#hot published fic in YOUR area

[im-still-watching-anime]

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[0nerd-at-heart0]

The Stress of a Case

Harvey Specter x Female Reader

Please Read: Hello! It's been a hot minute since I have published anything. Have been currently studying for my LSATS and have been a busy bee but after being obsessed with Suits for the past 2 years and waiting for more Harvey stories to be published I decided to create my own little storyline. What started off as a storyline in my head is now on paper. I have this idea to create a mini-story/universe: how the reader got hired, when she first met Mike, her first case with Harvey, her first date with Harvey, etc. I guess I just want to see if people are interested. It's been a while since I had written anything that wasn't an academic paper and my writing skills have changed drastically. This is one of the first the fics of the universe I am building in my head that I have written so I decided to publish this. I hope yall enjoy it, please give feedback.

Warnings: Talks about not eating (due to stress), food mention, panic attack details, fainting, Harvey being an ass, cursing I think? if I am missing anything please let me know

Word count: 5.6k

Taglist: @happy74827 @princessvader15 @hashcakes @yiiiikesmish @malfoys-demigod

I tagged those who commented under my last post I hope that's okay and if you aren't interested in being tagged let me know and I will remove you sorry.

As you entered the corridors of Pearson Hardman, they were alive with the usual buzz of legal minds at work, but this time, a distinct tension hung in the air. You didn't even get a few steps into the associates area before hearing the straining  voice of Louis Litt yelling that there was an emergency meeting. 

You scrambled behind, stuffing your mouth with the banana nut muffin you thought you would eat peacefully at your desk this morning. You knew what this meeting was about, everyone knew. The case against Amir Jackson, the firm's ex-lawyer turned adversary, had everyone on edge. 

The briefing room was filled with hushed whispers as everyone settled in, and even the confident strides of Harvey Specter and Louis Litt carried a subtle weight.

Harvey, impeccably dressed as always, stood at the head of the conference table, his piercing gaze flickering between Jessica Pearson and the gathered associates, and maybe it was your imagination but it might have lingered a little longer on you. Snapped out of your imagination when he spoke, "Listen up, people. This case is different. Amir Jackson knows us inside out, and he won't hesitate to use that knowledge against us. He's playing dirty, and we need to be ready for anything."

You never got to meet Amir Jackson, but oh the stories. The firm had no problem doing what they needed to do to be successful, but there was a line they never dared cross and Amir crossed it. 

Jessica leaned forward, her hands planted firmly on the table. "Amir's betrayal when he left this firm was bad enough. Now, he's trying to take a piece of us with him. We can't let that happen."

Louis chimed in. "I've seen my fair share of dirty plays, but this guy is in a league of his own. We need to be one step ahead, or he'll bury us."

The gravity of the situation was sinking  in, associates exchanged knowing glances. They understood the magnitude of the challenge ahead. Amir Jackson wasn't just a legal opponent; he was a former comrade who knew their strengths and weaknesses intimately. The fact that there was a meeting needing to be held just told how much this case was about to get tricky. Usually the inner circle dealt with these cases: Harvey, Louis, Jessica, Mike and maybe sometimes Rachel. 

Your role as the go-to person for legal paperwork kept you in the thick of it. While Harvey Specter had his famed right-hand man in Mike Ross, he knew he could rely on you for drafting contracts with a precision that went beyond mere proficiency.

You might not have been Harvey's drinking buddy or his confidant like Mike, but there was a unique dynamic between you both. It was a quiet understanding that transcended the formalities of the workplace. You  knew you would never be his protege, and that was perfectly fine with you. What you brought to the table was a specialized skill set that complemented Harvey's legal prowess, if you do say so yourself. 

His voice thundered through the briefing room as he adjusted his cuffs, “I am building a specific legal team to help bring down Amir Jackson”. 

Of coure Harvey was going to pick Mike Ross, Mike was worth more than 8 associates. How much more help does he need? Who else could he need? Harvey's eyes scanned the room filled with associates. His gaze settled on you, and he flashed a sly grin. "You, Y/N. You're on my team for this one.” 

Harvey and you had worked together various times. He always knew he could count on you for legal paperwork. As much as he depended on Mike Ross, there was one thing you were that Mike wasn’t and that was that you had a talent when it came to drafting contracts. But I believe that there was some respect, one might even say in a blossoming friendship between you and him. You got a spark of it when he teasingly picked you out of the bunch of associates to be part of his team for his takedown of Amir Jackson. 

“You know, Y/N, if paperwork were an Olympic sport, you'd be a gold medalist," Harvey remarked with a wry grin, “And I expect you to bring the gold home for Pearson Hardman”

“I won’t let you down Sir”, you gave a weak smile as all eyes were on you.

 You hated the attention, yet you couldn’t help the small heat you felt on our cheeks as Harvey stared at you. Drawn to playing with the bracelet you wore as you slightly cringed at yourself for the words that came out of your mouth. Sir? Really. Stupid, you thought. 

Harvey moved past it and called out the name of 2 more associates and asked if anyone else wanted in on the case had to draw up a proposal. He only wanted the best of the best and trust him, he would get the best of the best. 

You made your way to Harvey’s office as the meeting was dismissed. And you reminisce on the first time Harvey complimented on your legal work. 

“ Are you a sorcerer”, Harvey asked as he made his way to your cubicle. It was late one night and you were stuck on an email. You had this need to overachieve and be perfect and it showed in everything you did. But if you were being honest it was exhausting. 

You glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Harvey, someone has to make sure the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed. Can't let you walk into a negotiation with a misplaced comma, now can we?"

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Maybe it's the lack of sleep or the fact that you had 4 coffees. But the confidence was there and to your surprise, Harvey chuckled. 

You swear you saw a twinkle in his eye as he responded, "You're practically the Mozart of legal documents. I half expect those contracts to start singing a symphony when I open them."

You smirked, setting aside the email you were currently writing, swiveling your chair to face him,  "If you want a soundtrack to your legal victories, Harvey, I'm sure I can find a way to make that happen."

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Now that's the kind of innovation I like to see. Who needs background music at a negotiation? Just cue in Y/N legal masterpiece."

You couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the idea. "I'll be sure to add it to the list of services I provide, Harvey. Background music, legal counsel, and a dash of flair."

Harvey straightened up, his signature confidence in full force. "Flair is your middle name, isn't it? The 'Legal Maestro with a Touch of Flair.' Has a nice ring to it."

You rolled your eyes, feigning exasperation. "I'll have to update my business cards. But let's be honest, Harvey, you appreciate the flair. It's what sets my paperwork apart from the rest."

Harvey smirked, leaning in. "You're not wrong. But don't let it get to your head. I can't have you drafting contracts with a crown on, declaring yourself the Queen of Legal Documents." He turned to leave right after and you could have sworn you were asleep and that any moment now you would wake up from this dream.

You yelled out, “Don't worry, Harvey. I'll keep the royal proclamations to a minimum. Wouldn't want to overshadow your crown as the King of Closing Deals." And you could have sworn he let out a hearty laugh from down the hall. 

“Y/N, nice of you to join us”, Harvey said. Jessica and Mike were already in the room as the other associates were already screaming. They had been given their assignments and were off to work. 

“What can I do”, you spoke above a whisper, feeling small as the eyes were all on you. Jessica knew your history, she knew you struggled to be the shark of a lawyer you could be. But she hired you anyway, your interview with her wasn't the best. But she saw something in you, something that reminded her of herself when she was starting off. She was gonna build and mold you to a shark. But for now she let you be. A shark wasn’t born overnight. 

“ I need one of your flawless contracts for Amir. I need no loopholes. Nothing he can use against us”, Harvey spoke in a harsher tone then he meant. 

All you could do was nod your head and swiftly leave the room to do the research needed.  Leaving Mike, Harvey and Jessica to chatter. As you walked down the corridor you saw Louis making his way to Harvey’s office with Rachel in tow. All hands on deck indeed, you thought to yourself. 

The first night working on that draft through the dim glow of the late-night office lights illuminated your determined face. The rhythmic tapping of the keyboard was accompanied by the occasional crunch of Hot Cheetos. 

Proud of  your work, you compiled the neatly typed pages and confidently walked over to Harvey Specter's desk. As  you  placed the document in the designated spot, you felt relief wash over you. It’s currently 2:00 am, no one is here but you but you really wanted to prove your worth. 

With only 5 hours asleep, the next day, you walked into the office, a little pep in your step. You made yourself some crappy coffee. And were about to head into the bullpen. 

Harvey, engrossed in his own work the minute he stepped into the office, took a moment to glance at the papers. His stern expression, usually unreadable, twisted into a scowl as he noticed a small Hot Cheeto stain near the corner of the document. And called you down to his office. Your pep was gone once you heard his tone of voice as he called your name. Turning on your heel you headed towards his office. Donna was expecting you and let you by. One foot through the door is as far as you got before Harvey had something to say. 

"Do you see this?" Harvey's voice was sharp pointing at the small stain.

Panicking slightly, you stammered, "I'm sorry, Harvey. I must have missed that." It was an easy fix, just print another copy, you thought to yourself making a mental note.

Harvey's gaze shifted from the stain to the content of the contract. He began circling errors with a red pen, his frustration apparent. "And these mistakes? This is what you place on my desk and yet it isn't up to my expectations”.

As he pointed out the errors, your pride in their work crumbled. The Hot Cheeto stain seemed to just make Harvey go on a power trip.. Each correction felt like a blow,"I expect better from you," Harvey remarked, his tone cold and unforgiving.

You nodded, unable to muster a response. Maybe the growing friendship you thought of was truly in your head.  As Harvey returned to his own work,  you retreated to their desk, determined to rectify the mistakes. 

You admit your first draft wasn't the best. And you shouldn't have eaten near the paperwork. You were currently starving as you finished up the last paragraph. It’s been 6 hours since Harvey scolded you but  this draft was perfect. And after you turned it in you were going to treat yourself  to a nice dinner. Probably the Mexican place down the road. You were zoned in for the past 6 hours. This was the only case you were working on and it needs all your attention. But your attention was quickly zoned into the associate that was stumbling through the door. 

Mike comes waltzing in, barely having any balance.  You and Mike haven't really talked much. But he didn't look well. 

“ Hey, Mike. You okay?" you asked, concerned in your voice. 

Mike attempted a nonchalant smile, but the wavering balance gave away his inebriated state. "Yeah, just...you know, a little tired."

Observing Mike closely, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story. "Are you sure about that?"

Mike hesitated before confessing, "Okay, fine. Maybe a bit more than tired. Harvey and I went to meet someone about the Amir Jackson case, and things got a bit...out of hand with the drinks"

Your  concern shifted to a mix of annoyance and frustration. While you had been tirelessly working on the second version of the contract, Harvey and Mike were out getting drunk. "Seriously, Mike? We have a case to win, and you two are out here partying?"

Mike scratched his head, a sheepish grin on his face. "We thought it was a good idea at the time. Maybe it was a bit impulsive."

Determined to express their frustration,  you headed towards Harvey's office, the door slightly opened,. Knocking lightly, you  entered and handed Harvey the second draft of the contract. The faster you gave it to him the faster you could leave. 

"Here's the updated version, Harvey," you said, trying to mask your  annoyance. After all, he is still the boss.

You sped walked out of there and back to your cubicle. Mike was there still, with his head on his desk. 

“Go ask Donna for some pain killers, you still have a long night ahead of you”, you told him. 

Mike just nodded and stumbled as he stood up to go to Donna. You were packing your bags, ready to call it an early night. When your computer dinged.  You sat down to respond to an email quickly when you felt the tension of the bullpen change drastically.

“What is this, Y/N ?" Harvey's tone was sharp, his blue eyes piercing into mine.

You frowned, confused by the unexpected hostility. "It's the contract you asked for, Harvey. I double-checked everything, and it's all in order."

He scoffed, he took out a red marker from his pocket and started circling stuff with his red marker again, "This is subpar, even for an associate. I don't have time for amateur hour."

You  felt a knot tighten in your stomach, a mix of frustration and disbelief. "Harvey, I don't understand. I followed the protocol, and the contract is flawless. What's the issue?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, cutting tone. "Flawless? If this is your definition of flawless, we're in trouble. I need precision, not this half-baked attempt at legal work."

The comments were like a punch to the gut. Harvey's relentless standards were known, but this seemed different. You couldn't fathom what had triggered such a harsh reaction. Was he too tipsy?  Doubt crept into your  mind, questioning your abilities despite knowing that the document was, by all standards, impeccable.

As you scrambled to gather my thoughts, Harvey continued. "If you can't handle the basics, I don't know why I bother keeping you around. Maybe it's time for a reality check, Y/N."

His words hung in the air, a heavy weight on my shoulders. The bullpen fell silent, and your colleagues exchanged uneasy glances. You knew how people judged women for being emotional in the workplace but you could not help the tears welling in your eyes. 

Harvey turned on his heel and walked away without a second glance, leaving you with a sinking feeling of inadequacy. You stared at the perfectly crafted document, now dismissed and devalued by Harvey's cutting words. It was a moment of doubt, a crack in the confidence you had built in your work. Goodbye nice dinner, you thought to yourself as we sat at your cubicle, back to square one. 

It's been about a week since Harvey yelled at you. You couldn't sleep, you couldn't eat. Doubt was eating you. You were always proud of your writing skills, that was what you were known for. This is what got you hired at Pearson Hardman. What if you weren't good enough for this job anymore? Did you speak? Your mind was racing and you were lucky enough to talk yourself down. You were currently working on your fifth version of this contract. Every draft before that had him taking out his red marker. A part of you could have sworn he was just circling things at random, but who are you to question the great Harvey Specter. It was 2:00 pm and you thought maybe you deserve a snack so you headed to the breakroom. Who do you happen to run into Mike Ross? He had no faults but just happened to be the unwitting recipient of your  frustration.

You stormed up to Mike barely containing the anger that had been building for weeks. "Mike, we need to talk," I blurted out, not bothering to hide the frustration in my voice.

Mike looked up from his sandwich, surprised by the intensity of my tone. "Sure, Y/N, what's going on?"

You took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "It's just... Do you ever feel like you're stuck in someone's shadow? Like no matter how hard you work, you're always one step behind?"

Mike furrowed his brow, sensing the gravity of my emotions. "What happened? Is it Harvey?"

You nodded, my frustration bubbling over. "It's always Harvey. He treats you like a partner, his drinking buddy, his go-to guy for everything. Meanwhile, I'm drowning in his shadow, drowning in rewrites and unreasonable expectations."

Mike leaned back, a sympathetic expression on his face. "I get it. Harvey has his moments. But you're great at what you do. Maybe he just doesn't see it."

"That's the problem, Mike. He doesn't see it. I'm just the person who writes and rewrites, constantly trying to meet his impossible standards. Did you know I can't even eat at my desk because once there was a Hot Cheeto stain on one of the drafts, and he lost it?"

Mike's eyes widened, realizing the extent of my frustration. "That's harsh, Y/N. Look, I know I have a different dynamic with Harvey, but it doesn't mean he values you any less. Maybe you should talk to him about how you're feeling."

"It's not that easy, Mike. I'm tired of being the one in the background. I can't handle the pressure anymore." you confessed, your voice laced with a mix of anger and vulnerability.

Mike sighed, understanding the weight of your words. "I can't fix everything, but I can listen. And I am truly sorry"

“NO, NO, no  I am sorry Mike, I am not mad at you or at Harvey. I guess I am mad at myself. I am just going back to work on my fifth version of this document”, you said as you felt the hunger take over. But you pushed through. You had to push through.

As you walked out of the break room,  Mike became an unexpected ally. He went to his binder Harvey put together and looked for the fourth version of the contract knowing Harvey had put it all in the file to look over. The document was perfect, no one could have done it better. 

Mike took in your look when you came bargaining in here. You looked awful. And what it was barely a week working on the case. Mike had heard about Harvey yelling in the bullpen but it had caused you so much disarray that Mike knew Harvey took it too far. He knew you and he didn't talk as much but Rachel adored you and he had to do the right thing and get Harvey to apologize.

Donna saw Mike striding towards Harvey’s office and knew what was coming. Donna knew Harvey was wound tight. That this case was getting the best of him and taking it out on the lovely Y/N but lord forbid she say anything. The last time she tried she nearly got her head chewed off too and Harvey right now needs to know he isn't alone in this case. 

"Harvey, you're being too hard on Y/N. The contract she wrote was perfect, and every draft since then has only improved upon perfection. You can't keep circling random stuff just to make her rewrite it," Mike asserted, his tone firm as he entered Harvey’s office. The fourth version of your contract in his hand. 

Harvey shot him a sharp glance. "I demand the best, and if she can't deliver, then maybe she's not cut out for this."

Mike shook his head. "It's not about delivering, Harvey. It's about you being stressed out over the case and taking it out on her. She's doing her best, and you need to acknowledge that."

Before Harvey could respond, Donna chimed in. "Mike's right, Harvey. I've seen the way you've been treating Y/N, and it's not fair. You've always had a soft spot for her, even if you won't admit it.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "A soft spot? Donna, you're reading too much into it."

Donna crossed her arms, "Harvey. I am Donna and I know everything. I also see everything. Harvey. Remember the time she was sick, and you made sure she had everything she needed? Or how you personally chose her for the team during the Jackson case? You compliment her skills and skip past everyone else you named for your team. You've got a soft spot for her, whether you admit it or not”

Mike nodded in agreement. "You can't deny it, Harvey. There's something about her that you can't ignore. Maybe it's time to acknowledge it and cut her some slack."

Harvey sighed, he didn't appreciate Mike and Donna ganging up on him but the fact that they were meant they maybe had a point, "Fine. Maybe I've been too hard on her. But she needs to know that mediocrity isn't acceptable."

Donna shook her head. "Harvey, there's a difference between pushing for excellence and being unnecessarily harsh. You owe Y/N an apology."

Reluctantly, Harvey nodded. "Alright. I'll talk to her. But this doesn't mean I'm going soft."

Donna smirked. "We wouldn't want that, Harvey."

Harvey made his way to find you. While Donna and Mike exchanged a knowing look. He made his way down to Rachels office, knowing that's where he will find you at these hours. He was taking the elevator and he thought about the last time both of you were in the elevator. It was the day the Amir Jackson case got handed for the first time. Harvey was on his way to meet with Amir for the first time in a long time to talk over the case, get under his skin.

The elevator doors closed, enclosing Harvey Specter and Y/N in a small, confined space. The tension from the  Jackson case was already weighing heavily on Harvey, evident by the way he impatiently tugged at his perfectly knotted tie.

"Harvey, relax. You're going to strangle yourself with that tie if you keep pulling on it," you quipped. You realized the stress coming off him and the words just flew out of your mouth before you could think.

Harvey shot them a sidelong glance, his usual stoicism momentarily replaced by a flicker of amusement. "Maybe I'd be better off without it."

A small, unexpected laugh escaped Harvey's lips, surprising both him and Y/N. It was a rare sight to witness Harvey Specter, the embodiment of seriousness, letting his guard down even for a moment. Specifically with you. 

" This isn't your first time easing the tension, I see the way you calm Rachel down when she gets in over her head. You always find a way to lighten the mood. What's your secret?" Harvey teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You shrugged, a smile forming as you too let down your guard "Maybe it's just my superpower. The ability to make even the mighty Rachel and even the mysterious Harvey Specter crack a smile."

Harvey's expression shifted back to his usual cool exterior, but a subtle warmth lingered in his eyes. "Careful, now you might start thinking you're irreplaceable."

As the elevator continued its ascent, the banter between you quieted down and Harvey and you started to go back to normal. Back to the quietness and coldness.

But before the elevator opened to the floor, Harvey sneaked in, “Well, don't let it get to your head. You're not the comedian Pearson Specter, just the document wizard.", his smile lingered a little before the face of the closer returned to its hard exterior. 

If you were there longer than Rachel or she was busy running around the office she allowed you to work in her small office room. It was currently 4:00 pm but Louis had yelled at all the associates and dismissed them for the day for being useless. Only those working on the Amir case were still here, plus Donna and Rachel. Rachel was off trying to get the emails of old associates of Amir. You thought that Mike probably went off with her after your little breakdown to him. You knew Harvey was in the office and that you were typing on your keyboard like there was no tomorrow. You  meticulously worked on the revised legal document, determined to prove to Harvey Specter that you could meet his standards and trying to prove yourself that you could melt your own standards. The door swung open abruptly, and you hooked up to see Harvey's stern expression.

"Y/N, we need to talk," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that another reprimand was imminent.

Your pulse quickened, and your breath caught in your throat. The anxiety that had been simmering since Harvey's earlier criticism surged to the surface. You felt a tightness in my chest, your hands trembling as you tried to compose myself.

Harvey noticed your distress, as his expression softened, and he took a step closer. "Hey, relax. I just wanted to talk about earlier. I think I may have been too harsh."

The words barely registered as your panic escalated. Your mind raced, and suddenly, you found it difficult to breathe. The walls of the office seemed to close in on you. Before you could respond, the edges of your vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness overcame you as you sat at the desk, gripping on to the edge for support. 

Harvey's concern deepened as he watched you struggle. "Hey hey hey, whoa, take it easy. You are okay, everything is okay”

But you couldn't catch your breath, and panic tightened its grip. Your hands shook uncontrollably, and you gasped for air. In the midst of the chaos, Harvey acted swiftly. He made his way around the desk kneeling down to be at eye level with you. 

"Deep breaths, Y/N. In and out," Harvey instructed, his voice a soothing anchor in the storm of panic.

As you continued to struggle, Harvey, without hesitation, he took your  hand and placed it over his heart. "Feel my heartbeat? Match your breaths to it. In, and out” 

His heartbeat served as a rhythmic guide, and slowly, your breaths synchronized with its steady cadence. The panic began to subside, replaced by a sense of calm that washed over you.  As the storm within you  quieted, exhaustion set in, and the world around you blurred into darkness.

Harvey caught you as you passed out. Guilt swept over him because he knew he was the cause of this. He can’t remember the last time he saw you smile, the last time you ate, the last time you lit up a room. You were giving your all in this case and by doing so you were giving away parts of yourself too. He moved you onto Rachels couch so you could lay down properly. He knew you passed out because of panic and the lack of eating, he noticed these things about you. He noticed a lot about you actually, damn it Donna, he thought.

 He took his pocket square and wet it with your water bottle. He adjusted himself to the couch, moving so that your head was on his lap as he placed the cool rag on your forehead. 

The aftermath of the panic attack had left both of you in a vulnerable state. Yet Harvey couldn't deny the flutter in his chest as he gazed down at you. Was it concern for your well-being, or was it the proximity that had him on edge? He shook off the thought, focusing on steadying his own heartbeat.

In the midst of the stillness, the door creaked open, and right on cue Mike Ross cautiously entered. He took in the scene, the concern etched across his face.

"What happened?" Mike asked, his eyes shifting between Harvey and your unconscious state, ready to fight Harvey if he did you any physical harm.

Harvey, in his usual commanding tone, snapped, "Go to the Mexican restaurant two blocks down and get two number 5's."

Mike, taken aback, stammered, "But—"

"Just do it," Harvey insisted, his gaze never leaving you. 

Mike quickly exited, leaving Harvey alone with his unconscious colleague. He had so many questions but Harvey’s tone told him everything he needed to know.  Minutes later, the door swung open again, revealing Mike with bags of Mexican takeout in hand.

"Here," Mike said, handing the bags to Harvey. "I'll take off early for the night. Rachel and I were thinking about grabbing dinner. You got this, right?" A little weary to leave you, feeling like he should tell Rachel, Donna or even Jessica. But the look in Harvey’s eye told him he had nothing to worry about. 

Harvey nodded, a silent acknowledgment of Mike's understanding. As Mike left, Harvey couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and guilt. He knew you hadn't been eating well, and by the looks of your under eye bags you also hadn't been sleeping and the panic attack had been triggered by the stress of the Jackson case, a burden he bore on both their shoulders.

As you began to stir, Harvey glanced down at the bags of Mexican food. The aroma filled the room, and he hoped the gesture would, in some small way, make up for the turmoil he inadvertently caused.

"You're awake," Harvey remarked as you slowly opened their eyes.

You ignored everything around you as you slowly sat up with the help of Harvey. A blush rushing on your face realizing how close you were to Harvey. But all that faded when you saw the food, "How did you know this is my favorite?"

“That’s the first thing you ask?’Harvey raised an eyebrow. 

Your body slowly turned to face him.The headache and body sores had you wincing in pain. Harvey’s eyes held much guilt and sadness in them even as he tried to suppress them and act strong in front of you. This was about you and not about what he was feeling. 

“I am a simple girl. I get easily distracted by food”, you let out a small laugh even though you are exhausted, “Now answer my question”

Harvey hesitated, the words lingering on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to say that it's because he knew you. But Instead of admitting the depth of his knowledge about you, he chose a simpler response. "Who doesn't love Mexican food?" 

You hummed as he moved the desk closer to you so you wouldn't have to get up from the couch. The food was spread out and he took a seat next to you. A silence took over the room as you both began to eat. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension, the events of the panic attack still lingering in the air.

Harvey cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy silence. "Look, Y/N, I wanted to apologize for the unnecessary pressure I put on you. It was out of line, and I shouldn't have let it escalate to the point of causing a panic attack."

You glanced up from your plate, a mixture of exhaustion and forgiveness in your eyes. "Harvey, it's not entirely your fault. The case is stressful, and I should have handled it better."

Harvey's expression softened at your words. "That doesn't excuse my behavior. I should have been more considerate. I don't want you to feel like you have to carry the weight of the case alone."

You sighed, pushing the food around on their plate. "Harvey, I forgive you, but on one condition."

Harvey raised an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.

" I can't keep being treated like an outsider, I know I only got hired because of my writing skills but I want to do more, be more. I want to be more than just the person who drafts contracts. I know I can be a kick ass lawyer if given the chance."

Harvey took a moment to absorb your words. The realization of the impact of his actions sank in, and he nodded. "You're right”

“Did those words really just come out of your mouth”, your eye grew wide as a smile danced on your lips’’

“Just, can you just shush for a moment”, he said as he placed his  fork down. 

“ Jessca told me when you were hired that you were born to be a shark. I guess I got so caught up in your skills that I haven't really even given you the chance to dominate the courtroom.  I shouldn't have overlooked that."

You saw something in his eyes you had never seen before. Was it hope?

You both continued to eat in subdued silence, the tension in the room shifted. The unspoken feelings between both of you simmered beneath the surface. This was forever changing the dynamic of your professional relationship. 

So where do you all go after this? The case of Amir Jackson isn't over, there is much more left for you both to do. This isn't the end. This is only the beginning, leaving both Harvey and you to navigate whatever comes next.

[cinnamoodles]

the language of flowers — part one, daises

warnings: angst, of course, and bad writing? ooc anthony bc i suck and thats unwarranted <33

word count: 1.8k (wowza)

author’s note: hello! this is my first published fic, so im pretty sure it’s going to be horrible, but i had this idea after reading Sherlock Holmes, so… im excited, i guess? this is part of a series i will publish, but for now... yay! first fic celebration!

read the other parts! — part two, irises | part three, peonies

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

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i. 1802, bellis perennis. daisies, platonic love

It was a day in which the sun blazed as though it had a fury against all of England, the sweltering heat resulting in most of the country to stay indoors, and perhaps enjoy a cool glass of lemonade. The unforgiving rays of the sun shone glitteringly on the lake, as if to mock those who stayed inside, flamboyantly displaying its beauty.

Anthony Bridgerton was a boy, (or a man, as he liked to proclaim himself, as he was just a year from being eighteen), who did not like to stay inside, especially on a glorious day like this. He liked to forget the matter that it was well over 35 degrees celsius, but in his words, such a beautiful, sunny day should not go to waste.

“Why have you dragged me out here, Mr. Bridgerton?” You groan against the thick coat of your own horse. As the only daughter of a Duke with three sons, you had to dress up prim and proper, much to your chagrin, before going out, especially with a boy, whether it be one of your closest friends or not. You run your hands through your hair—which you've left open, because, in your words, damn society, no single person should be subject to those horrid pins in their hair on a hot summer's day!, before you stormed out of your estate, to head to the stables to find solace in one of your most trusted companions.

He grins, sending a flutter of butterflies amok in your stomach. Deep inside, you knew that there was no way that he would ever even consider you romantically, as you were exactly the age of his brother, Benedict, who, no doubt, was ever the charmer, but Anthony had a special place in your heart. Your first love, (could one even call it love? You would often dismiss it as infatuation, but when he looked at you like that, how could your youthful little heart disregard it?), and most of all, your first friend. “Well,” he starts, “first of all, you can cease the formalities, or I’ll push you off your horse.” He leisurely rides up next to you, smirking. “And there isn’t any harm in calling on my closest friend for a few hours of her time, is there not?”

“Of course not, but you know how my mother hounds me,” you sigh tiredly, rubbing the nape of your neck. “It is almost as if…” reddening, you bite your lip. You knew that your mother was always on a tirade on how you and Anthony would be perfect together, but you know that he did not feel the same way. You sneak in a gaze at his soft dark hair, and his gorgeous, deep brown eyes, always glimmering with mischief of some sort. 

He turned to you, frowning. “As if? She hasn’t got a problem with me, has she?”

Your eyes widen, and you quickly backtrack on your words. “No! No, of course she hasn’t got a problem with you, she’s just a bit… spirited, that’s all. Just very spirited and a woman very worried about what society has to say about me—not that I care, of course.”

“Just let her know that I’m most definitely not giving up my friendship with you just because of the nonsense the Ton spews on an hourly basis.” You give an extremely unladylike snort at his words, which sends the both of you into a fit of laughter.

The both of you finally reach the site that Anthony must have wanted to show you. It’s a corner beside the lake, with a patch of wildflowers and a small woodland area behind it. The sunlight shines onto the surface of the lake, and small dragonflies lazily float around the flowers. What entrances you most is the flora near the area. While, of course, you've seen flowers before, since your own father boasts one of the most intricate gardens in London, there isn’t any garden that could hold a candle to the natural beauty, the wild, untamed, disorderly allure of this particular strip of land. Fireweed and cattails rub against the agrimonies and bellflowers, and you have to physically stop yourself from letting your jaw drop and stare at the scene in front of you.

The dark-haired boy enthusiastically gets down from his horse, rubbing his eyebrow, and holds his hand out to your stunned self. You bite back a smirk when you notice his actions, and steady yourself against his glove. “I don’t need you to do all this,” you tease. “I can get down from a horse just fine by myself.”

“Really?” He smirks. “Alright then.” Letting go of you abruptly, he wipes off his hands on his breeches, while behind him, you trip to the ground, dust pooling and clouding around you, and you land on your ankle.

“Ow!” You shriek, your hands scratched from the rough, gravelly grass. You examine your ankle, which is slightly swollen and red, along with giving you large, throbbing pains. “Anthony, you’re such a prick!” You steady yourself against a tree trunk when he turns around and sees you, in pain. He quickly rushes to your side, steadying you by placing his hands on your hips, and you try, (and fail), to ignore your heart working on overdrive. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. Really, I didn’t know it would hurt you, I didn't know you were that high up.”

“What do you know, then?” You grumble, trying to hold weight on your foot. When you wince, Anthony immediately carries you in his arms in a bridal hold, and you have to take all the willpower you have to not stare at his biceps, or worse, swoon right there. “Anthony! Put me down!” You cry, halfheartedly, your inner thoughts wishing that he wouldn’t listen to a word you said. “If you drop me, I swear I will hurt you.”

“Y/N,” he smiles at you, “trust me, I know better than to cross you by now.” He readjusts his hands, and one of them, (you’re too frazzled to notice which), lands on the small of your back, and you are sure that you will combust within a second if he keeps this up. “And,” he continues, “I haven’t dragged you all the way here just so you can go home. And trust me, you're not heavy at all.” He smirks, raising one of his hands so that you can see it, and taps your nose.

“Anthony—oh god—what the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Proving you haven't got anything to worry about. Don’t worry, darling.” The word sends a shiver down your spine, and the moment just seems so perfect: you, in his arms, his dark, dreamy eyes gazing into your own, his breath hot on your cheek. He smells of sandalwood and citrus—the same smell that haunts you day and night, in your dreams and nightmares.

You relax into his arms, and are snapped out of your daze only by the soft brush of something against your nose—petals? You open your eyes to a grinning Anthony, tapping your face with a hastily bundled bunch of flowers.

“Anthony,” you frown, “I was relaxing. Do not forget that you caused my devastating injury.” You pout, widening your eyes and biting your lips, trying to play the fact that you’re merely an innocent bystander of his tomfoolery. He sighs, and waves the flowers in front of your face.

“That is precisely what this is for, you hypochondriac—ow! Sorry! I picked you flowers, because you're so microscopic that I can carry you with one hand.” He gently placed you down on a gravelly stone bench, among the wildflowers and its concomitant insects, hurriedly putting a bouquet of flowers in your hand. 

Daises.

The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: Resplendent in its simplicity, the daisy's tender white petals encircle a sunny heart, a poignant reflection of the chaste and enduring affection shared amongst esteemed companions of a non-romantic nature. The suitor that gives this flower to you may not desire to pursue a romantic relation, but shows no ill will towards you, and would in fact like to continue a relationship based purely on friendship. 

Your mind flashes to a paragraph in one of your least-loved books, but one your governess insisted you study. Perhaps he didn’t mean to give you these gut-wrenching, heartbreaking flowers, flowers that left your soul shattered on the ground, due to your dramatics. Men, in particular, were never very observant when it came to flowers. “Well, there might be a privilege to being microscopic then,” you smile, feigning delight. “Say,” you gaze up at Anthony’s eyes, “what made you pick these particular ones? Is there anything special about daises?”

“Er, no…” Anthony frowned. “They were the only ones that looked nice enough to give to you. The others looked like weeds, if I am being completely forthright.” You stifle a laugh, and perhaps there indeed was no symbolism behind the flowers the gave you, nothing other than fate.

As you settle on the stone bench, your ankle throbbing slightly, you peer at the bouquet of daises now cradled in your hand. The delicate blossoms seem to mirror the delicate dance of emotions within your heart, or so your heart believes. Anthony's actions have always been a mixture of exasperating and endearing, and this moment is no different.

"Anthony," you say, suppressing a smile, "your chivalry knows no bounds, it seems." He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Ah, my dear, a gentleman's duty is to come to the rescue of a damsel in distress, is it not?" You roll your eyes with a playful sigh, though your heart flutters at his words. There's a familiarity between you that goes beyond mere friendship, a connection that has woven itself over years of shared experiences. But society's expectations and the complexities of your own heart keep those feelings hidden beneath the surface. 

"Are you suggesting that I am in distress, Mr. Bridgerton?" you retort, raising an eyebrow. His smile widens, and he takes a seat beside you on the bench. 

"Perhaps not in distress, but certainly in need of a flower-bearing rescuer." He quips, gently nudging your shoulder. You both share a laugh, the tension that briefly hung in the air dissipating like morning mist. There's a sense of ease in his company that you've never found elsewhere, a comfort that stems from him, merely his presence.

A sense of home—of love, and for now, it did not matter if he didn’t feel it, but the warm feeling that enveloped you was merely your own to enjoy.

[lelengerine]

sincerely, yours

✿ pairing | haechan x reader

✿ synopsis | love letters are bound to be found out eventually, right?

✿ genre | fluff, a little bit of childhood friends to lovers, slight angst, and unrequited (?) love if you squint real hard

✿ wc | 0.7k

✿ notes | hello <3 this is my very first fic published here and what better way to start with hyuck hehe :> do lmk your thoughts on this!!

m.list

you never wrote about anything in your life, much less lengthy love letters, but here you were doing just that. 

every moment you sit in front of your desk at night, underneath the warm glow of a small lamp, your hand mindlessly fills in blank pages with words that would never be spoken out loud. words that would never reach him. 

lee haechan.

you knew that, yet there was always that silent wish he’d one day read the letters that you’ve meticulously handwritten and sealed with a dollop of pearly gold wax and a selection of dried flowers. 

frankly, you’ve grown to fear the day you’d accidentally slip up on your words and hint at your feelings for him, which is why you’ve resorted to letting each drop of your feelings seep into the letters you’ve written instead. 

an entire stack of envelopes rest neatly inside a small box hidden under your desk, and you prefer it to stay that way. after all, you’re about to be going on a trip with him and rather not let the sturdy walls of your friendship crumble before your very own eyes.

you decide that’s enough pondering for the day, opting to freshen yourself up before haechan arrives to pick you up.

a few moments pass and haechan’s voice starts filling the walls of your room. “y/n- are you ready to go?” he questions, sounding a little flustered to see the area empty.

“i’m in the bathroom! i’ll be out soon.” you yell out, placing his heart at ease. 

he takes the time to look around your room. practically nothing has changed since the last time he’s properly been in it when you were both still young. 

the glow in the dark stars are still stuck on your ceiling, yet there’s something different from the corner of his eye. a small, well-kept box rests below your desk, one he’s never seen before nor heard you talk about. 

you’d usually tell him everything, or so he thought before seeing this.

he doesn’t know what’s so compelling with such a small box, but with you out of the premises for the time being, he supposes a peek inside wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

crouching down and quickly taking the lid off, he finds the dainty envelopes you’ve hidden with your heart in mind. though, you admit the hiding spot was pretty obvious to anyone who truly knew the layout to your room.

haechan assumes they’re letters meant for someone as all the envelopes are signed with 'sincerely, yours.' at the bottom left in a cursive font.

his heart grows heavier the more he rummages through the box, the realization of the envelopes being love letters sinking in slowly but surely.

you like someone, he thought to himself.

“hyuck, i’m done. we should get-“ you come out of the bathroom, freezing as you realize what haechan’s holding in his hands. “…going.”

you’ve caught him like a deer in headlights, an unreadable emotion lurking around his features as he stares back at you, still holding the box you’ve sworn to never be within his reach.

a single word doesn’t dare cut through the tension, and you start to feel your palms sweating. shallow breaths are all you’re able to make — that being the only sound that rings through your ears.

had he read the contents of those letters? you certainly hope not.

“…y/n? what are these?” haechan’s voice is wary, but gentle, urging you to spill your heart’s contents as if you’d never been hiding them in the first place.

your mind goes blank, completely unfocused from the fact all your secrets are about to be poured over like a cup of piping hot tea during tea time. what would you even tell him? 

that those are all letters you’ve written thinking about him? he’d find you a creep, if anything. lying would never pass through him either, especially not when he knew what ticks to look for if you tried lying through your teeth. it’s not like you want to lie to him either. 

this wasn’t how you planned to confess (you never planned on confessing to begin with), but perhaps your silent wish was simply being fulfilled at this instant. 

with a deep breath, you finally answer “they’re… sincerely yours.”

[yupyor]

⌊ Theater Love ⌉

Summary ✒ Things get heated and impulsive when your date night at a theater with Chad gets boring.

Gender Neutral Reader, Hand job, Exhibitionism.

The reason why I put male reader in the tags and not female reader is because I originally had this planned out specifically for male readers, but forgot to bring up the reader's pronouns and sex, so I just made it GN. That and male readers tend to use the block fics with the f reader tag, so yea.

I know it took forever, but Killer embrace is still a while from being done. So, I decided to just publish this one instead of the both of them together. Hope you enjoy it lol.

.✦ . 　⁺ 　. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　. ✦ . 　⁺ 　. ✦.

You've never been one to act quickly on a thought, especially after the whole Ghostface incident with the group, preferring to keep the attention drawn to you to a minimum. But it was dark, and the theatre air was hot. It didn't help that the film you had once been ecstatic to see was boring and overly long, still having a total of 75 minutes left of it.

You and Chad were bored, and chronically so. You needed to improvise, get creative. Fortunately for both of you, you did.

"Stop." Chad groaned, biting his lip. Your left hand had been resting on the upper end of his inner right thigh for the past 15 minutes now, causing a series of subtle tremors to quake throughout him. His lips were swollen, blood red, the repeating force on it causing a thin layer of blood to coat the agitated area. He was hunched over himself heaving, his chest falling with an inconsistent, bewitching rhythm. You have no doubt that if it wasn't for Chad's embarrassment, you would long been caught by now and scrutinized for your obscene display of affection—publicly humiliated and forced out of the building for all to see. Fortunately, it was dark enough to hide your actions for that to not be the case.

You move to cup the bulk of his dick, the pressured zip on his pants doing its utmost to prevent the alluring mass of flesh from being out for all to see. The strain it puts up against the fabric has your heart Wildy pacing with lust and adrenaline, and within it bubbles the need to through away all decency and feel the entirety of his body; the bulging biceps in his possession, his chiseled art of a chest, the brawn of his thigh, his frame.

God you're going insane.

Your stripped of you high when Chad moans, all soft and fragile, and it encourages you to squeeze his bulge with the lightest of pressure, his body going stiff in return. His is dick painfully swollen, so much so that it puts a hefty tension on its thin layer of constriction. Edging the life out of Chad has always been a pleasure—watching him transition from a present and rational conscience, to merely thinking with his dick always managing to turn you on.

He leans on your shoulder, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath is hot, chilling to the bone, and when he finally speaks, his voice is so small that it quivers. It makes him come off as desperate. "Were in public." Chad pleads, both hands grasping and enclosing around yours.

"Then why are you hard?" You whisper, the words making quick to his ears.

It causes him to pause, and you follow in suit, respectful of his rejection, the atmosphere around you settling into something charged and tense. Though that doesn't last for long. Thick, calloused fingers delicately maneuver around yours, the active sound of a zip being undone ripping through the pressured silence.

Chad opened his zip.

At that moment, you wanted to do nothing but taunt him—ask him why he relented despite his previous disapproval; shame him for wanting such pleasure in a public space. But his following action immediately dispels your thoughts. Chad grabs your left hand, his movement subtle, and places it spot on, on his raging boner, nothing but his boxers stopping you from directly being in-contact with it.

It radiates heat, scorching to the touch, and it sends shiver upon shiver with its erotically timed pulsation. Everything around you become a blur at its demand for attention, the girth of it making your surroundings irrelevant, an unwilling backdrop to the current moment. It vividly shapes through his black underwear, twitching, putting more and more pressure onto the silk fabric, and it wholly enchants you. You unfasten the sole button holding it as one, and his dick pops out with such vigor that it has you slightly flinching back, thinking it would hit you. It stands high and strong, throbbing in all its glory, his glistened tip seemingly glaring at you. He’s average in length, looking to settle just below that of 6 inches—though his girth is quick to make up for that. It huffs and puffs, its sensual movement hypnotizing, and you can’t help but admire the beautiful way it dances.

Your left hand subconsciously reaches out for it, your fingers flexing to adjust to his size. It causes a groan to rip out of him. The circumference of his dick prevents you from completely encircling your hold around his base. Instead, it makes Chad whimper, your attempt bringing him nothing but pleasure. Satisfied with the attention he was getting, a thick layer of pre-cum drenches his foreskin, making his protruding veins glisten. They pulse with your every touch, his skin peeling back effortlessly with your strokes. It makes you want to prioritize pleasing him, run him completely dry.

You slowly work your hands up and down his length, his trembling breath staining the tender skin of your neck.

“Wait.” Chad starts, breathless, and it stops him shortly after. He swallows, his Adam's apple repetitively bobbing as he tries to get rid of the blockage in his throat “Wait…I’m close.”

You release your tight grip on him, your hand now opting to hover just over his glans, courteous of his wish. It allows him a moment of ease, and several breaths take the opportunity to escape, his chest slightly heaving. He wants to cum. He wants to cum so bad; but he’s afraid of messing up the person’s chair in front of him—afraid of getting caught. So, he quickly repositions himself, turning to face you directly, and you too move to accommodate him, his face remaining yet in the depths of your neck as he does so. His current position probably just made him more of a stand-out amongst the clutter of people sitting properly in their chair now, but it was far better than having his high being broken because his spunk went flying onto someone's back and hair. 

Besides, most, if not all, would write it off as him being asleep.

Chad now comfortable, you set off once again to tease him, your hand returning to the tip of his glands this time around. It only takes a minute for his body to tense up, his mind going back to the former state it was in before he had to pause to reposition himself.

God, the effect you had on him was such an eager boost.

You move from his head to start stroking the base of him, taking note of the way his moans became heavier and more persistent, occasionally going all the way down to his balls to fondle and lightly squeeze them.

“I’m going to cum.” He whispers, his head nuzzling deeper into you, as if trying to merge as one.

It makes you pick up your pace, the sound of sultrily squelches and chads moans gracing your ears feeding into your dazed high.  It only takes a couple more deep strokes for Chad to succumb to his limit, his body shuddering as his all-time high peaks, long, white ropes of sperm erupting from him and landing squarely on your shirt. His breaths become ragged, shallow, and you play with his slit to allow him as much time in that point of absolute pleasure as possible. It elicits a series of moans from him, his body occasionally jerking to the side when u graze one of his many sensitive areas. When it's finally over, he lifts his head, his body yet continuing to tremble, albeit more subtly now. His eyes are completely glazed and fixed onto you, his register on the world still delayed. It makes you smirk.

“I guess theatre dates are banned now.” You initiate, but Chad only roll his eyes in return, leaning into you once again to give himself enough privacy to clean you and his lower half up.

After that, the two of you wait out the 30 minutes the film still surprisingly had before leaving like half of the people in the room already did—though at your exit, you catch a smirk directed specifically at you, a blush highlighting its owner's cheek.

You have a feeling you and Chad put on quite the show, and more so than the 2-hour-long movie you had to endure at that.

[crowned-aeris]

It’s been a hot second, but i’ve published the first part (linked below) of my Reverse Robins Wingfic on ao3 (To Brace Upon Benign Feathers), and it’s mostly Damian-Centric.

Of Acuate Talons and Venom-Coated Tongues | Ch 1: Fledgling Eagles

I have a habit of giving my fics long-ass titles 💀 it’s honestly kinda worrisome

Or you can continue reading. But be warned, ao3 has better quality, the emotions have more oomph to them, and it has the formatting in tact.

Without further ado, i present: Of Acuate Talons and Venom-coated Tongues:

Damian picked himself up from the dusty ground, his tail lashing through the blood-stained sand as he wiped away the crimson clinging to the corner of his mouth. The fledgling could feel bruises blossoming along his torso, legs, and face, but he at least made it out with his life.  

Damian's opponent didn't have the same luxury.

"Better," a voice commented in the League dialect. 

The harpy eagle straightened, folding his wings tighter against his back as he peered at his mother. The imperial eagle looked him over critically before nodding in approval, "After careful discussion with your Grandfather, we have designed you prepared for training beneath your father. We have forged you into a blade, Damian, and your father will sharpen you."

His mother turns away, beckoning Damian with a sweep of her elegant tail. The fledgling trailed after, carefully keeping his distance from his mother's blade-laced tail. Damian struggled slightly to keep up with the imperial eagle's strides, but he managed. Eventually, they reached Talia's private office- one of the few areas within the facility that was hidden from Grandfather's near-omnipresent eyes. 

Talia waited until Damian fully entered the room before shutting the door with a flick of her heavy wing. She beckoned him closer, and Damian obeyed- eagerly tilting his face into her clawed hands. His mother's palms always smelled like blood, which should've been disconcerting to some, but Damian knew she would  never  use her claws on him. 

The fledgling felt his mother gently brush her tail against his, and Damian returned the action. 

"Will you tell me Father's identity?" Damian asked, suppressing his purrs as careful claws combed through Damian's feathers. 

His mother hums in consideration, "No, I will not. Think of this as... a trial. All I will say is he lives in Gotham..."

———

Bruce swept between the buildings, his dark wings skimming past the apartments' walls. With a flick of his tail, Bruce made a narrow turn and latched onto the side of the building. With narrowed eyes, Batman waited a few seconds before diving.

The harpy eagle slammed into his target, avoiding his spine as he pinned the man's wings against the ground. 

"Where is he hiding?" Batman snarled, grunting as the man tried to stab a hidden knife into Bruce's side. Thankfully, the kevlar was enough to impede the knife, but it was enough to distract him. 

The man screeched, scrabbling in panic and somehow hitting a solid hit against Bruce's chest. His suit's flexible yet sturdy material absorbed and distributed the impact, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Bruce rattled out a low hiss, looming over the man with flared wings that seemed to suck the light from around them. The man froze in fear, and Bruce took the chance to knock him out, tying up the man for Gordan's men to collect and subsequently interrogate.

With a weary sigh, Bruce spread his wings and took into the sky. The harpy eagle glided over Park Row when a sudden weight  slammed  into his side. 

The eagle hissed, flicking his tail to reorient himself as the weight continued clinging to Bruce's side. A sharp pain stabbed into his side, slicing through the kevlar as Bruce twisted and slammed himself against the side of a building. Still, the assailant continued to cling to Bruce's side. 

He hissed, feeling claws sink into the flesh of his wings, dislodging the two from the side of the apartment. Bruce twisted, flaring his wings to slow their descent before allowing his assailant to crash into the ground. Bruce lurched away, carefully watching the other's movements before realizing that his assailant was a fledgling-

Narrowed emerald eyes glared at him through wild hair, lips pulled back to reveal sharpened fangs. Taking advantage of Bruce's shock, the fledgling lunged.

The black-clad vigilante flared his wings, barely dodging the child's blow before allowing a low, threatening rattle to escape his throat, his voice modulator struggling to keep up with the eagle's snarls, "Who are you?"

The fledgling narrowed his eyes, and faster than Bruce could react, there was a blur, and Bruce's back slammed against the concrete. He could only struggle upright when the fledgling unsheathed a katana and pointed it at Bruce's throat. 

The wicked blade gleamed in the pale light, a mere centimeter away from the eagle's jugular. 

"Hello, Father," the fledgling sneered, emerald eyes gleaming as the clouds momentarily parted to illuminate the young child with a threatening halo, "My name is Damian al Ghul, heir to the Demon Head, and I expected more from you.

———

Bruce paced back and forth in the Batcave, his tail lashing as Alfred stood a few feet away, his impassive expression betraying nothing as Damian watched silently with sharpened eyes. 

Once again, the Batcomputer beeped an affirmation, and Bruce couldn't help his frustrated hiss.

"Sir," Alfred said, interrupting Bruce as the eagle made to run the sixth test, "perhaps it would be better to show young Master Damian his new room rather than obsessing over the computer."

"She said she lost him!" Bruce snapped, frustration and betrayal swirling in his chest, "She LIED TO ME!"

"As if you don't lie as well," the owl sniffed, tilting his head to side-eye Bruce disapprovingly.

Bruce snarled, his atavistic claw unsheathing with his anger. 

"Master Bruce," the butler's voice took on an edge,  "don't  you take that tone with me, lad."

"It's different," Bruce plowed on, "Talia said she'd miscarried! I- I can't-"

"You need to get some sleep, Master Bruce."

"I do not! What I need are answers!" Bruce screamed in frustration, his feathers bristling as he snarled, whirling around in time to see a flicker of fear enter Damian's eyes, and he saw Alfred subtly position himself protectively in front of the fledgling. 

"Mister Wayne," Alfred snapped, and Bruce felt himself freeze, "I think it best you take a shower and calm down. Meanwhile, I shall show your son to his new room. Good night, Mister Wayne."

Bruce watched as his father butler escorted Damian upstairs.

His wings and tail drooped, brushing against the cave floor as exhaustion and defeat filled Bruce's chest. What was he going to do? Bruce was 26- he wasn't... he didn't want to involve a seven-year-old in his crusade against crime, but it seemed like Talia didn't care. 

Bruce grumbled, his heart clenching painfully with an emotion the eagle tried desperately to shove away. Bruce had grieved for the child he'd thought he'd lost, grieved for the relationship broken over the loss, but here that child stood.

How was Bruce supposed to cope with that? It's not every day a child you presumed dead comes back to life... 

Bruce sucks in a tight breath, yanking off the cowl before tossing it haphazardly off into the darkness of the cave. He'll find it later- but for now, Bruce had an appointment with his shower and then his bed. 

He can continue dealing with this mess later...

...How has his life ended up like this?

[moumouton4]

Hi! Would love if you agreed to write an Isekai where female reader "appears" in the Shinobi world and meets Itachi, they fall in love, etc. Female reader has special powers and Itachi protects her. She heals Itachi from his chakra illness and turns his regular Mangekyou Sharingan into an Eternal one.

Something like that, you can add whatever inspires you whether that's fluff, smut or angst (as long as there's a happy ending).

Out Of Nowhere || Itachi Uchiha x fem!reader

A/n : Hello my dear ! Thank you so much for trusting me with your idea. I'm so happy I turned this way !

Part 2 : And Everywhere : Sex In Tsukuyomi

A/n 2 : IMPORTANT TO READ - This part was supposed to be the intro of a smut fic where Y/n wants to ask Itachi to have sex inside Tsukuyomi. But it got out of hands and now it's Part 1. So yes there will be a Part 2 published tomorrow or the day after

Warnings : Fluff, angst, fluffy ending slowly turning into a slow burn, Itachi loves ypu and he needs to protect you, but you're here to protect him as well. Next Part will full smut.

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 1821

You never thought you’d ever end up in this situation when everything started. You never conceived the idea of someone like him existing. And he never imagined meeting someone like you

How you met, well it was only the chance of destiny

You didn't even know what had happened. You were just walking along when all of a sudden you felt yourself falling ( like just before falling asleep ) and then poof all of a sudden you were somewhere else ( let's say you didn't care about your family and friends lmao because it would be very depressing )

At first you didn't really know where you'd been moved to. You watched the world around you with rapt attention, eager to understand what the hell was happening to you

Nevertheless, you could feel a force within you, like a fire of energy burning deep inside you

But before you could think further your head started throbbing painfully, you started to feel hot flashes. Your hand found a grip on a tree trunk and you slowly slid to the floor. Not even two minutes later you were out, lying unconscious in the middle of this foreign forest

It is some kids that were playing around the area who found you there. While some stayed at your sides, the others ran at full speed to get someone to help

The inhabitants of Konohagakure who were brought by the kids could have been suspicious - like so many other times lmao - but they somehow decided to give you a chance. According to those who found you you were wearing funny clothes and clearly looked disoriented

When you came back to your senses, they didn’t lose any more time to bring you to *inoichi Yamanaka, who sounded your mind to be sure that you weren’t any threat for the village

The more you stayed in Konohagakure the more you started to feel at ease. You quickly learned that you were surrounded by a ninja world in which chakra mastery was a prerequisite for success

You figured that you too, you possessed this form of vital energy that enabled you to enhance your abilities

The most astonishing thing was that yours - probably because of your journey to this world - was different from the shinobis. It had the power to heal the effects of time and disease - like Rapunzel lmao

But you eventually got used to it and started training to become a ninja - Iruka never had such a respectful, elderly pupil 😂

Thanks to your talent and willpower, you were finally able to complete your studies quickly enough to be allowed to go on simple B or C ranked missions within a year - yeah so impressive

However every time you went on a mission, you felt like you weren't at 100%. It was as if you were only using a fraction of the power you had. But you wanted to improve yourself and be best you could be for your fellow comrades So you took matters into your own hands. You went to the central hospital of Konohagakure and asked the doctors to run some tests on you, to try and understand your situation a little better. And a lot has changed after this

The doctors indeed realized that your chakra contained traces of the proteins present in the composition of the Mokuton, Shôton, Byakugan, Sharingan, Rinnegan… the list was so long

They couldn't believe it, they found traces of every Kekkei Genkai in existence, even those thought to have disappeared

Of course, the information leaked out and many ill-intentioned people began to take a close interest in your case. Your power was invaluable and, if used properly, could create an invincible army of ninjas who, thanks to you, could possess several Kekkei Genkai

You weren’t Y/n the newbie anymore, but more the weapon to to declare war on a major power

That's how you met the person who changed your life and made your day. The most talented ninja of his generation had been summoned by the Hokage V to ensure your security

"You understand, Itachi, her safety is our priority. I don't want her to be left alone until all the bounty hunters we know about are put out of action"

"Very well, I won't disappoint you" the young man answered with conviction

Though he hadn't anticipated that he'd take his mission much more to heart than he should have. And finally, even when you were theoretically out of danger, he couldn't resist staying with you. To accompany you on missions or just come for tea after training. And finally he confessed, unable to keep his love for you a secret any longer

To his surprise, you reciprocated his feelings, and that's when the two of you became each other's most important person

After that, you'll all share. Long, exhausting missions that have brought you closer together and strengthened your bond. And then there were the more difficult times, when things had to be done with heavy consequences

But you always managed to find each other. In more or less good shape and condition

This never-ending game of getting lost and finding each other finally came to an end the day he came back to you partially blind. You sensed from his restraint and the almost empty look in his eyes that he couldn't see much. Indeed, his eyes couldn't even make out the contours of your face through all that mist in his eyes and it destroyed him - seriously I'm sure it would have created some ptsd

You couldn't let it go on and convinced him to stop. You kept him close to you and protected him as he had done for you all those years ago

Though there was one thinking you didn’t know. You thought you'd protect him by keeping him away from battles so he wouldn't use his Mangekyou Sharingan, thinking it was the latter that had caused him to lose his sight, but you didn't count on the rare and devastating disease he was suffering from. For some reason, his chakra was the source, and the more it coursed through his veins, the more poisonous it became for Itachi. As a result, his eyesight and health were declining more and more You exhausted yourself day after day, night after night to finally find a way to give him back his sight. He wasn't lost, so to speak, his sharp ninja senses enabled him to perceive everything around him, but... he'd give anything to be able to see your face again

And so, after a few weeks, you succeeded in perfecting a jutsu to restore his sight. He trusted you blindly ( pun unitented / gen ) and he was right. Because it only took you fifteen minutes. And after that draining effort, when he reopened his eyes he felt slightly different

He looked at his hands for a moment, and when he could see the details of the lines in the palm of his hand again, he swore he felt tears starting to well up in his eyes. You'd done it

He saw without any blur your tired face dripping with drops of sweat. When your eyes locked with his, a sigh of relief escaped your lips and you let yourself fall back tiredly onto the bed behind you. His hands came to cradle your face

"You've done wonders Y/n. You're a miracle from heaven" his thumb was rubbing softly against your cheek "I'll never be grateful enough. But you must rest now. Let me take care of you"

With that he took a towel of cold water and passed it over your face to invigorate you. Then he tucked you into bed before joining you like every other night

He spent some extra time admiring the features of your face, which he had missed so much lately. He struggled to understand how such an extraordinary being had crossed his path. How someone like him had been blessed to have you by his side

"Itachi..." he heard you mumble in your sleep, and he couldn't stop a wave of warmth from flooding his heart. He gave you a gentle smile despite the fact that you were fast asleep and pushed a few strands of hair from your forehead. He placed a lingering kiss on it before getting up to brush his teeth

On the way to the bathroom he noticed a slight weight and a tingling sensation in his eye ( does that even make sense ?!? ) as if something had changed. He brushed it off and decided to take care of the task in hand

He took his toothbrush and put some toothpaste on it. Bringing the brush to his mouth, he raised his head and froze. He had just met his own gaze in the mirror, his pupils now adorned with a pattern different from the three tomoe pattern of his Sharingan and the Mangekyou Sharingan he had awakened a little while ago

He swallowed hard as he recognized the Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan. He took a deep breath and concentrated on regaining control. When he opened his eyes again, this time he saw his everyday black orbs in the mirror. The ones who admired and observed your every detail

It was the first time he had witnessed this particularity of your chakra. He'd heard about it like many people, but he'd never seen you create or awaken a Kekkei Genkai in someone before

He wondered if you'd done it on purpose though, or if it was just a mistake on your part. He decided not to bother tonight and to address the subject the following day. Finally, he continued brushing his teeth, counting the seconds until he could join you in bed and sleep with you in his arms... or the other way round - he also loves to be held

Little did he know that sleeping wasn't really what was going on for you right now. Sure you were sleeping, but your mind and body were restless

When he raised his head earlier, you did your best not to let your breath hitch when you saw the new pattern in his eyes. You knew enough about the Uchihas to know what it was and the many properties this power possessed

You body felt like on fire as you dreamed a whole host of scenarios in your sleep "That's so hot" you kept thinking

In real life your cheeks were flushed and your thighs clenching. And when Itachi came back to bed he thought that you were feverish from using that much chakra earlier. So he held you close, hoping his warmth would help your fever go down at some point But you wished just one thing right now, having several of him taking care of you at the same time in a timeless dimension

~

~

Taglist : @foxxymunson , @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople , @glossy1pearl

[chiefbeifongcanrailme]

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Hi Mochi! I'm so sorry I'm taking forever to get to this ask- but it's totally your fault- you know I'm indecisive- I'm a Libra and I couldn't choose which fic to go with🫠

So after much procrastination, I have picked: Somebody Come Geeeeeeeed Her She's Dancin' Like A…

This is my stripper!Lin fic.

Spoilers below. Be warned.

I had a lot of plans of continuing this- prequel, sequel, multi-chap the whole shindig but alas, the world is cruel. Although, just answering the ask is giving me a fantastic idea.

Anyway, coming down to the fic- a 20-something year old Tenzin is reluctantly taken to a strip club by Bumi where he is completely smitten by one of the strippers. Convinced that the woman wearing close to nothing on stage is Lin, Tenzin abandons his brother to go find her and see if it really is Lin. But whether or not this woman is his good friend, Captain Lin Beifong, Tenzin is experiencing love at first sight.

I'm laughing as I'm typing this, but we all know Lin's hot as balls and to have her be a stripper would be everything. As I was first writing this fic, I kinda decided that the stripper would actually be Lin's doppelganger from the bronx south side (known to be a shady area of Republic City) and Tenzin would feel like he's being gaslit. Jade's boyfriend would be Lightning Bolt Zolt while Tenzin's friendship with Lin keeps getting tested over this. But then I changed my mind, and decided to go with undercover Lin who's working with one of the up and coming triads based in the south side- of course, this has to be secret and nobody other than Saikhan knows about this. He often covers for her and ever since Tenzin discovers Jade, Saikhan has been working overtime lol.

But coming to the fic itself, where I got to include none of this, I wanted to establish just how attracted Tenzin is to Lin. He supposedly falls for Jade and that's only because as Jade, she gives him the time of day while Lin doesn't. Lin enjoys being Jade because that's the only time Tenzin will properly shoot his shot- with Lin, he's too tightly wound. And well, while Jade may a boyfriend (Lightning Bolt Zolt), for convenience (and so that she can be trusted by the triads), Lin secretly is in love with Tenzin.

And it's funny cuz Tenzin loves Jade, Jade "loves" Zolt, Zolt- who sees Lin at the RCPD once is obsessed with this more high strung, difficult, stick-in-the-ass version of his girlfriend- and therefore into Lin, who in turn, is into Tenzin who just won't make a move!

RIP to all my good ideas. Unfortunately for its audience, this director only publishes the very pretty, pointy tip of her icebergs.

[sillygooseassociation]

The Year of Us

Request: Holiday fic request: new years w/Jason first new years together fluffy or spicy whichever you prefer ♥️

Description: When Jason invites you to a New Year’s Eve party, someone’s jealousy runs wild but honestly? Might be the best for everyone.

Warning(s): angst, jealousy, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, i just forgot to include them talking about contraception lol, reader is on birth control)

Pairing: JRU, Jason Sudeikis x reader

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: and here it is! angst, smut, and fluff to ring in the new year. the origin story of our beloved JRU couple! while these are not published in chronological order, this shows how Jason and Y/N finally made it official! i think the order of reading the JRU and everything may be a little confusing, so maybe i’ll make a little reading guide? if you’ve read all of JRU, i hope you pick up on all the little callbacks, such as finding out where their little phrase comes from! anywho, happy happy new year, friends! 2022 has had some really sucky things for me, but it’s also had some absolutely amazing things like discovering ted lasso and the light it has brought into my world (plus jason, thank you god). ted and jason have then brought me all of you, my beautiful friends! i am so thankful for all of you and can’t wait for us to grow even more together in 2023!

-

To say Jason’s invitation surprised you would be a massive understatement. Sure, the two of you had hung out multiple times since his appearance on SNL at the end of October. But no one had truly made any moves and it was absolutely infuriating. Maybe you understood his hesitation at the beginning, he was in his late 40s and you were a young PA for SNL, he likely didn’t want to abuse any power someone could perceive him as having over you. However, after his flirting with you during your first real conversation, you didn’t think he would instantly dial back,

But alas, that’s exactly what he did. He spent probably an hour with you at the after-party, apologizing over a drink as promised, and he most certainly let his eyes gloss over your figure more than once, but that was it. You two had hung out almost once a week since then, yet no moves had been made. Could you make a move? Technically, yes. Realistically, hell no. What if you ruin this amazing friendship the two of you had formed just because you had the hots for him? What if he complained to his friends? And by friends, you mean what if he told people like Bill Hader? You’re pretty sure that means your life would be over. So pushed aside feelings and friendly touches on the arm were all there was.

That’s not to say you didn’t do certain things to perhaps prompt Jason to act on his flirty comments. Every weekly hangout, your pants got a little tighter and your neckline a little lower. And not that anyone could prove it, but any onlooker would think you were the most clumsy person ever considering the couple of times you spilled your drink on yourself, specifically spilling on your chest, drawing a certain someone’s attention to the area. Much to your dismay though, it seemed as if your efforts were failing, Jason flirting with you in almost each of your interactions but never following through to show you that he was serious.

So when he texted you to ask if you had any plans for that evening, New Year’s Eve, you were surprised. If he was asking, he must not have the kids, but wouldn’t he want to be spending the holiday with his friends? Ignoring your confusion, you tell him about the wine and leftover pizza awaiting you in your kitchen. After expressing his disgust at the pairing (though you know it's bullshit, the two of you had shared that exact meal at his place before), he tells you to be ready by 9 and then responds to none of your follow-up questions. “Geez, thanks, Jas…” You roll your eyes at the man, how were you supposed to even know what to wear if you didn’t know what you were doing? Surely he wouldn’t want to go out, New York is packed on any given day, nonetheless New Year’s Eve. Plus, you know how anxious he feels about paparazzi seeing you two and reading into things. Not that he had told you such, but it was easy to put two and two together when you only ever hung out at one of your places or a hole-in-the-wall bar with a back entrance.

By the time nine o’clock rolled around, you were anxiously pacing in front of your door, ready for Jason’s text that he was outside. You were dressed up more than normal, in a sparkling outfit that fits you just perfectly and definitely showed skin in all the right places. Were you too dressed up? You put on white Jordans to try and dress the outfit down, knowing heels likely be too much and would leave you regretting it the next day. But what if you still went overboard? Your anxious thoughts were cut off by the buzzing of your phone,

Balls Man: Here :)

If it were any other man or you lived in any other city, it would be a red flag that Jason didn’t come up to your apartment to get you, or at least meet you in the lobby. But with the busy and full streets of the Big Apple, plus the risk of fans, you understood Jason’s hesitation when he explained his texted arrival the first time he picked you up. Rushing out of your apartment and down the stairs, hopefully burning off some of your excited energy, a bright smile crosses your face when you see Jason’s car stalled in front of your building. Opening the passenger, you slide in, not surprised to hear a Mumford & Sons’ song playing, “Hey there, stranger.” You roll your eyes and look at him with a cocked eyebrow, “Really? Could you be anymore midwestern white dad in his 40s?” 

Letting out a hearty laugh, Jason nods as he focuses on the road, pulling into the street when the opportunity presented itself, “Alright, I asked for that one.” You chuckle in response, subtly glancing over to check him out, letting out a small shaky breath at the image of his flexed left arm out with his hand holding to the wheel, his right hand relaxing on the gear shift in between your bodies. You quickly have to ask him something or you may do something drastic and regrettable, “So, what exactly are we doing tonight?” Jason casually shrugs, looking over his shoulder as he merges left, heading in the direction of Manhattan from your Brooklyn apartment, “Thought we’d head to a party my friend’s having at his place. Unless you wanted to do something else, of course.” You hold in a laugh at the second part of Jason’s response, the man seemingly getting nervous over the idea of him just deciding your plans for the night. “That sounds great, Jason. Honestly, I’m fine with whatever, I’m just happy to spend the new year with you.” 

A blush rises to your cheeks as soon as you realize what you say, quickly turning away from Jason to look out the window at the passing buildings, a small smirk appears on Jason’s face, both at your words and your reaction. A silence falls over the car, save for the music playing, though the silence is comfortable, almost as though you and Jason had reached a spot where you don’t need to worry about filling the empty space, you can just sit, together. After about thirty minutes of anecdotes and stories from the week, your’s mostly about the SNL PA group chat and Jason’s mainly about his children, you arrive at a swanky apartment building. Jason pulls into the parking garage, presenting a guest pass to the attendant, hm, okay, this must be a pretty close friend if Jason has a parking pass rather than having to find street parking. 

The two of you get out of the car after he finds a spot and head towards the lobby door, walking close enough that the back of your hands brush against each other, though neither of you attempt to make a move. Clearing your throat, you look around, noticing how nice the cars are in the parking garage, okay, so everyone here is rich, “Um, Jason, how fancy of a party is this? Am I gonna be shunned for how I look?” Jason looks at you like you’re crazy and laughs, stopping when he realizes that you’re seriously asking, “Y/N, what, no, you look…” Jason looks you over, under the guise of examining your outfit though anyone would be able to see that he’s taking in your body, anyone but you apparently, “What? I look what?” Jason clears his throat, looking forward as he holds the lobby door open for you, speaking softly as you pass him through the door, “Perfect, you look perfect.” 

The elevator ride is silent, though it is a different kind of silence than the one in the car, the tension could be cut with a knife. Jason is positive that the tension is one of anger from you, that he crossed the line, meanwhile, your thoughts of mounting him then and there surely mean the tension is sexual. Before either of you can say anything, the doors open to reveal an apartment, your eyes widening slightly when you are reminded that some people have enough money that elevators can just open into their homes. You suddenly realize you have no idea whose house you’re even at, but before you can even ask Jason, a familiar face makes his way through the small circles of people talking, “Sudeikis! You made it!”

Jason Sudeikis was a fucking dumbass. Seth Meyers, that’s who lives here. Sure, working at NBC for a year and a half, you had passed him a couple of times in the hallway, but you had never had a conversation and you sure as hell have never been in his house. Jason and Seth meet for a hug before the two pull away, briefly catching up before Seth not-so-subtly points his eyes in your direction. Jason laughs at himself as he turns to you, putting his hand on your lower back, “Oh, duh, sorry. Seth, this is Y/N, Y/N, Seth. She’s fit so perfectly into my life, I forgot that not everyone knows her.” You’re 99% sure that you got whiplash from turning to look at Jason, but his attention has been caught by someone else and he’s telling Seth they’ll talk later, interlacing your fingers to pull you towards his friends. 

What the actual fuck is happening. Is this what heaven feels like? Or is this hell? Yeah, you’re holding hands with Jason, but it’s surely just so he doesn’t lose you in the crowd. There’s no meaning behind it, there never will be. Jason introduces you to the group, many of whom you recognize as different writers from NBC, including your idol, Amber Ruffin. Not wanting to make a fool of yourself, but also needing some liquid courage if Jason is going to keep touching you and breaking your heart, you slip your hand out of his, turning to head where you see a bar set up. As soon as your touch leaves him, Jason stops talking and turns to you, “Are you okay?” Turning back to him with a tightlipped smile, you give him a nod, “Yeah, just getting a drink. Enjoy your friends.”  Jason nods, though it’s apprehensive, wanting to catch up with his friends, but also not wanting to lose track of you in the crowded living room. 

At the bar, you make yourself a drink before hearing your name called, turning around to see Mark, a fellow intern from when you started at NBC. The two of you greet each other with a hug, “Mark! What are you doing here?” He fills you in on his job as a PA for Seth’s show while you tell him about working at SNL, “Wait, so how do you know Seth?” You shake your head as you take a sip of your drink, setting it down on the bar, “Oh, I don’t, just came with a friend.” Mark nods and you two catch up, laughing about your intern days and sharing stories from your current jobs. 

About twenty minutes pass before you feel a hand wrap around your hip and a chest meet your back, “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you.” Mark’s eyes widen when he sees who you came with, you didn’t think to mention that it was an NBC legend. “Y/N, you didn’t think to mention that you came with SNL royalty. Or that he’s your boyfr..” Before he can finish, Jason cuts Mark off, “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Jason, and you are?” Jason lets go of your hip briefly to shake Mark’s, squeezing a bit tighter than necessary, though you are none the wiser, “M-Mark, Y/N and I were interns together when we started at 30 Rock.” Jason nods as he takes his hand back, putting his hand back on your side, a bit lower this time, resting just above your ass. “Oh great, well it was wonderful to meet you, but we really should be going. We were just stopping in.” 

You look to Jason in surprise, what was he talking about? He didn’t mention any other plans, you only got here like half an hour ago, why do you have to leave? Mark nods, the two of you wishing each other a happy new year before Jason’s fingers intertwine with yours, heading towards the door. After thanking Seth for having the two of you, Jason and you take the elevator down to the lobby, which oh my god, you’re just now realizing is the lobby of lobby baby. You cross the parking garage, only letting go of each other when you reach the car. 

This time the silence of the car ride is thick with discomfort. You are not quiet due to imagining sinful acts with Jason and you’re not enjoying peace with your company, you’re practically grinding your teeth out of annoyance. After an hour and a half in the car, your drive time tripled thanks to holiday traffic, Jason pulls into a spot surprisingly open in front of your building. “Y/N, I…” Jason is cut off by you opening the door, “Goodnight, Jas.” You get out of the car and slam the door, so frustrated that you didn’t even notice that you let your nickname for him slip, a nickname you hadn’t used to his face in fear it would cross the line. As you walk up the outside steps of your building, Jason chases after you, “Whoa, Y/N, wait please.” You whip around to look at him, tears of anger and confusion welling in your eyes, “What, Jason? What can you possibly say that will explain how you’re acting?”

Your raised voice catches the attention of those walking past, something you and Jason both notice. Looking at you with desperate eyes, Jason steps closer to you, though you still have the upper ground thanks to the steps, “Can we go inside and talk? Please?” Jason’s plea is dripping with emotion, how can you say no to him? It’s not like he actually did anything wrong, you just need to get over yourself and your feelings for him. Obliging his request, you enter your building, walk up the steps, and enter your apartment, Jason a few steps behind. He walked next to you, always. The only time he wasn’t with you was when he walked a few paces ahead of you to open a door. The man never left your side, and yet here he was, behind you. 

Kicking off your shoes, you walk a few steps out of the entryway so Jason can do the same before turning to him, your arms crossed and an angry expression on your face. Jason looks at you, the guilt in his eyes almost makes you break, but first, you needed to know why he was guilty and what he thinks happened. Jason takes a deep breath, looking down at his socks before looking back to you, “Y/N, I am so sorry. It was not at all okay for me to take you away from your friend. I don’t know what happened, I-I just saw you talking to him and I got so anxious and, and…” Jason cracks his knuckles, obviously regretting what he was about to say, “…and jealous, I was jealous.” 

Your jaw drops slightly as your eyes widen, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Jason runs his hand through his hair, the other on his hip as he starts to pace, “I know, okay, I know I have no right to be jealous. And you have every right to be mad at me for acting like a jealous psychopath. I know, we’re just friends and I’m a fucking grandpa compared to you and you would probably be so happy dating someone your age like Matt…” You hold in your snicker at Jason’s error of your friend’s name, also having to hold back from snorting at his stupidity, “I know, okay, I know that I am the worst and just ruined the entire fucking thing, okay? You just, I swear to god, every fucking time I see you, your shirts are lower and lower and it’s all I fucking see and it’s goddamn torture and now I just admitted to being a fucking pervert, oh god.” Jason sits on your couch, burying his head in his hands, freaking out over everything he just revealed meanwhile, you stand a couple of feet away from him, just watching him before you can no longer hold your laughter in. 

Jason lifts his head, looking like a mix of a sad puppy and a confused toddler, “Wha…” You round the table in front of the couch, sitting on wood furniture in front of him, your knees touching, “I know they say comedians can be dumb, but damn, you’re a fucking idiot.” Jason’s head tilts slightly as his brows furrow, “Okay, not the yelling I thought would happen, obviously you’re going for emotion warfare instead…” You stare at the man with love in your eyes as you chuckle slightly, here he is thinking he ruined everything and yet he’s still cracking jokes, he absolutely amazed you. “Jas, I’m not mad at you for being jealous, if anything, it’s actually really hot.” Jason’s eyes widen, obviously about to ask what you mean by that but you continue before he can say anything, “I’m mad that - well, not even really mad but - that you were fucking doing all these things and, and I knew you didn’t mean them. And holy fuck, I want you to mean them.”

You look down at your legs, anxiously rubbing your hands up and down on your thighs before Jason places his finger under your chin and lifts your head so you’re looking at him, “Y/N, I meant every single one of those things. When I said you looked perfect I meant it, I mean, fuck, you always look perfect. When I grabbed your hand because of the crowds, I wished I was doing that for the rest of my life. Everything I do, every act, every touch, I mean it. I just never thought it meant something to you.” You’re not even sure what to say, for the first time in your life, you’re speechless. To make up for what you can’t put into words, you kiss him. You wrap your hands around the back of Jason’s neck and pull him into you, your lips meeting in a sweet kiss. Jason’s hands grab onto your hips, holding on so tightly that even through your clothes, you wouldn’t be surprised if you have a finger indentation tomorrow.

Running your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, you pull away just enough to speak softly, “Bedroom.” Jason nods eagerly as he meets you in a kiss again, both of you standing and messily stumbling to your room. Never breaking the kiss, Jason messes with the zipper on the back of your outfit as you stand at the end of your bed, “Fuck, need this off.” You whimper at Jason’s words, the easiest way to agree given your current situation. Finally, Jason pulls the zipper down, groaning when he sees your lacy set as your one piece falls to the floor, “You're telling me I could have seen this two months ago?” You giggle, attaching your mouth to the column of his throat, sucking deeply, as you mess with his belt. As your palm passes over his erection, Jason lets out a groan that you’re pretty sure is the sound angels make when you ascend to heaven. 

You begin to sink to your knees but Jason quickly stops you, grabbing onto your hips, “That sounds like a fucking dream, but right now I need to be inside you, is that okay, sweet girl?” A whine slips past your lips, tugging at his sweater before he pushes you onto your bed. Jason strips off all of his clothes, a moan leaving your mouth when you see his size and the precum leaking from his tip, “Holy fuck, Jas.” Jason practically growls at your comment, crawling onto the bed and laying over you, keeping himself high enough that he isn’t touching any part of you, “I need you to call me that for the rest of my life, honey. I’m all your’s.” A gasp leaves your lips as he slides into you, pausing to allow you to adjust. 

Your core clenches around him as you feel his cock throbbing inside of you, “Fuck Jas, need you to move.” Happy to oblige, Jason begins to rock in and out of you, bringing his thumb down to rub at your swollen clit, “Ya feel so good around me, honey. ‘s like you were made for me.” Jason pulls all the way out before plowing back into you, a cry erupts from your throat, your noises pushing him closer to the edge. “Hm, what’d you say, sweetheart?” As he asks you, Jason increases both the speed of his thrusts and the speed at which he’s rubbing your bundle of nerves. His lips attach to your collarbone, nipping at your skin and leaving marks, to which you bring your hands to the nape of his neck, pulling at his hair, “Y-yes, Jas. All yours.” 

Jason moves his head down slightly, bringing his nipple into your mouth right as he hits your g-spot. You cry out his name as you reach your peak, clawing at his back as you do so, your tight core seemingly holding him in a vice. Pulling off of your nipple, Jason watches you, in a trance, as you cum, “Never seen anyone look so pretty.” Jason continues to work you through your climax, his own groans coming out as his brows furrow, concentrating on reaching the finish line, “Come on Jas, need you to finish in me, bubs, wanna feel all of you.” Your words push him over, Jason filling you up as his movements still, his forehead falling to rest in between your breasts, both of your bodies covered in sweat. 

As your worlds seem to still with this change of your relationship, the world outside begins its countdown, the streets filled with cars and drunk New Yorkers yelling out starting at 10. Jason pulls out and lays next to you, the two of you staring into each others’ eyes as he pulls you close, your legs intertwining. As the crowd outside hits five, Jason places his hand on the side of your face, swiping his thumb across your cheek, “We doing this? We starting the year with us?” You smile softly, giving a small nod as your faces grow closer, “I’m in if you are, Jas.” 

Jason returns your smile, “You and me, baby.” Your lips meet just as the fireworks go off outside, your heart feeling similar to the entire east coast right about now. The two of you pull apart, resting your foreheads together as you repeat the phrase back, “You and me, bubs.”

[lumosatnight]

Untagged Fest 2023 favs!

Untagged Fest 2023 just ended, run by the HPFC Discord server! This was my second time participating and I had just as much fun as I did last year. It's always a new experience reading a fic when it's first published with absolutely zero tags. Here are a 10 of my favorites (listed by title)!

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💜 hollow hearts by @girl-with-goats [Teddy/Victoire, T, 7.0k] — Fabulous world-building, wonderful imagery, packed full of colorful metaphors and heartfelt emotions.

Surviving in the post-apocalyptic, totalitarian world where emotions are banned from adults is not an easy feat. Victoire Weasley tries to navigate it and not lose herself in the process, all while falling in love with her best friend, Teddy Lupin.

💜 Just a Minerva in Time by @bluestringpudding [Hermione/Minerva, G, 6.4k] — Time travel, BAMF young Minerva, intrigue, romance! This fic has everything!

Hermione is going to need to remember how she got there, if she wants to go back.

💜 Master of None by @nanneramma [Cormac/Severus, G, 5.5k] — Hilarious and made me cry tears of joy. A masterpiece in comedy. Severus has finally met his match in himbo (and buff!) Cormac.

Severus tries new things, and meets someone unexpected.

💜 mephistopheles by @hang-the-deejay [Hermione/Harry, E, 6.4k] — Mind the tags!! Includes rape/non-con!! This is dirty, dark, and CRAZY GOOD. A dead dove fic that had me at the edge of my seat and yelling into the abyss (or in the Discord server).

when i'm at the pearly gates, this'll be on my videotape

💜 of all the gin joints by @northernroyal [Hermione/Dean, E, 2.2k] — HOT SMUT IN YOUR AREA!!! I am in love with this Dean. He is the new loml.

in all the towns in all the world, she walks into his.

💜 Oh, to be alone with you by @min1nova [Bellatrix/Luna, M, 3.3k] — The prose is stunning. Bellaluna is such an underrated ship and the author made me fall in love with them. Such a fantastical fairy tale AU.

Her grey-scale painted lips, darker than the billowing curls and sharper than her teeth, never turn down. They are lighter than the oily drip down her temples, glittering in her hair. She is always smiling. It surely is a marvel, to behold the presence of the Mad Queen. 

💜 Through the Middlegame by @sandervansunshine [Astoria & Peter, T, 6.6k] — One of my absolute favorite portrayals of Peter I have ever read. The dialogue, the characters, the angst. I want to tattoo this fic directly onto my brain. Perhaps my new fav fic of the year!

Two prisoners, both a little broken, set out in pursuit of their survival.

💜 Unspeakable Acts by @ladyvoldywrites [Rufus/Dolores, M, 4.8k]— A wild pairing with a wild premise! The banter is perfect. This fic converted me to a Dolores lover and I didn't think that was possible.

The death of a child. A stolen Time-Turner. In an effort to solve this heinous act, an unlikely duo falsify a betrothal to gain entry into an underground crime ring.

💜 who lives in the castle? by @luxuriousmalfoy [Cho & Harry, M, 2.5k] — The ambience, the vibes!! I loved the mystery and the world-building. And of course, I love my girl Cho.

A century after the abrupt disappearance of magic, they seek out the place they hope to find it again—only to find themselves wondering if it was worth the cost. Cho and Harry have one question. Who lives in the castle?

💜 You're So Vane by @patriceavril [Angelina/Romilda, T, 6.8k] — The perfect romcom fic. Romilda is such a hoot, and her antics are so on brand. If this was turned into a movie, I'd be the first one at the theater.

Romilda is determined to seduce her nephew’s Quidditch instructor, even if she has to get a bit creative.

—

And my submission for the fest!

💜 Such a Sweetheart by @lumosatnight [Fleur/Bellatrix, T, 2.4k] — a horror coffeshop AU!

Her shift starts like any other.

Read more in the collection on AO3!!

[oflights]

oh have I missed the chance for prompts??? I hope not. Ummmm let’s see. How about your choice of the lads going to one of the below places:

* sushi conveyor belt restaurant

* way overpriced boozy brunch

* garden seating at a pub, on a hot summer night

so, as we've already discussed, i low-key want to do ALL of these and as such have screenshotted this to return to some of them. but this one is, in a roundabout way, garden seating at a pub on a hot summer (june) night. in new york! finally!

it's also 2.3k word again (just fuck my life, honestly) and it's getting back together fic. i'm sorry. this is who i am. i hope you like it!!

It’s a beautiful night, the stickiness of the summer day having faded a bit with the sun, just gone down an hour or so ago. There are lovely, multicolored paper lanterns filled with magical light strung up above, crisscrossing the width of the garden area, scattering it in purposeful rainbow. The low, cheerful din of glasses clinking against the wooden tables and excited chatter washes over the space.

There is a nice breeze, one Draco has been told means he should be grateful this is late June in New York and not August, where breezes flee. It’s still hot, unexpectedly so; he is very aware of wearing long sleeves and concedes his agent was probably right about that. He just didn’t want—people here like to ask about his tattoo when back home they know better, or worse, really. He doesn’t want to talk about that.

He finishes his drink trying not to even think about it, drumming his fingers against his own wooden table and shaking his head when a waitress asks him if he wants a refill. Carlo, his agent, gives him an unimpressed look and says, “If we’re going to wait to start, you might as well have another drink to calm your nerves.”

“I’m not nervous,” Draco says automatically, and Carlo snorts.

“Sure. Look, if that’s the case, we might as well—”

“Just a few more minutes; they’ll be here,” Draco cuts in quickly, and now Carlo sighs.

“A few more minutes, all right. But if we wait any longer the people who want to be here will actually just leave, and then we’ll have booked all this for nothing.”

Draco nods distractedly, already looking away and glancing out over the other tables without trying to be too obvious about it or catch anyone’s eye. He still has to nod at people—people he can’t really believe exist, people excited to see him read to them, people who have read his book with their actual eyes and liked it and bought it and maybe told their friends to buy it. They have it with them, holding it in their hands. It’s startling every time he thinks about it. It still seems like a trick, like someone is going to jump out from somewhere and say “Got you!”

This is the first reading he’s doing in person, ever. He’d done a successful launch party in London, had done something of a press round, even—terrifying, the whole time, even as it all went well. He’d read from his book on the wireless, he’d chatted with a few people who walked up to him in Diagon Alley, bewilderingly, happily. He likes to talk about his book.

But now Draco’s half a world away from all that, because apparently his book is selling really well in the States, better even than back home, and the international affiliate of his publisher wanted him to do a book tour to support the second printing, which means conferences and events and more press and—

And a reading, to strangers, in a beautiful garden area behind a large, apparently historic pub in the magical area nestled between the West Village and Greenwich Village. The sounds and lights of the city around them are muffled, muted, like the world has narrowed down only to this.

It’s a long way to go, for him and for all of the people Draco had rather desperately invited—all of his friends, who had had to break their promises to come one by one as family and job issues waylaid them.

Even his extended friends, the kind he only sees at rare and rarer pub nights every few months or at weddings or funerals or—he’d given out invitations to them, too, had offered to arrange Portkeys and stays in New York even once the book tour takes him elsewhere.

A few had said they’d try to come, but as the people he’s closer to had cancelled—Pansy, histrionically heartbroken about it, Blaise playing it so cool it was clear he truly was upset, Greg and Millie and Daphne and Theo and all of them full of regrets and work and kids and things that Draco didn’t have to keep him from doing something mad like traveling around the world for a stupid little book—Draco had resigned himself to the fact that they wouldn’t come either. Why would Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom go out of their way for someone they see once every few months now, ever since—when the people he sees at least twice a week on average couldn’t make it?

Draco had even invited—he was desperate—and he knew he wouldn’t come because they were over, of course, any obligation to come to things like this had ceased when all that had ended, so there was no way—but just in case—   

He'd told himself that was all okay because his parents had promised. They don’t understand any of it, of course—Father thinks it’s a silly hobby gone a bit too far, and perhaps it had started that way, a diversion from the drudgery of managing the Malfoy estate, but now it’s all this, it’s Draco’s life that he doesn’t get��but they had said they’d be here to support him. They have no jobs, he is their family, they can arrange international Portkeys in their sleep—there’s no reason for them not to come. He’s certain they’ll be here.

Draco cranes his neck, searching the tables for any telltale blond hair he’s missed, eyes flicking to the back entrance to the pub where he’s sure they’ll emerge at any moment. Maybe they missed their Portkey and had to reschedule. Maybe there was a delay at the terminal. Maybe they decided to sleep off the time difference at their hotel and didn’t set a wakeup Floo. Maybe—

“Draco,” Carlo says, very gentle, but not patient. “We’ve got to start. I’m sorry, but I don’t think they’re coming.”

Draco shakes his head, even as the truth of that settles in the pit of his stomach like a sinking stone. He swallows past a lump in his throat, wishing he did have a new drink so his hands could be damp with cool condensation instead of clammy, anxious sweat.

He is not nervous. “You can do this,” Carlo tells him. “Just keep an eye on me; I’m here.” Draco likes talking about his book. He likes being around people, chatting with them—it’s just reading, his own words, he practically knows them by heart, they’re etched into his skin far deeper than the Mark, scratched over his heart—

But he really, really wanted his parents to come. He truly thought they would.

“All right,” Draco says finally, still shaking his head but forcing himself to come to terms. He talks himself into it as he stands up, rationalizing—it was definitely the time difference. They’re napping; Mother will wake up horrified, and they’ll get late drinks and perhaps midnight room service and laugh about it later.

That’s how he gets himself to the edge of the garden under the brightest lights, standing at a Levitating podium that settles to the ground once he reaches it. It’s hotter here, under the lights; he wants to rip his sleeves off and use them to dab at his sweaty temples. He has to take deep breaths.

Draco looks out over the crowd, their eager faces, and tries to focus on Carlo—but his face is too soft, too close to pity. He tries to look at nothing instead, knows soon he’ll be reading anyway so it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have to look at the fact that his parents aren’t here. But first he has to talk a little, introduce himself, thank people for coming, all of these people who don’t even know him, didn’t raise him, still showed up because they liked his work that much when his parents haven’t even read—

“Hello,” Draco makes himself say, a small huff of a laugh, as charming a grin as he can muster. For a moment, that’s all he can muster; his throat is tightening, his sleeves feel like they’re getting smaller. He doesn’t think it’s possible to be strangled at your wrists, but perhaps they’re cutting off the circulation there, constricting his blood flow enough to explain why breathing is so treacherous. “I—I’m so glad you’re all here. I’m so glad that I’m here.”

More words, successful. Words are his thing, Draco reminds himself. He can do this. “And I’m—I’m grateful, really. Impossibly so. It’s really—this month, in this place, and I’m barely starting to understand how much it means to everyone because all I’ve known, all I’ve put into this book, is what it means to me—what it means to be like us, or so I assume, in what feels like a very small world, and—” He breaks off, making slightly panicked eye contact with Carlo—who taps the rainbow pin on his lapel and gives him a thumbs up, encouraging, he can do this.

Draco manages to open his mouth again, but all that emerges is a puff of slightly distressed air. And that’s when movement from the back entrance distracts him thoroughly, gratefully, another place to fix his gaze—which widens, steals more breath.

Rushing through the doorway, knocking into a slotted wooden chair and swearing, is Harry. He’s got Draco’s book wedged under his armpit, he’s whispering apologies to people he bumps into; he drags a chair out from a table with a bunch of strangers, apologizing to them and then hurriedly turning to face Draco with a slightly sweaty, flustered face.

Harry grins when Draco catches his eye. His glasses reflect the rainbow lights a little, and he looks a mess in the loveliest, most familiar way. He’s practically vibrating in his seat, excited, maybe nervous, too, and he’s—here. He’d gotten the invitation Draco sent in desperation, the note he’d scrawled I’m sure you’re busy with work, and I know we don’t really see much of each other anymore, and it’s a long way to go, but if you want to, if you have any interest, it would mean a lot be nice of you and nice to see you—and he’d Portkeyed halfway across the world and he’s here, somehow, bewilderingly, happily.

And suddenly all of Draco’s words are right there, easy, ready to be plucked up and tossed out with every confidence at where they’ll land. It’s a familiar feeling, a specific kind of confidence he’d thought entirely out of reach once he and Harry broke up and descended into the awkward, not-quite friends they’ve been since. Harry is here, and he cares for him, at least enough to show up for him, and Draco can do this because Harry clearly believes he can. It must not have even been a question in his mind, for him to come all this way.

“I’m so grateful we’re all here together,” Draco says. He touches his own pin, looks around, keeps talking. “Being together like this in a small world—it makes it feel much bigger.”

He goes on; he reads. He chokes himself a little but only for good reasons, looking up and seeing people listening, their eyes shining, laughing at the best of moments. He looks into Harry’s eyes, grins back at him, softens it when he catches Harry swiping his fingers behind his glasses as subtly as possible.

After, Draco gets another drink and sits at various tables, signing books, chatting happily. He gravitates towards Harry, who has his own drink and seems to be waiting, but when they near each other Harry whispers, “No, you can keep—I’ll wait for you, Draco, it’s all right.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispers back, hoping Harry knows how much he means it.

And there’s every opportunity to tell him as the crowd thins and the pub staff comes out to start stacking chairs and taking down the lights. Carlo leaves after hugging Draco and telling him how brilliant he’d been, telling him to get excited about doing this again two nights from now in Boston. And then there’s Harry, here, waiting.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Harry says once Draco joins him in the only other unstacked chair. The lights are all gone now, the pub staff telling them they can hang out while they finish closing up inside, the only light streaming from that backdoor. “And that I didn’t, um, tell you I was coming. I was just so—I’d heard about it, of course, but I didn’t know if you’d want me here really, I thought maybe you were just—”

“I wanted you here,” Draco says, realizing he was desperate but not in just the way he’d imagined. “I—I am so happy you came.”

“Me too,” Harry says, and then he laughs a little. “Even though I can barely see you.” He taps his wand a few times and shoots brilliantly bright, multicolored sparks out of it; they rise up to form a glowing, rainbow swirl of light above them, like all the lanterns have cracked open and spilled above them.

It’s beautiful, and Harry looks beautiful beneath it, the colors splayed across his skin as he puts his wand down, reaches out, and takes Draco’s hands. “Better,” Harry says, and then: “I’m so fucking proud of you, Draco.”

Relief, rushing and sweets, hits Draco so fast that it’s all he can feel for a moment. Gone is the disappointment, nerves, dread—all of it falls away. He can do this, he thinks; he did it.

“Do you want to—I mean, you came all this way, and this place is closing but I’m sure there are others we could—maybe food? And we could—I’d love to just—” His words are gone again but now it’s because it feels like there’s too many, that there’s so much he wants to say to Harry and it’s all got to come out quickly because “—and I’m going to Boston very soon, I’m sorry, but maybe—”

“Never been to Boston,” Harry says, smiling so fondly. He squeezes Draco’s hands.

[bifuriouswaterbender]

A teasing look at a fic I'll be publishing on AO3 when it's done. Everyone loves Steve in glasses and for good reason. But I give you... Eddie in glasses.

Edit: Finished fic

“Oh please,” Eddie said on a particularly hot July day. “You cannot read that sign from here.” He rolled his eyes and stretched up before leaning back against his trailer. “You don’t have to pretend to show off or whatever.”

The look Dustin gave him was downright indescribable. “You’re messing with me, right?”

And that’s how Eddie learned he couldn’t fucking see.

Dustin was quick to turn him into a test subject and use signs and distances around the trailer park to test Eddie. He’d never realized how much writing surrounded him, but Dustin had a knack for finding it. Only because they were focusing on things he’d never paid attention to before did Eddie believe Dustin that he could, in fact, see that far away.

Wayne was beside himself when he found out that evening. “I should have gotten you tested years ago! All that time you struggled with notes in school—I had no idea it was because you couldn’t see the board.”

“I thought that was normal!” Eddie said, more to defend Wayne than anything else. Maybe he himself should have noticed things getting fuzzier, but Wayne had never hesitated to get him medical attention when it was actively needed. “Besides, we didn’t have the insurance, and I didn’t realize I needed to. You can’t blame yourself.”

If it had been purely up to him, Eddie still wouldn’t have gone to the eye doctor. Glasses didn’t seem particularly metal, and he’d never noticed a significant enough impact to notice that he needed them; clearly that meant he didn’t. He’d probably break them right away or maybe lose them. It was a ridiculous amount of money to spend just to make things a little sharper. Surely it wouldn’t make a big difference one way or another.

It was Steve who pitched a fit.

“You deserve to be able to see well, Eddie.” His hands were on his hips. Eddie was fucked. Hands on the hips was never a good sign; it usually meant Steve was just getting started. “Besides, if you can’t see things like the board at the front of a classroom, you are missing all kinds of things while you’re driving. Like no wonder you’re kind of a shit driver. Bad habits, sure, but your reflexes don’t stand a chance. What if something happens when you have the kids in the car?”

Eddie wished he could have had a better comeback, but the idea of endangering the children that they pseudo-parented together kind of pushed out anything else. He couldn’t even defend his own driving here.

It was another month before he actually could actually get an appointment, but Eddie didn’t have to go alone. Steve waited in the lobby area while he went back and answered whether one or two was clearer a million times, sometimes not even sure if he was answering correctly. Eventually, though, he and his new eye doctor figured it out. He had a prescription. Now he needed the glasses.

As he walked out into the waiting area, he found Steve already inspected the various pairs up on the wall display.

“Don’t bother.” Eddie shrugged to himself and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to get literally the cheapest pair they have. No sense spending extra just for the looks.”

Steve glared at him and held up a little piece of plastic. “My parents haven’t cut me off yet, so it’s at my discretion to use this however I want to. We’re finding you glasses that make you look hot.”

Maybe it was the wording that threw Eddie so much. He could have handled “that look nice,” “fit current trends,” or even “suit your face.” But look hot? He didn’t stand a chance. Instead he let Steve shove pair after pair in his hands. He’d put them on, look in the mirror, and if he liked them, turn around to show Steve and the woman helping them. Eddie felt bad that he didn’t know what she was. A technician? A receptionist? A nurse? Regardless she had only pleasant opinions from herself but nodded along to every scathing response Steve had. They were damned and determiend to make sure Eddie ended up with the perfect pair.

“Try these ones,” the woman suggested, handing the pair not to Eddie but to Steve.

Steve considered them for a moment and nodded. “They’re shaped like those other ones that looked good on you, and the color’s better. Try ‘em.”

Eddie obediently put them on his face and promptly tried to ignore the gut-punched look on Steve’s face.

“That bad?” he joked before turning to look in the mirror. Despite himself, Eddie let out a low whistle. “I think we found them, Stevie boy. I look hot.”

“They certainly fit your face well,” the woman said, and Eddie was pretty sure that was the closest she could get to agreeing with him on the job.

He glanced back at Steve. “Like them?” He flushed slightly but hoped niether would notice. Doubtful when both were looking at his face.

Steve swallowed audibly and nodded. “They’ll do.”

Eddie felt a pleased stirring low in his stomach, but he ignored it. Now was definitely not the time to consider such things.

“It’ll be about two weeks before they come in,” the woman said. “We’ll give you a call when they do.”

“Thanks,” Steve said as she swiped his card.

Eddie still don’t know how to feel about Steve spending this kind of money on him. He leaned over, letting their shoulders bump together. “Thanks again,” he mumbled, voice low.

Steve smiled, like there was a secret Eddie didn’t know. “I’m glad I could help. You know it’s not about the money?”

Eddie snorted and pointed out, “You know you have to have money to think it’s not about that?”

“I know.” He paused. “But you know what I mean?”

Eddie sighed. “Yes, Stevie, I know what you mean.”

When he got the call about his glasses two weeks later, Eddie went to get them.

He wasn’t dealing anymore. (Hopper wouldn’t let him.) He had picked up spare hours here and there at a local mechanics, but they didn’t need full time help right now. Eddie was home more than he wasn’t. He tried not to let it bother him, but it was dificult not having a job when it was his fault Wayne had to patch their lives back together. They’d barely been able to keep anything from the trailer, and while government hush money had gotten them a new place, it didn’t replace all the little touches that made up their lives. Wayne hadn’t saved up much, but he was spending it all trying to piece things together.

But until Eddie could convince someone to hire him full time, he was home most of the day. At least that made picking up his glasses easy.

Once he had them on, the same woman as before leaned forward, arms folded on the counter. “How do they feel?”

“Pretty good,” Eddie said as he blinked a couple times. He looked across the store, mouth almost falling open at the level of detail he could see. Holy shit, had he been blind? Maybe he just had super vision now.

“If you have any problems like headaches and eyestrain or think your vision still isn’t where it should be, let us know. We’ll do a followup with you in the future, but you’ll know something’s up long before we will.”

Eddie nodded his understanding and headed outside. He stopped short in the sunlight, scanning the road around him. He could read store signs and—fuck, Steve had been right about his dangers as a driver—even road signs that Eddie had never been able to make out from this far away before.

After a moment of marveling, he got in the van. Eddie contemplated just driving around for a while, but he wanted someone to react to his new look honestly. He considered heading to see one of the kids, but none of them would let him hear the end of it if he “chose” someone else to show first.

Right. Decision made then. He was going to see Steve.

And Robin, Eddie reminded himself as he pulled out of the parkingly. She could marvel seeing his new look for the first time. Of course, Steve got to see the full effect with lenses and everything, so that was a bonus. He also didn’t know Eddie’s glasses had arrived today. It seemed like a nice little test to surprise him and see how Steve genuinely reacted seeing them again.

Eddie parked down the block like he usually did since his van was bad for business.

He had a bit of bounce in his step as he approached the door.

He pushed it open.

Steve made eye contact from behind the counter.

He’d been half-leaning with his head propped up against one arm. When he saw Eddie, Steve’s arm slipped.

Eddie winced as he heard as well as saw Steve’s chin hit the counter.

“Dingus!” Robin called from somewhere among the movie shelves. “What did you just do?”

Steve stood back up straight, rubbing at his jaw. “Eddie’s here.”

“What did Eddie do?” Robin asked, her voice floating as she moved closer to the counter. When she emerged, Robin stopped short. She gawked at him for a moment before letting out a bark of laughter.

“That bad?” Eddie asked. He tried to make it sound teasing, but he still grabbed his haid and pulled it in front of his face. He could see it against his glasses. That was weird.

“Not bad,” Robin promised, and Eddie peeked out from behind his hair. “You look really good actually. I’m laughing at this one.” She jerked her head toward Steve.

“Hey!” Steve protested. “Why do we have to laugh at me?”

Robin sent him a look that Eddie couldn’t read, and Steve sent one back. Apparently that was the end of that conversation because Robin hopped up onto the counter instead of going around it. “So… Lifechanging yet?”

“I can see.” Eddie personally felt that answered the question.

“They look pretty good,” Robin said, and her eyes flicked toward Steve. “Don’t they, Steve?”

He cleared his throat. “I should think so. I helped pick them out.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Your fashion sense is not a promise of anything around here.”

She and Eddie grinned at each other as Steve protested.

Robin continued on as though she hadn’t heard him. “So are you going to wear them all the time?”

Eddie shrugged. “Originally the plan was just for driving and when I really need them, but I might wear them a lot more. Obviously no concerts or anything. They’ll never survive a pit, and I’m afraid they aren’t going to be great for my cred on stage.”

“I don’t think you’re giving people enough credit,” Steve managed, but he wasn’t looking at Eddie again. Curious.

“We’ll see.”

Eddie couldn’t help his smile, and Robin grinned right back. They’d discussed some possibilities that she refused to violate best friend privileges to confirm or deny. This, though, was confirmation. Steve liked the way Eddie looked, and he especially seemed to like the way Eddie looked in the glasses.

Time for some fun.

[oatmilktruther]

tagged by @bizarrelittlemew and @chocolatepot love you both 💖💖💖

Rules: Share the first lines of your ten most recent fics and tag ten people.

I’m gonna be bratty and pull from unpublished stuff because otherwise I won’t have ten, but they are complete 😅

1. Ed is turning in his bachelor’s in mathematics. (Objects of My Affection, modern OFMD au, sequel to Writer’s Block, unpublished)

2. One semester in grad school, Stede was single handedly teaching two 200 level courses after the supervising professor had just up and disappeared to Thailand. (Writer’s Block, modern OFMD au, unpublished)

3. It happens in a thunderstorm, because of course it does, cause it had to be a big, poignant moment that would stick in his bones and pulse along to the rhythm of his heart and never leave him when things got quiet or when things got loud or when things simply were. (Anything We Want, 1880s OFMD au, has podfic, this is probably one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I’ve achieved if I have to rec one under-read piece it’s this one)

4. There’s a ringing in his ears. (I Want It All, modern OFMD au, has podfic, sequel to WYOCMWYH, refining my hurt/comfort palate)

5. Stede was well used to the feeling of watching Edward as though from afar, even if they were right next to one another. (Different Names for the Same Thing, modern OFMD au, has podfic, and I’m doing a discussion for this one in the fic club discord today!)

6. "What is your mission?” (It Wasn’t Me, modern OFMD au, this one is pure lighthearted comedy and a short one so if you want some quick easy fun i rec her)

7. Ed figured he was well past the point in his life, felt like the internet itself was past the point in its life, where he would find himself googling “hot blond dilfs in my area” and clicking “allow” when the browser prompted for his location. (Take a Byte, modern OFMD au, has podfic, funny, horny, freak/weirdo cyber sex.)

8. When it finally happened, it felt like everything all at once. (That Unwanted Animal, post canon WWDITS (2014), has podfic, my only published vianton and my manifesto on blood and sex honestly wish this was my legacy and yet)

9. By all counts, Edward Teach is a genius. (I <3 Stress, modern OFMD au, good old fashioned sex education oops all feelings blowjobs)

10. The first time Ed calls Stede after he had sworn Stede would never see him again and stalked off into the night, Stede thinks it must be a butt dial. (Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?, modern OFMD, has podfic, first fic ever and first foray in hurt/comfort)

idk I don’t have ten people to tag who haven’t already been tagged and sorry if I double up @mxmollusca @adhduck @xoxoemynn

[salmonthestoryteller]

Casual Classism in Fiction and Fandom

Time for Salmon’s going to say something not everyone is going to like.  You know the drill.  Yadda, yadda.

So, originally my goal was to write a fandom specific rant about this, in regards to the treatment of a certain character in canon.  And I still might do that.  But that would be a different rant. I don’t have high expectations when it comes to classism in published work.  Nor do I admittedly have much faith in people calling it out.  Perhaps that's part of the reason I am far fonder of high fantasy than contemporary fantasy, and my taste in science fiction tends towards dystopian, retrofuturism, or older works closer to science fantasy or space opera.  Honestly, a lot of high fantasy actually tends to be very anti-classism, and numerous older science fiction made anti-classism allegories.

But in recent years, there’s been a lot more historical fantasy and contemporary fantasy/science fiction, and that seems to come with a heaping side of casual classism in the writing.  Nor do I mean this in a “there is addressed classism in the writing.”  No, when I say there is casual classism, I mean there are statements made and stereotypes used and neither the story or the writers call themselves out on it. And, sadly, this really does carry over into the fanfiction and meta of various shows.  There’s been a few times I’ve almost back buttoned out of fics that I otherwise was really enjoying when the writer suddenly drops in something classist without even blinking.  And not in an unreliable narrator way.  In an “I’m serious about this statement” type of way.  Usually, I remind myself of the classism in the show, unclench my jaw, and keep reading.  Once or twice, I have just noped out, though.

So, right now you’re probably like, well this seems very vagueing, Salmon.  And I don’t intend to call out any one fandom, nor any specific meta or fics.  But i do have a list of examples.  So let’s get to those.

Cleanliness This is a big one.  When a character is poor there are always comments made about their cleanliness.  Indications that they’re filthy or smelly.  Or that their living areas are dirty or stained or smelly.  And, really?  It’s classist crap.

I have been inside so many middle-class homes that were so filthy that I was frankly forced to wear a customer service smile to pretend that my skin was literally not crawling.  (Like, you're my friend babe, but when there are moldy strawberries on the rug by your couch - I am uncomfortable.) I have met people from all walks of life whose hygiene was very questionable.  And, honestly, cars?  I swear, the more disposable income a person has, the less they seem to care about the state of their cars.  The poorer they are, the cleaner they seem to keep their vehicle.  (Probably because there’s a very real possibility of them having had to sleep in their car at one time or another and it's much harder to sleep in the backseat if it's covered in empty food containers and sticky substances.)

“But what if they don't have a washer/dryer?” There are these two things called “handwash” and “drip dry”.  Also, laundromats exist.

“But without a shower and/or tub, they'd obviously be dirty.”  I don't know how to tell you this but a bar of soap, a cloth, and a sink and/or water basin are enough to clean off visible dirt and prevent you from smelling. It's nowhere near as nice as a hot shower, but it will get the job done.

And old things are not automatically broken, dirty, or stained. Well cared for things can last for years.

Alcoholism & Substance Abuse The factor about this that annoys me is less about anyone telling a story about alcoholism or substance abuse.  It’s in the fact that the moment a poor character drinks multiple times, or uses any type of drug even once, they are almost always written as alcoholics or addicts.  The few times the story does not refer to them as such, the fandom is quick to start referring to them as such. Moreover, this happens regardless of whether middle-class and upper-class characters in the same story drink just as often or use drugs more than once. There are multiple stories focused on alcoholism or addiction with a middle-class or upper-class character.  That’s not really the issue, either.  The problem is in the fact that if writers don’t go out of their way to state that a middle-class or upper-class character is an alcoholic or addict, nobody suggests they are.  Even if they are shown drinking numerous times.  But put a drink in a lower-class character’s hand even once, and suddenly they’re an alcoholic.

Literacy Overall fiction and fandom alike seem to fall into the notion that literacy is directly connected to class.  Both historically and contemporary.  The problem is that the issue is not at all so clear-cut.  Literacy is still an issue today, and an even bigger issue historically - but the problem with literacy is who was illiterate is a very mixed bag.  Really, there is a lot related to literacy including time period, location, gender, religion, and what type of work someone's parents did.  There were many times and places in history where you could absolutely write a story where an upper-class child is completely illiterate because it was deemed an unnecessary skill, and a poor child is very literate because they were taught by a parent whose work required them to be able to read and write.  Nor is literacy directly related to if a child attended school - there were other ways to learn to read and write. So while in any type of historical or historical fantasy having a larger portion of characters be illiterate is more realistic, relegating it strictly by class is not.

Working Class Jobs vs College This is going to be my longest rant. NGL, this one is a little personal.  Simply put, there is a lot of very casual referencing to working class jobs in a derogatory fashion.  Commentary that prescribes to the notion that anyone who did not attend college and earn a degree is unintelligent, incompetent, or lazy.  This varies from actually insulting the working class jobs outright, using negative stereotypes for working class characters, and/or to a much more insidious form of it where it is made to be about how a character is “too good” or “deserves better” than being working class.  The latter is the most frustrating because people do not even seem to be aware of how insulting it is.  The underhanded meaning of it.

“This character is working class but they're intelligent so clearly they shouldn't be working class” basically only seems uplifting because people are sold on the idea that working class = stupid.

“This person is working class but they must find a way to go to college in order to have a meaningful life.” Because having a meaningful life is directly connected to your career and tax bracket?

There's nothing inherently bad about stories where a character wants a different life. What is bad is the suggestion that the reason for this isn't personal (“My dream is X.”), but simply because working class jobs are “beneath” the character (“But they are capable of getting a “real” job” (As opposed to what exactly?  A phony one?)), or that happiness is tied to ambition (“But it's such a waste of their life to just be an X!”).

Knowledge/Skills Being lower class also doesn't mean a character has limited fields of knowledge or skills available to them.  You can learn things outside of a classroom.  Libraries exist.  I have never been in the book section of a second-hand store that didn't have someone's abandoned textbooks and multiple shelves of non-fiction.  You can self-teach yourself an instrument. A neighbor can teach you arts and crafts.  A co-worker can teach you a second language.

Look, I don't hate the master cooks, or the mechanically inclined lower class characters. But that doesn't have to be the limit. They can speak three languages. They can be an expert on local history.  They can be bizarrely obsessed with African Elephants! Niche interests exist.

It's just so disappointing to see how prevalent these types of things are in modern fiction.  It's equally disheartening to see how even when it isn't in the fiction itself, it may still be a prevalent attitude or concept in the fandom. It makes me want to shake people sometimes, because it's easy to see how they don't realize the people they are being so derogatory towards are people they're literally sharing fandom spaces with.

[tiffanylamps]

Heya! Because i am awestruck by your outworldish writing so much, i really wanna know some secrets if you dont mind 👀

What inspires you to go and write out a fic? Like specifically, also these q's meant for jwds only. And how do you build the structure, think of the environment, and research?

Sorry if q's seem too vague

AHHHH! Hey!!

Thank you for your message- it's so nice to talk to you

Secrets, you say?? Hmm, I can share some secrets 👀

What inspires you to go and write out a fic?

When a piece of media consumes me (in the way Beyond Evil has), my mind becomes inundated with possibilities. I'm naturally an overthinker in all areas of my life, and that extends to things I am passionate about. I feel this visceral need to explore the text provided, but also, the subtext. So, the media itself is a massive inspo. I am not the kind of person that can just write whenever I want. For me, writing is an arduous and tiring endeavour that takes me a long time to get through. I cannot write unless I have the bug for it- which makes finishing projects very... interesting. (I'm terrible at finishing books, I'm terrible at finishing fics... it's a problem) I do not tend to plan fics in advance. There are only 3 that I can say were minorly "planned" (Indoctrination, By Desire, and one that isn't written/published yet). But that's because they're all interconnected. Most of the time, the words just present themselves and I have to type them down otherwise I'll forget them forever.

I'll give an example of a few recent inspirations:

Blessed Hands was inspired by some real-life sad shit that I guess my mind needed to process

Your Love's Whore was written because a few weeks ago, there was a scorchingly hot day and I wanted to imagine what a jwds hot girl summer might look like

An unwritten fic I thought of last night was inspired by a scene from One Spring Night (I have an outline and gave it the creative title of "hallway". But I have no intention of actually writing it thus far)

Indoctrination was directly inspired by a cafedecanela post that I can't find nor have the time rn to find (but I will look later and link it)

Another huge inspiration/aid is music!!! I'm like everyone else and absolutely live for music. So, I use it to help direct what I want from a story (the emotions, atmosphere, the "vibe"). A few examples are:

Indoctrination was written whilst I listened to sappy, sad Korean rock on repeat for about 3 weeks straight

Your Love's Whore was heavily inspired by five songs in particular: . Posing in Bondage - Japanese Breakfast . Bedroom Hymns - Florence and the Machine . New Ways - Daughter . Your Clothes - Can't Swim . Your Love's Whore - Wolf Alice . and I listened to the album Brasilian Skies - Masayoshi Takanaka on repeat whilst actually writing as I struggled to write if I can hear English words, my brain gets distracted (I hope that makes sense)

I have a whole long-ass jwds playlist on Spotify (which I made as soon as I finished watching the show back in Feb). I love it so very much because there are some absolute bangers in there that are 100% jwds.

And I'm going to keep adding to it until I grow tired.

And how do you build the structure, think of the environment, and research?

Ooookay, now I'm actually going to have to give this a think. The wonderful thing about fanfiction is that a lot of the worldbuilding and aesthetic has been done for you. (Thank you to the cast and crew of Beyond Evil). So, it's quite easy to impose your own impression onto a piece and explore what's already been established. For the fics I have released, I did do research in the sense that I didn't start my fics first. By that, I mean, when I finished watching BE for the first time, I started writing an essay (which required a lot of research, rewatching the show, dissecting scenes, researching film theory, using my useless art degree lol) exploring the show's queer coding. I wrote about 15K words (mostly were just ramblings) until I realised that I needed to explore these characters in a more artistic way. This really stems from the fact that I feel so connected to Joo Won; he and I share a few unhealthy coping mechanisms... (it's the yikes times). I've always liked Joo Won; I didn't have to adjust to him, I always saw his pov and understood where he was going from. I just felt like I got him (which doesn't mean to say, I didn't also openly laugh at him), so I think I wanted to write to work through some identity stuff I have going on. I've trying to learn Hangul in my spare time, I love Korean cuisines so I've been naturally researching that in my personal life, I also love me some snooping- so I use google maps a lot to just look at South Korea (and anywhere in the world really) and gain an impression of what different areas are like. I look up historical events, I research pop culture, etc... and I basically just try to dive in and ingest as much information as I can to make the characters and their world feel as real as possible. When it comes to writing Joo Won, I also use my own experiences (as an English person) to influence his use of language and mindset. When I first wrote Indoctrination, my partner read some of it and told me to change some of my language choices because I used English slang that isn't very universal. I listened to some of the suggestions but not all because Joo Won would totally call people a "pasty dipshit wanker"; or use words like "chuffed", "gutted", "plastered", "dodgy" (and so on) and use the c-word like it's going out of style (as does almost every English person his age).

In terms of structure, I don't write chronologically. I just write whatever comes to mind and then piece it together and edit like crazy. However, I DO LOVE MAKING NOTES AND WRITING OVERLY DETAILED OUTLINES. So... I guess it depends on the story. My three surprise/procrastination fics that I didn't plan at all (Drone Bomb Me, take my name, and your blessed hands) are some of my favourites. (I wrote DBM in a day- which I don't think I have ever done before lol) We can contrast that against a fic I can't even begin to write because the words refuse to come to me, is living as an 8,000+ word outline.

So..... There's not a lot of method to my madness, just spiteful determination.

(oooooooohhh some cheeky screenshots... now we're getting personal)

Yeah... I'm not sure what else to say. It's all just luck and stress to be honest with you. I haven't written fanfiction in years(!!!). Previously, I was writing an original piece that is currently taking a nap.

I think I have mentioned this to you previously but I'm so very grateful for your kind support and words of encouragement. They mean so, so much to me. I am just a wee insecure baby that is the poster child of dyslexia. I know very little about the proper use (grammar, etc) of my mother tongue because of an unconventional schooling experience, soooo to have you say such lovely things about my work, is just *chef's kiss and tears* perfection. Thank you thank you thank you thank you I hope this answers your questions. I'm not sure I have haha!!

(also, please, get some sleep and make you're eating your favourite foods)

Bye for now!

[nevermindirah]

🦋🎈📡 (and a kiss 😘)

Beijos para você! (I'm being so normal about not falling down a rabbit hole about tu vs você right now djksfjdasfjds)

🦋what are you most insecure about when you post a fic?

Are people gonna like it?? (Do people like me??)

Then once I wrangle my social anxiety brain worms back to their rehabilitation corner, I'm wondering about whether the things I was trying to communicate with the fic seem to be coming across to the people reading. Do my understandings of these characters ring true for other people? Did the things I thought were poignant or funny or hot actually feel that way to people who aren't me?

🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

I've been told more than once that I have a very distinctive writing style for smut. At first I just blushed my face off whenever I heard that, because oh my GOD I am publishing pornographic writing on the internet!!?!?!? and people are READING it!!?!???!!!?!??? Now that I've had some time to get used to it, I take it as a badge of honor, even when anxiety pokes through that maybe not everybody means it strictly as a compliment. You know what it's a style and it's fun and we're embracing it!

More broadly, my style has definitely changed since BoN first ate my brain. There are some elements of my older fics that absolutely make me cringe now, like the rapid-fire pov shifts (sometimes in the same sentence!) and the explosion of French pet names. No shade on those old fics, I'm glad I wrote them, and I'm glad the people who still enjoy them are enjoying them! It's just that looking back on my older stuff confronts me with how much less practice with writing fiction I had two years ago than I do now.

One element of my fic style that hasn't changed and I doubt ever will is my tendency towards complex, multi-phrase sentences. My professional life has required too much writing about legislative details; at this point it can't be reined in completely, even when I try.

A thing about my style I'm hoping will evolve in the future is I want to learn more from writers like you who are writing so beautifully and effectively in English as a second language. Using my high school Spanish to write anything more complex or poetic than "Booker piensa que Nile es hermosa y tiene razón" (Booker thinks Nile's gorgeous and he's right) feels impossible to me. But English has a much larger vocabulary than Spanish for a bunch of historical reasons, and I have access to several (but importantly not all) registers of that vocabulary for a bunch of personal as well as structural class-and-race reasons, and the significance of word choice as an element of style probably operates differently in a language like Spanish with its relatively smaller vocab inventory so that means other stylistic choices I'm completely unaware of are probably doing super cool things to express the layers of meaning I've been taught to lean on word choice to accomplish in English — this is an enormous area of comparative linguistics but one small example of the ways we can shift our writing styles to more effectively express our ideas to people with different linguistic frames of reference. All that's even more interesting given the staggering diversity of language experience among our immortal blorbos. I don't know what particular stylistic changes might be in the future for me along these lines, it's just a thing I'm thinking about.

📡why is writing and sharing your writing important for fandom?

I love that you asked this because it gives me the excuse to say fandom is important! It's part of our lives! Hobbies we do for fun and stress relief aren't The Most Important Thing In the World but they're still part of our lives and part of the world and therefore what happens in fandom matters! Nile Freeman is a fantastically rich, complex, well-drawn main character and she deserves tons and tons of fandom content about her, and I'm a part of that and so are you! Fuck yeah!

I also really cherish my part in building Jewish Booker. The overwhelming majority of Jewish representation in mainstream US movies and tv comes through filters: Jews in the 19th and 20th centuries being pushed into the entertainment industry by several European countries' discriminatory policies and that tradition carrying over in the US despite legal equality, Euro-descended Jews being model minority-ized by the post-WW2 US that very much did /not/ involve itself in that war to stop the Holocaust but chose to frame itself that way after the fact, lots of individual Jews' family trauma and internalized shame and fear of the next wave of antisemitism around the corner, etc etc. The result is most US media that includes Jews is made either by Jews who feel enormous pressure to represent our entire people in a way that's perceived as palatable and nonthreatening to white culturally-Christian people or more often by non-Jews who've absorbed decades of iterating carbon copies of what previous generations thought was palatable. US Jews invented comic books and the superhero genre and yet the first MCU property to have an explicitly Jewish character was the 6th tv show in Phase 4.

There just isn't much mainstream content about Jews in my country, one of the two places where most of the world's Jews live, made by Jews who uncomplicatedly like being Jewish and don't have big economic and cultural pressures on them to represent all of us in Certain Ways. Wow, I didn't realize this rant was building up in me until I started typing. Anyway yeah I get to be honest about what Jewishness means to me and what I think it would mean for Booker and share it with people through fandom with just a little teeny tiny bit of a filter (my own internalized stuff) compared to the many layers of mess that mainstream content has to go through before it reaches non-Jews all over the world who consume US media and who may or may not know many Jews personally.