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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

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Blind Offer 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, additional characters to come

Note: I've been feeling a bit off lately so thank you all for distracting me. This is one of my Corrupt-A-Wish requests but I won’t reveal which one right away because it’ll be part of the plot!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

After closing, you’re due for an opening shift. The abrupt shift in your schedule leaves you little off-time but right on the other side, you have a much needed day off. You’re relieved not to be left to think too much in the unfamiliar house and hopeful that by the time your time off comes, your apartment will be ready for your return.

That morning, you’re running on coffee and the promise of the cinnamon bun you bought on your way in. You work through the price changes in the digital imaging section. The cameras are the biggest pain as you have to unlock the cases to replace the old tags.

You get to the Sony section and end up on your knees, fighting the glass door as it rolls off the track. The podcast buzzing in your ear fades as your frustration gets the best of you. You lean back, your shoulder brushing against an unexpected presence behind you.

You wince and pop your earbud out, craning to look over your shoulder at the man browsing cameras past you. His eyes meet yours with a twinkle as he points to the case, “you know much about these?”

You shake your head, “sorry.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smirks, the expression made devious by the trim of dark blond across his lip. He squats down beside you, “nah? I was looking for a starter camera but I need something with strong range.”

You nod and force a smile, “um, well, these are pretty basic, I think. They don’t have any extra lenses,” you look around, searching for one of the DI salesmen, “I could find someone–”

“I’m asking for your help, honeybun,” he coos, “what’s the zoom on these things?”

You feel heat speck on your forehead and cheeks. You’re not the best with customers. It’s easy enough if they know what they’re looking for but you’re useless with telling them what they need. You turn back and grab one of the small boxes. You turn it over and read the specs.

“Uh… 30x zoom…” you say, “I guess that’s pretty good.”

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue, “I’m looking for something stronger. Stronger’s always better, isn’t it, sugarpie?”

His strange pet names put you off. Some old ladies will call you hon and some old men will call you young lady, but he’s a lot younger and not as endearing. You put the camera back and look along the row.

“Yeah, I think maybe you need to look at the bigger cameras,” you point over the case, “they’re along that wall–”

“You like it bigger?” He intones with a snicker, “you a size queen?”

You recoil, taken aback by his suggestion. Ew. You shake your head and turn back to the case, “sorry, sir, I don’t know anything about cameras. I’ll see if I can get a salesman over here.” You grab the wire of your headset and hit the button, “can I get someone over to DI?”

You let go of the button as the earpiece crackles. The man doesn’t move, “you know, I don’t mind a little extra. Especially in the trunk.”

You ignore him as you peel away the fresh stickers and press them to the front of the shelves. The heat of his lingering figure has you unable to get your fingernail under the corner of a label. You want to run and hide in the warehouse. You’re just too nervous to tell him to go away, Gwen would write you up.

“Hey,” Jamie appears from the other end of the aisle, “looking for a camera, sir?”

The man behind you doesn’t stand right away. When he does, he reaches close to you, gripping the top of the case to push himself up to his feet. You turn and mouth a thank you to Jamie as he gives a long look at the man behind you.

“Sure am,” the customer brushes by you closely. You watch the back of his head, shaved close around the sides, the top pieces longer and slicked back neatly. He walks with a certain lean to his step, his shoulders squared, his gait confident but casual. He gives you the ick.

You focus on your sheet of price changes. He’s not your problem anymore. You just hope you can through that section before he finds what he’s looking for. You somehow suspect he’s in no hurry to leave.

🖤

You get back to the townhouse just after five. It’s later than you usually get in but you’re just happy to be done. You haven’t been able to shake that feeling that’s followed you all day. Ever since that man approached you in the store, you’ve felt as if you’re being watched.

You walk the block and a half from the nearest stop and turn onto the quiet street of newly built townhouses. Despite the sighting of a neighbour, it still feels derelict. You check the number beside the door as you head up the walk to the doorstep. As you do, you hear a whistle.

You stop and turn back as you hear footsteps approaching. It’s only then you notice the white van parked along the far curb. A man runs over in a blue uniform with a box under his thick arm. Burly and broad, you almost cower as he waves and approaches.

“You live here?” he asks as his eyes flick up to the iron numbers mounted besides the door, “number four?”

“Um, I’m… crashing here, yeah,” you swallow, “it’s actually not my place–”

“I got a package,” he shifts the parcel and reads the label.

You can just see his features beneath the shadow of his cap brim, long lashes, square jaw, a touch of stubble and a thick mustache across his lip. You hate that those are making a comeback. You shiver as it reminds you of the man in the store, but this man has darker hair, a curl poking out from his hate.

“For Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah, erm, that’s my landlord. This is his place,” you point over your shoulder with the thumb.

“Right, well, it doesn’t need a signature, so if you could pass it off to him.”

“I don’t know–”

“I don’t really feel like driving back out here tomorrow. This isn’t my route,” he says tersely.

You snap your mouth shut. Wow, okay. You shrug and reach out to take the box.

“Sure, I can get it to him. Sorry.”

“Thanks,” he hands it over and looks back and forth down the street, “quiet neighbourhood, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess… just finished development so–”

“Fancy places. Expensive,” he continues on, “your landlord must really like you.”

You frown and hug the package, “uh, he’s nice. Anyway, I’m sure you got other deliveries to make.”

He scoffs as you turn away. You’re succinctly aware of him as you move your body to block the code as you punch it in.

“Too good for the delivery boy,” he mutters darkly, “have a good day, miss fancy pants.”

“Have a good day,” you squeak and push your way into the townhouse, spinning to shut the door.

You twist the latch as you lean on the door. You slowly lean over and peek past the curtain. The delivery man smirks at the barrier between you before turning and strolling back the way he came. You shudder and turn to put the box down. You really thought for a moment he might try to follow you inside.

You shake out your nerves. It’s just been a really weird day. Well, few days.

You pull out your phone and text Steve to let him know he got a package. You put your cell on the counter as you enter the kitchen. You planned on ordering food to celebrate your coming day off but it’s too much trouble dealing with another stranger.

You go through the fridge and cupboards and settle on the bag of hand rolled tortellini with the jar of alfredo. You’re no expert chef but you can follow instructions. It’s a quick enough dinner. You eat it at the table against the wall, a video playing on your phone.

A notification pops up at the top of the screen, Steve saying thanks. You don’t bother replying but another flips up in quick succession. ‘How is everything?’

You finish your pasta before you reply. You rinse your dishes and leave them in the rack. You take the phone upstairs, typing as you climb.

‘Doing fine. Everything’s well. Thanks for checking in.’

Easy and to the point. You don’t want to have some stunted text chat with your landlord, you don’t even want to talk to your friends, you’ve been dying all week to try the bathtub.

You turn on the faucet and the water spills out, steam quickly rising as you adjust the temperature. You go to the counter and search your pouch for your body scrub. You pause as you find it empty. Weird.

You look around. Your toothbrush is in the cup and your toothpaste and mouthwash on the small shelf that holds it. Where is everything else? You check the drawer, your face creams and cleanser are all there. Even your deodorant and body lotion.

You peek at the tub and see your jar of scrub already sitting on the sharp edge brim. You don’t remember putting all that away. Why would you? You’re not going to be here forever. You don’t know, you were so tired that morning, you can’t even remember brewing your coffee.

You blow out the tension. Stop worrying. It’s fine. It’s little things that you’re overthinking. As usual.

You undress and leave your clothes on the counter. You approach the tub and lower yourself down with a sigh. Oh yeah, this is living. The tub is nice and big, you don’t feel crammed in like your own place. You better enjoy it while it lasts.

🖤

The bedroom becomes a haven in the large house. You go downstairs in search of snacks, planning to veg out a bit before you inevitably fall asleep watching Youtube commentary videos. You find some trail mix with M&Ms mixed in it but are disappointed to discover a dearth of carbonated beverages in the fridge. You opt for the tropical twist juice in the sleek glass bottle.

You retreat with your meagre haul and create a nest in the bed. You grab your phone and flip past the several notifications waiting on the home screen. You scroll through Youtube until you land on something suitably dramatic. You pull down the taskbar and flick away several notifs.

Steve’s message is the last. It kinda creeps you out but the time stamp assures you it’s merely a coincidence. ‘I bought some snacks. Hope you found them. Wasn’t sure what you liked.’

You resist clicking on the bubble and swipe it away with the rest. You don’t want to leave him on read and you don’t think he’d appreciate your response. Granola and coconut water aren’t much of a snack.

You shimmy down under the covers and prop up your phone on the bedside table. You lean into the pillow and lazily munch, Your mind wanders away from the petty online drama. Work, your apartment, several strange encounters… hopefully life calms down soon. You mind your business, you don’t need the trouble. You prefer to be a witness, not an active participant.

You drain the last of the juice as the mix of almonds, peanuts, and cranberries leaves your mouth dry. You get up to brush your teeth as you listen through the open door to the edited clips from TikTok. As you come back to bed, you feel the day catch up to you.

You yawn and shut off the light. Ugh, you’re so suddenly tired. It’s not unusual to be wiped after clopening but damn, you’ve never felt this heavy. You pull the blanket up to your chin and your phone screen blurs in your eyes. You let the low drone ease you down to sleep.

It’s as if no time passes at all. No dreams, no awareness, just a thick void that makes your head hurt. You wake with a start.

Your phone gleams from beside you but Youtube is no longer open. The light is on, blaring in your vision as you sit up. Jeez, you must be totally zonked. You probably got up to go pee and don’t even remember.

You reach for your phone and check the time. It’s just after midnight. An hour or two since you passed out. The blanket falls away from your shoulders and you look down at the cold wash across your chest. The straps of your tank top droop down your arms as the fabric is wrinkled below your tits as they hang out.

You fix your top, it’s not unusual. You’ve woken up more times than you count with your shirt all twisted. It’s why you never had roommates. You shove the blanket further down, your shorts are askew as well, caught in the crease of thigh and pelvis. You fish around to tug the loose opening free and find it damp. Ugh, you’re sweating from your little cocoon of body warmth.

You push yourself towards the edge and pause. You feel oddly sensitive, almost raw. You rise and stretch, reaching down to check yourself. You’re wet. Like really wet. You must’ve had some wild dreams but you can’t remember any of them.

You take your cell to the bathroom with you and relieve yourself. You pull up your cycle tracking app. Ah, first day of ovulation. Horny time.

You come back to the bedroom and burrow back under the blankets. As you wiggle down, you feel something roll against you. You put your phone beside your pillow and snake your hand around to grab the tiny cylinder. You raise the small bullet vibrator and frown. Wasn’t that in your beauty bag?

You place it on the night table and take your phone. Well, you seem to be pretty absent-minded lately. First your toiletries, now this. You’ll have to do a sweep of the house tomorrow and make sure you have everything together. You won’t be there much longer.

Still, you’re unsettled by the momentary lapse in consciousness, but your lingering grogginess keeps you from panicking. You’ll just put on another video. It should distract you enough to calm you down.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve roger #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #blind offers #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #multifandom

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 6 months

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I'd Like to Adopt These Side Characters, Please (And Also Make One Arbitrarily To Appease The Vibes)

So, I've already mentioned my plans to write something for our dear single-minute-of-screentime-boys from the FNAF movie. And, as per usual for me, posting some headcanons will help the ideas flow for that WIP. . .

___

Jack Samar

His passengers always are, in fact, "the weirdos." It just seems to happen without fail. College partygoers crashing down from adrenaline (among other things) highs, random drifters that could all probably be in the same cult if you pay attention to detail, that one guy who's all too happy to take advantage of the open secret that the ducks in the park are free. . .Most of the time, it's nothing too serious. But he's still got some very interesting stories here and there.

He's one of the best drivers in town. And that's not just due to his job as a cabbie; he knows how dangerous driving can be, so he takes pride in making sure his skills are sharp. (Seriously, if you've ever driven a car, then you know it's practically a miracle to see someone else on the road who actually knows what they're doing.)

He has a steel-trap memory; he knows every part of town like the back of his hand. Constantly driving on various routes just has that effect on you.

He's a bit of a rescuer. As in, if he happens to see a stray animal while driving, then he'll park, coax said animal into the car, and then drop it off at at the local shelter. If you have him drive you from Point A to Point B, there's a good chance you'll spot a scruffy-looking cat or dog riding shotgun.

If he isn't too tired at the end of his shifts, he'll drive over to Sparky's for a late-night snack before heading home to rest. Both he and Ness are good listeners, so a decent chunk their banter is dedicated to venting about sucky patrons.

He's certainly aware of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaria, as well as the rumors surrounding it, but he never really bothered with the place. And he doesn't plan to start bothering with it after seeing Golden Freddy in the back of his taxi.

Although. . .well, that occurrence might have made him start weighing the pros and cons of trying to get more information out of Mason. (He's very much hesitant about it, of course. Yeah, he was the one to help Mason out, but the assumption of Mason's experience with Freddy's is still far from pleasant.)

(Yes, his name is a pun inspired by Cory's samurai joke. What did you expect from me?)

___

Ness Aeoruhndbt-Ultendera

"Ness" is only his nickname, but he doesn't plan on revealing his full name anytime soon. Not even to his friends, for whatever reason. There's also a bit of an inside joke about how his surname is too long to actually fit on his nametag. (Yes, that gibberish my personal idea for his surname. I spent way more time working on it than I probably should have because I was determined to make a weird/funny reference, so leave me alone, okay?!)

He's been in the restaurant business ever since he was a kid; he's worked in several different joints before Sparky's. Coming from a family of foodies, he truly enjoys what he does, no matter how small-scale. Sure, some days are worse than others, but that's just life.

Similarly to Jack, it's not that uncommon for him to serve some strange characters. (Hell, sometimes the strange characters in question will wave down Jack's cab right after they've finished their meal at Sparky's.) Nothing usually comes of it, but he's still more than observant enough to pick up on certain oddities.

He makes a genuine effort to be polite and outgoing with customers. But make no mistake, he absolutely can, has, and will verbally curb-stomp someone if they push him or his coworkers too far. (Aunt Jane was lucky that her jab was minor. Plus, Ness just had other customers to focus on.)

It's no surprise that he LOVES conspiracy theories. Now, he knows which crackpot rabbit-holes to avoid, but he's still the type to listen to true crime podcasts almost religiously. In a way, researching and brainstorming is a comfort to him.

He's actually developed legitimate friendships with a specific few of Sparky's regulars. (Jack and Mason are part of this camp.) In fact, if there aren't many other customers that need tending to, he'll sit down and chat with them while they eat.

While he's perky during the day, he's still a night owl. It helps that his regular-friends almost always stop by in the late hours. (This has also paved the way for him to become a bit of a coffee-addict, but not to the point of concern. Speaking of which: he takes great joy in people's reactions to his argument that coffee is actually a type of soup.)

Oh, and that rubber-chicken-head-pencil-topper? Its name is Fabio, and Ness has been carrying it for several years now. He can't remember where/when/how he came into possession of Fabio, but you can pry it from his cold, dead hands.

___

Mason Kingsley

I wasn't originally planning to make a technical fanego for the FNAF movie. But after I learned that Mark was intended to make a cameo, I was intrigued. Thus, Mason—aka Trauma Boi—was born. His inclusion here (and in that future story I mentioned) is basically just a "What if?" scenario. As in, A. What if Mark had actually played the role of that first nightguard in the movie, and B. what if he'd actually survived his ordeal at Freddy's. . .?

Please read "survived," as "escaped by the skin of his teeth with grievous injuries and is now sort of dead inside."

Fittingly enough, Jack happened to by passing by when Mason fled the restaurant. It's pretty damn easy to stop for a guy who's covered in blood and cradling a broken arm and screaming for help.

After Jack drove Mason to the hospital, the two of them made an effort to stay in touch. Their respective patronage to Sparky's helps out with that.

Time passed, as it tends to do, and Mason eventually recovered. Keep in mind that the recovery was physical; he's still having night-terrors about animatronic monsters. Just the mention of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaria will make him start shaking and murmuring under his breath, pale and tense.

He absolutely refuses to talk about the incident in detail, but it left some very obvious scars on his neck, chest, and arms. He's constantly trying to keep said scars covered.

Silver lining: shortly after recovering, Mason was able to adopt a therapy pet. Enter Checkers, a golden retriever who's just the best emotionally-tuned girl and is always by his side.

He stops by Sparky's for dinner once or twice per week. He wasn't too receptive to Ness' chitchat at first, but by now they have a solid friendship. (It started when Ness "accidentally" brought out a large side of bacon with Mason's order. Checkers most certainly appreciated that, so it's become a small tradition between them.)

(And just to clarify, because I KNOW someone is gonna read this and take it the wrong way: I'm NOT using this to try and whine about Mark's absence in the movie. It's really not too hard to understand that his own Iron Lung project has kept him INCREDIBLY BUSY. It's an amazing accomplishment for him, so of course it should take priority over a cameo in FNAF.)

___

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @bee-the-matpat-simp @insane4fandoms

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vintagegeekculture · 1 year

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How 60s Zines and Fandom Led to a Novel Series

One of the biggest parts of organized fandom in the 1940s-1970s were fanzines centered on adventure and scifi writer Edgar Rice Burroughs. Xeroxed and passed around in manilla envelopes in the mail, the organized fandom included fan art, articles, fan fiction, and essays passed from person to person. The big fanzines were the Gridley Wave, ERB Dom, the Oparian, and Burroughsania (fantasy writer A. Merritt and the Weird Tales writers had fanzines even at this late date as well, like Amra).

I heard a great description of Edgar Rice Burroughs fans and the fandom around him: they’re like the rest of us, except even more so. This could apply to the extremely right-brained, detective novel approach they took to the source material. All fandoms have people in them that do this, of course, I would never say otherwise...but I’m telling you, nobody did it quite like they did. As an example, ERB fandom in the 50s very precisely calculated where Tarzan grew up, based on the flimsy clues of the text, that his family’s steamer was out several weeks from Libreville. Based on calculating the average 1889 steamer’s range in two weeks, along with overlaying existing maps of the Central African Republic (today’s Gabon), they were able to figure out where he grew up very precisely. This was typical of the kinds of things they did. It reminds me less of the usual activities of fandom, and more like Heinrich Schliemann using a copy of the Iliad to discover the supposed site of the city of Troy.

It’s incredible how ahead of its time that all was, because the culture has only now caught up to what they were doing in the fifties in ERB fanzines. Today, the appeal of a lot of conspiracy theories floating around is that they are participatory, almost like some kind of ARG, like Ong’s Hat and the John Titorverse. Which pop music videos have clues put in them by the Illuminati? Can you guess which of the Hollywood Sickos was secretly replaced by a clone after being executed in a secret trial? It’s fun because you can play along at home! A lot of true crime podcasts and the communities around them also have this “figure out the mystery yourself” appeal, which is why the families of unsolved murder victims absolutely dread being covered by a popular mystery podcast. The future is in the back and forth model carried out by Edgar Rice Burroughs fans in the 50s.

It’s no surprise Edgar Rice Burroughs has fans like this. He had an absolute domination over the pop culture of the early to mid 20th Century. He, not Fitzgerald, not Hemingway, was the best selling novelist of the 1920s. ERB was, in particular, a favorite of two audiences that no longer are reliable customers of the book and publishing world: working class men and young boys. This makes sense, since his works were adventure Walter Mitty daydreams, the male equivalent of romance novels. The fact that young boys are no longer reading is, incidentally, one of the most disastrous and under-researched social phenomena of the present time. I am who I am today because I dreamed and imagined.

The biggest of the Fanzine writers had to be Philip Jose Farmer, who later became a professional writer, a name you’ve probably heard if you’ve been following this blog. Farmer, when he was a full on writer, wrote biographies of Tarzan and Doc Savage that treated them as living people. For example, Farmer’s Tarzan biography was so intensively researched that he calculated that one incident in Jungle Tales of Tarzan could not have happened, as there were no lunar eclipses visible over the Central African Republic between 1908-1909.

What I think is forgotten, however, is that Farmer’s incredible borderline fanwork was merely standing on the shoulders of giants when it came to the right-brained ERB fandom of the 1940s-1970s in Burroughs Bulletin and Gridley Wave. Many of the ideas in Farmer’s biography of Tarzan were long-standing theories in the fandom, so often repeated they gain a strange secondary canonicity, for example, the theory that Tarzan had two different sons, and the John Clayton Jr. captured as a baby in Beasts of Tarzan was different from the one who became Korak the Killer in Son of Tarzan. None of this was new to Farmer, he was a latecomer.

In particular, Farmer wrote an entire novel series was written based on an essay written in 1966 in the fanzines. This essay was “Heritage of the Flaming God: An Essay on the History of Opar and Its Relationship to Other Ancient Cultures” by Frank J. Brueckel and Michael Winger, and used to be referred to as “fanwank” but today would be called “Meta.”

The essay was about one of the most awe inspiring locations in the Tarzan series, one no film version as yet has done justice to: the Lost City of Opar. No film version has yet got across the grandiosity of this incredible ruin in the heart of the African jungle, a colony of Ancient Atlantis abandoned in Central Africa, a city of colossal masonry that almost seemed made by gods. It was a city of peacocks, and apes, gold and diamonds....but also the degenerated inhabitants, the women of which were beautiful, the men were feral, bestial Neanderthals. In an ancient ruin made by their ancestors, the Oparians run like children playing murderous games in a haunted house.

The queen of the city was La, a high priestess of the flaming god, a beautiful, seductive, uncanny sorceress who might be the only true rival to Jane in Tarzan’s affections (and who some fans prefer), who’s icy queenly exterior hid vulnerability and isolation. She was sympathetic and lonely one moment, cold, pitiless, and murderous the next. She was far more than just the evil seductress, but possibly the most complex character of the series, and she got a huge fan response. After all, It isn’t just women who like sexy sympathetic villains, you know.

Edgar Rice Burroughs always preferred Tarzan to get with La of Opar (a sentiment I’ve found to be almost universal among ERB dom), and even had the Germans kill Jane off in Tarzan the Terrible to make it possible. Reader outcry was so harsh at Jane’s death, however, he had to bring her back the very next novel. Tarzan found out her “death” at the hands of the German Army was faked and she was merely a prisoner of the Kaiser’s high command in East Africa. It is easy to see why La would have this towering, monumental stature in the Tarzan novels that she returned three times and almost literally replaced Jane as Tarzan’s wife. In an adventure series that flirted at the borderline edge of fantasy, La was the most “out there” element, a sorceress who was implied to be immortal and ageless, with the blood of Ancient Atlantis in her veins, and to disobey her was to die.

Brueckel and Winger’s 1966 essay on Opar’s origins argued that the mother culture of Opar, Atlantis, was actually an island inside an interior continental African sea, an extension of Lake Tchad, and they used ancient flood data to support their idea about the continental interior. They further argued that Opar’s genders have such different appearances because of the introduction of Neanderthal DNA on the Y chromesome alone. Further, in their lengthy fan speculations, they connected the ancient interior African Atlantean civilization to the other great lost cities encountered by Tarzan, including Athne and Cathne, Tuen-Baka, Kuvuru, and Xuja, all of which had similar traits: cyclopean abandoned cities of great antiquity, worship of a flaming god, human sacrifice, absence of the bow and arrow, and matriarchal rule. Atlantis was the source of the Flaming God religion. They further argued, fannishly interconnecting everything, that the Kuvuru immortality elixir was in the possession of that mother culture, and was the explanation for the beautiful La’s immortality. They also argued that the reason all these cultures did not have the bow and arrow was a religious taboo.

All of this was very impressive stuff, especially for 1966, even for fanwank, though I confess a lot of the geological proofs went over my head.

This essay about the origins of Opar and the Flaming God was so well remembered that fan turned real deal writer, Philip Jose Farmer, wrote a series based on their speculations. Set in the ancient prehistory of Africa, he wrote of Opar at its height, when it was a minor mining colony of a forgotten African civilization on an internal sea in 10,000 BC, just like in Bruekel and Winger’s description. His novel series was Hadon of Ancient Opar, published in 1975, and PJF acknowledged Brueckel and Winger’s fan essay as the primary source of inspiration, which he turned into a book series.

If you need convincing this meta was an inspiration for PJF’s book series, take a look at his map used in the series for their ancient civilization, which was a matriarchy with a sun worship religion with still surviving Neanderthals as a lower class. He even had a woman named La there, who may have been the ancestor of the La of Opar...or perhaps, the actual immortal La herself (the book leaves this open to interpretation). Always keen to have series cross over, PJF also mentioned the lost African cities of H. Rider Haggard and connected them with Burrough’s, which is a surprisingly good fit, since Haggard’s lost races also were matriarchies with a religion of sun worship.

When I heard the connection between this fan essay and PJF’s book series, I had to track down a copy of Brueckel and Harwood’s essay for myself. I was able to find one for sale by the Historical Society of Oak Park and River Forest on the outskirts of Chicago, Illinois. They have a lot of pride in Edgar Rice Burroughs, who was born there, and they have many rare and old things for sale related to ancient fandom of the 60s. To my surprise, when my order arrived, I got a copy of the Historical Society of Oak Park, IL newsletter, and a personal addressed letter from the historical society librarian. I was so surprised by this that I actually called the Oak Park Society up to thank them, and had a pleasant chat with the kindly librarian about their collections of ERB memorabilia and fandom. All in all, a pleasant ending of an investigation into one of the oldest fandoms, one that, like Opar and the beautiful, immortal La herself, still lives in a hidden corner of the world.

#edgar rice burroughs #tarzan #fanzine #fandom history #fandom

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lingerasthesmokeoncedid · 1 year

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pairing: pattinson!batman x reader

summary: When her thread on r/GothamUnsolved (claiming that Bruce Wayne is the Batman) goes viral, an amateur sleuth finds herself at odds with both the man - and the Dark Knight.

wc: 10k+

genre: a romantic comedy between two deeply strange weirdos

warnings: canon-typical violence, bruce wayne is bad at google

“After the events of the Gotham Flood, the Batman has become something of a folk hero around the streets of our “fair” city. But what if I told you that the Batman isn’t all he seems? What if I told you that the caped crusader, the man who solved the Riddler and the masked menace of Gotham’s evil-doers isn’t just some guy? What if I told you…he’s Bruce Wayne?” -Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-six part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Three years ago, after devouring a True Crime podcast about the Wayne murders, a nobody barista found her way to the r/GothamUnsolved subreddit.

It wasn't much of a hobby, just a forum dedicated to amateur sleuths attempting to piece together the perpetrators of crimes the Gotham PD was unable – or unwilling – to solve themselves. Ever since, in the hours between the dead-end job she worked to one day (hopefully) put herself through law school, she poured over the subreddit and its various threads, picking apart evidence and seeking it out herself.

Six of her own investigations had led to arrests, she was proud to say. Not that anyone knew who she was. The forum was entirely anonymous, and she wanted to keep it that way. The last thing she needed was some of Gotham’s criminal element coming after her for exposing their identities or that of their accomplices – if they did, she figured they’d definitely kill her, and considering that the Gotham PD solved fewer homicides than her favorite subreddit, her killer would likely never be found.

But every amateur sleuth like her had a white whale – that one unsolved mystery that would haunt them for the rest of her days. In her case, however, the while whale was more of a dark knight. A Kevlar bat.

She wasn’t the first to drive themselves basically crazy over the identity of The Batman. Many on the forum had tried, only to run into dead ends or talk themselves in circles or point the finger at plainly ridiculous candidates. ( Harvey Dent? Really? ) However, she was - she believed, anyway - the first person to get it right.

So, after months of meticulous research, a few illegal dumpster dives outside of Wayne Enterprises, a few less-than-accidental run-ins with muggers so she could lure the Batman for closer inspection, and some incredible luck, she published her findings: a forty-six part reddit thread detailing most of her evidence, enough evidence that a jury of Bruce Wayne’s peers would have no choice to convict him, enough evidence to prove that the crown prince of Gotham was really its caped crusader, enough evidence to prove to anyone with half a brain that Bruce Wayne was unbelievably, irrevocably, incontrovertibly –

“Not the Batman. No. Definitely not.”

All day, behind the counter of the shitty print shop where she scanned other people’s theses and endlessly shuffled corporate reports into bracketed binders, she’d had to listen and smile and push highlights while customer after customer snickered at the ridiculous theory that had gone viral last night – the “insane” “conspiracy theory” that Bruce Wayne was The Batman. Each of them totally unaware that they were talking to the woman who’d spent months of her life crafting it.

All of that, she could have taken. But when the crackling television on the wall played a newscast with brooding Bruce Wayne snickering at the idea – staring into the camera as he said it, as if he were taunting her, specifically…that was the last straw.

“I don’t know, Mr. Wayne, this online poster seems to have really gotten people talking. Are you sure you’re not The Batman?”

“Miss Vale, how crazy would I have to be to run around Gotham City dressed as a bat?”

Vicki Vale, GCN's resident Bruce Wayne stalker, accepted this with a giggle, allowing Bruce Wayne to disappear into his city offices so she might sum up her ambush interview for the folks at home. But the woman behind the desk at the print shop bit the inside of her cheek.

What Bruce Wayne had just said? It wasn’t a denial. And she did think he was crazy enough to run around the city as a bat.

In fact, she knew he was.

Pinned Comment from Mod_GothamUnsolved: “Hey, Front Page! Due to an increase in inflammatory comments and threats against OP for this post, we are locking down our comments - approved users only for now. Sorry! Don’t be dicks next time! Keep an eye on our subreddit for more Bats-related content, though. OP claims to have more information forthcoming.”

That night when her shift was over, she tucked her keys between her knuckles, carried her umbrella in her free hand, and returned by the better-lit streets – basic operating procedure for anyone who wanted to live to see another day in Gotham – to the crappy loft in the crappier side of town where she lived. Every step was agitated agony. She knew it wasn’t literally true, but it felt as if everyone who laughed, everyone who smiled, everyone who glanced down at their phone, was making fun of her theory.

But it wasn’t a theory. Bruce Wayne was Batman. He was. She just had to prove it–

When she slammed the door of apartment 1319B open, her blood ran cold.

Oh, she was going to prove it alright.

Because there, rifling through one of her cabinets as if it were his own home, was the short, gruff, stocky, suited man she’d seen in more than a dozen photographs of Bruce Wayne and his associates.

“Oh. Mr. Pennyworth. Fancy seeing you here…” She closed the door behind her, rolling her eyes around the room to highlight just how supremely fucked up it was for him to be here. “...in my apartment.”

For his part, Mr. Pennyworth did not seem fazed by the strangeness of his presence there.

“Hello there,” he hummed, perfectly pleasant as he finally closed a cupboard and crossed to face her in the corner of the room that served as what could generously be called kitchenette. “I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.”

“No,” she said, “but I bet you already know who I am. Don’t you?”

No denial. Instead, he slid a file across the grotty, coffee-stained countertop that served as her cook surface, her mail table, her desk, and her dining room. With one hesitant hand, she flicked it open to find exactly what she’d expected: pages and pages of print outs. Not just of her online post history, but of everything else. She couldn’t help but smile. No, beam . This was confirmation. She had found The Batman. And The Batman had sent his little minion to take her off of their trail. Only a truly threatened man would uncover the identity behind her online handle, break into her home, and present her with what looked like a blackmail folder. It basically screamed, “I’m guilty. I'm the Batman.”

“You’ve caused a bit of trouble for my boss,” Mr. Pennyworth informed her.

“And he’s caused a lot of trouble for the city.”

The man sniffed. “Unless you call causing a shortage of black clothing and Radiohead records trouble , we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point, Miss.”

Her lip twitched. The butler had jokes. That delighted her in a way she hadn’t expected. Still, she played dumb. “I can’t imagine what Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer would want with little old me.”

“This is all very embarrassing for Mr. Wayne, as I’m sure you can understand. Being associated with some kook–”

“Isn’t it more embarrassing to actually be that kook?” She mused. “Maybe if he didn’t want to be associated, he would, you know, stop being Batman?”

The slightest flash of annoyance crossed Mr. Pennyworth’s face. “–But he understands that you have a keen investigative mind and admires your tenacity. Even if it’s turned up the wrong result. He thinks he can help with that.”

And here it was. The only logical conclusion of Bruce Wayne discovering her identity. He was going to bribe her. Well, he could have her killed, but that would be so sloppy. These rich guys. Always the same. “Oh, yeah?”

“The Wayne Foundation would like to make a donation to your education,” Mr. Pennyworth said, passing another envelope across the desk, this time, sealed and check-sized. “A fully funded scholarship to Gotham University’s law program. You could train your mind. Put that tenacity to good use. Make the world a better place.”

“And stop pursuing this Bruce Wayne as Batman thing all together, I guess?”

“Well, I imagine you won’t have time,” he said, the implication clear. Her silence in exchange for this money, for her future. “What with all of that coursework you’ll be doing.”

She picked up the check, toying with its weight in her hand. How strange that something so small could have such power to change her life. A deep breath, then: “I appreciate this. I hope you tell Mr. Wayne that.”

“I will–”

With three easy gestures, she ripped the check into pieces and resigned them to the nearby trash can. “And you can also tell him that the next time he wants to intimidate me, he should put on his little costume and do it himself.”

UPDATED TO ADD: Today, I had a visit from Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer (mentioned in sections 1, 2, 4, 7-45 of my investigation). He very politely invited me to cease my investigation into Bruce Wayne. And told me that if I did, the Wayne Foundation would happily pay for me to finally go to law school, something I’ve wanted to do but never have been able to afford. For anyone who still doubts my theory, I think Mr. Pennyworth pretty much proved it. Why would Bruce Wayne need to buy me off if what I said wasn’t true? Don’t believe me? See the security camera stills below - taken inside of my apartment. That’s Alfred Pennyworth, going through my cabinets. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Pennyworth, but I’m here for the truth. Bruce Wayne’s money may be able to buy a lot of things in this town, but it’s not going to buy my silence."- Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-seven part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Every Tuesday, on her only day off, she had a little ritual. First, she went to the Gotham Public Library to sort through the public records and pick up a new smutty romance book to read before bedtime over the next week. Then, she went to the courthouse and police station to pull any reports she might have needed for her research. And finally, she would go to the deli behind the police station, order the cheapest sandwich on the menu (usually given at a discount, as she requested day-old bread instead of fresh), and sit on her favorite park bench to enjoy her paperwork, her sandwich, and - on rare days like these - the sunshine.

However, on her walk to the bench today, a long, black coat wearing a tall, imposing man knocked her off of her path when their bodies accidentally collided. As she stumbled back from the force of him, her papers flying everywhere and her sandwich bag tumbling into the nearby grass, a brittle, soft voice reached her ears:

“Excuse me, miss–”

Familiar. She’d heard that voice before.

Crouched down to grab her papers, she looked up to see that the voice belonged to just the man she’d suspected – or feared.

It was Bruce Wayne. In the flesh. Without his armor or his mask. And when their eyes met, he smiled at her. Not a big smile, not anything he might have flashed in the papers, but something softer. Almost genuine. Almost good enough to awaken a whole sea of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh,” he said, wincing his greeting. A little shy. A little awkward. “Hello. I'm sorry about that. Here. Can I...?”

He crouched down to help her. For a moment, she lost her breath and every word she’d ever learned. There was nothing but him. She’d been close to him before – once. But other than that fleeting exchange, one she was sure he didn’t remember, she only knew him from photographs and archival footage. In those videos, he’d always seemed…

Well, not to be rude, but a little bit like if the sickly orphan boy in a Charles Dickens novel had been cast in a 90’s grunge band’s music video.

In person, though, so close, he was something completely different. Sure, the basics of him were still the same, but there was an intoxicating indirectness about him – as though he didn’t understand the basics of human interaction…but something about her made him want to try.

She shook off the feeling almost as soon as it occurred to her.

There wasn’t anything special about her. This wasn’t a chance meeting in the park. It was another attempt to con her into dropping her Batman posts.

“That’s cute,” she muttered, attempting to pile her papers back into some semblance of order.

Bruce Wayne offered up stray pages as though he weren’t a billionaire crouched down in the middle of a public park. “What is?”

“This isn’t some chance meeting, Bruce Wayne . You’re pretending to run into me just a few days after your bruiser broke into my apartment.”

She glanced up to check out his reaction. A muscle in his jaw tightened and he looked anywhere but her.

“I didn’t ask him to do that. And–”

He stopped himself short, as though he’d caught himself almost saying something he shouldn’t have. When he handed her the last of her papers, she prodded:

“And?”

“And he didn’t break in,” Bruce mumbled. “He said the door wasn’t locked.”

“I notice you’re not denying the fake run-in.”

“This isn’t fake," he protested, at last. "I don’t even know you–”

Lie. How was a man with a whole-ass double life so bad at lying?

Maybe that was why he barely made it out of Wayne Manor or his offices. Maybe he was such a bad liar that if he showed his face in public too much, the whole world would see through him. She fought to fit her folders back into her bag, her sandwich quite forgotten nearby.

“Bruce. I discovered your super-secret identity. You’re not fooling me with this whole innocent guy act.”

Dropping the pretense of this meeting being an accident – thank God, she was glad he didn’t see fit to insult her intelligence any longer – he leaned forward, lowering his voice as though they were sharing a confidence. “I don’t have a secret identity.”

He’d gotten closer to her than he’d probably meant, but she could tell he wasn’t going to back down until he had his answer. So, for a moment, they shared the same air, huffing out cold puffs of powdered breath onto the frigid afternoon wind. His lips – so easily identifiable by anyone with eyes as the Batman’s lips – were pink from the cold. She dragged her gaze from them, then met his.

“Okay, then,” she said, squaring up to him. “Prove it.”

“Prove what, that I’m not Batman?”

“Yes. And you can do that by taking me to dinner.”

404. Batman error.

The man blinked, apparently not expecting her to ask him that question – or, more bafflingly to her, shocked that any woman would want to go on a date with him.

“I…” A muscle twitched between his eyes. Confusion. “I’m sorry?”

She practically sang her answer, quite pleased with herself. How wonderful to play with him this way, to tease him with a challenge she knew he would never meet…to taunt herself with a date she knew she would never get. But it was fun to pretend, just for a second. “The Batman goes out every night between eleven forty-seven and and eleven fifty-two. He doesn’t disappear until sunrise. Take me to dinner. If he’s out tonight and you’re with me, that will prove that you’re not The Batman.”

It would have been so easy for Bruce Wayne to turn on his heel and abandon her. To call a full-court press assault on her character, to degrade her as a crazy conspiracy theorist and resign her silly little theory to the pages of one of those tabloids that had gotten rich off of smearing his dead parents with horrible theories of their own.

But he didn’t. And she wondered…

She wondered if maybe he wanted to have dinner with her.

“Eleven forty-seven is a late dinner, don’t you think?” He asked, a cooly conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“We’ll go to a diner.” She shrugged. “I like waffles.”

“Dinner,” he repeated, confirming. His lips tipping up again in that nearly-smile of his. “I’ll pick you up at 11:45.”

Going for her forgotten sandwich, she rolled her eyes. It was a fun game while it lasted. But she wouldn’t be falling prey to his promises. She wasn’t a fool. “Sure you will, Batman.”

“I’m not–”

But before he could finish that protest, she disappeared around a nearby tree, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

COMMENT FROM @ BALLCHUGGER 69: Batman is the greatest hero. I don’t care who he is. Leave him alone, whore.

That night, she didn’t even bother to get dressed for a date. Didn’t even pretend it was a possibility. No, if anyone had come to pick her up from her shitbox apartment on the wrong side of the city, they would have found her sprawled on her couch in a pair of sweats and a sports bra, stealing internet from her next door neighbor so she could scroll reddit’s latest Bruce Wayne as Batman megathread and listen closely to a livestream of the Gotham PD scanner.

Sure enough, about ten minutes after Bruce was supposed to meet her for dinner, crackle-voice cops informed their comrades that the Bat had just strung up three low-level mob figures up by the ankles from a lamppost.

Ten minutes after that, a knock on the door drew her to it. But when she opened, there was only a small, weighty eggshell envelope waiting for her, taped just beneath the peep hole. When she opened it, a handwritten letter under Wayne Enterprises letterhead informed her that Bruce regretted his absence, but had been called away on an urgent matter.

She smirked as she tossed the letter carelessly into the trash. She’d always known he wasn’t going to show up. The Batman was never going to ignore the city when it was in danger – even if it meant protecting his identity.

She had to admit: she admired him for that.

REPLY TO @ BALLCHUGGER69: I never said he wasn’t a hero. I think he is. In fact, I know he is. So we agree there. But as to the whore comment…if Batman is so heroic, I don’t think he would like you talking to ladies like that.

Sometime around midnight, she decided - for no particular reason - to go for a little walk down to Bowery. The Batman’s main territory. She’d seen him here more than once - and she wanted to see for herself that Bruce Wayne wasn’t at some high society dinner or in his Wayne Enterprises high-rise, but out there, on the streets. Doing what he did best - hunting.

She stuck to the shadows, one hand on the pepper spray in her pocket and the other on the heavy handle of the umbrella she always carried for protection. But soon enough, she found him. Guiding a frightened woman to the safety of a police car, while her three assailants scrambled away.

When Batman turned, his glazed eyes caught hers in the shadow. She smirked. He could run after the bad guys, or he could confront her.

Again, he chose the noble thing. He ran after the criminals.

Admirable. And fortuitous, as the mud from last night's rain left perfect copies of his boot prints behind. Boot prints that she meticulously photographed for later examination.

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: After independently verifying recent revelations regarding Wayne Enterprise Employee Alfred Pennyworth and the reddit user who asserts that Bruce Wayne is Batman, I have agreed to cover this story for The Daily Planet. More developments to follow.

For the next few days, after Clark Kent reached out to her anonymous account on Reddit and they set up a time to discuss her Batman finds, she went about her normal routine and tried not to think about Bruce Wayne or his dark knight counterpart. She did her job, raced home, and dove into the other outstanding amateur sleuthing cases that had been piling up during the whole Batman thing.

But she should have known that once the Clark Kent news broke and the internet exploded over it, Bruce Wayne would not be far behind.

One afternoon, in the print shop, she was five paragraphs into a really good sex scene in her book when a hand appeared on the desk in front of her, opening and closing into a loose fist - uncomfortable, not threatening. She glanced up to find Bruce Wayne standing there. As unbearably awkward in real life as he was confident and dangerous as Batman.

She waited for him to speak first. When he finally did, it just came out:

“...Hi.”

“Hi,” she said in her best customer service voice. Trying to ignore how his unbroken stare made her want to melt into his stupid, sexy arms and act out one of those romance novel scenes she’d just been reading. The only thing that stopped her from doing so was the knowledge that she’d gotten him right where she wanted him. He was panicked. And panicked men always made mistakes. Mistakes that could lead to him outright confirming his real identity. “Can I help you?”

“Could I…” He swallowed, trying to strengthen his weak voice. “Can we talk?”

“As opposed to what we’re doing right now?”

“Alone, I mean.”

With a flourish, she rose from behind the printing desk and breezed past him to straighten the already-straightened display of staplers and graphic calculators.

“If you’re here to ask me out, I’m sorry, but my schedule is all full. I don’t go on second dates with guys who stand me up, Mr. Batman.”

“ Don’t call me that .”

It was a growl, the closest she’d yet seen to The Batman flashing past his Bruce Wayne exterior. A thrill shot up and down her spine. Keep him talking . She didn’t want to let him go. She loved this dance that they were doing, this go away closer they played. “You saw Clark Kent’s tweet, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this–”

“Of course you don’t,” she mumbled. “You never even asked.”

“--But please. Stop. The city needs Batman–”

Clearly, he thought speaking faster and clearer and something approaching a big businessman voice was going to spook her. But she would not be deterred. She’d thought this through a million times. “And they need Bruce Wayne, too. I agree. I just wonder why they can’t have both at the same time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” He still hadn’t asked her why she was doing this. And every time their eyes met, she waited for some flash of recognition that she now knew would never come. Even if she told him now what she meant by that little comment, he wouldn’t listen. Why waste her breath? “Nothing you’d be interested in hearing, anyway.”

Rounding one of the shelves she stocked, he came face-to-face with her. The rack was the only barrier between them.

“I am asking you to stop this,” he pleaded, low and gentle.

“Or what? You’ll make me stop?”

“What do you want? What can I give you?”

Her lips tugged. Smug. “I told you, Mister Wayne. I want to go to dinner.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Well, then. I think we’re done here. As it happens, I have a meeting with Clark Kent later this week to talk about my findings.”

“You’ll be making a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because one day, if you do this, maybe you’ll need Batman, and I won’t be there.”

That felt like a threat. It felt like a slap. He instantly recoiled, as if ashamed that he’d said it. But when he opened his mouth to no doubt apologize, she beat him to it.

She’d caught him. The harder he tried to deny the truth, the more he kept showing his hand. “... You won’t be there? Sounds like an admission to me.”

Bruce adjusted his coat, drawing the collar up around his neck. He ignored her question and took to convincing her – which sounded more and more like he was convincing himself. “This conversation is over. I’m not your Batman. Your ridiculous post is only going to get people hurt. No one will believe you. And you don’t have any proof, just conjecture and speculation and probably some very flimsy ‘evidence.’ Nothing can link me to The Batman. Nothing .”

She could have laughed. She almost did. But she managed to stop it. Laughing would have given away her whole play. Adopting a fake serious tone, she nodded solemnly. “Of course. Yeah. Silly of me. You . Batman. It’s ridiculous. I’ll just go ahead and cancel my meeting with Clark Kent.”

Something flashed in his expression. Relief? Gratitude? A tint of regret? “I…Thank you.”

With that, he went for the door, but only made it two steps before she called him back.

No proof, he’d said. Please. As if she would accuse the most powerful man in Gotham of being The Batman without any actual evidence.

“Just one more thing, Bruce.”

“Yes?”

When he turned back around, he found himself face-to-face with her phone screen, which flashed a perfect picture of Batman’s boot print, which she’d snapped during their last encounter.

The blood rushed from Bruce’s face. She smirked.

“What size shoe do you wear?”

COMMENT BY DENT4PREZ: Yo, GothamGirl, any more Batman updates?

REPLY BY TheRealGothamGirl: I’m working on another case right now. The world does not revolve around Batman!

She wasn’t sure what made her hold back the boot print picture. Considering Bruce Wayne’s shoe size was a matter of public record thanks to some particularly freaky BW TikTok stans, it would have been a significant piece of evidence to add to the pile currently being combed over by dozens of amateur sleuths like herself.

Maybe it was the slight panic she’d caught in his expression when she showed it to him. Perhaps it was the fact that if he did fully prove him without a shadow of a doubt…he’d have no reason to find her again, ending their brief flirtations.

Maybe she didn’t want to lose him, something she knew would happen if she pushed the truth any further.

It was selfish, she knew. To want to keep him. He belonged to the people, and so did the truth.

But another day or two couldn’t hurt. Especially now that he seemed to hate her.

One day, maybe you’ll need Batman and he won’t be there .

It was those words ringing in her ears when her latest cold case investigation took her to The Narrows, one of Gotham’s worst neighborhoods. The evidence had led her here, to an abandoned warehouse where she believed someone had stashed the trophies of the murders they’d committed, so a bit of light breaking and entering was on the menu tonight. But she wasn’t worried. She’d done this a dozen times. Narrows or no, it was an abandoned warehouse. What were the odds that anyone would –

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in there?”

She was halfway out of the window when a man staring up at her from the street caught her. Damn. She was nearly homefree.

Adrenaline kicking into action, she threw herself out of the window, careful not to jostle the bag slung across her body – the one containing the killer’s treasures. The man was on her in a second, lunging with everything he had. All of her self-defense training flooded back to her. She dodged him at first, then knocked him back with her umbrella. The next time he approached, though, he caught her on the back foot, and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the wall.

Something sharp pierced her side.

She screamed.

The edges of her world went fuzzy.

Fuck . Had he stabbed her?

The blood loss was swift. His rancid breath on her cheek turned her stomach. But with one last flurry of energy, she emptied her pepper spray into his eyes, and he scrambled out into the darkness. Probably convinced that she wasn’t a threat to him anymore anyway. After all, he’d stabbed her .

When he abandoned their little drama, she crumbled down the wall, pinning her hands to her wound. She had to get out of there. Had to fix herself up. But she was…so tired. Down to her bones. The kind of exhaustion that made sleeping on the ground of a dark alleyway in The Narrows with a bag full of a serial killer’s treasures seem appealing.

Shock, she realized vaguely. This was shock. She was in shock. That’s why the wound didn’t hurt. That’s why she wanted to sleep. That’s why she didn’t notice – not at first – when a cloaked figure stalked into her line of sight.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned, lolling onto her side at the sight of him.

The Batman. Of all the dark alleyways in all the world, he had to walk into hers.

“Were you following me?” He growled, eyes darting up to the warehouse, where he instantly spotted the window she’d broken to force entry not twenty minutes ago.

“No,” she spit, tasting blood on her teeth now.

“Then why were you–”

“I was on another case.” She followed his line of sight as it traveled from the window down to her bag, which had sprawled open during the scuffle. With those weird shades in his mask, his expression proved unreadable, but she spotted the slightest tensing of his jaw. Ah, so she hadn’t followed him and he hadn’t followed her. They’d just both been hunting the same criminal and gotten here at the same time. “It just happened to be yours, I guess.”

It was only then that he looked at her – really looked at her, not in panic, not in rage – and noticed the red blooming behind the hands clenched at her stomach. His jaw parted this time, but he made no move to approach.

“Leave me alone. I can–I can–You already said what you would do if you found me in trouble. And I assume you’re a man with, like, a code or whatever. It’s what I deserve. Besides,” she wheezed, indicating the police sirens that had just gone off somewhere in the vicinity. “You have bad guys to catch.”

God , she was going to die here. She was going to die here and Batman was going to leave her to do it because he had more heroic things to do and also because she’d been threatening to expose him and also he was angry with her and–

Suddenly, he was all she could see. Kneeling at her side, arms at the ready to collect her.

“Can I touch you?”

“I bet you say that to all the criminals,” she snarked, the blood loss finally getting to her head.

He remained still. Stoic. He would not be touching her unless she gave her consent. Slowly, very slowly, she nodded. “Yeah. Fine. Go ahead.”

No sooner were the words out than he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and walking her out of the alley.

She tried not to think about the firm warmth of his chest or how right it felt to curl up in his arms. Tried not to think about the easy way he picked her up – as if she was nothing, rather than the generously curved woman she’d always been.

When he lodged her in the back seat of what appeared to be what she’d pejoratively termed in her reddit post, “the Batmobile,” they were silent. He worked quickly, positioning her so he could withdraw a first aid kit and set to stitching up the wound gushing onto his smooth leather seats. She watched him with hazy vision – cataloging the precision with which he sank a needle into her ribcage and filled her with morphine, the way he cooed quietly when she hissed as he began stitching her up, the delicate care he took with picking the fabric of her clothes out of the gash in her side.

“I could blow up your life tomorrow,” she muttered. Though whether she was speaking to the bat or the man behind the mask, she didn’t know.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You could.”

“But you’re still doing this. Why?”

“You have your reasons for doing what you’re doing.” His hands were gentle. So gentle for a vigilante. She was struck by the urge to rip those gloves off and see if those hands were as gentle as Bruce Wayne’s had been when he’d first touched her. “I have mine.”

“I hope I get to hear them someday,” she mumbled, teasing. “Maybe at dinner.”

“Batman doesn’t do dinner,” he said, apparently still trying to engage in his little game of pretend. As if he hadn’t just as good as admitted who he was. As if this night didn’t change anything.

The last thing she remembered, before she passed out from the drugs he’d given her, was the chuckle he rewarded her with when she replied, “Maybe not. But Bruce Wayne might.”

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Are we still on for our meeting tomorrow? I’m flying down tomorrow morning.

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Flying? It’s like an hour drive. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of environmentalist fighting Lex Luthor, Mr. Daily Planet?

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Typo. Damn autocorrect. Are we on?

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Yeah.

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Make sure to bring the documents you mentioned in your posts.

The next morning, she woke up in her apartment. The wounds were the only proof that the night before had even happened. The Batman had saved her life. And according to the police blotter, he hadn’t stopped there. He’d taken her evidence and caught that killer – and on his way out of The Narrows after that, he’d apparently had enough time to stop two muggings.

As someone without health insurance who lived in the most dangerous city in the country, she was pretty used to attending Youtube medical school. Because of that, she had no trouble cleaning out Batman’s tidy stitches and keeping the bandages clean and dry. What she did have trouble with? Not thinking about him every time she moved. When the pain made her twitch, when the scabs begged to be scratched, with every bandage change, she couldn’t help but think about those warm, gentle hands against her skin. The easy, uncomplicated way he’d saved her. Those quiet words they’d shared in the dark.

It made her interview with Clark Kent, conducted in a small coffee shop off the beaten path, one where neither of them would be recognized, a little awkward. Every time she breathed too deeply, she was reminded of Batman – and the potential consequences of being here with a powerful journalist, her arms full of proof that would link him to Bruce Wayne.

“Miss–”

She shook her head as Clark fumbled with the recording app on his phone. “I think it’s better if I don’t use my name. You know it. You’ve confirmed my identity. That should be enough. Anonymous sources are still a thing, aren’t they?”

He flashed a grin. Friendly. Wholesome. Thoroughly un-Bruce-like. “Certainly. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Anonymous.”

The Muzak in the coffee shop stretched between them as he flipped through his pages of notes. For her part, she stared blankly into the distance past the nearby window. Her hand drifted to her ribcage, pressing past her coat and her shirt and the bandage straight to her slow-healing wound.

“What do you think will happen?” She asked, vaguely.

Clark adjusted his glasses. “What’s that?”

“When the people know, for sure, I mean, not just my speculation or whatever, that Bruce Wayne is Batman? What do you think will happen?”

“I can't see the future or anything, but I guess he'll be arrested. He’ll have to be, if there’s ever going to be any faith in Gotham’s institutions again. If my article has anything to say about it, that’s where he’ll end up. Isn’t that what you want? For the Batman to stop terrorizing the streets?”

No. No, it wasn’t what she’d wanted at all. She’d never wanted that. Clark Kent seemed like a decent enough guy, but… no .

Leaping to her feet, she grabbed at the briefcase of Wayne-related documents.

“You know – I forgot – I have a work thing.”

Nearly choking, Clark gawked at her. “But I came all the way from Metropolis.”

“I’m sorry, I just –”

“Leave the documents, at least.”

He bolted up from his chair, grabbing for her.

Too fast. Inhumanly fast.

She tried to wrench out of his grasp. “No–”

“Wait–”

With a twist, she stumbled back. Clark remained unmovable, but his head tipped suddenly, knocking his glasses clean off of his face. Giving her a perfect look at him.

It was just a split second, but a split second was all it took for an idea to plant in the mossy soil of her mind and take immovable root. Then, when his eyes focused on her bag, it already began to sprout.

“Sorry. You’re right,” he said, straightening, as if he’d already gotten everything he needed from her in that single look.

Which, she suspected, he had.

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: Confidential sources have withdrawn from the Bruce Wayne story. However, with the help of newly uncovered documents, I will diligently follow the truth wherever it takes me.

After Clark tweeted about her withdrawing from the story, she went home and deleted all of her threads on the Gotham Unsolved subreddit. She’d kept the evidence in a sealed locker in her house, and the digital footprint would surely live on forever, but at least she’d done something . Once she’d closed the book on Batman, she turned her attention to other matters, other cases that needed solving, other unsolved mysteries she hoped she wouldn’t screw up as royally as she had this one.

The Batman case was the first time she’d ever regretted solving one. She needed another win, anything to remind her that she was on the good side of this city, that she was contributing to its salvation rather than its decline.

Which is how, on a particularly snowy Tuesday afternoon, she found herself hunched over a cup of coffee (bought in place of her usual sandwich, because it was too cold to sit out here without coffee and she couldn’t afford both) and her records on her park bench when a shadow passed over her.

Not just any shadow. Bruce Wayne’s shadow.

“Oh. Mr. Wayne. I didn’t - I didn’t think I would -” the stammering continued a minute more before she finally slammed the folder in her lap closed and tried again: “How are you?”

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” He asked, not answering her question.

No wonder. He looked like shit. The bags under his eyes had gotten darker and more bruised. His coat engulfed him. She tried to tease some life back into him – anything to stop staring at the snowflakes currently settling on his eyelashes and melting into his lips.

“Spying on me again?”

He shrugged, but it worked. He smiled – just barely. Like most of his smiles. “My office is just up there." He pointed to the Wayne Enterprises building towering over the northern stretch of the park. "I see you down here sometimes. Just like I saw that the Batman threads have all been taken down. And that Clark Kent lost his source. And that someone solved the Kyminsky murder.”

This time, it was her turn to shrug.

“I just figured it out. Batman brought the guy in. I don’t deserve any credit.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But you might deserve dinner.”

Against her better judgment, her heart fluttered. A traitorous hummingbird trying to get free and fly straight for him. “Really?”

“Really. But at eight. Not eleven-fifty. I have a lot to show you and I can’t do it in an all-night diner.”

Intriguing. She probably should have said no. It was undoubtedly better to keep her distance from Bruce Wayne, especially after all that had transpired between them. But he had to know she couldn’t resist a good mystery. “Where, then?”

“Wayne Manor.”

APARTMENT 1319B RECENT SEARCH HISTORY:

What to do if you have weird feelings for a vigilante?

What to do if a billionaire invites you to his house?

What to wear if a billionaire invites you to his house?

Do billionaires brick their enemies up in amontillado cellars anymore?

How to escape bricked-over amontillado cellar

What do rich people serve at dinner?

How to eat lobster without looking like a poor person

Wayne Manor was everything she’d expected. A gothic mansion set out past the edges of the city, it filled in the picture of what she believed about Bruce Wayne. It was sort of a reflection of him. Locked up, crumbling, defiantly enduring, and impossibly beautiful.

The place was so grand that the second she stepped up on the grand marble steps, she felt underdressed. A feeling that only intensified when Mr. Pennyworth opened the door and snarked at her.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss. I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.”

Behind Alfred’s tuxedo-ed back, she could hear the tinkling of fine music and the pop of a champagne bottle. They’d been originally supposed to go to a diner . How was she supposed to know that Bruce wanted her to dress formally ? She flushed. “He didn’t tell me what to wear, and wouldn't you know it? All of my gowns are at the cleaner’s.”

Alfred scoffed. “You’re–”

But the arrival of his master cut him off. Bruce Wayne stepped into view, looking like an evening star wrapped up in a ten-thousand dollar suit. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of styling his hair like a normal human being, she noticed, and there were several bruises beginning to surface just beneath his collar and at the skin near his shirt cuffs, but even so –

He was so handsome. Especially when he assessed her like he did now.

“You’re perfect,” he said simply, finishing Alfred's sentence.

Having handed her coat to Alfred when he waved for it, she gestured down to her jeans and flannel combination. He was in a goddamn tux and she was in jeans . “I don’t feel very perfect.”

“You are exactly who I’ve been looking for.”

That sounds like something a murderer or Batman or a guy in love would say – dear God, please be the second one.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Alfred said. “Master Wayne doesn’t eat much, but–”

The tops of Bruce’s cheeks flushed. “– Alfred –”

“But he insisted on only the best. I’ll just be in the kitchen, preparing.”

Without another word, the man was gone. She’d done so much research into Alfred and Bruce, but none of her documents ever could have taught her this: they cared about each other. Almost like father and son. It was cute, the way Bruce ducked his head, embarrassed, and apologized for Alfred. Domestic in a way she hadn’t expected.

There was a lot she hadn’t expected, it turned out. The living room of Wayne Manor was well-appointed, but clearly weathered from lack of use. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet and despite the obvious attempts to spruce the place up, she couldn’t help but notice that the entire room, while it glittered from golden candle light and smelled like the fresh, home-cooking wafting from the nearby kitchen, carried with it the oppressive weight of grief.

Suddenly, so much of Bruce made sense. He was not some playboy who masqueraded as Batman to make meaning out of his useless life. He was not doing it for the attention. He was not a man with a death wish.

He was just…so, so sad. And so very lonely. And trying to right a wrong for the universe that had never been righted for him. Saving other people so they’d never have to know what he’d been through.

As she leaned against a nearby window and watched him pour champagne for them both, she blinked away tears at that revelation. She’d always been on Bruce’s side. But now? Now she actually understood him. And that broke her heart a little.

“I really am sorry about my clothes,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I thought this would be, like, a casual thing, not a–”

“A date?”

A date. Even after the tuxedos and champagne, it hadn’t even occurred to her that this was a date.

She’d thought….

Well…

She’d thought…it was, like, a detente. A cessation of hostilities. A friendly armistice.

But a date…?

Once more, she swept the room. Champagne. Music. Lights. A home-cooked meal. Bruce doing that almost-smile thing he did whenever she was around. Color and life back in his face, something that had been sorely missing the last time she’d seen him.

Yeah. A date. That checked out. Heat flooded her cheeks. She stared down at her shoes.

“Yeah.”

“I understand,” he said, handing her a champagne flute.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He clinked their glasses together. Sardonic and self-deprecating. “I wouldn’t want to go out with the Batman either.”

Her eyes widened. This was not a mistake. This was not a slip-up. It was purposeful. He’d invited her on a date, invited her to dinner, and was telling her the one secret he’d been trying so hard to keep. Retiring her glass to a nearby table, she repeated the word, “...Batman.”

He nodded once. At last, a confirmation. “ Batman .”

Before she could think better of it, she charged towards him, to ask him more questions, to probe him for answers – only for the aggressive action to tug at her stitches, causing her to painfully twist and stumble…

“ Shit –”

“Careful there–”

…right into his arms.

Suddenly, the pain in her side was the furthest thing from her mind.

Even if he hadn’t just confessed the truth to her, she would have known it was him just from this embrace. It was the same one she’d experienced in the alley that night – the one where he saved her life. It was an awkward hold. Soft in some places and stiff in others. Close but not close enough for her liking. Unpracticed. As if he hadn’t known the non-violent touch of someone in too, too long.

It washed her in peace from the flushed crown of her head all the way down to her untied shoelaces.

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved. But the music from the old stereo played something soft and lovely…and before they knew that they were even doing it, as if twisted in some magical spell cast by the speakers, they were swaying.

“Do you like to dance?” Bruce asked, his breath tickling her neck.

“No.”

“Me either,” he agreed.

And yet…there they were. Dancing. Each of them equally unwilling to let the other one go.

She didn’t know what that meant. Only that it felt right, being there in his touch.

What a miracle – that her life would bring her to this place, this time, this man. All because she nearly died one night six months ago - not that he knew about that yet.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, melting into her touch.

“Do what?”

“Try to expose me. And then stop.”

She tilted her head until their eyes met, giving him full, silent permission to survey her. When nothing sparked in him, she asked: “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

No answer. She tucked herself back into the crook of her body, enjoying his touch while she still could.

“I had my suspicions about you before the flood. But it seemed so impossible. Bruce Wayne, the Batman? Of course not. But then…I was in that stadium. And those things you put in your eyes when you wear that mask, the things that keep people from seeing your eyes? They shorted in the water. After all that research I’d done about you…when you pulled me out of that water, I recognized them. You have very distinctive eyes, Mr. Wayne.”

Did he notice that he’d tightened his grip around her waist? As though he were now the one drowning and she was the only thing holding him above the swells?

“I know you think I wanted this city to destroy you. But I don’t. I think you’re a hero.” She was digging her fingers into the soft fabric of his suit jacket now. Hopefully, he thought she was just holding onto him for support because of her injury – not for the reason that being this close to him made her knees weak and her heartbeat at a rate she considered medically unsafe. “And for awhile, I believed that if the world knew that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same guy…you could be even more of an inspiration. Someone with everything trying to do something for those who have nothing . The man everyone knows, fighting for the forgotten. The Crown Prince of Gotham saving us peasants down below.”

She teased him with that last bit. But he was as serious as he had been the moment before.

“And now?” He prompted, pulling away so she could no longer hide in the crook of his neck. Under his stare, she knew she couldn’t falter.

“Now, I just want you to keep fighting - even if you have to do it in the shadows.”

Their breath intermingled. It felt like the start of something. His attention flickered down to her lips –

“Master Wayne.”

The sound of Alfred’s voice made her twitch. She moved to step away, but Bruce held her fast, even as Alfred raised a judgmental eyebrow at their romantic clinch.

“Dinner is served,” he said, lingering in the doorway.

Through it all, she realized that Bruce had never looked away from her. And he didn’t when he spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Alfred. I think we have something else to do first.”

BRUCE WAYNE RECENT SEARCH HISTORY, SCRUBBED at 7:58 PM:

Ethics of hiring woman you’re attracted to

Can you kiss someone at a first date/job interview?

How to confirm a secret identity?

How to hide bruises from a fistfight you got into the night before a date?

Romantic Covers of Nirvana Songs

How to reveal secret location without seeming like a kid showing a girl your treehouse?

There wasn’t much Bruce Wayne cared to examine in himself. He knew, in vague strokes, that he was obsessive and driven by pain, and desperate for justice in any form it could take. He knew he didn’t want to be the monster that stalked the shadows anymore, but a hero who actually helped people.

And he knew that from the moment he met this strange woman in the park, something within him shifted. She was a threat to him, an existential one he should have done everything in his power to destroy. He was a billionaire, after all. It should have been easy to tie her up in legal battles for the rest of her life, to pay for bots to drown out her posts, to keep upping the ante of Alfred’s bribery until she had no choice but to accept.

Still. He didn’t. She was brilliant and infuriating and matched him turn-for-turn. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she dodged in the exact opposite direction. Whether she was relentlessly taunting him about his secret identity or flirting or asking him to dinner or sneaking pictures of his boot prints or crumbling under his hands as he healed her or giving up the story with Clark Kent or doing that scrunching thing with her nose she did when she was thinking too hard or fiddling with the handle of her umbrella she uselessly kept nearby for protection or flashing those intelligent, sharp eyes of hers…

He was fascinated. He couldn’t remember the last time something other than the underworld of Gotham had fascinated him. Maybe it was this new change in him, the one that had been brewing ever since The Flood. Maybe, as he returned slowly from Vengeance back to his humanity, maybe his heart was slowly awakening, too. Maybe all of those feelings he’d chained away for so long were resurfacing.

In any case…something shot straight through his heart when she stepped down the stairs into The Cave and her lips parted in a wondrous smile. Only, for the first time in his life, a sudden bolt to his chest didn’t hurt. It blossomed into something warm and unfamiliar.

“What is this?” She breathed, eyes wide and uncertain. “Why have you brought me here?”

“It’s my headquarters,” he said, leading her down the rickety steps until he reached the floor of the spotlight-illuminated tunnel. He suddenly found it impossible to look at her. As if he were afraid she would suddenly pass judgment and he would be found wanting. He steeled himself for what was to come. From the start, she’d known the truth. He knew she knew the truth. And she knew that he knew the truth. But this was a final confirmation. An admission of guilt, undeniable, that could not be retracted once made. “And I’m showing you because… Because I’m Batman.”

Miracle of miracles, she didn’t run out of the door. She didn’t scream and throw things at him. She didn’t even feign surprise. Instead, she chuckled. Bruce felt his own lips twitch. When was the last time anyone had laughed in this house? “Yeah, no shit. I already knew that. I mean why are you showing this to me?”

That was the question Alfred had asked about a half-dozen times since Bruce had decided to bring her here – a decision he’d made the moment he found out she’d scuttled Clark Kent’s Batman story. And the answer he’d given Alfred was the same answer he’d give her now.

But it wasn’t the whole answer, not really. The whole truth would have been you’re a damn good detective and I want an excuse to get close to you – to stay close to you . Instead, he edited the truth, tailoring it for this moment:

“Because you’re a damn good detective. And I don’t think I can do this alone anymore.” He paused. “Or maybe I don’t want to.”

Her skepticism was immediate and apparent. “You want me to help you?”

A wash of insecurity snuck up on him all at once. “It would be a good job. I’d pay for law school. You’d have a generous salary. Benefits. The hours aren’t great, but–”

She spun around, and suddenly they were very close. He had her pinned between his desk and his body, but she didn’t seem to notice–not in the way he did, anyway. Her eyes shone. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll take the job.”

“You will?”

“But first –” A hint of exasperation and delight mingled in her tone. “I need you to tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to put your paramilitary headquarters under your own damn house , Bruce.”

Oh, she was so smug. She’d finally won, hadn’t she? She’d confirmed that Bruce Wayne was, indeed, Batman, and now she got to lord it over his head.

Bruce didn’t mind. Not if she kept smiling like that.

“I see. So, you’re not going to stop bullying me now that we’re working together?”

“Stop? Oh, no. It’s going to get worse. So much worse.”

He liked the sound of that.

“Are you ready to start, then?”

“I am,” she said, as confident and sure as she had been from the moment he met her. Despite the blistering lights he set up all around the cave, the work lights that broke through the oppressive darkness here, she outshone them all. “And I know exactly where I want to start.”

“And where is that?” he asked.

She smirked mischievously, and he knew in that moment that this was the beginning of something new. Something exciting. Something like a sunrise over his long, lonely, dark night.

“...I think I know Superman’s secret identity.”

#battinson imagine #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce x reader #battinson/reader #bruce wayne/reader #batman/reader #batman x reader #battinson fic #bruce wayne x oc #not y/n but blank for projection self-insert purposes!

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parallel-2-anywhere · 2 years

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World of Wyldrvir A Wholesome TTRPG

Hey! Have you wanted a Tabletop Roleplaying Game about a magical roadtrip through a wild and everchanging landscape with you and your best friends, without the worries of fighting or combat impeding your journey? If so consider checking out World of Wyldrvir! An indie TTRPG made over the quarantine! Wyldrvir is a totally free TTRPG that has been working in a combat free and wholesome Saturday morning cartoon style of world with adorable art and simple roleplay focused storytelling!

Wyldrvir is made with the express purpose of fun, lighthearted escapism into a world where magic is new, everything is ready and ripe to be discovered, and people seek only the best interests of one another. Conflicts will arise, of course, but Worldsoul willing, everything will always work out for the better in the end. In this world where magic is directly linked to nature, and everyone works together to keep the natural world clean and bright. Your characters only goal is to explore!

The game is super simple with only a few basic roles to remember, and a massive ability for customization. You can make your own skills and make them as strange and wonderful as you would like.

At the moment the core book exists both on Itchio and Drivethru RPG. (The Drive Thru version has the chance to purchase the book physically as well!) prices for all versions are all under 20 dollars so you can pick it up painlessly! There is also a pirate themed expansion out as well for more nautical adventures! There are plans for a lot more expansions coming out as well! We have an active Discord server for the project so you can organize one-shots, and a mini podcast so you can hear a group playing it as well! You can check it all out on our Youtube channel!

There is also 2 custom made music tracks for the world! You can listen to those here! There is so much more we can talk about but I am going to point you to the reviews we have received from all these wonderful TTRPG creators!

We hope our paths cross out on the road fellow travelers!

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johannestevans · 10 months

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New webzine, a new trans-centric erotica publication, and a bunch of new pieces from me!

Good evening!

So simplest things first, I set up a TikTok! I'm hoping to keep uploading clips from my comedy gigs to Instagram and TikTok respectively.

I'm on the line-up at a comedy gig tomorrow night in Athlone if you're in the West of Ireland and you'd like to come along! The gig is at The Brazen Monkey, and the show is gonna start at 8:30PM.

You can get tickets online here for €10 plus the booking fee, and tickets will be €15 on the door.

There's also a new comedy night run by Black Crow Comedy here in Galway - it's an open mic intended for women and queer and nonbinary comedians, and it's at 9pm on Wednesday the 5th July in Aras na nGael.

This event is to raise money for Galway Pride, with tickets at €3, and I'm super excited about more marginalised comics having a dedicated space here in the city.

Anyway, out this week was Issue 103 of the Shousetsu Bang*Bang!

The SBB is an online webzine centred around original queer erotic fiction, and it's been running for nearly 18 years - I was so excited to be a part of this issue with my new novella, Fallen Dust, but I absolutely recommend going through the whole of the issue and reading every story. There's over 160,000 words of queer fiction in this issue, and mine is just 14k of that!

I've also set up a new publication called Trans Erotica, which is a Medium publication centred around trans and nonbinary creators.

If you're trans or nonbinary and you write erotica or erotic fiction, absolutely check it out - the characters in the work don't have to be trans or nonbinary themselves, so long as you are!

I've written up Submission Guidelines here, and if you're new to writing on Medium and would like a guide on how to go about setting up, I've written one of those too.

Media Recs

Donut (2023, dir. Rene Gannon-O'Gara) - My friend Rene's hour-long movie, Donut, is out now! It's a great short flick, super naturalistic, meditative, and exploring the weird intimacy/extra distance of customer service late at night when not many people are around. With nonbinary characters, too!

What Really Happens to a Human Body at Titanic Depths by JP Brown - This is fucked up. But interesting.

This TikTok from hahatoys2022 - I've watched this TikTok so many times this week, it destroys me every time.

I also watched the two new Poirot movies this week, the Kenneth Branagh ones - the second one is kinda shitty, but the first one is a fun enough watch, and I'm quite excited to see the new one with Michelle Yeoh.

I rewatched The Incredibles (2004, dir. Brad Bird) for the first time since I was a kid, and its politics are majorly fucked up. Tweeted about it here.

New Works Published

New Podcast: A Stranger's Visit: The Story, Episode 4

Fantasy short. A priest of Freyr receives a strange visitation.

3.6k, rated T. MB. Originally published May 29th, 2021. A little bit of Norse godliness versus Norse priestliness. Featuring Esben. Adapted from a TweetFic.

It should be anywhere you get your podcasts!

Libsyn / / RSS Feed / / On Spotify / / On Google / / On YouTube

Erotic Novella: Fallen Dust

14k, cis M/trans M. A young trans man fleeing an abusive home finds sanctuary at a strange temple buried in a mysterious valley.

Featuring some Eldritch tentacles and mild horror, oviposition, breeding, some DP, and just the end of the world! CW for some threats of sexual coercion and pregnancy + transphobia and threatened detransitioning.

From the Shousetsu Bang Bang / / On Medium / / On Patreon

Romance Short: Easing Into It

An exhausted psychiatrist is wooed by his new barber.

4k. M/M, rated M. A few mentions of past abuse. Adapted from a TweetFic. There is a cute dog!

On Medium / / On Patreon

Personal Essay: As a Trans Man, Why Do Doctors Always Want to Get Me Pregnant?

I'm so tired of fielding questions about my "lost" fertility

In An Injustice! on Medium / / On Patreon

Get merch on TeePublic | | Look through my Directory of Published Work | | Listen to my Podcast

#update #original fiction #shousetsu bang bang #fiction

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upthewitchypunx · 1 year

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I’ve had a few questions about the rooms in our house, so for those of you actually interested in the rooms, here’s some info ...

We are two punks in our 40s (pronouns: he and she/they) I own the house in North Portland a few blocks from the Yellow Line Killingsworth Max stop. I’m vegan and my partner is an omnivore so our kitchen is a vegetarian compromise and that is non negotiable. No cooking meat in the house or storing meat in the kitchen. Eggs, honey, and milk are okay just no on my favorite well seasoned cast iron skillet.

The house is 120 years old and while we have replaced the wiring, windows, heater, sewer, etc.The kitchen and baths need updates. It also has has old house issues like no AC, few electric plugs, weird doorknobs, etc.

There are bands that practice at least two nights a week in our basement so it would not be a good option for a student or someone who needs quite. The practice space could also be used by you if you make music. We live by the freeway which creates a nice ocean sounding white noise, at least I think so. It also makes the sound of band practicing drown out.

Pre-pandemic we hosted a lot of house guests from all over the world from trusted travelers, zine friends, or musicians. Not so much currently, but maybe in the future. That's just something to keep in mind.

We are not neat freaks. My partner washes most of everyone's dishes and will tidy up the kitchen for everyone, but there are often piles of neglected projects on the dining table, and dust that needs to be swept off the stairs and stuff like that. If something bothers you, clean it, don’t complain about it.

We work from home and cook most of our meals, we are here a lot and we listen to a lot of podcasts. Customers also come to our home to pick up orders.

There are two bathrooms, one we are planning on doing some work on this year and the upstairs one has a giant clawfoot tub. We also have a gas stove, fire place, porch, washer and dryer in the basement, small yard jam packed with lots of plants and veggie garden boxes.

Both rooms are upstairs. The big room is $750/month including all utilities (water/sewer, gas, electricity, internet and some other stuff like toilet paper, dishsoap, sponges, etc) our friend from Utah might take the room in autumn so we might have a short term space available. The smaller room is $650/month including all utilities and is strange but kind of charming because someone tried and failed at turning it into a kitchen at some point in the 70s and it has a build in retro kitchen counter and cabinet situation that makes for nice built in shelving.

We are old punks but we are pretty chill, not interested in drama and would prefer someone over 25 and even more preferred would be someone over 30. (You know, through your Saturn Return). We are queer and trans friendly. We hate racist, nazis, fascists, and terfs. Also, we are up to date on COVID vaccinations and expect you to be too.

No dogs, but well behaved cats are a possibility. We might be interested in someone who needs a place to land for a few months when they move to Portland, or someone who just wants to spend a summer in Portland or a couple months, or someone who wants to rent one room and share the other a studio space as it is currently or greenhouse/backstock for the shop.

Oh, hey also, I’m an agnostic secular witch and soft animist. This house has a name and is heavily warded so you would need to be alright with that.

Room will be open July 1 or a bit earlier or a bit later if it works out better for new denizens.

#mine #words #gemini sun/sag rising/leo moon #sag sun/cap rising/aquarius moon #legal weed state and legal weed house #craft beer enthusiasts

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bookgeekgrrl · 1 year

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My media this week (15-21 Jan 2023)

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

😊 Slow Change (thesurefireway) - 66K, steddie canon divergent - Eddie's life and his relationship with Steve after his 5-month stint in jail before the innocent verdict in his trial

😊 The Crime at Black Dudley (Albert Campion Mystery #1) (Margery Allingham, author; David Thorpe, narrator) - In a cozy/golden age mystery mood and she's the Queen of Crime I have read least. I wish there were more of hers on audiobook

😊 The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (Robert Louis Stevenson) - read via Jekyll & Hyde Weekly

🥰 Call My Number (and Call Me Yours) (novacorpsrecruit) - 53K, Steddie AU - both single dads, EMT!Steve & dispatcher!Eddie - very cute

😊 The Case of the Canterfell Codicil (Anty Boisjoly Mysteries #1) (PJ Fitzsimmons, author; Tim Bruce, narrator) - So straight in the blurb for this book it says "The Case of the Canterfell Codicil is a classic, cosy, locked-room mystery written in the style of an homage to PG Wodehouse. The result, for those familiar with Wodehouse or Jerome K Jerome and Ruth Rendell or Dorothy L Sayers, is either an inexcusable offence to several beloved canons, or a hilarious, fast-paced, manor house murder mystery." It's a fairly mediocre imitation to be honest but not so terrible as to be unreadable, and it raced along nicely; ultimately I found it entertaining enough. Given the length and the price (free), I can see myself reading a few more, esp when I get into that 'i'm out of podcasts and books i really want but need something for the love of fuck' place.

😊 The King's Delight (Tales of Lilleforth Book 1) (Sarah Honey) - a light & fluffy, very mildly kinky fantasy romance

💖💖 +357K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

The Long Dark Bath-Time of the Soul (spqr) - Knives out universe: Benoit Blanc/Phillip, 7K - a hilarious possible backstory for phillip's wealth

help to make the season bright (its_tortle) - MCU: shrunkyclunks, 20K - fluffy & warm seasonal fic

The future's open wide (rainbow_nerds) - Stranger Things: Steddie, 4.7K - a lovely little fic with some closure for tommy hagan

Nothing Hurts (Like Your Mouth) (AidaRonan) - Stranger Things: Steddie, 4.1K - werewolf steve & vamp eddie - some extremely hot monsterfucking. I love a prehensile tail!

Not Fade Away (A Cover) (dorcas_gustine) - Stranger Things: Steddie, 37K - great characterizations, great story, fucking HILARIOUS

Hallmark-Adjacent (Moorishflower) - The Sandman: Dreamling, 25K - a fun, modern AU with each of them as the jilted guy in a hallmark movie, having glorious sex and a soulmate connection on a train and then some hallmark-y moments of their own

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it's you (greatunironic) - Stranger Things: Steddie, 34K - reread of this amazing & formative-for-the-fandom fic; still amazing

Made with Love (and Yarn) (SolarMorrigan) - Stranger Things: Steddie, 10K - super cute & fluffy, expressing love thru textile crafts

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Leverage: Redemption - s2, e10-12

Hot Ones - Viola Davis Gives a Master Class While Eating Spicy Wings

Hot Ones - Cate Blanchett Pretends No One's Watching While Eating

Hot Ones - Zoe Saldaña Gets Scorched By Spicy Wings

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

Desert Island Discs - Steven Spielberg, director

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Green Mill Jazz Club

Off Menu - Ep 72: Michael McKean

Renegades: Born in the USA - Money & the American Dream

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Songs of Ice with the Places Team

Vibe Check - Mutha Needs To Arrive and Set the Table

Strange Customs - Brandon Kyle Goodman | The Paper

Switched on Pop - SZA's Endless Melody

99% Invisible #521 - A Sea of Yellow

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Cementerio Municipal José María Azael Franco Guerrero

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

Nude On The Moon: The B-52's Anthology

Carly Rae Jepsen

Lowrider Oldies

My Mix #3

Late Night Blues

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journalofimprobablethings · 1 year

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Somewhere Else Coffee Shop AU snippets, part 3 (aka I'm still actively writing this and keep finishing bits I want to share):

It's been just over two months since Jon came in. Your heart still clenches when you see a customer come in with long salt and pepper hair or a jean jacket, but otherwise, you've nearly managed to stop thinking about them at all. Even if you hadn't, you would have had very little brain to think about them today. It's the lunch rush, and the weather outside is abysmal, a stinging rain that is whipped about by the wind so it patters hard against the windows. The manager has compensated by cranking the heating, with the result that it is absolutely sweltering inside. Everyone in line is impatient and wet and grumpy, and you in turn are sweating through your jumper, focusing all your mental energy on getting the orders in right and not snapping at the more entitled customers who think if they berate you the register will somehow work faster.

You are focused enough that you're not paying attention to the line beyond the person in front of you, so this time it's your turn to start in surprise and delight when you look up to the next person and discover it's Jon.

Their hair is up in a bun this time, a little damp and frizzy from the rain, and a couple strands coming loose on either side of their face. They're wearing the same jacket, this time over a T-shirt for a band or maybe a podcast—something you don't recognize.

You can't help smiling when you see them.

"Oh, hello!"

They don't startle like last time—they don't even seem surprised to see you at the register again. They smile a little, and their smile still has that sadness to it, but it's different now. Maybe a little resigned, or rueful.

"Hello," they say softly.

"Earl grey tea, wasn't it? With milk and honey?"

They glance up at you in surprise. "Oh, um, yes, that's–you remembered?"

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks—it's only now you realize it might be a bit strange that you remembered their order after only one interaction.

"Well, yeah. I-I've got a good memory for—for orders. And–um—and that."

This is not fully a lie; you are fairly good at remembering what people like. But it usually takes you more than one time to get it right.

From the moment you saw them, there was very little danger of you forgetting Jon.

When you make Jon's drink, you hesitate for a moment before adding milk and honey the same as before. They seemed to like it last time, and there is something satisfying about preparing the cup to their liking, rather than just handing it to them with the bag still in it.

They take the cup from you with both hands and that same soft smile. It feels like an achievement, somehow, getting that smile from them, and it fills you with a sort of fizzy warmth.

They open their mouth to thank you, and then they stop, staring at their name where you've written it on the side of the cup. You realize you hadn't asked them for their name, this time, and you wonder if maybe they find it strange that you remembered their name as well as their order. Or maybe you spelled it wrong—you hadn't even thought to ask.

"Did I get it wrong? I know most people spell it with the 'h', but for some reason I thought—"

"No, no," they say. "You got it right. Most—most people don't."

"Oh, good."

Before you can say anything else, they say, "Well, um, thank you," and nod awkwardly before making a beeline for the door.

Martin,

I went back.

I'm sure you're very surprised.

I tried to stay away, I really did. For weeks I avoided that part of town completely (easy enough, really, as it's mostly overpriced coffee shops and oddly specific boutiques). I did my best to keep myself busy.

But I couldn't stop thinking about the way you made my tea.

I know it probably doesn't mean anything. I know it's foolish to hope. But you looked as startled as I was at what you had done, and I couldn't help wondering if maybe, if I just went back…

Of course, it wasn't that simple. There wasn't a magic moment where you looked me in the eye and suddenly everything came back.

But you remembered me.

Not fully, not in the way I'd hoped, but—you remembered I'd been there before. You remembered my order.

You remembered my name.

Hope is such a dangerous thing, Martin. Despair feels safer, because if you have already given up then you know you can never be disappointed. With hope, there is always something left to lose. With hope, there also always comes fear.

I've told myself not to expect anything, not to hope for too much, because I'm so afraid of what will happen if that hope proves false.

But I can't help it. You remembered my name, and I—

I can't help but hope.

I love you. Thank you for the tea.

Jon

Part 1 | Part 2

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma somewhere else coffee shop au #tma post-canon #memory loss #post mag 200 #at this rate half of this fic will end up posted on here like weekly serial #but oh well #scribblings

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thetcsteofink · 2 years

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closed!

Who: Anyone! @moorbrookestarters

Where: Beachwood Diner

with the news of the mayor’s strange disappearance, the town’s been a bit on edge. but no doubt alecto came across the mysterious podcast earlier in the morning and ended up telling her dad all about it. since it was her day off from the library and as it was saturday, there were no classes, her dad insisted she help out in the diner while she explained to him what a podcast even was. ( “no dad, it’s not like one of those tide pod things” ). she wondered if anyone else had heard of it. of course most if not all of the town at least was at the fest and witnessed the mayor not showing up. some patrons even today whispered over it during their meals. alecto went to tend to the customer seated at the bar with her notepad and pen in hand. and... there her dad went yelling loudly at the cook for something. “jeez,” she muttered to herself. “sorry, not at you. just,” she waved the pen around by her head. “lots going on. mayor missing, weird podcast. have you heard of it? anyway, sorry—do you need a menu or do you know what you want? and do you want coffee?”

#mbstart #if we haven't plotted you can feel free to assume connections!#alecto: starter #alecto: t

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audiofictionuk · 5 months

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New Fiction Podcasts - 18th November

Sected Audio Drama A British sitcom podcast about four incompetent souls trying to start their own cult. Can you create a new movement with no ideas, no philosophy, and a leader with the charisma of a plastic plant forgotten in a cupboard? They’ll certainly give it a go. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231109-02 RSS: https://feeds.acast.com/public/shows/sected

The Books of Thoth Audio Drama The god of wisdom holds many books with his great library. Unfurl the papyrus, and breathe in the ancient scent. Come with us as we explore the stories contained within The Books of Thoth. The Books of Thoth is an audio drama anthology podcast. You will explore tales of the past, the future, and even alternate realities. Every book in Thoth’s library has a story to tell. Let’s go find some, shall we? https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231111-01 RSS: https://feeds.redcircle.com/6701d0b5-6b14-4b76-992d-02f391b5cf42

Theater of the Mind Presents: Retribution Audio RPG Retribution is a dark comedy/horror themed DND Podcast, set in our world. Join Melanie Kelly, Elliot Brandybain, Ulnok Vargr Johnson, James O'Brien, and Emory Lee, as they traverse the countryside and fight off evil. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231112-01 RSS: https://pinecast.com/feed/theater-of-the-mind-presents-r

The Very Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen Audio Drama WINNER of BEST AUDIO FICTION at the Tribeca Festival 2023!! Raul's life in Hong Kong is thrown upside down when he discovers he can exchange letters with his favorite author, a woman in Paris who died thirty years ago. A nine part limited series, written and directed by Alex Kemp (The Imperfection, Modes of Thought) and produced by Wolf at the Door Studios. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231110-01 RSS: https://feeds.megaphone.fm/vwt

Out Cold Audio Drama A spooky anthology series produced by Julie Censullo and Sophie Nikitas. Put on your headphones and turn off your lights. Produced in Minneapolis, MN. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231109-03 RSS: https://feeds.buzzsprout.com/2260953.rss

An Office Workers Guide to Demon Hunting Audio Drama A new audio drama from Family Friendly Podcast. An Office Worker's Guide to Demon Hunting is a family friendly, comedy audio drama that centers around a team of filing clerks with a few tricks up their sleeves. They're on a mission to close the rifts between their world and the dimension of the demons, known as The Between. They meet some interesting people along the way, including a robot secretary, a demon filing clerk, Wallace, and all Seven Sins.As a family friendly production, this podcast contains no swearing (biblical or otherwise), explicit suggestions, or inappropriate content.This show is suggested for 12+ for mild violence and dark themes. Individual episodes may not be suitable for all ages. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231111-02 RSS: https://feeds.redcircle.com/f1bd8e19-75c0-412b-812e-b547f462fc6f

Feedback: a comedy of impeccable customer service Audio Drama Aspiring drag queen and Ring Wireless representative Akbar Shahzad (Qasim Khan) has a problem with his ex-boyfriend. Anxious mother Valerie LeVac (Rosemary Dunsmore) has a problem with her phone bill. Over a series of calls their lives will be changed by the brief but meaningful relationship that develops between them. Part mystery, part romantic comedy, Kevin Shea's FEEDBACK uniquely blends audiobook and audio drama to tell this strange, surprising, and darkly hilarious story. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231106-02 RSS: https://rabbit-cobalt-7bz2.squarespace.com/feedbacklistennow?format=rss

D&D: The Campaign Chronicles Audio RPG Join me and my friends as we go on this amazing adventure! https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231010-09 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/eae300b8/podcast/rss

Rise of the American Griots Audio Drama When young Black teen, Nani, discovers she holds a gift that connects her to a long line of storytellers descended from her enslaved ancestors, she must quickly adjust to her new position in order to find a cure to an unknown illness rapidly spreading through the Black community. But with time not in her favor, can she rally enough support among new friends to save her family? And her people? https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20221010-14 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/bf61636c/podcast/rss

Gnom, unser Audio Book Schräger kann Fantasy nicht sein. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231109-05 RSS: https://www.gugeli.de/feed/mp3/

Vorbereitung Optional | Der Indie-RPG One-Shot Podcast Audio RPG Ein wechselnder Cast von Freunden spielt unterschiedlichste Indie TTRPGs (Pen&Paper Games). Jede Folge ein anderes Spielsystem und eine andere spannende Geschichte! Meistens komplett improvisiert. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231111-03 RSS: https://pod.optional.page/@VorbereitungOptional/feed.xml

The Crime at Camp Ashwood Audio Drama Desperate to finally solve the decades-old cold case of her best friend’s murder, Margot Ingell returns to the scene of the crime. Will the discovery of a long-lost diary reveal the killer, or will the secret forever remain at the bottom of Camp Ashwood’s lake? https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231031-14 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/e50e5cb4/podcast/rss

Super Duper Boys: A Pathfinder Podcast Audio RPG Five idiots in a basement, four heroes save the world! We play pretend so you don’t have to. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231110-02 RSS: https://sdbpod.com/@sdb/feed.xml

Soul Operator Audio RPG Soul Operator is a multi-genre, multi-season podcast that can be described as an actual play-narrative fusion. The podcast was created with the intention of highlighting amazing solo ttrpgs that exist in the space by presenting their gameplay as a fleshed out story. Follow Tessa Whitlock as she navigates these strange new worlds, for better or for worse. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231110-03 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/7d820014/podcast/rss

#audio fiction #fiction podcast

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bitchyglitterfox · 2 years

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Petals and Bullets - TASM!Peter Parker x F!Reader

Yay finally posting another fanfiction instead of just reading haha this one was an inspired by a few fics here. Without further ado here it is! Don’t forget to leave feedback hehe

Summary: a mafia AU where Peter Parker is a gang leader who happens to fall into the lap of a florist on one stormy night.

Warnings: mafia violence, mutual pinning, murder, injury, torture but not graphic or long, slapping, no smut this time but mentions of sex, kidnappings, not proof read. F!reader use of she/her pronouns, gun violence

4.3k words

Masterlist

—————————————

It was just after closing and she was the only one left in the small shop, being the owner sucked sometimes but she loved nothing more than the smiles her flowers brought to customers. The rain falling outside made the quiet of the shop peaceful as she swept up the dirt and fallen petals were strewn across the floor during business hours.

A small thud alerted her to the front door of the shop, and she checked her watch - it read 10:15 pm - the shop had been closed for 15 minutes, who could it possibly be at this time? Her curiosity got the better of her and she paced towards the door, a figure slumped against the door dripping wet from the rain pelting down outside.

She slowly unlocked the door and opened it just a bit so her voice could be carried out to the stranger.

“Im sorry we're closed for the night! Come back in the morning, than-” she is interrupted by a groan from the stranger who she soon determined was in fact a man.

“Help me please,” the person says. She rushes to open the door more just as the stranger goes limp against her body. She groans as his weight becomes dead weight as she pulls him inside against all logic and the many rules and tips she's heard from all the true crime podcasts she is obsessed with.

Something warm and sticky runs down the hand she has against the stranger's waist, pulling it to the light she sees

“Blood? Shit what have I just gotten myself into here?” she says out loud as she carries the stranger deeper into the store and to the back room. She lays him down against the bags of soil and reaches for her phone.

The stranger shoots awake and grasps her wrist.

“No, no cops, they will only make things worse than they already are,” he says just before passing out from pain once more. She stares at him in shock and fear. She has no medical training and if his injury is worse than what she can do here with her first aid kit then he will surely die.

Working fast she runs to the small bathroom in the back to fetch her first aid kit, she also grabs a bowl of warm water and a clean rag to wash away any dirt or blood on the handsome - now that she got a good look at him in the light of the room - stranger. Upon returning she sees he is still unconscious which seems to work in her favor as she can work in peace. With her supplies, she lifts up his disheveled shirt to see what she is working with.

She sees where the blood has come from and luckily it has stopped bleeding. She grabs the rag and warm water and begins to clean the area to make sure it isn't as deep as she presumes or else she will have to make the call to the police to get him the help he needs. The cut isn't as deep and she is able to bandage it up. She wipes the sweat from her brow and examines her work.

“Gods, (reader) you sure are stupid to let this strange man into your shop all beaten and bloodied” she mumbles to herself as she leaves the storage and locks the door behind her. She runs up the stairs located to the right of the room and quickly goes to the storage closet in her little apartment, grabbing a pillow and heavy blankets. Winters in New York were cold and if she didn't want to wake to a dead man in her store he needed warmth for the night.

When she reaches him once again she wraps him in the blankets and lays a pillow beneath his head, making sure that he can't possibly hurt himself once more. She closes the door to the storage room once more but does not lock it this time. She walks back up to the small apartment the day’s events finally taking their toll upon her. She makes sure to lock her front door and makes her way to her bed.

The following morning she wakes up and makes her way to the kitchen, making herself coffee, mentally preparing to tell the man injured and asleep in your storage room he has overstayed his welcome or is rather unwelcome. She spins in her little kitchen just as she spots the same injured man sitting upright on her couch reading a book. The mug in her hands breaks as it hits the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” she says as she stares at him, his short wavy hair falls upon his forehead and he looks at her.

He nonchalantly says “You left your door unlocked, which you really shouldn't do, it isn't safe! Anyone could just come up in here besides I was bored downstairs and decided to explore.”

“I-what the hell is going on?” she contemplates as she steps forward forgetting the broken mug just as her bare foot makes contact and ceramic pieces find a home in her flesh. She hisses in pain and brings her foot up just as the handsome stranger reaches her and helps her to the couch.

“Where's your first aid kit?” He asks as he inspects her foot and lays it down on the coffee table. He looks at her with the most beautiful brown eyes she ever laid eyes on, they were like pools of chocolate she wanted to get lost in. he's so close to her, she can smell his cologne he smells like cinnamon and smoke. She could get used to that scent combination.

“Bathroom, under the sink, it's the second door on the right,” she says while trying to keep the tears in because the glass in her foot really fucking hurt. He quickly comes back and takes her foot again.

“This will hurt a little bit ok,” he says as he takes tweezers and pulls the glass out. she winces in pain as he wipes down her foot with an alcohol wipe.

“What's your name, I should at least know the name of a stranger who has now not only presumably broken into my apartment but who also fell into my lap, whose life I just saved,” she asks as he puts a band-aid on her foot.

“Parker, Peter Parker,” he said smiling with a smirk that graced his face

———————————

Her laptop pinged with another notification of a sale, and a smile graced her face when she saw who had made the purchase. Ever since the day Peter Parker fell into (reader) life he was making purchases from her shop weekly, she let him know that he in no way needed to purchase flowers from her but he insisted that he loved her arrangements.

Soon enough they became fast friends, he told (reader) the reason he had fallen into her life that night was a mugger tried to rob him and he fought back ending in the stabbing.

(Reader) was pulled from her thoughts when the bell above her store door rings signaling someone has entered, she wipes her hands on her pants and goes and sees that Peter has come in for a daily lunch date. Well, it isn't really a date even though she wishes it was. These last 5 months of having him in her life have been great.

“Well hello there, how can I help you today?” she says while leaning on her right leg with her arms crossed.

“I've come to take a beautiful woman out to lunch,” he says while grabbing her hand and kissing it. A smile graces his lips while she cringes

“Ugh peter, don't kiss my hands, I've had them in the dirt all morning,” she says pulling her hand away and blushing.

“Well then tough girl, go clean up so we can go and get food. I'm hungry.” he winks at her as he watches her walk to the bathroom to clean her hands.

“Alright, give me a sec,” she says to go to the back room where the sink is and clean off my hands. “Alright let's go!”

He slips his arm around her waist, she turns her head so he can’t see the blush creeping up onto her face. She takes a deep breath to calm herself and turns to look up at Peter, the height difference is quite noticeable, her being almost a few inches shorter than her. Her eyebrow raises as she sees a tattoo peaking out of the color of his shirt.

“Hey what kinda tattoos do you have on your neck?” she asks in genuine curiosity as she reaches up to touch his neck the action and wors making him stop dead in his tracks.

“Don’t worry about it” he says in a dark tone. A chill goes down my spine when I hear the words leave his mouth.

“Uh, ok”

“Come on, the restaurant is just up ahead.”

They make it into the restaurant, and something about his response to her question just didn't sit well with (reader). In the five months that they've known each other he's never snapped at her, why was he being so secretive as he was the first night she met him?

She pulled out of my thoughts when he grabs her hand, he begins rubbing soothing circles into her hand. Butterflies start-up in my stomach and a small smile creeps up onto my face.

We soon finish our food and walk back to the shop. This time a peaceful silence has overcome us only for Peter to break it.

“You know I’ll always protect you right?”

The question catches her off guard but she answers anyway.

“Of course, you always make me feel safe, like the other night when I was throwing away the trash and a noise scared me you went out to investigate it!” she say laughing softly the memory coming to the surface of her mind.

“Yeah, that noise turned out to be a stray cat.” he laughs.

“What's with the sudden question though?” she looks up at him with innocence in her eyes, she looks making him clench his jaw, how he’d wanted to make her look like that while he made her come undone beneath him.

“When we get back to your shop I’m going to tell you something, I've wanted to tell you for a while now but didn't know how.”

“Shit, he’s going to confess to me?” she thinks to herself a small smile gracing her lips

“I really hope this doesn't ruin the relationship that we’ve built over the last five months.”

“Oh, fuck he really is going to confess, and he thinks I dont feel the same,” she hopes the look in her eyes dont give away the feelings she has developed for him in the last few months, eyes are the window to the soul and she desperately wished they were glazed windows at this moment.

“Of course, I promise whatever it is wont to change how I feel about you or the relationship we’ve built,” she says while smiling.

They arrive back at the shop quicker than she thought much to her disdain, not that she's complaining. The second they step through the door, Peter locks the door. Weird but maybe he doesn't want anyone to interrupt his little confession.

“You should sit down, this might be a bit too much.” She sits on her stool by the register and looks at him. A bit of fear rose in her. “Ok, so the day after you met me I told you that I was mugged on my way home, that's why I had gotten stabbed?”

She shakes her head yes.

“Well that was a lie, the real reason I was stabbed, was a rival mafia attack. In retaliation for me taking out one of their higher-ups. (reader) I am the leader of the Uomo Ragno mafia. I trust you enough now that I’m telling you the truth. Please don't hate me.”

Wow, that wasn't the type of confession she was hoping for.

“I-I you kill people! I’m friends with a criminal!” she say all of a sudden feeling light headed. “Wow this is some shit right out of a movie!”

“I’d never in a million years ever think of hurting you, neither would the rest of the guys, as long as you don’t tell anyone.” He says as he reaches over the counter to grab her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I don't know how you want me to process this new found information! Parker you’re apart one of the scariest mafia’s in New Yoek! On one hand that's pretty cool on another I’m friends with a killer. I need time to process all this. I think it’s best you leave. When I'm mentally ready to see you again and have a second conversation about this I’ll call you.” she pulls her hand out of his and walk to the entrance and open the door for him.

“Just know that I'll always protect you no matter what Y/n. I’m just a phone call away.” he says walking past me and leaving a kiss on my cheek, she turns her head away from him not wanting to watch him leave.

She watchs as he walks down the street, she begins to close the door when… “Peter!” she yell. He turns around and walks back towards her, she pullshim into the shop.

“Yes?” he says skeptical and worried he would get yelled at or told to completely stay out of her life.

“I trust you, I trust you will all my heart even though my brain is currently calling me a dumbass. How could I not trust a guy who protects me from scary cats in the alley.”

He smiles at her and she is the one to grab his hand this time.

“Come on we are going up to my apartment and you are telling me everything.” she gently smiles at the man infront of her and drags him up to her apartment.

Another few weeks have gone by since Peter told (reader) his true identity things seem to have gone back to normal however anytime (reader) is without Peter by her side she feels as though someone is watching her. It is like a shadow, when she is out at a vendors market she feels the chill of being watched creep up her spine.

Unfortunately for her the creeping feeling was correct and later that week her shop was broken into while she was away with Peter.

“You are staying with me from now on.” he says as he helps the florist clean up her store.

“Peter, i am fine. This happens especially in new york, this was bound to happen” she sighs.

“I dont care! What if you had been here, and i wasnt able to protect you? Fine, i will have one of my men posted with you at all times to keep you safe and to give myself a peace of mind.”

She smiles up at the man and gives him a kiss on his cheek, lingering just a bit.

“See peter im a big girl and besides the gun training youve given me has been a good help so incase my store gets broken into i’ll be able to protect myself”

If only both of them knew the plan that was happening behind the scenes, a revenge plot that had (reader) stuck in the middle or of the man snapping photos of the too from the car parked across the street. The car reves its engine and drives off.

————————————

(Reader) sweeps the floor, just doing anything to distract herself until Peter shows up for their movie night. It’s been a month since Peter confessed that he was a leader of a mafia and surprisingly she was fine with it. A smile appears on her face when I hear the bell chime.

“Peter did you remember the snacks I told you to get!” she calls out back still turned to the door as she puts the broom away.

“Oh, so you're the girl Parker has taken a liking too.” her body freezes. She turns and sees a man, no older than 30, she’d say he was drop dead handsome if it weren't for the fact that he was in my shop and knew who Peter was.

“Where closed, p-please come back in the morning.” she says tightly grabbing her broom handle, trying to be brave but the way her voice wavers betrays her.

“Where are my manners, let me introduce myself. My name is Eddie, Eddie Brock, leader of Venom” he says while walking further in and touching the flowers I have on display.

“Fuck he’s the leader of Venom, the deadliest mafia here in New York. I'm really fucked if i don't think of a getaway plan like now!” she thinks to herself internally.

“Beautiful little shop you have here, Ms. (last name). Might I also add that you are even prettier than you are in the surveillance pictures i had my men take of you over the course of 5 and a half months.”

“What do you want?” she steps back further in the shop, if she could only grab the gun Peter gave her.

“You, Ms (last name). You see, Peter killed one of my top ranked men. I want to make him suffer, the only way to do that is by hurting you.”

Her back hit the counter where the newly planted lilies are. She hisses in pain. Where the fuck was her so called body gaurd, one of the men Peter had told would be with her just outside the shop anytime he wasnt their.

“Now we can do this the hard way or we can do this is the hard way.” he says stepping closer.

“I say hard way!” she grabbed a fresh planted lilies and threw the flower and dirt in his face running to the stairs that lead up to her apartment, the gun behind the register forgotten.

“Stupid little bitch!” Eddie yelled.

She was almost home free when she gets thrown against the wall. She groans in pain, spots begin to form in her vision. She looks up and sees a guy, she trys to scream but a rag is put over her mouth and nose. She begins to fight the urge to breathe in because she knows if she does shes done for but she fails and soon everything fades to black.

“Trash the place, we got what we came for. And leave a note for him. He wants to fuck with me? We’ll make him regret ever leaving us.” Eddie says while walking out following one of his henchmen holding the unconscious girl.

The rest of Venom however, destroy everything in sight, they make it look like a tornado had swept into the little shop. They pick up plants still in their seedling holders and throw them into the walls, once they finish admire their work they walk back out and into an unmarked black Van and head off into the night.

If only Peter had gotten to the shop 30 mins earlier, maybe he could have saved her.

*30 mins later*

Peter arrives at the little flower shop owned by the girl that he loves, the sight causes him to clench the bag of her favorite snacks, surely crushing the chips into crumbs, he had brought to share with her for their movie night. He steps in hearing the broken glass crunch under his feet. Broken pots and mounds of dirt surrounding the shop. Did someone rob the place?

He thinks to himself then his mind immediately goes to where her guard is, he runs out of the shop and to his unmarked car, only to see her guard dead with a singlr gun shot wound to the forehead. He rushed back into the shop and up to her apartment.

“Y/n! Are you here? Where are you?” he yells into the small home getting no response. He goes back down to the up the shop and back to the counter where she usually did her arrangements and sees a note addressed to him.

“Parker, we have your precious Y/n, if you ever wish to see her alive and in one piece you’ll come back and join us. If you decline have fun putting the puzzle back together again.”

E. B.

Peter crumbles the letter and pulls out his phone, dialing a number.

“It’s Peter, they took her.”

————————————

It’s been a few days since (reader) was taken by Venom, only now were they able to find her location. Currently they just outside the gates of the mansion deep in the woods.

“Ready?” Peter asks while looking around the bulletproof van, everyone nods in agreement, “Alright Miles, hit it”

The van drives straight through the front gates and up to the front of the mansion where men had already began to line up in the front. They open the van doors and begin firing, taking out the guards in the front with ease.

They all run to the front taking cover behind the towering pillars. A fire fight ensues between Venom and Uomo Ragno. Peter stealthy slips past while the others take care of the enemy. He moves swiftly through the huge mansion, taking out any of Eddie’s men as he searches for his beloved.

However in the room on the second floor of the house, (Reader) is being tortured for information.

“Just tell us the information we want to know and the pain will stop.” Eddie says while twisting the knife in (reader) leg. She lets out a blood curdling scream. “Screaming wont help you, this room is soundproof.”

“I told y-you, i don't know anything! Please stop this” she cries as blood and tears mix. A slap to the face.

“Don’t fucking lie to me! That little bastard must have told you something! Nonetheless, he should be here soon.”

“Wh-what?” the beaten and bruised girl whispers.

“I told him if he comes back to join me you'll be set free. Doesn't matter much since you’ll both be dead either way.” he says as he picks up the girl and drags her out to the balcony. She tries her hardest to scrirm away from the man with the tight grip on her hair. He hulls her up and grips the collar of her shirt as he hangs her over the edge.

The door opens, giving (Reader) a small bit of hope but it’s crushed when she sees its only one of Eddie’s men coming to inform him that Uomo Ragno are in the building.

“Very well, if you want to make an omelette you have to crack the eggs yourself.” Eddie says as he keeps the girl over the edge, “I could easily kill you right now and i would not feel a thing, however i will keep you here hanging until your boyfriend comes to save you.”

Moments later the door opened once more.

“Peter” she whispers hoping her eyes weren't deceiving her.

“(reader),” he sighs in relief but his face goes back to the stoic expression as he sees her dangling over the ledge, “Eddie let her go, she isnt apart of this, your quarrel is with me.”

“You are right so i will let you choose, who's going to die the useless florist or the traitor? Decisions, decisions,” Eddie says pulling out a gun from his waist.

“If you kill me, will you let her go?” he asks as he lays his gun on the ground.

“No Peter dont you dare throw your life away for me!” she screams gripping harder onto eddie’s arms that are holding on her tightly.

“Fine, if i kill you she can go back to her useless life as a florist.” He says smiling at the mafia boss infront of him.

“Then fucking shoot me and spare her!”

“As you wish” Eddie raised the gun in his hand while pulling her back over the edge, he fires one shot into Peters chest just as (reader) fights his grip on her.

“No!” she screams as Eddie finally let her go, she runs to the man who she has loved since the moment he had picked glass from her foot. She holds his face in her hands as she cries against him.

“You fucking asshole!” she screams as eddie walks past her slapping her hard.

“Pitiful, now get ready to meet him in the after life” he says as she raises his gun to her forehead. She closes her eyes, he pulls the trigger but it jams, thinking fast she grabs peters gun and fires twice, both times the bullets enter his chest. He falls down with a thud.

Peter stirs against her body, he coughs and tries to sit up.

“Peter?” fresh tears begin to fall from her eyes “Peter!” she hugs him tightly

“Hey there tough girl,” he smiles hugging her back just as tightly. “I’m so sorry i’m late” he says as he rips open his shirt revealing the bullet proof vest

“But you are here now, you came for me that is all i truly care about”

“I am never letting you out of my sight ever again” he said grabbing my face between his hands, “Before anything else happens, I want to say that I love you (reader), since the morning after you helped me.”

She is about to speak when a sudden rush of burning hot pain rips through her left leg.

“Fuck! This just gets better, I got stabbed in the leg, but Peter I love you too” she says while pulling him towards her and having their lips locked in a quick chaste kiss.

“Come on, let's go home. This time i get to bandage you up babe” he says with a flirtatious wink, “ill have my men clean this mess up and get rid of his body.” Peter says while standing up with (Reader) and kicking Eddies body.

#marvel #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter #Peter Parker x reader #sony marvel #bitchyglitterfox writes #fanfiction #marvel fanfic writer #mafia au

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mmvalentine · 2 years

Text

Lover Like Me pt 10 | Feysand

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 ** Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Work on Monday drags.

Rhys gets up a couple of hours before me, silences his alarm quickly and then presses warm kisses to the back of my neck and the crook of my shoulder before he gets out of bed. I turn my face, and he kisses my lips, but whispers “keep sleeping.” I don’t need to be told twice.

When I wake at eight, Rhys is long gone. My clothes are folded in a pile at the corner of the bed, with a post-it that says, There’s pikelets in the fridge x

I shake my head and smile. My kitchen is literally next door, I’m hardly at the mercy of his hospitality. Plus, I don’t usually like sugar for breakfast.

I pull my clothes on and shuffle into my own apartment. As I cook my eggs, I think that it’s strange how my morning routine just picks up like usual. Strange that only my cold and unrumpled bed knows I wasn’t here last night. Strange that everything, and nothing has changed.

I take a shower and despite the steam, I’m shivering under the water as a I remember everywhere Rhys touched me last night. My fingers probe my throat for bruises, both wary of how it might look at work but also looking for proof that he was there. I find nothing, and am embarrassed that I’m a little disappointed.

Work is slow, there aren’t many customers and I’m checking my phone incessantly. I know that he doesn’t have the down time that I do in a work day, and so I try not to feel insecure. I’ve tucked his post-it into the back of my phone case because I’m a giant sap, and look at that occasionally instead. Around lunch time, he texts me.

Rhys: Hey you

My phone buzzes in my pocket and when his name comes up on the screen my heart hits the roof of my mouth.

Feyre: Hey :)

Rhys: How’s your day going, beautiful?

I bite my lip and blush at the flashback. You’re beautiful. That’s all.

Feyre: It’s good, it’s slow.

Feyre: How’s yours?

I watch the bouncing grey dots like a kid with a crush.

Rhys: Same old.

Rhys: Come round after work?

I grin. By now, his apartment is basically a second home to me, but this time there’s a thrill of anticipation in my veins. This time, 'come round’ means ‘come put your mouth on mine,’ and if Rhys wasn’t also working I would be tempted to just up and leave this minute.

Feyre: Definitely.

Rhys: Good girl.

I swear I get wet right there at the cash register.

Somehow the second half of the day passes even more slowly than the first, but finally I get to hang up my apron. I get on the bus and the whole way home I’ve got a knee jiggle going. I try to plug into my usual podcast but I realise quickly that I’m not hearing a single word. I look at the time, I know that Rhys has finished too but he drives in with the others and so he’ll beat me home.

Half way there, we get stuck. There’s an accident on the road and the bus has to wait for it to clear before it proceeds.

Of all the fucking days.

I keep glancing at my phone but every time I do it’s only a minute that has passed. After five minutes, I google how long it would take if I just got off the bus and walked home. Forty minutes. Probably worth staying on the bus then.

Twenty minutes after that, I’m not so sure.

I’m just considering whether to call Rhys and have him collect me- but no, I can’t ask that of him, he’s probably tired after work and it’s still plenty early, it’s not like I’m stranded or in trouble- when we’re given the all clear and the bus starts moving. There’s a little cheer from the passengers. I just sigh and try not to check my phone the rest of the way home.

As I walk into Velaris, I do think about going straight to Rhys’s door. But I make myself go home and have a shower and change my clothes. I barely manage to shove my keys into my pocket before I’m standing on his doorstep, I’m knocking, and it’s opening and there he is.

However beautiful I thought Rhys was before, it’s got nothing on how he looks in this doorway.

Not now that I’ve spent the night in his bed, now that I know the shape of his skin, now that the taste of him is on the tip of my tongue when I see him.

“Hi,” I say, and if it comes out dumb then Rhys doesn’t seem to notice.

“Get. Over here.”

I take one step forward and then Rhys is pulling me the rest of the way in, fist in the front of my sweater and hand around the back of my neck. He kisses me like it’s been a week instead of a day, and I am trying to stop smiling so that I can kiss him back properly. The door thuds shut behind me and Rhys walks backwards, falling into the couch and taking me with him. I sprawl over him and giggle, and he scoops me more completely into his lap, and the whole time he’s kissing and kissing my lips and I’ve never felt this before.

I finally stop laughing when Rhys lets out a frustrated growl and nips my lip hard. I gasp at the sudden pain but as soon as my mouth isn’t stretched into a grin, Rhys gets his tongue between my lips and oh, yes now he has my attention.

“What took you so long?” Rhys mumbles.

“Accident on the road…” My words are eaten up and I don’t explain any further.

I clasp my fingers behind his neck, and when his hands slide up my back, under my sweater, I arch toward him like he’s the sun.

“You want to go to bed?” Rhys asks, and it’s so low and rough that all I can do is nod. I lean in and press a sucking kiss against his neck, and the groan this produces makes me preen. I do it again, and Rhys slide a hand beneath my hair and holds my head to his throat as I move down to his adam’s apple.

“Fuck, let’s go to bed.”

I am inclined to agree, but at that moment there’s a knock on the door.

“Nope,” Rhys calls toward it. “Not tonight.”

But the door barges open, and I quickly slide out of his lap onto the couch next to him.

“Oh good,” Cassian says. “Feyre’s already here.”

Cassian is followed by both Mor and Azriel. Mor is wearing pyjama pants and Azriel is carrying a stack of pizza boxes.

“Guys come on, are there no boundaries at all?”

“It’s Monday,” Mor states. “It’s movie night.”

She sits down on the couch next to me in her usual position, and I shuffle over to give her a little more space. Rhys just sighs, then reaches over and hauls me back into his lap. I blush, and lean in to whisper in his ear.

“Are they supposed to know?” I ask him. “About us? Are we telling?”

“We already know,” Mor says. I whip my head around, and she just shrugs. “Ask Azriel.”

“We knew before you did,” Azriel comments. He doesn’t look over at us, he’s busy fiddling with Rhys’s laptop and getting it to connect to the TV.

“You guys didn’t know?” Cassian asks, looking genuinely puzzled.

“Rhys is right, we need better boundaries,” I mutter.

“We can still kick them out, you know,” he says. I sigh.

“I mean it is Monday. To be fair to them.”

“Pick a short movie,” Rhys says to the others.

“We’re not picking based on run time,” Cassian says. “How about you show some respect for the sanctity of movie night?”

“How about you get out of my house and watch your own TV?” Rhys snaps back.

“You know that’s not how it’s done,” Cassian replies simply.

In the end, they settle on the live action Cinderella. Azriel flicks off the lights and Mor puts a bag of popcorn in the microwave, and I settle against Rhys.

The truth is I have so loved being a part of movie night Mondays. It’s the thing that makes me feel like I belong here, and although of course I want alone time with Rhys, I can wait a couple of hours to preserve the ritual.

Rhys has other ideas.

Bluebirds fly over the screen, and in the dark room Rhys’s hands slip beneath my sweater again. I sigh contentedly, loving the warmth of him on my skin. He presses his mouth to the top of my shoulder, and I lean into him. I think he’s just going to hug me then, but his hands don’t stop moving. They stroke over my stomach, slow and heavy. His thumbs rub circles in the small of my back, his fingertips dip just under my waistband to skim across my hips. I’m soothed, I’m excited, I don’t know what to feel. After a few minutes, he leans forward and kisses the nape of my neck. Brushes his lips there, at first, then licks the spot before biting softly against my skin. I shiver in his lap, and he just squeezes my waist.

I don’t think I can handle this, not while there are people around, so I shift in his lap and tip my head against his shoulder. Move my neck out of reach. This does not phase Rhys, he only tugs his teeth against my ear instead. Traces the tip of his nose against my temple, then sucks my earlobe into his mouth. Runs his tongue along the inside edge of my ear and why does that feel good?

Meanwhile his nails are scratching up and down the outside of my thighs, hip to knee and back through my tights.

I turn my head in the dark room, knocking my nose against his. Rhys catches my lips and kisses me under the cover of a swell of music, and even though we barely move, I can feel my heart thud against my ribcage.

At that moment a cushion smacks us in the face.

“Oi, we said we know, not we want to watch,” Cassian says.

“And I said use your own TV,” Rhys replies mildly, and puts his mouth on my throat.

I laugh but pull back, shy now that we’ve been caught out. I try to slide out of Rhys’s lap but he doesn’t let me. Just hugs me back to him like a kid with a squirmy cat. Doesn’t try to kiss me anymore though, so I let it slide.

Ten minutes later, his hands are moving again.

Rhys’s arms are folded around my waist and one of his hands slips back beneath my sweater, stroking at the side of my ribs. He doesn’t do anything else, there’s no breath on my neck there’s just his fingers moving, steadily beneath my clothes.

I try to ignore this for a while, but the longer it goes on the more I feel it. It’s so harmless at first, but my skin loves his touch. I start leaning into it, and then it’s not enough. I want him to keep touching me, but I can’t do anything about it while we’re in a room full of people. Rhys’s movements move a little lower, he skims my waistband and suddenly I’m struggling.

“Tell them you’re tired,” Rhys murmurs in my ear. “Tell them you need to go to bed.”

I shake my head, feeling that there is nothing subtle at all about that statement and not being prepared to announce it to the group.

Then Rhys’s fingers move lower, and trace the centre seam of my tights.

I startle in his lap, and three pairs of eyes look to us.

“I… Rhys is terrorizing me,” I say. Rhys’s eyebrows go up. His hands sit innocently still at my waist. “I’m…” I give up, and mutter, “I’ll let you guys watch the movie in peace.”

I stand, and Rhys is a second behind me. I head for the door but Rhys puts his hand on my shoulders and steers me to his bedroom instead.

“Good night,” Mor calls, and she’s already turned back to the movie.

“Gross,” Cassian adds, but he too has his attention on the screen.

“See you tomorrow,” Azriel says, and his mouth is full of pizza.

And I marvel that it’s just not a big deal to them, this is normal, just like that.

Rhys shuts the door behind him, and it’s dark. I turn to say something to him, but he’s got his mouth on mine and I’m being backed into the bed. I can still hear the movie on the other side of the door, and I’m conscious of how close our friends are even as we’re pulling clothes off each other.

We slide between the sheets and there’s nothing like kissing Rhys while we’re naked. His skin is satin and heat, and I’m trying to press into him at every point of contact. Rhys’s hands never stop moving, they’re on my jaw then on my breasts then smoothing down my back then squeezing at my backside. When his fingers slip between my legs I have to bite down on a moan.

Rhys tugs my lip from my teeth.

“I like hearing you,” he says, before kissing from my chin to the hollow of my throat.

“Not with the others outside,” I whisper, but as I say it he pushes a finger inside me and I have to hide my face in his neck as I try to keep it together.

"But you're so sexy when you feel good." Rhys mutters it into my neck, moves his mouth on my throat. I give a brittle laugh.

"Tamlin used to get so embarrassed..."

There's a growl from Rhys, and at first I feel a flush of guilt for bringing him up. Again.

But that's not the issue.

"Then he's an idiot," he tells me. "All I want to do is make you scream."

He's moving his fingers inside me, as if to make a point, and my teeth clamp down hard on lip. "I can't," I gasp.

"Well," he mumbles. I can feel myself soaking his hand now, and my hips grind foward against his palm. "If you're feeling shy..." Rhys rolls me over and then draws me back in, so that my back is to his chest. "I can keep you quiet."

His hand slides between my legs again, and his teeth play against the back of my shoulder. But now his free hand comes up to cover my mouth, long fingers clamping over my cheeks and jaw. His lips brush against my ear as he whispers.

“Shhh.”

And then the head of his cock is pressing at my entrance, while his fingers move deftly over my clit and I’m glad of his hand on my mouth because I whimper into his palm.

“Good, darling?”

I can’t answer, of course, so I just nod and press my hips back, trying to move further onto him. After waiting all day for this, I don’t just want his fingers. He chuckles low under my hear. “Greedy little thing.” But he gives me what I want, pushes an inch inside of me and I'm falling apart. My hands clutch at his forearm in front of me, but I don’t pull his hand back from my face. He gives me another inch and it’s not nearly enough. I reach back for him, finding his hip and trying to tug it closer even though I’m straining with what I already have. Rhys pulls back and then thrusts hard into me, all at once, and I cry out. His fingers tighten across the lower half of my face, and I’m breathing hard through my nose.

“Fuck you’re good,” Rhys groans. “You’re so good, so good…”

He gives me time to adjust, or maybe he’s adjusting because when he drags a breath in it shudders.

“You want more?” he murmurs. I nod my head eagerly, and I can feel the smile behind my neck. “Of course you do,” he says, and he’s drawing out and pushing in and I’m home.

I don’t know how I used to go about my day, but all day today I’ve been on edge and willing the hours by and now, here, I’m finally breathing slow and deep and with every stroke I’m back in my body. I want Rhys’s arms tighter, I want him to bind me back into myself. I can’t speak but I meet his hips every time and I clutch his arms to myself where I can reach them. Rhys seems to understand, puts one of his legs through mine and draws them back toward him, keeps my head against his shoulder using the hand over my mouth, and hits that spot inside my harder and harder with every pass. I can’t stop the moans but they are muffled by his fingers. Rhys is doing better than I am, but with his mouth at my ear I still hear the catches in his breath as he speeds up.

“Have you been thinking of this, too?” he whispers. “Had difficulty concentrating at work? Rather spend your time getting fucked?”

I arch my back to get him deeper, and hope that answer will suffice.

“Have you been holding onto this all day?” His voice drops into that growl that I have no defences for whatsoever. “Need to give it to me?”

I would nod, but he’s holding my head so tightly now that I can’t move. I just whine against his callouses. And all the while those fingers circle between my thighs.

“Then give it to me.” That voice… it vibrates deep in my spine and I shiver in his arms. “Give it all to me, come for me.”

And it’s not difficult, I start to fall apart but Rhys keeps me in place as he fucks through my climax, not letting the rhythm drop, and I’m wrung out and wrung out on his cock.

“Good girl,” he breathes, and that kicks off an aftershock. “Good girl, good-” he cuts off, and the feeling of him coming has me spasming all over again. He’s silent as he shudders into me, and his fingers twitch on my jaw.

And I love it. His orgasm feels as good to me as mine, and by the time we’re panting softly into the dark, by the time he’s lowered his hand from my mouth and is stroking my flank instead, by the time his forehead is leaning against the back of my neck and the music from the movie is drifting back in under the door, I’m heavy and content and well on my way to sleep.

xxx

The rest of the week passes like this.

I will away the hours at work and then arrive breathless at Rhys’s doorstep. We occasionally tolerate the presence of our friends but spend most of our time wrapped up in each other, and the only times I spend in my own apartment are the few hours between when I wake up alone in Rhys’s bed and when I have to get on the bus.

By Friday, Rhys has a key for me.

“A key to your apartment?” We’re in his kitchen, I’m leaning against the kitchen counter while he makes tea.

“Sure, everyone else has one, why not?”

I laugh. “We’ve barely been dating a week.”

Rhys turns around and puts his forearms down on the table opposite me. “Is that what we’re doing?” His voice is dark and velvet.

“Oh, I, um… I guess we haven’t... ”

Rhys leans forward and kisses me until the kettle whistles.

“I can deal with that,” he says. He steps away to take the kettle off the stove.

“So… you’re my boyfriend?”

“Use whatever label you want.” He turns back to me, and reaches out in a motion that tucks my hair back and then trails to my chin. Pulls me forward. “As long as it means you’re mine.” His lips ghost over mine. “Okay by you?”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “I like ‘boyfriend,’” I tell him, and then he puts his mouth on mine and that’s the discussion done.

And it feels fast but it feels good, and if there is a part of me that is wary of the haste, no one else seems to think it odd. In fact our friends have almost no reaction to us being together, and so although I am self-conscious at first about how casual Rhys is with his affection, the touches of his hand on my hip and his lips on my hair become as natural as sitting on his couch and eating pizza. So I make a copy of my key for him too, and it doesn't feel like we're neighbours, it feels like we live in one big giant house where everyone has their own room but are never far.

When Rhys’s court date comes up a couple of weeks later, it’s something I had forgotten about entirely, and so I am not prepared when Tamlin’s name appears printed on the summons on the table in his apartment.

***

Holy shit I was going to wait until i hit chapter 12 and say something about how it's my longest fic (The Bargain is 11 chapters) but i realised that it has twice the word count of that whole thing.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2@highladysith@stardelia@feysand-loml@tillyrubes10@ratabrasileira@live-the-fangirl-life@maybekindasortaace@annejulianneh111@thebonecarver@rowaelinismyotp@loosingdreams@pitrsattabhaadmeinjao@achernarlight@swankii-art-teacher@sjmships@courtofjurdan@teddytdr@positivewitch@thalia-2-rose@darling-archeron@rapunzel1523@fairchildjace@hopefulacademia@story-scribbler@fandomstalker27@realbookloverproblems@dealfea@s-tormwitch@cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl@whoever-you-choose-to-love@endlessdaydream@rarephloxes @timesconvert @mis-lil-red@alerialumina @elentiya-witc@elentiyawhitethorn

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #no i do not sneak minor traumas from my sex history into fics and fantasise about rewriting the past

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