#fuck tumblr I hate tumblr I hate the way the tags look when I type them

[cryptic-rainfall]

well, tumblr finally forced me to use the new post maker that probably literally every other user has had for 5+ years (the one where you can edit colors and stuff in text, yeah I didn't have that one). I actually wouldn't care except for the fact that I hate the way the tags look in this post editor, literally so awful to me. I think it may be time I get xkit in the vain hope that it can fix this.

also it's saving this post as a draft???? don't like that. is there a way to turn it off?

[worstcharacterpoll]

[Image description: A tournament bracket of 32 contenders, labeled "Tumblr's most hated." The matchups on the left are Vriska vs. Pearl from SU; Rex from Victorious vs. Rick Sanchez; Ansem the Wise vs. Gul Dukat; Kylo Ren vs. Kokichi Ouma; Scrappy Doo vs. Sheldon Cooper; Pierre from Stardew vs. Mort from Madagascar; Seraphine from League vs. Heimskr; and Jurgen Leitner vs. Andre Glacier. The matchups on the right are Walter White vs. Light Yagami; Buck Cluck vs. Ross Geller; Bramblestar vs. Starlight Glimmer; Goro Akechi vs. Pariston Hill; Katsuki Bakugo vs. Berdly; Angel Dust vs. the Impostor; Olaf from Frozen vs. Hooty; and Zenos viator Galvus vs. Tony Stark. The bracket is red on a black background. End ID]

Here is the official bracket for the most Hated Character on Tumblr! Each round will last 24 hours, with a 12 hour break in between. Round 1 should start Feb 9, 2023 at 9:00 AM CST.

As a reminder, this tournament is for the characters that you hate the most, so always vote for your least favorite of the two options. The winner will be publicly executed.

FAQ under cut:

Q: Why did you put in x character and not y character? Aren't there more hateable characters from that franchise?

A: I wanted to keep the competition light-hearted, funny, and interesting. I intentionally avoided most shitty parent characters, dictators, characters who were meant to be hated, etc., as well as characters heavily associated with bigotry and sexual assault, and gravitated towards characters that were more divisive in fandom. Exceptions were only made for characters I am familiar enough with and can use my own judgement for. Using Zenos as an example: He is a villain who is very evil and meant to be hated, which I mostly avoided when taking suggestions for things I wasn't familiar with myself. However, he's very divisive between people who think he's a good interesting villain, people who don't think he's a good villain and don't like him in the story at all, and people who want him carnally. Walter White is also meant to be hated, but he has a meme status, and as a villain protagonist I think he's more interesting than most "meant to be hated" characters. Also, there are certain franchises that I simply didn't want to include. If JK Rowling wasn't such a real and horrible political presence, owing all her influence to Harry Potter, I would've definitely put Snape on the poll. As it stands, I don't really want to give HP any attention. TL;DR answer: Because it's funnier that way

Q: But I LIKE that character :(

A: As mentioned before, I specifically gravitated more towards characters who are more divisive rather than universally hated. They are usually more interesting, and there is more variety with those types of characters - you don't have shitty dad character #1 vs. shitty dad character #2. I actually looked for "anti-(character)" tags and discourse about that character when making decisions about who to include. lol If you actually like some of these characters (uh, my condolences), vote against them in their respective matchups.

Q: Is it too late to suggest a replacement?

A: Yes.

Q: Why are you doing this?

A: I feed off of hatred and violence. I want to see who tumblr users REALLY hate.

Q: Why Pearl?

A: It was quite a while ago now so I get it if people don't remember, but Pearl discourse used to be a big thing and people argued that she was irredeemable for many of the things she did early on in the show. If you remember the "Pearl hates the Irish" meme, that was a parody of how much people hated her

Q: Why Hooty?

A: I haven't seen the Owl House but I'm told many people think he's annoying. Also he's voiced by Alex Hirsch and fuck that guy he did my boy Ford so dirty I'm still mad about this

Q: Why Starlight Glimmer?

A: MLP:FiM is another show I didn't really watch but she was a villain who got redeemed and became a main character and a lot of people think her redemption arc was rushed and botched and she actually made a lot of people quit watching the show. One of my close friends really really really hates her and I don't think that's an isolated incident

Q: Why Berdly?

A: Annoying. Personally I think his arc of becoming less annoying was pretty fun but a lot of people still hate him.

Q: Why Bakugo (instead of Mineta)?

A: I actually debated this a lot and held a preliminary poll which Mineta actually won. But then I decided democracy is dead because Mineta really wouldn't be as interesting as Bakugo in this tournament because he's basically universally hated. Bakugo is more interesting because people who hate him REALLY hate him, while people who love him REALLY love him. Kind of like Vriska. I think. I never read Homestuck and I don't plan on ever doing so.

Q: Why Tony Stark?

A: He's a heavily divisive character because he's a war profiteer billionaire with a superiority complex, but the narrative treats him as a morally pure hero. Also, he's MCU Spider-Man's mentor and most of MCU Spider-Man is basically defined by Tony Stark and he's not allowed to be his own character. There's a bunch of other stuff but I didn't watch and I don't care about most of the MCU. Personally I'm a really big Spider-Man fan and I despise him for what he did to Peter Parker but I shall refrain from making this a long rant.

Q: Why did you include characters that you're not familiar with?

A: I didn't want to exclusively have characters from my interests. I wanted a bit of variety. Before the poll started, I accepted submissions for candidates, and basically trusted submitters to send in decent characters. Some of the characters I ended up with may go against the vague guidelines I set for myself, which kind of sucks, but that's how it is now.

Q: This bracket sucks.

A: Make your own tournament then. I'm just some guy making a tournament on tumblr dot com for free. Don't take it too seriously.

[shadamyheadcanons]

For me, Shadow and Amy's dynamic is basically two different types of touch starved in a person

((If any of the gifs on this post aren’t loading for you on mobile--like they aren’t for me--you can download them or check the sources listed. As for desktop, they play just fine, but they won’t line up next to each other like they do on mobile. Tumblr is a comedy of errors.))

Yes! Absolutely. I’ve seen tons of fans say Shadow is prickly and would respond badly to hugs, but canon says otherwise. This is a bad reaction:

[Sonic 06]

Whenever I feel like being sad, I wonder if Bad-Future-06 Silver has ever been hugged.

This is a bad reaction:

[Sonic Unleashed, gif source.]

And I shouldn’t have to say this, but...yeah. These are very bad reactions:

[Sonic X]

[Sonic Generations]

Yikes. I feel bad for both of them.

But this?

[Sonic Adventure 2, gif source.]

This is Shadow’s only canonical hug in the games, and aside from jumping slightly from being snuck up on, he seems to like it just fine.

Just look at that smile! He’s happy. He finds it endearing.

It was a hug from a complete stranger meant for someone else, but he still drank it in--and, given that he’d effectively just lost Maria, he really did need it. It’s the combination of Amy’s gentleness AND her speech that changed his mind. After all, if someone as sweet as her sees something in the humans, maybe they’re not so bad.

My buddy who runs @shadowxamyweek recently reblogged a post about this hug, and their tags sum it up perfectly:

[ID: A screenshot of tags on a post. The tags read:

#official art #4kids #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #YEAH 😭 #listen I read nothing that has happened with them in SA2 as shippy - and i ship them #THIS HUG? THR SPEECH ON THE ARK? #those are two lonely kids #those are two left behind kids #those are two kids so desperate for affection #for two vastly different reasons #Amy loves with her whole chest and will never stop doing so- no matter what happens #and Shadow does too- that is key to remember- Shadow loves... so fucking much... that it hurts #you are RIGHT op when you say this is probably the first time someone has been gentle with him in a long long time #he doesn't even run away #in the game- when Amy flees- he takes a step after her- a moment's hesitation- a 'wait' #this kid NEEDED a hug #and i firmly believe part of the reason Shadow listens to Amy in the end is BECAUSE she is the only person who showed him gentleness #softness and kindness and affection #if only for a moment #fjdodhdofjgor THIS is what i mean when i say 'be gentle- be kind' #it MATTERS #it FUCKING MATTERS

End ID]

Shadow doesn’t hate hugs inherently; it’s just that no one hugs him in the first place...

...aside from one person.

Amy’s easily the most affectionate character in the cast. It’s cute at first glance, but there’s a common thread to every instance that puts a damper on it.

She’s always, ALWAYS the initiator.

She puts more into each hug than anyone else does.

She’s always the last to pull away.

The most reciprocated Amy hug I know of in canon is this one:

[IDW Sonic issue #22]

Which is absolutely adorable...but Amy still initiated. Because it’s always her job. Even the characters who like affection don’t need it the way she does...with one exception.

And this tiny detail just killed me. The little, “wait, come back 😟”

It’s the only time I know of when someone has actually stepped after her like this. In a game where everyone left Amy behind, he wanted to follow her. Mister so-called-prickly didn’t want the hug to end.

Because he’s the only one who needs it as much as she does.

He wants to be held as much as she wants to hold someone else, and no one else is warm and sincere enough for it. Compare these instances:

[IDW issue #6]

Sonic thinks Shadow is wrong about something, so he grabs Shadow’s arm to stop him, and Shadow aggressively wrenches it away and leaves.

[Archie Sonic Universe #23]

But when Amy thinks Shadow is wrong about something and grabs his arm to stop him, he gently removes her hand and thinks about what she has to say.

Even when he doesn’t want to be touched, he makes the distinction between “don’t touch me” and “not right now, please.” These are from two different continuities, of course, but I think the point stands. Amy’s special. He’s gentler with her than he is with other people, and that’s consistent across all canons.

Side note: how often does Amy get to feel special like that? I actually really like that Sonic doesn’t place others in a hierarchy of importance, and I wouldn’t change that about him even if I could...

[IDW issue #2]

...but Amy does play favorites. I want her to feel like she’s someone else’s favorite, too. I want her to have someone who puts her first and likes her best. I think Shadow’s more than capable of that. I believe he craves clinginess like hers deep down, even if he hasn’t consciously figured that out yet.

I have an entire tag for these two being affectionate. My favorite is probably this one.

Of course, there may be those who say I’m reading too much into one (1) hug. And you know what? Maybe they’re right! We need a bigger sample size. Sega, make more characters hug Shadow, please. Let Rouge comfort him after he confides in her about something. Have Omega give him an awkward metal embrace because he read on the internet that organic beings like that kind of thing. Make Shadow himself pull Silver into a hug when he’s breaking down crying from the stress of always having to be a hero. Show Tails accidentally grab onto him out of fear when they’re trapped in a lightning storm, and when he gets embarrassed and pulls away, have Shadow hold him for the rest of the storm and admit he’s not fond of bright lights, either.

[Sonic Boom]

That scene where Shadow and Amy rescue Cream and Cheese from Cryptic Castle? That easily could’ve turned into a cute group hug.

[Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)]

And I have seen some absolutely adorable fanart where he holds Cream’s hand while he and Amy lead her through Cryptic Castle to make sure she doesn’t get lost 🥺

Have Knuckles give him an empathetic bro-pat on the shoulder when he finds out Shadow’s the last one of his race, too.

[Archie Sonic Universe #89]

Have Sonic try to hug him, and then when Shadow inevitably pushes him away and says he doesn’t do hugs, have Amy arrive and latch onto Shadow instead while he tries to stutter out an excuse as to why she’s allowed to and Sonic isn’t.

The most affection Shadow has in recent history is stuff like this...

[Sonic Prime season 2 episode 1]

...where Sonic tries to hug him and Shadow immediately pushes him away, knocks him over, and tries to punch him in the face. Kind of says it all. Amy stands out as the only one with a good track record here.

[IDW issue #36]

Especially when you have him look at her like this when someone else is on the receiving end of that affection.

So in the absence of further evidence, I have no choice but to interpret this in the most Shadamy way possible. Your move, Sega.

[decolonize-the-everything]

Hey im assuming you already know about the "callout" post about you being a bot since you changed your url, but they linked to your new one in the comments :/

Is this the one that's like 3 weeks old?

What's wild is when I look up my blog the first result is a video of a young Palestinian boy holding up their phone to the camera to show my blog on their screen to prove they're real. In fact, most of what pops up under my URL are Palestinian accounts needing support who tagged me cuz I have reach.

But I hate Kamala so that means I'm a bot who needs to be removed from the site.

I genuinely fucking hope everyone sharing that post kills themselves. There are a million better ways they can be spending their time (and honestly more valid complaints to make about me) and instead their time is spent trying to get my blog deleted when I already planned on deleting it this year ANYWAY

This is literally why I'm deleting it. I'm sick of Tumblr. It used to be cool and left and anti-capitalist. But then I got pregnant and had a life and when I came back in 2020 Tumblr was full of liberal ass losers who thought buying 40 checkmarks in a row from Tumblr was somehow a dunk on Elon musk. And now tumblr accuses ANYONE further left than a Swiftie girlboss Democrat of being a psyop??? And those posts Actually gain traction????

There is a psyop on this site in my opinion and it's my opinion that it's using fear mongering and paranoia to target leftists and get us deleted.

This is not the same Tumblr I was on in 2012 at all.

People used to be politically involved.

The amount of PowerPoint type educational posts about things like systemic racism or being trans or accepting LGBT people was wild. I remember Gaza trending here in 2014 and that's how I learned about Palestine, my newborn on my arm at the same time. I remember seeing posts being shared that linked vine accounts where you could See what was happening and that proved that the media wasn't covering it correctly, where you could see Actual people on the ground explaining. Radfeminism spread so fast cuz fucking everyone on the site was a feminist who said "fuck men" back then. EVERYONE.

that's another thing, in 2014 if you weren't politically literate you were shamed for it. Like I said there were PowerPoint style posts that allies were making to educate people. Nobody gave a shit about your mental health back then, if you were racist or sexist or homophobic then there was literally no excuse for it. I saw white liberals bully racists off this site, I'd even say that was a normal occurrence. It's honestly part of why radfems are so nasty, their platform was built during an era where it was The Thing to be unapologetically hostile to oppressors.

Because in 2014 Tumblr understood that was the only correct way to treat an oppressor.

In 2024 liberal tumblrinas are targeting me and trying to get removed from the site for *checks notes* saying Kamala should be held accountable for supporting genocide.

.....like I said I planned on deleting this anyway.

[eoieopda]

menace (pjm) — pt. ii

“Be careful with that lip,” he warned in a thick voice dropped low, “Pout like that again, and I might bite it.”

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 2/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Word Count: 6.5K Content: (General) Seokjin’s younger sister AU; fuck buddies that hate each other; reader is AFAB & queer; surprise cameo by my current dream girl. (SMUT | 18+) this part is written in sort of an omniscient POV; brat-tamer!Jimin & brat!Reader; oral sex (m); manhandling; spanking; slight degradation & spit kink; unprotected sex (p in v); safe word in place (unused). A/N: Absolutely re-worked a shit ton of this part after “Smoke Sprite” dropped because I needed this cameo to happen 😵‍💫 I'm gonna put the tags in the comments this time because Tumblr has been shitty about them lately, lol.

Immediately after Jimin left you in that green room, dangling off a ledge, you did your best to bury that blush on your cheeks in pressed powder. The lip balm he was wearing when he kissed your temple caused that powder to cling where you didn’t want it, and it left you with two options:

You could uproot the flawless base you’d created prior to his unwelcome arrival, spend time you didn’t have destroying evidence. Alternatively, you could pretend not to notice the faint lip print shining in a shade just slightly darker than the rest of your face. Even if it was more or less invisible to the naked eye, it was a flashing, neon sign to you.

And just like that, his unanticipated crumb of affection made sense. So, you grabbed a makeup wipe from the travel-sized package you brought with you and set back to work.

That motherfucker.

When you’d gathered yourself to the best of your ability, you glanced in the mirror. Still a bit flushed, still a bit shaky, but still deadly. Any other loner you'd run into wouldn’t stand a chance; and though your primary goal was paying off the orgasm debt Jimin had defaulted on, it didn’t hurt to consider how far up a wall it would drive him to watch you weigh your options.

You wouldn’t chalk it up to jealousy, the way Jimin reacted when he saw you convert strangers into acolytes. From where you were standing, that telltale clench of his jaw wasn’t precipitated by your habit of looking at anyone but him. More than anything, his problem likely had to do with the fact that it was you people were staring at — not him. The name of the game was desirability, after all; and Jimin seemed to really fucking hate it whenever you pulled ahead — collected more merit badges in the form of phone numbers.

Of course, he might not have hated it as much if you didn’t love rubbing his nose in it to the extent you did.

Upon walking out into the club’s private bar, the first face you caught sight of was that of your brother. Judging by the way he was sputtering, Seokjin was witnessing your weather-inappropriate outfit for the first time — and he was not handling it well. You rolled your eyes, refusing to give him and the burnt-red tips of his ears a second glance. If you did, he’d be launching himself over bar stools to force you into his winter coat.

Worse, knowing how reactionary he was when it came to you, it was safe to assume that he’d enucleate every wandering eye he found fixated on you. That wouldn’t bode well for the stranger seated at the center of the bar, whose whiskey-warm gaze in your direction was an invitation in and of itself.

Coincidence or kismet, it didn’t matter — the only open spot at the bar happened to be right next to her, whoever she was. She grabbed her clutch off the bar top in front of that unoccupied stool as soon as she saw you headed her way. Despite the distance, you could see the smirk working its way across her lips; and the nearly imperceptible dimple she’d unearthed in doing so.

Target acquired.

When you finally reached her, it was difficult to tell whether the slight tremble in your knees was due to the discomfort of your heels, or the sharp cut of her jaw jutting out beyond the razored edge of her hair. Pretending that it was neither, rather than both, you gestured to the open seat with a coquettish smile, “Saving this for someone?”

The stranger’s voice was deeper than you expected from someone as petite; it left your whole hopeless body vibrating.

“My Valentine,” she said with a dreamy sigh, and it sounded like a song. Mirroring the movement of your finger, she pointed nonchalantly to the stool, silently telling you to claim it. “Lucky for me, I think I found them.”

“Lucky for them,” you corrected, sliding into your seat and title simultaneously. Now with your elbow resting against the bar, you propped your chin up on the heel of your hand and narrowed your eyes thoughtfully. “If only they knew your name.”

The same finger that guided you to your spot raised to flag down the bartender. What else can it do? Killing two birds with one stone, she told the bartender which tab to put your drink on: “Hwang Soyoon —”

“Someak, please.”

“— but naekko works, too.”

It might’ve been the cheesiest line you’d ever heard, but goddamn, was it effective. You accepted your drink with a quick bow of your head, then even more quickly, you took a swig to calm the heat threatening to burn through your cheeks. Once the butterflies in your stomach were sufficiently drowned in alcohol, you set your glass back down on a coaster and picked up Soyoon’s hand in its place.

“You this smooth on the dance floor?” you asked as you tilted your head in the direction of your destination.

In lieu of a verbal response, she got to her feet and, with another smirk, she helped you to yours.

Two drinks and no small amount of shameless, wholly observable flirting later, you and your prize stumbled off the dance floor to reclaim your seats at the bar. Soyoon’s arm likely would’ve remained draped around your shoulders whether your heels hurt or not; but you had no qualms about playing it up, playing right into her hands.

Tragically, with you deposited safely on a bar stool, Soyoon’s hands slipped away — but not before her fingertips slid slowly down the length of your spine, leaving you to tingle hopelessly in her wake. Oh, for fuck’s sake, was it really that easy to get to you?

She ducked down and came in close so you could hear her over the music. “I’m headed for the restroom,” she said, “Don’t run away, yeah?”

Eyes wide and twinkling, you nodded obediently — albeit more enthusiastically than you wanted to let on — and you felt a small crack form in your nonchalant façade. Never were much good with a poker face, huh? Unable to cover it, the corners of your mouth automatically curved downward as she turned away. They didn’t stay there for long.

Several meters away, now unobstructed without Soyoon in front of you, stood Park Jimin. To put it mildly, he was incensed, angst radiating off of him like a smoke signal. His stony gaze pinned you where you sat; and those eyes narrowed further, flashing a shade darker when you raised both middle fingers. They were near to black when you used those neatly manicured fingertips to push the corners of your mouth into a shit-eating grin.

“Smile, fucker!” You mouthed.

Jimin, now positively glowering, held up his own middle fingers in response. This time, he didn’t imitate your smug antics. The look on his face was a bullet, hitting you hard in the chest and causing your body to clench on instinct, and your stomach to flip with anticipation. Oh, you were going to get it for this.

So, you figured, why not push that thorn a little further into his side?

Without stopping to think twice, you rose again to your feet. God, these fucking heels. You swallowed down the pain emanating from the balls of your feet and strutted up to him like it didn’t ache to do so. Unfortunately, none of the heads you turned in the process would suffice.

By the time you were halfway to his small, circular table, Jimin had already looked away. Drink held up to his lips, he sipped and stared coolly off into the crowd. Like you weren’t there, like you weren’t worthy of ongoing attention.

Liar.

He continued looking everywhere else when you slipped in beside him — when you flicked your hair over your shoulder and grazed his in the process — when you failed to conceal the pout beginning to form on your face.

This motherfucker.

Even as you glared up at him, Jimin ignored you. With a huff, you crossed your arms over your chest and shifted your weight from one leg to the other.

You played this game with him constantly but in reverse, allowing him to feel like he was invisible, like you couldn’t be bothered to register his presence. With that ego of his, you knew it stung — and you knew exactly how childish it was to hate the taste of your own medicine.

“You know, it’s rude to leer,” you breezed, “Worse, the optics are a bit… predatory, don’t you think? Weird, lone male shooting daggers at a couple of sapphics?”

He took another sip of his drink, set the glass down, and tilted his head to flutter his eyelashes at you. His tone was dripping in feigned innocence when he replied, “Would the optics be better if I left a pretty girl alone at a bar? What if I did it just to throw myself at someone else?”

You didn’t know why you felt the need to defend yourself, but you did; rushing headlong, right into the pitfall, “I didn’t leave anyone — she went to the restroom.”

Jimin smirked and nodded once over your shoulder, “Well, she’s back now.”

You quickly turned your head to see what he did: Soyoon rolling her eyes while you froze and Jimin waved at her with a frighteningly accurate imitation of friendliness. She was gone again in the blink of an eye, slipping off towards the door, before you could even dream of catching up to her.

Shit. Why were you like this?

“Poor baby,” he cooed with the world’s most patronizing frown. “Gonna pout some more?”

Already cutting your losses, you plastered on a saccharine smile, “Of course not.” Your fingertips whispered over his forearm as you leaned into his ear. With a voice that dripped dark and sweet like honey, you quoted him and watched his pupils blow, “I’m going to make you cry.”

Jimin grabbed his glass and tossed back the liquor that remained without flinching. Then, he leaned down, lips damn near touching your ear, and snapped, “Get your shit and meet me outside in ten minutes. If you’re late, you’re walking.”

You exhaled a laugh through your nose and raised an eyebrow, “Who said I wanted to leave with you?”

With how closely he was standing to you, Jimin had completely shielded you from the throng of people standing nearby. Cloaked in low light, his hand ducked under the hem of your dress so he could scrape his thumb nail over the spot he’d marked earlier with your own wetness.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he whispered darkly with eyes fixated on your mouth. He licked his lips, then emphasized each word: “Ten — minutes.”

Jimin disappeared and left you to stand there with a wildfire tearing through your insides. You waited until you knew he was gone to let go of the breath you’d unintentionally been holding, now a shaky gasp that died as soon as it hit the air.

It took you less than three minutes to race off to the green room and gather your coat, purse, and regrettably large makeup bag. Despite that fact, you made a point to stand a few meters from the club’s exit for what remained of your ten minutes. You stared down at your watch, still aflame, and watched the seconds tick by; smirking as you allowed one extra minute to slip away.

Eleven minutes after you’d parted ways, you slipped past Seokjin and out the back door to find Jimin leaning impatiently against his car with his arms crossed.

“Brave of you,” His tone was light, but his eyes were anything but. “You gonna be like this all night?”

You cocked your head to the side the way he’d done earlier. “I’m not sure what you mean, Park,” you said with your blinking eyes sweet enough to cause a cavity. “You gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me with these?”

He watched you raise your encumbered hands like your cosmetics were made of bricks, and let out a long-suffering groan. Jimin knew you were full of shit; you were the last person who ever needed — or wanted — his help. You were just an unmitigated pain in his ass, always. But he clearly had places to be and people to ruin, and your brattish behavior was once again interfering with well-laid plans.

When he crossed over to you, his footsteps kicked up a cloud of dirt that swirled in weak pirouettes around his ankles. In no time at all, he grabbed the bags you pretended to struggle with and carried them just as easily as you could’ve, if you deigned to lift a finger. He shot you a look that broadcasted: I’m only doing this to get your ass moving.

You giggled meanly as he dealt with your burden and sauntered off to the front seat of his SUV. It took a bit of effort to balance yourself on your fucking heels as you slid onto to leather, but you were immediately grateful to be off your feet again. Once you’d settled, you glanced down and realized how far the hem of your dress had shifted in the process.

In any other circumstance, you’d fix it, cover the dangerous expanse of your exposed, upper thigh. Now, though, you opted not to do a damn thing about it. Instead, you did what came naturally: you made it worse.

With a contented sigh, you kicked off your pumps and rested your feet on his dashboard, bare legs stretched out ahead until they crossed at the ankles. If your brother were here, he’d tell you that you were being rude; and in anyone else’s car, Seokjin would be right. Still, you knew it ate at Jimin whenever you did whatever improper thing you wanted.

You knew the way his cock twitched when he watched you not give a fuck; when you suckered him into doing menial tasks, like tucking your belongings into the backseat of his car. He’d never say so and you’d never ask, but there was no other explanation you could think of for why he gave in. Punctuating your thought, he slammed the back door and made his way to the driver’s seat.

Jimin slid into the spot next to you and immediately clocked the way the skirt of your dress had hitched up. He stared for a moment longer than he likely meant to, then his eyes trailed down your legs to find your bare feet resting on his dashboard.

“Were you raised by wolves?” He waved his hand at your legs with annoyance that only grew alongside your smirk. “Seriously, you’re a fucking animal.”

You let your head roll to your shoulder as you leaned over the center console. “Oh, you cut me, Park.” You teased and poked out your bottom lip out in a put-upon pout.

Adding injury to insult, you threw your hand up to your forehead in your best imitation of his usual theatrics — then, you let it drop. The back of your hand collided with his bicep as it fell; and it remained there long enough for him to reach out and grab it. His fingers encircled your wrist easily, doubling over and gripping hard.

“Be careful with that lip,” he warned in a thick voice dropped low, “Pout like that again, and I might bite it.”

You raised an eyebrow, silently daring him to try. To the contrary, Jimin let go of your wrist and pushed your hand off him so he could slide the key into the ignition. The engine sputtered without turning over, leaving you to wonder if it was going to start at all.

He scoffed, “See? Told you that if you weren’t here in ten minutes, you’d be walking.”

To both of your surprise, you exhaled a laugh — a genuine one, no less — at his little joke. It caught him off guard and caused him to chuckle, too, for just a moment before he stopped abruptly and muttered, “Shut up. I’m concentrating.”

“Like I’ve never heard you say that before.”

You rolled your eyes and then your neck to lean your head against the seat rest. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shoot you an indignant look; but as usual, you ignored it. “Should I just leave then?”

When his exasperation briefly flickered over to confusion, you gestured out the window to a taxi parked nearby. If you ditched him now, you’d be home in five minutes instead of however long this was going to take.

“Patience,” Jimin growled as he wiggled the key and turned it again. “If you could — just once — stop bitching and wait —” The engine roared to life with one last turn of the key. “— you could wipe that miserable look off your face.”

You turned in your seat, genuinely offended, as he pulled out onto the street. “I look miserable?” You laughed hotly, “You look like a kicked puppy every time I see you.”

Jimin’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. “Did you ever think about the timing of that?” He fired back. “You think it’s a coincidence that I look like this whenever I’m confronted with that?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but he did remove one hand to point it right at your face, which featured wild eyes and gritted teeth.

“I swear to God, it’s like you were designed in a lab somewhere for the sole purpose of sapping my will to live. How the fuck else does a person end up being this much of a nightmare?” Jimin was nearly shouting now. As his voice raised, so did your heart rate — so did your chest as you heaved forceful, angry breaths.

Though the heat of your seething bodies was starting to steam up the windows, you could still see the shadow of your tiny house approaching quickly from the middle distance. Throwing your arm out, you pointed to the driveway he was about to rocket past and snarled, “Fucking brake!”

Jimin begrudgingly did as you said. Your bodies both lurched forwards. Your seat belt gripped you the same way his arm had earlier, but when you crashed backwards, your back was flush to your seat instead of his chest. Just as suddenly as he’s braked, he whipped his car into your driveway and came dangerously close to your garage door before throwing the gear shift to park.

“You absolute fucking menace!” You smacked his bicep again, harder now, “Are you trying to forfeit my security deposit? Why don’t you just open my wallet a burn every won you find?”

With a grunt, you threw off your seat belt and let the end of it smack against the plastic molding as it returned to its resting place. He did the same, in the same manner you had, but went ahead to criticize you for your roughness.

“I only give a shit about the dents you’re so dead-set on making in my car,” Jimin spat. Turning abruptly to you, his hand darted out, dipped under your left leg, and prompted you to pull your feet down from his dashboard. “Your rental means dick to me.”

You rolled your eyes for the hundredth time that night as you slipped out of your seat, grabbed your heels, and slammed his passenger door shut behind you. Shoving your clenched fist into your coat pocket, you gripped your keys and pulled them out as if you were wielding a knife. Rage still simmering, you stomped barefoot up to your doorstep just to fumble with the lock on your front door.

As you struggled, the key slipped from your fingers and clattered down against the concrete patch below. That pin dropped from the grenade and exploded through the quiet. As you stared down dejectedly at it, your tiny growl came out like a whine.

Before you could snatch it off the ground, Jimin swooped in. “Give it here, crybaby,” he said while shooting you an exasperated look. With ease, he jammed the key into the lock, turned it, and shoved the door open.

The inner doorknob smashed against the wall of your foyer, and you rounded on him immediately. Jimin raised one finger in your face, and it stopped your shout before it could fly out at him. He stared straight ahead of him, positively seething, “If you mention your security deposit again, I’ll lose my goddamn mind.”

Beyond fed up, you huffed once more and stomped off over the threshold. You didn’t give a shit if he followed you.

As you tore down the hallway to your bedroom, you didn’t bother switching on any of the lights you passed. You were too busy throwing down your shoes and wrestling out of your jacket; leaving a trail of outerwear behind you as you went. Entirely incapable of caring that you’d created an obstacle course for the boy mere steps away.

Jimin staggered along after you, dodging the various items of clothing you’d left scattered across the hardwood. His jacket and shoes clattered to the ground on top of yours, thudding heavy like his pulse in his ears. Twin tornados as usual, you left a path of total destruction in your wake — every single time.

When he finally reached your bedroom, Jimin was panting. You were sitting and seething on the edge of your bed, trying desperately — and failing — to reach the zipper on the back of your dress. True to form, he leaned against the wall and watched you with quiet amusement but offered no aid.

Truthfully, he liked the idea of you wearing that stupid little number while he fucked you; he’d been marinating in that little fantasy all night. Unlike every other person in that club, Jimin didn’t have to imagine the curve of your ass underneath that red satin. He didn’t have to dream about kissing at your thighs the way the edge of that fabric did when you danced, or sunk down onto a bar stool and crossed one leg over the other.

No, Jimin had no quarrel with that dress — he felt equal to it, rather than robbed by it. He’d been everywhere it had and then some, a million times or more.

As he watched your frustration build, he wondered if you’d give up soon. His dick was swelling uncomfortably against his chinos, and he was beginning to lose his already limited patience. So, apparently, were you. Reaching behind your back, you gripped the sides of your dress in both fists and pulled — hard. You gasped as if it’d hurt you, but Jimin knew it would take much more than that.

There was the unmistakable sound of plastic breaking, and then the familiar look of triumph on your face as you stood. Your dress slipped off you like water and dropped dead in a pool of red at your feet. The mangled zipper was somehow still attached, but its teeth had been pried open. Jimin tried not to look impressed — your ever-present ego didn’t need to be bolstered.

You stepped out of the halo around your ankles and kicked it carelessly aside, vowing silently to replace the zipper tomorrow. You lifted your head, breathing hard, and locked eyes with Jimin. The sight of him standing there, doing fuck all, forced an indignant groan out of your parted lips.

“Why —” You hissed, “Are you still dressed?”

Jimin shrugged noncommittally, knowing full well it would enrage you. “Figured you had a knack for zippers,” He murmured innocently, “Was thinking you could handle mine.”

He was goading you, and you knew it, and you still took the bait. He wanted your animalistic hands clawing desperately at him, and to an extent, he’d get them. But he should have been more careful with what he wished for because he wasn’t ready for you.

You closed the distance between you and pushed the center of his chest — not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for the unexpected force to knock his head back against the wall. You were on one tonight, and for once, he didn’t bite back at you. The look in his eyes admitted that he enjoyed this side of you; that he wanted to see what came of it.

You wasted no time dropping to your knees in front of him and flicking open his belt buckle. Once you had proper access, nimble fingers undid the top button of his slacks, exposing his zipper. You were half-tempted to rip it the way you’d ripped your own — to teach him a lesson — but you didn’t. You inhaled slowly, and exhaled more so.

As sluggishly as you could, you tugged the zipper down. Your knuckle brushed against the side of his cock as it pressed eagerly against the fabric of his trousers and underlying boxer briefs; it twitched at the brief contact. Even more slowly, you slid your fingers through belt loops on either side of his hips and tugged. With the pressure of his pants alleviated, you heard him sigh softly overhead.

It was so stupidly easy to get him hard like this. And on the off chance it wasn’t this easy for everyone, you were an expert at making him like this. You leaned towards the tip, and as you did, you looked up at him from under your lashes. His cock jerked in response, begging for attention you were still refusing to pay it.

You had him, hook, line, and sinker.

Without breaking eye contact, you let your tongue slide out from between your lips. As chastely as a thing like it could be done, you ran it over the tip of his clothed cock, fabric already dampened by pre-cum before your saliva could stain it.

“Fucking touch it already,” Jimin snarled from above you.

You smirked, bumping your chin against the side of him but childishly refusing to put your mouth back on him.

“You begging, Park? Is that what that was?” You pressed up higher on your knees so that his length rested against the center of your throat. If your hypothesis panned out, the vibration of your voice alone might kill him. “If you’re going to beg, you should use your manners.”

He groaned exactly as you predicted he would, letting his eyes screw shut — half blissed, half vexed. With them still closed, his hand reached out and carded gently through the hair at the crown of your head; uncharacteristically soft until he grabbed a handful. The sting at your scalp caused your eyes to water, and your head to tilt back.

Now with half-lidded eyes, Jimin watched the column of your exposed throat bob as he used his free hand to push down the waistband of his briefs — the last barrier between his cock and your mouth. He wanted you full of him if that’s what it took to finally shut you up.

Your index finger traced the vein running along the underside of his length, dragged out another involuntary twitch that burned him up inside. You then switched to your thumb as you went gliding back the way you’d come, and when you finally reached the base of him, your hand teased his balls. Left without words to hurl at you, all Jimin could do was swallow a groan and grip your soft strands tighter.

It was a drag-out fight to keep his eyes open, but he had to if he wanted to watch you kneel in front of him as if you were praying. So perfectly obscene; he’d die a thousand times before you finally took him in your mouth.

You spat in the palm of your hand — unexpectedly crude for a princess like you — and then you began working the length of his dick with alternating pressure. As your small, soft hand pumped him, your mouth surprised him. When you enveloped one of his balls with your mouth, he keened and allowed his eyes to flutter shut again.

As far as Jimin was concerned, there was one use for that bratty mouth, and this was it.

After too few moments massaging his balls with your mouth, you tragically pulled back. The interruption in contact caused him to crack his eyes open and peer desperately back down at you. Under a curtain of dark lashes, your gaze rose to meet his — and then, without warning, you spat directly on his cock. Involuntarily, Jimin’s mouth dropped open and stayed that way as he watched the trail of saliva connect your bottom lip to him.

Oh, fuck you.

Your tongue swirled expertly over his tip while your hand worked over the base of his cock. Try as you might, you’d never fit all of him in your mouth at once — at least, you were sure Jimin assumed so. You hallowed out your cheeks and bobbed your head along as you took more and more of him; earning shuddered moans as you did.

Every now and then, he’d pull at your hair and roll his hips forward, fuck himself a little further into your mouth. You’d feign a whimper as if he was pushing you to your limit, and you let him think so. The sick sound of you pretending to struggle was dragging him close to the edge, but Jimin had no idea what his undoing would truly be:

Smirking to yourself, you wrapped your hands around the back of his thighs to anchor yourself. Undoubtedly confused, you felt him tense in the moment before you pushed further, further, further. Blinking away tears, you noted the way his eyes sparked when his tip slid past your soft palate and touched the back of your throat. They screwed shut as soon you caught him staring and swallowed.

“Ohh, fuck!”

The words sputtered out of Jimin’s mouth the same way his cum shot down the back of your throat. Tensed fingers twisted in your hair as his hips jerked helplessly against the heat of your wide-open mouth. Unable to process any part of what you’d just done to him, he couldn’t seem to get any air in his lungs either — somehow, you’d broken his brain, and his body didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

You pressed against the front of his thighs as you leaned away from him, eyes still locked. Then, you lifted the back of your hand to your mouth — twisted in some devilish grin — and wiped the spit that had dribbled down your chin.

You little fucking demon.

Jimin hated it when you finished him off during the first round; and you knew it. It infuriated him to no end when you spent him like that — right out of the gate — because he’d have to wait to retaliate. You were well aware of that fact, too. Goddamn menace.

As blissed out as he was with his cock shoved down your throat, he was bubbling over with exasperation in the aftermath. “What the fuck was that?” He panted.

Jimin had so many questions, but he wouldn’t ask you anything further. Who does that? Who planted that idea in your head? Who had you been practicing on, and why hadn’t it been him?

The impish glint in your eyes didn’t dissipate when you shrugged noncommittally — just as he’d done to you, mere minutes before you’d successfully scrambled his brains. Because there was nothing you loved more than weaponizing his own words against him, you sighed with a frown, “Was thinking you could handle me. Nobody busts that fast, though. D’you think you should see a specialist about that?”

Instant gratification came when his arms hooked under your arms and lifted you abruptly from your feet to your knees. So, maybe there was one thing you loved more than firing his bullshit back at him. You tried not to let the excitement show on your face when he spun you around, left you staring down at your bed while you dripped with anticipation.

“Shut your mouth,” Jimin demanded while he took your arms hostage behind you. Evidence of his returning arousal was pressed flush against the small of your back, stoking the fire building in your core. “And lay down on your stomach.”

For once, you did what he said without putting up a fight. Despite the scowl on your face, there was a hurricane inside you that left your mind dizzy, and your panties soaked. Falling into place atop your duvet, you stretched your arms up and under the coolness of your pillows with a sigh. The soft fabric against your cheek and naked chest nearly had you in a trance.

It was a hard slap on your ass that brought you back to the present moment; and ravenous hands tugging down your underwear that kept you there. Your pleasured cries filled every space between his words and his swift smacks, but they went ignored; dead and buried in the fibers of your bedding.

“Why is it —” His warm palm collided with your doughy flesh again and you whimpered, though you tried to swallow it. “— that you look your best — ” He kept his hand still to dull the sting, only to dig blunt fingertips into your ass cheek. “— with your face buried in your pillows?”

You turned to putty in his hands every time he played so roughly with your skin, left little keepsakes behind to remind you where he’d been. If you hadn’t encouraged him to mark you, you suspected he wouldn’t. To his credit, Jimin was much gentler before you stopped letting him be; and as time passed — to your surprise — turning you on seemed to factor heavily into his own arousal.

Not inclined to waste any more time, he leaned over your reddened, stinging backside and grabbed the hands you’d stowed away under your pillows. Though he took care not to ring out your shoulders, he nipped cruelly at one with his teeth as he encircled your wrists with his fingers and jerked them down behind your back. He held them in place with his left hand and brought his right hand expectantly to your mouth.

Jimin didn’t have to say a word for you to hear him, loud and clear. You spit into his hand and, within seconds and without speaking, he pulled away again. In your peripheral vision, you watched in a daze as he pumped his fist back and forth to spread your saliva down his length, rolling his wrist as he worked the tip, bottom lip clenched between his teeth.

Selfishly, albeit predictably, he was more fixated on himself than you – and it drove you mad. You knew better, but you still interjected: “If you’re not going to fuck me, can you get out of my house?”

“Really sealed your fate with that one,” Jimin laughed dryly before smacking his hand down on your ass. As he gripped, he spread your cheeks apart, though his knees on either side of your legs kept you from moving. “Remember to say boksunga when you can no longer handle the consequences of your own actions.”

With that brief reference to your safe word — the one neither of you had used since it was chosen several months ago — he lined himself up at your spit-slicked entrance. The feeling of his tip at your slit caused you to swallow hard; and knowing what was coming next made your stomach flip. Your lips parted in the anticipation of a gasp.

The pressure of him driving himself into you — slowly and conscientiously, but to the hilt, nonetheless — was all but blinding. You needed him to move for you to acclimate to his size, but he stayed torturously still, leaving your shocked walls struggling to adjust. With your legs pinned together the way they were, you felt every vein, every slight curve — but what you still didn’t feel was movement.

“Move, Park,” you hissed through gritted teeth. The stretch brought on by his girth threatened to split you clean in half, no matter how many times he’d entered you before. It was difficult to breathe apart from gasping.

He responded in your own words, mocking the tone you’d taken with him not ten minutes earlier. “Are you begging? If you’re going to beg, you should really use your manners.”

“P-Park, I swear to God —”

He leaned down to your ear and somehow — though you’d have thought it impossible — his cock buried deeper inside of you. One wrong move, and you could kiss your cervix goodbye. In every way that mattered, you were trapped.

“There’s gotta be a please rolling around in that space between your ears,” He teased in a low voice that broke you.

Your swallowed pride burned on its way down. “Please,” you begged, “Please move. I need you to move.”

Satisfied that he’d snuffed out the fight in you, Jimin acquiesced. As he pulled away from your ear, he rolled back — tantalizing but, as you quickly learned, a false front. He pushed back in just as deeply as the first time without ever pulling out completely. The curve of his cock ground against your g-spot; the hands gripping hard at your captured wrists did nothing to stabilize you as you shuddered.

“Is that all it takes to make you go quiet?” His laugh struck harder than his hips did when they snapped forward. “Shit — if that’s the case, then why do I ever stop fucking you?”

Every time his pelvis collided with the flesh of your ass, the sound of skin hitting skin echoed through the electrified air of your bedroom. It was all unholy, but still, you begged God that he’d never stop. He was wrong, though – you were anything but quiet.

To the contrary, you were on the brink of babbling as your cunt gushed around him. With each thrust into your wet heat, Jimin shook another useless thought loose; sent you out of your mind over him.

You’d devolved into a muttering fool by the time your orgasm crept up from the pit of your stomach. When it finally crashed over you, you sensed that it was compensating for the one you’d been denied earlier. Every sensation seemed doubled, and twice as hard to fight.

You screamed as you came — a sound Jimin had never heard from you before — and he was entirely unprepared for it. You came undone around him with a half-sob and forced his release in tandem with yours, cunt squeezing him so tightly that his vision started to blur.

And when the firefight was over, you were both silent. Fucked stupid, neither of you were capable of speech, let alone critical thought.

It was funny, you thought as you re-entered the Earth’s atmosphere, that the only peace you’d ever known with Jimin came immediately after you did.

[britcision]

Okay so… today is a little bit of a long one, so we’ll see if we’re back at Tumblr breaking length or juuuust on the right side

But! Finally, much anticipated, we have the man himself: John Constantine! Here to share secrets and save the day! (Not)

And! This chapter got us right up to the edge, next chapter is gonna push me over to one MILLION words on AO3 y’all!! I’ve been flirting with it the past couple years but finally we’re here!

So. Might push the next one out faster. Might slow the next one down, since we’re in heavy waters again. And, since we are in the heavy waters, Imma tag on some warnings:

1) we gonna be speculating a little more on Jason’s death in this one, from a couple of viewpoints. We’re also discussing Cass’s in particular, and its repercussions.

No gore or details, just some death themes, mostly from Jason’s perspective after he and Danny leave the manor (Jason’s second POV segment)

2) Bruce is gonna make some very bad decisions about stimulants and concussions, mostly off screen but it is mentioned at the end of our first Bruce POV segment

And now the links!

First and link to AO3:

Previous:

———————

Never Make A Promise You Can’t Keep

Constantine hadn’t been looking forward to discussing Amity Park with the Justice League. Not the first time he’d been sent, and not for a single second after.

But hours turned into days, days to weeks, weeks to years. He’d almost thought he’d gotten away with it and that they wouldn’t ask.

Which was probably what had gotten the big Bat’s fuckin’ attention, wasn’t it. Couldn’t possibly let the universe have something nice for Johnny Constantine.

Luckily it was damn hard to lose something in the House of Mystery unless the House wanted it lost. Today she was feeling merciful and gave him the book on the second try.

It’d have been nice if he needed to refresh his memory of the case. If the knowledge of Amity Park hadn’t been sitting like a weight on his awareness since before he’d been.

Honestly he could probably point to it from anywhere on Earth. Most magic users could, if they had the faintest alignment with death.

Amity Park was goddamn wrong, even if it looked like things had turned out alright for now. Still, there were types of wrong you didn’t poke at.

Going prodding around would only make things worse.

And now he had to go explain that to Captain Prod himself, and try and persuade the fuckin’ Batman that no news was good news.

At least the Superboys had listened when he told them to clear off until he could visit in person. They’d pinky sworn they were back in Metropolis, and he’d heard enough traffic to believe them.

They could just as easily fly straight back to Alaska, but they weren’t stupid. They knew how to listen.

(Possibly from trauma related to the times Young Justice hadn’t listened to him, but he’d take what he could get.)

Now he just had to persuade the Bat that he knew what he was talking about.

Constantine hated debriefings with Batman. The guy had no grasp of magic, which was perfectly fair for most folks.

He preferred that. It kept them out of his kind of trouble, meant he didn’t have to worry about them until it got bad enough they’d accept whatever snapped sentence he managed.

Batman though. Batman treated magicians like it was their fault that the world didn’t work the way he personally preferred. Like they had any say in the how and why of magic.

Asshole.

And now he wanted to scold John like a naughty child about something he had no way to understand. Well, fuck that.

For better or worse, the Justice League made Amity Park his problem. Years late or not, this was his show, and he wasn’t going to take shit from anyone.

Thumbing quickly through the book, he kinda hated how easily it fell open to the relevant page. Like he’d already spent way too long looking.

Even he didn’t fuck with the Infinite Realms. Not if he could help it.

Stuffing in his notes from the city itself he closed the book, left the House, and hurried to one of the closer zeta tubes. Didn’t matter which city he was spat out in, he could find one.

His number didn’t coax even a flicker of the usual dry amusement as he stepped out into the bat cave, scowling up at the massive screen.

League records. Great. He strode across the floor, hoping they could sort this crap out fast.

“What the fuck’s got you lookin’ into Amity Park?” He asked as the Bat turned to face him, book tucked under his arm.

None of his usual prevaricating or fucking around. No chance for the fucker to try his usual “control the conversation” shit.

If it had any effect whatsoever, it didn’t show. Damn white outs. Batman just stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the computer, pulling up another page.

Constantine didn’t look. He didn’t want to know.

“Why did you mark Amity Park as a prank?” The big Bat asked in his stupid, gravelly tones.

Constantine rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t mark it as a fuckin’ prank, I marked it as a no fly zone for your little lot, so again: what the fuck came out of Amity Park?”

Batman stilled for a moment, doing that annoying “human computer” bit again. John preferred each and every one of the actual cyborgs, even the ones that tried to kill him.

Then he turned back, swivelling the chair around to fully face John like a movie super villain. Asshole.

“Over two thousand legitimate cries for help came out of Amity Park, and were ignored. If they were marked for the Justice League Dark, you should have responded, not deleted them.”

And that sounded way too much like an accusation. And completely fuckin’ irrelevant.

Something deeply unpleasant was tugging at the edge of Constantine’s awareness, just below the irritation he scraped over the sense of impending doom he’d been ignoring for the last hour.

He pushed it down, scowling at Bruce as he crossed the last of the distance and slammed the book down on the table next to the keyboard, gesturing up at the screens.

Still not bothering to look. He didn’t want to fuckin’ know.

“Years ago, Batty. This could be time fuckin’ sensitive, so quit pissing me about an’ tell me what. Exactly. Got you looking into Amity Park.”

There was a moment of hesitance, and he just fucking hated that. Nothing that made Batman hesitate could possibly be… good.

The feeling at the back of his mind suddenly clicked. His eyes widened and he groaned, wishing he had something stronger than a cigarette. Maybe a bullet.

“Great. Just fuckin’ great. They’re here.”

Groping around behind him, he grabbed another swivel chair and folded down into it, elbows bracing on the desk and burying his face in his hands.

Well, this was the nightmare situation.

From the fucking death taint seeping into his fuckin’ skin, something extremely fuckin’ big had oozed its way out of the Realms, and settled itself in Gotham.

Batman’s attention had snapped to, the man suddenly alert and watchful as Constantine slumped.

One hand dove into a pocket for the carton of cigarettes, Bat Cave rules be damned. Not much fuckin’ point, but he wasn’t doing this sober, and his flask was too small.

For once the Bat didn’t comment as he flicked the lighter open, lit up, and took a long drag. Just focused that laser stare on Constantine’s face.

At least he’d grasped the gravity of the matter.

“What is here?” The Bat finally asked when it became clear Constantine wasn’t elaborating, sounding annoyed.

Constantine took another drag of his smoke. Some days nicotine just wasn’t enough.

“Start from the beginning, Bats. Tell me everything that led up to you lookin’ into Amity Park, and everything you found since,” he demanded, hoping there was still a point to asking.

“If this is time sensitive, Constantine, you need to tell me what is happening,” Batman growled, tensed like he wanted to leap out of his chair and loom like one of his fuckin’ gargoyles.

The bat sounded cranky. Fuck him.

Constantine fixed him with a level stare.

“Then you’d better get fuckin’ talking, hadn’t you? I need to know how fuckin’ bad it is before I know first steps.”

Batman hesitated a moment longer, then turned back to his computer.

“I can summon the League-”

“No time,” Constantine cut him off acerbically, shaking his head, “and might make shit worse. Just fuckin’… report. Gimme yer damn report.”

For all that the Bat loved paperwork, loved to bury them all in bureaucracy, he dithered another moment before nodding, pulling up…

Well lookie there, he already had a literal report typed up. Great.

Taking another long drag of his cigarette Constantine leaned back in the chair and scanned the document.

Hopefully this wouldn’t take long. Or the extra details he could already tell he’d need, that had prompted the dull and clinical report.

**

Jason had tensed as Danny did. First because of the sudden alertness he could feel in Danny’s aura, even reduced back down to conversational levels.

(And that had been fun. The more times he felt Danny’s aura wrapped around him, the longer he spent with his chest tight and Danny’s presence right down to his lungs…

He felt cold when it went away. Almost lonely, surrounded by people. Fucking ancients help him, he was getting used to it.)

Was that what it’d feel like if he felt that Danny was in danger? A rush of adrenaline?

It was a little weird being so in tune with someone, but not in a bad way. Danny didn’t seem upset, just suddenly on guard in a way that the whole table noticed.

On guard, and… amused. And then he spoke and Jason tensed again.

“So that’s John Constantine… huh.”

Danny could sense John Constantine. That was… Really not the strangest thing, but it didn’t mean Jason had to like it.

If Danny could sense Constantine, could Constantine sense Danny? Jason wasn’t sure if he should ask in public.

Tim had way less reservations.

“Wait, what do you mean? What just happened?” He asked, breaking away from Tucker for a moment. But at least Tucker also looked confused.

Danny shook his head, chuckling softly and finishing up his food.

“Oh, sorry. It’s Sad Trenchcoat Guy,” he added for Sam and Tucker’s benefit, both of whom relaxed like that actually meant something.

Sam was back in her original clothes now, although Jason hadn’t given her the thermos back yet. Once her parents arrived, maybe.

Jason stifled a snicker, along with most of the Gothamites. It was a pretty accurate description of Constantine.

“Still in the dark over here,” Duke put in, a slight frown on his face.

Danny shrugged again and grinned at him.

“It’s kinda a ghost thing. I can sense other ghosts, or certain kinds of magic users. Constantine came to Amity Park not that long after I died,” he explained casually.

Tim and Dick shared meaningful looks behind Tucker’s head, and Jason stifled another chuckle. They thought they were so discrete.

Dick leaned in again, arms folded on the table as he gave Danny his best innocent interest.

“Oh? That’s kinda weird, do you know why?” He asked casually. Not questioning where Danny thought John was now.

He wanted to try and lead them away from the topic, probably. Too bad for him, if he’d asked he might have gotten some idea of how far Danny’s power stretched.

He’d explained to Jason about his aura covering most of the city, although he hadn’t claimed it as his haunt. But if Dickie didn’t want to know, Jason wouldn’t tell.

Sam fielded the question, rolling her eyes and folding her arms.

“We thought he might have come to help, since that was around when the ghost attacks started. He didn’t though,” she added bitterly, and Danny kicked her under the table.

“We don’t actually know why he came,” he explained, giving Dick a half smile, “he never talked to us. He did talk to some of the other ghosts though.”

“Wait, you can just do that?” Steph asked, her brows furrowed. Whether she was playing civilian or actually wasn’t sure, Jason wouldn’t put a bet on.

The amount most of the bat clan knew about magic and ghosts used to be that Jason was a zombie.

Which, as it turned out, was wrong.

Danny gave her a blank look, then shrugged again.

“I mean, yeah? You literally can just go ask half the time, but he was doing some fancy stuff. Binding circles and demanding truth, that kinda shit,” he added, making a face.

“He wasn’t popular among the living either,” Tucker agreed with a snicker. “Lotta weird questions for people, and no answers. We figured he was one of those occult nuts.”

“That’d explain the binding circles and truth thing,” Duke agreed with a solemn nod, folding his own arms. Honestly, watching them all play civilian was kinda adorable.

Tucker hesitated a moment, then shrugged and nodded, conceding the point.

“I mean, you’ve got me there. But he never tried to get anywhere near the fights, and then one day he just vanished. We got a ton more weird tourists for a while, but he was the weirdest,” he finished with relish.

Sam snorted again, clearly still annoyed about the whole mess. Maybe she’d been the one who actually wanted help.

Danny hadn’t mentioned how he felt about it yet, and Jason hadn’t asked, but they’d all been abandoned. Fucking Jason wasn’t happy about it.

“He was the only one who actually knew what he was doing,” she huffed, scowling at the table. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “So if he’s in Gotham, I’m gonna call it a bad sign.”

Privately, Jason was tempted to agree with her. John Constantine was a danger magnet, and Jason was half tempted to go and have a word himself.

Word in the Bat Chat was that Constantine was why Danny had never gotten any backup before. Danny himself might not be looking to start a fight over it, but Jason had Opinions on teen heroes.

And the adults who should have been protecting them.

Not with Bruce around though. He’d have to wait and see if Constantine stayed in town.

It’d give him time to ask Danny about the suddenly constant undercurrent of suppressed laughter he could feel.

**

In the bat cave, Constantine squinted at the picture Batman had pulled up from the gala. Not exactly the best picture on earth, but it was clear enough to tell. Shaking his head, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, could be worse,” he decided, tossing aside his second cigarette butt. The report had been complete, he’d give old Bats that, and he’d even been allowed to smoke through it.

But a black gloved hand covered his when he reached for the pack again.

Fucker.

Constantine let it slide for now, raising both hands in surrender and then pointing at the screen.

“Looks like you’ve got the halfa. Not bad news, as it goes. He’s at least still half human, which is probably why your precious city’s still intact.”

He didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if another ghost tried to set up a haunt in Gotham. The old girl’s Curse would have something to say about it.

Batman didn’t look noticeably reassured though.

“Enough stalling, Constantine. What is this all about? What happened in Amity Park?” He demanded roughly, and Constantine was grudgingly impressed.

Seemed like that ol’ bat hyper focus was going to win out over even a threat to his own city. Or he hadn’t been fully listening.

No bet.

Constantine sighed again, gesturing to the screen.

“You got a ley line map somewhere on this thing?” He asked, mostly just to annoy the bat a little further. Not like he wasn’t gonna give him the answers.

Batman hesitated for a moment, then set to typing. Probably… yup, going into the JL Dark files. Zatanna kept a helpful reference folder for the mundanes.

Constantine didn’t think they needed any more help than they asked for, but she’d been right this time and he owed her a beer for it. A second later the map was on screen.

Constantine nodded again, pointing to the general area of Illinois.

“Pull up Amity Park on that map,” he instructed, wheeling his chair back out of reach to pull out a third cigarette.

Both got him an annoyed frown from old Batsy.

“What is this supposed to mean?” He asked in the old gravelly growl, the map already obediently zooming in.

Constantine lit his smoke and waved at the screen again.

“Y’know what ley lines are?” He asked back, watching the map scroll around.

Not one with a search function then. Batsy’d have to find it by hand. Sucks to be him.

It kept him from focusing much attention on John anyway, so that was a win.

“I know the places they meet are magical nexus points,” Batman admitted reluctantly, like he didn’t hoard information about everything on earth.

Constantine nodded, not willing to entertain his issues.

“Amity Park’s on a dozen of them,” he said bluntly, and watched the guy stiffen.

Zoom out a bit, find the flowering spot where damn near every ley line through that part of the world crossed. Zoomed back in to find Amity Park.

The bat scowled at the screen for a while, then at John, who’d put his feet up on the desk. Tough titties, they weren’t coming down.

“But what does that mean, Constantine,” he growled, and John sighed.

Cupped his hands in front of him, paused, and shook his head.

“Alright, I’m crap at metaphors so bear with me. You know about multiple dimensions?” He asked and the bat nodded impatiently.

Like he shouldn’t have asked. Like this fucker hadn’t just asked for the fuckin’ kindergartener explanation.

Whatever.

“Yes. There’s a different dimension on the other side of the ley lines?” He asked, and Constantine did his very best not to roll his eyes.

Well. Maybe not his very best.

But he didn’t do it as hard as he could have.

“No. There’s way too many other dimensions. But what the ley lines do is weaken a place in this dimension, especially where they cross. Amity Park is a fuckin’ sieve,” he said with finality, waiting for the Bat to catch up.

And sure enough, those frown lines etched themselves deep again. This guy was gonna make John Fuckin’ Constantine look like a fresh faced baby.

“So other dimensions can cross through?” He asked again, and John sighed.

Reductive fucker.

“No. Yes. Sort of. Because some stupid motherfucker in Amity Park didn’t just use the natural portals or holes; they punched a fuckin’ permanent portal to the Infinite Realms.”

Honestly using the natural portals would have been bad enough in his opinion. Reality was basically swiss cheese in Amity, and getting anything’s attention would be beyond dangerous.

He hadn’t even liked visiting.

Batman looked more stoic, which John assumed meant he wasn’t keeping up. Scrubbing his free hand through his hair, he blew out a stream of smoke and frowned.

“So you get natural portals between our dimension other dimensions. It’s how all that “evil other self” crap keeps happening. With me?” He asked dryly.

The bat nodded without speaking, which was as close to an admission of confusion as Constantine figured he’d get.

Whatever.

“You get more portals on ley lines, and more again where two cross. About a dozen cross in Amity Park, so they get lots of natural portals. Yes?”

The bat nodded again, face pinching up like he resented John’s tone. Double tough, he’d had every chance to read Zatanna’s primers.

If John was doing Ley Lines For Dummies the dummies could keep their attitudes to themselves.

“Natural portals, they open and close on their own. Rest of the world, they don’t usually stay open for long. They need power to stop the world from… mending the hole.”

Which was the worst fucking explanation of all time and not remotely what happened, but who fucking cared. Batty wanted to weigh in again.

“So natural portals also stay open longer around Amity Park,” he growled, trying to get to the next step of the explanation.

Which, actually, John hadn’t really thought about. Pursing his lips, he let his gaze drift to the smoke swirling around the ceiling.

There were actual fucking bats up there.

Of course there were.

Dramatic bastard.

Forcing his attention back to the bastard in question, he waved a hand to dispel the last stream of smoke.

“Doesn’t matter what natural portals do. Some asshole went to the spot in reality most likely to break on its own, and decided to punch a hole. A permanent hole, into the Infinite Realms.”

Batman took a deep, even breath in, like he was trying to hold onto his temper. Yeah, well, he’d walked face first into Amity Fuckin’ Park, now he had to join John in Hell.

“What are the Infinite Realms?” He asked, sounding as patient as ever. Brownie points for trying, John wasn’t going to.

“It’s where the unclaimed dead go. Souls not ready to move on, souls that were never born, and, much worse, it occasionally pops out personifications of forces or belief,” he ground out the last words, teeth gritting in spite of himself.

The bat stilled for a long moment, drawing in another slow, steady breath. Probably counting to ten.

“What.” It wasn’t even a question really, a flat statement of dissatisfaction.

It meant not talking about Amity Park for a bit longer though, so Constantine leaned in.

“God shit. Concepts like Time, Hope, Growth. Anything that someone, somewhere, truly believes in. Well, not just anyone,” he corrected, and Did Not enjoy the way Batman’s jaw clenched.

Not even a bit.

“It takes a lot of juice, makin’ a whole entity. But the Infinite Realms are the core of all the dimensions, the intersection they all go through, and that’s where the belief settles. The more people who believe, the more clearly they believe it, and eventually you get enough to form a personality.”

He gave the bat a little time to digest that one. To really let it sink in what a fuckin’ problem the Infinite Realms could be.

And then a thought occurred to him.

“Your city’s got one, y’know?” He mentioned almost as an afterthought, and Batty Did Not like that.

His head snapped up, white outs narrowing to slits as he glared.

“What?!” He demanded sharply and Constantine waved a hand.

“Gotham. Dunno if it’s all the shit you lot go through, or the stubborn arseholes that live ‘ere, but Gotham has a city spirit.”

No need to mention the curse yet. Batsy was already having a day.

That’d be for the next time he ticked Constantine off.

This time, just that revelation seemed to have been enough to stun the bat. Constantine left him to sit in this one until he was ready though.

Processing.

He wasn’t completely heartless.

He was a little grudgingly impressed by how quickly Batman put it aside and refocused on the matter in hand.

“And that’s why the Infinite Realms are dangerous? These powerful personifications?” He asked cautiously, like he expected John to say no again.

Smart man.

Constantine gave him a dry smile.

“If fuckin’ only. There’s spirits in there, Ancients, and every one of ‘em could give Darkseid a run for his money. But even the ghosts of the Realms are a fuckin’ dangerous lot. You know Deadman?”

The bat nodded to indicate that he did, brows furrowing.

“He can’t be seen or heard without magical assistance,” he agreed, that same caution present.

At least he was a quick learner. Constantine nodded in satisfaction.

“He’s a ghost made by magic. Ghosts from the Realms don’t have anything like the same limitations. They can’t be seen or touched unless they want to, and they can damn well affect the world around ‘em.”

John shuddered, remembering some of the attacks he’d seen. Nothing stronger than a baseline demon, but the damage you could do when no one else could touch you, or stop you…

And he shook his head, locking the damage back down.

“And worse, they’re fuckin’ unpredictable. Demons, they’re easy. They all want the same shit. Realms ghosts? If one of ‘em decides fuckin’ cheese is their obsession, that’s it. They’ll drown a city in cheddar.”

The bat was staring at him again, back on that stoic “I have no idea what’s happening so I’ll look big and scary til it all makes sense again” bullshit.

Constantine sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look. I ain’t even told ya the worst of it yet. How about we jus’ take it as read that the Infinite Realms are bad fuckin’ news, okay?” He asked as patiently as he could.

There was that little twitch, that little scrunch again. Not a happy Batty.

And he wasn’t gonna get happier while he made John teach him Magic For Dummies either.

But he nodded, folding his arms reluctantly.

“Then why did you leave the people of Amity Park to face them alone?” He asked bluntly, and… well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

Constantine stared blankly at him.

“You want Superman gettin’ body hopped by a ghostie craving all the cheddar in the mid west?” He asked in turn, and there it was.

The little indrawn breath. The fuckin’ scale of the problem.

Fuckin’ FINALLY.

“Look, Amity Park has a hero. Had. The halfa.” He waved vaguely at the screen again, the picture of Bruce’s mystery kid now buried several windows deep.

Didn’t matter.

“He’s got all the powers the ghosts do, an’ can’t be possessed. Last thing the poor little fuck needed was to face an overshadowed super.”

And yeah, the Bat still didn’t look happy (more to the better, that’d be a terrifying sight all on its own), but at least he had a reason for resting bitch face now.

Constantine sighed, waving a hand vaguely and tossing the latest butt down.

“Look, I can’t stop ya from pokin’ around. Not for lack of trying, mind. The Realms are a dangerous place, an’ Amity Park’s practically on the other side already. I dunno why the kid left, I don’t care. You though, Bats? You’re gonna do me a proper fuckin’ oath.”

He levelled his best serious stare, useless as usual against the damn white outs. It’d kill the asswipe to look human.

Batman shifted again, clearly feeling the weight of the last word.

Good.

“An oath?” He asked warily, and Constantine nodded, holding out his hand.

“On yer name, on yer blood, on yer tie to this fuckin’ city. No matter what you do lookin’ at the Infinite fuckin’ Realms. You do not. Fuck. With the Ghost King.”

The bat stared down at his hand like there was something wrong with it. John assumed anyway. The pissy face could be for anything.

And then he asked the question, because of fuckin’ course he did.

“What is the Ghost King?”

John sighed heavily, leaving his hand where it was, waiting for the oath.

“The prettiest fuckin’ princess of them all, what d’you fuckin’ think. The Ghost King rules the Infinite Realms, and by all accounts the last one was a bloody tyrant. Good news is he probably never noticed Amity Park yet, cuz America isn’t a smoking crater.”

Honestly, maybe he’d add a chapter to Zatanna’s document. Stamp it all across any reference anyone tried to make to Amity Fuckin’ Park so he never had to do this again.

He caught the Bat’s gaze again, weighting his words with enough power that every sound in the cave died around them.

“It took all the damn Ancients to seal Pariah Dark once. And someone’s beaten him, and taken his throne. I don’t fuckin’ know who, I don’t ask, but if they’re tough enough to beat Pariah, they are beyond what the League can do. Your only chance is to stay the fuck outta their way. Swear it.”

Batman stared at him for a long moment, and then down at the outstretched hand. Reached out and clasped it in his own.

“I swear. I will not knowingly upset the Ghost King.”

John gripped tighter, realized almost immediately that it was pointless against the reinforced gloves, and did it anyway.

“None of that, Batty. No bullshit. You do not fuck with the Ghost King. You hear the faintest goddamn whisper of their name, you turn tail and fuckin’ run. We will not survive their attention.”

He stared the stupid white outs down, as long as it took, and didn’t let go. Batman stared at him for a while, clearly absorbing the gravity of his words.

Constantine couldn’t remember asking a member of the League to swear to anything before. Usually he was the buyer in deals, not the keeper.

Woulda been nice to remain so, but nothing stopped the fuckin’ bat from sticking his nose in, so here was John Constantine, last condom of the universe.

Last desperate scrap of protection against a fuckin’ dick.

Finally the bat nodded, grip tightening in return.

“I swear. I will not engage with the Ghost King.”

**

Harley had gotten back just before Sam had to leave, with perfect timing to see her to the door actually.

The look on Pamela Manson’s face when Harley kissed Sam on each cheek and waved her off would keep Danny warm on cold nights.

A quick check of flight times back to Massachusetts (like Danny wasn’t going to take shortcuts) confirmed that Tucker could have one more night in Gotham.

Tim immediately offered to put him up in Wayne Manor again, clearly not allowing the chance to slip by him two nights in a row. Tucker was only too happy to accept, although Steph and Cass begged off.

Probably for their hero patrols. Danny wasn’t exactly sure how many vigilantes Gotham had, there seemed to be a new one every few months, but having eight of them at the gala last night probably meant all the rest had been out.

Obviously Red Robin wouldn’t be out tonight either, but there were enough of them to cover for each other.

Danny was kinda jealous of that. It had been just him for so long, and then him and Valerie, which hadn’t been better until she stopped hunting him too. He’d have loved a night off.

Still, their numbers meant that Jason probably wouldn’t need to go back to the night life unless he actually wanted to. He was definitely still built for it, but Danny couldn’t imagine anyone wanted to ask him to.

Most of the bats had clearly had their own run ins with death, but Jason’s had stuck in ways even Danny knew he didn’t quite get.

Jason had been so tense at just the thought of Danny being a teen hero. It wasn’t like that’d get easier when it was his little siblings swinging from rooftops.

Danny’s hero career might have started with his own death, but he personally was of the opinion that that’d be a perfectly fine reason to end one too.

So Dick, Steph, and Cass headed out not too long after Sam, and Danny wasn’t exactly surprised when Jason’s background angst jumped.

He’d stayed on edge since Danny and Bruce got back, even when Harley told them Bruce was off dealing with his own shit and probably wouldn’t be out of his room all night.

Danny’d bet fifty bucks that the arrival of Constantine actually meant Bruce was in the bat cave being suspicious, but he wasn’t gonna say it.

Tim had shown them to a games room, for all that he’d apparently also moved out. He still knew where everything was, and soon had them hooked up for Mariokart on the biggest TV Danny ever saw.

They’d played a couple rounds (Harley was expectedly devastating with red shells) and while Danny and Tucker were having fun, he could feel Jason stressing.

Like, even if he stuck his fingers in his ears and ignored the aura. The guy was tensed so tight his shoulders strained at his shirt, which woulda been visually interesting if Danny didn’t know why.

Cass was one near death experience from slipping back across the boundary for good.

Cass was off punching criminals with rocket launchers in body armour and spandex.

Duke was probably actually in bed, Signal did morning patrols, and Damian was obstinately refusing to play video games with them perched on the back of the couch, but still.

Dick and Steph had both given one life to the cause too, and for all Dick was a cop and in danger on his day job too, cops pretty famously showed up after the vigilantes ended the party.

More than half Jason’s immediate family were back in the line of fire and Danny could practically taste Jason’s Obsession eating away at him.

As much as he tried to pretend he was playing along and gave a shit about winning, the controller creaked in his hands more than a couple casual races should allow.

So, yeah, if he couldn’t get Jason to crack a smile with this one, he was gonna gently bow them both the fuck outta the manor.

He kept half an eye on Tim, who had a glass of water.

“Hey, you guys heard the theory about Batman?” He asked casually, just as another round of Mariokart started.

Jason kicked him in the ankle but otherwise ignored him, which was fair. He’d been exposed to Danny’s bullshit.

Tim stiffened and then forced himself to relax, Tucker rolled his eyes and jostled Danny from his other side, but it was Harley who answered.

Innocent as the day she was born.

“Oh? What? Is it that he’s a lizardman? Cuz I got right up on that cowl and he’s definitely a mammal,” she said casually, not even looking away from the screen.

Danny was pretty sure he heard Damian almost slip off his perch.

He was a little bit in love with Harley Quinn. He should get her number for Jazz, maybe his big sister would learn to have a little fun.

Grinning broad and only half fake, he drifted a turn to pick up a double item from under Tucker’s nose.

“Shit, yeah, you might actually know! It’s his secret identity!” He exclaimed cheerfully, and felt the tension in the room ratchet up.

From Tim and Damian. Jason… still wasn’t paying attention.

Not like he was deeply immersed in the game, for all he kept up he was nowhere near the speed demon that handed Danny his ass the night before.

Hmm. Better get his attention.

Tim and Damian had already settled again, probably remembering he was already In The Know even if Tucker wasn’t, and Harley had given him a very knowing look right before she fire flowered him.

Almost ready.

He waited until Tim had taken a hasty sip of water on a calm stretch, nudged Jason in the shins, and made sure he was louder than the music.

“So d’you think it’s possible that Markiplier’s Batman?”

Tim sprayed water across the couch, Harley fucking cackled, and Jason snapped his head around to stare at Danny so hard he cricked his neck.

Danny red shelled him for good measure, just so he wasn’t missing anything on screen.

Tucker rolled his eyes, also deeply used to Danny’s bullshit and much more interested in gaming revenge.

“Fuck off Danny, Markiplier isn’t even a Gothamite,” he said disdainfully and Danny shook his head, grinning.

“That’s why it’s the perfect cover. I mean, Batman wants to keep his secret identity a secret, right? So having an identity that very publicly “isn’t in Gotham” makes perfect sense!” He argued cheerfully.

Jason half snorted a laugh beside him, picking back up and speeding his way back into the race. Across the couch Tim wiped his face, still catching his breath.

“I fucking hate that that made sense,” he moaned, and Harley cackled again.

“Nah, he’s got a point! How does anyone know where a youtuber lives? We only see one room!” She agreed cheerfully, clearly leaning in.

It was so nice to have a true showwoman in the crowd.

Damian looked angry in the confused way now, and Danny would hazard a guess he didn’t watch youtube at all, let alone a lets player. That might have made it funnier, had there been no other concerns.

Beside him Jason huffed out another dry chuckle, shaking his head with the barest hint of a smile.

“I can’t believe Batman has an OnlyFans,” he said in a solemn, almost sorrowful voice… and dropped a blue shell.

Tim groaned like his soul had gone with it, clinging desperately to his first place lead. Harley cackled and added her own green shells to the mix, dropping all three as they came to the home stretch.

“Don’t forget the calendar of tasteful nudes! All for charity, just what Batsy would like,” she crowed with evident glee, and Tucker snorted a laugh.

“It’d explain all the surgeries,” he agreed reluctantly, and Danny had a sudden, utterly wicked idea.

“Hey… now that Batman’s on OnlyFans, d’you think he’ll convince the whole Justice League to do a pinup calendar, or just the other bats?” He asked innocently, watching said bats from the corner of his eye.

Well, Robins technically, but since only Tim was of age birds didn’t seem appropriate.

Tim himself threw his controller to the ground, abandoning the game and throwing himself over the back of the couch and almost hitting Damian on the way.

Damian definitely hissed at him like a startled cat.

No way Danny imagined that this close to the finish.

Tucker hesitated for a long moment, clearly considering his odds of winning, but when Harley blasted past Tim’s spun out corpse and across the finish line he abandoned his controller too to check on Tim.

Harley was surprisingly good at the game when flopped sideways on her chosen couch, laughing too hard to breathe. Danny breezed into an easy third behind her and Jason, giving the other man an assessing look.

A little wary of reaching out with his aura, especially when Jason was on edge. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Didn’t want to be too invasive, if he was honest. Danny had… kinda always been the one who was new to aura stuff before. And he’d gotten used to it, in the Ghost Zone.

He’d never spent this much time with another halfa before. Especially not without a single trace of punching or stabbing.

Except in Mariokart, where the Geneva Convention held no sway.

Jason had clearly noticed him looking though, and read the concern even without Danny pushing. He gave Danny’s shoulder a gentle bump, a nudge of fine-stop worrying alongside.

Danny nudged back, his own disbelief tinged with understanding-empathy-worried too.

But, that was kinda the other thing… the thing he didn’t really want to bring up around the other bats just yet.

And while Jason had smiled, Danny didn’t think he’d mind them dipping out.

Faking a yawn, he stretched, cracked his back, and looked over to where Tim had rejoined the couch.

“Honestly, I’m beat. I gotta try and get back into a better sleep schedule before classes start,” he said, pulling a face at the self-reminder.

Their break was coming to its end, and then he’d be back into university. His class schedule was flexible, more afternoons than early mornings, but he’d… miss this.

Free time to just spend the whole day hanging out with friends and catching up. Meeting Jason’s family, Jason meeting his.

Danny didn’t actually know what Jason did, whether he was working or going back to school, but it was gonna come up soon.

They had a trip to Frostbite to plan, some ecto shots from Danny’s fridge, and at some point he still had to introduce Jason to Frighty… and probably ask the guy if he wanted to be called that still.

It’d be a little weird to start calling him Halloween or whatever, but frankly him obeying Danny’s orders and calling him “my liege” was way fucking weirder so it’d be fine.

And about four more days before half of Danny’s time would be eaten by lectures, study halls, and projects. Fuck, maybe Jason would give him a hand with those too.

So long as he wasn’t sick of Danny by then.

Another quick glance showed that Jason’s face had reset into that tense almost-scowl again, staring past the TV.

At the other end of the couch, Tim gave a disgruntled huff.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that next time,” he grumbled, shifting to Tucker with an adorable moment of sudden concern. “Do you need me to show you to a room too, or…”

Tucker shook his head with a snicker, giving Danny a side eye.

“Nah, unlike that weakling I got used to the vigilante sleep schedule back in high school. I’m good for a couple more hours at least,” he bragged.

Danny flipped him off, hauling himself to his feet and giving Jason a nudge.

“Yeah, well, this weakling fought a croc last night and needs his sleep. Mind giving me a ride back?” He asked when Jason looked up at him.

Gently offered a touch of easy out-reassurance-trust me.

The deep furrows in Jason’s brows twitched until he caught on and his expression cleared. He nodded quickly and pulled himself to his feet.

“Yeah, we can take my bike.” Then he hesitated and looked a little uncertain. “You never told me where you live.”

It took Danny a moment to realise that… no, he really hadn’t, because that just plain didn’t feel right. But no, he’d met Jason again in that coffee shop, then come to the gala with Sam.

Hadn’t gone home last night, just stopped at one of Jason’s apparently multiple places; at least he was doing better than Danny had thought from the first apartment.

He found himself chuckling at the thought, shaking his head.

“Oh yeah, we’ve only been to your place… I’m at the south dorm at Gotham U, I can give you directions as we get closer,” he offered and Jason nodded.

He felt… weird? Like he was surprised Danny had told him where he lived, and ashamed of being surprised.

Danny decided not to dig into it, offering Jason his arm and bowing like all those Shakespeare plays he knew Jason loved.

“Shall we?”

Jason’s moment of surprise was quickly swallowed by delight and he bowed back, then tucked his hand into Danny’s elbow. Almost definitely knew etiquette better than Danny did, so Danny wasn’t gonna doubt him.

“We shall. I’ll drop you off and head home,” he agreed, then paused and glanced back at Harley.

Whose giggling had completely ended and was now watching them like her favourite sitcom. Chin in hands and all.

“Did you wanna meet up here tomorrow, or…” Jason trailed off, obviously also a little put off by her intensity.

She perked up when addressed, giving him a cheery grin and a double thumbs up.

“Here or th’ station, I don’t mind! Hey, did ya wanna come too, Danny boy?” She asked sweetly, head cocked to the side and just waaaay too innocent.

Not that Danny could work out what she was up to.

“Uh… to do what?” He asked carefully, head cocking to match hers before he noticed and straightened up.

Her grin widened, so she noticed.

“Oh, Jason an’ I are gonna go check on my buddy Waylon, see if we can’t work out what he was doin’ at the gala. If youse threw down he might like ta see ya there?”

Which honestly left Danny at a loss, until Tim explained.

“Killer Croc. His actual name’s Waylon Jones, and he was Harley’s tenant in Coney Island before coming back to Gotham,” he said casually, and Danny stilled.

There was an intensity in the room that hadn’t been there before, a sudden wave that sent a chill down his spine. Something from Harley, suddenly predator sharp in a way he hadn’t felt since Skulker had been a serious threat.

For the life of him though, he couldn’t put his finger on what though, since she didn’t move. Just grinned like she had been all along.

“People called him Killer Croc cuz of his skin condition. He gave up tryin’ ta change their minds,” she said with a light shrug, completely belied by the intensity of her stare.

Danny couldn’t look away until she released him, something satisfied in the quirk of her lip. Like she could see the sudden well of memory in his chest.

He’d never actually given in to all the things his parents had called Phantom. They’d been ashamed of all of them when the truth came out, and he’d only had to put up with them for a few years.

He tried to imagine decades of it, being called a monster for things he couldn’t control. For nothing more than a weird scaly skin condition.

He couldn’t imagine going full bomb vest over it, but Danny was man enough to admit he might just be a little touchy because of Jason’s death.

Which Waylon might not even know about.

Suddenly he actually did want to know why they’d attacked the gala.

Until now it had just been inevitable, someone was going to so why not them, but… well. He’d felt it under the whole plan, every stupid step.

Jason had trusted Waylon, not Danny, to keep things from getting out of hand. To know that a tussle was part of the fun.

Danny hadn’t planned on asking, but. Yeah.

“I’d like that,” he agreed quickly, nodding, at about the same time as Tucker found his own voice.

“Wait, that’s a skin condition? He’s just like that?” The techie asked sharply, staring around at Tim and Damian to confirm.

And got a disdainful look from Damian back.

“Tt, what else would it be? Do you know many scaled people?” He asked archly.

Danny’s mind snapped directly to Dora and her asshole brother. Knew Tucker’s had gone to the same place a second later.

“More than you’d think,” he and Tucker said in unison, and they shared a grin. If there was one benefit to their fucked up ghost hunting years, it was shutting down smart ass remarks.

Damian only looked more annoyed at being corrected, and Tucker shrugged.

“I thought he mighta been a scientist and tried to fuse himself with a lizard or something, like in Spider-Man,” he elaborated, and Danny kinda hated how much their lives resembled superhero movies.

Not that he’d say that in a room full of bats.

Damian’s brows drew down even further and he sneered, displeasure evident, but Jason cut him off before he could speak.

“Before you make a comment about mad scientists I’m gonna remind you we live in a city with Viktor Fries,” he said dryly and Damian’s mouth snapped shut.

Big brother privileges.

Wouldn’t it be nice if Ellie had given Danny those?

Tucker gave Danny a confused look, and Danny just shrugged back. He didn’t pay much attention to Gotham’s various rogues; he didn’t want to tempt his Obsession.

Tim chimed in again, without actually looking at Tucker which was kinda impressive. Guess they were just very obviously new to Gotham.

“Dr Freeze. He uses a lot of liquid nitrogen and freeze rays, he’s usually after money or diamonds to try and cure his wife,” he explained with a slight shrug.

Tucker made a confused noise.

“So… couldn’t Bruce just pay him off and keep him from bothering the city?” He asked carefully, glancing around the room.

Jason actually snorted a laugh at that, shaking his head.

“If he could, he would have. What Fries wants isn’t possible yet.”

Not possible for humans. Part of Danny perked up, wondering if Frostbite might have the answers… but no. It wasn’t his job to solve every problem in the world.

Bringing healthy humans to the Zone was iffy. An already sick woman… well, she might get hastened along her journey to the afterlife.

And this was a conversation he really wanted to keep away from, honestly. Gotham’s rogues weren’t his problem. Couldn’t be his problem.

Danny fought ghosts, unkillable entities who enjoyed missile attacks as sport. He wasn’t interested in learning how squishy human rogues were; it had been bad enough with his friends in the line of fire.

Mega pass on being the firing squad.

He almost reconsidered the trip tomorrow, but… he trusted Jason. Trusted Jason knew where he was coming from, and that neither of them wanted to trip Danny’s Obsession.

So he gave the big guy a smile and an elbow nudge, nodding for the door.

“Not that rogue chat isn’t fascinating, but you were taking me to bed?” He asked hopefully, and only realised what he’d said when Harley stuffed half her fist in her mouth to laugh.

And now, now Danny had a choice. He could feel the heat threatening to build, and blushing? Blushing would make things much worse.

Jason’s cheeks had pinked and that was adorable and Danny would ectoblast anyone who gave him shit for it, but if DANNY blushed, Tucker would never let it go.

No, the better answer had to be to play it off, and what did you do to counter red in makeup? You added green.

Not that Danny had used ectoplasm as a fucking colour corrector before, but he might as well try. So he let his grin go saucy, eyebrows waggling, and tried a teeny bit of spectral ice to cool his cheeks.

It made Jason chuckle again, so he’d take it as a win, and Jason gave him another bow, hand still tucked in Danny’s arm.

“Your chariot awaits.”

Tim and Tucker mimed puking almost simultaneously. They were perfect for each other. And had no taste, so that worked out well for them.

Danny ignored them all and gave the room a last wave, heading for the door and tugging Jason along with.

“Night all, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow Harley, and Tucker just text me when you’re up and we’ll see about getting you home,” he called brightly, definitely not about to stop no matter what anyone said.

Not even when Harley hauled herself vertical and call after them,

“Oh, Danny! If the bat calendars do come out, shall I grab you a Red Hood one?” She asked saucily and Danny felt Jason’s grip spasm in his elbow.

Which. He was gonna try putting together later, but tonight he really did wanna get out of there before long.

Who even was Red Hood?

Danny’d never seen him and he hadn’t turned up at the gala, so he didn’t have a guess ready, just like Batwoman.

A couple of people in one of Danny’s classes simped constantly over his thighs, but Danny now figured it was because they hadn’t met Jason.

It was probably easiest to agree, so he gave her a thumbs up over his shoulder.

“Autographed please!”

**

The headache that had lessened as he talked to Harley was back in full swing, along with a throbbing pulse in his temples and roiling nausea in his gut.

Constantine’s damn cigarettes weren’t helping, but Bruce just didn’t feel up to wrestling them away from him.

He’d expected… well. He hadn’t expected Constantine to come through full of fire and indignation, accusing Bruce of making the fucking mess.

His bad feeling had intensified too, not in the slightest relaxed that Constantine could feel that scrungly fucking kid all the way up in the manor.

No matter what Constantine said about the “halfa”, that could not bode well. Not with the look he’d seen on the man’s fucking face.

Steph called him an occult OSHA violation in a trench coat. Anything that scared him worried Bruce.

He could put up with some smoke and some pain to get the information he needed with a minimum of fuss.

He was beginning to wish he’d gotten some sleep though. Or could have someone get him a drink of water.

He’d shown Constantine the missed call logs from Amity Park, and the magician swore in ways that made Bruce see flashes of colour.

(That might have been the concussion talking, but Bruce could remember the almost buzzing swearwords he’d heard from Sam Manson and wasn’t sure. Nothing could be trusted.)

Not at the volume of the logs, that hadn’t surprised him. No, Constantine had gotten serious when Bruce shared the logs Tim had first shown him.

‘Earth is gone. The sky is green and Earth is gone.’

“Alright, that? That’s very fuckin’ bad,” the magician grumbled, reaching into his pocket for a flask for the first time since he’d arrived.

At least it wasn’t another goddamn cigarette. Little fucking meow meow magician.

(Bruce wasn’t quite sure what that one meant, but Steph usually said it with enough derision it had to apply.)

“So I assumed,” he gritted out, jaw clenching against another pang of pain.

Constantine levelled him with a blank stare. Bruce made a conscious effort to relax his face. The tensing wasn’t helping anyway.

“No, Batman. I mean really, really not fuckin’ good. They never called again?” He asked, and the sudden gravity in his voice sunk through layers of ache and irritation.

He sounded as serious as he’d been about the oath. That definitely wasn’t good.

Bruce shook his head, scrolling demonstratively to the end of the file.

“Not after this cluster of messages, all within the same day.”

Tim had all sorts of explanations for that. Bruce fervently hoped he was right and it was just pique on the part of Amity Park; he’d take them being angry with the League over anything else.

Especially anything that made John Constantine look that serious.

“An’ the town’s still there?” He asked, like that was a reasonable question.

Except… Bruce suddenly wasn’t sure. There were alumni from Amity Park, people who’d moved away, but the sheer lack of online information about the town itself…

They hadn’t even been able to get a clear satellite image.

He should have noticed that. He should have checked that. If he hadn’t been so twisted up in his worries about Jason…

But no, that wasn’t fair.

Bruce closed his eyes a moment, calming himself down. Breathing through the sluggish throb at his temples.

None of their Amity Parkers talked about the town like it was missing, or anything out of the ordinary. His children would have flagged it.

This wasn’t an oversight, but Constantine may know something that none of his family could have assumed.

He just had to get this finished. This briefing with Constantine, his report to the League, Jason… no. Sleep first, some pain killers, a more thorough scan.

Maybe a day of recovery, as soon as he could afford one. Wait until his head cleared.

Harley was right, Jason deserved the best Bruce could give him, and trying to talk to his son now would not go well. Bruce was only barely tolerating Constantine’s presence.

For all the man was alarmingly combative about this subject, he was a pussycat compared to Jason in a mood. Jason knew far more about what would hurt Bruce most.

Jason had always been what hurt Bruce most, ever since he’d held his lifeless body. Jason, and even the thought of one of his other children following him where Bruce couldn’t go.

No. He just had to get through this.

Refocusing on John-Bloody… no, that wasn’t helping either. On Constantine.

“From what we’ve gathered from people who have left Amity Park since, they still have access to the outside world.” He wasn’t quite sure what else he could commit to now.

It didn’t seem to satisfy. It didn’t satisfy Bruce either.

“Okay, but ya remember what I said about the fabric of reality bein’ swiss fuckin’ cheese around this city?” Constantine asked, his usual drawl starkly absent.

Bruce found himself tensing again. Wishing this was something he could fight.

“Yes. We haven’t been able to receive any satellite imagery of the town, nor any footage or communication online from within.”

He could pull up all the data, all the social media, but he knew Constantine wouldn’t care. It wasn’t what he’d asked for.

And sure enough, Constantine hauled himself back to his feet, striding towards the zeta tubes.

“Right. Well, guess we’re takin’ a field trip to th’ Watchtower, B-man, because you’re really not gonna like what I’d have to do to this lovely cave to get the intel I need. We’ll need every sensor you lot have, because that?”

Constantine half turned on his walk, finger jabbing at that last message. Barely even glancing in Bruce’s direction.

It felt like an accusation.

“That’s not fuckin’ good. That sounds like the Infinite Fucking Realms,” he declared darkly, trench coat billowing around him as he stalked across the cave.

Bruce almost flinched. Like he had no control over his expressions.

He needed sleep.

He needed answers. Needed to know what had happened, and what had to happen to fix it.

Needed to know they hadn’t let a half dead child take on an entire alternate dimension alone, because no matter how little he trusted the man Danny was, the thought of the child still ached.

Needed to know if that suspicion was actually justified by anything but his own inability to accept Jason’s clear. To have an unknown factor in Jason’s life.

Constantine’s reaction was one point in Bruce’s favour.

Whatever they found about the current state of Amity Park… would tell the rest.

He forced himself out of his seat to follow Constantine, hand straying to the pocket on his belt that held his emergency stimulants.

Alfred wouldn’t be pleased, the tiny pills carried an adrenaline boost that was wearing even at full health, but he needed to be sharp. Just for a few more hours.

He could pass what they learned off to Clark and Diana, and to his children when he returned. Just for a little while. A few hours.

Amity Park had gone unnoticed for years, as little as Bruce liked that fact. He could only hope that whatever threat it presented would lie dormant just a little longer.

**

Fuck the no killing rule, Jason was gonna murder Harley Quinn. And by that, yeah, he probably actually meant “seek vengeance in some small but annoying way”, but still.

He didn’t actually have a crush on Danny. It was a bit they were putting on to fuck with his nosey brothers, and it was probably a good sign that they’d apparently fooled Harley too.

But Harley was a hopeless romantic and prone to see romance where none existed, so maybe it wasn’t that good.

More importantly, Danny didn’t fucking know he was Red Hood yet. He’d have to text Harley tonight and drill that in, since she’d definitely picked up that Danny was in on the secret.

And since apparently they were all gonna be hanging out tomorrow.

He kinda wished he hadn’t brought it up. That Harley hadn’t asked.

He’d monopolised so much of Danny’s time already over the break, three full days and they still had to make that run back to Frostbite.

Danny must have had some other plans. Something he actually wanted to do with his time instead of just following Jason around.

The gala had been fun though. And so had today, it just… Jason couldn’t help feeling he was being too needy. Too clingy, with a guy he’d known for all of a week, if you were generous.

Being around Danny made him feel like himself for the first time in fucking years, and he knew what he’d have given up for that.

He didn’t want to be too much. Too pushy. Didn’t want Danny to get sick of hanging out with him so soon, and leave him right back where he’d been; bitter, angry, and alone.

At least Danny didn’t seem to be thinking too much about Harley’s parting shot. There was definitely something on his mind, but they hadn’t actually unlinked arms.

Jason could feel his aura.

Concern-worry-worry.

Shit, they hadn’t fucking unlinked arms. Should they? Should Jason have? For fucks sake he was literally clinging to the guy, this was fucking ridiculous, he should just.

But Danny hadn’t pulled away.

It’d be weird to pull away now.

Jason managed to keep himself distracted in that little spiral all the way to the garage he’d parked his bike in. Danny waited until they left the manor’s grounds to speak again though, arms tightening around Jason’s chest.

“Pull over a sec?” He called above the wind, and Jason very firmly did not let that pitch him further. He pulled over, still firmly in the heights and far from any living souls.

Unless theirs counted. Probably not.

He dropped the kickstand and pulled off his helmet, hoping Danny just wanted to talk. Maybe ask him to make his excuses to Harley.

Ask Jason to drop him at the university and not follow him home. That’d make sense. He didn’t need a wayward puppy.

He didn’t actually get off the bike. Didn’t want to give up Danny’s arms wrapped around him, even if it was just for expedience.

And maybe realised that wasn’t a great idea when Danny rested his cheek on Jason’s back and a warm wave of relax-safe-reassurance threatened to swallow him.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” Danny admitted softly, and Jason damn near bolted. Barely heard the next words, which…

Well.

He knew Danny tended to overlook things. But it turned out he could be pretty damn perceptive too.

“She’s gonna be okay, you know. Cass. I can feel her anywhere in the city if I try, and I’ll know if something happens to her.”

And just like that, the pit dropped out of Jason’s stomach.

He’d been trying not to think about it. Pretended he didn’t know what she’d be doing when she left, out in the city, one fucking accident from being like him.

Even worrying about Danny getting sick of him was better than that.

She might not even need the pit to bring her back this time. Gotham had a fuck ton of native ectoplasm even for a city; it couldn’t not.

Ectoplasm was made of and attracted to raw emotional energy. For all that people died every day in the city, more were born or moved in to join their ranks.

Gotham would be a metaphorical ghost town if they hadn’t, instead of the literal version slowly creeping across the city’s vigilantes.

From the rogues’ overdramatic schemes to the peoples’ undercurrent of rage and defiant joy, Gotham seethed with emotion. Most of the dead didn’t stay to use the ecto up, and every rogue attack brought a fresh wave.

Not clean ectoplasm like the realms, but tainted with their individual torments, the fierce glee, the desire to burn, it all churned into an ambient ectoplasm Danny swore he’d never seen in another city.

And that defiant spirit, the Gotham je ne sais quoi that made people put up with all the rogue attacks and dangers, was powerful too. Jason had known that even as a kid.

Now, it was literally the reason he was alive.

He might have a second core filling his system with pit water, but they’d both have dried up without the boundless “fuck off” energy Gotham was built on.

He’d felt it the second he returned. He was alive in Gotham in a way he hadn’t been in Nanda Parbat, anywhere but the fucking pit. It let him think clearly.

Well.

Apparently Danny let him think clearly. That still stung. But it shouldn’t have surprised him.

He’d never been much of anything that other people didn’t make him.

It was why he didn’t really mind Clockwork trying to make him Danny’s knight within a couple hours of learning he was half dead. It was kinda what he did.

People had been using him as a weapon since he swung a tire iron at Batman himself. Protecting the guy who gave him his fucking soul back?

He’d have done that anyway, for free. And he got a kickass gun and a supernatural sense of when said asshole needed him. Honestly, easiest job of his life.

The catch would come eventually, but this whole “feeling the intent of people you talk to” thing left him way less suspicious than he still kinda felt he should be.

He’d rather that than be left nebulously owing his whole self to Danny with no way to repay him and no idea where the catch would come from.

It had just… never occurred to him that the same way Danny could reach out and find Vlad, he’d be able to find Cass. Or Jason himself, probably.

Jason hadn’t realised how tightly he’d wound himself until the pressure eased.

He sucked in a breath that seemed to fill his chest for the first time in hours, folded his arms forward onto the handlebars, and let his head rest against them.

Danny followed him down, never losing contact but his face slipping lower and lower down Jason’s back. It almost made him chuckle, imagining how they must have looked.

Actually, he did. Just a moment, a soft and almost giddy sound that he choked back immediately. He sounded… well. Not like himself.

He’d been itching since the girls left to patrol, wishing he could join them. Be Cass’s backup in the field and be sure she wasn’t going in on anything big alone.

Cass was a step beyond competent, she was exceptional and she’d been doing this for years without a shadow. On a regular day, she wouldn’t need help.

But hearing how close she was to losing her humanity and not coming back right no matter what had him on edge. He wanted to shield her, protect her from what he’d gone through.

It wasn’t that he wanted her out of the fight. The idea of asking her not to go out hadn’t even occurred to him. She could make her own choices and he’d back her with all he had.

He just absolutely fucking hated the idea that she was out there alone, while he had fucking nothing on him that’d let him go after her if she did need backup.

If she needed help, he’d have to waste time gearing up before he could go out after her. The other bats would have her back, they all would, so long as they weren’t busy too.

It wasn’t like he was anyone’s first choice for backup even now, he just.

Yeah. He might kinda get what Danny meant about his Obsession being protection. Protecting the bats was a recent addition, but Jason had burned himself out on enough missing kids since he got back to suspect.

He’d have to ask what an actual capital-letter Obsession felt like, but that would wait for another time.

Just knowing that Cass would be safe, had another pair of eyes and more powers than a Kryptonian watching her back made him feel like he could breathe again.

Even knowing that though, he was glad to have left the manor. He could take Danny home, suit up, and… wait.

Danny had no choice but to move back as he straightened, half turning to frown down at the smaller man.

“Is that why you wanted to leave?” He asked quietly, gauging Danny’s face.

Had Danny worked it out on his own? Felt him stressing out about his baby sister back in the field?

Did Danny know that Jason wanted to join her, if not necessarily which costume he wore, and cut his night short?

Would Danny do that for him?

The answer was obvious in the other man’s face as Danny shrugged, even before he spoke.

“I didn’t wanna put you on the spot, and I figured you’d rather get out of there,” he explained casually, leaning just a little into Jason. Enough to feel what warmth Danny had.

Jason hesitated for a long moment, not sure what to say. If he should thank Danny. If Danny would ask, and if Jason should tell him he was the Red Hood now.

It’d be weirder the longer he didn’t mention it. Like he was keeping a secret.

The same secret Danny had kept as a teenager, so at least he’d probably understand, but Jason didn’t like how it felt. He wasn’t fucking ashamed of being the Red Hood.

He’d done shit no one else ever could have, and every inch of his territory was safer than it had ever been without him. He was proud of what he’d done, even if he wouldn’t brag about his methods.

It worked. It got him where he was today, where he didn’t need to kill anymore because people turned tail at the hint of his damn name.

He still didn’t know how Danny felt about killing. It wasn’t something that came up in conversation much. Maybe he’d find a way to ask first.

Tonight, he managed a stiff nod and leaned a little of his own weight back into Danny. Even if the guy thought he was just gonna go home and mope there instead, it was a win.

“Thanks,” he said softly, half wishing for his helmet’s voice modulator. He didn’t like hearing his own voice sound so… vulnerable.

Danny, fucking angel of mercy that he was, chuckled softly and gave him a gentle tap upside the head.

“Yeah, well. Also wasn’t sure how the others would react to “99% of you are permanently on my radar” anyway, and I wanted to make sure you knew for Cass,” he explained cheerfully.

And yeah, Jason still hadn’t really processed that yet, and wasn’t even sure how he’d react. Smart fucking call on Danny’s part.

Chuckling under his breath, Jason shook his head and flipped the kickstand back up.

“Anything else before I take you to bed?” He asked, half teasing Danny’s own unfortunate choice of words earlier.

They were absolutely still fucking with his family to think this was some kind of romantic relationship. Maybe a bit to punish Bruce, who clearly couldn’t handle the idea of Jason happy.

Danny laughed, a hint of something Jason almost identified behind it, then settled himself more firmly against Jason’s back, hanging on properly again.

“Not a damn thing. Oh, are you gonna come pick me up tomorrow or do I make my own way to the manor to join you and Harley?” He asked, snugged up tight.

Jason had almost forgotten that was happening. Apparently. And suddenly he was glad for at least the motorcycle helmet as his cheeks flushed pink.

Fuck he’d say he was trailing after Danny like a puppy, except Danny was the one going where Jason needed to be.

Another excuse to get Danny on his bike, arms around him.

Fuck off Jason Todd, Romance Heroine. It was a goddamn jailbreak, if a legal one. Not a fucking meet cute.

“If you actually want to come,” he agreed a little hesitantly, because the voice that insisted he was just a burden and Danny was only humouring him wasn’t all displacement activity after all.

Or pit related, apparently. Delightful.

He coulda tried to pretend it was, but that had been more convincing back when it was always a background grumble of anger, not the little calm pool of happiness now sitting in his gut.

Unforeseen side effect of getting his toxic sludge cleaned up: he was gonna have to own some of his own bullshit now. Work out what was his and what wasn’t.

Danny leaned back a little, grip loosening, and Jason could feel concern like a whisper soft touch.

“Yeah… I would, if you don’t mind? It seems like he’s important to you.”

Jason wasted a moment trying to work out what the hell Danny meant by that.

Did he want to meet Croc cuz he was important to Jason? Or did he think Jason wouldn’t want him to if he was important?

Cuz while yeah, Jason considered Waylon a friend (and thanks, Harley, for the new name crisis, love that. The guy introduced himself as Killer Croc but Jason knew all about controlling a narrative) it wasn’t like he was family. Not like Dick, Cass, or the others.

Except. Roy was family. Long before any of the bats made it back into Jason’s good books, Roy was one of the first people to be happy Jason was alive.

And Waylon had helped Roy get help when Ollie fucking kicked him out.

Waylon had been a restraining hand on Jason’s shoulder too, in the bad old days. Keeping him from pushing too hard, going too big, doing something he really couldn’t come back from.

Family didn’t have to mean annoying texts at four AM. Didn’t have to come around for dinner every Sunday; how often did any of them really see Harley?

Fuck, how often would they have seen each other if Alfred didn’t have them all firmly under his culinary thumb.

Waylon had to count as a reliable old uncle at least.

And that kinda made it a different question. Did Jason want Danny to meet his family?

It had been an easy “yes” with the bats, not least because the nosy bastards would muscle their way in regardless. Croc…

Waylon never judged Jason. From his highest highs to lowest lows, he never looked down on him. Not even when he was telling Jason to stop and think.

It kinda made Jason ache for what his life should have been. His, and Waylon’s if he’d never been called Killer Croc.

And maybe it’d give Jason a read on how Danny would react to the Red Hood thing. Or whether or not Danny already knew.

Jason was gonna blame Bruce for this chronic overthinking. Definitely not something he’d had on his own.

He’d thought about it long enough that he could feel Danny tensing, and he forced himself to snap out of it. In all honesty, it wasn’t his business what Danny thought he’d get out of it.

In the end, there was no point second guessing what someone else wanted to do with their time. It was Danny’s call. Not his.

And that kinda helped.

He half shrugged, leaning back into Danny for a moment and tugging him forwards again.

“I mean, we’re not “Thanksgiving at each others’ houses” close, but… he’s helped me out since I came back. More than I expected anyone to. I don’t mind if you wanna meet him,” Jason explained.

Danny obediently moved back into position to go, his aura a gentle hum of curiosity-concern-interest at Jason’s back.

“So do I make my own way, or…”

“I’ll come get you, probably around eleven?” Jason offered, definitely NOT thinking about Danny being back in this same position very soon.

He was gonna have to get another helmet for the bike. Immortal Ghost King or not, it just felt rude at this point.

**

After Danny and Jason left, Tim, Harley, and Tucker played a few more rounds of Mariokart together. Switched to a couple other games. Damian abandoned them almost immediately, disappearing half way through a round.

Probably to start a patrol of his own, or go try to spy on Danny and Jason.

Eventually Harley wished both the boys well and headed out with a cheery wave.

“Right, maybe I’ll see ya tomorrow or maybe not, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she called cheerfully, then paused and pointed at Tucker. “An’ keep an eye on Tim. Make sure he sleeps.”

Tim rolled his eyes, not looking up from their new round of SpiderHeck to wave her off. Tucker did, and Tim took advantage to swing across the map and cut him down with a lightsaber.

Amateur.

“Huh? Oh, sure! Fucking hell Tim,” Tuck complained as his attention switched back to the defeat screen.

Tim snickered, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs.

“Hey, not my fault you can’t keep your head in the game,” he teased smugly. Tucker poked him in the face.

“Not my fault I have enough manners to look at people when they talk to me. So is Harley gonna be staying in the manor too?” He added curiously, glancing around.

They easily had the rooms for it, though Tim didn’t really wanna think about it. What might Harley get up to on a 2am snack run?

Although it wasn’t that far from 2am now.

“I don’t think so, she has a place in the city at the moment,” he mused, his mind beginning to shift.

It wasn’t that he’d been waiting for witnesses to clear out, exactly. Everyone was in on the secret, so it shouldn’t be a big deal to head down to the Bat Cave even when they had the larger group.

It was just… they’d been having fun. It’d be rude to leave their guests, and Bruce was already being cranky down in the cave.

Of course, Tim’d gotten another ping on his zeta tube monitoring program an hour or so ago. Constantine and Bruce both checking out, probably to the Watchtower.

So it’d be safe now, and they’d reached an okay stopping point. Tim had no doubt that Tucker would prefer checking out the cave over any games.

Tim couldn’t let him on the bat computer yet, but he could show Tucker a couple of Tim’s better scanning programs. Maybe even ping Babs and see how the others were doing.

See if she had time to talk to Tucker in person. Maybe he could show them both how he’d encrypted that server, which Tim suspected would involve ectoplasm.

Not like he couldn’t link the PDA to an un-networked monitor so that they could all see what he was doing though. Hell, they could record it for Bruce.

He’d love having answers to the Amity Park problem. If Tucker would let Tim run the PDA for a few minutes…

Still, it was just good manners to check in.

Alfred would be thrilled that they were learning to communicate.

Pulling out his phone, he shot Bruce a quick text.

‘Hey, we’re gonna head down to the Cave. You mind if I give a tour?’

It didn’t take long to get a reply, which was usually a good sign. It meant Bruce wasn’t hyperfocused enough to ignore his phone.

Maybe things with Constantine were going well.

The length of the reply wasn’t as reassuring, but not a surprise either. Bruce wasn’t exactly wordy in person, and only less so over text.

‘Go ahead.’

No indication of when he’d be back, but that was fine. They could compare notes whenever that turned out to be.

Tim turned to Tucker, grinning in anticipation of the other man’s reaction.

“So, wanna see something cool?” He asked, and felt gratified when Tucker’s eyes widened and a matching grin spread across his face.

But who wouldn’t be excited to see the Bat Cave?

“Hell yeah!”

**

Tucker followed Tim eagerly out of the games room, mind already buzzing with all the things the young genius might want to show him.

Did they have a tech lab in Wayne Manor? They definitely had the space for it, and it had to be safer than keeping one at Tim’s downtown apartment.

Bruce might not have been much of a techie but Tim was personally responsible for enough big developments that he was considered a prodigy even in Tucker’s circles.

Of course the guy had the advantage of near limitless money and resources, especially after Drake Industries merged with Wayne Enterprises.

With that kinda money, Tucker himself could have revolutionised the world. But, Tuck had the advantage of the Ghost Zone and ecto tech, so he wasn’t too upset.

Especially not if Tim was really going to let him see where the magic happened.

He did nearly let out an audible groan as Tim led him into an office and activated a secret elevator in a clock. Maybe Danny had a point… maybe all billionaires were dramatic assholes.

Maybe Sam had a point, and they were all evil. Maybe Tim was bringing him down to an evil lab.

Caution reluctantly seeped into Tucker’s excitement, but he fought it off sharply. Tim was a good guy, they were becoming real friends, and Tuck couldn’t believe a fellow techie would betray him.

Besides, no one in Gotham knew shit about ghost tech, or liminals. It wasn’t like Tucker would actually be in any danger from a scrawny nerd like Tim.

Even if he did have very nice shoulders. Shapely arms. An almost snatched waist that almost tipped to androgyny, but he carried it so well.

Anyway.

Tim definitely wouldn’t hurt him.

It was probably just a super secure underground tech lab, to keep anyone from stealing secrets. Tucker let himself hype up again, imagining the kind of security measures Tim could install underground.

It’d remove the chances of someone sneaking through a back window for sure. And sure, rock wouldn’t stop a ghost, but it stopped pretty much anyone else if you added seismic sensors.

It made sense, really, putting all Tim’s very coolest and most secret cutting edge tech experiments somewhere that no one would expect, and almost no one could get to.

Tucker found himself rocking forward on his toes as the elevator descended, and flushed a little when he noticed Tim smiling.

He was excited, sue him. It beat worrying that he was about to get his first go at the Danny Fenton Lab Experience.

Thankfully no one ever cared enough to capture the nerds.

Tim was quiet on the way down, clearly savouring the anticipation, and that suited Tucker fine. It wasn’t a long ride, and he all but bounced out of the doors as soon as they opened.

Stopped.

Stared around at blank stone walls, stalactites on the ceiling, and… a waterfall? A robotic dinosaur? A row of display cases?

This was not a super cool high tech research lab.

This kinda might be a supervillain cave.

Tucker’s heart sank for a moment, especially as he noticed more and more Batman themed pieces on walls and cases.

Bruce Wayne (please don’t let it be Tim’s secret project any more, Tucker couldn’t bear it) was obsessed with Batman. Collecting trophies.

Probably wanted to catch the hero himself and stuff him in a case. Rich people were all like that apparently.

Except… the locker room? Off to one side? Where a freshly laundered Red Robin uniform hung, neat and pristine?

Collector freaks never let anyone clean their stuff, especially if it might have had gross hero sweat to obsess over.

And that was the Batmobile, parked next to a large garage door. An array of motorcycles, and Tucker was no expert on Gotham’s heroes but there were at least three colour schemes.

Someone had been changing the oil on one of them.

A massive computer screen, surrounded by smaller screens at various angles, and as he approached in awe he spotted a bat sticker on almost every monitor.

No way anyone ever stole THE Batcomputer. People would notice. Someone would talk, there were legends about Batman’s set up!

Half Tucker’s class would have killed for a look at the tech, no way they wouldn’t know if it ever got loose.

Which meant.

Tucker knew his jaw had dropped. Couldn’t find it in himself to close it as he turned back to Tim, eyes wide, and watched all colour drain from the other man’s face.

“Is this the fucking Bat Cave?! Is Bruce Fucking Wayne actually Batman?!” He exclaimed eagerly, not even wondering why Tim suddenly looked so shocked.

This really was the best day ever.

Wait.

“You DO know the fucking Oracle!”

**

Well.

The curse of Robin had come for Tim at last. Bruce was absolutely going to fucking kill him.

But, okay, in his defence, it totally wasn’t Tim’s fault! He’d assumed Tucker already knew because Danny one thousand percent definitely did, he called Dick out in costume!

And Tucker was still trustworthy! Still an asset! And he’d help Tim get past the firewalls, get into Amity Park, all they had to do was get enough work done before Bruce came back.

And killed Tim.

For bringing an unknowing civilian into the fucking bat cave.

Best day ever.

Tim sucked in a great rasping breath, suddenly aware that he’d completely stopped breathing somewhere in there, and shook his head.

Okay. Snap out of it Tim.

Those nights with Alfred-supervision had made him weak, no way only thirty-six hours without sleep should have done this to him.

Too bad, sleep deprivation would have been a great excuse.

He wasted a moment lamenting his lack of immediate coffee and turned his focus to the actual problem: the Amity Park firewall.

Tucker was still staring at him in awe and triumph, though worry was creeping in. Tim pulled on a charming smile, walking to the batcomputer and gesturing for Tucker to join him.

“Uh… yeah, sorry, I thought Danny already told you or I’d have said. I didn’t mean to spring it on you,” he lied, like he’d have ever let the secret slip.

Tucker pouted then, folding his arms.

“Oh, of course Danny knows. Bet that’s how he and Jason met. So does that mean you’re…” he trailed off curiously, clearly hoping Tim would fill in the blank.

Tim considered being mildly offended that Tucker didn’t think he could be Oracle, but he valued his digital security. Zero chance Babs wouldn’t be pulling this video up later for a laugh.

He nodded to his suit instead, the new one hanging waiting. Probably for tomorrow night at this point, since there was no reason to change just to hang out in the cave.

“Red Robin. I ah… saw you last night at the gala,” he added sheepishly, wondering just how much of Tim’s minor breakdown Tucker had noticed while waiting to give Tim the tablet.

And Tucker’s eyes lit up, clearly remembering, and he grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Oh! That explains why you left, huh? I guess someone had to deal with the rogues and stuff,” he mused thoughtfully.

Tim had to hope he wasn’t thinking about the exact same thing. At least the discovery was going well so far; Tim couldn’t think of many people he’d had to share this particular secret with, and most of the ones who did had been villains at one time or another, but still.

Tucker was keeping up, wasn’t freaking out, and had gotten over his surprise in record time. Tim definitely wasn’t disappointed.

Tuck had been a vigilante himself after all, it’s not like he was a civilian. And had already admitted he didn’t pay much attention to vigilantes, so he might not even know which one Red Robin was.

It’d just. Have been nice if he was more impressed.

Not that Tim cared. He wasn’t Red Robin to impress people, and usually didn’t even think about it.

And Tucker didn’t seem surprised or upset when Tim steered him to one of the tables beside the batcomputer instead of the big baby itself, and got one of the un-networked monitors out.

“Pretty much. I get a little… antsy if a takedown goes too easily, because with Riddler it usually means we’re missing something,” he explained dryly, pointing Tucker to a second wheely chair to pull over, “but yesterday it was apparently just a shitty rush job on his part.”

Tucker snickered at that, wheeling the directed chair over and sitting eagerly beside Tim, still darting looks at the bigger screens.

“Should I be mad I didn’t get their best work?” He mock-pondered, and Tim snickered.

“Probably. But Riddler and Croc aren’t really A-listers or big on the mass destruction side anyway.”

“Waylon,” Tucker corrected almost absent mindedly, pulling out his PDA.

Tim missed exactly what he did next as he remembered Harley’s little tidbit, and he pulled a face.

“Yeah… I’ve not exactly had the one-on-one time with him Jason’s had, I don’t think we’re on a first name basis,” he explained, shaking his head as the monitor sprung to life.

Tucker snorted a laugh, flicking through screens on the PDA.

“What, Mr Jones then? Want me to just start downloading the Amity Park records first, then we’ll go hunting?” He added, and Tim nodded quickly, snickering himself at the vision.

Nothing threw a shining ball of confusion into a fight like calling someone “Mr Jones”. He’d have to try it if Croc… Mr Jones was gonna be back on the scene.

It was the name that went on all of his prison paperwork, so it wasn’t like it was a secret identity the same way the bats had.

“Honestly? Better than Waylon. And yeah, we can start with the government files and news reports, just so we have a backup. Then we’ll look around and find out what else B thinks we’ll need.”

Tucker snickered beside him, flicking quickly through screens on the PDA. Despite it being purely for his benefit, Tim pretty much ignored the monitor, keeping most of his attention on the device itself.

It was chunky and very retro, but given the processing power and space for storage? There was a definite charm to it.

Maybe Tucker would let him play around on it later.

But, in the spirit of not being killed when Bruce returned… there was one thing they definitely needed to talk about.

“I…” Tim sucked in a deep breath. He’d put good money on Tuck, Danny, and Sam being what actually solved Amity Park’s last calls to the League.

It might be a traumatic memory. Probably was. But he had to ask. And better him than Bruce.

Tucker looked up when he trailed off, making a curious noise. Not exactly asking what Tim wasn’t saying, but showing he’d noticed the pause.

Sighing to himself, Tim wheeled across to the batcomputer. Bruce probably still had the files up.

“I also think we need to talk about these,” he explained, pulling up the records for the Justice League’s missed calls. Hundreds of them.

Tucker just looked nonplussed for a moment, then sobered. Probably when the dates sank in and told him what they were talking about.

“Oh… yeah. Probably,” he agreed, sounding more serious than Tim had ever heard him. Which kinda proved Tim’s point about traumatic memories.

Leaving the records on screen, Tim wheeled back over, pulling out one of his larger recorders. This conversation might take a while.

“Do you mind if I just record what you tell me? B’s gonna want a full write up. He’s off ripping a strip off of Constantine as we speak, probably, cuz whatever he did… this lot went past voice mail and straight to the trash.”

It wasn’t exactly an apology, wasn’t exactly an excuse, and Tim cut himself off before it turned into whining. The past was past, and it was too late to change that now.

Something complicated crossed Tucker’s face as he spoke, and Tim tried not to look too closely. Didn’t want his overly analytical side latching on.

The only thing they could do was work out what happened, and if there was still anything the league could do to make up for majorly dropping the ball.

Tucker sucked in a deep breath of his own, letting it out in a low whistle.

“Y’know, I thought we were coming down here for fun and tech talk,” he said almost wistfully, and Tim chuckled wryly.

“We can definitely still do that. It’ll just unknot Bruce’s panties some if we’ve got this part out of the way before he gets back. That way you’re just telling me, no “swooping menace in the shadows”,” he added half sarcastically, and Tucker laughed.

He looked… well. Haunted. But that wasn’t exactly a sensible descriptor for a guy who spent years hunting ghosts.

Not too bad though. No tremors, no tightness in the eyes or jaw that said he was hiding something. His skin was still a rich, warm brown, no paler than before.

If he was having a deeper reaction than the tiredness, he was hiding it in a way Tim couldn’t hope to spot. That… was probably the best sign Tim had seen about this particular shit show.

Chuckling to himself, Tucker checked the PDA one more time, then set it on the table and turned to face Tim directly.

“Yeah, might as well do it during the file download. Your setup is gorgeous, but that’s still gonna take a while. If you ask me, you’re not gonna need to ask Danny about it later, right?” He asked, and Tim bit his lip.

Less good sign. Seemed Danny carried more of the weight of this one too.

“B’ll probably want his side, and to check the stories match, but Jason won’t let him push Danny into anything,” he offered instead of a blanket statement.

Tucker cocked his head a little, examining Tim for a long moment in a way that made him feel almost… dissected. Like a piece of tech Tucker had taken apart, and was looking for secrets in.

Finally the older boy nodded and shrugged, leaning back.

“Yeah, fair. It’s damn hard to pin Danny down if he wants to leave anyway. There’s some Fenton tech that’d do it, but it’s not like you can get that here. So… where do you want me to start?”

Filing away that comment about the Fenton tech for later, Tim jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the big screen.

“Do we have time to start at the beginning? The first calls?” He asked, half expecting the answer to be “no”.

Tucker glanced down at his PDA, and snickered.

“Well, I can give you the Cliff’s Notes version. And then if you have questions you can ask?”

Which… yeah, Tim glanced at their little offline monitor. It was a pretty big download; Tucker had meant it when he said he was grabbing everything for them.

That had to be a sign of good faith, right?

And then after that they’d have to shift everything over to an un-networked hard drive. After whatever Tuck had to do to de-ecto it.

Shoulders settling, Tim put the recorder on the table before him.

“Sounds good. So… Tucker Foley, current top student at MIT and soon to be receiver of a Wayne Enterprises internship,” he teased, enjoying the way Tucker snickered again, also visibly relaxing.

Might as well make this as comfortable as possible. They could break after Tucker finished for some drinks or something.

“What happened in Amity Park?”

**

On the Watchtower, Bruce slid his phone back into its pouch on his utility belt and returned his attention to the pacing magician.

He’d pulled up every type of reading they could gather from Amity Park for the week of the last distress call, and from their current logs.

Thermal imaging, infrared and ultraviolets, seismography, electromagnetic waves, spectrography, and several that Bruce wasn’t sure what they were, just that the Justice League Dark were the only ones who used them.

The fact that even Bruce could see extremely obvious spikes on more than half of them was not a good sign. It made checking the dates almost superfluous.

Nor was the way that even though those spikes had lowered within that same day… they’d never gone all the way back down.

In every magical sense they could detect (and half a dozen scientific ways he was actually comfortable with), Amity Park glowed like a cartoon nuke.

The only good news was that their radiation sensors had gone straight back down to normal after the initial spikes. Which made no scientific sense given the normal decay of radioactive materials, but Bruce was not going to argue.

He appreciated Tim checking in though. The gesture towards clearer communication. He wasn’t sure exactly what Tim would want to show Harley in a tour of the bat cave, but honestly?

He wasn’t going to ask. It was nice to have something that wasn’t his problem, and he trusted Tim and Harley, together or separately.

It wasn’t like Tim would bring anyone else down to the cave.

——————

😇

I regret nothing.

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Next Chapter:

[cordeliawhohung]

one of my favorite things about pet au is that simon doesn't care. does not. give a shit. about bonnie. every time i see you respond to people who "suggest" he becomes softer or gentler, i tear my hair out. are we not reading the same fic? that would be a complete 180. it would only make sense if he hit his head. hard.

oh i'm about to yap under the cut and maybe be a little mean

tldr at the end

ngl i nearly almost gave up writing for pet!au because of shit like that lmao. and like, i get in the beginning the story wasn't really a story at all. and i think that's obvious since it started out with more of like, musings with really quick writing. something i wasn't really putting effort into because at first i was thinking it was just a quick idea or whatever. and so a lot of what i was saying with interactions in my asks and stuff like that were just vague ideas. like at one point i was going to put in a graphic non-con scene with simon and bonnie as a "lesson" to her and decided against it because i wanted to take a different route about how he was going to interact with her and when i announced simon and bonnie were never going to fuck i think that turned a lot of people away from the series lmao (at least, on tumblr anyway).

and honestly, i was kind of glad because i stopped getting the bombarding asks of "what if xyz" and "is simon really never going to like bonnie?" and stuff like that for the most part because that shit was killing. me. oh my god. like if you look back at the asks in my pet!au tag that was all i was fucking getting i swear to god.

and look, i get it. this is the horny site. people are going to be horny. but it's super frustrating when people try to hijack your story (believe it or not, this isn't a group project lmao) and act upset or disappointed when a story isn't going their way. i love those twisted horny fics, too. and so does everyone else that's why there's a fucking trillion of them out there on this site and ao3. hell, i even have some. such as this kidnapping soapgaz fic or this ghoap x reader fic that is basically pet au in another universe lmao.

to put those works out, have them there for people to read, and then to have this fic for a different reason that i have now stated several times and have requested that this stay a horror fic and then have people give backhand comments about how they wish it was xyz is super frustrating as a writer. asking "is xyz ever gonna happen. damn" like you're entitled to answers about the future of the story, or trying to see if it's 'worth your time' to continue reading is just. infuriating beyond polite words.

i had to start deleting and not responding to certain things because it was just getting too frustrating. but i am honestly so endlessly grateful to people who actually try to engage with the story i'm writing and not the one they want me to write. i could literally smooch all of you on the foreheads if i was able to. but like, i had this problem with Leftovers too. i think something that has made fandom honestly extremely difficult to keep enjoying is that people treat you like you're an ai if you're a writer. like you're some bot you can shove a prompt into and then get a response curated for you and you can just keep trying and trying and trying and bugging and bugging and bugging if you don't like it and want it changed. like i'm not a human being.

anyway, if i could boil this all down to one paragraph, i would say:

Learn when a story isn't for you, and find a different one instead of trying to dictate or complain to the author that it's not going how you hoped. If you want to talk about a story to an author, please talk about the story that we have written/are writing, and not the one you wished we would write. And, just maybe, if someone has expressed they really hate certain types of comments about a fic, maybe stop making those comments, even as a joke. Truly, it makes me feel like shit.

anyway, thank you anon. for giving me a platform to rant about something that's been bugging me for a bit. and also for just... getting me. for getting the story and what it's trying to say. horny fics are fun, but this storyline is deeply important to me and how it plays out. i get it's not fun, but there is a deeper meaning behind it all and it's really comforting to hear that someone not only enjoys, but actually understands what i'm trying to say. like, for once i'm not being talked over about my own story lmao.

[yeonboy]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲 ♡ choi beomgyu.

He aches to be the one you would have snuck off with; to be the one you would want to share secret kisses with. He aches. And in that moment, he realizes his feelings have gone too far. They have caused him to stop being a true well-wisher to you; he is being selfish. He needs to take a step back. Or, Choi Beomgyu is head over heels in love with his best friend – and she simply doesn’t feel the same. 

❧ choi beomgyu x f. reader | 16+ | college!au ♡ best friends!au ♡ unrequited love!au ♡ angst ♡ drama.

❧ 4.7 k words

❧ warnings! profanity, an extreeeeeme amount of pining, one-sided feelings, unrequited love, jealousy, heartbreak, some self-deprication, one (1) mention of drinking and partying, one (1) mention of making out, maybe an innuendo or two! mostly just buckets full of mopey, pining gyu </3 and a hopeful (?) ending (:

❧ note! i wrote this because i was listening to m5’s whiskey and crying and thinking of gyu so take that how u will </3 please note that the lyrics are there just to set the tone, not to be taken too literally. i just love this song, man. please don’t hate me for the ending, i changed it thrice and then settled on this. it just felt perfect to me this way :”) also! pls excuse the lack of dividers, tumblr won't let me add them without hiding the post from the tags for some reason :/

❧ masterlist | inbox ⁘

i never knew that love was blind; till i was hers and she was never mine…

“So, I have a question for you.”

Beomgyu blinks at your words, letting the steel straw escape his lips as you pull his strawberry milkshake away from him. 

In fascination, he watches the way your lips wrap around the shiny tube in the exact place where his own had been. You slurp once and pull away, leaving a tint of pink – pinker than the drink, pinker than Beomgyu’s cheeks, pinker than the love-goggles that are permanently on his eyes when he’s with you – on the edge of the straw.

“Gyu?”

He wants to wipe that pink away with his lips, so bad. But your hand comes in with a tissue to clean that precious speck of your lipstick away, before he can even blink a second time.

Now he blinks again and looks up at you. God, you’re so gorgeous with your brows all furrowed and lips all pouty. He is so thoroughly ruined by you. Why does he continue to subject himself to this torture instead of keeping his distance like a sane person? 

He doesn’t fucking know.

“Y–yeah? What question?”

“A hypothetical one. Very important, nonetheless.” You stare into space with your eyes squinted, perfect cheekbones reflecting the light from the evening traffic beyond the glass walls of the cafe you’re seated in. “If long time BFFs happen to develop feelings for each other, should they confess?”

Beomgyu chokes on air, freezing like a solid block of ice.

What did you just ask?

“You know… Just imagine! Two people who have been the best of friends for ages. And then one of them realizes they’re in love with the other.” Your rounded eyes turn to him with a hint of worry in them. “Should they confess and live their dream? Or should they take this secret to their grave and protect their friendship?”

Beomgyu is a mess. 

Why the actual hell are you asking him that? Him – the one guy in your entire life that doesn’t have to imagine this specific situation because he’s been living it for years, now?

Now, he’s not panicking because he thinks you might have figured him out and are trying to pave a path to confession. No, he's self-aware enough to not be deluded. And his panic kinda stems from this very fact. 

He's self-aware enough to know that while he's looking at you and daydreaming of a picket fence and good-morning kisses, your mind is stuck on someone else. Choi Soobin. Older than him, taller than him, cuter than him. Guy checks all boxes of the type of guys you like so well, Beomgyu wonders if Soobin is the reason why you created those boxes in the first place.

So he's scared out of his mind that you're paving a road to confess to Soobin.

“Wow, aren’t you super helpful this evening?”

Your whine of frustration pulls him out of his spiral. He clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, man. That’s a very subjective question.”

“Subjective?” You tilt your head in thought and Beomgyu dreads the next words you would say before you have even formed them: “Okay, let me answer it subjectively first then! Like, imagine if you had feelings for me. I wouldn't want you to confess them to me, like, ever.”

Ouch. Not that he plans to ever confess them to you, but still pretty ouch.

Slightly hurt, he drags his milkshake back to himself and slurps away the rest of it before smacking his lips and shaking his head. “Well then subjectively, it’s the complete opposite for me.”

You look at him with an extremely confused frown. “But what if I lose the friendship because you don't feel the same?” 

This hypothesis is making him lose his damn mind. 

“I… well, what if we lose the chance to be something much more amazing just because you were scared?”

Moment of introspection: he hopes to all the powers in the universe that he isn’t losing the chance to be something much more amazing with you just because he’s scared. You don’t like him like that, you won’t ever like him like that. 

He’s being smart and self-preservative. Not scared.

You're lost in thoughts for a moment, and then you suddenly get up with a jump. Grinning at him, you lean down to peck his cheek and rush out of the cafe before he can even fully absorb the warm brush of your lips against his skin. “You're the best, Gyu, thank you so much!”

In a daze, he brings his fingertips to brush against the apple of his cheek. 

Why did you run away like that? Why did you sound so excited? Fuck, are you going to confess right now? 

He pulls his fingertips away. 

They are pink.

yeah i was reckless, but i let it burn; i let it burn, yeah…

“And if they show up hand-in-hand, then what? Then what, huh, Tyun? It’s easy for you to say I’m overthinking, but you aren’t thinking nearly enough!”

Kang Taehyun, the university’s Student Council member who is in-charge of overseeing the set-up for tomorrow's inter-uni basketball game – and also Beomgyu’s best friend of fifteen years – rolls his eyes so hard, it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of their sockets.

“Why do you keep setting yourself up for more pain, man? Why don't you try to invest these emotions somewhere they will be appreciated?”

“I can't just compel myself to start or stop feeling, dude…”

Shin Ryujin suddenly appears behind the bleachers that the two of them were covering with a banner, both hands planted in the back pockets of her jorts. They should look incredibly lame, but she somehow pulls them off. 

Beomgyu looks at her with wide eyes, wondering how much she heard.

“Yo, dumbass! Are you coming to the game tomorrow?” She’s smirking at him but there's a sparkle in her eyes that makes him chuckle at the name. 

“The name's Beomgyu.”

“That's what I said. So, are you coming?”

Beomgyu has actually been trying to think of an excuse to get out his regular movie night with you - and this sounds like the perfect one. He shrugs a shoulder. “Don’t really got any plans, so… Maybe I will.”

Taehyun gives him a weird look because he knows Beomgyu always had plans on Fridays.

Ryujin grins wide. “Perfect! Well, just two requests.”

He squints with interest. “What requests?”

“Wear my jersey! And, uh, don’t bring a date, please?”

She looks extremely bashful while saying the second part of the sentence. Which is somewhat jarring. It’s Shin fucking Ryujin, she eats men for breakfast. Why is she almost blushing?

But then Taehyun is cackling, which reminds Beomgyu of the first request she made. He immediately scowls. “Hey! I’m not wearing your jersey like some groupie!

She rolls her eyes, but her lips are quirked up because he didn’t say no to the second request. And he knows he won’t; you're the only one he ever asks to accompany him to places, and he's only going to the game tomorrow to escape you. 

“Your loss. Just so you know, boys are lining up to wear my jersey…”

Scoffing, Beomgyu goes back to handing Taehyun more pins. “Yeah right.”

“What? You don’t believe me?” Ryujin scoffs. “Watch this - ayo, Heeseung! Wanna wear my jersey tomorrow?”

A screech from the Students Council’s Vice Prez is followed by a high-pitched: “For real? Yes, please, I—” 

“Sike! Haha, gotcha, little bitch!”

Taehyun is doubled over in laughter and even Beomgyu can’t hold in his chuckles at the look of utter devastation on Heeseung’s face and victory on Ryujin’s. She raises an eyebrow when their gazes meet. “See?”

“How much did you pay him for this skit?”

She smacks his shoulder with an irritated whine. “You’re way too fucking cynical for no damn reason, dude. Okay, no jersey - but get a no. 17 placard for me, at least?” 

Rolling his eyes, he finally nods. 

“Great! See ya tomorrow, loser! Bye, Tyun!”

Taehyun waves at her as she leaves, while Beomgyu cups his hands around his mouth to yell out: “The name’s Beomgyu!”

“That’s what I said!”

“Man, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you actually enjoy talking to a girl.” 

Offended to his very bones, Beomgyu gapes at his best friend. “Dude! I enjoy talking to girls! I’m straight! Or did you forget how I threw up that one time when you kissed me during spin-the-bottle in seventh gra—”

“Yes, I remember!” Taehyun smacks him with a scowl on his face. “But that’s not what I meant. Gyu, you only ever talk to Y/N. Or have you not realized that? And look absolutely lovesick and physically pained while doing that.”

“Nahhhh, untrue. It’s just—” He cuts himself off to purse his lips. Taehyun is one-hundred percent correct. “It’s just a little difficult to mask my emotions all the time, but I manage…”

Taehyun just shakes his head in obvious disappointment. Then he tilts his chin up towards the direction where Ryujin is laughing around with some girls from the cheer team. “She obviously likes you a lot. Don’t hurt her.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles, lips forming a pout because this is so confusing. “But isn’t she basically signing up for the hurt if she’s doing this despite knowing where I stand with Y/N?

“Just…” Taehyun sighs. “Yeah, just don’t give her false hope.”

Beomgyu feels like he’s giving himself false hope every single time he talks to you, but what can be done.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You end up texting him first, that night, to cancel tomorrow’s movie night. You apparently have “plans” with a friend. 

Bile rises up Beomgyu’s throat at the thought of you finally going on a date with Soobin. 

He can’t get himself to directly ask if that is the case, but fuck, why won’t you tell him? He goes to sleep with a pain in his chest that night.

the feeling it was bittersweet, realizing i was in too deep…

As fate would have it, Beomgyu bumps into you at the very gates of the basketball stadium, the next evening. You look like a dream in your short skirt and varsity jacket.

He feels nauseous at the thought of discovering Soobin trailing behind you with a large drink with two straws, or something.

“Uh… these are your plans?” He says in a way of greeting.

Your eyes widen when you see him, but then you pout. “Yeah! Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna be here? We would’ve come together!”

He immediately thinks of his promise to Ryujin and shakes his head. “Ah, actually… Shin Ryujin invited me.” 

Your mouth forms an O, a lost expression crossing your face. He’s never been great at reading people, but with the way his brain gets fuzzy around you, he’s doing an even worse job right now. Because he can absolutely not tell what this look on your face means. 

Right then, the girl herself arrives, a wistful smile on her face. “Thought I told you to not bring a date? And she’s wearing Chaewon’s jersey, hmph.”

“Oh! We didn't—”

You cut him off with a chuckle that somehow sounds a little strained. “Ah, I’m actually here with her sister!” 

Yunjin? He didn’t know you were friends with her… But that means no Soobin, right? Which might mean that no confession happened yesterday?

“Dude, Chaewon’s our Forward and our captain. No hard feelings!” Ryujin throws up a peace sign at you, and the two girls laugh.

After you leave to look for Yunjin, Ryujin stays back, smirking at him. But there’s a distinct look in her eyes that he can, for a change, recognize. Partly because the fuzz in his brain left along with you. And partly because he sees this look in the mirror everyday. 

“I don’t even stand a chance, do I?” She doesn’t sound upset, just… regretful.

Taehyun’s words come back to him. “Ryu, I—” 

“Nah, it’s fine. I knew what I was getting into, Choi.” She smiles, this time, pointing at the ‘17’ placard in his hands. “I’m gonna score a basket just for this, though. Cheer loudly, ’kay?”

she was a lesson – i had to learn, i had to learn, yeah…

Beomgyu had gone to the game only for Ryujin, not for you. He literally came here to escape movie night with you.

Yet, he sits in the stadium with his eyes straying from Ryujin’s great moves as Point Guard, reaching across the court, to land on you. It’s so annoying and makes him feel so helpless, he wants to scream. But there’s something magnetic about your presence that just won’t let him exist peacefully.

Is this how love is supposed to feel? Exhausting and painful at all times?

What adds to the exhaustion and pain is the way you are seated with your eyes bright and teeth on display, Yunjin on one side and…Soobin on the other. 

Though he saw it coming, Beomgyu still finds it really hard to swallow the pain that pricks at his throat at the sight of you giggling into Soobin’s side and looking at the guy with eyes full of a million stars. He tries to seek comfort in the way Soobin seems to reciprocate your happiness, but it’s really hard.

He isn’t even jealous at this point, he’s just tired. If he could stop himself from feeling so much, all the damn time, he really, really would.

The crowd suddenly cheers, drawing his attention away from you – thankfully – and back to the court. And then his eyes widen in surprise. Ryujin stands with her hands braced on her hips, gaze directly directed at him. Well – she said she would score a basket for him and she did. She lifts a hand to point at him, causing a louder cheer to roar across the stadium, and Beomgyu cannot hold back the loud chuckle that escapes him. He raises both his hands up in a double thumbs-up.

Somewhere from three rows below, Heeseung shouts out an expletive at him, but the game has resumed again so everyone around the guy asks him to shut up.

Like clockwork, Beomgyu’s gaze slowly floats back up at the stands, slowly zeroing in towards your seat – only to stop short. You’re not in your seat. And neither is Soobin.

Oh.

Oh.

Now again, Beomgyu should be prepared to face this as well. But he’s once again at a loss.

Unwittingly, his brain conjures up images of you and Soobin finding a secluded, dark corner to make out in. He envisions the brightness he just saw in both of your gazes, imagines the tinkling giggles you would release, pictures the darkening of your cheeks. 

And in that moment, he can’t find it in himself to be happy for you. He can’t pretend to like Soobin. 

He aches to be the one you would have snuck off with; to be the one you would want to share secret kisses with.

He aches.

And in that moment, he realizes his feelings have gone too far. They have caused him to stop being a true well-wisher to you; he is being selfish.

He needs to take a step back.

i used to try to forget her…

“Dude, the one thing I asked of you was to not hurt Ryujin. What the hell do you mean you’re taking her out?” 

Beomgyu pinches the bridge of his nose, almost regretting disclosing his plans to his best friend. But he needed Taehyun to be on his side to make sure he doesn’t chicken out. Although given the tone the guy is using with him right now, Beomgyu’s purpose might be failing either way. 

He puts his phone on loudspeaker, extracting a jacket from his closet to match the blue t-shirt he’s wearing.

“She was awarded MVP for yesterday’s game for the first time in this season. When I congratulated her on it, she called me her lucky charm—”

“Ugh, it’s as if she wants you to hurt her,” Taehyun murmurs and Beomgyu can hear the grimace in his voice through the phone.

“So I asked her if she wanted to celebrate the win with her lucky charm, and she said yes…”

Taehyun gives a sigh. “You literally flirted with her.”

“I did. Weren’t you the one telling me I should focus my feelings where they will be reciprocated?”

“Yes, you should. But do you even feel anything?”

“I do, yeah…” Immense sadness and despair with a brush of frustration. “I feel like I’m gonna have a good time with her.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that.” Taehyun gives another sigh. “Just be smart, okay? Don’t lead her on, Gyu.”

“I won’t, man.”

Settling on a black denim jacket that goes with his jeans and boots of the same color, Beomgyu leaves his dorm in the half a decade old Corvette his parents have permitted him to keep on campus. He’s meeting Ryujin at the cafe, which saves him from spending time in the car with her.

When he enters the cafe, though, Beomgyu begins to wonder if he has somehow offended some higher, superior power by some action of his, for which he is now being punished on the daily.

Because before he can even begin to look around for his date, a giggling Soobin catches his eye. He’s sitting facing the door, feeding spaghetti to his date. 

His date.

You.

Your back is to him, but Beomgyu can still see how you’ve styled your hair in a way that is different than usual. You’ve always complained that your hair is too silky to be held up in an updo—a remark Beomgyu can never understand because he, personally, loves the texture of your hair—and so this complicated bun feels so strange on you.

And the off-shoulder dress instead of your beloved full-sleeves. And the dangling earrings instead of your usual studs. And—

Holy fuck, this isn’t you.

This isn’t you.

Beomgyu is fully frozen in his spot now, stunned and panicked at the same time.

Soobin is on a date – with someone else.

Should he be happy or concerned? 

The sweat accumulating on his palms indicates the latter. 

“Gyu!”

The call snaps his attention to a corner of the cafe, where Shin Ryujin sits with a grin on her face. Pushing his lips up, he waves at her. But his eyes involuntarily swim back to Soobin once more – only this time, both the taller boy and his date, Kim Chaewon, the basketball captain, are looking at Beomgyu with matching smiles.

He doesn’t know how to respond. Or react. His smile is frozen on his lips and his hand is still up in a wave, however, so the couple take that to be his greeting and go back to talking among themselves. And Beomgyu pushes himself to finally walk towards Ryujin’s table.

“I see you already spotted what I was dying to gossip about,” Ryujin grumbles with a scowl when he settles opposite her. 

Beomgyu blinks. “Uh… Soobin?”

“Who?” This time Ryujin is the one to give a clueless blink. But then her eyebrows rise. “Oh, the boy. Yeah, in a way, I guess? But Chaewon, obviously. She’s finally on a date with her crush of a whole ass year.”

What? “O–oh?”

The waiter comes over to take their orders, right then. Beomgyu asks for a club sandwich and beer, while Ryujin chooses an extra cheese loaded pizza and a virgin mojito.

“You don’t want me drunk around you, loser.” She winks at him but her smile is forced enough to make guilt unfurl in Beomgyu’s chest. “Anyways! Chaewon! She’s finally winning at life and it’s all thanks to your girl.”

Beomgyu’s heart jumps up to his throat for multiple reasons.  

His girl? You? Who else could it even be.

He drily swallows. “My…?”

“She was so hard at work during yesterday’s match! Fuck knows what magical words she said to both of them but they finally stopped their cat and mouse chase for good.” A fond look enters Ryujin’s gaze as she peeks past him to look at the couple. “It was sickening, watching Chaewon pine day in and out. Kinda like it is to watch you.”

Ryujin is laughing at her own joke, but Beomgyu’s mind is stuck on the information she just imparted. “Yesterday’s match?”

“Yeah. She arrived with Yunjin, remember? They both sat with Soobin and talked about Chaewon the entire time. Then she said something to Chae during break, and boom – this scardy ass dude was finally asking Chae out at the end of the match!”

Oh, fuck. This is why you were sitting with Soobin yesterday.

You were setting him up with Chaewon. 

This is probably why you have been hanging out with the guy and generally interacting so much with him recently as well.

Wait, was this why you asked him that question about having feelings for a best friend? As far as his general university knowledge goes, Chaewon and Soobin have been best friends since before college.

Oh fuck, indeed.

Beomgyu really blew things out of proportion and let his overthinking mind carry him away.

“Speaking of – when do you plan to confess, Choi?”

Beomgyu scoffs at the question. “Never.”

Ryujin looks genuinely confused at the response. “What? Why?”

“She doesn’t feel the same, Ryu. And she’s my best friend. I can’t risk it.”

“How do you know she doesn’t feel the same?”

That’s – an odd question. One that Beomgyu feels like should be very obvious to answer, but when he opens his mouth to do just that, he has to shut it back again. Because ‘I just know’ is going to sound as stupid out loud as it does in his head. 

But then what else does he have? He thought you had feelings for someone else but that was obviously not the case. 

“I… I mean isn’t it obvious? She would’ve hinted at it… said anything at all if she felt anything…”

The moment Ryujin narrows her eyes and clicks her tongue, he knows he messed up. “Like you have? You’re sitting on your hands, too, dumbass. Does she even know that you don’t go on dates?”

“I’m on a date right now.”

“Keep talking like that and you’ll leave this date with a black eye.”

The waiter arrives with their food, and as Ryujin dives right in, Beomgyu takes a moment to actually think about what the girl has been saying.

You not having feelings for someone else doesn’t automatically imply that you’ve suddenly stopped viewing Beomgyu platonically. Which is why he doesn’t want to suddenly drop his plans of moving on and go back to pining over you.

He wishes for this to be a smooth transition – getting rid of his romantic feelings for you while also staying friends. But if he pays mind to what Ryujin just said, he will block this way for himself.

Because the moment he confesses, it will be a one-way street. You’ll never talk to him again and he’ll be too embarrassed to even show you his face.

Now, of course, he isn’t even considering what could happen if you actually ended up reciprocating – because he’s done enough of that for years now and he’s honestly… tired.

Loving you, as he has concluded time again, is painful and exhausting. He just wants to be happy again.

“How about you stop giving me love advice and start looking for someone new to crush on?” Beomgyu raises an eyebrow at Ryujin, who picks up an olive from her pizza to throw at his face with a scowl.

But then when she dissolves into giggles, sprinkling her happiness and beauty all over him, Beomgyu has to pause to wonder if she doesn’t actually need to look for someone new to crush on.

He offers to drop her off at the end of the date and Ryujin thanks him for the treat. His hands feel a little clammy when she grins at him with a tilt of her head, short hair flying up with the wind.

“Will… will I see you again?”

“Uh, yeah? You see me everyday, dumbass.” Ryujin gives a chuckle but it doesn’t sound natural.

“No, I mean – like this. On a date.”

Her shoulders deflate and her smile leaves her face. Pursing her lips, she looks at him in what could only be defined as disappointment. “This wasn’t a date, Beomgyu. And I won’t be your rebound.”

He’s not asking her to be – except, maybe he is. He doesn’t know anymore.

She seems to know more than him because she gives him another one of those wry smiles of hers and pats his shoulder. “Tell her how you feel and get out of this stupid limbo. I can be your shoulder to cry on, but not a heart to play with. Good night, loser.”

He truly feels like a loser when she walks away from his car.

but now i smile when i remember.

Beomgyu has heard people talk a great deal about ‘right person, wrong time’ or ‘wrong person, right time’, but he has never felt the gravity of it the way he does now.

You’re sitting on the bleachers with Lee Heeseung and giggling your heart away like he’s the funniest man alive. Heeseung, to his credit, is looking at you with a sparkle in his eyes that rivals the entire galaxy.

And as Beomgyu watches the scene from next to the water dispenser in a discrete corner, the bottom of his stomach feels strangely calm. 

It’s been a week since he had that confrontation with Ryujin. He didn’t exactly take her advice and run to confess to you, but he certainly did drop hints. And he certainly did observe your reactions.

At the end, he ruefully finds himself exactly where he always has been – watching you offer your affections to someone else from afar.

“How long has he been keeping this in?” he asks around a scoff when Heeseung shows you some magic trick and gloats in your excited clapping.

Taehyun hums as he screws the lid of the water dispenser tight and dusts his hands off to come stand next to Beomgyu. “Fuck knows. I think he’s always smiled a little too brightly at her whenever—oh my God, did you see that? Butterfingers! I could see that card from here. Making a joke out of the best card trick in the books!”

Beomgyu laughs at his friend’s grumbles. Then he gives a sigh. “She looks happy, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she does. But I don’t really think she’s on the same page as Lee. Or even you for that matter.” Taehyun settles on the ground and Beomgyu follows his lead. “She’s enjoying her college days like a normal uni student. And maybe you should too, Gyu. Enough of this pining, enough of being in love. Don’t you want to get drunk off your ass and makeout with some ditzy freshman at a party?”

Beomgyu’s horror must show on his face because Taehyun snorts when their eyes meet. 

“Okay, maybe not all of it. But… we’re young, buddy. You’ll have plenty of time to fall in love. Hopefully this time with someone who loves you more?”

Beomgyu watches the way you lean closer to Heesung to whisper something in his ear, and as the guy’s cheeks grow red in response, he frowns to himself. 

“What about all those times when she seemed jealous? Or upset I wasn’t paying attention to her?”

“Dude, for real?” Taehyun punches his shoulder. “You get like that too when I’m not available at your every beck and call.”

Beomgyu slowly exhales, leaning back on his palms and tilting his head up to let the sunlight wash over his face.

He really is stepping out of his delusions, this time.

You don't like him like that. You don't have feelings for him.

You and him are going to remain just friends.

He's finally ready to face the fact and move forward.

“Yo, loser! Wanna play catch?”

He’s smiling even before he has opened his eyes. Taehyun clears his throat in an exaggerated way with his eyebrows raised. “Never seen you grin that brightly in a while, my man…”

He looks around towards the source of the voice, his grin turning into laughter at the evil gleam in Ryujin’s eyes as she hurtles the basketball towards him.

Somehow managing to catch it with an enraged gasp, Beomgyu wastes no time in chasing the girl with it.

Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he notices the way you have cuddled up with Heesung and how the two of you are laughing at his antics with Ryujin.

When he briefly meets your eye, you give him a thumbs up with your grin.

And for the first time in years, he is able to smile back at you without an ounce of pain in his heart.

and i was so young till she kissed me like a whiskey… like a whiskey.

FIN.

© yeonboy 2023 // do not steal, copy or repost. respect your local content creators, kaythanks.

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

...the unholy flames of ♥kink!week♥ burn brightly...

(don't know what kink week is? click here!) ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∼ the fires of unholy week rage still, but perhaps today the sinful and the sweet can mix — consider it a calm before the storm ∼

∼ day four brings us our beloved cop with a heart of gold ♥ Miranda Hilmarson ♥ ∼

∼ tags and the fic are under the cut ∼

♥ i've worked very hard on this series — it was a huge project to undertake and i would very much appreciate if you left me comments with your thoughts and impressions — you already know they make my heart sing ♥ (AO3 link — i prefer it to tumblr vastly)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

tags: #fluff and smut #cunnilingus #vaginal fingering #strap-ons #lesbian sex #bisexual character #gangbang #lesbian gangbang #porn #sex work #triple penetration #double penetration #face-fucking #face-sitting #butt slapping #face slapping #acted-out rape #pretend rape #degradation #verbal humiliation #handcuffs #prison sex #friends to lovers #rape fantasy #multiple orgasms #kink!week

...but we could be (clicking on the title will lead you to ao3)

Miranda is crunching on her cereal.

Very loudly. Robin waits for her to finish eating so she can concentrate. She counts to ten in her mind to calm down. Then she counts to twenty and then to fifty, and Miranda is still fucking eating. It sounds like she’s chewing on her own teeth.

Finally, she snaps. “Hilmarson, will you cut it out?”

“Whaf?” she asks, mouth full, eyes wide. She looks like a kicked puppy.

“The chewing. It’s fucking annoying.”

If Miranda was a puppy, her ears would droop. She looks down at the desk and swallows a mouthful of cereal. “Oh. Sorry.”

Robin returns to typing on her computer. Finally, some fucking peace and quiet—

“I shouldn’t overeat, anyway. I was just so hungry. I’m going to brunch later, you know.”

“Hm,” Robin grumbles, not wanting to incite further conversation — and it works. Miranda is no longer crunching on her goddamn cereal, she’s no longer talking, and Robin can finally work in peace. 

The fucking brunch is bothering her though.

“Since when do you eat brunch?” she can’t help but ask. She never imagined Miranda to be the sort of person who eats brunch.

“Oh, I don’t usually — I only eat brunch with my pornstar friends!”

Robin almost chokes on her own spit. “Your what?”

“My pornstar friends,” she says, beaming.

“Right.” Robin hates that she wants to know more about this. “And those are… friends from school that went on to become pornstars?”

“Oh, no. We know each other from the shoot. I starred in a video, you know.” She sounds proud as she says it.

Robin blinks. “You starred… in a porno?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah! It was like an all-girl gangbang scene in a women’s prison. And all the girls were super nice so we stayed in touch. We get brunch every couple of weeks.”

Robin stopped listening on the gangbang part. She shakes her head. “Hilmarson, I’m sorry, but what the fuck?”

“I’ve been asked, you know. I was on my way to the gym and this really nice lady approached me and told me they need someone tall for a shoot they’re doing, and asked me if I’d be comfortable filming a sex scene. And I said, depends, you know. I wouldn’t do any piss stuff, that’d be nasty. Then she told me it’s an all girl gangbang scene and I couldn’t believe it! That’s been my fantasy since I was a teen!”

“Your fantasy?” Robin repeats. All of this sounds like a fever dream, and something that could definitely only happen to Miranda.

“Yeah! People have asked me to do sex work before, you know. Because of, well,” she gestures to herself, waving her arms up and down, “this. I’ve been asked to be an escort, but that just seemed, oh, I don’t know. Rather bleak.”

Robin can’t imagine a bleaker job than being a police officer, but she says nothing.

“I usually say no when people ask, though — but I couldn’t say no to this. It was a once in a lifetime chance!”

Robin blinks really, really slowly, trying to process what she just heard. 

Miranda’s face suddenly lights up. “Oh! Oh! I can show you!” 

Robin shakes her head. “What?” she asks, but Miranda is already scooting over to Robin’s desk on her chair. Before Robin knows it, Miranda is sitting next to her and grabbing her keyboard.

“It’s available online. It’s on a payed website, but I have access to it. Just a sec,” she says as she types in the address.

Robin grabs the keyboard from her, and Miranda gives her a wide-eyed look. “Are you fucking mental? You can’t search for porn at a police station! And we certainly can’t watch that here!”

“Oh. Right,” she says, looking a bit embarrassed. She seems to genuinely not have thought of that. “Well, we could watch it at my place.”

Robin can’t believe her ears. “Sorry, what?”

“We could watch it at my place,” Miranda repeats. “We can get popcorn and beer, and I can show you.”

Robin scoffs in bewilderment. “I won’t watch your porn, Hilmarson. That’d be weird.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Well, I’m fine with it. It’s really hot, you know. And it wouldn’t be weird. We wouldn’t like, watch the whole thing. We could just watch the beginning, before the action starts. It’s really cool. All the girls are amazing actresses, it’s really realistic. Well, until the part with the sex toys. There’s no way they could get away with having those in prison.”

“Absolutely not.”

There’s no way she’s watching porn with Miranda — especially not Miranda-porn. 

“Oh. Okay,” she says, disappointed, and rolls her chair back to her desk.

They continue to work in silence, but Robin can’t focus. Something’s bothering her.

“I didn’t know you were into girls,” she finally says.

She glances at Miranda, who opens up her drawer and pulls out a bag of chips. Her cereal sits forgotten next to her. 

“It didn’t come up.” Miranda opens the bag and shoves a fistful of chips into her mouth. Robin recoils at the horrifying crunching noise and turns her gaze back to the computer screen.

Miranda crunches on her chips for a couple of seconds before asking a question, Robin doesn’t want to answer — but she supposes it’s fair of Miranda to ask, since Robin was the one who broached the subject.  “Are you into girls, Griffin?”

“Not usually,” she says. She doesn’t really wanna talk about it.

“But sometimes?” Miranda asks, still crunching away.

“I guess.”

She lifts her gaze and finds Miranda looking at her with curiosity, munching on her chips. “I thought you had a bit of a vibe,” Miranda says.

“I don’t have a vibe.”

Miranda shrugs. “Okay. I’m not very good at telling, anyway. Girls like me, you know. I think it’s the height. I rarely have to approach first.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Okay,” Miranda says. “Want chips?”

“No.”

Robin hears Miranda shove the bag back into the drawer. They both continue to work in silence. Robin’s finding it hard to concentrate on work, but she refuses to stop. Her thoughts wander.

It never occurred to her that Miranda might be into women. She doesn’t know why the thought plagues her. It’s nothing special — many women are into other women. Robin has had… experiences. Not her thing, really. Except that one time — but that was its own sort of disaster.

She always thought Miranda had horrible taste in men. Her brother is a prime example, as well as their boss — just garbage man after garbage man. Women are at least prettier, if nothing else — even when their personalities are garbage. Maybe Miranda would do better finding a nice woman for herself. She hopes her taste in women is better than in men, but her hopes aren’t high — Miranda is sort of a walking disaster with no self-preservation instincts. Who accepts to star in a porno after being approached on the street?

About ten minutes pass in silence. Robin doesn’t work — instead she thinks about Miranda’s love life — and then the very subject of her thoughts interrupts her ruminating by speaking again.

“Hey, wanna have brunch with us? I’d really love for you to meet the girls. You’ll love them, I swear. They’re really nice.”

Unlike Miranda, Robin didn’t have breakfast, nor chips, and she can hear her stomach growling. She should probably eat something.

Ah, what the hell.

“Sure,” she says. 

Miranda squeaks — she’s practically vibrating with excitement.

Robin really hopes she won’t regret this.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

“Miranda! Miranda!” a group of five pretty young women squeals from across the restaurant. 

“Ohmygod, hiiii!” Miranda squeals back and scurries towards the girls. She pulls each of them into a bone crushing hug. They all reach up to her shoulders — they are absolutely tiny compared to her. Robin can’t imagine what that fucking video must have looked like.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, Mirandy!” one of them says, squished against Miranda’s chest. 

“I’ve missed you too!”

They all hug and scream and Robin just stands there, feeling like she’s witnessing a sorority girls reunion in an American rom-com. She’s already regretting this. “Everybody, meet Robin,” Miranda says after they’re done screaming, her face beaming in delight. Robin hates to admit that she looks kind of cute, all happy and glowing like this. “She’s gonna join us for brunch today.”

The nearest of the girls goes to pull her in a hug. “Hi, Robin! I’m Tracy.”

Robin scoots away. “Not a hugger. Sorry,” she says.

“Oh,” the girl says, clearly disappointed. 

“Oh, sorry, should’ve told you we are all huggers,” Miranda says to Robin, then turns to the girls. “She always acts all mean, but really she’s a delight. She’s the best partner one could wish for.”

“Work partner,” Robin adds, wanting to make it clear right off the bat that she and Miranda are not involved. They’re not even friends. “We’re work colleagues.”

The rest of the girls introduce themselves a bit more coldly, shaking her hand, and she immediately forgets their names. They’re all eyeing her up and down, studying her — it’s all rather awkward. 

“We should sit down,” Miranda says, smiling, oblivious to the awkwardness, and they all sit down at the big table the girls have already occupied beforehand. Robin spends the brunch eating her food and minding her business. The girls try to include her in the conversation a couple of times, but once they realise she keeps giving one word replies to everything and doesn't speak unless directly spoken to, they slowly give up.

It doesn’t take a particularly observant person to see that the girls absolutely adore Miranda. They’re very touchy-feely with her, they all look at her with wide adoring eyes, and they seem to find her jokes genuinely funny. Robin can see why Miranda likes to hang out with them. Nobody at the police station treats her like that, that’s for sure. 

The entire thing has a bit of a “schoolgirls at a sleepover” vibe, but gayer. All of the girls are very clearly into Miranda — they touch her uniform, ruffle her hair, give her an occasional peck on the cheek — and Miranda just sits there, looking absolutely delighted by everything that’s going on, radiating major golden retriever vibes, seemingly oblivious to the fact that these girls would clearly gladly fuck her again (that much is obvious even to Robin). There’s also lots of giggling and talking about clothes (she didn’t know Miranda was into clothes — but then again she did seem to be delighted by Prada shoes that one time). Robin’s just waiting for them to start braiding each other’s hair. The whole thing makes her uncomfortable, especially the physical affection — and on top of that, she’s never been the girly type. In fact, girls like that bullied her in school. She always thought Miranda was similar in that regard, but it looks like she was wrong. 

She seems to be learning a lot of things about Miranda today.

She can’t wait for the whole thing to be over. The food was good, but not good enough to justify the torturous socialising she, for some unknown reason, willingly subjected herself to. She’s relieved when they all start getting up from the table. 

She tries to move to the side and wait for Miranda to say her goodbyes, hoping no one will talk to her again — and she almost succeeds in her plan.

One of the girls — the one with jet black hair down to her butt and an eyebrow slit (she believes her name is Sydney or maybe Sally) — approaches her. 

“Can I help you?” Robin asks rudely. 

“Yes, actually, you can,” the girl says. “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck your thing is with Mir and it’s none of my business — I know she likes a tough bitch — but if you break her heart I will fucking cut you, get it?”

Robin scoffs. “What?” 

“You heard me. That girl is a fucking delight. If you dim her light, we will all cut you.

“You might want to think before you threaten me. I’m a police officer,” Robin says, so pissed she doesn’t even try to explain she and Miranda are definitely not an item.

Sally — or Sydney — simply raises an eyebrow and eyes her up and down. “We’ve got contacts in the police, bitch. Watch out.”

And with that, she turns. “Mir-mir!” she yells and hurries towards Miranda. “I didn’t get my hug!”

Robin just watches Miranda hug whatever-her-name-is, shocked, mouth agape. She says nothing further as she and Miranda leave the restaurant. She doesn’t bother to wave at the girls, or even spare them a second glance.

“So? What do you think? Aren’t they amazing?” Miranda asks the second they step onto the street. Her voice is high-pitched with excitement. “With them I feel like I’m finally part of the girl’s club. It’s so nice.”

She doesn’t even look at Miranda, just keeps on walking. Miranda just follows her like a puppy. 

“I didn’t know you were a girly girl.”

“Oh, I never used to be. Girls like them used to bully me in school. And look at me now,” she says proudly. “I really came a long way.”

“It’s because they want to fuck you,” Robin says before she can stop herself.

“Oh, that’s not the only reason. They were really nice to me at the shoot, and they really didn’t have to be. I was very nervous, and they did their best to make me comfortable.”

Robin scoffs. “One of them threatened to, I quote, ‘cut me’ if I break your heart. The one with black hair.”

“Oh, Samantha?”

(Okay — so neither Sydney nor Sally.)

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” Miranda says carefully. “It’s just something you say.”

“Yeah, when people are an item. But you and I are not an item.” 

“Oh, they know that.”

Robin stops walking and looks Miranda in the eyes. “Do they?”

Miranda just laughs. “Yeah! You told them, and then I told them again.” 

She pauses for a second. 

“Besides, I know you wouldn’t spare me a second glance,” she adds and gives Robin a little smile — the smile of a person who’s used to not getting picked first and is completely okay with it. For some reason, it breaks Robin’s heart.

She frowns. “It’s not that I wouldn’t.”

Miranda’s eyes light up. “You would? Okay, so like, if you didn’t know me, and we met randomly at a bar, would you buy me a drink?”

Robin sighs and starts walking again. “I don’t know, Hilmarson. Maybe. I’d have to be drunk.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, I’d be drunk too!” she says and happily scurries after her. “Oh, that’s nice to know. I’d totally let you buy me a drink.”

Robin says nothing further. They walk in silence for a while until they reach the police station.

When Miranda goes to enter the building, Robin stops her. “Wait,” she says. 

Miranda turns and looks at her with those big, blue, puppy eyes. “Yes?”

Robin doesn’t know what possessed her. 

“If I agree to see the video, do you promise to tell those girls once and for all that we are not together?”

“Oh, you don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to. And they know we’re not together.”

“Tell them again.”

“Okay, sure,” she says.

They stand like that for a long moment, neither of them moving. “Uh… do you want to… see the video?” Miranda finally asks, confused.

Robin purses her lips. “It will plague me if I don’t. But we stop at the actual porn part.”

Miranda’s entire face lights up. “Of course,” she chirps. “Oh, I’ll get snacks and everything, it’s gonna be so much fun, I promise! Come to mine around eight?”

“Sure.”

She ignores Miranda the rest of the day, but Miranda is in such a good mood that she doesn't seem to mind — or notice — at all.

Robin doesn’t know why she did it. She supposes it’s her morbid curiosity — or perhaps it’s that sometimes she gets awfully lonely in her flat at night, and she would appreciate some company. Miranda is obnoxious, but she’s the only person that Robin didn’t manage to chase away with her foul attitude — not for the lack of trying. 

Miranda is not someone Robin would normally pick as a friend, but she has to admit that Miranda is a very good friend. Robin knows she could count on her if needed — and now that she thinks about it, if her place was burning down, Miranda would be the first person she’d call — because she knows Miranda would answer. 

Miranda has shit taste in men, but maybe Robin has shit taste in friends. And maybe she needs someone like Miranda to keep her at least somewhat fit for society. Without her, she’d become a true hermit. 

…

Still — is it weird to watch porn with a work colleague? 

She decides not to dwell on it — she already agreed to the thing, anyway. And it’s Miranda — there’s no way it could lead to anything sexual. Worst case scenario, it’ll be awkward, and then they’ll never mention it again.

With that thought, she closes the subject in her mind and continues to work undisturbed until the end of her shift.

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When Miranda opens the door that evening, she’s grinning from ear to ear. Robin can’t get an image of an excited puppy out of her head. 

“Hiii!” she says, moving aside so Robin can enter. Robin’s eyes wander to her flimsy, almost see-through T-shirt. 

“Couldn’t you have found a proper shirt to put on?” she grumbles, moving past her and walking towards the living room. She knows where everything is — after all, all the apartments in this building are more or less the same. 

Miranda glances down towards her own chest. “Oh, I just forgot. These are my PJs.” She scurries after Robin, following her to the couch. “Why, Griffin? You into me?” she asks, grinning from ear to ear. “You wanna daaaate me and make loooooove to me?”

Robin sits down and on the couch, crossing her arms and legs. Miranda plops down on the couch next to her, making kissing noises into the air. The couch bounces with the force of Miranda’s weight being thrown on it. 

“If you continue to be weird about this, I will leave.”

She won’t leave. Robin hates to admit it, but she’s feeling a bit weepy tonight. She would really appreciate some human contact — but she will be grumpy about it

“If it really bothers you, I can change,” Miranda says. 

“Forget it,” Robin grumbles. 

“Okay. Want a beer?”

“Sure.”

She could use a beer. Or seven. She can’t believe she’s about to watch Miranda’s fucking porno — even if it is only the intro.

Miranda disappears into the kitchen and quickly comes back with two opened beers and a bucket of popcorn. She puts the popcorn on the little coffee table in front of the couch and hands one beer to Robin. “Here you go. Do you want a glass?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” She takes a big swig.

“Someone’s thirsty,” Miranda says as she sits down, taking a sip as well. She makes herself comfortable, lifting her long legs (that, Robin notices, look even longer and leaner in the black tights she’s wearing) onto the couch and crossing them. The way she moves, all tall and lanky, reminds Robin of a baby deer. 

“It’s just been a day,” Robin says.

Miranda furrows her brows. “Has it? You typed on your laptop and had brunch.”

Robin shrugs, staring at the bowl of popcorn on the table, not looking at Miranda or her flimsy fucking shirt. “Well, it’s been a day in my brain, I guess.”

“Oh. I get it. I have those too, sometimes. You PMS-ing?”

Robin takes another swig of her beer. “None of your business.”

“So grumpy,” Miranda tuts. “So, you wanna get right to it? I have it all set up on the TV.”

“Sure.”

Robin drinks her beer, feeling a bit fragile. Maybe she is about to get her period. She shouldn’t for another two weeks, but maybe it’s early. Being with someone really helps, though — and so does the beer.

Miranda grabs the remote from the coffee table and fumbles with it a little bit. “Okay, so it’s connected to the tablet… alright, here we go.”

A big title appears on the screen. 

Girlbang series production — Fun In Prison

  Robin already regrets this. “I still can’t believe you agreed to that. You’re a police officer. Did they at least blur your face?”

Miranda presses pause. “Oh, they asked me if I wanted them to, and I said no.”

Robin chokes on her beer. “Why?”

“Oh, I just think it’d ruin the viewer’s experience. Besides, it’s on a paid website. Nobody in their right mind pays for porn.” She cranes her head towards Robin and Robin finally makes eye contact. She tries very hard not to stare at her chest. It’s not that Miranda has such amazing tits, it’s just that you can’t just not look at someone’s tits if they’re right fucking there. “Have you ever paid for porn?”

“No?” Robin says.

“Precisely.”

Robin scoffs, and then chuckles. “So. Wanna tell me about the plot?”

“Oh, yes!” She bounces on the couch, grinning excitedly, her eyes twinkling. Robin must admit, when she isn’t being annoying, she is rather endearing. “They didn’t even plan on filming a prison scene before they hired me, it was supposed to be just a regular gangbang. But then I told that lady that I’m a cop, and she lost her mind. She told me, Miranda, I’m ready to beg you to do a prison scene — and I said, oh you don’t have to beg, I’ll do it, that’s like, so hot. You ever seen Orange Is The New Black?”

“No.”

Miranda sighs. “Babe, you live under a rock.”

Robin just shrugs and drinks some more of her beer.

“Anyway, the plot is basically that I’m a cop who gets ambushed while doing nightly rounds and then they all fuck me and it’s really hot.”

“Sounds very complex,” Robin deadpans.

“It’s better when you see the visuals. And all the girls are reeeeally hot — but you already know that.”

“I’m sure you’re hot too. Like, those girls seemed into you today.”

“Told you — it’s the height.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’ve got other things going.”

Miranda looks at her with those big, blue puppy eyes and Robin feels a wave of affection wash over her like a fucking disease. 

“Like what?” she asks, and Robin can see the question is genuine.

“I don’t know, Hilmarson, but you do,” she mumbles grumpily. “I can’t think of anything right now, you put me on the spot. Let’s just watch the thing.”

She can think of at least a couple of things — but it feels weird to hand out compliments. She can’t force herself to push the words out of her mouth.

Miranda looks a bit disappointed. “Sure,” she says and presses play.

Robin has to admit — this thing isn’t half bad, as far as pornos go. The acting is not terrible (except Miranda’s, which is tragic). The prison uniforms look correct, and Miranda’s does as well — it’s a bit tighter than it needs to be, but Robin thinks it suits her. It shows off her long legs. Miranda actually looks good, and they put some very natural makeup on her. 

Miranda towers over every girl, and it looks a bit ridiculous when the first one comes up to her and shoves her against the wall. That’s, however, when Miranda’s acting really improves — and Robin suspects it’s because she isn’t acting anymore. She looks like she’s really into it.

The intro is long — longer than Robin thought it would be, but she supposes that’s how it is with high quality porn you gotta fucking pay for — and Robin is on her second beer and already drunk, and she can’t stop thinking about how disappointed Miranda looked when she refused to compliment her and she also can’t stop thinking about her tits in that see-through shirt and about her puppy eyes, and wow, that girl pinned her on the bed and bit her neck and Miranda’s moan is really sexy and fuck, that was really hot. Another girl rips off her shirt and Miranda is now only in a lacy blue bra and Robin can see her nipples, and suddenly she’s hyperaware of the fact that she could also see her nipples if she just turned a bit to the left and—

Miranda pauses the video. 

“That’s the intro,” she says, glancing towards Robin. “What do you think?”

“It’s good,” Robin says and her voice is much squeakier than she intended it to be. She clears her throat. “It’s good.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that? You don’t look like you like it. You’re doing that weird face.”

Robin frowns. “What weird face?”

“That weird face you always do. You scrunch your nose and look annoyed.”

“I think that’s just my face.”

“Oh.”

They sit in awkward silence for a bit, and then Robin turns to Miranda to fully face her.

“I’m a bitch,” she says.

Miranda furrows her brows. “What?”

“I’m a bitch. I’m a bitch to you, I’m a bitch to everyone. Everybody in their right mind has already left me. Why won’t you leave?”

Miranda is silent for a moment. She places her beer down on the coffee table. “Do you… want me to leave you?”

“No.”

“Why? You don’t seem to like me. You couldn’t even think of one thing to compliment me on.”

“That’s because I’m a bitch. But I do like you. And yes, you do annoy me, but I think you have many good qualities. You’re loyal and kind, even when everybody’s being terrible to you, including myself. Your jokes aren’t funny, but they cheer me up. And you have much more going for you than your height. You have nice tits and really long legs and pretty eyes, and no man I ever saw you fool around with was ever worthy of you.”

Miranda stares at her, at a loss for words. “Do you really think that?” she slowly asks.

“Yes. I really don’t understand why you didn’t ditch me a long time ago, though.” She averts her eyes, then takes another sip of her beer. “I don’t think I’m worthy of you either.”

Robin can feel the couch shift as Miranda scoots closer to her. Miranda takes the beer from her hand and places it on the coffee table, then grabs her by the shoulders. “Robin. Robin, look at me.”

Robin reluctantly meets her gaze. She doesn’t think they’ve ever been this close. She can feel Miranda’s breath on her face, and the only thing she can think about is that Miranda’s eyes are very blue.

“I think you’re a good person,” Miranda says. Robin glances at her lips. They are very pink. “You’ve just been through a lot. I like you, and I want to be your friend. I won’t just leave if you’re acting like a bitch sometimes.”

Robin kisses her. 

Miranda squeaks, but she doesn’t pull away. Robin grabs her neck and her waist and pulls her closer and then Miranda is kissing her back. She hums into the kiss and it drives Robin wild, and then she pushes her tongue into Miranda’s mouth and Miranda immediately welcomes it. They kiss like they’re hungry, and Miranda is a sloppy kisser but somehow in a good way, and Robin loves it, loves how warm and wet her tongue is, and how big her hands feel on her waist. Miranda whimpers when Robin’s hands wander to her tits. She finally indulges into what she’s been thinking about the entire evening and gropes Miranda over her shirt. 

Miranda pulls away. “Fuck,” she breathes out. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes. But I also want to watch the porno till the end. I want to see you get fucked, and then I want to fuck you.”

Miranda’s eyes go dark with desire and she kisses her again, then pulls away. “No problem,” she says, grinning a bit mischievously. She pushes Robin back into the couch. “Lie back and relax. I’ll eat you out while you watch.” 

Robin can’t remember the last time someone ate her out, and her pussy throbs just thinking about it. “Okay,” she says with a breathy voice. Miranda presses play and the video takes off where they paused it — a closeup of Miranda’s tits in the lacy blue bra.

Miranda pushes away the coffee table and sinks down on the floor, getting onto her knees in front of Robin. Robin’s chest is heaving and she can feel her cheeks flushing as Miranda unzips her jeans. “Up,” she says, and Robin lifts her hips. Miranda pulls down her jeans and underwear in one swift move, pulling them over her knees and feet and discarding them on the floor, leaving her completely bare and exposed. Robin almost feels self-conscious, almost tells her to wait, to slow down — but then Miranda looks at her bare pussy with such lust and adoration in her gaze that Robin just can’t feel embarrassed anymore. 

“It’s… It’s been a while since I’ve had someone do this to me,” she says breathlessly. 

“Just relax. I’ll take care of you,” Miranda says, and she also sounds a bit out of breath, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dark. Robin fixes her gaze onto the screen.

  Miranda’s pants are already gone. She’s lying on the bed, handcuffed, her chest and cheeks flushed. One of the girls is straddling her waist and groping her tits underneath her bra, two are kissing and biting her neck, ears and jaw, two are stroking her long legs and slapping her thighs. Miranda is breathing heavily. Her eyes are hazy and dark, her lips parted. The girl straddling her pulls off her bra, ripping it apart and exposing her small, perky tits. Miranda gasps. One of the girls kissing her neck takes her tit into her mouth and bites her nipple, making her cry out. “Fuck,” Miranda breathes out.

“That’s what we’re gonna do to you,” one of the girls says. “Fuck you until you can’t fucking walk, bitch.” The one straddling her starts slapping her tits, the other slaps her cheek, and one of them yanks her panties down. The camera zooms in on Miranda’s pink, dripping cunt.

  Robin lets out a breathy moan — both because of the visual on the screen, and because of Miranda lightly biting the inside of her thigh. She is gentle, reverent — kissing and licking Robin’s thighs, running her thumbs along where Robin’s thighs meet her vulva. Robin is squirming and breathing hard, and she’s surprised how much she’s affected by Miranda’s teasing. 

Finally, Miranda gives Robin’s pussy a hot, long lick — Robin shivers and moans. Miranda’s tongue is warm and wet against her pussy, and she wants more. She grabs her head, tangles her fingers into Miranda’s soft, blonde hair and pulls her closer. Miranda grins into her cunt and starts giving her pussy long, fervent licks.

  One of the girls is fastening a strap around her hips. She hovers over Miranda’s face, lowering her pussy down to Miranda’s mouth, the strap grazing Miranda’s forehead. “Eat my pussy, pretty cop,” she says, and starts riding Miranda’s face. The strap bounces up and down and hits Miranda’s face as the girl grinds her hips and Miranda licks her cunt with fervour — you can tell she’s really into it. One girl is slapping her tits, and the other produces another strap, lubes it up and shoves it into Miranda’s cunt. Miranda’s stomach muscles contract as the girl stretches her out and then starts fucking her at a relentless pace. She’s whimpering and moaning, her face covered in drool and the other girl’s arousal. “Such a tight pussy. Does it hurt, pretty cop?” the girl fucking her mocks her and Miranda can only whimper.    Miranda’s pussy eating is sloppy. She licks and sucks and smears her own drool and Robin’s wetness around with her tongue. She shoves her tongue inside of her, sucks on her pussy lips, licks her clit. 

Robin loves it. 

She’s never felt so worshipped and adored. In the past, when people ate her out, they usually just wanted to be done with it. Miranda is the complete opposite — perhaps she’s sloppy, but she eats her like she’s devouring her favourite meal. She’s taking her time, really getting in there, and she looks like she’s enjoying herself a lot. She’s humming and whimpering along with Robin. The room is filled with sounds from the video mixed with their own, real-time moans, and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is. “Fuck,” Robin gasps as Miranda finds a really good spot. “Do that again, fuck!”

Miranda is really good at following directions — and she really wants to please. She repeats the movement that made Robin cry out many times, and Robin’s thighs start trembling. “Fuck, Miranda,” she pants, and saying her name only spurs Miranda on, and she slips one finger into her dripping cunt and starts slowly fucking her. Robin keens. “Fuck, don’t stop!”

  The girls throw Miranda on the floor, making her kneel on all fours. Her wrists are still handcuffed. One of the girls spits in her mouth. “Suck my cock, slut,” she then says and shoves her strap into Miranda’s mouth. Miranda looks so hot sucking it — the camera zooms in on her face, on her wide and pretty blue eyes as she looks up at the girl fucking her face. The girl grabs her hair and shoves the strap deeper. Miranda’s eyes tear up as she gags, but she never stops sucking, bobbing her back and forth. “What a good slut you are,” the girl says. Miranda whimpers as two girls start spanking her ass, and the other starts fucking her asshole with a dildo.  The girl fucking her mouth pulls the strap out. “You love it. Say you love it.”

“No,” Miranda says, and Robin can tell it’s the script she must follow, because her eyes say yes and she cranes her neck to take the strap into her mouth again.  “Fucking liar. I know you love it, slut,” the girl says and grabs her hair, starts fucking her mouth faster than before. Tears stream down Miranda’s cheeks and she moans in pleasure as her mouth and ass are fucked relentlessly and her ass is spanked until it becomes bright red.

  Miranda slips another finger inside Robin, and Robin moans loudly. Miranda starts fucking her harder and licking her clit faster. “Yes, yes, yes,” Robin whimpers, pulling Miranda closer. Miranda moans as Robin pulls on her hair, and Robin starts rocking her hips against Miranda’s mouth.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Miranda keens as she rides a girl’s strap, while another girl fucks her from behind. Her face and chest are red, there are beads of sweat on her back and forehead, her hair is ruffled, her eyes closed and her brows furrowed with pleasure. Another girl kneels in front of her and shoves her strap in Miranda’s mouth again, muffling her cries of pleasure. The other two girls are pleasuring themselves, watching Miranda get fucked in every hole. The girl underneath her gropes her tits and the one behind her slaps her ass as they fuck her. 

The girl fucking her mouth pulls on her hair. “That’s it, you’re gonna come from this like a dirty slut,” she says and pulls the strap out of her mouth, and Miranda screams as pleasure overwhelms her. The girls don’t stop fucking her, and she keeps moaning and screaming and rocking her hips. “Fuckyes,” she cries as another wave of ecstasy washes over her.

  “Ah, Miranda,” Robin cries, “don’t stop — ah, fuck!” She feels herself clenching around Miranda’s fingers. She grinds on Miranda’s face, and Miranda hums and moans into her pussy, fucks her hard and fast until the tight coil in Robin’s belly snaps and she comes — hard. 

“Shit — fuck!” she cries. Miranda continues to fuck her and doesn’t stop licking her clit. Robin feels the tension build again, and before she knows it a second orgasm washes over her like a wave. She keens and clenches her thighs around Miranda’s head, trying to push her away from her sensitive clit. Miranda slowly pulls her fingers out of her and continues to gently lick her through the aftershocks. Robin’s thighs tremble. “Fuck,” she says breathlessly, her muscles convulsing as Miranda gives her aching clit a small kitten lick.

When Robin looks at the TV again, the screen is black.

She glances down at Miranda kneeling in between her legs. Miranda smiles and wipes her mouth on her forearm. She gives Robin that pretty, wide eyed look that Robin can’t admit she loves. 

“Do you have a strap?” Robin asks. 

“Yeah. Want me to fuck you with the strap?” Miranda asks, still a bit out of breath, climbing back up on the couch.

“No. I want to fuck you with it and make you moan like you did in the porno.”

Miranda’s face lights up. She smiles at Robin, grabs her arm and leads her towards the bedroom.

Miranda comes three times that night. After making her admit she came five times on the set, Robin makes a pact with herself to reach that number next time — but right now, she’s very, very sleepy.

As they lie next to each other on the bed, Miranda tentatively reaches for Robin’s hand. Robin doesn’t pull away. They stay like that for a bit, and then Robin rolls over and wraps her arm around Miranda’s waist. She can tell Miranda loves it.

“So, what are we now?” Miranda asks as she rubs little circles on her back.

“What do you mean?” Robin asks into Miranda’s chest, knowing very well what she means.

“I mean, are we an item?”

Robin waits a moment before she responds. 

“Not yet,” she says. “But… we could be.”

With her face buried in Miranda’s torso, she can’t see her smile.

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Big thanks to @opheliauniverse for beta-reading. <3

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @alexusonfire @larissaoftarthweems @a-queen-and-her-throne @bikergurl5 @salems-spaghettios @theflashesoflove @catechristiesstuff @vendocrap8008 @billiedeansbitch @coffeemelko @lilfartbox1 @softshrimpy @amateurwritescm @daydream-cement @kaymariesworld @sicklygrlsicklygrl @wh0re4women @rippersz

[darkwing-katy]

The Spider and the Fly Part I

Pairing: Eventual Leland x Reader (sorta? You’ll see what I mean)

Word Count: 2,527

Summary: All you want to do is get through your online courses and keep your best friend from making bad choices in men. But there’s this creepy therapist who is absolutely insisting on you making an appointment with him. Who the hell is this Leland Townsend, and why won’t he leave you alone?!

Part one of seven. Takes place sometime around seasons one and two.

This series is inspired heavily by my favorite poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829) by Mary Howitt. This poem is in the public domain.

Tagging: @primosflowergarden

————————————————————————————————————-

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly

“‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,

And I have many curious things to show you when you are there.”

You take a casual sip of (your favorite coffee drink) and raise your eyebrows at Betty. “Look, this is, what, the fourth time that he’s stood you up?” 

She nods, her blonde hair whooshing in her ponytail as her head bobs up and down. “Yeah,” she confirms as she takes a sip of her strawberry hibiscus drink. 

“Four times is too many times. Three times is too many times. Honestly, two times is pushing it, unless there’s a legitimate reason for it, and even then, I’d be pretty damn wary.” You swirl your drink around, careful not to spill it. “If you ask me, you should be ruining his life right about now.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “I’m not like you, (Y/N),” she replies. “I’m not petty.”

You scoff. “Petty? I’m not petty! I just make sure that people who fuck me over get a little fucked over themselves.” You take another short sip. “If it were me, I’d start following our lord and savior Taylor Swift and pull some vigilante shit.”

“You don’t even know if there’s a reason for it! What if he’s got a valid reason—like his mom died or his dog got hit by a car or he got COVID?”

“Does he even have a dog?” you wonder. Betty shrugs, and you sigh as you fix your eyes on your friend. “You see too much good in everyone, Betty. Sure, there can be valid reasons to stand someone up, but not four times in a row, and especially not without giving you a heads up of some kind.” You smirk as you remember what you did to Talison—not that Betty knows how far you’d gone. It had been mostly harmless, at least. 

For you.

“You should do some research. Figure out if there’s a subreddit on them or something. The internet is a wondrous place, you know.” You shift in your chair, setting your drink down and leaning forward on your elbows. “And then, if you find out anything suspicious, I say you take a page outta tumblr and slash three of his tires. Allegedly, if you slash three instead of all four, insurance won’t cover it. Not,” you quickly add, “that I’ve ever put that to the test.”

Betty didn’t know about that time with Matt, either.

Betty rolls her eyes and stands. “You’re a psycho. I gotta pee, and then I’m gonna order me a sandwich. You want anything to eat?”

“I mean, I’m always down for a croissant,” you reply. 

Betty nods and walks off in the direction of the bathroom. You lean back and drink some more of your drink as you study the people around you. The coffee shop is only half-full, but it’s still busy with couples and friends chatting. You skim around the tables for anything interesting, anything worthy of your attention. There’s a few teenagers giggling as they swipe up and down with their phones; a shrimpy-looking teenaged boy making doe-eyes at them; a few college kids on their laptops, along with some businesspeople. Fortunately, no one is talking overly loud—you hate when people do that in shared spaces.

A man sits across from you on his laptop. He’s kinda cute, and you let your eyes trace over his face as he types, unaware of the fact that you’re watching him. You think you might want to say something to him when your eyes catch a glint on his left hand—a simple gold band—a wedding ring. “Guess not,” you mutter under your breath. 

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” a voice starts, distracting you from the cute married man. You snap your head to Betty’s chair, where a man is standing, one hand wrapped around the top of the chair. He’s handsome, sure, if a little older than your usual tastes.

The man is tilting his head at you, a friendly smile on his face. “It sounds like your friend is having boy troubles,” he continues.

You’re a bit perturbed that he’s been nosy enough to overhear the conversation, let alone comment on it. Even if he’s attractive. “Pretty sure that’s not your business, buddy,” you reply, pursing your lips.

He chuckles. “It’s not, but I’m curious, and I think I could also be of some assistance.” He nods his head at the chair. “May I?”

“Nope,” you say, but he ignores you and sits down. 

You gotta admire the guy’s boldness, even if it’s tempting you to toss your drink in his face. From the way he’s tilting his head at you and narrowing his eyes ever-so-slightly, he half-expects you to react aggressively, so you swallow your anger and settle for cool observation instead. He fixes his eyes on you as he sets his arms on the table, the very picture of two old friends getting together to chat. “So. Boy troubles?”

You eyeball his outfit. It’s business casual, a tweed suit, and he’s got glasses that are half-black, half-tan framing his eyes, which are a deep blue that you haven’t seen on anyone else before. His hair is short and brown. As you study him, you think to yourself again that he’s pretty nice to look at. “Why do you care?” you ask.

He flashes you a disarming smile that shows all of his teeth. “I’m a therapist, actually. I hear stories like your friend’s all the time, and I just thought I could…help out. Maybe give you some advice to give her.” He folds his hands together and sets his chin on them, propping his head up like you’re sharing the hottest gossip with each other.

Well, that’s even more disturbing—he’s a therapist and he’s just butting into your and Betty’s lives? Must not be a great therapist, then, if he’s not respecting boundaries.

Still, you can’t see the harm in sharing a few details, if only for the fun of it. “She’s been stood up by this dude a few times,” you say, careful to omit any descriptions. “And I’m simply advising her to ditch him. That’s all.”

The man gives you a thoughtful look as he blinks. “I swear I heard you mention slashing the guy’s tires,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I merely mentioned it as a potential solution to impress upon this person that standing someone up four times in a row is not an acceptable form of behavior.”

“But encouraging others to slash tires is?”

Alright, fun’s up. This guy is getting annoying. “My friend’s gonna be back soon, and she’s gonna want her chair back,” you say as you cross your arms over your chest. “You should go.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I can wait for her to get back. I’m on my coffee break right now.”

You feel your eyes narrow even further. He’s either not getting the hint, or he is and he’s choosing to deliberately ignore it. Either way, it’s greatly diminishing his attractiveness. Deep blue eyes do not excuse a shitty personality, no matter how pretty. “Look, buddy,” you say in a low voice as you lean forward. “I’m telling you to go away.”

“Or what? You’ll slash my tires?” There’s a strange gleam in his eyes, like he enjoys the idea of you doing that. It’s unsettling. A chill creeps up your arms. “What? Or maybe you’ve got something worse up your sleeves?” He raises both eyebrows, daring you. You hope he doesn’t notice the goosebumps prickling up your bare arms, but if you reach for your cardigan, he’ll definitely notice it if he hasn’t already.

You need to change strategies. It seems like you’re unable to intimidate him into leaving you the fuck alone, but luckily for you, pivoting is something you do well, so now it’s your turn to flash him a tense smile. “Alright. I’ll bite. What do you want?”

He blinks, almost like he hadn’t expected that response. “I’m sorry?”

You keep the smirk off of your face, but only just barely. It’s nice to have caught him off guard. You pick up your drink to maintain the illusion of friendliness. “You came over here asking about my friend’s boy probs. You say you’re a therapist. So then what do you want? Just to give me some…friendly advice?” You’re raising your eyebrows at him, a mirrored mockery of his earlier facial expression.

He presses his lips into a thin line as he studies you. You study him right back, unflinching as his eyes flick from your drink to your face. You make a point of allowing your own eyes to rove over him. Give him a taste of his own medicine a bit, make him uncomfortable. He catches the way your lips are tilting into a smirk as you examine him, and now his eyes are the ones narrowing. “I want you to make an appointment with me,” he finally says.

You snort. “What the fuck, dude?” Where did that come from? First he acts like he wants to help you with Betty’s relationship problems, and all of a sudden he’s wanting you to make an appointment with him?

Good God, this man must be insane.

He doesn’t flinch at your exclamation, just patiently watches you. 

You shake your head at him. “You can’t be serious.”

His lips curl into a smirk of his own. “Oh, I am very serious,” he replies, and you feel another chill run down your spine that has nothing to do with the air conditioning. “I think we could do great things together.”

“The heck does that mean?”

He tilts his head. “Make the appointment and you’ll find out!” He sounds excited now, too happy for your tastes. You haven’t even agreed and he’s acting like you have.

Well, screw that. This screams creep, this screams psycho killer, this screams serial assaulter. There is no way in hell you’re gonna make an appointment with this dude.

But you can’t react that obviously. He’s already noticed your shift in body language—you can tell from the way his eyes glitter at you. All of the weird charm from earlier has gone. He knows that you want to run away from him, and he’s relishing it, the bastard. He expects you to flee. 

You set your jaw, grit your teeth, tilt your head. This guy is bad news, and Betty’s gonna be back anytime now. You need to get him away from her, away from you. The best way to deal with these types of guys is to play along, to give them an amicable smile and nod your pretty little head, so that’s what you do. “Alright, fine. If you leave now, then I’ll schedule an appointment with you, okay?” You give him the fakest smile you can muster and pray he can’t see through it.

His smirk widens into a toothy grin, and somehow you know that he’s seen right through you. He doesn’t care that you’re just saying it to get him away; he’s glad to have won this weird little battle between the two of you. With one swift movement, he rises from the chair and pulls out a small business card, back in charming gentleman mode. You accept the card without looking at it. If you’re lucky, you will never need to refer to it. This is all a ploy to get him out of sight, anyways.

But he’s extending a hand towards you and waiting. You’ve half a mind to ignore it, but that might signal to him that you’re faking everything, so you begrudgingly accept the handshake. His hand wraps around yours, nearly covers it completely, and you give it a firm squeeze in the hopes that he’ll let go quickly.

He doesn’t. He keeps his hand wrapped around yours and tightens his own grip. It’s teetering on the edge of painful, and he’s maintaining eye contact the entire fucking time. It’s a challenge, one that you’re unwilling to lose, so you lock your eyes with his and keep the forced smile plastered onto your face.

“Dr. Leland Townsend,” he says cheerfully.

“(Y/N),” you say, intentionally withholding your last name. He quirks an eyebrow at you to indicate that he’s noticed the omission, but you have no reason to elaborate. You know his name, he doesn’t need to know yours. There are dozens of people in New York who have the same name as you.

“You might not realize it, yet, (Y/N),” he says, “but this is gonna be the start of a beautiful partnership. I can feel it.” His thumb strokes your hand as he drawls out the word ‘feel’, and you bite your tongue to keep from shuddering. 

What a fucking creep.

“I’ll take your word for it, Doctor,” you reply, keeping that false friendliness in your tone. 

“I’ll see you around!” With that, he finally releases your hand, though not before giving it another not-quite-painless squeeze that kinda feels like some sort of warning. He flashes you another smile and saunters off. You track him, unwilling to let him out of your sight until he’s out the door. He reaches the door and pushes against it, though he does glance back at you, as if he’s expecting you to be watching him. He wiggles his fingers at you in the mockery of a wave, which you don’t return, and then he’s gone at last. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“What a fucking creep,” you repeat to yourself. 

“What was that?”

You spin around to see Betty approaching, a sandwich and a croissant squished together in one hand. She’s got another strawberry hibiscus drink in her other hand. If you weren’t so unsettled by the man—Dr. Townsend?—you’d roll your eyes at her.

“Nothing,” you lie. There’s no reason to tell her about this odd encounter. She’s got enough troubles to worry about.

You hastily shove the business card into your pocket. As you and Betty eat and continue to talk, you’re strangely aware of it burning a hole in your pocket. It’s hard to focus on her words, but you manage to make it work.

It occurs to you that maybe you should call the office and give them all false information. Dr. Townsend wouldn’t know, right? And then you don’t have to actually show up, and he doesn’t have anything to trace you with. It’d lull him into a false sense of security only to have the rug ripped out from beneath him.

You smirk to yourself. Yeah, that sounds like a fun little prank. It’s not like he’ll be able to find you and retaliate. 

You rub your sore hand with your other hand. Oh, yes. He thinks he can intimidate you? He’s gonna find out just how wrong he is.

“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “you ask me this in vain.

For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

————————————————

Part Two

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Ten

Summary: The aftermath of the movie premiere.

Word Count: 3150+

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of parent death, issues with body image

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites

We slept late the next morning. It was after nine when I crawled out of bed to use the bathroom. Dieter was still passed out cold, lying face down with his face crammed into a pillow, his bare ass poking out from under the covers. I took a look at myself in the mirror and wished I hadn’t. My hair was sticking up in all directions and there were bags under my eyes. It was a far cry from my red carpet look.

I decided to take a shower and start over with my hair, rather than try to tame it the way it was. When I got out, I slipped into a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, deciding to forgo a bra, at least for the time being. It was going to be a lazy day, after all.

Dieter was still asleep. I leaned over the bed to cover him up and he grunted. “Why are you so obsessed with my butt?,” he mumbled.

”I’m not obsessed with your butt,” I told him. “I just didn’t want it to catch cold.” I tucked the comforter around him and patted his bottom. “Go back to sleep, Deet. You’ve earned it.”

”What time?”

”Doesn’t matter. Go to sleep.”

He didn’t argue with me. I knew the press junket had been stressful and tiring. He deserved to get some rest. 

I found my purse in the living room and pulled out my phone. I’d managed to remember to turn it off last night, so the battery was still at 65% when I powered it on. All my apps were lit up with notifications, but I went first to my texts. 

SAM: You look GORGEOUS!!!!

ME: Aw, thanks. It’s all thanks to the stylists. Did my hair and makeup and everything. Felt like a giant Barbie doll. LOL

It was close to midday back East, so I knew she was probably at work and wouldn’t respond right away, so I jumped over to Instagram. I followed the studio’s page and I knew they would have posted photos from last night. 

There were several pics from the red carpet, including one of me and Dieter. It was weird seeing myself all glammed up, standing beside him as he posed effortlessly for the camera. I could see that I was a bit stiff and awkward, despite the elegant dress and high heels. Still, I looked nice. Not bad for a first time, I thought. Then I started reading the comments.

She’s OLD.

Come on, girl, at least dye that gray hair. Woof.

Thought Bravo had better taste than that. 

Def a publicity stunt. Prob trying to hide that he’s gay AF.

If they think we’ll fall for that, he needs a new publicist. Lots of actresses they could have hired to help his image. Barf.

I think she looks nice. For a middle aged woman. 

There were positive comments, of course, many of them, but my eye went right to the negative ones. After all, most of the positive comments were simple heart emojis or “they look so cute” or other generic messages. The negative ones were more pointed.

I closed Instagram. Twitter would be even worse — there were so many trolls on there that I hardly ever posted anything anymore. Maybe tumblr would be kinder. I was wrong.

There were several posts under the hashtag “dieter bravo” that displayed one of the Getty photos from the night before and had commentary along the lines of “I’m glad he’s so happy” and “Aww, they made it red carpet official” but there was also lots that claimed to be insanely jealous of me for being beside him.

Oof, not to be that girl, but I could pull off a red carpet look better than that, just saying.

Not sure what he sees in her, but you do you, Dieter.

He looks AMAZING as always. Wish she’d worn something better.

She looks like she doesn’t want to be there. I’m sure it’s overwhelming and all but at least look happy to be next to him. I’d kill to be on the red carpet with him.

Ugh, I hate her, lol. Seriously, does anyone else think he’ll be back on the market soon? She is so not his type. Dieter fucking Bravo is a party boi.

I could feel tears stinging at the back of my eyes. It was silly — I knew they were making the comments out of jealousy or sheer assholery — but it was like being teased or excluded on the playground in elementary school. It still hurt.

Fortunately, my phone pinged with an incoming text.

SAM: Those stylists couldn’t have done it without something amazing to start with — YOU! I am so proud of you, chickie! You rocked that red carpet. And Dieter 🥵Don’t know how you manage to survive around him without spontaneously combusting. Dude is HOT.

ME: You don’t know how badly I needed that, chickie! Been looking at comments on social and people are brutal.

SAM: Fuck them. I’ve been bragging on you all day. Everyone thinks you look fabulous. Trolls gonna troll.

I smiled. Leave it to Sam to cheer me up. Then another text came in, this time from Simone.

SIMONE: Girl! You were on fire 🔥 last night. Your pic is all over campus. Kids are all planning to go see the movie with Miss Emily’s boyfriend this weekend. Eileen had such a sourpuss when I saw her, lol. 

ME: Thanks! Been seeing some haters online so glad the kiddos got my back. And I’m ROTFL over Eileen 🤣

SIMONE: One of my kids was IRATE over some of the stuff people were saying about you. She was going OFF! I didn’t even know she knew where the library was, lol. If a 15yo can see through their b.s., so can you.

“Hey.” Dieter came stumbling out of the bedroom with his hair sticking straight up and one hand in his boxer shorts scratching his ass. If only the fans could see him now!

”Hey yourself,” I said. “You need coffee?”

He nodded as he shuffled toward the kitchen island. “I got it,” he said. “You looking at photos from last night?”

”I was, but people are mean. Then I got a couple of texts that cheered me up.”

”People are fucking assholes online,” he said as he dumped water and coffee grounds into the machine. He slopped water onto the counter but didn’t wipe it up. He was messier than usual when he was only half awake. “First thing Carmen told me when she signed on was never read the comments.”

While the coffee was brewing, he fished his phone out of his pants, which were draped over one of the dining room chairs. He slumped onto a stool at the island and started swiping. “You looked so good last night,” he said. Then he yawned and scratched his head. “Anyone who says different has their head up their own ass or is just jealous. Or both.” 

The scent of coffee wafted through the air and a shaft of sunlight lanced through a gap in the vertical blinds. The kitchen was illuminated with golden light and Dieter’s hair became a halo of fire around his head, just for a second. Who gives a fuck what Prissy McDickface on Instragram thinks? I’m the one here with Dieter, watching him smile at pictures of us while he’s waiting for his coffee. And if Dieter could smile before his first infusion of caffeine of the day, I knew he was truly happy. Because of me.

*******************************************

The movie was a hit. It was number one at the box office that weekend, and Dieter spent most of Saturday afternoon fielding phone calls and texts from Carmen and his agent. He looked every inch a Hollywood star as he sat on a lounge chair beside the pool with his Ray-Ban sunglasses on and his phone up to his ear. 

“Yeah, set it up,” he said. “Can’t hurt to meet with them.” He looked at me over the tops of his shades and winked.

”Shit, I can’t believe all this,” he said when he’d hung up. “Carmen has ten journalists lined up to interview me. And half of them are from legit outlets, not just bloggers.” He laughed. “Who knew a twenty minute part would get so much attention?”

We had skimmed some of the reviews online and most of them had been positive. Many of them mentioned Dieter’s performance as one of the highlights of the film; several had used the phrase “Bravo’s back.”  

“And David has two meetings booked with producers this week,” Dieter continued. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself but this might be the thing to get the ball rolling again.”

“I hope so,” I said. I knew that Dieter really wanted to get back to the level he’d enjoyed earlier in his career, where he was taken seriously as an actor. He’d taken just about any part the last few years, just to keep the money flowing but while movies like Cliff Beasts might be popular with fans they weren’t taken seriously by critics. And he admitted he’d been phoning it in before he’d gone to rehab. This film was the first project he’d worked on since and apparently he’s done a very good job. 

“Just don’t get too famous and forget about the little people like me,” I added.

“I will never forget about you,” he said seriously. “And you are definitely not one of the ‘little people’ in my life. You’re huge, baby.”

“Yeah, that’s what some of the trolls online are saying,” I joked.

“Fuck them. I’ve been with skinny women and it’s like hugging a skeleton. You’re real, Em. Nothing fake about you. Which is one of the many, many reasons that I love you.”

******************************************

We had finally finished off the leftover Chinese food, so we decided to go out for dinner Saturday night. Nothing fancy, just a little hole in the wall Mexican place that Dieter was fond of, and not just because the food was good. The owners were very protective of his privacy and didn’t laugh at his clumsy attempts at Spanish. His father’s parents had been born in Ecuador, and he still had some distant cousins in South America, but Dieter and his family had only ever spoke English.

”My dad can get by pretty well,” he’d explained to me once. “He does business with one of his cousins who lives in Buenos Aires, and he sometimes visits his aunt in Santiago, but Freddy and I never learned. Hell, I took French in high school just to fuck with everyone. Freddy took German, of course.”

Although they’d come from Ecuador, Dieter’s grandparents were descended from German and Italian immigrants. “My dad’s grandpa Antonio Bravo married one of the Diefenbach girls,” Dieter had explained. “Huge Romeo and Juliet vibes there. The two families were rivals in the button business.”

My own skill in Spanish was limited to the Spanglish I’d picked up by osmosis from living in Southern California (like Dieter, I’d take French in school, because I thought it sounded fancy). But everyone at Ramon’s was friendly and very patient with our attempts to do more than just ask for what was on the menu.

”Buenos noches,” our waiter said as we sat down at our table, tucked away in the back. ”El jefe said you get free margaritas because the movie is doing so well.”

”Gracias,” said Dieter. “Um, dos platos de empanadas, por favor. Y los margaritas.”

”Muy bien! And my sister in law saw the movie last night. She said tell you she really liked it if I saw you.”

”Tell her thanks, man,” Dieter had exhausted his capacity for Spanish already. He was still running on fumes from the press junket. I could see it in his eyes.

After a delicious dinner of empanadas and enchiladas — not to mention two extremely generous margaritas — we went back to Dieter’s place and collapsed on the couch.

”If I went there too often, I’d gain thirty pounds,” Dieter said, unbuttoning his pants. 

“The food is amazing,” I agreed, glad I was wearing stretchy pants. “You want to put a movie on before we succumb to the food coma?”

”You read my mind.” He grabbed the remote off the coffee table. We were only about twenty minutes into Jurassic Park when I felt his head slump onto my shoulder. He was out. I maneuvered him into a more comfortable position so he wouldn’t wake up with a stiff neck. I never saw the end of the movie. I was tired, too.

**************************************************************

We lay in bed, both of us wide awake at two a.m. after our nap on the couch. “Whatcha thinking about?” Dieter asked, his hand idly playing with my hair.

”Not much. Just feeling cozy. How about you?”

”I’m thinking how I could get used to this,” he said. “Dinner, falling asleep on the couch, lying in bed talking about stuff … I wish you didn’t have to go back home tomorrow.” He kissed my forehead. “You know you can move in any time you want.”

”It’s tempting but it would be a hell of a commute.” 

“Quit your job. Get a new one. There are plenty of schools. You’d still be in the same union, right? Still get your pension?”

I rolled onto my back. “Deet, it’s not that easy. There aren’t all that many school library positions out there and they pay well enough that people don’t leave. Or they’re part-time at elementary schools. And other positions … yeah, I could do other stuff, but your retirement is based off of your final two years salary. If I took a pay cut, I’d get less so I’d have to work longer.”

“Jeez, you sound like my dad and Freddy. ‘Be practical, Deiter. Plan ahead, Dieter. Invest wisely, Dieter’,” he grumbled.

”I have to be,” I said. “I only have myself to rely on. You know my parents didn’t leave me anything.”

Dieter sighed. “You aren’t alone, Em. You have me.”

”For now,” I said. “I want to believe this is forever, Deet, I really do, but I just can’t jump off the cliff yet.” I sat up, hugging my knees. “I know you think I’m being too cautious, and I know it probably hurts you to hear me say stuff like ‘for now’ when you want to hear ‘forever’ but …”

He sat up and put his arm around me. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I get you. And you’re probably right. I’m too much like my mom. I need you to balance me out.”

”You don’t talk about her much,” I prompted. I knew she had passed away not long after he’d won his Oscar, but that was public knowledge.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, I’m still working through some shit in therapy,” he said. “My mom … she was an artist. Painting, sculpture, stuff like that. And that was the love of her life. Art. Creating. And once she created something, she moved on. She wasn’t interested anymore once a piece was done.”

I kissed his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to,” I said. 

“When she and Dad got divorced, she moved to New York City,” he said. “That’s why I went there for college. But about two months after I got there, she moved to Europe. So I went there after I graduated. She was in Italy, so I went to Milan. Then she moved to Madrid, then Stockholm — god, Stockholm was so freaking cold — and then I got tired of following her and came to L.A.” He laid his head on my shoulder. “I was going to visit her in Switzerland after I won the Oscar. She’d actually called me and said she was proud of me. But I had a movie to do first and … it was a car accident in the Alps. She and her latest guy were on their way to Venice and a dude in a Maserati blew a turn and crashed into them.”

”Oh, Deet, I’m so sorry,” My own parents had been ill before they passed, so I’d had some warning, at least. 

He shook his head. “Hey, we’re supposed to be celebrating this weekend, not confessing our darkest moments. So let’s talk about something happy. Like my bank account after the movie earns out and I start getting some checks. We should go somewhere. Romantic getaway.”

”I do have a week off for Thanksgiving,” I said. My aunt always invited me up to her place for Thanksgiving and I always declined and ended up at some friend or co-worker’s Thanksgiving dinner. It was not my favorite holiday.

”Hey, see, making plans for the future.” He nudged me with his shoulder.

”It’s like two months away,” I reminded him. “Not that far in the future.”

”Baby steps, Em. Baby steps.” Then he kissed me and we stopped talking for a while.

******************************************

As I was driving home on Sunday afternoon, my phone rang. I usually don't like to use the Bluetooth, because it distracts me from the road, but I recognized the number. It was Sam.

”Hey, Sam, what’s up?” She rarely called; we both preferred to text. Our grown up version of passing notes in class.

“Just checking that you’re still alive after spending three whole days with Dieter,” she said. Her tone was joking, so I knew nothing serious had prompted the call. “Really, I just wanted to hear your voice. I saw the movie and it just doesn’t seem real that you and Dieter are … I mean, it sounds stupid, but I had to make sure you were still you.”

”I get it,” I said. “Hey, I’m on the freeway right now. Can I call you back when I get home? We can have a good talk. I’ll tell you all about the dress and the red carpet and … maybe you can give me some advice?”

”You better not be thinking of breaking up with him, Em. He’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a long time.”

”No, no, kind of the opposite. Shit, use your signal, you asshole! Sorry, some dude in a Tesla just cut me off. I’ve got to hang up. Talk to you when I get home, chickie.”

”Stay safe, chickie.”

I ended the call and tried to concentrate on the traffic. It was an incredibly long and tedious drive to make every day. There was no way I could keep my job and be with Dieter more than just on the weekends. And I would be foolish to quit for a guy I’d only known for a few months. Right? 

I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Sam would help me figure it all out. She always did. 

[michellemisfit]

Weekly Tag Wednesday Thursday

Thank you @darlingian for creating this week’s game. Thanks for the tag @juliakayyy @lingy910y @jrooc @sam-loves-seb @mmmichyyy @mickeysgaymom @deedala @metalheadmickey @creepkinginc @stocious @mybrainismelted @energievie

Which character from any media would you like to have as a father? 

Magnus Bane (Shadowhunters) would be pretty cool, AND magic.

If money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have?

Do laws include laws of science and… y’know… reality? If not… Mother fucking dragon, baby!

What is your Chinese takeout order? 

Salt & Pepper chicken. Duck pancakes. Satay chicken. Prawn crackers. An insane quantity of spring rolls for @rutherinahobbit

What's your favorite emoji?

I’ve become very fond of 🫡, but the one I use most often is probably 🥺 - it’s literally my face. I look at Ruth like that and say ‘I am the emoticon’ and then she has to be nice to me… 🥺

Would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house?

Library. For the aesthetic and the comfy comfy reading nooks! Also I would be able to have all my favourite fic bound and displayed in the library <3 <3 <3

What childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly?

My Little Pony and Animals Of Farthing Wood

What was your tumblr like when you first joined?

I had it for longer, but I first started really using it for Shadowhunters, and 90% of the fandom was here, before it largely moved to Twitter, and now has been struggling to move back, so has sort of become a bit homeless 🥺

What clothing style do you love but don't feel compelled to replicate yourself?

Anything neat and tailored. I think it looks fly AF, but I have neither the body type nor the patience for it.

If you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best?

Stars Hallow is really good shout I’ve seen other people use. Also any fictional TV show that basically takes place in a home, only. I’d be all over that! haha

What is your favorite piece of art? 

I’ve been obsessed with ‘Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening’ ever since I was about 10 years old.

Do you have a water bottle? what does it look like?

I recently broke my water bottle so I’ve got a temporary replacement one and I hate it. It’s boring and too big and not the right shape. Grr.

What fanfic trope is a quiet fave?

I’m pretty loud about all my fic feelings. Sometimes I unexpectedly enjoy a Mafia/Crime AU, though I would never go looking for it!

Do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what's the weirdest thing in it?

I’ve got three. A tote bag for when I bring lunch Tupperwares into work or otherwise have to transport big things. A large backpack for when I bring my laptop into work or travel. And a tiiiiiiiny backpack (smaller than A5) and the weirdest thing is how much stuff I manage to fit into it! First Aid Kit. Sewing Kit. Wallet. Phone. Portable Phone Charger. Sunglasses. Tissues. Cigarettes. House keys. Pill box. Misc. hair things for when other people need them.

If you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be?

Carl. Ultimate chaos couple!!!! 🙌

What is a fanfic trope you didn't expect to like and then very much did?

We all know the old adage: You're only ever one good fic away from developing that weird kink you keep making jokes about, stay humble.

There’s nothing that hits quite the way an unexpected horny swoop hits! Stay humble. Stay open. Stay curious.

Do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian?

Mickey Milkovich voice: YUP YUP

Who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house?

Agree with @lingy910y - I absolutely see Mickey and Carl fighting for the bat! it’s their potato masher!! <3

Tagging @silvanshadow @captainjowl @thisdivorce @crestfallercanyon @heymacy @ohkate @too-schoolforcool @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx @callivich @crossmydna @palepinkgoat @vintagelacerosette @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @you-are-so-much-better-than-that @ian-galagher @imikhailotakeyouian @mikhailoisbaby @depressedstressedlemonzest

[dc-polls]

DC Comics "They Would Not Fucking Say That!" Poll Tournament

Tournament & Submission Rules

Hello and welcome to our very first tournament! By popular demand, the theme of this competition is "They would not fucking say that!"

This means we are looking for dialog or an action from official DC source material that is painfully, woefully, egregiously out of character (ooc). Let's call this the "Incident". You will need to describe the incident, provide the in-universe context for it, and make a case for why this is ooc.

How and when can I submit?

Enter by filling out this Google form: Click Here

Submissions open as soon as this post goes live, which is Saturday August 12.

Submissions close Wednesday August 23, at 11:00pm EDT (same time zone as New York).

What kind of incident can I submit?

You may submit any single exchange of dialog or single action that occurred in official DC media by a DC character. It must be specific and concise, and not a general overarching way that a character or storyline is handled. You will have a whole "go off" type of section to explain, so save the context and arguments for that. The incident itself should be fairly specific!

Dialog doesn't have to be one single sentence, but do your best to keep it to only the ooc part and be as brief as possible.

Even though the theme of this tournament has "say" in it, we are allowing actions, decisions, etc. Again, keep it to only the ooc portion.

Can I submit more than one incident?

Yes! Just keep in mind to submit only the most heinous of ooc situations.

Note: Multiple entries for the same incident won't affect its standings. But I will do my best to combine the info so that each submitter's voice is heard.

Is this limited to print comics?

No, any DC property is allowed, but keep in mind that you should be clear when making your case if the incident was ooc for that particular incarnation of the character, or if it's relative to comics canon.

You will have to specify what medium or universe they are from. Examples include Arrowverse, DCAU, Webtoon, Post-Flashpoint comics, etc.

How is the bracket handled?

It is very likely we'll have a preliminary round to help with seeding. This would be an opportunity to let the community weigh in on adherence to the theme and interpretation of the incident.

If there is not a preliminary due to low number of entries, and if the submitted incidents seem about evenly weighted, we will go with random seeding.

The tournament will be single elimination. If we somehow get an exorbitant number of submissions, we may do a multi-armed bracket with round robin for the finalists. More detail will be provided here if this happens.

At the moment there is not a set schedule, and pacing will depend on number of entries. So your best bet on catching the next wave of polls is to follow this blog.

Polls will run for seven days each so that there's plenty of time to vote, share and discuss in the reblogs.

Voters should only consider how much of a character assassination the incident is. This means your love or hate for a writer, story or character should not be the deciding factor for your vote.

Can I send in propaganda for an incident once polls are live?

If you want to bolster the argument for an incident being ooc, put it in a reblog! This way it stays with the poll and everyone knows where to look for some extra info.

It is not recommended to send asks with propaganda, as these end up getting buried.

Is there a tag for this tournament?

Yes! All polls for this tournament will be tagged with #dc-polls-twnfst

What if I have more questions?

Chances are if you have a question, others may be wondering the same thing, so don't hesitate to send an ask! If something in this post needs clarification let me know and I will edit it.

With how tumblr works, if you'd like to ask something privately you will have to do so off of anon. Be sure to request a direct response so I don't post your ask.

[princess-perfection]

from "The Chic Diet"

THINSPIRATION

“Sweat is just fat crying”

“Do not reward yourself with food—you're not a dog”

“Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels”

“Do it for the thigh gap”

“Coffee, smokes and cold Diet Cokes”

“Hip bones and collarbones” “Eating isn't very Chanel”

Ohmigod, reblog, right? Every chic girl, no matter what her age, is obsessed with thinspo and fucking eats that shit for dinner. It's super satiating. There's a different type of thinspiration or fitspiration for whatever kind of mood you might be in, too. Those 13-year olds on Tumblr have really got you covered.

Feeling lazy? Go read some ridiculous inspirational quotes about “doing today what you won't regret in one year”. Er, guess I should go for a run now. Feeling hopeless? #Beforeandafter! Feeling ravenous? Go on an infinite scroll-fueled journey through a neverending compendium of candid photos of runway models. Ooh, Frida looks super skinny there. Gawd, look at Anja's hips. Abbey Lee's cheekbones—I die. And Vlada's clavicles? So jelly.

When you are really unable to drown out the annoying bitch that is your empty stomach, head for the darker side of thinspo. All of those angled shots of thigh gaps and artsy snaps of ribcages are really effective for quelling your appetite and making you hate yourself. These girls mean serious business. Gawd, I wish I had that kind of dedication.

Ooh, that one's kind of extreme. Like, I can literally see her bones, and not in the good way. Holy shit, her spine is like that of a fucking Stegosaurus. And, whoa, let's scroll past these uber quickly. Um, are those types of GIFs even allowed? They're kinda porn-y. Okay, now that's just porn.

Uh, I didn't really need to see your Post-Impressionist suicide collage note, spiraling-down-to-85lb, whoever the hell you are. Talk about sadsies. Er, what's with the razorblades? No, don't do that! Ohmigod, why are people taking pictures of blood? Is that a dead person?! Um, close window.

Ugh, now I really need a Xanax. So upsetting.

...But those shoulder blades that I just reblogged are totally my thinspiration. Ooh, let's go look at the tags for Alexa Chung and Snejana Onopka. Ohmigod, this blog is totes amaze—follow! And, like, did you see that picture of that girl's legs in those adorable knee-high socks? Gawd, I'm such a heifer. Time for a 5-day water fast!

[ourdramaqueen]

Fic Tag Game

I was tagged by @suchaladyy 🌸

20 questions:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

55, divided into fandoms as follows: Wednesday (TV 2022) (24) The Boys (TV 2019) (21) The Lord of the Rings (8) Sin City - All Media Types (1) Almost Human (TV) (1)

2. What’s your AO3 word count?

368,862

3. What fandoms do you write for?

See #1. Currently only Wednesday, though I do hope to get back into The Boys soon, and I still have some unpublished LotR WIPs that I'd like to actually finish sometime...

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Private Tutor

Kinktober Day 8: Shaving (The Boys, Butcher/Hughie)

Kinktober Day 2: See-through (The Boys, Butcher/Hughie)

Kinktober Day 18: Rough Sex (The Boys, Butcher/Hughie)

How do I passive-agressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I really appreciate when readers take the time to post a comment, so I always answer at least with a brief "thank you".

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Defintiely the whole Closer series (LotR, Frodo/Éomer) because it is mostly canon compliant, so it ends with Frodo going into the West. 😭My Rough Sex series (The Boys, Butcher/Hughie) is also fairly angsty by its nature as a series of mildly canon divergent gap filler fics following through the episodes of S1 and S2 (so far).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think pretty much anything apart from the above two series? Well, apart from the Struck by a Bolt series (The Boys, Butcher/Hughie), which has the potential to go either way.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't gotten outright hate, but certainly a few rude/entitled/"clearly hasn't read the tags or the end note despite me recommending to in the a/n at the beginning" comments.

9. Do you write smut? What kind?

LOL! All kinds. Soft, kinky (probably more kinky), some a bit dark. I seem to enjoy my ships a little fucked up.

10. Do you write cross-overs?

I don't have a proper crossover on my AO3 (see #12 for the reason why I specify it like this), though I'd love to write one sometime since I love reading them. The closest I've come is Kinktober Day 15: Monster Fucking (The Boys, Butcher/Hughie), which is heavily Beauty and the Beast inspired.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Little Brother was translating Private Tutor into Russian, though they haven't updated it in a while.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Oh yes! In fact, the first fics I posted online were cowritten with two (originally three, but one of then dropped out shortly after we'd started) friends, though under a different pen name and in a crossover of two small fandoms (with additional ones sneaking in here and there). I haven't written for that series in at least 15 years, though I still have fairly extensive notes for a trilogy of stories centered around my OC and I'd love to get back to that eventually.

But more recently, I've cowritten Line Without a Hook with erraticallyinspired (holyfudgemonkeys), who afaik isn't on Tumblr, and An Addams Family Guide to Kidnapping with @nonamemanga. I'm currently working on something with @suchaladyy, and who knows what and who will be next? It's a lot of fun!

13. What WIP would you like to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oof! I only have unpublished WIPs which I'm not sure if I'll ever get to finish them. Mostly for LotR.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I really can't choose. Go look at my bookmarks on AO3, LOL!

15. What are your writing strengths?

Oh boy. Um. I think I've figured out quite well how to show character through smut, as well as to distinguish characters from one another by how they behave and talk.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Hmm... Sometimes I get bogged down in details, though I've gotten much better at catching myself now. Oh, paragraphs of really long sentences, but again, I've improved a lot there. 😆

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Absolutely, as long as I'm confident in the language or have someone who's a native/fluent speaker to help me with it.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

Are we talking wrote for myself, or published? Because I started as a teenager in the 80s, writing your typical Mary Sue self-inserts starring my favorite celebs, like Nick Rhodes from Duran Duran, by hand on notepads...

19. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Nope, still can't choose, sorry!

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

There's one story from my first cowriting experience I mentioned in #12 that I would dearly love to rewrite because the constant POV changes are driving me nuts when I read it now! I don't think there's anything that's currently on my AO3 that I feel the need to rewrite.

I don't know who's been tagged or not, so if you haven't been but want to participate, consider yourself tagged!

[lipglossanon]

you totally don’t have to respond to this i know you don’t like posting about fandom discourse but i have a rant- a lot of “vanilla” or palatably kinky readers (kinks that don’t outwardly make someone who isn’t hardcore kinky uncomfortable) have the mindset of “i have an understanding of this character and want content that fits this idea of the character i have in my head and i can’t comprehend why people would characterize a fictional character in such a taboo/dark way or a way that’s outside of my realm of acceptable” so they complain in this echo chamber of people who validate what they’re feeling about not wanting dark content and everyone is entitled to an opinion but all it takes is one interaction to start a witch hunt for a specific creator and [un]intentionally create a ton of hate towards accounts and people who are just doing their thing in their corner of the internet and the “vanilla” or palatably kinky readers who choose to attack those creators of darker stuff get so up their own asses about these works getting traction and pushed when they’re the reason for all the engagement because algorithms do not differentiate positive or negative engagement that’s why blocking tags and blocking accounts and not engaging is recommended instead of hate anons and comments and mass reporting, not just that but the inconsideration of the people who don’t consume dark content who vent about it being out there and not putting warnings for the content they’re talking about or even posting screenshots with no warning is so disgusting, i’ve never read a darker work of anything and not been met with tags or warnings. for people to say this content is ooc, i can accept and have agreed with some posts about a characters backstory being ignored or changed to support dark content but it gets bad when people demonize others for taking a darker route with how they view a character because it’s usually this character who has a history of experiencing some type of abuse or some large trauma that took place at a point in their life which is why they chose to do what they do or it’s why they are the way they are but it’s rarely delved into how they coped or how they handled the situation leaving it up to consumers interpretation so it’s immersive for everyone and that’s where these issues arise in the blending of people in a fandom space when “vanilla” or palatably kinky people look at a character with a trauma and see people say they want that character to do something darker to them and it makes them uncomfortable because they can’t comprehend someone having that response to any trauma because they assume everyone responds the same way they do so they seek out emotional validation to feel seen for being made uncomfortable by something they interacted with instead of seeking to make themselves comfortable by blocking and ignoring these works, they seek out this validation even demonization of things outside of their realm of perception based off what they’ve experienced to make themselves feel like they’re right instead of aiming to make themselves comfortable and lastly, people saying dark content should move to ao3 solely is blatantly ignoring tumblr pre the adult content ban because most fic writers started on tumblr and got their following on tumblr and it’s the app/site that’s changed for the worse to appease this ultra purity culture sect of their site to get more ad revenue and its fucked the larger community of people who’ve been here since before the ban because we don’t really have the access to grow our platform or share our work anywhere else and still have the amount of community engagement we can get on tumblr which is why most authors share fics- to engage and be a part of a fandom for a thing they enjoy and in my opinion ao3 is very impersonal in the interactions you can have with people and i think that’s why some people want dark content creators in fandom spaces over there because they can feel distant from a creator on ao3 in a way they can’t on tumblr if that makes sense

- 💀

(i got got by the text allotment it was like 1k words lmao sorry for any typos <3)

💀 anon 😮 i am shook you got by the text allotment 🤭

But exactly; I was around tumblr pre purity clean out 🙄 but I left until 2013 and then left again til 2022. It’s a different world now. Same thing happened with livejournal back in the day too; which they never recovered and eventually fell to the wayside.

It’s really dumbfounding to me; I just don’t know why polite fandom culture has took a nosedive. If you don’t like, don’t interact.

It’s like they’re never interacted with a irl human being or been presented with working with a coworker who you might dislike every single thing about them but you can’t let that affect your job.

Idk at this point people are more online than ever before it’ll probably get worse before it gets better to the detriment of those with cognitive thinking skills.