted to show him her kingdom.

The queen felt her brow furrow and her lips tighten involuntarily when the ninth lady of the evening bowed and began to dance with him. But who was counting? Giving up on standing there for no reason and irritated by her own irritation, she threw her red hood over her head and slipped unnoticed through the crowd too interested in the dance, the king, or themselves to notice the witch passing by faster than they could move.

After entering the empty corridors — the silence and stillness of the dark were strange after the conversations, the music, and the exaggerated lighting of the ballroom — Manon finally reached the staircase of the king's tower. It felt like some kind of invasion to enter Dorian's room without him, to see the way every corner of the room screamed a part of who he was. The smell, the piles of books strewn around, the sleeping clothes lying on the partially made-up bed.

Closing the door carefully, she entered in silent steps, as if he could hear her, and sat down in the large desk chair. A candle stub was unlit in the corner, and there was a half-open inkwell, looking as if it had been hastily left in the middle of a letter. She had the impression that she knew exactly how he sat in that place, the expression he made, the way he held his pen when he was concentrating, and the way he frowned when he was tired. Manon sat there, lost in thought, waiting for the king's inevitable footsteps on the stairs to announce he had arrived.

—

Dorian had noticed something different in the middle of the ball. One of his mother's exaggerated parties, which had been approved by his council and over which he didn't have much power despite being the damn king, but he'd managed to change it to include the people of Rifthold.

Then suddenly, between dances and boring conversations, something made him curious, a random spot in the salon that, for some reason, was dark and triggered his curiosity. He thought he was being silly, as he always did on nights he spent some time on the balcony, looking out towards the deserts and hoping she would appear. Most of the time it wasn't worth it.

However, when he finally stood at the foot of the stairs of his tower after the long night, the magic felt it. A mixture of strength, sadness, and iron that made something in his chest prickle. Inside his room, there, after what seemed like an eternity though it had only been weeks. And, since he had little or no love for life when it came to her, Dorian transformed himself into the smallest creature he could imagine and flew up the stairs.

—

— Did you intend to scare me?

At one second, Manon was standing still, staring at some book. The next she was on her feet, her iron nails around the throat from which the sentence had come and pushing him towards the wall. Pushing Dorian into the wall, she realized a moment later, as she identified the smell and the smile on his face.

— Are you stupid? — she spat the question, iron teeth still sticking out. How the hell had he just appeared there?

— I wouldn't have this opportunity again anytime soon, would I, witchling?

She limited her response to a frown, but his smile only widened. Then he put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her, but waited for the witch to retract her iron teeth before slipping his tongue into her mouth. Smart man.

Dorian didn't let go of her face when they separated, but ran his eyes all over her and the absence of the crown on her head.

— How long have you been here?

She sheathed her iron nails, and may the Three-Faced Goddess be patient, he looked disappointed.

— Since your party started.

The king let out an exhausted sigh and took off his crown to place it on the bedside table. It was beautiful, covered in rubies and details in Adarlan's colors. It suited Dorian. But that gesture always seemed to take a weight off his back.

— My mother's party. — he corrected. — But I think I was able to manipulate the situation a bit so it could be mine too. Where is Abraxos?

— I left him in the forest. He was hungry.

He loosened his cloak and began to take off his shirt with his back to her, with the biggest calm in the world. She sat on the bed, watching the muscles in his back as he pulled his clothes over his head. Dorian turned, and something in her expression made him ask.

— I'm sorry. Would you rather be doing this?

— No. — She lied.

He sat down facing her and Manon let him do the same and take off the hood she had been hiding in earlier.

— You didn't write to say you were coming. Neither did you answer my last letter. — he said, as he finished unbuttoning her blouse. — Why?

She didn't answer. She didn't always write back, and almost all the letters he had sent first. It was easier to not reply, to use lack of time and tiredness as excuses, and to let them isolate her. They both knew that. But he seemed to want her to talk anyway, even when it wasn't important. Manon hadn't known exactly what to expect when his first letter arrived in the wastes or when, on a reckless impulse, she had gone to Rifthold for the first time.

But it was not that this would become so natural, that the tensions and things they had ignored in Terrasen would seem to have been smoothed over, and that they would be able to put them aside enough to have something like that.

It wasn't perfect for either of them, nor was it the amount of indifference she expected, nor the intimacy and sincerity he wanted, but something in the middle ground that was good for both of them. At least at the moment and in the position they were in, and it may not work forever, but it was what they needed.

Manon was no longer in the dark, endless place she had been for the first few months in the Wastes, but she was still so far from feeling any kind of healing that she was sure it didn't exist, at least not one she could find.

But the queen wouldn't think about that, not there. The few moments when she felt she was truly living, that she felt confidence and, if she was being honest with herself, certainty, that she was sure of what was happening and what was going to happen, were when she was with him, during those few days of travel. When from time to time, she went away and entered the complete silence of the flight with Abraxos and was able to think. And she was sure it was the same for him, without either of them needing to speak.

Despite the time away and making it clear how much he wanted her with his eyes, Dorian calmly pulled up her blouse and took her wrist, until Manon was sitting on his lap.

— Why did you wait instead of telling me you were here?

Because she wanted to see him from afar, wanted to see what he was like when she wasn't around. If it was better than how it was for her when he wasn't close. If he seemed happier. How he dealt with the crown, with people who barely knew him and yet, demanded everything from him.

— You seemed to be having a lot of fun.

Dorian snorted, but grinned.

— Are you jealous because you didn't dance with me, witchling?

Manon ran her hand through his hair, an annoying habit she had developed and only remembered not to do once she had already done it. She ran her nails along the back of his neck to disguise — more to herself — what she had just done.

— Can you imagine me dancing?

He tilted his head toward her hand and trailed his fingertips over her waist.

—For real? Yes. — he replied, and the sincerity instead of a silly joke surprised her. And the request behind it.

— Keep imagining it. It's not going to happen.

He smiled as if he couldn't be more certain that it would, so before he could say anything, she kissed Dorian again. Without the surprise of the wall, or the anger, and unfortunately for him, without iron nails either. But, after the marks he left on her chest and collarbone, the bites she left on his neck, and when they both began to lose track of time and the rest of the world around them, he laid her down on the bed and complained about absolutely nothing.

—

Dorian watched the invisible hands play with Manon's strands of hair. It had been fun to take her by surprise, but he was sure it would never happen again — especially after almost having his throat ripped out.

The king loved those little moments and everything they could be, the routine they could become, if she were there every day. But she wasn't, and even if, for some impossible reason, she accepted or proposed an alliance between the two kingdoms again, she still wouldn't be. But he could deal with that, he was as busy as she was. He could hope — even if he had nothing to hope for — that her kingdom would be stabilized again, that his would be, that she would go through her grief, that his nightmares would disappear.

— You're thinking too much. — Manon said, turning to face him or leaning into the hands that stroked her hair, he didn't know.

— How do you know that?

— You've been staring at me for two minutes and done nothing about it.

He chuckled, then moved his hand to the base of her back to bring her body closer to his. He would never tire of kissing Manon. And from her satisfied sigh, the witch thought the same. When they separated, she frowned and sat down on the bed, to his disadvantage, barely pulling the covers over her.

— What's going on?

He propped himself on his elbow to look at her. Now it was she who was thinking too much, because her face stiffened before turning back to its normal seriousness.

— There is a Crochan celebration next month. We're trying to make it happen for the whole kingdom.

He sat down next to her when he heard the subject. He tried to disguise his interest, but it didn't really work. She turned her face towards him with the same steady expression, but pulling the sheet a little tighter.

— Would you be there?

He didn't bother to hide his surprise. He'd been expecting an invitation to her kingdom since the first time she had shown up, and he wasn't waiting for one now, least of all for a witches' holiday.

— Should I? Isn't it your people's festivity?

— Ansel is going too. It was an invitation as a peace offering and a thank you for doing no more than her duty and returning our lands. — he chuckled. If Aelin's friend heard that, Manon would surely be in another fight. At least he could hope without guilt that the witch would win. — And of course, my council is setting a trap to force you to make some deals.

Dorian almost laughed. It was so easy to forget that they were something more than themselves, that there she was, spreading as a joke something that other people would consider a State secret. At least it was nice to realize how much the two of them trusted each other.

— Do you want me to go?

— I'm inviting you.

— Then yes? — She rolled her eyes, but he took her hand. — Of course I'll go. But only if your trap means an excuse for you to show up more often.

She grumbled, but there was a tiny smile hidden there. Dorian slipped an arm around her waist and pulled them closer until she was leaning against his chest, and most importantly, she let him.

— I'm going to ask for breakfast. — he murmured into her hair.

— You like to create gossip, don't you?

Yes.

— Nobody knows you're here. And I don't have to explain myself to anyone.

— What about when I show up at the castle later or Abraxos comes looking for me?

— I don't see what one thing has to do with the other.

They were already partially dressed and in the middle of breakfast in a comfortable silence when a golden spot invaded the bed, climbing with difficulty and then stopping at the end, looking at them both and wagging its tail.

— I didn't think food could bring you out of your hibernation.

Manon grimaced.

— Where did that thing come from?

— Somewhere in that room where she was hiding my old clothes and shoes that she stole.

— That creature? Of that size?

— Wait until she realizes where the food is.

The dog started to sniff in the direction of the tray in the middle of the bed. Dorian made a whistling noise with his mouth.

— And what is she doing here?

— She was born too small, and would die in the cold outside. So I'm leaving her with me until she's big enough to stay with the others.

Manon looked at him as if she knew that the next time she came back, the puppy would still be there. Deciding to plead, the dog rested her front paws on the witch's thigh and wagged her tail faster.

— She's trying to convince you to feed her.

— It is more probably she will convince me to use her to feed Abraxos.

His eyes widened.

— That's the meanest thing I've ever heard coming from your mouth. — he used his invisible hands to lift the puppy and leave her safely away from the witch, back on the ground. — I promise I'll find you something to eat.

She whimpered, upset, and went back to the dressing room.

— She has a personality. — Manon said, before stealing the last vanilla cake that Dorian had put on his plate.

He thought about complaining, but after she shoveled half of it into her mouth and filled the corners of her lips with sugar, he just looked at her and smiled. His life was a mess, and the world could be ending, but the strongest witch of Erilea was in his bed with her cheeks covered in sugar.

Dorian kept those sweet nothings as if they were a collection, small things that were easy to forget and might mean nothing, but which he noticed, and left him with an involuntary smile on his face when they suddenly appeared in his mind. It was something to remember afterward, to hold on to no matter how it ended.

If it ended.

[mjonthetrack]

strange

Chapter 37 “Into the Upside Down”

The field was dead quiet, the stars like pinpricks in a fabric too dark to be real. The air itself felt off—too still, too thick—as if it was waiting for something to go terribly wrong.

The ground rumbled once. Subtle. Like a whisper underfoot.

Then, a hiss of pressure and a mechanical whine.

From behind a camouflaged truck parked at the edge of a copse, Dustin cheered faintly as a massive industrial rig groaned open, revealing the circular mouth of the tunnel they'd spent the last few hours mapping. Dug with stolen Russian machinery and some good old-fashioned Hawkins chaos, it was barely wide enough for one of the safety suits to pass through.

Jimmy stared at it from the hood of the Bronco. He hadn’t spoken much since the last time El's nose had bled and the group swore they heard Dominique’s voice echo through the trees.

But now?

He stood up, mouth pressed tight.

And walked straight over to the open crates of hazmat gear.

“Hey!” Steve yelped, watching Jimmy snatch one of the bulky white suits, fumbling into it like someone putting on clothes mid-fire. “You can’t just—”

“The hell I can’t,” Jimmy growled, zipping the front up and snapping the hood into place. “That thing got her. I’m not sitting on the sidelines while y’all play Dungeons & Dumbasses.”

Lucas folded his arms, jaw clenched. “This ain’t a damn rescue mission. This is hell.”

Jimmy gave him a look through the suit visor. “Then it’s exactly where I need to be.”

He didn’t wait for approval.

With the confidence of someone more used to back alleys than underground portals to other dimensions, Jimmy stormed down the embankment, boots kicking up clouds of dust. Just enough of a path had been carved out by the Russians’ tunnel team and the townspeople’s frantic efforts. There was scaffolding in some parts. Shoddy wood in others. And darkness everywhere.

He muttered as he walked. “This some fucked up sci-fi fantasy, man. What the hell is this? Aliens? Radiation? Voodoo?” He grunted as the narrow tunnel widened and the glow beneath his boots turned a sickly, pulsing red.

Then he saw it—just past the bend.

The gate.

Pulsing. Breathing. Veined like some monstrous lung. And just beyond it, shimmering like heat waves over pavement, was something else.

Twisted trees. Moving walls. Tendrils slithering along what used to be sidewalks.

“Nah man,” he hissed, nearly tripping over his own feet. “What the fuck is this?!”

Hopper was right behind him, torch in hand, already used to the madness. He stepped forward calmly, lighting the path with a makeshift flame thrower—a road of fire charring the writhing floor into black, crackling safety.

“Watch your step,” Hopper said gruffly. “They like to take hostages.”

Jimmy stared at the ground, at something that looked suspiciously like a twitching human hand embedded in roots.

He gagged. Then screamed.

“AYO! Nah, man. NAH. That ain’t normal! That’s not even—” He cut off, kicking a twitching vine away from his boot. “I came to find Dominique, not star in a bootleg alien horror show!”

Joyce stepped beside them, her voice steadier than her nerves. “This is what they do. They take what you love. That’s how they grow stronger.”

Jimmy swallowed, hard.

“Then we’re in the right place,” he said grimly.

And with that, the three of them stepped over the scorched line and into the pulsing mouth of the Upside Down.

In his head, Jimmy kept replaying her voice—that scream in the dark, the way she said his name like a prayer on fire.

He wasn’t leaving without her.

Not this time.

Chapter 38 “What Breaks the Chains”

The ground beneath the Upside Down version of the Hawkins Community Pool oozed like tar, every step taken by Jimmy, Hopper, and Joyce letting out the sickening squelch of something alive. The pool’s walls—blackened, pulsing, and veined—looked like a fever dream rotting inside a mirror.

Jimmy's chest rose and fell beneath the hazmat suit, breath catching each time the glowing tendrils around them twitched. His fists clenched tighter on the crowbar Hopper had handed him earlier. He wasn’t trained for this, wasn’t built for alternate realities or shadow monsters—but he was built to protect. And he’d already failed once.

He wasn’t doing that again.

Joyce pointed toward the ruined husk of the shower stalls, nearly indistinguishable under the hive-like growth covering them. “This is it,” she murmured. “This is where El said she saw her.”

Jimmy moved before either of them could stop him, boots stomping over slick, root-covered concrete, hand dragging along the disgusting, pulsing wall as he neared the door. He could feel it in his chest—a pull, a connection. Something inside this nightmare called her name and it echoed with his.

Meanwhile…

The real Hawkins. Late summer. Sticky heat.

Robin and Steve stood near the sauna’s outer door, Robin chewing her nails while Lucas, Max, Dustin, and Eleven huddled close behind her. Billy was inside, chained up with makeshift restraints across the vents. The red heat lamp glared through the small glass pane.

“You think it’s working?” Dustin asked, voice tight.

Billy screamed—an inhuman, broken howl that didn’t sound fully human. He thrashed against the walls like a caged animal, rattling the metal. His eyes flickered between human and something monstrous. Max shivered.

“He’s fighting it,” El murmured, watching closely. “Whatever’s inside of him… it doesn’t like the heat.”

Then something unexpected happened.

Billy froze.

For a moment, his eyes cleared. His breath shook.

“El?” he croaked. “Help me.”

They all leaned forward, uncertain. Robin cursed under her breath, and Steve gripped the nail bat tighter.

Inside his mind, Billy was splitting. And it was weakening the link.

Back in the Upside Down

Dominique blinked.

She felt it first.

The chain around her mind slackened. The fog thinned. Her back wasn’t pressed to the stall wall anymore—she was standing. Still in that white bikini. Still surrounded by darkness. But something had shifted.

She turned quickly.

And there, in the torn veil of her mental prison—she saw Jimmy.

Not a vision this time. Not a flicker or a whisper. He was standing on the other side of the ruined shower wall in the real Upside Down, calling her name. But she was still in. Not fully back. Not fully in control.

She pressed both hands to the wall.

“Jimmy!” she screamed. “I’m here! I’m—”

Jimmy, Outside the Stall

He heard it again.

Faint. Choked. Like a whisper through a thunderstorm.

“Jimmy!”

He froze.

His eyes widened under the visor. “She—Joyce! Hopper! She’s here! She just screamed my name again!”

Joyce stepped forward, heart pounding, while Hopper lit another line of fire down the hallway behind them for safety.

“We’re close,” Joyce whispered. “We’re close, I swear to God.”

Jimmy dropped the crowbar and placed a hand against the wall. “Baby, I’m coming. I swear to you, I’m coming.”

The air around them changed.

Like the hive itself knew.

Suddenly the tendrils recoiled.

Back in Hawkins, in the sauna, Billy screamed again—violently, thrashing. But the shadow within him flickered, unsteady.

And Dominique?

She gasped.

Her fingers twitched.

The world flickered white.

For just a breath, she remembered her name. Her face. Him.

She whispered in the void, “Come get me…”

And then the lights inside the Upside Down exploded in a wave of sparks.

Jimmy shouted, ducking.

Hopper pulled Joyce back.

And in the center of the chaos—at the heart of the hive—Dominique opened her eyes, lips parting like the first inhale after drowning.

Jimmy reached for her. But the hive wasn’t done.

Not yet.

Chapter 39 “A Second Too Late”

The stench inside the twisted pool stall was like copper and rot, thick enough to taste. Jimmy didn’t care. Not when she was right there—her body slack and coated in some viscous slime, but her. Dominique. Her eyes half-lidded, the faintest shimmer of recognition breaking through the void. Her fingers twitching. Then reaching.

“Dom,” Jimmy breathed, helmet half-off now, voice raw, hand outstretched as he crossed the threshold between nightmare and miracle.

Their fingers brushed. Just barely. Warm skin to skin. A second’s worth of hope.

Then—

A guttural shriek pierced the void.

Something lashed out from behind her, invisible but violent. A blur like smoke, a shriek like metal grinding bone.

“DOM!” Jimmy screamed, lunging.

But it was too late.

A whip-like shadow snared her ankle and ripped her backwards. She flew, screaming, hand still outstretched as her nails scraped his palm and she was gone, dragged screaming into the inky black deeper inside the hive.

Jimmy howled and tried to charge after her—but strong arms grabbed him.

“No! No!!” he shouted, fighting like a wild animal.

“Jimmy—we have to GO!” Hopper barked, grabbing his shoulder and hauling him back.

“Let go of me, goddammit!” Jimmy twisted violently, eyes wide with panic. “She’s still in there! We can’t leave her!”

Joyce was shaking, but firm. “We will die in there—we come back with backup, we come back with a plan!”

Jimmy fought tooth and nail as Hopper and Joyce dragged him bodily down the narrowing path. Behind them, the pulsing, moaning walls began to collapse inward—like the hive was reclaiming its territory. Sparks shot from the ceiling of vines and rotting flesh. A deep, churning sound echoed through the space—like a heartbeat.

They barely made it to the clearing outside the gate when the passage slammed shut behind them, kicking up dust and darkness.

Joyce fell to her knees gasping. Hopper braced her. Jimmy stood, still, staring at the sealed gateway, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot behind his cracked visor.

He’d touched her. She was right there.

And he’d lost her again.

Meanwhile, in the real Hawkins

The sauna door burst open with a crack like thunder.

Billy erupted out of it, chains still hanging from one wrist like a broken leash. His shirt was half torn, eyes black and blazing. The kids screamed—Max grabbed El’s hand and bolted, Dustin and Lucas right behind them. Steve swung the nail bat wildly but was thrown across the wall like a ragdoll.

“It doesn’t like heat!” Lucas yelled breathlessly. “We almost had him—he was breaking!”

Robin helped Steve up as they scrambled out into the parking lot, panting.

“Where the hell is Hopper when you need him?!” Robin shouted.

“Working on that interdimensional rescue mission with Jimmy, remember?!” Dustin snapped.

Minutes Later — The Group Reconvenes

Robin’s house again. Packed now. Full to bursting. Voices layered on voices as the group—kids, teens, adults, and a barely-stable Jimmy—came flooding into the house. Steve slammed the door behind them and locked it. Robin ran to grab cold water. Hopper stormed in next with Joyce, all of them pale and shaken. Jimmy’s hands were still trembling, one palm red and scratched from where Dominique had clawed him.

“I had her…” he muttered.

“You almost died,” Hopper snapped, yanking off his own gear and tossing it to the ground.

“She was right there— screaming,” Jimmy growled, turning toward the center of the room. “You didn’t hear her! You didn’t see her face—!”

“We get it,” Murray interrupted sharply, stepping in. “But that entire area was collapsing. You go one step further and you’re in there forever too.”

Lucas sat silently on the couch, jaw tight, avoiding Jimmy’s eyes.

Erica pointed at her older brother. “I told you this was gonna become a circus,” she muttered.

El stood off to the side, her arms folded, nose still tinged with blood. “Whatever you did in there—it changed something. The connection’s weaker. She’s still possessed, but now she’s aware.”

“You said she saw me,” Jimmy said, voice cracking. “She knew it was me.”

“She did,” El nodded. “She screamed for you. Just like Will used to. She’s not lost yet.”

Everyone in the room was breathless.

Murray poured whiskey into a coffee mug and stood. “Then we better make a plan. A real one. Because the hive’s not gonna let us get that close again without a fight.”

Jimmy sat back heavily, fists clenched.

She was alive.

And now they had a chance.

Chapter 40 “The Mall, the Monster, and the Moment”

The ground was already trembling by the time the lights in Starcourt Mall blew out one by one like dying stars. Sparks fell like fireworks from busted ceiling wires. Neon signs flickered, casting the corridors in surreal, shifting colors.

The group had regrouped, bodies tight with tension and dirt-streaked from battle—El leaning heavily on Mike, Hopper with blood on his temple, Joyce with a busted flashlight in her grip.

Nancy and Jonathan were loading their cameras, Steve and Robin had their eyes on the back exits. The kids all had weapons—makeshift or real—and Jimmy Fatu was right there too, standing with his fists clenched and chest heaving, sweat glistening on his neck under the pulsing red light.

Even in this madness, the heat in the mall was oppressive.

“I knew malls were evil,” Murray muttered.

From the far entrance—tires screeched.

The sound hit before they saw it.

A black Camaro came roaring into the mall, glass shattering, people diving out of the way.

“It’s him!” Max shouted.

Billy.

Or whatever the fuck was inside him now.

His face was blank, eyes dead. Dominique was in the passenger seat—slumped, dazed, but her head turned for a split second.

“Jimmy…” she whispered, too softly for anyone to hear.

Jimmy stepped forward instinctively, shoving Erica and Lucas behind him. “Get back,” he growled.

“Hey!” Lucas snapped. “I can—”

“Shut up,” Jimmy barked. “This is beyond you, punk.”

The Camaro screeched to a stop, mere feet away. The engine coughed, then died. Billy stepped out, calm, too calm. Dominique followed slowly, barefoot and looking like a ghost of herself—black veins etched into her neck and collarbone, eyes rimmed in red.

Everyone froze. Weapons raised. No one moved.

Then Billy grinned.

“You really came, huh?” he rasped, voice low and cruel. “All of you. All for her.”

Dominique blinked slowly, lips twitching, her hand reaching toward her own throat—as if something inside her was pulling strings.

“You’re gonna let her go,” El said, stepping forward. “Now.”

Billy tilted his head. “She’s not going anywhere.”

And then all hell broke loose.

BOOM.

The roof split. A sound like thunder cracking open the sky echoed as the flesh beast—the Mind Flayer’s creation—burstinto view above them. It roared, massive and glistening, all teeth and tendrils, fury and hunger.

“MOVE!!” Hopper yelled.

The kids scattered. Steve grabbed Dustin. Lucas shoved Erica ahead. Jimmy didn’t run—he charged.

Straight for Dominique.

“DOM!!”

She turned at the sound of her name, pupils dilated. For a moment… something flickered.

The monster screamed again—one huge arm slamming down and crushing part of the food court in front of them.

Jimmy dove and rolled, narrowly missing a flying chair. He reached her, grabbed her shoulders, shook her. “It’s me. It’s me. Come back, baby. Come back.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I… I can’t stop it. I can’t… I’m sorry—”

And then she screamed—a full-body scream of agony—and the veins began to pulse. The monster above shrieked again, its cry somehow mirroring hers.

“Jimmy!” Joyce shouted. “Get away from her—it’s tethered to her!”

“I’m not leaving her!” he roared back.

Then El stepped forward. Blood dripping from her nose.

“Hold her,” she said.

Jimmy nodded, wrapping his arms around Dominique as she thrashed and sobbed. “I got you. I got you, baby. You’re not alone.”

El closed her eyes, hands trembling as she summoned everything she had left. Her body shook. Blood dripped down her chin now.

The beast above convulsed. Screamed. Slammed a fist down—boom!—barely missing the car.

Billy was watching now, shaking, like he was being pulled from the inside.

Dominique sobbed again, voice cracking. “J-Jimmy… I’m sorry… I should’ve known you cared…”

“I should’ve never left you,” Jimmy said into her hair. “We’re even.”

And then—

FLASH.

A pulse of psychic energy exploded out from El’s body. It knocked everyone off their feet.

The monster howled.

Billy dropped to his knees, blood pouring from his nose.

And Dominique collapsed in Jimmy’s arms—gasping, crying—but herself.

The black veins vanished.

El fell backward, caught by Mike, eyes fluttering. “She’s free… she’s free…”

Billy looked up then. Tear-streaked. Human again. And as the beast let out its last scream, beginning to crumble, he stood slowly… turned…

And charged.

Straight into the creature. Screaming. Sacrificing himself.

“BILLY—!” Max sobbed, falling to her knees.

The monster exploded into a thousand pulsing, black chunks of goo and bone.

Silence.

Ash.

Breathless, stunned silence.

Aftermath

Smoke filled the air. Emergency lights glowed dimly as the flames were put out by sprinklers.

Dominique lay cradled in Jimmy’s arms, her breathing shaky.

He ran a thumb across her cheek. “You’re okay.”

“No,” she said, voice cracking. “But I will be.”

Erica stared from across the floor. “Okay but like—are we done now? Can I go to my slumber party on Friday or what?”

Jimmy finally laughed—wet and tired.

Lucas flopped back against a bench. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

Hopper lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. “They’ll never believe us anyway.”

And above them, in the shattered dome of the mall, the stars began to show again.

The storm was over—for now.

Chapter 41 “Fallout & Slushies”

The battle was over. The Mind Flayer was gone. The air in Starcourt Mall still reeked of smoke, blood, and the kind of electricity that never really leaves a place after something supernatural passes through it.

Dominique lay unconscious, limp in Jimmy’s arms. Her body was drained, hair plastered to her face, skin cold and damp.

Jimmy sat on the floor, back against a scorched pillar, clutching her like he might break if he let go. His fingers trembled as he brushed a bit of ash from her cheek. The sounds around him blurred together—sirens in the distance, El’s labored breathing, Hopper barking orders, and—

“Bullshit.”

Lucas’s voice cut through it like a knife.

Jimmy didn’t look up.

Lucas stood a few feet away, fists clenched at his sides, glaring with every ounce of fury a kid like him could hold. “You shouldn’t be around her. I don’t care if you helped or ran into some horror movie shit like the rest of us. You played her. Twice.”

The others went still.

Hopper looked over, quiet.

Max’s eyes flicked between them, puffy from tears.

Jimmy said nothing, just stared down at Dominique’s face, jaw clenched.

Lucas’s voice rose. “You think saving her now makes up for everything? For ghosting her? For leaving her to get hurt?”

“Lucas—” Robin started.

“No!” he shouted. “He gets to just walk in like he’s some hero, and everyone’s okay with that?!”

“Shut up,” Erica snapped, arms folded as she stepped in front of her brother, pint-sized and all attitude. “Before I call Mama and she comes down here and beats your ass and his for waking her up past midnight.”

Lucas blinked. “Wha—”

Erica turned on Jimmy next, chin tilted up like she was six feet tall. “And you. Yeah, I know who you are. You think I don’t know a drug dealer when I see one?”

Jimmy arched a brow, not even mad—just impressed. Dominique’s sister, for sure.

“I know what you did to her,” she continued coolly, wagging a small finger at him. “She told me. We talk about everything. You made her cry. You broke her. And I’m telling you right now—if you do it again, I’ll call SWAT on you. Like a real episode of Cops.” She jabbed his shoulder. “And I won’t miss.”

Robin choked on a laugh behind a busted display counter. “God, I love her.”

Jimmy cracked a small, tired smirk despite himself. “You’re scary as hell, little Sinclair.”

“I know,” Erica said proudly.

Meanwhile, Max stood with her arms wrapped around herself, eyes red and empty as she stared at the blackened Camaro that would never drive again.

Billy’s blood still streaked the pavement outside. She hadn’t said a word since.

“Max,” Lucas murmured, walking up slowly. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t answer at first. Then she turned, burying her face in his chest. “He wasn’t all bad,” she whispered. “At the end. He… he saved her.”

“I know,” Lucas said softly, holding her as the adrenaline started to fade. “I know.”

On the far side of the ruined food court, Mike sat with El unconscious in his lap, rocking slightly, whispering things she probably couldn’t hear. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but she hadn’t woken yet.

“She’ll be okay,” Joyce reassured him, even as she gripped Hopper’s arm tightly.

Nearby, Steve looked around at the debris, the chaos, the fried electronics. The fight was over—but the damage wasn’t.

He opened his arms toward Robin, who just snorted. “No offense, Dingus, but I smell like panic and ash.”

He dropped his arms. “Was worth a shot.”

She rolled her eyes and wandered off, finding a half-working slushy machine and miraculously pouring herself a red and blue swirl like it was just another day at Scoops Ahoy.

Murray groaned, holding a half-used radio and muttering to himself in conspiracy theories.

Nancy leaned against Jonathan, who was clutching his camera like it held the cure to sanity.

And Jimmy, still on the ground, held Dominique closer as she began to stir.

Her fingers twitched.

He felt it.

He looked down fast. “Dom…? Hey—baby, you with me?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “J…Jimmy?”

He exhaled hard, like someone had kicked air back into his lungs. “Yeah, baby. I’m here.”

She blinked slowly, then whispered, “I had the worst dream.”

He held her tighter, eyes burning.

“You’re safe now,” he said.

She let out a shaky breath. “Took you long enough.”

Even at the end of the world, she still had bite.

And Jimmy? He wouldn’t leave her again. Not this time.

Chapter 31: Quiet Isn’t Peace

The reports had said it was a gas explosion. That the Starcourt Mall went up in a freak accident—a leak, a spark, and boom. The media coverage was flashy for a week. Then it stopped. Just like everything else in Hawkins.

Except for Dominique Sinclair.

Twenty now. No longer the intern shadowing RNs at Hawkins General, but a real one. Licensed. Employed. Moving from one double shift to the next at the county hospital like nothing had happened. Her brown eyes sharper, the bags under them permanent. The sunny smile her mother used to brag about at church long gone.

She hadn’t stepped foot back inside the Sinclair house since that night at the mall. She barely spoke to Lucas, ignored Erica’s voicemail rants, and only answered her mom’s texts with one-liners that didn’t invite follow-ups.

She wasn’t angry. That would’ve required fire, energy, care.

She was numb.

Dominique had bought a small, decent house in a neighborhood not far from Dustin Henderson’s cul-de-sac. She didn’t speak to him either, though she’d spotted him on his bike once or twice, dragging around some home-built contraption. She had a fence. A mailbox. A mortgage with a large chunk of the down payment paid in cash from the "settlement" check the town had cut her. Hush money, basically.

Money for pain she couldn’t quite explain in terms adults or investigators would understand.

She still had nightmares. Still woke up sometimes gasping, hands curled like claws, chest heaving. Still sometimes looked at her own reflection and had to check if she was really moving—really the one moving.

And she hadn’t seen Jimmy.

Not since the mall.

Not since he’d stood in front of her like some goddamn soldier, defending kids he once barely tolerated. She remembered the way he’d yelled when she was yanked back into the Upside Down. The way his voice cracked. The way his fists bled. The way he went feral when her name left his mouth.

But she also remembered the party. The girl. The lap. The dismissive way he told her to “go home.” The way he’d ghosted her after pulling every inch of her out of her clothes and into his world. Twice.

And that stuck deeper.

So she avoided him. Hard.

He’d come around. Once. Maybe twice. Pounded on the door, even banged on the window once. But she never answered.

She wasn’t ready.

Not to forgive. Not to feel. Not to start something when everything in her chest still felt like broken glass and static.

She kept busy. Worked doubles. Sometimes triples. Helped an old lady on her street take care of her cats. Cleaned obsessively. Kept her TV on white noise when she slept.

It helped.

Until it didn’t.

Meanwhile, Hawkins hadn’t gone quiet, not really.

Kids grew. School started again. Lucas joined the basketball team. Dustin got louder, nerdier. Erica, now in middle school, was mouthier than ever and starting to suspect something was coming.

And the others? El, Mike, Will, Max, Robin, Steve—they’d all shifted too. The Upside Down hadn’t really left any of them untouched.

But there was a hole.

A Hopper-shaped one.

And though Joyce had moved the boys to California in this version of things, she still came back every so often. She still called Murray. Still looked at the ruins of the Starcourt with tears behind her eyes.

The group? Splintered.

Jimmy?

He wasn’t alright either.

He’d lost his whole crew. He’d buried Tino with his own hands in a plot out near the woods where no one could trace the blood back to his garage. He sold less now. Smoked more. Drank. Sometimes fought at underground rings just to feel something hit him.

And sometimes, late at night, he stood in front of Dominique’s house.

Just… stood.

He hadn’t seen her in months. Not since that day at the mall. But he always thought about what she looked like when she was possessed. That smile. That voice. That way she talked about herself like she was someone else. Like she was gone.

He hated himself for what he’d done before. And no matter how many times he told himself to move on—

He couldn’t.

Chapter 28: Dust Bunnies and Dick Riders

Time didn’t move the same in Hawkins. Not when it had been tainted by blood and shadow, stitched together with lies and gas leaks and cover stories about mall explosions.

Dominique Sinclair had spent the last year trying to pretend she was normal. Working twelve-hour shifts as a nurse at Hawkins Memorial. Locking her door at night. Leaving her porch light off. She didn’t go near the old crew. Not the kids, not the cops, not the man she tried so hard not to remember when she cried in the shower. She was twenty now. Paid-off house. A drawer full of prescription-strength sleeping pills. And an aching loneliness she kept at bay by pretending she was better than everyone who’d dragged her into that otherworldly hell.

That was until she got a call.

Actually, three missed calls from a number she didn’t recognize. Then a voicemail from one very breathless Dustin Henderson.

“Dom—uh, Dominique, sorry—I know you don’t really talk to us anymore but, uh, Lucas is being a major dick. Like—ditch-your-friends-for-jocks dick, and I figured if anyone can yell some sense into him, it’s you. You always had, like, scary cheerleader voice? Please don’t be mad I called. Bye.”

She listened to it twice before driving straight to the Henderson house. The moment she arrived, she didn’t even knock. Just walked into the scene like a bomb wrapped in hoops, glossy lips, and a denim jacket.

Lucas was halfway through trying to explain to Mike and Will why basketball practice mattered more than Hellfire when Dominique’s voice cracked through the house like a whip.

“Are you dumb or just got your lips glued to some jock’s ass for fun now?”

Lucas froze. “D—Dom?”

She stormed over, hair slicked back into a clean bun, hospital badge still clipped to her pocket. “Nah, don’t ‘Dom’ me. What the fuck is this I’m hearing about you flaking on Dustin, Mike, Will—Hellfire? Your people, Lucas?!”

Will took a cautious step back.

Mike nodded slowly. “She’s kind of terrifying.”

Dominique didn’t miss a beat. “Scared straight yet, Wheeler?”

Dustin, who’d been silently lurking by the stairs, was grinning wide.

She turned to him, all softness now, crouching a little to eye level as she ruffled his curly hair. “If my little brother acts like a douche again, you call me, okay, my little Dust Bunny?”

Dustin beamed. “I knew you still loved us.”

“I’m still mad at all of y’all for that mall shit,” she muttered. “But yeah, you’re family.”

Before Lucas could even defend himself, the front door slammed open.

“DOMMMMM!”

Erica came barreling through, curly hair bouncing, dressed in a bedazzled sweater and denim skirt. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God! You’re here!”

Dominique caught her just in time, nearly falling back as Erica launched herself into her arms.

“I missed you so much! You didn’t come for Christmas, you didn’t come for Mom’s church recital—I had to model your old choir dress like a loser!”

“I missed you too, lil’ mama,” Dominique whispered, burying her face in Erica’s shoulder, something tight cracking in her chest. “I’m sorry. I was just…”

“Busy. Yeah. Being a badass nurse and leaving us behind.”

Dominique smiled, tiredly.

Across the street, someone sat frozen behind the wheel of a lowrider.

Jimmy Fatu had no business being on Dustin Henderson’s block.

But for the last month, he drove past her neighborhood twice a week. Sometimes more. Lying to himself about checking his “spots,” like Dominique ever had anything to do with his drop routes. He just couldn’t let go—not since the upside down, since the screaming, since she disappeared from his world again.

And there she was.

She was cussing Lucas out with a ferocity that made Jimmy feel nostalgic. She stroked Dustin’s hair like a mother and a menace. She held Erica with a love Jimmy had only seen in her eyes once—when it had been aimed at him.

For the first time in a year, he exhaled.

He climbed out the car, heart in his throat. Maybe she’d scream at him. Maybe she’d walk away. Maybe she’d still look at him like he broke her in ways the Upside Down never could.

But before he could take a full step, the door opened again.

And Erica—his favorite pint-sized boss—sprinted outside.

Her puffs bounced as she slid to a stop. “JIMMY?! What the hell?!”

Dominique followed seconds later, lips parting, body frozen.

She hadn’t seen him in over a year.

He looked older, jaw scruffier, tired in a way she recognized too well. They stared at each other across the walkway, like ghosts seeing someone they thought had moved on.

Neither of them spoke.

Yet.

Chapter 29: Unfinished Business

They stood there like two statues carved from different kinds of pain. The space between Dominique and Jimmy wasn’t even a full six feet, but it felt like a canyon with no bridge.

Dominique's eyes were sharp, unreadable, one hand still lightly resting on Erica’s back.

Jimmy looked older—broader, thicker in the shoulders and chest, the kind of man who carried the past in his posture. The street had left marks on him, but so had regret. And maybe something deeper than either of them had words for.

The tension snapped not with a bang, but with a sigh.

“Can y’all hurry up and argue or kiss or something?!” Erica huffed, stomping one glittery sneaker on the porch step. “You said movies and nail painting at your house, Dom!”

That broke the silence just enough.

Dominique blinked, half-scoffing, shaking her head like the moment had never meant anything. “C’mon, lil’ mama,” she muttered, her voice clipped, “let’s go before you start demanding we stop for pizza too.”

She turned, keys already swinging on one finger.

Jimmy moved.

Fast.

His hand closed around her forearm—not hard, but firm, desperate. “Don’t do that, Moni. Don’t walk away again.”

The nickname. His voice. That new gravel in it that scraped at her already fraying nerves.

Dominique stiffened.

Her keys stilled in her palm, and her eyes slid sideways. Not fully facing him. Not yet.

She didn’t have to turn to hit her mark. The words came out like knives dressed as sugar.

“What’s wrong, Jimmy? No older girlfriend hanging around your lap this time? No new flavor to toss me back in the freezer for?” Her head finally tilted, lips curling into a bitter smile. “Or am I back on your radar for a quick fuck and then duck again?”

He flinched.

The words didn’t just sting. They hit—like a brick to the chest, like everything he hadn’t said and couldn’t undo wrapped in venom. He let go of her arm slowly, guilt shadowing his face.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered.

Dominique scoffed, stepping back like his apology might be contagious. “What is fair, Jimmy? Was it fair when I cried for three days straight after you ghosted me? Or when you showed up again like a storm and left before the skies even cleared?”

“I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing!” he snapped, eyes flashing. “I’d never felt that shit before. You weren’t some random girl. You got to me.”

“Yeah, and then you left me with it.”

They stared again.

This time the silence wasn’t frozen—it was vibrating.

Erica, still standing nearby with her arms crossed, rolled her eyes harder than any eleven-year-old had the right to. “Okay. We’re all sad and stupid and emotionally constipated. But if y’all don’t resolve this soap opera today, I’m calling Ms. Byers and telling her you’re both a danger to Hawkins and should be locked in a bunker with nothing but old VCR tapes and a therapist.”

Jimmy ran a hand over his face.

Dominique closed her eyes. Just for a second. Long enough to feel the burn behind her lids, the exhaustion in her bones.

“I’m tired, Jimmy.”

“I know.”

“I mean really tired. Inside my head. My heart. I got fucking possessed, and I still think about him sometimes. Like I’m not all here yet.”

“You think I don’t?” he rasped. “You think I sleep at night knowing I let that shit happen to you?”

She looked at him again.

This time, no words.

Just a long, cracked breath between them.

Erica, sensing the edge finally dulling, grabbed her sister’s hand and tugged. “Let’s go do nails and drink sugary drinks that’ll rot my teeth and maybe watch Clueless. You can yell at Jimmy later.”

Dominique nodded slowly.

As she turned to leave, Jimmy didn’t stop her this time.

But he said one thing.

Voice lower. Softer. Just loud enough for her to hear.

“I’m not gonna leave this time.”

Dominique hesitated on the porch step.

Didn’t look back.

But she said, “We’ll see.”

And with that, she walked back into her life. This time with a little sister clinging to her side. And a man on the street still staring after her like she was the only map he ever needed to follow.

Chapter 30: Knock Knock, Chaos Calling

The nail polish fumes hadn’t even settled in the air when the knock came.

Dominique was on the couch in an oversized T-shirt and sweats, her knees tucked under her, a wine cooler open and half-warm on the side table. Clueless was halfway through the “full-on Monet” line, and Erica had just finished waving her sparkly fingers like she was Vanna White auditioning for glitter commercials.

“Don’t answer it,” Erica muttered, eyes glued to the TV. “If it’s a door-to-door church lady I don’t have the energy to pretend I’m not an atheist today.”

Another knock. This time firmer.

Dominique groaned, dragging herself to her feet. “If it’s Jimmy, I swear to God—”

She swung the door open.

It was Jimmy.

Of course it was Jimmy.

He stood there like he belonged on the cover of 1985’s Most Emotional Street Kings Weekly, holding two gas station plastic bags full of snacks and drinks. He even had the audacity to chew gum like this was normal.

Dominique blinked once. Twice.

“Of fucking course you know where I live,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “I swear this is all just a big, steaming shit show version of déjà vu again.”

Jimmy just shrugged one shoulder, cocky grin barely covering the hesitation in his eyes. “What can I say? You make it hard to stay away, Moni.”

“Don’t call me that like we’re good,” she snapped, folding her arms.

“I brought Peach Fanta,” he replied, like that was a holy offering to the gods.

That… actually earned him a flicker of eyebrow lift.

From behind Dominique, sock-footed and bold, Erica appeared like a tiny sass goblin summoned by drama.

Her nails were freshly painted—glitter pink on one hand, glow-in-the-dark green on the other—and she didn’t hesitate one second before snatching a bag of Skittles from Jimmy’s grip and grabbing a cold soda from the other hand.

She popped the can open with a hiss and took a long sip.

Then squinted at him.

“If you’re trying to win my good graces as a potential candidate to be my sister’s man,” she said with all the gravity of a judge on national television, “bring Reese’s Pieces next time, drug lord.”

Jimmy blinked. “You know what? That’s fair.”

“Damn right it is.”

Dominique sighed so hard she could’ve exhaled another personality. She looked at the two of them—Erica standing like she ran the damn house, and Jimmy looking surprisingly… present.

“Fine,” she said, stepping aside. “But if you say one stupid thing, or if I so much as feel my blood pressure rise, I’m kicking you out.”

“No arguments,” Jimmy said, stepping in.

“And sit on the floor. That couch is mine.”

He dropped to the floor without hesitation, already pulling out a bag of Hot Cheetos and two sodas. “You want a Capri Sun, Lil Sinclair?”

Erica narrowed her eyes. “Make it grape and we’ll talk.”

They settled in—the storm of their lives quiet for now, TV flickering, snacks shared, and an uneasy sort of peace settling in like dust after a fight. Maybe nothing was fixed. Maybe nothing would be for a while.

But in this strange little moment, on a quiet Hawkins evening, Dominique let herself sit next to her sister, let her legs dangle off the couch, and didn’t kick Jimmy out.

Which, by Hawkins standards?

Was practically a love story.

[redflagshipwriter]

Chapter 2

Danny made a face when Jason handed him a coat.

"You don't have to," Jason said, a little offended. "I just thought you seem underdressed for the weather." He'd found his smallest coat, even, which was in great shape because he couldn't fit any armor underneath it and therefore didn't wear it often. That was his sexy coat. That was the going out coat. He was wearing a work coat now.

Masterpost

Danny looked at his brown coat like it might bite him. "... I'd look pretty strange outside in a t- shirt, right?" He confirmed. "It's cold here?"

"Very."

Danny put on the coat and folded the sleeves up so that it fit better. "Okay, I'm ready to go." He wiggled. "Where are we going?"

"Nuh uh uh, it's a surprise," said Jason, because he didn't know yet. He ushered his guest out the door and locked up in a practiced movement. "So, where have you been that's not cold?"

Danny snorted. "It's not that it isn't cold," he admitted carelessly. He put his hands in his pockets and followed Jason. The attention made him stand even straighter than usual. "People just expect me to be weird now, I think."

"So you've got a civilian ID," Jason nodded.

"....civilian." When Jason looked back over his shoulder, Danny looked like he was having some kind of realization. "Yeah. You could say that."

"You know who I am, right?" Jason confirmed. He resisted the urge to fidget, not least because the Red Hood had a pretty low rate of public approval. He'd done the ritual with the hood on and off. He'd always had at least the mask on, but Danny had recognized him instantly in his civvies. So. That was one more person who had his identity.

"...Are we in Gotham?" Danny asked meekly.

Fuck. Jason forced his lips to stay pressed together even when they trembled. Don't laugh. You can't laugh at your date. "Yepp."

Danny nodded sagely. He gripped the back of Jason's sleeve and pulled in close. That forced them both to stop walking down the apartment hallway. He must have gone up on his tippy toes to get his mouth near Jason's ear. "You're Red Robin," he whispered. The feeling of his breath on Jason's ear made his heart skip a beat.

It took a moment to process the words. Jason let out an offended huff.

His date laughed. "The other Red one," he said. His tone was faux apologetic at best. "It's easy to get them mixed up." He patted Jason's shoulder.

"Red Robin is a twig," Jason grumbled. He shook Danny off. He was playing up his scowl, but there was some genuine frustration and insecurity there. He didn't like being compared to Tim. It sent him to a bad headspace. But- "You should tell him that you mixed us up, it would make his year."

"He looks up to you?" Danny asked, openly curious. He jogged after Jason, down the stairs.

Jason snorted. "Not sure if that's true anymore, but he copies everything I do."

"...Little sibling energy," Danny decided. "I bet you like that he thinks you're cool."

"Let's change the subject." Ugh. No. Probably? Jason made a face.

Danny laughed. "What do you wanna talk about?"

Well. Jason stole a sideways glance as they crossed a landing and tried not to fidget. "Why'd you pick me?"

"...huh?"

It was hard not to hunch his shoulders up. "We were all, uh, throwing ourselves at you." That was still hilarious. "Why'd you pick me?"

They walked in silence for a while. They reached the bottom step and Jason held the door open for Danny. They stepped out into the brisk Autumn air.

"Well," he started slowly. "That's not quite… how I saw it." A wrinkle formed on his forehead when he frowned. "It's not like I was picking the best one out of the group of suitors or anything? Because obviously, that's not a way that I look to meet people. Romantically or otherwise."

His stomach fluttered. "So you're saying-"

"Think of it more like if I saw you in a coffee shop and asked for your number." Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'd have thought you were… I mean, if we met elsewhere, I'd have…"

"I'm your type," Jason said, pleasantly surprised by it. He knew that big and muscular was a type, but it was just hard to think of himself as being particularly appealing.

Danny was bright pink. "... Why'd you accept?" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his borrowed coat.

"Curiosity," he admitted freely. "Didn't know anything about you. Wondered what you're like. Thought it might be fun."

"Huh." Danny seemed to consider this. "So far, am I what you expected?"

Jason held out an arm to stop Danny from walking into the street. He huffed a laugh. "I had no expectations," he said dryly. "But you're my type, if that's what you're asking." Apparently, playfulness worked for him. The teasing made him a little nervous, but in a good way.

"... Mysterious and cool?" Danny suggested.

He laughed. The pedestrian light turned green and he started walking.

Danny let out a huge, put upon sigh, but he was grinning lopsided as he trotted to catch up. "Laugh it up," he said cheerfully. "I'm cool and I can't be convinced otherwise."

Jason cleared his throat. "I guess I can't argue with that. D'you want to eat in a restaurant, or get it to go and sit up somewhere real high?"

"To go," Danny said instantly. "I don't like sitting, I get so antsy." He jogged in place to make a point, which had him fall behind Jason's regular walking pace. He caught back up easily.

Huh. Danny was pretty athletic, actually, so far as Jason could tell so far. He hadn't stopped moving since they'd met.

'Probably burns a ton of calories.'

Danny picked Mexican food, so Jason navigated them to a hole in the wall restaurant and got a few things to go. He was a goddamn gentleman, so he carried both bags and held them up high when Danny argued and tried to take one. "You can get drinks, okay?" He compromised.

They stopped at a convenience store

Jason waited outside while Danny flew in and out. He emerged with a bag that he wouldn't let Jason look at. "So, you said you want to go eat this somewhere up high?" Danny prompted.

Right. "Gotham's got good views," Jason explained. "You up for a climb?"

Danny's brow furrowed. "We both have full hands."

Jason grinned down at him. Aww, that was cute. "If that's too much for you, I can carry you up too."

He went beet red. "That will not be necessary."

"You sure?" Jason prodded, teasing.

"I'm very-"

"Hands up."

Both of them turned their heads to focus their attention on the man who was trying to mug them. Jason stared in disbelief. "Come on, man," he said, shaking the takeout bag pointedly. "Can't you see we're kind of busy here?"

Who did that? Who tried to mug two people on a date? Granted- Jason noted- the safety was on the gun. This guy hadn't exactly come ready to catch a murder charge.

The mugger had his face covered with a gray winter mask, but they could kinda see his brows furrow through the eyeholes. "I don't- you know you're being mugged, right?"

"It's up for debate," Danny said philosophically. He cocked his head to the side. Someone edged around them on the sidewalk, because this was fucking Gotham. "I'm not sure you're having the effect that you're going for, my guy. You should consider getting a gimmick or theme."

That was fucking terrible advice, actually. In Gotham, anyway. Maybe it helped villains to have a performance arts background where Danny lived.

"Just give me your wallets!" He shook the gun, as if hoping they just hadn't noticed it yet.

Jason sighed. He transferred both bags to his left hand. The mugger focused on him. He darted his now free right hand out and pulled the gun out of the mugger's grip.

The wannabe thief and Danny stared at him. Jason shrugged and started disassembling the firearm.

"Oh, shit," said the mugger. He sounded very young. "Fuck."

"Your Dad gonna be mad?" Jason asked sympathetically. "I know this isn't your fuckin gun."

"...My grandpa."

He hummed his acknowledgement. "Hands out." When the kid obeyed, he deposited the pieces of the gun into his hands. Jason put his now empty hand over the kid's skull and shook veeeery lightly. "Bad," he enunciated. "You're lucky. Try this shit again and you're eventually gonna get unlucky, you got that? The big bad bat is gonna give you medical debt you can't ever recover from."

"....Thanks. Have a good day, man."

"Have a good one," Jason returned, and put an arm around Danny's shoulder to steer him on his way. Danny craned his neck to watch their attempted thief cram the disassembled gun in his pockets.

"We aren't gonna fight him?" Danny sounded halfway confused about that. "That's what it's like to fight humans? He gave up just like that?"

Jason snickered and reeled Danny in that little bit closer so that his shoulder bumped against Jason's chest. "We should compare stories. On our way up the old city hall tower."

Check Yes (to go on a date with a dead guy)

Chapter 1

The expectant smiles froze on his siblings’ faces.

Jason blinked, still shaking off the disorientation of the green twisting blur that always came when he took his turn with tHe RitUaL. “What?” he said. It came out defensive. Usually they were all laughing by this point.

Dick reached out and took the post-it off his forehead. “We may have misunderstood this sacrificial thing.” He frowned at the note.

Jason tore it away and flipped it around to read it.

“...Please stop the bridal sacrifices,” he read, voice instantly trembling with the need to laugh. Holy shit. “Proposal is kinda forward. But if you really want, I’d totally go on a date with you. Check yes or no. Danny.” There were two smiley faces after the name and a scribbled drawing of a human looking guy with tall hair.

The batcave was in total, mortified silence. The ritual that had become their pre-patrol goof-off activity of choice had maybe… maybe been a mistake?

“I’m kinda hurt,” Dick broke the silence. “I’m marriageable. I’m a catch, even.” He was joking, but Jason was pretty sure that it wasn’t totally baseless. Who would look at Dick and then choose Jason, of all the people?

Stephanie snorted. “It’s probably your reputation as Ritchie Rich,” she soothed. “I’m sure if this… is it the same guy every time?” She blinked, clearly distracted from her original thought. “Have we all been proposing to Danny day after day?” She wondered. She started counting on her fingers.

“Twice last week,” Tim said thoughtfully. “I proposed to him twice last week.” A line formed between his brows. “I should probably tell Bernard, huh?”

“We must communicate with whoever this Danny is,” Damian said immediately. “If this realm possesses both animal life that resembles our fauna and sentient beings capable of the bad judgment necessary to select Todd as a suitor over Richard, we must know more.”

Jason made a face at Damian and flipped him off, but didn’t disagree. “How is this supposed to work?” He waved the post-it. That did imply some modernity, at least. They were communicating with someone who had stationary. “If I was going to check it, would he know what I picked? Or would I have to– should be bride sacrifice a notebook back and forth?”

“A notebook,” Tim said scathingly. “We can do better than that. A communicator, a phone.”

“Who says Danny has signal, dingbat,” Jason shot back. “He’s probably out of the service area.”

Cass took the paper out of his hand and peered at it. “Yes or no,” she asked, cutting off the disagreement before it could get heated.

He didn’t have to think about it. “Yes,” Jason said, mischief in every line of his body. “I gotta see where this is going. We should at least meet the guy.”

“He said you were tempting!” Dick gasped. He grabbed Jason by the arm and clung on. “Remember? The first time? You’re his type!”

Damian made a ‘gross’ face, features scrunched up like an unhappy cat. Stephanie ‘ooooed’ like she was watching a wrestling match. Cass merely looked thoughtful.

Jason shook his annoying brother off and kept him at a distance with a palm on Dick’s forehead.

“Oooh, the void boy has a crush on you,” Stephanie teased. “You’d be such a beautiful bride, Jason.” She didn’t react to Cass reaching into her hip pouch and withdrawing a sparkly purple pen. Jason loftily ignored Stephanie and watched Cass carefully check YES.

The note disappeared. Cass looked at her empty hand. She flicked the pen between her fingers. Her brow scrunched up.

“Shit!” Jason cursed. “Did-”

The group broke out into an explosion of excited sound.

A throat cleared from the stairs. “Kids?”

Batman stood there, wearing wary suspicion and most of his patrol outfit. He was under the impression that they had agreed to stop sacrificing each other to the green void.

“She took my pen,” Stephanie wailed, instantly switching tracks. Cass backflipped away three times and then leapt directly upwards into the rafters, waiving the purple pen tauntingly. Stephanie chased after her.

“What-”

“Jason won’t let me hug him,” Dick tattletailed. He lunged to grab at Jason. Jason dodged on reflex and threw himself into the scuffle.

“I need to call Bernard.” Tim turned and outright left the Batcave. “I’ll be about five minutes late for patrol, B.”

Bruce watched this chaos with bewildered eyes. “...We leave in ten,” he said, and visibly gave up.

…

The date, when it came, was a fuckin surprise to Jason. He was minding his own business compiling a report on everything the Two-Facers had done last week. (There was a surprising amount of bureaucratic process involved in making yourself the judge, jury, and executioner of people who sucked.)

And then there was a violently green hole in his wall. “Huh,” Jason said, leaning back in his chair. He pulled the handgun out of his desk drawer and cocked it at the portal. “Not sure I care for that.”

“Thanks, wolf,” came a warbled and nonsensical reply. Jason turned off the safety.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

The portal flashed white and it closed. He was lifting his gun to point at the man now standing in his apartment before he’d actually processed that someone had come through. This guy moved fast.

“This is where you live?” The other man was peering around Jason’s apartment. He seemed politely interested at best, and, Jason felt, much less concerned by the gun than he should have been. “I heard bats before. I thought there would be more bats.” His tone was disappointed. He looked at Jason and then flinched his palms out and up, as if he thought he might have come off rude. “Not that you need bats! Or that I’m disappointed by the lack of bats in your decor. In fact you have wonderful, uh, curtains.” He very obviously named the first thing that he saw. He pretended to be fascinated by them. “The red sure is a choice.”

Jason snorted.

“A great choice! I’m not criticizing your home. It’s great.”

Jason realized that if he didn’t say anything to save him, Danny was going to ramble himself into a verbal corner and slink out of the dimension to escape his obvious embarrassment.

“...You hair looks just like in the picture you drew,” Jason said. He put the safety back on. “Hello, Danny.” The name tasted odd in his mouth. It twas just a little pedestrian for the other man– no, teenager, the other teenager.

Danny looked young. No wonder he’d thrown Dic back like the wrong fish.

Jason felt a little less smug about having been the one chosen. Maybe he was just the most age appropriate candidate, not Danny’s type. Timmers was only two years younger, sure, but he was petite enough that it was a little ambiguous.

Danny turned away from Jason’s window and beamed up at him like that was the greated compliment he could have ever received. “I don’t actually have your name! Which is funny, since you kept manifesting in my house.”

God help him, Danny was cute. Jason reached out a hand. “Jason.”

Danny looked at his outstretched hand and then back to his eyes. He blinked. “Are- oh!” He flushed green and his hand shot out to meet Jason’s in what was very clearly the first handshake of his life.

It was a struggle not to laugh. He didn’t wanna make Danny feel bad so he held it in. There was a helpful distraction in that Danny was fascinating to the touch. It didn’t feel like he was touching a human hand. First off, the hand was about the temperature of butter straight from the fridge. Secondly, somehow the physical contact made Jason taste mint in his mouth.

But really, it just… it didn’t feel like human skin. It was too smooth. There was a raised line from a scar, but the texture was as if all the wrinkles and pores of human skin had been polished off. Like if you held the hand of a marble statue and it was somehow also soft.

Jason pulled his hand away before he could wonder too much if that supernatural smoothness extended elsewhere. Ah. Too late. He flushed a little red, even though the only exposed skin was Danny’s hands and face. “So you’re here to uh, set up a date?” he offered.

Danny blinked at him. “Are you busy now? I was thinking now.”

…He was sort of busy. Jason closed his notebooks, only now concerned that Danny might have seen extremely sensitive information. “Nope,” he lied, attention catching on Danny’s freckles. Something about them was pinging as relevant. Was there a pattern? They weren’t symmetrical or anything. Were they fake?

Danny beamed and - he floated up a few inches in his excitement. Holy hell that was cute. “Great!” he enthused. “Should we go to your place or to mine?”

Uh.

Jason turned violently red. “We are already in my place.” His voice came out tight. He- he hadn’t meant that. That was not a first date activity for him.

It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. “Go out in your city or go to the Ghost Zone!” Danny waved his hands frantically. “I’m not being a creep I swear! I mean, we are kind of spiritually engaged but I’m also engaged to– are those people your friends and family?” He was outright horrified. “Oh my GOD, I’m-”

“I would love to take you out around town, but you’ll stand out,” Jason interrupted. He couldn’t hold back the smile. “We can make it work, though. Thoughts on hats and glowing less?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Danny twitched his hands outward in a motion he probably didn’t even know he was doing. There was another flash of white light that crawled up and down his body.

And Danny one was gone. Danny two stood in Jason’s apartment with dark hair, patched jeans, and a loose t-shirt that hid the musculature his jumpsuit had displayed. He had a full palette switch of his eyes and skin tone as well.

He was obviously the same guy. He just felt more down to earth now.

“Useful,” Jason said, and tugged at his snow-white forelock. “Think you could teach me to change my hair like that?” He was only half joking. It was the bane of his existence when he needed to go undercover. It was too distinctive.

“No, but Doctor Frostbite might be able to sort that out for you,” Danny replied absently.

Jason grimaced instinctively. He knew way too many gimmicky villains to want to do to someone called Doctor Frostbite. “That sounds like the name of a B-tier villain with blue hair.”

Danny paused and clearly contemplated it. “That’s Ember, actually,” which made no branding sense because the word ember evoked warm colors. “Lead the way!” He bounced on his heels, which Jason guessed was his human form equivalent to floating up.

Jason cleared his throat. “I, uh, am gonna want to change.”

For the first time, Danny really looked him up and down and realized that he was wearing a white sleeveless undershirt and black boxers. Jason waited patiently as Danny went through all the stages of grief and social mortification. That didn’t stop Danny’s eyes from followed Jason’s bare arms when he casually lifted one and flexed a little, rubbing at the back of his head. Ha. Eat that, Dick.

“I’m going to go drown myself,” Danny said, now violently pink. Huh, even blushing for a color change. “Can I use your restroom?”

“Stay alive enough to pick between Korean or Mexican,” Jason advised. “I’ll be right back. Should I find you a coat?” He didn’t wait for an answer, frowning at Danny’s bare arms. “I’m gonna find you a coat.” He was already on the way to his bedroom. “It’s freezing out.”

…

[nelkcats]

Danny decided to be a janitor at Gotham's private school. Mostly because he wanted to annoy the students by making them think that he was just a poor tired man and later have a dramatic revelation about him being a retired hero (he watched too much Spiderman), well, that and the fact that he needed a job where they didn't ask for a background check.

Of course, Tim immediately realized that something was wrong with the new Janitor but doesn't rat him out because he thinks he's just a meta hiding on Gotham and he can call Clark later. He regrets that decision when the Joker tries to kidnap the school (as normal) and the janitor, panicking, freezes the entire school, including Tim.

In Danny's defense, he hates clowns and will react to any clown around with aggression. Jason approves the weird Janitor.

[assjuice4ever]

List of shit my OC/batfamily members said:

Batman: You need to stop.

OC: or what? You're gonna try to make me feel like a disappointment? Bad for you that I'm not a little boy in need of approval.

Red Hood: you're late!

OC: I was buying a burger.

Red Hood: we're gonna catch one of the most dangerous criminal in Gotham and you were late for a burger?

OC while eating: exactly.

Red hood: where is my burger?

OC: I know you were gonna give me shit for this so I decided to be as fast as possible and take one only for me.

OC: how does it feel to be the smartest of the family considering that the second one goes around dressed like a bat?

Tim: shut up.

Nightwing: so who is she?

OC: his work wife.

Red hood: you're not my work wife.

OC: wife then.

Red Hood: you're not my wife either.

OC fake gasping: so this is just an affair for you?

Nightwing: so you never saw Red Hood in the face?

OC: yeah, I'm kinda grateful about it. If the face match the personality he looks like two big buttcheeks. Would be strange to talk to him normally after knowing that.

Batman: I'm vengeance

OC: Look, I'm trying so hard to not laugh here, you aren't helping.

Red hood: I mean ... You piss Batman of so much that one day I'll have to marry you just to have you at every family reunion to make him angry.

OC: they always said that my personality would take me in bad place in life.

Dick: why don't you like her? I mean, she is as snarky as you.

Jason: are you kidding? I'm a lot nicer.

Dick: for what I know she never put a phone in the mouth of a dead man to prove a point.

Batman: this my city.

OC: man, if that the case it explains why it smells like bat shit.

Oracle: Nightwing you're gonna talk to them.

Nightwing: why me? Why not her or Red Hood?

Oracle: because usually Red Hood knocks people out when talking doesn't work.

Red Hood: true.

Oracle: and people want to punch OC in the face when she talks.

OC: also true.