#thinking of what to write next

[baisemains]

Dream of us in a year

sydney adamu x gn!reader

word count: 5.3k

warning: tiny bit of angst (I can’t help myself), hurt/comfort, fluff, yearning, smut (bottom!syd, top!reader, face riding, praise, pet names)

description: maybe time doesn’t heal all wounds (but you’re willing to try) / final part to ‘is it casual now?’

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous // sydney adamu masterlist

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

A few months later, the end of summer is moving in, and Syd finds herself at an outdoor movie screening with a few friends, courtesy of the city’s new community initiative.

The sun is just starting to set, casting a warm pink glow across the sky. Syd takes in the view, smiling at nothing in particular, just happy to be among her people and good vibes.

The area starts filling in with other people setting up their picnic blankets, families and groups of friends among them, but the couples are what catches Syd’s eye.

She watches them with fondness, happy to see love existing but also selfishly wishing she was experiencing the same.

As she gazes around, a familiar figure catches her eye and she sits up, squinting to make sure she’s not seeing things.

Syd's heart starts to thump loudly in her chest as she realizes she's not imagining things.

There you are, sitting on a blanket a few feet away with what looks like friends, Syd recognizing some of them from the night at the concert. At your side is Jen, her vibrant energy matching yours. Syd tries to look away, to focus on anything else, but her eyes keep drifting back to you, drawn like a magnet.

Almost in slow motion, Syd watches you turn and look around at the crowd when your eyes lock.

You stare at her, eyes widening slightly, when you turn back towards your group and say something as you get up and start walking in her direction.

Syd's heart is now thumping so loud, she wonders if it's audible. Her brain goes into overdrive, trying to figure out what she'll say to you once you're within earshot. She doesn't have to think much, however, as you speak first.

“Hey,” you say with a small smile. “Didn’t know you were coming to this one.”

Syd's heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice, familiar and warm. She gathers her senses, putting a smile on her face as she looks up at you, the setting sun casting a soft glow on your features.

"Yeah, I kind of last-minuted it," she replies, trying to keep her tone light. "Didn't expect to see you here either."

As you smile wider, Syd can't help but feel her resolve soften, her irritation and jealousy slowly fading away.

“Same, I didn’t know I was coming til we got here.”

"You uh, here with friends?" she asks, gesturing vaguely towards where you came from.

"Yeah, couple of them," you say, glancing back over your shoulder at the small group you were just sitting with.

Syd follows your gaze, her heart dropping a little when her eyes land on Jen, who's looking over at the two of you with a curious expression on her face.

She looks back at you, feeling the weight of the situation settling on her shoulders.

You start biting your lip, a nervous habit of yours that always endeared Syd.

“So, um…are you guys, like, doing anything after this? Cause Johnny saw you and he was talking about how he was wondering what you were up to, so if you were free, maybe we could all go grab pizza or ice cream or something?”

Her mood instantly lifts, realizing you were asking her to hang out, albeit in a group setting, but it’s a start.

Syd lets out a small chuckle as you continue to nervously ramble, her heart warming at your adorableness. She glances behind her to her friends, who are all watching the interaction with sly smirks on their faces.

She raises an eyebrow at them, silently telling them to play along, before turning back to you with a smile.

"Yeah, we're free," she says, keeping her cool composure. "Pizza sounds great."

“Cool, talk to you after the movie then.”

You start walking back to your friends as Syd follows you with her eyes, wishing the movie would hurry up and start already.

The next couple hours drag on, Syd's impatience growing by the minute. As the credits roll, she shoots up from her blanket and gathers her things, her friends watching her with amused grins.

"What's the rush?" one of them teases, but Syd just rolls her eyes.

"Oh, shut up," she snaps, but they can see the excitement in her eyes.

As they approach your group, Syd tries to calm her racing heart, putting on her best casual demeanor.

“Hey,” Syd starts before she’s lifted into the most suffocating hug she’s ever experienced. It’s over as quick as it started and she’s back on her feet when she realizes who was responsible for the attack.

Johnny is smiling as big as Syd’s ever seen when you smack him upside the back of the head.

“Sorry about that, he’s still learning about personal boundaries.”

Syd couldn’t care less, just being in your presence made anything tolerable.

“So, there’s a good spot not far from here, not sure if you guys drove but there’s a couple empty spots with us if you need.”

You looked at her expectantly, hoping against all odds that she would take you up on your not so subtle offer.

Syd swears the heavens split open and the stars aligned at that very moment. She rode with Marcus there but his girlfriend showed up late so their car was over capacity by one person.

“That works perfectly actually, Marcus just booted me from the carpool so I can ride with you.”

Maybe Syd shouldn’t have been so eager to spend time with you, her healing journey and all that, but she feels lighter than she has in a very long time and doesn’t feel like stopping that feeling anytime soon.

She hears Marcus behind her start to defend himself, but she’s following you to your car before he can finish.

When your group gets to your car, Syd suddenly remembers Jen’s presence and that she’ll have to sit in the back.

As soon as she starts reaching for the back door, you stop her.

“You can ride shotgun, leave the lovebirds in the back.”

It’s not until that moment that Syd sees Johnny and Jen holding hands, his other arm wrapped around her.

The gears in her head start turning at lightning speed as she moves to sit in the front. If Johnny and Jen are together, then that means…

Syd shakes her mind of those thoughts and decides to circle back later. The car ride is filled with comfortable chatter and Syd's eyes keep drifting to you as you drive. She takes this opportunity to steal glances at you, wanting to admire your profile up close. She feels like a teenager all over again, giddy with nerves and anticipation.

Upon arrival, you all settle into a booth and tables pushed together, Syd sitting right next to you, trying to act like she’s not painfully aware of your every move.

The conversation flows easily, everyone contributing, but the only one Syd is paying attention to is you. She tries to control the urge to look at you constantly, but her eyes keep betraying her, darting to you whenever she thinks it’s safe.

You finally catch her eyes and it’s like everyone else fades away.

Syd feels a grin start to creep up her face and looks down to cover it when you quickly pinch the inside of her knee.

“Don’t hide your smile. Please.”

Heat creeps up her neck at that, it’s been so long since the two of you have been this close to each other that it feels like the first time all over again.

She looks up at you, her cheeks now tinged with a faint blush, and she's almost embarrassed at how easy it is for you to read her.

Trying and failing to come up with a witty comeback, anything to break the tension, all that comes out of her mouth is a soft exhale.

"You're impossible," she says, her tone more fond than annoyed.

You spend the rest of dinner catching up amongst yourselves, completely ignoring your friends, to the surprise of no one.

She talks about therapy and the restaurant, you tell her about work and explain the dynamics of your friend group, telling her how Johnny and Jen started dating soon after the concert you took her to.

Her mouth is wide open as you explain the timeline, and she can’t stop herself from bringing up the day at the farmer’s market.

“So when we ran into each other…”

“They’d been together for months already, me and Jen were there as friends. I was gonna explain it to you, but then you ran off and a DM didn’t seem like a great place to have that conversation.”

Syd could facepalm herself, all this time, she was in her feelings for no reason, and had possibly wasted time getting to know you again.

You could see the shame on her face and interlocked your pinkie fingers under the table, breaking her out of her trance.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Syd gazed upon your face with so much affection, committing every inch of your face to memory.

“Just glad to be sitting here with you. Again.”

You smiled at that. “Ditto.”

When the owners come over to let you guys know they’ll be closing soon, you look up at the clock and see how much time has passed.

Realizing that it’s time to start saying goodbyes, Syd looks at you with such sad eyes that you have to tear your eyes away or you’ll scare her off.

Once outside, your bigger group splits off into their original cliques, and Syd feels a weight settle in her stomach, knowing that this is the end of the night, the end of this moment she’s shared with you. She watches as you say goodbye to her friends and feels a pang of sadness that she’s the last person left.

She looks at you, still feeling the same electric current flow that’s always been between you, only this time it’s different. It feels like there’s something more, something deeper, and Syd wants to break it wide open but she has no idea how.

You reach a hand out towards her, fingers grazing her hip, and Syd feels it down to her toes. She’s desperate to lean into you, to close the distance, but she’s frozen, unsure of what will happen if she lets herself give in.

You break the silence before she can make a move.

Exhaling shakily, you whisper, “Let me take you home. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

Syd's heart soars at your words, the idea of spending more time with you is all she could’ve hoped for.

“Yeah,” she whispers back, the word coming out like a breath she’d been holding, and she welcomes the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach.

The two of you, along with Johnny and Jen, pile into your car and you make quick work of dropping the two of them off at their apartment.

You take your sweet time getting to Syd’s, savoring every second you have with her. The two of you talk about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other’s presence, like no time has passed.

Pulling into a spot in front of her building, you turn the engine off and shuffle in your seat, feeling her eyes on you.

Turning to face her, you see her lean against the headrest and smile.

“This was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

"Me too," you respond, your voice low and soft.

The words hang in the air, suspended between the two of you, and Syd's heart is pounding so hard she's certain you can hear it over the romantic music you queued up for the drive.

She wants to say more, wants to pour all the emotions she's been holding in since the night started, but she’s afraid of shattering the delicate atmosphere between you.

It becomes a competition to see who’ll break first, both of you itching to reach for the other but being afraid of the consequences.

For a few moments that feel like hours, you sit in silence, the only sound being the faint hum of the AC in the car. Syd’s looking at your profile, taking in every detail of your face, the way your lashes cast shadows on your cheeks, how your bottom lip looks soft and inviting. Without thinking, she starts to lean in, pulled towards you like a magnet.

You lean in the rest of the way, meeting her in the middle and as your lips meld together, Syd feels like someone just lit a match inside her chest.

She melts into you, the tension and fear of the night melting away, replaced by a feeling of rightness.

The kiss starts off slow, your mouths moving together in a familiar rhythm, and your hands move to cup her cheeks as hers make their way to the back of your neck.

Soon after, it deepens, your tongues tangling together, and Syd forgets everything else outside of this moment, outside of your touch. She feels a desperate need to be close to you, to feel your body against hers, and she moves closer as her fingers dig into the flesh of your shoulders.

The two of you settle into a heated rhythm, reacquainting yourselves with each other, careful not to go too far and ruin the moment.

That goes out the window when you feel Syd moan into your mouth, setting you off and making you realize that you need more, now.

You push her back into her chair, and right as she whines from the loss of contact, you climb into her lap.

She looks up at you with lust filled eyes as you lean in close to her, and right before your lips touch, you yank her seat lever so she’s lying almost flat on her back.

Kissing your way down her neck, you continue down her chest, to her stomach and stop at her waistband.

You settle yourself on the floor in front of her, pull the bar underneath her chair, and push her back so you have more room between her thighs.

You’re aware that you did all that without asking explicit permission from Syd, but when you look up at her with your head laying against her stomach, the look in her eyes tells you everything you need to know.

Even still, you’d never do anything without her explicit consent, so in the most steady voice you can manage at the moment, you ask her.

“Is this okay, baby?”

The pet name caused warmth to instantly bloom in her chest, it’s been ages since you called her that and she missed it more than she realized.

It takes her a moment to respond, so overwhelmed by the mix of arousal and affection coursing through her, but when she does, you swear it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.

"Yes," she whispers, her voice breathless and tinged with need. "Yes, this is okay."

She looks down at you, her eyes dark with desire, and a small shiver runs through her at the sight of you on your knees in front of her, looking up at her like she hung the moon.

Syd lets out a shaky exhale, her head falling back against the seat as your lips brush over her skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You can feel her body responding to your touch, every kiss sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

You take your time, teasing and nipping at her skin, savoring the taste of her on your lips. It’s been almost a year since the last time you’ve had her like this, and you’ll be damned if you don’t enjoy the moment.

You take a moment to look up at Syd, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, and the sight of her lost in pleasure makes your own arousal burn even hotter.

You start to mouth at her through her jeans, feeling the heat and the dampness even through the thick denim. Syd gasps, her hips lifting off the seat, and she moans your name like a prayer.

You lean back a little, admiring the way she looks underneath you, like a goddess ready to be worshipped.

You reach up with one hand and grab her chin, making her look down and meet your gaze.

“Say please,” you demand, your voice low and gravelly.

Syd gasps as you order her to beg, the raw heat in your voice sending a jolt of arousal through her.

“Please,” she moans, her breathing ragged. “Please, please, please…”

She’s desperate, her body taut with anticipation, and all she can think about is your touch, your lips, your tongue, anything to alleviate the ache that’s building within her.

Satisfied with her response, you decide to give her a little more and move to unbutton her pants. Dragging your fingertips along her waistband, you make direct eye contact the entire time you undo the button, then the zipper, finally sliding your hands up the backs of her thighs to her ass to lift her up.

Syd shudders at the sensation of your touch, the feel of your rough hands on her thighs making her even more desperate for you.

She watches as you lift her hips, helping you slide her jeans off to reveal a scrap of baby blue fabric with a growing damp spot. Her cheeks are flushed, and she feels incredibly exposed, but the hunger in your eyes makes her feel desired in a way she's never experienced before.

“This all for me?”

You bite your lip, slipping a finger under the waistband of her underwear and letting it snap against her skin, mouth watering at your new view.

“Yes, all for you,” Syd responds, her words coming out in a breathy gasp. She’s shivering at the touch of your finger against her skin, the feeling of her underwear sticking to her making her squirm.

“You’re all I’ve been thinking of lately,” she confesses, her eyes locking with yours. “There’s no one else but you.”

Her words cut through your arousal, and your heart swells. You know the work it took her to get to this point, admitting that out loud, to you of all people. Pride overtakes any other emotion at the moment, and you just smile at her.

You keep looking up at her, eyes bouncing between her own, a possessive feeling starting to make itself at home in your chest.

"You're mine, aren't you?"

The words fall out of your mouth before you can even stop them.

Syd feels a thrill go through her body at the implications of that statement, at the way you're staking your claim.

"Yes," she whispers, biting her lip, "I'm all yours."

You groan at her response, biting the top of your enemy and dragging it down her legs with your teeth.

Now that the last barrier is out of the way, you make your way back up her thighs again, nipping and sucking along your path.

You spread her thighs as wide as she can handle, finally seeing the results of your teasing all evening.

Syd is absolutely dripping, her clit puffy and ripe for the taking. You lean in and nose through her curls first, not wanting to miss out on a single inch of her.

“You’re so perfect, baby. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You lean in and finally give her what she’s been waiting for.

Sticking your tongue out as far as you can, you lick from her entrance to her perfect little bud, feeling it twitch for you. She throws her head back against the seat as a whine rips its way out of her throat, in shock this is actually happening.

Syd clutches the seat in an attempt to ground herself, wanting to stretch this moment out for as long as possible.

Groaning at her taste, you throw her thighs over your shoulders and start to suck on her clit, loving the sounds it pulls from her.

Hearing muffled noises, you pull away from Syd’s sweetness and see that she’s thrown her arm over her face in an attempt to quiet herself.

You immediately reach for her hand and interlock your fingers with hers, pulling her hand towards the back of your head and settling her there.

“I’ve waited so long for this, angel, I'm going to hear you.”

Immediately, you dive back in, and she moans, both at your words and the sensation of your tongue inside of her.

You start spelling your name, and the orchestra of sounds it creates starts to make you the most devout person on earth. You don’t know how you survived these past months without this, but you vow to never go through it again.

Slipping your free hand up her taut stomach, you push up her shirt and pull her bra down, freeing her nipples for your enjoyment.

You start pinching her left one, rolling it between your pointer finger and thumb as you feel it harden, smiling to yourself.

“Yes, baby, please, that feels so good!”

Syd starts thrusting against your face, and you can tell she’s close.

Her moans are unrestrained, filling the air, and it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. She’s completely lost in the sensations you're invoking in her, and you feel a sense of satisfaction at the fact that only you can make her feel this way.

"I'm gonna..." she gasps out, unable to finish the sentence.

"I know," you respond, your voice hoarse with need. "Just let go, baby. I've got you."

And with those words, Syd's body tenses and then snaps like a rubber band, undone by the overwhelming force of her pleasure.

She arches off the seat, her body trembling, her mouth open in a cry of ecstasy, and she's so beautiful in her release that you're almost unable to believe that this is real, that she's real, that this moment is happening.

After what feels like hours, Syd slowly comes back down from her high, her breathing ragged and uneven. Her body still trembles occasionally from the aftershocks as you guide her through them, cleaning her up with your tongue.

You press a soft kiss against her hip, slowly making your way up her body, leaving a trail of kisses in your wake.

Once you’re face to face, you see how blown her pupils are, and a lazy smile stretches across her mouth.

You capture her lips, letting her taste herself on your tongue, and she lets out a satisfied groan.

The two of you switch spots, you laying on the seat and Syd curling up on your chest, kissing and whispering sweet nothings to each other as Chappell Roan croons in the background, knee deep in the passenger seat, and you’re eating me out…

After a while, you both settle into a comfortable silence, fingers intertwined as you let the events of the night wash over you.

You’re aware that one of you has to speak eventually, because as mind blowing as that was, a conversation is very necessary.

Syd decides to be the one to approach the subject this time, feeling confident enough to talk about these kinds of things with you now.

She clears her throat, and you snap out of your thoughts.

You look down at her, your expression expectant.

Syd takes a deep breath before speaking, clearly gathering her thoughts.

"Can I ask you something?" she says, her voice still raspy from her earlier moans.

"Of course," you respond, your tone gentle. "You can ask me anything."

Syd hesitates for a moment, and you can see the gears turning in her head.

She lifts her head up to look at you in the eyes, and you’re struck by how beautiful she looks, even with sweat still lingering on her skin.

"Where do we go from here?" she asks, her voice soft.

“Cause we can’t go back to how things were before, obviously, and we shouldn’t anyways, I treated you terribly, and,” she starts rambling and you just lay there for a second, taking her all in. This is the Sydney I know, you chuckled to yourself, it was good to see she hadn’t completely changed.

As she keeps going, you grab one of her hands and kiss her knuckles, exactly how you did on the night you first met.

You hadn’t meant to interrupt her, simply wanting to physically touch her, but her breath catches in her throat regardless and she stares at you with those perfect pools of brown.

After it’s clear she’s lost her train of thought, you answer her original question as simply as you can.

"Syd," you say, your voice soft, but firm enough to let her know you’re serious.

"Let's take this one day at a time, okay?" you add, your free hand coming up to tuck a loose braid behind her ear.

Syd nods, taking a moment to compose herself before responding.

"Yeah, you're right," she says, her voice sounding a bit shaky. "One day at a time."

She pauses for a moment before letting out a huff of air. "I just... I don't want to screw this up, you know?"

“You deserve the world and I was stupid to act how I did before, but I swear on everything I love that it’ll never happen again. You mean too much to me to ever let you go.”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, tears brimming when she reopens them.

“I’m so sorry for everything. It should have never taken me this long to realize that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

She’s seconds away from breaking down into tears, but she needs to get this all off her chest, needs to make sure you understand.

“It’s you, it’s always been you, it’ll always be you. There’s no one else for me.”

Your heart aches as you listen to Syd pour out her feelings. The sincerity and regret in her voice are palpable, and you feel your own emotions welling up in response.

You reach out and cup her face tenderly, your thumb brushing away a tear that has escaped.

"Syd..." you say her name like a plea, your voice thick with emotion.

"You have no idea how much I want to believe you," you tell her, your voice trembling. "But you hurt me really bad. To be honest, you broke my heart."

Now it’s your turn to pump the brakes a bit. Initiating car sex was not on your agenda when you offered to drop her off, and you feel bad that you’re now bringing up her past mistakes, but it’s something that needs to be said.

Syd takes a deep breath, bracing herself for what's to come. She knows that she deserves to hear whatever you have to say.

"You’re right," she whispers, her voice cracking. "You’re absolutely right. I was stupid and selfish and careless and I know it'll take a lot more than just words to make up for it."

She looks away, her expression full of guilt. "But I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I want to be better for you. And for myself."

"Syd, I can't just forgive and forget just like that," you tell her, your voice weary but not unkind. "What you did affected me a lot, and it's going to take some time for me to fully trust you again."

She nods, her eyes downcast. "I know," she says softly. "And I completely understand. I wouldn't expect you to just sweep everything I've done under the rug. I know I have a lot of work to do to earn your trust back."

You squeeze her hand gently, a small gesture of reassurance. "But I do want to try," you say, your voice becoming softer. "I want to give you a chance to prove to me that you mean what you say."

Syd looks up at you, her eyes wide with hope. "You do?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," you say, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "I believe in second chances, Syd. And I never stopped loving you, so I'm willing to give this another shot."

Your confession hits Syd like a ton of bricks.

“You…love me?”

You almost look embarrassed, not wanting that to be the way you tell her for the first time.

Deciding to lay all your cards out there, no more reason to hide, you gaze into her eyes and smile.

“Obviously, Sydney, you think I’d have put up with all your bullshit if I didn’t?”

Your attempt at lifting the mood doesn’t go unnoticed, but Syd is still staring at you like you’re something made of magic, ready to disappear if she makes a sudden move.

Her eyes search your face for any hint of a joke, something to show her that you don’t mean what you just said.

When she doesn’t find anything, she crashes her lips against yours, letting her tears finally fall.

“I love you too,” she whispers into your mouth, and you taste the salt in her confession. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Your heart skips a beat, the words she whispers against you feeling like a balm on your wounded heart.

As she repeats her confession, you can hear the raw emotion in her voice, the weight of her feelings and regret behind each repetition. It's as if the dam holding back her feelings has finally burst, and the truth is flowing out in a rush, unhindered.

You pull her closer, your arms encircling her tightly as you return her kiss with just as much fervor, your tongue seeking hers in a desperate attempt to convey the depth of your emotions.

Pulling back after a few minutes, you lean your forehead against Syd’s as you both attempt to catch your breath, hearts pounding in sync.

“Fuck. That is not how I thought my day was gonna go.” You laugh at the situation, yourself, the fact that Syd is still pantsless (you send out a little thanks to your past self for deciding to tint all your windows).

“Seriously,” Syd agrees. Her smile fades as she looks at you, opening her mouth to ask you a question.

“Speaking of, how’s your tomorrow night looking?” She’s eager to start fixing her mistakes as soon as possible, hoping that you’ll let her.

“I’ve got dinner with some of the girls,” Syd’s face drops a little at that, quickly recovering, “but I might be free this weekend.”

A grin threatens to split Syd’s face in half, and you can’t help but mirror her.

“Think you can pencil me in? I’ll do anything you want, even watch one of those scary movies you’re constantly talking about.”

Syd is actually such a baby when it comes to horror movies, so you know she means business.

“Sounds like a plan, no take backs though, I’m planning a whole marathon now.”

You both giggle and lean in to each other, communicating without words.

The energy between the two of you is electric, crackling with the possibility of something new and wonderful. You start to believe that all the hurt and pain is a thing of the past, and that a brighter future lies ahead.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

yay!!! that is it for our lovers in this universe, happy ending cause I’m a true sucker for romance (-‘: thank you all for reading, let me know your thoughts!

[ronanlynchbf]

tshirt that says NO LIVE ORGANISM CAN CONTINUE FOR LONG TO EXIST SANELY UNDER CONDITIONS OF ABSOLUTE REALITY

[ikiprian]

Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.

If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.

Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.

In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.

On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.

Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.

It’s plastic. It’s fake.

Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.

Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”

[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]

[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 4

[oop- more interaction with our Yautja 🤭 I love your comments and your support, they keep me writing more 💚]

(Tagging @celticsrightbuttcheek for their ongoing support 🥰)

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

This is it… this is happening, you told yourself.

You could hear the guttural sounds of the two aliens battling nearby. Quietly, you slipped out of the chamber that had served as your only protection and crept around, desperately searching for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon.

Your panicked hands rummaged through drawers, the noise loud enough to draw the xenomorph’s attention toward you.

That split second of distraction was just enough. The Yautja drove its talons deep into the xenomorph’s ribs, earning a piercing hiss before tossing the creature aside to avoid its acid blood.

You had studied xenomorphs long enough to know their blood could melt through nearly anything on contact.

You had, unfortunately, learned that the hard way.

You could run now. This was your chance, both creatures were locked on each other. You grabbed an intravenous stand and with your hands trembling you began slowly backing out of the lab, keeping your eyes locked on the xenomorph.

Somehow, you felt the Yautja wouldn’t hunt you. You weren’t a worthy challenge in comparison.

The xenomorph, however, would kill anything without a second thought.

It hissed in your direction, and your stomach dropped. But then it looked to the left, where the Yautja had moved to flank it. Strangely, it felt like you and the Yautja were circling the xeno together, like predators converging on a common enemy. The Yautja seemed to notice your synchronized movement, perhaps thinking the same as you.

The enemy of my enemy…

The Yautja wasn’t quick enough this time. Already wounded and bleeding, it didn’t react fast enough when the xenomorph made its choice.

You.

The weaker one.

You froze in fear but stood your ground as the creature lunged. The medical probe you clutched became your only defense. You collapsed under its weight, struggling, your head thrashing side to side as its inner jaw shot out, aiming for your skull.

You held it off, just long enough.

The xeno’s weight lifted suddenly, and you gasped, the breath finally returning to your lungs. You barely registered what was happening, before your eyes locked on the savage scene before you.

The Yautja had pounced. It didn’t roar or cry out. It fought in silence, its primal, brutal attacks overwhelming the xeno. No armor, no advanced weaponry, just claws, fangs, and fury.

Everything you’d studied about their kind told you they were strategic, calculated warriors. But this? This was personal.

You remembered then—this was a younger Yautja. Not an elder. Not even a forehead scar to mark its first successful hunt. That explained the lack of discipline, the rage driving every blow. It wasn’t fighting for honor. It was fighting to end this, no matter the cost.

Please…

You whispered to yourself.

Please run.

This wasn’t your place anymore.

The xenomorph’s tail twitched, about to strike a fatal blow to the yautja’s back.

You saw it, just in time.

You ran forward and shoved the tail aside with your probe before it could pierce through the Yautja’s chest. The predator paused, its masked gaze snapping toward you. It growled, low, furious. It didn’t want your help. This was its fight. You were in the way.

But there was nothing honorable about dying in blind rage, you thought. You ignored its warning growls and pushed the tail aside again.

That second of distraction was all the xenomorph needed. With a violent shove, it knocked the Yautja off of it and launched itself at you.

You hit the floor hard. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. The xenomorph raised one deadly arm for the finishing blow—

But it was yanked off you before it could strike, though not without pain: its claws had grabbed a fistful of your hair, ripping it clean from your scalp. You screamed in agony.

The Yautja’s reaction to your scream was unlike anything you expected. A deafening roar erupted from its chest, a sound so raw and agonizing that it made your blood run cold. You clutched your ears, trying to block out the piercing noise.

The predator had lost all restraint.

It straddled the xenomorph now, attacking like a beast possessed. It grabbed the creature’s jaws, prying them open with brute strength. The xeno shrieked and hissed, its inner mouth striking out and biting the Yautja’s hand, but the predator didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

With a final, sickening snap, it broke the xenomorph’s jaws apart, ripping one entirely off and tossing it across the lab. Then it backed away quickly, avoiding the toxic spray of its blood.

It roared loudly, as if savouring its victory.

You lay there, breath ragged, heart pounding, staring at the terrifying figure before you.

A true menace, in spirit and flesh. It was deadly and the only thing alive besides you in the room.

The Yautja moved slowly now, chest heaving. It looked at the xenomorph’s hand—still clutching strands of your hair. It knelt, touching them gently, its fingers strangely delicate as they brushed against the human hair. It took a second, trying to make sense of what it meant for you to lose strands of hair.

It meant something entirely different in Yautja culture, you figured, since their dreadlocks were more of an organ than hair.

The Yautja now turned to you and slowly stepped closer.

You instinctively backed away, just a little, unsure of its intentions.

Were you next?

It knelt before you, head tilted slightly, its eyes fixed on the bleeding spot on your scalp. You both stayed still for several long seconds.

When it finally moved, you flinched and shut your eyes.

You expected pain, maybe claws digging in…but instead, you felt the soft weight of its fingers pressing near the wound, careful, almost… curious.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe too hard, just stared as it tilted its head, like it was trying to make sense of your bleeding. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, confused as hell, not knowing what to do. Run, fight, say something?

“It hurts,” you whispered, even though you knew it wouldn’t understand.

It stopped.

To your surprise, a soft purr started rumbling in its chest. You squinted up at it, trying to understand what that meant again. The sound rolled out of its chest in slow, steady waves, and for some reason you could feel it in yours.

You didn’t want it to. You were still scared. You should have been scared.

But that sound…

It was doing something to your nervous system, whether you liked it or not. Your shoulders dropped without you realising it. Your breathing slowed. It was like being wrapped in low-frequency sound that you couldn’t shake off. Some primal part of your brain responded to it like it meant safety. Calm.

You didn’t get it.

When you looked up again, it was still making that sound. Still not moving. Still just watching you quietly.

You noticed its arm then, coated in green blood. Your eyes widened in shock. You reached out instinctively, wanting to check the wound, but stopped halfway, afraid it might lash out.

But the Yautja didn’t move. In fact, it seemed to wait.

“Will you let me help now?” you asked, half-joking. If it had let you help earlier, maybe it wouldn’t be this bad.

The alien let out a low grunt, a sound that could’ve meant anything, but didn’t seem like a no.

You stood slowly, and it rose with you. When you moved, it mirrored you, as if still watching your every step.

You made your way to a specific cabinet. You remembered the tools the Yautja came with when they were captured to be studied—medical equipment and some kind of salve that you had studied before. Human medicine wouldn’t help it, but this… this might.

You reached up to the shelf and grabbed what you needed. The Yautja stood close behind, waiting. You turned to show it.

Its reaction was almost funny, looking between you and the supplies as if realizing, maybe for the first time, that you’d been capable of helping all along.

It grunted again, sounding… annoyed, maybe. Then it strode over to the operating table and sat down with exaggerated weight.

You hesitated.

It flared its mandibles at you, letting out a louder noise this time, clearly impatient.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, suppressing a strange urge to laugh. You didn’t know why, but the way it behaved—almost human—was oddly comforting. And a little terrifying.

[not-equippedforthis]

don't think about watson coming back from switzerland with 2 suitcases and a crumpled hat in his fist. don't think about mrs hudson's smile falling when she realises there's only one of them. don't

[nevvn]

Solomon bday countdown day 1: coffee

[civetcider]

helllloo apes of the world, i am still trying to not get art blocked into hell, but i do have some new OCs i've been cooking up! i know me making NEW guys instead of the 400 other guys i already have and could be drawing oops hehe

they are basically monster hunters in a post apocalyptic flooded earth, they are also all monkeys for no other reason then my own personal enjoyment

[bunnieswithknives]

OH MY GOD??? HAS IT SERIOUSLY BEEN A MONTH????? I am so sorry guys

Prev | Next

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[mipexch]

comic about v2 and the goal they'll never fully reach alongside a dissatisfying conclusion. intimate rivalry and all (alternative ending comic. V1 dies instead of V2 during 4-4. V2 is narrating. V1 is dead.)

[officialnostradamus]

“Bellara, my dear girl, whatever is the matter?” Emmrich asks, standing from his desk. Rook is still leaning against his desk, unconcerned to have been caught in a little flirtation. They are there for professional reasons, picking Emmrich’s brain about the magic of Solas’s dagger. It may have devolved. Emmrich is hardly complaining, but he is concerned by the way Belarra clutches the borrowed book to her chest. Her nails drum a rapid pattern against the cover and she looks up at him, mouth open as though to speak, before abruptly turning away. 

“Nothing!” She protests, shaking her head sharply. “I just - well, I borrowed this book. Without asking. Sorry. And I wanted to give it back and, well, here you are, with Rook.”

“Please don’t be worried about that,” Emmrich soothes, shoulders relaxing. He steps out to accept the return, pretending he doesn’t feel Rook’s gaze follow him. 

“Well, it’s not that I’m worried about,” Bellara corrects, admitting her worry before she realizes it. Her gaze jerks back up and Emmrich notices that her cheeks flush pink before she begins speaking again and it’s the fourth time she uses the word well. “I’m sorry! I - well, I mean. Oh…”

“Why are you apologizing? Is it damaged?” Emmrich asks, trying to gain control of the situation. 

“No! It isn’t. It’s fine. I’m fine, and I-” Bellara’s eyes are wide as she shakes her head again and then she looks past him, obviously finding Rook. 

“You seem real fine,” Rook says, teasing is second nature and Bellara’s pink flush becomes vibrant red. “Say it again and maybe I’ll believe you.” 

“Hi, Rook. Uhm, bye Rook. Bye Professor. I’ll see you both later.” It isn’t an answer and Bellara still looks like she may implode. “Oh, right! The book, here!” 

“Thank you.” Emmrich holds his hands out and Bellara drops it as though burned. So quickly he nearly misses the opportunity to catch it. The pages of the tome flutter and a few loose scraps slip free. Emmrich frowns. Perhaps it is damaged after all. 

“I’m sorry!” Belarra repeats, already backing out. “I didn’t mean to read it. It was just there and, you know - anyway.” She disappears before the dread can settle fully in Emmrich’s stomach. He notices first the book in his hand is one that, until he’d returned it to the shelf a day prior, had been atop his desk, and next that the pages on the floor don’t match the ones within. The parchment is too crisp, fresh, rather than worn with age.

“Bye, Bellara,” Rook calls, appearing behind Emmrich, curiosity unassuageable. “What do you think that was about?”

“Oh, dear,” Emmrich murmurs. “I think…” Then Rook is leaning down, picking the spilled parchment from the floor and Emmrich is too slow to stop it. The pages are new to them, despite the fact that the pages are entirely for them. “Wait, Rook - I can’t believe I placed a book back on the shelf with letters in them,” Emmrich chastises himself and Rook gawks at him. 

“That’s what you’re worried about? It’s just a letter, but she was so…” Rook trails off and their eyes fall to the pages as Emmrich reaches out, trying to retrieve them without making it an event but it’s too late. “They’re addressed to me.” Rook is peering at him from over the page and Emmrich sighs. 

“The letter is for you. I wrote it while you were in Minrathous but you returned before I could send it,” he admits. The words he wrote are earnest and wanton and he isn’t ashamed by them. Though they were definitely intended for a sole reader. “Surely she didn’t read the whole thing?”

“Let’s see,” Rook says, grinning as they begin to read. “Having spent a lifetime without your presence, it is an incredible wonder how it takes mere hours to feel the loss of you.”

“Well,” Emmrich begins, shifting. He isn’t ashamed of the words, but it is something different to have them read aloud by his lover. “She must have read that and stopped.” Rook looks up at him from beneath their lashes, expression mischievous.

“Not a chance,” they affirm. They’re still smirking when they return to the page but the expression slowly melts, softening. “The memory of your body bare beneath mine is a dichotomy of pleasures. Supple and lovely enough to sustain a man’s want for beauty into the next age; and yet so enticing I fear memory alone may drive me mad.” 

“I fear that may have been enough to cause such a reaction,” Emmrich interjects as they pause. “It’s-”

“Hush,” Rook interrupts.They’re reading silently now, skimming the page and Emmrich can’t help noticing how their lips part sweetly and their breath quickens. The letter is indiscrete. Missing Rook stirs something within Emmrich that spills onto the page, eager in ways he’s not felt in years.

“It is incredibly personal, I’m sorry I left it where it could be found,” Emmrich offers when the silence has gone on too long. It’s a surprise of its own when Rook is suddenly in his arms, hands on his chest and the back of his neck in that way they have. Almost as if they could climb him. 

“It’s beautiful,” Rook barely gets the words out before their mouth is on his. Their kiss is hungry, indulgent, and Emmrich forgets about the inciting context. He clutches Rook against his body, hands on their hips, pressing into the small of his back. When his fingers slip lower, cresting the curve of Rook’s rear, they make a soft sound but the second surprise is that the kiss breaks. Rook’s shoulders are trembling.

“Darling?” Emmrich asks, concern returning only until he realises Rook is laughing, their head dropped to his shoulder as the sounds bubbles out. “Pardon me?” 

“I’m sorry,” they gasp between giggles, “I just can’t believe Bellara knows about the mole on my ass, now.”

[beetlethebug]

i am a dom!bottom! emmrich truther and i will die on this hill. i want this man to talk rook through prepping him. splayed on his back, propped up on his elbows, legs spread and gaze heavy as he says, "that's it, darling. you can press further--that's it. the way your finger feels is exquisite, darling. just like that. doing so well for me." getting a little breathier, a little less eloquent, when one finger becomes two and then becomes three. hands reaching to take both of rook's to hold them once they finally slip inside, leg wrapping around their hips to keep them close.

so much praise as rook begins to find their rhythm. every little cant of their hips, the way their body shudders and shakes. hands running up and down their arms when they moan and babble about how good emmrich feels. emmrich fully composed and steady as rook becomes a shuddering, weeping mess as he praises them and coaxes them to go faster, thrust harder, because he knows that he can take it, darling, and don't you want to help him feel good? that they're doing so lovely, and he wants them to take their pleasure however they wish.

emmrich who prefers being penetrated because of the thrill of the dynamic. the trust that it requires. the control. emmrich settled atop rook's cock, hands on their chest, telling them to be good and patient as he rolls his hips at a pace so slow it's nearly glacial. Running a hand through his hair because he knows what it does to rook to see him a little undone. watching how rook's eyes get dark and glazed as they watch the sweat drip down his collarbone, the flex of his abdomen and muscles in his thighs.

emmrich who will use magic to truss up his partner and driving them wild by how composed he remains even as rook is pounding into him with everything they have. cast never faltering, head lolled back, a hand in their hair as he reminds them that he's fully prepared to keep them here until he's had his fill.

[nenlio]

Against All Odds BoyFail Danny Scores a Dilf

> DP x DC #0.2 - Copper Ice <

one again shout out to @chekhovs-slinky for the og prompt

As Danny and Sam entered their shared home the sounds of a action movie reached them signaling the location of their housemate.

"Were home!!!" Sam yelled into the house.

"In the cinema room!!"

They strolled further in until they reached their friend, Tucker was sat on the sofa leaving a gap that Danny flopped himself on to, groaning in embarrassment at his actions from earlier. Patting his back Tucker winced at Dannys behavior "Woah whats up with you dude? Did you mess up or something? I thought you left the shy guy act in your twenties?"

Sams laugh caught Tuckers attention " Oh he did something alright. Get this, I come up to Danny to ask him for my keys and hes totally zoned out! I finally get his attention and he tells me he thinks he has a chance to get a date with the guy hes looking at. Now, who do you think he was talking about?"

"Based on Dannys reaction I'd say Bruce Wayne?" At Tuckers reply Sam makes an X motion over her chest "EH wrong, Danny-boy over here went after Alfred Pennyworth, As in the guy that raised Bruce Wayne, As in the guy Bruces children consider their grandfather, As in the guy who is 35 years older than Danny!!"

"NO WAY WHAT" Tucker looked down at Danny on his lap and started shaking him "DANNY STOP BEING PATHETIC AND TELL ME EVERYTHING"

"Danny cant answer the phone hes dead" came Dannys muffled reply. Tucker rolled his eyes and turned back to Sam, "so what did Alfred say?"

Sitting down Sam started to, dramatically in Dannys humble opinion, regale Tucker with their evening story," im not even joking Tuck he looked like Alfred was the Cinderella to his Prince Charming with the way he ran after him. Me and Brucie looked so lost and we had to have awkward small talk about the charity until Danny came back."

At this point the force of Tuckers laughter was making him a very uncomfortable pillow so Danny rolled over to glare at him. "Danny, dude, you gotta admit its hilarious how desperate you must have looked in front of Wayne. You probably don't even know where your taking Alfred on a date do you." Dannys groan of embarrassment was answer enough for Tucker to lose it once more.

"Don't worry Danny well come up with a plan for you to woo your beau" Sam soothed as she patted his back, Danny simply groaned out of embarrassment. He had the worst friends.

The batcave was a flurry of voices all asking Alfred questions, the man in question simply arching a brow at their unruly behavior.

"Alfred are you really going on a date with that guy?! We don't even know anything about him!!" Dick was seemingly the most distraught at the news, his grandfather?? Dating?

Oracles voice crackled as she spoke through the caves speakers " His name is Danyal Danny Nightingale, 36 years old, he is the co-owner and eventual heir to DalvCo. He has a relatively clean record aside from some speeding and arrests for unruly protests."

Alfred simply sighed in response, "Master Dick, Ms. Barbara, while I understand your worry that is no reason to invade our guests privacy. And yes Master Dick I will be going on a date with Mr. Nightingale, his efforts to pursue me are commendable, and I will be giving him a chance even if it isn't earnest on my behalf."

"So youre just going along with his whims? 'tt' I expected more from you Pennyworth" Damian didn't show it outwardly but he was excited for Alfreds date. He had immediately recognized Nightingale during the gala, not because of his business, but because he was the person to bring back the purple backed gorillas from extinction. Damian had been 6 years old when he first saw a magazine featuring Daniel Nightingale. He had devoured the every word written about Daniel and it sparked the beginning of Damians infatuation with animal conservation beyond that of his families ideas.

Now seeing the opportunity to meet his role model face to face, and possibly even being related to him (if Alfred's account of Nightingale wanting to court with the intent of marriage was correct.) Damian knew what had to be done.

Damian was going to become Gothams cupid and make sure his Grandfather and role model got together.

Laying back on Tuckers legs, Danny tensed as he felt another sneeze attack coming on, halting all conversation.

ACHOO "Bless you" " Bless you" "Thanks, ugh who decided that speaking my name would cause me to sneeze"

Sam rolled her eyes at Dannys whining. "At least you dont get the calling to be summoned like with your royal title" Danny glared at Sam "gee thanks for being so compassionate, Ill be sure to sneeze on you next time"

"I wonder who's talking about me though"

[tired-demonspawn]

safe to say Dipper, in fact, did not regret asking! :D

anyway always did think Stan had the bestest luck under the sun with the truth telling teeth

i mean not one single person said something to him that would make him spill, like he was one "Stanford" away from "Oh that's not my name actually. That's the name of my twin brother who i've been impersonating." Like this man's luck is absolutely cosmic istg.

[quadrantadvisor]

Pairing Off, in which the Waynes meet the Fentons, just not all at once. 2,443 words

-

Damian feels less than positively about the new girl in his grade.

Danielle Fenton has already garnered a bit of a reputation. Her uniform is clearly second hand, and rumors abound about whether she has joined them at Gotham Academy on a merit scholarship or as “one of Wayne's charity cases.” Neither is true; Father has offered no fiscal support to the Fentons, and yet both she and her older brother attend the Academy, leading Damian to believe they've somehow paid their own way.

Her lower class status and midwestern accent ought to make Fenton a target, but her response to being cornered or talked down to by other students was an unsettling combination of cheerful and aggressive. She is now mostly left to her own devices, despite her notoriety. 

Damian has no interest in the girl. While it is true that she excels in both mathematics and social studies, her performance in English and science are unremarkable, and she poses no challenge to his rank at the top of the class. If he finds himself pushing harder in certain classes this semester in order to maintain the edge, it's no one else's business.

Now if only she would leave him alone.

Damian preemptively slams his sketchbook shut, just as a brash, inconsiderate, annoying girl hops up to sit on his desk. “Hey Dami, what're you drawing?”

“It is none of your business,” Damian seethes. “Remove yourself from my personal space before I-” he isn't allowed to threaten classmates with bodily harm, imply that he has brought weapons to school, or use words that are derogatory to women “-do so myself. By force.” He would avoid her altogether if he could, but Fenton is annoyingly (suspiciously) sneaky. He can only ever seem to sense her when she's just about on top of him.

Fenton merely laughs, high, bright, and joyful, and Damian grits his teeth. “Did you draw me yet?” she asks, and doesn't move an inch.

“No, I have not drawn you. I never said I would, and I have no plans to. Stop asking me.”

She shrugs and kicks her feet. “Maybe you'll change your mind. Can I see what you're working on?”

Damian pulls the sketchbook a tad bit closer to himself (a protective reflex that shows his weakness, he should be better than that by now.) “Never, imbecile.”

Fenton sticks her tongue out at him like a child. “Mean,” she says, still smiling. “I wanna see your art. It's so good!”

Damian tilts his nose up at her. “Of course it is, plebeian, I have standards-” he starts, but is cut off by the teacher entering. Fenton slides off his desk and heads to her own seat. Damian stows his sketchbook in his bag and tries not to think of the unfinished work inside, featuring a girl with dark hair, light eyes, and a mischievous grin.

-

There's this brownstone on the outskirts of Crime Alley, an old townhouse recently converted into commercial space. There's a coffee shop on street level, a tattoo parlor down the stairs, some sorta wine emporium on the second floor, and on the third, a little second hand bookshop

It's outside the border of Jason's territory, but he feels sorta responsible for it, given that he frequents the place.

It's a little out of his way, but the atmosphere is nice, alright? Clean, with soft lighting, but not sterile or corporate like the bigger places downtown. The owners are an older couple who Jason has met a couple of times, and they seem pretty happy with the new location. They're collectors, really, who run the shop to make ends meet.

Mostly, Jason talks to their employee. Jazz.

Jazz works in the afternoons and evenings, after her classes. She goes to Gotham U, double majoring in pre-med and psych, on top of a full time job, because she's almost as insane as a bat. She assures Jason that she does alright, gets a little downtime to study on her shifts.

She always makes time to talk to Jason.

Jazz is an interesting person to talk books with. She cares less about plot and literary themes, and more about diagnosing every character with their own personal malady of the mind. She dissects their thought processes and behaviors, ruthless in her analysis.

She's gonna be a brain surgeon someday, open people up and see what really makes them tick. Jason doesn't doubt it for a second.

So maybe Jason is a little bit in love with her.

It's not a big deal. Obviously it's not going anywhere. It's just nice to have something normal, to talk to someone normal, about normal stuff like books and college and sibling antics.

Jazz's stories about her sibling, Danny, rival Jason's own, and his family is fucking disastrous. Jason isn't actually sure if Dan is older or younger than Jazz is, or, for that matter, what pronouns he should use for them, since Jazz mixes it up pretty regularly. He knows that Jazz absolutely adores them, though, and it's heartwarming, the way she smiles as she talks.

All of that to explain why Red Hood is keeping an eye on a brownstone that technically falls outside of his territory.

There's a girl inside that he needs to keep safe.

-

“Hey bud, late night?” Dick asks the man lying prone in an alley, a block away from the Iceberg Lounge.

The response is slurred with sleep and muffled by a cheek pressed hard into asphalt. “S'at you, Dick?”

“Sure is. We've got to stop meeting like this,” Dick tells him, and means it.

The guy's name is Dan. No last name offered, which was fair, since Dick hasn't mentioned his.

What was weird was that Dan didn't give Penguin his last name, either, when he signed his employment contract. Just Dan.

Penguin has been trying to expand his influence into Bludhaven, and Dick's been trying to figure out why. Cobblepot is a very Gotham sort of gangster, all wrapped up in the city's ideas of style and respectability; Dick honestly would've thought that Blud was beneath him. He needs to figure out who he's contacting and what they're offering him, and he needs to do it before Penguin can get a foothold on his turf.

Running into Dan was a side effect. Dick didn't mean to keep doing it. It's just that Dan has this weird habit of completely disregarding trivial concerns such as his own health and safety, and doing weird shit like, as a random example, getting tired, laying down, and passing out. In the middle of the street. In Gotham.

The main part of Dan's job seems to be bouncing at the club. It makes sense—if you wanted to hire a guy as muscle, you couldn't do much better than Dan. He's at least 6 and a half feet tall, with a chest wider than Jason's. 

But Dick has also seen Dan traveling with Penguin before. Add in the fact that it's almost impossible to dig up info on him, and that tailing him is somehow even harder, and a picture starts to come together. A very vague, very suspicious picture.

It's too bad that Dick sort of likes him, and that he's incredibly hot.

Dan has removed his face from the alley floor, and is in the process of pushing himself up. “Not your business, man,” he retorts. “What are you, a cop?”

Dick can't help a wry chuckle at that. “Not anymore.”

“No shit?” Dan asks, hauling himself to his feet. He towers over Dick like that, but it's hard to be intimidated by a man whose cheek is red and pockmarked by little bits of gravel. Dick is legitimately embarrassed that he finds it charming. He needs to get better taste in men. “Yeah, no, that makes sense,” Dan continues, looking Dick up and down. “No way they could keep your ass on the force.”

“Oh yeah?” Dick asks.

Dan snorts. “I can smell the idealism on you from here.” He starts walking, heading straight past Dick, who falls into step beside him. “You remind me of this kid I know.”

Dick gives an interested hum, hoping that if he doesn't interrupt, Dan will elaborate, but no dice.

“So, where're you taking me this time?” the big man asks, still leading, and Dick stifles a grin at how silly the whole thing is.

“Maybe if I take you out for coffee, you won't faceplant onto any more concrete,” he says, reaching up to brush off some of the little rocks. Dan stutters to a stop as Dick touches his cheek, letting him, then strides off again as soon as he's done.

“Don't care, as long as you're paying.”

Dick stops him with a tug to his arm. “Coffee shop's this way,” he explains, pointing, and Dan doesn't hesitate, pivoting to take the lead once again. Dick rushes to keep up with his not-date, a criminal who he literally picked up off the street and who has no idea where he's going. He can't see his own smile, but he knows from experience that it is both delighted and a little manic. He admits to himself, begrudgingly, that he likes his men with something wrong with them.

-

The biggest reason that Tim played so much Doomed with Ghost_Boy, a couple of years ago, was that they were the only player he knew who kept hours as weird as his were. There were worse reasons to form a friendship. Ghost_Boy was a great player, and was always funny in chat. They were upbeat when things went well, and they were sarcastic but not bitter when things went poorly. Playing for the game's sake eventually changed to booting up the game to hang out with Ghost_Boy. They talked about how different their lives were, with Ghost_Boy in the midwest and Tim in the crime capital of America, and they talked about the things they had in common, like falling asleep in class. It was Tim's favorite form of stress relief, back then, when being Robin was new and overwhelming.

Then Tim got busy. No, that wasn't true—Tim had always been busy. More like, Tim's life fell to shambles, over and over again, and he stopped making time for stress relief when the very concept seemed out of his reach.

That was over dramatic. Tim fell off the game, and didn't keep in contact with his friend. That's all there was to it.

That was all there was to it, until a few nights ago, when he booted up his old Doomed file for nostalgia's sake and found a message from Ghost_Boy, sent a couple months back, that said he was planning to move to Gotham and, if Tim wanted, he'd be happy to meet up.

Tim immediately replied in the affirmative, and then he freaked out that he'd done that and started cyber stalking the guy. He couldn’t be bothered to pretend to be embarrassed by this behavior. He knew who he was.

Daniel Fenton was, in fact, a real teenager from a real midwestern town (Amity Park, Illinois.) He had moved to Gotham right when his message said he would, and lived with his older sister, Jasmine (who had custody over him,) and his younger sister, Danielle.

And that was where Tim was planning to stop his research, for the sake of his friend's privacy. Once he confirmed that he wasn't being catfished by either a supervillain or a run-of-the-mill creep, he was going to stop looking.

But Danielle Fenton's situation was incredibly weird.

Apparently, she had never lived with Daniel, Jasmine, and their parents before. Instead, after she was born, she'd been adopted by the kids’ godfather, eccentric billionaire Vlad Masters, and he was still her legal guardian. It was only after the Doctors Jack and Madeline died that she moved in with her siblings and started attending Gotham Academy, states away from her adoptive parent.

Vlad Masters was a man of eclectic tastes. The stories about him in the news were always covering some weird investment he had made, like purchasing a cheese castle in Wisconsin, or buying up property in Green Bay just to have a stake in the Packers, or pouring money into experimental forms of alternative energy. He was always refined in his public appearances, but he had the desperate edge of new money wanting to fit in with the old. Tim knew of him, but had never given him much thought before. He'd never made a move into Gotham, after all.

But the whole story was bizarre. Masters had gone to college with the Fentons, the three of them creating their own field of study in “Ectology,” before Masters had been contaminated in a lab accident, bedridden and unable to finish his degree. Jack and Maddie had continued their research, garnering just enough interest in their work to receive the funding needed to keep afloat, until some sort of breakthrough a few years ago added validity to their theories. They were practically celebrities in the niche forums Tim skimmed through. Masters, meanwhile, stopped working directly in the sciences and instead turned to networking, gaining some generous help from the friends he made and playing the stock market like a fiddle, until he was one of the most well known and lucrative investors in the world. He owned a few companies publicly, and managed some others under the table (Tim had to snort at the ridiculous naming of Dalv Co.) 

And then the Fentons had kids, and they raised two of them (seemingly quite happily, if the photos on their memorialized facebook accounts meant anything.) And then, for some reason, they named the third one nearly identically to their second child and gave her straight to Vlad. Masters raised the girl in Wisconsin, until suddenly relocating to Amity Park and becoming the town's mayor. There he stayed, until the Fenton's recent passing in a lab accident of their own.

Tim doesn't know what it all adds up to. But there was something going on, with both Vlad Masters and the Fentons, and if there's something nefarious in Masters’ actions or his wealth, it could be entirely possible that Daniel was a plant—a way for him to get an in with the Waynes. Tim has to be cautious, and he has to get to the bottom of this.

That's why Tim is waiting in a coffee shop, pretending to be engrossed in his laptop while keeping an eye on the door, waiting for the appearance of a teen with black hair and blue eyes.

Tim idly thinks that Bruce had better not adopt this one.

[secriden]

Style in episode 4 made me soft in a way that I truly did not expect. I’ve used the word “guileless” (def: innocent and without deception) before to describe him but I don't think that has been shown more clearly then in this episode.

He tries to be manipulative and lasts for all of one single morning and then comes running to Fadel the second he hears about Fadel asking about him. He's so excited, so exuberant at the thought that Fadel misses him, so happy that his little (terribly obvious and juvenile) plan worked.

Which is why I think he was genuinely taken aback when Fadel only had harsh words for him as a reply (this is not a criticism of Fadel; in this he has been consistent. Doesn't mean they weren't hurtful though). Look at the way Style's grin slowly dies. Watch the way he straightens and backs away a bit, like he wasn't expecting the clawed swipe of Fadel's dismissal.

But Style is resilient. He's tenacious. We see him rally and steel himself to resume his pursuit: because Style is nothing if not determined to hold on to the thinnest thread of hope that he's breaking through Fadel's shell. And can I just take a moment to get emotional about Style offering forgiveness even when Fadel hasn't asked for it?

This, though. I do think this was uncalled for (this is a criticism of Fadel). You can make the argument that Fadel has tried honesty and blunt rejection and it hasn't worked, but I would have respected Fadel more if he'd stuck to his guns and kept rejecting Style in the same manner. Especially when everything else about his character shows he's actually very up front and direct. With Bison, with Kant, hell even with himself.

Fadel is mocking Style's clear and wanton desire for him. Look at the sardonic little grin Fadel gets right before he says, "You won't ever get what you want." Consider the way he was touching Style with that gentle, focused intensity; how he cuts up his shirt and tears it open and leans in close in a way that suggests purposefulness while having zero intention of seeing it through. Fadel knew what he was doing and he did it on purpose, to hurt.

And you can see that Style is genuinely hurt here. I think he has always been prepared for Fadel's rejection, but not his cruelty. Not Fadel making sport of him and his very real emotions and desires. Because Fadel has been rude and condescending before, but he's never been contemptuous like he is here.

And I wonder, partly, if this is because both times we see Style and his dad, his dad is scolding/chiding/correcting him to some extent. Perhaps that's just how they interact. Or perhaps, as implied by the way Style sarcastically said "Thanks, dad" as Fadel drives away in episode 1, Style doesn't enjoy the way his father scolds him and always has criticisms or corrections for him. Perhaps Style just wants to be accepted for who he is, especially by the man he is starting to have real feelings for.

Edit (after Ep 5): I'm so sorry, Papa Style, I did you so wrong. ;u;

@lazzarella made a post recently about Dunk's phenomenal acting in this scene (among others) and I concur so hard about how intense and scorching and "both fiery and steely" Style's anger feels in this scene. He's furious and wounded and you can see it in his gaze, the tension in his jaw, the way he bares his teeth up at Fadel when he says "...punch me in the face? Go on!"

And honestly, he is justified. Fadel's incredulity has no basis here: he stooped back to using public humiliation, something which Style very pointedly has not engaged with since his conversation with Bison in episode 2. Every instance of approaching Fadel since then has clearly been aimed to involve himself in Fadel's private life*.

*Yes even or maybe especially the support group in episode 3. Because while Style may have been treating the whole thing too lightly, all of it is directed privately to Fadel with his secret looks and winks. As far as the other support group members are concerned, Style was a somewhat overdramatic new member that had no connection to Fadel.

But what Fadel did by cutting up his shirt and sending him out in shame regressed them back to their early dynamic, which was far more antagonistic.

This is why Style lashes out at the support group again. Look at the anger simmering in his eyes. The way he makes direct, insistent eye contact with Fadel as he speaks, returning again when he talks about feeling used. Style, overall, is a character that doesn't take anything too seriously so it's almost shocking to see him this visibly angry and so pointedly challenging Fadel in a space where Fadel cannot easily brush him off.

But even now, even in all his rage and hurt, Style is true to himself and his heart. He doesn't want revenge or an apology, he wants Fadel to acknowledge that the thing between them, fragile as it is, matters; that what they did meant something to the both of them.

And this is why I was so broken about Style offering forgiveness without Fadel asking for it earlier: because all it took was Fadel admitting that he missed Style for him to unreservedly offer reassurance and safety for Fadel's heart. There is nothing ambiguous about what Style says at the jeep: he makes his own intentions clear by offering certainty, taking responsibility, promising the very commitment he was asking Fadel for.

He makes himself vulnerable to and for the man who literally just mocked and humiliated him that morning. Style really just let all his anger go immediately like that.

And no, I don't think he was doing all that for the car. This is just how Style talks. He has a flair for the dramatic, and this was the perfect way to reveal his news to Kant. But look at how delighted, how filled with boyish glee he is while he tells Kant the news about Fadel agreeing to be his boyfriend. Consider the way he reacted in the moment: the joy in his voice and the wonder in his eyes when he said "Really? We're dating now?", the way he covers Fadel's cheeks in a hundred butterfly kisses.

Also, a thought that occurred to me - could this be Style's first relationship? We know from episode 1 that he sleeps around, but there's seemingly no mention of a previous serious/committed relationship so far. His dad seems surprised to hear Style is seriously pursing someone. Could Fadel be the first person to capture his interest for long enough that Style developed actual feelings?

Which is also why his fear is now so visceral. He is genuinely terrified of Fadel, but I don't think it's just because he's realised how dangerous Fadel is (after all, he's known that to some extent since he watched Fadel break a man's arm with his thighs). No, his fear stems from the fact that Fadel now has reason to hurt Style.

In the face of the betrayal of his own trust, Style answers Kant's plea to friendship and entangles himself with Kant's lie willingly... and thereby forfeits all rights to the safety he was so confident of in the middle of the woods by an abandoned factory. Because now Style knows that if Kant gets found out, it won't matter that Style didn't intentionally mislead and take advantage of Fadel's vulnerability in the forest. Because he still chose Kant over Fadel here, and that makes him undeserving of the open door he asked Fadel to give him.

Style is incredibly transparent in all his thoughts and emotions and this is why I say that Style is guileless: he is incapable of true deception. His heart is too close to the surface, his desires too obvious, his thoughts too clearly broadcasted on his face.

He is the perfect foil; not only to Fadel (who until this episode held everything so buried inside his chest that we only understand his true feelings in snatches of memories or moments when Fadel is certain that he is truely alone) but also Kant (whose deception, whilst cracking under pressure, is intentional and calculated - thinking about that bowling alley accomplice right now - in a way Style never could be).

And this means that any success on his part in the upcoming episode(s) in deceiving Fadel is going to fall on either Fadel's own willful blindness or the suspension of disbelief the genre requires of the viewer -- but it won't be because Style is actually any good at playing the role now that he knows the full truth.

This is why my heart breaks for Style. Because Kant forced a burden on him that he was in no way prepared to bear. And eventually Style will have to choose between his loyalty to Kant and his burgeoning feelings for Fadel and, regardless of his choice, the narrative demands that Style sacrifice a piece of his own heart in the process.