#reds-writings

[reds-writings]

the in between

(pairing: andrew 'pope' cody x fem!reader)

summary: pope cody doesn't allow himself much, but after a harrowing job, all he wants is the gentleness that is you...

warnings: hurt/comfort, nakedness, slight horniness but that ain't the point of this, 18+ just in case, smurf mention, canon-general violence/injury, pope's aura, etc

word count: 1.6k

a/n: been watching animal kingdom with my sister and shawn hatosy has bewitched me mind, body, and soul. let me know how you enjoy me trying to write for this freak ass mama's boy who just needs some tenderness and normalcy in his life

It didn’t take much to surprise you these days, but the last thing you expected after an impromptu girls’ night out was to find a slew of medical supplies strewn around your en-suite bathroom.

Amid the mess, stood one Andrew Cody, hardly conscious behind the steam-fogged glass of your walk-in shower. Your heart jolted as your gaze settled on an unsettling amount of blood-soaked gauze left haphazardly on the vanity’s counter. 

You remember somewhere back in the muddled mess of your sobering mind something about a job that was supposed to go down tonight. He didn’t make it a habit to let you in on much when it came to his family’s work, but you didn’t think it was supposed to be that much of a complicated take this time around, despite his current stature clearly depicting otherwise. 

There must have been some sort of colossal fuck up along the way if he came back like this. To get away and be with you, of all people, instead of with his brothers or even by himself.

If he’d noticed you by now, he made no move to acknowledge your presence. 

With a small sigh, you bend over and grab the small waste basket nestled next to your bathroom cabinet in order to gather the soiled supplies to make room for any patching up that’s sure to take place post-shower. 

When the space is made to your satisfaction, you waste no time wriggling out of your itchily glittered cocktail dress, thanks to Shauna’s insistence on wearing, along with the rest of your dainty undergarments, before grabbing some towels to set aside. 

Making it into the shower cubicle, the mottling of bruises and severe scraping that decorated the expanse of his back like a morbid modern art display has you at a momentary standstill. The delicate freckling of his shoulders could hardly be made out, and it was a challenge to swallow the growing lump in your throat at the sight. 

Your eyes drifted to one of his hands resting on the seaglass mosaic that made up your accent wall. His knuckles were marred with the discoloration of an altercation, serving as a stark contrast to the soft colors of condensating tiles. 

Pope always seemed to appear slightly out of place whenever he turned up here. The complete opposite of your graceful disposition. The lived-in warmth of your home.

A makeshift weapon. A guard dog. A Criminal.

Despite all the titles he shouldered, he looked so small. As if he could break down every particle, every atom of himself, and disappear down the drain that rested at his feet.

Just wash away. Dissolve. Be nothing. 

A subtle shudder rippled along his shoulders as he took a breath. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your voice was small, afraid to shatter the quiet that lay heavy in this little corner of the world. 

He shook his head no. 

Things had certainly gone wrong in some way, shape, or form tonight, and as usual, it looked like he took the brunt of it all. 

It was times like these when you really, really hated Smurf. 

You didn’t need to voice that, though. You’d end up standing here all night until your face ran blue. He knew how you felt. 

For he felt the same. 

Except he’d never been confident enough to have the strength to break away. To be free. 

At this point, he’s not even sure if he deserves it. A life without his wretched mother in it. One without pain being inflicted upon himself or others. It’s all he’s ever known. 

It was as if his inescapable tie to that woman seemed to serve as a form of some tragic, indefinite penance.

With you, though, there’s an uncharacteristic selfishness that takes over whenever it comes to stealing a slice of unguarded peace at your mercy.

At first, he made it his mission to just stay away. Be alone. Let the weight of his existence, his sins, build up and let him drown without anyone there to bear witness. 

But you were so good. So lovely. So real. 

You’ve never been scared of him. Always just scared for him. 

You weren’t naive about his past or present, but he kept his family life and whatever this was as separate as humanly possible. He was sure the poison of the Cody's corrupted Midas’ touch would eventually reach you some way, somehow. That it would take you without any warning, just like everything else, when it came to anything he allowed himself to want. All he could do was continue to slip away and revel in the warmth you offered in between the small gaps of time and space the universe felt generous enough to provide. 

Sometimes knowing this type of fragile affection, this love, made him sick to his very core. 

He still struggled with accepting that you didn’t hang around to use him. That every gesture, every touch, wasn’t some twisted way to gain control. 

You existed in his orbit not for leverage, but because you cared. You had no ill will in picking up his many broken pieces. You did it because it felt right. You were selfless by nature.

“Where did you go?” The meek rasp of Pope’s voice finally filled the stretch of silence between you two. 

“Shauna dumped her asshole boyfriend this morning, so Cassie demanded we go out and celebrate her new chapter of freedom.” You inched forward to loosely wrap your arms around his torso, taking extra care in trying not to disturb the darkening marks settling on his ribs.

 The hand resting on the shower wall came down to gently drape over yours, squeezing lightly to ground himself in the fact that it was you resting your soft, damp skin against his, fitting like a puzzle piece against the curve of his worn spine. His chest was starting to redden from the heat of the water so he took it upon himself to switch places with you to give himself a break, making sure to twist the knob as he did so your skin wouldn’t scald under the spray. 

Facing him, you were now able to get a good look at his face. There was a small split in his cheekbone with a blooming stain accompanying it, but nothing else nearly as bad as the rest of his frame. 

“Tough night?” You gently cupped his jaw, running a thumb over the pale pink of his bottom lip as reddened hazel took you in. Being out for hours crammed in hot spaces didn't make it surprising to see that some of your makeup was starting to run and flake a bit, but there was nothing else more beautiful.

You, in all your glory, trusting him to take up space at your most vulnerable.

His heart ached, trying to jump out of his battered ribcage at the look in your eyes. The intensity of your love, tainted by worry, as you tried and failed to tamp it down because you knew how much he disliked being fussed over. 

“Just needed a moment away.” His hand lifted to encompass the back of your head to bring you forward, kissing your forehead so sweetly you felt a sting of tears press behind your eyes. The path of his delicate affections made way down the slope of your nose, the corner of your eye, then finally, like a stalled breath let free, the awaiting line of your lips. 

It was a kiss driven by sheer want. The addicting rush of relief bleeding through. 

He’s still here. You’re promised another day as few and far in between as they come. 

You feel the hard line of him pressing between the wet slick of your bodies, growing warm and heavy at the base of your navel as palms blindly wander over skin. Sighing into his mouth, you adjust yourself to reach down, mind thick with the heady idea of putting all of your focus into taking care of him, but his gentle grip on your wrist stops you from traveling further.

He softly shakes his head, mumbling something incoherent, something about just needing you, before guiding your hand back up on the nape of his neck and diving into your embrace with renewed desperation. He wanted to be present for more, but the day’s misfortunes could only allow for this, and you’d never fault him for it. You’d never push. 

His lips drew themselves down the length of your neck, barely teasing with the soft scrape of his teeth, granting a moment for you to both retain some much needed air. The water was starting to grow lukewarm, nudging you out of your joint daze. 

“Want me to help you wash?” Your fingers carded through damp curls, letting your fingernails scrape gingerly at his scalp. He let out a soft hum of approval, so you made the move to grab one of the loofahs hanging on a shelf, his own personal one that you bought for him of course, and carefully started scrubbing away any remnants of frustration or fatigue. 

Once you were done, he insisted on returning the favor, though you playfully rushed him as the water’s decreasing temperature was the annoying causation of rising gooseflesh spreading rampant all over your body, and you couldn’t stomach it for much longer, as much as you appreciated his silent doting.

Drying off, you settle in the best set of pajamas you could find for both of you and sit him back down to make sure that the rest of his wounds are clean. The tenderness in which you did so almost made him melt into a pathetic puddle.

Settling a butterfly bandage on his split cheek, you lean forward to stamp a warm peck along the tender bone. His strong arms were quick to hold you there, relishing in the small action as if it could make him somewhat whole again. 

“C’mon. Take these, then we need to get you snug and asleep.” You press another kiss to his lips, then pull him up to give him a couple of painkillers in hopes he wouldn’t feel like he got hit by a bus as bad in the morning. 

Following you like a lost stray into the oasis that was your bed, you intertwine your limbs with his from behind, pressing close as if you could mend together and be one. 

Nothing can touch you here, he decided in that moment. 

He’d ensure it. 

[elvinapandra]

POV : you have been scrolling for the past hour and all you see is SMUT

Please...life is lot more than fucking🙏🏻

[beepboopappreciation]

Is this anything

[prlssprfctn]

I know the fandom mostly agrees that Jason is that one always unemployed sibling in the family, but let me offer you a slightly enhanced concept - unemployed sibling Jason, who is the busiest sibling in the family.

No one can get hold of him. Like, ever. And it is not like he is lying, he is genuinely always has something else to do! Something random and unexpected, and, honestly, all his family can think is: what the hell?

Bruce, frowning: Remind me again, why the dinner in the circle of the family today doesn't suit your... schedule?

Jason, shrugging: I have a book club evening in the nursing home. We are discussing Margaret Atwood's Penelopiad tonight. Can't miss it. Also, Jennet-

Alfred, confused: Who is Jennet?

Jason: One of the old ladies in the nursing home, duh... Anyway, yeah, Jennet is having a birthday. She would be hella mad if her favourite grandson missed it, you know?

Bruce: ...Jason, you are not her-

Jason: (leaves)

Dick: Hey, wanna join me for tomorrow morning's training?

Jason, sighs: Sounds nice, but I have classes tomorrow.

Dick, confused: Classes? Since when you are enrolled in college?

Jason: Oh, no. I am a substitute teacher in one of the school's around.

Dick: WHAT-

Damian, calling Jason in the middle of the day: Can you pick me up from school? Others are busy, there is an emergency in the town.

Jason: Damn, sorry, kid, but I am not in the country right now. By the way, do you want to talk with your mother?

Damian: ...What that supposed to mean? Where are you?

Jason: I was planning to visit All-Caste, but first decided to meet up with Talia. I am kinda in Egypt right now, anyway.

Damian: ...

Tim, already used to Jason's constant busy status, sighing: I bet you won't agree if I call you on the lunch tomorrow?

Jason: Uh, no. I have plans. But if you tag along with me, we can get lunch together later.

Tim, surprised: ...Okay. What do you have tomorrow? Knitting club? A shift in library?

Jason: Nah, graduation ceremony.

Tim: Right, you are a substitute teacher.

Jason: No, no. My graduation ceremony. I am getting my PHD in literature.

Tim: SINCE FUCKING WHEN-

[rainydaygotham]

Imagine “borrowing” the left glove of your man’s super suit for a bit while he’s napping and stitching a small band of embroidery thread around the ring finger. The thread is colored only slightly darker than the original color of the fabric. It was so inconspicuous that no one who wasn’t looking for it would notice. In fact, it takes your vigilante fiancé about a week to find it himself.

He has to do a little double take, momentarily forgetting what he was doing in favor of inspecting his hand. It’s not an accidental loose thread or anything, it’s an intentional alteration to his uniform, meant to be there. And it’s very clearly supposed to be a wedding ring, so he knows exactly how it got there. He just doesn’t know when. Oh, hopefully he hasn’t been oblivious to your handiwork for long. The thought of you thinking he knew about it and just didn’t care was agonizing. He cares, baby! He cares so much you wouldn’t believe.

It makes him giddy. You’ve marked him. What an adorable thing to do.

He was planning to get the ring tattooed onto his finger already, so he wouldn’t lose the real one out in his dangerous life of fighting crime. But even that would be under his gloves, invisible to anyone on the streets of the city. This, however, announced it loud and clear: sorry, but this vigilante is taken.

When he makes it back from the mission that night, he finds you lounging in your shared bedroom. You’re too engrossed in whatever you’re doing on your laptop to notice him creeping in yet, so he gets a moment to just admire you. To his delight, he recognizes the fabric that clings to your body as one of his shirts.

You finally realize he’s there, lookin’ like the cat who got the cream,

“Hey Babe, was it a good night?”

“You want to marry me~” he croons.

“We are literally engaged,” you shake your head in fake-exasperation.

“I found your little gift,” he gives you the clue to why he’s got hearts in his eyes.

“Oh,” your smile gets bigger, “that.. I take it you like it?”

He takes your head in his hands, thumbs gently brushing the tops of your cheeks, “it’s perfect,”

He presses a cute little kiss onto your nose. He laughs as you open your eyes and whine about having expected a real kiss. Well, he’ll just have to give you one of those too, then… or maybe a few…

[wingfleur]

thinking about jason todd leaning down to hear you when you talk.

if i’m being honest, i feel like he does it often. sometimes, it’s because it’s a little too noisy where you’re at, and other times, it’s because you’re a little too soft-spoken, which makes it hard to hear you. overall, it’s because jason is just too damn big for his own good, so, most of the time, he just can’t hear you and has to lean in close so you don’t have to repeat yourself again for a third or fourth time.

it happens like this: he’ll be standing next to you with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes focused raptly on something going on in front of him. maybe it’s the news, maybe it’s a movie being watched on the couch by your friends— whatever it is, jason is locked in, jaw set in concentration as he focuses on what he’s seeing. then, when you quietly add commentary, his brows will twitch and he’ll mindlessly turn his head to the side, prompting you to say whatever you said again. it’s autopilot for jason— like it’s programmed into him already.

he doesn’t move all at once, either. his head turns first, then his body follows, but his eyes? oh, those fall to you last. his pretty blue eyes (that also flicker with this mysterious shade of green sometimes) stay trained on what’s in front of him for a few seconds longer. in comparison to the rest of his body, it’s almost as if they’re on a delay.

it’s only after he mumbles a quiet “hm?” to get you to speak again does he finally look at you, hinged at the hip with that white tuft of hair he has hanging in his face. all he’s met with in return is the lack of an audible response and the sight of you staring up at him in awe, your jaw slack and your eyes wide. whatever you were saying is clearly lost on you now, and jason realizes that, but it’s not a big deal. it would never be a big deal. you’re just nervous, and luckily for him, jason loves making you nervous.

“i didn’t say anything,” you lie unconvincingly, throat hoarse from this sudden bout of dryness that’s seemed to set in. you whip your head back towards the tv and jason snorts at your reaction, standing back up to full height with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

“yeah, okay,” he replies, doing nothing to hide the amusement in his voice. “whatever helps y’sleep at night.”

# — navigation

[webshood]

time travel fanfic idea where Jason comes back to before he was adopted, him and Batman still meet and he still ends up being adopted by Bruce Wayne, but he just refuses to acknowledge Batman and Robin, he acts like a civilian boy, he has over thirteen extracurriculars that Bruce does his best to keep up with. He regularly works out and trains all the fighting he's learned over the years, he goes on a gap year before college to recuperate the all blades and pretends to be the civilian in a family of crime fighting vigilantes.

He's doing pre-med and keeps nagging his siblings to go to college too (Cass, Tim), Duke is the one who spends more time with him bc everyone else is nocturnal and sleep through the day, but Jason likes to drive Duke to his classes and pick him up so they can have lunch together, Damian had a hard time at first, because Jason speaks every language that he speaks and all bat related things have to stay at the cave, his league training didn't prepare him for a civilian brother.

During an attempted kidnapping during one of the Wayne galas, Jason's whole plan almost gets blow up because one of the guys has taken a woman hostage and his Red Hood fried brain just pounced on the dude with all his might, wrestled him for the gun and kept him stuck under his boot with the gun pointed between the guys brows.

He had to pretend to be scared when Batman came to the rescue and act like he didn't know how to handle a gun.

+ Alfred 100% thinks Jason was on a children gang and that's why he's so good with knives, guns and rifles, but who's he to say anything about people's past

[secretidentie]

When Jason starts building his crime lord career, people start inexplicably comparing him to Matches Malone. They have the same mannerisms, the same fighting styles and a similar build. Some rogues even have theories that they're the same guy.

So when ever Matches is mentioned, red hood mutters "fuck that guy" under his breath and since Bruce puts his whole batussy into his personas, he's starts reciprocating that energy. All the rogues are scrambling to find out what happened to cause this beef. The entire Gotham underground now has to pick a side between one of their own who they've worked with and gotten to know over the years versus the new up and coming crime lord that's offering jobs and improving their lives. While Jason is wondering what he can do to stop being compared to Bruce, Bruce is trying to be a supportive parent (which means making sure the rogues don't turn on J) while protecting his persona he's been curating for years.

[soulsforsales]

Imagine Jason Todd and you attending a friend’s party.

You’re laughing, making small talks, looking fire in your fit and Jason; all 6’4 of muscles, scars, and tattoos of him, is just standing beside you with a scowl and looking like he’ll shoot anyone who even breathes wrong. (He’s just terrifying like that.)

And his expression only softens when he looks down at you and his hand doesn’t leave your waist—not once.

I just know people mistake Jason for that kind of toxic, overly possessive, controlling boyfriend because he looks like it.

When in reality, he’s just a big ass puppy who cries when you’re mad, holds you like you’re sacred, cooks for you, pouts when you say no to cuddles, and gets anxious in gatherings if you’re not with him.

And I think that’s everything.

[reds-writings]

bird in a cage

(pairing: crash!rust cohle x f!reader)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: a bit of a concept fic surrounding rust in his crash era i've had in the drafts. if you would like more let me know 🫣. y'know i love me some feedback

warnings: men being gross, ginger, hints at prostitution, ginger, language, sexism, etc (let me know if i missed anything!)

There was something almost eerie about Crash whenever you got the chance to be in actual proximity to him. Something lost. 

Something broken. 

It made you want to hide away anytime those tortured eyes met yours. Like you were in the wrong, an intruder of some extreme fortitude of privacy. Heavy and asphyxiating.

Despite your trepidation around Ginger’s righthand man, there was always an underlying thirst to know more. 

He was a handsome fella. You’d be stupid to deny it. All the other girls around knew it too and had no shame in chittering every chance they got ever since he manifested into your lives in the extreme bore that was East Texas.  

Ginger wouldn’t let you speak much to him. Although, that wasn’t entirely uncommon since the fucker wouldn’t let you speak to anyone much at all.

Just sit there and look pretty, doll. You’re ass ain’t good for much the fuck else. He’d say. Damning you to be some cheap whore in an even cheaper cage til the day you got ugly or died.

You’d never anticipated this is where you would end up in life. You’re sure not many girls do but thanks to your pathetic shit-heel of a brother who got himself tied up in some irreversible mess you’re now indebted to a gang leader who thought doing you a mercy was enslaving you to work for him for the rest of your days. 

Some nights you dreamed of putting one right between his bloodshot baby blues. God knows the world could do with one less of a son of a bitch like him. Gruesome consequences that’d be sure to follow be damned. 

The night air was cooler than usual, offering a small reprieve to your sun-tightened skin. You’re sure by age 40 you’d look no better than some beat-up leather couch left on the side of the road. Any money you did get to keep wasn’t prioritized for shit like sunscreen or maybe even fancy aloe like those girly cosmetic magazines you’d sneak mentioned. 

The bonfire tonight was a busy affair. Ginger made some big steal so that granted cause for some hearty celebration. Most of the men seemed to be in a nicer mood than usual, but you made no effort to leave your post on an old bourbon crate in the background. Any peace to oneself around here was a blessing and you were gonna take as much of it in as you could. 

Tired fingers fumbled with your lighter, you’d been meaning to get a new one but finding a moment to step away from the Crusaders was harder to come by than one probably thought.

By the look of your chipped nails, you could do with swiping that new shade of OPI that caught your eye in the corner store some weeks ago too.

“Didn’t peg you as a wallflower.” Your solitude was shattered by the presence of a rumbled drawl. Nearly having your poor soul shooting out your body. Whipping your head in the direction of the unfamiliar timbre you almost did a double take. 

There Crash stood, looking almost indifferent despite being the one to walk up to you in the first place. He wore some weathered-looking muscle tank repping a band you had no knowledge of and a pair of jeans that had definitely seen better days. Up close you got to take in just how well-built he was. Sure, Ginger was a hefty man, but Crash had definition to him. Like something out of a poster blushing teens would have of some heartthrob idol shamelessly plastered on their bedroom wall. 

His face was a whole other story, one you wouldn’t bother getting all wax poetic about. As pretty as it was. 

Snapping out of your short-lived reverie you huffed something resembling a scoff, 

“Didn’t know you could speak. Let alone leave Ginger’s side for more than a few minutes.”

In the dim lighting, you couldn’t initially make out whether or not that had amused him, but the glowing orange hue from the tip of his own cigarette highlighted the ghost of a smirk adorning the corner of his thin lips. It had you picking at the frayed edge of your shorts to not look so childishly in awe. 

“You got a light?” You pushed forward and asked. He shook his head no but instead offered his cigarette wordlessly. The act stilled you, but you took the small offering nonetheless, inexplicably entranced after only a few words from the man. 

Those eyes of his tracked your every move as you brought the cigarette to your lips. You tried with every fiber of your being not to be affected by this strangely intimate ripple of time you’ve just stepped into. To not let your thoughts drift to the fact that those same lips were just where yours are currently as you inhale acrid smoke.

You don’t feel all that successful.

“Camels. That’s surprising.” You exhale, flicking the ash as casually as one could in this scenario. You prayed Ginger wouldn’t notice his absence any time soon. Something resembling greed regarding Crash’s attention sinking its claws into you.

“Hm…how so.” He took it back from your grasp, the action strikingly gentle. 

“All you rough boys out here smoke Reds. Hell, you even look like one of those Marlboro cowboys in the ads.” 

“Should I be flattered?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know about all the girls around here just positively gushing over you. You don’t strike me as the naive type.” 

“You know cause you one of em’?”

That shut you right up. Though only for a second. If he could feel the growing heat radiating from your cheeks he made no sign of it.

“Careful now, wouldn’t wanna sound too cocky.” You sassed, looking past him at the partygoers. His gaze felt penetrating and you couldn’t figure out for the life of you where this sudden interest to talk to you came from. There was no chance in hell of entertaining a single thing with Crash. Ginger would skin you alive for even catching you like this, as plain of an encounter as it was. This was more trouble than it’d ever be worth. 

But there was not a fathomable force that could seem to pull you away. 

“You’re different. Than the others I mean. You stand out.” Was what clambered from your mouth as you looked back at him. 

It was true despite its clumsy admittance. Even though you’d never said so much as a hello to each other Crash was different. He never bothered you. Never jumped at the chance to use you like some piece of meat. You wouldn’t say he went as far to outright show blatant respect, but he gave you space to exist unlike anyone else had. 

He didn’t so much as flinch at the statement. 

“Could say the same about you.” That alone had a cold shock similar to that of an ice bath encasing your entire being. It was a casual reply, but between the lines, you knew what he was saying. 

He saw you. 

No one ever saw you. You were a nobody. Just a warm vessel to sacrifice to the selfish woes of pigs disguised as men. You weren’t meant to have thoughts or feelings. Likes or dislikes. You were just there. 

Yet he noticed you regardless and you hadn’t ever brought attention to the possibility that he could in the first place.

You didn’t know something so small and noncommittal could make the sting of saline burn at the backs of your eyes. You felt like every existing nerve within you had been exposed but when continuing to stare at him, he held no judgment. That brokenness that took home in his stare was replaced by something else. A curiosity. 

Much akin to the same type you let fester for him over these past several months. 

The smoldering cigarette dangled from his lips, though you didn’t dare let yourself catch a glimpse, as a large hand hesitantly reached towards your face. The rough pad of his thumb scarcely graced the fragile skin beneath your eye to brace a blooming tear. 

The simple touch was indescribable. Something you never thought you could know for yourself. 

All you could think about was how warm he was.

“Birdy! Where the hell are you, girl? Get over here!” Came Ginger’s sudden drunken hollering, the moment doused in the shroud of reality as you all but jumped away. Crash’s arm stayed frozen in mid-air, his once prodding stare almost muted in agitation at the Crusader’s crude interruption. 

You shakily wiped at any reminisce of emotion, fiddling with your hair as if you’d been caught doing something more than just simply talking. Guilt and fear bore onto your shoulders like a burdensome cloak in record time. You needed to go before Ginger got too antsy. 

Looking back up at Crash, you were met with that same indifference as if the moment was just some figment of your imagination. Stewing in the sudden change would only lead to unnecessary embarrassment so all you could do was utter a quick ‘bye’ as you stumbled off towards the bonfire, heart racing something worrisome. Off to where you’d be reduced back to feeling like the piece of nothing you always were. 

It took all the willpower in you to ignore the lingering burn of the lost man’s stare and keep on toward everything you’d come to detest in your life. 

[charlesoberonn]

One quiet day on the farm, the Little Red Hen found some wheat seeds and decided to make bread.

"Who will help me plant these seeds?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Horse "But I'm a workhorse, and I'm too busy moving carts around."

And so the Little Red Hen planted the seeds by herself. And they grew into bountiful golden crops.

"Who will help me harvest the wheat?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Dog "But I'm a guarddog, and I'm too busy keeping away burglars and predators."

And so the Little Red Hen harvested the wheat herself and made it into flour.

"Who will help me bake the flour?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Pig "But I'm a mother of 5 newborn piglets, and I'm too busy taking care of my young."

And so the Little Red Hen baked the bread herself into twenty beautiful loaves.

"Who will help me eat the bread?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"We would." said the Farm Animals. "But we're ashamed, for we didn't do anything to make the bread."

"Nonsense!" said the Little Red Hen. "You, Horse, helped move around the stones that built my oven. You, Dog, kept me safe while I worked. And you, Pig, are raising a new generation of Farm Animals, who will too contribute to our Farm one day. You've all helped me so much by simply being you."

"Besides," the Little Red Hen added. "I couldn't possibly eat all the loaves on my own, most of them would go to waste. Come, eat with me."

And so the Little Red Hen and the Farm Animals ate the bread together. And all saw their own, and each other's, worth.

[prlssprfctn]

AU, where Jason returns to Gotham, but in between of his evil mastermind plans and managing the criminal empire, he starts working in this anonymous psychological hotline services.

And gets a call from Bruce-fucking-Wayne.

Well. It is not like Bruce announces that he is Bruce Wayne — it is anonymous, after all — but Jason knows his father's voice, alright?

'I don't need a physiological help,' his father tells him the minute he picks up the phone.

Jason... Snorts.

'Of course,' he nods, making his voice nicer. 'How can I help you?'

Bruce pauses, his breath hitching for a second; almost as if he recognized Jason's voice.

'My... my son thinks I need it, but I am fine,' Bruce insists. 'Still... I want to, well, fulfil a promise I gave... for once.'

Jason rolls his eyes, a familiar irritation flaring up in green flames before his eyes. He wonders who is this lucky son that gets to have such a diligent, responsible father - Dickhead? Tim? Damian?

'I see,' he breathes out, trying to follow a protocol of the calls. 'I am sure he will appreciate your loyalty. Will you tell him about it?'

'If he appears,' something screeches in the background, and if Jason closes his eyes, he can easily imagine Bruce leaning back on the armchair, in the Batcave. 'I... He only ever appears in my dreams, my boy.'

Jason freezes.

'Excuse me?'

'I... He is dead, my son.'

Had someone else died? Jason frowns, reaching for his phone, typing anxiously Nightwing and Robin in the search bar, trying to see if there is something serious happened; because he can't be talking about the second Robin, can he-

'I am sorry,' he blurts out, eyes drifting back to notes on the table, with some common phrases that can be used in this situation. 'I... Do you want to talk about, sir?'

Bruce is silent for a while. Jason thinks he is about to drop the call, but then, he sighs heavily on the line:

'His name was Jason. And he was the brightest boy.'

Jason mutes the microphone. He thinks he is going to vomit.

[redactedrem]

Headcanon where after so many arguments between the batkids and Bruce over his paranoia and complete disregard for his kids privacy, the entire family had compromised with (in the healthiest way possible) downloading life360 on their phones and that's how they all keep track of each other.

Now Bruce knew that this is mostly for his benefit and is supposed to be a healthy alternative for his unhealthy paranoia and helicopter parenting, but what he wasn't expecting was for his kids to start keeping track of him.

He's putting gas in his car and Dick calls him because apparently Dick has been watching him drive around on the app? And Bruce is currently at a gas station thats right around the corner from a Taco Bell and now Dick wants him to get food for everyone since he's already there.

He's driving home from a meeting and Steph calls him because her and Duke were shopping in the area and wants to know if he can pick them up, when he asks how she knew he was on the same street, he gets a "Oh I just like to stalk everyone on the app for funsies." as an answer.

Jason calls him and he can barely get out a hello before Jason cuts him off, "Bruce why the fuck is your phone battery on 5%, charge your damn phone" which completely stuns him because why does he know that. He clears his throat before answering. "Jason, what?"

"Everyone can see each others phone batteries on '360, now charge your phone." Is all he gets before Jason hangs up on him.

[thelotusrabbit]

DpxDc #17

What a (death) day.

Jason was going to kill whoever was selling drugs to kids in the alley.

The boy on the ground was shaking, barely breathing, and coughing up blood. The poor guy was coming down from a seizure, almost suffocating on his own spit.

Luckily, Jason saw him on time and was able to help put him in a safe position. He almost had a heart attack seeing a kid having an overdose in a lonely alley.

He rubbed the kid's back, trying to stimulate breathing, begging internally for his heart to keep beating.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

The black-haired teenager kept mumbling between breaths, muscles twitching like a dying bug.

Jason could only try and help as much as he could. He wasn't going to call an ambulance, since unfortunately, there was a high chance that his call was going to be rejected due to the location and nature of the emergency.

Drug overdose was too common; they would tell you to make sure they don't choke and hang up on you.

"I'm sorry..."

"Shh... It's alright, you're going to be okay..."

.

.

.

What a shitty, shitty day.

It hit him like a truck, the pain in his chest.

He was just walking back to his hotel room after visiting Gotham University, when it started.

Danny compleatly fucking forgot about his death day.

He was able to drag himself into an empty alley, trying not to die of embarrassment as he was starting to feel his arm tingle.

This was going to suck.

[delulukaisen]

Beach Vibes

They see you at the beach and promptly lose their minds.

CW: fem!reader (she/her pronouns), some nsfw, mostly fluff

[dxckgrxsonx]

mhm. thinking of you having eyes too big for your cunt.

meeting jason as a one off little hook up because you’re bored and want a decent fuck for once and him immediately warning you that he’s big. bigger than he thinks you can handle and you taking it as an immediate challenge. all cocky and adamant than you can take him, “im a big girl, hood. ill be able to fuck myself on your cock for fun.” and “just because others can’t take your dick doesn’t mean i can’t. you can’t be that fucking big.”

being forced to eat your own stupid words when he barely sinks the tip into your soft little pussy and you start fucking whining, gasping little breaths as he stretches you open. face scrunched up in a wince, teeth pressed together as your pussy tries to force him out.

jason’s voice knocking up a pitch in response, a knowing drawl making his mouth start watering. tone all mocking and condescending, “poor baby, can’t even take the tip before tapping out.” and “what happened to you? why’re you crying? i thought you said you could take me?”

sniffling and trying to control your tears as he keeps sinking more and more into your cunt, the stretch hurting so bad your legs tremble. jason cooing, kissing you so deeply it’s dizzying and leaving you half in love. all whilst telling you how good you’re being for him and holding you open by the backs of your knees so you can’t close your legs, all to watch your poor pussy weep and struggle to swallow him up.

it turns him on so bad to feel you clench so goddamn tightly around his cock he can hardly move. your voice wobbling and hitching when he pulls back only to push back forward and nudge himself that little bit deeper.

you cry and cry but you’re so wet it’s almost disgusting and jason decides there and then that he’s never letting you go.