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macfrog · 9 months

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rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

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When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

taglist: @serenaxpedro @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @pattwtf @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

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theemporium · 8 months

Note

What about Max maxplaining Trouble? Like not to Trouble, but about Trouble to someone. He’s just gushing about her or maybe he’s telling someone that no they can’t do “x” b/c that’s not the way Trouble prefers it done. And everyone is just so confused about why Max knows something so random about Trouble.

kinda made this into a wee sick fic but enjoy! and thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“Max, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Sorry for taking your health seriously. Now, give Danny the phone.”

If someone told you that Max Verstappen was an overbearing mother hen before you met him, you would have laughed in their face. You had heard many things about him, and that certainly wasn’t one you would have believed. Even in the early stages of your friendship, you would have never really pegged him as the type. He was caring, yes.

But this? This was a whole new level.

You were sick. Nothing crazy or insane, just a simple flu that left you feeling a bit under the weather and longing for your bed. But apparently to Max, it was equivalent to you being on your deathbed.

Unfortunately for him, he had to fly out to England for a few meetings at the factory that required his presence. He tried arguing Christian over the phone about it, but ultimately lost that battle and was forced to take his private jet out.

You made the mistake in thinking that you would be able to get a few days of quiet rest to recover. Because only mother hen Max Verstappen would send someone to do exactly what he would do if he was able to stay by your side.

“Did you get her a blanket?”

Daniel tried to suppress his laughter and remain serious as he held your phone in his hand, watching Max on the screen scrutinising every little detail about your setup in your bed.

“Yes, I—”

“You got the wrong blanket,” Max stated bluntly.

You sighed. “Max, it’s fine—”

“Stop saying that, schatz, when it’s not,” Max retorted before his focus returned to the Aussie. “She likes the cream one in the hallway cupboard. Should be on the third shelf.”

Daniel nodded. “Right, got it.”

“Did you get her medicine?”

“Oh yeah,” Daniel said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I got her some cough syrup from the pharmacy down the—”

“Which flavour?”

“Cherry,” Daniel said.

Max scoffed. “Mate, she hates cherry. You need to get the orange flavoured one.”

“Max,” you groaned as you nuzzled yourself further into the endless amount of pillows your boyfriend had made Daniel surround you in. “Cherry is fine. I just have to take a spoonful once a day, or whatever it is.”

“Three times a day,” Max said, his brows furrowed together. “And you hate artificial cherry flavouring. You said it makes you want to throw up.”

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“I’ll get her the orange flavoured one,” Daniel said with a laugh, finding it adorable how caring Max was. “Anything else, helicopter boyfriend?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Max grumbled. “But yes. I have left menus on the kitchen counter, I’ll send you what she likes and what she wants to get but always refuses until it’s in front of her. Also, there should be a list of movies I sent you that are her comfort movies that you can—”

“This is creepy, Verstappen, it’s like you’re my stalker or something,” you muttered, even if your heart was swooning at the small details he remembered about you.

“Lil’ Maxie just loves his Trouble,” Daniel grinned wildly. “He doesn’t shut up about you. He could probably go on for hours if we let him.”

“More like days,” Max corrected before he continued to explain everything you would need to his friend, whilst you laid there with a fond smile on your face.

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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sassasafreeaction · 7 months

Text

It’s time to talk about the Laudanum Lesbians, Elspeth and Wee Morag. Right away, it’s pretty obvious that you’re supposed to draw parallels between them and Aziraphale and Crowley. When the viewer first meets Elspeth, we get this gruff girl who threatens the two of them and is established to be doing something “morally wrong”. Life hasn’t been kind to her, and she clearly doesn’t trust people. To really drive it home, she and Crowley are on the exact same page while they’re talking to Aziraphale and wheeling the body to the alley.

Then we meet Wee Morag, and it becomes apparent that every decision that Elspeth makes is to better their life together. She offers Wee Morag food (which is something our favorite demon is wont to do for his partner) and specifically oversells it as something fancier than it actually is. Wee Morag calls her an angel. It’s meant to be a little tongue and cheek since it’s in the presence of a literal angel, but it also serves as a way to show that while Elspeth may not be a Good person, that she at least cares about the person close to her.

Now for Wee Morag at this moment, we don’t get much from her aside from her obviously being the moral compass out of the two of them. She tells Elspeth that she's going to Hell literally two seconds after referring to her as an angel. The more important part of this interaction I would argue is Aziraphale’s response to Wee Morag. Some part of him recognizes a kindred spirit in her. He takes off his hat in a show of sincerity and says that it was lovely to meet her. This is important for later in the episode.

After they fail to sell the body, all three of them end up back in the alley with Wee Morag. Elspeth is again choosing to not trust Aziraphale despite his change of heart to do what he now knows is actually a good thing. Wee Morag starts off on the fence, worried about those souls that won’t get into Heaven. Elspeth tells her that she promised to help, and through everyone’s various methods of convincing (tempting may even be the better word as there is a demon sitting next to her when she agrees), Wee Morag says that she’ll do it because that’s what friends do. Regardless, she’s now had her change of heart. Although I would say hers is more driven by the same thing that drives Aziraphale to help with the Antichrist. It is fundamentally for her and Elspeth’s benefit, not the Greater Good per say, but she needs that reframing of doing the moral thing of upholding her promises and potentially helping people.

In the graveyard, Elspeth does all of the hardwork and Wee Morag holds the light both to assist how Elspeth sees, but also likely to help her keep watch. She’s filling a guardian role for Elspeth. Later when Elspeth sells her body, she even says “She only wanted to look after me.” Upon seeing the actual body (a priest’s body no less), Wee Morag realizes with horror what they’re doing - the potential moral ramifications stare her in the face. She ends up caught in the crossfire of a gun, and she dies for it.

Originally, I thought that Wee Morag’s death sets Crowley up to worry about what might potentially happen to Aziraphale in the future. In a way, I still think it does. She was the Good character helping the Bad character, and she pays dearly for it. His line “It’s a bit different when it’s someone you know, isn’t it?” while pointed at Aziraphale can be felt by everyone in the room. Elspeth has been dealing with death this whole episode, but her whole life is turned on its head when her ‘pal’ dies. Crowley recognizes that it’s the knowing part that actually causes something to hurt. (It’s one of the reasons why he doesn’t have many human friends. He does have a friend though, and it would absolutely gut him to lose him.)

The episode isn’t over though. We still have to watch someone else pay for stepping over the imaginary boundary of Good and Evil, except rather than it being Aziraphale, it’s Crowley. Like Wee Morag, he steps out of his usual role and helps Elspeth, and for that, he pays dearly. He gets dragged off to Hell to have whatever Demons do instead of a rude note done to him. After everything that’s happened, it’s no wonder why you get that panicked shout of “Crowley” from Aziraphale. They just watched the worst case scenario happen for people like them.

Also as another quick fun aside, both sets of characters are bound by something that allows them to not be able to carry out their actual dreams and goals. Elspeth and Wee Morag were bound by poverty while Aziraphale and Crowley are bound by their respective Head Offices.

#The 1941 minisode is probably my favorite #And I love the Job minisode #But I feel like we're sleeping on this one when it's just as good #good omens meta #good omens #meta #good omens season 2 #Aziraphale #Crowley

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gabseyoo · 2 years

Text

wee hours.

pairing: fushiguro toji x fem!reader | wc: 4k.

summary: things took an unexpected turn when you ran into your friend's father in the kitchen of his house in the wee hours of the morning.

warnings: no curses!au, single dad!toji, pwp, profanity, mentions of alcohol use, big age gap, fingering, oral (f/m), deepthroating, hair pulling, slight degradation, choking, breath play, manhandle, kitchen sex, unprotected sex.

Having to be the designated driver for the night sounded better than it actually is. You never thought your friends would drink so much that you had to drive everyone home and help them safely to their rooms because they could barely stand up by themselves.

You had already taken Yuji and Nobara to their respective homes, the last one was Megumi who at this point seemed to be on the verge of fainting.

If Itadori had been a little more sober, his help would have been great, but now it was just you with your arm around your friend’s waist to help him up the stairs without making too much noise, you weren’t sure if his father was home—although it was obvious that he was because it was almost two o’clock in the morning—, but the last thing you wanted was him to see his son in this state.

“Megumi, please help me a little.” You whispered as your friend fell to his knees only a few steps away from reaching the second floor.

“Wa-wanna sleep.” He mumbled trying to lean back against the stairs, god have mercy.

“You can sleep when we get to your fuckin’ room, c’mon.”

Somehow, you managed to get your friend to stand up by pulling him by his shirt so you could lead him to his room. Although when you were finally in front of the door, Megumi had the grandiose idea of stumbling and hitting his head on the wood with a loud thud.

From now on, you decided you hate babysitting drunks.

Praying under your breath that his father hadn’t heard that, you opened the door to make way for the poor Megumi. He wasn’t a good drinker, but tonight he was apparently having too much fun not to go crazy, and now this is the result.

You watched him stagger as he took off his shirt and then lay down on the bed muttering to himself who knows what. Well, at least he was home and in his bed, although for sure when he woke up he was going to have a hell of a hangover, but other than that, he was safe.

You sighed before closing the door behind you and heading downstairs trying to be as quiet as possible, your job here was done.

“Good morning.”

What the fuck? You almost screamed at the same time you jumped from the shock you got when you heard a male voice out of nowhere.

With one hand on your chest feeling the rapid beating of your heart, you turned quickly looking for the source of the voice, and what a surprise you got when in the kitchen was Toji Fushiguro, Megumi’s father, leaning with his forearms on the kitchen island, shirtless.

“Oh my god.” You muttered under your breath feeling a little relieved that it wasn’t a ghost or a serial killer, but still, you didn’t know if it was a good thing that you had run into Toji.

He wasn’t a stranger to you, and your friendship with his son wasn’t either, you used to come to Megumi’s house from time to time to do projects or hang out, so you had already had the pleasure of meeting him or even having small conversations. What made the moment awkward now, is that you were in the wee hours of the morning at his house, his son was upstairs passed out drunk, you were wearing the opposite of a decent dress and he wasn’t wearing a shirt which forced you to look down at the floor because you’d be lying if you didn’t find your friend’s dad incredibly hot.

From the first moment you met him, that day Megumi invited you to his house to finish a project together, you have been repressing those sinful thoughts that popped up in your head about his dad. You didn’t know if it was just that your look was too obvious that day, or this was a speech Megumi already had prepared for his hormonal friends visiting his home, but you vividly remembered how he told you words like: ‘I know my dad might get your attention, I’m not someone who likes to meddle in other people’s business, but… you know… it would make me uncomfortable if my friends tried to flirt with him or something’. And you also vividly remembered how you had told him that he didn’t have to worry, that older men were not your type. And in fact, they weren’t— but Toji seemed to be the exception.

Back to the current situation, you hoped Toji had just woken up and hadn’t witnessed the moment you took his son upstairs. You didn’t want Megumi to get in trouble or even his father to think you were some kind of bad influence on him for bringing him home in such a condition.

You heard him chuckle under his breath before he turned on the spotlights above the kitchen bar, illuminating the place a little more and letting you better appreciate his figure.

“Did I scare you?” Toji asked playfully and you looked up just to witness the moment when he drank a glass of water with his eyes fixed on you.

“Umm, a little.” You responded awkwardly, trying to avoid looking at him inappropriately, but those abs were not helping.

He let out a snicker before speaking again, “Sorry, sweetheart.” Although it wasn’t the first time he called you that, his affectionate nickname made your heart race. You noticed how his eyes swept over you from head to toe, perhaps judging your outfit and wondering how young girls these days could go out wearing something like that. Or maybe thinking it’s cute and it looks good on you. Who knows, you’re overthinking at this point.

He took another sip from his glass before placing it on the bar. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I barely had one beer. I’m the designated driver.” You answered his question and jiggled your car keys as a way of confirming your words.

“That’s good, I wasn’t gonna let you drive if you were.” He winked at you with a smirk on his handsome face. “Don’t you want a glass of water or something before you leave?”

Your mother told you that in other people’s homes it was rude to refuse a glass of water, so you decided to listen to her out of politeness and not because you wanted to prolong this moment with a man twenty years older than you, “Water is fine, thank you.”

You slowly approached the kitchen island where you sat on one of the stools while he poured the glass, you took advantage of the moment he turned around to admire his back, you also noticed that he wore nothing but black sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips.

Perhaps the only beer you drank was spiked, because the thoughts running through your head were not acceptable. But how could you overlook how attractive the man is? You just couldn’t.

“I also want to thank you and apologize.” Toji said as he placed the glass on the countertop.

“Why?” You asked taking the glass to take a short sip, somewhat awkward since Toji had his eyes fixed on you.

“Thank you for bringing Megumi home, and apologize on his behalf for the trouble he gave you— taking care of drunks is a pain in the ass, don’t you think?”

Shit. “No, actually he wasn’t that drunk, he just—” Toji’s laughter cut you off in the middle of your attempted justification.

“Don’t even try, sweetheart. I saw him crash right into his door.” Well, at least he didn’t look angry, “He also forgot to block me from his Instagram stories.” Stupid Megumi. You knew perfectly well that in more than one of those stories you were probably dancing and singing along with your friends.

You put a hand to your face, embarrassed, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything bad, right?” He shrugged, “And don’t worry about my son, I’m glad he’s finally having some college fun. I’m also pleased to know that he has a pretty friend who cares about him.”

Did he just call me pretty?

Toji leaned his forearms on the counter again, right in front of you, the movement made his muscles flex and some veins stand out. He was so close that with a simple movement of your hands you could touch him— but no, Y/N behave yourself.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t the best you could answer, but it was the only thing you could think of; you were so nervous that you started playing with the keys in your hands as a distraction from your impure thoughts.

Toji seemed to notice this, because he asked, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You widened your eyes immediately and shook your head, “No! It’s just…” Wait, what are you supposed to say? ‘It’s just that you make me horny?’ Of course not.

“It’s just what?” Toji didn’t seem angry, but rather intrigued with a hint of amusement, you could tell by the smirk that appeared on his scarred lips. Your heart rate intensified when he brought one of his hands up to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do I make you nervous by any chance?”

Toji Fushiguro was flirting with you? You wanted to think you were seeing things where there are none, how could it be possible that your friend’s father saw you as a woman? Are you crazy? You tried not to get your hopes up, but when his thumb began to caress your cheek, you knew that maybe your suspicions weren’t so foolish and that you had an opportunity that you were not going to miss.

“A little.”

“Why?” He licked his lips as his big hand cupped your face and squeezed your cheeks a little to force you to look him in the eye.

“You know why.” Your answer sounded more provocative than you thought, and it seemed to be enough for him because he brought his face closer to yours to the point that your noses were touching.

“You won’t tell anyone about this, right?” You answered with a small no before his thumb stopped pressing on your cheek to slowly move to caress your lower lip, by reflex, you opened your mouth slightly. “Good girl.” His finger made its way between your lips and you instinctively sucked on it without taking your gaze from his, which let you appreciate how his eyes darkened with pure lust.

When his digit left your mouth it was only to press his lips to yours, unleashing what would be the hungriest kiss you had ever had in your life.

You crawled over the countertop to intensify the kiss some more, moaning when you felt his tongue against yours; you had thought about it, but now you were proving that Toji was an incredible kisser.

It seemed like a dream, right now you were sitting on your heels on top of the marble fulfilling one of your greatest fantasies, touching his body— your hands roamed from his shoulders to his pecs and abs, then down to the edge of his sweats and you felt him tense up when you decided to go a little lower to feel his erection in your hand.

Meanwhile, he had one of his hands squeezing one of your breasts and the other caressing your thighs, you could feel your walls clench around nothing from the growing arousal you were experiencing.

“You’re so pretty.” He mumbled against your lips, “So pretty and so fuckin’ hot, I bet you’ve been wantin’ this, huh?” You nodded as quickly as the words reached your ears and he pulled your hair back to look at your face. “I know, me too, doll— let’s just be quiet, okay?”

Two pats on your thigh were the indication for you to sit properly in front of him before resuming the messy kiss you both shared, all while he pulled down the straps of your dress with desperation, freeing your breasts to then do the same with your panties and dropping the fabric to the floor.

You didn’t expect it when he grabbed you from behind your knees and spread your legs apart to look at your glistening pussy. Your confidence got a boost when you noticed the lustful way he was admiring such an intimate part of your body, so you let him get a better view by leaning your body back, supporting yourself on your forearms.

“You’re gorgeous.” You didn’t know if he meant it to you completely or just to your sex, either way, you didn’t care, especially when he buried his head in the middle of your legs— wow. No doubt he was someone with a lot of experience, he had no problem finding your clit and concentrating his tongue there, making slow movements that made you arch your back. “You’re drenched down here, sweetheart.”

“That’s because of you.” You responded trying to control your gasps, but his tongue felt so good— and the sensations only increased when he slowly slipped two of his fingers into your tiny entrance.

“I know, doll. You’re such a slut for me, huh?” He stopped licking and stood upright, still moving his fingers inside you. “Always looking at me with those pretty eyes of yours, provoking me.”

Toji curved his fingers touching your sweet spot, eliciting a moan from you that you tried to stifle, still aware that you needed to be quiet, but he was making your task impossible.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you for a while.” He admitted. You began to feel your orgasm close, with each brush of his fingers and then his thumb stimulating your clit, he was bringing you to the edge. “Gonna cum?”

“Fuck, yes.” He bent down again to suck your clit, this being the last push you needed to cum completely in his mouth. Your legs trembled and had he not been holding one with his free hand you would have crushed his head when you felt such an explosion of pleasure. It had been a long time since you had had an intense orgasm and you couldn’t believe it was your friend’s father who had brought it on.

“You taste amazing, sweetheart.” You heard him say as you tried to control your breathing, god, you were so turned on that all you needed was to have him inside you at once.

You sat up straight, watching as he withdrew his coated fingers from you and took them into his mouth, his eyes connected to yours making the scene feel more lecherous than it already was. “Toji, please fuck me.”

Your plea brought a smile to his face, you thought he was finally going to pull his cock out and shove it inside you, but he had other plans in mind, “Let me see my cock in your mouth first, okay?”

And in the blink of an eye, you were stepping off the counter to get down on your knees in front of him, facing the big bulge in his sweats. He didn’t wait any longer to pull down his garment just enough to free his painfully erect member. It was certainly proportional to his body and that was why you almost backed out, how was that supposed to fit in your mouth?

“Show me what your pretty mouth can do and I’ll fuck you.” You started by wrapping one hand around his shaft to stroke it up and down, you tried to suppress your smile when you heard him moan softly, that you were the one to bring out those reactions from Toji only motivated you to bring his swollen tip into your mouth to make slow circles with your tongue. “Mmm, stop teasing.”

Toji grabbed a fistful of your hair pulling it slightly to keep it out of the way when you finally got more of his length into your cavity. You began to move your head until you found your pace, combining the movements of your tongue along with those of your hand that was in charge of stimulating what didn’t fit in your mouth.

Tears began to appear at the corners of your eyes the deeper you took him, you could feel his cock hitting the back of your throat and you did your best to avoid the gag reflex.

He seemed to like it, because a high moan came out of his mouth as his grip on your hair intensified, “Fuck, you’re surprisingly good at sucking dick.”

You gasped as Toji began to move his hips, mercilessly fucking your mouth, you had no choice but to loosen your jaw and take what he was giving you. His other hand went to the back of your neck to make you take it as deep as possible, causing your nose to bump into his pubic hair and more saliva to come out of your mouth, you looked up to hear him groan at the sound of your choking, finding him with his head thrown back and some veins in his neck standing out.

“Shit. I’m close.” You were ready to receive his load after his little announcement, but Toji left your mouth abruptly. You took a deep breath trying to recover as he pulled your hair back to make you lift your head and licked his lips at the sight of your destroyed face. “C’mere.”

He helped you to your feet and without any gentleness pushed you against the kitchen island with your back to him, his hands went to the hem of your dress to pull it up high enough to expose your ass.

A sigh escaped your lips as you felt his muscular torso against your back and his heavy breathing in your ear tickling you, his hands went to your breasts to squeeze and pinch your nipples as he pleased, the painful but pleasurable action made you close your eyes as you moaned his name under your breath.

“You’ll be the death of me.” He whispered against your ear before moving down to your neck to leave wet kisses, “I’ve always wondered how you’d feel.” One of his hands left your chest and then you felt the tip of his cock against your entrance, you automatically leaned forward a little and lifted your ass to give him better access. “I bet you’re tight.”

“Why don’t you find out?” After your teasing question, you felt Toji slide his cock over your labia, lubricating himself a little more before he began to slowly push it in, stretching your walls with every inch. “Oh god.” It hurt, but it felt so fucking good.

“Shit. That’s… Fuck, I was right.” He mumbled when his balls finally collided with your buttocks. “How does it feel, sweetheart?”

“T-too big.” That was all you managed to say, eliciting a chuckle from Toji.

“But you can take it, right?” His words came accompanied by the sudden movement of his dick coming out of you only to go back in much harder, pounding deeper this time. “Huh?”

“I can.”

That was enough for him to start ramming you with increasing speed, the sound of your skins clashing echoed through the kitchen and in the back of your mind you hoped it wasn’t enough to wake Megumi. How would he react if he found you in this compromising situation with his father? What would you do? What would Toji do? You hoped you’d never find the answer to these questions.

One of Toji’s hands went around your neck, applying just enough pressure to cut off some of the airflow but not enough to completely suffocate you; the other went to the middle of your legs to find your clit and began to stimulate it with his digits. These actions only made your desperate attempt to keep quiet more impossible.

At this rate your lip was going to start bleeding from how hard you were biting it. It was too much, the feeling of being so full plus the climax that was beginning to approach.

“T-Toji, I’m—” You tried to announce that you were close, but his grip on your neck tightened, cutting off your words and your breathing some more, also making you look up so he could appreciate the moment when you were cumming on his cock.

Perhaps in an attempt to quiet your moans, his lips returned to yours in a sloppy kiss as his cock continued to move in and out of your overstimulated pussy a little slower to let you savor your orgasm.

“So fucking gorgeous when you cum.” Toji said with a mischievous smile after breaking the kiss and patted your cheek twice as if he was proud of you.

For a moment you felt calm, just for a moment, because Toji wasn’t done yet— you gasped in surprise as he grabbed your thigh and lifted your leg in the blink of an eye to start thrusting deeper into your poor cunt, resuming his previous rhythm that had you rocking back and forth. His other hand covered your mouth to stifle the uncontrollable moans coming from your mouth; you were mentally grateful for this because you didn’t think you could hold the sounds any longer.

“Shit. Keep squeezin’ like that.” His voice sounded above the wet sounds and the crash of his pelvis against your ass. “If my son, fuck, if he wasn’t upstairs I’d be fucking you stupid until you scream,” His thrusts gained speed as his grip on your thigh tightened to the point where you could feel his nails digging in. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Scream my fuckin’ name till everyone knows who’s makin’ you feel good.”

You nodded stupidly, too cock-drunk to think clearly, you even felt tears begin to leak from your eyes from the immense pleasure he was bringing to your body. Once again, it was too much.

You heard him mumble that he was about to cum against your ear at the same time his grip on your leg disappeared, dropping it over the counter and pushing your body forward until your naked breasts touched the cold marble. His hand didn’t leave your mouth, insisting on keeping you as quiet as possible while he pursued his climax. The new position was somewhat uncomfortable, but you didn’t bother to complain or change it as Toji kept pounding you hard.

A few more thrusts were the last thing you felt before Toji suddenly pulled out of you to jerk his cock and spill his ropes of cum all over your ass while muttering countless profanities.

You lay on the counter like a rag doll as you tried to catch your breath. You couldn’t move immediately or even think clearly after such an intense experience. But you knew that the moment your sanity returned to your body, it would hit you like a bucket of cold water when you realized what you had just done. How were you going to look Megumi in the face after this?

“You alive?” He asked mockingly after who knows how long. You felt him wipe a tissue across your bottom, cleaning up his mess. “Don’t die here.”

A chuckle escaped your lips as you tried to stand up with his help, immediately fixing your dress to cover yourself. You couldn’t make eye contact with him right now, the guilt and shame you were beginning to feel wouldn’t let you.

You were about to bend down to pick up your panties from the floor but he beat you to it, smiling mischievously before saying, “As a souvenir.”

You let him have his way with it, even though you would surely miss those panties since they were your favorite, it was worth leaving them to him. “I think I should be goin’ now.”

“Yeah.” He cupped your face in his hand to lift your chin and bring his lips to yours once more, this kiss being a little slower than the previous ones. “Let’s do this again sometime, okay?”

Toji walked you to the door and patted your butt telling you to drive carefully, but not before kissing you one more time; and you were about to walk out triumphantly with a teenage smile on your face, until you heard a third voice.

“Dad?”

You hoped Megumi was still too drunk to notice the way his father panicked breaking the kiss immediately and almost pushed you out of the house, slamming the door in your face.

#𐀔 — mar wrote this.#— one shots #— jjk #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji fic #toji x reader #toji x you #toji one shot #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk toji #jjk oneshot #jjk smut

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teatoptony · 7 months

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The Whole Being Soulmates Thing

summary; in this world, soulmates exist. he has one. it’s just that he already found someone, and your marks don’t match at all.

or, in which a stupidly stubborn punk in stupidly in love with someone who’s not his stupid ‘real’ soulmate.

pairing; hobie brown x reader, spider-punk x reader (soulmate!au)

warning(s); mentions of police brutality, not-too-detailed descriptions of injuries. r is non-gendered, no mention of r’s race. not proofread & written in the wee hours.

i am not black, i don’t have wicks. i did some research on how to properly care for them and wrote tiny parts in here with the info i had, but it may not be totally accurate. if something is wring, let me know. same for the lcp.

also hobie might sound a bit ooc but it’s a quiet fic and we don’t rly see him ‘quiet’ so eat my ahh(/j)

inspired by this post by @corrodedcoffeen ! not exactly 100% accurate but yea

He lived in a world full of soulmates and soulmarks.

Everyone who had a soulmate had a soulmark, like a little tattoo; whether it be on their arm, leg, back, even on their face. Sometimes, a person would have multiple soulmarks. In other cases, they wouldn’t have any at all. Some people were born with their marks, some appeared later down the line.

In most cases, people would do anything to find their soulmate. To be with them. To unite with their missing half.

Hobie Brown was among those who’d been born with a soulmate. Four little streaks that wrapped halfway around his left arm, like a scar from an animal that had halfheartedly tried to claw the whole thing off at birth.

Hobie loved his soulmark.

Not because he’d met his soulmate. Nor was it because the idea of a predestined partner made him giddy. No, it was because he felt a sense of pride whenever he looked at it. Pride that he’d beaten the system when he got you.

His thoughts wander as he sits on your your and his shared bed, a towel flat under his bum to prevent any grime that may be on his suit from rubbing off on the sheets. His vest and T-shirt had been haphazardly folded and placed on the bathroom sink, desperately needing a thorough cleaning after a particularly hard day, which left his torso bare for you to assess and repair the damage he’d been dealt once you peeled off the top half of his suit.

“Bit eager, yeah?” He’d joked as you hastily helped him out of his clothes, that cheeky smirk still shining through on his tear-streaked face. You’d answered with an exasperated laugh.

He had come home at two in the morning, stumbling through the window with a hand over the right side of his mask. When he’d ripped it off, tossing it on a random bit of the floor somewhere, you were met with red eyes, wet cheeks, a runny nose and a blood-crusted lip. Apparently, he’d been at the frontlines of a protest when one of the tear gas shells hit him right in the face, cracking his right eye lense and leaving him vulnerable to the gas’s full effect. You didn’t need to be told what happened to know what came next. After all, it was always the same routine with the pigs - gas the crowd and beat any individuals that strayed from the mass.

Now, as Hobie’s fingers tap a little rhythm on the mattress, your hands glide a washcloth long his skin, being careful to minimize pressure on his bruises. Which, granted, is hard when they cover most of his back and ribcage, but you made it work somehow. Tear gas residue sticks to anything it can, and although his body was mostly had been mostly covered, it gave the both of you peace of mind to clean anything off just in case. He thanks you by softly gripping your other hand, his fingers lacing together with yours.

“Need more milk?” You ask, going to put the cloth down and grab the already half-empty sprayer on the ground next to the bed, having already been used in the bathroom just minutes prior and put there just in case. He shakes his head, the hand that’s not on yours gently grabbing your wrist and guiding it back to his chest.

As you continue, he thinks back to the first time he’d held your hand like that.

It was when the two of you were barely teenagers, when he didn’t fully understand how the whole ‘soulmates’ thing even worked, or how messed up it really was. The only thing he really knew was that people were supposed to stay together forever if their marks matched, even if that wasn’t always the case.

Having known each other since you were just kids, he remembers wishing so badly that your soulmark matched his. He had wished that little planet on your ankle could be washed away, a temporary tattoo or doodle instead of an actual mark. He remembers drawing little black holes at the corners of his school worksheets, hoping that one of them would eventually swallow your mark whole and replace it with four lines identical to his.

Back then, he had wished his ugly little bands would somehow arrange themselves into a square. At least then he could insist that his mark was a planet. A weird square one, yeah, but a planet just like yours.

But as you looked at him with that warm glow in your eyes, he swore you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, soulmate or not.

If only that kid could see him now - here, with you.

He suppresses a smile that threatens to slip onto his face, as moving his lips makes the cut sting.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” you mutter, wiping at the last bit of his torso. Hobie lets out a low sigh.

“‘M sorry love,” he says back, giving your hand a little squeeze. He really does mean it. He hates seeing the worry and sadness in your eyes every time he came back to you after one of these days. Fuck knows how he’d cope with it if you came home like this just every now and again, let alone what seemed like every other day recently. “I do try to be careful.”

You hum in response, getting up from your spot and holding out your hand for him to do the same. He does so with little to no hesitation, only waiting a moment to brace himself for the soreness that would follow. You lead him to the bathroom.

“Everything off,” you say, then immediately follow it up with, “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say nothin’!” Hobie protests, feigning offense. As if that glint in his eye didn’t give it away.

“You need to get cleaned off properly.” You stress the lest word, letting go of his hand so that he can strip. “You can’t just go to bed after a quick wipe-down tonight. You need a shower.”

“But it’s gonna be cold.” Hobie groans. Tear gas wasn’t anything new, he’d had to clean the residue off of himself more times than he could count. That didn’t mean he was a fan of the cold showers that did most of the actual cleaning. Despite his complaints, he hastily steps out of his remaining articles of clothing as you start the water.

His muscles tense as he steps into the shower, pulling him out of his somewhat drowsy state. He quickly scrubs every part of his body, wanting to get out as fast as possible.

He washes his hair out last, taking care to not mess them up no matter how much he hates the temperature of the water. He’d made the mistake of trying to shampoo the whole of his head in one go just once before, and he’d be damned if he had to go running to the auntie down the street again to fix any tangles neither you nor him could sort out.

In his defense, he’d almost bled out just a couple hours beforehand that day. Having your first (superhero-related) near-death experience tends to shake you up a little.

“You’re such a man-baby,” you’d teased him as Hobie gripped your hand for dear life, the woman you’d guaranteed could get that nightmare of a knot out sorting through his hair with an arsenal of olive oil and a wide toothed comb.

“Oh piss off—” his reply was cut short as she detangled a particularly nasty bit of the problem, unfortunately having to tug exceptionally hard at his head. “Ow!”

The woman - Aunt Margaret, as you’d introduced her - tsked at him to sit still, poking at the tangle with the handle of her comb to see if it would give way now. Luckily, most of it did. She muttered something along the lines of ‘young people nowadays’, but in a sort of gruffly affectionate sort of way. From what you’d told him, Aunt Margaret was sort of the neighborhood mom, always helping people who needed it no matter how much she gave them grief for it.

The three of you made small talk over tea after his hair was nice and hairball-free, albeit a little slippery. Turned out, Aunt Margaret had plenty of stories of her own to share. Hobie had been delighted to hear about everything that had happened when she was a part of the League of Colored Peoples, almost ready to practically beg the woman to adopt him.

Two weeks later, when he decided to drop by again, the topic of soulmates came up. Aunt Margaret asked if he’d found his soulmate yet, to which he replied he didn’t believe in the soulmate system. She nodded in agreement.

“Just as well,” she had said, a frown making its way onto her face. “I’ve seen too many good people get their hearts broken because of that bloody mark.” She eyed his upper arm, exposed in the sleeveless top he’d worn at the time. “I got mine covered ages ago.”

“Did you meet your soulmate before that?”

Aunt Margaret shook her head. “That’s a story for another time, Bartholomew.”

He still makes time for tea with her every week or so.

The second he steps out of the shower, he’s greeted with a huge, warm towel fresh from the dryer. He wraps it around himself as you usher him back to the bedroom where you’d laid out some comfy clothes for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the clothes he’d discarded on the bathroom floor is long gone, along with his vest and tee that were sitting on the sink.

“I put the studs out on the veranda to air out,” you say, noticing him glance at the empty sink. “They’ll need washing, though. My eyes got all weird when I looked at the vest too close, and your belt’s not much different. The rest of everything’s in the machine.”

Pulling on his bottoms, Hobie silently nods at your words before pulling the tank top you’d dug out for him over his head. He then walks over to place a kiss on your head. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to leech off your warmth. He lets out a little noise of contentment when he feels you hug him back.

Wordlessly, he walks the two of you to your the shared vanity, plopping himself down on the seat. You grab the hairdryer off the table, checking to make sure it’s okay for you to help before switching it on to dry his wicks. Hobie closes his eyes as you make your way through each piece, eventually stopping once there’s no more water to be purged. Your fingers sorting through his hair so carefully is calming - almost therapeutic, and it takes all his willpower to keep himself sitting straight up for you.

After that, he clumsily grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, ignoring how you yelp in surprise and unplugging the dryer. He then proceeds to carry you around your place, flicking off all the lights before getting back to the bedroom and (softly) throwing you on the mattress.

“Was that really necessary?” You groan as he throws the sheets over the both of you. Hobie then proceeds to drag himself half on top of you, using you as a full body pillow.

“Definitely.” He replies, his voice a bit muffled against your pajamas.

You laugh. “Sure.”

He tilts his head up to give you a goodnight kiss, murmuring ‘dream ‘bout me’ next to your ear to which you respond by playfully pushing him away.

“Rude,” He mutters, smiling into your clothes as he huffs in indignation. Your laugh echoes through your body, a sound more beautiful than any music he had or would ever hear.

He doesn’t fall asleep too easily that night. Rogue thoughts on soulmates and fate flinging about his skull. For some reason, they’d all picked tonight to bug him to pieces.

Unknowingly, his grip around you tightens, feeling your weight in his arms. It grounds him as all the doubts try to throw him off, to destabilize something perfectly happy.

What if they find their soulmate? Then they’ll decide if they want me or them. (Me.)

What if I find my soulmate? What, like I’d break their heart for a stranger? Yeah. Fat chance.

He swatted those questions away like pesky little mosquitoes until he eventually fell asleep, choosing to focus instead on your heartbeat ringing in his ears.

So what if you two weren’t soulmates? He loves you, you love him. That’s all that matters.

The universe can suck an egg.

—

The next morning, Hobie woke up at 11, as usual. You woke up right after him as he stirred, like you always did. The two of you lounged in the comfort of your the sheets for a while before you had to eventually get up for breakfast.

Hobie was trailing behind you on your walk to the kitchen when something catches his eye.

His reflection in the vanity mirror.

Something’s… off.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Y/n?” He calls, looking down at his upper arm just to make sure the mirror isn’t playing tricks on him. Sure enough, there it is.

You turned around at his voice, eyebrows furrowed in a confused way. “Hm?”

“Look.”

He watches as your confusion morphed into surprise and then back to confusion again. Then you auickly check your ankle, confusion turning into realization.

“We match.”

Your soulmarks had somehow changed overnight, turning into small, stylized sun symbols that stand out more than either of your marks before ever did, clear as day.

It’s a few moments of stunned silence before laughter breaks out between the two of you.

“You know what we have to do now,” you manage, an arm around the front of your midsection and the other hand on your face.

“I think I do.” Hobie says, practically wheezing

By the end of the day, the two of you have covered up your new soulmarks with mismatching tattoos.

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thealtoduck · 3 months

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My Little Love

Selina Kyle x Son!Reader

Bruce Wayne x Son!Reader

Warnings: Fluff…

BatCat!Bro Masterlist

Summary: Bruce finds out you snuck out again alone at night and decides to follow you…

——

Bruce had just finished up his patrolling for the night when he got a call from Alfred. ”Master Bruce, you wouldn’t happen to know Master Y/n’s wherabouts?” He questioned. ”I thought he was at home, didn’t he say he’d be studying” Bruce said.

”Apparently not, his window was open and we suspect he snuck out again” Alfred explained. Bruce let out an annoyed huff and said ”Track his phone and send me the location”. Bruce made his way to the Batmobile as Alfred sent him the data.

Your location showed on the Batmobile’s map, you were inside a bus and it was moving, Bruce started the car and drove to follow you. The map showed you were on a bridge leading out of Gotham, Bruce wondered what you wee up too. He sped up the car and drove towards the bridge.

After driving for a while he saw your icon had stopped on the map, it had stopped next to an old gas station. Meaning you must’ve gotten off the bus there. Soon Bruce arrived and parked the Batmobile in the gas station parking and got out, you were nowhere in sight.

He walked around the corner of the closed station where he found you, leaning against a wall, back turned to him. Bruce silently made his way behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder. You suddenly turned around with a balled up fist, punching Bruce in his armoured chest.

Which was a mistake on your part. You let out a small wince in pain. ”Don’t sneak up on me, Bruce” you said annoyed rubbing your now bruised fist. ”What are you doing out here?” Bruce questioned plainly. ”None of your business, now go home” you told him.

”I thought Dick talked to you about the whole sneaking out thing” Bruce said. ”I didn’t ”sneak out”, i just left without telling anyone and i had a good reason too” you defended yourself. ”What do you mean, you ”had a good reason too”?” Bruce asked. ”Like i said it’s ”none of your business” now go, i’m waiting for someone” you said looking around. ”Who?” Bruce questioned.

”I think he’s looking for me” a familiar voice spoke up from behind Bruce.

Bruce turned around and was met with Selina, you immediately ran past Bruce and in to your mother’s arms, as you were wrapped in a tight hug. ”Hi, my little kitten” Selina said lovingly in your embrace. ”Selina?” Bruce said suprised.

”Hi Bruce, it’s been a while” she greeted. You and your mom spent about an hour catching up on what the other had been up to, since you moved in with Bruce and the others and since she went on the run. Bruce stood silently and listened, not wanting to interrupt knowing how much you had missed your mom.

”Are you coming home soon?” you asked her hopefully. ”Not yet, they’re still on my tail but as soon as i can, you’ll be first to know, okay?” she explained. ”Okay” you uttered disappointed. ”Y/n, can you give me a moment to speak with your dad?” she asked. ”Sure” you said walking towards the parking lot of the gas station.

”You know, i’ve missed you too, Bruce” Selina said giving him a kiss on the cheek. ”I’ve missed you too, Silena” Bruce said warmly. ”So, how has he been behaving?” Selina asked referring to you. Bruce gave a slight smile and started ”Well…”.

”He’s secretive and tough, he steals from his siblings, he sneaks out without telling anyone, gets in to fights at school and somehow has decided he thinks Black Canary is cooler than me” Bruce explained. ”That’s my boy” Selina said proudly and quickly added ”Our boy”. Bruce smiled turned slightly saddened. ”I think he sees himself mostly as your boy” he said.

”That’s my fault” Selina admitted and continued ”I should’ve introduced him to you sooner and let him get to know his father before just leaving, but he loves you, i can tell”. ”How?” Bruce questioned. ”Otherwise he’d sneak out and not come back” Selina explained.

She and Bruce then walked up to you waiting on the gas station. ”I’ll need to get going soon, Bruce, can you go wait in the car” she said and walked towards you. Selina grabbed you and pulled you in to another tight hug. She then said softly ”Look Y/n, you need learn to trust your dad, i know he’s been gone for 13 years of your life and that was a bad choice on my part”.

”Don’t hold it against him that he wasn’t there for you, okay?” she finished and you nodded. ”Now run along your dad is waiting” she said and put her biking helmet on. She then started her bike and drove off. You went back to the Batmobile and sat down in the passenger seat.

”Sorry, i snuck out again, B-… Dad” you said, the word dad feeling strange in your mouth. ”It’s okay, Y/n, it was ”none of my business” after all” Bruce said jokingly and started the drive home. By the time you two got back to the manor you had fallen asleep resting your head against your dad’s shoulder.

#selina kyle x son!reader #selina kyle x son reader #bruce wayne x son!reader #bruce wayne x son reader #bruce wayne x male reader #batfam x male reader #batman x male reader #batfamily x male reader #batfam x male!reader #dc x male reader #dc comics x male reader #batfam x batcat!bro #batcatbro male reader #batcatbro reader #batcat!bro reader

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mysteriouslybluepirate · 5 months

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Samba had a baking class! There he revealed some scenes that were cut/rewritten at some point in the process include:

From Samba: Calypso’s birthday was supposed to be LuPete wedding and wee John and Roach were trying to get Ed and Stede to hook up. Roach is the one who would have given Stede the pierced ear. Wee John makes Ed an outfit. Then Stede & Ed actually danced! Samba likes what the episode changed to, and that they didn't force the Ed/Stede relationship earlier. This episode would have been a combination of Parent Trap+Makeovers+Slow Dancing [SLIGHT agreement about being happy they didn't push the relationship (as they move it from being the point of ep 6 to the end of ep 6), I'm just more mad that they made the LuPete wedding a last minute thing. This still would have felt rushed after multiple non-apologies from Ed. A part of me says they wanted the drag bits? But then you're telling me Lucius wouldn't want Wee John in drag at his wedding, which just sounds SO out of character]

[CUT SCENE] The reason Buttons had a rope around his waist for ep 1 was because he kept on trying to run to the sea. They had scenes showing this but it was cut.

[CUT SCENE] S2E1 where Stede's crew were all making wishes for a ship. Black Pete wished that Lucius would be alive on the ship, Olu wished that Jim would be on the ship, and Roach wished for a big kitchen on the ship!

[CUT SCENE] Apparently a LOT of Jim/Olu scenes were cut, including one where Archie and Olu step out of the bedroom in boxers. Confirming 100% that they are all poly, and Jim/Olu was still together together. With a hint of maybe Olu/Archie?

BEHIND-THE-SCENES STUFF

The 'Don’t you want your Sammie' sandwich scene in ep 4 was fully improvised, and that on top of getting hit in the face is why Nathan broke.

Thumb war scene was improv, which is a shame, as to me this was the most romantic moment of the fucking season. It's just so soft, and sweet, and happy.

Stede's jacket from ep5 is cursed irl bc the fire alarm went off w/ no explanation in the first scene with the jacket

David Fane got bit by an eel on the toe while filming the Roach&Fang spa scene

So they really seemed to have had a decent script then changed it, for some reason. It wouldn't have fixed everything, but it does confirm my theory that they mostly cut scenes with the crew/rewrote episodes so the crew wasn't heavily featured.

ALSO: Samba wanted to do an official podcast when the season was releasing but couldn't due to the strikes.

#ofmd s2 #izzy hands #ofmd season 2 #lucius ofmd #pete ofmd #ofmd #edward teach #stede bonnet #israel hands #ofmd critical #ofmd2 #ofmd s2 spoilers

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lurking-latinist · 9 months

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👀👀 wanna say more about your eusocial timelord theory?

when you sent this ask like a year ago apparently I did not, for which I apologize.

now it's the wee small hours and I'm trying to clear out my asks. but eusocial time lords are so fun. forgive anything that doesn't make sense/jars weirdly in this, I'm trying to explain some quite spitbally worldbuilding.

among other things, it's an explanation for (1) why are there so few time ladies on screen and (2) that very strange thing in I think it's in Gallifrey where Pandora was 'the first female President' and apparently that's a big deal? but like why would a different planet (where they regenerate!!) have the same manifestations of sexism as we have? and also vaguely riffing on the VNAs lore that Gallifrey used to be a matriarchy and Rassilon overthrew it, but also kind of completely transforming that lore.

so forget gender, this is not about gender. "male"/"female" is at best a very rough translation of the binary that Gallifreyans are concerned with, which is worker/queen. They are bees!

The Time Ladies (i.e. Gallifreyans played by female human actors) that we see in the pre-War era (all of this applies to the pre-War era)--Romana, the Rani, Flavia, Inquisitor Darkel--are biologically the equivalent of insect queens. (And the Doctor, the Master, Borusa, the Floating Time Lord, Commander Maxil, etc. etc. are the equivalent of worker bees. The fact that the former all present as female and the latter all present as male is just sort of a translation convention/useful coincidence, I guess.) Gallifreyans evolved from a eusocial species and their early political structures were developments of the hive structure, with reproductive capacity strongly linked to political authority.

Presumably this is what Rassilon, or whatever revolutionary Rassilon stole credit from, is supposed to have overturned--the link between reproductive capacity and political authority. But in my version, it was before that that Looming became a thing: the queens had control of the Looms, so it was the ultimate refinement of their arts and sciences, and it was their way of getting rid of whatever drone class there used to be, if they weren't already parthenogenetic.

And that's why there's the stereotype in Gallifrey--mentioned in connection with Pandora, suggested as a concern about Romana--that a "female" (queen) President will be autocratic. It's seen as a potential return to "how things once were."

And then I did a lot of worldbuilding for how government worked at a stage in history when there was a sort of uneasy balance between reproductive and political power, but that was for a fic Moki was working on and I think she's still working on it, so no spoilers!

So what you end up with is a hive structure where the role of the queen has been sort of abstracted away into... well, the hive itself. The power at the heart of Gallifrey is Gallifrey. I feel like that explains a lot of what's wrong with them.

There might be another branch of the species that evolved away from eusocial structure into something more like solitary bees and that's the Shobogans, possibly, since nobody seems at all clear what the Shobogans are.

Also I read that with naked mole rats, the only eusocial mammal, there are a few in each colony that are predisposed to not fit into the colony and instead go and wander and find other colonies, to promote genetic diversity, and I'm just saying, renegades.

And after the War when there are often maybe two Gallifreyans left, that's why whatever's left of the hivemind keeps trying to get at least one of them to turn out as a Time Lady. Fortunately for the universe, neither of them seems that interested in reproducing.

#doctor who #headcanon

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wistfulcynic · 6 months

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a non-izzy-centric reading of the events of season two

i didn't really want to get into this because it's so, so tiresome and i'd rather talk about the things i loved about this season. Poison, positivity, etc. But.

reading this post about people doubting their own judgement due to the overwhelming noise from Izzy stans along with a rewatch of season two from start to finish made me realise that i too had been influenced by a year and a half of being intensely frustrated by people insisting so loudly that OFMD was in fact the Izzy Hands Show. My initial issues with S2 mostly stemmed from overcompensating for that by resenting any development of Izzy on the screen because i did not want it to feed those people. Which meant that i also was centring Izzy in a way that he should not be centred! i was letting their noise lead me to read him as far more important than he actually is.

So i looked back at several points from the season that had me feeling uncomfortable and which, from a cursory browse through the Izzy tag i've concluded his stans see as a contradiction or a betrayal or something and re-evaluated them from the perspective of Izzy not being a main fucking character.

point one: "He's our dick."

When Archie (a newcomer and therefore a fairly effective audience stand-in for anyone not balls deep in fandom bullshit) asks Jim why they're going to so much trouble for Izzy, who she has immediately clocked as "kind of a dick", Jim gives this response. Which, if you think Izzy is important, may read as an expression of reluctant fondness. But then, Jim continues: "There was a time when life meant something on this ship. When we lived for each other, not just to survive." These lines are punctuated by a flashback to the famous Revenge crew found-family Renaissance-painting moment. Jim is nostalgic for the "good old days" of the Revenge under Stede's people-positive management style. It is out of respect for that (seemingly) lost way of life that they take the trouble for Izzy, not for Izzy himself. They'd have done the same for anyone, because they desperately want life to matter again. Izzy, as the person whose gamy leg is a direct result of his threatening Ed and bringing the kraken era down on all of them, is simply the one whose life happens to be on the line.

(honestly, i love this from Jim, who was one of Stede's boldest detractors in season one and still the crew member most likely to call him out on his bullshit. That's your "reluctant fondness" moment right there.)

point two: the new unicorn

apparently Izzy stans see the gift of the unicorn leg prosthetic as a symbol of deep love and respect from the crew to Izzy. Which is an absolutely wild reading when you look at what led up to it.

There's tension on the ship. Divisions. Lucius is chain-smoking and jump-scared by his own shadow. Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang are overcome by guilt over their mutiny and frantically scrubbing nonexistent blood from the deck in what is a fantastically darkly funny Lady Macbeth moment for them. Izzy is sloppy drunk and yelling nonsensical abuse at the unicorn masthead. Roach, Pete, Oluwande, and Wee John make a well-intentioned but ill-conceived attempt to bring everyone back together (i say "everyone" but Izzy, significantly, is not included) which leads to them all being at each other's throats in the sort of mutually-assured-destruction configuration that starts world wars. It's a great scene. Izzy is not a part of it.

until he interrupts them, throws the unicorn legs at them and in his drunken clumsiness breaks his prosthetic. He then pointedly refuses their offers of assistance and drags himself away along the floor by his arms.

my friends. This is peak pathos. The crew do not respect Izzy in this moment, they feel sorry for him. They realise that he's worse off than any of the rest of them and that knowledge brings them back together. Making the unicorn prosthetic is barely about Izzy at all. It's about the crew coming together, repairing the rifts in their found family and as a bonus helping out their grumpy second cousin who doesn't really want to be there but has nowhere else to go. It's also a very generous offer of a new place on the ship--as the new unicorn--and a fresh start. Because that's what life on the Revenge is. For everyone.

point three: la vie en rose

much has been made of Izzy putting on drag makeup and singing at the Calypso birthday party, and fair enough. That's a big character development point for him. i don't hate it, though i wish there'd been more build-up to it, a longer conversation between Izzy and Wee John at least (insert obligatory "fuck Max" here) but regardless, if we accept Izzy's amputated leg as cutting off his old self and replacing it with the unicorn then we can arrive at a place where he's able to participate in a drag performance without too much cognitive gymnastics.

i've written before about the curious choice to have Izzy sing La Vie En Rose in French (after he initially sang it in English) at the very moment when Ed and Stede are having sex for the first time. On first watch i felt viscerally troubled by it, it felt like a validation of the obsessive psychosexual reading of Izzy's feelings for Ed. Looking at the season as a whole, it feels more like a (cringy, creepy, waaaay over the line) attempt on his part to signal approval for Ed and Stede's relationship. Especially when taken in conjunction with his (super creepy, like wtf who greenlit this) interruption of their breakfast in bed the next morning to make a ham-fisted innuendo. Weird but okay i guess, it's not like Izzy and social niceties have ever gone hand in hand.

many people point to the drag scene as the crew embracing Izzy and welcoming him as one of them. Again, i don't disagree. But, also again, this is not specific to Izzy. This is just what they do. They also embraced Archie with her snake-cult stories, they re-embraced Ed (who yes, they do love, refutations of arguments that they don't love Ed are a whole other essay though) and later they embrace Zheng and Auntie and also Jackie who once stole their savings jar and threatened to cut off their noses. That's what they do! They embrace people! That's what the show is about!

point four: the death scene

i have to be honest, i still hate this. i don't hate that Izzy died, i hate that he died in Ed's arms with Ed calling him his only family. That still feels unearned to me, and alas was probably another victim of the shortened season. But even with this extremely kind and forgiving death scene, the stans are not satisfied! They feel that the entire crew should have been gathered round, assuring Izzy of their profound love for him. There should have been weeping at the funeral, wailing and gnashing of teeth, rending of garments etc. It's what he deserves as such a beloved member of the crew!

except he wasn't beloved. He was accepted, yes. Welcomed, even. But acceptance is a far cry from love. Cheering as someone sings a song at a party does not mean you feel ready to weep at their deathbed or proclaim your undying affection for them.

yet even so, the crew are visibly distraught at his death scene. There are tears in many eyes! But effusive declarations of feeling from any one of them other than Ed would have felt (to anyone not convinced Izzy is the main character) completely wrong and very weird. You can headcanon what you like to fill the gaps in canon but on screen we have seen very few meaningful interactions between Izzy and any of the existing crew aside from Fang and Lucius and to a lesser extent Wee John. Izzy's primary relationship with another character is with Ed and so, as much as i still don't like it, Ed is the only one who has any real reason to be at Izzy's side as he dies.

as for the brevity of the funeral and the fact that they went straight from it to Pete and Lucius's wedding instead of having, idk, a prolonged wake at which everyone speaks at length about how important Izzy was to them, i mean. Obviously that wasn't going to happen. More than enough screen time had already been given to a side character who spent most of it either being miserable himself or making others so. It was time for the rest of them to find some moments of joy. As Izzy himself said, not moving on is worse.

in conclusion, i'd like to address the people saying that Izzy should have lived so he could continue his arc of self-discovery and sure, that would have been great--on the Izzy Hands Show. But OFMD is about Ed and Stede and Izzy had served his purpose in their story. i feel certain there will be copious fanfics to soothe anyone who feels Izzy was shortchanged.

on the show, though, he was treated in a very logical and foreseeable way as the antagonist who was able to see the light at the end but not necessarily to thrive in such a well-lit environment. Literature (by which i mean also films and tv) abounds with examples of this sort of character. They see the error of their ways but they are too stuck in them, shaped by them, to exist comfortably in any other way. They help bring about change to benefit others and not for themselves, that is the bittersweet beauty of their endings.

Izzy let Ed go. He embraced the softer parts of himself. He died surrounded by people who may not have loved him but at least accepted him as one of their own and felt genuine sorrow about his passing. That is a satisfying narrative end for a reformed antagonist! If you truly feel that he was shortchanged by it then you have forgotten what show you're watching and what sort of character he was.

Izzy Hands: not the main character, still an interesting one, absolute nightmare, what a guy.

#our flag means death #ofmd meta #ofmd season two #izzy critical #the izcourse #izzy hands meta #sorry not sorry to people who are going to hate this post but writing it has been therapeutic for me #i'm tired of hating a character on a show i love so much so i shall go back to thinking of him as the nasty rat man and focusing on faves #saira has Thoughts

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celluloidbroomcloset · 5 months

Text

(Carrying on from this post. Note that I'm really just sharing my own thoughts here.)

Ed is as fully steeped in toxic masculinity as Izzy, but his reaction to it is different. The pirate life is destroying him slowly, and it's destroying him from the moment we meet him. Stede offers him an alternative; Stede is outlandish for a pirate, but Ed doesn't see this as an inherent weakness. It's something that he finds immediately fascinating. The longer he's around Stede, the more exciting he finds Stede's world and its expression of masculinity. He does "fancy a fine fabric," and he likes the things that Stede shows him - both for themselves and, increasingly, because Stede loves them. He fully indulges in Stede's games and stories - his own crew remark on how happy and open he is. To Izzy, this appears a further descent into unacceptable masculinity.

It should be noted that Izzy has been angry at Ed for moving outside of the Blackbeard persona before we even meet them. Izzy remarks that Ed has been getting gradually crazier and crazier, and that Izzy himself has been protecting him. We don't see much of that immediate past, but this is a case where we can extrapolate from what we do see and what we learn about the characters. Ed is having a breakdown. He's bored, he's tired, and he's contemplating death as the final great adventure. He tells Stede that nothing is fun anymore; he barely has to do anything. Being Blackbeard is exhausting and isolating.

Izzy sees this too, but he draws the wrong conclusions - he thinks Ed needs to simply "man up." He remarks on the struggle it takes to "manage your increasingly erratic moods" without apparently understanding the reason behind them (which Ed offers up pretty clearly, both to Izzy and then to Stede). Stede and Ed's relationship represents an even further "descent" as far as Izzy is concerned.

The conversation in "Discomfort" and in "Wherever You Go" are clearly mirrored. In the first, Ed is finding light at the end of the tunnel in the form of Stede and Izzy is desperately trying to push him back to where Blackbeard lurks. In "Wherever You Go," Izzy further pushes Ed back into the toxic masculinity box, his prescribed masculine role, by directly insulting his manhood and insinuating that his expression of grief is emasculating.

Again, this is not an issue of Ed being affected by Stede's absence, necessarily, but how he expresses it. Izzy's homophobia is very much about outward expression and what is and is not acceptable to be thought "a man." Ed is expressing grief in what Izzy sees as an effeminate "namby-pamby" way - wearing Stede's clothing, crying, eating marmalade, writing songs, and trying, in his own imperfect way, to replicate the things that he loved about being on the Revenge with Stede.

But the only acceptable emotion, for men, is anger. Not for nothing is Izzy's main emotional expression in Season 1 rage; Wee John even refers to him as "that little angry fecker," and we rarely see him genuinely smile, laugh, or cry. Ed can be heartbroken, that's something Izzy cannot control, but he cannot show it like that. He must be furious. He must be angry. He must be violent. He must want to kill Stede for inflicting pain on him. He must be Blackbeard.

Izzy expresses near joy when Ed tries to strangle him - "There he is" - and threatens him if he doesn't go back into the correct persona.

Ed and Izzy do come from the same world, and they have shared experiences. But Ed's fall into the Kraken"Blackbeard persona takes all the internalized grief and pain and expresses it using the only emotion he's now permitted - anger. The result is horrific, to the extent that Izzy himself is dismayed at how far things have gone. But Ed's reaction is a natural progression - if this is what men are, then he's going to be everything that a man is supposed to be. That the result is monstrous is very deliberate, on the part of Ed and on the part of the show.

Izzy attempts, too late, to bring back Stede's ethos by invoking the "talk it through as a crew" line. He and the crew are genuinely worried about what has happened to Ed, but it is clear that Izzy himself does not understand his culpability. Ed said at the start that the only thing left for him was death; having been stripped of all the things that were joyful or soft, and therefore unmasculine, all he has left is death. His only mode of outward expression is anger and violence. There is no "talking it through."

None of this is to say that Izzy deserves to be shot, simply that this is the natural thematic outcome of everything that has been developing since we first see them together in Season 1. "Kraken" is indeed Ed's fault; he chooses to push Lucius off the ship, discarding first the "fine thing" that represented his connection to Stede, to softness, and to all the gentler forms of masculinity that he's now going to destroy. Ed's behavior belongs to Ed and Izzy's to Izzy.

It is not for nothing that Ed only cries in private. The viewer sees the grief and sorrow lurking beneath the surface, the fantasies about marrying Stede, the sobbing at night. But on the surface, Blackbeard must remain Blackbeard, and the only acceptable emotion is anger.

This descent on the part of Ed turns itself around on Izzy, too. The invocation of Ed's angry masculinity then becomes violence inflicted on Izzy himself. Izzy very much becomes the focal point of Ed's rage, beginning with the loss of his toes and leading to the loss of his leg.

Once more, Izzy's perception is unreliable. He says that it is Ed's feelings for Stede that have resulted in the toxic atmosphere on the ship. But it is Izzy himself who has told Ed that his earlier emotional expression is wrong, even subhuman - a "thing" he's become. It is the warping of grief and pain into anger that has resulted in Ed's madness and suicidal depression, and Ed's anger with Izzy is not misplaced. In a lot of ways, Izzy has shot himself in the foot.

The darker elements of this show indicate how deeply and horribly warping toxic masculinity is, but also that there is hope in the depths, not just for Ed...but for Izzy.

(Gonna carry on with the queer joy part of this later, because we should really remember that this show is very much about not living in darkness, even if darkness is a part of us.)

#ofmd season 2 #ofmd #our flag meets death #ed teach #edward teach #izzy hands #stede bonnet #blackbeard #tw: homophobia #ofmd meta #i know i'm gonna regret tagging izzy but dammit he's a fascinating character and his arc is SO DAMN IMPORTANT

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 3 months

Text

01/24/24 OFMD Daily Recap

TLDR; Cast and Crew Sightings with clowning; UK News; Wee John Wednesday; RenewAsACrewUpdates; NewTwitter Resource: @AdoptOurCrew; Pirate Omens Watch Party; LubeAsACrew; The Queerties; Petition Status; Final Notes; Love Notes; Rhys & Rosie's Anniversary;

==Cast and Crew Sightings==

David Jenkins got the clowning going really early this morning with a picture of a red sunrise, playing the song "New York Groove" by Ace Frehley.

There's been a lot of speculation (obviously we don't know what it means for sure) but the current fan theories going around are:

1. "Red Skies In Morning, Sailor's Take Warning" which Djenkins previously posted prior to a new OFMD Trailer being released back in Sept. Thanks @saltpepperbeard!

2. Some folks think that the Red color is to help indicate Netflix as it is very similar to their signature red. @_Irene_Adler

3. Others are going towards the AppleTV route since out in sunnyside queens, there is an Apple building nearby. @skrifores

Do we actually know? Nope, just conjecture, but it left people wanting to target Netflix and AppleTV more today in terms of hashtags. Which is great cause the Pirate Omens Focused on PrimeVideo in the afternoon.

=Con O'Neil Updated his Instagram, and David Fane commented =

==Ruibo Qian also made a profound update on IG==

"Amplifying positive intent toward a paradigm is what solidifies it into live experience".

Take these updates as you will, but one nice thing about being broken apart from Max is we're starting to see the crew reach out again, and all of it seems to be in somewhat of a positive direction.

==More UK News!==

Today’s news from the UK 24 January 2024 - by @lamentus1

We have a date!! The most amazing news! Season 2 will be available to watch in the UK on BBCiPlayer from Monday 4 February!!! The arrival of season two in the UK will give us an opportunity to organise some attention grabbing events around the show. We’ll keep you posted!

=Convention news=

Starfury Conventions is considering holding an Our Flag Means Death convention here in the UK! We need to show how much interest there is in the idea, so make sure you vote in their poll.

Vote here: https://x.com/starfuryevents/status/1750149921880059968 Make sure they know just how interested we are!

**Note from @gentlebeardsbarngrill: If you are avoiding twitter and need someone to log in and for for you, I have lots of extra twitter handles, just shoot me a DM with what answer you wanna choose and I'll vote on your behalf.**

=Previous Access Poll=

After a week and 986 votes the poll is closed and we can confidently state that 36.5% of fans can’t even watch Our Flag Means Death season 2 in their country yet! This is more than a third of the dedicated fandom not even able to watch the second season, and yet look at how passionate we all are about renewal. Imagine how that will grow when the second season is shown in those countries that have missed out so far.

The poll is here: @lamentus1 Are you able to watch Season 2?

While this last piece isn't SPECIFICALLY for the UK, it is being run in UK time zone so may be a bit harder for some US folks to join in.

== Wee John Wednesday is back! ==

EDIT: hey all, my sick brain messed this one up, Kristian announced on twitter he was gonna reboot wee john weds and I went to IG cause I wanted to get the link and apparently linked an old IG post. Sorry about the confusion! It hasnt been announced when it will start yet. Thank you to @wastingyourgum for the correction!

== Renew As A Crew News ===

So I was a little hesitant to post this, but I'd like you to read it and then read my notes below. This was posted in the Renew As A Crew Public Discord (If someone actually has access to that can you please invite me? I can dm you my creds, I'd rather get it from the source then bugging people).

So, essentially, right now they are considering not keeping the Renew As A Crew "brand" if a team internally doesn't step up within the next two weeks. Several volunteers have expressed their concern with this (as Renew As A Crew is already popular and news sites know about it). I have it on good authority that even though this was posted, other volunteers are trying to change that so we can maintain that Renew As A Crew brand. So if you happen to see this floating around -- please understand this is still up in the air-- so please don't lose hope or worry too much about this just yet.

==New Resource Group on Twitter ==

@adoptourcrew on twitter is trying to keep threads available with compiled resources (similar to these recaps and daily task lists) if you are in fact on twitter, they're a good resource for up to date information. There's been some questions on "who are they!" well they're a fan led group (much like the rest of the campaign) and they will not be focusing on collecting money of any kind, they are an information group. They may suggest fundraisers, but as of right now, no money is exchanging hands with them. So please feel free to check them out here.

== Pirate Omens Watch Party ==

Another fun day of watching good omens with Pirates and Omens fans alike. On to Season 2 tomorrow.

== Lube As a Crew ==

Still making waves all. Thanks @_Irene_Adler for posting this

=== The Queerties! ===

If you have a moment, feel free to head over to the queerties page and do some voting for OFMD! It is.. a really long list, and OFMD only qualifies for two (Vico Oritiz and OFMD in general), but if you have a few minutes it'd help out. It'd be great to at least get those two voted for!

Vote

===Petition Status===

We're so very close to 80K all!

== Some Final Notes ==

So something I noticed today is that we're not trending as much across all the platforms. On twitter, AdoptOurCrew was sticking to 30-35K per 24 hr period for several days, but now it's down to about 24K. We're down to #2 on Max, and the engagement score has gone down quite a bit. Now that might seem like a bad thing. That might seem like we're losing momentum. But I'd like to offer a different perspective. People are taking breaks. People are still directing their efforts on making things more efficient, and compiling information. People are doing more with less -- higher quality tweets, instagram messages, etc. I know that tumblr isn't really being counted high in those stats that tv companies look at, but Im seeing more people interact and delve deep into analysis of things and hashtags are being used. But most of all I'm seeing people take breaks, whether it's in the global strike for Palestine, or just taking some time to recoup.

Not every day is going to be record breaking, nor should it be, because if it was, it'd be people-breaking too. Take it from someone who's worked on 8 month long quality assurance projects, you're gonna have some down days, and that's a good thing.

We've done SO much in so little amount of time, and with David Jenkins and Ruibo Qian posting uplifting things...they see everything we've done, and while they can't tell us if S3 has been adopted, they are sending love. I don't wanna read too much into it conspiracy wise, but I've seen David multiple times over the past few days post RIGHT when things are getting chaotic across all the platforms. He's watching and he's rooting for us. Don't give up hope, but take this time to take a break. Relax, do something creative and fun that you love. Come back when you're feeling refreshed. We'll get there.

=== How To Help ===

If you are still out doing things for the campaign, here's a reminder on how to help (This is not a directive but a guide for when you come back) How To Help Save OFMD Task List - US How to Help Save OFMD Task List - Outside US

== LOVE NOTEEEES ==

Did you know that you're beautiful? When I say beautiful I mean the non-gendered version. You're like really beautiful, inside and out. Seriously look at you. I can feel your beauty miles and miles away through a computer screen, that's how friggn beautiful you are! You're just such a great fucking person and you should be proud of that. You're gorgeous, and beautiful in all ways, and you deserve to be happy lovelies. As always, love you crew, rest up tonight/today.

=================

Well apparently today is Rhys an Rosie's 20th Anniversary! So tonight's Rhys picture will feature Rosie and her lovely letter of love to our favorite dude.

#ofmd daily recap #ofmd daily recaps #ofmd #our flag means death #save ofmd #rhys darby #rosie carnahan darby #renew as a crew #save our flag means death #david jenkins #ruibo qian #con o’neill #ofmd uk #queerties #lube as a crew #pirate omens

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pacifymebby · 5 months

Note

Arthur and a walk with the reader and their child. Maybe they're walking around their garden. Or Arthur tells the baby the names of the horses in the stable.

Fatherhood hadn't exactly come naturally to Arthur. He'd always been scared of having children, scared he was going to be like his own dad - flighty and unreliable - scared he was going to pass on the dreaded Shelby curse. Worse still, scared he'd end up raising a son just as violent, just as angry, pained and fragile as he viewed himself.

But when you'd fallen pregnant the first time he'd seen the tears of joy in your eyes and felt them mirrored in his. Sure, the fear hadn't dissipated and he was convinced he'd always be scared shitless of the wee one - not that he'd ever tell you that - but the second he had laid eyes on her that fear was dulled somewhat by a sense of great purpose. A sense of purpose which had overwhelmed him completely when he'd held your little girl in his arms for the first time, her head small enough it fit in the palm of his hand, her little body so tiny he could hold her like that, head in palm, little feet resting on his forearm as he bounced her gently to sleep.

He'd looked down at your little girl and known that no matter what he felt, no matter how bleak the world around him felt, he would always keep persevering for you and her. He'd do anything to make her life peaceful and full of joy. She was like a little ray of sunshine cut through all the bad, a diamond in the rough. He couldn't stop smiling and even now, a year later, he couldn't help but grin whenever he laid eyes on his little one.

Still, he often found himself at a loss to do. It wasn't that he was scared of her as such, it was that he couldn't quite relax when he was near her. Her big eyes looking at him expectantly. The knowledge that she relied on him completely, to look after her, to keep her safe... It was scary, it made him nervous. Meant that more often than not a lot of the time he spent with her was also spent with you because he knew that you wouldn't let anything go wrong. You would be there to sooth her if he was too rough or clumsy when he was holding her. He was terrified of making her cry, scared even just to think that he might, that if she did he wouldn't be able to help her, would only make things worse.

Today however was different. For the first time since the little girl had been born you'd left him alone with her. He'd been stunned when you'd told him that morning that you had to go out into the city for the day and wouldn't be able to take the baby with you. He'd stuttered and fumbled his words trying to ask you why not, all "but... How long are you gonna be gone for what should I do if.. If..."

"If what Arth? You'll be fine," you'd said with a smille shaking your head fondly. The truth was you could have taken the baby with you, the three of you could all have gone into town together but that wasn't what you wanted. What you wanted was for Arthur to realise he was a good dad, a capable father. For him to realise that his little girl thought the sun shone out of her daddy, just the same as he thought that of her. You'd noticed Arthurs apparent awkwardness from day one and you knew he'd always been worried about fatherhood.

You'd hoped that he'd settle into the role eventually, that he'd realise he really didn't have anything to fear... But as time had passed and you realised he still looked a little on edge just holding the little darling, you realised that you were going to have to intervene. Perhaps pushing him into the deep end wasn't the best idea, but you didn't know what else to do.

You'd already tried gently pulling back, leaving them to play together in the next room, leaving him to read to her, asking him to walk her round the garden when she couldn't sleep. Arthur always managed to stay close to you, to fall back on you. It wasn't exactly bad but you knew it couldn't be a good thing either. Besides, you wanted your daughter to love her father, to grow up trusting him, seeing the good in him. You didnt want her to feel he was distant or awkward. That would be just too sad.

So you'd left him alone, closed the front door and hurried off into the city to spend the day with your friends shopping. And now there he was, sitting at the kitchen table, your little girl Lily sitting on the table, one hand in a bowl of mashed banana the other in her mouth.

"Sposed to eat the food darlin how many times av i told you eh, foods for eatin not paintin..." chuckled Arthur, his low grumble broken by his smile. Lily really was a daddy's girl and he couldn't get mad at her for anything, even when she'd smeared herself, him and the table with banana and honey gloop.

"Right, alright," he smiled tickling her belly through her dress as he reached to pick her up, "you've had your fun with that now i reckon, time to get you cleaned up an then you an daddy have the whole day to do whatever we like, how does that sound darlin? How about that eh?" he said kissing her on the head, using his thumb to scoop a little of the banana from her cheek. When he licked his fingers he screwed his nose up.

"No alright I don't blame you littlen, thas no good for owt but paintin with..." He mused as he scooped her up in his arms and kissed her cheek which only meant that they were both covered in banana and honey gloop.

But once he was holding her in his arms he was once again at a loss, uncertain how he should even speak to her. He'd heard it was good to talk to babies as though they were adults because it helped them learn how to have intelligent conversations, but he wasn't sure he would be much use there. He couldn't remember having ever had the kind of conversation others might consider intellectual.

Besides he wasn't half as gentle talking to adults as he was with Lily. Didn't seem right for him to start talking to her the way he talked to his brothers, nor did it seem right for him to talk to her the way he spoke to you. So he stood in the kitchen doorway looking out at the chickens pecking at the dirt on the drive and he bounced Lily in his arms until she giggled and clasped her little hand around the hairs in his beard.

He grinned, the sound of her laugh was ever so contagious and never failed to make him smile.

"Right well, how about a nice little walk round the garden eh, suns out and I can introduce you to all the animals round the farm eh? What dya reckon sunshine would you like that?" He asked her looking down at her with all the love in the world. She was so pure and precious and that was exactly why he got so nervous to be with her, just seeing the joy and innocence in her bright doe eyes made his stomach twist with anxiety at the thought that he wasn't good enough for her. That he could never be the kind of dad she deserved because he wasn't a good enough man.

But when she smiled up at him and reached for his face with her tiny hand, her stubby little fingers skimming his beard as she giggled and said "dada dada," one of the only words she could he found his nerves replaced with a swell of pride and a smile he couldn't shake off.

"Alright then sunshine," he said with a grin, bouncing her in his arms as he carried her out of the kitchen door and into the garden, the stoned beneath his feet crunching as he made his way to the gathering of chickens on the driveway. He'd fed them earlier that morning but he still had some dried corn in his pockets and he was hoping Lily would enjoy scattering a handful or two across the garden.

"Right then sweetheart," he said using his finger to uncurl the little toddlers hand, "here we are you take some of this shite... Fu.. I mean... Sorry darlin eh, you just ignore your daddy he's a very naughty man eh, you just feed the chickens an ignore him eh..." he grinned sheepishly as he did his best to fill her tiny hand with dried corn. She scrunched her fist up tight around and smiled flexing her fingers a little too soon so that when the feed fell from her hand it fell all down Arthur's shirt and got stuck on his trouser legs.

"You little rotter," he chuckled kissing her forehead as he boosted her up in his arms and helped her have another go. His dismay only setting in when one of the chickens began pecking at his ankles to pick at the feed little Lilly had dropped all over him. "Oh bloody... Go'wan get away!" He grumbled at the hen who seemed determined to peck right through his trouser leg. As he shook the troublesome bird off his ankle Lilly looked down at the silly little scene from her Daddy's arms, her eyes lit up as a giggle escaped her. And when Arthur looked down at her well there was no way he could remain frustrated or preoccupied with that damn chicken.

He couldn't do anything but smile when he looked down at little Lilly, couldn't do anything but beam down at her and press another kiss to her bonny head, heart full to bursting with pride every time she smiled.

"Right darlin right let daddy show you this time eh, let's do it together..." he said taking her little hand beneath his and guiding her as she threw the seed across the path. This time it really scattered and the two of them grinned down at their success as the chickens gathered and began eating the feed from the ground rather than from Arthur's leg. "That's better there we go that's fu... That's better."

Not swearing in front of Lily was perhaps the hardest part of fatherhood. It was the only thing you'd notice he hadn't quite taken so naturally too. Even if he couldn't see it himself, in every other element of fatherhood he was perfect. He was loving, a little clumsy but gentle and nurturing always. He made your little girl laugh like nobodys business. He was always worrying about her, always the first to rush to her side if she took a trip or bashed her head... He was perfect. But he just couldn't control that potty mouth of his. The bad words just had a way of slipping out and you were beginning to worry that when Lilly finally managed her first word that first word would be "fuck."

"Right then little miss sunshine," he grinned bouncing her in his arms, unable to hold back his fond chuckle when Lilly began giggling at his jostling movement, "let's introduce you to everyone eh... This beautys name is Eloise, she's pretty for a chicken ain't she, what dya reckon my darlin? Prettiest chicken you've ever seen right, beautiful, gorgeous bird... And this... This is Audrey... She's a bit, she's a bit stuck up if you ask me like, look at her see, strutting around like she owns the place... And this, this little rotter of a bird, her name's Helen and she's got one bloody... She's got one very sharp f.. beak on her, aye one very sharp beak.."

Lilly tried to reach down to the chickens, stretching her tiny body away from Arthur's and though she was only small, for a second she almost managed to tip their shared balance so that Arthur stumbled and almost - thankfully only almost - stepped on the smallest chicken. That was your chicken, one you'd found shrinking away, not doing as well as the other chicks in the brood. You'd insisted upon bringing her into the house to look after yourself, insisted on naming her too which Arthur had tried to encourage you against. It wasn't that he was cruel he just didn't want you to get attached to a chick that might not survive. But she had survived and now she lived out in the garden with the others.

"Ahh," chuckled Arthur thinking of you fondly, wishing you were there with him and Lilly. "You've found your mammy's hen little one, her names Pearl..." He said crouching down so that Lilly could get a closer look, being sure to hold her up and away from the hens who were prone to a curious peck or two.

Lilly watched them with wide curious eyes, her little smile breaking into a giggle as she watched the birds funny little walk, the way they jutted their necks with each step.

She flinched when Helen and Audrey began clucking a little too wildly for her baby ears and Arthur decided that perhaps it was time to head to the stables instead. It would be quieter inside the stable and the horses were gentle beasts Lilly would be able to pat and babble at to her heart's content.

"Alright little poppet," smiled Arthur kissing his little girls cheek again, his mustache tickling her cheek and neck so that her giggle rang out melodically around the garden. That sound was music to Arthur's ears. It was the sound which reassured him he wasn't such a bad man after all. That if nothing else, he would always know that there was one person on this earth he could make smile. And she just so happened to be the most important person on this earth too.

The stable was quiet just as he'd hoped and where the sun broke through the scattered cracks in the roof the afternoons warm light filtered in and graced the hay on the floor with a golden glow.

"Alright," he whispered, his beard tickling Lilly's face as he leant in to talk quietly in her ear. He always tried to be quiet when he came to the stables. It was such a gentle, peaceful little place and he liked to preserve it. Keep it soft, a sanctuary not just for the animals but for him. "Alright," he whispered, "there's someone who wants to meet you little one..." he said carrying Lilly to one of the stall where the newest addition to the family was standing on shakey little legs.

"But we've got to be nice a quiet eh my darlin, cause he's only a baby int he, just like you... So he might be shy..." he put his finger over Lilly's lips and shushed, grinned when he felt her blow a hissed "Shhhh" of her own against his hand. When he carried her over to meet the little foal he was struck by how similar they were, considering one was after all a baby horse and the other a baby girl.

But they were. They were both so delicate. So pure. These tiny, vulnerable little creatures who depended on him in their own way. Two sweet little lives to be nurtured and loved. Two tiny things he had to be gentle with.

He wasn't sure how he was going to manage that but he knew that since Lilly had been born he'd learnt a lot about being gentle. That slowly but surely he was learning tenderness too.

"Ain't she beautiful eh Lilly?" He whispered. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the little foal but as Lilly gazed at the timid creature in awe Arthur felt the softness in his own eyes. The melting of his cold heart. "Wanna say hello littlen?" He asked taking an apple from his pocket to settle the foals nerves.

"Hello lovely," he said holding the apple out and watching as the foal eyed them warily. He was still working on trust with this one, something Tommy had always been better at than him. Still he was determined to show the little creature his gentle side, prove that he could trust him. Not just for the foals sake but for his own sake too. Prove to himself that he could be gentle too.

And so when the foal approached him, his little legs shaking, Arthur couldn't hide the grin, couldn't hide the swell of pride which rose to his chest and then got stuck in his throat when little Lilly reached her hand out to stroke the foals soft hair.

"Careful now sweetie pie," he whispered to Lilly, "nice and gentle eh don't wanna spook him..." but the foal was far from spooked. In fact he seemed to warm to Lilly, standing patient and still whilst she stroked his nose with a smile on her lips.

"Tell you what darlin," smiled Arthur, it had been his plan from the very beginning but he presented it to her now as though he'd only just thought it up, "since you two're gettin along so well eh, why don't you come up with a name for him? Hasn't got one yet have you mate?" He said copying his daughters gentle movements and giving the little foal a pat.

But when Lilly looked up at him and smiled, clapped her little hands together with this big beaming grin on her face, her wide eyes bright with mischief, Arthur realised that perhaps it was a little too soon to offer her that kind of responsibility.

"Hmmm," he chuckled as he stood quietly, letting Lilly continue to pet her new best friend. He wasn't expecting her to be the one to break the silence. Certainly not in the way that she did... With a word she'd not yet said before.

"Da..." she said reaching out to stroke the foals nose again, "Dada!" When she said it Arthur couldn't quite believe his ears. Wasn't sure he hadn't just imagined it. But when he looked down at Lilly his smile already too much to be contained, she turned to look up at him and pointed at the foal, her own eyes bright and smiling too.

"Dada!" She said again pointing at the little foal, waving her hands to get Arthur's attention - though she had his undivided attention in that moment. He was stunned by her, could hardly process the emotions he felt. Struggling to keep the tears out of his eyes.

"No sweetheart," he grinned kissing her head and turning her round to face him, "that's me.. I'm Dada!" He chuckled, laughing louder when she pointed once more to the foal and repeated herself over and over again until he was forced to accept that when you came home and asked about his day he would have no choice but to tell you all about it. How lovely it was. How Lilly enjoyed meeting the little foal... "He's called Dada by the way..."

Taglist:

@call-sign-shark

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@cocoaflowers

@zablife

@jomarch-wannabe

@itsghostgirlyo

@marwwfairy

@toddlerbodybag

@everysage

@tommyshelbywhore

@kas3ylovesyou

@kxnnxy

@starrykitn

@only-malala

@galactict3a

#peaky blinders imagines #arthur shelby x reader

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britcision · 2 months

Text

AND HERE WE ARE! Totally getting this out in February well done team! And this is gonna be our last chapter before a wee teeny tiny time skip and Jason’s finished core! What a beautiful day 🥰

We’re getting another two-parter too, because Danny and Jason refused to let me get to the end of this lil introductory arc without at least one more pile of abject fluff! But finally, we’re ready to begin the plot!

Once again, the link to the AO3 version is in the first chapter and the 15th chapter; you can see it in the text for the link if you wanna subscribe to be told when it updates 😁

First Chapter:

Previous Chapter:

——————

So That Just Happened part 1

Back in her own room on the other side of the country from Gotham, Sam Manson reclined back into giant, coffin shaped body pillow her beloved girlfriend had given her when they moved and contemplated her phone.

The brand new Wayne-chat was blowing up satisfactorily, although apparently Tim was a massive stalker too. That was probably a good thing; it meant she hadn’t actually nuked Tuck’s chances with his nerd-crush. Now they could bond over their mutual stalker tendencies.

But, did that make her revenge less effective?

It wasn’t like she was actually out to ruin his life, but she’d kinda like to leave a mark. Something that would make him think twice about letting her think he and Danny had fucking died in Gotham in her absence.

Or. Well. Gone radio silent in Gotham, which was probably actually worse because if they were dead she’d know exactly where they were.

The Wayne chat were all pretty sure Tim and Tucker were together too, and Sam’s new best friend Babs had even pulled up the feed from their living room tv somehow. Sam wasn’t exactly the tech wizard Tucker was, but… after seeing that, she disconnected her and Val’s TV from the wifi.

And settled in to remote watch Tuck get his ass kicked at Spiderheck, apparently. At least for a little while; until something else on her phone caught her attention.

It was… almost funny. While she knew she was a whole three timezones away, she’d never really felt left out before. Like maybe she should have stayed on the east coast…

Not that she regretted it, of course. She had a good job, a good school, a wonderful girlfriend who’d been so excited to get into a good school and really go to town on the business department.

(Apparently there were posters of Val’s face in the ethics classrooms. Sam refused to ask if they were golden example or dire warning.)

She was just… a long way away. Even a long portal away, and… being back with the guys, even in Gotham, made the quiet of their comfy little apartment seem lonely.

Huffing, she turned and traced her fingers through the leaves of her mimosa plant on the windowsill beside the bed. They curled gently shut at her touch, and made her smile. Just like always.

She was happy to be home. She wasn’t technically liminal enough yet that it was her haunt, but… well, for all the jokes Val made, Sam had to admit she’d put down roots. She loved her job at the greenhouses, and her internship at the botanical gardens.

She loved scaring the hell out of the dudebros in Val’s business classes who thought ethics were a waste of time. She loved sharing messages with Jazz about the boys, laughing that even three hours ahead, Tuck and Danny still couldn’t get up before them.

She was kinda considering texting Harley about Timblr too. Not like, for any particular reason; if Tim’s family weren’t gonna embarrass Tucker enough, Harley probably wouldn’t either. She’d probably think it was adorable.

Or, y’know, worrying evidence of obsession. Psych types worried about stuff like that, usually.

Sam was kinda also considering sending Harley Jazz’s number. Jazz might still be skating just on the neurosurgery side of the line, but she’d always been big into psychology. Big enough to try and triple major, and only drop to major-major-minor after the third pre-exam meltdown.

And she could use having someone else do the shrink bit on her a little more often. Although really, for that Sam should make her a professional appointment; friends didn’t ask friends to psychoanalyze their overprotective pseudo-sisters. And Jazz could use more friends.

Jazz could use a transfer to a specialty that would let her sleep once in a while, a more stable supply of fresh ecto, and about six weeks in a meditation retreat to get the accidental telepathy under control, but more friends would be good too. And less stubborn insistence on her second try for double majors.

Maybe the switch to psychiatry full time would be good for her? Or psychology. Sam was a little fuzzy on the difference, which one Jazz was currently still minoring in, and which one Harley did.

(Jazz’s current second major was neurosurgery, which Jazz insisted was totally less taxing alongside a neurology major because it was the same body part. She was the only person in her class attempting the double major though, so.)

Humming tunelessly to herself, Sam flicked back into the group chat. Babs was still sharing the feed… brows drawing in, Sam frowned at the little spider figures still fighting to the death. Now, she wasn’t as big of a gamer as she used to be, but she was pretty sure Spiderheck didn’t actually offer red berets.

Snorting a laugh, she flicked back out of the chat and opened a new one, adding both Jazz and Harley. All it needed was the perfect name… something that would grab both of their attention.

Obvious. Child’s play.

Snuggling back into her coffin pillow, Sam grinned down at her phone screen.

Danny Has A Boyfriend chat was live.

Having eight legs wasn’t exactly the same as suddenly having four new ones, or two new legs and two new arms. While the first two were definitely functioning as “hands”, being the ones to pick up and use all of the weapons, Tim had quickly learned that he could grip with any of the eight “feet” that were available.

Yeah, spinning a laser staff all the way down one side of his body and up the other was fucking cool.

He’d adjusted pretty quickly during their “practice” round, while they all got used to the web slinging and worked out how to open the boxes and use the weapons.

(Tucker had swung himself into the lava by accident, so they’d started a second round.)

Tim felt pretty much ready to go, although if he was honest with himself… his only actual complaint was that he didn’t have a camera.

Conner had asked Tuck at the start of their second round if his powers had been nerfed to make it “fair”. Tucker, sweet innocent Tucker, had managed to convey a sidelong look even looking at even without a face on their little blob bodies and said he didn’t think Conner needed a nerf.

He just needed to understand how the powers worked, and they could be incorporated into the system. Which, well, was like catnip for Conner.

At least Tucker seemed a lot less flustered about talking to him while they were both spiders, because Conner had started talking his ear off about TTK and hadn’t stopped since.

Tim was kinda considering swinging over and taking them both out, just to get the game moving. But Conner was cute when he got really into something, and being a headless little spider body did not seem to have changed that.

He spent the time practicing with the webs instead, spinning and tossing himself around the map. It was pretty similar to using a grapple, although he wasn’t exactly sure whether or not the web was coming from his own body.

If it was, it was coming from inside a foot, which wasn’t how actual spiders worked… but Tim was pretty sure that was on Spiderheck, not Tucker.

Being able to run around upside down was the biggest change for him, and pretty cool. Tim scuttled around under a couple of the higher platforms for a while, planning his strategy.

Honestly, he was pretty sure TTK was going to wind up fucking Conner over rather than making anything easier for him. You’d think that flying would be an advantage in Spiderheck, at least as far as avoiding lava or an out of bounds, but Tim knew pretty explicitly how far it took Conner to stop.

It wasn’t exactly on a dime, and in this game? The pace didn’t exactly allow for imprecision.

And they were wasting time talking about it rather than getting used to having an extra six hand-feet.

Still upside down, Tim twisted until he could see the other two spiders. Which was when he learned that… they did kinda have their faces on them. Just, instead of being in a face position, on the front of his body that he was seeing out of, it was just sorta… plastered across the body.

Like a photo skin mapped onto a flat blob.

He considered letting the other two know; if anyone walked into the room, they’d probably be able to see their little faces on the screen. If they were just standing around talking.

Also, the pictures’ mouths weren’t moving, which hadn’t been weird when Tim was listening to them talk and didn’t think they had mouths. Kinda was to look down on Conner’s smiling face and hear his voice at a mile a minute.

Tucker probably already knew, and might have done the faces on purpose? And if he hadn’t, it was gonna be pretty funny to see what happened when he noticed.

He’d gotten progressively better at actually talking to Conner the longer he wasn’t actually looking at him, and the focus being on the game had helped too. Face in the game? Probably gonna throw him again.

And it was probably time to get things actually moving, so he could enjoy that.

Humming softly to himself, Tim scuttled across to the loot crates, found himself a double ended lightsabre, and dropped down on Tucker and Conner’s heads.

“Sooooooo…” Danny clapped his hands, doing his best to make his broad grin at least look a little innocent as he floated sideways into Jason’s field of view, “not that that wasn’t adorable and dramatic and everything, super touching, buuuut…?”

He almost laughed as Jason jumped, having apparently forgotten Danny was there for a hot second, then pulled his hand back from Lady Gotham’s to glare at him. The Lady herself didn’t bother hiding her chuckle, settling back to recline once more on a cloud of smog.

“Was there something you needed, Phantom?” She asked with a dry amusement.

Danny shrugged innocently, sticking his hands in his spectral pockets. Much more dangerous than regular pockets, but he’d not been doing more than blob wrangling lately.

“Not so much what I need, just, y’know, trying to keep things on track. I dunno if you’ve got other plans for the night Jay, but we were with Frostbite for a while and if you did…” he trailed off, and Jason grimaced.

“Not what you’d call set plans, but…” Jason trailed off as well, and Danny could feel the guilt even before it tried creeping in.

Nope, not having that. He’d almost talked himself into that bullshit already tonight, none for Jason. He nodded airily, floating up to drape an arm over the larger man’s shoulder.

“All I’ve gotta do is get to bed before midnight, so I’m not rushing now that Tucker’s found himself a new ride.” Waggled eyebrows punctuated that comment with enough emphasis that Jason snickered, darker feelings pushed aside without finding purchase.

“What, you don’t wanna go watch that train wreck in person?” Jason teased with a lopsided half smile.

Danny pulled a face, both at the thought of Tucker’s goddamn disastrous attempts at flirting and… well, the possibility of running into Bruce again. Maybe Constantine.

Danny was maaaaaybe kinda avoiding the wizard since he’d started collecting the other contracts on his soul; it wasn’t like he wanted them for nefarious purposes, it was just fucking weird. He didn’t like owning people. Not even overgrown Sour Patch Kids in trench coats.

(At least Constantine was still alive though. Those unlucky souls who died still bound to Pariah damn near went through a full reboot. No memories, no personality, none of what Danny would have thought of as like, the core components of a soul.

So far nothing anyone had done had been able to help them, and Danny had a nasty feeling the final answer would be Ending them. The Observants didn’t want to, they were perfectly happy with a thrall army so long as they controlled it, but Danny was firm.

No slaves, no thralls. If the only way he could free them was through a final and permanent death… he would.

But Clockwork was still looking, and so long as the ancient of time thought there might be a way… Danny held out hope too.)

For now, he shook his head quickly, holding up both hands.

“No way man. Bruce already hates my guts, I’m gonna keep a healthy distance.”

For both their sakes, really. Jason’s mood every time Bruce had spoken to him today kinda proved he hadn’t listened to Danny’s advice and stepped up. Not that Danny had exactly expected him to; again, hated his guts.

Jason pulled a face but didn’t bother to argue; he’d probably rather not actually deal with the old man for a third time either. Instead he just shrugged, turning his attention back to Lady Gotham.

“Do you know what time it is in Gotham now, my lady?” He asked, and the really weird thing was that it didn’t actually sound weird.

Danny always felt awkward and formal whenever he tried to address a ghost by their title, and Lady Gotham was the very worst because she never bothered to hide when she was laughing at him. Which was, y’know, every time he said it.

(He wasn’t gonna just call her “Gotham” though. That would be worse, so he just sucked it up.)

On Jason’s lips, words like “my lady” just sounded right. Danny flashed back for a moment to snow in a graveyard, and Jason knelt before him quoting Shakespeare. There was something in Jason that was just made for flowery language and dramatic proclamations.

Lady Gotham clearly agreed, bestowing a fond smile upon Jason before inclining her head back for a moment, those red on black eyes glowing suddenly brighter. Looking into the living world, or right up Clockwork’s ass?

“It’s coming to ten o’clock,” she said softly, something almost like regret in her tone. The smile that she turned back to them was softer, sadder.

Danny’d feel bad about being the one to point it out, except, yeah. He’d had to. Ghosts in general didn’t exactly think about time. It was a problem for the living, so - him. And Jason.

Who didn’t seem nearly so sorry with the answer. He nodded, fingers beginning to drum against his thigh.

“Time for a few more questions, then.” That wasn’t a question, and if Danny was completely insensate or possibly locked in a sensory deprivation tank he might have warned Jason about talking to a powerful spirit like that.

It’d need to be a damn good tank for him to miss all the signs though; Jason was so in the good books. Lady Gotham just smiled and nodded, gesturing once more with her traffic cone.

“Of course. And, of course, we will have plenty of other opportunities to speak. I may spend much of my time here, but now that we have been introduced… I can also speak to you there, if you would like?”

It was a delicate question, and Danny hesitated, suddenly wondering if he should… well, elaborate again.

“Uh… yeah, sure? I’d like that?” Jason asked, clearly confused by the reticence, and that made up Danny’s mind.

“She’s not going to sound the same,” he explained quickly, giving Lady Gotham a quick smile. She smiled back, gesturing for him to continue, because none of the damn older ghosts explained shit for themselves.

Danny totally didn’t roll his eyes.

“Like, the way we talk to her in the Infinite Realms is kinda the abstract? She looks kinda human,” he added, gesturing vaguely at the Lady.

Jason’s brows furrowed for a moment, but he felt more curious than concerned.

“So… she’s an anthropomorphic personification, but not in the living world?” He asked, and Danny’s eyes nearly crossed.

He turned to Lady Gotham, hoping that this might be some weird city slang, and she laughed at him. Again.

“Yes,” she agreed with Jason instead, which absolutely did not help. “It’s easier for me to speak with you here, using eyes and ears like your own. But building and maintaining this shape in the living world is… complicated.”

“Because her real body there is the city,” Danny added, privately resolving to ask Sam what the fuck Jason was talking about later.

Honestly, Jason would probably get along real good with Mr Lancer. They both liked weird words.

At least he actually looked a little confused too now; Danny had freaked the first time Lady Gotham talked to him out in the city itself. He gave Jason a consoling pat on the shoulder.

“You’ve gotta see it to believe it, man. Just… it’s gonna be weird.” Not the most helpful, sure, but Danny was doing his best!

Jason nodded slowly, willing to table it for now, and refocused on Lady Gotham, something darker now welling in the purpose building inside him.

“So you said the Joker wasn’t from the Curse,” he said bluntly. Danny flinched, more from the lack of any aura inflection than the remnants he could feel.

Yeah, a lotta Gothamites hated the Joker specifically, but if Danny had even the faintest doubt of who’d killed Jason… the black, leaden lump of Death in Jason’s aura wiped it out.

Lady Gotham stilled too, her own smile fading as she regarded Jason. Those red and black eyes were suddenly so much older, so much sadder.

“Yes,” she agreed softly, lowering her traffic cone to rest at her hip. “Are you sure?”

‘Are you sure you want to know?’

Or ‘Are you sure you want to know now?’

Danny wouldn’t put money on which she’d intended, but it didn’t take a genius to know the answer to both. Stubborn, emotionally repressed, and self destructive as hell, bat-training only left one answer.

Jason nodded firmly now, his jaw clenching.

“Yes.”

Lady Gotham studied him for a moment longer but didn’t argue, inclining her head gently.

“Then I will be brief. While the Curse has always been part of the city, feeding on fear and despair, in recent years we have both felt… something else. I told you of the malevolence on the land?” She asked, and Jason made a soft, impatient noise.

“And that it’s where the Curse comes from, yeah. And that the Joker is different,” he prodded.

Danny made a face. He was usually very much on the side of blunt answers, and knew full well that the Lady wouldn’t actually like, break Jason for being mouthy. He was very, very used to seeing favouritism from the outside, and Jason was clearly a firm favourite.

Maybe because he was currently Gotham’s only actual part ghost child? (To be fair, Danny didn’t think that’d change much in the fullness of time; Jason was his favourite of all the bats alive or dead.)

Whatever it was, his interruption only brought a flicker of a smile to the Lady’s lips, which vanished just as quickly.

“Yes. The Curse is indeed the original manifestation of that malevolence, given form and now, purpose. But even that malevolence came from somewhere; Gotham lies on a crack between worlds, older than time. Every world in the multiverse exist along certain markers; certain weak spots. Gotham is one of them.”

“Of course it is,” Jason grumbled beside him and Danny shifted closer, brushing their shoulders together.

Personally, he figured that if Gotham was a weak point in the universe and all the bad shit just leaked through, they were probably doing pretty well for themselves. Then, he’d seen the depths of the Ghost Zone; he knew what else could be trying to leak through.

Which, obviously, meant the good luck had to end.

“When the Joker died,” Lady Gotham continued, only to be cut off by a startled “What?!” from Jason and a totally-super-dignified squawk from Danny.

“You are not gonna tell me that asshole’s a ghost!” Danny moaned, dragging his hands down his face. Honestly, if he’d missed a whole actual ghost in the city for an entire year too, he was never going to live it down.

Like any of the other ghosts had any fucking clue what it was like being half alive… or living fully inside a city spirit’s haunt. Let them visit Lady Gotham’s and see what they sensed.

“Who the hell killed the Joker?!” Jason demanded, something weirdly like panic spiking through anger. “It wasn’t fucking Bruce-”

Lady Gotham silenced them both with a pointed look, shadows growing suddenly long and dark under her stare. Then she returned her gaze to Jason, her expression sombre.

“The Joker is not a ghost, nor a halfa. Bruce Wayne resuscitated him, which may be all that kept him from becoming a manifestation himself; he was killed not only in Gotham, but by a nexus point, in rage and revenge and hatred.”

There was something dark in Lady Gotham’s eyes now, something black and burning and for half a second Danny could swear he felt that rage himself, deep in his chest.

“Something else leaked through in the short time that he was dead,” she went on, her gaze firmly locked on Jason’s and Danny couldn’t imagine just how much the older-younger halfa was feeling under its full force. “Something small, and hungry, and craving death because it was denied his - the death I believe would give it shape.”

It wasn’t enough for Jason, that much was obvious; bitterness-frustration-grief hung in the air in a cloud almost thicker than the Lady’s smogs, and this time Danny gave in to temptation.

Let his own soothing-sorrow-loss twine through, even if he didn’t exactly understand the cause of the feeling. Jason startled a little, knocked from grumbling something that hadn’t been for anyone but him, but his hand reached back for Danny’s. Squeezed tight, even as the bitterness deepened.

His eyes narrowed, he remained focused on Lady Gotham though.

“Of course. Of course he fucking brought the clown back, even after someone did the world a fucking favour,” he hissed through his teeth, then raised his voice more clearly. “So, what? No one can ever kill the Joker, or Gotham gets another curse? Who’d fucking notice at this point?”

A genuine sorrow and pain passed across Lady Gotham’s face but she schooled it, kept her own aura calm and composed… or at least in closer than they could feel. There was probably a reason she’d put space between them again.

“Not quite, but close,” she agreed softly, those red bat eyes somehow more gentle even against the black pupil. “This other entity is already here, growing each day. Every violent death in Gotham is being consumed by it, which I will admit has strengthened the truce between the Curse and myself. Neither of us wish to feed it any more than necessary.”

Danny’s brows furrowed at that and he tried to think back to everything that Frostbite had ever told him about spirits. Not the dead-people kind, but the Neverborn; entities, concepts, ideas given form. Like time, and cities.

“So… when did the Joker die?” He asked cautiously, and felt surprise jolt through Jason. Lady Gotham gave him a quick glance, and cocked her head at Jason himself.

“Not so long after Jason did. A matter of months, less than a year, though he was dead less than a few minutes.” There was something in her tone, a weight on the words that made Danny think he was on the right track… but that she didn’t want to say it.

Which. Well. That was all kinds of bad fucking news if an entity as old as Lady Gotham was wary of speaking it into being. Luckily, Danny was just a fucked up little half ghost who had absolutely no supernatural tie ins to things like belief.

And he believed in just laying all the cards on the table before he decided if he had to flip it.

“That’s really young for any kind of belief spirit,” he said bluntly, watching Lady Gotham’s eyes. Saw… just a hint of something, creasing the corners, and seriously considered reaching his aura to hers for the first time today.

It’d save so much time to just get the message through feeling, but… if she preferred words, the words had to be important, and Jason probably needed words.

Fuck, they’d all need words, because this was going to be a goddamn bat-briefing if Lady Gotham was filling them in, and Mr Emotional Repression Is My Soulmate was not going to be up to aura reads.

Chewing his lower lip, he thought through the next stage a couple times before speaking slowly, watching for any hint he was still on the right path.

“If… it’s grown fast enough that you both noticed… it’s not new?” He tried, wondering briefly if he’d retroactively doomed them all by thinking about “what else could break through” from the depths of the Zone.

Lady Gotham shook her head though, gesturing impatiently through her smoke to clear it… maybe the first sign he’d ever seen that she didn’t control it entirely.

“No. That much, we are both certain of. This entity… it is new and unformed, with no Name of its own. At the moment, all of the fear it wreaks is only feeding belief in the Curse, which is why it only has death. But there is already a will there, long before it should even have awareness. And it wants to grow.”

“Oh great, so Joker’s got a Pitty 2.0 but his is on the outside,” Jason quipped, irritation sparking through him… and Danny was kinda glad to see it, honestly. Just a little flash of the guy he’d been getting to know in all the dark.

Even Lady Gotham managed a brief smile, and didn’t actually bother refuting it; closing her eyes for a moment, she waved her hand and the clouds of smog between them solidified briefly into a model of the city. Buildings only, but with horribly empty shadows between them.

“The Joker’s death gave it an entrance, and his revival denied it his shape, his Name, and the fear he commands. But it is no longer fixated on killing the Joker - and it was, for several years. It pushed him before it had the power for anything else, driving him further, feeding poison to those around him, trying to have him killed so that it could become The Joker, the pure essence of every bloody mark the clown left on Gotham. And it very nearly succeeded,” she added softly, her gaze turning back to Jason with an almost tangible sorrow.

Something in Danny’s gut iced over, and suddenly he was really, really glad he didn’t know what she was thinking.

Bruce looked better as he rose from the table, Diana decided, watching her old friend closely. For all that he’d come with an actual reason for his doom and gloom (for a change), his attitude during the briefing was positively relaxed compared to their own discussion that followed.

He would still be worrying and fretting, she knew him too well to believe anything else, and… she knew why. While Diana had no children of her own (though she had met and heard of other versions of herself who had), she did dearly love her own proteges, and those of her friends.

She remembered Jason as the young, sweet boy who’d stumbled over every word he said to her and stared at her like she’d hung the stars. She remembered Bruce’s grief, Batman’s rage, and the shadow that hung over the Dark Knight with every step until Tim Drake took him to heel.

She knew that there was too much there, the guilt and pain and loss and grief for Bruce to see Jason objectively, and she didn’t begrudge him that. Nor did she condone it.

It only hurt both men, and while she would not give her opinion when it wasn’t wanted… well, she was aware Bruce spoke to Clark of his worries around Jason much more often than he would to her. This time though, she’d had no choice.

She knew the man well enough to know what was truly scaring him in this situation; that Jason would be taken from him again. He was at least as upset by this “Danny” boy as the thought of war with an entire realm.

It would have been cute, if he wasn’t a grown adult man who prided himself on critical thinking. Or actively forcing his son away with his own actions at every turn.

Still, there was one piece of counsel she could give. The thing he hated the most of all was a mystery. And while she also didn’t usually condone his stalking-as-a-sign-of-affection…

“Batman.”

He stopped in the doorway but didn’t look back, still as a statue. At least he was listening.

A fond smile pulling across her lips, Diana shook her head. Let the formal tones of Wonder Woman return to the voice of a friend.

“You see many dangers in the unknown. Perhaps you might reassure yourself by getting to know young Danny Fenton as a person, rather than a potential threat.”

He stayed frozen in the doorway for a moment longer, then nodded his head sharply and swept away.

Diana stifled a chuckle. Honestly, for all Constantine had come to her as if the world were about to end… all of their problems with this Infinite Realm were perfectly clear to her.

The American government had overstepped drastically with their Anti Ecto Acts and would be brought to heel.

The new ruler of the Infinite Realms had turned their head in this direction, and guided them to what must be fixed.

And young Jason Todd, while far from the only hero who had died and returned, had been chosen by this ruler to be favoured with protection, in exchange for service.

Of course, it may all blow out of control and become as dire as her dear friend already seemed to believe it was, but for all Bruce was constantly creating contingencies and backup plans, he very rarely had to use most of them.

She turned her attention to John Constantine instead, the magician seeming much less inclined to make himself scarce than usual. At least he had also calmed considerably, and was even smiling in his own crooked fashion after Bruce.

“You know he’s gonna go stalk that poor kid even more now?” He asked sardonically, pulling another cigarette from his pack but not reaching for the lighter.

Diana hesitated for a moment.

She’d meant for Bruce to talk to Danny, preferably directly. But Bruce did not like talking to new people; not without thorough research and a chance to prepare.

Then she shrugged.

“If it will keep him from disrupting our already tense situation with the Infinite Realms, better that he distract himself with more fatherly concerns,” she said simply.

Constantine snickered again, then frowned.

“Wait, fatherly concerns? For some kid his boy’s known like, a week?”

This time, Diana didn’t bother to restrain her smile, glancing down at the phone in her pocket.

“Merely a week, perhaps, but according to Wonder Girl they have already been caught at least once without their trousers.”

Which hadn’t been part of the official presentation, of course. Nor apparently whatever Bruce had already shared with Constantine, as the mage promptly nearly swallowed his unlit cigarette and began choking.

Diana gave him a carefully gauged slap to the back, sending the now soaked and crumpled smoke across the meeting table, but politely did not laugh.

Jason was pretty sure he was going to puke. Or scream. Maybe both.

It wasn’t bad enough that Bruce had refused to kill the Joker, to stop him from killing anyone else, no, he’d fucking brought him back to life. Given the fucking Joker the chance that none of his victims ever got.

None of them except Jason.

And now apparently even wanting the bastard dead was all part of some master fucking plan to make the fucking asshole even worse.

He’d wanted Bruce to be the one to avenge him from the second Tallia pulled him out of the Lazarus Pit, but when he’d come to Gotham… when his plans to carve out his turf, provoke the Joker with an old alias, set the trap had suddenly become stuffing heads in a bag…

He’d thought about it. A lot. About just hunting the fucker down, putting a bullet between his eyes, and leaving him in the Batcave deader than dead.

Had nearly done it, but no. He’d wanted… he’d wanted Bruce to choose him. To put him first, to say he loved Jason more than some moral stance, to value Tim’s life more, and Steph, and Cass, over the fucking scum who would have happily killed every last one of them with a smile on his face just to see if Bruce finally broke.

And Bruce hadn’t.

Bruce had nearly killed him.

And in and around that whole mess, he’d never gotten around to actually thinking about how his fucking daddy issues had saved the Joker’s life for… years, by now.

Jason wasn’t killing anymore. Not like, actively. Intentionally. Not because he thought Bruce was right; something, someone, had to be willing to stand up for the people of Gotham and actually stop fuckers like the Joker from killing them.

But… well, Crime Alley was his territory, and a scared enemy, a cowed enemy who’d seen their life in Jason’s hands and knew just how easily he could end it was more useful than dealing with the power vacuum, or the next million upstarts who’d think they knew better, would be better, and could take on the Red Hood themselves.

Ironically, keeping fuckers like Black Mask and Great White Shark alive and in power (at severely reduced scale) saved him time. Kept him from dealing with all those upstarts himself.

That was how Waylon had put it, back when Jason was considering adding to his bag of heads. It was… like farming. Keep them low, but keep them stable. Break anything new they went for, or anything that got on his turf.

Let them harvest some of the power hungry fucks who thought they could take a piece of the Alley.

And then Dick had noticed. And reached out. And didn’t stop until Jason gave in and reached back.

When Danny came to Gotham. Somehow, it all swung back around to Danny.

And the fact that if he actually believed what he told Bruce, he could have gone to kill the clown himself at any time since returning to the city.

And he never had. The time wasn’t right. Something came up. Something went wrong, or broke, or distracted him before he thought too hard about it.

Killing the Joker hadn’t even been in his original plans for his triumphant return. He’d just wanted to take back the Alley, prove his point to Bruce. Keep his home safe.

When had killing the Joker become such a big part of the plan? Who the fuck had gotten into his fucking head, redefined him as the last moment of his fucking life, demanded his new life be all about how the last one ended?

Eyes narrowing, he looked searchingly into Lady Gotham’s face just in time to catch her slow nod, like she’d heard every thought. Like he’d been speaking aloud.

“I could not stop it from reaching to you,” she said softly, her voice heavy with sadness, “but I could… distract. Get in the way, make its path harder. That you did not give in…”

Something soft, something proud flickered in her eyes again, and it made him want to squirm.

“You may not have consciously known that you fought yet another enemy, yet you triumphed regardless. My dear Jason…” she sighed, heavy with sorrow, and reached out a hand again as though to cup his face.

Jason found himself moving to meet her before he even thought about it. Stopped himself just before it actually got him anywhere.

He wasn’t done being angry yet. He wasn’t even sure he’d actually started. If he could ever, would ever, be angry enough for this.

There was something building in him like a tide, riding high on resentment and his spiralling thoughts. It wasn’t green tinted like the pit rage, his vision was still clear… if anything, it felt sharper, like everything had been dialled up to eleven. Like the terrible, roaring anger was seeking a target.

“I am sorry that you have been robbed of your justice in this way,” Lady Gotham said quietly and once again Jason’s focus narrowed down with her intensity, like she was the only real thing in the world, “that even your own emotions of this, your death, have been used against you. It is…”

She hesitated, actually looking to Danny for help herself for the first time. Judging from the sudden low horror Jason could feel from the other man, he might actually be under reacting.

Or the tide was still rising.

He felt like razing the whole city to the fucking ground, with his own hands, brick by brick. Or puking. Or screaming until his lungs ripped out of his chest, if only he could move.

It felt like something had reached into his brain and cranked up the contrast, made the already neon brights of the Ghost Zone brighter, the shadows darker, the very air prickling at his skin like needles with the urge to do something.

Because if he moved, did anything, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Not when every muscle ached to tear the whole universe apart.

He was almost a passenger in his own skin as something else, a different, slow boiling rage barely under control clamped him in a vice.

“So y’know we talked about not asking about how ghosts died?” Danny said slowly, his voice suddenly low and hoarse.

Jason managed a stiff nod, every muscle twanging tight with tension. It had been pretty important, pre-Ghost-Zone.

And he could put the pieces together, right from the tight hot center of that ball of rage that he was pretty sure was his own core.

“This is worse,” he said gruffly, not bothering to look over. Didn’t have to, when he could feel the face Danny was pulling through the worry-worry-fear-anger-horror still surrounding him.

He… fuck. He was a little afraid of what he might do, if there was even an ounce of pity on Danny’s face, and honestly that panicked him more than anything else. All the rage wanted was a target, and he didn’t think he’d be able to choose what it was.

Danny nodded anyway, making a conscious effort to try and reign his aura in. Like he couldn’t hear the subtext, feel it in Jason’s, or like he could and didn’t care.

It left him feeling cold, icy and alone, but still relieved under the echoing slam of rage in his veins. A little more alone in his own head. A little less watched. Judged. Not good enough.

“Like, worse than worse, dude. Ghosts will throw down and rip each other apart just for fun and no one’s actually hurt, but… you don’t fuck with somebody’s death. You just don’t. It’s the worst thing you could do to a ghost, worse than Ending them. Not even Pariah Dark…”

“Exactly,” Lady Gotham hissed, baring her teeth in something not even remotely a smile, full cheeks and lips suddenly gaunt and hollow as the teeth became fangs. It lasted barely a moment, a flicker before it faded, but it snapped Jason straight out of his fury with a sudden shock of terror.

She’d been intimidating before. Effortlessly, gracefully powerful and commanding, the kind of person people would beg to step on them without a hint of aggression. Those teeth though… just the moment of that rage, of something so powerful suddenly nothing but raw, feral danger…

It wasn’t even directed at him but it still felt like a bucket of cold water down his spine. An instant urge to duck his head, show his throat, convince this much larger predator that he wasn’t a threat.

She was immediately contrite, turning her head away as her face cast into shadow, only the red pupils still visible.

“My apologies. It is… less personal for me than it is for you, yet it seems still too close to my heart.”

Forcing himself to swallow, Jason took a couple of deep, heavy breaths. The anger was still there, kind of. He could feel it in an almost distant way, past the hammering of his heart, but it wasn’t all he was anymore.

It was just… a feeling now. One he was in control of.

The shadows were just shadows again. The green of the Zone no longer blinding.

He blew the last breath out slowly, and let the remnants of the anger go with it.

“No, uh… it’s fine. I think that helped, actually,” he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and suddenly embarrassed at just how tense he’d become.

Justified, apparently, from both the other ghosts’ reactions, but that didn’t mean Jason wanted to feel so out of control. How close to just… being carried away by the anger.

No matter what anyone else said, no matter what the damn Pit or Joker-monster or whatever the fuck else tried to do, Jason Todd was not going to be defined by rage.

For one thing, he’d never live it down.

Danny sagged beside him, relief as tangible as that last breath flowing out of him, despite the core of concern underneath. That was fine; Jason was still concerned too.

And maybe thinking about his stash of ecto-candies again, but he honestly didn’t feel half as drained this time. He wasn’t even scared of Lady Gotham anymore - that moment had ended as soon as it started. As soon as she’d tucked those terrifying needle-like teeth away. Now she just looked…

Proud. Proud, and fond, and so, so sad. Like Alfred had been the first time he presented Jason with his very own Robin suit for the field.

It choked something inside Jason just a little, made his throat tight and breath hitch.

“You are so much more than anyone gives you credit for, Jason Todd,” she said softly, her sclera softening briefly to a bright, sunshine yellow. Like the cape he’d drowned in as a boy flying from her rooftops, “and they all think far better of you than you believe.”

That caught him up for a moment, confusion pulling into the absolute fucking mess of emotions he was pretty sure he was projecting to all and sundry.

Then Danny sighed heavily and draped himself sideways over Jason’s shoulders like a particularly lanky and bony scarf.

“Yeah, yeah, and your ghost mom is fucking terrifying. Did not need that reminder, Ladyship,” he tossed at Lady Gotham with a cheeky wink, effectively steam rolling the tension yet again.

Jason could have kissed him, but from the angle Danny had flopped on, his options were armpit or hip, and neither appealed.

Sassy comebacks, he could handle. Reassurances that people didn’t think he was a complete sack of shit, apparently not.

The whole batfam were just perfect poster kids for mental health, alright?

The Lady herself laughed softly and inclined her head, not arguing the point.

“Of course. Still, I am sorry Jason.”

He cut her off this time, raising both hands and stopping just short of reaching for the back of his neck again, which was about where Danny’s waist was sat.

“Don’t be. I… think I needed to be knocked out of my head there. I really do feel better now,” he added, and Danny huffed a noncommittal noise and ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, well. You’re allowed to be pissed about it,” Danny informed him like he wasn’t sure if Jason actually knew that.

Which, obviously, Jason absolutely wasn’t. He had a pit ghost baby to teach good habits to, and Danny still had no idea what Jason was like when he actually lost control of the anger. But he could appreciate the sentiment.

And deflect like a Robin.

“Oh, is that a royal decree?” He asked archly, and while this noise was no more coherent than the last it was decidedly more whiny and drawn out into wordless protest.

Which still ended in a very quiet “yes.”

Luckily, quiet enough that Jason could pretend he didn’t hear it.

“Anyway, I’m good. Still gonna kick this thing’s ass for messing with my head, and maybe put it in a blender, but for now I’m good. Chill vibes only for Pitty,” he added with a roll of his eyes when Danny made a confused little chirping sound.

Lady Gotham chuckled softly to herself and nodded, resettling herself to recline on her smog clouds once more.

“Indeed. You currently have more pressing concerns; as little as I enjoy the present situation, it can wait. The Curse and I can monitor this new being’s behaviour through the rogues it has affected; they are noticeably becoming more violent, while the Curse is swaying the rest towards being less. For contrast,” she added before Jason could ask.

Which… might actually explain why Riddler had tossed a broken game box at Croc and the Wayne gala rather than trying to fix it. He’d stripped most of the interesting stuff according to Tim’s report, sure, but Nygma never let a thread go.

So he wasn’t gonna be on this new bad guy’s kill list.

Nor would Waylon, and Harley had been more destructive than homicidal for years. Already making a mental list on the events he’d caught wind of in the last few weeks, Jason didn’t even realise the conversation had moved on without him until Danny stuck a wet finger in his ear.

“What the actual fuck!” Jason demanded, trying to shrug the ghost off his shoulders. And while there was deadass no weight to Danny in this form, it was frankly unfair that he just rolled with the movement like he also didn’t have bones, snickering.

“You had Resting Bat Face,” he explained with a grin, twisting upwards to look down at him in a way that actually really shouldn’t have been doable with a human spine - and Jason had grown up around Dick Grayson, who ran the limit of everything a human spine was capable of.

“He does best with a problem to solve,” Lady Gotham noted with a sly amusement. “This one, however, has no time limit as yet. If I thought you would listen, I would have insisted on telling you at a later date.”

And that was just pointed enough that Jason rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush in spite of himself. He just… liked to have all of the information. It’s not like he was Bruce.

“Yeah, well, I like to know what I’m dealing with,” he grumbled, folding his arms and scowling at Danny. Who grinned back and ruffled his hair.

“Well, either way. Not like you need to pull the spandex back on imminently, right? There’s plenty of bats around,” he offered hopefully, and Jason felt a quick pang.

Danny… really didn’t want him to have to be a vigilante. He could taste it in the hope, in the worry, in everything his king was putting off. For some reason, he seemed to think Jason had come back to life and left the masks behind.

Like he hadn’t even thought about why Jason was still in fighting shape to be his fucking knight in the first place.

He knew he’d be annoyed if it was anyone else trying to insist he stay out of the game. He’d shot at Dick more than once for suggesting he go home when he was injured; the rest knew better than to say a word.

He hadn’t even considered giving up the vigilante life when he came back from the dead… except that brief period when he’d sort of been a rogue. He’d never even been a normal crime lord, most of them were way less hands on.

If he looked at the future now, he couldn’t imagine ever giving it up. The rogues would apparently literally always be a problem; the city would always need protectors.

That thought had never made him sad before, and yet…

Was it really the first time anyone had suggested he’d done enough? He’d died, and sure Jason was back now, but Danny seemed to really, actually believe he could stop wearing the mask.

That he’d given enough, given everything, and could and should just have a peaceful life now.

It made him almost ashamed to admit that he’d never even considered the possibility.

For all Jason railed against teen heroes, he’d only stopped being one for a temporary villain arc. Which was apparently at least partially supernaturally motivated, which was fun.

It’d shut Bruce up if Jason ever dragged that out in an argument, but Bruce already thought Jason was too volatile and susceptible to being controlled. Never mind that he hadn’t actually killed the Joker and started the apocalypse or whatever, all Bruce would hear was “someone else made Jason a villain so it could happen again”.

He’d probably try and take Jason off the case of this mystic whatever that was feeding on death. Fuck that noise. Until Bruce got a face to face with Lady G, Jason probably wouldn’t even tell him the details.

(Honestly, if there was even half a chance of avoiding that subject altogether, he’d take it. Bruce got ornery about magic in his city in a way none of the Robins had ever enjoyed dealing with, and that had been back when he and Jason had a good relationship.

Now… well, Constantine had been sticking around, so hopefully he could handle that mess and Jason could just get the actual work done.)

He gave Danny his best reassuring smile anyway, rolling his eyes and reaching to try and ruffle his hair. Found that he actually couldn’t quite reach with the way Danny was twisted around him, which was kinda weird.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard Frostbite. Side effects of the forming core could be pretty much fucking anything, and til Pitty pops out I’m not even gonna do research on anything that’ll set us off.”

Which wasn’t the same as saying he wouldn’t start the case. He could arrange what he already knew, start a plan of action, and organise his next steps without doing any additional research, after all.

Something about Lady Gotham’s delicately arching eyebrow let him know that she, at least, was onto his bullshit. Lucky for Jason, Danny just accepted the words, grinning and twisting around to wrap his whole head in a hug.

And then flowed back off his shoulders like a fucking liquid before Jason could worry about having to breathe.

“That’s great! Oh, and we should set up your haunt too! That’ll help!” Danny enthused brightly, clapping his hands and doing his best impression of a totally solid human that was apparently not his default.

Maybe it was a ghost thing.

Just so long as he never did it in human form, Jason could ignore that he definitely shoulda felt a ribcage being squeezed like that…

And no, Jason absolutely wasn’t wondering about what else Danny could use that noodley flexibility for. Totally not letting Dick know either… for competitive gymnast reasons, definitely.

No one wanted to deal with that.

And then his brain fizzled to a halt as Danny’s actual words penetrated and a sliver of concern slipped in.

Because… yeah. They’d talked about haunts. It was practically the first topic on the list; what to do in someone else’s haunt, what to never ever do even near someone else’s haunt, what a haunt meant to a ghost.

It was soul-underwear again, one of the most sacred parts of a person’s soul; their truest, actual home. Fortress and power source.

Halfas had to have them too, since Danny and Frostbite had both insisted that keeping and maintaining his haunt were going to be vital to his health while his cores stabilized. As in, Frostbite told him not to leave it for long and suggested redecorating as a soothing activity.

(Danny’s was officially Amity Park, which had not escaped Jason’s notice when he was apparently being put on haunt-arrest. It might have been an older halfa thing; very few ghosts actually stayed in their haunts all the time, although Jason could see the temptation.

It also might have been something else, and Jason had this thing about secrets and surprises down the line. He’d ask later, if he couldn’t work it out himself.)

Danny called Crime Alley Jason’s haunt, and that had felt right from the first time he’d said it. Crime Alley was his, his territory, his space, his home more than anywhere else. He knew it inside and out, could feel its moods and taste the changes in the air when something went wrong.

Baby ghosts usually couldn’t claim a haunt of any size as their own, but Jason knew that the Alley belonged to him.

That was before he’d met Lady Gotham. And if she was the spirit of the whole city… maybe he’d been wrong? Maybe it was just through her that he knew it so well?

He found himself looking to her uncertainly, searching her face in case there was any trace of displeasure. Any sign she didn’t want another ghost’s haunt in… well, what was kinda her physical body.

He couldn’t see or feel anything, but when she’d already been so careful about keeping her feelings her own… no better time to ask, really.

“Yeah… about that…” this time he did scratch the back of his neck, Danny safely down beside him. Which was about when he realized that he had no clue how to word the question.

Haunts were personal, he knew that much.

Then again, Lady Gotham said she was his ghost-mom. That had to include stupid questions. Blunt it was.

“Is it weird if I have a haunt in the city? I mean, it’s obviously your city, duh, but how do I… it feels like I’m squatting in your closet,” he said finally, giving up on not being just the most awkward creature in a thousand mile radius.

Danny’s mouth opened and closed a few times, excitement fading to a confused fascination as his words sunk in.

“Y’know, that’s a really good point… except it’s more like he’s squatting in your kidneys,” he pointed out to Lady Gotham, turning to face her too.

Lady Gotham chuckled softly and took a slow drag from her traffic cone, which had almost stopped smoking.

“Ah, I forget the limitations of a halfa’s knowledge… all ghosts begin with a haunt within their parent’s, Jason. From the moment you returned to my arms I opened up the Alley for you, and it has been yours ever since.” She paused to blow out a long plume of smog, which shaped itself into a tiny row of very familiar buildings.

Jason didn’t have to see more than a couple to know what they were; he could feel it right down to his core.

“When you are older, stronger, you may desire another, although being in the mortal world is already a degree of distance, but Crime Alley will always be your first,” Lady Gotham continued as Crime Alley bloomed from the smog before them, tiny and yet more than just an image, more than just a replica; the real thing in the scope of her power.

There were no lights in tiny windows, nothing moving through the smog, and yet it was still clearly alive. No, filled with things that were alive, people and noise and even the rats.

And it was his. His beating heart.

Lady Gotham’s smile was a tender beacon in the fog, her hands coming up to caress the smoking Crime Alley and gently waft it in his direction.

“Every crumbling brick, every pothole, every shadow. It is a heavy responsibility, and one I shall share with you until you decide you no longer need my help, but it will always be yours, Jason. It would not have accepted anyone else.”

The cluster of smoggy buildings fell apart as they reached Jason and for a moment he nearly panicked trying to keep them together, but… he was suddenly washed in a wave of old, familiar scent.

Not the burned rubber and pollution of all the rest of the smogs, the constant smell of the city. This was… floral. Soft, and sweet, and chemical in the way that cheap perfumes always were because they couldn’t have afforded the good ones.

Watered down, because they could get even that so rarely that she would begin refilling the bottle with water when it was barely half empty. Catherine Todd’s favourite perfume.

It hadn’t covered the stink of cigarettes and worse coming from the very walls of their apartment; he’d only smelled it when she was holding him close. Shielding him from Willis’s rage, tucking him into bed, cuddled up on the couch to wait out the rain or sickness.

The smell of home.

It brought tears to his eyes, the pressure of the day threatening to spill over and overwhelm him again.

Intellectually, it felt like another moment that should have been terrifying. More than any show of teeth, this was her strength. Who and what she was, she could break him with a wave of her hand, a wisp of smoke, and yet…

He felt warm. Comforted. Wrapped in her smile and at peace in a way he hadn’t in… fuck it had been years.

There was something else too, a layer under the flowers that only the deepest detective-trained parts of him tried to pluck apart; it was part of the home smell, inextricable, but it didn’t make sense. Wasn’t the perfume. Just the very faintest hint of baking far away, and Catherine Todd had never been able to afford…

Oh.

Of course not. Because Catherine Todd, his mother in every possible sense of the word but one, had never met Alfred.

So, the good news: Tucker was currently in the lead for Spiderheck. Bad news: they’d finished the first set (Tim won, but he’d been two ahead from the start which was cheating), and… the game had ticked directly over into another set.

They hadn’t been planning on changing any settings, so it was fine, and Conner and Tim hadn’t noticed anything wrong.

But… Tucker was beginning to worry, just a little. He’d done video games before, with Danny and Sam; no worries, they’d taken a turn directly in pretty much every game they’d played together.

Just, y’know, he knew Danny and Sam really well. And Tim and Conner were really cool, and he understood a lot more about how the Supers worked than he ever had before? But, maybe that was why he’d kinda screwed up.

Because he wanted things to be fair, and didn’t want them to think he’d given himself extra advantages. So they were all spiders, all the same.

And he wasn’t completely sure where the meta controls were?

Danny and Sam always insisted he have a version of the controller somewhere, so they could flick to the menu (and sometimes run riot there too). Last time they did Spiderheck, he’d put the buttons on his stomach, so Danny and Sam could try and hit them for an extra level of difficulty.

But he wanted to be fair. Didn’t want extra powers. And, apparently, technopathy had sorta maybe converted that wish into him not being able to feel it while he was spidered up.

All his combat moves were fine! The break, grab, web commands were smooth and easy, just like every other time he did them. Different attacks, no worries. And, obviously, he hadn’t stood still and tried to look for the code, because they were playing Spiderheck and that was a really easy way to get wiped.

Dodging another swinging attack from Tim, he scuttled at top speed across the platform and jumped behind a box. No weapons here, and he scanned quickly for the next spawn point.

Which, normally, shoulda shown up on two levels; the normal game vision, and the white lined underlay of the code, which he could always see through from top to bottom of the level.

(This was usually an active impediment rather than an advantage in Spiderheck; it was way too hard to know what he could stand on.)

He couldn’t see one, just the platform above and the wall behind.

Maybe he should take an early death, just to give himself a little time to work this out. Just so he could stop worrying. He was 21, he’d had these powers for years, he totally knew how they worked by now.

He just, maybe, might have gotten overconfident.

Danny would never let him live it down if they all had to be rescued from Spiderheck.

And, way more importantly, Tim Drake-Wayne and his super hot boyfriend would only remember him as the loser who couldn’t even control his powers.

Nope. Absolutely not.

A loud buzzing heralded the arrival of one of the spinning laser traps, and Tucker made up his mind. Just one early death. No worries. He had a two win lead, and honestly he’d rather lose the set than admit he’d fucked up.

Scuttling “away” from Tim’s probable next attack, Tucker scurried into the path of the spinning laser trap.

And saw, at the very last second, Conner swinging in from the other side, directly into a laser.

Shit.

Sam was comfortably snuggled down into her pillows and thoroughly enjoying the chaos her new chat was creating when she finally heard the door. A little too buried to easily get up, or look particularly graceful doing it, so instead she stuck a hand straight up into the air.

“In here, love!”

And, like the angel of mercy that she was, Val only made her wait ten minutes to get out of all of her winter gear and put the kettle on before coming to save her from her fate.

“Not the fastest rescue I’ve received,” Sam teased, even as Val hauled her easily to her feet. Val grinned back and pulled her in for a quick peck.

“I wasn’t aware I was being timed. I can do better.”

“I bet you can,” Sam laughed, draping her arms around her girlfriend’s shoulders. Val gave her another, deeper kiss, then drew back enough to press their foreheads together.

“So, how was Gotham? I saw Danny made the front page,” she teased back, and Sam hesitated.

In amongst all of their various plans for disaster, it hadn’t really come up that whatever they did at the party, it was sure to make the gossip rags. Front page though? That was probably an achievement.

And, given what she herself had done, really annoying.

“What, they gave the front page to him? I blatantly accused at least two CEOs and Lex Luthor of weaponizing misogyny, with citations, and Danny got the front page?” She huffed, drawing back and folding her arms, fully intent on turning away to sulk, but not remotely objecting when Val’s arms snuck around her waist and pulled her back in.

Val’s chin tucked in over her shoulder and the taller woman snickered.

“I know, right? Sadly cold hard facts just fade away in the face of a scandal.” Val sighed dramatically, then dropped a kiss on the side of Sam’s neck. “You’re on page seven. It’s mostly about your parents, but using Lex’s name got a couple other points in. Oh, and Vicki Vale did a three page piece on how Brucie Wayne specifically upholds the patriarchy. I think she quoted you.”

Sam considered that for a moment, her arms automatically coming around to cover Val’s for a brief squeeze. It wasn’t like she’d actually been planning to change anything at the gala. Mostly she’d just wanted to be heard.

It could be an interesting starting point, though. Especially since she got to pick her outfit for the next gala; her mother hadn’t even specified that it had to be a dress on the document, which was definitely a peace offering.

Cass Wayne had looked really good in that suit.

Her cheeks suddenly hot for absolutely no reason, Sam twisted in Val’s arms to kiss her again.

“I’m sorry my mom’s… the worst,” she finished lamely, wrapping her arms around Val again.

The whole fall-from-grace thing may have been seven years ago, and Val had more than moved on, but. Well. Sam didn’t exactly believe all the scars had healed.

Especially when Val stilled for a moment in her arms.

Then she chuckled, wrapping her arms a littler tighter around Sam and lifting her off her feet.

“Hey, at least she’s not actually a bigot. It’s always nicer to be hated personally than in general, y’know?” She teased, echoing something Sam was pretty sure Danny had said to her back in her Phantom-hunting days.

Sam huffed and wrapped her legs around Val’s waist too, raining kisses down on her face.

“Yeah, well, she can still shove it up her ass. You’re my date for the next gala, if you actually want to come.”

Which.

Well.

Was about when she realized that the next gala was probably going to be extra interesting, after all their shenanigans. Maybe they should have been more discrete? More careful?

Her worry must have shown on her face, because Val gave her a very gentle bounce to shake her out of it.

“Hey. Samantha Manson. I would be delighted to go to the next gala with you, and tell all the little journalists that yeah, I’m that Val,” she said firmly once Sam had refocused on her. Then she grinned. “I’ll even be on my best behaviour and not one up Danny until the second one.”

That made Sam laugh again, hugging on tight even as Val turned and easily carried her through to their little kitchenette and sat her up on one of the counters.

“Hey, did you get that autograph from Harley for me by the way? I wanna send it to my dad for his birthday,” she added, sneaking another kiss and then pulling a pair of mugs next to the steaming kettle.

Sam considered hopping off the counter. Didn’t bother, reaching behind herself instead to pull her favourite tea for the month and drop a bag into her mug.

“Yeah, a couple actually. And she said if we wanna meet Ivy she’ll let us know when they’re back on the west coast, but it won’t be any time soon.” That hadn’t been particularly surprising, but it still made Sam a little sad.

Just another reminder that they were on the outside looking in all the way over here.

Valerie stilled, coming back and resting both hands on Sam’s thighs.

“Do you miss being on the east coast?” She asked quietly, those gorgeous green eyes so large and gentle.

Sam hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and let her head thunk back against the cupboard behind her.

“Honestly, I think I just miss being closer to everyone. It’s not far for Danny with the Zone, but if you or I wanna visit anyone we have to hop on an airplane or spend weeks driving, neither of which are good for the environment. We just… get forgotten out here, stuck out of the loop.”

Val raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her face but eyes still soft with understanding.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk. I thought I’d pick up a new phone and rejoin the group chat that day, but suddenly I gotta wait nearly a week for “new secrets”,” she teased and Sam sighed, shaking her head. Not quite able to lift all the way out of her funk.

“Yeah, I know… it probably woulda been fine, Danny shouldn’t have dropped anything at all in the main chat if he didn’t want everyone to see it, I just…”

“Wanted to be more sensitive than he is,” Val finished the sentence, leaning in for another kiss. Not needing to reach up even with Sam sat on the counter. “That’s why I’m still dating you.”

It did pull a smile from Sam anyway and she draped her arms over her girlfriend’s shoulders again.

“For some reason. So, what did you think?”

Val shrugged, her hands sliding up to settle around Sam’s waist.

“About a new halfa? Probably sucks for him. Especially when he’s gotta come out as dead to his family. The Waynes aren’t exactly known for being stable,” she pointed out when Sam snickered.

Which was a fair point.

“They’re actually worse when there’s more of them,” she mused, glancing back towards the bed where she’d left her phone, “and the oldest’s a cop now.”

This time it was Val’s turn to snicker.

“Yeah, I heard. Tuck already sent me the blow by blow of you eviscerating the poor guy.”

Sam preened. Deservedly.

“Hey, you know me, I’m not gonna play nice just cuz I’ve been dragged to some social function.”

The snicker turned to a chuckle as Val leaned in, rubbing their noses together.

“And you know me, baby girl, ACAB all the way, and I still think that should extend to the Justice League. Heard half of Batman Inc also showed up, did you let them have it too?”

“You know I did,” Sam purred, locking her ankles behind Val’s back and nipping playfully at her lower lip. Val laughed, her hands creeping slowly up the small of Sam’s back.

“That’s my little leopard. Tea’s done.” And then, totally unfairly, she reached back with one hand and pulled Sam’s ankles apart, slipping free with a laugh as Sam pouted. “Hey, you’d be more upset if I let it over steep.”

“I can make more tea,” Sam grumbled, finally slipping off the counter, but a rebellious smile made it onto her face anyway. Val toasted her with the french press.

“True that, darling, but I’m not wasting the good coffee beans. Daddy asked me four times if I was sure about taking the train but honestly, he’s a state away now, it’s not worth a flight.”

Setting her teabag aside, Sam squirted in some vanilla agave syrup and took a deep breath. Gotham was fine, but no hotels could match her home tea stash. Not even the Waynes could.

“Beautiful, strong, environmentally conscious, and a Daddy’s girl. How did I land you again?” She asked innocently as Val dropped creamer into her own mug.

“By being all of those but the last one,” Val countered easily, taking a mug and holding an arm out for Sam to tuck under. “Now c’mon, if I’m going to the next gala you need to tell me allllll about a certain cutie Cassandra Wayne,” she cooed, making for their couch.

Sam’s face flushed red and she made to duck away instantly, but those damn vigilante muscles made it so hard.

“Okay, veto, you’re not allowed to do that anymore! My mom is trying to hook me up with her!” Sam did not whine. She. Protested. With dignity. Totally no idea why Val snickered, holding her coffee up and away in her other arm.

“Yeah, that’s the point. How funny would it be if Danny and I both stole a Wayne from you?” She asked with a vicious grin.

Which… did make Sam pause. Because that would be really funny. And Cass would almost certainly be down for it; she wasn’t as loud or attention seeking as any of the boys, but Sam could recognize the wicked gleam in anyones’ eyes when they enjoyed the chaos.

Then she sighed.

“No, we have to be good for the next gala. Otherwise no one’s going to listen to what I actually have to say.”

Val hummed an agreement, guiding her to sit on the plush, well loved cushions. It was an old couch, and a hand-me-down from Sam’s work, but it was just too good to pass up. They could both lie comfortably side by side on the seat, if they snuggled just a little, and the back was wide and plush enough for two throws.

“Okay. The gala after that, then. It’ll make our slow burn long distance romance all the more compelling,” she added when Sam snorted, finally releasing Sam to sink comfortably into oblivion.

Sam swatted at her and put her tea down on the table.

“You’re dreadful. I love you. We’ll ask Cass, lemme just get my phone and I’ll hook you into the group chat with her, Steph, and Babs. They’re Wayne family friends,” she added at Val’s questioning noise, “I haven’t met Babs yet, but Steph is great. You’re gonna love her.”

“Only if we’re going for some three’s company action,” Val snickered as Sam jogged to the bedroom, flipping her girlfriend off as she went.

Jason was quiet as they left the Zone. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially after the day he’d had and the emotional whiplash.

Danny was doing his very best not to let it bother him. He remembered the early days of being a halfa, how much he’d second-guessed himself, how much every new change and discovery had rocked his world. And he’d been a teenager, all hormones and fire and energy.

He hadn’t even been dead a month before shit got weird.

Jason was twenty-two, and had already been dead for almost seven years. Danny’d like to think he’d found ways to cope, but seven years in himself he was pretty sure he still hadn’t.

Whatever Jason had dealt with in those six and a half years was being ripped up in front of him day by day.

If there was anything he wanted, anything he needed, Danny would be there for him in a heartbeat. Before he could even have to ask, if possible. Aaaand the only thing he couldn’t do that for was if Jason needed space.

Lady Gotham had been able to open them a portal directly into Jason’s apartment; Danny preferred to aim high enough to miss walls and buildings on the way back, but it was her city. She knew exactly where everything and anything was - the portal had been in the back of Jason’s front door.

Danny totally wasn’t jealous. He could come back out almost at the same place he’d gone in, if he was quick. And he could go intangible anyway.

It was still really cool to watch the city spirit do it, the way the realms opened easily and willingly at her touch. She’d given Jason a token, a coin that had to be at least six hundred years old that showed the city’s skyline. Apparently he could use it to get in touch with her, or get back to the Zone on his own if Danny couldn’t take him.

Danny was fine with that. For sure.

The Infinite Realms were dangerous, but the token should bring him straight to Lady Gotham, in an emergency. And then Danny could follow and find her, and find Jason. It was a super reasonable backup plan.

He still found himself hovering in the doorway, unsure if Jason wanted him to stay or go while the other man shrugged out of his coat, boots, and shoulder holster that Danny had totally missed this entire time. And then walked directly into the bathroom.

Danny hovered a little closer, entirely unknowing what exactly he’d do if Jason was crying. Or screaming. Or beating a hole in the wall away from prying eyes. Or, actually using the bathroom for its intended purpose, apparently.

Because Danny forgot Jason was still in mandatory human form at all times.

He couldn’t hear anything from inside the bathroom with the door shut anyway, not even movement or the sink running. But then again, Jason’s family knew Superman personally. That probably lead to some inside jokes and really specific precautions.

Danny hovered back to the door. Stared around at the incredibly clean, well organized display of video games and weaponry on the walls, the double shelf of books.

This, he was beginning to suspect, was a third, larger, more expensive apartment. The furniture and room layouts were about the same, but he was like 80% sure the apartment they’d played MarioKart in hadn’t had as much stuff.

This one had some dishes waiting by the sink though. Given how well organized everything else was, they stuck out.

…

Five minutes. Jason was still in the bathroom.

Danny hated waiting. If he was going to stick around, he could justify it by helping out. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

———————

Part two imminent! All my love to the tag list, you’ll be following the link on this one so you don’t get both separately

Part 2:

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop p @mayoota-blog @xysidhe e @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper r @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking g @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor r @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 8 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf f @frivolous-pastel

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton dead and loving it #dfdali #dead on main ship #chapter probably 18 part 1 #so that just happened #in which there is LORE #and SPIDERHECK #and LESBIANS #feast my children feast

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